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diff --git a/78221-0.txt b/78221-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4914284 --- /dev/null +++ b/78221-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3013 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78221 *** + + + + + Transcriber’s Note + Italic text displayed as: _italic_ + + + + + CIVILIZATION + AND ITS DISCONTENTS + + + + +JONATHAN CAPE AND HARRISON SMITH, INCORPORATED, 139 EAST 46TH STREET, +NEW YORK, N. Y. AND 77 WELLINGTON STREET, WEST, TORONTO, CANADA; +JONATHAN CAPE, LTD., 30 BEDFORD SQUARE, LONDON, W. C. 1, ENGLAND + + + + + CIVILIZATION + AND ITS DISCONTENTS + + SIGMUND FREUD, M.D., LL.D. + + AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION + + BY + + JOAN RIVIERE + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + JONATHAN CAPE & HARRISON SMITH + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1930 + BY JONATHAN CAPE AND + HARRISON SMITH, INC. + + FIRST PUBLISHED IN AMERICA. 1930 + SECOND PRINTING OCTOBER. 1930 + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES + BY THE DE VINNE-HALLENBECK COMPANY + AND BOUND BY THE J. F. TAPLEY COMPANY + + + + +TRANSLATOR’S NOTE + + +My grateful thanks are due to Fräulein Anna Freud, Dr. Ernest Jones +and Mr. James Strachey for their careful revision of the MS. of this +translation and the many improvements they made in it, and also to Miss +Ethel Colburn Mayne for her translations of the verse quoted. + + J. R. + + + + +I + + +The impression forces itself upon one that men measure by false +standards, that everyone seeks power, success, riches for himself and +admires others who attain them, while undervaluing the truly precious +things in life. And yet, in making any general judgement of this kind +one is in danger of forgetting the manifold variety of humanity and its +mental life. There are certain men from whom their contemporaries do +not withhold veneration, although their greatness rests on attributes +and achievements which are completely foreign to the aims and ideals of +the multitude. One might well be inclined to suppose that after all it +is only a minority who appreciate these great men, while the majority +cares nothing for them. But the discrepancy between men’s opinions and +their behaviour is so wide and their desires so many-sided that things +are probably not so simple. + +One of these exceptional men calls himself my friend in his letters +to me. I had sent him my little book which treats of religion as an +illusion and he answered that he agreed entirely with my views on +religion, but that he was sorry I had not properly appreciated the +ultimate source of religious sentiments. This consists in a peculiar +feeling, which never leaves him personally, which he finds shared by +many others, and which he may suppose millions more also experience. It +is a feeling which he would like to call a sensation of ‘eternity’, a +feeling as of something limitless, unbounded, something ‘oceanic’. It +is, he says, a purely subjective experience, not an article of belief; +it implies no assurance of personal immortality, but it is the source +of the religious spirit and is taken hold of by the various Churches +and religious systems, directed by them into definite channels and +also, no doubt, used up in them. One may rightly call oneself religious +on the ground of this oceanic feeling alone, even though one reject all +beliefs and all illusions. + +These views, expressed by my friend whom I so greatly honour and +who himself once in poetry described the magic of illusion, put me +in a difficult position. I cannot discover this ‘oceanic’ feeling +in myself. It is not easy to deal scientifically with feelings. One +may attempt to describe their physiological signs. Where that is +impossible—I am afraid the oceanic feeling, too, will defy this +kind of classification—nothing remains but to turn to the ideational +content which most readily associates itself with the feeling. If I +have understood my friend aright, he means the same thing as that +consolation offered by an original and somewhat unconventional writer +to his hero, contemplating suicide: ‘Out of this world we cannot +fall’.[1] So it is a feeling of indissoluble connection, of belonging +inseparably to the external world as a whole. To me, personally, I may +remark, this seems something more in the nature of an intellectual +judgement, not, it is true, without any accompanying feeling-tone, +but with one of a kind which characterizes other equally far-reaching +reflections as well. I could not in my own person convince myself of +the primary nature of such a feeling. But I cannot on that account deny +that it in fact occurs in other people. One can only wonder whether +it has been correctly interpreted and whether it is entitled to be +acknowledged as the _fons et origo_ of the whole need for religion. + +I have nothing to suggest which could effectively settle the solution +of this problem. The idea that man should receive intimation of his +connection with the surrounding world by a direct feeling which aims +from the outset at serving this purpose sounds so strange and is so +incongruous with the structure of our psychology that one is justified +in attempting a psycho-analytic, that is, genetic explanation of such a +feeling. Whereupon the following lines of thought present themselves. +Normally there is nothing we are more certain of than the feeling of +our self, our own ego. It seems to us an independent unitary thing, +sharply outlined against everything else. That this is a deceptive +appearance, and that on the contrary the ego extends inwards without +any sharp delimitation, into an unconscious mental entity which we +call the id and to which it forms a façade, was first discovered +by psycho-analytic research, and the latter still has much to tell +us about the relations of the ego to the id. But towards the outer +world at any rate the ego seems to keep itself clearly and sharply +outlined and delimited. There is only one state of mind in which it +fails to do this—an unusual state, it is true, but not one that can +be judged as pathological. At its height the state of being in love +threatens to obliterate the boundaries between ego and object. Against +all the evidence of his senses the man in love declares that he and +his beloved are one, and is prepared to behave as if it were a fact. +A thing that can be temporarily effaced by a physiological function +must also of course be liable to disturbance by morbid processes. From +pathology we have come to know a large number of states in which the +boundary lines between ego and outer world become uncertain, or in +which they are actually incorrectly perceived—cases in which parts of +a man’s own body, even component parts of his own mind, perceptions, +thoughts, feelings, appear to him alien and not belonging to himself; +other cases in which a man ascribes to the external world things that +clearly originate in himself, and that ought to be acknowledged by him. +So the ego’s cognizance of itself is subject to disturbance, and the +boundaries between it and the outer world are not immovable. + +Further reflection shows that the adult’s sense of his own ego cannot +have been the same from the beginning. It must have undergone a +development, which naturally cannot be demonstrated, but which admits +of reconstruction with a fair degree of probability.[2] When the +infant at the breast receives stimuli, he cannot as yet distinguish +whether they come from his ego or from the outer world. He learns +it gradually as the result of various exigencies. It must make the +strongest impression on him that many sources of excitation, which +later on he will recognize as his own bodily organs, can provide him +at any time with sensations, whereas others become temporarily out +of his reach—amongst these what he wants most of all, his mother’s +breast—and reappear only as a result of his cries for help. Thus +an ‘object’ first presents itself to the ego as something existing +‘outside’, which is only induced to appear by a particular act. A +further stimulus to the growth and formation of the ego, so that +it becomes something more than a bundle of sensations, _i.e._ +recognizes an ‘outside’, the external world, is afforded by the +frequent, unavoidable and manifold pains and unpleasant sensations +which the pleasure-principle, still in unrestricted domination, bids +it abolish or avoid. The tendency arises to dissociate from the ego +everything which can give rise to pain, to cast it out and create a +pure pleasure-ego, in contrast to a threatening ‘outside’, not-self. +The limits of this primitive pleasure-ego cannot escape readjustment +through experience. Much that the individual wants to retain because +it is pleasure-giving is nevertheless part not of the ego but of an +object; and much that he wishes to eject because it torments him yet +proves to be inseparable from the ego, arising from an inner source. He +learns a method by which, through deliberate use of the sensory organs +and suitable muscular movements, he can distinguish between internal +and external—what is part of the ego and what originates in the outer +world—and thus he makes the first step towards the introduction of +the reality-principle which is to control his development further. +This capacity for distinguishing which he learns of course serves a +practical purpose, that of enabling him to defend himself against +painful sensations felt by him or threatening him. Against certain +painful excitations from within the ego has only the same means of +defence as that employed against pain coming from without, and this is +the starting-point of important morbid disturbances. + +In this way the ego detaches itself from the external world. It is +more correct to say: Originally the ego includes everything, later +it detaches from itself the external world. The ego-feeling we are +aware of now is thus only a shrunken vestige of a far more extensive +feeling—a feeling which embraced the universe and expressed an +inseparable connection of the ego with the external world. If we may +suppose that this primary ego-feeling has been preserved in the minds +of many people—to a greater or lesser extent—it would co-exist like +a sort of counterpart with the narrower and more sharply outlined +ego-feeling of maturity, and the ideational content belonging to it +would be precisely the notion of limitless extension and oneness +with the universe—the same feeling as that described by my friend as +‘oceanic’. But have we any right to assume that the original type of +feeling survives alongside the later one which has developed from it? + +Undoubtedly we have: there is nothing unusual in such a phenomenon, +whether in the psychological or in other spheres. Where animals are +concerned we hold the view that the most highly developed have arisen +from the lowest. Yet we still find all the simple forms alive to-day. +The great saurians are extinct and have made way for the mammals, but +a typical representative of them, the crocodile, is still living among +us. The analogy may be too remote, and it is also weakened by the fact +that the surviving lower species are not as a rule the true ancestors +of the present-day more highly developed types. The intermediate +members have mostly died out and are known to us only through +reconstruction. In the realm of mind, on the other hand, the primitive +type is so commonly preserved alongside the transformations which have +developed out of it that it is superfluous to give instances in proof +of it. When this happens, it is usually the result of a bifurcation in +development. One quantitative part of an attitude or an impulse has +survived unchanged while another has undergone further development. + +This brings us very close to the more general problem of conservation +in the mind, which has so far hardly been discussed, but is so +interesting and important that we may take the opportunity to pay it +some attention, even though its relevance is not immediate. Since the +time when we recognized the error of supposing that ordinary forgetting +signified destruction or annihilation of the memory-trace, we have +been inclined to the opposite view that nothing once formed in the +mind could ever perish, that everything survives in some way or other, +and is capable under certain conditions of being brought to light +again, as, for instance, when regression extends back far enough. One +might try to picture to oneself what this assumption signifies by a +comparison taken from another field. Let us choose the history of the +Eternal City as an example.[3] Historians tell us that the oldest Rome +of all was the _Roma quadrata_, a fenced settlement on the Palatine. +Then followed the phase of the Septimontium, when the colonies on the +different hills united together; then the town which was bounded by +the Servian wall; and later still, after all the transformations in +the periods of the republic and the early Caesars, the city which the +Emperor Aurelian enclosed by his walls. We will not follow the changes +the city went through any further, but will ask ourselves what traces +of these early stages in its history a visitor to Rome may still find +to-day, if he goes equipped with the most complete historical and +topographical knowledge. Except for a few gaps, he will see the wall of +Aurelian almost unchanged. He can find sections of the Servian rampart +at certain points where it has been excavated and brought to light. If +he knows enough—more than present-day archaeology—he may perhaps trace +out in the structure of the town the whole course of this wall and the +outline of _Roma quadrata_. Of the buildings which once occupied this +ancient ground-plan he will find nothing, or but meagre fragments, +for they exist no longer. With the best information about Rome of the +republican era, the utmost he could achieve would be to indicate the +sites where the temples and public buildings of that period stood. +These places are now occupied by ruins, but the ruins are not those of +the early buildings themselves but of restorations of them in later +times after fires and demolitions. It is hardly necessary to mention +that all these remains of ancient Rome are found woven into the fabric +of a great metropolis which has arisen in the last few centuries since +the Renaissance. There is assuredly much that is ancient still buried +in the soil or under the modern buildings of the town. This is the way +in which we find antiquities surviving in historic cities like Rome. + +Now let us make the fantastic supposition that Rome were not a human +dwelling-place, but a mental entity with just as long and varied a +past history: that is, in which nothing once constructed had perished, +and all the earlier stages of development had survived alongside the +latest. This would mean that in Rome the palaces of the Caesars were +still standing on the Palatine and the Septizonium of Septimius Severus +was still towering to its old height; that the beautiful statues were +still standing in the colonnade of the Castle of St. Angelo, as they +were up to its siege by the Goths, and so on. But more still: where +the Palazzo Caffarelli stands there would also be, without this being +removed, the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, not merely in its latest +form, moreover, as the Romans of the Caesars saw it, but also in its +earliest shape, when it still wore an Etruscan design and was adorned +with terra-cotta antifixae. Where the Coliseum stands now we could at +the same time admire Nero’s Golden House; on the Piazza of the Pantheon +we should find not only the Pantheon of to-day as bequeathed to us by +Hadrian, but on the same site also Agrippa’s original edifice; indeed, +the same ground would support the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva +and the old temple over which it was built. And the observer would need +merely to shift the focus of his eyes, perhaps, or change his position, +in order to call up a view of either the one or the other. + +There is clearly no object in spinning this fantasy further; it +leads to the inconceivable, or even to absurdities. If we try to +represent historical sequence in spatial terms, it can only be done +by juxtaposition in space; the same space will not hold two contents. +Our attempt seems like an idle game; it has only one justification: it +shows us how far away from mastering the idiosyncrasies of mental life +we are by treating them in terms of visual representation. + +There is one objection, though, to which we must pay attention. It +questions our choosing in particular the past history of a _city_ to +liken to the past of the mind. Even for mental life our assumption that +everything past is preserved holds good only on condition that the +organ of the mind remains intact and its structure has not been injured +by traumas or inflammation. Destructive influences comparable to these +morbid agencies are never lacking in the history of any town, even if +it has had a less chequered past than Rome, even if, like London, it +has hardly ever been pillaged by an enemy. Demolitions and the erection +of new buildings in the place of old occur in cities which have had the +most peaceful existence; therefore a town is from the outset unsuited +for the comparison I have made of it with a mental organism. + +We admit this objection; we will abandon our search for a striking +effect of contrast and turn to what is after all a closer object of +comparison, the body of an animal or human being. But here, too, we +find the same thing. The early stages of development are in no sense +still extant; they have been absorbed into the later features for +which they supplied the material. The embryo cannot be demonstrated +in the adult; the thymus gland of childhood is replaced after puberty +by connective tissue but no longer exists itself; in the marrow-bone +of a grown man I can, it is true, trace the outline of the childish +bone-structure, but this latter no longer survives in itself—it +lengthened and thickened until it reached its final form. The fact +is that a survival of all the early stages alongside the final form +is only possible in the mind, and that it is impossible for us to +represent a phenomenon of this kind in visual terms. + +Perhaps we are going too far with this conclusion. Perhaps we ought +to be content with the assertion that what is past in the mind _can_ +survive and need not necessarily perish. It is always possible that +even in the mind much that is old may be so far obliterated or +absorbed—whether normally or by way of exception—that it cannot be +restored or reanimated by any means, of that survival of it is always +connected with certain favourable conditions. It is possible, but we +know nothing about it. We can only be sure that it is more the rule +than the exception for the past to survive in the mind. + +Thus we are entirely willing to acknowledge that the ‘oceanic’ feeling +exists in many people, and we are disposed to relate it to an early +stage in ego-feeling; the further question then arises what claim this +feeling has to be regarded as the source of the need for religion. + +To me this claim does not seem very forcible. Surely a feeling can +only be a source of energy when it is itself the expression of a +strong need. The derivation of a need for religion from the child’s +feeling of helplessness and the longing it evokes for a father seems +to me incontrovertible, especially since this feeling is not simply +carried on from childhood days but is kept alive perpetually by the +fear of what the superior power of fate will bring. I could not point +to any need in childhood so strong as that for a father’s protection. +Thus the part played by the ‘oceanic’ feeling, which I suppose seeks +to reinstate limitless narcissism, cannot possibly take the first +place. The derivation of the religious attitude can be followed back +in clear outline as far as the child’s feeling of helplessness. There +may be something else behind this, but for the present it is wrapped in +obscurity. + +I can imagine that the oceanic feeling could become connected with +religion later on. That feeling of oneness with the universe which +is its ideational content sounds very like a first attempt at the +consolations of religion, like another way taken by the ego of denying +the dangers it sees threatening it in the external world. I must again +confess that I find it very difficult to work with these intangible +quantities. Another friend of mine, whose insatiable scientific +curiosity has impelled him to the most out-of-the-way researches and +to the acquisition of encyclopaedic knowledge, has assured me that the +Yogi by their practices of withdrawal from the world, concentrating +attention on bodily functions, peculiar methods of breathing, actually +are able to produce new sensations and diffused feelings in themselves +which he regards as regressions to primordial, deeply buried mental +states. He sees in them a physiological foundation, so to speak, of +much of the wisdom of mysticism. There would be connections to be made +here with many obscure modifications of mental life, such as trance and +ecstasy. But I am moved to exclaim, in the words of Schiller’s diver: + + Who breathes overhead in the rose-tinted light may be glad! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Christian Grabbe, _Hannibal_: ‘Ja, aus der Welt werden wir nicht +fallen. Wir sind einmal darin.’ + +[2] Cf. the considerable volume of work on this topic dating from that +of Ferenczi (‘Stages in the Development of the Sense of Reality’, 1913) +up to Federn’s contributions, 1926, 1927 and later. + +[3] According to _The Cambridge Ancient History_, vol. vii., 1928, +‘The Founding of Rome’, by Hugh Last. + + + + +II + + +In my _Future of an Illusion_[4] I was concerned much less with the +deepest sources of religious feeling than with what the ordinary man +understands by his religion, that system of doctrines and pledges +that on the one hand explains the riddle of this world to him with an +enviable completeness, and on the other assures him that a solicitous +Providence is watching over him and will make up to him in a future +existence for any shortcomings in this life. The ordinary man cannot +imagine this Providence in any other form but that of a greatly exalted +father, for only such a one could understand the needs of the sons +of men, or be softened by their prayers and placated by the signs of +their remorse. The whole thing is so patently infantile, so incongruous +with reality, that to one whose attitude to humanity is friendly it +is painful to think that the great majority of mortals will never be +able to rise above this view of life. It is even more humiliating to +discover what a large number of those alive to-day, who must see that +this religion is not tenable, yet try to defend it inch by inch, as if +with a series of pitiable rearguard actions. One would like to count +oneself among the believers, so as to admonish the philosophers who try +to preserve the God of religion by substituting for him an impersonal, +shadowy, abstract principle, and say, ‘Thou shalt not take the name of +the Lord thy God in vain!’ Some of the great men of the past did the +same, but that is no justification for us; we know why they had to do +so. + +We will now go back to the ordinary man and his religion—the only +religion that ought to bear the name. The well-known words of one of +our great and wise poets come to mind in which he expresses his view of +the relation of religion to art and science. They run: + + He who has Science and has Art, + Religion, too, has he; + Who has not Science, has not Art, + Let him religious be![5] + +On the one hand, these words contrast religion with the two highest +achievements of man, and on the other, they declare that in respect +of their value in life they can represent or replace each other. If +we wish to deprive even the ordinary man, too, of his religion, we +shall clearly not have the authority of the poet on our side. We will +seek to get in touch with the meaning of his utterance by a special +way. Life as we find it is too hard for us; it entails too much pain, +too many disappointments, impossible tasks. We cannot do without +palliative remedies. We cannot dispense with auxiliary constructions, +as Theodor Fontane said. There are perhaps three of these means: +powerful diversions of interest, which lead us to care little about our +misery; substitutive gratifications, which lessen it; and intoxicating +substances, which make us insensitive to it. Something of this kind +is indispensable.[6] Voltaire is aiming at a diversion of interest +when he brings his _Candide_ to a close with the advice that people +should cultivate their gardens; scientific work is another deflection +of the same kind. The substitute gratifications, such as art offers, +are illusions in contrast to reality, but none the less satisfying +to the mind on that account, thanks to the place which phantasy has +reserved for herself in mental life. The intoxicating substances affect +our body, alter its chemical processes. It is not so simple to find +the place where religion belongs in this series. We must look further +afield. + +The question, ‘What is the purpose of human life?’ has been asked times +without number; it has never received a satisfactory answer; perhaps it +does not admit of such an answer. Many a questioner has added that if +it should appear that life has no purpose, then it would lose all value +for him. But these threats alter nothing. It looks, on the contrary, +as though one had a right to dismiss this question, for it seems to +presuppose that belief in the superiority of the human race with which +we are already so familiar in its other expressions. Nobody asks what +is the purpose of the lives of animals, unless peradventure they are +designed to be of service to man. But this, too, will not hold, for +with many animals man can do nothing—except describe, classify and +study them; and countless species have declined to be put even to this +use, by living and dying and becoming extinct before men had set eyes +upon them. So again, only religion is able to answer the question of +the purpose of life. One can hardly go wrong in concluding that the +idea of a purpose in life stands and falls with the religious system. + +We will turn, therefore, to the less ambitious problem, what the +behaviour of men themselves reveals as the purpose and object of their +lives, what they demand of life and wish to attain in it. The answer +to this can hardly be in doubt: they seek happiness, they want to +become happy and to remain so. There are two sides to this striving, a +positive and a negative; it aims on the one hand at eliminating pain +and discomfort, on the other at the experience of intense pleasures. In +its narrower sense the word ‘happiness’ relates only to the last. Thus +human activities branch off in two directions—corresponding to this +double goal—according to which of the two they aim at realizing, either +predominantly or even exclusively. + +As we see, it is simply the pleasure-principle which draws up the +programme of life’s purpose. This principle dominates the operation of +the mental apparatus from the very beginning; there can be no doubt +about its efficiency, and yet its programme is in conflict with the +whole world, with the macrocosm as much as with the microcosm. It +simply cannot be put into execution, the whole constitution of things +runs counter to it; one might say the intention that man should be +‘happy’ is not included in the scheme of ‘Creation’. What is called +happiness in its narrowest sense comes from the satisfaction—most often +instantaneous—of pent-up needs which have reached great intensity, +and by its very nature can only be a transitory experience. When any +condition desired by the pleasure-principle is protracted, it results +in a feeling only of mild comfort; we are so constituted that we +can only intensely enjoy contrasts, much less intensely states in +themselves.[7] Our possibilities of happiness are thus limited from +the start by our very constitution. It is much less difficult to be +unhappy. Suffering comes from three quarters: from our own body, +which is destined to decay and dissolution, and cannot even dispense +with anxiety and pain as danger-signals; from the outer world, which +can rage against us with the most powerful and pitiless forces of +destruction; and finally from our relations with other men. The +unhappiness which has this last origin we find perhaps more painful +than any other; we tend to regard it more or less as a gratuitous +addition, although it cannot be any less an inevitable fate than the +suffering that proceeds from other sources. + +It is no wonder if, under the pressure of these possibilities of +suffering, humanity is wont to reduce its demands for happiness, +just as even the pleasure-principle itself changes into the more +accommodating reality-principle under the influence of external +environment; if a man thinks himself happy if he has merely escaped +unhappiness or weathered trouble; if in general the task of avoiding +pain forces that of obtaining pleasure into the background. Reflection +shows that there are very different ways of attempting to perform this +task; and all these ways have been recommended by the various schools +of wisdom in the art of life and put into practice by men. Unbridled +gratification of all desires forces itself into the foreground as the +most alluring guiding principle in life, but it entails preferring +enjoyment to caution and penalizes itself after short indulgence. The +other methods, in which avoidance of pain is the main motive, are +differentiated according to the source of the suffering against which +they are mainly directed. Some of these measures are extreme and some +moderate, some are one-sided and some deal with several aspects of the +matter at once. Voluntary loneliness, isolation from others, is the +readiest safeguard against the unhappiness that may arise out of human +relations. We know what this means: the happiness found along this +path is that of peace. Against the dreaded outer world one can defend +oneself only by turning away in some other direction, if the difficulty +is to be solved single-handed. There is indeed another and a better +way: that of combining with the rest of the human community and taking +up the attack on nature, thus forcing it to obey human will, under the +guidance of science. One is working then with all for the good of all. +But the most interesting methods for averting pain are those which aim +at influencing the organism itself. In the last analysis all pain is +but sensation; it only exists in so far as we feel it, and we feel it +only in consequence of certain characteristics of our organism. + +The crudest of these methods of influencing the body, but also the most +effective, is the chemical one: that of intoxication. I do not think +anyone entirely understands their operation, but it is a fact that +there are certain substances foreign to the body which, when present +in the blood or tissues, directly cause us pleasurable sensations, +but also so change the conditions of our perceptivity that we become +insensible of disagreeable sensations. The two effects not only take +place simultaneously, they seem to be closely bound up with each other. +But there must be substances in the chemical composition of our bodies +which can do the same, for we know of at least one morbid state, that +of mania, in which a condition similar to this intoxication arises +without any drug being absorbed. Besides this, our normal mental +life shows variations, according to which pleasure is experienced +with more or less ease, and along with this goes a diminished or +increased sensitivity to pain. It is greatly to be regretted that +this toxic aspect of mental processes has so far eluded scientific +research. The services rendered by intoxicating substances in the +struggle for happiness and in warding off misery rank so highly as a +benefit that both individuals and races have given them an established +position within their libido-economy. It is not merely the immediate +gain in pleasure which one owes to them, but also a measure of that +independence of the outer world which is so sorely craved. Men know +that with the help they can get from ‘drowning their cares’ they can +at any time slip away from the oppression of reality and find a refuge +in a world of their own where painful feelings do not enter. We are +aware that it is just this property which constitutes the danger and +injuriousness of intoxicating substances. In certain circumstances +they are to blame when valuable energies which could have been used to +improve the lot of humanity are uselessly wasted. + +The complicated structure of our mental apparatus admits, however, +of a whole series of other kinds of influence. The gratification of +instincts is happiness, but when the outer world lets us starve, +refuses us satisfaction of our needs, they become the cause of very +great suffering. So the hope is born that by influencing these impulses +one may escape some measure of suffering. This type of defence against +pain no longer relates to the sensory apparatus; it seeks to control +the internal sources of our needs themselves. An extreme form of it +consists in annihilation of the instincts, as taught by the wisdom of +the East and practised by the Yogi. When it succeeds, it is true, it +involves giving up all other activities as well (sacrificing the whole +of life), and again, by another path, the only happiness it brings is +that of peace. The same way is taken when the aim is less extreme and +only control of the instincts is sought. When this is so, the higher +mental systems which recognize the reality-principle have the upper +hand. The aim of gratification is by no means abandoned in this case; +a certain degree of protection against suffering is secured, in that +lack of satisfaction causes less pain when the instincts are kept in +check than when they are unbridled. On the other hand, this brings with +it an undeniable reduction in the degree of enjoyment obtainable. The +feeling of happiness produced by indulgence of a wild, untamed craving +is incomparably more intense than is the satisfying of a curbed +desire. The irresistibility of perverted impulses, perhaps the charm of +forbidden things generally, may in this way be explained economically. + +Another method of guarding against pain is by using the +libido-displacements that our mental equipment allows of, by +which it gains so greatly in flexibility. The task is then one of +transferring the instinctual aims into such directions that they +cannot be frustrated by the outer world. Sublimation of the instincts +lends an aid in this. Its success is greatest when a man knows how +to heighten sufficiently his capacity for obtaining pleasure from +mental and intellectual work. Fate has little power against him then. +This kind of satisfaction, such as the artist’s joy in creation, in +embodying his phantasies, or the scientist’s in solving problems or +discovering truth, has a special quality which we shall certainly one +day be able to define metapsychologically. Until then we can only +say metaphorically it seems to us ‘higher and finer’, but compared +with that of gratifying gross primitive instincts, its intensity is +tempered and diffused; it does not overwhelm us physically. The weak +point of this method, however, is that it is not generally applicable; +it is only available to the few. It presupposes special gifts and +dispositions which are not very commonly found in a sufficient degree. +And even to these few it does not secure complete protection against +suffering; it gives no invulnerable armour against the arrows of +fate, and it usually fails when a man’s own body becomes a source of +suffering to him.[8] + +This behaviour reveals clearly enough its aim—that of making oneself +independent of the external world, by looking for happiness in the +inner things of the mind; in the next method the same features are even +more marked. The connection with reality is looser still; satisfaction +is obtained through illusions, which are recognized as such, without +the discrepancy between them and reality being allowed to interfere +with the pleasure they give. These illusions are derived from the life +of phantasy which, at the time when the sense of reality developed, +was expressly exempted from the demands of the reality-test and set +apart for the purpose of fulfilling wishes which would be very hard to +realize. At the head of these phantasy-pleasures stands the enjoyment +of works of art which through the agency of the artist is opened to +those who cannot themselves create.[9] Those who are sensitive to the +influence of art do not know how to rate it high enough as a source of +happiness and consolation in life. Yet art affects us but as a mild +narcotic and can provide no more than a temporary refuge for us from +the hardships of life; its influence is not strong enough to make us +forget real misery. + +Another method operates more energetically and thoroughly; it regards +reality as the source of all suffering, as the one and only enemy, +with whom life is intolerable and with whom therefore all relations +must be broken off if one is to be happy in any way at all. The hermit +turns his back on this world; he will have nothing to do with it. But +one can do more than that; one can try to re-create it, try to build up +another instead, from which the most unbearable features are eliminated +and replaced by others corresponding to one’s own wishes. He who in +his despair and defiance sets out on this path will not as a rule get +very far; reality will be too strong for him. He becomes a madman and +usually finds no one to help him in carrying through his delusion. It +is said, however, that each one of us behaves in some respect like the +paranoiac, substituting a wish-fulfilment for some aspect of the world +which is unbearable to him, and carrying this delusion through into +reality. When a large number of people make this attempt together and +try to obtain assurance of happiness and protection from suffering by a +delusional transformation of reality it acquires special significance. +The religions of humanity, too, must be classified as mass-delusions of +this kind. Needless to say, no one who shares a delusion recognizes it +as such. + +I do not suppose that I have enumerated all the methods by which men +strive to win happiness and keep suffering at bay, and I know, too, +that the material might have been arranged differently. One of these +methods I have not yet mentioned at all—not because I had forgotten +it, but because it will interest us in another connection. How would +it be possible to forget this way of all others of practising the art +of life! It is conspicuous for its remarkable capacity to combine +characteristic features. Needless to say, it, too, strives to bring +about independence of fate—as we may best call it—and with this object +it looks for satisfaction within the mind, and uses the capacity for +displacing libido which we mentioned before, but it does not turn +away from the outer world; on the contrary, it takes a firm hold of +its objects and obtains happiness from an emotional relation to them. +Nor is it content to strive for avoidance of pain—that goal of weary +resignation; rather it passes that by heedlessly and holds fast to +the deep-rooted, passionate striving for a positive fulfilment of +happiness. Perhaps it really comes nearer to this goal than any other +method. I am speaking, of course, of that way of life which makes love +the centre of all things and anticipates all happiness from loving and +being loved. This attitude is familiar enough to all of us; one of the +forms in which love manifests itself, sexual love, gives us our most +intense experience of an overwhelming pleasurable sensation and so +furnishes a prototype for our strivings after happiness. What is more +natural than that we should persist in seeking happiness along the path +by which we first encountered it? The weak side of this way of living +is clearly evident; and were it not for this, no human being would ever +have thought of abandoning this path to happiness in favour of any +other. We are never so defenceless against suffering as when we love, +never so forlornly unhappy as when we have lost our love-object or its +love. But this does not complete the story of that way of life which +bases happiness on love; there is much more to be said about it. + +We may here go on to consider the interesting case in which happiness +in life is sought first and foremost in the enjoyment of beauty, +wherever it is to be found by our senses and our judgement, the beauty +of human forms and movements, of natural objects, of landscapes, +of artistic and even scientific creations. As a goal in life this +aesthetic attitude offers little protection against the menace +of suffering, but it is able to compensate for a great deal. The +enjoyment of beauty produces a particular, mildly intoxicating kind +of sensation. There is no very evident use in beauty; the necessity +of it for cultural purposes is not apparent, and yet civilization +could not do without it. The science of aesthetics investigates the +conditions in which things are regarded as beautiful; it can give no +explanation of the nature or origin of beauty; as usual, its lack of +results is concealed under a flood of resounding and meaningless words. +Unfortunately, psycho-analysis, too, has less to say about beauty than +about most things. Its derivation from the realms of sexual sensation +is all that seems certain; the love of beauty is a perfect example of +a feeling with an inhibited aim. ‘Beauty’ and ‘attraction’ are first +of all the attributes of a sexual object. It is remarkable that the +genitals themselves, the sight of which is always exciting, are hardly +ever regarded as beautiful; the quality of beauty seems, on the other +hand, to attach to certain secondary sexual characters. + +In spite of the incompleteness of these considerations, I will venture +on a few remarks in conclusion of this discussion. The goal towards +which the pleasure-principle impels us—of becoming happy—is not +attainable; yet we may not—nay, cannot—give up the effort to come +nearer to realization of it by some means or other. Very different +paths may be taken towards it: some pursue the positive aspect of the +aim, attainment of pleasure; others the negative, avoidance of pain. +By none of these ways can we achieve all that we desire. In that +modified sense in which we have seen it to be attainable, happiness is +a problem of the economics of the libido in each individual. There is +no sovereign recipe in this matter which suits all; each one must find +out for himself by which particular means he may achieve felicity. All +kinds of different factors will operate to influence his choice. It +depends on how much real gratification he is likely to obtain in the +external world, and how far he will find it necessary to make himself +independent of it; finally, too, on the belief he has in himself of his +power to alter it in accordance with his wishes. Even at this stage +the mental constitution of the individual will play a decisive part, +aside from any external considerations. The man who is predominantly +erotic will choose emotional relationships with others before all +else; the narcissistic type, who is more self-sufficient, will seek +his essential satisfactions in the inner workings of his own soul; the +man of action will never abandon the external world in which he can +essay his power. The interests of narcissistic types will be determined +by their particular gifts and the degree of instinctual sublimation +of which they are capable. When any choice is pursued to an extreme +it penalizes itself, in that it exposes the individual to the dangers +accompanying any one exclusive life-interest which may always prove +inadequate. Just as a cautious business-man avoids investing all his +capital in one concern, so wisdom would probably admonish us also not +to anticipate all our happiness from one quarter alone. Success is +never certain; it depends on the co-operation of many factors, perhaps +on none more than the capacity of the mental constitution to adapt +itself to the outer world and then utilize this last for obtaining +pleasure. Anyone who is born with a specially unfavourable instinctual +constitution, and whose libido-components do not go through the +transformation and modification necessary for successful achievement +in later life, will find it hard to obtain happiness from his external +environment, especially if he is faced with the more difficult tasks. +One last possibility of dealing with life remains to such people and +it offers them at least substitute-gratifications; it takes the form +of the flight into neurotic illness, and they mostly adopt it while +they are still young. Those whose efforts to obtain happiness come to +nought in later years still find consolation in the pleasure of chronic +intoxication, or else they embark upon that despairing attempt at +revolt—psychosis. + +Religion circumscribes these measures of choice and adaptation by +urging upon everyone alike its single way of achieving happiness and +guarding against pain. Its method consists in decrying the value of +life and promulgating a view of the real world that is distorted like a +delusion, and both of these imply a preliminary intimidating influence +upon intelligence. At such a cost—by the forcible imposition of mental +infantilism and inducing a mass-delusion—religion succeeds in saving +many people from individual neuroses. But little more. There are, as we +have said, many paths by which the happiness attainable for man can be +reached, but none which is certain to take him to it. Nor can religion +keep her promises either. When the faithful find themselves reduced in +the end to speaking of God’s ‘inscrutable decree’, they thereby avow +that all that is left to them in their sufferings is unconditional +submission as a last-remaining consolation and source of happiness. And +if a man is willing to come to this, he could probably have arrived +there by a shorter road. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] 1927. London: Hogarth Press, 1928. + +[5] Goethe, _Zahmen Xenien IX_ (Gedichte aus dem Nachlass). + +[6] Wilhelm Busch, in _Die fromme Helene_, says the same thing on a +lower level: ‘The man who has cares has brandy too.’ + +[7] Goethe even warns us that ‘nothing is so hard to bear as a train of +happy days’. This may be an exaggeration all the same. + +[8] When there is no special disposition in a man imperatively +prescribing the direction of his life-interest, the ordinary work +all can do for a livelihood can play the part which Voltaire wisely +advocated it should do in our lives. It is not possible to discuss +the significance of work for the economics of the libido adequately +within the limits of a short survey. Laying stress upon importance +of work has a greater effect than any other technique of living in +the direction of binding the individual more closely to reality; in +his work he is at least securely attached to a part of reality, the +human community. Work is no less valuable for the opportunity it and +the human relations connected with it provide for a very considerable +discharge of libidinal component impulses, narcissistic, aggressive +and even erotic, than because it is indispensable for subsistence +and justifies existence in a society. The daily work of earning a +livelihood affords particular satisfaction when it has been selected by +free choice, _i.e._ when through sublimation it enables use to be made +of existing inclinations, of instinctual impulses that have retained +their strength, or are more intense than usual for constitutional +reasons. And yet as a path to happiness work is not valued very highly +by men. They do not run after it as they do after other opportunities +for gratification. The great majority work only when forced by +necessity, and this natural human aversion to work gives rise to the +most difficult social problems. + +[9] Cf. ‘Formulations regarding the Two Principles in Mental +Functioning’ (1911), _Collected Papers_, vol. iv.; and _Introductory +Lectures on Psycho-Analysis_ (1915-17), London, 1922, chapter xxiii. + + + + +III + + +Our discussion of happiness has so far not taught us much that is +not already common knowledge. Nor does the prospect of discovering +anything new seem much greater if we go on with the problem why it +is so hard for mankind to be happy. We gave the answer before, when +we cited the three sources of human sufferings, namely, the superior +force of nature, the disposition to decay of our bodies, and the +inadequacy of our methods of regulating human relations in the family, +the community and the state. In regard to the first two, our judgement +cannot hesitate: it forces us to recognize these sources of suffering +and to submit to the inevitable. We shall never completely subdue +nature; our body, too, is an organism, itself a part of nature, and +will always contain the seeds of dissolution, with its limited powers +of adaptation and achievement. The effect of this recognition is in no +way disheartening; on the contrary, it points out the direction for +our efforts. If we cannot abolish all suffering, yet a great deal of +it we can, and can mitigate more; the experience of several thousand +years has convinced us of this. To the third, the social source of our +distresses, we take up a different attitude. We prefer not to regard +it as one at all; we cannot see why the systems we have ourselves +created should not rather ensure protection and well-being for us all. +To be sure, when we consider how unsuccessful our efforts to safeguard +against suffering in this particular have proved, the suspicion dawns +upon us that a bit of unconquerable nature lurks concealed behind this +difficulty as well—in the shape of our own mental constitution. + +When we start to consider this possibility, we come across a point of +view which is so amazing that we will pause over it. According to it, +our so-called civilization itself is to blame for a great part of our +misery, and we should be much happier if we were to give it up and go +back to primitive conditions. I call this amazing because—however one +may define culture—it is undeniable that every means by which we try +to guard ourselves against menaces from the several sources of human +distress is a part of this same culture. + +How has it come about that so many people have adopted this strange +attitude of hostility to civilization? In my opinion, it arose from +a background of profound long-standing discontent with the existing +state of civilization, which finally crystallized into this judgement +as a result of certain historical happenings. I believe I can identify +the last two of these; I am not learned enough to trace the links in +the chain back into the history of the human species. At the time when +Christianity conquered the pagan religions some such antagonism to +culture must already have been actively at work. It is closely related +to the low estimation put upon earthly life by Christian doctrine. The +earlier of the last two historical developments was when, as a result +of voyages of discovery, men came into contact with primitive peoples +and races. To the Europeans, who failed to observe them carefully +and misunderstood what they saw, these people seemed to lead simple, +happy lives—wanting for nothing—such as the travellers who visited +them, with all their superior culture, were unable to achieve. Later +experience has corrected this opinion on many points; in several +instances the ease of life was due to the bounty of nature and the +possibilities of ready satisfaction for the great human needs, but it +was erroneously attributed to the absence of the complicated conditions +of civilization. The last of the two historical events is especially +familiar to us; it was when people began to understand the nature of +the neuroses which threaten to undermine the modicum of happiness open +to civilized man. It was found that men become neurotic because they +cannot tolerate the degree of privation that society imposes on them +in virtue of its cultural ideals, and it was supposed that a return to +greater possibilities of happiness would ensue if these standards were +abolished or greatly relaxed. + +And there exists an element of disappointment, in addition. In the +last generations man has made extraordinary strides in knowledge +of the natural sciences and technical application of them, and has +established his dominion over nature in a way never before imagined. +The details of this forward progress are universally known: it is +unnecessary to enumerate them. Mankind is proud of its exploits and +has a right to be. But men are beginning to perceive that all this +newly-won power over space and time, this conquest of the forces of +nature, this fulfilment of age-old longings, has not increased the +amount of pleasure they can obtain in life, has not made them feel +any happier. The valid conclusion from this is merely that power over +nature is not the only condition of human happiness, just as it is not +the only goal of civilization’s efforts, and there is no ground for +inferring that its technical progress is worthless from the standpoint +of happiness. It prompts one to exclaim: is it not then a positive +pleasure, an unequivocal gain in happiness, to be able to hear, +whenever I like, the voice of a child living hundreds of miles away, or +to know directly a friend of mine arrives at his destination that he +has come well and safely through the long and troublesome voyage? And +is it nothing that medical science has succeeded in enormously reducing +the mortality of young children, the dangers of infection for women +in childbirth, indeed, in very considerably prolonging the average +length of human life? And there is still a long list one could add +to these benefits that we owe to the much-despised era of scientific +and practical progress—but a critical, pessimistic voice makes itself +heard, saying that most of these advantages follow the model of those +‘cheap pleasures’ in the anecdote. One gets this enjoyment by sticking +one’s bare leg outside the bedclothes on a cold winter’s night and +then drawing it in again. If there were no railway to make light of +distances my child would never have left home and I should not need +the telephone to hear his voice. If there were no vessels crossing the +ocean my friend would never have embarked on his voyage and I should +not need the telegraph to relieve my anxiety about him. What is the +use of reducing the mortality of children when it is precisely this +reduction which imposes the greatest moderation on us in begetting +them, so that taken all round we do not rear more children than in +the days before the reign of hygiene, while at the same time we have +created difficult conditions for sexual life in marriage and probably +counteracted the beneficial effects of natural selection? And what do +we gain by a long life when it is full of hardship and starved of joys +and so wretched that we can only welcome death as our deliverer? + +It seems to be certain that our present-day civilization does not +inspire in us a feeling of well-being, but it is very difficult to +form an opinion whether in earlier times people felt any happier and +what part their cultural conditions played in the question. We always +tend to regard trouble objectively, _i.e._ to place ourselves with +our own wants and our own sensibilities in the same conditions, so +as to discover what opportunities for happiness or unhappiness we +should find in them. This method of considering the problem, which +appears to be objective because it ignores the varieties of subjective +sensitivity, is of course the most subjective possible, for by applying +it one substitutes one’s own mental attitude for the unknown attitude +of other men. Happiness, on the contrary, is something essentially +subjective. However we may shrink in horror at the thought of certain +situations, that of the galley-slaves in antiquity, of the peasants in +the Thirty Years’ War, of the victims of the Inquisition, of the Jews +awaiting a pogrom, it is still impossible for us to feel ourselves +into the position of these people, to imagine the differences which +would be brought about by constitutional obtuseness of feeling, gradual +stupefaction, the cessation of all anticipation, and by all the grosser +and more subtle ways in which insensibility to both pleasurable and +painful sensations can be induced. Moreover, on occasions when the +most extreme forms of suffering have to be endured, special mental +protective devices come into operation. It seems to me unprofitable to +follow up this aspect of the problem further. + +It is time that we should turn our attention to the nature of this +culture, the value of which is so much disputed from the point of +view of happiness. Until we have learnt something by examining it +for ourselves, we will not look round for formulas which express its +essence in a few words. We will be content to repeat[10] that the word +‘culture’ describes the sum of the achievements and institutions which +differentiate our lives from those of our animal forebears and serve +two purposes, namely, that of protecting humanity against nature and of +regulating the relations of human beings among themselves. In order to +learn more than this, we must bring together the individual features +of culture as they are manifested in human communities. We shall have +no hesitation in allowing ourselves to be guided by the common usages +of language, or as one might say, the _feeling_ of language, confident +that we shall thus take into account inner attitudes which still resist +expression in abstract terms. + +The beginning is easy. We recognize as belonging to culture all the +activities and possessions which men use to make the earth serviceable +to them, to protect them against the tyranny of natural forces, and +so on. There is less doubt about this aspect of civilization than +any other. If we go back far enough we find that the first acts of +civilization were the use of tools, the gaining of power over fire, +and the construction of dwellings. Among these the acquisition of +power over fire stands out as a quite exceptional achievement, without +a prototype;[11] while the other two opened up paths which have +ever since been pursued by man, the stimulus towards which is easily +imagined. By means of all his tools, man makes his own organs more +perfect—both the motor and the sensory—or else removes the obstacles +in the way of their activity. Machinery places gigantic power at his +disposal which, like his muscles, he can employ in any direction; ships +and aircraft have the effect that neither air nor water can prevent +his traversing them. With spectacles he corrects the defects of the +lens in his own eyes; with telescopes he looks at far distances; with +the microscope he overcomes the limitations in visibility due to the +structure of his retina. With the photographic camera he has created +an instrument which registers transitory visual impressions, just as +the gramophone does with equally transient auditory ones; both are at +bottom materializations of his own power of memory. With the help of +the telephone he can hear at distances which even fairy-tales would +treat as insuperable; writing to begin with was the voice of the +absent; dwellings were a substitute for the mother’s womb, that first +abode, in which he was safe and felt so content, for which he probably +yearns ever after. + +It sounds like a fairy-tale, but not only that; this story of what man +by his science and practical inventions has achieved on this earth, +where he first appeared as a weakly member of the animal kingdom, and +on which each individual of his species must ever again appear as a +helpless infant—O inch of nature!—is a direct fulfilment of all, or of +most, of the dearest wishes in his fairy-tales. All these possessions +he has acquired through culture. Long ago he formed an ideal conception +of omnipotence and omniscience which he embodied in his gods. Whatever +seemed unattainable to his desires—or forbidden to him—he attributed +to these gods. One may say, therefore, that these gods were the ideals +of his culture. Now he has himself approached very near to realizing +this ideal, he has nearly become a god himself. But only, it is true, +in the way that ideals are usually realized in the general experience +of humanity. Not completely; in some respects not at all, in others +only by halves. Man has become a god by means of artificial limbs, +so to speak, quite magnificent when equipped with all his accessory +organs; but they do not grow on him and they still give him trouble +at times. However, he is entitled to console himself with the thought +that this evolution will not come to an end in A.D. 1930. Future ages +will produce further great advances in this realm of culture, probably +inconceivable now, and will increase man’s likeness to a god still +more. But with the aim of our study in mind, we will not forget, all +the same, that the human being of to-day is not happy with all his +likeness to a god. + +Thus we recognize that a country has attained a high level of +civilization when we find that everything in it that can be helpful in +exploiting the earth for man’s benefit and in protecting him against +nature—everything, in short, that is useful to him—is cultivated +and effectively protected. In such a country the course of rivers +which threaten to overflow their banks is regulated, their waters +guided through canals to places where they are needed. The soil is +industriously cultivated and planted with the vegetation suited to +it; the mineral wealth is brought up assiduously from the depths +and wrought into the implements and utensils that are required. The +means of communication are frequent, rapid and reliable; wild and +dangerous animals have been exterminated, the breeding of tamed and +domesticated ones prospers. But we demand other things besides these of +civilization, and, curiously enough, we expect to find them existing in +the same countries. As if we wished to repudiate the first requisition +we made, we count it also as proof of a high level of civilization +when we see that the industry of the inhabitants is applied as well to +things which are not in the least useful and, on the contrary, seem +to be useless, _e.g._ when the parks and gardens in a town, which +are necessary as playgrounds and air-reservoirs, also bear flowering +plants, or when the windows of dwellings are adorned with flowers. +We soon become aware that the useless thing which we require of +civilization is beauty; we expect a cultured people to revere beauty +where it is found in nature and to create it in their handiwork so +far as they are able. But this is far from exhausting what we require +of civilization. Besides, we expect to see the signs of cleanliness +and order. We do not think highly of the cultural level of an English +country town in the time of Shakespeare when we read that there was +a tall dungheap in front of his father’s house in Stratford; we are +indignant and call it ‘barbarous’, which is the opposite of civilized, +when we find the paths in the Wiener Wald littered with paper. Dirt +of any kind seems to us incompatible with civilization; we extend our +demands for cleanliness to the human body also, and are amazed to hear +what an objectionable odour emanated from the person of the Roi Soleil; +we shake our heads when we are shown the tiny wash-basin on the Isola +Bella which Napoleon used for his daily ablutions. Indeed, we are +not surprised if anyone employs the use of soap as a direct measure +of civilization. It is the same with order, which, like cleanliness, +relates entirely to man’s handiwork. But whereas we cannot expect +cleanliness in nature, order has, on the contrary, been imitated from +nature; man’s observations of the great astronomical periodicities +not only furnished him with a model, but formed the ground-plan of +his first attempts to introduce order into his own life. Order is a +kind of repetition-compulsion by which it is ordained once for all +when, where and how a thing shall be done so that on every similar +occasion doubt and hesitation shall be avoided. The benefits of order +are incontestable: it enables us to use space and time to the best +advantage, while saving expenditure of mental energy. One would be +justified in expecting that it would have ingrained itself from the +start and without opposition into all human activities; and one may +well wonder that this has not happened, and that, on the contrary, +human beings manifest an inborn tendency to negligence, irregularity +and untrustworthiness in their work, and have to be laboriously trained +to imitate the example of their celestial models. + +Beauty, cleanliness and order clearly occupy a peculiar position among +the requirements of civilization. No one will maintain that they are as +essential to life as the activities aimed at controlling the forces of +nature and as other factors which we have yet to mention; and yet no +one would willingly relegate them to the background as trivial matters. +Beauty is an instance which plainly shows that culture is not simply +utilitarian in its aims, for the lack of beauty is a thing we cannot +tolerate in civilization. The utilitarian advantages of order are quite +apparent; with regard to cleanliness we have to remember that it is +required of us by hygiene, and we may surmise that even before the +days of scientific prophylaxis the connection between the two was not +altogether unsuspected by mankind. But these aims and endeavours of +culture are not entirely to be explained on utilitarian lines; there +must be something else at work besides. + +According to general opinion, however, there is one feature of culture +which characterizes it better than any other, and that is the value it +sets upon the higher mental activities—intellectual, scientific, and +aesthetic achievement—the leading part it concedes to ideas in human +life. First and foremost among these ideas come the religious systems +with their complicated evolution, on which I have elsewhere endeavoured +to throw a light; next to them come philosophical speculations; and +last, the ideals man has formed, his conceptions of the perfection +possible in an individual, in a people, in humanity as a whole, and the +demands he makes on the basis of these conceptions. These creations +of his mind are not independent of each other; on the contrary, they +are closely interwoven, and this complicates the attempt to describe +them, as well as that to trace their psychological derivation. If +we assume as a general hypothesis that the force behind all human +activities is a striving towards the two convergent aims of profit +and pleasure, we must then acknowledge this as valid also for these +other manifestations of culture, although it can be plainly recognized +as true only in respect of science and art. It cannot be doubted, +however, that the remainder, too, correspond to some powerful need in +human beings—perhaps to one which develops fully only in a minority of +people. Nor may we allow ourselves to be misled by our own judgements +concerning the value of any of these religious or philosophical +systems or of these ideals; whether we look upon them as the highest +achievement of the human mind, or whether we deplore them as fallacies, +one must acknowledge that where they exist, and especially where they +are in the ascendant, they testify to a high level of civilization. + +We now have to consider the last, and certainly by no means the least +important, of the components of culture, namely, the ways in which +social relations, the relations of one man to another, are regulated, +all that has to do with him as a neighbour, a source of help, a sexual +object to others, a member of a family or of a state. It is especially +difficult in this matter to remain unbiased by any ideal standards +and to ascertain exactly what is specifically cultural here. Perhaps +one might begin with the statement that the first attempt ever made +to regulate these social relations already contained the essential +element of civilization. Had no such attempt been made, these relations +would be subject to the wills of individuals: that is to say, the man +who was physically strongest would decide things in accordance with +his own interests and desires. The situation would remain the same +even though this strong man should in his turn meet with another who +was stronger than he. Human life in communities only becomes possible +when a number of men unite together in strength superior to any single +individual and remain united against all single individuals. The +strength of this united body is then opposed as ‘Right’ against the +strength of any individual, which is condemned as ‘brute force’. This +substitution of the power of a united number for the power of a single +man is the decisive step towards civilization. The essence of it lies +in the circumstance that the members of the community have restricted +their possibilities of gratification, whereas the individual recognized +no such restrictions. The first requisite of culture, therefore, is +justice—that is, the assurance that a law once made will not be broken +in favour of any individual. This implies nothing about the ethical +value of any such law. The further course of cultural development