The Question of Drive VS. Motive in Psychoanalysis A Modest Proposal

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W. W. Meissner, S.J. 57/4
THE QUESTION OF DRIVE VS.

MOTIVE IN PSYCHOANALYSIS:
A MODEST PROPOSAL
This essay explores the possibility of an alternative hypothesis to the

prevailing psychoanalytic instinctual drive theory whose theoretical
and clinical validity has been variously critiqued and challenged.
Arguments are suggested in support of the concept of motive as a
viable alternative theory to the drive theory and as a replacement for
the traditional instinctual drive model. Issues discussed include the
understanding of the mind–body relation, the meaning of psychic
determinism and overdetermination, the opposition of drive vs. motive
(and the related distinction of cause vs. motive), the meaning of psy-
chic energy, and the difference between the concept of drives as the
source of all mental energy and the concept of personal agency. The
discussion concludes with some observations on the clinical implica-
tions of these concepts.
I n recent years, opinions on classical drive theory have fallen into

contending groups—those who persist in the use and defense of the
instinctual drive theory and the paradigm of drive and defense, and those
who find that theory problematic and seek to either minimize its role or
search out alternative solutions. Dissatisfaction and criticisms regarding
psychoanalytic instinctual drive theory have multiplied, and the resulting
discomfort has led many analysts to compromise the Freudian motiva-
tional perspective in favor of hermeneutic, object-relational, relational, or
intersubjective alternatives (Greenberg and Mitchell 1983).1 I would
1
In their landmark study, Greenberg and Mitchell (1983) have documented the
gradual shift away from a drive-dependent theory in favor of motives based in the need
and desire for interpersonal relationships and affectionate ties to objects—citing
Fairbairn and Sullivan as transitional figures. Akhtar (1999) has similarly noted the
transition from “instinctual needs” to “relational needs.” This distancing from drive
Training and Supervising Analyst Emeritus, Psychoanalytic Institute of New

England East; University Professor of Psychoanalysis, Boston College.
Submitted for publication May 7, 2007.
DOI: 10.1177/0003065109342572 807

W. W. M e i s s n e r, S . J .
note, to anticipate a little, that despite the relative distancing from drive
theory found in these revisionist perspectives, they still require some
form of motivational theory. Object relations and the varieties of rela-
tional and intersubjective involvement, including attachment theory,
necessarily include or imply, in my view, basic forms of interpersonal
motivation necessary to enliven and sustain connectedness and related-
ness. Even if these approaches are inclined to dispense with drives and
drive derivatives, they cannot do without motives. As Pine (2005)
observes: “Today, offering a discussion of motivation within a general
psychology of the mind, one can and indeed must also consider not only
ego functioning and adaptation but also regions of emotionally intense,
often conflicted, functioning that are beyond the instinctual driving
forces—that is, the regions of object relations and self as well as the
functioning of the ego itself” (p. 7).2
In the course of these transitions, basic Freudian insights into the
nature of the unconscious and genetic and dynamic hypotheses have been
variously modified. More traditional analysts have responded by reaffirm-
ing the validity and viability of the drive theory.3 Criticisms of the theory
dependence is reflected also in the work of more current infant researchers (e.g.,
Stern) and generally among attachment theorists and researchers (e.g., Bowlby,
Ainsworth, and Main). See the discussion of attachment theory and drive derivation
in Goodman (2002). As Pine (2005) has remarked regarding Stern’s findings (1985)
and related attachment perspectives, “Stern’s review of the infant literature, and his
own work, make clear that object attachment, of remarkable subtlety and substantial-
ity, is present so early as to render forced and artificial any attempt to explain this as
being derived from drive gratification in some secondary way. Quite the reverse in
fact . . .” (p. 9).
2
These concerns have found analogous expression in developmental terms. Stern
(1985) noted that, in observing infant behavior, “one is struck most by the functions
that could have been called ‘ego-functions’ in the past—that is, the presumptive,
stereotypic patterns of exploration, curiosity, perceptual preferences, search for
cognitive novelty, pleasure in mastery, even attachment, that unfold developmen-
tally” (p. 238). He concluded: “The classical view of instinct has proven unoperation-
alizable and has not been of great heuristic value for the observed infant. Also, while
there is no question that we need a concept of motivation, it clearly will have to be
reconceptualized in terms of many discrete, but interrelated, motivational systems
such as attachments, competence-mastery, curiosity and others” (p. 238).
3
Clearly the theory of instinctual drive dependence and the relation of drive and
defense remains the prevailing basis for motivational theorizing for the majority of
analysts. Despite various shades of theoretical differentiation among classical theo-
rists, ranging from the Kleinian left, through the middle range of Freudian and neo-
Freudian advocates, to those of an ego psychological persuasion, the position and
functioning of the drives remains unchallenged. The instinctual drives, including the
death instinct, play a central role in Kleinian thinking, and some versions of ego
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DRIVE VS. MOTIVE IN PSYCHOANALYSIS
have typically focused on its outmoded and scientifically deficient con-

cepts; logical inconsistency; incongruence with advancing neuroscien-
tific study of the brain; confusion of levels of abstraction; ambiguities
and lack of resolution between tension seeking and tension reduction;
and more (Hyman 1975).4
In my view, one of Freud’s foundational insights into the functioning
of the human psyche is that the mind operates at more than one level of
conscious and/or unconscious mentation, and that these levels are moti-
vated by multiple, diverse, hierarchical, and often conflictual motives,
conscious and/or unconscious. I am suggesting that Freud’s fundamental
insights can be preserved without appealing to a possibly outdated
hypothesis of drive forces—a byproduct of the scientific perspectives of
his time—by reorganizing the basic psychoanalytic dynamic perspective
in terms of motives rather than drives.5
Criticisms of drive theory have often fallen into the trap of recom-
mending that metapsychology be abandoned along with drive theory, but
as I long ago suggested (Meissner 1981), psychoanalysis cannot do with-
out a metapsychology of some kind; metapsychology serves as the theory
of the structure of the analytic agent, and as such remains essential. But
the operative question remains: what kind of metapsychology best suits
the needs of psychoanalytic understanding of the nature and structure of the
analytic agent? In my view, this may not turn out to be metapsychology
4
See, for example, the series of articles addressing problems and criticisms regarding
concepts of psychic energy and the related drive theory in JAPA 25/3 (1977). I have
also reviewed the prevailing criticisms of drive theory in Meissner (1995a). In a
similar vein, Modell (1993), citing Bateson’s criticism (1972) of the concept of instinct as
a nonexplanation or outmoded pseudoexplanation (like phlogiston), pointed out that
even evolutionary biologists tend to refer to “functional motivational systems.” He
concluded: “From the standpoint of contemporary studies of the evolution of behavior,
there is no such entity as an instinct for self-preservation. There are instead behaviors
that are selected and that enhance the fitness of the individual” (pp. 194–195).
5
Holt (1976) had made the point that, early in his career, the concept of “wish”
held a central position in Freud’s clinical thinking, despite his reliance on simple
energic models. In fact, wishes provided the basic motivational term in Studies on
Hysteria (Breuer and Freud 1895), in the Dora case (Freud 1905), and particularly in
The Interpretation of Dreams (1900).
psychology rely on drive neutralization to account for ego energies and interests. The
motivational hypothesis in the present study is not directed against any one individual
or any specific group of drive theorists, but proposes an alternative to drive derivation
and dependence that recommends itself as satisfying all the explanatory criteria
offered by the drive theory without its conceptual encumbrances.
809
as we currently know it. One viable metapsychological option is to center

the economic and dynamic bases of the psychoanalytic perspective in a
theory of motives rather than of drives (Meissner 1995c, 1999a,b).
ASPECTS OF DRIVE THEORY
The most problematic aspects of drive theory from my perspective, not

necessarily in order of importance, are the supposed independence of
the drives as sources of psychic energy and action operating quasi-
autonomously within the self, the persistent association of causality and
determinism, the implicit mind-body dualism inherent in the drive theory,
and the corresponding ambiguities regarding the concept of psychic
energy and its relation to physical and physiological energies. My argu-
ment concludes to a strong distinction between cause and motive on one
hand and the relocation of agency and causal efficacy to the self rather
than the drives on the other, that is, the self as integrated mind-brain-body
unity acting as the originative source of all activity of the person, physical
and mental, active and passive, voluntary and involuntary, conscious and
unconscious (Meissner 1993).
Psychic Determinism
The question of psychic determinism is central to this discussion.

