PSYCHOANALYSIS.

Europe—both east and west—gave birth to psychoanalysis, but psychoanalysis eventually traveled through the whole world, and much of its history was determined by events in the United States. European psychoanalysis does have its own history, however, one that was interrupted at least three times: by World War I, by World War II, and by the 1960s.

WORLD WAR I AND THE INTERWAR YEARS

To Sigmund Freud, the Austrian neurologist and founder of psychoanalysis, it appeared as if World War I might end the psychoanalytic movement. "What [Carl] Jung and [Alfred] Adler have left intact of the movement is now perishing in the strife among nations—science sleeps" he wrote Ernest Jones, a British associate (Paskauskas, 1993; letter of 25 December 1914). Yet, the war itself provided a great inspiration to psychoanalysis in the form of the shell shock crisis. Analysis—only a decade or so old when the war broke out, and riven by schisms in the years preceding the war—nonetheless appeared vastly superior to its neurologically based rivals; above all, it accepted the reality of shell shock and provided some means of treatment. In addition, the apparent irrationality of the war, the widespread sense that events were out of conscious control, gave a new encouragement to psychoanalysis. As a result, in the last years of the war it gained both public attention and internal strength.

In 1918 the first postwar analytic congress was held in Budapest, Hungary, at the invitation of Béla Kun's communist regime, which planned to build a clinic to treat war neuroses. The Budapest Congress adopted two resolutions that shaped the postwar history of analysis: first, to prepare for "mass," that is, publicly financed, therapy, and second, to require that every analyst be analyzed. Both resolutions arose from the crisis provoked by the war. The first was based on the idea that psychotherapy should be considered an entitlement, like health care in general. As the analytic congress passed a resolution to prepare for publicly financed therapy, Freud explained: "the poor man should have just as much right to assistance for his mind as he now has to the life-saving help offered by surgery … the neuroses threaten public health no less than tuberculosis" (Freud, vol. 17, p. 167). At the same time, analytically oriented outpatient clinics, such as the Tavistock in London and Bellevue in New York, which were aimed at patients unable to afford private fees, were being founded abroad.

As a result of the resolution on mass analysis, European analysis had a socially oriented cast throughout the 1920s and 1930s. February 1920 saw the opening of the Berlin outpatient Polyclinic on Potsdamerstrasse, financed by Max Eitingon, housed in a building renovated by Freud's son Ernst, and offering low-cost, government-supported psychotherapy. Mass analysis also meant that analysts would play an educative role as part of the social-democratic culture of the time. In England and Austria, for example, the term applied analysis described analytic work in nursery schools, child guidance clinics, teenage consultations, and social work.

In addition to endorsing public clinics, the Budapest Congress also endorsed the requirement of a training analysis for every analyst. The purpose of the resolution was to secure the independence of analysis by gaining control over training and licensing. It aimed to distinguish analysis both from popular techniques, for which no training was necessary, and from psychiatry, which required a medical degree. The prerequisites for becoming an analyst, according to Freud, were "psychological instruction and a free human outlook." Many analysts had no medical degree, including Oskar Pfister (minister); Hermine Hug-Hellmuth, Anna Freud, and Barbara Low (teachers); Lou Andreas-Salomé and Otto Rank (writers); Hans Sachs (lawyer); Ella Freeman Sharpe (literature professor); August Aichhorn and Siegfried Bernfeld (social workers); and Ernst Kris (art historian).

As the war ended, interest in psychoanalysis exploded. Before the war, psychoanalysis had been effectively a Männerbund, an all-male circle centered around a charismatic father figure. (The first female analyst, Margarete Hilferding, had been admitted in 1910.) After the war, the "psychoanalytic movement," a diverse collection of national societies all seeking to turn the circle around Freud into a discipline or profession, replaced the Männerbund. The size and diversity of the movement is suggested by the first postwar congress, held in The Hague in September 1920, a meeting with the character of a reunion. Participating were 112 individuals: 62 from Austria and Hungary, 16 from Holland, 15 from Britain, 11 from Germany, 7 from Switzerland, and 1 from Poland. Four years later, the International Psychoanalytic Association (IPA) had a total membership of 263.

