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-'\Civilization
By Sigmund Freud
AN. AUTOUOGI.APHICAL S11JDY
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NEW IN'BODUCfORy LECTtJaES ON PSYCIIOANALYSJS·
ON DREAMS
AN Otrn.INE OP PSYCHOANALYSIS
~ ftOBUM OJ' ANXIETY
THE QUESTION OP LAY ANALYSIS
JOKEs AND THEJR U:LA110N TO THE UNCONSCIOUS.
TOn:M AND TABOO
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CIVlUZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
SIGM.UND FREUD·
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CENTIIAL L-AllY
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CONTENTS
. Editor's lntrod.uction •
Civili~~ion
and ita Discontenta
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·. :.Bi~liography and Author Index
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Cepero Index
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COPYRIGHT
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FIRST AMEJUCAN EDITION I
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Library of Congress Catalog Card No. .61·••~o
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P.IUNTED IN THE UN"-» JrATU OF . AMUJCA
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· EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
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PAS UNBEHAGEN IN "DER KUL'nJR
(a). ~E~ El>moNs:
1930· Vienna: International~r Psychoanalytisch~r · V~rlag. •·..
··Ppe .136.
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1931 · 2nd·ed•. (Reprint of bt ed., with $Orne additions.) ·
1934 G.S:, ll, :29-114. ·
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1948 G.W., 14,· 421..:. 506..
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~SLATION:
Civilita#tm and iLt Discontents
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1930 London:. Hogarth Press·and Institute ofP~ho-Aa)alyiUt; : '
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_New York: Cape and Smith. Pp. 144. (Tr. Joaj :·::;.~:. \ \:,;·
. RiViere.)
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is based on that published
in ·1930r
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'·iiightly inil.dvanee of the rest of the.book inP;ryc/Jotmal. &'111fpnf,- :·
t (4)., .Novtmber~December, J929. The fifth chapter ~pPc~~d .
~paratdy · in tht' neX.t issue of the l$ame periodi~al, l ·etJ-, .
J..uary..Febt\lary, 1930. Two or three extta foo~o~· were-;· ·.
~uded· i'- the edition of 1931 and a new final sentence was .'·;.
~ed .to· the· work. None of
additi~.appeared in the .
..,earlier.vemon of the English.translation.
- . .. : .Freud ~~&Di$hed ~· Futu'"' Dj a~~ll~n in the au~umn
· .~~27. Du;r:mg. th.e folloWin~~~. years, chi~y, no dou~~' ·. on .,.
. ;. otJDt · of his .~ness, he -,;roouced very little. But ~ . tbr:
·l !mmer of 1929 he began writinga,nother book, once more on:·.• "-·
;;f:~gical subject. The first draft was finished by ~e end of
J..y; t:l\e bQok was sent to the printm early in Novem~r
' ·: ··~ was ~tually pilblished before the tlid of the year; tho\.igh ·•
·,
~carried- the date '1930' on its title..pag~ (Jones, 1957, 157~). ,,
.· i The ~Oiiginal title chosen fOr it by Freud was 'Df!.S.u,_,iiii~ ill· .. ·· ·_
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. let- Kuhu.->.:_('Unhapp.iqes$ in Civiliza~on~}; . but '.Unglfi~, ~
later altUed- ~ 'Udeliatm'-a word for which it w.S·diflkm~--
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CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
choose an English equivalent, though the French 'malaise'
cRat Man' analysis (1909d}, Standard Ed., 10, 247-8 and a stil! .
. shorter ·one . in the second paper on the psychology· of love
(19i2d), ibid., 11, 189. In particular, no analysis of_~e deeper,
internal origins of civilization is to be found in what a by far the
longest of Freud's earlier discussions of the subject,1 his· paper
on ' "Civilized, Sexual Morality and Modem Nervous Illness,
( 1908d)," which gives the impression o~ the restrictions of
civilization as something imposed from Wlthout.
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But indeed no clear evaluation of the part played in these
restrictions by internal and external influences and of their
reciprocal effects was possible till Freud's investigations of ego.
psychology had led h~m .tc~ his ~ypoth~ses of.the supe~-ego an~
its origin from the mdiv1dual s earliest object·relations. It IS
because. of this that such a large part of the present work
(esp~cially jn Chapters VII and VIII) is concerned with the
fur~er exploration and clarification of the na~re,~f the. sense
of guilt, and that Freud (on p. 81) declares h1s mtenti?n to
represent the sense of guilt as the most important problem m th~
development of civilization'. And this, in tum, is t~e groundfor
the second major side-issue of this work (though ne1ther of them.
is in fact a side-issue).-:.the destructive instinct.
~~~t ~a;~ seiVed. Fre~d suggested 'Man's Discomfort in
Cavrl~.tatum m a letter to his translator, Mrs. Riviere; but it was
~e herself who found the ideal. solution of the. difficulty in the
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title that was finally adopted.
The main theme of the book-the irremediable antagoniSm
between the demands of instinct and the restrictions of civilization. ma~ be ~~ed back to some of Freud•s very earliest
psychologzcal wntmgs. Thus, on May 3.1, 1897, he wrote to
Fliess that 'incest is anti-social and civilization. consists in a
progressive ~enunciation of it, (Freud, 1950a, Draft N); ahd a
year later, m a paper. on 'Sexuality in the Aetiology.. of the
~e~~ose.s' (1898a),, he wrote that 'we may justly hold our
ClVllization responSible for the spread of neurasthenia'. Never- ·
tl_leless, in his early writings Freud does not seem to have
regarded repression as being wholly due to external social
~uences~ ~ough in his TJ.ee Essqys ( 1905d) he spoke of 'the
mverse relation holding between civilization and the free
development of sexuality' (Standard Ed., 7, 242), elsewhere in .
the same work he had the following comment to make on the
da~ against the sex~al instinct that emerge during the latency ·
penod: 'One gets an Impression from civilized children that the
conJtruction of these dams is a product of esiucation and no
doubt educa~on has .much to do with it. But in re:Wty this
devel~pment u o~arucally dete~ed and fixed by heredity,
and 1t can occasionally occur Wlthout any help at alJ·from
education.' (Ibid., 177-8.)
The n?~~n o~ there bei~g an 'or~anic repression' paving the
way to CIV1lizat10n-.a ~otion that u expanded in the two long
footnotes at the begmnmg and end ofChapter IV (pp. 46f. and
52ft: below)-goes back to the same early period. In a letter to
Fliess of November 14, 1897, Freud wrote that he had often
. suspeeted 'that something organic played a part in repression'
(Freud, 1950a,: Letter 75). He went on, in preciaely·the sense of .
these footnotes, to suggest the importance as facton in repression .
of the· adoptio11 of an upright carriage and the replacement of
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smell by sight as the dominant sense. A still earlier hint at the ·.··
same idea occurs in a letter of January 11, f897 (ibid., Letter - ·
55). In Freud's published writings the only mentions of these . .
ideas ·b~ the present one seem to be a Short passage in th~
7
.The history of Freud's views on ihe aggressive·or destructi.ve ·
instinct is a complicated one and can only be summ~Y.
indicated here. Throughout his earlier writingS the context m
which he viewed it predominantly was that of sadism. His first .
lengthy discussions of this were in the Three Essays on tlu Theory
ofSexuality (1905d), w~ere_it appeare? as op.e of~e 'co~ponent
instincts' of the sexualmstmct. Thus , he wrote m Section 2 (B}
of the first essay, 'sadism would correspond to a~ aggressive
component of the sexual instinct which has becomemdepend~nt
and exaggerated and, by displacement, has usurped the leading
position' (Standard Ed., 7, 158) ..Nev~rtheless, later OJ), in Section
4 of the second essay, the ong~nal mdependence of the aggressive impuises was recognized: 'It may ~ assu~ed tha~ the
impulses of cruelty arise from sources w~ ~re ~ fact .lilde•
pendent ofsexuality, but may become umted With 1t at an early
1 The subject is touched on in ~ny other workS, among ~~ch may
be mentioned a. paper on 'The ResiStances to Psycho-An~ (192~),
$11Jndard Ed., 19,219 ff., the'first pages of Tlu Fuf#rtofan nlant:m {l927c),
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and the last paragraplu of Why War? (1933b).
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CIVILIZATION_ AND ITS DISCONTE.N TS
stage' (ibid., 193.ra.). TheUidepeadent aourca bidicated were to
be trac~d tO !}le .~preservative instincts.
This pasaage was
:Utered m the edmon of 1915, where it was stated that 'the
lmpulse of c~elty ~rises. from the ~stinct _for nwtery' and the :
phrase abo~t
being 'I?depen4ent of Sex\lalicy' was Oinitted. _. ··.
But ~adj. m 1909, _!Jl _the · colirse of combating ·~t's
the~r,aeJr Pr:e~~ bad made -~ mucll more sweeping: prOnoUnce- ·
~t. ~-~ -~tiOn Il of the third chapter-of th~. 'Little H~~, cue
~ry,, H:~b), Freud ~ote: 't cannot bring .myselfto assume
the.~~c~ of a speaal aggressive instinct alongiide ot the
-~ar ll~Stin~ of self-,pr~~rvation and of sex, · and on an
equal fqoting With them (1b1d., 10, 140).1 The reluctance to
~t an aggressive instinct independent of the libidO was
BIIDited by the·hypOthesis of narcissism. Impulaea of aggressiveDell, and of ha~ ~· _had from_~e first ·aeemed to belong to
the self:.preaervative mstinct, and, smce this was now subsumed
~der ~ libido, no independent aggressive instinct was called .
this was so .in _spite of the bipolarity of object...relations,_· ·
. _,Qt~~ frequent a~tUFeS oflove and hate, aild of the ootn:PI~ .
cngm of hate Itself. (See 'lnstinca and their . Vi~tuaei•
(1915&), S14nhd Ed., 14, 138-9.) It was not until Freud,s .
hypoth~~- or. a 'death. instinct, that a trUly in<lependent ..
aggresslve ms~ct came mto view in Beyo.ratl 1M Plu.$.we Prinap/8
~1?20g). (See, m particular, Chapter VI, iJ;rid., 18, 5~-5~) But
•t u ~be rem~ked that even there, and in Freud's later Writings
(~ ~ce, ID Cb~ter IV ~ 1M Eg_, aM tlu 14), the aggreaSJ.Vf lDitinct was still something secondary, derived &oni the
pnl!lary self..destructive death instinct. This 1. s-till trUe of ~ ..
prde~t·:~rk,_ evc;n tho~h hc:re the stress is much more upon
the death lllB~t s manifestations outwartls; and it is also true of
the further ~tissions of the problem in the later part of Lecture
xx~u ~r ~e ..New lntroduttury Letturt$ (1933a).
at' more
. than C);ne_pom~ 1n the posth~ously publiiJhed Oiltli~ qfPvclw- ··
. ~ (194()cs· [1~38J). It IS neverthelesa_temptina tO quo~ ·
. a couple.of sentences &om a letter written by Freud._ o* May 2'G _- •
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J~t. Sin~ the time at which 1.t was~ ~~have m}'lelf', writes · ·
Freud; been obliged to UICit the C'Xllteilce of -.n '~ve instinct"
~.tit.*. di&re::t, from Adler•s. I prefer to~ it~ ·~de.ttructive•• 0 ; _:
. d~tb ~ • ~era had in fact been IDQte in· the aature of an 1
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EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
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1937, w·Princess Marie Bonaparte,1 in which he appears to be
· hinting at a greater original independence of external destructiveness: 'The turniri:g inwards of
aggressive instinct is of '
course the counterpart to the turning outwards of the libido
when it passes over from the ego to objects. We should have a
neat schematic picture if we supposed that ·originally, at the
beginning of life, all Jibido was directed to the inside and all
aggressiveness to the outside, and that in the course of life this
gradually altered. But perhaps this may not be correct.' It is
only fair to add that in his next letter Freud wrote; 'I beg you
not to set too much value on my remarks about the destru'ctive
instinct. They were only made at random and would have to be
carefully thought over before being published. Moreover there
is little that is new in them.'
the
It will thus be obvious that Civilization and its DiscontentS is a
work whose interest ranges far beyond sociology.
Comiderable portions of the earlier (1930) translation of this
work were included in Rickman's Civilization-, War and Detzth:
Selections from Three Works by Sigmund Freud (19,39, 26-81).
1 She has very kindly allowed us to reproduce it here. The whole
passage will also be found (in a different translation) in Appendix A
(No. 33) ofEmestJones's biography (Jones, 1957, 494). The topic had
been considered by Freud in Section VI of the paper, written shortly
before this le~ter, on 'Analysis, Terminable and Interminable' (1937c).
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of measurement-that they Jc:ek p(.wer., ·
success ~ -~alth for thenudves and.· admire~ in· ~, _- ·
and that they und~restimate what is of true value in -~~ -A.q(f·
yet, in_mah'ng any genera~ judgement·of this sort, w~· -ate. ~­
danger o(fo~tting' how variegated the hurpan world ~d its
mental life are;. There are a few men from whom their COD•
temporariea do not withhold admiration, although their great~
ness. rests on attributes and achievements which are com~~l' -. ,_,. ;,;,.' ..•
foreign to the aims and ideals of the. m~tude. One _·-*U.dt·-):-: , :. · .
easily be inclined to· suppose that it is after aD 6illy a mmoq~;,, ·. . .
which appreciates these great men, while the large majorifi··· . ·
cares oothing for them. But things are probably not as::!
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as ~t, ~ to the discrepancies between people's t~ · _··· ·
ana their a,etio~s,
to the diversity of their wishful,im
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Ol)e of these exceptional few- calls himself my friend in. ... ·
lett~ ~_ iflt. I had 8ent him my amall ~k that treats ~~ •.
a8 -an .illUsion, 1 ~d he answered . t~t he entirely agrmf_~-l.l -· · ·
myj~dgement upon religion, but tb;at he was 8orry I ~ad;:... .
pi'opefly appreciated the true source of religious sentim~-- ._
Thia, he saY,,. consists in a peculiar feeling, which he hi~ia ' . .·· ..
never without, whiCh he finds confirmed by many others;.and
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which he lllay s\JppOse is present in millions of people. lt is • '
feeling which he would like to can·~ sensation of cetetnity',.
a Ceding as Of something limitless, :unbounded-as it weie; .
coceanic'. This fe~, he adds; is a , pu~ly subjettive ~~ · ooi . .
an ~tide _offaitb; it brings with it no assurance of pe_
rsonal
i~tf', but it the source of the religious energy which il
seized upon .by ,the :various Churches · and religious ~f!IIDa, · .
directed by them into particular channels, and doubt!eas al8io' ,. ..
cxhaulted by them. One may, he ~~- rightly call · ~ .
religious the gfO\tnd of this oceanic. feeling .alone;- even it'
one tej·e cu every belief
every illtU.i~. .
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The vie'" a~ by the friend wJM>m 1 JO m~~ h()D()ui~
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CIVILIZATION AND ITS DIS.CONTENTS
and who himself once praised the magic of illu~on in a poem, 1
caused me no small difficulty. I cannot discover this 'oceanic' ·
feeling in myself. It is not easy to deal scientifically with feelings.
One can attempt to describe their physiological signs. Where
this is not possible- and I am afraid that the oceanic feeling too
will defy this kind of characterization-nothing. remains but to
fall .back on the ideational content which is most readily
associaied with the feeling. If I have understood ·iny friend
rightfY, he means the same thing by it as the consolation offered
by art original and somewhat eccentric dramatist .to his hero
who is facing a self-inflicted death. 'We cannot fall out of this
world~' • That is to say, it is a feeling of an indissoluble bond, of
being one with the external world as a whole. I may remark
that to me this seems something rather in the nature of an ·
intellectua1 perception, which is not, it is true, without· an
accompanying feeling-tone, but only such as would be present
with any other act of thought of equal range. From my own
eXperience 'I could not convince myself of the primary nature of
~ch a feeling. But this gives me no right to deny that it does in ·
fact occur in other people. The only question. is whether it is
being correctly interpreted and whether it ought to be regarded
.· as the fons et origo of the whole need for religion.
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I have nothing to suggest which could have a decisive influence on the solution of this problem. The idea of men~a
receiving an intimation of thdr connection with the ·world
around them through an immediate fe~ling which is: fu>m the
outset directed to that purpose sounds so strange and fits in so
badly with the fabric of our psychology that one is justified in
, attempting to discover a psycho-analytic-that is, a geneticexplanation of such a feeling. The following line of thought
suggests itself. Normally, there is nothing of which we are more
certain than the feeling of our se~ of our own ego. 3 This ego
[Footnote ad,Ud 1931 :] Liluli [1919].- since the pub~ication of
his two boob La vie de Ra17141crishna [1929] and La 1M d. Viuek4nanda
(1930), I need no longer hide the fact that the friend spo~en of in the .
text·is Romain Rolland. [Romain Rolland had written to Freud about
. the 'oceanic feeling' in a letter of December 5, 1~27, very soon after the
publication of The Future of an Illusron.]
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'Christian Dietrich Grabbe [1801-36], H~ihol: :Ja, aus der Welt
werden Wir nicht fallen. Wir sind einmaJ darin.' ['lndced, we shall nQt
fall out of this world. We are in it once and for all.']
1
[~ remarks on Freud's use of the terina 5eg<>' and 'self' will be
1
:"~:: ci~~iLIZATION. AND t-Ts
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apP.e~ ~ .orncthing auto®~us and unitary, ~k¥ ~­
distiru;jy:·ft-9m .everything else.. .That suc}l .~ ap~~ance. •
decqjjivo; and· that on dte contrary the··~go· ~ confiDu.ed. ~~ .
w~: l,;itheu~ any sharp dellinitation, l?tQ . an unco~o~ .
menW ·entitY which we designate as the .id and for ·wWch 1t · .
setve!.;.as_a.ki:Ddoff~ade---this was a ~very~ firSt ~de _.bY: ,
psych~ana1ytic research, which should still ~ve ~uch ~·~
teD uS-.about the Rlation Qf the· ego to the 1d. But to~ tk
outside, ai any rate, the ego seems to maintain clear ~ ~: '.:..
linea of demarcation. There is only one state-admittedly aA.
unusual,!!tate, .but no' one that c~n be stigma~ed· -~·· P,atb~
logical.:..,...iJl .which it does not do this. At the he~gbt otbeing m
"-lOVe ·the boUndary between ego aild object threatens to melt
away~ Agait)St.all the evidence ofhis ~nses, a man who :is;in.love
declares that 'I' and '}'ou' are one, and is prepared to ~have as
ifit were ·a faet. 1 What can be tei:Jlporarilydoac away, w:ith by iit, ·· ..
phySi~_al ·[i.e.. normal] .funct:i?n · must ~, of cou~, ~~· '. ·•
liable tO be 'disturbed by patholog~cal processes. Pathology ~'~~ · ..
mad~ ·tii..~u~ted with a great number ohtates in ~h.ieli;~
· · bo\u.id;Uy lines benveen the ego and the external w~:~ .
uncertain .or in which they are . actually drawn mcotrectly.
~ri! are ~ases in which parts of a person's, own body, -~~ . .
portion~· of his own mental life-hi& perceptions,. thoug~ :atl<lfee~ appear ali~n to !llm and as. not belongmg to lna ~,i,
there are·.o ther cases m whtch he ascnbes to the extern~l WOJ'.J.'l.;, · ; •
thi.liss that clearly originate in his own eg? and that ought~-~ ·· > •·
ackn~W,ledged by it. 'Thus even the fe~g of our OWfl -~ .- - ·
subjec.t tQ disturbances_and the boundanes of the ego are ~t . ·
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constant;
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.. 'Further reflection tells us that the adult;s .ego-feeling cannpt
have been the same from the beginning. It must have gone
~o-ugJi ·a.·process of ~evelop~nt, w~ch cannot, of c~, -~e
dem~trate<t but which admits ofbemg consttucted WI~. a~
_. .
degl:ee ·o fprobability. 1 An infant at the breast d~ ~ofu ye~ •
rotind•·in.the. Editor's Introduction to 1M Ego :ail4 ~.' /d '(1~3b)~ .
~d·Ed.:; 1~, 7.]
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. . ~ [qt~ a!Ootnote to Section III of the Schreber cue. ;hist.9JY f19H.-),
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. t cr.:· the ~y writings' on the topic of ego-develop~nt and ~
feelh)g~: Cia~ &om Feten(:Zi'• paper on 'S~ ~ tlle ~~of
the'Senlc.aiR,ea!ity' (1~13) t.o Federn'a contrib~tiona of 19'26, 1.9 2? . .
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CIV[LIZA 'i'ION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
distinguish.his ego .from the external world as the source of the
sensations flowing in upon him. He graduaDy le;ams to do so, in
response to various promptings. 1 He must- ·b.e vety strongly .
impressed by the fact that some sources of eX:citation, which he
will later recognize as his own bodily organs, can provide him
with sensations ·at any moment, whereas other sources evade
• him from time to time---:among them what be desires .most of
all, his mother's breast-and only reappear· as a result of his
Screaming for help. In this way there is for the. .first time set over
against the ego an 'objece, in the form of something which exists
'outside' and which is only forced to appear by a special action.'
A further incentive to a · disengagement of the ego from the
general mass of sensations-that is, to the r~cogriition of an
'outside', an external world-is provided -i!'w the frequent,
manifold and unavoidable sensations of pain an.d unpleasure the
removal and avoidance of which is enjoined by the pleastire
principle, in the exercise· of its unrestricted domination~ A
tendency arises to separate from the ego everything that can
become a source of such unpleasure, to throw it outside and,to
create a pure pleasure-ego which is confron~d by a strange and
threatening 'outside'. The boundaries of this primitive pleasureego cannot escape rectification through experience. Some of the
things that one is unwilling to give up, because they give
pleasure, are nevertheless not ego but object; and some suffer- .
ings that one seeks to expel turn out to be inseparable from the
ego in virtue of their internal origin. One comes to learn a
procedure by which, through a deliberate direction of one's
sensory activities and through suitable muscularactioo, one can
· differentiate between what is internal-what belongs to the ego
-· and what is external-what emanates from the outer world.
In this way one makes the first step towards the introduction of
the reality principle which is to dominate future development. 1
1
[In this paragraph Freud was going over familiar ground. He had
~
il
the.tter not long before, in his paper on 'Negatjon' (1925h),
Sttltltl•tlEd., i9, 23&-a.But he haddealtwithitonseveralearlieroccaai.ons.
See, f6r instance, 'Instincts and their Vicissitudes' (19151), ibid., 14,
119 and 134-.:6, and The Inurpretation of Drtams (1900a); ibid., 5, 565-:-6.
Its essence, indeed, .is ·already to be found in the 'Project' of 1895,
Sections 1, 2, 11 and 16 of Part I (Freud, l950a).]
• [The 'specific action' of the 'Project'.]
·
·
• [C£ 'Formulations on the Two Principles of Mental Functioning'
(1911 b), Stattdmd Ed., ·u, 222-3.]
~
CI.VlLIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
15
of
This differentiation, of course, serve·s the practical purpose
enabling one to defend oneself against sensations of unpleasure
which one actually feelS. or with which one is threatened. In
order to fend Off certain unpleasurable excitations arising from.
within, the ego can use no other methods than those which. it
use! against unpleasure ·coming from without, and this· is the .,
starting-point of important pathological disturbances.
·
In this way, then, the ego detaches itself from the external
world. Or, to put it more correctly, originally the ego in~udes ·
everything, later it separates off an external world from itself.
Our present ego-feeling is, therefore, only a shrunken residue of.
a much more inclusive-indeed, an all-embracing-feeling
which corresponded to a more intimate bond between the ego
and the world about it. If we may assume that there
many
people in whose mental life this primary ego-feeling has persisted to a greater or less degree, it would exist in them side by.
side with the narrower and more sharpiy demarcated ego.
feeling of maturity, like a kind of counterpart to it. In that case,
. the ideational contents appropriate to it would be precisely
those of limitlessness and of a bond with the universe-the
same ideas with which my friend elucidated the 'oceanic'
feeling.
·
. .
But have we .a right to assume the survival of something that
was. ()riginally there, alongside of what was later derived fr()m
it? Undoubtedly. There is nothing strange in such a phenomenon, whether in the mental field or elsewhere. In the fl.~~
kin~om we hold to the view that the most highly d~Cfoll!(..
spectes have proceeded from the lowest~ and yet we find ~"?' ;; :
the simple forms still in existence to-day. The race of th~ gre~t~:.·,(
saurians is extinct and has made way for the mammals;. but a··
true representative of it, the crocodile, still lives among us. This
analogy may be too remote, and it is also weakened by the
cirCumstance that the lower species which survive are for the
most part not the true ancestors of the present-~.Jt.o.re highly .
developed species. As a rule the intermediate linksliive died out
and are .known to us only through reconstruction. ln. the realm
ofthe mind, on the other hand, what is primitive is s6 commonly
preserved alongside of the transformed version which has arisen .
. from it that it is urinecessary to give instances as evidence.
When this happens it is usually in consequence of a divergence
in develop.m ent: one portion (in the quantit<ttive sense) of an
are
/,'
/ 1
. CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
;.
:
·.,: •·
~
!
I
.I
: ·.
~
f
.
'•
17
the republican era would only enable him at th~ most to point
out. the sjtes where the temples and public buildings of that
period. stood: Their place is now taken by ruins, h.ut not . by
ruins of themselves but of later restorations made after fires or
destruction. It is hardly neceSsary to remark that all these
remains of ancient Rome.are found dovetailed into the jl1mble
of a great metropolis which has grown up in 'the last few
centuries since the Henaissance. There is certainly not a little
that is ancient still buried in the soil of the city or beneath its
modez:n buildings. This is the manner in which the past is
preserved in historical sites· like Rome. ·
Now let us, by a flight of imagination, suppose that Rome is
not a human habitation but a psychical~ntity with a similarly
long and copious past-an entity, that is to say, in which
nothing that has once come into existence will have passed
away and . all the earlier phases of development continue to
exist alongside the latest one. This would mean that in R~
the .palaces of the Caesars and the. Septizoruum. of Septimius
Severns would still be rising to their old height·on the Palatine
and that the castle of S •.Angelo would still be carrying on its
battlements the beautiful statues which graced it until the siege
by the .Goth$, and so on. But more than this. In the. place ·
occupied by· the Palazzo Caffarelli would orice more stand·
without the Palazzo having to be removed-the Temple of
jupiter Capitolinus; and this not only in its latest shape~ as the
Romans of the. Empire saw it, but also in its earliest one, when
it still showed Etruscan forms and was ornamented with terracotta antefixes. Where the Coliseum now stands we could at the
same time admire Nero's vanished Golden House. On ·the
Piazza of the Pantheon we should find not only the Pantheon of
tO-day, as it was bequeathed to us by Hadrian, but, on the same
site, the original edifice erected by Agrippa; indeed, the same .
piece of ground would be supporting the church of ~ant_a
Maria sopra Minerva and the ancient temple oyer w~ch 1t
was built. · ~d the observer would perhaps only have to
· change th.e direction of his glance or his position in order to call
up the one view or. the other.
.
There · is clearly no point in spinning our phantasy any
further, for it leads to things that are unimaginable and even
.absurd~ If we want to represent historical sequence in spatial
tei'JilS· we can only do it by juxtaposition in space: the same
r
:!
. ._
·-~~r·;r<t~~Jtrtwr~~-~·~~~~~+tt~,.:·):·.::··.-~
.:~ ~-~·::::·~;~,~;:, :}~~!': .
:.
c : :.
18
space cannot have two difFerent cOJttcnts. Our.attempt seerns
to be an idle game~ It ~as only ooejustificapoo. ~t shows.u~ how
far we are from mastering. :the cbaracteristica:. of mental. life by .
representing them in pictorial. terms. .
..
· ·.
There is one further objection which"haa to be conaid~~· .
The question may be raised why we chose preci.le:ty ~. ~~ t)l a .
~ ~ co~pare wjth the ~t of the
The ~~ ~t
~g· past ia..presel'Ved holds good even in·tnen~: lilt onlY
. . . . (-t~tiOJi that the organ ofthe mind has remained int~et. a$1
~" . ·:: d:aatJta tiaurs have not been damaged by triliuna or bi&unma·
~·~;·· ... '·~. But destructive infiuences which .can be compared to : ,·
:':': · . ~-~of illness like these are never lacking in .the his~ry (lfa · ,..
dty, even if it has had a less chequered past than Rome, and .
even if. like London, it has hardly ever suffered from the ·.~ta- . .· .
tj.ona of an enemy. Demolitions and replacement of bWJdings .
occur in the course of the moSt peaceful develOpment Of a city~
l
A city~ drua c1 priMi unsuited for a oomparison of this sort with a
mmd.
\ ·.·:.
. Ji'Jeatal orgaD.ism.
·
. .
.·
our
.·
~ ~e bow to this objection; and, abandoning
attempt to
· · .,. ~W a striking contrast, we wiU tum instead to what is -ftei' aU
a ~ closely related object of comparison-the body of an
aminal or a huinan being. But here, too, we 6nd the same tlihlg•.·
The earlier phases ofdevelopment are in no sense.itill presei'Ved;
they have been .absorbed into the later phases tor which ·they.
have supplied the material. The embJ;Yo cannot be d,isWveted
ill the adult. The thymU$·gland of childhood is l'eplaced ·after
l;
: •
· · ;·~··.:- ·
·.
'
• .
.
·.> ·. ·....
. ' ''
, , -~:.::"~. ~-:;;~~:;;~~-~:·~'t'": ·
: •
.
' .
'
.
: . . ·::: :]JJViLiZ~TION AND· ITS :PlSCONTEI\l'l'S
CIVILIZATlOlt .AND lTS··. J)lSOO)lTENTS
11
'· .
· . .0 . ~. - ···
pui;Jerty by connectiVe tissue, but is no longer present itself; in
the marrow~bones of the grown man I can, it is true, trace the
outline of the child's bone, but it itself has disappeared, having
leagtheued and thickened. until it has attaiJled· its definitift
f(mn. The fact remains that oDlyin the mind.is such a pzaerva- .
tion of all the earlier stages alongside of the final form possible; .
and that we are not in a potition to represent thU phe~~enoa '· ... · . ·
in pictorial te~.
·
· ·
. · · .
.
. ·~
Pethaps We are going ·too far in this. Petha.PJ we ought to
. con~t ourselves With asserting that what is pa3t in D,leJltallife .
flllfl.be·. ~ and is not ruc~b' destroytd. It .iS. alwa~ . . : . · ·
possible that even in the mind some of what ii·old is 'Cft"a.ced or ...
absorbed• whetbet in the normal (iOune of tbing1 or • ari
~pt;ion~to . ltlcb ~ ..~tent that . it cann9t . be reatorecl or·
·~. by any me~; or that ~fVa. . . in seaerat • -·
J9 ·
~t-Oii~~· f•vourahle conditions. It is possible,~
we. ~ nl)tl)Uig ~uti~. We can only hold fast to the fact ~i .
it i.t· r.a~. tM.':iUle than the exceptiOn for the past tQ .be pte;.
reried mmeatal life; .
.
.
. ..
·..
Thus we are perfectly willing to acknowl~ that :~
'~'feeling- exists in many people, and we are. indiJied, ~ .
~ i~ : bac:k tO an e~ly phase of egO-feeling.
~' .
qu~tiozi theD arises,·what claim this feeling.has to be tegard«J
ne··
.·
~
at .the IIOUtte of religious needs.
.
..
. , •. .
