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COLLECTED PAPERS ON 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 ✓ 
 
ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 RY 
 
 C. G. JUNG, M.D., LL.D., 
 
 FORMERLY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH. 
 
 AUTHORISED TRANSLATION EDITED BY 
 
 DR. CONSTANCE E. LONG, 
 
 MEDICAL OFFICER, EDUCATION BOARD ; MEMBER ADVISORY COMMITTEE INSURANCE ACT 
 EX-PRESIDENT ASSOCIATION OF REGISTERED MEDICAL WOMEN, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MOFFAT YARD AND COMPANY 
 
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 EDITOR’S PREFACE 
 
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 The following papers have been gathered together from 
 various sources, and are now available for the first time to 
 English readers. The subject of Psychoanalysis is much 
 in evidence, and is likely to occupy still more attention in 
 the near future, as the psychological content of the psychoses 
 and neuroses is more generally appreciated and understood. 
 It is of importance, therefore, that the fundamental writings of 
 both the Viennese and Zurich Schools should be accessible for 
 study. Several of Freud's works have already been translated 
 into English, and it is fortunate that at the moment of going 
 to press, in addition to the volume now offered, Dr. Jung’s 
 “Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido” is appearing in 
 America under the title of “The Psychology of the Un¬ 
 conscious.” These two books, read in conjunction, offer a 
 fairly complete picture of the scientific and philosophic stand¬ 
 point of the leader of the Zurich School. It is the task of the 
 future to judge and expand the findings of both schools, and 
 to work at the devolopment of the new psychology, which is 
 still in its infancy. 
 
 It will be a relief to many students of the Unconscious to 
 see in it another aspect than that of “ a wild beast couched, 
 waiting its hour to spring.” Some readers have gathered that 
 view of it from the writings of the Viennese School. This 
 view is at most that dangerous thing “ a half-truth.” 
 
 There is no doubt that some even scientific persons have 
 a certain fear of whither the study of the Unconscious may 
 lead. These fearful persons should be reminded that they 
 possess an Unconscious in spite of themselves, and that 
 they share it in common with every human being. It is only 
 
 360904 
 
 2-2 
 
VI 
 
 EDITOR’S PREFACE 
 
 an extension of the Individual. To study it is to deepen the 
 self. All new discoveries have at one stage been called 
 dangerous, and all new philosophies have been deemed 
 heresies. It is as if we would once more consign radium to its 
 dust-heaps, lest some day the new radiancy should overpower 
 mankind. Indeed this very thing has proved at once most 
 dangerous and most exquisitely precious. Man must learn 
 to use this treasure, and in using it to submit to its own laws , 
 which can only become known when it is handled. 
 
 Those who read this hook with the attention it requires, 
 will find they gain an impression of many new truths. It is 
 issued towards the end of the second year of the great 
 European war, at a time when much we have valued and 
 held sacred is in the melting-pot. But we believe that out of 
 the crucible, new forms will arise. The study of Psycho¬ 
 analysis produces something of the effect of a war in the 
 psyche; indeed we need to make conscious this war in the 
 inner things if we would be delivered in the future from 
 the war in the external world, either in the form of individual 
 or international neurosis. In the pain and the upheaval, 
 one recognises the birth-pangs of newer, and let us hope, 
 truer thought, and more natural adaptations. We need a 
 new philosophy of life to take the place of that which has 
 perished in the general cataclysm, and it is because I see in 
 the analytical psychology which grows out of a scientific 
 study of the Unconscious, the germs of a new construction, 
 that I have gathered the following essays together. They 
 are printed in chronological order, and those readers who 
 are sufficiently interested will be able to discern in them 
 the gradual development of Dr. Jung’s present position in 
 Psychoanalysis. 
 
 2, Harley Place, W. 
 February , 1916. 
 
 CONSTANCE E. LONG. 
 
AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 This volume contains a selection of articles and pamphlets 
 on analytical psychology written at intervals during the past 
 fourteen years. These years have seen the development of a 
 new discipline, and as is usual in such a case, have involved 
 many changes of view-point, of concept, and of formulation. 
 
 It is not my intention to give a presentation of the funda¬ 
 mental concepts of analytical psychology in this book; it 
 throws some light, however, on a certain line of development 
 which is especially characteristic of the Zurich School of 
 psychoanalysis. 
 
 As is well known, the merit of the discovery of the new 
 analytical method of general psychology belongs to Professor 
 Freud of Vienna. His original view-points had to undergo 
 many essential modifications, some of them owing to the work 
 done at Zurich, in spite of the fact that he himself is far from 
 agreeing with the standpoint of this school. 
 
 I am unable to explain fully the fundamental differences 
 between the two schools, but would indicate the following 
 points: The Vienna School takes the standpoint of an ex¬ 
 clusive sexualistic conception, while that of the Zurich School 
 is symbolistic. The Vienna School interprets the psycho¬ 
 logical symbol semiotically, as a sign or token of certain 
 primitive psychosexual processes. Its method is analytical 
 and causal. 
 
 The Zurich School recognises the scientific feasibility of 
 such a conception, but denies its exclusive validity, for it 
 does not interpret the psychological symbol semiotically only, 
 but also symbolistically, that is, it attributes a positive value 
 to the symbol. 
 
Vlll 
 
 AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 The value does not depend merely on historical causes; 
 its chief importance lies in the fact that it has a meaning for 
 the actual present, and for the future, in their psychological 
 aspects. For to the Zurich School the symbol is not merely 
 a sign of something repressed and concealed, but is at the 
 same time an attempt to comprehend and to point out the 
 way of the further psychological development of the individual. 
 Thus we add a prospective import to the retrospective value 
 of the symbol. 
 
 The method of the Zurich school is therefore not only 
 analytical and causal, but also synthetic and prospective, 
 in recognition that the human mind is characterised by 
 “ causae ” and also by “ fines ” (aims). The latter fact needs 
 particular emphasis, because there are two types of psychology, 
 the one following the principle of hedonism, and the other 
 following the principle of power. Scientific materialism is 
 pertinent to the former type, and the philosophy of Nietzsche 
 to the latter. The principle of the Freudian theory is hedo¬ 
 nism, while that of Adler (one of Freud’s earliest personal 
 pupils) is founded upon the principle of power. 
 
 The Zurich School, recognising the existence of these two 
 types (also remarked by the late Professor William James), 
 considers that the views of Freud and Adler are one-sided, and 
 only valid within the limits of their corresponding type. Both 
 principles exist within every individual, but not in equal 
 proportions. 
 
 Thus, it is obvious that each psychological symbol has 
 two aspects, and should be interpreted according to the two 
 principles. Freud and Adler interpret in the analytical and 
 causal way, reducing to the infantile and primitive. Thus 
 with Freud the conception of the “ aim ” is the fulfilment of 
 desire, with Adler it is the usurpation of power. Both authors 
 take the standpoint in their practical analytical work which 
 brings to view only infantile and gross egoistic aims. 
 
 The Zurich School is convinced of the fact that within the 
 limits of a diseased mental attitude the psychology is such as 
 Freud and Adler describe. It is, indeed, just on account of 
 such impossible and childish psychology that the individual 
 
AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 IX 
 
 is in a state of inward dissociation and hence neurotic. The 
 Zurich School, therefore, in agreement with them so far, also 
 reduces the psychological symbol (the phantasy products of 
 the patient) to the fundamental infantile hedonism, or to the \ 
 infantile desire for power. But Freud and Adler content 
 themselves with the result of mere reduction, according to 
 their scientific biologism and naturalism. 
 
 But here a very important question arises. Can man 
 obey the fundamental and primitive impulses of his nature 
 without gravely injuring himself or his fellow beings ? He 
 cannot assert either his sexual desire or his desire for power 
 unlimitedly, and the limits are moreover very restricted. 
 The Zurich school has in view also the final result of 
 analysis, and regards the fundamental thoughts and impulses 
 of the Unconscious, as symbols, indicative of a definite line of 
 future development. We must admit there is, however, no 
 scientific justification for such a procedure, because our present- 
 day science is based as a whole upon causality. But causality 
 is only one principle, and psychology essentially cannot be 
 exhausted by causal methods only, because the mind lives by 
 aims as well. Besides this disputable philosophical argument, 
 we have another of much greater value in favour of our 
 hypothesis, namely, that of vital necessity. It is impossible 
 to live according to the intimations of infantile hedonism, 
 or according to a childish desire for power. If these are to 
 be retained they must be taken symbolically. Out of the 
 symbolic application of infantile trends, an attitude evolves / 
 which may be termed philosophic or religious, and these terms 
 characterise sufficiently the lines of further development of 
 the individual. The individual is not only an established 
 and unchangeable complex of psychological facts, but also 
 an extremely changeable entity. By exclusive reduction to 
 causes, the primitive trends of a personality are reinforced; 
 this is only helpful when at the same time these primitive 
 tendencies are balanced by recognition of their symbolic value. 
 Analysis and reduction lead to causal truth; this by itself 
 does not help living, but brings about resignation and hope¬ 
 lessness. On the other hand, the recognition of the intrinsic 
 
X 
 
 AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 value of a symbol leads to constructive truth and helps us to 
 live. It furthers hopefulness and the possibility of future 
 development. 
 
 The functional importance of the symbol is clearly shown 
 in the history of civilisation. For thousands of years the 
 religious symbol proved a most efficacious means in the moral 
 education of mankind. Only a prejudiced mind could deny 
 such an obvious fact. Concrete values cannot take the place 
 of the symbol; only new and more efficient symbols can be 
 substituted for those that are antiquated and outworn, such 
 as have lost their efficacy through the progress of intellectual 
 analysis and understanding. The further development of 
 mankind can only be brought about by means of symbols which 
 represent something far in advance of himself, and whose 
 intellectual meanings cannot yet be grasped entirely. The 
 individual unconscious produces such-symbols, and they are 
 of the greatest possible value in the moral development of the 
 personality. 
 
 Man almost invariably has philosophic and religious views 
 of the meaning of the world and of his own life. There are 
 some who are proud to have none. These are exceptions 
 outside the common path of mankind; they miss an im¬ 
 portant function which has proved itself to be indispensable 
 to the human mind. 
 
 In such cases we find in the unconscious, instead of 
 modern symbolism, an antiquated archaic view of the world 
 and of life. If a requisite psychological function is not repre¬ 
 sented in the sphere of consciousness, it exists in the un¬ 
 conscious in the form of an archaic or embryonic prototype. 
 
 This brief resume may show what the reader cannot find 
 in this collection of papers. The essays are stations on the 
 way of the more general views developed above. 
 
 Zurich, 
 
 January , 1916. 
 
 C. G. JUNG. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Editor’s Preface .v 
 
 Author’s Preface .vii 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 c 
 
 On the Psychology and Pathology of so-called Occult 
 
 Phenomena . 1 
 
 Difficulty of demarcation in border-line cases between epilepsy, 
 hysteria, and mental deficiency—Somnambulism an hysterical 
 manifestation—A case of spontaneous somnambulism, with some 
 characters of protracted hysterical delirium—Other cases quoted— 
 Charcot’s classification of somnambulism—Naef’s and Azam’s 
 cases of periodic amnesia—Proust’s and Boileau’s wandering- 
 impulse cases—William James’ case of Rev. Ansel Bourne—Other 
 examples showing changes in consciousness—Hypnagogic halluci¬ 
 nations—Neurasthenic mental deficiency, Bleuler’s case—Sum¬ 
 ming up of Miss Elsie K.’s case—Need of further scientific 
 investigation in the field of psychological peculiarities. 
 
 Case of Somnambulilm in a Person with Neuropathic Inheri¬ 
 tance (Spiritualistic Medium) ...... 16 
 
 History of case—Accidental discovery of her mediumistic powers—Her 
 somnambulic attacks, “ attitudes passionelles catalepsy, tachy- 
 pnoea, trance speeches, etc.—Ecstasies—Her conviction of the 
 reality of her visions—Her dreams, hypnagogic and hypnopompic 
 visions—The elevation of her somnambulic character—Mental 
 thought transference—S. W.’s double life—Psychographic com¬ 
 munications—Description of stances—The Prophetess of Prevorst 
 —Automatic writing—The two grandfathers—Appearance of other 
 somnambulic personalities. 
 
 Development of the Somnambulic Personalities . .30 
 
 The psychograph and spiritualistic wonders—The grandfather the 
 medium’s “guide” or “control”—Ulrich von Gerbenstein—The 
 somnambulic personalities have access to the medium’s memory 
 —Ivenes—S. W.’s amnesia for her ecstasies—Later stances— 
 
 Her journeys on the other side—Oracular sayings—Conventi— 
 Ivenes’ dignity and superiority to her “ guides ”—Her previous 
 incarnations—Her race-motherhood. 
 
v/ 
 
 xii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mystic Science and Mystic System of Powers .... 40 
 
 Her growing wilful deception—The waking state—Her peculiarities— 
 Instability—Hysterical tendencies—Misreading—Errors of dis¬ 
 persed attention discussed. 
 
 Semi-Somnambulism.48 
 
 Automatisms.49 
 
 Table movements—Unconscious motor phenomena—Verbal suggestion 
 and auto-suggestion — The ^experimenter’s participation — The 
 medium’s unconscious response—Thought reading—Table-tilting 
 experiment, illustrated—Experiments with beginners—Myers’ ex¬ 
 periments in automatic writing—Janet’s conversation with Lucie’s 
 subconsciousness—Example of the way the subconscious per¬ 
 sonality is constructed—Hallucinations appear with deepening 
 hypnosis; some contributing factors—Comparison between dream 
 symbols and appearance of somnambulic personalities—Extension 
 of the unconscious sphere—The somnambulist’s thinking is in 
 plastic images, which are made objective in hallucinations—Why 
 visual and not auditory hallucinations occur—Origin of hypna¬ 
 gogic hallucinations—Those of Jeanne d’Arc and others. 
 
 The Change in Character ........ 64 
 
 Noticeable in S. W.’s case, also in Mary Reynolds’—Association with 
 amnesic disturbances—Influence of puberty in our case—S. W.’s 
 systematic anaesthesia—Ivenes not so much a case of double con¬ 
 sciousness as one in which she dreams herself into a higher ideal 
 state—Similar pathological dreaming found in the lives of saints 
 —Mechanism of hysterical identification—S. W.’s dreams break 
 out explosively—Their origin and meaning, and their subjective 
 roots. 
 
 Relation to the Hysterical Attack.75 
 
 \ 
 
 In considering the origin of attack, two moments, viz. irruption of 
 hypnosis, and the psychic stimulation must be taken into account 
 —In susceptible subjects relatively small stimuli suffice to bring 
 about somnambulism—Our case approaches to hysterical lethargy 
 —The automatisms transform lethargy into hypnosis—Her ego- 
 consciousness is identical in all states—Secondary somnambulic 
 personalities split off from the primary unconscious personality— 
 
 All group themselves under two types, the gay-hilarious, and serio- 
 religious—The automatic speaking occurs—This facilitates the 
 study of the subconscious personalities—Their share of the con¬ 
 sciousness—The irruption of the hypnosis is complicated by an 
 h} T sterical attack—The automatism arising in the motor area 
 plays the part of hypnotist—When the hypnotism flows over into 
 the visual sphere the hysterical attack occurs—Grandfathers 
 I. and II.—Hysterical dissociations belong to the superficial layers 
 of the ego-complex—There are layers beyond the reach of dis¬ 
 sociation—Effect of the hysterical attack. 
 
 Relationship to the Unconscious Personality .... 82 
 
 The serio-religious and the gay-hilarious explained by the anamnesis 
 
 —Two halves of S. W.’s character—She is conscious of the painful ✓ 
 contrast—She seeks a middle way—Her aspirations bring her to 
 the puberty dream of the ideal Ivenes—The repressed ideas begin 
 an autonomous existence—This corroborates Freud's disclosures 
 concerning dreams—The relation of the somnambulic ego-complex 
 and the waking consciousness. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 • • • 
 
 xm 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Course.83 
 
 The progress of this affection reached its maximum in 4-8 weeks 
 —Thenceforth a decline in the plasticity of the phenomena— 
 
 All degrees of somnambulism were observable—Her manifest 
 character improved—Similar improvements seen in certain cases 
 of double consciousness—Conception that this phenomenon has 
 a teleological meaning for the future personality—As seen in 
 Jeanne d’Arc and Mary Reynolds II. 
 
 The Unconscious Additional Creative Work .... 84 
 
 S. W. shows primary susceptibility of the unconscious—Binet affirms 
 the susceptibility of the hysteric is fifty times greater than that of 
 normal—Cryptomnesia, a second additional creation—Cryptom- 
 nesic picture may enter consciousness intra-physically—Uncon¬ 
 scious plagiarism explained—Zarathustra example—Glossolalia— 
 Helen Smith’s Martian language—The names in Ivenes’ mystic 
 System show rudimentary glossolalia—The Cryptomnesic picture 
 may enter consciousness as an hallucination—Or arrive at 
 consciousness by motor automatism—By automatisms regions 
 formerly sealed are made accessible — Hypermnesia—Thought¬ 
 reading a prototype for extraordinary intuitive knowledge of som¬ 
 nambulists and some normal persons—Association-concordance 
 —Possibility that concept and feeling are not always clearly 
 separated—S. W.’s mentality must be regarded as extraordinary. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The Association Method.94 
 
 Lecture I.— Formula for test—Disturbances of reaction as complex- 
 indicators—Discovery of a culprit by means of test—Disturbances 
 of reaction show emotional rather than intellectual causes—Prin¬ 
 cipal types—Value of the experiment in dealing with neurotics. 
 
 Lecture II.—Familiar Constellations.119 
 
 Dr. Fiirst’s researches—Effect of environment and education on re¬ 
 actions—Effect of parental discord on children—Unconscious 
 tendency to repetition of parental mistakes—Case of pathological 
 association-concordance between mother and daughter—Neurosis, 
 a counter-argument against the personality with which the 
 patient is most nearly concerned—How to free the individual 
 from unconscious attachments to the milieu. 
 
 Lecture III.—Experiences concerning the Psychic Life of 
 
 the Child.132 
 
 Importance of emotional processes in children—Little Anna’s questions 
 —Arrival of the baby brother—Anna’s embarrassment and hostility 
 —Introversion of the child—Of the adolescent—Her pathological 
 interest in the Messina earthquake—The meaning of her fear— 
 Anna’s theories of birth—Meaning of her questions—Her father 
 tells her something of origin of her little brother—Her fears now 
 subside—The unconscious meaning of the child’s wish to sit up 
 late—Anna’s equivalent to the “ lumpf-theory ” of little Hans 
 —The stork-theory again—Author’s remarks on the sexual en¬ 
 lightenment of the child. 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The Significance of the Father in the Destiny of the 
 
 Individual. 156 
 
 Psycho-sexual relationship of child to father—Fiirst’s experiments 
 quoted—The association experiment typical for man’s psycho¬ 
 logical life—Adaptation to father—Father-complex productive of 
 neurosis—Father-complex in man with masochistic and homo¬ 
 sexual trends—Peasant woman “ her father’s favourite,” tragic 
 effect of the unconscious constellation—Case of eight-year old 
 boy with enuresis—Enuresis a sexual surrogate—Importance of 
 infantile sexuality in life—Hence necessity for psychoanalytic 
 investigation—The Jewish religion and the father-complex— 
 Parental power guides the child like a higher controlling fate— 
 
 The conflict for the development of the individual—Father- 
 complex in Book of Tobias. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Contribution to the Psychology of Rumour . . . .176 
 
 Investigation of a rumour in a girls’ school—The rumour arose from 
 a dream—Teacher’s suspicions—Was the rumour an invention 
 and not, as alleged, the recital of a dream?—Interpolations in 
 dreams—Collection of evidence—Duplication of persons an expres¬ 
 sion of their significance both in dreams and in dementia praecox— 
 
 The additions and interpolations represent intensive unconscious 
 participation—Hearsay evidence—Remarks. 
 
 Epicrisis.188 
 
 The dream is analysed by rumour—Psychoanalysis explains the con¬ 
 struction of rumour—The dream gives the watchword for the 
 unconscious—It brings to expression the ready-prepared sexual 
 complexes—Marie X.’s unsatisfactory conduct brought her under 
 reproof—Her indignation and repressed feelings lead to the dream 
 —She uses this as an instrument of revenge against the teacher 
 —More investigation needed in the field of rumour. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The Significance of Number Dreams. 191 
 
 Symbolism of numbers has acquired fresh interest from Freud’s 
 investigations—Example of number dream of middle-aged man 
 —How the number originates—A second dream also contains a 
 number—Analysis—The wife’s dream “ Luke 137 ”—This dream is 
 an example of cryptomnesia. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A Criticism of Bleuler’s “ Theory of Schizophrenic Negativism ” 200 
 
 Bleuler’s concept of ambivalency and ambitendency—Every tendency 
 balanced by its opposite—Schizophrenic negativism—Bleuler’s 
 summary of its causes—The painfulness of the complex necessitates 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 xv 
 
 a censorship of its expression—Thought disturbance the result of 
 a complex—Thought pressure due to schizophrenic introversion— 
 Resistance springs from peculiar sexual development—Schizo¬ 
 phrenia shows a preponderance of introversion mechanisms—The 
 value of the complex theory concept. 
 
 CHAPTER YII 
 
 Psychoanalysis. 
 
 Doctors know too little of psychology, and psychologists of medicine— 
 Strong prejudice aroused by Freud’s conception of the importance 
 of the sexual moment—The commoner prejudices discussed— 
 Psychoanalysis not a method of suggestion or reasoning—The 
 unconscious content is reached via the conscious—Case of neurotic 
 man with ergophobia for professional work—Case of neurotic 
 woman who wants another child—Resistances against the analyst 
 —Dream analysis the efficacious instrument of analysis—The 
 scientist’s fear of superstition—The genesis of dreams—Dream 
 material is collected according to scientific method—The rite of 
 baptism analysed—When the unconscious material fails, use the 
 conscious—The physician’s own complexes a hindrance—Interpre¬ 
 tations of Viennese School too one-sided—Sexual phantasies both 
 realistic and symbolic—The dream the subliminal picture of the 
 individual’s present psychology—Symbolism a process of compre¬ 
 hension by analogy—Analysis helps the neurotic to exchange his 
 unconscious conflict for the real conflict of lif<j* 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 On Psychoanalysis. 
 
 Difficulties of public discussion—Competence to form an opinion 
 presupposes a knowledge of the fundamental literature—The 
 abandoned trauma theory — Fixation—The importance of the 
 infantile past—Analysis discloses existence of innumerable un¬ 
 conscious phantasies—(Edipus complex—Fixation discussed—The 
 critical moment for the outbreak of the neurosis—Predisposition— 
 Author’s energic view point—Application of the libido to the 
 obstacle—Repression—Neurosis an act of adaptation that has 
 failed—The energic view does not alter the technique of analysis 
 —Analysis re-establishes the connection between the conscious 
 and unconscious—Is a constructive task of great importance. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On Some Crucial Points in Psychoanalysis .... 
 
 Letter I.— IjOy .......... 
 
 The dream a means of re-establishing the moral equipoise—The dreamer 
 finds therein the material for reconstruction—Methods discussed 
 —The part played by “ faith in the doctor ”—Abreaction. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 206 
 
 226 
 
 236 
 
 236 
 
XVI 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Letter II.— Jung. 
 
 For the patient any method that works is good, though some more 
 valuable than others—The doctor must choose what commends 
 itself to his scientific conscience—Why the author gave up the 
 use of hypnotism—Three cases quoted—Breuer and Freud’s 
 method a great advance in psychic treatment—Evolution of 
 author’s views—Importance of conception that behind the neurosis 
 lies a moral conflict—Divergence from Freud’s sexual theory of 
 neurosis—The doctor’s responsibility for the cleanliness of his 
 own hands—Necessity that the psychoanalyst should be analysed 
 —He is successful in so far as he has succeeded in his own moral 
 development. 
 
 Letter III. —Loy 
 
 Opportunism v. scientific honour — Psychoanalysis no more than 
 hypnotism gets rid of “ transference ”—Cases of enuresis nocturna, 
 and of washing-mania treated by hypnosis—On what grounds 
 should suchiuseful treatment be dispensed with?—The difficulty 
 of finding a rational solution for the moral conflict—The doctor’s 
 dilemma of the two consciences. 
 
 Letter IV. —Jung.. 
 
 Author’s standpoint that of the scientist, not practical physician— 
 The analyst works in spite of the transference—Psychoanalysis 
 not the only way—Sometimes less efficacious than any known 
 method—Cases must be selected—For the author and his patients 
 it is the best way—The real solution of the moral conflict comes 
 from within, and then only because the patient has been brought 
 to a new standpoint. 
 
 Letter V. —Loy 
 
 “ What is truth? ”—Parable of the prism—All man attains is relative 
 truth—Fanaticism is the enemy to science—Psychoanalysis a 
 method of dealing with basic motives of the human soul—Must not 
 each case be treated individually ?—Morals are above all relative. 
 
 Letter VI. —Jung. 
 
 Definition of psychoanalysis—Technique—So-called chance is the law 
 —Rules well-nigh impossible—The patients’ unconscious is the 
 analysts’ best confederate—Questions of morality and education 
 find solutions for themselves in later stages of analysis. 
 
 Letter VII. — Loy . .. 
 
 Contradictions in psychoanalytic literature—Should the doctor 
 canalize the patient’s libido?—Does he not indirectly suggest 
 dreams to patient ? 
 
 Letter VIII. —Jung 
 
 Different view-points in psychoanalysis— Vide Freud’s causality and 
 Adler’s finality—Discussion of meaning of transference—The 
 meaning of “ line of least resistance ”—Man as a herd-animal 
 Rich endowment with social sense—Should take pleasure in life 
 
 __Error as necessary to progress as truth—Patient must be 
 
 trained in independence—Analyst is caught in his own net if he 
 makes hard and fast rules—Through the analyst s suggestion 
 only the outer form, never the content, is determined—The 
 patient may mislead the doctor, but this is disadvantageous and 
 delays him. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 238 
 
 244 
 
 248 
 
 252 
 
 256 
 
 258 
 
 261 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 xvn 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Letter IX. —Loy . . . . . . . . . 267 
 
 The line of least resistance is a compromise with all necessities—The 
 analyst as accoucheur—The neurotic’s faith in authority—Altruism 
 innate in man—He advances in response to his own law. 
 
 Letter X. —Jung .270 
 
 Transference is the central problem of analysis—It may be positive 
 or negative—Projection of infantile phantasies on the doctor— 
 Biological “ duties ”—The psyche does not only react, but gives its 
 individual reply—We have an actual sexual problem to-day— 
 Evidences thereof—We have no real sexual morality, only a legal 
 attitude—Our moral views are too undifferentiated—The neurotic 
 is ill not because he has lost his faith in morality, but because he 
 has not found the new authority in himself. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 On the Importance of the Unconscious in Psychopathology . 278 
 
 Content of the unconscious—Defined as sum of all psychical processes 
 below the threshold of consciousness—Answer to question how 
 does the unconscious behave in neurosis found in its effect on 
 normal consciousness—Example of a merchant—Compensating 
 function of the unconscious — Symptomatic acts — Nebuchad¬ 
 nezzar’s dream discussed—Intuitive ideas, and insane manifesta¬ 
 tions both emanate from the unconscious—Eccentricities pre-exist 
 a breakdown—In mental disorder unconscious processes break¬ 
 through into consciousness and disturb equilibrium—True also in 
 fanaticism — Pathological compensation in case of paranoia— 
 Unconscious processes have to struggle against resistances in the 
 conscious mind—Distortion—In morbid conditions the function 
 of the unconscious is one of compensation. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Contribution to the Study of Psychological Types . . . 
 
 Striking contrast between hysteria and dementia prsecox—Extraver¬ 
 sion and Introversion—Repression—Hysterical transference and 
 repression the mechanism of extraversion—Depreciation of the 
 external world the mechanism of introversion—The nervous tem¬ 
 perament pre-exists the illness—Examples of the two types from 
 literature — James’s Tough and Tender-minded—Warringer’s 
 Sympathy and Abstraction—Schiller’s Naif and Sentimental— 
 Nietzsche’s Apollien and Dionysian—Gross’s Weakness and Rein¬ 
 forcement of Consecutive Function—Freud and Adler’s Causalism 
 and Finality—The fundamental need for further study of the two 
 types. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 The Psychology of Dreams 
 
 299 
 
 Psychic structure of dream contrasted with that of conscious thought 
 —Why a dream seems meaningless—Freud’s empirical evidence 
 —Technique, analysis of a dream—The causal and teleological 
 view of the dream—A typical dream with mythological content— 
 Compensating function of dreams—Phallic symbols. 
 
XV111 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The Content of the Psychoses. 
 
 Discussion of psychological v. physical origin of mental disease 
 Mediaeval conception of madness as work of evil spirits—Develop¬ 
 ment of materialistic idea that diseases of the mind are diseases 
 of the brain —Psychiatrists have come to regard function as 
 accessory to the organ—Analysis of patients entering Burgholzi 
 
 Asylum_A quarter only show lesions of the brain—The psychiatry 
 
 of the future must advance by way of psychology—Cases of 
 dementia prsecox illustrating recent methods in psychiatry—The 
 development of the outbreak at a moment of great emotion 
 Delusions determined by deficiencies in the patient’s personality— 
 Difficulties of investigation—Temporary remission of mental 
 symptoms proves that reason survives in spite of preoccupation 
 with diseased thoughts—Case of dementia praecox, showing exceed¬ 
 ing richness of phantasy formations, and the continuity of ideas. 
 
 Part II.. 
 
 Freud’s case of paranoid dementia—(Schreber case)—Two ways of 
 regarding Goethe’s “Faust”—Retrospective and prospective under¬ 
 standing—The scientific mind thinks causally—This is but one 
 half of comprehension—Pathological and mythological formations, 
 both structures of the imagination—Flournoy’s case—Misunder¬ 
 standing of author’s analysis of it—Adaptations only possible to 
 the introverted type by means of a world-philosophy—The extra- 
 verted type always arrives at a general theory subsequently—Psy- 
 chasthenia is the neurosis of introversion, hysteria of extraversion 
 —These diseases typify the general attitude of the types to the 
 phenomena of the external world—The extreme difference in 
 type a great obstacle to common understanding—The general 
 result of the constructive method is a subjective view, not a 
 scientific theory. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 New Paths in Psychology . . 
 
 The evolution of psychology—How little it has had to ofier to the 
 psychiatrist till Freud’s discoveries—The origin and reception of 
 psychoanalysis—The prejudiced attitude of certain physicians— 
 Freud’s view that his best work arouses greatest resistances The 
 Nancy School—Breuer’s first case—“The talking cure” The 
 English “ shock theory ”—Followed by the trauma theory Dis¬ 
 cussion of predisposition—Author’s case of hysteria following 
 fright from horses—The pathogenic importance of the hidden 
 erotic conflict—Humanity evolves its own restrictions on sexuality 
 for the sake of the advance of civilisation- The presence of a grave 
 sexual problem testifies to the need of more differentiated concep¬ 
 tions—The erotic conflict largely unconscious—Neurosis repre¬ 
 sents the unsuccessful attempt of the individual to solve the 
 problem in his own case—To understand the idea of the dream as 
 a wish-fulfilment the manifest and latent content must be taken 
 in review—The nature of unconscious wishes—Dream analysis 
 leads to the deepest recesses of the unconscious The analyst com¬ 
 pared to the accoucheur—Comparison with Socrates’ technique— 
 The highest development of the individual is sometimes in com¬ 
 plete conflict with the herd-morality—Psychoanalysis provides the 
 patient with a philosophy of life founded upon insight—The violent 
 reaction raging round psychoanalysis is a proof of its importance. 
 
 Index 
 
ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ON THE PSYCHOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY OF 
 SO-CALLED OCCULT PHENOMENA 
 
 In that wide field of psychopathic deficiency where Science 
 has demarcated the diseases of epilepsy, hysteria and neuras¬ 
 thenia, we meet scattered observations concerning certain 
 rare states of consciousness as to whose meaning authors 
 are not yet agreed. These observations spring up sporadi¬ 
 cally in the literature on narcolepsy, lethargy, automatisme 
 ambulatoire , periodic amnesia, double consciousness , somnam¬ 
 bulism, pathological dreamy states, pathological lying, etc. 
 
 These states are sometimes attributed to epilepsy, some¬ 
 times to hysteria, sometimes to exhaustion of the nervous 
 system, or neurasthenia, sometimes they are allowed all 
 the dignity of a disease sui generis . Patients occasionally 
 work through a whole graduated scale of diagnoses, from 
 epilepsy, through hysteria, up to simulation. In practice, 
 on the one hand, these conditions can only be separated with 
 great difficulty from the so-called neuroses, sometimes even 
 are indistinguishable from them; on the other, certain 
 features in the region of pathological deficiency present more 
 than a mere analogical relationship not only with phenomena 
 of normal psychology, but also with the psychology of the 
 supernormal, of genius. Various as are the individual 
 phenomena in this region, there is certainly no case that 
 cannot be connected by some intermediate example with the 
 other typical cases. This relationship in the pictures pre¬ 
 sented by hysteria and epilepsy is very close. Recently the 
 view has even been maintained that there is no clean-cut 
 frontier between epilepsy and hysteria, and that a difference 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 is only to be noted in extreme cases. Steffens says, for 
 example 1 —“ We are forced to the conclusion that in essence 
 hysteria and epilepsy are not fundamentally different, but 
 that the cause of the disease is the same but is manifest in 
 a diverse form, in different intensity and permanence.” 
 
 The demarcation of hysteria and certain borderline cases 
 of epilepsy, from congenital and acquired psychopathic 
 mental deficiency, likewise presents the greatest difficulties. 
 The symptoms of one or other disease everywhere invade the 
 neighbouring realm, so violence is done to the facts when 
 they are split off and considered as belonging to one or other 
 realm. The demarcation of psychopathic mental deficiency 
 from the normal is an absolutely impossible task, the 
 difference is everywhere only “ more or less.” The classifi¬ 
 cation in the region of mental deficiency itself is confronted 
 by the same difficulty. At the most, certain classes can 
 be separated off which crystallise round some well-marked 
 nucleus through having peculiarly typical features. Turn¬ 
 ing away from the two large groups of intellectual and 
 emotional deficiency, there remain those deficiencies colouied 
 pre-eminently by hysteria or epilepsy (epileptoid) or neuras¬ 
 thenia, which are not notably deficiency of the intellect or of 
 feeling. It is pre-eminently in this region, insusceptible of 
 any absolute classification, that the above-named conditions 
 play their part. As is well known, they can appear as part 
 manifestations of a typical epilepsy or hysteria, or can exist 
 separately in the realm of psychopathic mental deficiency, 
 where their qualifications of epileptic or hysterical are often 
 due to the non-essential accessory features. It is thus the 
 rule to count somnambulism among hysterical diseases, 
 because it is occasionally a phenomenon of severe hysteria, 
 or because mild so-called hysterical symptoms may accom¬ 
 pany it. Binet says: “II n’y a pas une somnambulisme, 
 etat nerveux toujours identique a lui-meme, il y a des som- 
 nambulismes.” As one of the manifestations of a severe 
 hysteria, somnambulism is not an unknown phenomenon, 
 but as a pathological entity, as a disease sui generis, it must 
 
 1 Arch. f. Psych., XXXIII. p. 928. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 3 
 
 be somewhat rare, to judge by its infrequency in German 
 literature on the subject. So-called spontaneous somnam¬ 
 bulism, resting upon a foundation of hysterically-tinged 
 psychopathic deficiency, is not a very common occurrence 
 and it is worth while to devote closer study to these cases, 
 
 for they occasionally present a mass of interesting observa¬ 
 tions. 
 
 Case of Miss Elise K., aged 40, single; book-keeper in a 
 large business; no hereditary taint, except that it is alleged 
 a brother became slightly nervous after family misfortune 
 and illness. Well educated, of a cheerful, joyous nature, 
 not of a saving disposition, she was always occupied with 
 some big idea. She was very kind-hearted and gentle, did 
 a great deal both for her parents, who were living in very 
 modest circumstances, and for strangers. Nevertheless she 
 was not happy, because she thought she did not under¬ 
 stand herself. She had always enjoyed good health till a 
 few years ago, when she is said to have been treated for dila¬ 
 tation of the stomach and tapeworm. During this illness 
 her hair became rapidly white, later she had typhoid fever. 
 An engagement was terminated by the death of her fiance 
 from paralysis. She had been very nervous for a year and 
 a half. In the summer of 1897 she went away for change of 
 air and treatment by hydropathy. She herself says that for 
 about a year she has had moments during work when her 
 thoughts seem to stand still, but she does not fall asleep. 
 Nevertheless she makes no mistakes in the accounts at such 
 times. She has often been to the wrong street and then 
 suddenly noticed that she was not in the right place. She 
 has had no giddiness or attacks of fainting. Formerly men¬ 
 struation occurred regularly every four weeks, and without any 
 pain, but since she has been nervous and overworked it has 
 come every fourteen days. For a long time she has suffered 
 from constant headache. As accountant and book-keeper in a 
 large establishment, the patient has had very strenuous work, 
 which she performs well and conscientiously. In addition 
 to the strenuous character of her work, in the last year she 
 had various new worries. The brother was suddenly divorced. 
 
4 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 In addition to her own work, she looked after his housekeep¬ 
 ing nursed him and his child in a serious illness, and so on. 
 To recuperate, she took a journey on the 13th September to see 
 a woman friend in South Germany. The great joy at seeing 
 her friend, from whom she had been long separated, and her 
 participation in some festivities, deprived her of her rest. 
 On the 15th, she and her friend drank half a bottle of claret. 
 This was contrary to her usual habit. They then went for 
 a walk in a cemetery, where she began to tear up flowers 
 and to scratch at the graves. She remembered absolutely 
 nothing of this afterwards. On the 16th she remained with 
 her friend without anything of importance happening. On 
 the 17th her friend brought her to Zurich. An acquaintance 
 came with her to the Asylum; on the way she spoke quite 
 sensibly, but was very tired. Outside the Asylum they met 
 three boys, whom she described as the “ three dead people 
 she had dug up.” She then wanted to go to the neighbour¬ 
 ing cemetery, but was persuaded to come to the Asylum. 
 
 She is small, delicately formed, slightly anaemic. The 
 heart is slightly enlarged to the left, there are no murmurs, 
 but some reduplication of the sounds, the mitral being 
 markedly accentuated. The liver dulness reaches to the 
 border of the ribs. Patella-reflex is somewhat increased, 
 but otherwise no tendon-reflexes. There is neither anes¬ 
 thesia, analgesia, nor paralysis. Rough examination of the 
 field of vision with the hands shows no contraction. The 
 patient’s hair is a very light yellow-white colour; on the 
 whole she looks her years. She gives her history and tel s 
 recent events quite clearly, but has no recollection of what' 
 took place in the cemetery at C. or outside the Asylum. 
 During the night of the 17th-18th she spoke to the attendant 
 and declared she saw the whole room full of dead people 
 looking like skeletons. She was not at all frightened, but 
 was rather surprised that the attendant did not see them 
 too. Once she ran to the window, but was otherwise quiet. 
 The next morning while still in bed, she saw skeletons, but 
 not in the afternoon. The following night at four o’clock 
 she awoke and heard the dead children in the neighbouring 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 
 
 cemetery cry out that they had been buried alive. She 
 wanted to go out to dig them up, but allowed herself to be re¬ 
 strained. Next morning at seven o’clock she was still delirious, 
 but recalled accurately the events in the cemetery at C. and 
 those on approaching the Asylum. She stated that at C. 
 she wanted to dig up the dead children who were calling her. 
 She had only torn up the flowers to free the graves and to be 
 able to get at them. In this state Professor Bleuler explained 
 to her that later on, when in a normal state again, she would 
 remember everything. The patient slept in the morning, 
 afterwards was quite clear, and felt herself relatively well. 
 She did indeed remember the attacks, but maintained a 
 remarkable indifference towards them. The following nights, 
 with the exception of those of the 22nd and the 25th 
 September, she again had slight attacks of delirium, when 
 once more she had to deal with the dead. The details of 
 the attacks differed, however. Twice she saw the dead in 
 her bed, but she did not appear to be afraid of them, but she 
 got out of bed frequently because she did not want “ to 
 inconvenience the dead”; several times she wanted to leave 
 the room. 
 
 After a few nights free from attacks, there was a slight 
 one on the 30th Sept., when she called the dead from the 
 window. During the day her mind was clear. On the 3rd of 
 October she saw a whole crowd of skeletons in the drawing¬ 
 room, as she afterwards related, during full consciousness. 
 Although she doubted the reality of the skeletons, she could 
 not convince herself that it was a hallucination. The follow- 
 ing night, between twelve and one o’clock—the earlier attacks 
 were usually about this time—she was obsessed with the idea 
 of dead people for about ten minutes. She sat up in bed, 
 stared at a corner and said: “Well, come !—but they’re not 
 all there. Come along! Why don’t you come ? The room 
 is big enough, there’s room for all; when all are there, I’ll 
 come too.” Then she lay down with the words: “ Now 
 they’re all there,” and fell asleep again. In the morning 
 she had not the slightest recollection of any of these attacks. 
 Very short attacks occurred in the nights of the 4th, 6th, 
 
6 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 9th, 13th and 15th of October, between twelve and one 
 o’clock. The last three occurred during the menstrual period. 
 The attendant spoke to her several times, showed her the 
 lighted street-lamps, and trees; but she did not react to 
 this conversation. Since then the attacks have altogether 
 ceased. The patient has complained about a number of 
 troubles which she had had all along. She suffered much 
 from headache the morning after the attacks. She said 
 it was unbearable. Five grains of Sacch. lactis promptly 
 alleviated this; then she complained of pains in both fore¬ 
 arms, which she described as if it were a teno-synovitis. She 
 regarded the bulging of the muscles in flexion as a swelling, 
 and asked to be massaged. Nothing could be seen objec¬ 
 tively, and no attention being paid to it, the trouble dis¬ 
 appeared. She complained exceedingly and for a long time 
 about the thickening of a toenail, even after the thickened 
 part had been removed. Sleep was often disturbed. She 
 would not give her consent to be hypnotised for the night- 
 attacks. Finally on account of headache and disturbed sleep 
 she agreed to hypnotic treatment. She proved a good subject, 
 and at the first sitting fell into deep sleep with analgesia and 
 amnesia. 
 
 In November she was again asked whether she could now 
 remember the attack on the 19th September which it had been 
 suggested that she would recall. It gave her great trouble 
 to recollect it, and in the end she could only state the chief 
 facts, she had forgotten the details. 
 
 It should be added that the patient was not superstitious, 
 and in her healthy days had never particularly interested 
 herself in the supernatural. During the whole course of 
 treatment, which ended on the 14th November, great in¬ 
 difference was evinced both to the illness and the cure. Next 
 spring the patient returned for out-patient treatment of the 
 headache, which had come back during the very hard work of 
 these months. Apart from this symptom her condition left 
 nothing to be desired. It was demonstrated that she had 
 no remembrance of the attacks of the previous autumn, not 
 even of those of the 19th September and earlier. On the 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 
 
 7 
 
 other hand, in hypnosis she could recount the proceedings in 
 the cemetery and during the nightly disturbances. 
 