Determinism is essential in maintaining psychoanalytic explanatory
potential, in the sense that no action can take place without both adequate
causality and determination. But the question is, What kind of determin-
ism is necessary to sustain analytic understanding? (Meissner 1995b,
2003a). Freud adhered to a fundamental deterministic principle through-
out his career. Accordingly, nothing could enter the mind haphazardly, so
that whatever came into consciousness by way of free association, for
example, had to be determined. For the most part throughout his long
career, Freud maintained a rather thoroughgoing determinism as demanded
by the scientific weltanschauung of his day. Even so, it seems unlikely
that his use of the term was simply a translation of the notion of strict
causal determinism from physical science to his psychological science.
The tension persisted in Freud’s thinking between the view of man as an
object moved by natural forces (causes as in other sciences) and man
viewed as motivated (that is, determined) by meanings and reasons (Holt
1972). Though his clinical experience drew him closer to the latter view,
he could not altogether allow himself to abandon the former.
810
The subsequent debate by analysts and philosophers has resulted in

the distinction between hard and soft determinism. Hard determinism,
derived from scientific principles postulating causes in the mental appa-
ratus analogous to physical causes, holds that every action of the mind is
caused and therefore determined. Soft determinism, in contrast, appeals
to reasons or meanings having more to do with motivation—distinguishing,
therefore, between causes and motives/reasons (Sherwood 1969). Motives
and meanings are closely intertwined (Rubovits-Seitz 1998). Reasons are
statements of the meaning of motives, answering to the question “why,”
whereas causes answer to the question “how.” In the hard scientific view,
as adopted by Freud, abandoning such a fundamentally causal and ener-
gically driven model of the mind (as in the drive theory) would have
meant postulating a psychic apparatus devoid of causal effectiveness or
executive capacity. At the same time, the discovery of symbolic meanings
and their influence in otherwise meaningless symptoms and behaviors,
such as dream activity and neurotic symptoms, was another of Freud’s
revolutionary contributions (Fisher 1961). To what extent, then, did such
meanings and motives determine (explain) the content of dreams and
neurotic symptoms?
For some the distinction is radical—science deals with causes,
humanities with reasons (Arlow 1959; Home 1966; Schafer 1976). On
these terms, metapsychology is a natural science, the realm of causes and
not reasons; motives and meanings have no place in such a theory. Thus,
Sherwood (1969) distinguished between goal-directed actions and physi-
cally determined movements—actions were related to reasons, and move-
ments to causes. This distinction corresponds to the classic distinction
between human actions and mere movements: human actions are moti-
vated and performed by a purposeful causal agent, while movements
(physical or physiological processes, reflexes, etc.) are caused but not
motivated. The human person experiences both actions and movements
in various degrees of combination and integration. Reasons have more to
do with intentions and purposes, causes with mechanisms. Thus reasons
and causes both have their influence in determining the outcome of a
given piece of behavior. Human actions are motivated but cannot be actu-
alized without a causal agent.
Multiple Determination
But the principle of determination plays a somewhat different role in

different causal settings. Psychic causality is not necessarily linear. Freud
811
himself introduced the notion of overdetermination or multiple determi-

nation, implying that a particular psychic event or set of events can be
explained in terms of more than one set of determining or motivating
factors.6 To take an extreme example, if I were to murder someone, I may
have had more than one reason for wanting to kill him—hatred, envy,
revenge, and so on. We can also conjecture that internal conflicts may have
taken place, stirred by powerful affects, between my enraged wish to kill
and the inhibitory restraints of conscience and morality. These multiple
determinants, however, are matters of motive and meaning, not causality.
We can distinguish the causal sequence behind the physical act from the
reasons leading the subject to perform the action.
The causal sequence comes into play under eliciting conditions
aroused by the relevant motives. Given the motives and reasons for want-
ing to murder my victim, the first causal step—that is, the first step in the
order of execution rather than intention—would be the decision to act.
That decision may be preceded by a series of premeditated cognitive
processes, conscious or unconscious or both, weighing and calculating
the reasons for and against, counting the gains and losses, the advantages
and consequences, and thus arriving at a point of decision to do the deed
or not.7 This decision-making process is typical of ethical decisions of all
kinds, leading optimally in the end to some form of prudential practical
judgment and decision, or, less happily, to destructive or self-destructive
behavior (Meissner 2003a), depending on the nature and balance of the
motives in play. But murder may not necessarily follow from such a judi-
cial process; it may be impulsive, an acting out in a moment of seemingly
unpremeditated and thoughtless rage. Whether there might be some
instantaneous, hidden, completely unconscious decision process behind
even the most mindless crimes of passion remains a moot question. In
any case, once the decision is made, the brain sets in motion a causal
sequence producing the behaviors that culminate in the murderous act.
Motor neurons in the motor cortex are stimulated into action, resulting in
activation of the muscle sequences involved in picking up the gun, aiming
it, and firing.
6
The roots of the notion of overdetermination can be traced to Freud’s early
neurological work On Aphasia (1891; see Grossman 1992). The classic discussion of
the principle of multiple determination and multiple function was provided by
Waelder (1936). See the recent reprinting and discussion and evaluation of Waelder’s
classic paper by Boesky (2007) and Friedman (2007).
7
Shakespeare translated this sequence into expressions of dramatic power and
intensity—in Othello and Macbeth, for example.
812
I would argue that this causal sequence itself is linear, but that the
determinants are multiple and complex. Psychic determination in these
terms is difficult to reconcile with notions of hard physical determination
and cause-effect relations. Further, the problem of determination in psy-
choanalysis becomes more complex by reason of the fact that the subject
matter of the science does not simply have to do with physical or behav-
ioral events. Rather, it involves human actions and intentions that carry
and reflect meaning. In other words, psychoanalysis has little interest
in causality as such, other than to acknowledge its necessity; rather, it
is profoundly interested in motives and their correlative meanings.
Consequently, psychic determinism within psychoanalysis has more to
do with meanings and the relations of meanings and motivations than
with causal connections; more to do, that is, with soft determinism than
hard determinism; more to do with the meaning of actions than with how
they are performed.
In regard to multiple determination, Freud envisioned a sort of “lay-
ering” of determinations in the patient’s psychic life. The patient’s behav-
ior could be understood not only in terms of the determining events and
motives in his present life, but also in relation to determining events and
motives from the past. Thus, psychic formations, particularly those
expressing unconscious determinants, were the result of multiple so-called
“causal” influences, rather than only one.8 Further, such psychic events
were related to a multiplicity of unconscious elements that could be orga-
nized in different meaningful contexts, each having its own coherent and
specifiable meaning.
Overdetermination is seen most clearly in the study of dreams. The
analysis of dream content suggests that each element of the dream, as
well as the dream as a whole, is overdetermined. A number of different
latent trains of thought may be combined into one manifest dream content
that lends itself to a variety of interpretations. Such determining sequences
of meaning need not be mutually independent, but may intersect at one or
another point or points, as suggested by the patient’s associations. The
dream, or the symptom in the case of hysteria, reflects a compromise out
of the interaction of such determining significances, which may in them-
selves be relatively diverse. In this sense, the classical paradigm for hys-
teria reflects the convergence of more than one opposing current of
8
A central issue here is the meaning of “causality”—whether cause and motive
are synonymous or not and whether and in what sense both can be multiple. See the
discussion below.
813
wishes, each arising from a different motivational substratum, but finding

fulfillment by convergence in a single symptomatic expression.
The principle of multiple determination lends itself readily to a
modality of determination in terms of meaning and motive, as delineated
above, but less readily to causal determination as understood in linear
cause-effect models. The causal mechanism, reflecting the activation of
brain neuronal systems that give rise to dreaming activity or symptom
expression, in a general sense have a more or less common basis in pat-
terns of organization of brain processes producing the dream or symp-
tom. But, like all brain activity, the pattern will undergo variations in
patterning corresponding to the specificity of the content and organiza-
tion of the dream thoughts. The basic patterns giving rise to dreaming
activity are complemented by specific patterns of activation, perhaps
of areas of cortically based memory systems that are differentially acti-
vated according to the content and organization of the dream content and
motivation. Thus, the causal sequence can be said to vary according to the
pattern of dream content and, in effect, to be causing that particular con-
tent to arise in the dream phenomenology as guided by motivational
themes. Thus motivational patterns would connote underlying patterns of
brain activation that elicit corresponding patterns of activation in the
dreaming functions of the brain.
If overdetermination is to be consistent with the determinist per-
spective in psychoanalysis, it must be formulated in terms of motives
and meanings rather than causal sequences; motives and meanings can
be multiple, while the causality of any action sequence tends to be linear.
Psychic causality and multiple determinism can be integrated into a
more complex perspective involving multiple and complex chains of
causality that intersect in varying forms and proportions in the genesis
of any psychic activity or behavior (Wallace 1985). The perspective of
multicausality lends itself to an understanding of behavior as the resul-
tant of multiple and variant influences, each of which exercises a deter-
mining effect, but no one of which can be regarded as the sole causal
agent. Thus, the many causal factors contributing to the existence and
causal capacity of the mind-brain to dream—starting with genomic
determinants (nature), environmental impacts (nurture), other develop-
mental parameters, internal homeostasis and physiological need states,
current environmental stimuli, the combination of factors inducing the
state of sleep and dreaming activity, motivational factors eliciting dream-
ing, and a host of other factors, known and unknown—contribute to an
814
explanation of the capacity of the organism for dreaming and the actual
dreaming process itself.
They all, taken in combination, explain the functioning of the dream
mechanism in the brain as the causal source of dreaming activity. But as
such it performs multiple functions as determined by the layers and diver-
sity of motives it serves. Similarly, the psychic determination, in the
example of the murder discussed previously, can involve multiple vari-
ants of meaning and motive, but it also is the result of the intersection of
multiple causal influences including genetics, characterological determi-
nants, developmental experiences, personal history, temperamental endow-
ment, moral commitments and prohibitions, motor capacities, eye-hand
coordination, and so on. Pulling the trigger is the final common path for
these multiple causalities and determinants. Each of the multiple causali-
ties has its own form of influence and causal effect that intersects with
others to produce a common causal sequence and outcome.
Multiple determination, however, in the psychoanalytic sense,
would work orthogonally to these causal inputs—it is a matter of the
condensation of psychic meanings and motives providing the motiva-
tional structure of the action in question. I would add to this that the
distinction between meanings and motives as psychic phenomena and brain
actions as causal begins to break down insofar as motives and meanings
themselves are, in the unifying perspective of an integrated mind-body
self, the effects of brain actions. The motive itself, in this sense, is
caused by the action of the brain. If we can maintain the separate intel-
ligibility of the mental vs. physical on a discursive or descriptive level,
on the deeper ontological level they are both expressions of differential
action patterns of the same underlying integrated mind-brain self
(Meissner 2009). We can oppose the phenomenal hermeneutics of
meaning and motive to the physicality of brain actions only descrip-
tively and experientially.
Mind-Body Dualism
This consideration points us to the problem of dualism. The instinc-

tual drive theory assumes a fundamental duality of body and mind. For
some analysts, the linkage between mind and body is dependent on the
drives in their role and function as somatic forces impinging on the men-
tal apparatus and provoking it to do psychic work (Opatow 1993). But
contemporary views of the mind-body relation have tended to move
away from dualistic resolutions in favor of a more unified and integrated
815
understanding of mind-brain functioning.9 As Andreasen (2001) has

