🦋🤖 Robo-Spun by IBF 🦋🤖

(All parts in English)

Today we are going to try to do something despite my fatigue. I am a bit worn out by the flu.
We are still reflecting on the concrete meaning of Freud’s various conceptions of the psychic apparatus,
which, throughout his work, present themselves as necessary explanations…
always meeting for him very difficult requirements of internal coherence…
necessary explanations for certain phases of clinical facts:
– first, at a time when he himself is the only one and the first to try to find his way,
– then later through the modifications in conception and technique brought about by those who follow him, that is, the analytic community.

In short, The Interpretation of Dreams is the explanation of the psychic apparatus as you saw it last time with Valabrega, in a way that might have seemed somewhat dry. We were confronted with this difficult question of regression,
as it is initially generated by the necessities of the schema itself. One must read the Letters to Fliess to understand how much,
for Freud, this was a laborious act of creation, and as I mentioned earlier, full of internal demands
that reach deep within him—to achieve rigorous schemata, meaning ones that allow the elimination
of either absurdities or overly significant internal contradictions. And here, he is demanding.

I do not believe it is because he operates under the hypothesis that it is acceptable to leave things vague.
When one makes a hypothesis about quantity, one must consider its repercussions on the notion of quality, and I do not think
that the two are exactly compatible from the moment one has preferred one over the other for certain conveniences of formulation. This is what generated this initial complication—completely justified—the first schema, that of the Project, which we have emphasized at length, but to which we will have to return again.

It is to a relative simplification of this first schema that we owe the difficulties of the second.
Namely, this dissociation between perception and consciousness, which in essence forces the introduction of the hypothesis of regression,
in relation to the figurative, imaginary character, as we say, of what happens in dreams. Obviously, if the term imaginary
could have been used at that time, it would have resolved many difficulties and contradictions.

But since this figurative character was conceived as participating in the perceptual, the feature specifically of visual quality,
being what he promoted as equivalent to the perceptual term on the other hand, it is clear that the way the schema is proposed, as it is elaborated and constructed in this chapter of The Interpretation of Dreams, necessitates proposing, at the topical level, a hypothesis such as this: the dream state does not allow the normal temporal sequence of processes,
that is, leading up to motor discharge. It is there that we must seek the explanation for a sort of backward return
of the intentional influx process and, through this backward return, the appearance of its imagined character.

It is in this, essentially, that this hypothesis holds, and regression is so important because we see in it the first firm theoretical formulation of what, in a parallel and analogous way, is later accepted both on the formal level and on the genetic, historical level—
that is, regression to the first stage of individual development,
a notion that, as you know, dominates many of our conceptions regarding what neurosis is on one hand,
and what treatment produces on the other.

Well, the fact of questioning right from the outset the requirements of dealing with this notion, of facilitating its implementation,
which now seems so familiar, is not something that goes without saying. That things can proceed this way, backward—
that is the meaning of the term regression. That is where we stand.

To guide you towards the transition from this schema, which I have called simplified, or the second schema—the one we saw reduced to this series of stages, layers, represented on the board, the well-known schema from The Interpretation of Dreams—
to facilitate your transition from this schema to the one implied by the subsequent development of Freud’s theory of the psychic apparatus, specifically the one centered around the conception of narcissism,
I am going to propose a small exercise today concerning the work of dreams.

The initial dream, the dream of dreams, the dream of Irma’s injection, to which Freud always accorded the importance of as exhaustive an analysis as possible, and to which, when he wants to find a point of support, he very often returns,
even within the book itself, and at one point particularly extensively…
I would point out that it is at the level of the explanation, of the introduction he gives to the notion of “condensation”…
well, this dream, we are going to take it, if you will, with our current perspective.

When we do this, we are doing something to which we are fully entitled, of course,
provided we do not misuse it—in other words, provided we do not try to make the first stage
of Freud’s thought say what is in the last, and even less so try to reconcile them with each other in our own way.

I point this out in passing, because it is a tendency to which certain authors have not failed to give in, and they admit it rather candidly. Specifically, one can find in Hartmann’s writing this notion that, after all,
Freud’s conceptions do not agree very well with each other, and they need—he loses the term,
I regret it for him, I am not the one making him say it, I did not expect such a testimony from him—to be synchronized.

The effects of this synchronization of Freud’s thought are precisely what makes it necessary to return to the texts. Because, in truth, synchronization seems to me in this case to bring with it an unfortunate echo of “alignment.”
It is not about synchronizing the different stages of Freud’s thought, nor even reconciling them.

It is a matter of seeing what unique and constant difficulty the progress—made up of contradictions across these different stages of Freud’s thought—responded to, and through this succession of antinomies, which always present themselves both within and between them, of confronting what is properly the object of our experience.
In other words, you will immediately see it appear: I am not the only one among those who have the role of teaching psychoanalysis and training you as analysts to have had the idea of revisiting the dream of Irma’s injection.

