Course Reader English 101 Sec 50 and 53 Fall 2012 PROF.

HASSAN

HMS 101 F 2012 READER CONTENTS (PDF page numbering)

Author Aristotle Barthes, Roland

Title From The Poetics Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narrative From Work to Text From S/Z 4 8

Brecht, Bertolt

Popular and Realistic On Brecht The Manifesto Of Surrealism Freuds Masterplot from Reading for the Plot The Babysitter from Don Quixote The Necklace from Course in General Lingustics Nature of the Linguistic Sign Linguistic Value Panopticism from Discipline and Punishment from Outline Of Psychoanalysis I The Psychical Apparatus II The Theory of the Instincts III The Development of the Sexual Function IV Psychical Qualities V Dream Interpretation as an Illustration

32 38 55 59 61 84 97 108 111 116 119 128 146 147 149 152 155 160 165 167 169 173 178 186 189

Breton, Andre Brooks, Peter Coover, Robert de Cervantes, Miguel De Maupaussant, Guy de Saussure, Ferdinand

Foucault Freud, Sigmund

Hemingway, Ernest Johnson, Samuel Lacan, Jacques Lukacs, George Nietszche, Friedrich Plato

Hills Like White Elephants Rasselas, Ch. X The Mirror Stage from The Ideology of Modernism from Beyond Good and Evil Truth And Lie In The Extra-Moral Sense The Republic, VI

The Republic, VII The Republic, Bk X Robbe-Grillet, Alain Winnicott, D. W. Woolf, Virginia from Jealousy From Realism to Reality from Psycho-Analytic Explorations The Fate of the Transitional Object Modern Fiction from The Common Reader The Window from To the Lighthouse

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the age of seventeen but left it when Plato died (347 n.c.s.). He carried on his researches (he was especially interested in zoolory) at Variorisplaces on the Aegean; served as tutor to the young Alexander, son of Philip.Il of Macedon; and returned to Athens in 335, to found his own philosophical school, the Lyceum, where he established tht world's first research library. At the Lyceum he and his pupils carried on research in zoology, botany, biology, fhyrics, piitical science, ethics, logic, muiic, and mathematics. He left Athens when Alsander died in Babvlon (323 s.c.E.) and the Athenidns; for a while, were able to demonstrate their hatred of Macedon and l . eVerything connected with it; he died a year later. The scope of. his written work,:philosbphical and scientific, is immense. Even more than Plato, Aristotle has exerted a decisive influence on the Western philosophical and intellectual traditions. He is represented here by some excerpts from the Poeti,cs, the first systematic work of literary criticism in the West, and one that has played a central role in shaping the theory and production of literature there.

and Melody. Of these elements, two [Language and Melody) are the media in which they effect the imitation, orie [Spectacle] is the lnoflrter, and tlrree [Plot, Character, Thought] are the oblects they imitate; and besidesthese there are no other parts. So then they employ these six forms, not just some of them so to speak;for everydrama has spectacle,character,plot, language, melody, and thought in the same sense,but the most important of them is the organizationof the events [the plot]. PIat anl characteriFor tragedyis not an imitation of men but of actions and of hfe. It is in action that happiness and unhappiness are found, and the end3we, aim at is a kind of activity, not a quality; in accordancewith their characters men are of such and such a quality, in accordancewith their actions they are fortunate or the reverse. Consequently, it is not for the purpose of presenting their charactersthat the agentsengagein action, but rather it is for the sake of their actions that they take on the charactersthey have.Thus, what happens-that is, the plot-is the end for which a tragedy exists, and the end;or purpose is the most important thing o[all. What is more, without action there could not be a tragedy,but there could be without characterization.o * o Now that the parts are established,let us next discusswhat qualities the plot.should have, since plot is the primary and most important paft of 'tragedy. I have posited that tragedy is an imitation of an action that is a whole and complete in. itself arid of a certain magnitude-for a thing may be a w*role, and yet have no magnitude to speak,of. Now a thing is a whole if it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. A beginning is that which does not come necessarilyafter something else, but after which it is natural for another thing to exist or come to be. An end, on the contrary, is that which naturally comes after something else, either as its necessary or sequeJ as its usual [and hence probable] sequel, but itself has nothing after it. A middle is that which both comes after something else and has another thing following it. A well-constructed plot, therefore, r,\rill neither begin at some chance point nor end at some chance point, but will observe the principles here stated.- - Contrary to what some people think, a plot is not ipso facto a unity if it revolvesabout one man. Many things, indeed an endlessnumber of things, happen.to any one man some of which do not go together to form a uniiy, and similarly among the actions one man performs there are many that do not go together to produce a single unified action. Those poets seem all to have erred, therefore, who have composedaHeracleid, aThcseid, and other such poems, it being their idea evidently that since Heracles was one man, their plot was bound to be unified. o o o From what has already been said, it will be evident that the poet'sfunction is not to report things that have happened,but rather to tell of such things as might happen, things that are possibilitiesby virtue of being in themselves inevitable or probable, Thus the.difference between the historian and the poet is..notthat the historian employsprose,and ths:poet verse-the work of Herodotusacould be put into verse, and it would be no less a history with versesthan u'ithout them; rather the difference is that the one tells of thines
3. Purpose. 4, Historianof the Pereian Wan (ca.48H30/425? B.c.E.).

From Poeticsr o o o Thus, Tragedy an imitationof an action that is serious, is complete, and possessing magnitude; embellished in language, eachkind of which is
used separatelyin the different parts; in the mode of action and not narrated; and effecting through piry and fear [what we call] the cathanisz of such emotions. By "embellished language" I mean language having rhythm and melody, and by "separatelyin different parts" I mean that some parts of a play are carried on solely in metrical speechwhile others again are sung. The cottstitaent parts of tragedy. Since the imitation is carried out in the dramatic mode by the personagesthemselves,it necessarilyfollows, first, that the arrangement of Spectacle. will be a part of tragedy, and next, that Melody and Languagewill be parts, since these are the media in which they effect the imitation. By "language" I mean precisely the composition of the verses,by "melody" only that which is perfectly obvious. And since tragedy is the imitation of an action and is enacted by men in action, these persons must necessarilypossesscertain qualities of Character and Thought, since these are the basis for our ascribing.qualitiesto the actions themselvescharacter and thought are two natural causesof actioni-and it is in their actions that men universally meet with successor failure. The imitation of the action is the Plot. By plot I here mean the combination of the e1'ents; Character is that in virtue of which we say that the personagesare of such and such a quality; and Thought is present in everything in their utterances that aims to prove a point or that expresses an opinion. Necessarily, therefore.there are in tragedyas a uhole. consideredas a specialform, slx constituent elements, viz. Plot, Character, Language, Thought, Spectacle,
l. Translated byJames Huttoh, *,ho has added bracketed tqr for clarity. 2, This is probably the most disputed pasage in the Westem critical tBdition. There are Mo main schools of interpretation, which of the word stharis. differ in th-eir undestanding Som critics take it to mean "purificaiion," implying a the religious.process of,purification metaphor frm from guih; the passions.{e "purified" by. thi nagc perlbmance because the qcitement ol these passions by the perfomance weakens them and reduces them to just proportions ip the individual. This theory was supponed by the Geman critic G. E. [*ssing. Orhere take the meraphor to be medical, reading the word as "purging" ud interpreting rhe phrase ro mean rhar the tragic ;ierforniance eicites the bmotions only to allai them, thereby ridding the spectator of the disquiering emotions frcim which he or she suffers in everyday life. Tmgedy thus hr o'therApeutic effect,

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782 / ARrsroTLE that have been and the other of such things as might be. Poetry, therefore, is a more philosophical and a higher thing than history, in that poetry rnds rather to expressthe universal, history rather the particular f'act.A universal is: The sort of thing that (in the circumstances)a certain kind of personwill say or do either probably or necessarily,which in f'act is the universal that poetry aims for (with the addition of namesfor the persons);a particular,.on the other hand is: What Alcibiadessdid or had done to him. + + o Among plots and actions of the simple type, the episodicform is the worst. I call episodic a plot in which the episodesfollow one another in no probable or inevitable sequence. Plots o[ this kind are constructed by bad poets on their own account, and by good poets on account of the actors; since they are composing entries for a competitive exhibition, they stretch the plot beyond what it can bear and are often compelled, therefore, to dislocatethe naturalorder.ooo Some plots are simple, otheis complex; indeed the actions of which the plots are imitation are at once so differentiated to begin with. Assuming the action to be continuous and unified, as already defined, I call that action simple in which the chahge of fortune takes place without a reversal or recognition, and that action complex in which the changeof fortune involves a recognition or a reversalor both. These events [recpgnitionsa4d reversals] ought to be so rooted in the very structure of the plot that they follow from the preceding events as their inevitable or probable outcome; f<rrthere is a vast difference between following from and merely following after. o o o Reversal(Peripety) is, as aforesaid,a change from one state of affairs t<r its exact opposite, and this, too, as I say, should be in conformance with probahitiry or necessity.For example, in Oedipus, the messenget'comes to cheer Oedipus by relieving him of fear with regard to his mother, but by revealinghis true identity. doesjust the opposite of this. * + o Recognition, as the word itself indicates, is a change from ignorance tu knowledge, leading either to friendship or to hostility on the parr of those personswho are marked for good fortune or bad. The best form of recognition is that which is accompanied by a reversal, as in the example from Oedipus. " " " Next in order after the points I have just dealt with, it would seem necessaryto speciff what one should aim at and what avoid in the construction ofplots, and what it is that will produce the effect proper to tragedy. Now since in the finest kind of tragedy the structure should be complex and not simple, and since it should also be a representationof terrible and piteous events (that being the special mark of this rype of imitation), in the first place, it is evident that good men ought not to be shown passingfiom prosperity to misfortune, for this does not inspire either pity or fear, but.only revulsion;nor evil men rising fronr ill fortune to prr.lsperiN, this is the for most untragic plot of all-it lacks everyrequirement, in that it neither elicits human sympathy nor stirs piry or fear. And again, .neither should an extremely wicked man be seen falling from prosperity into misflortune,for a plot so constructed might indeed call lorth human sympathy,but would not
5- A-brdliant bqtqlslrup-qtogq Atbelrao stalcsllan (c!. a5o{q{ in Sophocles'Oedipre tia Kizg. S.q.E.), 6. The Cqri4lhiaahe4lsmq4,

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excite pify or fear, since the first is felt for a person whose misfortune is undeservedand the second for soineonelike ourselves-pity for the man suft'eringundeservedly,fear for the man like ourselves-and hence neither pity nor fear would be aroused in this caie. We are left with thi nian whose place is between these extremes,Such is the man who on the one hand is not pre-eminent.in virtue andjustice, and yet on the other hand does not fall into misfortune through vice or depravity, but falls because of some mistake;7one among the number of the highly renowtred and prosperoris, such as Oedipus and Thyestessand other famous men fronr families like theirs. be exiellence'will necessarily single It follows ihai the plot which achieves in outcome and not, as some contend, double, and will consist in a change of f<rrtune,not from misfortune to prosperity, but the opposite from prosperity to misfortune, occasionednot by depravity,but by some great mistake on the part of one who is either such as I have described br better than this rathet than worse. (What actually has taken place confirms this; for though at flrst the poeis accepted whatever myths came to hand, today the finest tragediesare founded upon the storiesofonly a few houses,being concerned; for example, with Alcmeon, Oedipus, Oreites, Meleager, Thyestes, Telephus, and such others as have chanced to suffer terrible things or to do them.) So, then, tragedy having this construction is the finest kind of tragedy fiom an artistic point of view. And consequently,those persons fall into the same.error who bring it as a charge against Euripides that this is what he does in his tragediesand that most of his plays have unhappy endings. For this is in fact the right procedure, as I have said; and the best proof is that on the stage and in.the dramatic contests,plays of this kind seem the most tragic, provided they are successfullyworked out, and Euripides, even if in ever''thing else his management is faulty, seemsat any rate the rnost tragic of the poets. o o o In the charactersand the plot construction alike, one must strive for that which is either necessaryor probable, so that whatever a character of any kind saysor does may be the sort of thing such a character will inevitably or probably say or do and the events of the plot may follow one afier another either inevitably or with probabilfty. (Obviously, then, the denouement of the the plot should arise from the plot itself and not be brought about "fr<-rm scene in the lliad.e The machine,'as it is in Medea and in the embarkati<rn machine is to be used for matters lying outside the drama, either antecedents of the action which a human being cannot know, or things subsequent to the action that have to be prophesiedand anrrouncedl for we accept it that the gods see everything. Within the eventsof the plot itself, however;there
'lhe 7. Greek.vord is hawrtia. It has sometimes been rranslated as "flaw" (hence the cxpression "ttagic flaw") and thought of as a moral defect. but comparison with Aristotle's usq of tbe word in other contexts suggestssrronglythathemeansbyit rnisrake or"error'ro[.;udgmenr). 8. BrotherofArreusandhis rivilo"er the krngship ofArgos. Prctending ro bc recorrciled, Arieus-gav< a feast at which he sefledThycstes' olm so^s to their father. Thyestes' only suwiving son, Aegisthus, later helped murder Atreus's son Aga' 'incident 'fhe refercnce is to arr 9. ii the sec6nd book of the llia4 an attempt of the Greek memirdn. of Athena. If it were a rank and file to retum honte and abandon the siege is arested by the i.rtepention ("god, fron the nrachine"), rhe machine. that was dmma; she would appear literally on the &rc a ruchiw enployed in the theater to show the gods flying in space. [t has conre to mean ahy imPlausible way ot her of th" plo!. !r' tilprdst solng-coqpliealio4c &y, M"d93 94ap9q ft-or1 Corlrytr "on rhe ruchine'in masic chariot.

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should be nothing unreasonable,, if there is, it sh.ouldbe kept.outside the or play proper, as is done in the Oedipusof Sophocles.)o o.o . T\rc chnnts,in trageily. The chorus ought'to be regarded as one of the actors, and as being,part of the whole and integrated into pertormance,not in Euripides' way but in that of sophocles. In the other poets, the choral songshave no more relevanceto the plot than if they belongedto some other play. And so-nowadays,following thl practice introduced"by Agathon,r the chorus merely sings interludes. But what difference is there ietween the singing of interludes and taking a speechor even an entire episodefrom one play and inserting it into another?
o . ,o +

I. AyoungercontemporaryofEuripides:mostofhisplayswereproducedinthe4thcenturyB.cE.

During the Hellenistic period (third to first centuries n.c.r.), there were important developmentsin religion, especiallyas.a.resrrlt the Greeks' close contact with nonofl Greek peoples through imperial domination. Judaism flourished in Alexandria in Egypt as well as in Palestine and elsewhere. There was also at this time a great deal of important activity in philosophy (as well as in literature, the visual arts; and med. icine). The Platonic (Academic) and the Aristotelian (Peripatetic) schools further developed their systemsof thought and continued to do so long after. Neoplatonisln would exert an important influenib on.Christianity, as would the witings of Aristotle much later (through their synthesis*ith Christian doctrine by Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century c.E.). Other important currents of thought also emergedin the Hellenistic period. Besides Cynicism and Skepticism, two in particular were very influential in Roman culture: Epicureanism and Stoicism. Their importanie can be appreciated in (for example) the poetry of Lucretius and the prose writings of Sen'eca. Finally, during the Roman period especially, certain cults foreigri to Greebe and Rome became important within Gieco-Roman poll'theism. To this amalgani; Christianity offered a strong, and ultimately victorious, altemative.

BsrIsF Sysrrnrs oF GREEcEAND RoME

Belief systems are the ways, religious and otheruise, that societies and different groups within societies organize their understanding ofthe world and human life. At any.giventime,rthere may be_several belief systemi within a society that competewith each other for credibility or have no contact with each other; in tire latter case.some people can subscribe to severalat once, even when doing so involves holding contradictory beliefs simultaneously. Developments also occur over time; new syitems of belief arise, replacing or absorbing some earlier ones; while others continue side by side with them. '.To do full justice to the complexity of a culture's beliefs at any one time or over time-is impossible, but it is b-otlrpossible and useful to pick oui cerrain dominanr trends, especiallywhen.theseform an essentialb""kg.o.,.,i to literary texrs(and often are articulated by them). So we-can speak of Hesiod;ssysrematization divine geneof apeig3 an{ olympian religion forming a background to the Greek Archaic worliview that Herodotus expresses, which the gods aie remote butsee to it that human in liie is hagile and wrongdoing punished. Thuiydides presupposes very different.outlook, a one shaped'to a great extent by the Sophists,in which m,r"h -o.e.o.,fiderr""."pose, in human capacities (for better or *orse) and the tradititrnal ethical framewirk is challenged (again, for better or worse) by a secular attitude that relies on human intelligence and the right of.the-strorrg"i. I., the fourth cenrury r.c.e. philosophf develo-ps' partly in continuation of and partly in reaction againstthis human-centered view. such a sketch is valid-but we should also remembe-r that throughout the sixth and fifth centuries e.c.e., alongside the Archaic religious worldview,:'pre-socratic" philosophers formed speculative theories'about the llture of the worli and its constituent parts that would be.immensely important for plato and Aristotle, especially when they disagreed with those theoris. bonuersely, religion and traditional pietv flourished in the midst of the Sophistic revolution *a tni growth of phil";;o;;;i systems. Though we often see the collision of these.beiiefi in G.."k tragedy, the continued.strengrh of-religion is mosr evident in the building of t"-pl"r'".,h'1"., formal shrines and in the huge number of dedicdtions in all of ihem, of d"uotioi., ""t. by the faithful.

HESIOD ca.700 B.c.E.

Homer and Hesiod, wote the historian Herodotus in the fifth century B.c.E.,"were the ones who createda theogony for the Greehs and gave them their epithets,distinguished their domains and special skilli, and described their appearance." We do not know whether Hesiod composed his poetry before or after Homer, but Herodotus considers his contribution to Greek culture to be on the same level as Homer's. Together, the two poets forged a Panhellenic religious system, one that could be shared by all Greela and that eclipsed or subsumed local traditions, There are, however, differences berween the two poets in religious feeling. Hesiodls gods are essentially serious, whereasHomer's gods are serious only sporadically. The Theogotry, or "Birth of the Gods," sets the Olympian religion familiar from Homer in the context of cosmic evolution. It describes the development of the world from the first elements through a series of divine genealogiesthat span three generations. Through these genealogies runs a narrative thread: the divine successionmyth, the story of conflict within the ruling family of gods, and the overthrow of fathers by sons until Zeus establishes his rule securely by forestalling the birth of the son who is fated to overthrow him. The world order under Zeus is thus the culmination of the theogonic process. It offers stability under a ruler. characterized by both physical might and intelligence, the positive qualities of whose reign are suggestedby his marriages and daughters near the end of the poem. Zeus's triumph can also be seen as validating human institutions: rulership and hierarchies of power, the patriarchal family, and gender asy'rnmetry.

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had beconteEost Berlin. There lrc founded the Berliner Ensemble,and staged or restagedthe works he had written while on the run. East Berlin was a saferplace for Brecht tlnn Los Angeles,artd ironically,it wcts safer than Mo.scotv v't'll. Brecht'.rrtrtistic us practices ran well wicleo.fthe Stalinisr purry line that dictated naive realisrn in repre,tentution. Brechl's own theory of art rejected realismfor an "eslrangenrcnt-effect" (Verfremdungseffekt), which deniedaudienceseasy sympathywith his character.s, irtsisting that his vietuers think ratherthanfeel. Afier the r95j death of Stalin,hctwever,farne and hontsrscdnv to lJrecht ctll at once: A tgsS Pari,sproduction of Mother Courage starring Helene WeigelestabLished international reputatiur, ftl^r' his CollectedWorks began to ernerge from the ntost prestigittus Westand East German presses, and he wo.s aworded the Stalin Prize fttr Peace.ThefolIowing ,-eurhe suffered a heart uttack; he died in Berlin in t956. One of Brecht's urtistic rutnifestos is thefollowing essdy, "The Popular ond tha Reali,stic," whit:h wos published in t9 j7.

The Popular and the Realistic

When consideringwhat slogans to set up for despicable worry about petty difficultiesand to Gernran literaturetoday one must remember that the difficulties of petty groups. anythingrvith a claim to be considered Iiteraas There is only one ally againstthe growth of ture is printed exclusivelyabroad,and with few bzubarism: peopleon rvhornit ilnposcsthese the 'lhis exceptions can only be read there. gives a sufferings. Only the people <ifferany prospects. pcculiartwist to the slogan of Volksttimli<:ltkeit Thus it is naturalto turn to them, and nrorenecessary than everto speaktheir langr.rage. for Populurity] in literurure. The writer is supposed write for a people to The words Popularity and Reulisnt thcreforc withoutliving amongit. When one comesto look arenaturalcompanions. is in the interest the It of closer,however,the gap betweenthe writer and people,the broad working masses, that literature the peoplehas not grown so wide as might be shouldgive thenr truthful representations life; of thought.All the sarne,it would be wrong, i.c. andtruthful rcpresentalions life are in fact only of unrealistic, seethis growth a.s to purely"external." of use to thc broad working rnasses, people; thc Ccrtainly a specialcffort is neededtoday in orcler so thatthey haveto be suggestive and intelligible to write in a popularway. But at the sanre tirneit to tircm,i.e. popular.None the lesstheseconcephas beconieeasier:easierand more urgent.The tions need a thorough clean-up before being peopleha.s clearly separated from its top layer; its throwninto sentences wherethey will getsrnelted oppressors and exploitershave parted contpany andput to use.It would be a nristake treatthern to rvith it and beconreinvolved in a bloody war as fully explained,unsullied, unaurbiguous ancl against which can no longcr be overlooked. it It without a past.("We all know what's meantby 'fhe hasbeconre Certnau easierto take sides.Open warfarehas, that, no need for hairsplitting.") as it were,broken out anlong the "audience." is word for "popular," VoLkstilmlich, itself none Nor can the denrandfor a realistway of writing too popular.It is unrealisticto intaginethat it is. any longerbe so easilyoverlooked. hasbecclnie A whole series words ending in /run needhanIt of nlore or less sclf-evident. The ruling strata are d l i n g w i t h c a r e . O n e h a s o n l y t o t h i n k o f usingliesnroreopenlythanbefore, andthe liesare Brauchtttm, Kr)nigstum, Heiligtwn,' and it rs b i g g e r . T e l l i n g t h e t r u t l . r s e e m s i n c r e a s i n g l y rvell known that Vrtlkstumtoo has a quite specific urgent.The sufferingsare greaterand the number IBrechtis gestunngtoward words that developedr cerlain of sufferershas grown. Compared with the vast ideological qualiry under the NatronalSocialistregirnethen in sufferingsof the massesit seemstrivial and even power in Gerrnany and during the Hohenzollent nronarchy frat
by Translated John Willett. preceded Brauchlum, derived frorn brauchen, "to need or ir. rcquire" :urd usually nic:rning "custonts," rteant "iillklLlre";

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c e r e m o n l o u s ,s a c r a m e n t a la n d d u b i o u s r i n g sectlon the peoplein sucha way that it can take of which we cannot by any means overlook.We over the leadership:thus intelligible to other cannot overlookit, because definitelyneedthe sections / linkrng with tradition and carryingit rve too conception popularity or Volkstilmlichkeit. of further/ handingon the achievements the secof It is part of that suppo.sedly poetic rvay of tlon now leadingto the sectionof the peoplethat rs wording,by lvhich the "Volk" -_ nrorefolk than struggling the lead. for people is prcsentedas particularly superstiWe norvcome to the conceptof "Realism."It tious,or ratheras ar.n objectof superstition. this is an old conceptwhich has been much usedby In the folk or people appearswith its imniutable many men and for many purposes, and beforeit characteristics, time-honored its traditions, fonns can be appliedwe must spring-clean too. This it of art, customs and habits, its religiositv, its is necessary the because r,vhen peopletakesover hereditiLry enenries,its unconquerable strength its inheritance therehas to be a process exproof andall the rest.A peculiarunity is conjured of priation. Literary works cannot be taken over up tonnentor and tonnented, exploiterandexploited, like factories, literaryforrnsof expression or like liar and victim; nor is it by any lneilnsa sirnple i n d u s t r i a l i e t h o d sR e a l i s tr v r i t i n g , l ' r v h i c hh i s n . o matter of thc nrany, "little" working people as tory offers many rvidely varying examples,is a g a i n stth o s eo n t o p . likewise conditioned by the question of how, The history of all the falsifications that have whenand for what classit is made useof: condibcenoperated with this conception Volkstunris tioneddown to the last srnalldetail. As we have of a krngirndconrplexstory which is part o1'the his- in nrinda lightingpeoplethat is changingthe real tory of the cla.ss war. We shall not embarkon it world we must not cling to "well-tried" rulesfor but shall sinrply keep in mind the fact of such tellinga story, worthy nrodelsset up by literary forgery wheneverwe speakof our needfbr popu- history, eternal aesthetic Iaws. We lnust not lar art, meaningart for the broad.rnasses the abstract of the one and only realism from certarn people, the many oppressed the few, "the given wclrks,but shall make a lively use of all for by people proper,"the ntassof producers that hasso rneans, and new, tried antl untried, dcriving olcl Iong bccn the object of politics and now has to from art and deriving from other sources,in bccomeits suhject.We shall remind ourselves orderto put living reality in the handsof living that powerful institutions have long prevented people sucha way that it can be mastered. We in this"folk" fronrdevelopingfully, that it hasbeen shalltakecarenot to ascriberealism to a particartificiallyor forcibly tied down by conventions, ular historicalfornr of novel belongingto a parand that the conception Volkstrimliclr has been t i c u l a r p e r i o d , B a l z a c ' s o r T o l s t o y ' s , f c t r starnped a static one, without background as or instance, as to set up purely formal and literso dcveloprncnt. With this versionof the conception ar1'criteriaof realism.We shall not restrictt)urwe shallhaveno dealings, ratherwe shallhave selves speaking realisrnin caseswhereone or to of to fight it. Our conception of "popular" refers to can (e.g.)smell, look, feel whateveris depictecl, the peoplewho are not only fully involved in the rvhcre "atmosphere" is creirted and stories process developnrent are actuallytakingit developin such a way that the charactersarc of but o v e r ,f o r c i n gi t , d e c i d i n gi t . W e h a v e i n r n i n da psychologically strippeddorvn. Our conception peoplc that is nraking history and altenng the ol' reulismneedsto be broad and political, free of ivorldand itself.We have in rninda fightingpcrr- from aestheticrestrictionsand inclepertdent Ineans: laying bare socipleandalsoa lightingconception "popularity," convention. Rcali.st2 of "Popular" means intelligible to the broad e t y ' s c a u s a l u e t w o r k / s h o w i n g t t p t h e d o r n i n a n t masses, taliing over their own forms of expression tlo G. Lukdcs in particular Dos Wttrt ow(]s sollle Inost and ennching them I adopt\ng and conso\idatrng shed light on the concept ot reallsnl the / theirstandpoint representing most progresslve notableessays,which
Kb;i;f*^ iriliptu^ k lg, "k:rng" meant "monarchical pnnciple": fronr leiliS, "holy;' meant "shrine" or "sanctuary"' niirrowly e v e n i f , i n m y o p i n i o n ,t h c y d e f i n e i t r l t h e r . t o o t o L u k S c s ' s . S J t t ' / t c st n IBrccht] Bretht is responding 'Europ"in Balzac and Realism(t93zj, which celebratedboth Tolstoy as realists.

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viewpoint as the viewpoint of the dominators/ of writing from the standpoirtt the classwhich has preparedthe broadestsolutions for the most pressing problems afflicting human society / / emphasizingthe dynamics of development concrete and so as to encourageabstraction. It is a tall order, and it can be madetaller.And all we shall let the artistapply all his irnagination, his originality, his senseof humor and powerof inventionto its fulfilhnent. We will not stick to unduly detailed literzry models or force the artist to follow over-preciserules for telling a story. writWe shall establishthat so-calledsensuous f'elQ ing (in which everythingcan be smelt,tasted, with realist is not to be identifiedautomatically writing, lbr we shall seethat there are sensuously written works which are not realist, and realist works which are not sensuously wriften. We shall have to go carefully into the questionwhethcr'the story is best developedby ainring at an eventual psychological stripping-downof chiuacters. Our readers may quite well feel that they havenot been given the key to what is happeningif they aresimply induccd by a combination of arts to take part in the inner emotionsof our books' heroes. By taking over the forms of Balzac and Tolstoy without a thorough inspection we might perhaps exhaustour readers,the people,just as thesewrir ers often do. Realisrnis not a pure quesilonof fonn. Copying the rnethodsof theserealists,we shouldcease be realists to ourselves. For tirneflows on, amd it did not it wouldbe if a poor look-out for those '"vho have no golderr tables to sit at. Methods wear out, stimuli fail. New problenrsloom up and dernandnew techniques. Realityalters;to represent the means it cif representation nrust alter too. Nothing arisesfrom nothing;the new springsfrom the old, but thatis just what lnakesit new. The oppressorsdo not always appear in the sarnemask.The maskscannot always be stripped off in the samc way. There are so nr.uy tricks for dodging the mirror that is held out. Their military roads are termed motor roads. Their tanks are painted to look like Macduff's bushes.rTher.r

can show horny handsas if they were workagents ers.Yes: it takesingenuiryto changethehunterinto the quarry. What was popular yesterday is no were longer so today, for the people of yesterday not the peopleas it is today. Anybody who is not bound by forrlal prejuknows that there ue many ways of suppressclices ing truth and rnany ways of stating it: that at indignation inhuman conditionscan bc stimuIated in many ways, by direct description ol' a patheticor matter-of-factkind, by nanating stories and parables,by jokes, by over- and understaternent.In the theaterreality can be represented a in tlctual or a fantasticfonn. The actorscan do without (or with the minimurn ofl) niakcup, appearing "natural," and the whole thing can be a fake; they the can wear grotesquemasksiutd tepreserlt truth. There is not rnuch to argue about lrere:the rneans rnustbe askedwhat tlre end is. Thc peoplcknow a h ( ) w t o a s k t h i s . P i s c a t o r ' sg r c a tc x p c r i r r r c r rilrs r thc theatcr (and my own), wltich rcpoatedly involved the exploding ol' corrventit>nal frlrms, found their chief support in the nrost progressive cadresof the working class. The workersjudged everythingby the arlount of truth contiiinedin it; they welcornedany innovation which helpcd tlre representalion truth, of the real rnechanism of of society;they rejectedwhatever seerned like playing, like nrachinery rvorkingfor its own suke,i.e. 'l'he no longer, or not yet, full'illing a purpose. workers' argumentswere never literary or purely "You oan't ntix theaterand filnr": that theatrical. sort of thing was never said. If the filrn was not prclperly usedthe most one heird was: "that bit of ljlm is unnecessary, it's distracting."Workers' chr>ruses spokeintricaterhythrtricalverseparts("if it rhynredit'd all slip down like butter,and nothing would stick") and srurgdifficult (unaccustonred) conrpositions EisleP("it's got sorne by gutsin it"). But we had to alter particuleulines whose sense was wrong or hrud to arrive at. Whcn there were (irregularities, ceflain subtleties cornplexities) rn

'ln Shakespeare's Macbeth, the soldiers of lvlacdufl-s iin)ly crrry uec hranches for carrrouflage.

" G e r m a n t h e a t e r d i r e c t o r E r w i n P i s c a t o r( r 8 9 3 - r 9 6 6 ) , whose innovative productions often involved free adaptati<_rn of bourgeoisplays !o reveal their social truth to thc prolctarirr. sl1:rnns isler (I898-1962), Jewish Austrian E composer w h o c o l l a b o r a t e d i t h B r e c h t i n t h e a t r i c a lp i e c c s u r r t i l r h e y w were both forced to leave Germany.

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marchingsongswhich had rhymes to make them with the kind of primitivity that affected the supeasierto learn and simple rhythms to ,,put thenr posediyvaned psychological pofirayals of bouracross" befter, then tlrey said: ,,that's amusing, geois art. It is very wrong to make a few therewas a sort of $,ist in that." They had no use misconceived stylizationsa pretext for rejectinga for anything played out, trivial, so ordrnarv that style of representation which attempts (so often one doesn'tneedro think (,.there'snothing i; if'). successfully) to bring out the essential and to If an aestheticwas needed, here it *or. Lhull encourage abstraction. sharpeyesof the workThe neverforgethow one worker looked at me when I ers saw through naturalism's superficial represenanswered requestto include somethingextrain tation of his _realify. When they said in Fuhrmann a songaboutthe USSR ("lt must go in - what,s Henschel,'"that's more than we want to know the point otherwise?") by saying that it woulcl aboutit" they were in fact wishing they could get a rvreckthe artisticform: he put his heacl dne side rnoreexact on representation the real social forces of and srruled. this polite smile a whole sectionof operatingunder At the inrrnediatelyvisible surface. aesthetic collapsed. The workers were not afraid to To quotefrom my own experience: they were not teachus, nor were they afraid to learn. put off by thefantastic costumes and the apparently I speakfrom experiencewhen I say that one unreal setting of T'he Threepenny Opera. They needneverbe frightenedof putting boldand unac_ were not narrow;they hatednarrowness (their liv_ customed lhings before the proletariat,so long as lng quarterswere niuTow).They were generous; they haveto do with reality. There will alwayi be theiremployers were stingy,They thoughtit possreducatedpersons,connoisseurs the arts, who ble t<ldispense of with some thingsthat the artistsfelt will stepin with a ,,The people rvon't understand to be essential, but they were antiableenc-rugh about that."But thepcoplcintpatiently shoves themaside it; they rverc not agaitrst superfluity: they were a.nd contes temrsdirectly rvith the artist.There rs agalnstce(atn to superfluouspeople. They did not highlyculrured stuff nradefbr minorities, clesisned n"tnzzle threshing thoughthey saw to it that the ox, to form rninorities: two thousandth the transfoiru- he *rreshed.o "The universaliy-applicable crearive tion of someold hat,the spicing_up a venerable of ntethod": they didn't believein rhar sort of thine. and now decomposing piccc of meat. The prole_ They knew that they neededrnany different methtariat.rejects ("they'vc got sonrethingto worry odsin it orderto reachtheir objective.If you wzrnt an about")with an incrcdulous, somewhaireflective aesthetic, thereyou are. shakeof the head.It is not the spice that is being .Sothe criteria for the popular and the realistic rqected,but the nteat;not the two thousan<lth fonn, n e e d t o b e c h o s e n n o t o n l y w i t h g r e a t c a r e b u r but theold hat.When they thernselves must not be took to wrir also with an open rnind. They ing and acting they were con.rpellinglyorigin:rl. d e d u c e d f r o n r e x i s t i n g r e a l i s t w o r k s a n d e x i s t i n g What rvasknown as "agit-prop"oart, which a ntlm- popular works, as is often the case. Such arl would lead to purely forrlralisticcritenoseswere hrrnedup at, was a approach ber of second-rate mine of novel artistic techniques and ways of ria-, and questions of popularity and realisrn Magnificent urd long-forgotten ele- would be decidedby form.' expression. decideif a work is realistor not by Onecannot mentsfrom periodsof truly popular art cropped up existing,reputnew social ends. findingout whetherit resembles there, boldly adapted to the beautifulsilnplifica- ecllyrealistworks which must be cottntedrealist Daringcutsaudcompositions, casetlte picturc ones): in all this for theirtilne.In each individuzrl Inisconceived tions (alongside economy and elt:there was olicn an astonishing ganceiurda feuless eye for complexity.A lot of it neverpnnlltlve but rnayhavebeenpri-rnitive, it wa-s
7 1 8 9 8p l a y b y G e r h a r tH r u p t m a n n ( 1 8 6 2 - l 9 ' + 6 ) x h o u t a w a'B on ed n v c n t o s u r c i d e . iA n r mu?'z a l l u s i o nt o D e u t e r o n o m y 5 : 4 ( " T h o u s h a l tn o t the corn")' threshes zle the ox that eBrechris alluding to the "social realism" prescribedin effects Stulin;r r"git", whicli would ban any expressionistic

/v-

6Shortfor agitation propaganda,texts designedto strmuto late the masses revolution.

B R E C I . I Tr H e l

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AND THE REALISTIC

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not givenof iife must be conrpared^' rvith n,n"tlTt life portrayed And ii.ru.., but s'itlr the actual therets ' iikewisewherepopularityis concerned f o r m a l i s t i c p r o c c d u r et h a t h a s t o D e wholly work.of n"utJ"tf against.The intelligibility of a by its being tterutureil nc't ensuredexclusively works written in exactly the same way as other These other which people have understood just like the workstoo *rr" n,,r invaliably written was done towards u,o.t, U.fur. theln. Something

do we mr'rst ln their understanding. the satneway of the new tot"ttting for thi understanding being ltoltular there is such a *orls. B-esides t l r i n ga s b e c , , m i n g o P u l t t r ' P alive and IF*" want a truly popularliterature' completelygripped by reality.andcom{iehting, l(eeppace pietelygnpping reality' then we lnust great f,eacllongdevelopment The ,.irlyt ir,t,r.r on the move The of o',,rf<'ine,nnrr", the peopleere lt' proves bnrtalityof their enelnies activitt'"and

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vengeance. This, howeve^r, is certain: Upon them and onlv upon them, who are filled rvith a genuine fear of the inescapable guilt ofthe h"-"" ,".", there be anv reliance when itcomes to fighing f"?.l"rrlv, ""n u.,"";;;;1.;;i;: everywhere againsf the incalculabr" thri -"n u." capable of bring?qg "ot-l about.

