affairs frequently signed her maiden name many years before she
actually resumed it.
Once I was the guest of a newly married couple and heard the young
woman laughingly relate her latest experience, how, on the day
succeeding her return from the wedding tour she had sought out her
single sister in order to go shopping with her as in former times,
while her husband was attending business. Suddenly she noticed a man
on the opposite side of the street; nudging her sister she said, “Why,
that is surely Mr. L.” She forgot that for some weeks this man had been
her husband. I was chilled at this tale, but I did not dare draw any
inferences. The little story came back to me only several years later,
after this marriage had ended most unhappily.
The following observation, which could as well have found a place among
the examples of forgetting, was taken from a noteworthy work published
in French by A. Maeder.[58]
“Une dame nous racontait récement qu’elle avait oublie d’essayer sa
robe de noce et s’en souvint la veille du marriage, à huit heur du
soir, la couturière désespérait de voir sa cliente. Ce détail suffit à
montrer que la fiancée ne se sentait pas très heureuse de porter une
robe d’épouse, elle cherchait à oublier cette représentation pénible.
Elle est aujourd’hui ... divorcée.”
A friend who has learned to observe signs related to me that the great
actress Eleanora Duse introduces a symptomatic action into one of her
rôles which shows very nicely from what depth she draws her acting. It
is a drama dealing with adultery; she has just been discussing with
her husband and now stands soliloquizing before the seducer makes his
appearance. During this short interval she plays with her wedding-ring,
she pulls it off, replaces it, and finally takes it off again. She is
now ready for the other.
I know of an elderly man who married a young girl, and instead of
starting at once on his wedding tour he decided to spend the night in a
hotel. Scarcely had they reached the hotel, when he noticed with fright
that he was without his wallet, in which he had the entire sum of money
for the wedding tour; he must have mislaid or lost it. He was still
able to reach his servant by telephone; the latter found the missing
article in the coat discarded for the travelling clothes and brought it
to the hotel to the waiting bridegroom, who had thus entered upon his
marriage without means.
It is consoling to think that the “losing of objects” by people is
merely an unsuspected extension of a symptomatic action, and is thus
welcome at least to the secret intention of the loser. Often it is only
an expression of slight appreciation of the lost article, a secret
dislike for the same, or perhaps for the person from whom it came,
or the desire to lose this object was transferred to it from other
and more important objects through symbolic association. The loss of
valuable articles serves as an expression of diverse feelings; it
may either symbolically represent a repressed thought--that is, it
may bring back a memory which one would rather not hear--or it may
represent a sacrifice to the obscure forces of fate, the worship of
which is not yet entirely extinct even with us.[59]
The following examples will illustrate these statements concerning the
losing of objects:--
Dr. B. Dattner states: “A colleague related to me that he lost his
steel pencil which he had had for over two years, and which, on
account of its superior quality, was highly prized by him. Analysis
elicited the following facts: The day before he had received a very
disagreeable letter from his brother-in-law, the concluding sentence
of which read: ‘At present I have neither the desire nor the time to
assist you in your carelessness and laziness.’ The effect connected
with this letter was so powerful that the next day he promptly
sacrificed the pencil which was a present from this brother-in-law in
order not to be burdened with his favours.”
Brill reports the following example: “A doctor took exception to the
following statement in my book, ‘We never lose what we really want’
(_Psychanalysis, its Theories and Practical Application_, p. 214). His
wife, who is very interested in psychologic subjects, read with him
the chapter on “Psychopathology of Everyday Life”; they were both very
much impressed with the novelty of the ideas, and so on, and were very
willing to accept most of the statements. He could not, however, agree
with the above-given statement because, as he said to his wife, ‘I
surely did not wish to lose my knife.’ He referred to a valuable knife
given to him by his wife, which he highly prized, the loss of which
caused him much pain.
“It did not take his wife very long to discover the solution for this
loss in a manner to convince them both of the accuracy of my statement.
When she presented him with this knife he was a bit loath to accept
it. Although he considered himself quite emancipated, he nevertheless
entertained some superstition about giving or accepting a knife as a
gift, because it is said that a knife cuts friendship. He even remarked
this to his wife, who only laughed at his superstition. He had the
knife for years before it disappeared.
“Analysis brought out the fact that the disappearance of the knife was
directly connected with a period when there were violent quarrels
between himself and his wife, which threatened to end in separation.
They lived happily together until his step-daughter (it was his second
marriage) came to live with them. His daughter was the cause of many
misunderstandings, and it was at the height of these quarrels that he
lost the knife.
“The unconscious activity is very nicely shown in this symptomatic
action. In spite of his apparent freedom from superstition, he still
unconsciously believed that a donated knife may cut friendship between
the persons concerned. The losing of it was simply an unconscious
defence against losing his wife, and by sacrificing the knife he made
the superstitious ban impotent.”