Stymied in their efforts to win legitimacy from the university, and capitalizing on the popularity of analytic practice, postwar analysts created a separate profession, developing a core curriculum, standardized forms of practice, and regularized mechanisms of succession to replace the committee that had been formed around Freud before World War I. To this end, they established "institutes," all-purpose centers that combined a society, a clinic, and formal training through course work, supervised clinical practice, and didactic or "training" analyses. Although an inner circle centered on Freud persisted, it became increasingly peripheral to the main thrust toward professionalization. Substantial control passed to a new generation distinguished from the Männerbund in terms of age, gender, sexuality, and political orientation.

The age differences were dramatic. Whereas Freud had been born in 1856, Melanie Klein was born in 1882, Otto Rank and Helene Deutsch in 1884, Karen Horney in 1885, Franz Alexander in 1891, and Wilhelm Reich, a prodigy, in 1897. They were all still young in the 1920s and recognizably "modern" in their sensibilities and values. Freud, by contrast, had negative feelings about such exemplary products of modernity as the radio, the telephone, film, feminism, abstract art, and U.S. culture. The distinction between old and young inflected many debates of the period, including those over brief therapy, female sexuality, and the place of the United States in the analytic movement.

The gender composition also shifted dramatically. The number of female analysts rose from two before World War I to approximately fifty in the immediate postwar period. By 1929 the majority of new trainees were women. Many had been teachers, and many were mothers. The changing gender composition of the movement encouraged a dramatic shift in its preoccupations to the mother–infant relationship, the mother–daughter relationship, and female sexuality.

The shift concerning sexuality is more difficult to trace, but two incidents of the immediate post-war period are revealing. In 1920 an openly homosexual doctor applied for membership in the Dutch Psychoanalytic Association. Its members turned to Jones for advice, and he counseled against admittance. Sachs, Karl Abraham, and Eitingon urged from Berlin that this was a matter for the individual society to determine, although they added, there should be a presumption that any homosexual was neurotic, unless analysis demonstrated otherwise. Even Sándor Ferenczi, long a champion of legalization of homosexuality, insisted that "these people are too abnormal" to be analysts. Freud, in contrast, recommended acceptance, but conceded that the matter was ultimately to be determined by the local society. In 1921, in another incident, Jones wrote Freud informing him that he was refusing psychoanalytic training to a homosexual. Freud again disagreed: "we cannot exclude such persons without other sufficient reasons, as we cannot agree with their legal persecution.… [A] decision in such cases should depend upon a thorough examination of the other qualities of the candidate" (Jones, p. 9).

Politically, the ethos of the analytic movement became more democratic. Whereas in 1910 Freud had argued for an elite "along the lines of Plato's republic," by the 1920s he advocated local autonomy, as just noted. After World War I, moreover, disagreements did not necessarily provoke schisms. Rank and Ferenczi left the analytic movement voluntarily, albeit amidst turmoil; they were not excluded. In 1927, when the International Training Commission tried to impose lay analysis on the New York Psychoanalytic Society, Anna Freud led the opposition, calling it an obvious injustice.

Before the war, psychoanalysis had been mixed up with many other forms of psychotherapy, such as mind cure, Jungianism, Adlerianism, and mental hygiene, as psychiatry was increasingly called. The revisions sparked by the shell shock experience—the theory of the ego, the idea of the death instinct, a revised theory of anxiety, a new orientation to the mother—led to a sharp distinction between psychoanalysis and the rest. While there were many ways to characterize this distinction, Freud drew the line with his assertion that the ego was the locus of resistance. Deeply rooted in his thought, this idea became central to modernist culture, as well as to the practice of psychoanalysis itself. If, as is often said in the early twenty-first century, psychoanalysis is "pluralistic" or "polycentric," that it has no agreed-upon core theory, until the end of the 1960s, it did have a core theory: it was the theory of the analysis of the resistance or negative transference. No other therapy did this, at least not in a systematic fashion. This was why there was psychoanalysis at all, and not just psychotherapy.

