PSYCHOPATHOLOGY
OF EVERYDAY LIFE
BY
PROFESSOR DR. SIGMUND FREUD, LL.D.
AUTHORIZED ENGLISH EDITION, WITH
INTRODUCTION BY
A. A. BRILL, Ph.B., M.D.
_Chief of Clinic of Psychiatry Columbia University; Chief of the
Neurological Department, Bronx Hospital and Dispensary;
former Assistant Physician in the Central Islip State
Hospital, and in the Clinic of Psychiatry, Zurich_
NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1914
(_All rights reserved_)
INTRODUCTION
Professor Freud developed his system of psychoanalysis while studying
the so-called border-line cases of mental diseases, such as hysteria
and compulsion neurosis. By discarding the old methods of treatment
and strictly applying himself to a study of the patient’s life he
discovered that the hitherto puzzling symptoms had a definite meaning,
and that there was nothing arbitrary in any morbid manifestation.
Psychoanalysis always showed that they referred to some definite
problem or conflict of the person concerned. It was while tracing back
the abnormal to the normal state that Professor Freud found how faint
the line of demarcation was between the normal and neurotic person,
and that the psychopathologic mechanisms so glaringly observed in the
psychoneuroses and psychoses could usually be demonstrated in a lesser
degree in normal persons. This led to a study of the faulty actions
of everyday life and later to the publication of the _Psychopathology
of Everyday Life_, a book which passed through four editions in
Germany and is considered the author’s most popular work. With great
ingenuity and penetration the author throws much light on the complex
problems of human behaviour, and clearly demonstrates that the hitherto
considered impassable gap between normal and abnormal mental states is
more apparent than real.
This translation is made of the fourth German edition, and while the
original text was strictly followed, linguistic difficulties often made
it necessary to modify or substitute some of the author’s cases by
examples comprehensible to the English-speaking reader.
A. A. BRILL.
NEW YORK.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
I. FORGETTING OF PROPER NAMES 3
II. FORGETTING OF FOREIGN WORDS 17
III. FORGETTING OF NAMES AND ORDER OF WORDS 29
IV. CHILDHOOD AND CONCEALING MEMORIES 57
V. MISTAKES IN SPEECH 71
VI. MISTAKES IN READING AND WRITING 117
VII. FORGETTING OF IMPRESSIONS AND RESOLUTIONS 135
VIII. ERRONEOUSLY CARRIED-OUT ACTIONS 177
IX. SYMPTOMATIC AND CHANCE ACTIONS 215
X. ERRORS 249
XI. COMBINED FAULTY ACTS 265
XII. DETERMINISM, CHANCE, AND SUPERSTITIOUS BELIEFS 277
INDEX 339
I
FORGETTING OF PROPER NAMES
During the year 1898 I published a short essay _On the Psychic
Mechanism of Forgetfulness_.[1] I shall now repeat its contents and
take it as a starting-point for further discussion. I have there
undertaken a psychologic analysis of a common case of temporary
forgetfulness of proper names, and from a pregnant example of my
own observation I have reached the conclusion that this frequent
and practically unimportant occurrence of a failure of a psychic
function--of memory--admits an explanation which goes beyond the
customary utilization of this phenomenon.
If an average psychologist should be asked to explain how it happens
that we often fail to recall a name which we are sure we know, he would
probably content himself with the answer that proper names are more
apt to be forgotten than any other content of memory. He might give
plausible reasons for this “forgetting preference” for proper names,
but he would not assume any deep determinant for the process.
I was led to examine exhaustively the phenomenon of temporary
forgetfulness through the observation of certain peculiarities,
which, although not general, can, nevertheless, be seen clearly in
some cases. In these there is not only _forgetfulness_, but also
false _recollection_: he who strives for the escaped name brings to
consciousness others--substitutive names--which, although immediately
recognized as false, nevertheless obtrude themselves with great
tenacity. The process which should lead to the reproduction of the lost
name is, as it were, displaced, and thus brings one to an incorrect
substitute.
Now it is my assumption that the displacement is not left to psychic
arbitrariness, but that it follows lawful and rational paths. In other
words, I assume that the substitutive name (or names) stands in direct
relation to the lost name, and I hope, if I succeed in demonstrating
this connection, to throw light on the origin of the forgetting of
names.
In the example which I selected for analysis in 1898 I vainly strove
to recall the name of the master who made the imposing frescoes of
the “Last Judgment” in the dome of _Orvieto_. Instead of the lost
name--_Signorelli_--two other names of artists--_Botticelli_ and
_Boltraffio_--obtruded themselves, names which my judgment immediately
and definitely rejected as being incorrect. When the correct name was
imparted to me by an outsider I recognized it at once without any
hesitation. The examination of the influence and association paths
which caused the displacement from _Signorelli_ to _Botticelli_ and
_Boltraffio_ led to the following results:--
(_a_) The reason for the escape of the name _Signorelli_ is neither
to be sought in the strangeness in itself of this name nor in the
psychologic character of the connection in which it was inserted. The
forgotten name was just as familiar to me as one of the substitutive
names--Botticelli--and somewhat more familiar than the other
substitute--Boltraffio--of the possessor of which I could hardly say
more than that he belonged to the Milanese School. The connection,
too, in which the forgetting of the name took place appeared to me
harmless, and led to no further explanation. I journeyed by carriage
with a stranger from Ragusa, Dalmatia, to a station in Herzegovina. Our
conversation drifted to travelling in Italy, and I asked my companion
whether he had been in Orvieto and had seen there the famous frescoes
of----
(_b_) The forgetting of the name could not be explained until after I
had recalled the theme discussed immediately before this conversation.