In 1929 he married Helene Weigel, an actress who rvorked closelv with him and for rvhom he w,rote manl'leading roles. Together the) rvould direct and make famous the theater group founded for them in 1949 in East Berlin: tbg-lgl!ry. Jl;ernblq. l\lost of Brecft's plavs are didactic, either openly or b.vimplication. After he became it even more his moral and artistic a fen,ent Marristiil t66G]dlT920s, he .o..iie."i -- --;:-.-d u r l i o - i l c o u r a g e t h e a u d i e n c et o r e m e d i s o c i a li l l s . T h 3 T h r e e p e n n lO p e r a ( 1 9 2 8 1 . a ballad opera witten with composer Kurt Weill ( 1900- 1950) and rii6ililed on John capitalist society from the point ofyieu'of Garls T?reBeggar's Opera (I128),_satirizes outcasts and romantic thieves. Breihl alio wote a nuritibt-of "lesson" playSintended to6lt f-tn Co--unist doctrine and to instruct the workers of Germany in the meaning of social revolution. The lesson is particularlv harsh in The Measures Taken ( I 930), which describesthe necessaryexecution of a young party mgqrler u'ho has broken discipline and helped the loiifpoor, thus postponing the revolution. Such drama, how,everdoctrinallv pure, was not likelv to win adherents to the cause, and the lesson plavs were condemned as unattractive and "intellectualist" by the Communist press in Berlin and Moscou,. Brecht's unorthodoxy, his pacifism, his enthusiasm for N{an, and his desire to ..""t" theaie]-tGii-world embodv a Mirriir t'ie* of art all put him ".tl"tiriiipopular at odds with the rising porver of Hitler's National Socialism. He fled Germany for Denmark in 1933 before the Nazis could include him in their purge of left-u'ing intellectuals; in i935 he was deprived of his German citizenship. Brecht rvas to flee several more timgs as the Nazi invasions expanded throughout Europe; in 1939 he u'ent to Sweden, in 1940 to Finland, a.nd in l94l to the United States, where he joined a colony of German ex?atriatesi;sail;fr;;Fa, C"lifoi"i", .rorkirgtJ.th. n i"aGcv. Thi, w.". the plriod of some of hi3 greatest playst The ufe of'Gatileo (1938-39), rvhich attacks societv for suppressingGalileo's discovery that the Earth revolves around the sun but also condemns the scientist for not insisting openly on the truth; Mothcr Courage and Her Children (1939), n'hich describes an avaricious peddler rvho doggedlypursues the profits to be made hom war even though her om t h r e e c h i l d r e n a r e v i c t i m so f i t ; T h e G o o d V ' o n a n o f S e t z w n ( 1 9 3 8 - 4 0 ) , p r i n t e d h e r e , rlhich shows how an instinctively good and generous person can survive in this u,orld onlv by pn111ng a mask of hardness and calculation; andThe Caucasian Chalk on Circle (1944-45), which adapts the legendarychoice of Solomon between two mothers who claim the same infant and decidesin favor of the servantgirf-who cared for the child-over the wealthv mother (the implied comparison is between those who do the work of society and those u,ho merely profit from their possessions). AmerIn ica. Brecht arranged for the translation of his work into English, and Galileo, vith Charles Laughton in the title role, was produced in 1947. In the same year, Brecht uas questioJredby ths l-louse Un-.{,meric"n .F6TlfriiEil-o-mmirreeas parr of a *ide- i ranging i"qu$ iilo po..ibl" ilomniuiiisf atiivity in thi: eniiriainment business' No f charges u'ere brought, but he left for Europe the day after being brought before the ] commlttee. After learing the United States, Brecht u,orked for a vear in Zurich before going to Berlin with his rvife, Helene Weigel, to stage Mother Couroga.The East Berlin gor. ernment offered the couple positions as directors of their orvn troupe, the Berliner Ensemble, and Brecht-rvho had just frnished a theoretical work on the theater, A Little OrganonJor the Theater (1949)-turned his attention to the professionalrole of director. Although the East Berliners subsidized Brecht's rvork and advertisedthe artist's presence among them as a tribute to their oun political svstem, thev also obliged him to defend some of his plays against charqes ofpolitical unorthodo4'and tieil hidTpheld inde"edro re\rJcJ-bsrL $fler 19J4.'the prJvailinic.^-"fiiea.w a stvle cg!]r{ socialist realism-)uhose goal was to offer simple me.sagesand to foster -with identification revolutionarv heroes.Brecht's mind was too keen and questioning,

B E R T O L TB R E C H T 1898_1956
Bertolt Brecht is a dominant figure in modern drama not only as the author of harf a d o z e n p l a y st h a t r a n k a s m o d e r n c l a s s i c s b u t a s r h e f i r s t . m a s t e ro f . a l 4 r y s r f u l n e w thgater. He disagreedwith the rraditional notion. derirei fr;;;il;El :n:qpt gf P o e f i c s . h a t d r a m a s h o u l d d r a w i t s s p e c t a r o r sn t o i d e n r i G c a t i o n r i with and s\TnDath\ f o r t h e c h a r a c r e r s a n d h e r e j e c r e dr h e r e a l i s ta e s r h e t i c f n n , r r l l " f r . . o ical credibilirv. Brechr sas.""tylg* i" .""t ,q!.t.ri"^-fo " ; ; ; ; i ; t " i ; ; : iilriij*.iifi" P i r a n d e l l o .h e b e l i e v e dr h r t r h e l i l o d e i i - r @ " "":t,i"."t r e a k ,hiuilb \ r q t h r h e d r a m a t i cc o n ventions of witers such as lbsen and chekhov. u'ho depicted action from as if it were a slice of real life going on behind an i,it;sibl" "for.tr, "di;;";";, *.rtt.i u.,iik-" Pirandello. hou'ever, Brecht did not itress the anguish of indi'iduars i" ,r"r"i"i-iri, lqcus uas the communitr_qr large and a recognitio" i,;; D r e c n r ' a p o r r t r c a r c t r n s r . r h e m o d e r n a u d i e n c em u s t " r , " . i " i . " r p ; ; . i l r ; ; ; f a n o t b e a i l o u e d t o i n d u r g ei n passive emorional identification ar a safe distance or in a whirlpool of existe"itial identity crises. His characters are first of ail members of sociery-and h;s must be educated and moved to action. The rriovement .dl"[4o*f;;;;;;;;;; "rdi"."" h i s n e e d s u e l l ' a n d h e d e r e l o p e d i r s b a s i c i d e a si n p l a y s . ,i#iait#g., r"i producrions until it became one of rhe -o.t po*".ful theatrical ,;yl;;;,f 9:t::c e n t u r y . tne Eugen Berthold Brecht was born in the medieval town of Augsburg, Bavaria, on February t 0-lg9g. His father.u'asa respectedtorm cirizen, direitor ,? p"f-rirrr, and a catholic. His mother-, the daughier of a civir servanr " from the Black Forest, was a Protestant who raised voung Berthold in her own faith. (.Ihe ,p"iff"g b".Ll, w a s a d o p t e d l a t e r . ) B r e c h t a r t e n d e d l o c a r s c h o o l su n t i l l9r7,.h"n ir" tt{13ictr uni'ersity to studv naturar science and medicine. ;:" l;i," He continued "his lstudies while acting a-1d.rama critic for,an.Augsburg newspaper and writing hi, o*r, fryl D r u n s i n t h e N i g l t ( 1 9 r 8 ) w o n r h e K l e i s t p r i z . - epn 2 . m l g l g B r e c f , t w a s m o b i l i z " d i2 a.y.earas_ orderly in a military hospital, and he pursued an meclical srudies at {o-r l \ , l u n i c hu n t i l I 9 2 1 . Moving to Berlin in l92'r. Brechr uorked briefly with the directors Max Reinhardt a n d E r u i n P i s c a r o rb . u rn a s c h i e f l r ' i n t e r e s t e d n h i s o - n w r i t i n g . i In this nre-r\rarxrsr { f " ' ' ' o 3 , n " i s e s p e c i a l l ' c o n c e r n e du ' i r h t h e p r i g h t o f t h e i n d i r j d u a r ' . i i ' , r r 6 ; - m - " . : * \ a r o u n d b v s o c i a l a n d e c o n o m i c f o r c e sb e v o n dh i s c o n t r o l u n t i l h e l o s e sb o t h J l:th:d r rdentrtv-andhumanit; ln A_r\4an's Man (1924-25\, a the timid dock u,orker Galy Gay is trans.fornredby frighr und persuasio.n_ anorher person. the inro fero.;;;iy;;::;;;: f u l s o l d i e r J e r i a h J i p .w h e n t h e _ a c t u a l r u r n s u p a i t h e e.d or,r," pt"i-ri""r *i""n Jip f o r m e r p a p e r sa n d f o r c e d . t o a s s u m eG a v ' so l d t d e . t i w . icay's Th;;Llfi;;;h".";;;r ca1 be broken doun and reassembledlik" rnr"'hin", the only l.Tl11p^"_11:lllitie; s / w e a p o n a g a i n s ts u c h _ m i n d l e sm a n i p u l a t i o ni s a * , a r e n e s sa n a r v"a r e n e sts a t e n a b l e s , h , p e o p t et . ou n d e r s t a n da n d c o n l r o l t h e i r destint,.

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2lL5

ft{"''.l)r'lr"rr

for him to provide the simplistic drama desired or 9e-aftraaed-bgirool,,and.pgfg4o)q to have a comfortable relation with authoritv, either of the Right or of the Left. After settling in East Berlin, he Mote no major new plays but onlv minor propagandapieces and adaptations of classical works such as Molibre's Don Juan and Shakesjeare,s c o r i o l a n u s .A s a n a d d i t i o n a l m e a s u r eo f p r o t e c t i o n , h e t o o k o u t A u s t r i a nc i t i z e n s h i p t h r o u g h h i s w ' i f e ' s a t i o n a l i t y .B r e c h t d i e d i n B e r l i n o n A u g u s t 1 4 , 1 9 5 6 .p r e s u m a b l y , n he would have taken ironic pleasure in the fact that, on Februarv 10, 199g, the one hundredth anniversary of his birth H,as celebratedthroughout Germany and included a presidential speech at the Berlin Academl'of futs. The "epic theater" for which Brecht is knorvn derivesits name from a famous essay, C ) n E p i c a n d D n w t i c f u t e t n t , b l G o e t h e a n d S c h i l l e r , u h o i n I i 9 7 d e s c r i b e dd r a i-o;a-aentifi cation,inconrrasttoenic @;rc=Trroeffi poetry, rvhich by being distanced in the time, place, and nature of the acrion coulclbe absorbed in calm contemplation. The idea of an epic theater is a paradox:how can a play il5lglghat is still held at a distance?Brecht,s solution was to employ 2:geen m,ank:e!g!j!!en_g&SlDhat were genuinely dramaric but that preventedrotal identification with the characrers and forgg!;gecrators ro tbnl!-L,_ltselly3bout-1"bql wa, tgkjlc.pbse. In this, he echoed the i"uoiiti*".y Sori"t di.""torGivolod "rrkJih" Meyerhold, whose antirealistic use of masks, pantomime, posters and film projections, song interludes, and direct addressto the audience u'as well knoun to German J audiences in the t 920s. These alienation effects ha'e since become standardproduction tech \'revisions, n i q u e si n t h e m o d e m t h e a t e r . I n s p i t e o f B r e c h t ' s i n r e n t i o n sa n d f i e q u e n t hou'ever, the characters and situations of his plays remain emotionallv engrossing,especiallyin his best-known works, such asThe coodworun of setzuan. r' Brecht's concept of an epic theater touches on all aspects of the form, dramatic a r c i l r rl r 1 struCture.stagesettlng'-u,i","ffitureisto'be o p e n . e p i s o d i c .q n d - b r q k e nb v d r a m a r i co r m u s i i a l i n t e r l u d e s .I r i s a " c h r o n i c l e "t h a t I f".:iiiiG5r":fin an epic or distanced perspqctir.e. Episodesma1 also be performed independentlv as self-containedilirfriii-parables, insread of being organically tied to a centrally de'eloping plot. skits appear between scenes:in A Man's a ltlaa, there is a fantastic interlude in s,hich an elephant is accused of haring murdered its mother. songs break dramatic action and yet crvstallize imporrant themes: in The Gootl Wonan of Setntan, "The Song of Defenselessness'presentsan outraged Shen,Tc m a s k i n g h e r s e l fa n d t u r n i n g i n r o s h u i f a : Y a n g s u n s l o r d i n g i l o v e r h i s c o w o r k e r si s satirized in "The Song of the Eighth Elephant." sometimes n"r."to, comments on " the action (as inThe Threepennt'Opera andA Itlan'sa Mad. The alienation effects are a.!:Sl'gigglgd_b1;9gL1g-J"o:r o!j!'e plays in-f,'a*av tandildhlilali-lfiEidod Woman oJ let:wn, India in A Man s a lllan, England in The Threepennl,OVera,the soviet Union inThz caucasianchalkCircle,chicagoinsaintJoanof the stoclqatds and rhe Resistible Rise of Anuro ui) or distant rimes (the seventeenth century in -'flre L[other courage, Renaissancertaly in calileo, or an imagined ghostly aftcrlife in Trial of Lucullus). '1 Stagecraftand performance further support Brecht's concept of a critical, irrtellecItualized theater. E'ents on stage mav be announced beforehand by signs or accompanied blrprojected images during the action itself. Place-namesprinted on signs are f o s u s p e n d e d v e r r h e a c r o r s ,a n d f o o t l i g h t sa n d s t a g em a c h i n e r ya . e o p e . l y d r s f r a v e d . - -..- , i \ M a r k r a r e u s e d f o r * i c . k e d - p e o * l s r f o i e r e m p l e . r i r . S h , ,T a p e r s o n " i i t y i n ' l l i c G o o t l i \4/oman of Setzuan), or soldiers"face. ih"lk"d *,hir" t. rrllGiii'stvlizecl fear. "." songs that interrupt the dramatic action are addressed directh'to the audience. somctimes heralded b.yla-g!gn--l!hat Brecht called a "musical emblem.'' In addition, Brecht described .p".i"ikin?--i;ffig rr-"i. p-tq i"r,.ra -"-ct.'sJn"lfa-tEn-*,*i" " "i being submerged in them. At rehearsals, Brecht often asked actors tolpeak their i P . t t t i n t h e t h i r d p e r s o n i n s t e a do f t h e f i r s t . S u c h c o n s t a n t a r r i f i c i a l i r y n j e c t e d i n t o / all as_pects the performance makes it difficult for the audience to identi$, comof / y { p l e r e l l 'a n d u n s e l [ - c o n s c i o u s lx . i t h t h e c h a r a c t e r s n s r a g e . o

Audiences mav react emotionallv to Brecht's plays and characters, but their reaca t i o n s a r e n e v e r s i m p l e . B r e c h t ' sc h a r a c t e r s r e c o m p l e x a n d i n h a b i t c o m p l e x s i t u a tions. Galil.n is hnrlladdicats,cJsqlqntist u'ho sacrifrceshis reputation for honesty so as to complete his rvork. anda,wa-kliinqualist u'ho fails to realize how his recantation s'ill afie.t oth"rr' pursuit of scientific kiZxvledge. ln The Cood Woman of Set' zuan, the overgenerousShen Te can suruive onlv bv periodically adopting the magk of a harshll' practical "cousln," Shui T3. Mother Courage is both a tragic mothei figi-e and a s,nall+l-" profiteer u'ho loses her children as she battens on war. B i e c h t ' s w o r k t e e m s u i t h . " c h P a r a d o x e s - aa l l l e v e l s H e i s a c 1 ' n i cw h o d e f l a t e s t example as delusions that lead the religious zeal, militant patriotism, and h=Eroic -r.r". on to futile sacrifice; but he is also a preacher uho makes prominent use of traditional biblical languageand imagery, and themes of individual sacrifice. <:fGEoof,\V;ilaiof Setzu"nlr'vaswritten betrveen 1938 and 1940. uith the colIaffi'andRuthBerlau,andwithmusicb1Pau|Dessau. Painfully drafted *lhile Brecht, his familv, Steffin, and Berlau sought refuge in Scandinavia from the Nazis' conquest of Europe, the play is stamped with bitter disillusionment at a u'orld in which ir is imposs&!9j._h:.gg.q-e-qd.':utl{r-ll..The "good u'oman," Shen Te, is forced to disguisE-Ferseif?i het male "cousin" and alter ego, the cruel Shui Ta, to save herself from a su'arm of parasites and opportunists rlho q,ill not leave her a roof over her head. Appearing alternatgly,as thgr-j*thl.g9s-qbgiTa and the seneroqg,sb-sn she embodiesdifferent fr6i-l-being. encounters different Le, th" p;l-pl" a.outd her, is gradually contaninated, and recognizes *.fiCEt" despairingly that.she r.,rll alu;eyg,!,gedj9 cel.Lor-her-rarlskgd gou{f-J9-:urvive. The plal's setting in dEiiiiiCr probably suggestedby a 1935 visit to l\iloscow, rvhere, ^B.""ht -r. i-p.".."d b1,the'highlv swlited petfoimances of the Chinese actor Mei\ Lan-fang, one of rvhose traditional roles n'as that of the ll1gua-:r'?-rri9r wlrq-must \ disquise herself as a man. Brecht had already sritten a short play and a story that tft"Gv * omen .r'ere subordinated and exploited in traditional patriarchal affU"a socieq', a theme that returns strongl)'in The Good Womn oJ Setzuan.The opposition of men and rvomen is not absolute. hou'ever, for the play contains both good and bad male and female characters. Indeed, the Woman of the lEnglish title may be misleading, even if Shen Te represents goodness, for the Gdrman title's Mensch *"ans lite-ially"person" o. "ht-"n beingi and embraces bo1fr.gg.l*n. ForTiElht' thE p6El-em-<iTlaoA ail Ei'il, tid the ii6ed to reform a corrupt uoild, confronts both somen and men. As the Epilogue tells the audience, "Yoa rmite the happv endingto 't ^r'^ r the playl" "rlni 1^ ii^.JShen le's storv has a larger frame, the state of the universe or' more mundanelv, is so corrupt that affairs cannot be allowed to th"';;;;iG;;f;h"tF-ffi\riild I c o n t i n u e . H e r s i t u a t i o na r i s e sf r o m a g o o d d e e d u h o s e c o u n t e r P a r lr e c u r s i n v a r i o u s d ro disguised ivine mesa \sorld mvrhologies nd alsoin the Bible:hospitaliryoffered s e n g e r s ,r r h o r e w a r d t h e g i r e r a c c o r d i n g l l . T h r e e C h i n e s e g o d s r i s i t i n g b a r t h l n i"ilr= of good people give She. Te, a penniless prosritute, a thousand-silverdollars in recomp-ense'for-beingthe onlv pe.ion in Setzuan to give them lodging. Brecht borro*'s ias so often) from th" Bibie, specifically, from the Old Testrynentrtory of K S o d o m a n d G o m o r r a h . i n s h i c h G o d s e n d sa n g e l sd o u n t o h n d t e n g o o d p e o p l e r n tffiriihid-?ilriS*odom.o tn"ili ma1 b-e saved from destruction. Yet these modern gods are some*hat comic and c".t"itly ineffectual Wearing old-fashioned I c l o t h e s a ' n d d u s t v s h o e s .t h e v h a r e b e e n d e l e g a t e da s , J t 9 J S : ' ] ' 9 [ a b g r e . a y c 1 3 t i c I R e s o l u t , i o n n h i g h ( \ \ h o s e t e r m s t h e r d e b a t e J :t h e v i g n o r e i n c o n v e n i e n Iq u " ^ t " : n : I o ot a n d i i i e l i : r e p e a r r h - e c o n r e n ( i o n a l . i n a p p l i c a b l er e g u l a t i o n s :t h e ) a r e t e r r i h e d I c o m p l i c a t i o n s ' t h a tu o u l d d i s t u r b t h e . r " i u q t o u n J - i t a n , e c h g : l N q l : I end that "eterlthing tsrn oroer I a l a b o u t o r o o e r o r d e r - t h e r o e r s u a d eh e m s e l v e s t t h e t S h e n T e ' s d e s p a i r i n gc r i e s ' . T h e s 9: t t t " " : : t : 1 : t f i ,FId;;';;pi.k.loui'd"rpite I more tha.n anything.el*,,11t1t..:::i:"1,:t;. le(s represent ih" br."ru..o,lc stale

.,(o I

1S-Fkq

F*c\hc^n
O4 @I]RSE IN GEIYERAL LINGUI8flCS

Aq' I c\\$t!.t'r r Luo.*

\nt

again pronoun@d for WI. The quality of the t is responsible the differencebetweenthe pronunciationof the Germanword and trbenchaigln 'eagle':Hagelhas a closingI while the trlench word has an openingI followedby a mute e QAld,

GeneralPrinciples
Clwptn I

PART ONE knl,o.{ ^ \, L'$tsti

t's

NATURE OF TEE LINGI'ISTIC SIGN l. 8i0n, Stgn;M, Sfirdfi.e? as when reduced ite elements, to Somepeopleregardlanguagg, s lnming-procees only+ list of words,eachcorrwpondingto the For thing that it names. example:

ffi
6t
----a--:------:T-

ARBOR

EQAos

points.It assumes This conception opento criticism at several ie (ou this point, seebelow, ideas t'hat ready-made existbeforcwords p. 111) it does tpll uswhethera nameis vocalor psychological not ; from either viewin nature (atbor,for instance, be considercd can point); finally, it lets us sssume and that the linlnng of a na,me a thst iBanything thing is a very simpleoperation--anassumption .but true. But this rather naive approachcan bring us near the us f *rn by showing that the U"g"lrtt. *tt ir " ao*te ert W, o"e ofFoEffi:-lformed bv the agsoci&tins We bave seeDln conffileringthe speaking-circuit(p. 11) that and signarepsychological are both temsinvolved in the Unguistic 06
r .

.L
'*"+.il:

(,

ln.o$f*.

@I'RSE IN GENEMI, LINGI'I8IIC8

unitd in the brain by an easooiative bond. ltis empbasizecl. Tbelinnri

point nust bo

but a
) i \ \

on our seqseg. sound-image eenro$ The is way of opposing to the otherterm of the associstion, it the which is generallymore abstract. The psychologicalcharacterof our sound-images becomes apparent whenwe obseweour ownspeech. IV'ithout movingour lips or tongue,we cantslk to oureelves recitementallya selection or of verEe.Becauee regard the words of our language eoundwe as imsges,we must avoid epeaking the "phonenes" that makeup of the words.ThieJerm, which sugests vocal acffity, is applicable to the spoken

NATT'RE OF lEE IINGuISTIC SIGN 6I sArt-3\ ;*$ t ul.rr4.t (st L;, tril.tir-) clear thet only the ascociationsssnctioned by that languageappear to us to confom to reelity, lnd we disregard whatever others -----=-1 might E'imagi"ea. Our definition of the linguistic sign posesan important quest'ion of tcrminology. I csll the combination of e co''cpf,t p''d s soundimage a srgrl, brit in surent usage the term pnerally designates only a sound-image, I woId, for exa,mple(arbor, etc.). One tends to forget that crbor is called a ri cept "tree." with the rd[f-TEt the idee of the sensory part imfrliee the idea of the whole.

* Jh*,X *"-t^:lr,S' .?fi ;iy nt ;t-l

"no

l^n^.; .'q :*-{,^1-ihrr

\s .[n $ r tvr*{'*--

@c

ffi&-antl

qttfrtcs of a word provided we rememberthat ths

r-m

l r\ \_7o r b o r
Ambiguity

..zi\rrrA.r I / *'*" a[ [ f'""''F''n'.'\1o

ll
'

l\'" rl\:#" } r $ i " t ' , / l

r
Lj/

S r Cfr\t would disappear if the thrce notions involved here

Darneorefer to the sound-image.

The linguistic aignis then a two-sidedpsychological eutity that can be represented the drawing: by

were designatedby three names,esch

others.f proposeto retain

the

t@r
The tmo elementsa,reintimately united, and eachrecaUs the other. Wbetherwe try to find the meaning the Latin word crbor of or the word that Latin ueesto deaignate concept.,fier' it iE the
iation of the

r lnow of anywordto replace the ordinary it, languagp zuggpsting

nO Other. l6f\\cK,rr*'Eu.. -

The linguietic sign, as defined,hss @ igtics.In enunciating themI a,m alsopogiting-the basicprinciptes of of this type. 6-stuav 2. Prhwiplc I : Tlw ArbitrW Natue of tLn Sirl, The bond Ue d is a,rbitrary. SinceI meanby signtbe wholethst resultsfrom the associating of the signifierwith the signified,I eansimply *yztluli1tguhtia 8W ia arAilrary. The idea of "sistet''is not linked by any inner relotionehipto the zuccession eoundg as of s-&r whichserreg its signifierin Fhench;

gc.|*--&"r-rrr0"-. ./{ ^*dh., 1' t\or f n/rr.-th^ p/ +1 c."njr.rlr..-_.$to

-7 l'1
c*li
r- /- r.rJ ! I r* I rttlf . -ISlll

68

@I'RSE IN GENERAL LINGUISTICS

NATT'RE OF lEE LINGUISTIC SIGN

tbst it could be reprreented equsllyby just any otheraequenee is provedby difrerences amonglanguages bythe very existence and of difrerentlanguages: signified,,ox,, has as its signifier the hFl on onesideof the borderand alc-s (OclB)on the other. the _ No onedisputee principleof the arbitrary natureof theeip, but it is often easierto diecover tmth than to sssign itltg a to place.PrincipleI dominates the linguisticsoi tanguagB; all Foper its qgEquencee a,re a,re equally obviousat first glaEFodv after many detours one doee discoyerthem, and with the,mthe primordial importance the of principle. Onere,markin passing:wbgl-eeniologybecomee as organized a ecienrce, question a,rise the will whethe-r not it properly or incrudes / basedon cqepletely *t ot signs,zuchas lmodes 9f exqression \paetom4.e.Sup-posing the ne@ that { pain concern still be t.hewholesroun of sergtemg will urounded o;arbitrariness the sipn.fn fact,everyEffi of expreqqgg in principfin crilEtffi

imply that the choice of the aignifier is left entirely to the speaker

to the establiehment of Principle I:

E8rne

d_o. to the ground nins times), are nonethetess fixed by rule; it is this nrle and not the intrinsic

othersthe ideal of the

reslizebetterthanthe

the most characteristic;in this sense linguisticscan become the

most complex and universal of all systemsof erpression,i8 also

S",f"+rl
S!.$

fwhat is herecalledthe

the linguisticsign,

weighs against the use of this

.rygsrp&lg

r characteristic

k*\

symbol of justice, a be:eplaced byjust any other symbol, *.h r" a chariot. The word crAilrary slso ce[e for comment. The term should not

t) OnntnatoWeia might be usedto provethat the @iceltibe gignifier not always&rbitr&rI.. is sr But onomatopoeic formations ncverorganic elements a linguisticsystem. Besides, of their number is nucE mafler=Gmnis genera-lysupposed. Words like fbench or glas'lnell' may strike cert&inearswith mggestive lfout'whip' that they havenot alwayshad thin property 1.\ / sonority,but to eee weneed only exa,mine Latin fiorms (foutis derivedfrom/@tts their I 'beech-tree 'sound a trunpet'). The querlrt/ | glm fromelassinnn of ,' of their presentsounds, rather the quality that is attributpd to or them,is a fortuitous resultof phoneticevolution. As for authenti etc;),not also-theyrrc-A-osen someffhat arbitra,rily,for they are only approximete moreor and (cf. lesseonventional imitationsof certainsounds EnglishMfuiD andtrtenchozaona). addition,onee In intro' wordshavebeen these to ducedinto the language, they are to a certainextent zubjected the eameevolution-phonetic, morphological,etc.-that other wordsundergo(d. ptgeon, ultimately from Vulga,rT.o;tinpnpid, in turn from an onomatopoeic formation): obviousproof lderived they lose something their original characterin order to of Ithat that whichis uxmotivatd f assume of the linguisticsignin general, 2) Intnjectione, closelyrelated to onomatopoeia, be atr can groundsand eomeno closerto refuting our tackedon the sa,me of thesis.Oneis tcmptedto seein them spontaneous expressions rcality dictated,soto speak, natural forces. But for mostinterby jections canshowthat thereis no fixedbondbetween we their sif nffiedand their aignifier. needonly compare languages on two We trrispoint to seehow much suchexpressions differ from onelanErageto the next (e.g.the English equivalentof Frenchaw! ie oueh|. We know, moreover,that many interjectionswere onc,o

*skiffi,r
:il.1

ITO

COI]R.SE IN GENERAL LINGUISTTCS

LINGI'IsTIC VAI,I]E

U1

sificstion ; the divieion of words into substantives, verbs, adjectivee, etc. is not an undeniable linguistic reality.t Linguistics accordingly works continuously with conceptsforged by gra,mmarians without lrrowing whether or not the concepts actually correspond to the constituenfa of the system of language. But how carr we find out? And if they are phantome, what realities carl we place in opposition to them? To be rid of illusiong we must first be convinced that the concretp entities of language are not directly accessible.If we try to grasp them, we come into contact with the true facts. Starting from thene, we can eet up all the classifications that linguistics needefor arranging all the facts at its disposal. On the other hanfl, to base the classifications on anything except concrete entities-to say, for exa,mple,that the parts of speecha,rethe constituents of language simply becausethey correspondto categoriesof logie-is no to forget that there a,ne linguistic facts apart from t'he phonic substance cut into significant elements. C. Finally, not every idea touched upon in this chapter difrerg A baaically from what we have elsewherecsUedoohrce. new compa.rison with the eet of chesmen will bring out this point (see pp. 88 fr.). Take s Lni8ht, for instance. By itseU is it an element in the game? Certainly not, for by its material make-up-outside its Bquareand the other conditions of the ga,me-it meanenothing to it the pL,ayer; becomesa real, eoncreteelement only when endowed with value end wedded to it. Supposethat the piece happensto be destroyed or lost during a game. Can it be replaced by an equivalent piece? Certainly. Not only another }oight but even a figure shorn of any resemblance to I knight can be declared identical provided the same value is attributed to it. We see then that in semiological systemslike language,where elementshold each other in equilibriun in accordancewith fixed rules, the notion of identity blends with that of value andvice uersa. Ia a word, that is why the notion of value envelopeethe notions of unit, concrete entity, and reality. But if there is no fundamental I Foru, function,andmeaning of combine makethe classing theparteof to epeech evenmoredifficult in Engtisb thanin French.Cf. tetful: tet ful it a bt-foot pole:tlw ph it tenfed lonC. lTtr.l

betweenthesediversenotions,it follows that the prob' difterence 'Whether we try to ways. in Iem canbe ststd zuccessively aeveral entity, or value, we alwayncome definethe unit, reality, concrete all thet dominsts of ststic linguistics' backto the centralquestion It wouldbe interestingfrom a practicalviewpoint to beginwith for what they areandto aceount their diversity units, to determine for to them. It wouldbe necessary search the r'eason by classifying for dividing laoguug"into words-for in spite of the difficulty of defining it, the word is a unit that strikes the mind, something centralin ifie 'sshsnism of languag*but thst iBa subjectwhich by itself would fill a volume.Next we would have to classifythe units, etc. By determiningin t'his way zubunits,then the la,rger the elementsthat it manipulates,synchroniclinguistics would completelyfulfiU its task, for it would relate all s;ncbronic p!e' principle.rt crnnot be saidthst this oo-"o" to tueir funda,mental and basicproblemhas ever beenfacedsquarelyor that its scope people in aifficutty havebeenunderstood; the matter of languege, have alwaysbeensstisfiedwith ildefined units. it Still, in spite of their capitalimporbance, is better to approanh the problemof units throughthe sbudyof volue,for in ny opinion value is of prime importan@.

ClwptnIV LINGUISTIC VALUE

l. Imtglnge u Orgart;ind mmtght Coupl'efisith Smnd is To prove that lranguage only a system of pure values, it ie enough to consider the two elemeDtsinvolved in its functioning: ideas and sounds. Psychologically our thought--apart from its expressionin words -is lnty Jshepeless and indistinct mass. Philosophers and linguists have always agreed in recognizing that without the help of im" we would be unable to make a clear-cut, consistnt distinction

II2

COI'RSE IN GENERALLINGIIISTICS

LINGIIISTTC VALUE

I13

'Without between two ideas. language, thought is a vague, unchar&ednebula. There ane no pre-existing ideas, and nothing is distinct before the appearanceof language. Ageinst the floating realm of thought, would sounds by themeelvesyield predelimited entities? No more so than ideas. pbonic zubstance is neither more fixed nor more rigid than thought; it ie not a mold into which thought must of necessity fit but a plastic gubstancedivided in turn into distinct parts to fumish the signifiers needed by thought. The linguistic fact can thercfore be pictured in its totality-i.e. language--as a seriesof contiguous subdivisions ma,rked off on both the indefinite plane of jumbled ideas (d) and the equally vague plane of sounds (B). The following diagra,m gives a rough idea of it:

p. word asit wasdefnedearlier (eee 10),Eachtinguistic term is a in member,an art/icltlus which an idea is fixed in a soundand a the soundbecomes signof an idea. with a sheetof psper: thought Language alsobe compared can is the front and the soundthe back; onecannotcut the front withone time; likewieein language, out cutting the back at the sa,me c8n neither divide soundfrom thought nor thouglt from sound; only abstractcdln and the the division could be accomplished reeultwould be either pur psycholoryor purt phonolos/. of wherethe eleme,nts Linguisticsthen worksin the borderland prod'unesfont, tnt a tltei'rcombhati'on nnd thought combine; eound
o flhatf,noa

The characteristic role of languagewith respect to thought is not to create a material phonic meansfor exprcssingideas but to serve sB g link between thought and sound, under conditions that of necessity bring about the reciprocal delimitations of units. Thought, chsotic by nature, has to beeomeordered in tne proces{t of its decomposition. Neither are thoughts given material form nor are sounds trandormed into mental entities; the somewhat mysterious fact is rather that "thought-sound,, implies division, and that language works out its units while taking shape between two shapeless masses.Visualize the air in contact with a sheet of water; if the atmospheric pres$ue changes, the surface of the watpr will be broken up into a seriesof divisions, waves; the waves resemble the union or coupling of thought with phonic substence. Language might be called the domain of articulations, using tho

of viewsgiveabetter understanding wbatwas e&idbefot These t'he (see 07fr.) aboutthe arbitrariness signs. Not only a're two pp. of and that a,relinked by the linguistic fact shapeless confleprinn a of but fuEed, the choice a given eliceof soundto na,me givenidea is completelyarbitrury. lf this werenot true, the notion of value for wouldbe compromised, it would includean externallyimposed element.But ectually valuesremainentirely reletive, and that is why the bond betweenthe sound and the idea is radically arbitrary. iD The arbitrary natlre of the signexplains fiun why t'hesocial The communityis necec' fact alonecancreatea linguisbicsystem. and general solelyto ue88e earyif valueethet owetheir existence are acceptance to be set up; by himselfthe individual is incapable of fting a singlevalue. shows that to coDnider In addition,ttre ideaof value, asdefined, with a certainconcept e termaseinply the unionof a certainsound To ie gossly misleading. defineit in this way would isolste the that one can gtart' from its system;it would meanassuming ters. by the termsand constructthe syetem addingthem togother from whole that when, on the contrery, it is from the interdependent analysisobtain its elements. onemust start and t'hrough from To developthis thesis,we shsll study value successively (Section2), the nigniffel the vierrpoint of the signifiedor concept (Section and tho completesign (Section4). 3), entities or units of language Beingunableto seize concrete the directln we ehallwork with worde.While the word doesnot con-

2Za
-..'".'r:m?

lla

@UNsE IN GENURALLINGUISTICS

LINGIIISTIC VAI,UE

fom uactly to the definition of the ringuirtic unit (aeep. rOu), it at least bearsa rougb resemblance the unit andhas th";to vantsge of being concretelconsequentrn nhall use words as we specimens equivalentto realtermein a synchronic s5rstem, tue and principles that we evolve with respectto wordswill be o"ua lo. entities in general. 2. IriNryistio Valu lron a ConcephnlViaDpoint when we speakof the vclue of a word,we generalry think first of its properf,yof standingfor an idea,and tnir i" in fect ooeside or linguistic value. But if +.his trug how doa6 is aafucdiff.; i; signifinationt Might the -two yords be qmonyms?I think not, although it is easyto confuse f[em, sinssth" cootu.ionresultgnot somuehfrom their nimilali6yasfrom the subgetyof the dt th;ti; that they mark. viewpoint, varueis doubiless elementin one - FI9- a conceptual nignification,and it is diffisult_.to how nigniff6gfiqn see ..-b" d; pendentuponvalueand stiu bedistinct fromlt. But we must clesE up tho isflre or risk reducingransreggto a simprena,ning-process (eee 65). p. Let us first take significationasit is generallyunderstood as and it waspictured on page67.As the aoowsio th" d""*i";;;;it; only the counterpartof the sound-image. EverythingTn"i"rr"* c-oncenu only the sound-image the concept and whenwetook upou tho word as independent self-conta.ined. and

r,anguage a system interdependent is of termsin wuiJn ine valueof eachtermresults solelyfrom the simultsn** p**o* of the others, in the diagram: as

But here is the paradox: on the onehand the conceptseeme to be . thecounterpart of the sound-image,and on the otheriand the siga iteelf is in turn the counterpart of the other eigns of languafe.

