INTRODUCTION

13

An all-pervading feeling of profound responsibility to society in general, can be the only reason for a man, by far the most celebrated expert in his special field of endeavor, not to try to maintain a monopoly of his scientific findings, but make them accessible to the public. Such altruism is so much more remarkable if this man happens to be a member of the Æsculapian priesthood, a clan which, not unlike the Holy Roman Church, always assumed, and still assumes to a certain extent, an air of mysticism, for the purpose of barring the layman. For the very same reason—that of maintaining a monopoly—dead and obsolete languages are resorted to, for recording experiences in the form of technical terms, and even for the writing of prescriptions.

Of course, it must be admitted that the activities of insufficiently informed people, known as “quacks,” have done great damage to society. On the other hand, nobody will deny any more that the popularizing of modern 14hygiene, bacteriology, anatomy and pathology has proven a boon to humanity in general.

It is typical of the Father of Psychoanalysis, imbued with a deep sense of fairness towards mankind, that he has never indulged in a narrow-minded, professional point of view.

The mere accident that it remained for the science of medicine to discover the Psychology of the Unconscious and Psychoanalysis as such, was not enough reason for Sigmund Freud to treat his discovery as a strictly medical preserve.

Very helpful to Freud in this respect was the fact that he has a striking gift to make himself easily understood to the laity, in a manner usually not to be found in people specializing in the intricacies of science. Doubtless, Sigmund Freud’s astonishing gift to be his own best popularizer, unquestionably takes root in his ability to fathom the soul of others, to speak to each and everyone in their own language, as it were.

To my mind, Sigmund Freud’s treatise on The Problem of Lay-Analyses gives much 15more than the title promises. This treatise is a complete outline, succinct and lucid at the same time, of psychoanalysis in its present state. If anybody would ask me today what book I could recommend to him for the easy understanding and grasping of the very essence of Psychoanalysis, I should not hesitate to recommend The Problem of Lay-Analyses. This book, to my best knowledge and belief, appears to me exemplary in its lucidity.

Freud unhesitatingly and strongly criticises “quacks,” who attempt to employ psychoanalysis without first being fully prepared for such work. To him it does not make the slightest difference whether these “quacks” are medically trained men—most of whom have up to now given only scant sympathy to his teachings—or, medically unprepared laymen. Freud is of the opinion that it is not the medical training and the “M.D.” degree which makes a man a competent psychoanalyst, but rather inherent insight into the human soul—first of all, into the unconscious layers of his own soul—and practical training. According to Freud, there are just as many medical as 16non-medical “quacks” exploiting psychoanalysis to the detriment of the general public and the new science as such. Moreover, at the present time, the relations of psychoanalysis to sciences in general are at least as close as they are to biology and medicine. It would, therefore, seem unfair to exclude non-medically trained men and women from the circle of psychoanalysts.

Of course, Freud does not close his eyes to the danger lurking behind the possibility of confounding strictly organic diseases with so-called functional or nervous ailments. Only after it is ascertained beyond doubt, by thorough medical examination, that a patient is a subject for psychoanalytical treatment, does Freud permit him to participate in the benefits of this therapy.

The number of physicians is too limited and their duties in general too manifold to allow all of them to devote themselves to the study and the application of psychoanalysis, to an extent which would actually exhaust the healing qualities of this new science. A whole army of psychoanalysts alone would be necessary 17to treat all those so-called incorrigible children whose ailings and failings constitute a grave danger for the coming generation. Great numbers of trained psychoanalysts would also be necessary to attend to such “cases” as penal and insane institutions offer, for the purpose of gradually substituting sanitariums for penitentiaries.

“Criminal Therapy,” on a psychoanalytical basis, looms up to me as one of the biggest issues facing us, at the present time. Another issue, less urgent perhaps, is the psychological readjustment that thousands upon thousands need in their relations to family, profession and society in general. This opens a tremendous field for the analytically trained social workers.

Another field where applied psychoanalysis might become one of the indispensable necessities is the realm of education. All school teachers ought to have a thorough psychoanalytical training, so that we may entrust our children to them with more confidence. Finally—last but not least—all professional men whose work, in one way or another, has 18any bearing on the human soul, should be psychoanalytically trained. Anthropology, sociology, history, the psychology of art can no longer dispense with psychoanalysis.

It is in view of the extreme importance of psychoanalysis in all these fields of human endeavor that Freud asks whether the immeasurable advantages which the new science presents should be restricted, from sheer fear of a more or less studiously over-emphasized danger resulting from quackery. Dissemination of information seems to be the best agent for discouraging quackery and spreading dependable facts on the subject.

For the necessity of preparing an American edition of The Problem of Lay-Analyses so soon after the publication of the German original, I myself may serve as a witness. It was my good fortune to accompany Dr. Freud on his now almost historical Argonauts’ trip to America in 1909, and admire the courageous readiness with which America’s outstanding leaders in the fields of psychology and neurology interested themselves in Freud’s theories. At that time, Freud and his teachings 19were still the bone of contention in the camps of European scientists.

The Nestor of America’s psychology, Dr. G. Stanley Hall, enthusiastically embraced Freud’s teachings. Dr. William James, the great philosopher and psychologist, listened to our gospel with great interest, though not as enthusiastic as Dr. Hall. Touching to the extreme was that youthful thirst of knowledge, with which Dr. James J. Putnam, that grand old man of Harvard University, hung on the lips of Dr. Freud. It is due to the untiring efforts of these men and the translation of Freud’s books by Dr. A. A. Brill, that psychoanalysis, in a comparatively short time and to a surprisingly great extent, gained ground in all strata of society in the United States. It is a matter of record that America became interested in Psychoanalysis much quicker than Europe.

Now, visiting America again after almost twenty years, I had occasion to observe how lasting and far-reaching an influence Dr. Freud’s teachings exert on all strata of American society. Of course, not only Freud and 20what he stands for, but also psychology in general, especially as it is applied to education. Time and again, I have noticed that it seems fairly impossible to listen to a conversation for any length of time, without hearing problems of psychoanalysis and the name Freud mentioned.

Not less stimulating and informative than the first, is the second part of the present volume, containing Freud’s own story of his life and his science. It is common knowledge today that Freud, in his inimitable objectivity, has always published facts and fancies which other scientists would have been only too careful to hide from the eyes of their contemporaries.

On the occasion of Freud’s seventieth birthday, I wrote in The International Journal of Psychoanalysis (July/October 1926):

So far as his personality is concerned, he has completely taken the wind from the sails of modern methods of inquiry which attempts to gain fresh insight into the development of a scientist’s views, by studying the intimate details 21of his private life. In his “Traumdeutung” and “Psychopathologie des Alltagslebens”, Freud has undertaken this task himself in a way previously unknown, and has not only indicated new lines of research for this kind of inquiry, but given for all time an example of a candor quite ruthless towards himself. He has also revealed unhesitatingly the ‘secrets of the laboratory’, the inevitable vacillations and uncertainties that are usually so carefully kept hidden.

I hope that the reader will agree with me that the part of this book which contains Freud’s “An Autobiographical Study” again displays candor and frankness to an astonishing degree. This part of the present volume, aside from other information, will also demonstrate to the student of psychology the tolerance Freud manifests in regard to former disciples of his who, apparently driven by an overpowering impatience, or because “they did not fancy to dwell in the Depths of the Unconscious” only too early, and with deplorable rashness, hastened to generalize their ideas, notwithstanding the insufficiency of their theories to explain complicated facts. As 22far as I am personally concerned, I cannot help considering Freud as one of the most progressive disciples of his own teachings, while the apostates of his doctrine appear to me as prematurely aged reactionaries.

Equipped with devious excuses and devices, these apostates deserted the paths of Freud’s teachings—paths that require the courage of the born pioneer—to return to the broad and beaten paths of orthodox psychology and biology.

May I not once more quote myself in this connection?

On December 28, 1926, speaking before the Mid-winter meeting of the American Psychoanalytical Association, I said:

It is a great mistake to gauge the age of a person by the number of years he has lived. To remain productive and to be capable of changing one’s opinions is to stay young. Both of these attributes are highly characteristic of Professor Freud, as his latest works attest. One finds nothing in them of stagnation in dogmatic assertions or of exhaustion of the fantasy. Against his own earlier theses he is perhaps often too unsparing, and the breadth of 23his perspective often exceeds everything which he has created in the past.

In conclusion, I wish to express the hope that this book will assist in dissipating an erroneous belief prevalent in certain circles. It appears that the general public have a decided tendency to confound Freud’s teachings and psychoanalysis, as such, with the subject of sex. “According to Freud there is only one causa movens, and that is sex!” is one of their mis-statements.

Of course, faithful students of Freud’s teachings will never arrive at such fallacious deductions. True, the attentive reader of this book will find that Freud, as far as sex is concerned, allots to this instinct more importance than the prudery and hypocrisy of present-day society is ready to grant it. But, ever and again, Freud emphasizes the mastering of urges—not by repression, to be sure, but by elimination of all that which appears logically, ethically, and æsthetically undesirable.

Dr. S. Ferenczi.

Budapest,

Hungary.

New York, September 1927.

