The Unconscious
The sphere of the unconscious infantile phantasies has become the real
object of psychoanalytic investigation. As we have previously pointed
out, this domain seems to retain the key to the etiology of neurosis. In
contradistinction with the trauma theory, we are forced by the reasons
already adduced to seek in the family history for the basis of our
present psychoanalytic attitude. Those phantasy-systems which patients
exhibit on mere questioning are for the most part composed and
elaborated like a novel or a drama. Although they are greatly
elaborated, they are relatively of little value for the investigation of
the unconscious. Just because they are conscious, they have already
deferred over-much to the claims of etiquette and social morality. Hence
they have been purged of all personally painful and ugly details, and
are presentable to society, revealing very little. The valuable, and
much more important phantasies are not conscious in the sense already
defined, but are to be discovered through the technique of
psychoanalysis.
Without wishing to enter fully into the question of technique, I must
here meet an objection that is constantly heard. It is that the
so-called unconscious phantasies are only suggested to the patient and
only exist in the minds of psychoanalysts. This objection belongs to
that common class which ascribes to them the crude mistakes of
beginners. I think only those without psychological experience and
without historical psychological knowledge are capable of making such
criticisms. With a mere glimmering of mythological knowledge, one cannot
fail to notice the striking parallels between the unconscious phantasies
discovered by the psychoanalytic school and mythological images. The
objection that our knowledge of mythology has been suggested to the
patient is groundless, for the psychoanalytic school first discovered
the unconscious phantasies, and only then became acquainted with
mythology. Mythology itself is obviously something outside the path of
the medical man. In so far as these phantasies are unconscious, the
patient of course knows nothing about their existence, and it would be
absurd to make direct inquiries about them. Nevertheless it is often
said, both by patients and by so-called normal persons: “But if I had
such phantasies, surely I would know something about them.” But what is
unconscious is, in fact, something which one does not know. The
opposition too is perfectly convinced that such things as unconscious
phantasies could not exist. This a priori judgment is scholasticism, and
has no sensible grounds. We cannot possibly rest on the dogma that
consciousness only is mind, when we can convince ourselves daily that
our consciousness is only the stage. When the contents of our
consciousness appear they are already in a highly complex form; the
grouping of our thoughts from the elements supplied by our memory is
almost entirely unconscious. Therefore we are obliged, whether we like
it or not, to accept for the moment the conception of an unconscious
psychic sphere, even if only as a mere negative, border-conception, just
as Kant’s “thing in itself.” As we perceive things which do not have
their origin in consciousness, we are obliged to give hypothetic
contents to the sphere of the non-conscious. We must suppose that the
origin of certain effects lies in the unconscious, just because they are
not conscious. The reproach of mysticism can scarcely be made against
this conception of the unconscious. We do not pretend that we know
anything positive, or can affirm anything, about the psychic condition
of the unconscious. Instead, we have substituted symbols by following
the way of designation and abstraction we apply in consciousness.
On the axiom: Principia præter necessitatem non sunt multiplicanda, this
kind of ideation is the only possible one. Hence we speak about the
effects of the unconscious, just as we do about the phenomena of the
conscious. Many people have been shocked by Freud’s statement: “The
unconscious can only wish,” and this is regarded as an unheard of
metaphysical assertion, something like the principle of Hartman’s
“Philosophy of the Unconscious,” which apparently administers a rebuff
to the theory of cognition. This indignation only arises from the fact
that the critics, unknown to themselves, evidently start from a
metaphysical conception of the unconscious as being an “end per se,” and
naïvely project on to us their inadequate conception of the unconscious.
For us, the unconscious is no entity, but a term, about whose
metaphysical entity we do not permit ourselves to form any idea. Here we
contrast with those psychologists, who, sitting at their desks, are as
exactly informed about the localization of the mind in the brain as they
are informed about the psychological correlation of the mental
processes. Whence they are able to declare positively that beyond the
consciousness there are but physiological processes of the cortex. Such
naiveté must not be imputed to the psychoanalyst. When Freud says: “We
can only wish,” he describes in symbolic terms effects of which the
origin is not known. From the standpoint of our conscious thinking,
these effects can only be considered as analogous to wishes. The
psychoanalytic school is, moreover, aware that the discussion as to
whether “wishing” is a sound analogy can be re-opened at any time.
