企鹅口袋书系列·伟大的思想

文明与缺憾

（英汉双语）

［奥］西格蒙德·弗洛伊德　著

［英］大卫·麦克林托克　英译

王冬梅　马传兵　汉译

中 国 出 版 集 团 公 司

中国对外翻译出版有限公司

图书在版编目（CIP）数据

文明与缺憾：英汉双语/（奥）弗洛伊德（Freud, S.）著；王冬梅，马传兵译．—北京：中国对外翻译出版有限公司，2011.12

（企鹅口袋书系列·伟大的思想）

ISBN 978-7-5001-3324-7

Ⅰ．①文…　Ⅱ．①弗…　②王…　③马…　Ⅲ．①英语—汉语—对照读物　②精神分析—研究　Ⅳ．①H319.4:B

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2011）第247569号

（著作权合同登记：图字01-2012-1434号）

www.penguin.com

Des Unbehagen in der Kultur first published 1930

This translation first published in Penguin Books 2002

This edition first published 2004

Sigmund Freud's German texts collected as Gesammelte Werke（1940-52）

copyright 1941, 1948 by Imago Publishing Co. Ltd

Translation copyright © David McLintock, 2002

All rights reserved

Taken from the New Penguin Freud edition of Civilization and Its Discontents,

translated by David McLintock and introduced by Leo Bersani

The moral right of the translator has been asserted

Set in Monotype Dante

Typeset by Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

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观　念
——《伟大的思想》代序

梁文道

每隔一段时间，媒体就喜欢评选一次“影响世界的X个人”或者“改变历史的X项发明”。然而，在我看来，几乎所有人类史上最重大的变革，首先都是一种观念的变革。

我们今天之所以会关注气候的暖化与生物多样性的保存，是因为我们看待地球的方式变了，我们比以前更加意识到人在自然中的位置，也更加了解自然其实是一个动态的系统。放弃了人类可以主宰地球的世界观，这就意味着我们接受了一个观念的变化。同样地，我们不再相信男人一出生就该主宰女人，甚至也不再认为男女之别是不可动摇的本质区分；这也是观念的变化。如果说环保运动和女权运动有任何影响的话，那些影响一定就是从大脑开始的。也不要只看好事，20世纪最惨绝人寰的浩劫最初也只不过是一些小小的观念，危险的观念。比如说一位德国人，他相信人类的进化必以“次等种族”的灭绝为代价……

这套丛书不叫“伟大的巨著”，是因为它们体积都不大，而且还有不少是抽取自某些名著的章节。可它们却全是伟大的观念，例如达尔文论天择，潘恩论常识，它们共同构成了人类的观念地图。从头看它们一遍，就是检视文明所走过的道路，从深处理解我们今天变成这个样子的原因。

也许你会发现其中有些陌生的名字，或者看起来没有那么“伟大”的篇章（譬如普鲁斯特追忆他的阅读时光），但你千万不要小看它们。因为真正重要、真正能够产生启蒙效果的观念往往具有跨界移动的能力，它会跨越时空，离开它原属的领域，在另一个世界产生意外的效果。就像马可·波罗在监狱里述说的异国图景，当时有谁料得到那些荒诞的故事会诱发出哥伦布的旅程呢？我也无法猜测，这套小书的读者里头会不会有下一个哥伦布，他将带着令人惊奇的观念航向自己的大海。

《伟大的思想》中文版序

企鹅《伟大的思想》丛书2004年开始出版。在英国，已付印80种，尚有20种计划出版。美国出版的丛书规模略小，德国的同类丛书规模更小一些。丛书销量已远远超过200万册，在全球很多人中间，尤其是学生当中，普及了哲学和政治学。中文版《伟大的思想》丛书的推出，迈出了新的一步，令人欢欣鼓舞。

推出这套丛书的目的是让读者再次与一些伟大的非小说类经典著作面对面地交流。太长时间以来，确定版本依据这样一个假设——读者在教室里学习这些著作，因此需要导读、详尽的注释、参考书目等。此类版本无疑非常有用，但我想，如果能够重建托马斯·潘恩《常识》或约翰·罗斯金《艺术与人生》初版时的环境，重新营造更具亲和力的氛围，那也是一件有意思的事。当时，读者除了原作者及其自身的理性思考外没有其他参照。

这样做有一定的缺点：每个作者的话难免有难解或不可解之处，一些重要的背景知识会缺失。例如，读者对亨利·梭罗创作时的情况毫无头绪，也不了解该书的接受情况及影响。不过，这样做的优点也很明显。最突出的优点是，作者的初衷又一次变得重要起来——托马斯·潘恩的愤怒、查尔斯·达尔文的灵光、塞内加的隐逸。这些作家在那么多国家影响了那么多人的生活，其影响不可估量，有的长达几个世纪，读他们书的乐趣罕有匹敌。没有亚当·斯密或阿图尔·叔本华，难以想象我们今天的世界。这些小书的创作年代已很久远，但其中的话已彻底改变了我们的政治学、经济学、智力生活、社会规划和宗教信仰。

《伟大的思想》丛书一直求新求变。地区不同，收录的作家也不同。在中国或美国，一些作家更受欢迎。英国《伟大的思想》收录的一些作家在其他地方则默默无闻。称其为“伟大的思想”，我们亦慎之又慎。思想之伟大，在于其影响之深远，而不意味着这些思想是“好”的，实际上一些书可列入“坏”思想之列。丛书中很多作家受到同一丛书其他作家的很大影响，例如，马塞尔·普鲁斯特承认受约翰·罗斯金影响很大，米歇尔·德·蒙田也承认深受塞内加影响，但其他作家彼此憎恨，如果发现他们被收入同一丛书，一定会气愤难平。不过，读者可自行决定这些思想是否合理。我们衷心希望，您能在阅读这些杰作中得到乐趣。

《伟大的思想》出版者

西蒙·温德尔

Introduction to the Chinese Editions of Great Ideas

Penguin's Great Ideas series began publication in 2004. In the UK we now have 80 copies in print with plans to publish a further 20. A somewhat smaller list is published in the USA and a related, even smaller series in Germany. The books have sold now well over two million copies and have popularized philosophy and politics for many people around the world – particularly students. The launch of a Chinese Great Ideas series is an extremely exciting new development.

The intention behind the series was to allow readers to be once more face to face with some of the great nonfiction classics. For too long the editions of these books were created on the assumption that you were studying them in the classroom and that the student needed an introduction, extensive notes, a bibliography and so on. While this sort of edition is of course extremely useful, I thought it would be interesting to recreate a more intimate feeling – to recreate the atmosphere in which, for example, Thomas Paine's Common Sense or John Ruskin's On Art and Life was first published – where the reader has no other guide than the original author and his or her own common sense.

This method has its severe disadvantages – there will inevitably be statements made by each author which are either hard or impossible to understand, some important context might be missing. For example the reader has no clue as to the conditions under which Henry Thoreau was writing his book and the reader cannot be aware of the book's reception or influence. The advantages however are very clear – most importantly the original intentions of the author become once more important. The sense of anger in Thomas Paine, of intellectual excitement in Charles Darwin, of resignation in Seneca – few things can be more thrilling than to read writers who have had such immeasurable influence on so many lives, sometimes for centuries, in many different countries. Our world would not make sense without Adam Smith or Arthur Schopenhauer – our politics, economics, intellectual lives, social planning, religious beliefs have all been fundamentally changed by the words in these little books, first written down long ago.

The Great Ideas series continues to change and evolve. In different parts of the world different writers would be included. In China or in the United States there are some writers who are liked much more than others. In the UK there are writers in the Great Ideas series who are ignored elsewhere. We have also been very careful to call the series Great Ideas – these ideas are great because they have been so enormously influential, but this does not mean that they are Good Ideas – indeed some of the books would probably qualify as Bad Ideas. Many of the writers in the series have been massively influenced by others in the series – for example Marcel Proust owned so much to John Ruskin, Michel de Montaigne to Seneca. But others hated each other and would be distressed to find themselves together in the same series! But readers can decide the validity of these ideas for themselves. We very much hope that you enjoy these remarkable books.

Simon Winder

Publisher

Great Ideas

目录

观念——《伟大的思想》代序

《伟大的思想》中文版序

Introduction to the Chinese Editions of Great Ideas

文明与缺憾

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文明与缺憾

1

人通常会追逐权力、成功与财富，羡慕别人所拥有的这一切，却对生命中真正有价值的事物不予重视，并且依据错误的标准做出判断——人们很容易发出这样的感慨。然而，做出如此笼统的概括，很容易忽略人类物质世界和精神世界的丰富多彩。有一些人受到同时代人的尊崇，然而其伟大品质和功绩却往往与很多人的理想和目标不相符合。人们或许认为这些伟人毕竟只为少数人所欣赏，而大多数人对他们毫无兴趣。然而，由于人们思想和行为方式的差异，个人欲望和追求的不同，事情恐怕不会如此简单。

有这样一位杰出人士，与我有通信往来，并在信中称我为好友。我曾给他写过一封简短的信，称宗教乃是幻想。他回信说，对我的见解表示完全赞成，但他很遗憾我未能理解人们对宗教虔诚的真正根源。这种根源在于一种特别的感觉，他自己就从未摆脱过这种感觉，也在很多人身上得到验证，因此他认为这种感觉亦应该为千万人所共有，他称之为“永生”，一种无边无际的“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉。他继续说，这种感觉纯粹是主观的，不是一种信条，不能确保人们永存，但却是宗教力量的源泉，为各个教派和宗教体系所利用，被引到特定的渠道，自然被这些教派和宗教体系吸收和利用。单凭这种海洋般无边无尽的感觉，人们即可称自己是信奉宗教的，即使他们拒绝相信任何信条、任何幻想。

我那可敬的朋友[1]曾经以诗的形式赞扬了幻想的魔力。他的观点给我造成了不小的困惑。我自身丝毫不能感到这种“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉。要知道让科学理性地对待感觉是很不容易的。人们可能会试图描述感觉的生理表现，但这是行不通的，而且恐怕这种“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉是无助于描述的。我们能做的只是研究那些与感觉最为接近的概念性的东西。如果我没有理解错的话，我那朋友指的“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉是一种慰藉，就像一位古怪却又才思新颖的作家给予选择结束自己生命的主角的一种安慰：“我们不会脱离这个世界的。”这是一种与身外世界紧密相联的归属感。对于我来说这属于一种理性的领悟，当然也不乏情感的色彩，尽管在其他类似的思维活动中也不乏情感色彩。凭借我自己的经验，我实在无法让自己信服这种“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉。但我无法否认在他人身上这种感觉实实在在地存在着。然而，唯一的问题是，这种感觉是否得到了准确的解释，或者说是否应该理所当然地看做是宗教的源泉。

对于这一问题，我也没有决定性的、建设性的解决建议。但仅仅凭一种直接的感觉，来告知人们与外部世界存在的联系，并用来解释人们需要宗教的原因，这样的想法从一开始听上去就很奇怪，并且与我们的心理结构不相吻合。因此，我们需要找出一种心理分析的方法，对于这种感觉的遗传起源做出合理的解释。以下的思路即论证了这一点。我们通常不会产生比对自我更确定的感觉。人们大多会觉得这种自我是独立的整体，并与一切其他的东西对立。其实不然，心理分析学的研究首先告诉我们这是错误的，事实上自我向内在延伸，延伸至一种我们称之为本我的无意识心理实体，且界限模糊不清；自我就好像是本我的外表。对于自我与本我的关系，心理分析仍有很多方面可向我们揭示。然而至少表面来看，自我的轮廓似乎可以被清晰分明地勾勒出来。只有一种状态——诚然是一种不寻常的状态，但不应被贬为病态的状态——自我不再轮廓分明。在情爱的巅峰状态，自我与对象的界限会变得模糊。尽管与认识相悖，恋爱中的人们总会宣称“我”和“你”是一体的，并且随时表现得像一体的。这种自我与外界的界限能够暂时地被生理功能打断，自然也会被疾病打断。病理学的研究让我们认识到，在很多情况下自我与外部世界的界限会变得模糊不清，或者说根本是被错误地划分了。在有些病例中，人身体的某些部分，甚至是精神生活的某些部分，如观念、思想、感觉，似乎变得很陌生，从自我中分离开来。在另一些情况中，他把那些明显产生于自我并应该得到自我认识的事情归于外部世界。因此，即使是自身的感觉也会产生混乱，而且自身的界限并不是恒定的。

通过进一步的思考，我们便可知道，成年人对于自己的感觉不可能与刚出生时相同，它必然经过了一个发展的过程。可以理解的是，这样的过程并不能被实际演示出来，但在很大程度上可以重构。对于一个新生儿来说，外部世界就是其感觉的由来；一开始，他并未将自我与外部世界分离开来。但在外部各种刺激的作用下，他逐渐学会了将自我与外界区分开来。他会发现，有些刺激源任何时候都可以向其传递感觉，后来他认识到这些刺激源属于自己的器官；而另外一些——包括他最渴望的东西，如母亲的乳房，会暂时挪开，只有通过哭喊才会重回眼前，以上这些区别一定给他留下了深刻的印象。正是以这种方式，自我首次碰到了“客体”，即某种外在的事物，只有通过特定的行为，才能促使它出现。将自我从各种感觉中分离出来，进而认识到“外部世界”；更进一步的诱因来自频繁的、各种各样的不可避免的痛苦（或者说幸福缺失），这种痛苦的感觉，只有在快乐原则发挥绝对作用时，才能得以避免和消除。于是这样一种趋势就会产生，即将自我和任何可能产生这样不愉快体验的事物区分开，并将这种不愉快的体验赶走，以便建立与一个陌生、险恶的外部世界相抗衡的纯粹追求快乐的自我。这种以快乐为导向的原始自我必然会受到经验的修正。毕竟，有些给予我们快乐、我们不愿放弃的事物并不属于自我，而属于客体；而另外一些我们想要消除的折磨和痛苦，却证明是来自内部，与自我密不可分。于是，我们掌握了一种方法，通过有目的性地控制我们的感觉活动和合适的肌体运动，来区分什么是来自内部的（即属于自我的），什么是来自外部的（即来自外界的）。这就向建立现实世界原则迈出了第一步，对未来发展起着支配作用。这种内部和外部的区分具有现实意义，使人们免于不愉快的经历对自己造成的威胁。事实上，自我在驱除源于内部的某些不愉快感觉时，如果采取与驱除来源于外部不愉快事物同样的手段，往往会成为重大心理疾病的起始点。

自我正是通过这种方法使其从外部世界中分离开来。更确切地说，自我在一开始是包括一切的，只是后来从自身中分离出了一个外部的世界。于是，我们现在的自我感觉，只是更为广泛、包罗万象的一种感觉的浓缩物，与自我和周边世界更为密切的联系相一致。如果我们可以做如下假设，即自我的这种原始的感觉某种程度上在人们的精神生活中存续下来，那么它会像一个搭档，与范围狭窄、严格界定的成熟的自我感觉共存。与之相对应的内容就是那些与宇宙一体和无边无际的概念，即我的朋友常用来阐释“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉的概念。但我们是否可以这样假定：最初存在的事物仍然会存续下去，与后来从中演化而来的事物共同存在呢？

毋庸置疑！这种情况无论发生在精神领域还是其他领域，都不足为奇。以动物世界为例，人们通常认为动物是由低级向高级进化的。然而，如今所有低级形式的生命依然存在。有些大型爬行动物，如大型蜥蜴，已经灭绝或进化成哺乳动物，但大型爬行动物真正的代表——鳄鱼却依然存在。这样的类比或许有点牵强，况且很多存活下来的低级物种也并非现存的高级物种的祖先，中间的环节大多已经消失了，我们只能通过重新构建才可以得知，这就削弱了这个类比的可比性。然而，在精神领域，原始的感觉与从中演化出来的感觉是共存的。这样的现象非常普遍，不必举例去证明。这往往是发展中的分叉导致，即一部分（从数量上讲）态度或者本能冲动保持不变，而另一部分却得到进一步发展。

由此，又提起一个精神领域里更为普遍的记忆和保留的问题，这一问题几乎尚未研究过，却充满研究魅力、意义重大，我们不妨探讨一下，尽管理由尚不够充分。我们曾经认为，我们经常遗忘是因为记忆痕迹的破坏，即记忆痕迹的消亡，但在纠正了这一错误观点之后，我们发现事实恰恰相反。即在精神生活中，一样东西一旦形成就永远都不会消失，一切皆以某种形式得到保存，条件合适时，皆可找回。例如，只要（因催眠或精神疾患）回到从前，即可找回当时的记忆。这样的假设意味着什么，让我们试着用另一领域的类比来揭示。以“永恒的城市”的发展为例，历史学家告诉我们最早期的罗马是一个四方城，是帕拉蒂尼山上用栅栏围起来的居住点。之后是七山城阶段，是由各个分散的山丘上的居住点组成的联盟。接着，是塞维安墙围起来的城市。再之后，经过罗马共和国的不断变迁，以及经历过帝国时代的早期，就成了奥瑞里安皇帝用城墙围起来的城市。我们不再向前追溯城市所经历的种种变迁了，只是不由自主地会想，如果一个拥有丰富历史学与地形学知识的旅行者去罗马旅游时，他能发现罗马早期各个阶段的多少遗迹呢？他会发现除了一些缺口，奥瑞里安的城墙并没有多大的变化。他可以不时地看到挖掘出土显露出来的一段段塞维安城墙上的痕迹。凭借足够的考古学知识（至少要比当今考古学家具有更丰富的知识）他能看出整个塞维安城墙的整体布局，透过现代罗马城的规划他能看到罗马四方城的轮廓。至于古城中曾经的建筑物，他是无论如何也无法找到的，因为他们已经不存在了，顶多能找到一些残片而已。关于罗马共和国的丰富知识至多能使他指出罗马古城中的庙宇在当时究竟位于何方，公共建筑究竟曾经建于何处。现在这些地方早已被废墟掩盖——但并非是原来建筑的废墟，而是在这些建筑被焚烧、破坏后又建起来的建筑的废墟。无须赘言，古罗马的这些遗迹，已成为碎片，散落在文艺复兴后近代兴建的大都市的混乱之中。诚然，旧址依然存在，只是掩埋在现代建筑之下。像罗马这样的历史古城，过去就是这样延续下来的。

现在让我们做这样一个奇妙的假想，即假定罗马并非是一个人们居住的地方，而是一个与罗马一样有着漫长而丰富多彩历史的精神实体。在这个精神实体中，一旦形成的东西就不会消失，并且先前的发展时期与现今是共存的。对罗马而言，就相当于一直到被哥特人围攻时，塞弗尤斯宫殿与恺撒大帝皇宫依然矗立在帕拉蒂尼山上；圣安吉罗堡的城垛上仍然装饰着美丽的塑像。不仅如此，朱庇特神庙会屹立在卡法莱里-克莱门蒂诺宫之上，而没有必要将后者移除，而且，这座神庙不仅具有当时的形态，即罗马帝国时期所见到的形态，还保留着更早期的姿态，依然保留着伊特鲁里亚人的元素，其檐口依然用陶瓦装饰。在如今的圆形大剧场，我们仍然可以欣赏已经消失的尼禄时代金色的房屋。在万神殿广场上，我们不仅可以找到今天由哈德良传给我们的万神殿，同时，还能找到拉格瑞帕人所建的最初的大厦；在同一块土地上，矗立着密涅瓦圣玛丽亚教堂以及该教堂的前身，即古老的神庙。观察者也许只需要改变他的视线或位置就可以看到其中一个或另一个。

显然，再进一步展开这样的想象毫无意义：结果会无法想象，甚至荒诞可笑。我们要在空间上表现历史顺序，唯一的办法就是将空间铺开并列，因为同一空间不能存放两个不同的事物。这样的尝试似乎是一项没有意义的游戏。唯一的正当理由是：它向我们表明，通过形象的描述，我们距离掌握精神生活的特性还有多远。

但是有一个异议我们必须回应。人们或许会问，为什么要把一个城市的过去与我们精神的过去相提并论呢？即便是对于我们的精神而言，一切过去皆被保存下来，这个假定也得满足一个前提，即我们的大脑必须是完整的，其组织结构没有受到创伤或炎症的损害。这些疾病的原因可以比做是破坏性的因素。然而对于一个城市而言，这些破坏性因素是司空见惯的，即便这个城市不像罗马那样动荡不安，即便像伦敦那样几乎没有遭到外敌的蹂躏。一个城市的和平发展少不了拆除和更新一些建筑，基于此，任何城市都无法与精神有机体相比。

我们欣然接受这样的异议，放弃鲜明对比的做法，转而与更为相关的事物相比较，如动物肌体和人类肌体。但这里我们也会发现同样的问题。肌体成长的早期阶段根本没有被保存下来，只是为后期阶段提供材料，并被吸收到后期阶段。成年人的身体中是找不到胚胎的，儿童的胸腺在青春期之后会被结缔组织取代，胸腺的形式不复存在。在成年人的骨骼之中，固然可以找到儿童时代骨骼的大致轮廓，但骨骼在不断加长、增厚并最终定型，在这一生长过程中，儿童的骨骼形态消失了。事实上，早期阶段与最终的形态并存，也许只有在精神领域中才可能发生，我们根本无法拿其他事物与精神相提并论，并试图阐释精神这一现象。

也许我们在这个问题上扯得太远了。或许我们应该满足于这样的结论，即过去在精神生活中可能会得到保存，没有必要被摧毁。情况可能是这样的：即使是在精神领域之中，过去、陈旧的东西也会变得模糊或者被吸收，不管是在事物的正常发展情况之下或者是在其他例外情况下。更有甚者，我们不能利用任何方法使它们恢复到原来的状态，又或许只有在特定的有利条件下我们才可能做到。对于这一点，我们无法得知。我们唯一能做的就是坚信在精神世界中，对过去的保存记忆是一条定律，而非令人惊讶的例外。

因此，如果我们准备承认许多人都有那一种“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉，并欲将其追溯到自我感觉的早期阶段，那么一个新的问题就又出现了：是什么东西使得这种感觉被认做是宗教需要的源泉呢？

我并不觉得这种说法是令人信服的。毕竟一种感觉只有是某种强烈需要的表现时，才能成为力量的源泉。我认为，宗教的需要无疑是从婴儿的无助，和由此引起的对父亲的渴望中衍生出来的，尤其因为这种感觉不仅仅存在于童年时代，而且由于恐惧命运的至上权力，它被永久地保存了下来。我实在无法找出对于儿童来说比父亲的保护更加强烈的需求。因此，那种可能力图恢复无限自恋的“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉，在宗教需要中就不可能发挥主要作用。人们信奉宗教的缘由，可以清晰地追溯到孩子的无助的感觉中。可能这其后还隐藏着什么，但目前我们还不得而知。

我可以想象这种“如海洋般浩淼”的感觉随后与宗教发生了联系。与这种浩淼感觉相连的观念认识是，“自我与宇宙融为一体”，这成为把宗教当做慰藉的初步尝试，即以另一种方式否认自我感觉到的源于外界的危险。我不得不再次承认研究这些无形的概念非常困难。我的另一个朋友怀着对知识的极大渴求，做了一个极其不寻常的实验，变得似乎无所不知。他向我保证说，人们在练习瑜伽的过程中，背对外界，将注意力集中到肌体的功能之上，运用特殊的呼吸方式，可以获得全新的、宇宙般的感觉。他把这样的感觉解释成向精神生活被长久掩盖的原始形态的回归。他由此可以说看到了神秘主义智慧的重要生理基础；也找到了这与诸如恍惚、入迷这类难解的精神状态的关系。但我还是忍不住用席勒民谣中潜水者的话来说：

……让他欣悦吧，那在玫瑰色的光芒中呼吸的人。

————————————————————

[1] 罗曼·罗兰。

2

在《幻想的未来》一书中，我关注的重点不是宗教情感极其深奥的起源，而是普通人所理解的宗教。宗教以其令人称羡的完整教义和应许体系，一方面向人们解释世界之谜，另一方面宽慰着人们，称细心的上帝会照看他们的生活，现世他们所遭受的苦难，在未来世界会得到上帝的补偿。除了至尊高尚的父亲形象，普通人再也想象不出什么来形容这个上帝。只有这样的父亲才能理解人类孩子的需要，才能被他们的请求所感化，才能被他们的忏悔所打动。这整个想法显然太幼稚，与现实相去太远，因此想到大多数人都无法超越这样的人生观，不能不让博爱的心灵感到疼痛。更令人不安的是，尽管今天很多人已经知道这种宗教是站不住脚的，却仍然企图采取可悲的措施一步一步地来捍卫它。人们喜欢混进教徒的行列以便对付某些哲学家，并提醒他们不要触犯十诫之一：“你们不要轻慢地谈论主，亵渎你们的上帝！”因为这些哲学家们认为他们能拯救宗教的上帝，其办法是把他变成一条非人格化的模糊抽象的原则。如果过去的某些伟人们这么做了，我们不能指责他们，因为我们知道他们不得不这么做的原因。

再让我们回到普通人及其宗教的话题上来，即唯一能称之为宗教的宗教。我们首先想到的就是最伟大的诗人和思想家之一歌德的一句著名的有关宗教和艺术、科学关系的评论：

拥有科学和艺术的人同时也就拥有了宗教，如果两者都不具的人，那就让他信奉宗教吧！

这句话一方面将宗教和人类最高的两项成就——科学和艺术做了比较；又从另一方面声明了宗教、科学、艺术在人生中的价值，认为宗教与后两项成就可以互相说明、互相替代。想剥夺一个既不拥有科学又不拥有艺术的普通人信奉宗教的权利，我们显然缺乏像诗人歌德那样的权威。要深刻理解和欣赏歌德的主张，我们须另辟蹊径。生活赋予我们太多难以承受的困难：它带来太多痛苦，太多失望，太多无法解决的问题。要容忍它，我们就不得不采取一些缓和的措施。（正如特奥多尔·冯塔纳告诉我们的：没有帮助，你什么也做不了。）此类缓和措施大概有三种：有效地分散注意力，这能使我们忽视所承受的苦难；替代性的满足，这能减弱我们的痛苦；麻醉物质，这能麻痹我们对痛苦的感知。诸如此类的东西是必不可少的。[1]伏尔泰在写作《天真》的结尾时劝解人们去打理一个属于自己的花园，这样就能分散转移自己对苦难的注意力。学术活动也是此类分散转移。作为替代性满足的手段之一，艺术是与现实相悖的幻想，但正因为幻想在精神生活中所扮演的重要角色，这些幻想其实在心理上同样有效。麻醉物质影响我们的肉体并改变了它的化学物质。在这一系列的手段中，界定宗教占有的位置并不容易。我们因此必须看得更远一些。

人生的目的是什么？这个问题已经被提出过无数次，至今没有一个令人满意的回答，或许这个问题根本就没有答案。一些提出这个问题的人补充说，如果人生注定没有目的，那么人生对人们而言也就失去了价值。但这种威胁也改变不了什么。相反，人们似乎有权不去考虑这个问题。这种威胁似乎只是建立在此种人为的假设之上，诸如此类的例子不胜枚举。没有人讨论动物是为了什么而活，除非是为了服务于人类的目的。但是这种观点同样站不住脚，因为世上还有很多动物，人类除了对他们进行描述、分类并且研究，其他什么也做不了；许多物种甚至连这种用途都没有，因为早在被人们发现之前，它们就已经灭绝了。似乎只有宗教才能回答人活着是为了什么这个谜题。因此人生具有目的的观点成立与否就取决于宗教体系，得出这样的推断几乎是不会错的。

于是我们现在将话题转向一个更适中的问题：人类本身的行为揭示出其人生的目标和目的到底是什么？人们对生活有什么预期呢？回答毫无疑问：他们追求快乐幸福，希望得到幸福并一直幸福下去。这种追求有正反两个目标：一方面它旨在消除一切痛苦和不愉快的经历，另一方面旨在获得强烈的快乐感。幸福，从严格意义上讲只与后者有关。与人类追求目的的二分法相一致的是，人类活动，根据其寻求实现的主要目的或唯一目的，也朝着两个方向展开。

正如我们所看到的，正是快乐原则决定了人生的目的。这原则从一开始就支配着我们的精神器官。它的效力是毋庸置疑的。然而它与整个世界——无论是宏观的还是微观的——都是相悖的。整个宇宙的建构都是与快乐相悖的，因此快乐原则无法实现；人们赞同“人类应该获得幸福”并不是“创世”意图的一部分。从最严格的意义上来讲，我们所称的“幸福”产生于压抑的需求突然得到的满足。幸福的本质决定了幸福只能是暂时的。当快乐原则所渴望的某种情况被延长时，只能带来一种微弱的满足感。我们天生就只能从对比中获得强烈的快感，从某一状态本身只能获得很少的快乐。[2]因此，我们幸福的可能性已经被我们的气质所限制。生活中，我们更容易经历不幸。苦难从三个方面威胁着我们：肉体上，我们注定要衰败、腐烂，且从来都是与疼痛、焦虑这些警告信号相伴；外部世界方面，它会向我们施加巨大的、难以平息的、破坏性的压力；最后是人际关系。人际关系可能给我们带来比前两者更大的痛苦。尽管我们倾向于把这种苦难看做是额外附加的，但它或许与源自其他方面的苦难一样，无法避免。

正如快乐原则本身在外部世界的影响下经过改造变成折中的“现实原则”一样，在可能会发生的种种苦难的压力之下，难怪人们也习以为常地去调和对幸福的要求，认为如果摆脱苦恼、逃离不幸就是万幸了，避免苦难这一主要任务当前，获得快乐已经变得次要了。思考告诉我们条条道路皆可通向幸福大道，所有这些道路都曾为各派处世哲学所推崇，且前人都已经实践过。无限制地满足我们所有的需要是最具诱惑力的生活方式，但这意味着将警告抛之脑后，享乐在前，很快就会尝到苦果。其他以避免苦难为首要目的的方法由于它们所关注的不快的根源不同而有所差异。有些方法很极端，有些方法很中庸，有些很片面，还有些同时从几个角度解决问题。与世隔绝、与他人保持适当距离都是常见的为避免人际关系带来的痛苦而采取的保护方式。有人认为能通过这种方式获得的快乐来自平静与安宁。面对可怕的外部世界，如果想不借助外力单枪匹马地保护自己，就只能选择逃避。当然还有其他更好的方式：作为人类社会的一分子，你能在应用科学的帮助下对自然发动攻击，使其屈从于人类的意志。那么，这样做你就是与大家一起为了所有人的幸福而努力。避免苦难最有趣的方法是那些试图影响人类自身结构的方法。归根结底，所有的苦难不过是一种感觉，只有当我们感觉到它的时候，它才存在；也只有在我们自身结构受某种方式调节的时候，我们才能感觉到它。

影响我们自身结构的最原始同时也是最有效的方法是化学方法——麻醉法。我想，没有人完全明白化学方法是如何起作用的，但事实就是，有些外因物质一旦出现在血液或人体组织中，就会直接引起快感；这些物质同时还会改变决定我们感觉能力的因子，使我们不再感到不快。这两种影响不仅同时出现，而且密切相关。然而，在我们身体的化学结构中，也一定存在着发挥类似作用的物质。因为，我们至少知道一种病症，即狂躁症，在没有使用任何致醉药物的情况下，就出现了麻醉状态。除此之外，在我们正常的精神生活中，还存在着在比较容易释放的快乐与比较不易释放的快乐这两者之间的摆动，与这种摆动相对应的是接受不快的程度的减少或增加。令人非常遗憾的是，科学研究至今还不能解释精神过程的这种麻醉情况。人们认为麻醉物质在追求幸福和避免苦难的过程中大有裨益，因此，不仅仅个人，就连整个民族在力比多的分配中也赋予了它坚固的地位。多亏了麻醉物质，我们不仅能够直接获得快感，而且满足了我们摆脱外界的强烈渴望。我们知道，通过麻醉法“解忧”，我们随时能够逃避现实的压力，躲避在自己的世界里，体会这个世界带来的更好的感觉。众所皆知，正是麻醉物的这种特质使其更具危险性和伤害性。在有些情形下，麻醉物质浪费了本可造福于人类的大量能量。

然而，我们的精神器官结构复杂，也受到很多其他影响。正如欲望的满足会带来幸福感一样，如果外部世界拒绝满足或忽视我们的需求，就会成为巨大苦难的根由。因此人们可以通过干预这些本能的冲动来将自己从痛苦中解救出来。这种抵御痛苦的行为不再是对感觉器官施加影响，它旨在控制我们需求的内在根源。在极端的例子中，这种行为是通过扼杀本能欲望实现的，就像东方哲学智慧所说的那样，就像瑜伽所做的那样。如果这种方法成功了，人们就无可否认地同时放弃了其他活动——事实上，牺牲了他的生活——只为沿另一路线抵达幸福的彼岸，这种幸福源自平和与安宁。当我们的目标不那么极端时，我们走的也是这条道路，不过寻求的只是控制自己的本能罢了。在这种情况下，控制是由已经服从现实原则的较高心理机制实施的。与此同时，绝不是说要抛弃满足欲望的目标，而是获得了针对苦难的某种保护机制。因为当欲望冲动得到控制，而不是完全不受节制的时候，欲望得不到满足给人带来的痛苦会相对较轻。但不可否认的是，快乐的可能性也减少了。满足没有受到自我控制的野性的本能冲动所产生的快感，相比较于满足受到自我控制的本能所带来的快感，自然是强烈许多。这就简洁地解释了反常本能冲动的不可抗拒性，以及任何禁忌物所具有的吸引力。

