Death as the Ultimate Castration

ABSTRACT

Psychoanalysts, beginning with Sigmund Freud, have been scanting, denying, minimizing, and obfuscating the significance of fear of death in their patients and in themselves. Starting with Freud, they have tended to interpret fear of death as a displacement from other sources of anxiety, especially from castration anxiety. Conversely, some psychoanalysts and psychotherapists have denied the presence or significance of castration anxiety in their patients and in themselves. In this communication, the prevalence and significance of each of these forms of terror are examined, individually and as to their connection with one another. Considerable clinical, child observational, and literary evidence is presented that illustrates the significance and meaning of these two sources of terror within the human psyche, as well as the relationship which they have with one another.

Notes

¹ My friend at one time had been in analytic training at a well-known and long-established psychoanalytic institute. As she complained bitterly to me one evening, as we were driving to Long Island together, her training analyst was not interested in hearing about her horrendous experiences during the Holocaust. Whenever she brought them up, apparently unable to deal with what her recollections evoked for him, he pushed them aside to focus instead on exploration of her emotional development prior to those experiences. Apparently, he was not able to face the horrors perpetrated by the Nazi death machine that she was bringing in to his analytic consulting room. She put up with it for a considerable length of time, but then she withdrew from the analysis—and withdrew from the institute. Her experience is not unique, to which, for example, Sophia Richman (2013) has recently attested.

² See my review of Razinsky’s book in The Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 2015, Vol. 84: pp. 239–247.

³ This occurred a good number of years ago, before the advent of amniocentesis as a means of determining the status of a fetus in utero.

⁴ The wish by boys to have a baby, and the far from uncommon insistence that they can do so, will be the subject of another article.

⁵ More about this and about his self-punitive behavior are included within a paper on the only child by Jacob A. Arlow (1972) to which I contributed material. (A typographical error, unfortunately, under-reported Adam’s age at the time his brother was born by a year.)

⁶ The equivalent in girls of the distress experienced by little boys about the blow to their pride that comes from being smaller and less well developed than their fathers is epitomized in the story of a little girl who was invited by her glamorous aunt to spend a weekend with her, in Hollywood, where her aunt worked as an actor. They had lunch together at a restaurant where Dolly’s aunt introduced her to other actors, who were attentive to her and who made a big fuss over her. They went shopping together for clothes, had a thoroughly enjoyable, leisurely dinner, with ice cream for dessert, and then went home to her aunt’s house. “I know just what we can do to cap off this wonderful day we’ve had together,” Dolly’s aunt said to her. “Let’s take a bubble bath!” They took off their clothes and got into the tub, where they were surrounded by fragrant soap bubbles. Dolly’s aunt felt quite happy, but when she looked down at her niece she saw a very sad, dejected look on her face. “We had such a wonderful time today,” she said. “Why do you look so unhappy?” “Oh, Auntie,” little Dolly replied. “Why is it I’m so plain and you’re so fancy!?!”

⁷ Somerset Maugham captured this brilliantly in his short story, “Appointment in Samarra” (O’Hara, 1934). The story is set in medieval Arabia. A man wakes up in the morning and finds himself cold and hungry. His servant, who was to make a fire and prepare his breakfast, is nowhere to be found. He grows increasingly angry— but then his servant throws open the door and hurries in looking terrified. “What’s the matter?” his master asks him. “I went to the market place to buy food for your breakfast,” he replies. “Death was in the market place—and he looked at me. I know that he is after me.” “Don’t worry,” his master tells him. “You’ve been a loyal servant. I’ll save you. Saddle a camel and load it with supplies, and I’ll send you to Samarra, where my brother will hide you.” After his servant leaves, the man realizes that he is still hungry. He goes to the market place to buy food—and he sees Death there. “Why do you look at me like that,” Death asks. “Why did you frighten my servant like that?” the man replies. “Oh, was that your servant?” Death responds. “I didn’t mean to frighten him. It’s just that I was surprised to see him. What was he doing here? I have an appointment with him tomorrow morning in Samarra.”

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Martin A. Silverman

Martin A. Silverman, M.D., is a training and supervising analyst and supervising child analyst at the Institute for Psychoanalytic Education affiliated with the NYU School of Medicine and a training and supervising analyst at the Center for Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy of New Jersey. He is the Associate Editor and Book Review Editor of The Psychoanalytic Quarterly.