oldest brother to pay him a long-due visit at a sea-shore in England;
as the time was short I felt obliged to travel by the shortest route
and without interruption. I begged for a day’s sojourn in Holland,
but he thought that I could stop there on my return trip. Accordingly
I journeyed from Munich through Cologne to Rotterdam--Hook of
Holland--where I was to take the steamer at midnight to Harwich. In
Cologne I had to change cars; I left my train to go into the Rotterdam
express, but it was not to be found. I asked various railway employees,
was sent from one platform to another, got into an exaggerated state of
despair, and could easily reckon that during this fruitless search I
had probably missed my connection.
After this was corroborated, I pondered whether or not I should spend
the night in Cologne. This was favoured by a feeling of piety, for
according to an old family tradition, my ancestors were once expelled
from this city during a persecution of the Jews. But eventually I
came to another decision; I took a later train to Rotterdam, where I
arrived late at night and was thus compelled to spend a day in Holland.
This brought me the fulfilment of a long-fostered wish--the sight
of the beautiful Rembrandt paintings at The Hague and in the Royal
Museum at Amsterdam. Not before the next forenoon, while collecting my
impressions during the railway journey in England, did I definitely
remember that only a few steps from the place where I got off at the
railroad station in Cologne, indeed, on the same platform, I had seen
a large sign, “Rotterdam--Hook of Holland.” There stood the train in
which I should have continued my journey.
If one does not wish to assume that, contrary to my brother’s orders, I
had really resolved to admire the Rembrandt pictures on my way to him,
then the fact that despite clear directions I hurried away and looked
for another train must be designated as an incomprehensible “blinding.”
Everything else--my well-acted perplexity, the emergence of the pious
intention to spend the night in Cologne--was only a contrivance to hide
my resolution until it had been fully accomplished.
One may possibly be disinclined to consider the class of errors which I
have here explained as very numerous or particularly significant. But I
leave it to your consideration whether there is no ground for extending
the same points of view also to the more important errors of judgment,
as evinced by people in life and science. Only for the most select
and most balanced minds does it seem possible to guard the perceived
picture of external reality against the distortion to which it is
otherwise subjected in its transit through the psychic individuality of
the one perceiving it.
XI
COMBINED FAULTY ACTS
Two of the last-mentioned examples, my error which transfers the
Medici to Venice and that of the young man who knew how to circumvent
a command against a conversation on the telephone with his lady love,
have really not been fully discussed, as after careful consideration
they may be shown to represent a union of forgetting with an error. I
can show the same union still more clearly in certain other examples.
(_a_) A friend related to me the following experience: “Some years
ago I consented to be elected to the committee of a certain literary
society, as I supposed the organization might some time be of use to
me in assisting me in the production of my drama. Although not much
interested, I attended the meetings regularly every Friday. Some months
ago I was definitely assured that one of my dramas would be presented
at the theatre in F., and since that time it regularly happened that
I forgot the meeting of the association. As I read their programme
announcements I was ashamed of my forgetfulness. I reproached myself,
feeling that it was certainly rude of me to stay away now when I no
longer needed them, and determined that I would certainly not forget
the next Friday. Continually I reminded myself of this resolution
until the hour came and I stood before the door of the meeting-room.
To my astonishment it was locked; the meeting was already over. I had
mistaken my day; it was already Saturday!”
(_b_) The next example is the combination of a symptomatic action
with a case of mislaying; it reached me by remote byways, but from a
reliable source.
A woman travelled to Rome with her brother-in-law, a renowned artist.
The visitor was highly honoured by the German residents of Rome, and
among other things received a gold medal of antique origin. The woman
was grieved that her brother-in-law did not sufficiently appreciate
the value of this beautiful gift. After she had returned home she
discovered in unpacking that--without knowing how--she had brought the
medal home with her. She immediately notified her brother-in-law of
this by letter, and informed him that she would send it back to Rome
the next day. The next day, however, the medal was so aptly mislaid
that it could not be found and could not be sent back, and then it
dawned on the woman what her “absent-mindedness” signified--namely,
that she wished to keep the medal herself.