另一种避免苦难的技巧是利用力比多的转移，这种转移是我们精神器官所允许的，这就使得力比多的作用具有更大的灵活性。现在的任务就是使本能的目标发生转移，不再会受到外部世界的挫折。这里本能的升华扮演了重要的角色。如果人们能充分地增加精神和脑力活动所产生的快乐，我们就能获得最大的收益。这时命运也无法对我们造成多大伤害。这类满足——如艺术家们在创造、塑造他想象的东西的过程中获得的快乐；抑或是科学家们在解决问题和发现真理中获得的快乐——具有一种特性，那就是，总有一天我们能用心理玄学的术语描述它。但现在我们只能象征性地说，它们看上去“更好更高级”。但与原始、初级欲望的满足所获得的效果相比，这类满足的强度还是受到了限制：这类满足不能震撼我们的肉体。这种方法的缺点在于它不能广泛应用，它只适用于一小部分人。它首先把才能和天赋作为先决条件，这些天赋并非人人皆备，因此不能普及到使这一方法对每个人都有效。并且即使在那一小部分人中，这种方法也不能完全抵御苦难，它并不能提供抵挡命运箭矢的盔甲。当人们自身的躯体成为了苦难的源泉时[3]，它就必然失效了。

上述这种方法清楚地表明，其目的是通过从内在的精神活动过程中寻找满足感，从而使人独立于外部世界。这种特征在接下来的方法中体现得更加明显，人与现实的关系更加松散，满足由幻想中获得。人们承认幻想，从中获得的享受并没有因为幻想来源于现实而受到干扰。产生这些幻想的领域就是想象力的活动；当现实感出现时，这个领域显然不受制于现实检查的要求，依然一如既往地去满足那些难以实现的欲望。需依靠想象才能获得的满足中，居于首位的要算是对艺术品的欣赏了；借助于艺术家之手，那些本身没有创造力的凡夫俗子也能获得艺术的享受。但受到艺术影响的人不可能把艺术作为快乐源泉和生活慰藉的价值看得过高。艺术产生的微弱的麻醉作用只能使我们暂时性地摆脱了生活的苦难。它的作用并没有强烈到能让我们忘却现实的痛苦。

另一种操作起来更有力、更彻底的方法则将现实视为唯一的敌人和所有苦难的源头；认为人们生活中根本无法忍受现实，要想真正感到幸福，就必须断绝一切与现实的联系。隐士们于是避世不出，拒绝与现实有任何联系。但其实人能做的不止这些：人们可以努力去改造这个世界，重建一个世界，新世界中消除了那些最让人无法容忍的事物，取而代之的是符合人们欲望的事物。一般来说，任何人选择这条道路去追寻幸福，因为不顾一切地去反抗，最终将一无所获。现实对他来说太强大了，他将成为一个狂人，通常找不到人帮助实现他的幻想。然而我们可以这么认为，我们中的每个人都表现得或多或少像个偏执狂，痴心妄想地要去矫正这个世界中无法忍受的部分，并将幻想纳入到现实中。其中具有重要意义的例子是，相当多的人一起试图通过幻想重新塑造现实，来避免痛苦，寻求幸福与庇护。人类的各种宗教应该就是集体幻想的典型例子。当然，没有一个依然持有这种幻想的人会承认这是幻想。

我认为，这并不是一个人们追求幸福、避免痛苦的所有方法的清单。我也清楚这些材料可用不同的方式排列。其实还有一种方法我尚未提及，并不是因为忘记，而是因为这种方法涉及我们以后要讲的内容。在生活艺术中人们怎么会忘掉这一特别的方法呢？其特点是，它将各种特征极其奇特地组合在一起。自然，它也寻求独立于所谓的命运，为达到这一目的，它利用我们前文中所提及的力比多转移法，将满足感转移到内在的精神过程中。但它并不脱离外部世界，相反，它紧紧地抓住了外部世界的对象，并通过建立与外部世界对象的情感联系来获得幸福。它并不满足于避免不愉快的经历——这一目标源于精疲力尽的屈从；事实上，它绕开了这一消极目标，一如既往、激情四溢地去追求积极的幸福目标。或许这一方法比起其他任何方法更加接近目标。当然，我正在谈论的生活方式就是：将爱看做一切事物的中心，并期待从爱与被爱中获得一切满足。这种精神态度是我们自然而然就具备的；爱的一种表现形式——性爱，让我们强烈地体验到一种压倒一切的快感，因此树立了一种寻找幸福的模式。我们应该沿着首次遭遇幸福的道路继续寻找幸福，还有什么比这更自然呢？但这种生活方式的缺点亦显而易见，如果不是这样，也没有人会放弃这种寻找幸福的途径，转而投向其他途径。当我们沉溺于爱的时候，我们对痛苦的防备从未如此薄弱；当失去爱的对象或其对我们的爱时，我们会感到从未有过的凄凉孤独。关于这一特别的生活方式，关于将爱作为获得幸福的一种方式的价值，这儿并不是最后的断言：关于这一点，我还有很多话要说。

在这里我们可以探讨这样一个有趣的例子：生活中的幸福主要是在对美的享受中获得的，不论相对于我们的感官和判断，美以何种形式呈现出来——无论是人体形态和姿态的美，自然物体和风景的美，艺术甚至是科学创造的美。这种生活目标的美学态度并不能在苦难威胁我们的时候提供多大保护，但是它能补偿很多东西。美的享受有一种让人微醉的独特作用。美并没有什么很明显的用途，人们也不易看出美对于人类文明为什么不可或缺，然而，缺乏美的文明是不可想象的。美学探讨的是在什么情况下美会被理解，但美学还无法弄明白美的本质和根源；通常情况是，缺乏主论时，就会用空泛、冗长的辞藻来掩饰。遗憾的是，精神分析学也几乎没有谈论到美。唯一可以肯定的是，美源自性感觉领域；对美的热爱，可以理想地解释为那种目标抑制的冲动。“美”和“吸引”最初都是性对象的特质。值得注意的是，虽然看到生殖器会让人兴奋，但人们并不认为生殖器本身是美的；相反，美的性质似乎与性的某些次要特征相关。

尽管我的论述尚不完整，尚处于开始阶段，但我想斗胆做出如下论述，来结束目前探讨的问题。我们那由快乐原则主宰的追寻幸福的使命并不能完全实现，但我们不能、事实上也不可以放弃努力，去更加接近幸福。为了达到这个目的，我们也许会踏上不同的道路，并在积极地寻求快乐与消极地避免不幸这两大目标中优先选择一个。但不论我们选择了哪条道路，都不可能完全获得所渴望的一切。幸福（较弱意义上的幸福还是可能实现的）就是关于个人力比多分配的问题。没有哪条建议适用于所有人，每个人都得自己去探索属于自己的救赎之道。其间，各种不同因素都发挥着作用，影响着个人的选择，问题在于他能从外部世界中得到多少真正的满足，在于他能在多大程度上独立于外部世界，最后，在于他感到自己有多大的力量来按照自己的意愿改造世界。除外部世界外，这里起决定性作用还包括个人的心理特性。性欲强烈的人会尤其看重与他人的情感关系；自恋的人，相对而言则更加自足，更倾向于在自我精神进程中寻找极其重要的满足；行动派不会放弃与外部世界的接触，因为他能以此衡量自己的力量。对于第二种人来说，他的天赋以及他的本能所能升华的程度决定着他的兴趣所在。任何极端的选择都将受到惩罚，因为如果一个人选择了一种生活方式，排除其他一切生活方式，那么他将会处于危险的境地中。就像审慎的商人不会把所有资本投在一项事业中一样，处世哲学也许会告诫我们不要指望某一种尝试就能让我们获得所有满足。成功从来都是不可预测的，它取决于很多因素的机缘巧合，或许仅仅取决于心理素质的适应环境，以及利用环境创造快乐的能力。如果一个人的本能素质天生就不好，又没有真正经历过对他日后成功必不可少的力比多成分的改变和重组过程，他会感到很难从外部世界中获得幸福，尤其在面对极其困难的任务时。最后一种生活方式是（但这至少能保证让他获得一些替代性的满足），他可以逃入精神病的状态以寻求解脱；这种情况通常会在一个人年轻时发生。如果一个人晚年追求幸福受挫时，他仍可以长期依赖麻醉物所产生的快乐找到慰藉，或者，进行绝望的抗争，最后精神变态。[4]

这种选择和适应的过程遭到了宗教的干涉，宗教将其获得幸福、避免苦难的方式不加区别地强加到每一个人身上。宗教的方法就是贬低生命的价值，通过妄想扭曲真实世界面貌，即假定存在着令人畏惧的上帝，强制人们处于心理上的幼稚状态，并诱使人们进入集体妄想的状态，以此为代价，宗教的回报是，它成功地让人免于患上精神病。但除此之外，宗教再也没什么别的作用了。正如我们已经提到过的，在人类的能力范围内还有很多通往幸福的途径，但是没有哪一条能保证一定成功。就连宗教也不能做出这样的保证。如果信徒们最终不得不谈论上帝的“深不可测的旨意”，他等于就是在承认，要想在苦难中最终获得安慰和快乐，他别无选择，只能无条件地服从。如果他准备接受这一点，他或许可以避免所走过的这条弯路。

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[1] 在《虔诚的海伦》一书中，威廉·布施在一个较低的层次上同样谈论到这一问题：“忧愁的人有白兰地相伴。”

[2] 歌德提醒世人说：“世上一切皆可忍受，唯有长期的艳阳天。”然而或许这只是一种夸张的说法。

[3] 伏尔泰曾明智地提出：一个人除非具有特殊的气质为他指引生活中的兴趣所在，否则他所承担的普通工作就可以发挥这一作用。限于篇幅我无法充分说明工作在力比多的分配中所扮演的重要角色。没有什么其他生活方式比强调工作的重要性更能将个体和现实世界紧密相连了，个体的工作至少在现实世界和人类社会的一隅为他提供了稳妥的一席之地。使得大量自恋的、具有攻击性的甚至情色的力比多成分可以转移到专业工作和与之相关的人际关系上，与工作在维护和辩解个人存在对社会所发挥的作用相比，这一作用的价值并不逊色。如果我们可以自由选择职业活动，也就是说，如果通过升华，可以将现有的爱好、天生不断增强的本能冲动运用到工作中，就会在职业活动中获得特殊的满足。然而，人们很少会把工作视为通向幸福的途径，他们不像努力追求其他满足欲望的可能性途径那样去努力工作。大部分人工作只是不得已而已；人们对工作的厌恶成了最棘手的社会问题的根源。

[4] 我感到我有必要指出前面论述中至少存在一个漏洞。对人类幸福的种种可能性考虑不应该不考虑自恋与对象力比多的关系。我们需要知道一个人基本上独立自主对于有效利用力比多意义重大。

3

到目前为止，我们对幸福的研究仍没有提出多少新颖的内容。即使我们继续追问，为什么人获得幸福那么困难，获得开创性见解的可能性仍然并不乐观。关于这个问题我们已经做出回答，并指出了痛苦的三个来源：自然力量的强大优势，我们肉体的脆弱，用来调节家庭、国家、社会的人际关系制度的不足。关于前两个来源，我们不必犹豫、很快就能做出判断：我们不得不承认这两种痛苦来源的存在，并且服从，因为它们是不可避免的。我们无法永远掌控自然；我们的肉体仅是自然的一部分，并将永远是一个短暂的构造物，其适应能力和取得成功的能力有限。认识到这一点，并不会让我们悲观绝望，相反它指引了我们活动的方向。即使我们不能够消除所有痛苦，至少我们可以消除或减轻其中的一部分，几千年的经验已经证实了这一点。我们对第三个痛苦的根源——社会来源，态度则截然不同。我们拒绝承认它，我们不明白为什么自己建立的制度却不能保护、造福我们所有人。然而，想想我们在避免来源于社会的痛苦这一方面一直并不那么成功，我们难免怀疑这儿是否也存在着不可征服的本性因素——这次是我们的精神自我。

当开始思考是否存在这种可能性时，我们遇到了一个令人震惊的观点，对此我们必须花点时间仔细研究。这种观点认为，我们称之为文明的东西是我们不幸的主要根源；如果我们放弃文明，退回到原始状态，就会更加幸福。我说这种观点令人震惊，是因为无论我们如何定义文明的概念，我们试图所用的一切保护自己、免受痛苦威胁的方法都确确实实是在此种文明的范畴中的。

如此众多的人对文明充满敌意，他们何时开始持有这种奇怪的态度呢？我相信，长期以来，人们对文明深深不满，而特定历史事件使得不满的土壤里滋生出对文明的强烈谴责。我才疏学浅，尚不能沿着人类历史一直追溯下去，找出整个历史起因链。但我想我可以找出最近的两个历史起因。这种对文明的敌意，一定早在基督教战胜异教时就已经存在了。这种敌意终究与基督教义贬低尘世生命有着密切联系。前一历史起因在于，航海发现让我们接触到了原始民族和种族。由于观察不充分，加上对其礼仪风俗的错误认识，欧洲人感到他们过着简朴幸福的生活，几乎没有什么需求，认为这种生活是他们这些拥有优越文明的到访者们无法获得的。后来的经验证明了其中一些论断是错误的。这些原始民族生活比较安逸，被错误地认为是因为他们没有复杂的文化需要，而事实是，由于大自然的恩赐，这些人的主要需求能够轻而易举地得到满足。后一历史起因我们尤其熟悉。这一起因发生在人们认识到精神病的机制之后。文明人享有的幸福本来就少得可怜，而这点幸福还要受到精神病的威胁。人们发现，社会为了其文化理想，迫使人们备尝艰辛，当人们无法忍受时，便变成精神病。由此可以推论，消除或者减少这些文化理想的要求，幸福的可能性即有可能恢复。

此外还有一个对文明失望的因素。过去几代人中，人类在自然科学及其技术应用方面取得了显著进步，其控制自然的程度，前人几乎难以想象。这些科技进步的细节，众所皆知，此处不用赘言。人们为这些成果感到自豪，确实也应该感到自豪。然而，人们发现，几千年来的渴望的实现——新近获得的对时空的控制、对自然的征服，并没有增加他们想从生活中得到的快乐，并没有让他们感到更加幸福。根据这一事实，我们不能由此断言技术在我们的幸福体系中毫无价值；而应该推断出的结论是，正如控制自然不是文化事业所要达到的唯一目标，技术也不是人类幸福的唯一前提条件。人们也许要反问：如果我能够随时听到住在几百英里以外我的孩子的声音，如果我的朋友经过艰辛的海上长途航行最终登岸，并在最短的时间内向我通报他的情况，难道我没有真正获得快乐吗？我的幸福感没有增加吗？医学的成就大幅度地降低了婴儿死亡率和妇女生产时受感染的可能性，而且还延长了文明人的平均寿命，难道说这些都毫无意义吗？我们还可以举出许多发生在这个受到鄙薄时代中科技进步所产生裨益的例子。与此同时，悲观主义的批判声也响起，提醒我们上述大部分的满足属于某类笑话所推崇的“廉价快乐”的模式。例如，在寒冷的冬夜，把大腿裸露在被子外面然后再抽进来而得到的那种享受。如果没有铁路征服了距离，我的孩子就永远不会离开家乡，我也就无须打电话听他的声音；如果不能坐船航行，我的朋友就不会踏上海上征途，那么我也就不需要电报来减少我对他的担忧。如果婴儿死亡率下降迫使我们采取极端的节育措施，虽然卫生保健变得普遍流行，但结果我们并没有生养更多孩子，我们婚姻中的性生活受到节制，甚至与自然选择规律相悖，如此看来降低婴儿死亡率又有何用？最后，如果生活充满艰辛、困苦、缺少乐趣，死就是一种解脱，我们拍手欢迎还来不及，长寿对我们又有何益呢？

在当今文明中，我们似乎确实并不感到舒适，但是，我们很难知道早期人类是否幸福，他们幸福的程度，以及他们的文化条件在幸福问题上发挥的作用。我们总想要客观地考虑人们的疾苦，也就是说，把我们自身，连同我们自己的需要和感受，置于他们的情形中，然后再决定我们会从中发现他们幸福或不幸的原因。这种探索事物的方法似乎很客观，因为它不考虑主观感觉的差异。但它却也是最主观的方法，因为我们对他人的精神状态一无所知，只是把自身的精神状态加到他们身上。但是，幸福确实完全是一种主观状态。不论我们对某些情况多么望而生畏，例如，古代的苦工、17世纪欧洲三十年战争时期的农民、宗教法庭的牺牲者、将被屠杀的犹太人，我们根本不可能与他们感同身受，不可能去猜测人们对快乐和不快乐感觉的接受能力究竟发生了什么变化——从最初的感觉迟钝，敏感性的逐渐减少，希望的丧失，到更加原始或者更加高级的麻醉方法。在极端痛苦的情形下，人们会启动一些特殊的精神保护机制。我感觉继续探讨问题的这个方面没有多大益处。

现在，我们应该把注意力转到文明的本质上来，因为人们怀疑文明对获得幸福是否具有价值。在通过研究获得某些发现之前，我们不应该指望用一个公式即概括出文明的本质。因此，我们将满足于重复地说：“文明”是指使我们不同于我们的动物祖先生活的所有成就和制度的总和，这些成就和制度服务于两个目的，即保护人类抵御自然与调节人际关系。为了加深对文明的理解，我们将人类社会所出现文明的各种个性特征汇集在一起。在这样做时，我们毫不迟疑地将语言用法或者一些人所称的“语言感觉”作为指导，并且坚信只有这样，我们才能公正地评判内在感知，因为内在感知很难用抽象术语进行表述。

文明的起始阶段很容易辨认。一切使地球为人类效劳、保护人类不受凶猛自然力量的侵害等等的活动和收益都属于文明的范畴。文明这一方面的构成几乎是无可质疑的。如果我们追溯到久远的过去，我们发现最初的文明活动是工具的使用、火的利用和房屋的建造。在这些成就中，对火的利用尤为突出，这是一项非同凡响、前所未有的成就[1]；人类还开创了很多其他成就，并从此一路走下去，其中的动力显而易见。人类利用各种工具改善了他的运动器官或感觉器官，或者说消除了发挥这些器官功能的障碍。引擎能让巨大的力量为人们所用，人们可以像指挥自己的肌肉一样，在任何地方使用引擎；有了船和飞机，无论是水还是天空都不能阻碍人的运动。通过眼镜，人纠正了眼球晶体的缺陷；有了望远镜，人能看到很远的地方；有了显微镜，人克服了视网膜结构造成的视力限制。通过照相机，人创造了可以捕获转瞬即逝的视觉印象的仪器，而留声机则保存了同样转瞬即逝的听觉印象，这两者从本质上说都是人类记忆力的物化。借助电话就可以听到远方的人说话，这即使在童话故事中也被认为是不可能的，文字起源于不在场的人的声音的记录，而房子则是母亲子宫的替代物。子宫是人的第一处居所，人类很大程度上还留恋着它，在那里人感到安全舒适。

人类，借助科学技术，在这个世界上创造了这么多成就！而人最初来到这个世界上只是个孱弱的动物有机体，人类的每一个个体一开始都是无助的婴儿——“噢，大自然中尘埃一般”——人类取得这些成就听上去不仅像童话一般，而且事实上实现了所有——不，大多数——童话般的愿望。所有这些成就人类可以称之为文化成果。很久以前，人类就形成了他的理想观念，即神是无所不能、无所不知的，人类把自己不能实现的或者被禁止的欲望都寄托在众神身上。因此，我们可以说这些神就是文化理想。今天，人类几乎实现了所有这些理想，他本身几乎就变成了神。但无可否认的是，这些理想只是以惯常的方式得到实现，且只是基于人类的常识判断之上，即它们并非完全得到实现，在某些方面根本没有实现，在其他方面则是部分得到实现。可以说人类已经变成神，带着假肢的神。当他带上所有的辅助器官时，他确实让人印象深刻，尽管这些器官尚未成为他身体的一部分，不时地还会带给他不少麻烦。然而，人类有资格用这样的事实安慰自己，即文明的发展不会在1930年就停滞不前。未来的岁月里，文明这个领域将会有崭新的、也许是不可思议的发展，人类将变得更加像上帝。但是，为了有助于研究，我们不要忘记现代人对于他上帝般的特性并没有感到幸福。

既而我们承认，如果一个国家中有助于人类利用土地或者抵御自然力量的一切事物——总之，对人类有用的一切事物——都受到了关注并且井然有序，那么这个国家的文明确实达到了很高的水平。在这些国家中，可能淹没土地的河流得到治理，河水被引到干旱的地区；土壤经过精耕细作种上了适宜的植物；地下矿产资源经过艰辛的劳动开采出来，制成所必需的工具；交通工具方便、快捷、可靠；危险的野生动物因被捕杀而灭绝，家畜饲养繁荣发展。但除此之外，我们对文明还有很多别的要求，尤其是，我们希望这些要求在上述这类国家中得到满足。当人们把注意力转向没有任何实用价值的东西——或者任何看似没用的东西，例如在用作消遣和玩耍、储蓄新鲜空气的城市公园的场地摆上花坛，或者用花盆装饰住宅的窗户，我们也非常赞同，把这也视为文明的象征，就好像我们要否定对文明提出的最初要求似的。我们很快认识到，我们希望文明所重视的这种无用的东西就是美；我们要求文明人热爱自然中所遇到的美，并且如果有能力，用双手创造美。然而，我们对文明的要求远没有穷尽，除了美之外，我们还要看到清洁和秩序。当我们读到位于斯特拉特福德的莎士比亚父亲家门前有很大一个粪堆的描述时，就会认为莎士比亚时期英国乡镇的文明水平还比较低。当我们看到维也纳郊区林间小路上乱扔的废纸时，便义愤填膺地称之为“野蛮”——文明的对立。我们觉得一切污秽都与文明相悖，我们也把清洁的要求扩展到人身上。当听到太阳王路易十四身上有股难闻的气味时，我们不禁感到吃惊。在贝拉岛（又叫美丽岛）上，当看到拿破仑早晨漱洗用的小脸盆时，我们不禁摇头。事实上，即使有人把使用肥皂视为文明的一个标准，我们也不会感到吃惊。秩序同样如此，它和清洁一样与人类行为密切相关。但在自然中我们找不到清洁的模式。相反，秩序是从自然界模仿来的。人类所观察到的天体的匀称与整齐，不仅给人类提供了将秩序引进生活中的样式，而且还提供了如何保持秩序的线索。秩序是一种强迫性的重复，一个模式一旦确定下来，秩序就决定了一件事何时、何地以及如何去做，这样一来，再遇到相同的情况，人们就不必犹豫不决了。秩序的好处无可争议。它使人们能够充分利用时间和空间，同时还节省脑力。人们或许有理由指望秩序一开始就不费吹灰之力地在人类活动中得到确立，但可能会惊讶于事实并非如此——恰恰相反，人类天性草率、无序、靠不住，因此必须通过艰苦的训练，才能学会模仿天体模式。

显然，美、清洁和秩序在我们对文明的要求中占有特殊的地位。谁都不会认为它们与我们对自然力的控制和我们即将认识到的其他因素在生活中同等重要。但是，也没有人会认为它们微不足道。文明并不仅仅关注功用，这一点已经在人们热爱美，并坚持把美包括进文明的关注这一例子中得到证实。秩序的用处显而易见。至于清洁，我们必须记住它也是卫生学对我们的要求。我们可以推断，甚至在有科学预防法之前，人类也并未完全忽视卫生和清洁之间的关系。然而，功用性并不能完全解释人们对清洁的追求；除此之外，一定还涉及其他的因素。

然而，没有什么比高层次精神活动（包括智力、科学和艺术等方面的成就）的欣赏和培养，比思想在人类生活中所赋予的主导作用更能体现文明的特征。这些思想中首推宗教体系，关于其复杂性，我在别处已经论及；其次是哲学思考；最后是所谓的人类理想，即人类所形成的关于个人、国家和整个人类所能达到的完美境界的主张，以及基于这些理想所提出的要求。事实上，这些精神活动产生的思想和成就并不是孤立的，而是密切相连的，这不仅增加了描述它们的困难，而且还使追溯它们的心理起源变得复杂。如果我们假定，通常人类一切活动的动力都是源于追求功用和快乐这两个相互融合的目标，我们必须承认我们在这里谈论的一切文明体现皆是如此，尽管这在科学和艺术活动中显而易见。但是，毫无疑问其他活动也满足了人类的强烈需要，虽然也许只是满足少部分人的需要。同时，我们也不要被这样或那样的宗教、哲学体系或者理想等价值判断引入歧途。无论我们通过思考，在这些宗教、哲学或理想中找到人类精神的最高成就，抑或是将其认定为歪理邪说并深表遗憾，我们都不得不承认，它们的存在及所占据的地位都是高度文明的象征。

作为文明最后但也极为重要的一个特性，我们要考虑如何调节人与人之间的关系，即影响人们扮演邻居、员工、性对象、家庭成员以及国家公民等角色的各种社会关系。这里，要避开文明特定理想要求的影响，抓住一般意义上的文明属性尤其困难。也许，当人类首次尝试调节这些社会关系时，我们就可以宣布文明的因素已经出现。因为如果没有这样的尝试，人们就不得不屈服于个人意志的支配。也就是说，体格比较强壮的人将根据他自己的利益和本能冲动来独断专行。如果这个体格较强壮的人遇到了比他还强的人，后者同样也会这样做。只有当大部分人聚集到一起时，才会比任何个体强大得多，才能形成针对个人的统一阵线。只有在这时，集体社会生活才成为可能。集体的力量冠以“正义”的名义，与被谴责为“蛮力”的个人力量相抗衡。个体的力量被集体的力量所取代是人类向文明迈进的决定性一步。其本质在于：作为社会集体的成员会在一定范围内节制自己的欲望，而作为个人则毫无节制。因此，接下来对文明的要求便是公正，也就是，法律秩序一旦制定，就不能徇私枉法，偏向某一个人。这一点并不要求对法律体系的道德伦理做出价值判断。文明的进一步发展似乎旨在达到法律不再是少数人意志表达的一种境界——即不是某一种姓、某一社会阶层或者某一部族的意志表达，因为这些小团体相对于其他更广泛的团体而言，就像是暴戾的个人。最终结果应该是，所有人或至少是合格的社会集体成员，通过放弃部分本能的满足，建立起一个法律体系，使得这些合格的社会成员不会沦为个人蛮力的牺牲品。

个体自由并不是文明的恩赐。在文明产生以前，自由的程度最大，尽管那时自由也并没有多少实际意义，因为个体几乎不能捍卫他的自由。文明的发展限制了自由，法律公正要求每个人都必须受到限制，无一例外。人类集体中所表现出的任何对自由的渴望都可能演变为对现存不公正的反抗，因而有助于文明的进一步发展，与文明并不排斥。但是，这种对自由的渴望也可能产生于人类原始性格的遗留部分，这种遗留部分尚未被文明驯服，因此会成为敌视文明的基础。因此，对自由的渴望会转而反对文明的某种特定形式和要求，或者彻底反对文明。似乎任何影响都不能够诱使个人将其本性改变成白蚁一般的本性。人们或许永远要反对集体意志，维护个体自由的权利。人类的斗争大部分围绕着一个任务，即寻找个人要求与文明集体要求之间合适的、或者两全其美的融合。涉及人类命运的一个问题是，这种融合是否可以通过某一特定的文明模式达到，或者冲突是否根本就是无法调和的。

人类的共同感觉告诉了我们什么可以称之为文明，我们因此对文明有了一个清晰印象，勾勒出了文明的整体轮廓，尽管我们尚未学到任何不为人所熟知的东西。与此同时，我们应尽量避免限于偏见，认为文明就是走向完善，就是人类通往至善至美的必经之路。但我们现在提出的这个观点，可能会把我们引向别处。文明的进程，在我们看来似乎是人类经历的一个独特过程，其中某些内容为我们所熟知。根据其所引起的人的本能的众所皆知的性情的变化，我们即可对文明特性进行描述，对于本能的满足实际上是我们有效利用生命的任务。这些本能中的一些成分被消耗掉了，取而代之的是针对个体而言的性格特征。这一过程的最奇怪的例子要算是幼儿的肛门欲。在幼儿的成长过程中，他们对肛门的排泄作用、排泄器官和排泄物的最初兴趣转变为一组特征，即我们所熟悉的吝啬、秩序感和清洁感。虽然这些特性本身大有益处、备受推崇，但可能被强化，直至占据绝对主导地位，形成所谓的肛门性格。这种情况是如何发生的，我们不得而知，但是，这种观点无疑是正确的。我们已经看到秩序和清洁是文明的基本要求，尽管它们是否至关重要，是否是快乐的源泉，并不非常明显。从这点上说，我们不禁想到文明过程与个体力比多发展过程的相似性。肛门欲外的其他本能，则被诱使改变其获得满足的条件，转而寻找其他的途径。大多情形下，这个过程与我们所熟知的升华过程（本能目的的升华）是相一致的。但在某些情况下，也可能不一致。本能的升华是文化发展最显著的特征；由于它的存在，科学、艺术、思想意识等较高层次的心理活动才在文明生活中发挥着至关重要的作用。乍看起来，人们会倾向认为文明将升华作用强加于本能身上。但对这一问题进一步思考，可能会有更好的认识。第三个因素似乎最重要，即文明在多大程度上要通过消除本能才能得到确立；多大程度上要利用克制、压抑或其他手段使得强烈的本能得不到满足为前提条件，这一点不容忽视。这种“文化挫折”支配着人类广泛的社会关系领域。我们早已知道，这种挫折造成对文明的敌意，一切文明都须与这一敌意抗争。它也对我们的精神分析科学提出了严肃的要求，分析科学对此尚需做出很多解释。如何才能剥夺对本能的满足，要想解决这一问题并非易事。剥夺本能的满足，而不冒任何风险是不可能的。若没有有效补偿，严重的混乱肯定会接踵而来。

但是，关于文明发展这一特殊过程与个体的正常成熟过程具有可比性这一观点，如果想要知道它具有什么意义，显然还须解决另一问题，我们必须追问文明发展究竟源于什么样的影响，它究竟是如何开始的，其进程中又有什么决定因素。

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[1] 精神分析的材料，尽管不全面，不能对此做出肯定的解释，但关于人类这一伟大成就的起源至少可以做一个异想天开的猜测。仿佛是这样，原始人在接触到火时，他好像有一种用尿灭火以满足婴儿欲望的习惯。原始人把向上喷出的火舌视为男性生殖器的象征，现有传说毫无疑问地体现出这一点。排尿灭火——这个行为仍被后来的巨人如小人国中的格列佛、拉伯雷笔下的高康大所重复——因此是一种男性性行为，是同性恋竞争中对男性性能力的享受。第一个放弃这种享受将火留下的人，将它随身带走，使它为己所用。通过灭掉自己性兴奋的欲火，他制服了自然力量之火。因此，这个伟大的文化征服是对他放弃满足本能欲望的奖赏。而且，似乎是男人指派女人看护好被俘虏在炉膛中的火，因为女人的身体构造使她不可能屈服于这种灭火欲望的诱惑。而且值得注意的是，心理分析的经验时常证明了野心、火和尿道性冲动之间的关系。

4

这一任务十分艰巨，人们感到望而却步是自然的。下面是我曾做过的一些猜测。

一个原始人在发现通过劳动就能改善他在地球上的命运后，主动权实际上掌握在他自己手中，其他人与他齐心协力还是作对，对他来说就不再无关紧要了。对他而言，这个其他人也就具有了作为一个共同劳动伙伴的价值，如果他们生活在一起，将会大有裨益。甚至早在类人猿的史前时期，人类就有了组织家庭的习惯，家庭成员大概就是他最初的帮手。或许家庭的建立是基于以下事实，即生殖满足的需要不再像一个客人，某一天突然出现，然后离去，以后就再无音信，而是像一个长期的房客住了下来。从此以后，男性就有了一种把女性——说得更概括一些——把他的性对象留在身边的动机；而女性则不愿离开她弱小的孩子，为了孩子和强壮的男性继续生活在一起。[1]这样的家庭，仍然缺乏文明的一项习俗形成了最初的“法律”体系。因此，两种原因导致人类选择群居生活：一是艰难的外部环境迫使人们共同参与劳动；二是爱的力量，爱一方面使得男人不愿意放弃自己的性对象，另一方面使得女人不愿意被夺去自己的亲骨肉——孩子。厄洛斯爱神和定数女神阿南刻（爱和必要性）也就成为人类文明的始祖。文明的第一个结果是，数目相当可观的一部分人能够共同生活在一个集体中。由于这两个巨大的力量在集体中共同发挥作用，人们因此可以期望文明进一步得到发展，顺利地朝着更好地支配外部世界，吸收更多人群加入这个集体的方向前进。然而，这样的文明为什么绝对不会是文明社会成员们的幸福源泉，就很难理解了。

在我们接着探讨对文明的敌意产生于什么地方之前，就上述关于把爱视为文明的基础之一的观点，请允许我们在此说一点题外话，借以弥补我们在前面论述的不足。前面我们探讨过人类发现性（生殖的）爱能给予他最强烈的满足体验，而且实际上是为他提供了所有幸福的典范，而这一发现一定向他表明，他应该在生活中继续沿着性关系的途径去寻找幸福，并且使生殖器的性欲成为其生活的中心。我们接着又讲过，在这一过程中，他使自己以一种最危险的方式依赖于一部分外部世界，即他选择的爱的对象，如果他被所爱的对象拒绝，或是由于不忠或死亡而失去所爱的对象，他就会感受到极度的痛苦。正因为此，每个时代的智者贤人都严厉地警告我们要抵制这种生活方式，尽管如此，这种生活方式仍对大多数人有着巨大的吸引力。

