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Title: The history of the psychoanalytic movement
Author: Sigmund Freud
Translator: A. A. Brill
Release date: June 14, 2025 [eBook #76298]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: The Nervous and Mental Disease Publishing Company, 1917
Credits: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY OF THE PSYCHOANALYTIC MOVEMENT ***
NERVOUS AND MENTAL DISEASE MONOGRAPH SERIES NO. 25
THE HISTORY OF THE PSYCHOANALYTIC MOVEMENT
BY
PROF. DR. SIGMUND FREUD, LL.D.
OF VIENNA
AUTHORIZED ENGLISH TRANSLATION BY
A. A. BRILL, PH.B., M.D.
LECTURER IN PSYCHOANALYSIS AND ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY, NEW YORK UNIVERSITY
FORMER CHIEF OF CLINIC OF PSYCHIATRY, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
NEW YORK
THE NERVOUS AND MENTAL DISEASE
PUBLISHING COMPANY
1917
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Copyright, 1917, by
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_Fluctuat nec mergitur_
From the Coat of Arms of the City of Paris
I
If in what follows I bring any contribution to the history of the
psychoanalytic movement nobody must be surprised at the subjective
nature of this paper, nor at the rôle which falls to me therein. For
psychoanalysis is my creation; for ten years I was the only one occupied
with it, and all the annoyance which this new subject caused among my
contemporaries has been hurled upon my head in the form of criticism.
Even today, when I am no longer the only psychoanalyst, I feel myself
justified in assuming that none can know better than myself what
psychoanalysis is, wherein it differs from other methods of
investigating the psychic life, what its name should cover, or what
might better be designated as something else.
In the year 1909, when I was first privileged to speak publicly on
psychoanalysis in an American University, fired by this momentous
occasion for my endeavors, I declared that it was not myself who brought
psychoanalysis into existence. I said that it was Josef Breuer, who had
merited this honor at a time when I was a student and busy working for
my examinations (1880–1882).[1] Since then, well-intentioned friends
have frequently repeated that I then expressed my gratitude out of all
due proportion. They considered that, as on previous occasions, I should
have dignified Breuer’s “cathartic procedure” as merely preliminary to
psychoanalysis, and should have claimed that psychoanalysis itself only
began with my rejection of the hypnotic technique and my introduction of
free association. Now it is really a matter of indifference whether the
history of psychoanalysis be considered to have started with the
cathartic method or only with my modification of the same. I only enter
into this uninteresting question because some opponents of
psychoanalysis are wont to recall, now and then, that the art of
psychoanalysis did not originate with me at all, but with Breuer.
Naturally, this only happens to be the case when their attitude permits
them to find in psychoanalysis something that is noteworthy; on the
other hand when their repudiation of psychoanalysis is unlimited, then
psychoanalysis is always indisputably my creation. I have never yet
heard that Breuer’s great part in psychoanalysis has brought him an
equal measure of insult and reproach. As I have recognized long since
that it is the inevitable fate of psychoanalysis to arouse opposition
and to embitter people, I have come to the conclusion that I must surely
be the originator of all that characterizes psychoanalysis. I add, with
satisfaction, that none of the attempts to belittle my share in this
much disdained psychoanalysis has ever come from Breuer himself, or
could boast of his support.
The content of Breuer’s discovery has been so often presented that a
detailed discussion of it here may be omitted. Its fundamental fact is
that the symptoms of hysterical patients depend upon impressive but
forgotten scenes in their lives (traumata). The therapy founded thereon
was to cause the patients to recall and reproduce these experiences
under hypnosis (catharsis), and the fragmentary theory, deduced from it
was that these symptoms corresponded to an abnormal use of undischarged
sums of excitement (conversion). In his theoretical contribution to the
“Studies of Hysteria” Breuer, wherever obliged to mention _conversion_,
has always added my name in parenthesis, as though this first attempt at
a theoretical formulation was my mental property. I think this allotment
refers only to the nomenclature, whilst the conception itself occurred
to us both at the same time.
It is also well known that Breuer, after his first experience with it,
allowed the cathartic treatment to rest for a number of years and only
resumed it after I caused him to do so, on my return from Charcot. He
was then an internist and taken up with a rather busy medical practice.
I had become a physician quite reluctantly but had, at that time,
received a strong motive for desiring to help nervous patients or, at
least, to learn to understand something of their conditions. I had
placed reliance on physical therapy and found myself helpless in the
face of disappointments that came to me with W. Erb’s “Electrotherapy,”
so rich in advice and indications. If I did not, at that time, pilot
myself independently to the opinion later announced by Moebius, that the
successes of electrotherapy in nervous disorders are the results of
suggestion, it was surely only the absence of these successes that was
to blame. The treatment by _suggestion_ in deep hypnosis seemed to offer
me at that time sufficient compensation for the lost electrical therapy.
I learned this treatment through the extremely impressive demonstrations
of Liébault and Bernheim. But the investigation under hypnosis with
which I became acquainted through Breuer, I found, owing to its
automatic manner of working and the simultaneous gratification of one’s
eagerness for knowledge, much more attractive than the monotonous and
violent suggestive command which was devoid of every possibility of
inquiry.
As one of the latest achievements of psychoanalysis, we have lately been
admonished to put the actual conflict and the cause of the illness into
the foreground of analysis. This is exactly what Breuer and I did in the
beginning of our work with the cathartic method. We guided the patient’s
attention directly to the traumatic scene during which the symptom had
arisen, tried to find therein the psychic conflict and to free the
repressed affect. We thus discovered the procedure characteristic of the
psychic processes of the neuroses which I later named _regression_. The
associations of the patients went back from the scene to be explained,
to earlier experiences, and this forced the analysis which was to
correct the present to occupy itself with the past. This regression led
even further backwards. At first it went quite regularly to the time of
puberty. Later, however, such failures as gaps in the understanding
tempted the analytic work further back into the years of childhood which
had, hitherto, been inaccessible to every sort of investigation. This
regressive direction became an important characteristic of the analysis.
It was proved that psychoanalysis could not clear up anything actual,
except by going back to something in the past. It even proved that every
pathological experience presupposes an earlier one which, though not in
itself pathological, lent a pathological quality to the later
occurrence. But the temptation to stop short at the known actual cause
was so great that even in later analyses I yielded to it. In the case of
the patient called “Dora,” carried out in 1899, the scene which caused
the outbreak of the actual illness was known to me. I tried uncounted
times to analyse this experience, but all that I could receive to my
direct demands was the same scanty and broken description. Only after a
long detour, which led through the earliest childhood of the patient, a
dream appeared in the analysis of which the hitherto forgotten details
of the scene were remembered, and this made possible the understanding
and solution of the actual conflict.
From this one example it may be seen how misleading is the above
mentioned admonition and how much of a scientific regression it is to
follow the advice of neglecting the regression in the analytic
technique.
The first difference of opinion between Breuer and myself came to light
on a question of the more intimate psychic mechanism of hysteria. He
still favored a physiological theory, so to speak, and wished to explain
the psychic splitting of consciousness of hysterical subjects by means
of the non-communication of various psychic states (or states of
consciousness, as we then called them). He thus created the theory of
the “hypnoid states,” the results of which were supposed to bring the
unassimilated foreign body into the “waking consciousness.” I had
formulated this to myself less scientifically. I suspected everywhere
tendencies and strivings analogous to those of everyday life and
conceived the psychic splitting itself as a result of a repelling
process, which I then called “defense” and later “regression.” I made a
short-lived attempt to reconcile both mechanisms, but as experience
showed me always the same and only one thing, my defense theory, I soon
became opposed to Breuer’s theory of hypnoid states.
I am, however, quite certain that this difference of opinion had nothing
to do with the parting of the ways which occurred soon afterward between
us. The latter had a deeper reason, but it happened in such a manner
that at first I did not understand it, and only later did I learn to
interpret it, following many good indexes. It will be recalled that
Breuer had stated, concerning his first famous patient, that the sexual
element had been astonishingly undeveloped in her and had never
contributed anything to her very marked morbid picture.[2] I have always
wondered why the critics of my theory of the sexual etiology of the
neuroses have not often opposed it with this assertion of Breuer, and up
to this day I do not know whether in this reticence I am to see a proof
of their discretion, or of their lack of observation. Whoever will
reread the history of Breuer’s patient in the light of the experience
gained in the last twenty years, will have no difficulty in
understanding the symbolism of the snakes and of the arm. By taking into
account also the situation at the sick-bed of the father, he will easily
guess the actual meaning of that symptom-formation. His opinion as to
the part sexuality played in the psychic life of that girl will then
differ greatly from that of her physician. To cure the patient Breuer
utilized the most intensive suggestive _rapport_ which may serve us as
prototype of that which we call “transference.” Now I have strong
grounds to suppose that Breuer, after the disposal of the symptoms, must
have discovered the sexual motivity of this transference by new signs,
but that the general nature of this unexpected phenomenon escaped him,
so that here, as though hit by “an untoward event,” he broke off the
investigation. I did not obtain from him any direct information of this,
but at different times he has given me sufficient connecting links to
justify me in making this combination. And then, as I stood more and
more decidedly for the significance of sexuality in the causation of the
neuroses, Breuer was the first to show me those reactions of unwilling
rejection, with which it was my lot to become so familiar later on, but
which I had then not yet recognized as my unavoidable destiny.
The fact that a grossly sexual, tender or inimical, transference occurs
in every treatment of a neurosis, although this was neither desired nor
induced by either party, has, for me, always seemed to be the most
unshakable proof that the forces of the neuroses originate in the sexual
life. This argument has surely not been seriously enough considered, for
if it were, there would be no question as to where the investigation
would tend. For my own conviction, it has remained decisive over and
above the special results of the work of the analysis.
Some comfort for the bad reception which my theory of the sexual
etiology of the neuroses met with, even in the closer circle of my
friends—a negative space was soon formed about my person—I found in the
thought that I had taken up the fight for a new and original idea. One
day, however, my memories grouped themselves in such a way that this
satisfaction was disturbed, but in return I obtained an excellent
insight into the origin of our activities and into the nature of our
knowledge. The idea for which I was held responsible had not at all
originated with me. It had come to me from three persons, whose opinions
could count upon my deepest respect; from Breuer himself, from Charcot,
and from Chrobak, the gynecologist of our university, probably the most
prominent of our Vienna physicians. All three men had imparted to me an
insight which, strictly speaking, they had not themselves possessed. Two
of them denied their communication to me when later I reminded them of
this: the third (Master Charcot) might also have done so, had it been
granted me to see him again. But these identical communications,
received without my grasping them, had lain dormant within me, until one
day they awoke as an apparently original discovery.
One day, while I was a young hospital doctor, I was accompanying Breuer
on a walk through the town when a man came up to him urgently desiring
to speak with him. I fell back and, when Breuer was free again, he told
me, in his kindly, teacher-like manner, that this was the husband of a
patient, who had brought him some news about her. The wife, he added,
behaved in so conspicuous a manner when in company, that she had been
turned over to him for treatment as a nervous case. He ended with the
remark—“those are always secrets of the alcove.” Astonished, I asked his
meaning and he explained the expression to me (“secrets of the conjugal
bed”), without realizing how preposterous the matter appeared to me.
A few years later, at one of Charcot’s evening receptions, I found
myself near the venerated teacher who was just relating to Brouardel a
very interesting history from the day’s practice. I did not hear the
beginning clearly but gradually the story obtained my attention. It was
the case of a young married couple from the far East. The wife was a
great sufferer and the husband was impotent, or exceedingly awkward. I
heard Charcot repeat: “Tâchez donc, je vous assure vous y arriverez.”
Brouardel, who spoke less distinctly, must have expressed his
astonishment that symptoms as those of the young wife should have
appeared as a result of such circumstances, for Charcot said suddenly
and with great vivacity: “Mais, dans des cas pareils c’est toujours la
chose génital, toujours—toujours—toujours.” And while saying that he
crossed his hands in his lap and jumped up and down several times, with
the vivacity peculiar to him. I know that for a moment I was almost
paralyzed with astonishment, and I said to myself: “Yes, but if he knows
this why does he never say so?” But the impression was soon forgotten;
brain-anatomy and the experimental production of hysterical paralysis
absorbed all my interests.
A year later when I had begun my medical activities in Vienna as a
private _dozent_ in nervous diseases I was as innocent and ignorant in
all that concerned the etiology of the neuroses as any promising
academician could be expected to be. One day I received a friendly call
from Chrobak, who asked me to take a patient to whom he could not give
sufficient time in his new capacity as lecturer at the university. I
reached the patient before he did and learned that she suffered from
senseless attacks of anxiety, which could only be alleviated by the most
exact information as to the whereabouts of her physician at any time in
the day. When Chrobak appeared, he took me aside and disclosed to me
that the patient’s anxiety was due to the fact that though she had been
married eighteen years, she was still a _virgo intacta_, that her
husband was utterly impotent. In such cases the physician can only cover
the domestic mishap with his reputation and must bear it if people shrug
their shoulders and say of him: “He is not a good doctor if in all these
years, he has not been able to cure her.” He added: “The only
prescription for such troubles is the one well known to us, but which we
cannot prescribe. It is:
Penis normalis
dosim
Repetatur!”
I had never heard of such a prescription and would like to have shaken
my head at my informant’s cynicism.
I certainly have not uncovered the illustrious origins of this vicious
idea because I would like to shove the responsibility for it on others.
I know well that it is one thing to express an idea once or several
times in the form of a rapid _aperçu_, and quite another to take it
seriously and literally to lead it through all opposing details and
conquer for it a place among accepted truths. It is the difference
between a light flirtation and a righteous marriage with all its duties
and difficulties. Epouser les idées de—(to marry so and so’s ideas,) is,
at least in French, a quite usual form of speech.
Other doctrines which were contributed to the cathartic method through
my efforts thus transforming it into psychoanalysis, are the following:
The theories of repression and resistance, the addition of the infantile
sexuality, and the usage and interpretation of dreams for the
understanding of the unconscious.
Concerning the theory of repression, I was certain that I worked
independently. I knew of no influence that directed me in any way to it,
and I long considered this idea to be original, till O. Rank showed us
the place in Schopenhauer’s “The World as Will and Idea,” where the
philosopher is struggling for an explanation for insanity.[3] What is
there said concerning the striving against the acceptance of a painful
piece of reality agrees so completely with the content of my theory of
repression that, once again, I must be indebted to my not being
well-read for the possibility of making a discovery. To be sure, others
have read this passage and overlooked it, without making this discovery
and perhaps the same would have happened to me, if, in former years, I
had taken more pleasure in reading philosophical authors. In later years
I denied myself the great pleasure of Nietzsche’s works, with the
conscious motive of not wishing to be hindered in the working out of my
psychoanalytic impressions by any preconceived ideas. Therefore, I had
to be prepared—and am so gladly—to renounce all claim to priority in
those many cases in which the laborious psychoanalytic investigation can
only confirm the insights intuitively won by the philosophers.
