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Affects, Psychoanalysis, and Neuroscience:


Commentary by Clifford Yorke (South Moreton,
England)
a

Clifford Yorke
a

Fieldings South Moreton, Nr Didcot, Oxon 0X11 9AH, England, e-mail:


Published online: 09 Jan 2014.

To cite this article: Clifford Yorke (1999) Affects, Psychoanalysis, and Neuroscience: Commentary by Clifford Yorke (South
Moreton, England), Neuropsychoanalysis: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Psychoanalysis and the Neurosciences, 1:1,
60-69, DOI: 10.1080/15294145.1999.10773247
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15294145.1999.10773247

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60
D. F. Barone, M. Hersen, & V. B. Van Hasselt. New
York: Plenum Press.
- - Bond, J., Brakel, L. A. W., Hertel, R. K., &
Williams, W. J. (1996), Conscious and Unconscious Processes: Psychodynamic, Cognitive, and Neurophysiological Convergences. New York: Guilford Press.

Clifford Yorke
Howard Shevrin
University of Michigan Medical Center
Riverview Building, 900 Wall Street
Ann Arbor, MI48105-0722
e-mail: shevrin @ umich. edu

Affects, Psychoanalysis, and Neuroscience


Commentary by Clifford Yorke (South Moreton, England)

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I
When I was still a student, I had the temerity to speak
during a discussion, at the British Psycho-Analytic Society, of a paper that touched on the subject of affects.
Although I had read a good deal of Freud I was, perhaps, unduly influenced by Rapaport (1953) and others when I asserted that the understanding of affects
was perhaps the weakest part of the psychoanalytic
theory of the way the mind worked. No one contradicted me, and no psychoanalytic elder pointed out
that a firm foundation for a psychological theory of
affect already existed in Freud's writings. As my acquaintance with Freud deepened, and I began to know
better, I looked back on the episode with some astonishment.
It might be thought that the uncritical reaction to
my ill-judged assertion was due to a reluctance, on
the part of the enlightened, to contradict a student,
however callow, who had dared to take part in open
debate. That is unlikely: It would surely have been
more helpful to set to rights such a wrong-headed declaration. It began to dawn on me that the plain fact of
the matter was that no one knew I was wrong. How
can this be explained?
Solms and Nersessian are surely right when they
say that Freud's theory of affects is scattered throughout an extensive literature covering some 40 years of
experience and reflection, and that no single work is
devoted to a full exposition of its fundamental judgments and concepts. That would certainly account for
some of the misunderstandings, though not perhaps all
the misrepresentations. Some of the latter have come
from willful distortions of Freud's thinking by those
who come from outside the profession and who, for a
Clifford Yorke, F.R.C.Psych., D.P.M., is a Training and Supervising
Analyst, British Psychoanalytic Society.

number of reasons, wish to blacken his character or


transmogrify his ideas. Detractors of this kind need not
concern us here. More important are the uninformed
criticisms that come from inside the discipline; and in
this connection we have to ask ourselves whether there
are reasons for the misrepresentations other than those
put forward by the authors of the outstanding, summarizing paper with which we have been presented. I
believe there are.
The fact that affects, and the anticipation of them,
so often function as motivators has led many analysts
to believe that their link with those activating forces
that Freud called drives can be jettisoned. Freud's concept of drive (Trieb) has been under fire, for very many
years, for reasons that call for closer consideration
than this occasion permits (Strachey translated Trieb
as instinct, but drive is preferred today).! Many psychoanalysts have no difficulty in recognizing manifestations of aggression and sexuality, but seem not to
understand the concept of drives by which Freud
sought to explain their motivating power. It is widely
believed today that affects can replace drives rather
than be linked with them. If Freud's theory of affects
is misunderstood, so is his theory of drives. So I want
to underline, in the course of what follows, his definition of drives as emphasized by Solms and Nersessian
in their paper, adding one or two points. However,
a few remarks seem in order that apply, within the
profession, to a good deal of Freud criticism in general
and not simply to the more specific issues of drives
and affects.
1 Many practicing clinicians are satisfied with a clinical theory that
appears to help them to understand their patients better without recourse
to the theory of mind that lies behind it. Freud's theory of mind is known as
metapsychology because it goes beyond the consideration of consciousness
alone-the exclusive concern of many preanalytic psychologists. It is a
theory at a higher level of abstraction than a clinical theory (Freeman,
1992, 1995; Yorke, 1995, 1996).

