🦋🤖 Robo-Spun by IBF 🦋🤖

(All parts in English)

I would like to first establish the boundaries of what I intend to accomplish today. By this, I mean to outline, in this very lesson, what I aim to demonstrate to you today, beginning with an example of the interpretation of a dream, as well as the use of what we have conventionally referred to for some time now as “the graph.”

Since I am not pursuing this discourse, if I may express myself in such a way, simply above your heads, I would like for a certain communication, as it is commonly said, to be established through it.

I have not been without hearing echoes of the difficulties you yourselves experienced last time… that is to say, at a moment when it was far from being new to everyone… and the challenges that the repositioning of this graph has constituted for some of you. For many, indeed, it remains—let us not say entirely unmanageable, since in truth, which is not extraordinary, we constructed this graph together last year. That is to say, it was progressively refined; you saw it being built, so to speak, in response to the needs of a certain formulation centered around what I called The Formations of the Unconscious.

That you might not yet, as some have noted, perceive that its use is not entirely unequivocal for you is nothing to be surprised about. For, precisely, part of what we will articulate this year on the subject of desire will demonstrate its utility, and at the same time, teach us how to handle it.

Thus, the matter first involves understanding it. And that is precisely what seems to create difficulties for a certain number of you, to varying degrees—perhaps even less than they themselves admit—that is what seems to create the challenge.

Regarding this term “understanding,” I would like to point out—I assure you there is no irony here—that it is a problematic term. If there are among you those who always understand, under all circumstances and at every moment, what they are doing, I congratulate and envy them.

This does not correspond, even after twenty-five years of practice, to my experience. And, to tell the truth, it sufficiently reveals the dangers inherent in the illusion of understanding, so much so that I believe it is beyond doubt that what I aim to show you is not so much understanding what I am doing, but rather knowing it.

These are not always the same thing; they may not overlap, and you will see precisely that there are internal reasons why they do not. Namely, that in some cases, you may know what you are doing, know where you stand, without always understanding, at least immediately, what it concerns.

The graph is precisely designed for this purpose of mapping; it is intended to immediately convey something.

I believe today, if I have the time, I can begin to demonstrate, for example, how this graph—and I believe only this graph, or something, of course, analogous—it is not the uniform form in which it might be presented that one should cling to—will appear to you as eminently useful for distinguishing—I say this to pique your interest—by different positions or situations, three phases, which, I must say, are all too often confused to the point where one slides from one to the other without caution. For example, the repressed.

We will have to discuss this, or at least approach the way FREUD himself defines it:

• the repressed,
• desire,
• and the unconscious.

Let us revisit this step by step, at least before applying it, so that there is no doubt that what represents at least what we will call the two levels, although, of course—and this is indeed the difficulty for many of you—these two levels do not correspond in any way to what is usually presented to you at the level of what I might call the architectonics of superior and inferior functions, automatism, and functions of synthesis.

It is precisely because you do not recognize it that these two levels trouble you, and that is why I will attempt to rearticulate them in front of you, since it seems that the second level of the construction— a level, of course, defined abstractly because, as this graph is a discourse, not everything can be said at the same time—this second level, which is not necessarily a second step, poses a difficulty for some.

Let us return to the fundamentals: what is the purpose of this graph? It is to show the relationships—essential for us as analysts—between the speaking subject and the signifier. Ultimately, the question dividing these two levels is the same—for the speaking subject, it is a good indicator—as it is for us.

I mentioned earlier: do we know what we are doing? Well, does the speaking subject know or not know what they are doing when they speak? In other words, can they effectively signify to themselves the action of signification?

It is precisely around this question that these two levels are distributed, and I must immediately clarify—because this seemed to escape some during our last session—that these two levels should be understood as functioning simultaneously in even the smallest act of speech. You will see what I mean and how broadly I apply the term “act of speech.”

In other words, if you think about the processes occurring in the subject—insofar as the signifier intervenes in their activity—you must consider the following: something I had the occasion to articulate for one of you to whom I was providing additional explanations after my seminar. I emphasize this because my interlocutor pointed out that what I will now explain had previously escaped their notice. What you need to consider is that these processes originate simultaneously from the four points: Δ, A, d, and D.

That is to say—and here is the addition to today’s discussion—in this relationship, we find:

• the subject’s intention [Δ],
• the subject as the “I” who speaks [A],
• the act of demand [D],
• and this [d], which we will later name more specifically but for now leave reserved.