The theory of repression is the main pillar upon which rests the edifice
of psychoanalysis. It is really the most essential part of it, and is
itself nothing other than the theoretical expression of an experience
which can be repeated at pleasure whenever one analyzes a neurotic
patient without the aid of hypnosis. One is then confronted with a
resistance which opposes the analytic work by causing a failure of
memory in order to block it. This resistance had to be covered by the
use of hypnosis; hence the history of psychoanalysis proper only starts
technically with the rejection of hypnosis. The theoretical value of the
fact that this resistance is connected with an amnesia leads unavoidably
to that conception of the unconscious psychic activities which is
peculiar to psychoanalysis, and distinguishes it markedly from the
philosophical speculations about the unconscious. It may, therefore, be
said that the psychoanalytic theory endeavors to explain two
experiences, which result in a striking and unexpected manner during the
attempt to trace back the morbid symptoms of a neurotic to their source
in his life-history; viz., the facts of transference and of resistance.
Every investigation which recognizes these two facts and makes them the
starting points of its work may call itself psychoanalysis, even if it
lead to other results than my own. But whoever takes up other sides of
the problem and deviates from these two assumptions will hardly escape
the charge of interfering with the rights of ownership through attempted
imitation, if he insist upon calling himself a psychoanalyst.
I would very energetically oppose any attempt to count the principles of
repression and resistance as mere assumptions instead of results of
psychoanalysis. Such assumptions of a general psychological and
biological nature exist, and it would be quite to the point to deal with
them in another place. The principle of repression, however, is an
acquisition of the psychoanalytic work, won by legitimate means, as a
theoretical extract from very numerous experiences. Just such an
acquisition, but of much later days, is the theory of the infantile
sexuality, of which no count was taken during the first years of
tentative analytic investigation. At first it was only noticed that the
effect of actual impressions had to be traced back to the past. However,
“the seeker often found more than he bargained for.” He was tempted
always further back into this past and finally hoped to be permitted to
tarry in the period of puberty, the epoch of the traditional awakening
of the sexual impulses. His hopes were in vain. The tracks led still
further back into childhood and into its earliest years. In the process
of this work it became almost fatal for this young science. Under the
influence of the traumatic theory of hysteria, following Charcot, one
was easily inclined to regard as real and as of etiological importance
the accounts of patients who traced back their symptoms to passive
sexual occurrences in the first years of childhood, that is to say,
speaking plainly, to seductions. When this etiology broke down through
its own unlikelihood, and through the contradiction of well-established
circumstances, there followed a period of absolute helplessness. The
analysis had led by the correct path to such infantile sexual traumas,
and yet these were not true. Thus the basis of reality had been lost. At
that time I would gladly have let the whole thing slide, as did my
respected forerunner Breuer, when he made his unwished-for discovery.
Perhaps I persevered only because I had no longer any choice of
beginning something else. Finally I reflected that, after all, no one
has a right to despair if he has been disappointed only in his
expectations. He merely needs to review them. If hysterics refer their
symptoms to imaginary traumas, then this new fact signifies that they
create such scenes in their phantasies, and hence psychic reality
deserves to be given a place next to actual reality. This was soon
followed by the conviction that these phantasies serve to hide the
autoerotic activities of the early years of childhood, to idealize them
and place them on a higher level, and now the whole sexual life of the
child made its appearance behind these phantasies.
In this sexual activity of the first years of childhood, the concomitant
constitution could finally attain its rights. Disposition and experience
here became associated into an inseparable etiological unity, in that
the disposition raised certain impressions to inciting and fixed
traumas, which otherwise would have remained altogether banal and
ineffectual, whilst the experiences evoked factors from the disposition
which, without them, would have continued to remain dormant, and,
perhaps, undeveloped. The last word in the question of traumatic
etiology was later on said by Abraham, when he drew attention to the
fact that just the peculiar nature of the child’s sexual constitution
enables it to provoke sexual experiences of a peculiar kind, that is to
say, traumas.
My formulations concerning the sexuality of the child were founded at
first almost exclusively on the results of the analyses of adults, which
led back into the past. I was lacking in opportunity for direct
observation of the child. It was, therefore, an extraordinary triumph
when, years later, my discoveries were successfully confirmed for the
greater part by direct observation and analyses of children of very
early years, a triumph that appeared less and less on reflecting that
the discovery was of such a nature that one really ought to be ashamed
of having made it. The deeper one penetrated into the observation of the
child, the more self-evident this fact seemed, and the more strange,
too, became the circumstances that such pains had been taken to overlook
it.
To be sure, so certain a conviction of the existence and significance of
the infantile sexuality can be obtained only, if one follows the path of
analysis, if one goes back from the symptoms and peculiarities of
neurotics to their uttermost sources, the discovery of which explains
what is explainable in them, and permits of modifying what can be
changed. I understand that one can arrive at different conclusions if,
as was recently done by C. G. Jung, one first forms for one’s self a
theoretical conception of the nature of the sexual impulse and thereby
tries to understand the life of the child. Such a conception can only be
chosen arbitrarily or with regard to secondary considerations, and is in
danger of becoming inadequate to the sphere in which it was to be
utilized. Doubtless, the analytic way also leads to certain final
difficulties and obscurities in regard to sexuality and its relation to
the whole life of the individual; but these cannot be set aside by
speculations, and must wait till solutions will be found by means of
other observations or of observations in other spheres.
I shall briefly discuss the history of dream interpretation. This came
to me as the first-fruits of the technical innovation, after, following
a dim presentiment, I had decided to replace hypnosis with free
associations. It was not the understanding of dreams towards which my
curiosity was originally directed. I do not know of any influences which
had guided my interest to this or inspired me with any helpful
expectations. Before the cessation of my intercourse with Breuer I
hardly had time to tell him, in so many words, that I now knew how to
translate dreams. During the development of these discoveries the
symbolism of the language of dreams was about the last thing which
became known to me, since, for the understanding of symbols, the
associations of the dreamer offer but little help. As I have held fast
to the habit of first studying things themselves, before looking them up
in books, I was able to ascertain for myself the symbolism of dreams
before I was directed to it by the work of Sherner. Only later I came to
value fully this means of expression of dreams. This was partly due to
the influence of the works of Stekel, who was at first very meritorious
but who later became most perfunctory. The close connection between the
psychoanalytic interpretation of dreams and the once so highly esteemed
art of dream interpretation of the ancients only became clear to me many
years afterwards. The most characteristic and significant portion of my
dream theory, namely, the reduction of the dream distortion to an inner
conflict, to a sort of inner dishonesty, I found later in an author to
whom medicine but not philosophy is unknown. I refer to the engineer J.
Popper, who had published “Phantasies of a Realist” under the name of
Lynkeus.
The interpretation of dreams became for me a solace and support in those
difficult first years of analysis, when I had to master at the same time
the technique, the clinic and the therapy of the neuroses, when I stood
entirely alone, and in the confusion of problems and the accumulation of
difficulties I often feared to lose my orientation and my confidence. It
often took a long time before the proof of my assumption, that a
neurosis must become comprehensible through analysis, was seen by the
perplexed patient, but the dreams, which might be regarded as analogous
to the symptoms, almost regularly confirmed this assumption.
Only because of these successes was I in condition to persevere. I have,
therefore, acquired the habit of measuring the grasp of a psychological
worker by his attitude to the problem of dream interpretation, and I
have noticed, with satisfaction, that most of the opponents of
psychoanalysis avoided this field altogether, or if they ventured into
it, they behaved most awkwardly. The analysis of myself, the need of
which soon became apparent to me, I carried out by the aid of a series
of my own dreams which led me through all the happenings of my childhood
years. Even today I am of the opinion that in the case of a prolific
dreamer and a person not too abnormal, this sort of analysis may be
sufficient.
By unfurling this developmental history, I believe I have shown what
psychoanalysis is, better than I could have done by a systematic
presentation of the subject. The special nature of my findings I did not
then recognize. I sacrificed, unhesitatingly, my budding popularity as a
physician and an extensive practice among nervous patients, because I
searched directly for the sexual origin of their neuroses. In this way I
gained a number of experiences which definitely confirmed my conviction
of the practical significance of the sexual factor. Without any
apprehension, I appeared as speaker at the Vienna Neurological Society,
then under the presidency of Krafft-Ebing, expecting to be compensated,
by the interest and recognition of my colleagues, for my own voluntary
sacrifices. I treated my discoveries as indifferent contributions to
science and hoped that others would treat them in the same way. Only the
silence that followed my lectures, the space that formed about my
person, and the insinuations directed towards me caused me to realize,
gradually, that statements about the part played by sexuality in the
etiology of the neuroses cannot hope to be treated like other
communications. I realized that from then on I would belong to those
who, according to Hebbel’s expression, “have disturbed the world’s
sleep,” and that I could not count upon being treated objectively and
with toleration. But as my conviction of the average correctness of my
observations and the conclusions grew greater and greater, and as my
faith in my own judgment was not small, any more than was my moral
courage, there could be no doubt as to the issue of this situation. I
decided to believe that it fell to my lot to discover particularly
significant associations, and felt prepared to bear the fate which
sometimes accompanies such discoveries.
This fate I pictured to myself in the following manner. I would probably
succeed in sustaining myself through the therapeutic successes of the
new treatment, but science would take no notice of me in my lifetime.
Some decades later, another would surely stumble upon the same, now
untimely things, compel their recognition and thus bring me to honor as
a necessarily unfortunate forerunner. Meantime I arrayed myself as
comfortably as possible à la Robinson Crusoe upon my lonely island. When
I look back to those lonely years, from the perplexities and
vexatiousness of the present, it seems to me it was a beautiful and
heroic time. The “splendid isolation” did not lack its privileges and
charms. I did not need to read any literature nor to listen to badly
informed opponents. I was subject to no influences, and no pressure was
brought to bear on me. I learned to restrain speculative tendencies and,
following the unforgotten advice of my master, Charcot, I looked at the
same things again and often until they began of themselves to tell me
something. My publications, for which I found shelter despite some
difficulty, could safely remain far behind my state of knowledge. They
could be delayed as long as I pleased, as there was no doubtful
“priority” to be defended. “The Interpretation of Dreams,” for example,
was completed in all essentials in the beginning of 1896, but was
written down only in 1899. The treatment of “Dora” was finished at the
end of 1899. The history of her illness was completed in the next two
weeks, but was only published in 1905. Meantime my writings were not in
the reviewed professional literature of the day. If an exception was
made they were always treated with scornful or pitying condescension.
Sometimes a colleague would refer to me in one of his publications in
very short and unflattering terms, such as “unbalanced,” “extreme,” or
“very odd.” It happened once that an assistant at the clinic in Vienna
asked me for permission to attend one of my lecture courses. He listened
devoutly and said nothing, but after the last lecture he offered to
accompany me. During this walk he disclosed to me that, with the
knowledge of his chief, he had written a book against my teachings, but
he expressed much regret that he had only come to know these teachings
better through my lectures. Had he known these before, he would have
written very differently. Indeed, he had inquired at the clinic if he
had not better first read “The Interpretation of Dreams,” but had been
advised against doing so, as it was not worth the trouble. As he now
understood it, he compared my system of instruction with the Catholic
Church. In the interests of his soul’s salvation I will assume that this
remark contained a bit of sincere recognition. But he ended by saying
that it was too late to alter anything in his book as it was already
printed. This particular colleague did not consider it necessary later
on to tell the world something of the change in his opinions concerning
my psychoanalysis. On the contrary, as permanent reviewer of a medical
journal, he showed a preference to follow its development with his
hardly serious comments.
Whatever I possessed of personal sensitiveness was blunted in those
years, to my advantage. But I was saved from becoming embittered by a
circumstance that does not come to the assistance of all lonely
discoverers. Such a one usually frets himself to find out the cause of
the lack of sympathy or of the rejection he receives from his
contemporaries, and perceives them as a painful contradiction against
the certainty of his own conviction. That did not trouble me, for the
psychoanalytic fundamental principles enabled me to understand this
attitude of my environment as a necessary sequence. If it was true that
the associations discovered by me were kept from the knowledge of the
patient by inner affective resistances, then this resistance must
manifest itself also in normal persons as soon as the repressed material
is conveyed to them from the outside. It was not strange that these
latter knew how to give intellectual reasons for their affective
rejections of my ideas. This happened just as often with the patients,
and the arguments advanced—arguments are as common as blackberries, to
borrow from Falstaff’s speech—were the same and not exactly brilliant.
The only difference was that in the case of patients one had the means
of bringing pressure to bear, in order to help them recognize and
overcome their resistances, but in the case of those seemingly normal,
such help had to be omitted. To force these normal people to a cool and
scientifically objective examination of the subject was an unsolved
problem, the solution of which was best left to time. In the history of
science it has often been possible to verify that the very assertion
which, at first, called forth only opposition, received recognition a
little later without the necessity of bringing forward any new proofs.
That I have not developed any particular respect for the opinion of the
world or any desire for intellectual deference during those years, when
I alone represented psychoanalysis, will surprise no one.
II
Beginning with the year 1902 a number of young doctors crowded about me
with the expressed intention to learn psychoanalysis, to practice it and
to spread it. The impetus for this came from a colleague who had himself
experienced the beneficial effects of the analytic therapy. We met on
certain evenings at my residence, and discussed subjects according to
certain rules. The visitors endeavored to orient themselves in this
strange and new realm of investigation, and to interest others in the
matter. One day a young graduate of the technical school found admission
to our circle by means of a manuscript which showed extraordinary sense.
We induced him to go through college and enter the university, and then
devote himself to the non-medical application of psychoanalysis. Thus
the little society gained a zealous and reliable secretary, and I
acquired in Otto Rank a most faithful helper and collaborator.
Soon the little circle expanded, and in the course of the next few years
changed a good deal in its composition. On the whole, I could flatter
myself that in the wealth and variety of talent our circle was hardly
inferior to the staff of any clinical teacher. From the very beginning
it included those men who later were to play a considerable, if not
always a delectable, part in the history of the psychoanalytic movement.
