Abstract
The correspondence of Sigmund Freud and Nikolay Y. Ossipov, a Russian psychoanalyst and emigré from the Bolshevik terror, was published for the first time in Germany in 2009. It reveals various ways in which psychoanalysis was first disseminated in Eastern Europe and sheds light on Ossipov’s contribution to psychoanalysis, especially his concept of the ego’s “cooperative complexity.” Along with viewing the correspondence as a tool capable of liberating creativity and stimulating scientific production—a perspective that may open up a new and promising research field—special focus is placed on Freud’s response to Ossipov’s efforts to expand psychoanalysis and link it with literature and speculative philosophy. A leitmotif of the letters is the freedom of science and the different reactions of the two men to the threats posed by politics. Freud’s warm and compassionate response to the precarious situation and creative efforts of Ossipov, the first analyst in exile, is examined.
When the German publishing house Brandes and Apsel published the correspondence between Sigmund Freud and Nikolay Y. Ossipov in 2009, the literary critic Martin Stingelin characterized the edition as a “subversive attempt to curtail Sigmund Freud’s authority and expressive power” (Stingelin 2010; all translations of German sources mine). Stingelin criticized the editors, Eugenia and René Fischer, Hans-Heinrich Otto, and Hans-Joachim Rothe for “dozens of transcription errors,” missing words and entire passages, etc. In the concluding remarks of his review, he states that publication of the correspondence has added much to our picture of the dissemination of psychoanalysis in Russia but has also definitely “obscured” this picture because of the negligent way in which “one of its most meaningful sources has been conveyed to us.”
In what follows I will trace the dynamics of the epistolary relationship between Freud and Ossipov and examine the theoretical and historical importance of their correspondence, as well as some aspects of its “expressive power.” So far the history of psychoanalysis in Russia has been reviewed in several important contributions (Rice 1993; Etkind 1996; Miller 1998; Tögel and Fromm 2003; Ash 2009). Among them, special attention is due to Alexander Etkind’s brilliant Eros of the Impossible: The History of Psychoanalysis in Russia, as it provides an accurate and powerful survey of this history. With few exceptions, however, notably Lothane’s work on Sabina Spielrein (1996, 1999, 2006), there has been little detailed research on the writings of Russian psychoanalysts. Ossipov’s psychoanalytic contributions are still terra incognita. Despite the considerable shortcomings of the published correspondence of Freud and Ossipov, 1 the volume, which helpfully includes facsimiles of most of the letters, presents a good opportunity not only to discover new facets of Freud’s personality and intellectual presence, but also to learn more about how psychoanalysis was disseminated in Eastern Europe—an area insufficiently researched to this day. Along with the letters, the book has a second focus that arrests the attention of the psychoanalytic researcher: Ossipov’s “Revolution and Dream,” published in 1931. Etkind (1996) calls this essay “one of the most expressive and at the same time most analytic discussions of the epoch” (p. 95).
Nikolay Y. Ossipov: From Tsarist Despotism and the Bolshevik Reign of Terror to the Freedom of Emigration
Before becoming one of the first Russian psychoanalysts, Nikolay Y. Ossipov (1877–1934) looked back on an impressive and turbulent medical career. He studied medicine at the universities of Moscow, Zurich, Bonn, Freiburg, Bern, and Basel. His understanding of medicine and, in particular, of psychiatry was deeply influenced by his Russian mentor Korsakov, who strove to liberate psychiatric patients from the stigma of insanity. The year 1911, in which the autonomy of the Russian universities was abolished, was a turning point in Ossipov’s development. In protest against this drastic measure, he left Moscow University, where he had been working at the psychiatric clinic headed by Vladimir Serbsky. In 1921 Ossipov fled the Bolshevik terror and settled in Prague, where he lived until his death in 1934.
Ossipov’s life as a Russian emigré in Prague is one of the central topics in his correspondence with Freud. Despite the hardships of exile, however, Ossipov exerted a strong influence on the development not only of Russian but also of Czech psychoanalysis. He created a strong psychoanalytic tradition in Prague and left a lasting imprint on a number of young disciples. 2 In 1922 Ossipov was offered a chair of psychiatry at the University of Brno, but he declined. Instead he became head of the outpatient psychiatric clinic at the Charles University in Prague, where he lectured on psychoanalysis.