These processes occur simultaneously along four trajectories: D – Δ – I – S(Ⱥ). I think this point is well-emphasized.
(Level 1: D → A… and Δ → A → s(A) → I
Level 2: S(Ⱥ) → ($◊D), and A → d → ($◊D) → S(Ⱥ) → s(A))

There are thus two levels to the fact that the subject does something related to the prevalent action and the prevailing structure of the signifier. At the lower level, they receive and are subjected to this structure. This is particularly apparent—listen carefully, as none of this is improvised, and this is why those taking notes are on the right track—this value is illustrated specifically, though not exclusively. What I mean is that while it is particularly understandable here, it is also this very specificity that can obscure its generality, leading to certain misunderstandings.

Understand this immediately: every time you understand, that is precisely where danger begins. This specific illustration takes its value within the context—I say within the context of demand. It is in this context that the subject, here at this level, along the line of the subject’s intentionality—what we suppose the subject to be—comes into play:

• a subject who has not yet become the speaking subject, who is still the subject about whom we always speak, and, I would even say, has been spoken about up to this point, as no one has yet truly distinguished it in the way I am attempting to introduce here,
• the subject of knowledge, to put it plainly: the subject correlative to the object, the subject around which the eternal question of idealism revolves, and who is, in itself, an ideal subject.

This subject is always somewhat problematic, insofar as, as its name suggests (sub-jectum, sub-posed), it is merely supposed.

This is not the case, as you will see, with the speaking subject, who imposes itself with complete necessity. The subject, then, within the context of demand, is the first, formless state of our subject—the one whose conditions of existence we attempt to articulate through this graph.

This subject is none other than the subject of need, for it is precisely this need that is expressed in the demand, and there is no need for me to revisit this point once again.

My entire starting point lies in demonstrating how the subject’s demand is, at the same time, profoundly modified by the fact that need must pass through the narrow passages of the signifier. I will not elaborate further, as I consider this point established, but I wish to draw your attention to the following: it is precisely in this exchange that takes place between the primitive, unformed position of the subject of need and the structural conditions imposed by the signifier that resides what occurs, represented in this schema by the following:

• That the line D → S remains full up to point A, while beyond it, it becomes fragmented,
• Conversely, that prior to s(A), the so-called line of intentionality—here, of the subject—is fragmented, and it is only after this point that it becomes full, especially in the segment s(A) → I, and even temporarily—in a secondary sense, which I will emphasize later—within this segment: as long as you disregard the line A → i(a) → m → s(A).

Why is this so?
I must ensure that I do not dwell endlessly on this graph, especially as we will return to it later.

In other words, what does this continuity of the line up to point A represent—a point you know to be the locus of the code, the repository of the language’s treasure in its synchrony, by which I mean the sum of its taxonomic elements? Without this, there is no means of communication between beings subject to the conditions of language.

What the continuity of the line D → S up to point A represents is this: it is the synchrony of the systematic organization of language. That is to say, synchronically, it is presented there as a system, as a whole within which each element holds its value by being distinct from others—from other signifiers, from other elements of the system. This, I repeat, is the keystone of everything we articulate concerning communication. It is this point that is consistently overlooked in communication theories: that what is communicated is not the sign of something else, but simply the sign of the fact that it occupies the place where another signifier is not.

It is from the solidarity of this system—synchronous as it rests in the locus of the code—that the discourse of demand, anterior to the code, draws its solidity. In other words, within diachrony, that is, within the development of this discourse, there appears what is termed “the minimum duration required for satisfaction”—even if this satisfaction is what might be called a magical satisfaction, or at least a refusal—namely, the time it takes to speak.

It is because of this relationship that the line of the signifying discourse (D → A)—the signifying discourse of demand—which, by its very nature as composed of signifiers, should here appear and be represented in the fragmented form we see persisting here (that is, as a succession of discrete elements, separated by intervals)—is understood, in light of the synchronous solidity of the code from which these successive elements are borrowed, to acquire the solidity of diachronic assertion and the constitution of what is called, in the articulation of demand, the time of the formula.

Thus, it is prior to the code, or below the level of the code, that this line presents itself as continuous. Conversely, what does this graph represent here through the fragmented line, which is the line of the subject’s intentionality?