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Commentary on Emotions: Neuro-Psychoanalytic Views


In many psychoanalytic societies, Freud's work
is badly taught. Fewer and fewer analysts who make
themselves available for teaching understand him sufficiently well to guide the student through his writings
or act as mentors. Furthermore, students are often told,
not only that Freud's ideas are in many respects old
hat (as if any idea or concept is vitiated simply by the
passage of time), but also that they have been replaced
by later "contributions" to psychoanalysis. "Of
course, we don't think that way any longer" is heard
time and again at lectures and seminars. Certainly,
there have been many important advances since
Freud's day (of which child analysis has often been
a fertile source), though few of these contradict his
fundamental assumptions or conclusions. He himself
always thought his ideas open to modification and
even replacement in the light of further discoveries.
Indeed, he changed his theory of anxiety (Freud 1926;
see below), but he did not, in my view, thereby change
his understanding of what Solms and Nersessian have
called the' 'why" and the' 'how" of affect. The basic
principles of his affect theory stand up remarkably
well nearly 60 years after his death.
There is a further point that is all too readily
overlooked. Freud is regarded ambivalently by many
psychoanalysts for whom, after all, he is a professional
father figure. They will often proclaim or imply a love
for him while, at the same time, wanting, often unconsciously, to get rid of him. It cannot be said that a
personal analysis invariably does away with all manifestations of the Oedipus complex. Shengold (1993)
has written very tellingly about this matter. At any
rate, many Freud critics are essentially destructive for
reasons that have nothing to do with disinterested scientific assessment.

II
The paper by Solms and Nersessian does what has not
been attempted before in bringing together the essentials of Freud's contributions to the subject of affects
in a remarkably succinct, predigested, and readily assimilable form. It is set out in a way that greatly assists
comprehension, and it gives a singular opportunity for
those who wish to further their understanding of his
theory, whether or not they agree with all that is said. 2
2 This demands that the psychoanalytic reader can overcome any
marked ambivalence to Freud and is unlikely to transfer it to the authors.
The neuroscientific reader may not regard Freud as a paternal progenitor,
even if he admires his preanalytic work in the field, and may be spared
this requirement.

61

One of its virtues is its helpful division under appropriate and logically arranged headings. It is also of
great assistance to the reader that Panksepp, in his
commentary, has followed a comparable structure.
Each division of the paper ends with a number of
questions addressed to the authors' neuroscientific respondent, and by following a similarly systematic organization, Panksepp' s replies facilitate the reader's
task in following them. For my own part, my comments are too selective to allow me to adhere to that
elegant design. It should be understood that I write as
a psychoanalyst with no claim to neuroscientific expertise.
I find the target paper strikingly clear, and entirely successful in pointing to the cogency of Freud's
main principles. Although some of the points could be
enlarged on, it is surely right that the authors stick to
essentials and do not attempt to go beyond the necessities of a general exposition. Further enlargement
would, for present purposes, be supererogatory; and I
find nothing fundamental missing from the summary.
The fact that Freud's formulations were not, as the
authors' say, always consistent, is a matter for historical survey, but not for closer consideration in the present context. The questions put for the deliberation of
neuroscientists are not ones that I can readily evaluate,
but their paper provides all the psychoanalytic material that our colleagues in that discipline need to keep
in mind when attempting to address them.
As far as I can judge, Panksepp's extensive response to these questions is remarkably thorough and
carefully considered, and I found his paper richly informative. Still, we have to remember that, when talking across disciplines, it is vital that those who do not
share, in depth, a psychoanalytic background scrutinize any succinct summary with the greatest care if
misunderstandings are to be avoided. Panksepp is very
receptive to Freud's conceptual thinking on affects
though, understandably, he wants to see them verified
by research. He is appreciative of the contribution by
Solms and Nersessian, but at one point he avers: "At
present, the Freudian 'drive' concept retains little
value, and in my estimation, should be put to rest."
He also says that the term drive "has been used in
too many ways in the history of psychology to be
resurrected as a major explanatory concept in any system." Surely, though, it is the way Freud used the
concept that concerns us in this particular exchange
of ideas. And, in that regard, I think Panksepp has not
fully understood the meaning and significance of that
usage. It is of great importance to look very carefully
at the paragraph in which Solms and Nersessian pro-

