The complexity of our subject-matter must be an excuse for the fact that
none of the chapter-headings of this book correspond entirely to their
contents, and that in turning to new aspects of the problem we
constantly hark back to matters that have already been dealt with.
As has been said repeatedly, the ego is formed to a great extent out of
identifications taking the place of cathexes on the part of the id which
have been abandoned; the earliest of these identifications always fulfil
a special office in the ego and stand apart from the rest of the ego in
the form of a super-ego, while later on, as it grows stronger, the ego
may become more able to withstand the effects of identifications. The
super-ego owes its special position in the ego, or in regard to the ego,
to a factor which must be considered from two sides: to the fact that on
the one hand it was the first identification and one which took place
while the ego was still feeble, and that on the other hand it was the
heir to the Oedipus complex and thus incorporated into the ego objects
of far greater significance than any others. The super-ego’s relation to
the subsequent modifications effected in the ego is roughly that of the
primary sexual period in childhood to full-grown sexual activity after
puberty. Although it is amenable to every later influence, it preserves
throughout life the character given to it by its derivation from the
father-complex, namely, the capacity to stand apart from the ego and to
rule it. It is a memorial of the former weakness and dependence of the
ego and the mature ego remains subject to its domination. As the child
was once compelled to obey its parents, so the ego submits to the
categorical imperative pronounced by its super-ego.
The descent of the super-ego from the first object-cathexes of the id,
from the Oedipus complex, however, signifies even more for it. This
descent, as we have already described, connects it with the phylogenetic
acquisitions of the id and makes it a reincarnation of former
ego-structures which have left their precipitates behind in the id. Thus
the super-ego is always in close touch with the id and can act as its
representative in relation to the ego. It reaches deep down into the id
and is for that reason farther from consciousness than the ego.[22]
We can best appreciate these relations by turning our attention to
certain clinical facts, which have long since lost their novelty but
which still await theoretical discussion.
There are certain people who behave in a quite peculiar fashion during
the work of analysis. When one speaks hopefully to them or expresses
satisfaction with the progress of the treatment, they show signs of
discontent and their condition invariably becomes worse. One begins by
regarding this as defiance and as an attempt to prove their superiority
to the physician, but later one comes to take a deeper and truer view.
One becomes convinced, not only that such people cannot endure any
praise or appreciation, but that they react inversely to the progress of
the treatment. Every partial solution that ought to result, and in other
people does result, in an improvement or a temporary suspension of
symptoms produces in them for the time being an exacerbation of their
illness; they get worse during the treatment instead of getting better.
They exhibit the so-called negative therapeutic reaction.
There is no doubt that there is something in these people that sets
itself against their recovery and dreads its approach as though it were
a danger. We are accustomed to say that the need for illness has got the
upper hand in them over the desire for health. If we analyse this
resistance in the usual way—then, even after we have subtracted from it
the defiant attitude towards the physician and the fixation on the
various kinds of advantage which the patient derives from the illness,
the greater part of it is still left over; and this reveals itself as
the most powerful of all obstacles to recovery, more powerful even than
such familiar ones as narcissistic inaccessibility, the assumption of a
negative attitude towards the physician or a clinging to the advantages
of the illness.
In the end we come to see that we are dealing with what may be called a
‘moral’ factor, a sense of guilt, which is finding atonement in the
illness and is refusing to give up the penalty of suffering. We are
justified in regarding this rather disheartening explanation as
conclusive. But as far as the patient is concerned this sense of guilt
is dumb; it does not tell him he is guilty; he does not feel guilty, he
simply feels ill. This sense of guilt expresses itself only as a
resistance to recovery which it is extremely difficult to overcome. It
is also particularly difficult to convince the patient that this motive
lies behind his continuing to be ill; he holds fast to the more obvious
explanation that treatment by analysis is not the right remedy for his
case.[23]
The description we have given applies to the most extreme instances of
this state of affairs, but in a lesser measure this factor has to be
reckoned with in very many cases, perhaps in all severe cases of
neurosis. In fact it may be precisely this element in the situation, the
attitude of the ego-ideal, that determines the severity of a neurotic
illness. We shall not hesitate, therefore, to discuss rather more fully
the way in which the sense of guilt expresses itself under different
conditions.
