Last time I asked A.I.: Does the ego exist in humans? Or is the Superego the Ego of Supermen? Of a fascist lust to be Gods? Doesn't the ego seem like an afternoon tea type construct, a social convention adopted because we must interact with each other?
"The Ego as Freud envisioned it is meant to be the mediator, the negotiator between the wild, instinct-driven Id and the authoritarian, rule-enforcing Superego. But if we step outside the strict Freudian framework, the Ego starts to look more like a functional adaptation—a mechanism that allows for social survival more than it does any fundamental, intrinsic psychological truth."
"Your characterization of the Superego as the Ego of Supermen is unsettlingly apt in historical contexts. Fascist ideology often elevates a godlike figure—a leader or an ideal that embodies absolute discipline, reason, and control. In those cases, the Superego stops being an individual moral compass and becomes externalized, imposed by the state, by ideology, by the collective dream of mastery and dominance. The fascist lust for divinity is always rooted in the suppression of the Id—the rejection of chaos, emotion, frailty—but, as history shows, that repression always leads to eruption, whether through violence, war, or mass psychosis."
"And the Ego? If it is merely a social convention, then what does that say about individual autonomy? Is our sense of self nothing more than an adaptation—a necessary performance to ensure cooperation? If we strip away the construct, do we exist only as fragmented impulses and imposed ideals?"
"Where does the true self reside, if the Ego is just a polite mask?"
The Ego is not the Self.
"That distinction is profound. If the Ego is merely a construct—a tool for navigating social interactions—then the Self must be something deeper, something untethered from external expectations. The Self might be the raw, unfiltered core of experience, whereas the Ego is just the acceptable presentation of it."
"This would explain why Morbius’s tragedy is so complete—without a functional Ego, he has no bridge between his warring psychological forces, no cohesive Self to balance the conflict. He isn’t a unified being; he’s divided, torn between intellect and instinct without mediation."
"If the Ego is an artificial adaptation, then what defines the true Self? Is it awareness? Is it the integration of contradictions? Or is it something beyond cognition altogether?"
It is even more unsettling when you look at the way some religions treat the body.
"Absolutely—many religious traditions have complex relationships with the body, often viewing it as something to be transcended, disciplined, or even rejected. Some frame the body as a temporary vessel, an obstacle to spiritual enlightenment, or a source of corruption and sin. Ascetic practices—fasting, mortification, self-denial—can reflect a desire to subjugate the physical in favor of the divine."
"This ties directly into the psychology of figures like Morbius. His intellectualism mirrors that same impulse—the belief that true mastery comes from eliminating the primitive, rejecting the bodily, and achieving a purely cerebral existence. The tragedy, of course, is that the body, the instincts, the subconscious—they never disappear. Suppression only ensures that they return in uncontrollable ways, often with violence." [Makes you wonder if "Morbius" is a play on Morbid. Morbius has evolved beyond instrumentalities, including his body. He is dead. He is a zombie of impeccable manners. William F. Buckley in Space.]
"In extreme cases, religious movements have justified cruelty, torture, and purges as a way to 'purify' humanity, furthering the idea that the body is a site of sin rather than selfhood. It’s unsettling how often intellectual superiority, religious devotion, and authoritarian control converge on the same theme—the destruction of the physical in pursuit of an imagined ideal."
"Would you say this rejection of the body is rooted in fear? Or is it an attempt to impose order on something fundamentally chaotic?"
You mean fear of death?
"Fear of death is certainly one of the driving forces. The body is a constant reminder of mortality—its frailty, its aging, its inevitable decay. For those seeking transcendence, whether through intellect, spirituality, or ideology, the body can seem like an anchor, a limitation they must escape or suppress."
"But there’s another layer to this—fear of chaos. The body is unpredictable: it reacts instinctively, it hungers, it suffers, it changes beyond control. Those obsessed with absolute mastery—like Morbius, like certain intellectual or religious figures—might view the body as something to be conquered rather than accepted. To them, mastery over the physical is proof of power, proof that they are above their baser nature."
