Abstract
Lacan likened himself to a “Zen master”, characterising his psychoanalytic approach as a “refusal of any system.” This article explores Lacan’s Zen-like approach and examines his provocative teachings, such as his instruction to “refuse me what I’m offering you,” and his emphasis on the limits of language in capturing truth. Additionally, in line with Lacan’s assertion that his psychoanalysis cannot be found in his printed work, the article criticises academia for idolising Lacan’s words. It points out that the obsession with endlessly analysing Lacan’s Écrits and seminars reduces his ideas to empty scholarly intellectualism.
“For centuries, knowledge has been pursued as a defence against truth.”
—Jacques Lacan, Seminar XIII (January 19, 1966)
“Theory must ultimately step down in favour of practice.”
—Jacques Lacan, Hommage à Lewis Carroll
Introduction
Less well-known than Lacan’s Écrits and annual seminars is an often-overlooked paper called The Triumph of Religion.[1] What is striking about this paper is how, once read, it feels like discovering a key missing piece, suddenly illuminating Lacan’s entire career. It provides insights into the final three decades of his life—from the start of his first seminar to his death. The Triumph of Religion reveals the coherence of Lacan’s vision for psychoanalysis and his personal approach as an analyst who embodied his principles. When considered alongside Lacan’s other works, a central theme becomes clear: Lacan’s conception of psychoanalysis as—to borrow a term often associated with mystics—a “wayless Way”. This suggests that, akin to the work of other great thinkers like Meister Eckhart, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, Lacan’s psychoanalysis is not systematic—though this should not be mistaken for incoherence. Rather, his method resembles an art form, requiring authenticity rather than adherence to a prescribed set of teachings to be rigidly or formulaically applied.
To illustrate what I mean by Lacan’s “wayless Way”, this article compares The Triumph of Religion primarily with how Lacan articulates his project in his first and nineteenth seminars. This approach is deliberate: the first seminar marks the beginning of Lacan’s intellectual independence and his departure from the ego psychology favoured by Freud’s followers, while the nineteenth seminar will be referenced as a representative work from the final years of his life.
Lacan as the “Zen Master” of Psychoanalysis
The opening lines of Lacan’s first seminar clearly set out the project he envisions for himself and his students. In these lines, Lacan provocatively compares himself to a Zen master. This comparison, along with the subsequent elaboration, offers at least two key insights: (a) Lacan, like the Zen master, “does not teach ex cathedra a ready-made science”; (b) and he acknowledges his lack of systematicity (see Lacan 1991, 1). As will become evident in the discussion that follows, each of these points is fundamental to understanding Lacan’s vision of psychoanalysis—a vision he steadfastly adhered to until his death.
Even a cursory examination reveals a striking contrast: despite Lacan’s professed allegiance to Freud, his project would likely have horrified the historical Freud. To begin with, Lacan’s vision diverges sharply from the scientific image of psychoanalysis that Freud so ardently sought to present to the world. Freud can be described as a naturalist driven by scientific aspirations and ambitions. This description, however, cannot be applied to Lacan, who was more an artist than a scientist. Not only does Lacan openly and persistently criticise the positivisation and scientisation of psychology (most notably in Beyond the “Reality Principle”), but, more tellingly, his own psychoanalytic project—as outlined in the opening pages of his first seminar—bears closer resemblance to the approach of an artist than that of a scientist (see Lacan 1991, 2). Consequently, I argue, following Lacan’s own assertion, that whatever Lacanian psychoanalysis is, it is not found in his Écrits or seminars. This conclusion might indeed unsettle many psychoanalysts, including some of Lacan’s most devoted followers. However, as this article will demonstrate, it aligns with Lacan’s own understanding of his printed work.
“Refuse Me What I’m Offering You”
Fast forward from Lacan’s first seminar to the final decade of his life, and we see him remaining true to his mission as a “Zen master”. In his nineteenth seminar, Lacan makes a perplexing request of his students: “I ask you to refuse me what I’m offering you”—because, as he explains, whatever is offered is not it (parce que ce n’est pas ça) (see Lacan 2018, chap. 6). In making this statement, Lacan directs attention to the concluding line of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus: “What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence” (Wittgenstein 2001, 89).