Ossipov was a prolific author whose scientific legacy runs to sixty-seven articles and lectures. 3
“Mein Leben Ist Leer an Freuden und Voll Mit Freud”: Ossipov’s Encounter with Freud and Psychoanalysis
Ossipov encountered psychoanalysis as early as 1097. 4 In 1908 he published in Korsakov’s Journal of Neuropathology and Psychiatry his article “S. Freud’s Psychological and Psychopathological Insights in the German Literature until 1907,” a survey of German publications on Freud, followed in 1909 by the survey “New Writings of the Freudian School.” Ossipov’s first psychoanalytic article, “On Anxiety Neurosis,” was published in the same journal, also in 1909. His enthusiasm for psychoanalysis led him to found the journal Psychotherapia in Moscow, as well as The Psychotherapeutic Library, a book series he edited with Moshe Wulff and Ossip B. Felzman (Freud and Ossipov 2009, pp. 169–171). In 1911 he founded the Moscow Psychoanalytic Society and became its first president (p. 173).
Motivated by his intensive psychoanalytic reading and research, Ossipov visited Freud in Vienna on June 4, 1910. Freud’s enthusiastic comments and praise of Ossipov’s intelligence are well-known from his correspondence with Sándor Ferenczi, Karl Abraham, and Carl Jung. Ossipov translated Freud’s Clark University lectures into Russian in 1911 (Giefer 2007, CBIII/1910/8, no. 15). Ten years later, on August 17, 1921, Freud would ask his Russian colleague to translate his Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis as well: “If I could have Ossipov as a translator, I do not need anyone else” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 29).
The Correspondence Between Freud and Ossipov: Lines Intersecting
Compared with Freud’s extensive correspondence with Jung, Ferenczi, Abraham, and others, the correspondence with Ossipov may seem insignificant. In general, there has been little response to it since its publication. Most commentators have pointed out its asymmetry. One of the indicators of this asymmetry is a quantitative one: while Ossipov’s letters are “very detailed,” Freud’s are “much shorter” (Tögel 2010, p. 194). The gap between the two men in their social and scientific status is always palpable too: “On the one hand Freud, successful, productive, an acknowledged therapist and psychoanalyst, on the other hand Ossipov, a Russian exile in a difficult economic and psychological situation, living without means in a foreign country, dependent on charity and benefaction, without a familiar environment” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 178).
However, a close examination of the letters beyond these superficial criteria 5 shows that the correspondence is not as one-sided as it may seem. The letters reveal an intense interaction between the two and a rich texture structured at several intersecting levels at which both men are deeply involved.
Personal Matters
Ossipov’s letters to Freud outline “the gray background” of his immigrant life (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 51). Ossipov complains about the “Prague climate,” the hostility of Czechs toward Russian immigrants (pp. 68–69), and the fixation of the Russian exiles on the past: “their mental state contains something lethal: past, nothing but past” (p. 68). Occasionally he mentions his own ailments, including heart trouble, emphysema, and rheumatism (pp. 16, 64). But though he does not conceal his difficulties, he does not lament his personal situation: “But I do not want, dear master, to burden you with the description of my personal experiences” (p. 64). He is more concerned about his compatriots, his country, and the development of psychoanalysis.
Freud is sympathetic and commiserates with Ossipov’s situation: “I can well imagine how hard life in exile is” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 71). To lessen Ossipov’s “isolation” (pp. 42, 74), he generously offers his help—for example by recommending Frieda Teller, a member of the Psychoanalytic Association in Prague, who was able to provide Ossipov with psychoanalytic literature (p. 13). Freud urges Ossipov to “use the name” of psychoanalysis without hesitation (p. 14) and thus gives us an insight into one way psychoanalysis was disseminated in Eastern Europe.
In some of the letters, Freud and Ossipov discuss their vacations. In August 1921 Ossipov tells Freud about his forthcoming trip to Teplitz-Schönau (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 27). On August 17, 1921, Freud announces his impending journey to Seefeld, “a nice plateau with forests and a view of the mountains” (p. 29). In 1922, Ossipov sends Freud a photo of himself, to which Freud responds with humor: “In my memory you were not such a portly person” (p. 48).
But despite these brighter moments, melancholy prevails in the letters. There is considerable symmetry and even harmony between the men in this respect. Freud sympathizes with Ossipov’s sense of homelessness by admitting his own sorrow at being “uprooted” and not having a “homeland in the strict sense of the word” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 20). At the same time, Freud tries to encourage Ossipov in various ways. Especially remarkable is the high emotional intensity of the words with which he addresses his younger colleague. According to the historian of psychoanalysis Christfried Tögel (2010), Freud’s letters to Ossipov are an expression of Freud’s “distanced” attitude and even of his “typical sarcasm” (p. 194). This is hardly correct. In order to express his sympathy and solidarity with Ossipov and to enhance his optimism, Freud uses several exclamations 6 and metaphors full of emotion: “You really have an abundance of streaming inner resources” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 45). He is convinced that “the wealth” of Ossipov’s thoughts cannot be “exhausted” (p. 49), thus stressing the rich creative individuality of his Russian colleague.