phrased it, “There are two different words that refer to the same thing/
activity, and neither exists without the other in living human beings. What
we call the mind is the product of activity occurring in the brain at the
molecular, cellular and anatomical levels” (p. 27). Along similar lines,
Damasio (1994) expresses this integrative view as follows: “(1) The
human brain and the rest of the body constitute an indissoluble organism,
integrated by means of mutually interactive biochemical and neural regu-
latory circuits (including endocrine, immune, and autonomic neural
components); (2) The organism interacts with the environment as an
ensemble: the interaction is neither of the body alone nor of the brain
alone; (3) The physiological operations that we call mind are derived
from the structural and functional ensemble rather than from the brain
alone: mental phenomena can be fully understood only in the context of
an organism’s interacting in an environment” (pp. xvi–xvii).10 Such a
view repudiates Cartesian and related forms of dualism (the mind is not
a substance or separate process) along with any form of material monism
(neural and mental states are not simply identical), yet leaves open the
possibility of some form of relation and dependence.11
As Freud argued, the drives were viewed as somatically derived
drive forces pressing against the boundary of the mind and constantly
pressuring it to perform some form of action. In these terms, instincts
were regarded as guaranteeing the connection of mind to body. The
boundary was understood to represent a division between mind and
body—a dualism that Freud envisioned in varying terms, mostly in
terms of psychophysical parallelism and interactionism (Meissner
2003c). But we can question what reality there is to such a boundary.
I would suggest that the supposed boundary between the psychic and the
somatic is essentially a way of talking about or describing the common
experiential difference and conceptual distinction between mental and
physical operations. In other words, it is a descriptive distinction
between two orders of phenomena, mental and physical, but behind the
distinction is the integral reality of the mind-body self expressing itself
9
See the discussions of this integrative perspective in Andreasen (2001) and
Kandel (1998, 1999).
10
The same perspective is extended in Damasio’s account of the origins of affect
and consciousness (1999), to the effect that brain, consciousness, and affect are inter-
active and integrated within, as well as inseparable from, both brain and body.
11
For a discussion of various understandings of the mind-brain relation, see
Meissner (2006a).
816
in these modalities. Some operations of the self, like the beating of the
heart or walking, are physical; other operations of the self are mental,
like thinking; still other operations are simultaneously mental and
physical, like feeling or talking. In these terms, these two orders of
body-brain activity can be distinguished descriptively, linguistically,
experientially, but they are both forms of activity of an integrated mind-
brain self-organization.12
Thus, I can classify some of the activities of that integral mind-body
organism as mental and some as physical, but they are both activities of
the same underlying agent. In this sense there is no boundary. When I
think of the idea of a triangle, a mental action, the thinking is an action
of my brain, one of whose functions and capacities is thinking; that is,
when I think, I think using my brain. I can distinguish between the
mental process of thinking and the concept of triangle on one side and
the somatic brain process on the other, and I would do this for the con-
venience of trying to understand what is involved in the process, but I
am doing the thinking in virtue of the inherent capacity of my physical
brain. Elsewhere I have reviewed arguments supporting the view that
modern neuroscience has begun to enable us to identify what parts and
combination of parts of the brain are at work when we perform any
mental or physical action (Meissner 2003b,c,d, 2006a,b,c,d, 2007, 2009).
As Andreasen (2001) has commented, “Neuroimaging techniques now
permit us to visualize and measure the living brain. Psychiatrists may not
be able to read minds, as many people used to believe, but they can watch
the mind think and feel by using the tools of neuroimaging” (p. ix). It is
as if we can begin to watch the brain go into action as the subject is think-
ing, an understanding that undercuts the traditional dualism involved in
concepts like the boundary concept and allows us to conclude that there
is no such boundary in fact, but only the brain performing actions, some
of which we experience as physical and some of which we experience
12
Addressing the biological roots of the desire of the infant for object contact and
interaction, Cohen (2001) remarks: “Desire is not an innate, constitutionally deter-
mined motivational state. It arises from the interaction between the infant’s neuro-
physiological capacities for engaging others and the experiences that occur when the
infant and others interact. The ‘hardwiring’ underlying desire involves the various
constitutionally given perceptual and neuroregulatory functions that promote the
salience and inherent attraction of social stimuli or even the perceptual attributes of
social stimuli (Mayes and Cohen 1995)” (pp. 55–56). Thus, even the desire for social
interaction and affection is as rooted in the integrated mind-brain self-system as hun-
ger or sexuality.
817
as mental.13 The drives are not needed to preserve the mind-body connec-
tion since motives themselves are psychophysical actions of the integral
mind-brain.
In this sense, all human acts and actions would be activities of the same,
integral, unified, embodied, and integrated mind-body self. I would empha-
size that this conceptualization of the mind-body relation as integrated and
unified is radically different from the classic Freudian view of mind and
body as consisting in a form of dualistic interactionism in which the con-
nection of mind-in-body is effected through the impression of somatic
instinctual drives on the mental apparatus—rather, the assumed interaction
of soma and psyche in a revised perspective is equivalent to one part or parts
of the brain stimulating another part or parts into action by the transmis-
sion of information encoded in neural signals. To anticipate the discussion
to follow, motives in this sense would be understood as fundamental forms
of mental action resulting from the activation of brain processes. In this
sense, motives, of any description, are mental expressions of an underlying
pattern of brain activity causing this form of mental expression. Consequently,
the source of the motivation as mental action is the self-as-agent, conceived
as synonymous with the body self (the integrated mind-body-brain self) and
as source of all action in the self (Meissner 1993, 1997).14
Drive vs. Motive
Central to this proposed alternative to drive theory is the distinc-

tion between drive and motive (Holt 1976). Most drive theorists simply
13
I would caution against any implication of reductionism in regard to mind-brain
integration. The ontological integration of mind-body does not imply any form of
monistic reduction, whether of the mental to the physical or the opposite. Study of the
mind and study of the brain each have their respective independence and methodologi-
cal integrity, so that understanding of the human phenomenon requires both. The proper
object of psychoanalytic study is the mind, not the brain; any effort to reduce the mind
to the brain would be misleading and distorting. In these terms, the appeal to motives as
distinct from drives does not substitute a limited psychological term for the presumed
complexity of Freud’s dualistic psychobiological perspective and its opportunities for
exploring mind-brain tensions. The concept of motive is itself rooted in the complexities
of the integration of mind and body in the unified and integrated self. We have advanced
beyond the tensions of Freud’s dualistic conflicts over the differences between the bio-
logical and the psychological, to be able to address issues of how the brain functions to
produce mental actions such as motives, both consciously and unconsciously.
14
To be clear, self-as-agent and self-as-subject are distinguished as conceptually
distinct aspects of one and the same self-system, each acting as the source of activity
but under different perspectives—self-as-agent as source of all actions of the self,
whether conscious or unconscious, voluntary or involuntary, physical or mental, and
self-as-subject as source of conscious activity and functioning.
818
collapse the distinction and speak of drives and motives more or less
synonymously. Pine (1988) has provided a useful example: “The drive
psychology . . . alerts us always to ask . . . : What wish is being expressed?
What is the relation of the wish to consciousness? What is the fantasy and
how does it reflect a compromise between wish and defense and reality?
How is the wish being defended against?” (pp. 498–499). But if the drive
theory is also a theory of motivation, one might well ask why there should
be any need for another theory of motivation. But this may be no more
than another way of stating the problem. Do motives require a theory of
drive derivation to be theoretically coherent? Within a dualistic frame-
work, we would expect an affirmative response, if only as a way of con-
necting the psychology of wishing to essential biological needs when
they are assumed to be operating unconsciously. In the drive theory, these
somatic forces are thought to impinge on the mental apparatus producing
mental effects in the form of motives. But within the framework of an
integrated mind-body relation, motives are already actions expressive of
an integrated mind-brain body-self agency and require no further concep-
tual mediation of wishes and needs. The mind-brain is in this sense the
source of both needs and motives.
Accordingly, many discussions of clinical cases that use drive theory
seem to involve a subtle shift in implication, with drive theorists collaps-
ing or conflating drive and motivational concepts. Typically, in defending
the clinical utility of the drive concept, the discourse turns to matters of
motive and meaning but then attributes these to the drive, as if to say that
whenever motives and meanings are encountered clinically they are
assumed to be drive derivatives rather than seen as having any relevance
or substantive meaning in themselves. But in my view these issues of
unconscious meaning and purpose are directly relevant to the patient’s
motives, and there is no further need for an appeal to a drive concept. The
motivational perspective can stand very nicely on its own, as long as it is
joined to a theory of agency (see below). Thus, motives explain the mean-
ing, purpose, and direction of action; the agent accounts for the causality
and performance of the action thus motivated.
Cause vs. Motive
Accordingly, wishing is an action, but the wish, whatever its inherent