This forgetting then made itself known _as a disturbance of the
newly emerging theme caused by the theme preceding it_. In brief,
before I asked my travelling companion if he had been in Orvieto we
had been discussing the customs of the Turks living in _Bosnia_ and
_Herzegovina_. I had related what I heard from a colleague who was
practising medicine among them, namely, that they show full confidence
in the physician and complete submission to fate. When one is compelled
to inform them that there is no help for the patient, they answer:
“_Sir_ (Herr), what can I say? I know that if he could be saved you
would save him.” In these sentences alone we can find the words and
names: _Bosnia_, _Herzegovina_, and _Herr_ (sir), which may be inserted
in an association series between _Signorelli_, _Botticelli_, and
_Boltraffio_.
(_c_) I assume that the stream of thoughts concerning the customs
of the Turks in Bosnia, etc., was able to disturb the next thought,
because I withdrew my attention from it before it came to an end. For
I recalled that I wished to relate a second anecdote which was next to
the first in my memory. These Turks value the sexual pleasure above
all else, and at sexual disturbances merge into an utter despair which
strangely contrasts with their resignation at the peril of losing their
lives. One of my colleague’s patients once told him: “For you know, sir
(Herr), if that ceases, life no longer has any charm.”
I refrained from imparting this characteristic feature because I did
not wish to touch upon such a delicate theme in conversation with a
stranger. But I went still further; I also deflected my attention from
the continuation of the thought which might have associated itself in
me with the theme “Death and Sexuality.” I was at that time under the
after-effects of a message which I had received a few weeks before,
during a brief sojourn in _Trafoi_. A patient on whom I had spent
much effort had ended his life on account of an incurable sexual
disturbance. I know positively that this sad event, and everything
connected with it, did not come to my conscious recollection on that
trip in Herzegovina. However, the agreement between _Trafoi_ and
_Boltraffio_ forces me to assume that this reminiscence was at that
time brought to activity despite all the intentional deviation of my
attention.
(_d_) I can no longer conceive the forgetting of the name Signorelli
as an accidental occurrence. I must recognize in this process the
influence of a _motive_. There were motives which actuated the
interruption in the communication of my thoughts (concerning the
customs of the Turks, etc.), and which later influenced me to exclude
from my consciousness the thought connected with them, and which might
have led to the message concerning the incident in Trafoi--that is,
I wanted to forget something, I _repressed_ something. To be sure,
I wished to forget something other than the name of the master of
Orvieto; but this other thought brought about an associative connection
between itself and this name, so that my act of volition missed the
aim, and I _forgot the one against my will_, while I _intentionally_
wished to forget the other. The disinclination to recall directed
itself against the one content; the inability to remember appeared
in another. The case would have been obviously simpler if this
disinclination and the inability to remember had concerned the same
content. The substitutive names no longer seem so thoroughly justified
as they were before this explanation. They remind me (after the form of
a compromise) as much of what I wished to forget as of what I wished to
remember, and show me that my object to forget something was neither a
perfect success nor a failure.
(_e_) The nature of the association formed between the lost name and
the repressed theme (death and sexuality, etc.), containing the names
of Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Trafoi, is also very strange. In the scheme
inserted here, which originally appeared in 1898, an attempt is made to
graphically represent these associations.
[Illustration:
+------+ /-----\
|Signor| _elli_ (Bo) tic_elli_ (Bo) l traffio
+------+ | / \--|--/
| | | / |
| | | /----------/ |
| | | / |
| +---+ |--/ |
| |Her| zegovina and (Bo) snia |
| +---+ |
+----+ |
|Herr| Sir, What can I say, etc. |
+----+ \ |
\ /--|--\
Death and Sexuality Trafoi
\ \-----/
\ /
Repressed thoughts------------------/
]
The name Signorelli was thus divided into two parts. One pair of
syllables (_elli_) returned unchanged in one of the substitutions,
while the other had gained, through the translation of _signor_
(sir, Herr), many and diverse relations to the name contained in the
repressed theme, but was lost through it in the reproduction. Its
substitution was formed in a way to suggest that a displacement took
place along the same associations--“Herzegovina and Bosnia”--regardless
of the sense and acoustic demarcation. The names were therefore treated
in this process like the written pictures of a sentence which is to be
transformed into a picture-puzzle (rebus). No information was given
to consciousness concerning the whole process, which, instead of the
name Signorelli, was thus changed to the substitutive names. At first
sight no relation is apparent between the theme that contained the name
Signorelli and the repressed one which immediately preceded it.