25

THE PROBLEM OF LAY-ANALYSES

27

I

It appears to me that the title of this treatise may require an explanation. Let me, therefore, state that the problem of Lay-Analyses expresses itself most succinctly in the question of whether medically untrained laymen should be permitted to practise psychoanalysis.

This problem, timely in general, is subject to national laws.

It is a timely question, in so far as, up to now, apparently nobody ever cared who was practising psychoanalysis. As a matter of fact, too little attention was paid to the question into whose hands the employment of this new science was entrusted, with unanimity prevailing only in reference to a more or less strong tendency to wish that nobody at all should 28practise psychoanalysis. There were different reasons for this well-nigh general aversion.

The demand, then, now put before the legislatures of certain countries, that only physicians be permitted to apply psychoanalysis proves that, after all, a new, and apparently more tolerant opinion is becoming prevalent, as regards the recognition of our science. This new trend of putting the stamp of official and scientific approval on psychoanalysis, by reserving the monopoly of its application to medically trained men, must, however, first successfully clear itself of any and all suspicion of being nothing other than just a modification of the resistance hitherto shown towards psychoanalysis. Today, at last, it is admitted that, under certain circumstances, psychoanalytical treatment is in order. However, if it is to be applied, certain countries stand ready to impose the restriction that licensed physicians only shall be permitted to administer this treatment.

The problem before us right now, then, is why only physicians should be permitted to practise psychoanalysis. This is a problem 29subject to national laws. In the United States and Germany, for example, this problem does not amount to more than just an academic discussion, because in these countries a patient may receive treatment from anybody he chooses. In these countries, anybody who feels the inclination may treat, as a “quack” to be sure, “cases,” provided he stands ready to assume full responsibility for the effect of his treatment. Not before the authorities are actually appealed to to retaliate for such tangible harm as a patient may have suffered from the hands of an unlicensed practitioner of psychoanalysis, does the law interfere in the United States, Germany and many other countries.

In Austria, however, where I am writing this treatise, bearing in mind the special conditions which prevail there, in regard to the administration of psychoanalytical treatment, the authorities employ the law of the country as a preventive. In my country, without considering ultimate results, the law, in sweeping restrictions, enjoins all and sundry laymen from treating ailing people.

30In the Republic of Austria, therefore, there is a very practical aspect to the question of whether laymen should be permitted to treat ailing people with psychoanalysis. As a matter of fact, under present conditions, this question seems to be settled since it is already answered by the wording of the law, now appearing on the statutes of my country: Nervous people are unquestionably sick people; laymen are doubtlessly no licensed physicians; psychoanalysis is a remedy for the healing, or improvement, of nervous disorders. As in the eyes of the law, the latter are considered diseases and the treatment of all such ailments reserved for licensed physicians exclusively, laymen are liable to severe punishment when employing psychoanalysis for the treatment of nervous people.

In view of this plain state of affairs, one scarcely dares to approach the question of permitting the laity to practise psychoanalysis in Austria. However, in spite of the obviousness of the situation as a whole, there are some additional aspects to the question which, 31albeit the law does not take cognisance of them, should nevertheless be considered.

It may develop that in connection with psychoanalysis, people in need of treatment are not sick people, in the broad meaning of this term; laymen not always to be considered laymen, nor physicians what physicians are generally supposed to be—the very premise upon which these physicians base their claims. If such a state of affairs becomes apparent, it would be justifiable to insist upon a modification of the law, prohibiting the unlicensed practise of medicine, as far as the application of psychoanalytic treatment is concerned.

32

II

Whether this modification shall be enacted as a law will depend mostly on people who may not be expected to know the peculiarities of analytical treatment. It will be our task, therefore, to instruct these impartial referees, these typical laymen whom we will assume, for the time being, are completely uninformed. It is regrettable that we cannot arrange for them to attend an analytical treatment in the rôle of an observer. It is one of the peculiarities of the “analytical situation” that it will not suffer the presence of a third party.

Moreover, individual sessions are liable to be very unequal, as regards the information they may yield. Mr. Referee happening in at an analytical session, would probably not profit to any great extent. As a matter of fact, he might altogether misinterpret that which is discussed between the analyst and the patient. 33He may even become downright bored with the proceedings. Therefore Mr. Referee must needs be satisfied with the information we shall presently impart to him, endeavoring to set it forth as lucidly as possible.

Let us assume that the patient is suffering from attacks of moodiness, which he is unable to control, or else is the victim of a despondency so depressing as to paralyse his energy, causing him to lose all confidence in himself, manifesting extreme self-consciousness when among strangers. Without grasping the underlying elements of his case, the patient may observe that not only the discharge of his daily duties becomes more and more arduous for him, but also that he experiences difficulties when called upon to make a decision or embark upon some enterprise.

One day—utterly ignorant of the exact cause—he succumbs to an attack of fear. From then on, he is unable to cross a street alone, or board a train, without fighting off a certain inarticulate fear. This condition, as a matter of fact, may even become so pronounced as to render it absolutely impossible for him to 34cross a street, or board a train, unaccompanied.

Or—what appears very peculiar to him—his thoughts “wander”; they are no longer subject to his will. They attach themselves to problems which, in reality, do not interest him at all but which he is, nevertheless, unable to dismiss from his mind. He imposes perfectly ludicrous tasks upon himself, such as counting the windows along the street. When attending to simple functions, such as mailing a letter or turning off the gas, doubts harass him a few moments later, as to whether he has really dropped the letter into the mail box and whether he actually turned off the gas.

Perhaps such a condition is merely annoying at first, but it becomes intolerable when, in advanced stages, it proves impossible to shake off such preposterous ideas as having flung a child under the wheels of a car, or thrown somebody from a bridge into the river, or being haunted by the terrifying doubt of whether he is not in reality the murderer the police are trying to apprehend for the latest spectacular crime.

35All these delusions are utter nonsense, as he himself very well knows. He has never done any harm to anybody, but if he really were a fugitive from justice, this obsession, this feeling of contrition could not be stronger.

To take another case:—this time of a female patient, who is suffering in an entirely different way, presenting entirely different symptoms. We will assume that she is a pianiste, who suddenly experiences cramps in her fingers and discovers herself unable to play. As soon as she thinks of attending a social affair, she immediately feels the necessity of obeying a recurrent natural need, making it impossible for her to leave her own house. Thus, she has been forced to give up mingling with her friends, or attend dances, the theatre, or concerts.

At the most inopportune moments, she becomes the victim of headaches or other painful sensations. Eventually, after meals, she feels impelled to yield to nausea, a condition which, if prolonged, may become dangerous. Finally, she becomes absolutely unable to 36stand any of those little excitements which cannot be eliminated from daily life. Upon such occasions, she readily faints. As these spells are frequently complicated with muscular spasms, such attacks assume the aspect of dreadful afflictions.

Still other patients become subject to disturbances in a sphere where bodily functions coördinate with manifestations of sentiment. If men, they find themselves unable to give physiological expression to those tender urges that induce them to gravitate towards the other sex. On the other hand, all these physiological reactions may be at their command when not aimed at the person they cherish most. Then, there are still other cases, when bonds of sensuality will tie them to persons whom they actually despise and of whom they have the most earnest desire to free themselves. Or their sensuality imposes urges upon them whose fulfillment causes them to shudder.

If they be women, such patients, on account of fear or disgust, or from some other restraint of unknown origin, become unable to perform 37those functions which their sex imposes upon them. In cases where they have yielded to the prompting of passion, they discover that that gratification is withheld from them which nature normally offers as a reward for such complacency.

Sooner or later, all such persons come to consider themselves as sick and appeal to physicians, expecting to be cured of their nervous ailments. Physicians have classified these manifestations, diagnosing them differently, according to their own personal point of view. These ailments are listed under such terms as neurasthenia, psychasthenia, phobias and neuroses of different kinds, and with that sweeping term hysterics. The parts of the body inducing such disturbances are examined: the heart, the stomach, the intestines, the sex organs, and all are found to be in the best of condition. The physician then advises the patient to change his mode of living, to take a vacation, to exercise. Thus, with perhaps the aid of mild stimulants, the patient’s condition may, or may not, be temporarily relieved.

38Eventually, the patient is informed that there are certain practitioners who specialize in the treatment of just such ailments, and thus they come to be psychoanalysed.

Mr. Referee, whom we will assume is present, has impatiently listened, while we have given an account of the nervous disturbances with which one may be afflicted. Mr. Referee suddenly becomes attentive, expressing his growing interest in these words: “Well, now at last we shall see what the psychoanalyst will do with the patient, whom physicians could not help.”

To all appearances, nothing takes place between patient and psychoanalyst except that they talk with each other. The psychoanalyst does not take recourse to any instruments, while examining the patient, nor does he write out prescriptions. If it can be arranged, he will not even take the patient out of his usual surroundings, or upset his daily routine in any way, while treating him. Such a procedure is, of course, not of indispensable necessity, quite frequently proving impossible to arrange. Usually the analyst simply makes an 39appointment with his patient, then lets him talk, listens to him, lets him talk again and listens once more.

Mr. Referee now clearly manifests relief but, at the same time, his face also assumes a disdainful expression. Apparently, he thinks: “Is that all? ‘Words, words, words,’ as Prince Hamlet says. Is psychoanalysis perhaps some sort of magic rite, employing mere words with which to chase away a patient’s ailment?”