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62

vide an orientation to Freud's affect theory, before


seeking further clarification of the concepts in the
elaborations that follow. It states that the task facing
what Freud called the "mental apparatus" is to meet
the imperative internal needs of the subject in a changing and "largely indifferent" external world. These
needs "are expressed through 'drives': quantitative
demands on the mental apparatus to perform work
(i.e., to bring about the specific changes that are necessary to relieve current internal needs" (emphasis
added). That is a fundamental point of departure.
Later, this statement is enlarged through a quotation
from Freud (1915a) emphasizing that it is the psychical representatives of the' 'stimuli arising from within
the organism" [drives] that are a "measure of the
demand upon the mind for work in consequence of its
connection with the body" (p. 122; emphases added).
And it is the word measure that points to the quantitative aspect, the fluctuations of which underlie the pleasure-unpleasure principle. It is precisely this link with
the drives that so many contemporary theorists deny.
In a happy phrase, Solms and Nersessian refer to the
"regulatory mechanism [by which] value is assigned
to mental performances" and go on to describe the
"formula" by which the pleasure principle operates.
The concept of "drive" has been so widely misunderstood, perhaps in both our disciplines, that some
reemphasis and slight elaboration may be helpful.
Freud held firmly to the view that the nature of the
drives cannot be known. "We regard instinct [drive]
as being the concept of the frontier-line between the
somatic and the mental, and see in it the psychical
representative of organic forces" (Freud, 1911, p. 74).
He expressed himself in similar terms in the author's
quotation (Freud, 1915a, p. 122), which, if given more
fully, also includes a reference to the frontier between
mind and body from which the drives originate.
Although Freud's theory of drives was not without revisions (most notably in affording aggression a
comparable status to libido, [Freud 1920, 1923]) he
made no fundamental change in his view of the nature
of the drives even after his introduction of the structural theory (1923). And since Panksepp uses the term
id without demur, it may be worth adding a word or
two about the way in which Freud understood drives
in relation to that structure. In An Outline of PsychoAnalysis Freud (1940) spoke of the id as follows:
It contains everything that is inherited, that is present
at birth, that is laid down in the constitution-above
all, therefore, the instincts [drives], which originate
from the somatic organization and which find a first

Clifford Yorke
psychical expression here [in the id] in forms unknown to us [po 145; emphasis added].
The forces which we assume to exist behind the tensions caused by the needs of the id are called instincts
[drives] (original emphasis). They represent the somatic demands upon the mind ... they are the ultimate cause of all activity... [po 148; emphasis
added].

Whatever other concepts Freud felt compelled to


change or modify, on this particular matter he was
unwavering. Affects repeatedly lead to activity, but
they are not the ultimate cause of it. Panksepp speaks
of "id energies" as "a new catch phrase" but seems
prepared to accept such a concept providing it can be
evaluated with "concrete neuroscientific hypotheses," and adds that, "by linking Freud's ideas to neural systems ... there are credible empirical ways to
proceed. " It is worth asking how far the phrase id
energies differs in meaning from Freud's term drives.
If it means that drives arise in the id, then it isn't easy
to see how such a view is distinct from what Freud
said in the foregoing quotation (1940, p. 148). But, in
the same work, Freud added: "There can be no question of restricting one or the other of the basic instincts
[drives] to one of the provinces of the mind. They
must necessarily be met with everywhere" (p. 148).
If, as seems unlikely, Panksepp is referring to "id
energies" in terms of localization rather than origin,
then he would certainly be at odds with Freud in
that regard.
The point may seem of little account in a paper
which asserts that Solms and Nersessian, in offering
"a synopsis of Freud's views on affective processes"
have provided' 'a rich array of ideas and questions for
generating testable associations between psychoanalytic views of emotions and emerging neuroscientific
ones." But, in that synopsis, the concept of drives
plays an indispensable part; and as Panksepp's paper
proceeded, nothing prepared me for the shock I experienced on reading his rejection of the theory of drives
in relation to affects. In speaking favorably of what
Solms and Nersessian had said, he made no mention
of the important footnote (4). Let me repeat an essential part of it, adding a few words that preceded the
passage quoted: "The id, cut off from the external
world, has a world of perceptions of its own. It detects
with extraordinary acuteness certain changes in its interior, especially oscillations in the tension of its instinctual needs, and these changes become conscious
as feelings in the pleasure-unpleasure series" (1940).

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Commentary on Emotions: Neuro-Psychoanaiytic Views