Perhaps it is not superfluous to remark that the given explanation does
not contradict the conditions of memory reproduction and forgetting
assumed by other psychologists, which they seek in certain relations
and dispositions. Only in certain cases have we added another _motive_
to the factors long recognized as causative in forgetting names,
and have thus laid bare the mechanism of faulty memory. The assumed
dispositions are indispensable also in our case, in order to make it
possible for the repressed element to associatively gain control
over the desired name and take it along into the repression. Perhaps
this would not have occurred in another name having more favourable
conditions of reproduction. For it is quite probable that a suppressed
element continually strives to assert itself in some other way, but
attains this success only where it meets with suitable conditions. At
other times the suppression succeeds without disturbance of function,
or, as we may justly say, without symptoms.
When we recapitulate the conditions for forgetting a name with faulty
recollection we find: (1) a certain disposition to forget the same;
(2) a process of suppression which has taken place shortly before;
and (3) the possibility of establishing an _outer_ association
between the concerned name and the element previously suppressed. The
last condition will probably not have to be much overrated, for the
slightest claim on the association is apt in most cases to bring it
about. But it is a different and farther-reaching question whether such
outer association can really furnish the proper condition to enable
the suppressed element to disturb the reproduction of the desired
name, or whether after all a more intimate connection between the two
themes is not necessarily required. On superficial consideration one
may be willing to reject the latter requirement and consider the
temporal meeting in perfectly dissimilar contents as sufficient. But
on more thorough examination one finds more and more frequently that
the two elements (the repressed and the new one) connected by an outer
association, possess besides a connection in content, and this can also
be demonstrated in the example _Signorelli_.
The value of the understanding gained through the analysis of the
example _Signorelli_ naturally depends on whether we must explain this
case as a typical or as an isolated process. I must now maintain that
the forgetting of a name associated with faulty recollection uncommonly
often follows the same process as was demonstrated in the case of
_Signorelli_. Almost every time that I observed this phenomenon in
myself I was able to explain it in the manner indicated above as being
motivated by repression.
I must mention still another view-point in favour of the typical nature
of our analysis. I believe that one is not justified in separating
the cases of name-forgetting with faulty recollection from those in
which incorrect substitutive names have not obtruded themselves. These
substitutive names occur spontaneously in a number of cases; in other
cases, where they do not come spontaneously, they can be brought to
the surface by concentration of attention, and they then show the same
relation to the repressed element and the lost name as those that
come spontaneously. Two factors seem to play a part in bringing to
consciousness the substitutive names: first, the effort of attention,
and second, an inner determinant which adheres to the psychic material.
I could find the latter in the greater or lesser facility which forms
the required outer associations between the two elements. A great many
of the cases of name-forgetting without faulty recollection therefore
belong to the cases with substitutive name formation, the mechanism
of which corresponds to the one in the example _Signorelli_. But I
surely shall not venture to assert that all cases of name-forgetting
belong to the same group. There is no doubt that there are cases of
name-forgetting that proceed in a much simpler way. We shall represent
this state of affairs carefully enough if we assert that _besides the
simple forgetting of proper names there is another forgetting which is
motivated by repression_.
II
FORGETTING OF FOREIGN WORDS
The ordinary vocabulary of our own language seems to be protected
against forgetting within the limits of normal function, but it is
quite different with words from a foreign language. The tendency
to forget such words extends to all parts of speech. In fact,
depending on our own general state and the degree of fatigue, the
first manifestation of functional disturbance evinces itself in the
irregularity of our control over foreign vocabulary. In a series
of cases this forgetting follows the same mechanism as the one
revealed in the example _Signorelli_. As a demonstration of this I
shall report a single analysis, characterized, however, by valuable
features, concerning the forgetting of a word, not a noun, from a Latin
quotation. Before proceeding, allow me to give a full and clear account
of this little episode.
Last summer, while journeying on my vacation, I renewed the
acquaintance of a young man of academic education, who, as I soon
noticed, was conversant with some of my works. In our conversation we
drifted--I no longer remember how--to the social position of the race
to which we both belonged. He, being ambitious, bemoaned the fact that
his generation, as he expressed it, was destined to grow crippled, that
it was prevented from developing its talents and from gratifying its
desires. He concluded his passionately felt speech with the familiar
verse from Virgil: _Exoriare_ ... in which the unhappy _Dido_ leaves
her vengeance upon _Æneas_ to posterity. Instead of “concluded,” I
should have said “wished to conclude,” for he could not bring the
quotation to an end, and attempted to conceal the open gap in his
memory by transposing the words:--
“_Exoriar(e) ex nostris ossibus ultor!_”
He finally became piqued and said: “Please don’t make such a mocking
face, as if you were gloating over my embarrassment, but help me. There
is something missing in this verse. How does it read in its complete
form?”