Let us observe that the very act of situating the context within the demand simplifies the presumed diversity of the subject, namely this diversity that appears as fundamentally shifting moments, variations of this point. You are aware that the problem of the continuity of the subject has long posed itself to psychologists. The question is why a being essentially subjected to what we might call the intermittencies—not merely of the heart, as has been said, but of many other things—can constitute and affirm itself as an ego.

This is the problem at stake, and undoubtedly, the very introduction of need into demand already simplifies this subject in relation to the more or less chaotic, more or less accidental interferences among its various needs. What the appearance of the fragmented form on this schema represents, as depicted in the first part of the line Δ → I, up to A, is something else. It reflects the retroaction upon this flux, simultaneously continuous and discontinuous, certainly confused, which we must assume to be the primitive form of the original manifestation of the drive.

It is precisely the retroaction upon this flux of the form of discrete elements imposed upon it by discourse. It is what this flux retroactively undergoes from discursivity, which is why, along this line, it is not at the level of the code but rather beneath the message itself that the line appears in its fragmented form.

What occurs beyond this point is something I have sufficiently highlighted at other times, so I will address it briefly now: it is the identification of the subject with the Other of the demand, inasmuch as this Other is omnipotent. I do not believe there is a need for me to revisit this theme—the omnipotence alternately ascribed to thought or to speech within analytic experience.

Except to point out, as I have emphasized before, how mistaken it is to place it in the depreciative position so often adopted by psychologists—inasmuch as they are, in the original sense of the term, invariably somewhat pedantic—and to lay it at the feet of the subject, when the omnipotence in question is that of the Other, simply because the Other commands the sum of signifiers.

In other words, to ensure that we do not stray too far from the concrete while articulating things in this way, let me specify quite directly what I mean in terms of evolution, development, the acquisition of language, and the child-mother relationship. To be explicit, it is precisely this: the “something” in question, upon which this primary identification rests, corresponds to what I designate as the segment s(A), the signifier of A, which culminates in the first “nucleus”—as is commonly expressed in analysis, particularly in the writings of Mr. Glover, where you will find it articulated as “the first nucleus of ego formation.”

This process, therefore, leads to the nucleus of identification.

This concerns what happens insofar as the mother is not merely the one who gives the breast, as I have told you. She is also the one who provides the seing (the seal or signature) of signifying articulation—not only in that she speaks to the child, as it is manifestly evident that she does, well before she can presume that the child understands anything. Likewise, the child understands something well before the mother imagines it. But more than this, through various games the mother plays—such as games of concealment that so quickly elicit a smile, or even laughter, from the child—she is already engaging in a properly symbolic action. Through these actions, what she reveals to the child is precisely the function of the symbol as a revealer.

In these games of concealment, the mother reveals:

• by making something disappear or reappear,
• by hiding her own face and then revealing it,
• or by covering the child’s face and then uncovering it.

Through these actions, she reveals the revealing function itself. This is already a second-order function. It is within this framework that the earliest identifications take place, those referred to, for convenience, as the child’s identification with the mother—the mother as omnipotent. You can see that this extends far beyond the mere satisfaction of need.

Let us now move on to the second level of this graph, the one which, during our last session, seemed—at least for some—to have posed certain difficulties. This second level of the graph concerns something other than the subject as it passes through the narrow passages of signifying articulation. It concerns the subject who assumes the act of speaking: the subject as “I.” Here again, I must pause to make an essential qualification. After all, this “I”—and I will not linger on it, but I will point it out to you—originally, this “I,” to which I have referred in certain developments, is not fundamentally our concern. It is, however, the “I” of Cogito, ergo sum (I think, therefore I am).

Let it simply be noted here that this is a parenthesis. Many of the difficulties brought to my attention pertain to Cogito, ergo sum, particularly the claim that it holds no probative value since the “I” is already embedded within the “I think,” leaving only a cogitatum—it thinks—and thus raising the question of why there should be an “I” in this formulation at all. I believe the root of these difficulties lies in the failure to distinguish between the two subjects, as I articulated them for you from the beginning.

This distinction hinges on the fact that one tends—often mistakenly—to situate this experience, as proposed by the philosopher, within the confrontation of the subject with an object. Consequently, the subject is imagined as facing an imaginary object, among which it is unsurprising that the “I” appears as just another object.

If, on the contrary, we push the question to the level of the subject defined as a speaking being, the issue takes on a completely different significance. Phenomenology, as I will briefly suggest now, will illustrate this. For those seeking references on the discussion surrounding the “I” and the cogito, I direct you to an article by Sartre in Philosophical Researches.