 By the peculiar hallucination and by its appearance our 
 case recalls the conditions which Y. Kraft-Ebing has de¬ 
 scribed as “ protracted states of hysterical delirium.” He 
 says: “Such conditions of delirium occur in the slighter 
 cases of hysteria. Protracted hysterical delirium is built 
 upon a foundation of temporary exhaustion. Excitement 
 seems to determine an outbreak, and it readily recurs. Most 
 frequently there is persecution-delirium with very violent 
 anxiety, sometimes of a religious or erotic character. Hallu¬ 
 cinations of all the senses are not rare, but illusions of sight, 
 smell and feeling are the commonest, and most important. 
 The visual hallucinations are especially visions of animals, 
 pictures of corpses, phantastic processions in which dead 
 persons, devils, and ghosts swarm. The illusions of hearing 
 are simply sounds (shrieks, howlings, claps of thunder) or 
 local hallucinations frequently with a sexual content.” 
 
 This patient’s visions of corpses occurring almost always 
 in attacks recall the states occasionally seen in hystero- 
 epilepsy. There likewise occur specific visions which, in con¬ 
 trast with protracted delirium, are connected with single 
 attacks. 
 
 (1) A lady 30 years of age with grande hysterie had 
 twilight states in which as a rule she was troubled by terrible 
 hallucinations; she saw her children carried away from her, 
 wild beasts eating them up, and so on. She has amnesia for 
 the content of the individual attacks. 1 
 
 (2) A girl of 17, likewise a semi-hysteric, saw in her 
 attacks the corpse of her dead mother approaching her to 
 draw her to her. Patient has amnesia for the attacks. 2 
 
 These are cases of severe hysteria wherein consciousness 
 rests upon a profound stage of dreaming. The nature of the 
 attack and the stability of the hallucination alone show a 
 certain kinship with our case, which in this respect has 
 
 1 Richer, “Etudes cliniques sur l’hystSro-epilepsie,” p. 483. 
 
 2 Idem , l.c., p. 487; cp. also Erler, Allg. Zeitschrift f. Psychiatrie, XXXV. 
 p. 28; also Culerre, Allg. Zeit. f. Psych., XLVI., Litteraturbericht 356. 
 
8 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 numerous analogies with the corresponding states of hysteria. 
 For instance, with those cases where a psychical shock 
 (rape, etc.) was the occasion for the outbreak of hysterical 
 attacks, and where at times the original incident is lived over 
 again, stereotyped in the hallucination. But our case gets 
 its specific mould from the identity of the consciousness in 
 the different attacks. It is an “Etat Second with its own 
 memory and separated from the waking state by complete 
 amnesia. This differentiates it from the above-mentioned 
 twilight states and links it to the so-called somnambulic 
 conditions. 
 
 Charcot 1 divides the somnambulic states into two chief 
 classes :— 
 
 1. Delirium with well-marked inco-ordination of repre¬ 
 sentation and action. 
 
 2. Delirium with co-ordinated action. This approaches 
 the waking state. 
 
 Our case belongs to the latter class. 
 
 If by somnambulism be understood a state of systematised 
 partial waking, 2 any critical review of this affection must 
 take account of those exceptional cases of recurrent amnesias 
 which have been observed now and again. These, apart from 
 nocturnal ambulism, are the simplest conditions of systema¬ 
 tised partial waking. Naef’s case is certainly the most 
 remarkable in the literature. It deals with a gentleman of 
 82, with a very bad family history presenting numerous signs 
 of degeneration, partly functional, partly organic. In con¬ 
 sequence of over-work he had at the age of 17 a peculiar 
 twilight state with delusions, which lasted some days and was 
 cured by a sudden recovery of memory. Later he was subject 
 to frequent attacks of giddiness and palpitation of the heait 
 and vomiting ; but these attacks were never attended by loss 
 of consciousness. At the termination of some feverish illness 
 
 1 Charcot and Guinon, “ Progres m£d., 1891. _ 
 
 2 “ Somnambulism must be conceived as systematised partial waking, in 
 which a limited, connected presentation-complex takes place. Contrary pre- 
 sentations do not occur, at the same time the mental activity is earned on 
 with increased energy within the limited sphere of the waking (Lowenfeld, 
 “ Hypnotism,” 1901, p. 289). 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OP OCCULT PHENOMENA 
 
 9 
 
 he suddenly travelled from Australia to Zurich, where he 
 lived for some weeks in careless cheerfulness, and only came 
 to himself when he read in the paper of his sudden dis¬ 
 appearance from Australia. He had a total and retrograde 
 amnesia for the several months which included the journey 
 to Australia, his sojourn there and the return journey. 
 
 Azam 1 has published a case of periodic amnesia. Albert 
 X., 12£ years old, of hysterical disposition, was several 
 times attacked in the course of a few years by conditions of 
 amnesia in which he forgot reading, writing and arithmetic, 
 even at times his own language, for several weeks at a stretch. 
 The intervals were normal. 
 
 Proust 2 has published a case of Automatisme ambulatoire 
 with pronounced hysteria which differs from Naef’s in the 
 repeated occurrence of the attacks. An educated man, 30 
 years old, exhibits all the signs of grande hysterie; he is 
 very suggestible, has from time to time, under the influence 
 of excitement, attacks of amnesia which last from two days 
 to several weeks. During these states he wanders about, 
 visits relatives, destroys various objects, incurs debts, and 
 has even been convicted of “picking pockets.” 
 
 Boileau describes a similar case 3 of wandering-impulse. 
 A widow of 22, highly hysterical, became terrified at the 
 prospect of a necessary operation for salpingitis; she left the 
 hospital and fell into a state of somnambulism, from which 
 she awoke three days later with total amnesia. During these 
 three days she had travelled a distance of about 60 kilometres 
 to fetch her child. 
 
 William James has described a case of an “ ambulatory 
 sort.” 4 
 
 The Rev. Ansel Bourne, an itinerant preacher, 30 years 
 of age, psychopathic, had on a few occasions attacks of loss 
 of consciousness lasting one hour. One day (January 17, 
 1887) he suddenly disappeared from Greene, after having 
 
 1 Azam, “ Hypnotisme—Double conscience,” etc., Paris, 1887. For 
 similar cases, cf. Forbes Winslow, “ On Obscure Diseases,” p. 335. 
 
 2 Trib. mid., March, 1890. 
 
 3 Annal. mid. psychol ., Jan., Feb., 1892. 
 
 4 “ Principles of Psychology,” p. 391. 
 
10 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 taken 551 dollars out of the bank. He remained hidden for 
 two months. During this time he had taken a little shop under 
 the name of H. J. Browne, in Norriston, Pa., and had care¬ 
 fully attended to all purchases, although he had never done 
 the like before. On March 14, 1887, he suddenly awoke and 
 went back home, and had complete amnesia for the interval. 
 
 Mesnet 1 publishes the following case:— 
 
 F., 27 years old, sergeant in the African regiment, was 
 wounded in the parietal bone at Bazeilles. Suffered for a 
 year from hemiplegia, which disappeared when the wound 
 healed. During the course of his illness the patient had 
 attacks of somnambulism, with marked limitation of con¬ 
 sciousness ; all the senses were paralysed, with the exception 
 of taste and a small portion of the visual sense. The move¬ 
 ments were co-ordinated, but obstacles in the way of their per¬ 
 formance were overcome with difficulty. During the attacks 
 he had an absurd collecting-mania. By various manipu¬ 
 lations one could demonstrate a hallucinatory content in his 
 consciousness; for instance, when a stick was put in his hand 
 he would feel himself transported to a battle scene, he would 
 feel himself on guard, see the enemy approaching, etc. 
 
 Guinon and Sophie Waltke 2 made the following experi¬ 
 ments on hysterics:— 
 
 A blue glass was held in front of the eyes of a female 
 patient during a hysterical attack; she regularly saw the 
 picture of her mother in the blue sky. A red glass showed 
 her a bleeding wound, a yellow one an orange-seller or a lady 
 with a yellow dress. 
 
 Mesnet’s case reminds one of the cases of occasional 
 attacks of shrinkage of memory. 
 
 MacNish 3 communicates a similar case. 
 
 An apparently healthy young lady suddenly fell into an 
 abnormally long and deep sleep—it is said without prodromal 
 
 1 Mesnet, “ De Fautomatisme de la m^moire et du souvenir dans le 
 somnambulisme pathologique.” Union m6dicale, Juillet, 1874. Cf. Binet, 
 “Les Alterations de la personnalite,” p. 37. Cf. also Mesnet, “ Somnambu¬ 
 lisme spontan6 dans ses rapports avec l’hysterie,” Arch, de Neurol ., N r . 69,1892. 
 
 2 Arch, de Neur ., Mai, 1891. 
 
 3 “ Philosophy of Sleep,” 1830. Cf. Binet, “ Les Alterations,” etc. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OP OCCULT PHENOMENA 11 
 
 symptoms. On awaking she had forgotten the words for and 
 the knowledge of the simplest things. She had again to 
 learn to read, write, and count; her progress was rapid in 
 this re-learning. After a second attack she again woke in 
 her normal state, but without recollection of the period when 
 she had forgotten things. These states alternated for more 
 than four years, during which consciousness showed continuity 
 within the two states, but was separated by an amnesia from 
 the consciousness of the normal state. 
 
 These selected cases of various forms of changes of con¬ 
 sciousness all throw a certain light upon our case. Naef’s 
 case presents two hysteriform eclipses of memory, one of 
 which is marked by the appearance of delusions, and the 
 other by its long duration, contraction of the field of conscious¬ 
 ness, and desire to wander. The peculiar associated impulses 
 are specially clear in the cases of Proust and Mesnet. In 
 our case the impulsive tearing up of the flowers, the digging 
 up of the graves, form a parallel. The continuity of con¬ 
 sciousness which the patient presents in the individual attacks 
 recalls the behaviour of the consciousness in MacNish’s case; 
 hence our case may be regarded as a transient phenomenon 
 of alternating consciousness. The dream-like hallucinatory 
 content of the limited consciousness in our case does not, 
 however, justify an unqualified assignment to this group of 
 double consciousness. The hallucinations in the second state 
 show a certain creativeness which seems to be conditioned 
 by the auto-suggestibility of this state. In Mesnet’s case 
 we noticed the appearance of hallucinatory processes from 
 simple stimulation of taste. The patient’s subconsciousness 
 employs simple perceptions for the automatic construction 
 of complicated scenes which then take possession of the 
 limited consciousness. A somewhat similar view must be 
 taken about our patient’s hallucinations; at least the ex¬ 
 ternal conditions which gave rise to the appearance of the 
 hallucinations seem to strengthen our supposition. The walk 
 in the cemetery induced the vision of the skeletons; the meet¬ 
 ing with the three boys arouses the hallucination of children 
 buried alive whose voices the patient hears at night-time. 
 
12 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 She arrived at the cemetery in a somnambulic state, which 
 on this occasion was specially intense in consequence of 
 her having taken alcohol. She performed actions almost 
 instinctively about which her subconsciousness nevertheless 
 did receive certain impressions. (The part played here by 
 alcohol must not be under-estimated. We know from expe¬ 
 rience that it does not only act adversely upon these condi¬ 
 tions, but, like every other narcotic, it gives rise to a certain 
 increase of suggestibility.) The impressions received in 
 somnambulism subconsciously form independent growths, 
 and finally reach perception as hallucinations. Thus our 
 case closely corresponds to those somnambulic dream-states 
 which have recently been subjected to a penetrating study 
 in England and France. 
 
 These lapses of memory, which at first seem without 
 content, gain a content by means of accidental auto-sugges¬ 
 tion, and this content automatically builds itself up to a 
 certain extent. It achieves no further development, probably 
 on account of the improvement now beginning, and finally 
 it disappears altogether as recovery sets in. Binet and Fere 
 have made numerous experiments on the implanting of sug¬ 
 gestions in states of partial sleep. They have shown, for 
 example, that when a pencil is put in the anaesthetic hand 
 of a hysteric, letters of great length are written automatic¬ 
 ally whose contents are unknown to the patient s conscious¬ 
 ness. Cutaneous stimuli in anesthetic regions are sometimes 
 perceived as visual images, or at least as vivid associated 
 visual presentations. These independent transmutations of 
 simple stimuli must be regarded as primary phenomena in 
 the formation of somnambulic dream-pictures. Analogous 
 manifestations occur in exceptional cases within the sphere 
 of waking consciousness. Goethe, 1 for instance, states that 
 
 1 Goethe: Zur Naturivissenschaft in Allgemeinen. “I was able, when I 
 closed my eyes and bent my head, to conjure the imaginary picture of a 
 flower. This flower did not retain its first shape for a single instant, but 
 unfolded out of itself, new flowers composed of coloured petals and green 
 leaves. They were not natural flowers, but phantastic ones. They were, as 
 regular in shape as a sculptor’s rosettes. It was impossible to fix the creation 
 which sprang up, nevertheless the dream image lasted as long as I desired it 
 to last; it neither faded nor got stronger.” 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 13 
 
 when he sat down, lowered his head and vividly conjured up 
 the image of a flower, he saw it undergoing changes of its 
 own accord, as if entering into new combinations. 
 
 In half-waking states these manifestations are relatively 
 frequent in the so-called hy pnagogi c hallucination^. The 
 automatisms which the Goethe example illustrates, are dif¬ 
 ferentiated from the truly somnambulic, inasmuch as the 
 primary presentation is a conscious one in this case; the 
 further development of the automatism is maintained within 
 the definite limits of the original presentation, that is, within 
 the purely motor or visual region. 
 
 If the primary presentation disappears, or if it is never 
 conscious at all, and if the automatic development overlaps 
 neighbouring regions, we lose every possibility of a demarca¬ 
 tion between waking automatisms and those of the somnam¬ 
 bulic state; this will occur, for instance, if the presentation 
 of a hand plucking the flower gets joined to the perception of 
 the flower or the presentation of the smell of the flower. We 
 can then only differentiate it by the more or less. In one 
 case we then speak of the “ waking hallucinations of the 
 normal,” in the other, of the dream-vision of the somnam¬ 
 bulists. The interpretation of our patient’s attacks as 
 hysterical becomes more certain by the demonstration of a 
 probably psychogenic origin of the hallucination. This is 
 confirmed by her troubles, headache and tenosynovitis, which 
 have shown themselves amenable to suggestive treatment. 
 The etiological factor alone is not sufficient for the diagnosis 
 of hysteria; it might really be expected a priori that in 
 the course of a disease which is so suitably treated by rest, 
 as in the treatment of an exhaustion-state, features would 
 be observed here and there which could be interpreted as 
 manifestations of exhaustion. The question arises whether 
 the early lapses and later somnambulic attacks could not be 
 conceived as states of exhaustion, so-called “ neurasthenic 
 crises.” We know that in the realm of psychopathic mental 
 deficiency, there can arise the most diverse epileptoid acci¬ 
 dents, whose classification under epilepsy or hysteria is at 
 least doubtful. To quote C. Westphal: “On the basis of 
 

 14 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 numerous observations, I maintain that the so-called epilep- 
 toid attacks form one of the most universal and commonest 
 symptoms in the group of diseases which we reckon among 
 the mental diseases and neuropathies; the mere appearance 
 of one or more epileptic or epileptoid attacks is not decisive 
 for its course and prognosis. As mentioned, I have used the 
 concept of epileptoid in the widest sense for the attack itself.” 1 
 
 The epileptoid moments of our case are not far to seek ; 
 the objection can, however, be raised that the colouring of the 
 whole picture is hysterical in the extreme. Against this, 
 however, it must be stated that every somnambulism is not 
 eo ipso hysterical. Occasionally states occur in typical 
 epilepsy which to experts seem fully parallel with somnam¬ 
 bulic states, 2 or which can only be distinguished by the 
 existence of genuine convulsions. 3 
 
 As Diehl shows, 4 in neurasthenic mental deficiency crises 
 also occur which often confuse the diagnosis. A definite 
 presentation-content can even create a stereotyped repetition 
 in the individual crisis. Lately Morchen has published a 
 case of epileptoid neurasthenic twilight state. 5 
 
 I am indebted to Professor Bleuler for the report of the 
 following case:— 
 
 An educated gentleman of middle age—without epileptic 
 antecedents—had exhausted himself by many years of over- 
 strenuous mental work. Without other prodromal symptoms 
 (such as depression, etc.) he attempted suicide during a 
 holiday; in a peculiar twilight state he suddenly threw him¬ 
 self into the water from a bank, in sight of many persons. 
 He was at once pulled out, and retained but a fleeting re¬ 
 membrance of the occurrence. 
 
 Bearing these observations in mind, neurasthenia must 
 be allowed to account for a considerable share in the attacks 
 
 1 C. Westphal, “ Die Agoraphobie,” Arch. f. Psych., III. p. 158. 
 
 2 Pick, Arch. f. Psych., XV. p. 202. 
 
 3 Allgem. Zeitschr. f. Psych., XXI. p. 78. 
 
 4 “ Neurasthenische Krisen,” Munch. Med. Woclienschr., M'arz, 1902, “When 
 the patients first describe their crises they generally give a picture that makes 
 us think of epileptic depression. I have often been deceived in this way.” 
 
 5 Morchen, “Ueber Dammerzustade,” Marburg, 1901, Fall. 32, p. 75. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 15 
 
 of our patient, Miss E. The headaches and the tenosynovitis 
 point to the existence of a relatively mild hysteria, generally 
 latent, but becoming manifest under the influence of ex¬ 
 haustion. The genesis of this peculiar illness explains the 
 relationship which has been described between epilepsy, 
 hysteria and neurasthenia. 
 
 Summary .—Miss Elise K. is a psychopathic defective 
 with a tendency to hysteria. Under the influence of nervous 
 exhaustion she suffers from attacks of epileptoid giddiness 
 whose interpretation is uncertain at first sight. Under the 
 influence of an unusually large dose of alcohol the attacks 
 develop into definite somnambulism with hallucinations, 
 which are limited in the same way as dreams to accidental 
 external perceptions. When the nervous exhaustion is cured, 
 the hysterical manifestations disappear. 
 
 In the region of psychopathic deficiency with hysterical 
 colouring, we encounter numerous phenomena which show, 
 as in this case, symptoms of diverse defined diseases, which 
 cannot be attributed with certainty to any one of them. 
 These phenomena are partially recognised to be independent, 
 for instance, pathological lying, pathological reveries, etc. 
 Many of these states, however, still await thorough scientific 
 investigation; at present they belong more or less to the 
 domain of scientific gossip. Persons with habitual hallucina¬ 
 tions, and also the inspired, exhibit these states; now as poet 
 or artist, now as saviour, prophet or founder of a new sect, 
 they draw the attention of the crowd to themselves. 
 
 The genesis of the peculiar frame of mind of these persons 
 is for the most part lost in obscurity, for it is only very 
 rarely that one of these remarkable personalities can be 
 subjected to exact observation. In view of the often great 
 historical importance of these persons, it is much to be wished 
 that we had some scientific material which would enable us 
 to gain a closer insight into the psychological development of 
 their peculiarities. Apart from the now practically useless 
 productions of the pneumatological school at the beginning 
 of the nineteenth century, German scientific literature is 
 very poor in this respect; indeed, there seems to be real 
 
16 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 aversion from investigation in this field. For the facts so far 
 gathered we are indebted almost exclusively to the labours of 
 French and English workers. It seems at least desirable 
 that our literature should be enlarged in this respect. These 
 considerations have induced me to publish some observations 
 which will perhaps help to further our knowledge about the 
 relationship of hysterical twilight states and enlarge the 
 problems of normal psychology. 
 
 Case of Somnambulism in a Person with Neuropathic 
 Inheritance (Spiritualistic Medium). 
 
 The following case was under my observation in the years 
 1899 and 1900. As I was not in medical attendance upon 
 Miss S. W., a physical examination for hysterical stigmata 
 could unfortunately not be made. I kept a complete diary of 
 the seances, which I filled up after each sitting. The following 
 report is a condensed account from these sketches. Out of 
 regard for Miss S. W. and her family a few unimportant dates 
 have been altered and a few details omitted from the story, 
 which for the most part is composed of very intimate matters. 
 
 Miss S. W., 15£ years old. Reformed Church. The 
 paternal grandfather was highly intelligent, a. clergyman 
 with frequent waking hallucinations (generally visions, often 
 whole dramatic scenes with dialogues, etc.). A brother of 
 the grandfather was an imbecile eccentric, who also saw 
 visions. A sister of the grandfather, a peculiar, odd cha¬ 
 racter. The paternal grandmother after some fever in her 
 20 th year (typhoid ?) had a trance which lasted three days, and 
 from which she did not awake until the crown of her head 
 had been burned by a red-hot iron. During stages of excite¬ 
 ment she later on had fainting fits which were nearly always 
 followed by short somnambulism during which she uttered 
 prophesies. Her father was likewise a peculiar, original 
 personality with bizarre ideas. All three had waking hallu¬ 
 cinations (second sight, forebodings, etc.). A third brother 
 was an eccentric, odd character, talented, but one-sided. 
 The mother has an inherited mental defect often bordering 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 17 
 
 on psychosis. The sister is a hysteric and visionary and a 
 second sister suffers from “nervous heart attacks.” Miss 
 S. W. is slenderly built, skull somewhat rachitic, without pro¬ 
 nounced hydrocephalus, face rather pale, eyes dark with a 
 peculiar penetrating look. She has had no serious illnesses. 
 At school she passed for average, showed little interest, was 
 inattentive. As a rule her behaviour was rather reserved, 
 sometimes giving place, however, to exuberant joy and ex¬ 
 altation. Of average intelligence, without special gifts, 
 neither musical nor fond of books, her preference is for 
 handwork—and day dreaming. She was often absent-minded, 
 misread in a peculiar way when reading aloud, instead of the 
 word Ziege (goat), for instance, said Gais, instead of Treppe 
 (stair), Stege; this occurred so often that her brothers and 
 sisteis laughed at her. There were no other abnormalities; 
 there were no serious hysterical manifestations. Her family 
 were artisans and business people with very limited interests. 
 Books of mystical content were never permitted in the family. 
 Her education was faulty, there were numerous brothers 
 and sisters, and thus the education was given indiscrimin¬ 
 ately, and in addition the children had to suffer a great deal 
 from the inconsequent and vulgar, indeed sometimes rough 
 treatment of their mother. The father, a very busy business 
 man, could not pay much attention to his children, and died 
 when S. W. was not yet grown up. Under these uncomfort¬ 
 able conditions it is no wonder that S. W. felt herself shut in 
 and unhappy. She was often afraid to go home, and preferred 
 to be anywhere rather than there. She was left a great deal 
 with playmates and grew up in this way without much polish. 
 The level of her education is relatively low and her interests 
 correspondingly limited. Her knowledge of literature is also 
 very narrow. She knows the common school songs by heart, 
 songs of Schiller and Goethe and a few other poets, as well 
 as fragments from a song book and the psalms. Newspaper 
 stories represent her highest level in prose. Up to the time 
 of her somnambulism she had never read any books of a 
 serious nature. At home and from friends she heard about 
 table-turning and began to take an interest in it. She asked 
 
 2 
 
18 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 to be allowed to take part in such experiments, and her desire 
 was soon gratified. In July 1899, she took part a few times 
 in table-turnings with some friends and her brothers and 
 sisters, but in joke. It was then discovered that she was 
 an excellent “ medium.” Some communications of a serious 
 nature arrived which were received with general astonish¬ 
 ment. Their pastoral tone was surprising. The spirit said 
 
 he was the grandfather of the medium. As I was acquainted 
 with the family I was able to take part in these experiments. 
 At the beginning of August, 1899, the first attacks of som¬ 
 nambulism took place in my presence. They took the follow¬ 
 ing course: S. W. became very pale, slowly sank to the 
 ground, or into a chair, shut her eyes, became cataleptic, 
 drew several deep breaths, and began to speak. In this stage 
 she was generally quite relaxed, the reflexes of the lids re¬ 
 mained, as did also tactile sensation. She was sensitive to 
 unexpected noises and full of fear, especially in the initial 
 
 ^She did not react when called by name. In somnambulic 
 dialogues she copied in a remarkably clever way her dead 
 relations and acquaintances with all their peculiarities, so 
 that she made a lasting impression upon unprejudiced 
 persons. She also so closely imitated persons whom she 
 only knew from descriptions, that no one could deny her at 
 least considerable talent as an actress. Gradually gestures 
 were added to the simple speech, which finally led to “ atti¬ 
 tudes passionelles ” and complete dramatic scenes. She took 
 up postures of prayer and rapture with staring eyes and spoke 
 with impassionate and glowing rhetoric. She then made use 
 exclusively of a literary German which she spoke with ease 
 and assurance quite contrary to her usual uncertain and 
 embarrassed manner in the waking state. Her movements 
 were free and of a noble grace, describing most beautifully 
 her varying emotions. Her attitude during these stages was 
 always changing and diverse in the different attacks. Now 
 she would lie for ten minutes to two hours on the sofa or 
 the ground motionless, with closed eyes; now she assumed a 
 half-sitting posture and spoke with changed tone and speech ; 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 19 
 
 now she would stand up, going through every possible 
 pantomimic gesture. Her speech was equally diversified and 
 without rule. Now she spoke in the first person, but 
 never for long, generally to prophesy her next attack; now 
 she spoke of herself (and this was the most usual) in the 
 third person. She then acted as some other person, either 
 some dead acquaintance or some chance person, whose part 
 she consistently carried out according to the characteristics 
 she herself conceived. At the end of the ecstasy there 
 usually followed a cataleptic state with flexibilitas cerea, 
 which gradually passed over into the waking state. The 
 waxy anaemic pallor which was an almost constant feature 
 of the attacks made one really anxious ; it sometimes occurred 
 at the beginning of the attack, but often in the second 
 half only. The pulse was then small but regular and of 
 normal frequency; the breathing gentle, shallow, or almost 
 imperceptible. As already stated, S. W. often predicted her 
 attacks beforehand; just before the attacks she had strange 
 sensations, became excited, rather anxious, and occasionally 
 expressed thoughts of death: “ she will probably die in one 
 of these attacks; during the attack her soul only hangs to 
 her body by a thread, so that often the body could scarcely 
 go on living. Once after the cataleptic attack tachypnoea 
 lasting two minutes was observed, with a respiration rate of 
 100 per minute. At first the attacks occurred spontaneously, 
 afterwards S. W. could provoke them by sitting in a dark 
 corner and covering her face with her hands. Frequently 
 the experiment did not succeed. She had so-called “ good ” 
 and bad days. The question of amnesia after the attacks 
 is unfortunately very obscure. This much is certain, that 
 after each attack she was quite accurately orientated as to 
 what she had gone through “ during the rapture.” It is, 
 however, uncertain how much she remembered of the con¬ 
 versations in which she served as medium, and of changes 
 m her surroundings during the attack. It often seemed 
 that she did have a fleeting recollection, for directly after 
 waking she would ask: “ Who was here ? Wasn’t X or Y 
 here ? What did he say ? ” She also showed that she was 
 
20 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY •' 
 
 superficially aware of the content of the conversations. She I 
 thus often remarked that the spirits had communicated to her 
 before waking what they had said. But frequently this was 
 not the case. If, at her request, the contents of the trance 
 speeches were repeated to her she was often annoyed abou 
 them. She was then often sad and depressed for hours ,i 
 together, especially when any unpleasant indiscretions had 
 occurred. She would then rail against the spirits and 
 assert that next time she would beg her guides to keep 
 such spirits far away. Her indignation was not feigned, for 
 in the waking state she could but poorly control herself and 
 her emotions, so that every mood was at once mirrored in 
 her face. At times she seemed but slightly or not at all 
 aware of the external proceedings during the attack, bhe 
 seldom noticed when any one left the room or came in. 
 Once she forbade me to enter the room when she was await¬ 
 ing special communications which she wished to keep secret 
 from me. Nevertheless I went in, and sat down with the 
 three others present and listened to everything. er eyes 
 were open and she spoke to those present without noticing 
 me She only noticed me when I began to speak, which , 
 gave rise to a storm of indignation. She remembered 
 better, but still apparently only in indefinite outlines, the 
 remarks of those taking part which referred to the trance 
 speeches or directly to herself. I could never discover any 
 
 definite rapport in this connection. 
 
 In addition to these great attacks which seemed to follow 
 a certain law in their course, S. W. produced a great number 
 of other automatisms. Premonitions, forebodings, unaccount¬ 
 able moods and rapidly changing fancies were all m the day s 
 work. I never observed simple states of sleep. On the other 
 hand I soon noticed that in the middle of a lively conversation 
 S W. became quite confused and spoke without meaning in a 
 peculiar monotonous way, and looked in front of her dreami y 
 with half-closed eyes. These lapses usually lasted but a few 
 minutes. Then she would suddenly proceed: Tes what 
 did vou sav ? ” At first she would not give any paiticulais 
 ,LTth,» .he ™aa reply off-haiitl that .he ~ 
 

 PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 21 
 
 a little giddy, had a headache, and so on. Later she simply 
 said: “they were there again/’ meaning her spirits. She 
 was subjected to the lapses, much against her will; she 
 often tried to defend herself: “I do not want to, not now, 
 come some other time; you seem to think I only exist for 
 you.” She had these lapses in the streets, in business, in 
 fact anywhere. If this happened to her in the street, she 
 leaned against a house and waited till the attack was over. 
 During these attacks, whose intensity was most variable, she 
 had visions; frequently also, especially during the attacks 
 where she turned extremely pale, she “ wandered ” ; or as 
 she expressed it, lost her body, and got away to distant 
 places whither her spirits led her. Distant journeys during 
 ecstasy strained her exceedingly; she was often exhausted 
 for hours after, and many times complained that the spirits 
 had again deprived her of much power, such overstrain was 
 now too much for her; the spirits must get another medium, 
 etc. Once she was hysterically blind for half an hour after 
 one of these ecstasies. Her gait was hesitating, feeling her 
 way; she had to be led; she did not see the candle which 
 was on the table. The pupils reacted. Visions occurred in 
 great numbers without proper “lapses” (designating by this 
 word only the higher grade of distraction of attention). At 
 first the visions only occurred at the beginning of the sleep. 
 Once after S. W. had gone to bed the room became lighted 
 up, and out of the general foggy light there appeared white 
 glittering figures. They were throughout concealed in white 
 veil-like robes, the women had a head-covering like a turban, 
 and a girdle. Afterwards (according to the statements of 
 S. W.), “ the spirits were already there ” when she went to 
 bed. Finally she saw the figures also in bright daylight, but 
 still somewhat blurred and only for a short time, provided 
 there were no proper lapses, in which case the figures became 
 solid enough to take hold of. But S. W. always preferred 
 darkness. According to her account the content of the vision 
 was for the most part of a pleasant kind. Gazing at the 
 beautiful figures she received a feeling of delicious blessed¬ 
 ness. More rarely there were terrible visions of a daemonic 
 
ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 22 
 
 nature. These were entirely confined to the night or to dark 
 rooms. Occasionlly S. W. saw black figures> m thejneigh- 
 bouring streets or in her room; once out in the dark court 
 yard she saw a terrible copper-red face which suddenly stared 
 It her and frightened her. I could not learn anything satis¬ 
 factory about the first occurrence of the vision. She states 
 that once at night, in her fifth or sixth year, she saw her 
 « guide,” her grandfather (whom she had never known). 1 
 could not get any objective confirmation from her relatives of 
 this early vision. Nothing of the kind is said to have happened 
 Site to* stoc. With the exception .(the hjJteW. 
 brightness and the flashes, there were no rudimentaiy hal 
 cinations, hut from the beginning they were of a systematic 
 nature involving all the sense-organs equally, bo tar as 
 “n«m.To intellectual reaction to thee, phenomena . 
 is remarkable with what curious sincerity che regarded 
 dreams Her entire somnambulic development, t 
 numerable puzzling .vents, seemed to he, entir.l, natural. 
 
 ShTlooked St he, entire paet in this light. I«S 
 event of earlier years stood to her in necessary and clear 
 relationship to her present condition. She ^s happy in th 
 consciousness of having found her real life task. Nato y 
 she was unswervingly convinced of the reality of ' 
 
 I often tried to present her with some sceptical explanat o , 
 
 brt .ho in.»abl, turned thi. ..id., in her »».IZt ho 
 she did not clearly grasp a reasoned explanation, 
 semi-somnambulic state she regarded it as senseless in v 
 of the facts staring her in the face. She once said. Id 
 not know if what the spirits say and teach me is tone,, neit 
 Ho linow if they are those by whose names they call the 
 CTw/that mv spirits exist there is no question. I see 
 
 I -touch them, I cp.uk to thorn .bout 
 
 everything' I It « loudly »d tej-iU “ “ 2 
 
 y i » QVip absolutely would not listen to tne 
 
 ssrir d y .»7 zzi .2 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 28 
 
 refused to experiment if I was there; hence I took care not 
 to express my doubts and thoughts aloud. From her im¬ 
 mediate relatives and acquaintances she received undivided 
 allegiance and admiration—they asked her advice about all 
 kinds of things. In time she obtained such an influence 
 upon her followers that three of her brothers and sisters like¬ 
 wise began to have hallucinations of a similar kind. Their 
 hallucinations generally began as night-dreams of a very vivid 
 and dramatic kind; these gradually extended into the waking 
 time, partly hypnagogic, partly hypnopompic. A married 
 sister had extraordinary vivid dreams which developed from 
 night to night, and these appeared in the waking consciousness; 
 at first as obscure illusions, next as real hallucinations, but 
 they never reached the plastic clearness of S. W.’s visions. 
 For instance, she once saw in a dream a black daemonic 
 figure at her bedside in animated conversation with a white, 
 beautiful figure, which tried to restrain the black one; never¬ 
 theless the black one seized her and tried to choke her, then 
 she awoke. Bending over her she then saw a black shadow 
 with a human contour, and near by a white cloudy figure. 
 The vision only disappeared when she lighted a candle. 
 Similar visions were repeated dozens of times. The visions 
 of the other two sisters were of a similar kind, but less intense. 
 This particular type of attack with the complete visions and 
 ideas had developed in the course of less than a month, 
 but never afterwards exceeded these limits. What was later 
 added to these was but the extension of all those thoughts 
 and cycles of visions which to a certain extent were already 
 indicated quite at the beginning. 
 
 As well as the “ great ” attacks and the lesser ones, there 
 must also be noted a third kind of state comparable to 
 “ lapse ” states. These are the semi-somnambulic states . 
 They appeared at the beginning or at the end of the “ great ” 
 attacks, but also appeared without any connection with them. 
 They developed gradually in the course of the first month. 
 It is not possible to give a more precise account of the time 
 of their appearance. In this state a fixed gaze, brilliant 
 eyes, and a certain dignity and stateliness of movement are 
 
24 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 noticeable. In this phase S. W. is herself, her own som¬ 
 nambulic ego. 
 
 She is fully orientated to the external world, but seems 
 to stand with one foot, as it were, in her dream-world. She 
 sees and hears her spirits, sees how they walk about in the 
 room among those who form the circle, and stand first by 
 one person, then by another. She is in possession of a clear 
 remembrance of her visions, her journeys and the instructions 
 she receives. She speaks quietly, clearly and firmly and 
 is always in a serious, almost religious frame of mind. Her 
 bearing indicates a deeply religious mood, free from all 
 pietistic flavour, her speech is singularly uninfluenced by 
 her guide’s jargon compounded of Bible and tract. Her 
 solemn behaviour has a suffering, rather pitiful aspect. She 
 is painfully conscious of the great differences between her 
 ideal world at night and the rough reality of the day. This 
 state stands in sharp contrast to her waking existence; there 
 is here no trace of that unstable and inharmonious creature, 
 that extravagant nervous temperament which is so charac¬ 
 teristic for the rest of her relationships. Speaking with her, 
 you get the impression of speaking with a much older person 
 who has attained through numerous experiences to a sure 
 harmonious footing. In this state she produced her best 
 results, whilst her romances correspond more closely to the 
 conditions of her waking interests. The semi-somnambulism 
 usually appears spontaneously, mostly during the table 
 experiments, which sometimes announced by this means that 
 S. W. was beginning to know beforehand every automatic 
 communication from the table. She then usually stopped 
 the table-turning and after a short time went more or less 
 suddenly into an ecstatic state. S. W. showed herself to 
 be very sensitive. She could divine and reply to simple 
 questions thought of by a member of the circle who was 
 not a “ medium,” if only the latter would lay a hand on the 
 table or on her hand. Genuine thought-transference with¬ 
 out direct or indirect contact could never be achieved. In 
 juxtaposition with the obvious development of her whole 
 personality the continued existence of her earlier ordinary 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 25 
 
 character was all the more startling. She imparted with 
 unconcealed pleasure all the little childish experiences, the 
 flirtations and love-secrets, all the rudeness and lack of 
 education of her parents and contemporaries. To every one 
 who did not know her secret she was a girl of fifteen and a 
 half, in no respect unlike a thousand other such girls. So 
 much the greater was people’s astonishment when they got 
 to know her from her other aspect. Her near relatives could 
 not at first grasp this change: to some extent they never 
 altogether understood it, so there was often bitter strife in 
 the family, some of them taking sides for and others against 
 S. W., either with enthusiastic over-valuation or with con¬ 
 temptuous censure of “ superstition.” Thus did S. W., 
 during the time I watched her closely, lead a curious, con¬ 
 tradictory life, a real “ double life ” with two personalities 
 existing side by side or closely following upon one another 
 and contending for the mastery. I now give some of the 
 most interesting details of the sittings in chronological order. 
 
 First and second sittings, August, 1899. S. W. at once 
 undertook to lead the “communications.” The “psycho¬ 
 graph,” for which an upturned glass tumbler was used, on 
 which two fingers of the right hand were laid, moved quick as 
 lightning from letter to letter. (Slips of paper, marked with 
 letter and numbers, had been arranged in a circle round the 
 glass.) It was communicated that the “ medium’s ” grand¬ 
 father was present and would speak to us. There then 
 followed many communications in quick sequence, of a most 
 religious, edifying nature, in part in properly made words, 
 partly in words with the letters transposed, and partly in a 
 series of reversed letters. The last words and sentences were 
 produced so quickly that it was not possible to follow without 
 first inverting the letters. The communications were once 
 interrupted in abrupt fashion by a new communication, which 
 announced the presence of the writer’s grandfather. On this 
 occasion the jesting observation was made: “ Evidently the 
 two ‘spirits’ get on very badly together.” During this 
 attempt darkness came on. Suddenly S. W. became very 
 disturbed, sprang up in terror, fell on her knees and cried 
 
26 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 “ There, there, do you not see that light, that star there ? ” 
 and pointed to a dark corner of the room. She became more 
 and more disturbed, and called for a light in terror. She was 
 pale, wept, “ it was all so strange she did not know in the 
 least what was the matter with her.” When a candle was 
 brought she became calm again. The experiments were now 
 stopped. 
 
 At the next sitting, which took place in the evening, two 
 days later, similar communications from S. W.’s grandfather 
 were obtained. When darkness fell S. W. suddenly leaned 
 back on the sofa, grew pale, almost shut her eyes, and lay 
 there motionless. The eyeballs were turned upwards, the 
 lid-reflex was present as well as tactile sensation. The 
 breathing was gentle, almost imperceptible. The pulse small 
 and weak. This attack lasted about half an hour, when 
 S. W. suddenly sighed and got up. The extreme pallor, 
 which had lasted throughout the whole attack, now gave 
 place to her usual pale pink colour. She was somewhat 
 confused and distraught, indicated that she had seen all 
 sorts of things, but would tell nothing. Only after urgent 
 questioning would she relate that in an extraordinary waking 
 condition she had seen her grandfather arm-in-arm with the 
 writer’s grandfather. The two had gone rapidly by in an 
 open carriage, side by side. 
 
 III. In the third seance, which took place some days 
 later, there was a similar attack of more than half an hour’s 
 duration. S. W. afterwards told of many white, transfigured 
 forms who each gave her a flower of special symbolic signifi¬ 
 cance. Most of them were dead relatives. Concerning the 
 exact content of their talk she maintained an obstinate silence. 
 
 IV. After S. W. had entered into the somnambulic state 
 she began to make curious movements with her lips, and 
 made swallowing gurgling noises. Then she whispered 
 very softly and unintelligibly. When this had lasted some 
 minutes she suddenly began to speak in an altered deep 
 voice. She spoke of herself in the third person. “ She is 
 not here, she has gone away.” There followed several com¬ 
 munications of a religious kind. From the content and the 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 27 
 
 way of speaking it was easy to conclude that she was imitating 
 her grandfather, who had been a clergyman. The content of 
 the talk did not rise above the mental level of the “ com¬ 
 munications.” The tone of the voice was somewhat forced, 
 and only became natural when, in the course of the talk, the 
 voice approximated to the medium’s own. 
 
 (In later sittings the voice was only altered for a few 
 moments when a new spirit manifested itself.) 
 
 Afterwards there was amnesia for the trance-conversa¬ 
 tion. She gave hints about a sojourn in the other world, 
 and she spoke of an undreamed-of blessedness which she felt. 
 It must be further observed that her conversation in the 
 attack followed quite spontaneously, and was not in response 
 to any suggestions. 
 
 Directly after this seance S. W. became acquainted with 
 the book of Justinus Kerner, “Die Seherin von Prevorst.” 
 She began thereupon to magnetise herself towards the end of 
 the attack, partly by means of regular passes, partly by 
 curious circles and figures of eight, which she described 
 symmetrically with both arms. She did this, she said, to 
 disperse the severe headaches which occurred after the 
 attacks. In the August seances, not detailed here, there 
 were in addition to the grandfather numerous spirits of 
 other relatives who did not produce anything very remark¬ 
 able. Each time when a new one came on the scene the 
 movement of the glass was changed in a striking way; it 
 generally ran along the rows of letters, touching one or other 
 of them, but no sense could be made of it. The ortho¬ 
 graphy was very uncertain and arbitrary, and the first 
 sentences were frequently incomprehensible or broken up 
 into a meaningless medley of letters. Generally automatic 
 writing suddenly began at this point. Sometimes automatic 
 writing was attempted during complete darkness. The 
 movements began with violent backward jerks of the 
 whole arm, so that the paper was pierced by the pencil. 
 The first attempt at writing consisted of numerous strokes 
 and zigzag lines about 8 cm. high. In later attempts there 
 came first unreadable words, in large handwriting, which 
 
28 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 gradually became smaller and clearer. It was not essentially 
 different from the medium’s own. The grandfather was 
 again the controlling spirit. 
 
