PAGE 5

 Scientists use mathematics to analyse the data and help them interpret their results. The types of mathematics used include statistics, which is the analysis of numerical data, and probability, which calculates the likelihood that any particular event will occur.
 Once an experiment has been carried out and data collected and analysed, scientists look for whatever pattern their results produce and try to formulate a hypothesis that explains all the facts observed in an experiment. In developing a hypothesis, scientists employ methods of induction to generalize from the experiment’s results to predict future outcomes, and deduction to infer new facts from experimental results.
 Formulating a hypothesis may be difficult for scientists because there may not be enough information provided by a single experiment, or the experiment’s conclusion may not fit old theories. Sometimes scientists do not have any prior idea of a hypothesis before they start their investigations, but often scientists start out with a working hypothesis that will be proved or disproved by the results of the experiment. Scientific hypotheses can be useful, just as hunches and intuition can be useful in everyday life. But they can also be problematic because they tempt scientists, either deliberately or unconsciously, to favour data that support their ideas. Scientists generally take great care to avoid bias, but it remains an ever - present threat. Throughout the history of science, numerous researchers have fallen into this trap, either in the hope of self-advancement or because they firmly believe their ideas to be true.
 If a hypothesis is borne out by repeated experiments, it becomes a theory—an explanation that seems to fit with the facts consistently. The ability to predict new facts or events is a key test of a scientific theory. In the 17th century German astronomer Johannes Kepler proposed three theories concerning the motions of planets. Kepler’s theories of planetary orbits were confirmed when they were used to predict the future paths of the planets. On the other hand, when theories fail to provide suitable predictions, these failures may suggest new experiments and new explanations that may lead to new discoveries. For instance, in 1928 British microbiologist Frederick Griffith discovered that the genes of dead virulent bacteria could transform harmless bacteria into virulent ones. The prevailing theory at the time was that genes were made of proteins. But studies performed by Canadian-born American bacteriologist Oswald Avery and colleagues in the 1930's repeatedly showed that the transforming gene was active even in bacteria from which protein was removed. The failure to prove that genes were composed of proteins spurred Avery to construct different experiments and by 1944 Avery and his colleagues had found that genes were composed of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA), not proteins.
 If other scientists do not have access to scientific results, the research may as well not have been performed at all. Scientists need to share the results and conclusions of their work so that other scientists can debate the implications of the work and use it to spur new research. Scientists communicate their results with other scientists by publishing them in science journals and by networking with other scientists to discuss findings and debate issues.
 In science, publication follows a formal procedure that has set rules of its own. Scientists describe research in a scientific paper, which explains the methods used, the data collected, and the conclusions that can be drawn. In theory, the paper should be detailed enough to enable any other scientist to repeat the research so that the findings can be independently checked.
 Scientific papers usually begin with a brief summary, or abstract, that describes the findings that follow. Abstracts enable scientists to consult papers quickly, without having to read them in full. At the end of most papers is a list of citations - bibliographic references that acknowledge earlier work that has been drawn on in the course of the research. Citations enable readers to work backwards through a chain of research advancements to verify that each step is soundly based.
 Scientists typically submit their papers to the editorial board of a journal specializing in a particular field of research. Before the paper is accepted for publication, the editorial board sends it out for peer review. During this procedure a panel of experts, or referees, assesses the paper, judging whether or not the research has been carried out in a fully scientific manner. If the referees are satisfied, publication goes ahead. If they have reservations, some of the research may have to be repeated, but if they identify serious flaws, the entire paper may be rejected for publication.
 The peer-review process plays a critical role because it ensures high standards of scientific method. However, it can be a contentious area, as it allows subjective views to become involved. Because scientists are human, they cannot avoid developing personal opinions about the value of each other’s work. Furthermore, because referees tend to be senior figures, they may be less than welcoming to new or unorthodox ideas.
 Once a paper has been accepted and published, it becomes part of the vast and ever-expanding body of scientific knowledge. In the early days of science, new research was always published in printed form, but today scientific information spreads by many different means. Most major journals are now available via the Internet (a network of linked computers), which makes them quickly accessible to scientists all over the world.
 When new research is published, it often acts as a springboard for further work. Its impact can then be gauged by seeing how often the published research appears as a cited work. Major scientific breakthroughs are cited thousands of times a year, but at the other extreme, obscure pieces of research may be cited rarely or not at all. However, citation is not always a reliable guide to the value of scientific work. Sometimes a piece of research will go largely unnoticed, only to be rediscovered in subsequent years. Such was the case for the work on genes done by American geneticist Barbara McClintock during the 1940's. McClintock discovered a new phenomenon in corn cells known as transposable genes, sometimes referred to as jumping genes. McClintock observed that a gene could move from one chromosome to another, where it would break the second chromosome at a particular site, insert itself there, and influence the function of an adjacent gene. Her work was largely ignored until the 1960's when scientists found that transposable genes were a primary means for transferring genetic material in bacteria and more complex organisms. McClintock was awarded the 1983 Nobel Prize in physiology or medicine for her work in transposable genes, more than 35 years after performing the research.
 In addition to publications, scientists form associations with other scientists from particular fields. Many scientific organizations arrange conferences that bring together scientists to share new ideas. At these conferences, scientists present research papers and discuss their implications. In addition, science organizations promote the work of their members by publishing newsletters and Web sites; networking with journalists at newspapers, magazines, and television stations to help them understand new findings; and lobbying lawmakers to promote government funding for research.
 The oldest surviving science organization is the Academia dei Lincei, in Italy, which was established in 1603. The same century also saw the inauguration of the Royal Society of London, founded in 1662, and the Académie des Sciences de Paris, founded in 1666. American scientific societies date back to the 18th century, when American scientist and statesman Benjamin Franklin founded a philosophical club in 1727. In 1743 this organization became the American Philosophical Society, which still exists today.
 In the United States, the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) plays a key role in fostering the public understanding of science and in promoting scientific research. Founded in 1848, it has nearly 300 affiliated organizations, many of which originally developed from AAAS special-interest groups.  Since the late 19th century, communication among scientists has also been improved by international organizations, such as the International Bureau of Weights and Measures, founded in 1873, the International Council of Research, founded in 1919, and the World Health Organization, founded in 1948. Other organizations act as international forums for research in particular fields. For example, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), established in 1988, assesses research on how climate change occurs, and what affects change is likely to have on humans and their environment.
 Classifying sciences involves arbitrary decisions because the universe is not easily split into separate compartments. This article divides science into five major branches: mathematics, physical sciences, earth sciences, life sciences, and social sciences. A sixth branch, technology, draws on discoveries from all areas of science and puts them to practical use. Each of these branches itself consists of numerous subdivisions. Many of these subdivisions, such as astrophysics or biotechnology, combine overlapping disciplines, creating yet more areas of research. For additional information on individual sciences, refer to separate articles highlighted in the text.
 The mathematical sciences investigate the relationships between things that can be measured or quantified in either a real or abstract form. Pure mathematics differs from other sciences because it deals solely with logic, rather than with nature's underlying laws. However, because it can be used to solve so many scientific problems, mathematics is usually considered to be a science itself.
 Central to mathematics is arithmetic, the use of numbers for calculation. In arithmetic, mathematicians combine specific numbers to produce a result. A separate branch of mathematics, called algebra, works in a similar way, but uses general expressions that apply to numbers as a whole. For example, if there are three separate items on a restaurant bill, simple arithmetic produces the total amount to be paid. But the total can also be calculated by using an algebraic formula. A powerful and flexible tool, algebra enables mathematicians to solve highly complex problems in every branch of science.
 Geometry investigates objects and the spaces around them. In its simplest form, it deals with objects in two or three dimensions, such as lines, circles, cubes, and spheres. Geometry can be extended to cover abstractions, including objects in many dimensions. Although we cannot perceive these extra dimensions ourselves, the logic of geometry still holds.
 In geometry, it is easy to work out the exact area of a rectangle or the gradient (slope) of a line, but there are some problems that geometry cannot solve by conventional means. For example, geometry cannot calculate the exact gradient at a point on a curve, or the area that the curve bounds. Scientists find that calculating quantities like this helps them understand physical events, such as the speed of a rocket at any particular moment during its acceleration.
 To solve these problems, mathematicians use calculus, which deals with continuously changing quantities, such as the position of a point on a curve. Its simultaneous development in the 17th century by English mathematician and physicist Isaac Newton and German philosopher and mathematician Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz enabled the solution of many problems that had been insoluble by the methods of arithmetic, algebra, and geometry. Among the advances that calculus helped develop were the determination of Newton’s laws of motion and the theory of electromagnetism.
 The physical sciences investigate the nature and behaviour of matter and energy on a vast range of size and scale. In physics itself, scientists study the relationships between matter, energy, force, and time in an attempt to explain how these factors shape the physical behaviour of the universe. Physics can be divided into many branches. Scientists study the motion of objects, a huge branch of physics known as mechanics that involves two overlapping sets of scientific laws. The laws of classical mechanics govern the behaviour of objects in the macroscopic world, which includes everything from billiard balls to stars, while the laws of quantum mechanics govern the behaviour of the particles that make up individual atoms.
 Other branches of physics focus on energy and its large - scale effects. Thermodynamics is the study of heat and the effects of converting heat into other kinds of energy. This branch of physics has a host of highly practical applications because heat is often used to power machines. Physicists also investigate electrical energy and energy that are carried in electromagnetic waves. These include radio waves, light rays, and X rays - forms of energy that are closely related and that all obey the same set of rules.
 Chemistry is the study of the composition of matter and the way different substances interact—subjects that involve physics on an atomic scale. In physical chemistry, chemists study the way physical laws govern chemical change, while in other branches of chemistry the focus is on particular chemicals themselves. For example, inorganic chemistry investigates substances found in the nonliving world and organic chemistry investigates carbon-based substances. Until the 19th century, these two areas of chemistry were thought to be separate and distinct, but today chemists routinely produce organic chemicals from inorganic raw materials. Organic chemists have learned how to synthesize many substances that are found in nature, together with hundreds of thousands that are not, such as plastics and pesticides. Many organic compounds, such as reserpine, a drug used to treat hypertension, cost less to produce by synthesizing from inorganic raw materials than to isolate from natural sources. Many synthetic medicinal compounds can be modified to make them more effective than their natural counterparts, with less harmful side effects.
 The branch of chemistry known as biochemistry deals solely with substances found in living things. It investigates the chemical reactions that organisms use to obtain energy and the reactions they use to build themselves up. Increasingly, this field of chemistry has become concerned not simply with chemical reactions themselves but also with how the shape of molecules influences the way they work. The result is the new field of molecular biology - one of the fastest-growing sciences today.
 Physical scientists also study matter elsewhere in the universe, including the planets and stars. Astronomy is the science of the heavens in general, while astrophysics is a branch of astronomy that investigates the physical and chemical nature of stars and other objects. Astronomy deals largely with the universe as it appears today, but a related science called cosmology looks back in time to answer the greatest scientific questions of all: how the universe began and how it came to be as it is today.
 The earth sciences examine the structure and composition of our planet, and the physical processes that have helped to shape it. Geology focuses on the structure of Earth, while geography is the study of everything on the planet's surface, including the physical changes that humans have brought about from, for example, farming, mining, or deforestation. Scientists in the field of geomorphology study Earth's present landforms, while mineralogists investigate the minerals in Earth's crust and the way they formed.
 Water dominates Earth's surface, making it an important subject for scientific research. Oceanographers carry out research in the oceans, while scientists working in the field of hydrology investigate water resources on land, a subject of vital interest in areas prone to drought. Glaciologists study Earth's icecaps and mountain glaciers, and the effects that ice have when it forms, melts, or moves. In atmospheric science, meteorology deals with day - to - day changes in weather, but climatology investigates changes in weather patterns over the longer term.
 When living things die their remains are sometimes preserved, creating a rich store of scientific information. Palaeontology is the study of plant and animal remains that have been preserved in sedimentary rock, often millions of years ago. Paleontologists study things long dead and their findings shed light on the history of evolution and on the origin and development of humans. A related science, called palynology, is the study of fossilized spores and pollen grains. Scientists study these tiny structures to learn the types of plants that grew in certain areas during Earth’s history, which also helps identify what Earth’s climates were like in the past.
 The life sciences include all those areas of study that deal with living things. Biology is the general study of the origin, development, structure, function, evolution, and distribution of living things. Biology may be divided into botany, the study of plants; zoology, the study of animals; and microbiology, the study of the microscopic organisms, such as bacteria, viruses, and fungi. Many single-celled organisms play important roles in life processes and thus are important to more complex forms of life, including plants and animals.
 Genetics is the branch of biology that studies the way in which characteristics are transmitted from an organism to its offspring. In the latter half of the 20th century, new advances made it easier to study and manipulate genes at the molecular level, enabling scientists to catalogue all the genes found in each cell of the human body. Exobiology, a new and still speculative field, is the study of possible extraterrestrial life. Although Earth remains the only place known to support life, many believe that it is only a matter of time before scientists discover life elsewhere in the universe.
 While exobiology is one of the newest life sciences, anatomy is one of the oldest. It is the study of plant and animal structures, carried out by dissection or by using powerful imaging techniques. Gross anatomy deals with structures that are large enough to see, while microscopic anatomy deals with much smaller structures, down to the level of individual cells.
 Physiology explores how living things’ work. Physiologists study processes such as cellular respiration and muscle contraction, as well as the systems that keep these processes under control. Their work helps to answer questions about one of the key characteristics of life - the fact that most living things maintain a steady internal state when the environment around them constantly changes.
 Together, anatomy and physiology form two of the most important disciplines in medicine, the science of treating injury and human disease. General medical practitioners have to be familiar with human biology as a whole, but medical science also includes a host of clinical specialties. They include sciences such as cardiology, urology, and oncology, which investigate particular organs and disorders, and pathology, the general study of disease and the changes that it causes in the human body.
 As well as working with individual organisms, life scientists also investigate the way living things interact. The study of these interactions, known as ecology, has become a key area of study in the life sciences as scientists become increasingly concerned about the disrupting effects of human activities on the environment.
 The social sciences explore human society past and present, and the way human beings behave. They include sociology, which investigates the way society is structured and how it functions, as well as psychology, which is the study of individual behaviour and the mind. Social psychology draws on research in both these fields. It examines the way society influence’s people's behaviour and attitudes.
 Another social science, anthropology, looks at humans as a species and examines all the characteristics that make us what we are. These include not only how people relate to each other but also how they interact with the world around them, both now and in the past. As part of this work, anthropologists often carry out long - term studies of particular groups of people in different parts of the world. This kind of research helps to identify characteristics that all human beings share and those that are the products of local culture, learned and handed on from generation to generation.
 The social sciences also include political science, law, and economics, which are products of human society. Although far removed from the world of the physical sciences, all these fields can be studied in a scientific way. Political science and law are uniquely human concepts, but economics has some surprisingly close parallels with ecology. This is because the laws that govern resource use, productivity, and efficiency do not operate only in the human world, with its stock markets and global corporations, but in the nonhuman world as well.
 In technology, scientific knowledge is put to practical ends. This knowledge comes chiefly from mathematics and the physical sciences, and it is used in designing machinery, materials, and industrial processes. In general, this work is known as engineering, a word dating back to the early days of the Industrial Revolution, when an ‘engine’ was any kind of machine.
 Engineering has many branches, calling for a wide variety of different skills. For example, aeronautical engineers need expertise in the science of fluid flow, because aeroplanes fly through air, which is a fluid. Using wind tunnels and computer models, aeronautical engineers strive to minimize the air resistance generated by an aeroplane, while at the same time maintaining a sufficient amount of lift. Marine engineers also need detailed knowledge of how fluids behave, particularly when designing submarines that have to withstand extra stresses when they dive deep below the water’s surface. In civil engineering, stress calculations ensure that structures such as dams and office towers will not collapse, particularly if they are in earthquake zones. In computing, engineering takes two forms: hardware design and software design. Hardware design refers to the physical design of computer equipment (hardware). Software design is carried out by programmers who analyse complex operations, reducing them to a series of small steps written in a language recognized by computers.
 In recent years, a completely new field of technology has developed from advances in the life sciences. Known as biotechnology, it involves such varied activities as genetic engineering, the manipulation of genetic material of cells or organisms, and cloning, the formation of genetically uniform cells, plants, or animals. Although still in its infancy, many scientists believe that biotechnology will play a major role in many fields, including food production, waste disposal, and medicine.
 Science exists because humans have a natural curiosity and an ability to organize and record things. Curiosity is a characteristic shown by many other animals, but organizing and recording knowledge is a skill demonstrated by humans alone.
 During prehistoric times, humans recorded information in a rudimentary way. They made paintings on the walls of caves, and they also carved numerical records on bones or stones. They may also have used other ways of recording numerical figures, such as making knots in leather cords, but because these records were perishable, no traces of them remain. But with the invention of writing about 6,000 years ago, a new and much more flexible system of recording knowledge appeared.
 The earliest writers were the people of Mesopotamia, who lived in a part of present - day Iraq. Initially they used a pictographic script, inscribing tallies and lifelike symbols on tablets of clay. With the passage of time, these symbols gradually developed into cuneiform, a much more stylized script composed of wedge - shaped marks.
 Because clay is durable, many of these ancient tablets still survive. They show that when writing first appeared that the Mesopotamians already had a basic knowledge of mathematics, astronomy, and chemistry, and that they used symptoms to identify common diseases. During the following 2,000 years, as Mesopotamian culture became increasingly sophisticated, mathematics in particular became a flourishing science. Knowledge accumulated rapidly, and by 1000 Bc the earliest private libraries had appeared.
 Southwest of Mesopotamia, in the Nile Valley of northeastern Africa, the ancient Egyptians developed their own form of pictographic script, writing on papyrus, or inscribing text in stone. Written records from 1500 Bc show that, like the Mesopotamians, the Egyptians had a detailed knowledge of diseases. They were also keen astronomers and skilled mathematicians - a fact demonstrated by the almost perfect symmetry of the pyramids and by other remarkable structures they built.
 For the peoples of Mesopotamia and ancient Egypt, knowledge was recorded mainly for practical needs. For example, astronomical observations enabled the development of early calendars, which helped in organizing the farming year. But in ancient Greece, often recognized as the birthplace of Western science, a new kind of scientific enquiry began. Here, philosophers sought knowledge largely for its own sake.
 Thales of Miletus were one of the first Greek philosophers to seek natural causes for natural phenomena. He travelled widely throughout Egypt and the Middle East and became famous for predicting a solar eclipse that occurred in 585 Bc. At a time when people regarded eclipses as ominous, inexplicable, and frightening events, his prediction marked the start of rationalism, a belief that the universe can be explained by reason alone. Rationalism remains the hallmark of science to this day.
 Thales and his successors speculated about the nature of matter and of Earth itself. Thales himself believed that Earth was a flat disk floating on water, but the followers of Pythagoras, one of ancient Greece's most celebrated mathematicians, believed that Earth was spherical. These followers also thought that Earth moved in a circular orbit - not around the Sun but around a central fire. Although flawed and widely disputed, this bold suggestion marked an important development in scientific thought: the idea that Earth might not be, after all, the Centre of the universe. At the other end of the spectrum of scientific thought, the Greek philosopher Leucippus and his student Democritus of Abdera proposed that all matter be made up of indivisible atoms, more than 2,000 years before the idea became a part of modern science.
 As well as investigating natural phenomena, ancient Greek philosophers also studied the nature of reasoning. At the two great schools of Greek philosophy in Athens - the Academy, founded by Plato, and the Lyceum, founded by Plato's pupil Aristotle - students learned how to reason in a structured way using logic. The methods taught at these schools included induction, which involve taking particular cases and using them to draw general conclusions, and deduction, the process of correctly inferring new facts from something already known.
 In the two centuries that followed Aristotle's death in 322 Bc, Greek philosophers made remarkable progress in a number of fields. By comparing the Sun's height above the horizon in two different places, the mathematician, astronomer, and geographer Eratosthenes calculated Earth's circumference, producing a figure accurate to within 1 percent. Another celebrated Greek mathematician, Archimedes, laid the foundations of mechanics. He also pioneered the science of hydrostatics, the study of the behaviour of fluids at rest. In the life sciences, Theophrastus founded the science of botany, providing detailed and vivid descriptions of a wide variety of plant species as well as investigating the germination process in seeds.
 By the 1st century Bc, Roman power was growing and Greek influence had begun to wane. During this period, the Egyptian geographer and astronomer Ptolemy charted the known planets and stars, putting Earth firmly at the Centre of the universe, and Galen, a physician of Greek origin, wrote important works on anatomy and physiology. Although skilled soldiers, lawyers, engineers, and administrators, the Romans had little interest in basic science. As a result, scientific growth made little advancement in the days of the Roman Empire. In Athens, the Lyceum and Academy were closed down in ad 529, bringing the first flowering of rationalism to an end.
 For more than nine centuries, from about ad 500 to 1400, Western Europe made only a minor contribution to scientific thought. European philosophers became preoccupied with alchemy, a secretive and mystical pseudoscience that held out the illusory promise of turning inferior metals into gold. Alchemy did lead to some discoveries, such as sulfuric acid, which was first described in the early 1300s, but elsewhere, particularly in China and the Arab world, much more significant progress in the sciences was made.
 Chinese science developed in isolation from Europe, and followed a different pattern. Unlike the Greeks, who prized knowledge as an end in itself, the Chinese excelled at turning scientific discoveries to practical ends. The list of their technological achievements is dazzling: it includes the compass, invented in about ad 270; wood-block printing, developed around 700, and gunpowder and movable type, both invented around the year 1000. The Chinese were also capable mathematicians and excellent astronomers. In mathematics, they calculated the value of pi to within seven decimal places by the year 600, while in astronomy, one of their most celebrated observations was that of the supernova, or stellar explosion, that took place in the Crab Nebula in 1054. China was also the source of the world's oldest portable star map, dating from about 940.
 The Islamic world, which in medieval times extended as far west as Spain, also produced many scientific breakthroughs. The Arab mathematician Muhammad al - Khw-arizm-i introduced Hindu-Arabic numerals to Europe many centuries after they had been devised in southern Asia. Unlike the numerals used by the Romans, Hindu-Arabic numerals include zero, a mathematical device unknown in Europe at the time. The value of Hindu-Arabic numerals depends on their place: in the number 300, for example, the numeral three is worth ten times as much as in 30. Al - Khw-arizm-i also wrote on algebra (itself derived from the Arab word al-jabr), and his name survives in the word algorithm, a concept of great importance in modern computing.
 In astronomy, Arab observers charted the heavens, giving many of the brightest stars the names we use today, such as Aldebaran, Altair, and Deneb. Arab scientists also explored chemistry, developing methods to manufacture metallic alloys and test the quality and purity of metals. As in mathematics and astronomy, Arab chemists left their mark in some of the names they used - alkali and alchemy, for example, are both words of Arabic origin. Arab scientists also played a part in developing physics. One of the most famous Egyptian physicists, Alhazen, published a book that dealt with the principles of lenses, mirrors, and other devices used in optics. In this work, he rejected the then-popular idea that eyes give out light rays. Instead, he correctly deduced that eyes work when light rays enter the eye from outside.
 In Europe, historians often attribute the rebirth of science to a political event—the capture of Constantinople (now İIstanbul) by the Turks in 1453. At the time, Constantinople was the capital of the Byzantine Empire and a major seat of learning. Its downfall led to an exodus of Greek scholars to the West. In the period that followed, many scientific works, including those originally from the Arab world, were translated into European languages. Through the invention of the movable type printing press by Johannes Gutenberg around 1450, copies of these texts became widely available.
 The Black Death, a recurring outbreak of bubonic plague that began in 1347, disrupted the progress of science in Europe for more than two centuries. But in 1543 two books were published that had a profound impact on scientific progress. One was De Corporis Humani Fabrica (On the Structure of the Human Body, 7 volumes, 1543), by the Belgian anatomist Andreas Vesalius. Vesalius studied anatomy in Italy, and his masterpiece, which was illustrated by superb woodcuts, corrected errors and misunderstandings about the body that had persisted since the time of Galen more than 1,300 years before. Unlike Islamic physicians, whose religion prohibited them from dissecting human cadavers, Vesalius investigated the human body in minute detail. As a result, he set new standards in anatomical science, creating a reference work of unique and lasting value.
 The other book of great significance published in 1543 was De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium (On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres), written by the Polish astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus. In it, Copernicus rejected the idea that Earth was the Centre of the universe, as proposed by Ptolemy in the 1st century Bc. Instead, he set out to prove that Earth, together with the other planets, follows orbits around the Sun. Other astronomers opposed Copernicus's ideas, and more ominously, so did the Roman Catholic Church. In the early 1600's, the church placed the book on a list of forbidden works, where it remained for more than two centuries. Despite this ban and despite the book's inaccuracies (for instance, Copernicus believed that Earth's orbit was circular rather than elliptical), De Revolutionibus remained a momentous achievement. It also marked the start of a conflict between science and religion that has dogged Western thought ever since.
 In the first decade of the 17th century, the invention of the telescope provided independent evidence to support Copernicus's views. Italian physicist and astronomer Galileo Galilei used the new device to remarkable effect. He became the first person to observe satellites circling Jupiter, the first to make detailed drawings of the surface of the Moon, and the first to see how Venus waxes and wanes as it circles the Sun.
 These observations of Venus helped to convince Galileo that Copernicus’s Sun-centred view of the universe had been correct, but he fully understood the danger of supporting such heretical ideas. His Dialogue on the Two Chief World Systems, Ptolemaic and Copernican, published in 1632, was carefully crafted to avoid controversy. Even so, he was summoned before the Inquisition (tribunal established by the pope for judging heretics) the following year and, under threat of torture, forced to recant.