The “I” in question here is not merely the “I” articulated in discourse—the “I” as pronounced within the discourse and identified by linguists, at least for some time now, as a “shifter.” It is a semanteme that has no articulable function except in relation to the code—purely and simply the lexical code. As even the simplest experience demonstrates:

• The “I” never refers to something that can be defined in terms of other elements of the code, of which a semanteme is a part. Rather, it refers only to the act of the message.
• The “I” designates the bearer of the message, which is to say, someone who varies from one moment to the next.

This is nothing more complicated than that, but I must point out that the result is that this “I” is, from that moment on, essentially distinct from what we might call “the true subject of the act of speaking.” This distinction even imparts to the simplest “I” discourse a perpetual presumption of indirectness.

By this, I mean that the “I” in discourse could almost always be followed by a parenthetical clarification: “I, the one who is speaking,” or “I say that.” This distinction is made strikingly clear—as others have noted before me—by the fact that when a discourse includes the phrase “I say that,” followed by “and I repeat it,” the second “I repeat it” is not redundant. On the contrary, it serves precisely to differentiate the two “I”s at play:

• The one who initially said “that,”
• And the one who subsequently adheres to what the first “I” said.

In other words, to make this clearer, if further examples are needed, I would suggest the difference between the “I” in “I love you” (or “I love thee”) and the “I” in “I am here.” The “I” we are dealing with here becomes particularly perceptible due to the structure I am referencing, especially where it is entirely concealed. And where it is entirely concealed is precisely in those forms of discourse that accomplish what I will call “the vocative function,” that is, forms in which the signifying structure makes it entirely clear that the addressee is not the “I.”

It is the “I” of “Arise and walk,” the same fundamental “I” found in any vocative or imperative form and in several other types. I will provisionally group them all under the category of the vocative:

• It is the vocative “I,” if you will.
• It is the “I” I have already discussed during the seminar on President Schreber because it was essential to bring it to light—I am not certain if I fully succeeded in doing so at that time, and I did not even revisit it in the summary I provided regarding my seminar on President Schreber.
• It is the “I” underlying “You are the one who will follow me,” on which I placed so much emphasis, and which you can see connects with the entire problem of a certain future tense, embedded within truly vocative expressions—vocatives of vocation, to be precise.

For those who were not present, let me remind you of a subtlety found in French—one not available in all languages—the difference between “You are the one who will follow me” (“Tu es celui qui me suivras”) and “You are the one who will follow” (“Tu es celui qui me suivra”).

This difference in performative capacity—of the “you,” in this instance—is effectively a difference rooted in the “I,” as it operates within the act of speaking that it represents. At this level, we see once again that the subject always receives their own message—specifically, what they are here admitting to themselves, namely the “I”—in an inverted form, through the intermediary of the form they assign to the “you.”

This discourse—therefore, the discourse formulated at the second level, which is, after all, the discourse of always (we distinguish these two levels only arbitrarily)—this discourse, like any discourse, is the discourse of the Other, even when it is spoken by the subject. It is fundamentally, at this level, a call to being.

With varying degrees of force, it always contains—and here again, we find one of the marvelous homophonic ambiguities in French—it always contains, more or less, a “sois” (“be”), in other words, a “fiat.” This fiat is the source and root of what, from the perspective of the drive, becomes the will for the speaking being, inscribed in the register of “desire” or the “I” as it divides itself between the two terms under discussion:

• The imperative of “Arise and walk,” as I just mentioned,
• Or, with respect to the subject, the erection of their own “I.”

The question, if I may put it this way, is the one I articulated last time in the form of “Che vuoi?” You now see the level at which it is situated. This “Che vuoi?” is, as it were, the response of the Other to the act of speaking by the subject. This response—the question, if you will—always comes, as it often does, as a reply before the question, forming the dreaded question mark that, in my schema, articulates the act of speaking itself.

Does the speaking subject know what they are doing? This is precisely the question we are addressing here, and it is to this question that Freud essentially said no. The subject, in the act of speaking, and insofar as this act of speaking extends well beyond mere speech:

• Since their entire life is encapsulated in acts of speaking,
• Since their life as such, meaning all their actions, consists of symbolic actions, if only because they are recorded.