organization and meaning, has no efficient operational function of its
own. The distinction of cause vs. motive plays a critical role here. Causes
are not motives and motives are not causes. The role of motives in leading
819
to any action is different from the role of the causes of the action.
Motives (that is, as purpose, intention, wish, desire), serve only to stimu-
late and guide the agent to act. They operate in terms of finality and not
of efficiency.15 In the intentional or purposeful action of human agents,
both are operative, but causal action can occur without accompanying
motivation. This distinction is underlined by Cohen (2001), who points
out that desire does not always lead to action and action does not always
stem from desire. Manifest movements—mere nonintentional move-
ments (reflexes, physiological processes)—are not motivated; human
actions are (Sherwood 1969). Also, a desire may not be revealed in
overt action, but may find expression in fantasy only. In other words,
desire and action are distinguishable and can be separate. Certain actions,
prompted by desire, can remain hidden and unconscious in the form of
fantasy, never to be enacted in a way that could be observed. Some
desires never lead to action; some actions may not reflect an underlying
desire or motive.
An example may be useful here, if only to clarify the meaning and
distinctions of motive vs. causality. Hunger is a familiar experience in
which the experiences of need, desire, and satisfaction are joined. The
shiny red apple on the table, for example, may attract my interest as desir-
able to eat, especially if I am hungry, but my decision to eat it and the
motoric behavior of picking it up and sinking my teeth into it are not
caused by the apple or by my wishing to eat the apple, but they are
effected by myself as a deciding and acting agent. If I am the efficient
cause of my behavior, the apple serves as the object that provides a
stimulus giving rise to the internal motive for my behavior by its promise
of satisfying my hunger, of giving me the pleasure of consuming it; we
could also mention an implicit self-preservative motivation.
15
It is worth emphasizing that in the modern context causality is generally
understood as efficient causality, and not as finality (Taylor 1972). Finality belongs
to motivation. Moreover, in the performance of human actions—that is, actions that
are intentional, purposeful, and goal-oriented, whether consciously or unconsciously—
causal acts are always motivated. Causality does not become active without a moti-
vational stimulus: in human actions, both finality and efficiency are active and
necessary. One of the problems in conceptualizing causality is the confusion or
failure to distinguish between efficiency and finality. In a Humean world, an effect
is anything that follows after a cause; but effects follow after both motives and
causes. Efficiency and finality differ, however, in the way in which they lead to the
result: finality by wishing, desiring, and purpose, drawing the cause to act; causality
by acting efficiently and efficaciously to realize effects, working, producing results,
and so on.
820
The action sequence can be described as follows. A need state16—

here hunger—arises in the subject. The apple would not have its appetitive
appeal were there no corresponding hunger or need state in the subject,
or at least the appeal would be less in some degree.17 The need state gives
rise to a motive to relieve the need by satisfying the hunger. The sight
of the apple on the table translates the motive into a projected action
pattern—to take possession of the apple and consume it and thus alleviate
the hunger. At this point a decision process goes into action. If there are
no contraindications, it is simply a matter of deciding to eat the apple and
initiating the motoric action sequence that activates the motor neurons to
move the appropriate muscle groups to reach out, grasp the apple, and
begin to eat it. Other scenarios are possible. If the individual feels the
hunger need and there is no apple, he can create a substitute fantasy
object, consciously or unconsciously, or dream about it if asleep—or in
extreme cases even hallucinate the apple; or he can initiate exploratory
behavior to go looking for one.
The meaning of causality here is that of efficient causality, in this case
either a sequence of external actions to consume the apple, or alternatively
a sequence of mental actions involving fantasy, imagination, or dreaming.
Efficient causality is distinct from the more general and nonspecific mean-
ing of causality as referring to whatever acts in any way to influence a
subsequent event. Not just anything that precedes an event is causal—
unless a causal connection can be demonstrated there is no causality. This
16
I would emphasize that the concept of need state is not exclusively somatic in
connotation; rather, it is an analogous concept implying lack of or potential for grati-
fication in any functional capacity, somatic or psychic. The yearning for intellectual
or artistic knowledge and achievement is as much a form of need state as hunger or
sex, despite the obvious differences. I would also note that the concept of lack as
inherent in desire is a fundamental element in Lacan’s theory of motivation (1977; see
Muller and Richardson 1982).
17
Motives are inherently appetitive insofar as they imply a desire for or striving
to achieve some form of satisfaction of an underlying need. In Akhtar’s extensive
review of the literature (1999), the complex relation between motives and need states
is discussed in very useful terms. Since motives can arise from a wide range of needs,
from simple and basic biological needs like hunger and sex to more developed mental
and intellectual needs like cultural and symbolic attainment and self-expression, the
quality of appetitiveness is analogous, reflecting both similarities and differences
among levels of motivation. Hunger and the desire to learn to read both express some
form of lack in the self that leads to the desire to overcome the lack and satisfy the
need—in the one case by eating an apple, in the other by study and learning. Desires
for mutually satisfying love relations are likewise appetitive in this sense. Wishes for
a positive self-image and self-esteem are similarly appetitive in response to an impov-
erished need state of depleted narcissistic inferiority.
821
is the classic fallacy Post hoc ergo propter hoc. Thus, just because a motive
precedes the causal action, that does not mean that it acts as a cause in the
efficient sense. The motive, if effective, is followed by a sequence of acts,
but it is not itself the efficient cause of the actions. Its influence is exercised
in the order of finality, that is, by way of purpose, intent, desire, wish, etc.,
while the causality comes from the causal agent, acting in the order of
execution, aroused from potency to action by this appetitive appeal.
Efficiency involves the production of the effect by performing some
form of work, but rather than producing an effect, finality acts by leading,
drawing, or attracting the causal agent to act. In other words, the influ-
ence of motives as final causes is intentional and appetitive, not efficient.
In either case, unless the causal connection is demonstrable, there can be
no causality. But the causal connection distinguishing finality from effi-
ciency is quite different in character and effect. The behavior, moreover,
is purposive, and the element of purpose cannot be explained by the cau-
sality without its motivational substructure.18
This process is usually carried out at an implicit and less-than-
conscious level. But if there are complicating circumstances—let us say
there is only one apple and someone else is present who would like it—this
may give rise to reflection and a process of deciding whether to take the
apple regardless of the other person’s wishes; to defer to that other and leave
the apple for him to take; to undertake a negotiation with that other as to
who will take the apple; or to share it. Resolution of the conflict and satis-
factory agreement allows the corresponding action pattern to be pursued.
I would urge that motives are operative at each step of the process—even in
the last steps, motives having to do with maintaining a friendly relation with
the other person, or with fulfilling an ego-ideal value of avoiding selfish and
inconsiderate behavior, can come into play. The explanation is complete
without appeal to a any putative hunger or self-preservative drive.
AGENCY
If these actions are not dependent on or driven by instinctual drive forces,

and if the motives involved are appetitive and not causal, the motives
would still require a source of action in order to translate motivational
intentionality into effective causal execution. In other words, motives
18
The tension and implicit contradiction in Freud’s thinking between his energic
causal hypothesis and purposeful motivation and behavior is discussed in detail by
Feffer (1982).
822
operating in the order of intentionality and finality cannot lead to any

form of realization (whether in fantasy, dream, or motoric action) unless
a corresponding causality is activated in the order of execution. In terms
of the motivational theory under consideration here, one viable source
of that agency is the person himself—in theoretical terms, the self as
synonymous with the human person (Meissner 1993, 2001)—and not a
set of postulated, hypothetical drives. Drive theorists object that without
the concept of drives there can be no unconscious, the assumption being
that unconscious mentation requires an action source independent of the
consciously acting agent. In a motivational perspective, the self-as-agent
is just such an unconscious agent, but not independently of the acting
subject. In large measure, the actions of the self-as-agent are uncon-
scious, while others of its actions are conscious and as such attributable
to the self-as-subject, that is, that aspect of the range of action of the self-
as-agent that attains a level of conscious awareness. In this view, drives
would not be necessary to account for unconscious action.
Some analysts tend to refer to a “sense of agency” as a subjective
phenomenon. For instance, Fonagy et al. (2003) propose a concept of self-
as-agent, referring to a conscious awareness of the self as acting and as
possessing a capacity for performing actions, usually developing some-
time in the second year of life. While this concept of self as acting refers
to the conscious sense of self in action, and thus does not include the
unconscious side of mental activity, the self-as-agent, as defined within a
motivational theory, is specified as the repository of unconscious pro-
cesses and actions; it is the source of all actions of the self, physical and
mental, voluntary and involuntary, conscious and unconscious, starting
with the first primitive actions of the fetus independent of the mother’s
physiological functioning, for instance the fetal heartbeat (Meissner
1993). Fonagy’s self-as-agent belongs to the self-as-subject (Meissner
1999c,d); as such, it has the merit of introducing into analytic theory a
form of agency that does not reduce to drive forces. Both these formula-
tions thus share a common feature: for both, none of the activities of the
self call for derivation from a putative drive, but they are still variously
motivated actions performed by the self. The actions of self-as-agent in
these terms are actions of the self and not of the drives.19 Thus, by impli-
cation, the concept of instinctual drives is not necessary to sustain the
19
The divergence in the locus of agency in the motivational view sets it apart
from more traditional formulations appealing to drive forces. Green (1999, 2001), for
example, stipulates that drive derivatives not only find expression in wishing
823
concept of unconscious motivation and mental life, nor is it necessary to

explain the causal agency of all actions, psychic or otherwise.
Psychic Energy
Agency, particularly in the form of causally effective agency, involves

a necessity for energy as the activating or empowering element connoted
in the movement of psychic structures from potential to action. This has
been phrased in other terms as a capacity for doing work, work implying
the transition from potency to act and causal effectiveness. Thinking,
imagining, feeling, and fantasizing are in this sense forms of work. In drive
theory, the drives are the sources of this energy for all psychic activity. To
emphasize—the drives in the classic drive theory are the only sources of
energy in the mental apparatus—as opposed to the concept of energy as the
inherent capacity for action either of the total organism, which in humans
is the self-as-agent, or of any of its component substructures. Thus,
agency in the drive theory resides in the drives, and it is specifically drive
energy, however modified and transformed, that powers all psychic func-
tions. The ego can act, for example, only in virtue of some form of drive
energy, whether neutralized, sublimated, or otherwise transformed.
Certainly when structures are active they are powered by some form
of energy, like a computer requiring a source of energy to perform its
functions. But, we might ask, why does the energy have to come from
drives? In a motivational theory, structures are called into action by a
motivational stimulus, but the acting is done by the self as the basic agent
acting through the instrumentality of given structures. The question
comes down to the nature of this “psychic energy.” Questions regarding
the differentiation of physical (brain) energy and psychic (mind) energy
reflect the persistent dualism in psychoanalytic thinking, a point of view
that has fallen out of favor in neuroscience and allied disciplines. In the
perspective of an integrated mind-body self, there is no other energy than
that of the mind-body self, and energy has no meaning or function other
than that of moving any given structure or set of structures from a state of
potential capacity for action to a state of actual activation. If we designate
such energy as physical or psychic, we indulge in a form of metaphoric
and desire, but also serve as the sources of force issuing in action. If motives are no
longer regarded as the derivatives of drives, the requirement for a causal source of
action persists. The source of action must then be located elsewhere than in the drives;
one possible option is the self-as-agent.
824
and dualistic expression. Whether the energy in question is regarded as

