6

Never before in any of my previous writings have I had the feeling so strongly as I have now that what I am describing is common knowledge, that I am requisitioning paper and ink, and in due course the labour of compositors and printers, in order to expound things that in themselves are obvious. For this reason, if it should appear that the recognition of a special independent instinct of aggression would entail a modification of the psycho-analytical theory of instincts, I should be glad enough to seize upon the idea.

In none of my earlier writings have I felt so strongly that what I am describing is common knowledge. I feel I am using paper and ink, and eventually the work of typesetters and printers, to explain the obvious. For this reason, I would gladly embrace the idea that recognizing a distinct, independent aggressive instinct might require a change. The change would be to the psychoanalytic theory of instincts, if recognizing such an instinct seemed to require it.

We shall see that this is not so, that it is merely a matter of coming to closer quarters with a conclusion to which we long ago committed ourselves and following it out to its logical consequences. The whole of analytic theory has evolved gradually enough, but the theory of instincts has groped its way forward under greater difficulties than any other part of it. And yet a theory of instincts was so indispensable for the rest that something had to be adopted in place of it. In my utter perplexity at the beginning, I took as my starting-point the poet-philosopher Schiller’s aphorism, that hunger and love make the world go round. Hunger would serve to represent those instincts which aim at preservation of the individual; love seeks for objects: its chief function, which is favoured in every way by nature, is preservation of the species. Thus first arose the contrast between ego instincts and object instincts. For the energy of the latter instincts and exclusively for them I introduced the term libido; an antithesis was thus formed between the ego instincts and the libidinal instincts directed towards objects, i.e. love in its widest sense. One of these object instincts, the sadistic, certainly stood out from the rest in that its aim was so very unloving; moreover, it clearly allied itself in many of its aspects with the ego instincts, and its close kinship with instincts of mastery without any libidinal purpose could not be concealed, but these ambiguities could be overcome; in spite of them, sadism plainly belonged to sexual life—the game of cruelty could take the place of the game of love. Neurosis appeared as the outcome of a struggle between the interests of self-preservation and the claims of libido, a struggle in which the ego was victorious, but at the price of great suffering and renunciations.

We will see that this is not so. We are simply examining a conclusion we accepted long ago more closely and following it to its logical consequences. All of analytic theory has developed gradually, but the theory of instincts has struggled forward with greater difficulty than any other part. Yet a theory of instincts was so essential to the rest that something had to serve in its place. At first, I was utterly confused. I took as my starting point the poet-philosopher Schiller’s saying that hunger and love make the world go round. Hunger would represent the instincts aimed at preserving the individual. Love seeks objects, and its chief function is to preserve the species, a purpose nature supports in every way. This was how the distinction between ego instincts and object instincts first arose. I introduced the term libido for the energy of the object instincts, and for those instincts alone. This established an opposition between ego instincts and libidinal instincts directed toward objects, i.e. love in its broadest sense. One of these object instincts, the sadistic instinct, certainly stood apart because its aim was so unloving. Moreover, in many respects, the sadistic instinct clearly aligned with the ego instincts. Its close kinship with instincts of mastery that had no libidinal purpose could not be hidden. But these ambiguities could be resolved. Despite them, sadism clearly belonged to sexual life: the game of cruelty could replace the game of love. Neurosis appeared to result from a struggle between the interests of self-preservation and the demands of libido. In this struggle, the ego won, but at the cost of great suffering and much sacrifice.