While some interpret Wittgenstein’s remark as advocating for a logical positivist stance, disparaging art and spirituality as irrelevant, others offer a more nuanced reading. This alternative interpretation suggests that the Tractatus is “designed to bring us to adopt another perspective on life altogether; and this other perspective […] is the perspective of mysticism. It is this mystical perspective—not some set of truths—that the text is designed to get us to adopt” (Morris and Dodd 2009, 261). This perspective, unsurprisingly, interprets the Tractatus as a work advocating mysticism. Proponents of this view assert that “the point of the Tractatus is to get us to adopt a mystical point of view” (see Wittgenstein 2001, 262 my emphasis). It is clear which side Lacan aligns with: the mystical interpretation that emphasises silence. This call for silence arises because the mystical perspective cannot be articulated in any form of language.
In this light, Lacan explains why what he offers is not “it”: “[I]t seems to me that whereof one cannot speak is very precisely what is at issue when I designate as this isn’t it that which alone prompts a request such as to refuse my offering” (Lacan 2018, 72). In other words, the meaning Lacan seeks to convey is not identical to what is expressed in words. Once articulated, his intended meaning becomes distorted and is, consequently, misunderstood. This idea is crucial to Lacan, as he revisits it in The Triumph of Religion. In this work, he remarks to the interviewer that people have a false sense of understanding him simply because they frequently hear about him and his ideas. Lacan informs the interviewer that his teachings are to be found beyond what is discussed in his published works or written about him by others. He laments that people seek to locate him and his ideas where they do not reside (Lacan 2013, 71). Lacan is simply not where the majority of scholars look for him, because, as he puts it enigmatically, “the subject is something other than a subject who passes through the defiles of signifying articulation” (Lacan 2019, 31). In simpler terms: the “real” Lacan—whoever that may be—cannot be found in language, because he cannot “pass through” words. What actually gets through is merely an illusion, unconsciously crafted and sustained by the interpreter. Put differently, the “real” Lacan—or any subject, for that matter—cannot pass through the “defiles of the signifier” without being filtered, altered, fragmented, or reimagined.
Lacan encourages his audience to move beyond the surface level—the exoteric aspect of his teachings, which includes endless intellectual debates—and engage with their esoteric dimension. The irony, of course, is that even those who claim to embrace this esotericism often fall into the trap of intellectualising it. A striking example is Esoteric Lacan, a volume edited by Philipp Valentini and Mahdi Tourage, published not long ago (see Valentini and Tourage 2020).
Admittedly, Lacan as the Zen master does not make it easy for his audience to transcend what he offers. Consider his instruction “to refuse me what I’m offering you.” In typical Lacanian style, he complicates matters by analysing the structure of the sentence—”Je te demande de me refuser ce que je t’offre” (“I ask you to refuse me what I’m offering you”)—using not only semiotics but also pseudo-mathematics and pseudo-topology. This approach often traps readers in the quicksand of abstraction and intellectualisation, obscuring Lacan’s arguments beyond the intellectual level. Yet, if Lacan truly embodies the role of the Zen master, this difficulty may be deliberate—a way to ensure only the most discerning disciples see through the game of intellectualism! Jacques-Alain Miller, Lacan’s editor and son-in-law, was perfectly aware of the this:
Lacan’s late teaching belonged to the same register as the esoteric teaching that found a place in the Schools of antiquity. […] [T]he doctrine he [Lacan] was exposing to the four winds was meant to be kept secret. Giving a public form to an esoteric teaching forces one to conceal at the same time as disclosing (Miller 2016, 182).