":f.O me the claim does not seem ex»mpening. ~. aJI!•·a
feeliag can oi:tly be ~ source of energy if it iS it!df tbe e:ltpreaiOn
of a .tti'Ong .need. The derivation religious .needs &om the
infant'a helplelsneta and the longing for the father aroused by·it
to·me incontrovertible, especially sinee the fe~l is ·bot · ·
siaiply prolonged. from· childhood days, but is pe.nn.e._dy~: ··
of
seem.
~by fear ofthe superior power ofFate.l oU!iot t,~DiJk·· .
of ~y need. in childhood a5 strong as the need for a. ~
.
p:Gtectioa. Thus the part played by the oceanic fecling, w~: :·. · . .
might seek $0mething like the restoration of Iill\itleis .~ · · ·
it .t mted froJ:Jl a place in the foreground. The origin of' the
· · ~ attitude can be traced back in clear outlines as far as
the feeling of infantile helplessnesi~ There may .be somet~Waa·
~ behiDd that, but for the present it is wrapped iD of>.; .
ScUrity..
.
. -: .
·.I .<:au imagine that tile oceanic feeling became eoDDeeted:
widl ~later Oft. The 'oneae. witb the uaivene'·wWtlk :
~tea iu ideational content .0-gnds like a first a~ at. ~· ..
. .itligioua ~solation, as though it were another way or en...
daimiag the danger which the
recopizes aa threateniug it
fioili the eXtcfnal l!Orld. Let me admit once more that it is very .
dUicult tOr,~ to WOI'k with·these almost in~gible quaatitia.
~friend of mine, whose insatiable craving tor -.ow~·
U.. led Jilin to make the most unusual .experil:nerlt&. and laaa
en4W.by giving him encyclopaedic knowledge, has ~ .·me ·.
that through tile practices of Yop, by Withdrawing, &om. die·
- ~ by . . , the atteatioe Oa. bodily :functioDJ. ·Q d• bY
ego
m
~ methodt <I breafhinl, Olle cat1
fac=t .~ illeW
~tioel aDd cOeuaesthesiu
.~ 'which. he . regudl .. .
. . . . . . to primordial states of mind which.have ~ . ,..
m
bceD mrlaid,. He sees in them a physiological..baais, u it
ofm~aof ·the . ~• ofiliyl~ :lt ,wOJ:dd not
were, ·
D,e.hard:t.) ·.· · ·
..
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
20
find connections here with a number of obscure moclliications
ofmentallife, such astrances and ecstasies. But I am moved to
exclaim in the words of Schiller's diver:-
'. . . Es freue sich,
Wer da atmet im rosigten Licht.'
1
.
['Let him rejoice who breathes up here in the roseate light!
Schiller, 'Per Taucher'.]
.
1
··.
.: .·=
,.
, ··.
11
was
I~ my Fu~ri of aia Jliusion [1927c] I
concerned muth I •
. ;:·
.!
the· deepest sources of the religious feeling than with wh.at
the coiBJilon man underst.a nds by his religio~th the system' · ' · ' I>
of d«trines and promises which on the one hand explahla $
···. : ·
~· the riddles'ofthis world with enviable ·oom.plet~· ~
on the otber, assures him· that a careful Providence ·witt· watdi
over his life and wiU compen~te hiin in a future .Cdltence ·19r
any .ftu~tions he suffers. here. The common man cannot
imagine .thiS Providence . otherwise than in the figure of an
enormously exalted father. Only such a being
un:ders,taild .
the : needs of the children of men and be soft~ by .,their · ·
prayen and placated by the signs of their -remo~ 'the w~
thirtg is .ao patently infantile, so foreign to reality, that •, .·•
_anyo!le -With a -friendly attitude to humanity it is painftd .~ -..
think that the great majority of mortals will never be able ·to
riie a})Ove this v_icw ·of life. It is still' more huniiliatillg to&.. ·
<:qver'hOw large a number of ~pie living to-day, who cannot . .
btlt' see that this religion is not tenable, nev~rtheless try to ·
ddtnd it piecC1 by piece in a series of pi~l rearguard acti~
One wo~ld tik,e. to mix among the ranks. of the 'belie¥en in _
o~er t~ meet these philosophers, who think.they can rescue ~ .
God of religiOn by replacing hi~p by an impersonal, shadowy_.·.
·· and:.abstract principle, and to address them With
w~
Words: •Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in ·
. vail)!, And ifsome or dte great men of the past acted iD the iame
way, no appe~ . can be made to their example: we know why
they were obliged to. .
.
.
· · ·
.· Let return to the common man and to his religion-:the
onty reJision which ought to bear that name. The fi:nt
th;at we tbirik O.f is the weU-known saying of one of otir great
poets and thinkers ~ncerning the :relation of religion to ai1 and
wi~
1
ean
the
us
!
I
!
.,
·thlnl.
science: · ·
·
·
· .·
'
. Wer ·.WissenSchaft und Kunst besitzt, hat Jluch ReijgiOil; ·
· Wcrjene beide nicbt besitzt, der habe R~igion!l~
·
. 1
,Penee
t~ who pQIIIt'Siel
~ art alSo has rdigioli; but he who ·
ileither or· those ·two, let him have i-eligion!'}"-Goetbe,
Xm!m OC.. (Gedicllte aua dehl Nach1.-}. ,
·
~
<tlhtM
. . . ,:.
........:
:
22
•,
'\
.'
···:' .~.
CIVILIZATION ANO ITS DISOO.N TENTS
This saying on the one hand draws an antithesis between religion and the two highest achievements of man, and on the other'
as!lerts that, as regards their value in life, those achievements
and religion can represent or replace each other. If we also set
out tq deprive the common man, [who has neither science nor
art] ofhis religion, we shall dearly not have the poet's authority
on our side. We will choose ·~articular path to ·bring us nearer
an appreciation of his words Life, as we find it, is too hard for
. us; it brings us too many pai , disappointments and impo~sible
tasks. In order to bear it we cannot dispense with .palliative
measures),We cannot do wit~t auxiliary constructions', as
'l'!ie6dor Fontane tells ~s. 1 The~e .a re pe.r_haps ~ee ... such
measures: :Q<>werful deflections, hich cause us to make ttght of
our misery~ons, which diminish it; and
~!ltoxicating substances, which mak:e us insensitive toi§)Somethlng of the kind is indispensable.' Voltaire has deflections in
mind when he ends Candide with the advice to cultivate one's
.garden; and scientific activity is a deflection of this kind, too.
(
The substitutive satisfactions, as offered by art, are illusions in .
1
· I contrast with reality, but they are none the less psychically
/ , ~J effective~ thanks. to ~e ~le which ph~ntasy has assumed in
~ -~mental life. The mtoXlcatmg substances mfiuence our body and
.(1\
alter its chemistry. It is no simple matter to see where religion
has its place in this series. We must look further afield.
The question of the purpose of human life has be~n raised
countless times; it has never yet received a satisfactory answer
and perhaps does not admit of one. Some of those who have
asked it have added that if it should tutn out that life has 110
purpose, it would lose all value for them. But this threat alters
nothing. It looks, on the contrary, as though one had a right to
dismiss the question, for it seems to derive from the human·
·presumptuousness, many other manifestations of which are
already familiar to us. Nobody talks about the purpose of the
life of animals,. unless, perhaps, it may be supposed to lie .in
being of service to man. But this view is nQt tenable either, for
there are many animals of which mCin can make nothing,
except to describe, classify and study them; and innumerable
¥
..
!
i
[It has not been possible to trace this quotati.on.]
• In Du Fr<1mme Helen6 Wilhelm Busch has said the s,ame thing on a
lower pl!uie: 'Wer Sorgen hat, hat auch Likor.' ['He who has cares has
brandy too!]
·
1
' . • ';
··.~ ~
.
·· · :.'
.
. · · ,.
CIVILIZA1'ION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
23.
species ot: a,nhnals have eseaped even this use, since they existed
an.d' became eXtinct before man set eyes on them. Once again, ·
only religion can answer the questi<m of the purpose of life. One
can hardly be Wl'ong in concluding that the idea of life having a
s.tands and falls with the .religious system.
We will therefore tum to the Ie8s ambi~ous question of what
·themselves show by their behaviour to be the purpose ·&Qd .
intention of their lives. What do they demand of life and wish
tO achieve. in' it? The answer to this can hardly be in doubt•
':!'hey strive afte1 happiness; _!:hey wa~:~.~ to ~~~~m~..h~P.P.Y. ~d to
re~~--~:nns ~deavour has two ·Sides, a positive and · a
negative · . . It a~ms, on the one hand, at an absence of pain
and unpleasure, and, on the other, at the experiencing of strong
feelings of pleasure. In its narrower sense the word 'happine88'
only relates to the last. In conformity with this dichotomy in his
aims, man's activity develops in two directiohs, according as
it seeks to realize-in the main, or even exclusively-the one
or)Jle other of these aims.
·
.~ we see; what decides the pu!]lOSe of life is simpiy the
programme oLt.h~.~!:asl!.~~- P~-~pl~J This principle Q.ominates-IO:AII~.....­
the operation· of the mental apparatus from the ·start. There
can be no doubt about its efficacy, and yet its prograrllme
is at loggerheads with the whole world~ with the· macrocosm
as much as with the microcosm. There is no possibility at all of~
· ita being carried through; all the.regulations of the universe run n....0-,t
oountct to ·it. One feels inclined to say that the intention thatOUI't <
man should be 'happy' is not included in the plan of'Creation~.. ~
What we call happiness in the strictest sense comes from the ~ .
(preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been,. t( . \L
dammed up · to a high degree, and it is from its nature only ~\A"'
possi~le as a.n episodic pheno_me~on.. When any si~ation that {,4
lS deSired by the pl~asure pnnc1ple lS prolonged, 1t only pro- ~'M\kf
duces a feeling of mild contentment. We are so made that we '\~ ·
can derive intense enjoyment only from a contrast and ve~
little .f rom a state of things~ 1 Thus our possibilitieS of happiness
1
·
~the, ~eed, wan1$ w that 'nothing is harder to
than a &"'
.·
E
y
. IU~OD· of fair
days.'
. , .
[Alles in der Welt lblt sich ertragen,
Nur nicht eine Reihe von schonen
Tagen.
(Weimar, 1810- 12.)]
But this may be an exagger~tion.
bear
· \
\ ~.1 \~
\)6)'<'l.,...
,r
t\ ....P·
( .r.·Y'~
·\;
, ·
~..,..,..
.
' i!
'
: ··
·J
lt
~~·'~
'ff
li
'J
~,· .
l .··
~
;
I
'
·.
24
clvlLlZATt'oN ··AN·n
tT·s ·p•·s coNTENTs
~re ~ady restritted ~:~r ~tuti.on{_U~ap~ is ~~ch .. ,
leas difficult t9 e~nence. We are thtea~ Wlth ~~ng .
from three di~ctio~:- from our own body•. whidi is doomed to
decay ~ssolution and which cannot even·~ without pam
and anxiety as warning signals; from the external world, which .
~ay rage against us with overwhelming and merciless (~ 'o.f
~caion; and finally from_.9ur ~!4!-tions to od).er: mcu~ The
~ which co~es from this laSt. -IJ()urce IS per . . . m&re
.- · .·)~to us than any other. We tend_to. regard it 'ai a mxf".of
··poatriitous addition, although it cannot be any less fate~Uy
. inevitable than the. sufFering which comes from .elsewhete. ·.
· ·~ · It·il no wonder if, under the pressure of these possibilities. of ·
aum~·
t
en are accustomed to moderate their claimS. to
happ·
just as the · pleasure principle itse~ fndeed, uDdet
the influ
of the external world, ch.w ed mto the~~
modest reality ~rincipl*, if a inC\_Jl thinks himselfhappy.merely
-m.liivc escape uUhat(piness or to have Jurvived his suffering;
.· ··and .if in general the task.of avoiding suffering pushes that _o f
, .-t=~~~:~r:n~!~::=~~·!~~=~==
~d
different paths;
all these paths have been recommended by ·
the-varioua schoolS otworldly wisdom and put into practice by .
men. An unrestricted &atisfaction of every n.eed praents itself
as the most enticing method. of conducting one,t life~ . but: U..
means putting eqjoyment before caution, and soon ·b rirqp ·. ita. .
· owu punishment. The other methods, in which aVoidance of .·
uaplealure is the main purpose, are difFerentiated according • .
the source of unpkasure to which their attention is· chiefly
"tu.l':aed. Some ofthese methods are extreme and some moderate;
!Otne are one-sided and some attack the problemsimultaneoUlly
at severai points. Against the suffering which may co~ 1J.p0n
one from human relationships the readiest safeguard is volon--·
tai-y isolation, · keeping oneself alqof frOm. other .·people. Th~ .
happiness which can be achleved .along this path. is, as
see~.
.·. d\e happiness of quietness. Against the dreaded external world
.· e>n~c::an onlydefend.oneselfby some kind of turning away from
it; ~one intends to solve the task by on~If. There· is, indeed,
. . anpdler ud better path: that of becoming a member of :the
. . .. h.Ukan Comlnunit}r, ~d, with the help_of a ~ecliJUque guided by ..
~, going over to. the attack a~ .nature and.subjecting .
· her19 the hlU1lan will. Then one~. working .with aU for the gQod ·
we
!
'
•
.
.
.
.
.
'
' ,
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
all.~t
. 25 ·
of
the. most interesting methods of averting sufFering are
those which seek to influence our own organism. In the last
analysis, all suffe!!_nfe . is nothing else than sensation; it olllyexists in so far as we eel it, and we only feel it in consequence of
. c~ain ways in which our organism is regulate~
. ..
.
\.The crudest, but also the most effective amon{these methodS
of inflileilce is the chemical one-i,atoxication.jl do not think
·that anyone compJetely understands its ntecliariism, but it ]s· a
fact that there are foreign substances which; when present iit
the · blood or tissues, directly cause us pleasurable sensations;
and they also··so alter the conditions g()verning our sensibility
that we become incapable of receiving unpleasurable impulses. ·
The two effects not only occur simultaneously, but seem to be
intimately bound up with each other. But there must be substances in the chemistry of our own bodies which have. similar
effects, for we know at least one pathological state, mania, in.
which a condition similar to intoxication arises without the ..
~dministration of any intoxicating drug. Besides this, our normal
merita11ife exhibits oscillations betw~n a comparatively easy
liberation of pleasure and a comparatively difficult one, parallel
with which th~, ~oes a diminished or an increased receptivity
to unp1easure{.!.t lS greatly to be regretted that this toxic side
of mental processes has so far escaped scientific examin~ti~n.
The service rendered by intoxicating media in the struggle·for..
happiness and in keeping misery at a distance iS so highly
prized as a bene~t that individuals and peoples alike have give,~·
them an establiShed place in the economics of their libido.
We owe to such media not merely the immediate yield o
pleasure, but also a greatly desired degree of independence from
the external world. For one knows that, with the help of this
'drowner of cares' one can at any tfme withdraw from the
pressure of reality and find ref~e in a world of one•s own with
better conditions of sensibility.~~ is well known, it is precisely
this·property of intoxicants whtch also determines their danger
and their injuriousness. They are responsible, in certain circumstances, for the useless waste of a large quota of energy
which might have been employed for the improvement of the ·
human lor;)
· . ~he ·complicated structure of our mental apparatus admits,
however, of a whole number of other .influences. Just as a
satisfaction of instinct spdls happinesa for us, so severe suffering ·
'F;
;··c '
t! [
~·
'
·:'
·I
~· . • . ·.·. OIVILIZATIO~; A~D l:S . D;·:~:;:::••'
',.
·: ·
•.
•·.OlVILlZAT;J;ON
.AND
· ..
, .· .
.
i$ camed us if the ate~ .~ortd leta us st~~ i(it ~uaa tO
our needs. O~e- may dlcrefore hope to be fr~ ~ a part.~
one's suft"~rings by influencing the: instiactual impullea. This
type ofdefence against suffering is no loBgler b.~t to bear .o n .· .· .
the sensorx apparatus; it seeks to ~l:'ter the intemal ~~ _of_ .·
. -our needs. The extreme form -of this IS brought. about by killmg - .·
Qfr the iast;incta, as iJ prescribed by the worldly
oE the
ate
..
If~
':
'i
. h,
i
;.
.!
·:.·
.
.
.··. ~·.
.
Azid the·weak ~nt of thiS *ethod is .that it is n9t applicab~
~ble to only a few people. It preiU.pjJ<»sea . ·.
:~ ~Jl of apdial 'dispositions and gifts. whiCh are·· far
· ~y: i~ is
.
au
11.
..
ins~ impu)aes; •it ·doea nOt·eonVuke our physical ~. ·•
wis®_,.
Eaat .ad practised by YOga. Ifit sueeeeds, then the mbj~t bas, ·
. it i.s tiue· given up
other activiti'es as well-he baa sacrificed
1
· : liii llfe; ~' by another path, he has once mOre only achlcved ·
' . the happiq.ess of q'*tness. We follow the same path when o~
aims. ·are less extreme and we merely attempt ·to edb'8l our
iDstiDCtual life. ln that case, the rontrolling elementS aTe··.f:he ,
higher psychical agencies, whi~h have al!bjec~d ~emselves· to ·
the ~ality principle. Here the aim of satisfaction 1s ~o~ by ~y . · ··
means relinquished; but a certain amount of protection a.gatnst :··.·
sutreri~g is secured, in ~at non-satisfaction·· is not so ~~Y- _
.felt in .thO case of instincts kept in dependence ·aa in the .case of
uAhlbibited ones.~ against this, there u an undeniabk: ~ .
iion in the potentialities of enjoyment. Thefeelin~ ofbappirlOD ·· ·
· derived from the satisfaction of a wild instinCtual' iiJ:i~· ·.~·. ·
untamed by the ego is incomparably more intense than that .
derived from sating an instinct · that has been: .tamed. The
irresistibility of perverse instincts, and perhaps the attn.e~ -U.._
general of forbidden things finds an economic exp)a;oatioJJ here. - A,aother technique for fending otr suffering is the employ- ·.
. . meat f:A the displaeemeats of~ wlrid1 oor mental appara• -./
· permitS of and through which its fuootion gains 10 mtich in·
flexibility. The task here is that of shifting ·the instinctual aii:DI .· ..·
·in such a way that they cannot come up.againstfru.stratioa tiQm .
the external world. In this, sublimation of the inatincts lendJ jfa _·
assistance. 'One gains the moat if one can sufficiently ~- .
the yield of pleasure from the sources .of psydiical ~· in~·
lectual work. When that is so, fate caa do little agai.Dit :C$C!· . ·
A iatisfaction of thiS kind, such u aa artist'• joy in ~ in ·
pving his phantasia body, or a ~n~'s ja 10l~ ~ .
' . • dilcoVering truths, has a special ~~~~ty Which we ~ ''
certainly one day be able to charactenzc IIi meta~­
tmm. At pretent we can only say figutativ~ ~ s~ch ..atil-,,
facdoua -~ 'finer and higher'. Bu..• their mtenaty u mild ~-.
4:~ With that derived from thesaqo£ciude·.a~
rr& .ntsCONTENTS
fij)m ~ ~mon to any ptactic~ degree. And even to ~- . · • . :;_: :~who do poaeas theP1, this method cannot give comp~- ·. ·,, :~..>· :· ~ ::
protectiou from mfi"~ring. It creates no impenetrable armour>: . - · . :.·
~l·the arrowa of fortune, and it habitually fails whcil ·tbe · · · .· 80~ ofauff-eri~g is. a
penon's own body.1
·
·
... . _. . .
·' -·~. WIUJC-this procedure already clearly .shoW. an inte.rl~ Of
· lll:a kml ·oneself ~dependent __of the exte~ . world. by see~
· $atiilfactioll in in~al:, psychical proce8ses, the next procedure
-~ .out thole featl.lies yet more strongly. In it, the connection
· With it8lity is still further Joosened; satisfaction ia obtained from
. iJ.tu8iona, which are ~ed as suchwithout·the disctC~t . ·. 'y ·-~;.•-
,
.betwe~ them and reality being allowed to interlCre
~nto The l'qion from which these illusions arise is
~the ··~tion; at the time
with . . . : :\ -.'~·
or• .:.' . .· '
·me ~ · ·.
when the.development
·,,
·,:o;~ ;~~<
: ~-o(rftlity. took place,-- this region was expressly=~- · · ,
· ~ro~ tile deJnan$ ofreality-testing and was set apart for tbe _ ·
. ~ offiUfillingWilhes which were difficult to carry out. At
' the .hC$(1 of tbese satisfactioos through · phatltasy stands .the ·
':__~t of .Wf.vb of art-au enjojment which, by the·.·.
· I
·. ·
' ..
.
.
·.
·
·.·
_. ~ ' a. ~ there ii no special diaposition in.a penoo whic:h il:n~ , : -:
. · ·~ \Y-! direction hil interesu in life shaD take, · the ~- · · ·
:_- proAaiOOa} wor~ that iJ open to everyone can play the part ~ Jc) . ·
'· it,..Velt.Jdnl• wile advice EP•22 abQve]. It is not poesible, wi~ ~: , '. ~.of~ ah9rt survey, to discua.&dequately the ~ance of Work. .
~ ~ ot tl)e libido. No
technique ~ the conduct .,rJik ·
-~ the individual.SO finnJy to reality as laying emphasis OD 'Work; .
fiX' h.i$-wot~ ~tleaitgivel him a leCure place in a PorUC)n ofi'ealit)', in the ·
-~ ~unity•.The pouibility it offers of ~cing a large ~Wit
ol.libidinal cOmponents, whether narciasistic, aggtulivc or even· ~,
on ..tO ~~work and on to the. ~man relations co~ted -with
it ~it a Value by no meaol second to what it enjo)'t-. .amethi.tll
~ble tQ the preservatiOn and j'Witifieation of existence in IIOCic.,.~
~aJ Wi.Vit}r is' a so\uce of special satisfaction if it u ·' ~
cb~ ~, that ia 10 iay, by means~ sublimation~ it mdei ~·-·
~ · \JIM!. ~existing indil\atioas, .•Of penisting c:n- comtitutionillly iJe..
~iol&iattual i.mpuhcs.Andyet, as a path to happ~ ~k~_oot
. . highly prized.by men. They do not atrive after it as· they do . . - .otbei'
)Jr·· pqlllibUftles·. Of satil&cQOil. ·The great ~jprity bf · peOple <l1lly WOJt
~ ~-·~ ~of~ty, ~ this na~al hurnaa avertio~. t9 wtirk' ·
l'aiia rOoM ~floclafcpn>blemt. . . · ·. · ·
'·
.
·•
other
-· ~
.
..11.1
rr·
r
~ :!
r, :
:1
i
,
·. ·: ' "
28
CIVILiZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
· agency ofthe artist, :is made accessible even to those who are not .
themselves creative.1 People who are receptive to the influence
of art cannot set too high a "Value .o n it as a source of pleasure
and consolation in life. Nevertheless the mild narcosis induced
in us by art can do no more than bring about a transient
withdrawal from the pressure of vital needs, and it is not strong
e~ough to make us forget real misery.
.
Another procedure operates more energetically and n10re
thoroughly. It regards reality as the sole enemy and as the
source of all suffering, with which it is impossible to live, so that
one must break off all relations with it if one is to be in any way
happy. The hermit turns his back on the world and will have no
truck with it. But one can do more than that; one can ·try to
re-create the world, to build up in its stead another world in
which its most unbearable features are eliminated and replaced
by others that are in conformity w:ith one's own wishes. Bllt
w.hoever, in desperate defiance, sets out upon this path to happiness will as a rule attain nothing. R eality is too strong for him.
He becomes a madman, who for the most part finds no one to
help him in carrying through his delusion. It is asserted, however, that each one of us behaves in some o~ respect lik,e a
paranoic, corrects some aspect of the world which is· unbear· .·
able to him by the construction of a wish and introduces this . ·
delusion into reality. A special importance attaches to the case
in which this attempt to procure a certainty of happiness and a
protection against suffering through 3; delusional remo~lding of
reality is made by a considerable number of people in common.
The religions of mankind must be classed among the mass·
delusions ofthis kind. No one, needless to say, who shares a
delusion ever recognizes it as such.
.
I do not think. that I have made a complete enumeration of . .
the methods by which men strive to gain happiness and keep ·.
suffering away and I know, too, that the material might have
been differently arranged. One procedure I have not . yet
mentioned-not because I have forgotten it but because it
will concern us later in another connection. And how could one
possibly forget, of all others, this .technique in the art of living?
It is conspicuous for a most remarkable combination of chaf:8C-: ..
tenstic features. 1t, too, aims of course at making the subject .
1 Cf. 'Formulations on the Two Principles of Mental Functioning'
(191 16), and Lecture XXIII of my. lntroollCIMY Lectures (1916-17).
.. ·.· .·
ClVJL-J~ATION
:
':'"."~- · ~·.
-·. , .. ... :~~":'•ryr·.~.~··-··.•,·.-.~ •. ~,,....•~·;~
·.. ·',;"· ..· . ·.. . ~. .-:.:'~\···
AND ITS . n.I~CONTENTS .
29
.: J~~epepdeatoCFa~e (wdt is best-to ~dj it), and u) ihat··:end··tt ·
Jt:: .<~ ~tisfactio~ in·in~~ mental processes, making·~ :in .
· .;;;,_ . ~· ~~, of tl;le displaceability of the libido o( which ~e hav~i
[p.; ~6]. But it. does not tum away'
the
.'$f~ .
world; on the ~ontr~! lt clin~ to the obj~ts beiO~
:: . tr>:,that world and o~~M happtness ~m an emotloaal.rela~• .
.. lh.ip t9 them. Nor 11 It content to atm at an avoidance UD·:,;... ··.p~~~~a. goal,. as we might call it, of weary resignati.Pi:J.; it ·
. ..)>~~ this b~ ~thout be~ .and holds faSt to the origiD;al,. .:
.. :> ~ona~ .stri~g for a pos1tive fulfi.l111ent of happin~ Aa.d
. ·.· P,trhaps rt does 1n, fact come nearer to this goal than 8;1ly other
· : ~thQd. I aJ:U,
cour:se, speaking of the way of life which
.: ·~ · l?ve ~e centre o~ everything, which looks for all sat:D.. ·. · fac~n m loVlng and bemg loved. A psychical attitude of this
:; :· ·. sort comes naturaDy ·enough to all Qf l1S; one of the formi in · ·.
. •. ·
·.. · ~hich.lov~ ~anifests ,itaelf---:sexualJov~has given·.us our\noet: :. f:. : ·..· ; E:·
..·: ..~ae. ~-:ence.of~ overwhelming·sensationofpl~asure .ai.l .· .: .< .·· ··,:...
..ha;s th~ furmshed us With a pattern for our search for happine.. .
··
What is more natural than that we should persist in lQOkiq fi>t · ·
happ~eSI along the path on which we first encounteredit?l\e .
\V~ak $Ide. ~fthis. ~echn,ique .o f living is easy to see; otherwise. no
.
. ·... being wo~ld have ~ought of abandoning this path to
. ,. :.. , .. felr; any·other. It u that we are never .so d~ea. . · · ·
·, ·~t suft"enng as when we love, .nev~r r:o helplessly ~ppy ·
.·'....as w~en we have .lost our loved obJect or 1ta love. But thiJ:<foti
·•· ·IIOt dispose of the technique of liVing based on the value ofiove
··..ai a means to happiness. There. is much more to be said about ii.
[See below, p. 4:8 .]
·
·.: . "!e may~ on:·rro~ ~ere to consider the interesrlnK case in .
.·~hich happmess m ,bfe IS predominantly sought in the e~~ . .
.·;. . mcntofbeauty, wherever beauty presel)ts,itselfto our senses:and · ·
Jfo., '. 9\U' juclg~ent. the l>eauty of human forms · and ges~. ,of ··
· JlatUral objects and landscapes and of artistic and even·scientific
. ~~ons. This aesthetic attitude to the goal of life oft"etS little
prot~~ .~t the t?reat of suffering, butit can com~tc
· .~a ~tdeal•.~e enJO~ent ofbeauty has a peculiar, mU<Jly.·
l!)tc>XJC,ating qu~ty af feeling. Beauty has DO obviOUS use; DOE iJ ·.
.,..· .·tlM:re any cl<:ar .cultur~ necessity for it. Yet civilization oould · .
~~ ;~t ~0. witl;lo,ut it. ~. ~nee . of a~~etics i~v~tigata · tb,e .. ·
I/ ::· · ~~ll.J unde~ ~~ things a~e f'elt:as .beautiful, bUt it h~ , .
~.:Zt. , ~,.1,1nable to S!Ve any explanation ?(the nature and ori~ of
.~t~;.· ~a.dy spo~n
&Om
merna!
or
or
·-f.
.
80
~.
.
..
CIVILI'ZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS .
CIVILIZATION AND ITS . DISCONTENTS
beauty, and, . as usualiy hap~ns, lack of succeSs is con~~ed
beneath a floOd. of resounding and empty words. · Psy<:hoo
analysis, unfo~rtnately, has scarcely anything to say abOut
beauty either. All t?at seems certain is its, derivation from th:e
1\ \ field of sexua feelmg. The love of beauty seems a ~rfect
~.).x)"- , example of an impulse inhibited in its ai~ 'Beautyt and
1
'attraction' 1 are originally attributes of the sexual object. It is
. worth remarking that the genitals themselves, the sight of which
· is always exciting, are neverthele~s hardly ever judged to be ·
beautiful; the quality of beauty seems, instead, to attach to
certain secondary sexual characters.
..
_In spite ofthe incompleteness [of. my enumeration {p. 28)], ..·
will venture on a few remarlts as a conclusion to our enqUiry;).·
programme of becoming hap~e pleasure prin- ..·.
dple imposes on us [p. 23], cannot be fulfilled; yet we · .
must not-indeed, we cannot-:-give up our efforts to bring·it .··.
nearer to fulfilment by some means or other. Very different·
paths may be taken in that direction, and we may give prioritY · ·
either to the positive aspect of the aim, that of gaining pleasure, .
or to its negative one, that of avoiding unpleasure. By none of
these paths can we attain all that we desire. Happiness, in the::
reduced sense in which we recognize it as possible, is a problem
of the economics of the individual's libido. There is no golden .
rule which applies to everyone: every man must finEl out fo.r .•
himself in what particular fashion he can be saved. s All kinds of
different factors will operate to direct his choice. It is a ~uestion
of how much real satisfaction he can expect to get from the
external world, how far he is led to make himselfindependent,
of it, and, finally, how much strength he feels he baa for.alterin,g ··
the world to suit his wishes. In this, his psychical constitution
will play a decisive part, irrespectively of the external.circum·
stances. The man who is predominantly erotic will give first -~
. preference to his emotional relationships to other people; the ·
narcissistic man, who inclines to be self~sufficient, will seek his
1 [The German '&i?;' means 'stimulus' as well as 'charm' o:r 'attrac·
tion'. Freud had· argued on the same lines in the first edition of his
Thtu Essays (1905d), Standard Ed., '1, 209, as well as in a footnote added
to that work in 1915, ibid., 156.]
.
1 [The allusion is to a saying attributed to Frederick the Great: 'in
lilY State every man can be saved after hia own fashion.' Freud had "'·
quoted this a short tiDie before, in Lay Atltllysis (i92~), StatuJard Ed.; -. ·
lO, 236.]
.
.
.
