our efforts up to this point, and may take this conclusion as a basis
for our further investigations. Let me once more emphasize the fact that
we do not maintain—and for our purposes do not need to maintain—that
every single mistake which occurs has a meaning, although I think that
probable. It is enough for us to prove that such a meaning is relatively
frequent in the various forms of errors. In this respect, by the way,
the various forms show certain differences. Some cases of slips of the
tongue, slips of the pen, and so on, may be the effect of a purely
physiological cause, though I cannot believe this possible of those
errors which depend upon forgetfulness (forgetting of names or
intentions, mislaying, and so on); losing possessions is in all
probability to be recognized as unintentional in some cases; altogether
our conceptions are only to a certain extent applicable to the mistakes
which occur in daily life. These limitations should be borne in mind by
you when we proceed on the assumption that errors are mental acts
arising from the mutual interference of two intentions.
This is the first result of our psycho-analysis. Hitherto psychology has
known nothing of such interferences or of the possibility that they
could occasion manifestations of this kind. We have widened the domain
of mental phenomena to a very considerable extent and have won for
psychology phenomena which were never before accredited to it.
Let us dwell for a moment on the proposition that errors are “mental
acts.” Does this mean any more than our former statement, that they have
a meaning? I do not think so; on the contrary, it is a more indefinite
statement and one more open to misunderstanding. Everything that can be
observed in mental life will be designated at one time or another as a
mental phenomenon. It depends, however, whether the particular mental
phenomenon is directly due to bodily, organic or material agencies, in
which case it does not fall to psychology for investigation; or whether
it arose directly from other mental processes, behind which at some
point the succession of organic agencies then begins. We have in mind
the latter state of things when we describe a phenomenon as a mental
process, and it is therefore more expedient to put our statement in this
form: The phenomenon has meaning; and by meaning we understand
significance, intention, tendency and a position in a sequence of mental
concatenations.
There is another group of occurrences which is very closely related to
errors but for which this name is not suitable. We call them
‘accidental’ and symptomatic acts. They also appear to be unmotivated,
insignificant and unimportant but, in addition to this, they have very
clearly the feature of superfluity. They are, on the one hand,
distinguishable from errors by the absence of any second intention to
which they are opposed and which they disturb; on the other hand, they
merge without any definite line of demarcation into the gestures and
movements which we regard as expressions of the emotions. To this class
of accidental performances belong all those apparently purposeless acts
which we carry out, as though in play, with clothing, parts of the body,
objects within reach; also the omission of such acts; and again the
tunes which we hum to ourselves. I maintain that all such performances
have meaning and are explicable in the same way as are errors, that they
are slight indications of other more important mental processes, and are
genuine mental acts. I propose, however, not to linger over this further
extension of the field of mental phenomena, but to return to the errors;
for by a consideration of them problems of importance in the enquiry
into psycho-analysis can be worked out much more clearly.
Undoubtedly, the most interesting questions which we formulated while
considering errors, and have not yet answered, are the following: We
said that errors result from the mutual interference of two different
intentions, of which one may be called the intention interfered with,
and the other the interfering tendency. The intentions interfered with
give rise to no further questions, but concerning the others we wish to
know, first, what kind of intentions these are that arise as disturbers
of others, and secondly, what are the relations between the interfering
tendencies and those which suffer the interference?
Allow me to take slips of the tongue again as representative of the
whole series, and to answer the second question before the first.
The interfering tendency in the slip of the tongue may be connected in
meaning with the intention interfered with, in which case the former
contains a contradiction of the latter, or corrects, or supplements it.
Or, in other more obscure and more interesting cases, the interfering
tendency may have no connection whatever in meaning with the intention
interfered with.
Evidence for the first of these two relationships can be found without
difficulty in the examples already studied and in others similar to
them. In almost all cases of slips of the tongue where the opposite of
what is meant is said the interfering tendency expresses the opposite
meaning to that of the intention interfered with, and the slip is the
expression of the conflict between two incompatible impulses. “I declare
the meeting open, but would prefer to have closed it” is the meaning of
the President’s slip. A political paper which had been accused of
corruption defends itself in an article meant to culminate with the
words: “Our readers will testify that we have always laboured for the
public benefit in the most _disinterested_ manner.” But the editor
entrusted with the composition of the defence wrote “in the most
_interested_ manner.” That is to say, he thinks, “I have to write this
stuff, but I know better.” A representative of the people, urging that
the Kaiser should be told the truth “_rückhaltslos_” (unreservedly),
hears an inner voice terrified at his boldness, and by a slip of the
tongue transforms _rückhaltslos_ into “_rückgratslos_” (without
backbone, ineffectually).