The “Zen Master” Speaks
When the interviewer questions Lacan about the obscure and complex nature of Écrits, Lacan responds, “Let me tell you something now about my Écrits. I did not write them in order for people to understand them, I wrote them in order for people to read them” (Lacan 2013, 69). What strikes me most about this statement is not Lacan’s words themselves, but the extent to which his fear of being misunderstood, as discussed earlier, becomes increasingly realised with each passing day. If Lacan’s claim about Écrits is correct—as we should believe it is, given it comes directly from the master himself—it seems almost certain he would have been horrified by the vast amount of secondary literature devoted to analysing Lacan’s work to make it more “understandable”. Each author typically believes they have uncovered the definitive interpretation of Lacan’s work—an interpretation which, ironically, remains purely intellectual!
If the purpose of Écrits is not to be understood intellectually, then what is it meant for? Lacan’s answer to the interviewer directly reflects his self-description as akin to a Zen master. Consider how Lacan describes Écrits, which resembles a Zen koan: “What I have noticed, however, is that, even if people don’t understand my Écrits, the latter do something to people. I have often observed this. People don’t understand anything, that is perfectly true, for a while, but the writings do something to them” (Lacan 2013, 69–70). Just as with a koan, the essays in Lacan’s Écrits are not intended to be understood intellectually—as many psychoanalysts and scholars in the humanities strive to do—but rather, as Lacan suggests, they “must be placed in water, like Japanese flowers, in order to unfold” (Lacan 2013, 70). That is, as any Zen master would advise, one should abandon the effort to make intellectual sense of things for the koan to achieve its intended effect. Lacan emphasises that Écrits is nothing more than a condensed version of his seminars. Consequently, his remarks about Écrits should also be applied to his seminars.
The reason Lacan adopts a role akin to the Zen master is straightforward: He recognised that “Freudian orthodoxy had become frozen in a form that contradicted the very core of the master’s thought” (see Dunlap 2014, 22). However, this does not suggest relativism, mindless irrationality, or anything of that nature. Even less does it imply that intellectual engagement with Lacan’s ideas is entirely futile. Instead, it simply means that reason alone cannot and does not provide the ultimate answer.
I’m far from the first to suggest that the “enigmatic transcriptions of Lacan’s seminars [have] been received by his most fervent followers as enigmatic koans of a psychoanalytic Zen master” (see Liu 2003, 261). Yet, just as half-baked spirituality can reduce Zen to a formulaic husk and foster a cult of unthinking disciples parroting the master, so too does the academic world contain Lacanians who approach Lacanian psychoanalysis with a cult-like reverence.
Curing Humanity of Psychoanalysis
The shocking revelations in The Triumph of Religion continue. Unlike many psychoanalysts who project a sense of self-importance, Lacan exhibits little regard for psychoanalysis or those who practise it. While he does advocate for a correct way of conducting psychoanalysis—relentlessly criticising schools such as ego psychology for failing in this regard—he does not view psychoanalysis as the ultimate answer. Consequently, the sense of self-importance often associated with being an analyst is, from his perspective, entirely misplaced. In this context, one might note Lacan’s merciless criticism of ego psychology, which he condemned for reshaping the patient’s ego in the mould of the analyst’s. In such cases, the analyst’s ego is considered as the “normal” model for recalibrating the patient’s ego. Lacan believes this serves as an “excuse for the analyst’s narcissism” (see Lacan 2006, 288).
Lacan pointedly declares that “psychoanalysis is a symptom.” Moreover, like psychoanalysis itself, the analyst is also “there as a symptom” and “can only last as a symptom.” Although the term “symptom” is used pejoratively, Lacan’s underlying message is optimistic in its implications for humanity. He asserts, “But you will see that humanity will be cured of psychoanalysis” (Lacan 2013, 65–67). These remarks are far from flattering to psychoanalysis or its practitioners, yet they convey extraordinary optimism when considered from the perspective of humanity’s broader development. To put the final nail in psychoanalysis’ coffin, he asserts: “I don’t think that psychoanalysis holds any key whatsoever to the future” (Lacan 2013, 72).
