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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 func-
tions—whose common character will soon be more definitely determined
—and certain performances which are apparently unintentional prove to
be well motivated when subjected to psychoanalytic investigation, and
are determined through the consciousness of unknown motives.

In order to belong to the class of phenomena which can thus be ex-
plained, 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 cor-
rectly; 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 our-
selves 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, the errors, the
lapses in speaking, reading, writing, the erroneously carried-out actions
and the so-called chance actions. The explanations of these very definite
psychic processes are connected with a series of observations which may
in part arouse further interest.

I. By assuming that a part of our psychic function is unexplainable
through purposive ideas, we ignore the realms of determinism in our men-
tal 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

151

by the literary historian R. M. Meyer, in which he maintains and illus-
trates 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 in-
vestigates 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 analyze 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 pro-
ceeded. Then a slight incident of the previous evening soon flashed
through my mind which brought the looked-for determinant. 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 obscurity, but which I could now easily bring into my con-
sciousness. 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 dif-
ferent

152

associations of the
sonally 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 un-
determined 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 al-
ready 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 con-
versation, 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 cele-
brated my coming of age, my 24th birthday, in the military prison (for

153

DETERMINISM—CHANCE—BELIEFS
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 an
noyed 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 them
selves to report.

It is for this reason that I shall not hesitate to add here a very interest-
ing analysis of a “chance number” which Dr. Alfred Adler (Vienna) re-
ceived from a “perfectly healthy” man.¹ Adler 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 coin-
cidence: 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 num-
ber 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 pe-
riods 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.’ Number
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.

“I then asked myself, ‘What is Number 17 of the U. L.?’ But I could
not recall it. But as I positively knew it before, I assumed that I wished to
forget this number. All reflection was in vain. I wished to continue with
my reading, but I read only mechanically without understanding a word,
for I was annoyed by the number 17. I extinguished the light and con-
tinued my search. It finally came to me that number 17 must be a play

¹ Alfred Adler, “Drei Psychoanalysen von Zahlen einfällen und obsedierenden
Zahlen,” Psych. Neur Wochenschr., No. 28, 1905.

54

by Shakespeare. But which one? I thought of Hero and Leander. Ap-
parently, a stupid attempt of my will to distract me. I finally arose and
consulted the catalogue of the U. L. Number 17 was Macbeth! To my
surprise, I had to discover that I knew nothing of the play, despite the
fact that it did not interest me any less than any other Shakespearean
drama. I only thought of: murder, Lady Macbeth, witches, ‘nice is ugly,’
and that I found Schiller’s version of Macbeth very nice. Undoubtedly, I
also wished to forget the play. Then it occurred to me that 17 and 34 may
be divided by 17 and result in 1 and 2. Numbers 1 and 2 of the U. L. is
Goethe’s Faust. Formerly, I found much of Faust in me.”

We must regret that the discretion of the physician did not allow us to
see the significance of ideas. Adler remarked that the man did not suc-
ceed in the synthesis of his analysis. His associations would hardly be
worth reporting unless their continuation would bring out something that
would give us the key to the understanding of the number 1,734 and the
whole series of ideas.

To quote further: “To be sure, this morning I had an experience which
speaks much for the correctness of the Freudian conception. My wife,
whom I awakened through my getting up at night, asked me what I
wanted with the catalogue of the U. L. I told her the story. She found it
all pettifogging but—very interesting. Macbeth, which caused me so much
trouble, she simply passed over. She said that nothing came to her mind
when she thought of a number. I answered, ‘Let us try it. She named the
number 117. To this I immediately replied: ‘17 refers to what I just told
you; furthermore, I told you yesterday that if a wife is in the 82nd year
and the husband is in the 35th year, it must be a gross misunderstanding.’
For the last few days, I have been teasing my wife by maintaining that
she was a little old mother of 82 years. 82+35=117.”

The man who did not know how to determine his own number at once
found the solution when his wife named a number which was apparently
arbitrarily chosen. As a matter of fact, the woman understood very well
from which complex the number of her husband originated, and chose her
own number from the same complex, which was surely common to both,
as it dealt in his case with their relative ages. Now, we can find it easy
to interpret the number that occurred to the man. As Dr. Adler indicates,
it expressed a repressed wish of the husband which, fully developed, would
read: “For a man of 34 years as I am, only a woman of 17 would be suit-
able.”

Lest one should think too lightly of such “playing,” I will add that I
was recently informed by Dr. Adler that a year after the publication of
this analysis, the man was divorced from his wife.¹

¹As an explanation of Macbeth, number 17 of the U. L., I was informed by Dr. Adler
That in his seventeenth year, this man had joined an anarchistic society whose aim was

153

Adler gives a similar explanation for the origin of obsessive numbers. Also the choice of so-
called “favorite numbers” is not without relation to
the life of the person concerned, and does not lack a certain psychologic
interest. A gentleman who evinced a particular partiality for the numbers
17 and 19 could specify, after brief reflection, that at the age of 17, he
attained the greatly longed-
for academic freedom by having been ad-
mitted to the university, that at 19, he made his first long journey, and
shortly thereafter made his first scientific discovery. But the fixation of
this preference followed later, after two questionable affairs, when the
same numbers were invested with importance in his “love-
life.”

Indeed, even those numbers which we use in a particular connection
extremely often and with apparent arbitrariness can be traced by analysis
to an unexpected meaning. Thus, one day, it struck one of my patients
that he was particularly fond of saying, “I have already told you this
from 17 to 36 times.” And he asked himself whether there was any motive
for it. It soon occurred to him that he was born on the 27th day of the
month, and that his younger brother was born on the 26th day of another
month, and he had grounds for complaint that Fate had robbed him of
so many of the benefits of life only to bestow them on his younger
brother. Thus he represented this partiality of Fate by deducting 10 from
the date of his birth and adding it to the date of his brother’s birthday. “I
am the elder and yet am so ‘cut short.’ ”

I shall tarry a little longer at the analysis of chance numbers, for I
know of no other individual observation which would so readily demon-
strate the existence of highly organized thinking processes, of which con-
sciousness has no knowledge. Moreover, there is no better example of
analysis in which the suggestion of the position, a frequent accusation, is
so distinctly out of consideration. I shall therefore report the analysis of
a chance number of one of my patients (with his consent), to which I will
only add that he is the youngest of many children and that he lost his
beloved father in his young years.

While in a particularly happy mood, he let the number 426,718 come
to his mind, and put to himself the question, “Well, what does it bring
to your mind?” First came a joke he had heard: “If your catarrh of the
nose is treated by a doctor, it lasts 42 days; if it is not treated, it lasts—
6 weeks.” This corresponds to the first digit of the number (42=6×7).
During the blocking that followed this first solution, I called his atten-
tion to the fact that the number of six digits selected by him contains all
the first numbers except 3 and 5. He at once found the continuation of the
solution:

regicide. Probably this is why he forgot the content of the play Macbeth. The same
person invented at that time a secret code in which numbers were substituted by
letters.

156

“We were altogether 7 children, I was the youngest. Number 3 in the
order of the children corresponds to my sister A., and 5 to my brother L.;
both of them were my enemies. As a child, I used to pray to the Lord every
night that He should take out of my life these two tormenting spirits. It
seems to me that I have fulfilled for myself this wish: ‘3’ and ‘5’, the evil
brother and the hated sister, are omitted.”