seems +to tend towards ensuring that the law shall no longer represent the +will of any small body—caste, tribe, section of the population—which +may behave like a predatory individual towards other such groups +perhaps containing larger numbers. The end-result would be a state +of law to which all—that is, all who are capable of uniting—have +contributed by making some sacrifice of their own desires, and which +leaves none—again with the same exception—at the mercy of brute force. + +The liberty of the individual is not a benefit of culture. It was +greatest before any culture, though indeed it had little value at +that time, because the individual was hardly in a position to defend +it. Liberty has undergone restrictions through the evolution of +civilization and justice demands that these restrictions shall apply +to all. The desire for freedom that makes itself felt in a human +community may be a revolt against some existing injustice and so may +prove favourable to a further development of civilization and remain +compatible with it. But it may also have its origin in the primitive +roots of the personality, still unfettered by civilizing influences, +and so become a source of antagonism to culture. Thus the cry for +freedom is directed either against particular forms or demands of +culture or else against culture itself. It does not seem as if man +could be brought by any sort of influence to change his nature into +that of the ants; he will always, one imagines, defend his claim to +individual freedom against the will of the multitude. A great part of +the struggles of mankind centres round the single task of finding some +expedient (_i.e._ satisfying) solution between these individual claims +and those of the civilized community; it is one of the problems of +man’s fate whether this solution can be arrived at in some particular +form of culture or whether the conflict will prove irreconcilable. + +We have obtained a clear impression of the general picture presented by +culture through adopting the common view as to which aspects of human +life are to be called cultural; but it is true that so far we have +discovered nothing that is not common knowledge. We have, however, at +the same time guarded ourselves against accepting the misconception +that civilization is synonymous with becoming perfect, is the path by +which man is ordained to reach perfection. But now a certain point +of view presses for consideration; it will lead perhaps in another +direction. The evolution of culture seems to us a peculiar kind of +process passing over humanity, of which several aspects strike us as +familiar. We can describe this process in terms of the modifications +it effects on the known human instinctual dispositions, which it is +the economic task of our lives to satisfy. Some of these instincts +become absorbed, as it were, so that something appears in place of them +which in an individual we call a character-trait. The most remarkable +example of this process is found in respect of the anal erotism of +young human beings. Their primary interest in the excretory function, +its organs and products, is changed in the course of their growth +into a group of traits that we know well—thriftiness, orderliness +and cleanliness—valuable and welcome qualities in themselves, which, +however, may be intensified till they visibly dominate the personality +and produce what we call the anal character. How this happens we do not +know; but there is no doubt about the accuracy of this conclusion.[12] +Now, we have seen that order and cleanliness are essentially +cultural demands, although the necessity of them for survival is not +particularly apparent, any more than their suitability as sources of +pleasure. At this point we must be struck for the first time with the +similarity between the process of cultural development and that of +the libidinal development in an individual. Other instincts have to +be induced to change the conditions of their gratification, to find +it along other paths, a process which is usually identical with what +we know so well as sublimation (of the aim of an instinct), but which +can sometimes be differentiated from this. Sublimation of instinct is +an especially conspicuous feature of cultural evolution; this it is +that makes it possible for the higher mental operations, scientific, +artistic, ideological activities, to play such an important part in +civilized life. If one were to yield to a first impression, one would +be tempted to say that sublimation is a fate which has been forced +upon instincts by culture alone. But it is better to reflect over this +a while longer. Thirdly and lastly, and this seems most important of +all, it is impossible to ignore the extent to which civilization is +built up on renunciation of instinctual gratifications, the degree to +which the existence of civilization presupposes the non-gratification +(suppression, repression or something else?) of powerful instinctual +urgencies. This ‘cultural privation’ dominates the whole field of +social relations between human beings; we know already that it is the +cause of the antagonism against which all civilization has to fight. +It sets hard tasks for our scientific work, too; we have a great deal +to explain here. It is not easy to understand how it can become +possible to withhold satisfaction from an instinct. Nor is it by any +means without risk to do so; if the deprivation is not made good +economically, one may be certain of producing serious disorders. + +But now, if we wish to know what use it is to us to have recognized +the evolution of culture as a special process, comparable to the +normal growth of an individual to maturity, we must clearly attack +another problem and put the question: what are the influences to which +the evolution of culture owes its origin, how did it arise and what +determined its course? + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[10] Cf. _The Future of an Illusion_. + +[11] Psycho-analytic material, as yet incomplete and not capable of +unequivocal interpretation, nevertheless admits of a surmise—which +sounds fantastic enough—about the origin of this human feat. It is +as if primitive man had had the impulse, when he came in contact +with fire, to gratify an infantile pleasure in respect of it and put +it out with a stream of urine. The legends that we possess leave no +doubt that flames shooting upwards like tongues were originally felt +to have a phallic sense. Putting out fire by urinating—which is also +introduced in the later fables of Gulliver in Lilliput and Rabelais’s +Gargantua—therefore represented a sexual act with a man, an enjoyment +of masculine potency in homosexual rivalry. Whoever was the first to +deny himself this pleasure and spare the fire was able to take it +with him and break it in to his own service. By curbing the fire of +his own sexual passion he was able to tame fire as a force of nature. +This great cultural victory was thus a reward for refraining from +gratification of an instinct. Further, it is as if man had placed woman +by the hearth as the guardian of the fire he had taken captive, because +her anatomy makes it impossible for her to yield to such a temptation. +It is remarkable how regularly analytic findings testify to the close +connection between the ideas of ambition, fire and urethral erotism. + +[12] Cf. ‘Character and Anal Erotism’ (1908), _Collected Papers_, vol. +ii.; also numerous contributions to the subject by Ernest Jones and +others. + + + + +IV + + +This task seems too big a one; one may well confess oneself diffident. +Here follows what little I have been able to elicit about it. + +Once primitive man had made the discovery that it lay in his own +hands—speaking literally—to improve his lot on earth by working, it +cannot have been a matter of indifference to him whether another +man worked with him or against him. The other acquired the value +of a fellow-worker, and it was advantageous to live with him. Even +earlier, in his ape-like prehistory, man had adopted the habit of +forming families: his first helpers were probably the members of his +family. One may suppose that the founding of families was in some way +connected with the period when the need for genital satisfaction, +no longer appearing like an occasional guest who turns up suddenly +and then vanishes without letting one hear anything of him for long +intervals, had settled down with each man like a permanent lodger. When +this happened, the male acquired a motive for keeping the female, or +rather, his sexual objects, near him; while the female, who wanted +not to be separated from her helpless young, in their interests, too, +had to stay by the stronger male.[13] In this primitive family one +essential feature of culture is lacking; the will of the father, the +head of it, was unfettered. I have endeavoured in _Totem und Tabu_ to +show how the way led from this family-life to the succeeding phase of +communal existence in the form of a band of brothers. By overpowering +the father, the sons had discovered that several men united can be +stronger than a single man. The totemic stage of culture is founded +upon the restrictions that the band were obliged to impose on one +another in order to maintain the new system. These taboos were the +first ‘Right’ or law. The life of human beings in common therefore +had a twofold foundation, _i.e._ the compulsion to work, created by +external necessity, and the power of love, causing the male to wish to +keep his sexual object, the female, near him, and the female to keep +near her that part of herself which has become detached from her, her +child. Eros and Ananke were the parents of human culture, too. The +first result of culture was that a larger number of human beings could +then live together in common. And since the two great powers were here +co-operating together, one might have expected that further cultural +evolution would have proceeded smoothly towards ever greater mastery +over the external world, as well as towards greater extension in the +numbers of men sharing the life in common. Nor is it easy to understand +how this culture can be felt as anything but satisfying by those who +partake of it. + +Before we go on to enquire where the disturbances in it arise, we will +let ourselves digress from the point that love was one of the founders +of culture and so fill a gap left in our previous discussion. We +said that man, having found by experience that sexual (genital) love +afforded him his greatest gratification, so that it became in effect a +prototype of all happiness to him, must have been thereby impelled to +seek his happiness further along the path of sexual relations, to make +genital erotism the central point of his life. We went on to say that +in so doing he becomes to a very dangerous degree dependent on a part +of the outer world, namely, on his chosen love-object, and this exposes +him to most painful sufferings if he is rejected by it or loses it +through death or defection. The wise men of all ages have consequently +warned us emphatically against this way of life; but in spite of all it +retains its attraction for a great number of people. + +A small minority are enabled by their constitution nevertheless +to find happiness along the path of love; but far-reaching mental +transformations of the erotic function are necessary before this is +possible. These people make themselves independent of their object’s +acquiescence by transferring the main value from the fact of being +loved to their own act of loving; they protect themselves against loss +of it by attaching their love not to individual objects but to all +men equally, and they avoid the uncertainties and disappointments of +genital love by turning away from its sexual aim and modifying the +instinct into an impulse with an _inhibited aim_. The state which they +induce in themselves by this process—an unchangeable, undeviating, +tender attitude—has little superficial likeness to the stormy +vicissitudes of genital love, from which it is nevertheless derived. +It seems that Saint Francis of Assisi may have carried this method of +using love to produce an inner feeling of happiness as far as anyone; +what we are thus characterizing as one of the procedures by which the +pleasure-principle fulfils itself has in fact been linked up in many +ways with religion; the connection between them may lie in those remote +fastnesses of the mind where the distinctions between the ego and +objects and between the various objects become matters of indifference. +From one ethical standpoint, the deeper motivation of which will +later become clear to us, this inclination towards an all-embracing +love of others and of the world at large is regarded as the highest +state of mind of which man is capable. Even at this early stage in the +discussion I will not withhold the two principal objections we have to +raise against this view. A love that does not discriminate seems to +us to lose some of its own value, since it does an injustice to its +object. And secondly, not all men are worthy of love. + +The love that instituted the family still retains its power; in its +original form it does not stop short of direct sexual satisfaction, and +in its modified form as aim-inhibited friendliness it influences our +civilization. In both these forms it carries on its task of binding +men and women to one another, and it does this with greater intensity +than can be achieved through the interest of work in common. The casual +and undifferentiated way in which the word ‘love’ is employed by +language has its genetic justification. In general usage the relation +between a man and a woman whose genital desires have led them to found +a family is called love; but the positive attitude of feeling between +parents and children, between brothers and sisters in a family, is +also called love, although to us this relation merits the description +of aim-inhibited love or affection. Love with an inhibited aim was +indeed originally full sensual love and in men’s unconscious minds is +so still. Both of them, the sensual and the aim-inhibited forms, reach +out beyond the family and create new bonds with others who before +were strangers. Genital love leads to the forming of new families; +aim-inhibited love to ‘friendships’, which are valuable culturally +because they do not entail many of the limitations of genital love—for +instance, its exclusiveness. But the interrelations between love and +culture lose their simplicity as development proceeds. On the one hand, +love opposes the interests of culture; on the other, culture menaces +love with grievous restrictions. + +This rift between them seems inevitable; the cause of it is not +immediately recognizable. It expresses itself first in a conflict +between the family and the larger community to which the individual +belongs. We have seen already that one of culture’s principal +endeavours is to cement men and women together into larger units. But +the family will not give up the individual. The closer the attachment +between the members of it, the more they often tend to remain aloof +from others, and the harder it is for them to enter into the wider +circle of the world at large. That form of life in common which is +phylogenetically older, and is in childhood its only form, resists +being displaced by the type that becomes acquired later with culture. +Detachment from the family has become a task that awaits every +adolescent, and often society helps him through it with pubertal and +initiatory rites. One gets the impression that these difficulties form +an integral part of every process of mental evolution—and indeed, at +bottom, of every organic development, too. + +The next discord is caused by women, who soon become antithetical to +cultural trends and spread around them their conservative influence—the +women who at the beginning laid the foundations of culture by the +appeal of their love. Women represent the interests of the family and +sexual life; the work of civilization has become more and more men’s +business; it confronts them with ever harder tasks, compels them to +sublimations of instinct which women are not easily able to achieve. +Since man has not an unlimited amount of mental energy at his disposal, +he must accomplish his tasks by distributing his libido to the best +advantage. What he employs for cultural purposes he withdraws to a +great extent from women and his sexual life; his constant association +with men and his dependence on his relations with them even estrange +him from his duties as husband and father. Woman finds herself thus +forced into the background by the claims of culture and she adopts an +inimical attitude towards it. + +The tendency of culture to set restrictions upon sexual life is no +less evident than its other aim of widening its sphere of operations. +Even the earliest phase of it, the totemic, brought in its train the +prohibition against incestuous object-choice, perhaps the most maiming +wound ever inflicted throughout the ages on the erotic life of man. +Further limitations are laid on it by taboos, laws and customs, which +touch men as well as women. Various types of culture differ in the +lengths to which they carry this; and the material structure of the +social fabric also affects the measure of sexual freedom that remains. +We have seen that culture obeys the laws of psychological economic +necessity in making the restrictions, for it obtains a great part of +the mental energy it needs by subtracting it from sexuality. Culture +behaves towards sexuality in this respect like a tribe or a section +of the population which has gained the upper hand and is exploiting +the rest to its own advantage. Fear of a revolt among the oppressed +then becomes a motive for even stricter regulations. A high-water mark +in this type of development has been reached in our Western European +civilization. Psychologically it is fully justified in beginning by +censuring any manifestations of the sexual life of children, for there +would be no prospect of curbing the sexual desires of adults if the +ground had not been prepared for it in childhood. Nevertheless there +is no sort of justification for the lengths beyond this to which +civilized society goes in actually denying the existence of these +manifestations, which are not merely demonstrable but positively +glaring. Where sexually mature persons are concerned, object-choice is +further narrowed down to the opposite sex and most of the extragenital +forms of satisfaction are interdicted as perversions. The standard +which declares itself in these prohibitions is that of a sexual life +identical for all; it pays no heed to the disparities in the inborn +and acquired sexual constitutions of individuals and cuts off a +considerable number of them from sexual enjoyment, thus becoming a +cause of grievous injustice. The effect of these restrictive measures +might presumably be that all the sexual interest of those who are +normal and not constitutionally handicapped could flow without further +forfeiture into the channel left open to it. But the only outlet not +thus censured, heterosexual genital love, is further circumscribed by +the barriers of legitimacy and monogamy. Present-day civilization gives +us plainly to understand that sexual relations are permitted only on +the basis of a final, indissoluble bond between a man and woman; that +sexuality as a source of enjoyment for its own sake is unacceptable +to it; and that its intention is to tolerate it only as the hitherto +irreplaceable means of multiplying the human race. + +This, of course, represents an extreme. Everyone knows that it has +proved impossible to put it into execution, even for short periods. +Only the weaklings have submitted to such comprehensive interference +with their sexual freedom, and stronger natures have done so only +under one compensatory condition, of which mention may be made later. +Civilized society has seen itself obliged to pass over in silence many +transgressions which by its own ordinances it ought to have penalized. +This does not justify anyone, however, in leaning towards the other +side and assuming that, because it does not achieve all it aims at, +such an attitude on the part of society is altogether harmless. The +sexual life of civilized man is seriously disabled, whatever we may +say; it sometimes makes an impression of being a function in process of +becoming atrophied, just as organs like our teeth and our hair seem to +be. One is probably right in supposing that the importance of sexuality +as a source of pleasurable sensations, _i.e._ as a means of fulfilling +the purpose of life, has perceptibly decreased.[14] Sometimes one +imagines one perceives that it is not only the oppression of culture, +but something in the nature of the function itself that denies us full +satisfaction and urges us in other directions. This may be an error; +it is hard to decide.