According to Lacan, psychoanalytic ethics involves remaining faithful to one's desire, no matter the social cost--and there will be a social cost, because desire is both transgressive of social order and absolute, i.e., it cannot be justified by reference to anything other than itself. The only 'law' that desire obeys is its own, and its law seems to be to transgress established laws. Its singularity imbues it with an air of incommunicability--desire resists explanation. It just is. And that is where it draws its force from.
The paragon of psychoanalytoc ethics is Antigone. Antigone remained so faithful to her desire for her brother Polynices that she was willing to be put to death for the crime of burying him. Near the conclusion of the play, just before Antigone steps into her tomb to be buried alive, she stops to give a speech which attempts to justify her actions. She insists that she would not have defied the city's laws if it were her husband or her child who had died, since she could easily marry another husband or birth another child. But Polynices is different: he is irreplaceable, he is "my brother, born of the same father and mother." That is why she defied Creon, to her death--because Polynices was her brother. What are we to make of this explanation?
Obviously, we should hear the allusion to incestuous desire in her speech. She desires Polynices, and through him, her parents. Incest, as we learn from Freud and Levi-Strauss, is prohibited by moral law. The figure who first instantiates moral law in the child's life is the child's father. The child's Oedipal complex involves the father's intervention into the incestuous relationship between the child and the mother; the father prohibits the child from gaining sexual enjoyment from her.
The law which the father wields to prohibit the child's sexual satisfaction is a moral law, which provides the foundations for judging acts to be good or bad in accordance with it. Acts which follow the moral law of the prohibition of incest will be deemed good; acts which aim to transgress the law will be deemed bad, or evil. The authority of the father's law doesn't originate in the father himself; the father's law derives its authority from a social law which prohibits incest. Behind the child's real father is the symbolic father, the father of the social code. And the authority of the social laws themselves, as well as the authority of the governing patriarchs who write the laws, derives from an originary father, a mythical father beyond all human laws and orders: God, the primal father. As we read in Freud's Totem and Taboo. this mythical primal father, the source of all earthly authority, derives his authority only from the fact that he is dead. The lesson we learn from Totem and Taboo, says Lacan, is that "God is dead"--but "God himself doesn't know that."
Recall Freud's myth of the primal horde: the primal father was the strongest alpha male in the tribe of apes. He demonstrated and secured his power by keeping all of the tribe's women to himself, prohibiting every other member of the tribe from mating with them. As the only one who was permitted to sexually enjoy the women in his tribe, he soon found himself to be the father to every child in the tribe. One day, his sons, jealous and vengeful of this tyrannical patriarch, banded together to overthrow him. They wanted access to the women, too. It wasn't fair that he kept them all to himself. We read in this myth the originary event whose mnemic traces are responsible for our own Oedipal predispositions today.
So the sons took vengeance on their father and killed him. After having deposed their tyrant, they found themselves in an uneasy state: they now had access to the women they had so badly desired, but how were they to proceed? Without an orderly law to guide them, how could they ensure that the women would be divided up amongst themselves equally? Each of them sensed in the others a desire to possess all of the women for himself, which would return them to the original authoritarian patriarchy they had just freed themselves from. In order to ensure that no tyrant ever come to reign again, they did something remarkable--they consumed the dead father's body, taking him and his spirit into themselves. In so doing, they internalized his prohibitions against their sexual enjoyment of women, and their aggressivity towards him. Now the sons all agreed to follow the dead father's commandments voluntarily. This is the triumph of the dead father: by dying, he became the omnipotent, immortal father of religion who provides the basis for all morality and social custom. And this dead God lives on in each of us who abide by a social code. Behind the moral commandment to "love your neighbor as yourself," then, is a tremendous fear and hatred of the sexual and aggressive drives of ourselves and our neighbors. This is why we can love our neighbors only to the extent that they appear to follow the law--to the extent that they appear unhappy, deprived of complete satisfaction--and to the extent that they appear satisfied, we hate them.
Behind the child's father, the civic father of the state; behind the civic father, the primal God father.
And behind the primal God father, the drives. The father's prohibition against incest derives its authority from this dead God we call morality. Civilization is founded on the repression of the drives. This does not mean that the drives go away. Repression, remember, is coextensive with the return of the repressed in the form of a symptom.