I@I

i.e' with signification, the counIIow, then, canvalue be confused It seems impo*sibleto liken the rela. terpsrt of the sound-image? to here by horizontata,rrows thoserepresented tions represented (p. fU) by verticat arrowa.Putting it anotherway+nd above of sgtrintakint up the exa,mple the sheetof peperthat is cut in two the relationbetween difp. ll3)-i[ ;r .1ear that the observable t*" pieces B, C, D, etc. is distinct from the rclrtion between A, iereot pieceasia L/L',BfB', et'c' the front and backof the sa,me from the outset thet even iesue, us obEerve let To resolvethe by all valuesare apparentlygoverned the same outsidelanguage principle.They are alwayscomposed: paradoxical (1) of a abAmitnr thing that can be aclwngd for the thing of which the value is to be determined;and (2) of similnr things that can be corn'pordwith the t'hing of which the value is to be determined. of for Both factorgsre neoeessrJr the xisteDce e value' To de' terminewhat a fivefranc pieceis worth onemugtthereforeLnow: for (1) that it canbeexchanged e fixedquantity of a difrerentthing wit'h i.i. Ut"tA; and (2) thtt it canbe compa,red s Aimilnrvalus ef of e.g. the sames5rstem, a one-francpiece,or wit'h coryLs got'he1 nlr., u. -.-' wsy (a eysbem dolla,r,etc.). In the sa,me a word can be exchanged .'.with lrto,6icd'n it an dissimiibr, idea;beeides, canbe compaled tor eomething I ' nature,anotherword. Its valueis therefore olthe sg,me something r'63ch&ngedtt not fixed so long as oneei-ply statsthat it can be for a given concept,i.e. that it h88this or t'hat sig"tinsation:one it must also compa,re with similar values,wit'h ot'h9rwords that stand in oppo.itioo to it. Its eontent is reelly fixed only by the of concurrence everythingthat existEoutsideit. Being part of a not system,it is endowed only with a significationbrrt also and quite differeat' with a value,and this is somet'hing especially will show clearly thot this is tme. Modern a f"w examplea French moutmt cal-have the ssms simification as English stpep particulerly value, and this for severelrs88on8, but not the s8,me in speskinsof a pieceof meat ready to bo servedon the besause

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LLI

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Ltr.rri.rg!!!r't!llt-.-

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110

@URSE IN GENERAI, LINGI]IfITICS

VALTIE LTNGITTSTTC

lt?

table, English um multonand not sltcep. A\e differcnce value in between slwepandnaldon,is due to the fact that cluepbubeside it a second term while the trbench word doesnot. Within the samelanguage, worde uced to express all related ideaslimit eachother reciprocally;'synonyme trtenchredm.ter like 'dre&dr'qairdte tfear,' and a:oir pettr,be sfraid, have value only through their opposition:if rdmder did not exist, all its content would go to its competitors. Conversely, Bome wordsare enriched through contact with othere:e.g. the new elementintroducedin difrW (un vieilla,rd il&cr@t, see p. Sg) rsults from the coexistence dfaepi (un mur iloepr). The value of just any term of is accordinglydeterminedby its environment;it is imposaible to fix eventhe value of the word nipifying (sun,, without first con_ sideringi1r .u11'eundingg: somelanguagps is not possibleto in it say "sit in the e?rn." Everything said about wordsapplim to any term of language, e.g.to gra,mmefcat entities.The valueof a trhench plural does not coincidewith thst of a Sanskrit plural even though their significetion is usually identical; sarshit has tbrenumbere i""tead of two (myege.srrny eo?s,mg artnsrnylegaretc. a,redual);.itwotrld be wrongto attribute the sa,me valueto the plural in Sanskritand in trbench; value clearlydepends what is outsideand around its on it. ff words stood for preexisting eoncepts, they would all havo exactequivalentsin meaningfrom onelanguage the next; but to thin is not tnre. Ilench u*,slo?tcr(urwmaison)let (a house)'indifrerently to mean both ,,pay for" and .,rcceivepa5mentfor,,' whereas Germanusesttro worde,mictsn and amttintcn;there is obviouslyoo exact corrcspondence v.alues. of The Germanverbs sclfitzpn and'urteilnn share a number of significations,but tbat correspondence not hold at eeverslpoints. does Tnfection ofrers some particula^rlystriking exa,mples. Dis. tinctione of time, which anesofa,miliarto us, a,re unloown in certoin langusges. Eebrew doesnot recognize eventhe funda,mental
. . 1!" q*-gf-the comparativeform for two and the ouperlativeformorB tban gwo r? Ifng;lish (e.g. may tfu bel+at botnr vin: tlw benlb bsnr in tL, 'u,rld) u plobabfv a ttmleot of the old digtinetion betweeutbe dual and the plural number. [Tr.]

distinctions between the past, prrsent, and future. ProtoGetqani. has no special form for the future; to say that the future is e\pressedby the present is wrong, for the value of the present \ not in the sa,me Germanic asin languagesthat have a future along p'i1tr the present. The Slavic languagesregularly single out two asps"ctg of the verb: the perfective representsaction aea point, completrstr its totality; the imperfective representsit as taking place, an6 so the line of time. The categoriesare difrcult for a Frenchmall 16 understand, for they 4,rc unknown in French; if they were prg determined, this would not be true. Instcad of pre-existing ideqg then, we find in all the foregoing examplesttohns emanat'ing flob the system. When they are said to correspond to concepts, it ig understood that the concepts are purely difrerential and defis66 not by their positive content but negatively by t'heir relations y'itr5 the other terms of the system. Their most precise characterisfis 18 in being what the others are not. Now the real interpretation of the diagra'm of the "ign al becomes appa,rent.Thus

meansthat in French the coneept "to iudge" is linLed to the so\11dimage iuger; in short, it symbolizes signification. But it is quite clear that initially the concept is nothing, that i8 only a vglue determined by its relations with other similsr values, and that without them the Bigmifissli6t would not exist. If I stete ei&ply that a word signifies something when I have in mind the associating of a sound-imagewith a concept, I a'm making a statehsqX that may suggest what actually happens, but by no meslrs.am t and fullness. expreming the linguistic fact in its eesence 3. Li,nguisti,cVahu fron a Matsri.ol' Vie'wpoirtt The conceptual side of value ie made up solely of relations qnd differences with respect to the other terms of language, and ths

t@l

.7*Z'7

118

COI'RsE IN GENERALLINGUI8TICS

LINGI'I8flC VALI'E

119

f'1clion, then, not through their intrinsic varuetut tirougt in?u relative position. rnaddit'ion, itr;g impossible eoundalone,a material element, for to belongto language. is only a secondary ft thing, substance toG put to use.Au our conventional valueshave thJcharacteristie of not beingconfusedwiththe tangibleelement whi.n *ppo"t" tu".. Fo-rinstsnce,it is not the metal in a pieceof moneyihat fixeeits value. A coin uominally worth five francs may contain lessthan hau its worth of eilver.rts varuewil vary according the ,-o*t to sta'npeduponit and according its useinsideor outsidea poritito cal boundary. This is even more true of the linguistic ri;G;;, which is not phonic but incorporeal-constituted-not uv iG .r,.

same can be said of its mstrial eide. rhe importrant thing in the word ig not the sound alone but the phonic dr'fierencesthat make it possible to distinguish thin word from all otb.ers,fo, ar.n"reoces carry nignification. This mby eeemzurprising but hoq indeed could the reveme bo possible? since one vocal image is no better zuitd than the next for wbat it is commigEioned express,it ig evident, even o pri*, to t'hat a segment of language can never in the final enelysi' bsbased on anything except its noncoincidencewith the rest. Arbitrary ro'd. d,ifermtial are two correlative qualities. The alteration of linguistic signs clearly illustrates this. rt ig precisely becausethe terms o and Das suchar radically incapable of rcaching the level of conseioum.esHne is always conscious of only the o/b difrerenc*that each term is free to change according to laws that are unrelated to its eignifying function. Irio positive eign characteizea the genitive plural in Czech /m, (ree p. g6); still the two forms rena: lnt function as well as the to"-u lnno: lanb; Iilhss value only beceuseit is different. """u.i Eere is anoth.er exa,mplethat ehoweeven more clearly the eyr telatic role of phonic differencee:in Greek, ephat r'an imperfect and' 6stat an aorist although both words are lormed in the ssme way; 4e first belongs to the sys0emof the present indicative of pldrn't'r aay,' whereasthere is no prcsent .ddm,i; now it is preciseh the relation phanz: epharthatcorr.,espondsto the relation between the present and the imperfect (cf. drirmfumi: edbircnrin, etc.). signs

tbst eeparateits soutrdbut by the differences terial substnco ot'here. imasefrom all T[e foregoingprinciple is so bssic thst it applies to 8ll the Every lanmaterial elementsof language,including phonemes. ele' guegefoms its wordaon t'he basieof a systemof sonorous eachelementbeing a clearly delimited unit and oue of a il.o--tu, arc fixed number of r:nits. Phonemes ch$asterized not, as ono think, by their own pcaitive quality but eimply bv the {ect migbt a,re tn"t tn y arc distinct. Phonemes above all else oppooing' negativeentities. relative, and points have between Proof of this iB the latitude that epeakers In in the pronunciationof ai"tinct sounds. trhencht of convergence nany epeaknot general of a dorsslr dos prrevent use for instan-ce, is a tongu+tip trill; language not in t'heleast clts' erefrom using turbed by it;-fauguagerequiresonly that the eoundbe difrerent quslily' and not, as onenigbt imagine,that it have8n inva,riable the evenpronounce Frenchr like German chrt Baah,ilncll, I cen etc., but in GermanI could not ueor instadof c[, for German gives recognitionto both elementsand must keep them ap*' thereis no latitude for I in thJ directionof l' 5i-it""ty, L Ruesian of (palatalized for the result would be the confuEing two souods t), 'glreak' and gntil'be by difrerentirated the language(cf. gnorit' to but speaks'), morefreedon may be takenwith reepect & (asptrit"A li sincethis sounddoesnot figurein the Rusaisnsyato of phonemes. in Sincean identicsl state of a'frairsis obgervable writing' another systemof signs,we shall uso writing to draw somecoBparisons thst wiil clarify the wholeissue.In fact: 1) The siggs used in writing are arbitra'ry; there is no con; ouriioo, for exanple, betweenth" lettet t and the soundtbst it deeignates. Zitne value of letters is purety negativeand difrerential The personcanwrito t, for instance,in different ways: salrre

@URSE IN GSNM,AL LINGIIISTICS

LINGI]ISTIC VALI'E

the only requirement is thst the gtg', for ! not be confused in hi8 ecript with the sipslsused for l, d, etc. 3) Yalues in writing function only through reciprocal opposition within a fixed sysbemthat consistsof a set number of letters. Thig third characteristiq though not identical to the second, is closely re}ated to it, for both depend on the first. Since the graphic sign is arbitrary, its form matters little or rather mattcrs only within trfus limitations imposed by the system. 4) The meanF by which the sign is produced is completely unimportant, for it doesnot a,frectthe system (this also follows from characteristic 1). Whether I make the letters in white or black, raised or engraved, with pen or chisel--all thie is of no importanco with respect to their eiglific8fi.r. 4. Tlw Sign Co??s;d6ed lts Totnlity in Everything that hns been said up to t\is point boils down to this: in language there are only differences.Even morc important: a difrerence generally implies positive terms between which the difference is set up; but in language therc a,re only difrerenees witlwutpotttbe larns. whether we take the signified or the signifier, lsnguage has neither ideas nor sounds that existed before tU" ti"guistic eystem, but only conceptual and phonic difrerences thst have issued from the system. The idea or phonic substancethat e aign contains is of less importance thnn the other siens that surround it. Proof of this iB thst the value of a term may be modified without either its meaning or its sound being a,fiected,eolely be. causea neighboring term has been modified (seep. 11b). But the statement that everything in language is negative is true only if the signified and the sigrifier are consideredseparately; when we consider the sign in its totality, we have something that is positive in its own cla^ss. linguistic system is a seriesof difrerA encesof sound combined with a seriesof difrerencesof ideas; but the pairing of a certain number of acoustical signs with * -"oy cuts made from the massof thought engendersa system of values; and this system Beryes the efrective link between the phonic and as psychological elements within each sigu. Although both the signified and the signifier are purely differential and negative when considercd sepa,rately, their combination is a positive fact; it is

hos, eventhe aoletype of facts that languagB for maintainingthe is of the paralleliryrbetween two classes differences the diEtinctive function of the linguistic institution. e,ertain diachronicfacts 8,reqrpical in this respest.Take t'he where alteration of the signifier occasions"a instanceE countles8 conceptualchangeand where it is obviousthat the sum of the in corresponds principleto the sumof the disideas-distinguished tinctive etgne.When two words are confusedt'hroughphonetic and illcttpi. fuom alteration (e.g. Flene,hdlirepil ftom ilzcreyittrs eonwill the cri$pus), ideasthat they exprress slEotend to become in fuo4 it only they havesomething co'rmon.Or a word may have difrerentforms (cf. einiae'cbari, and,clwite'desk')' Any nrscent significsntbut without will difrerence tnd invariably to become on or succeeding beingsuccesdul the first tli8l, conversely, always by difrereneaperceived the mind meksto find ex' any conceptual pressiontbrougb a distinst cigniffer,and two ideas that aFetro signifier. ioog.t distinct in the mind tend to mergeinto the sa,me signs-positive terms-wit'h eachot'her,we Wh"o we comps,re would not be csn no longer speakof difrerence;the expression of Otting,for it applieaonly to the comparing two sound-imagee' e.g.father eirrd.nntlw,or two ideas,e.g.the ides "father" and the eachhevinga signifiedand signifier'a're idea"mother"; two eigns, not difrerentbut only distinct. Betweenthem there is only oppowith which we shsll be Eilion.The entire mechanim of language, latpr, is basedon oppositionsof this kind and on the concerned that they imply. differences phonicand conceptual Wbst is tme of value is tnre alsoof the unit (seepp' 110fr')' A to chainthst conesponds a certain of unit i8 a segment the epoken concept;both a'reby natu purcly difrerent^ial. epifiin to units, ihe principleoi difrerentiationeanbeststedin of this way: tlw cle,r6rjt/,rktias ttu mitblnd wiih tlw mit ituclt'Ie system,whetverAi$inguishe8 as language, in any smiological character makes it. from the othergconstitut8 Difference one-sign as it makesvalue and the unit. iust of corxpquenc the sane principleis Anotherrather paradoxical what is comnonly referredto asa "g8tnthis: in the last analysis matical fact" fits the definition of the unit, for it alwaysexprc8se8 an oppositionof terms; it difrers only in t'hat the oppoeitionis

724

IXz

@I'NSE IN GENER,AI,I,INGIIISTICS

EYNTAGMATIC AND ASSOCIATTSE NEI,A'IIONS

pluralsof tho part'icularlysigniffcantr the formation of German (e.g. fact type Nuht: Ndchln).Each tem presentin the gra,mmatical (the singularwithout umbut or ffnal e in oppoaition the plural to of with umlaut and-) consists the interplay of a numberof oppoeitionswithin the system.Whenisolated,neither Nuhtnor Ndchtp is anything: thus everythingis opposition.Putting it anotherway, relationcanbeexpreesed an algebraic by formulr theNuht: Ndchta a/binwhich c and b are not simpleterns but rcsult from a set of in is relations.Language, a mannerof speaking, a type of algebra of solelyof complex terms.Some itsoppoaitions moFs are conaisting fects are only but than othens; units and grammet'ical signifisantr general for of diverseaspects the sa,me difrerentnameg designating This statementis so fact: the funetioningof linguistic oppositione. true that we might very well approachthe problem of units by facts. Taking an oppositionbke Nuht: starting from grammatical Ndrhtp,we mig[t ask what are the units involved in it. Are they of only the two words,the wholeseries similarwords,c andd, or all singularsand plurals,etc.? facts if Units and gna,mmatical would not be confused linguistie besides weremadeup of something differsnces. language But aigns of beingwhet it is, we ehnllfind nothing simplein it regardless our approach; everywhereand always t'here is the s8,mecomplex equilibriun of terms that mutually conditioneachother. Putting (see ia it anotherway,lnryiuage o tonn,ord not o stlbstorce p. 113). This truth could not be overstressed, all the mistakesin our for teminologr, all our incorrectways of nnmingthingnthet pertain to language,stm from the involuntary suppositioDthat the linguistic phenomenon nust hsve gtrbstance.

Relations and difrerencesbetween linguistic terms fsll into two digtinct groups, each of which generates a certain class of values. The opposition between the tq.o clastrs gives a better understandto two foms of ing of the nature of each chffiEf,tb-rreapond our mental activity, both indispensable to the life of language. In discourse, on the one hand, words acquire relations based on the liiffifure of language becausethey are cheined together. Thig rules out the possibility of pronouncing two elements Bimultaneously (see p. 70). The elements are a,rrangedin sequence on the chain of speaking. ComUination" zupporrcA Uv mea wd,aqtna.t The qrutagm is always composed of two or more conregutive units (e.g. French re-l;ire'r-radr' contre tou,s 'egainst syeryoner' ln dp hlt rwitu'human hfer' Dieu est bon'God is Bodr' CiI faitbau tnnps, now wrtirow'if the weather is nice, we'll go lout,' etc.). In the syntsgn a term acquires its velue only because precedesor fpllows it, lit Btands in opposition to ever5rthing that pr to both. Aeu^,..,.-i-k-;** -5uv\-& N-5

OUtSae@,

a_ditrerent kind. Those that have something in common are a,ss(> ciated in the memory, resulting in grouw marked by diverse re'teaching'will .lations. For instance, the French wordensei,penant unconsciously call to mind a host of other words (maeigner'tarchr' rmseignpr'acquaintrt etc.l or amenont'am.a,mentr' clmgemant ta,mendment,' etn.; or hdnnotion'educationr' opprmtiaeqe'ay prenticeship,' etc.). All those words are relatcd in someway. We see thet the eo'ordinations formed outside discourse difrer strikingly from those formed inside discourse. Those fomed out-

on the other hand,@

df

eidediscouree not supportedby linearity. Theif..pegt-isiil&) art brain; they are I psrt of the inner storehouse tbet Bskes up the kerThe

Ctnptn Y SYI.ITAGI\IATIC AND ASSOCHTM RELATIONS

fn.
ative relation units terms ir absenliain a ootential mnemonio
more termg thet ocsur in a,Leffectiveseries.Againsb this, the associFlom the assocbtive and syntagmatic viewpoint a linguistic

-eqgs.

l. Defiiitions In a language.state everything is basedon relations. Eow do they function?

r It is aca,lcly neoeosaly to point out that the etudy of eyztcAae is not to be confused with eyntar Syutax is only one part of the rtudy of eyntagmr

(ce pp. r34fi.). tEd.l

LL>

I24 . @I]RSE IN GENER,AL IINGUISfiCS Qr.,9rai.*F- qm.Ao$1 unit is like e nxdba* of a building, e.B. a column. On the one hand, the eolumn has a certein relation to the arehitrave that it zupports; the a,rrangementof the two units in spsce suggeststhe qptagmatic relation. On the other hand, if the column ie Doric, it quggesgq mental cqmpEison of this style ATE-6Tm-Toffc, a Corinthian, etc.) although none of these effints is present in spsc: the relation is associative. Each of the twoiffiord.ination calls for some specific remarks. 2. SUntng?wticRelatiorc The exa,mples pagp 123have already indicated that the notion on of syn-1bagL-applggnot only to words butlS-g9Jp!_gf words, to complex units of ell lengths and types (compounds,deriv-dfves, phrases,wholeffi It is not enougb to consider the relation that ties together the difrerent parts of qmta,gms (e.g. tr'rench oontre.a,geinst, and totn 'everyone' in cultre ttus, oonlre and mal,tre.master' in conlremnttre 'foreman')f one mugt also trear rggind the relation that links th Ehge-tejts pg$g (e.9. contre tousin opposition on the one hand to contre and on the other toua, or oontremntlrein opposition to contre and,mattre). An objection night be raised at this poin!. The_senltnce the is

BELATIONS STNTAGMATIC AND ASSOCIATTVE

L%

'bV.{it of (sorzs,etc') et9')i !tmce,de (aheadache, tfue,etc.)'have do you feel aboutit?' poa en (car", Euc aous surful'e)?'how "i..),' etfr',whichary.c!ry iiiw"ai'a"-. . .'ther'gnoneedfor''',' or syntax. Theseidiom&tiC

bv. P""-pl:.133rt* chsracterizedsomc ;;ytit, a,re "*l*1 19:..I .difindir.'difrcurtv'--,!:m

aleeP').e
s r@6u"6vt 'luo!r*U ' a rym.i.ol ;dr-if rrnsuGnr" regi*ered. ."9h1_1rHt-ilty: Indedr $nce ureFe l8 uouuuE

;"?iltlrUdil"i"t"e."("f '[q aonn;'at sbsll beside 'h"udie' A;ifi,T#i,Jiiiiii'trr

fr')'itg (se in arises speaking pp'167 ffi"o *o:,Alilrcnal&anlz " t,h*ttry it T tlT pryll: suppoees;fi.J ffpe,19il sppearance p"ryH. rcgular builr_upon groups words of

of t"membtance a zufrcientnumberof similsrwordg ;ilth""tgh Qn'pordotfrln-'unpardonablehtnwablz u.riog"g io tanguage'indetaugauel' tE etc')' Exactly-t'he83me 'ioto6r"5t,' ;nfafudlz "

@nuti-tEtoossto"pea@ (see 14).Does not followthat the syntsgpbeTAgB speakp. it to 'hink

ing? I do not tegm8 8neequslly trce. It is obvious from the first that many expressionsbelong to language. Thes are the pat phraeesin which any changeis prohibited by usage, even if we can single out their meaningful elements (cf. d qwi bon? 'what'a the use?' allnns donc! ,nonsenset,).The eameis tnrg thougb to a lesserdegree,of expressionslike prend,re mouclu ln ttake offense8sily,'7 la main d qnlqu,un,foree someone'g forcer han4' rottpre une lanm'bresk & lanee,,s or even wotr mat (d,ta
uaiter in lvnduoitpr. (tt.7 | 9f . F;ndiah hcad and. 'take the dy.' Cf. rrndish to*o t tl,ebunW &attona. (ft] ts:"tty r Q{. Irngfinh buV tlw tnt*t. Ui.)

:1mlrnat1qry; mwt one 91! '-

eo. Spgukillis

characterized by freedom

'the world tumg" qn owjlitil? "ia Conui*uo* like Io iiiw*t typeet'bst ale to 'wbat does sayto you?tetc. correspond general he remembrunces' hnguageby concrete -Bu; h tt * ;ppottud io-tn" . *"'-o"t rcalizethat in Ue qnrtap thery i8-nojE$rt fact, which is s -tgB ot couecuve l*-*ar"y U"t*."o the language on c and depends rnurl

tJ;i;;6".""

lffiiiithr t"ffiffi

proportions' ".il in -g tt,--a they havecombined indeterminable

;;"*

in have forces combinedproduc' both

'

eR'elations 3. Aegoci,atia thogebqged 9n ol,hergroupsbegrdes creatps Mental association in common;through of terms that have together, that btna the tr'ms its graspof the nature
a're diverm series 8s ffus mind creates 8s many associativerteaching,'there ensei'grw'tn*ch" relations. For instance, ; ;;g"t*"t in verbs trlench of I Theenomaly thedouble in thefuh[e forme cert8in r of 'l il;;!A-L-_G"srlai-pt*"lt-:d*.emaninEnslish'fft t"f

r2o

codnsp rN cENERALLrNcurgTtcs

lgE

MECSANISM OF LANGUAGE

IN

'(we) teach,' etc., oneelement,the rqlical, is common ensei.g?wts to everyterm; the sa,me wordmay oeeur a dfferlifrTffies-I6ffiel in aroundanothercommon element, sufrx (ct. enaeiryerna{ennb lhe meil, clmgencllt, etc.); or thu anslogy of the conceptsBignifie_d'(enwtgnenmt, instntdimt, apprentiuqe, Adunotion, etc.); or again, simply fro-..lhg_giogllgdt1 r0 . of tlg rgg!&irqages1g:gmseignen andi usterwnl"prc-rsel/). nr is at timqq_edoublesimilarity of meaninqand forn, Thus there ;at times dmilari with it in one way ot levoke everythirg that can be associated lanother. Whereas a an
and a fixed

of enseignenmr''l*g'P::':j:1" as ienot indefinit in the case ihis' tne *or& haveno fixed i" at"i"iilng"i"st , number of cases that the ilTv t p"*V a'rbitrarv act tho order of succecaion,li;li I iol""t"v t'ther tnao in another;inoue oooo"ti I srsmmarian first oT.t"'bl no Beatrsthe til";;;;;" I .ioa of speakers i" *uitu t""t" * cslleddependa io tu" declension, #il;; I' "id on cirgumstanceS'

ChaPlnVI TEE MECEANISM OF LAI'IGUAGE

atn painful, il,eligldful, fryl&ful, etc. we a,reunableto predict the number of words that the memory will zuggestor the order in lwhich they will appear.A particular word is like the center of a of /constellation; it is the point of convergence an indefinitenumber I of co-ordinated terms (Bee illustr&tion on page127). the But of tbe t'wo cha,racteristics the as8ocigtive of setieFindeterminqteor bA;effie,ilTFe-Becoi@TdlT666i the tesr. This happens in the caseof inflectionalparadigms, which are tlpical of associatiw groupings.Latin doninus, dotn:ini,donin6, etc. is obviously an associativeSoup formed around a coulmonele,ment, noun tho themedorwin-,but the seriesu

t'

results{romT*" languac The groupingsT sYntamat'ic' ***i-o assocl&tlve' sometimes bnsuase; this set ot ffAqy a.re both clasees for 'iJ;;t' its ,nd governs functioning' relstio* .ooJritot slanguEgre of language common y W t"in" *Zd'"tion What is most hnguage depend'onwhat "t"l""g parts' natin aotidaritin'',"Jtil;;il-t"i'" "r chain or ol their succssive surroundsthem in tn" 'potuo decomposes poinJrd e *it ur" bv This is Bhowu *;"Ji;;Joo'
becloutl t'ne fte-flgi!;lih' discar& asoociatiorgthat o{pY: of discorulo' But ite

m?ffffff.**pt*"l- ty*ti"r

constrtuts thst -q1rjT.ces relationsare colna'risons:the

oy isproveo 'i;#;;'i.afi. existence resur from pure and

fusiont thst can 'jiilil.rt" ir* les "tpl:-ilH"bTHliiio?",io-"ti"t"shake L. produieent aons f}:';it-**; mwiciens -, tcf .
qoue t".tu':Tlji^i.--ri"-*en ibere g,nsssociatron' 6hu ;'c"t^-"Jf;:blue': durtlpnu-

l#""J-yi#$SJH-T};

enseigner ensoignons
Gfc.

cl6ment iustemenf chongemenl

I

ii?*a"iiu'.hry9r5,tff#,9(&ffri?,trd4i-",1ryT*lm ff6 epea,re's"Not".1PJt'*ti.-i;;ff;*,ir*plo.taby,l.?TPjr?j*.9ii;;,'

ot' ns (cfFrench "p"''ffi;-'*Jida . the pointis-tbst one
[#i;;dt;) ; -

,elc.

oppronfi$oge
a

efc. dta.

6ducotion

ormemgnl

Lfr ;,*,fi ";-d"i(:*ii:f :rf.;:'f h,ffi ljlii'ii'iiffo"i";u;yarin ;;1,*ry;,t;-T{mf

F:-T=" ;.1H; J;orii-t"'ot io tl"

S"Hffi$i*

etc. etc. clc. olq , \ lc The lact case rare and canbe cla^rsed abnormal,for ttre mind nrfirally is ar

Sffi:ffi.l;'l")|ffi lhe cgneqo-lH *i G]"n"euil an*ti*- aoa

arriii7"i".; hoinitq' etn';owwl hdanvlvip,
fasiior.,etc. [Tr']

:,f :;fm,

j-z'1

F-<o \

f\n o*t\ino "1 Pt1Aq. S\tr\,Xs,i PART I

Contents

TheMind and lts Workings

SigmundFreud:A Bnef Life, by PeterGay Editor's Note Prefdce PART I THE MIND AND ITS WORKINGS
r n Iu rv v The Psychical Apparatus The Theory of the Instincts The Development of the SexualFunction PsychicalQualities Dream-lnterpretation as an lllustration

vil

7 9

1)

r7
ta

z8 38

PARTII THE PRACTICAL TASK

vr The Techniqueof Psycho-Analysis r vlt An Exampleof Psycho-Analytic Work 49 67

PARTIII THE THEORETICAL YIELD

vllr The Psychical Apparatus the Extemal and World World " rx The lntemal Addenda List of Abbreviations
structure 1933 modelof psvchic Freud's
From //en, Introductory Lectures on Psychoanlayis

8r 94 99

t W. W. Norton. .*

Y o 1 f t1 9 6 5 ,

ThePsychica! Apparatus

Psychoanalysis makesa basicasumption, the discussion of which is reservedto philosophical thought but the lustification for which lies in its results. We know two kinds of things about what we call our psyche (or mental life): 6rstly, its bodily organ and scene of action, the brain (or nervous system)and, on the other hand, our acts of consciousness, which are immediate data and cannot be further explained by any sort of description. Everything that lies between is unknown to us, and ihe data do not include any direct relation between these two terminal points of our knowledge. lf it existed, it would at the most afford an exact localization of the processes consciousness would give of and us no help towards understandingthem. Our two hypotheses start out from these ends or beginnings of our knowledge. The first is concernedwith localization.l'We assumethat mental life is the function of an apparatus to which we ascribe the characteristicsof being extended in space and of being made up of several portions-which we imagine, that is, as resembling a telescope or microscope or something of the kind. Notwithstanding some earlierattempts in the samedirection, the consistent
rlThe second is stated on p. z9 below.]

'1

'1 t / l a

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis
,

( ts

J ut.' Under influence therealextemal the of worldaround us,

one portion of the id has undergone a specialdevelopment. From what was originally a cortical layer, equipped with the organs for receiving stimuli and with arrangementsfor acting as a protective shield against stimuli, a special organization has arisen which henceforward acts as an intermediary between the id and the external world. To this region of our mind we have given the name ot:&. Here are the Pincifal characteristics oflhegeo, In consequenceof the pre-established connection between senseperception and muscular action, the ego has voluntary movement at its command. It has the task of self-presewation.As regardsexternal events, it performs that task by becoming aware of stimuli, by storing up experiences about them (in the memory), by avoiding excessively strong stimuli (through flight), by dealing with moderate stimuli (through adaptation) and finally by learning to bring about expedient changesin the external world to its own advantage(through activity). As regardsintemal events, in relation to the id, it
2This oldest portion of the psychical apparatusremains the most important throughout life; moreover, the investigationsof psycho-analysis started with it.

working-out of a conception such as this is a scientific novelty. We have arrived at our knowledge of this psychical apparatus by studying the individual development of human beings. To the oldest of these psychical provinces or agencies we give the name ofg;41It contains everything that is inherited, that is present at birth, that is laid down in the f constitution-above all, therefore, the instincts, which orig\ inate From the somatic organization and which find a first I psychical expressionhere [in the id] in forms unknown to

agencvin which this parentalinfuenffil6n-GlliFF-as received name of.tuberyEo.In so far asthis super-ego the is differentiated from the egoor is opposed it, it constito tutes a third powerwhich the ego must take into account. An action by the ego is as it should be if it satisfies simultaneously demands the id, of the super-ego the of and of reality-that is to say, if it is able to reconciietheir with one another.The detailsof the relationbel demands tweenthe egoand the super-ego become completely intelliI whenthey aretracedbackto the child'sattitude to its I Sible

performs that task by gaining cpntrol over the demands of the instincts, by deciding whether they are to be allowed satisfaction, by postponing that satisfaction to times and circumstances favourable in the external world or by suppressingtheir excitations entirely. It is guided in its activity by consideration of the tensions produced by stimuli, whether these tensions are present in it or introduced into it. The raising of these tensions is in general telt as unpleasure and their lowering as pleasure. It is probable, however, l or is I that what is felt as pleasure unpleasure not the absolute lheight of this tension but something in the rhythm of the I changesin them. The ego strivesafter pleasureand seeksto avoid unpleasure.An increasein unpleasurethat is expected and foreseenis met by a signal of anxiety; the occasion of such an increase, whether it threatens from without or within, is known as a danger. From time to time the ego gives up its connection with the external world and withdraws into the state ofsleep in which it jblceqtlgglgglization. It is tobe irFerred from the statd of sleep thalttiGi@ilon consistsin a particular distribution of mental energy. The long period of childhood, during which the growing human being lives in dependence on his parents,-leaves behind it asa precipitate the formation in his ego of a special .r-

t6)

SIGMUND

FREUD

This parentalinfluence course of includes its in I parents. parents not of but I operation onlythe personalities theactual alsothe family, racialand nationaltraditions handedon I of I throughthem, as well as the demands the immediate tsocial milieu which they represent. the sameway, the In in of development, . super-ego, the course an individual's receives contributions from later successors substitutes and of his parents, in suchasteachers models public life of and admiredsocialideals.It will be observed that- for all their
fundamental difference, the id and the super-egohave one thing in common: they both representthe infuences of the past-the id the influence of heredity, the super-ego the influence, essentially,of what is taken over from other people-whereas the ego is principally determined by the individual's own experience,that is by accidentaland contemporary events. This general schematic picture of a psychical apparatus may be supposed to apply as well to the higher animals which resemble man mentally. A super+go must be presumed to be presentwherever,as is the casewith man, there is a long period of dependencein childhood. A distinction between ego and id is an unavoidable assumption. Animal psychology has not yet taken in hand the interesting problem which is here presented.

The Theory the Instincts of

i u ou"t orn"nism'slife, This consists the satisfaction its' in of innate needs.No such purposeas that of keeping itself alive or of protecting itself from dangersby meansof anxiety can be attributed to the id. That is the task of the ego, whose businessit also is to discover the most favourable and least perilous method of obtaining satisfaction, taking the external world into account. The super-egomay bring fresh needs to.th_efore. but its mainffif satisfactions The forces which we assumeto exist behind the tensions caused by the needs of the id are called instincfs. They ,.p."r.ni the somatic demands upon theliliiFihough thly are the ,r" of " conservativenafure; the state, whatever it may be, which an organismhas so soon as it has ed. It is thus

possibleto distinguishan indeterminatenumber of instincts, and in common practice this is in fact done. For us, however, the important question ariseswhether it may not be possible to trace all these numerous instincts back to a few basic ones. We have found that instincts can chanse their aim (by displacement) and also [EITFffi-rc

18)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

(19

one another-the energy of one instinct passing over to fiibtfiEi:TFis latter processis still insufficiently understood. After long hesitanciesand vacillations we have decided to assumethe existenceof only two basic instincts. Eros and

tlg-ltst*rtt,

i"ttircl (fhe cffi

of self-presewationand the preservation of the species,as well as the contrast between ego-love and obiectJove, fall lwithin Eros.) The aim of the first of thesebasic instincts is Ito establishever greater unities and to preservethem thus{in short, to bind together;the aim of the secondis, on the lcontrary, to undo connectionsand so to destroythings. In the caseof the destructive instinct we may supposethat its final aim is to lead what is living into an inorganicstate.For this reason we also call it the death instinct. If we assume that Iiving thirigs came later thffii'ifrZ'ones and arose from them, then the death instinct fits in with the formula we have proposed to the eftect that instincts tend towards a return to an earlier state. In the caseof Eros (or the love instinct) we cannot apply this formula. To do so would presuppose that living substancewasonce a unity which had later been tom apart and was now striving towards reunion.l In biological functions the two basic instincts operate ,against each other or combine with each other. Thus, the lact of eating is a destruction of the obiect with the final aim pf incorporating it, and the sexualact is an act of aggression fvith the purpose of the most intimate union. This concurrCreativewritershaveimagined something the sort,but nothinglike it of f, liis knownto us from the actualhistoryof living substance. [Freudno doubt lihad in mind among other writings Plato's Syrnposiun which he had f,quotedin this connection Beyond Pleasure in the Principle$9zog), Standard Ed., 18, 57-8, and to which he had alludedearlierstill, in the 6rst of the ThreeEssays the Theory Sexuality(tgoSd),Standard on of Ed., 7, r36.-1.P.L.,4, 5r-2, and,57,z.l

rent and mutually opposingaction of the two basic rnstincts givesriseto the whole variegation the phenomenaof iife. of {The analogy of our two basic instincts extends from the f sphere of living things to the pair of opposing forcesI attraction and repulsion-which rule in the inorganic I world.2 Modifications in the proportions of the fusion between the instincts have the most tangible results. A surplus of sexualaggressiveness turn a lover into a sex-murderer, will while a sharp diminution in the aggressive factor wiil make him bashful or impotent. There can be no question of restricting one or the other of the basic instincts to one of the provincesof the mind. They must necessarilybe met with everywhere. We may picture an initial state as one in which the total available ich henceforward we shal

resent. (We are without a term analogous ing the energy of the destruciive instinct.) At a later stage it becomes relatively easy for us to follow the vicissitudesof the libido, but this is more difficult with the destructiveinstinct. So long as that instinct operates internally, as a death instinct, it remainssilent; it only comesto our notice when it is diverted outwards as an instinct of destruction. it seems
2This picture of the basic forces or instincts, which still arouses much opposition among analysts, was already familiar to the philosopher Empedoclesof Acragas. [Freud had discussedEmpedocles and his theories at 'Analysis Terminable and some length in Section VI of his paper on Interminable' (rsll"),5.E., 27,245. He had included a referenceto the dual forces operating in physics in his open letter to Einstein, Why War? Ostb), Standod Ed., zz, zo9, as well as in lrcture XXXII of the New IntroductoryLecturcs (rgZlo), ibid., ro3.] 3[See footnote, p. zr below.]

R;
.t*\=l
J_

20)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

( 2r

::3,1 '.:.i.:

:::.::

to be essentialfor the preservationof the individual that this diversion should occur; the muscular apparatus servesthis lpurpose. Wlren the super-ego is established,considerable instinct are fixated in the interior ]amounts of the aggressive the ego and operate there self-destructively.This is one lof of the dangers to health by which human beings are faced

on their path to culturaldevelopment.'Holding aggrgsback .iveness in gene'^lnnhealthy (to is and leads illness morto
tificationa). A person in a fit of rage will often demonstrate

how the transitionfrom aggressiveness has been prethat ventedto self-destructiveness is broughtaboutby diverting the aggressiveness against himself:he tearshis hair or beats his facewith his 6sts,thoughhe wouldevidentlyhavepreferredto applythis treatmentto someone Someportion else. of self-destructiveness remains within. whatever circumthe stances; at lastit succeeds killing the individual, till in not, perhaps, until his libido has been usedup or fixated in a way. be ldisadvantageous Thus it may in general suspected that the individual diesof his internal conflicts that the but f diesof its unsuccessful struggle the against external lspecies if the latter changes a fashion in which cannotbe lworld which the species dealtwith by the adaptations ladequately lhas acquired. It is hard to sayanythingof the behaviour the libido of in the id and in the super-ego. that we know about it All quota relates the ego,in which at first the wholeavailable to primary of libido is storedup. We call this stateabsolute, It of lnarcissism. laststill the egobeginsto cathectthe ideas with libido, to transformnarcissistic libido into obloUl."tr ject-libido.Throughout wholeof life theegoremains the the
+l'Kriinkung'meansliterally'making ill'. This samepoint, including the verbalone,wasmadeby Freudin a lectureon hysteria delivered forty-five yearspreviously. Freud, r8g3h,Standard See Ed., S, Zl.l

great reservoir from which libidinal cathexesare sent out to objects and into which they are also once more withdrawn, iust as an amoeba behaveswith its pseudopodia.sIt is only when a person is completely in love that the main quota of libido is transferred on to the oblect and the obiect to some extent takes the place of the ego. A characteristic of the libido which is importaut in life is its mobility, the facility with which it passes from one obleciT6Gffir. This must be contrasted with the fixdtion of the libido to particular objects, which often peiG6Tfrioughout life.

sources. it strea that

is most clearly seenin the case which. from its instinctual aim. is described as sexual excitation. The most prominent of the parts of the body from which this libido arisesare known by 'erotogenic the name of zones', though in fact the whole body is an erotogenic zone of thism lts expG ,ry, "-u, nent, the libide-has been gained from a study of the sexual function, which, indeed, on the prevailing view, even if not according to our theory. coincideswith Eros. We-FiFbten 'able to form a pictuG of the way in which the sexual urge, which is destined to exercisea decisive influence on our life, gradually develops out of successivecontributions from a

particular numberof componentinstincts, which represent

erotogenrc zones.
t[Some one discusionof this passage, of partof another on p. r9 above, and will be foundin AppendixB to TheEgo and theId (t94b), Standard Ed., l9,64-5; I.P.L., n, S+-S; N' 6++.1

TZ

III'

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

| .5

The Development of the SexualFunction

Accordingto the prevailing view humansexual consists life essentially an endeavour bring one'sown genitals in to into contactwith those someone thi opposite With of of sex. this are associated, accessory as phenomena and introductory acts,lissingthis extraneous body,lookingat it and touching it. This endeavour supposed makJ its appearance is to at puberty-that is,at theageof sexual maturity_and to serve the purposes reproduction. of Nevertheless, certain facts havealwaysbeenknown which do not fit into the narrow framework this view.(r ) It is a remarkable of fact that there arepeople who areonly attracted individuals their own by of sexand by their genitals. It is equallyremarkable (z) that there-are peoplewhosedesires behaveexactlylike sexual onesbut who at the same time entirelydisregard sexual the organs their normaluse;people this kini areknown or of as 'perverts'. (3) And lastly it is a shiking thing that some children(who are on that account.egarded "ri.g.n".rt"j takea very earlyinterestin their g.niLk ,narnori,ign, oi excitationin them. It may well be believedthat psycheanalysis provoked astonishment denials and when,partly on the basis these of
r[An expandedversion of the original. Seethe Editor,s Note, p 3 above.]

three neglected facts,it contradicted the popularopin_ all ^ ionson sexuality. principalfindings Its follo*r, (a) Sexual doesnot beginonly at "r. ", life puberty,but starts with plain manifestations afterbi*i. soon (D) It is necessary distinguishsharplybetween to the concepts 'sexual' of and 'genital'.The former is the wider concept and includes manyactivities that havenothingto do with the genitals. (c) Sexual includes functionof obtainingpleasure life the jrom lones of the body-a function which is subiequentlf broughtinto the service reproduction. two functions of The often fail to coincidecompletely. The chief interestis naturally focused the first of these on assertions, mostunexpected all. It hasbeenfoundthat the of in earlychildhoodtherearesigns bodilyactivityto which of only anancientpreiudice coulddenythe nameof sexual and which are linked to psychicalphenomena that we come across laterin adult eroticlife-such asfixationto particular objects,iealousy, and so on. It is further found,io*"u"r, that thesephenomena which emergein early childhooj form part of an orderedcourse divelopment,that they of pass througha regular process increase, of ieachinga climax towards end of the fifth year,after which there follows the a lull. During this lull progress at a standstilland much is is unlearntandthereis muchrecession. After the endof this periodof latency,as it is called,sexual advances life once morewith puberty;we might saythat it hasa second efforescence. And here we comeupon the fact that tle onset of sexuallife is diphasic,thaf it occurs;n poft6g
SS

an importqnt bearing on hominization. [Seep. 99 below.]z

2Cf. the suggestion man is desctnded that from a mammal which reached sexual maturityat the ageof five,but that somemaiorextemalinfluence

T3

SICMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-AnalYsis

( zS

It is not a matter of indifferencethat the eventsof this early period, except for a few residues,fall a victim to:fiantile_ views on the aetiologyof the neuroses and our ryOur techniqueof analytictherapyarederivedfrom theseconcep tions; and our tracing of the developmentalprocesses this in early period has also provided evidencefor yet other conclusions. e and to

phase, which we describe extentis far greaterin^thesecond as Our iustification r;@c!qn. in

urges under the libido is based on aggressive

makelibidinaldemands the mind is, from the time of on birth onwards, mouth.To beginwith, all psychical the activity is concentrated providingsatisfaction the needs on for of that zone.Primarily,of course, this satisfaction serves the
of self-preservation meansof nourishment; but by

The earlystage a needfor satisfaction of which,though it originatesfrom and is instigated the takingof nourishment, by nevertheless strives to obtain pleasureindependently-of nourishment for th"t r."ron@ and -Gi.,g this oral phasesadisticimpulses alreadyoccur sporadically alongwith the appearance the teeth. Their of

wasbroughtto bearon the species at that point intemrpted straight and the course development sexuality. of of Other hansformations the sexual in life of manascompared with that of animals might be connected with thissuchasthe abohtionof the periodicityof the libido and the exploitation of the part played menstnutionin the relationbetween sexes. by the [The ideaof therebeinga connection between latency periodand the glacial the epochwasfirst mademanyye:rrs earlierby Ferenczi( r 9 r 3). Freud referred to it with a gmd deal of cautionin The Ego and the lil $94b), 5.8., in ry, 35;LP.L., n, z5 andagain,with more acquiescencc,,Inhibitions, Symptoms Anxiety Q9z6d),5.E., zo, t55;I.P.L., 28,69 The question and of the cessation periodicity the sexual of in functionwasdiscussed some at length in two footnotes ChapterlY of Civilizdtionand its Discontents to 2t,99-roo and rc51; [.P.L., ry,7G7 and4z-4; N., q|l Gg1cla),5.8., and 5z-4.1
l

is the viewthat sadism an instinctualfusionof purelylibidia urges, fusionwhich thenceforI and purelydestructive uninterruptedly.3 rrd persists is The third phase that knownasthe phallicone.which , i = = i; takenbY sexual is, asii @rm it. much resembles It is to be noted that it life and already that of is not the genitals both sexes playa part at this stage, ottly the male ones(the phallus).The femalegenitals lbut ' to attempts understand in llongremainunknown: children's cloato processes payhomage the venerable they sexual Ithe Lal theory-a theorywhich hasa geneticiustification.a of and With the phallicphase in the course it the sexualits its ity of earlychildhoodreaches height and approaches Thereafterboysand girls havedifferent histodissolution. activityat the ries.Both havebegunto put their intellectual both researches; start off from the premiss of service sexual presence the penis.But now the pathsof of of the universal r.*.r diverge.The bov entersthe Og!.lPut ; -iabu.t t. [th. phanhis@as to begins manip-ulate J sort out { t"ri.r of carrying some of activitywith it in relatiori effectof a threat to hit mother,till, owingto the combined I of t of castrationand the sight of the absence a penis in
lThe question ariseswhether the satisfaction of pure\ destnrctive instinctual impulses can be felt as pleasure,whether puredestructiveness without any libidinal admixture occurs. Satisfaction of the death instinct remaining in the ego seems not to produce feelings of pleasure, though masochism represents a {usion which is entirely analogous.to sadism. aThe occurrence of early vaginal excitations is often asserted.But it is most probable that what is in quistion are excitations in theslitor-is-that is, in

@This

not does itualdiTi6ur right to

descnbe the phase as pnalllc.