So along with their tone of melancholy, the letters convey an atmosphere of human warmth and optimism. The metaphors I have cited prove Freud’s effort to liberate Ossipov’s creative energy. There is no point in separating “the personal, emotional involvement” of the authors from their scientific thought and activities, as Tögel proposes (2010, p. 194). In the correspondence, both levels are closely intertwined. The nexus between psychoanalytic correspondence (with all its specifics) and psychoanalytic creativity, and the intersection between personal, emotional relationships licensed and fostered by the epistolary form and scientific productivity, as seen in the interaction between Freud and Ossipov, open up a fascinating field for research.
Scientific Issues
Under Freud’s guidance and in the course of their interaction, Ossipov directed his creative energy to acquiring a vast knowledge of psychoanalysis and at connecting psychoanalysis with areas vital to his own inner demands. Numerous references to Ossipov’s plans and projects show that Freud’s praise of his younger colleague’s creative abilities was not just a compliment extended out of courtesy. Although Ossipov’s time and his access to psychoanalytic literature were limited, he completed several papers that show he was trying to catch up with the most advanced psychoanalytic research. 7 Ossipov was very self-critical and frankly admitted the shortcomings of his writings: “But I am well aware of the numerous defects of my paper” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 15).
Yet it is evident from the beginning that Ossipov was eager to transcend the boundaries of theoretical and clinical psychoanalysis and to expand into the vast territory of literature and philosophy. One of the most valuable aspects of this correspondence is that it reveals both the process of Ossipov’s acquisition of psychoanalytic knowledge and Freud’s response to this process and to Ossipov’s efforts to transcend and “enrich” psychoanalysis according to his own needs and with his own devices. A substantial difference between the men is voiced in 1921: whereas Ossipov, an adherent of Vladimir Karpov’s organicism, prefers comprehensive, speculative observations, Freud admits his preference for empiricism and his need for “limitation” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 24). Nevertheless, Freud does not constrain Ossipov’s philosophical impetus and even calls Ossipov’s organic philosophy “delightful” (p. 24).
In a letter to Freud written in May 1921, Ossipov states his intention to write a book on Tolstoy (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 15). Tolstoy’s Childhood Memories: A Contribution to Freud’s Libido Theory was published in 1923. It was Ossipov’s ambition to illuminate Tolstoy’s “untransparent” personality (p. 26) from a “psychological, pathopsychological, ethical, and sociological” point of view (p. 15). His comprehensive analysis was based on Freud’s libido theory and on Freud’s concepts of narcissism and sublimation, but Ossipov did not hesitate to deviate from Freud in order to decipher Tolstoy’s lifelong narcissism. In this text, he takes the liberty of presenting a somewhat wild mixture of ego concepts—“actual ego,” “ideal ego,” “sexual ego,” “supra-ego” 8 —most of them further divided into subcategories. This conceptualization of the ego is one of the significant theoretical results of this correspondence. Ossipov’s concept of the ego is marked by a diversity of aspects that is absent in Freud’s concept as elaborated in the structural model of 1923. In its plurality and profusion of roles, the ego concept found in Ossipov’s letter to Freud at the beginning of August 1921 and in Tolstoy’s Childhood Memories (1923) is a precursor of Ossipov’s concept of the “cooperative complexity” of the egos and sub-egos developed in “Revolution and Dream” in 1931.
Ossipov’s appreciation of Russian literature has left a deep mark on his psychoanalytic work and writings. But along with the interpretation of literary genres such as fables and the exploration of contemporary trends in Russian literature such as futurism from a psychoanalytic perspective (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 38), Ossipov also links psychoanalysis and literature to express his high esteem for Freud: “The poet Tolstoy and the physician Freud make extremely valuable contributions to science, to psychology” (p. 27). Indeed, Ossipov’s statement seems to approach the hagiographic when he qualifies the two as snachari, sages having mystical knowledge (p. 27). Yet Ossipov reformulates this word: first by translating it into the German for “experts,” and second by distinguishing between “bad experts” and “good experts.” To Ossipov, bad experts stick to old scientific theories they do not understand fully, whereas good experts like Tolstoy and Freud are “free from narrow scientific theories” (p. 28).
