a little research

I found this comforting and entertaining. should i give it to her?


It is truly a matter of projection, but this projection is not just one thing.(2) I can attribute to another my own feelings, ascribe to him my own faults. I can imagine him the author of my failures, see in his strength the excuse for my weakness. I shall project onto him the image of my disorder. I shall attack believing that I am defending myself, forgetting that I delivered the blows. Thus I shall escape the nameless anguish, the obscure ruminations in which I threw at myself the blocked game of my strength. I shall attack instead of attacking myself. Thereby I shall gain first of all a little more happiness. One fights badly at night; it is good to attack this or that enemy, truly real, very visible before the projector of hatred. Totally floundering among his first failures, the timid man does not have time to hate; it is with himself that he is angry. Hatred will free him, at least ostensibly, from the wrappings and shackles; he will stop suffocating in the asphyxia of auto-aggression. The walls of his prison recede. He finally has some elbow-room for his combat. Projection turns timidity into hatred; it finally puts my own strength to work in the world.


However, I find in it only breathing space. As in the tale by Poe, moving walls close in around me. I shall accuse another in order to divert my remorse, but new remorse, heavier, will follow my calumny. I shall accuse more violently to ward off the resurgence of my increased guilt. I have not suppressed, I have simply delayed the aggressive return of my blocked strength. The counter-blow comes from further away, and also hits harder.

I thought to have thrown my captive energy outside of me. But here it is thrown back at me. An infernal circle of projection and hatred. The more I hate, says Baruk, (3) the more I tend to punish myself; increased, my remorse engenders new hatred. At the limit this projection runs aground in delirium. The timid man slides down into melancholy, and from melancholy to persecution. An alibi is not a transference.