The Petrified Ego

A New Theory of Conscience

Elizabeth Reddish

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2018
• eBook ISBN: 9780429921735
• Topic: Psychology
• Subtopic: History & Theory in Psychology
• Index: Psychology

Due to the inherent contradiction in Freud's concept of the Superego, there is a gap in our psychoanalytic understanding of how conscience evolves. This distinction is essential for the successful treatment of patients dominated by a harsh Superego and provides valuable insight into how contemporary society evaluates moral decisions. The Petrified Ego argues for a revision of psychoanalytic theory to include instinct as the primary form of morality. It makes the case that our earliest, infantile notion of 'good' and 'bad' is rather founded on experiences which have been 'safe or 'threatening'. More often than not, this is the basis of our moral judgement of others. It is only through direct challenge to these visceral values that beliefs independent of the survival instinct can be forged. Why does this matter? Lack of distinction between the two means that consideration of the 'right or wrong' or the 'good or bad' of others' behaviour is no more than the rationalising of an instinctual response.

CHAPTER ONE

Introduction

There is a gap in our psychoanalytic understanding of the evolution of conscience that obscures the fact that there are two quite distinct types of morality. This omission camouflages a truth about the psychological relationship between the individual and society that has long needed articulation. This book seeks both to illuminate this truth and to set out the theoretical framework for a revised theory of the evolution and function of conscience. In much of everyday life, debate concerning what is “right or wrong”, or “good or bad”, is not driven by rational thought but by anxiety, revulsion, or retribution. These reactions are triggered by primary affective processes present in the individual, which have evolved from primal group behaviours driven by the survival instinct. I shall argue that judgments based on these instinctive responses are thus rooted in what is deemed to be “safe” or “threatening” not what is “right” or “wrong”. I aim to show that this type of judgment constitutes a morality that has its own discrete identity and is generically distinct from “rational” morality. I shall also present a case for why I believe that the distinction is essential.

It is uncontroversial to point out that people are drawn to disagreement over what is right or wrong for the inherent drama of it. Such disagreements are very often, perhaps most often, motivated by the drive for social bonding or positioning within hierarchies. There is seemingly an infinite appetite for such drama: the media, nowadays a business first and last, plays on the “entertainment” value for audiences experiencing characters in soap operas—or increasingly these days, “real” participants—working themselves up into intensely emotional, confrontational states and inviting audiences to judge the right or wrong of participants’ behaviour. One has the sense that “moral truth” of any kind is not the priority here as these “characters” can seemingly rationalise, (not at all the same thing as “be rational about”) any feeling or idea that comes to mind. But what about the “right or wrong” or the “good or bad” of others’ behaviour within the context of, say, the judicial handling of rioting adolescents or the question of prisoners’ right to vote; of institutional “groupthink”, such as is consistently seen at the highest levels of the banking sector or, most recently, at the British Broadcasting Corporation regarding the sexual abuse of minors? I shall argue that people frequently flounder, for want of a more robust theoretical framework for understanding the origin and nature of morality.

The core of the argument put forward in this book is that the philosophical premise that underpins many debates seeking to make decisions based on “correct moral judgement” exists in only one plane. This plane yields only one definition of the “healthy” or “mature” conscience: the capacity to negotiate a compromise between individual values and social values. The belief underlying this is that people begin by being “bad”, in the sense of being concerned only about their own pleasure or well-being and must learn how to accommodate “good” social values. Argument founded on this premise becomes circular because it is simplistic; the framework cannot account for the complexity. In this book, I shall argue that there is not one plane but two: a healthy, mature conscience does not emerge from a compromise between individual and social values, “bad” tamed into “good”. A healthy, mature conscience results from the managed articulation between two entities of a different order. A stable mental state (which incorporates a socially healthy conscience) is attained through the capacity to maintain attachment to social ideals whilst simultaneously holding to a belief in, and capacity to assert, the richness and depth of individual experience (on behalf of the self and of other individuals). A conscience influenced by social conscience alone, yields an individual subjugated to a social order. An individual who places his or her individual values above those of others, becomes (remains) unable to relate fully to other people in a way that inhibits his or her own development, or if in a position of power, dominates the social order in a way that subjugates others.