“With pleasure,” I answered, and cited it correctly:--
“_Exoriar(e) aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor!_”
“It is too stupid to forget such a word,” he said. “By the way, I
understand you claim that forgetting is not without its reasons; I
should be very curious to find out how I came to forget this indefinite
pronoun ‘_aliquis_.’”
I gladly accepted the challenge, as I hoped to get an addition to
my collection, and said, “We can easily do this, but I must ask you
to tell me frankly and without any criticism everything that occurs
to your mind after you focus your attention, without any particular
intention, on the forgotten word.”[2]
“Very well, the ridiculous idea comes to me to divide the word in the
following way: _a_ and _liquis_.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else does that recall to you?”
“The thought goes on to _reliques_--_liquidation_--_liquidity_--_fluid_.”
“Does that mean anything to you now?”
“No, not by a long shot.”
“Just go ahead.”
“I now think,” he said, laughing sarcastically, “of Simon of Trent,
whose relics I saw two years ago in a church in Trent. I think of the
old accusation which has been brought against the Jews again, and
of the work of _Kleinpaul_, who sees in these supposed sacrifices
reincarnations or revivals, so to speak, of the Saviour.”
“This stream of thoughts has some connection with the theme which we
discussed before the Latin word escaped you.”
“You are right. I now think of an article in an Italian journal which I
have recently read. I believe it was entitled: ‘What St. Augustine said
Concerning Women.’ What can you do with this?”
I waited.
“Now I think of something which surely has no connection with the
theme.”
“Oh, please abstain from all criticism, and----”
“Oh, I know! I recall a handsome old gentleman whom I met on my journey
last week. He was really an _original_ type. He looked like a big bird
of prey. His name, if you care to know, is Benedict.”
“Well, at least you give a grouping of saints and Church fathers: _St.
Simon_, _St. Augustine_, and _St. Benedict_. I believe that there was a
Church father named _Origines_. Three of these, moreover, are Christian
names, like _Paul_ in the name _Kleinpaul_.”
“Now I think of _St. Januarius_ and his blood miracle--I find that the
thoughts are running mechanically.”
“Just stop a moment; both _St. Januarius_ and _St. Augustine_ have
something to do with the calendar. Will you recall to me the blood
miracle?”
“Don’t you know about it? The blood of St. Januarius is preserved in
a phial in a church in Naples, and on a certain holiday a miracle
takes place causing it to liquefy. The people think a great deal of
this miracle, and become very excited if the liquefying process is
retarded, as happened once during the French occupation. The General
in command--or Garibaldi, if I am not mistaken--then took the priest
aside, and with a very significant gesture pointed out to him the
soldiers arrayed without, and expressed his hope that the miracle would
soon take place. And it actually took place....”
“Well, what else comes to your mind? Why do you hesitate?”
“Something really occurred to me ... but it is too intimate a matter to
impart ... besides, I see no connection and no necessity for telling
it.”
“I will take care of the connection. Of course I cannot compel you
to reveal what is disagreeable to you, but then you should not have
demanded that I tell you why you forgot the word ‘_aliquis_.’”
“Really? Do you think so? Well, I suddenly thought of a woman from whom
I could easily get a message that would be very annoying to us both.”
“That she missed her courses?”
“How could you guess such a thing?”
“That was not very difficult. You prepared me for it long enough. Just
think of the _saints of the calendar, the liquefying of the blood on a
certain day, the excitement if the event does not take place, and the
distinct threat that the miracle must take place_.... Indeed, you have
elaborated the miracle of St. Januarius into a clever allusion to the
courses of the woman.”
“It was surely without my knowledge. And do you really believe that my
inability to reproduce the word ‘_aliquis_’ was due to this anxious
expectation?”
“That appears to me absolutely certain. Don’t you recall dividing
it into _a-liquis_ and the associations: _reliques_, _liquidation_,
_fluid_? Shall I also add to this connection the fact that St. Simon,
to whom you got by way of the _reliques_, was sacrificed as a child?”
“Please stop. I hope you do not take these thoughts--if I really
entertained them--seriously. I will, however, confess to you that the
lady is Italian, and that I visited Naples in her company. But may not
all this be coincidental?”
“I must leave to your own judgment whether you can explain all these
connections through the assumption of coincidence. I will tell you,
however, that every similar case that you analyse will lead you to just
such remarkable ‘coincidences!’”
I have more than one reason for valuing this little analysis, for
which I am indebted to my travelling companion. First, because in
this case I was able to make use of a source which is otherwise
inaccessible to me. Most of the examples of psychic disturbances
of daily life that I have here compiled I was obliged to take from
observation of myself. I endeavoured to evade the far richer material
furnished me by my neurotic patients, because I had to preclude the
objection that the phenomena in question were only the result and
manifestation of the neurosis. It was therefore of special value for
my purpose to have a stranger free from a neurosis offer himself as
a subject for such examination. This analysis is also important in
other respects, inasmuch as it elucidates a case of word-forgetting
_without_ substitutive recollection, and thus confirms the principle
formulated above, namely, that the appearance or nonappearance of
incorrect substitutive recollections does not constitute an essential
distinction[3].