B4

26)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Anabsis

I z/

-It

females,he experiences greatesttrauma of his life and the this introduces the period of latency with all its consequences. The girl, after vainly attempting io do the sameas the boy, comes to recognizeher lack of a penis or rather the inferiority of her clitoris, with permanent effects on the developmentof her character;as a result of this first disap pointment in rivalry,she often beginsby turning awayalto gether from sexuallife.

wouldbe a mistake suppose thesethree phases to that

succeed one another in a clear-cutfashion.One may appear in addition to another; they may overlapone another, may be present alongsideof one another. In the early phasesthe different componentinstinctsset about their pursuit of pleasure independently of one another; in the phallic phase there are the beginningsof an organizationwhich subordinates the other urges to the primacy of the genitals and signifies the start of a co-ordination of the general urge towards pleasure into the sexual function. The complete organization is only achievedat puberty, in a fourth, genital phase. stateof things is then established which (r ) some A in earlier libidinal cathexesare retained, (z) others are taken into the sexual function as prparatory, auxiliary acts, the satisfaction of which produces what is knoun as fore-plea(3) other urgesare excludedfrom the organization, )ure, and are either suppressed altogether (repressed) are emor )and Rlofed in the ego in another way, forming character-traits f undergoing sublimation with a displacementof their' lor Iaims. This processis not always performed faultlessly. Inhibitions in its developmentmanifest themselves the many as sortsof disturbancein sexuallife. When this is so, we find fixationsof the libido to conditions in earlierphases, whose urge, which is independent of the normal sexualaim, is described perversion. as One suchdevelopmental inhibition,

when it is manifest.Analysis is for instance, homosexuality was object-tie present that in everycase homosexual a shows persisted a ktent condition.The situain and in mostcases by tion is complicated the fact that asa rule the processes are for necessary bringingabouta normaloutcome not comso pletelypresentor absent, partially present, that the but on final result remainsdependent thesequantitativerelais, the tions. In thesecircumstances genitalorganization it is true, attained,but it lacksthoseportionsof the libido with the rest and haveremained which havenot advanced shows This weakening objects aims. and fixated pregenital to if of itself in a tendency, thereis an absence genitalsatisfaction or if therearedifficultiesin the realexternalworld, for the libido to hark back to its earlier pregenitalcathexes (regression). functionswe have been During the study of the sexual conviction, rathera suspior ableto gaina first, preliminary which will later be found to be cion, of two discoveries important over the whole of our field. Firstly, the normal observed us (that is, the by and abnormalmanifestations from phenomenology the subiect)needto be described of (in our and economics the point of view of their dynamics distribution from the point of viewof the quantitative case, of the aetiology the disorders of the libido). And secondly, develwhich we studyis to be lookedfor in the individual's in his earlylife. opmentalhistory-that is to say,

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

(zq

Psychical QruIities

I havedescribed structureof the psychical the apparatus and the energiesor forces which are in-it, and I have ""tiu. traced in a prominent example the way in which those energies-(in the main, the libido) o.ganizethemserves into a physiological function which servls the of the furpose preservationof the species. There was nothing in all this to demonstratethe quite peculiarcharacteristic Jf what is psy_ chicai, apart, of course,from the empirical lact that this apparatusand these energiesare the basis of the functions which we describeas our mental life. I will now turn to something which is uniquely characteristic of what is psychi_ caf and which, indeed, according to , u..y widely held opinion, coincideswith it to the exclusion oi all else. The starting-point for this investigation is provided . by a fact without parallel, which defiesall-explanatiin or descrip Nevertheless,if anyone ll"1-th.t-@t"t"-gt..:r. rpeaKs conscrousness know immediately or we and from our most personalexperience-what meant is by it.r Many peo ple, both insideand outside science, satis_ [psychological] are
exh.eme in l9Jt: Jineof thought,exemplified the Americandoctrine ol behavrourism, thinksit possible construct pry.l,otogy to a *ii"h dis.ega.ds this fundamental fact!

fied with the assumption that consciousness alone is psychicase nothing remains for psychology but to discriminateamong psychicalphenomenabetween perceptions, feelings,thought-processes volitions. It is generand ally agreed,however, that these consciousprocesses not do form unbroken sequences which are complete in themselves;there would thus be no alternative left to assuming that there are physical or somatic processes which are concomitant with the psychicalonesand which we should necessarily have to recognize more completethan the psychias cal sequences, since some of them would have conscrous processes parallelto them but others would not. If so, it of coursebecomes plausible to lay the stressin psychologyon these somatic processes, see in them the true essence to of what is psychical and to look for some other assessment of the consciousprocesses. The majority of philosophers,however, as well as many other people, dispute this and declare that the idea of something psychicalbeing unconsciousis self-contradictory. But that is precisely what psycho-analysisis obliged to assert, and this is its secondfundamentalhypothesis[p. r+]. It explains. supposedl], phenomena the. sonlatic go_nco[qitgnt being what is trulv psvchical, and thus in the first instance _as disregardsthe quality of consciousness. is not alone in It doing this. Some thinkers (such as Theodor Lipps,z for instance)have asserted the same thing in the same words; and the generaldissatisfaction with the usual view of what is psychicalhas resultedin an increasinglyurgent demand for the inclusion in psychological thought of a concept of the unconscious,though this demand has taken such an
2[Someaccount of Lipps (r85r-r9r4) and Freud's relationswith him is given in the Editor's Prefaceto Freud's book on jokes ( r9o5q Standard Ed.,

8,+-s) l

30)

srcMuND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

(: t

psychotog-yaDled to takeits placeasa nafuralscience like any other. The processes which it is concemed in with are just themselves asunknowable thosedealtwith by other as sciences, chemistryor physics,for example;but it is by possible establish lawswhich they obeyand to follow to the their mutualrelations and interdependences unbroken over long stretches-in short,to arriveat what is described an as 'understanding' of the fieldof naturalphenomena quesin tion. This cannotbe effected without framingfreshhypotheses and creatingfresh concepts; but theseare not to be despised evidence embarrassment our part but deas of on srve the contraryto be appreciated an enrichmentof on as science. They canlay claim to the same valueasapproximationsthat belongs the corresponding to intellectual scaffolding found in other naturalsciences, we look forwardto and their being modified,correctedand more precisely determinedas further experience accumulated sifted.So is and too it will be entirely in accordance with our expectations if the basicconcepts and principlesof the new science (instinct,nervous energy, etc.) remainfor a considerable
3[Whenthis work wai 6rstpublished r94o, in a longfootnotewasinserted at this point in the Cermanversion. Seetie Editor's Note, p. 3 "bou.j

*!icl, helCt"t th. psychical unconsciousjn Elis ,-.-GiT,

indefinite and obscureform that it could have no infuence on science.s Now it would look asthough this dispute between psychoanalysisand philosophy is concerned only with a trifling matter of definition-the question whether the name .psy_ chical' should be applied to one or another seque.,ceof phenomena.In fact, however,this step has become of the highest significance. Whereas the psychology conscious_ of nessnever went beyond the broken sequences which were obviously dependent on something else, the other view.

timdnq less indeterminate than those of the older sciences (force, iass, attraction, etc.).

the a

our observationst

with the
encesand translatingit into conscious material. In this way we construct, as it were, a sequenceof consciouseventS complementary to the unconsciouspsychicalprocesses. The relative certainty of our psychical science is based on the binding force of theseinferences. Anyone who entersdeeply into our work will find that our technique holds its ground againstany criticism. In the course of this work the distinctions which we describe as psychical qualities force themselves on our noscious':it is the ne consclousness

's

consciouseasily; they may then ceaseto be conscious,but can become consciousonce more without any trouble: as people say, they can be reproducedor remembered.This remindsus that consciousness in generala highly fugitive is state.What is conscious conscious is only for a moment. If ' our perceptionsdo not confirm this, the contradiction is only an apparent one; it is explainedby the fact that the stimuli which lead to perception may persist for considerable periods, so that meanwhile the perception of them may be repeated. The whole position is made clearin connection with the conscious perception of our thought-processes:

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ty An Outline of Psycho-Analysis ( SS he has been given, and besidesthis in its original unconsciousstate. Our continued efforts usually succeedeventually in making this unconsciousmaterial consciousto him himself, as a result of wlrich the two recordsare brought to c'oincide.The amount of effort we have to use,by which we estimate the resistanceagainst the material becoming conFor instance, variesin magnitudein individual cases. scious, what comesabout in an analytic treatment as a result of our efforts can also occur spontaneously:material which is ordi-

thesetoo may persistfor sometime, but they may just aswell way, that can t iousitat-e for consclous one, rs ing conscious'or as preconscious. lenc

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wer complicatedit may be, which cannot on occasionremain preconscious,even though as a rule it will, as we say, push its way forward into consciousness. There are othr psychical processesand pwchical material which have no* such easy accessto becoming conscious but must be ine of the unconsciousproggr. ffi three qualities to psychical processes:they are eithel consgliq!$, Jreconsciogs or lInconscious. The division between the three classes material of ffiH possess these qualities is neither absolute nor permanent. What is preconscious becomesconscious, we have as seen,without any assistance from us; what is unconscious can, through our efforts, be made conscious, and in the process may have a feeling that w-eare often overcoming we very strong resistances. When we attempt to do this with someoneelse, we should not forget that the conscious filling-in of the gaps in his perceptions-the construction we are presentinghim with-does not mean as yet that we have made the unconsciousmaterial in question consciousto him. All that is true so far is that the material is presentin him in two records,4 once in the consciousreconstruction
a[The Germanword translated by'record'here is'Fixierung'usedin exactlythis sense, Chapter Vll (B) of The Interpretation Dreams in of (r9ooa),5.E., S, S'zg. Freuduses term 'Niederschffi'-e.g. Elsewhere the (r9r5a),Stdndard in 'The Unconscious' Ed., 14 r74, andasearlyasin a letter to Fliess, December 1896(Freud r95oa, Lrtter 5z)-which is of 6,

can narily unconscious transformlffi

toa ic states.From this we i of certain intelnal -resi lon of resistancessuch as t

::=i' ."'':l;
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with a conGquent lushing forwar!-o:[

construction of preconscious can become temmaterial dreams.Conversely, s porarily inaccessiblea pes th e i ng--is-te m porari$Torgotten or esca w-EEnEfr eth

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as The theoryof the threequalitiesof what is psychical, and in this generalized simplifiedmanner'seems described ratherthan a help of likely to be a source limitlessconfusion But it shouldnot be forgottenthat in clarification. towards
'registration'. It may be remarked that in Moses and translated there by Monotheism (tszgo), which Freud had recently completed, he several 'Fixierung'to describe the recording of a tradition. times used the word See, for example, Standard Ed., z7,6z.l

34)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Arnlysis

This is the work of th" f'rnction of speech,which brings p@;il-d"_q9-r^'"elatt-er"jrtia.*ptiin}6Ciri."Thdcom- material in the ego into a firm connection with mnemic of .residues visrnl, h,tt more pa'ri.,,larl], of ,,trlifor}|EGijplications whichit reveals bring into reiGfthe peculiar may Thenceforward the perceptual periphery of the cortiJions. dificulties with whichour investigations to contend. have It cal layer can be excited to a much greater extent from inside maybe suspected, however, that we shallcometo a closer as well, internal events such as passagesof ideas and understanding this theoryitself if we tracequt the relaof can become conscious,and a special dethought-processes tions betweenthe psychicai qualitiesand the ffi"* vice is called for in order to distinsuish betwe6n TFe-66= agenEiE-oFThffi-ychicll-a ppaf atu s which we'ha-G^ postuDrrrtres-a cevrce Knowrr"s_rz4w-tefElg- l ne equaj)ossr laftd-thtucli-t-tbse relations arefar from beingsimple. too 'perception : tion reality (exGrna-fwdfflTo longer holds. The process something of becoming conscious above is all Errors, which can now easily arise and do so regularly .in linkedwith the perceptions which our sense organs receive :,*;^.r,i!, rt!-4r.rrnt, are called hallucinationr. from the externalworld. From the topographical point of The inside of the ego, which comprises above a1l the ' view,therefore, isa phenomenon it whicl?aFC-FTa;;I;TFe has the quality of being preconscious. thought-processes, is true that we alsoreceive @lt This is characteristic of the ego and belongs to it alone. It conscious information from the inside of the body-the would not be correct, however, to think that connection feelings, which actuallyexercise more peremptoryinflua precondiwith the mnemic residuesof speechis a necessary enceon our mentallife than external perceptions; moreover, tion of the preconsciousstate. On the contrary, that state in certaincircumstances sense the themselves organs transis independentof a connectionwith them, though the presmit feelings, sensations pain, in additionto the percep of ence of that connection makes it safe to infer the precontions specificto them. Since,however, (as thesesensations The preconscious sciousnature of a process. state, characterwe call them in contrast conscious perceptions) emato also ized on the one hand by having access consciousness and to natefrom the terminalorgans and sincewe regardall these on the other hand by its connection with the speech-resiasprolongations offshoots the corticallayer,we arestill or of dues,is nevertheless somethingpeculiar,the natureof which ableto maintainthe assertion madeabove the beginning [at is not exhaustedby these two characteristics.The evidence of this paragraph]. The only distinctionwould be that, as lfor this is the fact that largeportionsof the ego,and particuregards the terminal organsof sensation and feeling, the w Ilarlv of the suDer-eso, body itself would take the placeof the extemalworld. none the lessremain for the most /trtT;Fp."."r*r'r*ness, Consciousprocesses the peripheryof the ego and on 'fpart unconscious in lbg-lhs.nelqenological sense of the / everything elsein the egounconscious-such would be the I word.-We do not know whv this must be so. We shall simplest stateof affain that we might picture.

fact it is not a theoryat all but a first stock-taking the facts of of our observations, it keeps-aftlose that TdTtosfiFis

t5)

And suchmay in factbe the statethat prevails animals. in men there in But is an addedcomplication throueh whi.h inteffiesses i iousness.

attemptpresently attackthe problemof the true nature to the idi of

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36) SIGMUND FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

(sz

+---:-- ls even more exclusive.If we look back at the develnecuon

opmentalhistory of an individual and of his psychicalapparatus,we shall be able to perceivean important distinction . in the id. Originally, to be sure,everythingwas id; the ego lexternal Itr* "f tEE ""ntents of the id were transformed into the state and so taken into the ego; others of its lpreconscious remainedin the id unchanged, its scarcely as acceslcontents nucleus.During this development,however,the young lsible put back into the unconscious state someof f and feebleego the materialit had alreadytaken in, droppedit, and behaved f which it might f in the same way to some fresh impressions taken in, so that these, having been rejected, could lhave of fleavea trace only in the id. In consideration its origin we of this latter portion of ihe id as fie repressed. is It lspeak little importance that we are not alwaysable to draw a lof of lsharp line between thesetwo categories contents in the They coincide approximatelywiih the distinction belid. present originally and what was Itween what was innately pcquired in the,courseof the,ego's d"u"lgg*,.1! .. Having now decidedupon the topographical disseciion of tl'. an_d id, with w an X preconsclous and unconsciousruns parallel, and having agreedthat this quality is to be regarded only es e' ;-'lics#er f-rhe differencqand not as itg essence, further questionfacesus.What, if this is so, a is the frue nature of the state which is revealed the id by in the quality of being unconscious and in the ego by that of and being preconscious in what doesthe differencebetween them consist? But of that we know nothing. And the profound obscurity of the backgroundof our ignorance is scarcely iliuminated

ego and preconscious: indeed, in the former casethe con-

l*"r a."=.t"p:qthe courseof this slow developmentcert th. "="t world. In

by a few glimmers of insight. Here we have approachedfu r still shrouded secret of the nature of the psvchical. We as have led us to expect,that I assume, other natural sciences in mental life some kind of energy is at work; but we have I I nothing to go upon which will enable us to come nearer to with other forms of energy. Ia knowledgeof it by analogies We seem to recognize that nervous or psychical energy occurs in two forms, one freely mobile and another, by comparison,bound; we speakof cathexesand hypercathexes of psychical material, and evenl6llFto supjkiffi' hy,percathexis brings about a kind of synthesisof different processes-a synthesisin the course of which free energy is transformed into bound energy. Further than this we have' not advanced.At any rate, we hold firmly to the view that the distinction between the unconscious and the preconscious state lies in dynamic relations of this kind, which would explain how it is that, whether spontaneouslyor with our assistance, the one can be changed into the other. Behind all these uncertainties, however, there lies one new fact, whose discovery we owe to psycho-analytic rein /search. We have found that processes the unconsciousor in the id obey different laws from those in the preconscious / I eeo. We name these laws in their totality lhe=bntnary fr!which govems the kuss, in contrast to the sepondaryprccess

ffir. oi events theprccolscTffi-the ego.lntheend, in qualities afterallproved therefore, study psychical has the of not unfruitful.

qo

a2

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

( SS

Dream Interpretation as an lllustration

dreaming,we attribute obiective reality to the contents of the dream. We 6nd our way to the understanding('interpretation') of a dream by assumingthat what we recollect as the dream but after we have woken up is not the true dream-process only afagade behind which that processlies concealed.Here ofa we have our distinction between

the former out of t

which ts. The process as is described the

An investigation of normal, stable states,in which the frontiers of the ego are safeguardedagainst the id by resistances (anti-cathexes) and have held firm, and in which the superego is not distinguished from the ego, becausethey work together harmoniously-an investigation of that kind would teach us little. The only thing that can help us are statesof conflict and uproar, when the contents of the unconscrous id have a prospect of forcing their way into the ego and into and the ego puts itself once more on the consciousness againstthis invasion.It is only under thesec,ondidefensive tions that we can make such observafionsas will confirm or correct our statements about the two partners. Now, our nightly sleep is precisely a state of this sort, and for that reasonpsychicalactivity during sleep,which we perceiveas dreams,is our most favourable object of study. In that way, too, we avoid the familiar reproach that we base our constructions of normal mental life on pathological findings; for dreams are regular events in the life of a normal person, however much their characteristicsmay differ from the productions of our waking life. Dreams, aseveryoneknows, may what be confused,unintelligible or positively nonsensical, they say may contradict all that we know of reality, and we behave in them like insane people, since, so long as we are

d,'o m-work. The study of the dream-work teachesus by an excellent example the way in which unconscious material ,from the id (originally unconscious and repressedunconscious alike) forces its way into the ego, becomes precon-

the

It is best to begin by pointing out that the formation of a dream can be provoked in two different ways. Either, on the one hand, an instinctual impulse which is ordinarily (an suppressed unconsciouswish) finds enough strength during sleepto make itself felt by the ego,or, on the other hand, an urge left over from waking life, a preconscioustrain of attachedto it, finds thought with all the conflicting impulses during sleep from an unconsciouselement. reinforcement In short, the eso.The mechanismof dream-formationis in both cases dynamic precondition. The is the necessary and so also ffi. ego gives evidence of its original derivation from the id by occasionallyceasingits functions and allowing a reversionto an earlier state of things. This is logically brought about by its breaking ofi its relations with the external world and withdrawing its cathexes from the sense organs. We are iustified in saying that there arises at birth an instinct to return to the intra-uterine life that has been abandoned-an

>a

40)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

(+t

, instinct to sleep.Sleepis a return of this kind to the womb. I Since the waking ego governsmotility, that function is pargood part of the inhibilalysed in sleep,and accordinglya imposed on the unconsciousid become superfluous. Itions 'anticathexes' thus fThe withdrawal or reduction of these the id what is now a harmlessamount of liberty. lallows The evidenceof the sharetaken by the unconscious in id the formation of dreams is abundant and convincing. (c) Memory is far more comprehensive dreamsthan in wakin ing life. Dreams bring up recollectionswhich the dreamer has forgotten, which are inaccessible to him when he is awake.(6) Dreams make an unrestricted use of linguistic symbols,the meaning of which is for the most part unknown to the dreamer. Our experience, however, enables us to ' confirm their sense.They probably originate from earlier phases the development of speech (c ) Memory very often in reproducesin dreams impressionsfrom the dreamer's early childhood of which we can definitely assertnot only that they had been forgotten but that they had become unconsciousowing to repression.That explains the help-usually indispensable---given by dreams in the attempts we make us during the analytic treatment of neufosesto reconstruct the ldreamer's early life. (d) Furthermore, dreamsbring to light f f material which cannot have originated either from the I I dreamer's adult life or from his forgotten childhood.We are ' obliged to regard it as part of the archaic heritage which a I I child brings with him into the world, beforeany experience of I of his own, influencedby the experiences his ancestors. materialin the find the counterpartof this phylogenetic lWe human legends and in surviving customs. Thus learliest which is not of human prehistory ldreamsconstitutea source be despised. Ito But what makesdreamsso invaluablein giving us insight is the circumstancethat. when the unconsciousmaterial

makes its way into the ego, it brings its own modes of working along with it. This means that the preconscious thoughts in which the unconscious material has found its expressionare handled in the course of the dream-work as though they were unconsciousportions of the id; and, in the caseof the alternative method of dream-formation, the preconscious thoughts which have obtained reinforcement from an unconscious instinctual impulse are brought down to the unconsciousstate. It is only in this way that we learn the laws which govern the passage events in the unconof sciousand the respects in which they differ from the rules that are familiar to us in waking thought. Thus the dreamwork is essentially instanceof the unconscious an workingTo over of preconsciousthought-processes. take an analogy from history: invading conquerorsgovern a conqueredcountry, not according to the judicial system which they find in force there, but according to their own. It is, however, an unmistakable fact that the outcome of the dream-work is a compromise. The ego-organizationis not yet paralysed,and its influence is to be seen in the distortion imposed on the unconsciousmaterial and in what are often very ineffective attempts at giving the total result a form not too unacceptable to the ego (secondary revision). In our analogy this would be an expressionof the continued resistanceof the defeated people. The laws that govern the passage events in the unconof scious,which come to light in this manner, are remarkable enough and suffice to explain most of what seemsstrange to us about dreams. Above all there is a striking tendency to condensation an inclination to form fresh unities out of rate. As a consequence this, a single of manifeit dream often standsfor a whole number of latent dream-thoughts as though it were a combined

12
Q4

42)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

( +S

peculiarities defining the characterof the primary process the in allusion all of them;and in general compass the to of manifest dreamis extraordinarily smallin comparison with we have attributed to the id. from which it hassprung. Another The study of the dream-work has taught us rnany other Ithe wealthof material of the dream-work, entirelyindependent not in of characteristicsof the processes the unconsciouswhich are \rcculiaritl formerone,is the ease with whichpsychical intensitiesl as remarkableas they are important; but we must only menIthe arc from one elementto another, so tion a few of them here. The goveming rules of logic carry f(cathexes) displaced it often happens which wasof little that an element no weight in the unconscious;it might be called the Realm ithat in the dream-thoughts appears the clearest as limportance fil tt " Illogical. Urges with contrary aims exist side by side accordingly most important featureof the manifest without any need arising for an adjust\in the unconscious fand ' dream,and,viceversa,thatessential elements the dreamof ment between them. Either they have no influence whatthoughtsare represented the manifestdream only by in ever on each other, or, if they have, no decisionis reached, Moreover,as a rule the existence quite slight allusions. of but a compromise comes about which is nonsensicalsince pointsin commonbetween insignificant two elements is it embraces mutually incompatibledetails.With this is conenough allowthe dream-work replace by the other to to one nected the Factthat contrariesare not kept apart but treated in all further operations.It will easilybe imaginedhow as though they were identical, so that in the manifest dream greatlythesemechanisms condensation d_irplry! of a"d any element may also have the meaning of its opposite. can increase difficulty oFint-etp ng a dream and oJ the Certain philologists have found that the same held good in revealing relations the the-lqerufesldream the between and the most ancient languages and that contraries such as latentdream-thouehts.Fromtheevidei-ceiiT6-eexistence 'strong-weak','light-dark' and'highdeep' were originally '-.----2' and of thesetwo tenTencies condensation displacement to expressed the same roots, until two different modificaby id our theoryinfersthat in the unconscious the energyis in tions of the primitive word distinguished between the two a freelymobile stateand that the-id setsmorestoreby the meanings.Residuesof this original double meaning sem to possibility discharging quantities excitation of of thanby any have survivedeven in a highly developedlanguagelike Latin 'deep') 'altus' ('high' and and use and otherconsideration;2 our theorymakes of thesetwo ,; 1in its use of words such as 7
l[A term very often used by Freud from the &rliest times as an equivalent to psychical energy. See the Editor's Appendix to the 6rst paper on the neuro-psychoses defence ( r 894.a),Standard Ed., 3, 66-7; alsoan Editor's of footnote near the end of the paper on'Female Sexuality'(r93rb), ibid., zr, z4z-3.f 2An analogy may be seen in the behaviour of a non-commissioned officer who accepts a reprimand from his superior in silence but vents his anger on the 6rst innocent private he comes across. [n this insistence by the id on discharging quantities of excitation we have an exact replica of what Freud in his hoiect of 1895 (Part I, Section r) had described in quasi'neurones neurological terms as the primary principle of neuronal activity: tend to divest themselves of quantity'. (ry5u, 5.E., r, 296.)]

L
ii

'infamous'). [Cf. p. 99 below.] l'sacer'('sacred' and -ln view of the complication and ambiguity of the relations between the manifest dream and the latent content lying behind it, it is of course fustifiable to ask how it is at all possibleto deduce the one from the other and whether all we have to go on is a lucky guess, assistedperhaps by a translation of the symbolsthat occur in the manifest dream. It may be said in reply that in the great maiority of casesthe problem can be satisfactorily solved, but only with the help of the asociations provided by the dreamer himself to the
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44)

SIGMUND

FREUD

An Outline of Psycho-Analysis

(+s

elementsof the manifest cpntent. Any other procedureis arbitrary and can yield no certain result. But the dreamer's associationsbring to light intermediate links which we can insert in the gap between the two fbetweenthe manifest and latent content] and by aid of which we can reinstate the latent content of the dream and'interpret' it. It is not to be wondered at if this work of interpretation (acting in a direction opposite to the dream-work) fails occasionallyto arrive at complete certainty. It remains for us to give a dynamic explanationof why the sleepingego takeson the task of the dream-work at all. The explanation is fortunately easyto find. With the help of the unconscious, every dream that is in processof formation makes a demand upon the ego-for the satisfaction of an instinct, if the dream originates from the id; for the solution of a conflict, the removal of a doubt or the forming of an intention, if the dream originates from a residueof preconsciousactivity in waking life. The sleeping ego, however, is focused on the wish to maintain sleep;it feels this demand as a disturbance and seeksto get rid of the disturbance.The ego succeedsin doing this by what appearsto be an act of compliance: it meetsthe demand with what is in the circumstancesa harmlessfulflment of a wish and so gets rid of it. This replacementof the demand bv the fulfilment of a wish

esse.,tgl fqtfiE-"-t-tt" dr"r*-*orE It may reEiins-l-he perhaps bt;orth *iiil. io illurtr"te this by threesimple
and examples-a hungerdream,a dreamof convenience a desire.A needfor food makes dreampromptedby sexual itself felt in a dreamer during his sleep: hasa dreamof he was a deliciousmeal and sleeps The choice,of course, on. or open to him either of wakingup and eatingsomething of continuinghis sleep.He decidedin favourof the latter his and satis6ed hungerby meansof the dream-for the for he time being,at all events, if his hungerhad persisted

would have had to wake up nevertheless. Here is the second example. A sleeperhad to wake up so as to be in time for his work at the hospital. But he slept on, and had a dream that he was alreadyat the hospital-but as a patient, who has no need to get up. Or again, a desirebecomesactive during the night for the enjoyment of a forbidden sexual object, the wife of a friend of the sleeper.He has a dream of sexual intercourse-not, indeed,with this personbut with someoneelse of the same name to whom he is in fact indifferent; or his struggleagainst the desirernay find expression in his mistressremaining altogether anonymous. Naturally,everycaseis not so simple.Especially dreams in which have originated from undealt-with residues of thq previousday, and which have only obtainedan unconscious reinforcementduring the state of sleep,it is often no easy task to uncover the unconsciousmotive force and its wishfulfilment; but we may assumethat it is always there. The thesisthat dreamsare the fulfilments of wisheswill easily scepticismwhen it is remembered arouse how many dreams have an actually distressing content or even wake the dreamerin anxiety, quite apart from the numerousdreams without any definite feeling-tone.But the objection based on anxiety'dreams cannot be sustainedagainstanalysis.It f must not be forgotten that dreamsare invariablythe prodluct of a conflict, that they are a kind of compromise-strucfor id I ture. Somethingthat is a satisfaction the unconscious for that very reasonbe a causeof anxiety for the ego. lmay t As the drcam-workproceeds, sometimesthe unconscious will pressforward more successfully and sometimesthe ego will defend itself with greater energy.Anxiety dreams are mostly those whose content has undergone the least distoris tion. If the demand made by the unconscious too great for the sleeping ego to be in a position to fend it ofi by the means at its disposal,it abandons the wish to sleep and

14

46)

SIGMUND

FREUD

returns to waking life. We shall be taking every experience into account if we say that a dream is invariably an attempt to get rid of a disturbance of sleep by means of a wishfulfilment, so that the dream is a guardian of sleep. The attempt may succeed more or less completely; it may also fail, and in that casethe sleeperwakesup, apparently woken precisely by the dream. So, too, there are occasionswhen that excellent fellow the night-watchman, whosebusinessit is to guard the little township's sleep,has no alternative but to sound the alarm and waken the sleeping townspeople. I will close this discussion with a comment which will iustify the length of time I have spent on the problem of the interpretation of dreams. Experience has shown that the unconsciousmechanismswhich we havecome to know from our study of the dream-work and which gave us the explanation of the formation of dreams also help us to understand the puzzling symptoms which attract our interest to neurosesand psychoses. conformity of such a kind cannot fail A to excite high hopes in us.

PART II
The Practical Task

9s

withit, as t<lrcconcilc it to thc nrintl. Whcrcvcr il reatlcrsol'romanccs willing to be thoughl wickcd, if'they nray be alkrwcd to bc wits. lt is thcretore it appars. should raise hatrcd by thtr rrralignityof t o t o b c s l c a d i l y i n c u l c a t e d , h a t v i r l u e i s t h e h i g h es t i t sp r a c t i c c sr n r lc o n t c m p t h y t h c n r c u n n e s s l ' i l s l, p n x r l o l ' u n d c r s ( a n d i n g .a n d t h c o n l y s o l i d b a s r s lirr stratagems: whilc il is supportccl hy cithcr p a r t ( ) rs p i r i t ,i t w i l l b c s e l t k r r rh c t r r l i l ya b h o r r c d . o l ' g r e u t n c s s ;a n d t h a t v i c e i s l h c n a t u r a l c o n s e s r q L r e n c c l ' n i l r r o w t h o u g h t s ;t h a t i l b c g i n s i n t n i s o TheRonranlyranl was contcnl to be hatcd, il'ht: wasbut teared: :rrtrl thcrc lre lhousln(ls ol (he t : r k t ' .u n r l c n t l s i r r i g n o n r i n y .

Chapter I o Rassekts,
h c r r r y u u r l i l o r s :I c o u l d n c v c r d c s c r i h ew h a t I h a d n()t scen: I ctlulrl not ltopc lo tn()ve thosc with "WhcrcvcrI wcnt. I liluntl lh:rl l)<letrywirs c()lr d el i g h t o l - l e r r o u r , w h o s c i n t c r e s l sa n d o p i n i o n s I sidcrcd the highcst learnirtt, artd rr'girrtlerl as wilh rlitl rtol ttndcrslirntl. "Bcirrg now rcsolved to bc a prlet, I saw cvery sorrrcwhalupproachint to (hat whiclr aveneration w m a n o u l t lp a y t o t h c A n g c l i c k N u l u r c . A n t l i t y c t t h i n g w i t l r a n c w p u r p ( ) s c : n y s p h e r co f ' a t t c n t i o n r , l i l l sn r cw i t h w o n r l c r ' t h a l , i n u l r n o s tt r l l r ' ( ) u r ) l r i c s , w r r s s t t r k l c n l y n r a g r r i l i c t l : o k i n d o f k n o w l c t l g c n as thenxrslancierrtpr)cls arc corrsiclcrcr.l thc bcst: wls t() bc ovcrltxrkertl. I rangcd nrounlains ancl w h e t h ei r b e t h a t c v e r y o t h c r k i n d o l ' k n o w l c c l g c derscrlslirr irnages and rescrnblances, and pict i s a na c t l u i s i l i o n r a r l u a l l ya t t a i n c r l . r n t l p o c t r y i s turecl upon rrry rnintl cve ry lrcc ol the tirrest anrl g i a gili conl'crrecl ()ncc: or lltat lhe lirst poctry ol' l l o w c l o l ' t h c v a l l c y . I o b s c r v c r l w i t h c q u a l c a r e al evcry nation surprisccl thcnr as a novclly. antl lhc cnrgs ol. lhc rock and thc pinnaclcs ol' the thc retained crcrlit hy conscnl which it rcccivctl palacc. Somc{irncs I wandcreclaltlng lhc nrazesofal by acciderrt lirsl: or whelher thc Jrrovincc ol' t h c r i v u l e t , a n t l s o r n e l i r n c sw a t c h e d t h e c h a n g e s poelryis to dcscribc Naturc anil l)assion, whiclt ol'lhc suntnrr:rclouds. To a Jroetn<lthing can bc arealways lhe sarnc',anrl thc lirst wrilcrs trxrk t r s c l c s s .W l r t t c ' v e r i s h c a u t i l u l . l l n d w h a t e v c r i s p o s s e s s i oo l . t h c n r o s t s t r i k i n g o h . j c c t s l i r r drcldl'Lrl,rrrust bc lirnriliar to his irnagina(i()n:he n descriplirrn, and thc lnost prohable oceurrcnces rnust bc convcrsant with all that is awfully vast or for fiction,and lel't nothing to thosc that lilllowcd clegantly littlc. Thc plunts of the garclen,the anithem,but transcription ol' thc sarnc cvcnts, arrtl rnals o1'the wrxrd. thc rrrincralsof the earth. and of'lhe sarrrcirnagcs. Whatcvcr newconrbinations nlclcors ot the sky, nrust all concur to slore his bethe reason. it is comnronly obscrvcd that thc nrindwith inexhaustible aricty: lbr every idea rs v writersare in p<'rsscssion early ot'nalure, and thcir use:lirllilr the inlbrcerncnl or clecorationof nroral followers art: that the lirst cxccl in slrcngth and or rcligious truthl and he, who kn<lws most. will of inventir>n. thc Izrttcrin elerpance and antl rclirre- havc most powcr of diversifying his scenes, and ment. of gratif ying his reaclerwith remote allusions and "l was desirous to atld my nanlc ttl this illusuncxpected instruction. "All the ilppearances trious fratcrnity. I read all tlrc pocts ol'Persia and ol'nalure I was theretilre Arabia.and was able to repeat by nrenrory the carclul to study. and every c:ounlry which I have volumesthat are suspendetl in the rnosque rrf' survcyod hirs contributeclsomething to my poeti Mecca.But I s<xrn f<luntl that no rnitn was cvcr cal powers." "ln so wide a survey. said the prince, you must great by inritation. My desire oI excellcnce me impelled to transf'er my attention to nature and surely have lcft much unobserved.I have lived. till to life. Nature wus to be mv subiect. an{l ntcn to now. within the circuit ol'these rnountains,and yet IMI,AC'S HIS'I'ORY CON'I'INIJI'I)

R ^ S S E I - A S .( ' H A P ' T E R I O

215

influen and accidcntal witlroutthe sightol'something by variousinstitutions cannotwalk abroad l'rotn the spritelines whrch t had neverbeheldbeforc,or neverheeded." <lf climrtc or cu.storD, Il "'[hc businessol- a poet. said lmlac, is to infancy to (he clespondcncc decrepitude. rlf of agec to nrustdivesthimselftll'(heprejudices his exanrine,not the individual,but the species: r and rernarkgerreralproper-ties large appe:lranccs: c o u n t r y :h c t n u s t c t r n s i t l c t i g h t a n d w r o n g stalc:hc mu$dt and he does not nurnherthe streakso[ the tulip, or their abstracterl invariable togc andrise lawsitndopinions, tll'lhe regardprcscnt shades the verdure in the describe dit't'crent truths,which will alwa Iorest.Ile is to cxhibit in his portraitsol natttre eral and transecndcntal as suchprilnrinent and strikingtl'aturcs, recalthc hc the sanrc: hc rnust therelorc contenl rtf original to every rnind: and nrust neglcct thc with thc skrw pr<tgress his nilnte; contennft w r r i n u l e r d i s c r i r n i n a t i o n s .h i c h o n e m a y h u v c a p p l a u s co l h i s o w n t i n r c , a n d c o n t m i t h i s c l a t ( a lirr rc:rnarked, anolherhave neglcctecl, thost: t 0 t h e . j u s t i e c) l p o s t c r i t y l.l o I n u s tw r l t e s and r t wh c h a r a c t e r i s t i c k s i c h a r c l l i k c o b v i o t t s o v i g i - i r r t c - r p r c t eo l - n a t u r e . a n d t h c l e g i s l a t o t l e r n a n k i n t l .: r r r r r ' o t r s i t lr h i n r s c l l : r s p r c s i d i n g lanccand carclcssncss. " B u t t h e k n o w l e t l g c l ' n a t u r ci s o n l y h a l l ' t h c thc lhoughts uttd tttanttersol'sttcccssivc o l t t a s k o l ' a p o c t : h c r t . r u sb c a c q u a i n l c di k c w i s c lions: as a heing supet'iourttl {itrtc and place rctluirc.s labour is n()t yr:t ul ltn cnd: hc rtrustknow with all thc ruodcsof lil'e. llis characlcr tlrat he estinlatc thc happincssand rniscry ol. l a n g u u g c sr r n d n r a n v s c i c n c c s ;a n d , t h a th i s n , r t c v c r yc r l n d i t i o no b s c r v c h c p o w e o l ' a l l t h c p a s - r n a yh c w o r t l t yo l l r i st h o u g h t s , r u s tb y , a s i o n s i n a l l t h c i r c o r n b i n a t i o n s ,n d l r a c c t h c p r a c t i c e ,l a r n i l i a r i z ct o h i n t s c l l 'e v c r y d e l i o c h a n g c s l ( h c h u t t t a rrtt t i n da s t h c y a r c r n r x l i l i c d specch and grircc ol hartnotty."