An explanation of the normal conscious sense of guilt (conscience)
presents no difficulties; it is due to tension between the ego and the
ego-ideal and is the expression of a condemnation of the ego pronounced
by its criticizing function. The feelings of inferiority so well known
in neurotics are presumably closely related to it. In two very familiar
maladies the sense of guilt is over-strongly conscious; in them the
ego-ideal displays particular severity and often rages against the ego
with the utmost cruelty. The attitude of the ego-ideal in these two
diseases, the obsessional neurosis and melancholia, presents, alongside
of this similarity, differences that are no less significant.
In certain forms of the obsessional neurosis the sense of guilt
expresses itself loudly but cannot justify itself to the ego.
Consequently the patient’s ego rebels against this imputation of guilt
and seeks the physician’s support in repudiating it. It would be folly
to acquiesce in this, for to do so would have no effect. Analysis shows
that the super-ego is being influenced by processes that have remained
hidden from the ego. It is possible to discover the repressed impulses
which really occasion the sense of guilt. The super-ego is thus proved
to have known more than the ego about the unconscious id.
In melancholia the impression that the super-ego has obtained a hold
upon consciousness is even stronger. But in this case the ego ventures
no objection; it admits the guilt and submits to the punishment. The
explanation of this difference is plain. In the obsessional neurosis the
reprehensible impulses which are being criticized by the super-ego have
never formed part of the ego, while in melancholia the object of the
super-ego’s wrath has become part of the ego through identification.
It is certainly not clear why the sense of guilt reaches such an
extraordinary intensity in these two neurotic disorders; and indeed, the
main problem presented in this state of affairs lies in another
direction. We shall postpone discussion of it until we have dealt with
the other cases—in which the sense of guilt remains unconscious.
It is essentially in hysteria and in states of a hysterical type that
this condition is found. The mechanism by which the sense of guilt is
kept unconscious is easy to discover. The hysterical type of ego defends
itself from the painful perception which the criticisms of its super-ego
threaten to produce in it by the same means that it uses to defend
itself from an unendurable object-cathexis—by an act of repression. It
is the ego, therefore, that is responsible for the sense of guilt
remaining unconscious. We know that as a rule the ego carries out
repressions in the service and at the behest of its super-ego; but this
is a case in which it has turned the same weapon against its harsh
taskmaster. In the obsessional neurosis, as we know, the phenomena of
reaction-formation predominate; but here the ego contents itself with
keeping at a distance the material to which the sense of guilt refers.
One may go further and venture the hypothesis that a great part of the
sense of guilt must normally remain unconscious, because the origin of
conscience is closely connected with the Oedipus complex which belongs
to the unconscious. If anyone were inclined to put forward the
paradoxical proposition that the normal man is not only far more immoral
than he believes but also far more moral than he has any idea of,
psycho-analysis, which is responsible for the first half of the
assertion, would have no objection to raise against the second half.[24]
It was a surprise to find that exacerbation of this Ucs sense of guilt
could turn people into criminals. But it is undoubtedly a fact. In many
criminals, especially youthful ones, it is possible to detect a very
powerful sense of guilt which existed before the crime, and is not
therefore the result of it but its motive. It is as if it had been a
relief to be able to fasten this unconscious sense of guilt on to
something real and immediate.
