PSYCHOANALYSIS AS A WEAPON
Murray N. Rothbard
(This article was a keynote address given by the late
economist Murray N. Rothbard at a special conference
sponsored by The Institute for Humanistic Studies, State
University of New York at Albany, M.E. Grenander, Director,
April 17-19, 1980. The conference was entitled _Asclepius
At Syracuse: Thomas Szasz, Libertarian Humanist_.
Rothbard's comments are excerpted from pp. 333-350 of the
Thomas Szasz is justly honored for his gallant and
courageous battle against the compulsory commitment of the
innocent in the name of "therapy" and humanitarianism. But
I would like to focus tonight on a lesser-known though
corollary struggle of Szasz: against the use of
psychoanalysis as a weapon to dismiss and dehumanize people,
ideas, and groups that the analyst doesn't happen to like.
Rather than criticize or grapple with the ideas or actions
of people on their own terms, as correct or incorrect, right
or wrong, good or bad, they are explained away by the
analyst as caused by some form of neurosis. They are the
ideas or actions of neurotic, or "sick," people: so if the
people themselves are not to be incarcerated in institutions
as "mentally ill," then their ideas or attitudes may be
treated in the same manner.
The unspoken assumption, of course, is that ideas or
actions congenial to the analyst don't need "explaining" by
psychoanalytic or other psychodynamic theories. Since they
don't need "explaining," the implication is that they are
normal, correct, and good, though of course no analyst, in
his role as the embodiment of "value-free science," would
ever be caught dead using such terms. For if he did so, he
would have to take the ideas or actions of his opponents
seriously, and set forth an explicit moral theory in doing
so. He would not be able to dismiss them as "sick" or as
people who are uniquely in need of being "explained."
In his excellent critique of the new discipline of
"psycho-history," which specializes in this sort of
methodology, the eminent historian Jacques Barzun uses the
term "psychologizing," which he trenchantly defines as
the practice of taking an utterance or an action
not at its face value as an expression of
straightforward desire or purpose, but as an
involuntary symptom which, when properly interpreted,
discloses a meaning hidden from the agent and from
It is no accident that the psychologizing of the
psycho-historians has been used mainly against uncongenial
people and groups. In the twentieth century, Adolf Hitler
has been the most subject to this treatment, so much so that
until recent years it was hard to find an American historian
who did not dismiss him as a neurotic, psychopath, or
psychotic. One of the problems with this analysis, of
course, is that not only Hitler and his immediate followers,
but also the entire German nation must then be treated as
neurotic or psychotic. Not only does this strain the limits
of credulity, but it must then be explained why the Germans
suddenly _became_ neurotic in 1933 and shucked off their
alleged collective neurosis rather quickly twelve years
later. Presumably their child rearing methods, or whatever,
did not change radically before or after this time period.
Three decades ago, there was a rash of psychoanalytic
anthropological "explanations" of the allegedly totalitarian
character of all Russians and Japanese, "explaining" such by
their toilet training or their being swaddled in early
childhood; but since then, the Japanese, at least, seem to
have made a remarkable recovery from their toilet training.
As a sample of psychoanalytic techniques used in
"explaining" Adolf Hitler, we have the distinguished
psychoanalyst Walter Langer, brother of the leading champion
of psycho-historians. Langer talks of
the fact that as a child he [Hitler] must have
discovered his parents during intercourse. An
examination of the data makes this conclusion almost
inescapable [Here Barzun notes that the data "are some
remarks not even hinting at such an event"], and from
our knowledge of his father's character and past
history, it is not at all improbably. It would seem
that his feelings on this occasion were very mixed. (2)
It is safe to say that, without the cloak of the pseudo-
science of psychoanalysis at his command, any such use of
historical evidence would have been quickly laughed out of
In twentieth century America, Richard Nixon has been
treated most to the ministrations of the psycho-historians.