A man named Erickson, who describes himself as a proponent of the culturalist school—good for him!—
it’s a particular way of emphasizing cultural material in analysis, which leads to directing attention
to something that was certainly not unknown until then…
I do not believe Freud ever neglected it, nor did those who can specifically be described as Freudians…
that which, in each case, pertains to the cultural context in which the subject is immersed. The question is whether this element should be given primary, entirely dominant importance in the constitution of the subject.

Let us set aside, for now, the discussions this may raise and see where it leads.
Regarding the dream of Irma’s injection, it leads to certain remarks—which I will try to highlight for you as they arise—
as far as I encounter them in the re-analysis attempt I will try to carry out today—
certain pertinent remarks, but which, I believe, do not align with this culturalism.

On the other hand, I am surprised to see that this culturalism quite singularly converges with something else,
which I will call a psychologism, and which consists—you will see the central question around which our research pivots—
in attempting, ultimately, to re-interpret the entire analytical text, whatever it may be, according to a search that becomes
the central concern, the major preoccupation of analysts…
and it is not without reason that I mentioned Hartmann; it is not merely the desire to mock his “synchronization”…
namely, “the different stages of the ego.”

The dream of Irma’s injection reveals so much to us. One might try to understand it as a stage in the development of Freud’s ego, for example—an ego that obviously deserves particular respect because it is the ego of a great creator, and it is at the eminent moment of this creative capacity that we will try to situate this dream. Of course,
this is of utmost interest, and in truth, it cannot be said that it is entirely misguided.
Of course, there must be a psychology of the creator.

But is that the lesson we are to draw from Freud’s experience, and more specifically, if we look closely,
from what happens in the dream of Irma’s injection? That is what we will try to determine. You sense well that
if this viewpoint is correct, everything I am saying, everything that constitutes the essence of Freud’s discovery—which is essentially the decentering of the subject concerning this ego—is false, and we can ultimately return
to the notion that everything is situated and centered around a sort of “ideal-typical development of the ego.” If that is what analysis discovers,
then everything I am telling you is false. Conversely, if what I am saying is false, it becomes extremely difficult
to read even a single text of Freud and understand anything in it.

We are going to put this to the test, precisely with the dream of Irma’s injection. I believe we have the right to do so,
given the importance Freud attributes to this dream. At first glance, one might be surprised: what, indeed, does Freud draw from the analysis of this dream? He draws from it this conclusion, this truth that he posits as primary:
that the dream is always the fulfillment of a wish, a desire.

I will quickly remind you of the content of this dream. I hope that for many of you, recalling the content will
simultaneously evoke the analysis. You have read it enough times for it to immediately signify to you the entire analysis surrounding it. I will have to refer to it continually. Valabrega will read you the text of the dream.

“A large hall, many guests, we are receiving. Among these guests, Irma, whom I immediately take aside to reproach her,
in response to her letter, for not yet accepting my ‘solution.’ I say to her: ‘If you are still in pain, it is truly your fault.’
She replies: ‘If you knew how much my throat, stomach, and abdomen hurt—it’s strangling me.’ I become frightened and look at her. She looks pale and puffy; I think: haven’t I missed some organic symptom?
I take her near the window and examine her throat. She shows some resistance, like women who wear dentures.
I think: yet she doesn’t need them. Then she opens her mouth wide, and I observe, on the right, a large white patch, and elsewhere,
I see extraordinary convoluted formations that resemble the nasal conchae, and on them wide whitish-gray scabs.
I immediately call Dr. M., who, in turn, examines the patient and confirms… Dr. M. is not as usual;
he is very pale, he limps, he has no beard… My friend Otto is also there, next to her, and my friend Leopold percusses her over the corset;
he says: ‘She has dullness at the lower left base,’ and he also points out an infiltrated skin area on the left shoulder (which I, like him, notice despite the clothing)… M. says: ‘There’s no doubt, it’s an infection, but it doesn’t matter;
dysentery will follow, and the poison will be eliminated.’ We also know directly where the infection comes from.
My friend Otto recently gave her, on a day when she felt unwell, an injection with a preparation of propyl, propylene… propionic acid… trimethylamine (whose formula I see before my eyes, printed in bold characters)… These injections aren’t easy to perform… and it’s also likely that the syringe wasn’t clean.”

I remind you of the background of the dream and what Irma signifies. Irma is a patient who is a friend of Freud’s family.
He is therefore in a particularly delicate situation with her, the kind of situation an analyst encounters when treating someone from his own social circle—something we know should always be avoided.
We are now much more aware than in that prehistoric state of analysis of what are called the difficulties,
in such cases, of countertransference. That is indeed what happens. Freud has significant difficulties with Irma.

As he indicates to us in the associations of the dream at that moment, it is still to be considered that when the unconscious meaning of the fundamental conflict of the neurosis is discovered, one only has to propose it to the subject, who either accepts or does not accept it. If they do not accept it, it is their fault—they are wicked, bad, a poor patient. That is all analysis is about. I am not forcing anything; there are good and bad patients. When the patient is good, they accept, and everything goes well. Freud recounts this notion with a humor bordering on the somewhat rough irony that I am using on this subject. He even says that, regarding this conception, he can simply bless heaven for having had it at that time because it allowed him to live.