From Pre.face Shake.speare to

'l'hat prliscs arc with()ut rcasott lavishcd on tlrc dcarl, and that thc honouts duc only t() cxcellcrrcc a r c p a i d t o a n t i q u i t y . i s a c o r n p l a i r r tl i k e l y t o h e a l w a y s c o r r t i n u e db y t h o s c , w h o , h c i n g a b l c t ( ) adtl nothrng to lruth, hopc lirr crttittcncel.rottttlrc hercsics ol-paradox; ttr thttse, wlto. bcing (itrcccl up()n cortstllalory cxpedients, by disaplxrinlt.nt:nt arc willing to lrolre frorrr postcrity what lhc prcsent agc rclirses. and llatter thcrnsclves thitt lhe r c g a r dw h i c h i s y e t d c n i e d b y c n v y . w i l l b c a t l a s t bestowed hy tinre. Antiquity, likc e vcry txhcr quality th:lt ilttracls the noticc ol ntankind, has untltrubtctlly votaries thilt revererrccil. not l'rottt reusttn.but tiorn pre'iu ly dice . Sonre scenr lo atlntire indiscrir.rrinate whatcvcr has bccn long pteservcd, withtlut corrsitlcring that tirnc has sontetirncscottpcratedwith chancc; all pcrhaps arc more willing to lronour post tlritn prcscnt exccllence: ancl lhc rnind contetrtplittcs gcnius through thc slt:rlcs ol' irgc. as the eye 'l'he vcys the sutt tlrrou[lt urlilicial opacity. c o n t c n t i o no l e r i t i e i s r ni s t o l i n d t h c t i r u l t s o f rrlrtlerrts. lrntl lttc bcltrties ol the alrcicnls. l i l u na u t h t > r s v c t l i v i n u w e e s t i t r t i t l ct i s his worst pcrlirt'rttlnce,arttl whcn hc is rirtc thcnt hy lris hcst. I'o wttrks, llrwcvcr. ol'whiclr llic cxcc not ubsolutc arttt rlelinite. l"ruttrutltrlrl and palativr.:: lo wot ks ttol raised upon ( l c n l ( ) n s l r a l i v ci t n d s c i c r r t i l i c . b u t n w l r o l l y l o o h s c r v a l i o na n t l ex p c r t c n c e , 0 tcsl can bc lpplietl thln lcrtgth ol' duration t c ( ) n l i n u a n c c t l c s t c c r i l .W h a t n t a n k i n dh a v e thcv lrave olictt exatttitredand nosse'ssed p a r c d . u r t d i l ' t l r c y p c r s i s tt o v a l u c t h c p t it is bccrttrsc lrcqucrtl cotnparistlns have opirtion irt its luvour. As artrongthc lirrrrcrd
( r t n i l t u r c l l o i l l l l l r c r t r rl r o p g l l y t l t l l i t r i v c r

216

\AMtilrl

.l()llNS()N

J o..cluqs L o.c.r^*^
xlv

Bibliographicalnote
ONE

Tie agenqr of the letter k tie unconscious reason sbue .Freud. or L'intance dc Ia lettre dans I'irconscicnt ou Ia raison depuis Freud. Delivered on 9 May, ry17, in the Amphithire Descartes of the Sorbonne, Paris, at the reguest of the Philosophy Group of the F6d6ration des dtudiants As Lettres. Written version dated r4-t6May, ry17. Published in La Pslcbanalyse,vol. 3, P.U.F., r9f7tpp.47-8r. On a quzstionpreliminary to any possille ffeattunt of psychosis D'une guestianpriliminaire d tout traitemmt possilh de la psychose. Based o,n the author's seminar for the first two semestersof the year rgtt4.

The mirror stageas formativeof the in function of lhe I as revealed exPerience PsychoanalYtic
Delivered at the r6th International Congress of Psychoanalysis, Ziitidl, luJy t7' 1949

W'rittenD_ecember in ry57-Jannry r9y8. Published Lo Ptyrlroii$,rr, r9t9,pp.r-to. vol.4,P.U.F., Tfu signifcation tfu phallus of La Signifcatbndu phallus.Lecturegrvenin Germanunder the title Die Bedeurtng Phallusat theMax-Planck des Institute,Munich,at the invitationof Professor Matusse\ May, ry18. Paul 9
The dirertbn of thc treatmznt and tlu principles of iu power La di.rectionde Ia ase et les principes de son pouvoir. First reporr to the Colloque international de Royaumont, ro-r3 July, 1958,at the invitation of the Soci6t6 frangaise de psychanalyse. Published in La Psychanalyse, vol.6, P.U.F., rycl',pp. t49-2n6. Tln subrersion of the subjert @d thz dialtctb of desire h the Freudian unconscbas sulversian du sujet et dialectijue du dzsir dans I'bronsciznt freudicn. Delivered at a conference entitled 'La Dialectigue', held at Rofrumont, rnz3 September, 1960, at the invitation of Jean WahL

I}{{ congresst at tlnt of The conception themirror stage I introduced our last lessesablished.-T has sinceblo*" T".t: :i yL* ,hil l: "go, b'i"q,]: think However,I ri*.r. grouP.

;;iA;

f l:$lht''?

-'

of itseli asin the case the monkey,once far from exhausting TlrfA rebounds emPty, Ld found the imagehas been mastered llTt$"ay in he experiences which of of the child in a series gestures-in il ,h.;. image an{ the in the movementsassumed the fiuytft. ,.f^Uon between this vimral complex1f therealityit and berween environment, reflected own body, and the p"notti and things, around th. ;J"pli;;"., "hiidj, him. from the This eventcan take place,as we haveknown sinceBaldwin' upon the of six months,ar,d'it, repetitionhasoften mademe reflect Unable ls yet to "e. of ;LU"t spectacle the infant in front of.the mirror. some'support' ;lo, ;t Ju"n ,o stand uP' and held tightly.as he is,by (what,iL Fo"t", *" oll i',otte-6i6i')' he nevertheless 6"*L of his suPPort ". ".Ancial o]r.t.o."t, in a flutter oil"bil*t activity,the obstructions

\51

Ecrits: A Selectian

UA

The mirror stage

or dominatehim, *i*{6egclglfuin which, anamliguous in relation, tfte=w=orti ojhts-. -"tl"q "}zn Indeed, for the-fogggr - whose veiled facesTif-our privilege to seein
,, outlinein our daily experience in the penumbraof symbolic efficaatyz and to | . - the mi51o;imaggwould seem be the thr@d, | if we go by the mirror disposition theimago one's 6odypresents that of own I I in halLGinations dreams, or whetherit concerns individual features, its or.ilGlffirrr,ities, or its ohieqt-pqissdgs; or if we obseryethe role of the mi+_ofeppaTtus hlhegppgarTceTlt,be gl. in _oal/e, whichrowchical yri';:di{^}''9"" realitiesrhoweverheterogeneous,aremanifested. That a Gestalt should be in the ffiot-bring itself to formffi in pits results theseterms.It nevertheless recognizes it is a necejsary that conditionfor the maruration the gonadoT ,h. f"-"le pi$6tt ihat it of {
V1

theory, of the ancient

K'ffi ffir"lf; ':**;:i:**i.;&l,';;fr TtrJ"tH;TH"'ffi?f;:1f"ily,.ty:$

or the su''rect asvmptoticallS whateverthe of the subject asymptoticallv, *tararr"r. ih.'"rr"""". af +ho J:-l^^r_l su-ccess t}i'dialeaical of
f.<*<^

Ilfnctigns

caf und"..*hi.h,..* *""r a pr"* ir," ons,' i i:::.^:: of l;b;6;rr"1 :HL1_l1,t 1:"6 nesneliza{er,. the But
il;;;;ilffril;

}:}n-::utd corporateit into our usual,register, 4"Jdor!. in theffiat

haveto be calei

if we wished in_ to
it win Jr" r.,rr"

r :Ef"'or* The fact is that the n;il;;*"*li Gesnh, th"t

is giventoTfifrAn$ as

*nt (, i1::T::",19:hr.("",,!:f the stature) fixes'i,;;;; *n-"C,ir., lt' 'n contclst with
rwo.ri.l,r ;?il;;;.",t#;';tH

constilueqtthan constitiltElffiwhichwrucn rLu, uuL ur ? *_-: lr appears tO him abOVe all in iiappsrrs to him abovealr in

il;,;ffi,,J"r"

turbulentmovemenrs thJ ,J;"lir..:, r'''verts thar are animatinghim. Thu.s, _;;. pregnancy f shouldbe reIgarded as bound up with {gGes{r iF;;;;o" ;:,;I;:a:::r_ motor ::::': remarns species, thougAits style :: qe,cel.,recognizabreby ronnmi--Lrl-T:l_,,n" scarcely these
, the mental permanence^r-r- r at the same :-"-:f!*:*s:$'$= dme asir4rc1fuulprG6ati n a r- +i^ -. i ^-. r.,:=#fS/' rfl
in which man oroiects himootf

.tt

with,h. ^*;,r qi"gant ""r."rpoiiffiffiili with .r.^ -*:::-the phan-oil-thlt

But thefactsof'mimi-ry-are lessinstructivewhen conceived cases no as of heteromoqphic identification, asmuch as they raisethe problem of in the signification space theliving organism psychological concepts of for hardly seemless appropriate sheddinglight on thesemattersthan for ridiculousattempts to reducethem to the supposedlysupremelaw of adaptation. We have only to recall how Roger Caillois (who was then very young, and still freshfrom his breachwith the sociologicalschool . in which he was trained) illuminated the subject by using the term 't 'kgerdorypgrchasthenia' classi$ morphologicalmimicry as an obto session with space its derealizing in effect. I havemyselfshownin thqsqcialdialectic hurnanknowthat structures ledgeas paranoiac3 why humanknowledgehas greaterautonomy than ffi;I1<n--fiI-eAfietn reiationgothe field olfo.."if desire, but alsowhy humanknowledgeis determined that 'little reality' (cepeu de r6alitQ, in

suficient in [should see another member of its species,of eithefl-so litself is this condition that the desired effect may be obtained merely by \pl".i"g the individual within reach of the field of reflection of a mirror. Similarly, in the case of the migratory locwt, the transition within a geaeration from the solitary to the gregarious form can be obtained by exposing the individual, at a certain srage,to the exclusively visual action of a similar image, provided it is animated by movements of a sryle suftfciendy close to that characteristicofthe species.Such-facts are inscribed Iin an order of homeomorphic identification thatwould itself fallwithin the lQger guestion of the meaning of beaury as both formative and erogenie -'--Xqrs *F**'?^-?*----":z-*--*-rJ-

!\.*r

-,.rJ1g,il..,or-. r.j-,*..r* -

Ibo

fuhisi

[e, t -].r-hLut ttl)+.qio1o':n-J.

cg e.tt\.ij

Ecrits: A Selection

The mirror stage

wlich- the surrealists, in their restressway, saw,as its limitation. These refections lead me to recognize in the spaial g-p1id-od:nanifested in the mirror-stage, even before the social diarectic.\e-effe.t ir. -r'' j_* mirror-stager_e:*before-thesocialdiiectir-tna------.-.C"o_iorrqeo ,. .,f

_+{a +!9gg

fiegg.-Uf-sleaseac*aod-

this relationro narureis alteredby a certain !o1ever, @ at theheart theoqganisrqp.ng94d DiscordbeEyed b; of a

.$oqth..-The objeaivenodonof ,U"-irar.lrni*t i*o.pt.ilr, oCO" pyramidal syst-em likewise presence certain and the of humoral residues
of the $aternal orgarusjt cogqgs the view I have formulated as the fact -r ot rq,rc4 sputftcyemagalry of birth'nffi)

,ir

of the so-calledsuperiorapp"-no of ihe rreuox; and especiilly J*" cortexr which psycho-surgical operations leadus to o"g"rd as the intraorganic mirror.
This development is experiencedas a temporal dialectic th rje,cts forgrationof the individualinto historv.ffi; the

It is worth rgftg, i"adl"@ffi1ffi6a factrecognized suchby as em bryologists, th. term tctriptiot4wfucttdetermin"es pr" J.rr." .h. foe -bl

from thefifteenthcennury theimaginaryzenithof modemman.But this to 'fragilizaiorm is eventangibly r.rr""l.d th"irg"ttic level, in the linesof "t phantasnasexhibitedin the schizoidand tion' that definethe anatomy of spasmodic symptomsof hysteria. by Correlatively,the formation of the .I is symbolizedin drearns a fortress,or a stadium- its inner arenaand enclosure, surroundedby manhesand rubbish-tips,dividing it into two opposed fieldsof contest where the subject floundersin quest of the lofty, remoteinner castle juxtaposed the same the whoseform (sometimes symbolizes in scenario) in a guitestartlingvray.Sirnilarly,on the mentalplane,we find realized lid f the smrcnnesof forrified works, the metaphorof which arises-spon= the as to themselves, designate f .taneously, if issuingfrom the s)rmptoms mechanisms obsessional of neurosis inversior5isolatioq reduplication, I I cancellation displacement. and But if we were to build on thesesubjectivegivens alone- however little cre &ee them from the condition of experiencethat makesus see ; them aspartaking of the natureof a linguistic tedrrigue our theoretical would remainexposed the chargeof projectingthemselves to .attempts f I trtto 4..-q4!hALqbl. ol:l e!*lglgjqbi*ect. This is why I havesought in io" pt.."r,t typomeii;, gidGa;d in-iEnlunction of ol;."tirr. dai, the

i gur-dngq4f gr-a-pfu 4t_y nt * ry e

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It establishes the defences thz egoa genedcorder, in accordance in of with the wish formulatedby Miss Anna Freud, in the first part of her great wor\ and situates (as against a freguendy expressed prejudice) hystericalrepression and its returns at a more archaicstagethan obinversion and its isolating processes, the latter in turn as and lsessional to from the deflection the of alienation. which dates trpreliminarv paranoic
11

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7 This moment in which the mirror-stage comesto an end inaugurates, / by the identification with the imago of the countelpart and the drama of \ nrimordial isalousy (so well brought out by the school of Charlotte \ ' Bi.ilrlerin the phenomenonof infantile transitivism),the dialecticthal w:ill beg"-&ab*ljsk-&ej:o-s.ociallfclabprated siruations. It is this moment that decisively .ipt ttr" _yIffi-ilr"raqbgyldgg into mediafizaSes$roseb-.d*re.des.ue q*SIr-."q9Ir_Cg-tUq into mediatizasss$rossb .thedetire?fr fte, i m ili""rt -qf e-;m;t - *t ;d nr:"s i_t5_-olj.eEq *_-?ry*5--;._ :_... r+*artabstncf"e.qurvalenc_eiby I dre.co:eperarig-B-qfgthe*rq, -a:rd..U_rns"gr.q q$I*3,!ri.qhevery_.-irr.srrp-crua,l=_*:g:!__99$qgtj._r*" b.fe,.fu !epp_A51ff
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rnan, on a culrural mediation as exemplified, in the case of the sexual object, by the Oedipus complex. In the light of this conception, the terrn primary narcissism,by which analytic doctrine designatesthe libidinal investment characteristicof tlut moment, reveals in those who invented it the most profound awareness of semantic latencies. But it also throws light on the dynamic opposition berween this libido and the sexual libido, which the first analysts tried to define when they invoked destructive and, indeed, death instinas, in order to explain the evident connection berween the narsissistic libido and the alienating function of the ,I, the aggressivity it releasesir -y relation to the other, even in a relarion involving the most Samarita.nof aid.

The mirror stage

nnts the patent form of tlnt function, its effects wi[ for the most remain laient, so long as they are not illuminated by some light on to the level of fataliry, which is where the id manifests itself. We can thus understand the inenia characteristic of the formations of and find there the most extensivedefinition of neurosis - iust as the rQ'of the subjea by the situation gives us the most general formula

they were encounteringthat existentialnqgativity whose lr In fact, isso vigorously proclaimed the conremporar1r by philosophy of - ;.yU :Tlity being and nothingness. r!,j,-rsBut unfortunately that philosophygmspsnegativiry only within the #e' limits of a self-sufficienry consciousness, of which, asone ofits premises, links to the miconnaissances constitutethe ego, the illusion of autoihat nomy ro which it entrustsitself. This flight of fanry, for all that it drawq ----.-to an unusual extent,on borrowings from psychoanalytic experience, c,ulminates the pretentionof providirg * exisrenrial in psychoanalysis. At the culmination pf a _g9--sr-Srylg-fgfu.gg to "f *gjggS{d._e-ffert the utilitarian ong and Iggg_gg.*g.1!1*;f.bgl,::ty fuction other than-'ioi6iffiti6rii1'a^form in the-ani'Fty ,ifiti. inania,iifl.niibnciig'itre of the socialbond that seems ariseto crownthis effon, existentialism to must be iudged !y fu explanations gives of the subjectiveimpasses it that haveindeedresultedfrom iq a freedom that is nevermore authentic than whenit is within thewallsof a prison;a demand commirmenr, for erpressing the impotenceof a pure consciousness masterany siruation; a to voyeuristic-sadistic idealization the sexual of relationla penonality that itself only in suicide;a consciousness the other than can be realizes of satisfied only by Hegelianmurder. by in f Thesepropositionsare opposed all our experiencc, so far as it us on I teaches not to regardthe ego ascentred theperceptbn-cowciausncss trslstem, as organized the 'realiryprinciple,- a principlethat is the or by expression a scienti.Gc of prejudicemosthostileto the dialectic knowof f iledge- our expedence shows that we should start instead from the

that not only the madness liesbfind the walls of asylums, the that alsothe madness deafens world with its soundand furyand psychosis for us a schoolingin the are of The sufferings neurosis scales, when of ssions the soul, iust asthe beamof the psychoanalydc elculate the tilt of its threat to entire communities,provides us with in of indicationof the deadening the passions sociery. At this iunaion of nature and culrure, so persistently examined by alone recognizesthis*lnqt 9f anthropology, psychoanalysis

and ' idialist. the pedagozue. eventhe reformer. 'i" th. teco# #srlbtelt to iub:jeci'ffiifi?Epreserve,psychoanalysis limit of the'Thou art that',ln may accompany patientto the ecstatic the
which is revealedto him the cipher of his moral destiny, but it is not in our mere pover as practitionen to bring him to that point where the real joumey begins.

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r. Throughout this article I leave in its peculiarity the translationI have adopted 'ie-id;al'], iot F.*d's I&aI-Ich [i.e., without further comment, other than to say that I have not maintained it since. '2. Cf. Claude Ilvi-Strauss, Strucural gy, Antlr opo[o Chapter X. 3. Cf.'Arg$essiviry in Psychoanalysis', p. 8 and &riu, p. r8o. 4-'Coxcentratiotnaie', an adjective coined after W'orld War II (this artide waswdtten in 1949)to describethe life of the concentration-camp. In the hands of cerain writers it became,by tdelsion, 'modem' applicableto many aspectsof Ufe[Tr.].

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Smith, StevenB. ReadingAlthusser.Ithaca: Comell UniversityPress,t984. Tmtsky, Leon. Literature and Revolution. rg24; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, rg60. < Weimann,Robert.Structure and Societyin Literary History. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, r976. Williams, Raymond. Culture and Society,I78o-Ig5o. London: Chatto and Windus, t958. The Country and the Clry. New York: Oxford UniversityPress,r973. Marxism and Literature. New York: Oxford UniversityPress,r977. The Sociology of Culture. Chicago: University of ChicagoPress,r995. The Politics of Modernlsm: Against the New Conformists. London: Verso, r996. r96r. . Wilson,Edmund.Axel's Castle.t93t; New York: Scribner's, The Triple Thinkers.I9381New York: Oxford Univcrsityhess, tg48. Wood, Ellen N{eiksins,and John Bellamy Foster,eds.In Defense History: Marxism and the of PostmodernAgenda. New York: Monthly Review Press,r997.

GeorgLukdcs
t 8 85 -t9 7r
Thc most infuential Marxist aestheticianof the frst half of this century, Georg Lukdcs was the sr.tn of a wealthy Hungarian family, He attendedthe Universityof Heidelberg and the Universiry of Berlin, and received a Ph.D. from the University of Budapestin t9o6. Lulqics wrote several essayson aesthetic ond literary theory (including Soul and Form It9to], AestheticCulture ItgrS], and his influentialTheory of the Novel [written r9r6, published tgzo]) in a Hegelian phase before joining the Hungarian Communistparty itt t9t8. In tgtg he begctn stint as comtnissarfor culture and educaa tion in the regime of Bela Kun, an appoinnnentthat endedwilh thefall of Kun. Lukdcs left Hungary (r9zj), his most influenand settled in Vienna, where he produced History and ClassConsciousness tial work of political theory. Driven by waves of political controversy, Lukdcs spent I92g-31 in Moscow, then moved to Berlin. When the Naziscameto power in t933, he returned to Moscow, taking a po,st at the Soviet Academy of Sciences(tgS1-lfi.He managed, as a great many Central Europeanintellectualsdid not, to survive the Stalini.tt purgesof t9j7-j9; it v'as in this dark time that he wrote The Historical Novel (publishedin English in t96z). Lukdcs did not return to Hungary until the more receptivepolitical climate of 1945,when he was nnde a parliamentary minister and professor of aestheticsand cultural phiktsophy at the Universityof Budapest.In t956, the year he wrote "The ldeology of Modernism," Lukdcs was again unseated a politicttl uprising. Deported in r956 by to Romania, Lukdcs worked on two major theoreticaltomes,neither of which was completeat his death; neither has yet been translated: Die Eigenart des Asthetischen ("The Particularity of the Ae.rthetic," 193), and the flvo-volumeZur Ontologieder gesellschaftlisches Seins ("Toward an Ontologyof Social Being," I9n).

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of the abnormal and to an undisguisedantihumanism. A typology limited in this way to the homme and the idiot also opensthe door to moyensensuel "experimental" stylistic distortion. Distortion becomesas inseparablea part of the portrayalof reality as the recourseto the pathological.But literaturemust have a concept of the pormal if it is to "place" distortion correctly; that is to say, to see it as distortion. With such a typology this placing is impossible, since the normal is no longer a proper object of literary interest. Life as under capitalism is, often rightly, presented a distortion (a petrification or paralysis) of the But to presentpsychopatholhurnan substance. ogy as a way of escape from this distortion is itself a distortion. We are invited to lneasureone type of distortion againstanotherand arrive, necessarily,at universal distortion. There is no principle to set against the general pattern, no standardby which the petty-bourgeoisand the pathological can be seen in their social context. And thesetendencies,far from being relativized with time,becomeevermore absolute. Distortion becornesthe normal condition of human existence; the proper study, the formative principle, of art and literature. I havedemonstrated some of the literary implicationsof this ideology. Let us now pursuethe argumentfurther.It is clear, I think, that modernism must deprive literature of a senseof perspective. This would not be surprising;rigorousmodernists suchasKafka, Ilenn, andMusil havealwaysindignantly refused to provide their readerswith any suchthing. I will return to the ideologicalimplications of the idea of perspectivelater. Let me say is herethat,in any work of art, perspective of overriding irnportance.It determinesthe course and content;it drarvstogetherthe threadsof the narration; it enables artistto choosebetweentheimthe portant and the superficial, the crucial and the deepisodic. The direction in which characters velop is determined perspective, only thosefeaby ruresbeing describedwhich are material to their The more lucid the perspective as development. in Molidre or the Greeks- the more economical andstriking the selection. Modernism drops this selective principle. It asserts that it can dispense with it, or can replace

it with its dogma of the condition humaine.A naturalisticstyle is bound to be the result. This state all of affairs- which to my mind characterizes modernist art of the past fifty years- is disguised by critics who systematically glorify the modernist movement. By concentrating on formal criteria, by isolating technique from content and exaggerating its importance, these critics refrainfrom judgment on the social or artisticsignificance of subject matter. They are unable, in consequence, make the aesthetic distinction to betweenrealism and naturalisrn.This distinction depends the presenceor absencein a work of on art of "hierarchy of significance" in the situations and characterspresented.Conrpared with this, formal categoriesare of secondary importance. That is why it is possibleto speakof the basically character modernistliterature and nuturalistic of of to seeherethe literaryexpression an ideological continuity.This is not to deny that variationsin style reflect changesin society. But the particular form this principle of naturalistic arbitrariness, this lack of hierarchic structure, may take is not We encounterit in the all-determining decisive. "socialconditions" Naturalism, Symbolism's in of impressionistmethods and its cultivation of the exotic,in the fragmentationof objective reality in Futurism and Constructivism and the Gerrnan Neue Sachlichkeit,2t again, in Surrealism's or, stream consciousness. of staTheseschools havein common a basically tic approachto reality. This is closely related to t h e i r l a c k o f p e r s p e c t i v e .C h a r a c t e r i s t i c a l l y , Gottfried Benn actually incorporated this in his artistic program. One of his volumes bears the title, Staric Poems. The denial of history, of becomes development, and thus of perspective, the mark of true insight into the natureof reality. Thewisemanis ignorant and of change development children hischildren children's and areno partof his world. The rejectionof any conceptof the future is for Benn the criterionof wisdom. But eventhose modernistwriters who are less extremein therr

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rejectionof history tend to presentsocial and hrs- meaning makes a mockery of action and reduces toricalphenomena static. It is, then, of small art to naturalisticdescription. as Clearly, there can be no literature without at importancewhetherthis condition is "etemal," or only a transitional stage punctuated by sudden least the appearance change or development. of (even in early Naturalism the static This conclusion should not be interpreted in a catastrophes presentation was often broken up by thesecatas- nanowly metaphysical sense. We have already trophes, without altering its basic character). diagnosed obsession the with psychopathology in Musil, for instance,writes in his essay, Ifte modernistliteratureas a desire to escapefrom the Writerin our Age: "One knowsjust as little about realityof capitalism. But this implies the absolute the present. Partly, this is because we are, as primacyof the terminusa quo, the condition from always,too close to the present.But it is also which it is desired to escape.Any movement because present the into which we were plunged towardsa terminus ad quem is condernned to some two decadesago is of a particularlyall- rmpotence. the ideology of nrost rnodernrst As embracingand inescapable character." Whether rvriter,s asserts the unalterability of outward realor not Musii knew of Heidegger's philosophy, the ity (evenif this is reducedto a mere stateof conideaof Geworfenheitis clearly at work here.And sciousness) human activity is, a priori, rendered the following revealsplainly how, for Musil, this impotent and robbedof meaning. staticstatewas upsetby the catastrophe r9r4; The apprehension reality to which this leads of of "All of a sudden,the world was full of vio- is mostconsistently and convincinglyrealizedin lence. . . ln Europeancivilization, there was a the work of Kafka. Kafka remarks of JosefK., as . sudden rifi. . . ." In short: this staticapprehension he is beingled to execution:"He rhoughtof flies, of reality in modernist literatureis no passing their tiny limbs breaking as they struggleaway fashion; is rootedin the ideologyof modernism. from the fly-paper." This mood of total impoit To establishthe basic distinctionbetrveen mod- tence, paralysis the face of the unintellieible of in ernrsm and that realism which, from Homer to power of circumstances, informs all his work. Thomas Mann and Gorky, has assumedchange Thoughthe action of The Castle takesa clil'f'erenr, anddevelopnrent be the propersubjer:t litera- cven an opposite,direction to that of The Trial, to of ture,we must go deeperinto the underlyingideo- this view of the world, from the perspectiveof a logical problem. In The House of the Dead trappedand struggling fly, is all-pervasive.This Dostoevsky gavean interestingaccountof thecon- experience, vision of a world dominatedby this vict's attitudeto work. He described how the pris- angstand of man at the mercy of incoruprehensioners,in spite of brutal discipline, loafed about, ble terrors,rnakesKafka's work the very type of working badly or merely going through the rnodernist art. Techniques,elsewhereof nrcrely motionsof work until a new overseerarrivedand tormal significance, are usecl here to evoke a allottedthem a new project,after which they rvere prinritive awe in the presence an utterlystrangc of allowed to go home. "The work was hard," and hostile reality. Kafka's angst is the experrDostoevskycontinues,"but, Christ, with what ence pur excellence ntodemism. of energy they threwthemselves itl Gonewasall into T w o i n s t a n c e sf r o m m u s i c a l c r i t i c r s m_ their former indolence and preteniled incompe- which can afford to be both franker anclrnorethetence." Later in the book Dostoevsky sumsup his oreticalthan literary criticism - show that it is "lf experiences; a man loseshope and has no aim indeeda universal experience with which we are in view, sheer boredom can tum hirn into a dealing. The composer, Hanns Eisler, says of beast. . ." I havesaidthat the problern . o1'perspec- Schonberg: "Long betbre the invention of the tive in literarureis directly relatedto rhe principle bonrber,he expressed what people rvereto I'eelin of selection. Let me go further: underlying the the air raid shelters." Even mrtrecharacreristic problenris a profoundethicalcornplex,reflected in though seenfr<tma moclernistpoint of vicw - is the corlposition of the work itself. Every human TheodorW. Adorno's analysii (in T'heAgirtg uf actionis basedon a presupposition its inherent Modern Music) of symptoms of decadenceln of meaningfulness, leastto the subiect. at Absence of modernist music: "The soundsare still lhe same.
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But the experience of angst, which made therr originalsgreat,has vanished," Modemistmusic, he continues,has lost touch with the truth that was its raison d'Ate. Composersare no longer equal to the emotional presuppositions their of modernism.And that is why modernist musichas failed. The diminution of the original argstobsessed vision of life (whetherdue.as Adomo thinks, to inability to respondto the magnitude of the honor or, as I believe, to the fact that this obsession with angstarnong bourgeois intellectuals has already begun to recede) has brought about a loss of subs[ance modem music,and in destroyedits authenticityas a modernist form. art This is a shrewd analysisof the paradoxical situation of the modernist artist, particularly where he is trying to expressdeep and genuine experience. The deeper the experience,the greaterthe damage to the artistic whole. But this tendencytowards disintegration, this lossof artistic unity, cannotbe writtenoff as a merefashion, the product of experimental gimmicks.Modem philosophy, after all, encountered problems these long beforemodernliterature, paintingor music. A casein point is the problentof tine. Subjective Idealism had alreadyseparated time, abstractly conceived, from historicalchange andparticularity of place. As if this separation wereinsufficient for the new age of imperialism,Bergsonwidened it further. Experiencedtime, subjective time, now becameidentical with real time; the rift between this time and thatof the objective world wascornplete. Bergson and otier philosophers, who took up and varied this theme claimed that their concept of time alone affordedinsight into authentic, i.e., subjective, reality.The sametendency soon made its appearance literature. in The Germanleft-wingcritic andessayist the of twenties, Walter Benjamin, has well described Proust'svision and the techniques usesto prehe sent it in his great novel: "We all know that Proustdoesnot describe man'slife as it actually a happens, but as it is remembered a man who by has lived through it. Yet this puts it far too crudely. For it is not actual experience that is important, but the texture of reminiscence, the Penelope'stapestryof a rnan's memory." The connection with Bergson's theoriesof time is o b v i o u s . B u t w h e r e a s w i t h B e r g s o n ,i n t h e

abstractionof philosophy, the unity of perception is preserved, Benjaminshowsthatwith Proust, as a result of the radical disintegrationof the time sequenceiobjectivity is eliminated: "A lived event is finite, concludedat leaston the level of experience. a rernembered But eventis infinite,a possible key to everythingthat preceded and to it everything that will follow it." It is the distinction between a philosophical and an artisticvision of the world. Howeverhard philosophy, under the influence Idealism, of tnes to liberatethe conceptsof spaceand time from temporaland spatialparticularity, literature continuesto assume their unity. The fact that,nevertheless, conceptof subjective the time cropped up in literature only showshow deeplysubjectivism is rooted in the experienceof the modern bourgeois intellectual. The individual,retreating into himself in despairat the cruelty of the age,may experiencean intoxicated fascinationwith his forlorn condition. But then a new horror breaks through. If reality cannot be understood no (or effort is made to understand thenthe individit), u a l ' s s u b j e c t i v i t y- a l o n e i n t h e u n i v e r s e , reflecting only itself -- takes on an equally incomprehensible and horrific character. Hugo von Hofmannsthalwas to experience this condition very early in his poetic career: It is a thingthatno mancares thinkon, to And far too terrible rnerccomplaint, for Thatall things slip fromus andpass away, And thatmy ego,bound no outward by f1y1ss Once smallchild'sbeiore becanre a it rnine Should to now be strange me,likea .strange dog. By separatingtime from the outer world of objectivereality, the inner world of thc subject is transformed into a sinister,inexplicable flux and acquires paradoxically,as it nray ceern a staticcharacter. On literaturethis tendency towardsdisintegration, of course,will have an even greaterimpact than on philosophy.When tirneis isolatedin this way, the artist's world disintegrates into a multiplicity of partial worlds. The static view of the world, now combinedwith diminishedobjectrvity, hererulesunchallenged. world of manThe the only subjectrnatter literature is shattered of if a single componentis removed.I have.shown

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of the consequences isolating time and reducingit and the visual arts. In the latter, the linutationsof to a subjectivecategory.But time is by no means allegorycan be the more easily overcomein that allegoricalsubjectscan be clothed the only componentwhose removal can lead to transcendental, immanence(evenif of a tnerelydecHere, again, Hofmannsthal in an aesthetic such disintegration. be anticipatedlater developments.His imaginary orativekind) and the rift in reality in somesense "l "Lord Chandos" reflects: havelost theabilityto eliminated v7eh2vg only to think of Byzantine concentralemy thoughts or set them out coher- mosaic art. This decorative element has no real punctu- equivalent literature; existsonly in a figurative in it ently."The resultis a conditionof apathy, ated by manic fits. The developmenttowards a sense,;r[d then only as a secondaryconponenl. Allegori{al art of the quality of Byzantine mosaic protestis hereanticipated definitelypathological we But it is is only\alely possiblein literature. Secondly, glamorous, romanticgurse. admittedly in nrustbefu\in mind in examining allegory- and thesamedisintegration is at work. that Previousreaiistic literature,however violent the historicaldi\tinction: does the concept oftranscenits criticism of reality, had always assumed and seenit as a liv- dence in qudltion contain within itself tendencies unity of the world it described (asin Byzantine or Giotto), i art ing whole inseparable from nranhimself.But the towards introducc or is it the t precisely of a rejection of these nrajorrealistsof our tinre deliberately into their work - for tendencies? elenlents disintegration of Allegory, in st literature.is clearlvof instance,the subjectivizingof time - and use them to portray the contemporary world more the latter kind. Tr implieshere,rnore exactly. In this way, the once natural unity or lessconsciously, negationof any meaning becomes conscious,constructed unity (I have immanentin the a or the life o{- nran, We shownelsewhere ex i that the deviceof the two tem- havealready u n d e r l y i n gd e o l o g i c a l poral planesin Thomas Mann's Doctor Fau.gtus basisof this view and stylistic conse(luences. serves cmphasize historicity).But in mod- To concludeour analy s, and to establish the to its emist literature disintegration the worJdof allegoricalchuacter of the of ist litereture, I man- and consequentlythe disintegration of must refer aeain to the of one of the finest personality coincides with the ideological theoreticians of mod ism - to Walter intention.Thus angst, this basic modern experi- Benjanrin.Benjamin's ex ination ol' allegory ence, this by-product of Geworfenheit, has its was a product of his rese rches into Gcrman entotional origin in the experience a disinte- tsaroquedrarna. Benjantin of his analysis f o gratingsociety.But it attainsits effectsby evok- theserelatively rninor plays occasronfor a ing the disintegration the world of man. generaldiscussion the of of ics of allegory. T\complete our examinationof rnodemistlit- He was asking, in effect, why is that transcenerature\wenrustconsider for a moment the ques- dence,which is the essence legory, cannot tionof genre but destroyaesthetics Allegory is that aesthetic itself. wbich itself .,aar e.xcellence to a description Benjamin givesa very conterniprary tlelinirion o f r n a n ' s\ l i e n a t i o n f r o n t o b j e c t i v e r e a l i t y . of allegory.He does not labor th{analogies beAllegory is blematic genrebecause rejects tween it modernart and the Baroque(\cb analogies that assumpti\n of an inrmanent nreaningto are tenuous best,and were ntuch\r,erdoneby at huuran existenc\which - howeverunconscious, the fashionable criticism of the tirne)),,Rather, he however combinh{ with religious conceptsof usesthe Baroque drarna to criticize n\deniisnr, basis of traditionalart. imputingthecharacteristics the lattert\ thc forof 'l'hus in rnedievalart rle observea new secularity rner.In so doing, Benjamin becamethe fi\t critic (in spite of the continue of religioussubjects) t o a t t c r n p t p h i l o s o p h i c a ln a l y s i s f t h e a e \ r h e r i c a a o rriuniphing more and more, from the time of paradox undcrlyingmodernistart.He u,ntcsi, Giotto,over the allegorizing an earlierperiod. of Certain reservationsshould be made at thls In Allegory,thefacies hippocraticaol' hisrory k{ks point.First,we mustdistinguish between literature to theobserver a petrifiedprimeval like landscap\.
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./'

5
What provokcs us to look at all philosophers with a mixture of distrust and contempt is not thet wr re rhrrys uncovering hor guileless thcy are-how often and ersily thcy losc thcir gra$p o, their way, il short how childish rnd childlile rhey arc. It is rethcr thet they rm not honest enough, hwever toud and virtuous a rrcket they dl make es soon &s thc problern of truthfulness is touched upon, qyen from afar. For they ect rs ifthcy hed discovcred and acquircd what are rctually their opinious through thc independcnt unrawlling of a cnld, purq divincly unhampercd dialcctic {whcrcas mystics of evcry order, who are more honest, and more fmlish, speak of inspiration'); trasically, honever, they are using reasonE sought rfrer the fect to dcfcnd e preexisting tcnct, e sudden idea a'bninsrorm', or, in most ctseq r rarefied and abstract version of their heart's desire. They are all of thcm advocxte$ who refuse thc narng that is in mort cascsrrily spokcsmcnfor their prejudiccq which thcy dub 'truths'; and they rne ocry far from heving a conscicncv breve cnough to Gln up to it, very far frum having the good taste to mnoun(r it brrvely, whether lo rvtrn a foc or a friend, or simply from high spirits and self-mockery. We have to smilc at the spectecleof old Kant's hypocrisy,* es rigid as it is chastg as he lures u-sonro the dirlectical bactroads that lead (or better, mislced) us to his 'categorical imperative',* firr we are frstidious and takc no smdl ilnurcmcnt in monitsring the subtle *-iles of old mordists and moral prcachcrs. Or take that hocus-pocus of mathematical form in which Spinoza armoured and disguiscd his philosophy ('the lor.e of ils wisdorn'* ultirnately; if wc interpret the word correcdy u{fairly), to intimidate et thc ourset any brave asseilanr who might darc to throw a ghnce er this invinciHe virgin end Pallas Athrna-hcn+, this sickly hermit's masqucndc bctrals his own timidity end rssailabiliry!

