Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalytic theory, the death drive or “death wish,” first described in his hugely influential 1920 book, Beyond the Pleasure Principle, was not exclusively his own. Sadly, the idea that humans possess an impulse toward death, destruction of others, and destruction of self, was first proposed by the Russian psychoanalyst, Sabina Spielrein, and then elaborated upon by Freud, who was given all the credit for it.
Have you ever heard of Sabina Spielrein? Exactly. What a long and miserable history we have of erasing women from the narrative.
Freud’s psychoanalytic theories about the death drive have fallen out of favor in recent years. As much bristling resentment I feel toward Freud and all poachers of women’s scholarship, I think this trendy and wholesale rejection of his theories is muddle-headed. I’m not a trained psychoanalyst, but I do possess human consciousness, and I am often confronted by my own and others’ darkly complicated impulse toward self-destruction.
The concept of a death drive, or death wish, is defined as “opposition between the ego or death instincts and the sexual or life instincts.” Eros (the sexual instinct) versus Thanatos (the destructive instinct). In popular culture, we manage to combine the two in sadomasochism yarns like Fifty Shades of Grey, or the dangerous-but-sexy vampire villains of Twilight. The zodiac sign, Scorpio, is a distillation of sex and death, creation and destruction. In Greek mythology, Aphrodite, goddess of erotic love, beauty, and regeneration is depicted as the paramour of Ares, god of war. Once again, we have Eros and Thanatos, locked in an eternal embrace.
Curiously, in times of war, suicides drop, but in countries where the homicide rates are low, the number of suicides rises. One can interpret that data many different ways, perhaps even non-causally, but it would appear that our capacity for self-destruction is, quite literally, a planetary epidemic.
Where I especially see the death drive in full effect is in men between the ages of 15-27. Not coincidentally, these are prime draft years for the military. Young women, too, have an appetite for aggression and self-destruction, but on them, it usually looks different. Less kill/crush/destroy; more “I hate myself.”
Looking back at my own life, I can see the self-destructive patterns, especially in relationships. For a girl who loves academic study, art, culture, and big ideas, I sure was drawn toward muscle-bound morons too stupid to count to two with one foot. Now, one might dismiss this as nothing more sinister than garden-variety sexual attraction, but was it? There are some relationships so sexually addictive and mutually destructive, you experience them like a drug. And like a drug, there is always a mindless, reckless craving for more, no matter what price you pay.
That’s just one example of our endless capacity for self-destruction. How many more can we think of? Drugs, war, gang life—or say, refusing to wear a mask—motorcycles (emergency medical professionals calls them “donor cycles”), risky practices of all genera, including alcohol, cigarettes, climate change, and being Robert Mapplethorpe.
So, what drives us to seek our own destruction—or to at least flirt with it? Aren’t we programmed to fight for our own survival?
Every day of our lives, we do battle with death. Driving to work, running down a flight of stairs, even eating, puts us at risk of crashing, falling, or choking. Most of the time, we don’t consciously think about it, but it’s there, like the whine of a mosquito. As we get older, that whine gets louder. It reminds us that we are closing in on our expiration date, and that the careless, self-destructive things we used to enjoy doing may bring that expiration date closer, faster.
But I think there’s more to it than that. After a while, the desperation of trying to survive amid so much uncertainty becomes too much to bear. The idea of dying feels like relief. Anything seems preferable to walking that tight rope, day after day, even death. Instead of finding an alternate solution to our suffering and unhappiness, we fling open the only door we think is available to us: oblivion.
In the following clip of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 5, Episode 7, “Fool for Love,” the show’s writers display uncanny insight into Buffy’s death wish. It’s the kind of writing that elevates the series above any other of its genre. Here, Buffy is confronted with the grim reality of her calling as a vampire slayer. “Every day you wake up with the same bloody question—is today the day I die?” Spike, her vampiric foe, tells her, while demonstrating how he killed a previous slayer. “Death is on your heels, and sooner or later, it’s going to catch you. And a part of you wants it. Not just to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you’re just a little bit in love with it.”
Trigger warning: the scene is campy violent, not explicitly violent, but viewer discretion is advised.
By far, my favorite depiction of destruction and regeneration is the Hindu goddess Kali, Mother of the Universe and wife of Shiva. More than a deity, Kali is a primordial force that her millions of worshipers believe will continue long after the universe ends. She is depicted in several ways: two-armed, four-armed, or ten-armed. The Samhara version of Kali bestows both death and liberation.
Her two right hands are held out in blessing, one in a mudra meaning “fear not.” In her left hands, Kali holds a severed head and a bloody sword. The sword decapitates ignorance and ego, represented by the severed head. She is often shown with her foot on Shiva’s chest, who lays prostrate before her. When Kali was angry enough to destroy the universe, Shiva was the only one able to calm her and thus save humankind.
Her complexion is blue or black, to symbolize the darkness from which everything is born. A garland of human skulls hangs from her neck. A skirt of human arms encircles her waist. She is the most fearsome and primal power in the universe.
Recognizing your own capacity for self-destruction, your death wish, can be the only thing that saves you in the end. If anger turned inward is depression, and anger turned outward is aggression, then it’s clear we must become intimately acquainted with our darker selves. When we finally understand that these destructive thoughts and impulses exist inside all of us, we can, by casting a light on them, deprive them of their deadly power.
Can you admit to having a death wish? If so, in what way has it impacted your life? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments section below.
Out of mental self-preservation I refuse to dwell, for very long, on negatives surrounding me.
Oh, they pass through my thoughts often enough, but then I give them the heave ho and move on to things more pleasurable.
For instance: like being glad (nay, ecstatic) I'm not eighteen, facing a world gone hopelessly mad, and being clueless as to how to 'fix' it without giving up all my electronic gadgets and plastic gewgaws.
Death will be welcomed at some point; it'd be nice if it were *my* choice, however. So...I proceed with caution. Not much of a chance-taker here.
Despite the fact that Dr. Spielrein has a name as German sounding as my own, it turns out she was Russian. (I had to look her up -- I'd not heard of her before.)
I never manifested a death wish in those prime years, but later in life and ever since I've struggled to maintain control over the seething rage that is permanently just beneath my surface. ("Don't you ever tame your demon, But always keep him on a leash" -- lyric from "Arsonists Lullaby.") Maybe some of it came out by taking up fencing (sabre) and riding horses (English, not Western.) I never got very far with either, and moving to So IL forced me to drop both.