So, he is in significant difficulty with Irma, who is certainly improved but who retains certain symptoms, particularly a tendency to vomiting, if my memory serves me correctly—something undoubtedly very distressing. At that moment, he had just interrupted the treatment and had received news from his friend Otto. This is the same Otto whom I previously mentioned when we were discussing something entirely different—I emphasized here that he is very close to Freud, but not an intimate friend in the sense of being familiar with the thoughts of someone who is already a Master.

He is a good Otto, an Otto who takes care of the entire family when someone has a cold or minor ailments. He also visits the family regularly, and, as you will see, he plays the role in the household of the kind, well-meaning bachelor who gives gifts. All of this not without eliciting some amused irony from Freud. This Otto, for whom Freud has a decent but moderate esteem, brings him news of Irma and tells him that, overall, she is doing fine but not that well.

And through Otto’s intonations, Freud senses that he is, in some way, being slightly disapproved of by dear friend Otto—more precisely, that Otto must have somewhat participated in the gossip of those around him, perhaps even in the opposition Freud encountered concerning this treatment, which was imprudently undertaken in a context where he was not entirely free to maneuver as he wished. That is precisely what it is about because Freud feels that he had indeed offered Irma the right solution—Lösung, a word that carries the same ambiguity in German as in French: a solution that one injects and a solution to a conflict overlap and coincide under the same term. And it is in this that the dream of Irma’s injection already takes on its symbolic meaning.

Regarding this Lösung, which we will see—especially towards the end—becoming more and more associated with an injection, this is indeed where it begins, and this is where we set off.

At the start, Freud is very displeased with his friend. But if he is displeased with Otto, it is because he is even more displeased with himself, not only regarding the results obtained but also to the point of doubting the validity of the solution he is offering and the usefulness of said solution—perhaps even the very principle of the treatment itself, since, for him, everything is still in question regarding the validity of this treatment of neuroses.

In short, he is at an experimental stage—1895—when he is making his major discoveries, among which the analysis of this dream will always seem so significant to him that later, in 1900, he will write in a letter to Fliess, just after the publication of the book in which he recounts it: “a decisive experience.” He will joke—and his ways of joking are not so gratuitous—by evoking:

“Perhaps one day they will place at the entrance of the Bellevue country house, where this dream took place: ‘Here, on July 24, 1895, for the first time, the enigma of the dream was unveiled by Sigmund Freud.'”

Thus, he is at once full of confidence and on the brink of the crisis of 1897, traces of which we find in the letter to Fliess, where he thinks, at one point, that he has misunderstood all the problems concerning neurosis, that the entire theory of trauma, which is central to the genesis of his conception in the form of seduction, must be rejected, and consequently, the entire edifice collapses.

Freud is therefore in a creative period but also extremely open to uncertainty and doubt, which is precisely what characterizes the entire progress of his discovery. This simple little shock of what is perceived—through Otto’s voice—as disapproval is what will set everything in motion, the driving force that will trigger the entire dream.

As early as 1882—I must point this out—Freud, in a letter to his fiancée, noted that what appeared in dreams—it’s worth noting, I came across this incidentally—were not so much the day’s major preoccupations but rather the themes that had been initiated and then interrupted, this kind of “cut-off whistle” quality of speech.

This is one of the things that struck Freud very early on, and which we encounter repeatedly in his analyses: whatever happens in what we might call the “psychopathology of everyday life”—you may remember when I spoke to you about the story of forgetting the name of the author of the Orvieto fresco—it is also due to something that did not fully emerge during the day, and we encounter it repeatedly.

Here, it is far from being the case. Freud set to work in the evening after dinner and wrote an entire summary concerning Irma’s case to clarify things and, if necessary, to justify the general conduct of the treatment. Then night fell, and we witness this dream.

I will go straight to the outcome. Freud considers, it seems, and in a way that strikes us—you will see why—as a great success to have been able to explain, in every detail, this dream through the desire to rid himself of responsibility for the failure of Irma’s treatment.

He does this in the dream—he, as the craftsman of the dream—through multiple pathways, so multiple that, as he humorously points out, it closely resembles the story of the person accused of returning a borrowed kettle with a hole in it, who responds:

– Firstly, I returned it intact,
– Secondly, it was already damaged when I borrowed it,
– Thirdly, I never borrowed it.

Each of these explanations would be perfectly valid, but taken together, they cannot in any way satisfy us.
This is how this dream would be constructed, says Freud. And of course, it is all too evident that there is a common thread here, the warp of everything that appears in the dream.

The question is rather this: how does Freud satisfy himself…
given the development that his theory of the dream would later take, that there are in the dream a certain number of elements that are continuous, there is the text of the preconscious, which in the dream is fundamentally animated by the unconscious desire…
in short, for the first step of his demonstration in The Interpretation of Dreams, how does he settle for showing us a dream entirely explained by the satisfaction of a desire that can only be called preconscious?