 In less contentious areas, European scientists made rapid progress on many fronts in the 17th century. Galileo himself investigated the laws governing falling objects, and discovered that the duration of a pendulum's swing is constant for any given length. He explored the possibility of using this to control a clock, an idea that his son put into practice in 1641. Two years later another Italian, mathematician and physicist Evangelists Torricelli, made the first barometer. In doing so he discovered atmospheric pressure and produced the first artificial vacuum known to science. In 1650 German physicist Otto von Guericke invented the air pump. He is best remembered for carrying out a demonstration of the effects of atmospheric pressure. Von Guericke joined two large, hollow bronze hemispheres, and then pumped out the air within them to form a vacuum. To illustrate the strength of the vacuum, von Guericke showed how two teams of eight horses pulling in opposite directions could not separate the hemispheres. Yet the hemispheres fell apart as soon as air was let in.
 Throughout the 17th century major advances occurred in the life sciences, including the discovery of the circulatory system by the English physician William Harvey and the discovery of microorganisms by the Dutch microscope maker Antoni van Leeuwenhoek. In England, Robert Boyle established modern chemistry as a full - fledged science, while in France, philosopher and scientist René Descartes made numerous discoveries in mathematics, as well as advancing the case for rationalism in scientific research.
 But the century's greatest achievements came in 1665, when the English physicist and mathematician Isaac Newton fled from Cambridge to his rural birthplace in Woolsthorpe to escape an epidemic of the plague. There, in the course of a single year, he made a series of extraordinary breakthroughs, including new theories about the nature of light and gravitation and the development of calculus. Newton is perhaps best known for his proof that the force of gravity extends throughout the universe and that all objects attract each other with a precisely defined and predictable force. Gravity holds the Moon in its orbit around the Earth and is the principal cause of the Earth’s tides. These discoveries revolutionized how people viewed the universe and they marked the birth of modern science.
 Newton’s work demonstrated that nature was governed by basic rules that could be identified using the scientific method. This new approach to nature and discovery liberated 18th-century scientists from passively accepting the wisdom of ancient writings or religious authorities that had never been tested by experiment. In what became known as the Age of Reason, or the Age of Enlightenment, scientists in the 18th century began to apply rational thought actively, careful observation, and experimentation to solve a variety of problems.
 Advances in the life sciences saw the gradual erosion of the theory of spontaneous generation, a long - head notion that life could spring from nonliving matter. It also brought the beginning of scientific classification, pioneered by the Swedish naturalist Carolus Linnaeus, who classified close to 12,000 living plants and animals into a systematic arrangement.
 By 1700 the first steam engine had been built. Improvements in the telescope enabled German-born British astronomer Sir William Herschel to discover the planet Uranus in 1781. Throughout the 18th century science began to play an increasing role in everyday life. New manufacturing processes revolutionized the way that products were made, heralding the Industrial Revolution. In An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, published in 1776, British economist Adam Smith stressed the advantages of division of labour and advocated the use of machinery to increase production. He urged governments to allow individuals to compete within a free market in order to produce fair prices and maximum social benefit. Smith’s work for the first time gave economics the stature of an independent subject of study and his theories greatly influenced the course of economic thought for more than a century.
 With knowledge in all branches of science accumulating rapidly, scientists began to specialize in particular fields. Specialization did not necessarily mean that discoveries were specializing as well: From the 19th century onward, research began to uncover principles that unite the universe as a whole.
 In chemistry, one of these discoveries was a conceptual one: that all matter is made of atoms. Originally debated in ancient Greece, atomic theory was revived in a modern form by the English chemist John Dalton in 1803. Dalton provided clear and convincing chemical proof that such particles exist. He discovered that each atom has a characteristic mass and that atoms remain unchanged when they combine with other atoms to form compound substances. Dalton used atomic theory to explain why substances always combine in fixed proportions - a field of study known as quantitative chemistry. In 1869 Russian chemist Dmitry Mendeleyev used Dalton’s discoveries about atoms and their behaviour to draw up his periodic table of the elements.
 Other 19th-century discoveries in chemistry included the world's first synthetic fertilizer, manufactured in England in 1842. In 1846 German chemist Christian Schoenbein accidentally developed the powerful and unstable explosive nitrocellulose. The discovery occurred after he had spilled a mixture of nitric and sulfuric acids and then mopped it up with a cotton apron. After the apron had been hung up to dry, it exploded. He later learned that the cellulose in the cotton apron combined with the acids to form a highly flammable explosive.
 In 1828 the German chemist Friedrich Wöhler showed that it was possible to make carbon-containing, organic compounds from inorganic ingredients, a breakthrough that opened up an entirely new field of research. By the end of the 19th century, hundreds of organic compounds had been synthesized, including mauve, magenta, and other synthetic dyes, as well as aspirin, still one of the world's most useful drugs.
 In physics, the 19th century is remembered chiefly for research into electricity and magnetism, which were pioneered by physicists such as Michael Faraday and James Clerk Maxwell of Great Britain. In 1821 Faraday demonstrated that a moving magnet could set an electric current flowing in a conductor. This experiment and others he performed led to the development of electric motors and generators. While Faraday’s genius lay in discovery by experiment, Maxwell produced theoretical breakthroughs of even greater note. Maxwell's famous equations, devised in 1864, uses mathematics to explain the interactions between electric and magnetic fields. His work demonstrated the principles behind electromagnetic waves, created when electric and magnetic fields oscillate simultaneously. Maxwell realized that light was a form of electromagnetic energy, but he also thought that the complete electromagnetic spectrum must include many other forms of waves as well. With the discovery of radio waves by German physicist Heinrich Hertz in 1888 and X rays by German physicist Wilhelm Roentgen in 1895, Maxwell’s ideas were proved correct. In 1897 British physicist Sir Joseph J. Thomson discovered the electron, a subatomic particle with a negative charge. This discovery countered the long - head notion that atoms were the basic unit of matter.
 As in chemistry, these 19th-century discoveries in physics proved to have immense practical value. No one was more adept at harnessing them than American physicist and prolific inventor Thomas Edison. Working from his laboratories in Menlo Park, New Jersey, Edison devised the carbon-granule microphone in 1877, which greatly improved the recently invented telephone. He also invented the phonograph, the electric light bulb, several kinds of batteries, and the electric metre. Edison was granted more than 1,000 patents for electrical devices, a phenomenal feat for a man who had no formal schooling.
 In the earth sciences, the 19th century was a time of controversy, with scientists debating Earth's age. Estimates ranged from less than 100,000 years to several hundred million years. In astronomy, greatly improved optical instruments enabled important discoveries to be made. The first observation of an asteroid, Ceres, took place in 1801. Astronomers had long noticed that Uranus exhibited an unusual orbit. French astronomer Urbain Jean Joseph Leverrier predicted that another planet nearby caused Uranus’s odd orbit. Using mathematical calculations, he narrowed down where such a planet would be located in the sky. In 1846, with the help of German astronomer Johann Galle, Leverrier discovered Neptune. The Irish astronomer William Parsons, the third Earl of Rosse, became the first person to see the spiral form of galaxies beyond our own solar system. He did this with the Leviathan, a 183-cm (72-in) reflecting telescope, built on the grounds of his estate in Parsonstown (now Birr), Ireland, in the 1840s. His observations were hampered by Ireland's damp and cloudy climate, but his gigantic telescope remained the world's largest for more than 70 years.
 In the 19th century the study of microorganisms became increasingly important, particularly after French biologist Louis Pasteur revolutionized medicine by correctly deducing that some microorganisms are involved in disease. In the 1880's Pasteur devised methods of immunizing people against diseases by deliberately treating them with weakened forms of the disease-causing organisms themselves. Pasteur’s vaccine against rabies was a milestone in the field of immunization, one of the most effective forms of preventive medicine the world has yet seen. In the area of industrial science, Pasteur invented the process of pasteurization to help prevent the spread of disease through milk and other foods.
 Also during the 19th century, the Austrian monk Gregor Mendel laid the foundations of genetics, although his work, published in 1866, was not recognized until after the century had closed. But the British scientist Charles Darwin towers above all other scientists of the 19th century. His publication of On the Origin of Species in 1859 marked a major turning point for both biology and human thought. His theory of evolution by natural selection (independently and simultaneously developed by British naturalist Alfred Russel Wallace) initiated a violent controversy that still has not subsided. Particularly controversial was Darwin’s theory that humans resulted from a long process of biological evolution from apelike ancestors. The greatest opposition to Darwin’s ideas came from those who believed that the Bible was an exact and literal statement of the origin of the world and of humans. Although the public initially castigated Darwin’s ideas, by the late 1800s most biologists had accepted that evolution occurred, although not all agreed on the mechanism, known as natural selection, that Darwin proposed.
 In the 20th century, scientists achieved spectacular advances in the fields of genetics, medicine, social sciences, technology, and physics.
 At the beginning of the 20th century, the life sciences entered a period of rapid progress. Mendel's work in genetics was rediscovered in 1900, and by 1910 biologists had become convinced that genes are located in chromosomes, the threadlike structures that contain proteins and deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA). During the 1940s American biochemists discovered that DNA taken from one kind of bacterium could influence the characteristics of another. From these experiments, it became clear that DNA is the chemical that makes up genes and thus the key to heredity.
 After American biochemist James Watson and British biophysicist Francis Crick established the structure of DNA in 1953, geneticists became able to understand heredity in chemical terms. Since then, progress in this field has been astounding. Scientists have identified the complete genome, or genetic catalogue, of the human body. In many cases, scientists now know how individual genes become activated and what affects they have in the human body. Genes can now be transferred from one species to another, side - stepping the normal processes of heredity and creating hybrid organisms that are unknown in the natural world.
 At the turn of the 20th century, Dutch physician Christian Eijkman showed that disease can be caused not only by microorganisms but by a dietary deficiency of certain substances now called vitamins. In 1909 German bacteriologist Paul Ehrlich introduced the world's first bactericide, a chemical designed to kill specific kinds of bacteria without killing the patient's cells as well. Following the discovery of penicillin in 1928 by British bacteriologist Sir Alexander Fleming, antibiotics joined medicine’s chemical armoury, making the fight against bacterial infection almost a routine matter. Antibiotics cannot act against viruses, but vaccines have been used to great effect to prevent some of the deadliest viral diseases. Smallpox, once a worldwide killer, was completely eradicated by the late 1970's, and in the United States the number of polio cases dropped from 38,000 in the 1950's to less than 10 a year by the 21st century.
 By the middle of the 20th century scientists believed they were well on the way to treating, preventing, or eradicating many of the most deadly infectious diseases that had plagued humankind for centuries. But by the 1980s the medical community’s confidence in its ability to control infectious diseases had been shaken by the emergence of new types of disease-causing microorganisms. New cases of tuberculosis developed, caused by bacteria strains that were resistant to antibiotics. New, deadly infections for which there was no known cure also appeared, including the viruses that cause hemorrhagic fever and the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), the cause of acquired immunodeficiency syndrome.
 In other fields of medicine, the diagnosis of disease has been revolutionized by the use of new imaging techniques, including magnetic resonance imaging and computed tomography. Scientists were also on the verge of success in curing some diseases using gene therapy, in which the insertions of normal or genetically altered genes into a patient’s cells replace nonfunctional or missing genes.
 Improved drugs and new tools have made surgical operations that were once considered impossible now routine. For instance, drugs that suppress the immune system enable the transplant of organs or tissues with a reduced risk of rejection. Endoscopy permits the diagnosis and surgical treatment of a wide variety of ailments using minimally invasive surgery. Advances in high - speed fibreoptic connections permit surgery on a patient using robotic instruments controlled by surgeons at another location. Known as telemedicine, this form of medicine makes it possible for skilled physicians to treat patients in remote locations or places that lack medical help.
 In the 20th century the social sciences emerged from relative obscurity to become prominent fields of research. Austrian physician Sigmund Freud founded the practice of psychoanalysis, creating a revolution in psychology that led him to be called the ‘Copernicus of the mind.’ In 1948 the American biologist Alfred Kinsey published Sexual Behaviour in the Human Male, which proved to be one of the best - selling scientific works of all time. Although criticized for his methodology and conclusions, Kinsey succeeded in making human sexuality an acceptable subject for scientific research.
 The 20th century also brought dramatic discoveries in the field of anthropology, with new fossil finds helping to piece together the story of human evolution. A completely new and surprising source of anthropological information became available from studies of the DNA in mitochondria, cell structures that provide energy to fuel the cell’s activities. Mitochondrial DNA has been used to track certain genetic diseases and to trace the ancestry of a variety of organisms, including humans.
 In the field of communications, Italian electrical engineer Guglielmo Marconi sent his first radio signal across the Atlantic Ocean in 1901. American inventor Lee De Forest invented the triode, or vacuum tube, in 1906. The triode eventually became a key component in nearly all early radio, radar, television, and computer systems. In 1920 Scottish engineer John Logie Baird developed the Baird Televisor, a primitive television that provided the first transmission of a recognizable moving image. In the 1920's and 1930's American electronic engineer Vladimir Kosma Zworykin significantly improved the television’s picture and reception. In 1935 British physicist Sir Robert Watson-Watt used reflected radio waves to locate aircraft in flight. Radar signals have since been reflected from the Moon, planets, and stars to learn their distance from Earth and to track their movements.
 In 1947 American physicists John Bardeen, Walter Brattain, and William Shockley invented the transistor, an electronic device used to control or amplify an electrical current. Transistors are much smaller, far less expensive, require less power to operate, and are considerably more reliable than triodes. Since their first commercial use in hearing aids in 1952, transistors have replaced triodes in virtually all applications.
 During the 1950's and early 1960's minicomputers were developed using transistors rather than triodes. Earlier computers, such as the electronic numerical integrator and computer (ENIAC), first introduced in 1946 by American physicist John W. Mauchly and American electrical engineer John Presper Eckert, Jr., used as many as 18,000 triodes and filled a large room. But the transistor initiated a trend toward microminiaturization, in which individual electronic circuits can be reduced to microscopic size. This drastically reduced the computer's size, cost, and power requirements and eventually enabled the development of electronic circuits with processing speeds measured in billionths of a second.
 Further miniaturization led in 1971 to the first microprocessor - a computer on a chip. When combined with other specialized chips, the microprocessor becomes the central arithmetic and logic unit of a computer smaller than a portable typewriter. With their small size and a price less than that of a used car, today’s personal computers are many times more powerful than the physically huge, multimillion-dollar computers of the 1950’s. Once used only by large businesses, computers are now used by professionals, small retailers, and students to perform a wide variety of everyday tasks, such as keeping data on clients, tracking budgets, and writing school reports. People also use computers to interface with worldwide communications networks, such as the Internet and the World Wide Web, to send and receive E - mail, to shop, or to find information on just about any subject.
 During the early 1950's public interest in space exploration developed. The focal event that opened the space age was the International Geophysical Year from July 1957 to December 1958, during which hundreds of scientists around the world coordinated their efforts to measure the Earth’s near-space environment. As part of this study, both the United States and the Soviet Union announced that they would launch artificial satellites into orbit for nonmilitary space activities.
 When the Soviet Union launched the first Sputnik satellite in 1957, the feat spurred the United States to intensify its own space exploration efforts. In 1958 the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) was founded for the purpose of developing human spaceflight. Throughout the 1960s NASA experienced its greatest growth. Among its achievements, NASA designed, manufactured, tested, and eventually used the Saturn rocket and the Apollo spacecraft for the first manned landing on the Moon in 1969. In the 1960s and 1970's, NASA also developed the first robotic space probes to explore the planet’s Mercury, Venus, and Mars. The success of the Mariner probes paved the way for the unmanned exploration of the outer planets in Earth’s solar system.
 In the 1970's through 1990's, NASA focussed its space exploration efforts on a reusable space shuttle, which was first deployed in 1981. In 1998 the space shuttle, along with its Russian counterpart known as Soyuz, became the workhorses that enabled the construction of the International Space Station.
 In 1900 the German physicist Max Planck proposed the then sensational idea that energy be not divisible but is always given off in set amounts, or quanta. Five years later, German-born American physicist Albert Einstein successfully used quanta to explain the photoelectric effect, which is the release of electrons when metals are bombarded by light. This, together with Einstein's special and general theories of relativity, challenged some of the most fundamental assumptions of the Newtonian era.
 Unlike the laws of classical physics, quantum theory deals with events that occur on the smallest of scales. Quantum theory explains how subatomic particles form atoms, and how atoms interact when they combine to form chemical compounds. Quantum theory deals with a world where the attributes of any single particle can never be completely known - an idea known as the uncertainty principle, put forward by the German physicist Werner Heisenberg in 1927. But while there is uncertainty on the subatomic level, quantum physics successfully predicts the overall outcome of subatomic events, a fact that firmly relates it to the macroscopic world - that is, the one in which we live.
 In 1934 Italian-born American physicist Enrico Fermi began a series of experiments in which he used neutrons (subatomic particles without an electric charge) to bombard atoms of various elements, including uranium. The neutrons combined with the nuclei of the uranium atoms to produce what he thought were elements heavier than uranium, known as transuranium elements. In 1939 other scientists demonstrated that in these experiments’ Fermi had not formed heavier elements, but instead had achieved the splitting, or fission, of the uranium atom's nucleus. These early experiments led to the development of fission as both an energy source and a weapon.
 These fission studies, coupled with the development of particle accelerators in the 1950's, initiated a long and remarkable journey into the nature of subatomic particles that continues today. Far from being indivisible, scientists now know that atoms are made up of 12 fundamental particles known as quarks and leptons, which combine in different ways to make all the kinds of matter currently known.
 Advances in particle physics have been closely linked to progress in cosmology. From the 1920's onward, when the American astronomer Edwin Hubble showed that the universe is expanding, cosmologists have sought to rewind the clock and establish how the universe began. Today, most scientists believe that the universe started with a cosmic explosion some time between 10 and 20 billion years ago.  However, the exact sequence of events surrounding its birth, and its ultimate fate, are still matters of ongoing debate.
 Particle Accelerators, in physics, are the devices used to accelerate charged elementary particles or ions to high energies. Particle accelerators today are some of the largest and most expensive instruments used by physicists. They all have the same three basic parts: a source of elementary particles or ions, a tube pumped to a partial vacuum in which the particles can travel freely, and some means of speeding up the particles.
 Charged particles can be accelerated by an electrostatic field. For example, by placing electrodes with a large potential difference at each end of an evacuated tube, British scientists’ John D. Cockcroft and Ernest Thomas Sinton Walton were able to accelerate protons to 250,000 eV. Another electrostatic accelerator is the Van de Graaff accelerator, which was developed in the early 1930's by the American physicist Robert Jemison Van de Graaff. This accelerator uses the same principles as the Van de Graaff Generator. The Van de Graaff accelerator builds up a potential between two electrodes by transporting charges on a moving belt. Modern Van de Graaff accelerators can accelerate particles to energies as high as 15 MeV (15 million electron volts).
 Another machine, first conceived in the late 1920's, is the linear accelerator, or linac, which uses alternating voltages of high magnitude to push particles along in a straight line. Particles pass through a line of hollow metal tubes enclosed in an evacuated cylinder. An alternating voltage is timed so that a particle is pushed forward each time it goes through a gap between two of the metal tubes. Theoretically, a linac of any energy can be built. The largest linac in the world, at Stanford University, is 3.2 km. (2 mi.) long. It is capable of accelerating electrons to an energy of 50 GeV (50 billion, or giga, electron volts). Stanford's linac is designed to collide two beams of particles accelerated on different tracks of the accelerator.
 The American physicist Ernest O. Lawrence won the 1939 Nobel Prize in physics for a breakthrough in accelerator design in the early 1930's. He developed the cyclotron, the first circular accelerator. A cyclotron is somewhat like a linac wrapped into a tight spiral. Instead of many tubes, the machine had only two hollow vacuum chambers, called dees, that are shaped like capital letter Ds back to back. A magnetic field, produced by a powerful electromagnet, keeps the particles moving in a circle. Each time the charged particles pass through the gap between the dees, they are accelerated. As the particles gain energy, they spiral out toward the edge of the accelerator until they gain enough energy to exit the accelerator. The world's most powerful cyclotron, the K1200, began operating in 1988 at the National Superconducting Cyclotron Laboratory at Michigan State University. The machine is capable of accelerating nuclei to an energy approaching 8 GeV.
 When nuclear particles in a cyclotron gain an energy of 20 MeV or more, they become appreciably more massive, as predicted by the theory of relativity. This tends to slow them and throws the acceleration pulses at the gaps between the dees out of phase. A solution to this problem was suggested in 1945 by the Soviet physicist Vladimir I. Veksler and the American physicist Edwin M. McMillan. The solution, the synchrocyclotron, is sometimes called the frequency-modulated cyclotron. In this instrument, the oscillator (radio - frequency generator) that accelerates the particles around the dees is automatically adjusted to stay in step with the accelerated particles; as the particles gain mass, the frequency of accelerations is lowered slightly to keep in step with them. As the maximum energy of a synchrocyclotron increases, so must its size, for the particles must have more space in which to spiral. The largest synchrocyclotron is the 600-cm. (236-in.) phasotron at the Dubna Joint Institute for Nuclear Research in Russia; it accelerates protons to more than 700 MeV and has magnets weighing 6984 metric tons (7200 tons).
 When electrons are accelerated, they undergo a large increase in mass at a relatively low energy. At 1 MeV energy, an electron weighs two and one - half times as much as an electron at rest. Synchrocyclotrons cannot be adapted to make allowance for such large increases in mass. Therefore, another type of cyclic accelerator, the betatron, is employed to accelerate electrons. The betatron consists of a doughnut-shaped evacuated chamber placed between the poles of an electromagnet. The electrons are kept in a circular path by a magnetic field called a guide field. By applying an alternating current to the electromagnet, the electromotive force induced by the changing magnetic flux through the circular orbit accelerates the electrons. During operation, both the guide field and the magnetic flux are varied to keep the radius of the orbit of the electrons constant.
 The synchrotron is the most recent and most powerful member of the accelerator family. A synchrotron consists of a tube in the shape of a large ring through which the particles travel; the tube is surrounded by magnets that keep the particles moving through the centre of the tube. The particles enter the tube after having already been accelerated to several million electron volts. Particles are accelerated at one or more points on the ring each time the particles make a complete circle around the accelerator. To keep the particles in a rigid orbit, the strengths of the magnets in the ring are increased as the particles gain energy. In a few seconds, the particles reach energies greater than 1 GeV and are ejected, either directly into experiments or toward targets that produce a variety of elementary particles when struck by the accelerated particles. The synchrotron principle can be applied to either protons or electrons, although most of the large machines are proton-synchrotrons.
 The first accelerator to exceed the 1 GeV mark was the cosmotron, a proton-synchrotron at Brookhaven National Laboratory, in Brookhaven, New York. The cosmotron was operated at 2.3 GeV in 1952 and later increased to 3 GeV. In the mid-1960's, two operating synchrotrons were regularly accelerating protons to energies of about 30 GeV. These were the Alternating Gradient Synchrotron at Brookhaven National Laboratory, and a similar machine near Geneva, Switzerland, operated by CERN (also known as the European Organization for Nuclear Research). By the early 1980s, the two largest proton-synchrotrons were a 500-GeV device at CERN and a similar one at the Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory (Fermilab) near Batavia, Illinois. The capacity of the latter, called Tevatron, was increased to a potential 1 TeV (trillion, or tera, eV) in 1983 by installing superconducting magnets, making it the most powerful accelerator in the world. In 1989, CERN began operating the Large-Electron Positron Collider (LEP), a 27-km (16.7-mi) rings that can accelerate electrons and positrons to an energy of 50 GeV.
 A storage ring collider accelerator is a synchrotron that produces more energetic collisions between particles than a conventional synchrotron, which slams accelerated particles into a stationary target. A storage ring collider accelerates two sets of particles that rotate in opposite directions in the ring, then collides the two set of particles. CERN's Large Electron-Positron Collider is a storage ring collider. In 1987, Fermilab converted the Tevatron into a storage ring collider and installed a three-story-high detector that observed and measured the products of the head - on particle collisions.
 As powerful as today's storage ring colliders are, physicists need even more powerful devices to test today's theories. Unfortunately, building larger rings is extremely expensive. CERN is considering building the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in the existing 27-km (16.7-mi) tunnel that currently houses the Large Electron-Positron Collider. In 1988, the United States began planning for the construction of the Superconducting Super Collider (SSC) near Waxahachie, Texas. The SSC was to be an enormous storage ring collider accelerator 87 km (54 mi) long. However, after about one - fifth of the tunnel had been completed, the Congress of the United States voted to cancel the project in October 1993, as a result of the accelerator's projected cost of more than $10 billion.
 Accelerators are used to explore atomic nuclei, thereby allowing nuclear scientists to identify new elements and to explain phenomena that affect the entire nucleus. Machines exceeding 1 GeV are used to study the fundamental particles that compose the nucleus. Several hundred of these particles have been identified. High - energy physicists hope to discover rules or principles that will permit an orderly arrangement of the proportion of subnuclear particles. Such an arrangement would be as useful to nuclear science as the periodic table of the chemical elements is to chemistry. Fermilab's accelerator and collider detector permit scientists to study violent particle collisions that mimic the state of the universe when it was just microseconds old. Continued study of their findings should increase scientific understanding of the makeup of the universe.
 In addition, Particle Detectors, are described as  instruments used to detect and study fundamental nuclear particles, as these detectors range in complexity from the well - known portable Geiger counter to room-sized spark and bubble chambers.
