Mortality, Vol. 6, No. 2, 2001
CLASSICS REVISITED
Freud’s Mourning and Melancholia
MARY BRADBURY
Mourning and Melancholia, Standard Edition XIV. London: Hogarth Press
Sigmund Freud
London: Hogarth Press, 1917 [1915]
Introduction
Freud’s Mourning and Melancholia is a classic. Written in 1915 and published 2
years later, it signalled a signicant shift in both psychoanalytic theory and in
our understanding of how people react to various kinds of loss. While the impact
of Freud’s thinking upon models of grief over the last 84 years has been
incalculable (see Stroebe & Stroebe, 1987; Middleton et al., 1993), all too often
his conception of grief is presented like an uprooted tree, torn from its
psychoanalytic roots. Authors dutifully describe the ‘psychoanalytic perspective
on grief’, before getting onto the real business of articulating their own approach
(see Archer (1999) for a typical example). In this paper I will attempt to
describe the theory that lies at the heart of the paper. I will also put the paper
in a historical context.
In fact, one could argue that the central topic of Freud’s paper is actually
the crucial mechanism of what he called ‘identication’. Melancholia (depression) was used as the illustrative example, while mourning, in contrast, was
used as an example of the norm. Freud provided somewhat brief descriptions of
normal and pathological mourning. Yet, these thumbnail sketches of grief and
mourning were to prove to be brilliant and profound.
The metapyschology papers
It is worth bearing in mind that Mourning and Melancholia was written during
the First World War. Freud, whose two sons were ghting at the front,
anxiously followed the accounts of the slaughter in the daily papers; loss was on
everyone’s minds. Yet, as Gay (1988) notes, the war gave 59-year-old Freud
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Freud’s Mourning and Melancholia
213
plenty of time for work; there were few patients to see in Vienna, no editorial
chores and no psychoanalytic congresses to attend. Freud may have been lonely
and worried, but he could throw himself into his writing and thinking, busy
working, ‘in secret’, as he put it in a letter to Lou Andreas-Salomé in November
1914, with ‘comprehensive and perhaps momentous things’ (Gay, 1988: 362).
Mourning and Melancholia was originally conceived as one chapter in what
Freud called his ‘metapsychology’ book. Ambitiously, he hoped that this book
would provide a clear exposition of the theory of the new discipline of psychoanalysis. However, in the very process of writing the interrelated papers, Freud
found that his theory began to crumble before his eyes. By 1915, increasingly
struggling with novel and contradictory concepts, Freud must have been aware
that it was time for some fresh theory building; Gay notes that in mid-June of
that year Freud, in his correspondence with the psychoanalyst Ferenczi, expressed some reservations about the book. This helps to explain why Freud
sounds so tentative at times in Mourning and Melancholia—there is no doubt that
his condence was shaken (see particularly pages 250 and 253). In the end, only
ve of the papers were published; Freud destroyed the remaining seven.
Yet his initial enthusiasm was to prove to have been prophetic; several of
the surviving chapters, such as Repression (1915) and The Unconscious (1915),
remain landmark works. Bristling with jargon, these ‘metapsychology’ papers
were clearly written for an academic audience; Freud uncompromisingly presumes an understanding of his work. At this point of time he was writing for his
eager and enthusiastic psychoanalytic community—his ‘inner circle’ (Gay,
1988). Of course, Freud would also have had in mind a less benign audience,
one which expressed the narrow-minded and anti-Semitic attitudes of the
Austrian psychiatric establishment. The combination of being both an outcast
and a charismatic leader resulted in a strange mix of defensiveness and deance
in Freud’s writings. This is much in evidence in the 1917 paper; both the
opening and closing paragraphs give space to elaborate, yet unconvincing,
disclaimers.
Mourning and melancholia and Freud’s theories of mind
It is generally acknowledged that Freud’s work can be separated into three
phases (Rapaport & Gill, 1959; Sandler et al., 1997). Freud’s theorising
developed through a process of to-ing and fro-ing between theory and clinical
experience; new ideas were tried out in the consulting room and particular
patients, many of whom are household names in psychoanalytic/therapeutic
circles, unwittingly helped to cause theoretical breakthroughs.
In the rst phase Freud, inuenced by the French psychiatrist Charcot as
well as the Austrian physician Breuer, focused upon the aetiology of hysteria. At
this time Freud argued that hysterical symptoms, such as paralysis, resulted
from traumatic experience in childhood, such as the seduction of a young girl
by her father; the tumult of emotions aroused at the time of the seduction were
imagined to have been largely repressed into the unconscious part of the mind.
Using hypnosis and suggestion, therapeutic results could be achieved by releas-
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ing these strangulated emotions (often called affects) by talking about, and
thereby bringing into consciousness, the trauma.