But these developments could not have been guessed at that time. I was
satisfied, and I believe I did all I could, to convey to the others what
I knew and had experienced. There were only two inauspicious
circumstances which at least mentally estranged me from this circle. I
could not succeed in establishing among the members that friendly
relation which should obtain among men doing the same difficult work,
nor could I crush out the quarrels about the priority of discoveries,
for which there were ample opportunities in those conditions of working
together. The difficulties of teaching the practise of psychoanalysis,
which are particularly great, and are often to blame for the present
rejection of psychoanalysis, already made themselves felt in this
Viennese private psychoanalytic society. I myself did not dare to
present an as yet incomplete technique, and a theory still in the
making, with that authority which might have spared the others many a
blind alley and many a final tripping up. The self-dependence of mental
workers, their early independence of the teacher, is always gratifying
psychologically, but it can only result in a scientific gain when during
these labors certain, not too frequently occurring, personal relations
are also fulfilled. Psychoanalysis particularly should have required a
long and severe discipline and training of self-control. On account of
the courage displayed in devotion to so ridiculed and fruitless a
subject, I was inclined to tolerate among the members much to which
otherwise I would have objected. Besides, the circle included not only
physicians, but other cultured men who had recognized something
significant in psychoanalysis. There were authors, artists, and so
forth. The “Interpretation of Dreams,” the book on “Wit,” and other
writings, had already shown that the principles of psychoanalysis cannot
remain limited to the medical field, but are capable of application to
various other mental sciences.
In 1907 the situation suddenly altered and quite contrary to all
expectations; it became evident that psychoanalysis had unobtrusively
awakened some interest and gained some friends, that there were even
some scientific workers who were prepared to admit their allegiance. A
communication from Bleuler had already acquainted me with the fact that
my works were studied and applied in Burghölzli.[4] In January, 1907,
the first man attached to the Zürich Clinic, Dr. Eitingon, visited me at
Vienna. Other visitors soon followed, thus causing a lively exchange of
ideas. Finally, by invitation of C. G. Jung, then still an assistant
physician at Burghölzli, the first meeting took place at Salzburg, in
the spring of 1908, where the friends of psychoanalysis from Vienna,
Zürich, and other places met together. The result of this first
psychoanalytic congress, was the founding of a periodical, which began
to appear in 1909, under the name of “Jahrbuch für Psychoanalytische und
Psychopathologische Forschungen,” published by Bleuler and Freud, and
edited by Jung. An intimate comradeship in the work done at Vienna and
Zürich found its expression in this publication.
I have repeatedly and gratefully acknowledged the efforts of the Zürich
Psychiatric School in the spreading of psychoanalysis, especially those
of Bleuler and Jung, and I do not hesitate to do the same today, even
under such changed circumstances. It was certainly not the partisanship
of the Zürich School which at that time first directed the attention of
the scientific world to the subject of psychoanalysis. This latency
period had just come to an end, and psychoanalysis everywhere became the
object of constantly increasing interest. But whilst in all the other
places this manifestation of interest resulted first in nothing but a
violent and emphatic repudiation of the subject, in Zürich, on the
contrary, the main feeling of the situation was that of agreement. In no
other place was so compact a little gathering of adherents to be found,
nowhere also was it possible to place a public clinic at the service of
psychoanalytic investigation, or to find a clinical teacher who regarded
the principles of psychoanalysis as an integral part of the teaching of
psychiatry. The Zürich doctors became, as it were, the nucleus of the
little band which was fighting for the recognition of psychoanalysis.
Only in Zürich was there a possible opportunity to learn the new art and
to apply it in practice. Most of my present-day followers and co-workers
came to me via Zürich, even those who might have found, geographically
speaking, a shorter road to Vienna than to Switzerland. Vienna lies in
an eccentric position from western Europe, which houses the great
centers of our culture. For many years it has been much affected by
weighty prejudices. The representatives of the most prominent nations
stream into Switzerland, which is so mentally active, and an infective
lesion in this place was sure to become very important for the
dissemination of the “psychic epidemic,” as Hoche of Freiburg called it.
According to the testimony of a colleague who was an eyewitness of the
developments at Burghölzli, it may be asserted that psychoanalysis
awakened an interest there very early. Already in Jung’s work on occult
phenomena, published in 1902, there was an allusion to dream
interpretation. Ever since 1903 or 1904, according to my informer,
psychoanalysis came into prominence. After the establishment of personal
relations between Vienna and Zürich, a society was also founded in
Burghölzli in 1907 which discussed the problems of psychoanalysis at
regular meetings. In the bond that united the Vienna and Zürich schools,
the Swiss were by no means the merely recipient part. They had
themselves already performed respectable scientific work, the results of
which were of much use to psychoanalysis. The association-experiment,
started by the Wundt School, had been interpreted by them in the
psychoanalytic sense and had proved itself of unexpected usefulness.
Thus it had become possible to get rapid experimental confirmation of
psychoanalytic facts, and to demonstrate experimentally to beginners
certain relationships which the analyst could only have talked about
otherwise. The first bridge leading from experimental psychology to
psychoanalysis had thus been constructed.
In psychoanalytic treatment, however, the association-experiment enables
one to make only a preliminary, qualitative analysis of the case, it
offers no essential contribution to the technique, and is really not
indispensable in the work of analysis. Of more importance, however, was
another discovery of the Zürich School, or rather, of its two leaders,
Bleuler and Jung. The former pointed out that a great many purely
psychiatric cases can be explained by the same psychoanalytic process as
those used in dreams and in the neuroses (Freudsche Mechanismen). Jung
employed with success the analytic method of interpretation in the
strangest and most obscure phenomena of dementia præcox, the origin of
which appeared quite clear when correlated with the life and interests
of the patient. From that time on it became impossible for the
psychiatrists to ignore psychoanalysis. Bleuler’s great work on
Schizophrenie (1911), in which the psychoanalytic points of view are
placed on an equal footing with the clinical-systematic ones, brought
this success to completion.
I must not omit to point out a divergence which was then already
distinctly noticeable in the working tendencies of the two schools.
Already in 1897 I had published the analysis of a case of schizophrenia,
which showed, however, paranoid trends, so that its solution could not
have anticipated the impression of Jung’s analyses. But to me the
important element had not been the interpretation of the symptoms, but
rather the psychic mechanisms of the disease, and above all, the
agreement of this mechanism with the one already known in hysteria. No
light had been thrown at that time on the difference between these two
maladies. I was then already working toward a theory of the libido in
the neuroses which was to explain all neurotic as well as psychotic
appearances on the basis of abnormal drifts of the libido. The Swiss
investigators lacked this point of view. So far as I know Bleuler, even
today, adheres to an organic causation for the forms of Dementia Præcox,
and Jung, whose book on this malady appeared in 1907, upheld the toxic
theory of the same at the Congress at Salzburg in 1908, which though not
excluding it, goes far beyond the libido theory. On this same point he
came to grief later (1912), in that he now used too much of the stuff
which previously he refused to employ at all.
A third contribution from the Swiss School, which is to be ascribed
probably entirely to Jung, I do not value as highly as do others who are
not in as close contact with it. I speak of the theory of the
_complexes_, which grew out of the “Diagnostische Assoziationsstudien”
(1906–1910). It itself has neither resulted in a psychological theory
nor has it added an unconstrained insertion to the context of the
psychoanalytic principles. On the other hand, the word “complex” has
gained for itself the right of citizenship in psychoanalysis, as being a
convenient and often an indispensable term for descriptive summaries of
psychologic facts. None other among the names and designations, newly
coined as a result of psychoanalytic needs, has attained such widespread
popularity; but no other term has been so misapplied to the detriment of
clear thinking. In psychoanalytic diction one often spoke of the “return
of the complex” when “the return of the repression” was intended to be
conveyed, or one became accustomed to say “I have a complex against
him,” when more correctly he should have said “a resistance.”
In the years after 1907, which followed the union of the schools of
Vienna and Zürich, psychoanalysis received that extraordinary impetus in
which it still finds itself today. This is positively attested by the
spread of psychoanalytic literature and the increase in the number of
doctors who desire to practice or learn it, also by the mass of attacks
upon it by congresses and learned societies. It has wandered into the
most distant countries, it everywhere shocked psychiatrists, and has
gained the attention of the cultured laity and workers in other
scientific fields. Havelock Ellis, who has followed its development with
sympathy without ever calling himself its adherent, wrote, in 1911, in a
paper for the Australasian Medical Congress: “Freud’s psychoanalysis is
now championed and carried out not only in Austria and in Switzerland,
but in the United States, in England, India, Canada, and, I doubt not,
in Australasia.”[5] A doctor from Chile (probably a German) appeared at
the International Congress in Buenos Ayres, in 1910, and spoke on behalf
of the existence of infantile sexuality and praised the results of
psychoanalytic therapy in obsessions.[6] An English neurologist in
Central India informed me through a distinguished colleague who came to
Europe, that the cases of Mohammedan Indians on whom he had practiced
analysis showed no other etiology of their neuroses than our European
patients.
The introduction of psychoanalysis into North America took place under
particularly glorious auspices. In the autumn of 1909, Jung and myself
were invited by President Stanley Hall, of Clark University, to take
part in the celebration of the twentieth anniversary of the opening of
Clark University, by giving some lectures in German. We found, to our
great astonishment, that the unprejudiced men of that small but
respected pedagogic-philosophical university knew all the psychoanalytic
writings and had honored them in their lectures to their students. Thus
even in prudish America one could, at least in academic circles, discuss
freely and treat scientifically all those things that are regarded as
offensive in life. The five lectures that I improvised at Worcester then
appeared in English in the American Journal of Psychology; later on they
were printed in German under the title, “Über Psychoanalyse.” Jung
lectured on diagnostic association studies and on “conflicts in the
psychic life of the child.” We were rewarded for it with the honorary
degree of LL.D. During this week of celebration at Worcester,
psychoanalysis was represented by five persons. Besides Jung and myself
there were Ferenczi, who had joined me as travelling-companion, Ernest
Jones, then of Toronto University (Canada), now in London, and A. A.
Brill, who was already practising psychoanalysis in New York.
The most noteworthy personal relationship which resulted at Worcester,
was that established with James J. Putnam, teacher of neuropathology at
Harvard University. For years he had expressed a disparaging opinion of
psychoanalysis, but now he befriended it and recommended it to his
countrymen and his colleagues in numerous lectures, rich in content and
fine of form. The respect which he enjoys in America, owing to his
character, his high moral standard and his keen love for truth, was very
helpful to the cause of psychoanalysis and protected it against the
denunciations to which it might otherwise have early succumbed. Yielding
too much to the great ethical and philosophic bent of his nature Putnam
later required of psychoanalysis what, to me, seems an impossible
demand. He wished that it should be pressed into the service of a
certain moral philosophical conception of the universe; but Putnam has
remained the chief prop of the psychoanalytic movement in his native
land.
For the diffusion of this movement Brill and Jones deserve the greatest
credit. With a self-denying industry they constantly brought under the
notice of their countrymen, through their works, the easily observable
fundamental principles of psychoanalysis of everyday life, of the dream
and of the neuroses. Brill has strengthened these influences by his
medical activities and his translations of my writings: Jones, by
illuminating lectures and clever discussions at the American
Congresses.[7] The lack of a rooted scientific tradition and the lesser
rigidity of official authority have been of decided advantage to the
impetus given to psychoanalysis in America by Stanley Hall. It was
characteristic there from the beginning that professors, heads of insane
asylums, as well as independent practitioners, all showed themselves
equally interested in psychoanalysis. But just for this very reason it
is clear that the fight for psychoanalysis must be fought to a decisive
end, where the greater resistance has been met with, namely, in the
countries of the old cultural centers.
Of the European countries, France has so far shown herself the least
receptive towards psychoanalysis, although creditable writings by the
Zürich physician, A. Maeder, have opened up for the French reader an
easy path to its principles. The first indications of interest came from
provincial France. Moricheau-Beauchant (Poitiers) was the first
Frenchman who openly accepted psychoanalysis. Régis and Hesnard
(Bordeaux) have lately tried (1913) to overcome the prejudices of their
countrymen by an exhaustive and senseful presentation of the subject,
which takes exception only to symbolism. In Paris itself there still
appears to reign the conviction (given such oratorical expression at
London Congress 1913 by Janet) that every thing good in psychoanalysis
only repeats, with slight modifications, the views of Janet—everything
else in psychoanalysis being bad. Janet himself had to stand at this
Congress a number of corrections from Ernest Jones, who was able to
reproach him for his lack of knowledge of the subject. We cannot,
however, forget the credit due Janet for his works on the psychology of
the neuroses, although we must repudiate his claims.
Italy, after many promising starts, ceased to take further interest.
Owing to personal connections psychoanalysis gained an early hearing in
Holland: Van Emden, Van Ophuijsen, Van Renterghem (“Freud en zijn
school”) and the two doctors Stärke are busy in Holland particularly on
the theoretical side.[8] The interest in psychoanalysis in scientific
circles in England developed very slowly, but the indications are that
just here, favored by the English liking for the practical and their
passionate championship of justice, a flourishing future awaits
psychoanalysis.
In Sweden, P. Bjerre, successor to Wetterstand, has, at least
temporarily, given up hypnotic suggestion in favor of analytic
treatment. A. Vogt (Christiania) honored psychoanalysis already in 1907
in his “Psykiatriens gruntraek,” so that the first text-book on
psychiatry that took any notice of psychoanalysis was written in
Norwegian. In Russia, psychoanalysis is very generally known and
widespread; almost all my writings as well as those of other advocates
of analysis are translated into Russian. But a deeper grasp of the
analytic teaching has not yet shown itself in Russia. The contributions
written by Russian physicians and psychiatrists are not at present
noteworthy. Only Odessa possesses a trained psychoanalyst in the person
of M. Wulff. The introduction of psychoanalysis into the science and
literature of Poland is due chiefly to the endeavors of L. Jekels.
Hungary, geographically so near to Austria, scientifically so foreign to
it, has given to psychoanalysis only one co-worker, S. Ferenczi, but
such an one as is worth a whole society.