Quite right! It surely would be magic if it would only work faster. One of the indispensable essentialities of magic is quickness, sudden results. But psychoanalytical treatment demands months, sometimes even years. Proceeding at such a snail’s pace, it loses the character of anything resembling magic.

As far as “words, words, words” are concerned, they are surely not to be looked down upon. Words, after all, are a powerful instrument, the means by which we express our feelings to each other, the agent through which we influence one another. Words are able to benefit us in the extreme, or liable to hurt us to the quick. Doubtless, “in the beginning was 40the Deed” and the Word came only later. Under certain circumstances, the reduction of the Deed to the mere Word may even prove a cultural achievement. At any rate, the Word was originally an implement of sorcery, a magic manifestation which even today still retains much of its old potency.

Mr. Referee now remarks: “Assuming that the patient is not any better prepared for the understanding of psychoanalytical treatment, than I myself, how are you going to induce him to believe in the Magic of the Word, that is to deliver him from his sufferings?”

Of course, some preparatory work is necessary, but that is easily accomplished in a simple manner. The patient is asked to be absolutely frank with the psychoanalyst, not to withhold intentionally anything that crowds itself into his mind, and to overcome gradually all such influences as may exert themselves to prevent certain of his thoughts or memories from being communicated to the psychoanalyst.

There is not one of us but does not know 41that there are certain things which we hate to tell anybody else, or which we are utterly unable to express at all. These are the so-called “most intimate” things. We also surmise—and this proves the great progress that has been made in the psychological understanding of our Selves—that there are some other things which we hate to admit to ourselves, which we try to hide from ourselves and which, once they are accidentally touched upon, we immediately endeavor to crowd out of our thoughts.

Doubtless, the root of a very remarkable psychological problem manifests itself in the fact that there are certain of our thoughts which we try to hide from our very own Self! That would seem to indicate that our very own Self is not an indivisible unit, as we have always considered it! Rather, that there is a certain something which may rise in opposition to our very own Self! Vaguely, then, we surmise that our own Self and our soul life may be two different things! If, now, the patient submits to the demand of psychoanalysis to express everything in words that comes 42to his mind, he comes to believe that an interchange of thoughts, under such extraordinary conditions, is liable to lead to extraordinary results.

“I understand you very well,” Mr. Referee says. “You simply assume that everybody suffering from a nervous disturbance is harboring something that depresses him, some dark secret, perhaps, and by inducing him to impart this secret to you, you relieve him of that depression, thus alleviating his suffering. That, after all, is the very principle of the Confessional which the Catholic church has employed for centuries to wield her influence over her communicants.”

Yes and no, is our answer to this. The Confessional, to a certain extent, may be considered as belonging into the realm of psychoanalysis; leading up to it, as it were. However, the Confessional as such is far removed from coinciding with the very being of psychoanalysis, and it is unable to explain the results of psychoanalytical treatment. In the Confessional, the sinner tells what he knows, but in the Analysis, the neurotic is expected to reveal 43much more. Besides, there are no known cases where the Confessional proved effective enough to remedy direct symptoms of ailments.

“Then I don’t understand you after all,” Mr. Referee interjects. “What do you mean by stating that the neurotic is ‘expected to reveal more’ in the course of psychoanalytical treatment? Of course, I can very well imagine that you, as a psychoanalyst, may wield a greater influence over your patient than the Father Confessor over a penitent, for the simple reason that you become better acquainted with him, employing your growing influence to talk unhealthy thoughts out of your patient, as it were, disseminating his apprehensions, and so forth. Frankly, it appears most remarkable to me that by such a procedure, it should be possible to alleviate purely physical manifestations, such as nausea, diarrhœa, and cramps. I know that such results are possible by taking recourse to hypnosis. Most probably, through prolonged association with your patient, you gradually succeed in establishing hypnotic relations between you and him. By 44this I mean that you inadvertently come to exert upon him a suggestive influence. Thus, the miracle wrought by your therapy is nothing other than the result of hypnotic suggestion. However, as far as I know, results by hypnotic therapy are procured much quicker than by psychoanalysis which you yourself admit takes months, and sometimes even years.”

After all, Mr. Referee does not seem to be so utterly uninformed and helplessly at sea as we had considered him in the beginning. Doubtless, he is eagerly bent upon grasping the essence of psychoanalysis, on the basis of certain knowledge which he has acquired. He endeavors to connect psychoanalysis with something he already knows.

Thus, he forces upon us the difficult task of explaining to him that he will never succeed in comprehending psychoanalysis in this way, because psychoanalysis is a process sui generis, something new and peculiar, understandable only with the assistance of new conceptions, or presumptions.

However, we still owe our inquisitive friend a reply to a point raised by him.

45What you, Mr. Referee, mentioned before about the personal influence exerted by the psychoanalyst on his patient, should not go without comment. Such an influence actually prevails in the analysis, playing an important rôle. However, this influence is utterly unlike the influence induced by hypnosis.

I shall have to prove to you that the situations in these two cases decidedly differ from each other. However, for the time being, the statement may suffice that this personal influence—this “suggestive element” if you wish—is not drawn upon for the purpose of suppressing symptoms of nervous afflictions analogous to treatment by hypnotic suggestions. Besides, it is absolutely wrong to assume that this “suggestive element” is the agent and promoter of analytical treatment. It may be that such is the case right at the beginning of the treatment. Later, however, this very same “suggestive element” proves itself an opposing factor, forcing us to resort to extensive counter-measures.

Just let me explain to you how thoroughly opposed the technique of analysis is to anything 46and everything resembling the hypnotic technique of diverting or dissipating a patient’s apprehensions.

Assumed that our patient is obsessed with an intense feeling of being guilty of, say, some horrible crime, we do not advise him to stifle the qualms of his conscience simply on the strength of the fact that there is no doubt as to his innocence. He himself has already proceeded along this trend of reasoning, but to no avail. On the contrary, we try to impress him with the possibility that there may be something tangible at the bottom of so profound a feeling of guilt, and that it may be possible to detect this disturbing something.

“I should be greatly astonished,” Mr. Referee interrupts, “if you could really assuage your patient’s feeling of guilt by agreeing that there may be some tangible reason for his apprehension. But what is the mode of procedure which is applied in your analysis, and to what treatment do you subject your patient?”

47

III

To make myself perfectly plain to you, it will be necessary for me to acquaint you with certain psychological teachings which are not known beyond the circle of analysts and accordingly, not appreciated beyond this group. On the basis of this theory, it will be easy for you to deduce what we expect of the patient and how we go about obtaining it.

In explaining matters to you, I will allude to our theory dogmatically, as if it already were an accepted doctrine. Nevertheless, I do not want you to assume that our theory, as I shall presently put it before you, came into being as a fully developed, well-rounded out philosophical system. The development of our theory came about only very gradually, little by little, and was built up through continuous contact with observations. Moreover, our theory, in accordance with these observations, was continually modified until it 48finally evolved in a manner apparently satisfactory for our purposes.

Only so short a time as a few years back, it would have been necessary for me to express this theory in somewhat different terms. And even today, I cannot guarantee that the terms I am using are definitely fixed and will not be modified again. You know very well that scientific truths do not burst upon us with the unexpectedness of a sudden phenomenon. As a rule, any science, long after its early stages, lacks the character of definiteness, unchangeability, and infallibility for which our human way of thinking longs so intensely. However, any science, as it presents itself to contemporaries, is science as its best, so far as contemporaries are able to judge.

My introductory remarks, I hope, will assist you in gaining a correct perspective in reference to psychoanalysis, especially when I ask you to bear in mind that our specific science is still very young—hardly as old as our century, as a matter of fact—and deals with about the most difficult matter presenting itself to human research. Let me therefore 49encourage you to interrupt me unabashedly in my explanations, when you do not grasp the full meaning of my words and require further elucidation.

“I am already interrupting you, even before you really start. You say that you are going to acquaint me with a new psychology. But I was always under the impression that psychology as such is no new science. As a matter of fact, it seems to me there always has been enough psychology and enough psychologists. In college, I learned of the great things achieved in this realm of human endeavor.”

Far be it from me to deny these achievements. However, scrutinizing them closely, you will find that they rather belong in the category of sensory psychology. A doctrine of soul life never had a chance for development, because its conception was obstructed by one very essential misunderstanding. After all, what does psychology embrace today, as it is taught in colleges? Aside from a few important sensorimotoric perceptions, there are just a number of classifications and definitions referring to certain processes of the soul 50which, thanks to the fact that these terms have become a part of our living language, are now the common property of all educated people. To all appearances, such limited information does not enable us to clearly grasp our soul life.

Did you ever notice that every philosopher, poet, historian and biographer evolves his own psychology, based on individual presumptions, in regard to the connection and the ultimate purpose of psychological phenomena, all of which are more or less acceptable but altogether and equally unreliable? Seemingly, a common foundation is missing. Thus it happens that in the realm of psychology, there is an utter lack of respect and authority. There, obviously, anybody is permitted to “poach” or “freelance” to his heart’s content.

If you touch upon a question of physiology or chemistry, nobody will dare speak up, unless he is in possession of authentic information. However, when discussing psychological questions, you may expect everybody to venture an opinion, or raise his voice in protest. 51Evidently, there is no “professional knowledge” in his realm! Inasmuch as everybody has a soul life, everybody considers himself a born psychologist.