In the examples already given, which produce an impression of
contraction and abbreviation, the process represents a correction,
addition, or continuation, in which a second tendency manifests itself
alongside the first. “Things were then revealed, but better say it
straight out, they were filthy, therefore,—things were then _refilled_.”
“The people who understand this subject may be counted on the fingers of
one hand, but no, there is really only one person who understands it,
very well then,—can be counted on _one finger_.” Or, “my husband can eat
and drink what he likes, but, you know, _I_ don’t permit him to like
this and that; so then,—he may eat and drink what _I_ like.” In all
these cases the slip arises from the content of the intention interfered
with, or is directly connected with it.
The other kind of relationship between the two interfering tendencies
seems strange. If the interfering tendency has nothing to do with the
content of the one interfered with, whence comes it then, and how does
it happen to make itself manifest just at that point? Observation, which
alone can supply the answer to this, shows that the interfering tendency
proceeds from a train of thought which has occupied the person shortly
before and then reveals itself in this way as an after-effect,
irrespective of whether or not it has already been expressed in speech.
It is really therefore to be described as a perseveration, though not
necessarily a perseveration of spoken words. An associative connection
between the interfering tendency and that interfered with is not lacking
here either, though it is not found in the content but is artificially
established, sometimes with considerable “forcing” of the connections.
Here is a simple example of this which I observed myself. Once in the
beautiful Dolomites I met two Viennese ladies who were starting for a
walking-tour. I accompanied them part of the way and we discussed the
pleasures, but also the trials, of this way of life. One of the ladies
admitted that spending the day like this entailed much discomfort. “It
certainly is very unpleasant to tramp all day in the sun till one’s
blouse ... and things are soaked through.” In this sentence she had to
overcome a slight hesitation at one point. Then she continued: “But
then, when one gets _nach Hose_ and can change....” (_Hose_ means
drawers: the lady meant to say _nach Hause_ which means _home_). We did
not analyse this slip, but I am sure you will easily understand it. The
lady’s intention had been to enumerate a more complete list of her
clothes, “blouse, chemise and drawers.” From motives of propriety,
mention of the drawers (_Hose_) was omitted; but in the next sentence,
the content of which is quite independent, the unuttered word came to
light as a distortion of the word it resembled in sound, _home_
(_Hause_).
Now we can turn at last to the main question which has been so long
postponed, namely, what kind of tendencies these are which bring
themselves to expression in this unusual way by interfering with other
intentions. They are evidently very various, yet our aim is to find some
element common to them all. If we examine a series of examples for this
purpose we shall soon find that they fall into three groups. To the
_first_ group belong the cases in which the interfering tendency is
known to the speaker and, moreover, was felt by him before the slip.
Thus, in the case of the slip “refilled,” the speaker not only admitted
that he had criticized the events in question as “filthy,” but further,
that he had had the intention, which he subsequently reversed, of
expressing this opinion in words. A _second_ group is formed by other
cases in which the interfering tendency is likewise recognized by the
speaker as his own, but he is not aware that it was active in him before
the slip. He therefore accepts our interpretation, but remains to some
extent surprised by it. Examples of this attitude are probably more
easily found in other errors than in slips of the tongue. In the _third_
group the interpretation of the interfering tendency is energetically
repudiated by the speaker; not only does he dispute that it was active
in him before the slip, but he will maintain that it is altogether
entirely alien to him. Recall the case about hiccoughing and the
positively discourteous rebuff which I brought upon myself by detecting
the interfering tendency. You know that in our attitude towards these
cases you and I are still far from an agreement. I should make nothing
of the after-dinner speaker’s denial and hold fast to my interpretation
unwaveringly, while you, I imagine, are still impressed by his vehemence
and are wondering whether one should not forego the interpretation of
such errors and let them pass for purely physiological acts, as in the
days before analysis. I can imagine what it is that alarms you. My
interpretation includes the assumption that tendencies of which a
speaker knows nothing can express themselves through him and that I can
deduce them from various indications. You hesitate before a conclusion
so novel and so pregnant with consequences. I understand that, and admit
that up to a point you are justified. But let one thing be clear: if you
intend to carry to its logical conclusion the conception of errors which
has been confirmed by so many examples, you must decide to make this
startling assumption. If you cannot do this, you will have to abandon
again the understanding of errors which you had only just begun to
obtain.