The standing of psychoanalysis in Germany can be described in no other
way than to state that it is the cynosure of all scientific discussion,
and evokes from physicians as well as from the laity, opinions of
decided rejection, which, so far, have not come to an end, but which, on
the contrary, are constantly renewed and strengthened. No official seat
of learning has, so far, admitted psychoanalysis. Successful
practitioners who apply it are few. Only a few institutions, such as
that of Binswanger’s in Kreuzlingen (on Swiss soil) and Marcinowski’s in
Holstein, have opened their doors to psychoanalysis. In the critical
city of Berlin, we have K. Abraham, one of the most prominent
representatives of psychoanalysis. He was formerly an assistant of
Bleuler. One might wonder that this state of things has thus continued
for a number of years without any change, if it was not known that the
above account merely describes the superficial appearances. One must not
overestimate the significance of the rejection of psychoanalysis by the
official representatives of science, the heads of institutions, as well
as their young following. It is easy to understand why the opponents
loudly raise their voices whilst the followers, being intimidated, keep
silent. Many of the latter, whose first contributions to analysis raised
high expectations, later withdrew from the movement under the pressure
of circumstances. But the movement itself strides ahead quietly. It is
always gaining new supporters among psychiatrists and the laity. It
constantly increases the number of readers of psychoanalytic literature
and thus forces the opponents to a more violent attempt at defense. In
the course of these years I have read, perhaps a dozen times, in the
reports of the transactions of certain congresses and of meetings of
scientific societies, or in reviews of certain publications, that
psychoanalysis was now dead, that it was finally overcome and settled.
The answer to all this would have to read like the telegram from Mark
Twain to the newspaper that falsely announced his death: “The report of
my death is grossly exaggerated.” After each of these death-notices,
psychoanalysis has gained new followers and co-workers and has created
for itself new organs. Surely to be reported dead is an advance over
being treated with dead silence!
Hand in hand with its territorial expansion just described
psychoanalysis became enlarged with regard to its contents through its
encroaching upon fields of knowledge outside of the study of the
neuroses and psychiatry. I will not treat in detail the development of
this part of our branch of science since this was excellently done by
Rank and Sachs (in Löwenfeld’s “Grenzfragen”)[9] which presents
exhaustively just these achievements in the work of analysis. Besides,
here everything is in inchoate form, hardly worked out, mostly only
preliminary and sometimes only in the stage of an intention. Every
honest thinker will find herein no grounds for reproach. There is a
tremendous amount of problems for a small number of workers whose chief
activity lies elsewhere, who are obliged to attack the special problems
of the new science with only amateurish preparation. These workers
hailing from the psychoanalytic field make no secret of their
dilettantism, they only desire to be guides and temporary occupants of
the places of those specialists to whom they recommend the analytic
technique and principles until the latter are ready to take up this work
themselves. That the results aimed at are, even now, not at all
insignificant, is due partly to the fruitfulness of the psychoanalytic
method, and partly to the circumstance that already there are a few
investigators, who, without being physicians, have made the application
of psychoanalysis to the mental sciences their lifework.
Most of these psychoanalytic applications can be traced, as is easily
understood, to the impetus given by my early analytic works. The
analytic examinations of nervous patients and neurotic manifestations of
normal persons drove me to the assumption of psychological relationships
which, most certainly, could not be limited only to that field. Thus
analysis presented us not only with the explanation of pathological
occurrences, but also showed us their connection with normal psychic
life and uncovered undreamed-of relations between psychiatry and a
variety of other sciences dealing with activities of mind. Thus certain
typical dreams furnished the understanding of many myths and fairy
tales. Riklin and Abraham followed this hint and began those
investigations about myths which have found their completion in the
works of Rank on Mythology, works which do full justice to all the
requirements of the specialist. The prosecution of dream-symbology led
to the very heart of the problems of mythology, folk-lore (Jones,
Storfer) and of religious abstraction. At one of the psychoanalytic
congresses the audience was deeply impressed when a student of Jung
pointed out the similarity of the phantasy-formation of schizophrenics
with the cosmogonies of primitive times and peoples. In a later
elaboration, no longer free from objection yet very interesting, Jung
made use of mythological material in an attempt to harmonize the
neurotic with religious and mythological phantasies.
Another path led from the investigation of dreams to the analysis of
poetic creations, and finally to the analysis of authors and artists
themselves. Very soon it was discovered that the dreams invented by
writers stand in the same relation to analysis as do genuine dreams.[10]
The conception of the unconscious psychic activity enabled us to get the
first glimpse into the nature of the poetic creativeness. The valuation
of the emotional feelings which we were forced to recognize while
studying the neuroses enabled us to recognize the sources of artistic
productions and brought up the problem as to how the artist reacts to
those stimuli and with what means he disguises his reactions.[11] Most
psychoanalysts with wide interests have furnished contributions from
their works for the treatment of these problems, which are among the
most attractive in the application of psychoanalysis. Naturally here
also opposition was not lacking from those who are not acquainted with
analysis, and expressed itself with the same lack of understanding and
passionate rejection as on the native soil of psychoanalysis. For it was
to be expected as a matter of course, that everywhere psychoanalysis
penetrates, it would have to go through the same struggle with the
natives. However, these attempted invasions have not yet stirred up
interest in all fields which will, in the future, be open to them. Among
the strictly scientific applications of analysis to literature the deep
work of Rank on the theme of incest easily ranks first. Its content is
certain to evoke the greatest unpopularity. Philological and historical
works on the basis of psychoanalysis are few, at present. I myself dared
to venture to make the first attempt into the problems of the psychology
of religion in 1910, when I compared religious ceremonials with neurotic
ceremonials. In his work on the “piety of the Count of Zinzendorf,” as
well as in other contributions, the Rev. Dr. Pfister, of Zürich, has
succeeded in tracing back religious zealotism to perverse eroticism. In
the recent works of the Zürich School one is more likely to find that
religion becomes injected into the analysis rather than rationally
explained by it.
In my four essays on “Totem and Taboo”[12] I made the attempt to discuss
the problems of race psychology by means of analysis. This should lead
us directly to the origins of the most important institutions of our
civilization, such as state regulations, morality, religion, as well as
to the origins of the interdiction of incest and of conscience. To what
extent the relations thus obtained will be proof to criticism cannot be
determined today.
My book on Wit[13] furnished the first examples of the application of
analytic thinking to esthetic themes. Everything else is still waiting
for workers, who can expect a rich harvest in this very field. We are
lacking here in workers from these respective specialties and in order
to attract such, Hanns Sachs founded in 1912, the journal Imago, edited
by himself and Rank. Hitschmann and v. Winterstein made a beginning with
the psychoanalytic elucidation of philosophical systems and
personalities. The continuation and deeper treatment of the same is much
to be desired.
The revolutionary findings of psychoanalysis concerning the psychic life
of the child, the part played therein by sexual impulses (v.
Hug-Helmuth) and the fate of such participation of sexuality which
becomes useless for the purpose of propagation, naturally drew attention
to pedagogics, and instigated the effort to push the analytical
viewpoint into the foreground of this sphere. Recognition is due to the
Rev. Pfister for having begun this application of analysis with honest
enthusiasm, and for having brought it to the notice of ministers and
educators.[14] He succeeded in winning over a number of Swiss pedagogues
as sympathizers in this work. It is said that some preferred to remain
circumspectly in the background. A portion of the Vienna analysts seem
to have landed in their retreat from psychoanalysis on a sort of medical
pedagogy. (Adler and Furtmüller, “Heilen and Bilden,” 1913.)
I have attempted in these incomplete suggestions to indicate the, as
yet, hardly visible wealth of associations which have sprung up between
medical psychoanalysis and other fields of science. There is material
for the work of a whole generation of investigators and I doubt not that
this work will be done when once the resistance to psychoanalysis as
such has been overcome.[15]
To write the history of the resistances, I consider, at present, both
fruitless and inopportune. It would not be very glorious for the
scientific men of our day. But I will add at once that it has never
occurred to me to rail against the opponents of psychoanalysis merely
because they were opponents, not counting a few unworthy individuals,
fortune hunters and plunderers such as in time of war are always found
on both sides. For I knew how to account for the behavior of these
opponents and had besides discovered that psychoanalysis brings to light
the worst in every man. But I decided not to answer my opponents and, so
far as I had influence, to keep others from polemics. The value of
public or literary discussions seemed to me very doubtful under the
particular conditions in which the fight over psychoanalysis took place.
The value of majorities at congresses or society meetings was certainly
doubtful, and my confidence in the honesty and distinction of my
opponents was always slight. Observation shows that only very few
persons are capable of remaining polite, not to speak of objective, in
any scientific dispute, and the impression gained from a scientific
quarrel was always a horror to me. Perhaps this attitude of mine has
been misunderstood, perhaps I have been considered as good-natured or so
intimidated that it was supposed no further consideration need be shown
me.
This is a mistake. I can revile and rave as well as any other, but I am
not able to render into literary form the expressions of the underlying
affects and therefore I prefer to abstain entirely.
Perhaps in many respects it might have been better had I permitted free
vent to my own passions and to those about me. We have all heard the
interesting attempt at an explanation of the origin of psychoanalysis
from its Viennese milieu. Janet did not scorn to make use of it as late
as 1913, although, no doubt, he is proud of being a Parisian. This
_aperçu_ says that psychoanalysis, especially the assertion that the
neuroses can be traced back to disturbances in the sexual life, could
only have originated in a city like Vienna, in an atmosphere of
sensuality and immorality not to be found in other cities, and that it
thus represents only a reflection, the theoretical projection as it
were, of these particular Viennese conditions. Well, I certainly am no
local patriot, but this theory has always seemed to be especially
nonsensical, so nonsensical that sometimes I was inclined to assume that
the reproaching of the Vienna spirit was only a euphemistic substitution
for another one which one did not care to bring up publicly. If the
assumptions had been of the opposite kind, we might be inclined to
listen. But even if we assume that there might be a city whose
inhabitants have imposed upon themselves special sexual restrictions and
at the same time show a peculiar tendency to severe neurotic maladies,
then such a town might well furnish the soil on which some observer
might get the idea of connecting these two facts and of deducting the
one from the other. But neither assumption fits Vienna. The Viennese are
neither more abstemious nor yet more nervous than dwellers in any other
metropolis. Sex matters are a little freer, prudishness is less than in
the cities of western and northern Europe that are so proud of their
chastity. Our supposed observer would, more likely, be led astray by the
particular conditions prevailing in Vienna than be enlightened as to the
cause of the neuroses.
But Vienna has done everything possible to deny her share in the origin
of psychoanalysis. Nowhere else is the inimical indifference of the
learned and cultured circles so clearly evident to the psychoanalyst.
Perhaps I am somewhat to blame for this by my policy of avoiding
widespread publicity. If I had caused psychoanalysis to occupy the
medical societies of Vienna with noisy sessions, with an unloading of
all passions, wherein all reproaches and invectives carried on the
tongue or in the mind would have been expressed, then perhaps the ban
against psychoanalysis might, by now, have been removed and its standing
no longer might have been that of a stranger in its native city. As it
is, the poet may be right when he makes Wallenstein say:
“Yet this the Viennese will not forgive me,
That I did them out of a spectacle.”
The task to which I am unequal, namely, that of reproaching the
opponents “suaviter in modo” for their injustice and arbitrariness, was
taken up by Bleuler in 1911 and carried out in most honorable fashion in
his work, “Freud’s Psychoanalysis: a Defense and a Criticism.” It would
be so entirely natural for me to praise this work, critical in two
directions, that I hasten to tell what there is in it I object to. This
work appears to me to be still very partisan, too lenient to the
mistakes of our opponents, and altogether too severe to the shortcomings
of our followers. This characterization of it may explain why the
opinion of a psychiatrist of such high standing, of such indubitable
ability and independence, has not had greater influence on his
colleagues. The author of “Affectivity” (1906) must not be surprised if
the influence of a work is not determined by the value of its argument
but by the tone of its affect. Another part of this influence—the one on
the followers of psychoanalysis—Bleuler himself destroyed later on by
bringing into prominence in 1913, in his “Criticism of the Freudian
School,” the obverse side of his attitude to psychoanalysis. Therein he
takes away so much from the structure of the psychoanalytic principles
that our opponents may well be satisfied with the assistance of this
defender. It was not new arguments or better observations that served
Bleuler as a guidance for these verdicts, but only the reference to his
own knowledge, the inadequacy of which the author no longer admits as in
his earlier writings. Here an almost irreparable loss seemed to threaten
psychoanalysis. However, in his last utterance (“Die Kritiken der
Schizophrenie,” 1914) on the occasion of the attacks made upon him owing
to his introduction of psychoanalysis into his book on “Schizophrenie,”
Bleuler rises to what he himself terms a “haughty presumption:” “But now
I will assume a haughty presumption, I consider that the many
psychologies to date have contributed mighty little to the explanation
of the connection between psychogenetic symptoms and diseases, but that
the deeper psychology (tiefen psychologie) furnishes us a part of the
psychology still to be created, which the physician needs in order to
understand his patients and to heal them rationally; and I even believe
that in my ‘Schizophrenie’ I have taken a very small step towards this.”
The first two assertions are surely correct, the latter may be an error.
Since by the “deeper psychology” psychoanalysis alone is to be
understood, we may, for the present, remain satisfied with this
admission.
III
“Cut it short!
On doomsday ’twon’t be worth a farthing!”
_Goethe._
Two years after the first congress the second private congress of
psychoanalysts took place at Nuremberg, March, 1910. During the
interval, whilst I was still under the impression of the favorable
reception in America, the growing hostility in Germany and the
unexpected support through the acquisition of the Zürich School, I had
conceived a project which I was able to carry out, at this second
congress, with the help of my friend S. Ferenczi. I had in mind to
organize the psychoanalytic movement, to transfer its center to Zürich,
and place it under a head who would take care of its future. As this
found much opposition among the adherents of psychoanalysis, I will
explain my motives more fully. Thus I hope to justify myself, even if it
turns out that my action was not a very wise one.
I judged that the association with Vienna was no recommendation, but
rather an obstacle for the new movement. A place like Zürich, in the
heart of Europe, where an academic teacher had opened his institution to
psychoanalysis, seemed to me much more promising. Moreover, I assumed
that my own person was a second obstacle. The estimate put upon my
personality was utterly confused by the favor or dislike from different
factions. I was either compared to Darwin and Kepler or reviled as a
paralytic. I, therefore, desired to push into the background not only
the city whence psychoanalysis emanated, but also my own personality.
Furthermore, I was no longer young, I saw a long road before me and I
felt oppressed by the idea that it had fallen to my lot to become a
leader in my advanced age. Yet I felt that there must be a leader. I
knew only too well what mistakes lay in wait for him who would undertake
the practice of psychoanalysis, and hoped that many of these might be
avoided if we had an authority who was prepared to guide and admonish.