In all these situations the super-ego displays its independence of the
conscious ego and the closeness of its relations with the unconscious
id. And now, having regard to the importance we ascribed to preconscious
verbal residues in the ego, the question arises whether the super-ego,
if it is in part unconscious, can consist in such verbal images, or, if
not, in what it does consist. Our answer, though it does not carry us
very far, will be that it cannot possibly be disputed that the
super-ego, no less than the ego, is derived from auditory impressions;
it is part of the ego and remains to a great extent accessible to
consciousness by way of these verbal images (concepts, abstractions),
but the cathectic energy of these elements of the super-ego does not
originate from the auditory perceptions, instruction, reading, etc., but
from sources in the id.
The question which we postponed answering runs thus: How is it that the
super-ego manifests itself essentially as a sense of guilt (or rather,
as criticism—for the sense of guilt is the perception in the ego which
corresponds to the criticism) and at the same time develops such
extraordinary harshness and severity towards the ego? If we turn to
melancholia first, we find that the excessively strong super-ego which
has obtained a hold upon consciousness rages against the ego with
merciless fury, as if it had taken possession of the whole of the sadism
available in the person concerned. Following our view of sadism, we
should say that the destructive component had entrenched itself in the
super-ego and turned against the ego. What is now holding sway in the
super-ego is, as it were, a pure culture of the death-instinct, and in
fact it often enough succeeds in driving the ego into death, if the
latter does not protect itself from the tyrant in time by a revulsion
into mania.
The reproaches of conscience in certain forms of obsessional neurosis
are just as painful and tormenting, but here the situation is less
perspicuous. It is remarkable that the obsessional neurotic, in contrast
to the melancholiac, never takes the step of self-destruction; he is as
if immune against the danger of suicide, and is far better protected
from it than the hysteric. We can see that what guarantees the safety of
the ego is the fact that the object has been retained. In the
obsessional neurosis it has become possible, through a regression to the
pre-genital organization, for the love-impulses to transform themselves
into impulses of aggression against the object. Here again the instinct
of destruction has been set free and it aims at destroying the object,
or at least it appears to have this aim. These tendencies have not been
adopted by the ego; it struggles against them with reaction-formations
and precautionary measures, and they remain in the id. The super-ego,
however, behaves as if the ego were responsible for them and shows by
its zeal in chastising these destructive intentions that they are no
mere semblance evoked by regression but an actual substitution of hate
for love. Helpless in either direction, the ego defends itself vainly,
alike against the instigations of the murderous id and against the
reproaches of the punishing conscience. It succeeds in holding in check
at least the most brutal actions of both sides; the first outcome is
interminable self-torment, and eventually there follows a systematic
torturing of the object, in so far as it is within reach.
The activity of the dangerous death-instincts within the individual
organism is dealt with in various ways; in part they are rendered
harmless by being fused with erotic components, in part they are
diverted towards the external world in the form of aggression, while for
the most part they undoubtedly continue their inner work unhindered. How
is it then that in melancholia the super-ego can become a kind of
gathering-place for the death-instincts?
From the point of view of morality, the control and restriction of
instinct, it may be said of the id that it is totally non-moral, of the
ego that it strives to be moral, and of the super-ego that it can be
hyper-moral and then becomes as ruthless as only the id can be. It is
remarkable that the more a man checks his aggressive tendencies towards
others the more tyrannical, that is aggressive, he becomes in his
ego-ideal. The ordinary view sees the situation the other way round: the
standard set up by the ego-ideal seems to be the motive for the
suppression of aggressiveness. The fact remains, however, as we have
stated it: the more a man controls his aggressiveness, the more intense
become the aggressive tendencies of his ego-ideal against his ego. It is
like a displacement, a turning round upon the self. But even ordinary
normal morality has a harshly restraining, cruelly prohibiting quality.
It is from this, indeed, that the conception arises of an inexorable
higher being who metes out punishment.