In a lengthy discussion and with the aid of dream analysis[60] Otto
Rank made clear the sacrificial tendency with its deep-reaching
motivation. It must be said that just such symptomatic actions often
give us access to the understanding of the intimate psychic life of the
person.
Of the many isolated chance-actions, I will relate one example which
showed a deeper meaning even without analysis. This example clearly
explains the conditions under which such symptoms may be produced most
casually, and also shows that an observation of practical importance
may be attached to it. During a summer tour it happened that I had to
wait several days at a certain place for the arrival of my travelling
companions. In the meantime I made the acquaintance of a young man, who
also seemed lonely and was quite willing to join me. As we lived at the
same hotel it was quite natural that we should take all our meals and
our walks together.
On the afternoon of the third day he suddenly informed me that he
expected his wife to arrive on that evening’s express train. My
psychologic interest was now aroused, as it had already struck me
that morning that my companion rejected my proposal to make a long
excursion, and in our short walk he objected to a certain path as too
steep and dangerous. During our afternoon walk he suddenly thought that
I must be hungry and insisted that I should not delay my evening meal
on his account, that he would not sup before his wife’s arrival. I
understood the hint and seated myself at the table while he went to the
station.
The next morning we met in the foyer of the hotel. He presented me to
his wife, and added, “Of course, you will breakfast with us?” I had
to attend first to a small matter in the next street, but assured him
that I would return shortly. Later, as I entered the breakfast-room,
I noticed that the couple were at a small table near the window, both
seated on the same side of it. On the opposite side there was only one
chair, which was covered, however, with a man’s large and heavy coat.
I understood well the meaning of this unintentional, none the less
expressive, disposition of the coat. It meant this: “There is no room
for you here, you are superfluous now.”
The man did not notice that I remained standing before the table, being
unable to take the seat, but his wife noticed it, and quickly nudged
her husband and whispered: “Why, you have covered the gentleman’s place
with your coat.”
These as well as other similar experiences have caused me to think that
the actions executed unintentionally must inevitably become the source
of misunderstanding in human relations. The perpetrator of the act, who
is unaware of any associated intention, takes no account of it, and
does not hold himself responsible for it. On the other hand, the second
party, having regularly utilized even such acts as those of his partner
to draw conclusions as to their purpose and meaning, recognizes more
of the stranger’s psychic processes than the latter is ready either to
admit or believe that he has imparted. He becomes indignant when these
conclusions drawn from his symptomatic actions are held up to him; he
declares them baseless because he does not see any conscious intention
in their execution, and complains of being misunderstood by the other.
Close examination shows that such misunderstandings are based on the
fact that the person is too fine an observer and understands too much.
The more “nervous” two persons are the more readily will they give
each other cause for disputes, which are based on the fact that one as
definitely denies about his own person what he is sure to accept about
the other.
And this is, indeed, the punishment for the inner dishonesty to which
people grant expression under the guise of “forgetting,” of erroneous
actions and accidental emotions, a feeling which they would do better
to confess to themselves and others when they can no longer control
it. As a matter of fact it can be generally affirmed that every one
is continually practising psychoanalysis on his neighbours, and
consequently learns to know them better than each individual knows
himself. The road following the admonition γνῶθι σεαυτὁν leads through
the study of one’s own apparently casual commissions and omissions.
X
ERRORS
Errors of memory are distinguished from forgetting and false
recollections through one feature only, namely, that the error (false
recollection) is not recognized as such but finds credence. However,
the use of the expression “error” seems to depend on still another
condition. We speak of “erring” instead of “falsely recollecting” where
the character of the objective reality is emphasized in the psychic
material to be reproduced--that is, where something other than a fact
of my own psychic life is to be remembered, or rather something that
may be confirmed or refuted through the memory of others. The reverse
of the error in memory in this sense is formed by ignorance.
In my book _The Interpretation of Dreams_,[61] I was responsible for
a series of errors in historical, and above all, in material facts,
which I was astonished to discover after the appearance of the book.
On closer examination I found that they did not originate from my
ignorance, but could be traced to errors of memory explainable by means
of analysis.
(_a_) On page 361 I indicated as _Schiller’s_ birthplace the city of
_Marburg_, a name which recurs in _Styria_. The error is found in the
analysis of a dream during a night journey from which I was awakened
by the conductor calling out the name of the station _Marburg_. In the
contents of the dream inquiry is made concerning a book by _Schiller_.
But _Schiller_ was not born in the university town of _Marburg_ but in
the Swabian city _Marbach_. I maintain that I always knew this.