What is going on here? It seems unlikely that Lacan is lambasting psychoanalysis out of rebellion or disillusionment. Instead, two key points must be borne in mind: (a) Lacan does believe psychoanalysis has the potential to catalyse meaningful societal change for humanity’s betterment; (b) however, despite his belief in the transformative power of psychoanalysis, Lacan maintains a healthy detachment from it—an attitude that resonates with his Zen-like approach. In other words, despite his occasionally megalomaniacal rhetoric about his psychoanalytic school, Lacan is too much of a “Zen master” to take either himself or psychoanalysis entirely seriously.
Much of the wisdom found in Zen Buddhism stems from its Daoist roots. The master who follows the Dao can transform society, but paradoxically, such transformation does not result from taking Daoism too seriously. Doing so would reduce the Way (Dao) to just another way—turning Daoism into a formalistic, ritualistic religion or a set of ideas for intellectual analysis. The essence of true mysticism is to let go: to free oneself from all ways and, ultimately, to even let go of that freedom. Thus, the true Daoist relinquishes Daoism itself. In Zen, this freedom from freedom is known as eliminating the “stink of Zen.” With this in mind, I argue that the wayless Way exists not only in Eastern spiritual traditions such as Daoism, Zen Buddhism, and Sufism but also in Lacan’s vision of psychoanalysis—a perspective sorely missing in today’s academic and psychoanalytic circles.
For Lacan, psychoanalysis should not take itself too seriously. The role of the analyst is simply to engage in psychoanalysis as a “privileged moment in which one will have had a fair dose of […] the speaking being [parlêtre].” “Parlêtre” is a term Lacan uses to describe the unconscious, recognising the “altogether unexpected and totally inexplicable fact that man is a speaking animal” (Lacan 2013, 72).
Lacan’s Continual Revision of Freud
From what has been discussed so far, it should be clear that Lacanian psychoanalysis differs fundamentally from Freud’s vision—not only in content but also in attitude. More specifically, the distinction I wish to emphasise in this article lies in the ethical attitudes of the two psychoanalysts. For Lacan, what he repeatedly refers to as “ethics” cannot be confined to lectures, books, classes, training, or similar frameworks. Instead, it is something the psychoanalyst must live. It goes without saying that Lacan’s understanding of ethics in this sense has little in common with the narrow, modern Western conception of ethics, as exemplified by professional guidelines on matters such as confidentiality or payment.
The lightness and freedom encouraged by Lacan are entirely absent in Freud. Considering this lack of lightness, it becomes easier to understand why Freud experienced so many fallouts with his students. Freud demanded unconditional devotion from his disciples. His approach carried a certain heaviness and formalism, expecting disciples to remain tethered to their master. Unsurprisingly, Freud often reacted, to put it mildly, less than favourably when a disciple sought to explore beyond the boundaries of his authorised psychoanalytic framework.
Freud was an anti-spiritual naturalist, scholarly and academic to his core. In contrast, Lacan is akin to a psychoanalytic Zen master. For the Zen master, rules exist to be mastered and then transcended. Despite Lacan’s professed devotion to Freud, it seems highly unlikely that he could have worked alongside Freud without experiencing a bitter fallout, similar to those involving Freud’s other disciples, such as Carl Jung, Otto Rank, and Alfred Adler. Freud’s psychoanalysis demanded a level of unconditional loyalty exemplified by his daughter Anna. It is difficult to imagine Lacan achieving what he did with Freudian psychoanalysis had he been working directly under Freud, especially given Freud’s insistence on “initiatory and highly organized forms which Freud considered to be a guarantee of his doctrine’s transmission” (see Lacan 2006, 198).
Lacan often refers to his project as a “return to Freud” (see Lacan 2006, 334–37). But, unlike someone like Anna Freud, Lacan firmly asserts that “Freud’s thought is the most open to continual revision” (Lacan 1975, 7 my translation). This declaration appears at the very start of his first seminar, where Lacan reflects on how he envisions himself. Thus, for Lacan, a “return to Freud” is inseparable inherently tied to a continual revision of Freud’s ideas. Needless to mention, in advocating for continual revision, Lacan does not restrict this concept solely to Freud’s work. Instead, he views it as essential for psychoanalysis as a whole—including his own school of psychoanalysis.