“If the number stands for your sisters and brothers, what significance
is there to 18 at the end? You were altogether only 7.”

“I often thought if my father had lived longer, I should not have been
the youngest child. If one more would have come, we should have been
8, and there would have been a younger child, toward whom I could have
played the role of the older one.”

With this, the number was explained, but we still wished to find the con-
nection between the first part of the interpretation and the part following
it. This came very readily from the condition required for the last digits
—if the father had lived longer. 42=6×7 signifies the ridicule directed
against the doctors who could not help the father, and in this way, ex-
presses the wish for the continued existence of the father. The whole
number really corresponds to the fulfillment of his two wishes in reference
to his family circle—namely, that both the evil brother and sister should
die and that another little child should follow him. Or, briefly expressed:
If only these two had died in place of my father!¹

Another analysis of numbers I take from Jones.² A gentleman of his
acquaintance let the number 986 come to his mind, and defied him to
connect it to anything of special interest in his mind. “Six years ago, on
the hottest day he could remember, he had seen a joke in an evening
newspaper, which stated that the thermometer had stood at 98.6° F., evi-
dently an exaggeration of 98.6° F. We were at the time seated in front of
a very hot fire, from which he had just drawn back, and he remarked,
probably quite correctly, that the heat d aroused his dormant memory.
However, I was curious to know why this nemory had persisted with such
vividness as to be so readily brought out, for with some people, it surely
would have been forgotten beyond recall, unless it had become associated
with some other mental experience of more significance.

He told me that on reading the joke, he had laughed uproariously, and
that on many subsequent occasions, he had recalled it with great relish.
As the joke was obviously of an exceedingly tenuous nature, this strength-
ened my expectation that more lay behind. His next thought was the gen-
eral reflection that the conception of heat had always greatly impressed

¹For the sake of simplicity, I have omitted some of the not less suitable thoughts of
the patient.

²Loc. cit., p. 36.

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DETERMINISM—CHANCE—BELIEFS

him, that heat was the most important thing in the universe, the source of
all life, and so on. This remarkable attitude of a quite prosaic young man
certainly needed some explanation, so I asked him to continue his free
associations. The next thought was of a factory stack which he could see
from his bedroom window. He often stood of an evening watching the
flame and smoke issuing out of it, and reflecting on this deplorable waste
of energy. Heat, flame, the source of life, the waste of vital energy issuing
from an upright, hollow tube—it was not hard to divine from such asso-
ciations that the ideas of heat and fire were unconsciously linked in his
mind with the idea of love, as is so frequent in symbolic thinking, and that
there was a strong masturbation complex present, a conclusion that he
presently confirmed.”

Those who wish to get a good impression of the way the material of
numbers becomes elaborated in the unconscious thinking, I refer to two
papers by Jung ¹⁾ and Jones.²⁾

In personal analysis of this kind, two things were especially striking.
First, the absolute somnambulistic certainty with which I attacked the
unknown objective point, merging into a mathematical train of thought,
which later suddenly extended to the looked-
for number, and the rapidity
with which the entire subsequent work was performed. Secondly, the fact
that the numbers were always at the disposal of my unconscious mind,
when as a matter of fact, I am a poor mathematician and find it very diffi-
cult to consciously recall years, house numbers and the like. Moreover, in
these unconscious mental operations with figures, I found a tendency to
superstition, the origin of which had long remained unknown to me.

It will not surprise us to find that not only numbers, but also mental
occurrences of different kinds of words regularly prove on analytic in-
vestigation to be well determined.

Brill relates: “While working on the English edition of this book, I was
obsessed one morning with the strange word ‘Cardillac.’ Busily intent on
my work, I refused at first to pay attention to it, but, as is usually the
case, I simply could not do anything else. ‘Cardillac’ was constantly in my
mind. Realizing that my refusal to recognize it was only a resistance, I
decided to analyze it. The following associations occurred to me: Cardil-
lac, cardiac, carrefour, Cadillac.

“‘Cardiac’ recalled cardialgia—heartache—a medical friend who had
recently told me confidentially that he feared that he had some attacks of
pain in the region of his heart. Knowing him so well, I at once rejected his
theory, and told him that his attacks were of a neurotic character, and that
his other apparent physical ailments were also only the expression of his
neurosis.

¹⁾“Ein Beitrag zur Kenntnis des Zahlentraumes,” Zentralb. f. Psychoanalyse, i. 12

²⁾“Unconscious Manipulation of Numbers” (ibid., ii. 5, 1912).

158

“I might add that just before telling me of his heart trouble, he spoke
of a business matter of vital interest to him which had suddenly come to
naught. Being a man of unbounded ambitions, he was very depressed be-
cause of late he had suffered many reverses. His neurotic conflicts, how-
ever, had become manifest a few months before this misfortune, soon after
his father’s death had left a big business on his hands. As the business
could be continued only under his management, he was unable to de-
cide whether to enter into commercial life or continue his chosen career. His
great ambition was to become a successful physician, and although he had
practised medicine successfully for many years, he was not alto-
gether satisfied with the financial fluctuations of his professional income. On the
other hand, his father’s business promised him an assured, though limi-
ted, return. In brief, he was ‘at a crossing and did not know which way to
turn.’

“I then recalled the word carrefour, which is the French for ‘crossing,’
and it occurred to me that while working in a hospital in Paris, I lived
near the ‘Carrefour St. Lazare.’ And now I could understand what rela-
tion all these associations had for me.

“When I resolved to leave the state hospital, I made the decision, first,
because I desired to get married, and secondly, because I wished to enter
private practice. This brought up a new problem. Although my State hos-
pital service was an absolute success, judging by promotions and so on, I
felt like a great many others in the same situation, namely, that my train-
ing was ill suited for private practice. To specialize in mental work was a
daring undertaking for one without money and social connections. I also
felt that the best I could do for patients, should they ever come my way,
would be to commit them to one of the hospitals, as I had little con-
fidence in the home treatment then in vogue. In spite of the substantial advan-
ces in mental work, the specialist was almost helpless when confron-
ted with the average case of insanity. This was partially due to the fact that such
cases were brought to him only after they had fully developed the psy-
chosis when hospital treatment was imperative. Of the great army of
milder mental disturbances, the so-called border-
line cases, which make
up the bulk of clinic and private practice, I knew very little. Such pa-
tients were only rarely seen in the state hospital, and what I knew concer-
ning the treatment of neurasthenia, hysteria and psychasthenia hardly held
out more hope for a successful private practice.

“It was in this state of mind that I came to Paris, where I hoped to learn
enough about the psychoneuroses to enable me to continue my specialty
in private practice, with a feeling that I could do something for my pa-
tients. What I saw in the Paris hospitals, however, did not help to change
my state of mind. I was, therefore, seriously thinking of giving up my
mental work for some other specialty. As can be seen, I was confronted

159

with a situation similar to the one of my medical friend. I, too, was at a
‘crossing’ and did not know which way to turn. However, my suspense
was soon ended. One day, I received a letter from my friend, Professor
Peterson, who originally introduced me to the State hospital service, in
which he urged me not to give up psychiatry and suggested that I visit the
psychiatric clinic of Zurich.

