has tried everything but cannot make anything go. His father is a common
employee reduced to seek occasionally the son’s financial aid. But the
young man now stays at home and complains of attacks which he describes
as of an epileptic nature, occurring only at night, but which prove to
be hysterical anxiety attacks. His brother is diligent and hard-working,
the favorite of the family. When the brother is praised he turns so wild
that he is boiling with rage. He speaks but little with the brother,
exchanging with him only necessary words. Regarding his father he
declares that living together with him he finds most painful. He has
delicate tastes. But his father’s manner of eating and talking rouses
his anger. He will bless the day when he shall once more be working and
in a position to leave the parental home. The mother was on his side,
believed in his illness and in the genuineness of his attacks, and comes
at night during his attacks to his bed, trying to help him and to quiet
him to the best of her powers. The mother alone knows that he is
homosexual and she does not disturb him in the least on that score. But
she turns jealous as soon as she sees him pay any attention to a girl,
and every night, too, she comes to the kitchen to make sure that her
sons are not taking advantage of the servant girls. She accompanies the
ailing son on his errands and is his confidante. She does not get along
at all well with her husband and they have ceased marital relations long
ago. There are thus two parties in the house, he with his mother, and
the father with the other son.
Moreover, the ailing son raises various issues so that there are daily
quarrels and conflicts in the house. The father published a statement in
the newspaper to the effect that he will no longer be responsible for
debts and obligations contracted by the son. Thereupon the mother, who
earns an independent income with her piano lessons, left the house
together with her favorite son. They rented another home for themselves
and the mother hopes that the separation and the quiet care will bring
about her son’s complete recovery. At this stage T. B. is brought to me
for analysis. Two days later I am called to the father. T. B. had gone
there under an excuse and while searching among the books he was seized
with a very severe attack and had to be put to bed. He was now so ill
that he could not leave the bed. It was the love of the father that had
driven him to the place. He could not live without seeing his father and
could not endure the thought of leaving the father alone with the
brother. The mother moved back to the old home. As prerequisites for my
analysis I suggested isolation of the subject and moderate occupation,
and the mother apparently agreed. Next day the patient wrote me that on
account of his attacks he would be unable to live among strangers, and
that therefore he must give up the treatment. An experience similar to
that I had with the epileptic, Case No. 51.
The specific phantasy during his indulgences in which he played always a
passive rôle, represented him as the mother who gives herself up to the
father. The following dream yielded some light on the matter:
“_I lie on the bed in a remarkable attire, a hood on my head and dressed
in a green robe. I gaze in a looking-glass and instead of my person I
see my mother, and father in the act of bending over her to give her a
kiss. Now the image in the looking-glass fuses with the original, the
two coming together and forming a single picture. I feel myself turning
into a woman and everything male about me falls off or disappears. I
have long black hair, a white skin and a high voice. My arms stretch out
to embrace a man and I awake with a feeling of anxiety and a rapid heart
beat._”
An analysis of this dream is superfluous. The subject was unwilling to
see its meaning.
But the fixation upon the mother is often also marked with hatred. It
must not be thought that the homosexual is always disposed pleasantly
towards the mother. It also happens that the love for the mother is
covered under an overt hatred and an unnatural disgust, as is shown by
the following case:
67. H. U., 24-year-old sculptor, homosexual as long as he can remember.
His inclination is always towards waiters and restaurant employees. Has
four sisters and an older brother who had to go to America and is lost
to them. His father is a writer, a genial but impractical man who stuck
to journalism. He clings to his father with every fiber of his heart,
protecting him against the attacks of the mother who is tired of her
husband’s continual love affairs and cannot stand them any longer. The
father lives in a dreamy state continuously, passing from one ecstasy,
lasting from several days to a week, into another. He is not finicky in
his love adventures, drawing the line neither at servant girls nor at
prostitutes; daily he has some new rendezvous and in that way squanders
a great portion of his income. There are always quarrels in the house,
and the father does not like to stay at home, preferring to spend his
evenings in the public houses. The relations between mother and son are
as unpleasant as between the parents. The son always lets his mother
know that she is repulsive to him. If she attempts to come near him in
the room he avoids her, shouting: “_Don’t touch me, mir graust vor
dir,—you give me the shivers!_” He never permits her to fondle him, and
has no good word for the poor tortured woman. Towards his sister he is
also always sarcastic, aloof, and likes to meet her admirers to make
uncomplimentary remarks about her to them. The situation became
seriously aggravated, he had to leave the house, and now wants to meet
no one of the family except the father, whom he sees daily at the
newspaper office. He hates fanatically all women and dotes on
_Strindberg_ and _Weininger_.
