Mike Donovan, Simon Fraser University

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I

In his intriguing book Civilization and Its Discontents, Sigmund Freud introduces us to the death drive or an innate aggressiveness that simmers within us but is under constant suppression from our civilization. According to this pioneering psychoanalyst, civilization crushes human nature, causes security to supplant freedom, demands conformity, and degenerates the individual into a state of agitation. But I will argue here that our innate combativeness is currently pushing back against “civilization” and will do so to a much greater extent in the future. Furthermore, this rebellion is proper, as many of the state, religious and commercial institutions we have created in the name of civil society are pernicious.

In the paper The Good Life According to Mencius, Saint Augustine and Krishna, I presented a brief portrait of the philosophies of Mencius, Saint Augustine, and Krishna. No society ever existed based purely on their conceptions of an ideal world, but their ideas—the state, church, and hierarchical industry—have mostly thrived for two millennia and were integral in the formation of our modern civilization. However if we listen to the voices of various writers from the past few centuries, we can begin to understand that these institutions are obstacles to human development and will ultimately suffer the attentions of the death drive.

II

Mary Shelley, in her novel Frankenstein, teases the Mencian thinker into suspecting he has found a 19th century ally in the philosophy of building a grand, civilized society. But ultimately she blows away his hopes with the call for “primitive” societies over large civilized ones.

1831 edition (click image for more)

First, Shelley’s entire story is one of families where the narrative repeatedly enforces the Confucian philosophy that children should honour their parents. The blind De Lacey receives unwavering care from his noble children, and Justine respects a mother who seems not to deserve it. We even see evidence of the benevolent heart propagating outwards very early in the novel that would surely be very satisfying to the Mencian adherent. Alphonse Frankenstein visits his dying friend, Beaufort, who is being lovingly tended by Caroline, his daughter, and ultimately her filial piety moves Frankenstein to wed her.

Second, the creature himself is born with intrinsic goodness and uses the vocabulary of Mencius when repeatedly referring to himself as benevolent. Furthermore, we cannot doubt the genuineness of this innate trait, for when he spots a small child falling into a stream, he hurls himself to her rescue without any pause for thought.

Third, Shelly gives us evidence that small groupings of people can exhibit goodness. A considerable number assist the Frankenstein family in their search for the missing Edward. The Irish folk gather together on the beach to confront what they thought was a murderer. Attendants rush to the aid of Elizabeth when it is too late and she is dead.

However, Shelley ultimately sways us to the view that individuals may be virtuous, and families or small groups of people can retain this decency, but larger collections of people only foul human goodness. We see Justine killed on flimsy evidence by a monstrously cruel justice system. The Turk is jailed on racist grounds. De Lacey and his children are imprisoned for months before being abandoned by society and forced to live in exile. Whole towns chuck stones at the creature. The Genevan magistrate—preoccupied with his bureaucratic tinkering—refuses aid to Victor Frankenstein.

Here, Mencius would argue that the benevolent heart needs further cultivating in order for it to reach all corners of the empire; however, we might wonder if this concept can really work in practice. Certainly we have advanced our societies somewhat since Shelley’s time, but it seems difficult to believe that a large state on the scale that Mencius envisioned could really survive solely on the principle of goodwill. Machiavelli’s coercion, domination and cruelty might do the job, but not benevolence alone.

Another social construct that relies on the subjugation of individuals is the formal church. The very founding of the Roman Catholic Church with its attacks on other beliefs should be clue enough as to its nature. We recall Augustine’s aggression against the Donatists, Pelagians, and others. But we can add to this history an entire catalogue of Christian militancy: inquisitions, witch hunts, “just” wars, and the like. The sexual deviancy that Rousseau experienced at his Catholic reform school, and he writes about in Confessions, makes the headlines even today with disturbing frequency.

While the born-again Christians appear not to understand that birth is succeeded by infancy, Freud certainly does and writes that religion fixes “human beings in a state of psychical infantilism” (22) with the intimidation of our intellects. We need not go as far as Freud in asserting that religion is a mass delusion. God may exist or not. It is enough here to recognize that—like the large political state—the Church could never exist without a measure of malice.