有一小部分人，由于自身的特质，不顾一切地试图通过爱去寻找幸福，尽管爱的作用在精神方面必然要经过修正。这些人把重心从被爱转移到主动去爱，从而使自己独立于所爱对象的意愿；为了避免自己失去所爱的对象，他们不是把自己的爱仅仅给予某一个对象，而是一视同仁地给予每个人；为了避免由性爱带来的不确定和失望，他们背离性的目标，并把这种本能转化成一种目标抑制冲动。这样他们就在内心产生了一种均衡、坚定的爱的情感，这种爱，尽管源自性爱，却与波涛汹涌般的性爱不再有任何外在上的相似之处。也许圣方济亚西西是利用这种爱去追求内在幸福感做得最极致的一个。再有，我们承认的实现人类快乐原则的手段之一往往与宗教有关。这种与宗教的联系也许存在于遥远的感觉领域，那里自我与对象的区别，或是对象与对象的区别被忽略了。有一种伦理观点——其深层动机我们马上就会认识到——认为这种对人类和世界的博爱是人类能够达到的最高境界。尽管刚刚开始讨论这一问题，我还是要提出两点主要异议：首先，在我们看来，不加区分的爱，是对所爱对象的不公正，导致一部分爱的内在价值丧失；其次并非所有的人都值得爱。

作为家庭建立的基础的那种爱，不论是不放弃其直接的性满足的原始形式，还是经过目标抑制修正过的形式，在文明中依然发挥着作用。不管以何种方式，爱继续发挥着将相当多的人聚集在一起的作用，这一作用比共同的劳动利益产生的凝聚效果更为强烈。语言随意地用“爱”这个词是有历史根由的。这个词不仅表示男人与女人之间的关系，男女之间的生殖需要促使他们建立起家庭，家庭中父母与孩子之间、兄弟姐妹之间积极的情感也称之为“爱”，尽管我们须把这种情感描述成“目标抑制的爱”。事实上，目标抑制的爱原本是一种纯粹的肉体上的爱，在人们的潜意识中还是如此。纯粹的肉体之爱和目标抑制的爱二者都可从家庭延伸出去，使原本陌生的人之间产生了一种新的联系。性爱导致了新的家庭的建立；“目标抑制”的爱则产生了“友谊”。友谊对于文明而言非常重要，因为它克服了性爱的某些局限，比如说排他性。但爱与文明的关系，发展下去，变得模糊起来，一方面，爱与文明的利益日益冲突，另一方面，文明以众多的限制威胁着爱。

爱与文明的裂痕似乎是不可避免的。然而人们并不能立刻辨出个中原因。它首先表现为家庭与个人组成的较大集体之间的冲突。我们已经看到，文明的主要使命之一就是把人们聚集在更大的集体之中。但是家庭不愿意放弃它的个人。一个家庭的成员之间的关系越亲密无间，他们往往就越要脱离其他人，也就越难进入一个更广阔的生活圈子。从人类发展史来看，比较古老的共同生活方式，现在只在童年期存在，它拒绝被后来所形成的文明方式取代。因此脱离家庭成为每一个年轻人面临的任务，并且社会常常通过成年仪式和社交入会仪式来帮助他们完成这个任务。这给人的印象是，这些困难是所有的心理发展——事实上是所有的有机体发展——的固有困难。

此外，女人很快站到了文明潮流的对立面，显露出阻碍和抑制文明发展的影响——尽管最初正是女人对爱的要求奠定了文明的基础。女人所代表的是家庭和性生活的利益；而创造文明日益成为男人的工作，给他们布置了更为艰巨的任务，迫使男人不得不实行本能的升华，而女人则没有这样的倾向。由于一个男人没有无限的心理能量可供使用，所以他必须恰当地分配自己的力比多以完成自己的使命。他在文化目标上消耗的精力，很大程度上就不能再用在女人身上了。他与男性的频繁交往，以及对这种交往的依赖，更加让他无法尽一个丈夫和父亲的义务。因此女人会发现，正是由于文明的要求，她们才被置于次要的地位，所以她们就产生了对文明的敌对情绪。

文明对性生活的限制倾向，与它扩大文化阵地的其他倾向一样明显。在文明的起始阶段，即图腾阶段，就有反对性对象选择中乱伦行为的禁律，也许这是从古到今人类性生活所经历的最强烈的打击。禁忌、法律和风俗习惯进一步限制了性自由。这些限制不仅影响到男人，也影响到了女人。但在这一点上，并非所有的文明都采取同样手段与力度；人们享有的性自由程度是要受到社会经济结构的影响的。我们早已知道这一方面的文明需要服从效益需要法则，因为文明消耗的心理能量正是所剥夺的性行为所需要的能量。在这一方面，文明对于性欲的做法就像一个部族或是一个阶层的人一样，在征服另一部族或阶层后便开始剥削他们。由于害怕被压迫方起来反抗，压迫一方就采取了严格的预防措施。在这样的发展过程中，我们西欧的文明已达到了很高的水平。从心理的角度来看，从一开始就禁止各种形式的儿童性生活的做法是站得住脚的。因为如果在儿童时代没有为约束性欲打好基础的话，在成年时期就没有希望来约束性欲了。然而一个文明社会毫无理由去做得更过分，甚至否认这些显而易见和令人震惊的事实。对于性成熟的个人来说，对象的选择只能局限于异性，并且大多数超出生殖器以外的性满足会被认为是变态行为而遭到禁止。一切清规戒律要求所有人去过同样的性生活，而毫不考虑人类在性素质方面所存在的先天或后天的差异；因而剥夺了相当一部分人的性乐趣，这成为严重的不公平的根源。这些约束的结果是，那些自身素质未受限制的正常人，其所有性趣就能通过那些敞开的渠道，完全地排泄出去。但这种视为合法的异性性行为仍然受到法律和一夫一妻制的限制。当今文明清楚地表明，它只承认一男一女在一个不能撤销的唯一契约基础上的性关系；它不赞成性行为成为快乐本身的源泉，只能容忍性行为作为繁衍后代的手段，因为到目前为止，还没有什么手段能代替性行为来繁衍后代。

以上当然是一种极端的观点。大家都知道它根本行不通，即使短期内也行不通。只有弱者才屈服于这样一种对他们性自由的公然侵犯。而强者只有在得到补偿的条件下才会忍受这种侵犯。这些我们在后面还要提到。文明社会自知它不得不对一些根据其法令本该惩罚的犯罪行为睁一只眼闭一只眼。但是我们不应因此犯相反的错误，认为文明既然没有去实施它既定的所有目标，上述关于性的文明的态度就无关紧要了。文明人的性生活还是大大地被削弱了；我们常常会产生这样的印象：性的功能会衰退，就像我们的牙齿和头发作为人体器官会衰老一样。人们有理由认为性作为快乐的源泉、作为实现人生目的的手段已经明显减弱了。有时候，人们似乎发现不仅是文明的压力，而是性功能本身固有的某种东西，使我们不能得到完全的满足，迫使我们选择别的途径追求幸福。这一说法或许是错误的，但很难下定论。[2]

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[1] 人类发展中性的生理周期性保存了下来，但生理周期对性兴奋的心理作用却倒退了。这一变化很可能与嗅觉刺激的减弱有关，最初正是通过嗅觉刺激，女性月经周期会在男性身上产生一种心理效果。嗅觉刺激后遭到视觉兴奋的压抑，其作用也被视觉兴奋取代。与间断性的嗅觉刺激不同，视觉兴奋则总是保持有效。月经期的禁忌就是来自这种“有机体性压抑”，这是一种对已被取代的人类发展前一阶段的防御，而所有其他的动机大概都处于次要地位。（参看戴利的著作，《土著神话与阉割情节》13章，1927）当上一文化阶段的神灵变成下一文化阶段的恶魔时，上述过程就在不同程度上重复着。嗅觉刺激的减弱本身似乎是人类直立行走的结果。直立行走使得以前被隐藏起来的人类生殖器暴露出来，因而需要保护，也唤起基本特征：父亲作为家庭首脑，拥有绝对的独裁权力。在《图腾与禁忌》一书中，我曾试图揭示原始人类怎样从家庭发展到下一阶段以兄弟关系为纽带的群居生活。在制服父亲的过程中，儿子们发现联合起来要比一个人的力量大得多。图腾文化就是建立在种种限制之上的，儿子们之间必须互相迫使对方遵守这些限制，才能保持上述的群居生活。遵守禁忌的了人类的羞耻感。因此，可以说文明的这一关键性过程是由于人类有了直立行走的姿式而开始的。从此，事情发展的顺序是：从嗅觉刺激的衰退和月经期间的性禁忌，到视觉刺激的优势和生殖器官的显露，然后就发展到持续的性兴奋，家庭的建立，从此人类就跨入了文明的大门。这只是一个理论上的推测，但它很重要，值得我们在那些与人类关系密切的动物身上去加以验证。

在人类对清洁的文明追求中，同样存在着一个明白无误的社会因素，尽管清洁后来被卫生学证明是正确的，但早在这一点被证实之前，人类就已经追求清洁了。对清洁的迫切要求来自人们清除排泄物的需要，排泄物当时就已经为人们的感官难以容忍。我们知道在保育院里，情形就大不相同了，排泄物并不会引起孩子们的恶心。粪便作为从他们体内排出的身体的一部分，对他们来说似乎颇有价值。这里的教养尤其强调促进儿童发展的下一阶段早日到来，在下一阶段，排泄物粪便就会被认为是无用、恶心、可恶、可憎的。体内排泄物如果不是那么臭气熏天的话，它的价值是不会这样被否定，以致遭到人直立行走后嗅觉刺激被压抑的同样命运。所以，肛门欲首先屈服于走向文明的“有机体性压抑”。对肛门欲的进一步转化负有责任的社会因素的存在，在这样的事实中得到证明：在人类进化过程中，每个人都很少觉得自己的排泄物恶心，他只是觉得别人的粪便恶心。所以说，一个人如果不讲卫生——不把自己的粪便隐藏起来的话，他就会触怒别人；他就没有体谅别人。这一情形在我们最强烈、最常听的咒骂声中体现出来。如果不是由于下述两个特点招致人们的蔑视，人类用他在动物界最忠实的朋友——狗来咒骂就让人费解了：一是，狗最重要的感官就是嗅觉，并且它对排泄物并不反感；二是，狗对性活动并不感到羞耻。

[2] 上面阐述的观点有以下几方面的依据。人也是一种动物，与动物一样，具有明显的两性气质。个体的人相当于两个对称的一半的融合，根据某些研究者的看法，其中一半纯粹是男性的，另一半纯粹是女性的，而每一半原先也同样可能是两性的。性别是一个生物学的事实，在人的精神生活中扮演着极其重要的角色，却很难从心理的角度去把握它。我们习惯说每个人都表现出男性和女性的本能的冲动、需要和特征；尽管解剖学确实区分男性和女性的特征，心理学却不能。对于心理学来说，两性之间的差别消失了，变成了主动性和被动性之间的区别；我们也非常喜欢把男性与主动性，女性与被动性等同起来，然而这一观点在动物界绝没有得到普遍的证实，关于两性共存的理论仍然还有许多晦涩难解的问题，与本能理论尚未联系起来，这在我们看来，不能不算是精神分析的严重缺陷。尽管如此，如果我们假设每个人都试图在其性生活中寻求男性欲望与女性欲望的满足，也不排除这些欲望不能通过同一对象得到满足，且如果两种欲望不分开，不引入到合适的渠道的话，两者会彼此干涉。但另一问题又产生了，就是与性爱关系相联系的除了性本能自身的虐待狂部分以外，常常还有一种明显的攻击性倾向。面对这一复杂性，爱的对象往往不能理解和容忍，而农妇则对此表现出某种程度的理解和忍耐；她会抱怨说她的丈夫不再爱她了，因为他一个星期没打她了。

然而，最深层的推测是前面在注解中所谈及的内容（第四章，46页）。大意是讲，由于人类采用了直立的姿式，并且嗅觉功能减弱，结果不仅他的肛门欲，而且他的整个性欲，都存在着沦为有机体压抑的牺牲品的危险，由于这一原因，一种让人难以理解的反感总是伴随着性功能，这种厌恶感妨碍了性的充分满足，（接上页）迫使其远离性目标，进入力比多的升华和转化境界。我知道布洛勒（“性阻力”，《心理分析与心理病态研究年鉴》第五卷，1913）曾经指出存在着这样一种对性生活的原始反感。一切精神病患者，还有许多其他人，反对“我们是在尿与粪便之间出生的”这一事实。生殖器难闻的气味，许多人无法忍受，他们的性交兴致因而遭到破坏。因此我们可能发现，伴随文明发展的性压抑的最深的根源，是有机体为了保护人直立行走后所形成的新的生活方式而对其早期动物式的生存进行的防御。奇怪的是，这一研究的结果正好与老生常谈的对性的世俗偏见相吻合。然而，研究结果也好，偏见也好，目前还只是一些可能性而已，尚缺乏科学论证。我们不要忘记，尽管嗅觉刺激作用的价值降低不容置疑，但甚至在欧洲，对我们而言是难以忍受的生殖器气味，对另一些人而言却是备受推崇的性刺激物，并拒绝清除它们（参看伊万·布劳克从调查中收集到的一些关于性生活中嗅觉的民间传说，它们发表于弗里德里希·克劳斯的《人类学》各卷中）。

5

精神分析法告诉我们，那些被称为精神病的人所不能忍受的正是这些性生活的挫折。精神病患者在他的症状中为自己创造了一些替代性的满足，然而这些满足不是本身造成他的痛苦，就是成为他痛苦的来源，因为它们使他与周围环境和他所属的社会相处困难。后一现象很容易理解，但前者又给我们提出了一个新的难题。文明除了要求人类牺牲性满足外，还要求人类做出其他方面的牺牲。

我们将文明发展的困难看作是发展的普遍困难所在，将这一困难追溯到力比多的惰性上，归结为力比多拒绝新的角色、不愿放弃旧有的角色。性爱是两个人之间的一种关系，任何第三者只能是多余或者碍事的，但文明所依的却是众人之间的关系；我们由此可以推论出文明与性行为之间的对立，这与文明发展的困难问题是一回事。当恋爱关系发展到高潮时，恋人们对外界就毫无兴趣了，对于一对恋人来说，有他们自己就已足够，甚至不需要共同所生的孩子来促使自己幸福。爱神厄洛斯通过让两个人相恋来进行繁衍后代的行为，但达到这一众所皆知的目的后，就拒绝再有所作为了，爱神存在的核心价值的体现，在这件事上再明显不过了。

到现在为止，我们完全可以想象这样一个文化集体，其成员成双成对，力比多在他们自身中即获得满足，但共同的工作和利益还是将这些成对的人们联系在一起。如果真是这样的话，文明就不必再汲取性行为的能量了。但是这种理想的情形并不存在，也从来没有发生过。现实告诉我们，文明并不满足于人类现有的纽带关系，文明还要寻求通过力比多把集体成员相互连接起来，并且为达到这一目的不惜一切手段，支持一切可以使集体成员建立起强烈认同感的途径，最大程度上唤起目标抑制的力比多以借助友谊关系增强集体的纽带。为了实现这些目标，节制性生活就变得不可避免。然而我们还是无法理解是什么迫使文明走上这样的发展道路，是什么引发了文明对性行为的对抗，其必要性何在。一定存在某种扰乱文明的因素，只是我们尚未发现。

一个我们称之为文明社会的理想要求或许能指引我们做出正确理解。这一要求是：“你须爱邻居如同爱自己”。这一要求举世皆知，并且无疑比基督教还要悠久。基督教把它作为最值得骄傲的主张加以推崇。然而它确实并不古老，在各个历史时期，它对人们来讲仍然陌生。让我们以一种天真的态度来对待这一问题，就像第一次听到这句话一样，这样我们就不禁会产生一种惊奇和困惑的感觉。我们为什么要这样做呢？这样做对我们有什么好处呢？但是首先，我们如何才能做到这一点呢？它怎么可能呢？我的爱对我来说是某种宝贵的东西，我不应当不负责任地将它抛出。这种爱使我承担着某些义务，为了履行这些义务，我必须准备做出牺牲。如果我爱某一个人，他在某些方面就必须值得我去爱（我在这里不考虑他可能对我有什么用，也不考虑他作为性对象对我有什么样的重要性，因为这两种关系对于爱我的邻居这一训诫都没有关系）。如果他在许多重要方面很像我，以至于我在爱他时能够爱我自己，那么他就值得我爱；如果他是一个比我完美得多的人，从而我在爱他的同时可以爱自己的理想，那么他也值得我爱；再者，如果他是朋友的儿子，我也必须去爱他，如果他遇到什么灾难的话，我的朋友所感到的痛苦也就是我的痛苦——我应当去分担这一痛苦。但是，如果他对我来说是一个陌生人，并且如果他自身没有什么优点，或者在我的感情生活中无足轻重，他就不能够吸引我，那么让我去爱他将会很难。事实上，去爱陌生人是错误的，因为我的亲人或朋友珍视我的爱，并将我的爱视为一种我对他们偏爱的表示，如果我把一个陌生人和他们同等对待，这对他们来说是不公平的。但是如果我去爱他（用那种博爱方式）——只是因为他也是地球上的生物，就像昆虫、蚯蚓或草蛇一样，恐怕他只能分享我的爱的一小部分——我的理性判断会把大部分爱留给自己。如果一个训诫实施起来并不能让人感觉合理，这样的训诫又有何用呢？

再进一步观察，我发现了更多的困难。这样一个陌生人不仅不值得我爱，而且老实地讲，他更多是引起我的敌意，甚至憎恨。他似乎对我也没有一丝爱的意思，且没有对我表现出丝毫的关心与体谅。如果对他有利，他会毫不犹豫地伤害我，他也绝不会自问因此所得的利益是否和我遭受的伤害相当。实际上，他甚至不需要去获得什么利益，只要可以满足他的某种欲望，他就会毫无顾忌地嘲笑我、侮辱我、诽谤我，让我成为他的配角以显出他的优势。他越感到安全，我就越感到无助，也越肯定他会以这样的方式对待我。如果他的表现完全不同，对我这个陌生人，他表示出关心，表现出自我克制，那么任何情形下我也愿意以同样的方式对待他，而不需任何训诫的指示。的确，如果这条庄严的训诫这样说的话：“爱你的邻居就像他爱你一样”，那么我就毫无异议了。还有第二条训诫，它似乎更让我无法理解，并且引起我内心更强烈的反感。这就是：“爱你的敌人”。然而，经过仔细考虑之后，我觉得把它视为一个更加过分的要求是错误的；说到底，它与第一条训诫是一回事。[1]

我似乎听到一个威严高贵的声音告诫着我：“恰恰是由于你的邻居不值得你爱，甚至是你的敌人，你才必须要爱他像爱你自己一样。”于是我明白了这条训诫不过是又一个“因为荒谬故我信”的例子而已。

现在，当我的邻居被告诫说要爱我像爱他自己一样时，他完全可能做出和我一样的反应，并且因为同样的原因而拒绝爱我。我希望他不会给出和我完全一样的客观理由，但他却有和我同样的想法。尽管如此，人类行为还是存在着差异，伦理学不顾这些差异的条件制约，将其划分为“善”和“恶”两类。只要这些不可否认的差异依然存在，去践行高级伦理要求的内容对文明的目标就会造成损害，因为这会提倡恶有善报。在这一点上，人们不禁会想起法国国民议会厅曾经的一幕，人们在争论着是否废除死刑。一个议员强烈地要求废除死刑，他的演讲得到持久的雷鸣般的掌声，直至大厅中传来一个声音：“让杀人犯先迈出第一步不去杀人吧！”

隐藏在这一切背后的，也是人们不愿意承认的真相是：人类不是需要爱的温和生物，顶多是受到攻击后会采取防卫措施而已；相反，人类在其本能的禀性中蕴藏着强大的攻击性。因此，他们的邻居不仅仅是潜在的助手或性对象，而且是诱发他们对其发动攻击的对象，他们会毫无补偿地剥削他的劳动力，未经他的许可便强行与他发生性关系，霸占他的财产，羞辱他，折磨他，让他痛苦，并且杀死他。“人与人之间如同狼与狼一样”。面对历史上和生活中的经验，谁还有勇气对这个结论提出质疑呢？一般来说，这种残酷的攻击性或者等待着某种挑衅，或者服务于某种通过比较温和的手段即能达到的目标。当条件适宜，平时控制着人类精神上的制衡力量失去效力时，他们的攻击性即自发显现，暴露出兽性，连同类也不能免于受害。但凡想想种族大迁徙的恐怖情形，想想匈奴人或者又称之为成吉思汗和帖木儿统治下的蒙古人的侵略，想想虔诚的十字军占领耶鲁撒冷的时候，抑或是第一次世界大战的恐怖情形，人们都将不得不承认这一事实。

我们在自己身上觉察到了这种攻击性倾向，也有理由假定别人身上也具有这样的倾向，这种倾向破坏了我们与邻居的关系，也迫使文明之路更为迂回曲折。由于人类互相充满原始的敌意，文明社会永远存在着崩溃的危险。劳动中的共同利益尚不足以将人类团结在一起，因为源自本能的感情远比理智的利益强大得多。文明必须尽其最大的努力来限制人类的攻击性本能，并且运用心理反应形成机制来控制它们的显现。从此就有了一些方法的运用，旨在促进人们情感上彼此认同、进入目标抑制的性关系中，就有了对性生活的限制，就有了爱邻居如同爱自己的理想训诫，这一训诫的合理性在于：没有什么比它更能与人的攻击性本性相抗衡了。尽管做了种种尝试，文明的这些努力目前仍收效甚微。文明希望通过使用暴力打击罪犯的权利，来防止最赤裸裸的野蛮暴行，但是法律对于人类攻击性表现的微妙形式却无能为力。如今我们每个人须丢弃年轻时寄托在他人身上的期望，这种期望只能是幻想；须学会认识到他人的恶意让我们的生活变得如此艰难和痛苦。同时，指责文明试图从人类活动中消除争斗和竞争也是不公平的。争斗与竞争自然必不可少。但是对立并不必然就是敌对，对立只是完全被误用成敌对的一种情形而已。

共产主义者认为他们已经找到了将人类从罪恶中解脱出来的途径。根据他们的观点，人无疑本来是好的，对邻居也友善，但私有制度腐化了其天性。私有财产的拥有权赋予个人以权力并诱使他运用这种权力去虐待他的邻人；而那些被剥夺财产的人就必定会对压迫者充满敌意，必定会反抗其压迫。如果废除了私有制，实行财产公有，即人人享有财产，那么恶意和敌对就会在人类中消失。由于每个人的需要都将得到满足，任何人都没有理由把另一个人当做他的敌人；所有人都将乐意承担起任何必要的工作。我并不关心对共产主义制度在经济体制方面的批评，私有财产的废除究竟是否合适、有益，我也无从得知。[2]但我能确认的是，这种废除私有财产做法背后的心理根据毫无依据，只是幻想而已。废除私有财产后，人类攻击的喜好仅仅是被剥夺了其众多手段中的一个，虽然无疑这是一个强大的手段，但绝不是最强的手段。人在权力和影响上的差异、攻击性的本性都没有任何改变，攻击性为达到目的利用的正是这种权力和影响上的差异。攻击性并不是由财产造成的；财产匮乏的原始社会弥漫的几乎是毫无节制的攻击性。在幼儿期，人的攻击性即显露出来了，那时所谓的财产尚未脱离原始的肛门期形式，它构成了人们之间各种感情和爱的关系的基础（也许只有一个例外，就是母亲和儿子的关系）。即使我们废除了物质财富的私人所有权，性关系领域的特权仍然存在，人或许在其他方面完全平等，但这一特权必定引起人们极度的不满和强烈的憎恨。如果我们也消除这一特权，允许性生活完全自由，并且进而废除家庭这一文明的胚胎细胞，我们诚然无法预知文明进程可能会走上怎样的新道路；但有一点我们可以确定：无论文明之路通向何方，人类本性中的攻击性坚不可摧，将会与文明如影随形。

显而易见，让人们放弃攻击性倾向并非易事。没有这一需求的满足，他们就会感到不适。人们不应轻视相当小的一个文化圈子所享有的优越性，这一优越性以一种对圈外人的敌意形式给攻击性本能提供了一种发泄渠道。人类总是可以通过爱将相当一部分人团结在一起，只要圈外人成为其攻击对象。我曾经讨论过这样一种现象，即恰恰是疆土毗连，并且本应关系密切的群体，常常沉溺于相互斗争、相互讥笑嘲弄中——比如西班牙人和萄萄牙人，北部德国人和南部德国人，英格兰人和苏格兰人等等。我将这种现象称之为“细微差异上的自恋”，这一名称当然并不足以解释这一现象。但它可以视为某一群体满足攻击性倾向、增强集体凝聚力的一个便利而又无伤大雅的方法。犹太人的四处迁徙对其定居下来的东道国的文化做出了宝贵的贡献；然而不幸的是，中世纪对犹太人的大屠杀并未使基督教徒们因此感到那个时代更加安全、和平。在圣·保罗将博爱奠定为基督徒社团的基础之后，其不可避免的后果是，基督徒对那些处于这一集体之外的人们极度地不能容忍。对罗马人而言，其帝国并不是建立在爱的基础之上，因此，宗教的不相容对他们来说是陌生的，尽管宗教是他们所关切的事，并且弥漫着整个国家。日耳曼人主宰世界的梦想要以反犹太主义来做补充也不是不可能理解的偶然现象。在俄国建立一个共产主义的新文明的努力竟然会以迫害资产阶级作为心理支柱也就变得可以理解了。只是人们未免有点担忧地感到疑惑：布尔什维克在彻底清除了他们的资产阶级后又将做什么呢？

如果文明把如此大的牺牲不仅强加于人类的性行为，而且还强加于人类的攻击性行为的话，我们就能更好地理解为什么在这样一种文明里人们极难使自己感到幸福了。其实原始人由于不被限制其本能，境况反而更好一些。然而原始人无法确定能享受这样的好运多久，这一点让我们稍感平衡。文明人则是用他可能获得的一部分幸福换取了一部分安全。然而，我们还应考虑到，在原始家庭中，只有它的首领才能充分享受这种本能的自由；其他人则生活在奴隶般的压迫之中。所以在文明的原始时期，享受文明的好处的少数人和被剥夺了这些好处的多数人之间，形成了极其鲜明的对比。至于今天仍存在的原始民族，更仔细的调查已表明：我们毫无理由因其享受的自由而妒忌他们的本能生活。他们要受到一种不同类型的约束，这种约束或许比强加在文明人身上的约束更为严苛。

当我们理直气壮地挑剔文明的现状，指责它没有充分理睬我们对幸福生活形式的要求，指责它容许如此多的或许完全可以避免的苦难存在时；当我们毫不吝惜批评，试图发掘出它不完美的根源时——我们是在行使自己的正当权利，并不是在表明我们就是文明的敌人。我们或许希望在文明中逐渐施行一些改变，使其更好地满足我们的要求，免于以上批评。但我们或许也应该熟悉这样的观点，即有些难题存在于文明的本性之中，无论何种改革都无法克服。我们除了面临限制本能的任务（这一任务我们已经做好准备）外，还面临着一个危险的境况，这一境况我们称之为“集体心理痛苦”。当一个社会的纽带主要依靠成员之间的认同感，而发挥领导才干的个人，在集体形成中却又未能获得应有的名望时，这一危险就最具威胁性。美国文明的现状给我们提供了一个绝好的机会，来研究人们应该惧怕的文化伤害。但是我将避免对美国文明进行批判；我不想给人留下这样的印象，即我自身也在使用美国式批判方法。

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[1] 一位富有想象力的伟大作家，至少可以用开玩笑的方式说出那些会遭到谴责的真心话。例如，海涅承认，“我的性情最为平和。我的愿望是：有一间茅草陋舍，但有舒适的床、精美的食品、最新鲜的牛奶和奶油，窗前有花坛，门前有绿树，并且如果仁慈的上帝想让我完全幸福的话，他应允许我享受这样的快乐，看到六七个我的敌人吊在这些树上。在他们临死之前，由于内心的感动，我将饶恕他们生前对我做的一切坏事。的确，一个人应当饶恕他的敌人——但是在他没被吊起之前绝不可能。”

[2] 任何一个人，如果他年轻时曾饱尝贫困的痛苦，并且感受过富人们的蔑视和傲慢，毋庸置疑，他对于目前反抗财富不均及其一切后果的努力，绝对不会不理解或没有任何好感。当然，如果这样的反抗打着公正的名义，呼吁人人平等这一抽象要求，那么，其异议就太明显了：大自然赋予每个人不同的身体素质和心理能力，这样的不公正根本无法革除。

6

在过去的写作过程中，我从未如此强烈地感到，我所描述的东西不过是些众所周知的事情，而我还在浪费着纸张笔墨，在一定的时候还要浪费排字工人和印刷工人的劳动，来论述一些实际上是不言而喻的东西。基于此，如果承认一个特殊、独立的攻击本能的存在，似乎意味着必须对精神分析理论关于本能方面的内容做出修改，我将会非常乐意地去修改。

然而我们将会看到，事情并非如此，很久以前，精神分析论就存在这样的一个方向改变，现在只不过是更加热切地关注这一方向，并沿着这一方向追踪下去，探寻后果罢了。在分析理论的缓慢发展过程中，关于本能原理的摸索是最费劲的一个。但本能原理对于精神分析的整个结构必不可少，因此必须充实这一理论。在最初我感到完全迷失的时候，诗人哲学家席勒的一句话给我提供了最初的线索，其大意是“食欲与性欲”构成了这个世界的机制。食欲可以看做代表旨在保存个体的本能；而性欲则寻求对象，其主要功能，因自然各方面的恩赐，是保存人类这一物种。所以，最初自我本能和对象本能相互对立。我采用“力比多”这一术语是表示后者，而且仅仅表示后一种本能的能量。因而这一对立就是自我本能和指向对象的爱（从最广的意义上讲）的力比多本能之间的对立。诚然，这些对象本能中的一种，即性虐狂本能，和其他对象本能完全不同；因为它完全缺乏爱。再者，从某些方面来说，它明显地依附于自我本能；它无法掩盖其与旨在控制的本能之间的紧密联系，而与力比多目的无关。然而，这样的矛盾还是可以克服的：毕竟，性虐狂显然是性生活中的一部分；只不过，在这种性生活中，温柔为残忍所取代。精神病似乎就是自我保存的利益和力比多需要之间斗争的结果，在这一斗争中，自我胜出，但却付出了痛苦和牺牲的惨重代价。

每一个分析家都会承认，即使在今天，这个观点听起来仍是正确的，而不是早就被摒弃的一个错误。不过，当我们的研究从被抑制的本能的探讨发展到压抑性的原动力的探讨，从对象本能发展到自我，对精神分析论做出修改也就成为必然。这里关键性的一步是自恋概念的引进——也就是说，自我认知本身也被力比多占领，事实上是力比多的原始老巢，并且某种程度上仍是力比多的指挥部。这种自恋的力比多转向对象，于是就成为对象力比多；而对象力比多可能再次转换为自恋力比多。自恋这一概念使我们有可能对创伤性精神病，对许多与精神病密切相关的状况，以及精神病本身得以理解和分析。我们没有必要放弃移情性精神病是由自我实行阻止性欲的尝试导致的这一观点；但是力比多的概念却受到了威胁。由于自恋这种自我本能也是属于力比多的，所以我们暂时似乎必须使力比多等同于一般意义上的本能能量，正如C．荣格之前提出的那样。不过仍然可以肯定的是，本能不可能都属于同一类型，尽管目前对此我还无法解释。当强迫性重复和本能的守旧性（或倒退性）引起我的注意时，我在《超越快乐原则》（1920）一书中迈出了下一步。从对生命开端和对具有可比性的生物的思考，我得出以下结论：除了保存生物体本身并使它加入更大的单位的本能外，[1]一定还存在着另外一个相反的本能，这一本能试图分解这些单位，并且把它们送回到原始、无机的状态。这就是说，不仅存在着爱神厄洛斯，还存在着死亡本能。生命现象正可以从这两种本能的相互作用、相互抗衡中得到解释。然而，要具体说明这一假定的死亡本能的活动并非易事。厄洛斯的表现形式是清晰可见、可闻的；人们或许可以设想死亡本能在有机体趋向死亡解体的过程中悄悄地发挥着作用，但这当然还不能成为证据。一个更富有成效的设想是，一部分死亡本能转向外部世界，以攻击性本能和破坏性本能的面貌出现。通过这一途径死亡本能本身被迫转而为厄洛斯服务，因为有机体会破坏其他有生命或无生命的事物，而不是破坏其自身。相反，任何阻止攻击性向外发展的行为都必定助长有机体的自我破坏，自我破坏无论如何总会继续进行。同时，人们根据下面的例子可能得出这样的猜想：这两种本能极少或可能从不单独出现，它们总是以极为多样化的不同比例融合在一起，因而我们难以判断、辨认。在性虐狂中，它早就被视为性的部分冲动，人们可以看到爱的本能与破坏的本能极其强烈的融合形式。而它的对应物——性受虐狂——则是指向内部的破坏和性欲的结合，这一结合使得本无法觉察的抗衡变得显而易见、可以　触摸。