A theory that accommodates both planes can account for a further important distinction, not just for the psychological relationship between the individual and society but for that between two types of social group: one type bound by the task of survival, in which there are, in a sense, no individual minds at work—the “herd”; and another consisting of individuals who maintain a belief in the richness and depth of individual experience but who are simultaneously bound by common purpose or interests.

What does psychoanalysis have to say about this problem? The superego, the concept that Freud introduced in his 1923 paper “The Ego and the Id” is, broadly speaking, the psychoanalytic term for “conscience”. Despite the power with which its sister concept, “the Oedipus complex”, took hold of the psychoanalytic (and eventually, the public) imagination, the inadequacy of the concept of the superego was quickly recognised by the psychoanalytic community. Not long after the end of the second world war, Money-Kyrle threw a spanner in the works with his observation that “… the super-ego morality of a ‘good’ German Nazi is very different from that of a ‘good’ British socialist” (Money-Kyrle, 1952, p. 229). It is a relative concept, not an absolute one. Many psychoanalysts, Money-Kyrle among them, have pointed out that the superego morality described by Freud is predominantly a morality of fear: “good” behaviour held in place by fear. If a healthy conscience is not the internalisation of “good” social values, what is it?

I shall argue that the gap in the psychoanalytic theory of conscience, the correction of which this book addresses, is rooted in the fact that the concept of the superego, as Freud formulated it in 1923, is inadequate, neglecting his earlier thinking in “Project for a Scientific Psychology” (1895) and “Totem and Taboo” (1913), about how and why morality evolves. A careful look at the concept of the superego as “heir to the Oedipus complex” shows that, just like the philosophical premise underpinning what I have asserted is the common idea of morality, it too exists in a single plane. Freudian psychoanalytic theory asserts that conscience emerges from the challenge to a state of primary narcissism whereby the individual subjugates his or her individual will to the will of society (initially in the form of the parent). From the conflict between desire for one parent and fear of retribution from the other arises “the oedipal superego”, which once installed, affords an internal check on instinctive desires, enabling the individual to become a civilised member of society. The problematic implication of this formula noted by Money-Kyrle was also observed by Karin Stephen:

Freud bases morality on submission to the introjected parental superego through fear of castration, implying that what the superego demands is ethically good and that the personality which goes on being afraid of castration … is a morally better personality than one which outgrows castration anxiety. (Stephen, K., 1946, p. 27)

If the superego concept presents such problems, is it worth retaining at all? Perhaps, on the brink of its centenary, it is just too “old-fashioned” and after all, hasn’t Melanie Klein’s work rendered it obsolete? Significant quarters of the psychoanalytic field have decided so. Contemporary ego psychology, which evolved following the publication of Freud’s paper “Inhibitions, Symptoms and Anxiety” (Freud, 1926), considers the Superego concept more or less “supplanted”.¹ There is an abundance of ego-based psychodynamic theories that find no use for it. I strongly disagree, and contend that the concept has power and integrity that is intrinsic to the understanding of the relationship between the individual and society. The contradictory aspects of this concept, although hinted at many times over the decades, have remained unresolved, to our collective detriment, particularly with regard to psychoanalytic theories of child development and of unconscious processes in groups. It is “out there” as a conscious and unconscious concept but it is misconceived.

Klein’s superego

Melanie Klein radically revised the theory, not because she sought to resolve the contradictions and inadequacies but because her clinical observations showed evidence of guilt and remorse in children well before the onset of oedipal anxiety, leading her to posit the existence of an “early” superego. She located the presence of conscience in the first months of infant life and saw its origin in innate human aggression, and the persecutory anxiety to which this gives rise. The prioritising of aggression and her (revolutionary) awareness that an infant’s discharge of instinctual tension is due to anxiety, might ultimately have led her to identify two distinct developmental stages. The two different types of anxiety evident in the paranoid-schizoid and depressive positions, might be argued to imply two distinct “moral positions” regarding the relationship of the individual both to him or herself and to society. However Klein had no particular interest in the concept of morality per se, and (therefore) did not specifically pursue the concept of the superego.