But the principal value of the example _aliquis_ lies in another of
its distinctions from the case _Signorelli_. In the latter example the
reproduction of the name becomes disturbed through the after-effects of
a stream of thought which began shortly before and was interrupted, but
whose content had no distinct relation to the new theme which contained
the name Signorelli. Between the repression and the theme of the
forgotten name there existed only the relation of temporal contiguity,
which reached the other in order that the two should be able to form
a connection through an outer association.[4] On the other hand, in
the example _aliquis_ one can note no trace of such an independent
repressed theme which could occupy conscious thought immediately before
and then re-echo as a disturbance. The disturbance of the reproduction
proceeded here from the inner part of the theme touched upon, and was
brought about by the fact that unconsciously a contradiction arose
against the wish-idea represented in the quotation.
The origin must be construed in the following manner: The speaker
deplored the fact that the present generation of his people was being
deprived of its rights, and like Dido he presaged that a new generation
would take upon itself vengeance against the oppressors. He therefore
expressed the wish for posterity. In this moment he was interrupted by
the contradictory thought: “Do you really wish so much for posterity?
That is not true. Just think in what a predicament you would be if you
should now receive the information that you must expect posterity from
the quarter you have in mind! No, you want no posterity--as much as you
need it for your vengeance.” This contradiction asserts itself, just
as in the example _Signorelli_, by forming an outer association between
one of his ideation elements and an element of the repressed wish, but
here it is brought about in a most strained manner through what seems
an artificial detour of associations. Another important agreement with
the example _Signorelli_ results from the fact that the contradiction
originates from repressed sources and emanates from thoughts which
would cause a deviation of attention.
So much for the diversity and the inner relationship of both paradigms
of the forgetting of names. We have learned to know a second mechanism
of forgetting, namely, the disturbance of thought through an inner
contradiction emanating from the repression. In the course of this
discussion we shall repeatedly meet with this process, which seems to
me to be the more easily understood.
III
FORGETTING OF NAMES AND ORDER OF WORDS
Experiences like those mentioned concerning the process of forgetting
a part of the order of words from a foreign language may cause one
to wonder whether the forgetting of the order of words in one’s own
language requires an essentially different explanation. To be sure, one
is not wont to be surprised if after awhile a formula or poem learned
by heart can only be reproduced imperfectly, with variations and gaps.
Still, as this forgetting does not affect equally all the things
learned together, but seems to pick out therefrom definite parts, it
may be worth our effort to investigate analytically some examples of
such faulty reproductions.
Brill reports the following example:--
“While conversing one day with a very brilliant young woman she had
occasion to quote from Keats. The poem was entitled ‘Ode to Apollo,’
and she recited the following lines:--
“‘In thy western house of gold
Where thou livest in thy state,
Bards, that once sublimely told
Prosaic truths that came too late.’
She hesitated many times during the recitation, being sure that
there was something wrong with the last line. To her great surprise,
on referring to the book she found that not only was the last line
misquoted but that there were many other mistakes. The correct lines
read as follows:--
ODE TO APOLLO
“‘In thy western _halls_ of gold
_When_ thou _sittest_ in thy state,
Bards, that _erst_ sublimely told
_Heroic deeds and sang of fate_.’
The words italicized are those that have been forgotten and replaced by
others during the recitation.
“She was astonished at her many mistakes, and attributed them to a
failure of memory. I could readily convince her, however, that there
was no qualitative or quantitative disturbance of memory in her case,
and recalled to her our conversation immediately before quoting these
lines.
“We were discussing the over-estimation of personality among lovers,
and she thought it was Victor Hugo who said that love is the greatest
thing in the world because it makes an angel or a god out of a grocery
clerk. She continued: ‘Only when we are in love have we blind faith
in humanity; everything is perfect, everything is beautiful, and
... everything is so poetically unreal. Still, it is a wonderful
experience; worth going through, notwithstanding the terrible
disappointments that usually follow. It puts us on a level with the
gods and incites us to all sorts of artistic activities. We become
real poets; we not only memorize and quote poetry, but we often become
Apollos ourselves.’ She then quoted the lines given above.
“When I asked on what occasion she memorized the lines she could
not recall. As a teacher of elocution she was wont to memorize so
much and so often that it was difficult to tell just when she had
memorized these lines. ‘Judging by the conversation,’ I suggested,
‘it would seem that this poem is intimately associated with the idea
of over-estimation of personality of one in love. Have you perhaps
memorized this poem when you were in such a state?’ She became
thoughtful for a while and soon recalled the following facts: Twelve
years before, when she was eighteen years old, she fell in love.
She met the young man while participating in an amateur theatrical
performance. He was at the time studying for the stage, and it was
predicted that some day he would be a matinée idol. He was endowed
with all the attributes needed for such a calling. He was well built,
fascinating, impulsive, very clever, and ... very fickle-minded. She
was warned against him, but she paid no heed, attributing it all to
the envy of her counsellors. Everything went well for a few months,
when she suddenly received word that her Apollo, for whom she had
memorized these lines, had eloped with and married a very wealthy young
woman. A few years later she heard that he was living in a Western
city, where he was taking care of his father-in-law’s interests.