Because this desire to justify himself for the failure of Irma’s treatment is something that is indeed not only preconscious
but entirely conscious, since he had spent the previous evening doing something that reduces the entire treatment of Irma,
namely justifying himself as much for what goes well as for what does not, putting in black and white
what seems to have motivated his entire conduct.

At first glance, Freud does not seem to have demanded at all, for establishing this formula that “a dream is in all cases the satisfaction of a desire,” anything other than the most general notion of desire, without paying further attention
to the status of this desire, or knowing, as I mentioned to you at the outset of our last meeting, what this desire is, or even—to stick to something more familiar—where this desire comes from: from the unconscious or from the preconscious?

Remember that Freud poses his question this way in a note I read last time:
– Who is this unconscious desire?
– Who is it, this one who is repelled and horrifies the subject?
– When we talk about an unconscious desire, what do we mean?
– For whom does this desire exist?

Ultimately, it is indeed at this level that the immense satisfaction Freud derives from the solution he gives to the dream will become clear to us.

For us to fully understand the fact that this first interpreted dream plays such a decisive role in Freud’s presentation, we must add this particular note, precisely about the importance—and I would say all the more significant because it appears paradoxical—that Freud attributes to it. Because, at first glance, one might almost say that the door he breaks through was not so… almost as if it were an open door, since, in the end, it concerns a preconscious desire.
He did not apparently take the decisive step, yet he feels he did, as he makes it the dream of dreams, the initial, typical dream.

What is important is that he feels he has taken that step, and he proves all too well in the rest of his presentation that he has taken it. If he feels he has done it, it is because he actually has. Understand that I am not redoing Freud’s analysis of the dream after Freud himself. That would be completely absurd. Just as it is not a question of analyzing deceased authors,
it is not a question of analyzing Freud’s own dream better than he did.

When Freud interrupts the associations, he has his reasons for doing so, and he tells us:

“Here, I do not want to tell you more because even though I have already given you enough,
I cannot tell you all the stories of the bed and the chamber pot…”

Or he states clearly:

“Here, I no longer want to continue associating.”

All of this is noted within this text. Therefore, it is not a matter of exegesis, of extrapolating where Freud himself stops, but of taking, ourselves, this whole in which we are in a different position from Freud.
After all, we must not forget that there are two things: firstly, having the dream, and secondly, interpreting it.
It is an operation in which we intervene. But do not forget that in most cases, we also intervene in the first part because what we do in analysis is not simply interpreting the subject’s dream, if indeed we interpret it, but since we, as analysts, are already in the subject’s life, we are already in their dream.

If you recall what I evoked in the inaugural lecture of this society as “little” symbolism,
concerning the symbolic, the imaginary, and the real—things I have never revisited—which consisted of using small letters and capital letters:
– i(S): putting the symbol into image form, imaging the symbol, rendering symbolic discourse figurative: the dream,
– s(I): symbolizing the image, interpreting the dream.

Only, for this to happen, a reversal must occur, where this symbol is symbolized—that is, there must be room in the middle to understand what happens in this double transformation. That is precisely what we are going to attempt:
to take the entirety of this dream and Freud’s interpretation of it, and to see what it means within the order of the symbolic and the imaginary.

We are fortunate that the famous dream we speak of so often—and you will notice all too well that we handle it with the greatest respect, because it is a dream—does not exist in time.
It is very easy to notice, and it is precisely what constitutes the originality of the dream: the dream is not in time.

There is something quite striking, which none of the authors in question have noticed in its purest form.
Not that they haven’t approached it—Mr. Erikson approaches it—but unfortunately, his culturalism is not as effective a tool for him as one might wish. This so-called culturalism leads him to pose the problem of studying the manifest content of the dream. This manifest content of the dream, he tells us, deserves to be brought back to the forefront.

From there, a very confused discussion arises, based on the notion of “superficial” and “deep,” notions I always implore you to discard and stop thinking about. There is here a consideration of the depth of the superficial, where I must say,
taking things humorously, and as Gide says in “The Counterfeiters”:

“There is nothing deeper than the superficial,” because there is no depth at all.

We will indeed see this. That is not where the question lies. The question is this: we must first start from the text,
and approach it as Freud himself advises and demonstrates: as a sacred text. The author, the scribe, was merely a scribbler, and he comes second. The commentaries on the Scriptures were irretrievably lost the day people attempted to psychoanalyze Jeremiah, Isaiah, or even Jesus Christ.

This is of the same order as what I am telling you now. When it comes to our patients, I ask you to pay more attention to the text than to the psychology of the author. This is the entire meaning and orientation of my teaching.
Well then, let us take this text specifically: it leads us to what is essential in analysis. Let us take this text: there are two stages.

There is a climax, which is this: First, Freud is there. Mr. Erikson attaches great importance to the fact that at the beginning, he says: “We are receiving.” At the outset, he would be a dual character: he is hosting, he is not alone, he is receiving guests with his wife.
And indeed, he is glimpsed there; it concerns a birthday. It’s a little gathering anticipated for something, where Irma, the family friend, is expected to come. I can agree that the “We are receiving” positions Freud in his identity as head of the family. This “We” does not seem to imply much duplicity in his social role.
For Frau Doktor does not appear at all—not for one minute.