This was written by a man nearing the end of his life,
who wanted to set on record, however briefly, his
views on psychoanalysis as he understood it at that
time; and it is clear that he had not altered his opinion
on the relationship between drives and affects. 3 The
fact seems to be that if you accept the groundwork of
Freud's theory of affect, whether subject to Panksepp's provisos or not, you accept, to the same degree,
his concept of drives. Without that concept, the entire
theory falls to the ground.
It is true that Panksepp says: "Freud was using
the drive concept slightly differently than I would prefer to use the concept (i.e., as various brain states that
arise directly from bodily need detectors). For Freud,
"drive" seemed to be the generalized tension or
arousal that accompanied all of the various homeostatic imbalances." This still, I believe, reflects a misunderstanding. Freud regarded the drives as having a
source, an aim, a pressure [intensity], and an object.
The source of a drive is "the somatic process which
occurs in an organ or part of the body and whose
stimulus is represented in mental life by an instinct
[drive]", p. 123; emphasis added).4 For Freud, drives
are intrinsically unknowable: Their existence can be
inferred only through their representatives. Furthermore, Freud held that instincts could not be distinguished from each other on the basis of their qualities:
He regarded them as qualitatively alike. They owed
their effect to the amount of excitation they carried,
"or perhaps, in addition, to certain functions of that
quantity" (1915a, p. 123). He added that the different
mental affects they produced might be traced to their
differing somatic sources.
Some further comments on Freud's concept of
"drives" may help us to address the difficulties it
occasions for so many: Panksepp, too, if I understand
him correctly, appears to believe that contemporary
affect theory can replace it, and provides a neuroscientific counterpart to psychoanalytic dissent. If a drive
can only be inferred from its "representative," of
what does this consist? Freud addressed this question
repeatedly. In his paper on repression (1915b), for
example, he described it as "an idea5 or group of
3 Grubrich-Simitis (1993), in a remarkable book, has explained that
no fair copy of the manuscript exists, and the notes from which Freud
would normally have constructed one have been subject to considerable
editorial manipulation in the interests of smoothness. But there is no reason
to doubt that the quotation truly reflects his views.
4 For completeness, it may be mentioned, if only briefly, that the
instinctual aim is satisfaction; the object is the thing through which the
aim is achieved, and the pressure is the measure of the demand for wor k
(cf. the full account in Freud [l915a]).
5 Vorstellung. In a footnote to "The Unconscious" (Freud, 1915c)
Strachey points out that the German word covers the English terms idea,
image, and presentation, but his own translation shows some variations

63

ideas" which is invested with a definite quota of psychical energy (libido or interest) coming from an instinct [drive]." However, there is a complication.
What happens if an "idea" undergoes repression? Or,
more accurately, what happens to the "quota of psychical energy" to which it was originally attached?
There must be some other element involved in the
representative, an element other than the idea, an element that becomes separated from it. Freud (1915b)
answers as follows: "For this other element of this
psychical representative the term quota of affect has
been generally adopted. It corresponds to the instinct
in so far as the latter has become detached from the
idea and finds expression proportionate to its quality,
in processes that are sensed as affects" (p. 152; emphasis added). I find it helpful to think of ideas and
images as representatives of drives, and affects as derivatives of them, but that is simply a personal convenience.
In the case of ideas and images that have not been
subject to repression, the quantitative factor and the
representative are not as a rule completely separate.
Panksepp, writing with the neurobiological correlates
in mind, is very clear about this. While agreeing with
LeDoux (1996) and Morris, Ohman, and Dolan (1998)
that the' 'conditioning of emotional responses can proceed without any consciously perceived affect," he
believes that:
[I]n early childhood there is no sustained line of
thought without a sustained line of affect, and if we
really want to understand how people and animals
behave in the long run, we must understand their emotional feelings. It is only in adulthood, when longterm behavior patterns and habits of thinking and defenses have been established, that the obvious linkages between affect and behavior diminish.

Panksepp clearly underlines the fact that consideration


of affect in relation to thought processes must take full
account of the developmental principle that underlines
psychoanalytic thinking, a principle that has played
such an important part in the development of neuroscience from the time of Hughlings Jackson (1884, 1894)
onward. Although defenses against painful affect do
exist in children,6 the analyst of young children will
of use. Solms and Steiner (in press) deal with this and other problematic
words in a glossary to appear in a revised Standard Edition.
6 It is still not widely recognized by psychoanalysts that Anna Freud's
first book (1936) is closely concerned with the distinction between defenses against drives and defenses against affects. The latter include "denial in fantasy" and "denial in word and deed." "Identification with
the aggressor," on the other hand, is directed against expressions of the
aggressive drive.

Clifford Yorke

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64

readily confirm that his work is greatly facilitated by


the fact that the child who refuses, at any particular
moment, to put his thoughts into words may still betray
them through the behavior and bodily expression of a
concomitant state of feeling. In this respect children
find it far more difficult than adults to suppress evidence of excitement, disappointment, or sheer misery
(to give gross examples). An adult who is stricken
by grief may still be able to restrict its expression to
moments of privacy, even when he is all too aware
of it. The affect, by definition conscious, can still be
prevented, in many adults, from reaching motor discharge, though the effort required may be enormous,
and may fail altogether when feeling reaches overwhelming proportions. All this points to the major importance of the study of the ontogeny, refinement, and
the developing control of affects from both the psychoanalytic and neuroscientific points of view.
Almost every adult, some older children, and
many adolescents can, at times, inhibit the psychological experience of affects themselves (more correctly,
block, unconsciously, the processes that would otherwise make affects manifest through perception), and
not simply block their discharge pathway. Inhibition
in these circumstances is highly selective and helps to
preserve a current sense of comfort. Its protracted or
frequent use is a different matter. Massive and generalized inhibition of affect and its divorce from thought
is an unfortunate and often socially disabling character
trait, and is also frequent in neuroses. "Flattening"
of affect is a symptom of schizophrenia simplex, and
suggests that excitation is reduced to zero.? And affect
is seriously disordered and inappropriate to thought
and its expression in catatonic/hebephrenic states.
Some of these disorders are, we know, amenable to
drug treatment and knowledge about their modus operandi is growing apace. From the psychological side,
more is understood about the acute and short-lived
disorders, and some of the factors that make for relapse as well as for chronicity and schizophrenic endstates. Some psychiatrists who are also psychoanalysts
have contributed to these advances, while those who
have worked, for example, with neurochemists and
other neuroscientists have found much of profit. But,
in this vast field, unknown spaces still beckon. What
can be said about pathological and disordered states
of affect is that their better understanding by psychoanalysts and neuroscientists is likely to cast light on
7 Consider Strachey's footnote to Freud (1915a) p. 121. Excitation is
also drastically reduced in serious clinical depression and some forms
of depersonalization.