Such authority naturally devolved upon me in view of the indisputable
advantage of fifteen years’ experience. It was now my desire to transfer
this authority to a younger man who would, quite naturally, take my
place on my death. I felt that this person could be only C. G. Jung, for
Bleuler was of my own age. In favor of Jung was his conspicuous talents,
the contributions he had already made to analysis, his independent
position, and the impression of energy which his personality always
made. He also seemed prepared to enter into friendly relations with me,
and to give up, for my sake, certain race-prejudices which he had so far
permitted himself to indulge. I had no notion then that in spite of the
advantages enumerated, this was a very unfortunate choice; that it
concerned a person who, incapable of tolerating the authority of
another, was still less fitted to be himself an authority, one whose
energy was devoted to the unscrupulous pursuit of his own interests.
The formation of an official organization I considered necessary because
I feared the abuses to which psychoanalysis would be subjected, once it
should achieve popularity. I felt that there should be a place that
could give the dictum: “With all this nonsense, analysis has nothing to
do; this is not psychoanalysis.” It was decided that at the meeting of
the local groups which together formed the international organization,
instruction should be given how psychoanalysis should be practised, that
physicians should be trained there and that the local society should, in
a way, stand sponsor for them. It also appeared to me desirable that the
adherents of psychoanalysis should meet for friendly intercourse and
mutual support, inasmuch as official science had pronounced its great
ban and boycott against physicians and institutions practising
psychoanalysis.
This and nothing else I wished to attain by the founding of the
“International Psychoanalytic Association.” Perhaps it was more than
could possibly be attained. Just as my opponents learned that it was not
possible to stem the new movement, so I had to learn, by experience,
that it would not permit itself to be led along the particular path
which I had laid out for it. The motion made by Ferenczi at Nuremberg
was seconded. Jung was elected president, and Riklin was chosen as
secretary. It was also decided to publish a corresponding journal
through which the central association was “to foster and further the
science of psychoanalysis as founded by Freud both as pure psychology,
as well as in its application to medicine and the mental sciences, and
to promote assistance among the members in all their efforts to acquire
and to spread psychoanalytic knowledge.” The members of the Vienna group
alone firmly opposed the project with passionate excitement. Adler
expressed his fear that “a censorship and limitation of scientific
freedom” was intended. The Viennese finally gave in, after having gained
their point that Zürich should not be raised to the center of the
association, but that the center should be the home city of the
president, who was to be elected for two years.
At this congress three local groups were constituted: one in Berlin
under the chairmanship of Abraham, one in Zürich, whose chairman became
the president of the central association, and one in Vienna, the
chairmanship of which I relinquished to Adler. A fourth group, in
Budapest, could not be formed until later. On account of illness Bleuler
had been absent from the congress. Later he evinced considerable
hesitation about entering the association and although he let himself be
persuaded to do so by my personal representations, he resigned a short
time afterwards owing to disagreements at Zürich. This severed the
connection between the Zürich group and the Burghölzli institution.
Another result of the Nuremberg Congress was the founding of the
Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse, which caused a reconciliation between
Adler and Stekel. It had originally been intended as an opposing
tendency and was to win back for Vienna the hegemony threatened by the
election of Jung. But when the two founders of the journal, under
pressure of the difficulty of finding a publisher, assured me of their
friendly intentions and as guarantee of their attitude gave me the right
to veto, I accepted the editorship and worked vigorously for this new
organ, the first number of which appeared in September, 1910.
I will not continue the history of the Psychoanalytic Congress. The
third one took place at Weimar, September, 1911, and even surpassed the
previous ones in spirit and scientific interest. J. J. Putnam, who was
present at this meeting, later expressed in America his satisfaction and
his respect for the “mental attitude” of those present and quoted words
which I was supposed to have used in reference to the latter: “They have
learned to endure a bit of truth.” As a matter of fact any one who has
attended scientific congresses must have received a lasting impression
in favor of the Psychoanalytic Association. I myself had presided over
two former congresses. I thought it best to give every lecturer ample
time for his paper and left the discussions of these lectures to take
place later as a sort of private exchange of ideas. Jung, who presided
over the Weimar meeting, reëstablished the discussions after each
lecture, which had not, however, proved disturbing at that time.
Two years later, in September, 1913, quite another picture was presented
by the congress at Münich which is still vividly recalled by those who
were present. It was presided over by Jung in an unamiable and incorrect
fashion: the lecturers were limited as to time, and the discussion
dwarfed the lectures. Through a malicious mood of chance the evil genius
of Hoche had taken up his residence in the same house in which the
analysts held their meetings. Hoche could easily have convinced himself
that his characterization of these psychoanalysts, as a sect, blindly
and meekly following their leader, was true _ad absurdum_. The fatiguing
and unedifying proceedings ended in the reëlection of Jung as president
of the International Psychoanalytic Association, which fact Jung
accepted, although two fifths of those present refused him their
support. We took leave from one another without feeling the need to meet
again!
About the time of this third Congress the condition of the International
Psychoanalytic Association was as follows: The local groups at Vienna,
Berlin, and Zürich had constituted themselves already at the congress at
Nuremberg in 1910. In May, 1911, a group, under the chairmanship of Dr.
L. Seif, was added at Münich. In the same year the first American local
group was formed under the chairmanship of A. A. Brill under the name of
“The New York Psychoanalytic Society.” At the Weimar Congress, the
founding of a second American group was authorized. This came into
existence during the next year as “The American Psychoanalytic
Association.” It included members from Canada and all America; Putnam
was elected president, and Ernest Jones was made secretary. Just before
the congress at Münich in 1913, a local group was founded at Budapest
under the leadership of S. Ferenczi. Soon afterwards Jones, who settled
in London, founded the first English group. The number of members of the
eight groups then in existence could not, of course, furnish any
standard for the computation of the non-organized students and adherents
of psychoanalysis.
The development of the periodical literature of psychoanalysis is also
worthy of a brief mention. The first periodical publications serving the
interests of analysis were the Schriften zur angewandten Seelenkunden
which have appeared irregularly since 1907 and have reached the
fifteenth volume.[16] They published writings by Freud, Riklin, Jung,
Abraham, Rank, Sadger, Pfister, M. Graf, Jones, Storfer and
Hug-Hellmuth. The founding of the Imago, to be mentioned later, has
somewhat lowered the value of this form of publication. After the
meeting at Salzburg, 1908, the Jahrbuch für psychoanalytische und
psychopathologische Forschungen was founded, which appeared under Jung’s
editorship for five years, and it has now reappeared under new
editorship and under the slightly changed title of Jahrbuch der
Psychoanalyse. It no longer wishes to be as in former years, merely an
archive for collecting works of psychoanalytic merit, but it wishes to
justify its editorial task by taking due notice of all occurrences and
all endeavors in the field of psychoanalysis. As mentioned before Das
Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse started by Adler and Stekel after the
founding of the “International Association” (Nuremberg, 1910) went
through in a short time a very varied career. Already in the tenth issue
of the first volume there was an announcement that in view of scientific
difference of opinion with the editors, Dr. Adler had decided
voluntarily to withdraw his collaboration. This placed the entire
editorship in the hands of Dr. Stekel (summer of 1911). At the Weimar
congress the Zentralblatt was raised to the official organ of the
“International Association” and by raising the annual dues it was made
accessible to all members. Beginning with the third number of the second
year (winter 1912) Stekel alone became responsible for the contents of
the journal. His behavior, which is difficult to explain in public,
forced me to sever all my connections with this journal and to give
psychoanalysis in all haste a new organ, the International Journal for
Medical Psychoanalysis (Internationale Zeitschrift für Ärztliche
Psychoanalyse). With the help of almost all my collaborators and the new
publisher, H. Heller, the first number of this new journal was able to
appear in January, 1913, to take the place of the Zentralblatt as the
official organ of the “International Psychoanalytic Association.”
Meanwhile Dr. Hanns Sachs and Dr. Otto Rank founded early in 1912 a new
journal, Imago (published by Heller), whose only aim is the application
of psychoanalysis to mental sciences. Imago has now reached the middle
of its third year, and enjoys the increasing interest of readers who are
not medically interested in psychoanalysis.
Apart from these four periodical publications (Schriften z. Angew.
Seelenkunde, Jahrbuch, Intern. Zeitschrift, and Imago) other German and
foreign journals have contributed works that can claim a place in
psychoanalytic literature. The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, published
by Morton Prince, as a rule, contains many good analytical
contributions. In the winter of 1913 Dr. White and Dr. Jelliffe started
a journal exclusively devoted to psychoanalysis, THE PSYCHOANALYTIC
REVIEW, which takes into account the fact that most physicians in
America interested in psychoanalysis do not master the German language.
I am now obliged to speak of two secessions which have taken place among
the followers of psychoanalysis. The first of these took place in the
interval between the founding of the association in 1910 and the
congress at Weimar, 1911, the second took place after this, and came to
light in Münich in 1913. The disappointment which they caused me might
have been avoided if more attention had been paid to the mechanisms of
those who undergo analytical treatment. I was well aware that any one
might take flight on first approach to the unlovely truths of analysis;
I myself had always asserted that any one’s understanding may be
suspended by one’s own repressions (through the resistances which
sustain them) so that in his relation to psychoanalysis he cannot get
beyond a certain point. But I had not expected that any one who had
mastered analysis to a certain depth could renounce this understanding
and lose it. And yet daily experience with patients had shown that the
total rejection of all knowledge gained through analysis may be brought
about by any deeper stratum of particularly strong resistance. Even if
we succeed through laborious work in causing such a patient to grasp
parts of analytic knowledge and handle these as his own possessions, it
may well happen that under the domination of the next resistance he will
throw to the winds all he has learned and will defend himself as in his
first days of treatment. I had to learn that this can happen among
psychoanalysts just as among patients during treatment.
It is no enviable task to write the history of these two secessions,
partly because I am not impelled to it by strong personal motives—I had
not expected gratitude nor am I to any active degree revengeful—and
partly because I know that I hereby lay myself open to the invectives of
opponents manifesting but little consideration, and at the same time I
regale the enemies of psychoanalysis with the long wished-for spectacle
of seeing the psychoanalysts tearing each other to pieces. I had to
exercise much control to keep myself from fighting with the opponents of
psychoanalysis, and now I feel constrained to take up the fight with
former followers or such as still wish to be called so. I have no
choice; to keep silent would be comfortable or cowardly, but it would
hurt the subject more than the frank uncovering of the existing evils.
Any one who has followed the growth of scientific movements will know
that quite similar disturbances and dissensions took place in all of
them. It may be that elsewhere they are more carefully concealed.
However, psychoanalysis, which denies many conventional ideals, is also
more honest in these things.
Another very palpable inconvenience lies in the fact that I cannot
altogether avoid going into an analytic elucidation. Analysis is not,
however, suitable for polemical use; it always presupposes the consent
of the one analyzed and the situation of a superior and subordinate.
Therefore he who wishes to use analysis with polemic intent must offer
no objection if the person so analyzed will, in his turn, use analysis
against him, and if the discussion merges into a state in which the
awakening of a conviction in an impartial third party is entirely
excluded. I shall, therefore, make here the smallest possible use of
analysis, thereby limiting my indiscretion and aggression against my
opponents, and I will also add that I base no scientific criticism on
this means. I have nothing to do with the possible substance of truths
in the theories to be rejected nor am I seeking to refute the same. This
task may be left to other able workers in the field of psychoanalysis,
and some of it has already been done. I only desire to show that these
theories deny the basic principles of analysis—I will show in what
points—and for this reason should not be known under this name. I shall,
therefore, use analysis only to make clear, how these deviations from
analysis could take place among analysts. At the parting places I am, of
course, obliged to defend the just rights of psychoanalysis with purely
critical remarks.
Psychoanalysis has found as its first task the explanation of the
neuroses; it has taken the two facts of resistance and transference as
starting points, and by bearing in mind the third fact of amnesia in the
theories of repression, it has given justification to the sexual motive
forces of the neuroses and of the unconscious. Psychoanalysis has never
claimed to give a perfect theory of the human psychic life, but has only
demanded that its discoveries should be used for the completion and
correction of knowledge we have gained elsewhere. But Alfred Adler’s
theory goes far beyond this goal. It pretends to explain with one stroke
the behavior and character of men as well as their neurotic and
psychotic maladies. As a matter of fact, Adler’s theory is more adequate
to any other field than to that of the neuroses, which he still puts in
the first place because of the history of its origin. I had the
opportunity of studying Dr. Adler many years and have never denied him
the testimonial of having a superior mind, especially endowed
speculatively. As proof of the “persecution” which he claims to have
suffered at my hands, I can only say that after the formation of the
Association I handed over to him the leadership of the Vienna group. It
was only after urgent requests from all the members of the society that
I could be prevailed upon to resume the presidency at the scientific
proceedings. When I had recognized Dr. Adler’s slight talent for the
estimation of the unconscious material, I expected that he would know
how to discover the connections between psychoanalysis and psychology
and the biological bases of the impulses, a discovery to which he was
entitled, in a certain sense, through his valuable studies about the
inferiority of organs. He really did bring out some thing, but his work
makes the impression as if—to speak in his own jargon—it were intended
to prove that psychoanalysis was wrong in everything and that the
significance of the sexual impelling forces could only be due to
gullibility about the assertions of neurotics. Of the personal motive of
his work I may also speak publicly, since he himself revealed it in the
presence of a small circle of members of the Vienna group. “Do you
believe,” he remarked, “that it is such a great pleasure for me to stand
in your shadow my whole life?” To be sure I see nothing objectionable in
the fact that a younger man should frankly admit an ambition which one
might, in any case, suspect as one of the incentives of his work. But
even under the domination of such a motive a man should know how to
avoid being “unfair” as designated by the English with their fine social
tact. We Germans have only a much coarser word at our disposal to convey
this idea. How little Adler has succeeded in not being unfair is shown
by the great number of mean outbursts of anger which distort his
writings, and by the feeling of an ungovernable mania for priority which
pervades his work. At the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society we once heard
him claim for himself the priority for the viewpoints of the “unity of
the neuroses” and the “dynamic conception” of the same. This was a great
surprise for me as I had always believed that I had represented these
two principles before I had ever known Adler.[17]
This striving of Adler for a place in the sun has brought about,
however, one result, which must be considered beneficial to
psychoanalysis. When I was obliged to bring about Adler’s resignation
from the editorial staff of the Zentralblatt, after the appearance of
his irreconcilable scientific antagonisms, Adler also left the Vienna
group and founded a new society to which he first gave the tasteful name
“Society for Free Psychoanalysis.” But the outside public, unacquainted
with analysis, is evidently as little skilled in recognizing the
difference between the views of two psychoanalysts, as are Europeans in
recognizing the tints between two Chinese faces. The “free”
psychoanalysis remained in the shadow of the “official” and “orthodox”
one, and was treated only as an appendage of the latter. Then Adler took
the step for which we are thankful. He severed all connection with
psychoanalysis and named his teachings “The Individual Psychology.”