Reviewing a psycho-historical book on Nixon, Christopher
Lehmann-Haupt -- no admirer of the President -- wrote in
_The New York Times_:
And as for the significance [read into the] fact that
after the predawn chat with antiwar students at the
Lincoln Memorial Mr. Nixon ate "corned beef hash with
an egg on it" for the first time in five years ("After
the catharsis, an acceptable short regression in
orality") -- such an insight is enough to give pause to
even true believers in psycho-history. (3)
Freud's dissection of Woodrow Wilson was so savage that
even devoted Freudians and psycho-historians blanch at it in
great embarrassment. (4) And currently, we can see the
psychodynamic weapon at work in the press and media accounts
of the Muslims in Iran and Afghanistan. Let us note that
the Ayatollah Khomeini and his followers are uniformly
dismissed as crazy, extremist "fanatics"; yet very similar
and neighboring Muslim "fanatics" in Afghanistan are treated
as "heroic freedom fighters" who battle Soviet tanks with
their bare hands. Clearly, it all depends on whether people
are "our" fanatics of "theirs." "Our" fanatics are heroes;
"theirs" are psychopaths.
I hasten to add that I too find none of these people
congenial; I'm sure I would find neither Hitler, Wilson,
Nixon, nor the Ayatollah charming dinner or cocktail part
companions. But surely I am not to be permitted to
transform these aesthetic judgments into a "Value-free
science" that dismisses them all as simply one or other
species of neurotic or psychotic. Besides, why do I have to
Psycho-history has most often been used as a weapon
against radical groups in the past. Any radical group that
challenged the _status quo_ is assumed ipso factor to be
crazy or neurotic, people whose ideas and behavior have to
be "explained." The "explanation" of course is never that
they had perceived what they considered to be a grave
injustice in society and were trying to set it right.
Whether their theory of justice is correct or not is really
beside the point. The point is that the psycho-historian
has always implicitly assumed that the status quo, whatever
it is, is normal, so that opposition to it is neurotic and
abnormal and needs "explanation."
The leading example of this smear of radicals through
psychologizing has been the conventional historians'
treatment of abolitionists, a treatment that has only been
modified in recent years. In setting themselves squarely
and openly against what they considered the monstrous
injustice of slavery, the abolitionists, especially the
militant Garrisonian wing, let themselves in for psycho-
historical abuse as well as vilification during their
lifetime. Thus, the popular textbook by Hofstadter, Miller,
and Aaron refers to William Lloyd Garrison as "wayward" and
"neurotic." Hazel C. Wolf, in her revealingly titled work,
_On Freedom's Altar, the Martyr Complex in the Abolition
Movement_, describes the abolitionist Theodore Weld as
someone who "gloried in the persecution he suffered," and
who "lovingly wore the martyr's crown of thorns." As for
poor Garrison, "he had a mania for uniqueness and
attention." Perhaps the basest rhetoric -- to use Szasz's
stirring term -- was David Donald's outrageous and patently
untrue assertion that the abolitionists were dismayed at the
freeing of the slaves because it ended a crusade which had
brought them "purpose and joy"; Lincoln as emancipator was
for them "the killer of the dream." To wrap it up,
Professor Donald manages to smear the abolitionist and
laissez-faire Senator Charles Sumner as impotent and
latently homosexual, and to conclude that "This holy
blissful martyr thrived upon his torments." (5)
The base message in all this is clear. Radicals who
see injustice in the _status quo_ are neurotic; if they are
persecuted, who cares, for after all that's what they
_really_ wanted; and whether or not they achieved their
goals doesn't matter because they cared not about the goal
but only about the trouble-making struggle itself. (6)
Blaming radicals for their own persecution is akin to
another reversal tactic frequently practiced by Freud.