I cannot go further in my consideration of these questions without
introducing a fresh assumption. The super-ego arises, as we know, from
an identification with the father regarded as a model. Every such
identification is in the nature of a desexualization or even of a
sublimation. It now seems as though when a transformation of this kind
takes place there occurs at the same time an instinctual defusion. After
sublimation the erotic component no longer has the power to bind the
whole of the destructive elements that were previously combined with it,
and these are released in the form of inclinations to aggression and
destruction. This defusion would be the source of the general character
of harshness and cruelty exhibited by the ideal—its dictatorial ‘Thou
shalt’.
Let us again consider the obsessional neurosis for a moment. The state
of affairs is different here. The defusion of love into aggressiveness
has not been effected by the agency of the ego, but is the result of a
regression which has come about in the id. But this process has extended
beyond the id to the super-ego, which now increases its tyranny over the
innocent ego. It would seem, however, that in this case no less than in
that of melancholia, the ego, having gained possession of the libido by
means of identification, is punished for doing so by the super-ego
through the instrumentality of the aggressiveness which had before been
mixed with the libido.
Our ideas about the ego are beginning to clear, and its various
relationships are gaining distinctness. We now see the ego in its
strength and in its weaknesses. It is entrusted with important
functions. By virtue of its relation to the perceptual system it
arranges the processes of the mind in a temporal order and tests their
correspondence with reality. By interposing the process of thinking it
secures a postponement of motor discharges and controls the avenues to
motility. This last office is, to be sure, a question more of form than
of fact; in the matter of action the ego’s position is like that of a
constitutional monarch, without whose sanction no law can be passed but
who hesitates long before imposing a veto on any measure put forward by
Parliament. All the experiences of life that originate from without
enrich the ego; the id, however, is another outer world to it, which it
strives to bring into subjection to itself. It withdraws libido from the
id and transforms the object-cathexes of the id into ego-constructions.
With the aid of the super-ego, though in a manner that is still obscure
to us, it draws upon the experiences of past ages stored in the id.
There are two paths by which the contents of the id can penetrate into
the ego. The one is direct, the other leads by way of the ego-ideal;
which of these two paths they take may, for many mental activities, be
of decisive importance. The ego develops from perceiving instincts to
controlling them, from obeying instincts to curbing them. In this
achievement a large share is taken by the ego-ideal, which indeed is
partly a reaction-formation against the instinctual processes in the id.
Psycho-analysis is an instrument to enable the ego to push its conquest
of the id further still.
From the other point of view, however, we see this same ego as a poor
creature owing service to three masters and consequently menaced by
three several dangers: from the external world, from the libido of the
id, and from the severity of the super-ego. Three kinds of anxiety
correspond to these three dangers, since anxiety is the expression of a
recoil from danger. Like the dweller in a borderland that it is, the ego
tries to mediate between the world and the id, to make the id comply
with the world’s demands and, by means of muscular activity, to
accommodate the world to the id’s desires. In point of fact it behaves
like the physician during treatment by analysis; it offers itself to the
id as a libidinal object in view of its power of adaptation to the real
world, and aims at attaching the id’s libido to itself. It is not only
the ally of the id; it is also a submissive slave who courts the love of
his master. Whenever possible, it tries to remain on good terms with the
id; it draws the veil of its Pcs rationalizations over the id’s Ucs
demands; it pretends that the id is showing obedience to the mandates of
reality, even when in fact it is remaining obdurate and immovable; it
throws a disguise over the id’s conflicts with reality and, if possible,
over its conflicts with the super-ego too. Its position midway between
the id and reality tempts it only too often to become sycophantic,
opportunist and false, like a politician who sees the truth but wants to
keep his place in popular favour.
Towards the two classes of instincts the ego’s attitude is not
impartial. Its work of identification and sublimation gives the
death-instincts in the id assistance in mastering the libido, but in so
doing it incurs the risk of itself becoming the object of the
death-instincts and of perishing. In order to be able to help in this
way it has to become flooded with libido itself; it thus becomes the
representative of Eros and thenceforward desires to live and to be
loved.
