And what can it mean when a slip of the tongue, a failed action, a blunder from the psychopathology of everyday life is repeated at least three times in the same five minutes? I don’t know why I tell you this, since it’s an example in which I reveal one of my patients. Not long ago, in fact, one of my patients — for five minutes, each time correcting himself and laughing, though it left him completely indifferent — called his mother “my wife.” “She’s not my wife,” he said (because my wife, etc.), and he went on for five minutes, repeating it some twenty times.
In what sense was that utterance a failure? — while I keep insisting that it is precisely a successful utterance. And it is so because his mother was, in a way, his wife. He called her as he ought to.
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I must apologize for returning to such a basic point. Yet, since I am faced with objections as weighty as this one — and from qualified authorities, linguists no less — that my use of linguistics is said to be merely metaphorical, I must respond, whatever the circumstances.
I do so this morning because I expected to encounter a more challenging spirit here.
Can I, with any decency, say that I know? Know what, precisely? [...]
If I know where I stand, I must also confess [...] that I do not know what I am saying. In other words, what I know is exactly what I cannot say. That is the moment when Freud makes his entrance, with his introduction of the unconscious.
For the unconscious means nothing if not this: that whatever I say, and from whatever position I speak — even when I hold that position firmly — I do not know what I am saying. None of the discourses, as I defined them last year, offer the slightest hope that anyone might truly know what they are saying.
Even though I do not know what I am saying, I know at least that I do not know it — and I am far from being the first to speak under such conditions; such speech has been heard before. I maintain that the cause of this is to be sought in language itself, and nowhere else.
What I add to Freud — though it is already present in him, for whatever he uncovers of the unconscious is always made of the very substance of language — is this: the unconscious is structured like a language. Which language? That, I leave for you to determine.
Whether I speak in French or in Chinese, it would make no difference — or so I would wish. It is all too clear that what I am stirring up, on a certain level, provokes bitterness, especially among linguists. That alone suggests much about the current state of the university, whose position is made only too evident in the curious hybrid that linguistics has become.
That I should be denounced, my God, is of little consequence. That I am not debated — that too is hardly surprising, since it is not within the bounds of any university-defined domain that I take my stand, or can take it.
— Jacques Lacan, Seminar XVIII: Of a Discourse That Would Not Be of Pretence
In what sense was that utterance a failure? — while I keep insisting that it is precisely a successful utterance. And it is so because his mother was, in a way, his wife. He called her as he ought to.
---
I must apologize for returning to such a basic point. Yet, since I am faced with objections as weighty as this one — and from qualified authorities, linguists no less — that my use of linguistics is said to be merely metaphorical, I must respond, whatever the circumstances.
I do so this morning because I expected to encounter a more challenging spirit here.
Can I, with any decency, say that I know? Know what, precisely? [...]
If I know where I stand, I must also confess [...] that I do not know what I am saying. In other words, what I know is exactly what I cannot say. That is the moment when Freud makes his entrance, with his introduction of the unconscious.
For the unconscious means nothing if not this: that whatever I say, and from whatever position I speak — even when I hold that position firmly — I do not know what I am saying. None of the discourses, as I defined them last year, offer the slightest hope that anyone might truly know what they are saying.
Even though I do not know what I am saying, I know at least that I do not know it — and I am far from being the first to speak under such conditions; such speech has been heard before. I maintain that the cause of this is to be sought in language itself, and nowhere else.
What I add to Freud — though it is already present in him, for whatever he uncovers of the unconscious is always made of the very substance of language — is this: the unconscious is structured like a language. Which language? That, I leave for you to determine.
Whether I speak in French or in Chinese, it would make no difference — or so I would wish. It is all too clear that what I am stirring up, on a certain level, provokes bitterness, especially among linguists. That alone suggests much about the current state of the university, whose position is made only too evident in the curious hybrid that linguistics has become.
That I should be denounced, my God, is of little consequence. That I am not debated — that too is hardly surprising, since it is not within the bounds of any university-defined domain that I take my stand, or can take it.
— Jacques Lacan, Seminar XVIII: Of a Discourse That Would Not Be of Pretence