7
Hor rnalicious philosophers can bc! I Lnoq of nothing more venomous then the jolc that Epicuruf made at the expenseof Plrto 'Don1'siokolalcs'. Literally and end the Pletonists: he called thcm '{ltttercrs of Dionysus', that rq the ryrant's primarily, this means 'They are r'll actors, appcndaps and toadies; but it alsn suggsts: 'Dionysiololex' vas a thctc is notiing gcnuine about them' (for populer term for rn actor). And the laner meaning conttins the real melice that Epicurus fircd off at Plrto: hc was annoyed b1' the mannered grandiosiry thc theatricality that Plato and his pupils

6",
{ Little by lirtle I cameto undcrstandwhat eveTy grear philosophy to date ha"s been:the personelconfession its ruthor. a kind of of unintcndcd and unwining memoir; and similerly,that the moral (or immoral)aims in evcrl philosophvcrrnstituted actual sced thc from whichthe ntole plant invariably grc'r Whenever expleining

lus

14

Eqowl Goodad Etil

(k thc kejtdicct

of Philosophcrs

ts

I philosophy'exercised throughout Euwrpc(one understands, hope, quotetionmarksl), lct no one doubt that a ccrtein why it dcucn'es xirtrc dmmitirrr hed N part in it: .midgt the noblc meu of leisurg arti$ts, the pcrtiel Christianq end political the moralists, m-vstics, of every nation, people nrcrc delighted thet Germrn obccurantists philmophy offered an antidote to the rtill overponeringscnsuelism onq in short: 'scnsus pouring into this ocntury from the prer"ious . assoupire'. .

putting an end to the superstitions that proliferetcd with nearly nopicel rbundence around the idea of the vrul, the up psychologist hes of cours seerned to crst himself into r new desoletion rnd e new distrust-it may bc that thc old pcychologists hrd it caeier; mcrricr-but he knows thet he is thercbv dso condcmned to

Irnaartin*

rnd-who knors?-pcrhrys to fiading.I3

As regardsmatcrielistic atomisn4' hardly anything has ever bccn so well refuted; in all Europc there is probobly no scholar so unschmlcdasto went to credit it with scriousmeaningrprrt from e handy cvcrydry uscfulness(thet ii! as a stylistic abbrevietion). This we owc primarily to the Rrlc Boscovich,'whorlong with thc Pole C.opcrnicuS achieved the greatest victory yet in opposing the appcarrntr of thingt. For whilc Copernicusconvinccd us to that bclicvecontraryto all our scnses the earthdoesrol stendstill, Boscn'ich taught us to rcnouncethc last thing thrt 'still stood' in 'mattct', in thc bit of aboutthe earth, the belicf in 'substancc', earth,tbe particlq the rtom: no oneon certh heseverwon a greater triumph over thc senses. J--- Hrvc"er, we mu$t Bo even further and dechre wer, e merciles.s thc wrr unhr the death ag:ainst 'atomistic nsed' thet ixmtinues to live e dengrrous aftcrlife in plecrs where no one suspctsit (as docs tht: morr famous 'metaphysirzl noed').* The first step must thu Ntomism Christianity be ro Lill offthet othcr rnd moreominous of uught best end longest:tlr atontisn thc soal.If pu allow mg I would use this phraseto describethc belief thet holds thc soul to ineredicahle, eternel,indivisiblg a monad,an atom: bc something mustsrst out /ru bclief! And confidentirllSwedo not nccd scicnce to gct rid of 'thc soul' itsclf nor do without one of our oldest,most h1'pothcscs, which the b'unglingnaturaliststend to do, vencrable on losing'the soul' ui sq)n s thcy've touc'hed it. But thc wey Lt atxrutthc soul; of clearfor new and rc{ned versions thc hypothesis in futurc, concepLs such as the 'morul soul' and the 'soirl es the multiplicity of the subiect'and thc 'soul as the socialconstructof drivcs and cmotions'will cleim their rightful placein sciencr,B1'

Physiologists should thinl nrice bcfore dcciding rher an organic bcing's primary instincr is the instinct for self-paescrrntion. living A bcing wants abovc all elsc to rcleascits strength; life itself is the will to potrer, and sclf-prcscrvationis only one of its indirccr rnd mo$t fhquent conseqtntce; Herc aseverywtrcrqin short, wt must bcwercof stprrfluoustelalogical principles! And this is what thc instinct for selFpreservetion is (which we owe to the incoruistcncyof Spinoze).r Such arc thc dictrtes of our methd, which in esscnce demrnds rhat wc bc frugel with our principlcs.

r+
It norpmay be dewningon 6ve or sir thinlcrs that evcn physicsis only a way of interpreting or rrranging the world (if I may ssy so: according us!) tnd not r wayof explainingthe world, But in so to far as it relies on our belicf in the senses, physicsis tel,cn for morc than that, and shall long continue to be teken ftrr more, for an erplenetion. Our cyes rnd fingers speal for it, rppeeranceand polprbility spcet for ir to an era with cssentidly ptebeientastes this is enchenting,pcrsuesive, convinci4l, ir instinctivcly follows for thc cenonizedtruth of ever-grpular scnsudism.Whet ir cleer,whrt 'clarifies'? First, wlutevcr eilr be scen and ouchcd-you heve to take every prcblem il leest that fer. Convetscly,the megic of the Platonic mcthod consisted precisclyin its resistarce scnsurliq; ro for this wr.srn a*tonatit method,practiscdby people*'ho may haveenjopd snses even strongpr rnd more chmoruus than thnse of our c'ontemporan6btrt who soughtr higher triumph by mestering them, by toesing over this colourful confusionof thc scnscs (the rabbleof the senseq Platocalledit) the pde, rcld, grey nets es of concepts. Thcrc was a kind of mjoymcntin Plato'smannerof

tv1

Cr,'

18

Beyotd Goodaad Eoil

Oa tlu prcjudica of philasoplurs

19

approximatelythe same Pattem, ancicnt stomirm lookcd for that 'energy' thc particlc of meftcr, the rtom, to ccrmplement effective thet works from out of it; more rigorousminds findl.v leernedto 'littlc bit of certh' end perhapercme dry logiciens do without this will cven get uscd to doing without thet little'thcre' (into which 'I' the honestold hrs eveporeted). T8 it Truly a theory is charmingnot lc.st becausc is rdutable: thet is the what atrtracts bctter minds to it. lt would seemttrat the iust theory of 'free will', which has beenrefuted a hundred rimcs over, wcs its endurrnct to this charm done--someoneis elwayscoming along and fecling stlong cnough to refute it.

r9
Philosopherstcnd to speak about thc will as if everyonein thc thrt the vill evnsuggestcd wodd tncw all ebout it; Schopenheucr knon'through and througtr, do knonr, wrs the only thing we ectuelly knm without rdditions or subtractionsBut I continue to think wrs only doing whet philothat even in this crse Schopcnheuer tcnd to do: approprietingend erSmting t conmort sophcrssimpb pcjadicc, As I see it, thc rct of willing is abort ell something something that has unity only as e word*-cnd thir cofltfilicotcd, c\rmrnonpreiudiw of using only onc word has ovcrridden thc (which waanvcrall thet great anywry)' S<l philosophers'caution 'unphilosophicrl',I*t lct us be more ceutiousfor one, lcr us be us sey that in cvery act of wilting thcre is first of all a mukiplicity of fcelingq namelythe fecling of the condition wc crc mowngawa1 fmm end the feelingof the condition wc ert moving tooatds;the 'tonrds'; and thcn a concomitant fe*ling of this 'awey' md.this thst, without our rctually moving'trms snd fccling in the muscles we 'will'. lcgs', cnmcsinto play out of r kind of hrbiq whenever Socond, iust as rvemust reognize fceling and indeedmarrykinds of feeling,asan ingredient of the will, so must nGlikewisereoognize thought, rnd act thinking: in cver,v of will therc is a commanding that this thought cen bc FeP$ated ourselves lt'c must not deceive off from 'willingi, as if we would then haveerry will lcft over! Third, the will is not merelya complcxof feclingsand thoughts,

it is aboveill tn cmotion, and in fect the anotiottof cornrnend. what is called'freedomof thc will' is essentially ernotionof the superiorityfelt ttrands the one who rnust obey: ,I anr frrc, .,he', must obey.'This onsciousness lies in evcry will, rs doesrlso a tenscelcrtn$q a direct gazr:concentrated une thing alonc,an on unconditional assessmcnt 'n<n*we must havethis end nothing thrt els',ln inncr certeintythet obodicnce will follog end cvcrything else thrt goesalong with the condition of giving co*-"ndr. A [rcrson who oills: this person is commandinga Somethingin himself that obeys, that he thinls is obcying. or But let us now considcrthe strangest thing aboutthe will, about this mulriferious thing that the common peoplc <:r[ by one word rlone. ln rny given qlse, $r both commandaad obcy,rnd when wc obcy nc kntny the fcclingsof <nercion,pneesurc! oppression, resistance,and agiution thrt begin immediately aftcr thc rct of will. On the othcr hand, we rre in thc hlbit of ignoring or (n/cr_ looking this dirision by meansof the synthcticconcept,I'. Thuq e rryholc seriesof erroncousconclusionsand thereforr of frtsc r.s.s{cs$nents the will itsclf hes been rppendedto willing in such of a way thet the person wh<lwills noq. blieveswith completefaith that willing is cnough action. Because the vast maiority of for in cascqwilling has only occurrtd when there is also tha crluctation that thc cfTcct of the command,-thrt is obcdience,action-will follow, this i'prcrtroa hasbeentranslatedinto the feeling that there is t ncccsscry efcct; suffroe to say,the person wiiling thinks with it somc degrceof crnainty that will and arrion lrc someho* onc: hc attributeshis succcss carryingour his willing to the wilt itself in and in this way enjoys an increasein that fecling of porver that ,Freedom of thc will'-thar is accompenies rny kind of succrcss. thc w<rnlfrn that comptex plcrrsurable conditionexperienccd the by pcrsonwilling nho comrnands simultaneously end identifies himsclf with the onc who executes comman&-as such he can shercin the enjoyinga triumph orer rcsistanct,whilc scrretly iudging that it wssactudl-v will thrt or.erceme resistancc. his thet Thus the person willing sddsto his plcasurable feelingrs commandsr pleasureble thc feelings of the succcrlsful crecuting instrument, the .sen'iceable 'undcrwill' or under-soul (our hdy after rtl is nothing but a sociel structurc of manl' souls).tr'e;ftt c'eil moi;*whrt is occurringhcrc occursin evcryr.ell-structurcdhappyurmmunit5iwherethe ruting

l'1 D

Bcyoad Good and EoiI

On thc Prejudic* of Philosophcts

zr

whole'As of classidcntifieswith the sucoesses the communityrs a we havesaid,everyact of willing is simply a mrttf, of ommrnding 'souls'; fur rhis and obeying; bascdon e social structurc of marry willing ro"on pnli.*,rph"r should chim the right to comprehend " as of ethics:ethicq thet iq understood the from witirin thc sphcrc :unong which rhc phenomcnon thoory of hicrarchical relationships 'lifc' hesits origins.

certain grammeticel funcrions is the spll of physiological velue ludgcrncnts and conditions of nce. This by way of a rciection of [-ocke's superficiality* cnncerning the origin of ideas. 2l Thc causasnrr is the best internd qrntradiction cver deviscd, a kind of logil freak or outrege: but beceuse of man's exccssive pride wc have <pme to bc deeply and tcrribly cntangled with this particular nonsense.Thc yearning for 'fi'eedom of the rrill' in the superlative rnctaphysicel sense that unfortunatcly still prereils in the minds of the half+duceted, thc yrarning to bear complcte rnd final responsibility for one's owl rcrions and to rclieve Gtxl, the world, onc's ancestors, coincidencg society from it*this is rcally nothing lcss then bcing that samc rcns4 szi and, with a daring gretter than Milnchhrusen'q+ drrgging yourself by your hair out of thc swarnp of nothingncss and into existcnce, Noq if someone can sce through the cloddish simplicit;- of rhis fsmous urncepr.frec will' and eliminatc it from his mind, I would then ash him to takc his 'cnlightenmcnt' a step further and likcwise eliminete from his hczd the opplsite of the non-concept.free will': I mean the.unfree will' which srnounts to e misuse of cause end effcct. One should not mslcc the mistake of cowctizittg ,ctruse' rnd .effect' es do the naturel scientists (and whocr.cr else today naturaliz$ in their thinling . . .), in conformiry with the prcvalent mechrnistic ftnlishness that pushcs and tugs et thc causuntil it 'has Nneffcct'; .clus' and'eftbct'should tc used only as p\re co?tccftsa c{rnvntion$l es fictions for the pur1rocc of description or communicztion, and not for erphnation. In the 'in itsclf' thcre is nothing of 'ceusal associations',of 'nrcessity', of 'palchological constreint'; the effect docs na, follow 'upon the cause', no 'lawt got'erns ft. We done arc thc ones who have inverrtcd causeq succesrion, rcciprocity, rclativity, coen:iotr, numbr, law, freedorn, reitson, purp(l6e; and if rve proiect, if wc mix this n'orld of signs into things as if it wer$ an 'in itslf', wc act onco mor as wc have ahmys donq thrt is, mythologicell.y. The'unfrce nill' is mlrhology: in rcal life it is only a matter of $rong rnd neat wills, Whencvcr a thinLcr sniffs out cnercion, nccssity, obligation,

zo
Thar individuel philosophicrtconclpts lrc not somcthingisolated, a1d somethingunto ihemsclveq but rather grow up in referenoc zuddcnly and erbitnrily to reLrtcdness on another; that howevcr thcy scemto emcrgc in the history of thought, they are as much e prt of onc systmas are thc brsnchcf of thuna on on continent: this is nt*ed.d not lerst hy the rury the mcnt disparatephiknophers invariably fill out one particular basic schemaof possltla philorun around the same Und"r $orneunscenspcll they always sophics. indepndent they mey fctl, one from thc othcr' with orLir hwener in their will to criticlsm or to system,something thcm is lcading to follow onc rnother in a crcrtainorderthein, driving thcrn all an inborn raxonomyand alfnity- of concepti. li truth their thinking is much less an act of discoverythan en act of rccogrrizinganew' a ene\F, rcturn back homc to a distant' ancientuniremcmbering vcrsal economyof thc soul from out of which thosc concepts of is initially grcw:philosophizing thusa kind of etavism the highcst -This of rescmblanc-c ell easily explains the srengc family order. linguistic Wherever Indirn, Greek, and Crcrmenphilosophizing' for ell, above is prrsent,cvcrythingncessary an analogous etfinity, will inevitatrly of and scquence philomphicalsystems <lcvelofmcnt the beginning, thrnks to the shererlphilos0phy be on hend from of granrmar (l mean thanlc to bcing unconsciously'ruled and guidcd by similar Slsmmltiqrl functions), iust asthe way to trrtlin itrrcr possitrilitiesfor intcrpreting the world will tcern o be bloclcd. philosophersfrom thc ural-Altaic linguistic zone (rvhere the n"ill most probablylu* *rr..pi of the subicctis leastdevelopcd) .into thc world' and will be found on othcr pathsthan diffcrentty the Indo.Gcrmrns or Muslims: and in the last anal.rsis, spell of

tal rll

EcyondGoodatd Eoil 'caus'l connection' or 'psychologicel pressure,constraint in rny own inrdneassity', it is almoet elwaysI symptom of where his rcvcaling--+hc petson is w"v is. ;urcy i# . r""r this perticulri 'constraint himself. And ii I heveobscrvedcorrectly' the ;;;ii"g two completely of the rill' is dweys concsivedas I prouem from w?yt-th." profoundlypcrsonal in but always a 'responsibility"their "pp.tl," "".apoins, olr" groop will not hearof rclinqubhingtheir tlub crcdit (thc vain UUi"?in ihr.srlacs,thcir peruonelright to torke be othcr group I*9 raccs are of this type); con"crselS the lo and out of their inner rerft"nsibl" for nott inl piltv* of nothing, onc \r'ay of seli+nternp they ycern to curt olf that orn sclves they tend nowadayq anothcr.Whcn this latter group writes books of rridistic oomprssion to tale up thc causcof criminals;a sort horv much i. tfr.it nicest disguisc. And indeed, it is surprising <rn lool when it presents pretticr the fatelism oi the wcet-witled 'la religion de la souflrancehumaine';r that is what it i*lf ", .good tesre,. meen' by. ( A givc up the If you'll forgivc mt en old philologirt who crn't of bad interprctctivePractilt' wi"lolr,ess oi pointing out examples proudl5 of the'lawfulness naturc'that 1ouphysicisespealaboutso grrcc of lour interpreutiong your as if . . .----thisonly existsby no bad 'philology'; it is nor a facturl mafter'not a'text', but rathet -a concocnon,a contortion of neive humanitarirn m,rrc th"n thc accommodeting demt> meaningthat allowsw)u to suco:edin'Equality txfore the lew- is cratic iistincts of the modern soul! llt'erery*hcr.-nature is no differcnt and no bctter thrn *'c enmitl' the plcbcian's ma.sls ulterior thoughtonoeeg:rin this amiable and as umrrds everythingprivilepd and autocretic, well as e new 'Ni dieu, ni mritrc'+-that's w'hrt you folks morc subtle atheism. o,"n,,,oo.$1'longlirrcthelawofn4turcl'Isn'tthatrightlButas could comcalong this is intcrpretrtion,not text;end somEone 1I say, at skill whq loolciag i *it['thc oppoeitcintention rnd interpreEtivc samc phenomcnr' the very rEme naruneand rcfcrring to the vcr-v would reed out of it thc ruthlcssly tyrannir:l and umelanting put to you esscrtionof pouer claiml Such rn interpreter would thcunir.ernalityandunconditionalitvinall.willtoporrcr'insuch

An ilu prcfuica of phitosophns

zj

a wey that virtudly cvcry ruord, cven the wond .tryrnry-', would ultimetely epparuseless et leesronly as a modiffig, tni,igrti"S or metlphor-rs too humrn. yct this philosopher,too, *oUa *a d , meking the 1me cleims for his world es you others do f"r Frurs, that ia ciounsc ,necessrry'rnd.predictrble',ror U"ou* is I lmcly laws are rt worh in it, but rether beusc the rrws ere abmlutery I \ Iachin1, and in eyery moment Eyerypower drrws its 6nal *nr* quencc.And given that he too is iust interpreting<nd you'll be eagerto raisethat objection,won't youl_then, all the bctter. \ 231 Until I -l*r, "l! grychologyhasYen brought to I stop by morel and.fi;ers: hasnot daredto plumb thesedepthe.If we it Rrciudices i may tate previous writing ff a symptorn of whrt has also becn J suppresscd, then no one in his thoughts has cven brushed these depth.s I hevc,es r morphologyand ewlattoaarythcoly of ttu rs nitl to poo*. Thc force of moral preiudiceshas reached'i"t into the most spirituel world, a world epperrntly* cold end without premiss-and it hasobviouslyhad r harmful, inhibiting blinding, distorting effect.A red phyrsio-psychol.gy must strugglcwith thi unconsciousresistanccs thc heert of the reseercher, .heart' in the is working egainstit; a conrcienc.e is still strong and hearty that will bc disuessed and anno!.ed cven by a theory of ttre recipranl conditionalityof 'gotd' end .bed' instincts,which seemsto be e kind of subtle immorality--and er.en morc by a theory of thc derimdon of all good drives fruru bed oncs But grantcd that e porsontekesthe c.motions hatrcd,env1,, of greed,poncr hungeras conditions for living, crucial and fundamcntd ro the universal cc..'nom), life and therrfirrein needof intcnsi$ing if life is to be of intensified, is alsoa pr'on who suffersfrom suchan orientati<ln he in iudgement if he wereseasick. as And yet eventhis hyprthesisis by no meansthe surngcstor most painful one in this cnormous, virtually new realm of dangcrous insightr--end in truth therc sre a hundred gnod rcasons cve4nne ro stay awayfrom it if he_ for caa!on thc otherhend,onccyour ship hesstra-r'c<J this coursc: ont rvellthen! AU right! Grit y.ourtccrhbravely-! Opcn your eycs!Kccp your hantl at the helm!-we ere going to be ravellng beym'd rnorality,rnd by daringto trrrel thcre wc may in th. pro"-ssiUn.
/^'t

1a

24

BeYotdGoodand Eail do morelity wc-lravc left--but what or crush whltever remmnt of opencdto insight been !r, matrcr! Ncver yer lr*'; irtr;**ia "r and the peychologistwho makcs bold travellcrs and "4"**'"*; qurte 'secrifice'(it'tt;;; the sacifzn,full'intclktto', this kind of be reoognizcd thet isychologl' thc contrary!) ,nay dtrnln;fi*tt ir'" rienccs' which thc othct sciencrs es once ag:ein the quJn-"? has psychology oncc ageinbccorne cxisr to senreand mticiprtc. For

SECTION TWO THE FREE SPIRIT

\ the way to bgsic issues'

2+
() saactasimplicLrcst; strangelysimplified and falserrc pcople's How livcs! Once re hrvc focusd our eycson this wonder,thcre is no cnd to the wondermcnt!Sechow we havcmadceverythingaround us bright and free and ligtrt and simple!Weren'twe cleverto Fv our snses frce accrss evcrythingsuperficial,to gir.cour minds to a divine craving for hcadlongleapsend fallacicslHor. we hrve from thc beginningto cling to our ignorancq in order managed to enioy a life of almost inconceirnablc freedom,thoughtlessncsq carelersnesq heertinesqchcetfulness-to cnjoy life! And only upon this foundationof ignorrncq now as 6rm an granitc, could our sciclce be establishcd, our will to knowlodge and onlv upon the foundationof r muchmoreSrowerful the will to no Lnowledgg will, to uncertainty,* unrruth-not rs the opposite the former will, to of but rathcr<s ius refinement!For cven if hngugc, in this caseas in others,cannotget pest its ovn unwieldincss and continuesto spezhof oppositions wbcrethcre rre really only dcgrees and mrny finc differcnccsof gradc; even if wc the knowing also find thc vords in our mouthstwistedby the ingrainedmoral hypourisy that 'flcsh enclblood', non' and thcrr we is now part of our insupcrable undersund n'hat has happened, and laugh rt how even thc very best sciencewould Leepus trappcd in this simplifcd,thoroughly artificial, neldy corcocted, neatly falsified norld, htnr the best sciencclovescrror whetherit will or not, berzusescicnce, bcing rlive,-loves life! 25 Aftcr such a light-heancdinroduction, it is time to ettend to a seriousword, onc that is rddrs.sedrc the most seriousof people. Bc on guard, all you philosophers r.nd lovcrs of krunvledgc, end

(1a '
I./

3+

BeYondGood and Eail

TheFree Spirit
most poorly proven assumption in the world. We should admit at least this much: there would be no life at all if not on the basis of and and if one wanted to do Paspectivist assessments appearances; anay with the 'apparent world' entirely, as some valiantly enthusiastic and foolish philosophers want to do, well then, assuming that People like you could do that-then at the very least there would be nothing left of your 'truth', either! Really, why should we be fotced to assumethat there is an essentialdifference between 'true' and 'false' in the first place? Isn't it enough to aszume that there are degrees of apparency and, so to speak, lighter and darker slhdows and hues of appearance--different aaleurs,* to use the language of painters? Why should the world that is relevont t0 us not be a fiction? And if someone asks, 'But mustn't a fiction have an author?' shouldn't we answer him bluntly, 'Why?' Mustn't this 'mustn't' be part of the fiction, toq perhapsl Aren't we allowed tb be a little bit ironig not only about predicatesand objects, but also tbour!-ggltgg1s?Shouldn't the philosopher be able to rise above i taith in grammar? My respects to Bovernesses, but isn't it about that philosophers renounced the religion of governesses? firne

No matter what philosophicalstandpoint we may take these days, of looking out from any position, the erroteousness the world we think we are living in is the most certain and eoncretething our eyes can fasten on: we find a host of reasons for it, reasons that migtrt tempt us to speculate about a deceptive principle in the 'nature of things'. But anyonewho would try to claim that the falsity 'intellect' (an of the world is due to our thought process'to our or honourable way out, taken by ever-\'conscious unconsciousadaocatusdei),'anyone who takes this world with all its space' time, form, movement, to be falsely inferred, would at the very least have good reason to end by distrusting the thought process itself-for wouldn't this thought process have made us the victims of the greatest hoax everl And what grnrantee would we have that it wouldn't go on doing what it has alwaysdone? In all seriousness, there is something touching and awe-inspiring in the innocence of thinkers that allows them even nowadaysto request iozest answers 'substantial', for from their consciousness: about whether it is example, or why it insists on keeping the outsidc world at such a distance, and all sorts of other questions of that kind. The faith in 'immediate certainties' is morolly naive, and does honour to us 'only moral' after philosophers, but-we are not supposed to be lr, *y but moral terms, our faith in immediate certainties is "ttt stupid, and does us no great honour! Maybe it is true that in bourgeois life an ever-ready distrust is taken as a sign of'bad character' and therefore classified as imprudence: here where we are, beyond the bourgeois world and its Yes's and No's-what is there to keep us from being imprudent and saying that the philo'bad character', as the creature sopher has a veritable right to his who so far has always been most made a fool of on earth-these days he has a duty to be distrustful, to squint out as maliciously as he can from the bottom of every abyssof doubt. Please forgive me for the ioking tone of this sad caricature: for a while now; I m1''self have learned to think differently about them differently' so deceiving and being deceived, learned to assess I am always rady to take a few pokes at the philosophers' blind Why zori It is nothing but a moral prejudice frugr rrbeing deceived. it to consider truth more valuablethan appearance; is, in fact, the

@ \,/

.35
O Voltaire! O humanity! O hogwash! 'Truth' and the search for truth are no trivial matter; and if a person goes about searching in too hurnan a fashion ('il ne cherche le vrai que pour faire le bien'),* I'llbet he won't find anything!

36
Asuming that nothing real is 'given' to us apart from our world ofdesires and passions,assuming that we cannot ascendor descend to any 'reality' other than the reality of our instincts (for thinking is merely an interrelation of these instincts, one to the other), may we not be allowed to perform an experiment and ask whether this 'given' also provides a sfficient explanation for the so-called rncchanistic (or 'material') world? I do not mean the material world as a delusion, as'appearanc' or'representation' (in the Berkeleian or Schopenhauerian sense),but rather as a world with the same level of reality that our emotion has-that is, as a more rudimentary form of the world of emotions, holding everything in a powerful

\'14

-lt I
Beyond Good and Epil

36

TheFree Spirit

37

unity, all the potentid of the organic processto develop and differtoq ofcourse), asa kind ofinstinctual entiate(and spoil and weaken, life in which all the organic functions (self-regulation, adaptation, alimentation, elimination, metabolism) are synthetically linked to ens 3nq1hs1-as a Prelin;nary forn of life? In the end, we are not only allowed to perform such an experiment, w are comrnandedto do so by the conscienceof our method. We must not assume that there are several sorts of causality until we have tested the possibility that one elone will suffice, tested it to its furthest limits (to the point of nonsense,if you'll allow me to say so). We cannot evade this morality of method today: it follows 'by definition', as a mathematician would say. The question is ultimately whether we really recognizethat the will can elfect things, whether we believe in the causality of the will: if we do (and to believe in this is basically to believe in causality itsel$, we zzsl experiment to test hypothetically whether the causality of the will 'will' can have an effect only upon another is the only causaliry.A 'will', of course, and not upon 'matter' (not upon 'nerves', for example): one must dare to hypothesize, in short, that wherever 'effects' are identified, a will is having an effect upon another willand that all mechanical events, in so far as an energy is active in them, are really the energy of the will, the effect of the will. Assuming, finally, that we could explain our entire instinctual life as the development and differentiation of one basic form of the will (namely the will to power, as n/ tenet would have it); assuming that one could derive all organic functions from this will to power and also find in it the solution to the problem of procreation and alimentation (it is all one problem), then we would have won the right to designate a// effective energy unequivocally rsi the Dill to pooer. The world as it is seen from the inside, the world defined 'will and described by its 'intelligible shx1xs1s1'**would be simply to power' and that alone.-

38
Take what has happened recently, in the full light of our modern age, with the French Revolution, that gruesome and (judged from close up) superfluous farce: its noble and inspired spectators throughout Europe have been proiecting their own rebellious and enthusiastic feelings onto it from afar for so long and with such passion that the text has disappearcd underneaththe interpretation.A noble posterity might one day misunderstand all of past history in a similar way, and only in so doing make the sight of it bearable. Or rather: hasn't this already happened? Haven't we ourselves been this 'noble posterity'? And since we now recognize lvhat we have been doing can't we--stop it?

39
No one will very easily hold a doctrine to be true merely because it makes us happy or virtuous, with the possible exception of those dear'idealists' who rhapsodizeabout goodness, truth, beauty,and let all sorts of eye-catching, obvious, and good-natured wishful thoughts swim around together in their pond. Happiness and virtue cannot be used as arguments. But we like to forget, even the thoughtful spirits among us, that whatever makes us unhappy or evil can no more be used as a counter-argument. Something might be true, even if it were also harmful and dangerous in the highest degree; indeed, it might be part of the essentialnature of existence that to understand it completely would lead to our own destruction. The strength of a person's spirit would then be measured by how much 'truth' he could tolerate, or more precisely to what extent he needs have it diluted, disguised,sweetened, to muted, falsified. But there can be no doubt that wicked and unhappy people are better suited to discover certain parts of the truth and are more likely to be successfuhnot to mention the wicked people who are happy-a speciesthat the moralists have kept silent about. Perhaps harshnessand cunning furnish conditions more favourable for the developmentof strong independentspirits and philosophersthan do that gentle, refined, accommodating good nature and skill in taking things lightl.'" which we prize in scholars,and with good reason.Assuming, of course, that we are not restricting the concept

37
'What's thatl But doesn't that mean, to speak in the vernacular, that God's been disproved,but not the devil?'On the contrary! On the contrary, my friends! And who the devil's forcing you to speak in the vernacular!-

rr5

l.

THE PORTABLE NIETZSCHE

FNOM

ON TRUTH AND LIE 48 s-copic-afly focusedfrom all sides on his actions and thoughts.
tt sTongg that this should be the efiect of the . .I:. rnreuect, tor atter all it was given only as an aid to the -most most unfortunate, most dilcate, evanescent beings in order to hold them for a minute in existence, from which otherwise, without this gift they would

0n Truth and lie in an Exha-Moral Sense'

and glittering in innumerable ,ot", ,yrt"*s, there once was a star on which- clever animals invented knowledge. That *",,h... h"rghti;;"_or, mendacious minute of ..world history:,_yet ;nJy'; minute. After nature had drawn a f* br""fi, - tf,.-Jt"igr.rv cold, and -'- "'-' the_ clever animalshad to di;: One might invent such a fable and still not have ill ustra iuffi ciently il; ted ;";;;,1; shadowyand fighty, how aimlesr and arbitr"t, ;h";"_an intellect appears in nature. There have been eterniUeswhen it did not exist; and when it is-a"r"^f", nothing will have happened. "gain, ttLis i;"id; h", ,o further -ror mission that^ would l."d l;y;;;;;;;" rife. rt is human, rather, onty ona ltr-#;; #i'iroa,r"er, gives ij su1h importance, ,, lf th" *"rld;i;o.ted around jt. But if we could communicate with ,1" .;;q;;,'il; rve would learn that jt-foats tl,rorgir-tn" air with the same self.importance,feeling.wlthi'n *"ff ,fr. ny*g center of the world._There is nothing- in naturc so despicable or insisnifcant that il;;;?, immecliately

rn some remote comer the universe, of n"rrj;t:il

!3 ]i\; porverof knowledg", "-rr,gii'i,"",i,of this nnjyrri u. porterwantsan admirer,the prouiestnur"n;";;;,',# "u.'.y philosopher, ";'?e thinks that he seesthe ;t;, i,niuersetele_
'A fragment publishedposthumously.

uloy, up

a baguy

reason son. 'rhat l?r: ,"*q !o fee as quickly is f,essing's h-aughti_ness goeswith knowledgeai'd feelwhich oi i1g, which shroudsthe iyes and senses man in a blinding fog, thereforedeceives him about the value in- itself the most flattering :l_:t:l*..|y "TTng itself. Its evaluation knowledge of most universalefie,i is dec-eption; even its most particular efiectshave but somethingof the samecharactei. The-intellect,as a means the preservation the for of K individual, unfolds its chief po*"rr'in simulation;for this is the means which tfre weaker,los ,obrrsi irrby dividuals preservethemselves, since tf,ey Ju"ia the chanceof waging the stmggle for existence "r" with hltl o,r the fangJ of beastsof""prey.fn man this art or srmulaUon reaches peak: here deception,flattery, its Iying and chearing, ta]ling behind tt"^Uo"t, ffi;, living in bonowed splend-or, being masked,the di!_ guise of convention, acting a role"before othe"s and beforeoneself-in short,th"econstantn"tt.rirrg the singlelame of vanity is so much the rule"and th; "LJ;J Iaw that almostnothingi, ,nor" incomprehensible than how an honestand puie urge for trutli could make its {ppearance."Tongmen. They are deeply immersedin tuustons and dreamimages;their eye glides only over the surfaceof things oid se"s .fJrms".; their ieelinq nowhereleadsinto truth, but contentsitself *iah lil; reception of stimuli, it f]aying, _as_ were, a game of blindman's bufi on tte bactiof things.Mor"oi"r, .*

&

THE PORTABLE NIETZSCHE

pennits himself to be lied to at night, his life long, when he dreams, and his moral sensenever even tries. to prevent this-although men have been said to have overcome snoring by sheer will power. What, indeed, does man know of himselfl Can he even once perceive hjmself completely, laid out as if in an illuminated glass case?Does not nature keep much the most from him, even about his body, to spellbind and con$ne him in a proud, deccptive consciousness, far from the coils of the intestines, the quick cunent of the blood sheam, and the involved tremors of the fibers? She threw arvay the key; and woe to the calamitous curiosity which might peer just once through a crack in tle chamber of consciousness and look down, and sense that man rests upon the merciless, the greedy, the insatiable, the murderous, in the indifference of his ignoranc*hanging in dreams, as it were, upon the back of a tiger. In view of this, whence in all the world comes the urge for truth? Insofar as the individual wants to preserve himself against other individuals, in a natural state of afiairs he employs the intellect mostly for simulatjon alone. But because man, out of need and boredom, wants to exist socialln herd-fashion, he requires a peace pact and he endeavors to banish at least the very crudest bellum omnium contru omnesr from his world. This peace pact brings with it something that looks like tlie first step toward the attainment of this enigmatic urge for truth. For now that is ffxed which henceforthshall be'truth"; that is, a regularly valid and obligatory designation of things is invented, and this linguistic legislation also furnishes. the ffrst laws of truth: for it is here that the contrast between truth and lie ffrst oriqjnates. The liar uses the valid designations, the word"s, to make the unreal r "'War of all againstall."

ON TRUTH AND LIE 4 appar as real; he says,for example,"I am rich," when the word "poor" would be the correct designation of his situation. He abusesthe ffxed conventions by arbitrary changes or even by reversalsof the names. When he does this in a self-serving way damaging to others, then society will no longer trust him but exclude him. Thereby men do not flee from being deceived as much as from being damaged by deception: what they hate at this stageis basicallynot the,deceptioirbut the bad, of hostile consequences certain kinds of deceptions. In a similarly limited way man wants the truth: he desires of the agreeable life-preserving consequences truth, but he is indifferenr to pure knowledge, which'has no con' he sequences; is even hostile to possiblydamaging and destructive truths. And, moreover, what about these cnnyentions of language?Are they really the products of knowledge, of the sense of truth? Do tl-re designations and the things coincide? Is language the adequate expression of all realities? Only through forgetfulnesscan man ever achieve the a fllusion of possessing "truth" in the senseiust designated. If he does not wish to be satisffedwith truth in the form of a tautology-that is, with empty shellsthen he will forever buy illusions for truths. What is a word? The image of a nerve stimulus in sounds.But -us, to infer from the nerve stimulus, a cause outside that is already the result of a false and unjustified application of the principle of reason. . . . The different languages, set side by side, show that what matters with words is never the truth, never an adequate ex' pression; else there would not be so many languages. \The 'thing in itseU" (for that is what pure truth, withwould be) is quite incomprehensible I out consequences, to the creatorsof languageand not at all worth aiming. I only the relationsof things to man, for. One designates I

THE PORTABLENIETZSCHE 48 end to express them one calls on the boldest metaI phort. I -ffrs-t A nerye stimulus, ffrst transposedinto an image metaphor. The_image, in turn, imitated by"a | I sound-second metaphor. . . l,et us still give special consideration to the formation of concepts. Every word immediately becomesa concpt, inasmuch as it is not intended to serve as a reminder of the unique and wholly individualized original experience to which it owes its birth, but must it tbe same time fft innumerable, more or less simflar coses-which means, strictly speaking, never equalin other wonds, a lot of uniquil case-s. Ilvery *n"ept originates thrgugh our equating what is uniqual. lio Ieaf ever_wholly equals another, and the concept .Ieaf. is formed through an arbibary abstraction from these individual difrerences, through forgetting the distinctions; and now it gives rise to the ldea fhat in nature there might be something besides the leaves which would be '1eaf'-*ome kind of orjginal form after -rnarked, which all leaves have been woven, copied, colored, curled, and painted, but by unskilled hinds, so that no copy tumed out to be a correct, reliable, and faithful jryg" of the original {orm. We call a person 'l:onest." lVhy dil he act so honestly todqy? w:e ask. Our answer usually sounds like thii: because of his bonesty.-Honestyl That is to say again: the leaf is the cause of the leaves.After all, we know nothing of an essence-like quali_tynamed 'honesty"; we know only numerous individualized, and thus unequal actions, wfjch we equate by omitting the unequal and by then calling them honest actions. In the end, we distiil from &em a qualitas occulta with the name of .'honesty,,. , . . What, then, is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, neton;rms, and anthropomorphisms-in short, a^ rurn

ON TRUTH AND LIE

47

of human relations, which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellishedpoetically and rhetorically, and which after long use seem firm, canonical, and obUgatory to a people: truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuouspower; eoins which have lost &eir pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins. We still do not lanowwhere the urge for truth comes from; for as yet we have heard only of the obligation imposed by society that it should exist: to be truthful meansusing the customarymetaphors-in moral terms: the obligation to lie according to a ffxed convention, to lie herd-like in a style obligatory for all. . , .

