On the other hand we need to be fully aware that the uncertainty of our speculations has been greatly increased by the need to borrow repeatedly from the science of biology. Biology is truly a realm of infinite possibilities; we can expect it to yield the most astonishing insights, and we cannot begin to guess what answers it might give to our questions in a few decades' time. Perhaps such as will sweep our carefully contrived edifice of hypotheses entirely away. ‘If that is the case’, someone might ask, ‘then what is the point of writing papers like this, and why on earth bother to make them public?’ Well, I just have to admit that some of the analogies, correlations and connections contained therein have seemed to me to be worthy of attention.73
VII
If it really is such a universal characteristic of drives to seek to restore a prior state, we should not be surprised that so many processes in the psyche take place quite independently of the pleasure principle. This characteristic would automatically be transmitted to each and every partial drive, and in the case of such drives would involve the retrieval of a particular stage of the development process. But while the pleasure principle may not as yet have gained command of these things, this does not necessarily mean that they are in conflict with it; in fact the problem of determining the relationship of the drives' repetition processes to the dominion of the pleasure principle still remains unsolved.
We have found it to be one of the earliest and most important functions of the psychic apparatus to ‘annex’ newly arriving drive-impulses, replace the primary process prevailing within them by a secondary process, and change their free-moving cathectic energy into a largely quiescent (tonic) cathexis. While this transformation is taking place no attention can be paid to any unpleasure that may arise but that does not mean that the pleasure principle is thereby nullified. On the contrary, the transformation occurs on behalf of the pleasure principle: the annexion is a preparative act that both heralds and ensures the dominion of the pleasure principle.
Let us distinguish more sharply than we have done hitherto between ‘function’ and ‘tendency’.74 The pleasure principle can then be seen as a tendency serving the interests of a specific function whose responsibility it is either to render the psychic apparatus completely free of excitation, or to keep the quantum of excitation within it constant, or to keep it at the lowest possible level. We cannot yet decide for certain which of these alternatives is the correct one, but we note that this function as here defined would partake in that most universal endeavour in all living matter to revert to the quiescence of the inorganic world. We have all experienced how the greatest pleasure we can ever achieve, namely that of the sexual act, is accompanied by the momentary vanishment of a supremely intense excitation. The annexing of the drive-impulse, however, might be seen as a preparative function intended to make the excitation ready for its final dissolution in the pleasure of release.
This same context gives rise to the question whether sensations of pleasure and unpleasure can be produced equally by both annexed and non-annexed excitation processes. Now it does appear to be clear beyond all doubt that the non-annexed, primary processes result in far more intensive sensations in both directions (pleasure and unpleasure) than do the annexed, secondary ones. The primary processes are also the ones that occur first; they are the only ones operative at the start of the psyche's life; and we can reasonably infer that if the pleasure principle were not already active within these earlier processes, it would not be able to materialize at all for the later ones. We thus arrive at the basically rather convoluted conclusion that at the beginning of the psyche's life the striving for pleasure manifests itself far more intensively than it does later on, but enjoys less of a free run, in that it has to put up with frequent irruptions. Once the psyche is more developed the dominion of the pleasure principle is very much more secure, but the pleasure principle itself has no more escaped the taming process than any of the other drives have. In any event, the element within the excitation process that gives rise to the sensations of pleasure and unpleasure must be present in the secondary process just as much as in the primary one.
This would be the appropriate starting-point for further research. Our consciousness transmits to us from within ourselves sensations not only of pleasure and unpleasure, but also of a peculiar tension that again can be either pleasurable or unpleasurable. Are we then, on the basis of these sensations, to differentiate annexed and non-annexed energy processes from one another? Or does the sensation of tension relate to the absolute quantum, or perhaps level, of cathexis, whilst the incidence of pleasure/unpleasure reflects changes in the quantum of cathexis within a particular period of time? We also cannot fail to be struck by the fact that the life drives have so much more to do with our inner perception, since they behave as troublemakers and constantly bring tensions, the resolving of which is perceived as pleasurable, whereas the death drives appear to do their work unobtrusively. The pleasure principle seems to be positively subservient to the death drives; but it does also watch for any stimuli from without that are adjudged by both kinds of drives to be dangerous, and more particularly for any increases in stimulation emanating from within that make the task of living more difficult.
This all leads on to countless other questions to which at present we have no answers. We have to be patient and wait for new means and opportunities for research. And we must also be prepared to abandon any path that appears to be going nowhere, even though we may have followed it for quite some time. Only those fond believers who demand of science that it take the place of the catechism they have forsaken will object to a scientist developing or even changing his ideas. For the rest, let us take consolation for the slow progress of our scientific knowledge from the words of a poet (Rückert in his Makamen des Hariri):
Was man nicht erfliegen kann, muss man erhinken.
…
Die Schrift sagt, es ist keine Sünde zu hinken.