31
· ·m~ sa~factions .in his in~e~al mental processes; the man of
actio~ Wlll never giVe Up the external world on which he can try
out his str~ngth. 1 · As regards the second of these types, the
nature of hlS talents and the amount of instinctual sublimation
ope~ to hi~ will decide where he shall locate his interests. Any
~hmce t?at .Is. pushed to an extreme will be penalized by expos~~ the mdtv1dual to the dangers which arise if a technique of
~vmg that has been chosen as an exclusive one should prove
I~adeq~ate. ust as a cautious business-man avoids tfing up all
. hiS ~ap1tal m one concern, so, perhaps, worldly wisdom will
advtse us not to look for the whole of our satisfaction from a
single aspiration. Its success is never certain, for that depends on
the convergence of many factors, perhaps on none more than on
the capaci~ of the psychical constitution to. adapt its function
to the. enVI_ronment and then to exploit that environment for
a yield of p}ea~ure. A perso~ w~o is born with a specially un·
favourable mstmctual constitution, and who has not properly
undergone the transformation and rearrangement ofhis libidinal
components which is indispensable for later achievements will·
find ~t ha~ to .obtain h~ppiness from his external situ~tion,
espeCJ.ally tf h~ ~s faced.wtth ~asks of some difficulty. As a last
technique of hYing, which will at least bring him substitutive.
5a:tisfactions, he is offered that of a flight into neurotic illnessa flight which he usually accomplishes· when he u still.young.
The ·man who se~s his pursuit of .haPpiness coine to nothiilg in
later years can still find consolation m the yield of pleasure of
chronic intoxica?on; or . he can embark on the desperate
attempt at rebellion seen m a psychosis.•
. .Religion restricts this play of choice and adaptcltion, since
1t ImJ?oses equally on e~eryone its own path to the acquisition of
~appmess .a~d protection f~om suffe~ng. Its technique consists .
m depressmg the value of life and, distorting the picture of the
~ea} !"otl.d in a d~lusi~nal manner-which presuppOseS :an
mtmndatlon of the .I.ntelhgence. At this price, by forcibly fixing
.J
1
[Freud further develops his ideas on these different types in his
paper on 'Libidinal Types' (193la).]
1
[Footnotl added 1931:] I feelimpeUed to point out one at leut of the
gaps_t~t. have be,en left in t}_le account given above. No discussion of the
pos&Ibibttes of humal) happmess sh.ould omit to take into consideration
the rda~on betwc:en narcissism and ob~ec~ libido. We reqmre to know
~h:tt being easentialJy self-dependent s1gnifies for the economics of the
bb1do.
··
·
.
·
·.;
·'
. ·i
!
..
~~
,,
/
Ill
OuR. ~nquiry concerning happiness has not so far taught us .
· much that is not already common knowledge. And even if we
proceed from it to the problem of why it is so hard for men to be
happy, there seems no greater prospect of learning anything
new. We have given the answer already [p.24] by pointing to
the three sources from which our suffering comes: the superior
power of nature, the feebleness of our own bodies and the
inadequacy of the regulations which adjust the mutual relation·
ships of human beings in the family, the state and society. In
regard to the first two sources, our judgement cannot hesitate
long. It forces us to acknowledge those sources of suffering and
to subl'I\i.t to the inevitable. We shall never completely. master
nature; and our bodily organism, itself a part of that n'a ture,
will always remain a transient structure ~ith a limited capacity
for adaptation and achievement. This recognition does not have
a paralysing effec~~ On the contrary, it points the direction for
our activity. If we ·c annot remove all suffering, we can remove
some; and we can mitigate some: the experience of many
thousandsofyears has convinced us.ofthat. As regar~ the third
source, the social source of suffering, our attitude is a di1ferent
one. We do not admit it at all; we cannot see why the regula.o
tions made by ourselves should not, on the contrary, be a protection and a benefit for every one of us. And yet, when we
consider how unsuccessful we have been in precisely this field
of prevention of suffering, a suspicion dawns on us that here,
too, a piece of~conquerable nature may lie behind- . this time
a piece of our own psychical constitution.
When we start considering this possibility, we come upo11
a contention which is so astonishing that we must dwell upon
it. This contention holds th~t what we call our civilization is
largely responsible for our misery, and that we should be much
happier if we gave it up and returned to primitive conditions.
I call this contention astonishing because, in whatever way we
may define the concept of civilization, it is a certain fact that
all the things with which we seek to protect ourselves a~ainst the
threats that em~nate from the sources of suffering are part of
that very civilization.
•
.
l"fr'::.<:
~(·.:. ·.
-· ,.. .,. · · ··-~;.·;·:·: -;·t;,:·-~ir;:~~~;~: :·;·,:·~ ·~:--~r.;:~>-·
· •· 84 ·. · civiLrzA-rxoM . AND
tT~s· nl~o5ikitTs . · ;·.
_How has it:_-~ed-that $1)
·1 .
~1
~~
-:-· ·· · . ·...
~· --:-
~~pth:1;th'!1::
~-ny ~;~~- p)~·~: ·:;,-
::r:.::~
::.~cu: ·~ u
satisfaction with tbe thm cxiacia« ltate ~ ~ t1Ja,t ·
on that bw ~ <:oRdemoatiml of it ..,_. built v.p, oec~ _..,. .
certain specific !Ustorkal evenr.. .J thiJlkt·know what • ..JUt
and the last·b\it ODe of those occaiiODI were•.I
.DQit;~ ..
am
etiOU,IIt- ~ ~the~ of them .f ar k~- ~:::q(.~
,:· .. : -~~oldle human species; but ·a factor of~ ~-~ ~-.
it' ··
a~t}Qn m~t already have been at work m -the
of'-·
' jt~
giriitezidom over the heathen religions. Ji'or it wJa veey ~y .
·> rc:la~· to the low, estimation put UpOn earthly ... by.the ·· .
·J · ChiistWt. ckJetrine. The 1ut but one·of these. otcuions -w~
when the progress of voyages of discovery led to c.Qh~~ -~th ·· primitive. peoples and races. In consequenc~ or ~nt
observation and ·a mistaken view of tbeir mannen and c~~
. ~ ~d to. ~uropeans to be !ea~ asimple,·~P.~i.--~ '
.
V:IC...,
;' .•".
.,C ..
;I ·. ..·
.-
.
.... -~,h.~ana,.a ~~~~~was ~·~!"e -~ the..--~~
, ~~- thetr rupenot civilization. Later ~pe~ -~ ~
. IODie of those judgements. In inany caaa the observers.-.ha41
wrobgly attributed tO the absence of ~ted cut~
demands what~ in fact due to the bountyofnature ..ud'.the
ease with which the major human needs
•tiafied:. The laSt
occasion is especially familiar to us. It_aroae whet. ~ .~arne. '
to know about the-mechaniml Of the neuroses, which ~- ~ ..
i' ·
tO undelmilie - modicum of happiness enjoyed by ~ - ·
·- ~ :. .
~· It was disco~red that a penoa becomes neurotic ~
;i
caniiot tolerate .t he amount of frustration Which· ~- -•.
1• l
. . . . imposes on him in the service of ib cqltura} ideals, and it
!:( · · ildetred &om this that the abolition or reduction df thO.e ·~-' ·
demands would result in a return to possibilities of hawhi• ·
~- h
. There is also an ~ed factor of disappointmeot.~ ·.
r '
the last few generations mankind has made an ~ .
lrff
· advance ~ the natural sciences and in their teeh»ical ~a•
i_
., l:·-·
. -~-~has eatablished his control over nature in
~y
t~
·. ~~_unagined. .The single steps of this advance are common
!: 1t
kn<nvledge and it iS unnecessary to .enumerate them. Men are
·rl'
. .prpud of those achievements, a.nd have a ~ht to be. But they
: 1t
aeem to ·have observed that this new.Iy-won ~mr over' spate .
were
l·: .·.. -
was:•.
':l
a
!_.:_it ·
'
'
.. . .
"never
.
.
tt .. . ', ·· 1 [Fteud bad .discUssed tbil qucaPor1 a~_ ~e len«th .two _.
tLit·
· years ~tHer~ in the openingcbapten of 77v F'At#rt".{MOI~,_ (1927c).} .
1
I;
\i .:•
.:.-:..
.
.
.
.
.
:·."l:,
;:' :~
: · •'
.
and time; this -Subjtp~ or tilt Wr,¢ei or na\lli'e, w~ · -·
·
fulfilment' of' a longing that gOes b~J{thousanda of~'·,Jiai,
not increased the amount of pleasurable satisfaction whieh.they ·
them
may expect ~ .life and has not made
ftel ·h appier.
From 'the recQgnition Of this fatt we ought to be content to co~;.
elude that power over nature is ·not the tm~ precot:idition :of:.··
human bappinea; just as it iJ It.Ot the onf1 goal ol: ~- ·
endeavour; we o~ght not tG infer from it that techDic:,.. pruptlii
u without .value for the economics ofour happineSs. ODe wo~
like tO ask: iJ there, then; no positive ·gain in pleasUre~ liil
unequivocal in~rease in my feeling of happiness, ifl can, u
often as I please, hear the voice ofa child of mine who is living
h~ndreds of miles away or if I can learn in the shortest possi])le
time after a friend has reached his- destination that he has come
through the long and difficult voyage unharmed? Does it mean
nothing that l'llMiciQe .has ~cceeded
enormously -~cUig - . : .
infant mo~ty and the danger of infectiOn fOt Wome&· ih -'\ .· ~/;
childbirth, and;_indeed, in considerably lengthening the aver• .
life of a civilized man? And there is a long list that tnight
added to benefits of this kind which we owe to ihe .mueh.
despised era of ~entific and technical advances.' But
the
voice of ~c .criticism makes itself
and warns us
th~t moet:».these sa_tisfactions fo.llow thC model of the 'cheap
enJoyment ex.tolled w the _anecdote-the enjoyment. o~taiaed- _
by putting a· bare leg from · under the bedelottaes 'on a eold . • . ;._:
winter night .and drawing it
again. If there had been 110 ·.
railway to conquer distances, my child would never havw: left his
native town and I should need
telephone to hear b.is vOice; if
travelling across the ocean by ship had not been introduced, my
friend would ~Qt have embarked on his sea-voyage and l should
not need a cable to relieve my anxiety about him. ·What is the
use of reduci~ infantile mortality ·when it i~ p~y ~t­
reduction which imposes the· greatest restRliDt on ·ui in the · -·
begetting of children, so that, take~ all round, we ~ertheless
rear no more· qhildren than in the days before d~ reign of
hygiene, while at the same time we have created di:ftieult ·con'.
ditions for our sexual fife in marriage, and have ,pro~bly
worked asamst the beneficial. effects of natural sdect:ion? And,
finally' what good"to us is ~ long Ufe ifit is difticult and batten Qf .
joys, and ifit ia'ao fidl of
that we can oilly w~e death
as a deliverer?
·· · '
··
· ·
m
'*
hearo
here
m
no
muery
•
.. ~~-~J~~?i~;:~·:
.
36
It ·seems certain ' that we do not feel conuo;rtable ·i~. Otlf~
present-day civilization, but it is very difficult toform an opioim1
whether and iJJ what degree men of an earlier age felt happier
and what part their ·cultural conditions played in the matter.
We shall always tend to consider people'a distres.s objectivelythat is, to place ourselves, with our own wants and sensibilities,
in their conditions, and then to examine what occasions
should find in them for experiencing happiness or unhappiness.
This metho<1 of looking at things, which seems objective be.cause it ignores the variations in subjective sensibility, is, of
course, the most subjective possible, since it puts one's Qwn .
mental states in the place of any others, unknown thoug~ they · ·
may be. Happiness, however, is something essentially subjective.
No matter how much we may shrink with horror from certain .
situations-of a galley-slave in antiquity, of a peasant during
the Thirty Years' War, of a victim of the HQ}y Inquisition, of a
Jew awaiting a pogrom-it is nevertheless impossible for us to
feel our way into such people-to divine the changes which
original obtuseness · of mind, a · gradual stupefying process,
·the cessation of expectations, and cruder or more . refin~d
methods of narcotization have produced upon their receptivity
to sensations of pleasure and unpleasure. Moreover, in the ~
of the most extreme possibility of suffering, special mental
protective devices are brought into operation. It seems to me
unprofitable to pursue this aspect of the problem any further.
It is time for us to tum our attention to the nature of this
civilization on whose value as a means .to happiness doubts·have
been thrown. We shall not look for a formula in which to express. that nature in.' a few words, until we have learned some:..
thing by examining it. We shall therefore content ourselves
with saying once more that the word 'ci,viliz.ation' 1 describes
the whole sum of the achievements and the regulations which
distinguish our lives from th~e of our animal ance!it~rs a.nd
which serve two purposes-namely to protect men against
nature and to adjust their mutual relations.• In order to learJ;l
more, we will bring together the various features of civilization
indiVidually, as they are exhibited in human communities. In
doing
we shall have no hesi~tion in letting ourselves be
..
: 1;:
:
rlll
., f
: !i!
1 I•
'
''
so,
I'' l'•li'~
i'I
~·.
I
~
1 'Kultur.' For the translation of this word see the Editor's Note to
Till Future,of an Illusion.
1 Se:e The Future of an Illusion.
~ ·~ ·.~
rrs: DISCONTENTS
-~
' . .' . 81'
guided by ~c. ·u8age or, as it-ia . abo ~ed, ling\liswr
feeling, in the. con\liction ~at we shaH thm be doing ju.stic~ ..,, .
inner discemment! which still defY expre$Sion in abstract teimi,; ..
The first stage is .ea&y. We recognize as cultural all activities . .
.
and resources wh:i~h· are useful to men for. making·_ th~. ~rth. : > .::·.::~.~
servic~ble to them~ {or protecting them against the viole-nce t;f' · · , ·.... :.
" · ·'
the forces of nat~ and so on: As regcU"ds this side of eivi~
tion, there can be scarcely any doubt. lfwe go .back far ehough,
...
we find·that the first ac6 of civilization were the use of~;· ~
gaining of control over·fire and the. comtr.Uctipn ·of d~~ ·
Among t~~ the control over fire. stands out as a quite: c,t~ :
ordinary anCl LJDtxampled achievement,1 ·while the others
opened 'up paths whicli man has followed ever since, and the
stimulua to whith. is easily guessed. With every tool man is
perfecting his own organs, whether motor or sensory, . or ia
:.;.J
re~ving the limits to their fuhctiotiing. Motor ,o:w~r<pta~
.···.·:.(j
gigantic force! a~ his disposal, which, like his musekst he ciu'.t· ·;. · . \ (j
t· employ in a:ny ;cl~tion; thanks to ships and aircraft nei~ ·
water nor air can hinder his movements; by means of spect.a~ : ·.
he coiTects defects ih the. lens of his own -eye; by meanl Of:tJ!e·
we
1 1: •
. . ...,_.,..
QIVl~f~.AttON' .AND.
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
_
;._ ' ' .·. <. .-.-. .'......
.
·f;; .<':_·:~·:~~-·-~~;;- .
1
PaycOO.ab&lytie material; incomplete aa it is
...
interpreta~, ~rthelea
and not susceptible tQ
admits of a conjecture-a fantasti~
sounding one-:..aJ:awt the origin of thia human feat. lt il u thOQgh
primal man had the habit, when he eame in contact widi. ~, <li e.
satisfying an mtantile..desh'e co~etted with it, by putting it out with
a stream ofhis·u;fue. The legends that we poaessleave oo doubt about'
the origiDa.lly phallic view taken of tongues of flame as they ~.
upwards. Putting ou~ fire by micturating-a theme to which ·~·
giants, Gulliver in. Lilliput and Rabelais' Gargarituat still na,k bacli:was therd'ore a iind of sexual act with a· male, an enjoyment of leXUal
potency in a bom<i~ual competition~ The first person to renouna: this
desire and .spare the fire was able to tarry it off with him and ·subdue
it to his own we. ~y damping down the fire of his own sexUal a(:i~tion1, .
he had tamed the nat\lral force of fire. This great cultural conqu,dt.was. .
thus the reward for his renunciation of instinct. Further, it ia aa. thollgh
woman had been appqintt!d guardian of the fire which waa held (:ajJtin ·
on the domesti.c hearth, because h~r anatomy made'it impol8i1lte ror .~
to yield to the te.mptatioo of th1a desire. It is remar~. roo, ·bo.vo
regularly ~~~ ·. experience testifies to the comle(:tipn ~··
ambition, fire and urethral erotiam.-[Frcud had pointed ta ~ ·c:On,.
nection between urinatiOn and fire as early as in the 'Dota' cue biato!rf
(190~ [1901]). '~be ~tion with ambition came tather la:ter~ A. fUll
list of references will be tqund in the EditOI'"s Note to the
paper on
the subject, 'The Acqiiiaition and Control oCFire, (l932a).] ·
clear
Ja•
,., 'qr .·
~
,..
: I
38
· 6IVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
telescope he sees into the far .distance; and 'by means. 'of. the
microscope he overcomes the limits of visibility set by the
structure of his retina. In the photographic caniera he has
created an instrument which retains the fleeting visual i~pres.:.
sions, just as a gramophone disc retains the equally fleeting·
auditory ones; both are at bottom materializations of the power
he possesses of recollection; his memory. With the help of the
telephone he can hear at distances which would be respected as
unattainable even in a fairy tale. Writiltg was in its origin the
voice pf an absent person; and the dwelling-house wa8 a substitute for the mother's womb, the first lodging, for which in all ·
likelihood man still longs, and in which he was safe and felt at
ease.
these things that, by his science and technology, man has
brought about on this earth, on which he first appeared as a
feeble animal organism and on which each individual of his
species must once more make its entry ('oh inch of nature!' 1)
as a helpless suckling-these things do not oiJ]y sound like a
. fairy tale, they are an actual fulfilment of every-or of.almost
every-fairy-tale wish. All these assets he may lay claim to as.his
cultural acquisition. Long ago he formed an ideal conception of
omnipotence and omniscience which he embodied in hiS gods.
To these gods he attributed everything that seemed unat;ainable to his wishes, or that was forbidden to him. One may say,
therefore, that these gods were cultural ideals. To-day he has
come very close to the attainment of this ideal, he has ·almost
become a god himself. Only, it is trq.e, in the fashion in which
idea.J.s are usually attained according to the general judgement
of humanity.. Not ·completely; in ~ome respects not at all, in
others only half way. Man has., as it were, become a kind of
1 [In English in the original. This very Shakespearean phrak is not in
fact to be found in the canon of Shakespeare. The words 'Poore inch of
Nature' occur, however, in a novel by George Wilkins, Till Paitifull
Adumtures of Pericles Prince of Tyre, where they are addressed. by
Pericles to his infant daughter. This work was first printed in 1608, just
after. the publication of Shakespeare's play, in which Wilkins ha,s .been
thought to have bad a hand. Freud's unexpected acquaintance with the · ·
· phrase is explained by its appearance in a discussion of the origim of
Pmclu in Georg Brandes's well-known book on Shakespeare, a copy of
the German transla.tion of which had a place in Freud's library (Brandes,
1896). He is known to have greatly admUed the Danish critic (cf. Jones,
1957, 120), and. the same book is quoted in. his paper on the three
caaketa (1913f).]
:~,.
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
.39
prosthetic1 God. When he puts qn alibis adary orgam::lie is
truly magnificent; but those organs have not grown OD to him
and the9i§ti.U give him much ~rouble at times. Nevertheless, he
is entitled to console himself with the thought that this development will ~t cOme.to an end precisely with the year 1930 A.D.
Future_ages' will bring with them new and probably unimaginably great advanc~s in this field of civilization and will increase
man's likeness to God still more. But in the interests of our
investigations, we will not forget that present-day man does not
feel happy in his Godlike character.
We recognize, then, . that countries have attained a high
level of civilization if we find that in them everything which can
assist in the exploitation of the earth by man and in his protection against the forces of nature-everything, in ·short,
which is of use to him-is attended to and effectively carried
out. In such countries rivers which threaten to flood the 1aDd
are regulated in their flow, and their water is directed through
canals to places where there is a shortage of it. The soil is care~
fully cultivated and planted with the vegetation which it iS
suited to support; and the mineral wealth below ground is
assiduously brought to the surface and fashioned into the .required implements and utensils. The means of communication
are ample, rapid and reliable.. Wild and dangerous animals
have been exterminated, and the breeding of domesticated
animals flourishes. But we demand other things from civilization besides these, and it is· a noticeable fact that we hope to
find them realized in these same countries. As though we were
seeking to repudiate the first demand we made, we welcome it
as a sign of civilization as well if we see people directing their
care too to what has no practical value whatever, to what is
useless-if, for instance, the green spaces nec.essary in a town as ·
playgrounds and as reservoirs offresbair are also laid out with
flower-beds, or if the windows of the houses are decorated with
pots of flowers. We soon observe that this useless thing which we
expect civilization to value is beauty. We require civilized man
to reverence beauty wherever he sees it in nature and to create
it in the objects of his handiwork so far as he is able. But this is
far from exhausting our demands on civilization. We expect
l [A presthcsis it the medical term for an artificial adjunct to the body,
to make. up for some missing or inadequate part: e.g. false teeth or a
fabe leg.] .
.
;~· .
.-· ·..
:~
•
..
~
f
',,
'
....,. ,..•.
' :·... :'
·~;,~:·:.
4(>/:: .. • CIVILlZATHlN A.NI) :ITS - J)ISOOHTttrls
.·
~des ~ seethe aigris oftle~ness and order;·w~ do not ibini
.
,.f
r
il-•"' .
! ,~~.-
~:_ -~_. ·
i
- .!
l___·: _.. __._·_.:: .•
: if:-~~
il :!~
_- - -_
JUthly ·of. the eultiu'at· lev~ .of-an . Engliih co~ntry - to,WD in
. ~hal:espeare's -~ when we read that there was a hi#:d\litg.;
heap in front ofhls father's house in Stra:tford-i·we are in~t :
and call it 'barbarous' (which is the oppOSite ofcivilized) Wilen --.-w~_ ~d the pat)ls ~- the Wiener Wald1 litttred With pape~.
D~rnnesa of any kind seems to us ineompatible witb.civ.ilizatiOn.
. We extencb:>ur demand for cleaiiliness to the human bOdy toO.
We ·are asto~hed to learn of the obje~tionable smell w~
~~- from the Roi Soleil ; 1 and we shake out heads on
_th~ I sob Bellaa when we are shown the tiny wa8h-baail\ in
· which Napoleon made his morning toilet. Indeed, we an: ·not
sUrprised by.the idea of setting up the use of soap a! an actual
yardsti<;k of civilization. The same is true of order. It~ like
cleanliness, applies solely to the works of man. But w~
cleanliness is not to be expected
in nature,.-order, on
the. con.
.
trary, has been imitated from her. Man,s obs~atio:ll of the
~eat aa~nomJca1 regularities not only furnished him with a .
~- f()f ·intrOducing . order into his life,· but ga~ himthe lint ·..
.·J).oi:Dt$ of de~arture for doing so. Order is ·a kind of compulsi~n
to repeat which,.when a regulation has been )aid down once and
for all; _<lecides when, where and how a thing shail be done io -··
that in every similar circumstance one is spared hesitation ~nd - .
indecision. The benefits of order are incontestable. If enableS ·
men to use space and time to the best advantage, while rol'lsei'Ving their psychical forces. We should have a right tQ expec;t
tha.t omer woUld have taken its place in human activities froni
the start and without difficulty; and we may well wonder that ··
this has not happened-that, on the contrary, human- beings
ellhlbit •. an inborn tendency to carelessness, irregularity and
unreliability in their work, and that a laborious· training is .
needed before they learn to follow the example of their celestial
rnoc:lels.
·Beauty, cleanliness and order ·obviously o~cupy . a: ~~
posiuon among the requirements of Civl)ization. No ·one will .
. -~in~ that they are as important for life as:control over tht
.
forc(s of nature or as some other factors _with which we shall
1
[The wooded hills on the outskirts of Vienna.]
· 1
[Louis XIV of France.]
.
· ·
· • '[The·we1J;.bown island in Lake Maggiore, Visited by Napoleon a .·
· rew days betoFe. the battle of Marengo.J - . _ ._. . _. - . _.
CIVILIZATION' AND ITS DISCONTENTS
41
become acquainted. And yet no one would care to put them in
the background as trivialities. That civilization is not exclusively
taken up with _w hat is useful is already shown by the example of
beauty, which we decline to omit from among the interests of
civilization. The usefulness of order is quite evident. _W ith regard
to cleanliness, we must bear-in mind that it is demanded of us by
hygiene as well, and we may suspect that even before the days Qf .
scientific prophylaxis the connection between. the two was. not
altogether strange to man. Yet utility does not entirely explain
these efforts; ·something else must be at work besides.
No feature, however, seems better.to characterize civilization
than its esteem and .encouragement of man's higher mentalactivities-his intellectual, scientific and artistic achievementsand the leading role that it assigns to ideas in human life. Foremost among those ideas are the religious systems, on whose
complicated structure I have endeavoured to throw light elsewhere.1 Next come the speculations of philosophy; and finally
what might be called man's 'ideals, -his ideas of a pOssible
perfection of individuals, or of peoples or of the whole ofhumanity, and the demands he sets up on the basis of such ideaS. The
fact that these creations of his are not independent of one another, but are on the contrary closely interwoven, increases the
difficulty. not only of describing them but of tracing their
psychological derivation. If we assume quite generally . that
the motive force of all human activities is a striving towards the
two confluent goals of utility and a: yield of pleasure, we must
suppose that this is also true of the manifestations of civilization
which we hav~ been .discussing here, although this is easily
visible only injfientific and aesthetic activities. But it cannot be
doubted · ~e other activities, too, correspond to strong
needs in men-perhaps to needs which are only developed in a
minority. Nor must we allow ourselves to be misled by judgements of value concerning any particular religion, or philosophic -system, or ideal. Whether we think to find in them the
highest achievements of the human spirit, or whether we
deplore them as aberrations, we cannot-but recognize thatwhete
they are presen~ and, in especial, where they are dominant, a
high level of civjlization is implied.
The last, but certainly not the least importailt~ of the c:harac~
teristic features of civilization remains to be assessed: the man1
[Cf. The Future of an Illu$ian (1927c).] .
l•r 'iL:: :: , ,
• :. ....
!·r -
~·
•:
•' ,.·.:·
•
/
•••
1 ..... · '
· CIVlLIZA~lON'
A"D ITS.
Dl:
sc.. 61ri'~~'rs
'
. .
.
'
...
. .
'!
.
ner ira
.
.
.
•
.·
. :·
~··
.
. -::.'·
which the l'tdatiOOsbl,a of men .fu oile· '~{­
S()cial relationships~ ar~ ·regulated-relatioiuhlps which ~ .• .
penon as a neighbour, as a source of help. as ano.thet ~'•; · · · ··
aextial object, as a· member of a family and of a State. Here.jf ii ·· -·
. especially difficult tQ keep clear ofpatticular ide31 dcmancls aa4
to see what is civilized in general. Perhaps we ~y begia ...b)'
explaining .that the element of civilization enten on the lCene
. with the
·atte-mpt to regulate these soda! relatioiisbiP.I•olf
. dae aU,elnpt were not made, the relationships would be subject
·. fb. the arl>i~ry will of the individual: that is to say, the pbysic.a,Uy ·stronger man would decide them in the senie of his own
. m~sts ~d instinctuai impulses. N~thing wOuld.be Changed
this ifthis stronger man should in his turn meet someone ·even
1tronger than he. Human life in
is only mad~ ~ble ·.
when a majority comes together which is stronger than any . ·
separate individual and which remains united against · aU .
separate individuals. The power of this community is then set
·up as 'right' in opposition to the power of the indiVidual, w~ .
is·c:oadeinned as 'brute force'. This replacement of the po'Wer of . · ·
the individual by the power of a community constitutes the ·
~ecisive step of civilization. The essence of it lie! in the fact that
the members of the community restrict themselves· in $ellpossibilities of satwaction, whereas the individ~ - knew no
such restrictions. The first requisite of civilization, therefore~ is
that ofjustice----that ill, the assurance that a law onte made Will
not be broken in favour of an individual. This implies nothing as ·
to the ethical value of such a !aw. The further course ofctiltutal .
·~-eveloP,ment seems to tend towards making the law no lOnger an. . -·
e.xpresston .o f the will of a small community-a ca~te or a stratum ·
of the popt,1lation or a racial group--which, in its tum, behaves·.
like a. violent individual towards other, and perha.pi· more
numerous, collections of people. The final outcome shouki be a
rule of law to which all-except those who are not capab~ or'
entering a community-· have contributed by a sacrifice·of their
instincts, .and which leaves
one--again with the
exception.. at the mercy of brute. force.
. The lih<:ny of the. individual is no gift of civilization. It w~
gieatest ~fore there was any Civilization; though then, it is troe~
- -ii:·'had · for the most part no .value, Since the individual was
· ~arcely in a position to defend it. The dev~opment of civiliza·
-tioa imposa restrictions on it, and justice c:lemattds that no one.
!ttst
m
common
no
:'' ' ' '
.·.
same
,.
.'CIVILIZATION AN.D ITS· .DISCON-TENTS . . 43
shaU elc~ b mtncdo~. ~makes itself felt~ ·. JN.an
commumty al a desite fOr fFeecbn ~y be their .Qlt apa.t
some: existins injUStiCe, aD4 ···lio · may prove· ~Wur.~ble: to a
further ~mctit or civilization; it 1Xl&Y..- - .•.·~~.
.: .·~
_, ·
·:,. ·:,·
with civiliz~tioa~ But it may also tprias.&om· ·t~~.e ~ · 91
theit Outs~
· ..;.:...;;..o...t .peno
. . .· nality. which
""'·
. is still
. uutamrd
_
vr_~. .. . . ·· ... · :.:
and ma-y'thiU b«.otn~ die basiS iii them ofhosdlity ~ ~~ · ·
.<
tion. The: tirge
freedom, therefore,.is~ ~ :j>at-·- '
\
ticularforJ:JlS and .d emands of civilization or agaiaat ~,. . . . .
altogedler. It does not s~m ~ - ~~h auy :~ ~ · ·
induce a ~. to ch'a.Die·his·nature intQ &termi~~ ·N o cloubt he.will alway. defeJlCi his claim to individual liberty ~· the.
will of' the group. A · good part of the struggle5 of mankind
cen·tre ·round the ·single task of finding an expedient .ac~ .
~ne, that is, that wiD bring happiaesa~~ ., ...,
this
of the individual and the cultu+al ctaima of • ~;- ./ ·~j
and one of the problems that touches the fate of h~ ._, . ·~:.,. · ·
whether ~uch an accommodation can be reached by. ll'le41Jl ;~ · · · · ..
aome- particular form of civilization or whether ~ COi:dtiCt il .
for
claim
~~
'
.
.
By dlowmi ~n feeling to be o~ guide in deciding what
,
life are to be rega~ as civilized, we ~ve
obtaiuf;d '~impreSsion ofthe general picture of~; -,. . . •
but it ia ·trUe- that so far we have diltovered nothing that.is~. ··
,:·.j
· univeraaUy known~ At the Sa.me time we have been carefUIJaOJ' ;.;
to fall !D.with the prejudice that civiliiation is synonymou.t Witb ·
petfectmg, that it is the road to perfection pre-ordained for tpen•
But now a point of view presents itself which ~ay lead in a
dift'erent direction. The development of civilization appean to
us -as a
process which mankind undergoes, ~ .j,n .
which several tb.inp strike us as familiar. We may char~~~
this process with reference to _the Changes which it brings ~lit
. in the (amiliar instinctual dispositions of human ~ .~ ·
satisfy which is, after all, the economic taSk of our lives. A feW·()(_. ·
these instincts are used up .in such a manne~ that liOJD.e~ng
appea~ in their place,which, in an individual, we describe u a
charac~r-trait. The most remarkable example of 59ch a-,pR>
cess is·found- in the anal erotism of young hu~an beingi; 1'beir
original interest in the excretory function, its otgans ~Cl productS, is changed)n the course of their growth into a gro~ Of
traits which are.familiar to us as parsimony, a seJise ~f order and
featu~ ·or-human
":i
Pt:culiar
"·.. ,···: : .
