Sabina Spielrein was an 18-year-old borderline psychotic, hysterical woman who could not be helped by other treatments available in the early 1900's. So Jung tried out Freud's new technique, "the talking cure." Spielrein sat in one chair, with Jung sitting behind her out of sight. Encouraged to share her uncensored thoughts—"free association"—she revealed to Jung her history of traumatic physical abuse by her father which she found to be both frightening and erotically exciting. Jung listened, tried to make sense of her experiences, and interpreted their meaning to her. Over time, Spielrein got better. A lot better. So much so that she was able to leave the hospital, to pursue university studies, and eventually to become a psychiatrist and psychoanalyst herself.

But in the course of this intense therapeutic relationship, Jung and Spielrein became emotionally and sexually entangled. Spielrein seduced Jung; Jung seduced Spielrein. They became involved in a ongoing sexual relationship about which Jung was deeply conflicted but from which he could not disentangle himself. It seems to me that the affair was a tragic reenactment of Spielrein's early life: she and her father-doctor were engaged in a confused, traumatic relationship which both troubled and excited them. Under great unconscious pressure, they couldn't help themselves.

Since viewing the film, I continue to picture the scene of Jung sitting behind Spielrein as she free associates and he listens. In our time, more than 100 years later, psychoanalysts still conduct treatment in this way, although the patient now lies on the couch. But today, there is another character in the mix.  Today, the psychoanalyst has help that Jung did not have. Today, the analyst has an analyst, too. The doctor has his own doctor sitting behind him, listening to his free associations, making meaning of his experiences, and providing a safeguard so that the patient-doctor can think about his impulses and fantasies rather than act them out. I imagine that Jung might have followed a different path if he had that kind of help.

The "dangerous method" of psychoanalysis is far less dangerous today than it was in Jung's day for a few reasons. First and foremost, we learned from his mistakes. We learned that exploration of the deepest, most powerful longings, fears, and impulses of psychoanalytic patients has a profound effect on the analyst—who is, after all, a human being, too. Just like the patient, the analyst is pressured to enact his impulses and fantasies; it takes great effort to think about and contain them instead.

Because of the dangers inherent in such a powerful process, psychoanalysts these days are required to undergo a personal analysis as part of their professional training. We also receive intensive supervision for our first several cases. Unlike Freud and Jung, we have professional help in discovering and managing our weaknesses and blind spots—in both our personal and professional lives.

Because of the lessons learned from the experiences of the pioneers of our profession, we now have ethical guidelines and laws that prohibit sexual relations between therapists and their patients. There are serious consequences for breaching these rules—such as a therapist losing his license or being sued for malpractice. It is right and necessary for the doctor-patient therapy relationship to be protected in these ways. Sadly, violations of these important boundaries still occur—and some patients are re-traumatized rather than helped by their therapists. Because we are more aware of these dangers, we have developed a method to try to prevent and deal with problems that arise.

"A Dangerous Method" is a film worth seeing, not only because it is a gripping human story but because it highlights the potential benefits and risks of the talking cure. I think we have learned some lessons along the way and hope that we will continue to learn more and more.