neither somatic nor psychic, or if it is thought of as both somatic and
psychic, the fact remains that it represents no more than the transition
from potency to act. Designation of such organic energy as physical or
psychic is effected by way of extrinsic denomination: “psychic” referring
to processes that we categorize as mental or psychological, “physical”
referring to processes we regard as physical or physiological. In either
case, what is connoted is merely the transition from potency to act in
some organized system or function or group of functions. The quality of
the energy is merely denominated in accord with the nature of the struc-
tures in which it is expressed.
In thinking about the meaning of the concept of energy, I am
reminded of an analogy to the physical notion of potential energy. For
example, if I carry a heavy weight up to a high place, the weight is said
to have potential energy; if I then allow it to drop to the ground, that
potential energy is transformed into actual kinetic energy so that when
the weight hits the ground it does so with considerable destructive force.
But then if I carry it up again to the same height, it still has the same
amount of potential energy. What then is the meaning of this energy that
can produce such destructive effects yet be completely replenished by
carrying it up to the same height? My point is that when we speak of
energy in whatever context, we may not mean anything more than a
change from a potential state to an active state and a capacity to produce
effects. What the nature of the energy may be in itself is, then, a function
of what the nature and capacity of the entities in question may be in
which that energy inheres. Chemical energy applies to the transition from
potency to act in chemical reactions, thermal energy to heat reactions,
and so on. When I am actually physically lifting the weight, that action
requires physical exertion and energy; when I am only thinking about
calculating the potential energy of the weight, that action requires mental
exertion and psychic energy. In either case, it is the energy of the organ-
ism, that is, of the integrated mind-body self, all of whose actions,
physical or mental, are orchestrated, directed, and effected by the central
nervous system and especially the brain.
T O WA R D A T H E O R Y O F M O T I VAT I O N
The difference in perspective under discussion here is that between the

concept of drive as a constantly active biological force, one putting pressure
825
on the mind to seek satisfaction, and a need state like hunger that is not
constant but intermittent, and that along with certain feelings and con-
comitant contextual conditions and stimuli gives rise to a desire or wish
to find something to satisfy the need, thus leading the self to initiate a
course of action. Thus, the hunger need state gives rise to a motivational
state that may draw the agent into action in some sense.
The entire sequence is generated by contingent and circumstantial ele-
ments, namely, in the case of hunger, the internal bodily state of lack of
nutriment giving rise to sensations of hunger; external conditions and cir-
cumstances; and the resulting motivation, which in turn elicits a behavioral
response from the organism. The operative factor is not drive, but motive.
In the normal case, the motive may be cast more in terms of pleasure in
satisfying the wish; but in more severe cases nearer to starvation the motive
would undoubtedly be cast more in terms of self-preservation, with relief of
the pain of hunger a secondary motive or means to an end. In pathological
states related to feeding, like anorexia nervosa or bulimia, the motives
involved in hunger and its satisfaction are in conflict and are overridden by
other complex motives that lead to the disruption or distortion of normal
eating patterns, even to the point of putting self-preservation itself in jeop-
ardy. In none of these examples is there any necessity for a hunger drive.
An additional consideration is the role of affects in relation to the
interplay of motive and action. Affects in motivational theory are distinct
from both motive and action. At the same time, affects and motives are
closely intertwined. In many instances, the affective tonality accompany-
ing a motive state offers a clinically meaningful clue as to the quality and
nature of the motive. Fear provides a good example. Suppose fire breaks
out in a public place, a restaurant or theater perhaps—the immediate
reaction is fear associated with the need to save oneself, followed by a self-
preservative motive that induces one to take some course of action like
making a quick exit and escaping the threat of fire. I would note that fear
itself does not motivate my behavior, but does in this case arouse a motive
that does lead to action. The threat and the need state and the motive can
occur almost simultaneously, but they are conceptually distinct. Thus,
depending on circumstances, affects can either precede, accompany, or
succeed motivational arousal, but in all cases they complement and enrich
the intensity and quality of meaning associated with motives.
Sexuality
Sexuality is a fundamental biological need. Like other need states,

sexuality can give rise to motivated actions directed to satisfying a need.
826
Sexuality is part and parcel of the human organism, both physically and
psychically.20 Sexual needs and desires are inherent qualities of human
sexual experience. The desire for sexual expression results from posses-
sion of sexual capacities that find their fulfillment and satisfaction in sexual
discharge, as in masturbation, in sexual relations, mutually satisfying
object relations, procreation, family relations, life commitments, and a
host of other meaningful involvements that are contextualized by social
and cultural conventions. Sexual needs can also be satisfied in varying
degrees by substitute objects and actions, as in the perversions. Further,
sexuality is not simply a matter of operating one’s genitals, but rather
involves the full range of the complexities of human relationships.
Healthy and normal sexuality, then, involves issues of self-expression,
self-fulfillment, the achievement of meaningful human relationships, and
a variety of social involvements and interactions. Sexual needs and sexual
motives, therefore, are associated with a wide spectrum of affective rever-
berations, from intense pleasure to frustration and rage. Sexuality is thus
expressive of profound and meaningful human needs on a variety of lev-
els that extend well beyond genital satisfaction. We regard mature geni-
tality itself as connoting much more than genital proficiency.
George Klein (1976) has pointed out that “in . . . clinical theory,
sexuality is viewed as appetitive activity within a reticulum of motiva-
tional meanings rather than the manifestations of a linear force impelling
itself against a barrier” (p. 41). Along similar lines, Person (2005)
describes a comparable perspective on the complex motivational status of
sexuality: “The peremptory nature of sexuality is certainly linked to the
intense pleasure it provides. But sexuality is also stoked by the links to
other motivations. A clear expression of the union between sexual and
nonsexual motives can be observed in clinical instances in which an indi-
vidual feels driven by compulsive sexual acts that incorporate other
ends. Just as Don Juan experiences power in his sexual conquests, so
does pain play a significant role for the masochist. Insofar as sexual
pleasure becomes a major vehicle for establishing object ties, sexuality
encompasses an enormous variety of nonsexual motives, among them
dependency and hostility. Sexual release can also be used in the service
20
Modell (1993) has posed the question of how impersonal instincts like sexuality
can become personal motives. While rejecting the Freudian solution as failing to
explain how the physiological need is transformed into a meaning-embedded wish,
he ascribes personal motives to the agency of the self. This is consistent with my
present argument, but Modell leaves unattended the related motivational substructure
that would account for the engagement of the agency of the self. The motivational
theory presented here aims at filling that gap.
827
of stabilizing one’s sense of self, assuaging anxiety, or restoring self-

esteem” (p. 1269).
What is noteworthy here is that sexuality is perceived in motiva-
tional terms without any appeal to instinctual drive forces. This not only
substantiates the distinction between drive and motive, but draws our
attention to the slippage between these concepts, namely, the attempt to
validate the drive concept by focusing it in motivational terms and then
conversely translating motives into drive terms. In other words, sexuality,
like hunger, can be viewed as a need state that gives rise to appetitive
motives that under corresponding stimulus conditions give rise to
actions directed to satisfying the need. I would also emphasize that
these motives can have a peremptory or demand quality corresponding
to the intensity of the need, and that the corresponding action response
can be enacted in an impulsive or compulsive fashion that would con-
tribute to the experience of feeling compelled or driven. When relatively
basic motivational states involve the wish for immediate and total satis-
faction, as in the pure expression of the pleasure principle, the corre-
sponding urge can feel as peremptory and irresistible as any putative
drive impulse.21
But the question is whether there is anything in all this that speaks to
the existence or operation of a sexual drive. What may be involved are
states of need and desire, and not necessarily drives. In a motivational
perspective, nothing of the complexity and variety of sexual experience
is omitted, but none of it requires or suffers any softening of explanatory
power by looking to motivational factors rather than drive derivatives.
The biological component involves inherent capacities and potencies
within the sexual organic systems, but the need state in humans is not
exclusively somatic, but rather is both somatic and psychic. Need states
related to the fulfillment of the inherent potency of these systems can
arise in various degrees of intensity. However, it is also apparent that the
qualitative and/or quantitative level of the sexual need state can vary
considerably from individual to individual, and from time to time in the
same individual.
Also, the stimulus conditions and contexts providing potential fulfill-
ment or satisfaction of the need can vary accordingly. If, for one
individual, a sexual need is of such intensity and is experienced so
21
To be clear, the action component that provides the impression of thrust or push
or “drivenness” comes from the self-as-agent as it moves into action and not from any
drive. Experientially, the effect would be indistinguishable.
828
peremptorily that he is motivated to seek immediate gratification, he