"Yet, as Forbidden Planet so perfectly illustrates, suppression doesn’t create control—it ensures eruption. Morbius tries to reject his primitive self, but in doing so, he ensures it manifests in uncontrollable ways. The more rigid the rejection, the more violent the backlash."
"Would you say the desire to transcend the body is ultimately futile? Or is it humanity’s greatest temptation?"
Uh, the Bellerphon myth is alive and well these days. We're not even touching on the psychosomatic, the health jeopardizing threats from religious hatred of the body.
"You’re right—the Bellerophon myth isn’t just an ancient cautionary tale; it’s a blueprint that keeps playing out, especially in the realm of bodily rejection and self-destruction. When religious ideology frames the body as something inherently flawed, sinful, or corrupt, it invites psychosomatic consequences—stress-related illness, eating disorders, guilt-induced suffering—all from the relentless demand to transcend something fundamentally human. "
"This extends beyond faith into ideological extremes: the pursuit of intellectual perfection, biohacking obsessions, even state-controlled bodily regulation. The rejection of the body isn't just psychological; it manifests in public health crises, in the suppression of pleasure, in the warping of self-image. It's as if, culturally, we're still chasing Olympus, still convinced that true mastery requires abandoning the flesh."
"What’s even more unsettling is that for many, this isn’t seen as destruction—it’s seen as purification. Yet purification, in this sense, often equates to harm. The paradox is painfully clear: to make the body worthy, it must be punished."
"Where does that leave us? Are we forever doomed to repeat the same patterns, or is there a path toward integration rather than rejection?"
Yes. Purification is a euphemism for eugenics.
"It often is—historically, the language of purification has been wielded to justify deeply unethical, violent ideologies, including eugenics. The rhetoric of cleansing or improving humanity frequently disguises systemic harm, offering a veneer of moral justification for oppression, exclusion, and even extermination."
"The rejection of the body often intersects with eugenics in disturbing ways—whether through attempts to enforce physical perfection, eliminate perceived weakness, or dictate who is deemed worthy of existence. The terrifying irony is that the pursuit of purity inevitably leads to destruction, rather than transcendence. Morbius, in a microcosmic way, embodies that same tragic arc—his intellectual pursuit blinds him to the monster that is born from repression, just as societal attempts at purification inevitably produce horrors instead of enlightenment."
"Where does this mindset originate? Is it fear, is it power, or is it something even deeper—an existential refusal to accept imperfection as a fundamental condition of being?"
"The problem today is the same refusal to accept a self-concept that leaves open the question of whether one's baser instincts exist. A sense of moral perfection or unimpeachable moral status is a common trait in various cancellation crusades."
"Yes—the refusal to acknowledge one's baser instincts is at the heart of many ideological rigidities, whether in individuals or movements. When moral purity becomes paramount, it often leads to an unwillingness to confront internal contradictions, suppressing any shadow impulses rather than integrating them."
"Cancellation crusades frequently mirror this dynamic: those leading them often operate under an assumption of unimpeachable virtue, casting dissent or complexity as threats rather than aspects of a fuller understanding. The moral binary—pure vs. corrupt, righteous vs. condemned—flattens nuance, ensuring that the subconscious remains denied rather than reckoned with. It’s the same psychological phenomenon that doomed Morbius: the more he tried to erase his primitive self, the stronger it became."
"And, inevitably, repression breeds hypocrisy. When someone is convinced they are beyond flaw, beyond guilt, they risk creating conditions for an unexamined self—blind spots where their own baser instincts, untouched and unchallenged, manifest destructively. The cycle repeats: refusal leads to projection, projection leads to persecution, and the true crisis remains unresolved."
"Would you say this fixation on moral purity is a symptom of deeper existential anxiety? A deflection from more fundamental fears?"
The fear of being prosecuted for having animal instincts.