Thus, in one of my favorite works of Tom Szasz -- the
unfortunately neglected _Karl Kraus and the Soul Doctors_ --
Szasz writes of Freud's response when one of his entourage,
Fritz Wittels, delivered a psychoanalytic "character
assassination" (as Szasz correctly calls it) of Freud's
brilliant critic, Karl Kraus. Freud's reaction was that "we
have reason to be grateful to Wittels for making so many
sacrifices." On which Szasz comments:
This is one of Freud's characteristic verbal tricks,
which he often applied to his own attacks on others as
well; it is not Kraus who was sacrificed by Wittels,
but Wittels who has sacrificed himself! It is a good
tactic if one can get away with it, and, by and large,
Freud got away with it. (7)
Of all the abolitionists, the most hated and denounced
as neurotic or psychotic by psycho-historians was the most
radical of the lot, John Brown. Brown not only denounced
slavery, he took up arms against it; in doing so, he killed
people. To denounce war or killing as neurotic or psychotic
_per se_ would condemn a large portion of the human race,
past and present. Moreover, Brown was grim and had no sense
of humor. He spoke of slavery as a sing, and of the
necessity of "purging this land with blood." But then, all
the evangelical pietists of the day spoke in similar terms.
They -- and this means the bulk of the Protestant sects in
the Northern United States from 1830 or so onward -- were
deeply religious, and they believed it their bounded duty
for their own salvation to do their best to "make society
holy" and to "purge this land of sin." Most evangelical
pietists were grim, humorless folk, and their definition of
sin unfortunately went far beyond a libertarian hostility to
slavery; Demon Rum, gambling, the breaking of the Sabbath,
and membership in the Roman Catholic Church stood, in their
eyes, as almost as sinful as slavery, and once slavery was
out of the way, most of them determined to use force, if
necessary, to purge the land of these activities too. So,
as I said earlier, none of these people, not Garrison, and
certainly not John Brown, would have made charming cocktail
party companions. But this does not make them "neurotic" or
"sick"; just passionate and determined men who found sin
and injustice, some in areas where I would agree and other
where I would emphatically disagree.
Neither does John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry
qualify him as a nut because the raid manifestly failed.
Brown's raid was based on cogent theories of guerrilla
warfare, and particularly on a plan set forth a year earlier
by the libertarian Lysander Spooner. The idea was to get
arms in a dramatic and much-publicized raid, and then to go
off into the hills to form what we would now call guerrilla
_foco_ in the South, which would attract runaway slaves, and
which could be used as a base for guerrilla raids upon
slaveholders, either freeing numbers of slaves or holding
the masters as hostages and forcing them to set the slaves
Generally, radicals are dismissed by psycho-historians
as people with Oedipal problems, people who, in their
unresolved hostility to "the father," are lashing out at the
State, or at contemporary institutions. Fortunately,
however, psychoanalysis also provides us with a _tu quoque_,
or "you're another," weapon as a counter-punch. For
radicals can always retort: "No. _You_, in defending the
State and the current _status quo_, are neurotically
attached to your father!" Both sets of nonsense, it seems
to me, cancel each other out, and then we can all turn to
The availability of this counter-thrust is part of the
methodological weakness that psychoanalysis shares with
other determinist creeds. For all determinist beliefs
implicitly assume that the determinist is magically exempt
from the determined system and that he, at least, possesses
free will and the ability to learn the truth. As Jacques
Barzun points out:
Psycho-historians see others moved by unconscious
forces that distort vision and compel strange behavior,
but they assume themselves to be clear transmitters of
light and judgment. Why is their vision of persons and
events not blurred and skewed as well, and their
interpretations forced upon them by dark needs rather
than evidential reasons? (9)
Or, as Kraus wistfully put it: "I would be satisfied if I
could convince a person who asserts something about
psychology that, in his own unconscious, he really means
something quiet different from what he says." (10)
The reductive psychoanalytic smear has not only been
used against particularly uncongenial individuals or against
radical persons and groups. It has often been used as
virtually a cosmic and systematic assault on art and
creativity itself. Karl Kraus aptly terms this process
calling and using urns as chamber pots.