The argument I make in this book, although centred on a classical Freudian concept, rests on a cornerstone of Kleinian theory, namely that the primary task of the infant, and therefore the origin of morality, is survival, for which he depends on external objects. Freud’s early writing was inspired by the ways in which he could see the inherently social aspect of the individual psyche, deeply embedded in the family, tribe, and society: “… the initial helplessness of human beings is the primal source of all moral motives” (Freud, 1895, p. 317). Klein, although rooting her theory in evolutionary processes² and linking infant aggression with its phylogenetic origins—which lies at the heart of her thinking-did not pursue it in relationship to groups. My view is in accord with Kleinian theory to the extent that aggression and anxiety are the dynamic foundations of psychic structure. The challenging claim that I make in this book is that the superego exists a priori and constitutes the cornerstone of “psychic structure” itself. As such it enables the psychological mechanism of “differentiation”. (See Chapter Two for discussion of the superego as a sensory and psychic boundary and Chapter Five for discussion of its role in enabling cognitive differentiation between “observing” and “judging”.)

It is my view that the superego remains an indispensable currency for thinking about conscience and morality but that it needs revision. It is the relationship between morality and the superego with which I am concerned in this book and I show that Freud’s concept of the superego in fact had far deeper roots than he himself finally formulated in 1923.³ I also show that Freud’s theory implies two separate stages of superego development: the archaic superego and the oedipal superego and two corresponding types of morality and reality-testing.

I argue that there is a primary, archaic stage of morality that has to do with what is perceived by the individual to be safe and what is threatening in terms of physical survival and that this originates in the primal, social, roots of the psyche. The oedipal superego only comes into being once the embryonic ego challenges the archaic superego, thereby forging its identity. The archaic superego is the structure which enables this. The morality that emerges alongside this new state of self-awareness, no longer triggered by instincts such as anxiety, revulsion, or retribution, is generically distinct from “archaic” morality. It is distinct in the sense that it is rooted in a separate, psychological structure—the ego—giving rise to ego-forged morality. If the challenge is not made, or made unsuccessfully, the ego becomes “petrified”; the object of its own fear.

Clinical considerations (see end of this chapter for clinical profile)

As a psychoanalytic therapist in clinical practice, I was aware of a fruitless ricocheting between “right or wrong” and “good or bad” in some of my patients’ material. Here it took the form of an internal dialogue, with obsessive qualities, which was driven by the promise of resolution, but was in fact self-reflexive and thus circular. This type of patient, although successful professionally, engaged with many aspects of life, and several with long-term relationships distinguished themselves as a group by their assertion of a moral rigidity in their beliefs about themselves and the world. Most harmful to them was their attachment to the idea that they were irredeemably “bad”. There could be no interpretation by me of this rigid stance that did not result in enraged challenges to the moral rectitude of my intent. The analysis would get caught up in a circularity that further confirmed their world view—leading to impasse. I observed that their attachment to the idea that they were “bad” was clung to as if it were life itself; that they believed their very survival was contingent upon maintaining it. It struck me that it was not the sense of morality that was at stake for these patients, but their sense of reality. Further, it suggested that the two were undifferentiated. This presented a useful hypothesis with which to proceed, namely that a primary state of conscience/stage of morality—one that is structured by the archaic superego (as I have come to conceive of it)—is one in which reality and morality are equivalent. This could be assumed to apply to healthy, not only pathological, emotional development. If evidence could be found for this, it would suggest that there exists a more developed state of mind in which morality is experienced on a separate plane from reality; where morality can be considered and reflected upon without fear of psychic annihilation. Would an analysis of my patients’ material based on the premise that archaic morality was dominant and that this was undifferentiated from reality, alleviate their symptoms? What else might I learn about the nature and function of the archaic superego and about reality-testing?

