Response to Commentaries

Historical Background

The challenge for Lacan was how to define an ethics specific to psychoanalysis, with its tenets of the unconscious, the organization of human behavior by symbolic systems, and the perennial problem of the divided or incomplete subject. As each commentator observes, Lacan typically follows Freud rather closely in his argument before moving into unfamiliar territory that (for better or worse) was opened up by him. Freud’s ethics were based primarily on a scientific model, avoiding what may have seemed to him purely philosophical issues like subjectivity or conceptions of human flourishing (with notable exceptions). The major assumptions of classical analysis involved a kind of biological determinism and the importance of objectivity in keeping the field of observation uncluttered.

Psychoanalysis struggled to develop a scientific identity for many years, as we can see, for example, in Heinz Hartmann’s intelligent works on health and adaptation (1939a,b), which seem so dated today. Certainly Lacan read these, as did other innovators of the period, including Fairbairn, Kohut, and Winnicott, who in their own ways also rejected biological and Darwinian approaches to human development. These analysts eschewed the theory of psychic energetics and the structural model of the psyche in favor of a focus on the subject or self, interpersonal relationships, and meaning-making (of course, I simplify). For his part, Lacan proposed a model of the coming-to-be of the subject (subjectivation) based on the real, symbolic, and imaginary registers of mental function and the fundamental role of language and speech. I suggest that these changes in different parts of the psychoanalytic world came about largely because of the intellectual and practical limitations of the scientific model. The theory lacked a firm empirical foundation, fell short in explaining human behavior and motivation, and, perhaps most important, was not so successful therapeutically. Had it been otherwise, the field of psychoanalysis would look much different today. On the other hand, many aspects of the analytic method and many concepts developed by Freud and others did achieve widespread acceptance as both therapeutically useful and helpful in illuminating human experience.

Lacan may have felt closer to Freud in his affinities than do many contemporary analysts, but he was forced by the logic of his thinking to develop a new basis for his ethics, a basis grounded in linguistics, philosophy, and anthropology. Although Lacan’s claim of a “return to Freud” is well-known, Friedman nicely delineates some of the parallels. Lacan, of course, had the larger aim of reopening a dialogue with the great thinkers and philosophers, whom we see debated and quoted throughout his seminars.

Like Lacan (and contemporary postmodernists), I see issues of human nature as incapable of being settled by science, though we do have an ethical responsibility to take its results into account. When Friedman writes that the important questions for a philosophy of human nature are factual, not ethical (if by factual he means amenable to scientific resolution), he seems to be opposing Lacan’s approach. I believe Lacan’s position is actually consistent with Friedman’s observation that “comments by one person about another (or, indeed, about oneself) are always partly expressive of perspectives, with some ethical ballast that is bound to be unloaded from the receiver” (p. 1263). That is, anyone’s comments about human nature, whether or not they refer to scientific facts, are freighted with ideological biases and messages of various kinds. As Friedman emphasizes, psychoanalysis is a form of interpersonal influence, and I don’t think we should back away from that, although we do have an obligation to understand more deeply where as a profession we are coming from. For example, I suggest that medical and scientific assumptions about health and normality continue to permeate the work to its detriment. ¹

The Nature of Desire

As each commentator emphasizes, Lacan’s Ethics centers on the complex notion of the force of desire in both analyst and patient. Neither can escape its consequences without doing violence to himself or others. As incomplete beings, both analyst and patient are caught up in reactions and communications that exceed their grasp. Wilson writes paradoxically that the analyst who excellently fulfills his function-as-analyst is the analyst who fails to fulfill his function excellently. I take this to mean that the analyst who thinks he knows and can put his finger on what is wrong, interpret where the problem came from, and realign the analysand with reality by providing interpretations or corrective experiences, or by digesting and returning a purified version of the patient’s inner experience, may be fulfilling a useful social role as a mental health professional but is not flourishing as a psychoanalyst. I doubt that any one of us believes we can or should banish all such therapeutic interventions, especially if tempered by the cautions and restraints mentioned by Friedman and Lear. We should not attempt purism as an analytic ideal, which Lacan sometimes appears to be doing, but we can maintain a dialogue with an underlying ethics in our practice.