Nsrss ABour \{ecxm

(January 1874) is a transposed painter and Schiller a r, then Wagner is a transposed actor.

transposed

(vu, 34r) &;.3 As a pamphleteer is an orator without the poger (vu, gsg) to convince. It was a special form of W ambition to relate : Schiller-Goethe, himself to high points of the Beethoven,Luther, Greek \Shakespeare,Bismarck. Only to the Renaissance he establish no but he inventedthe spirit as op relationship; (vu, g$) posedto the Romance.
's

Pt^4io CHAPTER )GIII

R.p,.b)i .

[vr. So8

then, which gives to the objects of knowledge their truth him who knows them his power of koowing, is the Form and dal sature of Goodness. It is the cause of knowledgc and so, while you rnay think of it as an object of knowldo well to regard it as something beyond truth and edge yo\will precious as thesc both are, of still higher worth. krowledge

CHAPTER )CilV (vr. 5o9 >5rr r)

FOUR STACES OF COGNTIION. THE LINE

And, just a\i-o our analogylight and vision were to be thought

of as like the\Sun, but not identical with it, so here both knowl-

cdge and truth\e to be regardedas like the Good, but to idcntify is wrong. The Good must hold a yet higher either with the place of honour. a position of cxtraordinarysplendour,if it is You are Fvitrg and tmth and itsdf surpasses them in the source of mean that it is pleasure. worth. You surely But I want to follow up our analogy Heaven forbid, I that thc Sun not only makes fi6 things still further. You will thcm into existence and gives thcm we seevisible but dso
he is not the same thing as cxistcncc.l growth and nourishment; : tlesc derive from thc Good Aod so with the objects of known, but their very bcing and not only their power of bei rcality; and Goodness is not th same thing as being, but evea be' yond being, surpassing it in di \ry *d power. at my exalting GoodGlaucon exclaimed with some in such extravagant termsness mc to say what I think. It is your fauit, I replied; you

any rate, completeyour Yes, and you must not stop there. comparisonwith thc Sun, if there is an more to be said. Thcre is a great deal morg I Let us hear ig thcn; don't lcave I am afraid mudr must be left unspoke However, I will not, if I can hclp it, leaveout anything that can be aid on tlis occasion. Plcascdo not.
1 Ttc ambiguiry of gcncis can hardly bc rcproduccd- Thc
gcnci! (gcttation, birth), but 'is not ilaclf gcncsis' timc of tiings wbich bcgin and mc world). things in tlc iaa.lfuiblc to cxist, as opposcd to thc

'givcs thihp tlcir ttrc existcocc in bci.ng of ctcraal

and shiftChaptcr XIX contrasted thc rcalm ol sensiblc aPPearances rcalm ol ctanal and unchanging Forms, domiing bclicls utith thc nated (as we lrota frnow) by thc Good. Thc philosophcr ans hc whosc afrections uerc set or, ftiowlcdge ol that rcal utorld. The Guardiens' primary education in litcraturc and art was mainly confiiicd to thc arcrld ol appearanceand belief, though it culminated 'imagci ol the moral idcaLs, the beauty ol in the Perception ol uthich uould crcitc louc for the indiuidual ?ffsott in whose soal they dwcb (+o+ p.9t). Thc hight intellcctuol training notu to bc dcsctibcd is to dctach thc mind from appearanccs and indiaiduals and to carry it actoss the boutdary bct*een the two worlds atd all thc tuay bcyond to thc aision ol thc Good- It thus cotrcspoflds to tAc'grcata' tnystcrics' ol uhich Diotima sPcaks in the Symposium (zro), l.uhere Exos, detached lrom its indiaidual obiect, adaanccs to the dsion oJ Beauty itsclf (the Good considaed as thc obiect of dcsirc). The ncxt chaptcr tuill giue an allcgoical pictarc of this ptogress. Thc allegory is here prefoced by a diagram. A line is diaided into two parts, whose inequality rymbolizes that the uisible uoild has a lotaer degree ol reality axd truth than thc intclligiblc. Each part is thcn subdiuided in thc same Proportion as the wholc line , (thus A * B : C * D = A : B = C : D|. The lour sections cotcspond to four states of mind or modes of cognition, each clearer and more certain than ihe one below. 'the Tlte louer port (A { B) is ot frst called Visiblej but elscuhere thc feld of doxain the wide senseexplained aboue (p. r8r); and so it includes the'many conuentional notiohs of thc multitudc' about morality (479 r, p. r88). It is the phyical and moral utorld as apptehended by those'Ioaas ol appearance' uho do not recog' nize thc absolutc ideals afiich Plato calls rcal (p. fi9).
221

-ff,

\ s:

__? )

-l

I I I

.t-t

CHAPTERxxrv

' Srarrs or lvftrp Intelligence (nocsis) or Knowledge (epistanc)

[vr. so9

vL 5o9l

FOUB, STAGESOF COGMTION:

THE LINE

233

OaTrcrs Tbe Good

Ivrzrr-rcrslr Wonr.o Mathcmatical objccts

Thinking (dioaoia)

B Bdief
or Appren rNcrs Images A Imagining (ci\as;a) 'Wonr-o (ptt;t)

taitzs the subiect-matter ol thc metltematical sciences (5tt B' Tuo chorrctcriaics of mathcmatical Toccdure afc lnen' p.'45).t ionr1, @) the use ol uisiblc diagrams and modcls as imperlect is e iltustrati)ns ol the objects and truths ol pure thought' Hcre carrying the mind anoss lrom the uiiblc thing to sort ol bidgi (b) the intclligi\le rcaliti, tuhich it must lcarn to distinguis'' assutnptions Each bran'ch of matiematics starts from unquestioned deftitions) and reasons.lrom them dcduaiuely' (poaulatzs, otio*r, but thc ih, prr*kres nay be trac and the conclusions may follow-' air until the assumptions themselucs whoic structure h'angs in the 'sha|l haue bcen shoan to dcpend on an unconditional principl' of the. (This may be conicaured m bc [Jnity itself, an aspea ordinary amd bood.) Meanttthilc thc rtaft of mind is dianoia, the hac inplying a degree of undetstanfor'thin\ingi fot'tioughf 'ing

(A) Thc louest lorm ol cognition k callcd eikasia Thc taord dcfies translation, being onc of tAose current terrns to uhich plan giucs a peculiar sense, to be infercd from thc corrtcxt. It is ctymologically cbnnected uith cikon : imagc, liftencss, and atith'eikos : li&cly, and it cdn mcan eitho lifteness (rcyesentation) or liftening (comparison) or estimation ol ti\clihooi (conjecture). perh.aps 'imagining' is the least unsatisfactory rendering. It seems to be thc tuholly unenlightencd state of mind which tiftes sensible appearances and current mmel rotions at their face ualue-tht ,oiiition of unreleased pisoners in the Caae allegory belout, tuho sec -t/t1 only imagcs of imagcs(B) Tltc higher section stands for comnon-tense belicf (pistis) -calhd in tlre reality of the uisible and tengiblc .things commonly substantial. In the moral sphere it would includc 'corrcct bericfs u.,ithout ftnowledge' (So6 c, p. zt6), such as the young Guardiant tuere taught to hold. Truc bcliefs are sufficient guides for action, but ere insccurc until bascd on \nowlcdge ol thc reasons for them (Meno 97). Higher cducation is to cfrect a/, escapelrom the pison of apPearancet by training the intcllea, fra in mathematics, and then in moral pltilosophy. (C) Thc lonter secNion tlze intelligible conol

Dianoia (533 a,hicilallsshort)1i*1ta rtnowiedge ', P'254)' to thinrtingoncasoningfrym rycm.ks -conclu,rfggrn, dis"ursiuc act

ili, uhneoi noesisk coistaatly conpatcd to the immediatc ol vision and suggeasrathcr thc direct intuitiofl or o?Prchcnsion ol its obiea. ' (D) ihc highcr methodis calledDialcctic' a atord uhich incc ln associa-tions' thc Republic il H)gct has ac'quircd mislead'ing (dialogue) n eans,h, trrhriqrc o|it';totophic conaersation ;ipty to rendct' on by question)rd o"w'r and secfringto :r "oo;ia (logos) ol some receiae from a resfondent,at:'account' .Form' Fo)m suchaslurtice in this dialogue.At this stagc usually'a moral akibli illastrations ,re no long, auailable, and the tnoacment at premkses' but 'upward, frrt k not dounward, deducingconclusions from the ultiand seefring cramiaing the premissis-thetnsel!)es t-hat' if is suggested iatc prin"ipte on- whici thcy oJl depend' It might thcn the mind could eucrise to glasPthe suPreme Form, it by descend a dcducion coifr-ing thi tuhole stucturc of moral cnd muthemeticalfrnowlcdge.Thi state of mind is callcd intclligcrrcc or rational intuitioi (noesis) and- \nowlcd.ge (cpistemg ol Dialeaic aill bc The itt , p. 254)in the lutl sensei:' -proccdure furthi desoibed in ChaPterXXVil'
l Tte intcrprcation of the higher part of thc Linc trovcrsy wbich cannot bc pursued hcrc' is thc srbicc of a loag oo'

1-6( 131

u4

to/o ;, rwo things t vrsrDre "ifft^:{fiTlt dcarly b"for.;il;;j,';: and the ior.lti:ff:r"f intcitigibre I "t:tbl:-.To

ucaYen as r "' you *i,i:H"*T:lT,,f,_,might call- it; ooly ;; ,i. T'sh: vD' u)lt sKrll rD .rvi"r"g}.';,;; etymology.l at ,oy ,'*" you. have thesc iave vou. thesc i"t. i"; would think I ** f havc.

:#.,:,f; .".t# ilfl.*;*;;;;:f"T"*T,T,ti*ff wo{d,r"*i ;ii;--;

qr the other the int

['o' 5oe [ra. jo9 p"pT, theq th"t there are ,t"* *^ _'ooo re{Firs qov.crs r speae of, th. ,*:::--:-t::,,Y: ur au gvud,,, that rs intclligiblg over_ 6c visibl_c "r* the Sun world_

CITAPTER XXIV

n. 5rol

FOUR STAGES OF COGMTION:

T}IE LINE

225

,JK'*oi.T;*"t9ed
part aga* io ,h.to%

rlto *o *:"q:l,pm,

to -oo. repre-

parative ^TT crearness p':po'd'",v;L*fll:

io ,n. "iribt.;;Tj'?:*ttt

,f :h*::r;S$**:ti,{i.'T"tr9,",T"Tffi ffi*: '"-' of thatkini, if you y;;ffi*:,3f-g *a.ir,-j:'

"r;;*;;::?iff""u ffif**o So bc iu ( takc theproportion in whichthe_visible O.Yifr:* world to degrees .*liq.^;;'J"i,'* has that rhe ,lrtrflf-t$g "f I'kcness
Now corisider hor

# Tn.n (a; gneof the two sections

;:$*"3,.

*o;'\

(B) stand for the rst *. Ul."or...-ri""r,,,.,11"j:lj. tl

Let the second scction

acrual -and rhingsof which

about us

al thc

Then wc wil try again; o.'hat I have just said will hdp you to underst".d- (C) You k-o.ow, of course, how students of subjccts like geometry and arithmcdc begia by posnrlatiag odd and evea auinbcrs, or the various figures and ttre tlree kinds of angle, and other such data i-o each subject" These data they take as t.own; and, havi"g adopted them as assumptions, they do not fed called uPon to give any account of the- to themselves or to anyone dsc, but treat th...' as self-evident. Then, starting from these assump tions, they go on until they arrivc, by a series of consistent steps, at all the conclusions they set out to investigate. Yes, I know rhat" You also know how they make use of visible figures and discourse about th"m, though what they reliy havc in r.i"d is the originals of whic-h these figures ffs images: they are ae6 1625ening, for instrncg abour this particular square and diagonal which they have &awn, but about rle Square ar.d the Diagonal; aod so in all cases. The diagrams they draw and the modds they make are acrual things, which may h3ve thcir shadows or images in water; but now they serve in their turn as images, while the studeot is seeking to behold thosc realities which only thoughr can appreh^-,t I

*5:;"*,,"1o};1il'trifi.f ;Tffi l,::.tii*;-,'.1;1;'*.

assuTPtions travelling;;;;" and pri"lprJ, il;"#:m conclusion.the,.-oa'ioj-#._a In moves thc o,no l?_" in

*:.,***il:11 [T.*,j,tT i+:IT l;$ll:f"._:T f: .Tn:h" :1. t*rlfu "i: i'f --ilil:' t:
*
coo_oc.ctcd the w,

in1uiry solery:6.i,..;;, il; "r;il?;LJffr.t: *: by "i.,j^:T .( oon'rquitc undersi"oi their means. wh"t t;;;;r". r Soroe

p'io.ipr.wliiTJoff ir*t.|L-,;oT11::l_"p',,*,,-a"*. rmases crnproyed

sec. (crayras,

True. This, tlcn, is the dass of things that I spoke o{ as intdiigible, but with two qualfications: fust, that the mind, in srudying thern, is compelled 16 a:rd, becausc cannot risc it "mploy assumptions, abovet}esg doesnot uavd upwards to a 6rst principle; and second that it uses as images thoseactual things which have images of their own in the section below them and whic"h,in comparison with thoseshadows and rcflections) reputed to be more palpatile are and valued accordingly. I understand:you mean the subject-matter geometryand Of, ' of
the kindl6d 413.

(D) Then by the secondsecdonof the intelligible world you, .

lConvcrdy, thc fact that thc mathcmatician cao usc visiblc obiccs as illus3f,1 .. . tions i-ndicates rhas g6 rcalitics ald truths of mathcmatics arc embodicd, thougb'.,i... impcrfcctly, in thc world of visiblc ard tangiblc thirgs; whcrcas thc countrrpgffil,i:,i,. ,,itt;ftf of thc moral For.s -. ooly bc betrdd by thought.

zg6 i. ."-.'J-Ttr ,.?*Tr:,.,::H":IilH:*r. ").,,

iilii,', ;f,

t-T.I | 3f

225

CIIAPTER XXIV

[vr.5rr

1 Plato ncver uscs hard aod fast l6chnisal tcrms. Tlc four berc dcf.ncd or stricdy cmploycd in thc rcqucl.

"pp."rL.o. You have uaderstood "oJ*.r.w.ll "r\,*.. Lepll.d. And me q-uite now "nou'$, you may takg as correspondingto the fJr:I,sectitns, th.re fou, statesof mind: intelligencefor-the highesg,ila4;og'fr. ;.;; ond, belief for the th;ld, qu rur the i;r;-;&;."T# rs, *d for uc LdsL tmagtr\ng.rnese you ;; may arrarge as the terms in a proportion, each a de"rrigoiof,to gree of clearnessand certainry'corresponding"a &\-.r*. i" which their objectspossess truti and ,.Airy. " \ I understandand agreewith you. I will anange ,n* \ you say.
arc oot

the are elled, whici treat 6qii ass,,-ptiels ,t.g-t, princ;ples. Thd'ltudents of these arts arg it is trug com_ pelled to exercise 66q1.-plating objeca which tle scnses ..h"rghi\ cannot- perceive; but becaus\ th.y ,irrt fiowithout "rr*ptions going back to a.fust.principlly;,u do not regard thL g"ioiog "" true understaading about those \jects, ahhorigh the oblecti them"_ selves, when connected_with a fui.principle;. nteligiUte. ana I thin-k you would d e: starc of nel\ of rl.,esrudcnts oig--.*y aad other such afts, not intclligen.., thinking b.iig ,o-J\ "of". thing betweeo i-ntellig:n..

to distinguish 6eld of inteligibt. .:r[t;di;G the I:1 T."t o1u-g.a cualecuc-*and tiuth than thc subject_ ryeaterccrtainry 'aqt,E'\they mafter of

may understand me to mearr all that unaided ssasoning apprehends air. power of dialecdc, when it treats its not as !f ""ru-p"eo*, fust principles, but as hypothcses in the literal sense,thi"gs .laid down' LI: . flight of rt.p, up which it may mounr all tie w"y to something thar is not hypotietical, the firsi principl. of all; ani having gra:sped this, may nirn back a.nd,hol.ti^"g oj . th. -*..qxences whjch depend upon it, descend at lasi to a condusion, -"Yg use ot any scnsible objecg but only of Forms, mov:*{ rng txrough !:t3s trom to another, alrd ending with Forms. 9ne I undersmnd, he said, ,hough not perfecCy; fo, "th. procedure you describe.sounds like an .oor-ot.rr^u.oderlrking. But I scc that

CHAPTER )CfV (rrr. 5r4 t_5zr n)

THE AILEGORY OF TT{E CAlIE

The ptogress of the mind lrom the louest stotc ol unenliphtE world of appeerance tu an ander f:rr,comparing -tlte C,aue.In Empedocte! retigious'p";; ,;;--;"uerc afiich ,ne sout to tts incarnation say, ,We haue cime undcr tlzis

:::'r::

!"-??r'!n

o,fthc Goodis notuiilustatcd-bythc

p,n-ti os.tt) a,, h h h !- jj:j,:j for initiationwcre-led o, i nl* o,t t * og at ic: :! eandidates f_:." to the ,rrri"r;rr'"it"Ji'iit, ,:,r?^!,::: ,:r!,.rh.eidea-tr,a i"ii ti, t, a prison,houie; ".! condemncd uhich sout-k tlze
Plaa m the Orphics.

roof.' The_imagewasyoboity ta\en lrom mysteries held in c

Io, ;o;-*iiaiai,ru"ii#iiiJ7 fi: r -'-- tt"-q

' into'the

one moral ol the ollegoryis drawn I from the disnesscaascd b,, sud(en passage lrom darftne-s,ti t;ght. T;;;;;;;-;;;;;5, loo ogot!.fi p\nging a
untraincd miod,

ol dazedpisonn aigg,'d:, i""i':";) the sunlipht. oat into :::l:.:::,? ptan'sten yeari.the "',\,Pinou ,oor* oy 5)lr'*.ri'Jii;,#f',:, ,!:"!;!:::,,^:r.:.:::,j* , b,fore moratidcai ,i se callcd in question(SZZ *;;;;;;;;ng
E fr" p. 259). Nrxr, said I, here is a
men

t::::'-\1:l

the o,) l:p; ?6):as sop}tists son*n r,;*',,ififr

discassio,

oy _*:ii

to illustrare the degreesin which,

llT: l"A.g is in front of them, b.."ur. the chains only what wiII :T-:"" ,".". ii,,*..;sh_."i;, not ,ili,fi: :T*":IT:,*l 1.,"9,:,A, ,ii'rrr*""*r;j'il'; of a 6re burningbehind them;and il;;
lcngth of the'way 'n' (eisodo) to tle cbambcr where trc prisocrs -_1The a.o csscntial fcacurc, cxpl^ining why no daylight ,caJ* an.-. cit ir

to fi"ll*":il^T-:'x{':,oPen .h.Ld; ;; ;;; P;; H.,e.th.y ;..""i,;_*;;#: ffi:; ir". * 1:*l-*. To:.. as3 b/.*.;.:r.,_ ,,",h",;;;ffi;ffi#T:

l 3h

228

CHAPTER ETV

[vn. 5r4

vrt- 5r5J

THECVE

n9

fue is a track 1 with a parapet built along ig like rhe screen at a puppet+ho'w, which hidcs tle performers while they show their puppets over the top. I see, said he. dong variNow behind this parapct imagine persoDs cz;rryl:o,g ous artificial objects, including figures of meo and animals in wood or stone or other materials, which project above the parapct. Naturally, some of ttrese persons will bc telking, others silent.z It is a strange picturg he said, and a strange sort of prisoncrs. Like oursdves, I replied; for in the fust place prisoners so confincd would have seen nothing of the-selves or of onc another, except the shadows thrown by the fue-light on the wail of the Cave facing them, would theyl Not if alt thek lives they had been preventd from moving thcii heads. Ald they would have seen as lirde of thc objects carried past Of course. Now, if they could talk to one anorhcr, would they not supposc that their words referred only to those passing shadows which tiey sawl u Necessarily. And suppose their prison had an echo from the wall facing them? When onc of tl-repeoplc crossing behind them spoke, they could only suppose that the sound came from the shadow passing before their eyes. No doubc
l Thc track crosscs tlc passag:c i-uto ttrc cave at right anglcs, aad 's abouc 6c parapct built doog iu 2 A modcro Plato would comparc hii Cave to ao uadcrgrouad ciacm4 wbcrc thc audieocc watch thc play of shadows tlrown by ttre 6lm passiag bcforc a light at ften back& Thc 6Ln itclf is only an imagc of 'rcal' things and cvcnts in tte worlq outsidc the cin6a1a. For thc lm Plato h-" to substih.rte the clumsicr apparanrs of a proccssion of artifcial obiecs caniod on thcir hcads by pcrsons who arc mercly part of the mrchiacry, providing for tle movcmeat of tlc objcca aad tic sor:-ods whosc ccho tJre prisoocrs hcar. Thc panpct preycns thcsc pcrsons' shadows &om bchg cast oq thc wall of the Cavc3 Adam's tcxt aod i-otcrprctation- Tbc prisoners, baviag sccn a6thing but shadows, ca-o.uot ttria.k thcir words rcfer to tlc objccs carricd past bchind rheir backs. For tbcm shadows (imagc) are thc ooly relitic.s.

Io every way, then, such prisoners would re-.r,gttzr as rcality of sething but the shadows tlose artificial obiects.' Incvitably. Now consider what would happen if their rdease from the chains and the healing of their uqwisdom should come abut in this way. Supposeone of them set frec and forccd suddenly to statrd up, turs his head, and walk with cyes liftcd to the light; all thesemoverrents would be painful, and he would be too dazzled to make out the objectswlose shadowshc had been used to told him fist see.What do you think he would say, if someone what he had formerly seen was meaningless illusion, but now, being somewhat nearer to realiry and turned towar& more real objects, was geftitrg a truer view? Supposefufther that he wcre he shown the various objectsbeing carried by and were nadc to safr in rcply to questions, what each of them was. Would he not be perplexed and believe the objects now shown him to be not so red as what he formedy saw?' Yes, not nearly so real. Atrd if he werc forced to look at the fue-light itself, would not his eyesache, so that he would try to escapeand turn back to the rh;ngs which he could sce distincdy, convinced that they really wete cleater than thescother objectsnow being shown 16 him? Yes. Ald suppose someonewere to drag him away forcibly uP the steepand rugged asceatand not let him go until he had hauled him su1 into the 5rrnlight,would he not sufier pain and vexation at sud treatrnent, and, when he had come out into the light, find his eyesso f-rill of its radiancethat he could not seca single otrc of d1gthings that he was oouf told were reall Ceruinly he would not seethem all at once He would need, then, to grow accustomedbefore he could see to things in that upper world.'At fust it would be easiest makc out shadows,and then the imagcsof men and things reflectedin *
.tl

l The state of mind uilrA in thc prcvious chapter. "i4*io 2 Thc fust cficct of Socratic questioning is pcrplexity. Cf. p. 8. E Hcrc is the mcral-the necd of habituation by mathcmatical str.rdy bcfore discursiag moral idcas and ascending through tlea to thc Form of thc Good.

t1-?_\31

230

CTIAPTER XXV

[vn. 516

water, and later on tle thiags themsclves. After thag it would be easier to watch the bodiesand the sky itseff by nighr, !T".dy looking at the light of the moon and starsrather than t!. Sun La the Sun's light in the day-time. Yes, surdy. r Last of hc would be able to look at the Su.,,and contcorplatc '"li* its naturg "ll, as it appearsDot whcn reflectedin water o, "oy medirrm, but as it is in itself in its own domai.,No doubr And now he would begin to draw the conclusionthat it is thc Sun that produccs the seasonsand the course of rtre year and controls everything in the visible world, and moreover is L a wau the causeof all that he and his companioasused ro see. . Clearly he would come ar last to ih.at conclusion. Then if he called to mind his fdlow prisonersand what passed for wisdom in his formcr dwdling-placg he would surely'thi'k himself h.ppy inthe chaage and be sorry for the,r. Th.y may nav. had a pracdce of honouring and commending one *o,no, *ian prizes for the man who had the kccnestcye for the passing shadows and the bcst memory for the ordcr in which thev foiloLd o. accompanicd one anotber, so that he could make a good guessas was going to come next." Would our relised l" -y-ht-"h irisoner be likdy to coverthoseprizcs or to enry the meu exalted,o hooo* and power in the cave? would,he nor feel like Fromer'sAchires, that he would far sooncr te on earth as a hired servant in thc house of a landless -T', egdureani,thing rather than go back 9r to his old beliefsand live in the old wlvl Yes, he would prder any fate to suctr a life Now imagrne what. would irappen if be went down again to take his former seat i_nrhe Cave. Coming suddenly out of the sunlighg his cyeswould b. fitled with darkness. He might be required once more to deliver his opinion on thoseshadowi,in comr rhc mpirical politician,

vD,- 5r7l

A}PLICATION

OF jrHE CA\IE A1JICORY

r&t

to becomc used to the darkness.

&t-feEtrg-e

b"*_@_hi: up o{_to co-m.

t the ascenl

them up, they would k;ll him.1 Yes,thcy would. Every feature in this parablc,my dear Glaucon, is 'rleant to fit to our earlier andysis. The prison dwdling corresponds the region of revcaiedto us tfuough the scnse sighg and the fue-light wiihi$ it to the powtr of the Sun. The ascent to see the things in ihCupper world you may take as standingfor the upward journey of the soul into the region of the intelligible; ttren you will be iln of possession what I surmisgshce 6at is what you wish to be toJd'. Heaven kaows whether it is true; but this, at any ratg is how it
appeds to me. In the world of knowledg+ the last thing to be perceived a,nd only with grcat difficulry is the essentiSl For,q of it is perceived, the conclusion must follow thet, this is the causeof whatever is right and good; iti

state.

2This vcrse (a.lrady quotedat :g6 c, p. 76), beiog spoken by thc ghost of f,6hill65, suggcsc thel tb6 Cavc is comparablc with Hadcs

f#fTfJt?:il:i]'t

of happcns' 5ota)' Hcbas (Gorg' 'n*f L;o,;.;^;"

with no philosophic irsighg but ooly a .kaac-k

rc-

I So far as I can understand, shue your bdief. Then you may alsoagreethat it is no wonder if dose who hL,v''g, reactredthis height arc reluctantto manage the affairs of lSF r'', Theh soulslong to spendall dreir time in that upper world-o{$ rally enough,if hereoncemorc our parable holds true. Nor, a$ffi, is it at all strange that one who comes from the contempl?d'Oh of of divine things to tle miseries human life should appeara'w ward and ridiculous when, with eyes stiil dazed and not )4et4.e: he customedto the darkness, is compelled,in a law-court or clte'
r A-u allusioq to the fatc of Socratcs

=+>

t38

232

CTIAPTER XXV

[vu. 5r8

vn. 5r9l

APPLICAIION

OF T}IE CAVE AILEGORY

234;,

whcrg to dispute about-the shadows of justicc or the imagcs that "what cast those shadows, is .aod to wrangle over ttre notions of right io the minds of men who hi-ve never bcheld Justice it .lf.'. It is not at all strange.

eS,I$+Sarylt,,i"ti?d .g{.tipghiirg moughtlgstll, wil ask he p{lq$_e_qgg, tgq Lbrigbt_er its uniccustomed viSion IB$Aer, TT-q rs_obscured the by

h9 will recogfrf,thpt the 9a4e.dlng.il3p 9-*.St,,.9 qggf_Jg-thc soul. When hc seesit troubled and unable to &rJ-

.*?r.g..g1:'!le-*tr3*.yil;Ems*m.bel.*thir-6._.etejgg1!econqy?, om_ligh aarkooi" .ftom qro_. o1 T.f te. light;.and 3-dergg frYay=r,

ti1" g-gsrll%

dark.ness, which casehe will tliiiitr iti iondin

tjtg-d-eprhdef."lgl9".:f.le ia?;72'1Ed cxcess liehtlTfir,:.'lrc. ir by of u.i! ratherfed sorryfor it;'iirj Ej.l^ur.r. inclinel"i-;T,,,ot ,l,ii* u.,n^-di,.9t1"ot1r..t!'es,..t_othc lisht.
* If-tbqt{."e]ficn, we must concludethat cducationis not what ' it-is said to be by some,who professto pur knowledgeinto a soul ig , Ihi+ docs not possess asif they coulj put sight iito blind eyes. ' orr th-ccontrary, our owrr accounrsignifiesthal the soul of every r r'?D does possess.th.e power of learning the truth and rtre organ to beeit with; and thag just as one might have to rurn the whole ' body rouSd i-o.order rhat the eyc shoull seelight i-ustead darkof nessr.ro ,h-.. soul must be rurned Lo- this changing i 1"rire "*"y i world 'ntil its eye can bear to conrempratireariry and thai suj p.T: splendourwhich we have called the Cooa. Hence tlcre may ' wdl be an art whose aim would bc to cfiect this very thing the : conversionof the soul, in the readiestway; not ,o pui th. io*o . of sight T,-" q. soul'sey9 *rri.n J."ai has iq but ro ensurethat, instead of.looking in ttre wrong direcrion, it is turned the way it _*ought to be" Yes,it may well be so. It looks, th.o, though wisdom were di-fierentfrom tlose ordi"rty virtues, as", they are called,which are nor far removed from
1In the Goryias 486 ,r, callicres, forccastiag the uial of socratcs, t2uDB him with thc pbilosophcr's inability to dcfcod him.elf in a courl

o-De wHfrA-,deffi g-F; ; or

forced into the serviceof evil, so that the kecner its llhffi.o sighg the more harm it works. Quite truc. And yet if the growth of a nature like this had beeq P*q$ from earliest 'childhood, cleared.of thosc clingrng overgrowths whic.hcome of gluttony and all luxurious pleasureand,like leadcn weights chatgeJ with afinity to this mortal world, hang upon the soul]bending-its vision downwards;if, frced from thcse,thc soul were turoed round towards u:ue reality, then this samepower in thesevery men would see thc truth as keenly as the obiectsit is turned to rrow. Yes, very likdy. Is it rloi also ikdy, or indeedcertaiq after what has beeu said that a statc can never be properly governed either by t}le uneducatedwho know nothing of truth or by men who are allowed to spendall their days in the pursuit of culture? The ignorant-have no single mark before their eyesat which they must-ai-min dl th. -od.rct of their own lives and of affairs of state;and the others will not engage in action if thcy can help it, dreaming-thq whilc to still alivg tl.y l"o. been rranslated the Islands of thc Blest, Quite true Ii is fot us, then, as founders of a commonwealth, to bring colnpulsion to bear on the noblest natures. They - must be made to which wc called the ili*b th. ascenrto the vision of Goodness, of knowledge; and, when they have lookcd upon.lt highestobject loig enough,they must not be ailowed,as they now arg to rern4iD' -,', of; oo",h. h.ightt, iefuring to come down again to the prisoner's ,. and rewards,howevermuch o1'1;."'to take *| p"ta in their labours ':.i;::;ii little thesemly be worth',' 'ii";r ;

of glaace a narrowi rylltrl:.-pig.ge-tbe- gbi-.sbtqt5lEltE bui fu.Aaa."fnae-isnotEiniwt-ofrwith thiit-pow.t of vision,

bodily qualities, in that they can be produced by habituation ^and exercise-in a soul which has not Possessedthem from the fust Wisdom, it seems, is certainly the virtue of some diviner faculty, which never loses its power, though its use for good or harm depends on the dircction towards whiqh i1 is turned' You must have noticed in dishonest men with a rePutatioD for sagacity-th9 .btt-g

+++\31

234

CIIAPTER XXV

[w.

5zo

'tD. 52rJ

APPLIC TIoN

oF THE c!{VE AI,I-EGORY

235

menof that,pu, ''", n;;;,";;; Td jT.p"Iryse in forming b. go.hitoio *ry, but th"i they shouJd b;;; :T_11rn 1"ft,to the mentat blndrng
commrnity into one True, I had forgotten.

Shall we not be doing them-an injusticc, if we force oo tiea worse_ Iife tban they might have? You have f-orgoren -y friend, that the law is nor con_ "giio, cerned to_make oni class ipecially happy, but to .";";. ;; "ay welfare of the comrnonwealth as . *hol..'ny p..ru"rion-o;-.;": strainr it will unitc the citizens in harmony,'-"kiog ,h* .irr1 whatever benefits each class ca.a contribute io th. co"ro_oo n*a,

sharing in the work of the community, though th.y *y livc together for most of ttreL time in a purer air I No; it is a fair demand, and they are fair-minded meo. No doubt, r'nlike any ruler of the present day, they will think of holding power as an. un.avoidable-ne,ecssity. Yes, my--frii:nd; for the truth is that you caD have a wdl-governed,,sdcietyonly if you can discover for your future rulers a bettcr,way of life than hing h o6ce; then only will power be in the h,ands of men who are rich, not in gold, but in the wealth that

egt-d"-*I, 6tr,,*+.+ ryu y_o.ur

= You will sea then, Glaucon,rhat there,will be no real iniustice in.compellingour-philosophers watch to over_d ;; il,il;; citizens.we can fairly teil them that their compeers ia otrer states mal,.3uite reasonably' refr-ue collaborate:,n*'. O.y h";rfi;; to up, like.a se{f*own-plang in dlpitc of their country,s i-nstirutions; no one has fostered tfreir g.rowll, and they cannot t *p;;;; show gratirude for a care tley have never received.Bug, we shall san 'it is not so with yor:- We have brought yoo loto Jr,.o.. for.lour Tunt tt sake as well as for your i*o" ao be like leaders and king-bces a hive; you havebeenbener in Jd _;;;;r;;;il; educated than thoseothersand henceyou are more capabl of {t^i, ing your parr both as men of thoughi and as men of acdon. you

and wiselife. AU=eg}-*Wrorg,w.he;k .5rings.h-"ef--9s,i g*9 starve4.for_lack.of a-nythi-og in-th.eirgqodpen,t-uJn _o..wg ,' UJes,
I

tr

tO DUDlrC aflarrs Doprng tO SnatCh trOm tnence the tranorness thew

wi6 it; otherPower wise rivals will start fighting. So whom else can you compel to ugdcftake ti'e guardir.'ship of thc commonwealth, if not those who, besides understanding best the principles of governmeng eajoy a nobler life than the politician's and look for rewar& of a difLio.d ? 1er'6rr1 Tbere is indeed no other choice.

ngnung ror power, and tl]rs rDterDeciDe lunger ror. r ney seraDour c6iHiet*ruins them and their country.l The life of truc philosophy is the only one that looksdown upon officesof state *i to ; "qcor must be confined to men who are not in love

with-toJjve ,n. t*i-ffi

ou will those wlo live there

XXW (vrr- 5zr c53r c)

as rt is in most existin

frce dissension only where the destinedrulers : re least a desirous of holding ofice.'
i;iqi 1;7 iq-Quite true. Then will our pupils refuse to listen aqd - -"'" to take their turus ar

in truth gou.ro*.oTfr b.';i-iiiE:i-anJ

The PytlzagorcanArcltytas, istcr subfects (mathemata) music. Plato adopts thcse sciencesare here dcsctibcd

t cofltcmpornry, eflumeratet as , aithmetic, astrgnomy, cnd

aa( g solid geometry. These

crrttct

uitlt

respcct to their

l Aristodc, Politics nt. 6: T.{owadaysmen scck to bc' of tlc advaatagcs to be gained fiom o6cc and from thc iii. 8z (oo tic rcvolution at Corqra): Thc causc of all of o6ce for motivcs of grccd a-od ambition.,

ways in o6cc for the sakc rc rcvenucs.' Thucydidcs, rhings was ttre purzuit

-Fts )q D

+,

Ion to uff. ok X, Plato rr the :iding ell as . The ing is 'It is n the r, rhe with I hu-

ightingale,Andrea wilson. Genres in Dialogue; Plato and rhe Construct of philosophy Cambridge: CambridgeUniversityPress,r996. , WhitneyI. Plato's View of Art. New York: Scribner, rgTz , MorrissHenry. Plato's Poetics:The Authorityof Beauty S a l t L a k e C i t y ; U n i v e r s i t y of UtatrPress, 98r. t , Paul. What Plato Said. Chicaeo UniversityofChicago Press, r933. , H e r m a n J . L o v e , K n o w l e d g e and Discoursein Plato. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, r965. press, Taylor,A. E. Plato. r9z9; Ann Arbor: Universiryof Michigan r96o

epublic, Book X
Of the many excellences which I perceivein the order of our State, there is none which upon reflectionpleasesme better than the rule about poetry. To what do you refer? To our refusalto admit the imitative kind of poetry, for it certainly ought not to be received; as I seefar more clearly now that the parts of the soulhavebeendistinguished. What do you mean? Speaking confidence, in for you will not denounceme to the tragedians and the rest of the imitativetribe,all poeticalimitationsare ruinous to the understanding the hearers,unless as an of antidotethey possessthe knowledge of the true nature the originals. of Explain the purport of your remark. Well, I will tell you, although l have always from my earliestyouth had an awe and love of Homer which even now makes the words falter on my lips, for he seemsto be the great captain and teacherof the whole of that noble tragic company; a man is not to be reverenced but more thanthe truth, and thereforeI will speakout. V e r yg o o d ,h e s a i d . Listento me then,or rather,answerme. Put your question, Canyou give me a generaldefinitionof imitation?for I reallydo not myself understand what it professes be. to A likely thing,then,that I shouldknow,
Translated Benjamin Jowetr. The speakersare Socrares by andGlaucon.

r
Therervouldbe nothing strangein that, for the dullereye may often see a thing soonerthan the keener. Very true, he said; but in your presence,even if I had any faint notion, I could not muster courage utter it. WiU you inqui-reyourself? to Well then, shall we begin the inquiry at this point, following our usual method: Whenever a number individualshave a common name,we of assume that there is one correspondingidea or form:- do you understand me? I do. Let us take,for our presentpurpose,any instance such a group; there are beds and tables of in theworld - many of each,are therenot? Yes. But thereare only two ideas or forms of such fumiture- one the idea of a bed, the other of a table. True. And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a table for our use, in accordance with the idea- that is our way of speakingin thrs and similar instances but no anincer makes ideaitself:how could he? the Impossible. And there is another artificer - I should like to krow whatyou would say of him. Who is he? One who is the maker of all the works of all otherworkmen. What an extraordinaryman! Wait a little, and there will be rnore reasonfor your sayingso. For this is the craftsmanwho rs
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cnp,hich asa ) astate, vendge, rrld, dto

lina

TA

29

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ableto makenot only fumitureof everykrnd,but

No wonder, now that by the light of the examples Suppose all that grows out of the earth, and all living creatures.himseif included: and besidesthesehe can just offeredwe inquire who this imitator is? lf you please. make earth and sky and the gods, and all the Well then,here we find threebeds:one existing things which are in heaven or in the realm of which is made by God, as I think that we in naturei Hadesunder the earth. He must be a wizard and no mistake. may say- for no one else can be the maker? No one,I think. Ohl you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is no such maker or creator,or There is another which is the work of the carthat in one sensethere might be a maker of all penter? thesettringsbut in another not? Do you seethat Yes, thereis a way in which you could make them all A n d t h e w o r k o f t h e p a i n t e ri s a t l r i r l ? yourself? Yes. And what way is this? he asked. Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are An easyway enough; or rather,therearemany three artists who superintend them: God, the ways in which the feat might be quickly and eas- makerof the bed, and tbe painter? ily accomplished, none quicker than that of tumYes.thereare three of them. ing a mirror round and leund - you would soon God, whetherfrom choice or from necessity, enough make the sun and the heavens,and the made one bed in nature and one only; two or earthand yourself, and other animals and plants, more such bedsneither ever have been nor ever and fumiture and all the other things of which we will be madeby God. werejust norv speaking,in the mirror. Why is that? ' Yes, he said; but they would be appearances Because even if He had made but two, a third only. would still appear behind them of which they Very good, I said, you are coming to the poilt againboth possessed form, and that would be the just the real bed and not the two others. now. Arrd the painter too is, as I conceive, such another- a creator of appearances, he Very true, he said. is not? God knew this, I suppose,and He desiredto Of course. be the real maker of a real bed, not a kind of bed, But then I suppogeyou will say that what he and thereforeHe created a bed which is essencreatesis untrue. And yet there is a sense ln tially and by nature one only, which the painter also createsa bed?Is therenot? So it seems. Yes, he said, but here again, an appearance Shallwe, then,speakof Him as the naturalauonly. thor or maker of the bed? And what of the maker of the bed? Were you Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural not saying that l.retoo makes, not the idea which process creation,He is the author of this and .of accordingto our view is the real object denoted of all other things. by the word bed, but only a particular bed? And what shall we say of tire carpenter is Y e s , Id i d . not he also the maker of a bed? Then if he does not make a real object he canYes. not make what is, but only some semblanceof But would you call the painter an artificerand existence;and if anyone were to say that the maker? work of the maker of the bed, or of any other Certainlynot. workman,has real existence, could hardly be he Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relato supposed be speaking the truth. tion to the bed? Not, at least, he replied, in the view of those I think, he said, that we may fairly designate who makea business thesediscussions. of him as the imitator of that which the othersmake. No wonder,then,that his work too is an indisGood,I said;then you call him whoseproduct tinct expression tnrth. of is third in the descentfrom nature. an imitator?
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. Certairrly,he said. And so if the tragic poet is an imitator, he too is th-riceremoved from the king and from the nutr; and so are all other imitators. That appears be so. to Then about the imitator we ale agreed.And what about the painter?- Do you think he tries to imitate in each case that which originally exitsts,in nature,or only the creation of artificers? The latter. , As they are or as tlrey appear?you havestill to determine this. What do you mean? I mean to ask whether a bed really bocomes different when it is seen from different points of view, obliquely or direcply or from any other point of vierv?Or does it simply,appeardifferent, without being really so? And the same of all things. Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent. Now ler me ask you anotherquestion:Which is the art of painting designed to be - an imitation of things as they are, or as the), appear..-- of appearance of reality? or Of appearance, said. he Then the imitator is a long way off rbe truth, and can reproduce all things becausehe lightly toucheson a small part of them, and that part an image. For example: A painter will paint a oo.bbler, carpenter,or any other artisan, though he knows nothing of their arts; and, ,if he is a good painter,he may deceive children or simple pbrsons when he shows them his picture of a carpenterfrom a distance, and they will fancy thar they are looking at a real carpenter. Certainly. And surely, my friend, this is how we should regardall such claims: Whenever any one rnforms,usthat he has found a man who knows all the arts, and all things else that anybody knows, and every single thing with a higher degreeof accuracy than any other man - whoever tells us this, I think that we can only retort that he is a creature who seems to have been deSir,nple ceivedby some wizard or imitator whom he mot, and whom he thought all-knowing, becausehe tumself was unable to analyze the nature of knowledgeand ignorance and imitation. Most true.