Thus, Norman O. Brown has led the psychoanalytic pack
in literally reducing Martin Luther's famous revelatory
insight about the meaning of God's "righteousness" to
instantaneous relief in the privy from life-long
constipation. Among other things, this illustrates the
fallacy of reducing the thoughts and actions of countless
millions of unique individuals to the permutations and
combinations of a small handful of alleged childhood
neuroses. After all, there have been in human history many
millions of constipated people; but there has been only one
Martin Luther. Furthermore, it turns out that Luther in
fact achieved this revelation not in the privy but while
seated at his worktable in a tower-room while preparing his
lecture notes. (11) But I am sure that such a trivial
detail as the actual fact will put no crimp in what we
might, in a bit of black humor, call the "romantic" Freudian
view of Luther's insight.
Similarly, there are Karl Kraus's strictures against
the psychoanalytic _dictum_ that Wagner's _Flying Dutchman_
was created "out of his desire, as a little boy, for . . .
being as big as his father, for doing what his father did .
. ." Kraus comments that "the psychologists insist that
these same desires lurk in the minds of all little boys,"
but that, "after all, of all the males in the world, only
one, namely Wagner, has created this piece of work." Kraus
goes on sardonically: "most of the others have become, out
of their desired to be like their father, stockbrokers or
lawyers, tram-conductors or music critics. Those, of
course, who dreamt of becoming heroes became psychologists."(12)
Of all his own works, Freud felt the greatest fondness
for his well-known essay on Leonardo da Vinci. (13) As
Barzun points out, Freud's dissection of Leonard is "often
cited . . . as a model of what psychoanalytic interpretation
can bring out that nobody else had seen." But, as Barzun
comments, it seems doubtful
(1) that Leonardo was a homosexual because his father
abandoned him to his mother and thus fostered a one-
sided relationship. (But the father's abandonment has
been disputed and one diagnostic incident has been show
false, owing to a mistranslation of a key Italian
word.) And (2) that Leonardo's habits as an artist --
e.g. not finishing work begun -- derive from this now
disputed sexual development. Here determinism breaks
down at the first contrary instance, say, Goethe, who
also found finishing difficult, though he grew up with
two parents and was an energetic heterosexual. (14)
Speaking of Goethe, we have Freud's dismissal of the
collected works of this great man as merely a "means of
self-concealment" of his drive toward masturbation.
Denouncing a Freudian who had dismissed Goethe's _Sorcerer's
Apprentice_ as evidence of a masturbatory drive, Kraus
trenchantly attacked the "moral baseness" of this statement,
and then continued "that one realizes, with a sense of
desperation, that even if everyone masturbated, still no
_Sorcerer's Apprentice_ would necessarily be created."
Kraus caustically applauds this psychoanalytic tactic
for supplying "spiritual tranquilization" to the "weakling"
who "can continue to masturbate, but with greatly improved
prospects; for now he knows that this is the cure for
Goethe's _Sorcerer's Apprentice." (15)
Kraus's point about "spiritual tranquilization" reminds
me of a point on which I have long ruminated.
Psychoanalysts assure all of us that people who are
insufferably boastful and arrogant only _seem_ to be brash
and self-confident: down deep, we are soothingly informed,
this arrogance is only a mask for profound feelings of
timidity and inferiority. Similarly, thin and unhappy
people, or people suffering on diets, are reassured by the
analysts that fat people only _seem_ jolly and happy; that
this jollity is only a cloak for misery and despair.
But, why can't this principle of reversal, this switch
between appearance and reality, work both ways? That is,
why can't we just as well say that the _seeming_ timidity of
supposedly fearful and hesitant people is only a cloak for
their bold self-confidence? Or even, that the seeming
misery and unhappiness of many skinny people is only a cloak
masking their joy and well-being?