As soon as he appears, Freud enters into dialogue, and the visual field narrows. He takes Irma aside and begins
to reproach her and rebuke her, saying:

“It’s really your fault; if you listened to me, things would be better.”

In return, Irma says:

“You can’t imagine how much it hurts here and there: throat, stomach, abdomen.”

And then she says that it zusammenschnüren—binds, constricts her. This Zusammenschnüren seems vividly expressive to me; I attach a certain importance to this expression…

Mme X: In the past, three or four people would pull on the corset strings to tighten it.

Lacan:

And then Freud, nonetheless, is quite struck by all this: he begins to show some concern.
He draws her towards the window and makes her open her mouth. All of this, therefore, takes place against a background of discussion and resistance—but resistance that is not simply resistance to what Freud proposes, but also to the examination itself.

All these words are worth being spoken in German. They are translated into English and French by “heresy”…
In fact, this is resistance of the “feminine resistance” type, and indeed authors often gloss over this, bringing into play the whole question of so-called Victorian female psychology. Because it is quite certain that women no longer resist us,
it no longer excites us, these women who resist. When it comes to feminine resistance, it’s always these poor Victorian women who become the focus of reproaches—it’s rather amusing. And this is also a consequence of culturalism, which in this case clearly fails to open Mr. Erikson’s eyes. Nevertheless, we feel that this is something important; in fact, it is. It is around this that all Freud’s associations will revolve, highlighting that Irma is far from being the only one involved.

Among the persons who are sich streichen, there are indeed many others. In particular, there are two who are there and who, while being symmetrical, are nonetheless quite problematic: Freud’s wife, who at that moment—this is not mentioned in the text but is stated elsewhere—is pregnant; and on the other hand, another patient, who is, so to speak, the ideal patient because, first of all, she is not Freud’s patient, and secondly, she is rather pretty, and also certainly more intelligent than Irma, whose capacity for understanding tends to be somewhat disparaged.

And she also has this allure: she does not ask for Freud’s help. Which, for that very reason, makes Freud wish that one day she might ask for his help. But truthfully, he does not have much hope of this happening. In short, in this register, a woman clearly moves from being an object of the most purely professional interest to all the imaginary transformations that can arise through a woman.

We see these three women spread out in a fan-like arrangement, among whom is very obviously involved the person of great importance to Freud’s situation—his own wife. We know both the extreme importance of the role she played in Freud’s life and the special style of attachment that characterized their bond, not only familial but marital: we know that his attachment to his wife was highly idealized.

However, it does not seem, through certain nuances we uncover, that she did not bring him some disappointments on certain instinctual levels. It is within this spectrum that the relationship with Irma is situated.
Irma appears as a character whose imaginary value unfolds.

It should be noted that all this is revealed only through small signs of modifications in Irma’s image,
and in the associations in the second part, in the “interpretation” part of the dream. In the “dream” part,
there is only Irma. Freud is as he is, speaking with Irma, as a psychotherapist, in a direct way,
about objects that are evidently slightly distorted compared to those that are the real, actual subject of their debate.

The symptoms are slightly modified, without a doubt. All of this poses a certain number of enigmas that open up
to the deeper meaning at stake, those of an insight. But in the structure of what happens in the dream,
we have here Freud’s ego, which is perfectly at the level of his waking ego. The object in question, Irma,
is barely distorted, but what she shows would also be apparent if carefully observed in the waking state.

If Freud were to analyze his behaviors, his responses, his emotions, his transference, as it is called, at every moment
in the dialogue with Irma, he would see just as well that behind Irma there are:
– his wife, an intimate friend,
– and also the young seductive woman who is nearby and would make a far better patient than Irma.

We are at a primary level here, where the dialogue remains, in a way, entirely subjugated to the conditions of the real relationship, as it is precisely itself entirely enmeshed in the imaginary conditions that limit it
and, for Freud, at this moment, make it difficult.

This goes very far, to the point where, having opened the patient’s mouth, having obtained that she opens her mouth…
it is precisely about this in reality: that she does not open her mouth…
what he sees at the bottom is something whose character must be understood through the associations. It is an awful, horrible, terrifying sight, this mouth with all the equivalence meanings you might want, where everything merges and associates in this image—the usual preoccupations, this kind of mouth in which one sees the nasal turbinates covered with a layer of whitish membrane.

Do you see the condensations there? This extends from the female sexual organ, passing through the mouth, up to the nose—the nose itself having a very precise meaning. It is an ailment Freud suffers from, and just before or after, he undergoes an operation, performed by Fliess or someone else, on his nasal turbinates.

There is a discovery here—an awful discovery! This is not about the patient’s actual symptoms.
It is the ultimate sight of horror! It is the flesh one never sees:
– the depths of things, the reverse side of the face, of the visage, the secretions par excellence,
– the flesh as that from which everything emerges, at the deepest core of the mystery,
– the flesh as it suffers, as it is formless, and whose very form provokes anxiety.