Let us pause a moment on that which unites the three groups and is
common to the three mechanisms of a slip of the tongue. Fortunately this
common element is unmistakable. In the first two groups the interfering
tendency is admitted by the speaker; in the first, there is the
additional fact that it showed itself immediately before the slip. But
in both cases _it has been forced back.[24] The speaker had determined
not to convert the idea into speech and then it happens that he makes a
slip of the tongue; that is to say, the tendency which is debarred from
expression asserts itself against his will and gains utterance, either
by altering the expression of the intention permitted by him, or by
mingling with it, or actually by setting itself in place of it._ This
then is the mechanism of a slip of the tongue.
For my own part I can bring the process in the third group also into
perfect harmony with the mechanism here described. I need only assume
that these three groups are differentiated by the varying degrees to
which the forcing back of an intention is effective. In the first group,
the intention is present and makes itself perceptible before the words
are spoken; not until then does it suffer the rejection for which it
indemnifies itself in the slip. In the second group the rejection
reaches further back; the intention is no longer perceptible even before
the speech. It is remarkable that this does not hinder it in the least
from being the active cause of the slip! But this state of things
simplifies the explanation of the process in the third group. I shall be
bold enough to assume that a tendency can still express itself by an
error though it has been debarred from expression for a long time,
perhaps for a very long time, has not made itself perceptible at all,
and can therefore be directly repudiated by the speaker. But leaving
aside the problem of the third group, you must conclude from the other
cases that _a suppression (Unterdrückung) of a previous intention to say
something is the indispensable condition for the occurrence of a slip of
the tongue_.
We may now claim to have made further progress in the understanding of
errors. We not only know them to be mental phenomena in which meaning
and purpose are recognizable, not only know that they arise from the
mutual interference of two different intentions, but in addition we know
that, for one of these intentions to be able to express itself by
interfering with another, it must itself have been subject to some
hindrance against its operation. It must first be itself interfered
with, before it can interfere with others. Naturally this does not give
us a complete explanation of the phenomena which we call errors. We see
at once further questions arising, and in general we suspect that as we
progress towards comprehension the more numerous will be the occasions
for new questions. We might ask, for instance, why the matter does not
proceed much more simply. If the intention to restrain a certain
tendency instead of carrying it into effect is present in the mind, then
this restraint ought to succeed, so that nothing whatever of the
tendency gains expression, or else it might fail so that the
restrained tendency achieves full expression. But errors are
_compromise_-formations; they express part-success and part-failure for
each of the two intentions; the threatened intention is neither entirely
suppressed nor, apart from some instances, does it force itself through
intact. We can imagine that special conditions must be present for the
occurrence of such interference (or compromise)-formations, but we
cannot even conjecture of what kind they may be. Nor do I think that we
could discover these unknown circumstances by penetrating further into
the study of errors. It will be necessary first to examine thoroughly
yet other obscure fields of mental life: only the analogies to be met
with there can give us courage to form those assumptions which are
requisite for a more searching elucidation of errors. And one other
point! To work from slight indications, as we constantly do in this
field, is not without its dangers. There is a mental disorder called
combinatory paranoia in which the practice of utilizing such small
indications is carried beyond all limits, and I naturally do not contend
that the conclusions which are built up on such a basis are throughout
correct. Only by the breadth of our observations, by the accumulation of
similar impressions from the most varied forms of mental life, can we
guard against this danger.
So now we will leave the analysis of errors. But there is one thing more
which I might impress upon you: to keep in mind, as a model, the method
by which we have studied these phenomena. You can perceive from these
examples what the aim of our psychology is. Our purpose is not merely to
describe and classify the phenomena, but to conceive them as brought
about by the play of forces in the mind, as expressions of tendencies
striving towards a goal, which work together or against one another. We
are endeavouring to attain a _dynamic conception_ of mental phenomena.
In this conception, the trends we merely infer are more prominent than
the phenomena we perceive.
So we will probe no further into errors; but we may still take a
fleeting glimpse over the breadth of this whole field, in the course of
which we shall both meet with things already known and come upon the
tracks of others that are new. In so doing, we will keep to the division
into three groups of slips of the tongue, made at the beginning of our
study, together with the co-ordinate forms of slips of the pen,
misreading, mis-hearing; of forgetting with its subdivisions according
to the object forgotten (proper names, foreign words, resolutions,
impressions); and of mislaying, mistaking, and losing, objects.
Mistakes, in so far as they concern us, are to be grouped partly under
the head of forgetting, partly under acts erroneously performed (picking
up the wrong objects, etc.).