The eminent philosopher Donald Williams makes a similar
point in the course of his brilliant and blistering critique
of an attempt by the psychoanalytically-oriented philosopher
Morris Lazerowitz to reduce to rubble all the philosophies
and philosophers which he dislikes or does not comprehend.
Lazerowitz had claimed that the philosophers of absolute
idealism were merely people who felt inadequate and were
trying to "both conceal and to express a wish" that they
were dead. Williams comments:
The last quality that a historian would attribute to
the age of Victorian neo-Hegelianism would be suicidal
self-distrust; and absolute idealists in general,
including Eleatics, Stoics, Vedantists, Spinozists,
Hegelians, Transcendentalists, and Christian
Scientists, have always seemed an almost offensively
complacent and magisterial crew who regard being dead
as much less an advantage than a disadvantage. It is
open to Mr. Lazerowitz's partisan to say that a
magisterial look may cloak a feeling of inferiority,
but the nemesis of all such methodology of
dissimulation is that it equally permits our party to
insist that the inner state of the absolute idealists
is in fact a thousand times more complacent than their
outer mien. (16)
Lazerowitz's tactics are instructive. Thus, in his
demolition of Spinoza, he places great stress on Spinoza's
view that the concept that every event has a cause is a
necessary truth. Conveniently ignoring the fact that
Spinoza was in a great philosophic and scientific tradition
from Aristotle onward, Lazerowitz confidently attributes
this belief to Spinoza's alleged anxiety -- an anxiety
inferred from no independent historical evidence whatever --
over the suspected role of his father in his own
procreation. But, as Williams points out, Spinoza had
previously adopted a different metaphysic, and only chosen
this view on reading a particular philosopher, one H.
Crescas. As Williams states, "One thing certain about the
facts of Spinoza's childhood is that they did not alter when
he changed his metaphysics." (17) Or, as Sidney Hook points
out, philosophers such as Bertrand Russell and John Dewey
"have profoundly changed their philosophical views in the
course of their lifetime . . . [But] since they had only one
childhood and since there is no evidence that their patterns
of personality changed, psychology, and particularly
psychoanalysis, seems as irrelevant to explaining any
philosophical doctrine they hold as the mild they imbibed as
To return to Spinoza, Williams makes a charming point
in comparing Spinoza with the contrasting arch-skeptic David
A general consideration of the differences between the
house-holds of Spanish-Dutch Jews and of small Scottish
lairds yields no clear assurance that Hume, who
vigorously denied the necessity of the causal law, had
fewer unsatisfied curiosities about the principles and
practice of human procreation than Spinoza . . . But if
we must impose some Freudian interpretation on
Spinoza's doctrine of linear causation, we should
observe that his Proposition XXXVI, immediately
preceding Mr. Lazerowitz's main citation, declares, not
that events must have causes, but that they must have
effects, so that it is much less likely that Spinoza
was wondering whether he had had a father than whether
he was going to have a baby. (19)
Sidney Hook points out further, in a point applicable
to psycho-histories of radical groups as well as of
philosophers, that "All attempts to correlate or explain
philosophical beliefs by psychological temperament and/or
childhood experience" are defeated by the fact that "every
system of philosophy has been fervently believed by
individuals of the most diverse temperaments and
psychological histories." But perhaps Donald Williams says
it all when, after his detailed dissection of Lazerowitz, he
psychoanalysis . . . will, so far as the reader can
tell, provide a rule of analogy or a rule of contraries
as suits the ulterior purpose; it will accept any bit
of biography as witness to any sort of neurosis, and
any sort of neurosis as source of any sort of
philosophy, permitting different neuroses to be matched
with the same philosophy, and conversely, not merely on
different occasions but on the same occasion; and as
if this were not scope enough, it allows the advocate
to invent the symptoms, the neuroses, or the
philosophies at need. (20)
And we can conclude our discussion of psycho-history
with Jacques Barzun's account of the statement made by _The
History of Childhood Quarterly_ -- the leading journal of
psycho-history -- that its article, "'Childhood and the
Bible' . . . argues why the Bible is a coherent story of the
intra-family struggle and asks if the history of the West
may not more usefully be described as a part of the history
of childhood rather than the other way around." Barzun
retorts that such a summation of Western civilization
"eliminates the meaning of childhood (by eliminating that of
adult) and destroys both the religious and the historical
significance of the Bible (by reducing its contents to side
effects of the bed and the bassinet)." As Barzun concludes,
the efforts of the psycho-historians "are evidently to
_dispose_ of history and civilization, of human error and
achievement, rather than contemplate them." (21)
On art and literature, Karl Kraus is hardly wide of the
mark when he concludes that "The ultimate aim of
psychoanalysis is to attribute art to mental weakness, and
then trace the weakness back to the point where, according
to analytic dogma, it originated -- namely, the lavatory."