 One of the first detectors to be used in nuclear physics was the ionization chamber, which consists essentially of a closed vessel containing a gas and equipped with two electrodes at different electrical potentials. The electrodes, depending on the type of instrument, may consist of parallel plates or coaxial cylinders, or the walls of the chamber may act as one electrode and a wire or rod inside the chamber act as the other. When ionizing particles of radiation enter the chamber they ionize the gas between the electrodes. The ions that are thus produced migrate to the electrodes of opposite sign (negatively charged ions move toward the positive electrode, and vice versa), creating a current that may be amplified and measured directly with an electrometer - an electroscope equipped with a scale - or amplified and recorded by means of electronic circuits.
 Ionization chambers adapted to detect individual ionizing particles of radiation are called counters. The Geiger-Müller counter is one of the most versatile and widely used instruments of this type. It was developed by the German physicist Hans Geiger from an instrument first devised by Geiger and the British physicist Ernest Rutherford; it was improved in 1928 by Geiger and by the German American physicist Walther Müller. The counting tube is filled with a gas or a mixture of gases at low pressure, the electrodes being the thin metal wall of the tube and a fine wire, usually made of tungsten, stretched lengthwise along the axis of the tube. A strong electric field maintained between the electrodes accelerates the ions; these then collide with atoms of the gas, detaching electrons and thus producing more ions. When the voltage was raised sufficiently, the rapidly increasing current produced by a single particle sets off a discharge throughout the counter. The pulse caused by each particle is amplified electronically and then actuates a loudspeaker or a mechanical or electronic counting device.
 Detectors that enable researchers to observe the tracks that particles leave behind are called track detectors. Spark and bubble chambers are track detectors, as are the cloud chamber and nuclear emulsions. Nuclear emulsions resemble photographic emulsions but are thicker and not as sensitive to light. A charged particle passing through the emulsion ionizes silver grains along its track. These grains become black when the emulsion is developed and can be studied with a microscope.
 The fundamental principle of the cloud chamber was discovered by the British physicist C. T. R. Wilson in 1896, although an actual instrument was not constructed until 1911. The cloud chamber consists of a vessel several centimetres or more in diameter, with a glass window on one side and a movable piston on the other. The piston can be dropped rapidly to expand the volume of the chamber. The chamber is usually filled with dust-free air saturated with water vapour. Dropping the piston causes the gas to expand rapidly and causes its temperature to fall. The air is now supersaturated with water vapour, but the excess vapour cannot condense unless ions are present. Charged nuclear or atomic particles produce such ions, and any such particles passing through the chamber leave behind them a trail of ionized particles upon which the excess water vapour will condense, thus making visible the course of the charged particle. These tracks can be photographed and the photographs then analysed to provide information on the characteristics of the particles.
 Because the paths of electrically charged particles are bent or deflected by a magnetic field, and the amount of deflection depends on the energy of the particle, a cloud chamber is often operated within a magnetic field. The tracks of negatively and positively charged particles will curve in opposite directions. By measuring the radius of curvature of each track, its velocity can be determined. Heavy nuclei such as alpha particles form thick and dense tracks, protons form tracks of medium thickness, and electrons form thin and irregular tracks. In a later refinement of Wilson's design, called a diffusion cloud chamber, a permanent layer of supersaturated vapour is formed between warm and cold regions. The layer of supersaturated vapour is continuously sensitive to the passage of particles, and the diffusion cloud chamber does not require the expansion of a piston for its operation. Although the cloud chamber has now been supplanted almost entirely by the bubble chamber and the spark chamber, it was used in making many important discoveries in nuclear physics.
 The bubble chamber, invented in 1952 by the American physicist Donald Glaser, is similar in operation to the cloud chamber. In a bubble chamber a liquid is momentarily superheated to a temperature just above its boiling point. For an instant the liquid will not boil unless some impurity or disturbance is introduced. High - energy particles provide such a disturbance. Tiny bubbles form along the tracks as these particles pass through the liquid. If a photograph is taken just after the particles have crossed the chamber, these bubbles will make visible the paths of the particles. As with the cloud chamber, a bubble chamber placed between the poles of a magnet can be used to measure the energies of the particles. Many bubble chambers are equipped with superconducting magnets instead of conventional magnets. Bubble chambers filled with liquid hydrogen allow the study of interactions between the accelerated particles and the hydrogen nuclei.
 In a spark chamber, incoming high - energy particles ionize the air or a gas between plates and wire grids that are kept alternately positively and negatively charged. Sparks jump along the paths of ionization and can be photographed to show particle tracks. In some spark-chamber installations, information on particle tracks is fed directly into electronic computer circuits without the necessity of photography. A spark chamber can be operated quickly and selectively. The instrument can be set to record particle tracks only when a particle of the type that the researchers want to study is produced in a nuclear reaction. This advantage is important in studies of the rarer particles; spark-chamber pictures, however, lack the resolution and detail of bubble-chamber pictures.
 The scintillation counter functions by the ionization produced by charged particles moving at high speed within certain transparent solids and liquids, known as scintillating materials, causing flashes of visible light. The gases’ argon, krypton, and xenon produces ultraviolet light, and hence are used in scintillation counters. A primitive scintillation device, known as the spinthariscope, was invented in the early 1990s and was of considerable importance in the development of nuclear physics. The spinthariscope required, however, the counting of the scintillations by eye. Because of the uncertainties of this method, physicists turned to other detectors, including the Geiger-Müller counter. The scintillation method was revived in 1947 by placing the scintillating material in front of a photo multiplier tube, a type of photoelectric cell. The light flashes are converted into electrical pulses that can be amplified and recorded electronically.
 Various organic and inorganic substances such as plastic, zinc sulfide, sodium iodide, and anthracene are used as scintillating materials. Certain substances react more favourably to specific types of radiation than others, making possible highly diversified instruments. The scintillation counter is superior to all other radiation-detecting devices in a number of fields of current research. It has replaced the Geiger-Müller counter in the detection of biological tracers and as a surveying instrument in prospecting for radioactive ores. It is also used in nuclear research, notably in the investigation of such particles as the antiproton, the meson Elementary Particles, and the neutrino. One such counter, the Crystal Ball, has been in use since 1979 for advanced particle research, first at the Stanford Linear Accelerator Centre and, since 1982, at the German Electron Synchrotron Laboratory (DESY) in Hamburg, Germany. The Crystal Ball is a hollow crystal sphere, about 2.1 m. (7 ft.) wide, that is surrounded by 730 sodium iodide crystals.
 Many other types of interactions between matter and elementary particles are used in detectors. Thus in semiconductor detectors, electron-hole pairs that elementary particles produce in a semiconductor junction momentarily increase the electric conduction across the junction. The Cherenkov detector, on the other hand, makes use of the effect discovered by the Russian physicist Pavel Alekseyevich Cherenkov in 1934: A particle emits light when it passes through a nonconducting medium at a velocity higher than the velocity of light in that medium (the velocity of light in glass, for example, is lower than the velocity of light in vacuum). In Cherenkov detectors, materials such as glass, plastic, water, or carbon dioxide serve as the medium in which the light flashes are produced. As in scintillation counters, the light flashes are detected with photo multiplier tubes.
 Neutral particles such as neutrons or neutrinos can be detected by nuclear reactions that occur when they collide with nuclei of certain atoms. Slow neutrons produce easily detectable alpha particles when they collide with boron nuclei in borontrifluoride. Neutrinos, which barely interact with matter, are detected in huge tanks containing perchloroethylene (C2CI4, a dry - cleaning fluid). The neutrinos that collide with chlorine nuclei produce radioactive argon nuclei. The perchloroethylene tank is flushed at regular intervals, and the newly formed argon atoms, presents in minute amounts, is counted. This type of neutrino detector, placed deep underground to shield against cosmic radiation, is currently used to measure the neutrino flux from the sun. Neutrino detectors may also take the form of scintillation counters, the tank in this case being filled with an organic liquid that emits light flashes when traversed by electrically charged particles produced by the interaction of neutrinos with the liquid's molecules.
 The detectors now being developed for use with the storage rings and colliding particle beams of the most recent generation of accelerators are bubble-chamber types known as time-projection chambers. They can measure three-dimensionally the tracks produced by particles from colliding beams, with supplementary detectors to record other particles resulting from the high - power collisions. The Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory's CDF (Collision Detector Fermilab) is used with its colliding-beam accelerator to study head - on particle collisions. CDF's three different systems can capture or account for nearly all of the subnuclear fragments released in such violent collisions.
 High - energy particle physicists are using particle accelerators measuring 8 km. (5 mi.) across to study something billions of times too small to see. Why? To find out what everything is made of and where it comes from. These physicists are constructing and testing new theories about objects called superstrings. Superstrings may explain the nature of space and time and of everything in them, from the light you are using to read these words to black holes so dense that they can capture light forever. Possibly the smallest objects allowed by the laws of physics, superstrings may tell us about the largest event of all time: the big bang, and the creation of the universe!
 These are exciting ideas, still strange to most people. For the past 100 years physicists have descended to deeper and deeper levels of structure, into the heart of matter and energy and of existence itself. Read on to follow their progress.
 The world around us, full of books, computers, mountains, lakes, and people, is made by rearranging slightly more than 100 chemical elements. Oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen are elements especially important to living things; silicon is especially important to computer chips.
 The smallest recognizable form in which a chemical element occurs is the atom, and the atoms of one element are unlike the atoms of any other element. Every atom has a small core called a nucleus around which electrons swarm. Electrons, tiny particles with a negative electrical charge, determine the chemical properties of an element - that is, how it interacts with other atoms to make the things around us. Electrons also are what move through wires to make light, heat, and video games.
 In 1869, before anyone knew anything about nuclei or electrons, Russian chemist Dmitry Mendeleyev grouped the elements according to their physical qualities and discovered the periodic law. He was able to predict the qualities of elements that had not yet been discovered. By the early 1900s scientists had discovered the nucleus and electrons.
 Atoms stick together and form larger objects called molecules because of a force called electromagnetism. The best - known form of electromagnetism is radiation: light, radio waves, X rays, and infrared and ultraviolet radiation.
 Modern physics starts with light and other forms of electromagnetic radiation. In 1900 German physicist Max Planck proposed the quantum theory, which says that light comes in units of energy called quanta. As we will explain, these units of light are waves and they are also particles. Light is simultaneously energy and matter. And so is everything else.
 It was Albert Einstein who first proposed (in 1905) that Planck's units of light can be considered particles. He named these particles photons. In the same year, Einstein published what is known as the special theory of relativity. According to this theory, the speed of light is actually the fastest that anything in the universe can go, and all forms of electromagnetic radiation are forms of light, moving at the same speed.
 What differentiates radio waves, visible light, and X ray is their energy. This energy is directly related to the wave’s length. Light waves, like ocean waves, have peaks and troughs that repeat at regular intervals, and wavelength is the distance between each pair of peaks (or troughs). The shorter the wavelength, the higher the energy.
 How does this relate to our story? It turns out that the process by which electrons interact is an exchange of photons (particles of light). Therefore we can study electrons by probing them with photons.
 To understand really what things are made of, we must probe them or move them around and thus learn how they work. In the case of electrons, physicists probe them with photons, the particles that carry the electromagnetic force.
 While some physicists studied electrons and photons, others pondered and probed the atomic nucleus. The nucleus of each chemical element contains a distinctive number of positively charged protons and a number of uncharged neutrons that can vary slightly from atom to atom. Protons and neutrons are the source of radioactivity and of nuclear energy. In 1964 physicists suggested that protons and neutrons are made of still smaller particles they called quarks.
 Probing protons and neutrons requires particles with extremely high energies. Particle accelerators are large machines for bringing particles to these high energies. These machines have to be big, because they accelerate particles by applying force many times, over long distances. Some particle accelerators are the largest machines ever constructed. This is rather ironic given that these are delicate scientific instruments designed to probe the shortest distances ever investigated.
 The proposal and acceptance of quarks were a major step in putting together what is called the standard model of particles and forces. This unified theory describes all of the fundamental particles, from which everything is made, and how they interact. There are twelve kinds of fundamental particles: six kinds of quarks and six kinds of leptons, including the electron.
 Four forces are believed to control all the interactions of these fundamental particles. They are the strong force, which holds the nucleus together; the weak force, responsible for radioactivity; the electromagnetic force, which provides electric charge and binds electrons to atomic nuclei; and gravitation, which holds us on Earth. The standard model identifies a force-carrying particle to correspond with three of these forces. The photon, for example, carries the electromagnetic force. Physicists have not yet detected a particle that carries gravitation.
 Powerful mathematical techniques called gauge field theories allow physicists to describe, calculate, and predict the interactions of these particles and forces. Gauge theories combine quantum physics and special relativity into consistent equations that produce extremely accurate results. The extraordinary precision of quantum electrodynamics, for example, has filled our world with ultrareliable lasers and transistors.
 The mathematical rules that come together in the standard model can explain every particle physics phenomenon that we have ever seen. Physicists can explain forces; they can explain particles. But they cannot yet explain why forces and particles are what they are. Basic properties, such as the speed of light, must be taken from measurements. And physicists cannot yet provide a satisfactory description of gravity.
 The basic behaviour of gravity was taught to us by English physicist Sir Isaac Newton. After creating the basics of quantum physics in his theory of special relativity, Albert Einstein in 1915 clarified and extended Newton’s explanation with his own description of gravity, known as general relativity. Not even Einstein, however, could bring the two theories of relativity into a single unified field theory. Since everything else is governed by quantum physics on small scales, what is the quantum theory of gravity? No one has yet proposed a satisfactory answer to this question. Physicists have been trying to find one for a long time.
 At first, this might not seem to be an important problem. Compared with other forces, gravity is extremely weak. We are aware of its action in everyday life because its pull corresponds to mass, and Earth has a huge amount of mass and hence a big gravitational pull. Fundamental particles have tiny masses and hence a minuscule gravitational pull. So couldn’t we just ignore gravity when studying fundamental particles? The ability to ignore gravity on this scale is why we have made so much progress in particle physics over so many years without possessing a theory of quantum gravity.
 There are several reasons, however, why we cannot ignore gravity forever. One reason is simply that scientists want to know the whole story. A second reason is that gravity, as Einstein taught us, is the essential physics of space and time. If this physics is not subject to the same quantum laws that any other physics is subject to, something is wrong somewhere. A third reason is that an understanding of quantum gravity is necessary to deal with some important questions in cosmology - for example, how did the universe get to be the way it is, and why did galaxies form?
 Gravitation has been shown to spread in waves, and physicists theorize the existence of a corresponding particle, the graviton. The force of gravity, like everything else, has a natural quantum length. For gravity it is about 10-31 m. This is about a million billion times smaller than a proton.
 We can't build an accelerator to probe that distance using today’s technology, because the proportions of size and energy show that it would stretch from here to the stars! But we know that the universe began with the big bang, when all matter and force originated. Everything we know about today follows from the period after the big bang, when the universe expanded. Everything we know indicates that in the fractions of a second following the big bang, the universe was extremely small and dense. At some earliest time, the entire universe was no larger across than the quantum length of gravity. If we are to understand the true nature of where everything comes from and how it really fits together, we must understand quantum gravity!
 These questions may seem almost metaphysical. Physicists now suspect that research in this direction will answer many other questions about the standard model - such as why are there are so many different fundamental particles. Other questions are more immediately practical. Our control of technology arises from our understanding of particles and forces. Answers to physicists’ questions could increase computing power or help us find new sources of energy. They will shape the 21st century as quantum physics has shaped the 20th.
 Among the most promising new theories is the idea that everything is made of fundamental ‘strings,’ rather than of another layer of tiny particles. The best analogy for these minute entities is a guitar or violin string, which vibrates to produce notes of different frequencies and wavelengths. Superstring theory proposes that if we were able to look closely enough at a fundamental particle - at quantum-length distances - we would see a tiny, vibrating loop!
 In this view, all the different types of fundamental particles that we find in the standard model are really just different vibrations of the same string, which can split and join in ways that change its evident nature. This is the case not only for particles of matter, such as quarks and electrons, but also for force-carrying particles, such as photons.
 This is a very clever idea, since it unifies everything we have learned in a simple way. In its details, the theory is extremely complicated but very promising. For example, the superstring theory very naturally describes the graviton among its vibrations, and it also explains the quantum properties of many types of black holes. There are also signs that the quantum length of gravity is really the smallest physically possible distance. Below this scale, points in space and time are no longer connected in sequence, so distances cannot be measured or described. The very notions of space, time, and distance seem to stop making sense.
 Recent discoveries have shown that the five leading versions of superstring theory are all contained within a powerful complex known as M-Theory. M-Theory says that entities mathematically resembling membranes and other extended objects may also be important. The end of the story has not yet been written, however. Physicists are still working out the details, and it will take many years to be confident that this approach is correct and comprehensive. Much remains to be learned, and surprises are guaranteed. In the quest to probe these small distances, experimentally and theoretically, our understanding of nature is forever enriched, and we approach at least a part of ultimate truth.
 Elementary Particles, in physics, are particles that cannot be broken down into any other particles. The term elementary particles also are used more loosely to include some subatomic particles that are composed of other particles. Particles that cannot be broken further are sometimes called fundamental particles to avoid confusion. These fundamental particles provide the basic units that make up all matter and energy in the universe.
 Scientists and philosophers have sought to identify and study elementary particles since ancient times. Aristotle and other ancient Greek philosophers believed that all things were composed of four elementary materials: fire, water, air, and earth. People in other ancient cultures developed similar notions of basic substances. As early scientists began collecting and analysing information about the world, they showed that these materials were not fundamental but were made of other substances.
 In the 1800s British physicist John Dalton was so sure he had identified the most basic objects that he called them atoms (from the Greek word for ‘indivisible’). By the early 1900s scientists were able to break apart these atoms into particles that they called the electron and the nucleus. Electrons surround the dense nucleus of an atom. In the 1930s, researchers showed that the nucleus consists of smaller particles, called the proton and the neutron. Today, scientists have evidence that the proton and neutron are themselves made up of even smaller particles, called quarks.
 Scientists now believe that quarks and three other types of particles - leptons, force-carrying bosons, and the Higgs boson - are truly fundamental and cannot be split into anything smaller. In the 1960s American physicists Steven Weinberg and Sheldon Glashow and Pakistani physicist Abdus Salam developed a mathematical description of the nature and behaviour of elementary particles. Their theory, known as the standard model of particle physics, has greatly advanced understanding of the fundamental particles and forces in the universe. Yet some questions about particles remain unanswered by the standard model, and physicists continue to work toward a theory that would explain even more about particles.
 Everything in the universe, from elementary particles and atoms to people, houses, and planets, can be classified into one of two categories: fermions (pronounced FUR-me-onz) or bosons (pronounced BO-zonz). The behaviour of a particle or group of particles, such as an atom or a house, determines whether it is a fermion or boson. The distinction between these two categories is not noticeable on the large scale of people or houses, but it has profound implications in the world of atoms and elementary particles. Fundamental particles are classified according to whether they are fermions or bosons. Fundamental fermions combine to form atoms and other more unusual particles, while fundamental bosons carry forces between particles and give particles mass.
 In 1925 Austrian-born American physicist Wolfgang Pauli formulated a rule of physics that helped define fermions. He suggested that no two electrons can have the same properties and locations. He proposed this exclusion principle to explain why all of the electrons in atoms have slightly different amounts of energy. In 1926 Italian-born American physicist Enrico Fermi and British physicist Paul Dirac developed equations that describe electron behaviour, providing mathematical proof of the exclusion principle. Physicists call particles that obey the exclusion principle fermions in honour of Fermi. Protons, neutrons, and the quarks that comprise them are all examples of fermions.
 Some particles, such as particles of light called photons, do not obey the exclusion principle. Two or more photons can have the same characteristics. In 1925 German-born American physicist Albert Einstein and Indian mathematician Satyendra Bose developed a set of equations describing the behaviour of particles that do not obey the exclusion principle. Particles that obey the equations of Bose and Einstein are called bosons, in honour of Bose.
 Classifying particles as either fermions or bosons are similar to classifying whole numbers as either odd or even. No number is both odd and even, yet every whole number is either odd or even. Similarly, particles are either fermions or bosons. Sums of odd and even numbers are either odd or even, depending on how many odd numbers were added. Adding two odd numbers yields an even number, but adding a third odd number makes the sum odd again. Adding any number of even numbers yields an even sum. In a similar manner, adding an even number of fermions yield a boson, while adding an odd number of fermions results in a fermion. Adding any number of bosons yields a boson.
 For example, a hydrogen atom contains two fermions: an electron and a proton. But the atom itself is a boson because it contains an even number of fermions. According to the exclusion principle, the electron inside the hydrogen atom cannot have the same properties as another electron nearby. However, the hydrogen atom itself, as a boson, does not follow the exclusion principle. Thus, one hydrogen atom can be identical to another hydrogen atom.
 A particle composed of three fermions, on the other hand, is a fermion. An atom of heavy hydrogen, also called a deuteron, is a hydrogen atom with a neutron added to the nucleus. A deuteron contains three fermions: one proton, one electron, and one neutron. Since the deuteron contains an odd number of fermions, it too is a fermion. Just like its constituent particles, the deuteron must obey the exclusion principle. It cannot have the same properties as another deuteron atom.
 The differences between fermions and bosons have important implications. If electrons did not obey the exclusion principle, all electrons in an atom could have the same energy and be identical. If all of the electrons in an atom were identical, different elements would not have such different properties. For example, metals conduct electricity better than plastics do because the arrangement of the electrons in their atoms and molecules differs. If electrons were bosons, their arrangements could be identical in these atoms, and devices that rely on the conduction of electricity, such as televisions and computers, would not work. Photons, on the other hand, are bosons, so a group of photons can all have identical properties. This characteristic allows the photons to form a coherent beam of identical particles called a laser.
 The most fundamental particles that make up matter fall into the fermion category. These fermions cannot be split into anything smaller. The particles that carry the forces acting on matter and antimatter is bosons called force carriers. Force carriers are also fundamental particles, so they cannot be split into anything smaller. These bosons carry the four basic forces in the universe: the electromagnetic, the gravitational, the strong (force that holds the nuclei of atoms together), and the weak (force that causes atoms radioactively to decay). Scientists believed another type of fundamental boson, called the Higgs boson, give matter and antimatter mass. Scientists have yet to discover definitive proof of the existence of the Higgs boson.
 Ordinary matter makes up all the objects and materials familiar to life on Earth, including people, cars, buildings, mountains, air, and clouds. Stars, planets, and other celestial bodies also contain ordinary matter. The fundamental fermions that make up matter fall into two categories: leptons and quarks. Each lepton and quark has an antiparticle partner, with the same mass but opposite charge. Leptons and quarks differ from each other in two main ways: (1) the electric charge they carry and (2) the way they interact with each other and with other particles. Scientists usually state the electric charge of a particle as a multiple of the electric charge of a proton, which is 1.602 × 10-19 coulombs. Leptons have electric charges of either -1 or 0 (neutral), with their antiparticles having charges of +1 or 0. Quarks have electric charges of either +? or -? . Antiquarks have electric charges of either -? or +? . Leptons interact rather weakly with one another and with other particles, while quarks interact strongly with one another.
 Leptons and quarks each come in 6 varieties. Scientists divided these 12 basic types into 3 groups, called generations. Each generation consists of 2 leptons and 2 quarks. All ordinary matter consists of just the first generation of particles. The particles in the second and third generation tend to be heavier than their counterparts in the first generation. These heavier, higher-generation particles decay, or spontaneously change, into their first generation counterparts. Most of these decays occur very quickly, and the particles in the higher generations exist for an extremely short time (a millionth of a second or less). Particle physicists are still trying to understand the role of the second and third generations in nature.
 Scientists divide leptons into two groups: particles that have electric charges and particles, called neutrinos, that are electrically neutral. Each of the three generations contains a charged lepton and a neutrino. The first generation of leptons consists of the electron (e-) and the electron neutrino (ν? e); the second generation, the muon (µ) and the muon neutrino (ν? µ); and the third generation, the tau (t) and the tau neutrino (ν? t;).
 The electron is probably the most familiar elementary particle. Electrons are about 2,000 times lighter than protons and have an electric charge of –1. They are stable, so they can exist independently (outside an atom) for an infinitely long time. All atoms contain electrons, and the behaviour of electrons in atoms distinguishes one type of atom from another. When atoms radioactively decay, they sometimes emit an electron in a process called beta decay.
 Studies of beta decay led to the discovery of the electron neutrino, the first generation lepton with no electric charge. Atoms release neutrinos, along with electrons, when they undergo beta decay. Electron neutrinos might have a tiny mass, but their mass is so small that scientists have not been able to measure it or conclusively confirm that the particles have any mass at all.
 Physicists discovered a particle heavier than the electron but lighter than a proton in studies of high-energy particles created in Earth’s atmosphere. This particle, called the muon (pronounced MYOO-on), is the second generation charged lepton. Muons have an electric charge of -1 and an average lifetime of 1.52 microseconds (a microsecond is one - millionth of a second). Unlike electrons, they do not make up everyday matter. Muons live their brief lives in the atmosphere, where heavier particles called pions decay into Muons and other particles. The electrically neutral partner of the muon is the muon neutrino. Muon neutrinos, like electron neutrinos, have either a tiny mass too small to measure or no mass at all. They are released when a muon decays.
 The third generation charged lepton is the tau. The tau has an electric charge of -1 and almost twice the mass of a proton. Scientists have detected taus only in laboratory experiments. The average lifetime of taus is extremely short - only 0.3 picoseconds (a picosecond is one-trillionth of a second). Scientists believe the tau has an electrically neutral partner called the tau neutrino. While scientists have never detected a tau neutrino directly, they believe they have seen the effects of tau neutrinos during experiments. Like the other neutrinos, the tau neutrino has a very small mass or no mass at all.
 The fundamental particles that make up protons and neutrons are called quarks. Like leptons, quarks come in six varieties, or ‘flavours,’ divided into three generations. Unlike leptons, however, quarks never exist alone - they are always combined with other quarks. In fact, quarks cannot be isolated even with the most advanced laboratory equipment and processes. Scientists have had to determine the charges and approximate masses of quarks mathematically by studying particles that contain quarks.