So when the father intervenes to prohibit the child from incest with the mother, what the child is being instructed to do is to repress its drives. The child's access to the mother becomes mediated by the child's relationship with the father. The child cannot gain the enjoyment it seeks from its mother; it must look elsewhere, or else be punished. What the father asks the child to do is to exchange the anarchy of its drives for the laws of civilization--for Lacan, this means, to exchange the full enjoyment of the drives for the mediation of the drives by the signifier. The mother's body is overwritten with language, with the name of the father. And the word, says Hegel, is the death of the Thing.
A note on the Thing: Das Ding is the name that Lacan gives to the mother, the child's first "object" of desire. I put "object" in quotation marks because Das Ding is categorically not an object at all--Das Ding is what, in every object (die Sache), is prohibited, is beyond objective presence. Lacan refers us to Kant here, drawing an analogy between profane, phenomenal objects of consciousness and the transcendent, unknowable sublime Thing which, precisely because it is beyond objective correlates, is prohibited from being given to us, is prohibited from being given any meaning, any name.
The father prohibits the child from the mother; in this act, the mother becomes Das Ding. The child will spend the rest of its life searching for substitute objects to replace this originary lost object, but to no avail: Das Ding is once and forever lost. Its memory lives on in the "beyond" of every object--Das Ding is not an object, but the transcendent, nameless, timeless, groundless ground of all objective presence; it is an absence in the field of presence, an absence around which the field of meaning and signification organizes itself; it is the hole around which the vase is formed. It persists as a trace, a remainder, an excess, an absence, the stain of every object, since objects are nothing but Things that have been covered over by the mediation of the dead letter of the father's signifier.
When the father prohibits the child from access to Das Ding, to the mother, Das Ding does not disappear--it merely goes into the realm of the "beyond," the beyond which constitutes it as a lost object, as a transcendent and prohibited object. In spite of, or rather, precisely because of the father's prohibition of Das Ding, everything which comes to pass in the child's life will be an effect of the child's continued pursuit of Das Ding. All of the objects the child will choose for themselves--lovers, passions, pursuits, and the rest--will be chosen on the basis of the object's resemblance to Das Ding, on the extent to which the object communicates an echo of Das Ding's sublime presence to the child. The child looks for Das Ding everywhere and finds it nowhere: but what it finds everywhere are traces of Das Ding in the objects that are mediated by daddy's signifiers. Somewhat paradoxically, Das Ding only exists once it is lost--it's the father's prohibition of it that brings it into being. It is only one the signifier intervenes to separate the child from Das Ding that Das Ding is retrospectively projected into a mythical and nameless time before time that the child never actually had access to, since it was from birth surrounded by, born into a world always already covered over by daddy's signifiers, structured by the paternal law.
What is a child to do in this situation, having already internalized the prohibition against incest, which is to say the prohibition against jouissance, the prohibition against Das Ding?
We have three options available to us:
- First, we can mourn our losses, and come to resent the laws that prohibit us from ever attaining complete satisfaction: this is the position of neurosis.
- Second, we can try to overcome the laws that prohibit us from attaining Das Ding by willfully engaging in transgressive acts that violate daddy's laws: this is the position of perversion.
- Finally--and this is the position which Freud and Lacan see as the ethical position--we can alter our expectations, accept that The Thing is lost, and let go of the desire for complete satisfaction. This involves a transformation which Lacan calls "traversing the fantasy" (the fantasy of complete satisfaction), which brings us into a depressive position Lacan called "subjective destitution." This is a risky journey. On the other side of the loss of the fantasy, though, is a sublime happiness which Lacan associates with the defense of sublimation. Sublimation involves not only reconciling ourselves to live in a state of perpetual desire, but actually coming to enjoy the process of desire itself, coming to desire desire as an end in itself, as an ultimate good. Instead of desiring Das Ding, then, what we come to desire when we sublimate our drives is to keep Das Ding at a distance, so that our desire remains open and unfulfilled. Remember, we have already imbibed daddy's symbolic law with all of its prohibitions against satisfaction of the drives, so the closer we get to Das Ding anyway, the more anxious we will become, as we sense the looming presence of the castrating father behind the approaching desirous body of the mother.
