Sometimes, when reading Freud, I imagine I hear the sound of far-off warning bells tolling their alarm somewhere deep in my mind. I feel as if I am experiencing a great sense of danger, as if I am a child being lead by the hand into a confusing, directionless, murky wood by an adult who appears to know the way, yet who I don't quite trust to keep hold of my hand. It's as if, although I read the decrepit, over-grown sign at the edge as we advanced under the eaves: proceed with caution: at risk of losing touch with reality, I was hurried quickly passed, by the firm grip of the Omnipotent Adult who plunged straight in, and who's knowledge I don't altogether credit. So, for me, reading some of Freud's papers has a distinct nightmarish quality, an atmosphere of being slightly out-of-control, an unnerving feeling of being in severe danger of being sucked in.
After wandering around for a while in this murky forest of ideas, clasping tightly onto the leading adult's hand, he (yes, it's a 'he') somehow twists out of my grasp and vanishes into the shadows, leaving me turning round and round in a clearing, disorientated and not knowing which way to turn next. Suddenly I realise I'm lonely and lost and frightened and experience a strong sense of wanting not to understand, but just to get out fast!
Contrary to what I expect, it is not me who doggedly slashes
a way back to the fresh air, but Freud himself who provides the exit. A
nice, well-lit road, with cars, a pavement, a few cafes, rubbish bins,
bus stops and even an ornamental wooden bench upon which to rest the psychoanalytically
bewildered body and soul.
I am saved just at the moment of optimum danger by being harshly
jolted back into the present by the Founding Father himself.
I will explain what I mean by referring to specific examples from Freud's 1913 paper entitled 'On Beginning the Treatment (Further Recommendations on the Technique of Psychoanalysis I).
When Freud argues a particular point using his usual rich wealth of analogies, similes, metaphors, and eloquent, logical, articulate phrases, there are few who could respond in such an manner as to convince the reader of an opposing point of view. For example, on pp. 130, in the middle of a rather long-winded monologue on the length of time one would spend in analysis, he compares the process (of analysis) and that of relieving the client of a neurosis, to the process of a child being conceived within the womb of the mother and separated from her at the time of birth. He compares the role of the analyst to that of the father implanting his sperm in the mother's womb. (By default he compares the mother to the room in which the client is sitting, the analytic frame, or the transference, although this is not actually stated.) The process of making the baby itself is sparked off by the father, but thereafter cannot be influenced. It will take it's own path and develop in it's own way, until it eventually comes apart from the mother. A comparable progression, Freud says, happens to a person being alleviated of a neurosis during analysis. The process is sparked off by the analyst at the beginning, who can then only sit back and observe as the free association follows it's own path to deliverance. Powerful stuff!
On the topic of money and the analyst's fee, Freud also comes into
his own (see pp. 131). He recommends fiscal matters should be treated in
a corresponding way to that of sexual matters, arguing that the analyst
would be best advised not to fall in with attitudes propounded by 'civilised
people' in society, i.e. to treat money with a false, detached, overmodesty,
shuffling the issue to one side, acting like a 'disinterested philanthropist.'
But instead,
'in his dealings with his patients, to treat of money matters
with the same matter-of-course frankness to which he wishes to educate
them in things relating to sexual life. He shows them that he himself has
cast off false shame on these topics...' (pp. 131).
He goes even further when he quite soberly advances the argument that the poor, sorry client would feel much better about analysis if the fee where set at a higher, rather than lower level, because costly treatment serves only to allow the client to place a greater value on his or her time spent in analysis.
He ends the discussion about money on page 133 with the point that for the middle classes it is only a moderate financial investment anyway, and after all, compared to having all your problems solved and complete psychological health restored, almost any amount of money is worth it. He even examines the possible cost of having to be cared for in the community and the relevant loss of earnings if the neurosis continued, against the slight inconvenience of having a small, monthly outlay for regular psychoanalysis. He assures the reader that the 'patients have made a good bargain,' for there is, 'nothing in life so expensive as illness - and stupidity.'
Freud states his arguments so authoritatively, so confidently, with such wit and intelligence that I sometimes feel myself in imminent danger of being sucked in (getting lost in the increasingly dense forest of words). He can be so crushingly patronising and dismissive about things he feels are of little value, or believes are wrong, and yet he also has the ability to make the reader feel like he or she has been praised if you happen to agree with his point of view. He can appear honest, gracefully accepting, unarguably scientific, fair, rational and (even) humble - although this last occurs only rarely!