By the late 1890s, deep in his own self-analysis and busy with the dreams
of his patients, Freud came to see that the tales of misbehaving fathers, among
others, were usually not so much retrieved memories of abuse but ‘phantasies’
of seduction (Sandler et al., 1997). This revelation signalled the start of the
second phase of Freud’s thinking. In the highly productive 26 years that followed,
Freud worked upon his so called ‘topographical’ model of mind—rst outlined
in his famous book The interpretation of dreams (1900). Freud described three
‘systems’: the instinct-driven unconscious; the thought-, knowledge- and memory-full preconscious; and the system conscious (see Sandler et al., 1997).
Unlike the unconscious system, which is ruled by the ‘pleasure principle’,
seeking discharge or satisfaction of drives regardless of repercussions, both the
preconscious and conscious systems adhere to the ‘reality principle’, an interaction between reason, standards of conduct and the outside world. Freud
therefore developed a model of mind based upon a battle between the pleasureseeking primitive drives for, say, sex and food (what he called at this stage in his
theory of mind the ‘sexual’ and ‘ego’ instincts) and the ‘higher’, verbal, systems
of the mind. Thus, neurotic symptoms were envisioned as arising not so much
from childhood experiences but from on-going unconscious conict between the
systems; one could argue that this was Freud’s big discovery (Gay, 1988).
Analysis of these areas of conict, using the technique of free-association, did
not necessarily promise cure (although ideally, the patient could be rid of their
neurotic symptoms); at this point in time Freud was more interested in using
psychoanalysis as a navigational tool, as he mapped the mind (Gay, 1988).
In many ways Freud’s conception of the mental states of depression and
grief was quintessentially nineteenth century, drawing upon themes of natural
causality, determinism and adaptation (Sandler et al., 1997). As Sandler notes,
Freud, inuenced by the physiologist Brucke, envisioned psychological processes operating in terms of energy which could be released or withheld. He
believed that the mental apparatus aimed to keep supplies of energy as low, or
as constant, as possible. In both, On narcissism (1914) and Mourning and
Melancholia Freud is, in a sense, exploring the fate of this energy. During the
second phase, Freud conceived of the instincts or drives as being mainly
sexual, although he did, later, concede that they can also be aggressive. The
psychological aspect of the sexual drive was called ‘libido’ by Freud. Another
way of grasping the meaning of libido would be to think of all that is encapsulated by the word ‘love’ (Freud, 1921). Libido can ‘cathect’, or invest, in an
‘object’ (the site of satisfaction) (Laplanche & Pontalis, 1988). Such cathexes of
libido ow from the ego (the reservoir of all libido) to both whole and
part-objects in the outside world and, Freud implied, representations of objects
in the internal world.
Mourning and Melancholia, written during this second phase, draws upon
this drive-psychology and upon the topographical model of mind; any under-
Freud’s Mourning and Melancholia
215
standing of what Freud has to say about either melancholia or mourning in this
paper is predicated upon a grasp of the above.
One also needs to have an understanding of Freud’s theory of psychosexual
development. Just a decade earlier Freud had written his groundbreaking Three
essays of the theory of sexuality. In this controversial yet extraordinarily modern
book, Freud described what he saw as phases of heightened libidinal investment
of different body parts, or erotogenic zones (see Sandler et al., 1997). Moving
through the oral, anal and phallic stages in the rst 5 years of life, he argued that
one can observe degrees of xations and regressions to these early psychosexual
stages (ranging from the normal to the pathological) throughout adult life. As
you will see, much of his work on melancholia centres around the regression to
orality.
Yet, there is more to Mourning and Melancholia than a relatively straightforward description and comparison of the two conditions in terms of drive-psychology within topographical and psychosexual developmental frames of
reference. Along with the sister metapsychology paper, On narcissism, written the
year before, the content of Mourning and Melancholia marked the end of this
middle period and heralded the start of Freud’s third phase of work. In these
papers Freud described the concepts of ‘narcissism’, in which he postulated that
the ego could take itself as an object of love, and the ‘ego ideal’, a body in the
mind made up of a constellation of both idealised self and identications with
parental gures. While the realisation that the ego could be libidinally invested
blew apart Freud’s earlier conception of drives being either sexual or self-preservative (it appeared to Freud at this point that they were all sexual), the
description of the ‘ego ideal’ put him on the track of identifying the third agency
in mind, the ‘super-ego’. Just 8 years after he had written Mourning and
Melancholia Freud published The ego and the id—which perhaps could have been
more helpfully entitled ‘The id, ego and super-ego’—which describes for the
rst time the structural model of mind. In this book he outlines the role of the
newly ‘discovered’ agency, the ‘super-ego’, that complex critical body that
operates as a control or standard against which we measure ourselves. In one
sweep Freud not only explained the existence of the emotions of guilt and
shame, but also the psychological origins of culture.