And next, I said, we have to considertragedy some persons and its leader, Homer; for we hea.r sayingthat thesepoets know all the arts; and all ,things human; where vjrtue and vice are concemed, and indeedall divine things too; because the good poet cannot compose well unlesshe knows his subject, and he who has not this knowledgecan never be a poet. We ought to $1 considerwhether here also there may not be a similar illusion. Pelhaps they may have come acrossimitators and been deceived by them; they.may not have remembered when they saw their works that these were thrice removed from ; the truth, and oould,easily,be, made without any knowledgeof the truth, becausethey are appearancesonly and not realities? Or, after all, they I may be in the right, and good poets do really tl know the things about which they seem to the cll Ir\/ mally to speakso well? trt The question, said, should by all meansbe he lconsidored. Now do you supposethat if a person were ableto make the original as well as the image,he would seriously devote himself to the imagemakingbranch?Would he allow imitation to be the ruling principle of his life, as if he had nothing higherin him? I should'say not. But the real artist, rvho had real knorvledgeof those things which he chose also to imitate, would be irterestedin realitiesand not in imitations;and would desireto leave as memorials of himself works many and; fair; and, insteadof being the author of encomium,s, would prefer he to be the themeof them. Yes,he said,that would be to him a source of muchgreater honor and profit. Now let us,refrain, said, from calling Homer I or any other poet to account regarding those arts lo which his poems incidentally refer: We will not ask them, in case any poet has been a doctor and not a mere irnitator of medical parlance,to show what patients have been restored to health by a poet, ancient,or modem, as they were by Asclepius;or what disciples in medicine a poet has left behind him, like the Asclepiads. Nor shall we press the same question upon them aboutthe other arts. B,ut we have a right to know respectingwarfare, strategy, the administration

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of States,and the education of man, which are the chiefestand noblest subjects of his poems, and we may fairly ask him about them, "Friend Homer," then we say to him, "if you are only in the secondremove from truth in what you say of virtue, and not in the third - not an image maker, that is, by our definition, an imitator and if you are able to discern what pursuits make men betteror worse in private or public life, tell us what Statewas ever better govemed by your help? The good order of Lacedaemonis due to Lycurgus,and many other cities great and small havebeensimilarly benefitedby others; but who saysthat you have been a good legislator to them and have done them any good? Italy and Sicily boast of Charondas,and there is Solon who is renownedarnongus; but what city has anything to say about you?" Is there any city which, he might name? I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Hornerids themselves pretendthat he was a legislator. Well, but is there any war on record which was carriedon successfullyowing to his leadership or counsel? Thereis not. Or is there anything cornparable to those cleverimprovements the arts, or in other operin ations,which are said to have been due to rnen of practicalgenius such as Thales the Milesian or Anacharsis Scythian? the Thereis absolutelynothing of the kirrd. But, if Homer never did any public service, was he privately a guide or teacher of any? Had he in,his lifetime friends who loved to associate with him, and who handed down to posterity a way of life, such as was establishedby Ftromeric Pythagoras who was especially beloved for this reasonand whose followers are to this day conspicuousamong others by what they term the Pythagorean way of lifer Nothing of the kind is recorded of him. Fqr surely,Socrates,Creophylus, the companion of Homer, that child of flesh, whose name always rnakesus laugh, might be rnore justly ridiculed for his want of breeding, if what is said is true, that Homer was greatly neglected by him in his own day when he was alive? Yes, I replied,that is the tradition. But can you imagrne,Glaucon, that if Homer had reallv

been able to educateand improve mankind - if he had beencapableof knowledge and not beena mere imitator- carl you imagine, I say, that he would not have attracted rnany followers, and been honoredand loved by them? Protagorasof Abdera,and Prodicusof Ceos, and a host of others,haveonly to whisper to their contemporaries: "You will never be able to manage either your own houseor your own State until you appoint us to be yotrr ministersof education" - and this ingeniousdevice of theirs has such an eff'ect in makingmen iove them that their companions all but carrythem about on their shoulders.And is it conceivable the contemporariesof Homer, or that again of Hesiod, would have allowed either of them to go aboutas rhapsodists, they had really if been able to help rnankind forward in virtue? Would they not n'avebeen as unwilling to part with them as with, gold, and have compelled them lo stayat home with them? Or, if the master would not stay, then the disciples would have followed him about everywhere, until they had got education enough? Yes,Socrates, that, I think, is quite true. Then must we not infer that all these poetical individuals, with Homer, are only imibeginning tators,wlio copy images of virtue and the other themes their poetry,but have no contactwith of the truth?The poet is like a painter who, as we have alreadyobserved,will make a likeness of a cobbler though he understandsnothing of eobbling; and his picfure is good enough for those who know no more than he does, and judge only by colorsand figures. Quiteso. ln like manner the poet with his words and phraseslmay said to lay on the colors of the be severalarts, himself understanding their nature only enoughto imitate them; and other peopie, who areas ignorantas he is, and judge only from his words,imaginethat if he speaksof cobbling, or of rnilitarytactics,or of anything else, in meter and harmonyand rhythm, he speaksvery well such is the sweet influence which melody and rhythm by nature have. For I am sure that you know what a poor appearance works of poets the make when strippedof the colors which art puts
r O r ," w i t h h i s n o u n sa n d v e r b s . " [Tr.]

upon rhem,land ,r.n ro*" Axan Yes, he iaid, r ney arQlik beautitul,$ut ,bioom y$uth of Exactly.l Corne ndw, a tor or makfr o; navesaid,pf tr ances only.lAm Yes. I Then Ietlus I notbe satisfied v Proceed. I Of the pfinter andhe will faint Yes. I And rhe {vork ,hem? I Certainlyl But aoesl the he,bit and leins
n Drassand lea rorseman *1ho I ,nowstheir hght

g,rearest expefienc, expe[ienc, to the maker lthe s, :o ithe s velop themsdlvesrelop thems{lvesrlayerwiLl tefl tte yer tell the s satisfactord to tl

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: mankind - if and not been a , I say, that he .followers, and t Protagorasof I a host of orhonternporaries: ,ge either your :il y.ou appoint :n" - and this ;h an effect in :ompanions all tders.And is it s of Homer, or rwed either of iey,had really rrd in virtue? villing to part ve compelled i; if the master i \ilould have rptil they had Ite true. these:poetical jare,onlyimi'and',the: other 'lic.ontact with as $1Who,, we ffieness of .a fidng,q1..6f,or,those f'Bh, f$dudgc only F'.rVords and 'S,olors.of rhe pthir nature flher' ,people, $eronJyfrom rg-fcobbling, ilse;:in'.,meter v,brywell * r-nelody and ur that you lrks of.poets fch art puts

uponthem,and recitedin simpleprose. you have seensomeexamples? Yes, he said. They are like faces which were never really beautiful, but on:ly blooming, seen when the bloom of youth has passedaway from them? Exactly. Come now, and observethis point: The imita_ tor or maker of .the image knows nothing, we have said, of true existence; he knows ufprur_ ancesonly. Am I not right? Yes. Then let us have a clear understanding, and nol be satisfied with halFan explanation. Proceed. Of the painter we say,that he will paint reins, and he will paint a bit? Yes, And the worker ir leatherrand brasswill make them? Certainly. But does the painter knorv the right form of the bit and reins? Nay, hardly eu"n the workers in brass and leather who make them; only the horseman who knows how to use them_ he knows their right form. Most tfue. And may we not say the sameof all thinss? What? That there are three,arts which are concerned with all things: one which uses, anotherwhich makes,a third which imitates them? Yes. And the excellence and beauty and rightness of every structure, animate or inanimate,lnd of every action of man, is relative solelyto the use for which nature or the artist has intendedthem. True. Then beyond doubt it is the user who has rhe greatestexpenence of them, and he must reo0rt to the maker the good or bad qualities which deve.lopthemselves in use; for example, the flute player will tell the flute maker rvhich of his flutes rs satisfactoryto the performer; he will teii him how he ought to make them, and the other will attendto his instructions? Of course, So the one pronounceswith knowledaeabour the goodness and badness of flutes, w-hilethe

other,confiding in him, rvill m;rkethem accordingly? True. The instrumentis the same,but abouttlie excellence badness it the maker will possess or of a correct belief, since he associates with one rvho knows, and is compelled to hear what he has ro say;whereas userwill haveknowiedse? the True. But will the imitator have either? Will he knorv from use whether or not that which he paints is corect or beautiful? or rvill he have right opinion from being compelled to associate with another who knows and gives him rnstructionsaboutwhat he shouldnaint? Neither. Tlien an imitator will no more have true opinion than he will have knowledgeabourrhegood_ nessor badness his models? of I suppose rnot. The imitative poot will, be in a brillianr srare of intelligenceabout the theme of his ooetrv? Nay, very much the reverse. And stili he will go on imitating without know_ ing what makes a thing good or bad, and may be expectedthereforeto imitate ody rhar whicfLappearsto be good to the ignorantmultitude? Justso. Thus far then we are pretty well agreedthat the imitator has no knorvledge worth mentioning of what he imitates, Imitation is only a kincl of play or sport, and the tragic poets, wiretherthey write in iambic or in heroic verse,2are imitators in the highestdegree? Very true. And now teli me, I conjure you _- thrs imitation is concerned with an object which is thrice removedfrom the truth? Certainly. And what kind of faculty in man is that to which imitation makes its special appeal? What do you mean? I will explain; The same body doesnot appear equal to our sight when seennear and when seen at a distance? True.
tDramatists wrote in iambic verse and epic poetsin dact y l i c l r e x a m e t e r-s " h e r o i c " v e r s e .[ E d . l

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And the same objects appear straight when atesof a principle within us which is equally relooked af out of the water, and crooked when in movedfrom reason,and that they have no tnre or the water; and the concave becomes convex, healthy aim. orving to the illusion about colors to whuchthe Exactly. is The imitative art is an inferior who from intersight is liable. Thus every sort of conf,usion rewith an inferior'has inferior off spring. vealedwithin us; and this is that weaknessof the course Very true. humanmind on which the art of painting in light and shadow,the art.of conjuring, and many other And is this confined to the sight only, or does ingeniousdevicesimpose, having an effect upon it extend to the hearing also; relating in fact to what u'e term poetry? us like magic. True. Probablythe same would be true of poetry. And the arts of measuring and numberingand Do not rely, I said, on a probability derived weighingcome to the rescueof the human under- from the analogy of parnting; but let us once _standing there is the beauty of them - with morego directly to that faculty of the mind with the result that the apparent greater or less, or which imitative poetry has converse, and see it more or heavier,no longer have the masteryover whether rs good or bad. us, but give way before the power of calculation By all means. We may statethe questionthus: Imitation imiand measuringand weighing? Most true. tatesthe actionsof men, whether voluntary or lnAnd this, surely, must be the work of the cal- voluntary,on which, as they imagine, a good or culatingand rational principle in the soul? and they rejoice or sorrow badresulthas ensued, To be sure. accordingly. there anything more? ls And often when this principle measuresand No, thereis nothingelse. certifiesthat some things are equal, or that some is But il all this .variety of circr,rmstances the are greater:orless .than others, it is, at the same man at unity with himself - or rather, as in the ntime, contradictedby the appearancewhich the stance sight therer.vas of confusion anclopposition present? objects in his opinionsabout the same things, so hcre also True. is there not strife,and inconsistencyin his lit'e? But did we not say that such a'contradiction ThoughI needhardly raise the questionagain,ior is impossible the same faculty cannot have con-- I remernber that'alltthishas been alreadyadmitted; trary opinions at the same.time about the same and,thesoul has been acknowledgedby us to be thing? fuil of theseand ten thousandsimilar oppositions We did; ,andrightly. occumngat the samemoment? Then that part of the soul which has an opinright, he said. And we,were ion contrary to measure can hardly be the same Yes, I said, thus far we were right; but there with that which has an opinion in accordance wasan omissionwhich must now be supplied. with measure? What was the omission? True. Werewe not sayingthat a good man, who has And the part of the soul which trusts to mea- the misfortune to lose his son or anything else sureand calculationis likely to be the betterone? which is most dear,tohim, will bearthe loss witlr Certainly. moreequanimitythan another? And thereforethat which is,opposedto this is Yes,indeed. probablyan inferior principle in our nature? But will he have no sorrow, or shall we say No doubt. that althoughhe cannot help sorrowing,he will This was the conclusion at which I was seek- moderate sorrow? his ing to arrive when I said that painting or drawing, The latter,he said, is the truer statement. and imitation in general, are engagedupon proTell me: will he be more likely to struggleand ductionsrvhich are far rernoved from truth, and hold out againsthis sorrow when.he is seenby his are also the companions and friends and associ- equals, when he is alone in a deserted place? or

26

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being always nearly equable, calm temperament, when imiis not easyto imitate or to appreciate When he is by himself he will not mind saying tated, espoeiallyat a public festival when a many things which he would be ashamedof any- promiscuous crowd is assembledin a theater.For is one hearing, and also doing many things which the feeling'represented one to which they are he would not care to be seendoing? strangers. True. Certainly. And doubtlessit is the law and reasonin him Then the imitative poet who aims at being I which bids him resist;while it is the afflictionit- popular is not by nature made, nor is his art inself which is urging him to indulge his sorrow? tended,to please or to affect the rational prild True. -? ciple in the soul; but he will appeal rather to the But when a man is drawn in two oppositedi- lachrymoseand fitful temper, which is easily rections,to and from the same object, this, as we imitated? affirm, necessarily implies two distinct principles Clearly. in him? And now we may fairly take him and place Certainly. him by the side of the painter, for he is llke lum T of in two rvays: have One of them is ready to follow the guidance first, inasmuchas his creations the law? an inferior degreeof truth - in this, I say, he is How do you mean? like him; and he is also.likehim in being the asThe law would say that to be patient under sociate an inferior part of the soul; and this rs of calanrity best,and that we shouidnot give way enoughto show that we shall be right in refusing is to impatience, the good and evii in such things to admit him into a State which is to brewell oras are not clear, and nothing is garned by impa- dered, becausehe awakens and nourishes thrs tience;also,because human thing is of serious part of the soul, and by strengtheningit impaus no importance,and grief stands in the way of that the reason. in a city when the evil are permitAs which at the moment is most required. ted to wield power and the finer men are put out What is most required?he asked. of the way, so in the soul of each man, as we That we should take counsel about what has shallmaintain,the imitative poet implants an evil happened, and when the dice have been thrown, constitution, he indulges the irrational nature for according their fall, order our affairs in the way which hasno discernmentof greaterand less,but to which reasondeems best; not, like children who thinksthe samething at one tirne great and at anhave had a fall, keeprng hold of the part struck other small - he is an imitator of images and is and wastingti:ne in setting up a howl, but aiways very far removedfrom the truth. accustoming soul forthwith to apply a remedy, the Exactly. But we have not yet brought forward the raisingup that which is sickLy and fallen, banishing the cry of sorrow by the heahngart. heaviest count in our accusation: The porver Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting which poetry has of harming even the good (and thereare very few who are not harmed) is surely the attacks forfune. of Weli then,I said, the higher principle is ready an awful thing? to follorv this suggestionof reason? Yes, certainly,if the effect is what you say, Cleariy. Hear andjudge: The best of us, as I conceive, when we listen to a passageof Homer or one of But the other principle, which inclines us to in recollectionof our troubles and to larnentation, the tragedians, which he representssome hero and can neverhave enough of them, we may call who is drawling out his solrows in a long oration, or singing, and smiting his breast- the ,bestof irrational,useless, and cowardly? us,you know, delight in givrng way to sympathy, lndeed, may. we Now does not the principle which is thus in- and are in raptures at the excellence of the poet clined to complaint, fumish a great variety of who stirsour feelings most. Yes,of course know. I materialsfor imitation? Whereas the wise and
The fact of being seen will make a great difhe caid ferencc

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R E P U B L I C ,B O O K X

)-

But when any sorrow of our own happensto us, then you may obserye that we pride ourselves on the opposite quality - we would fain be quiet and patient; this is considered the manly part, and the other which delighted us in the recitation is now deemedto be the Part of a woman. Very true, he said. Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is doing that which any one of us would abominate and be ashamed of in his own person? No, he said,that is certainly not reasonable. from one point of Nay, I said,quite reasonable view. What point of view? If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a natural hunger and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping and lamentation, and that this very feeling which is starved and in suppressed our own calamities is satisfied and delighted by the poets; the better nature in each of us, not having been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows the sympatheticelementto break Ioosebecausethe sorrow is another's:and the spectatorfancies that there can be no disgrace to himself in praising and pirying anyone who, while professingto be a brave man, gives way t0 untimely lamentation; he thinks that the pleasure is a gain, and is far from wishing to lose it by rejection of the whole poem. Few personsever reflect,as I should imagine, that the contagionmust pass from others to themselves, For the pity which has been nour.ished and strengthenedin the misfortunes of others is with difficulty repressed our own. in How very true! And does not the same hold also of the ridiculous? There are jests which you would be ashamedto make yourself, and yet on the comic stage,or indeed in private, when you hear them, you are greatly amused by them, and are not at all disgusted their unsoemliness; caseof pity is at fhe repeated; there is a principle in human nature which is disposedto raise a laugh, and this, which you once restrained by reason becauseyou were afraid:of being thought a buffoon, is now let out again; and having stimulated the risible faculty at the theater, you are betrayed unconsciously to yourselfinto playing the comic poet at home,

Quite true, he said. And the same may be said of lust and anger and all the other affections, of desire and pain and pleasure,which are held to be inseparable from every action - in all of them poetry has a like effect; it feeds and waters the passions insteadof drying them up; she lets them rule, although they ought to be controlled if mankind are ever to increasein happiness and virtue. I carmotdeny it. Therefore,Glaucon, I said, whenever you meet with any of the eulogists of Homer declnring that he has been the educator of Hellas, and that he rs prolitable for education and for the ordering of human things, and that you should take him up again and again and get to know him and regulate your whole life according to him, we may love and honor those who say these things - they are excellentpeople, as far as their lights extend; and we are ready to acknowledge that Homer is the greatestof poets and first of tragedy writers; but we must remain flrm in our conviction that hymns to the gods and praises of famous men are the only poetry which ought to,be admitted into our State. For if you go beyond this and allow the honeyed Muse to enter, either in epic or lyric vense,not law and the reason of mankind, which by oommon consent have ever been deemedbest, but pleasure and pain will'be the rulers in our State. That is most true, he said. And now since we have reverted to the subject of poetry, let this our defense serve to show the reasonableness our'former judgment in sendof lng away out of our State an art having the tendencies which we have described; for reason constrained But that she may not impute to us us. any harshness want ofpoliteness, let us tell her or that there is an ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry; of which there are maty proofs, suchas the saying of "the yelping hounclhowling at her lord," or of one "mighty in the vain talk of fools," and "the mob of sages circumventing Zeus," and the "subtle thinkers who are beggars after all,"3 and there are innumerable other iigns of ancient enmiry between them. Notwithrtuiding this, let us assure the poetry which aims at
3Socrates is alluding to various proverbs, otherwise un_ known, denigratingboth poets and philosophers. IEd,]

I.p e'v ver t be $a

',,her

Yes;
ru$hal
f

she

wiu l y 't
rfs '.ertt 'her

'pxr
thr

rpe

.f

28

PLATO

and anger e and pair inseparable oetry has a assions inm rule, alrankind are e. :r you mget etaring that d,thathe.is rrdering of ke hirn up nd,regulate r rnay love - they are :xtend; and rmer is the vriters; but that hymns rre the only r our State, re honeyed 'se,not law y corunon ut pleasure

pleasure, and the art of imitation, that if she will only prove her title to exist in a well-ordered Statewe shall be delighted to receive hs1_- ws are very conscious of her charms; but it would not be right on that account to betray the truth. I daresay, Glaucon, that you are as much charmed by her as I am, especially when she appearsin llomer? Yes, indeed,I am greatly charmed. Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to returx from exile, but upon this condition only that shemake a defenseof herself in somelyrical or other meter? Certaidv. ., And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are lovers of poetry and yet not poetsthe permissionto speak in prose on her behalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant but also useful to States and to human life, and we will listen in a kindly spirit; for we shall surely be the gainers if this can be proved, that thereis a use in poetry as well as a delight? Certainly,he said, we shall be the gainers. If her defensefails, then, my dear friend, like persons who are enamored of something, lut put a restraint upon themselves when they think their desires are opposed to their interests,

so too must we after the marmer of lovers give her up, though not without a struggle. We too are inspiredby that love of such poetry which the educationof noble Stateshas implanted in us, and thereforewe shall be glad if she appearsat her best and truest;but so long as she is unableto make good her defense, this argument of ours shall be a charm to us, which we will repeatto ourselves while we listen to her strains; that we may not fall away into the childish love of her which captivatesthe many. At all events we are well aware that poetry, such as we have described,is not to be regarded seriously as attainurg to the truth; and he who listens to her, fearing for the safety of the city which is within him; shouldbe on his guard againsther seductions and makeour words his law. Yes, he said,I quite agree'with you. Yes, I said; my dear Glaucon, for great is the issue at stake, greater than appears, whether a man is to be good or bad. And what wiil any one be profited if under the influence of honor or moneyor power, aye, or under the excitementof poetry,he neglectjustice and virtue? Yes, he said; I have been convinced by the argument!as I believe that anyone else would have been.

tJ

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the subjeot ) show the rt in sendt rg the ten. [or reaso4 lpute to us us tell her ,n philoso; ny proofs, rd howling ain talk of umventrng re beggars lther signs w:ithsturd+ ;h aims at
therwise

SOCRATES: Welcome, Ion! And whence come

now to pay us a visit? From your home in

sus?
IoN: No, Socrates,I come from Epidaurusand festivalof Asclepius.I SOCRATES: What! Do the citizens of Epidau, ur honorng the god, have a contestbetween

SocRATES:So? Ard did you compete? And how did you succeed? IoN; We carried off first prize, Socrates. SoCRATES: Well donel See to it. now. that we win the Panathenaea also. IoN: lt shall be so, God willing.

apsodes2 too?
ION:Indeed thev do. Thev have everv sort of ical competition.
Translated by Lme Cooper. rGreek god of medicine; his festival,

SoCRATES: say,Ion, I am oftenenvious I must of you rhapsodists your profession. in Your art requires you alwaysto go in fine array,and of you lookasbeautiful you can,and meanwhile as
must be conversantwith many excellent poets, andespecially with Homer, the best and.mostdivine of all. You have to understhndhis thought, and not merely leam his lines. It is an enviable lot! ln fact, one never could be a rhapsodeif one did not comprehendthe utterancesof the poet,
ION

like that of other

tEa.;

divinities connected with Apollo, was the occasion for Itic performarces and competitions. Bd.l aProfessionals who delivered recitations of poetry, espeof Homer and tbe other epic poets. [Ed.]

29

\- w, VlinnicoLV
Thcoryand Practice

n
felt to be his own. It looks as if this is the beginningof his potenry which he has never had although in fact he has a family. Here in a different way as compared with the first casewas a man having to reach to the central nothingness.In his casewhat emergedwas not hunger but peeing. The rwo casescan perhapsbe compared for the of purposes discussion.

The Fate of the TransitionalObject

Preparation for a talk giuen to the Association for Chitd Psychology and Psychiatry, Glasgow, 5 D e c e m b e rr 9 5 9

Although many of you are very familiar with what I have said about transiti"onalobjects I would like first of all to re-state my view of rhem, and then pass on to my main subjectwhich is the question of their fate. Here is a sratementthen of the way in which transitional objects seemto me to have significance.They seemto me to be in severallines of transition. One of thesehas to do with object relationships; the infant has a fist in the mouth, then a thumb, then there is arr^aimi*ture of the use of the thumb or fingers, and some obiect which is chosenby the infant for handling. Gradually there is a use of obiects which are not part of the infant nor are they part of the mother. Another kind of transition has to do with the changeoverfrom an object which is subjectivefor the infant to one which is obiectively perceivedor external. At first whatever objeet gains a relationship with the infant is createdby the infant, or at least that is the theory takes Somecheating It of it to which I adhere. is like an hallucination' is ready ro hand overlapswith an hallucinaplace and an obiect that tion. obviously the way the mother or her substitute behavesis of paramount importancehere. one mother is good and another bad at ietting a real otject be iust where the infant is hallucinating an object ,o thit in fact the infant gainsthe illusion that the world can be creis ated and that what is created the world. term "symbolic At this point you will think of Mme Sechehaye's t realisation," the making real of the symbol,only from our point of view dealing with earliestinfancy,we are thinking o{ the making real of the hallucination. This doesin fact initiate the infant's capacityfor using symbols,and where growth is straightforward the transitional
Symbolic Realization (New York: International Universities Press' r. M. A. Sechehaye, r95r).

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t3

54

Psycho-Analysis: Theory and Practice

The Fate of the Transitional Obiect 5 t

object is the first symbol. Here the symbol is at the samerime borh the hallucination and an objectivelyperceived part of externalreality. From all this it will be seenthat we are describingthe life of an infant which means also the relationshipof the environmentthrough the mother or her substitute to the infant. We are talking about a "nursing couple," to useMerrill Middlemore'sterm.2We are referring to the fact that there iS no such thing as an infant because when we seean infant at this early stagewe know that we will find infant-care with the infant as paft of that infant-care. This way of stating the meaningof the transitional object makes it for necessary us to use the word "illusion." The mother is enabling the infant to have the illusion that objects in external reality can be real to the infant, that is to say they can be hallucinationssinceit is only hallucinations that feel real. If an external object is to seemreal then the relationship to it must be that of the relationshipto an hallucination. As you will readily agree,this goes bang into an ancient philosophical conundrum,and you will be thinking of the rwo limericks. one of them bv Ronald Knox:
Do the stone and the tree Continue to be lWhen there's no-one about in the quad?

in an omnipotencewhich extendsto certain objectsand perhapsextends to cover the mother and some of the othersin the immediate environment. One transition is from omnipotent control of external objects to the relinquishment of control and eventuallyto the acconthat thereare phenomenaoutsideone'spersonal knowledgement obiect that is both part of the infant and part of trol. The transitional the mother acquiresthe new statuscalled "possession." during the There are other transitionswhich I think are in process period of time in which the infant usestransitional obiects.For in,trn.., there is that which belongsto the developingpowers of the infant, developingco-ordination, and a gradual enrichmentof sensibility. The r.n.. of smell is at its highest and probably will never be Texture so high again, except perhaps during psychotic episodes. and as it can ever mean' and drynessand dampness meansas much things havetremenalso what feelscold and what feelswarm; these dous meaning. Alongside this one has to mention the exrremesensitivityof the of infantile lips and no doubt of the sense taste.The word "disgustanything yet for the infant and at the ing" has .rot .o-. to mean with excretions' beginningthe infant has not evenbecomeconcerned early infancy coversthe fn. atiUlti"g and drooling that characterises object and reminds one of the lion in the cageat the zoo, who almost to seems soften up the bone with saliva before eventuallybringing its to existence an end by biting it up and eatingit. How easyto imagine feelingstowards the bone which is the lion with very tender caressing just going to be destroyed.So in transitional phenomenawe seethe initia1ion of the capacity for affectionatefeelings,with the instinctual direct relationshipsinking into primary repressron. ln this way we can seethat the infant'suse of an obiectcan be in one way or another joined up with body functioning, and indeedone cannot imagine that an object can have meaning for an infant unless it is so ioined. This is another way of stating that the ego is basedon a body ego. I have given some examplesjust to remind you of all sorts of poswhich exist and which are illustratedin the caseof your own sibilities we children as well as the children who are your clients' Somedmes object' and find the mother used as if she herself were a transitional a this may persistand give rise to great trouble; for instance, patient that I have had to deal with recentlyusedthe lobe of his mother'sear. where the mother is used,there is You will guessthat in thesecases

and the reply:

The stone and the tree Do continue to be As observed by yours faithfully, . . .

The fact is that an external object has no being for you or me except in so far as you or I hallucinate it, but being sanewe take care not to hallucinateexceptwhere we know what to see.Of coursewhen we are tired or it is twilight we may make a few mistakes.The infant with a transitionalobjectis in my opinion all the time in this statein which we allow him or her to be and although it is mad we do not call it mad. If the infant could speakthe claim would be: "This object is part of external reality and I crearedit." If you or I said that we would be locked up or perhaps leucotomised. This givesus a meaning for the word "omnipotence" which we really need because when we talk about the omnipotence of early infancy we do not only mean omnipotenceof thought; we intend to indicatethat the infant believes
2..M. P. Middlemore, Tbe Nursing Couple (London: Hamish Hamilton, r94r).

aLl
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t6

Psycho-Analysis: Theory and Practice

The Fate of tbe Transitional Object

57

almost certainly something in the mother-an unconsciousneed o{ her child-into the pattern of which the child is fitting himself or herself. Then there is the useof the thumb or fingerswhich may persistand of there may or may not be an affectionatecaressing somepart of the face or some part of the mother or of an object going on at the same continues and the thumb- or fingerthe time. ln somecases caressing sucking is lost sight of. Then it often happensthat an infant who did not use the hand or thumb for autoerotic gratification nevertheless may use an object of somekind or other. !7here an object is employed one usually finds an extension of interest so that soon other objects becomeimportant. For somereasonor other girls tend to persistwith soft objects until they use dolls, and boys tend to go more quickly over to an adoption of hard objects.One could perhapsbetter say that the boy in children goesover to hard objectsand the girl in children of both sexestends to retain the interestin softnessand in texture, and this may join eventually on to the maternal identification. Often where there is a clear-cuttransitional object dating from early timesthis persists althoughin fact the child is employed more in using the next and lessimportant objects; perhaps timesof greatdistress, at sadness deprivationthereis a return to the originalor to the thumb or or a loss altogetherof the capacityto use symbolsand substitutes at all. I want to leaveit at that. There is an infinitevarietyin the clinical picture, and all we can talk about usefullyis the theoretical implications. The Passingof the flansitional Object There are rwo approaches this subject: to A. Old soldiersneverdie, they simply fade away.The transitional oblect tends to be relegated the limbo of half-forgotten to things at the bottom of the chestof drawers,or at the back of the toy cupboard. It is usual, however,for the child to know. For example,a boy who has forgotten his transitional object has a regression phasefollowing a deprivation.He goesback to his transitionalobject.There is then a gradualreturn to the other later-acquired possessions. the So transitionalobjectmay be but kept i. supplanted ii. worn out

iii. given away (not satisfactory) iv. kept by mother-relic of a precioustime in her life (identification) v. etc. This refersto the fate of the obiect itself. B. I come now to the main point that I want to put forward for discussion. This is not a new idea although I believeit was new when I described in my original paper.(I fear now that I come to it that it you disagree.) you will feel it is too obvious,unless course of phenomIf it is true that the transitionalobjectand the transitional ena are at the very basisof symbolism,then I think we may fairly claim that thesephenomenamark the origin in the life of the infant and child of a sort of third areaof existing,a third areawhich I think has been difficult to fit into psycho-analytictheory which has had to build up graduallvaccordingto the stone-by-stone method of a science. This third area might turn out to be the cultural life of the individual. 'What One, the fundamentalone, is the individare the three areas? ual psychicor inner reality,the unconscious you like (not the reif pressed comesvery soon but definitely unconscious which later). The personalpsychicreality is that from which the individual "hallucinates"or "creates"or "thinks up" or "conceives of." From it dreams are made, though they are clothed in the materialsgatheredin from external reality. The secondareais externalreality,the world that is graduallyrecognisedas Nor-ME by the healthydeveloping infant who has establisheda self,with a limiting membraneand an insideand an outside. The expanding universewhich man contractsout of, so to speak. Now infants and children and adults take externalreality in, as clothing for their dreams, and they project themselves into external objectsand people and enrich external reality by their imaginative perceptions. But I think we really do find a third area)an areaof living which correspondsto the infant's transitional phenomenaand which actually derivesfrom them. In so far as the infant has not achievedtransitionalphenomena think the acceptance symbols deficient, of I is and the cultural life is poverty-stricken. No doubt you easilyseewhat I mean. Put rather crudely: we go to a concert and I hear a late Beethoven string quartet (you seeI'm high(. -\ '/-t u

t8

Psycbo-Analysis:Tbeory and Practice

brow). This quartet is not just an external fact produced by Beethoven and played by the musicians;and it is not my dream, which as a matter of fact would not have beenso good. The experience, coupled with my preparation of myself for it, enablesme to createa glorious fact. I enjoy it because say I createdit, I hallucinatedit, and it is real I and would have been there evenif I had beenneither conceived of nor conceived. This is mad. But in our cultural life we acceptthe madness, exactly as we acceptthe madnessof the infant who claims (though in unuttered mutterings) "I hallucinated that and it is part of mother who was there before I came along." From this you will seewhy I think the transitional object is essentially different from the internal object of Melanie Klein's terminology.The internal object is a matter of the inner reality,which becomes more and more complex with every moment of the infant's life. The transitional obiect is for us a bit of the blanket but for the infant a representative both of the mother'sbreast,say,and of the internalised mother's breast. 'Watch the sequence when the mother is absent.The infant clingsto the transitionalobject.After a length of time the internalised mother fades,and then the transitionalobject ceases mean anything. In to other words the transitionalobjectis symbolical the internalobject of which is kept alive by the alive mother'spresence. In the sameway, perhaps,an adult may mourn someone, and in the course of mourning ceaseto enjoy cultural pursuits; recovery from mourning is accompaniedby a return of all the intermediate interests (includingthe religiousexperiences) which enrich the individual'slife in health. In this way I feel that transitional phenomenado not pass,at least not in health.They may become lost art, but this is part of an illness a in the patient, a depression, and somerhingequivalentto the reacrion to deprivation in infancy, when the transitional object and transitional phenomena temporarily(or sometimes permanently) are meaningless non-existent. or I would very much like to hear your reactionsto this idea of a third area of experiencing,its relation to the cultural life, and its suggested derivation from the transitional phenomenaof infancy.

1,2 Noteson Play

Undatedl

Tbe characteristic play is pleasure of Observations animal young includinghuman young of

II

in Satisfaction play dependson the use of symbols,although, at base, the drive comesfrom instinct. Symbols: This standsfor that. lf that is loved this can be used and enjoyed. lf that is hated this can be knocked over, hurt, killed etc., and restored, and hurt again. That is: the capacityto play is an achieuement the emotionaldein velopment everyhuman child. of

III

in Play as an acbieuement individual emotional growth A. The tendenry that is inherited that propels the child onwards and (owing to the extreme dependence the human infant) of B. The provision in the environmentfor conditionsthat meet the infant's and small child's needs, so that development is not interrupted by reactionsto impingement(cold, heat, bad holding, faulty handling,starvation, etc.), and C. Play starts as a symbol of the infant's and the small child'strust in the mother (or subsritute mother).
r. These handwrinen notes were found in D.W.V.'s "Ideas" file. It is likely that they date from before the late r96os, when it became his custom to use the verbal noun 'playing' rather than (as mosdy here) 'play.'-Eos.

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