in the arts, he usually disapproved—putting quotes around art when referring to modern “art.” He boasted that he was incapable of carrying a tune, and no one who heard him humming Mozart’s operas disagreed. The telephone and, later on, the radio, held no interest for him.
Mainly he worked, typically putting in a sixteen-hour day. “I find amusement in nothing else,” he admitted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dreaming about Dreams
THE DEATH OF his father Jacob in 1897 affected forty-year-old Freud more profoundly that he’d expected. “I now feel quite uprooted,” he mourned (even though his mother was still alive). His response was to immerse himself even more in his work, writing several major books, and beginning a bold—and highly questionable—new experiment.
He put himself into psychoanalysis, in the role of both analyst and analysand. It sounds bizarre. But for one thing, there was no other psychoanalyst—Freud was it. And so far, his theories were primarily a result of treating women with hysteria. He felt that, to be universal, the principles of psychoanalysis would also have to include the male mind—a relatively normal one, namely his own. Only in this way could psychoanalysis develop into a complete theory of the mind.
Ever since he had tested cocaine on himself, Freud had always considered his own mind and body suitable for science experiments. Now he spent part of each day on the couch, examining his own childhood and events that had shaped him, analyzing his own dreams and memories. “The chief patient I am preoccupied with is myself” and “my little hysteria,” he wrote. Into middle age he was still plagued with depression and irritability, dizzy spells, feelings of worthlessness. He was attempting to take a giant step toward self-understanding.
But Freud himself wondered if he was doing the right thing—his self-analysis was both the first and the last in the history of psychoanalysis. After all, how can one person serve as analyst, remaining detached, while at the same time be the patient remembering highly emotional, often disturbing experiences? It was just too circular to be useful. Too illogical to be considered a part of the scientific process. (All future analysts would undergo analysis with someone else—who had been analyzed by Freud or someone he had trained.)
Still, Freud felt his own analysis led to certain discoveries. Chief among them was something he called the Oedipus complex. He was convinced, thinking back, that as an infant he had felt an attraction to his young mother and an impulse to get his father out of the way. He interpreted his feelings in terms of the play that had always struck such a deep chord in him—Sophocles’ tragedy Oedipus Rex . He saw the story as universal: Every little boy desires his mother and wants to remove the one obstacle (his father) that keeps him from his heart’s desire. “Removing,” according to Freud’s Oedipus complex, means an unconscious wish for the father’s death. He wasn’t suggesting that little boys act out this wish, merely that the wish existed. In normal development, the complex could be mastered by separating from the mother, growing independent, and later finding a suitable replacement: a wife.
Most scientists agree that Freud was now traveling away from science—the study of mental illness—and into different territory—the study of the human condition. In identifying core experiences like the Oedipus complex, he sought a new way of thinking about growing up. His scientific method was starting to resemble storytelling. And as with the unconscious, he was describing things you couldn’t see or test. You can’t put an Oedipus complex under a microscope—you can’t prove it exists. Yet as a core experience it was immediately compelling—a road-map for every son’s journey to adulthood.
What about girls? Freud went on to describe another complex, later named the Electra complex after another figure from Greek
Mainly he worked, typically putting in a sixteen-hour day. “I find amusement in nothing else,” he admitted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dreaming about Dreams
THE DEATH OF his father Jacob in 1897 affected forty-year-old Freud more profoundly that he’d expected. “I now feel quite uprooted,” he mourned (even though his mother was still alive). His response was to immerse himself even more in his work, writing several major books, and beginning a bold—and highly questionable—new experiment.
He put himself into psychoanalysis, in the role of both analyst and analysand. It sounds bizarre. But for one thing, there was no other psychoanalyst—Freud was it. And so far, his theories were primarily a result of treating women with hysteria. He felt that, to be universal, the principles of psychoanalysis would also have to include the male mind—a relatively normal one, namely his own. Only in this way could psychoanalysis develop into a complete theory of the mind.
Ever since he had tested cocaine on himself, Freud had always considered his own mind and body suitable for science experiments. Now he spent part of each day on the couch, examining his own childhood and events that had shaped him, analyzing his own dreams and memories. “The chief patient I am preoccupied with is myself” and “my little hysteria,” he wrote. Into middle age he was still plagued with depression and irritability, dizzy spells, feelings of worthlessness. He was attempting to take a giant step toward self-understanding.
But Freud himself wondered if he was doing the right thing—his self-analysis was both the first and the last in the history of psychoanalysis. After all, how can one person serve as analyst, remaining detached, while at the same time be the patient remembering highly emotional, often disturbing experiences? It was just too circular to be useful. Too illogical to be considered a part of the scientific process. (All future analysts would undergo analysis with someone else—who had been analyzed by Freud or someone he had trained.)
Still, Freud felt his own analysis led to certain discoveries. Chief among them was something he called the Oedipus complex. He was convinced, thinking back, that as an infant he had felt an attraction to his young mother and an impulse to get his father out of the way. He interpreted his feelings in terms of the play that had always struck such a deep chord in him—Sophocles’ tragedy Oedipus Rex . He saw the story as universal: Every little boy desires his mother and wants to remove the one obstacle (his father) that keeps him from his heart’s desire. “Removing,” according to Freud’s Oedipus complex, means an unconscious wish for the father’s death. He wasn’t suggesting that little boys act out this wish, merely that the wish existed. In normal development, the complex could be mastered by separating from the mother, growing independent, and later finding a suitable replacement: a wife.
Most scientists agree that Freud was now traveling away from science—the study of mental illness—and into different territory—the study of the human condition. In identifying core experiences like the Oedipus complex, he sought a new way of thinking about growing up. His scientific method was starting to resemble storytelling. And as with the unconscious, he was describing things you couldn’t see or test. You can’t put an Oedipus complex under a microscope—you can’t prove it exists. Yet as a core experience it was immediately compelling—a road-map for every son’s journey to adulthood.
What about girls? Freud went on to describe another complex, later named the Electra complex after another figure from Greek
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