It is about this in this vision of anxiety, with all that it implies in terms of identification with anxiety, the final revelation—the “you are this,” “you are what is farthest from you, you are what is most formless, most impossible to reveal.”
It is in the face of this Mene, Tekel, Upharsin-type revelation that Freud reaches the peak of his need to see, to know, to seek in this dialogue, strictly at the level of the dialogue between the ego and the object. That is where we arrive.

Here, Mr. Erikson makes a remark which, I must say, is excellent:

“Normally, a dream that ends in this way should cause awakening. Why doesn’t he wake up?
Because he is Freud! He’s tough.”

I can agree, he’s tough. Since his ego is so grimly stuck in front of this sight, this ego regresses,
and the rest of the presentation serves to tell us that this ego regresses. Then there is an entire theory about the different stages of the ego, which I will share with you. It’s always interesting. There is an ego that progresses from trust—on a foundation of mistrust—through all kinds of developments. In adolescence, it is about opposition.

X: Initiative…

Lacan: It’s crazy how much initiative we have when we are small.

X: And then a certain integration.

Lacan:

Integration, opposing the diffusion of roles, would characterize adolescence. I am not saying that it is false.

X: …

And then the identity of the ego, from the moment the adult has acquired it through consciousness and, on the other hand, such integrity that they can succeed. He wants to avoid two terms which, deep down, are tied to generation.

Lacan:

There is here the invention of the word “generativity” to represent the maximum fullness of adulthood, meaning the moment when one desires to have children. Then comes this integrity of old age, which would have as its polar opposite something I rather appreciate—a disgust. It seems that there is a kind of opposition between the two.

I would readily object to dear Mr. Erikson that the feeling of integrity quite comfortably accommodates its contemporary correlative and is none the worse for it. These are certainly very instructive psychological amusements, but, in truth, they seem to me to go against the very spirit of Freudian theory.

Because, after all, if the ego is indeed this kind of succession of emergences of forms, the double-faced nature of good and evil, of achievements and modes of non-achievements that would constitute its type, it is hard to see what place in this there is for a discovery of the subject’s history which—if you’ll allow me to illustrate it and emphasize the opposite note—suggests, in a thousand, two thousand places in Freud’s writings, that we must consider the ego as the sum of the subject’s identifications, with all that this entails of the most radically contingent, and to put it plainly, literally, the superimposition of the different cloaks borrowed from what I would call “the bric-a-brac of his props department.”

What does experience show us? Can you really, you analysts, with full sincerity and authenticity, provide me as testimony to these superb typical developments of the ego of subjects? Are these stories for children? When we are told how this grand tree, man, develops so sumptuously through his existence, triumphing over successive trials, achieving this marvelous balance!
A human life is something entirely different. I have already written this elsewhere, in a completely different context,
in my discourse on psychogenesis. But it is worth repeating.

What do we see? Is it really a regression of the ego that comes into play at the moment when Freud avoids waking up?
What do we see?

From that moment onward, there is no more question of Freud.
He himself has called Professor M. for help because he is at a loss. However, no one will provide him with a better understanding. From that moment on, what we see is this: the three clowns who are there:
– Dr. M., a predominant personality in the milieu, as Freud calls him. I have not identified who he is, a perfectly respectable man in practical life. He certainly never caused Freud much harm. But he simply does not always agree with him, and Freud is not the type of man to easily accept that.
– Then there is Otto.
– And comrade Leopold, who has one primary advantage in Freud’s eyes: he outshines comrade Otto.

In Freud’s eyes, this gives Leopold considerable merit. Freud compares him to Inspector Bräsig and his friend Karl.
Inspector Bräsig is a clever and cunning man, but he always gets it wrong because he fails to properly observe things.
Comrade Karl, who is next to him, notices and says: “That’s not it!” and Inspector Bräsig has no choice but to follow along.
With this trio, we see a sort of broken conversation developing around little Irma, something resembling a game of interrupted remarks. One could almost say it is not far removed from the well-known dialogue of the deaf. I am summarizing because all this is extremely rich.

Around this, all the associations have emerged, showing us their true meaning.
Freud will be able to see that, as a result of all this, he is exonerated from everything.

– First, they bring up everything imaginable, and all kinds of things that, if true, exonerate Freud in the way we discussed earlier: like the leaky kettle that was returned.
– Second, they do it in such a ridiculous way that, obviously, anyone would appear godlike next to such machines of absurdities.
– Third, what we see is that these are characters who are all deeply significant, precisely in the way I spoke earlier about identification figures who preside over the formation of the ego.

Dr. M. corresponds to something that was absolutely crucial for Freud—his half-brother Philipp, about whom I mentioned in another context that he is such an essential figure for understanding Freud’s Oedipal complex.
That is to say, if Freud was introduced to Oedipus in a way that was so decisive for the history of humanity, it was obviously because he had a father, who, from a first marriage, already had two sons, Emmanuel and Philipp, of a similar age, about three years apart, but who were both old enough to each be the father of little Sigmund—born of a mother who was exactly the same age as Emmanuel.