 Quarks are unique among all elementary particles in that they have fractional electric charges - either +? or -? . In an observable particle, the fractional charges of quarks in the particle add up to an integer charge for the combination.
 The first generation quarks are designated up (u) and down (d); the second generation, charm and strange (s); and the third generation, top (t) and bottom (b). The odd names for quarks do not describe any aspect of the particles; they merely give scientists a way to refer to a particular type of quark.
 The up quark and the down quark make up protons and neutrons in atoms, as described below. The up quark has an electric charge of +? , and the down quark has a charge of -? . The second generation quarks have greater mass than those in the first generation. The charm quark has an electric charge of +? , and the strange quark has a charge of -? . The heaviest quarks are the third generation top and bottom quarks. Some scientists originally called the top and bottom quarks truth and beauty, but those names have dropped out of use. The top quark has an electric charge of +? , and the bottom quark has a charge of -? The up quark, the charm quark, and the top quark behave similarly and are called up-type quarks. The down quark, the strange quark, and the bottom quark are called down-type quarks because they share the same electric charge.
 Particles made of quarks are called hadrons (pronounced HA-dronz). Hadrons are not fundamental, since they consist of quarks, but they are commonly included in discussions of elementary particles. Two classes of hadrons can be found in nature: mesons (pronounced ME-zonz) and baryons (pronounced BARE-ee-onz).
 Mesons contain a quark and an antiquark (the antiparticle partner of the quark). Since they contain two fermions, mesons are bosons. The first meson that scientists detected was the pion. Pions exist as intermediary particles in the nuclei of atoms, forming from and being absorbed by protons and neutrons. The pion comes in three varieties: a positive pion (p+), a negative pion (p-), and an electrically neutral pion (p0). The positive pion consists of an up quark and a down antiquark. The up quark has charge +? and the down antiquark has charge +? , so the charge on the positive pion is +1. Positive pions have an average lifetime of 26 nanoseconds (a nanosecond is one-billionth of a second). The negative pion contains an up antiquark and a down quark, so the charge on the negative pion is -? Besides -? , or -1. It has the same mass and average lifetime as the positive pion. The neutral pion contains an up quark and an up antiquark, so the electric charges cancel each other. It has an average lifetime of 9 femtoseconds (a femtosecond is one-quadrillionth of a second).
 Many other mesons exist. All six quarks play a part in the formation of mesons, although mesons containing heavier quarks like the top quark have very short lifetimes. Other mesons include the kaons (pronounced KAY-ons) and the D particles. Kaons (Κ?) and Ds comes in several different varieties, just as pions do. All varieties of kaons and some varieties of Ds contain either a strange quark or a strange antiquark. All Ds contains either a charm quark or a charm antiquark.
 Three quarks together form a baryon. A baryon contains an odd number of fermions, so it is a fermion itself. Protons, the positively charged particles in all atomic nuclei, are baryons that consist of two up quarks and a down quark. Adding the charges of two up quarks and a down quark, +? In addition +? Moreover -?-, produces a net charge of +1, the charge of the proton. Protons have never been observed to decay.
 The neutrons found inside atoms are baryons as well. A neutron consists of one up quark and two down quarks. Adding these charges gives +? plus -? plus -? for a net charge of 0, making the neutron electrically neutral. Neutrons have a slightly greater mass than protons and an average lifetime of 930 seconds.
 Many other baryons exist, and many contain quarks other than the up and down flavours. For example, lambda and sigma (S) particles contain strange, charm, or bottom quarks. For lambda particles, the average lifespan ranges from 200 femtoseconds to 1.2 picoseconds. The average lifetime of sigma particles ranges from 0.0007 femtoseconds to 150 picoseconds.
 British physicist Paul Dirac proposed an early theory of particle interactions in 1928. His theory predicted the existence of antiparticles, which combine to form antimatter. Antiparticles have the same mass as their normal particle counterparts, but they have several opposite quantities, such as electric charge and colour charge. Colour charge determines how particles react with one another under the strong force (the force that holds the nuclei of atoms together, just as electric charge determines how particles react to one another under the electromagnetic force). The antiparticles of fermions are also fermions, and the antiparticles of bosons are bosons.
 All fermions have antiparticles. The antiparticle of an electron is called the positron (pronounced POZ-i-tron). The antiparticle of the proton is the antiproton. The antiproton consists of antiquarks, and two up antiquarks and one down antiquark. Antiquarks have the opposite electric and colour charges of their counterparts. The antiparticles of neutrinos are called antineutrinos. Both neutrinos and antineutrinos have no electric charge or colour charge, but physicists still consider them distinct from one another. Neutrinos and antineutrinos behave differently when they collide with other particles and in radioactive decay. When a particle decays, for example, an antineutrino accompanies the production of a charged lepton, and a neutrino accompanies the production of a charged antilepton. In addition, reactions that absorb neutrinos do not absorb antineutrinos, giving further evidence of the distinction between neutrinos and antineutrinos.
 When a particle and its associated antiparticle collide, they annihilate, or destroy, each other, creating a tiny burst of energy. Particle-antiparticle collisions would provide a very efficient source of energy if large numbers of antiparticles could be harnessed cheaply. Physicists already make use of this energy in machines called particle accelerators. Particle accelerators increase the speed (and therefore energy) of elementary particles and make the particles collide with one another. When particles and antiparticles (such as protons and antiprotons) collide, their kinetic energy and the energy released when they annihilate each other converts to matter, creating new and unusual particles for physicists to study.
 Particle-antiparticle collisions could someday fuel spacecraft, which need only a slight push to change their speed or direction in the vacuum of space. The antiparticles and particles would have to be kept away from each other until the spacecraft needed the energy of their collisions. Finely tuned, magnetic fields could be used to trap the particles and keep them separate, but these magnetic fields are difficult to set up and maintain. At the end of the 20th century, technology was not advanced enough to allow spacecraft to carry the equipment and particles necessary for using particle-antiparticle collisions as fuel.
 All of the known forces in our universe can be classified as one of four types: electromagnetic, strong, weak, or gravitational. These forces affect everything in the universe. The electromagnetic force binds electrons to the atoms that compose our bodies, the objects around us, the Earth, the planets, and the Moon. The strong nuclear force holds together the nuclei inside the atoms that compose matter. Reactions due to the weak nuclear force fuel the Sun, providing light and heat. Gravity holds people and objects to the ground.
 Each force has a particular property associated with it, such as electric charge for the electromagnetic force. Elementary particles that do not have electric charge, such as neutrinos, are electrically neutral and are not affected by the electromagnetic force.
 Mechanical forces, such as the force used to push a child on a swing, result from the electrical repulsion between electrons and are thus electromagnetic. Even though a parent pushing a child on a swing feels his or her hands touching the child, the atoms in the parent’s hands never come into contact with the atoms of the child. The electrons in the parent’s atoms repel those in the child while remaining a slight distance away from them. In a similar manner, the Sun attracts Earth through gravity, without Earth ever contacting the Sun. Physicists call these forces nonlocal, because the forces appear to affect objects that are not in the same location, but at a distance from one another.
 Theories about elementary particles, however, require forces to be local - that is, the objects affecting each other must come into contact. Scientists achieved this locality by introducing the idea of elementary particles that carry the force from one object to another. Experiments have confirmed the existence of many of these particles. In the case of electromagnetism, a particle called a photon travels between the two repelling electrons. One electron releases the photon and recoils, while the other electron absorbs it and is pushed away.
 Each of the four forces has one or unique force carriers, such as the photon, associated with it. These force carrier particles are bosons, since they do not obey the exclusion principle - any number of force carriers can have the same characteristics. They are also believed to be fundamental, so they cannot be split into smaller particles. Other than the fact that they are all fundamental bosons, the force carriers have very few common features. They are as unique as the forces they carry.
 For centuries, electricity and magnetism seemed distinct forces. In the 1800s, however, experiments showed many connections between these two forces. In 1864 British physicist James Clerk Maxwell drew together the work of many physicists to show that electricity and magnetism are actually different aspects of the same electromagnetic force. This force causes particles with similar electric charges to repel one another and particles with opposite charges to attract one another. Maxwell also showed that light is a travelling form of electromagnetic energy. The founders of quantum mechanics took Maxwell’s work one step further. In 1925 German-British physicist Max Born, and German physicists Ernst Pascual Jordan and Werner Heisenberg showed mathematically that packets of light energy, later called photons, are emitted and absorbed when charged particles attract or repel each other through the electromagnetic force.
 Any particle with electric charge, such as a quark or an electron, is subject to, or ‘feels,’ the electromagnetic force. Electrically neutral particles, such as neutrinos, do not feel it. The electric charge of a hadron is the sum of the charges on the quarks in the hadron. If the sum is zero, the electromagnetic force does not affect the hadron, although it does affect the quarks inside the hadron. Photons carry the electromagnetic force between particles but have no mass or electric charge themselves. Since photons have no electric charge, they are not affected by the force they carry.
 Unlike neutrinos and some other electrically neutral particles, the photon does not have a distinct antiparticle. Particles that have antiparticles are like positive and negative numbers - they are each the other’s additive inverse. Photons are like the number zero, which is its own additive inverse. In effect, a photon is its own antiparticle.
 In one example of the electromagnetic force, two electrons repel each other because they both have negative electric charges. One electron releases a photon, and the other electron absorbs it. Even though photons have no mass, their energy gives them momentum, a property that enables them to affect other particles. The momentum of the photon pushes the two electrons apart, just as the momentum of a basketball tossed between two ice skaters will push the skaters apart. For more information about electromagnetic radiation and particle physics.
 Quarks and particles made of quarks attract each other through the strong force. The strong force holds the quarks in protons and neutrons together, and it holds protons and neutrons together in the nuclei of atoms. If electromagnetism were the only force between quarks, the two up quarks in a proton would repel each other because they are both positively charged. (The up quarks are also attracted to the negatively charged down quark in the proton, but this attraction is not as great as the repulsion between the up quarks.) However, the strong force is stronger than the electromagnetic force, so it glues the quarks inside the proton together.
 A property of particles called colour charge determines how the strong force affects them. The term colour charge has nothing to do with colour in the usual sense; it is just a convenient way for scientists to describe this property of particles. Colour charge is similar to electric charge, which determines a particle’s electromagnetic interactions. Quarks can have a colour charge of red, blue, or green. Antiquarks can have a colour charge of antired (also called cyan), antiblue (also called yellow), or Antigreen (also called magenta). Quark types and colours are not linked - up quarks, for example, may be red, green, or blue.
 All observed objects carry a colour charge of zero, so quarks (which compose matter) must combine to form hadrons that are colourless, or colour neutral. The colour charges of the quarks in hadrons therefore cancel one another. Mesons contain a quark of one colour and an antiquark of the quark’s anticolour. The colour charges cancel each other out and make the meson white, or colourless. Baryons contain three quarks, each with a different colour. As with light, the colour’s red, blue, and green combine to produce white, so the baryon is white, or colourless.
 The bosons that carry the strong force between particles are called gluons. Gluons have no mass or electric charge and, like photons, they are their own antiparticle. Unlike photons, however, gluons do have colour charge. They carry a colour and an anticolour. Possible gluon colour combinations include red-antiblue, green-antired, and blue-antigreen. Because gluons carry colour charge, they can attract each other, while the colourless, electrically neutral photons cannot. Colours and anticolour attract each other, so gluons that carry one colour will attract gluons that carry the associated anticolour.
 Gluons carry the strong force by moving between quarks and antiquarks and changing the colours of these particles. Quarks and antiquarks in hadrons constantly exchange gluons, changing colours as they emit and absorb gluons. Baryons and mesons are all colourless, so each time a quark or antiquark changes colour, other quarks or antiquarks in the particle must change colour as well to preserve the balance. The constant exchange of gluons and colour charge inside mesons and baryons creates a colour force field that holds the particles together.
 The strong force is the strongest of the four forces in atoms. Quarks are bound so tightly to each other that they cannot be isolated. Separating a quark from an antiquark requires more energy than creating a quark and antiquark does. Attempting to pull apart a meson, then, just creates another meson: The quark in the original meson combines with a newly created antiquark, and the antiquark in the original meson combines with a newly created quark.
 In addition to holding quarks together in mesons and baryons, gluons and the strong force also attract mesons and baryons to one another. The nuclei of atoms contain two kinds of baryons: protons and neutrons. Protons and neutrons are colourless, so the strong force does not attract them to each other directly. Instead, the individual quarks in one neutron or proton attract the quarks of its neighbours. The pull of quarks toward each other, even though they occur in separate baryons, provides enough energy to create a quark-antiquark pair. This pair of particles forms a type of meson called a pion. The exchange of pions between neutrons and protons holds the baryons in the nucleus together. The strong force between baryons in the nucleus is called the residual strong force.
 While the strong force holds the nucleus of an atom together, the weak force can make the nucleus decay, changing some of its particles into other particles. The weak force is so named because it is far weaker than the electromagnetic or strong forces. For example, an interaction involving the weak force is 10 quintillion (10 billion billion) times less likely to occur than an interaction involving the electromagnetic force. Three particles, called vector bosons, carry the weak force. The weak force equivalent to electric charge and colour charge is a property called weak hypercharge. Weak hypercharge determines whether the weak force will affect a particle. All fermions possess weak hypercharge, as do the vector bosons that carry the weak force.
 All elementary particles, except the force carriers of the other forces and the Higgs boson, interact by means of the weak force. But the effects of the weak force are usually masked by the other, stronger forces. The weak force is not very significant when considering most of the interactions between two quarks. For example, the strong force completely overwhelms the weak force when a quark bounces off another quark. Nor does the weak force significantly affect interactions between two charged particles, such as the interaction between an electron and a proton. The electromagnetic force dominates those interactions.
 The weak force becomes significant when an interaction does not involve the strong force or the electromagnetic force. For example, neutrinos have neither electric charge nor colour charge, so any interaction involving a neutrino must be due to either the weak force or the gravitational force. The gravitational force is even weaker than the weak force on the scale of elementary particles, so the weak force dominates in neutrino interactions.
 One example of a weak interaction is beta decay involving the decay of a neutron. When a neutron decays, it turns into a proton and emits an electron and an electron antineutrino. The neutron and antineutrino are electrically neutral, ruling out the electromagnetic force as a cause. The antineutrino and electron are colourless, so the strong force is not at work. Beta decay is due solely to the weak force.
 The weak force is carried by three vector bosons. These bosons are designated the W+, the W-, and the Z0. The W bosons are electrically charged (+1 and –1), so they can feel the electromagnetic force. These two bosons are each other’s antiparticle counterparts, while the Z0 is its own antiparticle. All three vector bosons are colourless. A distinctive feature of the vector bosons is their mass. The weak force is the only force carried by particles that have mass. These massive force carriers cannot travel as far as the massless force carriers of the three long-range forces, so the weak force acts over shorter distances than the other three forces.
 When the weak force affects a particle, the particle emits one of the three weak vector bosons -W+, W-, or Z0 -and changes into a different particle. The weak vector boson then decays to produce other particles. In interactions that involve the W+ and W-, a particle changes into a particle with a different electric charge. For example, in beta decay, one of the down quarks in a neutron changes into an up quark and the neutron releases a W boson. This change in quark type converts the neutron (two down quarks and an up quark) to a proton (one down quark and two up quarks). The W boson released by the neutron could then decay into an electron and an electron antineutrino. In Z0 interactions, a particle changes into a particle with the same electric charge.
 A quark or lepton can change into a different quark or lepton from another generation only by the weak interaction. Thus the weak force is the reason that all stable matter contains only first generation leptons and quarks. The second and third generation leptons and quarks are heavier than their first generation counterparts, so they quickly decay into the lighter first generation leptons and quarks by exchanging W and Z bosons. The first generation particles have no lighter counterparts into which they can decay, so they are stable.
 The gravitational force is probably the most familiar force, yet it is the only force not described by the standard model of particle physics. In 1915 German-born American physicist Albert Einstein developed a significant new approach to the concept of gravity: the general theory of relativity. While general relativity successfully described many phenomena, the theory was framed differently than were theories of particle physics, making relativity difficult to reconcile with particle physics. Through the end of the 20th century, all efforts to develop a theory of gravitation entirely consistent with particle physics failed.
 Physicists call their goal of an overall theory a ‘theory of everything,’ because it would explain all four known forces in the universe and how these forces affect particles. In such a theory, the particles that carry the gravitational force would be called gravitons. Gravitons should share many characteristics with photons because, like electromagnetism, gravitation is a long-range force that gets weaker with distance. Gravitons should be massless and have no electric charge or colour charge. The graviton is the only force carrier not yet observed in an experiment.
 Gravitation is the weakest of the four forces on the atomic scale, but it can become extremely powerful on a cosmic scale. For instance, the gravitational force between Earth and the Sun holds Earth in orbit. Gravity can have large effects, because, unlike the electromagnetic force, it is always attractive. Every particle in your body has some tiny gravitational attraction to the ground. The innumerable tiny attractions add up, which is why you do not float off into space. The negative charge on electrons, however, cancels out the positive charge on the protons in your body, leaving you electrically neutral.
 Another unique feature of gravitation is its universality, and every object is gravitationally attracted to every other object, even objects without mass. For example, the theory of relativity predicted that light should feel the gravitational force. Before Einstein, scientists thought that gravitational attraction depended only on mass. They thought that light, being massless, would not be attracted by gravitation. Relativity, however, holds that gravitational attraction depends on the energy of an object and that mass is just one possible form of energy. Einstein was proven correct in 1919, when astronomers observed that the gravitational attraction between light from distant stars and the Sun bends the path of the light around the Sun (Gravitational Lens).
 The standard model of particle physics includes an elementary boson that is not a force carrier: the Higgs boson. Scientists have not yet detected the Higgs boson in an experiment, but they believe it gives elementary particles their mass. Composite particles receive their mass from their constituent particles, and in some cases, the energy involved in holding these particles together. For example, the mass of a neutron comes from the mass of its quarks and the energy of the strong force holding the quarks together. The quarks themselves, however, have no such source of mass, which is why physicists introduced the idea of the Higgs boson. Elementary particles should obtain their mass by interacting with the Higgs boson.
 Scientists expect the mass of the Higgs boson to be large compared to that of most other fundamental particles. Physicists can create more massive particles by forcing smaller particles to collide at high speeds. The energy released in the collisions converts to matter. Producing the Higgs boson, with its relatively large mass, will require a tremendous amount of energy. Many scientists are searching for the Higgs boson using machines called particle colliders. Particle colliders shoot a beam of particles at a target or another beam of particles to produce new, more massive particles.
 Scientific progress often occurs when people find connections between apparently unconnected phenomena. For example, 19th-century British physicist James Clerk Maxwell made a connection between electric forces on charged objects and the force on a moving charge due to a magnet. He deduced that the electric force and the magnetic force were just different aspects of the same force. His discovery led to a deeper understanding of electromagnetism.
 The unification of electricity and magnetism and the discovery of the strong and weak nuclear forces in the mid20th century left physicists with four apparently independent forces: electromagnetism, the strong force, the weak force, and gravitation. Physicists believe they should be able to connect these forces with one unified theory, called a theory of everything (TOE). A TOE should explain all particles and particle interactions by demonstrating that these four forces are different aspects of one universal force. The theory should also explain why fermions come in three generations when all stable matter contains fermions from just the first generation.
 Scientists also hope that in explaining the extra generations, a TOE will explain why particles have the masses they do. They would like an explanation of why the top quark is so much heavier than the other quarks and why neutrinos are so much lighter than the other fermions. The standard model does not address these questions, and scientists have had to determine the masses of particles by experiment rather than by theoretical calculations.
 Unification of all of the forces, however, is not an easy task. Each force appears to have distinctive properties and unique force carriers. In addition, physicists have yet to describe successfully the gravitational force in terms of particles, as they have for the other three forces. Despite these daunting obstacles, particle physicists continue to seek a unified theory and have made some progress. Starting points for unification include the electroweak theory and grand unification theories.
 The American physicists’ Sheldon Glashow and Steven Weinberg and Pakistani physicist Abdus Salam completed the first step toward finding a universal force in the 1960s with their standard model theory of particle physics. Using a branch of mathematics called group theory, they showed how the weak force and the electromagnetic force could be combined mathematically into a single electroweak force. The electromagnetic force seems much stronger than the weak force at low energies, but that disparity is due to the differences between the force carriers. At higher energies, the difference between the W and Z bosons of the weak force, which have mass, and the massless photons of the electromagnetic force becomes less significant, and the two forces become indistinguishable.
 The standard model also uses group theory to describe the strong force, but scientists have not yet been able to unify the strong force with the electroweak force. The next step toward finding a TOE would be a grand unified theory (GUT), a theory that would unify the strong, electromagnetic, and weak forces (the forces currently described by the standard model). A GUT should describe all three forces as different aspects of one force. At high energies, the distinctions among the three aspects should disappear. The only force remaining would then be the gravitational force, which scientists have not been able to describe with particle theory.
 One type of GUT contains a theory called Supersymmetry (SUSY), first suggested in 1971. Supersymmetric theories set rules for new symmetries, or pairings, between particles and interactions. The standard model, for example, requires that every particle have an associated antiparticle. In a similar manner, SUSY requires that every particle have an associated Supersymmetric partner. While particles and their associated antiparticles are either both fermions or bosons, the Supersymmetric partner of a fermion should be a boson, and the Supersymmetric partner of a boson should be a fermion. For example, the fermion electron should be paired with a boson called a selecton, and the fermion quarks with bosons called squarks. The force-carrying bosons, such as photons and gluons, should be paired with fermions, such as particles called photinos and gluinos. Scientists have yet to detect these super symmetric partners, but they believe the partners may be massive compared with known particles, and therefore require too much energy to create with current particle accelerators.
 Another approach to grand unification involves string theories. British physicist Paul Dirac developed the first string theory in 1950. String theories describe elementary particles as loops of vibrating string. Scientists believe these strings are currently invisible to us because the vibrations do not occur in the four familiar dimensions of space and time-some string theories, for example, need as many as 26 dimensions to explain particles and particle interactions. Incorporating Supersymmetry with string theory results in theories of superstrings. Superstring theories are one of the leading candidates in the quest to unify gravitation with the other forces. The mathematics of superstring theories incorporates gravity into particle physics easily. Many scientists, however, do not believe superstrings are the answers, because they have not detected the additional dimensions required by string theory.
 Studying elementary particles requires specialized equipment, the skill of deduction, and much patience. All of the fundamental particles - leptons, quarks, force-carrying bosons, and the Higgs boson - appear to be ‘point particles.’ A point particle is infinitely small, and it exists at a certain point in space without taking up any space. These fundamental particles are therefore impossible to see directly, even with the most powerful microscopes. Instead, scientists must deduce the properties of a particle from the way it affects other objects.
 In a way, studying an elementary particle is like tracking a white polar bear in a field of snow: The polar bear may be impossible to see, but you can see the tracks it left in the snow, you can find trees it clawed, and you can find the remains of polar bear meals. You might even smell or hear the polar bear. From these observations, you could determine the position of the polar bear, its speed (from the spacing of the paw prints), and its weight (from the depth of the paw prints). No one can see an elementary particle, but scientists can look at the tracks it leaves in detectors, and they can look at materials with which it has interacted. They can even measure electric and magnetic fields caused by electrically charged particles. From these observations, physicists can deduce the position of an elementary particle, its speed, its weight, and many other properties.
 Most particles are extremely unstable, which means they decay into other particles very quickly. Only the proton, neutron, electron, photon, and neutrinos can be detected a significantly long time after they are created. Studying the other particles, such as mesons, the heavier baryons, and the heavier leptons, requires detectors that can take many (250,000 or more) measurements per second. In addition, these heavier particles do not naturally exist on the surface of Earth, so scientists must create them in the laboratory or look to natural laboratories, such as stars and Earth’s atmosphere. Creating these particles requires extremely high amounts of energy.
 Particle physicists use large, specialized facilities to measure the effects of elementary particles. In some cases, they use particle accelerators and particle colliders to create the particles to be studied. Particle accelerators are huge devices that use electric and magnetic fields to speed up elementary particles. Particle colliders are chambers in which beams of accelerated elementary particles crash into one another. Scientists can also study elementary particles from outer space, from sources such as the Sun. Physicists use large particle detectors, complex machines with several different instruments, to measure many different properties of elementary particles. Particle traps slow down and isolate particles, allowing direct study of the particles’ properties.
 When energetic particles collide, the energy released in the collision can convert to matter and produce new particles. The more energy produced in the collision, the heavier the new particles can be. Particle accelerators produce heavier elementary particles by accelerating beams of electrons, protons, or their antiparticles to very high energies. Once the accelerated particles reach the desired energy, scientists steer them into a collision. The particles can collide with a stationary object (in a fixed target experiment) or with another beam of accelerated particles (in a collider experiment).
 Particle accelerators come in two basic types-linear accelerators and circular accelerators. Devices that accelerate particles in a straight line are called linear accelerators. They use electric fields to speed up charged particles. Traditional (not a flat screen) television sets and computer monitors use this method to accelerate electrons.
 Even so, that nevertheless, we cannot be to remove obstructions from whether we have related this to our deliberate technical interventions or intentional aspects drawn upon the conceptual interactions. As for reasons that are useful and necessary to distinguish between theory of techniques, which the interconnectivity established through the conjunctive relationships have in relation of what seemed allowable for us to expand our knowledge of the complex and subtle factors that account for therapeutic action. This, however, can ultimately become the most effective basis for refining and developing our understanding of how best to serve of ourselves to advance the analytic situation and too aculeate more profound and very acute satisfactory depictions in the psychoanalytic engagements, no matter whatever our accountable resultants may be of our theoretical orientation.