Back of this hatred of women stands his great love for the mother, the
sisters, and all women. In that respect he is exactly like his father,
whose fate he does not want to share. He protects himself against the
love for his mother because he would be lost and subordinate to women if
he yielded. The gruesome quarrels which he witnessed during his
childhood showed him a father who ruined himself on account of women, a
man unable to achieve the full expression of his high ideal because he
squandered his energies on numerous love adventures. Homosexuality
serves him as a protection against all womanhood. His attachment to
waiters is explained through the fact that his mother had been a
waitress whom his father had married after she had become pregnant by
him so as to legitimatize the child. After two weeks he breaks up the
analysis because he feels that his attitude towards women is being
changed. In that attitude lies his security. Among waiters he prefers
small young boys who remind him of his sister.
This fixation upon the sister is not so rare, as is shown by the next
case, which dates back to my earlier psychoanalytic experience.
68. Mr. P. G., teacher in a high school (_Realschule professor_),
consults me on account of an ailment which began a few weeks ago and
which threatens to destroy all his joy of living. He is 26 years of age
and has had no sexual intercourse. In fact, he has not had even one
genuine love affair. A few months ago he met a girl whom he liked very
much and they became engaged. They were to be married in six months. She
is a friend of his sister’s, a girl to whom he had not previously paid
any particular attention but during an outing he got to know her and to
appreciate her so well that he fell suddenly in love with her. It was
not a great consuming passion,—rather a mutual understanding and a
strong spiritual kinship. He was abstinent through conviction. He wanted
to enter the marriage bond a pure man and was proud that in that respect
he was unlike his friends and colleagues. Then something happened in his
life which threatened to break him to pieces and even drove him to
thoughts of suicide. I relate the occurrence in his own words:
“In my class there is a very beautiful, physically imposing, slim,
bright young fellow whom I liked on account of his excellent answers and
fine manners. I directed my questions at him with great pleasure,
whenever the other boys could not answer, knowing that I would always
receive from him the correct answer, and I have often held this favorite
scholar of mine up to the others as an example of how they ought to be.
One night I dreamed that the boy was lying in my bed and that I embraced
and kissed him. I woke up, scared, and presently quieted down.
‘Nonsense,’ I said to myself. ‘Anything may come up in a dream!’ At
school that day I found myself somewhat uneasy towards that boy because
I could not help thinking about my dream. I avoided putting any
questions to him. As was frequently his habit, the boy waited for me
after school hours and asked permission to accompany me on the way. We
had to go the same road and I was pleased to pass the time talking with
him. He entertained me. I heard a great deal about what the pupils were
saying about the teachers and it seemed to me very interesting. Teaching
means building up souls, and so I wanted to implant every noble and high
ideal in the soul of this child.
“I granted him also that day, gladly, permission to come along. I was
strikingly distracted and silent. Whereas formerly I had been in the
habit of taking him by the arm now and then, this time I avoided all
intimate contact, because the dream stood between me and the handsome
young boy, rendering any intimacy or informality impossible. I reached
home and very promptly went to my bride. She found me absent-minded,
wanted to know the reason,—and about that, naturally, I could but be
silent. I wanted to show her tenderness; she goaded me with her kisses
and caresses. But, oh, horrors! In the midst of her kisses my mind
turned to the young fellow and when I felt her lips, so warm, I thought
it was the boy’s lips. I pushed her, scared, out of my arms, pretending
I did not feel well, and hurried back home.