normative affective states-above all, we dare hope,


from the standpoint of development. We may also be
better able to tackle the undoubted fact that some of
these states never arise before puberty or late prepuberty. Grave childhood disorders are not comparable
in their presentation, and the so-called childhood psychoses are morphologically different from the ones to
which I have referred, and their affective concomitants
differ substantially, too.

III
Many psychoanalysts, especially those who work with
children, have taken steps to clarify the ways in which
certain affective states develop, and Panksepp has
made important contributions to the neuroscientific
understanding of these processes. Psychologically, the
pleasure-pain principle manifests itself early in life
through those qualities that dichotomize bliss and murderous rage, 8 but everyday observation confirms that
affects diversify and become increasingly refined as
development proceeds. The appreciation of the differences, say, between shame, guilt, remorse, and regret
cannot be expected before a child has reached a high
degree of development, though the capacity to explain
those complex affective presentations with verbal accuracy may not be acquired until very much later. (In
teaching medical students, I have found that some had
difficulty in accurately defining these terms.) All these
affects are mediated through the superego or its precursors, though the roots of shame, for example, are
to be found well before guilt is established (Yorke et
aI., 1990); and guilt has complex precursors too (e.g.,
Kennedy and Yorke [1982], but the psychoanalytic
literature is extensive). Solms and Nersessian were
right, I believe, at this stage of our disciplinary interchange, to stick to basic principles and set aside such
complexities. For all that, I want to say a few words
about anxiety in relation to development (touching
briefly on the superego) since this seems a rewarding
matter of mutual interest.
Freud (e.g., 1915b) held the view that, when the
representatives of libidinal drives were repressed, the
drive derivatives (to use the distinction suggested earlier) became transformed into anxiety. There is clinical evidence to support this view, and some analysts
consider that the later theory of anxiety (Freud, 1926)
did not altogether replace it (see Freeman, 1998),
8 This fact demonstrates, more clearly than anything else, the impossibility of divorcing affect from drives.

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Commentary on Emotions: Neuro-Psychoanalytic Views


though Freud considered that it did: his first' 'phenomenological description" was not a "metapsychological
account" (p. 93). But it is the "danger situations"
described in the latter that Solms and Nersessian had
in mind in their consideration of helplessness. Freud
considered the diffuse excitations overwhelming the
organism in the act of birth to be the prototype of
the affective state of anxiety. However, Spitz (1947)
demonstrated that in normal deliveries the neonate
shows only "brief respiratory distress and the manifestations of negatively tinged excitation," adding in
1965 that "if the infant is left alone, this subsides
literally within seconds and gives way to complete
quiescence" (p. 38). He considered the interference
of midwives, nurses, and doctors (holding the baby
upside down, slapping its back to stimulate breathing,
etc.) to be largely responsible for the infant's more
intense response. At any rate, thereafter the mother
has to read or anticipate the baby's signals of distress
and respond accordingly. Thus, imperative drive needs
that threaten to overwhelm the child, and provide the
basis for fears of annihilation, are reduced or kept at
bay (Winnicott, 1960; Anna Freud also took this
view).
The need for the mother's ministrations brings
with it the dawn of a new threat-the threat of loss
of the object-and this danger situation (the fear of
being plunged into helplessness) will later bring another: the threat of the loss of the object's love. As
development proceeds, castration anxiety appears and,
soon, the fear of loss of love from the superego. This
is not, however, a sequence in which every danger
situation is replaced by a new one: Earlier threats of
helplessness exist alongside later ones. But once the
superego is fully established, danger can threaten from
three sides-the id, the external world and the superego-as Panksepp notes. Anxiety can then function as
a signal, prompting the ego to take action against the
danger from within or without, though, as Solms and
Nersessian emphasize, it is via internal perception that
anxiety is experienced, whatever its source.
Since signal anxiety can only be established with
psychological growth and maturation, how can the development of anxiety best be understood? Anna
Freud's concept of developmental lines (1963) is of
great value in this respect. These lines are based on
the premise that psychic functions and processes cannot be regarded as discrete operations but demand recognition of their interrelatedness and mutual influence
(Luria was very clear about this; see, for example, his
introduction to his [1969] case study). Developmental
lines are not concerned with the development of the