..:. ,·
,.
.
~.:
--~ ·
,·:
.
. .--~
.
·. ClVILIZA.TION A.N;D ITS DISCONTENTS
44
CIVILIZATION AND I-TS DISCONTENTS
deanlin~ss-qualities which, though valuable and welcome hi
themselves, may be intensified till they become markedly
dominant and produce what is called the anal character. How
this happens we do not know, but there is no doubt about the
correctness of the finding.1 Now we have seen that order- and
cl~anliness are important requirements of civilization_, although
their vital necessity is not very apparent, any more than their
suitability as sources of enjoyment. At this point. we cannot
fail-to be struck by the similarity between the process of civilization and the libidinal development of the individual. Other
instincts [besides anal erotism] are induced to displace the
conditions for their satisfaction, to lead them into·other paths.
In most cases this process coincides with that of the sublimation
(of instinctual aims) with which we are familiar, but in some it
can be differentiated from it. Sublimation of instinct is a~ _
especially conspicuous feature of cultural development; it is
what makes it possible for higher psychical activitie~, scientific,
artistic or ideological, to play such an important part in civil.;.
ized life. If one were to yield to a first impression, one would say
that sublimation is a vicissitude which has been forced upon the
instincts entirely by civilization. But it would be wiser to reflect
upon this a little longer. In the third pl~ce, 1 finally, and this
seems the most important of all, it is impossible to overlook the
extent to which "civilization is built up upon a renunciation of
instinct, how much it presupposes precisely the non-satisCa:ction
(by suppression, repression or some 'other means?) of powerful
instinctS. This 'cultural frustration' dominates the large field of
social relationships between human beings. As we already know,
it is the cause of the hostility against which all -civilizations have
to struggle. It will a1so make severe demands on our scientific·
work, and we shall have much to explain here. It is not easy to
understand how it can become possible to deprive an instinct of
satisfaction. Nor is doing so without danger. If the. loss is not ·
compensated for economically, one can be certain that serious
disorders will ensue.
But if we want to know what value can be attributed to our
· view that the development of civilization is a special process,
1
Cf. my 'Character and Anal Erotism' ( 1908h). and numerous further
contributions, by Ernest jones [1918] and others.
1
[Freud had already mentioned two other factors playing a·. part in ·
the 'process' of civilization: character-formation and sublimation.]
con1parabi~
: .-··.·
45 .
to.
the·normal niatilration of the individtJa.l, .we
m~t clearly· attaCk.another prQblem•.Yf~ tn~t ask P~J'Se.ly!'l.to
what irdlue~~ees the develOpment ofC1vilization ow.es tb ongm,
· how it arose, and by what its course has been de~d. 1 .. ·
1 [Freud ~etu~ to the subjeCt of ~viliz:'tion as a 'p~~' ~ow, qQ
p. 69 and agaiJi on p. 86ff. He mentions 1t once more an h11 opea tett.r·
to Einstein, w~ War?_(1933b).]
: · ·,
. .. .
·,··.;
·l
I
mrr .
l'l
.
·~
'!I
·. ·: ~·
.
.''
. ClVILIZATION AND
;.
IV
THE
I
.;,
task seems an immense one, and it iS ·natural to feel diffi~
de!!ce in the.face ofit. But here are such conjectures as I have
been able to make.
After primal man had discovered that it lay in his own·
hands, liteTa.lly, to improve his lot on earth by working, it-can· .
· not have been a matter of indifference to him whether another
man worked with or against him. The other man acquired the
value fo.r him of a fellow·worker, with whom it was useful to
live together. Even earlier, in his ape·like prehistory, man had
adopted the habit of forming families, and the members of his
family were probably his first helpers. One may suppose that
the founding of families was connected with the fact that a ··
moment came when th~ need for genital satisfaction no longer
made its appearance like a guest who drops in Sl!ddenly, and,
after his departure, is heard of no more for a long time, but
instead took up its quarters as a permanent lodger. When this
happened, the male acquire.d a motive for keeping the female,
or, speaking more generally, his sexual objects, near him; while
the female, who did not want to be separated frpm her helpless
young, was obliged, in their interests, to remain with the.
stronger male. 1 In this primitive family one essential feature of
1 The organic periodicity of the sexual process has persisted, it is true,
but its effect on psychical sexual excitation has rather been revC!rsed.
This change seems most likely to be connected with the diminution ·or
the olfactory stimuli by means of which the menstrual process produced:_.•.
an effect on the male psyche. Their role was taken over by Visual
excitations, ~hich, in contrast to the intermittent olCactorY stjmuli, ".,
were abl~ to ~ntain a permanent effect. The taboo on menstruation. ·
is derived from this 'organic repre!Sion', as a defence against a phase of
development that has been surmounted. All other motives are pr~bably
of a secondary nature. (Cf. C. D. Daly, 1927.) This procelis is repeated
on another level when the gods of a superseded periOd of civilization
tum into demons. The diininution of the olfactory stimuli seems itself
to be a consequence of man's raising himself from the groUnd, o( his
assumption of an upright gait; this made his genitak, which were
previously concealed, visible and in need of protection, and so provoked
feelings of shame in him.
·
.The fateful process of civilization would thus have set in with man's ·
Jluis:>ption ofan erect posture. From that point the chain of events would
. . ls.ave proceeded tluoough the devaluation of olfactory stimuli and the
46
lT~
DISCONTENTS
. 47
civ~tion i~ still lacking. The arbitrary will of its· head, the
father, wa8 unrestricted; In Totem and Taboo [1912-13) 1 I have
~ed to show how the way led from this family to the succeeding
·stage of communal life in the form of bands of brothers. In over·
powering their father, the sons had made the cfucovery that a
combination can be stronger than a single individual. The ·
totemic culture is based on the restrictions which the sons had
isolation of the menstrual period to tlie time when visual stimuli were
paramount and the genitah became visible, and thence to the continuity
of sexual excitation, the founding of the family and so to the thra!hold
of human civilization. This is only a theoretical speculation, but it
is. important enough to deserve careful checking with reference to
the conditions of life which obtain among animals closely related to
man.
A social factor is also unmistakably present in the cultural trend
towards cleanliness, which has received tx post facto justification 'in
hygienic considerations but which manifested itself before their dis--.
covery. The incitement to cleanliness originates in an urge to g~t rid oC
the excreta; which have become disagreeable to the sense perceptions.
We know tllat in the nursery things are different. The excreta arowe
no disgust in children. They seem valuable to them as being a pa~ of
their own body which has come away from it. Here upbringing insists
with special energy on hastening the course of dev~opment which lies ·
ahead, and which should make the excreta worthless, disgusting,
abhotTent and abominable. Such a reversal of values would scarcely he
possible ]f the substan~ that are. expelled from the body were not
doomed by their strong smells to share the fate which overtook olf&.ctot:y
stimuli after inan adopted the erect posture. Anal erotism, therefore,
succumbs .in the first instance to the 'organic repression' which paved
. the · 'Way ,to ciVilization. The existence of the social factor . which is
responsible for the flll"ther transformation of anal erotism iS' attested by
the circumstance that, in spite of all man's developmental advances, ~
scarcely finds the smell of his own excreta repulsive, but only that of
other people's. Thus a person who is not clean-who does not hide his
excreta~is offending other people; he is showing no consideration tor
them. •And tll.W is confirmed .by our strongest and commondt terrill of
abuse~ It would be incomprehensible, too, that man should we the name
of his mos.t faithful friend in the animal world-the dog-as a . tenn of
abuse .if ~t c~ature had not incurred his contempt through two
characteristics: that it is an animal whose dominant sense is · that of
!lJlell and one which has no horror of excrement, and that it is not
ashamed of its sexual functions. [Cf. ·some remarks on the history of
Freud's views on driB subject in the Editor's Note, p. 60 f. above.]
. 1 [What Freud. here calb the 'primitive family' he speaks of
often
as the •primal hor(le'; it co~nds to what Atkinson (1903), to whom , .
the notion ia largely due, named tlte 'Cyclopean family'. See, for all
this, S~d EJ., ll, 142ft'.]
more
••
...... ... "'· . , ...
.: . . ..
. .····.'···r·v.· . . . . ,
:. ~-- • -oxvtirZA~lO~ A:~;o Its n~scoNT:~,~ :~ .. ::::··:
'[1[;. .. ·:.·
''~.. .
.i: :
.
f··
~
!
j
I
.
to im~ on one ~other in ordei to ~eep ,this ,it~;,~.::<i ..
- two-roid
~~.~~!ri=!i~~~~=~es~=
Z:d~~£1;:-.·foWicla~ni the compulsion tO·: whrk, which ~-· .
created .bY external neceSsity,· and· _the pow~r <>f loy~; ·~hi4.
made the man unwilling to be depnved (Ifhis sexud Obj~~-~
the woman- and imide the' woman \lnwilling to be deprived..of
t)le part Or~rselfwhich had been separa~ed off from her-:-her _
child. Efus and Ananke [Love and Necesstty} have become the
piren~ ofhuman civilization too. The first result of civilization, .
was that even a fairly large l').umber of people were llOW _.~
live together in a cqmmunity~ And s~e these ~ ~at ·
powers were co-operating.~. ~, one ought ~~' .that the
further development of civtlizatton would proc~ emoothly.~ ..
wards an even better control over the extern~{ VfOrld and ·
towards a further exte.ns~on of the number of p~
.· ·~ . '!~~~.m.
the community. Nor 1s 1t easy to 1,1nderstand h~~~a~· .
tion coulP, act upon its participants otherwise than tO mike them
.0:
.
. happy.
.
· :
~.
·•. .· :
· Before we go on to enquire from what quarter an mterf~ren<;e . .
!night arise, this recognition oflove as one ~the found~nons.?f .·.
civilization may serve as an excuse for a digressi~n w~h-~ ·
enable us to fill in a gap which we left in.an e~er diacpSJtl)tl
[p. 29]. We said there. . that man's discovery that sex~
(genital) love afforded him the strongest apenences of -~a~~·
faction, and in fact provided him with the Rrototype ~all
happiness, must have suggested to him that he should ·co·~ . .
to seek the satisfaction of happiness in ~ life al.ong the _pa"Jt ' ·-.
sexual relations and that he should make gemtal ero~ . _.- ·-· ·
central point of hi
."s life. Vtfe went on -to say that in doi:it~
.~~.{.'· · ·,. .
made himself dependent m a most dangerous W!1Y 01.\ ~ r'"·~:.:,
o( the external world, namely, his chosen love-opjeCt,. ~ \ ~~­
exposed himself to extreme suffering if he ~uld be ,re.Fted by · ··~
that object or should lose it through unfatthf~ess or de3th. .
For that' teason the wise men of every age have -warned us mqst
e~phatkally against this way of life; but in spite of.this it haa
oot lost its attraction for a great number of people. · · , ·: ·
. A small minority ~e enabled by their constitution to find ~ ·
. happinea, in spite of every_thlng, along. the path of love. But ~.. · .
rc:achjng mental changes m the fu11ction of lpv~ are necessary .
·
1
[ThC.German ·'Recht' mt;ans both 'right 'and 'law'•1
· · ··
,.·, ·.
':
50
,.·,
.
CIVIL I.Z ATIO:N AND ·· tTs' Dl SGON·:f'~KT~.·.
·::. ·..- ..
r ·~ Y-~1
· · ....... ~'~, .
••
•
• J•
• •
··
nut
or
or
fot
.
:cme
a
I
I
.
I~ : .
d ..
I j.·! ..
.t
I! ,I• :', .
. I
;11 ;...
i ..
' : 1: ..
·. ··
' ·:;;,
···. ·.
·:. : :· OlVItJZATJON . AND
was in fact origina.Jlyfuily sensual love, an4ltit~m.ititl;w..~;··· .
tinco~u&. Both--fully sen$uallove and ajm-inhibited,~~
extend ouwde th~family ~d create new bond~ ~th ~oJ?li:\Y~~­
before were atrangen.. Genttallove leads to the fOrnlatt~ of'~~~ .· .
· ifoUU
- - . l. mrn,.:.m
• · • • . ·hi
.bitcd. love
· . to 'friendsbips
. _, which
.. . .·. ..~·
. .. . .. ::. . ·
fa·mili'es,
valuable trolll a cultural standpoint because tbc.i' ·escape ~e . .
of theJimitationa of genital loW, as, fOr ~tance,. its ~·
~ie~e,
in·· the c:ourae development the .retauon ~<m,: to ·· ..
~lOses iu unambiguity. On the.one .hand loVe -~~- _ ·
·.btt& opPosition tp the interests of civilization; .0D die. Qt}ieri
dvilization threatens love with substantial rcstrictiom., ... .
.· .TbiS ria between them seems unavoidable. The reaiOQ i.
ia Mt unmediately recognb;abJe. It expresses ,itself at tiiat... ~
~(between the family and the larger com~\Uli!Y to· ~
the individual belongs. We have.already perceived ~ ·on~· or ~
the main cndeavoun of civilization iJ to bring people -~ .·
into large.ttnities. B1:1t the family will not give .the iridividlial• ·
, ..Jnt)tO closely the members of a family ~ a~«! :~ .~ .
~er~ the more often do they .tend to cut thenuelves ·oif (tom
·Others, and the more difficult is it for them to .enter ~-· ~
wider tircle of life. The mode of life in common whic;h .~.-. :- ·..
phy).Ogenetically the 6lder, and which .iJ the only
tbac. : ·
exilu in childhoodt will ·IlQt let itseJf be superseded qy ..~::­
cultural mode of life which has been acquired later. ~ .
h.imle1f from his 'family becomes task that faees evety''~ . .
peqon~. and .society often helps him ·in the solutiOn Ol·it. by .
me.us.O£ puberty and initiation rites. We get the im~o thAt these are difficultie$ which are inherent mall ~cat~.. ·.
. and, bldeed, at bottom, in all organic-develop~~ ',. ·. ''' .
· FUrthermore, women soon come into oppositior:t t6 civillza~ . ·
tiOn aDd display their retarding and restraining inftuent:o-- · _·. ·
thoSe very women who, in the beginning, laid the fouadatioot or
civilization by the claims of their love. Women represent the
iotere..ta of the falnily and ofsexuallife. The woTk of civiliZatiQn
Jl&.ibeeome increasingly ;t he business of men, it confronts diem ·
· witt. eyer more difficult tasks and compels· them to cariy ,out
matinctual sublimations of which women are ' little capa}?le. . ~· '
Since~ a man does not have unlimited quantities of psychical ..
energy·at his dispo$al, he has to ~mpli$h bis ta$b by making •.
. an expedient distribution of his libido. What be employs for
·· cultural ainu he to a great extent withdraW!.from woJl1en and
'·
,.~ ·.
.:J.
·1,.
rts ·i>tSOONTENTS
5l
sel~-~:Bi..~t~~~\Yithmen,andhis~
on hia i'elati<im with them, even eatra·nge him from: his~titi:!J~
a husband and father. Thus the .woman an& hefR:tr· tor&a.
"into . the ba&ground by· die . claims of ciVilization an<J she
adoptS a h6stile attitude towar& it.
.
'
' .·.. .
. ;..'
The tel'ldency on the part of civilization to·re5tril:t seiuaiJHe
is no less clear than its other tendency to expand the ~unit. It$ first, totemic, phase already brings with it the:
Aubicion again~t an incestuous choice of object, arid dail, u
perhaps the most.drastic mutilation which .man's ·erotic ~· bas ..
in all , time experience4. Taboos, laws and cu~ms
further restrictions, ·which affect both men and women. Not all
civiliz.ations go equally far in this; and the economic stru~ture of
the society also ·influences the amount of sexual freedom t~at
re~ns. .Here, as we already know, civilization is obef.iilg
laws.ofeconomic necessity, since a large amoutit of the py.dai~
·::-t.
energy wlpch it uses for its own purposes ha8 to be with~~ · ·i ·
from sexuality. In this respect civilization behaves t~
sexuality as a people or a stratum of its population does wldch
bas.subjected apot~er one to its exploitation. Feat of a revolt,by
the suppressed. eltm~ts drives it to stri.c ter precautionary
measures; A high-water mark in such a development has.been .
reached in oqr Western European civilization. A cultU:ral ·
coniJnunity is perfectly justified, psychologically, in startitlg'by .··
proscribing ma.J).ifestations of the sexual life of childi'~,.~ !Qr
there would be no prospect of curbing the sexual lusts of ~ul­
...
if the ground had not been ·prepared for it in childhood·. 'But ·
such a community cannot in any way be justified in going tQ- the
length of actually disaoowing such easily demonstrable, and,
indeed, striking phenomena. As regards the seJ{ually matUre
individual, the. choice of an object is restricted to the ·oppOsite.
sex, and m()st ~a-genital satisfactions are forbidden ·~ per.;;
·I
versions. The' requirement, demonstrated in these prohibitions~
. ··:'j
that there shall be a single kind of sexual life for evety90e,
. J
disiega.rd! the dissimilarities, whether innate or acquired; .in
the sexualconatitution of hum~n beings; it cuts off a fair num- .
ber of them frolll s~ual enjOyment, and so becomes the ·s ow
ofse~ous injuttice~ ·Tho result ofsuch restrictive measures ~ght
be that in peQple ~ho .are normal-who are not prevented by
their constitution· .the whole of their sexual interests woUld flow · ·
without less in~ the channels that are J.C!ft. ·o pen. But heitro- · ··";
p,o.;_
imPose
the ·
.· ·
':i
-~
•
~-
I
~
I
I
·
.
.
,·J
. ,· t~
_..
·; . . .'
'~-
;
'
; :.·,
, •:,' ;·',<
:··"
· ..-·.
52
CIVILIZATION AND ITS D\tSCONTENTS ·
'·-·
sexual genital love, which has remained exempt from outlaw.ry,
is itself restricted by further limitations, in the shape of insi.s•
tence upon ~egitimacy and monogamy. Present-day civili~a~
tion makes it plain that it will only permit sexual relationships'
on the basis of a solitary, indissoluble bond between one man
and one woman, and that it does not like sexuality as a source of
pleasure in its own right and is only prepared to tolerate it
because there is so far no substitute for it as a means of propagating the human race.
·
. ·
This, of course, is an extreme picture. Eyerybody knows that
it has proved impossible to put it into execution, even for quite
. short periods. Only the weaklings have submitted. to such an
extensive encroachment upon their sexual freedom, and stronger
natures have only done so subject to a compensatory condition,
..:
1
which will be mentioned later. Civilized society has found
itself obliged to pass over in silence many transgressions which,
according to its own rescripts, it ought to have punished. But
we must not err on the other side and assume that, because it
does not achieve all its aims, such an attitude on the part of
society is entirely innocuous. The sexual life of civilized man is
•
notwithstanding severely impaired; it sometimes gives the impression of being in process of involution as a functioh, just as
our teeth and hair seem to be as organs. One is probably
justified in assuming that its importance as a source of feelings of
happiness, and therefore in the fulfilment of our aim in life, has
sensibly diminished.z Someti'mes one seems to perceive that it is
not only the pressure of civilization but something in the nature
of the function itself which denies us full satisfaction and urges
us along other paths. This may be ~rong; it is hard to decide;• ..;;;..•
'"-,
1 [The compensation is the obtaining of some measure of security..
See below, p. 62 .]
t Among the works of that sensitive English writer, john Galsworthy,
who enjoys general recognition tcrday, there is a short story of which I
early formed a high opinion. It is called 'The Apple-Tree', and it brings
home to us how the life of present-day civilized people leaves no room
for the simple natural love of two human beings.
.3 The view expressed above is supported by the following c;onsiderations. Man is an animal organism with (like others) an unmistakably
bisexual disposition. The individual corresponds to a fusion of two
symmetrical halves, of which, according to some investigators, one is
purely male and the other female. It is equally possible that each half
was originally hermaphrodite. Sex is a biological fact which, although
..it is of extraordinary importance in mental life, is hard to grasp psycho-
. O.lVILlZATlON AND ITS DiSCONTENTS
53
logkany:. We 'are ace~!~ to la;Y that every htuDan being ~~
both male and female. matinctual unpulsea, needa and attributeli. bo.t
though aila;tomy,'itia· ttue, oan.point out the characteristic of $alene.
and ~mess.; psychology cannot. For psychology the convaat between
the sexes fades away into one between activity and paslivity, m'whi¢h
we far 109 ~ly id~rlfr activity with ~eness and passivity· with
fe~l~, a Vlt!W whtch l8 by no means uruversally confiqnec:l in ~
a~ ~dom. The theory of bisexuality is still surroundec).by zna.n¥.
obscur~ties and we cannot but feel it as·a serious impediment in P'Y.ChOanal)lll$ that it has not yet found any link with the theory Ofthe inmu.C;u,.
However this may be, if we a!Sume it as a fact that each iQdiV{dQ
seeb to satisfy both male and female wishes in his seXua.l lift. ~-are
prepared for the possibility that those [two sets of] d~'are riot
fulfilled ·by the .same object, and that they interfere with each ot:b¢r
· unless they can be ]lept apart and each impulse guided iltto a particular
channel that is suited to it. Another difficulty arises from the circumstance that there is so often associated with the erotic relationship, over
and a~ve ita own. sadistic componentll~ a quota of plain inclination tO
a~n. The love-object ~ not always view these comptitiltiQaa
Wlth the. qe~ of understanding and tolerance shown by the .pealllr&f.
woman who oo.mplained that her husband did not love· her any ~.
since he had not beaten her for a week.
·
·
. The conjecture which goes deepe.t, however, iJ the one whiCh .._.
1t11 sta.Ft from "1'bat I have said above in n.y footnote on p. 46£. It i4: to the
effect that, with the asrumption of an erect posture by man· and with
the depreeiatiqn of hil sense of smell, it was not only his anal erot:Wn_
which threa~ to fall a victim to organic repression, but the ¥lh<>1e -Q(
his sexuality; 10 that since this, thesexual function has beenac~
by a rep:UgQance which cannot further be accounted for, and wbic:b
prevent$ its complete satisfaction and forces it away from the aexuai afui
into sublimations and libidinal displacements. I know that . BJeti1er
·' (1913) on~ pointed to. the existence of a primary repelling atdtudeRe
this tc»,vards .Sexual. Uf~ All·neurotica, and many .othen beside$. _tQe
exception to the fact that 'inter urinas et fo«is niJ.Uimui [we
born
~ urine ant~: faeeesJ'. The genitals, too, give rise to strong sensations of smell wbkh many people cannot tolerate and which spoil
sexual intereoune fOJ: them.. Tbw we should find that the deepat l'Qot
of the. sexual repras10n which advance. along with civilizati.on iii the
orgaruc. c;iefence of the new form of life achieved with mans• erect pit
against his earlier anima) existence; This result of scientific research
coincides ma remarkable way with commonplace prejudius that have
often made themselves heard. Nevertheles~, these things
2lt ~t
no more than unconfirmed possibilities which have not been su'bstan~
ated by SCience. Nor should we fotget that, in spite of the un.deniable
depreciation of olfactory stimuli, there exist even in Europe peoph.
among whom the Sfron&' genital odours which are so repelterit to us ate
highly pmeci as ~~ stimulants and who refuse to give :dtetn u:p.
(Cf. the collectiotur of folklore obtained from Iwan Blocb'• q'Ueltion..
naire on the sense of smell in ~uallife ['OM- dm G~ ;;.Je, tJi1a
.,. ,'·.·
are
are
..; .:
.
•' '
CIVILIZATION AND' ITS DISCONTENTS.
54
· saulir'] publ:iahed in different volumes of Friedrich S. Kr&~··
Ani}Wpophyllia.)
.
.
.
.cal
. r. ' ale . ,
[On the difficulty of finding a p.sychologt · . mearung ~or m . ness
and 'femalenes:i', see a long footnote added m 1915 to th~ third of
Freud's Thru Essays (l905d), Stimdard Ed., 7, 219-20.-The tmportant
consequences of the proximity between the ~ and excretory '?rgans
were first indicated by Freud in the unpublished Draft K sent to Fliess on
January 1, 1896 (Freud, 1950a). He returned to the point frequently.
Cf. for instance, the 'Dora' case history (1905e [1901]), Stlwiard Ed.,
7,
&nd the second paper on 'The Psychology of Love' (1912d),
ibid., It, 189. Cf. also the Editor's Note, p. 6 f. above.]
:h-2.
•
v
work has shown us that it is precisely these
frustrations of sexual life . which people known as neurotics, ·
cannot tolerate. The neurotic creates substitutive satisfactions
for himselfin his symptoms, and these either cause him suffering
in themselves or become sources of suffering for him by raising
difficulties in his relations with his environment and·the society
he belongs to. The latter fact is easy to understand; the former
presents us with a new problem. But civilization demands other
sacrifices besides that of sexual satisfaction.
We have treated the difficulty of cultural development as a
general difficulty of development by tracing it to the inertia of
the libido, to its disinclination to give up an old position for a
new one. 1 We are saying much the same thing when we deriVe
the antithesis between civilization and sexuality from the cir~
cumstance that sexual love is a relationship between two individuals in which a third can only be superfluous or disturbing,
whereas civilization depends on relationships between a con~
siderable number of individuals. When a love-relationship is at
its height there is no room left for any interest in the environment; a pair of lovers are sufficient to themselves, and do not
even need the child they have.in common t() make them happy.
In no other case does Eros so clearly betray the core ofhis b~ing,
his purpose of making one out of more than one; but when he
has achieved this in the proverbial way through the love of two
human beings, he refuses to go further.
·
So far, we can quite well imagine a cultural community
consisting . of double individuals like this, who, libidinally
satisfied in themselves, are connected with one another through
the bonds of common 'work and common interests. If this were
so, civilization would not have to withdraw any energy from
sexuality. But this desirable state of things.does not, and never
did, exist. Reality shows· us that dvilization is not content with
the ties we have so far allowed it. It aims at binding the members
of the community together in a libidinal way as well and
Psvcao-ANALYTIC
[See, for instance, pi' 50 above. For some remarks on Freud's UIC ol
the concept of'psychi~ inertia' in general, see an Editor's footnote to
Freud, 1915}; Skmdard Ed., If, 272.]
'
1
55
'!"' .····· ,
.
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-
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...... ,..
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'
I
~
. '
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...... .
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•~
•
56-· .· . OIYILlZATlON AND ·ITS J)lSOON·T~j;Ts.: ·
.eJDPioYs.n:ery JQeans to that e~~
It fa~~ .We~. ~th by' .
which.' strong identifications can .be establish~ ~tween .the .
memben of the co1nmunity, and it summons up aim-inhibited .
. libido ~n the largat scale so as to strengthen the eomni.
boJ~d by relation$ of friendship. In orde~ for t:he3e. aunt to~ · ,
fuMUI¢, a restrU:tion upon sexual life is unavoidable. But we. ~e ·.
unable to undentand what the necessity iS.which. t()rces. civiljza--.
tion~ ~ this path and which causes its an tag~ to. ~~;; . . -·. lty.·· Tiie~ muat be some disturbing factor whieh we Jaave not .
yet: diScovered.
·
. ·. . ·
·.The·clue in~y be supplied by one of the ideal d.e~ds~ aa
we have ca)led them, 1 of civilized society. It ru~: 'Th9u s~t
love thy neighbour as thyself.' It is known throughout tlie world,:
aDd· u undoubtedly older than Christianity, which puts it·
forward as its proudest claim. Yet it is .certainly ri<)t very old;
even in historical times it was still strange to mankind~ Let us
adop~ a naive attitude towards it, as though we were be~g it
. for.· ~ fin~ time; we shall be unable then to 'upptess a feebn~ of
· ~rise and bewilderment. Why should we. do it? What gOod •
·· . Will it do us? But, above all, how shall we · a~hieve it? Hc}w can ·
·it-be poasihle? My love is something valuable to me which·l
ought not to throw away without reflection. It impose$ duties o~
me for whose fulfilment I must be ready to .make sacrificeS. Ifl·
love-someone; he must de~rve it in some ·w ay. (I leave out of .
account the use he may be to me~ and abo his. possible Signi•
fic~te for me as a sexual object, for neith~ of .t hese two
kiada of relationship comes into que~tion where the precept
tc)_'r~e my neighbour is concerned.) He deserves it if he _is ;o
like Jpe
important ways that I can love myself in him; ail4
· he deaerves it if he is so much more perfect than myselt that I
can Io.ve my ideal of my own self in him. Again, l have to love
him if he is my friend's son, since the pain my friend would
feel if any harm came to him would be my pain t()()--:-rl !hould
have to share it. But if he is a stranger to me alld:if he cannot
· a~tract ~e by any worth of his own or any .significance that ~e ·.
.tm.lY atready ~ave acquired for my emoti()nal life, it wm be.
hard,for m<;. to love him. Indeed, I should t>e Wrfj)Dg to do sot ··
.fot .my:lOve'is valued by all my
people· ~ a aign of my pre-.
ferririg therp., and it is an injustice to them if lput Ct. stranger on
m
own
1.(See p. 94 above. Of. abo '"Civilizec¥'. Sa:u.ll Morality' (1908d},
. Sttlntlard Ed., 9, 199.]
CIVlLIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
57
a par with them. But if I am to love him (with this universal·
love) merely because he, too, is an inhabitant of this earth, like
an insect, an earth-worm or a grass.:snake, then I fear that only
a small modicum of my love will fall to his share-:-not by any
possibility as much as, by the judgement of my reason, I am
entitled to retain ·for mysel£ What is the point of a. precept
enunciated with so much solemnity if its fulfilment cannot be
recommended as reasonable?
·
On closer inspection, I find still further difficulties. Not
merely is this stranger in general unworthy of my love; I must
honestly . confess that he has more claim to my hostility and
even my hatred. He seems not to have the least trace of love for
me and shows me not the slightest consideration. If it will do
him any good he has no hesitation in injuring me, nor does he
ask himself whether the amount of advantage he gains bears any
proportion to the extent of the harm he does to me. Indeed, he
aeed not even obtain an advantage; if he can satisfy any sort of
desire by it, he thinks nothing of jeering at · me, insulting me, ·
slandering me and showing his superior power; and· the ·more ·
secure he feels and th.e more helpless I am, the more certainly I
can expect him to behave like this to me. If he behaves differently, if he shows me consideration and · forbearance as ~
stranger, I am ready ~o treat him in the same way, in any case
and quite apart from any precept. Indeed, if this grandiose
commandment had run 'Love thy neighbour as thy neighbour
loves thee', 1 should not ta,ke exception to it. And there is a
second commandment, which seems to me even mQ.re incom~
prehensible and arouses still stronger opposition in me. It is
'Love thine enemies'. If I think it over, however, I see that I am
wrong in treating it as'a greater imposition. At bottom it is the
same thing.1 .
1
A great imaginative writer may permit himself to. give expreaion-- ·
jokingly, at all events.,-to psy,.chological truths that are severely proscribed. Thus· Heine confesses: 'Mine is a mOst peaceable dis}l9Sition.
My wishes are: a humble cOttage with a thatched roof, but a good bed,
good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window. _
a nd
a few fine trees before my door; and if God wants to make my happiness
complete, he will grant me the joy of seeing some six 0~ seven or my
enemies ~nging from those troes. Before their death I shall, moved in
my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in their lifetime. One
must, it is true, forgive one'.s enemies-but not before they have been
hanged.' (Gedanken und-Einflilk [Section I].)