might masturbate in the absence or unavailability of sexual objects; he
might go out on the prowl to engage in a one-night stand; or, depending
on the motivational terms, along with perverted values and lack of
superego-related restraints beyond the merely sexual, he might commit
rape. For someone else, ordinary forms of sexual experience may not
satisfy the need and may carry a burden of meanings and associations
(largely unconscious) that impede sexual satisfaction in that direction and
cause him to seek it in other forms—in perversions or substitute objects.22
Another individual would find such forms of gratification repulsive and
totally unsatisfying, and direct his efforts to seeking a meaningful and
loving heterosexual object relationship that would offer the possibility for
caring, mutual relationship, mutual gratification, commitment, fidelity,
and enduring relationship. The quality of the motivational conditions
would differ radically between them.
The point I wish to suggest is that an explanation in terms of motiva-
tional components carries at least as much explanatory potential as an
explanation in terms of drive forces, and presents a much more meaning-
ful, relevant, and enriched context for an understanding of sexuality in
human relationships. Thus, I am suggesting, in terms of the distinction
between need and drive, that sexual needs combine with contextual
stimuli to produce sexual desires that create the motivational conditions
prompting action in the form of sexual behavior on the part of the self.
Drives are unnecessary in this configuration.
Aggression
Aggression is the second basic drive in classical instinct theory. In

a motivational perspective, however, aggression is regarded not as
related to a drive, but as itself a form of motivation.23 As motive, aggres-
sion comes into play in circumstances in which an obstacle arises to the
achievement or accomplishment of a goal or aim. The motive, in general
terms, can be expressed in terms of overcoming the obstacle, whatever
its nature, whether real or imagined, physical or psychological, con-
scious or unconscious. Aggression, therefore, refers to the motive and
accompanying action directed to overcoming the obstacle, but it does
22
I am presuming that these dynamic patterns are applicable regardless of object
choice, affecting hetero- and homosexual orientations in similar ways.
23
The hypothesis of aggression as motive rather than drive has been explored at
length in a comprehensive study of aggression by Rizzuto, Meissner, and Buie (2004).
829
not refer to the accompanying affect (e.g., anger). The motivational

theory distinguishes between affect and motive, between the anger and
the aggression, although the anger can serve to indicate the intensity
and quality of the motive. In the effort to overcome an obstacle, the
subject may experience a degree of frustration, resulting in the affec-
tive experience of anger. The anger arises from the sense of frustration,
the person being prevented from satisfying his wishes and achieving the
goal. This may take on the quality of narcissistic rage, particularly when
the motivation is riding on a narcissistic basis. In any case, the aggres-
sive motivation and the resulting action may be accompanied by anger,
but the anger is not the same as the motive and the resulting action. In
this sense, the so-called frustration-aggression hypothesis is perhaps
better described as a frustration-anger hypothesis. Frustration may or
may not be associated with confronting an obstacle and being motivated
to overcome it, granted that many obstacles can be sufficiently difficult
to cause frustration.
Higher-Order Motivations
The same model of need-motive-action can apply analogously across

a broad spectrum of biological and psychological needs, including intel-
lectual, scientific, artistic, and aesthetic interests. All levels of human
functional capacity and ability are open to correlative and proportional
forms of motivation. Even sexual needs, as discussed above, involve
higher-order needs for belonging, relatedness, and loving acceptance.24
The capacity to know and understand carries with it forms of cognitive
need states that give rise to motivations that lead to the satisfaction of
such needs. Human curiosity is impelled by such needs and motives. In
this range of human interests, there is a need for a theory of personal
motivation in terms of which personal values, ideals, social and cultural
involvements, and other aspects of the more evolved forms of human
24
Akhtar (1999) focuses on six basic psychological needs that he considers ubiq-
uitous and culturally universal; as he puts it, “Their gratification seems necessary for
helping psychic development to occur, or relationships to survive, and for psycho-
analytic work to take hold and to continue ultimately” (p. 113). He specifies (1) the
need for physical needs to be acknowledged as legitimate; (2) the need for identity,
recognition, and affirmation from others; (3) the need for maintaining interpersonal
and intrapsychic boundaries; (4) the need to be able to understand the causes of
events; (5) the need for optimal and mutually satisfying emotional availability with a
love object; and (6) the need for a resilient and flexible responsiveness from one’s
love objects under circumstances in which special needs require it.
830
engagement, including the capacity for loving and mutually rewarding

human relationships,25 can find meaningful integration.26
Thinking along this line, Loewald (1971) called attention to the lack
in the psychoanalytic drive theory of a theory of personal motivation;
he proposed that such personal motivation is essential to a more adequate
psychoanalytic understanding of the human person: “Psychic life [in the
instinct theory] is motivated by sometimes conflicting, sometimes con-
fluent, sometimes fused, sometimes defused, instinctual forces. There
seems to be no room for personal motivation. Yet I have claimed that
personal motivation is the fundamental assumption of psychoanalysis.
We now seem to see that, on the contrary, psychoanalytic psychology
postulates instinctual, unconscious, impersonal forces as the motives of
our psychic life. Where is the person? Where is the ego or self that would
be the source and mainstay of personal motivation?” (p. 110).
A possible response to Loewald’s plea may lie in a concept like the
self-as-person and -as-agent (Meissner 1993, 2001), which offers the
conceptual grounds for the kind of personal motivation he envisioned. In
related terms, Pine (2005) offers his own response to Loewald’s question:
“One answer today must be the person is everywhere. Thus, sexual and
aggressive tendencies become personalized. They reflect not just the
expression of mechanical energic forces; they are embedded in individual
wishes, fantasies, histories, and preferred forms of gratification, expres-
sion, or displacement. Where is the personal in psychoanalytic motiva-
tional theory? It is in individual history. Motives in the object relational
sphere, like attachment and the repetition of internalized object relations,
25
The motivation for loving relations touches on the distinction between love and
libido as reflecting different levels and qualities of motivation—one instinctual and
sexual, the other more ethical and personal beyond the scope of libidinal cathexis. See
my discussion of libido vs. love in Meissner (2003a).
26
Some sense of the scope of human motivations is suggested in Pine’s four
motivational headings (2005): in human relations (attachments, internalizations,
object relations), ego functions (exercise of ego capacities, defense, adaptation), self-
experience (self-corrective adjustment, maintenance of preferred self-states and
identity), and drives (primarily sexuality and aggression). The first three categories
are forms of higher-order motivation; the last is primarily lower-order. I would add
that in a motivational theory, sexuality and aggression are both conceived as motives
rather than drives. A similar emphasis is provided in the motivational schema offered
by Lichtenberg (1989), comprising five motivational subsystems: fulfillment of
physiological requirements, attachment and affiliation, assertion and exploration,
antagonism and/or withdrawal, and sensual and sexual pleasure. These motivational
systems are responsive to basic needs, both higher- and lower-order, are built into the
organism, and persist throughout life.
831
are inherently personal—built around the histories of personal relation-

ships and their satisfactions and failings. And affectively driven motives,
like those triggered by the anxiety signal or by attempts to maintain
sameness (of defensive or adaptive style or of subjective state of self), all
have an inherently subjective, and therefore personal, aspect” (p. 17).27
Cultural interests can be similarly motivated by non-drive, personal
motives.28 For example, if I am gifted with some degree of musical talent,
I might set myself the goal of learning to play the violin. Depending on
the level of my motivation and talent, I might pursue that goal to a modest
degree of amateur competence and aesthetic self-gratification, or I might
aspire to the heights of professional proficiency and the concert stage.
The level of intensity of my pattern of action depends on the motivational
value I attach to the objective: the more intense the value and attractive-
ness of the objective, the greater the degree of purpose and effort I might
mobilize to achieve it. In addition, as is often the case, the process may
well be overdetermined and involve multiple levels of motivation. Let us
say that oedipal motives enter the picture in the sense that my mother
always wanted me to play the violin, and I know that my learning to do
so will gain her approval and affection. Or at a more primitive, preoedipal
level, narcissistic motives can be activated with regard to fulfilling my
ideal self-image and sense of self-enhancement and seeking a degree of
perfection that would satisfy more infantile fantasies of a grandiose or
omnipotent quality.29 The most salient point here is that nowhere in the
entire process is any drive called for, nor is there any need for one. The
process is set in motion by a set of needs and motives that draw the agent
27
It can also be added; as Modell (1993) was not slow to point out, “the psychol-
ogy of the self encompasses emergent motivations of the very different conceptual
order from that of instinct theory” (p. 206).
28
Sandler (1981) addressed this issue: “Because psychoanalytic theory and prac-
tice has placed so much emphasis on sexual and aggressive wishes, and because
psychoanalysis has had to defend its findings in regard to the prevalence of such
wishes, there has been a tendency to see all wishes as instinctual. With developments
in the ego psychology after the war, psychoanalytic theoreticians have gone through
the most tremendous intellectual contortions to try to derive all wishes from sexual
and aggressive impulses, and have attempted to maintain a position in which any
unconscious wish is seen as being powered by instinctual energy or by a decentralized
or neutralized form of that energy” (p. 187).
29
In any case, we should not overlook that narcissistic motives of a higher order
may play an essential role in self-maintenance. Maintenance of self-esteem within
realistic limits can contribute significantly to mature and healthy self-functioning. For
a discussion of narcissistic motivation, see Meissner (2008).
832
from a state of nonactivated potential to one of activation resulting in the

series of actions directed to achieving the desired goals.
A further implication of this approach is that such higher-order moti-
vations do not necessarily result from the sublimation of lower-order
motives. Such higher-level motives would be expressive of higher-order
needs in the subject—e.g., the desire to pursue an artistic or scientific
career is inherently derived from a given capacity or talent and the related
felt need to gain that degree of achievement. Such achievement motiva-
tion does not call for the sublimation of lower-order motives, motives that
may be more primary, basic, or even infantile. However, it is common
enough experience in psychoanalysis that higher-order objectives may be
inhibited, distorted by, or amalgamated with more basic conflictual
motives deriving from infantile levels of oedipal or preoedipal origin. The
case of the gifted graduate student who experiences inhibitions and other
difficulties completing his dissertation because of unconscious oedipal
motives and conflicts is a familiar clinical scenario. In such cases, sublima-
tion may play a significant role to the extent that unconscious infantile
motives may be involved in his higher-order and conscious ambition to
achieve intellectual proficiency and distinction. When such infantile or
lower levels of motivation enter into and are compounded with higher-
order intellectual, cultural, or scientific interests, it may make sense to
regard such motives as sublimated insofar as they may be integrated with
the higher motives in the ordinary sense of implying a redirection to more
socially valued aims and objects. A more infantile idealization, for exam-
ple, of a parental figure with whom one has identified as an aspect of
one’s ego ideal may complement and reinforce motivations to achieve the
ideal through higher-order accomplishment. Absorption into and comple-
mentation of a higher-order motive structure might in such terms be
accounted as a form of sublimation. However, where higher- and lower-
order motives are caught up in active conflictual opposition, as in the
inhibited graduate student, they may even be seen as operating in parallel
and oppositional terms without effective sublimation.
A CASE IN POINT
The relation between theoretical perspective and clinical application is

crucial in the assessment of any theory. In assessing clinical process, we
need to keep in mind that behaviors can be directly observed, but that
theories are constructed to explain the observed facts and that more than
833
one theoretical option is always available (Meissner 1989, 1991).