 An appreciation of the power of interactive forces in the analytic field not only challenges many traditionally held beliefs about the nature of therapeutic action. However, these take upon the requirement for us to recognize the untenability of the traditional view that analysts can be an objective source in the work. They have better to understand it, for example, where patients and analysts may express as a quantity that which the analyst is of a position to be an objective interpreter of the patient's experiential processes. That in this may reflect a form of collusive enactment and a convergence of the needs of both to see the analyst as an authority, and if the patient and analysts' both submit to needs to believe that the analyst is the omniscient other or the benevolent authority to which one can entrust ones' own. As the functional structure of the relationship might serve to obscure recognition of the fact that it is inclined to encourage the belief that, as once put, that wherever a coordinative system is complicating and hardens of its complexities, as recognized of the mind or brain, immediately 'indeterminacy' so then arises, not necessarily because of some preconditional unobtainability but holds accountably to subjective matters' from which grow stronger in obtaining the right prediction, least of mention, that so many things are yet to be known, in that the stray consequences of studying them will disturb the status quo, and of not-knowing to what influential persuasions do really occur between the protective cranial wall of vertebral anatomy. It is therefore that our manifesting awarenesses cannot accord with the inclining inclinations beheld to what is meant in how. History is not and cannot be determinate. Thus, the supposed causes may only produce the consequences we expect, this has rarely been more true than of those whose thoughts and interaction in psychoanalytic interrelatedness are in a way that no dramatist would ever dare to conceive.
 In Winnicott (1969) has noted that there are times when 'analysers' can serve as holding operations and become interminable without any real growth occurring.
 An interactive perspective also helps to clarify why in some instances the analysers 'abstinence' carriers as much risk of negative iatrogenic consequences as does active intervention. Although silence at time obviously can be respectful and facilitating, at other times it can be cruel and sadistic, or it can be based on fear of engagement, among a host of possible other meanings and equally attributive to the distributional dynamical functions.
 An appreciation of interactive factors also allows us to consider that, to whatever degree the patient's perceptions of the analyst are plausible and even valid (Ferenczi 1933, Little 1951, Levenson 1973, Searles 1975, Gill 1982, Hoffman 1983), this may be due to the patient's expertise of stimulating precisely this kind of responsiveness in the analyst. The reverse is true as well thus, though patient and analyst each will have unique vulnerabilities, sensitivities, strengths, and needs, we must consider why such peculiarities have excited the particular qualities or sensibilities of either patient or analyst at a give moment and not at others. At any moment patient or analyst might be involved in some kind of collusive enactment (Racker 1957, 1959, Grotstein 1981, and McDougall 1979), they have held that their considerations explain of reasons  that posit of themselves of why clinicians often seem to practice in ways that contradict their own shared beliefs and theoretical positions, least of mention, principles by way of enacting to some unfiltered dialectical discourse.
 Yet, these differences, which occur within and between the diverse analytic traditions, in that an interactive view of the analytic field has some theoretical and technical implications that bridge all psychoanalytically perceptively which each among us cannot ignore. Its premise lies in the fact that we recognize that the analyst and patient cannot simply avoid having an impact on each other, even if both are totally silent, require us to realize that even if a treatment is productive or successful, we cannot be clear whether they have related this to our deliberate technical interventions or to aspects of the interaction that have eluded our awareness.
 We have premised its owing intentionality that the recognition that analyst and patient cannot simply avoid having an impact on each other, even if both are totally silent, requires us to realize that even if some treatment is productive or successful, we cannot be clear whether we have related this to our deliberate technical interventions or to aspects of the interaction that have eluded austereness.
 Psychoanalysts of diverse orientations increasingly have come to recognize that patient and analysts are continually influencing and being influenced by each other in a dialectical way, often without awareness. This has radical implications for abstractive views drawn upon psychoanalytic technique. Where these psychoanalysts disagree is in their conceptions of what the specific implications of an interactive view of the analytic field might be.
 It is therefore that distinguishing between theory of technique is useful and necessary, which relates to what we do with awareness and intention, and theory of therapeutic action, which deals with what is healing in the psychoanalytic interaction whether or not it evolves from our ‘technique’: That recognizing this can allow us to expand our knowledge of the complex and subtler factors that account for therapeutic action. This can ultimately become the most effective basis for refining and developing our understanding of how best to use ourselves to advance the analytic work and to simplify more profound and incisive kinds of psychoanalytic engagement, no matter what our theoretical orientation.
 An appreciation of the power of interactive forces in the analytic subject field not only challenges many traditionally held beliefs about the nature of therapeutic action, but also requires us to recognize the untenability of the traditional view that the analyst can be an objective participant in the work? It also helps us to grasp the extent to which presumably therapeutic interpretations, for example, can be ways of harassing, demeaning, patronizing, impinging on, penetrating, or violating the patient, or particular ways of gratifying, supporting, complying, among several of other possibilities. Where patient and analysts assume that the analyst can be an objective interpreter of the patient’s experience, this may factually reflect a form of collusive enactment and a convergence of the needs of both to see the analyst as an authority. If patient and analyst both have needs to believe that the analyst is the omniscient other or the benevolent authority to which one can entrust ones' own, the structure of the relationship might serve to obscure recognition of the fact that they are enacting such a drama. In this regard, Winnicott (1969) has noted that on that point are times when ‘analyses’ can serve as holding operations and become interminable, without any real growth occurring.
 An interactive perspective also helps to clarify why sometimes the analyst’s ‘abstinence’ carries as much risk of negative iatrogenic consequences as does actively intervention. Although silence at times obviously can be respectful and facilitating, at other times it can be cruel and sadistic, or it can be based on fear of engagement, among a host of possible other meanings and contributing functions.
 The contextual meaning of the patient’s free association also has to be reconsidered from such a perspective. Usually viewed as the medium of analytic work, free association may at times be a profound frame of resistance, and to avoid rather than engage in an analytic process. Alternatively it can reflect a form of compliance or collusion, conscious or unconscious, with the analyst’s needs, fears, resistances.
 Amid the welter of competing or complementary theories that have characterized psychoanalyses over the century of its existence, the ideas of transference and the convictions very important in the therapeutic process are an unfiling theme. None of Freud's epochal discoveries - the power to the dynamic unconscious, the meaningfulness of the dream, the uniformity of intrapsychgic conflict - having been more heuristically productive or more clinically valuable than his demonstration that human regularly and inevitably repeat with the analyst and with other important figures in their current live patterned of relationship, of fantasy, and of conflict with the crucial figures in their childhood - primarily their parents?
 Even for Freud, however, the awareness of this phenomenon and the understanding of its specific significance in the analytic situation itself came gradually. The flamboyant transference events in Breuer's patient Anna O and the unfortunate outcome in the patient of Dora served to consolidate in Freud's mind a view of transference as a resistance phenomenon, as an obstacle to the recollection of traumatic events that, in his view at the time, formed the true essence of the psychoanalytic process. Emphasis in this early period, thus, was on the 'management' of the transference, on finding ways to prevent its interference with the proper business of the analysis - recognizing, always, the inevitability of its occurrence. Freud was most concerned about the interferences generate by the 'negative' (i.e., hostile) and the erotised transference, the 'positive' transference he considered 'unobjectable,' the vehicle of success in the psychoanalysis.
 Freud was also concerned to distinguish the analytic transference from the effects of suggestion in the hypnotic treatment he had learned in France, where he interdependently studying from Professor Charcot at the Salpêtrière hospital, and had been the forerunner of his own psychoanalysis technique. He, and his early followers and students, were at great pains to define the transference as a spontaneous product of the analytic situation, emerging from the patient rather than imposed by the analyst. Ultimately, Freud came to view as essentially for analytic cures the development of a new mental structure, the 'transference neurosis' - re-creation of the original neurosis in the analytic situation itself, with the patient experiencing the analyst as the object of his or her infantile wishes and the focus of his or her pathogenic conflicts. The crucial importance of the transference neurosis - it's very reality as a clinical phenomenon - has been and continues to be a matter of debate among psychoanalysts to this day.
 Over the resulting decades several themes appear and reappear. One to which Freud alluded is that of the uniqueness versus the ubiquity of transference, is it a special creation of the analytic situation or is it an inevitable and universal aspect of all human relation? More central and perhaps more heated in the continuing debate, as the primary of transference interpretation in which Strahey called the 'mutative' effects of analysis - for example, whether such interpretations are simply more convincing than others or are the only kinds that are truly an effective therapy constitutionally begotten. Echoes of this debate have resounded through the years and to be perspectively descendable in most recent literary works. Finally, are all of the patient's reactions to the analyst in the analytic situations to be of counter-transference or do some partake of the 'real' 'non-neurotic' relationship or of the 'working alliance'?
 It is only to mention, at the outset that resistance is, in certain fundamental references, an operational equivalent of defence, its scope is really far larger and more complicated. The thoughts of its nature and motivations on resistances to the psychoanalytic process use an array of mechanisms that sometimes defy classification in the way that fundamental genetically determined defences, derived from importantly and common developmental trends, can be classified. From falling asleep too brilliant argument, there is a limitless and mobile of devices with which the patient may protect the current integrations of his personality, including his system of permanent defences. In fact, Resistances of a surface, conscious type, related to individual character and to educational and cultural background, often present themselves are the patient’s first confrontations with a unique and often puzzling treatment method. While some of these phenomena are continuous with deeper resistances, a closer, and perhaps balancing equilibrium held in bondage to the mutuality within the continuity that we must meet others at their own level. All the same, it now leaves to a greater extent, the much-neglected faculty of informed and reflective common sense, and moves onto the less readily accessible and explicable dynamism, which inevitably supervene in analytic work, even if these initial surface Resistances have been largely or wholly mastered. Its submissive providences lay order to perfect connectivity, premising with which is the specific influence of the immediate cultural climate, stressed of the general attitude of many young people (Anna Freud 1968) toward the psychoanalytic process and its goals.
 When Freud gave up the use of hypnosis for several reasons, beginning with the personal difficulty in inducing the hypnotic state and culminating in his ultimate and adequate reason - that it bypassed the essential lever of lasting therapeutic change, the confrontation with the repressing forces themselves - he turned to the method of waking discourse with the patient, in which insistence, with a sense of infallibility, accompanied by head pressure and release, were the essential tools for the overcoming of resistance (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895). Although the affording the unformidable combinations that are awaiting the presence to the future attributions in which the valuing qualities that allow us the privilege to have observed various forms of resistance ( in a general sense) before, as for example, inability to be hypnotized, ful in totality and a willful rejection of hypnosis, selective refusal to discuss certain topics under hypnosis, adverse reactions to testing for stances, it was the effectiveness of insistence in inducing the patient to fill memory gaps or to accept the physician’s constructions that reapproached of extending its lead, in that Freud was to a first and enduring formulation: Since effort
- psychic work - by the physician was required, a physical; evidently force, a resistance opposed to the pathogenic ideas, becomingly conscious (or being remembered), had to be overcome. They thought this to be the same psychic force that had initiated the symptom formation by preventing the original pathogenic ideas from achieving adequate affective discharge and establishing adequate associations - in short, from remaining or becomingly conscious. The motive for invoking such a force would be the abolition (or avoidance) of some form of physical distress or pain, such as shame, self-reproach, fear of harm, or equivalent cause for rejecting or wishing to forget the experience. Such are the appreciative attributions, in that the distributive contributional dynamic functions bestow the factoring understructure of the constellation of ideas, have already comforted us, yet, the later is clearly the ego and especially the character of it. It was thought important to show the patient that his resistance was the same as the original ‘repulsion’ which had initiated pathogenesis. The step later was short to the essential equivalent and permanent concept of defence at first repression. That is, though Freud gave tremendous sight to the effectiveness of the hand pressure manoeuver, he saw it essentially for distancing the patient’s will and conscious attention and thus simplifying the emergence of latent ideas (or images). From a present-day point of view, one cannot but think of the powerful transference excited by an infallible parental figure in a procedure only one step removed from the relative abdication of will. Consciousnessly involved in hypnosis, and that this quasi-archaic qualitative pattern of relationship was more important to effectiveness or failure than was the exchange of a psychic energy postulate by Freud. In this sense, the ‘laying on of hands’ granted its effect on attention, was probably even more significant in inducing transference regression than in the role that the great discoverer assigned to it.
 What is important, in whatever way, is the establishment of a viable scientific and working idea of resistance to the therapeutic process as a manifestation of a reactivated intrapsychic conflict in a new interpersonal context. This in its essentials persists to this day in psychoanalytic work, in the concept of ego resistances.
 At the same proven capability, as measuring with this development, less explicitly formulated but often described or inferred, was the marginal total rejecting or hostile or unruly attitude of the patient, sometimes evoking spontaneous antagonistic reactions in the physician. In occasional direct references in the early work and in the choice of figurative phraseology for years after that, Freud recognizes this ‘balky child’ type of struggle against the doctor’s efforts. One needs only recall Elizabeth von R., who would tell Freud that she was not better, “with a sly look of satisfaction” at his discomfiture (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895). When deep hypnosis failed with her, Freud “was glad enough that once, she refrained from triumphantly protesting ‘I am not asleep, you know, and cannot be hypnotized"; in this context that show with which this categorical type of resistance phenomenon that it represents the evolutionary whisper, though Freud and many others found it to come within the evolving gait of steps in a whisper, after-all, the advance of applied science was bringing to light curious new phenomena that, however hard men might try, would not be fitted into the existing order of things. All this is to encourage along the side of the paradigms of science to agree of it achievable obtainability through with of those has witnessed the impregnable future, least mentions, far and above is the first essentially forced finality to agree that fighting a great adventure in thought at lengths to come safely to shore is necessary, in this glare, the human figure has had to apply formally to be enlarged so that the brave stands which make for civic and academic freedom. It also taken to applicate the form to encourage the belief that, as nicely put, 'all men dance to the tune of an invisible piper. Because, we did not attest the big bang, but call its evolution of a particular type of ego-syntonic struggle with the physician that remains potentially important during any analysis by what the negative transference, whatever its particular nuances of motivation. This is, of course, a manifestly different phenomenon from the earnest effortful struggles of the cooperative patient whose associations fail to attend to him, or who forgets his dream, or who comes at the wrong hour, to his extreme humiliation. Still, in that respect is an important dynamic relationship between the two sets of phenomena.
 Nonetheless, Freud made the analysis of resistance the central obligation of analytic work and proceeded from primitive beginnings, with rapidly increasing sophistication, both technical and psychopathologic, ideas that remain valid to this day; that conscious knowledge transmitted to the patient may have no, or an adverse, effect in the mobilization of what is similar or identical in the unconscious; that the repressing forces, the resistances, are more like infiltrates than discrete foreign-body capsules in their relation to preconscious associative systems; that the physician must begin with the surface and continue centripetally; that hysterical symptoms are more often serial and multiple than mononuclear, and the resistances participate in all productions and must be dealt with at every step of analytic work, and other matters of equal significance (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895).
 Freud always maintained the central concept of resistance, and bequeathed it (reinforced later by the structural theory) to the generations of analysts who have followed him. Still, as the years went on, he elaborated the general scope of resistance far beyond the basic concept of intrapsychic defence, anticathexis that a great variety and range of mechanisms could impede the psychoanalysis as a recognizable process or, beyond this, making it ineffective or reverse expected therapeutic responses, or extend indefinitely the patient’s dependence on the analyst. When extended its direct equation with the anticathexis of defences, the variety of sources - not to speak of manifestations - of resistance multiplied rapidly. To remark upon the merely secondary realizations of illnesses (Freud 1905), under which the ‘external’ resistances are, for example, the hostility of the unmurmuring family line of treatment (Freud 1917), evenhandedly as the  persistence of illness, with its detachment, superciliousness, and mechanical compliance as some weapons system for frustrating the analyst, as with the utterly troubled young girl (Freud 1920). The relevant sense of securing the symptomatic primary modes of perturbation conflict solution, and most crucially, the analysable obtainability of such subtly evolving concept of ‘transference-resistance,’ in its oscillating pluralistic sense, for example, (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895: Freud 1912, 1917). In his last writings, conspicuously in Analysis Terminable and Interminable (1937), in considering several possible factors in human personality that obstruct or render ineffectually the successful end of the analytic procedure, Freud offered a variety of psychodynamic considerations that could be fundamental in the extended or broadened concept of resistance: The question of the constitutional strength of instincts and their relation to ego strength; the problem of the accessibility of latent conflicts when undisturbed by the patient’s life situation (briefly but pointedly) the impingement of the analyst’s personality on the analytic situation and process; the existence of certain qualities of the libidinal cathexes - especially undue adhesiveness or excessive mobility; rigid character structure; the existence of certain sex-linked ‘bedrock’ conflicts that Freud regarded as biologically determined (insoluble penis envy in the female, and the male’s persisting conflict with his passivity). Finally and most formidable, there was the cluster of dynamism and phenomena that Freud, beginning in, Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920) and The Ego and the Id (1923), attributed consistently and with deepening conviction to the operation of a death instinct. That is to say, to the ‘unconscious sense of guilt’ and demands the need for punishment, the repetition compulsion, the negative therapeutic reaction, and the more general operations of the need to suffer or to die or to seek outer or inner worldly concern. Yet, it remains an inexorable truth that the resistances underlying and hidden of representationally inherent cases or certain limitations implicit like psychoanalytic work, are moderately invincibly formidable, and cannot be disestablished by theoretical position any more than they can be thus created.
 The varied clinical manifestations of resistance are dealt with extensively throughout Freud’s own writings, in many individual papers of other analysts, and in comprehensive works on analytic technique, for example, those of Fenichel (1941), Glover (1955), and more recently Greenson (1967) of which only makes a selective and occasional reference to their kaleidoscopic variety.
 When free association and interpretation displaced hypnosis and derivative primitive techniques, the psychoanalysis as we now construe it came into being. To the extent that free association was the patient’s active participation, it was in this sphere that his ‘resistance’ to the new technique was most clearly recognized as such, cessation, slowing, circumlocution and a lack of informative or relevant content, emotional detachment, and obsessional doubt or circumstantiality became established as obvious impediments to the early (no longer exclusive but still radically important) topographic goals: To convert unconscious ideas largely via the interpretation of preconscious derivatives into conscious ideas. Only with time and increasing sophistication did fluency, even vividness of associative content, tendentious ‘relevancy’ itself evidently can, like over-compliant acceptance of interpretation, conceal and carrying out resistances that were the more formidable because expressed in such ‘good behaviour’.
 One may define resistance (and in so doing include a liberal and augmenting paraphrase of Freud’s own most pithy definition [The Interpretation of Dreams 1900]) as anything of essentially intrapsychic significance in the patient that impedes or interrupts the progress of psychoanalytic work or interferes with its basic purposes and goals. In specifying ‘in the patient’ one is to imply as not underestimate the possibly decisive importance of the analyst’s resistances, to separate the ‘counterresistance’ as a different matter, in a practical sense, requiring separate study. One may concur, that as a generalized infraction forwarded of a direction with Glover’s statement (1955) that “however we may approach the mental apparatus there is no part of its function that cannot serve the purposes of mental defence and therefore give apparency during the analysis to the phenomena of resistances.” One may also concur with his formulation that the most successful resistances (in contrast with those employing manifest expressions) are silent, but disagree with the paradoxical sequel “. . . they might say that the sign of their existence is our unawareness of them.” For the absence of important material is a given sign, and becoming aware of such an absence is necessary, if possible.
 Freud, in his technical papers and in many other writings, despite his reluctance in this direction did lay down the general and essential technical principles and precepts for analytic practice. We must note, however, that the clear and useful technical precepts are largely in that may be regarded as the ‘tactical sphere’, i.e., they deal with the manifest process phenomena of ego resistances. Other resistances, those largely contained in the ‘silent’ group, for example, detainment or unsuccessful symptomatic alteration, omission of decisive conflict material form free association or [more often] from the transference neurosis, inability to accept cancellation of the analysis, and allied matters. In that saying, the ‘strategic sphere’, relating to the depths of the patient’s psychopathology and personality structure and to his total reactions to the psychoanalytic situation, process, and the person of the analyst. Its use of the tern ‘strategic’ and ‘tactical’ differ from their user by others, for example, Kaiser (1934). While it is not to presume to offer simple precepts for the ready liquidation of the massive silent resistances, heedfully to contribute of something, however slight. To understanding them better and thus, potentially, to their better management but some of these considerations, for example, iatrogenic regression, as to context (1961, 1966). In the ‘strategic’ arena of resistance, so often manifested by total or relative ‘absence’, it is the informed surmise regarding the existence of the silent territory, by way of ongoing reconstructive activity, which is the first and essential ‘activity’ of the analyst. Beyond this mindfulness and subtle potentialities of the shaping and selection of interpretative direction and emphasis and the tactful indication of tendentious distortion or absence.
 Because of a possible variety of factors, beginning with the estranging dissimulations that magnetism that the verbal statement of unconscious content puts into action of the analysts and patients alike (of itself is a frequent resistance or counterresistance) the priority of the analysis of resistance over the analysis of content, as discretely separate, did not readily come to its carry out quality. This might have been owing to the difficulties of dealing with more complicated resistances or developing an adequate methodology in this arena, or even the fact that an extensive interval over its timed and tactful reference to content (or its overall nature) sometimes seems the only way of mobilizing (reflexively) and thus exposing the corresponding resistance for interpretation and ‘working through’, an echo of Freud’s early, never fully relinquished diphasic process (1940).
 Since this is not a technical paper, the admissive structural functionality, over which an extended discussion of the evolution of views on methods of resistance analysis, although substantiated functions has inevitably related such views to our immediate subject matter. Its mindful approaches that range from the strict systematic analysis of character resistances of Wilhelm Reich (1933) or the absolute exclusion of content interpretation of Kaiser (1934), to the special efforts toward dramatization of the transference of Ferenczi and Rank (1925) or Ferenczi’s own experiments with active techniques of deprivation and (on the other hand) the gratification of regressed transference wishes in adults (for example, 1919, 1920, 1930, 1931, 1932). Developments in ego psychology (for example, Anna Freud’s classical contribution on the mechanisms of defence [1936] brought the variety and importance of defence mechanisms securely into the foreground of analytic work, and the subsequential extent of which is widely accepted priority of defence analysis has rectified a great deal of the original [and not entirely inexplicable] ‘cultural cover with lagging’ in this describing importance, that if not exclusive, spheres of resistance analysis. Concomitant with a more widespread functional acceptance of the essentiality and priority (in principle) of resistance analysis over content interpretation, there is usually a more flexible view of the technical application of the essential precepts, permitting interpretive mobility, according to intuitive certainty or judgement between the psychic structures, according to Anna Freud (1936) principle of ‘equidistance’. Discrete specification may sometimes deal resistance with other than those apart from the intrinsic conceptual difficultly in the latter intellectual process, i.e., the specifying of a resistance without suggesting that against which it is directed (Waelder 1960). There is also a general broadening of the scope of interpretive method. Witness, for example, Loewenstein’s ‘reconstruction upward’ (1951) and Stone, having his own differently derived but often an allied conception, the ‘integrative interpretation’ (1951), both of which recognize that resistance may be directed ‘upward’ or against the integration of experience, than against the affirmative extent and exclusively infantile or against the past. Similar considerations are also reflected in Hartmann’s ‘principle of multiple appeal’ (1951).
 It may, nonetheless be of note that while the emphasis on resistance in Freud’s early clinical presentations is overall proportionate to his theoretical statements, his methods of dealing with the concealed and more formidable resistances are not clear, except in certain active interventions, such as the magical intestinal prognosis in the “Wolf Man” (1918), or the ‘time limit’ in the same case, or the principle that at a certain point patients should confront phobic symptoms directly (1910), or the suggestion to transfer to a woman analyst, with the homosexual woman (1920). In these manoeuvres and attitudes it is recognized that (1) interpretation, the prime working instrument of analysis, may often reach an impasse in relation to powerful ‘strategic’ resistances, and (2) an implicit recognition that elements in the personal relationship of the analytic situation, specifically the transference, may subvert the most skilful analytic work by producing massive although ‘silent’ resistances to ultimate goals, and that sometimes where energetic elements are formidable, they may have to be dealt with directly and holistically, in the patient’s living and actual situation.
 Freud’s own interest in active techniques stimulated Ferenczi to extreme developments in this sphere (1912, 1920), later combined with his oppositely oriented methods of indulgence (1930). As time presses on, noninterpretative methods, particularly those involving gratifications of transference wishes, whether libidinal or masochistic, were set aside with increasing severity, in recognition of their contravention of the indispensability of the undistorted transference and the unique importance of transference analysis in analytic work. The same has been largely true of tendentious, selective instinctual frustrations (Ferenczi 1919, 1020). However, there is no doubt that the use of interpretive alternatives (sometimes suggests for the deliberate control of obstinate resistance phenomena in this spheric arena) has been sharpened by - partially coloured by - the earlier experiments in prohibition, whose transference implications were fully apparent at the time of their introduction. The type of active intervention introduced by Freud (the time limit, the confrontation of symptoms), confined in actuality to the sphere of the demonstrable clinical relationship, has retained a certain optional place in our work, although the potential transference meaning and impact of such interventions, with corresponding variations or limitations of effectiveness, are increasingly understood and considered. The broad general principle of abstinence in the psychoanalytic situation, stated by Freud in its sharpest epitome in 1919, remains a basic and indispensable context of psychoanalytic technique. The nuances of application remain open to, in fact to require, continuing study (Stone 1961, 1966).