After the rise of the Nazis, refugees took the analytic theories of the 1920s and 1930s—the so-called structural theory—to the United States where it was termed "ego psychology." But the true beginnings of ego psychology were in postwar Europe. There were several different centers, each with different variations.

Supported by government funds and recognized by the medical community, the Berlin Psychoanalytic Institute, run by Abraham, Eitingon, and Ernst Simmel, was the flagship for the entire movement. Benefiting both from proximity to and distance from Vienna, and sponsoring the influential Kinderseminar, the discussion group of younger analysts such as Otto Fenichel, Käte Friedländer, Edith Jacobson, and Georg Gerö, the institute pioneered in ego psychology. Berlin also housed the Verlag (the psychoanalytic publishing house) and the Internationale Zeitschrift für Psychoanalyse (International Journal of Psychoanalysis), edited by Sándor Radó.

Along with Berlin, international analytic politics took shape around the London and Vienna Societies. The British Psychoanalytic Society, with about fifty-five members, housed Jones, a central figure in the IPA who maintained close relations not only with Sigmund and Anna Freud, but also with the far-flung parts of the ex–British Empire, especially the United States. It benefited from a relatively democratic and woman-friendly environment and was also associated with a substantial publishing effort: Leonard and Virginia Woolf's Hogarth Press, which published the English edition of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis, the English translations of Freud, and the International Psychoanalytical Library. Reflecting its inaugural place in the history of psychoanalysis, Vienna produced ego psychology's definitive formulation, Anna Freud's The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defense (1936).

Alongside Berlin and Vienna three important variations of European ego psychology emerged in London, Paris, and Budapest. In London, Klein proposed an object-relational view of the ego. Developing an ethic of responsibility, rather than an ethic of justice, providing what some have called a feminine alternative to Freud, Klein's thought resonated with a new, middle-class orientation to the problem of building up and sustaining personal relations, as opposed to the problem of autonomy implicit in the theory of the Oedipus complex. In Paris, Jacques Lacan developed a second alternative to ego psychology in his famous "mirror stage" article. According to Freud, "where id was there shall be ego" defined analysis, but Lacan insisted (cf. Ercits) that the ego or "I" was a defensive response to the traumatic discovery of emptiness, an imaginary "crystallization or sedimentation of images of an individual's own body and of self-images reflected back to him or her by others." Finally, in Budapest, Ferenczi argued that the original state of the neonate was one of expecting to receive without having to give anything in return. Passive receptivity, not agency, was the driving force of development, and a "corrective emotional experience," not insight, was the means of cure.

The great debates over female psychology in the interwar years also were debates over the development of the ego. Ego psychology, beginning during World War I and marked especially by Otto Rank's The Trauma of Birth (1923), took psychology back before the Oedipus complex to the early relationship with the mother, what later came to be called the pre-Oedipal stage. This raised the question of what difference the early mother–child relationship made to sexual development—especially to object choice—in both sexes. For the boy, it was clear that the early relationship to the mother generally preceded a female object choice. How, however, did the girl come to form a male object choice, given that her earliest relations were with the mother? All the debates over "penis envy," and over whether females followed an "autonomous" line of sexual development were efforts to answer this question. Autonomy—the goal of analytic ego psychology—also rested on the relationship to the mother.