Melancholia
In Mourning and Melancholia Freud uses the latter in order to elaborate upon the
themes of narcissism and identication, so clearly articulated in the 1914
narcissism paper. Typically, Freud entices the reader by describing the symptoms of what he calls ‘psychogenic’ melancholia: ‘a profoundly painful dejection, cessation of interest in the outside world, loss of the capacity to love,
inhibition of all activity, and a lowering of the self-regarding feelings to a degree
that nds utterance in self-reproaches and self-revilings, and culminates in a
delusional expectation of punishment’ (p. 244). Freud wonders why lowered
self-regard should be a feature of this mental state. Somewhat disingenuously,
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Mary Bradbury
he adds that these self-reproaches do not t and appear to be directed against
someone else. Freud then suggests that the depressed person appears to be
unconsciously mourning over a loss of someone or something. Having skilfully
caught our attention, Freud then takes time to expand upon his theme, much
like a crime novelist.
Freud suggests that in melancholia we see an identication with an abandoned, and therefore ‘lost’, object [see Wollheim (1991:93) for a good description of this process]. On losing the object, rather than directing freed libido to
a new object—the healthy response—the melancholic appears to have withdrawn the freed libido back to the ego. This libido is then used to establish a
narcissistic identication of the ego with the abandoned object; ‘Thus the
shadow of the object fell upon the ego’ (p. 249). This explains why the ego is
impoverished. Here ‘object loss’ has been transformed into ‘ego-loss’ (p. 249)
and the old struggles between ambivalently loved object and ego are thus
replaced by a new struggle—experienced as guilt—between the super-ego (here
simply called ‘conscience’, p. 247) and the ego (see Fenichel, 1996).
So, by holding the object within, as it were, the melancholic can enjoy, at
leisure, the opportunity of vilifying it. Freud argues that this helps to explain the
way in which the depressed rail against themselves so violently. He is suggesting
that these lengthy, vocal and unashamed condemnations are actually not so
much self-criticisms but internalised-object criticisms. This accounts for the
uninhibited nature of such laments—‘They are not ashamed and do not hide
themselves, since everything derogatory that they say about themselves is at
bottom said about someone else’ (p. 248). In a nal twist to the plot, Freud
notes that, as the real object—consciously unacknowledged—of loss (such as the
unloving/unloved wife) is not uncommonly still close at hand, the lamenting
melancholic can revenge themselves by causing great suffering to the root of all
this pain.
Expanding on his theme, Freud suggests that there is a regression from
narcissistic object-choice, where the object is chosen on the model of the
subject’s own self (Laplanche & Pontalis, 1988), to original narcissism, using
the mechanism of identication or, rather, introjection (the more primitive or
corporeal form of identication in the late ‘oral’ infant). ‘The ego wants to
incorporate this object into itself, and, in accordance with the oral or cannibalistic phase of libidinal development in which it is, it wants to do so by devouring
it’ (p. 250). Given the confusion arising from this ambivalently related-to, lost
and identied-with, object, within an overwhelmed ego, it is easy to see how
harm towards the lost object can become self-harm. Sadism and hate—all the
more powerful owing to the regressed state of the person—have been turned in
upon the subject’s own ego.
Melancholia can come to an end quietly, without leaving any trace, or can
be marked by a contrasting period of mania. Noting that there appears to be the
release of energy, experienced as joy, triumph and a readiness ‘for all kinds of
action’ (p. 254), in mania, Freud discusses the possible reasons for this release
before, somewhat tentatively, suggesting that the link must lie with the re-
Freud’s Mourning and Melancholia
217
gression of libido to narcissism. Frustratingly—but quite understandably given
the nascent state of his theorising at this time—Freud ends by saying that ‘it will
be well to call a halt and to postpone any further explanation of mania’ (p. 258); he
was to return to this in Group psychology and the analysis of the ego in 1921.
Normal grief
Freud notes that while many of the characteristics of normal mourning appear
the same as those of melancholia, there is no loss of self-regard in grief. In this
1917 paper, he argues that this is due to the fact that in normal mourning there
is no identication with the deceased. Instead, the survivor is undergoing the
lengthy and painful process whereby, despite the strong desire to deny reality
[remaining in a state of ‘hallucinatory wishful psychosis’ (p. 244)] they have
consciously to face the reality of the loss of the loved-object and start to
decathect libido from it. In his own words; ‘Each single one of the memories and
situations of expectancy which demonstrate the libido’s attachment to the lost object is
met by the verdict of reality that the object no longer exists; and the ego, confronted as
it were with the question whether it shall share this fate, is persuaded by the sum of the
narcissistic satisfaction it derives from being alive to sever its attachment to the object
that has been abolished’. This time-consuming and painful ‘work of mourning’ (p.