These actions are subject to recording; they are often actions undertaken to make a record, and ultimately, everything they do—as the saying goes, and in alignment with what occurs (or more precisely, what conforms entirely to what occurs) in the office of the examining magistrate—everything they do may be held against them. All their actions are imposed within a context of language, and even their gestures are never anything other than gestures selected from a pre-established ritual, meaning a linguistic articulation.

And to Freud’s answer to the question—”Does he know what he is doing?”—the response is no. This is precisely what is expressed by the second level of my graph. This second level holds value only in relation to the question from the Other—namely, “Che vuoi?” (“What do you want?”)—because until that question emerges, we remain in ignorance and naivety.

Here, I am attempting to prove that didacticism does not necessarily have to pass through naivety. Naturally, this demonstration cannot rely solely on you for its completion!

Where, then, in relation to this question and its responses, does the second level of the schema articulate the points of intersection between the true discourse of the subject and what manifests as “desire” within the articulation of speech? Locating these points of intersection is the crux of the mystery surrounding this symbol, which seems opaque to some of you.

If this discourse, which at this level appears to be a call to being, is not what it seems, we know this through Freud. This is what the second level of the graph attempts to demonstrate.

At first glance, it is surprising that this is not recognized, for it is precisely what Freud articulated. What do we do every day, if not this: demonstrate that, at the level of the act of speech, the code is determined by something other than primitive demand. It reflects a particular relationship of the subject to this demand, marked by the subject’s transformations. This is what we call the oral, anal, and other forms of unconscious articulation, which explains why this point does not seem to provoke much debate.

I am simply speaking here of accepting the premises we situate at the level of the code. The formula $◊a (the subject marked by the signifier in relation to their demand) provides the material and code for the true discourse—this being’s discourse—at this level.

As for the message the subject receives, I have already mentioned it multiple times, giving it various forms—all of them, for valid reasons, somewhat elusive. This elusiveness is precisely the issue at the heart of analytic inquiry: what is this message? For now, I leave it in a state of uncertainty, at least for the purposes of my current discussion, and symbolize it as a presumed signifier.

This is purely a hypothetical form, a placeholder—a signifier of the Other—because it is at the level of the Other that the question arises of a missing Other, an element that is inherently problematic in the discussion of this message.

Let us summarize. The situation of the subject at the level of the unconscious, as Freud articulates it—it is not I but Freud who articulates this—is that the subject does not know with what they are speaking. They must have the truly signifying elements of their discourse revealed to them. Nor do they know the message that truly reaches them at the level of this being’s discourse—call it “reality” if you will, and I do not deny this term. In other words, they do not know the message that arises as a response to their demand within the field of their desire.

You already know the true response; it can only be one thing: the signifier—and nothing else—that is specifically designated to articulate the relationship of the subject to the signifier. I have told you before, and I will reiterate now: the signifier in question is the phallus. Even for those encountering this concept for the first time, I ask that they provisionally accept it.

The important point is not the phallus itself, but the fact that the subject cannot possess the response. Because, as the only possible response is the signifier that designates their relationship with the signifier, the moment the subject articulates this response, they annihilate themselves and disappear.

This is precisely why the only thing the subject can feel in response is the threat directly aimed at the phallus—castration, or the notion of the lack of the phallus. This concept, whether applied to one sex or the other, is where analysis concludes, as Freud—let me remind you—articulated.

But we are not here merely to repeat these foundational truths. I am aware that some are irritated by what they perceive as excessive juggling of the concepts of being and having. However, this annoyance will pass, for it does not mean that along the way, we cannot make valuable discoveries—clinical discoveries, even within my teaching—that carry all the characteristics of what I might call “medical posturing.”

It is now a matter of situating what is meant by desire within this framework. As we have stated, at this second level, there is also a synchronically structured repository, a battery of unconscious signifiers unique to each subject. There is a message where the response to “Che vuoi?” (“What do you want?”) is announced, and as you can see, it is announced dangerously. Even this, I point out in passing, conjuring up some vivid memories for you, is what makes the story of Abelard and Heloise the most beautiful love story.

What does desire mean? Where does it lie?

You can observe that in the complete form of the schema, there is here a dotted line that extends from the code of the second level to its message, mediated by two elements:

• d designates the position from which the subject descends,
• and S, opposite a ($◊a), signifies—let me repeat, as I have said this before—the fantasy.

This structure is homologically aligned with the line that, from A, integrates the ego (the m) into the discourse, meaning the self elaborated alongside the image of the other (i(a)), that is, the specular relationship I have established for you as fundamental to the formation of the ego. Within the relationship between the two levels, there is something that deserves to be more fully articulated.