,P
··-·-.~-"- · ·.··. · .-. ~-~--~-~.-~"~.:"~ -~:·'··~:~'·~::·..:~r;. :~llf.-~- .·:~---};&f.S:*~~tf:V¥'1. :·,:>·-~:.i:J~.ff·~~~f:?'-4*SS;;s.._~.?.
-
- ~.
•,.::_ ·--~~~-:~·:·
.'
. . ~- :
'
.·'• ~
•, .
. CIVILI~A'l"ION A~D ITS .Dl:SCONTBNTS ·'-
5'; ·
url.. ·.
to it, ' w~ tli.C. mental ~~force~ whith. e>r<Unari!Y
hibit lt ~ ~t Of ac~ it Ale :m.arurests itself swntaneOuiiY
and ·teveala mat& .a, • savap beast .t o w~ ~ · .·
-·--.J-.. ~;;.:.;;.
· -~:t.:·-..1
• a-.--...1.:~... ali"
A~
·,;.u_ •~
to-w.~~
~- -~
~::•:
~~~- ." ~· .a:~
~ae · ~-.Lwuv: ~~;
~· -·
1
0
--
•
~·
~-- :
min<l·the a®Ci-- :~ttfd dwint die raclal m.fgta. . ···- .·
the iiavasio1ll Of tM H~- • by dle people .bown as ~r:: .. ,;. :·..: ·. ·
under .:.Jenghiz ~han and-Tamtrlane, or at t:bt-. cap~~.~:.;',} ·';·.·.-·
Je~ bY the piOUJ OnJsaden, or even, indeed, the:·~ .: _ , :
,, . .
. •
-~
;?l
:~-
·.'''fi
Ii:·I'',,
1':
.-.
of_ th~ ~ _ World War-anyone-w~ caltl. theae .~ - -; .
~ ~· n.~ to bow humi;Jly befOre the Cmtb.of tbia ~~·<:
~.-ortllif ••iaatioo tQ ~~ whie~>we _Call dt~ isi Oursdvet._Wj~y ~me to be present in otben~
is the·fact9f · w~ dis~ our re~ with our ncigh~ ·
and ..whiidf
.Clivitiaatioli into such a high ~penditurc [of .•
·,,
energy}~ lD comeq.,. ol this. pri~ m\ltuaJ hostility _of_: · · · · ·
hwnan .~.~,i,w,;
.· -, ~
. : • .· IOciety iS .p· -erpe·tuany th.feateued''W-_
---.~.tli.
·- . .· ·:.}~~-:;·
.:.:.~:,.,::
~~
.<· .. :
diJin~n. The imerest of work in commOn would~ ~>.
it ~;-.~tual. paa$iona are strOnger than re~ · · ·. • · -.·
intereltl~ _qMiizatioll._ to \lte its utmost efforts i'.; order.:t<u-.=*.'
limits to- -:a•s: ~· instinctJ a.nd ·to hQid the ~/ .
··
.
ne
rome.
=
·.·: -,..·.
tiont of--·in cheek by ,P11chkal reaction-tormations. Hence, ·
therefbreJ·th¢· use of method~ ilitendecJ to J.ncite peOple .~ ; .. .
identilica~ ~· iWJI..inhibited relationships of love, ~t .
the ra~tioD \ip!Qft a~ ]if~ and hence toq tho ideal'• ~·~ -.·
mandiileat •to~ one's neighbour as oneself-a.comman-.t •
which is ~y justified· by. the fact that nothing else niut ~
strol)gly ~ter to • 9riJPnal nature of man. In spite -Of~
effort, these c:adeavoutJ ofcivilization have not so far ~
very
lt oopeJ to prwent the crudest excesses or·bnJ.tiLI.
violence by ·itself assuming the right to use violence apinJt .
criminals, but.- the law·
not able to lay hold of the ··mo~-e··
cautious and refined· ma.oifestations of human aggressiv~~ • ·
The time comes when each one of us has.to give up as Uhiiiob8 ·
the expectations which; in his youth; he pinned upon bis ~:
men, and when h,C Iniy:leam. how much difficulty and'pabi ~ . ·
been added to .hia. life.·by their ill-wilt At the same ~,it
would be un(~· to reproach Civilifation with trying to eli~~ ·
strife and competition, from human activity. These things are
undoubtedly indisPel;lSable. But .opposition .is not. i_lece~arily_·
enmity; it is merely niisaiJed and made an ~~a,rion for enmitY~
The communists believe that they have found the path .tO
snucl1.
r.
·"' ·~·
··- ·
~-
% ;;:....
_, · ,._o. .:·
,_, -- ,~-i
. .• ~ ........·,_"'~'-' ~···'• , .......,.... ...""', , ·--·_..,. ...........~-........~ ......_...,. ,,
", ·-.i:... ·.:.:. ....
,:~
.
60
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
deliveranc~ from ~ur evils. Ac~ord~g to them, man..is :-v~lly.,/ .. ·•
good and 1s well-disposed to blS ne1ghbour; but the Institution
of private property has corrupted his nature. lqe ownership of
private. wealth gives the individual power, and with it the
•mptation to ill-treat his neighbour; while the man who is
excluded from possession is bound to rebel in hostility against
his oppressor. If private property were abolished, all wealth
. held in common, and everyone allowed to share in t\tF enjoyment of it, ill-will and hostility would disappear among me,n.
Since everyone's needs would be satisfied, no one would have
any reason to regard another as his ene~; all would.willin~ly
undertake the work that was necessary.l!Jlave no concern Wlth
any e~onomic criticisms of the communist. system; I cannot
enquire into whether the abolition of private property is
expedient or advantageous. 1 But I am able to recognize that
the psychological premisses on which the system i;s~~~<!.~t:.~n_;
untenable illusion. In abolishing private property we depnve ·
thThuman love'of aggression of one of its instruments, certainly ·i.
a strong one, though certainly not the strongest; but we have i!l ·
no way altered the differences in power and influence.which are •.·
misused by aggressiveness, nor have we altered a~thing in its
nature. ~esSiyencss was not s;reaJed by prope!:!Y:) It reigned ·
almost \\iti\Out-limit in primitive times, when property was
still very scanty, and it already shows itself in the nursery
almost before property has given up its primal, anal form; it
forms the basis of every relation of affection and love among
people (with the single exception, perhaps, of the mother's .
relation to her nicile child 1). If we do away with personal rights ...,
over material wealth, there still remains prerogative in the
field of sexual relationships, which is bound to become the
Anyone who has tasted the miseries of poverty in ~wn youth and
has experienced the indifference and arrogarice of-t he well-to-do, mould
be safe from the suspicion of having no undentanding or good will
towards e~deavours to fight against the inequality of wealth among men
and aU that it leads to. To be sure, if an attempt is made to base this
fight upon an abstract demand, in the name of justice, for equality for
~1 men, there is a very obvious objection to be rnade-tpat nature, by
endowing individuals with extremely unequal physical attributes and
mental capacities, has introduced injustiCes against which there is no
remedy. . . ·
·
·
'[Of. a footnote to Chapter VI of Group Psyclwlogy (192lc), Stant/a;d
&/., 18, lOin. A rather longer discussion oftbe point OC(;:Urs near the end
of Lc:cture XXXIII of the New Introductory Lectum (J933a).] ·
1
.
..; . .· '
'(' '
· ·:._ .
.ciytLfzA 'riON' A~D
SC?tirce Qfthe .s~ngest
'•
'
'';::
' -~': . ·,_.
ITS
·
...
· ~· ·
·. .
. ..
·. ~-
.'
PISCONTENTS .
6{
dwike -~d the most. violetrt ·~#'
arnoqg men, who ~ o~r: re$pe-<::ts are on an equal footilig.lt·:W.e ·
we~ .1f> ~ove this factor,~~ by allowing ~mpltte fRe®m
o~ ~~ life and thus a~liShing the. family, the g~ell Of
civilization, we canno~; ~t. is ~e, easily foresee what mw. path. ·
the d~oprnent of ?Vl~ati~n. could take;. but one t:hini w~ . .
can ~t, ·and ~t 11 that this mdestructible feattu-e of b. ..· ·.,·'
nature1:will follow 1t there;
.
_ ·.
:-· ··.·
.u dearly not ealy for men to give up the satisfa~t:Wn 'of · ·
~ m~a~li to ·aggression. They do not feel tQtnfoitable ·
wtthoutlt. The ~tag_e ~hi~h ~comparatively sm~ ~uJtu~ ·
gro~~ offers .of ~owmg' ~ Instinct an oudet in the form of .
.
hos~ty. ag~t .m truders lS . no~ to he desp~d. It is always llettr~~(
p<>Ulble. to bind together a coJlSlderable number of people ini>.L, ·
:·;,.
. ft
::;r:=. . .~"':=-~=~n::; ~ t'~j{
. phe~~enon that 1t u prec1sely co~munities with ad~ · . }·. : : :/_.;~
temtories, and ~lated to each other m other ways as well wh() . . .· :~
~ engaged H; constant feuds and in ridiculing eaCh ~· ··' ··
like the Spa.mards and Portuguese~ for iiuta.Iice, the Nortlt
Germans and South Germans, the English and Sco~and ao
1
0~ I ~ve this- phenomenon the name of 'the nal'CI!Sism-of
• or dift"erences', a n~~e which ~ not·do much to ~~
1t. Yie c~ now see..tha~-lt ~a convement and relatively~- ·
satisf~tion Of the mclination to aggression, by means Of which
·, :
,.j>h~on between the m~mbers of the communityis made ~er.- ' . . '
UJl this respect t~ J~ _J>E<>ple. s~t~ere?: everywhere;.~Y.e
rendered most ~~ SCMees to.the Civilizations of the countries
that have be~n their hosts; but unfortunately all the maasaaes
of ~e Jews m .the Middle Ages did not suffice to make that
~ more peaceful and secure for · their Christian (clio~
{!Vhen once the Aposde Paul had ~te<l universal love between'
~en as the foundation of his Christian community e3Cb-eme
mtolerance on. the art of·CJuiatendom towards tho~ who r~ ·
~~e
·
tt came · e mevita e
·
·
·
Romans, w~ ~ · ~of founded their communal life ·. · ·a Sta~
u~n love, re~~ous mt:Qlerance was something foreign~ although
WJth them religio~ ~as a c?ncern of the State·and the Sb•~ ·-wu ·
permeated by re;ligion. Ne1ther was it aa unacxoUritable chance
' [~ee Chapter VI ?f <;:~ ~g (l92lc), S~d &t, 11. ICH : ·
ADd The Taboo·«( Vli'gllilty' (.191&), i})id;,_ 11•. 199.] .
· ·' ... '·
62
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
that the dream of a Germanic world-dominion called for antisemitism as its complement; and it is intelligible that tlie attempt
to establish a new, communist civilization in Russia should find
its psychologic~ support in the persecution of the bourgeois.
One only wonders, with.concern, what the Soviets will do after
they have wiped out their bourgeois.
.
·
·
If civilization imp<>ses such great sacrifices not only on man's -1
sexuality but on his aggressivity, we can understand better why
it _is .h~rd for him to be happy in that. civilization.
fact,
pnlllJtive man was better off in knowing no restrictions of
insti~ct. To counterbalance this, his prospects of enjoying this
happmess for any length of time were very slender. Civilized
man h.as exchang:d a portion of his possibilities of happiness for ~
a ·portion ofsecunty. We must not forget, however that in the
primal family only the head of it enjoyed this insrlnctual freedon,t; .t~e ~est lived in slavish suppression. In that primal period .·
of Civilization, the contrast between a minority who enjoyed the
ad-vantages of civilization and a majority who were robbed of .
those advantages was, therefore, carried to extremes. A3 regarc:b
the primitive peoples who exist to-day, careful researches have
shown that their instinctual life is by no means to be envied for
its freedom. It is subject to restrictions of a different kind but
perhaps of greater severity than those attaching to modem
civilized man.
W~en we justly find fault with the present state Of our :
ci~ization for so inadequately fulfilling our demands for a plap ..•
of life that shall make us happy, and for allowing the existence _ ,
ofso much su1fering which could probably be avoided-when ·,'....
with unsparing criticism, we try to uncover the roots ·of i~ ::. .
imperfection, we are undoubtedly exercising a proper righ.t . .
and are not showing ourselves enemies of civilization. We may
expect gradually to carry through such altera.tions in our
ci~ation as will better satisfy our needs and will escape our
cntJ.ciSms. But perhaps we may also familiarize ourselves With
· the idea that there are · difficulties attaching to the nature of ·
civilization which will not yield to any attempt at reform. Over
and above the tasks of restricting the instincts, which we are .
prepared for, there forces itself on our notice the danger of a
state of things whic~ might be termed 'the psychological
poverty of groups' .1 This danger is most threatening where
1 [The German 'P~Je/tologisclus Elend' seems to be a version ofJanet'a
In
.r
i
1,,.(-' .
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
the bonds ofa society are chiefly constituted by the identification of its members with one another, while individuals of the
leader ty.pe. do not acquire the importance that should fall to
them in the for mation of a group. 1 The present cultural state of
America would give us a good opportunity for studying the
damage to civilization which is thus to be feared. But I sh_a ll
avoid the temptation of entering upon a .critique of American
civilization; I do not wish to give an impression of wanting
myself to employ American methods.
·
eXpl'esM.on 'mis~re psychologique' applied by him to describe the fucapacity
fOr mental synthesis which he attributes to neurotics.]
.1 Cf. Group Pjytlwlogy and the Analysis oft~ Ego {192lc).
J
!
....
.
~-
_
VI
.. .·,
.
• •
.1 ' "'
.l'
' .
<.~:t. .
(JIV~LI~ATION AND ITS DiSCONTENTS.
65
sexual~. in the activities of which alf«tion could be ~~d
by. cn.eJty. Ne\lrOsiswas regarded as the _ou~me. ofa strUgle
..
-
IN n~ne of ~y _previous writings have ~ had. ~ stron( a~'
~now tha~ ~hat I
am describing i's coni:in~ knOWJedge·&ruf
~~ I ~ USin~ up. paper ~nd ink ,and, in· due _couhC:, ,tJ!e ·_
COmposltor'-s and pnnterys work and material in . order co.expounc;fthinp which are, in fact, self..evident.-·F or thatr~l
~d be glad to seize the point if it were to appear that the
~don of a special, independent aggressive instinct means.
'an ~te'ration of the psycho-analytic theory of the mstincts. . - ...
· :~e shall see, ~o~eve~, that this is not so and that it iJ ~­
a ~tter of bnngmg mto sha~r fo<:us a tum of thought
~ved at long ago and offollowmg out 1ts consequences.. Of' all
~.slowly developed parts of analytic theory, the theory Of the_
lnatincts lS the one that has felt its way the most painfully (ot.i
1 And yet that theory was so indispensable to the w~
_ _str\jcture ~t something had to be put in its place. In what wa.l
_- ; :at~~ my utter perplexity, I took as my starting-point a 5ayfug ·
-. of the P.Jet-philosopher, Schiller, that 'hunger and love are _.
:"'b~t moves ~e W?rld'. 1 Hunger could ~taken to rep~nt ~· · ,
lnltincts which aim at preserving the individual·
strives afte~-objects, and i~ chief function, favouted every way ·
by n~tu~e, IS the pres_erv~tlo~ of the species. Thus, to begin with,,
ego-mStincts and obJect-mstmcts confronted each other. It was
to denote the energy of the latter and only the latter irutillCt$
that 1 introduced the term ·'libido'.• 'Thus the antith~ was
~tw,een the egp-ins~cts and ~e 'libidinal' instincts oflove (m
1t1 Widest sens~) which were directed to an object. One of these
?bject,;,~tincts~ th~ sadistic instinct, stood out from the rest, it
JS true, m that 1ts a1m was so very far from being loving. Mote~>Ver it was obviously in some respects at~ed to the eg~
mstinctJ: it _could not _hide i~ close affinity with _instincts .of
. ~tery which have no libidinal purpose. lJ':It these dilcrep- ·
an~es- .were ·got , over; after all, sadism was-clearly a part Of
t- ~ account of the history of Freud•s theory ~ the ·U .tinct.s will
be "found in the Editor's N:ote to his paper 'lnstinctl"and their v~
wart\.
-·while leve>
ln
.
tuda.? "(191~), Sl#ntlilrd Ed., t•, 113 ff.]
.. I eDie Weltweiaen/J
· · ; [fb Section II of the fint paper on anXiety neuro&il (1895b).]
•.. JI.e. -~tiled. by Plato. see Chapter IV of~ P~holoo (192lc),
~d E4., IS. 99.]
_
.·
.
64
~-
..
.
be~eeu the interest ef self:.pteservation ~d the dema!ldS Of
·the.Ji.l;ido;. a lfi'Uggle in which the ego· had been.victorious but
at the.·price of~ sufferings and renunc~tiQDs.- . ' .
. ·_ .
E~ ·aiuil.}'lt will admit that even to-day this view baa _-.u.t
the ~un4 of a long-diicarded erroro NevertbeleSI, ~tei'atioDI'lti -· ·
it ~m~ essential, as our enquiries a<lvanced from tiK ·
~ to the repressing forces, from the object-inttinda
· , . ....l'he decwve step forward was the . introduetio.l 9f·· the
· Coiiccpt of narcissism-that is to say, the.discov'cry that ~ qo
itlelfia cathtcted with libido, that the ego, indeed, is the llbic1o'•
ori~. home, and remains to some extent its headquarters. 1
This ~rclssistic libido turns towards objecta, and thus becomes
o'bj~t-libido; and it can change back into narcissisti(: .J.i'Qi4o
once mQre. The concept of narcissism made it p<)liible to®~
. aJ) q~ytic understanding of the traumatic neuroses AAd er
·. · ~y of.the affections bordering on the psychoses, a&·w~ ·aa=·~~(c
the latter themselves. It was not necessary to give up~:.....;;; '.·:· -·
- ~tatio~ of~ transfe:ence neu~es as att_
e mpts mad(: -~ the -ego tp d~ 1ttel( against sexuality; but the conc,ept-o( 1i"'Sido
w.as ~~ Since the ego-irutiric*', too, were libidinal, it ·
teemed for a time inevitable that we should make libido coincide with instinctual energy in general, as C. G. J~na·- ~
~ady advocated earlier. Nevertheless, there still remamecl.in
me a kind of conviction, for which I was not as yet able to find
reasons, that the instincts could not all be of the same kind. My
next step. was taken in Beyond the Puasure Priniiple (19~), when
the compulsion to repeat and the conservative character of
instinctual life first attracted my attention. Starting from
specwationi on the beginning of life and from biological
parallels, I drew the conclusion that, besides the instillct .~
preserve living substance and to join it into ever la.rger units, • ,
there must exist another, contrary instinct seekiitg tO di.&sQlve
tbose-·J,mits and to bring.them back to their prhnaeval, inorpnic·
to·-
a;. .
· 1 [at in this c~n the editorial Appendix B.
Id, Sl4ntltzrd &1., 19; 63.]
·
to Tlw
E,. ad 1M
. . · ._ ,
• The opposition which thus emerges between the ceaseleu ~; .by
Eroi towa~ extenSibD, and the general eon.tervative natute _ot:the
inJtjncta is strikiog·, and it may btcom.c the atarting-.pomt fdr tbt)tudj .. of.further problema.
·
.,
,·:····.--· .
66
. f
'· i
...
'• '
f"~
t.
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
state. That is to say, as well as Eros there was ~n i~tinct of
death. The phenomena of life could be explained .from the
concurrent or mutually opposing action of these two instincts.
It was not easy, however, to demonstrate tlte activities of this
supposed death ·instinct. The manifestations of Eros wei:e
conspicuous and noisy enough. It might be assumed that the
death instinct. operated silently within the organism towards its .
dissolution, but that, of course, was no proof. A more fruitful
idea was that a portion of the instinct is diverted towards the
external world and comes to light as an instinct of aggressiveness and destructiveness. In this way the instinct itself could be
pressed into the service of Eros, in that the organism was
destroying some other thing, whether animate or inanimate,
instead of destroying its own self. Converr:ely, any restriction of
this aggressiveness directed outwards would · be bound to increase the self-destruction, which is in any case proceeding.
At the same time one can susp~Ct from this example that the
two "inds of instinct seldom-perhaps never-appear in isola. tion l"rom each other, but are alloyed with each other in varying
and very different proportions and so become unrecognizable
to our judgement. In sadism, long since known to us as a com- ·
ponent instinct of sexuality, we should have before us a particularly strong alloy of this kind between trends oflove and the
destructive instinct; while its counterpart, masochism, would be
a union between destructiveness directed inwards and sexuality
- . a union which makes what is otherwise an imperceptible
trend into a conspicuous and tangible one.
. . The assumption of the existence of an instinct of death or
destruction has met with resistance even in analytic circles; I
am aware that there is a frequent inclination rather to ascribe
whatever .is ·dangerous and hostile in love to an original bipolarity in its own nature. To begin with it was only tentatively
that I put forward the views I have developed here,1 but in the
· course of time they have gained such a hold upon me that I can
no longer think in any other way. To my mind, they .are far
inore serviceable from a theoretical standpoint than any other
. possible ones; they provide that simplification, withoul either
ign9ring ot doing violence to the facts, for which we strive In
scientific work. I know that in sadism and masochism we have
always seen before us manifestations of the destructive instinct
1
[Cf. Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920g), Standard Ed., 18, 59.]
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
67
(directed outwards and inwards), strongly alloyed with erotism;
but I can :no longer understand how we can have over\ooked
the ubiquity of non-erotic aggres8ivity and destructiveness and
c;;a:Q have failed to give it its due place in our interpretation of
life. (The· desire for destruction when it ·is directed inwards
mo8tly eludes our perception, of CQUI'Se, 1mless it is tinged with
erotism.) I remember my own defen~ive attitude when the idea
of an· instinct of destruction first emerged in psycho-analytic
literature, and how long it took before I became receptive to it. 1 .
That others should have shown, and still show, the same attitude
of rejection surprises me less. For 'little children do not like it' 2
when there is talk of the, inborn human inclination to 'badness', .
to aggressiveness and destructiveness, and so to cruelty as well.
God has made them in the image of His own perfection; nobody
wants to be reminded how hard it is to reconcile the undeniable
existence of evil-despite the protestations of Christian Science
-with . His all-powerfulness or His all-goodness. The Devil
would be the best way out as an excuse for God; in that way he
would be playing the same part as an agent of economic dis- ·
charge as the Jew d~ in the world of the Aryan ideal. 1 But even
so, one can hold God responsible for the existence of the Devil .
just as well as for the existence of the wickedness which the .·
Devil embodies. In view of these difficulties, each of us will·be •
well advised, on some suitable occasion, to make a low bow. to
. the deeply moral nature of mankind; it will help us to ·.be
generally popular and much will be forgiven us for it.'
(See some comments on this in the Editor's Introduction, p.· 7ff.
above.]
. ' ['Denn die Kindlein, Sie horen es nicht gerne. 1 A quotation from
Goethe's poem 'Die Ballade vom vertriebenen und heimgekehrten
Grafen'.]
a [Cf. p. 61 above.]
·
4 ln Goethe's Mephistopheles we haye a quite exceptionally convinc·
ing identification of the principle of evil with the dest;ructive instinct:
1
·.
Denn alles, was entsteht,
ht wert, dass es zu Grunde geht •• .
So ist <lann alles, was Ihr Siinde,
Zerstorung, kurz das BOse nennt,
Mein eigentliches Element.
[For all things, from the Void
Called forth, deserve to be destroyed .•.
Thus, all which you as Sin have rated-
.1l
I
· •·- '!'' •, ' .•'
,1'::.
" I.' ' ~ • • ' ' ',
'
o'
'.,
· '.
"
' '
•'
I ' U ' ·:-:. :; '':.'·
..
·,:
:
.
muess
sense
yei .
Destructiori,-aught with Evil blent,. ThatJs m y proper element.) ·
.
The Devil himself names as his adversary, not what is holy and good..·
but Nature's p9wer to create, to multiply life-that is, Eroa:
. ·· . ,
Der I.oft, dem Wasser, wie der Eiden
Entwinden tausend Kejme sich,
·
Im Trocknen, Feuchten, Warmen, Kalten!
Hitt' ich mir nicht die Flamme vorbehalten '
Ich hitte nicbta Apam itir mich.
'.
[Fl'om Water, Earth, and Air unfolding
A thousand germs break forth a~ ~.
In dxy, and wet, and warm, artd cbilly: . . ·
And ¥d I n?t the ~- reserved, why, rea,Uy;
·There s nothing speetal of my own to show.
· Both palliaga are from Goethe's. FaltSt, Part I , Scene 3. Trariillated by .
f..
:. ,~.
'.;
i
~.
.
~.
.··· . ·'
• ,
.. ,
.
crvi·L JZATION AND ITS inscoNTENTS
' ·.
them .
.-.y.uu Tay~r~ There is- a
. ·.. ;~ .. •'.
.•
CIVJLIZA~ION
ANirlTS
DISCONTENTS
.
'
.
The name •fibidoi can One~ more be used .to ~ the
manifestations of the power of Eros in order to diltiDgWsh
from the energy of the death instinct.l·lt must be colifeacd that·
we have much ~ate~ difficUlty in gr~g .that ins~t;· ~e
can.only suspect 1t, as tt were, as something in the backgrQuBc:l
behmd Eros,. and. it · e&capes detection
its p~ce . i8 ..
betrayed by 1ts be1ng alloyed with Eros. It i1 in sadism, where
the death ~net twists ~e erotic aim.~ its own
and
at the s_ame time fully satisfies the erouc .u rge, that we succeed
in .o trtaining the clearest insight into its nature and its reJation 1Q
Erot. ~ut even where it emerges without any sexual purpoae~ m..
the b~dest ~ry o_f ~estructive.nes~, we .cannot fail to rec~
~at the. $at,mac!Ion . of the lnstinct · JS accompanied by an·
. ~traordin.arily high degree· of narcissistic .eJYoyment, 9Wing to
1ts presenting the ego with a fulfilment of the latter's old wishes
for omnipotence. The instinct of "destruction, moderated arid
tamed; and, as it were, inhibited in its aim, must, when it is
· diJ'ected towards objects, provide the ego with the satisfaction of
.··i~ ·vital need:' and with control over nature. Since.'the ~p-·
. ijon of the exiStence of the instinct is mainly based on theoretiCal
68
....· ...
·.;..
-
~ing allusion t<;>· the second passage ·ui .
~pterl (G) pf ~ lnllrjw~latltm ofDreams (1900a), StaNitttd &1., 4, 7~.]
. Our preaent pomt of vtew can .be roughly expressed in the state~
ment that libido haS a share in every instinctu~ manifestation but ~t
not everythin8 in that manifestation is libido.
.·
.'
·
·. 69
•'
·~cls, we muat ~ a<hnit that it is. not entirely proofagw..t
theoretical objections. But this is how things ap~ar to .... DOlYJ
m the present state of: our. knowledge; future research. arid
, refi~tion Will no doubt bring further light which will decide
the Jn,atter..
·
that fQlloW5:I adopt the standpoint, therefore, .tD.t th.e.
. I~
'.inc;lination to aggression is an original; self-su~ting inStinc~ ..·
diapOsitiOn in
and I return to my view (p. 59.l iht.t it' ·
constitu~es the greatest impediment to civilization. At <me point ·
in. coune of this enquiry [p. 43Jl was le4 :to·the !4~& ~t
aviPza.tion w~ a special PJ:Ocess which mankind . und~
. mW I am.still under the influence of that idea:. I may DOW
add; .that ciVilization is a process in the service of Eros, whose
pul')lQ6e'is tQ combiDe single human individuals, and after that
familieS~ then ra.Ces, peoples and nations, into one great ~, ·
.the Umty of mankind. Why tJm has to happen, we do DOt~;
the work of Eros is precisely thiS. 1 These collections of
:_to. be libidinally})()und to one another. Necessity alone. the'
-. ~dvan~ ofW(.)rk in common, will not hold them tote~~ -~
BUt man's natural ~ggressiv~ insnnct, the . hnstility o£ ·~aclf :.
.. .' against all anq of all against each, opposes .this pr.ogramme
:. ci~~his
. .. agg~~ye instinct. ~ the derivativ~ and :.the .
. - ~ ~ · .· .. . tatJ,ve of the ~t whiCh ~e.liive ~
. a}ongside _of Eros and which shareS world-domunon W~th · ~t.
·.·. And now, 1 think, the meaning of the evolution of civ.W.tio.rf
· is no )()]iger obscure to us. It must present the struggle between
Eros ~ Death, ·between the instinct life~ancftli£iiiitUi~ Of
'Ueatru<;tton, as if works itself out in the human specieaJ"fhii
muggle iB what aU life essentially consists of, and the evolution
· 'ofcivilization may therefore be simply.described as the struggle
for life of the hunian species. 1 And it is this battle of the giaalts
.U:tat our nurse-maids try to appease with their lullaby. about
Heaven.•
au
man,
t;hc
men are
or
of
(See &yonJ tJv PU4ntre Pritu:ip/4 (1920g) puaim.]
.
• ADd we may probably add more precisely, a struggle tOr life in the
abape it .was bound to ·!Uiume after a certain event which still remaim
. 1
tObe~
.
.
.
.·
. •r~ .-. Hitmilll., Aquotation from Heine's poem~,
Caput I .}
·
·'
.:·-.-
. "'... · .
_ CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
VII
WHY do our relatives,
,:I:!
. I:
q
;1
'~
the animals, not exhibit any such cultural
struggle? We do not know. Very probably some ·ofthem-the
bees, the ants, the termites-strove for thousands ofyears·be£ore
they atrived at the State institutions, the distribution offunctions
and the restrictions on the individual, ~or which we admire
them to-day. It is a mark of our present condition that we know
from our own feelings that we should not think ourselves happy
in any of .these animal States or in any of the roles assigned
in them to the individual. In the case of other animal. species
it may be that a temporary balance has··i>een reached between the influences of their environment and the mutually ,
contending instincts within them, and that thus a cessation of
development has come about. It may be th~t in primiti'o!e man
a fresh ac'"ess .of libido kindled a renewed burst of activity on
the part of the destructive instinct. There are a · great many ·
questions here to which aS yet there is no answer.
.
Another.question concerns us more nearly. What means does
civilizatjon ·employ in order to inhibit the aggressiveness which ·
opposes it, to make it harmless, to get rid of it, perhaps? We
have already become acquainted with a few of these methods,
but not yet with the on.e that appears to be the·most important.
This we can study in the history of the development of the individual. What hapt)ens in him to render his desire for aggression
innocuous? Something very remarkable, which we should never
have guessed~- and which is nevertheless quite ob0ous. His
aggressiveness is introjected, internalized; it is, in point of fact,
sent back ~o where it came from-that is, it is directed towards
his own ego. There it is taken over by a portion of the ego, which
sets itself over against the rest ofthe ego as super-ego, and which
now, in the form of 'conscience', is ready to put into action ·
against the .ego the same harsh aggressiveness that the ego
would have liked to satisfy upon other, extraneous· indiViduals.
The tension between the harsh super-ego and .the ego that is
subjected to it, is called by us the sense of guili; it expresses
itself as a need for punishment. 1 Civilization, therefore, obtains
(Cf. ' The Economic Problem of Masochis~· (1924c), Stand4r4 EJ.,
19, 16&-7.]
1
70
71
rnB$tery ,over the individual's dangero\13 desire for aggressio11,
by weakeriing and disarming it and by setting up an agency
within him· to watch over it, like a garrison in a conquered
City. .
. .