65

id, or the ego, or of anyone part of the personality


viewed in isolation, but with "the basic interactions
between id and ego and their various developmental
levels, and also age-related sequences of them, which
in importance, frequency, and regularity are comparable to the maturational sequence of libidinal stages or
the gradual unfolding of the ego functions" (A. Freud,
1963, p. 246). Anna Freud considered lines leading
from irresponsibility to responsibility in body management, from complete dependency in infancy to
emotional self-reliance, and many more, each characterized by various "stations" along the way. To give
an example: The line from egocentricity to companionship starts from a narcissistic view of the object
world, with other children regarded as intruders into
the mother or primary caretaker--child relationship;
then as mere objects to be pushed around at will, taken
up or discarded as fancy dictates; then as helpmates
in tackling mutual interests of constructive play or destructive mischief; and only finally as true companions
in their own right (cf. A. Freud). There may be setbacks on the way-advances, arrests and retreats-often temporary. Not all progress will be
comparable on every line: Advances on one occur side
by side with setbacks on another.
It is possible to point to a developmental line of
anxiety (described by Yorke and Wiseberg [1976];
summarized in terms of five developmental stages by
Yorke, Kennedy, and Wiseberg [1980]; and extended
and elaborated later [Yorke, Wiseberg, and Freeman,
1989]). It begins with the diffuse (and largely somatic)
excitations in the neonate; leads through a phase of
"automatic anxiety"g when the child is plunged into
a state of helplessness; is followed by "pervasive anxiety" when the child fears helplessness; and ends with
the increasing restriction of anxiety to the signal function described by Freud (1926). Much of what Solms
and Nersessian referred to in their paper is relevant
here. Fluctuations of excitation in early life mean
shifts from almost unbearable levels (helplessness) to
quiescence. Stranger anxiety at about 8 months is clear
evidence that somatic fluctuations of excitation have
given substantial ground to mental experience of anxiety, though clearly somatic discharge pathways remain
throughout life. But these and subsequent steps along
this line demand the interactions between id and ego
as these develop and become increasingly differentiated: the acquisition of secondary process thinking;
9 There is a problem of terminology here: Freud (1926) sometimes
referred to "traumatic" and sometimes to "automatic" anxiety. Yorke et
al. (1989) suggested a differentiation.

66
the concomitant capacity for delayed drive-discharge
through "trial action"; and other developmental steps
(e.g., in regard to defenses) will ensure an increasing
capacity for control over anxiety.
The steps that lead from one way station to the
next are immensely complex. They are considered in
the references cited. If the views expanded there have
substance, further elucidation of their neuropsychological correlates are called for and may well be possible.

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IV
Early in his paper, Panksepp states: "Psychoanalytic
theory may now help guide neuroscientific thinking
concerning various emotional dynamics that transpire
within neural tissues. Conversely, neuroscience can
provide the facts which may allow psychoanalytic theory to link up firmly with objective approaches, and
thereby submit itself to the type of disciplined empirical inquiry that is the hallmark of all true sciences."
Not many will disagree with that contention. But what
immediately follows is worth further thought. He continues: "In order for our concepts to have scientific
substance, they must be capable of being quantified
(whether it be by direct or indirect measures), and to
specify systematic relationships to other variables that
can also be quantified."
That may prove to be the case, in certain instances, where neural processes or neurochemical processes are concerned but there is, to my mind, an
unfortunate equation of empiricism with research
methods involving quantification. The Oxford English
Dictionary points to several meanings of the term empiric and the adjective derived from it, but, in the
context that concerns us, defines the noun as "one
who, either in medicine or other branches of science,
relies solely upon observation and experiment."
Quantification mayor may not be a part of such procedures. Panksepp rightly praises the book by Solms
(1997), but that work is a clinicoanatomical study and
its use of quantification is not substantial.
The limitations of quantification in psychology
are obvious, especially when attempts are made to
measure the immeasurable. It may well be that brain
activity that correlates with psychological processes
will not necessarily be refractory to mensuration, and
measurable correlations would be welcome. But in
considering such possibilities we would surely do well
to keep in mind some of the observations of Luria
(1979), who underlined the distinction between what,