“But what does Cadillac mean? Cadillac is the name of a hotel and of
an automobile. A few days before, in a country place, my medical friend
and I had been trying to hire an automobile, but there was none to be had.
We both expressed the wish to own an automobile–again an unrealized
ambition. I also recalled that the ‘Carrefour St. Lazare’ always impressed
me as being one of the busiest thoroughfares in Paris. It was always con-
gested with automobiles. Cadillac also recalled that only a few days ago,
on the way to my clinic, I noticed a large sign over a building which an-
nounced that on a certain day, ‘this building was to be occupied by the
Cadillac,’ etc. This at first made me think of the Cadillac Hotel, but on
second sight, I noticed that it referred to the Cadillac motor-
car. There
was a sudden obstruction here for a few moments. The word Cadillac re-
appeared and by sound association the word catalogue occurred to me.
This word brought back a very mortifying occurrence of recent origin,
the motive of which was again blighted ambition.

“When one wishes to report any auto-
analysis, he must be prepared to
lay bare many intimate affairs of his own life. Anyone reading carefully
Professor Freud’s works cannot fail to become fully acquainted with him
and his family life. I have often been asked by persons who claimed to
have read and studied Freud’s works such questions as: ‘How old is
Freud?’ ‘Is Freud married?’ ‘How many children has he?’ etc. Such ques-
tions can only be asked by those who have not read Freud’s works, or by
very careless and superficial readers. All these questions and many more
intimate ones are answered in Freud’s works. Auto-analyses are auto-
biographies par excellence; but whereas the autobiographer may for
definite reasons consciously and unconsciously hide many facts of his
life, the auto-analyst not only tells the truth consciously, but perforce
brings to light his whole intimate personality. It is for these reasons that
one finds it very unpleasant to report his own auto-analyses. However, as
we often report our patient’s unconscious productions, it is but fair that
we should now and then sacrifice ourselves on the altar of publicity. This
is my apology for having thrust some of my personal affairs on the reader,
and for being obliged to continue a little longer in the same strain.
“Before digressing with the last remarks, I mentioned that the word
Cadillac brought the word association catalogue. This association brought
back another important epoch in my life with which Professor Peterson
was connected. When I was informed by the secretary of the faculty that

160

I was appointed chief of clinic of the department of psychiatry, I was
exceedingly pleased to be so honored. It was the realization of an ambi-
tion which I dared entertain only in special euphoric states and, a com-
pensation for the many unmerited criticisms from those who were blindly
and unreasonably opposing my work as an expositor of Freud. Thereafter,
I called on the stenographer of the faculty and spoke to her about a cor-
rection to be made in my name as it was printed in the catalogue. For
some unknown reason (perhaps racial prejudice) this stenographer, a
maiden lady, must have taken a dislike to me. For about three years I re-
peatedly requested her to have this correction made, but she paid no
attention to me; she always promised to attend to it, but the mistake re-
mained uncorrected.

“This time, I again reminded her of this correction, and also called
her attention to the fact that as I had been appointed chief of clinic, I was
especially anxious to have my name correctly printed in the catalogue.
She apologized for her remissness and assured me that everything would
be corrected as I requested, but on receiving the new catalogue, I found
that while the correction had been made in my name, I was not listed as
chief of clinic. When I spoke to her about it, she seemed puzzled; she said
that she had no idea that I had been appointed chief of clinic. She had to
consult the minutes of the faculty, written by herself, before she was
convinced of it.¹⁾ She was naturally very apologetic and said that she
would at once write to the superintendent of the clinic to inform him of
my appointment. I gained nothing by her regrets and apologies; the cata-
logue was already published and I was not listed as chief of clinic.”

“Thus, the obsessive neologism cardillac, a condensation of cardiac,
Cadillac and catalogue, contained some of the most important events of
my medical career. When I was almost at the end of this analysis, I sud-
denly recalled a dream containing this neologism, cardillac, in which my
wish was realized. My name appeared in its rightful place in the cata-
logue. The person who showed it to me in the dream was Professor Peter-
son. It was when I was at the first ‘crossing’ after I had graduated from the
medical college that Professor Peterson advised me to enter the State
hospital service. About five years later, when I was at the second crossing
—the state of indecision described above—it was again Professor Peter-
son who directed me to the clinic of psychiatry at Zurich, where through
Bleuler and Jung, I became acquainted with Professor Freud and his
works, and it was also through the kind recommendation of Dr. Peterson
that I was elevated to position of chief of clinic.”

I am indebted to Dr. Hitschman for the solution of another case in

¹⁾This is another excellent example showing how a conscious intention was powerless
to counteract an unconscious resistance.

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DETERMINISM—CHANCE—BELIEFS

which a line of poetry repeatedly obtruded itself on the mind in a certain
place without showing any trace of its origin and relation.

Related by the jurist E.: “Six years ago, I travelled from Biarritz to
San Sebastian. The railroad crosses over the Bidassao—a river which
here forms the boundary between France and Spain. On the bridge one
has a splendid view, on the one side of the broad valley and the Pyrenees
and on the other of the sea. It was a beautiful, bright summer day; every-
thing was filled with sun and light. I was on a vacation and pleased with
my trip to Spain. Suddenly, the following words came to me: ‘But the
soul is already free, floating on a sea of light.’
“At that time, I was trying to remember whence these lines came, but I
could not remember; judging by the rhythm, the words must be a part of
some poem, which, however, entirely escaped my memory. Later, when
the verse repeatedly came to my mind, I asked many people about it with-
out receiving any information.
“Last year, I crossed the same bridge on my return journey from Spain.
It was a very dark night and it rained. I looked through the window to
ascertain whether we had already reached the frontier station and noticed
that we were on the Bidassao bridge. Immediately the above-cited verse
returned to my memory and again I could not recall its origin.
“At home, many months later, I found Uhland’s poems. I opened the
volume and my glance fell upon the verse: ‘But the soul is already free,
floating on a sea of light,’ which were the concluding lines of the poem,
entitled ‘The Pilgrim.’ I read the poem and dimly recalled that I had
known it many years ago. The scene of action is in Spain, and this seemed
to me to be the only relation between the quoted verse and the place on
the railroad journey described by me. I was only half satisfied with my
discovery and mechanically continued to turn the pages of the book. On
turning the next page, I found a poem, the title of which was ‘Bidassao
Bridge.’
“I may add that the contents of this poem seemed even stranger to me
than that of the first, and that its first verse read:
“‘On the Bidassao bridge stands a saint grey with age, he blesses to the
right the Spanish mountain, to the left he blesses the French land.’ ”

II. This understanding of the determination of apparently arbitrarily
selected names, numbers, and words may perhaps contribute to the solu-
tion of another problem. As is known, many persons argue against the
assumption of an absolute psychic determinism by referring to an intense
feeling of conviction that there is a free will. This feeling of conviction
exists, but is not incompatible with the belief in determinism. Like all
normal feelings, it must be justified by something. But, so far as I can
observe, it does not manifest itself in weighty and important decisions;
on these occasions, one has much more the feeling of a psychic compul-

162

sion and gladly falls back upon it. (Compare Luther’s “Here I stand, I
cannot do anything else.”)