/U to the origin of the sense of guilt, the analyst has different
views· from other psychologists; but even he does not find it · _
easy tO give an accourit of it. To begin with, if we aAk how a ·
perso~ comes to have a sense of guilt, we arrive at an answer
which cannot be disputed; a person feels guilty (devout people
Wt>uld .say 'sinful') when he has done something whicll he .
knows to be 'bad'. Bu.t. then we notice how little thi:s answer
tells us. Perhaps, after some hesitation, we· shall add that even
when a pel'$011 has not actually done the bad thing but has
orily recognized in himself an intention to do it, he may regard
himself as guilty; and the question then afis<ts,....of why the intention is regarded as equal to the deed. Both cases, however,
presuppose that one had already recognized that what is bad
is reprehensible, is something that must not be carried out. How
is till$ judgement arrived at? We may reject the existence of an
· original, as it were natural, capacity. to distinguish good from
bad. What is bad is often not at all what is injurious or dangerous
to the ego; on the contrary, it may be something which is
.;Iesirable and enjoyable to the ego. Here, therefore, there iJ an
extraneous influence at work, and it is this ~at decides what
is to be called good or bad. Since a person's own feelings
would not. have led him along this path, he must have had a
motive for submitting to this extraneous influence. Such a
motive is easily discovered in his helplessneSs and his dependence
. on other people, and it can best be desigliated as .fear ofloss- of
~ve. If he loses the love of another person upon whom he is
dependent, he also ceases to be protected from a variety of
dangers. Above all, h~ is exposed to the danger that this
stronger person will show his superiority in the form of punish·
ment. At the beginning, therefore, wha.t is bad is whatever
.causes one to be threatened with loss of love. For fear of that
· 1~, one
avoid it. This, too, is the reason why it makes
. little d.ifference whether one has already done the bad .thing
or only intends to ·do it. In either case the danger only sets in
if and when the authority discovers it, ·and in either case the
authority would behave in the same way. ·
This state of mind is called a 'bad conscience'; but actuaUy
must
r
.. .' . i
::
CIVILU:A~lON : AND lTS V·l S-O ONTENT$ .
it does not deserv~ dli.l .--, for' at ~ stage·the s-.'4:.r,ful,t ·.
is clearly only ~ fear of loss of love, •IJQclal• apxiety. In . ~ •.
children it can never be anything else, but .in many a4~t!s toO,~.
72
it has only changed to the extent that the plaee of tile ..fat!:ie,r · ·
or_the twe-~ts is ~en by the luger huriuf.n C91Din~.;
·eomequendy, such people habitually ~low themsel~es to do ·.
~y bad .thing which pro,mis~ them enjoyment, :':9 -~ -- ~­
-are~, tllat t)&e·authonty will not k~w anythiD;g a~ 1t or_
. . ~t blame them for it; they are afraid only of~ foUnd ·
· out.•.~t-day society has to reckon in general with'this ata.te
. of mind.
. '
.
· -. A great change takes place . only when the authority· it:
· internalized through the establishment of a .super-~go. The
phenomena of conscience then reach a higher stage: A,ctually)
it is .not until now that we should speak of coDIClence or a ....
sense of guilt.• At this point, too, the fear of being found ~ut
comes to an end; the distinction,- moreover, between doms.·. ··
10lJ1ething. -~ and wishing io do it disappears entirely, ·since. . ' .
·- nothing ~an be hidden from the super-ego, not even though~
It ia trUe that the seriousness of the situation frOm a real pqint
ofview has paaSed away, for the new _autho~ty, the sup~r-.,().
has no motive that we know of for ill-treating the ego, ~~
which it is intimately bound up; but genetic influence., whic;h.
leads to the survival of what is. past and has been.$Utnl()uated:;
makes itself felt in the fact that fundamentally things remain .a.s
they were at the beginning. The super-ego torments _the ~
ego with the same feeling of anxiety ·and is on the watch fot
op})Grtu.nities of -getting it punished by the exte~ worl~..
At this: second stage of development, the collSClence exhib1~
a peculiarity ·which was absent from the first &m:ge and whic;h
is no longer easy to account for.' For the mQre VIrtuous a man
1 This reminds one of Rousseau'• famoUI manQarin. [The problell;a·
.,
railed l;y Rouaseau bad been quoted in flill in Fre.l,\d'• paper. on 'OW:
Attitude towards Death' (19156), s~ &/., 14, 298.J
.
·
·. • ~veryone or discernment will undentand and take into account tM
tact that in thia lummary description we have sharply delimited evt.nts
.
.·
.
''.: •.
1.' '
~~~:·~;.• ' I
> f-'' ,w '
sevete .
mtotor, and ·strives in vain, it would seem, to acquire it. 'n,le
·• obJection will at ·once be made that these difficulties" are ·-·~
.,.;.· .-&clat Ones, and it win be said that a stricter and more'vigjlallt
· · .ctmleience is precisely the hallmark of a mora! man~ 1\lo~-,
· when saints ·call the~es sinners, they are not so ~. . eonlidering·the temptatic?ns to instinctual satisfaction
they' are -exposed in specially high degreC'-'-since, as is well
kJioWn, tempta.tions are merely increased by constant frustratiob~ w~reas an occasional satisfaction of them causes the~ to
dinnnilb, at least for. the time being. The field of ethics; ~hich
is so full of problems, presents us with another fa:ct: ·nam~y.
thatill-luck-that is; external frustration-sO greatly enhaBC:et
the power of the conscience in the super-ego. As long as ~­
go well with a man, his conscience is lenient a11d lets the ego do..
all sorts of things; but when misfortune befalls him~ he ~hes.. ·his sQul; ~cknQwledges his sinfulness, heightens the demands of
. . conscience, imposes abstinences on himself and._ punishes
bilnself wfth··penances.' Whole peoples have behaved -in iWa
. ,. way, .and itill do. This, however, is easily explained by : die
original infantile stage of conscience, which, as· we ~, is not
. .· given up ~r the introjection into the super-ego, but persiSt!
· · alongside of' it and behind it. Fate is regarded as a su~titjlte
for the parental agency. If a man is unfortunate it means that
. ~ is no longer lov~d by thi,s highe8t power; and, threatened .
· .. by s~ch a loss of love, he once more bows to the parental
1 ['H,;iilkftt.' The siune ~,used in the different sens~ of 'sacred:.
a
·.
;t
.·• [Tbia paradox had been W.CUSICd by Freud earUez'. See, for Ull~
fA., 19, 54~ where
, ', "
..:..
;
. ·. ··:C'Ivltrt:ATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
.71,
.·. ' ::· . i\·-~· ·more.
and: distrugtful is its ~baviou.r, so . tb,~
,· ·· ~tely lt is. precildy ,tlloie people who have carried saiAtli;
* l furthest who reproach themselves with the WOl'lt sinfu1nea.. 'fbil:means that virtue fOifeits some part of its prbmbed teward;
. the dc)cile· and Continent' ego does not enjoy the ·trust or u•.
~hkh- in mLllty occur-by gradual transitions, and that it is not ~
a question of the lxi.stetta of a super--ego.but of its relative 1trcngth and
· ~heft of inftudl.ce. AU that has ~ said above about .CODJCience and
guilt is, ~ver, common knowledge and almost.~uted;
. ~- - ·
ChapterV of TM Ego arlill tM.Id (19236), StlmdtJrd
other references are given.]
·... _,.... ·' .. '-...~\ ·;:.' :,~· ..
'
..•...·
tow
r
.... .
.
nta~'~ is discuued by Freud in some other passages. Cf. _the paper~-~civilized• sexual morality ( 1908cl), Statuiard E4.~ 9,-187.}
·
'
' This enhancing of morality as .a conaequ~ of ill-luck haa been
illuStrat~ by Mark Twain in a delightful little stozy; ~ Firse Mlltnll
,_. SIQJI. This first melon happened to be unripe, I heard~ Twain
.tell the .mty him$df in one of hit pubftc readings. After he· had ~Veri
out the title, he .roppecl and asked hi~melf as though he was in cJ.oubt: .
'Was it the fint?' With-this, everything had been said. The fint melon;
was evidently not the only one. [This last sentence was added in 1931 ! In a lett~ tO Ftieu of February 9th, 18$8, Freud reported that he bad ·
attended a readmg by Mark Twain. a few days earlier. (Freud, 1950a,
Letter 83.)]
·
·
.
·
/
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
74
representative in his super-ego-a representative whom,':in ·his
days of goOd fortune; he was ready to neglect. This become_s
especially clear where Fate is looked upon in the strictly religious
sense of being nothing else than an expression of the Divine Will.
The people of Israel had believed themselve,s to be the favourite
child of God, and when the great Father caused misfortune
after misfortw'le to rain down upon this people of his; they were
never shaken in their belief in his 'relationship to them or
questioned his power or right~usness. Instead, they produced
· the prophets, who h~ld up their sinfulness before th~m; and
out of their sense of guilt they created the over-stnct commandments of their priestly religion.• It is remarkable ho.w
differently a primitive man behaves. If he has met with a misfortune he does not throw the blame on himself but on his
'
. .
fetish, which has obviously not done its duty, and he gtves 1t a
thrashing instead of punishing himself.
Thus we know of two origins of the sense of guilt:· one .
arising from fear of an authority,. and the other, later on,
arising from fear of the super-ego. The first insist~ upon a
renunciation of instinctual satisfactions; the second, as well as
doing this, presses for punishment, since the continuance of the
forbidden wishes cannot be concealed from the super-ego. We
have also learned how the severity of the super-ego-the demands of conscience-is to he understood. It is simply a continuation of the severity of the external authority, to whichit has
succeeded and which it has in part replaced. We now see in
what relationship the renunciation ·of instinct stands · to the
sense of guilt. Originally, renunciation of instinct was the
result of fear of an external authority: one renounce~ one's
satisfactions in order not to lose its love. If one has carried out
this renunciation, one is, as it were., quits with the authority
and no sense of guilt should remain. But with fear of the super-:cgo, the case is different. Here, instinctual renunciation is not
enough, for the wish persists and cannot be concealed from .·
the super-ego. Thus, in spite of the renunciation that has been
made, a sense of guilt comes about. This constitutes a great
economic disadvantage in the erection of a super-ego, or, as we
may put it, in the formation of a conscience. Instinctual
CIVILIZ.,ATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
a
:~
~
4
·.· I ·.·
.
...
[A very mucl~ more extended account of the relations of the peo~le · ..
of Israel to their God is to be found in Fret1d's Moses and M()fl()theWII
(1939a).]
1
75
.. ·
. .
·, renunciation now no longer has completely liberating effect;
virtuous continence is no longer rewarded with the assurance.
of love. A threatened external unhappiness-loss of love a:nd
punishment on the part of the external authority-has been
exchanged for a permanent internal unhappiness, for the
tension of the sense of guilt.
·
.
These interrelations are so complicated and at the same time
so important that, at the risk of repeating myself, I shall
· . :approach them from yet another angle. The chro-noiogical
sequence, then, would be as follows. Firs.t ·comes renunciation
of instinct owing to fear of aggression by the external authority.
(This is, of course, what fear of the loSs of love amounts to, for
love is a protection against this punitive aggression.) After that
comes the erection of an internal authority, and renunciation of
instinct owing to fear of it-owing to fear of conscience} In
this second situation bad intentions are equated with bad actions,
and hence come a sense of guilt and a need for punishment.
The aggressiveness of conscience keeps up the aggressiveness
of the authority. So far things have no doubt been m~e clear;
but where does this leave room for the .reinforcing influence of
misfortune (of renunciation imposed from without) [p. 7j ],
and for the extraordinary severity of conscience in the best and
most tractable people [p. 72 f.]? We have already explained
both these peculiarities of conscience, but we probably still .
h ave an impression that those explanations do not go to the ·
bottom of the matter; and leave a residue still unexplained.
.'- And here at last an idea comes in which belongs entirely to
psycho-analysis and which is foreign to people's ordinary way
of thinking. This idea is a[ a sort which enables us to understand why the subject-matter was bound to seem so confused
and obscure. to us. For it tells us that conscience (or more
correctly, the anxiety which later becomes conscienc~) is indeed
the cause of instinctual renunCiation to begin with, but that
later the relationship is reversed. Every renunciation of instinct
now becomes a dynamic source of conscience and every. fresh
renunciation increases the latter's severity and intolerance. If
we could only bring it better into harmony with what we already
~now about the history of the origin of conscience, we should be
·•
~
['GMVissensan.rst.' Some remarks on this term will be fpund. in an
.l!ditor's footnote to Cbapter VII of lnhi6itions, Symptoms ar~d Anxie~
(1926d), Stand4rd Ed.• lO, 128.]
.
1
,.
.....·· ·.·· '
..·
·.. ·
_76
.
tempted to defend the paradoxical stateme~t that · ~ -;~. .·
is the result ot instinctual renunciation; or that ·imtinttu.al · :
renunciation {imposed on u5 from withOut) .. ~· co~,..~ ·
. which·then der;nands further instinctual rentin<:iatioo. · · · .·. ·· >: .
·The··contradiction between this ·statement·aDd what we :- ·;·
p~usly said about the genesis of
. : ·· is · ~
.... fact ·not :so very great, and we lee . a way Qf . . .
. .
· it. ' In . order- to make our exposition easier, let U. .· .
. :as•· bUr' example the aggressive instinct, ;uid let ·ui ueuine ·.
•that . tbe renunciation in question is always a renunciation
aqressio~. (This, of course, is only to be taken as a tempo~:,
asiumption.) The effect of instinctual renunciation on
. conscience then is that every piece of·aggression whose ..sat:ii- .
. r&ctiQn the silbject gives up is taken over by the supet·tgQ ani
increqes the latter's aggressiveness (against the .~). This cit* .:'·
not hannonize well with the view that the original aggresli~.-. :
ness of coDJtience is a continuance of the severity of. the·<~.. .·~
~authority and therefore has .nothing to do' with r~lln~ ':·
:· iltion. But the discrepancy ia removed if we postulate a
. . , · : ·; derivation for this first instalment ofthe super~ego's :
·
··
·· A -c onsiderable amount of aggressiveness must be ·<W~c.~lolled
the child against the authority which prevents him from ha'®t
hia first, but none the less his most important, ·a..'tis:lacltlOXI&i
w~tever the kind of instinctual deprivation that ii Clelrulllfle'tll
of him niay be; but he is obliged to renounce thc-satisfactiQli , .....
. this . revengeful aggressiveness. He finds his way out Of thil:.·· ··
economically difficult situation with the help _
o f familiar .
tilecltanisms. By means of identification he takes: the u&o
a~ckable authority into himself. The authority now tU~ irlu>···
his super-ego and enters into possession of all the aggressiven.
which a. chfld would have liked to exercise against it. The cb.ild't
ego has to content itself with the unhappy role af the authority ...
-the father-:who has been thus degraded. Here, ·aa so often,
. , . the .[real] situation is revel'!ed: 'If I were the father a~ you'.·
. were the child, I should treat you badly! The ·. relationship>
'between the super-ego and the ego is a return, ~rial by •
wish,'ofthe real relationships betWeen the ejo, as yet undlvidcd;
an<{ ·an exte.m al object. That is typical, too. But.the esaenti&r .··
. difference is that the original seventy qf the s~~ does
· -or does not much-represent the severity ~hich one hal '·
experienced from it [the object], or which one attributes .t o it• .
.
sa
oot•
77 ·.
~ ~ ~ two views ~- correct? The. earli~ one; w~\:t•"·"··. : .
.ceJned·.... unassailable, or the ·~wer ODet w ··: '· : -::
c~c~y ·.
die theoty m such a welcome fashion? Clearly,~
~; ~ce, too,. of direct observations, both anfj~ .
·_. .._,•.,....-.. do not contradict each other, and they e~ ~- .t .
· pne pc)int, for the child's revengeful aggressiveness will be> ~
J'U't determined by the amount 9f punitive aggr~ssion whith
.he ~pecta fn>m his father. Experience shows, however, that the
. ~verity Qf.the, super·ego which a child develops in no way
·~ds to ~ severity of treatment which he baa hiin5Clf
•e
.
CI'VII~IZA'I'ION AND .ITS DlSCONTENTS .
tou·..
~u
. .of~':
or .
'
•'
· it repreaena rather one's own aggrcssi\1~~ . towards it. Jf'ua:f:· . . .
u cortect, we may assert tru~y that in tb,C. begin~ conaci~ : ·
• .~through the suppression ofUi ag~ve impUlse, an<l that .· ' .
•. :. it is: ll,lbaequently reinfOrCed by fresh suppresai9ns ·Or_
l.he aa.tne
.· . ·• ·
... kind· ,.' : . : ·. . :
. . .. .
· .' -···
diffe. ·. .
...· ,, • : :· .·"
: . ·met w,i~-.1 The severity of the former seems to be -in4.~~ ...
·. ··.. of-that Of.the_latter. ~child who has been very leniently btoqht· ·.
,;:, up- ~ ·aeq1Ure a very mict conscience. But it would-· •
.b,J .
·' wrong-to exaggerate this · independence; It is riot difticWt tb: >:-
· • :~ilvi~ OJl,eSclf.that severity of upbringing does.aJS.O: ~ a·.·,_.·.
." \ ltrong imluence on the formation of tll,e child's super-ego. What ·
,~·~· lt. ~oontl . to js that. in the formation of the super-ego and the
.. ~rgence . of a conscience innate constitutional factors and
., ji:d~uence. ftQm the real environment act in combinatioiL Tfiis" - .
.•.. ,is not at all surprising; on the contrary, it is . a Universal
:: ; aetiological condition for all such processes.•
..
,~
1
A; .bas xightly been emphasized by Melanie Klein and ._, otaer
...··.·
_.·.· . E..
...l:..l..
•...._
~
wa-••
wn.......
1
,..<; The ·two main types of pathogenic methods of ~bringing~Vet·
. F/~ lldd:neil ~nd. llp)iling-hav~ been accurately · assessed by Fraau
)i;." -~_der m ~ ~· Tire f'.ryehotuualysis f/1 "!' Total Pmoll4liv ( 1927}
·.. .-~:'' ~n Wltb Aicbhoma study of deJinq~ency [W~d ·. row.t ·
• · \;1· 1~5]. The 'unduly lenient and indulgent father' is the caUIC ol
· .·\. ~ an over~ super-egO, because, und~r the impreuio.1 oftbe
· ~eWe _that they ~ve, they have no other outlet for thek aggre.iven.:li
. .. ~t-~'i~.inwarda. I~ ~uent children, who have been broUght
:. : :.UJ> ~thwt 1QV~\~- ~ between ego ~d· S;Uper.ego illlacldug, and .
. _. · ~thew~ ~their aggrea~eaea can be dsrected ou~ ~from' .
a conatitutiona} factQf which may ~ sup~ to be praent1 it can· be
taid. therefore, that • IeVere ·colUK:Jence ariac:s·from the joint opera:. .
cJtwo facton: the fhiatration of initinct, which unleashes aggrf:ssiveneta
, and ~ ~ of beiD.g loved, which tuma the ~
inwards and banda it over to the super-ego.
,.
·
·· · ·• :.
v,
m
cblld.teai .·
,
...
78
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
It can also be asserted that when a child reacts to his firit
· great instinctual frustfltions with excessively strong a~gressive­
ness and with a correspondingly severe super-ego, he iS following a phylogenetic model and is going beyond the r~spo?'e .that ·
would be currently justified; for the father of prehistonc tlmes
was undoubtedly terrible, and an extreme amount of aggressiveness may be attributed to him. Thus, if one shifts over from
individual to phylogenetic development, the differences between the two theories of the genesis of conscience are still
further diminished. On the other hand, a new and important
difference makes its appearance between these two developmental processes. We cannot get away from the assumption that
man's sense of guilt springs from the Oedipus complex and was
acquired at the killing of the father by the, brothers banded
together.t On that occasion an act of aggression was ~ot
suppressed but carried out; but it was the same act of aggreSSion
whose suppression in the child is supposed to' be the. sou~ce of
his sense Of guilt. At this point I should not be surpnsed if the
reader were to exclaim angrily: 'So it makes no difference
whether one kills one's father or not--one gets a feeling of guilt
in either case! We may take leave to raise a few doubts here.
Either it is not true that the sense of guilt comes from suppresse<l:
aggressiveness, or else the whole s~ory of the killi~g of th~ fath~r
is a fiction and the children of pnmaeval man did not kill theJr
fathers any more often than children do nowadays. Besides, if
it is not fiction but a plausible piece of history, it :would be a
case of something happening which everyone expects to happen
-namely, of a person feeling guilty because he ~eally has ~e ,
something which cannot be justified. And of this event, which
is after all an everyday occurrence, psycho-analysis has not yet
• .
.
given any explanation.'
That is true, and we must make good the omlSSlOn. Nor 1s
there any great secret about the matter. When one has a sense ,.
of guilt after having committed a misdeed, and because of it,
the feeling should more properly be called remorse, It relates oni.y
to a deed that has been done, and,. of course, it presupposes that
a conscience-the readiness to feel guilty-was already in exist;.
ence before the deed took place. Remorse of this sort can,
therefore, never help us to discover the origin of co~cience
and of the sense ·of guilt in general. What happens 1D these
1
[TotllyM Taboo {1912-13). SttJndard Ed•• 13, 143.]
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
everyday cases is usually this: an instinctual need acquires the
strength to achieve satisfaction in spite of the conscience, w:bU:b
is, after all, limited in its strength; and with the natui'al
weakening of the need owing to its having been satisfied, the
former balance of power is restored. Psycho-analysis is thus
justified in excluding from the present discussion the case of a
sense of guilt due to remorse, however frequently such cases
occur and however great their practical importance.
But if the human sense of guilt goes back to the killing of the
primal father, that was after all a case of 'remorse'. Are we to
assume that [at that time] a conscience and a sense of guilt
were not,. as we have presupposed, in existence before the deed?
If not, where, in this case, did the remorse come from? There
is no doubt that this case should explain the secret of the sense
of guilt to us and put an end to our difficulties. And I belieV'e it
does. This remorse was the result of the primordial ambivalence
of feeling towaJ"ds the father. His sons hated him, but they loved
him, too. After their hatred had been satisfied by their act of
aggression, their love came to the fore in their remorse for the
deed. It set up the super-ego by identification with the father;
it gave that agency the father's power, as though as a punishment for the deed of aggression they had carried out against .
him, and it created the restrictions which were intended to
prevent a repetition of the deed. And since the inclination tO<
aggressiveness against the father was repeated in the following-generations, the sense of guilt, too, persisted, and it was· reinforced oxi.ce more by every piece of aggressiveness .that was
suppressed and carried over to the super-ego. Now; I think, we
can at last grasp two things perfectly clearly: the part played
by love in the origin of conscience and the fatal'inevitability of
the sense of guilt. Whether one has killed one's father or has
abstained from doing so is not really the decisive thing. One
is bound to feel guilty in either case7 for the sense of guilt is an·
expression of the conflict due to ambivalence, of the eternal
struggle between Eros and the instinct of destruction or death.
This conflict is set going. as soon as men are faced with the
task of living together. So long as the community assumes no
other form than that of the family, the conflict is bound to
express itself in the OedipuS complex, to establish the conscience
and to create the first sense of guilt. When an attempt is made
to widen the community, the same conflict is continued in forms
'·.
which are dependent on the put; and it Ia strengthened and
results in a further intensification of the senae of guilt. Since
civilization obeys an internal erotic impulaion which cause~
human beings to unite in a closely-knit group, it can only achieve
this aim through an ever-increasing reinforcement of the tense
of guilt. What began in relation to the father is comple~ in
relati()~ tO the group. If civilization is a necessary c;ourae of
_~elop~t from. the family !o hu~anity as a wh?le; ·~,
as .a resUlt of the mbom confhct ans10g from,. ambivak~, of
the ,eternal struggle between ·the trends of love anddea~
there' is inextricably bound up with it an increase of ,the ~·· ·.
of guilt, which will perhaps reach heights that tile indiVid'~
· finds. hard :to.· tolerate. One i,s reminded · of the ~at poet,i
moving arraignment of the 'Heavenly Poweri':-.
.
.
Ihr f'llhrt in's Leben uns hinein. .
lhr lasst den Annen schuldig werden,
. ·Dann ilberlasst Ihr ibn den Pcin,
'Derui jede Schuld' r~C:ht sich a~f Et;den~ 1
.:· ·A:nd we ·may well heave a
sigh of relief at the thought thatjt .
·.·is neverthelestt vouchsafed to a few to satvage without efli:n't:
tw; whirlpoOl of their own
feelings the deepest 'trotb,.f, ···
towa.rdi which
test of us have to fbld our way··throup
tormenting uncertainty and with resdess groping.
·
from
the
s One of the Harp-player's songs in Goethe's ~ Mnsllr. ··
·
(To' earth, this weary .e arth, ye bring ui ·
,. ..
To guilt 'ye let us heedless go,
.
Then leav~ repentance :fiel'ce to writ)g ua:
A moment's guilt, an age ofwoef.
·
.
..
.
.
Cad
le'•
tJ:anSlaij(D.i.
.
.
.
.:Y
.
. . ~ ''·' · .
The first couplet appears aa an as$0clation to a dream iJl. J!'~•~
abort book On Druzms (190la), S/4ndtwd Ed., 5, 637 and 639.] . . • ~ <
;'·.
VIII
HAVJNo reached the end of his journey, the author must uk
his readers' forgiveness for not having been a more skilfUl
guide and for not having spared them empty stretches of road
a,nd troublesome detours. There is no doubt that it could haw
been done better. I will. attempt, late in the day, to make 10me
amends.
In the first place, 1 suspect that the reader has the impression
that our di5lt!sions on the sense of guilt disrupt the framework
ofthis essay: that they take up too much space, so that the rest
of its subject-matter, with which they are not always· closely
connected, is pushed to one side. This m"-y have spoilt the .
structure ,of my paper; but it corresponds faithfully to my in·. tentionlto represent the sense of guilt as the most im~rtant·
problerhn the develo~miift of civilization and to show · at the
pr1ce we pay_[C?!~9.!!!'__a vance 1n qvilization·~ lo~~-qf_~~pp~p~
thtOug~·· the heightening of the sense of gUilt,l Anything that
st:i.irsounds strange about
s ,statement, w ·ch is the final
conclusion of our investigation, can probably be traced tc(!he
. . quite peculiar relatio~ship-as yet completel..l unexplainedwhich the sense of guilt has to our consciousnes~ In the common
case ,o f remorse, which we regard as normal, this feeling makes
itself clearly enough perceptible to consciousness. Indeed, we
are accustomed to speak of a 'consciousness of guilt' instead of
1
'Thus conscience does make cowards of us all .. .'
"
That the education of young people at the present day conceals from
them the part which sexuality will play in their lives is not the only
reproach which we are obliged to make against it. Its other sin is that it
...~ : ·. i doe~--~_,_~em for the a~gressiveness of whi.ch th~ ar~ destined .
,K--roEecome the ?b~cts: In· ~dmg the .you?g out i~to life ~th such a
· >:·' ···
false psychologacal or1entataon, education IS behavmg as though one
. were to equip people starting on a Polar expedition 'with summer
clothing and maps of the Italian Lakes. In this it becomes evident that
· a certain misuse is being made of ethical demandS. The stric~u .of
thQSe demands would not do so much harm if education wer.e to say:
'This is how men ought to be, in ordex: to be h.ppy and to inake others
happy; but you have to reck.en on their not being like that.' Instead of
this · the young are ma.de. to believe that everyone else fulfils .those:
ethical de~nds-:-that is, that everyone else is virtuous. It is on this
that the demand is based that the young, too, shall become virtuous. .
'·',· ·-
··:,.
.
82
. CIYILlZATl9N AND ITS DISC9N'rllN~~ - , -.. -·. · _ .
a 'sense ~fguil~.<Pur study oftbe ueutoses, U, which;~·~'·--.'·
we owe the most valuable pointers to an linden~ of .
nonrtal con.··..ditioris-;l bri?gs us up ~nst some.co1'itrad~~:
In one of ~...«ft'ecttons,. obsesstonal neurosa) _the -·~kJSC of
guilt makes itself noisily heard in consciousness; it dO'tnina*e&:
the clinical pkture and the P!!ltient's life as weU, atad ith~y
-aUows al,lything else to ap~ar alongside of it. But ' in·
od1-t~"~.cases,and forms of neurosis it remains CQnlpleteJ.y:C:....
cons~us, without on that account producing any ~~
portant effects~ur patients do not believe us'\Vhen we-.at~
bu~ ~'unconscious sense of guilt' totheml In ordl!rtonlafie ·
o\melv~ at all intelligible to them~ we tell them ofan
scious need for punishment, in_ which the sense of guilt finds
expression. But its connection with a particular forin ofneul"f):Sia .
must not be over-estimated. Even in obsessional iJeUI'Oii$ .tbete _)
are types of patients who are not aware of their sense _of~ · .
or who only feel it as a tormenting uneasiness, a kind ofcmxiety,
i( t;Jley ate prevented from carrying out certain actions; lt
· ~gbt to be possib~ eventually to understand these thi:llgi; -~t
· • _yet we cannot(Here perhaps we may be glad to hay~, it
pomted o_ut ~at tli~ sense of ~It~ ~t bottom ~othi~ ~hut
a topographical '!.!,flety ~~n tts later phases 1t C()ln~
completely withft41' d'lbemMr-el§ And the relations of anxiety
to consciousness exhibit the same extraordinary. varia~.
Anxiety is always present somewhere or other be}Unq every
?IDptom; but at one time it takes noisy possessiQn of the 'Vhr.)!C
Of c:;~ousness, ·while at another it ronceals itself10 completely
~t we are obliged to speak of unconscious anXiety o~, if l\fe:
want to have a clearer p$ychological conscience, since anxiety
ism the first instance simply a feeling, a. of possibilities ofanxiety.
Consequently it is very conceivable that the sense of- guilt }JI'Oo
duced by civilization is not perceived as such cither~ and remains
~ a _large extent unconscious, or appears as a sort of mali&U~,• a
. ·.'
..··.
.
- OlVI_':t.iZA.TION, AND ITS DISdONTENTS
83
··4...-tcti.oo; ·ror. whi~ people,·seek otber motiva~ _··~­
. ., at any tate, have !leVel'. ove!!looJre.d the part .play«J-"'.i;Jl
c:iviliz.ti<m by ~ ~ oC guilt. Furthermore-a paint whiCh,l
fail.t·t()_appreciate.dsewhCre1-they claim to rt<Ieea:p·~ankind
~~sense
guilt, which they call sin. From tbC<~
>~ ~th, in Christianity, this redemption is a~ . .::
tacrifi.cial death of a $ingle person, who in this
1:SIIS-·.
upon himseli'a guilt that is common to everyone--4e ha~ ~i .
able t6 iJUer what the first occasion may have _.been-~_,..'
this• primal guilt, which was also the beginning of ciYi~~
or
most
manoer·
irn.:
. ~-~aired.'-
uncoa-
" .
-~h it cannot be of great importance, it may not be
·~perftuoUs to elucidate the meaning of a few words
as
.
.
~
.
mch
.·_, ·
'
'1\lper..ego", 'conscience', 'sense of guilt', 'need for punishment'
~· 'remorse', which we have often, perhaps, wed too ~:
-· ~-~
_·&lid._ interchangeably. They all relate to the same --~---(J_{ _ .· · -.
·_*'f'~ ~t-denot.e different aspects. of it. The supet.egoil:.- : ·. '_~­
-~which has been inferred by us, and conscierico • ~ -. · ~:-1
which we ascribe, among other functions, ~ ~· ' .·
function consists in. keeping ~ watch over the.
~- and mtentiOns of the ego and judging them, in exercising
••~· The sense of guilt, the harahness ·of the super..e~
it th\141 the·· ll.lne thing as the severity of the oonscie~. It •
.die pelupti6n which the ego has of being watched~ in-~ .· .