I concur with Wilson regarding the existential reality of “lack” as the key to Lacan’s ethical position, especially in the way it relates to his concept of desire. Wilson is correct (with Kant) that an ethics of desire imposes a responsibility. As ethicists have reiterated, principles without consequences are empty, and analysts have come to accept this conclusion about various transgressions. Beyond moral responsibility for our actions, however, Lacan speaks of a kind of judgment of ourselves and others inherent in psychoanalytic practice. Wilson helps us see how judgment is tied to the ethics of desire as a kind of “self-accounting” that involves consequences in the real.

The concept of lack does not fit neatly into mainstream analytic theory in America, but it merits emphasis. Human beings are incomplete, without an essential nature that defines their identity and normality. Subjectivity comes from the Other—from outside the self, from the way the infantile body engages with a culture, a family, and language. For Lacan, this lack of intrinsic meaning, of completion and wholeness, engenders a desire that by definition cannot be satisfied (although it may be sexualized or cast in other concrete shapes).

Positing lack as the constant background of subjectivity should produce a radical humility on the part of the analyst in his self-conception and behavior with patients. But I would add that it supports a rejection of normative or medical concepts of illness and etiology, at least in the sense in which they assume an essential nature to human life that is foreign to the psychoanalytic approach (but not necessarily invalid as alternative ways to understand mental health problems). Although it is hard not to think of analysands as relatively sick or disturbed, in large part because of the education we receive in clinical disciplines, it is a damaging perspective to take as psychoanalysts.

Lacan’s not totally satisfactory theory of the subject may be his major and perhaps most difficult to understand contribution to psychoanalysis. Friedman does well to state that desire is a general motivating intention of the subject, not, for example, a specific psychosexual wish or fantasy. It may be fair to see this conception of the subject as having ancestry in Bergson’s élan vital, as Friedman speculates; however, I don’t find the concepts similar in content. Lacan does not speak of an intrinsic force but of what I would call a “developmental” process. (Lacan rejected the term development as implying a program). Desire is bound up with subjectivation, which involves effects of the real of the body (defined as what cannot be symbolized) on imaginary and symbolic selfhood (identity and language). The subject’s unconscious desire, carried with the “I” as an ineradicable goal, may be pursued, as Lear implies, but is never attained.

Ethics and Analytic Institutions

Lacan’s Ethics warns repeatedly about the moral hazards of ideological, personal, and normative influences on analytic practice. Two principal sources of ethical problems confront the analyst, both nonanalytic in origin: first, the covert influence of wishes, ideologies, value systems, and categorical conceptions on his thinking and behavior, communicated through the impact of his personality; second, more subtle institutional factors operating in terms of latent assumptions and historical choices.

Psychoanalysis has traditionally attempted to address the first hazard through the training analysis and supervision, but without necessarily having the pedagogical or philosophical tools to deal with its underlying baggage of cultural assumptions and personal fantasies. Since we use a preselection process for admissions, rather than requiring a preliminary period of analysis, it is hard to know how successfully the training analysis takes up the desire to become an analyst or preconceptions about what this role might mean to the candidate. Lear reminds us that good psychoanalysis itself offers a kind of antidote to these ethical problems. Similarly, Friedman describes the ideals of ego psychology as a radically nondirective tendency to want nothing from the patient: this is “what differentiates psychoanalytic treatment from any other human encounter” (p. 1264).