On the other hand, it is in trivial and indifferent decisions that one feels
sure that he could just as easily have acted differently, that he acted of his
own free will, and without any motives. From our analyses we therefore
need not contest the right of the feeling of conviction that there is a free
will. If we distinguish conscious from unconscious motivation, we are then
informed by the feeling of conviction that the conscious motivation does
not extend over all our motor resolutions. Minima non curat praetor.
What is thus left free from the one side receives its motive from the other
side, from the unconscious, and the determinism in the psychic realm is
thus carried out uninterruptedly.¹

III. Although conscious thought must be altogether ignorant of the
motivation of the faulty actions described above, yet it would be desirable
to discover a psychologic proof of its existence; indeed, reasons obtained
through a deeper knowledge of the unconscious make it probable that such
proofs are to be discovered somewhere. As a matter of fact, phenomena
can be demonstrated in two spheres which seem to correspond to an un-
conscious and hence, to a displaced knowledge of these motives.

(a) It is a striking and generally recognized feature in the behavior of
paranoiacs, that they attach the greatest significance to trivial details in
the behavior of others. Details which are usually overlooked by others
they interpret and utilize as the basis of far-reaching conclusions. For
example, the last paranoiac seen by me concluded that there was a gen-
eral understanding among people of his environment, because at his de-
parture from the railway station, they made a certain motion with one
hand. Another noticed how people walked on the street, how they bran-
dished their walking-sticks, and the like.²

The category of the accidental, requiring no motivation, which the
normal person lets pass as a part of his own psychic functions and faulty
actions, is thus rejected by the paranoiac in his application to the psychic
manifestations of others. All that he observes in others is full of meaning;
all is explainable. But how does he come to look at it in this manner?

¹These conceptions of strict determinism in seemingly arbitrary actions have already
borne rich fruit for psychology—perhaps also for the administration of justice.
Bleuler and Jung have in this way made intelligible the reaction in the so-called
association experiments, wherein the test person answers to a given word with one
occurring to him (stimulus-word reaction), while the time elapsing between the
stimulus-word and answer is measured (reaction-time). Jung has shown in his Diag-
nostische Assoziationsstudien, 1906, what fine reagents for psychic occurrences we
possess in this association-experiment. Three students of criminology, H. Gross, of
Prague, and Wertheimer and Klein, have developed from these experiments a tech-
nique for the diagnosis of facts (Tatbestands-Diagnostik) in criminal cases, the
examination of which is now tested by psychologists and jurists.

²Proceeding from other points of view, this interpretation of trivial and accidental
acts by the patient has been designated as “delusions of reference.”

163

Probably here, as in so many other cases, he projects into the mental life
of others what exists in his own unconscious activity. Many things ob-
trude themselves on consciousness in paranoia, which in normal and neu-
rotic persons can only be demonstrated through psychoanalysis as exist-
ing in their unconscious.¹ In a certain sense, the paranoiac behavior is
justified; he perceives something that escapes the normal person; he sees
clearer than one of normal intellectual capacity, but his knowledge be-
comes worthless when he imputes to others the state of affairs he thus
recognizes. I hope that I shall not be expected to justify every paranoiac
interpretation. But the point which we grant to paranoia in this concep-
tion of chance actions will facilitate for us the psychologic understanding
of the conviction which the paranoiac attaches to all these interpretations.
There is certainly some truth to it; even our errors of judgment, which
are not designated as morbid, acquire their feeling of conviction in the
same way. This feeling is justified for a certain part of the erroneous train
of thought or for the source of its origin, and we shall later extend to it
the remaining relationships.

(b) The phenomena of superstition furnish another indication of the
unconscious motivation in chance and faulty actions. I will make myself
clear through the discussion of a simple experience which gave me the
starting-point to these reflections.

Having returned from my vacation, my thoughts immediately turned
to the patients with whom I was to occupy myself in the beginning of my
year’s work. My first visit was to a very old woman (see above) for whom
I had twice daily performed the same professional services for many years.
Owing to this monotony, unconscious thoughts have often found expres-
sion on the way to the patient and during my occupation with her. She
was over ninety years old; it was therefore pertinent to ask oneself at the
beginning of each year how much longer she was likely to live.

On the day of which I speak, I was in a hurry and took a carriage to her
house. Every coachman at the cabstand near my house knew the old
woman’s address, as each of them had often driven me there. This day, it
happened that the driver did not stop in front of her house, but before
one of the same number in a nearby and really similar-looking parallel
street. I noticed the mistake and reproached the coachman, who apolo-
gized for it.

Is it of any significance when I am taken to a house where the old
woman is not to be found? Certainly not to me; but were I superstitious,
¿

1 For example, the phantasies of the hysterical regarding sexual and cruel abuse
which are made conscious by analysis often correspond in every detail with the com-
plaints of persecuted paranoiacs. It is remarkable, but not altogether unexpected that
we also meet the identical content as reality in the contrivances of perverts for the
gratification of their desires.

164

I should see an omen in this incident, a hint of fate that this would be the
last year for the old woman. A great many omens which have been pre-
served by history have been founded on no better symbolism. Of course,
I explain the incident as an accident without further meaning.

The case would have been entirely different had I come on foot and,
“absorbed in thought” or “through distraction,” I had gone to the house
in the parallel street instead of the correct one. I would not explain that
as an accident, but as an action with unconscious intent requiring inter-
pretation. My explanation of this “lapse in walking” would probably be
that I expected that the time would soon come when I should no longer
meet the old woman.

I therefore differ from a superstitious person in the following manner:
I do not believe that an occurrence in which my mental life takes no
part can teach me anything hidden concerning the future shaping of
reality; but I do believe that an unintentional manifestation of my own
mental activity surely contains something concealed which belongs only
to my mental life—that is, I believe in outer (real) chance, but not in
inner (psychic) accidents. With the superstitious person, the case is re-
versed: he knows nothing of the motive of his chance and faulty actions;
he believes in the existence of psychic contingencies; he is therefore in-
clined to attribute meaning to external chance, which manifests itself in
actual occurrence, and to see in the accident a means of expression for
something hidden outside of him. There are two differences between me
and the superstitious person: first, he projects the motive to the outside,
while I look for it in myself; second, he explains the accident by an event
which I trace to a thought. What he considers hidden corresponds to the
unconscious with me, and the compulsion not to let chance pass as chance,
but to explain it as common to both of us.

Thus, I admit that this conscious ignorance and unconscious knowl-
edge of the motivation of psychic accidentalness is one of the psychic
roots of superstition. Because the superstitious person knows nothing of
the motivation of his own accidental actions, and because the fact of this
motivation strives for a place in his recognition, he is compelled to dispose
of them by displacing them into the outer world. If such a connection
exists, it can hardly be limited to this single case. As a matter of fact, I
believe that a large portion of the mythological conception of the world
is nothing but psychol-
ogy projected to the outer world. The dim perception (the endo-psychic
perception, as it were) of psychic factors and relations ¹⁾ of the unconscious
was taken as a model in the construction of a transcendental reality,
which is destined to be changed again by science into psychology of the
unconscious.

¹⁾Which naturally has nothing of the character of perception.