There is a story of an old woman who offered her services to take care of babies. When asked whether she knew anything about babies, her answer was: Why, sure, haven’t I been a baby myself once?

“And this common foundation of soul life, overlooked by all psychologists, you claim to have discovered through the observation of ailing people?”

I do not believe that the origin of our findings minimizes their value. Embryology, for example, would not enjoy any confidence as a science if it were unable to explain clearly the origin of pre-natal deformities.

You will remember that I have mentioned before persons whose thoughts insist upon travelling their own way. To such an extent as a matter of fact, that such persons are forced to ponder about problems which do not interest them at all.

Do you believe that psychology, as generally 52taught, will be in a position to render even so much as the slightest assistance for the explanation of such anomalies? And after all, there is not one of us whose thoughts, during the night, do not travel their very own way, creating visions which we are unable to interpret, which we are at a loss to understand, and which frequently appear to be, to an almost disquieting extent, products of morbidity.

I am now referring to our dream life! Among the majority of people, the opinion always prevailed, and still prevails, that there is an inherent meaning to dreams, that some attention ought to be paid to our nocturnal visions, that a certain interpretative value is attached to them. Orthodox psychologists have never been able to interpret the meaning of dreams. To them, dreams were something with which they did not know what to do. And as soon as orthodox psychology tried to interpret our dream life, their explanations ventured far afield from psychology proper. Dreams, according to them, were nothing other than the result of physiological sensations, originating from an unequal soundness 53of sleep in different parts of the brain. I venture to state right here, that any psychology unable to explain the essence of our dreams is also inapplicable to the understanding of normal soul life and cannot be expected to be recognized as science.

“You are becoming so aggressive that I surmise one of your sensitive spots has been touched upon. I have heard before that in psychoanalysis great value is attached to dreams, that dreams are interpreted and behind them old memories of actual events are sought. On the other hand, I also know that the interpretation of dreams is left to the arbitrary conception of the analyst and that the analysts between themselves have frequent squabbles, in regard to the question of how to interpret a certain dream and the justification of arriving at certain conclusions. If this is really the case, I do not think you should stress the advantage of psychoanalysis, in regard to orthodox psychology.”

There you have said something very appropriate. It is only too true that the interpretation of dreams in theory, as well as practice of 54psychoanalysis, has achieved incomparable importance.

If at this point, I appear to be aggressive to you, this must be looked upon as a defense mechanism. When I reflect upon all the nuisance brought about by some of our analysts in connection with the interpretation of dreams, I could despair. I feel like quoting the pessimistic truism of our great satirist Nestroy, who once said: “Any progress is only half as great as it seems to be in the beginning!” But haven’t you noticed that we mortals are always bent upon confounding everything and distorting it? Nevertheless, with a little caution and self-training, most of the dangers lurking behind the interpretation of dreams can be avoided.

But it will never be possible for me to get down to the explanation of our new science which I promised you, if we continually digress.

“If I understood you correctly, you were going to speak about the fundamental presumptions underlying the new psychology.”

It was not my intention to start with that. 55Rather, I intend to tell you what we have learned of the soul apparatus, in the course of our analytical studies.

“What do you mean by ‘soul apparatus’ and what is it made of, may I ask?”

You will soon enough see what the soul apparatus is. It is irrelevant to ask of what material it is made, as this question has no psychological interest. As far as psychology is concerned, the question of material is just as unimportant as the question would be in the realm of optic, of whether a telescope is made of metal or cardboard. The question of matter does not enter here at all, but there is great importance attached to the aspect of space.

This obscure soul apparatus, which serves as the agent for all processes of our soul, is conceived by us as an instrument consisting of several parts. Each of these parts we shall call a stage. There is an individual function attached to each of these stages, and all of them are correlated to each other in reference to space. Aspects of space like “near” and “far,” and “above” and “below,” for the time being, only serve to illustrate the regular sequence of 56the functions allotted to the different stages of the soul apparatus.—Do you still follow me?

“Hardly! However, I hope I will understand you eventually. At any rate, your explanation appeals to me as a somewhat peculiar description of the anatomy of the soul, which, according to biologists, is nonexistent.”

I will grant that what you call my “somewhat peculiar description of the anatomy of the soul,” is merely a parallel drawn upon for the purpose of elucidation, as is so often done in sciences. In the early stages of a new science such parallels have always been quite primitive,—open to revision, as it were. I consider it superfluous to strengthen my argument by referring to the frequently applied “if,” as is quite popular in such cases. The actual value of such “if” argumentations—“fiction” the philosopher Vaihinger would call it—greatly depends on how advantageously this argumentation may be applied to the case in question.

However, for argument’s sake, let us accept the popular conception and assume that within 57us there is a psychical organization, recording sensations and perceptions of physical wants on one hand, and releasing motoric actions on the other. This medium for establishing this definite coöperation we call the “I.”

Of course, this is nothing new. Each one of us takes this for granted, if he is not a philosopher, and some despite being philosophers. However, our description of the psychical apparatus is not by far complete.

Aside from the “I,” we perceive another region of the soul, much more extensive, much more impressive, and much more obscure than the “I,” which we designate the “It.”

It is the relation between the “I” and the “It” upon which we shall dwell first.

Doubtless, you will raise an objection against our intention to refer to these two regions or stages of the soul with simple pronouns, instead of giving them beautiful euphonious Greek names. However, in psychoanalysis, we prefer to remain in contact with the popular way of thinking, and attach commonplace terms to our scientific conceptions, rather than look upon such nomenclature in 58contempt. We do not expect to receive credit for this popularization of psychoanalytical terms, inasmuch as we are forced to do this in order to make ourselves plain to our patients who are frequently very intelligent, but not always exactly learned people.

The impersonal pronoun “It” is most appropriate for our purposes, as is plainly proved by the fact that we frequently speak of something, averring that “‘It’ came to me quite suddenly”; “‘It’ gave me a shock”; “‘It’ was stronger than I.” “C’était plus fort que moi.”

In the realm of psychology, we can only make ourselves understood by taking recourse to comparisons. This, after all, is no special peculiarity of psychology, inasmuch as other sciences also find it necessary to avail themselves of analogous expedients. These comparisons, however, must be modified time and again, as their application generally proves too limited. If you are seeking an explanation of the relation of the “I” to the “It,” it would be well to remember that the “I” serves as a foreground to the “It.” The “I” is, as it were, the outer, front layer of the “It.” We may so 59much more readily accept this comparison, inasmuch as layers—say, of a tree—owe their peculiar characteristics to the modifying influence of that exterior medium with which they are in contact. Thus, we visualize that the “I,” being the outer layer of the psychical apparatus, is the “It,” modified in accordance with the influence which the outer world exerts upon it.

Here you will perceive how conceptions of space apply to psychoanalysis. To all intents and purposes, the “I” is actually the front layer, the obvious, whereas the “It” is the inner layer, the hidden. To make it even more plain: The “I” is inserted between the reality of the outer world and the “It,” the latter constituting the soul proper, the essence of the soul, as it were.

“I am not going to inquire how you came to know all this. I should first like to know how this differentiation between the ‘I’ and the ‘It’ assists you in your psychoanalytical work, and why you need it.”

Your question clearly shows me how to proceed.

60It is most important and extremely valuable to know that the “I” and the “It,” in many instances, greatly differ from each other. As far as the “I” is concerned, psychical activations are subject to a different rule than the one applying to the “It.” The “I” has different intentions from the “It,” availing itself of means other than those resorted to by the “It.”

Of course, much could be said in this respect, but perhaps it will be best if I give you a new comparison and a new example. Just remember the differences which developed, during the late war, between the actual front and the hinterland. We were apparently never surprised to observe that there were certain things going on at the front, utterly different from analogous developments in the hinterland, and that in the hinterland many a thing was permissible which had to be strictly prohibited at the front. In the war, the deciding factor, of course, was the proximity of the enemy. In our psychical life, the deciding factor is the proximity of the outer world. Remember that in ancient times “outside,” “strange,” “hostile,” used to be identical conceptions.

61And now, the example I promised you: The “It” is never assailed by any conflicts. Within the “It,” contradiction and opposition dwell undisturbed in close proximity to each other, frequently equalizing one another by means of compromise. However, while the “It” thus remains undisturbed, the “I” cannot avoid facing conflicts, and the only way for the “I” to escape the dilemma is by renouncing some particular intention, or urge, for the benefit of the other.

The “I” is controlled by a very remarkable trend for unification, for synthesis—a characteristic utterly lacking in the “It.” The latter never manifests such unity of intention, but rather displays a tendency towards dissipation and a diversity of aims, utterly independent of one another, and without regard to each other.

“If there really is such an important hinterland of the soul, how do you explain the fact that it was never discovered before the advent of psychoanalysis?”

By this question, you are leading us back to one of your former inquiries. Let me advise 62you, then, that orthodox psychology blocked its own way to the “It,” by holding on tenaciously to a presumption which, in itself, seemed obviously enough but which, nevertheless, cannot be successfully sustained any more. It was presumed that all psychical activations are conscious, that consciousness is the characteristic of any psychological process, and that if there really were unconscious processes of our brain, these processes did not deserve to be termed psychological processes, having nothing at all to do with psychology proper.