(_b_) On page 165 _Hannibal’s_ father is called _Hasdrubal_. This error
was particularly annoying to me, but it was most corroborative of my
conception of such errors. Few readers of the book are better posted
on the history of the _Barkides_ than the author who wrote this error
and overlooked it in three proofs. The name of Hannibal’s father was
_Hamilcar Barkas_; _Hasdrubal_ was the name of _Hannibal’s_ brother as
well as that of his brother-in-law and predecessor in command.
(_c_) On pages 217 and 492 I assert that _Zeus_ emasculates his father
_Kronos_, and hurls him from the throne. This horror I have erroneously
advanced by a generation; according to Greek mythology it was _Kronos_
who committed this on his father _Uranos_.[62]
How is it to be explained that my memory furnished me with false
material on these points, while it usually places the most remote and
unusual material at my disposal, as the readers of my books can verify?
And, what is more, in three carefully executed proof-readings I passed
over these errors as if struck blind.
Goethe said of Lichtenberg: “Where he cracks a joke, there lies a
concealed problem.” Similarly we can affirm of these passages cited
from my book: back of every error is a repression. More accurately
stated: the error conceals a falsehood, a disfigurement which is
ultimately based on repressed material. In the analysis of the dreams
there reported, I was compelled by the very nature of the theme to
which the dream thoughts related, on the one hand, to break off the
analysis in some places before it had reached its completion, and
on the other hand, to remove an indiscreet detail through a slight
disfigurement of its outline. I could not act differently, and had no
other choice if I was at all to offer examples and illustrations. My
constrained position was necessarily brought about by the peculiarity
of dreams, which give expression to repressed thoughts, or to material
which is incapable of becoming conscious. In spite of this it is said
that enough material remained to offend the more sensitive souls. The
disfigurement or concealment of the continuing thoughts known to me
could not be accomplished without leaving some trace. What I wished to
repress has often against my will obtruded itself on what I have taken
up, and evinced itself in the matter as an unnoticeable error. Indeed,
each of the three examples given is based on the same theme: the errors
are the results of repressed thoughts which occupy themselves with my
deceased father.
(_ad a_) Whoever reads through the dream analysed on page 361 will
find some parts unveiled; in some parts he will be able to divine
through allusions that I have broken off the thoughts which would have
contained an unfavourable criticism of my father. In the continuation
of this line of thoughts and memories there lies an annoying tale, in
which books and a business friend of my father, named _Marburg_, play
a part; it is the same name the calling out of which in the southern
railway-station had aroused me from sleep. I wished to suppress this
Mr. _Marburg_ in the analysis from myself and my readers: he avenged
himself by intruding where he did not belong, and changed the name of
Schiller’s birthplace from _Marbach_ to _Marburg_.
(_ad b_) The error _Hasdrubal_ in place of _Hamilcar_, the name of the
brother instead of that of the father, originated from an association
which dealt with the Hannibal fantasies of my college years and my
dissatisfaction with the conduct of my father towards the “enemies
of our people.” I could have continued and recounted how my attitude
toward my father was changed by a visit to England, where I made the
acquaintance of my half-brother, by a previous marriage of my father.
My brother’s oldest son was my age exactly. Thus the age relations were
no hindrance to a fantasy which may be stated thus: how much pleasanter
it would be had I been born the son of my brother instead of the son of
my father! This suppressed fantasy then falsified the text of my book
at the point where I broke off the analysis, by forcing me to put the
name of the brother for that of the father.
(_ad c_) The influence of the memory of this same brother is
responsible for my having advanced by a generation the mythological
horror of the Greek deities. One of the admonitions of my brother has
lingered long in my memory. “Do not forget one thing concerning your
conduct in life,” he said: “you belong not to the second but really
to the third generation of your father.” Our father had remarried at
an advanced age, and was therefore an old man to his children by the
second marriage. I commit the error mentioned where I discuss the
piety between parents and children.
Several times friends and patients have called my attention to the fact
that in reporting their dreams or alluding to them in dream analyses,
I have related inaccurately the circumstances experienced by us in
common. These are also historic errors. On re-examining such individual
cases I have found that my recollection of the facts was unreliable
only where I had purposely disfigured or concealed something in the
analysis. Here again we have _an unobserved error as a substitute for
an intentional concealment or repression_.
From these errors, which originate from repression, we must sharply
distinguish those which are based on actual ignorance. Thus, for
example, it was ignorance when on my excursion to Wachau I believed
that I had passed the resting-place of the revolutionary leader
Fischof. Only the name is common to both places. _Fischof’s Emmersdorf_
is located in Kärnthen. But I did not know any better.
Here is another embarrassing but instructive error, an example of
temporary ignorance if you like. One day a patient reminded me to give
him the two books on Venice which I had promised him, as he wished to
use them in planning his Easter tour. I answered that I had them ready
and went into the library to fetch them, though the truth of the
matter was that I had forgotten to look them up, since I did not quite
approve of my patient’s journey, looking upon it as an unnecessary
interruption to the treatment, and as a material loss to the physician.