165

It is difficult to express it in other terms; the analogy to paranoia must
here come to our aid. We venture to explain in this way the myths of
paradise and the fall of man, of God, of good and evil, of immortality and
the like—that is, to transform metaphysics into meta-psychology. The
gap between the paranoiac’s displacement and that of superstition is nar-
rower than appears at first sight. When human beings began to think,
they were obviously compelled to explain the outer world in an anthropo-
morphic sense by a multitude of personalities in their own image; the
accidents which they explained superstitiously were thus actions and ex-
pressions of persons. In that regard, they behaved just like paranoiacs,
who draw conclusions from insignificant signs which others give them,
and like all normal persons, who justly take the unintentional actions of
their fellow-beings as a basis for the estimation of their characters. Only
in our modern, philosophical, but by no means finished views of life does
superstition seem so much out of place: in the view of life of prescientific
times and nations, it was justified and consistent.

The Roman who gave up an important undertaking because he sighted
an ill-omened flock of birds was relatively right; his action was con-
sistent with his principles. But if he withdrew from an undertaking be-
cause he had stumbled on his threshold (un Romain retournerait), he was
absolutely superior even to us unbelievers. He was a better psychologist
than we are striving to become. For his stumbling could demonstrate to
him the existence of a doubt, an internal counter-current, the force of
which could weaken the power of his intention at the moment of its execu-
tion. For only by concentrating all psychic forces on the desired aim can
one be assured of perfect success. How does Schiller’s Tell, who hesitated
so long to shoot the apple from his son’s head, answer the bailiff’s ques-
tion, why he had provided himself with a second arrow?

“With the second arrow I would have pierced you, had I struck my dear
child—and truly, I should not have failed to reach you.”

IV. Whoever has had the opportunity of studying the concealed feel-
ings of persons by means of psychoanalysis can also tell something new
concerning the quality of unconscious motives, which express themselves
in superstition. Nervous persons afflicted with compulsive thinking and
compulsive states, who are often very intelligent, show very plainly that
superstition originates from repressed hostile and cruel impulses. The
greater part of superstition signifies fear of impending evil, and he who
has frequently wished evil to others, but because of a good bringing-up,
has repressed the same into the unconscious, will be particularly apt to
expect punishment for such unconscious evil in the form of a misfortune
threatening him from without.

If we concede that we have by no means exhausted the psychology of
superstition in these remarks, we must, on the other hand, at least touch

166

upon the question whether real roots of superstition should be altogether
denied, whether there are really no omens, prophetic dreams, telepathic
experiences, manifestations of supernatural forces and the like. I am now
far from willing to repudiate without anything further all these phe-
nomena, concerning which we possess so many minute observations even
from men of intellectual prominence, and which should certainly form a
basis for further investigation. We may even hope that some of these ob-
servations will be explained by our present knowledge of the unconscious
psychic processes without necessitating radical changes in our present
aspect. If still other phenomena, as, for example, those maintained by the
spiritualists, should be proven, we should then consider the modification
of our “laws” as demanded by the new experience, without becoming
confused in regard to the relation of things of this world.

In the sphere of these analyses I can only answer the questions here
proposed subjectively—that is, in accordance with my personal exper-
ience. I am sorry to confess that I belong to that class of unworthy indi-
viduals before whom the spirits cease their activities and the supernatural
disappears, so that I have never been in position to experience anything
personally that would stimulate belief in the miraculous. Like everybody
else, I have had forebodings and experienced misfortunes; but the two
evaded each other, so that nothing followed the foreboding, and the mis-
fortune struck me unannounced. When as a young man, I lived alone in a
strange city, I frequently heard my name suddenly pronounced by an
unmistakable, dear voice, and I then made a note of the exact moment of
the hallucination in order to inquire carefully of those at home what had
occurred at that time. There was nothing to it. On the other hand, I later
worked among my patients calmly and without foreboding while my
child almost bled to death. Nor have I ever been able to recognize as un-
real phenomena any of the forebodings reported to me by my patients.

The belief in prophetic dreams numbers many adherents, because it
can be supported by the fact that some things really so happen in the
future as they were previously foretold by the wish of the dream.¹ But
in this, there is little to be wondered at, as many far-reaching deviations
may be regularly demonstrated between a dream and the fulfillment
which the credulity of the dreamer prefers to neglect.

A nice example, one which may be justly called prophetic, was once
brought to me for exhaustive analysis by an intelligent and truth-loving
patient. She related that she once dreamed that she had met a former
friend and family physician in front of a certain store in a certain street,
and next morning when she went downtown, she actually met him at the
place named in the dream. I may observe that the significance of this
wonderful coincidence was not proven to be due to any subsequent event

¹ Cf. Freud, Traum und Telepathie (Dream and Telepathy), G. S., Bd. III.

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DETERMINISM—CHANCE—BELIEFS

—that is, it could not be justified through future occurrences. Careful
examination definitely established the fact that there was no proof that
the woman recalled the dream in the morning following the night of the
dream—that is, before the walk and before the meeting. She could offer
no objection when this state of affairs was presented in a manner that
robbed this episode of everything miraculous, leaving only an interesting
psychologic problem. One morning, she had walked through this very
street, had met her old family physician before that certain store, and on
seeing him, received the conviction that during the preceding night, she
had dreamed of this meeting at this place. The analysis then showed with
great probability how she came to this conviction, to which, in accordance
with the general rule, we cannot deny a certain right to credence. A meet-
ing at a definite place following a previous expectation really describes
the fact of a rendezvous. The old family physician awakened her memory
of old times, when meetings with a third person, also a friend of the physi-
cian, were of marked significance to her. Since that time, she had con-
tinued her relations with this gentleman, and the day before the men-
tioned dream, she had waited for him in vain. If I could report in greater
detail the circumstances here before us, I could easily show that the il-
lusion of the prophetic dream at the sight of the friend of former times is
perchance equivalent to the following speech: “Ah, doctor, you now re-
mind me of bygone times, when I never had to wait in vain for N. when
we had arranged a meeting.”

I have observed in myself a simple and easily explained example, which
is probably a good model for similar occurrences of those familiar “re-
markable coincidences” wherein we meet a person of whom we were just
thinking. During a walk through the inner city a few days after the title
of “Professor” was bestowed on me, which carried with it a great deal of
prestige even in monarchical cities, my thoughts suddenly turned to a
childish revenge-phantasy against a certain married couple. Some months
previous, this couple had called me to see their little daughter, who suf-
fered from an interesting compulsive manifestation following the appear-
ance of a dream. I took a great interest in the case, the genesis of which I
believed I could surmise, but the parents were unfavorable to my treat-
ment and gave me to understand that they thought of applying to a
foreign authority who treated by hypnotism. I now fancied to myself that
after the failure of this treatment, the parents begged me to take the
patient under my care, saying that they now had full confidence in me,
etc. But I answered: “Now that I have become a professor, you have
confidence in me. The title has made no change in my ability; if you
could not use me when I was instructor, you can get along without me
now that I am a professor.” At this point, my phantasy was interrupted

168

by a loud “Good evening, Professor!” and as I looked up, there was the
same couple on whom I had just taken this imaginary vengeance.

The next reflection destroyed all semblance of the miraculous. I was
walking towards this couple on a straight, almost deserted street; glanc-
ing up hastily at a distance of perhaps twenty steps from me, I had seen
and realized their stately personalities; but this perception, following the
model of a negative hallucination, was set aside by certain emotionally
accentuated motives and then asserted itself spontaneously as an emerg-
ing phantasy.

