I have been reading a lot of Freud recently, in the new Penguin
translations. The previous, so-called ‘standard edition’, created under the
direction of James Strachey, was much concerned with the status of
psychoanalysis as a scientific discipline, and Strachey sought to promote this
status by coining several technical neologisms, where Freud had preferred to
adapt idiomatic German terms. Nowhere is this more noticeable than in
(arguably) Freud’s most popular book
The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, which, even on the title
page, is making a far-reaching argument: that the insights gained from treating
neurotic and hysteric patients could be applied to a general theory of mind.
The
Psychopathology of Everyday Life is also famous for introducing us to the
idea of the Freudian slip, for which Strachey coined the ugly word
'parapraxis'.
A parapraxis is a meaningful mistake, through which we reveal something unintentionally. In it, we carry out
an
unconscious intention, which manifests itself
as [a] disturbance to other,
intentional actions (p. 183); the consequence (in, for example, the variant of this process involving a memory lapse, which affects a neutral thought, but one that is linked symbolically to a repressed idea) is that
my act of volition
failed to find its target, and I unintentionally forgot one idea while I
intentionally meant to forget the other (p. 8).
The word Freud coins in German for this double or divided action is
Fehlleistung, which, as Paul Keegan
points out in his introduction,
simultaneously suggests achievement or
accomplishment (Leistung) and failure, errance (fehl-) (p. xxxviii). Keegan goes on to quote Bruno
Bettelheim on the semantic connotations of this compound word:
When we
think of a mistake we feel that something has gone wrong, and when we refer to
an accomplishment we approve of it. In Fehlleistung, the two responses
become somehow merged: we both approve and disapprove. Fehlleistung is
much more than an abstract concept: it’s a term that gives German readers an
immediate, intuitive feeling of admiration for the cleverness and ingenuity of
the unconscious processes, without the reader’s losing sight of the fact that
the end result of those processes is a mistake. For example, when we make an
error in talking we frequently feel that what is said is right, though we also
somehow know it is wrong. When we forget an appointment, we know that
forgetting it was an error, but also feel that somehow we probably wanted to
avoid keeping the appointment. Perhaps the best rendering of Fehlleistung
would be ‘faulty achievement’. [Bruno
Bettelheim, Freud and Man’s Soul
(London, 1983), pp. 85ff.]
Elsewhere, I have seen 'faulty achievement’ rendered as ‘mischievement’,
which fortuitously suggests ‘mischief’ as well as ‘mistake’. The only problem
in the new Penguin edition is that the translator, Andrea Bell, having excluded
the option of using the word 'parapraxis', has made it difficult to determine
when Freud is using
Fehlleistung, and when he is using some other
construction.
I am reading Freud as research for my novel,
Reciprocity Failure, which
is concerned (among other things) with two modernist theories of consciousness
(I know, I know, it sounds like a bestseller already). The first is that
of phenomenology, which identifies the essential aspects of consciousness as
‘intentionality’ (consciousness is always directed towards something, and is
therefore always ‘full of’ something) and ‘givenness’ (we should take
seriously how things present themselves directly to consciousness: that is, we should take appearance seriously); the second
is that of psychoanalysis, which, famously, posits the existence of an
unconscious, to which we do not have direct access. Phenomenology is very much
in the Cartesian tradition (as is existentialism, to which it is closely
related); and for Descartes, consciousness is self-evidently transparent to itself,
and is an independent realm of being. Freud offers us a radical critique of
this model of the self, even if Freud’s theory of perception is oddly indebted
to Descartes (for example, in the premise that perception happens in the mind).
Keegan’s excellent introductory essay to the Penguin edition of
The
Psychopathology of Everyday Life is both a consummate exercise in
epigrammatic style (e.g.
The this-world of the parapraxis offers only fugitive scenarios of the possible, and Everyday Life is a host of walk-ons: here comes everybody [p. xxiii]) and an attempt to restore Freud’s
text to its immediate historical context in turn of the century bourgeois
Vienna (in the process implicitly denying the text’s claims to universality).
Thus Keegan points out that the public settings of Freud’s anecdotes are train
carriages, health spas, doctors’ waiting rooms, and parlours. However, since I
am interested in Freud as a modernist, I take him at his own estimation, not as
a product of a particular historical moment, but as the creator of a general
model of consciousness.
Freud's is a modernist theory, but it is also, in a sense, the origin of the
postmodern strategies of deconstruction, whose methods are certainly derived from those of psychoanalysis. For example, it was Freud who infamously determined that whenever a patient says one thing, this may be taken by the analyst to mean the exact opposite. So one obvious interpretive move for texts written by Freud is to hoist them on their own petard and deconstruct them.
With this in mind, I am particularly interested in the question of agency in Freud. Where is agency located in the split intention of a Freudian slip, or, to put this differently, how is it possible to make a mistake deliberately? On p. 139 of
The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, Freud concludes that
A
structure of multiple stratified agencies can be seen as the architectonic
principle of the mental apparatus [emphasis in the original], alluding to the unconscious, but
this merely defers the need for an explanation. If there is a split between the
conscious and unconscious, who mediates between the two,
and determines what belongs to the territory of each?
Someone must be
doing it, and that someone must of necessity have access to both realms.
In
The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, the question of who commits the slip is obfuscated or answered with circumlocutions. For example, on p. 212, writing about
substitutions when reading a text aloud, Freud observes that
Co-operation on the
part of the verbal material alone both facilitates and limits determination of
the mistake: here, therefore, agency lies partly in the text that the slipper
misreads or mispronounces, which thereby 'assists' his hidden intention. But, cooperation with who?
Elsewhere, Freud refers to a mysterious 'censor', who is not, I think, identical with either the unconscious or the superego. Who is the censor? Who is censoring? Freud's answer might be: The question is a category error. The censor is not a person - not a 'someone' who wields agency.
So
Freud doesn’t dispose of agency; he displaces it, or perhaps misplaces it, as in the
Freudian slip itself.