There is much space on God’s earth, and any one who can is surely
justified in tumbling about upon it uninhibited; but it is not desirable
to continue living under one roof when people no longer understand one
another and no longer get on together. Adler’s “Individual Psychology”
is now one of the many psychological movements opposed to
psychoanalysis, and its further development lies outside our interests.
Adler’s theory was, from the very beginning, a “system,” which
psychoanalysis was careful not to become. It is also an excellent
example of a “secondary elaboration” as seen, for example, in the
process which the waking thought produces in dream material.[18] In this
case instead of dream material there is the material newly acquired from
the viewpoint of the ego and brought under the familiar categories of
the same. It is then translated, changed, and as thoroughly
misunderstood as happens in the case of dream-formation. Adler’s theory
is thus characterized less by what it asserts than by what it denies. It
consequently consists of three elements of quite dissimilar value;
first, good contributions to the psychology of the ego, which are
superfluous but admissible; secondly, translations of analytical facts
into the new jargon, and, thirdly, distortions and perversions of these
facts when they do not fit into the ego presuppositions. The elements of
the first kind have never been ignored by psychoanalysis, although it
owed no special attention to them. Psychoanalysis had a greater interest
in showing that all ego strivings are mixed with libidinous components.
Adler’s theory emphasizes the counterpart to it; namely, that all
libidinous feeling contains an admixture of egotism. This would have
been a palpable gain if Adler had not made use of this assertion to
deny, every time, the libidinous feelings in favor of the impelling ego
components. His theory thus does exactly what all patients do, and what
our conscious thinking always does, it rationalizes, as Jones would say,
in order to conceal the unconscious motives. Adler is so consistent in
this, that he considers the object of evincing domination over the
woman, to be on the top, as the mainspring of the sexual act. I do not
know if he has upheld this monstrous idea in his writings.
Psychoanalysis early recognized that every neurotic symptom owes the
possibility of its existence to some compromise. It must, therefore,
also put to some good account the demands of the ego which manages the
repression, it must offer it some advantages by finding for it some
useful employment, otherwise it would suffer the same fate as the
originally defended impulses. The term “morbid gain” expresses this
state of affairs. One might even have been justified in differentiating
the primary gain for the ego which must have been active at the origin,
from a “secondary” gain which appears in connection with other
intentions of the ego, when the symptom is about to assert itself. It
has also long been known to analysis that the withdrawal of this morbid
gain, or the cessation of the same in consequence of some real change,
is one of the mechanisms in the cure of the symptom. On these
relationships which can be verified and understood without difficulty,
Adler’s theory puts the greatest emphasis. It entirely overlooks the
fact that innumerable times the ego makes a virtue out of necessity in
submitting to the most undesired symptom forced upon it, because of the
use it can make of it, _e. g._, when the ego accepts anxiety as a means
of security. Here the ego plays the absurd part of the Pierot in the
circus, who, through his gestures, wishes to convey to the spectators
the impression that all changes in the menage are taking place at his
command. But only the youngest among the spectators believe him.
For the second part of Adler’s theory psychoanalysis must stand security
as for its own possessions. For it is nothing but psychoanalytic
knowledge which the author had from all the sources opened to him during
ten years of our joint work, but which he later marked as his own after
changing the nomenclature. For instance, I myself consider “security” a
better word than “protective measure,” which I used; but cannot find in
it any new meaning. Similarly one will find in Adler’s statements a
great many long-known features if one will replace the expressions
“feigned” (fingiert) fictive and fiction, by the original words “to
fancy” and “phantasy.” This identity would be emphasized by
psychoanalysis, even if the author had not for many years participated
in our common work.
The third part of Adler’s theory, which consists in giving new
interpretations to, and in distorting the disagreeable facts of
psychoanalysis, contains that which definitely severs the actual
“Individual Psychology” from psychoanalysis. As is known the principle
of Adler’s system states that it is the object of the self-assertion of
the individual, his “will to power” in the form of the “masculine
protest,” to manifest itself domineeringly in the conduct of life, in
character formation and in the neurosis. This “masculine protest,” the
Adlerism motor, is nothing else, however, than the repression set free
from its psychological mechanism, and what is more, it is sexualized and
thus hardly in keeping with the vaunted expulsion of sexuality from its
place in the psychic life. The “masculine protest” certainly exists, but
in constituting it as the motor of the psychic life, observation has
only played the part of the springboard which one leaves in order to
uplift one’s self. Let us consider one of the most fundamental
situations of the infantile desire; namely, the observation of the
sexual act between adults by the child. When the life-history of such
persons is later subjected to analysis by a physician, it is found that
at this moment the minor spectator was seized by two feelings; one, in
the case of a boy, to put himself in the place of the active man, and
the other, the opposing feeling, to identify himself with the suffering
woman. Both strivings conjointly exhaust the pleasure that might have
resulted from this situation. Only the first feeling can come under the
head of the “masculine protest” if this idea is to retain any meaning at
all. The second feeling, whose fate Adler either ignores or does not
know, is really the one which assumes greater significance in the later
neurosis. Adler has placed himself so entirely into the jealous
confinement of the ego, that he only accounts for such emotional
feelings as are agreeable to the ego and furthered by it; but the case
of the neurosis, which opposes these strivings, lies beyond his horizon.
Adler’s most serious deviations from the reality of observation and his
deepest confusion of ideas have arisen in his attempt to correlate the
basic principle of his theory with the psychic life of the child, an
attempt which has become inevitable in psychoanalysis. The biological,
social, and physiological meaning of “masculine” and “feminine” have
here become mixed into a hopeless composition. It is quite impossible,
and it can easily be disproved by observation, that the masculine or
feminine child builds its plan of life on any original undervaluation of
the feminine sex; nor is it conceivable that a child can take as the
guiding line the wish: “I will be a real man.” In the beginning no child
has even an inkling of the significance of the difference in sex, more
likely it starts with the assumption that both sexes possess the same
(male) genital. It does not begin its sexual investigation with the
problem of sex differentiation and is far from entertaining the social
undervaluation of the woman. There are women in whose neurosis the wish
to be a man never played any part. So far as the “masculine protest” is
concerned, it can easily be traced back to a disturbance of the original
narcissism caused by the threat of castration; that is, to the first
hindrance of sexual activity. All dispute as to the psychogenesis of the
neuroses must ultimately be decided in the sphere of the childhood
neuroses. The careful analysis of a neurosis of the early years of
childhood puts an end to all mistakes in regard to the etiology of the
neuroses, and all doubts as to the part played by the sexual impulses.
That is why Adler in his criticism of Jung’s “Conflicts of the Child’s
Mind” was obliged to resort to the imputation that the material of the
case surely must have followed a uniform new tendency “from the
father.”[19]
I will not linger any longer over the biological side of Adler’s theory,
and will not examine whether the palpable inferiority of organs or the
subjective feeling of the same (one often cannot tell which) can
possibly be the basis of Adler’s system. Only permit me to remark that
this would make the neurosis a by-product of the general stunting, while
observation teaches that an excessively large number of hideous,
misshapen, crippled, and wretched creatures have failed to react to
their deficiencies by developing a neurosis. Nor will I consider the
interesting information that the sense of inferiority goes back to
infantile feelings. It shows us in what disguise the doctrine of
infantilism, so much emphasized in psychoanalysis, returns in Adler’s
Individual Psychology. On the other hand, I am obliged to emphasize how
all psychological acquisitions of psychoanalysis have been disregarded
by Adler. In his book “The Nervous Character,” the unconscious still
appears as a psychological peculiarity, but without any relation to his
system. Later, he declared, quite logically, that it was a matter of
indifference to him whether any conception be conscious or unconscious.
For the principle of repressions, Adler never evinced any understanding.
While reviewing a lecture before the Vienna Society in 1911, he said:
“On the strength of a case I wish to point out that the patient had
never repressed his libido, against which he continually tried to secure
himself.”[20] Soon thereafter at a discussion in Vienna Adler said: “If
you ask whence comes the repression, you are told: from culture. But if
you ask whence comes culture, the reply is: from the repression. So you
see it is only a question of a play on words.” A small fragment of the
sagacity used by Adler to defend his “nervous character” might have
sufficed to show him the way out of this pettifogging argument. There is
nothing mysterious about it, except that culture depends upon the acts
of repression of former generations, and that each new generation is
required to retain this culture by carrying out the same repressions. I
have heard of a child that considered itself fooled and began to cry,
because to the question: “Where do eggs come from?” it received the
answer, “Eggs come from hens,” and to the further question: “Where do
the hens come from?” the information was “From the eggs,” and yet this
was not a play upon words. The child had been told what was true.
Just as deplorable and devoid of substance is all that Adler has said
about the dream—that shibboleth of psychoanalysis. At first he
considered the dream as a turning from the masculine to the feminine
line, which simply means translating the theory of wish-fulfillment in
dreams into the language of the “masculine protest.” Later he found that
the essence of the dream lies in the fact that it enables man to realize
unconsciously what is denied him consciously. Adler should also be
credited with the priority of confounding the dream with the latent
dream-thoughts, on the cognition of which rests his idea of “prospective
tendency.” Maeder followed him in this, later on. In doing so he readily
overlooks the fact that every interpretation of the dream which really
tells nothing comprehensible in its manifest appearance rests upon the
same dream interpretation, whose assumptions and conclusions he is
disputing. Concerning resistance Adler asserts that it serves to
strengthen the patient against the physician. This is certainly correct.
It means as much as saying that it serves the resistance. But whence
this resistance originates, and how it happens that its phenomena serve
the patient’s interest, these questions, as if of no interest for the
ego, are not further discussed by Adler. The detailed mechanisms of
symptoms and phenomena, the motivation of the variety of diseases and
morbid manifestations, find no consideration at all with Adler, since
everything is equally subservient to the “masculine protest,” to the
self-assertion, and to the exaltation of the personality. The system is
finished, at the expense of an extraordinary labor of new
interpretation, yet it has not contributed a single new observation. I
believe that I have succeeded in showing that his system has nothing
whatever in common with psychoanalysis.
The picture which one derives from Adler’s system is founded entirely
upon the impulse of aggression. It has no place at all for love. One
might wonder that such a cheerless aspect of life should have received
any notice whatever; but we must not forget that humanity, oppressed by
its sexual needs, is prepared to accept anything, if only the
“overcoming of sexuality” is held out as bait.
The secession of Adler’s faction was finished before the Congress at
Weimar which took place in 1911, while the one of the Swiss School began
after this date. Strangely enough, the first indications of it were
found in some remarks by Riklin in popular articles printed in Swiss
literature, from which the general public learned, even before Riklin’s
closest colleagues, that psychoanalysis had succeeded in overcoming some
regretable mistakes which discredited it. In 1912 Jung boasted, in a
letter to me from America, that his modifications of psychoanalysis had
overcome the resistances to it in many persons, who hitherto wanted to
know nothing about it. I replied that this was nothing to boast about,
that the more he sacrificed of the hard-won truths of psychoanalysis,
the less resistances he would encounter. This modification for the
introduction of which the Swiss are so proud, again was nothing more or
less than the theoretical suppression of the sexual factor. I admit that
from the very beginning I have regarded this “progress” as a
too-far-reaching adaptation to the demands of actuality.
These two retrogressive movements, tending away from psychoanalysis,
which I will now compare, also resemble each other in the fact that they
are seeking to obtain a favorable opinion by means of certain lofty
points of view, as _sub specie æternitatis_. In the case of Adler, this
rôle is played by the relativity of all knowledge, and by the rights of
the personality to construe artificially any piece of knowledge to suit
the individual; while Jung insists on the cultural historical rights of
youth to throw off any fetters that tyrannical old age with ossified
views would forge for it. These arguments require some repudiation. The
relativity of all our knowledge is a consideration which may be used as
an argument against any other science besides psychoanalysis. This idea
originates from well-known reactionary streams of the present day,
inimical to science, and wishes to give the appearance of a superiority
to which we are not entitled. Not one of us can guess what may be the
ultimate judgment of mankind about our theoretical efforts. There are
examples to show that what was rejected by the next three generations
was corrected by the fourth and its recognition thus brought about.
There is nothing else for the individual to do than to defend, with all
his strength, his conviction based on experience after he has carefully
listened to his own criticisms and has given some attention to the
criticisms of his opponents. Let him be content to conduct his affair
honestly and not assume the office of judge, which is reserved for a
remote future. To accentuate personal arbitrariness in scientific
matters is bad; it evidently wishes to deny to psychoanalysis the value
of a science, which, to be sure, Adler has already depreciated by the
aforementioned remark. Any one who highly regards scientific thinking
will rather seek for means and methods by which to restrict, if
possible, the factor of personal and artificial arbitrariness wherever
it still plays too large a part. Besides one must remember that all
agitation in defending is out of place. Adler does not take these
arguments seriously. They are only for use against his opponents, but
they respect his own theories. They have not prevented Adler’s own
adherents from celebrating him as the Messiah, for whose appearance
waiting humanity had been prepared by so many forerunners. The Messiah
is surely no longer anything relative.
Jung’s argument _ad captandam benevolentiam_ rests on the
all-too-optimistic assumption that the progress of humanity, of
civilization, and of knowledge has always continued in an unbroken line,
as if there had never been any epigones, reactions, and restorations
after every revolution, as if there had never been races who, because of
a retrogression, had to renounce the gain of former generations. The
approach to the standpoint of the masses, the giving up of an innovation
that has proved unpopular, all these make it altogether unlikely that
Jung’s correction of psychoanalysis could lay claim to being a
liberating act of youth. Finally it is not the years of the doer that
decide it, but the character of the deed.
Of the two movements we have here considered, that headed by Adler is
undoubtedly the more important. Though radically false, it is,
nevertheless, characterized by consistency and coherence and it is still
founded on the theory of the impulse. On the other hand, Jung’s
modification has lessened the connection between the phenomena and the
impulses: besides, as its critics (Abraham, Ferenczi, Jones) have
already pointed out, it is so unintelligible, muddled, and confused,
that it is not easy to take any attitude towards it. Wherever one
touches it, one must be prepared to be told that one has misunderstood
it, and it is impossible to know how one can arrive at a correct
understanding of it. It represents itself in a peculiarly vacillating
manner, since at one time it calls itself “a quite tame deviation, not
worthy of the row which has arisen about it” (Jung), yet, at another
time, it calls itself a new salvation with which a new epoch shall begin
for psychoanalysis, in fact, a new aspect of the universe for everything
else.