关于死亡本能或破坏本能存在的假想甚至在精神分析界也遭到了反对；我很清楚人们常常有这样一种倾向，就是把一切对爱不利和敌对的东西都归咎于爱的本质中的原始双向性。我在这里阐述的观点最初只是尝试地提出，但是随着时间的推移，这些观点在我头脑中变得根深蒂固，以致我再也不能从其他角度思考了。我认为，从理论的角度来看，它们比任何其他人可能会想到的理论都更有用；它们能够提供一个既不忽视、也不歪曲事实的答案，而这正是科学工作所力求达到的境地。我承认，在性虐狂和受虐狂身上，我们总能看到（向外或向内的）破坏本能与性欲牢牢地结合在一起；但是我再也无法理解我们怎能忽视非性欲的攻击性和破坏性的普遍存在，并且怎能在对生活的解释中不给它以合适的地位呢（破坏的欲望转向内部时，我们多半感受不到；当然，除非它带着性欲的色彩）。我记得关于破坏本能的思想在精神分析的著述中刚出现时，最初我自己也抗拒，并且很长时间之后才接受了这一思想。所以，当其他人抵制这一思想，并且现在仍然抵制时，我并不感到吃惊。当人们谈论到人类天生具有“邪恶”、攻击性和破坏性以及残酷性时，“儿童是不喜欢这种谈论的”。上帝根据他自己的完美形象创造了人类；谁都知道邪恶（尽管基督教科学派一贯否认，邪恶还是不可避免地存在着）与上帝的全能和至善是多么地难以调和。这时，魔鬼即成为上帝最好的辩解，就像犹太人在雅利安人的理想世界中所发挥的辩解作用一样。尽管如此，人们仍可以认为上帝应对魔鬼的存在以及魔鬼所代表的邪恶负责。鉴于这些困难，我建议每个人在适当的时候都应该向人类的道德深层本性深鞠一躬，这会帮助我们受到普遍欢迎，并使我们免除许多烦恼。[2]

“力比多”一词可以再次被用来表示厄洛斯能量的具体表现，这样做为的是把它们和死亡本能的能量加以区别。[3]必须承认，死亡本能更加难以掌握，某种程度上只能被辨认为厄洛斯留下的残余，只有与厄洛斯相融合才会显现，否则难以让人捕捉。在性虐狂中，死亡本能在充分满足性欲的同时，把性欲的目的反转向自己的目的。正是从性虐狂问题上，我们获得了死亡本能及其与厄洛斯的关系的最为清楚的认识。然而，即便死亡本能出现时没有任何目的性，在其极其麻木狂热的破坏中，这种本能的满足是伴随着高度的自恋享受的，因为这一本能的满足展示了自我无所不能的愿望如何得以实现。当破坏本能受到节制、驯服时，就像目标抑制转向对象时一样，它会帮助自我满足其生存需要、去控制自然。由于对这一本能存在的假设主要是建立在理论基础上的，所以我们应当承认它不是反对对立理论的充分证据。但在我们目前的知识结构下，事情在我们看来就是如此，将来的研究和思考无疑会决定性地澄清这一问题。

在接下来的论述中，我的观点是，攻击性倾向是人的一种原始的、自发的气质，这又回到了之前的论点上，即这一倾向构成了文明的最大障碍。之前的研究中我们也认识到文明是人类所经历的一个特殊过程，我们现在仍然受着这一思想的影响。现在需再补充一点，那就是文明是为厄洛斯服务的一个过程，它的目的是把个人，然后是家庭，最后是种族、民族和国家结合在一个大的统一体中，即人类社会。为什么必须如此，我们无从得知：纯粹是厄洛斯在发挥作用。这众多的人类必须通过力比多互相联结起来；单靠必要性即一起劳动的优势是无法把他们聚拢在一起的。然而，文明的进程遭到了人类的自然攻击性本能的对抗，这种攻击性体现为个体对群体的敌意和群体对个体的不友善。这种攻击性本能是死亡本能衍生的主要代表。我们是在死亡本能与厄洛斯同时出现时发现的，它与厄洛斯一起统治着这个世界。我想现在文明进程的含义对我们不再是什么晦涩的东西了。文明的进程一定体现出爱神和死神、生存本能和破坏本能的较量，正如在人类身上所体现的一样。这一斗争是所有生命最基本的内容，因此文明的进程可以简单地描述成人类为了生存的斗争。[4]这场巨人间的争斗，正是我们的保姆用天国的摇篮曲所试图缓和的争斗。

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[1] 厄洛斯永无休止的扩张性趋势与本能的守旧性之间对立明显，这一对立可以成为对下一步问题进行研究的出发点。

[2] 歌德的《浮士德》一书中摩菲斯特这一人物，让我们看到了把罪恶根源与破坏本能画上等号的一个相当具有说服力的例子：“一切产生的事物／都应当被破坏／……／因此，你所称的一切罪行，／破坏——简而言之——邪恶／那才是我真正的本性。”

这个魔鬼自认为他的敌人并不是至善，而是大自然生育和繁衍的力量，即厄洛斯：“从水中、土中和空气中显露出来，／成千的胚芽破土而出，蓬勃生长／在干燥、潮湿、温暖和寒冷之中／如果我不是真的蕴藏着热情的火焰的话，／那我就没有什么特别的东西可以展示了。”

[3] 我们现在的观点大致可以表述如下：每种本能的表现都有力比多的参与，但并非所有的表现都是力比多。

[4] 或许更精确起见，我们应该加上一句：经过某一事件后，文明必将呈现的某种形式，仍然是一种猜测而已。

7

为什么我们的动物亲戚们没有表现出这样的文化斗争呢？我们无从得知。但很可能有一些动物，比如说蜜蜂、蚂蚁和白蚁，它们斗争了几千年，然后形成了其国家制度、分工和对个体的约束机制，让我们羡慕不已。我们现状的特点是，在上述任何一个动物的王国里或者成为其中任何一种所分配的角色，我们都不会感觉幸福。至于其他动物，环境影响和它们内部各种冲突的本能之间很可能已达到暂时的平衡，因而发展也就停了下来。在原始人中，新一轮力比多的爆发也许会触发抵抗破坏性本能的新活动。这里尚有许多问题需要追问，许多问题尚未得到回答。

另一问题与我们的关系更为密切。这一问题是文明用什么方法来抑制与自己对抗的攻击性，使其失去危害，并且可能的话消除它呢？我们已经认识到了其中几种方法，但似乎尚未发现最重要的方法。对此我们可以在个人发展的例子上加以研究。个人身上究竟发生了什么事，让他把攻击性变得无害呢？一定发生了什么奇怪的事情，这一点显而易见，我们不会怀疑。他的攻击性转而向内投射、被内化，实际上也就是被遣回到其发源地——换言之，指向他的自我。在那里它被一部分自我所接管，这部分自我成为超我，与自我的其他部分相对立，并且以“良知”的形式，对本想指向其他个体的自我施加同等严厉的攻击性，来管束自我。严厉的超我和受制于它的自我之间的紧张关系被我们叫做“内疚感”，表现为一种对惩罚的需要。这样，就像在一座已被占领的城市中派兵驻防一样，文明通过削弱个体、剥夺他的武器、建立了一个内在的权威来监视他，从而克服了个人危险的攻击性。

关于内疚感的起源，精神分析家和其他心理学家持不同看法；但即使是分析家也发现要解释这一问题并不容易。首先，如果我们问一个人怎么会有了内疚感时，会得到一个不容怀疑的答案：当一个人做了某种他知道是“坏的”事情时，他就会感到内疚（虔诚的人们会说是“邪恶的”事情）。但是我们看到这一答案并未讲出任何实质性内容。稍稍犹豫后，我们会补充说，即使一个人没有真正去做坏事，而只是意识到自己有干坏事的意图，他也可能会感到内疚；于是有人会提出这样的问题：为什么会把做坏事的意图和做坏事的行为等同起来呢？然而，两种情况都存在着一个前提条件，即我们认为邪恶是应遭到谴责的，是不应付诸实施的。这一判断我们又是如何做出的呢？我们或许会否定存在着一种原始、天生的辨别是非的能力。邪恶对于自我来说，常常并不是什么有害或危险的东西，恰恰相反，可能是自我所欢迎和享受的东西。因此，这里有一个外部的影响在起作用，恰恰是这一影响决定了什么是好事，什么是坏事。由于一个人自身的情感并不会把他引向这条途径，所以他必须有一个服从这一外部影响的动机。在一个人孤立无援的情况下和对别人的依靠中，我们可以轻易地发现这一动机，并恰当地把这一动机称为对丧失爱的惧怕。如果他失去了他所依靠的人的爱，他就失去了保护，面临着种种危险。首先，他会面临被惩罚的危险，较强大的人会用惩罚的形式来显示其优势。所以在最初，邪恶会让人面临丧失爱的危险，人因此必须避免邪恶的行为和念头。因此一个人是否已经干了坏事或者仅仅有这样的打算两者没有多大差别。无论哪一种情况，只要被监视的权威发现，丧失爱的危险就会降临，并且任何一种情况下，权威的做法都是一样。

这种精神状态叫做“问心有愧”，但实际上它名不副实，因为在这个阶段，内疚感显然仅仅是一种对失去爱的恐惧，一种“社会性的”焦虑。在小孩子中间，内疚感仅是如此，绝不会是任何其他东西；但对许多成年人而言，唯一的改变是，曾经是父亲或者父母亲所占据的位置现在被一个更大的人类社会所取代。因此，只要确信权威不会知晓他们所干的坏事，或不会因此责怪他们，他们就常常允许自己去干种种可能给予他们乐趣的坏事；他们所害怕的只是被发现。这是今天的社会需要应付的普遍状况。

在这一权威实现内化，建立起超我之前，事情并没有太大变化。建立超我后，良知的现象才达到了一个新的高度，只有这时候，人们才可以正确地讨论良知和内疚感。[1]这时，担心被发现的问题不复存在了，而且做坏事和做坏事的念头之间的区别也全然消失了，因为一切东西、即便是人自己的想法都瞒不过超我。自然，事情的现实危险已经过去，因为据我们所知的一切，超我这一新的权威没有理由去虐待自我，因为它与自我密切相连；但形成超我的方式依然在起作用，使得已被克服的过去的东西继续存续下来，以致事情实质上与一开始没有差别。超我以同样的焦虑折磨着邪恶的自我，并伺机寻找机会让自我接受外部世界的惩罚。

在良知发展的第二个阶段，它呈现出一种特性，这种特性在第一阶段是没有的，并且不再那么容易解释。一个人越是道德高尚，其良知对自我就越严厉、越不信任，所以最终恰恰是这些最圣洁的人指责自己罪恶最为深重。这意味着美德剥夺了其一部分应得的奖赏；顺从和节制的自我并没有获得它的指导者的信任，似乎只是徒劳地去努力获取超我的信任。我相信很快就会有人提出异议，说这些困难是人为的，并且有人会说一个更加严格的、警惕性更高的良知正是道德本性的特征。此外，道德高尚的人称他们自己为罪人时，并不是没有道理，鉴于那些满足本能的诱惑，尤其是他们所受到的那些强烈诱惑——众所周知，诱惑只是在频频受挫后才会增强，而对它们偶尔满足却会使它们至少是暂时地被削弱。在疑问丛出的道德学领域还有一个事实是：恶运——换言之，外部挫折——大大增强了超我的良知力量。当一个人一切都顺利时，他的良知是宽容的，并且放任自我做各种事情；但是当恶运降临到他头上时，他就检查自己的灵魂，承认自己的罪过，提高良知的要求，强制自己禁欲并且用苦行来惩罚自己。[2]整个人类都这样做过，而且还在这样做。然而，这一点很容易用原始的、婴幼儿期的良知来解释。正如我们看到的，在良知进入超我阶段后，这一早期的良知并没有被放弃，而是始终站在超我的身旁和身后。命运被认为是父母权威的替代者。如果一个人不走运，那就意味着他不再为这一至高无上的力量所青睐；并且由于受到这种失去爱的威胁，他就会再一次服从于超我这一虚拟的父母权威——而在他走运时，则乐于忽略这一权威。如果人们持一种严格宗教意义上的观点，把命运视为神的意志的体现的话，上述情况就更显而易见了。以色列人相信他们是上帝的宠儿，当伟大的天父将一个接一个的不幸降临到他们头上时，他们从来没有怀疑过他们与上帝的关系，或者质疑过其权力和公正。相反，他们产生出先知，让先知斥责他们所犯的罪行，并从内疚中创造出具有极其严格训诫的犹太教体系。奇怪的是，原始人的表现则完全不同。如果他遇到了不幸，他不是责备自己，而是责备他的崇拜物，责备它显然没有尽到责任，并且他不会自罚而是鞭打他的崇拜物。

因而，我们了解到了内疚感的两个来源：一个源自对于某个权威的恐惧，另一个源自对后来出现的超我的恐惧。对权威的恐惧迫使我们抑制本能的满足；对超我的恐惧不仅迫使我们抑制本能的满足，而且还坚持惩罚我们自己，因为被禁止的欲望的存在是瞒不过超我的。我们也了解到该如何去理解超我的严厉性，即良知的要求。严厉的超我纯粹地保持了外部权威的严厉，它接替并部分地取代了外部权威。现在我们可以看到，对本能的克制是如何与内疚感联系起来的。最初，对本能的克制是由于惧怕外部权威；一个人为了不丧失爱便放弃了某些本能的满足。如果一个人实现了这样的克制，他就可以说是服从于外部权威了，并且也不再有内疚感了。但是对于超我的恐惧，情形就不同了。在这里，对本能的克制是不够的，因为本能的欲念依然存在并且不能瞒过超我。因此，尽管克制了欲望，内疚感还会发生，这就在超我的建立过程中，或者说是良知的形成中，造成了一个很不经济的条件。对本能的克制再也不会让人感到完全轻松自由；虔诚的节欲也不再保证会得到爱的奖赏。外部不幸的威胁——爱的丧失和外部权威的惩罚——已经转换成了内心永久的不幸，转换成了内疚感所产生的焦虑。

这些相互关系极其复杂但又极其重要，因此，我不怕重复，将从另一个角度再来探讨这一问题。这些关系发生的先后顺序如下所述：首先，由于恐惧外部权威的攻击而产生了对本能的克制（这当然就是对失去爱的恐惧造成的结果，因为爱可以使人们免除这种惩罚性的攻击）。然后是内部权威的建立，由于对它的恐惧，即对良知的恐惧，产生了对本能的抑制。在第二种情况下，做坏事的企图和做坏事的行为是相当的，因此就有了内疚感和对惩罚的需要。良知的攻击性接替了外部权威的攻击性。到目前为止，事情无疑已经弄清楚了；但是不幸（从外部迫使本能的抑制，从而进一步增强良知）施加的影响又有什么样的地位呢？以及在最善良、最温顺的人们身上，良知那惊人的严厉性又发挥着怎样的作用？我们对良心的这两种特性已做过解释，但是我们大概仍然觉得这些解释并未触及问题的实质，仍然还有一些问题尚未得到解释。最后，这里出现了一种观念，它完全属于精神分析领域，与人们的一般思维方式不同。这种观念可以使我们明白为什么我们研究的对象好像总是混乱和模糊不清的。它告诉我们首先是良知（说得更准确些，是恐惧——后来变成了良知）促使我们对本能进行克制，但是后来这种因果关系就颠倒了。每一种对本能的抑制现在都成为良知的一个动态源泉，并且每一种新的抑制都增强了后者的严厉和苛刻。如果我们能把这一说法与已知的关于良知的起因较好地统一起来，我们就不由得要赞成以下似非而是的论述，即良知是克制本能的结果，或者说这种（从外部强加我们的）对本能的抑制产生了良知，然后良知又要求进一步抑制本能。

这一论述和以前关于良心起因的说法之间的矛盾实际上并不太大，而且之后我们会发现有办法让矛盾变得更少。为了便于阐述，我们把攻击本能作为例子，并且假设这里所谈的抑制总是指对攻击性的抑制（这当然只是暂时的假想）。于是，抑制本能对良知所产生的作用便是：我们抑制的攻击性都被超我接管，超我进而加强了（对自我）的攻击性。这一观点与良知最初的攻击性是外部权威的严厉性的延续因而与抑制无关的观点存在分歧。但是，如果我们为超我攻击性的最初部分假设一个不同的来源，这种分歧就不复存在了。比如，不管外部权威剥夺的是儿童哪一种本能的满足，它都使儿童不能满足其最初的、但也是最重要的各种满足，所以在儿童身上一定会形成对外部权威相当程度的攻击性。但是，他必须抑制这种报复性的攻击本能的满足，于是，借助大家所熟悉的种种机制，他找到了摆脱这一困境的途径。通过自在等同，他把这个无法攻击的权威融进自身。权威现已变成了他的超我，并接管了作为孩子原本要反抗的所有攻击性。儿童的自我必须满足于扮演倒霉的权威即父亲的角色，这样一来，父亲的地位就降低了。在这里，事情的真实情形常常是颠倒的：“如果我是父亲，你是孩子，我将会对你更坏。”超我和自我之间的关系是尚未分化的自我和外在对象间真实关系的回归，只不过这种关系因为主体的欲望而遭到扭曲。这种情况具有典型性。但是根本区别则是超我最初的严厉性不代表或者说不完全代表一个人从对象那里所体验到的或者归之于对象的严厉性；它毋宁说是代表一个人自身对外部对象的攻击性。如果这个说法是正确的，我们就可以接前文观点断言，良知一开始是通过对攻击性冲动的压抑产生的，后来由于进一步的类似压抑而得到加强。

这两种观点哪一种是对的呢？先提出的那种观点从种系进化模式的角度看似乎是无懈可击的；而新提出的这种观点则以上述令人满意的方式使这一理论得到圆满的阐述。很显然，二者都说得通，直接观察的事实也证明了这一点。它们相互并不矛盾，甚至在某一点上它们是一致的，因为儿童的报复攻击性一部分是由他所预料的父亲的惩罚攻击性程度所决定的。然而经验表明，儿童所形成的超我的严厉性和他所受到的待遇的严厉性绝不是对应的。前者的严厉性似乎独立于后者的严厉性。一个在宽容的环境中长大的孩子可能会有非常严厉的良知。但是，夸大这种独立性也是错误的；我们不难相信，养育的严厉程度也会对孩子的超我的形成产生巨大影响。这就等于说，在超我的形成和良知的出现过程中，天生的气质因素和来自现实环境的影响是一起发挥作用的。这根本谈不上令人吃惊；相反，它是所有这些过程的一个普遍的起因条件。[3]

可以断言，当一个孩子用极其强烈的攻击性和相应严厉的超我来对他最初的本能挫折做出反应时，这还是符合种系进化模式的，但其过激的反应，即便今天还是难以理解，这个原始社会的父亲无疑极其残忍暴戾。因此，如果我们从个体的发展转移到种系的进化，关于良知起源的两种理论间的差异就进一步缩小了。另一方面，我们就会注意到在这两个发展过程中存在一个重要的新的差异。我们无法摆脱这样一个设想，即人类的内疚感是从俄底浦斯情结中萌生的，这种情况在弟兄们联合起来杀死父亲的时候就存在了，在这种情况下，攻击性的行为不是被压抑而是被付诸实施——而对父亲的这种攻击性行为进行压抑，也被认为是儿童内疚感的原因。这时候，气愤填膺的读者如果做出如下抗议，我绝不会感到惊奇。“那么一个人是否杀死自己的父亲就无关紧要了——他在两种情况下都会产生内疚感。我们在这儿可以提出几点疑问，或者内疚感并非产生于对攻击性的压抑；或者杀父的故事是杜撰的，原始人的孩子与今天的孩子一样，并不经常杀父。此外，如果这个故事不是杜撰的，而是一段可信的历史，那么人们也会认为发生这样的事情是可能的——一个人感到内疚是因为他确实干了不该干的事情。而这样的例子，每天都有发生，精神分析却没做任何解释。”

读者的批评颇有道理，我们应弥补这一遗漏。这个问题并没有什么神秘之处。当一个人因做错一件事而内疚，这种情感应该称作悔恨更为合适。它只是与已经做过的行为有关，而且它的前提是良知——感到内疚的准备状态——已经在这一行为发生之前就存在了。因此，这种悔恨永远不会帮助我们发现良知和一般的内疚感的起源。日常情形通常是：本能的需要占了上风，战胜了相对无力的良知，获得了满足；一旦得到满足后，本能需要就自然减弱，于是又恢复了之前与良知相对平衡的状态。因而，在现在的探讨中，精神分析法有理由把由悔恨产生的内疚感的情况排除在外，不管这种情况出现得多么频繁，也不管它们实际上的重要性有多大。

但是，如果把人类的内疚感追溯到杀死原始社会的父亲，那也只不过是“悔恨”的一个例子。因此，我们是否该假设良知和内疚感在杀父之前尚不存在呢？那么在这种情况下，悔恨是从哪里产生的呢？毫无疑问，这个例子将会为我们拨开内疚感的迷雾，并且结束我们目前的尴尬局面。我相信这是能够做到的。这种悔恨是人对于父亲原生的矛盾情感的结果。他的儿子们恨他，但也爱他。在儿子们通过攻击行为满足了他们的憎恨之后，他们的爱就会在对这种行为的悔恨中体现出来。通过模仿父亲的自居作用，这种爱建立起超我，并赋予它父亲的权力，就好像是要惩罚他们对父亲的攻击性行为，它制定了旨在避免重现这种行为的种种限制。由于反对父亲的攻击性倾向在以后的世世代代中会反复出现，内疚感也就一直存在，每一次攻击性被压抑后，转到超我上，内疚感就会进而增强。现在，我想你们对于两件事可以说是完全清楚了：在良知的起源中，爱所发挥的作用，以及内疚感产生的不可避免性。一个人不论是否杀死了自己的父亲并不真正具有决定性的作用。不管在哪种情况下，一个人都必定会感到内疚，因为内疚感是矛盾心理斗争的表现。是爱神厄洛斯和破坏或死亡本能间的无止境斗争的表现。当人们面临共同生活的任务时，这一冲突就被煽动起来。只要家庭还是集体生活的唯一形式，这一冲突注定表现为俄底浦斯情结形式，从而建立起良知并且产生最初的内疚感。当文明试图从家庭集体延伸到社会集体时，过去所决定的冲突形式，延续了下去，并且被强化，导致了内疚感的进一步加剧。由于文明所遵从的是内在性欲冲动，这种冲动要求把人类组成为一个密切联结的群体，所以它只能通过内疚感的不断增强而达到其目的。起初与父亲有关的事情，在与群体的关系中得以实现。如果说文明是从家庭向整个人类社会发展的必要过程，那么，由于来自矛盾心理的先天的冲突，以及爱和死亡意愿之间无休止的斗争，文明将必然与日益增长的内疚感难分难解地联系在一起，而且这种内疚感也许会达到一个令人难以忍受的程度。人们不禁会想到伟大诗人对“天神们”尖锐的指控：

“你们把我们带到人世间，你让可怜的人儿感到内疚，然后让他遭受惩罚，因为在世间一切罪过终遭报应。”

当我们认识到只有少数人才能毫不费力地从他们自己混乱的感情中产生最深刻的认识，而其余的人必须历经痛苦、不确定的摸索，才能最终找到通往真理的道路，我们或许可以舒一口气。

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[1] 任何一个反应敏锐的人都会理解并考虑到这样一个事实：这不仅仅是一个超我存在的问题，而且是其相对力量和影响范围的问题，并且这是一个逐渐过渡的过程，这些问题在上面的概括性陈述中都得到了明确的区分。到目前为止，对良知和内疚的所有论述都是众所周知、毋庸置疑的。

[2] 恶运在提升道德水准中发挥着作用，这一主题在马克·吐温的一篇有趣的短篇小说《我偷的第一个瓜》中得到揭示。这第一个瓜碰巧尚未成熟，我听到马克·吐温自己读着这个故事，读出标题后，他停顿下来，然后自问：“是第一个吗？”这就说明了一切：第一个，而不是唯一一个。

[3] 在《对总体人格的精神分析》（1927）一书中，弗兰兹·亚历山大准确地评价了两种主要导致儿童患病的养育方法——过度严厉和过度娇宠，并与艾卡豪恩对少年犯罪的研究联系起来。“过度宽容和溺爱的父亲”是孩子形成过分严厉的超我的原因。因为只在爱的影响下，他们没有发泄其攻击性的方法，只有把它转入内部。少年犯在缺乏爱的环境下长大，他们缺乏自我和超我之间的紧张状态，所以整个攻击性都能指向外部。所以如果不考虑假定存在的气质方面的因素，我们可以说严厉的良知起源于两个因素的相互作用：本能的挫折和被爱的体验，前者释放出攻击性；后者使攻击性转向内部并且把它交给超我。

8

本书写到此时，作者必须请求读者原谅，原谅作者不是一个熟练的向导，因此让读者走了一些乏味、单调的岔路和绕道。作者本可以做得更好一些。在此，我设法做些改善，虽然似乎有点晚了。

首先，我猜想读者会认为我们对内疚感的讨论破坏了本书的框架：这些讨论占据了太多篇幅，而其他与这些关系不很密切的论题就被挤到了一边。这可能扰乱了本项研究的结构；但它与本项研究的意图却是一致的，即呈现出内疚感是文明发展所面临的最重要的问题，并且表明我们为了文明所付出的失去幸福的代价正是由于内疚感的加强而造成的。[1]

这一命题，即我们研究的最终结论，似乎仍然有些奇怪，其原因大概可追溯到内疚感和我们的意识这一奇特的关系上，这种关系我们仍然不太理解。在我们视为正常的悔恨的一般情况下，内疚感可以很清晰地为意识所觉察到。实际上，我们习惯于说“内疚意识”，而不是说“内疚感”。对精神病的研究为我们提供了认识正常状况的最有价值的线索，但它也使我们遇到了一些矛盾。精神病中有一种名为强迫观念性精神病，表现为病人的内疚感强加于意识；支配着该病的临床症状以及病人的生活，几乎不容其他任何东西出现在它旁边。但是在精神病的大多数情况和形式中，内疚感则完全是无意识的，然而却并没有因此而减少其重要影响。当我们告诉病人他们有“无意识内疚感”时，他们不相信。为了让他们或多或少理解我们的说法，我们给他们说起对惩罚的无意识需要，内疚感就是通过这种需要表现的。但是内疚感与某种形式的精神病的关联不应被过分强调，因为即使在强迫观念性精神病中，某些类型的病人如果被阻止做出某些行为，他们也意识不到自己的内疚感，或只能把它感受为一种令人痛苦的不安，或是一种焦虑而已。终有一天，这些情况我们会弄清楚，但目前还不行。在这里，指出下述这一点或许有益：从根本上讲，内疚感只不过是焦虑的一种局部形式；在其后来发展阶段，它完全与对超我的恐惧融合在一起。同样，焦虑相对于意识，我们也发现了同样特别的变化形式。焦虑总是以某种形式掩藏在每种病症的后面，尽管有时候会控制着整个意识，而在别的时候，它则完全把自己隐藏起来——因为焦虑首先只是一种感觉，如果我们想要保持心理上的问心无愧——我们不得不谈论无意识焦虑，或者存在焦虑的可能性。因此，完全可以设想，文明所产生的内疚感本身也未被觉察到，它在很大程度上仍是无意识的，或者只是表现为一种不适，一种不满足感，人们因此转而寻找其他动机。至少宗教从来没有忽略过内疚感在文明中所发挥的作用，此外还有一点——这我之前并没有意识到——它们声称要把人类从这种内疚感（他们称之为原罪）中救赎出来。在基督教中，耶稣一个人的牺牲，承担起所有人的原罪，其他人因此得到救赎。从这种救赎方式我们可以推断原始内疚产生的时机，这一时机也标志着文明的开端。

以下对几个术语的解释尽管不可能特别重要，但也未必完全多余，如“超我”、“良知”、“内疚感”、“对惩罚的需要”和“悔恨”，因为这些词我们也许常常用得不太准确并且经常混淆。它们都适用于同一关系，只是指代这一关系的不同方面。超我是我们假定的一个权威，良知是我们归于这个权威的一个功能——这一功能包括监管和评价自我的行为和意图，执行一种审查制度。内疚感即超我的严厉性，因此与良知的严厉性是等同的。它是自我对于这样被监视的一种感觉，是对自我的抗争与超我的要求之间的紧张状况的评估。对超我这一挑剔的权威的恐惧——存在于整个超我自我关系之下的恐惧，相当于对惩罚的需要——是自我这一方面的本能表现，自我在残酷的超我的影响下形成受虐倾向。它将其固有本能内在破坏性的一部分用于与超我建立起爱的纽带。直到可以证明超我的存在时，我们才应当谈论到良知。至于说内疚感，我们必须说它是先于超我而存在的，因此也就先于良知而存在。当时，它是对外部权威恐惧的直接表现，是对自我和外部权威之间的紧张状态的承认。它是对外部爱的需要和本能满足的欲望——对这种欲望的抑制产生了攻击性——之间冲突的直接产物。内疚感的这两个层次——一个来自对外部权威的恐惧，一个来自对内部权威的恐惧——的重叠在若干方面妨碍了我们对良知的认识。悔恨是在涉及内疚感的情形下自我的反应的一个总称。它包含了内疚感背后发挥作用的焦虑的原始感觉的材料形式；它本身是一种惩罚，而且可能包括对惩罚的需要。所以，悔恨也可能比良知产生得更早。

在此再回顾一下探讨过程中令我们一时困惑不解的矛盾同样有益无害。我们一度称内疚感是因放弃攻击性行为而产生的，而另一时候又称内疚感是因为实施了攻击行为的结果——发生在历史之初的杀父行为之后的结果。我们设法找到解决这一矛盾的方法。因为内部权威超我的建立，这一情况发生了根本变化。在这之前，内疚感等同于悔恨，而“悔恨”这一名称应当用来指真正实施了攻击性行为之后产生的反应。在这之后，由于超我的无所不知，攻击企图和攻击行为之间的区别失去了意义。从此以后，内疚感不仅可以因为暴力行为的实施而产生（这一点众所周知），而且可以仅仅因为存在暴力行为的意图而产生（正如精神分析所发现的）。尽管有这一新的心理情况的出现，但两种主要原始本能之间矛盾心理的冲突，仍然会产生同样的效果。显然在这里我们极其想通过内疚感与意识之间的不同关系去解决这里所提出的问题。我们可能会认为对于某种邪恶行为的悔恨的内疚感应当总是有意识的，而对某种邪恶冲动的感觉的内疚感却可能是无意识的。但事实并不那么简单：强迫观念性精神病强有力地反驳了这一观点。第二个矛盾关系到超我的攻击能量。一种观点认为这种攻击能量仅仅是外部权威的惩罚能量的延续，并使这种能量保存于心灵中；而另一种观点认为，它是由用来反对施加抑制的外部权威的、自身尚未使用的攻击能量所组成的。第一种观点似乎更适用于内疚感的历史，第二种观点则更适用于内疚感的理论。进一步的思考则可以圆满解决这一表面看来似乎不可调和的矛盾；两种观点共同的必要因素都涉及内化了的攻击性。再者，临床的观察实际上允许我们把归于超我的攻击性来源区分为两个；在特定情况下，其中一个发挥较强的作用，但通常他们都是共同发挥作用。

我认为，此处郑重地提出以下观点是个合适的时机，而早些时候我曾建议暂时接受这一观点。即任何一种挫折——本能满足的任何受阻——都会或可能导致内疚感的增强。最新的分析学著作均表现出对这种观点的偏好。如果我们认为这一观点仅适用于攻击性本能，那么我认为我们的理论就能大为简化，并且我们也不会找到与这一假想相矛盾的东西。那么我们该如何灵活、经济地解释未满足的性爱要求被内疚感的增强所取代这一现象呢？只要采用迂回的方法，还是可以解释的——假如我们设想性爱满足的受阻会引起对干涉这一满足的那个人的某种攻击性，并且这种攻击性本身接着不得不受到抑制。但如果是这样的话，那么由于被压抑并且转交给超我而转变成内疚感的，归根到底只是攻击性。我相信，如果精神分析的发现关于内疚感的起源方面仅限于攻击性本能的话，那么我们对许多过程就可以做出更为简单和清晰的解释。对临床材料的考察在这里没有给予我们任何明确的答复：因为正如我们的假设所讲，这两种本能几乎从来不以纯粹的、相互分离的形式出现。但是对极端病例的研究也许会指向我所期望的方向。通过将这一局限性的观点应用于压抑过程，从而从中推论出它的基本优点，还是很具诱惑力的。正如我们所知，精神病的症状从其本质上看是对于未实现的性愿望的替代性满足。在我们的精神分析工作过程中，我们惊奇地发现，可能每一种精神病都隐蔽着一定量的无意识的内疚感，它反过来又利用精神病症状，作为一种惩罚，从而增强了这些症状。现在明确地阐述出下列主张似乎不无道理，即当一种本能受到压抑时，它的力比多因素就会转化为症状，它的攻击性因素就会转化为内疚感。即使这一论点只是接近于事实，但它还是值得我们去关注。

此外，这部著作的某些读者可能会有这样的感觉，就是关于厄洛斯和死亡本能之间的斗争规则讲得过多了些。这一规则旨在表示人类所经历的文明历程以及个体所经历的发展历程的特点。此外，据说它还揭示了一般有机生命体的秘密。如此一来，探究三种过程的相互关系似乎就很有必要。如果我们考虑到人类文明的进程和个人的发展过程都是重要的历程，因此一定带有生命的最普遍意义上的本质，那么我们就有充分理由反复讨论上述斗争规则了。另一方面，斗争规则的普遍特性意味着仅仅证明其存在，对于区分三种过程毫无帮助，除非通过特定的条件来限制缩小它的范围。因此，我们只可能满足于这样的断言，即文明的历程是生命历程的一种特殊修正形式，而生命历程是生命在面临由厄洛斯所确定、阿南刻（现实的迫切性）所敦促的任务下所经历的过程，这个任务就是通过力比多纽带将离散的个体凝聚到集体之中。然而，当我们集中关注人类文明与个体发展或成长过程之间的关系时，我们可以毫不迟疑地做出如下结论，即二者在本质上即便不是同一过程，也是极其相似的，因为二者涉及两个不同的对象。当然，人类文明与个体发展相比，属于较高等级的抽象，因此也就比较难以用具体的术语来描述，我们也不要一味追求二者之间的类似之处；但是考虑到这两个过程的目的的相似性——一个是创造一个由许多个体组成的群体，另一个是把个体融合到这样的群体中——我们对于二者使用的方法和导致的结果方面的相似之处也就不会感到吃惊了。但是，这两个过程之间有一个特别重要的区别，在此不得不提。在个人的发展过程中，旨在获得幸福的快乐原则仍是至高无上的。个体适应或融入集体，则似乎是达到幸福目的的一个几乎不可回避的前提条件。如果这一目的能够脱离那个条件而实现，也许会更好一些。换句话说，个人的发展过程似乎是两种趋势相互影响的结果：一种是对幸福的追求，我们通常称之为“利己的”，另一种是对集体中的伙伴关系的追求，我们称之为“利他的”。这两个术语都没有深入到问题的本质。如同我们所说的，在个人发展的过程中，重点在于利己的对幸福的追求；而另一种追求可以说带有“文化的”性质，则通常只满足于发挥强制性限制的作用。在文明的发展过程中，情形就不同了。在这里，首要的是把人类个体形成一个统一体。诚然，幸福的目的依然存在，但被推到了一个次要的位置上。甚至如果不是必须关注个人幸福的话，一个巨大的人类社会集体的创造将会变得极其成功。因而，个人的发展过程可能具有其独特的方面，这些方面为人类文明的发展所不容。只有当个人的发展把与集体的融合作为它的目的时，它才与人类文明的发展存在一致性。