Every analyst will admit that none of this even now reads like a statement long since recognized as erroneous. All the same, modifications had to be made as our researches advanced from the repressed to the repressing, from the object instincts to the ego. A cardinal point in this advance was the introduction of the concept of narcissism, i.e. the idea that libido cathects the ego itself, that its first dwelling-place was in the ego, and that the latter remains to some extent its permanent headquarters. This narcissistic libido turns in the direction of objects, thus becoming object-libido, and can transform itself back into narcissistic libido. The concept of narcissism made it possible to consider the traumatic neuroses, as well as many diseases bordering on the psychoses, and also the latter themselves, from the psycho-analytic angle. It was not necessary to abandon the view that the transference-neuroses are attempts on the part of the ego to guard itself against sexuality, but the concept of the libido was jeopardized. Since the ego-instincts were found to be libidinal as well, it seemed for a time inevitable that libido should become synonymous with instinctual energy in general, as C. G. Jung had previously advocated. Yet there still remained in me a kind of conviction, for which as yet there were no grounds, that the instincts could not all be of the same nature. I made the next step in Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920), when the repetition-compulsion and the conservative character of instinctual life first struck me. On the basis of speculations concerning the origin of life and of biological parallels, I drew the conclusion that, beside the instinct preserving the organic substance and binding it into ever larger units,⁠¹⁹ there must exist another in antithesis to this, which would seek to dissolve these units and reinstate their antecedent inorganic state. That is to say, a death instinct as well as Eros; the phenomena of life would then be explicable from the interplay of the two and their counteracting effects on each other. It was not easy, however, to demonstrate the working of this hypothetical death instinct. The manifestations of Eros were conspicuous and audible enough; one might assume that the death instinct worked silently within the organism towards its disintegration, but that, of course, was no proof. The idea that part of the instinct became directed towards the outer world and then showed itself as an instinct of aggression and destruction carried us a step further. The instinct would thus itself have been pressed into the service of Eros, in that the organism would be destroying something animate or inanimate outside itself instead of itself. Conversely, any cessation of this flow outwards must have the effect of intensifying the self-destruction which in any case would always be going on within. From this example one could then surmise that the two kinds of instincts seldom—perhaps never—appear in isolation, but always mingle with each other in different, very varying proportions, and so make themselves unrecognizable to us. Sadism, long since known to us as a component-instinct of sexuality, would represent a particularly strong admixture of the instinct of destruction into the love impulse; while its counterpart, masochism, would be an alliance between sexuality and the destruction at work within the self, in consequence of which the otherwise imperceptible destructive trend became directly evident and palpable.

Every analyst will admit that, even now, none of this reads like a statement long recognized as wrong. Even so, we had to revise our views as our research moved from the repressed to the repressing forces. Our focus shifted from instincts directed toward objects to the ego. A crucial step was introducing the concept of narcissism, i.e. the idea that libido invests energy in the ego itself. The ego was libido’s first home and remains, to some extent, its permanent headquarters. This narcissistic libido turns toward objects and becomes object-libido. It can also turn back into narcissistic libido. The concept of narcissism made it possible to examine traumatic neuroses from a psychoanalytic perspective. The same became possible for many illnesses bordering on psychoses, and for psychoses themselves. We did not have to abandon the view that transference-neuroses are the ego’s attempts to protect itself against sexuality. But the concept of libido was now in danger. The ego-instincts had also proved to be libidinal. So, for a time, libido seemed bound to become another name for instinctual energy in general. C. G. Jung had already argued for this view. Yet I still felt a kind of conviction that the instincts could not all have the same nature. At that point, I had no grounds for this conviction. I took the next step in Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920). That was when the repetition-compulsion and the tendency of instinctual life to restore earlier states first struck me. I drew on speculations about the origin of life and on biological parallels. I concluded that one instinct preserves living substance and binds it into ever larger units.¹⁹ Alongside this instinct, there must be another, opposing instinct. This opposing instinct would seek to break these units apart and restore their earlier, inorganic state. In other words, there would be a death instinct as well as Eros. The phenomena of life could then be explained through the two instincts’ interaction and their opposing effects on each other. But demonstrating the activity of this hypothetical death instinct was not easy. The expressions of Eros were plain enough to see and hear. One might assume that the death instinct worked silently within the organism, bringing about its disintegration. But that assumption was, of course, no proof. A further idea took us a step forward. Part of the death instinct might turn toward the outside world, appearing as an instinct of aggression and destruction. The death instinct itself would thus have been put to work in the service of Eros. The organism would destroy something living or nonliving outside itself instead of destroying itself. Conversely, whenever this outward flow stopped, the self-destruction always going on within would necessarily intensify. This example suggested that the two kinds of instincts seldom, perhaps never, appear separately. Instead, they always mix in widely varying proportions, making them unrecognizable to us. We had long known sadism as a component instinct of sexuality. Sadism would represent a particularly strong mixture of the destructive instinct with the impulse to love. Its counterpart, masochism, would be an alliance between sexuality and the destruction at work within the self. Through this alliance, the otherwise imperceptible destructive tendency would become directly visible and tangible.