These explanations highlight Ossipov’s scientific dream, his idea of psychoanalysis as a free science without boundaries. Both the writer Tolstoy and the psychoanalyst Freud are incarnations of his scientific ideal. But Ossipov is not attracted to Freud out of blind worship. Neither Tolstoy nor Freud is sacrosanct. In fact, there is a considerable audacity in many of Ossipov’s communications to Freud—an attitude that corresponds with his ideal of a free science. In 1921 he mentions his plan to write the articles “Tolstoy and Freud” and “Dostoevsky and Freud” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 35), probably having in mind the contributions of the three men to psychology. But after his analysis of Tolstoy’s literary and psychological achievements as an expression of that author’s narcissism, wouldn’t Ossipov’s analysis of Freud’s genius be a psychopathographic study too?
Ossipov feels free to send Freud materials, 9 to communicate his own plans and ideas, and to recommend to Freud books such as Karpov’s The Fundamental Features of an Organic Interpretation of Nature (Freud and Ossipov, p. 21).
The letters reveal Ossipov’s remarkable firmness and strength of character and emphasize the close connection between scientific and personal integrity. Naturally, the correspondence mirrors scientific work as “work in progress” and shows how both scientists dealt with institutional problems and other obstacles. When in 1923 the Internationale Zeitschrift für Psychoanalyse announced Ossipov’s book Tolstoy’s Childhood Memories but changed its title to Tolstoy’s Youthful Memories, Ossipov immediately contacted Freud to explain why the original title was more adequate. In the same letter, he did not hesitate to express his deep aversion toward any form of religious intolerance 10 and his indignation at Rosa Averbuch’s “Psychoanalysis of a Court Case: On the Confiscation of Church Treasures in Russia).” Averbuch had delivered the lecture on September 7, 1922, at a session of the Kasan Psychoanalytic Society. The Internationale Zeitschrift für Psychoanalyse published a detailed report of this lecture the same year. Ossipov accused Averbuch of being biased and cynical in her “psychoanalysis” of an intellectual who had protested the confiscation of church treasures in Russia, an action being taken by the Soviet government to save the population from starvation. While Ossipov insisted on the freedom of psychoanalysis to cross the borders of literature and philosophy, with his statement that “such a reckless 11 and partisan intervention by psychoanalysis into complicated political events is at least impermissible for a scientific community” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 52), he called for strict abstinence on the part of psychoanalysis from any involvement in politics. In addition, he vehemently criticized Averbuch for having published the name of the intellectual and for having psychoanalyzed him solely on the basis of a newspaper article. According to Ossipov, these facts “cast a shadow” on the Zeitschrift (p. 52).
Political Concerns
Ossipov’s integrity and independence of judgment and character are seen most clearly at the political level of his correspondence with Freud. His descriptions of the political situation in Russia are among the most impressive pages of the correspondence. They are highly metaphorical and saturated with deep meaning and powerful emotions. But the author’s sorrow over the misery and death of millions of Russians, a fact that “poisons” his life (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 18), is not accompanied by any substantive political analysis. His response to the oppression of the human individual in Russia is undifferentiated, only emotional and metaphorical. In this connection, Ossipov quotes the writer Mereshkovski, who compared the bourgeoisie with a white reptile and the Bolsheviks with a red one: “One reptile wants to swallow the other” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 18). The human subject has no choice between the two reptiles, which are almost indistinguishable.
Ossipov’s letters to Freud show a distinct tendency: Sorrow and indignation do not lead to any concrete and deep political analysis, but give way to reflections about the tasks and value of scientific work. Science is a refuge from the whirl of political events. Ossipov insists on the total autonomy of science and on its complete separation from politics, while calling for “opposition” and “resistance” within science. When he informs Freud of Ossip Felzman’s death, 12 Ossipov outlines the characteristics of the ideal scientist: “Always witty and ingenious, always in opposition” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 18). Interestingly, Ossipov points out that despite Felzman’s great respect for psychoanalysis, he would not give it his full attention and affection precisely because of these typical and valuable traits of his character. Nevertheless, Felzman supported psychoanalysis and made an “ingenious opposition against the opposition” (p. 19).
Defending the freedom and inviolability of science, Ossipov protests, in a letter to Freud of May 8, 1922, against the anti-science measures of the Bolsheviks: “Doubtless the company ‘Nauka’ [‘Science’] has been plundered, devastated, and totally destroyed by the Bolsheviks” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 44). He repeatedly stresses his reluctance to side with any political party, yet never ceases to expose the crimes of the Bolsheviks. The formula “Blood and Lies, Lies and Blood” (pp. 57, 64) is the culminating point of Ossipov’s protest against the Bolsheviks.