. waY~ the.auessment of the tension between its own st:rivingt&Dd..
' ·~---~ of the super.;ego. The fear of this critical ~· ·
(a- fear wliich is at the bottom of the whole rela~}s .~'
Jleed fur p~niahmen~ is an instinctual manifestation on tlaC part
. o£ ego, which has become muochistic under the: influence
sadisticsuper-ego;it is a portion, that is tosay,ofthe ~ct
~ ·~ destruction present in the ego, employed
for fi>rndng an erotic attachment to the super-ego. We ougbt;~­
to ··speak .of a conscience tlntil a super-ego is· demonstrably
... prelent. As to a sense of guilt, we must admit .that it •
· -existellCe before the auper-ego, ·and therefore before eoascieDce,
too. At that time it is the immediate expression· or tear-· of ·the_
external._a~thority, a recognition of the tension betweexr the'
ego and that authority. It is the direct derivative of the conflict ·
~tween the n~
the autllQrity's love and the urge towards
1 In ~ .Frdtlt( of• .IIlasillta (1927e).
·
-~
~cy.
This
*
.·ora
m
mr
•· Tollmuu T~ (1912-13) [SI8ndattl &/., 13,
153~5].
·~·' ::.;~ ''\'. ' t~.
· 1', .
84
CIVILIZATION AND ITS . DISCONTENTS
instinctual satisfaction, whose inhibition produces the inclination
to aggression. The superimposition of .these two strata of the .·
sense of guilt-one coming from fear of the extmuzl authOrity;
the other from fear of the. internal authority- has hampered olir
insight mto the position of conscience in .a number of wa)'S.
Remorse is a general term for the ego's reacti.o n in a case of
. . .sense of guilt. It contains, in litde .altered for.nt,. the sensory
material of the anxiety which is operating behind the sense of
gUilt~ it b itself a punishment and can include the need for
punishment. Thus remorse, too, can be older than conscience.
1
Nor will it do any harm if we once more review the contradictio~s which have for a while perplexed us during our enquiry. Thus, at one point the sense of guilt was t:he consequence of acts of aggression that had been abstained from;
but at another point-and precisely at its historical beginruilg,
the killing of the father-it was the consequence of an act of
aggression that had been carried out [p~ 78 ]. But a way out
of this difficulty was found. For the institution of the internal
· authority, the super-ego, altered the situation radically. Before
this, the sense of guilt coincided with remorse. (We may. remark,
incidentally, that the term 'remorse• should be reserved for the ·
reaction after an act of aggression has actually been carried out.) Mter this, owing to the omniscience of th~ s.uper-ego, . the
difference between an aggression intended and an aggression
carried out lost its force. Henceforward a sense of guilt could.,be
produced not only by an act of violence that is actually carried
?ut (as all the world knows), but also by one that is merely
mtended (as psycho-analysis has disc.o vered). Irrespectively of
this alteration in the ·psychological situation, the cQJlflict
arising from ambivalence-the conflict between the two primal
instincts-leaves the same result behind (p . .79 ]. We are
tempted to look here for the solution of the problem of the
varying relation in which tht< sense of guilt stands to conscious~
ness. It might be thought that a sense of guilt arising from
remorse for an evil deed must always be conscious, whereas a
sense of g~lt arising from the perception of an evil impuise may ·
remain 'Jnconscious. But the answer is not so simple as. that.
Obsess~onal neurosis speaks energetically against it.
The second contradiction concerned the aggressive energy
With which we suppose the strper-ego to be endowed. According
to one view, that energy merely carries on .the punitive eilersy
. . ...·.
,~
... . ':..: :-.·<_.,:_·_:· '
. -~--
·.··· .·
·. ·.. ·C HVU.IZA'tlON AND JTS DlSOONTENTS
..··
aljve:
-- . . ·~·~ nt:ernal authority and keeps it
in the·tnind [p. 7~ };:
· ·. W;hilt; ;according to anc)thel' vjew, it,ct)mists, .o n tb.e.contraty;~
. ·• . . . one)s ~fl agr.essive.energf-which has not be~ .~c:l :ati(l whici:l< .
..'
o~..~·~ow .directs. against that inhibiting authority tP.• 76];
· \.i:
. ~. flist. view seemed to fit in better with the. hirtof;t,;and· d:a.f · ·'·,:':;;
·s~ with the tluMyi of the sense of guilt. Closer·.efte¢ti<>n ~- .
..· '.
.• ~fved.-this· apparently irreconcilable contradiction al~ ~~. · · ·'
. c~mplerelyi what remained as the essential and .eo~()Ci ·- - .
·.· .·w~ . tha* _in each -case we were dealing .with an aw-.VCJ;lCIIII.
.· whidl had been displaced inwards•.Clinical observation; niore-·
~·
·qY'~, allows us in fact to distinguish two sources for the aggt~e..
. nea. Which we attribute .to the super-ego; one or the other of
. : · ~m· ~ercises the stronger effect in any given case, but as a
·
~n~ rule they operate in unison.
· ~·.
This is, I thin:j, the place at which to put forward for ~
. consi:deration a view which 1 have earlier re~m:lea '>i · -- ·· · ·..~~
ptyvisio.nal acceptance .1 In, the most recent analytic Jiter.iUre
,·:-!
P-iedUeetion is shown for the idea that any kind offru.sttatiOe;
.:
a11.y thwarted instinctual satisfaction, results, or may reautt, iAa::;:
~htem.ng of the senSe of gull~' A great ·theoretical ~pli.i,:
· ·- fit~oR. will, I (hink, be achieved if we reg~rd ·this a3 applying .·
· Ol'lly.to. the tJ,JPts.sWI·instincts, and little will be found to contra~ ·
diCt .this assumption. For how are we to account, oli dynamje -·
. . . and eooJi(Unic grounds, for an inc~ase in the sense ' of gWI:t,
. appea~g in place of an unfulfilled erotie ·demand? This oDly.
··seems. pOsSible in a round-about way-if we Slippose, that ilj
that the prevention of an erotic satisfaction calls .u p a piece· of .
agtgl'e$iiveliess against the person who has interfered lA'i:dr the
;.,..
•tisfa:ction, and that this aggressivene$S has itself to be supp~esstd in turn. But if this is so, it is after all only the aggressive..
;.. neu which is transformed into a sense of gui.lt, by being
. suppressed and made over to the super-ego. I am co~Jvinceci~ .
·. t:Bat ·many processes will admit of a simpler and ·clearer ex~ ·
position if .the findings of psycho-analysis with .r egard to the
·· derivation of the sem.e of guilt are restricted to the ~fCSiiVe
·..iJistin~t!i.: Examination of the clipical material ·giv~ us. no uil- .
eqUiVOcal answer-here, becau8e, as our hypoth.ms teils ·ua, tb.e
.. two .cl•s of instinct ·hardly ever appear -in a· pure form,
a.. ··.
_
[I~ bal not been I)Otlliblc to trace this. earlier recoGJZDendatlon.J
Thia vit\v.il take& ·~ partlcular by Ernest Jones, SUsan haacs~and
Melanie Klein; and also, I undentand, by Reik ·and Alexander. ·
i
1
'.
,., ' ' .
86
CIVILJZATION
AND ITS -DISCONTENTS
.
.
. .
.
isolated from .each other; but an. investigation of extre~e casa
-would probably point in the direction I anticipate. . ·
.
I am tempted to extract a first advantage from this more
restricted view of the case by applying it to the process of
repression. As we have learned, neurotic symptoms are, in their
essence, sub&titutive satisfactions for unfulfilled se::Jeual wishes.
In the course ofour analytic work we have discovered tO our
. surp~ that perhaps every neurosis conceals a . quota· of un..
oonscious. sense of guilt, which in its turn fortifies the syroptoriu
by making use of them as a punishment. It now seeiQS plausible
tO formulate the following proposition. When an instinctual
trend undergoes repression, its libidinal elements are turned
into symptoms, and its aggressive components into a sense of
guilt. Even if this proposition is only an average approximation
to the truth, it is worthy of our interest.
:_;:
I '
!:
.I
'I ~
" :0.'
''
.. >'
-··.
;
...
...
.•..: .·
-;.'
__
· r···
- _·.
··.·-~.·'
_·
,j
87
. hesitation that the two are very "similar in na,ture, if not t:he
. very same .process applied tO different kinds Of·object~ ~
. process of (be civilization of the human species .is, of course, an
abstraction of a .. higher order than is ·the developm•t of the
individual and it is therefore harder tO apprehend
concrete
terms, nor should we pursue analogies to an obsessional extreme;
but in .view oi the similarity between the aim5 of the two
processes-in· the one case the integration of a separate ~di­
vidual into a human group, and in ,the other case ~e creatiOn
of a unified group o~t of many· individuals-we cannot be
surprised at the similarity between the means employed and the
resultant phenomena.
In view of its exceptional importance, we must not long
postpone the mention of one feature which distinguishes between the two processes. ln the developmental process of the
individual~ the programme of the. pleasure principle,' which
consists in finding the satisfaction of happiness, is· retained u
the main aim. Integration in, or adaptatiQn to, a human
community appears as a scarcely avo~dable condition whi~
must be fulfilled before this aim of happiness can be achieved.
·· If it could be done without that condition, it would perhaps
be preferable. To put it in other words, the de~lopmen~ of the
individual seems to us to be a product of the .mteractlon Pe.tween two urges, the urge towards "happiness, which we ~ually .
call 'egoistic•, and the urge towards union with others m the
oommunity, which we call 'altruistic\ Neither of these. d~
criptions goes much below the surface. In the process of individual development, as we have said, the main acce~t falls
DJOStly on the. egoistic urge (or the urge towards happmess);
while the other urge, which may be described as a ccultural'
one, is usually..content with the role of imposing restrictions.
But in the process of civilization things are different. Here by
far the most importan.t thing is the aim of creating a uni~ out
of the indiVidual human beings. It is true that the ann of
happiness is still there, but it is pushed into the backgro~.
It almost seems as if the creation of a great human commumty
would be most successful if no attention had to be paid to the
happiness of the individual. The deV'etopmental process of t?e
individual can thus be expected to have special features of 1ts
own which are·not reproduced in the process ofhuman civilization. lt is only in so far as the first of these processes has union
m
(S)
j :;
•, '' , ,
: CIVILIZATION AND TI'S PISCONTBNTS
'
· Some readers of this work may further have an impression
that they have heard the formula of the struggle between Eros
t~· .~d the death instinct too often. It was alleged to
... characterize
. u e process of civilization which mankind undergoes (p. 69 ]
but it was also Yitouglif"into connection Wltn the development
~o(the i_!lffi.Yidu~l [p. 66 ], and, in addition, it W(lS said to have
rc;yeale~_~ecret of organic life in gen~. 65f.J. We cannot,
I think, avoiagomg into the relations of these three proc~
to one another. The repetition of the same formula is justified
by the consideration that both the process of human civilization
and of the development of the individual ace also vital processes-which is to say that they must share in the most general
characteristic oflife. On the other hand, evidence ofthe presence
of this general characteristic fails, for the very reason .of itS
general nature, to help us to arrive at any differentiation [between the processes], so long as it is not narrowed down by
special qualifi-cations. We can only be satisfied, therefore, if we
assert that the proce.ss of civilization is a modification wffi.ch the
vital process experiences under the influence of a task that is
set it by Eros and instigated by Ananke-by the exigencie!l of
reality; and that this task is one. of uniting separate individuals
into a community bound together by libidinal ties. When,
however, we look at the relation between the process ofbuman
·civilization and the deve\opmental or educative process of .
individual human beings, we shall conclude witbout much
' ' r.'_'·.
.,
'
.
..
...
''
•'
I.
'·· ~ - ·"
"'...
ss
:. crvrttzAr.scnt· AMn
··· .· ··.
..·
lTs
second-proee~S. . .. . .
·. . . . . . ·.
·.. ,, .. '··._- .:.
Just U a planet teVolyes atOund .a ~tra} body U well-. If.
~tating on it&·. awn axil, so the human indivi<lual tate. part '
m the -COUhe of develOpment of·mankind at.the -i&Ide time-at··.
he p~rsues his own path in nee. ht to our.dull CyeS '~ pll.y .
of forces in the heavens seenu fixed in a nevet...chan~ o~;
in the:.~d of organic-life we can still see bOw the tol'cel~
~ With -one another, and how the efFects of the confti.:f ~
·· eon~~aUy changing. So, also, the tWo urge~, the one ·~nu
~ ~1. h~ppiness . a.nd the other towards UJlion with other
hJitD.an Qeings must struggle with each other in e'Vety ilidi\i-.:··
dual; and so, also, the two processes of fudividual aad .of .
culwra\ deve~pment mus~ stand in hostile opposition"to eaeh
other and· mutually diSpute the groUnd. But this itrusskf"~ · ·
tween ·the individual and sOtiety Js not a derivativ~ of the
contradiction-probably an irreconcilable onc-~een ·the.·
.. _primal instinc.ts of Eros and death. ·It is a ctisp.ute within th,e.··
i ...
i:
,
.< . ·
..
.·
.
DiseoNTtni:Ts ·. · :, ,. . ,
with the co~nity ai im aim th!lt it neeu··coiridde With~ '
~
"!OJ
·~~-· ,.· ··'I· :
·. .' .' · · :... ; : i ... ··
~Inifi o~ the li~i~o, comparabl(: to the ~ntest co~
~ distribution of libido between ego and objects;. ~ 1t c10e1·
· .IMimit of an eventual accommodation in the fudividual, 'u,
·it may be hoped, it will also do in the future of civilization~·
however much that -civilization may oppms the
Oldie
· individual to-day.
·
·
·
.. · .
· The analogy between the process of civilization and the path
of individual development may be extended _in an hfiportan~ ·
~t.. It ~an be aSSerted that the community, tOo, evolva .
me
a super--ego .under whose influence cultural develOpment p~
be a .tempting task for anyon~ who U.·-~ ·.
knowledge of hum$ civilizatioos to follow oUt· this.~·iii··
de~. I ·will confine myselft<;> bringing forward a few atrikiiig·
~· ,.It would
~ts.. The super-ego of an epoch of civilization has _an origin:
similar to that of an individual. It is based on the impresliGJ1.
left behind by the personalities of ~at leaders-men Of over.;; ·
whe~ force of mind or men in whom one of the hu~
.. iJnpulsionshasfoundits strongest and purest, and theref6re often •
its rnost·one~lided, expression. In many instances the analogy .
~. stiU furthert in that during their IUetime the,e·figures were · ·.
.. .--...often enough, even if .not··always-:-mocked and. •maltreated.
by ·others and even despatched 'i n a cruel fashion. In the same.
·. way, indeed, the primal father · did not attain divir.Dty until<
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
89
long after he had met his death by violence. The most ariestin.g
example of this fateful ci>njun9tion ;, to be seen in the figure ¢'
Jesus Christ- if, indeed, that figure is not a part of mythol~,
which called it into being frOm an obscure memory of that prunal
event. Another point of agreement between the culturaland the
individual super-ego is that the former, just like the latter, sets
up strict ideal demands, disobedience to which is visited wi~
·'fear of conscience' [p. 75 ] • Here, indeed, we come across the
remarkable circumstance that the mental processes. concerned
are actually more familiar to us and more accessible ~ COD•
sciousness as they are seen in· the group than they can be m the
in.d.ividual man. In him, when tension arises, it is only the
aggressiveness of the super-ego which, in the form ofrepro~ches,
makes itself noisily heard; its actual demands often rematn unconscious in the background. If we bring them to conscious
knowledge, we find that they coincide with the precepts ofthe pre+
vailing cultural super-ego. At this point the two procesSes, that
ofthe cultural development of the group and that ofthe cu~tural
development of the individual, are, as it were, always inter.locked. For that reason some of the manifestations and properties
· of the super-ego can be more easily detected in its behaviour
in the cultural community than in the separate individual.
The cultural super...ego has developed .its ideals and set up
its demands. Among the latter, those which deal with the relations of human beings to one another are comprised under
the· heading of ethics. People have at all times set the greatest
value on ethics, as though they expected that it in particular
would produce especially important results. And it does in
fact deal with a subject which can easily be recognized as the
sorest spot in every civilization. Ethics is thus to be regarded as
a therapeutic attempt-as an endeavour to achieve, by means
of a command of the super-ego, something which has so far
· not been achieved by means of any other cultural activities. As
we already know, the .problem before us is how to get rid of the
gre;:\test hindrance to civilization- namely, the constitutional
inclination of human beings to be aggre8sive towards one
an~ther· and for that very reason we are especially interested in
what is 'probably the most recent of the cultural commands of
the super-ego, the ·commandment to love one's neighbour .as
oneself. [Cf. p. 56ff. above.] In our research into, and ~rapy
of, a neuroSis, we are led to make two reproaches agamst the
\
..'
" , ,··. - : :. ·..
,.. ...
. ·. ·,· ..
c: .. '. [':•' ' ' . :~,,. ...·..::t ..
·.
90
ClVttiZA.TlQ~ AND ITS DISoo'lt.TUT$
.
.
.e
·prohi~ti~di i~ -W.libles i~ ~ ~ttle. ~bout. the· ~~· or ..
~e ego, .m that Jt takes tnsuf&cient. account .of
teiiitanaw '.
~~t' obeying. them---of~ . insti~ctUal ··~eugth of.the.id...
[ m.. the first place], and of the diffi~ulties· p~en~ by .•
e~tem~·- ·~~qoicnt [in the second]. Q>~queridy we ~- .
~~· ~·· ~' for therapeutic. purposes, · to .oPpoie ~·
.$uptl:~, . ~we endeavour tO l?weriq demands~ ~dy.tft.e •
s~ Objections can be made agamst the ethical dernamb:of tlae
..c~~ super-ego. It, too, does not trou~ itaelf endtigh.aboUt.
. til~
or the mental constitution of human beings. It isSues
~. ~fUld and does not.ask whether it is possible for people. to
oho/ 1t~ ~the contrary, 1t assumes that.a man,s ego is psycho~
log~cally capable of anything that is required of it; that ..his·ego
has Uiilimited mastery over his id. This a D1Utake··aad even,·
in ~hat are known as normal people the id caruwt bc'controUecf·
bey~d certain limits. If more is demanded of a man a revolt
. will lie prqduced io. him or a neurosis,. or ht will .be ~«=· ~..
.
, . ·:.~py." The _·c ommandment, 'Love thy neighbour as. thy,.., -· ..
it the strongest defence against human aggressiveness ~
excellent example
the unpsychological P!<>Ceedin@s of ,tJie: .·.
cultural super-ego~ The commandment is impossible ·10- fulfil· · •
such an enormous inflation of love .can only ·lo~ its .value:
not get rid of the difficulty. Civilization payi no attention to aB'
this; .i~ :n:lerely admonishes us that the harder i.t u to obey the··
·· ~pt .the more ~eritorious it is tQ do 8Q. ·But ~ wbQ
fOUowa sue~ a preceptin preaenklay civilization only ~u hir.
•self l:\t a. disadvantage vis.-a-llis the perso~ who dUreg;ards 1t.
. ~t· a })<?tent obstacle to civilization aggressiveness mU&t - ,
1f the defence against it &an· cawe aa much ·unhappiness 8$
aggressiveness itSelf! 'Natural' ethics, as it is called, baa nothing ·
to o~~ here except the. narcissistic satisfaction of .})e.ing able
to think oneself better than otheri. At thU point the ethics baaed
on.religion introduces its promises of a better after..life. ·BUt ao - .
. · t~g:::as Virtue is not r.ewarded here on. earth,
~ -~ .
. f~, preach in vain. I too think it quite ~· ·th&t a ~ . , · :
~· in:the relations of human beings to po.e..io~ Wouid be ·, .
. of~ .he~~ in this ~ction than any ~thiC~ eomniailds; but- . ,· '
_the .recogmuon of this fact among lOCi~ has been obscured
and made useleu fOr prac(kal ~· by a &em idea&tii
· ~nceptic>n of hwnan nature. [C£ p. fiO · above•]
.
.
real ..
·£acta·
u
I .: ' ~
an·.· ' ' .
ethkt"
.
'f
.r
,...
'
. .. _. :
.'·
CUVILlZATlON AND ITS DISOONT:E NTS
super~ego oftbe.mdivicqal.Itt the sevcrity.ofiu~ ami
or
, 1.
::
~~
·.. : : .. :.: I ·bef.k:Ve ·~ Jipe of .thouPlf wlUCh aeeb. '' trace . ia .
. ,
. ~~ or cwtu~:- 'deVdoPment the ~·· played . , . ~.
·' ·
-~---
·
·tt.:
·tMPet~ ·pro~; .ul.further dilcoveriea. l ~~~ fO'COrite tO
.··'
. · ~·'.ct~:"'".~ut d).ere is
queaion. which I CU. ~; ~
.~!- deveJ.,pmeJit of civilization ·has ·such .a · ~~ ·
. ~ty:tf) th¢ c:b-elopmentofthe individtu~l and irite~~-. · . . . '
·· ~ · scu;ne. methodS, may. we not be justified m rCf:a.dtar -~
" dia~~ ·that, under the influence of cultural . ~ ·soa~e
. ~~iltiops, or some epochs•of civilization. pqeeibly tile ~hole.
· ~~ankind-.have ~ · 'neurotic'?'~ ~~~tiba
.~ ·.iUeh ' n~ might lead to therapeutic recommendation.
· ~ . could . lay claim ·to great practical interes.t.·I .woukl· DOt
.,ay,tlaat an attempt of this kind to carry psycho-analysis over
tke .(:UltUral eommunity was absurd or doomed to be &uit•
· h!a. Ba~ we should have to be vi!ry cautioUs and not fotge~ .t Ut,
aftet all, we are only dealing with analogies and a.t k •
~Uf, ~t o,u1y 'With men but also with ~ t8 -.i, _· . ,i
thet,il ~m the sphere in which they have originated ••f~ .
ev~ed. ~reover, the .diagnosis of communal ne~ · ~·~
fac.ed with a special difficulty. In an individual DttiJUiis ~ .
~~· ·&$; -QUr a~-point the contrast that. ctistinguisbCs ~
·patient froinbia cmVironment, whichis assumed to be •normal' ~ .
Fc;>.r a:i,n)up an of whose memben are affected by ont and·d:lc·.
aame diorder no such background could exist; it wookl have
to be fOUnd elsewhere. And as .regards the therapeutiC apPika- ·
~ of .our knowledge, what would be the use of the J'!lOI*
~t · ~ysis of social neuroses, since · no ~~·. ~
authority to imPQSe such a therapy upon .the group? BUt ~
.. spite of all thcae difficulties; we may .expeet that oP.e day IO~Qe­
··bae.will·venture to. emb,ark upon a pathology·of cultural c;om-
cue
·.:
·
».
·.
~~ties.
.. . ' · .
. J4'4)r ·• Wide variety of reaaons, it is very far.from.my intelltion
to: ~pre~~ ~ opinion upon the value of hu~an civilila~ .1 ·.
·f$-. ·"¢udeavpUred to guard myself against the en~
j)reJudice which hOl4s that opr civilizati(l~. is thC ~ pteeioUa•
· · t1Ung tha.t. we pos~CSs or could acquire and . ~t its patll \VJll
nee~y lead ·to heights of unimagined ·perfection. l caa ·at
leas~ liste.n. without indignation -to the critic Who .~ .Qf the
opiuion that-when one surveys ·the ai~ of cultural endeavoUr
· · .1
cr. aome remarb.in.TM Ft~tur# of411 nlUsitm (1927e)•.
·
. ·• ; ~ ·:
~r
'
,. .
92
:
.:
;
>' }
··: ;·-· • -'? '\.'~;~- ;~ •· '·; • .
. ~ .....;
·.: / . ~
:
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS'
and the means it employs, one is bound to come to the COJJ.;.
elusion that the whole effort is not worth the trouble; .an<J that
the outcome of it can only be a state of affairs which the
individual will be unable to tolerate. My impartiality is made
all the easier ,t o me by my knowing very little about all these
things• .One thing only do I know for certain and that is that ·
man's judgements of value follow directly his wishes for happiness-,.that, accordingly, they are an attempt to support his
illusion& with arguments. I should find it very understandable
ifsomerine were to point out the obligatory nature of the course
of human civilization. and were to say, for instance, that the
tendencies to a restriction of sexual life or to the institution of a
humanitarian ideal at the expense of natural selection were
developmental trends which cannot be averted or turned aside
and to which it is best for us to yield as though they were
necessities of nature. I know, too, the objection that can be made
agaimt this, to the effect that in the lristory of mankind, ,trends
!uch as ·these, which. were considered unsurmountable;, . have
often been thrown aside and replaced by other trends. Thus
I have not the courage to rise up before my fellow~men as a
prophet, and I bow to their reproach that I can offer them no
consolation: for at bottom that is what they are all demanding
-the wildest revolutionaries llO les8 passionately than the most
virtuous believers.
The fateful queStion for the human species seems to me to be
whether and to what extent their cultural development will
succeed in mastering the disturbanCe of their communal life
by the human ins~ct of aggression and self-destruction. It
uiay be that in this respect precisely the present time deserves
a special mterest. Men have gained control over the forces of
nature to suCh an extent that with their help they would ha'/e
no difficulty in exterminating one another to the last man. They
know this, and hence comes a large part of their current unrest,
their unhappiness and their mood of anxiety. Andnowit is to be
expected that the other of the tWo 'Heavenly Powers' [p. 80],
eternal Ercis, will make an effort to assert himself in the struggle·
with his equally immortal adversary~ But who can foresee with
what success and with what·result?l
I
. ·, - -.' ;...: ' /
1 {The fina) aentence was added in 1931-when the menace ofHitlet
waa already beginning to be apparent.]
. ·
.
;.
. ; . : -~
·_.
..(
•• •. J-
BIBLIOGRAPHY AND INDEXES
·\
..,r
.·:i·f:.·.
""'~ ·
t ,.
,·
BIBLIOGRAPHY AND AUTHOR INDEX
LIST OF AB.B REVJATIONS
-F'reud,
-Freud,
C.P.
-Freud,
Standard Ed.-Freud,
G.S.
G.W.
Gesammelte Schriften ( 1.2 vols.), Vienna, 1914-54
Gesammelte Werk e (18 vols.), London, from 1940
Collected Papers (5 vob .), London, 1914-50.
Standard Edition (24 vols.), London, from 1953
of books and periodicals are in italics; titles of papen are in inverted commas. Abbreviations are in accordance with the W OTld List
of Scientific Periodicals (London, 1952). Further abbreviations used in
this volume will be found in the List above. Numerals in boldface
refer ·to volumes: ordinary numerals refer to pages. The fi.gure$in round
brackets at the end of each entry indicate the page or pages af. this
volume on which the work in question is mentioned. In the case of the
Freud entries, the letters attached to the dates of publication are in
accordance with the corresponding.entries in the complete bibliography
of Freud's writings to be included in the last volume of the Standard
Edition.
TITLES
!
I
For non-technical authors, and for technical authors where no specific.
work is mentioned, see the General Index.
, :,.
·. :·:!
I.
AICHHORN, A. (1925) J'e-rWahrloste ] ugend, Vienna. (77) [Trans.:
Wayward Youth, New York. 19~5; London, 1936.]
ALEXANDER, F. (1917) Die Psychoanalyse der GesamtpeTsiinlichlteit,
. Vienna. (77)
[Trans.: The Psychoanalysis of the Total Personality, New York, 19!JO.J
ATKINSON, J. J. (1903) Primal Law, London. Included in A. Lang's
. Sacial Origins, London, l90!J· (47)
.
BLEULER, E. (1913) 'Der Sexualwiderstand', ] b. p.sychoan. psychopath.
Forsch., 5, 442. (53)
BRANDES, G. (1896) William Shaltespeare, Paris, Leipzig, Munich. (38)
DALY, C. D. (1927) 'Hindumythologie und Kastrationscomplex', ImAgo,
.,.. 145· (46)
FEDERN, P: (1926) 'Einige Variationen des Ichgefiihls', Int. Z. Pi'J·
choan., u, 26~. (13)
[Trans.: In Ego Psychology and the Psychoses, New York, 1951, 115.}
(1927) 'Narzissmus ~m Ichgefiige', lnt. Z. Psych oan., l~h 420. (13)
[.T rans.: In Ego Psychology and the Psychoses, New York 195a, 38.)
95
.
..
96
BIBLIOGRAPHY AND AUTHOR INDEX
FERENCZI, S. (1gJ.3) 'EntWicklunptufen. d'eS Wirkliehkeitssinnes'.lnt·; ·
z. (iintl.) .PJyci.oan.at,, 1, 124. (13)
·
.
· . ..
[T,-4ns.:· 'S.tages fn the Devel6pment of the senae of R.~lit}f, Fiist .C o•
tributions to Psycho-Analysis, London, 19!j2, Chap. VIII~
.. · .
FREUD, s.; (1895b) 'tiber die Ber~chtigung von der Neurasthenie einet1
bestimmten Symptomenk.omplex als "An~tneurose" · abzutretjn~ri',
G.S. 1, 3~~ G.W., a, 315. (6i)
.
. ...
[Tra~Jr.: . 'On die Grounds for Detaching a Particular Syndrome .from
Neurasthenia under the Description "Anxiety Neurosis"', C.P., 1, 76; ·
. StGndaTd, Ed., ll• 87.]
.
. (18g&) 'Die Sexualitat in der Atiologie der Neurosen', G.S. 1; 439;
1, 491. (8)
.
.
· [Trans;: 'Sexuality in the Aetiology of the Neuroses', C.P., 1, rao;
Stcndilrd Ed., ll• s(il.]
{1gooa) Die Traumdeutung, Vienna, G.S., t-~; G.W., 1--3. (14, 68} · ·
[Trans.: The Interpretation of Dreams, London and. NeW York, 1955:
Standard Ed., 4-5·1
(1901a) Oberden Traum, Wiesbaden. G.S., !1, 189; G.W., .~t-3, 6.4~. (So)
[T,.ans. :- On Dreams, London and New York, 1951; Standar4 E4~ iJ,·
a:w.,
· 6s~.J' .
. (•9o1b) Zur PsychojJQthologie dt:s Alltagslebens, Berlin, 1904. G.S., 4•.
s; G. 4· (16) ·
·
w.,
[T.,-ans.: The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, Standard Ed_., -6.]
(•go'.!)d) Drei Abhandlungen zur Sexualtheorie, Vienna~ G.S•• 5~ !;
G. W., 5• tg. (6, 7-9, ~o. 54)
.
..
[Trans.: Thre.e Essays on the Theory ol Sexuality, London, 1949;
Standard Ed.J 7• us.]
.
(•905~ (1901]) ':Bruchstiid. einer· Hysterie-Analyse', .G.S., 8, s; C.W.,
. . ' 5· l63: (~7· 54)
•'
>>' {Trans.: 'Fragment of an Analysis of a Case of Hysteria', C.P., 3• 15;
· · Stt~ncwrd Ed., 7, 5·]
·
(t9Q8b) 'Charakter und Analerotik.', G.S., 5o 261; G. W., .:,, 1168· (44)
[Trans.: 'Character and Anal Erotism', C.P., -'• 45; Standard Ed.J g,
1~J · .
.
.
(t908d) 'Die "kulturelle" Sexualmoral und die moderne Nervositllt',
G.S.~ 5• •·u; G. W ., 7• 143. (7, s6. 73)
. .