A similar experience is related by Brill, which also throws some light
on the nature of telepathy.

“While engrossed in conversation during our customary Sunday eve-
ning dinner at one of the large New York restaurants, I suddenly stopped
and irrelevantly remarked to my wife, ‘I wonder how Dr. R. is doing in
Pittsburgh.’ She looked at me much astonished and said: ‘Why, that is
exactly what I have been thinking for the last few seconds! Either you
have transferred this thought to me or I have transferred it to you. How
can you otherwise explain this strange phenomenon?’ I had to admit that
I could offer no solution. Our conversation throughout the dinner showed
not the remotest association to Dr. R., nor, so far as our memories went,
had we heard or spoken of him for some time. Being a skeptic, I refused
to admit that there was anything mysterious about it, although inwardly
I felt quite uncertain. To be frank, I was somewhat mystified.”

“But we did not remain very long in this state of mind, for on looking
toward the cloak-room, we were surprised to see Dr. R. Closer inspec-
tion, however, showed our mistake, but we were struck by the remarkable
resemblance of this stranger to Dr. R. From the position of the cloak-
room, we were forced to conclude that this stranger had passed our table.
Absorbed in our conversation, we had not noticed him consciously, but
the visual image had stirred up the association of his double, Dr. R. That
we should both have experienced the same thought is also quite natural.
The last that we had heard from Dr. R. was that he had taken up private
practice in Pittsburgh, and, being aware of the vicissitudes that beset the
beginner in private practice, it was quite natural that we should wonder
how he was getting along.”

“What promised to be a supernatural manifestation was thus easily
explained on a normal basis; but had we not noticed the stranger before
he left the restaurant, it would have been impossible to exclude the
mysterious. I venture to say that such simple mechanisms are at the basis
of the most complicated telepathic manifestations; at least, that has been
my experience in all those cases that were accessible to investigation.”

To the category of the wonderful and uncanny, we may also add that
strange feeling we perceive in certain moments and situations when it

169

DETER-
MINISM—CHANCE—BELIEFS

seems as if we had already had exactly the same experience, or had previ-
ously found ourselves in the same situation. Yet we are never successful
in our efforts to recall clearly those former experiences and situations. I
know that I follow only the loose colloquial expression when I designate
that which stimulates us in such moments as a “feeling.” We undoubt-
edly deal with a judgment, and, indeed, with a judgment of cognition; but
these cases, nevertheless, have a character peculiar to themselves, and
besides, we must not ignore the fact that we never recall what we are
seeking.

I do not know whether this phenomenon of Déjà vu (having already
seen this or that) was ever seriously offered as a proof of a former psychic
existence of the individual; but it is certain that psychologists have taken
an interest in it, and have attempted to solve the riddle in a multitude of
speculative ways. None of the proposed tentative explanations seems
right to me, because none takes account of anything but the accompany-
ing manifestations and the conditions favoring the phenomenon. Those
psychic processes which, according to my observation, are alone re-
sponsible for the explanation of the Déjà vu phenomenon—namely, the
unconscious phantasies—are generally neglected by the psychologist
even today.

I believe that it is wrong to designate the feeling of having experienced
something before as an illusion. On the contrary, in such moments, some-
thing is really touched that we have already experienced, only we cannot
consciously recall the latter because it never was conscious. In the latter,
the feeling of Déjà vu corresponds to the memory of an unconscious
phantasy. There are unconscious phantasies (or day-dreams) just as
there are similar conscious creations, which everyone knows from per-
sonal experience.

I realize that the object is worthy of most minute study, but I will here
give the analysis of only one case of Déjà vu in which the feeling was
characterized by particular intensity and persistence. A woman of thirty-
seven years asserted that she most distinctly remembered that at the age
of twelve and a half, she paid her first visit to some school friends in the
country, and as she entered the garden, she immediately had the feeling
of having been there before. This feeling was repeated as she went through
the living rooms, so that she believed she knew beforehand how big the
next room was, what views one could have on looking out of it, etc. But
the belief that this feeling of recognition might have its source in a previ-
ous visit to the house and garden, perhaps a visit paid in earliest child-
hood, was absolutely excluded and disproved by statements from her
parents. The woman who related this sought no psychologic explanation,
but saw in the appearance of this feeling a prophetic reference to the im-
portance which these friends later assumed in her emotional life. On tak-

170

ing into consideration, however, the circumstance under which this phe
nomenon presented itself to her, we found the way to another conception.

When she decided on visiting her schoolmates, she knew that these girls
had an only brother who was then seriously ill. In the course of the visit,
she actually saw him. She found him looking very badly and thought to
herself that he would soon die. But it happened that her own only brother
had had a serious attack of diphtheria some months before, and during
his illness, she had lived for weeks with relatives far from her parental
home. She believed that her brother was taking part in this visit to the
country, imagined even that this was his first long journey since his ill-
ness; still, her memory was remarkably indistinct in regard to these
points, whereas all other details, and particularly the dress which she
wore that day, remained most clearly before her eyes.

To the initiated, it will not be difficult to conclude from these indica-
tions that the expectation of her brother’s death had played a great part
in the girl’s mind at that time, and that either it never became conscious
or it was more energetically repressed after the favorable issue of the ill-
ness. Under other circumstances, she would have been compelled to wear
another dress—namely, mourning clothes. She found the analogous situ-
ation in her friends’ home; their only brother was in danger of an early
death, an event that really came to pass in a short time. She might have
consciously remembered that she had lived through a similar situation
a few months previous, but instead of recalling what was inhibited through
repression, she transferred the memory feeling to the locality, to the
garden and the house and merged it into the fausse reconnaissance,
namely, that she had already seen everything exactly as it was.

From the fact of the repression, we may conclude that the former ex-
pectation of the death of her brother was not far from evincing the charac-
ter of a wish-phantasy. She would then have become the only child. In
her later neurosis, she suffered in the most intense manner from the fear
of losing her parents, behind which the analysis disclosed, as usual, the
unconscious wish of the same content.

My own experience of Déjà vu I can trace in a similar manner to the
emotional constellation of the moment. It may be expressed as follows:
“That would be another occasion for awakening certain phantasies (un-
conscious and unknown) which were formed in me at one time or another
as a wish to improve my situation.”

Dr. Ferenczi, to whom this edition is indebted for so many contribu-
tions, wrote to me concerning this: “I have been convinced, from my
experience as well as that of others, that the inexplicable feeling of
familiarity can be referred to unconscious phantasies of which we are un-
consciously reminded in an actual situation. With one of my patients, the
process was apparently different, but in reality it was quite analogous.

173

This feeling returned to him very often, but showed itself regularly as
originating in a forgotten (repressed) portion of a dream of the preceding
night. Thus it appears that the Déjà vu can originate not only from day-
dreams but also from night dreams.”

In 1915, I described another phenomenon which resembles much the
Déjà vu. It is the Déjà raconté feeling, the illusion that something has
already been related during the psychoanalytic treatment, which is espe-
cially interesting. The patient asserts with all subjective signs of cer-
tainty, that he previously related this definite episode. The physician,
however, is sure of the contrary and, as a rule, can convince the patient
of it. The explanation of this interesting phenomenon is undoubtedly
based on the fact that the patient had the impulse and intention of im-
parting this memory, but failed to execute it, and that he now puts the
memory of the first resolution as a substitute for the second feeling.