 Y. Somnambulic attacks in September, 1899. S. W. sits 
 upon the sofa, leans back, shuts her eyes, breathes lightly 
 and regularly. She gradually became cataleptic, the catalepsy 
 disappeared after about two minutes, when S. W. lay in an 
 apparently quiet sleep with complete muscular relaxation. 
 She suddenly begins to speak in a subdued voice : “ No ! you 
 take the red, I’ll take the white, you can take the green, and 
 you the blue. Are you ready ? We will go now.” (A pause 
 of several minutes during which her face assumes a corpse¬ 
 like pallor. Her hands feel cold and are very bloodless.) She 
 suddenly calls out with a loud, solemn voice: “ Albert, 
 Albert, Albert,” then whispering: “Now you speak,” followed 
 by a longer pause, when the pallor of the face attains the 
 highest possible degree. Again, in a loud solemn voice, 
 “ Albert, Albert, do you not believe your father ? I tell you 
 many errors are contained in N.’s teaching. Think about 
 it.” Pause. The pallor of the face decreases. “ He’s very 
 frightened. He could not speak any more.” (These words 
 in her usual conversational tone.) Pause. “ He will certainly 
 think about it.” S. W. now speaks again in the same tone, 
 in a strange idiom which sounds like French or Italian, 
 now recalling the former, now the latter. She speaks 
 fluently, rapidly, and with charm. It is possible to under¬ 
 stand a few words but not to remember the whole, because 
 the language is so strange. From time to time certain 
 words recur, as wena , tuenes, wenai, wene, etc. The abso¬ 
 lute naturalness of the proceedings is bewildering. From 
 time to time she pauses as if some one were answering 
 her. Suddenly she speaks in German, “ Is time already 
 up?” (In a troubled voice.) “Must I go already? Good¬ 
 bye, goodbye.” With the last words there passes over her 
 face an indescribable expression of ecstatic blessedness. She 
 raises her arms, opens her eyes,—hitherto closed,—looks 
 radiantly upwards. She remains a moment thus, then her 
 arms sink slackly, her eyes shut, the expression of her face 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 29 
 
 is tired and exhausted. After a short cataleptic stage she 
 awakes with a sigh. She looks around astonished: “I’ve 
 slept again, haven’t I?” She is told she has been talking 
 during the sleep, whereupon she becomes much annoyed, 
 and this increases when she learns she has spoken in a 
 foreign tongue. “But didn’t I tell the spirits I don’t want 
 it ? It mustn’t be. It exhausts me too much.” Begins to 
 cry. “ Oh, God ! Oh, God! must then everything, everything, 
 come hack again like last time? Is nothing spared me?” 
 The next day at the same time there was another attack. 
 When S. W. has fallen asleep Ulrich von Gerbenstein sud¬ 
 denly announces himself. He is an entertaining chatterer, 
 speaks very fluently in high German with a North*German 
 accent. Asked what S. W. is now doing; after much circum¬ 
 locution he explains that she is far away, and he is meanwhile 
 here to look after her body, the circulation of the blood, the 
 respiration, etc. He must take care that meanwhile no 
 black person takes possession of her and harms her. Upon 
 urgent questioning he relates that S. W. has gone with the 
 others to Japan, to appear to a distant relative and to 
 restrain him from a stupid marriage. He then announces 
 in a whisper the exact moment when the manifestation takes 
 place. Forbidden any conversation for a few minutes, he 
 points to the sudden pallor occurring in S. W., remarking 
 that materialisation at such a great distance is at the cost of 
 correspondingly great force. He then orders cold bandages 
 to the head to alleviate the severe headache which would 
 occur afterwards. As the colour of the face gradually 
 becomes more natural the conversation grows livelier. All 
 kinds of childish jokes and trivialities are uttered; suddenly 
 U. von G. says, “I see them coming, but they are still very 
 far off; I see them there like a star.” S. W. points to 
 the North. We are naturally astonished, and ask why they 
 do not come from the East, whereto U. von G. laughingly 
 retorts: “ Oh, but they come the direct way over the North 
 Pole. I am going now; farewell.” Immediately after S. W. 
 sighs, wakes up, is ill-tempered, complains of extremely bad 
 headache. She saw U. von G. standing by her body; what 
 
30 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 had he told us ? She gets angry about the “ silly chatter ” 
 from which he cannot refrain. 
 
 VI. Begins in the usual way. Extreme pallor; lies 
 stretched out, scarcely breathing. Speaks suddenly, with 
 loud, solemn voice: “ Yes, be frightened ; I am ; I warn 
 you against N/s teaching. See, in hope is everything that 
 belongs to faith. You would like to know who I am. God 
 gives where one least expects it. Do you not know me ? ” 
 Then unintelligible whispering; after a few minutes, she 
 awakes. 
 
 VII. S. W. soon falls asleep; lies stretched out on the 
 sofa. Is very pale. Says nothing, sighs deeply from time 
 to time. Casts up her eyes, rises, sits on the sofa, bends 
 forward, speaks softly: “You have sinned grievously, have 
 fallen far.” Bends forward still, as if speaking to some one 
 who kneels before her. She stands up, turns to the right, 
 stretches out her hands, and points to the spot over which 
 she has been bending. “Will you forgive her?” she asks, 
 loudly. “ Do not forgive men, but their spirits. Not she, 
 but her human body has sinned.” Then she kneels down, 
 remains quite still for about ten minutes in the attitude of 
 prayer. Then she gets up suddenly, looks to heaven with 
 ecstatic expression, and then throws herself again on her 
 knees, with her face bowed on her hands, whispering in¬ 
 comprehensible words. She remains rigid in this position 
 several minutes. Then she gets up, looks again upwards 
 with a radiant countenance, and lies down on the sofa; and 
 soon after wakes. 
 
 Development of the Somnambulic Personalities. 
 
 At the beginning of many seances, the glass was allowed 
 to move by itself, when occasionally the advice followed in 
 stereotyped fashion : “ You must ask.” 
 
 Since convinced spiritualists took part in the seances, all 
 kinds of spiritualistic wonders were of course demanded, and 
 especially the “protecting spirits/’ In reply, sometimes 
 names of well-known dead people were produced, sometimes 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 81 
 
 unknown names, e.g. Berthe de Valours, Elizabeth von Thier- 
 felsenburg, Ulrich von Gerbenstein, etc. The controlling 
 spirit was almost without exception the medium’s grand¬ 
 father, who once explained: “ he loved her more than any one 
 in this world because he had protected her from childhood 
 up, and knew all her thoughts.” This personality produced 
 a flood of Biblical maxims, edifying observations, and song- 
 book verses ; the following is a specimen :— 
 
 In true believing, 
 
 To faith in God cling ever nigh, 
 
 Thy heavenly comfort never leaving, 
 
 Which having, man can never die. 
 
 Refuge in God is peace for ever, 
 
 When earthly cares oppress the mind 
 Who from the heart can pray is never 
 Bowed down by fate, howe’er unkind. 
 
 Numerous similar elaborations betrayed by their banal, 
 unctuous contents their origin in some tract or other. When 
 S. W. had to speak in ecstasy, lively dialogues developed 
 between the circle-members and the somnambulic personality. 
 The content of the answers received is essentially just the 
 same commonplace edifying stuff as that of the psycho¬ 
 graphic communications. The character of this personality 
 is distinguished by its dry and tedious solemnity, rigorous 
 conventionality and pietistic virtue (which is not consistent 
 with the historic reality). The grandfather is the medium’s 
 guide and protector. During the ecstatic state he gives all 
 kinds of advice, prophesies later attacks, and the visions she 
 will see on waking, etc. He orders cold bandages, gives 
 directions concerning the medium’s lying down or the date 
 of the seances. His relationship to the medium is an ex¬ 
 tremely tender one. In liveliest contrast to this heavy dream- 
 person stands a personality, appearing first sporadically, 
 in the psychographic communications of the first seance. It 
 soon disclosed itself as the dead brother of a Mr. R., who 
 was then taking part in the seance. This dead brother, Mr. 
 P. It., was full of commonplaces about brotherly love towards 
 his living brother. He evaded particular questions in all 
 
32 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 manner of ways. But be developed a quite astonishing 
 eloquence towards the ladies of the circle and in particular 
 offered his allegiance to one whom Mr. P. B. had never 
 known when alive. He affirmed that he had already cared 
 very much for her in his lifetime, had often met her in the 
 street without knowing who she was, and was now un¬ 
 commonly delighted to become acquainted with her in this 
 unusual manner. With such insipid compliments, scornful 
 remarks to the men, harmless childish jokes, etc., he took up 
 a large part of the seance. Several of the members found 
 fault with, the frivolity and banality of this “ spirit,” where¬ 
 upon he disappeared for one or two seances, but soon 
 reappeared, at first well-behaved, often indeed uttering 
 Christian maxims, but soon dropped back into the old 
 tone. Besides these two sharply differentiated personalities, 
 others appeared who varied but little from the grandfather’s 
 type; they were mostly dead relatives of the medium. The 
 general atmosphere of the first two months’ seances was 
 accordingly solemnly edifying, disturbed only from time to 
 time by Mr. P. R.’s trivial chatter. Some weeks after the 
 beginning of the seances, Mr. B. left our circle, whereupon 
 a remarkable change took place in Mr. P. B.’s conversation. 
 He became monosyllabic, came less often, and after a few 
 seances vanished altogether, and later on appeared with 
 great infrequency, and for the most part only when the 
 medium was alone with the particular lady mentioned. Then 
 a new personality forced himself into the foreground ; in 
 contrast to Mr. P. R., who always spoke the Swiss dialect, 
 this gentleman adopted an affected North-German way of 
 speaking. In all else he was an exact copy of Mr. P. R. His 
 eloquence was somewhat remarkable, since S. W. had only a 
 very scanty knowledge of high German, whilst this new per¬ 
 sonality, who called himself Ulrich von Gerbenstein, spoke 
 an almost faultless German, rich in charming phrases and 
 compliments. 1 
 
 Ulrich von Gerbenstein is a witty chatterer, full of 
 
 1 It must be noted that a frequent guest in S. W.’s home was a gentleman 
 who spoke high German. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 33 
 
 repartee, an idler, a great admirer of the ladies, frivolous, 
 and most superficial. 
 
 During the winter of 1899-1900 he gradually came to 
 dominate the situation more and more, and took over one by 
 one all the above-mentioned functions of the grandfather, so 
 that under his influence the serious character of the seances 
 disappeared. 
 
 All suggestions to the contrary proved unavailing, and at 
 last the seances had on this account to be suspended for 
 longer and longer intervals. There is a peculiarity common 
 to all these somnambulic personalities which must be noted. 
 They have access to the medium’s memory, even to the 
 unconscious portion, they are also au courant with the visions 
 which she has in the ecstatic state, but they have only the 
 most superficial knowledge of her phantasies during the ecstasy. 
 Of the somnambulic dreams they know only what they occa¬ 
 sionally pick up from the members of the circle. On doubtful 
 points they can give no information, or only such as contradicts 
 the medium’s explanations. The stereotyped answer to these 
 questions runs: “Ask Ivenes.” 1 “ Ivenes knows.” From 
 the examples given of different ecstatic moments it is clear 
 that the medium’s consciousness is by no means idle during 
 the trance, but develops a striking and multiplex phantastic 
 activity. For the reconstruction of S. W.’s somnambulic 
 self we have to depend altogether upon her several state¬ 
 ments ; for in the first place her spontaneous utterances 
 connecting her with the waking self are few, and often 
 irrelevant, and in the second very many of these ecstatic 
 states go by without gesture, and without speech, so that no 
 conclusions as to the inner happenings can afterwards be 
 drawn from the external appearances. S. W. is almost totally 
 amnesic for the automatic phenomena during ecstasy as far as 
 they come within the territory of the new personalities of her ego. 
 Of all the other phenomena , such as loud talking , babbling, etc., 
 which are directly connected with her own ego she usually has a 
 clear remembrance. But in every case there is complete 
 amnesia only during the first few minutes after the ecstasy. 
 
 1 Ivenes is the mystical name of the medium’s somnambulic self. 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Within the first half-hour, during which there usually prevails 
 a kind of semi-somnambulism with a dream-like manner, 
 hallucinations, etc., the amnesia gradually disappears, whilst 
 fragmentary memories emerge of what has occurred, but in a 
 quite irregular and arbitrary fashion. 
 
 The later seances were usually begun by our hands being 
 joined and laid on the table, whereon the table at once began 
 to move. Meanwhile S. W. gradually became somnambulic, 
 took her hands from the table, lay back on the sofa, and fell 
 into the ecstatic sleep. She sometimes related her experiences 
 to us afterwards, but showed herself very reticent if strangers 
 were present. After the very first ecstasy she indicated that 
 she played a distinguished role among the spirits. She had 
 a special name, as had each of the spirits; hers was Irenes; 
 her grandfather looked after her with particular care. In the 
 ecstasy with the flower-vision we learnt her special secret, 
 hidden till then beneath the deepest silence. During the 
 seances in which her spirit spoke, she made long journeys, 
 mostly to relatives, to whom she said she appeared, or she found 
 herself on the Other Side, in “ That space between the stars 
 which people think is empty; but in which there are really very 
 many spirit-worlds.” In the semi-somnambulic state which 
 frequently followed her attacks, she once described, in peculiar 
 poetic fashion, a landscape on the Other Side, “ a wondrous, 
 moon-lit valley, set aside for the races not yet horn.” She 
 represented her somnambulic ego as being almost completely 
 released from the body. It is a fully-grown but small black¬ 
 haired woman, of pronounced Jewish type, clothed in white 
 garments, her head covered with a turban. She understands 
 and speaks the language of the spirits, “for spirits still, 
 from old human custom, do speak to one another, although 
 they do not really need to, since they mutually understand 
 one another’s thoughts.” She “ does not really always talk 
 with the spirits, but just looks at them, and so understands 
 their thoughts.” She travels in the company of four or 
 five spirits, dead relatives, and visits her living relatives 
 and acquaintances in order to investigate their life and their 
 way of thinking; she further visits all places which lie 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 85 
 
 within the radius of these spectral inhabitants. From her 
 acquaintanceship with Kerner’s book, she discovered and 
 improved upon the ideas of the black spirits who are kept 
 enchanted in certain places, or exist partly beneath the 
 earth’s surface (compare the “ Seherin von Prevorst ”). 
 This activity caused her much trouble and pain; in and 
 after the ecstasy she complained of suffocating feelings, 
 violent headache, etc. But every fortnight, on Wednesdays, 
 she could pass the whole night in the garden on the Other 
 Side in the company of holy spirits. There she was taught 
 everything concerning the forces of the world, the endless 
 complicated relationships and affinities of human beings, and 
 all besides about the laws of reincarnation, the inhabitants 
 of the stars, etc. Unfortunately only the system of the 
 world forces and reincarnation achieved any expression. 
 As to the other matters she only let fall disconnected 
 observations. For example, once she returned from a rail¬ 
 way journey in an extremely disturbed state. It was thought 
 at first something unpleasant had happened, till she managed 
 to compose herself, and said, “ A star-inhabitant had sat 
 opposite to her in the train.” From the description which 
 she gave of this being I recognised a well-known elderly 
 merchant I happened to know, who has a rather unsym¬ 
 pathetic face. In connection with this experience she related 
 all kinds of peculiarities of these star-dwellers; they have 
 no god-like souls, as men have, they pursue no science, no 
 philosophy, but in technical arts they are far more advanced 
 than men. Thus on Mars a flying-machine has long been 
 in existence; the whole of Mars is covered with canals, 
 these canals are cleverly excavated lakes and serve for 
 irrigation. The canals are quite superficial; the water in 
 them is very shallow. The excavating caused the inhabi¬ 
 tants of Mars no particular trouble, for the soil there is 
 lighter than the earth’s. The canals are nowhere bridged, 
 but that does not prevent communication, for everything 
 travels by flying-machine. Wars no longer occur on the 
 stars, for no differences of opinion exist. The star-dwellers 
 have not human bodies, but the most laughable ones possible, 
 
36 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 such as one would never imagine. Human spirits who are 
 allowed to travel on the Other Side may not set foot on the 
 stars. Equally, wandering star-dwellers may not come to 
 the earth, but must remain at a distance of twenty-five 
 metres above the earth’s surface. Should they transgress 
 they remain in the power of the earth, and must assume 
 human bodies, and are only set free again after their natural 
 death. As men, they are cold, hard-hearted, cruel. S. W. 
 recognises them by a singular expression in which the 
 “ Spiritual ” is lacking, and by their hairless, eyebrowless, 
 sharply-cut faces. Napoleon was a star-dweller. 
 
 In her journeys she does not see the places through 
 which she hastens. She has a feeling of floating, and the 
 spirits tell her when she is at the right spot. Then, as a 
 rule, she only sees the face and upper part of the person 
 to whom she is supposed to appear, or whom she wishes to 
 see. She can seldom say in what kind of surroundings she 
 sees this person. Occasionally she saw me, but only my 
 head without any surroundings. She occupied herself much 
 with the enchanting of spirits, and for this purpose she 
 wrote oracular sayings in a foreign tongue, on slips of paper 
 which she concealed in all sorts of queer places. An Italian 
 murderer, presumably living in my house, and whom she 
 called Conventi, was specially displeasing to her. She tried 
 several times to cast a spell upon him, and without my know¬ 
 ledge hid several papers about, on which messages were 
 written; these were later found by chance. One such, written 
 in red ink, was as follows : 
 
 Marche. 4 govi 
 
 Conventi 
 
 Conventi, go 
 orden, Astaf 
 
 Ivenes. 
 
 vent. 
 
 Gen palus, vent allis 
 ton prost afta ben genallis. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 37 
 
 Unfortunately, I never obtained any translation of this. 
 S. W. was quite inaccessible in this matter. Occasionally 
 the somnambulic Ivenes speaks directly to the public. She 
 does so in dignified fashion, rather precociously; but she is 
 not wearisomely unctuous and impossibly twaddling as are 
 her two guides; she is a serious, mature person, devout and 
 pious, full of womanly tenderness and great modesty, always 
 yielding to the judgments of others. This expression of 
 plaintive emotion and melancholy resignation is peculiar to 
 her. She looks beyond this world, and unwillingly returns to 
 reality; she bemoans her hard lot, and her unsympathetic 
 family surroundings. Associated with this there is something 
 elevated about her; she commands her spirits, despises the 
 twaddling chatter of Gerbenstein, consoles others, directs 
 those in distress, warns and protects them from dangers to 
 body and soul. She is the intermediary for the entire intel¬ 
 lectual output of all manifestations, but she herself ascribes 
 it to the direction of the spirits. It is Ivenes who entirely 
 controls S. W.’s semi-somnambulic state. 
 
 In semi-somnambulism S. W. gave some of those taking 
 part in the seances the opportunity to compare her with 
 the “ Seherin von Prevorst ” (Prophetess of Prevorst). This 
 suggestion was not without results. S. W. gave hints of 
 earlier existences which she had already lived through, and 
 after a few weeks she disclosed suddenly a whole system 
 of reincarnations, although she had never before mentioned 
 anything of the kind. Ivenes is a spiritual being who is 
 something more than the spirits of other human beings. 
 Every human spirit must incorporate himself twice in the 
 course of the centuries. But Ivenes must incorporate herself 
 at least once every two hundred years; besides herself only 
 two other persons have participated in this fate, namely, 
 Swedenborg and Miss Florence Cook (Crookes’s famous 
 medium). S. W. calls these two personages her brother and 
 sister. She gave no information about their pre-existences. 
 In the beginning of the nineteenth century Ivenes was Frau 
 Hauffe, the Prophetess of Prevorst; at the end of the 
 eighteenth century, a clergyman’s wife in central Germany 
 
38 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 (locality unknown). As the latter she was seduced by Goethe 
 and bore him a child. In the fifteenth century she was a 
 Saxon countess, and had the poetic name of Thierfelsenburg. 
 Ulrich von Gerbenstein is a relative from that line. The 
 interval of 300 years, and her adventure with Goethe, must 
 be atoned for by the sorrows of the Prophetess of Prevorst. 
 In the thirteenth century she was a noblewoman of Southern 
 France, called de Valours, and was burnt as a witch. 
 From the thirteenth century to the Christian persecution 
 under Nero there were numerous reincarnations of which 
 S. W. could give no detailed account. In the Christian 
 persecution under Nero she played a martyr’s part. Then 
 comes a period of obscurity till the time of David, when 
 Ivenes was an ordinary Jewess. After her death she received 
 from Astaf, an angel from a high heaven, the mandate for 
 her future wonderful career. In all her pre-existences she 
 was a medium and an intermediary in the intercourse 
 between this side and the other. Her brothers and sisters 
 are equally old and have the like vocation. In her various 
 pre-existences she was sometimes married, and in this way 
 gradually founded a whole system of relationships with 
 whose endless complicated inter-relations she occupied her¬ 
 self in many ecstasies. Thus, for example, about the eighth 
 century she was the mother of her earthly father and, more¬ 
 over, of her grandfather, and mine. Hence the striking 
 friendship of these two old gentlemen, otherwise strangers. 
 As Mme. de Valours she was the present writer’s mother. 
 When she was burnt as a witch the writer took it much to 
 heart, and went into a cloister at Rouen, wore a grey habit, 
 became Prior, wrote a work on Botany and died at over eighty 
 years of age. In the refectory of the cloister there hung a 
 picture of Mme. de Valours, in which she was depicted in a 
 half-reclining position. (S. W. in the semi-somnambulic 
 state often took this position on the sofa. It corre¬ 
 sponds exactly to that of Mme. Recamier in David’s well- 
 known picture.) A gentleman who often took part in the 
 seances, and had some slight resemblance to the writer, 
 was also one of her sons from that period. Around this core 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 89 
 
 of relationship there grouped themselves, more or less inti¬ 
 mately connected, all persons in any way related or known 
 to her. One came from the fifteenth century, another—a 
 cousin—from the eighteenth century, and so on. 
 
 From the three great family stocks grew by far the 
 greater part of the present European peoples. She and her 
 brothers and sisters are descended from Adam, who arose by 
 materialisation; the other then-existing families, from whom 
 Cain took his wife, were descended from apes. S. W. pro¬ 
 duced from this circle of relationship an extensive family- 
 gossip, a very flood of romantic stories, piquant adventures, 
 etc. Sometimes the target of her romances was a lady 
 acquaintance of the writer’s who for some undiscoverable 
 reason was peculiarly antipathetic to her. She declared 
 that this lady was the incarnation of a celebrated Parisian 
 poisoner, who had achieved great notoriety in the eighteenth 
 century. She maintained that this lady still continued her 
 dangerous work, but in a much more ingenious way than 
 formerly; through the inspiration of the wicked spirits who 
 accompany her she had discovered a liquid which when 
 merely exposed to the air attracted tubercle bacilli and 
 formed a splendid developing medium for them. By means 
 of this liquid, which she was wont to mix with the food, 
 the lady had brought about the death of her husband (who 
 had indeed died from tuberculosis); also one of her lovers, 
 and her own brother, for the sake of his inheritance. Her 
 eldest son was an illegitimate child by her lover. As a 
 widow she had secretly borne to another lover an illegitimate 
 child, and finally she had had an unnatural relationship with 
 her own brother (who was later on poisoned). In this way 
 S. W. spun innumerable stories, in which she believed quite 
 implicitly. The persons of these stories appeared in the 
 drama of her visions, as did the lady before referred to, going 
 through the pantomime of making confession and receiving 
 absolution of sins. Everything interesting occurring in her 
 surroundings was incorporated in this system of romances, 
 and given an order in the network of relationships with a 
 more or less exact statement as to their pre-existences and 
 
40 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the spirits influencing them. It fared thus with all who 
 made S. W.’s acquaintance: they were valued at a second 
 or first incarnation, according as they possessed a marked 
 or indefinite character. They were generally described as 
 relatives, and always exactly in the same definite way. 
 Only subsequently, often several weeks later, after an 
 ecstasy, there would make its appearance a new com¬ 
 plicated romance which explained the striking relationship 
 through pre-existences or through illegitimate relations. 
 Persons sympathetic to S. W. were usually very near rela¬ 
 tives. These family romances were all very carefully made 
 up, with the exception of those mentioned, so that to con¬ 
 tradict them was impossible. They were always carried 
 out with quite bewildering certainty, and surprised one by 
 an extremely clever valuation of certain details which she 
 had noticed or taken from somewhere. For the most part 
 the romances had a ghastly character, murder by poison and 
 dagger, 'seduction and divorce, forgery of wills, played the 
 chief role. 
 
 Mystic Science .—In reference to scientific questions S. W. 
 put forward numerous suggestions. Generally towards the 
 end of the seances there was talk and debate about various 
 objects of scientific and spiritistic nature. S. W. never took 
 part in the discussion, but generally sat dreamily in a 
 corner in a semi-somnambulic state. She listened to one 
 and another, taking hold of the talk in a half-dream, but she 
 could never relate anything connectedly; if asked about it 
 only partial explanations were given. In the course of the 
 winter hints emerged in various seances: “ The spirits 
 taught her about the world-forces, and the strange revela¬ 
 tions from the other side, yet she could not tell anything 
 now.” Once she tried to give a description, but only said: 
 “ On one side was the light, on the other the power of 
 attraction.” Finally, in March, 1900, when for some time 
 nothing had been heard of these things at the stances, she 
 announced suddenly with a joyful face that she had now 
 received everything from the spirits. She drew out a long 
 narrow strip of paper upon which w T ere numerous names. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 41 
 
 Although I asked for it she would not let it leave her hands, 
 but dictated the following scheme to me. 
 
 I can remember clearly that in the course of the winter 
 of 1895 we spoke several times in S. W.’s presence of the 
 forces of attraction and repulsion in connection with Kant’s 
 “ Natural History of the Heavens ”; we spoke also of the 
 “ Law of the Conservation of Energy,” of the different forces 
 
 of energy, and of the question whether the force of gravity 
 was perhaps a form of movement. From this talk S. W. had 
 plainly created the foundation of her mystic system. She 
 gave the following explanation: The natural forces are 
 arranged in seven circles. Outside these circles are three 
 more, in which unknown forces intermediate between energy 
 and matter are found. Matter is found in seven circles 
 which surround ten inner ones. In the centre stands 
 
42 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the primary force, which is the original cause of crea¬ 
 tion and is a spiritual force. The first circle which 
 surrounds the primary force is matter which is not really 
 a force and does not arise from the primary force, but 
 it unites with the primary force and from this union the 
 first descendants are the spiritual forces; on the one hand 
 the Good or Light Powers, on the other the Dark Powers. 
 The Power Magnesor consists most of primary force; the 
 Power Connesor, in which the dark might of matter is 
 greatest, contains the least. The further outwards the 
 primary force streams forth the weaker it becomes, but 
 weaker too becomes the power of matter, since its power is 
 greatest where the collision with the primary power is most 
 violent, i.e. in the Power Connesor. Within the circles there 
 are fresh analogous forces of equal strength but making in 
 the opposite direction. The system can also be described in 
 a single series beginning with primary force, Magnesor, 
 Cafor, etc., proceeding from left to right on the scheme and 
 ascending with Tusa, Endos, ending with Connesor; only 
 then the survey of the grade of intensity is made more 
 difficult. Every force in the outer circle is combined from 
 the nearest adjacent forces of the inner circle. 
 
 1. The Magnesor Group .—The so-called powers of Light 
 descend in direct line from Magnesor, but slightly influenced 
 by the dark side. The powers Magnesor and Cafor form 
 together the so-called Life Force, which is no single power 
 but is differently combined in animals and plants. Between 
 Magnesor and Cafor there exists the Life Force of Man. 
 Morally good men and those mediums which bring about 
 interviews of good spirits in the earth have most Magnesor. 
 Somewhere about the middle there stand the life forces of 
 animals, and in Cafor that of plants. Nothing is known about 
 Hefa, or rather S. W. can give no information. Persus is 
 the fundamental power which comes to light in the pheno¬ 
 menon of the forces of locomotion. Its recognisable forces 
 are Warmth, Light, Electricity, Magnetism, and two un¬ 
 known forces, one of which only exists in comets. Of the 
 powers of the seventh circle S. W. could only point out north 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 48 
 
 and south magnetism and positive and negative electricity. 
 Deka is unknown. Smar is of peculiar significance, to be 
 indicated below; it leads to— 
 
 2. Hypnos Group.—Hypnos and Hyfonismus are powers 
 which only dwell within certain beings, in those who are 
 in a position to exert a magnetic influence upon others. 
 Athialowi is the sexual instinct. Chemical affinity is directly 
 derived from it. In the ninth circle under it arises indolence 
 (that is the line of Smar). Svens and Kara are of unknown 
 significance. Pusa corresponds to Smar in the opposite 
 sense. 
 
 8. The Connesor Group .—Connesor is the opposite pole of 
 Magnesor. It is the dark and wicked power equal in intensity 
 to the good power of light. While the good power creates, 
 this one turns into the opposite. Endos is an elemental power 
 of minerals. From these (significance unknown) gravitation 
 proceeds, which on its side is designated as the elemental 
 force of the forces of resistance that occur in phenomena 
 (gravity, capillarity, adhesion and cohesion). Nakus is the 
 secret power of a rare stone which controls the effect of snake 
 poison. The two powers Smar and Pusa have a special 
 importance. According to S. W., Smar develops in the bodies 
 of morally good men at the moment of death. This power 
 enables the soul to rise to the powers of light. Pusa behaves 
 in the opposite way, for it is the power which conducts 
 morally bad people to the dark side in the state of Connesor. 
 
 In the sixth circle the visible world begins, which only 
 appears to be so sharply divided from the other side in 
 consequence of the fickleness of our organs of sense. In 
 reality the transition is a very gradual one, and there are 
 people who live on a higher stage of knowledge because their 
 perceptions and sensations are more delicate than those of 
 others. Great seers are enabled to see manifestations of force 
 where ordinary people can perceive nothing. S. W. sees 
 Magnesor as a white or bluish vapour, which chiefly develops 
 when good spirits are near. Connesor is a dark vapour-like 
 fluid, which, like Magnesor, develops on the appearance of 
 “black” spirits. For instance, the night before the beginning 
 
44 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of great visions the shiny vapour of Magnesor spreads in 
 thick layers, out of which the good spirits grow to visible 
 white forces. It is just the same with Connessor. But these 
 powers have their dffierent mediums. S. W. is a Magnesor 
 medium, as were the Prophetess of Prevorst and Sweden¬ 
 borg. The materialisation mediums of the spiritualists are 
 mostly Connesor mediums, because materialisation takes 
 place much more easily through Connesor on account of its 
 close connection with the properties of matter. In the 
 summer of 1900 S. W. tried several times to produce the 
 circles of matter, but she never arrived at other than vague 
 and incomprehensible hints and afterwards spoke no more 
 about this. 
 
 Conclusion .—The really interesting and valuable seances 
 came to an end with the production of the system of powers. 
 Even before there was noticeable a gradual decline in the 
 vividness of the ecstasies. Ulrich von Gerbenstein came 
 increasingly to the front, and filled up the seances with his 
 childish chatter. The visions which S. W. had in the mean¬ 
 time likewise seem to have lost vividness and plasticity 
 of formation, for S. W. was afterwards only able to feel 
 pleasant sensations in the presence of good spirits, and dis¬ 
 agreeableness in that of bad spirits. Nothing new was 
 produced. There was something of uncertainty in the trance 
 talks, as if feeling and seeking for the impression which she 
 was making upon the audience, together with an increasing 
 staleness in the content. In the outward behaviour of S. W. 
 there arose also a marked shyness and uncertainty, so that 
 the impression of wilful deception became ever stronger. 
 The writer therefore soon withdrew from the seances. S. W. 
 experimented afterwards in other circles, and six months 
 after my leaving was caught cheating in flagranti delicto. 
 She wanted to arouse again by spiritualistic experiments the 
 lost belief in her supernatural powers; she concealed small 
 objects in her dress, throwing them up in the air during the 
 dark seance. With this her part was played out. Since this 
 eighteen months have passed during which I have not seen 
 S. W. I have learnt from an observer who knew her from 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OP OCCULT PHENOMENA 45 
 
 the earlier times, she has now and again strange states of 
 short duration during which she is very pale and silent, and 
 has a fixed glittering look. I did not hear any more of visions. 
 She is said not to take part any more in spiritualistic seances. 
 S. W. is now in a large business, and according to all accounts 
 is an industrious and responsible person who does her work 
 eagerly and cleverly, giving entire satisfaction. According to 
 the account of trustworthy persons, her character has much 
 improved; she has become quieter, more regular and sympa¬ 
 thetic. No other abnormalities have appeared in her. This 
 case contains a mass of psychological problems, in spite of 
 its incompleteness, whose exposition goes far beyond the 
 limits of this little work. We must therefore be satisfied 
 with a mere sketch of the various striking manifestations. 
 For a more lucid exposition it seems better to review the 
 various states separately. 
 
 1. The Waking State—Here the patient shows various 
 peculiarities. As we have seen, at school she was often dis¬ 
 tracted, lost herself in a peculiar way, was moody; her 
 behaviour changes indefinitely, now quiet, shy, reserved, now 
 lively, noisy and talkative. She cannot be called unintelli¬ 
 gent, but she strikes one sometimes as narrow-minded, some¬ 
 times as having isolated intelligent moments. Her memory 
 is good on the whole, but owing to her distraction it is much 
 impaired. Thus, despite much discussion and reading of 
 Kerner’s “ Seherin von Prevorst,” for many weeks, she does not 
 know whether the author’s name is Koerner or Kerner , nor 
 the name of the Prophetess, if directly asked. All the same, 
 when it occasionally comes up, the name Kerner is correctly 
 written in the automatic communications. In general it 
 may be said that her character has something extremely 
 impulsive, incomprehensible, protean. Deducting the want 
 of balance due to puberty, there remains a pathological 
 residue which expresses itself in reactions which follow" 
 no rule and a bizarre unaccountable character. This 
 character may be called desequilibre y or unstable. It re¬ 
 ceives a specific mould from features which can certainly 
 be regarded as hysterical. This is decidedly so in the 
 
46 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 conditions of distraction. As Janet 1 maintains, the foundation 
 of hysterical anaesthesia is the loss of attention. He was able 
 to prove in youthful hysterics “ a striking indifference and 
 distracted attention in the whole region of the emotional 
 life.” Misreading is a notable instance, which illustrates 
 hysterical dispersion of attention most beautifully. The 
 psychology of this process may perhaps be viewed as follows : 
 during reading aloud, attention becomes paralysed for this act 
 and is directed towards some other object. Meanwhile the 
 reading is continued mechanically, the sense impressions are 
 received as before, but in consequence of the dispersion the 
 excitability of the perceptive centre is lowered, so that the 
 strength of the sense impression is no longer adequate to 
 fix the attention in such a way that perception as such 
 is conducted along the motor speech route; thus all the 
 inflowing associations which at once unite with any new 
 sense impression are repressed. The further psychological 
 mechanism permits of only two possible explanations: 
 
 (1) The admission of the sense impression is received uncon¬ 
 sciously (because of the increase of threshold stimulus), in the 
 perceptive centre just below the threshold of consciousness, 
 and consequently is not incorporated in the attention and 
 conducted back to the speech route. It only reaches verbal 
 expression through the intervention of the nearest associa¬ 
 tions, in this case the dialect expression 2 for this object. 
 
 (2) The sense impression is perceived consciously, but at the 
 moment of its entrance into the speech route it reaches a 
 territory whose excitability is diminished by the dispersion 
 of attention. At this place the dialect word is substituted 
 by association for the motor speech image, and it is uttered 
 as such. In either case it is certain that it is the acoustic 
 dispersed attention which fails to correct the error. Which 
 of the two explanations is correct cannot be cleared up 
 in this case; probably both approach the truth, for the 
 dispersion ot attention seems to be general, and in each 
 case concerns more than one of the centres engaged in the 
 act of reading aloud. In our case this phenomenon has a 
 
 1 “ On Hysterics.” 2 See page 17, 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 47 
 
 special value, for we have here a quite elementary automatic 
 phenomenon. It may be called hysterical in so far as in this 
 concrete case a state of exhaustion and intoxication with its 
 parallel manifestations can be excluded. A healthy person 
 only exceptionally allows himself to be so engaged by an 
 object that he fails to correct the errors of a dispersed atten¬ 
 tion—those of the kind described. The frequency of these 
 occurrences in the patient, point to a considerable limitation 
 of the field of consciousness in so far as she can only 
 master a relative minimum of elementary sensations flowing 
 in at the same time. If we wish to describe more exactly 
 the psychological state of the “psychic shady side,” we 
 might call it either a sleeping or a dream-state, according 
 as passivity or activity predominated. There is, at all 
 events, a pathological dream state of very rudimentary exten¬ 
 sion and intensity; its genesis is spontaneous ; dream-states 
 arising spontaneously with the production of automatisms 
 are generally regarded on the whole as hysterical. It 
 must be pointed out that these instances of misreading 
 occurred frequently in the patient, and that the term 
 hysterical is employed in this sense; so far as we know, it 
 is only on a foundation of hysterical constitution that spon¬ 
 taneous states of partial sleep or dreams occur frequently. 
 
 Binet 1 has studied experimentally the automatic sub¬ 
 stitution of some adjacent association in his hysterics. If 
 he pricked the anaesthetic hand of the patient without 
 his noticing the prick, he thought of “ points ”; if the 
 anaesthetic finger was moved, he thought of “sticks” or 
 “columns.” When the anaesthetic hand, concealed from 
 the patient’s sight by a screen, writes “ Salpetriere,” the 
 patient sees in front of her the word “ Salpetriere ” in white 
 writing on a black ground. This recalls the experiments 
 above referred to of Guinon and Sophie Waltke. 
 
 We thus find in the patient, at a time when there was 
 nothing to indicate the later phenomena, rudimentary auto¬ 
 matisms, fragments of dream manifestations, which bear in 
 themselves the possibility that some day more than one 
 
 1 Binet, “ Les alterations de la personnalite.” 
 
48 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 association would creep in between the perception of the dis¬ 
 persed attention and consciousness. The misreading shows 
 us moreover a certain automatic independence of the 
 psychical elements. This occasionally expands to a more or 
 less fleeting dispersion of attention, although with very slight 
 results and never in any way striking or suspicious; this 
 dispersedness approximates to that of the physiological 
 dream. The misreading can be thus conceived as a pro¬ 
 dromal symptom of the later events; especially as its 
 psychology is prototypical for the mechanism of somnam¬ 
 bulic dreams, which are indeed nothing but a many-sided 
 multiplication and manifold variation of the elementary pro¬ 
 cesses reviewed above. I never succeeded in demonstrating 
 during my observations similar rudimentary automatisms. 
 It would seem that in course of time, the states of dispersed 
 attention, to a certain extent beneath the surface of con¬ 
 sciousness, at first of low degree, have grown into these 
 remarkable somnambulic attacks ; hence they disappeared 
 during the waking state, which was free from attacks. So 
 tar as concerns the development of the patient’s character 
 beyond a certain not very extensive ripening, no remarkable 
 change could be demonstrated during the observations lasting 
 nearly two years. More remarkable is the fact that in the 
 two years since the cessation (complete ?) of the somnambulic 
 attacks, a considerable change in character has taken place. 
 We shall have occasion later on to speak of the importance 
 of this observation. 
 
 Semi-Somnambulism .—In S. W.’s case the following con¬ 
 dition was indicated by the term semi-somnambulism. For 
 some time after and before the actual somnambulic attack 
 the patient finds herself in a state whose most salient feature 
 can best be described as “preoccupation.” She only lends 
 half an ear to the conversation around her, answers at 
 random, often gets absorbed in all manner of hallucinations ; 
 her face is solemn, her look ecstatic, visionaiy, ardent. 
 Closer observation discloses a far-reaching alteration of the 
 entire character. She is now serious, dignified; when she 
 speaks her subject is always an extremely serious one. In 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OP OCCULT PHENOMENA 49 
 
 this condition she can talk so seriously, forcibly and con¬ 
 vincingly, that one is tempted to ask oneself if this is really 
 a girl of fifteen and a half. One has the impression of a 
 mature woman possessed of considerable dramatic talent. 
 The reason for this seriousness, this solemnity of behaviour, 
 is given in her explanation that at these times she stands at 
 the frontier of this world and the other, and associates just 
 as truly with the spirits of the dead as with living people. 
 And, indeed, her conversation is usually divided between 
 answers to real objective questions and hallucinatory ones. 
 I call this state semi-somnambulism because it coincides 
 with Richet s own definition. He 1 says i “La conscience 
 de cet individu persiste dans son integrite apparente, toutefois 
 des operations tres compliquees vont s’accomplir en dehors 
 de la conscience sans que le moi volontaire et conscient 
 paraisse ressentir une modification quelconque. Une autre 
 personne sera en lui qui agira, pensera, voudra, sans que 
 la conscience, c est a dire le moi reflechi conscient, ait la 
 moindre notion.” 
 
 Binet 2 says of this term: “Le terme indique la parente 
 de cet etat avec le somnambulisme veritable, et en suite il 
 laisse comprendre que la vie somnamblique qui se manifeste 
 duiant la veille est reduite, deprimee, par la conscience 
 normale qui la recouvre.” 
 
 Automatisms. 
 
 Semi-somnambulism is characterised by the continuity 
 of consciousness with that of the waking state and by the 
 appearance of various automatisms which give evidence of 
 an activity of the subconscious self, independent of that 
 of consciousness. 
 
 Oui case shows the following automatic phenomena: 
 
 (1) Automatic movements of the table. 
 
 (2) Automatic writing. 
 
 (3) Hallucinations. 
 
 1 Richet, Rev. Phil., 1884, II. p. 650. 
 
 2 Binet, “ Les alterations de la personnalite,” p. 139. 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 1. Automatic Movements of the Table .—Before the patient 
 came under my observation she had been influenced by the 
 suggestion of “ table-turning ” which she had first come 
 across as a game. As soon as she entered the circle there 
 appeared communications from members of her family which 
 showed her to be a medium. I could only find out 
 that as soon as ever her hand was placed on the table, 
 the typical movements began. The resulting communica¬ 
 tions have no interest for us. But the automatic charactei 
 of the act itself deserves some discussion, for we may, with¬ 
 out more ado, set aside the imputation that there was any 
 question of intentional and voluntary pushing or pulling on 
 the part of the patient. 
 
 As we know from the investigations of Chevreul, 1 Gley, 
 Lehmann and others, unconscious motor phenomena are 
 not only of frequent occurrence among hysterical persons, 
 and those pathologically inclined in other directions, but 
 they are also relatively easily produced in normal persons 
 who show no other spontaneous automatisms. I have made 
 many experiments on these lines, and can confirm this 
 observation. In the great majority of instances all that is 
 required is enough patience to put up with an hour of quiet 
 waiting. In most subjects motor automatisms will be ob¬ 
 tained in a more or less high degree if contra-suggestions 
 do not intervene as obstacles. In a relatively small pei- 
 centage the phenomena arise spontaneously, i.e. directly 
 under the influence of verbal suggestion or of some earlier 
 auto-suggestion. In this instance the case is poweifully 
 affected by suggestion. In general the particular predis¬ 
 position is subject to all those laws which also hold good 
 for normal hypnosis. Nevertheless certain special circum¬ 
 stances are to be taken into account, conditioned by the 
 peculiarity of the case. It is not a question of a total 
 hypnosis, but of a partial one, limited entirely to the 
 motor area of the arm, like the cerebral anesthesia pro¬ 
 duced by “magnetic passes” for a painful spot in the 
 
 1 Complete references in Binet, “ Les alterations, p. 19 1 , footnote. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 51 
 
 body. Wo touch the spot in question employing verbal 
 suggestion or making use of some existing auto-suggestion, 
 and of the tactile stimulus which we know acts sugges¬ 
 tively, to bring about the desired partial hypnosis. In 
 accordance with this procedure refractory subjects can 
 rather easily be brought to an exhibition of automatism. 
 The experimenter intentionally gives the table a slight push, 
 or, better, a series of rhythmic but very slight taps. After 
 a short time he notices that the oscillations become stronger, 
 that they continue although he has interrupted his own 
 intentional movements. The experiment has succeeded, the 
 subject has unsuspectingly taken up the suggestion. By 
 this procedure much more is obtained than by verbal sug¬ 
 gestion. In very receptive persons and in all those cases 
 where movement seems to arise spontaneously, the pur¬ 
 poseful tremulous movements, 1 not perceptible by the subject, 
 assume the role of agent provocateur. 
 
