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, as the result of important needs of our body. Don’t forget what the poet-philosopher Schiller once said:
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 a 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 the 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 in 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 such 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.
The 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 which 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” experiencing 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 urge. 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, because 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 of 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 even 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 by 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, the 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.
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 important 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 you 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!
There 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: intimacies 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.
At 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 psychoanalysis 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 yourself 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 said 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 permeate 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!”
Again 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 tendency 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 of 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, just 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 you 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 which 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, we 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. While 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 deducted 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 nature, 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, had 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.
From 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 proving 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 twenty 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 to 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.
From 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 derived 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 adults which served to terminate these habits.
“It seems to be my turn, now, to ask a question which I have had on my mind for a long time. What do you call ‘sexual indulgence’ of a child, during his period of early sexuality which, as you say, is a time that was completely overlooked before the advent of psychoanalysis?”
Of course that which is usual and essential in this indulgence had not been overlooked. This is not so remarkable, because it simply couldn’t be overlooked. Sexual tendencies of the child find their expression mainly in masturbation. That this childish “naughtiness” is extraordinarily common was always known to adults. It is considered a grave sin, to be energetically suppressed.
But please do not ask me how such “immoral” tendencies in children—and children admit that they indulge in them because they give them pleasure!—can co-exist with that inborn purity and non-sensuality of which we love to prate. You had better ask our opponents to solve this puzzle for you.
A much more important problem is facing us now:—What is the position to take towards sexual indulgence in early childhood?
There is not the slightest doubt as to the responsibility incurred by suppressing such actions and, on the other hand, one dare not permit it to go on, limitless.
It appears that sexuality of children is unrestricted among peoples of low civilization and in the lower strata of civilized people. Such tolerance may amount to a strong protection against the possibility of neuroses cropping up in later years, but the question is whether there does not then remain a concurrent, extraordinary loss in regard to an individual’s aptness for cultural achievements. It seems we are facing a case of Scylla and Charybdis there.
However, I shall leave it to you to decide whether such interest, as the study of sex life may have for neurotics, would tend to create an atmosphere, favorable for the awakening of libidinous desires.