The assumption of the existence of a death instinct or a destruction instinct has roused opposition even in analytical circles; I know that there is a great tendency to ascribe all that is dangerous and hostile in love rather to a fundamental bipolarity in its own nature. The conceptions I have summarized here I first put forward only tentatively, but in the course of time they have won such a hold over me that I can no longer think in any other way. To my mind they are theoretically far more fruitful than any others it is possible to employ; they provide us with that simplification, without either ignoring or doing violence to the facts, which is what we strive after in scientific work. I know that we have always had before our eyes manifestations of the destruction instinct fused with erotism, directed outwards and inwards in sadism and masochism; but I can no longer understand how we could have overlooked the universality of non-erotic aggression and destruction, and could have omitted to give it its due significance in our interpretation of life. (It is true that the destructive trend that is directed inwards, when it is not erotically tinged, usually eludes our perceptions.) I can remember my own defensive attitude when the idea of an instinct of destruction first made its appearance in psycho-analytical literature and how long it took until I became accessible to it. That others should have shown the same resistance, and still show it, surprises me less. Those who love fairy-tales do not like it when people speak of the innate tendencies in mankind towards aggression, destruction and, in addition, cruelty. For God has made them in his own image, with his own perfections; no one wants to be reminded how hard it is to reconcile the undeniable existence—in spite of all the protestations of Christian Science—of evil with His omnipotence and supreme goodness. The devil is, in fact, the best way out in acquittal of God; he can be used to play the same economic rôle of outlet as Jews in the world of Aryan ideals. But even so, one can just as well hold God responsible for the existence of the devil as for the evil he personifies. In view of these difficulties, it is expedient for every man to make humble obeisance on suitable occasions in honour of the high-minded nature of men; it will assist him to become universally beloved and much shall be forgiven unto him on account of it.⁠²⁰

The idea that a death instinct or destruction instinct exists has met resistance even among psychoanalysts. I know there is a strong tendency to attribute everything dangerous and hostile in love to love’s fundamentally dual nature. I first proposed the ideas summarized here only tentatively. But over time, these ideas have taken such a hold on me that I can no longer think otherwise. To my mind, they are far more useful theoretically than any alternatives we could use. They give us the simplification we seek in scientific work, without ignoring or distorting the facts. I know we have always seen the destruction instinct combined with erotic impulses. In sadism and masochism, this combined instinct is directed outward and inward. But I can no longer understand how we overlooked the universality of non-erotic aggression and destruction. Nor can I understand how we failed to give these forces their proper importance in our interpretation of life. (It is true that inward-directed destructiveness usually escapes our notice when it has no erotic element.) I remember my own defensive reaction when the idea of a destruction instinct first appeared in psychoanalytic writing. I also remember how long I took to become open to the idea. So I am less surprised that others have shown the same resistance and still do. People who love fairy tales dislike hearing about humanity’s inborn tendencies toward aggression, destruction, and cruelty as well. After all, God made human beings in his own image, with his own perfections. No one wants reminding how hard it is to reconcile evil’s undeniable existence with God’s unlimited power and supreme goodness. Evil exists despite all the claims of Christian Science. The devil is, in fact, the best way to clear God of blame. He can serve as the same convenient outlet for blame that Jews provide in the world of Aryan ideals. But even so, God can just as easily be held responsible for the devil’s existence as for the evil he personifies. Given these difficulties, everyone would be wise to bow humbly, on suitable occasions, before humanity’s noble nature. Doing so will help make him universally loved, and much will be forgiven him because of it.²⁰