Discussion
Based on Lacan’s own words, I have argued that whatever Lacanian psychoanalysis truly is, it simply cannot be what we encounter in his Écrits or seminars. This fact should serve as a wake-up call regarding the reality of current approaches to Lacanian psychoanalysis. It implies that much of the academic literature on Lacan—articles and books alike—belongs more in the trash bin than on library shelves. This is especially true in the humanities, where Lacan’s work has been misused to analyse everything from urban planning to modern physics. The problem lies in the illusion of knowledge and understanding that many authors believe they possess and strive to impart to others. As someone who works in the humanities, I must acknowledge my own past complicity in this.
The point is not to stop writing books on Lacan or engaging in activities like Lacanian literary analysis. Rather, it is to recognise that the intellectualism prevalent in the humanities—and to a lesser extent in some psychoanalytic circles—that reduces Lacan to mere intellectual understanding fundamentally misrepresents him. Put simply, it is crucial to understand that intellectual comprehension is not the same as genuine experiential understanding. The latter is ineffable, beyond the reach of language. All that can be said about it is that it exists as a form of art, beyond knowledge and training—an art that can only be practised, not verbalised. To dispel any doubts on this point, I would draw attention to the concluding words of Lacan’s essay on The Mirror Stage, where he explicitly states that the goal of analysis—the outcome the analyst should strive towards—is realised in the recognition of “Tu es cela” (Thou art that)! For those unfamiliar with the reference, “Thou art that” (Tat tvam asi) is one of the foundational dictums (mahāvākyas) of the Upanishads, signifying the ultimate mystical realisation—particularly within Advaita Vedanta.
It hardly needs emphasising that attaining moksha (liberation)—where the realisation of “Thou art that” occurs—is not achieved through rational comprehension but through experiential insight. One could study the Vedas like a dedicated academic scholar for a million years and still fall utterly short of experiencing the truth embodied in “Thou art that.” This is precisely what Lacan conveys when he asserts that the essence of what he aims to communicate cannot be found in his Écrits or seminars. It resides beyond the pages of books and beyond the spoken words of lectures, for it must be lived and experienced! This spiritual—dare I say mystical!—dimension of Lacan’s work is conspicuously absent from the vast majority of academic books and papers devoted to him.
References
Dunlap, Aron. 2014. Lacan and Religion. London: Routledge.
Lacan, Jacques. 1975. Le Séminaire de Jacques Lacan: Les Écrits Techniques de Freud, 1953-1954. Paris: Seuil.
———. 1991. The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book I: Freud’s Papers on Technique, 1953–1954. London and New York: W. W. Norton & Company.
———. 2006. Écrits. London and New York: W. W. Norton & Company.
———. 2013. The Triumph of Religion. Cambridge: Polity Press.
———. 2018. ……Or Worse. Edited by Jacques-Alain Miller. Cambridge: Polity Press.
———. 2019. Desire and Its Interpretation: The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book VI. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Liu, Catherine. 2003. “Lacan’s Afterlife: Jacques Lacan Meets Andy Warhol.” In The Cambridge Companion to Lacan, edited by Jean-Michel Rabaté. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Miller, Jacques-Alain. 2016. “A Note Threaded Stitch by Stitch.” In The Sinthome: The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XXIII. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Morris, Michael, and Julian Dodd. 2009. “Mysticism and Nonsense in the Tractatus.” European Journal of Philosophy 17 (2): 247–76.
Valentini, Philipp, and Mahdi Tourage, eds. 2020. Esoteric Lacan. London and New York: Rowman & Littlefield International, Ltd.
Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 2001. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. London and New York: Routledge.
[1] The Triumph of Religion originates from a press conference held in Rome on October 29, 1974, at the French Cultural Centre where Lacan was interviewed by Italian journalists.