The church’s great cover story is, of course, the claim that love is really at the core of its philosophy; their old maxim that we must love our neighbours as we love ourselves means to illustrate this. However, supposing we can somehow ignore the historical example set by the Church, this tender advice is not particularly solid. Profound thinkers from Mencius to Freud have given it a thorough thrashing, and Dostoevsky writes, “One can love one’s neighbours in the abstract, or even at a distance, but at close quarters it’s almost impossible.” (8) We will hope to understand why this is by the end of our inquiry, but first we will move on to address the third of our counsellors, Krishna.

The Bhagavad-Gita is foremost a religious text, but it also gives an insight into Hindu society where right and wrong are not absolute but are dependent on a person’s job, rank and kinship. We probably—and derisively—think of the Indian caste system at this point; however, a close examination of our capitalist form reveals many similarities. Our society has a strong socio-economic hierarchy to it, as individual autonomy, workplace perks, benefits, remuneration, and participation in the decision-making are all stratified by job and rank. Women and minorities are on the wrong end of biases; the old boy’s network and family ties help others. To a large degree, class determines one’s place in this system. The daughter of a surgeon will probably become a doctor or lawyer; the son of a miner will probably become a blue-collar worker. Theft from the till is wrong for the retail clerk, while attorneys across the land are padding their clients’ bills. The assembly line worker never dares to be tardy while the manager strolls in as he pleases. Some give orders; others obey orders. There are still more similarities between Krishna’s words and capitalism: Which factory manager would not desire his workers to possess the attitudes of unquestioned duty and indifference to the leanness of the pay packet?

Indeed, the workplace confirms Freud’s perception that civilization imposes conformity. Thousands of franchise and corporate outlets—whether McDonald’s or Home Depot—exhibit nothing beyond sameness; the employees dress the same, behave the same, speak similarly, indeed, are made to think identical thoughts. The suit-and-tie corporate uniform has supplanted globally all local dress. Probably since the early days of large-scale trade have contemplative minds settled on a view of commerce as Mary Wollstonecraft writes: “[L]ittle can be advanced in favour of a pursuit that wears out the most sacred principles of humanity and rectitude.” (143)

How dejected poor Wollstonecraft would be today to witness the horrors of modern commercialism with its marshalling of culture, passion, and human vitality. It is doubtful that an advanced economy could thrive in a cultural environment where the children are encouraged to dance. So the children must not dance. And the usurers are plucked from the seventh circle of Hell and given the corner office next to the water cooler.

So, our ancient acquaintances, Mencius, St Augustine and Krishna, present us with a triad of harmful institutions, the state, the church and hierarchical industry; and all three constructions have been exposed to some questioning or chastisement in the last several centuries by such diverse thinkers as Shelley, Wollstonecraft, Dostoevsky[1] and Freud. The institutions, themselves, require servitude from huge numbers of people, and this is only possible through coercion, a degeneration of the intellect, and an insistence on conformity—quite the way Freud explains the dynamic between civilization and the person.

III

Freud’s analysis of civilization seems almost calculated to validate the witty aphorism of 18th century scientist Georg Lichtenberg: “The most important things are performed through tubes. Proof: the tools of procreation, the writing pen, and the gun.” (349) According to Freud, the intellect (the writing pen) forms civilization and acts as sentinel over Eros (the tools of procreation) and the death drive (the gun). It does appear, however, that our death drive—this belligerent impulse within us all—has scored some victories in combating the “civilizing” effects of church and state and has mostly freed Eros. Nowadays these old institutions largely keep their eyes away from the keyholes and their wagging fingers in their pockets. But the death drive is not content to stop with these victories and continues its hostilities towards the power structures we are considering.

The nation state is a fragile entity, always susceptible to the rebellions of people. In spots like Iraq, Afghanistan and Somalia violent opposition appears destined to forever counter its development. But in the more developed and “civilized” Europe, the states are under immense pressures of disintegration too. Yugoslavia blew apart violently, and then Bosnia-Montenegro splintered peacefully. Czechoslovakia broke into two; Belgium appears imminently headed that way. The Catalonians have gained limited autonomy from Madrid; the Scots have their own parliament for the first time in three centuries. Numerous other movements are threatening federal powers in Friesland, the Basque Country, Corsica, Northern Italy, and Wales to name a few regions. In fact, we see secessionist movements all over the globe in Quebec, Chiapas in Mexico, Tibet, and Sri Lanka.