“I should say that this is self-evident!”

Of course. That is exactly what all the orthodox psychologists claim. However, it is easy enough to prove that such a view is incorrect, or rather amounts to an impractical separation. Observing ourselves, we easily perceive that many of our thoughts could not have arisen unless they were induced by certain premises. However, of the preparatory stages of these thoughts, which must have been psychical, too, we are unaware, inasmuch as only 63the complete result enters into our consciousness. Once in a while, it may be possible for us to reconstruct the development of a thought by retrospective contemplation.

“Most probably, our attention had been diverted so that we missed observing the development of the thought in the making, so to speak.”

That’s just an obvious excuse!—insufficient to obscure the fact that quite frequently psychical activations—and often highly complicated ones, too—may occur in our soul life without our becoming actually aware of them. Alas, you may be ready to accept the hypothesis that just a little more or less of your “attention” may prove sufficient to transmute a non-psychical action into a psychical one. But why squabble? The existence of unconscious thoughts has been proven in hypnotic experiments, time and again, to the satisfaction of everybody.

“I don’t wish to deny that, and I actually believe I am now beginning to understand you at last. What you are terming the ‘I’ is the 64Conscious while the ‘It’ describes the so-called Subconscious, which is so much discussed just now. But why, pray, this masquerade of new terms, if I may ask?”

This is no masquerade, inasmuch as other terms cannot be employed here properly. Besides, let me ask you not to substitute literature for science. If somebody refers to the Subconscious, I don’t know whether he is alluding to it as a stratum, that is, something dwelling in the soul beneath the Conscious, or whether he refers to it as to quality, that is, another consciousness, a subterranean one, so to say. To be sure, the greatest probability seems to be that anybody juggling such terms is himself not at all sure of what he really means. The only permissible differentiation is one between Conscious and Unconscious.

Nevertheless, it would be a severe error to believe that a differentiation between Conscious and Unconscious would be analogous to a differentiation between the “I” and the “It.” It would be too wonderful, if it were as simple as all that, and it would be easy going for our theory then. But, it is not so 65simple! Correct only is that everything that occurs within the “It” is and remains unconscious, and that only activities of the “I” may become conscious. However, not all these activities are conscious, nor are they always conscious, nor do they necessarily have to become conscious. Parts of the “I” may remain permanently unconscious.

The penetration into Consciousness of a psychical process is quite complicated. I cannot avoid demonstrating to you—dogmatically once more—what our hypothesis is in this respect. You will remember that the “I” is the outer, peripheral layer of the “It.” We now assume that on this outermost surface of the “I,” there is a peculiar device, a system, an organ if you wish, by whose exclusive actuation that phenomenon is created which we call Consciousness. This organ may be actuated from the outside—that is, our sensory nerves may convey to it sensations of an outer world—as well as from the inside, where first it may perceive the sensations from the “It” and, later on, the processes of the “I.”

“This is getting worse and worse, and more 66and more beyond my understanding. Did you not invite me to discuss with you the question of whether or no, medically trained laymen should be permitted to apply psychoanalysis? Why, then, all these ramblings of vague and dark theories, whose correctness you will be unable to prove to me?”

Only too well do I realize that I cannot convince you. As that would be beyond all possibilities, I have, therefore, surrendered such intentions. Even when instructing our own disciples in the theory of psychoanalysis, we always observe how little impression we make on them in the beginning. They accept the analytical teachings with just as much equanimity as any other abstractions which have been fed to them. Some of them may have the earnest desire to be convinced, but there is no trace that they ever really are convinced.

We demand that anyone who intends to analyse somebody else, should first submit to an analysis. Only if in the course of this “self-analysis”—as it is usually incorrectly called—a 67disciple experiences the truth of psychoanalytical teachings on his own body—or rather on his own soul—then, and only then, he gains those convictions which later on will guide him in his work as an analyst.

How, then, may I expect to convince you, Mr. Referee, of the correctness of our theories, especially as I can only give you an incomplete, abbreviated, and, therefore, none too lucid outline of psychoanalytical teachings, without your being able to corroborate it through your own experiences?

But such is not my intention at all! We are not discussing here the question of whether psychoanalysis is sense or nonsense, nor whether the premises of psychoanalysis are correct or full of grave fallacies. I am simply presenting our theories to you, because in this way it seems easiest to me to explain to you what is the real essence of psychoanalysis, what are its premises in reference to individual patients, and just what the treatment is that is administered to them. In this way, the problem of lay-analyses is projected in a striking 68light. If you have followed me up to now, you may rest assured that the worst is over and that from now on, everything will be much more comprehensible to you.

And now let me pause for a moment.

69

IV

“I expect that, on the basis of psychoanalytical theories, you will explain to me how the development of a nervous ailment may be conceived!”

I shall try. For this purpose, however, it is necessary that we study our “I” and “It” from a new point of view. We shall have to look upon these two factors as to their dynamic values, that is, in regard to the forces active in and between them. You will remember that previously we restricted ourselves to the description of the psychical apparatus.

“I am only hoping that things won’t be so impossible to grasp.”

I do not think so. As a matter of fact, I believe that you will soon comprehend the whole system. To start with, let us assume that those forces which actuate the soul apparatus are generated by the different organs of our system, 70as the result of important needs of our body. Don’t forget what the poet-philosopher Schiller once said:

Until philosophy sublime,

Supremely rules the course of time,

The world, in oldest fashion,

By hunger moves, and passion.

Hunger and Passion are two very powerful agents!

The needs of our body which stimulate the soul into action—actuate the soul, as I referred to it before—we call urges.

It is these urges which fill the “It.” All energies generated by the “It” were incepted by these urges. The powers of the “I” have no other origin either, inasmuch as they are derived from the “It.”

What, now, do these urges want?

They want to be satisfied, that is, they endeavor to create such situations whereby the needs of our body are gratified.

As soon as any tension, created by our urges, slackens simultaneously with the satisfied cravings of our body, our Consciousness experiences 71a pleasurable sensation, whereas an intensification of our urges will soon enough result in decided displeasure. In accordance with these fluctuations of pleasurable and distressing sensations, our soul apparatus regulates its activity. Thus, the rule of the Pleasure Principle manifests itself.

Intolerable conditions develop in case the urges of the “It” are not satisfied. Experience proves that situations of complete gratification can only be achieved in contact with the outer world. Thus, that part of the “It” which faces the outer world, i. e., the “I,” assumes its functions. While the driving power is produced by the “It,” it is the “I” which then assumes the management, takes the steering wheel in hand, so to speak, without which the coveted goal could never be reached.

It is characteristic of the urges of the “It” that they are always bent upon immediate, rash gratification without ever attaining their ends, but frequently exposing themselves to severe harm. Therefore, it devolves upon the “I” to forestall such failure, by mediating between the reckless demands of the “It” and 72the practical outer world. Thus, the censorial activity of the “I” makes itself felt in two different directions.

On one hand, the “I,” assisted by that organ which conveys to it the reactions of an outer world, scans the horizon, as it were, in an attempt to seize upon the most opportune moment for a harmless gratification of the urges prompting it. On the other hand, the “I” exerts a restraining influence on the “It,” controlling its “passions” and inducing its urges to postpone their gratification, or modify them, or renounce them for some compensation, as the case may be.

Restraining the reckless “It” in such a way, the “I” replaces the formerly predominant Pleasure Principle with the so-called Reality Principle which, although striving for the same ends as the Pleasure Principle, nevertheless considers such practical necessities as the outer world imposes.

Later on, the “I” discovers that there is another way of insuring gratification of urges than adaptation to the outer world. This newly discovered method consists of changing conditions 73in the outer world in such a way as to bring about circumstances favorable for gratification. This activity of the “I” constitutes its most supreme achievement. Sufficient discernment to perceive when it is opportune to stifle passions and when it is opportune to either face or fight the realities of the outer world is, after all, the Alpha and Omega of practical wisdom.

“As I understand you, the ‘It’ is by far the stronger of the two. How, then, is it possible that the ‘It’ will permit the weaker ‘I’ to hold sway over it?”

The “I” is well in a position to exert such influence over the “It,” provided its organization and efficiency is in no way hampered. Besides, access to all parts of the “It” must be such as to enable the “I” to bear sufficient influence on the “It.” There is no inherent opposition between the “I” and the “It,” both belonging together. In cases of normal health, it is practically impossible to distinguish between the two.

“All this appears quite clear to me. However, what I cannot understand is that under 74such ideal conditions, there could be any chance at all for disturbances to arise?”

You are perfectly right! As long as the “I” discharges its duties fully, and its relations to the “It” are maintained in a satisfactory manner, no nervous disturbances will develop. However, disturbances are liable to arise at some unsuspected spot. This will not surprise the well-informed pathologist, but merely confirms the fact that the most essential developments and evolvements contain the very germ for diseased conditions and the break down of functions.

“This is too learned for me! I cannot follow you any more!”

I shall have to digress for a little. You will admit that a human being is a puny, helpless thing in comparison to that tremendous outer world, full of destructive agencies. Any primitive being who did not develop a sufficiently strong “I” organisation, is subject to all these “traumata.” Such a primitive being will achieve no more than just a “blind” gratification of its urges, frequently to be destroyed in this way.