245) leaves the ego inhibited and circumscribed. Once all the libidinal attachments are broken, suggests Freud, the ego is ‘free and uninhibited again’ (p. 245).
Maybe a rather mechanistic description; just 5 years later when his daughter
Sophie, pregnant with her third child, died of inuenza, Freud was very clear in
his correspondence to his friends that this was a grief without end (see Gay,
1988: 392–393; Lussier, 2000: 671).
There is no mania at the ‘end’ of the grieving process, proposes Freud,
precisely because ‘the work of severance is so slow and gradual that by the time it has
been nished the expenditure of energy necessary for it is also dissipated’ (p. 255).
Pathological grief
Freud also hypothesised about what happens when grief goes wrong. He argued
that in this instance the ambivalent nature of the relationship towards the
deceased when living has led to an obsessive state in which the mourning
individual feels that they have somehow willed the death. Crucially, in the 1917
paper Freud was not saying that the pathologically mourning person has
necessarily introjected or identied with the deceased—‘These obsessive states of
depression following upon the death of a loved person show us what the conict due to
ambivalence can achieve by itself when there is no regressive drawing-in of the libido
as well’ (p. 251). However, in the same passage, he acknowledges that these
states of ‘obsessive depression’ (without identication) and ‘melancholia’ (with
narcissistic identication) are closely allied. Indeed, if the pathologically mourning individual becomes melancholic, then one can presume that identication
with the lost object is playing its part (see pp. 243 and 250). Later, in 1923,
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Mary Bradbury
Freud was to elaborate upon the central role of identication, arguing that the
earliest of these regressive identications form the very nucleus of the developing
super-ego (Editor’s note to Mourning and Melancholia, p. 242).
In conclusion
Lussier (2000), argues that Freud was not ‘interested’ in the subject of mourning. While he was no stranger to bereavement, having lost his father in 1896 and
both his half-brothers in 1911 and 1914, he did not often write about his
experiences of loss. This stands in great contrast to his frank and detailed
descriptions of his dream life, given in his Interpretation of dreams (1900)
(Lussier, 2000). Yet Freud acknowledged that his bereavements did have an
impact upon his work in general, a fact he frankly admitted to, for example,
when discussing his paternal bereavement in the preface of the 1908 second
edition of his ‘dream book’ (Gay, 1988). Despite this piece of self-insight,
however, it does seem fair to say that Freud did relish writing about the topic
of grief. It is notable that he was most indignant when Fritz Wittels suggested
that his theoretical ‘discovery’ of the controversial ‘death drive’ was inspired by
his daughter Sophie’s death. Freud wrote a defensive letter of response, pointing
out that Beyond the pleasure principle was written before the loss of his darling
‘Sunday child’ (Gay, 1988; Lussier, 2000).
Psychoanalytic conceptions have permeated contemporary society, and it
should come as no surprise to nd that the same is true of therapeutic and
academic approaches to grief and mourning. Freud’s account of loss and
depression, articulated in Mourning and Melancholia and elaborated upon for the
next 24 years by Freud, was used extensively by pioneers of grief studies, such
as John Bowlby (1961), Eric Lindemann (1944) and Colin Murray Parkes
(1986). The inuence of Freud’s thinking can be clearly seen in current
descriptions of grief [see Raphael (1984) for a typical example]. Indeed, as
Stroebe and Stroebe (1987) note, no treatise on bereavement can afford to
ignore this landmark paper. The idea of unconscious activity, Freud’s work of
mourning, is tremendously helpful in explaining the existence of such phenomena as intense preoccupation with the deceased as well as hallucinations and
dreams of the lost person. Meanwhile, Freud’s insights into the role of ambivalence and his work on identication with a lost object (not completely
articulated or worked through in this 1917 paper) have had an enormous impact
on how we view both normal and pathological grief.
Critiques of Freud’s theories, his professional and personal life abound.
While his description of normal and pathological grief has been proven to be
awed (see Stroebe & Stroebe, 1987; Parkes, 1986), I think all of us will have
to agree that there is something about his insights that stick. It is a testament to
Freud’s genius that his almost off-hand account of mourning, written in prose
that is moving, gently ironic and steadfastly unsentimental, has stood the test of
time.
Freud’s Mourning and Melancholia
219
Acknowledgements
Warm thanks go to Anna Joynt, Rael Meyerowitz and Mark Swartzentruber for
their helpful suggestions.
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Biographical note
Mary Bradbury is currently training at the Institute of Psychoanalysis (a part of the British
Psychoanalytic Society) and is an Honorary Clinical Associate at the Tavistock Clinic. She has a
PhD in social psychology and is author of Representations of death: a social psychological perspective,
published by Routledge in 1999.
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