“The misquoted lines are now quite plain. The discussion about the
over-estimation of personality among lovers unconsciously recalled to
her a disagreeable experience, when she herself over-estimated the
personality of the man she loved. She thought he was a god, but he
turned out to be even worse than the average mortal. The episode could
not come to the surface because it was determined by very disagreeable
and painful thoughts, but the unconscious variations in the poem
plainly showed her present mental state. The poetic expressions were
not only changed to prosaic ones, but they clearly alluded to the whole
episode.”
Another example of forgetting the order of words of a poem well known
to the person I shall cite from Dr. C. G. Jung,[5] quoting the words of
the author:--
“A man wished to recite the familiar poem, ‘A Pine-tree Stands Alone,’
etc. In the line ‘He felt drowsy’ he became hopelessly stuck at the
words ‘with the white sheet.’ This forgetting of such a well-known
verse seemed to me rather peculiar, and I therefore asked him to
reproduce what came to his mind when he thought of the words ‘with the
white sheet.’ He gave the following series of associations ‘The white
sheet makes one think of a white sheet on a corpse--a linen sheet
with which one covers a dead body--[pause]--now I think of a near
friend--his brother died quite recently--he is supposed to have died
of heart disease--he was also very corpulent--my friend is corpulent,
too, and I thought that he might meet the same fate--probably he
doesn’t exercise enough--when I heard of this death I suddenly became
frightened: the same thing might happen to me, as my own family is
predisposed to obesity--my grandfather died of heart disease--I, also,
am somewhat too corpulent, and for that reason I began an obesity cure
a few days ago.’”
Jung remarks: “The man had unconsciously immediately identified himself
with the pine-tree which was covered with a white sheet.”
For the following example of forgetting the order of words I am
indebted to my friend Dr. Ferenczi, of Budapest. Unlike the former
examples, it does not refer to a verse taken from poetry, but to a
self-coined saying. It may also demonstrate to us the rather unusual
case where the forgetting places itself at the disposal of discretion
when the latter is in danger of yielding to a momentary desire. The
mistake thus advances to a useful function. After we have sobered down
we justify that inner striving which at first could manifest itself
only by way of inability, as in forgetting or psychic impotence.
“At a social gathering some one quoted, _Tout comprendre c’est tout
pardonner_, to which I remarked that the first part of the sentence
should suffice, as ‘pardoning’ is an exemption which must be left to
God and the priest. One of the guests thought this observation very
good, which in turn emboldened me to remark--probably to ensure myself
of the good opinion of the well-disposed critic--that some time ago I
thought of something still better. But when I was about to repeat this
clever idea I was unable to recall it. Thereupon I immediately withdrew
from the company and wrote my concealing thoughts. I first recalled
the name of the friend who had witnessed the birth of this (desired)
thought, and of the street in Budapest where it took place, and then
the name of another friend, whose name was Max, whom we usually called
Maxie. That led me to the word ‘maxim,’ and to the thought that at
that time, as in the present case, it was a question of varying a
well-known maxim. Strangely enough, I did not recall any maxim but
the following sentence: ‘_God created man in His own image_,’ and its
changed conception, ‘_Man created God in his own image_.’ Immediately I
recalled the sought-for recollection.
“My friend said to me at that time in Andrassy Street, ‘_Nothing human
is foreign to me_.’ To which I remarked, basing it on psychoanalytic
experience, ‘You should go further and acknowledge _that nothing animal
is foreign to you_.’
“But after I had finally found the desired recollection I was even then
prevented from telling it in this social gathering. The young wife of
the friend whom I had reminded of the animality of the unconscious was
also among those present, and I was perforce reminded that she was not
at all prepared for the reception of such unsympathetic views. The
forgetting spared me a number of unpleasant questions from her and a
hopeless discussion, and just that must have been the motive of the
‘temporary amnesia.’
“It is interesting to note that as a concealing thought there emerged a
sentence in which the deity is degraded to a human invention, while in
the sought-for sentence there was an allusion to the animal in the man.
The _capitis diminutio_ is therefore common to both. The whole matter
was apparently only a continuation of the stream of thought concerning
understanding and forgiving which was stimulated by the discussion.
“That the desired thought so rapidly appeared may be also due to the
fact that I withdrew into a vacant room, away from the society in which
it was censored.”
I have since then analysed a large number of cases of forgetting
or faulty reproduction of the order of words, and the consistent
result of these investigations led me to assume that the mechanisms
of forgetting, as demonstrated in the examples “_aliquis_” and “_Ode
to Apollo_,” are almost of universal validity. It is not always very
convenient to report such analyses, for, just as those cited, they
usually lead to intimate and painful things in the person analysed; I
shall therefore add no more to the number of such examples. What is
common to all these cases, regardless of the material, is the fact that
the forgotten or distorted material becomes connected through some
associative road with an unconscious stream of thought, which gives
rise to the influence that comes to light as forgetting.