75The evolvement of an “I” is, most of all, a step towards insuring maintenance of life. Destruction as such does not teach anything. But after overcoming a trauma successfully, attention will be attracted by similar situations and danger will be signalized by a fear affect—a shortened reproduction of what was lived through during the trauma. This reaction to approaching danger results in an attempt at flight, which is maintained until sufficient strength is generated to oppose the danger arising from the outer world in an active manner, perhaps even by taking recourse to aggression.

“All this seems to be far, far different from what you promised me.”

You don’t realize how close I have already come to the fulfillment of my promise to you. Even in such living beings who later on develop an efficient “I” organisation, this “I” is quite weak in the years of childhood and only slightly different from the “It.”

And now, I ask you to visualize what would happen in case this powerless “I” is actuated by an urge arising from the “It”—an urge 76which the weak “I” would like to resist, because it feels that a gratification of this urge may involve danger, may result in a traumatic situation, a collision with the outer world.

Alas, the weak “I” cannot sum up enough strength to resist.

Then what?

Then, the “I” deals with the danger, arising from an “It”-inspired urge, in exactly the same way that an exterior danger would have to be faced. The “I” makes an attempt at flight, deserting this specific part of the “It” and leaving it to its fate. It refuses all such assistance as it usually renders to urges arising from the “It.” We refer to such a case as a repression of urges by the “I.”

For the time being, danger is thus parried, but to confound inner and outer world is certain to invite punishment. Running away from oneself is a thing that cannot be done! In a case of repression, the “I” succumbs to the Pleasure Principle which it otherwise strives to correct. Thus, it is the “I” upon which damage is inflicted in such cases of repression. This damage consists of the “I” 77experiencing a lasting restriction in its own sphere of rule. The repressed urge is now isolated, left to itself, unapproachable, and cannot be influenced. The repressed urge now goes its own way. Frequently, even after the “I” has attained power, it proves impossible to release this repression. With its synthesis disturbed, a part of the “It” remains forbidden ground to the “I.”

The isolated urge does not remain idle, however. Because normal gratification was denied it, it contrives to compensate itself by engendering psychical derivates which take its place and, connecting with other psychical activations, estrange them to the “I.” Finally, in the form of an unrecognizable substitute, the isolated urge penetrates to the “I” and to consciousness, presenting itself as what is known as a “symptom.”

We now become aware of what a nervous disturbance is. We perceive an “I” hampered in its synthesis, unable to exert any influence on certain parts of the “It.” In addition, the “I” must renounce some of its inherent activities, to avoid new collisions with the repressed 78urge. We perceive an “I” exhausting itself in mostly unavailing defensive measures against symptoms that are nothing other than results of the repression. Moreover, it becomes evident now that in the “It,” some urges have assumed independence. They aim at their own gratification without any concern for the whole, subject only to such primitive psychology as reigns in the lowermost depths of the “It.”

Observing such a state of affairs, we face the quite simple situation in which the “I,” attempting to repress certain parts of the “It,” proceeded in an utterly unsuitable manner. Consequently, the “I” has failed in its intention and now the “It” is taking revenge on the “I.” This revenge of the “It” on the “I” resulted in nothing less than a neurosis.

Accordingly, a neurosis is the result of a conflict between the “I” and the “It,” a conflict—as investigations will show—forced upon the “I,” because the latter insisted on maintaining its state of pliability, in reference to an outer world. The conflict, in fact, is one between the “It” and the outer world. However, 79because the “I,” faithful and true, takes sides with the outer world, it becomes entangled in this conflict of the “It” with the outer world.

Note that the condition of nervous disturbances is not induced by the conflict between the “I” and the “It” but rather by the fact that the “I,” for the purpose of settling this conflict, availed itself of the unsuitable agent of repression. As a rule, conflicts between reality and the “It” are unavoidable, and it is a routine task for the “I” to act as a mediator in such cases. That in the case of this specific conflict which we have under observation just now, the “I” took recourse to repression as agent, is due to the fact that at this time the “I” was powerless and immature. After all, repressions of lasting importance occur exclusively during early childhood!

“What a roundabout route you are taking! However, I shall heed your advice and will try not to criticize you. You were going to explain to me what psychoanalysis assumes to be the reason for neurosis and how such conditions may be combated. There are quite a number 80of questions which I shall ask you later on. At present, I am tempted to venture a theory based on your own trend of thought.

“You have pointed out to me this interrelation between outer world, and the ‘I’ and the ‘It.’ As an indispensable condition for the development of a neurosis, you have mentioned the fact that the ‘I,’ on account of its dependency on the outer world, opposes the ‘It.’ However, is not some other course for the ‘I’ possible? For example, could not the ‘I,’ in such a conflict be simply swept off its feet by the ‘It,’ so to speak, renouncing all dependency on the outer world?

“What, then, happens in such a case?

“Of course, I have merely the conception of the typical lay mind when it comes to visualizing the development of mental diseases, but it seems to me that such diseases may be easily induced if the ‘I’ would really decide to side with the ‘It.’ To all appearances, such disregard for realities is the very reason for mental diseases!”

Of course, I have thought of this myself. I 81even believe this assumption to be correct. But in order to prove this hypothesis, quite a complicated discussion would be necessary. Neurosis and Psychosis, to all appearances, are closely related to one another. However, at some important point, they widely diverge from each other. The partisanship of the “I” with the “It,” in a case of conflict, may prove to be the crossroad where the two seek different directions. In both cases, the “It” would persist in its character of blind obstinacy.

“But, pray, tell me what advice your theory offers for the treatment of neurotic conditions?”

It is quite simple to describe our therapeutic goal: We aim at restituting the “I” and liberating it from its restrictions, restoring to the “I” once more the sovereignty over the “It” which it lost, on account of early repressions. Psychoanalysis, in general, aims at this goal; our whole technique strives for this end. It is up to us to discover those repressions, to induce the “I” to correct them with our assistance, and to settle conflicts more satisfactory than 82by a mere flight. Inasmuch as these repressions are part of our early childhood, psychoanalysis must needs go back to those years of our life.

The way to those mostly forgotten conflict situations, which we must revive in the memory of our “cases,” is pointed out to us by symptoms, dreams, and “free associations” of the patient. Of course, all these hints must first be interpreted, translated, as it were, because these symptoms and dreams, under the influence of the psychology of the “It,” have assumed various disguises which it is our purpose to penetrate.

If a patient communicates to us certain ideas, thoughts and memories after long hesitation only, we feel safe in assuming that they have some connection with his early repressions, or are, at least, derivates of such. By encouraging the patient to conquer his hesitancy when talking to us, we are training his “I” to overcome its tendency to “run away” and rather face that early repression. At the end, after we have been successful in reproducing the situation which originally induced his repression, 83the complacency of the patient is splendidly rewarded. The number of years that have meanwhile elapsed prove to be all in favor of the patient. What once scared his immature “I” and threw it into panic and flight, appears to the adult-strengthened “I” nothing more than just a childish bugaboo.

84

V

“Everything you spoke of so far pertained to psychology. Frequently it sounded somewhat strange and far-fetched to me and altogether none too clear. But at any rate, everything you said was, if I may say so, clean! I admit, without hesitation, that I have never had more than just superficial information in regard to psychoanalysis. However, I have been told, time and again, that your psychoanalysis deals for the most part, with things to which generally the word ‘clean’ may not be applied readily.

“To be quite frank with you: I have a slight suspicion that, up to now, you have intentionally avoided to touch upon this phase of psychoanalysis.

“There is still another doubt in my mind which I cannot suppress:—Neuroses, as you said yourself, are the result of disturbances of our soul life. How is it possible, then, that such 85important factors as our ethics, our conscience, our ideals, apparently do not enter at all into the development of these far-reaching disturbances?”

I understand you quite well. It appears to you that in the information I have given you so far, I have attached insufficient importance to the most vulgar, as well as the most sublime aspects of the matter. The reason for this is simply that, up to now, we have not spoken about the substance of psychical life at all.

For once, permit me to delay the progress of our conversation.

I have told you so much about psychology, in order that you may see that our analysis is just a part of applied psychology; to be sure, that part of psychology which is unknown beyond the field of analysis. From this, it follows that it must be the first task of the Analyst to become acquainted with the Psychology of the Depths, or Psychology of the Unconscious, to the very extent it is known today. It will be well to bear this fact in mind, as we shall later on refer to it.

And now, I wish you would explain what 86you meant when referring to the lack of “cleanliness” in psychoanalysis?

“Well, the general impression which prevails is that, in the course of the analysis; the most intimate and the most revolting phases of sex life are aired with all their sordid details. Of course, I do not draw this conclusion from the lecture on psychology you have given me so far! But if this is really true, it would constitute a strong argument in favor of the demand that the practice of psychoanalysis should be restricted to physicians. How else would it be possible to confide such details to persons whose discretion may be open to doubt, and whose character may not warrant such frankness on the part of a patient?”

It is true enough that physicians are privileged characters, as regards sexual matters. In our times, physicians may even examine sex organs, a prerogative denied to them in the dark ages.

However, you wished to know whether sexual matters play an important part in psychoanalysis.

They do!