正像行星在围绕恒星公转的同时，也围绕自己的轴自转一样，个体在参加人类发展过程的同时，也在走着自己的生活道路。但隐约看来，天体中各种力量的相互作用似乎凝固成一种永恒不变的秩序；而在有机生命领域里，我们却能看到各种力量是如何互相竞争、冲突，如何产生千变万化的结果的。同样地，个人幸福与人类同伴关系这两种追求在每个人身上不得不相互斗争；因此个人发展和文化发展这两个过程也必定相互抵触，彼此争夺地盘。但是，个人和社会间的斗争并不是厄洛斯与死亡这两个主要本能间也许是不可调合的矛盾的衍生物。它是力比多的充分利用问题上的争执，可以比之为自我与对象在力比多分配上的争夺。不论目前的文明如何压抑着个人生活，我们希望未来的文明中，这种自我与对象在力比多分配上的矛盾能够最终在个体身上得到调和。

文明的发展和个人的发展之间的类比可以做出进一步的有意义的延伸。我们完全有理由宣称，人类集体同样逐渐形成了超我，在这个超我的影响下，文明的发展得以产生。任何一个熟知不同文明的人一定忍不住去详细探索这一意义上的类比。我在此仅提出几个突出的观点。一个时代文明的超我与个人的超我有着类似的起源。它建立在伟大领袖人物的人格所留下的影响基础之上——这些领袖天生具有强大的精神和智慧力量，或者说在他们身上表现出某种最强烈、最纯粹、往往也是最片面的人类追求的形式。在许多实例中，这一类比甚至进一步延伸下去：这些领袖人物，在其有生之年，经常（即便不总是）受到别人的嘲弄和虐待，甚至被残忍地处死——实际上，原始社会的那个父亲的命运就是如此：他直到被暴力处死之后很久才获得了尊敬。领袖人物的这种注定的命运，在基督耶稣身上体现得最为淋漓尽致——如果他不是一个虚构的人物，不是从原始事件的模糊记忆中创造出来的话。文化超我和个人超我的另一个相同点就是两者都建立起了严厉的理想要求；未达到这些要求将会遭到“良知的恐惧”的惩罚。于是，这里我们遇到了一个奇怪的现象，即我们在群体中所看到的相关精神过程比起在个体中看到的更为我们所熟悉，更加容易被意识到。在个人身上，超我的攻击性，只在紧张状态出现时，以谴责的形式清晰地呈现出来；而真正的要求本身却仍然保持在无意识的背景中。这些要求，如果带到意识中，我们就会发现它们与现行文化的超我的戒律是一致的。至此，群体的文化发展和个体的个人发展这两个过程呈现出规则的一致性。因此，超我的一些表现和特征在文化集体的行为中要比在个人行为中更容易被发现。

文化超我在形成它的理想后，就会树立起各种要求。在这些要求中，处理人们之间相互关系的则集体冠以伦理学之名。人们总是赋予伦理学很高的价值，似乎希望伦理学发挥极其重要的作用。事实上，伦理学关注的是文明中最令人痛苦的处境。因而伦理学也被看做一种治疗的尝试——通过超我的命令，取得迄今为止其他文化活动都无法取得的成效。正如我们所知，摆在我们面前的问题是，如何摆脱文明的最大障碍——人类具有互相攻击的气质上的倾向；正因为这个缘故，我们才尤其关心可能是文化超我的最新要求，即“爱邻居犹如爱自己”的训诫。对精神病的研究和治疗引起我们对个人超我提出两种非议：在它严厉的戒律和禁令中，它很少考虑自我的幸福，因为它首先没有充分地估计本我在反对服从这些要求和戒律方面的本能的力量；其次，没有充分地估计现实的外部环境所造成的困难。因此，为了达到治疗的目的，我们常常必须反对病人的超我，并且试图降低它的要求。同样地，我们也可以反对文化超我的伦理要求。它也没有充分地考虑到人类的精神构造的实际情况。它发布了命令，却不询问人们是否能够服从它。相反，它设想一个人的自我从心理角度上能够办得到要求它做的任何事情，自我能绝对控制住本我。这种设想是错误的。即使在正常人身上，他的本我也只能在一定范围内得到控制。如果对一个人要求过多，在他身上就会产生一种反抗心理，或者引起精神病，或者使他不愉快。“爱邻居犹如爱自己”这一训诫是对人类攻击性最强有力的防备，并且是文化超我行事的非心理学方式的一个出色例子。这一训诫是不可能实现的；如此夸张的爱只能降低爱的价值，而不能摆脱人类相互攻击的困境。文明对此置若罔闻；它只是提醒着我们，一个训诫越是难以遵从，它就越值得去遵从。然而在今天的文明中，遵循这个训诫的人与漠视这个训诫的人相比，只能使自己处于不利的地位。如果对攻击性的防备可能引起像攻击性本身所引起的那么多的不愉快，那么攻击性对文明来说是怎样一个强大的障碍啊！这种情形下，我们所谓的“自然”伦理学，除了让人们获得一种认为自己比别人强的自恋的满足之外，别无其他。正是这时候，基于宗教的伦理学登场了，向人们做出一个更美好的来世的承诺。我个人认为，只要美德在现世得不到酬报，伦理学的说教将是徒劳的。同时，在这方面人类与财产关系的真正改变肯定要比任何伦理学要求更为有效；但是共产主义者对这一事实的认识，又因为对人类本性的一种理想主义的新的误读，而变得模糊不清、不切实际。

在我看来，试图在文化发展的现象中探索超我作用这种方法，还会有进一步的发现。我必须加紧结束本书的探索，可是还有一个问题是我几乎不能回避的。如果说文明的发展与个人的发展以同样的方式进行，且如此相似，那么难道我们没有理由做出如下的诊断吗——在文化要求的影响之下，某些文明或者文明的某些阶段，可能整个人类，都变成了“精神病”？对于这些精神病的分析性的解剖很可能带来治疗性的建议，这些建议将会具有重大意义。我不认为把精神分析转用于文化集体这种尝试是荒谬的，或者说肯定是徒劳的。但是，我们应当非常谨慎，并且不要忘记我们只是进行类比而已，无论是概念的类比还是与人类的类比，把它们从其所产生和演化的出发点强行拽出来都是危险的。再者，对集体的精神病诊断面临着一个特殊困难：在个人精神病例中，我们首先只需要把病人与假定的正常环境相比照，就能得到一点线索。而对于一个集体来说，因所有成员都患有同样的精神症状，因此不存在像个人精神病的可比照的背景环境，而必须从别处去寻找这样的背景。至于说把所获得的知识运用于治疗，由于谁也没有权力将这样一种治疗强加于集体，所以对社会精神病的最贴切的分析又有什么用呢？尽管存在这一切困难，我们仍希望有一天会有人敢于对文化集体做出病理探究。

出于种种原因，我根本无意对人类文明做出任何评价。我一直小心避免受到如下狂热偏见的影响，即认为我们的文明是我们所拥有的或者可能获得的最宝贵的事物，并且认为文明之路将把我们带领到我们迄今难以想象到的完美高度。我至少可以心平气和地倾听批评家的这样一种观点，他认为，考虑到文明努力的目标及其使用的方式，人们一定会得出这样的结论，即整个文明的努力不值得这样劳心费力，其结果只会导致个人注定无法忍受的状态。我在这些方面知识匮乏，因此更易做到不偏不倚。但有一件事我肯定知道，即人类的价值判断无疑会受到他的幸福愿望的引导，因此这些价值判断相当于努力用一些论据来支撑其幸福的幻想。如果有人指出人类文明具有必然性，并声称限制性生活、宣扬博爱的理想须以自然选择为代价，这是一种趋势，无法避免、无法偏离，我们最好是屈服这一趋势，就好像它是必然规律一样，那么我想我完全可以理解。另一方面，我也知道反对的观点是什么，即在人类的历史中，像这些我们认为难以实现的理想追求，常常是被抛到一边，而被其他追求所取代。因而，我不敢以先知的身份在我的同胞面前自居，我甘愿接受他们的指责，指责我不能给予他们任何慰藉：因为说到底，无论是最狂热的革命者还是最虔诚的信徒都一样，他们的根本需要都是安慰。

对我来说，人类的重大问题在于，其文明发展能否并在多大程度上控制住他们的攻击性和自我破坏本能对集体生活的干扰。从这方面看来，也许现在这个时代应该受到特别的注意。人类已经在很大程度上取得了对自然力量的控制，以致他们可以借助于自然的力量，毫不困难地进行自相残杀直到最后一个人。他们明白这一点，目前的不安、痛苦和焦虑的心情大部分就是由此产生的。现在我们期待着两个“天神”之一——永生的爱神厄洛斯，在与同样永生的对手死神的斗争中，能够坚持自己的地位。但谁又能预见结果又将如何呢？

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[1] “因而良知确实使我们每个人都变成了懦夫……”今天年轻人所受的教育向他们掩盖了性欲将会在他们生活中所起的作用，但这并不是我们对这种教育的唯一谴责。这种教育的过错还在于，它没有使年轻人对他们注定会成为攻击性的对象有所准备。当教育用这样一种错误的心理导向把年轻人送入生活中时，就好像是给即将踏上极地考察征程的人们配备了一套夏装和一张意大利北部的湖泊地图。在这里很显然存在着对伦理道德要求的滥用。如果教育者们如此讲：这是人们为了自己和他人的幸福应该做的，但我们也应预计到人们可能不去这么做，那么这些道德要求的严厉性就不会那么有害了。但是相反，教育却使年轻人相信其他每个人都遵循这些道德戒律——每个人都具有德行。这也是为什么年轻人也应当具有德行的原因。

Sigmund Freud

Civilization and Its Discontents

TRANSLATED BY DAVID MCLINTOCK

PENGUIN BOOKS — GREAT IDEAS

1

It is impossible to resist the impression that people commonly apply false standards, seeking power, success and wealth for themselves and admiring them in others, while underrating what is truly valuable in life. Yet in passing such a general judgement one is in danger of forgetting the rich variety of the human world and its mental life. There are some individuals who are venerated by their contemporaries, but whose greatness rests on qualities and achievements that are quite foreign to the aims and ideals of the many. One may be inclined to suppose that these great men are appreciated after all only by a minority, while the great majority have no interest in them. However, it is probably not as simple as that, owing to the discrepancies between people's thoughts and actions and the diversity of their desires.

One of these outstanding men corresponds with me and in his letters calls himself my friend. I sent him a little piece of mine that treats religion as an illusion, and in his reply he said that he wholly agreed with my view of religion, but regretted that I had failed to appreciate the real source of religiosity. This was a particular feeling of which he himself was never free, which he had found confirmed by many others and which he assumed was shared by millions, a feeling that he was inclined to call a sense of 'eternity', a feeling of something limitless, unbounded–as it were 'oceanic'. This feeling was a purely subjective fact, not an article of faith; no assurance of personal immortality attached to it, but it was the source of the religious energy that was seized upon by the various churches and religious systems, directed into particular channels and certainly consumed by them. On the basis of this oceanic feeling alone one was entitled to call oneself religious, even if one rejected every belief and every illusion.

This opinion of my esteemed friend,* who himself once celebrated the magic of illusion in poetic form, caused me no small difficulty. I can discover no trace of this 'oceanic' feeling in myself. It is not easy to treat feelings scientifically. One may try to describe their physiological symptoms. Where this is not feasible–and I fear that the oceanic feeling will not lend itself to such a description–there is nothing left to do but to concentrate on the ideational content most readily associated with the feeling. If I have understood my friend correctly, what he has in mind is the same as the consolation that an original and rather eccentric writer offers his hero before his freely chosen death: 'We cannot fall out of this world.' It is a feeling, then, of being indissolubly bound up with and belonging to the whole of the world outside oneself. I would say that for me this is more in the nature of an intellectual insight, not of course without an emotional overtone, though this will not be wanting in other acts of thought that are similar in scope. Relying on my personal experience, I should not be able to convince myself of the primary nature of such a feeling. But this does not entitle me to dispute its actual occurrence in others. The only question is whether it is correctly interpreted and whether it should be acknowledged as the fans et origo of all religious needs.

I have nothing to suggest that would decisively con tribute to the solution of this problem. The idea that a person should be informed of his connection with the world around him through an immediate feeling that is used for this purpose from the beginning sounds so bizarre, and fits so badly into the fabric of our psychology, that we are justified in looking for a psychoanalytic–that is to say a genetic–derivation of such a feeling. The following train of thought then suggests itself. Normally we are sure of nothing so much as a sense of self, of our own ego. This ego appears to us autonomous, uniform and deafly set off against everything else. It was psychoanalytic research that first taught us that this was a delusion, that in fact the ego extends inwards, with no clear boundary, into an unconscious psychical entity that we call the id, and for which it serves, so to speak, as a façade. And psychoanalysis still has much to tell us about the relation of the ego to the id. Yet externally at least the ego seems to be clearly and sharply delineated. There is only one condition–admittedly an unusual one, though it cannot be dismissed as pathological–in which this is no longer so. At the height of erotic passion the borderline between ego and object is in danger of becoming blurred. Against all the evidence of the senses, the person in love asserts that 'T' and 'you' are one and is ready to behave as if this were so. What can be temporarily interrupted by a physiological function must of course be capable of being disturbed by morbid processes also. Pathology acquaints us with a great many conditions in which the boundary between the ego and the external world becomes uncertain or the borderlines are actually wrongly drawn. There are cases in which parts of a person's own body, indeed parts of his mental life–perceptions, thoughts, feelings–seem alien, divorced from the ego, and others in which he attributes to the external world what has deafly arisen in the ego and ought to be recognized by it. Hence, even the sense of self is subject to disturbances, and the limits of the self are not constant.

A further consideration tells us that the adult's sense of self cannot have been the same from the beginning. It must have undergone a process of development, which understandably cannot be demonstrated, though it can be reconstructed with a fair degree of probability. The new-born child does not at first separate his ego from an outside world that is the source of the feelings flowing towards him. He gradually learns to do this, prompted by various stimuli. It must make the strongest impression on him that some sources of stimulation, which he will later recognize as his own physical organs, can convey sensations to him at any time, while other things–including what he most craves, his mother's breast–are temporarily removed from him and can be summoned back only by a cry for help. In this way the ego is for the first time confronted with an 'object', something that exists 'out there' and can be forced to manifest itself only through a particular action. A further incentive to detach the ego from the mass of sensations, and so to recognize a 'world outside', is provided by the frequent, multifarious and unavoidable feelings of pain (or absence of pleasure), whose termination and avoidance is required by the absolute pleasure principle. A tendency arises to detach from the ego anything that may give rise to such un pleasurable experience, to expel it and so create an ego that is oriented solely towards pleasure and confronts an alien and menacing world outside. The limits of this primitive pleasure-oriented ego are inevitably corrected by experience. After all, some of the things that give us pleasure and that we are loath to forgo belong not to the ego, but to the object, and some of the torments that we wish to expel prove to be of internal origin and inseparable from the ego. We learn how to distinguish between the internal, which belongs to the ego, and the external, which comes from the world outside, through deliberate control of our sensory activity and appropriate muscular action. This is the first step towards establishing the reality principle, which will govern subsequent developments. The distinction between the internal and the external naturally serves a practical purpose, in that it provides protection against unpleasurable experiences and the threat of them. The fact that the ego employs exactly the same methods to expel certain unpleasurable sensations from within as it does to repel others from without becomes the starting point for significant pathological disorders.

In this way, then, the ego detaches itself from the external world. Or, to put it more correctly, the ego is originally all-inclusive, but later it separates off an external world from itself. Our present sense of self is thus only a shrunken residue of a far more comprehensive, indeed all-embracing feeling, which corresponded to a more intimate bond between the ego and the world around it. If we may assume that this primary sense of self has survived, to a greater or lesser extent, in the mental life of many people, it would coexist, as a kind of counterpart, with the narrower, more sharply defined sense of self belonging to the years of maturity, and the ideational content appropriate to it would be precisely those notions of limitlessness and oneness with the universe–the very notions used by my friend to elucidate the 'oceanic' feeling. But have we any right to assume that what was originally present has survived beside what later evolved from it?

Undoubtedly! There is nothing surprising about such an occurrence, either in the mental sphere or in other spheres. Regarding the animal world, we adhere to the hypothesis that the most highly developed species have evolved from the lowest. Yet we find all the simple forms of life still existing today. The race of the great saurians has become extinct and made way for the mammals, but a genuine representative of this race, the crocodile, is still with us. The analogy may be too remote, and it is weakened by the fact that as a rule the lower species that survive are not the true ancestors of the more highly developed species of today. The intermediate stages have mostly died out and are known to us only through reconstructions. In the realm of the mind, however, the retention of the primitive beside what has evolved from it is so common that there is no need to cite examples to prove it. When this happens it is mostly the result of divergent developments. One portion (in quantitative terms) of an attitude, of an instinctual impulse, has remained unchanged, while another has developed further.

This brings us up against the more general problem of retention in the psychical sphere, which has so far hardly been studied, but is so fascinating and significant that we may perhaps be permitted, though not for any adequate reason, to dwell on it for a while. Having overcome the error of thinking that our frequent forgetfulness amounts to the destruction of the trace left by memory and therefore to an act of annihilation, we now tend towards the opposite presumption–that, in mental life, nothing that has once taken shape can be lost, that everything is somehow preserved and can be retrieved under the right circumstances–for instance, through a sufficiently long regression. Let us try to understand, with the help of an analogy from another field, what this presumption implies. As an example let us take the development of the Eternal City. Historians tell us that in the earliest times Rome was Roma quadrata, an enclosed settlement on the Palatine Hill. The next phase was the Septimontium, a union of the settlements on the separate hills. After this it was the city bounded by the Servian Wall, and still later, after all the vicissitudes of the republican and the early imperial age, the city that the emperor Aurelian enclosed within his walls. We will not pursue the further transformations undergone by the city, but we cannot help wondering what traces of these early stages can still be found by a modern visitor to Rome–whom we will credit with the best historical and topographical knowledge. He will see Aureliah's wall virtually unchanged, save for a few gaps. Here and there he will find stretches of the Servian wall that have been revealed by excavations. Because he commands enough knowledge–more than today's archaeologists–to be able to trace the whole course of this wall and enter the outlines of Roma quadrata in a modem city plan. Of the buildings that once occupied this ancient framework he will find nothing, or only scant remains, for they no longer exist. An extensive knowledge of the Roman republic might at most enable him to say where the temples and public buildings of that period once stood. Their sites are now occupied by ruins–not of the original buildings, but of various buildings that replaced them after they burnt down or were destroyed. One need hardly add that all these remnants of ancient Rome appear as scattered fragments in the jumble of the great city that has grown up in recent centuries, since the Renaissance. True, much of the old is still there, but buried under modem buildings. This is how the past survives in historic places like Rome.

Now, let us make the fantastic assumption that Rome is not a place where people live, but a psychical entity with a similarly long, rich past, in which nothing that ever took shape has passed away, and in which all previous phases of development exist beside the most recent. For Rome this would mean that on the Palatine hill the imperial palaces and the Septizonium of Septimius Severus still rose to their original height, that the castle of San Angelo still bore on its battlements the fine statues that adorned it until the Gothic siege. Moreover, the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus would once more stand on the site of the Palazzo Caffarelli, without there being any need to dismantle the latter structure, and indeed the temple would be seen not only in its later form, which it assumed during the imperial age, but also in its earliest, when it still had Etruscan elements and was decorated with terracotta antefixes. And where the Coliseo now stands we could admire the vanished Domus Aurea of Nero; on the Piazza of the Pantheon we should find not only the present Pantheon, be queathed by Hadrian, but the original structure of M. Agrippa; indeed, occupying the same ground would be the church of Maria sopra Minerva and the ancient temple over which it is built. And the observer would perhaps need only to shift his gaze or his position in order to see the one or the other.

It is clearly pointless to spin out this fantasy any further: the result would be unimaginable, indeed absurd. If we wish to represent a historical sequence in spatial terms, we can do so only by juxtaposition in space, for the same space cannot accommodate two different things. Our attempt to do otherwise seems like an idle game; its sole justification is to show how far we are from being able to illustrate the peculiarities of mental life by visual means.

There is one objection that we must try to answer. Why did we choose to compare the past of a city with the psychical past? Even where the life of the psyche is concerned, the assumption that everything past survives is valid only if the mind has remained intact and its fabric has not suffered from trauma or inflammation. However, destructive factors that might be compared with such causes of disease, are not absent from the history of any city, even if it has had a less turbulent past than Rome or, like London, hardly ever been ravaged by an enemy. Even the most peaceful urban development entails the demolition and replacement of buildings, and so for this reason no city can properly be compared with a psychical organism.

We readily yield to this objection and, forgoing any striking contrast, turn to a more closely related object of comparison, the animal or human body. But here too we find the same phenomena. The earlier phases of development are not preserved at all, having been absorbed into the later ones, for which they supplied the material. The embryo cannot be discovered in the adult; the thymus gland of the child is replaced after puberty by connective tissue, but no longer exists as such; in the adults marrow-bone I can admittedly trace the outline of the child's bone, but this has disappeared through stretching and thickening before taking on its final form. The fact remains that the retention of all previous stages, together with the final shape, is possible only in the mind, and that we are not in a position to illustrate this phenomenon by means of any parallel.

Perhaps we go too far in making this assumption. Perhaps we should be content to say that the past may be retained in the life of the psyche and need not be destroyed. It may be that even in the psychical sphere some things that are old are so obscured or consumed in the normal way of things, or in exceptional circumstances–that there is no longer any way of restoring and reviving them, or that their retention is linked to certain favourable conditions. This may be so, but we have no way of knowing. All we can do is hold on to the fact that in mental life the retention of the past is the rule, rather than a surprising exception.

Hence, if we are prepared to acknowledge that an 'oceanic' feeling exists in many human beings and inclined to trace it back to an early phase of the sense of self, a further question arises: what claim has this feeling to be regarded as the source of religious needs?

I do not find such a claim compelling. After all, a feeling can be a source of energy only if it is itself the expression of a strong need. To me the derivation of religious needs from the helplessness of the child and a longing for its father seems irrefutable, especially as this feeling is not only prolonged from the days of childhood, but constantly sustained by a fear of the superior power of fate. I cannot cite any childish need that is as strong as the need for paternal protection. The role of the oceanic feeling, which might seek to restore unlimited narcissism, is thus pushed out of the foreground. The origin of the religious temperament can be traced in clear outline to the child's feeling of helplessness. Some thing else may be concealed behind it, but for the time being this remains obscure.

I can imagine that the oceanic feeling subsequently became connected with religion. Being at one with the universe, which is the intellectual content associated with this feeling, strikes us as an initial attempt at religious consolation, as another way of denying the danger that the ego perceives as a threat from the outside world. I must confess yet again that I find it very hard to work with these almost intangible concepts. Another of my friends, whose insatiable thirst for knowledge has driven him to conduct the most extraordinary experiments and finally made him virtually omniscient, has assured me that in practising yoga one can actually arouse new sensations and universal feelings in oneself by turning away from the outside world, by fixing one's attention on bodily functions, and by breathing in special ways. Such sensations and feelings he would interpret as regressions to ancient conditions in the life of the psyche that have long been overlaid. He sees in them a physiological justification, so to speak, for much of the wisdom of mysticism. This would suggest connections with many obscure psychical states such as trance and ecstasy. Yet I cannot help exclaiming, with the diver in Schiller's ballad:

Es freue sich, wer da atmet im rosigen Licht.

[Let him rejoice, whoever draws breath in the roseate light!]

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 Romain Rolland.

2

In my piece entitled 'The Future of an Illusion' I was much less concerned with the most profound sources of religious sentiment than with what the common man understands by his religion, the system of teachings and promises that on the one hand explains to him, with enviable thoroughness, the riddles of this world, and on the other assures him that a careful providence will watch over his life and compensate him in a future existence for any privations he suffers in this. The common man cannot imagine this providence otherwise than as an immensely exalted father. Only such a being can know the needs of the children of men, be softened by their pleas and propitiated by signs of their remorse. All this is so patently infantile, so remote from reality, that it pains a philanthropic temperament to think that the great majority of mortals will never be able to rise above such a view of life. It is still more embarrassing to learn how many of those living today, who cannot help seeing that this religion is untenable, nevertheless seek to defend it, bit by bit, in pathetic rearguard actions. One would like to mingle with the believers, in order to confront those philosophers who think they can rescue the God of religion by replacing him with an impersonal, shadowy, abstract principle, and to remind them of the commandment: 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.' If some of the greatest spirits of the past did the same, we cannot appeal to their example here, for we know why they had to.

Let us return to the common man and his religion, the only one that deserves the name. The first thing that occurs to us is the well-known remark by one of our great poets and thinkers, which describes how religion relates to art and science:

Wet Wissenschafi und Kunst besitzt,

hat auch Religion;

Wer jene belden nicht besitzt,

der babe Religion!

[Whoever possesses science and art also has religion; whoever possesses neither of these, let him have religion!]

On the one hand these lines contrast religion with man's two highest achievements; on the other they state that, when it comes to the value they have in our lives, they can represent or stand in for one another. Even if we wish to deny the common man's claim to religion, we clearly lack the authority of the poet. We will try to get closer to an appreciation of his proposition by adopting a special approach. The life imposed on us is too hard for us to bear: it brings too much pain, too many disappointments, too many insoluble problems. If we are to endure it, we cannot do without palliative measures. (As Theodor Fontane told us, it is impossible without additional help.) Of such measures there are perhaps three kinds: powerful distractions, which cause us to make light of our misery, substitutive satisfactions, which diminish it, and intoxicants, which anaesthetize us to it. Something of this sort is indispensable.* Voltaire has distractions in mind when he ends his Candide with the advice that one should cultivate one's garden; another such distraction is scholarly activity. Substitutive satisfactions, such as art affords, are illusions that contrast with reality, but they are not, for this reason, any less effective psychically, thanks to the role that the imagination has assumed in mental life. Intoxicants affect our physical constitution and alter its chemistry. It is not easy to define the position that religion occupies in this series. We shall have to approach the matter from a greater distance.

The question of the purpose of human life has been posed innumerable times; it has not yet received a satisfactory answer and perhaps does not admit of one. Some of those who have posed it have added that if life should turn out to have no purpose, it would lose my value it had for them. Yet this threat alters nothing. Rather, it seems that one is entitled to dismiss the question. The threat appears to rest upon the very human presumption of which we have so many other instances. No one talks about the purpose of the life of animals, unless it is that they are meant to serve human beings. Yet this too is untenable, for there are many animals that man can do nothing with–except describe, classify and study them–and countless animal species have escaped even this use by living and dying out before man set eyes on them.

Again, only religion has an answer to the question of the purpose of life. It can hardly be wrong to conclude that the notion that life has a purpose stands or falls with the religious system.

We will therefore turn now to the more modest question of what human beings themselves reveal, through their behaviour, about the aim and purpose of their lives, what they demand of life and wish to achieve in it. The answer can scarcely be in doubt: they strive for happiness, they want to become happy and remain so. This striving has two goals, one negative and one positive: on the one hand it aims at an absence of pain and unpleasurable experiences, on the other at strong feelings of pleasure. 'Happiness', in the strict sense of the word, relates only to the latter. In conformity with this dichotomy in its aims, human activity develops in two directions, according to whether it seeks to realize–mainly or even exclusively–the one or the other of these aims.

As we see, it is simply the programme of the pleasure principle that determines the purpose of life. This principle governs the functioning of our mental apparatus from the start; there can be no doubt about its efficacy, and yet its programme is at odds with the whole world–with the macrocosm as much as with the microcosm. It is quite incapable of being realized; all the institutions of the universe are opposed to it; one is inclined to say that the intention that man should be 'happy' has no part in the plan of 'creation'. What we call happiness, in the strictest sense of the word, arises from the fairly sudden satisfaction of pent-up needs. By its very nature it can be no more than an episodic phenomenon. Any prolongation of a situation desired by the pleasure principle produces only a feeling of lukewarm comfort; we are so constituted that we can gain intense pleasure only from the contrast, and only very little from the condition itself.* Hence, our prospects of happiness are already restricted by our constitution. Unhappiness is much less difficult to experience. Suffering threatens us from three sides: from our own body, which, being doomed to decay and dissolution, cannot dispense with pain and anxiety as warning signals; from the external world, which can unleash overwhelming, implacable, destructive forces against us; and finally from our relations with others. The suffering that arises from this last source perhaps causes us more pain than any other; we are inclined to regard it as a somewhat superfluous extra, though it is probably no less ineluctable than suffering that originates elsewhere.

It is no wonder that, under the pressure of these possibilities of suffering, people are used to tempering their claim to happiness, just as the pleasure principle itself has been transformed, under the influence of the external world, into the more modest 'reality principle'; that one counts oneself lucky to have escaped unhappiness and survived suffering; and that in general the task of avoiding suffering pushes that of obtaining pleasure into the background. Reflection teaches us that we can try to perform this task by following very different paths; all these paths have been recommended by various schools of worldly wisdom and trodden by human beings. Unrestricted satisfaction of all our needs presents itself as the most enticing way to conduct one's life, but it means putting enjoyment before caution, and that soon brings its own punishment. The other methods, which aim chiefly at the avoidance of unpleasurable experience, differ according to which source of such experience is accorded most attention. Some of them are extreme and others moderate; some are one-sided, and some tackle the problem at several points simultaneously. Deliberate isolation, keeping others at arm's length, affords the most obvious protection against any suffering arising from interpersonal relations. One sees that the happiness that can be attained in this way is the happiness that comes from peace and quiet. Against the dreaded external world one can defend oneself only by somehow turning away from it, if one wants to solve the problem unaided. There is of course another, better path: as a member of the human community one can go on the attack against nature with the help of applied science, and subject her to the human will. One is then working with everyone for the happiness of all. The most interesting methods of preventing suffering are those that seek to influence one's own constitution. Ultimately, all suffering is merely feeling; it exists only in so far as we feel it, and we feel it only because our constitution is regulated in certain ways.

The crudest, but also the most effective method of influencing our constitution is the chemical one–intoxication. No one, I think, fully understands how it works, but it is a fact that there are exogenous substances whose presence in the blood and tissues causes us direct feelings of pleasure, but also alters the determinants of our sensibility in such a way that we are no longer susceptible to unpleasurable sensations. Both effects not only occur simultaneously: they also seem closely linked. However, there must also be substances in the chemistry of our bodies that act in a similar way, for we know of at least one morbid condition–mania–in which a condition similar to intoxication occurs, without the introduction of any intoxicant. Moreover, in our normal mental life there are oscillations between fairly easy releases of pleasure and others that are harder to come by, and these run parallel to a lesser or a greater susceptibility to unpleasurabte feelings. It is much to be regretted that this toxic aspect of mental processes has so far escaped scientific investigation. The effect of intoxicants in the struggle for happiness and in keeping misery at a distance is seen as so great a boon that not only individuals, but whole nations, have accorded them a firm place in the economy of the libido. We owe to them not only a direct yield of pleasure, but a fervently desired degree of independence from the external world. We know, after all, that by 'drowning our sorrows' we can escape at any time from the pressure of reality and find refuge in a world of our own that affords us better conditions for our sensibility. It is well known that precisely this property of intoxicants makes them dangerous and harmful. In some circumstances they are responsible for the futile loss of large amounts of energy that might have been used to improve the lot of mankind.

The complicated structure of our mental apparatus, however, admits of a good many other influences too. Just as the satisfaction of the drives spells happiness, so it is a cause of great suffering if the external world forces us to go without and refuses to satisfy our needs. One can therefore hope to free oneself of part of one's suffering by influencing these instinctual impulses. This kind of defence against suffering is no longer brought to bear upon the sensory apparatus; it seeks to control the inner sources of our needs. In extreme cases this is done by stifling the drives in the manner prescribed by the wisdom of the east and put into effect in the practice of yoga. If it succeeds, one has admittedly given up all other activity too–indeed, sacrificed one's life–only to arrive, by a different route, at the happiness that comes from peace and quiet. We follow the same route when our aims are less extreme and we seek merely to control our drives. Control is then exercised by the higher psychical authorities, which have subjected themselves to the reality principle. At the same time the aim of satisfaction is by no means abandoned; a certain protection against suffering is obtained, in that failure to satisfy the drives causes less pain if they are kept in thrall than if they are wholly uninhibited. All the same, the possibilities of pleasure are undeniably diminished. The feeling of happiness resulting from the satisfaction of a wild instinctual impulse that has not been tamed by the ego is incomparably more intense than that occasioned by the sating of one that has been tamed. Here we have an economic explanation for the irresistibility of perverse impulses, perhaps for the attraction of whatever is forbidden.