WORLD WAR II AND THE IMMEDIATE POSTWAR YEARS

Psychoanalysis thrived in the interwar years until, in 1933, the rise of the Nazis destroyed its main society—in Berlin—and much of its self-confidence. As fascism triumphed, psychoanalysis crumbled. The Paris Psychoanalytic Society was abolished when the Nazis entered Paris. Italian analysis was put out of business by the anti-Semitic laws of 1938. In the Soviet Union, Stalin had condemned analysis in 1927, but after the Nazi victory analysis was banned. Hungarian analysis passed into "non-Jewish" hands; meetings had to be reported to the police in advance. In the Netherlands, training continued in secret. Only in neutral Switzerland did analytic societies continue to operate openly.

Most poignant, certainly, were the experiences of analysts and analysands in concentration camps. Some struggled to maintain an analytic perspective even there, thus testifying to the ability of the analytically oriented to suspend consideration of the immediate environment. Many analysts perished. After the Germans invaded Hungary in 1944, Jószef Mihály Eisler (a member of the Hungarian Psychoanalytic Society since 1919), Miklos Gimes, Zsigmond Pfeifer, and Geza Dukes died in the camps. The Yugoslav analyst Nikola Sugar, also a member of the Hungarian society, died at Theresienstadt. David Oppenheim, a classics teacher with whom Freud had cowritten his first piece on folklore and who left Freud over the Adler controversy, was murdered in a camp. Auguste Watermann had fled Hamburg in 1933, but was never fully accepted by the Dutch Psychoanalytic Association. After the Germans invaded Holland, he was arrested with his wife and child and deported to Vreemdelingen at Westerbork, then to Theresienstadt, then to Auschwitz, where all three were killed. Ernst Hoffman, a Jew from Vienna, had fled to Antwerp in 1933 and trained the future founders of the Belgian Psychoanalytic Society before he was deported in 1942 to a camp in Gurs, France, dying soon after. Sabina Spielrein was shot to death during a forced march, along with her two daughters, in a ravine outside Rostov. Fugitives from German occupation forces included Leo Eitinger in Norway and Hans Keilson in the Netherlands. Camp survivors included Eddy DeWind, Elie Cohen, and Viktor Frankl. Leopold Szondi, who coined the term destiny analysis, survived Belsen and lived until 1986. Raoul Wallenberg's intervention saved the Hungarian-Jewish analyst István Hollós. Gottfried R. Bloch, a Czech analyst, survived Auschwitz and later lived in Los Angeles. John Rittmeister, a communist psychoanalyst and member of the Resistance, executed by the Gestapo in Berlin in 1943, was remembered by East Germans as a hero and by West German analysts as a Bolshevik spy. Nevertheless, it should be said that while Nazism destroyed many analytic societies, its refugees also created new ones—in Palestine, South Africa, and Argentina and ultimately throughout Latin America.

World War II moved the center of gravity to the United States. Nevertheless, one European society had prospered during the 1930s and had survived the war: the British Psychoanalytic Society into which Klein introduced her pioneering innovations and to which Anna Freud and many other analysts had fled in 1938.

Klein was born in 1882 in Vienna, was analyzed by Ferenczi in Budapest, and studied with Abraham in Berlin. There she had been one of the first to practice analysis on children, whose "presenting symptoms" were typically problems at school. Viewing early learning as directed at the mother, she interpreted inhibitions on learning as resulting from the child's fear of retaliation for what the child perceived as its hostile wishes. From this Klein concluded that the mother, not the father, was the original authority figure. In the late 1920s, Klein began developing an alternative to the Freudian paradigm.

Klein's key move was her insistence, contra Freud, that the superego originated in early representations of the mother, long prior to the Oedipus complex. This innovation had far-reaching implications. First, it implied that the conflicts that were formative for the individual were often very primitive, closely tied to biological survival. This represented a major departure from Freud, for whom material frustrations became meaningful only later, after they had been reconfigured as moral imperatives.

Second, Klein's view of the inner object world was strikingly different from Freud's. In Freud's, there was always a third term—the superego—that stood apart from the ego and judged it. For Klein, in contrast, all relations were saturated with ethical and moral content, but there was no independent or impersonal viewpoint. Rather, the Kleinian inner world was a complex, three-dimensional, differentiated landscape of gratifying and frustrating, rivalrous and supportive, "part" and "whole" objects. The result, Klein claimed, would be "a new understanding of the unconscious and of internal relationships as they have never been understood before apart from the poets."