Ossipov is convinced that knowledge and science should occupy a privileged place in human society. He presents a vision of a human society led by educated, free people. He condemns both the bloody methods of the Bolsheviks and the dominance of “uneducated,” “animal-like” people (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 33). Yet science without morals is unacceptable to Ossipov. Very instructive in his correspondence with Freud is his analysis of the conduct of his Russian colleague Ivan Ermakov. To Ossipov, Ermakov is “quite a talented person,” but “morally” a “mean” one (p. 31). Being an anti-Semitic “monarchist” and an “enemy of psychoanalysis,” he quickly became a Bolshevik and an admirer of psychoanalysis (p. 31). In Ossipov’s psychoanalytic ethics, there is no place for opportunism or for collaboration with the Bolsheviks.
The intersection between science and politics was scrutinized by Ossipov very closely and carefully. But how did Freud respond to Ossipov’s passionate defense of the freedom of science? Although he is much more laconic, Freud shares Ossipov’s disappointment over the difficult political situation of the 1920s. Like Ossipov, he views “the interest in psychoanalysis” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 20) as a remedy against the vicissitudes of politics. Freud’s personal response to Ossipov is warm and encouraging, but in many other respects he remains reticent. Mostly he abstains from giving radical judgments. When in 1923 Ossipov sends him an article about Alfred Adler, Freud’s reaction is indifferent and somewhat ironic: “Poor great man!” (p. 55). However, when it comes to moral integrity and the problem of freedom, Freud’s statements are marked by harsh criticism, as when, clearly with the Hapsburg Empire in mind, he accuses the Czechs of having always been “especially false” in the history of “old Austria” (p. 49). While Ossipov strongly condemned the collaboration of Russian psychoanalysis with the Bolsheviks, Freud showed some tolerance for the regime in Russia and did not feel entitled to restrict the freedom of science by denying the “Russian group” membership because of their support of the Soviet regime (p. 66). When Ossipov criticized the Zeitschriftt for having published the report of Averbuch’s lecture, Freud defended freedom of publication and energetically dismissed any kind of censorship or intervention (p. 55). 13
Freud felt there was an inseparable bond between psychoanalysis and freedom: freedom is the essence of psychoanalysis, the core of its internal logic protecting it against the dogma of any political party (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 71). Freud even assumed that the link between psychoanalysis and freedom would prevent opportunists like Ermakov from practicing psychoanalysis (p. 71).
“Revolution and Dream”: Ossipov’s “Mass Psychology”
Ossipov’s major work, “Revolution and Dream,” owes its existence to Freud’s influence and creative stimulus. It reflects the interaction between the two thinkers and the intersection of the personal, the psychoanalytic, and the political levels of their correspondence. This text, which draws an analogy between dreams and revolutions, strongly relies on Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams (1900) and Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego (1921). Since Ossipov cites The Ego and the Id (1923), his own essay can be viewed as a response to that work. Nevertheless, Ossipov’s essay abounds with new ideas betraying the influence of Russian philosophy: Karpov’s idea of the human ego as a unifying and organizing factor and Nikolay Lossky’s idea of the ego as the “substantial actor” and the real self of human beings (1935, p. 246). Ossipov’s model of the human psyche as a “cooperative complexity” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 191) differs considerably from Freud’s model of the psyche. The intricate structure created by Ossipov is based on the ego and is a cluster of numerous “egos” organized in a strict hierarchy. While Ossipov does not fully deny the role of the drives, he subordinates them to the “ego,” calling them “sub-egos.” 14 In this he anticipated aspects of the personality structure formulated by Fairbairn (1952).
In “Revolution and Dream,” “order” is pivotal. Culture is a state of order, whereas dreams and revolutions are states of disintegration and archaic regression. Ossipov views culture as a healthy limitation of the narcissism of social classes, an act that guarantees the order and harmony of society. Revolutions, by contrast, destroy the order and stability of both culture and the individual. Being a “substantial actor,” the individual is at the core of Ossipov’s philosophy. In its unity, cohesion, and high level of organization based on the ego, the individual is a stronghold against the “satanic” drives of the revolutionary masses (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 218).