We have already treated slips of the tongue in great detail, yet there
is still something to add. There are certain small affective
manifestations related to slips of the tongue which are not entirely
without interest. No one likes to think he has made a slip of the
tongue; one often fails to hear it when made by oneself, but never when
made by someone else. Slips of the tongue are in a certain sense
infectious; it is not at all easy to speak of them without making them
oneself. It is not hard to detect the motivation of even the most
trifling forms of them, although these do not throw any particular light
on hidden mental processes. If, for instance, anyone pronounces a long
vowel as a short one, in consequence of a disturbance over the word, no
matter how motivated, he will as a result soon after lengthen a short
vowel and commit a new slip in compensation for the first. The same
thing occurs if anyone pronounces a diphthong indistinctly and
carelessly, for instance, “ew” or “oy” as “i”; he tries to correct it by
changing a subsequent “i” into “ew” or “oy.” Some consideration relating
to the hearer seems to be behind this behaviour, as though he were not
to be allowed to think that the speaker is indifferent how he treats his
mother-tongue. The second, compensating distortion actually has the
purpose of drawing the hearer’s attention to the first and assuring him
that it has not escaped the speaker either. The most frequent,
insignificant, and simple forms of slips consist in contractions and
anticipations in inconspicuous parts of the speech. In a long sentence,
for instance, slips of the tongue would be of the kind in which the last
word intended influences the sound of an earlier word. This gives an
impression of a certain impatience to be done with the sentence, and in
general it points to a certain resistance against the communication of
this sentence, or the speech altogether. From this we come to
border-line cases, in which the differences between the
psycho-analytical and the ordinary physiological conception of slips of
the tongue become merged. We assume that in these cases a disturbing
tendency is opposing the intended speech; but it can only betray its
presence and not what its own purpose is. The interference which it
causes follows some sound-influence or associative connection and may be
regarded as a distraction of attention away from the intended speech.
But neither in this distraction of attention, nor in the associative
tendency which has been activated, lies the essence of the occurrence;
the essence lies rather in the hint the occurrence gives of the presence
of some other intention interfering with the intended speech, the nature
of which cannot in this case be discovered from its effects, as is
possible in all the more pronounced cases of slips of the tongue.
Slips of the pen, to which I now turn, are so like slips of the tongue
in their mechanism that no new points of view are to be expected from
them. Perhaps a small addition to our knowledge from this group will
content us. Those very common little slips of the pen, contractions,
anticipations of later words, particularly of the last words, point to a
general distaste for writing and to an impatience to be done; more
pronounced effects in slips of the pen allow the nature and intention of
the interference to be recognized. In general, if one finds a slip of
the pen in a letter one knows that the writer’s mind was not working
smoothly at the moment; what was the matter one cannot always establish.
Slips of the pen are frequently as little noticed by those who make them
as slips of the tongue. The following observation is striking in this
connection. There are, of course, some persons who have the habit of
always re-reading every letter they write before sending it. Others do
not do this; but if the latter make an exception and re-read a letter
they then always have an opportunity of finding and correcting a
striking slip of the pen. How is this to be explained? It almost looks
as if such people knew that they had made a slip in writing the letter.
Are we really to believe that this is so?
There is an interesting problem connected with the practical
significance of slips of the pen. You may recall the case of the
murderer H. who managed, by asserting himself to be a bacteriologist, to
obtain cultures of highly dangerous disease-germs from scientific
institutions, but used them for the purpose of doing away in this most
modern fashion with people connected with him. This man once complained
to the authorities of one of these institutions about the
ineffectiveness of the cultures sent him, but committed a slip of the
pen and, instead of the words “in my experiments on mice and guinea-pigs
(_Mäusen und Meerschweinchen_)”, the words “in my experiments on people
(_Menschen_)” were plainly legible. This slip even attracted the
attention of the doctors at the institute but, so far as I know, they
drew no conclusion from it. Now, what do you think? Would it not have
been better if the doctors had taken the slip of the pen as a confession
and started an investigation so that the murderer’s proceedings might
have been arrested in time? In this case, does not ignorance of our
conception of errors result in neglect which, in actuality, may be very
important? Well, I know that such a slip of the pen would certainly
rouse great suspicion in me; but there is an important objection against
regarding it as a confession. The matter is not so simple. The slip of
the pen is certainly an indication but, alone, it would not have
justified an enquiry. It does indeed betray that the man is occupied
with the thought of infecting human beings; but it does not show with
certainty whether this thought is a definite plan to do harm or a mere
phantasy of no practical importance. It is even possible that a person
making such a slip will deny, with the soundest subjective
justification, the existence of such a phantasy in himself, and will
reject the idea as a thing utterly alien to him. Later, when we come to
consider the difference between psychical reality and material reality
you will be better able to appreciate these possibilities. But this
again is a case in which an error was found subsequently to have
unsuspected significance.