This Emmanuel was, for Freud, the object of horror par excellence. It was believed that all the horrors were concentrated in him—wrongly so, because Philipp had his share. It was Philipp who had Freud’s old nanny locked up, a figure to whom disproportionate importance has been attached, with culturalists having attempted to annex Freud to Catholicism—an odd idea—through her.

Nevertheless, the figures of this intermediate generation played a considerable role, and it is a particularly superior form that allows aggressive attacks to be concentrated against the father, without touching the symbolic father too much—
who, indeed, resides in a heaven that is certainly not one of sanctity, but who, from the point of view of symbolic function, holds extreme importance—a symbolic father who remains intact thanks to this division of functions.

Indeed, we thus see the following occur:
– Dr. M. represents this ideal figure constituted by this pseudo-paternal image, this imaginary father.
– Otto is entirely correlated to this character who is at once familiar and intimately close, who is simultaneously a friend and an enemy, who from one moment to the next turns from friend to enemy, and who played a constant role in Freud’s life.
– Leopold, within this setup, plays the role of the useful character who always counters this friend-enemy figure, this cherished enemy who is so familiar to him.

We therefore see a completely different triad here, but it is within the dream. Freud’s interpretation helps us understand its meaning. But what is its role in the dream? It is to play with speech, speech in all its decisive and judicial value on this occasion, with the law, with what torments Freud:

“Am I right or wrong? Where is the truth? What is the fate of the problem? Where am I situated?”

Freud is quite right to interpret it this way. But what we also see, in understanding symbolically what happens from that point onward, is this: During our first analysis, with Irma’s ego, we observed three female characters,
about whom Freud says that there is such an abundance of overlaps concerning these three women,
that in the end, things become intertwined, and we arrive at I-don’t-know-what mystery.

When we analyze this text, we must take into account everything in the entire text, including what is in the notes. On this occasion, he speaks of the fact that this is the point in the associations where the dream connects to the unknown,
to what he calls its umbilicus. That is where we left off at the end of the first stage.
We have arrived at that something which lies behind this mystical trio.
I say “mystical” because we now know its meaning:
– the three women,
– the three sisters,
– the three caskets.

Freud has long since demonstrated its meaning to us. The final term and the meaning are simply death.
That is indeed what it is about, because we see it even emerging amid the noise of words in the second part.
The story of the diphtheritic membrane is directly linked to the threat posed two years earlier to one of Freud’s daughters. Concerning this terrible threat, which went extremely far, Freud felt its weight as a kind of punishment for a therapeutic mistake he had committed himself, by administering too much of a medication, specifically Sulfonal,
to one of his patients, without knowing that prolonged use of Sulfonal was not without harmful effects.
And he believed he saw in this the price paid for his professional fault.

So, let us see what happens. In the second part, the three characters who play among themselves this ridiculous game of passing the ball back and forth about the fundamental question—a question that, for Freud, is closely tied to:
– “What is the meaning of neurosis?”
– “What is the validity of my therapeutic approach to neuroses?”

…and behind all this, the Freud who dreams is a Freud searching for the key to the dream:
and why must the key to the dream be the same as the key to neurosis and the key to the cure?

What do we see happening? Just as there was, in the first stage, a sort of climax, where a peak appeared abruptly, an apocalyptic revelation of what was there, in the second part, at a moment characterized on two very curious levels: first, “we know immediately…”
unmittelbar, which alludes to something characteristic of delusional conviction:
all of a sudden, you know that it is that one who bears you ill will…
suddenly they know that it is Otto who is guilty. He is guilty because he gave an injection.
They search: propyl… propylene…

To this is attached the infinitely comical story of the pineapple juice, which Otto had given to the family the day before as a gift.
It had been opened, and it smelled of what one calls “a faint stench.” They said, “We’ll give it to the servants.”
But Freud, being “more humane,” as he says, gently remarked, “No, it could harm them too.”

From all this emerges one thing, written in bold characters, beyond the clamor of words—it is the Mene, Tekel, Upharsin of the Bible—
the formula of trimethylamine. I will write this formula for you:

This clarifies everything because trimethylamine was heavily discussed by Fliess in matters of sexual metabolism; a lot of things were said in those days.

I do not need to reread the passage that Valabrega read. This dream takes on its meaning not only in Freud’s quest:
“What is the meaning of the dream?” but also because he continues to ask himself whether all this connects with Fliess and trimethylamine. In Fliess’s speculations, this played a role at one point, concerning the decomposition products of sexual substances.

Indeed, I have looked into it: trimethylamine is a decomposition product of sperm. It is what gives sperm its ammoniacal odor when left exposed to air. It is enough to know that he attributed a role to it.

What matters is that the dream, which culminated the first time while the ego was still there, in that horrific image,
culminates the second time…
when something is present that we cannot identify otherwise than as speech itself, inasmuch as one says what is said, the universal murmur in a written formula, with its “Mene, Tekel, Upharsin” quality inscribed on the wall…
and it comes there at the end of the dream, about which I would say that we cannot read anything else into it.