I am now returning to the forgetting of names, concerning which we
have so far considered exhaustively neither the casuistic elements nor
the motives. As this form of faulty acts can at times be abundantly
observed in myself, I am not at a loss for examples. The slight
attacks of migraine, from which I am still suffering, are wont to
announce themselves hours before through the forgetting of names, and
at the height of the attack, during which I am not forced, however, to
give up my work, I am often unable to recall all proper names.
Still, just such cases as mine may furnish the cause for a strong
objection to our analytic efforts. Should not one be forced to conclude
from such observations that the causation of the forgetfulness,
especially the forgetting of names, is to be sought in circulatory or
functional disturbances of the brain, and spare himself the trouble of
searching for psychologic explanations for these phenomena? Not at all;
that would mean to interchange the mechanism of a process, which is the
same in all cases, with its variations. But instead of an analysis I
shall cite a comparison which will settle the argument.
Let us assume that I was so reckless as to take a walk at night in an
uninhabited neighbourhood of a big city, and was attacked and robbed
of my watch and purse. At the nearest police-station I report the
matter in the following words: “I was in this or that street, and was
there robbed of my watch and purse by _lonesomeness_ and _darkness_.”
Although these words would not express anything that is incorrect,
I would, nevertheless, run the danger of being considered--judging
from the wording of this report--as not quite right in the head. To
be correct, the state of affairs could only be described by saying
that, _favoured_ by the lonesomeness of the place and under _cover_ of
darkness, I was robbed of my valuables by _unknown malefactors_.
Now, then, the state of affairs in forgetting names need not be
different. Favoured by exhaustion, circulatory disturbances, and
intoxication, I am robbed by an unknown psychic force of the disposal
over the proper names belonging to my memory; it is the same force
which in other cases may bring about the same failure of memory during
perfect health and mental capacity.
When I analyse those cases of name-forgetting occurring in myself, I
find almost regularly that the name withheld shows some relation to a
theme which concerns my own person, and is apt to provoke in me strong
and often painful emotions. Following the convenient and commendable
practice of the Zurich School (Bleuler, Jung, Riklin), I might express
the same thing in the following form: The name withheld has touched
a “personal complex” in me. The relation of the name to my person is
an unexpected one, and is mostly brought about through superficial
associations (words of double meaning and of similar sounds); it may
generally be designated as a side association. A few simple examples
will best illustrate the nature of the same:--
(_a_) A patient requested me to recommend to him a sanatorium in the
Riviera. I knew of such a place very near Genoa, I also recalled the
name of the German colleague who was in charge of the place, but the
place itself I could not name, well as I believed I knew it. There was
nothing left to do but ask the patient to wait, and to appeal quickly
to the women of the family.
“Just what is the name of the place near Genoa where Dr. X. has his
small institution in which Mrs. So-and-so remained so long under
treatment?”
“Of course you would forget a name of that sort. The name is Nervi.”
To be sure, I have enough to do with nerves.
(_b_) Another patient spoke about a neighbouring summer resort, and
maintained that besides the two familiar inns there was a third. I
disputed the existence of any third inn, and referred to the fact that
I had spent seven summers in the vicinity and therefore knew more about
the place than he. Instigated by my contradiction, he recalled the
name. The name of the third inn was “The Hochwartner.” Of course, I had
to admit it; indeed, I was forced to confess that for seven summers
I had lived near this very inn whose existence I had so strenuously
denied. But why should I have forgotten the name and the object? I
believe because the name sounded very much like that of a Vienna
colleague who practised the same specialty as my own. It touched in me
the “professional complex.”
(_c_) On another occasion, when about to buy a railroad ticket on the
Reichenhall Station, I could not recall the very familiar name of the
next big railroad station which I had so often passed. I was forced
to look it up in the time-table. The name was Rosehome (Rosenheim). I
soon discovered through what associations I lost it. An hour earlier I
had visited my sister in her home near Reichenhall; my sister’s name
is Rose, hence also a Rosehome. This name was taken away by my “family
complex.”
(_d_) This predatory influence of the “family complex” I can
demonstrate in a whole series of complexes.
One day I was consulted by a young man, a younger brother of one of my
female patients, whom I saw any number of times, and whom I used to
call by his first name. Later, while wishing to talk about his visit, I
forgot his first name, in no way an unusual one, and could not recall
it in any way. I walked into the street to read the business signs and
recognized the name as soon as it met my eyes.
The analysis showed that I had formed a parallel between the visitor
and my own brother which centred in the question: “Would my brother,
in a similar case, have behaved like him or even more contrarily?” The
outer connection between the thoughts concerning the stranger and my
own family was rendered possible through the accident that the name
of the mothers in each case was the same, Amelia. Subsequently I also
understood the substitutive names, Daniel and Frank, which obtruded
themselves without any explanation. These names, as well as Amelia,
belong to Schiller’s play _The Robbers_; they are all connected with a
joke of the Vienna pedestrian, Daniel Spitzer.