(_c_) Here are some cases in which the falsified action persistently
repeats itself, and at the same time also changes its mode of action:--
Due to unknown motives, Jones[65] left a letter for several days on his
desk, forgetting each time to post it. He ultimately posted it, but
it was returned to him from the Dead-letter Office because he forgot
to address it. After addressing and posting it a second time it was
again returned to him, this time without a stamp. He was then forced to
recognize the unconscious opposition to the sending of the letter.
(_d_) A short account by Dr. Karl Weiss (Vienna)[66] of a case of
forgetting impressively describes the futile effort to accomplish
something in the face of opposition. “How persistently the unconscious
activity can achieve its purpose if it has cause to prevent a
resolution from being executed, and how difficult it is to guard
against this tendency, will be illustrated by the following incident:
An acquaintance requested me to lend him a book and bring it to him the
next day. I immediately promised it, but perceived a distinct feeling
of displeasure which I could not explain at the time. Later it became
clear to me: this acquaintance had owed me for years a sum of money
which he evidently had no intention of returning. I did not give this
matter any more thought, but I recalled it the following forenoon with
the same feeling of displeasure, and at once said to myself: ‘Your
unconscious will see to it that you forget the book, but you don’t wish
to appear unobliging and will therefore do everything not to forget
it.’ I came home, wrapped the book in paper, and put it near me on the
desk while I wrote some letters.
“A little later I went away, but after a few steps I recollected that I
had left on the desk the letters which I wished to post. (By the way,
one of the letters was written to a person who urged me to undertake
something disagreeable.) I returned, took the letters, and again left.
While in the street-car it occurred to me that I had undertaken to
purchase something for my wife, and I was pleased at the thought that
it would be only a small package. The association, ‘small package,’
suddenly recalled ‘book’--and only then I noticed that I did not have
the book with me. Not only had I forgotten it when I left my home the
first time, but I had overlooked it again when I got the letters near
which it lay.”
(_e_) A similar mechanism is shown in the following fully analysed
observation of Otto Rank[67]:--
“A scrupulously orderly and pedantically precise man reported the
following occurrence, which he considered quite remarkable: One
afternoon on the street wishing to find out the time, he discovered
that he had left his watch at home, an omission which to his knowledge
had never occurred before. As he had an engagement elsewhere and had
not enough time to return for his watch, he made use of a visit to a
woman friend to borrow her watch for the evening. This was the most
convenient way out of the dilemma, as he had a previous engagement to
visit this lady the next day. Accordingly, he promised to return her
watch at that time.
“But the following day when about to consummate this he found to his
surprise that he had left the watch at home; his own watch he had with
him. He then firmly resolved to return the lady’s property that same
afternoon, and even followed out his resolution. But on wishing to see
the time on leaving her he found to his chagrin and astonishment that
he had again forgotten to take his own watch.
“The repetition of this faulty action seemed so pathologic to this
order-loving man that he was quite anxious to know its psychologic
motivation, and when questioned whether he experienced anything
disagreeable on the critical day of the first forgetting, and in what
connection it had occurred, the motive was promptly found. He related
that he had conversed with his mother after luncheon, shortly before
leaving the house. She told him that an irresponsible relative, who had
already caused him much worry and loss of money, had pawned his (the
relative’s) watch, and, as it was needed in the house, the relative had
asked for money to redeem it. This almost “forced” loan affected our
man very painfully and brought back to his memory all the disagreeable
episodes perpetrated by this relative for many years.
“His symptomatic action therefore proves to be manifoldly determined.