“I was so excited that for a long time I could not fall asleep. I
decided I would fight the insane passion. I had heard before passingly
about boy love, knew also that it was the custom and fashion of the day
in ancient Greece, but I myself had never before entertained the least
thought of a man or boy. I felt I ought to remain a teacher no longer if
I failed to conquer the feeling and to master the impression of the
dream picture on my mind, conjured up, undoubtedly, by unconscious
wishes. I resolved to be strict with myself, to give up the attachment
to the boy, and to avoid his company after school hours. For it was I
who first spoke up and invited him to keep me company on the way home. I
resolved to be strong and to devote once more all my affection and my
love to my bride.
“Next school day I forced myself not to turn my gaze towards the boy’s
seat. But I could not help looking that way and the first glance rushed
the blood to my cheeks. He was as beautiful as a Greek boy, his form so
delicate, his eyes so smiling,—I could have lost myself for hours in the
contemplation of that wonderful face. I roused from my day dreaming,
which, fortunately, had passed unnoticed by the class. But I wanted to
neutralize the impression that my gazing at the boy may have made upon
the class and called upon the boy. I was severe, unmercifully severe
with him, and sought to catch him in some error. And who fails to find
an error when looking hard for it? Then I reprimanded the boy so
severely that he began to cry and returned to his seat weeping, and he
was unable to quiet down for some time after that. Then I became really
angry. I was trying to stifle the inner voice which was whispering: ‘It
is unfair for you to torture thus the innocent boy; he is not
responsible for your awful thoughts....’ I disregarded that and scolded
him.
“On the street the boy did not dare to offer to join me. I hurried past
him and wandered for hours on the streets like a madman. I reproached
myself, regretting the lost opportunity for enjoying the boy’s company
and wept over the breaking up of the beautiful friendship between
scholar and teacher. I resolved to be fair the next day with the boy and
to pay no attention to him. But a wild demoniac power, stronger than my
good resolutions, impelled me once more to hurt the boy’s feelings and
to humiliate him before the class. It looked as if I was bent on
revenging myself on him for the trouble he had cost me. I knew that I
punished myself doing so, that I suffered far more than the boy,
although he, too, changed in appearance, became timid, looked badly and
obviously suffered under the unjust treatment. I also became irritable,
morose, nervous. I lost completely my nervous equilibrium. I began to
avoid my bride’s company. It seemed to me a profanation on my part of
her pure love so long as I was consumed with such passion for a boy. She
also became cooler and more reserved, because she could not understand
me.
“Eventually things improved at school. I learned to control myself and
to act more fairly. We resumed the walks once more; the boy accompanied
me again after school hours; sometimes we walked on and on for hours,
and we even met specially during the holidays. In his company I felt
happy and all my wishes seemed gratified. I enjoyed his beauty and his
lively mind and counted the minutes to pass when we should meet again.
“Then something happened which opened my eyes. My bride wrote me a
letter breaking up our engagement. It did not even affect me as deeply
as I had thought it would, whenever reflecting previously on the
possibility. Very well—I thought to myself—now you can devote yourself
entirely to your beloved boy! At the same time I felt during the day the
same physical excitation which I had theretofore experienced only in my
dreams. Then I realized that I must avoid the boy if I was to keep from
committing a crime. My first task, I thought, would be to make up again
with the bride; secondly, I must give up the school so as to not meet
the boy again. My bride was resolute, however, insisting that she had
become convinced that I did not love her. I kept secrets from her. I was
on the very point of confessing everything and of telling her the whole
truth. I threw myself, weeping, to her feet. She said quietly: ‘Don’t!
What is done cannot be undone. It is better that we should part. Don’t
make the parting hard for me. Let’s leave one another good friends and
think kindly of me.’ Then she hurried out of the room and left me to
myself.
“Next day when I went to the school the boy was not there; he was ill.
Another boy reported he was kept at home on account of scarlet fever. My
anxiety about him was boundless. I could think of nothing but that boy.