(Whatever we cannot achieve on the wing, we have to achieve at a patient limp… Scripture tells us clear enough: it never was a sin to limp.)
(1920)
The Ego and the Id
The arguments set forth in these pages are an elaboration of ideas first broached in my essay Beyond the Pleasure Principle - ideas which, as I mentioned at the time, I myself viewed with a kind of benevolent curiosity.1 This present essay takes up those ideas, links them with various facts derived from psychoanalytical observation, and seeks to arrive at new conclusions on the basis of this conjunction; it does not make any further borrowings from biology, however, and in consequence is much closer to psychoanalysis than Beyond the Pleasure Principle was. It is more in the nature of synthesis than speculation; and while it evidently aspires to an elevated goal, I am well aware that it never really ventures beyond the crudest level, and I fully acknowledge this limitation.
In the process, the essay touches on matters that have never yet been a focus of psychoanalytical interest, and so inevitably makes reference to various theories propounded by non-psychoanalysts, or by ex-psychoanalysts in the course of withdrawing from their previous position. As a rule I have always been quite ready to acknowledge my debt to other researchers, but in this present case I do not feel burdened by any such debt of gratitude. If psychoanalysis has hitherto failed to show due appreciation of certain things, this was never because it had overlooked their contribution or sought to deny their importance, but rather because it had been following a particular path that had not yet progressed that far. And in any case, when it does finally reach that point it sees things very differently from the way others see them.
I
The Conscious and the Unconscious
In this introductory section there is nothing new to be said, and there is no avoiding the repetition of things that have often been said before.
The division of the psychic realm into the conscious and the unconscious is the fundamental premiss of psychoanalysis; it alone enables psychoanalysis to understand the pathological processes tha
t are such a common and important feature of psychic life, and to offer a systematic scientific account of them. To put this another way: psychoanalysis cannot regard the psyche as being coterminous with consciousness, but necessarily sees consciousness as just one particular quality of the psychical which may or may not manifest itself in addition to other qualities.
If I were able to imagine every last person with an interest in psychology reading this essay, then I should not be one whit surprised to find a number of those readers calling a halt right now and refusing to read another word – for here at once is the first shibboleth of psychoanalysis. To most people whose education is grounded in philosophy, the idea of a psychic realm that is not also a conscious one is so incomprehensible as to seem an absurdity easily refuted by plain, straightforward logic. This is due, I think, to the simple fact that they have never studied the relevant phenomena of hypnosis and dreams which – quite regardless of any pathological element – leave us no option but to take such a view. Furthermore, their consciousness-based psychology is quite incapable of solving the problems presented by dreams and hypnosis.
To say that something ‘is conscious’ is to use a term that in the first instance is purely descriptive,2 a term based on perception of the most direct and certain kind. Now experience tells us that as a rule a psychic element – a notion, for instance – is conscious for no great length of time. Indeed, states of conscious awareness are typically very short-lived. A notion tends to be conscious one moment, then no longer conscious the next – though it can become so again in certain circumstances that are easily brought about. What became of it in the meantime, we do not know. We can say that it was latent, and what we mean is that it was capable of becoming conscious3 at any moment. And if we say that it was unconscious, that too is an accurate description. ‘Unconscious’ in this context thus amounts to the same thing as ‘latent and capable of becoming conscious’. True: the philosophers would object and tell us ‘No! The term “unconscious” is not applicable here! So long as the notion was in a state of latency, it wasn't in any sense psychical.’ But if we started arguing with them at this early stage, we would slither into a polemic that would get us nowhere.
‘Unconscious’, however, is a term or concept that we have arrived at by a different route, namely by looking at experiences in which the dynamics of the psyche play a role. We have found – or rather, we have been compelled to assume – that there exist very powerful psychic processes or notions (a quantitative and hence economic factor enters the picture for a moment here), all of which can have a considerable effect on the subject's inner life, just like any other notions, but which themselves remain unconscious even though their effects may in turn become conscious as notions.4 There is no need to repeat at length here what has so often been propounded before. Suffice it to say that psychoanalytical theory comes into play at this point, arguing that the reason such notions cannot be conscious is that a certain force actively opposes such an outcome, and that otherwise they would indeed be able to become conscious, whereupon it would become clear how little they differ from other psychic elements already acknowledged as such. This theory is rendered irrefutable by the fact that psychoanalysis has devised techniques enabling us to neutralize the opposing force and make the relevant notions conscious. We use the term repression to describe the status in which these notions existed before they were made conscious, and we argue that the force that brought about the repression and then kept it in place makes itself felt during the psychoanalytic process as resistance.
We thus derive our concept of the unconscious from the theory of repression. The repressed5 is in our view the paradigm for the unconscious. As we can see, however, we have two forms of the unconscious: one that is latent, but capable of becoming conscious, and one, consisting of the repressed, that is not inherently and spontaneously capable of becoming conscious. The insight we have gained into the dynamics of the psyche inevitably influences both our nomenclature and our definitions. For the latent component – which is unconscious only in the descriptive6 and not the dynamic sense – we use the term pre-conscious; we restrict the term unconscious to the dynamically unconscious repressed. Thus we now have three terms – ‘conscious’ (Cs), ‘pre-conscious’ (Pcs) and ‘unconscious’ (Ucs), none of which any longer has a purely descriptive meaning. The Pcs, so we assume, is much closer to the Cs than the Ucs is; and having defined the Ucs as psychical, we shall do so all the more readily in the case of the latent Pcs. But wouldn't it be preferable for us to stay in line with the philosophers, and rigorously separate the Pcs as well as the Ucs from the conscious psychic element? The philosophers would then suggest that we describe the Pcs and the Ucs as two forms or levels of the psychoidal7 – and hey presto, harmony would reign between us. But endless expositional difficulties would result from this, and the singularly important fact that these ‘psychoids’ correspond in almost all other respects to the psychical as it is generally understood, would be pushed into the background for the sake of a prejudice – and a prejudice dating from a period when nothing was yet known of these ‘psychoids’, or at any rate of their most important aspect.8
We can now operate very happily with our three terms Cs, Pcs and Ucs, provided we bear in mind that whereas there are two kinds of unconscious in the descriptive sense, there is only one in the dynamic sense. For the purposes of our account of things, we can in some cases ignore this distinction, while in others it is of course indispensable to the argument. After all, we have become quite accustomed to this ambiguity regarding the unconscious, and we have coped with it perfectly well. We cannot get rid of it, so far as I can see: whether something is conscious or unconscious is ultimately a question of perception that can only be answered ‘yes’ or ‘no’, and the act of perception itself tells us nothing whatever about the reason why something is or is not perceived. We have no right to complain about the fact that when the dynamic element happens to become manifest, it does so only in an ambiguous form.9
As our psychoanalytical work proceeds, however, it soon becomes clear that these categories, too, prove to be inadequate, to be quite simply insufficient for practical use. Amongst the various situations that demonstrate this, let us single out one in particular – and the most important of them all. We have evolved the notion of a coherent organization of the psychic processes present within each individual, and we call this organization their ego.10 It is this ego that consciousness attaches to; it controls the pathways leading to motor activity, i.e. to the release of excitations into the external world; it is the arbiter11 that controls all the psyche's constituent processes and, despite going to sleep at night, still contrives to censor dreams. This ego is also the source of the repressions that are intended to exclude certain psychic tendencies not only from consciousness, but also from all other areas where they might come into their own or be otherwise activated. In psychoanalysis, these tendencies, having been thrust aside by the repression process, present themselves in direct opposition to the ego, and it is the job of the analysis to remove the resistances mounted by the ego against any involvement with what has been repressed. Now in the course of analysis we find that the patient encounters difficulties when we set him certain tasks: his associations fail to work whenever they are meant to get anywhere near the repressed element. We then tell him that he is under the sway of a resistance, but he is wholly unaware of this fact, and even if his feelings of unpleasure cause him perchance to guess that a resistance is at work within him, he is incapable of identifying or defining it. But since this resistance undoubtedly emanates from his ego and entirely belongs to it, we find ourselves confronted with an unexpected situation. We have come upon something within the very ego itself that is also unconscious, something that behaves exactly like the repressed element in producing powerful effects without becoming conscious itself, and which we can render conscious only by working on it in a special way. The implication of this discovery for psychoanalytic practice is that we shall incur endless difficu
lties and ambiguities if we carry on doggedly using our accustomed terminology, and thus for instance seek to attribute neurosis to a conflict between the conscious and the unconscious. On the basis of our insight into the structural conditions that obtain in the life of the psyche we need to replace this antithesis with a different one – namely that between the coherent ego and the repressed element that has been split off from it.12
The implications are even more significant, however, with respect to our general conception of the unconscious. We first corrected our position as a result of considering the dynamic aspect, and a second correction is necessitated by our insight concerning structure. We now realize that the Ucs and the repressed are not conterminous; while it remains correct to say that all of the repressed is Ucs, it is not also the case that all of the Ucs is repressed. Part of the ego – God alone knows how important a part – may also be Ucs, indeed is undoubtedly Ucs. And this Ucs component of the ego is not latent in a Pcs sense, otherwise it could surely not be activated without becoming Cs, and it would surely not be so enormously difficult to render it conscious. If we thus find ourselves compelled to postulate a third kind of Ucs, i.e. a non-repressed one, then we have to admit that ‘unconsciousness’ as a category loses some of the significance that it otherwise holds for us. It becomes a multivalent quality that allows no scope for the far-reaching and definitive conclusions that we would have liked to draw from it. And yet we must be careful not to disregard it, for in the end the attribute ‘conscious/unconscious’ is our one and only beacon in the darkness of depth psychology.13