While I share Friedman’s and Lear’s views on established analytic principles and ideals, I may be a bit more skeptical than they that the interpretive discretion, careful self-analysis, and use of theory we prize is consistently the rule in our current post-Freudian absence of foundational principles. Moreover, what do we do with the fact that the most serious ethical violations seem to be committed by some of the best-trained and knowledgeable analysts? Obviously I am concerned that psychoanalysis is at risk of becoming personalized: an idealization of the great analyst, the relationship itself, or the technique. “Enigmatic signifiers” like healthy ego functioning, a damaged self, authenticity, self-disclosure, the analytic third, and the like can cover a lot of rationalization of self- promoting, doctrinaire, and normative thinking.

With regard to the second hazard, an implicit ethics necessarily influences the structure and function of psychoanalytic institutions. I refer to matters such as the selection and qualifications of candidates, teachers, and training analysts, the criteria for competence or graduation, the setup of training in the institutes, the relationship of the organization to insurance companies, participation in CME requirements, DSM criteria, and other areas where psychoanalysis intersects with public health, medical, economic, and political realities. Also we must consider the current importance of the attitude of psychoanalysis toward research and empirical validation. To me, the rationale for current policies and practices of organized psychoanalysis seems like a mixture of tradition, pragmatics, and internal compromises between factions. While no one is about to make any sweeping changes, it seems worthwhile not to avoid or gloss over the implications of these practical matters for ethical reflection. To do so would be to fall back on a defensive smugness in the face of declining status and public support.

I believe that Lacan has something to offer in considering the current state of affairs in organized psychoanalysis, even if I agree with Lear that his style is “pervaded by self-promoting theatricality and obscure sayings” (p. 1245) that make him frustratingly hard to read. I would not say, however, that he advocates “blanket skepticism” (p. 1246) or a harsh analytic superego that condemns falling short. Nor do I think he was engaged in an antibourgeois crusade in his work in terms of patient choices, except perhaps that, like many mainstream analysts, he regarded conventionality as a formidable defense. Lacan tends to be condemned for many clinical and historical reasons, but, as Robert Frost wrote, “Before I built a wall I’d ask to know / What I was walling in or walling out.” In this case, the challenges Lacan raises to traditional analytic beliefs about human development and relationships are an important factor in the resistance to his theory. ²

Lear rightly describes Lacan’s skepticism toward interpretation as an analytic tool (the word skepticism seems to pervade our discussion), and this reticence to interpret is probably one of the most important features of Lacanian analysis. What, after all, are we supposed to interpret? This is a thorny subject, with many levels, from interpreting a behavior as a reaction to a significant occurrence or commenting on a repetitive defense mechanism to deep interpretations of childhood events or fantasies. I suspect that an overemphasis on interpretation based on various theoretical assumptions is a common error in training and practice, again because we have not yet sorted out the basis (and ethics) of our work. Obviously, the use of interpretation opens the door to considerable unconscious influence by the analyst on the treatment process, just as Friedman aptly points out by emphasizing how such interventions always carry implicit messages.

I am also in accord with Lear that neutrality is an “enigmatic signifier, pointing us in a certain direction” (p. 1248). and with Friedman’s comment that such principles are ideals, not instructions. We can’t be indifferent as an objective observer might be, but we can strive to hold on to an ethical position of separateness and inability to know what is in the mind of the other, even as we deal with our entanglement and develop useful hypotheses about him or her. Excessive “psychologizing” about what is in the patient’s head or imagining a “real relationship” distinct from fantasy and transference can work against this ethical position.

Finally, I want to make a comment about my explicit suggestions for institutional reform. Although I have to concur with Lear and Friedman about the problems institutions always have and also admit that Lacan was exceptionally conscious of this problem, here I am less skeptical than my discussants. That is, what I put forward is admittedly a bit tame given the dimensions of the problem of the analyst’s desire; yet I feel that this is a good time for institutes to try some experiments and invent new procedures (and keep data about the effects). I know that many institutes have been innovating with regard to their methods and curricula, and in our present openness to change more of this is coming. I assume we can discover ways to flatten (but not eliminate) hierarchies, open training more widely, and encourage greater openness in our work. Along the way, I hope we embrace the need to reconsider the ethics of analytic practice.