A schoolmate had to bring me daily reports about his condition. Often I
wandered in the neighborhood of his home, up and down the streets, and
at night I watched the lamplit window of the room where a sister was
taking care of him. Finally I heard that he was convalescing, that all
danger was over, and that he would return to school in a few weeks. I
had to keep a strong grip on myself at school to be able to carry on my
lectures at all. My thoughts were perpetually centered on my beloved boy
pupil. Continually I kept thinking: How many days longer must I keep
longing? In three weeks he will be here! My heart danced with joy at the
thought....
“There had to be a change. I could not keep on living that way. I took
my father into confidence and he sent me to you, thinking that you would
be able to furnish good advice and aid in this difficult case.”
I offered at first no advice and no help. To begin with, I allowed the
love-sick fellow to speak out everything that was on his mind and that
in itself lightened his burden. Then I undertook to obtain an insight
into his mental life before the advent of his boy love.
It turned out that he had really loved and still loves but one person in
the wide world: his sister. The affection for the bride was but a
substitute for his love of the sister. His bride was also homosexual and
loved in him but the brother of her best girl friend. As the girl friend
(his sister) cooled off during their engagement, preferring another
friendship (obviously led thereto by unconscious jealousy of the
brother), her own affection for the young man cooled off and she
promptly made use of the opportunity to break off with him. The
opportunity arose conveniently enough and the severing of the engagement
reacted most painfully upon the school teacher who had reasons of his
own for reproaching himself most bitterly.
_The more his bride kept away from his sister the greater was his
indifference to the bride. But the boy resembled his sister very
closely._
He never thought of this similarity before. They had the same eyes, the
same color of hair, and the same voice, and these played a strong rôle
with him. During that critical period his sister was interested in a
certain physician. He felt he was about to lose her affection and sought
a substitute for her and that he found in his pupil....
Now he was in a position to come to an understanding with his sister.
She had the requisite psychologic insight to understand him fully and to
lend him intelligent assistance towards his recovery.
His whole tremendous excitation simmered down. The love for the boy
calmed down to an attitude of kindly interest which no longer troubled
him. He took his walks only with his sister who often called for him at
the school. Months later I heard that he was very quiet and had no
reason to complain. He succeeded in sublimating his affection for the
sister into joint intellectual interests, insofar as that is possible.
But frank relations create a healthy atmosphere in which it is easier to
overcome incestuous phantasies than in the byways and hidden bypaths of
repression and transference.
I have given a detailed account of this case because it is typical and
because the transference of affection from the sister to a boy is more
common than would be recognized _a priori_ in the light of our current
contributions on homosexuality. We must also bear in mind that the
sister represents a younger likeness of the mother _Imago_.[10]
But father, mother and sister do not exhaust the ideal of the
homosexual. I also know cases—one I have described in a previous
chapter—in which the love of an older brother plays a tremendous
rôle.[11] We are thus led to the conclusion that fixation on the family
plays a determinative rôle in the genesis of homosexuality, that
homosexuality often may represent a flight from incest. True, we have
also seen cases in which these roots are not traceable, particularly
cases of late homosexuality. But why may not other psychic forces,
manifesting themselves as hatred, disgust, fear and shame, likewise lead
to homosexuality?
Love of the family is a form of narcissism. Every member of the family
is a mirrored image of one’s own personality. One may love one’s self in
one’s parents or other members of the intimate family circle more
readily than through strangers. _Leo Berg_ was the first to express this
truth and he has done it very clearly. In his inspiring work,
_Geschlechter_ (_Kulturprobleme der Gegenwart_, 2nd ser., Vol. II,
Berlin, 1906), he states:
“What does the homosexual substitute for procreation? In the first place
self-seeking, the love of like (_die Liebe zum Gleichen_), plays a
greater rôle in his case than with the heterosexual who is responsive to
the unlike, and that is why the instinct of procreation is as a rule
very much weaker in the former though not entirely absent. A young
physician who confessed to me that he was homosexual, told me of a
colleague who was passionately attached to a child. It was a powerful
motherly instinct in him, a sign of his female sensitiveness in a male
body; he is wholly womanly, a submissive being, and loves like a woman
cursed only because he cannot bear a child for the man of his heart.”