Finally, Klein's view implied a different diagnosis of the fundamental problem facing modern men and women. For Freud, the key problem had been to strengthen the ego so as to give the individual some freedom from the superego, from the demands of the id, and from society. For Klein, in contrast, the problem was to build up an internal world of whole objects, that is, to forge and sustain personal connections.

The predominance of the U.S. analysts after 1945, and the intolerance with which they treated Klein, meant that her thought remained isolated for a long time. After World War II, the Americans sponsored a revival of analysis in Europe, more or less as part of the Marshall Plan. Ego psychology, now understood as an American innovation, returned to Europe—an example of what has been termed the "pizza effect," the invention of some item or idea in Europe, its export to the United States, and its return to Europe as if it were American. The new or rebuilt European societies often followed the American lead, although there were many exceptions. In Germany, the real successor to psychoanalysis was the Frankfurt School critical theorists, especially Alexander Mitscherlich, whose The Inability to Mourn (with Margarete Mitscherlich; 1967) applied analysis to Nazism and German nationalism. The most important exception, however, was Lacan, who emerged with Sacha Nacht and Daniel Lagache as one of a troika that ran the reconstituted Paris Psychoanalytic Society and who found a way to make Freud a major figure in French thought.

Freud had described the ego as a psychical agency, originating in the systems of perception and consciousness, and serving the drives toward self-preservation and sexual release. Beginning with his famous "mirror stage" lecture, delivered to the IPA's Marienbad Congress in 1936, Lacan rejected Freud's characterization of the ego as an agent. Psychical development, Lacan argued, began not with agency but with primal lack, terror, or the emptiness of nonexistence. The "ego of narcissism," as Lacan called the "I," was a defensive response to the traumatic discovery of this emptiness, an imaginary construction, a "crystallization of images." Having no basis in the organism's instinctual drives, it was better thought of as an object than an agent.

Deriving his basic orientation from surrealism, which characterized the unconscious in linguistic and imagistic rather than instinctual terms, Lacan described the ego of narcissism as born into discourses, meaning unconscious, multivoiced, streams of associations governed by their own rules of exclusion, prohibition, and privilege. Examples of discourse include the "name of the father," the "desire of the mother," and larger, social discourses such as those of religion, nationality, and politics. Seeking to rescue the unconscious from the prevailing "confused, unitary, naturalistic conception of man," Lacan defended Freud's death instinct hypothesis as a reminder that "in man, there's already a crack, a profound perturbation of the regulation of life."

In his 1953 "Rome Discourse," a private lecture given to friends and associates in the midst of an official analytic congress, Lacan contrasted his notion of an ego adrift in discourse to both American ego psychology and British object relations. Emigration to America and "the absence of the social 'resistances' in which the psychoanalytic group used to find reassurance," he argued, had led ego psychologists to repress the "living terms" of analytic experience; they had become obsessionally preoccupied with technique, "handed on in a cheerless manner." And while the Kleinians had opened up important new areas, such as "the function of the imaginary" (phantasy), object relations (existential phenomenology), and countertransference (the analyst's transference), the naturalistic British emphasis on dependency and maternal care also vitiated Freud's discovery.

THE CRISIS OF THE 1960S

After the two world wars, the 1960s represented the third great crisis in the history of European psychoanalysis. The cultural revolutions of the 1960s—the New Left, the women's movement, gay liberation—were really attempts to act out and to politicize many of the questions of sexuality and personal identity that psychoanalysis restricted to the consulting room. Many attempts were made to combine psychoanalysis with Marxism; others criticized psychoanalysis for its sexism, homophobia, and medicalizing authoritarianism; and a host of new psychotherapies arose that promised to replace psychoanalysis, often drawing on its theories.