Clifford Yorke
early in the century, the German scholar Max Verworn
had called "classical" and "romantic" science. The
richness and force of Luria's discussion cannot be
conveyed in summary, but it may be said that, for
him, "classical" was akin to the nomothetic, in which
events are broken down into their constituent parts,
and the study of significant elements allows the formulation of abstract general laws. (In this part of the
discussion I have drawn heavily on an earlier and more
extended summary [Yorke, 1995], but there is no substitute for the original discussion [Luria, 1979].) These
then become the agents of the phenomena observed in
the field of investigation. The living whole is reduced
to the abstraction of schemata. The path taken by the
romantic scientist is a different, even opposite, one
and is akin to the idiographic method. The research
worker has no wish "to split living reality into its
elementary components nor to represent the wealth of
life's concrete events in abstract models that lose the
properties of the phenomena themselves" (p. 174). In
this connection, Luria quotes a passage from Goethe:
"Gray is every theory, but ever green is the tree of
life." This was a favorite quotation of Freud's. The
distinction between "classical" and "romantic" science is very similar to that which separates Newtonian
science from the scientific tradition that begins with
Goethe and which Kaufmann (1980) has described so
very well. (One of Kaufmann's chapters is called
"Freud's Poetic Science,"l0 but it is the same in all
essentials as Luria's "romantic science.") This major
distinction needs restating: no one forgets the great
contributions to science of Newton, but the scientific
discoveries of Goethe, using a strikingly different approach, are sometimes overlooked.
Luria pointed to difficulties and limitations of
method in both procedures. Nomothetic reductionism
could have unfortunate consequences when applied
without caution to the study of mental life, and when
"the reality of human conscious [or in a psychoanalytic context, mental] activity was being replaced by
mechanical models" (Luria, 1979, p. 176). In medicine, Luria had no objection to clinical tests, nor to
the use of mathematical methods in their analysis, as
long as they did not lead to the neglect of clinical
methods and remained "servants to clinical thought."
He deplored, too, the vanishing art of the case history,
seen at its best in the clinical accounts of Charcot,
Wernicke, Korsakoff, and Henry Head, among others
(Luria might well have included Freud, whose work
10 Kauffman had written this before finding that Wittels (1930) had
already used the term.

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Commentary on Emotions: Neuro-Psychoanalytic Views


he knew and admired: the relationship between the
two men is of great interest and has recently been
discussed by Solms [1998]). But here, too, simple observation and description has its dangers if it leads to
"pseudo-explanations based on [the observer's] own
phenomenological understanding,' , though this is
likely only when phenomenological observation is superficial and incomplete. What is required is not simply description of separate facts: "Its main goal is to
view an event from as many perspectives as possible.
The eye of science does not probe 'a thing', an event
isolated from other things or events. Its real objective
is to see and understand the way a thing or event relates to other things or events" (Luria, 1979, p. 177).
Neuroscience has drawn heavily on both scientific traditions. Jackson was a great exemplar, and Luria himself displayed his "romantic science" in
memorable case studies (1969, 1972), as well as the
more classical approach in a formal and structural
work such as his Higher Cortical Functions in Man
(1980). If Luria took very seriously Vygotsky's view
that the resolution of the seeming dichotomy between
the nomothetic and the idiographic was the "most important goal of psychology in our time" (Luria, 1979,
p. 175), it seems to me that psychoanalysts and neuroscientists, in exploring meeting points between their
disciplines, must respect the approach that seems best
suited to a given task, and remind themselves that the
two seemingly antagonistic methods are both empirical.
Finally, I return briefly to some of Panksepp's
conclusions. He is very receptive to Freud's formulations in general, and believes his insights "can be
linked credibly to modern neuroscience." That is very
encouraging. His next paragraph begins as follows:
I believe the "great intermediate net" of the brain
can only be disentangled if global psychodynamic,
and molecular and systems neuroscience approaches
can be brought to bear on problems of mutual interest.
To bring this to pass, psychoanalysts will have to
invest more intensely in the study of experimental
manipulations, especially psychopharmacological
ones, where human verbal reports of internal experiences and dynamics after systematically induced transient changes in the arousability in specific brain
systems.... Unfortunately, the transcription and content analysis of free associations is a tedious and a
tricky business, but computerized transcription techniques can now be implemented.

And he then extends the argument.