Anyone who has more information is welcome. Instead, the opponents
content themselves with denial of the phenomena, or if certain phenomena
are admitted, they abstain from all theoretical speculation. This last
point is readily to be understood, for it is not everyone’s business to
think theoretically. Even the man who has succeeded in freeing himself
from the dogma of the identity of the conscious self and the psyche,
thus admitting the possible existence of psychic processes outside the
conscious, is not justified in disputing or maintaining psychic
possibilities in the unconscious. The objection is raised that the
psychoanalytic school maintains certain views without sufficient
grounds, as if the literature did not contain abundant, perhaps too
abundant, discussion of cases, and more than enough arguments. But they
seem not to be sufficient for the opponents. There must be a good deal
of difference as to the meaning of the term “sufficient” in respect to
the validity of the arguments. The question is: “Why does the
psychoanalytic school apparently set less store on the proof of their
formulas than the critics?” The reason is very simple. An engineer who
has built a bridge, and has worked out its bearing capacity, wants no
other proof for the success of its bearing power. But the ordinary man,
who has no notion how a bridge is built, or what is the strength of the
material used, will demand quite different proofs as to the bearing
capacity of the bridge, for he has no confidence in the business. In the
first place, it is the critics’ complete ignorance of what is being done
which provokes their demand. In the second place, there are the
unanswerable theoretical misunderstandings: impossible for us to know
them all and understand them all. Just as we find, again and again, in
our patients new and astonishing misunderstandings about the ways and
the aim of the psychoanalytic method, so are the critics inexhaustible
in devising misunderstandings. You can see in the discussion of our
conception of the unconscious what kind of false philosophical
assumptions can prevent the understanding of our terminology. It is
comprehensible that those who attribute to the unconscious involuntarily
an absolute entity, require quite different arguments, beyond our power
to give. Had we to prove immortality, we should have to collect many
more important arguments, than if we had merely to demonstrate the
existence of plasmodia in a malaria patient. The metaphysical
expectation still disturbs the scientific way of thinking, so that
problems of psychoanalysis cannot be considered in a simple way. But I
do not wish to be unjust to the critics, and I will admit that the
psychoanalytic school itself very often gives rise to misunderstandings,
although innocently enough. One of the principal sources of these
mistakes is the confusion in the theoretical sphere. It is a pity, but
we have no presentable theory. But you would understand this, if you
could see, in a concrete case, with what difficulties we have to deal.
In contradiction to the opinion of nearly all critics, Freud is by no
means a theorist. He is an empiricist, of which fact anyone can easily
convince himself, if he is willing to busy himself somewhat more deeply
with Freud’s works, and if he tries to go into the cases as Freud has
done. Unfortunately, the critics are not willing. As we have very often
heard, it is too disgusting and too repulsive, to observe cases in the
same way as Freud has done. But who will learn the nature of Freud’s
method, if he allows himself to be hindered by repulsion and disgust?
Because they neglect to apply themselves to the point of view adopted by
Freud, perhaps as a necessary working hypothesis, they come to the
absurd supposition that Freud is a theorist. They then readily agree
that Freud’s “Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory” is a priori
invented by a merely speculative brain which afterwards suggests
everything into the patient. That is putting things upside down. This
gives the critics an easy task, and this is just what they want to have.
They pay no attention to the observations of the psychoanalysts,
conscientiously set forth in their histories of diseases, but only to
the theory, and to the formulation of technique. The weak spot of
psychoanalysis, however, is not found here, as psychoanalysis is only
empirical. Here you find but a large and insufficiently cultivated
field, in which the critics can exercise themselves to their full
satisfaction. There are many uncertainties, and as many contradictions,
in the sphere of this theory. We were conscious of this long before the
first critic began to pay attention to our work.