Another technique for avoiding suffering makes use of the displacements of the libido that are permitted by our psychical apparatus and lend its functioning so much flexibility. Here the task is to displace the aims of the drives in such a way that they cannot be frustrated by the external world. Sublimation of the drives plays a part in this. We achieve most if we can sufficiently heighten the pleasure derived from mental and intellectual work. Fate can then do little to harm us. This kind of satisfaction–the artist's joy in creating, in fashioning forth the products of his imagination, or the scientist's in solving problems and discovering truths–has a special quality that it will undoubtedly be possible, one day, to describe in metapsychological terms. At present we can only say, figuratively, that they seem to us 'finer and higher', but their intensity is restrained when compared with that which results from the sating of crude, primary drives: they do not convulse our physical constitution. The weakness of this method, however, lies in the fact that it cannot be employed universally, as it is accessible only to the few. It presupposes special aptitudes and gifts that are not exactly common, not common enough to be effective. And even to the few it cannot afford complete protection against suffering; it does not supply them with an armour that is proof against the slings and arrows of fortune, and it habitually fails when one's own body becomes the source of the suffering.*

It is already clear, in the case of this last method, that the purpose is to make oneself independent of the external world by seeking satisfaction in internal, psychical processes, but in the next one the same features are brought out even more strongly. Here the link with reality is loosened still further; satisfaction is derived from illusions, which one recognizes as such without letting their deviation from reality interfere with one's enjoyment. The sphere in which these illusions originate is the life of the imagination, which at one time, when the sense of reality developed, was expressly exempted from the requirements of the reality test and remained destined to fulfil desires that were hard to realize. Fore most among the satisfactions we owe to the imagination is the enjoyment of works of art; this is made accessible, even to those who are not themselves creative, through the mediation of the artist. It is impossible for anyone who is receptive to the influence of art to rate it too highly as a source of pleasure and consolation in life. Yet the mild narcosis that art induces in us can free us only temporarily from the hardships of life; it is not strong enough to make us forget real misery.

Another method, which operates more energetically and more thoroughly, sees reality as the sole enemy, the source of all suffering, something one cannot live with, and with which one must therefore sever all links if one wants to be happy, in any sense of the word. The hermit turns his back on the world and refuses to have anything to do with it. But one can do more than this: one can try to recreate the world, to build another in its place, one in which the most intolerable features are eliminated and replaced by others that accord with one's desires. As a rule anyone who takes this path to happiness, in a spirit of desperate rebellion, will achieve nothing. Reality is too strong for him. He will become a madman and will usually find nobody to help him realize his delusion. It is asserted, however, that in some way each of us behaves rather like a paranoiac, employing wishful thinking to correct some unendurable aspect of the world and introducing this delusion into reality. Of special importance is the case in which substantial numbers of people, acting in concert, try to assure themselves of happiness and protection against suffering through a delusional reshaping of reality. The religions of mankind too must be described as examples of mass delusion. Of course, no one who still shares a delusion will ever recognize it as such.

This is not, I think, a complete list of the methods that human beings employ in trying to gain happiness and keep suffering at bay, and I am aware that the material can be arranged differently. There is one method that I have not yet mentioned–not because I have forgotten it, but because it will concern us later in another context. How could one possibly forget this particular technique in the art of living? It is distinguished by the most curious mixture of characteristics. Naturally it seeks independence from what may best be called fate, and to this end it transfers satisfaction to internal mental processes and makes use of the facility for libidinal displacement that has already been mentioned. But it does not turn away from the external world: on the contrary, it clings to the things of this world and obtains happiness through an emotional attachment to them. Nor is it content with the avoidance of unpleasurable experience, a goal that derives, as it were, from tired resignation; indeed, it bypasses this goal, pays no attention to it, and adheres to the original, passionate striving for the positive achievement of happiness. Perhaps it actually gets closer to this goal than any other method. I am referring of course to the way of life that places love at the centre of everything and expects all satisfaction to come from loving and being loved. This kind of mental attitude comes naturally enough to us all; one manifestation of love, sexual love, has afforded us the most potent experience of overwhelming pleasure and thereby set a pattern for our quest for happiness. What is more natural than that we should go on seeking happiness on the path where we first encountered it? The weakness of this technique of living is obvious; if it were not, nobody would have thought of abandoning this route to happiness in favour of another. We never have so little protection against suffering as when we are in love; we are never so desolate as when we have lost the object of our love or its love for us. But this is not the last word on this particular technique of living, which is based on the value of love as a means of happiness: there is much more to be said about it.

Here one can bring in the interesting case in which happiness in life is sought mainly in the enjoyment of beauty, wherever it presents itself to our senses and our judgement–the beauty of human forms and gestures, of natural objects and landscapes, of artistic and even scientific creations. This aesthetic approach to the purpose of life affords little protection against the sufferings that threaten us, but it can make up for much. The enjoyment of beauty has a special quality of feeling that is mildly intoxicating. Beauty has no obvious use, nor is it easy to see why it is necessary to civilization; yet civilization would be unthinkable without it. The science of aesthetics investigates the conditions under which the beautiful is apprehended; it has not been able to clarify the nature and origin of beauty; as commonly happens, the absence of results is shrouded in a wealth of high sounding, empty verbiage. Unfortunately psychoanalysis too has scarcely anything to say about beauty. All that seems certain is its origin in the sphere of sexual feeling; it would be an ideal example of an aim-inhibited impulse. 'Beauty' and 'attractiveness' are originally properties of the sexual object. It is notable that the genitals themselves, the sight of which is always exciting, are hardly ever judged beautiful; on the other hand, the quality of beauty seems to attach to certain secondary sexual characteristics.

Despite the incompleteness of my presentation, I venture to offer, even at this early stage, a few remarks to round off our present enquiry. The programme for attaining happiness, imposed on us by the pleasure principle, cannot be fully realized, but we must not–indeed cannot–abandon our efforts to bring its realization somehow closer. To reach this goal we may take very different routes and give priority to one or the other of two aims: the positive aim of gaining pleasure or the negative one of avoiding its opposite. On neither route can we attain all we desire. Happiness, in the reduced sense in which it is acknowledged to be possible, is a problem concerning the economy of the individual libido. There is no advice that would be beneficial to all; everyone must discover for himself how he can achieve salvation. The most varied factors will come into play and direct his choice. It is a question of how much real satisfaction he can expect from the external world, how far he is led to make himself independent of it, and, finally, how much strength he feels he has to change it in accordance with his wishes. Apart from the external conditions, what will be decisive here is the individuals mental constitution. The predominantly erotic person will give priority to his emotional relations with others; the narcissistic person, being more self-sufficient, will seek the most important satisfactions in his own internal mental processes; the man of action will not give up contact with the external world, on which he can test his strength. For the second of these types the nature of his gifts and the extent to which he is able to sublimate his drives will determine where he should lodge his interests. Any extreme decision will be penalized, in that it will expose the individual to the dangers that arise if he has chosen one technique of living to the exclusion of others. Just as the prudent merchant avoids tying up all his capital in one place, so worldly wisdom will perhaps advise us not to expect all our satisfaction to come from one endeavour. Success is never certain; it depends on the coincidence of many factors, and perhaps on none more than the capacity of our psychical constitution to adapt its functioning to the environment and to exploit the latter for the attainment of pleasure. Any one who has been born with a particularly unfavourable instinctual constitution and who has not properly under gone the transformation and reordering of the components of his libido–a process that is indispensable for later achievements–will find it hard to derive happiness from his external situation, especially if he is faced with fairly difficult tasks. As a last technique for living, which at least promises him substitutive satisfactions, he may take refuge in neurotic illness; this usually happens early in life. Anyone who sees his quest for happiness frustrated in later years can still find consolation in the pleasure gained from chronic intoxication, or make a desperate attempt at rebellion and become psychotic.*

Religion interferes with this play of selection and adaptation by forcing on everyone indiscriminately its own path to the attainment of happiness and protection from suffering. Its technique consists in reducing the value of life and distorting the picture of the real world by means of delusion; and this presupposes the intimidation of the intelligence. At this price, by forcibly fixing human beings in a state of psychical infantilism and drawing them into a mass delusion, religion succeeds in saving many of them from individual neurosis. But it hardly does any more; there are, as we have said, many paths that can lead to such happiness as is within the reach of human beings, but none that is certain to do so. Not even religion can keep its promise. If the believer is finally obliged to speak of God's 'inscrutable decrees', he is admitting that all he has left to him, as the ultimate consolation and source of pleasure in the midst of suffering, is unconditional submission. And if he is ready to accept this he could probably have spared himself the detour.

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 On a more basic level Wilhelm Busch says the same in Die Fromme Helene: 'Whoever has cares has liquor too.'

 Goethe even reminds us: 'Everything in the world can be endured, except a succession of fine days.' However, this may be an exaggeration.

 Unless a special aptitude dictates the direction that a person's interest in life is to take, the ordinary professional work available to everyone can occupy the place assigned to it by Voltaire's wise advice. Within the scope of a short survey it is not possible to pay sufficient attention to the vital role of work in the economy of the libido. No other technique for the conduct of life binds the individual so firmly to reality as an emphasis on work, which at least gives him a secure place in one area of reality, the human community. The possibility of shifting a large number of libidinal components–narcissistic, aggressive, even erotic – towards professional work and the human relations connected with it lends it a value that is in no way inferior to the indispensable part it plays in asserting and justifying a person's existence in society. Special satisfaction comes from professional activity when this is freely chosen and therefore makes possible the use, through sublimation, of existing inclinations, of continued or constitutionally reinforced instinctual impulses. And yet people show scant regard for work as a path to happiness. They do not strive after it as they do after other possibilities of satisfaction. The great majority work only because they have to, and this aversion to work is the source of the most difficult social problems.

 I feel impelled to point out at least one of the gaps that have remained in the presentation given above. No consideration of the possibilities of human happiness should fail to take into account the relation between narcissism and object libido. We need to know what being essentially reliant on our own resources means for the economy of the libido.

3

Our study of happiness has so far taught us little that is not generally known. Even if we go on to ask why it is so difficult for people to be happy, the prospect of learning something new seems little better. We have already answered this question by pointing to the three sources of our suffering: the superior power of nature, the frailty of our bodies, and the inadequacy of the institutions that regulate people's relations with one another in the family, the state and society. Regarding the first two, our judgement cannot vacillate for long: it obliges us to acknowledge these sources of suffering and submit to the inevitable. We shall never wholly control nature; our constitution, itself part of this nature, will always remain a transient structure, with a limited capacity for adaptation and achievement. Recognition of this fact does not have a paralysing effect on us; on the contrary, it gives direction to our activity. Even if we cannot put an end to all suffering, we can remove or alleviate some of it; the experience of thousands of years has convinced us of this. Our attitude to the third source of suffering, the social source, is different. We refuse to recognize it at all; we cannot see why institutions that we ourselves have created should not protect and benefit us all. However, when we consider how unsuccessful we have been at preventing suffering in this very sphere, the suspicion arises that here too an element of unconquerable nature may be at work in the background–this time our own psyche.

When considering this possibility, we come up against a contention which is so astonishing that we will dwell on it for a while. It is contended that much of the blame for our misery lies with what we call our civilization, and that we should be far happier if we were to abandon it and revert to primitive conditions. I say this is astonishing because, however one defines the concept of civilization, it is certain that all the means we use in our attempts to protect ourselves against the threat of suffering belong to this very civilization.

By what route have so many people arrived at this strange attitude of hostility to civilization? I think a deep, long-standing dissatisfaction with the state of civilization at any given time prepared the ground on which a condemnation of it grew up owing to particular historical causes. I think I can identify the last two of these; I am not sufficiently erudite to trace the causal chain back far enough into the history of the human race. Some such hostility to civilization must have been involved already in the victory of Christianity over paganism. After all, this hostility was very close to the devaluation of earthly life that came about through Christian teaching. The penultimate cause arose when voyages of discovery brought us into contact with primitive peoples and tribes. Owing to inadequate observation and the misinterpretation of their manners and customs, they appeared to the Europeans to lead a simple, happy life, involving few needs, which was beyond the reach of their culturally superior visitors. Subsequent experience has corrected several such judgements; the fact that these peoples found life so much easier was mistakenly ascribed to the absence of complicated cultural requirements, when in fact it was due to nature's bounty and the ease with which their major needs could be satisfied. The final cause is particularly familiar to us; it arose when we became acquainted with the mechanism of the neuroses that threaten to undermine the modicum of happiness enjoyed by civilized man. It was discovered that people became neurotic because they could not endure the degree of privation that society imposed on them in the service of its cultural ideals, and it was inferred that a suspension or a substantial reduction of its demands would mean a return to possibilities of happiness.

There is an added factor of disappointment. In recent generations the human race has made extraordinary advances in the natural sciences and their technical application, and it has increased its control over nature in a way that would previously have been unimaginable. The details of these advances are generally known and need not be enumerated. Human beings are proud of these achievements, and rightly so. Yet they believe they have observed that this newly won mastery over space and time, this subjugation of the forces of nature–the fulfilment of an age-old longing–has not increased the amount of pleasure they can expect from life or made them feel any happier. We ought to be content to infer from this observation that power over nature is not the sole condition of human happiness, just as it is not the sole aim of cultural endeavours, rather than to conclude that technical progress is of no value in the economy of our happiness. By way of objection it might be asked whether it is not a positive addition to my pleasure, an unequivocal increment of my happiness, if I can hear, as often as I wish, the voice of the child who lives hundreds of miles away, or if a friend can inform me, shortly after reaching land, that he has survived his long and arduous voyage. Is it of no importance that medicine has succeeded in significantly reducing infant mortality and the risk of infection to women in childbirth, and in adding a good many years to the average life-span of civilized man? We can cite many such benefits that we owe to the much-despised era of scientific and technical advances. At this point, however, the voice of pessimistic criticism makes itself heard, reminding us that most of these satisfactions follow the pattern of the 'cheap pleasure' recommended in a certain joke, a pleasure that one can enjoy by sticking a bare leg out from under the covers on a cold winter's night, then pulling it back in. If there were no railway to overcome distances, my child would never have left his home town, and I should not need the telephone in order to hear his voice. If there were no sea travel, my friend would not have embarked on his voyage, and I should not need the telegraph service in order to allay my anxiety about him. What is the good of the reduction of infant mortality if it forces us to practise extreme restraint in the procreation of children, with the result that on the whole we rear no more children than we did before hygiene became all important, but have imposed restraints on sexual life within marriage and probably worked against the benefits of natural selection? And finally, what good is a long life to us if it is hard, joyless and so full of suffering that we can only welcome death as a deliverer?

It seems certain that we do not feel comfortable in our present civilization, but it is very hard to form a judgement as to whether and to what extent people of an earlier age felt happier, and what part their cultural conditions played in the matter. We shall always tend to view misery objectively, that is to project ourselves, with all our demands and susceptibilities, into their conditions, and then try to determine what occasions for happiness or unhappiness we should find in them. This way of looking at things, which appears objective because it ignores the variations in subjective sensitivity, is of course the most subjective there can be, in that it substitutes our own mental state for all others, of which we know nothing. Happiness, however, is something altogether subjective. However much we recoil in horror when considering certain situations–that of the galley slave in ancient times, of the peasant in the Thirty Years War, of the victim of the Holy Inquisition, of the Jew waiting for the pogrom–it is none the less impossible for us to empathize with these people, to divine what changes the original insensitivity, the gradual diminution of sensitivity, the cessation of expectations, and cruder or more refined methods of narcotization have wrought in man's receptivity to pleasurable and unpleasurable feelings. In cases where there is a possibility of extreme suffering, certain protective psychical mechanisms are activated. It seems to me fruitless to pursue this aspect of the problem any further.

It is time to consider the essence of the civilization whose value for our happiness has been called into question. We will refrain from demanding a formula that captures this essence in a few words before we have learnt anything from our investigation. We will content our selves with repeating that the word 'civilization' designates the sum total of those achievements and institutions that distinguish our life from that of our animal ancestors and serve the dual purpose of protecting human beings against nature and regulating their mutual relations. In order to understand more, we will bring together the individual features of civilization as they manifest themselves in human communities. In doing so we have no hesitation in letting ourselves be guided by linguistic usage or, as some would say, a 'feeling for language', trusting that in this way we shall do justice to inner perceptions that still refuse to be expressed in abstract terms.

The first stage is easy: we recognize as belonging to civilization all activities and values that are useful to human beings, by making the earth serviceable to them, by protecting them against violent natural forces, and so forth. About this aspect of civilization there can be scarcely any doubt. If we go back far enough, we find that the first civilized activities were the use of tools, the taming of fire, and the building of dwellings. Among these, the taming of fire stands out as a quite extraordinary and unprecedented achievement;* with the others man struck out on paths that he has continued to follow ever since, the stimulus to which is not hard to guess. With all his tools man improves on his own organs, both motor and sensory, or clears away the barriers to their functioning. Engines place gigantic forces at his disposal, which he can direct, like his muscles, wherever he chooses; the ship and the aeroplane ensure that neither water nor air can hinder his movements. By means of spectacles he can correct the defects of his ocular lens; with the telescope he can see far into the distance; and with the microscope he can overcome the limits of visibility imposed by the structure of the retina. In the camera he has created an instrument that captures evanescent visual impressions, while the gramophone record does the same for equally fleeting auditory impressions; both are essentially materializations of his innate faculty of recall, of his memory With the help of the telephone he can hear sounds from distances that even the fairy tale would respect as inaccessible. Writing is in origin the language of the absent, the house a substitute for the womb–one's first dwelling place, probably still longed for, where one was safe and felt so comfortable.

What man, through his science and technology, has produced in this world, where he first appeared as a frail animal organism and where every individual of his species must still make his entry as a helpless babe–'oh inch of nature!'–all this not only sounds like a fairy tale, but actually fulfils all–no, most–fairytale wishes. All these assets he can claim as cultural acquisitions. Long ago he formed an ideal conception of omnipotence and omniscience, which he embodied in his gods, attributing to them whatever seemed beyond the reach of his desires–or was forbidden him. We may say, then, that these gods were cultural ideals. Man has now come close to reaching these ideals and almost become a god himself. Admittedly only in the way ideals are usually reached, according to the general judgement of humanity–not completely, in some respects not at all, in others only partly. Man has become, so to speak, a god with artificial limbs. He is quite impressive when he dons all his auxiliary organs, but they have not become part of him and still give him a good deal of trouble on occasion. However, he is entitled to console himself with the fact that this development will not have come to an end in AD 1930. Distant ages will bring new and probably unimaginable advances in this field of civilization and so enhance his god-like nature. But in the interest of our investigation let us also remember that modem man does not feel happy with his god-like nature.

We acknowledge, then, that a country has a high level of civilization if we find that in it everything that can assist man in his exploitation of the land and protect him against the forces of nature–everything, in short, that is of use to him–is attended to and properly ordered. In such countries, rivers that threaten to flood the land must have their courses regulated and their waters channelled to areas of drought. The soil must be carefully tilled and planted with crops that it is suited to support; the mineral wealth below ground must be diligently brought to the surface and used to make the necessary tools and implements. Means of transport must be frequent, fast and reliable. Dangerous wild beasts must be exterminated, and the breeding of domestic animals must flourish. But we have other demands to make on civilization and, remarkably, we hope to find them realized in the very same countries. As though we wished to repudiate our first demand, we also welcome it as a sign of civilization if people devote care to things that have no practical value whatever, that indeed appear useless–for instance, when the urban parks that are needed as playgrounds and reservoirs of fresh air also contain flowerbeds, or when the windows of the houses are adorned with pots of flowers. We soon realize that what we know to be useless, but expect civilization to value, is beauty; we demand that civilized man should revere beauty where he comes across it in nature and create it, if he can, through the work of his hands. Yet our claims on civilization are far from exhausted. We also demand evidence of cleanliness and order. We do not think highly of the civilization of an English country town in Shakespeare's day when we read that there was a large dunghill in front of the door of his father's house at Stratford. We are indignant and call it 'barbarous'–which is the opposite of 'civilized'–when we find the paths in the Vienna woods littered with discarded papers. Squalor of any kind seems to us incompatible with civilization, and we extend the demand for cleanliness to the human body too. We are amazed to read what a foul smell emanated from the person of the Roi Soleil, and we shake our heads when, on visiting Isola Bella, we are shown the tiny wash-basin that Napoleon used for his morning toilet. Indeed, we are not surprised if someone actually proposes the use of soap as a criterion of civilization. Much the same is true of order, which, like cleanliness, relates wholly to the work of man. But while we cannot expect cleanliness in nature, order is in fact copied from her; observation of the great astronomical regularities gave man not only the model for the introduction of order into his own life, but the first clues about how to do it. Order is a kind of compulsion to repeat, which, once a pattern is established, determines when, where and how something is to be done, so that there is no hesitation or vacillation in identical cases. The benefits of order are undeniable; it enables people to make the best use of space and time, while sparing their mental forces. One would be entitled to expect that it had established itself in human activities from the start and without any difficulty; and one may well be surprised that this is not so–that people show a natural tendency to be careless, irregular and unreliable in their work and must first be laboriously trained to imitate the celestial models.

Beauty, cleanliness and order plainly have a special place among the requirements of civilization. No one will maintain that they are as vitally important as control over the forces of nature and other factors that we shall become acquainted with later on, but neither will anyone wish to dismiss them as matters of minor importance. The fact that civilization is not concerned solely with utility is demonstrated by the example of beauty, which we insist on including among the interests of civilization. The usefulness of order is quite patent; as for cleanliness, we must bear in mind that it is also required by hygiene, and we may presume that people were not entirely unaware of this connection even before the age of scientific prophylaxis. Yet utility does not wholly explain the striving for cleanliness: something else must be involved too.

No feature, however, seems to us to characterize civilization better than the appreciation and cultivation of the higher mental activities, of intellectual, scientific and artistic achievements, and the leading role accorded to ideas in human life. Foremost among these ideas are the systems of religion, on whose complex structure I have tried to throw some light elsewhere; next come philosophical speculations, and finally what may be called human ideals, the notions, formed by human beings, of the possible perfection of the individual person, the nation and humanity as a whole, together with the demands they set up on the basis of such notions. The fact that these inventions are not independent of one another, but closely interwoven, increases the difficulty not only of describing them, but of establishing their psychological derivation. If we assume, quite generally, that the mainspring of all human activities is the striving for the two confluent goals of utility and the attainment of pleasure, we have to agree that this applies also to the manifestations of civilization that we have mentioned here, though it is easy to see only in the case of scientific and artistic activity. There can be no doubt, however, that the others also answer to powerful human needs, perhaps to needs that have developed only in a minority of people. Moreover, one must not allow oneself to be misled by value judgements regarding one or other of these religions, philosophical systems and ideals; one may think to find in them the highest achievement of the human spirit or deplore them as aberrations, but one has to acknowledge that their very existence, and especially their predominance, signifies a high level of civilization.

As the last and certainly not the least important characteristic of a civilization we have to consider how the mutual relations of human beings are regulated, the social relations that affect a person as a neighbour, employee or sexual object of another, as a member of a family or as a citizen of a state. Here it becomes particularly difficult to keep oneself free from certain ideal requirements and to grasp what pertains to civilization in general. Perhaps one may begin by declaring that the element of civilization is present as soon as the first attempt is made to regulate these social relations. If no such attempt were made, they would be subject to the arbitrary will of the individual; that is to say, whoever was physically stronger would dictate them in accordance with his interests and instinctual impulses. Nor would anything be changed if this strong individual came up against another who was even stronger. Communal life becomes possible only when a majority comes together that is stronger than any individual and presents a united front against every individual. The power of the community then pits itself, in the name of 'right', against the power of the individual, which is condemned as 'brute force'. The replacement of the power of the individual by that of the community is the decisive step towards civilization. Its essence lies in the fact that the members of the community restrict themselves in their scope for satisfaction; whereas the individual knew no such restriction. Hence, the next requirement of civilization is justice, that is the assurance that the legal order, once established, shall not be violated again in favour of an individual. This entails no judgement regarding the ethical value of such a system of law. The subsequent development of civilization seems to aim at a situation in which the law should no longer express the will of a small community–a caste, a social stratum or a tribe–that in its turn relates like a violent individual to other groups, which may be more comprehensive. The ultimate outcome should be a system of law to which all–or at least all those who qualify as members of the community–have contributed by partly forgoing the satisfaction of their drives, and which allows no one–again subject to the same qualification–to become a victim of brute force.

Individual liberty is not an asset of civilization. It was greatest before there was any civilization, though admittedly even then it was largely worthless, because the individual was hardly in a position to defend it. With the development of civilization it underwent restrictions, and justice requires that no one shall be spared these restrictions. Whatever makes itself felt in a human community as an urge for freedom may amount to a revolt against an existing injustice, thus favouring a further advance of civilization and remaining compatible with it. But it may spring from what remains of the original personality, still untamed by civilization, and so become a basis for hostility to civilization. The urge for freedom is thus directed against particular forms and claims of civilization, or against civilization as a whole. It does not seem as though any influence can induce human beings to change their nature and become like termites; they will probably always defend their claim to individual freedom against the will of the mass. Much of mankind's struggle is taken up with the task of finding a suitable, that is to say a happy accommodation, between the claims of the individual and the mass claims of civilization. One of the problems affecting the fate of mankind is whether such an accommodation can be achieved through a particular moulding of civilization or whether the conflict is irreconcilable.

By allowing common feeling to tell us what features of human life may count as civilized, we have gained a distinct impression or overall picture of civilization, though at first without learning anything that is not generally known. At the same time we have taken care not to concur with the prejudice that civilization is synonymous with a trend towards perfection, a path to perfection that is pre-ordained for mankind. Yet now we are faced with a view that perhaps leads somewhere else. The development of civilization appears to us as a peculiar process that humanity undergoes and in which some things strike us as familiar. We may characterize this process by citing the changes it brings about in well-known dispositions of the human drives, whose satisfaction is, after all, the economic task of our lives. Some of these drives are used up in such a way that in their place something appears that in an individual we describe as a character trait. The most curious example of this process is found in the anal eroticism of young human beings. Their original interest in the excretory function, in the organs and the products involved in it, is transformed as they grow older into a group of traits that we know as thrift, a sense of order and cleanliness, which, while valuable and welcome in themselves, may intensify and become predominant, thus producing what is called the anal character. How this happens we do not know, but there is no doubt that this view is correct. We have now found that order and cleanliness are essential requirements of civilization, though it is not altogether obvious that they are vitally necessary, any more than it is obvious that they are sources of pleasure. At this point we could not fail to be struck at first by the similarity between the process of civilization and the libidinal development of the individual. Other drives are induced to shift the conditions for their satisfaction, to direct them on to other paths; in most cases this coincides with sublimation (of the aims of the drives), with which we are familiar, but in some the two may still be kept apart. Sublimation of the drives is a particularly striking feature of cultural development, which makes it possible for the higher mental activities–scientific, artistic and ideological–to play such a significant role in civilized life. Yielding to a first impression, one is tempted to say that sublimation is a fate that civilization imposes on the drives. But one would do better to reflect on the matter a little longer. Thirdly–and this seems the most important point–it is impossible to overlook the extent to which civilization is built up on renunciation, how much it presupposes the non-satisfaction of powerful drives–by suppression, repression or some other means. Such 'cultural frustration' dominates the large sphere of inter personal relations; as we already know, it is the cause of the hostility that all civilizations have to contend with. It will also make serious demands on our scientific work; in this connection we have much to explain. It is not easy to understand how it is possible to deprive a drive of satisfaction. It cannot be done without risk; if there is no economic compensation, one can expect serious disturbances.

However, if we want to know what value can be claimed by our conception of the development of civilization as a particular process, comparable with the normal maturation of the individual, we clearly have to address another problem and ask ourselves to what influences the development of civilization owes its origin, how it emerged and what has determined its course.

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 Psychoanalytic material, while incomplete and impossible to interpret with any certainty, at least allows a surmise–a fantastic-sounding one–about the origin of this great human achievement. It is as though primitive man was in the habit, when confronted with fire, of using it to satisfy an infantile desire by urinating on it and so putting it out. Extant legends leave us in no doubt about the original phallic interpretation of the tongues of flame stretching upwards. Extinguishing a fire by urinating on it–an activity still resorted to by the latter-day giants Gulliver in Lilliput and Rabelais' Gargantua–was therefore like a sexual act performed with a man, an enjoyment of male potency in homosexual rivalry. Whoever first renounced this pleasure and spared the fire was able to take it away with him and make it serve his purposes. By damping down the fire of his own sexual excitement he had subdued the natural force of fire. This great cultural conquest would thus be the reward for forgoing the satisfaction of a drive. Moreover, it is as though the man had charged the woman with guarding the fire, now held prisoner on the domestic hearth, because her anatomy made it impossible for her to yield to such a temptation. It is remarkable too how regularly analytic findings testify to the link between ambition, fire and urinal eroticism.

4

The task seems immense, and one may freely admit to being daunted by it. Here are the few conjectures I have been able to arrive at.

When primitive man had discovered that he had it in his own hands–quite literally–to improve his earthly lot by working, it could no longer be a matter of indifference to him whether someone else was working with him or against him. This other person now acquired for him the value of a fellow-worker, and it was useful to him if they both lived together. Even earlier, in his ape-like prehistory, man had taken to forming families, and members of the family were probably his first helpers. Presumably the founding of the family was linked with the fact that the need for genital satisfaction no longer made its appearance like a guest who turns up suddenly one day, then leaves and is not heard of again for a long time, but moved in as a permanent lodger. Hence, the male acquired a motive for keeping the female or–to put it more generally–his sexual objects around him, while the females, not wanting to be separated from their helpless young, had for their sake to remain with the stronger male.* In this primitive family we note the absence of one essential feature of civilization: the arbitrary power of the father, the head of the family, was absolute. In Totem and Taboo I tried to trace the route that led from this family to the next stage of communal living, which took the form of bands of brothers. On overpowering their father, the sons found that the group could be stronger than the individual. Totemic culture rests upon the restrictions they had to impose on one another in order to sustain this new state of affairs. Taboo observances constituted the first system of 'law'. There were thus two reasons why human beings should live together: one was the compulsion to work, which was created by external hardship; the other was the power of love, which made the man loath to dispense with his sexual object, the woman, and the woman loath to surrender her child, which had once been part of her. Eros and Ananke (Love and Necessity) thus become the progenitors of human civilization too. The first consequence of civilization was that even fairly large numbers of people could now stay together in a community. And because these two powerful forces worked in concert, future developments could be expected to proceed smoothly towards better and better control of the external world and the extension of the community to take in more and more people. Moreover, it is not easy to see how this civilization could be anything but a source of happiness to its participants.

Before we go on to consider where a disturbance might arise, let us allow ourselves to be deflected by the recognition of love as a foundation for civilization; in this way we can ill a gap in our earlier discussion. We said that, since sexual (genital) love had afforded man the most potent experiences of satisfaction and had actually supplied him with the model for all happiness, this should have told him that he would do well to go on seeking his happiness in the sphere of sexual relations and place genital eroticism at the centre of his life. We went on to say that by doing this one made oneself dangerously dependent on part of the external world, the chosen love-object, that one was exposed to extreme suffering if one was spurned by it or lost it through infidelity or death. For this reason sages in every age have emphatically advised against this way of conducting one's life, but it has not yet lost its attraction for much of humankind.

A small minority of people are enabled by their constitution, in spite of everything, to find happiness through love, though this necessitates great psychical modifications of its function. These people make themselves independent of the concurrence of the object of their love by shifting the main emphasis from being loved to their own loving; they protect themselves against the loss of the love object by directing their love not to individuals, but to everyone in equal measure, and they avoid the uncertainties and disappointments of genital love by deviating from its sexual aim and transforming the drive into an aim-inhibited impulse. What they thereby create in themselves–a state of balanced, unwavering, affectionate feeling–no longer bears much outward resemblance to the turbulent genital love-life from which it none the less derives. Perhaps St Francis of Assisi went furthest in exploiting love in this way to gain a feeling of inner happiness; moreover, what we recognize as one of the techniques for fulfilling the pleasure principle has frequently been associated with religion, with which it may be connected in those remote regions where the differentiation of the ego from the objects or the objects from one another is neglected. One ethical view, whose deeper motivation will presently become obvious, sees this readiness to love mankind and the world in general as the highest attitude to which human beings can attain. Even at this early stage we will not withhold our two main reservations: first, an undiscriminating love seems to us to forfeit some of its intrinsic value by doing its object an injustice, and, secondly, not all human beings are worthy of love.

The love that founded the family remains effective in civilization, both in its original form, in which direct sexual satisfaction is not renounced, and in its modified form as aim-inhibited affection. In both it continues to perform the function of binding together fairly large numbers of people, and it does so more intensively than would be possible on the basis of a common interest in work. The careless way in which the language uses the word 'love' can be justified historically. The word denotes not only the relation between a man and a woman, whose genital needs have led them to found a family, but also the positive feelings that exist within the family between parents and children, and between siblings, though we are bound to describe the latter relation as aim-inhibited love or affection. This aim inhibited love was in fact once a fully sensual love, and it still is in the individual's unconscious. Both fully sensual and aim-inhibited love extend outside the family and create new bonds with people who were previously strangers. Genital love leads to the formation of new families, and aim-inhibited love to 'friendships', which become important for civilization because they avoid some of the restrictions of genital love, such as its exclusivity. But as it develops, the relation of love to civilization ceases to be unequivocal. On the one hand, love comes into conflict with the interests of civilization; on the other, civilization threatens love with substantial restrictions.