Nevertheless, as Smith (2005) has astutely commented, it may be that
such a distinction is less necessary when we are looking for motives to
explain behaviors—although drives and wishes are on different levels of
abstraction, motives when conscious can be revealed directly in the form
of reasons or inferred directly from the patient’s behavior, and, when
unconscious, can be elicited indirectly and clarified by free association or
inquiry. In this sense, analytic associations are actions of the conscious
self-as-subject, presumed to be motivated in some degree by unconscious
motives operative within the self-as-agent. In the context of analytic
regression and a permissive and nonjudgmental relationship, we look for
these motives and their connected memories to find their way to a level
of conscious awareness by the subject. As Gabbard (2007) observes,
“Interpretation of a symptom in contemporary psychoanalysis is less
geared to the search for multiple causes than the understanding of a com-
plex network of meanings” (p. 562).
This leads to a basic question: In the associative process, who is
wishing and defending, the patient or the drives? However, it seems clear
that what we observe in the analytic hour are not drives, but the patient’s
behaviors, including verbal behaviors, which are guided by conscious
and/or unconscious motives. Clinically, the issue comes down to the
question of whether the drive concept is essential to clinical understanding
or not. We might ask what we can expect from clinical examples.
Individual clinical vignettes prove nothing; at best they can only illustrate.
I have selected this example to illustrate some aspects of understanding
and technique suggested by a motivational approach. To be clear, I am
aiming not at showing that the motivational theory is superior to or better
than drive theory, but only that it provides a viable and applicable alter-
native.30 I would urge that the motivational emphasis in this case is well
within the scope of ordinary and familiar analytic technique. I would
hope that this reflects the pragmatic congruence of the theory as a con-
ceptual basis for standard analytic technique. Further, I have chosen this
30
Theoretical preferences are an individual and personal matter. My theoretical
choices are determined not only by training and conceptual allegiances, but by other,
more deeply seated personal inclinations and preferences that have to do with my
personality organization, character, and conceptual inclinations. A given theory may
be good for one individual and less so for another. My effort here is meant not to show
that the motivational approach is superior to drive theory, but that it is a viable alter-
native, one that dispenses with some of the difficulties inherent in the drive theory,
and that it is congruent with standard technique.
834
case because it raises issues that have typically been addressed in drive-
derivative terms, thus affording an opportunity to compare conceptual
frameworks.
Clinical examples are always complex, and this one no less so. I have
in mind a patient in whom a complex network of interlocking and over-
lapping motives contributed to his neurotic adjustment and character
pathology; among the mélange of neurotic themes and conflictual issues,
the fear of breakdown was a prominent aspect of his involvement in the
analysis. I will focus selectively on this aspect of his difficulties and the
issues underlying it. The case exemplifies many of the aspects of the fear
of breakdown described by Winnicott (1963). The Kleinians viewed fear
of breakdown as a form of annihilation anxiety, derived directly from the
death instinct as aggression turned against the self; it was frequently
expressed in fears of annihilation, death, or loss of self (whether expressed
in terms of inner emptiness or of going crazy). Winnicott, perhaps in
reaction to the then prevailing Kleinian doctrine, does not mention the
death drive, but relates the patient’s fear instead to a series of develop-
mental derivations and their correlative motivations. On entering analy-
sis, my patient was in his mid-thirties and held a responsible job as a
research analyst. As his involvement in the analysis deepened, regressive
tendencies were activated and the fear of breakdown emerged as a domi-
nant and pervasive theme.
The problem came to light first in relation to his efforts to free
associate—any degree of loosening of control over his thoughts and feel-
ings would stir up protestations of his fears of going crazy, of being
overwhelmed with terrifying thoughts and feelings, of totally dissolving
and becoming reduced to nothingness. In defending against these perva-
sive fears, he insisted on nearly absolute control, not only over his
thoughts and feelings, but over external events as well, including the
analysis. This gave his behavior generally an obsessional and schizoid
quality that created significant complications in his life, both professional
and personal. In the analysis, any inkling of affect was countered by rigid
suppression and denial, along with a staunch refusal to loosen his control
over them. As the transference deepened, issues of dependence on the
analyst became central, implying the threatening prospect of dismantling
his schizoid defenses and relaxing his stance of controlling self-sufficiency.
Within the transference, a struggle ensued over who had control over
what, who had power and who didn’t, who got to decide what happened
in the analysis. Caught between his yearning for a close, dependent,
835
nurturant relation with the analyst and the fears of loss of control and imma-
nent breakdown connoted by such dependence, any occasion of separation
(weekends, holidays, vacations) stirred fears of abandonment, loss of con-
trol, and the threat of ultimate breakdown with dramatic intensity.
He stated his fears and anxieties in no uncertain terms: “Why
should I get close if you’re not going to be here? Better to avoid attach-
ment and not get hurt. If I get involved here then I’ll be upset every time
you leave. It isn’t worth it. If I open a crack then I’ll go all way. I’d have
the feeling of being swallowed up, then nothing again. I’d be totally
helpless. I get demanding of you. I get pissed off when you’re not here.
I want control. It’s all-or-nothing. I’m aware of how much I want to be
taken care of; I only will if I’m helpless.” And again: “I want to be pas-
sive and taken care of, like in the hospital. I’m afraid of breaking down
and being confined to the hospital. [Analyst: Is that what you fear, or
might it be what you want?] Maybe I would want that. If I try to face
life I’m terrified by lack of control. My fear of death, my anxiety
attacks. I know what they mean by terror. I’m afraid of feeling that here
and bringing it out if I let go. That has happened when I go to bed—a
feeling of terror, like an eternity of nothing. I end up saying ‘No, No, I don’t
want to die!’ If that terror lasted more than a few seconds, I’d go crazy
and jump off a cliff. That would be my revenge on my parents for hav-
ing me when they didn’t want me. It’s their fault that I’m screwed up.
I’m pissed at them because didn’t make me immortal or perfect, capable
of living without them. I’m vulnerable and feel an awful lot of anger.
They promised me a lot but didn’t deliver. They shouldn’t have had me
if they couldn’t make me happy.”
These anxieties and conflicts had their roots in the course of his
development. To make a long story short, his history unfolded along
Winnicottian lines. He was an only child, and his relationship with both
parents was highly ambivalent and troubled. He held a deep-seated
grudge against both of them. They had waited over ten years to have him,
suggesting to him that they really did not want him. As he saw it, his
mother was committed to her business career, and having him was an
interference, an inconvenience and burden. Her career came first, and she
did not engage in any of the usual mothering tasks. He could never
remember her putting him to bed or reading to him or telling him stories,
or taking care of him physically. Further, he was sent off to nursery
school at age two or three and again to summer camp from age seven on.
He regarded these as punitive exiles and abandonments reflecting his
mother’s wish to get rid of him and his father’s weakness and submission
836
to his mother’s wishes. His father had assumed a mothering role, being
intrusively caring and responsive to his physical needs (feeding and
cleaning). He was a mild, soft-spoken man who had been a teacher and
had never in his son’s eyes achieved much in the way of accomplishment
or success. My patient saw him as weak and ineffectual, despised his
weakness and softness, felt threatened by any aspect of his own character
that seemed similar to his father’s, and regarded his mothering involve-
ment as having a homosexual cast that repelled him.
On one hand, this resulted in a sense of repulsion of his father’s
mothering intrusiveness, and on the other a pervasive and profound rage
and hatred of his mother for her indifference and unavailability, as well
as for the recurrent abandonments. These dispositions came to life in the
transference. The father-transference took the form of wishes for depen-
dence and caring from me, that I would take care of him as if he were a
weak and helpless little boy who needed a strong and supportive father to
survive. In contrast, the mother-transference found expression in his rage
and sense of narcissistic injury at any least suggestion of indifference,
inattention, distraction, or separation on my part. Whether in the context
of the analysis or in his life outside the analysis, his fear was that if he
were to unleash his destructive rage, the consequences would be unimag-
inable. Not only might his rage find catastrophic and even murderous
outlets, but he himself could be destroyed. Breakdown or annihilation
would be fitting retribution for his hate-filled and vengeful destructive
rage. Even within these somewhat skeletal lines, what emerges is a net-
work of motivations related to developmental failures in parental empa-
thy. The theme of control was motivated by needs to defend against his
unconscious and destructive rage, and to maintain his defensive and self-
preservative self-sufficiency. His rage, in turn, was motivated by the
narcissistic deprivations inflicted on him by his parents, primarily his
mother, whom he saw as the primary agent of his sense of deprivation,
rejection, and loss. Along with his obsessive concern with control, he
experienced a pervasive sense of guilt affecting nearly everything he did,
both in his work and in his relations with his wife and in the analysis; this
was congruent with and parallel to his intense superego-mediated need
for punishment and masochistic submission. Needless to say, deeply
involved in these aggressive themes, the issues of his injured and deprived
narcissistic motivation played a central role.31 The repetition of these
31
I regret that further discussion of these narcissistic issues is not possible. I have
taken up issues related to the nature of narcissism as motivation elsewhere (Meissner
2008).
837
motivational themes within the analytic relation brought them into dra-
matic focus and opened the way to clarification and interpretation.
The patient’s aggression played a prominent part in his pathology. His
aggression was directed in the first instance to overcoming the obstacles to
his feeling acknowledged, accepted, approved, and loved by his parents.
Secondarily, in the transference, his responses were aimed at a similar
objective—to get me to care about and for him, to be his protective and
nurturing father-figure, or perhaps even mother-figure, who would enable
him to become the superior and valued person he so longed to become. For
example, clearly when my patient became angry that I was going on vaca-
tion, he was not being angry for no reason. The anger arose from his sense
of frustration, particularly of his narcissistic wishes, so that the aggressive
motivation and resulting action were accompanied by anger, but the anger
is not the same as the motive or the action. The patient was angry because
of the imagined threat to his well-being posed by the analyst’s leaving him
and his frustration in not being able to prevent it. In the context of aggres-
sion as motive, aggression arises in the effort to overcome the obstacle that
was threatening him. My patient’s anger and threats of retaliation (by not
coming to the analysis or by withholding payment of my fee) were aggres-
sive attempts to forestall my leaving, which he saw as an impediment to
his sense of security, as expressed in the fear of breakdown. Thus, the
affect of anger was motivated by the aggression-inspired desire to over-
come the threatening separation and by the frustration encountered in
preventing this outcome. When I say that the patient felt insecure and
threatened by my leaving, or disappointed in the implied lack of my inter-
est, attention, and affection, and that he endeavored to counter and over-
come these difficulties, the statement is motivational in content. This is a
statement of motivational purpose and not of drive derivation. As a general
rule, I would suggest that in the clinical situation analysts tend to concep-
tualize, formulate, and interpret to the patient in motivational terms and
not in terms of drive derivation. In this sense, a motivational perspective
may have the merit not of drawing clinical practice closer to theory, but of
drawing theory closer to clinical practice.
This case also makes it clear that the patient entered the analytic rela-
tion with a complex set of unmet developmental and interpersonal needs
and motives. One function of the analytic relation, especially within the
framework of the alliance as I would see it, is to provide an implicit response
and promise of satisfaction for such needs. My patient brought with him
unsatisfied needs for acceptance, recognition, and affection that he felt
838
deprived of by his parents, predominantly his mother. These underlying