 In assent to important developments in ego psychology and characterology (for conspicuous examples, Anna Freud 1936, Kris 1956, Hartmann 1951, Loewenstein 1851, Waelder 1930, the principle factor in deepening, broadening, and complicating the conceptual problem of resistance, and thus modifying the strict latter-like sequential approach (Reich 1933) to the analysis of resistance ad content respectively, even in principle, has been the progressive emergence of transference analysis as the central and decisive task of analytic work. For, to state it over succinctly, and thus to risk some inaccuracy, the transference is far more than the most difficult tool of resistances and (simultaneously) an indispensable element in the therapeutic effort. Given the mature capacity for working alliance, it is the central dynamism of the patient’s participation in the analytic process and, while the proximal or remote source of all significant resistances, but those manifest phenomena originating in the conscious personal or cultural attitudes and experiences of the adult patient or those deriving from the inevitable cohesive-conservative forces in the patient’s personality, for which we must still summon briefly the Goethe-Freud ‘witch’, metapsychology (Freud 1937).
 In relation to the ‘tactical’, i.e., process, resistances, an overall view of what is immediate and confronting for example, the threatening emergence of ego-dystonic sexual or aggressive material, may be adequate. All the same, to any casual access to what may be called the ‘strategic’ sphere of resistance. One must have a tentative working formulation of the total psychic situation in mind, including an informed surmise regarding large and essential unconscious trends. Such suggested procedure is, accessibly open to discussion on more than one scope, and it does involve one immediately in some basic epistemological problems of psychoanalysis. Unfortunately, we cannot become involved in this fascinating sphere of dialectic in this brief essay on a large subject nevertheless, in his early work Freud relied enthusiastically on his own capacity to fill primary gaps in the patient’s memory through informed inherences from the available data, and then, with an aura of infallibility, actively persuaded the patient to accept these constructions. However, with the further elaboration of psychoanalysis as process, in the sense of the increasing importance of free association, of the analyst’s relative passivity, and other characteristics of the process as we now know it, there have inevitably been some important modifications of the attitudes reelected in such procedures. While, as far as it had never been revised or revoked, Freud’s view that the resistances are operatives in every step of the analytic work, and knowing that there exists in many minds paradoxical mystiques to the effect that the patient’s free associations as such, unimpeded (and uninterpreted), could ultimately provide the whole and meaningful story of his neurosis, in the sense of direct information. This is, of course, manifestly at variances with Freud’s basic assumptions about the role of resistance, and the germane roles of defence and conflict in the origin of illness.
 Nonetheless, in Freud’s, Recommendations (1912) is his advice against attempting to reconstruct the essentials of a case while the case is in progress. Such a reconstruction, here assumes, would be undertaken for scientific reasons. The caution, nevertheless, rests on both scientific and therapeutic grounds, on the assumption that the analyst’s receptiveness to new data and his capacity for evenly suspended attention would be impaired by such an effort. It is true, of course, that rigid preoccupation with an intellectual formulation can impair the capacities. Even so, it is also true that the ‘formulation’ or structuring of a case can and largely does go on preconsciously, in some references even unconsciously, and usually quite spontaneously. One must assume at the very least, that some such process reaches the analyst’s first perception of a ‘resistance’. Some have thought that Freud would have disagreed with using such a process. Still, its use, whatever the form, is a necessity, and, at times, it requires and should have the hypercathexis of conscious and concentrated reflection? One may, of course, assign the more purposive intellectual processes to periods outside hours, and thus better preserve the other equally important responses to the dual intellectual demand of psychoanalytic technique. The ‘voice of the intellect’, all the same, should not be deprived of this essential place in analytic work. It is well known that it must never be allowed to foreclose mobile intuitive perceptiveness or openness to unexpected data. Nor must ongoing formulations in the mind of the analyst be allowed to cram the spontaneity of the patient’s association. They should remain ‘in the analyst’s head’. To epitomize the technical situation: Strategic considerations require varying degrees of reflective thought, possibly outside hours. Except the perspectives and critiques they silently lend to understanding, they should not influence the natural and spontaneous, often intuitive, responses of the disciplined analyst to the never-ending variable nuances of his patient’s ‘tactics’. In relation to any category of clinical psychoanalytic problem. It is the structure of the transference neurosis and its unfolding, with the adumbrative material in characterology, symptom formation, personal and clinical history and the clues from specific data of the psychoanalytic process, taken as an ensemble, which provide the most reliable basis for general tentative reconstruction and thus for the understanding of resistances. While we must marshal our entire body of data, theory, and technology to see the transference neurosis as an epitome of the patient’s emotional life, our comprehension of it is nonetheless based essentially on something that is right before us. Again, the total ensemble is essential, and the objectively observable phenomena of the transference neurosis are of crucial and central valences.
 In the background data, the large outlines of life history are uniquely important because they do represent, or at least strikingly suggest, the patient’s gross strategies of survival and growth, of avoidance and affirmation. One may infer that they will be invoked again in the conformation with the analyst, in his pluralistic significance. Some oversimplified and fragmentary illustrations are chosen in the occupational commitments with children and the mood in which they are carried out, with the general character of manifest sexual adaptation, can contribute to rational surmise about whether neurotic childlessness is based predominantly on disturbances of the Oedipus complex, on an original inability to achieve an adequate psychic separation from parent representations, or on the vicissitudes of extreme sibling rivalry. It must surely crystallize illnesses and analytic process if one knows that some patient lives, by choice, the breadth of an ocean removed from parents and siblings with whom there has been no evident quarrel, when this is not a crucial matter of occupational opportunity or equivalently important reality. Necessarily a male patient’s gross psychosexual biography helps us to understand which ‘side’ of the incestuous transference is more likely to be surfacing in his first paroxysm of heterosexual ‘acting out’. While it is true that dreams, parapraxes, and other traditionally dependable psychoanalytic material may dramatically reveal the ego-dystonic directions of impulse and fantasy life, and the specific nature of opposing forces, it is, only, the composite situation that historical and current picture that reveals the prevailing or alternative defences, the large-scale economic patterns, and the preferred or stable, i.e., most strongly over determined, trends of conflict solution.
 Tactical problems of resistance were earliest observed largely in disturbances of free association, which, in frequent tacit assumptions, would, or in principle could, lead without assistance to the ultimate genetic truth. This truth was construed to be the awareness of previously repressed memory (or the acceptance of convincing and germane constructions). As time went on, in Freud’s own writing, terms of conative import appeared - such as ‘tendency’ or, more of vividly, ‘impulsiveness’. However, the critical etiological and (reciprocally) therapeutic importance of memory has, of course, never really lost its importance. For, while the recovery of traumatic memories, with an abreaction, is still dramatic in its therapeutic effect, for example, in war neuroses or equivalently civilian experiences and occasionally in isolated sexual experiences of childhood or adolescence, neuroses of isolated traumatic origin are rare in current psychoanalytic experience. Traumata is usually multiple, repetitive, often serving to crystallize, dramatize and fix (something even ‘covers’) more chronic disturbances, such as distortions or pathological pressures in the instinct life, against the background of larger problems of basic object relationships. Freud was already becoming aware of the complex structure of neuroses when he wrote his general discussion for the Studies on Hysteria (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895). Thus, to put it all too briefly, when structurized impulses or general reaction tendencies can truly be accepted for memory, i.e., as matters of the past, other than in a tentative explanatory sense, much of the analytic work with the dynamics of the transference neurosis has necessarily been accomplished. One does not readily give up a love or hatred, personal or national, only because one learns that it is based on a crushing defeat of the remote past.
 The manifest communicative phenomena of resistance remain very important, just as the common cold remains important in clinical medicine. Morally justified in those of whom walk continuously among the corpsed of times generations, their circulatory momentum around the cross and forever finding its same death but it's comforting solice and refuge, from which, they dwell of the unknown infinity. It will never cease to be important to tell a patient that he is avoiding the emergence of sexual fantasies, that his blank silence covers latent thoughts about the analyst, or (in a measure more sophisticated) that apparent and enthusiastic erotic fantasies about the analyst conceal and include a wish to humiliate or degrade him. However, we can be better prepared, even for these problems, because of ongoing holistic reconstruction. Surely we are better prepared for the formidable resistances of patients who apparently do ‘tell all’ or even ‘feel all’, in a most convincing way and in all sincerity, yet may finish apparently thorough analysis without having touched certain nuclear conflicts of their lives and characters or, (more often) having failed to meet the  transference neurosis, with a sense of affective reality. These instances, for instance refers to the instances described by Freud (1937) in which such conflicts remain dormant because current life does not impinge on them, but to those in which the ‘acting out’, in life or the solution in severe symptoms is desperately elected by the personality in apparently paradoxical preferences to the subjective vicissitudes of the transference neurosis (Stone 1966).
 In brief, is a tentative formulation of the respective natures of the two peculiar and yet particular groups of resistance phenomena, ultimately and vestigially related and exists in varying degree in all analyses. It is, however, one or the other is usually important and is, in practical and prognostic sense, quite differently as: (1) Those progress to evidently large discernible impediments of the psychoanalytic process in its immediate operational sense. These are usual in the neuroses, in persons who have achieved satisfactory separation of the 'self' from the primary y object. Nevertheless, whose lives are disturbed by the residues of instinctual and other intrapsychic conflicts in relation to the unconscious representations of early objects and thus to transference objects. (2) Those that may be similarly manifested at times but maybe or even exaggeratedly free of them. Where the essential avoidance is of the genuine and effective e diphasic involvement in the transference neurosis, with regard too fundamental and critical conflicted, and thus of the potential relinquishment of symptomatic solutions and the ultimate satisfactory separation from the analyst. In this context, among other phenomena, there may be large-scale hiatuses in analytic material in the usual experiential sense, or there may be a striking absence of available and appropriate cues of connection with the transference, or failure, this complex of phenomena may repeat an original disturbance in ‘separation and individuation’ (Mahler 1965). Alternatively of other severe disturbances in early object relationships or related pregenital (particular oral) conflicts can have produced tenacious narcissistic avoidance of transference involvement, to facade involvement, or to the alternative of inveterate regressed and ambivalent dependency. Dependable and largely affirmative secondary identifications have usually not been achieved originally, and this phenomenon, related to basic disturbances of separation, contributes importantly to the variously manifested fears of the transference.
 Intuitively, the phenomena of the two groups may overlap. There may be deceptively benign ‘aponeuroses’ in the more severe group. In the troublesome phenomenon of ‘acting out’, for example, one may deal with a transitory resistance to an emergent transference fragment, in some instances due to a delay of effective interpretation, or one may be confronted by a deep-seated, variably structuralized, and sometimes even ego-syntonic ‘refusal’ to accept the verbal mode of communication with an unresponsive transference parent in dealing with insistent disturbing and gross affects implored by impulsive unintelligibility.
 Freud (1925), pointed out that everything said in the analytic situation must have some coefficient of reflection to the situation in which it is said. This is, of course, consistent not only with reflective common sense but also with the theory of transference and the current view of the central position of the transference neurosis in analytic work. Furthermore, despite his earliest view of the ‘false connection’ as pure resistance (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895) and the continuing high opinion of this aspect of transference, Freud early established the (non-conflictual) positive transference as the analyst’s chief ally against resistances. So, he never stretched out in his appreciation of the primitive driving power of the transference and its indispensable function of conferring a vivid and living sense of reality on the analytic process (Freud 1912). However, in past commination, the transfer is the central dynamism of the entire psychoanalytic situation, and the transference neurosis provides the one framework which give essential and accessible form to the potentially panpsychic scope of free association (Stone 1961, 1966). In this frame of reference the irredentist drive to reunion with the primal mother, as opposed to the benign processes of maturation and separation, underlies neurotic conflict in its broadest sense and is the basis of what is called the ‘primordial transference’, whose striving renewed physical approximation or merger. Speech, which is the veritable stuff of psychoanalysis, serves as the chief ‘bridge’ of mastery for the progressive somatic separations of earliest childhood. The ‘mature transference’, in continuum, alternative and contrast, is that series and complex of attitudes contingent on maturation and benign predisposing elements of early object relationships (conspicuously, the wish to be understood, to learn, and to be taught) that enables increasing somatic separation in a continuing affirmative context of object relationship, as later reelected in the psychoanalytic situation. In this interplay, speech - our essential working tool - plays as these oscillating, curiously intermediates roles, ranging from the threat of regression in the direction of its primitive oral substrate to it is ultimately purely communicative-referential function linked with insight (Stone 1961, 1966).
 Nonetheless, the origin of the ‘transference’ as we usually perceive it clinically, and as the term is traditionally employed, is in the primordial transference. Be it essentially the classical triadic incestuous complex or an oral drive toward incorporation or toward permanent nursing dependency or a sadomasochistic and shriving toward a parent, it will be re-experience in the analytic situation, in good part in regressive response to its derivations (Macalpine 1950), and produce the central, and ultimately the most formidable, manifest resistance, the transference-resistance.
 The ‘transference-resistance’, while sometimes used in varying references, meant originally the resistance to effective insight into the genetic origins and prototypes of the transference, expressed in the very fact of its emergence (originally, the ‘false connection’ described by Freud [Breuer and Freud, 1893-1895]). Afterwards, as the transference became established in its own autochthonous validity, the same resistance could be viewed as an obstruction to genetic understanding of the transference, and thus putatively to its dissolution. Alternatively, such dissolutions (using this word in a relative and  pragmatic sense) are contingent on much germane analytic work, on analysis of the dynamics of the attitude as represented in the transference neurosis, on working through, and on complicated and gradual responsive emotional processes in the patient (Stone 1966). Nevertheless, this genuine genetic insight is indispensable for the demarcation of the transference from the real relationship and for the intellectual incentive toward its dissolution within the framework of the therapeutic alliance.
 While to the ‘resistance to the awareness of transference’ the confrontations of patients are characterized by the immediate emergence of intense (even stormy) transference reactions, most patients experience these emergent altitudes as essentially ego dystopia, except in the sense of the attenuate derivatives that enter (or vitiate) the therapeutic alliance or in the sense of chronic characterological reactions that would appear in other parallel situations, however superficial and approximate the parallel might be.
 The clinical actuality of emergent transference requires analysis in its usual technical sense, including the prior analysis of defence. Transference may appear in dreams long before it is emotionally manifest; in parapraxes, in symptomatic reactions, in acting out within the analytic situation, or - most formidable - in acting out in the patient’s essential life situation. Except in cases of dangerous acting out, or very intense anxiety or equivalent symptoms, which can form emergencies, the technical approach involves the same patient centripetal address to the surface prescribed for analysis and its comprising it. However, as for this, it would suggest a modification of the classical precept that one does not interpret the transference until it becomes a manifest resistance. At this point, the interpretation is obligatory. The resistance to awareness should be interpreted, and its content brought to awareness, when the analyst believes that the libidinal or aggressive investment of the analyst’s person is economically a sufficient reality to influence the dynamics of the analytic situation and the patient’s everyday life situation.
 Stripping the matter of nuances is useful, reservations, and exceptions, for clarity in an essential direction. The avoidance of awareness of transference derives from all of the hazards that accompany consciousness: Accessibility of the voluntary nervous system, therefore heightened ‘temptation’ to action; heightened conflict in relation to the sanctions and satisfactions of impulse materialization; the multiple subjective dangers of communication of "I-you" impulses and wishes or germane fears to an object invested with parental authority; heightened sense of responsibility (in that way, guilt) connected with the same complex, and, very far from least, the fear of direct humiliating disappointment - the narcissistic would have rejection or, perhaps worse of all, no affective response, the avoidance of this helplessness of impact, plays and important part. There is also the exceedingly important fact that the transference conflicts remaining outside awareness retain their unique access to autoplastic symptomatic expression, in compact and narcissistically omnipotent, if painful, solution, without the direct challenge and confrontation with alternative (and essentially ‘hopeless’) solutions.
 Why, then, if such fears weigh heavily against the analytic effort and the ultimate therapeutic advantage of awareness, does the patient cling tenaciously to his views of the analyst and the system of wishes connected with this view, once it has become established in his consciousness? In the earliest view, where the cognitive elements in analysis were heavily preponderant, not only in technique but also in the understanding of process, such clinging to transference attitudes was thought to be, since the essence of subjective matters' amounted of what was significantly the essential goal of the analytic effort and was thought to be, itself, the essential therapeutic mechanism. Still, why is the patient not willing, like the historian Leaky’s dinner partner, to ‘let bygones be bygones’? Unless one accepts this aversion to recall or reconstruction, a preference for ‘present pain’, as a primary built-in aversion, in its self of an unexplained fact of ‘human nature’, one must look further. Yet, on the person of the patient might informally reject these elements of ‘insight’ because they vitiate or diminish both the affective and cognitive significance of this central object relationship, which is a current materialization of crucial unconscious wish and fantasy, originally warded off. If it is to be given up, why was it pried out of its secure nest in the unconscious? Such resolution is always felt, at least incidentally, as an attack on the patient’s narcissism and on his secure sense of self, secondarily reestablished. Moreover, to the extent that there is a genuine translation of the subjectively experienced somatic drive elements into verbal and ideational terms related to past objects, there is an inevitable step toward separation from the current object that parallels the original and corresponding development movement.
 An essential dynamic difference from the past lies in the different somatic and psychological context in which the renewed struggle is fought. Old desires, old hatreds, old irredentist urges toward mastery, have been reawakened in a mature and resourceful adult, in certain spheres still helpless subjectively but no longer literally and objectively, a fact of which he is also aware. It was pointed out by Freud (1910) that this great quantitative discrepancy between infant conflict and adult resources make possibly and eases therapeutic change, through insight. In many important respects, this remains true. However, the remorseless dialectic of psychoanalysis again asserts itself. Truly effective insight requires validating emotional experience, which is only rarely achieved through recollections alone. The affective realities of the transference neurosis are necessary (now and again, inevitable), and with this experience comes the renewal of the ancient struggle, in which, with varying degrees of depth, the maturity and resources of the analysand often play a role at valiance with his capacity fort understanding. This is true not only of the subjective quality and experience of his striding but of the resources which support his resistances, in either phase of the transference involvement. Whether the wish is to seduce, to cling, to defeat and humiliate, to spite, or to win love, mature resources of mind - sometimes of body - may be involved to start this purpose, including what may occasionally be an uncanny intuitiveness regarding the analyst’s personal traits, especially his vulnerabilities?
 The persistence of old desires for gratification and the urge to consummate them, or the given urges to restore and maintain an original relationship with an omnipotent (and omniscient) parent, are intelligible to everyday modes of thought. That the transference, like the neurosis itself, may also entail guilt, anxiety, flustration, disappointment and narcissistic hurt are another matter. If it gives so much trouble, why does it reappear? Freud’s latter-day explanation involved the complex general theory of primary masochism and the repetition compulsion. One cannot, in a brief discussion, reach a disputation that has already occasioned voluminous writing. In ultimate condensation, the operational view to which are the elements to be understood, as perhaps, of (1) accompanying the renewed unregenerate drive for gratification of previously warded off wishes, whether libidinal or aggressive, based on the presentation of an actual object who bears significant functional ‘resemblances’ to the indispensable parent of early childhood, in a climate and structure of instinctual abstinence, and
(2) based on the latent alternative urge to understand, assimilate, perhaps alters parental response, or otherwise master poignantly a painful situation as they were  experienced in state of relative helplessness in the past. Both may be viewed as independent of adult motivations, although the power of the first may at times importantly subserve such motivations, and the second may often be phenomenologically congruent with them. Implicit in both, in contrast with the experienced plasticities and varieties of mature ego development, is the persistent and a continuous theme of adhesion to the psychic representation of the decisive original parent figure or a perceptually variant substitute. Still, it is profoundly important against original separation from the primal mother, with its potential phase specifications, as opposed to the powerful urges toward independence development, providing the underlying basis for developmental and later, neurotic conflict, that these conflicting tendencies, in the sense of the profundity that of them provide a certain parallel to the Thanatos-Eros struggle that assumed a decisive role in Freud’s final contributions. In a recent study of aggression (Stone 1971), examined Freud’s views on this subject. Although - in a paradox - by which the existence of a profound ‘alternative’ impulse to die at least conceptually tenable and susceptible to clinical inferential support, it is the conviction of those, that from both observation and inference, that aggression as this is an essential instrumental phenomenon (or can serve self-preservation and sexual impulses alike, and that it is thus, in its original forms, pitted against a postulated latent impulse to die, as it is against external threats to life. These urges and instrumentalities find primal organismic expression and experience in the phenomenon of birth and the immediate neonatal period, the biological prototype of all subsequent specifications, elaborations, and transmutations of the experience of separation. At the very outset the ‘conflict’ may find expression in the delay of breathing or, shortly after that, in the disinclination of suck. There is thus an intertwining of the two conceptions of basic conflict. It may characterize that 'time' will validate Freud’s latter-day views of the fundament of human conflict. For the time being, however, it has to the presents that are an empirically more accessible and a heuristically more useful view of the ultimate human intrapsychic struggle. Thus the originally unmastered or regressively reactivated struggle around separation, revived by developmental conflict, would in this schema represent the ‘bedrock’ of ultimate resistances, although never - at least in theory - utterly and finally insusceptible to influence. If we assume that the vicissitudes of object relationships, initiated by the special relationship of the human infant of his family, are fundamental in the accessible process of personality (thus, structural) development and thus of neuroses, and that, in ‘mirror images’. The transference and thus the transference-resistance has a comparable strategic position in the psychoanalytic process, can we extend these assumptions inti the detailed technical phenomenology of process resistance in its endless variety of expression? Yet, it remains that this extension is altogether valid.
 What is more, is whether or not one thinks of it as ‘motivation’ in its usual sense, one can without extravagance postulate and even more intense cohesiveness at the first signal of that stimulus that contributed to the establishment of the organization and its basic strategies in the first place, i.e., the analyst as transference object. In the subjective good sense, the regressive trend of the transference, by the total structure of the psychoanalytic situation (i.e., the basic rule of free association and the systematic deprivations of the personal relationship) confronts the patient with one who has perceived ultimately as his first and an all-important object, the prototypical source of all gratification, all deprivation, all rejection, all punishment - the object involved in the primordial serial experience of separation (Stone 1961). This may seem an exaggeratedly magniloquent way to view a practitioner who puts himself in a seating position, usually in an armchair, listens, tries to understand, and then interprets, when he can, toward a therapeutic end. To a large portion of the adult's patient’s personality, the ‘observing’ portions of his ego, the portion that enters the therapeutic alliance, that is just what he is and that of what he should remain. To another portion, largely unchanged from its past, sequestered in the unconscious but influential although in derivative and indirect ways, he is a formidable object. It is in this field of force that, along with the drive toward better solutions, the range of clinical transferences as we know they are awakened. As, the entire efforts to translate the patient’s view of drives for reunion and contact, whether libidinal or aggressive, into genuine language, insights and voluntary control (or appropriate conative accomplishment elsewhere) is ‘resisted’. As it was originally, as an expression (or at least precursors) of separation, thus repeating aspects of the original developmental conflict. It is, however, it also true that the later and clinically more accessible vicissitudes of childhood create more accessible resistances within the postulated Metapsychological context created by the infant-mother relationship. Such changes as those patients in whom the phenomena of general the unity or approximations have been largely renounced, not only as a physical fait's accompli in perceptual and linguistic fact but also with deployment of the cathexis among other essential intrapsychic representations. These changes remain subject to regression or to the primary investment of certain phase strivings, conspicuously the Oedipus complex, in an excessive libidinal or aggressive cathexis. Such strivings, paradigmatically the incest complex, are in themselves the narrowed, potentially adaptive, maturational expressions of the basic conflict arouse by separation. If the analyst, to this infantile portion of the patient’s personality, an indispensable parent because cognition is, in this reference, subordinate to drive, it follows that the analyst becomes the central object in the complicated infant system of desires, needs, and fears that have previously been incorporated in symptoms and character distortion. The patient must, furthermore, tell these ‘secrets’ to the very object of a complex of disturbing impulses. This is a new vicissitude, not usually encountered in childhood and guarded forthwith. Even within the patient’s own personality, by the very existence of the unconscious. Ordinarily, he does not even have to ‘tell himself’ about them, in the sense that he is to a considerable degree identified with his parents, originally in his ego, then, in a punitive or disciplinary sense, in his superego? To be sure, the adult ‘observing’ portion of his personality, except where matters of adult guilt, embarrassments, or shame interfere, usually cooperates with the analyst. It can at least try to maintain the flow of derivative associations, which give the analyst material for informed inferences. The tolerant and accepting attitudes of the analyst tested by patients' rational and intuitive capacities, evened more decisively his interpretative activity, which suggestively an unredeemed child in the patent that he, ‘knows’ (or at least surmises) already, ‘gradually overcome the patient’s far of his own warded-off material and finally the fear of is frank expression'.
 There are, then, three broad aspects of the relationship between resistance and transference. Assuming technical adequacy, the proportional importance of each, one will vary with the individual patient, especially with the depth of psychopathology. First, the resistance awareness of the transference and its subjective elaboration in the transference neurosis; second, the resistance to the dynamic and genetic reductions of the transference neurosis and ultimately the transference attachment itself, once established in awareness; third, the transference presentation of the analyst to the ‘experiencing’ portion of the patient’s ego, as id object and as externalized super-ego simultaneously in juxtaposition to the therapeutic alliance between the analyst in his real function and the rational ‘observing’ portion of the patient’s ego. These phenomena give intelligible dynamic meaning to resistances ordinarily observed in the cognitive-communicative aspects of the analytic process. These are the process or ‘tactical’ resistances, largely deriving from the ego under the pressure or threat of the superego.