(22). And there is Kraus's more general and rather stirring
remedy for the plague of psychoanalyzers: "Nerve doctors
who pathologize genius should have their heads bashed in
with the collected works of the genius." (23)
I conclude by noting that, as an economist, I am
trained to look to economic influences, which in their own
way are often fully as masked as the alleged messages from
the Freudian unconscious. To me the most insightful moment
in the famous Watergate scandal came when Woodward, confused
and dispirited, all of his clues and leads barren, went to
his mentor "Deep Throat" for what seemed the last time and
pleaded for help. "Keep your eye on the money," was the
magisterial reply that unlocked the hidden door. In our
sometimes confusing world where patient and therapist seem
to be all mixed in and mixed up in one giant heap, it is
often helpful to keep our eye on the "from whom -- to whom"
question, that is: "from whose pocket and to whose pocket
is the money flowing?"
Psychoanalysis as a weapon can often be used to acquire
much of the long green. The late Eugene Burdick once wrote
about how he made good use of his enchantment with
psychoanalysis in college. He would ask his roommate to
lend him money, the roommate would refuse, and _then_
Burdick would pull out his psychoanalytic armamentarium,
"explaining" his roommate's refusal in the usual scurrilous
manner. When the roommate hotly denied these psychoanalytic
allegations, Burdick then pounced with the famous Freudian
weapon of "resistance." "Aha! The very intensity of your
denial demonstrates that I am _right_!" This is what we
might call the "heads-I-win-tails-you-lose" tactic. And
when his hapless friend thought to counter by denying the
psychoanalytic smear calmly instead of heatedly, Burdick
triumphantly rebutted: "Ahh, this is what we call
'control,' that's even worse than resistance." Needless to
say, the roommate always came up with the dough.
Lest this be considered an isolated instance, I rest my
case with a recent news story:
Psychoanalyst William Sulzer relieved his patients'
guilt -- by relieving them of their money. He
allegedly borrowed $275,000 from at least 15 patients
in chunks as large as $91,000 . . . Sulzer put out his
shingle in 1970 but started to have money problems
within three years, according to the complaint. . . .
"He lived very high," said Asst. Attorney General
Melvyn Leventhal. "He had an elaborate and exciting
life-style." The $50-an-hour therapist apparently
decided the solution to his money headaches kept
walking through his office door.
How did he persuade patients to lend thousands, at
times interest free?
"That was one of the great mysteries," Leventhal
said. "One or two had problems handling money and he
convinced them that lending it to him would be good
therapy." Clients often spent their entire therapy
sessions haggling over the loans and trying to get
their money back, the complaint alleged. Some patients
needed treatment elsewhere to ease "the resulting
anxiety and stress over the loan transactions . . . "
Leventhal said the problem, while not common, is
"persistent." Although Sulzer denied wrongdoing, he
can be cited for contempt, and possibly jailed, if he
tries it again, Leventhal said.
But can he still be a therapist?