This rift seems unavoidable, but its cause is not at once discernible. It first manifests itself as a conflict between the family and the wider community to which the individual belongs. We have already noted that one of civilization's chief endeavours is to bring people together in large units. However, the family will not give up the individual. The closer the solidarity of the family, the more often its members tend to cut themselves of from other people and the harder it is for them to enter into the wider circle of life. The phylogenetically older mode of living together–the only one that exists in childhood–resists being superseded by the civilized one that was acquired later. Detaching oneself from the family is a task that faces every young person, and society often supports him in performing it with puberty and initiation rites. One has the impression that such difficulties attach to any psychical development, indeed to any organic development.

Moreover, women soon come into conflict with the cultural trend and exercise a retarding, restraining influence on it, even though it was they who first laid the foundations of civilization with the claims of their love. Women stand for the interests of the family and sexual life, whereas the work of civilization has become more and more the business of the menfolk, setting them increasingly difficult tasks and obliging them to sublimate their drives–a task for which women have little aptitude. No person has unlimited quantities of psychical energy at his disposal, and so he has to accomplish his tasks through an expedient distribution of the libido. Whatever energy he expends on cultural aims is largely denied to the opposite sex: his constant association with men and his dependency on this association even estrange him from his duties as a husband and father. The woman therefore sees herself forced into the back ground by the claims of civilization and adopts a hostile attitude to it.

Civilization's tendency to restrict sexual life is no less clear than its other tendency–to extend the cultural circle. The first phase of civilization, the totemic phase, already involves the prohibition of incest in the choice of one's sexual object; this is perhaps the most drastic mutilation that man's erotic life has experienced through out the ages. Taboo, law and custom create further restrictions, affecting both men and women. Not all civilizations go to the same lengths; and the economic structure of society influences the degree of sexual freedom that remains. We already know that in this respect civilization follows the dictates of economic necessity, because it deprives sexuality of much of the mental energy that it consumes. Civilization thus behaves towards sexuality like a tribe or a section of the population that has subjected another and started exploiting it. Fear that the victims may rebel necessitates strict precautionary measures. A high point in such a development can be seen in our western European civilization. It is psycho logically quite justified to begin by prohibiting expressions of infantile sexuality, for there is no prospect of curbing the sexual appetities of adults unless preparatory measures have been taken in childhood. Yet civilized society cannot in any way be justified in going further and actually denying these phenomena, which are easily demonstrable, indeed striking. The sexually mature individual finds that his choice of object is restricted to the opposite sex, and that most extra-genital gratifications are forbidden as perversions. The demand for a uniform sexual life for all, which is proclaimed in all these prohibitions, disregards all the disparities, innate and acquired, in the sexual constitution of human beings, thereby depriving fairly large numbers of sexual enjoyment and becoming a source of grave injustice. The result of such restrictions might be that in normal persons–those who are not constitutionally inhibited–all sexual interest would low, with no loss, into the channels still let open to it. But what is not outlawed–heterosexual genital love–is still limited by legitimacy and monogamy. Present-day civilization makes it clear that it will permit sexual relations only on the basis of a unique and indissoluble bond between a man and a woman, that it disapproves of sexuality as a source of pleasure in its own right and will tolerate it only as the device–for which a substitute has still to be found–for the increase of mankind.

This is of course an extreme view, and it is known to have proved impracticable, even for quite short periods. Only the weaklings have acquiesced in such a gross invasion of their sexual freedom; stronger spirits have insisted on a compensatory condition, which can be mentioned later. Civilized society has found itself obliged to turn a blind eye to many transgressions that by its own lights it should have punished. Yet one must not err in the opposite direction and assume that such a cultural attitude is altogether innocuous because it does not do all it sets out to do. After all, the sexual life of civilized man has been seriously damaged; at times one has the impression that as a function it is subject to a process of involution, such as our teeth and our hair seem to be undergoing as organs. One is probably entitled to suppose that its importance as a source of happiness–and therefore as a means to fulfil our purpose in life–has perceptibly diminished. Now and then one seems to realize that this is not just the pressure of civilization, but that something inherent in the function itself denies us total satisfaction and forces us on to other paths. This may be wrong–it is hard to decide.*

Sigmund Freud

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 The organic periodicity of the sexual process had been retained, but its influence on psychical sexual excitation was reversed. This change was most probably connected with the decline of the olfactory stimuli by which the menstrual process affected the mate psyche. Their role was taken over by visual excitations, which differed from the intermittent olfactory stimuli in that they could remain permanently effective. The taboo on menstruation stems from this 'organic repression', as a defence against a phase of development that has been surmounted; all other motivations are probably of a secondary nature. (Cf. C. D. Daly, 'Hindumythologie und Kastrationskomplex', Imago XIII, 1927.) This process is replicated at a different level when the gods of a past cultural period become the demons of the next. However, the decline of the olfactory stimuli itself seems to have resulted from man's decision to adopt an upright gait, which meant that the genitals, previously hidden, became visible and in need of protection, thus giving rise to a sense of shame. The beginning of the fateful process of civilization, then, would have been marked by man's adopting of an erect posture. From then on the chain of events proceeded, by way of the devaluation of the olfactory stimuli and the isolation of the menstrual period, to the preponderance of the visual stimuli and the visibility of the genitals, then to the continuity of sexual excitation and the founding of the family, and so to the threshold of human civilization. This is merely theoretical speculation, but it is sufficiently important to deserve to be precisely tested against the conditions of life obtaining among those animals that are closely related to man.

There is an unmistakable social factor in the cultural striving for cleanliness too, which was later justified on grounds of hygiene, but manifested itself before this connection was appreciated. The urge for cleanliness arises from the wish to get rid of excrement, which has become repugnant to the senses. In the nursery, as we know, things are different. Excrement does not arouse any disgust in the child; it seems valuable to him as a part of his body that has become detached. Upbringing here insists on accelerating the future course of development, which will make excrement worthless, disgusting, revolting and abominable. Such a reversal of values would be scarcely possible if this material excreted by the body were not condemned by its strong smell to share the fate that overtook the olfactory stimuli after man adopted an erect posture. Hence, anal eroticism first yields to the 'organic repression' that paved the way for civilization. Evidence of the social factor, leading to the further transformation of anal eroticism, is found in the fact that, all evolutionary progress notwithstanding, human beings hardly find the smell of their own excrement offensive–only that of others. A person who lacks cleanliness–who does not hide his excrement–thereby offends others and shows them no consideration, and this is reflected in our strongest and commonest terms of abuse. It would also be incomprehensible that man should use the name of his most faithful friend in the animal world as a term of abuse, were it not for the fact that the dog incurs his contempt through two of its characteristics: as an animal that relies on smell it does not shun excrement, and it is not ashamed of its sexual functions.

 The following observations are offered in support of the supposition made above. Man too is an animal with an unequivocally bisexual disposition. The individual represents a fusion of two symmetrical halves; one of these, in the opinion of some investigators, is purely male, the other female. It is equally possible that each half was originally hermaphrodite. Sexuality is a biological fact that is immensely important in our psychical life, but it is hard to compre hend psychologically. We are in the habit of saying that every human being exhibits both male and female impulses, needs and properties, but while anatomy can distinguish between male and female, psy chology cannot. In the latter discipline the contrast between 'male' and 'female' pales into one between 'active' and 'passive'. We do not hesitate to equate 'active' with 'male' and 'passive' with 'female', but these equations are by no means universally confirmed by the study of animals. The theory of bisexuality is still shrouded in obscurity, and the fact that it has not been connected with that of the drives is bound to strike us as a serious flaw in psychoanalysis. Be that as it may, if we take it to be a fact that every individual seeks to satisfy both male and female desires in his or her sexual life, we are prepared for the possibility that these are not fulfilled by the same object and that they interfere with one another unless they can be kept apart and each impulse can be guided into the proper channel. A further difficulty arises because erotic relations are so often associated with a degree of direct aggression, quite apart from the sadistic component that properly belongs to them. Faced with such complications, the love-object will not always be as understanding and tolerant as the farmer's wife who complained that her husband no longer loved her because he had not beaten her for a week.

The surmise that goes deepest, however, is one that arises from my remarks in the footnote [section IV, p. 46], to the effect that, with man's adoption of an upright posture and the devaluation of his sense of smell, the whole of his sexuality–not just his anal eroticism–was in danger of becoming subject to organic repression, so that the sexual function has since been accompanied by an unaccountable repugnance, which prevents total gratification and deflects it from the sexual aim towards sublimations and displacements of the libido. I know that some time ago Bleuler ('Der Sexualwiderstand', Jahrbuch für psychoanalytische und psy-chopathologische Forschungen V [1913]) pointed to the existence of an original aversion to sexual life. All neurotics, and many others, object to the fact that inter urinas et faeces nascimur ('we are born between urine and faeces'). The genitals give off strong smells that are intolerable to many and spoil their enjoyment of sexual intercourse. Hence, the ultimate root of the sexual repression that accompanies cultural progress would seem to be the organic defence of the new way of life, ushered in by man's adoption of an upright gait, against his earlier animal existence. This result of scientific research coincides in a curious way with a banal prejudice that is often voiced. However, these are at present merely unconfirmed possibilities that lack any scientific corroboration. And let us not forget that, in spite of the undoubted devaluation of olfactory stimuli, there are certain peoples, even in Europe, for whom the pungent genital odours we find offensive are valuable sexual stimuli, which they would be loath to forgo. (See the folkdoric findings of Iwan Bloch's questionnaire on 'the sense of smell in sexual life', published in various issues of the Anthropophyteia of Friedrich S. Krauss.)

5

Psychoanalytic work has taught us that it is precisely these frustrations of sexual life that those whom we call neurotics cannot endure. Neurotics create substitutive satisfactions for themselves in their symptoms, but these either create suffering in themselves or become sources of suffering by causing the subjects difficulties in their relations with their surroundings and society. The latter fact is easy to understand, but the former poses a fresh puzzle. However, civilization demands other sacrifices apart from that of sexual satisfaction.

We have viewed the difficulty of cultural development as a general difficulty of development by tracing it back to the inertia of the libido, to the latter's unwillingness to give up an old position for a new one. We are saying much the same thing when we derive the opposition between civilization and sexuality from the fact that sexual love is a relationship between two people, in which a third party can only be superfluous or trouble some, whereas civilization rests on relations between quite large numbers of people. When a love relationship is at its height, the lovers no longer have any interest in the world around them; they are self-sufficient as a pair, and in order to be happy they do not even need the child they have in common. In no other case does Eros so deafly reveal what is at the core of his being, the aim of making one out of more than one; however, having achieved this proverbial goal by making two people fall in love, he refuses to go any further.

Up to now we can well imagine a cultural community consisting of such double individuals, libidinally sated in themselves, but linked by the bonds of shared work and interests. If this were so it would not be necessary for civilization to rob sexuality of any of its energy. But this desirable state of affairs does not exist, and never has. Reality shows us that civilization is not satisfied with the bonds that have so far been conceded to it; it seeks also to bind the members of the community libidinally to one another, employing every available means to this end, favouring any path that leads to strong identifications among them, and summoning up the largest possible measure of aim-inhibited libido in order to reinforce the communal bonds with ties of friendship. For the fulfilment of these objectives the restriction of sexual life becomes inevitable. Yet we lack any understanding of the necessity that forces civilization along this path and can account for its opposition to sexuality. There must be a disturbing factor that we have not yet discovered.

One of what have been called the ideal demands of civilized society may put us on the fight track. It runs: 'Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself'. It is famous the world over, and certainly older than Christianity, which puts it forward as its proudest claim, but assuredly not very old, for in historical times it still struck people as strange. We will approach it naively, as if we were heating it for the first time. We shall then be unable to suppress a sense of surprise and bewilderment. Why should we behave in this way? What good will it do us? But above all, how shall we manage to act like this? How will it be possible? My love is something I value and must not throw away irresponsibly. It imposes duties on me, and in performing these duties I must be prepared to make sacrifices. If I love another person, he must in some way deserve it. (I will disregard whatever use he may be to me, and whatever importance he may have for me as a sexual object: these two kinds of relationship have no relevance to the injunction to love my neighbour.) He deserves it if, in certain important respects, he so much resembles me that in him I can love myself. He deserves it if he is so much more perfect than myself that I can love in him an ideal image of myself. I must love him if he is my friend's son, for the pain my friend would feel if any harm befell him would be my pain too; I should have to share it. But if he is a stranger to me and cannot attract me by any merit of his own or by any importance he has acquired in my emotional life, it becomes hard for me to love him. Indeed, it would be wrong of me to do so, for my love is prized by my family and friends as a sign of my preference for them; to put a stranger on a par with them would be to do them an injustice. Yet if I am to love him, with this universal love-just because he is a creature of this earth, like an insect, an earthworm or a grass-snake–then I fear that only a modicum of love will fall to his share, and certainly not as much as the judgement of my reason entitles me to reserve for myself. What is the point of such a portentous precept if its fulfilment cannot commend itself as reasonable?

On closer inspection I find still more difficulties. This stranger is not only altogether unlovable: I must honestly confess that he has a greater claim to my enmity, even to my hatred. He appears to have not the least love for me and shows me not the slightest consideration. If it is to his advantage, he has no hesitation in harming me, nor does he ask himself whether the magnitude of his advantage is commensurate with the harm he does me. Indeed, it need not bring him any advantage at all: if he can merely satisfy some desire by acting in this way, he will think nothing of mocking, insulting or slandering me, or using me as a foil to show off his power. The more secure he feels and the more helpless I am, the surer I can be of his behaving towards me like this. If he acts differently towards me, a stranger, and treats me with consideration and forbearance, I am in any case ready to repay him in like coin, without any injunction to do so. Indeed, if this grandiose commandment were to read: 'Love thy neighbour as thy neighbour loves thee', I should have no quarrel with it. There is another commandment that I find even more unintelligible and that causes me to rebel even more fiercely. It runs: 'Love thine enemies.' But on reflection I see that I am wrong to reject it as a still greater presumption. Essentially it is no different.*

But now I seem to hear a dignified voice admonishing me: 'It is precisely because your neighbour is not lovable, but on the contrary your enemy, that you must love him as yourself.' I then understand this to be another instance of Credo quia absurdum ('I believe it because it is absurd').

Now, it is quite likely that my neighbour, if enjoined to love me as himself, will react exactly as I do and reject me for the very same reasons. I hope he will not have the same objective justification, but he will be of the same mind. However, there are differences in human behaviour that ethics classify as 'good' and 'evil', disregarding the fact that such differences are conditioned. While these undeniable differences remain, the fulfilment of these high ethical demands is detrimental to the purposes of civilization in that it proposes direct rewards for wrongful conduct. In this connection one cannot help recalling an incident that occurred in the French Chamber when capital punishment was being debated. One speaker pleaded passionately for its abolition and received tumultuous applause, until a voice called out from the body of the hall: 'Que messieurs les assassins commencent!' ['Let the murderers make the first move!']

The reality behind all this, which many would deny, is that human beings are not gentle creatures in need of love, at most able to defend themselves if attacked; on the contrary, they can count a powerful share of aggression among their instinctual endowments. Hence, their neighbour is not only a potential helper or sexual object, but also someone who tempts them to take out their aggression on him, to exploit his labour without recompense, to use him sexually without his consent, to take possession of his goods, to humiliate him and cause him pain, to torture and kill him. Homo homini lupus [Man is a wolf to man]. Who, after all that he has learnt from life and history, would be so bold as to dispute this proposition? As a rule, this cruel aggression waits for some provocation or puts itself at the service of a different aim, which could be attained by milder means. If the circumstances favour it, if the psychical counter-forces that would otherwise inhibit it have ceased to operate, it manifests itself spontaneously and reveals man as a savage beast that has no thought of sparing its own kind. Whoever calls to mind the horrors of the migrations of the peoples, the incursions of the Huns, or of the people known as the Mongols under Genghiz Khan and Tamefiane, the conquest of Jerusalem by the pious Crusaders, or indeed the horrors of the Great War, will be obliged to acknowledge this as a fact.

It is the existence of this tendency to aggression, which we detect in ourselves and rightly presume in others, that vitiates our relations with our neighbour and obliges civilization to go to such lengths. Given this fundamental hostility of human beings to one another, civilized society is constantly threatened with disintegration. A common interest in work would not hold it together: passions that derive from the drives are stronger than reasonable interests. Civilization has to make every effort to limit man's aggressive drives and hold down their manifestations through the formation of psychical reactions. This leads to the use of methods that are meant to encourage people to identify themselves with others and enter into aim-inhibited erotic relationships, to the restriction of sexual life, and also to the ideal commandment to love one's neighbour as oneself, which is actually justified by the fact that nothing else runs so much counter to basic human nature. For all the effort invested in it, this cultural endeavour has so far not achieved very much. It hopes to prevent the crudest excesses of brutal violence by assuming the right to use violence against criminals, but the law cannot deal with the subtler manifestations of human aggression. There comes a point at which each of us abandons, as illusions, the expectations he pinned to his fellow men when he was young and can appreciate how difficult and painful his life is made by their ill will. At the same time it would be unjust to reproach civilization with wanting to exclude contention and competition from human activity. These are certainly indispensable, but opposition is not necessarily enmity: it is merely misused as an occasion for the latter.

The communists think they have found the way to redeem mankind from evil. Man is unequivocally good and well disposed to his neighbour, but his nature has been corrupted by the institution of private property. Ownership of property gives the individual the power, and so the temptation, to mistreat his neighbour; who ever is excluded from ownership is bound to be hostile to the oppressor and rebel against him. When private property is abolished, when goods are held in common and enjoyed by all, ill will and enmity among human beings will cease. Because all needs will be satisfied, no one will have any reason to see another person as his enemy; everyone will be glad to undertake whatever work is necessary. I am not concerned with economic criticisms of the communist system; I have no way of knowing whether the abolition of private property is expedient and beneficial.* But I can recognize the psychological presumption behind it as a baseless illusion. With the abolition of private property the human love of aggression is robbed of one of its tools, a strong one no doubt, but certainly not the strongest. No change has been made in the disparities of power and influence that aggression exploits in pursuit of its ends, or in its nature. Aggression was not created by property; it prevailed with almost no restriction in primitive times, when property was very scanty. It already manifests itself in the nursery, where property has hardly given up its original anal form. It forms the basis of all affectionate and loving relations among human beings, with perhaps the one exception of the relation between the mother and her male child. Even if we do away with the personal right to own material goods, the prerogative that resides in sexual relations still remains, and this is bound to become the source of the greatest animosity and the fiercest enmity among human beings who are equal in all other respects. If we remove this inequality too and allow total sexual freedom–thus doing away with the family, the germ-cell of civilization–it will admittedly be impossible to foresee on what new paths the development of civilization may strike out. But of one thing we can be certain: this indestructible feature of human nature will follow it wherever it leads.

It is clearly not easy for people to forgo the satisfaction of their tendency to aggression. To do so makes them feel uneasy. One should not belittle the advantage that is enjoyed by a fairly small cultural circle, which is that it allows the aggressive drive an outlet in the form of hostility to outsiders. It is always possible to bind quite large numbers of people together in love, provided that others are left out as targets for aggression. I once discussed this phenomenon, the fact that it is precisely those communities that occupy contiguous territories and are otherwise closely related to each other–like the Spaniards and the Portuguese, the North Germans and the South Germans, the English and the Scots, etc.–that indulge in feuding and mutual mockery. I called this phenomenon 'the narcissism of small differences'–not that the name does much to explain it. It can be seen as a convenient and relatively innocuous way of satisfying the tendency to aggression and facilitating solidarity within the community. The Jews of the diaspora have made valuable contributions to the cultures of the countries in which they have settled, but unfortunately all the massacres of Jews that took place in the Middle Ages failed to make the age safer and more peaceful for the Christians. After St Paul had made universal brotherly love the foundation of his Christian community, the extreme intolerance of Christianity towards those let outside it was an inevitable consequence. To the Romans, whose state was not founded on love, religious intolerance had been quite foreign, though religion was a state concern and the state was steeped in religion. Nor was it quite fortuitous and incomprehensible that the Germanic dream of world-dominion should invoke anti-semitism as its complement. And it is under standable that the attempt to establish a new, communist culture in Russia should find psychological support in the persecution of the bourgeois. One only wonders, with some anxiety, what the Soviets will turn to when they have exterminated their bourgeoisie.

If civilization imposes such great sacrifices not only on man's sexuality, but also on his aggressivity, we are in a better position to understand why it is so hard for him to feel happy in it. Primitive man was actually better off, because his drives were not restricted. Yet this was counterbalanced by the fact that he had little certainty of enjoying this good fortune for long. Civilized man has traded in a portion of his chances of happiness for a certain measure of security. But let us not forget that in the primeval family only its head could give full rein to his drives; its other members lived in slavish suppression. In that primordial era of civilization there was therefore an extreme contrast between a minority who enjoyed its benefits and the majority to whom they were denied. As for today's primitive peoples, more careful study has shown that we have no reason whatever to envy them their instinctual life by reason of the freedom attaching to it; it is subject to restrictions of a different kind, which are perhaps even more severe than those imposed on modem civilized man.

When we rightly reproach the present state of our civilization with its inadequate response to our demand for a form of life that will make us happy, and with allowing so much suffering, which could probably be avoided–and when we strive, with unsparing criticism, to expose the roots of this inadequacy–we are exercising a legitimate right and certainly not revealing ourselves as enemies of civilization. We may hope gradually to carry out such modifications in our civilization as will better satisfy our needs and escape this criticism. But perhaps we shall also become familiar with the idea that there are some difficulties that are inherent in the nature of civilization and will defy any attempt at reform. In addition to the tasks involved in restricting the drives–for which we are prepared–we are faced with the danger of a condition that we may call 'the psychological misery of the mass'. This danger is most threatening where social bonding is produced mainly by the participants' identification with one another, while individuals of leadership calibre do not acquire the importance that should be accorded to them in the formation of the mass. The present state of American civilization would provide a good opportunity to study the cultural damage that is to be feared. But I shall avoid the temptation to engage in a critique of American civilization; I do not wish to give the impression of wanting to employ American methods myself.

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 A great writer can allow himself, at least in jest, to express psychologi cal truths that incur severe disapproval. Heine, for instance, confesses: 'I have the most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a modest cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, milk and butter, very fresh, flowers in front of the window, a few beautiful trees in front of the door; and if the good Lord wants to make me completely happy, he will grant me the pleasure of seeing six or seven of my enemies hanged from these trees. My heart will be moved, and before they die I will forgive them all the wrongs they did me in their lifetime. Yes, one must forgive one's enemies, but not before they are hanged.'

 Anyone who has tasted the misery of poverty in his youth and experienced the indifference and arrogance of propertied people, should be safe from the suspicion that he has no sympathy with current efforts to combat inequalities of wealth and all that flows from them. Of course, if this struggle seeks to appeal to the abstract demand, made in the name of justice, for equality among all men, the objection is all too obvious: nature, by her highly unequal endowment of individuals with physical attributes and mental abilities, has introduced injustices that cannot be remedied.

6

With none of my writings have I had such a strong feeling as I have now that what I am describing is common knowledge, that I am using pen and paper, and shall soon be using the services of the compositor and the printer, to say things that are in fact self-evident. For this reason I shall be glad to take the matter up if it appears that the recognition of a special, independent aggressive drive entails a modification of psychoanalytic theory regarding the drives.

It will be seen that this is not so, that it is merely a matter of focusing more sharply on a change of direction that took place long ago, and of following up its consequences. Of all the elements of analytic theory that have taken so long to develop, the doctrine of the drives is the one that has edged its way forward most laboriously. And yet it was so indispensable to the whole that some thing had to be put in its place. After I had at first been totally at a loss, my first clue came from a proposition by the poet-philosopher Schiller, to the effect that the mechanism of the world was held together by 'hunger and love'. Hunger could be taken to represent those drives that seek to preserve the individual creature, whereas love strives after objects, and its chief function, favoured in every way by nature, is to preserve the species. Thus at first ego-drives and object-drives con fronted one another. To denote the energy of the latter–and them alone–I introduced the term 'libido'; there was thus a contrast between the ego-drives and the libidinal drives of love, in the widest sense of the word, which were directed towards an object. One of these latter, the sadistic drive, admittedly stood out from the rest because its aim was so utterly devoid of love. More over, in some respects it was obviously attached to the ego-drives; it could not conceal its close affinity to the drives that aim at domination and have no libidinal purpose. However, it proved possible to get over this discrepancy: after all, sadism was clearly part of sexual life, in which cruelty could replace tendemess. Neurosis appeared to be the result of a struggle between the interest of self-preservation and the demands of the libido, a struggle in which the ego had triumphed, but at the price of grave suffering and sacrifice.

Every analyst will admit that even today this does not sound like a long-discarded error. Yet a modification became indispensable when our research proceeded from what was repressed to the agent of repression, from the object-drives to the ego. The decisive step here was the introduction of the concept of narcissism–that is to say the recognition that the ego itself is occupied by libido, that it is in fact the libido's original home and remains to some extent its headquarters. This narcissistic libido turns towards objects, thus becoming object libido, and can change back again into narcissistic libido. The concept of narcissism made it possible to understand and analyse traumatic neurosis, together with many other conditions that are closely related to the psychoses, as well as the psychoses themselves. There was no need to abandon the interpretation of transference neuroses as attempts by the ego to fend of sexuality, but the concept of libido was endangered. Since the ego-drives too were libidinal, it seemed for a time inevitable that the libido should be allowed to merge with the energy of the drives generally, as C. G. Jung had earlier advocated. Yet there remained something like a certainty, as yet unexplained, that the drives could not all be of the same kind. My next step was taken in Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920), when I was first struck by the compulsion to repeat and the conservative nature of the drives. Starting from speculations about the beginning of life and from biological parallels, I reached the conclusion that, in addition to the drive to preserve the living substance and bring it together in ever larger units,* there must be another, opposed to it, which sought to break down these units and restore them to their primordial inorganic state. Beside Eros, then, there was a death drive, and the inter action and counteraction of these two could explain the phenomena of life. Now, it was not easy to demonstrate the activity of this supposed death drive. The manifestations of Eros were plain enough to see and hear; one might presume that the death drive operated silently inside the living being, working towards its dissolution, but this of course did not amount to a proof. A more fruitful idea was that a portion of the drive was directed against the external world and then appeared as a drive that aimed at aggression and destruction. In this way the drive was itself pressed into the service of Eros, inasmuch as the organism destroyed other things, both animate and inanimate, instead of itself. Conversely, any restriction of this outward-directed aggression would be bound to increase the degree of self-destruction, which in any case continued. At the same time one could surmise, on the basis of this example, that the two kinds of drive seldom–perhaps never–appeared in isolation, but alloyed with one another in different and highly varying proportions and so became unrecognizable to our judgement. In sadism, which has long been recognized as a partial drive of sexuality, one would be faced with a particularly strong alloy of the striving for love and the drive for destruction, just as its counterpart, masochism, would be a combination of inward-directed destruction and sexuality, through which the otherwise imperceptible striving became conspicuous and palpable.

The assumption of a death drive or a drive for destruction has met with resistance even in analytic circles; I am aware that there is a widespread tendency to ascribe anything that is thought to be dangerous or hostile about love to an original bipolarity in its own nature. The views I have developed here were at first put forward only tentatively, but in the course of time they have taken such a hold on me that I can no longer think in any other way. In my view they are theoretically far more serviceable than any others one might entertain; they produce what we strive for in scientific work–a simple answer that neither neglects nor does violence to the facts. I recognize that we have always seen sadism and masochism as manifestations of the destructive drive, directed outwards or inwards and strongly alloyed with eroticism, but I can no longer understand how we could have ignored the ubiquity of non-erotic aggression and destruction and failed to accord it its due place in the interpretation of life. (The inward-directed craving for destruction mostly eludes our perception, of course, unless it is tinged with eroticism.) I can remember how I myself resisted the idea ora destructive drive when it first appeared in psychoanalytic literature, and how long it took me to become receptive to it. That others rejected it too, and still do, I find less surprising. 'For the little children do not like it' when there is talk of man's inborn tendency to 'wickedness', to aggression and destruction, and there fore to cruelty. For God created them in his own perfect image; one does not wish to be reminded of how hard it is to reconcile the existence of evil, which cannot be denied–despite the protestations of Christian Science–with His infinite power and goodness. The Devil would be the best excuse for God; he would take on the same exculpatory role in this context as the Jew in the world of the Aryan ideal. But even so, one can still demand that God be held responsible for the existence of the Devil and the evil he embodies. In view of these difficulties, it is advisable for each of us, at an appropriate point, to make a profound obeisance to man's deeply moral nature; this will help to make us generally popular, and much will be forgiven us.*

The name 'libido' can once more be applied to manifestations of the power of Eros, in order to distinguish them from the energy of the death drive.† It has to be admitted that the latter is much harder to grasp and can to some extent be discerned only as a residue left behind by Eros, and that it escapes our notice unless it is revealed through being alloyed with Eros. It is in sadism, where it perverts the erotic aim for its own purposes while fully satisfying the sexual striving, that we have the clearest insight into its nature and its relation to Eros. Yet even where it appears without any sexual purpose, in the blindest destructive fury, there is no mistaking the fact that its satisfaction is linked with an extraordinarily high degree of narcissistic enjoyment, in that this satisfaction shows the ego how its old wish for omnipotence can be fulfilled. Moderated and tamed–aim-inhibited, as it were–the destructive drive, when directed towards objects, must provide the ego with the satisfaction of its vital needs and with control over nature. As its existence is posited essentially on theoretical grounds, one must also admit that it is not wholly proof against theoretical objections. But this is how things appear to us now, in the present state of our knowledge; future research and reflection will undoubtedly bring the decisive clarification.

For the rest, I take the view that the tendency to aggression is an original, autonomous disposition in man, and I return to my earlier contention that it represents the greatest obstacle to civilization. At one point in this investigation we were faced with the realization that civilization was a special process undergone by humanity, and we are still under the spell of this idea. We will now add that it is a process in the service of Eros, whose purpose is to gather together individuals, then families and finally tribes, peoples and nations in one great unit–humanity. Why this has to happen we do not know: it is simply the work of Eros. These multitudes of human beings are to be libidinally bound to one another; necessity alone, the advantages of shared work, will not hold them together. However, this programme of civilization is opposed by man's natural aggressive drive, the hostility of each against all and all against each. This aggressive drive is the descendant and principal representative of the death drive, which we have found beside Eros and which rules the world jointly with him. And now, I think, the meaning of the development of civilization is no longer obscure to us. This development must show us the struggle between Eros and death, between the life drive and the drive for destruction, as it is played out in the human race. This struggle is the essential content of all life; hence, the development of civilization may be described simply as humanity's struggle for existence.* And this battle of the giants is what our nurse-maids seek to mitigate with their lullaby about heaven.

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 The contrast that emerges here between the restless expansive tendency of Eros and the generally conservative nature of the drives is striking and could become the starting point for the study of further problems.

 Especially convincing is the equation of the principle of evil with the destructive drive in the person of Goethe's Mephistopheles: 'For everything that comes into being /Is worthy of destruction /…/ So, then, everything you call sin, / Destruction–in short, evil- / Is my true element.'

As his adversary, the devil himself names not the holy and the good, but nature's power to procreate, to multiply life–in other words, Eros: 'From air, water and earth/A thousand germs break forth, / In dry, wet, warm and cold!/Had I not reserved the flame for myself, / I should have nothing to call my own.'

 Our present view can be roughly expressed in the proposition that libido is involved in the manifestation of every drive, but not everything in this manifestation is libido.

 Probably we should add, to be more precise: 'in the shape it was bound to take on after a certain event that is still a matter for conjecture'.

7

Why do our relatives, the animals, show no sign of such a cultural struggle? We have no way of knowing. It is very likely that some of them–the bees, the ants, the termites–struggled for thousands of centuries until they evolved the state institutions, the distribution of functions, the restrictions on individuals, for which we admire them today. It is characteristic of our present condition that we feel we should not be happy in any of these animal states or the roles assigned in them to individuals. In the case of other animal species it may be that a temporary compromise was reached between the influences of their surroundings and the conflicting drives within them, so that any development was brought to a halt. It may be that in primitive man a fresh access of libido fanned fresh resistance on the part of the destructive drive. There are many questions to be asked, and as yet no answers.

Another question is closer to home. What means does civilization employ in order to inhibit the aggression it faces, to render it harmless and possibly eliminate it? We have already become acquainted with some of the methods, but not with the one that seems most important. We can study this in the development of the individual. What happens to him to render his aggressivity harmless? Something very curious, which we would not have suspected, but which is plain to see. The aggression is introjected, internalized, actually sent back to where it came from; in other words, it is directed against the individual's own ego. There it is taken over by a portion of the ego that sets itself up as the super-ego, in opposition to the rest, and is now prepared, as 'conscience', to exercise the same severe aggression against the ego that the latter would have liked to direct towards other individuals. The tension between the stem super-ego and the ego that is subject to it is what we call a 'sense of guilt'; this manifests itself as a need for punishment. In this way civilization overcomes the dangerous aggressivity of the individual, by weakening him, disarming him and setting up an internal authority to watch over him, like a garrison in a conquered town.

Regarding the origin of the sense of guilt, the analyst's view differs from that of other psychologists, and he too finds it difficult to account for. In the first place, if we ask how a person comes to have a sense of guilt, the answer we receive cannot be gainsaid: one feels guilty (pious people would say 'sinful') if one has done something one recognizes as 'evil'. Ten we realize how little this tells us. After some hesitation we may add that even a person who has done no wrong, but merely recognizes in himself an intention to do wrong, may consider him self guilty–which raises the question of why in this case the intention is equated with the deed. Both cases presuppose that we have already recognized evil as reprehensible, as something that should not be carried out. How do we arrive at this judgement? We may reject the notion of an original–as it were, natural–capacity to distinguish between good and evil. Evil is often far from harmful or dangerous to the ego; it may even be some thing it welcomes and takes pleasure in. Here, then, is a pointer to an outside influence, which determines what is to be called good or evil. As a person's own feelings would not have led him in this direction, he must have a motive for submitting to this outside influence. This is easily dicovered in his helplessness and dependency on others; it can best be described as a fear of loss of love. If he loses the love of a person he depends on, he is no longer protected against various dangers; above all, he is exposed to the risk that this more powerful person will demonstrate his superiority by punishing him. At first, then, evil is something for which one is threatened with loss of love; it must therefore be avoided. Hence, it hardly matters whether one has already done some thing wrong or merely intends to; in either case the danger arises only if the supervising authority finds out, and in either case the authority would behave in the same way.