Thus I grapple with my conscience, my intelligence, and my own morals and beliefs when I study Freud's writing. I am reading something which, at the root of it, I feel isn't plausible, seems terribly dated and old-fashioned, appears bigoted and derogatory towards whole sets of people, contemptuous and patronising; yet the theories are put across so well, so articulately that they can at times seem infinitely sensible and well-grounded. I instinctively rebel against the nitty-gritty Freudian theories such as the Oedipus complex, his beliefs on gender, sexuality, and femininity, but other parts of his writing make so much sense, are written about with so much authority and quiet enthusiasm, that you feel yourself having to make an effort to keep a lookout for the bad bits, for a clearing or glade, so that you won't be entirely overcome.
Luckily, within almost every article or paper you read of Freud's
there are a good many 'bad bits' that bring the present crashing back into
consciousness. This enables you to sit back and scoff, if you will, to
feel comfortable within yourself that you'll never be tricked into believing
someone who's personal views are obviously so politically incorrect according
to today's standards, even almost phobic towards all sorts of people (women,
homosexuals, people of colour, the working classes, religious people, the
list goes on). Admittedly in his day, Freud was regarded as a very forward-thinking,
liberal-minded person, who brought to the forefront of discussion topics
which were, at that time, regarded as highly taboo. He himself suffered
from persecution and prejudice, also because of his Jewish upbringing.
However, you come round to thinking that the only 'normal' people in Freud's
world are white, heterosexual, bearded, middle class, middle-aged, preferably
Austrian, gentlemen. Everyone else is a borderline pervert, or a poor,
unfortunate individual who was born with inherited disadvantages which
can never be overcome.
From the same text referred to at the beginning of this essay I
will point to an example of just such an unpleasant paragraph which helped
to save me from becoming lost.
At one point Freud discusses the topic of money and psychoanalysis, whether to give free treatment at any time, and relates this to both the working and middle classes. He makes the observation that analytic therapy is rarely affordable to poor people and remarks that this is due, 'both for external and internal reasons' (pp.132). Freud continues by stating that perhaps a life of hard toil is less likely to make a person susceptible to neurosis, but then adds that, 'experience shows without a doubt that when once a poor man has produced a neurosis it is only with difficulty that he lets it be taken from him' (pp. 133). However, in all my reading I have yet to come across any person whose neurosis is extrapolated from them with comparative ease, either working or middle class. Freud also writes that the reason for this is because once a poor man has been diagnosed as having a neurosis, it is far too useful to him in other respects for him to let go of it easily. He can now get pity out of people (assuming all poor men want pity) because he is ill, whereas before, simply because he was lacking in material wealth, he wasn't pitied:
'He now claims by right of his neurosis the pity which the world has refused to his material distress, and he can now absolve himself from the obligation of combating his poverty by working.' (pp.133)
So patronising! A veritable forest of prejudice: Thank you Freud for showing me the way out.
He goes on to add that, naturally, one can come across the occasional deserving poor person whose plight was not brought about through fault of their own, and there upon he allows the analyst to graciously dish out some rare free treatment, although at all other times he fastidiously recommends not to do this. This is another stylistic point of interest in Freud's writing. He will often spend paragraph after paragraph arguing that a particular code of practice should not, at any cost, be considered, will only lead to trouble, isolation and loss etc, then in two lines near the end of the paragraph he will add, in almost complete contradiction, that, naturally, there are certain occasions where to do what he has just been utterly condemning is perfectly acceptable.
There are other sections in just this one paper alone (one of his
least significant, least complex) where he is both brilliant and forbidding,
masterful and abhorrent, exciting and confusing. In my opinion, when it
comes to literary ability, especially in some of his more pithy, significant
essays, Freud is equalled in competence by very few.
Perhaps his true genius lay in his remarkable ability to write a
perfect, persuasive, academically and scientifically skilful essay.
My advice to anyone about to start reading Freud is to carefully peruse all the warning signs before going ahead, take note, proceed with caution, with an open mind, but above all bring a torch and a large pinch of salt.
('Psychodynamic Counselling' vol.3 no.3 of August 1997)