I will not do so today, not because I lack the time—I am perfectly willing to take all the time needed to convey what I have to tell you—but because I prefer to approach it indirectly, as this seems to me to be a way of making its significance more palpable to you. You are already capable of intuiting the richness of the fact that this is a kind of reproduction of an imaginary relationship at the level of the gap determined between the two discourses, inasmuch as this imaginary relationship reproduces, homologously, the one established in the rapport with the other in the play of presence.

You may sense this already, but of course, merely sensing it is entirely insufficient. Before fully articulating it, I simply want you to pause for a moment on what is contained within this economy—the term “desire,” as situated and embedded within it.

As you know, Freud introduced this term at the very beginning of psychoanalysis. He introduced it in relation to dreams, in the form of the “Wunsch” (wish), which is, by its very nature, something that aligns itself along this line.

The “Wunsch” is not, in and of itself, desire. It is a formulated desire, an articulated desire. What I want you to focus on at this point is the distinction between what deserves—within the framework I am establishing and introducing this year—to be called desire and what is referred to as “Wunsch.”

You are not unfamiliar with The Interpretation of Dreams, and this moment, where I speak to you of it, marks the point where we ourselves will begin to discuss it this year. Just as we began last year with wit, this year we begin with the dream.

From the very first pages of The Interpretation of Dreams and throughout to the end, if you think about desire in the form in which it most often confronts you in analytic experience—namely, the form that gives you trouble through its excesses, deviations, and, more often than not, its failings—you will recognize the sexual desire Freud discusses. This desire is the one that plays tricks, the one continually present in analytic discourse, even though an unmistakable tendency exists within the analytic field to obscure and downplay its centrality. It is the desire that is consistently addressed in analysis.

You must, therefore, note the distinction—provided, of course, that you truly read the text, not merely allow your eyes to skim through The Interpretation of Dreams while your thoughts remain preoccupied with other matters. You will find that this famous desire, ostensibly present in every dream, is exceedingly difficult to grasp.

If we take the inaugural dream, the Dream of Irma’s Injection—a dream we have discussed multiple times, written about somewhat, and one I will continue to revisit—we could talk about it for an excessively long time.

Recall what the Dream of Irma’s Injection entails. What exactly does it mean? Even as it unfolds, its meaning remains highly uncertain. Freud himself, in examining the dream’s desire, wishes to overcome Irma’s resistance—her tendency, as it is described, to “bristle” at all of Freud’s approaches.

What does he want?

• He wants to undress her,
• he wants to make her speak,
• he wants to discredit his colleagues,
• he wants to confront his own anxiety, even to the point of projecting it into Irma’s throat,
• or perhaps he wants to assuage his anxiety over the harm or wrong inflicted on Irma.

But this harm, as it appears to us, is irrevocable. It is articulated clearly enough within the dream itself. Is that what it is about—that no crime was committed?

And yet, this does not prevent one from concluding that, since no crime was committed, everything will be fine because everything has been resolved, that this is all attributable to certain individuals taking strange liberties, and that a third party is ultimately to blame, and so on. This line of reasoning could be extended indefinitely.

Indeed, I draw your attention to the fact that Freud himself emphasizes at one point in The Interpretation of Dreams—with the utmost insistence, at least up until the seventh edition—that he never claimed the desire at issue in dreams is always sexual. He did not say the contrary, but he did not say that either. This is a point for those who, by the seventh edition, were reproaching him for this supposed claim.

Let us not misunderstand this. Let us recognize that sexuality is always more or less implicated. However, it is implicated laterally, as a kind of derivation.

The question is precisely why this is so. But before addressing why, I want to pause for a brief moment on the evident truths provided by the use and employment of language. Consider what it means when one says to someone—if the addressee is a man or a woman, and for the sake of this example, let us assume it is a woman—what does it mean when one says, “I desire you”?

Does it mean—
as the moralistic optimism that I occasionally critique within analysis would suggest—
does it mean: “I am ready to recognize your being as having at least as much, if not more, right to exist than my own, to anticipate your every need, to think of your satisfaction? Lord, may your will be done before mine?”

Does it mean that? I think simply mentioning this reference is enough to provoke the smiles I see, fortunately, blossoming across this assembly. Indeed, no one, when employing the proper words, mistakes the intent of a term like that, however genital it may be.