_Berg_ also points out that the homosexuals transfer to the intellectual
sphere their reproductive and creative urge.
The case mentioned by _Berg_ shows nothing in itself more than a
complete identification with the mother. But I have observed long ago
that this love of the like bears some relations to purposive sterility.
The homosexual renounces the immortality implied in procreation. (Many
homosexual artists achieve immortality in the realm of spiritual
endeavor.) Such an attitude discloses a revolt against natural law and
order. The homosexual, in fact, always conceives himself as unique. The
world contains not his equal and that feeling is the hidden source of
his pride. The “bearing of aloofness,” already pointed out by
_Freimark_,[12] the pride of being “different,” determine also his
opposition to the procreative instinct. He does not care to be like
others. Against the notion that God had ordained man to have offspring
he wants to oppose all teleology and, in spite of God, maintain a
purposeless, meaningless love, contrary to nature, a love for its own
sake. Conceivably women manifest even more clearly the corresponding
revulsion against the motherly instinct.
Who will deny that fear of children, of motherhood, is an important
social manifestation? Can it be that this fear is characteristic only of
women and is not shared also by men? May it not manifest itself as a
form of flight from sexual determinism? We need only look around us.
There are any number of married couples who want no children and others
who want no more than a child or two. Undoubtedly this state of things
is partly due to homosexuality, to a deviation from the biblical
injunction concerning the duty of increasing offspring. But let us also
glance over our professional experience. The relationship between
children and their parents carries within itself the beginnings of a new
phase. The everlasting conflict between the new and the old generation,
between fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, children and parents,
requires, fosters new forms. Not without reason has our age been called
“the century of the child” with its slogan raised about the Rights of
Children. The greater the (unconsciously motivated) antagonism of the
child against his parents, the stronger will be the fear of its own
children, who loom up as potential enemies and rivals.[13] It seems that
our own image attracts and repels us at the same time, that there is a
fear of the like as strong as the fear of the unlike. The aboriginal
conflict between the old and the new goes on forever within us. Hungry
for the new though we be, yet we cling to the old. Having acquired the
new we turn longingly to the old.
This bipolarity shows itself nowhere so distinctly as upon the sexual
sphere. It means that contraries have the power of sexual attraction.
That is an observation substantiated by everyday experience. But there
is an extreme point at which the opposite touches upon the like. _Les
extrêmes se touchent_, extremes meet. In each of us there lives also
another who is the precise counterpart of ourselves. In the other sex we
love our counterpart and through the love for our own sex we endeavor to
run away from that counterpart.
The mother instinct and hatred of motherhood are not split in the human
soul. The homosexual woman always shows the hatred of motherhood and her
alleged love of children, when such a sentiment is claimed at all,
proves but a self-deception and lip-service at best. In our study of
_female dyspareunia_ we propose fully to prove that conclusion in
connection with the histories of several homosexual women. We do find
many instances of alleged affection for children but in reality these
are only caricatures of the true sentiment and only rarely the affection
as it is characteristic of normal woman. Our school teacher in love with
the boy pupil, whose case we gave in full in the preceding pages, did
not love children as such and did not care to have children of his own.
Through his love for the boy the repressed father instinct also found
outlet.
The life histories of homosexual women differ from those of males only
in the fact that occasionally there seems present a certain yearning for
children, as if the child could bring about release from the passion and
a new state of bliss. Beyond that the _urlind_ shows the same
psychogenesis as the _urning_. There is a strong fixation on the family,
though not always on the father, as _Hirschfeld_ claims. In addition to
that, rather commonly there is found affection for the mother which is
fairly open, and tenderness for some sister which persists through life
and assumes remarkable masks.
I want to conclude this chapter with the histories of some cases of
female homosexuality which may serve to illustrate clearly the points I
have just made: