Part 1

INTRODUCTORY LECTURES ON PSYCHO-ANALYSIS

INTRODUCTORY LECTURES ON PSYCHO-ANALYSIS A COURSE OF TWENTY-EIGHT LECTURES DELIVERED AT THE UNIVERSITY OF VIENNA

BY PROF. SIGM. FREUD, M.D., LL.D. VIENNA

AUTHORIZED ENGLISH TRANSLATION BY JOAN RIVIERE

WITH A PREFACE BY ERNEST JONES, M.D. _President of the International Psycho-Analytical Association_

LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. 1

_First Published in Great Britain in 1922_

(_All rights reserved_)

PREFACE

Among the many difficulties confronting those who wish to acquire a knowledge of psycho-analysis, not the least has been the absence of a suitable text-book with which they could begin their studies. They have hitherto had their choice among three classes of book, against each of which some objection could be urged from the point of view of the beginner. They could pick their way through the heterogeneous collection of papers, such as those published by Freud, Brill, Ferenczi, and myself, which were not arranged on any coherent plan and were also for the greater part addressed to those already having some knowledge of the subject. Or they could struggle with more systematic volumes, such as those by Hitschmann and Barbara Low, which suffer from condensation because of the difficulty of having to compress so much into a small space. Or, finally, it might be their fate to come across one of the numerous books, which need not be mentioned by name, that purport to give an adequate account of psycho-analysis, but whose authors have neglected the necessary preliminary of acquiring a proper knowledge of the subject themselves. The gap in the literature of psycho-analysis has now been filled by the writer most competent of all to do it—namely, Professor Freud himself, and the world of clinical psychology must be grateful to him for the effort it must have cost to write such a book in the midst of his other multitudinous duties. In the future we can unhesitatingly deal with the question so often asked, and say: This is the book with which to begin a study of psycho-analysis.

Even here, however, the reader should be warned that it is necessary to add a few modifications to the statement that the present volume is a complete text-book of psycho-analysis. The circumstances of its inception forbid its being so regarded. The book consists of three separate courses of lectures delivered at the University of Vienna in two winter sessions, 1915–1917. The first two of these presuppose absolutely no knowledge of the subject, and the style in which they were delivered constitute them an ideal introduction to the subject. But in the third year Professor Freud, doubtless assuming that those of his audience who had pursued their studies so far would by then have widened their reading otherwise, decided to treat them no longer as mere beginners, and so felt himself free to deal more technically with the more difficult subject-matter of the third course—the psycho-analysis of neurotic affections. The result is that the second half of the book is of a much more advanced nature than the first, a fact which, it is true, has the advantage that the author was able here and there to communicate some of his latest conclusions on obscure points. Every student of psycho-analysis, therefore, however advanced, will be able to learn much from this volume.

One must also remark that the book does not convey an adequate impression of the extensive bearing that psycho-analysis has on other humanistic studies than those here dealt with. Apart from a few hints scattered here and there, there is little indication of the extent to which psycho-analysis has already been applied, to sociology, to the study of racial development, and above all, to the psychology of the normal man. The book is definitely confined to its three topics of psychopathology of everyday life, dreams, and neuroses, these having been chosen as constituting the most suitable subject-matter with which to effect the author’s purpose—namely, to introduce students to psycho-analysis.

An American translation of the book has already appeared, but, apart from its deficiencies of style, it contained so many serious falsities in translation—a passage, for instance, to the effect that _delusions_ cannot be influenced is translated in such a way as to commit Professor Freud, of all people, to the statement that _obsessions_ cannot be cured—that it was decided to issue a fresh translation. This has been carried out with scrupulous care by Mrs. Riviere, aided by drafts carried out by Miss Cecil M. Baines of the eleven lectures in Part II. I have compared the whole book with the original, and have discussed doubtful and difficult points with Professor Freud and Mrs. Riviere. Mrs. Riviere’s English translation will be its own recommendation: I can give the reader the assurance that it is a faithful and exact rendering.

ERNEST JONES.

_December 1921._

CONTENTS

PAGE PREFACE 5

_PART I_

LECTURE 1. INTRODUCTION 11 2. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ERRORS 19 3. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ERRORS (_continuation_) 31 4. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ERRORS (_conclusion_) 47

_PART II_

DREAMS

5. DIFFICULTIES AND PRELIMINARY APPROACH TO THE SUBJECT 67 6. PRELIMINARY HYPOTHESES AND TECHNIQUE OF INTERPRETATION 82 7. MANIFEST CONTENT AND LATENT THOUGHTS 94 8. CHILDREN’S DREAMS 105 9. THE DREAM-CENSORSHIP 114 10. SYMBOLISM IN DREAMS 125 11. THE DREAM-WORK 143 12. EXAMPLES OF DREAMS AND ANALYSIS OF THEM 155 13. ARCHAIC AND INFANTILE FEATURES IN DREAMS 168 14. WISH-FULFILMENT 180 15. DOUBTFUL POINTS AND CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS 193

_PART III_

GENERAL THEORY OF THE NEUROSES

16. PSYCHO-ANALYSIS AND PSYCHIATRY 207 17. THE MEANING OF SYMPTOMS 218 18. FIXATION UPON TRAUMATA: THE UNCONSCIOUS 231 19. RESISTANCE AND REPRESSION 242 20. THE SEXUAL LIFE OF MAN 255 21. DEVELOPMENT OF THE LIBIDO AND SEXUAL ORGANIZATIONS 269 22. ASPECTS OF DEVELOPMENT AND REGRESSION. ÆTIOLOGY 285 23. THE PATHS OF SYMPTOM-FORMATION 300 24. ORDINARY NERVOUSNESS 316 25. ANXIETY 328 26. THE THEORY OF THE LIBIDO: NARCISSISM 344 27. TRANSFERENCE 360 28. THE ANALYTIC THERAPY 375 INDEX 389

_PART I_

FIRST LECTURE INTRODUCTION

I do not know what knowledge any of you may already have of psycho-analysis, either from reading or from hearsay. But having regard to the title of my lectures—Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis—I am bound to proceed as though you knew nothing of the subject and needed instruction, even in its first elements.

One thing, at least, I may presuppose that you know—namely, that psycho-analysis is a method of medical treatment for those suffering from nervous disorders; and I can give you at once an illustration of the way in which psycho-analytic procedure differs from, and often even reverses, what is customary in other branches of medicine. Usually, when we introduce a patient to a new form of treatment we minimize its difficulties and give him confident assurances of its success. This is, in my opinion, perfectly justifiable, for we thereby increase the probability of success. But when we undertake to treat a neurotic psycho-analytically we proceed otherwise. We explain to him the difficulties of the method, its long duration, the trials and sacrifices which will be required of him; and, as to the result, we tell him that we can make no definite promises, that success depends upon his own endeavours, upon his understanding, his adaptability and his perseverance. We have, of course, good reasons, into which you will perhaps gain some insight later on, for adopting this apparently perverse attitude.

Now forgive me if I begin by treating you in the same way as I do my neurotic patients, for I shall positively advise you against coming to hear me a second time. And with this intention I shall explain to you how of necessity you can obtain from me only an incomplete knowledge of psycho-analysis and also what difficulties stand in the way of your forming an independent judgement on the subject. For I shall show you how the whole trend of your training and your accustomed modes of thought must inevitably have made you hostile to psycho-analysis, and also how much you would have to overcome in your own minds in order to master this instinctive opposition. I naturally cannot foretell what degree of understanding of psycho-analysis you may gain from my lectures, but I can at least assure you that by attending them you will not have learnt how to conduct a psycho-analytic investigation, nor how to carry out a psycho-analytic treatment. And further, if anyone of you should feel dissatisfied with a merely cursory acquaintance with psycho-analysis and should wish to form a permanent connection with it, I shall not merely discourage him, but I shall actually warn him against it. For as things are at the present time, not only would the choice of such a career put an end to all chances of academic success, but, upon taking up work as a practitioner, such a man would find himself in a community which misunderstood his aims and intentions, regarded him with suspicion and hostility, and let loose upon him all the latent evil impulses harboured within it. Perhaps you can infer from the accompaniments of the war now raging in Europe what a countless host that is to reckon with.

However, there are always some people to whom the possibility of a new addition to knowledge will prove an attraction strong enough to survive all such inconveniences. If there are any such among you who will appear at my second lecture in spite of my words of warning, they will be welcome. But all of you have a right to know what these inherent difficulties of psycho-analysis are to which I have alluded.

First of all, there is the problem of the teaching and exposition of the subject. In your medical studies you have been accustomed to use your eyes. You see the anatomical specimen, the precipitate of the chemical reaction, the contraction of the muscle as the result of the stimulation of its nerves. Later you come into contact with the patients; you learn the symptoms of disease by the evidence of your senses; the results of pathological processes can be demonstrated to you, and in many cases even the exciting cause of them in an isolated form. On the surgical side you are witnesses of the measures by which the patient is helped, and are permitted to attempt them yourselves. Even in psychiatry, demonstration of patients, of their altered expression, speech and behaviour, yields a series of observations which leave a deep impression on your minds. Thus a teacher of medicine acts for the most part as an exponent and guide, leading you as it were through a museum, while you gain in this way a direct relationship to what is displayed to you and believe yourselves to have been convinced by your own experience of the existence of the new facts.

But in psycho-analysis, unfortunately, all this is different. In psycho-analytic treatment nothing happens but an exchange of words between the patient and the physician. The patient talks, tells of his past experiences and present impressions, complains, and expresses his wishes and his emotions. The physician listens, attempts to direct the patient’s thought-processes, reminds him, forces his attention in certain directions, gives him explanations and observes the reactions of understanding or denial thus evoked. The patient’s unenlightened relatives—people of a kind to be impressed only by something visible and tangible, preferably by the sort of ‘action’ that may be seen at a cinema—never omit to express their doubts of how “mere talk can possibly cure anybody.” Their reasoning is of course as illogical as it is inconsistent. For they are the same people who are always convinced that the sufferings of neurotics are purely “in their own imagination.” Words and magic were in the beginning one and the same thing, and even to-day words retain much of their magical power. By words one of us can give to another the greatest happiness or bring about utter despair; by words the teacher imparts his knowledge to the student; by words the orator sweeps his audience with him and determines its judgements and decisions. Words call forth emotions and are universally the means by which we influence our fellow-creatures. Therefore let us not despise the use of words in psycho-therapy and let us be content if we may overhear the words which pass between the analyst and the patient.

But even that is impossible. The dialogue which constitutes the analysis will admit of no audience; the process cannot be demonstrated. One could, of course, exhibit a neurasthenic or hysterical patient to students at a psychiatric lecture. He would relate his case and his symptoms, but nothing more. He will make the communications necessary to the analysis only under the conditions of a special affective relationship to the physician; in the presence of a single person to whom he was indifferent he would become mute. For these communications relate to all his most private thoughts and feelings, all that which as a socially independent person he must hide from others, all that which, being foreign to his own conception of himself, he tries to conceal even from himself.

It is impossible, therefore, for you to be actually present during a psycho-analytic treatment; you can only be told about it, and can learn psycho-analysis, in the strictest sense of the word, only by hearsay. This tuition at second hand, so to say, puts you in a very unusual and difficult position as regards forming your own judgement on the subject, which will therefore largely depend on the reliance you can place on your informant.

Now imagine for a moment that you were present at a lecture in history instead of in psychiatry, and that the lecturer was dealing with the life and conquests of Alexander the Great. What reason would you have to believe what he told you? The situation would appear at first sight even more unsatisfactory than in the case of psycho-analysis, for the professor of history had no more part in Alexander’s campaigns than you yourselves; the psycho-analyst at least informs you of matters in which he himself has played a part. But then we come to the question of what evidence there is to support the historian. He can refer you to the accounts of early writers who were either contemporaries or who lived not long after the events in question, such as Diodorus, Plutarch, Arrian, and others; he can lay before you reproductions of the preserved coins and statues of the king, and pass round a photograph of the mosaic at Pompeii representing the battle at Issus. Yet, strictly speaking, all these documents only prove that the existence of Alexander and the reality of his deeds were already believed in by former generations of men, and your criticism might begin anew at this point. And then you would find that not everything reported of Alexander is worthy of belief or sufficiently authenticated in detail, but I can hardly suppose that you would leave the lecture-room in doubt altogether as to the reality of Alexander the Great. Your conclusions would be principally determined by two considerations: first, that the lecturer could have no conceivable motive for attempting to persuade you of something which he did not himself believe to be true, and secondly, that all the available authorities agree more or less in their accounts of the facts. In questioning the accuracy of the early writers you would apply these tests again, the possible motives of the authors and the agreement to be found between them. The result of such tests would certainly be convincing in the case of Alexander, probably less so in regard to figures like Moses and Nimrod. Later on you will perceive clearly enough what doubts can be raised against the credibility of an exponent of psycho-analysis.

Now you will have a right to ask the question: If no objective evidence for psycho-analysis exists, and no possibility of demonstrating the process, how is it possible to study it at all or to convince oneself of its truth? The study of it is indeed not an easy matter, nor are there many people who have thoroughly learned it; still, there is, of course, some way of learning it. Psycho-Analysis is learnt first of all on oneself, through the study of one’s own personality. This is not exactly what is meant by introspection, but it may be so described for want of a better word. There is a whole series of very common and well-known mental phenomena which can be taken as material for self-analysis when one has acquired some knowledge of the method. In this way one may obtain the required conviction of the reality of the processes which psycho-analysis describes, and of the truth of its conceptions, although progress on these lines is not without its limitations. One gets much further by submitting oneself to analysis by a skilled analyst, undergoing the working of the analysis in one’s own person and using the opportunity to observe the finer details of the technique which the analyst employs. This, eminently the best way, is of course only practicable for individuals and cannot be used in a class of students.

The second difficulty you will find in connection with psycho-analysis is not, on the other hand, inherent in it, but is one for which I must hold you yourselves responsible, at least in so far as your medical studies have influenced you. Your training will have induced in you an attitude of mind very far removed from the psycho-analytical one. You have been trained to establish the functions and disturbances of the organism on an anatomical basis, to explain them in terms of chemistry and physics, and to regard them from a biological point of view; but no part of your interest has ever been directed to the mental aspects of life, in which, after all, the development of the marvellously complicated organism culminates. For this reason a psychological attitude of mind is still foreign to you, and you are accustomed to regard it with suspicion, to deny it a scientific status, and to leave it to the general public, poets, mystics, and philosophers. Now this limitation in you is undoubtedly detrimental to your medical efficiency; for on meeting a patient it is the mental aspects with which one first comes into contact, as in most human relationships, and I am afraid you will pay the penalty of having to yield a part of the curative influence at which you aim to the quacks, mystics, and faith-healers whom you despise.

I quite acknowledge that there is an excuse for this defect in your previous training. There is no auxiliary philosophical science that might be of service to you in your profession. Neither speculative philosophy nor descriptive psychology, nor even the so-called experimental psychology which is studied in connection with the physiology of the sense-organs, as they are taught in the schools, can tell you anything useful of the relations existing between mind and body, or can give you a key to comprehension of a possible disorder of the mental functions. It is true that the psychiatric branch of medicine occupies itself with describing the different forms of recognizable mental disturbances and grouping them in clinical pictures, but in their best moments psychiatrists themselves are doubtful whether their purely descriptive formulations deserve to be called science. The origin, mechanism, and interrelation of the symptoms which make up these clinical pictures are undiscovered: either they cannot be correlated with any demonstrable changes in the brain, or only with such changes as in no way explain them. These mental disturbances are open to therapeutic influence only when they can be identified as secondary effects of some organic disease.

This is the lacuna which psycho-analysis is striving to fill. It hopes to provide psychiatry with the missing psychological foundation, to discover the common ground on which a correlation of bodily and mental disorder becomes comprehensible. To this end it must dissociate itself from every foreign preconception, whether anatomical, chemical, or physiological, and must work throughout with conceptions of a purely psychological order, and for this very reason I fear that it will appear strange to you at first.

For the next difficulty I shall not hold you, your training or your mental attitude, responsible. There are two tenets of psycho-analysis which offend the whole world and excite its resentment; the one conflicts with intellectual, the other with moral and æsthetic, prejudices. Let us not underestimate these prejudices; they are powerful things, residues of valuable, even necessary, stages in human evolution. They are maintained by emotional forces, and the fight against them is a hard one.