When one thinks of the disagreements between the individual private and
public expressions of Jung’s utterances one is obliged to ask to what
extent this is due to his own lack of clearness and lack of sincerity.
Yet, it must be admitted that the representatives of the new theory find
themselves in a difficult position. They are now disputing things which
they themselves formerly defended and what is more, this dispute is not
based on new observations which might have taught them something fresh,
but rather on a different interpretation which causes them to see things
in a different light from that in which they saw them before. It is for
this reason that they will not give up their connection with
psychoanalysis as the representatives of which they first became known
in the world. They prefer to proclaim that psychoanalysis has changed.
At the Congress of Münich I was obliged to clear up this confusion and
did so by declaring that I could not recognize the innovation of the
Swiss School as a legitimate continuation and further development of the
psychoanalysis which had originated with me. Outside critics (like
Furtmüller) had already recognized this state of affairs and Abraham
says, quite rightly, that Jung is in full retreat away from
psychoanalysis. I am naturally entirely willing to admit that any one
has the right to think and to write what he wishes, but he has not the
right to make it out to be something different from what it really is.
Just as Adler’s researches brought something new into psychoanalysis, a
piece of the ego-psychology, and paid only too dearly for this gift by
repudiating all the fundamental analytic principles, in the same way
Jung and his adherents have based their fight against psychoanalysis
upon a new contribution to the same. They have traced in detail (what
Pfister did before them) how the material of the sexual ideas
originating in the family complex and in the incestuous object selection
can be used to represent the highest ethical and religious interests of
mankind, that is, they have explained a remarkable case of sublimation
of the erotic impelling forces and the transformation of the same into
strivings that can no longer be called erotic. All this harmonized very
well with the assumptions of psychoanalysis, and would have agreed very
well with the conception that in the dream and in the neurosis one sees
the regressive elucidations of these and all other sublimations. But the
world would have exclaimed that ethics and religion had been sexualized.
I cannot help assuming “finally” that the investigators found themselves
quite unequal to the storm they had to face. Perhaps the storm began to
rage in their own bosoms. The previous theological history of so many of
the Swiss workers is as important in their attitude to psychoanalysis as
is the socialistic record of Adler for the development of his
“psychology.” One is reminded of Mark Twain’s famous story about the
fate of his watch and to the speculative remark with which he closed it:
“And he used to wonder what became of all the unsuccessful tinkers, and
gunsmiths, and shoemakers, and blacksmiths; but nobody could ever tell
him.”
I will encroach upon the realm of parables and will assume that in a
certain society there lived a parvenu who boasted of descent from a very
noble family not locally known. But it so happened that it was proved to
him that his parents were living somewhere in the neighborhood and were
very simple people, indeed. Only one way out remained to him and he
seized upon it. He could no longer deny his parents, but he asserted
that they were very aristocratic by origin but much come down in the
world, and secured for them at some obliging office a document showing
their descent. It seems to me that the Swiss workers had been obliged to
act in a similar manner. If ethics and religion could not be sexualized,
but must be regarded as something “higher” from the very beginning, and
as their origin from the family and Œdipus complexes seemed undeniable,
then there was only one way out; namely, that these complexes
themselves, from the beginning, could not have the significance which
they appeared to express, but must have that higher “anagogic” sense (to
use Silberer’s nomenclature) with which they adapt themselves for proper
use in the abstract streams of thought of ethics and religious
mysticism.
I am quite prepared to be told once more that I have misunderstood the
contents and object of the theory of the New Zürich School, but here
wish to protest against being held responsible for those contradictions
to my theories that have arisen as a result of the publications of this
school. The burden of responsibility rests on them, not on me. In no
other way can I make comprehensible to myself the ensemble of Jung’s
innovations or grasp them in their associations. All the changes which
Jung has perpetrated upon psychoanalysis originated in the intention of
setting aside all that is objectionable in the family complexes, in
order that these objectionable features may not be found again in
religion and ethics. The sexual libido was replaced by an abstract idea,
of which it may be said that it remained equally mysterious and
incomprehensible alike to fools and to the wise. The Œdipus complex, we
are told, has only a “symbolical” sense, the mother therein representing
the unattainable which must be renounced in the interests of cultural
development. The father who is killed in the Œdipus myth represents the
“inner” father from whose influence we must free ourselves in order to
become independent. No doubt other portions of the material of sexual
conceptions will, in time, receive similarly new interpretations. In
place of the conflict between erotic strivings adverse to the ego and
the self-assertion, we are given the conflict between the “life-task”
and the “psychic laziness.” The neurotic guilty conscience corresponds
with the reproach of not having put to good account one’s life-task.
Thus a new religio-ethical system was founded which, exactly like
Adler’s, was obliged to give new interpretations, to distort or set
aside the actual results of analysis. As a matter of fact they have
caught a few cultural higher notes from the symphony of the world’s
by-gones, but once again have failed to hear the powerful melody of the
impulses.
In order to hold this system together it was necessary to draw away
entirely from the observations and technique of psychoanalysis. Now and
then the enthusiasm for the higher cause even permits a total disregard
for scientific logic, as for instance, when Jung maintains that the
Œdipus complex is not “specific” enough for the etiology of the
neuroses, and ascribed this specificity to laziness, that is, to the
most universal quality of animate and inanimate bodies! Moreover, it is
to be remarked that the “Œdipus complex” only represents a capacity on
which the psychic forces of the individual measure themselves, and is
not in itself a force, like the “psychic laziness.” The study of the
individual man has shown and always will show that the sexual complexes
are alive in him in their original sense. That is why the study of the
individual was pushed back by Jung and replaced by the judgment of the
essential facts from the study of the races. As the study of the early
childhood of every man exposed one to the danger of striking against the
original and undisguised meaning of these misinterpreted complexes, it
was, therefore, thought best to make it a rule to tarry as little as
possible at this past and to place the greatest emphasis on the return
to the conflict. Here, moreover, the essential things are not at all the
incidental and personal, but rather the general, that is to say, the
“non-fulfilment of the life-task.” Nevertheless, we know that the actual
conflict of the neurotic becomes comprehensible and solvable only if it
can be traced back into the patient’s past history, only by following
along the way that his libido took when his malady began.
How the New Zürich therapy has shaped itself under such tendencies I can
convey by means of reports of a patient who was himself obliged to
experience it.
“Not the slightest effort was made to consider the past or the
transferences. Whenever I thought that the latter were touched, they
were explained as a mere symbol of the libido. The moral instructions
were very beautiful and I followed them faithfully, but I did not
advance one step. This was more distressing to me than to the physician,
but how could I help it?—Instead of freeing me analytically, each
session made new and tremendous demands on me, on the fulfilment of
which the overcoming of the neurosis was supposed to depend. Some of
these demands were: inner concentration by means of introversion,
religious meditation, living together with my wife in loving devotion,
etc. It was almost beyond my power, since it really amounted to a
radical transformation of the whole spiritual man. I left the analysis
as a poor sinner with the strongest feelings of contrition and the very
best resolutions, but at the same time with the deepest discouragement.
All that this physician recommended any pastor would have advised, but
where was I to get the strength?”
It is true that the patient had also heard that an analysis of the past
and of the transference should precede the process. He, however, was
told that he had enough of it. But as it had not helped him, it seems to
me that it is just to conclude that the patient had not had enough of
this first sort of analysis. Not in any case has the superimposed
treatment which no longer has the slightest claim to call itself
psychoanalysis, helped. It is a matter of wonder that the men of Zürich
had need to make the long detour via Vienna to reach Bern, so close to
them, where Dubois cures neuroses by ethical encouragement in the most
indulgent fashion.[21]
The utter disagreement of this new movement with psychoanalysis
naturally shows itself also in its attitude towards repression, which is
hardly mentioned any more in the writings of Jung; in the utter
misconstruction of the dream which Adler, ignoring the dream-psychology,
confuses with the latent dream-thoughts, and also in the lack of
understanding of the unconscious. In fact this disagreement can be seen
in all the essential points of psychoanalysis. When Jung tells us that
the incest-complex is only “symbolic,” that it has “no real existence,”
that the savage feels no desire towards the old hag but prefers a young
and pretty woman, then one is tempted to assume in order to dispose of
apparent contradiction that “symbolic” and “no real existence” only
signify what is designated as “existing unconsciously.”
If one maintains that the dream is something different from the latent
dream-thoughts, which it elaborates, one will not wonder that the
patients dream of those things with which their mind has been filled
during the treatment, whether it be the “life-task” or being “above” or
“below.” Certainly the dreams of those analyzed are guidable in a
similar manner as dreams can be influenced by the application of
experimental stimuli. One may determine a part of the material that
occurs in the dream, but this changes nothing in the nature and
mechanism of the dream. Nor do I believe that the so-called
“biographical” dream occurs outside of the analysis. On the other hand,
if we analyze dreams that occurred before the treatment began, or if
attention is paid to what the dreamer adds to the stimuli supplied to
him during the treatment, or if we avoid giving him any such task, then
we can convince ourselves how far the dream is from offering tentative
solutions of the life-task. For the dream is only another form of
thinking; the understanding of this form can never be gained from the
content of its thoughts, only the consideration of the dream-work will
lead to it.
The effective refutation of Jung’s misconceptions of psychoanalysis and
his deviations from it is not difficult. Any analysis carried out in
accordance with the rules, especially any analysis of a child,
strengthens the convictions on which the theory of psychoanalysis rests,
and repudiates the new interpretations of Adler’s and Jung’s systems.
Jung himself, before he became enlightened, carried out such an analysis
of a child and published it.[22] It remains to be seen if he will
undertake a new interpretation of this case with the help of another
“uniform new tendency of the facts,” to give Adler’s expression used in
this connection.
The opinion that the sexual representation of “higher” ideas in the
dream and in the neurosis is nothing but an archaic manner of
expression, is naturally irreconcilable with the fact that these sexual
complexes prove to be in the neurosis the carriers of those quantities
of libido which have been withdrawn from the real life. If it were only
a question of sexual jargon, nothing could thereby be altered in the
economy of the libido itself. Jung himself admits this in his
“Darstellung der psychoanalytischen Theorie,” and formulates, as a
therapeutic task, that the libido investing the complexes should be
withdrawn from them. But this can never be accomplished by rejecting the
complexes and forcing them towards sublimation, but only by the most
exhaustive occupation with them, and by making them fully conscious. The
first bit of reality with which the patient has to deal is his malady
itself. Any effort to spare him this task points to an incapacity of the
physician to help him in overcoming his resistances, or to a fear on the
part of the physician as to the results of this work.
I would like to say in conclusion that Jung, by his “modifications” has
furnished psychoanalysis with a counterpart to the famous knife of
Lichtenberg. He has changed the hilt, has inserted into it a new blade,
and because the same trademark is engraved on it he requires of us that
we regard the instrument as the former one.
On the contrary, I believe I have shown that the new theory which
desires to substitute psychoanalysis signifies an abandonment of
analysis and a secession from it. Some may be inclined to fear that this
defection may be more unfortunate for the fate of psychoanalysis than
any other because it emanates from persons who once played so great a
part in the psychoanalytic movement and did so much to further it. I do
not share this apprehension.
Men are strong so long as they represent a strong idea. They become
powerless when they oppose it. Psychoanalysis will be able to bear this
loss and will gain new adherents for those lost.
I can only conclude with the wish that the fates may prepare an easy
ascension for those who found their sojourn in the underworld of
psychoanalysis uncomfortable. May it be vouchsafed to the others to
bring to a happy conclusion their works in the deep.
-----
Footnote 1:
“On Psychoanalysis.” Five lectures given on the occasion of the
twentieth anniversary of Clark University, Worcester, Mass., dedicated
to Stanley Hall. Second edition, 1912. Published simultaneously in
English in the American Journal of Psychology, March, 1910; translated
into Dutch, Hungarian, Polish and Russian.
Footnote 2:
Breuer and Freud, “Studien über Hysterie,” p. 15, Deuticke, 1895.
Footnote 3:
Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse, 1911, Vol. 1, p. 69.
Footnote 4:
The Clinic of Psychiatry, Zürich.
Footnote 5:
Havelock Ellis, “The Doctrines of the Freudian School.”
Footnote 6:
G. Greve, “Sobre Psicologia y Psicoterapia de ciertos Estados
angustiosos.” See Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse, Vol. 1, p. 594.
Footnote 7:
The collected publications of these two authors have appeared in book
form: Brill, “Psychoanalysis, its Theories and Practical
Applications,” 1912, 2d edition, 1914, Saunders, Philadelphia, and E.
Jones’s “Papers on Psychoanalysis,” 1913, Wood and Company, New York.
Footnote 8:
The first official recognition that psychoanalysis and dream
interpretation received was extended to them by the Psychiatrist
Jelgersma, rector of the University of Leyden, in his rectorship
address February 1, 1914.
Footnote 9:
An English translation has just appeared in the Nervous and Mental
Disease Monograph Series, No. 23.
Footnote 10:
Cf. “Der Wahn und die Träume” in W. Jensen’s “Gradiva.”
Footnote 11:
Rank, “Der Künstler,” analyses of poets by Sadger, Reik, and others,
my little monograph on a Kindheitserinnerung des Leonardo da Vinci;
also Abraham’s “Analyses von Segantini.”
Footnote 12:
A translation is in preparation.
Footnote 13:
Wit and Its Relation to the Unconscious, translated by A. A. Brill,
Moffat, Yard & Co., New York.
Footnote 14:
“Die Psychoanalytische Methode,” 1913, Vol. 1 of the Pedagogium,
Meumann and Messner. English Translation by Dr. C. R. Payne. Moffat,
Yard & Co., N. Y.
Footnote 15:
Cf. my two essays in Scientia, Vol. XIV, 1913, “Das Interesse an der
Psychoanalyse.”
Footnote 16:
Dreams and Myths, Wishfulfillment and Fairy Tales, Myth of the Birth
of the Hero, in this series are translated in the Monograph Series.
Footnote 17:
Adler’s Inferiority of Organs, translated by Jelliffe, appears as
Monograph 24. His “Nervous Character,” translated by Glueck and Lind,
published by Moffat, Yard & Co., N. Y.
Footnote 18:
Cf. The Interpretation of Dreams, p. 389, translated by A. A. Brill,
The Macmillan Co., New York, and Allen, London.
Footnote 19:
Zentralbl., Vol. I, p. 122. See “Analytical Psychology,” Moffat, Yard
& Co., N. Y.
Footnote 20:
Korrespondenzbl., No. 5, Zurich, April, 1911.
