ing these motives when they are as is so often the case hidden from view, and (3) a method for eradicating harmful or evil motives and substituting helpful and valuable ones for them. Our thoughts will be directed principally to the first of these usages. We must also at the outset acknowledge the profound indebtedness of all psychoanalysts to the pioneer work of Dr. Sigmund Freud, the founder of their doctrine, though in many by no means unimportant details we are obliged to dissent from his distinctive teachings. Freud's most characteristic work has been in the study of dreams and of mental diseases, but his principles have as valuable a significance for the waking life of the normal mind as they do for an understanding of sleep and the mind diseased.

The psychoanalytic conception of the mind is a development first of all of the view associated so decidedly with the psychology of the later nineteenth and opening twentieth centuries that by "mind" we mean far more than "personal consciousness"-that there are now and always "within my mind" a vast number of ideas, feelings, and desires of which "I" am not at the time "aware." For this vast hidden region of mental life-not by any means, as is so often erroneously taught by non-psychologists, a separate mind or a separate compartment of the mind-the term "subconscious" is commonly used. The doctrine merely means that just as there are many things going on around me now of which I am definitely conscious, although I am not attending to them—as, for example, the feeling of my clothing, the sight of the articles on my desk, the sound of hammering going on outside my window-so there are many things going on in my mind of which I am not even conscious, but which are nevertheless distinctly mental rather than physical;

and these things, or more properly "contents," we call subconscious.

Now the Freudians find it convenient to mark within the field of the subconscious a still further distinction between the foreconscious level of contents, which are near the surface, as it were, and likely to spring into full consciousness at any time, and the deeper level of the unconscious, whose contents are for one reason or another cut off from consciousness, and unable to manifest themselves because of some "resistance" offered to their passage upward. The examples given in the preceding paragraph will illustrate foreconscious contents, and the frequent experience of momentarily forgetting a familiar name is a classic instance of how some mental contents become "repressed," as we say, into the unconscious, and so pass for the time out of our personal ken.

The hidden motives of conduct referred to above are to be found in the unconscious, according to the theory, and the evidence derived through the various practical methods which have been established for the analysis of the mind continues to substantiate ever more and more thoroughly the general truth of the doctrine. Just as we, all of us, instinctively assume that nothing happens in nature without a natural cause (whether we acknowledge also a deeper spiritual source for natural phenomena or not), so the psychoanalyst insists that we should also assume that nothing happens in our minds without some mental cause, even should such a cause be entirely unconscious so far as our personality is concerned-and the facts are constantly transforming this assumption into empirical certainty, and so tending to establish the theory.

But why is the "unconscious" unconscious? Why is it

that the underlying motives of conduct are so often so concealed from observation that even the subject himself is unable to explain his own feelings and actions? Because, psychoanalysis finds, there is some "conflict" between these motives and our personal ideas or feelings. I am jealous, for example, of some friend for whom I really have a sincere admiration; jealousy is, however, an emotion against which my whole moral nature rebels; it is repressed, therefore, into my unconscious, and a resistance is set up in my foreconscious against the conscious appearance or outward expression of my jealous emotions. The consequence usually is in such cases that my repressed jealous or antipathetic "trends" are diverted to some other person or some thing associated with the object of my jealousy, and the trends themselves thus find an outlet in some indirect way. I may, for example, develop an intense dislike for my friend's cook or his child, or for the arrangement of his furniture or the make of his automobile, and yet not be able to give even myself a clear and rational explanation of this dislike. The probability is that all our unaccountable likes and dislikes, prejudices and inclinations, even such religious or moral convictions as we cannot rationally defend or explain, are the indirect expressions of unconscious trends, simply by virtue of the fact that they are not rationally explicable. And when it comes to the phenomena of dreams, hypnosis, and hysteria the evidence of such "mechanisms" as conflict, repression, and substitution is even more overwhelming.

Now, for the sum-total of all the trends or tendencies of the unconscious, psychoanalysts use the term libido (a Latin word for "craving" or "intense desire"), and to the resisting force which prevents this libido from expressing itself directly the word "censor" is often figuratively ap

plied. The fundamental conflict within the mind is, therefore a conflict between the libido or inner mental energy seeking expression, and the repressing censor which continually forces down the libido and prevents its expressing itself directly: the libido, then, if it is to find expression at all, must find it through some indirect channel. The libido, in other words, is like a cork which my hand is pressing down below the surface of the water, and my hand is the censor which resists the vertical uprising of the cork just so long as my hand remains in a horizontal position; if, however, I turn my hand even slightly away from the horizontal, the cork will soon find its way to the surface around the edge of my hand.

The fundamental problem of psychoanalysis comes down to this: What is the real nature of the libido, and what is the real nature of the censor-the two opposing forces of the mental conflict? Freud and his followers, and the protagonists of the various schools which sprang out of and have now separated themselves from the original Freudian tradition, are divided primarily on the answer to the first of these questions, and have, strangely enough, completely failed to realize the significance of the equally important second question. Certain recent writers, however, have cast considerable light on the latter half of the problem.

THE NATURE OF THE LIBIDO

As to the nature of the libido, the leading theories are associated with the names of Freud, Adler, and Jung respectively. Freud himself is noted chiefly for his identification of the libido with the sex instinct. According to his analysis, all the phenomena of dreams and the so-called "neuroses" (hysteria, neurastenia, etc.), and many of the unac

countable phenomena of everyday life (as, for example, forgetting a familiar name, slips of the tongue or pen, personal prejudices and emotional states, and the like) are expressions of this instinct, usually in some distorted form.

Naturally, it is this aspect of the Freudian doctrine which has aroused the greatest opposition in scientific as well as non-scientific circles to the entire psychoanalytic movement and its methods; to which the Freudians promptly reply that this revulsion against their views is itself a proof of their truth, and that this opposition is merely a manifestation of sexual trends in the minds of the opponents which the censor is trying vainly to conceal! Freud also endeavors to appease in some degree this opposition by insisting that he does not mean the term "sex" to be understood in its narrow physical significance alone, but in the broadest sense as including every phase of the love-life of each individual. The trouble with this defence, however, is that the more the meaning of the term is broadened the more it loses its distinctiveness, and one is rather forced either to accept the term in its narrower and objectionable meaning, or else to reject it and ask for a more accurate interpretation of what the libido really is.

There can be no doubt, I think, that the Freudian doctrine in its orthodox form is one-sided, and so inadequate. However strong the sex-instinct may be in man, and however powerful the resistances against the free expression of that instinct, it is hardly fair to attempt to interpret all conduct whose sources are hidden in sex terms. Dr. Alfred Adler, in opposition to Freud, interprets the libido in terms of the instinct of self-assertion, or "the will to power" as he calls it in his discipleship of Nietzsche. All phenomena inexplicable in conscious terms are, in Adler's view, the ex