First, it gives expression to a stream of thought which runs perhaps
as follows: ‘I won’t allow my money to be extorted this way, and if
a watch is needed I will leave my own at home.’ But as he needed it
for the evening to keep his appointment, this intention could only
be brought about on an unconscious path in the form of a symptomatic
action. Second, the forgetting expresses a sentiment something like
the following: ‘This everlasting sacrificing of money for this
good-for-nothing is bound to ruin me altogether, so that I will have to
give up everything.’ Although the anger, according to the report of
this man, was only momentary, the repetition of the same symptomatic
action conclusively shows that in the unconscious it continued to act
more intensely, and may be equivalent to the conscious expression:
‘I cannot get this story out of my head.[68] That the lady’s watch
should later meet the same fate will not surprise us after knowing this
attitude of the unconscious.’
“Yet there may be still other special motives which favour the
transference on the ‘innocent’ lady’s watch. The nearest motive is
probably that he would have liked to keep it as a substitute for his
own sacrificed watch, and that hence he forgot to return it the next
day. He also might have liked to possess this watch as a souvenir of
the lady. Moreover, the forgetting of the lady’s watch gave him the
excuse for calling on the admired one a second time; for he was obliged
to visit her in the morning in reference to another matter, and with
the forgetting of the watch he seemed to indicate that this visit for
which an appointment had been made so long ago was too good for him to
be used simply for the return of a watch.
“Twice forgetting his own watch and thus making possible the
substitution of the lady’s watch speaks for the fact that our man
unconsciously endeavoured to avoid carrying both watches at the same
time. He obviously thought of avoiding the appearance of superfluity
which would have stood out in striking contrast to the want of the
relative; but, on the other hand, he utilized this as a self-admonition
against his apparent intention to marry this lady, reminding himself
that he was tied to his family (mother) by indissoluble obligations.
“Finally, another reason for the forgetting of the lady’s watch may be
sought in the fact that the evening before he, a bachelor, was ashamed
to be seen with a lady’s watch by his friends, so that he only looked
at it stealthily, and in order to evade the repetition of this painful
situation he could not take the watch along. But as he was obliged
to return it, there resulted here, too, an unconsciously performed
symptomatic action which proved to be a compromise formation between
conflicting emotional feelings and a dearly bought victory of the
unconscious instance.”
In the same discussion Rank has also paid attention to the very
interesting relation of “faulty actions and dreams,” which cannot,
however, be followed here without a comprehensive analysis of the dream
with which the faulty action is connected. I once dreamed at great
length that I had lost my pocket-book. In the morning while dressing I
actually missed it; while undressing the night before the dream I had
forgotten to take it out of my trousers pocket and put it in its usual
place. This forgetting was therefore not unknown to me; probably it was
to give expression to an unconscious thought which was ready to appear
in the dream content.
I do not mean to assert that such cases of combined faulty actions can
teach anything new that we have not already seen in the individual
cases. But this change in form of the faulty action, which nevertheless
attains the same result, gives the plastic impression of a will working
towards a definite end, and in a far more energetic way contradicts
the idea that the faulty action represents something fortuitous and
requires no explanation. Not less remarkable is the fact that the
conscious intention thoroughly fails to check the success of the faulty
action. Despite all, my friend did not pay his visit to the meeting
of the literary society, and the woman found it impossible to give
up the medal. That unconscious something which worked against these
resolutions found another outlet after the first road was closed to it.
It requires something other than the conscious counter-resolution to
overcome the unknown motive; it requires a psychic work which makes the
unknown known to consciousness.
XII
DETERMINISM--CHANCE--AND SUPERSTITIOUS BELIEFS
POINTS OF VIEW.
As the general result of the preceding separate discussions we must
put down the following principle: _Certain inadequacies of our psychic
capacities--whose common character will soon be more definitely
determined--and certain performances which are apparently unintentional
prove to be well motivated when subjected to the psychoanalytic
investigation, and are determined through the consciousness of unknown
motives._
In order to belong to this class of phenomena thus explained a faulty
psychic action must satisfy the following conditions:--
(_a_) It must not exceed a certain measure, which is firmly established
through our estimation, and is designated by the expression “within
normal limits.”