 In this way persons who by themselves have never ob¬ 
 tained automatic movements of a coarse calibre, sometimes 
 assume the unconscious guidance of the table-movements, 
 provided that the tremors are strong and that the medium 
 understands their meaning. In this case the medium takes 
 control of the slight oscillations and returns them consider¬ 
 ably strengthened; but rarely at exactly the same instant, 
 generally a few seconds later, in this way revealing the agent’s 
 conscious or unconscious thought. By means of this simple 
 mechanism there may arise those cases of thought-reading 
 so bewildering at first sight. A very simple experiment, 
 that succeeds in many cases even with unpractised persons, 
 will serve to illustrate this. The experimenter thinks, say, 
 of the number four , and then waits, his hands quietly resting 
 on the table, until he feels that the table makes the first 
 
 As is known, during the waking state the hands and arms are never quite 
 still, but are constantly subjected to fine tremors. Preyer, Lehmann, and 
 others have proved that these movements are influenced in a high degree by 
 the predominant presentations. Preyer shows that the outstretched hand 
 drew small, more or less faithful, copies of figures which were vividly pre¬ 
 sented. These purposeful tremors can be demonstrated in a very simple way 
 by experiments with the pendulum. 
 
52 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 inclination to announce the number thought of. He lifts his 
 hands off the table immediately, and the number four will 
 be correctly tilted out. It is advisable in this experiment 
 to place the table upon a soft thick carpet. By close 
 attention the experimenter will occasionally notice a move¬ 
 ment of the table which is thus represented. 
 
 
 (1) Purposeful tremors too slight to be perceived by 
 the subject. 
 
 (2) Several very small but perceptible oscillations of 
 the table which indicate that the subject is re¬ 
 sponding to them. 
 
 (B) The big movements (tilts) of the table, giving the 
 number four that was thought of. 
 
 (ab) Denotes the moment when the operator’s hands 
 are removed. 
 
 This experiment succeeds excellently with well-disposed 
 but inexperienced subjects. After a little practice the 
 phenomenon indicated is wont to disappear, since by practice 
 the number is read and reproduced directly from the purpose¬ 
 ful movements. 1 
 
 In a responsive medium the purposeful tremors of the 
 agent act here just as the intentional taps in the experiment 
 
 i Cf. Preyer, “ Die Erklarung des Gedankenlesens,” Leipzig, 1886 . 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 53 
 
 cited above; they are received, strengthened and reproduced, 
 although slightly wavering. Still they are perceptible and 
 hence act suggestively as slight tactile stimuli, and by the 
 increase of partial hypnosis give rise to great automatic 
 movements. This experiment illustrates in the clearest way 
 the increase step by step of auto-suggestion. Along the path 
 of this auto-suggestion are developed all the automatic 
 phenomena of a motor nature. How the intellectual content 
 gradually mingles in with the purely motor need scarcely be 
 elucidated after this discussion. There is no need of a special 
 suggestion for the evoking of intellectual phenomena. From 
 the outset it is a question of word-presentation, at least from 
 the side of the experimenter. After the first aimless motor 
 irrelevancies of the unpractised subject, some word products 
 or the intentions of the experimenter are soon reproduced. 
 Objectively the occurrence of an intellectual content must be 
 understood as follows :— 
 
 By the gradual increase of auto-suggestion the motor- 
 range of the arm becomes isolated from consciousness, that 
 is to say, the perception of the slight movement-impulse is 
 concealed from consciousness. 1 
 
 By the knowledge gained from consciousness that some 
 intellectual content is possible, there results a collateral 
 excitation in the speech-area as the means immediately at 
 hand for intellectual notification. The motor part of word- 
 presentation is necessarily chiefly concerned with this aiming 
 at notification. 2 3 In this way we understand the unconscious 
 flowing over of speech-impulse to the motor-area ^ and con¬ 
 versely the gradual penetration of partial hypnosis into the 
 speech area. 
 
 In numerous experiments with beginners, as a rule I have 
 
 1 Analogous to certain hypnotic experiments in the waking state. Cf. 
 Janet’s experiment when by a whispered suggestion he induced a patient to 
 lie flat on the ground without being aware of it (“ L’Automatisme ”). 
 
 2 Charcot’s scheme of word-picture combination: 1, Auditory image. 2, 
 Visual image. 3, Motor image, a, Speech image, fi, Writing image. In 
 Gilbert Ballet, “ Die innerliche Sprache,” Leipzig and Wien, 1890. 
 
 3 Bain says, “Thought is a suppressed word or a suppressed act” (“The 
 Senses and the Intellect ”). 
 
54 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 observed at the beginning of intellectual phenomena a rela¬ 
 tively large number of completely meaningless words, also 
 often a series of meaningless single letters. Later on all 
 kinds of absurdities are produced, e.g. words or entire 
 sentences with the letters irregularly misplaced or with the 
 order of the letters all reversed—a kind of mirror-writing. 
 The appearance of the letter or word indicates a new 
 suggestion; some sort of association is involuntarily joined 
 to it, which is then realised. Eemarkably enough, these are 
 not generally the conscious associations, but quite unexpected 
 ones, a circumstance showing that a considerable part of 
 the speech-area is already hypnotically isolated. The re¬ 
 cognition of this automatism again forms a fruitful suggestion, 
 since invariably at this moment the feeling of strangeness 
 arises, if it is not already present in the pure motor-auto¬ 
 matism. The question, “Who is doing this?” “Who is speak¬ 
 ing?” is the suggestion for the synthesis of the unconscious 
 personality which as a rule does not like being kept wait¬ 
 ing too long. Any name is introduced, generally one charged 
 with emotion, and the automatic splitting of the person¬ 
 ality is accomplished. How accidental and how vacillating 
 this synthesis is at its beginning, the following reports from 
 the literature show. Myers 1 communicates the following 
 interesting observation on a Mr. A., a member of the 
 Society for Psychical Research who was making experiments 
 on himself in automatic writing. 
 
 Third Day. 
 
 Question : What is man ? 
 
 Answer: TEFI H HASL ESBLE LIES. 
 Question: Is that an anagram ? Yes. 
 
 How many words does it contain ? Five. 
 
 What is the first word ? SEE. 
 
 1 Proceedings of S.P.R., 1885. “ Automatic writing.” 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 55 
 
 What is the second word ? SEEEE. 
 
 See ? Shall I interpret it myself ? Try to. 
 
 Mr. A. found this solution : “ Life is less able.” He was 
 astonished at this intellectual information, which seemed to 
 him to prove the existence of an intelligence independent of 
 his own. Therefore he went on to ask : 
 
 Who are you ? Clelia. 
 
 Are you a woman ? Yes. 
 
 Have you ever lived upon the earth ? No. 
 
 Will you come to life ? Yes. 
 
 When ? In six years. 
 
 Why are you conversing with me ? E if Clelia el. 
 
 Mr. A. interpreted this answer as: I Clelia feel. 
 
 Fourth Day. 
 
 Question : Am I the one who asks the questions ? Yes. 
 
 Is Clelia there ? No. 
 
 Who is here then ? Nobody. 
 
 Does Clelia exist at all ? No. 
 
 With whom then was I speaking yesterday? With 
 no one. 
 
 Janet 1 conducted the following conversation with the 
 sub-consciousness of Lucie, who, meanwhile, was engaged 
 in conversation with another observer. “ M’entendez-vous ? ” 
 asks Janet. Lucie answers by automatic writing, “ Non.” 
 “ Mais pour repondre il faut entendre ? ” “ Oui, absolument.” 
 “Alors comment faites-vous ? ” “Je ne sais.” “II faut 
 bien qu’il y ait quelqu’un qui m’entend ? ” “Oui.” “ Qui 
 cela! Autre que Lucie. Ah bien! Une autre personne. 
 Voulez-vous que nous lui donnions un nom ? ” “ Non.” “ Si, 
 ce sera plus commode.” “Eh bien, Adrienne!” “Alors, 
 Adrienne, m’entendez-vous ? ” “ Oui.” 
 
 From these quotations it will be seen in what way the 
 subconscious personality is constructed. It owes its origin 
 
 1 Pie:re Janet, “ L’Automatisme Psychologique,” p. 317, Paris, 1889. 
 
56 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 purely to suggestive questions meeting a certain disposition 
 of the medium. This explanation is the result of the 
 disintegration of the psychical complex; the feeling of the 
 strangeness of such automatisms then comes in to help, as 
 soon as conscious attention is directed to the automatic act. 
 Binet 1 remarks on this experiment of Janet’s : “ II faut bien 
 remarquer que si la personnalite d’Adrienne a pu se creer, c’est 
 qu’elle a rencontre une possibility psychologique ; en d’autres 
 termes, il y avait la des phenomenes desagreges vivant separes 
 de la conscience normale du sujet.” The individualisation 
 of the sub-consciousness always denotes a considerable further 
 step of great suggestive influence upon the further formation 
 of automatisms. 2 So, too, we must regard the origin of the 
 unconscious personalities in our case. 
 
 The objection that there is simulation in automatic table¬ 
 turning may well be given up, when one considers the 
 phenomenon of thought-reading from the purposeful tremors 
 which the patient offered in such plenitude. Bapid, con¬ 
 scious thought-reading demands at the least an extraordinary 
 degree of practice, which it has been shown the patient did 
 not possess. By means of the purposeful tremors whole 
 conversations can be carried on, as in our case. In the 
 same way the suggestibility of the subconscious can be 
 proved objectively if, for instance, the experimenter with his 
 hand on the table desires that the hand of the medium should 
 no longer be able to move the table or the glass; contrary to 
 all expectation and to the liveliest astonishment of the 
 subject, the table will immediately remain immovable. 
 Naturally any other desired suggestions can be realised, 
 provided they do not overstep by their innervations the 
 region of partial hypnosis; this proves at the same time 
 the limited nature of the hypnosis. Suggestions for the 
 legs and the other arm will thus not be obeyed. Table¬ 
 turning is not an automatism which belongs exclusively 
 
 1 “ Les Alterations,” p. 132. 
 
 2 “ Une fois baptise, le personnage inconscient est plus determine et plus 
 net, il montre mieux ses caracteres psychologiques ” (Janet, “ L’Automa- 
 tisme,” p. 318). 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 57 
 
 to the patient’s semi-somnambulism: on the contrary, it 
 occurred in the most pronounced form in the waking state, 
 and in most cases then passed over into semi-somnam¬ 
 bulism, the appearance of this being generally announced 
 by hallucinations, as it was at the first sitting. 
 
 2. Automatic Writing .—A second automatic phenomenon ; 
 which at the outset corresponds to a higher partial hypnosis, 
 is automatic writing. It is, according to my experience, 
 much rarer and more difficult to produce than table-turning. 
 As in table-turning, it is again a matter of a primary sug¬ 
 gestion, to the conscious when sensibility is retained, to the 
 unconscious when it is obliterated. The suggestion is, how¬ 
 ever, not a simple one, for it already bears in itself an 
 intellectual element. “ To write ” means “ to write some¬ 
 thing.” This special element of the suggestion which 
 extends beyond the merely motor often conditions a certain 
 perplexity on the part of the subject, giving rise to slight 
 contrary suggestions which hinder the appearance of the 
 automatisms. I have observed in a few cases that the sug¬ 
 gestion is realised, despite its relative venturesomeness (it 
 was directed towards the waking consciousness of a so-called 
 normal person). However, it takes place in a peculiar way; 
 it first displaces the purely motor part of the central system 
 concerned in hypnosis, and the deeper hypnosis is then 
 reached by auto-suggestion from the motor phenomenon, 
 analogous to the procedure in table-turning described above. 
 The subject, 1 who has a pencil in his hand, is purposely 
 engaged in conversation whilst his attention is diverted from 
 the writing. The hand begins to make movements, begin¬ 
 ning with many upward strokes and zigzag lines, or a 
 simple line is made. Occasionally it happens that the pencil 
 does not touch the paper, but writes in the air. These move¬ 
 ments must be conceived as purely motor phenomena, which 
 correspond to the expression of the motor element in the 
 presentation “ write.” This phenomenon is somewhat rare; 
 generally single letters are first written, and what was said 
 
 1 Of. the corresponding experiments of Binet and F6r6. See Binet, “ Les 
 Alterations.” 
 
58 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 above of table-turning holds true of their combination into 
 words and sentences. True mirror-writing is also observed 
 here and there. In the majority of cases, and perhaps 
 in all experiments with beginners who are not under 
 some very special suggestion, the automatic writing is that 
 of the subject. Occasionally its character may be greatly 
 changed, 1 but this is secondary, and is always to be regarded 
 as a symptom of the intruding synthesis of a subconscious 
 personality. 
 
 As stated, the patient’s automatic writing never came to 
 any very great development. In these experiments, generally 
 
 carried out in darkness, she passed over into semi-somnam¬ 
 bulism, or into ecstasy. The automatic writing had thus the 
 same effect as the preliminary table-turning. 
 
 3. The Hallucinations .—The nature of the passing into 
 somnambulism in the second seance is of psychological 
 importance. As stated, the automatic phenomena were pro¬ 
 gressing favourably when darkness came on. The most 
 interesting event of this seance, so far, was the brusque 
 interruption of the communication from the grandfather, 
 which was the starting-point of various debates amongst the 
 members of the circle. These two momentous occurrences, 
 the darkness and the striking event, seem to have been the 
 foundation for a rapid deepening of hypnosis, in consequence 
 of which the hallucinations could be developed. The psycho¬ 
 logical mechanism of this process seems to be as follows: 
 
 1 Cf. corresponding tests by Flournoy: “ Des Indes a la planete Mars. 
 Etude sur un cas de somnambulisme avec glossolalie.” Paris and Geneva, 
 1900. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 59 
 
 The influence of darkness upon the suggestibility of the 
 sense-organs is well known. 1 Binet 2 states that it has a 
 special influence on hysterics producing a state of sleepiness. 
 As is clear from the foregoing, the patient was in a state 
 of partial hypnosis and had constituted herself one with 
 the unconscious personality in closest relationship to her in 
 the domain of speech. The automatic expression of this 
 personality is interrupted most unexpectedly by a new person, 
 of whose existence no one had any suspicion. Whence 
 came this cleavage ? Obviously the eager expectation of 
 this first seance had very much occupied the patient. Her 
 reminiscences of me and my family had probably grouped 
 themselves around this expectation; hence these suddenly 
 come to light at the climax of the automatic expression. 
 That it was just my grandfather and no one else—not, e.g., 
 my deceased father, who, as she knew, was much closer to 
 me than the grandfather whom I had never known—perhaps 
 suggests where the origin of this new person is to be sought. 
 It is probably a dissociation of the personality already present 
 which seized upon the material next at hand for its expres¬ 
 sion, namely, upon the associations concerning myself. How 
 far this is parallel to the experiences revealed by dream 
 investigation (Freud’s 3 ) must remain undecided, for we have 
 no means of judging how far the effect mentioned can be 
 considered a “repressed” one. From the brusque inter¬ 
 ruption of the new personality we may conclude that the 
 presentations concerned were very vivid, with corresponding 
 intensity of expectation. This perhaps was an attempt to 
 overcome a certain maidenly shyness and embarrassment. 
 This event reminds us vividly of the manner in which the 
 dream presents to consciousness, by a more or less trans¬ 
 parent symbolism, things one has never said to oneself 
 clearly and openly. We do not know when this dissociation 
 of the new personality occurred, whether it had been slowly 
 
 1 Gf. Hagen, “ Zur Theorie des Hallucinationen,” Allg. Zeitschrift f. 
 Psych., XXV. 10. 
 
 2 Binet, “ Les Alterations,” p. 157. 
 
 3 “ Die Traumdeutung,” 1900. 
 
60 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 prepared in the unconscious, or whether it first occurred in 
 the sdance. In any case this event meant a considerable 
 progress in the extension of the unconscious sphere rendered 
 accessible through the hypnosis. At the same time this 
 event must be regarded as powerfully suggestive in regard 
 to the impression which it made upon the waking conscious¬ 
 ness of the patient. For the perception of this unexpected 
 intervention of a new power must inevitably excite a feeling 
 of the strangeness of the automatisms, and would easily 
 suggest the thought that an independent spirit is here making 
 itself known. Hence the intelligible association that she 
 would finally be able to see this spirit. The situation that 
 ensued at the second seance is to be explained by the coin¬ 
 cidence of this energising suggestion with the heightened 
 suggestibility conditioned by the darkness. The hypnosis and 
 with it the series of dissociated presentations break through 
 to the visual area, and the expression of the unconscious, 
 hitherto purely motor, is made objective, according to the 
 measure of the specific energy of the new system, in the 
 shape of visual images with the character of hallucinations, 
 not as a mere accompanying phenomenon of the word-auto¬ 
 matism, but as a substituted function. The explanation of 
 the situation that arose in the first seance, at that time un¬ 
 expected and inexplicable, is no longer presented in words, 
 but as a descriptive allegorical vision. The sentence “ they 
 do not hate one another, but are friends,” is expressed 
 in a picture. We often encounter events of this kind in 
 somnambulism. The thinking of somnambulists is given in 
 plastic images which constantly break into this or that 
 sense-sphere and are made objective in hallucinations. The 
 process of reflection sinks into the subconscious; only its 
 end-results arise to consciousness as presentations vividly 
 tinged by the senses, or directly as hallucinations. In our 
 case the same thing occurred as in the patient whose 
 anaesthetic hand Binet pricked nine times, which made her 
 think of the figure 9; or as in Flournoy’s 1 Helen Smith, 
 
 1 Flournoy, l.c., p. 55. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 61 
 
 who, when asked during business-hours about certain patterns, 
 suddenly saw the number of days (18) for which they had 
 been lent, at a length of 20 mm. in front of her. The 
 further question arises, why does the automatism appeal in 
 the visual and not in the acoustic sphere ? There are several 
 grounds for this choice of the visual sphere. 
 
 (1) The patient is not gifted acoustically; she is, for 
 
 instance, very unmusical. 
 
 (2) There was no stillness corresponding to the darkness 
 which might have favoured the appearance of sounds; there 
 was a lively conversation. 
 
 (3) The increased conviction of the near presence of 
 spirits, because the automatism felt so strange, could easily 
 have aroused the idea that a spirit might be seen, thus 
 causing a slight excitation of the visual sphere. 
 
 (4) The entoptic phenomena in darkness favoured the 
 occurrence of hallucinations. 
 
 The reasons (3) and (4)—the entoptic phenomena in the 
 darkness and the probable excitation of the visual sphere are 
 of decisive importance for the appearance of hallucinations. 
 The entoptic phenomena in this case play the same role in 
 the auto-suggestion, the production of the automatism, as the 
 slight tactile stimuli in hypnosis of the motor centre. As 
 stated, flashes preceded the first hallucinatory twilight-state. 
 Obviously attention was already at a high pitch, and directed 
 to visual perceptions, so that the retina’s own light, usually 
 very weak, was seen with great intensity. The part played 
 by entoptic perceptions of light in the origin of hallucinations 
 deserves further consideration. Schiile 1 says : “ The swarm¬ 
 ing of light and colour which stimulates and animates the 
 field of vision although in the dark, supplies the material for 
 phantastic figures in the air before falling asleep. As we 
 know, absolute darkness is never seen; a few particles of 
 the dark field of vision are always illumined; flecks of light 
 move here and there, and combine into all kinds of figures ; 
 it only needs a moderately active imagination to create 
 
 1 Schiile, “ Handbuch,” p. 134. 
 
ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 out of them, as one does out of clouds, certain known 
 figures. The power of reasoning, fading as one falls asleep, 
 leaves phantasy free play to construct very vivid figures. 
 In the place of the light spots, haziness and changing 
 
 colours of the dark visual field, there arise definite outlines of 
 objects.” 1 
 
 In this way hypnagogic hallucinations arise. The chief 
 role naturally belongs to the imagination, hence imaginative 
 people in particular are subject to hypnagogic hallucinations. 2 
 
 The hypnopompic hallucinations described by Myers arise in 
 the same way. 
 
 It is highly probable that hypnagogic pictures are iden- 
 tical with the dream-pictures of normal sleep—forming their 
 visual foundation. Maury 3 has proved from self-observation 
 that the pictures which hovered around him hypnagogically 
 were also the objects of the dreams that followed. G. Trum¬ 
 bull Ladd 4 has shown this even more convincingly. By 
 practice he succeeded in waking himself suddenly two to 
 five minutes after falling asleep. He then observed that the 
 figures dancing before the retina at times represented the 
 same contours as the pictures just dreamed of. He even 
 states that nearly every visual dream is shaped by the re¬ 
 tina’s own light figures. In our case the fantastic rendering 
 of these pictures was favoured by the situation. We must 
 not underrate the influence of the over-excited expec¬ 
 tation which allowed the dull retina-light to appear with 
 increased intensity. 5 The further formation of the retinal 
 
 1 J * Muller, quoted Allg. Zeit.f. Psych., XXV. 41. 
 
 t wr-M? in ° 7 Za h ypnopompically saw a “ nigrum et scabiosum Brasilianum ."— 
 J. Muller, l.c. 
 
 In Goethe’s “ The Elective Affinities,” at times in the half darkness Ottilie 
 saw the figure of Edward in a dimly-lit spot. Compare also Cardanus, 
 imagines videbam ab imp lecti, quasi e parvulis annulis arcisque constantes, 
 arborum, belluarum, hominum, oppidorum, instructarum acierum, bellicorum 
 et musicorum mstrumentorum aliorumque huius generis adscendentes, 
 vicissimque descendentes, aliis atque aliis succedentibus ” (Hieronymus 
 Cardanus, “ De subtilitate rerum ”). 
 
 3 “Le sommeil et les reves,” p. 134. 
 
 , r . * , G ‘■ Trumbull Ladd, “ Contribution to the Psychology of Visual Dreams,” 
 Mind, April, 1892. 
 
 3 Hecker says of the same condition, “ There is a simple elemental vision 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 68 
 
 appearances follows in accordance with the predominating 
 presentations. That hallucinations appear in this way has 
 been also observed in other visionaries. Jeanne d’Arc 1 first saw 
 a cloud of light, and only after some time there stepped forth 
 St. Michael, St. Catherine and St. Margaret. For a whole 
 hour Swedenborg 2 saw nothing but illuminated spheres and 
 fiery flames. He felt a mighty change in the brain, which 
 seemed to him “ release of light.” After the space of one 
 hour he suddenly saw red figures which he regarded as 
 angels and spirits. The sun visions of Benvenuto Cellini 3 
 in Engelsburg are probably of the same nature. A student 
 who frequently saw apparitions, stated: “ When these ap¬ 
 paritions come, at first I only see single masses of light and 
 at the same time am conscious of a dull noise in the ears. 
 Gradually these contours become clear figures.” 
 
 The appearance of hallucinations occurred in a quite 
 classical way in Flournoy’s Helen Smith. I quote the 
 cases in question from his article. 4 
 
 “ 18 Mars. Tentative d’experience dans l’obscurite Mile. 
 Smith voit un ballon tantot luminieux, tantot s’obscurcissant. 
 
 “ 25 Mars. Mile. Smith commence a distinguer de vagues 
 lueurs, de longs rubans blancs, s’agitant du plancher au 
 plafond, puis enfin une magnifique etoile qui dans l’obscurite 
 s’est montree a elle seule pendant toute la seance. 
 
 “ 1 Avril. Mile. Smith se sent tres agitee, elle a des 
 frissons, est partiellement glacee. Elle est tres inquiete et 
 voit tout a coup se balangant au-dessus de la table une figure 
 grima 9 ante et tres laide avec de longs cheveux rouges. 
 Elle voit alors un magnifique bouquet de roses de nuances 
 diverses; tout a coup elle voit sortir de dessous le bouquet 
 un petit serpent, qui, rampant doucement, vient sentir les 
 fleurs, les regarde,” etc. 
 
 through over-excitation of mental activity not leading to phantastic imagery 
 even without sense presentation; that is the vision of light free from form, a 
 manifestation of the visual organs stimulated from within ” (“ Ueber 
 Visionen,” Berlin, 1848). 
 
 1 Jules Quicherat, “ Proems de condamnation et de rehabilitation de Jeanne 
 d’Arc, dite La Pucelle,” etc. 
 
 2 Hagen, Z.c., p. 57. 
 
 4 Flournoy, l.c., p. 32 ff. 
 
 3 Goethe, “ Benvenuto Cellini.” 
 
64 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Helen Smith 1 says in regard to the origin of her vision 
 of March : 
 
 “ La lueur rouge persista autour de moi et je me suis 
 trouvee entouree de fleurs extraordinaires.” 
 
 At all times the complex hallucinations of visionaries 
 have occupied a peculiar place in scientific criticism. Macario 2 
 early separated these so-called intuition-hallucinations from 
 others, since he maintains that they occur in persons of 
 an eager mind, deep understanding and high nervous ex¬ 
 citability. Hecker 3 expresses himself similarly but more 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 His view is that their condition is “ the congenital high 
 development of the spiritual organ which calls into active, 
 free and mobile play the life of the imagination, bringing it 
 spontaneous activity.” These hallucinations are “ precursors 
 or signs of mighty spiritual power.” The vision is “an 
 increased excitation which is harmoniously adapted to the 
 most complete health of mind and body.” The complex 
 hallucinations do not belong to the waking state, but prefer 
 as a rule a partial waking state. The visionary is buried 
 in his vision even to complete annihilation. Flournoy was 
 also always able to prove in the visions of H.S. “ un certain 
 degre d’obnubilation.” In our case the vision is complicated 
 by a state of sleep whose peculiarities we shall review later. 
 
 The Change in Character. 
 
 The most striking characteristic of the second stage in 
 our case is the change in character. We meet many cases 
 in the literature which have offered the symptom of 
 spontaneous character-change. The first case in a scientific 
 publication is Weir-Mitchell’s 4 case of Mary Reynolds. 
 
 1 Flournoy, l.c., p. 51. 
 
 2 Allg. Zeit.f. Psych., IV. 139. 
 
 3 Ibid., VI. 285. 
 
 4 Coll. Physicians of Philadelphia, April 4, 188S. Also Harper's Maga¬ 
 zine, 1869. Abstracted in extenso in William James’s “ Principles of 
 Psychology,” 1891, p. 391 ff. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 65 
 
 It was the case of a young woman living in Pennsylvania 
 in 1811. After a deep sleep of about twenty hours she 
 had totally forgotten her entire past and everything she 
 had learnt; even the words she spoke had lost their 
 
 meaning. She no longer knew her relatives. Slowly she 
 re-learnt to read and write, but her writing was from 
 
 right to left. More striking still was the change in her 
 character. Instead of being melancholy she was now 
 
 cheerful to the extreme. Instead of being reserved she 
 was buoyant and sociable. Formerly taciturn and retiring, 
 she was now merry and jocose. Her disposition was totally 
 changed. 1 
 
 In this state she renounced her former retired life, and 
 liked to undertake adventurous excursions unarmed, through 
 wood and mountain on foot and horseback. In one of these 
 excursions she encountered a large black bear, which she took 
 for a pig. The bear raised himself on his hind legs and 
 gnashed his teeth at her. As she could not drive her horse 
 on any further, she took an ordinary stick and hit the bear 
 until it took to flight. Five weeks later, after a deep sleep, 
 she returned to her earlier state with amnesia for the interval. 
 These states alternated for about sixteen years. But her last 
 twenty-five years Mary Reynolds passed exclusively in her second 
 state. 
 
 Schroeder von der Kalk 2 reports on the following case : 
 The patient became ill at the age of sixteen with periodic 
 amnesia, after a previous tedious illness of three years. 
 Sometimes in the morning after waking she passed through 
 a peculiar choreic state, during which she made rhythmical 
 movements with her arms. The whole day she would then 
 exhibit a childish, silly behaviour and had lost all her 
 educated capabilities. (When normal she is very intelli¬ 
 gent, well read, speaks French well.) In the second state 
 she begins to speak faulty French. On the second day she 
 
 1 Cf. Emminghaus, “ Allg. Psychopathologie,” p. 129, Ogier Ward’s case. 
 
 2 Schroeder von der Kalk, “ Pathologie und Therapie der Geisteskrank- 
 heiten,” p. 31: Braunschweig, 1863. Quoted in Allg. Zeit. f. Psych., XXII., 
 p. 405. 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 is again at times normal. The two states are completely 
 separated by amnesia. 1 
 
 Hoefelt 2 reports on a case of spontaneous somnambulism 
 in a girl who in her normal state was submissive and modest, 
 but in somnambulism was impertinent, rude and violent. 
 Azam’s 3 Felida was, in her normal state, depressed, inhibited, 
 timid; and in the second state lively, confident, enterprising 
 to recklessness. The second state gradually became the chief 
 one , and finally so far suppressed the first state that the patient 
 called her normal states, lasting now but a short time, “ crises .” 
 The amnesic attacks had begun at 14J. In time the 
 second state became milder and there was a certain approxi¬ 
 mation between the character of the two states. A very 
 striking example of change in character is that worked out 
 by Camuset, Ribot, Legrand du Saulle, Richer, Yoisin, and 
 put together by Bourru and Burot. 4 It is that of Louis V., 
 a severe male hysteric with amnesic alternating character. 
 In the first stage he is rude, cheeky, querulous, greedy, 
 thievish, inconsiderate. In the second state he is an 
 agreeable, sympathetic character, industrious, docile and 
 obedient. This amnesic change of character has been used 
 by Paul Lindau 5 in his drama “Der Andere ” (The Other 
 One). 
 
 Rieger 6 reports on a case parallel to Lindau’s criminal 
 lawyer. The unconscious personalities of Janet’s Lucie and 
 Leonie (Janet, l.c.) and Morton Prince’s 7 may also be re¬ 
 garded as parallel with our case. There are, however, 
 therapeutic artificial products whose importance lies in the 
 domain of the dissociation of consciousness and of memory. 
 
 In the cases reported upon, the second state is always 
 separated from the first by an amnesic dissociation, and the 
 
 1 Cf. Donath, “ Ueber Suggestibility,” Weiner mediz. Presse, 1832, No. 
 31. Quoted Arch. f. Psych., XXXII., p. 335. 
 
 2 Hoefelt. Allg. Zeit.f. Psych., XLIX., p. 200. 
 
 3 Azam, “ Hypnotisme, Double Conscience,” etc. 
 
 1 Bourru et Burot, “ Changements de Personnnalit6,” 1888. 
 
 5 Moll, “ Zeit. f. Hypn.,” I., 306. 
 
 6 Rieger, “ Der Iiypnotismus,” 1884, p. 190 fi. 
 
 7 Morton Prince, “ An Experimental Study of Visions,” Brain, 1898. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 67 
 
 change in character is, at times, accompanied by a break in 
 the continuity of consciousness. In our case there is no 
 amnesic disturbance ; the passage from the first to the second 
 state follows quite gradually and the continuity of conscious¬ 
 ness remains. The patient carries out in her waking state 
 everything from the field of the unconscious that she has 
 experienced during hallucinations in the second stage other¬ 
 wise unknown to her. 
 
 Periodic changes in personality without amnesic dissocia¬ 
 tion are found in the region of folie circulaire, but are rarely 
 seen in hysterics, as Renaudin’s 1 case shows. A young man, 
 whose behaviour had always been excellent, suddenly began 
 to display the worst tendencies. There were no symptoms of 
 insanity, but, on the other hand, the whole surface of the 
 body was anaesthetic. This state showed periodic intervals, 
 and in the same way the patient’s character was sub¬ 
 ject to vacillations. As soon as the anaesthesia dis¬ 
 appeared he was manageable and friendly. When the 
 anaesthesia returned he was overcome by the worst in¬ 
 stincts, which, it was observed, could even include the wish 
 to murder. 
 
 Remembering that our patient’s age at the beginning of 
 the disturbances was 14J, that is, the age of puberty had 
 just been reached, one must suppose that there was some 
 connection between the disturbances and the physiological 
 character-changes at puberty. “ There appears in the con¬ 
 sciousness of the individual during this period of life a new 
 group of sensations, together with the feelings and ideas 
 arising therefrom; this continuous pressure of unaccustomed 
 mental states makes itself constantly felt because the cause 
 is always at work; the states are co-ordinated because they 
 arise from one and the same source, and must little by 
 little bring about deep-seated changes in the ego.” 2 Vacil¬ 
 lating moods are easily recognisable; the confused new, 
 strong feelings, the inclination towards idealism, to exalted 
 religiosity and mysticism, side by side with the falling back 
 
 1 Quoted by Ribot, “ Die Personlickkeit.” 
 
 2 Ibid., p. 69. 
 
68 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 into childishness, gives to adolescence its prevailing 
 character. At this epoch, the human being first makes 
 clumsy attempts at independence in every direction; for 
 the first time uses for his own purposes all that family 
 and school have contributed hitherto; he conceives ideals, 
 constructs far-reaching plans for the future, lives in dreams 
 whose content is ambitious and egotistic. This is all physio¬ 
 logical. The puberty of a psychopathic is a crisis of more 
 serious import. Not only do the psychophysical changes 
 run a stormy course, but features of a hereditary de¬ 
 generate character become fixed. In the child these do not 
 appear at all, or but sporadically. For the explanation 
 of our case we are bound to consider a specific disturbance 
 of puberty. The reasons for this view will appear from 
 a further study] of the second personality. (For the sake 
 of brevity we shall call the second personality Ivenes —as 
 the patient baptised her higher ego). 
 
 Ivenes is the exact continuation of the everyday ego. 
 She includes the whole of her conscious content. In the semi- 
 somnambulic state her intercourse with the real external world 
 is analogous to that of the waking state, that is, she is influ¬ 
 enced by recurrent hallucinations, but no more than persons 
 who are subject to non-confusional psychotic hallucinations. 
 The continuity of Ivenes obviously extends to the hysterical 
 attack with its dramatic scenes, visionary events, etc. During 
 the attack itself she is generally isolated from the external 
 world; she does not notice what is going on around her, 
 does not know that she is talking loudly, etc. But she has 
 no amnesia for the dream-content of her attack. Amnesia 
 for her motor expressions and for the changes in her sur¬ 
 roundings is not always present. That this is dependent upon 
 the degree of intensity of her somnambulic state and that 
 there is sometimes partial paralysis of individual sense organs, 
 is proved by the occasion when she did not notice me; her 
 eyes then were open, and most probably she saw the others; 
 although she only perceived me when I spoke to her. This 
 is a case of so-called systematised anesthesia (negative hallu¬ 
 cination) .which is often observed in hysterics. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 69 
 
 Flournoy, 1 for instance, reports of Helen Smith that 
 during the seances she suddenly ceased to see those taking 
 part, although she still heard their voices and felt their 
 touch; sometimes she no longer heard, although she saw the 
 movements of the lips of the speakers, etc. 
 
 Ivenes is just the continuation of the waking self. She 
 contains the entire consciousness of S. W.’s waking state. 
 Her remarkable behaviour tells decidedly against any analogy 
 with cases of double consciousness . The characteristics of 
 Ivenes contrast favourably with the patient’s ordinary self. 
 She is a calmer, more composed personality; her pleasing 
 modesty and accuracy, her uniform intelligence, her con¬ 
 fident way of talking must be regarded as an improvement 
 of the whole being; thus far there is analogy with Janet’s 
 Leonie. But this is the extent of the similarity. Apart 
 from the amnesia, they are divided by a deep psychological 
 difference. Leonie II. is the healthier, the more normal; she 
 has regained her natural capabilities, she shows remarkable 
 improvement upon her chronic condition of hysteria. Ivenes 
 rather gives the impression of a more artificial product; there 
 is something thought out; despite all her excellences she 
 gives the impression of playing a part excellently; her world- 
 sorrow, her yearning for the other side of things, are not 
 merely piety but the attributes of saintliness. Ivenes is no 
 mere human, but a mystic being who only partly belongs to 
 reality: The mournful features, the attachment to sorrow, 
 her mysterious fate, lead us to the historic prototype of Ivenes 
 —Justinus Kerner’s “ Prophetess of Prevorst.” Kerner’s 
 book must be taken as known, and therefore I omit any 
 references to these common traits. But Ivenes is no copy of 
 the prophetess; she lacks the resignation and the saintly 
 piety of the latter. The prophetess is merely used by her as 
 a study for her own original conception. The patient pours 
 her own soul into the role of the prophetess, thus seeking to 
 create an ideal of virtue and perfection. She anticipates 
 her future. She incarnates in Ivenes what she wishes* to 
 be in twenty years—the assured,' influential, wise, gracious, 
 
 1 Flournoy, l.c., p. 59. 
 
70 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 pious lady. It is in the construction of the second person 
 that there lies the far-reaching difference between Leonie II. 
 and Ivenes. Both are psychogenic. But Leonie I. receives 
 in Leonie II. what really belongs to her, while S. W. builds 
 up a person beyond herself. It cannot be said “ she de¬ 
 ceives herself” into, but that “she dreams herself” into 
 the higher ideal state. 1 
 
 The realisation of this dream recalls vividly the psychology 
 of the pathological cheat. Delbruck 2 and Forel 3 have in¬ 
 dicated the importance of auto-suggestion in the formation of 
 pathological cheating and reverie. Pick 4 regards intense auto- 
 suggestibility as the first symptom of the hysterical dreamer, 
 making possible the realisation of the “day dreamer.” One 
 of Pick’s patients dreamt that she was in a morally dangerous 
 situation, and finally carried out an attempt at rape on herself; 
 she lay on the floor naked and fastened herself to a table and 
 chairs. Or some dramatic person will be created with whom 
 the patient enters into correspondence by letter, as in Bohn’s 
 case. 5 The patient dreamt herself into an engagement with 
 a iotally imaginary lawyer in Nice, from whom she received 
 letters which she had herself written in disguised hand¬ 
 writing. This pathological dreaming, with auto-suggestive 
 deceptions of memory amounting to real delusions and 
 hallucinations, is pre-eminently to be found in the lives of 
 many saints. 6 
 
 It is only a step from the dreamlike images strongly 
 
 1 “ Les reves somnambuliques, sortes de romans de l’imagination sublimi- 
 nale, analogues a ces histoires continues, que tant de gens se racontent a eux- 
 memes et dont ils sont g6n6ralement les h6ros dans leurs moments de far 
 niente ou d’occupations routinieres qui n’offrent qu’un faible obstacle aux 
 reveries int6rieures. Constructions fantaisistes, millefois reprises et pour- 
 suivies, rarement achev6es, ou la folle du logis se donne libre carriere et 
 prend sa revanche du terne et plat terre a terre des r6alit6s quotidiennes ” 
 (Flournoy, l.c., p. 8). 
 
 2 Delbruck, “ Die Pathologische Luge.” 
 
 3 Forel, “ Hypnotisme.” 
 
 4 Pick, “ Ueber Path. Traumerei und ihre Beziehung zur Hysterie,” 
 Jahr. f. Psych, und Neur., XIV., p. 280. 
 
 5 Bohn, “ Ein Fall von doppelten Bewusstsein Diss.” Breslau, 1898. 
 
 H Gorres, l.c. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 71 
 
 stamped by the senses to the true complex hallucinations. 1 
 In Pick’s case, for instance, one sees that the patient, who 
 persuades herself that she is the Empress Elizabeth, gradually 
 loses herself in her dreams to such an extent that her con¬ 
 dition must be regarded as a true “ twilight ” state: Later 
 it passes over into hysterical delirium, when her dream 
 phantasies become typical hallucinations. The pathological 
 liar, who becomes involved through his phantasies, behaves 
 exactly like a child who loses himself in his play, or like the 
 actor who loses himself in his part. 2 There is here no 
 fundamental distinction from somnambulic dissociation of 
 personality, but only a difference of degree, which rests upon 
 the intensity of the primary auto-suggestibility or disintegra¬ 
 tion of the psychic elements. The more consciousness becomes 
 dissociated , the greater becomes the plasticity of the dream 
 situation , the less becomes the amount of conscious lying , and of 
 consciousness in general. This being carried away by interest 
 in the object is what Freud calls hysterical identification . For 
 instance, to Erler’s 3 acutely hysterical patient there appeared 
 hypnagogically little riders made of paper, who so took 
 possession of her imagination that she had the feeling of 
 being herself one of them. Similar phenomena normally 
 occur to us in dreams in general, in which we think like 
 “ hysterics.” 4 
 
 The complete abandonment to the interesting image 
 explains also the wonderful naturalness of pseudological 
 or somnambulic representation—a degree unattainable in 
 conscious acting. The less waking consciousness intervenes 
 by reflection and reasoning, the more certain and convincing 
 becomes the objectivation of the dream, e.g. the roof-climbing 
 of somnambulists. 
 
 Our case has another analogy with pseudologia phantastica : 
 
 1 Cf. Behr, Allg. Zeit. f. Psych., LVI., 918, and Ballet, l.c., p. 44. 
 
 2 Cf. Kedlich, Allg. Zeit. f. Psych.. LVII., 66. 
 
 3 Erler, Allg. Zeit. f. Psych., XXXV., 21. 
 
 4 Binet, “ Les hyst6riques ne sont pas pour nous que des sujets d’£lection 
 agrandissant des ph6nom£nes qu’on doit n6cessairement retrouver a quelque 
 degr6 chez une foule d’autres personnes qui ne sont ni atteintes ni m&me 
 effleur£es par la n&vrose hyst£rique” (“ Les alterations,” p. 29). 
 
72 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 The development of the phantasies during the attacks. Many 
 cases are known in the literature where the pathological 
 lying comes on in attacks and during serious hysterical 
 trouble. 1 
 
 Our patent develops her systems exclusively in the attack. 
 In her normal state she is quite incapable of giving any new 
 ideas or explanations ; she must either transpose herself into 
 somnambulism or await its spontaneous appearance. This 
 exhausts the affinity to pseudologia phantastica and to patho¬ 
 logical dream states. 
 
 Our patient’s state is even differentiated from pathological 
 dreaming since it could never be proved that her dream- 
 weavings had at any time previously been the objects of her 
 interest during the day. Her dreams occur explosively, 
 break forth with bewildering completeness from the darkness 
 of the unconscious. Exactly the same was the case in 
 Flournoy’s Helen Smith. In many cases (see below), how¬ 
 ever, links with the perceptions of the normal states can be 
 demonstrated: it seems therefore probable that the roots 
 of every dream were originally images with an emotional 
 accentuation, which, however, only occupied waking conscious¬ 
 ness for a short time. 2 We must allow that in the origin of 
 such dreams hysterical forgetfulness 3 plays a part not to he 
 underestimated. 
 
 Many images are buried which would be sufficient to 
 put the consciousness on guard; associated classes of ideas 
 
 1 Delbriick, Z.c., and Redlich, Z.c. Cf. the development of delusions in 
 epileptic stupor mentioned by Morchen, “ Essay on Stupor,” pp. 51 and 59, 
 1901. 
 
