Part 7

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.

“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.