Thereupon I made a quick survey of the library for the books.
One was _Venedig als Kunststätte_, and besides this I imagined I had an
historic work of a similar order. Certainly there was _Die Mediceer_
(_The Medicis_); I took them and brought them in to him, then,
embarrassed, I confessed my error. Of course I really knew that the
Medicis had nothing to do with Venice, but for a short time it did not
appear to me at all incorrect. Now I was compelled to practise justice;
as I had so frequently interpreted my patient’s symptomatic actions I
could save my prestige only by being honest and admitting to him the
secret motives of my averseness to his trip.
It may cause general astonishment to learn how much stronger is the
impulse to tell the truth than is usually supposed. Perhaps it is a
result of my occupation with psychoanalysis that I can scarcely lie any
more. As often as I attempt a distortion I succumb to an error or some
other faulty act, which betrays my dishonesty, as was manifest in this
and in the preceding examples.
Of all faulty actions the mechanism of the error seems to be the most
superficial. That is, the occurrence of the error invariably indicates
that the mental activity concerned had to struggle with some disturbing
influence, although the nature of the error need not be determined by
the quality of the disturbing idea, which may have remained obscure.
It is not out of place to add that the same state of affairs may be
assumed in many simple cases of lapses in speaking and writing. Every
time we commit a lapse in speaking or writing we may conclude that
through mental processes there has come a disturbance which is beyond
our intention. It may be conceded, however, that lapses in speaking
and writing often follow the laws of similarity and convenience, or
the tendency to acceleration, without allowing the disturbing element
to leave a trace of its own character in the error resulting from
the lapses in speaking or writing. It is the responsiveness of the
linguistic material which at first makes possible the determination of
the error, but it also limits the same.
In order not to confine myself exclusively to personal errors I will
relate a few examples which could just as well have been ranged under
“Lapses in Speech” or under “Erroneously Carried-out Actions,” but as
all these forms of faulty action have the same value they may as well
be reported here.
(_a_) I forbade a patient to speak on the telephone to his lady-love,
with whom he himself was willing to break off all relations, as each
conversation only renewed the struggling against it. He was to write
her his final decision, although there were some difficulties in the
way of delivering the letter to her. He visited me at one o’clock to
tell me that he had found a way of avoiding these difficulties, and
among other things he asked me whether he might refer to me in my
professional capacity.
At two o’clock while he was engaged in composing the letter of refusal,
he interrupted himself suddenly, and said to his mother, “Well, I
have forgotten to ask the Professor whether I may use his name in the
letter.” He hurried to the telephone, got the connection, and asked the
question, “May I speak to the Professor after his dinner?” In answer
he got an astonished “Adolf, have you gone crazy!” The answering voice
was the very voice which at my command he had listened to for the last
time. He had simply “made a mistake,” and in place of the physician’s
number had called up that of his beloved.
(_b_) During a summer vacation a schoolteacher, a poor but excellent
young man, courted the daughter of a summer resident, until the girl
fell passionately in love with him, and even prevailed upon her family
to countenance the matrimonial alliance in spite of the difference in
position and race. One day, however, the teacher wrote his brother a
letter in which he said: “Pretty, the lass is not at all, but she is
very amiable, and so far so good. But whether I can make up my mind to
marry a Jewess I cannot yet tell.” This letter got into the hands of
the fiancée, who put an end to the engagement, while at the same time
his brother was wondering at the protestations of love directed to him.
My informer assured me that this was really an error and not a cunning
trick.
I am familiar with another case in which a woman who was dissatisfied
with her old physician, and still did not openly wish to discharge him,
accomplished this purpose through the interchange of letters. Here, at
least, I can assert confidently that it was error and not conscious
cunning that made use of this familiar comedy-motive.
(_c_) Brill[63] tells of a woman who, inquiring about a mutual friend,
erroneously called her by her maiden name. Her attention having been
directed to this error, she had to admit that she disliked her friend’s
husband and had never been satisfied with her marriage.
Maeder[64] relates a good example of how a reluctantly repressed
wish can be satisfied by means of an “error.” A colleague wanted
to enjoy his day of leave of absence absolutely undisturbed, but he
also felt that he ought to go to Lucerne to pay a call which he did
not anticipate with any pleasure. After long reflection, however, he
concluded to go. For pastime on the train he read the daily newspapers.
He journeyed from Zurich to Arth Goldau, where he changed trains for
Lucerne, all the time engrossed in reading. Presently the conductor
informed him that he was in the wrong train--that is, he had got into
the one which was returning from Goldau to Zurich, whereas his ticket
was for Lucerne.