needs found some degree of possible satisfaction in his relation with the
analyst, or at least the promise of such satisfaction, as Akhtar (1999) has
suggested.32 Points at which I neglected or frustrated these desires gave
rise to outbursts of rage and narcissistic injury. The fear of breakdown
then emerged, motivated on one hand by his wish to reengage me in a
supportive and self-sustaining role, and on the other as a self-condemning,
masochistically motivated punishment for his willful demands and destruc-
tive rage, in the first instance toward his mother and derivatively in the
transference toward me.
I would suggest that in this case understanding in terms of motives
and layers of motivation is adequate and sufficient in itself without any
need for derivation from putative drives. The productive aspects of the
analytic work centered on exploration and understanding of the complex
interweaving of these motivational themes and the patterns of defense
and avoidance my patient erected around them. Needless to say, the
accompanying affects of fear, anxiety, frustration, rage, and depression
lent vivid coloration to the motivational themes and their frustration. The
first line of inquiry was directed not to the circumstances or forces that
might have caused this clinical picture, but rather to the motives and
related reasons at work behind his thinking and his intense feelings. This
led to further exploration of related contexts, both past and present. Fear
of breakdown or of going crazy or dying was readily related to his wishes
not to grow up, to remain a helpless and dependent little child, to have no
responsibilities or demands placed on him, especially any demands
involving adult commitments, and thus to remain blameless and innocent
even if also weak, helpless, and vulnerable. Any assumption of respon-
sible adulthood carried with it the threat of retribution and punishment
for his pride, assumed superiority, and arrogance, and rageful fantasies—
all of which was countered by efforts to remain weak and blameless and
consolidated by the threat of annihilation as a proportional retribution
or punishment. What emerged further was the theme that his fear of
breakdown was defensively motivated both by negation of his vengeful
32
See also Gurevich’s recent discussion (2008) of the analyst’s capacity to
remain empathically responsive as a present and available object in relation to the
patient’s frustrated needs and motives. The patient was seeking adequate relational
support that had been denied or that he had been deprived of in the course of develop-
ment, especially in the phase of absolute dependence, The analyst’s capacity can play
a significant role in providing relief from annihilation anxiety. Some aspects of this
discussion seem relevant to the present case.
839
and hate-filled wishes against his parents, along with his narcissistic rage
related to the frustration of his wishes to be taken care of, treated as spe-
cial and entitled, and acknowledged as an exception. The chain of moti-
vation led to the vicissitudes of his relation with his parents and to his
disappointment and rage for what he regarded as their deprivation and
neglect. Preserving the image of the weak and helpless child protected
him from the acknowledgment and possible expression of his at times
murderous rage and vengeful fantasies and protected him from the more
adult burden of taking responsibility for them.
As a basis for interpretation, a focus on motives allows for clearer
conceptualization of the more specific and immediate motives involved
in specific components of the action sequence, arranged as they are in a
pattern of interlocking and hierarchical complexity of meaning. Further,
if we are concerned with meanings rather than causes of the behavior
pattern, motives serve us better. in that they are inherently concerned with
meaning, as drives are not. Moreover, the focus on motive brings the
patient’s responsibility for patterns of action, interaction, and defense
into direct and immediate reference. Even if the motivation is uncon-
scious, the motives are still his motives, not someone else’s, and they do
not take place randomly or by chance, but are purposeful and have rea-
sons and meanings. Ultimately—usually only after extended analytic
exploration and clarification abetted by the patient’s associations and
self-generated insight—when they have been sufficiently reclaimed and
consciously acknowledged, he must take responsibility for them. They do
not result from some alien force operating within him.
CONCLUSION
My arguments here are meant to offer an alternative theory to the classic

drive theory, an alternative based on principles of motivation rather than
drive. It is a theory of interrelated needs, motives, and actions that provide
an alternative explanatory model covering the same phenomenological
ground as the classical drive theory, without need of recourse to a concept
of drives. The resulting motivational theory not only avoids the ambiguities
and pseudoexplanations of a possibly outmoded drive theory; it also is
more coherent, more experience-near in terms of conceptual formulations,
more consistent with emerging neuroscientific findings, and more in step
with the ordinary course of everyday clinical understanding and interpreta-
tion. The role of the unconscious in its full dynamic potential is preserved,
840
and the integration with functioning of the mind-body self is consolidated.

Further, the motives underlying behavior are personalized: they are motives
of the person himself, not impersonal forces impinging on him from
beyond the boundaries of his personal self; rather, they operate as an inte-
gral aspect of his self-organization, part of his own internal self-functioning.
In this sense, the appeal to motives as opposed to drives as the basis for
psychoanalytic explanation and interpretation is more oriented to bridging
the gap between theory and praxis and thus more oriented to bringing
theory into line with clinical practice than vice versa.
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The Question of Drive VS. Motive in Psychoanalysis A Modest Proposal

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W. W. Meissner, S.J. 57/4

THE QUESTION OF DRIVE VS.

This essay explores the possibility of an alternative hypothesis to the

I n recent years, opinions on classical drive theory have fallen into

Training and Supervising Analyst Emeritus, Psychoanalytic Institute of New

DOI: 10.1177/0003065109342572 807

have typically focused on its outmoded and scientifically deficient con-

as we currently know it. One viable metapsychological option is to center

ASPECTS OF DRIVE THEORY

The most problematic aspects of drive theory from my perspective, not

The question of psychic determinism is central to this discussion.

The subsequent debate by analysts and philosophers has resulted in

But the principle of determination plays a somewhat different role in

himself introduced the notion of overdetermination or multiple determi-

wishes, each arising from a different motivational substratum, but finding

This consideration points us to the problem of dualism. The instinc-

understanding of mind-brain functioning.9 As Andreasen (2001) has

Central to this proposed alternative to drive theory is the distinc-

Cause vs. Motive

Accordingly, wishing is an action, but the wish, whatever its inherent

The action sequence can be described as follows. A need state16—

If these actions are not dependent on or driven by instinctual drive forces,

operating in the order of intentionality and finality cannot lead to any

concept of unconscious motivation and mental life, nor is it necessary to

Agency, particularly in the form of causally effective agency, involves

and dualistic expression. Whether the energy in question is regarded as

The difference in perspective under discussion here is that between the

Sexuality is a fundamental biological need. Like other need states,

of stabilizing one’s sense of self, assuaging anxiety, or restoring self-

peremptorily that he is motivated to seek immediate gratification, he

Aggression is the second basic drive in classical instinct theory. In

not refer to the accompanying affect (e.g., anger). The motivational

The same model of need-motive-action can apply analogously across

engagement, including the capacity for loving and mutually rewarding

are inherently personal—built around the histories of personal relation-

from a state of nonactivated potential to one of activation resulting in the

The relation between theoretical perspective and clinical application is

one theoretical option is always available (Meissner 1989, 1991).

deprived of by his parents, predominantly his mother. These underlying

My arguments here are meant to offer an alternative theory to the classic

and the integration with functioning of the mind-body self is consolidated.

Akhtar, S. (1999). The distinction between needs and wishes: Implications

Freud, S. (1891). On Aphasia. New York: International Universities Press.

Lichtenberg, J. (1989). Psychoanalysis and Motivation. Hillsdale, NJ:

Meissner S.J., W.W. (2003b). Mind, brain, and self in psychoanalysis: I.

St. Mary’s Hall, Boston College

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