Ansbacher Lecture Annual Conference of the North American Society for Adlerian Psychology, Victoria, British Columbia, May 12, 2011

Honored leaders, dear colleagues, and welcome guests:

Thank you for this kind reception, for choosing me to deliver this address, and, Steve [Steven A. Maybell, PhD], for your generous words of introduction. I also join these personal thanks to the thanks of this Society for the endowment of this annual lecture in honor of the memory of Heinz and Rowena Ansbacher, made by their sons. Our salute to the four Ansbacher brothers on this present occasion must include, in part, a solemn remembrance of one of the four, Charles, departed this life since the time of our annual meeting one year ago. Beloved in his family, highly honored in his profession, and widely respected for his work as an orchestral conductor, he was as well a teacher, mentor, and encourager to others entering or aspiring to enter upon careers in this demanding field.

In the early days of our Adlerian Society, it was our custom to devote a moment of silence at the start of our annual proceedings in commemoration of all those who had contributed to our life and work, and who had died during the preceding year. This seems an apt time to revive this custom, in gratitude for the legacy we have received from those who went before us and made a way for us to follow in. If you agree, please stand and allow the devotion of a silent moment now. As we hope for ourselves, we wish for them a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace, at the last.

My name is Bob, and I’m an Adlerian. My last address to an annual meeting of the Society was quite a few years ago, and I don’t expect this occasion to get me started in the habit again. First of all, this is a singular and endowed honor, unlikely to be conferred a second time on the same person. Not alone that, but whatever kindly people are wont to say about 80 being the new 60, one is not fooled. The distance from here to the exit is not as extended as that which has stretched from the entrance to this present moment. My personal entrance upon life, by the way, is worth noting here, having occurred in Buffalo, New York, also on the US–Canada border, though more toward the eastern end than my present residence in Port Townsend, toward the western end, just across the water of the Juan de Fuca Strait from here. But I never picked up a Canadian accent? Eh? Should have? Maybe a little?

The phrase “swan song” comes to mind. As you know, it borrows from a very old superstition, mentioned as long ago as in the writings of Plato. The conceit is that the swan, mute through the course of her life, sings out one lovely song just before her demise. It’s a pretty concept, although now I’ve brought it up I can’t say I know how to make it fit, not being someone who is ever described as never having anything to say, much less as mute. In any case, whatever self-flattery this image may be made to yield can be dispelled by invoking a few lines from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who said: “Swans sing before they die; t’were no bad thing / Did certain persons die before they sing.” I hope not to be one of those persons, and so I hurry on to a talk I titled “One Hundred Years in the Shade.” You will recognize in this an effort at artful reference to the history of Adler and Adlerian thought and practice from 1911 until our present time in 2011.

As most of you will remember, 1911 was the year in which tensions and differences disturbed the congenial proceedings of the Vienna Psychoanalytical Society, leading to an open break between Sigmund Freud and Alfred Adler and their respective followers. To those of you who just got here, I must add at once that this is already a description of the events...