67

Unfortunately, there is a misunderstanding in this


and subsequent passages. Experimental manipulations
of the kind suggested are incompatible with the psychoanalytic method: To put it a little graphically, you
cannot poison your patient and then analyze the vicissitudes of his aggression. It may be said that poisoning
is no part of the process, and if rationality were the
only factor involved the argument could rest unchallenged. But psychoanalysis ceases to be psychoanalysis unless it is prepared to go beyond the rational. And
if drugs were used which divorced thought from affect,
associations would lose their power to convey information without which the analyst would not be able
to operate. Furthermore, the analytic situation encourages the accessibility, and even the emergence, of
thoughts and concomitant feeling states derived from
the patient's childhood when, as Panksepp rightly
maintains, the two are close and sustained. And though
recollection without affect may occur during analysis,
it can't be dealt with by psychological interpretation
if the affect has been deliberately suppressed by chemical methods. Incidentally, the patient's cooperation
in experimentation would be of little value. However
sincere, it would, at best, be an agreement with which
the unconscious would deal in its own willful way.
Lastly, there is no way in which recordings of the
spoken material made available from psychoanalytic
sessions can yield anything of real significance to an
independent observer. The analyst works with the instrument of an analyzed mind, but it is also a mind
in touch with the patient in a way denied an outside
observer. Only the analyst can relate a current thought
or affect to information given him by the patient days
or weeks ago: Following detailed recordings cannot
function in comparable fashion.
In disagreeing with some of the views expressed
by Panksepp, I should like to emphasize that I found
his paper valuable and informative. His understanding
will surely further the common task facing our two
disciplines. If some of the points made above are accepted, further questions may need to be asked and
some formulations modified. However that may be, it
seems vital that we have a clear comprehension of
each other's basic positions, and follow the road ahead
with a firm footing.

References
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Rev.
Psychoanal.,
19:497-502.

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Response to Commentaries
- - - - - - Freeman, T. (1989), Development and Psychopathology: Studies in Psychoanalytic Psychiatry.
New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

69
Clifford Yorke
Fieldings South Moreton, Nr Didcot
Oxon OX]] 9AB

England
e-mail: scbyorke@aol.com

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Drives, Affects, Id Energies, and the Neuroscience of Emotions


Response to the Commentaries by Jaak Panksepp (Bowling Green, Ohio)

The neural analysis of emotions is slowly approaching


adolescence-full of hope and passion, with some telltale signs of scientific maturity. On the other hand, the
discipline of psychoanalysis grew up too rapidly, and
it must now consider whether its precocious growth
skipped over some critical developmental stages. Although psychoanalysis has traditionally shared a much
deeper and broader perspective on human emotionality than neuroscience, the latter now has the tools for
generating a more compelling scientific view of the
basic emotions and the infrastructure of the id than
was ever possible for Freud or his intellectual descendants. Although Freud always believed that psychoanalysis needed to be grounded on the natural
functions of the brain, psychoanalytic and neuroscientific approaches to the study of mind have kept their
distance for the better part of the twentieth century.
Some investigators, including those represented in the
present interchange, are now ready to challenge and
to mend those old schisms. This will be an important
undertaking if the resulting endeavors help us better
understand the foundations of human nature-to clarify the essential neuropsychological abilities that are
provided for us as birthrights. To make progress on
this problem, there has to be some type of reasonable,
empirically based specification of the basic emotional
values (i.e., id structures) that are genetically created
within the normal human brain. It is now evident that
there are more innate systems within the mammalian
brain than those devoted to the provisioning of nourishment and sexual passions, as early psychoanalytic
thought prescribed. The clarification of the various
basic emotional feelings within the human brain/mind

Jaak Panksepp is Distinguished Research Professor of Psychobiology,


Emeritus, Department of Psychology, Bowling Green State University,
Ohio.

can set the stage for a lasting science of human nature


and an elucidation of its intrinsic values.
First, let me admit to some impatience with the
slow and tortuous pace with which the study and discussion of emotions has been proceeding in modern
psychology, philosophy, and neuroscience. Of course,
the alexithymia of the neuroscience community is easy
to understand: Since we cannot directly observe the
internal feelings of other humans or animals, most investigators avoid talking about them entirely. By comparison, the more evident abilities of organisms to
behave and to integrate information through learning
and memorial abilities has received abundant experimental attention. However, we must occasionally
pause to recall that many of those behavioral and cognitive capacities evolved to serve the basic bodily and
emotional needs of organisms-anchoring processes
that are not as easy to address scientifically because
they are hidden within the realms of more ancient
brain dynamics. However, as physicists learned earlier
this century, it is within the relatively invisible underbelly of nature that the most profound scientific problems reside. Just as physicists cannot yet see
gravitation or electrons directly, the basic affective
processes of the brain must be measured indirectly
through neural analyses of human and animal behaviors. The importance of such studies in revealing human nature, consciousness, and its various affective
disorders is obvious, but the path to scientifically clarifying those genetically provided value-creating processes of the brain (i.e., the basic affects) is not.
To scientifically understand the neural nature of
affect, we may need some radical methodological and
conceptual departures such as accepting evidence from
brain research on other animals to illuminate the human condition. Just consider one simple bit of logic:
If affective feelings do exist in the minds of other
organisms and have causal consequences for their be-

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