The death drive has directed its energies at the traditional church also, and as a consequence, the Church’s power to direct our activities is on the decline. Societies in the most developed nations have, during the last few decades, drastically changed their views on unwedded parents, the rights of homosexuals, and abortion. Church attendance is down; people are getting married in civil ceremonies. The current pope made headlines shortly after being elected with the observance that the Church is dying, and people do not feel the need to have God in their lives.

Lastly, we should observe that our form of capitalism is now under attack from world populations. The business elites of the World Trade Organization, International Monetary Fund and World Economic Forum must meet within the protection of immense security. The anti-globalization protests that continually flare up around the world, the fair trade movement as an alternative to free trade, and the open-source software movement are all ultimately a rejection of economic status quo where decision are made at the top for the benefit of those at the top. And as weather systems globally become more unpredictable year on year under the strain of human economics, we can expect the backlash against corporatism and consumerism to grow.

IV

The source that invigorates these campaigns against powerful institutions can be understood as the solidarity caused by shared experiences. In order for a human bond to form, the people involved must share some kind of an experience—or at least perceive that they have shared one. Those who are the best of friends from an early age are apt to remain thus for life. Two lovers retreat from the world with not a worry or a care. Even the boxer in the ring possesses a fondness for his opponent. We must concede if Shelly had allowed Frankenstein to catch his creation in the northern poles, they would have embraced rather than throttle each other—or after throttling one another.

As we consider larger groupings of people, the notion of shared experiences is still relevant: the family shares the joys of Christmas or the stress of dad’s unemployment and becomes tighter for it; communities band together during cultural activity or in rough times such as when a natural disaster hits.

But as the groupings become larger, the shared experiences must necessarily exist as manufactured illusions, as it is more difficult for a multitude to experience the same event. So “national interests” are contrived, and a national identity is created. We are supposed to associate ourselves with dead heroes such as Tommy Douglas, or the Churchills, Lincolns and Maos of the world. The church imposes on us its common experience of life and death and puts forth its own dead in the form of Jesus, Moses and the rest. Business creates an ideology that we are all in it together, and all are benefactors of a system where someone like Henry Ford can be held up as a champion of its noble spirit.

Naturally, we would expect societies to eventually obliterate the illusions, and as we have discussed, we are seeing this now. This eventuality would have occurred sooner had we not found it necessary to choose between freedom and security. We needed to belong to a powerful country because the other guy had one and intended to use his against us. Historically we adopted the tenets of the church due to the fear of being persecuted for not adopting them or, worse, the fear of damnation. And as long as the economic system could deliver some financial benefits to us, with some acceptable degree of environmental destruction, we were hesitant to try a different route.

But once the fear of losing security is removed, the death drive is able to lash out and move us towards a position more in alignment with human nature. This involves the emasculation of the church and the geographical contraction of the state, and it will involve the reformulation of the economic system in the near future. Freud imagined a grand struggle between innate man and civilization, but this view does not capture the essence of the human struggle. Humans are naturally social creatures, and so, a societal suppression of the sex drive that might cause a man to rape a woman, or a suppresion of the death drive that might result in one person murdering another, are hardly suppresions at all. Ultimately the death drive fights against powers that corrupt our natural aims of forming societies based on real shared experiences and identities.

V

Historically, a small minority was able to exercise their death drives in coercing large numbers of people to be followers with a promise of security. Princes, religious leaders and business magnates coopted societies and moulded civilization in their eyes contrary to the natural order of people. And these tyrants demanded obedience and conformity. Power was always tenuous, as the cumulative death drives of the rest were apt to periodically resist and oust a particular leader. But revolutionary and permanent changes are underway that have been prophesied for at least two centuries. The combative drives of millions have already reduced the church to a mere ghost of its previous form. States are being resisted or scaled back where they exist in unnatural arrangements. And a large percentage of the world’s population is in opposition to the prevalent economic doctrines. In summary, the death drive is not bent on destroying civilization but rather has as its aim the reshaping of civil society into a form more in harmony with the natural order.

[1] We must keep in mind, however, that the opinions of Dostoevsky’s characters do not always reflect the author’s sentiments.

Cited Sources

Dostoevsky, The Grand Inquisitor. Trans. Constance Garnett. Hackett Publishing Company, 1993

Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents. Trans. David McLintock. Penguin Group, 2002

Lichtenberg, Sudelbücher, Frankfurt/Main, Zweitausendeins Publishers, 1994

Wollstonecraft, A Short Residence in Sweden. Penguin Group, 1987