Like an oracle, it does not, of course, provide an answer to anything—to the fundamental question that makes this dream, chosen by Freud as an eminent example, the one giving the solution to the meaning of the dream,
and which is indeed the question of the dream’s meaning. It cannot be said to provide the answer,
but the very enigmatic way in which it delivers this answer—namely, in the form of a formula, with all its hermetic character—
is the answer to the question of the dream’s meaning. I would say one could compare it to the formula of Islamic sharia: “There is no God but God.”

“There is no other word—as a solution to your problem—than the word.”

And this word of the problem is precisely that the word is then guided by this; we can even lean over the structure of this word,
which presents itself here in an eminently symbolic form since it is made of sacred signs.
We can rediscover them, observe them. These three, which we always encounter, are where, in the dream, the unconscious resides.

What is “outside” all subjects—let us say the structure of the dream—shows us clearly enough that it is not the pure and simple ego of the dreamer, that it is not Freud as Freud, continuing his conversation with Irma. It is Freud at the moment:
– when he has passed through the moment of major anxiety,
– when the ego identifies with the whole in its most unformed, most horrible state,
– when he has literally escaped,
– when, as he himself writes, he suddenly “called upon the congress of all those who know.”

All of a sudden, he has vanished, absorbed, abolished behind them, and something else—another voice—speaks, which is this one, call it what you will. It’s easy to play around with what is the alpha and omega of the thing—but even if we were to call it nitrogen N, the “NEMO” would still serve the same playful wordplay to designate this “subject outside the subject.” But it is still there, to designate the entire structure of the dream. What the dream shows us is this: what is at stake in the function of the dream is that something that is beyond the ego,
that, in the subject, is of the subject and is not of the subject—the unconscious, in other words.

At that point, it hardly matters that we can recall that it is this injection given by Otto, and given with a dirty syringe. One can have a lot of fun with this familiar-use syringe; in German, it carries all sorts of resonances translated into French by “to squirt.” We know well enough, from all sorts of small clues in Freud’s life, the importance of what can be called urethral eroticism. One day, when I am in the right mood,
I will show you that up to an advanced age, Freud retained something on this side that echoes distinctly the memory of his urination in his parents’ bedroom—a memory to which Erikson attaches so much importance and points out that, without a doubt, there must have been a chamber pot there, and he could not have urinated on the floor. Freud does not specify:
he does not say whether he urinated into his mother’s chamber pot, onto the carpet, or on the bare floor, but this is of secondary importance.

The important point is that this dream shows us how essential it is, in the realm of symbolic communication, for a word to pass through, whatever it may be, for the essential current of what happens at the level of everything we might call analytical symptoms, strictly speaking, to occur. Within this, we always encounter the double obstacle: the resistance of something that must be crossed, which we will provisionally call today—because it is late—the ego of the subject and their image. Undoubtedly, as long as these two interpositions offer sufficient resistance, they become illuminated, so to speak, within this current; they “phosphoresce,” they flash brightly.

This is the principle of this entire initial phase of the dream, during which Freud is on the plane of resistance, playing with his patient. And there comes a moment, because he must have gone far enough, where it stops.
Indeed, Mr. Erikson is not entirely wrong. It is because Freud is currently seized by such a passion to know what constitutes the true unconscious value of this dream, whatever its primordial and infantile echoes may be:
– this search for the word,
– this direct confrontation with the secret and significant reality of the dream,
– this search for meaning as such,

…that at one moment, and in the form in which Freud can see it appear at this original moment of the birth of his doctrine, where everything is still in chaos. It is in the midst of the chaos of all his colleagues, of the entire consensus of the Republic of those who know, that he allows—symbolized in his dream—this kind of contradictory and thus reassuring law to manifest.

Because if no one is right, everyone is right. It is in the middle of this that the meaning of the dream reveals itself,
which is essentially that there is no other word for the dream than this, which belongs to the nature of the symbolic, and that this nature of the symbolic reveals itself only in something that I want, at the end of this text, to put forward, and for which I, too, wish to introduce a reference point for you. Symbols never have anything but the value of symbols, which is something we can designate as being the characteristic of what happens in the crossing word of the second part of the dream.

In the first part, you saw what happens, and it is the most laden with the imaginary. It is there, entirely intact.
At the end of the dream, something enters that we might at first call the crowd. It is a structured crowd, like the Freudian crowd. But I would rather introduce another term, which I will leave to your reflection: “the intermingling of subjects.”

Obviously, the subjects enter and become entangled in things; this could be the first meaning. The other meaning is this: that we must always, whenever it concerns an unconscious phenomenon, consider that as soon as it is situated on a symbolic plane as such—and on a symbolic plane that, as such, we must regard as decentered concerning the psychological essence of the subject, if such a thing even exists—it always takes place at a point that can only ever be located—just as I told you speech itself is always located—between two subjects.

And yet, in part, from the moment true speech emerges and makes of the two subjects two subjects so different—if one can express it this way—from what they were before speech, although this does not really mean anything, because they only begin to be constituted as subjects of speech from the moment speech exists, and there is no before: speech is always a mediator between two subjects.