(_e_) On another occasion I was unable to find a patient’s name
which had a certain reference to my early life. The analysis had to
be followed over a long devious road before the desired name was
discovered. The patient expressed his apprehension lest he should
lose his eyesight; this recalled a young man who became blind from a
gunshot, and this again led to a picture of another youth who shot
himself, and the latter bore the same name as my first patient, though
not at all related to him. The name became known to me, however, only
after the anxious apprehension from these two juvenile cases was
transferred to a person of my own family.
Thus an incessant stream of “self-reference” flows through my thoughts
concerning which I usually have no inkling, but which betrays itself
through such name-forgetting. It seems as if I were forced to compare
with my own person all that I hear about strangers, as if my personal
complexes became stirred up at every information from others. It seems
impossible that this should be an individual peculiarity of my own
person; it must, on the contrary, point to the way we grasp outside
matters in general. I have reasons to assume that other individuals
meet with experiences quite similar to mine.
The best example of this kind was reported to me by a gentleman named
Lederer as a personal experience. While on his wedding trip in Venice
he came across a man with whom he was but slightly acquainted, and
whom he was obliged to introduce to his wife. As he forgot the name of
the stranger he got himself out of the embarrassment the first time
by mumbling the name unintelligibly. But when he met the man a second
time, as is inevitable in Venice, he took him aside and begged him
to help him out of the difficulty by telling him his name, which he
unfortunately had forgotten. The answer of the stranger pointed to a
superior knowledge of human nature: “I readily believe that you did not
grasp my name. My name is like yours--Lederer!”
One cannot suppress a slight feeling of unpleasantness on discovering
his own name in a stranger. I had recently felt it very plainly when I
was consulted during my office hours by a man named S. Freud. However,
I am assured by one of my own critics that in this respect he behaves
in quite the opposite manner.
(_f_) The effect of personal relation can be recognized also in the
following examples reported by Jung.[6]
“Mr. Y. falls in love with a lady who soon thereafter marries Mr. X. In
spite of the fact that Mr. Y. was an old acquaintance of Mr. X., and
had business relations with him, he repeatedly forgot the name, and
on a number of occasions, when wishing to correspond with X., he was
obliged to ask other people for his name.”
However, the motivation for the forgetting is more evident in this case
than in the preceding ones, which were under the constellation of the
personal reference. Here the forgetting is manifestly a direct result
of the dislike of Y. for the happy rival; he does not wish to know
anything about him.
(_g_) The following case, reported by Ferenczi, the analysis of which
is especially instructive through the explanation of the substitutive
thoughts (like _Botticelli-Boltraffio_ to _Signorelli_), shows in a
somewhat different way how self-reference leads to the forgetting of a
name:--
“A lady who heard something about psychoanalysis could not recall the
name of the psychiatrist, Young (Jung).
“Instead, the following names occurred to her: Kl. (a
name)--Wilde--Nietzsche--Hauptmann.
“I did not tell her the name, and requested her to repeat her free
associations to every thought.
“To Kl. she at once thought of Mrs. Kl., that she was an embellished
and affected person who looked very well for her age. ‘She does not
age.’ As a general and principal conception of Wilde and Nietzsche, she
gave the association ‘mental disease.’ She then added jocosely: ‘The
Freudians will continue looking for the causes of mental diseases until
they themselves become insane.’ She continued: ‘I cannot bear Wilde
and Nietzsche. I do not understand them. I hear that they were both
homosexual. Wilde has occupied himself with _young_ people’ (although
she uttered in this sentence the correct name she still could not
remember it).
“To Hauptmann she associated the words _half_ and _youth_, and only
after I called her attention to the word _youth_ did she become aware
that she was looking for the name Young (Jung).”
It is clear that this lady, who had lost her husband at the age of
thirty-nine, and had no prospect of marrying a second time, had
cause enough to avoid reminiscences recalling youth or old age. The
remarkable thing is that the concealing thoughts of the desired name
came to the surface as simple associations of content without any
sound-associations.
(_h_) Still different and very finely motivated is an example of
name-forgetting which the person concerned has himself explained.
“While taking an examination in philosophy as a minor subject I was
questioned by the examiner about the teachings of Epicurus, and was
asked whether I knew who took up his teachings centuries later. I
answered that it was Pierre Gassendi, whom two days before while in a
café I had happened to hear spoken of as a follower of Epicurus. To the
question how I knew this I boldly replied that I had taken an interest
in Gassendi for a long time. This resulted in a certificate with a
_magna cum laude_, but later, unfortunately, also in a persistent
tendency to forget the name Gassendi. I believe that it is due to my
guilty conscience that even now I cannot retain this name despite all
efforts. I had no business knowing it at that time.”
To have a proper appreciation of the intense repugnance entertained by
our narrator against the recollection of this examination episode, one
must have realized how highly he prizes his doctor’s degree, and for
how many other things this substitute must stand.