[15] + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[13] The organic periodicity of the sexual process has persisted, it +is true, but its effect on mental sexual excitation has been almost +reversed. This change is connected primarily with the diminishing +importance of the olfactory stimuli by means of which the menstrual +process produced sexual excitement in the mind of the male. Their +function was taken over by visual stimuli, which could operate +permanently, instead of intermittently like the olfactory ones. The +‘taboo of menstruation’ has its origin in this ‘organic repression’, +which acted as a barrier against a phase of development that had been +surpassed; all its other motivations are probably of a secondary +nature. (Cf. C. D. Daly, ‘Hindu-mythologie und Kastrationskomplex’, +_Imago_, Bd. xiii., 1927.) This process is repeated on a different +level when the gods of a foregone cultural epoch are changed into +demons in the next. The diminution in importance of olfactory stimuli +seems itself, however, to be a consequence of man’s erecting himself +from the earth, of his adoption of an upright gait, which made his +genitals, that before had been covered, visible and in need of +protection and so evoked feelings of shame. Man’s erect posture, +therefore, would represent the beginning of the momentous process +of cultural evolution. The chain of development would run from this +onward, through the diminution in the importance of olfactory stimuli +and the isolation of women at their periods to a time when visual +stimuli became paramount, the genitals became visible, further till +sexual excitation became constant and the family was founded, and so to +the threshold of human culture. This is only a theoretical speculation, +but it is important enough to be worth checking carefully by the +conditions obtaining among the animals closely allied to man. + +There is an unmistakable social factor at work in the impulse of +civilization towards cleanliness, which has been subsequently justified +by considerations of hygiene but had nevertheless found expression +before they were appreciated. The impulse towards cleanliness +originates in the striving to get rid of excretions which have become +unpleasant to the sense-perceptions. We know that things are different +in the nursery. Excreta arouse no aversion in children; they seem +precious to them, as being parts of their own bodies which have been +detached from them. The training of children is very energetic in +this particular; its object is to expedite the development that lies +ahead of them, according to which the excreta are to become worthless, +disgusting, horrible and despicable to them. Such a reversal of +values would be almost impossible to bring about, were it not that +these substances expelled from the body are destined by their strong +odours to share the fate that overtook the olfactory stimuli after +man had erected himself from the ground. Anal erotism, therefore, is +from the first subjected to the ‘organic repression’ which opened up +the way to culture. The social factor which has been active in the +further modifications of anal erotism comes into play with the fact +that in spite of all man’s evolutionary progress the smell of his own +excretions is scarcely disagreeable to him yet, but so far only that +of the evacuations of others. The man who is not clean, _i.e._ who +does not eliminate his excretions, therefore offends others, shows no +consideration for them—a fact which is exemplified in the commonest +and most forcible terms of abuse. It would be incomprehensible, too, +that man should use as an abusive epithet the name of his most faithful +friend in the animal world, if dogs did not incur the contempt of men +through two of their characteristics, _i.e._ that they are creatures of +smell and have no horror of excrement, and, secondly, that they are not +ashamed of their sexual functions. + +[14] There is a short story, which I valued long ago, by a highly +sensitive writer, the Englishman, John Galsworthy, who to-day enjoys +general recognition; it is called ‘The Apple Tree’. It shows in a very +moving and forcible way how there is no longer any place in present-day +civilized life for a simple natural love between two human beings. + +[15] The following considerations would support the view expressed +above. Man, too, is an animal with an unmistakably bisexual +disposition. The individual represents a fusion of two symmetrical +halves, of which, according to many authorities, one is purely male, +the other female. It is equally possible that each half was originally +hermaphroditic. Sex is a biological fact which is hard to evaluate +psychologically, although it is of extraordinary importance in mental +life. We are accustomed to say that every human being displays both +male and female instinctual impulses, needs and attributes, but the +characteristics of what is male and female can only be demonstrated +in anatomy, and not in psychology. Where the latter is concerned, the +antithesis of sex fades away into that of activity and passivity, and +we far too readily identify activity with masculinity and passivity +with femininity, a statement which is by no means universally confirmed +in the animal world. The theory of bisexuality is still very obscure +and in psycho-analysis we must be painfully aware of the disadvantage +we are under as long as it still remains unconnected with the theory of +instincts. However this may be, if we assume it to be a fact that each +individual has both male and female desires which need satisfaction +in his sexual life, we shall be prepared for the possibility that +these needs will not both be gratified on the same object, and that +they will interfere with each other, if they cannot be kept apart so +that each impulse flows into a special channel suited for it. Another +difficulty arises from the circumstance that so often a measure of +direct aggressiveness is coupled with an erotic relationship, over and +above its inherent sadistic components. The love-object does not always +view these complications with the degree of understanding and tolerance +manifested by the peasant woman who complained that her husband did not +love her any more, because he had not beaten her for a week. + +The conjecture which leads furthest, however, is that—and here we come +back to the remarks in the footnote on p. 66—the whole of sexuality +and not merely anal erotism is threatened with falling a victim to the +organic repression consequent upon man’s adoption of the erect posture +and the lowering in value of the sense of smell; so that since that +time the sexual function has been associated with a resistance not +susceptible of further explanation, which puts obstacles in the way +of full satisfaction and forces it away from its sexual aim towards +sublimations and displacements of libido. I am aware that Bleuler +(in ‘Der Sexualwiderstand’, _Jahrbuch für psychoanalytische und +psychopathologische Forschungen_, Bd. v., 1913) once pointed out the +existence of a fundamental tendency of this kind towards rejecting +sexual life. All neurotics, and many others too, take exception to +the fact that ‘inter urinas et faeces nascimur’. The genitals, too, +excite the olfactory sense strongly in a way that many people cannot +tolerate and which spoils sexual intercourse for them. Thus we should +find, as the deepest root of the sexual repression that marches with +culture, the organic defence of the new form of life that began with +the erect posture against the earliest type of animal existence—a +result of scientific researches that coincides in a curious way with +often expressed vulgar prejudices. At the present time, nevertheless, +these results are but unconfirmed possibilities, not yet scientifically +substantiated. Nor should we forget that, in spite of the undeniable +diminution in the importance of olfactory stimuli, there exist even in +Europe races who prize highly as aphrodisiacs the strong genital odours +so objectionable to us and who will not renounce them. (Cf. the reports +of folkloristic information obtained by Iwan Bloch’s ‘Questionnaire’, +appearing under the title of ‘Über den Geruchssinn in der vita +sexualis’ in various volumes of Friedrich S. Krauss’ _Anthropophyteia_.) + + + + +V + + +Psycho-analytic work has shown that these frustrations in respect of +sexual life are especially unendurable to the so-called neurotics among +us. These persons manufacture substitute-gratifications for themselves +in their symptoms, which, however, are either painful in themselves or +become the cause of suffering owing to the difficulties they create +with the person’s environment and society at large. It is easy to +understand the latter fact, but the former presents us with a new +problem. But culture demands other sacrifices besides that of sexual +gratifications. + +We have regarded the difficulties in the development of civilization as +part of the general difficulty accompanying all evolution, for we have +traced them to the inertia of libido, its disinclination to relinquish +an old position in favour of a new one. It is much the same thing if we +say that the conflict between civilization and sexuality is caused by +the circumstance that sexual love is a relationship between two people, +in which a third can only be superfluous or disturbing, whereas +civilization is founded on relations between larger groups of persons. +When a love-relationship is at its height no room is left for any +interest in the surrounding world; the pair of lovers are sufficient +unto themselves, do not even need the child they have in common to make +them happy. In no other case does Eros so plainly betray the core of +his being, his aim of making one out of many; but when he has achieved +it in the proverbial way through the love of two human beings, he is +not willing to go further. + +From all this we might well imagine that a civilized community could +consist of pairs of individuals such as this, libidinally satisfied in +each other, and linked to all the others by work and common interests. +If this were so, culture would not need to levy energy from sexuality. +But such a desirable state of things does not exist and never has +existed; in actuality culture is not content with such limited ties as +these; we see that it endeavours to bind the members of the community +to one another by libidinal ties as well, that it makes use of every +means and favours every avenue by which powerful identifications can be +created among them, and that it exacts a heavy toll of aim-inhibited +libido in order to strengthen communities by bonds of friendship +between the members. Restrictions upon sexual life are unavoidable if +this object is to be attained. But we cannot see the necessity that +forces culture along this path and gives rise to its antagonism to +sexuality. It must be due to some disturbing influence not yet detected +by us. + +We may find the clue in one of the so-called ideal standards of +civilized society. It runs: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as +thyself’. It is world-renowned, undoubtedly older than Christianity +which parades it as its proudest profession, yet certainly not very +old; in historical times men still knew nothing of it. We will adopt +a naïve attitude towards it, as if we were meeting it for the first +time. Thereupon we find ourselves unable to suppress a feeling of +astonishment, as at something unnatural. Why should we do this? What +good is it to us? Above all, how can we do such a thing? How could it +possibly be done? My love seems to me a valuable thing that I have +no right to throw away without reflection. It imposes obligations on +me which I must be prepared to make sacrifices to fulfil. If I love +someone, he must be worthy of it in some way or other. (I am leaving +out of account now the use he may be to me, as well as his possible +significance to me as a sexual object; neither of these two kinds of +relationship between us come into question where the injunction to +love my neighbour is concerned.) He will be worthy of it if he is so +like me in important respects that I can love myself in him; worthy of +it if he is so much more perfect than I that I can love my ideal of +myself in him; I must love him if he is the son of my friend, since the +pain my friend would feel if anything untoward happened to him would be +my pain—I should have to share it. But if he is a stranger to me and +cannot attract me by any value he has in himself or any significance he +may have already acquired in my emotional life, it will be hard for me +to love him. I shall even be doing wrong if I do, for my love is valued +as a privilege by all those belonging to me; it is an injustice to them +if I put a stranger on a level with them. But if I am to love him (with +that kind of universal love) simply because he, too, is a denizen of +the earth, like an insect or an earthworm or a grass-snake, then I fear +that but a small modicum of love will fall to his lot and it would be +impossible for me to give him as much as by all the laws of reason I +am entitled to retain for myself. What is the point of an injunction +promulgated with such solemnity, if reason does not recommend it to us? + +When I look more closely I find still further difficulties. Not merely +is this stranger on the whole not worthy of love, but, to be honest, +I must confess he has more claim to my hostility, even to my hatred. +He does not seem to have the least trace of love for me, does not +show me the slightest consideration. If it will do him any good, he +has no hesitation in injuring me, never even asking himself whether +the amount of advantage he gains by it bears any proportion to the +amount of wrong done to me. What is more, he does not even need to +get an advantage from it; if he can merely get a little pleasure out +of it, he thinks nothing of jeering at me, insulting me, slandering +me, showing his power over me; and the more secure he feels himself, +or the more helpless I am, with so much more certainty can I expect +this behaviour from him towards me. If he behaved differently, if he +showed me consideration and did not molest me, I should in any case, +without the aforesaid commandment, be willing to treat him similarly. +If the high-sounding ordinance had run: ‘Love thy neighbour as thy +neighbour loves thee’, I should not take objection to it. And there is +a second commandment that seems to me even more incomprehensible, and +arouses still stronger opposition in me. It is: ‘Love thine enemies’. +When I think it over, however, I am wrong in treating it as a greater +imposition. It is at bottom the same thing.[16] + +I imagine now I hear a voice gravely adjuring me: ‘Just because thy +neighbour is not worthy of thy love, is probably full of enmity towards +thee, thou shouldst love him as thyself’. I then perceive the case to +be like that of _Credo quia absurdum_. + +Now it is, of course, very probable that my neighbour, when he is +commanded to love me as himself, will answer exactly as I have done +and reject me for the same reasons. I hope he will not have the same +objective grounds for doing so, but he will hope so as well. Even so, +there are variations in men’s behaviour which ethics, disregarding the +fact that they are determined, classifies as ‘good’ and ‘evil’. As long +as these undeniable variations have not been abolished, conformity to +the highest ethical standards constitutes a betrayal of the interests +of culture, for it puts a direct premium on wickedness. One is +irresistibly reminded here of an incident in the French Chamber when +capital punishment was being discussed; the speech of a member who had +passionately supported its abolition was being applauded with loud +acclamation, when suddenly a voice was heard calling out from the back +of the room, ‘_Que messieurs les assassins commencent!_’ + +The bit of truth behind all this—one so eagerly denied—is that men are +not gentle, friendly creatures wishing for love, who simply defend +themselves if they are attacked, but that a powerful measure of +desire for aggression has to be reckoned as part of their instinctual +endowment. The result is that their neighbour is to them not only a +possible helper or sexual object, but also a temptation to them to +gratify their aggressiveness on him, to exploit his capacity for work +without recompense, to use him sexually without his consent, to seize +his possessions, to humiliate him, to cause him pain, to torture and +to kill him. _Homo homini lupus_; who has the courage to dispute it +in the face of all the evidence in his own life and in history? This +aggressive cruelty usually lies in wait for some provocation, or else +it steps into the service of some other purpose, the aim of which might +as well have been achieved by milder measures. In circumstances that +favour it, when those forces in the mind which ordinarily inhibit it +cease to operate, it also manifests itself spontaneously and reveals +men as savage beasts to whom the thought of sparing their own kind is +alien. Anyone who calls to mind the atrocities of the early migrations, +of the invasion by the Huns or by the so-called Mongols under Jenghiz +Khan and Tamurlane, of the sack of Jerusalem by the pious Crusaders, +even indeed the horrors of the last world-war, will have to bow his +head humbly before the truth of this view of man. + +The existence of this tendency to aggression which we can detect in +ourselves and rightly presume to be present in others is the factor +that disturbs our relations with our neighbours and makes it necessary +for culture to institute its high demands. Civilized society is +perpetually menaced with disintegration through this primary hostility +of men towards one another. Their interests in their common work would +not hold them together; the passions of instinct are stronger than +reasoned interests. Culture has to call up every possible reinforcement +in order to erect barriers against the aggressive instincts of men +and hold their manifestations in check by reaction-formations in +men’s minds. Hence its system of methods by which mankind is to be +driven to identifications and aim-inhibited love-relationships; hence +the restrictions on sexual life; and hence, too, its ideal command +to love one’s neighbour as oneself, which is really justified by the +fact that nothing is so completely at variance with original human +nature as this. With all its striving, this endeavour of culture’s has +so far not achieved very much. Civilization expects to prevent the +worst atrocities of brutal violence by taking upon itself the right +to employ violence against criminals, but the law is not able to lay +hands on the more discreet and subtle forms in which human aggressions +are expressed. The time comes when every one of us has to abandon +the illusory anticipations with which in our youth we regarded our +fellow-men, and when we realize how much hardship and suffering we +have been caused in life through their ill-will. It would be unfair, +however, to reproach culture with trying to eliminate all disputes +and competition from human concerns. These things are undoubtedly +indispensable; but opposition is not necessarily enmity, only it may be +misused to make an opening for it. + +The Communists believe they have found a way of delivering us from this +evil. Man is wholeheartedly good and friendly to his neighbour, they +say, but the system of private property has corrupted his nature. +The possession of private property gives power to the individual and +thence the temptation arises to ill-treat his neighbour; the man who +is excluded from the possession of property is obliged to rebel in +hostility against the oppressor. If private property were abolished, +all valuables held in common and all allowed to share in the enjoyment +of them, ill-will and enmity would disappear from among men. Since all +needs would be satisfied, none would have any reason to regard another +as an enemy; all would willingly undertake the work which is necessary. +I have no concern with any economic criticisms of the communistic +system; I cannot enquire into whether the abolition of private property +is advantageous and expedient.[17] But I am able to recognize that +psychologically it is founded on an untenable illusion. By abolishing +private property one deprives the human love of aggression of one +of its instruments, a strong one undoubtedly, but assuredly not the +strongest. It in no way alters the individual differences in power +and influence which are turned by aggressiveness to its own use, nor +does it change the nature of the instinct in any way. This instinct +did not arise as the result of property; it reigned almost supreme in +primitive times when possessions were still extremely scanty; it shows +itself already in the nursery when possessions have hardly grown out +of their original anal shape; it is at the bottom of all the relations +of affection and love between human beings—possibly with the single +exception of that of a mother to her male child. Suppose that personal +rights to material goods are done away with, there still remain +prerogatives in sexual relationships, which must arouse the strongest +rancour and most violent enmity among men and women who are otherwise +equal. Let us suppose this were also to be removed by instituting +complete liberty in sexual life, so that the family, the germ-cell of +culture, ceased to exist; one could not, it is true, foresee the new +paths on which cultural development might then proceed, but one thing +one would be bound to expect and that is that the ineffaceable feature +of human nature would follow wherever it led. + +Men clearly do not find it easy to do without satisfaction of this +tendency to aggression that is in them; when deprived of satisfaction +of it they are ill at ease. There is an advantage, not to be +undervalued, in the existence of smaller communities, through which the +aggressive instinct can find an outlet in enmity towards those outside +the group. It is always possible to unite considerable numbers of men +in love towards one another, so long as there are still some remaining +as objects for aggressive manifestations. I once interested myself in +the peculiar fact that peoples whose territories are adjacent, and are +otherwise closely related, are always at feud with and ridiculing each +other, as, for instance, the Spaniards and the Portuguese, the North +and South Germans, the English and the Scotch, and so on. I gave it +the name of ‘narcissism in respect of minor differences’, which does +not do much to explain it. One can now see that it is a convenient and +relatively harmless form of satisfaction for aggressive tendencies, +through which cohesion amongst the members of a group is made easier. +The Jewish people, scattered in all directions as they are, have in +this way rendered services which deserve recognition to the development +of culture in the countries where they settled; but unfortunately not +all the massacres of Jews in the Middle Ages sufficed to procure peace +and security for their Christian contemporaries. Once the apostle Paul +had laid down universal love between all men as the foundation of his +Christian community, the inevitable consequence in Christianity was +the utmost intolerance towards all who remained outside of it; the +Romans, who had not founded their state on love, were not given to lack +of religious toleration, although religion was a concern of the state +and the state was permeated through and through with it. Neither was +it an unaccountable chance that the dream of a German world-dominion +evoked a complementary movement towards anti-semitism; and it is quite +intelligible that the attempt to establish a new communistic type of +culture in Russia should find psychological support in the persecution +of the bourgeois. One only wonders, with some concern, however, how +the Soviets will manage when they have exterminated their bourgeois +entirely. + +If civilization requires such sacrifices, not only of sexuality but +also of the aggressive tendencies in mankind, we can better understand +why it should be so hard for men to feel happy in it. In actual fact +primitive man was better off in this respect, for he knew nothing +of any restrictions on his instincts. As a set-off against this, +his prospects of enjoying his happiness for any length of time were +very slight. Civilized man has exchanged some part of his chances of +happiness for a measure of security. We will not forget, however, that +in the primal family only the head of it enjoyed this instinctual +freedom; the other members lived in slavish thraldom. The antithesis +between a minority enjoying cultural advantages and a majority who are +robbed of them was therefore most extreme in that primeval period of +culture. With regard to the primitive human types living at the present +time, careful investigation has revealed that their instinctual life is +by no means to be envied on account of its freedom; it is subject to +restrictions of a different kind but perhaps even more rigorous than is +that of modern civilized man. + +In rightly finding fault, as we thus do, with our present state of +civilization for so inadequately providing us with what we require to +make us happy in life, and for the amount of suffering of a probably +avoidable nature it lays us open to—in doing our utmost to lay bare +the roots of its deficiencies by our unsparing criticisms, we are +undoubtedly exercising our just rights and not showing ourselves +enemies of culture. We may expect that in the course of time changes +will be carried out in our civilization so that it becomes more +satisfying to our needs and no longer open to the reproaches we have +made against it. But perhaps we shall also accustom ourselves to the +idea that there are certain difficulties inherent in the very nature +of culture which will not yield to any efforts at reform. Over and +above the obligations of putting restrictions upon our instincts, +which we see to be inevitable, we are imminently threatened with +the dangers of a state one may call ‘_la misère psychologique_’ of +groups. This danger is most menacing where the social forces of +cohesion consist predominantly of identifications of the individuals +in the group with one another, whilst leading personalities fail to +acquire the significance that should fall to them in the process of +group-formation.