 2 Cf. Flournoy’s very interesting supposition as to the origin of the Hindu 
 cycle of H.S.: “ Je ne serais pas 6tonn6 que la remarque de Martes sur la 
 beauty des femmes du Kanara ait et6 le clou, l’atome crochu, qui a piqu6 
 l’attention subliminale et l’a tres naturellement riv6e sur cette unique passage 
 avec les deux ou trois lignes consecutives, a l’exclusion de tout le contexte 
 environnant beaucoup moins int6rressant ” (L.c., p. 285). 
 
 J Janet says, “From forgetfulness there arises frequently, even if not 
 invariably, the so-called lying of hysteria. The same explanation holds 
 good of an hysteric’s whims, changes of mood, ingratitude—in a word, of his 
 inconstancy. The link between the past and present which gives to the whole 
 personality its seriousness and poise, depends to a large extent upon memory ” 
 (“ Mental States,” etc., p. 67). 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 73 
 
 are lost and go on spinning their web in the unconscious, 
 thanks to the psychic dissociation ; this is a process which we 
 meet again in the genesis of our dreams. 
 
 “ Our conscious reflection teaches us that when exercising 
 attention we pursue a definite course. But if that course 
 leads us to an idea which does not meet with our approval, 
 we discontinue and cease to apply our attention. Now, 
 apparently, the chain of thought thus started and abandoned, 
 may go on without regaining attention unless it reaches 
 a spot of especially marked intensity, which compels renewed 
 attention. An initial rejection, perhaps consciously brought 
 about by the judgment on the ground of incorrectness or 
 unfitness for the actual purpose of the mental act, may 
 therefore account for the fact that a mental process continues 
 unnoticed by consciousness until the onset of sleep.” 1 
 
 In this way we may explain the apparently sudden and 
 direct appearance of dream states. The entire carrying 
 over of the conscious personality into the dream role involves 
 indirectly the development of simultaneous automatisms. 
 “ Une seconde condition peut amener la division de conscience; 
 ce n’est pas une alteration de la sensibility, c’est une attitude 
 particuliere de l’esprit, la concentration de l’attention pour 
 un point unique; il resulte de cet etat de concentration que 
 l’esprit devient distrait pour la reste et en quelque sorte 
 insensible, ce qui ouvre la carriere aux actions automatiques, 
 et ces actions peuvent prendre un caractere psychique et 
 constituer des intelligences parasites, vivant cote a cote avec 
 la personnalite normale qui ne les connait pas.” 2 
 
 The patient's romances throw a most significant light on 
 the subjective roots of her dreams. They swarm with secret 
 and open love affairs, with illegitimate births and other 
 sexual insinuations. The central point of all these ambiguous 
 stories is a lady whom she dislikes, who is gradually made to 
 assume the form of her polar opposite, and whilst Ivenes 
 becomes the pinnacle of virtue, this lady is a sink of iniquity. 
 But her reincarnation doctrines, in which she appears as the 
 
 1 Freud, “ The Interpretation of Dreams,” p. 469. 
 
 2 Binet, l.c., p. 84. 
 
74 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 mother of countless thousands , arises in its naive nakedness from 
 an exuberant phantasy which is, of course , very characteristic 
 of the period of puberty. It is the woman's premonition of the 
 sexual feeling , the dream of fruitfulness , ivhich the patient has 
 turned into these monstrous ideas. We shall not go wrong if 
 we seek for the curious form of the disease in the teeming 
 sexuality of this too-rich soil. Viewed from this standpoint, 
 the whole creation of Ivenes with her enormous family is 
 nothing but a dream of sexual wish-fulfilment, differentiated 
 from the dream of a night only in that it persists for 
 months and years. 
 
 Relation to the Hysterical Attack. 
 
 So far one point in S.W.’s history has remained un¬ 
 explained, and that is her attack. In the second seance she 
 was suddenly seized with a sort of fainting fit, from which 
 she awoke with a recollection of various hallucinations. 
 According to her own statement, she had not lost conscious¬ 
 ness for a moment. Judging from the external symptoms 
 and the course of the attack, one is inclined to regard it as 
 a narcolepsy , or rather a lethargy; such, for example, as 
 Loewenfeld has described, and the more readily as we know 
 that previously one member of her family (her grandmother) 
 had an attack of lethargy. It is possible to imagine that 
 the lethargic disposition (Loewenfeld) had descended to our 
 patient. In spiritualistic seances it is not usual to see 
 hysterical convulsions. Our patient showed no sort of con¬ 
 vulsive symptoms, but in their place, perhaps, the peculiar 
 sleeping states. iEtiologically at the outset two moments 
 must be taken into consideration : 
 
 1. The irruption of hypnosis. 
 
 2. The psychic stimulation. 
 
 1. Irruption of Partial Hypnosis. —Janet observes that the 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 75 
 
 sub-conscious automatisms have a hypnotic influence and 
 can bring about complete somnambulism. 1 
 
 He made the following experiment: While the patient, 
 who was in the completely waking state, was engaged in 
 conversation by a second observer, Janet stationed himself 
 behind her and by means of whispered suggestions made her 
 unconsciously move her hand and by written signs give an 
 answer to questions. Suddenly the patient broke off the 
 conversation, turned round and with her supraliminal con¬ 
 sciousness continued the previously subconscious talk with 
 Janet. She had fallen into hypnotic somnambulism. 2 
 
 There is here a state of affairs similar to our patient’s. 
 But it must be noted that, for certain reasons discussed later, 
 the sleeping state is not to be regarded as hypnotic. We 
 therefore come to the question of— 
 
 2. The Psychic Stimulation .—It is told of Bettina Brentano 
 that the first time she met Goethe she suddenly fell asleep on 
 his knee. 3 
 
 This ecstatic sleep in the midst of extremest torture, the 
 so-called “ witch-sleep,” is well known in the history of 
 trials for witchcraft. 4 
 
 With susceptible subjects relatively insignificant stimuli 
 suffice to bring about the somnambulic state. Thus a 
 sensitive lady had to have a splinter cut out of her finger. 
 Without any kind of bodily change she suddenly saw her¬ 
 self sitting by the side of a brook in a beautiful meadow, 
 plucking flowers. This condition lasted as long as the 
 slight operation and then disappeared spontaneously. 5 
 
 1 “Une autre consideration rapproche encore ces deux 6tats, c’est que 
 les actes subconscients ont un effet en quelque sorte hypnotisant et con- 
 tribuant par eux-memes a amener le somnambulisme ” (“ L’Automatisme,” 
 p. 329). 
 
 2 Janet, l.c., p. 329. 
 
 3 In literature Gustave Flaubert has made use of a similar falling asleep 
 at the moment of extreme excitement in his novel “ Salambo.” When the 
 hero, after many struggles, has at last captured Salambo, he suddenly falls 
 asleep just as he touches her virginal bosom. 
 
 * Perhaps the cases of paralysis of the emotions also belong here. Cf. 
 Baetz, Allg. Zeitsch. f. Psych., LVIII., p. 717. 
 
 5 Allg. Zeitsch. f. Psych., XXX., p. 17. 
 
76 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Loewenfeld 1 has noticed unintentional inducement of 
 hysterical lethargy through hypnosis. 
 
 Our case has certain resemblances to hysterical lethargy 2 
 as described by Loewenfeld, viz. the shallow breathing, the 
 diminution of the pulse, the corpse-like pallor of the face, 
 and further the peculiar feeling of dying and the thoughts 
 of death . 3 
 
 The retention of one sense is not inconsistent w 7 ith lethargy: 
 thus in certain cases of trance the sense of hearing remains . 4 
 
 In Bonamaison’s 5 case not only was the sense of touch 
 retained, but the senses of hearing and smell were quickened. 
 The hallucinatory content and loud speaking is also met with 
 in persons with hallucinations in lethargy . 6 Usually there 
 prevails total amnesia for the lethargic interval. Loewen- 
 feld’s 7 case D. had, however, a fleeting recollection; in 
 Bonamaison’s case there was no amnesia. Lethargic patients 
 do not prove susceptible to the usual waking stimuli, but 
 Loewenfeld succeeded with his patient St. in turning the 
 lethargy into hypnosis by means of mesmeric passes, thus 
 combining it with the rest of consciousness during the 
 attack . 8 Our patient showed herself absolutely insusceptible 
 in the beginning of the lethargy, but later on she began to 
 speak spontaneously, was incapable of giving any attention 
 when her somnambulic ego was speaking, but could attend 
 when it was one of her automatic personalities. In this last 
 case it is probable that the hypnotic effect of the auto¬ 
 matisms succeeded in achieving a partial transformation of 
 the lethargy into hypnosis. When we consider that, according 
 to Loewenfeld’s view, the lethargic disposition must not be 
 “ too readily identified with the peculiar condition of the 
 nervous apparatus in hysteria,” then the idea of the family 
 
 1 Arch.f. Psych., XXIII., p. 59. 
 
 2 Cf. here Flournoy, l.c., 65. 
 
 3 Arch. f. Psych., XXII., p. 737. 
 
 4 Ibid., 734. 
 
 Bonamaison, “ Un cas remarquable d’Hypnose spontan£e,” etc.— Rev. 
 de VHypnotisms, Fev. 1890, p. 234. 
 
 G Arch. f. Psych., XXII., 737. 
 
 7 Ibid. 
 
 8 Ibid., XXIII., p. 59 ff. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 77 
 
 heredity of this disposition in our case becomes not a little 
 probable. The disease is much complicated by these attacks. 
 
 So far we have seen that the patient’s consciousness of 
 her ego is identical in all the states. We have discussed 
 two secondary complexes of consciousness and have followed 
 them into the somnambulic attack, where they appear as the 
 patient’s vision, whilst she had lost her motor activity during 
 the attack. During the next attacks she was impervious to 
 any external incidents, but on the other hand developed, 
 within the twilight state, all the more intense activity, in 
 the form of visions. It seems that many secondary series 
 of ideas must have split off quite early from the primary 
 unconscious personality, for already, after the first two 
 seances, “ spirits ” appeared by the dozen. The names were 
 inexhaustible in variety, but the differences between the 
 personalities were soon exhausted and it became apparent 
 that they could all be subsumed under two types, the serio- 
 religious type and the gay-hilarious. So far it was really 
 only a matter of two different unconscious personalities , which 
 appeared under different names but had no essential differ¬ 
 ences. The older type, the grandfather, who had initiated the 
 automatisms, also first began to make use of the twilight 
 state. I am not able to remember any suggestion which 
 might have given rise to the automatic speaking. According 
 to the preceding view, the attack in such circumstances 
 might be regarded as a partial auto-hypnosis. The ego-con¬ 
 sciousness which remains and, as a result of its isolation 
 from the external world, occupies itself entirely with its 
 hallucinations, is what is left over of the waking conscious¬ 
 ness. Thus the automatism has a wide field for its activity. 
 The independence of the individual central spheres which we 
 have proved at the beginning to be present in the patient, 
 makes the automatic act of speaking appear intelligible. 
 Just as the dreamer on occasion speaks in his sleep, so, too, 
 a man in his waking hours may accompany intensive thought 
 with an unconscious whisper. 1 The peculiar movements of 
 
 1 Cf. Lehman’s investigations of involuntary whispering, “ Aberglaube 
 und Zauberei,” 1898, p. 385 ff. 
 
78 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSCYHOLOGY 
 
 th© speech-musculature are to be noted. They have also 
 been observed in other somnambulists. 1 
 
 These clumsy attempts must be directly paralleled with 
 the unintelligent and clumsy movements of the table or glass, 
 and most probably correspond to the 'preliminary activity of 
 the motor portion of the presentation; that is to say, a 
 stimulus limited to the motor-centre which has not previously 
 been subordinated to any higher system. Whether the like 
 occurs in persons who talk in their dreams, I do not know. 
 But it has been observed in hypnotised persons. 2 
 
 Since the convenient medium of speech was used as the 
 means of communication, the study of the subconscious 
 personalities was considerably lightened. Their intellectual 
 compass is a relatively mediocre one. Their knowledge 
 is greater than that of the waking patient, including also 
 a few occasional details, such as the birthdays of dead 
 strangers and the like. The source of these is more or 
 less obscure, since the patient does not know whence in the 
 ordinary way she could have procured the knowledge of 
 these facts. These are cases of so-called cryptomnesia, which 
 are too unimportant to deserve more extended notice. 
 The intelligence of the two subconscious persons is very 
 slight; they produce banalities almost exclusively, but their 
 relation to the conscious ego of the patient when in the 
 somnambulic state is interesting. They are invariably 
 aware ol everything that takes place during ecstasy and 
 occasionally they render an exact report from minute to ' 
 minute. 3 
 
 The subconscious persons only know the patient’s phan- 
 tastic changes of thought very superficially; they do not 
 
 \ Thus Flournoy writes, “ Dans un premier essai Leopold (H. S.’s control- 
 spirit) ne r6ussit qu’a donner ses intimations et sa prononciation a Helen: 
 apres une seance oil elle avait vivement souflert dans la bouche et le cou 
 comme si on lui travaillait ou lui enlevait les organes vocaux, elle se mit 
 a causer tr6s naturellement.” 
 
 2 Loewenfeld, Arch. f. Psych., XXIII., 60. 
 
 3 This behaviour recalls Flournoy’s observations: “Whilst H. S. as a 
 somnambule speaks as Marie Antoinette, the arms of H. S. do not belong 
 to the somnambulic personality, but to the automatism Leopold, who con¬ 
 verses by gestures with the observer” (Flournoy, l.c., p. 125). 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 79 
 
 understand these and cannot answer a single question con¬ 
 cerning the situation. Their stereotyped reference to Ivenes 
 is : “ Ask Ivenes.” This observation reveals a dualism in the 
 character of the subconscious personalities difficult to explain ; 
 for the grandfather, who gives information by automatic speech, 
 also appears to Ivenes and, according to her account, teaches her 
 about the objects in question. How is it that, when the grand¬ 
 father speaks through the patient’s mouth, he knows nothing 
 of the very things which he himself teaches her in the ecstasies? 
 
 We must again return to the discussion of the first 
 appearance of the hallucinations. We then picture the 
 vision as an irruption of hypnosis into the visual sphere. 
 That irruption does not lead to a “ normal ” hypnosis, but to 
 a “ hystero-hypnosis,” that is, the simple hypnosis is com¬ 
 plicated by a hysterical attack. 
 
 It is not a rare occurrence in the domain of hypnotism 
 for normal hypnosis to be disturbed, or, rather, to be replaced 
 by the unexpected appearance of hysterical somnambulism; 
 the hypnotist in many cases then loses rapport with the 
 patient. In our case the automatism arising in the motor 
 area plays the part of hypnotist; the suggestions proceeding 
 from it (called objective auto-suggestions) hypnotise the 
 neighbouring areas in which a certain susceptibility has 
 arisen. At the moment when the hypnotism flows over 
 into the visual sphere, the hysterical attack occurs which, as 
 remarked, effects a very deep-reaching change in a large 
 portion of the psychical region. We must now suppose that 
 the automatism stands in the same relationship to the attack 
 as the hypnotist to a pathological hypnosis ; its influence upon 
 the further structure of the situation is lost; The hallucina¬ 
 tory appearance of the hypnotised personality, or, rather, of 
 the suggested idea, may be regarded as the last effect upon 
 the somnambulic personality. Thenceforward the hypnotist 
 becomes only a figure with whom the somnambulic per¬ 
 sonality occupies itself independently: he can only state 
 what is going on and is no longer the conditio sine qua non 
 of the content of the somnambulic attack. The independent 
 ego-complex of the attack, in our case Ivenes, has now the 
 
80 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 upper hand. She groups her own mental products around 
 the personality of the hypnotiser, that is, of the grandfather, 
 now degraded to a mere image. In this way we are enabled 
 to understand the dualism in the character of the grand¬ 
 father. The grandfather I.ivho speaks directly to those present, 
 is a totally different person and a mere spectator of his double , 
 grandfather II., who appears as Irenes teacher. Grandfather I. 
 maintains energetically that both are one and the same 
 person, and that I. has all the knowledge which II. possesses, 
 and is only prevented from giving information by the 
 difficulties of speech. (The dissociation was of course not 
 realized by the patient, who took both to be one person.) 
 Grandfather I., if closely examined, however, is not altogether 
 wrong, judging from one fact which seems to make for the 
 identity of I. and II., viz. that they are never both present 
 together. When I. speaks automatically II. is not present; 
 Ivenes remarks on his absence. Similarly, during the ecstasy, 
 when she is with II., she cannot say where I. is, or she may 
 learn only on returning from an imaginary journey that 
 meanwhile I. has been guarding her body. Conversely I. 
 never says that he is going on a journey with Ivenes and 
 never explains anything to her. This behaviour should be 
 noted, for, if I. is really separate from II., there seems no 
 reason why he should not speak automatically at the same 
 time that II. appears, and also [no reason why he should 
 not] be present with II. in the ecstasy. Although this might 
 have been supposed possible, as a matter of fact it was never 
 observed. How is this dilemma to be resolved ? At all 
 events there exists an identity of I. and II., but it does not 
 lie in the region of the personality under discussion; it lies 
 in the basis common to both; that is, in the personality of 
 the patient which in deepest essence is one and indivisible. 
 Here we come across the characteristic of all hysterical dis¬ 
 sociations of consciousness. They are disturbances which only 
 belong to the superficial , and none reaches so deep as to attack 
 the strong-knit foundation of the ego-complex. 
 
 In many such cases we find the bridge which, although 
 often well-concealed, spans the apparently impassable abyss. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 81 
 
 For instance, one of four cards is made invisible to a hypno¬ 
 tised person by suggestion; he thereupon names the other 
 three. A pencil is placed in his hand with the instruction 
 to write down all the cards lying there; he correctly adds 
 the fourth one. 1 
 
 In the aura of his hystero-epileptic attacks a patient of 
 Janet s 2 invariably had a vision of a conflagration, and 
 whenever he saw an open fire he had an attack; indeed, 
 the sight of a lighted match was sufficient to bring about an 
 attack. The patient’s visual field on the left side was limited 
 to 30°, the right eye was shut. The left eye was fixed in the 
 middle of a perimeter whilst a lighted match was held at 80°. 
 The hystero-epileptic attack took place immediately. Despite 
 the extensive amnesia in many cases of double consciousness, 
 the patients’ behaviour does not correspond to the degree of 
 their ignorance, but it seems rather as if a deeper instinct 
 guided their actions in accordance with their former know¬ 
 ledge. Not only this relatively slight amnesic dissociation, 
 but the severe amnesia of the epileptic twilight-state, formerly 
 regarded as irreparabile damnum , does not suffice to cut the 
 inmost threads which bind the ego-complex in the twilight- 
 state to the normal ego. In one case the content of the 
 twilight-state could be grafted on to the waking ego-complex. 3 
 
 Making use of these experiments for our case, we obtain 
 the helpful hypothesis that the layers of the unconscious 
 beyond reach of the dissociation endeavour to present the 
 unity of automatic personality. This endeavour is shattered 
 in the deeper-seated and more elemental disturbance of the 
 hysterical attack, 4 which prevents a more complete synthesis 
 by the tacking on of associations which are to a certain 
 extent the most original individual property of supraliminal 
 personality. As the Ivenes dream emerged it was fitted on to 
 the figures accidentally in the field of vision, and henceforth 
 remains associated icith them . 
 
 1 Dessoir > “ Das Doppel-Ich,” II. Aufl., 1896, p. 29. 
 
 - Janet, “ L’anesth<§sie hyst6rique,” Arch. d'Neur ., 69, 1892. 
 
 3 Graeter, Zeit. f. Hypnotismus, VIII., p. 129. 
 
 4 The hysterical attack is not a purely psychical process. By the psychic 
 processes only a pre-formed mechanism is set free, which has nothing to do 
 with psychic processes in and for itself (Karplus, Jahr. f. Psych., XVII.). 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Relationship to the Unconscious Personality. 
 
 As we have seen, the numerous personalities become 
 grouped round two types, the grandfather and Ulrich von 
 Gerbenstein. The first produces exclusively sanctimonious 
 religiosity and gives edifying moral precepts. The latter is, 
 in one word, a “ flapper ” in whom there is nothing male 
 except the name. We must here add from the anamnesis 
 that at fifteen the patient was confirmed by a very bigoted 
 clergyman, and at home she is occasionally the recipient of 
 sanctimonious moral talks. The grandfather represents this 
 side of her past, Gerbenstein the other half; hence the curious 
 contrast. Here we have personified the chief characters of 
 her past. On the one hand the sanctimonious person with 
 a narrow education, on the other the boisterousness of 
 a lively girl of fifteen who often overshot the mark. 1 We 
 find both traits mixed in the patient in sharp contrast. At 
 times she is anxious, shy, and extremely reserved; at others 
 boisterous to a degree. She herself perceives these contradic¬ 
 tions often most painfully. This circumstance gives us the 
 key to the source of the two unconscious personalities. The 
 patient is obviously seeking a middle path between the two 
 extremes; she endeavours to repress them and strains after 
 some ideal condition. These strainings bring her to the 
 puberty dream of the ideal Ivenes, beside whose figure the 
 unacknowledged trends of her character recede into the back¬ 
 ground. They are not lost, however, but as repressed ideas, 
 analogous to the Ivenes idea, begin an independent existence 
 as automatic personalities. 
 
 S. W.’s behaviour recalls vividly Freud’s 2 investigations 
 into dreams which disclose the independent growth of re¬ 
 pressed thoughts. We can now comprehend why the halluci¬ 
 natory persons are separated from those who write and speak 
 
 1 Carl Hauptmann, in his drama “ Die Bergschmiede,” has made use of 
 the objectivation of certain linked association-complexes. In this play the 
 treasure-seeker is mot on a gloomy night by a hallucination of his entire better 
 self. 
 
 2 Freud, “ The Interpretation of Dreams.” See also Breuer and Freud’s 
 “ Studies on Hysteria,” 1895. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 88 
 
 automatically. The former teach Ivenes the secrets of the 
 Other Side, they relate all those phantastic tales about the 
 extraordinariness of her personality, they create scenes where 
 Ivenes can appear dramatically with the attributes of power, 
 wisdom and virtue. These are nothing but dramatic disso¬ 
 ciations of her dream-self. The latter, the automatic persons, 
 are the ones to be overcome, they must have no part in 
 Ivenes. With the spirit-companions of Ivenes they have 
 only the name in common. A priori it is not to be expected 
 that in a case like ours, where these divisions are never 
 clearly defined, that two such characteristic individualities 
 should disappear entirely from a somnambulic ego-complex 
 having so close a relation with the waking consciousness. 
 And in fact, we do meet them in part in those ecstatic 
 penitential scenes and in part in the romances crammed 
 with more or less banal mischievous gossip. 
 
 Course. 
 
 It only remains to say a few words about the course of 
 this strange affection. The process reached its maximum in 
 four to eight weeks. The descriptions given of Ivenes and 
 of the unconscious personalities belong generally to this 
 period. Thenceforth a gradual decline was noticeable ; the 
 ecstasies grew meaningless, and the influence of Gerbenstein 
 became more powerful. The plasticity of the phenomena 
 became increasingly featureless; gradually the characters 
 which were at first well demarcated became inextricably 
 mixed. The psychological contribution grew smaller and 
 smaller until finally the whole story assumed a marked effect 
 of fabrication. Ivenes herself was much concerned about 
 this decline; she became painfully uncertain, spoke carefully, 
 feeling her way, and allowed her character to appear undis¬ 
 guised. The somnambulic attacks decreased in frequency 
 and intensity. All degrees from somnambulism to conscious 
 lying were observable. Thus the curtain fell. The patient 
 
84 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 has since gone abroad. We should not underestimate the im¬ 
 portance of the fact that her character has become pleasanter 
 and more stable. Here we may recall the cases cited in 
 which the second state gradually replaced the first state. 
 
 Perhaps this is a similar phenomenon.. 
 
 It is well known that somnambulic manifestations are 
 commenced at puberty. 1 The attacks of somnambulism in 
 Dyce’s case 2 began immediately before puberty and lasted 
 just till its termination. The somnambulism of H. Smith is 
 
 likewise closely connected with puberty. 3 
 
 Schroeder von der Kalk’s patient was 16 years old at the 
 time of her illness; Felida 14*, etc. We know also that 
 at this period the future character is formed and fixed. In 
 the case of Felida and of Mary Reynolds we saw that the 
 character in state II. replaced that of state I. It is not there¬ 
 fore unthinkable that these phenomena of double consciousness 
 are nothing but character-formations for the future personality, 
 or their attempts to burst forth . In consequence of special 
 difficulties (unfavourable external conditions, psychopathic 
 disposition of the nervous system, etc.), these new formations , 
 or attempts thereat, become bound up with peculiar disturbances 
 of consciousness. Occasionally the somnambulism, in view of 
 the difficulties that oppose the future character, takes on a 
 marked teleological meaning, for it gives the individual, who 
 might otherwise be defeated, the means of victory. Here I 
 am thinking first of all of Jeanne d’Arc, whose extraordinary 
 courage recalls the deeds of Mary Reynolds’ II. This is 
 perhaps the place to point out the similar function of the 
 “ hallucination teleologique ” of which the public reads 
 occasionally, although it has not yet been submitted to a 
 
 scientific study. 
 
 The Unconscious Additional Creative Work. 
 
 We have now discussed all the essential manifestations 
 offered by our case which are of significance for its inner 
 
 1 Pelman, Allg. Zeit. f. Psych., XXI., p. 74. 
 
 2 Allg. Zeit. f. Psych., XXII., p. 407. 
 
 3 Flournoy, l.c., p. 28. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 85 
 
 structure. Certain accompanying manifestations may be 
 briefly considered: the unconscious additional creative work . 
 Here we shall encounter a not altogether unjustifiable 
 scepticism on the part of the representative of science. 
 Dessoir’s conception of a second ego met with much op¬ 
 position, and was rejected as too enthusiastic in many 
 directions. As is known, occultism has proclaimed a pre¬ 
 eminent right to this field and has drawn premature con¬ 
 clusions from doubtful observations. We are indeed very far 
 from being in a position to state anything conclusive, since 
 we have at present only most inadequate material. Therefore 
 if we touch on the field of the unconscious additional creative 
 work, it is only that we may do justice to all sides of our 
 case. By unconscious addition we understand that automatic 
 process whose result does not penetrate to the conscious psychic 
 activity of the individual. To this region above all belongs 
 thought-reading through table movements. I do not know 
 whether there are people who can divine a whole long train 
 of thought by means of inductions from the intentional 
 tremulous movements. It is, however, certain that, assuming 
 this to be possible, such persons must be availing themselves 
 of a routine achieved after endless practice. But in our 
 case long practice can be excluded without more ado, and 
 there is nothing left but to accept a primary susceptibility of 
 the unconscious, far exceeding that of the conscious. 
 
 This supposition is supported by numerous observations 
 on somnambulists. I will mention onlyBinet’s 1 experiments, 
 where little letters or some such thing, or little complicated 
 figures in relief were laid on the anaesthetic skin of the back 
 of the hand or the neck, and the unconscious perceptions 
 were then recorded by means of signs. On the basis of these 
 experiments he came to the following conclusion: “ D’apres 
 les calculs que j’ai pu faire, la sensibilite inconsciente d’une 
 hysterique est a certains moments cinquante fois plus fine que 
 celle d’une personne normale.” A second additional creation 
 coming under consideration in our case and in numerous 
 
 Binet, “Les Alterations,” p. 125. Cf. also Loewenfeld’s statements on 
 the subject in “ Hypnotismus,” 1901. 
 
86 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 other somnambulists, is that condition which French investi¬ 
 gators call “ Cryptomnesia.” 1 By this term is meant the 
 becoming conscious of a memory-picture which cannot be 
 regarded as in itself primary, but at most is secondary, by 
 means of subsequent recalling or abstract reasoning. It is 
 characteristic of cryptomnesia that the picture which emerges 
 does not bear the obvious mark of the memory-picture, is not, 
 that is to say, bound up with the idiosyncratic super-conscious 
 ego-complex. 
 
 Three ways may be distinguished in which the crypto- 
 mnesic picture is brought to consciousness. 
 
 1. The picture enters consciousness without any intervention 
 of the sense-spheres ( intra-psychically ). It is an inrushing idea 
 whose causal sequence is hidden within the individual. In 
 so far cryptomnesia is quite an everyday occurrence, con¬ 
 cerned with the deepest normal psychic events. How often 
 it misleads the investigator, the author or the composer 
 into believing his ideas original, whilst the critic quite well 
 recognises their source! Generally the individuality of the 
 representation protects the author from the accusation of 
 plagiarism and proves his good faith; still, cases do occur 
 of unconscious verbal reproduction. Should the passage in 
 question contain some remarkable idea, the accusation of 
 plagiarism, more or less conscious, is justified. After all 
 a valuable idea is linked by numerous associations with the 
 ego-complex; at different times, in different situations, it has 
 already been meditated upon and thus leads by innumerable 
 links in all directions. It can therefore never so disappear 
 from consciousness that its continuity could be entirely lost 
 from the sphere of conscious memory. We have, however, 
 a criterion by which we can always recognise objectively 
 intra-psychic cryptomnesia. The cryptomnesic presentation 
 is linked to the ego-complex by the minimum of associations. 
 The reason for this lies in the relation of the individual to 
 the particular object, in the disproportion of interest to 
 
 1 Cryptomnesia must not be regarded as synonymous with Hypermncsia; 
 by the latter term is meant the abnormal quickening of the power of 
 recollection which reproduces the memory-pictures as such. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 87 
 
 object. Two possibilities occur: (1) The object is worthy 
 of interest but the interest is slight in consequence of dis¬ 
 persion or want of understanding; (2) The object is not 
 worthy of interest, consequently the interest is slight. In 
 both cases an extremely labile connection with consciousness 
 arises which leads to a rapid forgetting. The slight bridge 
 is soon destroyed and the acquired presentation sinks into 
 the unconscious, where it is no longer accessible to con¬ 
 sciousness. Should it enter consciousness by means of 
 cryptomnesia, the feeling of strangeness, of its being an 
 original creation, will cling to it because the path by which 
 it entered the sub-conscious has become undiscoverable. 
 Strangeness and original creation are, moreover, closely 
 allied to one another if one recalls the numerous witnesses 
 in belles-lettres to the nature of genius (“ possession ” by 
 genius). 1 
 
 Apart from certain striking cases of this kind, where it 
 is doubtful whether it is a cryptomnesia or an original 
 creation, there are some cases in which a passage of no 
 essential content is reproduced, and that almost verbally, 
 as in the following example :— 
 
 About that time when 
 Zarathustra lived on the 
 blissful islands, it came to 
 pass that a ship cast anchor 
 at that island on which the 
 smoking mountain standeth; 
 and the sailors of that ship 
 went ashore in order to shoot 
 
 An extract of awe-inspiring 
 import from the log of the 
 ship 4 ‘Sphinx” in the year 
 1686, in the Mediterranean. 
 
 Just. Kerner, “Blatter 
 aus Prevorst,” vol. IV., p. 57. 
 
 The four captains and a 
 merchant, Mr. Bell, went 
 
 1 “ Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any clear conception 
 of what the poets in vigorous ages called inspiration ? If not, I will describe 
 it. The slight remnant of superstition by itself would scarcely have sufficed 
 to reject the idea of being merely incarnation, merely mouthpiece, merely 
 the medium of superior forces. The concept revelation in the sense that 
 quite suddenly, with ineffable certainty and delicacy, something is seen, 
 something is heard, something convulsing and breaking into one’s inmost 
 self, does but describe the fact. You hear—you do not seek; you accept— 
 asking not who is the giver. Like lightning, flashes the thought, compelling, 
 without hesitation as to form—I have had no choice ” (Nietzsche’s “Works,” 
 vol. HI., p. 482). 
 
88 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 rabbits ! But about the hour 
 of noon, when the captain 
 and his men had mustered 
 again, they suddenly saw a 
 man come through the air 
 unto them, and a voice said 
 distinctly : “ It is time ! It 
 is high time! ” But when 
 that person was nighest unto 
 them (he passed by them 
 flying quickly like a shadow, 
 in the direction in which the 
 volcano was situated) they 
 recognised with the greatest 
 confusion that it was Zara- 
 thustra. For all of them, 
 except the captain, had seen 
 him before, and they loved 
 him, as the folk love, blend¬ 
 ing love and awe in equal 
 parts. “Lo! there,” said 
 the old steersman, “Zara- 
 thustra goeth unto hell! ” 
 
 ashore on the island of Mount 
 Stromboli to shoot rabbits. 
 At three o’clock they called the 
 crew together to go aboard, 
 when, to their inexpressible 
 astonishment, they saw two 
 men flying rapidly over them 
 through the air. One was 
 dressed in black, the other 
 in grey. They approached 
 them very closely, in the 
 greatest haste; to their 
 greatest dismay they de¬ 
 scended amid the burning 
 flames into the crater of 
 the terrible volcano, Mount 
 Stromboli. They recognised 
 the pair as acquaintances 
 from London. 
 
 As Frau E. Forster-Nietzsche, the poet’s sister, told me, 
 in reply to my inquiry, Nietzsche took up Just. Kerner 
 between the age of twelve and fifteen, when stopping with 
 his grandfather, Pastor Oehler, in Pobler, but certainly never 
 afterwards. It could never have been the poet’s intention to 
 commit a plagiarism from a ship’s log; if this had been the 
 case, he would certainly have omitted the very prosaic “ to 
 shoot rabbits,” which was, moreover, quite unessential to the 
 situation. In the poetical sketch of Zarathustra’s journey 
 into Hell there was obviously interpolated, half or wholly 
 unconsciously, that forgotten impression from his youth. 
 
 This is an instance which shows all the peculiarities of 
 cryptomnesia. A quite unessential detail, which deserves 
 nothing but speedy forgetting, is reproduced with almost 
 verbal fidelity, whilst the chief part of the narrative is, one 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 89 
 
 cannot say altered, but recreated quite distinctively. To the 
 distinctive core, the idea of the journey to Hell, there is 
 added a detail, the old, forgotten impression of a similar 
 situation. The original is so absurd that the youth, who 
 read everything, probably skipped through it, and certainly 
 had no deep interest in it. Here we get the required minimum 
 of associated links, for we cannot easily conceive a greater 
 jump, than from that old, absurd story to Nietzsche’s con¬ 
 sciousness in the year 1888. If we picture to ourselves 
 Nietzsche’s mood at the time when “ Zarathustra ” was com¬ 
 posed, 1 and think of the ecstasy that at more than one 
 point approached the pathological, we shall comprehend the 
 abnormal reminiscence. The second of the two possibilities 
 mentioned, the acceptance of some object, not itself un¬ 
 interesting, in a state of dispersion or half interest from lack 
 of understanding, and its cryptomnesic reproduction we find 
 chiefly in somnambulists; it is also found in the literary 
 chronicles dealing with dying celebrities. 2 
 
 Amid the exhaustive selection of these phenomena we are 
 chiefly concerned with Talking in a foreign tongue , the so- 
 called glossolalia. This phenomenon is mentioned everywhere 
 when it is a question of similar ecstatic conditions. In the 
 New Testament, in the Acta Sanctorum , 3 in the Witchcraft 
 Trials, more recently in the Prophetess of Prevorst, in Judge 
 Edmond’s daughter Laura, in Flournoy’s Helen Smith. The 
 last is unique from the point of view of investigation ; it is 
 found also in Bresler’s 4 case, which is probably identical 
 
 1 “ There is an ecstasy so great that the immense strain of it is sometimes 
 relaxed by a flood of tears, during which one’s steps now involuntarily rush, 
 and anon involuntarily lag. There is the feeling that one is utterly out of 
 hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills 
 and titillations descending to one’s very toes ;—there is a depth of happiness 
 in which the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the 
 rest, but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an 
 overflow of light ” (Nietzsche, “ Ecce Homo,” vol. XVII. of English transla¬ 
 tion, by A. M. Ludovici, p. 103). 
 
 2 Eckermann, “ Conversations with Goethe,” vol. III. 
 
 3 Cf. Goerres, “Die christliche Mystik.” 
 
 4 Bresler, “ Kulturhistorischer Beitrag zur Hysterie,” Allg. Zeits. f. 
 Psych., LIII., p. 333. 
 
90 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 witli Blumhardt’s 1 Gottlieben Dittus. As Flournoy shows, 
 glossolalia is, so far as it really is independent speech, a 
 cryptomnesic phenomenon, K ar e^o\rjv. The reader should 
 consult Flournoy’s most interesting exposition. 
 
 In our case glossolalia was only once observed, when the 
 only understandable words were the scattered variations on 
 the word “ vena.” The source of this word is clear. A few 
 days previously the patient had dipped into an anatomical 
 atlas for the study of the veins of the face, which were given 
 in Latin. She had used the word “vena” in her dreams, 
 as happens occasionally to normal persons. The remaining 
 words and sentences in a foreign language betray, at the 
 first glance, their derivation from French, in which the 
 patient was somewhat fluent. Unfortunately I am without 
 the more accurate translations of the various sentences, 
 because the patient would not give them; but we may hold 
 that it was a phenomenon similar to Helen Smith’s Martian 
 language. Flournoy found that the Martian language was 
 nothing but a childish translation from French; the words 
 were changed but the syntax remained the same. Even more 
 probable is the view that the patient simply ranged next to 
 each other meaningless words that rang strangely, without 
 any true word formation; 2 she borrowed certain characteristic 
 sounds from French and Italian and combined them into a 
 kind of language, just as Helen Smith completed the lacuna 
 in the real Sanscrit words by products of her own resembling 
 that language. The curious names of the mystical system 
 can be reduced, for the most part, to known roots. The 
 writer vividly recalls the botanical schemes found in every 
 school atlas; the internal resemblance of the relationship of 
 the planets to the sun is also pretty clear; we shall not be 
 going astray if we see in the names reminiscences from 
 popular astronomy. Thus can be explained the names 
 
 1 Ziindel, “ Biographie Blumhardt’s.” 
 
 2 “ Le baragouin rapide et confus dont on ne peut jamais obtenir la 
 signification, probablement parce qu’il n’en a en effet aucune, n’est qu’un 
 psendo-langage (p. 193) analogue au baragouinage par lequel les enfants 
 se donnent parfois dans leurs jeux Pillusion qu’ils parlent cbinois, indien ou 
 ‘sauvage ’ ” (p. 152, Flournoy, l.c.). 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 91 
 
 Persus, Fenus, Nenus, Sirum, Surus, Fixus, and Pix, as the 
 childlike distortions of Perseus, Venus, Sirius and Fixed Star, 
 analogous to the Vena variations. Magnesor vividly recalls 
 Magnetism, whose mystic significance the patient knew from 
 the Prophetess of Prevorst. In Connesor, the contrary to 
 Magnesor, the prefix “con”is probably the French “ contre.” 
 Hypnos and Hyfonismus recall hypnosis and hypnotism 
 (German hypnotismus ), about which there are the most super¬ 
 stitious ideas circulating in lay circles. The most used 
 suffixes in “ us ” and “ os ” are the signs by which as a rule 
 people decide the difference between Latin and Greek. The 
 other names probably spring from similar accidents to which 
 we have no clues. The rudimentary glossolalia of our case has 
 not any title to be a classical instance of cryptomnesia, for it 
 only consisted in the unconscious use of various impressions, 
 partly optical, party acoustic, and all very close at hand. 
 
 2. The cryptomnesic image arrives at consciousness through 
 the senses (as a hallucination). Helen Smith is the classic 
 example of this kind. I refer to the case mentioned on the 
 date “ 18 Mars.” 1 
 
 8. The image arrives at consciousness by motor automatism. 
 
 H. Smith had lost her valuable brooch, which she was 
 anxiously looking for everywhere. Ten days later her guide 
 Leopold informed her by means of the table where the brooch 
 was. Thus informed, she found it at night-time in the open 
 field, covered by sand. 2 Strictly speaking, in cryptomnesia 
 there is not any additional creation in the true sense of the 
 word, since the conscious memory experiences no increase of 
 its function, but only an enrichment of its content. By the 
 automatism certain regions are merely made accessible to 
 consciousness in an indirect way, which were formerly sealed 
 against it. But the unconscious does not thereby accomplish 
 any creation which exceeds the capacity of consciousness 
 qualitatively or quantitatively. Cryptomnesia is only an 
 apparent additional creation, in contrast to hypermnesia, 
 which actually represents an increase of function. 3 
 
 1 See p. 63. 2 Flournoy, Z.c., p. 378. 
 
 3 For a case of this kind see Krafft Ebing, “Lehrbuch,” 4th edition, p. 578. 
 
92 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 We have spoken above of a receptivity of the unconscious 
 greater than that of the consciousness, chiefly in regard 
 to the simple attempts at thought-reading of numbers. 
 As mentioned, not only our somnambulist but a relatively 
 large number of normal persons are able to guess from the 
 tremors lengthy thought-sequences, if they are not too com¬ 
 plicated. These experiments are, so to speak, the prototype 
 of those rarer and incomparably more astonishing cases of 
 intuitive knowledge displayed at times by somnambulists. 1 
 Zschokke 2 in his “ Introspection ” has shown us that these 
 phenomena do not belong only to the domain of somnambulism, 
 but occur among non-somnambulic persons. The formation 
 of such knowledge seems to be arrived at in various ways: 
 first and foremost there is the fineness, already noted, of 
 unconscious perceptions; then must be emphasised the 
 importance of the enormous suggestibility of somnambulists. 
 The somnambulist not only incorporates every suggestive idea to 
 some extent , but actually lives in the suggestion , in the person 
 of his doctor or observer , with that abandonment characteristic of 
 the suggestible hysteric. The relation of Frau Hauffe to Kernel’ 
 is a striking example of this. That in such cases there is a 
 high degree of association-concordance can cause no astonish¬ 
 ment ; a condition which Richet might have taken more 
 account of in his experiments in thought-transference. 
 Finally there are cases of somnambulic additional creative 
 work which are not to be explained solely by hyperaesthesia 
 of the unconscious activity of the senses and association- 
 concordance, but presuppose a highly developed intellectual 
 activity of the unconscious. The deciphering of the pur¬ 
 posive tremors demand an extreme sensitiveness and delicacy 
 of feeling, both psychological and physiological, to combine 
 the individual perceptions into a complete unity of thought, 
 if it is at all permissible to make an analogy between the 
 processes of cognition in the realm of the unconscious 
 
 1 The limitation of the associative processes and the concentration of 
 attention upon a definite sphere of presentation can also lead to the develop¬ 
 ment of new ideas, which no effort of will in the waking state would have 
 been able to accomplish (Loewenfeld, “ Hypnotismus,” p. 289). 
 