 As for this, the word ‘working through’ was sometimes, as Freud made mention (1914), that the structure yields only when a peak manifestation of resistance has apparently been achieved. The patient appears to require time, repetition, and a sort of increasing familiarity with the forces involved for real change to occur. In addition, Freud originally thought of the energy transactions as having some relation to the phenomenon of an abreaction in the earlier methods. One is impressed with the insistent recurrence of transference effects, conspicuously irrational anger in essentially rational patients, as though the structuralized tendency from which they derive can be directorially based on repetitive re-enactment and gradual reduction of effect. Since circumscribed symptom formations equivalent forms of neurotic suffering (and gratification) play an ongoing and inevitable economic role in the psychoanalytic situation and process, apart from having usually been the basis for its initiation, one might assume that they bear an important relationship to working through. Even when extinguished short of fear or long since under the influence of the transferee, their continued latent existence (or potentialities) is opposed to the vicissitudes of the current transference neurosis or it through which gradual relinquishment via working. This is true whether one thinks of the symptom in the quasi-neurophysiological sense of Breuer’s early formation of pathways of ‘lowered resistance’ (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895) or in a more empirical sense as a perennially seductive regressive condensation of impulse, gratification, and punishment, a useful and well-grounded concept, allied with the struggle against separation, is the relationship of working through to the process of mourning (Freud 1917).
 While from the adult point of view the gratifications may be small and the crucial change for the worse, the symptom is nevertheless autoplastic, narcissistic in an isolated sense, already structuralized, and subject too no outside interference (except by the analysis), an expression of localized infantile omnipotent fantasy, however large or small this fantasy kingdom may be. Similarly, considering unconscious processes administering both the challenges and sanctions of the world of reality, and from the temporary disruptive intrusions of new elements into the narcissistically invested conscious personality organization. In working through, there is the diphasic and arduous problem of restoring original or potential object cathexes' in the transference neurosis, reducing their pathological intensities or distortions, and the deploying them in relation to the outer world. One may thus think of ‘working through’ as opposed to the renewal, symptom formation and as repeating some postulated vicissitude of one of the earliest conceptions of ‘transference’, the infantile transition from autoerotism to an object of love (Ferenczi 1908-9). In this sense, the clinging to the incestuous object, represented in the clinical transference, would represent an intermediate process.
 There is thus a tenacious reluctance of the ‘observing’ ego, might seduce the involved portion from its inveterate clinging to the actual transference object or to its autoplastically equivalent symptomatic representation. The postulated two portions of the ego (Freud 1940, Sterba 1934 in different references) are, after all, ‘of the same blood’ to put it mildly, and the urge to reunion in integrated function, the libidinal (synthetic) bonds, is quite strong. This affinity between ego divisions may, of course, take an opposite and adverse turn, a triumph of the ‘resistance’. As to instances of chronic severe transference regression, where the adult segment of the ego is ‘pulled down’ with the other and remains recalcitrant to interpretative e effort (Freud 1940). While this is, often contingent on the depth of manifest or latent illness, it may be simplified by iatrogenic factors, such as excessive and superfluous derivation in inappropriate and essentially irrelevant spheres. With these considerations, of whose importance is increasingly convincing with the passage of time.
 Mentioning it is important, even if briefly, that certain special factors, sometimes extrinsic to analysis as such, may indefinitely prolong apparent satisfactory analyses. Real guilt, for example, may not be faced. Emotional distress based on real-life problems may not be confronted and accepted as such. A person of the type described by Freud (1916) as an ‘exception’, who feels of himself as having been abused by the fortune of fate, even if in other respects not more ill than others, may consciously or unconsciously reject the psychoanalytic discipline or the instinctual renunciation derived from its insights. Fixed and unpromising life situations or organic incapacities may permit so little current or anticipated gratification that the attractiveness of the regressive, aim-inhibited analytic relationship is strongly in comparison with the barrenness of the extraanalytic situation. The last general consideration is, of course, always an essential (if silent) constituent of the psychoanalytic field of force, especially in relation to the dissolution of the transference-resistance (Stone 1966). Or alternatively more accessibly, the ‘rules of procedures’ of analysis itself may be consciously or unconsciously exploited by the patient. He may, in ‘obedience’ to a traditional rule, delay certain decisions to the point of absurdity, invoking the analytic work in support of his neurosis and sometimes in contempt of important obligations in real life. Financial support t of the analysis by someone other than the analysand can provide a basis for chronic, concealed ’acting out’. Usually, the analysis itself can, on occasion, become a lever for subtle erasion of obligations, vicissitudes, and contingent gratifications of everyday life, and thus, paradoxically, become a resistance to its on essential goals and purposes. It may become too much like the dream, to which it bears certain dynamic resemblances (Lewin 1954, 1955). The analyst’s perceptive and tactfully illuminating obligation is no less important in these spheres than in other sectors of his commitment.
 It is sometimes thought that by the ‘mature transference’ is meant, inflects the ‘therapeutic alliance’ or a group of mature ego functions that enter such an alliance. Now, there is sone blurring and overlapping the conceptual edges in both instances, but the concept as this is largely distinct from either one, as it is from the primitive transference. Either the concept is thought by others to comprehend a demonstrated actuality is a further question, that this question, is, of course, only to follow on conceptual clarity. In other words, the purposeful nonrational urge is not dependent on the perception of immediate clinical purposes, a true ‘transference; in the sense that it is displaced (in current relearnt form) from the parent of early childhood to the analyst. Its content is nontransitional but largely nonsenual (sometimes transitional, as in the child’s pleasure in so-called dirty words) (Ferenczi 1911) and encompasses a special and does not misuse spheric object relationship? : The wish to understand, and to be understood, the wish to be given understanding, i.e., teaching, specifically by the parent (or later surrogate), the wish to be taught ‘controls’ in a nonpunitive way, corresponding to the growing perception of hazard and conflict, and very likely to an implicit wish to provide with and taught channels of substitutive drive discharge. With this, there might be a wish, corresponding as the element in Loewald’s ascription (1960) by therapeutic process, to be seen as for one’s developmental potentialities by the analyst. However, the list could be extended into many subtleties, details, and variations. However, one should not omit to specify that, in its developments, it would include the wish for increasing accurate interpretation and the wish to ease such interpretations by providing sad adequate material: Ultimately, of course, by identification, to participate for being of its interpreter. The childhood system of wishes that underlie the transference is a correlate of biological maturation, and the latent (i.e., teachable) autonomous ego functions appearing with it (Hartmann 1939). However, there is a drive like quality in the particular phenomena that disqualifies any conception of the urge as identical with the functions, no one who has at any time watched a child importunes engendering questions, or experiment with new words, or solicit her interest in a new game, or demand storytelling or reading, can doubt this. That this finds powerful support and integration in the ego identification with a loved parent is undoubtedly true, just like the identification with an analyst toward whom a positive relationship has been established. That functional pleasure’ particates, certain ego energies perhaps, very likely the ego’s urge to extend its hegemony in the personality (Waelder 1936), however, the drive element, even the special phase patterns and colourations, and with it the importance of object relations, libidinal and aggressive, for a special reason. For just as the primordial transference seeks to into separation, in a sense to prevent object relationships as we know then ‘mature transference’ tends toward separation and individuation (Mahler 1965) and increasing contact with the environment, optimally with a large affirmative (increasing neutralized) relationship toward the original object, toward whom (or her surrogates) a different system of demands is now increasingly discrete. The further consideration that has to emphasize the drive like elements in these attitudes as integrated phenomena, as example of ‘multiple function’ than as the discrete exercise of function or functions, is the conviction that there is continuing dynamic relation of relative interchangeability between the two series, at least based on the responses to gratification, a significant zone of complicated energid overlap, possibly including the phenomenon of neutralization. That the empirical ‘interchangeability’ is limited, but this in no way diminishes its decisive importance. In the psychoanalytic situation, both the gratifications offered by the analyst and the freedom of expression by the patient are much more severely limited and concentrated practically entirely (in as much as the day is demonstrable sense) in the sphere of speech, on the analyst’s side, further, in the transmission of understanding.
 Whereas the primordial transference exploits the primitive aspects of speech, the mature transference urges seek the heightened mastery of the outer and inner environment, a mastery to which the mature elements in speech contribute importantly. Likewise, the most clear-cut genetic prototype for the free association-interpretation dialogue is in the original learning and teaching of speech, the dialogue between child and mother. It is interesting that just as the profundities of understanding between people often include - ‘in the service of the ego’ - transitory interjections and identification, the very word ‘communication’ represents the central ego function of speech, is intimately related etymologically, even in certain actual usages, to the word chosen for that major religious sacrament that is the physical ingestion of the body and blood of the Deity. Perhaps, this is just another suggestion that the oldest of individual problems does, after all, continues to seek its solution in its own terms, if only in a minimal sense and in channels so remote as to be unrecognisable.
 The mature transference is a dynamic and integral part of the ‘therapeutic alliance’, along with the tender aspects of the erotic transference, evens more attenuated (and more dependable) ‘friendly feeling’ of adult type, and the ego identification with the analyst. Indispensable, of course, are the genuine adult need for help, the crystallizing rational and intuitive appraisals of the analyst, the adult sense of confidence in him, and innumerable other nuances of adult thought and feeling. With these giving a driving momentum and power to the analytic process - always by it’s very nature in a potential course of resistance - and always requiring analysis, is the primordial transference and its various appearances in the specific therapeutic transference. That is, if well managed, not only a reelection of the repetition compulsion in its baleful sense, but a living presentation from the id, seeking new solutions, ‘trying again’, so to speak, to find a place in the patient’s conscious and effective life, has important affirmative potentialities. This has been specifically emphasized by Nunberg (1951), Lagache (1953, 1954), and Loewald (1960), among others. Loewald (1960) has recently elaborated very effectively the idea of ‘ghosts’ seeking to become ‘ancestors’, based on an earlier figure of speech of Freud (1900). The mature transference, in its own infantile right, provides some unique quality of propulsive force, which comes from the world of feeling, than the world of thought. If one views it in a purely figurative sense, that fraction of the mature transference that derives from ‘conversion’ is like the propulsive fraction of the wind in a boat navigating through close-haulage away from the wind: The strong headwind, the ultimate source of both resistance and propulsion, is the primordial transference. This view, however, should not displace the original and independent, if cognate, origin of the mature transference. To cohere to the figure of speech a favourable tide or current would also be required. It is not that the mature transference is itself entirely exempt from analytic clarification and interpretation. For one thing, like other childhood spheres of experience, there may have been traumas in this sphere, punishments, serious defects or lack or parental communication, listening, attention, or interest. Overall, this is probably far more important than has previously appeared in our prevalent paradigmatic approach to adult analysis, even taking into account the considerable changes die to the growing interest in ego psychology. ‘Learning’ in the analysis can, of course, be a troublesome intellectualizing resistance. Furthermore, both the patient’s communications and his reception and use of interpretations may exhibit only too clearly, as sometimes with other ego mechanisms, their origin in and tenacious relation to instinctual or analytic dynamism, greediness for the analyst to talk (rarely the opposite), uncritical acceptance (or rejections) of interpretations, parroting without actual assimilation, fluent, ‘rich’, endlessly detailed associations without spontaneous reflection or integration, direct demands for solution of moral and practical problems entirely within the patient’s own intellectual scope, and a variety of others. Discriminating it between the use of speech by an essentially instinctual demand and an intellectual may not always be easy or linguistic trait, or habit, determined by specific factors in their own developmental sphere. However, the underlying essentially genuine dynamism remains largely of a character favourable to the purposes and processes of analysis, as it was the original process of maturational development, communication, and benign separation. Lagache (1953, 1954) comments that on the desirability of separating the current unqualified usage. ‘Positive’ and ‘Negative’ transference, as based on the patient’s immediate state of feeling, from a classification based on the essential affect on analytic process. In the latter sense, the mature transference is usually, a ‘positive transference’.
 A few remarks about clinical considerations in the transference neurosis and the problem of transference interpretation, may be offered at this given directions held within time. The whole structural situation of analysis (in contrast with other personal relationships), its dialogue of frees association and interpretation, and its deprivation as to most ordinary cognitive and emotional interpersonal dispensing tends toward the separation of discrete transference from one another with defences, in character or symptoms, and with deepening regression, toward the re-enactment of the essentials of the infantile neurosis in the transference neurosis. In additional relationships, the ‘cooperative’ outlook - gratifying, aggressive, punitive, or in other ways abounding with responsibly, and the open mobility of search for alternative or greater satisfaction - put activities of profound dynamic and economic influence so that the only extraordinary situation or transference of pathologically comparable both, occasion comparable repression.
 It is a curious fact that whereas the dynamic meaning and importance of the transference neurosis have been well established since Freud gave this phenomenon a central position in his clinical thinking, the clinical reference, when the term is used, remains variable and ambiguous. For example, Greenson, in his paper of 1965, speaks of it as appearing “when the analyst and the analysis become the central concern in the patient’s life.” Yet, to specify certain aspects of Greenson’s definition, for the term ‘central’ is justifiable, in that the term would apply to the analyst’s symbolic position in relation to the patient’s experiencing ego (Sterba 1934) and the symbolically decisive position that he correspondingly assumes in relation to the other important figures in the patient’s current life. Although the analysis is in any case, and for many reasons, exceedingly important to the seriously involved patient, there is a free-observing portion of his ego, as involved, but not in the same sense as that involved in the transference regression and revived infantile conflicts. There is, of course, always the integrated adult personality, however diluted it may seem at times, to whom the analysis is one of many important realistic life activities. Rarely, although it unavoidably does occur, that the analysis factually thrives of importance to other major concerns, attachments, and responsibilities of the patient’s life, and, perhaps, it is not as desirable that this should occur. On the other hand, if construed with proper attention to the economic considerations, the idea is important both theoretically and clinically. In the theoretical direction, we are to assume that there is a continuing system of object relationships and conflict situations, most important in unconscious representations but participating often in all others, deriving in a successive series of transferences from the experiences of separation from the original object, the mother. In this sense, the analyst is substantially, the uniquely important portion of the patient’s personality, the portion that ‘never grew up’, a central figure. In the clinical sense, its importance is felt of the transference neurosis as outlining for us the essential and central analytic tasks, provided by the informatics adjacencies of currents of relative fugaciousness and demonstrability, a secure cognitive base for analytic work. By its inclusion of the patient’s essential psychopathological processes and tendencies in their original functional connections, it offers in its resolution or marked reduction, the most formidable lever for an analytic cure. The transference neurosis must be seen in its interweaving with the patient’s extra-analytic system of personal contacts. The relationship to the analyst may influence the course of relationships to others, in the same sense that the clinical neurosis did, except that the former is alloplastic, proportionally exposed, and subject to constant interpretations. It is also an important fact that, except in those rare instances where the original dyadic relationship appears to return, the analyst, even in strictly transference spheres, cannot be assigned all the transference roles simultaneously. Other actors are required. He may at times oscillate with confusing rapidity between the status of mother and father, but he usually predominantly in one of these roles for long periods, someone else representing the other. Moreover, apart from ‘acting out’, complicate and mutually inconsistent attitudes, anterior to awareness and verbalization, may require the seeking of other transference objects: Husband or wife, friend, another analyst, and so forth. Children, even the patient’s own children, may be invested with early strivings of the patient, displaced from the analysis, to permit the emergence or maintenance of another system of strivings. Physicians, of course, may encouragingly be more aware of in their patients and their own strivings, mobilized by the analysis, even experience the impulses that they would wish to call forth in the analyst. Transference interpretation therefore often had inescapably had some sorted paradoxical inclusiveness, which is an important reality of technique. There is another aspect, and that is the dynamic and economic impact of the intimate and actualized dramatis personae of the transference neurosis on the progress of the analysis as such and on the patient’s motivations, and his real-life avenues for recovery. For the person in his milieu may fulfill their ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ roles in transference only too well, in the sense that an analyst motivated by a ‘blind’ countertransference may do the same. Apart from their roles in the transference drama, which may ease or impede interpretative effectiveness, they can provide the substantial and dependable real-life gratifications that ultimately ease the analysis of the residual analytic transferences, or their capacities or attitudes may occasion an over-load of the anaclitic and instinctual needs in the transference, rendering the same process far more difficult. In the most unhappy instances, there can be a serious undercutting of the motivations for basic change.
 There is also the fundamental question of the role of the transference interpretation, is but nonetheless, the variances reserved as to details and emphasis on the other important aspects of the therapeutic process, in that, there are still many to whom, if not in doubt regardless the quality value of transference interpretation, are inclined doubts their uniqueness and to stress the importance of economic considerations in determining the choice about whether transference or extratransference (In a sense, the necessarily ‘distributed’ character of a variable fraction of transference interpretation), there is the fact that the extra analytic life of the patient often provides indispensable data for the understanding of detailed complexities of his psychic functioning, because of the sheer variety of its references, some of which cannot be reproduced in the relationship to the psychoanalyst. For example, there is not repartee (in the ordinary sense) in the analysis. This way the patient handles the dialogue with an angry employer may be importantly revealing. The same may be true of the quality of his reaction to a real danger of dismissal. There are not only the realities’ not also the ‘formal’ aspects of his responses. These expressions of his personality remain important, though his ‘acting out’ of the transference (assuming this was the case) may have been even more revealing and, of course, requiring transference interpretation. Furthermore, these expressions remain useful, if discriminating and conservatively treated, even if they are inevitable always subject to that epistemological reservation, which haunts so much of the data as placed in the analytic situation. Of course, the ‘positive’ transference simplifies intensified interpretations, but it is what might render their enabling capabilities that the abling of the patient’s acceptably to listen into them and directly take them seriously.
 In an operational sense, it seems that extratransference interpretations cannot be set aside or underestimated. However, the unique effectiveness of transference interpretations is not by that disestablished. No other interpretation is free, without reason. Of considering unlikely introduced apart from not substantially knowing the ‘other person’s’ involvement in a feel deep affection for, quarrelling, criticism, or whatever is being hoped-for. No other situation provides for the patient’s combinational sense of cognitive acquisition, with the experience of complete personal tolerance and acceptance, that is implicit in. an interpretation made by an individual who is an object of the emotions, drives or even defences, which are active at the time. There is no doubt that such interpretations must not only (in common with all others) include personal tactfulness but also must be offered with special care as to their intellectual reasonableness, in relation to the immediate context, lest they defeat their essential purpose. It is not too often likely that a patient who had just been jilted in a long-standing love affair and id suffering exceedingly will find useful an immediate interpretation that his suffering is because the analyst does not reciprocate his love, although a dynamism in this general sphere may be ultimate shown, and acceptable to the patient. On the other hand, once the transference neurosis is established, with accompanying subtle (sometimes gross) colourations of the patient’s story, transference interpretations are indicative, for, if all of the patient’s libido and aggressions are not, in fact, invested in the analyst, he has at least an unconscious role in all important emotional transactions, and if the assumption is correct, that the regressive drive, mobilized by the analytic situation, acceding the directorial restoration of a single all-encompassing relationship, specified pragmatically in the individual case by the actual attained level of development, then there is a dynamic factor at work, importantly meriting interpretation as such, to the extent that available material supports it. This would be the immediate clinical application of the material regarding a ‘cognitive lag’.
 Freud’s first formal reference to transference (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895) set the tone for all that followed. In discussion resistance and obstacles too effective cathartic (analytic) work, he offers as one possibility that ‘the patient is frightened at finding that she is transferring into the figure of the physician the distressing ideas that arise from the content of the analysis . . . Transference onto the physician takes place through a ‘false connection’. Freud then offers an example of a woman who developed a hysterical symptom based on her wish many years earlier (and now relegated to the unconscious) that the man she was talking to at the time might slowly take the initiative and gives her a kiss. He then described how, toward the end of one session, a similar wish came up within the patient toward himself - Freud. The patient was horrified and unable to work in the next hour, and obstacle to the therapeutic work that was removed once Freud had discovered its basis and pointed it out to the patient. In her response, the patient could recall the pathogenic recollections that accounted for her reactions to Freud the unconscious wish, according to Freud, had become conscious but was linked to the person based on a false connection by the transference,
 Importantly, the present of issues is the finding that Freud’s monumental discovery of transference was founded upon his realization that his patient’s conscious fantasy about him was based on an earlier experience with another man. This displacement from an earlier figure (in later writings this person would often be linked to the patient’s father or other childhood figure) was seen as having no foundation in the analyst’s behaviours and as based entirely on the patient’s inner wish. Freud repeatedly characterized such responses as the real for the patient though unfounded in the actualities of the analytic relationships.
 Once, again, in his well-known postscript to the case of Dora, Freud (1905) showed an appreciation of the unconscious basis for transference, though he maintained as his clinical reference point some type of conscious allusion to a reaction toward the analyst. Freud defined transference as a special class of mental structures that for the most parts are unconscious. Descriptively, he identified them as; untried additions or facsimiles of the impulses and phantasies that are suspensefully made conscious during the progression of the analysis. . . . They replace some earlier person by the person of the physician. Freud stared that some transferences differ from their earlier models in no way except the substitution of the physician for the earlier figure. He abstractively supposed of these to be new impressions or reprint, but stated that other transferences are more ingeniously constructed and have been subjected to a modifying influence he termed sublimation, the implication was that these transferences took advantage of some real peculiarity in the physician’s person or circumstance and attached themselves to that factor. These transferences he considered revised editions. Through transference, the past of the patient is revived as belonging to the present. Even with the patient Dora, the main transference was seen as a replacement for her father with Freud, and much of this found expression through conscious comparisons such as her question about whether Freud was keeping secrets from her as had her father. Other manifest concerns that Dora expressed in her relationship with Freud were traced to the relationship with Herr K.
 Throughout his discussion, Freud maintained the clinical view of transference as involving some direct reference to himself as the analyst. While he clearly stated that transference structures are largely unconscious, his evidently stressed on the role of unrecognized displacement s and an unawareness with the patient of intrapsychic and genetic sources of her direct responses to the analyst. It is this peculiarity of the conceptualization of transference - a recognition of its unconscious basis, which is seldom specified in any detail, and a simultaneous maintenance of the ides that it is expressed through direct references to the analyst - that has contributed too much uncertainty in this area.
 Freud and others have treated manifest and conscious fantasies about the analyst as if they represented either the direct awareness of a fantasy influencing the patient’s psychopathology or the breakthrough of as previous unconscious fantasy or memory, originally attached to an earlier figure. This has caused considerable confusion; for all practical purposes, conscious fantasies about the analyst and defences against them have been taken as the substance of the patient’s transference neurosis, while the role of the unconscious fantasies has been neglected.
 While Freud and other analysts have at times stressed the critical role of unconscious fantasy constellations in the development of neurosis, in their actual clinical work conscious fantasies are often taken at face value and held responsibly for the patient’s illness. Some of this contradiction has been rationalized away with the idea that these conscious fantasies represent direct breakthroughs of previously unconscious fantasies, a position adopted despite the acknowledgment in other contexts (Arlow 1969, Brenner 1976) that defences and resistances are always at work and that pure breakthroughs are extremely either rare or nonexistent (the conscious product is always a compromise and always contains some degree of disguise).
 While this view pats-lip service to the idea of nondistorted reactions by the patient, there has been virtually no consideration of his continuous, essentially sound functioning, or of his conscious and unconscious interventions. This is in keeping with the overriding stress on pathological unconscious fantasies in the etiology of neuroses and in transference, to the neglect of unconscious perceptions and introjects, a factor neglected to this day.
 Most of what Freud had to say about unconscious fantasies and derivatives appeared in papers unrelated to technique and transference. In an important contribution in 1908, Hysterical Phantasies and Their Relation to Bisexuality, he specifically identified the role of unconscious fantasies in symptom formation, borrowing heavily from his insights into dreams. Freud had discovered that hysterical symptoms are based on fantasies that represent the satisfactions of wishes. He noted, however, that these fantasies can be conscious or unconscious initially, but that the critical factor in neurosogenesis is the presence of an unconscious fantasy expressing itself through hysterical symptoms and attacks. Freud felt that at times these unconscious fantasies can quickly be made conscious and that both the conscious and the unconscious fantasy may be some derivative of a formally conscious fantasy, suggesting by that the disguise involves the unconscious rather than the conscious fantasy. In this early use of the concept of derivatives, then, it was no the conscious fantasy that was the derivative of the underlying fantasy, but the reverse.
 But, nonetheless, his paper on the dynamics of transference, Freud (1912) described transferences as based on a stereotyped plate that is constantly repeated
- repeated afresh - during a person’s life. The underlying fantasias were seen as partly accessible to consciousness, and as partly unconscious. Transference, then, is the introduction of one of these stereotypical plates into the patient’s relationship with the analyst.
 It was also that Freud stated that when associations fail or become blocked. They have become connected with the analyst. Freud stressed the role of unconscious complexes in psychopathology and suggested that they are represented consciously and that their roots in the unconscious have to be traced out. The key to analysis is the distortion of pathogenic material expressed through the patient’s transference.
 In Remembering, Repeating, and Working Through, Freud (1914) saw transference as involving repetitions of the past in the actual relationship with the analyst. In stressing, once, again, the extent to which the patient experiences these transferences as real and contemporize, Freud again used the term transference to refer to direct reactions to the analyst. In his paper on transference love (1915) Freud is clearly alluding to conscious erotic wishes and fantasies about the analyst. He stated that he was discussing situations in which women patients declare their love for a male analyst and make direct demands for the return of his love, using such demands as resistances. Similar thinking is revealed in An Outline of Psycho-Analysis, (1940), in which Freud discusses how the patient sees the analyst as a reincarnation of figures from his childhood, and transfers feelings and reactions based on this prototype. Freud was to  escape an understanding by which, once, again attributive to positive and negative attitudes toward the analyst, and the plastic clarity with which patients experience such transferences.
 The clearest evidence for Freud’s clinical definition of transference appears in his presentation of the opening phase of the analysis of the Rat Man (1909). The note’s of Freud decanting of this example, to reveal that with one exception, each time Freud used the term transference he was calling a conscious knowing fantasied illusion about himself or his family unit of measure. Persistently, Freud would attempt to identify the genetic basis for these transferences, largely, the main unconscious aspect was the mechanisms of displacement. It followed, then, that resistance, and in particular transference resistance, became defined as efforts by the patient to avoid the expression or realization of conscious fantasies about the analyst, and that the term could be extended to include unconscious avoidance as well. This is a reminder that the definition of resistance depends largely on the definition of transference - that is to say, that Freud took allusions toward an outside person as displacements from himself, and from ‘the transference’. In this context, it is well to recall that Freud’s original definition o acting out (Freud 1905) alluded to behaviours, directed toward the analyst, such as Dora’s flight from analysis, and to a lesser extent as to natural actions involved with other persons.