Lacan has presented us with a structural account of desire: behind every object of desire, a transcendent, prohibited Thing which causes that desire--the mother's body. The Thing is lost, truly lost for good, and even if we could get it, we wouldn't actually want it, it would be a terrifying experience akin to death. However, what we can insist on is the importance of obsessively pursuing manifestations of the The Thing through the different objects which cause our desire to catch flame. Our allegiance is to The Thing.
To return to Antigone: what does it mean to not give ground relative to your desire? It means becoming oblivious to the intervention of anyone or anything else as she pursues her incestuous desire for Polynices. Note that desire entails the subject's refrain from perverse attempts to actually obtain the Thing--Antigone does not actually try to have sex with Polynices--but she allows her desire for him to remain unfulfilled, and therefore, to remain alive. She is so committed to cultivating this desire that it becomes an end in itself. She can give no reason or justification for her love of her brother--"it is because he is my brother" is, for her, a self-referential statement, one that admits of no symbolic mediation. This indicates Polynices' status as Antigone's Absolute; as her Thing. She was so faithful to her desire for her Thing that she did not care if she died, if she lost her symbolic identity, if she violated Creon's laws. Note that she did not take pleasure in violating Creon's law--she was not a pervert. She simply did not care--nothing compared to her brother, to her Thing.
What does this mean for the ethics of psychoanalysis as a clinical practice? The analyst's object cause of desire should be the patient's speech. The analyst should want nothing more than to hear the patient speak freely. And a "good" analysis will be one in which the analysand comes to discover, beneath their desires, the perverse, meaningless pulsation of the drives; comes to accept those drives as constitutive of the life of their desire; and comes to dedicate themselves to the ruthless pursuit of their own Thing, regardless of what anyone else has to say about it. This is an ethics of singularity. It has nothing to do with the three major ethical traditions of philosophy: not Aristotelian virtue ethics, nor a utilitarian calculus of competing goods, nor a Kantian fidelity to a moral law (Lacan elides the then-burgeoning tradition of existential ethics, perhaps because it is too close, as always, to his own). We are here at the "beyond" of "Beyond Good and Evil"--a good beyond the "Good" of the moral law, a good that comes to be good precisely insofar it is prohibited by the moral law--a good which will appear to others to be evil.
Antigone was a criminal. She violated the law. This is the wager of Lacanian ethics--to say that she and she alone acted ethically, because she acted in the name of her good which was hers alone, over against the laws of the city, that her acts were justified because they were in accord with her singular desire, a desire which can never be given any justification because it is the means and ends, the Absolute good of the subject.
But there's something too precious here, too abstract, and too absolute in all of this. Lacan's insistence that the Thing is constituted through the prohibitions of the law inflects his ethics with an explicitly anti-social tendency, one which is taken up by Slavoj Zizek and Lee Edelman, amongst others. In this model, ethics is equated with the subject's perverse transgressions of the law; an act is ethical to the extent that it overcomes symbolic prohibitions against enjoyment and releases repressed sexual and aggressive drives which animate the subject's desire. On this account, fascist terrorism appears to be more ethical than vintage stamp collecting. Ruti acknowledges that sometimes it is ethical to destroy, but if destruction of the social order becomes the Absolute good, then we have missed the mark. Ruti wants to hold onto the ethical import of acts which may appear to be anti-social, but shifts the emphasis away from the element of transgression and towards the element of sublimation of the drives as the constitutive feature of an ethical act. Sublimation entails the use of drives for the sake of creating something new, rather than destroying something old (although destroying the old can be a first and necessary step in the creation of the new).
Ruti draws on Merleau-Ponty's phenomenological ontology of the flesh to make her point: ethics ought to involve going beyond the instituted social order of the spoken towards the silent chaos of the Real--not for the sake of freeing oneself from the Symbolic, but for the sake of returning to the Symbolic with new drive energies to infuse into it. The ethical actor will attempt to harness sexual and aggressive drives in the creation of new signifiers that they weave into the Symbolic for the sake of creating a more expressive and egalitarian society. Ethics involves weaving back and forth between the Symbolic and the Real. Insofar as the Real always resists being fully incorporated, and sublimation is an endless task.