Sure, the prosecutor said. (24)
1. Jacques Barzun, _Clio and the Doctors: Psycho-history,
Quanto-History, and History_, (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1974), p. 7_n_.
2. Walter C. Langer, _The Mind of Adolf Hitler (New York,
1972), p. 151.
3. Christopher Lehmann-Haupt, _The New York Times_, May 11,
1972; quoted in Barzun, _Clio_, p. 84_n_.
4. Thus, see Paul Rozen, "Freud and Woodrow Wilson," in P.
Rozen, ed. _Sigmund Freud_, (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.,
1973), pp. 168ff.
5. Richard Hofstadter, William Miller, and Daniel Aaron,
_The American Republic_(Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1959),
I, 463; Hazel C. Wolf, _On Freedom's Altar, the Martyr
Complex in the Abolition Movement_ (Madison Wisc.,
1952), pp. 3-4; David Donald, _Lincoln Reconsidered_
(New York, 1956), pp. 36,61; David Donald, _Charles
Sumner and the Coming of the Civil War_ (New York,
1961), pp. 176, 290, 295, 336.
In particular, see the discussion in Fawn M.
Brodie, "Who Defends the Abolitionist?" in M. Duberman,
ed., _The Antislavery Vanguard: New Essays on the
Abolitionists_ (Princeton: Princeton university Press,
1965), pp. 63-67; and Bertram Wyatt-Brown, "William
Lloyd Garrison and Antislavery Unity: A Reappraisal,"
in R. Swierenga, ed., _Beyond the Civil War Synthesis:
Political Essays of the Civil War Era_ (Westport,
Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1975), pp. 309-310.
6. In trying to defend the abolitionists from the smear of
psycho-historians, Professor Duberman, himself a
radical but psychoanalytically-oriented historian, gets
entangled in reductive psychologizing of his own
against the abolitionists. Thus, see Martin Duberman,
"The Northern Response to Slavery," in Duberman, _Anti-
Slavery Vanguard, pp. 407ff.
7. Thomas Szasz, _Karl Kraus and the Soul-Doctors: A
Pioneer Critic and His Criticism of Psychiatry and
Psychoanalysis (Baton Rouge, la.: Louisiana State
University Press, 1976), p. 35. Freud's response is
recorded in H. Nunberg and E. Federn, eds. _Minutes of
the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society_ (New York:
International Universities Press, 1967), II, 391.
8. Thus, see Wyatt-Brown, "William Lloyd Garrison," pp.
9. Barzun, _Clio_, p. 48.
10. Szasz, _Karl Kraus_, p. 114.
11. Quentin Skinner, _The Foundations of Modern Political
Thought_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1978), II, 7.
12. In Szasz, _Karl Kraus_, pp. 112-13.
13. _Ibid._., p. 45.
14. Barzun, _Clio_, p. 51.
15. _Ibid._., pp. 113-14.
16. Donald C. Williams, "Philosophy and Psychoanalysis," in
S. Hood, ed., _Psychoanalysis, Scientific Method, and
Philosophy_ (New York: Grove Press, 1959), pp. 175-76.
For an excellent critique of Lazerowitz in part using
the _tu quoque_, see K. Daya, "Some Considerations on
Morris Lazerowitz's _The Structure of Metaphysics_"
_Mind_, XXVII (1958), pp. 236-243.
17. Williams, "Psychoanalysis," pp. 176-77.
18. Sidney Hook, "Science and Mythology in Psychoanalysis,"
in Hook, _Psychoanalysis_, p. 223.
19. Williams, "Psychoanalysis," p. 177.
20. _Ibid._, pp. 177-178.
21. Barzun, _Clio_, p. 84.
22. Szasz, _Karl Kraus_, p. 114.
23. _Ibid._, p. 113.
24. Hal Davis, "The Shrink Who Left His Patients Short,"
_The New York Post_, (April 2, 1980), p. 8.
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