The other response is this: “I desire—let us use some blunt, round words—to sleep with you.”
This is much closer to the truth, it must be admitted. But is it entirely true?

It is true within a certain context, I would say a social one, and perhaps, given the extreme difficulty of accurately articulating the meaning of “I desire you,” one finds, after all, no better way to prove it. Believe me: perhaps it suffices that this phrase is not accompanied by the incommensurable embarrassments and shattered dishes that come with words that carry true meaning. Perhaps it suffices that this phrase is uttered only in a particular interior context for it to immediately become clear that, if this term has a meaning, it is a far more challenging one to articulate.

When “I desire you” is articulated within, so to speak, an interiority, concerning an object, its meaning approximates this: “You are beautiful.” Around this idea, all these enigmatic images gather and condense, forming the stream that, for me, is called my desire. That is: “I desire you because you are the object of my desire.” Or, put another way: “You are the common denominator of my desires.” And God knows—if I can bring God into this matter, and why not?—God knows what desire stirs within itself.

Desire mobilizes and directs something within the personality far beyond what appears conventionally to be its precise aim.

In other words, to reference a far less infinitely poetic experience, it seems that I do not need to be an analyst to evoke how quickly and immediately, at this level—
at the slightest distortion, as they say, of personality or imagery—
how quickly and prominently, in connection with this involvement in desire, that which most often prevails comes to the fore: the structure of the fantasy.

To tell someone “I desire you” is, very precisely, to say to them—
and this is not always given by experience, except for the brave and instructive little perverts, both minor and major—
“I involve you in my fundamental fantasy.”

Here, then—since I have decided not to extend this year’s lectures beyond a certain duration, and I hope to stick to this—is where I ask for your attention. Here—well before the point at which I had intended to conclude today—is where I will pause. I will stop by designating this point of fantasy, which is essential, the key point around which I will show you, next time, how to pivot the decisive moment where—
if this term “desire” indeed carries a meaning distinct from that of “wish” in dreams—
the interpretation of desire must occur.

This point, therefore, lies here, and you may notice that it is part of the dotted circuit—the little tail, so to speak—that appears at the second level of the graph.

I would like to tell you, simply to leave you a bit intrigued, that this dotted circuit is nothing other than the circuit in which we can consider the elements of the repressed to revolve. It is constructed in this way because it revolves—once set in motion at its origin, it continues to spin endlessly within.

In other words, this is the locus of the unconscious on the graph, as such. It is from this, and only this, that Freud spoke up until 1915 when he concluded with the two articles titled The Unconscious and Repression.

This is where I will resume next time, to show you how clearly Freud articulated—so clearly that it supports and forms the very substance of what I am attempting to convey to you about the signifier—that Freud unambiguously expressed something that means: only signifying elements can be, and ever are, repressed.

It is all there in Freud; only the term “signifier” is absent. I will show you, without ambiguity, that what Freud discusses in his article on The Unconscious regarding what can be repressed, he explicitly designates.

It can only be signifiers. We will explore this next time.

Here, you see two systems in opposition:

• This dotted system here: as we have stated, this is what we are dealing with. It is the locus of the unconscious, the place where the repressed endlessly circles until it makes itself felt. That is, until something from the message at the level of the discourse of being disturbs the message at the level of demand. This is the entire issue of the analytic symptom.
• Another system exists, one that prepares what I call the small threshold: the discovery of the avatar. This was discovered because so much effort had already been expended in coming to terms with the first system. As Freud, in his inevitable beneficence, took the next step himself before his death—when he introduced his second topography—Freud uncovered the register of the other dotted system: the small threshold corresponds precisely to this, to his second topography.

In other words, this concerns what occurs at the level of the subject before discourse, but as conditioned by the fact that the speaking subject does not know what they are doing when they speak. That is to say, from the moment the unconscious is discovered as such, Freud—if you wish me to simplify the schema—sought to determine, within that original place from which speech emanates, at what level and under what conditions the ego is constituted. Specifically, the ego, as it situates itself in relation to the first formulation, the initial capture within the demand of the id.

It is here that Freud also uncovered this primitive discourse as something purely imposed, yet inherently marked by its arbitrary nature—a discourse that continues to speak, that is, the superego.

It is here, as well, that Freud left something open. It is precisely in this fundamentally metaphorical function of language that he left us something to discover, to articulate, something that completes his second topography and enables us to restore it, to re-situate it, to reintegrate it within the totality of his discovery.