[18] The state of civilization in America at the +present day offers a good opportunity for studying this injurious +effect of civilization which we have reason to dread. But I will resist +the temptation to enter upon a criticism of American culture; I have +no desire to give the impression that I would employ American methods +myself. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[16] A great poet may permit himself, at least in jest, to give +utterance to psychological truths that are heavily censured. Thus +Heine: ‘Mine is the most peaceable disposition. My wishes are a humble +dwelling with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, milk and +butter of the freshest, flowers at my windows, some fine tall trees +before my door; and if the good God wants to make me completely happy, +he will grant me the joy of seeing some six or seven of my enemies +hanging from these trees. With my heart full of deep emotion I shall +forgive them before they die all the wrong they did me in their +lifetime—true, one must forgive one’s enemies, but not until they are +brought to execution.’ (Heine, _Gedanken und Einfälle_.) + +[17] Anyone who has been through the misery of poverty in his youth, +and has endured the indifference and arrogance of those who have +possessions, should be exempt from the suspicion that he has no +understanding of or goodwill towards the endeavours made to fight the +economic inequality of men and all that it leads to. To be sure, if an +attempt is made to base this fight upon an abstract demand for equality +for all in the name of justice, there is a very obvious objection to +be made, namely, that nature began the injustice by the highly unequal +way in which she endows individuals physically and mentally, for which +there is no help. + +[18] Cf. _Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego_ (1921). +London: Hogarth Press, 1922. + + + + +VI + + +Never before in any of my previous writings have I had the feeling so +strongly as I have now that what I am describing is common knowledge, +that I am requisitioning paper and ink, and in due course the labour of +compositors and printers, in order to expound things that in themselves +are obvious. For this reason, if it should appear that the recognition +of a special independent instinct of aggression would entail a +modification of the psycho-analytical theory of instincts, I should be +glad enough to seize upon the idea. + +We shall see that this is not so, that it is merely a matter of coming +to closer quarters with a conclusion to which we long ago committed +ourselves and following it out to its logical consequences. The whole +of analytic theory has evolved gradually enough, but the theory of +instincts has groped its way forward under greater difficulties +than any other part of it. And yet a theory of instincts was so +indispensable for the rest that something had to be adopted in +place of it. In my utter perplexity at the beginning, I took as my +starting-point the poet-philosopher Schiller’s aphorism, that hunger +and love make the world go round. Hunger would serve to represent those +instincts which aim at preservation of the individual; love seeks for +objects: its chief function, which is favoured in every way by nature, +is preservation of the species. Thus first arose the contrast between +ego instincts and object instincts. For the energy of the latter +instincts and exclusively for them I introduced the term libido; an +antithesis was thus formed between the ego instincts and the libidinal +instincts directed towards objects, _i.e._ love in its widest sense. +One of these object instincts, the sadistic, certainly stood out from +the rest in that its aim was so very unloving; moreover, it clearly +allied itself in many of its aspects with the ego instincts, and its +close kinship with instincts of mastery without any libidinal purpose +could not be concealed, but these ambiguities could be overcome; in +spite of them, sadism plainly belonged to sexual life—the game of +cruelty could take the place of the game of love. Neurosis appeared as +the outcome of a struggle between the interests of self-preservation +and the claims of libido, a struggle in which the ego was victorious, +but at the price of great suffering and renunciations. + +Every analyst will admit that none of this even now reads like +a statement long since recognized as erroneous. All the same, +modifications had to be made as our researches advanced from the +repressed to the repressing, from the object instincts to the ego. A +cardinal point in this advance was the introduction of the concept of +narcissism, _i.e._ the idea that libido cathects the ego itself, that +its first dwelling-place was in the ego, and that the latter remains +to some extent its permanent headquarters. This narcissistic libido +turns in the direction of objects, thus becoming object-libido, and +can transform itself back into narcissistic libido. The concept of +narcissism made it possible to consider the traumatic neuroses, as +well as many diseases bordering on the psychoses, and also the latter +themselves, from the psycho-analytic angle. It was not necessary to +abandon the view that the transference-neuroses are attempts on the +part of the ego to guard itself against sexuality, but the concept of +the libido was jeopardized. Since the ego-instincts were found to be +libidinal as well, it seemed for a time inevitable that libido should +become synonymous with instinctual energy in general, as C. G. Jung +had previously advocated. Yet there still remained in me a kind of +conviction, for which as yet there were no grounds, that the instincts +could not all be of the same nature. I made the next step in _Beyond +the Pleasure Principle_ (1920), when the repetition-compulsion and the +conservative character of instinctual life first struck me. On the +basis of speculations concerning the origin of life and of biological +parallels, I drew the conclusion that, beside the instinct preserving +the organic substance and binding it into ever larger units,[19] there +must exist another in antithesis to this, which would seek to dissolve +these units and reinstate their antecedent inorganic state. That is to +say, a death instinct as well as Eros; the phenomena of life would then +be explicable from the interplay of the two and their counteracting +effects on each other. It was not easy, however, to demonstrate the +working of this hypothetical death instinct. The manifestations of +Eros were conspicuous and audible enough; one might assume that +the death instinct worked silently within the organism towards its +disintegration, but that, of course, was no proof. The idea that part +of the instinct became directed towards the outer world and then showed +itself as an instinct of aggression and destruction carried us a step +further. The instinct would thus itself have been pressed into the +service of Eros, in that the organism would be destroying something +animate or inanimate outside itself instead of itself. Conversely, any +cessation of this flow outwards must have the effect of intensifying +the self-destruction which in any case would always be going on +within. From this example one could then surmise that the two kinds of +instincts seldom—perhaps never—appear in isolation, but always mingle +with each other in different, very varying proportions, and so make +themselves unrecognizable to us. Sadism, long since known to us as a +component-instinct of sexuality, would represent a particularly strong +admixture of the instinct of destruction into the love impulse; while +its counterpart, masochism, would be an alliance between sexuality and +the destruction at work within the self, in consequence of which the +otherwise imperceptible destructive trend became directly evident and +palpable. + +The assumption of the existence of a death instinct or a destruction +instinct has roused opposition even in analytical circles; I know +that there is a great tendency to ascribe all that is dangerous and +hostile in love rather to a fundamental bipolarity in its own nature. +The conceptions I have summarized here I first put forward only +tentatively, but in the course of time they have won such a hold +over me that I can no longer think in any other way. To my mind they +are theoretically far more fruitful than any others it is possible +to employ; they provide us with that simplification, without either +ignoring or doing violence to the facts, which is what we strive after +in scientific work. I know that we have always had before our eyes +manifestations of the destruction instinct fused with erotism, directed +outwards and inwards in sadism and masochism; but I can no longer +understand how we could have overlooked the universality of non-erotic +aggression and destruction, and could have omitted to give it its +due significance in our interpretation of life. (It is true that the +destructive trend that is directed inwards, when it is not erotically +tinged, usually eludes our perceptions.) I can remember my own +defensive attitude when the idea of an instinct of destruction first +made its appearance in psycho-analytical literature and how long it +took until I became accessible to it. That others should have shown the +same resistance, and still show it, surprises me less. Those who love +fairy-tales do not like it when people speak of the innate tendencies +in mankind towards aggression, destruction and, in addition, cruelty. +For God has made them in his own image, with his own perfections; no +one wants to be reminded how hard it is to reconcile the undeniable +existence—in spite of all the protestations of Christian Science—of +evil with His omnipotence and supreme goodness. The devil is, in fact, +the best way out in acquittal of God; he can be used to play the same +economic rôle of outlet as Jews in the world of Aryan ideals. But even +so, one can just as well hold God responsible for the existence of the +devil as for the evil he personifies. In view of these difficulties, +it is expedient for every man to make humble obeisance on suitable +occasions in honour of the high-minded nature of men; it will assist +him to become universally beloved and much shall be forgiven unto him +on account of it.[20] + +The name libido can again be used to denote the manifestations of +the power of Eros in contradistinction to the energy of the death +instinct.[21] We must confess that it is more difficult for us to +detect the latter, and to a great extent we can merely conjecture its +existence as a background to Eros, also that it eludes us wherever +it is not betrayed by a fusion with Eros. In sadism, where it bends +the erotic aim to its own will and yet at the same time gratifies the +sexual craving completely, we can obtain the clearest insight into its +nature and its relation to Eros. But even where it shows itself without +any sexual purpose, even in the blindest frenzy of destructiveness, one +cannot ignore the fact that satisfaction of it is accompanied by an +extraordinarily intense narcissistic enjoyment, due to the fulfilment +it brings to the ego of its oldest omnipotence-wishes. The instinct +of destruction, when tempered and harnessed (as it were, inhibited in +its aim) and directed towards objects, is compelled to provide the +ego with satisfaction of its needs and with power over nature. Since +the assumption of its existence is based essentially on theoretical +grounds, it must be confessed that it is not entirely proof against +theoretical objections. But this is how things appear to us now in the +present state of our knowledge; future research and reflection will +undoubtedly bring further light which will decide the question. + +In all that follows I take up the standpoint that the tendency to +aggression is an innate, independent, instinctual disposition in man, +and I come back now to the statement that it constitutes the most +powerful obstacle to culture. At one point in the course of this +discussion the idea took possession of us that culture was a peculiar +process passing over human life and we are still under the influence +of this idea. We may add to this that the process proves to be in +the service of Eros, which aims at binding together single human +individuals, then families, then tribes, races, nations, into one great +unity, that of humanity. Why this has to be done we do not know; it +is simply the work of Eros. These masses of men must be bound to one +another libidinally; necessity alone, the advantages of common work, +would not hold them together. The natural instinct of aggressiveness in +man, the hostility of each one against all and of all against each one, +opposes this programme of civilization. This instinct of aggression is +the derivative and main representative of the death instinct we have +found alongside of Eros, sharing his rule over the earth. And now, +it seems to me, the meaning of the evolution of culture is no longer +a riddle to us. It must present to us the struggle between Eros and +Death, between the instincts of life and the instincts of destruction, +as it works itself out in the human species. This struggle is what +all life essentially consists of and so the evolution of civilization +may be simply described as the struggle of the human species for +existence.[22] And it is this battle of the Titans that our nurses and +governesses try to compose with their lullaby-song of Heaven! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[19] The contradiction between the tireless tendency of Eros to spread +ever further and the general conservative nature of the instincts +here becomes very noticeable; it would serve as the starting-point of +enquiries into further problems. + +[20] In Goethe’s Mephistopheles we have a quite exceptionally +striking identification of the principle of evil with the instinct of +destruction: + + ‘All entities that be + Deserve their end—nonentity.’ + + * * * * * + + ‘So all that you name sin, destruction— + Wickedness, briefly—proves to be + The native element for me.’ + +As his adversary, the devil himself cites not what is holy and good, +but the power in nature working towards the creation and renewal of +life—that is, Eros. + + ‘From air, from water, germs in thousands, + As from the soil, break forth, break free, + Dry, wet, warm, cold—a pullulation! + Had I not laid on flame a reservation, + Nothing were set apart for me.’ + + +[21] Our present point of view can be roughly expressed in the +statement that libido participates in every instinctual manifestation, +but that not everything in that manifestation is libido. + +[22] And we may probably add more precisely that its form was +necessarily determined after some definite event which still remains to +be discovered. + + + + +VII + + +Why do the animals, kin to ourselves, not manifest any such cultural +struggle? Oh, we don’t know. Very probably certain of them, bees, ants, +termites, had to strive for thousands of centuries before they found +the way to those state institutions, that division of functions, those +restrictions upon individuals, which we admire them for to-day. It is +characteristic of our present state that we know by our own feelings +that we should not think ourselves happy in any of these communities of +the animal world, or in any of the rôles they delegate to individuals. +With other animal species it may be that a temporary deadlock has been +reached between the influences of their environment and the instincts +contending within them, so that a cessation of development has taken +place. In primitive man a fresh access of libido may have kindled a new +spurt of energy on the part of the instinct of destruction. There are a +great many questions in all this to which as yet we have no answer. + +Another question concerns us more closely now. What means does +civilization make use of to hold in check the aggressiveness that +opposes it, to make it harmless, perhaps to get rid of it? Some of +these measures we have already come to know, though not yet the one +that is apparently the most important. We can study it in the evolution +of the individual. What happens in him to render his craving for +aggression innocuous? Something very curious, that we should never +have guessed and that yet seems simple enough. The aggressiveness is +introjected, ‘internalized’; in fact, it is sent back where it came +from, _i.e._ directed against the ego. It is there taken over by a part +of the ego that distinguishes itself from the rest as a super-ego, +and now, in the form of ‘conscience’, exercises the same propensity +to harsh aggressiveness against the ego that the ego would have liked +to enjoy against others. The tension between the strict super-ego and +the subordinate ego we call the sense of guilt; it manifests itself as +the need for punishment. Civilization therefore obtains the mastery +over the dangerous love of aggression in individuals by enfeebling and +disarming it and setting up an institution within their minds to keep +watch over it, like a garrison in a conquered city. + +As to the origin of the sense of guilt, analysts have different +views from those of the psychologists; nor is it easy for analysts to +explain it either. First of all, when one asks how a sense of guilt +arises in anyone, one is told something one cannot dispute: people feel +guilty (pious people call it ‘sinful’) when they have done something +they know to be ‘bad’. But then one sees how little this answer tells +one. Perhaps after some hesitation one will add that a person who has +not actually committed a bad act, but has merely become aware of the +intention to do so, can also hold himself guilty; and then one will ask +why in this case the intention is counted as equivalent to the deed. In +both cases, however, one is presupposing that wickedness has already +been recognized as reprehensible, as something that ought not to be +put into execution. How is this judgement arrived at? One may reject +the suggestion of an original—as one might say, natural—capacity for +discriminating between good and evil. Evil is often not at all that +which would injure or endanger the ego; on the contrary, it can also be +something that it desires, that would give it pleasure. An extraneous +influence is evidently at work; it is this that decides what is to +be called good and bad. Since their own feelings would not have led +men along the same path, they must have had a motive for obeying this +extraneous influence. It is easy to discover this motive in man’s +helplessness and dependence upon others; it can best be designated the +dread of losing love. If he loses the love of others on whom he is +dependent, he will forfeit also their protection against many dangers, +and above all he runs the risk that this stronger person will show his +superiority in the form of punishing him. What is bad is, therefore, to +begin with, whatever causes one to be threatened with a loss of love; +because of the dread of this loss, one must desist from it. That is why +it makes little difference whether one has already committed the bad +deed or only intends to do so; in either case the danger begins only +when the authority has found it out, and the latter would behave in the +same way in both cases. + +We call this state of mind a ‘bad conscience’ but actually it does not +deserve this name, for at this stage the sense of guilt is obviously +only the dread of losing love, ‘social’ anxiety. In a little child +it can never be anything else, but in many adults too it has only +changed in so far as the larger human community takes the place of +the father or of both parents. Consequently such people habitually +permit themselves to do any bad deed that procures them something they +want, if only they are sure that no authority will discover it or make +them suffer for it; their anxiety relates only to the possibility +of detection.[23] Present-day society has to take into account the +prevalence of this state of mind. + +A great change takes place as soon as the authority has been +internalized by the development of a super-ego. The manifestations of +conscience are then raised to a new level; to be accurate, one should +not call them conscience and sense of guilt before this.[24] At this +point the dread of discovery ceases to operate and also once for all +any difference between doing evil and wishing to do it, since nothing +is hidden from the super-ego, not even thoughts. The real seriousness +of the situation has vanished, it is true: for the new authority, the +super-ego, has no motive, as far as we know, for ill-treating the +ego with which it is itself closely bound up. But the influence of +the genetic derivation of these things, which causes what has been +outlived and surmounted to be re-lived, manifests itself so that on +the whole things remain as they were at the beginning. The super-ego +torments the sinful ego with the same feelings of dread and watches for +opportunities whereby the outer world can be made to punish it. + +At this second stage of development, conscience exhibits a peculiarity +which was absent in the first and is not very easy to account for. +That is, the more righteous a man is the stricter and more suspicious +will his conscience be, so that ultimately it is precisely those +people who have carried holiness farthest who reproach themselves +with the deepest sinfulness. This means that virtue forfeits some of +her promised reward; the submissive and abstemious ego does not enjoy +the trust and confidence of its mentor, and, as it seems, strives in +vain to earn it. Now, to this some people will be ready to object +that these difficulties are artificialities. A relatively strict and +vigilant conscience is the very sign of a virtuous man, and though +saints may proclaim themselves sinners, they are not so wrong, in view +of the temptations of instinctual gratifications to which they are +peculiarly liable—since, as we know, temptations do but increase under +constant privation, whereas they subside, at any rate temporarily, +if they are sometimes gratified. The field of ethics is rich in +problems, and another of the facts we find here is that misfortune, +_i.e._ external deprivation, greatly intensifies the strength of +conscience in the super-ego. As long as things go well with a man, his +conscience is lenient and lets the ego do all kinds of things; when +some calamity befalls, he holds an inquisition within, discovers his +sin, heightens the standards of his conscience, imposes abstinences +on himself and punishes himself with penances.