This state of mind we call a 'bad conscience', but it really does not merit the name, for at this stage consciousness of guilt is clearly no more than a fear of loss of love, a 'social' anxiety. In a small child it can never be anything else, but for many adults too the only change is that the place once occupied by the father, or by both parents, has been taken over by the wider human community. Hence, adults regularly allow themselves to commit wrongful acts that hold out the promise of enjoyment, so long as they are sure that the authority will not learn of it or cannot hold it against them; their only fear is of being found out. This is the state of affairs that today's society generally has to reckon with.

Nothing much changes until the authority is internalized through the establishment of the super-ego. The phenomena of conscience are thereby raised to a new level; only now can one properly speak of conscience and a sense of guilt.* The fear of discovery is no longer an issue, nor is the difference between wrong-doing and the intention to do wrong, for nothing, not even one's thoughts, can be hidden from the super-ego. Of course, the real gravity of the situation has passed, for to the best of our belief the new authority, the superego, has no reason to ill-treat the ego, with which it is intimately linked. But the way it came into existence is still influential in ensuring the survival of what is past and has been surmounted, so that things remain essentially as they were at the beginning. The superego torments the sinful ego with the same anxieties and is on the look-out for opportunities to expose it to punishment by the external world.

At this second stage of development, the conscience exhibits a peculiarity that was absent at the first and is not easy to explain. The more virtuous a person is, the sterner and more distrustful is his conscience, so that the very people who have attained the highest degree of saintliness are in the end the ones who accuse themselves of being most sinful. Virtue thus forfeits part of its promised reward; the compliant and abstinent ego does not enjoy the trust of its mentor and seemingly strives in vain to earn it. Now, it will at once be objected that these are artifically contrived difficulties, that a stricter and more vigilant conscience is the hallmark of a moral nature, and that if saints call themselves sinners, this is not without justification, in view of the temptations they are under to satisfy their drives, temptations to which they are particularly exposed, as it is well known that temptations are only increased by constant frustration, but diminished, at least for a time, by the occasional satisfaction. Another fact in the highly problematic field of ethics is that ill luck–that is to say, external frustration–greatly enhances the force of conscience in the super-ego. So long as things go well for a person, his conscience is lenient and indulges the ego in all kinds of ways. When a misfortune has befallen him he searches his soul, recognizes his sinfulness, pitches the demands of his conscience higher, imposes privations on himself, and punishes himself by acts of penance.* Whole peoples have behaved like this and still do. However, this is easily explained by reference to the original infantile phase of the conscience, which is not abandoned after the introjection into the super-ego, but persists beside and behind it. Fate is seen as replacing parental authority; if one suffers misfortune, this is because one is no longer loved by this supreme power, and under the threat of such loss of love, one again bows to the virtual parental authority of the super-ego, which one was happy to ignore while one's luck held. This becomes especially clear if one takes a strictly religious view and sees fate only as the expression of the divine will. The people of Israel had thought of itself as God's favourite child, and when the great Father let one misfortune after another rain down upon His people, it never doubted this relationship with God or questioned His power and justice, but brought forth the prophets, who reproached it for its sinfulness, and created, from its consciousness of guilt, the exceedingly stem precepts of its priestly religion. It is curious how differently primitive man behaves. Having met with misfortune, he puts the blame not on himself, but on the fetish, which has clearly not done its duty, and whips it instead of punishing himself.

We thus know of two origins of the sense of guilt: one is fear of authority; the other, which came later, is fear of the super-ego. The former forces us to forgo the satisfaction of our drives; in addition to this, the latter insists on punishment, for the continuance of our for bidden desires cannot be hidden from the super-ego. We have also learnt how the severity of the super-ego–the requirements of conscience–can be understood. This severity simply perpetuates that of the external authority, which it supersedes and partly replaces. We now see how renunciation of the drives relates to consciousness of guilt. Initially this renunciation results from fear of the external authority; one renounces certain satisfactions in order to avoid losing its love. After renouncing them, one is, as it were, quits with the authority, and no sense of guilt should remain. Tings are different, however, when it comes to fear of the super-ego. To renounce the drives is no longer enough, for the desire persists and cannot be concealed from the super-ego. Despite one's renunciation, then, a sense of guilt will arise, and this is a great economic disadvantage in the institution of the super-ego, or, one might say, in the formation of conscience. Renunciation of the drives no longer has a fully liberating effect; virtuous abstention is no longer rewarded by the assurance of love; the threat of extemal unhappiness–loss of love, and punishment at the hands of the external authority–has been exchanged for an enduring inner unhappiness, the tension generated by the consciousness of guilt.

These interrelations are at once so complicated and so important that, at the risk of repeating myself, I should like to tackle them from a different angle. The chronological sequence, then, would be as follows: first, renunciation of the drives, resulting from fear of aggression from the external authority (for this is what fear of the loss of love amounts to, love being a protection against this punitive aggression), then the setting up of the internal authority and the renunciation of the drives, resulting from fear of this authority, fear of conscience. In this second situation an evil deed is on a par with an evil intention; hence the consciousness of guilt and the need for punishment. The aggression of the conscience continues the aggression of the external authority. This much is probably already clear, but what room is let for the influence of misfortune–renunciation imposed from without–which reinforces the conscience, for the extraordinary severity of conscience that is found in the best and most tractable persons? We have already explained both these peculiarities of conscience, but we probably still have the impression that our explanations fail to go to the heart of the matter and leave some things unexplained. And here at last an idea comes in that belongs entirely to psychoanalysis and is foreign to our ordinary way of thinking. This idea is such as to enable us to understand why the subject was bound to strike us as so confused and lacking in transparency. For it tells us that although it is at first the conscience (or, rather, the fear that later becomes the conscience) that causes us to renounce the drives, this causal relation is later reversed. Every renunciation of the drives now becomes a dynamic source of conscience; every fresh renunciation reinforces its severity and intolerance; and if we could only bring it more into harmony with what we know about the emergence of conscience, we should be tempted to endorse the paradoxical statement that conscience results from the renunciation of the drives, or that this renunciation (imposed on us from without) creates the conscience, which then demands further renunciation.

The contradiction between this statement and what we have said about the genesis of the conscience is not so very great, and we can see a way of reducing it further. For greater ease of presentation let us take the example of the aggressive drive, and let us assume that we are dealing in every case with the renunciation of aggression. This is naturally to be taken only as a provisional assumption. The effect that the renunciation of the drives has on the conscience is such that any aggression whose satisfaction we forgo is taken over by the super-ego and increases the latter's aggression (towards the ego). This is not consistent with the view that the original aggression of the conscience continues the severity of the external authority and has therefore nothing to do with renunciation. The inconsistency is removed, however, if we assume a different origin for the super-ego's initial stock of aggression. A considerable measure of aggressivity must have developed in the child against the authority that deprives him of his first (and most significant) satisfactions, no matter what kind of deprivations were required. The child is obliged to forgo the satisfaction of this vengeful aggression. He helps himself out of this difficult economic situation by recourse to familiar mechanisms. By means of identification he incorporates this unassailable authority into himself; it now becomes the super-ego and takes over all the aggression that, as a child, one would have liked to exercise against it. The child's ego has to content itself with the sad role of the authority–the father–which has been so degraded. As so often happens, the original situation is reversed. 'If I were the father and you the child, I should treat you badly.' The relation between the super-ego and the ego amounts to the return, distorted by the subject's desire, of the real relations between the once undivided ego and an external object. This is typical too. The essential difference, however, is that the original severity of the super-ego is not–or not to such a great extent–the severity that one has experienced from him [the father] or attributes to him; it represents rather one's own aggression towards him. If this is correct, one can actually maintain that conscience initially arose through the suppression of an aggressive impulse and continues to be reinforced by similar suppressions.

Which of these two views is correct–the earlier one, which we found genetically incontestable, or the newer one, which rounds of the theory in such a welcome fashion? Clearly both are justified, as is shown by the evidence of direct observation. They do not contradict each other; they even coincide at one point, for the vengeful aggression of the child will be determined partly by the amount of punitive aggression he expects from his father. Experience teaches us, however, that the severity of the super-ego that is developed by a child in no way replicates the severity of the treatment he has himself experienced. It appears to be independent of this: even with a very lenient upbringing, a child may develop a very stern conscience. Yet it would also be wrong to exaggerate this independence; it is not difficult to convince oneself that a strict upbringing also has a strong influence on the formation of the child's super-ego. This amounts to saying that, in the formation of the super-ego and the emergence of conscience, innate constitutional factors act in concert with influences from the real environment. This is not at all surprising; indeed, it is the universal aetiological condition for all such processes.*

One can also say that if a child reacts to the first great frustrations of the drives with excessive aggression and a corresponding severity of the super-ego, it is following a phylogenetic model and going beyond the reaction that would be justified today; for the primeval father was certainly terrible and could be credited with the utmost aggression. The differences between the two views of the genesis of conscience are thus reduced still further if one shits one's attention from individual to phylogenetic development. On the other hand, we become aware of a new and significant difference between these two developmental processes. We cannot get away from the assumption that the sense of guilt stems from the Oedipus complex and was acquired when the brothers banded together and killed the father. On that occasion aggression was not suppressed, but acted out–the same aggression whose suppression in the child is supposed to be the source of his sense of guilt. At this point I should not be surprised if the exasperated reader were to exclaim, 'so it's immaterial whether one kills one's father or not–one acquires a sense of guilt in any case! Here one may take leave to voice a few doubts. Either it is not true that the sense of guilt derives from suppressed aggression, or else the whole story of the killing of the father is a fiction, and primeval children did not kill their fathers any more often than children do today. Besides, if it is not a fiction, but a plausible piece of history, it would be a case of something happening that everybody expects to happen–of someone feeling guilty because he really has done something that cannot be justified. And for such cases, which after all occur every day, psychoanalysis still owes us an explanation.'

This is true, and the matter must be remedied. Nor is there any great mystery about it. If one has a sense of guilt after committing a misdeed, and because one has committed it, this feeling ought rather to be called remorse. It relates only to a deed, although of course it presupposes that before the deed there was already a conscience, a readiness to feel guilty. Such remorse can therefore never help us to discover the origin of conscience and of the sense of guilt generally. What usually happens in these everyday cases is that a need generated by a drive acquires sufficient strength to prevail over a relatively weak conscience and achieve satisfaction; once satisfied, the need is naturally reduced, and the previous balance of forces is restored. Psychoanalysis is therefore right to exclude from the present discussion the case of a sense of guilt that stems from remorse, however common it is and however great its practical importance.

But if man's sense of guilt goes back to the killing of the primeval father, this too was a case of 'remorse'. So should we suppose that conscience and a sense of guilt did not exist before the deed was done? Where did the remorse come from in this case? Undoubtedly this case should clear up the mystery of the sense of guilt and put an end to our embarrassments. And I believe it does. This remorse was the result of the primordial emotional ambivalence towards the father: his sons hated him, but they also loved him. Once their hate was satisfied by this act of aggression, their love manifested itself in the remorse they felt for the deed. Through identification with the father, this love established the super-ego, endowed it with the power of the father–as though to punish the act of aggression committed against him–and invented restrictions that would prevent its repetition. And since aggressivity towards the father recurred in succeeding generations, the sense of guilt remained too, and was reinforced whenever aggression was suppressed and transferred to the super-ego. Now, I think, we can at last grasp two things quite clearly: the part played by love in the emergence of conscience and the fateful inevitability of the sense of guilt. Whether one has killed one's father or refrained from doing so is not really decisive; in either case one is bound to feel guilty, for the sense of guilt is the expression of the conflict of ambivalence, the unending struggle between Eros and the destructive drive, the death drive. This conflict is fanned as soon as people are faced with the task of living together. So long as the family is the only form of communal life, the conflict is bound to express itself in the Oedipus complex, to establish the conscience and to create the primordial sense of guilt. When an attempt is made to extend the community, the conflict is continued in forms that depend on the past; it is reinforced, and leads to an increased sense of guilt. Because civilization obeys an internal erotic impulse that requires it to unite human beings in a tightly knit mass, it can achieve this goal only by constantly reinforcing the sense of guilt. What began in relation to the father is brought to fruition in relation to the mass. If civilization is the necessary trend of development that leads from the family to humanity as a whole, it follows that the intensification of the sense of guilt, perhaps to a degree that the individual finds hard to endure, is indissolubly linked with it, as a consequence of the innate conflict of ambivalence, of the perpetual contention between love and the death-wish. One is reminded of the poet's poignant indictment of the 'heavenly powers':

Ihr führt ins Leben uns hinein,

Ihr lasst den Armen schuldig werden,

Dann überlasst iht ihn der Pein,

Denn jede Schuld rächt sich auf Erden.

[You lead us into life, you let the poor man become guilty, then you deliver him to punishment, for all guilt is avenged on earth.]

And one may well breathe a sigh of relief when one recognizes that it is nevertheless given to a few human beings to produce the most profound insights, more or less effortlessly, from the maelstrom of their own feelings, while we others constantly have to grope our way forward through agonizing insecurity.

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 Any perceptive person will understand and take into account the fact that the present synopsis makes sharp distinctions where the real transitions are more gradual, that it is not just a question of the existence of the super-ego, but of its relative strength and its sphere of influence. After all, what has so far been said about conscience and guilt is generally known and hardly disputed.

 The part played by misfortune in the promotion of morality is the subject of a delightful short story by Mark Twain, The first melon I ever stole. This first melon chanced to be unripe. I heard Mark Twain read the story himself. After reading out the title he stopped and asked himself: 'Was it the first?' That said it all: the first was not the only one.

 In Psychoanalyse der Gesamtpers8nlichkeit (1927) Franz Alexander has accurately assessed the two main types of pathogenic methods of upbringing, over-strictness and over-indulgence, in connection with Aichhorn's study of delinquency. The 'excessively soft and indulgent' father will cause a child to form an excessively severe super-ego, because the child, influenced by the love it receives, has no other way of dealing with its aggression than by turning it inwards. In the delinquent who has been brought up without love there is no tension between the ego and the super-ego: all his aggression can be directed outwards. Hence, if one disregards any constitutional factor that may be presumed to exist, one can say that a strict conscience arises from the interplay of two influences on a person's life: the frustration of the drives, which unleashes aggression, and the experience of being loved, which turns this aggression inwards and transfers it to the super-ego.

8

Having reached the end of a road like the present one, the author must beg his readers' forgiveness for not being a more skilful guide and for not sparing them a number of dreary stretches and tiresome detours. It can undoubtedly be done better. I will now try, rather late in the day, to make some amends.

In the first place, I suspect, the readers will have the impression that the discussions of the sense of guilt distort the framework of this essay, in that they take up too much space and push the rest of the content, with which they are not always closely related, to one side. This may have disturbed the structure of the study, but accords entirely with its intention, which is to present the sense of guilt as the most important problem in the development of civilization and to show how the price we pay for cultural progress is a loss of happiness, arising from a heightened sense of guilt.*

Whatever still seems strange about this proposition, the final conclusion of our study, can probably be traced back to the quite peculiar relationship, which still is far from understood, between the sense of guilt and our consciousness. In the common instances of remorse that we regard as normal, the sense of guilt makes itself clearly perceptible to the consciousness; indeed, we often speak of a 'consciousness of guilt' instead of a 'sense of guilt'. From the study of neuroses, to which, after all, we owe the most valuable pointers to an understanding of what is normal, a number of contradictions emerge. In one of these disorders, obsessional neurosis, the sense of guilt forces itself stridently on the consciousness, dominating both the clinical picture and the patient's life, and allowing hardly anything else to appear beside it. In most other forms of neurosis, however, it remains quite unconscious, though the effects it produces are not for that reason any less important. Patients do not believe us when we tell them they have an 'unconscious sense of guilt', and so, to make ourselves to some extent intelligible, we speak of an unconscious need for punishment, in which the sense of guilt expresses itself. How ever, its connection with one form of neurosis should not be overstated, for even in cases of obsessional neurosis there are some types of patient who are unaware of their sense of guilt, or who experience it only as a tormenting malaise, a kind of anxiety, when they are prevented from carrying out certain actions. One day we should be able to understand these things, but at present we cannot. At this point it might be useful to remark that the sense of guilt is fundamentally nothing other than a topical variety of anxiety; in its later phases it merges completely with fear of the super-ego. In the case of anxiety too we find the same extraordinary variations in its relation to consciousness. It is present in some way behind all the symptoms, though sometimes it seizes control of the whole of the consciousness, while at other times it is completely hidden, so that we have to speak of an unconscious anxiety or–if we wish to retain a clear psychological conscience, anxiety being initially only a feeling–of 'possibilities of anxiety'. Hence, it is quite conceivable that even the sense of guilt engendered by civilization is not recognized as such, but remains for the most part unconscious, or manifests itself as an unease, a discontent, for which other motivations are sought. The religions, at least, have never ignored the part that a sense of guilt plays in civilization. Moreover–a point I failed to appreciate earlier–they claim to redeem humanity from this sense of guilt, which they call sin. From the way in which this redemption is achieved in Christianity–through the sacrificial death of one man, who thereby takes upon himself the guilt shared by all–we drew an inference as to what may have been the original occasion for our acquiring this primordial guilt, which also marked the beginning of civilization.

It cannot be very important, though it may not be entirely superfluous, to elucidate the meanings of a few terms such as 'super-ego' , 'conscience' , 'sense of guilt' , 'need for punishment' and 'remorse' , which may often have been used too loosely and interchangeably. They all apply to the same relationship, while denoting different aspects of it. The super-ego is an authority that we postulate, and conscience a function that we ascribe to it, along with others–this function being to supervise and assess the actions and intentions of the ego, to exercise a kind of censorship. The sense of guilt, the harshness of the super-ego, is thus identical with the severity of the conscience; it is the ego's perception of being supervised in this way, its assessment of the tension between its own strivings and the claims of the super-ego. Fear of this critical authority–a fear that underlies the whole relationship and amounts to a need for punishment–is the manifestation of a drive on the part of the ego, which has become masochistic under the influence of the sadistic super-ego and devotes a portion of its inherent drive for internal destruction to establishing an erotic bond with the super-ego. One should not speak of conscience until the super-ego can be shown to exist. As for the sense of guilt, one has to admit that it predates the superego, and therefore the conscience. At this early stage it is a direct manifestation of the fear of external authority, an acknowledgement of the tension between the ego and this authority, a direct derivative of the conflict between the need for its love and the urge for the satisfaction of the drives, the inhibiting of which generates aggressivity. The superimposition of the two layers of the sense of guilt–the one due to fear of the external authority, the other to fear of the intemal authority–has greatly hampered our understanding of the relations that the conscience enters into. Remorse is a general term for the reaction of the ego in cases that involve a sense of guilt; it contains, in largely unaltered form, the emotional material of the anxiety that is at work behind the sense of guilt. It is itself a punishment and may involve the need for punishment. Thus it too may pre-date conscience.

Nor can there be any harm in reviewing the contradictions that have temporarily confused us in the course of our investigation. At one point it was said that the sense of guilt resulted from an act of aggression that had not been carried out, while at another–and precisely at its historical inception, the killing of the father–it was said to derive from one that had been. We managed to find a way out of this difficulty. With the institution of the internal authority, the super-ego, the situation changed radically. Before this, the sense of guilt had been identical with remorse, a term that should properly be reserved for the reaction that follows the acting out of aggression. After this, thanks to the omniscient super-ego, the distinction between intended and fulfilled aggression lost its force. A sense of guilt might now result not only from a violent deed that was actually performed–as everyone knows–but also from one that was merely intended–as psychoanalysis has discovered. Despite the new psychological situation, the conflict of ambivalence between the two primal drives still produces the same effect. There is an obvious temptation to seek here the solution of the problem posed by the varying relation of the sense of guilt to consciousness. A sense of guilt that arises from remorse for an evil deed should always be conscious, whereas one that is prompted by the perception of an evil impulse might remain unconscious. Yet it is not as simple as that: obsessional neurosis emphatically contradicts this view. The second contradiction was that, according to one view, the aggressive energy that we ascribe to the super-ego merely perpetuates the punitive energy of the external authority and preserves it in the mind, whereas according to another view it is one's own unused aggression, directed against this inhibiting authority. The former view seems to accord more with the history, the latter more with the theory of the sense of guilt. Detailed consideration has succeeded almost too well in resolving this apparently irreconcilable contradiction; what remains as the essential common factor is that both involve internalized aggression. Again, clinical observation actually allows us to distinguish between the two sources of aggression that we ascribe to the super-ego, but in any given case either the one or the other may produce the stronger effect, though as a rule they act in concert.

This is, I think, an appropriate place at which to enter a serious plea for a view whose provisional acceptance we recommended a short while back. In the latest analytic literature we find a predilection for the view that the sense of guilt is, or may be, intensified by any kind of frustration–if satisfaction of any drive is thwarted. I think we gain a substantial theoretical simplification if we take this to apply only to the aggressive drives. Little will be found to conflict with this assumption. For how are we to explain, dynamically and economically, a heightening of the sense of guilt that appears when there is an unsatisfied erotic demand? This seems possible, after all, only if we presume a circuitous route–if the prevention of erotic satisfaction provokes aggressivity towards whoever interferes with it, and if this aggressivity then has to be suppressed. But then only the aggression is converted into a sense of guilt by being suppressed and transferred to the super-ego. I am convinced that we shall be able to represent many processes more simply and transparently if the findings of psychoanalysis relating to the origin of the sense of guilt are restricted to the aggressive drives. In this case, examination of the clinical material does not yield an unambiguous answer: in accordance with our hypothesis, the two kinds of drive almost never appear in their pure form, mutually isolated. However, a study of extreme cases will no doubt point in the direction I anticipate. It is tempting to derive an initial advantage from this more restricted view by applying it to the process of repression. As we have discovered, the symptoms of neuroses are essentially substitutive satisfactions for unfulfilled sexual desires. In our analytic work we have been surprised to find that perhaps every neurosis conceals a certain measure of unconscious guilt, and this in turn intensifies the symptoms by using them as a punishment. It now seems plausible to formulate the following proposition: when a drive is repressed, its libidinal elements are converted into symptoms and its aggressive components into a sense of guilt. Even if this thesis only approximates to the truth, it still merits our interest.

Some readers may feel that they have heard the formula of the struggle between Eros and the death drive too often. It was meant to characterize both the cultural process undergone by humanity and the development undergone by the individual; moreover, it was said to have revealed the secret of organic life in general. It seems imperative to investigate how these three processes relate to one another. Now, the recurrence of the formula is justified as soon as one considers that the development of human civilization and the development of the individual are both vital processes and must there fore partake of the nature of life in the most general sense. On the other hand, the very universality of this feature means that proof of its presence is of no help in differentiating these processes, unless it is narrowed down by particular conditions. Hence, we can be content only with the statement that the process of civilization is a special modification of the life process that is under gone by the latter under the influence of a task that is set by Eros at the instigation of Ananke (the exigency of reality)–the task of uniting discrete individuals in a community bound together by libidinal ties. However, if we focus our attention on the relation between the civilization of mankind and the development or upbringing of the individual, we shall conclude, without much hesitation, that the two processes are very similar in kind, if not indeed one and the same process, as it affects different kinds of object. Human civilization naturally belongs to a higher order of abstraction than the development of the individual; it is therefore harder to apprehend in concrete terms, and the search for analogies should not be compulsively pursued to excess. Yet in view of the similarity of the aims–the one being to create a unified mass consisting of many individuals, the other to integrate the individual into such a mass–the similarity of the means used in the two processes and the similarity of the resultant phenomena will come as no surprise. There is one distinction between the two processes that is of such extraordinary significance that it must not remain unmentioned any longer. In the development of the individual, the programme of the pleasure principle, aimed at the attainment of happiness, remains paramount. Integration into a community, or adaptation to it, seems a scarcely avoidable condition; it has to be met if the goal of happiness is to be reached. Perhaps it would be better if this were possible without such a condition. In other words, the development of the individual seems to be a product of the interaction of two trends–the striving for happiness, which we commonly call 'egoistic', and the striving for fellowship within the community, which we call 'altruistic'. Neither term goes much below the surface. In the development of the individual, as we have said, the emphasis falls mostly on the egoistic striving for happiness, while the other process, which we may call 'cultural', is usually content with a restrictive role. In the process of civilization things are different: the aim of forming a unified whole out of individual human beings is all-important. True, the aim of happiness is still present, but it is pushed into the background; it is almost as though the creation of a great human community would be most successful if there were no need for concern with individual happiness. There may thus be particular features in the development of the individual that are not matched in the process of civilization; the former need coincide with the latter only in so far as its aim is to incorporate the individual into the community.

Just as the planet still circles round its sun, yet at the same time rotates on its own axis, so the individual partakes in the development of humanity while making his own way through life. To our dull gaze, however, the play of forces in the heavens seems frozen in a changeless order, while in the field of organic life we can still see how the forces contend with one another, and how the conflict yields ever-changing results. In the same way the two strivings–for individual happiness and for human fellowship–have to contend with each other in every individual; so too the processes of individual and cultural development are bound to come into conflict and dispute each other's territory. But this struggle between the individual and society does not derive from the no doubt irreconcilable antagonism of the primal drives, Eros and death; it indicates a conflict in the economy of the libido, which may be compared with the conflict regarding the distribution of the libido between the ego and its objects. It admits of an eventual accommodation within the individual, such as we may hope for in the future of civilization, however oppressive it may be at present in the life of the individual.

The analogy between the development of civilization and that of the individual can be significantly extended. One can justifiably maintain that the community too evolves a super-ego and that the development of civilization takes place under its influence. Anyone who is conversant with different civilizations may find it tempting to pursue this equation in detail. I will confine myself to drawing attention to a few striking points. The super-ego of a cultural epoch has an origin not unlike that of the individual; it rests upon the impression let behind by the personalities of great leaders, people who were endowed with immense spiritual or intellectual power or in whom some human striving found its strongest and purest, and hence often most one-sided, expression. In many cases the analogy goes even further, in that in their lifetime these figures were quite often, though not always, mocked and abused by others, or even cruelly done to death–just as indeed the primeval father did not attain divinity until long after he was done to death. The most poignant example of this fateful link is the figure of Jesus Christ–unless this figure is mythological and was called into being on the basis of an obscure memory of that primeval event. A further point of agreement is that both the cultural and the individual super-ego make stern ideal demands, and that failure to meet these demands is punished by 'fear of conscience'. Here, indeed, we encounter a curious phenomenon: the relevant mental processes, when seen in the mass, are more familiar, more accessible to our consciousness than they can ever be in the individual. In the individual only the aggression of the super-ego makes itself clearly heard, when tension arises, in the form of reproaches, while the demands themselves often remain unconscious in the background. When brought fully into consciousness, they are seen to coincide with the precepts of the current cultural super-ego. At this point there seems to be a regular cohesion, as it were, between the cultural development of the mass and the personal development of the individual. Some manifestations and properties of the super-ego can thus be recognized more easily by its behaviour in the cultural community than by its behaviour in the individual.

After developing its ideals, the cultural super-ego sets up its demands. Among these, the demands concerned with the mutual relations of human beings are collectively known as ethics. A high value has always been placed on ethics, as though it were expected to perform exceptionally important services. And indeed it does address itself to the subject that is easily recognized as the sorest point in any civilization. Ethics is thus to be viewed as an attempt at therapy, an endeavour to achieve, through a precept of the super-ego, what has not so far been achievable through other cultural activities. As we know, the problem is how to remove the greatest obstacle to civilization, the constitutional propensity of human beings to mutual aggression, and for this very reason we have a special interest in what is probably the most recent commandment of the cultural super-ego: 'Love thy neighbour as thyself'. The study and treatment of neuroses lead us to level two reproaches against the individual super-ego: in the severity of its precepts and prohibitions it shows too little concern for the happiness of the ego, in that it fails to take sufficient account of the forces that oppose compliance with them, the instinctual strength of the id, and the difficulties that prevail in the real environment. For therapeutic purposes we are therefore often obliged to oppose the super-ego and attempt to lower its demands. We can make quite similar objections to the ethical demands of the cultural super-ego. This too is insufficiently concerned with the facts of man's psychical constitution; it issues a commandment without asking whether it can be obeyed. It assumes that it is psychologically possible for the human ego to do whatever is required of it, that the ego has absolute control over the id. This is an error. Even in people who are called normal, control of the id cannot be increased beyond certain limits. To demand more is to provoke the individual to rebellion or neurosis, or to make him unhappy. The commandment 'Love thy neighbour as thyself' is the strongest defence against human aggression and an excellent example of the unpsychological manner in which the cultural super-ego proceeds. It is impossible to keep this commandment; such a huge inflation of love can only lower its value, not remove the problem. Civilization neglects all this; it reminds us only that the harder it is to comply with a precept, the more merit there is in compliance. Yet in today's civilization, whoever adheres to such a precept puts himself at a disadvantage in relation to all who lout it. How potent an obstacle to civilization aggression must be if the defence against it can cause as much unhappiness as the aggression itself! In this situation, what we call natural ethics has nothing to offer but the narcissistic satisfaction of being able to think one is better than others. This is where ethics based on religion enters the scene with its promises of a better life hereafter. I am inclined to think that, for as long as virtue goes unrewarded here below, ethics will preach in vain. I have no doubt, too, that a real change in people's relations to property will be of more help here than any ethical commandment; yet the recognition of this fact among socialists has been obscured and made impracticable by a new idealistic misreading of human nature.

An approach that tries to trace the role of a super-ego in the phenomena of cultural development seems to me to promise further discoveries. I must hasten to a close, but there is still one question I can hardly avoid. If the development of civilization so much resembles that of the individual and operates with the same means, is one not entitled to proffer the diagnosis that some civilizations or cultural epochs–possibly the whole of humanity–have become 'neurotic' under the influence of cultural strivings? The analytic dissection of these neuroses might be followed up by suggestions for therapy that would merit great interest. I could not say that such an attempt to apply psychoanalysis to the cultural community would be absurd or doomed to futility. But one would have to be very cautious, remembering that one was dealing only with analogies, and that with concepts, as with human beings, it is dangerous to wrench them out of the sphere in which they originated and have evolved. Moreover, the diagnosis of communal neuroses comes up against a special difficulty: in the individual neurosis the first clue we have is the contrast between the patient and his supposedly normal environment. When it comes to a mass of individuals, all affected by the same condition, no such background is present; it would have to be borrowed from elsewhere. And as for the therapeutic application of the knowledge one obtained, of what use would even the most apposite analysis orasocial neurosis be, if no one had the authority to force the mass to undergo treatment? Yet despite all these difficulties we may be fairly sure that one day somebody will venture upon such a pathological study of cultural communities.

For a variety of reasons I have no wish whatever to offer an evaluation of human civilization. I have been careful to refrain from the enthusiastic prejudice that sees our civilization as the most precious thing we possess or can acquire, and believes that its path will necessarily lead us to heights of perfection hitherto undreamt of. I can at least listen, without bridling, to the critic who thinks that, considering the goals of cultural endeavour and the means it employs, one is bound to conclude that the whole effort is not worth the trouble and can only result in a state of affairs that the individual is bound to find intolerable. My impartiality is facilitated by my scant knowledge of such matters. There is only one thing that I know for certain: the value judgements of human beings are undoubtedly guided by their desire for happiness and thus amount to an attempt to back up their illusions with arguments. I should understand perfectly if someone were to stress the inevitability of human civilization and maintain, for instance, that the tendency to restrict sexual life, or to promote the humanitarian ideal at the expense of natural selection, were trends that could not be averted or deflected and that it was best to yield to them as if they were naturally ordained. On the other hand, I am familiar with the objection that in the course of human history such strivings, which we consider insurmountable, have often been cast aside and replaced by others. I therefore dare not set myself up as a prophet vis-à-vis my fellow men, and I plead guilty to the reproach that I cannot bring them any consolation, which is fundamentally what they all demand, the wildest revolutionaries no less passionately than the most well-behaved and pious believers.

The fateful question for the human race seems to be whether, and to what extent, the development of its civilization will manage to overcome the disturbance of communal life caused by the human drive for aggression and self-destruction. Perhaps in this context the present age is worthy of special interest. Human beings have made such strides in controlling the forces of nature that, with the help of these forces, they will have no difficulty in exterminating one another, down to the last man. They know this, and it is this knowledge that accounts for much of their present disquiet, unhappiness and anxiety. And now it is to be expected that the other of the two 'heavenly powers', immortal Eros, will try to assert himself in the struggle with his equally immortal adversary. But who can foresee the outcome?

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 'Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all…' That a modem upbringing conceals from the young person the role that sexuality will play in his life is not the only criticism that must be levelled against it. Another of its sins is that it does not prepare him for the aggression of which he is destined to be the object. To send the young out into life with such a false psychological orientation is like equipping people who are setting out on a polar expedition with summer clothes and maps of the North Italian lakes. This reveals a certain misuse of ethical demands. The severity of these would do little harm if the educators said, 'This is how people ought to be if they are to be happy and make others happy, but one must reckon with their not being like this.' Instead, the young person is led to believe that everyone else complies with these ethical precepts and is therefore virtuous. This is the basis of the requirement that he too should become virtuous.