Lacan was the main European figure to survive the upheavals of the 1960s. Preaching a "return to Freud" he rejected the U.S.-dominated analytic establishment arguing that "l'analyste ne s'autorise que de lui-même" (the analyst does not authorize himself). One result was le champ freudien, the freeing of psychoanalysis from medicine, and its integration into the social, cultural, and lifestyle changes that characterized the 1960s. Claiming to replace René Descartes's cogito, or "I think," with ça parle, where ça meant language, Lacanianism articulated the growing sense that it was through media images and discourse, rather than the work-place, that social domination was secured; in other words, Lacan believed that language determined human actions, and not the reverse. By 1974, there were three important French analytic groups, each with its own journal: the official Société Psychanalytique de Paris (the aforementioned Paris Psychoanalytic Society; publisher of Études freudiennes), with nearly five hundred members, among the largest analytic societies in the world; Lacan's École freudienne (publisher of Scilicet); and the French Association for Psychoanalysis centered around Jean LaPlanche and Jean-Bertrand Pontalis (publisher of the Nouvelle revue de psychanalyse). New thinkers, such as Didier Anzieu, Piera Aulagnier, Janine Chasseguet-Smirgel, and André Green, expanded the parameters of both analysis and philosophy. In 1994, when official membership in the IPA was less than nine thousand, about three thousand of whom were North Americans, France boasted about five thousand non-IPA analysts, four-fifths of them Lacanian. Much of Lacan's influence was in the Catholic world—such as Italy, Spain, and Portugal—where the clerical establishment had successfully resisted the influence of analysis earlier.

The British Psychoanalytic Society also survived the 1960s but with nothing like the influence of the French. At the end of the war, the members had mooted their differences by forming three training paths taught by associates respectively of Klein (Group A), Anna Freud (Group B), and a Middle or Independent Group, which included such figures as D. W. Winnicott, Michael Balint, and W. R. D. Fairbairn. Often touted as a triumph of English rationality, moderation, and compromise, the solution had the effect of further marginalizing Klein's thought. The same centripetal tendencies that brought the society's members into a powerful but short-lived alliance during the war propelled them into disparate, centrifugal orbits afterward, its leading members turning to criminology, ethology, psychiatry, and the writing of memoirs. By the end of the century the still-vital British society had 405 members out of a population of 60 million: one of the thinnest ratios in the developed world.

The 1960s also produced a kind of normalization of the Jewish origins of and influence on psychoanalysis. For one thing, Jewish analysts had always refused to allow the IPA to meet in Germany. In 1985 they relented. An exhibit illustrating the history of the Göring Institute dominated the meeting, held at Hamburg. A German analyst remarked, "Thank God that you have been willing to come; for forty years we have been living alone with our shame." Even so, the Jewish question remained symptomatic for some. Thus the English/Punjabi analyst Masud Khan's 1988 autobiography, The Long Wait, describes Khan exulting at throwing off his "Yiddish shackles," and complaining that the "Judaic-Yiddish-Jewish bias of psychoanalysis" had always cramped his "personal ethnic style."

Normalization progressed in other senses as well. In 1979 the profession founded an internal historical organization led by Alain de Mijolla, even as its larger history was being written by outsiders, such as Paul Roazen, Henri Ellenberger, Peter Gay, Michael Molnar, Elisabeth Roudinesco, Frank Sulloway, Alexander Etkind, and Carl Schorske. New journals, notably Psychoanalysis and History (first published in 1988), replaced hagiography with established methods of historical research. The British, French, and German societies built major research collections.

But what, actually, is meant by normalization? Perhaps more than many other histories, the history of psychoanalysis is punctuated by traumas: that is, by catastrophes that remain "actively vital and yet incapable of resolution." These include personal violations, misshapen lives, wasted years, destroyed documents, secret archives, forgotten lapses, and ruptures. Normalization has not unfolded smoothly. The most explosive example of this has been the attempt to understand the weak response of analysts to the Nazis and, indeed, to the Holocaust itself.