But since the ego’s work of sublimation results in a defusion of the
instincts and a liberation of the aggressive instincts in the super-ego,
its struggle against the libido exposes it to the danger of maltreatment
and death. In suffering under the attacks of the super-ego or perhaps
even succumbing to them, the ego is meeting with a fate like that of the
protozoa which are destroyed by the products of disintegration that they
themselves have created. From the economic point of view the morality
that functions in the super-ego seems to be a similar product of
disintegration.
Among the subordinate relationships in which the ego stands, that to the
super-ego is perhaps the most interesting.
The ego is the true abode of anxiety.[25] Threatened by dangers from
three directions, it develops the flight-reflex by withdrawing its own
cathexis from the menacing perception or from the equally dreaded
process in the id, and discharging it as anxiety. This primitive
reaction is later replaced by the introduction of protective cathexes
(the mechanism of the phobias). What it is that the ego fears either
from an external or from a libidinal danger cannot be specified; we know
that it is in the nature of an overthrow or of extinction, but it is not
determined by analysis. The ego is simply obeying the warning of the
pleasure-principle. On the other hand, we can tell what lies hidden
behind the ego’s dread of the super-ego, its fear of conscience. The
higher being which later became the ego-ideal once threatened the ego
with castration, and this dread of castration is probably the kernel
round which the subsequent fear of conscience has gathered; it is this
dread that persists as the fear of conscience.
The high-sounding phrase, ‘Every fear is ultimately the fear of death’,
has hardly any meaning; at any rate it cannot be justified. It seems to
me, on the contrary, perfectly correct to distinguish the fear of death
from dread of an external object (objective anxiety) and from neurotic
libidinal anxiety. It presents a difficult problem to psycho-analysis,
for death is an abstract concept with a negative content for which no
unconscious correlative can be found. It would seem that the mechanism
of the fear of death can only be that the ego relinquishes its
narcissistic libidinal cathexis in a very large measure, that is, that
it gives up itself, just as it gives up some _external_ object in other
cases in which it feels anxiety. I believe that the fear of death
concerns an interplay between the ego and the super-ego.
We know that the fear of death makes its appearance under two conditions
(which, moreover, are entirely analogous to the other situations in
which anxiety develops), namely, as a reaction to an external danger and
as an internal process, as for instance in melancholia. Once again a
neurotic manifestation may help us to understand a normal one.
The fear of death in melancholia only admits of one explanation: that
the ego gives itself up because it feels itself hated and persecuted by
the super-ego, instead of loved. To the ego, therefore, living means the
same as being loved—being loved by the super-ego, which here again
appears as the representative of the id. The super-ego fulfils the same
function of protecting and saving that was fulfilled in earlier days by
the father and later by Providence or destiny. But, when the ego finds
itself in overwhelming danger of a real order which it believes itself
unable to overcome by its own strength, it is bound to draw the same
conclusion. It sees itself deserted by all the forces of protection and
lets itself die. Here, moreover, is once again the same situation as
that which underlay the first great anxiety-state of birth and the
infantile anxiety of longing for an absent person—the anxiety of
separation from the protecting mother.
These considerations enable us to conceive of the fear of death, like
the fear of conscience, as a development of the fear of castration. The
great significance which the sense of guilt has in the neuroses makes it
conceivable that ordinary neurotic anxiety is reinforced in severe cases
by a development of anxiety between the ego and the super-ego (fear of
castration, of conscience, of death).
The id, to which we finally come back, has no means of showing the ego
either love or hate. It cannot say what it wants; it has achieved no
unity of will. Eros and the death-instinct struggle within it; we have
seen with what weapons the one group of instincts defends itself against
the other. It would be possible to picture the id as under the
domination of the mute but powerful death-instincts, which desire to be
at peace and (as the pleasure-principle demands) to put Eros, the
intruder, to rest; but that would be to run the risk of valuing too
cheaply the part played by Eros.
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