V. Recently, when I had occasion to recite to a colleague of a philo-
sophical turn of mind some examples of name-
forgetting with their analy-
ses, he hastened to reply: “That is all very well, but with me the for-
getting of a name proceeds in a different manner.” Evidently, one can-
not dismiss this question as simply as that; I do not believe that my col-
league had ever thought of an analysis for the forgetting of a name, nor
could he say how the process differed in him. But his remark, neverthe-
less, touches upon a problem which many would be inclined to place in
the foreground. Does the solution given for faulty and chance actions
apply in general or only in particular cases, and if only in the latter, what
are the conditions under which it may also be employed in the explana-
tion of the other phenomena?

In answer to this question, my experiences leave me in the lurch. I can
only urge against considering the demonstrated connections as rare, for
as often as I have made the test in myself and with my patients, it was
always definitely demonstrated exactly as in the examples reported, or
there were at least good reasons to assume this. One should not be sur-
prised, however, when one does not succeed every time in finding the
concealed meaning of the symptomatic action, as the amount of inner
resistances ranging themselves against the solution must be considered
a deciding factor. Also, it is not always possible to explain every indi-
vidual dream of oneself or of patients. To substantiate the general valid-
ity of the theory, it is enough if one can penetrate only a certain distance
into the hidden associations. The dream which proves refractory when
the solution is attempted on the following day can often be robbed of its
secret a week or a month later, when the psychic factors combating one
another have been reduced as a consequence of a real change that has
meanwhile taken place. The same applies to the solution of faulty and
symptomatic actions. It would, therefore, be wrong to affirm of all cases

172

which resist analysis that they are caused by another psychic mechanism
than that here revealed; such assumption requires more than negative
proofs; moreover, the readiness to believe in a different explanation of
faulty and symptomatic actions, which probably exists universally in all
normal persons, does not prove anything; it is obviously an expression
of the same psychic forces which produced the secret, which therefore
strives to protect and struggle against its elucidation.

On the other hand, we must not overlook the fact that the repressed
thoughts and feelings are not independent in attaining expression in
symptomatic and faulty actions. The technical possibility for such an ad-
justment of the innervations must be furnished independently of them,
and this is then gladly utilized by the intention of the repressed material
to come to conscious expression. In the case of linguistic faulty actions,
an attempt has been made by philosophers and philologists to verify
through minute observations what structural and functional relations
enter into the service of such intention. If in the determinations of faulty
and symptomatic actions, we separate the unconscious motive from its co-
active physiological and psychophysical relations, the question remains
whether there are still other factors within normal limits which, like the
unconscious motive, or a substitute for it, can produce faulty and symp-
tomatic actions on the path of these relations. It is not my task to answer
this question.

To be sure, it is not my intention to exaggerate still more the differ-
ences, large as they are, between the psychoanalytic and the current con-
cepts of faulty actions. I prefer to give cases in which these differences
are not so marked. In the simplest and least striking examples of lapses
in talking and writing, wherein perhaps only words are fused or words
and letters omitted, there is no very complicated interpretation. Psycho-
analytically, it can only be asserted, that in these cases one sees some dis-
turbance of the intention, but one cannot say whence it originated and
what its purpose is. It really produces nothing except a manifestation of
its presence. In the same cases, one also observes that the faulty actions
become effective through the undisputed favorable influences of sound
relations and mediate psychological associations. But scientifically, it is
only fair to demand that we judge such rudimentary cases of lapses in
speech or writing by the more marked expressions, the investigations of
which result in unequivocal explanations of the causation of faulty
actions.

VI. Since the discussion of speech-blunders, we have been content to
demonstrate that faulty actions have a concealed motive, and through
the aid of psychoanalysis, we have traced our way to the knowledge of
their motivation. The general nature and the peculiarities of the psychic
factors brought to expression in these faulty actions, we have hitherto

173

left almost without consideration; at any rate, we have not attempted to
define them more accurately or to examine into their lawfulness. Nor will
we now attempt a thorough elucidation of the subject, as the first steps
have already taught us that it is more feasible to enter this structure from
another side.¹⁾ Here, we can put before ourselves certain questions which
I will cite in their order. (1) What are the content and origin of the
thoughts and feelings which show themselves through faulty and chance
actions? (2) What are the conditions which force a thought or a feeling
to make use of these occurrences as a means of expression and place it in
a position to do so? (3) Can constant and definite associations be demon-
strated between the manner of the faulty action and the qualities brought
to expression through it?

I shall begin by bringing together some material for answering the last
question. In the discussion of the examples of speech-blunders, we found
it necessary to go beyond the contents of the intended speech, and we had
to seek the cause of the speech disturbance outside the intention. The
latter was quite clear in a series of cases, and was known to the conscious-
ness of the speaker. In the example that seemed most simple and trans-
parent, it was a similar sounding but different conception of the same
thought, which disturbed its expression without anyone being able to say
why the one succumbed and the other came to the surface (Meringer and
Mayers’ Contaminations).

In a second group of cases, one conception succumbed to a motive
which did not, however, prove strong enough to cause complete submer-
sion. The conception which was withheld was clearly presented to con-
sciousness.

Only of the third group can we affirm unreservedly that the disturb-
ing thought differed from the one intended, and it is obvious that it may
establish an essential distinction. The disturbing thought is either con-
nected with the disturbed one through a thought association (disturbance
through inner contradiction), or it is substantially strange to it, and just
the disturbed word is connected with the disturbing thought through a
surprising outer association, which is frequently unconscious.

In the examples which I have given from my psychoanalyses, the en-
tire speech is either under the influence of thoughts which have become
active simultaneously, or under absolutely unconscious thoughts which
betray themselves either through the disturbance itself, or which evince
an indirect influence by making it possible for the individual parts of the
unconsciously intended speech to disturb one another. The retained or

¹ This work should be considered popular. Through an accumulation of many ex-
amples, it wishes to pave the way for the necessary assumption of unconscious, yet
effective, psychic processes. It wishes to avoid all theoretical discussions concerning
the nature of this unconscious.

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PSYCHOPATHOLOGY OF EVERYDAY LIFE
unconscious thoughts from which the disturbances in speech emanate are
of most varied origin. A general survey does not reveal any definite direc-
tion.

Comparative examinations of examples of mistakes in reading and
writing lead to the same conclusions. Isolated cases, as in speech-blunders,
seem to owe their origin to an unmotivated work of condensation (e.g.,
the Apel). But we should like to know whether special conditions must
not be fulfilled in order that such condensation, which is considered regu-
lar in dream-work and faulty in our waking thoughts, should take place.
No information concerning this can be obtained from the examples them-
selves. But I would refuse to draw the conclusion from this, that there are
no such conditions, as, for instance, the relaxation of conscious attention;
for I have learned elsewhere that automatic actions are especially charac-
terized by correctness and reliability. I would rather emphasize the fact
that here, as so frequently in biology, it is the normal relations, or those
approaching the normal, that are less favorable objects for investigation
than the pathological. What remains obscure in the explanation of these
most simple disturbances will, according to my expectation, be made clear
through the explanation of more serious disturbances.