 Freud’s narrow view of transference concerning direct references to the analyst is also reflected in one of his rare comments on the nature of material from patients’ (Freud 1937). In discussing the kinds of material that patient’s put at the disposal of analysts for recovering lost pathogenic memories. Freud refers to dreams, free association, the repetition of effects, actions performed by the patient both inside and outside the analytic situation, and the relation of transference that becomes established toward the analyst. In addition, his archaeological model of repressed unconscious memories can be seen to imply the discovery of previously repressed fantasies integrated as though it were also to leave room for fragmented representations. Finally, we may note a comparable comment by Freud in the Outliner (1940): “We gather the material for our work from a variety of sources - from what communication has been made a reduction by giving us by the patient and by his free associations, from what her shows us in his transference, from what we reason out by interpreting his dreams and from what he betrays by his slips or parapraxes.”
 Moreover, Freud leaned toward the divorce of his discussion of the transference neurosis and transferences from his consideration of the nature of psychopathology. In keeping with this trend, his discussion of the nature of unconscious fantasies and processes, and of derivative communication, appeared primarily in two metaphysical papers - Repression (Freud 1915) and The Unconscious (Freud 1915). In both papers he was concerned with communication between the unconscious mind and the preconscious or conscious mind? He noted that this takes place by means of derivatives that express and represent unconscious instinctual impulses. He also pointed out that unconscious fantasies can be highly organized and logical even thought outside the awareness of the patient, suggesting again the possibility of the direct breakthrough of such fantasy material. In these writings, it is the unconscious fantasy that expresses itself consciously through derivatives as substitute formations such as symptoms or preconscious thought formations. What has been repressed, Freud noted? Can become conscious only if it is sufficiently disguised? On this basis, unconscious fantasies can be appeared in a patient’s free association (the reference to free association rather than to transference), through remote and distorted derivative expressions. These are substitute formations that include the return of the repressed, the repressed instinctual impulses modified by defensive operations such as displacement.
 Let it be said, that Freud left considerable room for uncertainty regarding his conceptualization of transference. Theoretically, he implied that transferences are based on unconscious fantasias and memories derived from experiences and brought into play in the relationship with the analyst. He himself never applied his insights into the nature of derivative comminations to the subject of transference. As a result, his clinical referent for transference remained throughout his writings that of a direct reference to the analyst. While he acknowledged the important role of unconscious processes and contented the analyst at face value and to understand them as direct representations displaced from the past. A major contradiction by that unfolded. In that Freud correctly understood neuroses to be based on unconscious fantasy constellations, including unconscious transference fantasies, and yet he worked analytically with the patient’s conscious fantasies toward himself as analyst. Freud’s contention that sometimes unconscious fantasies break through unmodified into conscious awareness is clearly insufficient justification for this approach. There is abundant clinical evidence that unconscious fantasy constellations are always expressed through derivative formations, and that even when elements of the underlying unconscious fantasy break through in unmodified form - or are recovered through interpretation - there always remains an additional cloak-and-dagger element. Further, at the point of realization of an undisguised unconscious fantasy, it seems likely that its own expression would be itself function as a disguised and defensive derivative of a different and still repressed unconscious fantasy (Gill 1963).
 The failure by analysts to maintain the essential definition of transference - as based on an unconscious fantasy constellation expressed, almost without acceptation, through derivatives - has led to many mistaken formulations regarding the nature of psychopathology, the analytic process itself, and the techniques of the psychoanalyst and psychotherapist. In their discussion of neuroses, analysts have consistently maintained and documented the thesis that psychopathological syndrome is based on unconscious processes and contents - fantasy constellations. It seems evident, that analytic work with manifest fantasies per se cannot provide access to, or interpretations of, these unconscious constellations.
 The need to clarify the contextual significance of ‘transference’ and what it serves to achieve, or prevent, or avoid, and becomes apparent. For example, relating to the analyst based on some preconceived fantasy, rather than as the person he or she is, can function to prevent the possibility of engaging meaningfully and experiencing the anxiety a more mutual and intimate engagement might arouse.
 An appreciation of interactive factors also allows us to consider that, to whatever degree the patient’s perceptions of the analyst are plausible and eve valid (Ferenczi, 1933; Little, 1951; Levenson, 1972; Searles, 1975; Gill, 1982; Hoffman, 1983), this may be due to the patient’s expertise at stimulating precisely this kind of responsiveness in the analyst. The reverse is true as well. Thus, though patient and analyst each will have unique vulnerabilities, sensitivities, strengths, and needs, we must consider why particular qualities or sensitivities of either patient or analyst are begun at a given moment and not at others. At any moment patient or analyst might be involved in some find of collusive enactment (Racker, 1957, 1968; Levenson, 1972, 1983; Sandler, 1976, Bion, 1967, 1983; Ogden, 1979; Grotstein, 1981; McDougall, 1979). These considerations to illuminate why clinicians often seem to practice in ways that contradict their own stated beliefs and theoretical positions.
 The powerful impact of unwitting communication between patient and analyst is, of course, one reason the analyst’s countertransference experience can be a source of vital data about the patient and may become the ‘key’ to understanding aspects of the interactions that might otherwise remain impenetrable (Heimann, 1950).
 An appreciation of interactive factors also requires us to reconsider what makes up analytic ‘mistake’. In this regard Winnicott (1956, 1963) has expressed the views that there are times when our patients need us to fail. In the end the patient uses the analyst’s failure, often quite: Small ones, perhaps manoeuverer by the patient: The operative factors are that the patient now hates the analyst for the failure that originally came as an environmental factor, outside the infant’s area of omnipotent control, that is now staged in the transference. So in the end we succeed by failing the patient’s way. This is a long distance from the simple theory of cures by corrective experience (Winnicott, 1963)
 From-Reichmann (1939, 1950, 1952), has emphasized that at times the analyst’s mistakes may become the basis for a ‘golden (analytic) opportunity’. From this vantage point we might consider that how an analyst deals in the accompaniment with wished, in that he or she has in possession of some inevitable fallibility that maybe on of the defining aspects of his or her techniques.
 An appreciation of interactive considerations thus requires us to rethink important issues of technique and the question of how we define ‘analysis’. It also requires us to consider that the pattern’s so-called ‘analyzability’ may depend on the nature of the analyst’s participation than has previously been recognized. The dilemma is how to move into a new mode of thinking about clinical technique that is not beset by the inherent limitations of traditional thinking or by those of more radical new perspectives.
 The unformidable combinations of others before have thought that the psychoanalytic situation and process as such have a general unconscious meaning, which reproduces certain fundamental aspects of early developments. For example, in Greenacre and in 1956 Spitz offered ideas of the psychoanalytic situation and of the origins of transference, based largely on the mother-child relationship of the first months of life. Greenacre used the term ‘primary transference’ (with two alternatives). As far as the ideas of Greenacre and Spitz emphasize the prototypic position of the first months of life, as reproduced in the current situation, there are subtle but important differences from the view presents. Nacht and Viderman in 1960 extended related ideas to their conceptual extreme, requiring metaphysical terminology. One can readily understand the regressive transference drive set up by the situation as having such general direction, i.e., toward primitive quasi union, a reservation that Spitz accepted and specified, in response to Anna Freud. It is te activation of this drive and its opposing cognate that underlies the construction of the psychoanalytic situation, which is seen primarily as a state of separation, of ‘deprivation-in-intimacy’.
 With the prolonged and strictly abstinent contact of the classical analytic situation, there is inevitably for the patient, some growing and paradoxical experience of cognitive and emotional deprivation in the personal sphere, the cognitive and emotional modalities in certain respects overlapping or interchangeable, in the same sense that the giving of interpretations may satisfy to varying degree either cognitive or emotional requirements. The patient, also renounces the important expression of a locomotion. If developed beyond a certain conventional communicative degree, even gesture or other bodily expressions tend, by interpretive pressure, to be translated into the mainstream of oral-vocal-auditory language. The suppression of hand activity, considering both its phylogenetic and ontogenetic relation to the mouth (Hoffer 1949), exquisitely epitomizes the general burdening of the function of speech, regarding its latent instinctual components, especially the oral aggressions.
 From the objective features of this real and purposive adult relationship, one may derive the inference that “its representational advance presents of unintentional consciousness, one of disguising itself in its primary and most extensive impact, the superimposed series of basic separation experiences in the child’s relation to his mother." In that, the analyst would represent the mother-of-separation, as differentiated from the traditional physician who, by contrast, represent the mother associated with intimate bodily care. This latent unconscious continuum-polarity eases the oscillation from ‘psychosomatic’ reactions and proximal archaic impulses and fantasies, up to the integration of impulse and fantasy life within the scope of the ego’s control and activities (Stone 1961).
 Within this structure, the critical function of speech is seen in a similar perspective, as a continuous telescopic phenomenon ranging from its primitive meanings as physiological contact, resolution of excess or residual primitive oral drive tensions, through the conveyance of expressive or demanding or other primitive communications, on up to its role as a securely established autonomous ego function, genuinely communicative in a referential-symbolic sense. To the extent that an important fraction of human impulse life is directed against separation from birth onward, the role of speech, which develops rapidly as the modalities of actual bodily intimacy are disappearing or becoming stringently attenuated (Sharpe 1940), has a unique importance as a bridge for the state of bodily separation. In the instinctual contribution to speech, considering it as a phenomenon of organic or maturational ‘multiple function’ (Waelder 1936), the cannibalistic urges loom large; they, and more manifestly, their civilized cognates (partially, derivative?), Introjection tracings and their preserving capabilities for re-emergence as such, always. In such view, the most primitive and summary form of mastery of separation, fantasized oral incorporation, is in a continuous line of development with the highest form of objective dialogue between adults. The demonstrable level of response of the given patient, in this general unconscious setting, will be determined (in ideal principle) by his effectively attained level of psychosexual development and ego functioning in its broadest sense and by his potentiality for regression.
 Advances in our understanding of the therapeutic action of the psychoanalysis should be based on deeper insight into the psychoanalytic process. By ‘psychoanalytic process’ is to mean the significant interactions between patient which ultimately leads to structural changes in the patient’s personality. Today, after more than fifty years of psychoanalytic investigation and practice, we can appreciate, if not to understand better, the role which interaction with environment plays within the core organizational formation, development, and continued integrity of the psychic apparatus. Psychoanalysis ego-psychology, based on a variety of investigations concerned with
Ego-development, has given us some tools to deal with the central problem of the relationship between the development of psychic and interaction with other psychic structure, and of the connexion between ego-formation and other object-relations.
 If ‘structural changes in the patient’s personality’ mean anything, it must mean that we assume that ego-development is resumed in the therapeutic process in the psychoanalysis. This resumption of ego-development is contingent on the relationship with a new object, the analyst. The nature and the effects of this new relationship are under what should be the fruitful attempt to correlate our understanding of the significance of object-relations for the formation and development of the psychic apparatus with the dynamics of the therapeutic process.
 Problems, however, of essentially established psychoanalysis theory and tradition concerning object-relations the phenomenon of transference, the relations between instinctual drives and ego, and concerning the function of the analyst in the analytic situation, have to be dealt with, least of mention, it is unavoidable, for clarification to those who think of a divergent repetition from the cental theme to deal with such problems. Thus and so, the existent discussion is anything but a systematic presentation of the subject-matter. Therefore, in continuing further details of attempting to suggest modifications or variations in techniques, but the psychoanalytic changes for the better understanding of therapeutic action of the psychoanalysis in that it may lead to changes in technique, as anything of such clarification may entail as a technique is concerned should be worked out carefully and is not the topic but its psychometric test?
 While the fact of an object-relationship between patient and analyst is taken for granted, classical formulations concerning therapeutic action and concerning the role of the analysts in the analytic relationship do not reflect our present understanding of the dynamic organization of the psychic apparatus, and not merely of ego. In that, the modern psychoanalytic ego-psychology that expressed directly or indirectly, as far more than an additional psychoanalytic theory of instinctual drives. It is however the elaboration of a more comprehensive theory of the dynamic organization of the psychic apparatus, and the psychoanalysis are in the process of integrating our knowledge of instinctual drives, gained during earlier stages of its history, into such a psychological theory. The impact of psychoanalytic ego-psychology has on the development of the psychoanalysis, in that is to suggest that ego-psychology be not concerned with just another part of the psychic apparatus, given but a new continuum to the conception of the psychic apparatus as an undivided whole.
 In an analysis, one is to think that we have opportunities to observe and investigate primitively and more advanced interaction-processes, that is, interactions between patient and analyst that leads to or from steps in ego-integration and disintegration. Such interactions, or integrative (and disintegrative) experiences, occur often but do not often as such become the focus of attention and observation, and go unnoticed. Apart from the difficulty for the analyst of self-observation while in interaction with his patient, there is a specific reason, stemming from theoretical bias, why such interactions not only go unnoticed but are frequently denied. The theoretical bias is the view of the psychic apparatus as a closed system. Thus the analyst is seen, not as a co-actor on the analytic stage, on which the childhood development, culminating in the infantile neurosis, is restaged and reactivated in the development, crystallization and resolution of the transference neurosis, but as a reflecting mirror, even if of the unconscious, and characterized by scrupulous neutrality.
 This neutrality of the analyst is required (1) in the interest of scientific objectivity, to keep the field of observation from being contaminated by the analyst’s own emotional intrusions, and (2) to guarantee an unformed mind for the patient’s transferences. While the latter reason is closely related to the general demand for scientific objectivity and avoidance of the interference of the personal equation, it has its specific relevance for the analytic procedure as such in as far as the analyst is supposed to function not only as an observer of certain precess, but as a mirror that actively reflects back to the patient the latter’s conscious and particularly his unconscious processes through communications. A specific aspect of this neutrality is that the analyst must avoid falling into the role of the environmental figure (or of his opposite) the relationship to whom the patient is transferring to the analyst. Instead of falling into the assigned role, he must be objective and neutral enough to reflect back to the patient what role the latter has assigned to the analyst and to himself in the transference situation. Nevertheless, such objectivity and neutrality now need to be understood more clearly as to their meaning in a therapeutic setting.
 It is all the same that ego development is a process of increasingly higher integration and differentiation of the psychic apparatus and does not stop at any given point except in neurosis and psychosis: although it is true that there is normally a marked consolidation of ego-organization around the period of the Oedipus complex. Another consolidation normally takes place toward the end of adolescence, and further, often less marked and less visible, consolidation occurs at various other life-stages. These later consolidations - and this is important - follow periods of relative ego-disorganization and reorganization, characterized by ego-regression. Erickson has described certain types of such periods of ego-regression with subsequent new consolidations as identity crises. An analysis can be characterized, from this standpoint, as a period or periods of induced ego-disorganization and reorganization. The promotion of the transference neurosis is the induction of such ego-disorganization and reorganization. Analysis is thus understood as an intervention designed to set ego-development in motion, be it from a point of relative arrest, or to promote what we conceive of as a healthier direction or comprehensiveness of such development. This is achieved by the promotion and use of (controlled) regression. This regression is one important aspect under which the transference neurosis can be understood. The transference neurosis, in the sense of reactivation of the childhood neurosis, is set in motion not simply by the technical skill of the analyst, but by the fact that the analyst makes himself available for the development of a new ‘object-relationship’ between the patient and the analyst. The patient having a tendency to make this potentially new object-relationship into an old, on the other hand, its total extent from which the patient develops ‘positive transference’ (not in the sense of transference as resistance, but in the sense in which ‘transference’ carries the whole process of an analysis). He keeps this potentiality of a new object-relationship alive through all the various stages of resistance. The patient can dare to take the plunge into the regressive crisis of the transference e neurosis that brings him face to face again with his childhood anxieties and conflicts, if he can hold to the potentiality of a new object-relationship, represented by the analyst.
 We know from analytic s well as from life experience that new spurts of self-development may be intimately connected with such ‘regressive’ rediscoveries of oneself as may occur through the establishment of new object-relationships, and this means: New discovery of ‘objects’. Seemingly enough, new discovery of objects, and not discovery of new objects, because the essence of such new object-relationships is the opportunity they offer for rediscovery of the early paths of the development of object-relations, leading to a new way of relating to objects and of being and relating to ones' own. This new discovery of oneself and of objects, this reorganization of ego and objects, is made possible by the encounter with a ‘new object’ which has to possess certain qualification to promote the process. Such a new object-relationship for which the analyst holds himself available to the patient and to which the patient has to hold on throughout the analysis is one meaning of the term ‘positive transference’.
 What is the neutrality of the analyst? Its significance branches the intangible quantification upon stemming from the encounter with a potentially new object, the analyst, which new object has to possess certain qualifications to be able to promote the process of ego-reorganization implicit in the transference neurosis. One of these qualifications is objectivity. This objectivity cannot mean the avoidance of being available to the patient as an object. The objectivity of the analyst has reference to the patient’s transference distortions. Increasingly, through the objective analysis of them, the analyst overcomes not only a potentiality but the subjective expanding activities available are of a new object, by eliminating in stages impediments, represented by these transferences, to a new object-relationship. There is a tendency to consider the analyst’s availability as an object merely as a device on his part to attract transference onto himself. His availability is seen as to his being a screen or mirror onto which the patient projects his transference, which reflects them back to him as interpretations. In this view, at the ideal endpoint of the analysis no further transference occurs, no projections are thrown on the mirror, the mirror having nothing now to reflect, can be discarded.
 This is only a half-truth. The analyst in actuality does not reflect the transference distortions. In his interpretations he implies aspects of undistorted reality that the patient begins to grasp the successive sequence as the transferences are interpreted. This undistorted reality is mediated to the patient by the analyst, mostly by the process of chiselling away the transference distortions, or, as Freud has beautifully put it, using an expression of Leonardo da Vinci, ‘per via di levare’ as, insomuch as of sculpturing, not ‘per via di porre’ as, in producing a painting. In sculpturing, the figure to be created comes into being by taking away from the material: In painting, by adding something to the canvas. In analysis, we bring out the true form by taking away the neurotic distortions. However, as in sculpture, we must have, if only in rudiments, an image of that which needs to be brought into its own. The patient, in such a way he contributes of himself to the analyst, and provides rudiment infractions of such a continuous image of fragmented fluctuations imbedded by distortion - an image that the analyst has to focus in his mind, thus holding it in safe keeping for the patient to whom it is mainly lost. It is this tenuous reciprocal tie that represents the germ of a new object-relationship.
 The objectivity of the analyst regarding the patient’s transference distortions, his neutrality in this sense, should not be confused with the ‘neutral’ attitude of the pure scientist toward his subject of study. Nonetheless, the relationship between a scientific observer and his subject of study has been taken as the model for the analytic relationship, with the following deviation: The subject, under the specific conditions of the analytic experiment, directs his activities toward the observer, and the observer expresses his findings directly to the subject with the goal of modifying the findings. These deviations from the model, however, change the whole structure of the relationship to the extent that the model is not representative and useful but, in earnest, very much misleading. As the subject directs his activities toward the analyst, the latter are not integrated by the subject as an observer: As the observer expresses his findings to the patient, the latter are no longer integrated by the ‘observer’ as a subject of study.
 While the relationship between analyst and patient does not possess the structure, scientist-scientific subject, and is not characterized by neutrality in that sense by the analyst, the analyst may become a scientific observer to the extent to which he can observe objectively the patient and himself in interaction. The interaction itself, however, cannot be adequately represented by the model of scientific neutrality. Using this model is unscientific, based on faulty observation? The confusion about the issue of countertransference relates to this. It hardly needs to be pointed out that such a view in no way denies or reduces the role scientific knowledge, understanding, and methodology play in the analytic process, nor does it have anything to do with advocating an emotionally-charged attitude toward the patient or ‘role-taking’. In that a showing attempt to disentangle the justified and requirement of objectivity and neutrality from a model of neutrality that has its origin in propositions that may be untenable.
 One of these is that therapeutic analysis is an objective scientific research method, of a special nature to be sure, but falling within the general category of science as an objective, detached study of natural phenomena, their genesis and interrelations. The ideal image of the analyst is that of a detached scientist. The research method and the investigative procedure in themselves, carried out by unspecified scientists, are said to be therapeutic. It is not self-explanatory why a research project should have a therapeutic effort on the subject of study. The therapeutic effect appears to have something to do with the requirement, in analysis, that the subject, the patient himself, gradually becomes an associate, as it was, in the research work, that he himself becomes increasingly engaged in the ‘scientific project’ which is, of course, directed art himself. We speak of the patient’s observing ego on which we need to be able to rely to a certain extent, which we attempt to strengthen and with which we collaborate among ourselves. We encounter and make to some functional applicability of what is known under the general title, ‘identification’. The patient and the analyst acknowledge the fact for being equally increasing to the evolving principles that govern the political nature as deployed to the accessorial evolution for a better and mutually actualized understanding, if the analysis proceeds, in their ego-activity of scientifically guided self-scrutiny.
 If the possibility and gradual development of such identification are, as is always claimed, a requirement for a successful analysis, this introduces the component factor from which has nothing to do with scientific detachments and the neutrality of a mirror (‘mirror’ in this sense, is meant as having been for the most part used to denote the ‘properties’ of the analyst as a ‘scientific instrument’. (A psychodynamic understanding of the mirror as it functions in human life may reestablish it as an appropriate description of at least certain aspects of the analyst’s function). This identification does relate to the development of a new object-relationship of which is the foundation for it.
 The transference neurosis takes places in the influential presence of the analyst and, as the analysis progresses, ever more ‘in the presence’ and under the eyes of the patient’s observing ego. The scrutiny, carried out by the analyst and by the patient, is an organizing, ‘synthetic’ ego-activity. The development of an ego function is dependent on interaction. Neither the self-scrutiny, nor the freer, healthier development of the psychic apparatus whose resumption is contingent upon such scrutiny, takes place in the vacuum of scientific laboratory conditions. They take place in the presence of a favourable environment, by interaction with it. One could say that in the analytic process this environmental element, as happens in the original development, becomes increasingly internalized as what we are to call; the observing ego of the patient.
 There is another aspect to this issue. Involved in the insistence that the analytic activity is a strictly scientific one (not merely using scientific knowledge and methods) is the notion of the dignity of science. Scientific man is considered by Freud as the most advanced form of human development. The scientific stage of the development of man’s conception of the universe has its counterpart in the individual’s state of maturity, according to Totem and Taboo. Scientifically self-understanding, to which the patient is helped, is in and by itself therapeutic, following this view, since it implies the movement toward a stage of human evolution not previously reached. The patient is led toward the maturity of scientific man who understands himself and external reality not animistic or religious terms but as to objective science. There is little doubt that what is called the scientific exploration of the universe, including the self, may lead to greater mastery over it (within certain limits of which we are becoming painfully aware). The activity of mastering it, however, is not itself a scientific activity. If scientific objectivity is assumed to be the most mature stage of man’s understanding of the universe, showing the highest degree of the individual’s state of maturity, we may have a personal stake in viewing psychoanalytic therapy as a purely scientific activity and its effects as due to such scientific objectivity. Beyond the issue of an investment, to be, as necessary and timely to question the assumption, handed to us from the nineteenth century, that the scientific approach to the world and the self represents a higher and more mature evolutionary stage of man than the religious way of life. However, its questioning pursuit will not be for us to pursue.
 Though the objective interpretation of the analyst and the transference distortion, it increasingly becomes available to the patient as a new object. This not primarily in the sense of an object not previously met, but the newest consists in the patient’s rediscovery of the early paths of the development of object-relations leading to a new way of relating to objects and of being oneself. Though all the transference distortions the patient reveals rudiments at least of that core (of himself and ‘objects’) which has been distorted. It is this core, rudimentary and vague as it may be, to which the analyst has reference when he interprets transferences and defences, and not one abstract idea of reality or normality, if he is to reach the patient. If the analyst keeps his central focus on this emerging core, he avoids moulding the patient in the analyst’s own image or imposing on the patient his own concept of what the patient should become. It requires objectivity and neutrality the essence of which is love and respect for the individual and for individual development. This love and respect represent that counterpart in ‘reality’. In interaction with which the organization and reorganization of ego and psychic apparatus take place.
 The parent-child relationship can serve as a model, in that the parent ideally is in an empathic relationship of understanding the child’s particular stage in development, yet ahead in his vision of the child’s future and mediating this vision to the child in his dealing with him. This vision, informed by the parent’s own experience and knowledge of growth and future, is, ideally, a more articulate and more integrated version of the core of being which the child presents to the parent. This ‘more’ that the parent sees and knows, he mediates to the child so that the child in identification with it can grow. The child, by internalizing aspects of the parents, also internalizes the parent’s image of the child - an image mediated to the child in the thousand different ways of being handled, bodily and emotionally. Early identification as part of ego-development, built up through introjection of maternal aspects, includes introjection of the mother’s image of the child. Part of what is introjected is the image of the child as seen, felt, smelled, heard, touched by the mother. Adding that what happens would perhaps be correct is not wholly a process of introjection, if introjection is used as a term for an intrapsychic activity. The bodily handling of and concern with the child, the manner in which the child is fed, touched, cleaned, the way it is looked at, talked to, called by name, recognized and re-recognized - all these and many other ways of communicating with the child, and communicating to him his identity, sameness, unity, and individuality, shape and mould him so that he can begin to identify himself, to feel and recognize himself as one and as separate from others yet with others. The child begins to experience himself as a central unit by being centred along.