 2 Zschokke, “ Eine Selbstschau,” III., Aufl. Aarau, 1843, p. 227 ff. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF OCCULT PHENOMENA 98 
 
 and the conscious. The possibility must always be con¬ 
 sidered that in the unconscious , feeling and concept are not 
 clearly separated, perhaps even are one. The intellectual 
 elevation which many somnambulists display in ecstasy, is 
 certainly a rare thing, but none the less one that has some¬ 
 times been observed. 1 I would designate the scheme com¬ 
 posed by our patient as just one of those pieces of cieative 
 work that exceed the normal intelligence. We have already 
 seen whence one portion of this scheme probably came. A 
 second source is no doubt the life-crisis of Frau Hauffe, 
 portrayed in Kerner’s book. The external form seems to be 
 determined by these adventitious facts. As already observed 
 in the presentation of the case, the idea of dualism arises 
 from the conversations picked up piecemeal by the patient 
 during those dreamy states occurring after her ecstasies. 
 This exhausts my knowledge of the sources of S. W.’s 
 creations. Whence arose the root-idea the patient is unable 
 to say. I naturally examined occultistic literature pertinent 
 to the subject, and discovered a store of parallels from different 
 centuries with our gnostic system, but scattered through all 
 kinds of work mostly quite inaccessible to the patient. More¬ 
 over, at her youthful age, and with her surroundings, the 
 possibility of any such study is quite excluded. A brief 
 survey of the system in the light of her own explanations 
 shows how much intelligence was used in its construction. 
 How highly the intellectual work is to be estimated is a 
 matter of opinion. In any case, considering her youth, her 
 mentality must be regarded as most extraordinary. 
 
 1 Gilles de la Tourette says, “We have seen somnambulic girls, poor, 
 uneducated, quite stupid in the waking state, whose whole appearance altered 
 so soon as they were sent to sleep. Whilst previously they were boring, now 
 they are lively, alert, sometimes even witty ” (Cf. Loewenfeld, l.c ., p. 132). 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 1 
 Lecture I 
 
 When you honoured me with an invitation to lecture at Clark 
 University, a wish was expressed that I should speak about 
 my methods of work, and especially about the psychology of 
 childhood. I hope to accomplish this task in the following 
 manner :— 
 
 In my first lecture I will give to you the view points 
 of my association methods; in my second I will discuss the 
 significance of the familiar constellations; while in my third 
 lecture I shall enter more fully into the psychology of the 
 child. 
 
 I might confine myself exclusively to my theoretical views, 
 but I believe it will be better to illustrate my lectures with 
 as many practical examples as possible. We will therefore 
 occupy ourselves first with the association test which has 
 been of great value to me both practically and theoretically. 
 The history of the association method inyogue in psychology, 
 as well as the method itself, is, of course, so familiar to 
 you that there is no need to enlarge upon it. For practical 
 purposes I make use of the following formula:— 
 
 1. head 
 
 8. to pay 
 
 15. to dance 
 
 2. green 
 
 9. window 
 
 16. village 
 
 3. water 
 
 10. friendly 
 
 17. lake 
 
 4. to sing 
 
 11. to cook 
 
 18. sick 
 
 5. dead 
 
 12. to ask 
 
 19. pride 
 
 6. long 
 
 13. cold 
 
 20. to cook 
 
 7. ship 
 
 14. stem 
 
 21. ink 
 
 Lectures delivered at the celebration of the twentieth anniversary of the 
 opening of Clark University, September, 1909; translated from the German 
 by Dr. A. A. Brill, of New York. Reprinted by kind permission of Dr. 
 Stanley Hall. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 95 
 
 22. angry 
 
 23. needle 
 
 24. to swim 
 
 25. voyage 
 
 26. blue 
 
 27. lamp 
 
 28. to sin 
 
 29. bread 
 
 30. rich 
 
 31. tree 
 
 32. to prick 
 
 33. pity 
 
 34. yellow 
 
 35. mountain 
 
 36. to die 
 
 37. salt 
 
 38. new 
 
 39. custom 
 
 40. to pray 
 
 41. money 
 
 42. foolish 
 
 43. pamphlet 
 
 44. despise 
 
 45. finger 
 
 46. expensive 
 
 47. bird 
 
 48. to fall 
 
 49. book 
 
 50. unjust 
 
 51. frog 
 
 52. to part 
 
 53. hunger 
 
 54. white 
 
 55. child 
 
 56. to take care 
 
 57. lead pencil 
 
 58. sad 
 
 59. plum 
 
 60. to marry 
 
 61. house 
 
 62. dear 
 
 63. glass 
 
 64. to quarrel 
 
 65. fur 
 
 66. big 
 
 67. carrot 
 
 68. to paint 
 
 69. part 
 
 70. old 
 
 71. flower 
 
 72. to beat 
 
 73. box 
 
 74. wild 
 
 75. family 
 
 76. to wash 
 
 77. cow 
 
 78. friend 
 
 79. luck 
 
 80. lie 
 
 81. deportment 
 
 82. narrow 
 
 83. brother 
 
 84. to fear 
 
 85. stork 
 
 86. false „ 
 
 87. anxiety • 
 
 88. to kiss 
 
 89. bride 
 
 90. pure 
 
 91. door 
 
 92. to choose 
 
 93. hay 
 
 94. contented 
 
 95. ridicule 
 
 96. to sleep 
 
 97. month 
 
 98. nice 
 
 99. woman 
 
 100. to abuse 
 
 *. • -* . 
 
 This formula has been constructed after many years of 
 experience. The words are chosen and partially arranged in 
 such a manner as to strike easily almost all complexes which 
 occur in practice. As shown above, there is a regulated 
 mixing of the grammatical qualities of the words. For this 
 there are definite reasons. 1 
 
 Before the experiment begins the test person receives the 
 following instruction : “ Answer as quickly as possible with 
 the first word that occurs to your mind.” This instruction is 
 so simple that it can easily be followed. The work itself, 
 moreover, appears extremely easy, so that it might be 
 expected any one could accomplish it with the greatest facility 
 and promptitude. But, contrary to expectation, the behaviour 
 is quite otherwise. 
 
 1 The selection of these stimulus words was naturally made for the 
 German language only, and would probably have to be considerably changed 
 for the English language. 
 
ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 I. An Example of a Normal Reaction Type. 
 
 Stimulus 
 
 Reaction 
 
 
 
 word. 
 
 Time. 
 
 UnitO'2 second. 
 
 Reaction. 
 
 Reproduction. 
 
 head 
 
 9 
 
 foot 
 
 part of the body 
 
 green 
 
 11 
 
 blouse 
 
 water 
 
 14 
 
 clear 
 
 light 
 
 to sing 
 
 6 
 
 children 
 
 dead 
 
 11 
 
 do not like - 
 
 
 long 
 
 ship 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 short 
 
 forth 
 
 I, tall 
 
 to pay 
 
 9 
 
 bills 
 
 
 window 
 
 9 
 
 room 
 
 • 
 
 friendly 
 
 10 
 
 children 
 
 
 table 
 
 9 
 
 chair 
 
 room 
 
 to ask 
 
 10 
 
 all kinds 
 
 cold 
 
 7 
 
 warm 
 
 
 stem 
 
 6 
 
 flower 
 
 
 to dance 
 
 9 
 
 I . . 
 
 like 
 
 lake 
 
 8 
 
 Zurich 
 
 sick 
 
 8 
 
 sister 
 
 
 pride 
 
 6 
 
 people 
 
 
 to cook 
 
 7 
 
 woman 
 
 
 ink 
 
 5 
 
 black 
 
 
 angry 
 
 10 
 
 children 
 
 people 
 
 needle 
 
 9 
 
 to prick 
 
 to swim 
 
 10 
 
 healthy 
 
 
 voyage 
 
 9 
 
 England 
 
 
 blue 
 
 10 
 
 pretty 
 
 like 
 
 lamp 
 
 6 
 
 light 
 
 
 to sin 
 bread 
 rich 
 
 8 
 
 10 
 
 9 
 
 much 
 
 good 
 
 nice 
 
 people 
 
 like, necessary 
 
 tree 
 
 6 
 
 green 
 
 
 to prick 
 
 9 
 
 need 
 
 
 IR—An Example of an Hysterical Reaction Type. 
 
 Stimulus 
 
 Reaction 
 
 
 
 word. 
 
 Time. 
 
 Unit 0’2 second. 
 
 Reaction. 
 
 Reproduction. 
 
 needle 
 
 7 
 
 to sew 
 
 
 to swim 
 
 V * t 
 
 9 
 
 water w 
 
 ship 
 
 voyage 
 
 blue 
 
 85 
 
 10 
 
 to ride, unotion, voyager 
 colour 
 
 
 lamp 
 
 7 
 
 to burn 
 
 
 Denotes misunderstanding, 
 t Denotes repetition of the stimulus words. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 97 
 
 An Example of an Hysterical Reaction Type— continued . 
 
 Stimulus 
 
 word. 
 
 Reaction 
 
 Time. 
 
 Unitor second. 
 
 Reaction. 
 
 Reproduction. 
 
 to sin 
 
 22 
 
 this idea is totally strange 
 to me, I do not recog¬ 
 nize it 
 
 
 bread 
 
 10 
 
 to eat 
 
 
 rich +„ 
 
 50 
 
 money, I don’t know 
 
 possession 
 
 brown 
 
 6 
 
 nature 
 
 green 
 
 to prick 
 
 9 
 
 needle 
 
 pity 
 
 12 
 
 feeling 
 
 
 yellow 
 
 9 
 
 colour 
 
 
 mountain 
 
 8 
 
 high 
 
 
 to die 
 
 8 
 
 to perish 
 
 
 salt 
 
 15 
 
 salty (laughs) I don’t know 
 
 NaCl 
 
 new 
 
 15 
 
 old 
 
 as an opposite 
 
 custom 
 
 10 
 
 good 
 
 barbaric 
 
 to pray 
 
 12 
 
 Deity 
 
 
 money 
 
 10 
 
 wealth 
 
 
 foolish 
 
 12 
 
 narrow minded, restricted 
 
 ? 
 
 • 
 
 pamphlet 
 
 10 
 
 paper 
 
 despise 
 
 30 
 
 that is a complicated, too 
 foolish 
 
 ? 
 
 finger 
 
 8 
 
 hand, not only hand, but 
 also foot, a joint, mem¬ 
 ber, extremity 
 
 
 dear 
 
 14 
 
 to pay (laughs) 
 
 
 bird 
 
 8 
 
 to fly 
 
 
 to fall 
 
 * 
 
 30 
 
 tomber, I will say no 
 more, what do you 
 mean by fall ? 
 
 ? 
 
 book 
 
 6 
 
 to read 
 
 
 unjust 
 
 8 
 
 just 
 
 
 frog 
 
 11 
 
 quack 
 
 
 to part 
 
 30 
 
 what does part mean ? 
 
 ? 
 
 hunger 
 
 10 
 
 to eat 
 
 
 white 
 
 12 
 
 colour, everything pos¬ 
 sible, light 
 
 
 child 
 
 10 
 
 little, I did not hear well, 
 bebe 
 
 9 
 
 • 
 
 to take care 
 
 14 
 
 attention 
 
 
 lead pencil 
 
 8 
 
 to draw, everything pos¬ 
 sible can be drawn 
 
 
 sad 
 
 9 
 
 to weep, that is not always 
 the case 
 
 to be 
 
 plum 
 
 16 
 
 to eat a plum, pluck what 
 do you mean by it ? Is 
 that symbolic ? 
 
 fruit 
 
 to marry 
 
 27 
 
 how can you ? reunion, 
 union 
 
 union, alliance 
 
 t Denotes repetition of the stimulus words. 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 The following diagrams illustrate the reaction times in an 
 association experiment in four normal test-persons. The 
 height of each column denotes the length of the reaction 
 time. 
 
 Fig. 6. 
 
 The following diagram shows the course of the reaction 
 time in hysterical individuals. The light cross-hatched 
 columns denote the places where the test-person was unable 
 to react (so-called failures to react). 
 
 The first thing that strikes us is the fact that many test- 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 99 
 
 pei sons show a marked prolongation of the reaction time. 
 This would seem to be suggestive of intellectual difficulties, 
 —wrongly however, for we are often dealing with very 
 
 ntelligent persons of fluent speech. The explanation lies 
 ather in the emotions. In order to understand the matter 
 omprehensively, we must bear in mind that the association 
 xperiments cannot deal with a separated psychic function, 
 
 Fig. 
 
100 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 for any psychic occurrence is never a thing in itself, but is 
 always the resultant of the entire psychological past. The 
 association experiment, too, is not merely a method for the 
 
 reproduction of separated word couplets, but it is a kind of 
 pastime, a conversation between experimenter and test-person. 
 In a certain sense it is still more than that. Words really 
 represent condensed actions, situations, and things. When I 
 

 THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 101 
 
 give a stimulus word to the test-person, which denotes an 
 action, it is as if I represented to him the action itself, and 
 asked him, “ How do you behave towards it ? What do you 
 think of it? What would you do in this situation?” If I 
 were a magician, I should cause the situation corresponding 
 to the stimulus word to appear in reality, and placing the 
 
 Fig. 10. 
 
 test-person in its midst, I should then study his manner of 
 reaction. The result of my stimulus words would thus 
 undoubtedly approach infinitely nearer perfection. But as 
 we are not magicians, we must be contented with the 
 linguistic substitutes for reality; at the same time we 
 must not forget that the stimulus word will almost without 
 exception conjure up its corresponding situation. All depends 
 
102 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 on how the test-person reacts to this situation. The word 
 “ bride ” or “ bridegroom ” will not evoke a simple reaction in 
 a young lady ; but the reaction will be deeply influenced by 
 the strong feeling tones evoked, the more so if the experi¬ 
 menter be a man. It thus happens that the test-person is 
 often unable to react quickly and smoothly to all stimulus 
 words. There are certain stimulus words which denote 
 actions, situations, or things, about which the test-person 
 cannot think quickly and surely, and this fact is demonstrated 
 in the association experiments. The examples which I have 
 just given show an abundance of long reaction times and 
 other disturbances. In this case the reaction to the stimulus 
 word is in some.way impeded, that is, the adaptation to the 
 stimulus word is disturbed. The stimulus words therefore 
 act upon us just as reality acts; indeed, a person who shows 
 such great disturbances to the stimulus words, is in a certain 
 sense but imperfectly adapted to reality. Disease itself is 
 an imperfect adaptation; hence in this case we are dealing 
 with something morbid in the psyche,—with something which 
 is either temporary or persistently pathological in character, 
 that is, we are dealing with a psychoneurosis, with a func¬ 
 tional disturbance of the mind. This rule, however, as we 
 shall see later, is not without its exceptions. 
 
 Let us, in the first place, continue the discussion con¬ 
 cerning the prolonged reaction time. It often happens that 
 the test-person actually does not know what to answer to the 
 stimulus word. He waives any reaction, and for the moment 
 he totally fails to obey the original instructions, and shows 
 liimself incapable of adapting himself to the experimenter. 
 If this phenomenon occurs frequently in an experiment, it 
 signifies a high degree of disturbance in adjustment. I would 
 call attention to the fact that it is quite indifferent what 
 reason the test-person gives for the refusal. Some find that 
 too many ideas suddenly occur to them; others, that they 
 suffer from a deficiency of ideas. In most cases, however, 
 the difficulties first perceived are so deterrent that they 
 actually give up the whole reaction. The following example 
 shows a case of hysteria with many failures of reaction :— 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 108 
 
 Stimulus 
 
 word. 
 
 Reaction 
 
 Time. 
 
 UnitO’2 second. 
 
 Reaction. 
 
 Reproduction. 
 
 to sing 
 
 9 
 
 nice 
 
 + 
 
 dead 
 
 15 
 
 awful 
 
 ? 
 
 long * 
 
 40 
 
 the time, the journey 
 
 ? 
 
 ship t 
 
 
 
 + 
 
 to pay 
 
 11 
 
 money 
 
 
 window 
 
 10 
 
 big 
 
 high 
 
 friendly 
 
 50 
 
 a man 
 
 human 
 
 to cook 
 
 10 
 
 soup 
 
 + 
 
 ink 
 
 9 
 
 black or blue 
 
 + 
 
 angry 
 
 
 
 bad 
 
 needle 
 
 9 
 
 to sew 
 
 + 
 
 lamp 
 
 14 
 
 light 
 
 + 
 
 to sin 
 
 
 
 
 bread 
 
 15 
 
 to eat 
 
 + 
 
 rich * t 
 
 40 
 
 good, convenient 
 
 + 
 
 yellow 
 
 18 
 
 paper 
 
 colour 
 
 mountain 
 
 10 
 
 high 
 
 + 
 
 to die 
 
 15 
 
 awful 
 
 + 
 
 salt t 
 
 25 
 
 salty 
 
 O- 
 
 I 
 
 new 
 
 
 
 good, nice 
 
 custom t 
 
 
 
 
 to pray 
 
 
 
 
 money t 
 
 85 
 
 to buy, one is able 
 
 + 
 
 pamphlet 
 
 16 
 
 to write 
 
 + 
 
 to despise t 
 
 22 
 
 people 
 
 + 
 
 finger 
 
 
 
 
 dear 
 
 12 
 
 thing 
 
 + 
 
 bird 
 
 12 
 
 \ 
 
 sings or flies 
 
 + 
 
 In example II. we find a characteristic phenomenon. The 
 test-person is not content with the requirements of the 
 instruction, that is, she is not satisfied with one word, but 
 reacts with many words. She apparently does more and 
 better than the instruction requires, but in so doing she does 
 not fulfil the requirements of the instruction. Thus she 
 reacts :—custom—good—barbaric ; foolish—narrow minded 
 —restricted; family—big—small—everything possible. 
 
 These examples show in the first place that many other 
 words connect themselves with the reaction word. The test 
 person is unable to suppress the ideas which subsequently 
 occur to her. She also pursues a certain tendency which 
 
 * Denotes misunderstanding. + Reproduced unchanged. 
 
 t Denotes repetition of the stimulus words. 
 
104 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 perhaps is more exactly expressed in the following reaction : 
 new—old—as an opposite. The addition of “ as an opposite ” 
 denotes that the test-person has the desire to add something 
 explanatory or supplementary. This tendency is also shown 
 in the following reaction : finger—not only hand, also foot—a 
 limb—member—extremity. 
 
 Here we have a whole series of supplements. It seems 
 as if the reaction were not sufficient for the test-person, some¬ 
 thing else must always be added, as if what has already been 
 said were incorrect or in some way imperfect. This feeling 
 is what Janet designates the “ sentiment d’incompletucle ,” 
 but this by no means explains everything. I go somewhat 
 deeply into this phenomenon because it is very frequently 
 met with in neurotic individuals. It is not merely a small 
 and unimportant subsidiary manifestation demonstrable in an 
 insignificant experiment, but rather an elemental and univer¬ 
 sal manifestation which plays a role in other ways in the 
 psychic life of neurotics. 
 
 By his desire to supplement, the test-person betrays a 
 tendency to give the experimenter more than he wants, he 
 actually makes great efforts to find further mental occurrences 
 in order finally to discover something quite satisfactory. If 
 we translate this observation into the psychology of everyday 
 life, it signifies that the test-person has a constant tendency 
 to give to others more feeling than is required and expected. 
 According to Freud, this is a sign of a reinforced object- 
 libido, that is, it is a compensation for an inner want of 
 satisfaction and voidness of feeling. This elementary observa¬ 
 tion therefore displays one of the characteristics of hysterics, 
 namely, the tendency to allow themselves to be carried away 
 by everything, to attach themselves enthusiastically to every¬ 
 thing, and always to promise too much and hence perform too 
 little. Patients with this symptom are, in my experience, 
 always hard to deal with; at first they are enthusiastically 
 enamoured of the physician, for a time going so far as to 
 accept everything he says blindly ; but they soon merge into 
 an equally blind resistance against him, thus rendering any 
 educative influence absolutely impossible. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 105 
 
 We see therefore in this type of reaction an expression of 
 a tendency to give more than is asked or expected. This 
 tendency betrays itself also in other failures to follow the 
 instruction:— 
 
 to quarrel—angry—different things—I always quarrel 
 at home; 
 
 to marry—how can you marry ?—reunion union; 
 
 plum—to eat—to pluck—what do you mean by it ?■ is 
 it symbolic ? 
 
 to sin—this idea is quite strange to me, I do not 
 recognise it. 
 
 These reactions show that the test-person gets away 
 altogether from the situation of the experiment. For the 
 instruction was, that he should answer only with the first 
 word which occurs to him. But here we note that the stimulus 
 words act with excessive strength, that they are taken as 
 if they were direct personal questions. The test-person 
 entirely forgets that we deal with mere words which stand 
 in print before us, but finds a personal meaning in them; 
 he tries to di'Vjine their intention and defend himself against 
 them, thus altogether forgetting the original instructions. 
 
 This elementary observation discloses another common 
 peculiarity of hysterics, namely, that of taking everything 
 personally, of never being able to remain objective, and of 
 allowing themselves to be carried away by momentary im¬ 
 pressions ; this again shows the characteristics of the en¬ 
 hanced object-libido. 
 
 Yet another sign of impeded adaptation is the often 
 occurring repetitions of the stimulus words . The test-persons 
 repeat the stimulus word as if they had not heard or under¬ 
 stood it distinctly. They repeat it just as we repeat a 
 difficult question in order to grasp it better before answer¬ 
 ing. This same tendency is shown in the experiment. The 
 questions are repeated because the stimulus words act on 
 hysterical individuals in much the same way as difficult 
 personal questions. In principle it is the same phenomenon 
 as the subsequent completion of the reaction. 
 
106 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 In many experiments we observe that the same reaction 
 constantly reappears to the most varied stimulus words. 
 These woids seem to possess a special reproduction tendency, 
 and it is very interesting to examine their relationship to the 
 test-person. For example, I have observed a case in which 
 the patient repeated the word “ short ” a great many times 
 and often in places where it had no meaning. The test- 
 person could not directly state the reason for the repetition 
 of the word “ short. From experience I knew that such 
 predicates always relate either to the test-person himself or 
 to the person nearest to him. I assumed that in this word 
 
 short he designated himself, and that in this way he 
 helped to express something very painful to him. The test- 
 person is of very small stature. He is the youngest of four 
 brothers, who, in contrast to himself, are all tall. He was 
 always the “child'' in the family; he was nicknamed 
 “ Short” and was treated by all as the “little one.” This 
 resulted in a total loss of self-confidence. Although he was 
 intelligent, and despite long study, he could not decide to 
 present himself for examination; he finally became im¬ 
 potent, and merged into a psychosis in which, whenever he 
 was alone, he took delight in walking about in his room on 
 his toes in order to appear taller. The word “ short,” there¬ 
 fore, stood to him for a great many painful experiences. 
 This is usually the case with the perseverated words; they 
 always contain something of importance for the individual 
 psychology of the test-person. 
 
 The signs thus far discussed are not found spread about 
 in an arbitrary way through the whole experiment, but are 
 seen in very definite places, namely, where the stimulus 
 words strike against emotionally accentuated complexes. 
 This observation is the foundation of the so-called “ diag¬ 
 nosis of facts ” ( Tatbestandsdiagnostik ). This method is 
 employed to discover, by means of an association experi¬ 
 ment, which is the culprit among a number of persons 
 suspected of a crime. That this is possible I will demon¬ 
 strate by the brief recital of a concrete case. 
 
 On the 6th of February, 1908, our supervisor reported to 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 107 
 
 me that a nurse complained to her of having been robbed 
 during the forenoon of the previous day. The facts were as 
 follows: The nurse kept her money, amounting to 70 francs, 
 in a pocket-book which she had placed in her cupboard where 
 she also kept her clothes. The cupboard contained two 
 compartments, of which one belonged to the nurse who was 
 robbed, and the other to the head nurse. These two nurses 
 and a third one, who was an intimate friend of the head 
 nurse, slept in the room where the cupboard was. This room 
 was in a section which was occupied in common by six nurses 
 who had at all times free access to this room. Given such a 
 state of affairs it is not to be wondered that the supervisor 
 shrugged her shoulders when I asked her whom she most 
 suspected. 
 
 Further investigation showed that on the morning of the 
 theft, the above-mentioned friend of the head nurse was 
 slightly indisposed and remained the whole morning in bed 
 in the room. Hence, following the indications of the plaintiff, 
 the theft could have taken place only in the afternoon. Of 
 the other four nurses upon whom suspicion could possibly 
 fall, there was one who attended regularly to the cleaning of 
 the room in question, while the remaining three had nothing 
 to do in it, nor was it shown that any of them had spent any 
 time there on the previous day. 
 
 It was therefore natural that the last three nurses should 
 be regarded for the time being as less implicated, and I there¬ 
 fore began by subjecting the first three to the experiment. 
 
 From the information I had obtained of the case, I knew 
 that the cupboard was locked but that the key was kept near 
 by in a very conspicuous place, that on opening the cupboard 
 the first thing which would strike the eye was a fur boa, and, 
 moreover, that the pocket-book was between the linen in an 
 inconspicuous place. The pocket-book was of dark reddish 
 leather, and contained the following objects: a 50-franc bank¬ 
 note, a 20-franc piece, some centimes, a small silver watch- 
 chain, a stencil used in the lunatic asylum to mark the kitchen 
 utensils, and a small receipt from Dosenbach’s shoeshop in 
 Zurich. 
 
108 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Besides the plaintiff and the guilty one, only the head 
 nurse knew the exact particulars of the deed, for as soon as 
 the former missed her money she immediately asked the 
 head nurse to help her find it, thus the head nurse had been 
 able to learn the smallest details, which naturally rendered 
 the experiment still more difficult, for she was precisely the 
 one most suspected. The conditions for the experiment were 
 better for the others, since they knew nothing concerning 
 the particulars of the deed, and some not even that a theft 
 had been committed. As critical stimulus words I selected 
 the name of the robbed nurse, plus the following words : cup¬ 
 board, door, open, key, yesterday, banknote, gold, 70, 50, 20, 
 money, watch, pocket-book, chain, silver, to hide, fur, dark 
 reddish, leather, centimes, stencil, receipt, Dosenbach. Be¬ 
 sides these words which referred directly to the deed, I took 
 also the following, which had a special effective value : theft, 
 to take, to steal, suspicion, blame, court, police, to lie, to 
 fear, to discover, to arrest, innocent. 
 
 Tllte objection is often made to the last species of words 
 that they may produce a strong affective resentment even in 
 innocent persons, and for that reason one cannot attribute to 
 them any comparative value. Nevertheless, it may always 
 be questioned whether the affective resentment of an innocent 
 person will have the same effect on the association as that of 
 a guilty one, and that question can only be authoritatively 
 answered by experience. Until the contrary is demonstrated, 
 I maintain that words of the above-mentioned type may 
 profitably be used. 
 
 I distributed these critical words among twice as many 
 indifferent stimulus words in such a manner that each 
 critical word was followed by two indifferent ones. As a 
 rule it is well to follow up the critical words by indifferent 
 words in order that the action of the first may be clearly 
 distinguished. But one may also follow up one critical word 
 by another, especially if one wishes to bring into relief the 
 action of the second. Thus I placed together “ darkish red ” 
 and “ leather,” and “ chain ” and “ silver.” 
 
 After this preparatory work I undertook the experiment 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 109 
 
 with the three above-mentioned nurses. As examinations of 
 this kind can be rendered into a foreign tongue only with the 
 greatest difficulty, I will content myself with presenting the 
 general results, and with giving some examples. I first 
 undertook the experiment with the friend of the head nurse, 
 and judging by the circumstances she appeared only slightly 
 moved. The head nurse was next examined; she showed 
 marked excitement, her pulse being 120 per minute immedi¬ 
 ately after the experiment. The last to be examined was the 
 nurse who attended to the cleaning of the room in which the 
 theft occurred. She was the most tranquil of the three; she 
 displayed but little embarrassment, and only in the course of 
 the experiment did it occur to her that she was suspected of 
 stealing, a fact which manifestly disturbed her towards the 
 
 end of the experiment. 
 
 The general impression from the examination spoke 
 strongly against the head nurse. It seemed to me that 
 she evinced a very “ suspicious,” or I might almost say, 
 “impudent” countenance. With the definite idea of find¬ 
 ing in her the guilty one I set about adding up the 
 
 results. 
 
 One can make use of many special methods of computing, 
 but they are not all equally good and equally exact. (One 
 must always resort to calculation, as appearances are enor¬ 
 mously deceptive.) The method which is most to be recom¬ 
 mended is that of the probable average of the reaction time. 
 It shows at a glance the difficulties which the person in the 
 experiment had to overcome in the reaction. 
 
 The technique of this calculation is very simple. The 
 probable average is the middle number of the various reaction 
 times arranged in a series. The reaction times are, for 
 example, 1 placed in the following manner: 5,5,5,7,7,7,7, 
 8 9 9,9, 12, IB, 14. The number found in the middle (8) 
 is the probable average of this series. Following the order 
 of the experiment, I shall denote the friend of the head 
 nurse by the letter A, the head nurse by B, and the third 
 
 nurse by C. 
 
 1 Reaction times are always given in fifths of a second. 
 
110 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 The probable averages of the reaction are : 
 
 ABC 
 100 12*0 13*5. 
 
 No conclusions can be drawn from this result. But the 
 average reaction times calculated separately for the indifferent 
 reactions, for the critical, and for those immediately following 
 the critical (post-critical) are more interesting. 
 
 From this example we see that whereas A has the shortest 
 reaction time for the indifferent reactions, she shows in com- 
 
 pans on to the other two persons of the experiment, the longest 
 time for the critical reactions. 
 
 The Probable Average of the Reaction Time. 
 
 for 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 C 
 
 Indifferent reactions . 
 
 Critical reactions 
 
 Post-critical reactions 
 
 • • • 
 
 •- 
 
 100 
 
 16*0 
 
 100 
 
 1 
 
 110 
 
 130 
 
 110 
 
 120 
 
 150 
 
 13*0 
 
 The difference between the reaction times, let us say 
 between the indifferent and the critical, is 6 for A, 2 for B, 
 
 and 3 for C, that is, it is more than double for A when 
 compared with the other two persons. 
 
 . In tlle same wa y we can calculate how many complex 
 indicators there are on an average for the indifferent, critical 
 etc., reactions. 
 
 The Average Complex-Indicators for each Reaction. 
 
 for 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 c 
 
 Indifferent reactions . 
 
 Critical reactions 
 
 Post-critical reactions 
 
 0*6 
 
 1*3 
 
 06 
 
 0-9 
 
 09 
 
 10 
 
 0-8 
 
 1*2 
 
 08 
 
 The difference between the indifferent and critical reactions 
 for A = 0'7, for B = 0, for C = 0 - 4. A is again the highest. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 111 
 
 Another question to consider is, in what special way do 
 the imperfect reactions behave ? 
 
 The result for A = 34%, for B = 28%, and for C = 80%. 
 
 Here, too, A reaches the highest value, and in this, I 
 believe, we see the characteristic moment of the guilt-complex 
 in A. I am, however, unable to explain here circumstan¬ 
 tially the reasons why I maintain that memory errors are 
 related to an emotional complex, as this would lead me 
 beyond the limits of the present work. I therefore refer the 
 reader to my work “ Ueber die Reproductionsstorrungen im 
 Associationsexperiment” (IX Beitrag der Diagnost. Associat. 
 Studien). 
 
 As it often happens that an association of strong feeling 
 tone produces in the experiment a perseveration, with the 
 result that not only the critical association, but also two or 
 three successive associations are imperfectly reproduced, it 
 will be very interesting to see how many imperfect reproduc¬ 
 tions are so arranged in the series in our cases. The result 
 of computation shows that the imperfect reproductions thus 
 arranged in series are for A 64*7%, for B 55*5%, and for 
 C 30*0%. 
 
 Again we find that A has the greatest percentage. To be 
 sure, this may partially depend on the fact that A also 
 possesses the greatest number of imperfect reproductions. 
 Given a small quantity of reactions, it is usual that the 
 greater the total number of the same, the more imperfect 
 reactions will occur in groups. But in order that this should 
 be probable it could not occur in so great a measure as in our 
 case, where, on the other hand, B and C have not a much 
 smaller number of imperfect reactions when compared to A. 
 It is significant that C with her slight emotions during the 
 experiment shows the minimum of imperfect reproductions 
 arranged in series. 
 
 As imperfect reproductions are also complex indicators, it 
 is necessary to see how they distribute themselves in respect 
 to the indifferent, critical, etc., reactions. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to bring into prominence the 
 differences between the indifferent and the critical reactions 
 
112 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of the various subjects as shown by the resulting numbers of 
 the table. In this respect, too, A occupies first place. 
 
 Imperfect Reproductions which Occur. 
 
 in 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 c 
 
 Indifferent reactions 
 
 10 
 
 12 
 
 11 
 
 Critical reactions 
 
 19 
 
 9 
 
 12 
 
 Post-critical reactions 
 
 5 
 
 7 
 
 7 
 
 Naturally, here, too, there is a probability that the 
 greater the quantity of the imperfect reproductions the 
 greater is their number in the critical reactions. If we 
 suppose that the imperfect reproductions are distributed 
 regularly and without choice, among all the reactions, there 
 will be a greater number of them for A (in comparison with B 
 and C) even as reactions to critical words, since A has the 
 greater number of imperfect reproductions. Admitting such 
 a uniform distribution of the imperfect reproductions, it is 
 easy to calculate how many we ought to expect to belong to 
 each individual kind of reaction. 
 
 From this calculation it appears that the disturbances 
 of reproductions which concern the critical reactions for A 
 greatly surpass the number expected, for C they are 0*9 
 higher, while for B they are lower. 
 
 Imperfect Reproductions. 
 
 Which may be expected 
 
 Which really occur 
 
 For 
 
 Indifferent 
 
 Critical 
 
 Post-critical 
 
 Indifferent 
 
 Critical 
 
 Post-critical 
 
 
 Reactions. 
 
 Reactions. 
 
 Reactions. 
 
 Reactions. 
 
 Reactions. 
 
 Reactions. 
 
 A 
 
 112 
 
 12*5 
 
 10*2 
 
 10 
 
 19 
 
 5 
 
 B 
 
 9*2 
 
 10-3 
 
 8-4 
 
 12 
 
 9 
 
 7 
 
 C 
 
 9-9 
 
 111 
 
 90 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 7 
 
 All this points to the fact that in the subject A the critical 
 stimulus words acted with the greatest intensity, and hence 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 113 
 
 the greatest suspicion falls on A. Practically one may 
 assume the probability of this person’s guilt. The same 
 evening A made a complete confession of the theft, and thus 
 the success of the experiment was confirmed. 
 
 Such a result is undoubtedly of scientific interest and 
 worthy of serious consideration. There is much in experi¬ 
 mental psychology which is of less use than the material 
 exemplified in this test. Putting the theoretical interest 
 altogether aside, we have here something that is not to be 
 despised from a practical point of view, to wit, a culprit 
 has been brought to light in a much easier and shorter way 
 than is customary. What has been possible once or twice 
 ought to be possible again, and it is well worth while to 
 investigate some means of rendering the method increasingly 
 capable of rapid and sure results. 
 
 This application of the experiment shows that it is 
 possible to strike a concealed, indeed an unconscious complex 
 by means of a stimulus word ; and conversely we may assume 
 with great certainty that behind a reaction which shows a 
 complex indicator there is a hidden complex, even though 
 the test-person strongly denies it. One must get rid of the 
 idea that educated and intelligent test-persons are able to see 
 and admit their own complexes. Every human mind contains 
 much that is unacknowledged and hence unconscious as such ; 
 and no one can boast that he stands completely above his 
 complexes. Those who persist in maintaining that they can, 
 are not aware of the spectacles upon their noses. 
 
 
 It has long been thought that the association experiment 
 enables one to distinguish certain intellectual types. That is 
 not the case. The experiment does not give us any particular 
 insight into the purely intellectual, but rather into the emo¬ 
 tional processes. To be sure we can erect certain types of 
 reaction ; they are not, however, based on intellectual peculi¬ 
 arities, but depend entirely on the proportionate emotional states. 
 Educated test-persons usually show superficial and linguisti¬ 
 cally deep-rooted associations, whereas the uneducated form 
 more valuable associations and often of ingenious significance. 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 This behaviour would be paradoxical from an intellectual view¬ 
 point. The meaningful associations of the uneducated are not 
 really the product of intellectual thinking, but are simply the 
 results of a special emotional state. The whole thing is more 
 important to the uneducated, his emotion is greater, and for 
 that reason he pays more attention to the experiment than 
 the educated person, and his associations are therefore more 
 significant. Apart from those determined by education, we 
 have to consider three principal individual types : 
 
 1. An objective type with undisturbed reactions. 
 
 2. A so-called complex type with many disturbances in 
 the experiment occasioned by the constellation of a complex. 
 
 3. A so-called definition-type. This type consists in the 
 fact that the reaction always gives an explanation or a defini¬ 
 tion of the content of the stimulus word; e.g.: 
 
 apple,—a tree-fruit; 
 table,—a piece of household furniture; 
 to promenade,—an activity; 
 father,—chief of the family. 
 
 This type is chiefly found in stupid persons, and it is there¬ 
 fore quite usual in imbecility. But it can also be found in 
 persons who are not really stupid, but who do not wish to be 
 taken as stupid. Thus a young student from whom associations 
 were taken by an older intelligent woman student reacted 
 altogether with definitions. The test-person was of the 
 opinion that it was an examination in intelligence, and there¬ 
 fore directed most of his attention to the significance of the 
 stimulus words; his associations, therefore, looked like those 
 of an idiot. All idiots, however, do not react with definitions; 
 probably only those react in this way who w 7 ould like to 
 appear smarter than they are, that is, those to whom their 
 stupidity is painful. I call this widespread complex the 
 “intelligence-complex.” A normal test-person reacts in a 
 most overdrawn manner as follows: 
 
 anxiety—heart anguish ; 
 to kiss—love’s unfolding; 
 to kiss—perception of friendship. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 115 
 
 This type gives a constrained and unnatural impression. 
 The test-persons wish to be more than they are, they wish to 
 exert more influence than they really have. Hence we see 
 that persons with an intelligence complex are usually un¬ 
 natural and constrained; that they are always somewhat 
 stilted, or flowery; they show a predilection for complicated 
 foreign words, high-sounding quotations, and other intellectual 
 ornaments. In this way they wish to influence their fellow 
 beings, they wish to impress others with their apparent 
 education and intelligence, and thus to compensate for their 
 painful feeling of stupidity. The definition type is closely 
 related to the predicate type, or, to express it more precisely, 
 to the predicate type expressing personal judgment (Wert- 
 prddikattypus). For example: 
 
 flower—pretty; 
 money—convenient; 
 animal—ugly; 
 knife—dangerous; 
 death—ghastly. 
 
 In the definition type the intellectual significance of the 
 stimulus word is rendered prominent, but in the predicate 
 type its emotional significance. There are predicate types 
 which show great exaggeration where reactions such as the 
 following appear: 
 
 piano—horrible; 
 
 to sing—heavenly ; 
 
 mother—ardently loved ; 
 
 father—something good, nice, holy. 
 
 In the definition type an absolutely intellectual make-up 
 is manifested or rather simulated, but here there is a very 
 emotional one. Yet, just as the definition type really conceals 
 a lack of intelligence, so the excessive emotional expression 
 conceals or overcompensates an emotional deficiency. This 
 conclusion is very interestingly illustrated by the following 
 discovery:—On investigating the influence of the familiar 
 milieus on the association type it was found that young 
 
116 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 people seldom possess a predicate type, but that, on the 
 other hand, the predicate type increases in frequency with 
 advancing age. In women the increase of the predicate type 
 begins a little after the 40th year, and in men after the 
 60th. That is the precise time when, owing to the deficiency 
 of sexuality, there actually occurs considerable emotional loss. 
 If a test-person evinces a distinct predicate type, it may always 
 be inferred that a marked internal emotional deficiency is 
 thereby compensated. Still, one cannot reason conversely, 
 namely, that an inner emotional deficiency must produce a 
 predicate type, no more than that idiocy directly produces a 
 definition type. A predicate type can also betray itself 
 through the external behaviour, as, for example, through a 
 particular affectation, enthusiastic exclamations, an em¬ 
 bellished behaviour, and the constrained sounding language 
 so often observed in society. 
 
 The complex type shows no particular tendency except the 
 concealment of a complex, whereas the definition and predicate 
 types betray a positive tendency to exert in some way a definite 
 influence on the experimenter. But whereas the definition 
 type tends to bring to light its intelligence, the predicate type 
 displays its emotion. I need hardly add of what importance 
 such determinations are for the diagnosis of character. 
 
 After finishing an association experiment I usually add 
 another of a different kind, the so-called reproduction experi¬ 
 ment. I repeat the same stimulus words and ask the test- 
 persons whether they still remember their former reactions. 
 In many instances the memory fails, and as experience shows, 
 these locations are stimulus words which touched an emo¬ 
 tionally accentuated complex, or stimulus words immediately 
 following such critical words. 
 
 This phenomenon has been designated as paradoxical and 
 contrary to all experience. For it is known that emotionally 
 accentuated things are better retained in memory than in¬ 
 different things. This is quite true, but it does not hold for 
 the linguistic expression of an emotionally accentuated con¬ 
 tent. On the contrary, one very easily forgets what he has 
 said under emotion, one is even apt to contradict himself 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 117 
 
 about it. Indeed, the efficacy of cross-examinations in court 
 depends on this fact. The reproduction method therefore 
 serves to render still more prominent the complex stimulus. 
 In normal persons we usually find a limited number of false 
 reproductions, seldom more than 19-20 per cent., while in 
 abnormal persons, especially in hysterics, we often find 
 from 20-40 per cent, of false reproductions. The reproduction 
 certainty is therefore in certain cases a measure for the emo¬ 
 tivity of the test-person. 
 
 By far the larger number of neurotics show a pronounced 
 tendency to cover up their intimate affairs in impenetrable 
 darkness, even from the doctor, so that he finds it very difficult 
 to form a proper picture of the patient’s psychology. In such 
 cases I am greatly assisted by the association experiment. 
 When the experiment is finished, I first look over the general 
 course of the reaction times. I see a great many very pro¬ 
 longed intervals ; this means that the patient can only adjust 
 himself with difficulty, that his psychological functions pro¬ 
 ceed with marked internal friction, with resistances . The 
 greater number of neurotics react only under great and very 
 definite resistances ; there are, however, others in whom the 
 average reaction times are as short as in the normal, and in 
 whom the other complex indicators are lacking, but, despite 
 that fact, they undoubtedly present neurotic symptoms. 
 These rare cases are especially found among very intelligent 
 and educated persons, chronic patients who, after many 
 years of practice, have learned to control their outward 
 behaviour and therefore outwardly display very little if any 
 trace of their neuroses. The superficial observer would take 
 them for normal, yet in some places they show disturbances 
 which betray the repressed complex. 
 