Also, mistakes in reading and writing do not lack examples in which
more remote and more complicated motivation can be recognized.

There is no doubt that the disturbances of the speech functions occur
more easily and make less demand on the disturbing forces than other
psychic acts.

But one is on different ground when it comes to the examination of for-
getting in the literal sense—i.e., the forgetting of past experiences. (To
distinguish this forgetting from the others, we designate sensu strictiori
the forgetting of proper names and foreign words, as in Chapters I and
II, as “slips”; and the forgetting of resolutions as “omissions.”) The
principal conditions of the normal process in forgetting are unknown.¹

¹I can perhaps give the following outline concerning the mechanism of actual for-
getting. The memory material succumbs in general to two influences, condensation
and distortion. Distortion is the work of the tendencies dominating the psychic life
and directs itself above all against the affective remnants of memory traces which
maintain a more resistive attitude towards condensation. The traces which have
grown indifferent merge into a process of condensation without opposition; in
addition, it may be observed that tendencies of distortion also feed on the indifferent
material, because they have not been gratified where they wished to manifest them-
selves. As these processes of condensation and distortion continue for long periods,
during which all fresh experiences act upon the transformation of the memory con-
tent, it is our belief that it is time that makes memory uncertain and indistinct. It is
quite probable that in forgetting, there can really be no question of a direct function
of time. From the repressed memory traces, it can be verified that they suffer no
changes even in the longest periods. The unconscious, at all events, knows no time
limit. The most important as well as the most peculiar character of psychic fixation
consists in the fact that all impressions are, on the one hand, retained in the same
form as they were received, and also in the forms that they have assumed in their

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DETERMINISM—CHANCE—BELIEFS

We are also reminded of the fact that not all is forgotten which we believe
to be. Our explanation deals here only with those cases in which the for-
getting arouses our astonishment, in so far as it infringes upon the rule
that the unimportant is forgotten, while the important matter is guarded
by memory. Analysis of these examples of forgetting, which seems to de-
mand a special explanation, shows that the motive of forgetting is always
an unwillingness to recall something which may evoke painful feelings.
We come to the conjecture that this motive universally strives for expres-
sion in psychic life, but is inhibited through other and contrary forces
from regularly manifesting itself. The extent and significance of this dis-
like to recall painful impressions seems worthy of the most painstaking
psychologic investigation. The question as to what special conditions
render possible the universally resistant forgetting in individual cases
cannot be solved from this further connection.

A different factor steps into the foreground in the forgetting of resolu-
tions; the supposed conflict resulting in the repression of the painful
memory becomes tangible, and in the analysis of the examples, one regu-
larly recognizes a counter-will which opposes but does not put an end to
the resolution. As in previously discussed faulty acts, we here also recog-
nize two types of the psychic process: the counter-will either turns directly
against the resolution (in intentions of some consequence) or it is sub-
stantially foreign to the resolution itself and establishes its connection
with it through an outer association (in almost indifferent resolutions).

The same conflict governs the phenomena of erroneously carried-out
actions. The impulse which manifests itself in the disturbances of the ac-
tion is frequently a counter-impulse. Still oftener, it is altogether a strange
impulse which only utilizes the opportunity to express itself through a
disturbance in the execution of the action. The cases in which the dis-
turbance is the result of an inner contradiction are the most significant
ones, and also deal with the more important activities.

The inner conflict in the chance or symptomatic actions then withdraws
into the background. Those motor expressions, which are least thought
of, or are entirely overlooked by consciousness, serve as the expression of
numerous unconscious or restrained feelings. For the most part, they rep-
resent symbolically wishes and phantasies.

The first question (as to the origin of the thoughts and emotions which
find expression in faulty actions) we can answer by saying that in a series
of cases, the origin of the disturbing thoughts can be readily traced to re-
pressed emotions of the psychic life. Even in healthy persons, egotistic,

further development. This state of affairs cannot be elucidated by any comparison
from any other sphere. By virtue of this theory, every former state of the memory
content may thus be restored, even though all original relations have long been re-
placed by newer ones.

177

ture in which this theme was quite artificially evolved from a broader
connection.

VII. Just a few words to indicate the direction of this broader connec-
tion. The mechanism of the faulty and chance actions, as we have
learned to know it through the application of analysis, shows in the most
essential points an agreement with the mechanism of dream formation,
which I have discussed in the chapter “The Dream Work” of my book
on the interpretation of dreams. Here, as there, one finds condensation and
and compromise formation (“contaminations”); in addition, the situa-
tion is much the same, since unconscious thoughts find expression as
modifications of other thoughts in unusual ways and through outer asso-
ciations. The incongruities, absurdities and errors in the dream content,
by virtue of which the dream is scarcely recognized as a psychic function,
originate in the same way—to be sure, through freer usage of the existing
material—as the common error of our every-day life; here, as there, the
appearance of the incorrect function is explained through the peculiar
interference of two or more correct functions.

An important conclusion can be drawn from this combination: the
peculiar mode of operation, whose most striking function we recognize
in the dream content, should not be attributed only to the sleeping state
of the psychic life, when we possess abundant proof of its activity during
the waking state in faulty actions. The same connection also forbids us
from assuming that these psychic processes which impress us as abnormal
and strange, are determined by deep-
by morbid state of function.¹⁾

The correct understanding of this strange psychic work, which allows
the faulty actions to originate like the dream pictures, will only be pos-
sible after we have discovered that the psychoneurotic symptoms, particu-
larly the psychic formations of hysteria and compulsion neurosis, repeat
in their mechanisms all the essential features of this mode of operation.
The continuation of our investigation would therefore have to begin at
this point.

There is still another special interest for us in considering the faulty,
chance and symptomatic actions in the light of this last analogy. If we
compare them to the function of the psychoneuroses and the neurotic
symptoms, two frequently recurring statements gain in sense and support
—namely, that the border-
mal states is indistinct, and that we are all slightly nervous. Regardless
of all medical experience, one may construe various types of such barely
suggested nervousness, the formes frustes of the neuroses. There may be
cases in which only a few symptoms appear, or they may manifest them--

¹Cf. here The Interpretation of Dreams (p. 540, this volume), p. 559. Macmillan, New
York; and Allen & Unwin, London.

178

selves rarely or in mild forms; the extenuation may be transferred to the
number, intensity, or to the temporal outbreak of the morbid manifesta-
tion. It may also happen that just this type, which forms the most fre-
quent transition between health and disease, may never be discovered.
The transition type, whose morbid manifestations come in the form of
faulty and symptomatic actions, is characterized by the fact that the
symptoms are transformed to the least important psychic activities, while
everything that can lay claim to a higher psychic value, remains free from
disturbance. When the symptoms are disposed of in a reverse manner—
that is, when they appear in the most important individual and social
activities in a manner to disturb the functions of nourishment and sexual
relations, professional and social life—such disposition is found in the
severe cases of neuroses, and is perhaps more characteristic of the latter
than the multiformity or vividness of the morbid manifestations.

But the common character of the mildest, as well as the severest cases,
to which the faulty and chance actions contribute, lies in the ability to
refer the phenomena to unwelcome, repressed, psychic material, which,
though pushed away from consciousness, is nevertheless not robbed of all
capacity to express itself.