(_b_) It must evince the character of the momentary and temporary
disturbance. The same action must have been previously performed more
correctly or we must always rely on ourselves to perform it more
correctly; if we are corrected by others we must immediately recognize
the truth of the correction and the incorrectness of our psychic action.
(_c_) If we at all perceive a faulty action, we must not perceive in
ourselves any motivation of the same, but must attempt to explain it
through “inattention” or attribute it to an “accident.”
Thus there remain in this group the cases of forgetting and the errors,
despite better knowledge, the lapses in speaking, reading, writing, the
erroneously carried-out actions, and the so-called chance actions. The
explanations of these so definite psychic processes are connected with
a series of observations which may in part arouse further interest.
I. By abandoning a part of our psychic capacity as unexplainable
through purposive ideas we ignore the realms of determinism in our
mental life. Here, as in still other spheres, determinism reaches
farther than we suppose. In the year 1900 I read an essay published
in the _Zeit_ written by the literary historian R. M. Meyer, in which
he maintains, and illustrates by examples, that it is impossible to
compose nonsense intentionally and arbitrarily. For some time I have
been aware that it is impossible to think of a number, or even of
a name, of one’s own free will. If one investigates this seeming
voluntary formation, let us say, of a number of many digits uttered
in unrestrained mirth, it always proves to be so strictly determined
that the determination seems impossible. I will now briefly discuss an
example of an “arbitrarily chosen” first name, and then exhaustively
analyse an analogous example of a “thoughtlessly uttered” number.
While preparing the history of one of my patients for publication I
considered what first name I should give her in the article. There
seemed to be a wide choice; of course, certain names were at once
excluded by me, in the first place the real name, then the names of
members of my family to which I would have objected, also some female
names having an especially peculiar pronunciation. But, excluding
these, there should have been no need of being puzzled about such
a name. It would be thought, and I myself supposed, that a whole
multitude of feminine names would be placed at my disposal. Instead of
this only one sprang up, no other besides it; it was the name Dora.
I inquired as to its determination: “Who else is called Dora?” I wished
to reject the next idea as incredulous; it occurred to me that the
nurse of my sister’s children was named Dora. But I possess so much
self-control, or practice in analysis, if you like, that I held firmly
to the idea and proceeded. Then a slight incident of the previous
evening soon flashed through my mind which brought the looked-for
determination. On my sister’s dining-room table I noticed a letter
bearing the address, “Miss Rosa W.” Astonished, I asked whose name this
was, and was informed that the right name of the supposed Dora was
really Rosa, and that on accepting the position she had to lay aside
her name, because Rosa would also refer to my sister. I said pityingly,
“Poor people! They cannot even retain their own names!” I now recall
that on hearing this I became quiet for a moment and began to think of
all sorts of serious matters which merged into the obscure, but which
I could now easily bring into my consciousness. Thus when I sought a
name for a person _who could not retain her own name_ no other except
“Dora” occurred to me. The exclusiveness here is based, moreover, on
firmer internal associations, for in the history of my patient it was a
stranger in the house, the governess, who exerted a decisive influence
on the course of the treatment.
This slight incident found its unexpected continuation many years
later. While discussing in a lecture the long-since published history
of the girl called Dora it occurred to me that one of my two women
pupils had the very name Dora which I was obliged to utter so often in
the different associations of the case. I turned to the young student,
whom I knew personally, with the apology that I had really not thought
that she bore the same name, and that I was ready to substitute it in
my lecture by another name.
I was now confronted with the task of rapidly choosing another name,
and reflected that I must not now choose the first name of the other
woman student, and so set a poor example to the class, who were already
quite conversant with psychoanalysis. I was therefore well pleased when
the name “Erna” occurred to me as the substitute for Dora, and Erna I
used in the discourse. After the lecture I asked myself whence the name
“Erna” could possibly have originated, and had to laugh as I observed
that the feared possibility in the choice of the substitutive name
had come to pass, in part at least. The other lady’s family name was
Lucerna, of which Erna was a part.
