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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 some
thing 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,¹⁾ 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

¹⁾Translated by A. A. Brill. The Macmillan Company, New
York; George Allen Company, London.

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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 over-
looked it in three proofs. The name of Hannibal's father
was Hamilcar Barkas; Hasdrubal was the name of Hanni-
bal'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 com-
mitted this on his father Uranos.¹⁾

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 errors conceal
a falsehood, a disfigurement which is ultimately based on

¹⁾This is not a perfect error. According to the orphic version
of the myth the emasculation was performed by Zeus on his
father Kronos.

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ERRORS

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 unfavour-
able 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,

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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

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ERRORS

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 dis-
figured 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. There-
upon I made a quick survey of the library for the books.

One was Venedig als Kunststatte, and besides this I
imagined I had an historic work of a similar order.
Certainly there was Die Medicäer (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

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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 con-
cerned 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 disturb-
ance 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 respon-
siveness 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

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“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 physi-
cian’s number had called up that of his beloved.

(b) During a summer vacation a school-
teacher, 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 coun-
tenance the matrimonial alliance in the spite of 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

182

of the fiancée, who put an end to the engagement, while
at the same time his brother was wondering at the protes-
tations 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) Brill¹⁾ 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.

Maeder²⁾ 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 Zürich 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.

A very similar trick was played by me quite recently. I
had promised my oldest brother to pay him a long-due
visit at a sea-shore in England; as the time was short I felt

¹⁾Loc. cit., p. 191.

²⁾Nouvelles contributions, etc., Arch. de Psych., vi. 1908.

183

obliged to travel by the shortest route and withou-
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 Rotter-
dam, 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

184

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 con-
sideration 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.