Footnote 21:
I know the objections which stand in the way of using a patient’s
statements, and I, therefore, expressly state that my informant is as
worthy of credence as he is capable of judging this matter. He gave me
this information without my request, and I make use of his
communication without asking his consent, because I cannot admit that
any psychoanalytical technique should lay claim to the protection of
discretion.
Footnote 22:
Experiences Concerning the Psychic Life of the Child, translated by A.
A. Brill, American Journal of Psychology, April, 1910.
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Volume 45, Published January 1st, 1917
ORIGINAL ARTICLES
Hyperplasia of the Pineal Body. By Howard H. Bell 481
Types of Neurological Cases Seen at a Base Hospital. By John Jenks 495
Thomas
to Rabbit as Myelitis. By Edward M. Williams 503
Report of Three Cases of Familial Spastic Paralysis. By C. Eugene 505
Riggs
Intentional Hypertonia. By Sidney I. Schwab 510
A Question of Epileptic Dementia with Recovery. By D. A. Thom 517
SOCIETY PROCEEDINGS
AMERICAN NEUROLOGICAL ASSOCIATION 523
Contribution to the Treatment of Syphilis of the Nervous System (Sachs,
Strauss, and Kaliski); Injuries to the Spinal Cord Produced by Modern
Warfare (Collins and Craig); The Rising Tide of Disabilities
Following Trauma and Their Relation to Our Compensation Laws (Sachs);
(_a_) Syringoencephalia (Syringoencephalomyelia); (_b_) The Function
of the Pyramidal Tract (Spiller); A Consideration of Some Selected
Problems in a Year’s Neuro-surgical Service (Sachs and Schwab);
Preventive Neurology (Dana); Notes on the Treatment of Mental
Torticollis (Clark); Insanity—The Physiological, Morphological and
Serological Characteristics (Ludlum and White); Preliminary Report on
the Use of the Abderhalden Reaction in Mental Diseases (Cotton,
White, and Stevenson); The Autolysis of Nitrogenous Compounds in the
Blood Serum of General Paralysis and Dementia Præcox with its Bearing
upon the Abderhalden Test (Singer and Quantz); The Histology of
Selected Areas of the Cerebral Cortex in Dementia Præcox (Southard).
CHICAGO NEUROLOGICAL SOCIETY 543
Sinus (Royer); Case of Multiple Sclerosis with Abdominal Reflexes
(Patrick).
PERISCOPE
=American Journal of Insanity.= (Vol. LXXI, No. 1.) Typhoid Fever with
Permanent Memory Defect; The Psychic Factors in Mental Disorder; The
Thymus and the Pituitary in Dementia Præcox; Mixed States and
Atypical Manic-Depressive; Behavior Chart in Mental Diseases;
Colloidal Gold and Spinal Fluid (548).
Hitzig on the Occasion of the Placing of the Hitzig Memorial in the
Clinic for Mental and Nervous Disease of Halle; Complete Discussion
of a Case of Bilateral Deficiency of the Cerebellum; Familial
Dysostosis Beginning at the Time of Puberty; Dangerous Human Types;
The Influence of Operative Measures in Developmental Disturbances of
the Brain, Particularly in Epilepsy; Technique of Experiments on the
Brain, Particularly on the Optic Thalami; Acute Paranoid Diseases;
Adenocarcinoma of the Hypophysis and Progressive Paralysis; A Typical
Brain Tumor, with Positive X-ray Findings; Determination of the
Capacity of the Cortex and White Substance of the Cerebrum through
Planimetric Measurements (551). (2. Heft.) The Forensic Significance
of Neurasthenia; The Phases of Mania; Criminality and Exogenous
Irritability in Congenital Mental Defect; Experimental Investigations
of Lathyrism; Further Investigations on the Motor Speech Tracts;
Mental Disorders in Brain Tumor, and their Relation to Diffuse Brain
Alterations Caused by the Action of New Growths (553). (3. Heft.)
Mental Disorders in Brain Tumors, and their Relation to the Diffuse
Brain Alterations Caused by the Action of New Growths; The
Pathogenesis of the Psychoses in the Light of the Abderhalden
Theories; The Question of the Course of Posterior Root Fibers of the
Spinal Cord; Neuroses Following Accidents Caused by Electricity;
Pathogenesis and Therapy of Chronic Alcoholism; The Skull Capacity in
Mental Diseases; Pathological Anatomy of Dementia Præcox; Secondary
Degeneration of the Pyramidal Tracts in Porencephalus (554).
Principles of Pain-Pleasure and of Reality; The Unconscious; The Theory
of Psychoanalysis; A Plea for a Broader Standpoint in Psychoanalysis;
Technique of Psychoanalysis; Contributions to the Psychopathology of
Everyday Life: Their Relation to Abnormal Mental Phenomena; The
Integrative Functions of the Nervous System Applied to Some Reactions
in Human Behavior and their Attending Psychic Functions; A
Manic-Depressive Episode Representing a Frank Wish-Realization
Construction; Psychoanalytic Parallels; Psychoanalysis; The Rôle of
the Sexual Complex in Dementia Præcox; Psycho-Genetics of Androcratic
Evolution; Some Studies in the Psychopathology of Acute Dissociation
of the Personality; Psychoanalysis; A Philosophy for Psychoanalysts;
Religion and Sex; Some Freudian Contributions to the Paranoia
Problem; Translation—Wishfulfillment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales;
Translation—The Significance of Psychoanalysis for the Mental
Sciences (557).
MISCELLANY
Ulnar Nerve Paralysis (567).
BOOK REVIEWS
Mentally Deficient Children: The Treatment and Training; An
Introduction to the Study of the Endocrine Glands and Internal
Secretions (568).
INDEX TO VOLUME 44
Volume III October, 1916 Number 4
The
Psychoanalytic
Review
=A Journal Devoted to an Understanding of Human Conduct=
EDITED AND PUBLISHED BY
WILLIAM A. WHITE, M.D., and SMITH ELY JELLIFFE, M.D.
CONTENTS
ORIGINAL ARTICLES
=Art in the Insane.= C. B. BURR
=On Somnambulism.= L. GRIMBERG
=Retaliation Dreams.= HANSELL CRENSHAW
=Technique of Psychoanalysis.= SMITH ELY JELLIFFE
TRANSLATIONS
=The History of the Psychoanalytic Movement.= SIGMUND FREUD
SOCIETY PROCEEDINGS. ABSTRACTS. Book Reviews. Index
Issued Quarterly: $5.00 per Volume,
Single Numbers, $1.50
Foreign, $5.60
COPYRIGHT 1916
by the
NERVOUS AND MENTAL DISEASE PUBLISHING COMPANY
41 NORTH QUEEN STREET, LANCASTER, PA.,
and
64 W. 56th STREET, NEW YORK
Serial No. 12
Entered as Second-Class Matter October 25, 1913, at the Post Office at
Lancaster, Pennsylvania under the Act of March 3, 1879.
ORIGINAL ARTICLES
Symbolism. W. A. WHITE 1
Technique of Psychoanalysis. S. E. Jelliffe 26, 161, 254, 394
The Work of Alfred Adler, Considered with Especial Reference to 121
that of Freud. J. J. Putnam
Clinical Cases Exhibiting Unconscious Defense Reactions. F. M. 141
Shockley
Freud and Sociology. E. R. Groves 241
The Ontogenetic Against the Phylogenetic Elements in the Psychoses 272
of the Colored Race. A. B. Evarts
Discomfiture and Evil Spirits. E. C. Parsons 288
Two Very Definite Wish-Fulfilment Dreams. C. B. Burr 292
Art in the Insane. C. B. Burr 361
On Somnambulism. L. Grimberg 386
Retaliation Dreams. H. Crenshaw 391
CRITICAL REVIEWS
Frazer’s Golden Bough. L. Brink 43
“Sons and Lovers”: A Freudian Appreciation. A. B. Kuttner 295
TRANSLATIONS
The Significance of Psychoanalysis for the Mental Sciences, O. Rank and
H. Sachs (69, 189, 318). Process of Recovery in Schizophrenics, H.
Bertschinger (176). The History of the Psychoanalytic Movement, S.
Freud (406).
ABSTRACTS
=Jahrbuch für psychoanalytische und psychopathologische Forschungen.=
(Vol. I.) (90.) Analysis of the Phobia of a Five-Year-Old Boy, S.
Freud; The Position of Consanguineous Marriages in the Psychology of
the Neurosis, K. Abraham; Sexuality and Epilepsy, A. Maeder; The
Significance of the Father for the Fate of the Individual, C. G.
Jung; Attempt at an Analysis of a Case of Hysteria, L. Binswanger;
Observations on a Case of Compulsion Neurosis, S. Freud; Introjection
and Transference, S. Ferenczi; Contributions to Dream Interpretation,
W. Stekel; Report Concerning a Method for Producing and Observing
Certain Symbolic Hallucinations, H. Silberer; Concerning the Neurotic
Disposition, A. Adler; Freud’s Works from 1893 to 1909, K. Abraham;
Report of the Austrian and German Psychoanalytic Literature up to
1909, K. Abraham.
=Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse.= (Vol. I, Nos. 1–2.) (215.) The Future
of Psychoanalytic Therapy, S. Freud; The Psychic Treatment of
Trigeminal Neuralgia, A. Adler; The Psychology of Hysterical
Adoration of the Madonna, O. Pfister. (Vol. I, No. 3.) (216.) A
Contribution to the Psychology of Rumor, C. G. Jung; “Wild”
Psychoanalysis, S. Freud. (Vol. I, No. 4.) (217.) Etiology and
Treatment of the Psychoneuroses, J. J. Putnam; Analysis of an
Apparently Meaningless Infantile Obsession, R. Nepalleck; A Case of
Periodic Depression of Psychogenic Origin, A. A. Brill.
=Internationale Zeitschrift für Ärtzliche Psychoanalyse.= (Vol. II, No.
3.) (218.) Psychoanalysis and Education, P. Häberlin; On the Theory
of Inversion, H. Blüher; Anal Eroticism, Tendency to Anxiety and
Obstinacy, H. von Hattingberg. (Vol. II, No. 4.) (465.) On the
Psychological Foundation of Freudism, L. V. Karpinska; The Activity
of Unconscious Death Wishes—A Contribution to the Understanding of
the Tic, T. Sadger. (Vol. II, No. 5.) (469.) Transformations of the
Affect-life, M. Weissfeld; Right and Left in Delusions, A. Stärcke;
The Spontaneous Recovery of a Catatonic, K. Landauer. (Vol. II, No.
6.) (—.) Further Remarks on the Technique of Psychoanalysis, S.
Freud; The “Pleasant-Unpleasant” Principle and the “Reality”
Principle, P. Federn; The Origin of the Interest in Money, S.
Ferenczi.
=Imago.= (Vol. II, No. 1.) (336.) Some Similarities in the Mental Life
of Primitive and Neurotic People, (III) Animism, Magic and the
Omnipotence of Thought, S. Freud; The Titan Motive in General
Mythology, Presentation and Analysis, E. F. Lorenz; Carl Spitteler,
H. Sachs; The True Nature of the Child Psyche. Edited by H. v.
Hug-Hellmuth. I. Earliest Infantile Memories. H. v. Hug-Hellmuth. II.
“From the Soul of a Child.” Theodor Reik. III. Leo N. Tolstoi,
Childhood. Autobiographic Novel, E. F. Lorenz.
MISCELLANEOUS ABSTRACTS
Incest in Mormonism, T. Schroeder (223); Proxies in Mormon Polygamy, T.
Schroeder (223); Der Sexuelle Anteil an der Theologie der Mormomen,
T. Schroeder (223); Zur Bestimmung des psychoanalytischen
Widerstandes, J. B. Lang (230); Eine Hypothese zur Psychologischen
Bedeutung der Verfolgungsidee, J. B. Lang (231); Paranoide Psychosen
im höheren Lebensalter, Seelert (232).
SOCIETY PROCEEDINGS
THE AMERICAN PSYCHOANALYTIC SOCIETY 455
Individuality and Introversion, W. A. White; Permutations within the
Sphere of Consciousness or the Factor of Repression and its Influence
upon Education, T. Burrow; The Embryology of Dreams, J. T. MacCurdy;
The Social and Sexual Behavior of Infra-Human Primates, E. J. Kempf;
Concerning Freud’s Principle of Reality, L. E. Emerson; Is Dementia
Præcox Properly Described as an Infantile Mode of Reaction?, H. D.
Singer; Notes on Psychoanalytic Technic, G. L. Taneyhill; An Analysis
of an Obsessive Doubt with a Paranoid Trend, R. W. Reed; On the Place
of Sublimation in a Psychoanalytic Treatment, J. J. Putnam.
BOOK REVIEWS
The Criminal Imbecile, An Analysis of Three Remarkable Murder Cases, by
Henry Herbert Goddard (115); Human Motives, by James Jackson Putnam
(116); The Brain in Health and Disease, by Joseph Shaw Bolton (116);
Text-Book of Nervous Diseases, by Curschmann and others (118); The
New Philosophy of Henri Bergson, by Edouard LeRoy (119); Bodily
Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear, and Rage, by Walter B. Cannon (233);
Goethe, with Special Consideration of His Philosophy, by Paul Carus
(234); Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky to his Family and
Friends—Tr. by Ethel Colburn Mayne (236); The Meaning of Dreams, by
Isador H. Coriat (237); Nervous Diseases, by Robert Bing (238);
Trattato di Psichiatria, by Leonardo Bianchi (239); The Ductless
Glandular Diseases, by Wilhelm Falta (239); Psychology of the
Unconscious: A Study of the Transformations and Symbolisms of the
Libido. A Contribution to the History of the Evolution of Thought, by
C. G. Jung. Tr. with Introduction, by Beatrice M. Hinkle (352); The
Evolution of Early Christianity. A Genetic Study of First-Century
Christianity in Relation to its Religious Environment, by Shirley
Jackson Case (354); The Lost Language of Symbolism. An Inquiry into
the Origin of Certain Letters, Words, Names, Fairy Tales, Folk Lore
and Mythologies, by Harold Bayley (356); Die Sprache des Traumes.
Eine Darstellung der Symbolik und Deutung des Traumes in ihren
Beziehungen zur kranken und gesunden Seele für Ärzte und Psychologen,
by Wilhelm Stekel (358); Man—An Adaptive Mechanism, by George W.
Crile (476); Character and Temperament, by Joseph Jastrow (477); The
Influence of Joy, by George Van Ness Dearborn (477).
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last
chapter.
● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
● Enclosed bold or blackletter font in =equals=.
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