87There is a necessity for this because, in the first place, frankness is an indispensable condition for the efficacy of the analysis. But don’t forget that, in the course of an analysis, the patient will be just as frank in financial matters. He will give details which he otherwise would withhold, not only from the tax collector and his competitors, but practically from everybody. That such frankness on the part of the patient puts the analyst under a heavy obligation, imposing upon him a severe moral responsibility, I surely do not deny, but rather stress energetically.

The second necessity for airing the sex life in psychoanalysis is proved by the established fact that, among the reasons and causes for nervous disturbances, phases of the sex life play a tremendously important, a most essential part; they may even prove to be the specific reason of such disturbances.

Could psychoanalysis, under such circumstances, do anything else than adapt itself to this state of affairs? The analyst never persuades his patient to venture into the realm of sex. He will never tell a patient in advance: 88intimacies of your sex life are involved here! The analyst permits the patient to start where he feels inclined to start, encouraging him to roam in any fashion that suits his fancy, waiting calmly for the patient himself to touch upon sex matters.

It is one of my strictest rules to remind my disciples time and again: Our opponents are reiterating continuously that we shall run across cases in which the sexual moment does not play any part whatever. Therefore, beware of introducing it into the analysis! Do not let us spoil the possibility of really discovering cases, in which there is no sexual moment. To be sure, up to now, we have never been fortunate enough to detect such a case.

Of course, I know very well that the recognition we give sex life is—admitted or not—the strongest argument of those who oppose the analysis. But is this fact liable to make us waver in our scientific convictions? An argument of this kind only proves how widespread neurosis is in civilized life, when allegedly normal people behave so very much like nervous people.

89At a time when learned societies, with much pomp and circumstance, used to sit in judgment on psychoanalysis—they are not doing it so frequently today!—one of the speakers once commanded special attention as an authority because, according to his statement, he permitted his patients to talk about their ailments. Apparently, he indulged in such tolerance for reasons of diagnosis, and for the purpose of checking up analytical claims. But, this great authority added, as soon as patients start to discuss sex matters, I shut them up!

How does such a procedure strike you?

I regret to report that the learned audience applauded the great authority fervently, instead of denouncing him, which would have been more fitting. That loose logic in which the aforementioned authority permitted himself to revel, I can only explain by assuming that he was all puffed up with that strength which the knowledge of mutual prejudice lent him.

In the course of years, some of my disciples, following a popular trend, undertook to liberate the world from the bonds of sex which 90psychoanalysis is supposed to force upon it. One of them came out with the pronunciamento that sex, in the broad meaning of the term, does not mean sexuality as such, but rather something abstract, something quite mysterious. Another even emphatically declared that sex life was just one of the different phases in which man manifests his inherent driving force for power and rule. These new doctrines received public acclaim—at least for a time.

“I strongly feel like taking sides in this issue. It seems somewhat far-fetched to me to insist that sexuality is not a natural, innate necessity for all living beings, but rather the expression for something else. Just look upon the animal world!”

That does not matter! There is nothing absurd enough that society would not gleefully swallow, if it only pretends to be an antidote against the overpowering might of sex.

By the way, may I not tell you that, to my mind, your present status as an impartial listener, a lay arbitrator, as it were, should not permit you to betray the strong prejudice you 91yourself are manifesting, in regard to the great part the sexual moment plays in the development of neurotic conditions! Do you not think that such a strongly emphasized prejudice may make it impossible for you to render a just verdict?

“I am very sorry to hear you say that! Apparently, you have lost confidence in me. But, pray, tell me, why did you not appeal to some other impartial referee?”

For the simple reason that this other impartial referee would not have thought any differently from you. And in case he would have been ready to admit at once the importance of sex life, everybody would have howled: He is no impartial referee at all! He is one of your own camp followers!

No, I am not the least discouraged and I am not abandoning hope that I shall ultimately succeed in influencing your views. I will admit, however, that the present case is different from the one I have previously alluded to. As far as orthodox psychological argumentation was concerned, it did not matter much for me whether you believed what I 92said or not. It was merely important to impress you with the fact that purely psychological problems were being dealt with. However, when the question of sex is raised, it seems important to prove to you that the strongest reason for your opposition is nothing but a general animosity toward sex, which you have in common with many others.

“Do not forget that I lack the experiences upon which your firm convictions are based.”

Very well, then. I shall proceed.

Sex life is not only something piquant, but also a very serious scientific problem. Many new facts had to be ascertained in this phase of life, many peculiarities. I have already explained to you that it is necessary for the analysis to go back to the years of early childhood because at this time, with an immature “I,” still weak, the essential repressions of a patient are incepted. But childhood has no sex life;—sex life enters with puberty only, is the general claim.

Wrong!

We have discovered that sexual tendencies 93permeate life from very birth. We also ascertained that it is to combat these urges that the infantile “I” resorts to repressions. It is indeed remarkable, is it not, that even the wee babe fights against the very same sexuality against which that learned great authority talked before an equally learned audience;—and later on, those of my own disciples, even, who compiled some new theories!

How is that possible?

The most platitudinous explanation would be that our whole civilization unfolded at the expense of sexuality. However, there is much more to be said about this.

That only now the sexuality of the child has been discovered, ought to drive the blush of shame into our faces. Of course, there were always some specialists of children’s diseases, some baby-wise nurses who knew about it. On the other hand, men, calling themselves “child psychologists,” in the face of these findings, raised a hue and cry and, wringing their hands in desperation, spoke reproachfully of the “Defloration of Childhood!”

94Again and again, sentiment instead of argument! Such tactics are generally resorted to in the course of political discussions.

Of course, the sex life of the child is different from that of the adult. Sexual functions, from the very beginning until they assume those ultimate forms which are well known to us, undergo a process of complicated development. Many component urges, each driving in a different direction, eventually consolidate, ultimately to serve the purpose of propagation.

Not all of the individual component urges prove of equal value, in view of the ultimate task they are called upon to serve. Many of them have to be “re-routed,” refashioned, partially subdued. Such a protracted process of development cannot always be pursued smoothly, without obstacles arising here and there and without engendering partial fixations in the course of the earlier stages. Wherever, in later life, sexual functions are blocked by obstacles of some kind, sexuality—the libido, as we call it—will show a decided 95tendency to gravitate towards such early fixations.

The study of the sex life of the child and its transformations, until full maturity, has also yielded to us the key for the understanding of so-called sexual perversions. These, while generally spoken of with profound disgust, up to then had remained obscure as to their origin. Although this phase of sex life is extraordinarily interesting, it does not serve our present purpose to dwell upon it in detail. To understand all these ramifications of sex life, it is not only necessary to possess sufficient anatomical and physiological information, but also that knowledge which cannot be acquired in medical schools, i. e., a thorough acquaintance with the history of civilization and mythology.

“Up to now, I am still unable to gain a clear conception of the sex life of the child.”

I shall, then, dwell on this phase further. To be perfectly frank with you, I should really hate not to go into it further.

The most remarkable thing in the sex life 96of the child, to my mind, is the fact that its whole, extensive development is completed in the course of the first five years of life. From then, until the beginning of puberty, there is a time when sex remains latent, a time during which—normally—sexuality is not progressing but rather losing in intensity. During these years, the child is liable to abandon and forget much that he has practised and known before.

It is during this period after the first bloom of sex life has withered, that such conceptions of the “I” develop as shame, disgust, morality, destined to serve as support later on, in the storm and stress of puberty, and to direct newly awakened sexual tendencies. This new, second phase of sex life plays a very important part in the inception of nervous disturbances. Apparently, it is only in man that this twofold onset of sex life prevails. It is, perhaps, this which is one of the contributing factors to the truly human prerogative to indulge in neuroses.

Before the advent of psychoanalysis, the early period of sex life had been overlooked, 97just as had the unconscious background of conscious soul life. If you should now suspect that both belong together, you have guessed correctly.

There is abundant material, of the greatest interest as to contents, manifestations, and performances of this early period of sex life,—material, as a matter of fact, that would prove most astonishing.

For example: It will amaze you, no doubt, when I tell you that the baby boy is frequently afraid of being devoured by his father. (Does it not surprise you that I list this fear among the manifestations of sex?)

Let me remind you here of the mythological character of the god Cronus, who eats his own children. How this myth must have astounded you, when it was related to you for the first time! Most probably, you, like the rest of us, did not pause to ponder over it.

Today, we frequently recognize, in such fairytale characters as the carnivorous wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, the child-devouring father in disguise. Let me assure 98you that mythology, as well as the world of fairytales, can be understood only on the basis of the sex life of the child.

It may also surprise you to learn that the male child is beset with fears of having his father rob him of his sex organ, and that this fear of being castrated is of the greatest influence, in connection with the general development of a male child’s character and his sexual tendencies, in later life.

Here is another case where psychoanalysis may draw upon mythology for support. Remember that the same Cronus who devoured his own children, also emasculated his own father Uranos, to be castrated, in revenge, by his son Zeus, who had been saved through the perspicacity of his mother.

In case you are inclined to believe that all that which has been said about the early sexuality of children is just a phantasmagoria of the wild fancies of a psychoanalyst, you must nevertheless admit that these wild fancies are very similar to those ideas which permeated the phantasy of primitive man, of 99which myths and fairytales are the tangible record.