 After examining the reaction times I turn my attention to 
 the type of the association to ascertain with what type I am 
 dealing. If it is a predicate type I draw the conclusions which 
 I have detailed above; if it is a complex type I try to ascertain 
 the nature of the complex. With the necessary experience one 
 can readily emancipate one’s judgment from the test-person’s 
 
118 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 statements and almost without any previous knowledge of the 
 test-persons it is possible under certain circumstances to read 
 the most intimate complexes from the results of the experi¬ 
 ment. I look at first for the reproduction words and put them 
 together, and then I look for the stimulus words which show 
 
 «i 
 
 the greatest disturbances. In many cases merely assorting 
 these words suffices to unearth the complex. In some cases 
 it is necessary to put a question here and there. The matter 
 is well illustrated by the following concrete example: 
 
 It concerns an educated woman of 80 years of age, married 
 three years previously. Since her marriage she has suffered 
 from episodic excitement in which she is violently jealous of her 
 husband. The marriage is a happy one in every other respect, 
 and it should be noted that the husband gives no cause for 
 the jealousy. The patient is sure that she loves him and 
 that her excited states are groundless. She cannot imagine 
 whence these excited states originate, and feels quite per¬ 
 plexed over them. It is to be noted that she is a catholic 
 and has been brought up religiously, while her husband is 
 a protestant. This difference of religion did not admittedly 
 play any part. A more thorough anamnesis showed the 
 existence of an extreme prudishness. Thus, for example, no 
 one was allowed to talk in the patient’s presence about her 
 sister’s childbirth, because the sexual moment suggested 
 therein caused her the greatest excitement. She always un¬ 
 dressed in the adjoining room and never in her husband’s 
 presence, etc. At the age of 27 she was supposed to have 
 had no idea how children were born. The associations gave 
 the results shown in the accompanying chart. 
 
 The stimulus words characterised by marked disturbances 
 are the following: yellow, to pray, to separate, to marry, to 
 quarrel, old, family, happiness, false, fear, to kiss, bride, to 
 choose, contented. The strongest disturbances are found in 
 the following stimulus words : to pray, to marry, happiness, 
 false, fear , and contented. These words, therefore, more than 
 any others, seem to strike the complex. The conclusions that 
 can be drawn from this is that she is not indifferent to the 
 fact that her husband is a protestant, that she again thinks 
 
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THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 119 
 
 of praying, believes there is something wrong with marriage, 
 that she is false, entertains fancies of faithlessness, is afraid 
 (of the husband? of the future?), she is not contented with 
 her choice (to choose) and she thinks of separation. The 
 patient therefore has a separation complex, for she is very dis¬ 
 contented with her married life. When I told her this result 
 she was affected and at first attempted to deny it, then to mince 
 over it, but finally she admitted everything I said and added 
 more. She reproduced a large number of fancies of faithless¬ 
 ness, reproaches against her husband, etc. Her prudishness 
 and jealousy were merely a projection of her own sexual wishes on 
 her husband. Because she was faithless in her fancies and did 
 not admit it to herself she was jealous of her husband. 
 
 It is impossible in a lecture to give a review of all the 
 manifold uses of the association experiment. I must content 
 myself with having demonstrated to you a few of its chief 
 uses. 
 
 Lecture II 
 
 THE FAMILIAR CONSTELLATIONS 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen: As you have seen, there are 
 manifold ways in which the association experiment may be 
 employed in practical psychology. I should like to speak 
 to you to-day about another use of this experiment which 
 is primarily of theoretical significance. My pupil, Miss 
 Fiirst, M.D., made the following researches: she applied 
 the association experiment to 24 families, consisting altogether 
 of 100 test-persons; the resulting material amounted to 22,200 
 associations. This material was elaborated in the following 
 manner: Fifteen separate groups were formed according to 
 logical-linguistic standards, and the associations were arranged 
 as follows: 
 
 I. 
 
 Co-ordination 
 
 • • 
 
 Husband 
 
 6-5 
 
 Wife 
 
 0-5 
 
 Difference 
 
 6 
 
 II. 
 
 Sub and supraordination 
 
 • • 
 
 7 
 
 — 
 
 7 
 
 III. 
 
 Contrast ^ . 
 
 • « 
 
 — 
 
 — 
 
 — 
 
 IV. 
 
 Predicate expressing a 
 judgment . 
 
 personal 
 • • 
 
 8-5 
 
 95*0 
 
 86*5 
 
120 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 V. 
 
 Simple predicate .... 
 
 Husband 
 
 21-0 
 
 Wife 
 
 3*5 
 
 Difference 
 
 17-5 
 
 VI. 
 
 Relations of the verb to the sub¬ 
 ject or complement . 
 
 15*5 
 
 0*5 
 
 150 
 
 VII. 
 
 Designation of time, etc. 
 
 11-0 
 
 
 11-0 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Definition 
 
 11-0 
 
 
 11*0 
 
 IX. 
 
 Coexistence . 
 
 1-5 
 
 
 1*5 
 
 X. 
 
 Identity .... 
 
 0-5 
 
 0-5 
 
 
 Xi. 
 
 Motor-speech combination 
 
 12-0 
 
 
 12-0 
 
 XII. 
 
 Composition of words 
 
 _ 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Completion of words 
 
 _ m 
 
 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Clang associations 
 
 _____ 
 
 
 
 XV. 
 
 Defective reactions 
 
 — 
 
 — 
 
 — 
 
 
 Total. 
 
 - 
 
 _ 
 
 173‘5 
 
 
 Average difference 
 
 1735 
 
 11-5 
 
 
 15 
 
 As can be seen from this example, I utilise the difference to 
 demonstrate the degree of the analogy. In order to find a 
 basis for the sum of the resemblance I have calculated the 
 differences among all Dr. Fiirst’s test-persons, not related 
 among themselves, by comparing every female test-person 
 with all the other unrelated females j the same has been done 
 for the male test-persons. 
 
 The most marked difference is found in those cases where 
 the two test-persons compared have no associative quality in 
 common. All the groups are calculated in precentages, the 
 greatest difference possible being ^ = 13*3 per cent. 
 
 L The average difference of male unrelated test-persons is 
 5*9 per cent., and that of females of the same group is 6 per 
 cent. 
 
 II. The average difference between male related test- 
 persons is 4‘1 per cent., and that between female related 
 test-persons is 3*8 per cent. From these numbers we see 
 that relatives show a tendency to agreement in the reaction 
 type. 
 
 III. Difference between fathers and children = 42. 
 
 » „ mothers „ „ = 3*5. 
 
 The reaction types of children come nearer to the type of 
 the mother than to the father. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 121 
 
 IV. Difference between fathers and their sons 
 
 „ „ „ daughters 
 
 mothers ,, ,, sons 
 
 daughters 
 
 a 
 >} 
 5 » 
 
 ff 
 
 
 »» 
 
 »> 
 
 JJ 
 
 ii 
 
 3*1. 
 
 4*9. 
 
 4*7. 
 
 3*0. 
 
 Tracing A. 
 
 Fig. 11. 
 
 father ; .mother ; ++++ daughter. 
 
 I. Assoc, by co-ordination; II. sub and supraordination; III. contrast, etc. 
 (see previous page). 
 
 V. Difference between brothers = 4*7. 
 
 „ ,, sisters = 5*1. 
 
 If the married sisters are omitted from the comparison we 
 get the following result: 
 
 Difference of unmarried sisters = 3*8. 
 
122 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 These observations show distinctly that marriage destroys 
 more or less the original agreement, as the husband belongs 
 to a different type. 
 
 Difference between unmarried brothers = 4*8. 
 
 Marriage seems to exert no influence on the association 
 forms in men. Nevertheless, the material which we have at 
 our disposal is not as yet enough to allow us to draw definite 
 conclusions. 
 
 VI. Difference between husband and wife = 4*7. 
 
 This number sums up inadequately the different and very 
 
 Fig. 12. 
 
 Tracing B. -husband; .wife. 
 
 unequal values; that is to say, there are some cases which show 
 extreme difference and some which show marked concordance. 
 
 The different results are shown in the tracings (Figs. 11-15). 
 
 In the tracings I have marked the number of associations 
 of each quality perpendicularly in percentages. The Roman 
 letters written horizontally represent the forms of association 
 indicated in the above tables. 
 
 Tracing A. The father (black line) shows an objective type, 
 while the mother and daughter show the pure predicate type 
 with a pronounced subjective tendency. 
 
 Tracing B. The husband and wife agree well in the 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 128 
 
 predicate objective type, the predicate subjective being some- 
 
 what more numerous in the wife. 
 
 Tracing C. A very nice agreement between a father and 
 
 his two daughters. 
 
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 Fig. 13. 
 
 Tracing C. -father; .1st daughter; ++++ 2nd daughter. 
 
 Tracing D. Two sisters living together. The dotted line 
 represents the married sister. 
 
 Tracing E. Husband and wife. The wife is a sister of the 
 two women of tracing D. She approaches very closely to the 
 type of her husband. Her tracing is the direct opposite o 
 that of her sisters. 
 
124 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Tracing E. -husband ;.wife. 
 
 The similarity of the associations is often very extra¬ 
 ordinary. I will reproduce here the associations of a mother 
 and daughter. 
 
 Stimulus Word. 
 
 Mother. 
 
 Daughter. 
 
 to pay attention 
 
 diligent pupil 
 
 pupil 
 
 law 
 
 command of God 
 
 Moses 
 
 dear 
 
 child 
 
 father and mother 
 
 great 
 
 God 
 
 father 
 
 potato 
 
 bulbous root 
 
 bulbous root 
 
 family 
 
 many persons 
 
 5 persons 
 
 strange 
 
 traveller 
 
 traveller 
 
 brother 
 
 dear to me 
 
 dear 
 
 to kiss 
 
 mother 
 
 mother 
 
 burn 
 
 great pain 
 
 painful 
 
 door 
 
 wide 
 
 big 
 
 hay 
 
 dry 
 
 dry 
 
 month 
 
 many days 
 
 31 days 
 
 air 
 
 cool 
 
 moist 
 
 coal 
 
 sooty 
 
 black 
 
 fruit 
 
 sweet 
 
 sweet 
 
 merry 
 
 happy child 
 
 child 
 
 One might indeed think that in this experiment, where full 
 
 scope is given to chance, individuality would become a factor 
 of the utmost importance, and that therefore one might expect 
 a very great diversity and lawlessness of associations. But 
 as we see the opposite is the case. Thus the daughter lives 
 contentedly in the same circle of ideas as her mother, not 
 only in her thought but in her form of expression; indeed, 
 she even uses the same words. What could be regarded 
 as more inconsequent, inconstant, and lawless than a fancy, 
 
125 
 
 THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 a rapidly passing thought ? It is not lawless, however, 
 neither is it free, but closely determined within the limits 
 of the milieu. If, therefore, even the superficial and mani¬ 
 festly most inconsequent formations of the intellect are 
 altogether subject to the milieu-constellation, what must we 
 not expect for the more important conditions of the mind, for 
 the emotions, wishes, hopes, and intentions ? Let us consider 
 a concrete example, illustrated by tracing A. 
 
 The mother is 45 years old and the daughter 16 years. Both 
 have a very distinct predicate type expressing personal judg¬ 
 ment, both differ from the father in the most striking manner. 
 The father is a drunkard and a demoralised creature. We 
 can thus readily understand that his wife experiences an emo¬ 
 tional voidness which she naturally betrays by her enhanced 
 predicate type. The same causes cannot, however, operate in 
 the case of the daughter, for, in the first place, she is not 
 married to a drunkard, and, in the second, life with all its hopes 
 and promises still lies before her. It is distinctly unnatural 
 for the daughter to show an extreme predicate type express¬ 
 ing personal judgment. She responds to the stimuli of the 
 environment just like her mother. But whereas in the mother 
 the type is in a way a natural consequence of her unhappy con¬ 
 dition of life, this condition is entirely lacking in the daughter. 
 The daughter simply imitates the mother ; she merely appears 
 like the mother. Let us consider what this can signify for a 
 young girl. If a young girl reacts to the world like an old 
 woman, disappointed in life, this at once shows unnaturalness 
 and constraint. But more serious consequences are possible. 
 As you know the predicate type is a manifestation of intensive 
 emotions; the emotions are always involved. Thus we cannot 
 prevent ourselves from responding inwardly, at least, to the 
 feelings and passions of our immediate environment; we allow 
 ourselves to be infected and carried away by it. Originally 
 the effects and their physical manifestations had a biological 
 significance; i.e. they were a protective mechanism for the 
 individual and the whole herd. If we manifest emotions, we 
 can with certainty expect to receive emotions in return. That 
 is the feeling of the predicate type. What the 45-year-old 
 
126 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 woman lacks in emotions, i.e. in love in her marriage relations 
 she seeks to obtain in the outside world, and for that reason 
 she is an ardent participant in the Christian Science move¬ 
 ment. If the daughter imitates this situation she copies her 
 mother, she seeks to obtain emotions from the outside. But 
 for a girl of sixteen such an emotional state is, to say the least, 
 quite dangerous; like her mother, she reacts to her environ¬ 
 ment as a sufferer soliciting sympathy. Such an emotional 
 state is no longer dangerous in the mother, but for obvious 
 reasons it is quite dangerous in the daughter. Once freed 
 from her father and mother she will be like her mother, 
 i.e, she will be a suffering woman craving for inner gratifica¬ 
 tion. She will thus be exposed to the great danger of falling 
 a victim to brutality and of marrying a brute and inebriate 
 like her father. 
 
 This conception is of importance in the consideration of 
 the influence of environment and education. The example 
 shows what passes over from the mother to the child. It is 
 not the good and pious precepts, nor is it any other inculca¬ 
 tion of pedagogic truths that have a moulding influence upon 
 the character of the developing child, but what most influences 
 him is the peculiarly affective state which is totally unknown 
 to his parents and educators. The concealed discord between 
 the parents, the secret worry, the repressed hidden wishes, 
 all these produce in the individual a certain affective state 
 with its objective signs which slowly but surely, though 
 unconsciously, works its way into the child’s mind, producing 
 therein the same conditions and hence the same reactions to 
 external stimuli. We know the depressing effect mournful and 
 melancholic persons have upon us. A restless and nervous 
 individual infects his surroundings with unrest and dissatis¬ 
 faction, a grumbler with his discontent, etc. Since grown-up 
 persons are so sensitive to surrounding influences, we should 
 certainly expect this to be even more noticeable among 
 children, whose minds are as soft and plastic as wax. The 
 father and mother impress deeply into the child’s mind the 
 seal of their personality; the more sensitive and mouldable 
 the child the deeper is the impression. Thus things that are 
 
127 
 
 THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 never even spoken about are reflected in the child. The child 
 imitates the gesture, and just as the gesture of the parent is 
 the expression of an emotional state, so in turn the gesture 
 gradually produces in the child a similar feeling, as it fee s 
 itself, so to speak, into the gesture. Just as the parents adapt 
 themselves to the world, so does the child. At the age ot 
 puberty when it begins to free itself from the spell of the 
 family, it enters into life with, so to say, a surface adaptation 
 entirely in keeping with that of the father and mother. The 
 frequent and often very deep depressions of puberty emanate 
 from this ; they are symptoms which are rooted in the diru- 
 culty of new adjustment. The youthful person at first tries 
 to separate himself as much as possible from his family; he 
 may even estrange himself from it, but inwardly this only ties 
 him the more firmly to the parental image. I cite the case 
 of a young neurotic who ran away from his parents ; lie was 
 estranged from, and almost hostile to them, but he admitted 
 to me that he possessed a special sanctum; it was a strong 
 L containing^ bis oil childhood books, old dried do...,, 
 stones, and even small bottles of water from the well at his 
 home and from a river along which he walked with his 
 
 parents, etc. 
 
 The first attempts to assume friendship and love are 
 constellated in the strongest manner possible by the relation 
 to parents, and here one can usually observe how powerful 
 are the influences of the familiar constellations. It is not 
 rare, for instance, for a healthy man whose mother was 
 hysterical to marry a hysteric, or for the daughter of an 
 alcoholic to choose an alcoholic for her husband. I was once 
 consulted by an intelligent and educated young woman of 
 twenty-six who suffered from a peculiar symptom. She 
 thought that her eyes now and then took on a strange 
 expression which exerted a disagreeable influence on men. 
 If she then looked at a man he became self-conscious, turned 
 away and said something rapidly to his neighbour, at which 
 both were either embarrassed or inclined to laugh. The 
 patient was convinced that her look excited indecent thoughts 
 in the men. It was impossible to convince her of the falsity 
 
128 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of her conviction. This symptom immediately aroused in me 
 the suspicion that I dealt with a case of paranoia rather than 
 with a neurosis. But as was shown only three days later by 
 the further course of the treatment, I was mistaken, for the 
 symptom promptly disappeared after it had been explained 
 by analysis. It originated ‘in the following manner: The 
 lady had a lover who deserted her in a very marked manner. 
 She felt utterly forsaken; she withdrew from all society and 
 pleasure, and entertained suicidal ideas. In her seclusion 
 theie accumulated unadmitted and repressed erotic wishes 
 which she unconsciously projected on men whenever she was 
 in their company. This gave rise to the conviction that her 
 look excited erotic wishes in men. Further investigation 
 showed that her deserting lover was a lunatic, which she 
 had not apparently observed. I expressed my surprise at 
 her unsuitable choice, and added that she must have had 
 a certain predilection for loving mentally abnormal persons. 
 This she denied, stating that she had once before been engaged 
 to be married to a normal man. He, too, deserted her; and 
 on further investigation it was found that he, too, had been 
 in an insane asylum shortly before,—another lunatic! This 
 seemed to me to confirm with sufficient certainty my belief 
 that she had an unconscious tendency to choose insane 
 persons. Whence originated this strange taste ? Her father 
 was an eccentric character, and in later years entirely estranged 
 from his family. Her whole love had therefore been turned 
 away from her father to a brother eight years her senior ; him 
 she loved and honoured as a father, and this brother became 
 hopelessly insane at the age of fourteen. That was apparently 
 the model from which the patient could never free herself, 
 after which she chose her lovers, and through which she had 
 to become unhappy. Her neurosis which gave the impression 
 of insanity, probably originated from this infantile model. 
 We must take into consideration that we are dealing in this 
 case with a highly educated and intelligent lady, who did not 
 pass carelessly over her mental experiences, who indeed re¬ 
 flected much over her unhappiness, without, however, having 
 any idea whence her misfortune originated. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 129 
 
 These are things which unconsciously appear to us as a 
 matter of course, and it is for this reason that we do not see 
 them truly, but attribute everything to the so-called congenital 
 character. I could cite any number of examples of this kind. 
 Every patient furnishes contributions to this subject of the 
 determination of destiny through the influence of the familiar 
 milieu. In every neurotic we see how the constellation of 
 the infantile milieu influences not only the character of the 
 neurosis, but also life’s destiny, even in its minute details. 
 The unhappy choice of a profession, and innumerable matri¬ 
 monial failures can be traced to this constellation. There 
 are, however, cases where the profession has been well 
 chosen, where the husband or wife leaves nothing to be 
 desired, and where still the person does not feel well but 
 works and lives under constant difficulties. Such cases often 
 appear under the guise of chronic neurasthenia. Here the 
 difficulty is due to the fact that the mind is unconsciously 
 split into two parts of divergent tendencies which are im¬ 
 peding each other; one part lives with the husband or with 
 the profession, while the other lives unconsciously in the 
 past with the father or mother. I have treated a lady who, 
 after suffering many years from a severe neurosis, merged 
 into a dementia praecox. The neurotic affection began with 
 her marriage. This lady’s husband was kind, educated, well 
 to do, and in every respect suitable for her; his character 
 showed nothing that would in any way interfere with a happy 
 marriage. The marriage was nevertheless unhappy, all con¬ 
 genial companionship being excluded because the wife was 
 neurotic. 
 
 The important heuristic axiom of every psychoanalysis 
 reads as follows : If a person develops a neurosis this neurosis 
 contains the counter-argument against the relation of the patient 
 to the individual with whom he is most intimately connected. 
 A neurosis in the husband loudly proclaims that he has 
 intensive resistances and contrary tendencies against his wife; 
 if the wife has a neurosis she has a tendency which diverges 
 from her husband. If the person is unmarried the neurosis 
 is then directed against the lover or the sweetheart or against 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the parents. Every neurotic naturally strives against this 
 relentless formulation of the content of his neurosis, and he 
 often refuses to recognise it at any cost, but still it is always 
 justified. To be sure, the conflict is not on the surface, but 
 must generally be revealed through a painstaking psycho¬ 
 analysis. 
 
 The history of our patient reads as follows : 
 
 The father had a powerful personality. She was his 
 favourite daughter, and entertained for him a boundless 
 veneration. At the age of seventeen she for the first time 
 fell in love with a young man. At that time she twice 
 dreamt the same dream, the impression of which never 
 left her in all her later years; she even imputed a mystic 
 significance to it, and often recalled it with religious dread. 
 In the dream she saw a tall, masculine figure with a very 
 beautiful white beard; at this sight she was permeated 
 with a feeling of awe and delight as if she experienced the 
 presence of God Himself. This dream made the deepest 
 impression on her, and she was constrained to think of it 
 again and again. The love affair of that period proved to 
 be one of little warmth, and was soon given up. Later the 
 patient married her present husband. Though she loved her 
 husband she was led continually to compare him with her 
 deceased father; this comparison always proved unfavourable 
 to her husband. Whatever the husband said, intended, or 
 did, was subjected to this standard and always with the same 
 result: “ My father would have done all this better and differ¬ 
 ently.” Our patient’s life with her husband was not happy, 
 she could neither respect nor love him sufficiently; she was 
 inwardly dissatisfied. She gradually developed a fervent 
 piety, and at the same time violent hysterical symptoms 
 supervened. She began by going into raptures now over this 
 and now over that clergyman; she was looking everywhere 
 for a spiritual friend, and estranged herself more and more 
 from her husband. The mental trouble manifested itself 
 about ten years after marriage. In her diseased state she 
 refused to have anything to do with her husband and child; 
 she imagined herself pregnant by another man. In brief, the 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 181 
 
 resistances against her husband, which hitherto had been 
 laboriously repressed, came out quite openly, and among 
 other things manifested themselves in insults of the gravest 
 kind directed against him. 
 
 In this case we see how a neurosis appeared, as it were, at 
 the moment of marriage, i.e. this neurosis expresses the counter¬ 
 argument against the husband. What is the counter-argument ? 
 The counter-argument is the father of the patient, for she 
 verified her belief daily that her husband was not the equal 
 of her father. When the patient first fell in love there had 
 appeared a symptom in the form of an extremely impressive 
 dream or vision. She saw the man with the very beautiful 
 white beard. Who was this man ? On directing her attention 
 to the beautiful white beard she immediately recognised the 
 phantom. It was of course her father. Thus every time the 
 patient merged into a love affair the picture of her father 
 inopportunely appeared and prevented her from adjusting 
 herself psychologically to her husband. 
 
 I purposely chose this case as an illustration because it is 
 simple, obvious, and quite typical of many marriages which 
 are crippled through the neurosis of the wife. The cause of 
 the unhappiness always lies in a too firm attachment to the 
 parents. The infantile relationship has not been given up. 
 We find here one of the most important tasks of pedagogy, 
 namely, the solution of the problem how to free the growing 
 individual from his unconscious attachments to the influences 
 of the infantile milieu, in such a manner that he may retain 
 whatever there is in it that is suitable and reject whatever 
 is unsuitable. To solve this difficult question on the part of 
 the child seems to me impossible at present. We know as yet 
 too little about the child’s emotional processes. The first and 
 only real contribution to the literature on this subject has in 
 fact appeared during the present year. It is the analysis of a 
 five-year-old boy published by Freud. 
 
 The difficulties on the part of the child are very great. 
 They should not, however, be so great on the part of the 
 parents. In many ways the parents could manage the love 
 of children more carefully, more indulgently, and more 
 
182 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 intelligently. The sins committed against favourite children 
 by the undue love of the parents could perhaps be avoided 
 through a wider knowledge of the child’s mind. For many 
 reasons I find it impossible to say anything of general validity 
 concerning the bringing up of children as it is affected by this 
 problem. We are as yet very far from general prescriptions 
 and rules; indeed we are still in the realm of casuistry. 
 Unfortunately, our knowledge of the finer mental processes 
 in the child is so meagre that we are not yet in any position 
 to say where the greatest trouble lies, whether in the parents, 
 in the child, or in the conception of the milieu. Only psycho¬ 
 analyses of the kind that Professor Freud has published in 
 the Jahrbuch , 1909, 1 will help us out of this difficulty. Such 
 comprehensive and profound observations should act as a 
 strong inducement to all teachers to occupy themselves with 
 Freud’s psychology. This psychology offers more values for 
 practical pedagogy than the physiological psychology of the 
 present. 
 
 Lecture III 
 
 EXPERIENCES CONCERNING THE PSYCHIC LIFE OF THE CHILD 2 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen : In our last lecture we saw how 
 important the emotional processes of childhood aie for latei 
 life. In to-day’s lecture I should like to give you some 
 insight into the psychic life of the child through the analysis 
 of a four-year-old girl. It is much to be regretted that there 
 are few among you who have had the opportunity of reading 
 the analysis of “Little Hans” (.Kleiner Hans), which was 
 published by Freud during the current year. 1 I ought to 
 begin by giving you the content of that analysis, so that you 
 might be in a position to compare Freud’s results with those 
 obtained by me, and observe the marked, and astonishing 
 similarity between the unconscious creations of the two 
 
 1 “ Jahrbuch fur Psychoanalytische und Psychopathologische For- 
 
 schungen,” Band I. Deuticke, Wien, 1902. 
 
 2 This lecture was originally published in the “Jahrbuch fur Psycho¬ 
 analytische und Psychopathologische Forschungen,” Band II. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 IBB 
 
 children. Without a knowledge of the fundamental analysis 
 of Freud, much in the report of the following case will 
 appear strange, incomprehensible, and perhaps unacceptable 
 to you. I beg you, however, to defer your final judgment 
 and to enter upon the consideration of these new subjects 
 with a kindly disposition, for such pioneer work in virgin 
 soil requires not only the greatest patience on the part of the 
 investigator, but also the unprejudiced attention of his 
 audience. Because the Freudian investigations apparently 
 involve a discussion of the most intimate secrets of sexuality 
 many people have had a feeling of repulsion against them, 
 and have therefore rejected everything as a matter of course 
 without any real disproof. This, unfortunately, has almost 
 always been the fate of Freud’s doctrines up to the present. 
 One must not come to the consideration of these matters with 
 the firm conviction that they do not exist, for it may easily 
 happen that for the prejudiced they really do not exist. One 
 should perhaps assume the author’s point of view for the 
 moment and investigate these phenomena under his guidance. 
 Only in this way can the correctness or otherwise of our 
 observations be affirmed. We may err, as all human beings 
 err. But the continual holding up to us of our mistakes— 
 perhaps they are worse than mistakes—does not help us to 
 see things more distinctly. We should prefer to see wherein 
 we err. That should be demonstrated to us in our own 
 sphere of experience. Thus far, however, no one has 
 succeeded in meeting us on our own ground, nor in giving us 
 a different conception of the things which we ourselves see. 
 We still have to complain that our critics persist in main¬ 
 taining complete ignorance about the matters in question. 
 The only reason for this is that they have never taken the 
 trouble to become thoroughly acquainted with our method; 
 had they done this they would have understood us. 
 
 The little girl to whose sagacity and intellectual vivacity 
 we are indebted for the following observations is a healthy, 
 lively child of emotional temperament. She has never been 
 seriously ill, and never, even in the realm of the nervous 
 system, had there been observed any symptoms prior to this 
 
134 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 investigation. In the report which follows we shall have to 
 waive any connected description, for it is made up of anecdotes 
 which treat of one experience out of a whole cycle of similar 
 ones, and which cannot, therefore, be arranged scientifically 
 and systematically, but must rather be described somewhat 
 in the form of a story. We cannot as yet dispense with this 
 manner of description in our analytical psychology, for we 
 are still far from being able in all cases to separate with 
 unerring certainty what is curious from what is typical. 
 
 When the little daughter, whom we will call Anna, was 
 about three years old, she once had the following conversation 
 with her grandmother : 
 
 Anna : “ Grandma, why are your eyes so dim ? ” 
 
 Grandma : “Because I am old.” 
 
 A.: “ But you will become young again.” 
 
 G,: “ No, do you know, I shall become older and older, 
 and then I shall die.” 
 
 A.: “ Well, and then ? ” 
 
 G.: “ Then I shall be an angel.” 
 
 A.: “ And then will you be a little baby again ? ” 
 
 The child found here a welcome opportunity for the 
 provisional solution of a problem. For some time before she 
 had been in the habit of asking her mother whether she 
 would ever have a living doll, a little child, a little brother. 
 This naturally included the question as to the origin of 
 children. As such questions appeared only spontaneously 
 and indirectly, the parents attached no significance to them, 
 but responded to them as lightly and in appearance as care¬ 
 lessly as the child seemed to ask them. Thus she once 
 received from her father the pretty story that children are 
 brought by the stork. Anna had already heard somewhere a 
 more serious version, namely, that children are little angels 
 living in heaven, and are brought from heaven by the stork. 
 This theory seems to have become the starting point for the 
 investigating activity of the little one. From the conversa¬ 
 tion with the grandmother it could be seen that this theory 
 w 7 as capable of wide application, namely, it not only solved 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 135 
 
 in a comforting manner the painful idea of parting and 
 dying, but at the same time also the riddle of the origin of 
 children. Such solutions which kill at least two birds with 
 one stone were formerly tenaciously adhered to in science, 
 and cannot be removed from the mind of the child without 
 a certain amount of shock. 
 
 Just as the birth of a little sister was the turning point in 
 the history of “Little Hans,” so in this case it was the biith 
 of a brother, which happened w r hen Anna had reached the 
 age of four years. The pregnancy of the mother apparently 
 remained unnoticed; i.e. the child never expressed herself 
 on this subject. On the evening before the birth, when labour 
 pains were beginning, the child was in her father s room. 
 He took her on his knee and said, “ Tell me, what would you 
 say if you should get a little brother to-night ? ” “I would 
 kill him ” was the prompt answer. The expression “ to kill ” 
 looks very serious, but in reality it is quite harmless, for “ to 
 kill ” and “ to die ” in child language signify only to remove, 
 either in the active or in the passive sense, as has already 
 been pointed out a number of times by Freud. “ To kill ” as 
 used by the child is a harmless word, especially so when we 
 know that the child uses the word “ kill ” quite promiscuously 
 for all possible kinds of destruction, removal, demolition, etc. 
 It is, nevertheless, worth while to note this tendency (see the 
 analysis of Kleiner Hans , p. 5). 
 
 The birth occurred early in the morning, and later the 
 father entered the room where Anna slept. She awoke as he 
 came in. He imparted to her the news of the advent of a 
 little brother, which she took with surprise and strained facial 
 expression. The father took her in his arms and carried her 
 into the lying-in room. She first threw a rapid glance at 
 her somewhat pale mother and then displayed something like 
 a mixture of embarrassment and suspicion as if thinking, 
 “Now what else is going to happen?” (Father’s impression.) 
 She displayed hardly any pleasure at the sight of the new 
 arrival, so that the cool reception she gave it caused general 
 disappointment. During the forenoon she kept very notice¬ 
 ably away from her mother; this was the more striking as 
 
136 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 she was usually much attached to her. But once when her 
 mother was alone she ran into the room, embraced her and 
 said, “Well, aren’t you going to die now?” Now a part of 
 the conflict in the child’s psyche is revealed to us. Though 
 the stork theory was never really taken seriously, she 
 accepted the fruitful re-birth hypothesis, according to which 
 a person by dying helps a child into life. Accordingly the 
 mother, too, must die ; why, then, should the newborn child, 
 against whom she already felt childish jealousy, cause her 
 pleasure ? It was for this reason that she had to seek a 
 favourable opportunity of reassuring herself as to whether 
 the mother was to die, or rather was moved to express the 
 hope that she would not die. 
 
 With this happy issue, however, the re-birth theory sus¬ 
 tained a severe shock. How was it possible now to explain 
 the birth of her little brother and the origin of children in 
 general? There still remained the stork theory which, 
 though never expressly rejected, had been implicitly waived 
 through the assumption of the re-birth theory. The explana¬ 
 tions next attempted unfortunately remained hidden from 
 the parents as the child went to stay with her grandmother 
 for a few weeks. From the latter’s report the stork theory 
 was often discussed, and was naturally reinforced by the 
 concurrence of those about her. 
 
 When Anna returned to her parents, she again, on meeting 
 her mother, evinced the same mixture of embarrassment and 
 suspicion which she had displayed after the birth. The 
 impression, though inexplicable, was quite unmistakable to 
 both parents. Her behaviour towards the baby was very 
 nice. During her absence a nurse had come into the house 
 who, on account of her uniform, made a deep impression on 
 Anna; to be sure, the impression at first was quite unfavour¬ 
 able as she evinced the greatest hostility to her. Thus 
 nothing could induce her to allow herself to be undressed 
 and put to sleep by this nurse. Whence this resistance 
 originated was soon shown in an angry scene near the cradle 
 of the little brother in which Anna shouted at the nurse, 
 “This is not your little brother, he is mine!” Gradually, 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 137 
 
 however, she became reconciled to the nurse, and began to 
 play nurse herself; she had to have her white cap and apron, 
 and “ nursed ” now her little brother, and now her doll. 
 
 In contrast to her former mood she became unmistakably 
 mournful and dreamy. She often sat for a long time under 
 the table singing stories and making rhymes, which weie 
 partially incomprehensible but sometimes contained the 
 “ nurse ” theme (“ I am a nurse of the green cross ”)• Some 
 of the stories, however, distinctly showed a painful feeling 
 striving for expression. 
 
 Here we meet with a new and important feature in the 
 little one’s life : that is, we meet with reveries, even a tendency 
 towards poetic fancies and melancholic attacks. All of them 
 things which we are wont first to encounter at a later period 
 of life, at a time when the youth or maiden is preparing to 
 sever the family tie and to enter independently upon life, but 
 is still held back by an inward, painful feeling of homesickness 
 for the warmth of the parental hearth. At such a time the 
 youth begins to replace what is lacking with poetic fancies 
 in order to compensate for the deficiency. To approximate 
 the psychology of a four-year-old child to that of the youth 
 approaching puberty will at first sight seem paradoxical, the 
 relationship lies, however, not in the age but rather in the 
 mechanism. The elegiac reveries express the fact that a part 
 of that love which formerly belonged, and should belong, to a 
 real object, is now introverted, that is, it is turned inward into 
 the subject and there produces an increased imaginative 
 activity. What is the origin of this introversion ? Is it a 
 psychological manifestation peculiar to this age, or does it 
 owe its origin to a conflict ? 
 
 This is explained in the following occurrence. It often 
 happened that Anna was disobedient to her mother, she was 
 insolent, saying, “ I am going back to grandma. ’ 
 
 Mother: “ But I shall be sad when you leave me. 
 
 Anna : “Oh, but you have my little brother. ’ 
 
 This reaction towards the mother shows what the little 
 one was really aiming at with her threats to go away again, 
 she apparently wished to hear what her mother would say to 
 
138 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 her proposal, that is, to see what attitude her mother would 
 actually assume to her, whether her little brother had not 
 ousted her altogether from her mother’s regard. One must, 
 however, give no credence to this little trickster. For the 
 child could readily see and feel that, despite the existence 
 of the little brother, there was nothing essentially lacking 
 to her in her mother’s love. The reproach to which she 
 subjects her mother is therefore unjustified, and to the trained 
 ear this is betrayed by a slightly affected tone. Such an 
 unmistakable tone does not expect to be taken seriously and 
 hence it obtrudes itself more vehemently. The reproach as 
 such cannot be taken seriously by the mother, for it was only 
 the forerunner of other and this time more serious resistances. 
 Not long after the conversation narrated above, the following 
 scene took place: 
 
 Mother : “ Come, we are going into the garden now! ” 
 
 Anna: “ You are telling lies, take care if you are not 
 telling the truth.” 
 
 M.: “ What are you thinking of ? I am telling the 
 truth.” 
 
 A.: “ No, you are not telling the truth.” 
 
 M.: “ You will soon see that I am telling the truth : we 
 are going into the garden now.” 
 
 A.: “ Indeed, is that true ? Is that really true ? Are 
 you not lying ? ” 
 
 Scenes of this kind were repeated a number of times. 
 This time the tone was more rude and more vehement, and 
 at the same time the accent on the word “lie” betrayed 
 something special which the parents did not understand; 
 indeed, at first they attributed too little significance to the 
 spontaneous utterances of the child. In this they merely 
 did what education usually does in general, ex officio . We 
 usually pay little heed to children in every stage of life; in all 
 essential matters, they are treated as not responsible, and in 
 all unessential matters, they are trained with an automatic 
 precision. 
 
 Under resistances there always lies a question, a conflict, 
 of which we hear later and on other occasions. But usually 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 189 
 
 one forgets to connect the thing heard with the resistances. 
 Thus, on another occasion, Anna put to her mother the 
 following questions:— 
 
 Anna: “ I should like to become a nurse when I grow 
 big—why did you not become a nurse ? ” 
 
 Mother: “Why, as I have become a mother I have 
 children to nurse anyway.” 
 
 A. (Reflecting): “ Indeed, shall I be a lady like you, and 
 shall I talk to you then ? ” 
 
 The mother’s answer again shows whither the child’s 
 question was really directed. Apparently Anna, too, would 
 like to have a child to “ nurse ” just as the nurse has. Where 
 the nurse got the little child is quite clear. Anna, too, could 
 get a child in the same way if she were big. Why did not 
 the mother become such a nurse, that is to say, how did she 
 get a child if not in the same way as the nurse ? Like the 
 nurse, Anna, too, could get a child, but how that fact might be 
 changed in the future or how she might come to resemble her 
 mother in the matter of getting children is not clear to her. 
 From this resulted the thoughtful question, “Indeed, shall I 
 be a lady like you ? Shall I be quite different ? ” The stork 
 theory evidently had come to naught, the dying theory met 
 a similar fate; hence she now thinks one may get a child in 
 the same way, as, for example, the nurse got hers. She, too, 
 could get one in this natural way, but how about the mother 
 who is no nurse and still has children ? Looking at the 
 matter from this point of view, Anna asks: “ Why did you 
 not become a nurse ? ” namely, “ why have you not got your 
 child in the natural way ? ” This peculiar indirect manner 
 of questioning is typical, and evidently corresponds with the 
 child’s hazy grasp of the problem, unless we assume a certain 
 diplomatic uncertainty prompted by a desire to evade direct 
 questioning. We shall later find an illustration of this possi¬ 
 bility. Anna is evidently confronted with the question “Where 
 does the child come from ? ” The stork did not bring it; 
 mother did not die ; nor did mother get it in the same way as 
 the nurse. She has, however, asked this question before and 
 received the information from her father that the stork brings 
 
140 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 children; this is positively untrue, she can never be deceived 
 on this point. Accordingly, papa and mama and all the 
 others lie. This readily explains her suspicion at the child¬ 
 birth and her discrediting of her mother. But it also explains 
 another point, namely, the elegiac reveries which we have 
 attributed to a partial introversion. We know now wbat was 
 the real object from which love was removed and uselessly 
 introverted, namely, it had to be taken from, the parents who 
 deceived her and refused to tell her the truth. (What can 
 this be which must not be uttered ? What is going on here ?) 
 Such were the parenthetic questions of the child, and the 
 answer was : Evidently this must be something to be con¬ 
 cealed, perhaps something dangerous. Attempts to make her 
 talk and to draw out the truth by means of artful questions 
 were futile, so resistance is placed against resistance , and the 
 introversion of love begins. It is evident that the capacity 
 for sublimation in a four-year-old child is still too slightly 
 developed to be capable of performing more than symptomatic 
 services. The mind, therefore, depends on another compensa¬ 
 tion, namely, it resorts to one of the relinquished infantile 
 devices for securing love by force, preferably that of crying and 
 calling the mother at night. This had been diligently practised 
 and exhausted during her first year. It now returns, and corre¬ 
 sponding to the period of life has become well determined and 
 equipped with recent impressions. It was just after the earth¬ 
 quakes in Messina, and this event was discussed at the table. 
 Anna was extremely interested in everything, she repeatedly 
 asked her grandmother to tell her how the earth shook, how 
 the houses fell in and many people lost their lives. After this 
 she had nocturnal fears, she could not be alone, her mother 
 had to go to her and stay with her ; otherwise she feared that 
 an earthquake would happen, that the house would fall and 
 kill her. During the day, too, she was much occupied with 
 such thoughts. While walking with her mother she annoyed 
 her with such questions as, “ Will the house be standing when 
 we return home ? Are you sure there is no earthquake at 
 home ? Will papa still be living ? ” About every stone lying 
 in the road she asked whether it was from an earthquake. A 
 
141 
 
 THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 building in course of erection was a house destroyed by the 
 earthquake, etc. Finally, she began to cry out frequently at 
 night that the earthquake was coming and that she heard the 
 thunder. Each evening she had to be solemnly assured that 
 
 there was no earthquake coming. 
 
 Many means of calming her were tried, thus she was told, 
 
 for example, that earthquakes only occur where there are 
 volcanoes. But then she had to be satisfied that the moun¬ 
 tains surrounding the city were not volcanoes. This reasoning 
 led the child by degrees to a desire for learning, as strong 
 as it was unnatural at her age, which showed itself m a 
 demand that all the geological atlases and text-books should 
 be brought to her from her father’s library. For hours she 
 rummaged through these works looking for pictures of vol¬ 
 canoes and earthquakes, and asking questions continually. 
 Here we are confronted by an energetic effort to sublimate 
 the fear into an eager desire for knowledge, which at this 
 age made a decidedly premature exaction. But how many 
 a°gifted child suffering in exactly the same way with such 
 problems, is “ cosseted ” through this untimely sublimation, 
 by no means to its advantage. For, by favouring sublima¬ 
 tion at this age one is merely strengthening manifestation of 
 neurosis. The root of the eager desire for knowledge is fear, 
 and fear is the expression of converted libido; that is, it is the 
 expression of an introversion which has become neurotic , which 
 at this age is neither necessary nor favourable for the 
 development of the child. 
 
 Whither this eager desire for knowledge was ultimately 
 directed is explained by a series of questions which arose 
 almost daily. “ Why is Sophie (a younger sister) younger 
 than I ?” “ Where was Freddie (the little brother) befoie ? 
 
 Was he in heaven ? What was he doing there ? Why did he 
 
 come down just now, why not before ? ” 
 
 This state of affairs led the father to decide that the 
 mother should tell the child when occasion offered the truth 
 concerning the origin of the little brother. This having been 
 done, Anna soon thereafter asked about the stork. Her 
 mother told her that the story of the stork was not true, but 
 
142 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 that Freddie grew inside his mother like the flowers in a plant. 
 At first he was very little, and then he became bigger and 
 bigger as a plant does. She listened attentively without the 
 slightest surprise, and then asked, “But did he come out all 
 by himself ? ” 
 
 Mother: “Yes.” 
 
 Anna : “ But he cannot walk ! ” 
 
 Sophie : “ Then he crawled out.” 
 
 Anna, overhearing her little sister’s answer : “ Is there a 
 hole here ? (pointing to the breast) or did he come out of the 
 mouth ? Who came out ot the nurse ? ” She then interrupted 
 herself and exclaimed, “No, no, the stork brought baby 
 brother down from heaven.” She soon left the subject and 
 again wished to see pictures of volcanoes. During the even¬ 
 ing following this conversation she was calm. The sudden 
 explanation produced in the child a whole series of ideas, 
 which manifested themselves in certain questions. New un¬ 
 expected perspectives were opened; she rapidly approached 
 the main problem, namely, the question,,“ Where did the hahy 
 come out ? JJ as it from a hole in the breast or from the mouth ? 
 Both suppositions are entirely qualified to form acceptable 
 theories. We even meet with recently married women who 
 still entertain the theory of the hole in the abdominal wall or 
 of the Caesarean section; this is supposed to betray a very 
 unusual degree of innocence. But as a matter of fact it is 
 not innocence; we are always dealing in such cases with 
 infantile sexual activities, which in later life have brought 
 the vias naturales into ill repute. 
 