In a letter to a friend I informed him that I had finished reading the
proof-sheets of _The Interpretation of Dreams_, and that I did not
intend to make any further changes in it, “even if it contained _2,467_
mistakes.” I immediately attempted to explain to myself the number,
and added this little analysis as a postscript to the letter. It will
be best to quote it now as I wrote it when I caught myself in this
transaction:--
“I will add hastily another contribution to the Psychopathology of
Everyday Life. You will find in the letter the number 2,467 as a
jocose and arbitrary estimation of the number of errors that may be
found in the dream-book. I meant to write: no matter how large the
number might be, and this one presented itself. But there is nothing
arbitrary or undetermined in the psychic life. You will therefore
rightly suppose that the unconscious hastened to determine the number
which was liberated by consciousness. Just previous to this I had read
in the paper that General E. M. had been retired as Inspector-General
of Ordnance. You must know that I am interested in this man. While I
was serving as military medical student he, then a colonel, once came
into the hospital and said to the physician: ‘You must make me well in
eight days, as I have some work to do for which the Emperor is waiting.’
“At that time I decided to follow this man’s career, and just think,
to-day (1899) he is at the end of it--Inspector-General of Ordnance
and already retired. I wished to figure out in what time he had
covered this road, and assumed that I had seen him in the hospital in
1882. That would make 17 years. I related this to my wife, and she
remarked, ‘Then you, too, should be retired.’ And I protested, ‘The
Lord forbid!’ After this conversation I seated myself at the table to
write to you. The previous train of thought continued, and for good
reason. The figuring was incorrect; I had a definite recollection of
the circumstances in my mind. I had celebrated my coming of age, my
_24th_ birthday, in the military prison (for being absent without
permission). Therefore I must have seen him in 1880, which makes it 19
years ago. You then have the number 24 in 2,467! Now take the number
that represents my age, 43, and add 24 years to it and you get _67_!
That is, to the question whether I wished to retire I had expressed the
wish to work 24 years more. Obviously I am annoyed that in the interval
during which I followed Colonel M. I have not accomplished much myself,
and still there is a sort of triumph in the fact that he is already
finished, while I still have all before me. Thus we may justly say
that not even the unintentionally thrown-out number 2,467 lacks its
determination from the unconscious.”
Since this first example of the interpretation of an apparently
arbitrary choice of a number I have repeated a similar test with the
same result; but most cases are of such intimate content that they do
not lend themselves to report.
It is for this reason that I shall not hesitate to add here a very
interesting analysis of a “chance number” which Dr. Alfred Adler
(Vienna) received from a “perfectly healthy” man.[69] A. wrote to
me: “Last night I devoted myself to the _Psychopathology of Everyday_
Life, and I would have read it all through had I not been hindered
by a remarkable coincidence. When I read that every number that we
apparently conjure up quite arbitrarily in our consciousness has a
definite meaning, I decided to test it. The number 1,734 occurred
to my mind. The following associations then came up: 1,734 ÷ 17 =
102; 102 ÷ 17 = 6. I then separated the number into 17 and 34. I am
34 years old. I believe that I once told you that I consider 34 the
last year of youth, and for this reason I felt miserable on my last
birthday. The end of my 17th year was the beginning of a very nice and
interesting period of my development. I divide my life into periods of
17 years. What do the divisions signify? The number 102 recalls the
fact that volume 102 of the Reclam Universal Library is Kotzebue’s play
_Menschenhass und Reue_ (_Human Hatred and Repentance_).
“My present psychic state is ‘human hatred and repentance.’ No. 6 of
the U. L. (I know a great many numbers by heart) is Mullner’s ‘Schuld’
(Fault). I am constantly annoyed at the thought that it is through
my own fault that I have not become what I could have been with my
abilities.