[1'7-ans.: ' "Civilized" Sexual Morality and Modern NervOJJ&
C.P;; 1, 76; Standard Ed., g, 179·1
{t909b) 'Analyse der Phobie eines fiinfjahrigen Knaben', G.S.-, 8; 119;
G.W;, 7• 143· (8)
-[Trans.: 'Analysis of a Phobia in a Five·Year-Old Boy', C.P., !J; Ifg;
SttJndard Ed.~ 1 0 , S·l
·
(1909d) 'Bemerkungen tiber .einen Fall Von Zwanganeurose·, G.S., 8,
Illness·;
97
269; G. W., 7• sSt . (7)
.
{Trans.: 'Notes upon a Case _
of Obsessional Neurosis', C.P., 3• 293;
Standard Ed., 10; 155 ~]
( 1911 b) '.F orinulierungen uber die zwei Prinzipien des psychischen
Geschehens', G.S., !'), 409; G. W ., 8, 230. ( 14, 28)
[Trans.: 'Formulations on the Two Principles of Menta l Functioning',
C.P., 4. 13: Standard Ed., u, 215.1
(1911c) 'Psychoanalytische Bemerkungen tiber einen autobiographia<:h
beschriebenen Fall von Paranoia (Dementia Para_noides)', G.S., B•
.355; G. w .• 8, 240. (I~)
.
.
. [Trans.: ' Psycho-Analytic Notes on an Autobiographical Account of
a Case of Paranoia (Dementia Paranoides)', C.P., 3, 387; Standa1'd
Ed., tt, 3·1
(•gud) 'tlber die allgemeinste Erniedrigung des Liebeslebens', G.S.,
5• 198; G . W., 8 , 78: (7, 54)
.
[Trans.: 'On the U niversal Tendency to Debasement in the Sphe~ of
Love', C .P., 4, 203; Standard Ed., 11, 179·1
(•912-13) Totem und TabuJ Vienna, l!Jl!J. G .S., 10, 3; G.W., g. (47-8,
78. 8!$)
[Trans.: Totem and Taboo, London, 1950; New York, 1952; Standard
Ed., 13, LJ
(1913/) 'Das Motiv der Kastchenwahl', G .S., 10, 243; G.W., 10, 244·
.
.
.. (~8} .
[Trans.: 'The Theme of the Three Caskets', C.P., 4, 244; Standard
Ed., u, 1191.]
(1915b) . 'Zeitgemasses tiber Krieg und T od', G.S., 10, 315; G.W., 10,
324: (7t)
[Trans.: 'Thoughts for the Times on War and D eath', C.P., .a, t88;
Standard Ed~, 14, 275.]
(1915c) 'Triebe und T riebschicksale', G .S., 5· 443; G.lV., 10, :110. (8,
14, 64)
[Trans.: 'Instincts and their Vicissitudes', C.P., 4, 6o; Standard Ed.,
14, 143~]
(1915/) 'Mitteilung eines der psychoanalytischen Theorie widersprechenden Falles von Paranoia', G.S;, 5• 288; G.W., 10~ 243. (55)
. [Trans.: 'A Case of Paranoia Running Counter to the Psycho-Analytic
Theory ofthe Disease', G.P., •· lso; Standard Ed., 14, 263.)
(t916:-17) Vorlesungen zur Einfiihrung in die Psychoanalyse, Vienna.
G.S., 7; G . W., 11. (28)
.
ITrans.: lntToductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis, London, 1919, (A
General lntToduction to Psychoanalysis, New York., 1935); Standard
Ed., 15-16.]
(tgt8a) 'Das Tabu der Virginitat', G.S.J 5, 212; G ;W.J u, 161. (61)
, :
'•
·r
.-· ,..
i .. ·
' •
:'1
.
.
.
.
..
'.
·. ·:
: .:~
:"
··:·..
l,iiBI)OGRAPHY ANJ) AUT~QR INDEX .
(t9i~)
}(etJe·FOlge deJ" .Yorlt!JUnge" ·%1it Eitafuh:rung iri die Piftlr~ .
to7. (8. 6o) .
··
·
· [T.ran.s.: Nei/J 1~t#od'iictoi:; LeciuTes on Psycho-Analysis, ~A" and
.' ,4_n,dise; Vienna.. G.S;, .aa. •s~ ; G.W:, t5o
· N~.Y()I'~, I9S!P Sttmdard Ed., ~~~]
..
..
(i9J5b) Warum Krieg'!, G.S., ••· 549;. G.W., 16,
(7. 45) ' .
. [X:ta~.s.: Why WaTP, C.P., S• 275; Stafl(lardEd., u.]
.
· . . ·. .
· (i~7c)' Die etidliche und di·e unendliche Analyse'. G. W., 16; 59- (g) ·
fTrins.: 'Analysis Terminable and Interminable', C.P., 5~ s1~; Stand~
1;.
Groo,
4fd 8d~,. *5·)
:.
.
. •:
:·.
.w..-·.
19M.,:
.
Ed~,. t .)J
JONES, .t. ( 1918) ' Anal-Erotic Character Traits',']. abnotm. Psychol.,
l~'tfh; ,..l)ers on Psycho-Analysi.s, London and New York, 1918 (a~ .
ed:); Chap. xt. (44)
'
(1957} Sipqnd Freud: Life and Work, Vol.
London and New
'Y.ork. (Page references aJe to the English edition.) (7, g, ~8)
s.
RICKMAN,]: (ed.) (1959) Civiliz.ation, War and Death: Selections fr!m
'Titree WOt-As by Sigmund Freud1 London. (9)
.
'
..
. .. ..
. [Tr:o~~.. The Qitestion of Lay AnalyJis, London, '947• New YQr~
19.$(); Standard Ed., ao, 179·] .
.
.
(•gt']c) pie Zukunft eineT Illusion, Vienna. G.S., u, 411; G~ W., t-to,·
s•s- (5, ,. 11, u. a1, 54· 56, 41, s,, 91)
[Trims.: The Future of an Illusion, LondotJ. and New York, igt&; ·.
Standard Ed., lU, 3·]
(•9!0d) Das Unbehagen in der K":ltur, Vienna. G.S., ·~· ag; G.w~.. .
sa.
. . . . . 1.
[Tmns.: Civili%4tion and jtJ Discontents~ London, 1950, New York, •
tg6t; St4n_dard Ed., 11, 59·]
. .
li93l4) 'Ober libidin&e Typen\ G.S., u, 115; G.W ., 14- 509- (51)
(Trans.; 'Lib~f}inal Types', C.P., 5• 147; Standard Ed., u, us.]
·. (195111) 'Zur Gewinnung des f'e~m·, G.S, u. t.p; G.W., 16, S· (!7)
[Tf'!Jn.s.: ~ Acqllisition and Control of Fire'. C.P., 5> 188;. St~ndard
Ed., a..)
.
·' ,..; .~
{•9~9a [1937-59))' DerMtu~n Moses und die monothel.stmhe Religion,
. · .G.W., t'- 10~. (74)
·
tttens~.: Mo.ses tqtd Monotheism, London and New York, 1959;
. Sja,nd.rd Ed., ~~] · ·
{1.9401i- [•95S}) Abrl.ss rUT Psychoanaly.se, G.W., •7• 67. (8)
(TTW.: An Outline of Psycho-Analysis, London and New York, .t949;
. S~nthrd Ed:, 1&-]
. .
.
. ~.
....
. .
(19504 (18~7-1g01]} Atu den A.nfiingen der Psychoanalyres
Jndudes 'Entwurf einer Psychologic' (1895). (6, 14, 54, 7S) :
·
[it"o,ns.: The Origins of Psycho-Analysis, London and New Yo:~kf
(Partly, including 'A Project for a Scientific Psychology', in Standartl .· ·
[Trans.: 'Negatio~·· CP., 5, 181; Standard Ed., 19; 235·]
. .·
· ·
,(1g16d) Hemmung, Symptom und Angst, Vienna. G.s.•. u, •s: G.W.,
14, 115. (75· Sa)
[Traps.: Inhibitions, Symptoms and Anxiety, London, 1~ (The
Problem of A.nxiet,, New York., 19s6); SttJn.dard Ed.., ao 'n;] · · . ·
(l9a6e) Die FTage der Laienanalyse, Vienna. G.S., u, 567; G.W., i4,
·.
99,. ..
-:.
[Tran.s.: 'TheTa:~ of ViiglnitY', ~.P.., •· a 17; Sea,.t~ard Ed~, ).J. •9$~1 ·
(ig:og) Je.nstitS d,es Lustprintip.s.; Vienna, 0),. i, 191; G.W:;.., •!•>! ·,
. (S. 66, 6g)
.. . .
. . .
_. .
..
[Tran.s.: Beyond the Pleasure Principle, London, tg6H .$tand4rd Etl•., ·
. . 18. S~] -. . - .
.
.
.
. . . .
(lgttc) M.4S.senp.s'Jchologie und Ich-A.nalyse, Vienna~ ~.S·.i ~· t6t;
9.W., ''·•.75· (6o. 61, 6s, 64.)
•. . . .. .
·. . . . . .
-_: .
[Tralfs.:
Psychology dnd the A-;aalysis of the ·Ego, L9m!Qn!
1.95g;_ New..York, 196o; Standdrd Ed:, t8, 6?·1 .
.
. . . ·. · ·
aga-sh) Das Ich und d4s Es, Vienna. G.S., 6, 555; G.W., 15- ,157· ~· ·
•*-:--•~· 65. 7•· 8•)
.. .
[T~tu.: The Ego and t he ld, New York,· 1961; Stand4rd. Ed;, 19~ l ·l ·
(19J¥} 'Daa okonomilche Problem des ~asochismm', G.S., 5o- 574;
G.W., 15,371. (6u)
.
[Tr~.: 'Th~ Economic Problem of Masochism', C;P., 1, •s5; Slandar!l
Ed., ag, 157.)
.
. .
{1915e) 'Die Widerstande gegen die Psychoanalyse', G .S., · u • .aa.-!;·
G.W., •t• 99· (7)
.
.
. [TT• ns.:' ~The Resistances to Psycho-Analysis', C.P., !S• 16!1; Standar-4
. Ed., 19; 115.]
.
· . (1915h) 'Die Verneinung', G.S., u • .~; G.W;, 14, . 11 ~ (14)
.og. (50)
;·-.
.
BIB.U9<;RA~HY AND· AUTHOll INDEX .
98
•
.... , ..
......
....
..'
.
-·. -·:..
. .... · "'='£'',
. ·..· ;{·
. .'1; : ,.
1.':"" ~
•• ::... r , ··
~ :~
· ··i
. ,
....··
' ,i :
I ·
I'
I
~
(.
L
f
GENERAL INDEX
.: ·
'.
I,
I!
,,
. ·~ :
GENERAL INDEX
T.ius index includes the names o( non-technical authors. It al10 includes
the names of technical authors where no reference is made in the text
to specific worb. For references to specific technical works, the Bibliography should be consulted.
Active and puaive (see also Masculine
and feminine), 55 n.
Adler, A., 8, and n.
A,ea~etic pleasure (see also Art), t8so.s~4•
Aesthetics, theory of, 29-BO
Aggressiveness (see also Death instinct)
and civilization 7:..g, 17 n ,, 58-62,
64-"]0. 81 n., 85""5· ~. 92
in children, 6o, 76-8
. in erotic relationships. 58 n.
introjected, in the super-ego. 70'-9·
8{-6, 8g
Agrippa, 17
Aim-inhibited love (see Inhibited
aim)
Ale1eandn-, F. (see Glso Bibliography),
85 n.1
Ambition and fire, !17 n.
· Ambivalence, 8, 7~0, 84
American civiliution, 65
Anal
character, 4s-4
erotism, 43-4. 46 n., 5!1· 6o
Analogies
bare leg on cold night, 35
cautious businea·man•. 51
garrison in.conquered city, 71
guest who becomea a permanent
lodger, 46
ph)'siological development, t8
planet revolving round a central
body, 88
. .
Polar expedition, iii-equipped,
8t n.
prehistoric saurians and crocodile,
15
· Rome, growth of, t6-t8
Ananlr.e, .f8, 86
animals, •5· u-s. s6. 46 n., 52 n . • ,.
Anthropophyteia (ed. F ..S. Kraw).
5s-4 n.
.
Anti-semitism (see also Je,n), 6t-t, 67
Anxiety (5ee also Fear), t-'; 72, 75• 81,
84,92
Apple-Tree, The (by]. Galsworthy),
52 n. 2
Art (see also Aesth~tic pleasure; Aesthetics), sCHi
and civilization, 4o-1, 4-4
and religion, 21-1
A$inaria (Plautus), 58 n. 5
Aurelian, the Emperor, t6
Beauty (see Aesthetic plea111re)
BisexuaJity, 52 n. !I
Bloch, 1., 5~ n.
Bonaparte, Princess Marie, 8-g, 9 n.
Boys (see also Men)
relation to mother, 6o and n. 1
Busch, W., u n.
CGndide (by Yoltaire), ll2, 17 n.
Carlyle, Thomas, Bon ~
Cases
of 'Dora', 87 n., 54 n.
of 'Little Hans', 8
of 'Rat Man', 6-->]
of Schreber, 1~ n. 1 ·
Censorship. 8~
Character-types, ~o-1, 4!-4 ·.
Children (see also Infantile)
· aggre~venessin,6o,76-8
and the family, 49-50
and parents (see also Father; Moth·
er; Oedipus complex), 49-50• 71
development of1uper-ego ia; 7S-8
education of, 6, 81 n.
helplessness of, ~8
instinctual impullea of, 76J7
over-strictness towards, 77 and n. I
senSe of guilt in, 71-!1, 78
103
.....
·
'.
104
GENEUL lNDEX
i
.:r
91
~ ronBiC:t with Erili~-·~~ ~g. · ~~ .· .
. 1•· 79:"8o. 8f-S,,o,:g.
. ...
Del~~ueney (~« also Crime),
Deluawm, as. 1-a
D6Doru, 46 n. 5 ,
.
artuiq.~80; 5~••·«
d~e~ of. ~mpared to that
I
;n
~ :: I
j', f
I ,
I'
I
·
-·
. ohhe individual, ~~
of, ga-a
hoetility o1 individual to, 5!-4•
43-4• !)I
moral d.emandl of, 42, 58, 6a, 67,
.
neuroa of, 9•
'organic repl'ellion' and, 6, 46 n.,
51 n. 5
pleuure principle aa motive force
.o f•••• 6t .
pr~ta ~flitt bet~en Eros and
the death instinct, 48-so. 59, 6 5«5, ti!r7J, 79-Bo, 84. 86-8, go, 9•
religion and, ••· 69.
Bs
reatrictio111 imposed by, 6-7. 55'-4·
37 n., 41-f, 5o-t, 5! n., M-6, 59·
6a, 7t-6· ga '
ICience and, 14, aS. 54-5. 57-s• .ft,
«
: : i'.
:I
( i'
( ;
.il
;: 1:.
··. .
·'''
ecnae of suilt and, 1· 81-5
tiOCial upect of, 6, 9· ••-•· ·f1-s6.
?g-80,,86-g
·. CJe~llil~
and anal eroti1m, 45-4
ed civilization, of0-1, 44, 46 n.
Conunu.nifm, 59-&, 6t, go
.
· Component iastincts, 7, 17 n., 55 n.,
66.86
:! ·
·n·
·I•,,
.
-n-a~tion
8!Ho.ta
Compuliion-to repeat, 40. 6.s ·
Conlci~. ?o-g. 8J-4· 8g
Comcioume•
of uwety. 8t .
' of guilt, 81-a, ~. 8g
Credo fldlli absurdum, 58
Crime (Je41 also neHnquency), 59
~.59
.
Culture and civilization. 56
· o.naer.·19; , • .
.·Death, au.r\rivaJ.after (see l .mmortalityJ
Death instinct (see lllso' Agreeeiveness), '7'-Q
;7· .
I'S.
i'
.
·
~ttuctiYeDe&S (see Aggreaivenes.; ..
ddiued ' ~ .
;
GENERAL INDEX
lOS
'.·
Children (continued)
spoiling of, ?'t.n .-t .· ·
Christian Sciente, fJ7:· . .
Christianity, ~•· 56; 61, ~
Civilization
· .·
aggrctsive impulles and, 7'1»• 27 n.,
58-&, 64""'70, 81 n., 8J-5· 89-9n,
Death instinct; Self-deatructiOn)De~hland (byHriM), 69 n. S
l)eonl, the, &J •
·
·Diaal'Owal, 51
·
Dop and man, 46 n;
'Dora/ case of, 87 n., M n.
Ec:onooaic factors in civilization, n
Economics of the libido; a 5-6, n.~
SI n. a, 78
Education, 6, 81 n.
so.
J::go,
a7
llt-IS
and ~:Xterual wrld, •s-•s. tg
and id,15, go
·
·
and objecu, I!J-14,, 49 .
.·
aQd super-ego, 7o-3, 76, 7J n. a, -~s-'
4· go
.
. as teservair of libido, Gs
desires omnipotence, 68
ma10ehism of, Ss
narciutic organization of. fi5 •.68
Ego-development, 15- 15
·. ·
Ego-feeling, 15, 15, 19
Ego-inttiocu (~n 4lJo Death ioadoct;
Self-preservative inlti~e.t), ~ .
Ego-libido, g. 65.88 . . · ·
..·.
Erect posture of man~ 6~ 5'1 n., 5!1 ,.;
Eroe (•" also Ubido; Scllual in· ·· ·
stinct), 55
·
in ronftict with death ~ct. 4S..
50, 59· 65-7t, 1~. 84-8;
91
Erotic characteNype, ;o
eo.
· Ethics (-"t: Morality)
Excretory
.
function, 44, 46 n.
.
orsani and aexcual oJ:Pna; p..oxim· .·
ity between, 55 n :, 54 n. . · .
.· ·
External world (s~~ also ~eality
ciple)
·
· ·
diaavowal of, 51
·
ego and, •J-•5·-•9
.
man '• control over, 19, 24:..,41, 48, .
68, 9lt . .·
'
.
religion and knowl~ of, ltl
prin-
_Fate, f9, 75-4
· Father
child's relation to, 7•• 76-7
equated with God, at ; 74
primal. 47-8, 78-80, B!J-4• 88-g
,
Faust (Goethe), 67 n. 4
Fear
. of being found out, 71
· of loa of love, 71-5
of punishment; 71, 75
Feminine .(see Masculine and femi·
.
nine) ·
.
·Fetishism in primitive societies, 74
Fil:e
as phallic symbol, S7 n.
man's control over, 57 and n.
First Melon I ever Stole, The (by
Marie Twain), 7~ n. 2
Fliess, W., 6, 54 n., 75 n. 2
Fontane, T ., u
Foqretting, 16
Francis of Assisi, St., 49
Frederick the Great, 30 n. 2
Freedom, desire for, 42-3. 52
Fromme Helene, Die (by W. Busch),
22 n. 2
Fnutration of instinct, cultural, 34·
44· 5S· 73· 77 n. 2, 78, B5
Calswortlry; john, 52 n. 2
Cargantutl (RabeU!is), 37 n.
Gedanken una Einfiille (by Heine);
5'1 n.
Genitals
and man's e-rect posture, 46 n., 53'~·
and sense of smell; 46 n., 53 n.
exciting, but not beautiful, 30
Gennao desire for world-dominion,
62
God
arid the Devil, 67
belief in, !2
equated with father, u, 74
man's likeness to, 58----9· &;
Gods
·
and demons, .(6 n.
of antiquity, 38
(!oethe, 21-2, 113 n. 1, 67 n. ll, 67 n. 4•
80
.Grabbe, C. D., u n. 1
Groups, 'psychological poverty' of,
6:-s
.
Guilt. sense of. '· '7o-r;. '78-86
in children, 7•-3• 78
uitconacious, 81, !l4, 86, 8g
Gulli'IJei's Travels (by Swift), 57 n.
Hadrian, the Emperor, •7
Hamlet, 81 n.
Hannibal (by C. D. Grabbe), tt 11.
'Hans, Little', case of, 8
Happiness (se~ Pleasure pr4dple)
subjectivity of, s6
.
Heine, 57 n., fi9 n. !I
Helplessness
of children, ~8
of man before nature, M· 71
Hitler, Adolf, 92 n.
·
Homosexuality; 37 n.
House as womb symbol, 38
Hunger as type of ego·iliitinct, 64
•
ld, the, 13, go
Ideals, cultural, .p-2, 44;.56, gt-a
Identification, 76, 79
Illusion
·art as, 22, 27-8
cultural ideals as, 92
religious doctrine as, 11, 31-ll ·
Immortality, go
Incest, taboo on, 51
Incestuous impulses, 6-7. 51
Inertia, psychical, 55
Infantile (see aLso Children)
SeXUality, 51
·,
Infantilism; psychical, arid religion,
U-2
Inhibited aim, 49-50, 56, 59· 65, 68
Initiation rites, !)O
Instincts (see also Component in·
stincts; Death instinct; Ego-instincts; Self-preservative instinct;
Sexual i~tinct)
. ·
conservative character of, 6!5 aDd n ..
dominance of, go
·
fr ustration of, 34• 44• !15• 75• 77
n. 2, 78, 85
pressure of civilization on, 6-7, !)54• 37 n., 42-4. 5()-•• . 55 n., 55-6,
59· 62, 7~· 911
relation of libido to, 68 n . 1
sublimation of, 16, 17 n., 51, 44• 50,
53"·
theory of, 53 n ., 64
Instinctual impulses, 15-16, 15-'1· !I'•
1 . t n. ,
·\ .~ ···~,,:....
: ·.
Intellectual work,~~. fl
.
Intelliaenc:e bitblliut.ed by religion,
~·-il
.
'
?H-· ~~89
IH~~C~, s~. l!5 "· •
lJQIJ Bella, 40
..
_Jm,el, ~pk of, 14 ·
]GfJ/1111 PUite, &
n.
jeftchia nan. 59
~;capture
1m# Cltrif:t, 8g
.eq:ua,ted with primal father, 85, 8g
.
]Mia:. E.,.. (.su dlso Bibliography),
. lfsn
a
]u,ng, C. G., 65
J•t.i~, 41-5, 51, 59> 6o tl, I
Kkin, A~:«loraie, '17 n. •· 85 "· 1
,.I CJcuu,.l . S .. 55"".f.'-'·
·... ·fAal, H., 18 n. t :~·. ~fenty period. 6
~Jihip,88
Lqendl•.,, ft.
.
.
Libido (see aLso Erot; Saual instinct)
communitia united by 55~. 69, 86
diaplac:eability of, ri, ag, 81, 44· sol,
!55
~ia ol., 15~. 27 n., !tO· 31
,..• •; 8&
·"fl.,
i
:I
<!1.
I·.
1·
l.
1,.'
i·::.
l
i
·1t!
.. I .
l
_1
';
•.
4_> .
lfi!'
iI
.
..
GENERAi.. INDEX
with ~biled -.lm (su Jnhi~
. aiin)'
.
.
•.
M~ia. ·a5
lol~.:s.s
·..... ·.. ··•·
MMcullne ·aad feminbte (ue- allo: A~. . tive and paave), sa "· ., . St-J;i..: ..
. M..ocrua. •
· : .·
· M.-., the~ and i'elipon.·11-1-
· :-•:•
;
'
MemQrt·ttace, 16 . .
~·
Men (see also Boys)
civilliation tbe bUainell of,
role ofdn family life, ~6, 48, 50""~
Men!truation, 46 ii.
Mephistof1he.es (in Q«the'r Fawl), •
so-•
of, 59
Jewa; sa. 6•-•· 67• .,,.
;
_.!
.
In~~·••••5·!l
IJ.ltrO}«tion 0~ ,..-'Ye im.pUmes_
.
.....
"
G~INDEX .
106
.
..;.
.· • • • fs,88
BaiclailtU, t'1 "·· 65
obJect-g. !• n. t, ~-5• 88
. thC:iDyY. 8-g, ~-5· 68
Life bll&inct (su Emil)
Lilul• (by Romain Rolland), 1 n. a
··· 'Littk H'GfiS', ca.e of, 8
Lo.Ddon, 18
LO.W X.IY, .fO
: ~e
. · aodmtlia.ticm, ag. f8-y>, 55-e. !)9
·. ud the' p1eaaure principle, ~ ,.s.:.
50· 55...• 59
fear of~ Of, 71-:5
.of maQk(nd, -49- 51)-g. 61, 8g-go
~UJI (see tU&o Sexual inatinct),
ig, ·~· 55-6, 64. 66-7
•it&te
of beiJll ~ 1$
vllrloul incaninaa of word, 49.
67 "· 4
.
.
Micturitioo and ire, !17 n.
Monopmy.s.i
Morality
.
.
. .•
and chUizatiQil, ••· 58.~. 67, ;8fr
90·92 .
.
an~. rdigion, 90
.and ·lellle-ofpilt.71~
·· ..· ·
Mqtber an4 mue child, 61 tind ta. I
M~l!HC)
Mythe.
as
·
·
NopoleOtt I, -40
Narciul.lm, '1, fis, 68, go .
•of minor dUierenca·. 61
Narcialiltk
chancta'•type. so-l
libido, t7 n., 6&
.·
..
Nature,
and ttV foJc:ea·of, "' sS•
57..-fl, 68 .
.
...
m•
Nno, the Emf'e't'M, 17
Neuraatbenia, ~. .
..
Neuro.es (sfle clso Obleuional RCUIQtia)
.
·. ·.
. ':
as outcome of coollic:t between •
and obJed·f.Ditinc:tl, ~
· ·· ·
• mbatilute aatiafacden, !~'• s8' ...
cooceal uncontdOu& terile of-~
•
.
:~<#
taUlt 11om prei~Un! of dYiiQ!di'cl(t;
M
'· ~. ~:~-•tudy of, 82; 1!J-9o
. .....··
NeurOtic 1J1Dptoma (te~ SyaptOnil) '
Neuro.da, 5~-n., 6i n .
··
·
Normal mental
8a, 9l
.
.
proc:a.e..
Objcct.cboiee ·
iD auclllng,.••.
)Qertia; 55
Jnfantiliam, 11.:... ··
Pl)'cbo-analrm ·
fiodinp of, 854
..
therapeutic: a•{*;(Of, g(
Ptychcllel (see .UO tdama; ~) .
u delenc:e. as. 5i
narcil6iam and, 65
Puberty rita, 50
Puni&bment
.
agp:sdveneu in childmt ~ ~
ault. of, 77··....
·
fear of, 71, 75
need. for, '70> 7-f-5· IIJ-;.f •
~elf·. 75
aymptonis u, 86
-~ .
RGbelau.. 57 ra.
'Rat ¥•n', cue ~l6-:7 ,
. ·' .
Reality principle (lee also EX. .
world), 14, *4• 16-7
1\.eality-teitinc. •7
ReiA, T ., 8!) n. I
lteligion
.
..
and after.lile (ue ~)
· and ut; u-•
and ciJiilizatlon, .fl, 69, 83
ancl inhibited aim, 49
·
and morality, go
and science, 55
as altemative tci neu!Oiia, p
as answer to the ri.ddle of life; ....,
as consolation, 19, 11-il, 5!
as mUI·ddwfon, 18. si-a.
.
'oceanic' feel~ ·u ~ tw•• ~ll,
11 n. 1, 19·
R.eligioU. doc:trlries. as illlllione. n,
s•-s
Remone, 7&-9, 8•. Ss-4
Repeat, compulaion to, too·15 :
Reprtt~ion, off· 65,'81 •· ·:. · ·
'organic', G, f& " ·• p • • &
R.evenp, 76-?
·RiWTe, ]Nn, 6 ·
.
RoliG?Id, Romain, ·u-•••· ~'• ta.
Iom.ans, reupm $-t · ·
o.f;
1
Rome. 1~18· · : ·:. · ·
Roussecu,.} . }'., 7:1 · ~. 1
Ruuia, 5~ 1•, go
1
SadiiiD, ,41. " ..., 59>·84. 66, 68
SaintliDeal. ?S. '15
....... ~~ :·::.··
Schill61', 110, 64
Schre ber, Senatsp,-asident, case of, 13
n. 1
Science
and civilization, 2•, a6, M-s. 37-:-8.
.fl, 44
and religion, 21-2,!!!)
~rity, civilization and, 52 n. 1, 6a
Selt-deatruction, ga
Self-pr~ervative instinct, 8,64-5
Self-l)uoishment, 75
Septi·mtu Severus, the Emperor, 17
Sexual aim, 48, 55 n.
inhibited, 49-50, 56, 59· 65, 68
Sexual excitation, 46 n.
Sexual inltinct (.see al.so Eros; Libido)
and the death instinct, 7-8, 4it-6,
85-6
and education, 81 n.
as source of pleasure, ag. 48-50
reltricted by civilization, 6, !)o-2,
ss"..1. 59· ga
. Sexu,a) interrourse, repugnance to,
53 n .
·Sexual periodicity, 46 n .
Sexual potency and fire, 37 n.
Sexual satiafactlon, ~g, 48-9. 51, 55 n.
ShalcesjleDTt, s8 n ., 40, 81 n .
Shame, 46 ti.
Sight replaces smell as dominant
sense, 6, 46 n .
I
.SmeJl,~of
and ~exual instinct, 46 n., 53 n.
replaced by ail§ht as dominant
sense, 6, 46 n., 53 n~
Social
aspect of civilization, 6, g, 41-4, 4756, ,g-&. 8&-g
aspect Of cleanliness, 4o-1, 44• 46 n.
· Sociallam. 90
Spi>lling of children, 77 n. 2
Stimuli, sensory (see Smell, sense of;
· ·Visua) stimuli)
Stratford-on·Avoo, 40
Sublimation
of instincts, 16, 27 n., 31, «• 50,
5!"··
work as, 27 n.
Suckling and breast, 15-14, 58
Supcr-qo
,
and ego, ?&-s, 76, 77 n. s, 85--4· go
as internalized external authority,
7·71'--5·79·8~5
Yoga, lg-ta. 16
Z4hme Xenien (Goeelac), Ia~
Taboo
as origin of law, 48
on incest, 51
on menstruation, 46 n.
Tamerlane, 59
Taucher, Der (by Schiller)
Totemiam, 47-8, 51
Transference neuto~Cis, 65
Traumatic neurot~et, 65
Twain, Mark, 73 n. s
Unconscious, the, the id and, 13
Unconadous
menta] procesaea, 50
sense of guilt, 81, 84, 86, 8g
Unpl~re, ·~-15,15-30•53
Uret)ral erotism; 37 n.
Vie de Ramalcrishna, LtJ (by Romcin
' Rolland), 111 n. 1
Yie de Yivt:kananda, La (by Romat.J
War of 1914-18, 59
Wealth, distribution of, 6o, ,
·.
Weltweisen, Die (by Schillef), 64.11. a
Wilhelm M eiSter (GCHthe), 8o
Willciru, George, 38 n.
Wish-fulfilment
in deluaions, 118
in illuaiom; 17
Womb, house as symbol of, 38
Women
.
in opposition to civilization, 5(>-l
role of, in family life, 46; .(8, 50
:. ·
j'ield of:PJeutin bom,lf:-7, 17 ,.;
cultural, 88-g 1
sense of guilt equated with, 8t ··· ·
leverity of,·7o, 7'l, 1&-1. ~!t-5· s;-9o
· Swift, ]onathd'rl, 57 n.
Symbol
fire as, 57 n .
hou~e as, 38
phaUic, 57· n.
Symptoms, neurotic
anxiety always lies behind, 8.1
as substitute utiafactiom, 55• 86.
Rolland), 111 n . 1
Vienna, 40'
VisuahtimuU, 6, 46 n.
Yoltaire, u, 17 n .
...
GENEllAL INDEX
GENERAL INDEX
108
I
. · : :~·
·:..:
(
.,........
t~
::~~.: .
~· ·
;i:·.·
, ':'
•'
..;·
..