Theoretical considerations

It is generally observed that the most emotionally and mentally disturbed individuals hold the most rigid moral beliefs; indeed it is a hallmark symptom of psychosis. Those who are adept at recovery from extreme states of mind can hold values firmly, whilst simultaneously being able to sustain challenges to those values (from others and from themselves) and to question and modify them. My everyday observations of debates about moral truth and justice in society showed that this rigidity, far from being restricted to those who are severely disturbed, is in fact quite commonplace. This suggested to me that a state of mind in which reality and morality are undifferentiated, is also commonplace.

In order that those readers who are well-informed as to the various and valid alternative interpretations of my patients’ moral rigidity do not lose interest in my argument, I need to state here my awareness of how other psychoanalytic frameworks could account for it. Kleinian theory would understand my patients’ attacks on my “moral rectitude” and the analytic space, alongside self- denigration and stalwart belief in their inadequacy (whether overt or not), to be defences against persecutory anxiety. This anxiety would be triggered by their unconscious aggression and the reciprocal fiats of a harsh “early superego”, a superego that owes its existence to the accumulated introjection of harsh parental imagos.

Winnicott, (who, although interested in conscience, did not make use of the concept of the superego), might diagnose my patients’ pathology as evidence of a false self, which has been constructed in the interests of adaptation to the environment and which acts as a carapace around the true self. Although the carapace thus provides a modus operandi, at the same time it represses growth and allows intense suffering to endure. Fairbairn would interpret moral rigidity in these patients as a defence against their bad internalised objects, distinguishing these from id impulses. His call for exercising caution in the interpretation of superego guilt on the grounds that, “if a True Mass is being celebrated in the chancel, a Black Mass is being celebrated in the crypt” (Fairbairn, 1952, p. 68), infers the existence of a deeply rooted anxiety underpinning a masochistic presentation. This view is in accordance with my own. However, his reworking of the superego neither formulated it as initially protective, nor as the springboard for the forging of the ego, as I shall here.

Donald Kalsched, a Jungian analyst, offers rich documentation of what he calls the “self-care” system, which arises as a defence against unbearable life experiences (Kalsched, 1996). Others have investigated similar clinical phenomena in terms of what they call “resilience”, much of which work has arisen from the analysis of second-generation survivors of the Jewish holocaust and of other socio-political catastrophes. I understand the self-care system and capacity for resilience to be aspects of archaic superego dominance, beneath which lies an embryonic, petrified ego.

At the same time, none of these possible interpretations capture something that, once I began to follow the line of thought that reality and morality were cognitively indistinct for these patients, I became sensitised to. A recurring feature in the patient material was the use of the word “bad” in a way which I eventually realised was being used in rather a peculiar way. Although they meant that they were morally bad, in fact this could not be said to be an evaluation of themselves, because evaluation implies perspective. The “triangulation” upon which that perspective is contingent is not present for these patients—so what did they mean? I came to realise that “I am bad” was an attempt to communicate their reality: that they felt bad in the sense of “distressed”. As yet, their thinking existed only in one moral plane and therefore they were unable to differentiate these concepts. If this proved correct it would mean that their sense of self consisted almost entirely of identification with an archaic superego. This superego was by now impossible to challenge because it would mean “killing off” themselves. A terrible impasse.

Influences

My positing of the archaic superego as the foundation or anchor of psychic “structure” and the concomitant theory of two types of morality, the first of which is an aspect of the survival instinct, the second drive...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgements
• About the Author
• Chapter One Introduction
• Chapter Two The protective superego
• Chapter Three “Totem and Taboo” revisited
• Chapter Four Two types of morality
• Chapter Five Two types of reality-testing
• Chapter Six A new theory of conscience
• Chapter Seven Concluding remarks
• Notes
• References
• Index