[25] Whole peoples have +acted in this way and still do so. But this is easily explained from +the original infantile stage of conscience which, as we thus see, is +not abandoned after the introjection into the super-ego, but persists +alongside and behind the latter. Fate is felt to be a substitute for +the agency of the parents: adversity means that one is no longer loved +by this highest power of all, and, threatened by this loss of love, +one humbles oneself again before the representative of the parents in +the super-ego which in happier days one had tried to disregard. This +becomes especially clear when destiny is looked upon in the strictly +religious sense as the expression of God’s will and nothing else. The +people of Israel believed themselves to be God’s favourite child, and +when the great Father hurled visitation after visitation upon them, it +still never shook them in this belief or caused them to doubt His power +and His justice; they proceeded instead to bring their prophets into +the world to declare their sinfulness to them and out of their sense +of guilt they constructed the stringent commandments of their priestly +religion. It is curious how differently a savage behaves! If he has had +bad fortune, he does not throw the blame on himself, but on his fetish, +who has plainly not done his duty by him, and he belabours it instead +of punishing himself. + +Hence we know of two sources for feelings of guilt: that arising +from the dread of authority and the later one from the dread of +the super-ego. The first one compels us to renounce instinctual +gratification; the other presses over and above this towards +punishment, since the persistence of forbidden wishes cannot be +concealed from the super-ego. We have also heard how the severity of +the super-ego, the rigour of conscience, is to be explained. It simply +carries on the severity of external authority which it has succeeded +and to some extent replaced. We see now how renunciation of instinctual +gratification is related to the sense of guilt. Originally, it is +true, renunciation is the consequence of a dread of external authority; +one gives up pleasures so as not to lose its love. Having made this +renunciation, one is quits with authority, so to speak; no feeling of +guilt should remain. But with the dread of the super-ego the case is +different. Renunciation of gratification does not suffice here, for the +wish persists and is not capable of being hidden from the super-ego. In +spite of the renunciations made, feelings of guilt will be experienced +and this is a great disadvantage economically of the erection of +the super-ego, or, as one may say, of the formation of conscience. +Renunciation no longer has a completely absolving effect; virtuous +restraint is no longer rewarded by the assurance of love; a threatened +external unhappiness—loss of love and punishment meted out by external +authority—has been exchanged for a lasting inner unhappiness, the +tension of a sense of guilt. + +These interrelations are so complicated and at the same time so +important that, in spite of the dangers of repetition, I will consider +them again from another angle. The chronological sequence would +thus be as follows: first, instinct-renunciation due to dread of an +aggression by external authority—this is, of course, tantamount to +the dread of loss of love, for love is a protection against these +punitive aggressions. Then follows the erection of an internal +authority, and instinctual renunciation due to dread of it—that is, +dread of conscience. In the second case, there is the equivalence of +wicked acts and wicked intentions; hence comes the sense of guilt, +the need for punishment. The aggressiveness of conscience carries +on the aggressiveness of authority. Thus far all seems to be clear; +but how can we find a place in this scheme for the effect produced +by misfortune (_i.e._ renunciations externally imposed), for the +effect it has of increasing the rigour of conscience? how account +for the exceptional stringency of conscience in the best men, those +least given to rebel against it? We have already explained both these +peculiarities of conscience, but probably we still have an impression +that these explanations do not go to the root of the matter, and that +they leave something still unexplained. And here at last comes in an +idea which is quite peculiar to psycho-analysis and alien to ordinary +ways of thinking. Its nature enables us to understand why the whole +matter necessarily seemed so confused and obscure to us. It tells us +this: in the beginning conscience (more correctly, the anxiety which +later became conscience) was the cause of instinctual renunciation, +but later this relation is reversed. Every renunciation then becomes a +dynamic fount of conscience; every fresh abandonment of gratification +increases its severity and intolerance; and if we could only bring it +better into harmony with what we already know about the development +of conscience, we should be tempted to make the following paradoxical +statement: Conscience is the result of instinctual renunciation, or: +Renunciation (externally imposed) gives rise to conscience, which then +demands further renunciations. + +The contradiction between this proposition and our previous knowledge +about the genesis of conscience is not in actual fact so very great and +we can see a way in which it may be still further reduced. In order +to state the problem more easily, let us select the example of the +instinct of aggression, and let us suppose that the renunciation in +question is always a renunciation of aggression. This is, of course, +merely a provisional assumption. The effect of instinctual renunciation +on conscience then operates as follows: every impulse of aggression +which we omit to gratify is taken over by the super-ego and goes to +heighten its aggressiveness (against the ego). It does not fit in +well with this that the original aggressiveness of conscience should +represent a continuance of the rigour of external authority, and so +have nothing to do with renunciation. But we can get rid of this +discrepancy if we presume a different origin for the first quantum of +aggressiveness with which the super-ego was endowed. When authority +prevented the child from enjoying the first but most important +gratifications of all, aggressive impulses of considerable intensity +must have been evoked in it, irrespective of the particular nature of +the instinctual deprivations concerned. The child must necessarily have +had to give up the satisfaction of these revengeful aggressive wishes. +In this situation, in which it is economically so hard pressed, it +has recourse to certain mechanisms well known to us; by the process +of identification it absorbs into itself the invulnerable authority, +which then becomes the super-ego and comes into possession of all the +aggressiveness which the child would gladly have exercised against it. +The child’s ego has to content itself with the unhappy rôle of the +authority—the father—who has been thus degraded. It is, as so often, +a reversal of the original situation, ‘If I were father and you my +child, I would treat _you_ badly’. The relation between super-ego and +ego is a reproduction, distorted by a wish, of the real relations +between the ego, before it was subdivided, and an external object. +That is also typical. The essential difference, however, is that the +original severity of the super-ego does not—or not so much—represent +the severity which has been experienced or anticipated from the object, +but expresses the child’s own aggressiveness towards the latter. If +this is correct, one could truly assert that conscience is formed +in the beginning from the suppression of an aggressive impulse and +strengthened as time goes on by each fresh suppression of the kind. + +Now, which of these two theories is the true one? The earlier, which +seemed genetically so unassailable, or the new one, which rounds +off our theories in such a welcome manner? Clearly, they are both +justified, and by the evidence, too, of direct observation; they do not +contradict each other, and even coincide at one point, for the child’s +revengeful aggressiveness will be in part provoked by the amount of +punishing aggression that it anticipates from the father. Experience +has shown, however, that the severity which a child’s super-ego +develops in no way corresponds to the severity of the treatment it has +itself experienced.[26] It seems to be independent of the latter; a +child which has been very leniently treated can acquire a very strict +conscience. But it would also be wrong to exaggerate this independence; +it is not difficult to assure oneself that strict upbringing also has +a strong influence on the formation of a child’s super-ego. It comes +to this, that the formation of the super-ego and the development of +conscience are determined in part by innate constitutional factors and +in part by the influence of the actual environment; and that is in +no way surprising—on the contrary, it is the invariable aetiological +condition of all such processes.[27] + +It may also be said that when a child reacts to the first great +instinctual deprivations with an excessive aggressiveness and a +corresponding strictness of its super-ego, it is thereby following a +phylogenetic prototype, unheedful of what reaction would in reality be +justified; for the father of primitive times was certainly terrifying, +and one may safely attribute the utmost degree of aggressiveness +to him. The differences between the two theories of the genesis of +conscience are thus still further diminished if one passes from +individual to phylogenetic development. But then, on the other hand, +we find a new important difference between the two processes. We cannot +disregard the conclusion that man’s sense of guilt has its origin in +the Oedipus complex and was acquired when the father was killed by +the association of the brothers. At that time the aggression was not +suppressed but carried out, and it is this same act of aggression whose +suppression in the child we regard as the source of feelings of guilt. +Now, I should not be surprised if a reader were to cry out angrily: +‘So it makes no difference whether one does kill one’s father or does +not, one gets a feeling of guilt in either case! Here I should think +one may be allowed some doubts. Either it is not true that guilt is +evoked by suppressed aggressiveness or else the whole story about the +father-murder is a romance, and primeval man did not kill his father +any more often than people do nowadays. Besides this, if it is not a +romance but a plausible piece of history, it would only be an instance +of what we all expect to happen, namely, that one feels guilty because +one has really done something which cannot be justified. And what we +are all waiting for is for psycho-analysis to give us an explanation of +this reaction, which at any rate is something that happens every day.’ + +This is true, and we must make good the omission. There is no great +mystery about it either. When one has feelings of guilt after one +has committed some crime and because of it, this feeling should more +properly be called _remorse_. It relates only to the one act, and +clearly it presupposes that _conscience_, the capacity for feelings of +guilt, was already in existence before the deed. Remorse of this kind +can, therefore, never help us to find out the source of conscience and +feelings of guilt in general. In these everyday instances the course +of events is usually as follows: an instinctual need acquires the +strength to achieve fulfilment in spite of conscience, the strength +of which also has its limits, whereupon the inevitable reduction of +the need after satisfaction restores the earlier balance of forces. +Psycho-analysis is quite justified, therefore, in excluding the case +of a sense of guilt through remorse from this discussion, however +frequently it may occur and however great its importance may be +practically. + +But if man’s sense of guilt goes back to the murder of the father, that +was undoubtedly an instance of ‘remorse’, and yet are we to suppose +that there were no conscience and feelings of guilt before the act +on that occasion? If so, where did the remorse come from then? This +instance must explain to us the riddle of the sense of guilt and so +make an end of our difficulties. And it will do so, as I believe. +This remorse was the result of the very earliest primal ambivalence +of feelings towards the father: the sons hated him, but they loved +him too; after their hate against him had been satisfied by their +aggressive acts, their love came to expression in their remorse about +the deed, set up the super-ego by identification with the father, gave +it the father’s power to punish as he would have done the aggression +they had performed, and created the restrictions which should prevent a +repetition of the deed. And since impulses to aggressions against the +father were repeated in the next generations, the feelings of guilt, +too, persisted, and were further reinforced every time an aggression +was suppressed anew and made over to the super-ego. At this point, it +seems to me, we can at last clearly perceive the part played by love +in the origin of conscience and the fatal inevitableness of the sense +of guilt. It is not really a decisive matter whether one has killed +one’s father or abstained from the deed; one must feel guilty in either +case, for guilt is the expression of the conflict of ambivalence, the +eternal struggle between Eros and the destructive or death instinct. +This conflict is engendered as soon as man is confronted with the +task of living with his fellows; as long as he knows no other form of +life in common but that of the family, it must express itself in the +Oedipus complex, cause the development of conscience and create the +first feelings of guilt. When mankind tries to institute wider forms of +communal life, the same conflict continues to arise—in forms derived +from the past—and intensified so that a further reinforcement of the +sense of guilt results. Since culture obeys an inner erotic impulse +which bids it bind mankind into a closely-knit mass, it can achieve +this aim only by means of its vigilance in fomenting an ever-increasing +sense of guilt. That which began in relation to the father ends in +relation to the community. If civilization is an inevitable course of +development from the group of the family to the group of humanity as a +whole, then an intensification of the sense of guilt—resulting from the +innate conflict of ambivalence, from the eternal struggle between the +love and the death trends—will be inextricably bound up with it, until +perhaps the sense of guilt may swell to a magnitude that individuals +can hardly support. One is reminded of the telling accusation made by +the great poet against the ‘heavenly forces’: + + Ye set our feet on this life’s road, + Ye watch our guilty, erring courses, + Then leave us, bowed beneath our load, + For earth its every debt enforces.[28] + +And one may heave a sigh at the thought that it is vouchsafed to a +few, with hardly an effort, to salve from the whirlpool of their own +emotions the deepest truths, to which we others have to force our way, +ceaselessly groping amid torturing uncertainties. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[23] One is reminded of Rousseau’s famous mandarin! + +[24] Every reasonable person will understand and take into account that +in this descriptive survey things that in reality occur by gradual +transitions are sharply differentiated and that the mere existence of +a super-ego is not the only factor concerned, but also its relative +strength and sphere of influence. All that has been said above in +regard to conscience and guilt, moreover, is common knowledge and +practically undisputed. + +[25] This increased sensitivity of morals in consequence of ill-luck +has been illustrated by Mark Twain in a delicious little story: _The +First Melon I ever Stole_. This melon, as it happened, was unripe. I +heard Mark Twain tell the story himself in one of his lectures. After +he had given out the title, he stopped and asked himself in a doubtful +way: ‘Was it the first?’ This was the whole story. + +[26] As has rightly been emphasized by Melanie Klein and other English +writers. + +[27] In his _Psychoanalyse der Gesamtpersönlichkeit_, 1927, Franz +Alexander has, in connection with Aichhorn’s study of dissocial +behaviour in children, discussed the two main types of pathogenic +methods of training, that of excessive severity and of spoiling. The +‘unduly lenient and indulgent’ father fosters the development of an +over-strict super-ego because, in face of the love which is showered on +it, the child has no other way of disposing of its aggressiveness than +to turn it inwards. In neglected children who grow up without any love +the tension between ego and super-ego is lacking; their aggressions can +be directed externally. Apart from any constitutional factor which may +be present, therefore, one may say that a strict conscience arises from +the co-operation of two factors in the environment: the deprivation of +instinctual gratification which evokes the child’s aggressiveness, and +the love it receives which turns this aggressiveness inwards, where it +is taken over by the super-ego. + +[28] Goethe, _Wilhelm Meister_. The Song of the Harper. + + + + +VIII + + +On reaching the end of such a journey as this, the author must beg his +readers to pardon him for not having been a more skilful guide, not +sparing them bleak stretches of country at times and laborious detours +at others. There is no doubt that it could have been done better. I +will now try to make some amends. + +First of all, I suspect the reader feels that the discussion about +the sense of guilt oversteps its proper boundaries in this essay and +takes up too much space, so that the rest of the subject-matter, which +is not always closely connected with it, gets pushed on one side. +This may have spoilt the composition of the work; but it faithfully +corresponds to my intention to represent the sense of guilt as the +most important problem in the evolution of culture, and to convey that +the price of progress in civilization is paid in forfeiting happiness +through the heightening of the sense of guilt.[29] What sounds +puzzling in this statement, which is the final conclusion of our whole +investigation, is probably due to the quite peculiar relation—as yet +completely unexplained—the sense of guilt has to our consciousness. In +the common cases of remorse which we think normal it becomes clearly +perceptible to consciousness; indeed, we often speak of ‘consciousness +of guilt’ instead of sense of guilt. In our study of the neuroses, +in which we have found invaluable clues towards an understanding of +normal people, we find some very contradictory states of affairs in +this respect. In one of these maladies, the obsessional neurosis, the +sense of guilt makes itself loudly heard in consciousness; it dominates +the clinical picture as well as the patient’s life and lets hardly +anything else appear alongside of it. But in most of the other types +and forms of neurosis it remains completely unconscious, without its +effect being any less great, however. Our patients do not believe us +when we ascribe an ‘unconscious sense of guilt’ to them; in order to +become even moderately intelligible to them we have to explain that +the sense of guilt expresses itself in an unconscious seeking for +punishment. But its connection with the form of the neurosis is not to +be over-estimated; even in the obsessional neurosis there are people +who are not aware of their sense of guilt or who perceive it only as +a tormenting uneasiness or kind of anxiety and then not until they +are prevented from carrying out certain actions. We ought some day to +be able at last to understand these things; as yet we cannot. Here +perhaps is the place to remark that at bottom the sense of guilt is +nothing but a topographical variety of anxiety, and that in its later +phases it coincides completely with the dread of the super-ego. The +relation of anxiety to consciousness, moreover, is characterized by +the same extraordinary variations. Somewhere or other there is always +anxiety hidden behind all symptoms; at one moment, however, it sweeps +into consciousness, drowning everything else with its clamour, and at +the next it secretes itself so completely that we are forced to speak +of unconscious anxiety—or if we want to have a cleaner conscience +psychologically, since anxiety is after all only a perception—of +possibilities of anxiety. Consequently it is very likely that the sense +of guilt produced by culture is not perceived as such and remains +to a great extent unconscious, or comes to expression as a sort of +uneasiness or discontent for which other motivations are sought. +The different religions at any rate have never overlooked the part +played by the sense of guilt in civilization. What is more, they come +forward with a claim, which I have not considered elsewhere,[30] to +save mankind from this sense of guilt, which they call sin. We indeed +have drawn our conclusions, from the way in which in Christianity this +salvation is won—the sacrificial death of one who therewith takes +the whole of the common guilt of all upon himself—about the occasion +on which this primal sense of guilt was first acquired, that is, the +occasion which was also the inception of culture.