Does it not seem more acceptable and more probable that in the soul life of present-day children, the same archaic moments still prevail, which generally prevailed at the time of primitive civilization? To all appearances, the child, in the development of his soul, simply recapitulates the evolution of his species, analogous to the recapitulation of his physical development, which has long since been accepted by embryology.

Another characteristic of the early sexual life of the male child is that the female sex organ as such does not play any part in it; it has not been discovered for him yet. All interest is directed to the male organ, all attention concentrated on the question of whether this organ is really existent.

We know less about the early sex life of the female child than about that of the male offspring,—a fact not so surprising since the sex life of even the mature woman still presents a “dark continent” to psychology. Nevertheless, 100we know that the female child is extremely sensitive about the lack of a sex organ equal to that of the male child. Accordingly, the girl comes to consider herself inferior to the boy, developing a condition of “Penis Envy,” from which may be traced a whole chain of reactions characteristic of the female.

Another characteristic of the child is that excremental discharges of the body are drawn into the sphere of sexual interest. To be sure, education eventually draws a strict line of demarkation here. Later in life, however, this demarkation line is wiped out, when the stage of “off-color jokes” sets in. Although this may be distasteful to us it is, nevertheless, well known that the child requires some time, before he develops a sense of disgust. Even those who insist upon the seraphic purity of a child’s soul have never dared to deny this fact.

No other manifestation in the sex life of the child is more important than the fact that sexual desires of a child always aim at persons most closely related to him. Such inclinations lean primarily toward the father and the mother; secondarily, toward sisters and brothers. 101While for the boy, the mother is the first object of love, for the girl it is the father, unless bisexual tendencies favor different inclinations. That parent toward whom the sexual tendencies of the child do not gravitate, comes to be considered a disturbing rival and thus, not too rarely, becomes the object of intense enmity.

Be sure to understand me correctly. I do not mean to say that the child is bent upon receiving from the favored parent, only such demonstrations of affection which we adults are wont to consider the very essence of a beautiful relationship between parent and child. In the light of psychoanalysis, there is no doubt that the child desires much more than merely these demonstrations of parental affection. As a matter of fact, the child desires that which we conceive as sensual gratification, though naturally, only to the limited extent of the child’s understanding.

It is obvious enough that the child never surmises the real facts as to the actual physical relations of the sexes, but this ignorance is compensated by impressions and experiences 102deducted from his own observations. Usually, a child’s desires culminate in the wish to give birth to a baby, or beget one, in some vague manner.

Even the little boy, in his ignorance, has this desire to give birth to a child.

Such manifestations, in their entirety, are termed, in accordance with Greek mythology, Œdipus Complex.

Normally, an Œdipus Complex should be abandoned or thoroughly changed, simultaneously with the termination of early sex life. The results of this transformation of the Œdipus Complex are destined to bring about great achievements, to play a big part in later soul life.

As a rule, this transformation is not thorough enough. Therefore, during the period of puberty, the Œdipus Complex may be revived, in which case it is liable to induce dire results.

I am very much surprised that you are still silent. Could this mean agreement?

No doubt, if psychoanalysis maintains that the first sexual desires of a child are of incestuous 103nature, to apply a technical term, there is no question that psychoanalysis has again trodden upon humanity’s holiest feelings, thus once more incurring accusations, disbelief, and opposition.

Psychoanalysis always had to face grave incriminations, but nothing has robbed psychoanalysis of a favorable opinion on the part of its contemporaries more than the conception of the Œdipus Complex, as a general human characteristic, decreed by fate.

To be sure, Greek mythology must have similarly interpreted the Œdipus situation, but the majority of our contemporaries—be they learned or not—prefer to believe that nature herself has endowed us with an inborn disgust, as a protection against the possibility of an incestuous trend.

But here we may refer to history for corroboration. When Cæsar met Egypt’s youthful queen, soon to play such an important part in his life, Cleopatra was married to her younger brother Ptolemy. This was nothing extraordinary in Egyptian dynastic tradition. The Ptolemæëns, originally of Greek extraction, 104had simply continued a custom practised for thousands of years by their predecessors, the old Pharaohs. Incestuous relationships, a common practice at that time, were after all, only between brother and sister, which even today evokes a comparatively mild judgment. But let us turn to our most important witness—mythology—for conditions, as they prevailed in primitive times.

Mythology records that the myths, not only of the Greeks, but of all nations, supply an over-abundance of amorous relations between father and daughter, and even between mother and son; cosmology, as well as genealogy, of royal families was founded on incest.

According to your mind, what was the underlying reason for the creation of this lore? Was it to brand gods and kings as criminals, to invite the disgust of mankind upon their heads?

It was rather that the gratification of incestuous desires—an ancient, human heritage, never completely overcome—was still permissible for gods and their offspring, although renounced by the majority of common mortals.

105From this, it would appear, that incestuous desires, in the childhood of the individual, are in complete harmony with the teachings of history and mythology.

“I am glad that you did not stand by your original intention to withhold from me all this information, in regard to the sex life of the child, inasmuch as it throws a very interesting light on the more primitive stage of humanity.”

I was afraid that in so doing, I might digress too far. But, after all, it may prove of advantage that you have these informations now.

“But tell me, what proofs have you, from an analytical point of view, of the sex life of the child? Is your conviction founded merely on the corroboration that mythology and history offer?”

Not at all! Our conviction rests upon direct observations. Here is how we arrived at our conclusions:—In the first place, sex life of childhood was revealed to us in the analysis of adults, who volunteered this information. Then, we proceeded to analyse children, and it was no small triumph when we succeeded in 106proving everything which we had deducted from the information of adults, despite the fact that as regarded the adults, twenty to forty years had passed, during which time these memories had been submerged and undergone substantial changes.

“What! You really ventured to analyse little children, tots of less than six years? How could such a thing be done at all? And wasn’t that hazardous, as far as the children were concerned?”

It was easy enough to do.

You would hardly believe what takes place in the brain of a child of four or five years. At this age, children are mentally very alert. For them, the period of early sexuality is also a period of intellectual bloom. I am under the impression that children, with the beginning of the period of latency, experience a mental let-down; grow temporarily dull, so to speak. During this period, many children also begin to lose their physical charm.

As far as possible damage, arising from an early analysis is concerned, let me assure you that the first child to undergo this experiment—about 107twenty years ago—has meanwhile grown up to be a sound and efficient young man who, despite severe psychological traumata, passed through his pubescent period without complaint. This fact encourages me to expect that all the other “victims” will not fare any worse.

Analyses of children yield various interesting results. Possibly, in future, they will grow in importance. As far as theoretical findings are concerned, there can be no doubt as to the value of these analyses. As children give unequivocal information on questions which only yield hazy results in the analyses of adults, the analyst is protected against mistakes which might have proved to be serious. Analyses of children have the added advantage, in that those moments are seized upon unaware, when a neurosis is in the process of development. There can be no mistake about such observations in children.

To be sure, in the interest of the child, it is necessary to combine analytical influence with educational measures. This is a technique still to be perfected. There is practical interest attached 108to this problem, because observations prove that a great number of our children, during their period of development, pass through a clearly discernable neurotic phase. Ever since we perceived these things more keenly, we have been tempted to venture that neurotic conditions of children are not the exception, but rather the rule. It appears that in view of infantile tendencies to neuroses, such trend of developments cannot be avoided in the course of civilisatoric progress. In most cases, such neurotic taints are spontaneously thrown off during childhood. The question remains, however, whether traces of them are not frequently left, even in such individuals as are considered of average health.

On the other hand, there is no neurotic adult in whom infantile tendencies toward neuroses cannot be discerned, although originally they may not necessarily have been so very obvious. Analogous to this, specialists for internal diseases claim, I believe, that every individual during the time of his childhood passes through a tubercular condition.

Let me return to your question of proofs.

109From direct analytical observation of children, we concluded that in general the information which adults had given us, in reference to their childhood, had been correctly interpreted by us. In some cases, it was even possible to obtain confirmation of a different kind. For example:—From material unearthed by the analysis, it was possible to reconstruct certain occurrences and impressive events of childhood, of which the conscious memory of the patient was no longer aware. Fortunate accidents or information supplied by parents and educators yielded unquestionable proof that the analyst had correctly reconstructed these impressions and experiences of childhood.

Such proof, of course, could not be obtained very frequently, but whenever it was obtained, it created an overpowering impression. You must know that the correct reconstruction of such forgotten experiences of childhood always results in a tremendous therapeutic effect, no matter whether such reconstructions may be objectively confirmed or not. The importance attached to these events is naturally 110derived from the fact that these experiences occurred in early childhood, when they could still affect the feeble “I” traumatically.

“What may those events be which analysis must unearth for therapeutic purposes?”

Events of various nature.

In the first place, impressions strong enough to permanently influence the awakening sex life of the child, such as observation of sexual intercourse between adults or personal sexual experiences with an adult or some other child—occurrences not at all rare. Then, overhearing the conversation of adults, at a time when the child did not fully comprehend the significance, but which, when the child came to grasp the real meaning, conveyed to him knowledge to be coveted because of the air of secrecy and mystery attached to it. Furthermore, utterances and actions of the child himself, demonstrating a decidedly tender or else hateful inclination toward other persons. It is of special importance, in the course of the analysis, to revive cases of forgotten personal sexual indulgence, and the interference of 111adults which served to terminate these habits.