Prior to the 1960s, acceptance by the IPA had been taken as proof of a "place among the persecuted" for German analysts, thus allowing them "to escape from the burden of [their] national past." When activists of the late 1960s became analysts, however, that cover became subject to critical scrutiny. In 1980, at a conference at Bamberg, Germany the younger analysts exploded: "Who was your analyst?," "What were you doing?," "From what has come this feeling of mysteries, lies, the pathology of the reality sense?" Helmut Dahmer, Regine Lockot, Geoffrey Cocks, and others unearthed the history of the Göring Institute and the exclusion of Reich. In 1997 a leading German analyst, Werner Bohleber, explained the absence of important theoretical developments in post-1960s German psychoanalysis by the fact that German analysts remained so utterly preoccupied with their past.

The samizdat and other anticommunist movements that triumphed in 1989 allowed another broken cord of analytic history to be picked up. In the Soviet Union in 1979 Aron Belkin drew on analysis to explain the national malaise, suggesting that "identification with the Supreme Guide [Stalin] had crushed the family father figure, forced the individual to regard as diabolical any alternative … and eventually caused the death of thought." Eugen Kogan described "the obsessive identification with the father who had disappeared, the feeling of shame towards the father who had been deported or eliminated as an enemy of the people, and the solitude and wanderings of the son." Under Mikhail Gorbachev's program of glasnost (openness) starting in the mid-1980s, Freud's works were published in Russian for the first time since the early 1930s. Andrei Zagdansky's 1989 film The Interpretation of Dreams celebrated the event by counterposing readings from Freud's texts with archival film from Soviet history.

In its great days, European psychoanalysis had stood at the confluence of two distinct currents. One was scientific. Its most important point of reference was the Darwinian vision of the human being as an organism driven by internal needs that it sought to satisfy in specific environmental settings. This current expressed itself in the close relations between psychoanalysis and neurophysiology, for example, in the idea that the instincts were on the "border" between the soma and the psyche, or in the idea that the mind discharged tension or acted reflexively in ways that were similar to the nervous system. It also led to the view that such characteristics of the psyche as the developmental stages of sexuality, or the functions of the ego, were the product of a long evolutionary history, the continual adaptation of inner and outer realities.

The other stream was humanistic. Its most important expression had been the analytic focus on the moral struggle of the human being, a struggle that arose in relation to the parents and that ended in the confrontation with death. This stream drew on literary sources such as the Hebrew Bible and the Greek tragedians, on William Shakespeare, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and on modernist literature and philosophy, even when psychoanalysis disavowed them; and it also responded to the need for an everyday or "folk" understanding of psychological life. Freud fused these two currents into an extraordinary new synthesis, neither wholly scientific nor wholly humanistic. What made this synthesis both coherent and compelling was the discovery of a new object: the idiosyncratic, meaning-saturated, morally inflected psychical life of the human being.

Always embattled, the psychoanalytic conception of the human subject had been drastically weakened during the 1960s. That project had drawn its strength from its ability to integrate its scientific and its humanistic currents. In the 1970s these currents parted ways. Psychoanalysis divided into two divergent projects, a quasi-medical therapeutic practice aimed at treating mental and emotional disorders and a set of new approaches to the study of culture. The two new projects—the "therapeutic" and the "hermeneutic"—underwent separate development. The scientific lineage of psychoanalysis gave way to neuroscience, brain research, and psychopharmacology, at first in the United States and then, more slowly, elsewhere. The humanistic and literary lineage gave way to cultural studies, feminist theory, "queer" theory, and to the study of identity, narrative, and representation. The ethic of self-reflection fell away entirely, as new versions of mind-cure "empowerment" triumphed. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the future of analysis remained in doubt.

See alsoFreud, Sigmund; War Neuroses.

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Eli Zaretsky