Ossipov’s analogy between revolutions and dreams links individual and mass psychology, yet it demonizes the human masses. Stunningly, in this work the liberal Ossipov even discredits the slogan of the French Revolution, “Liberté, égalité, fraternité” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, pp. 195, 202). Isn’t Ossipov, then, a reactionary thinker rejecting freedom and condemning mankind to the everlasting fate of having to repress its drives for the sake of order?
Conclusion
Freedom is the leitmotif in the correspondence between Ossipov and Freud. The letters demonstrate how concerned both Freud and Ossipov were about the freedom of the individual and that of science. To ensure the intellectual freedom of psychoanalysis, Freud opted for stoic self-restraint while dealing with the Bolsheviks. Ossipov, by contrast, often engaged in fervent polemics against the Bolsheviks for curtailing the freedom of science and violating basic rights of the individual. Yet in “Revolution and Dream,” which preserves that passionate tone, a strong distortion has taken place: now the denigration of the masses is accompanied by a tremendous hypertrophy of the individual and its thorough encapsulation. Compared with Freud’s tripartite model in the structural theory, in which the ego is only one of three competing entities, Ossipov’s concept of the ego is marked by a strong imbalance and an excess of ego components and functions. Though Freud does not respond directly to Ossipov’s conceptualization of the ego when it was presented to him in August 1921, Freud may have taken it into account in his tripartite model by trying to avoid Ossipov’s one-sided fixation on the ego.
By strengthening and fortifying the ego and by assigning freedom only to the individual, Ossipov creates a gulf between the human subject and the masses. This distorted vision of freedom involves values like “hierarchy,” “order,” and “harmony,” which are typical of Ossipov’s understanding both of the individual’s psychic structure and of society. Whereas in his correspondence with Freud Ossipov took concrete historical events into account and was right to criticize the atrocities of the Russian Revolution, in his essay of 1931 he indulges in general and highly abstract assumptions based on questionable analogies leading to dogmatic conclusions such as “The development of culture is only possible in order” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 204). He equates every revolution with anarchy, 15 discrediting any social change, and—as shown above in regard to the slogan of the French Revolution—implicitly dismissing even the idea of freedom.
Thus, the dream of freedom of both parties to this correspondence is marked by ambivalence. They value and defend the ideal of freedom, education, intellectual thought, and science. Their letters reflect their concern about the political situation and suggest that Freud was not apolitical, contra such critics as Michel Onfray (2011, p. 439). Their dream of freedom is a dream of autonomy, of a science serving freedom in a domain that is free of power. Each elaborated a different model of the psyche of the modern individual and a different model of the relationship between the human subject and society, between psychoanalysis and politics. Freud refrains from radical political judgments but is realistic enough not to preclude interaction between these spheres. Yet, trusting the capacity of psychoanalysis to cope with politics, he underestimates the dangers springing from the political. Ossipov, by contrast, is well aware of these threats and passionately protests against any involvement of psychoanalysis with politics. But finally, when the autonomy of science and that of the individual prove impossible, he responds with a theory as radical as the theories he opposes.
Thus, the correspondence of Freud and Ossipov highlights the precarious situation of the individual in the 1920s and the strong interest of scientists and philosophers in the conceptualization of the ego. It shows how political concerns and emotional states like Ossipov’s preoccupation with the crimes of the Bolsheviks and with the social and political tumult caused by the revolution crystallized in psychoanalytic concepts and in conceptual discourse. It suggests the vital role of psychoanalysis in the emancipation of the human subject, the unquestionably strong humanitarian stance of both thinkers, but also the fragility of their visions of freedom.
Along with these valuable insights into Freud’s and Ossipov’s different attitudes toward the Russian revolution and divergent conceptions of the freedom of science, the correspondence illuminates not only important aspects of Ossipov’s considerable role in the promulgation of psychoanalysis in Eastern Europe, but also Freud’s warm and compassionate response to the precarious situation and creative efforts of the first analyst in exile. The assumption of the editors of the correspondence that Ossipov’s difficulties might have contributed to Freud’s reluctance to emigrate in the 1930s (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 178) is speculation. Nonetheless, Ossipov’s fate became meaningful because it prefigured Freud’s own fate and that of many of his colleagues and disciples. Yet, at the intersection of science, politics, and moral and personal integrity, as revealed in the correspondence, Freud had encouraged Ossipov: “We are all facing hard times. One has to be stronger than they are” (Freud and Ossipov 2009, p. 49).
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The author thanks Mark F. Poster for his generous help with editing and revision.
Lecturer in German Literature, University of Stuttgart; Research Associate, American Psychoanalytic Association.