[31] + +It will not be very important, but it may be just as well to go more +precisely into the meaning of certain words like super-ego, conscience, +sense of guilt, need for punishment, remorse, which we have perhaps +often used too loosely and in place of one another. They all relate +to the same situation, but they denote different aspects of it. The +super-ego is an agency or institution in the mind whose existence we +have inferred: conscience is a function we ascribe, among others, to +the super-ego; it consists of watching over and judging the actions and +intentions of the ego, exercising the functions of a censor. The sense +of guilt, the severity of the super-ego, is therefore the same thing as +the rigour of conscience; it is the perception the ego has that it is +watched in this way, the ego’s appreciation of the tension between its +strivings and the standards of the super-ego; and the anxiety that lies +behind all these relations, the dread of that critical institution, +the need for punishment, is an instinctual manifestation on the part +of the ego, which has become masochistic under the influence of the +sadistic super-ego, _i.e._ which has brought a part of the instinct +of destruction at work within itself into the service of an erotic +attachment to the super-ego. We ought not to speak of conscience +before a super-ego is demonstrable; as to consciousness of guilt, we +must admit that it comes into being before the super-ego, therefore +before conscience. At that time it is the direct expression of the +dread of external authority, the recognition of the tension between +the ego and this latter; it is the direct derivative of the conflict +between the need for parental love and the urgency towards instinctual +gratification, and it is the thwarting of this urgency that provokes +the tendency to aggression. It is because these two different versions +of the sense of guilt—one arising from dread of the external and the +other from dread of the inner authority—are superimposed one on the +other that our insight into the relations of conscience has been +hampered in so many ways. Remorse is a general term denoting the ego’s +reaction under a special form of the sense of guilt; it includes the +almost unaltered sensory material belonging to the anxiety that is +at work behind the sense of guilt; it is itself a punishment and may +include the need for punishment; it too, therefore, may occur before +conscience has developed. + +Further, it will do no harm for us to review once more the +contradictions which have confused us at times during our enquiries. +The sense of guilt, we said at one point, was the consequence of +uncommitted aggressions; but another time and in particular in the +case of its historical beginning, the murder of the father, it was the +consequence of an aggression that was carried out. We also found a way +out of this difficulty. The development of the inner authority, the +super-ego, was precisely what radically altered the whole situation. +Before this, the sense of guilt coincided with remorse; we observe, in +saying this, that the term remorse is to be reserved for the reaction +after an actual performance of an aggressive deed. After this, the +omniscience of the super-ego robbed the distinction between intended +aggressions and aggressions committed of its significance; a mere +intention to commit an act of violence could then evoke a sense of +guilt—as psycho-analysis has found—as well as one which has actually +been committed—as all the world knows. The conflict of ambivalence +between the two primal instincts leaves the same impress on the +psychological situation, irrespective of the change that has taken +place in this. A temptation arises to look here for an explanation of +the mystery of the varying relation between the sense of guilt and +consciousness. The sense of guilt which is due to remorse for an evil +deed must always have been conscious; that due to a perception of an +evil impulse could have remained unconscious. But it cannot be as +simple as that: the obsessional neurosis contradicts it emphatically. +The second contradiction was that the aggressive energy with which +one imagined the super-ego to be endowed was, according to one view, +merely a continuation of the punitive energy belonging to external +authority, preserved within the mind; whereas according to another view +it consisted, on the contrary, of aggressive energy originating in +the self, levelled against this inhibiting authority but not allowed +to discharge itself in actions. The first view seemed to accord +better with the history of the sense of guilt, the second with the +theory of it. More searching reflection has resolved this apparently +irreconcilable contradiction almost too completely; what remained as +essential and common to both was that in both cases we were dealing +with an aggression that had been turned inward. Clinical observation, +moreover, really permits us to distinguish two sources for the +aggressiveness we ascribe to the super-ego, each of which in any given +case may be operating predominantly, but which usually are both at work +together. + +This, I think, is the place to suggest that a proposal which I +previously put forward as a provisional assumption should be taken +in earnest. In the latest analytical literature[32] a predilection +has been shown for the view that any kind of privation, any thwarted +instinctual gratification, results in a heightening of the sense of +guilt, or may do so. I believe one obtains a great simplification +of theory if one regards this as valid _only_ for the aggressive +instincts, and that little will be found to contradict this assumption. +How then is it to be explained dynamically and economically that +a heightening of the sense of guilt should appear in place of +an unfulfilled erotic desire? This can surely only happen in a +roundabout way: the thwarting of the erotic gratification provokes an +access of aggressiveness against the person who interfered with the +gratification, and then this tendency to aggression in its turn has +itself to be suppressed. So then it is, after all, only the aggression +which is changed into guilt, by being suppressed and made over to +the super-ego. I am convinced that very many processes will admit of +much simpler and clearer explanation if we restrict the findings of +psycho-analysis in respect of the origin of the sense of guilt to the +aggressive instincts. Reference to the clinical material here gives +us no unequivocal answer, because, according to our own hypothesis, +the two kinds of instincts hardly ever appear in a pure form, unmixed +with each other; but the investigation of extreme cases would probably +point in the direction I anticipate. I am tempted to extract our +first advantage from this narrower conception by applying it to the +repression-process. The symptoms of neurosis, as we have learnt, are +essentially substitutive gratifications for unfulfilled sexual wishes. +In the course of our analytic work we have found to our surprise that +perhaps every neurosis masks a certain amount of unconscious sense of +guilt, which in its turn reinforces the symptoms by exploiting them as +punishment. One is now inclined to suggest the following statement as a +possible formulation: when an instinctual trend undergoes repression, +its libidinal elements are transformed into symptoms and its aggressive +components into a sense of guilt. Even if this statement is only +accurate as an approximation it merits our interest. + +Some readers of this essay, too, may be under the impression that the +formula of the struggle between Eros and the death instinct has been +reiterated too often. It is supposed to characterize the cultural +process which evolves in humanity; but it has been related also to +the development of the individual, and besides this, is supposed +to have revealed the secret of organic life in general. It becomes +necessary for us to examine the relation of these three processes to +one another. Now, the repetition of the same formula is vindicated by +the consideration that the cultural processes both in humanity and in +the development of an individual are life-processes; consequently they +must both partake of the most universal characteristic of life. On the +other hand, evidence of the presence of this universal characteristic +does not help us to discriminate, unless it is further narrowed down +by special qualifications. We can therefore set our minds at rest only +if we say that the cultural process is the particular modification +undergone by the life-process under the influence of the task set +before it by Eros and stimulated by Ananke, external necessity; and +this task is that of uniting single human beings into a larger unity +with libidinal attachments between them. When, however, we compare +the cultural process in humanity with the process of development or +upbringing in an individual human being, we shall conclude without much +hesitation that the two are very similar in nature, if not in fact the +same process applied to a different kind of object. The civilizing +process in the human species is naturally more of an abstraction than +the development of an individual, and therefore harder to apprehend +in concrete terms, nor should the discovery of analogies be pushed +to extremes; but in view of the similar character of the aims of the +two processes—in one the incorporation of an individual as a member +of a group and in the other the creation of a single group out of +many individuals—the similarity of the means employed and of the +results obtained in the two cases is not surprising. In view of its +exceptional importance, we must no longer postpone mention of one +feature differentiating the two processes. The development of the +individual is ordered according to the programme laid down by the +pleasure-principle, namely, the attainment of happiness, and to this +main objective it holds firmly; the incorporation of the individual as +a member of a community, or his adaptation to it, seems like an almost +unavoidable condition which has to be filled before he can attain this +objective of happiness. If he could achieve it without fulfilling this +condition it would perhaps be better. To express it differently, we may +say: individual development seems to us a product of the interplay of +two trends, the striving for happiness, generally called ‘egoistic’, +and the impulse towards merging with others in the community, which +we call ‘altruistic’. Neither of these descriptions goes far beneath +the surface. In individual development, as we have said, the main +accent falls on the egoistic trend, the striving for happiness; while +the other tendency, which may be called the ‘cultural’ one, usually +contents itself with instituting restrictions. But things are different +in the development of culture: here far the most important aim is +that of creating a single unity out of individual men and women, while +the objective of happiness, though still present, is pushed into the +background; it almost seems as if humanity could be most successfully +united into one great whole if there were no need to trouble about the +happiness of individuals. The process of development in individuals +must therefore be admitted to have its special features which are not +repeated in the cultural evolution of humanity; the two processes only +necessarily coincide in so far as the first also includes the aim of +incorporation into the community. + +Just as a planet circles round its central body while at the same time +rotating on its own axis, so the individual man takes his part in the +course of humanity’s development as he goes on his way through life. +But to our dull eyes the play of forces in the heavens seems set fast +in a never-varying scheme, though in organic life we can still see how +the forces contend with one another and the results of the conflict +change from day to day. So in every individual the two trends, one +towards personal happiness and the other towards unity with the rest of +humanity, must contend with each other; so must the two processes of +individual and of cultural development oppose each other and dispute +the ground against each other. This struggle between individual and +society, however, is not derived from the antagonism of the primal +instincts, Eros and Death, which are probably irreconcilable; it is a +dissension in the camp of the libido itself, comparable to the contest +between the ego and its objects for a share of the libido; and it +does eventually admit of a solution in the individual, as we may hope +it will also do in the future of civilization—however greatly it may +oppress the lives of individuals at the present time. + +The analogy between the process of cultural evolution and the path of +individual development may be carried further in an important respect. +It can be maintained that the community, too, develops a super-ego, +under whose influence cultural evolution proceeds. It would be an +enticing task for an authority on human systems of culture to work +out this analogy in specific cases. I will confine myself to pointing +out certain striking details. The super-ego of any given epoch of +civilization originates in the same way as that of an individual; +it is based on the impression left behind them by great leading +personalities, men of outstanding force of mind, or men in whom some +one human tendency has developed in unusual strength and purity, often +for that reason very disproportionately. In many instances the analogy +goes still further, in that during their lives—often enough, even if +not always—such persons are ridiculed by others, ill-used or even +cruelly done to death, just as happened with the primal father who also +rose again to become a deity long after his death by violence. The most +striking example of this double fate is the figure of Jesus Christ, if +indeed it does not itself belong to the realm of mythology which called +it into being out of a dim memory of that primordial event. Another +point of agreement is that the cultural super-ego, just like that of +an individual, sets up high ideals and standards, and that failure to +fulfil them is punished by both with ‘anxiety of conscience’. In this +particular, indeed, we come across the remarkable circumstance that the +mental processes concerned here are actually more familiar to us and +more accessible to consciousness when they proceed from the group than +they can be in the individual. In the latter, when tension arises, the +aggressions of the super-ego voicing its noisy reproaches are all that +is perceived, while its injunctions themselves often remain unconscious +in the background. If we bring them to the knowledge of consciousness +we find that they coincide with the demands of the prevailing cultural +super-ego. At this point the two processes, that of the evolution of +the group and the development of the individual, are always firmly +mortised together, so to speak. Consequently many of the effects and +properties of the super-ego can be more easily detected through its +operations in the group than in the individual. + +The cultural super-ego has elaborated its ideals and erected its +standards. Those of its demands which deal with the relations of +human beings to one another are comprised under the name of ethics. +The greatest value has at all times been set upon systems of ethics, +as if men had expected them in particular to achieve something +especially important. And ethics does in fact deal predominantly with +the point which is easily seen to be the sorest of all in any scheme +of civilization. Ethics must be regarded therefore as a therapeutic +effort: as an endeavour to achieve something through the standards +imposed by the super-ego which had not been attained by the work of +civilization in other ways. We already know—it is what we have been +discussing—that the question is how to dislodge the greatest obstacle +to civilization, the constitutional tendency in men to aggressions +against one another; and for that very reason the commandment to +love one’s neighbour as oneself—probably the most recent of the +cultural super-ego’s demands—is especially interesting to us. In our +investigations and our therapy of the neuroses we cannot avoid finding +fault with the super-ego of the individual on two counts: in commanding +and prohibiting with such severity it troubles too little about the +happiness of the ego, and it fails to take into account sufficiently +the difficulties in the way of obeying it—the strength of instinctual +cravings in the id and the hardships of external environment. +Consequently in our therapy we often find ourselves obliged to do +battle with the super-ego and work to moderate its demands. Exactly +the same objections can be made against the ethical standards of the +cultural super-ego. It, too, does not trouble enough about the mental +constitution of human beings; it enjoins a command and never asks +whether or not it is possible for them to obey it. It presumes, on the +contrary, that a man’s ego is psychologically capable of anything that +is required of it—that his ego has unlimited power over his id. This is +an error; even in so-called normal people the power of controlling the +id cannot be increased beyond certain limits. If one asks more of them, +one produces revolt or neurosis in individuals or makes them unhappy. +The command to love our neighbours as ourselves is the strongest +defence there is against human aggressiveness and it is a superlative +example of the unpsychological attitude of the cultural super-ego. +The command is impossible to fulfil; such an enormous inflation of +love can only lower its value and not remedy the evil. Civilization +pays no heed to all this; it merely prates that the harder it is to +obey the more laudable the obedience. The fact remains that anyone +who follows such preaching in the present state of civilization only +puts himself at a disadvantage beside all those who set it at naught. +What an overwhelming obstacle to civilization aggression must be if +the defence against it can cause as much misery as aggression itself! +‘Natural’ ethics, as it is called, has nothing to offer here beyond the +narcissistic satisfaction of thinking oneself better than others. The +variety of ethics that links itself with religion brings in at this +point its promises of a better future life. I should imagine that as +long as virtue is not rewarded in this life ethics will preach in vain. +I too think it unquestionable that an actual change in men’s attitude +to property would be of more help in this direction than any ethical +commands; but among the Socialists this proposal is obscured by new +idealistic expectations disregarding human nature, which detract from +its value in actual practice. + +It seems to me that the point of view which seeks to follow the +phenomena of cultural evolution as manifestations of a super-ego +promises to yield still further discoveries. I am coming quickly to +an end. There is one question, however, which I can hardly ignore. If +the evolution of civilization has such a far-reaching similarity with +the development of an individual, and if the same methods are employed +in both, would not the diagnosis be justified that many systems of +civilization—or epochs of it—possibly even the whole of humanity—have +become ‘neurotic’ under the pressure of the civilizing trends? To +analytic dissection of these neuroses therapeutic recommendations might +follow which could claim a great practical interest. I would not say +that such an attempt to apply psycho-analysis to civilized society +would be fanciful or doomed to fruitlessness. But it behoves us to be +very careful, not to forget that after all we are dealing only with +analogies, and that it is dangerous, not only with men but also with +concepts, to drag them out of the region where they originated and +have matured. The diagnosis of collective neuroses, moreover, will be +confronted by a special difficulty. In the neurosis of an individual +we can use as a starting-point the contrast presented to us between +the patient and his environment which we assume to be ‘normal’. No +such background as this would be available for any society similarly +affected; it would have to be supplied in some other way. And with +regard to any therapeutic application of our knowledge, what would be +the use of the most acute analysis of social neuroses, since no one +possesses power to compel the community to adopt the therapy? In spite +of all these difficulties, we may expect that one day someone will +venture upon this research into the pathology of civilized communities. + +For various reasons, it is very far from my intention to express any +opinion concerning the value of human civilization. I have endeavoured +to guard myself against the enthusiastic partiality which believes our +civilization to be the most precious thing that we possess or could +acquire, and thinks it must inevitably lead us to undreamt-of heights +of perfection. I can at any rate listen without taking umbrage to those +critics who aver that when one surveys the aims of civilization and the +means it employs, one is bound to conclude that the whole thing is not +worth the effort and that in the end it can only produce a state of +things which no individual will be able to bear. My impartiality is +all the easier to me since I know very little about these things and am +sure only of one thing, that the judgements of value made by mankind +are immediately determined by their desires for happiness: in other +words, that those judgements are attempts to prop up their illusions +with arguments. I could understand it very well if anyone were to point +to the inevitable nature of the process of cultural development and +say, for instance, that the tendency to institute restrictions upon +sexual life or to carry humanitarian ideals into effect at the cost of +natural selection are developmental trends which it is impossible to +avert or divert, and to which it is best for us to submit as though +they were natural necessities. I know, too, the objection that can +be raised against this: that tendencies such as these, which are +believed to have insuperable power behind them, have often in the +history of man been thrown aside and replaced by others. My courage +fails me, therefore, at the thought of rising up as a prophet before +my fellow-men, and I bow to their reproach that I have no consolation +to offer them; for at bottom this is what they all demand—the frenzied +revolutionary as passionately as the most pious believer. + +The fateful question of the human species seems to me to be whether +and to what extent the cultural process developed in it will succeed +in mastering the derangements of communal life caused by the human +instinct of aggression and self-destruction. In this connection, +perhaps the phase through which we are at this moment passing deserves +special interest. Men have brought their powers of subduing the forces +of nature to such a pitch that by using them they could now very easily +exterminate one another to the last man. They know this—hence arises +a great part of their current unrest, their dejection, their mood of +apprehension. And now it may be expected that the other of the two +‘heavenly forces’, eternal Eros, will put forth his strength so as to +maintain himself alongside of his equally immortal adversary. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[29] ‘Thus conscience does make cowards of us all....’ + +That the upbringing of young people at the present day conceals from +them the part sexuality will play in their lives is not the only +reproach we are obliged to bring against it. It offends too in not +preparing them for the aggressions of which they are destined to +become the objects. Sending the young out into life with such a false +psychological orientation is as if one were to equip people going on a +Polar expedition with summer clothing and maps of the Italian lakes. +One can clearly see that ethical standards are being misused in a way. +The strictness of these standards would not do much harm if education +were to say: ‘This is how men ought to be in order to be happy and make +others happy, but you have to reckon with their not being so.’ Instead +of this the young are made to believe that everyone else conforms to +the standard of ethics, _i.e._ that everyone else is good. And then on +this is based the demand that the young shall be so too. + +[30] I mean in _The Future of an Illusion_. + +[31] _Totem und Tabu_ (1912). + +[32] In particular, in contributions by Ernest Jones, Susan Isaacs, +Melanie Klein; also, as I understand, in those of Reik and Alexander. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + pg 138 Changed: the development of the indivudual + To: the development of the individual + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78221 *** |