The name libido can again be used to denote the manifestations of the power of Eros in contradistinction to the energy of the death instinct.⁠²¹ We must confess that it is more difficult for us to detect the latter, and to a great extent we can merely conjecture its existence as a background to Eros, also that it eludes us wherever it is not betrayed by a fusion with Eros. In sadism, where it bends the erotic aim to its own will and yet at the same time gratifies the sexual craving completely, we can obtain the clearest insight into its nature and its relation to Eros. But even where it shows itself without any sexual purpose, even in the blindest frenzy of destructiveness, one cannot ignore the fact that satisfaction of it is accompanied by an extraordinarily intense narcissistic enjoyment, due to the fulfilment it brings to the ego of its oldest omnipotence-wishes. The instinct of destruction, when tempered and harnessed (as it were, inhibited in its aim) and directed towards objects, is compelled to provide the ego with satisfaction of its needs and with power over nature. Since the assumption of its existence is based essentially on theoretical grounds, it must be confessed that it is not entirely proof against theoretical objections. But this is how things appear to us now in the present state of our knowledge; future research and reflection will undoubtedly bring further light which will decide the question.

We can again use the term libido for expressions of the power of Eros, as distinct from the death instinct’s energy.²¹ We must admit that the death instinct is harder for us to detect. To a great extent, we can only guess at its existence in the background of Eros. The death instinct also escapes detection wherever it is not revealed through a fusion with Eros. Sadism gives us the clearest insight into the death instinct’s nature and its relationship with Eros. In sadism, the death instinct bends the erotic aim to its own will, yet fully satisfies sexual desire. But the death instinct can also appear without any sexual purpose, even in the blindest frenzy of destruction. Even then, we cannot ignore the extraordinarily intense narcissistic pleasure that accompanies its satisfaction. This pleasure comes from fulfilling the ego’s oldest wishes for unlimited power. When the destructive instinct is restrained and harnessed, and directed toward objects, it is forced to serve the ego. Its aim is, so to speak, inhibited. In this form, it must satisfy the ego’s needs and give the ego power over nature. Our assumption that the destructive instinct exists rests mainly on theoretical grounds. We must therefore admit that this assumption is not entirely safe from theoretical objections. But this is how matters appear to us given our current knowledge. Future research and reflection will undoubtedly shed more light and settle the question.

In all that follows I take up the standpoint that the tendency to aggression is an innate, independent, instinctual disposition in man, and I come back now to the statement that it constitutes the most powerful obstacle to culture. At one point in the course of this discussion the idea took possession of us that culture was a peculiar process passing over human life and we are still under the influence of this idea. We may add to this that the process proves to be in the service of Eros, which aims at binding together single human individuals, then families, then tribes, races, nations, into one great unity, that of humanity. Why this has to be done we do not know; it is simply the work of Eros. These masses of men must be bound to one another libidinally; necessity alone, the advantages of common work, would not hold them together. The natural instinct of aggressiveness in man, the hostility of each one against all and of all against each one, opposes this programme of civilization. This instinct of aggression is the derivative and main representative of the death instinct we have found alongside of Eros, sharing his rule over the earth. And now, it seems to me, the meaning of the evolution of culture is no longer a riddle to us. It must present to us the struggle between Eros and Death, between the instincts of life and the instincts of destruction, as it works itself out in the human species. This struggle is what all life essentially consists of and so the evolution of civilization may be simply described as the struggle of the human species for existence.⁠²² And it is this battle of the Titans that our nurses and governesses try to compose with their lullaby-song of Heaven!

Throughout what follows, I take the view that aggression is an innate, independent instinct in human beings. I now return to my claim that aggression is the greatest obstacle to civilization. Earlier in this discussion, we were struck by the idea that civilization is a distinctive process unfolding in human life. We are still under the influence of this idea. We may add that this process serves Eros. Eros aims to unite individual human beings, then families, then tribes, races, and nations into one great whole: humanity. We do not know why this must happen. It is simply the work of Eros. These masses of people must be bound together by libidinal ties. Necessity alone, or the advantages of working together, would not hold them together. The natural human instinct for aggression opposes this program of civilization. This aggression is the hostility of each against all and of all against each. The aggressive instinct comes from the death instinct and is its chief representative. We have found this death instinct alongside Eros, sharing his rule over the earth. And now, it seems to me, the meaning of civilization’s development is no longer a mystery to us. This development must show us the struggle between Eros and Death, between the instincts of life and destruction. It shows how this struggle plays out in the human species. This struggle is the essence of all life. So the development of civilization may be described simply as the human species’ struggle for existence.⁠²² And our nurses and governesses try to soothe this battle of the Titans with their lullaby of Heaven!