 It may be asked where the child got the absurd idea that 
 there is a hole in the breast, or that the birth takes place 
 through the mouth. Why did she not select one of the 
 natural openings existing in the pelvis from which things 
 come out daily ? The explanation is simple. Very shortly 
 before, our little one had invoked some educational criticism 
 from her mother by a heightened interest in both openings 
 with their remarkable excretions,—an interest not always in 
 accord with the requirements of cleanliness and decorum. 
 Then for the first time she became acquainted with the 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 148 
 
 exceptional laws relating to these bodily regions and, being 
 a sensitive child, she soon learned that there was something 
 here to.be tabooed. This region, therefore, must not be 
 referred to. Anna had simply shown herself docile and had so 
 adjusted herself to the cultural demands that she thought (at 
 least spoke) of the simplest things last. The incorrect theories 
 substituted for correct laws sometimes persist for years until 
 brusque explanations come from without. It is, therefore, 
 no wonder that such theories, the forming of and adherence 
 to which are favoured even by parents and educationalists 
 should later become determinants for important symptoms 
 in a neurosis, or of delusions in a psychosis, just as I 
 have shown that in dementia praecox 1 what has existed in 
 the mind for years always remains somewhere, though it 
 may be hidden under compensations of a seemingly different 
 
 kind. 
 
 But even before this question was settled as to where the 
 child really comes out a new problem obtruded itself, viz. the 
 children came out of the mother, but how is it with the 
 nurse ? Did some one come out of her too ? This question 
 was followed by the remark, “ No, no, the stork brought 
 down baby brother from heaven.” What is there peculiar 
 about the fact that nobody came out of the nurse? We 
 recall that Anna identified herself with the nurse, and 
 planned to become a nurse later, for she, too, would like to 
 have a child, and she could have one as well as the nurse. 
 But now when it is known that the little brother grew in 
 mama, how is it now ? 
 
 This disquieting question is averted by a quick return to 
 the stork-angel theory which has never been really believed 
 and which after a few trials is at last definitely abandoned. 
 Two questions, however, remain in the air. The first reads 
 as follows : Where does the child come out ? The second, a 
 considerably more difficult one, reads: How does it happen 
 that mama has children while the nurse and the servants 
 
 1 Jung: “ The Psychology of Dementia Prsecox,” translated by Peterson 
 and Brill. Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases, Monograph Series, 
 No. 3. 
 
144 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 do not ? All these questions did not at first manifest them¬ 
 selves. 
 
 On the day following the explanation, while at dinner, 
 Anna spontaneously remarked : “ My brother is in Italy, and 
 has a house of cloth and glass, but it does not tumble down.” 
 
 In this case, as in the others, it was impossible to ask for 
 an explanation; the resistances were too great and Anna 
 could not be drawn into conversation. This former officious 
 and pretty explanation is very significant. For some three 
 months the two sisters had been building a stereotyped 
 fanciful conception of a “big brother.” This brother knows 
 everything, he can do and has everything, he has been and 
 is in every place where the children are not; he is owner of 
 great cows, oxen, horses, dogs ; everything is his, etc. Every 
 one has such a “big brother.” We must not look far for the 
 origin of this fancy; the model for it is the father who seems 
 to correspond to this conception; he seems to be like a 
 brother to mama. The children, too, have their similar 
 powerful “ brother.” This brother is very brave; he is at 
 present in dangerous Italy and inhabits an impossible fragile 
 house, and it does not tumble down. For the child this 
 realises an important wish: the earthquake is no longer to be 
 dangerous; in consequence the child's fear disappeared and did 
 not return. The fear of earthquakes now entirely vanished. 
 Instead of calling her father to her bed to conjure away the 
 fear, she now became very affectionate and begged him every 
 night to kiss her. 
 
 In order to test this new state of affairs the father showed 
 her pictures illustrating volcanoes and earthquake devasta¬ 
 tions. Anna remained unaffected, she examined the pictures 
 with indifference, remarking, “These people are dead; I 
 have already seen that quite often.” The picture of a 
 volcanic eruption no longer had any attraction for her. Thus 
 all her scientific interest collapsed and vanished as suddenly 
 as it came. During the days following the explanation Anna 
 had quite important matters to occupy herself with; she 
 disseminated her newly acquired knowledge among those 
 about her in the following manner: She began by again 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 145 
 
 circumstantially affirming what had been told her, viz. that 
 Freddy, her younger sister, and herself had grown in her 
 mother, that papa and mama grew in their mothers, and that 
 the servants likewise grew in their respective mothers. By 
 frequent questions she tested the true basis of her knowledge, 
 for her suspicion was aroused in no small measure, so that it 
 needed many confirmations to remove all her uncertainties. 
 
 On one occasion the trustworthiness of the theory 
 threatened to go to pieces. About a week after the explana¬ 
 tion, the father was taken ill with influenza and had to 
 remain in bed during the forenoon. The children knew 
 nothing about this, and Anna, coming into the parents’ 
 bedroom, saw what was quite unusual, namely, that her 
 father was remaining in bed. She again took on a peculiar 
 surprised expression; she remained at a distance from the 
 bed and would not come nearer; she was apparently again 
 reserved and suspicious. But suddenly she burst out with 
 the question, “Why are you in bed; have you a plant in 
 your inside too ? ” 
 
 The father naturally had to laugh. He calmed her, 
 however, by assuring her that children never grow in the 
 father, that only women can have children, and not men; 
 thereupon the child again became friendly. But though the 
 surface was calm the problems continued to work in the 
 dark. A few days later, while at dinner, Anna related the 
 following dream: “ I dreamed last night of Noah’s ark.” 
 The father then asked her what she had dreamed about it, 
 but Anna’s answer was sheer nonsense. In such cases it is 
 necessary only to wait and pay attention. A few minutes 
 later she said to her mother, “I dreamed last night about 
 Noah’s ark, and there were a lot of little animals in it.” 
 Another pause. She then began her story for the third time. 
 “I dreamed last night about Noah’s ark , and there were a lot of 
 baby animals in it, and underneath there ivas a lid and that 
 opened and all the baby animals fell out.” 
 
 The children really had a Noah’s ark, but its opening, a 
 lid, was on the roof and not underneath. In this way she 
 delicately intimated that the story of the birth from mouth 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 or breast is incorrect, and that she had some inkling where 
 the children came out. 
 
 A few weeks then passed without any noteworthy occur¬ 
 rences. On one occasion she related the following dream: 
 “I dreamed about papa and mama; they had been sitting 
 late in the study , and we children were there too.” On the 
 face of this we find a wish of the children to be allowed to 
 sit up as long as the parents. This wish is here realised, or 
 rather it is utilised to express a more important wish, 
 namely, to be present in the evening when the parents are alone ; 
 of course, quite innocently, it was in the study where she has 
 seen all the interesting books, and where she has satiated her 
 thirst for knowledge; i.e. she was really seeking an answer 
 to the burning question, whence the little brother came. If 
 the children were there they would find out. 1 A few days 
 later Anna had a terrifying dream from which she awoke 
 crying, “ The earthquake is coming, the house has begun to 
 shake.” Her mother went to her and calmed her by saying 
 that the earthquake was not coming, that everything was 
 quiet, and that everybody was asleep. Whereupon Anna 
 said: “ I would like to see the spring , when all the little flowers 
 are coming out and the whole lawn is full of flowers; I would 
 like to see Freddy , he has such a dear little face. JThat is papa 
 doing ? What is he saying $ ” The mother said, “ He is 
 asleep, and isn’t saying anything now.” Little Anna then 
 remarked with a sarcastic smile : “ He ivill surely be sick 
 again to-morrow .” 
 
 This text should be read backwards. The last sentence 
 was not meant seriously, as it was uttered in a mocking tone. 
 When the father was sick the last time, Anna suspected 
 that he had a “ plant in his inside.” The sarcasm signifies : 
 “ To-morrow papa is surely going to have a child.’ But this 
 also is not meant seriously. Papa is not going to have a 
 child; mama alone has children; perhaps she will have 
 another child to-morrow; but where from? “What does 
 papa do ? ” The formulation of the difficult problem seems 
 
 1 This wish to sit up with the father and mother until late at night often 
 plays a great part later in a neurosis. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 147 
 
 here to come to the surface. It reads: What does papa 
 really do if he does not bear children ? The little one is very 
 anxious to have a solution for all these problems; she would 
 like to know how Freddy came into the world, she would like 
 to see how the little flowers come out of the earth in the 
 spring, and these wishes are hidden behind the fear of earth¬ 
 quakes. 
 
 After this intermezzo Anna slept quietly until morning. 
 In the morning her mother asked her what she had dreamed. 
 She did not at first recall anything, and then said: “ I 
 dreamed that I could make the summer , and then some one threw 
 a Punch 1 down into the closet .” 
 
 This peculiar dream apparently has two different scenes 
 which are separated by “ then.” The second part draws its 
 material from the recent wish to possess a Punch, that is, to 
 have a boy doll just as mama has a little boy. Some one 
 threw Punch down into the closet; one often lets other things 
 fall down into the water closet. It is just like this that the 
 children , too , come out. We have here an analogy to the 
 “ Lumpf-theory ” of little Hans. 2 Whenever several scenes 
 are found in one dream, each scene ordinarily represents a 
 particular variation of the complex elaboration. Here 
 accordingly the first part is only a variation of the theme 
 found in the second part. The meaning of “ to see the 
 spring” or “ to see the little flowers come out” we have 
 already remarked. Anna now dreams that she can make the 
 summer , that is she can bring it about that the little flowers 
 shall come out. She herself can make a little child, and the 
 second part of the dream represents this just as one makes a 
 motion in the w.c. Here we find the egoistic wish which is 
 behind the seemingly objective interest of the previous night’s 
 conversation. 
 
 A few days later the mother was visited by a lady who 
 expected soon to become a mother. The children seemed to 
 take no interest in the matter, but the next day they amused 
 
 1 A doll from Punch and Judy. 
 
 2 See analysis of a five-year-old boy, Jahrbuch f. Psychoanalytische u. 
 Psychopathologische Forschungen, vol. I. 
 
148 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 themselves with the following play which was directed by 
 the elder girl; they took all the newspapers they could find 
 in their father’s paper-basket and stuffed them under their 
 clothes, so that the imitation was unmistakable. During the 
 night little Anna had another dream: “I dreamed about a 
 woman in the city; she had a very big stomach .” The chief 
 actor in a dream is always the dreamer himself under some 
 definite aspect; thus the childish play of the day before is 
 fully solved. 
 
 Not long after, Anna surprised her mother with the follow¬ 
 ing performance : She stuck her doll under her clothes, then 
 pulled it out slowly head downwards, and at the same time 
 remarked, “Look, the baby is coming out, now it is all out ” 
 By this means Anna tells her mother, “You see, thus I 
 apprehend the problem of birth. What do you think of it ? 
 Is that right ? ” The play is really meant to be a question, 
 for, as we shall see later, this idea had to be officially con¬ 
 firmed. That rumination on this problem by no means ended 
 here, is shown by the occasional ideas conceived during the 
 following weeks. Thus she repeated the same play a few 
 days later with her Teddy Bear, who stands in the relation of 
 an especially beloved doll. One day, looking at a rose, she 
 said to her grandmother, “ See, the rose is getting a baby.” 
 As her grandmother did not quite understand her, she pointed 
 to the enlarged calyx and said, “ Don’t you see it is quite fat 
 here ? ” 
 
 Anna once quarrelled with her younger sister, and the 
 latter exclaimed angrily, “ I will kill you.” Whereupon Anna 
 answered, “When I am dead you will be all alone; then you 
 will have to pray to God for a live baby.” But the scene soon 
 changed: Anna was the angel, and the younger sister was 
 forced to kneel before her and pray to her that she should 
 present to her a living child. In this way Anna became the 
 child-dispensing mother. 
 
 Oranges were once served at table. Anna impatiently 
 asked for one and said, “I am going to take an orange and 
 swallow it all down into my stomach, and then I shall get a baby” 
 Who does not think here of fairy tales in which childless 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 149 
 
 women become pregnant by swallowing fruit, fish, and similar 
 things ? 1 In this way Anna sought to solve the problem hoiv 
 the children actually come into the mother. She thus enters into 
 a formulation which hitherto had not been defined with so 
 much clearness. The solution follows in the form of an 
 analogy , which is quite characteristic of the archaic thinking of 
 the child. (In the adult, too, there is a kind of thinking by 
 metaphor which belongs to the stratum lying immediately 
 below consciousness; dreams bring the analogies to the 
 surface; the same may be observed also in dementia praecox.) 
 In German as well as in numerous foreign fairy tales one 
 frequently finds such characteristic childish comparisons. 
 Fairy tales seem to be the myths of the child, and therefore 
 contain among other things the mythology which the child 
 weaves concerning the sexual processes. The spell of the 
 fairy tale poetry, which is felt even by the adult, is explained 
 by the fact that some of the old theories are still alive in our 
 unconscious minds. We experience a strange, peculiar and 
 familiar feeling when a conception of our remotest youth is 
 again stimulated. Without becoming conscious it merely 
 sends into consciousness a feeble copy of its original emotional 
 strength. 
 
 The problem how the child gets into the mother was 
 difficult to solve. As the only way of taking things into the 
 body is through the mouth, it could evidently be assumed 
 that the mother ate something like a fruit, which then grows 
 inside her. But then comes another difficulty, namely, it is 
 clear enough what the mother produces, but it is not yet clear 
 what the father is good for. 
 
 What does the father do ? Anna now occupied herself 
 exclusively with this question. One morning she ran into the 
 parents’ bedroom while they were dressing, she jumped into 
 her father’s bed, lay face downwards, kicked with her legs, 
 and called at the same time, “ Look ! does papa do that ? ” 
 The analogy to the horse of “little Hans ” which raised such 
 disturbance with its legs, is very surprising. 
 
 With this last performance the problem seemed to be at 
 
 1 Franz Riklin, “ Fulfilment of Wishes and Symbolism in Fairy Tales.” 
 
150 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 rest entirely, at least the parents found no opportunity to 
 make any pertinent observations. That the problem should 
 come to a standstill just here is not at all surprising, for this 
 is really its most difficult part. Moreover, we know from 
 experience that not many children go beyond these limits 
 during the period of childhood. The problem is almost too 
 difficult for the childish mind, which still lacks much 
 knowledge necessary to its solution. 
 
 This standstill lasted about five months, during which no 
 phobias or other signs of complex-elaboration appeared. 
 After this lapse of time there appeared premonitory signs of 
 some new incidents. Anna’s family lived at that time in the 
 country near a lake where the mother and children could 
 bathe. As Anna was afraid to wade farther into the water 
 than knee-deep, her father once put her into the water, which 
 led to an outburst of crying. In the evening while going to 
 bed Anna asked her mother, “ Do you not believe that father 
 wanted to drown me?” A few days later there was another 
 outburst of crying. She continued to stand in the gardener s 
 way until he finally placed her in a newly dug hole. Anna 
 cried bitterly, and afterwards maintained that the gardener 
 wished to bury her. Finally she awoke during the night 
 with fearful crying. Her mother went to her in the adjoining 
 room and quieted her. She had dreamed that “a train passed 
 and then fell in a heap.” 
 
 This tallies with the “stage coach” of “little Hans.” 
 These incidents showed clearly enough that fear was again 
 in the air, i.e. that a resistance had again arisen pre¬ 
 venting transference to the parents, and that therefore a 
 great part of her love was converted into fear. This time 
 suspicion was not directed against the mother, but against 
 the father, who she was sure must know the secret, but would 
 never let anything out. What could the father be doing or 
 keeping secret ? To the child this secret appeared as some¬ 
 thing dangerous, so that she felt the worst might be expected 
 from the father. (This feeling of childish anxiety with the 
 father as object we see again most distinctly in adults, 
 especially in dementia praecox, which lifts the veil of obscurity 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 151 
 
 from many unconscious processes, as though it were following 
 psychoanalytic principles.) It was for this reason that Anna 
 came to the apparently absurd conclusion that her father 
 wanted to drown her. At the same time her fear contained 
 the thought that the object of the father had some relation to a 
 dangerous action. This stream of thought is no arbitrary 
 interpretation. Anna meanwhile grew a little older and her 
 interest in her father took on a special colouring which is hard 
 to describe. Language has no words to describe the quite 
 unique kind of tender curiosity which shone in the child’s 
 eyes. 
 
 Anna once took marked delight in assisting the gardener 
 while he was sowing grass, without apparently divulging the 
 profound significance of her play. About a fortnight later 
 she began to observe with great pleasure the young grass 
 sprouting. On one of these occasions she asked her mother 
 the following question: “ Tell me, how did the eyes grow into 
 the head?” The mother told her that she did not know. 
 Anna, however, continued to ask whether God or her papa 
 could tell this ? The mother then referred her to her father, 
 who might tell her how the eyes grew into the head. A few 
 days later there was a family reunion at tea. When the 
 guests had departed, the father remained at the table reading 
 the paper and Anna also remained. Suddenly approaching 
 her father she said, “Tell me, how did the eyes grow into 
 the head ? ” 
 
 Father: “They did not grow into the head; they were 
 there from the beginning and grew with the head.” 
 
 A.: “ Were not the eyes planted ? ” 
 
 F.: “ No, they grew in the head like the nose.” 
 
 A.: “ Did the mouth and the ears grow in the same way ? 
 and the hair, too ? ” 
 
 F.: “ Yes, they all grew in the same way.” 
 
 A.: “ And the hair, too ? But the mousies came into the 
 world naked. Where was the hair before ? Aren’t there little 
 seeds for it ? ” 
 
 F.: “No; you see, the hair really came out of little grains 
 which are like seeds, but these were already in the skin long 
 
152 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 before and nobody sowed them.” The father was now getting 
 concerned; he knew whither the little one’s thoughts were 
 directed, but he did not wish to overthrow, for the sake of a 
 former false application, the opportunely established seed- 
 theory which she had most fortunately gathered from nature ; 
 but the child spoke with an unwonted seriousness which 
 demanded consideration. 
 
 Anna (evidently disappointed, and in a distressed tone): 
 “But how did Freddy get into mama ? Who stuck him in ? 
 and who stuck you into your mama ? Where did he come 
 out from ? ” 
 
 From this sudden storm of questions the father chose the 
 last for his first answer. “ Just think, you know well enough 
 that Freddy is a boy; boys become men and girls women. 
 Only women and not men can have children; now just think, 
 where could Freddy come out from ? ” 
 
 A, (Laughs joyfully and points to her genitals): “ Did 
 he come out here ? ” 
 
 Father: “ Yes, of course, you certainly must have thought 
 of this before ? ” 
 
 A. (Overlooking the question): “ But how did Freddy 
 get into mama ? Did anybody plant him ? Was the seed 
 planted ? ” 
 
 This very precise question could no longer be evaded by 
 the father. He explained to the child, who listened with the 
 greatest attention, that the mother is like the soil and the 
 father like the gardener; that the father provides the seed 
 which grows in the mother, and thus gives origin to a baby. 
 This answer gave extraordinary satisfaction ; she immediately 
 ran to her mother and said, “ Papa has told me everything, 
 now I know it all.” She did not, however, tell what she knew. 
 
 The new knowledge was, however, put into play the follow¬ 
 ing day. Anna went to her mother and said, “ Think, mama, 
 papa told me how Freddy was a little angel and was brought 
 from heaven by a stork.” The mother was naturally sur¬ 
 prised and said, “No, you are mistaken, papa surely never 
 told you such a thing ! ” whereupon the little one laughed and 
 ran away. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 158 
 
 This was apparently a mode of revenge. Her mother did 
 not wish or was not able to tell her how the eyes grew into 
 the head, hence she did not know how Freddy got into her. 
 It was for this reason that she again tried her with the old 
 story. 
 
 I wish to impress firmly upon parents and educationists 
 this instructive example of child psychology. In the learned 
 psychological discussions on the child’s psyche we hear nothing 
 about those parts which are so important for the health 
 and naturalness of our children, nor do we hear more about 
 the child’s emotions and conflicts; and yet they play a most 
 important role. 
 
 It very often happens that children are erroneously 
 treated as quite imprudent and irrational beings. Thus on 
 indulgently remarking to an intelligent father, whose four- 
 year-old daughter masturbated excessively, that care should 
 be exercised in the presence of the child who slept in the 
 same room as the parents, I received the indignant reply, 
 “ I can absolutely assure you that the child knows nothing 
 about sexual matters.” This recalls that distinguished old 
 neurologist who wished to deny the attribute “sexual” to 
 a childbirth phantasy which was represented in a dreamy 
 state. 
 
 On the other hand, a child evincing neurotic talent exag¬ 
 gerated by neurosis may be urged on by solicitous parents. 
 How easy and tempting it would have been, e.g. in the present 
 case, to admire, excite, and develop prematurely the child’s 
 eager desire for learning, and thereby develop an unnatural 
 blase state and a precociousness masking a neurosis ! In such 
 cases the parents must look after their own complexes and 
 complex tendencies and not make capital out of them at the 
 expense of the child. The idea should be dismissed once for 
 all that children are to be held in bondage by their parents 
 or that they are their toys. They are characteristic and new 
 beings. In the matter of enlightenment on sexual things it 
 can be affirmed that they suffer from the preconceived opinion 
 that the truth is harmful. Many neurologists are of opinion 
 
154 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 that even in grown-ups enlightenment on their own psycho- 
 sexual processes is harmful and even immoral. Would not 
 the same persons perhaps refuse to admit the existence of the 
 genitals themselves ? 
 
 One should not, however, go from this extreme of prudish¬ 
 ness to the opposite one, namely that of enlightenment a tout 
 prix, which may turn out as foolish as it is disagreeable. In 
 this matter I believe much discretion is advisable; still if 
 children come upon an idea, they should be deceived no 
 more than adults. 
 
 I hope, ladies and gentlemen, that I have shown you what 
 complicated psychic processes psychoanalytic investigation 
 reveals in the child, and how great is the significance of these 
 processes for the mental health as well as for the general 
 psychic development of the child. What I have been unable 
 to show is the universal validity of these observations. Un¬ 
 fortunately, I am not in a position to demonstrate this, for 
 I do not lmow myself how much of it is universally valid. 
 Only by accumulation of such observations and further pene¬ 
 tration into the problems broached shall we gain a complete 
 insight into the laws of psychical development. It is to 
 be regretted that we are at present still far from this goal. 
 But I confidently hope that educators and practical psycholo¬ 
 gists, whether physicians or deep-thinking parents, will not 
 leave us too long unassisted in this immensely important and 
 interesting field. 
 
 Literature. 
 
 1. Freud. “ Die Traumdeutung,” II Auflage. Deuticke, Wien, 1909. 
 
 2. -. “ Sammlung kleiner Schriften zur Neurosenlehre,” 
 
 Band I & II. Deuticke, Wien. 
 
 3. -. “ Analyse der Phobie eines 5 jahrigen Knaben,” Jalir- 
 
 bucli fur Psychoanalytische u. Psychopathologische For - 
 
 schungen , Band I. Deuticke, Wien, 1908. 
 
 4. Freud. “ Der Inhalt der Psychose,” Freud's Scliriften zur 
 
 angeiuandten Seelenkunde. Deuticke, 1908. 
 
 5. Jung. “ Diagnostische Associationsstudien,” Band I. Barth, 
 
 Leipzig, 1906. 
 
 6. -. “ Die Psychologische Diagnose des Thatbestandes.” 
 
 Carl Marhold, Halle, 1906. 
 
155 
 
 THE ASSOCIATION METHOD 
 
 7. Jung. “ Die Bedeutung des Vaters ftir das Schicksal des 
 
 Einzelnen.” Deuticke, Wien, 1908. 
 
 8. Jung. “ The Psychology of Dementia Praecox,” translated by 
 
 Peterson and Brill, Journal of Mental and Nervous Diseases , 
 
 Monograph Series, No. 2. . 
 
 9. Furst. “ Statistische Untersuchnngen uber Wortassoziationen 
 
 und tiber familiare Ubereinstimmung im Beactionstypns bei 
 Ungebildeten, X Beitrag der Diagnost. Assoc. Stndien, vol. II. 
 10. Brill. “ Psychological Factors in Dementia Praecox, Journal 
 of Abnormal Psychology , vol. III., No. 4. 
 
 _. “A case of Schizophrenia,” American Journal of 
 
 Insanity , vol. LXVI., No. 1. 
 
 12. “Le Nuove Vedute della Psicologia Criminale,” Bivista de 
 
 Psicologia Ayplicata , 1908, No. 4. 
 
 13. “ L’Analyse des Reves,” Annee Psychologigue , 1909, Tome XV. 
 
 14. “Associations d’idees Familiales,” Archives de Psychologic , 
 
 T. VII., No. 26. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER IN THE 
 DESTINY OF THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Ducunt volentem fata , nolentem trahunt. 
 
 Freud has pointed out in many places 1 with unmistakable 
 clearness that the psycho-sexual relationship of the child 
 towards his parents, particularly towards the father, possesses 
 an overwhelming importance in the content of any later 
 neurosis. This relationship is in fact the infantile channel par 
 excellence in which the libido flows back 2 when it encounters 
 any obstacles in later years, thus revivifying long-forgotten 
 dreams of childhood. It is ever so in life when we draw 
 back before too great an obstacle—the menace of some 
 severe disappointment or the risk of some too far-reaching 
 decision—the energy stored up for the solution of the task 
 flows back impotent; the by-streams once relinquished as 
 inadequate are again filled up. He who has missed the 
 happiness of woman’s love falls back, as a substitute, upon 
 some gushing friendship, upon masturbation, upon religiosity; 
 should he be a neurotic he plunges still further back into the 
 conditions of childhood which have never been quite forsaken, 
 to which indeed the normal is fettered by more than one link 
 —he returns to the relationship to father and mother. Every 
 psychoanalysis carried out at all thoroughly shows this regres¬ 
 sion more or less plainly. One peculiarity which stands out 
 in the works and views of Freud is that the relationship to 
 the father is seen to possess an overwhelming importance. 
 This importance of the father in the moulding of the child’s 
 
 1 Freud, especially “ The Interpretation of Dreams.” 
 
 2 Libido is what earlier psychologists called “ will ” or “ tendency.” The 
 Freudian expression is denominatio a potiori. Jahrbiich, vol. I., p. 155, 1909. 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 157 
 
 psycho-sexuality may also be discovered in a quite other and 
 remote field, in the investigation of the family. 1 The most 
 recent thorough investigations demonstrate the predominating 
 influence of the father often lasting for centuries.. The mother 
 seems of less importance in the family. 2 If this is true for 
 heredity on the physical side how much more should we 
 expect from the psychological influences emanating from the 
 father ? These experiences, and those gained more particu¬ 
 larly in an analysis carried out conjointly with Dr. Otto 
 Gross, have impressed upon me the soundness of this view. 
 The problem has been considerably advanced and deepened 
 by the investigations of my pupil Dr. Emma Furst into familial 
 resemblances in the reaction-type. 3 Furst made association 
 experiments on one hundred persons belonging to twenty-four 
 families. Of this extensive material, only the results in nine 
 families and thirty-seven persons (all uneducated) have been 
 worked out and published. But the painstaking calculations 
 do already permit some valuable conclusions. The associations 
 are classified on the Kr^pelin-aschaffenbubg scheme as 
 simplified and modified by myself; the difference is then 
 calculated between each group of qualities of the subjects 
 experimented upon and the corresponding group of every 
 other subject experimented upon. Thus we finally get the 
 differentiation of the mean in reaction-type. The following 
 is the result:— 
 
 Non-related men differ among themselves by 5*9. 
 
 Non-related women differ among themselves by 6*0. 
 
 Related men differ among themselves by 4*1. 
 
 Related women differ among themselves by 3*8. 
 
 1 Sommer, “ Familienforschung und Vererbungslehre.” Barth, Leipzig, 
 1907. Joerger, “ Die Familie, Zero,” Arch, fiir Bassen u. Gesellschaftsbiologie, 
 1905. M. Ziermer (pseudonym), “ Genealogische Studien uber die Vererbung 
 geistiger Eigenschaften,” ibid., 1908. 
 
 2 For the importance of the mother, see “ The Psychology of the Uncon¬ 
 scious.” C. G. Jung. Moffart, Yard and Co., New York. 
 
 3 E. Furst, “ Statistische Untersuchungen liber Wortassoziationen und 
 uber familiare Ubereinstimmung im Reaktionstypus bei Ungebildeten. 
 Beitrag der diagnostischen Assoziationsstudien herausgegeben von. Dr. 
 C. G. Jung,” Journal fiir Psychologic und Neurologic , Bd. II., 1907. (Reprinted 
 in two volumes of the Joint Reports.) 
 
158 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Relatives, and especially related women, have therefore, 
 on the average, resemblance in reaction-type. This fact 
 means that the psychological adaptation of relatives differs 
 but slightly. 
 
 An investigation into the various relationships gave the 
 following:— 
 
 The mean difference of the husband and wife amounts 
 to 4*7. The mean differentiation of this mean is, however, 
 3’7, a very high figure, which signifies that the mean figure 
 4*7 is composed of very heterogeneous figures; there are 
 married couples in whom the reaction type is very close and 
 others in whom it is very slight. On the whole, however, 
 father and son, mother and daughter stand remarkably close. 
 
 The difference between father and son amounts to 3*1. 
 
 The difference between mother and daughter amounts 
 to 3 # 0. 
 
 With the exception of a few cases of married couples 
 (where the difference fell to 1*4) these are the lowest differences. 
 In Fiirst’s work there was a case where the difference between 
 the forty-five year old mother and her sixteen year old 
 daughter was only 0*5. But it was just in this case that the 
 mother and daughter differed from the father’s type by 11*8. 
 The father is a coarse, stupid man, an alcoholic; the mother 
 goes in for Christian Science. This corresponds with the 
 fact that mother and daughter exhibit an extreme word- 
 predicate type, 1 which is, in my experience, important 
 semeiotically for the diagnosis of insufficiency in the sexual 
 object. The word-predicate type transparently applies an 
 excessive amount of emotion externally and displays emotions 
 with the unconscious, but nevertheless obvious endeavour to 
 awaken echoing emotions in the experimenter. This view 
 closely corresponds with the fact that in Furst’s material the 
 number of word-predicates increases with the age of the 
 subjects experimented upon. 
 
 1 By this type I understand reactions where the response to the stimulus- 
 word is a predicate subjectively accentuated instead of an objective relation, 
 e.g., Flower, pleasant; frog, horrible; piano, terrible; salt, bad; singing, 
 sweet; cooking, useful (see p. 124). 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 159 
 
 The fact of the extreme similarity between the reaction- 
 type of the offspring and the parents is matter for thoug t. 
 The association experiment is nothing but a small section 
 from the psychological life of a man. At bottom daily lile is 
 nothing hut an extensive and many-varied association 
 experiment; in essence we react in life just as we do in the 
 experiments. Although this truth is evident, still it requires 
 a certain consideration and limitation. Let us take as an 
 instance the case of the unhappy mother of forty-five years 
 and her unmarried daughter of sixteen. The extreme word- 
 predicate type of the mother is, without doubt, the precipitate 
 of a whole life of disappointed hopes and wishes. One is not 
 in the least surprised at the word-predicate type heie. u 
 the daughter of sixteen has really not yet lived at all; her 
 real sexual object has not yet been found, and yet she reacts 
 as if she were her mother with endless disillusions behind 
 her. She has the mother’s adaptation, and in so far she is 
 identified with the mother. There is ample evidence that the 
 mother’s adaptation must be attributed to her relationship 
 to the father. But the daughter is not married to the father 
 and therefore does not need this adaptation. She has taken 
 it over from the influence of her milieu, and later on will try 
 to adapt herself to the world with this familial disharmony. 
 In so far as an ill-assorted marriage is unsuitable the adapta¬ 
 tion resulting from it is unsuitable. 
 
 Clearly such a fate has many possibilities. To adapt 
 herself to life, this girl either will have to surmount the 
 obstacles of her familial milieu, or, unable to free hersel 
 from them, she will succumb to the fate to which such an adapta¬ 
 tion predisposes her. Deep within, unnoticed by any one, 
 there may go on a glossing over of the infantile disharmony, 
 or a development of the negative of the parents’ character, 
 accompanied by hindrances and conflicts to which she herself 
 has no clue. Or, growing up, she will come into painful conflict 
 with that world of actualities to which she is so ill adapted 
 till one stroke of fate after another gradually opens her eyes 
 to the fact that it is herself, infantile and maladjusted, that 
 is amiss. The source of infantile adaptation to the parents 
 
160 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 is naturally the affective condition on both sides; the psycho¬ 
 sexuality of the parents on one side and that of the child on 
 the othei. It is a kind of psychical infection; we know that 
 it is not logical truth, but effects and their psychical expres¬ 
 sions 1 which are here the effective forces. It is these that, 
 with the power of the herd-instinct, press into the mind 
 of the child, there fashioning and moulding it. In the 
 plastic years between one and five there have to be worked 
 out all the essential formative lines which fit exactly into 
 the parental mould. Psychoanalytic experience teaches us 
 that, as a rule, the first signs of the later conflict between 
 the parental constellation and individual independence, of the 
 stiuggle between repression and libido (Freud), occur before 
 the fifth year. 
 
 The lew following histories will show how this parental 
 constellation obstructs the adaptation of the offspring. It 
 
 must suffice to present only the chief events of these, that is 
 the events of sexuality. 
 
 Case 1.—A well-preserved woman of 55; dressed poorly 
 but carefully in black with a certain elegance, the hair care¬ 
 fully dressed; a polite, obviously affected manner, precise in 
 speech, also a devotee. The patient might be the wife of a 
 minor official or shopkeeper. She informs me, blushing and 
 diopping her eyes, that she is the divorced wife of a common 
 peasant. She has come to the hospital on account of 
 depression, night terrors, palpitations, slight nervous twitch¬ 
 es 8 in the arms; thus presenting the typical features of a 
 slight climacteric neurosis. To complete the picture she 
 adds that she suffers from severe anxiety dreams; in her 
 
 dreams some man seems to be pursuing her, wild animals 
 attack her, and so on. 
 
 Her anamnesis begins with the family history. (So fal¬ 
 as possible I give her own words.) Her father was a fine, 
 stately, rather corpulent man of imposing appearance. He 
 was very happy in his marriage, for her mother worshipped 
 him. He was a clever man, a master-mechanic, and held 
 
 Cf. Vigouroux et Jaqueliers, “ La contagion mentale,” Chapitre VI . 
 Doin, Paris, 1905. 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 161 
 
 a dignified and honourable position. There were only two 
 children, the patient and an elder sister. The sister was the 
 mother’s, and the patient her father’s favourite. When the 
 patient was five years old the father died suddenly from a 
 stroke, at the age of forty-two. The patient felt herself very 
 isolated and was from that time treated by the mother and 
 the elder sister as the Cinderella. She noticed clearly enough 
 that her mother preferred her sister to herself. Her mother 
 remained a widow, her respect for her husband being too 
 great to allow her to marry a second time. She preserved 
 his memory “like a religious cult” and brought up her 
 children in this way. 
 
 Later on the sister married, relatively young, the patient 
 herself only at the age of twenty-four. She never cared 
 for young men, they all seemed insipid; her mind turned 
 always to more mature men. When about twenty she became 
 acquainted with a stately gentleman rather over forty, to 
 whom she was much drawn. For various reasons the friend¬ 
 ship was broken off. At twenty-four she became acquainted 
 with a widower who had two children. He was a fine, 
 stately, somewhat corpulent man, and had an imposing pre¬ 
 sence like her father; he was forty-four. She married him 
 and respected him enormously. The marriage was childless; 
 the children by the first marriage died from an infectious 
 disease. After four years of married life her husband also 
 died. For eighteen years she remained his faithful widow. 
 But at forty-six (just before the menopause) she experienced , 
 a great need of love. As she had no acquaintances she 
 went to a matrimonial agency and married the first comer, 
 a peasant of some sixty years who had been already twice 
 divorced on account of brutality and perverseness; the 
 patient knew this before marriage. She remained five un¬ 
 bearable years with him, when she also obtained a divorce. 
 The neurosis set in a little later. 
 
 No further discussion will be required for those with 
 psychoanalytic experience; the case is too obvious. For 
 those unversed in psychoanalysis let me point out that up 
 to her forty-sixth year the patient did but reproduce most 
 
 11 
 
162 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 faithfully the milieu of her earliest youth. The sexuality which 
 announced itself so late and so drastically, even here only 
 led to a deteriorated edition of the father-surrogate; to this 
 she is brought by this late blossoming sexuality. Despite 
 repression, the neurosis betrays the ever-fluctuating eroticism 
 of the aging woman who still wants to please (affectation) 
 but dares not acknowledge her sexuality. 
 
 Case 2 .—A man of thirty-four of small build and with 
 a sensible, kindly expression. He is easily embarrassed, 
 blushes often. He came for treatment on account of “ner¬ 
 vousness.” He says he is very irritable, readily fatigued, 
 has nervous indigestion, is often deeply depressed so that he 
 has thought of suicide. 
 
 Before coming to me for treatment he sent me a circum¬ 
 stantial autobiography, or rather a history of his illness, in 
 order to prepare me for his visit. His story began: “ My 
 father was a very big and strong man.” This sentence 
 awakened my curiosity; I turned over a page and there 
 read: “ When I was fifteen a big lad of nineteen took me 
 into the wood and indecently assaulted me. 
 
 The numerous gaps in the patient’s story induced me to 
 obtain a more exact anamnesis from him, which produced 
 
 the following remarkable facts. 
 
 The patient is the youngest of three brothers. His 
 father, a big, red-haired man, was formerly a soldier in the 
 Papal Swiss Guard, and then became a policeman. He 
 was a strict, gruff old soldier, who brought up his sons 
 with military precision; he commanded them, did not call 
 them by name, but whistled to them. He had spent his 
 youth in Rome, where he acquired syphilis, from the conse¬ 
 quences of which he still suffered in old age. He was fond 
 of talking about his adventures in early life. His eldest 
 son (considerably older than the patient) was exactly like 
 him, he was big, strong and had reddish hair. The mother 
 was a feeble woman, prematurely aged; exhausted and tired 
 of life, she died at forty when the patient was eight years 
 old. He preserved a tender and beautiful memory of his 
 mother. 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHEK 16B 
 
 When he went to school he was always the whipping-boy 
 and always the object of his school-fellows’ mockery. The 
 patient considers that his peculiar dialect was to blame for 
 this. Later he was apprenticed to a severe and unkind 
 master, under most trying conditions, fron which all the 
 other apprentices had run away, finding them intoler¬ 
 able. Here he held out for over two years. At fifteen the 
 assault already mentioned took place, in addition to some 
 other slighter homosexual experiences. Then fate sent him 
 to France. There he made the acquaintance of a man from 
 the South of France, a great boaster and Don Juan. He 
 dragged the patient into a brothel; he went unwilling and 
 out of fear. He was impotent there. Later he went to 
 Paris, where his brother, a master-mason, the replica of his 
 father, was leading a dissolute life. There the patient 
 remained a long time, badly paid and helping his sister-in- 
 law out of pity. The brother often took him along to a 
 brothel, where the patient was always impotent. Here the 
 brother asked him to make over to him his inheritance, 
 6000 francs. He first consulted his second brother, who 
 was also in Paris, who urgently tried to dissuade him from 
 giving the money to his brother, because it would only be 
 squandered. Nevertheless the patient gave his all to his 
 brother, who indeed soon squandered it. And the second 
 brother, who would have dissuaded him, was also let in for 
 500 francs. To my astonished question why he had so light- 
 heartedly given the money to his brother without any 
 guarantee, he replied: he had asked for it, he was not a bit 
 sorry about the money; he would give him another 6000 
 francs if he had it. The eldest brother came to grief 
 altogether and his wife divorced him. The patient returned 
 to Switzerland and remained for a year without regular 
 employment, often suffering from hunger. During this time 
 he made the acquaintance of a family where he became a 
 frequent visitor. The husband belonged to some peculiar 
 sect; he was a hypocrite and neglected his family. The wife 
 was elderly, ill and weak, and moreover pregnant. There 
 were six children and great poverty. The patient developed 
 

 164 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 warm affection for this woman and divided with her the 
 little he possessed. She brought him her troubles, and 
 said she felt sure she would die in childbed. Then he 
 promised her (he who possessed nothing) to take charge of 
 the children himself and bring them up. The wife did die 
 in childbed. The orphanage-board interfered, however, and 
 allowed him only one child. So he had a child but no 
 family, and naturally could not bring it up by himself. 
 He thus came to think of marrying. But as he had never 
 been in love with any woman he was in great perplexity. It 
 then occurred to him that his elder brother was divorced 
 from his wife, and he resolved to marry her. He wrote his 
 intention to her in Paris. She was seventeen years older 
 than he, but not disinclined to the plan. She invited him to 
 come to Paris to talk matters over. On the eve of this 
 journey fate, however, willed that he should run a big iron 
 nail into his foot so that he could not travel. After a little 
 while, when the wound was healed, he went to Paris, and found 
 that he had imagined his sister-in-law, and now his fiancee , 
 to be younger and prettier than she really was. The wedding 
 took place, and three months later the first coitus, at his 
 wife’s initiative. He himself had no desire for it. They 
 brought up the child together, he in the Swiss and she in the 
 French way, for she was a French woman. At the age of 
 nine the child was run over and killed by a cyclist. The 
 patient then felt very lonely and dismal at home. He pro¬ 
 posed to his wife that she should adopt a young girl, where¬ 
 upon she broke out into a fury of jealousy. Then for the 
 first time he fell in love with a young girl, whilst at the same 
 time the neurosis started, with deep depression and nervous 
 exhaustion, for meanwhile his life at home had become a 
 hell. 
 
 My proposition to separate from his wife was refused out 
 of hand, because he could not take upon himself to make the 
 old woman unhappy on his account. He clearly prefers to 
 be tormented still further; for it would seem that the recollec¬ 
 tion of his youth is more precious to him than any present 
 joys. 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 165 
 
 In this case also the whole movement of a life takes 
 place in the magic circle of the familial constellation. The 
 relation to the father is the strongest and most momentous 
 issue ; its masochistic homosexual colouring stands out clearly 
 everywhere. Even the unhappy marriage is determined in 
 every way through the father, for the patient marries the 
 divorced wife of his eldest brother, which is as if he married 
 his mother. His wife is also the representative of the mother- 
 surrogate, of the friend who died in childbed. 
 
 The neurosis started at the moment when the libido had 
 obviously withdrawn from this relationship of infantile con¬ 
 stellation, and approached, for the first time, the sexual end 
 determined by the individual. In this, as in the previous 
 case, the familial constellation proves to be by far the stronger; 
 the narrow field vouchsafed by a neurosis is all that remains 
 for the display of individuality. 
 
 Case 8.—A thirty-six year old peasant woman, of average 
 intelligence, healthy appearance and robust build, mother of 
 three healthy children. Comfortable family circumstances. 
 Patient comes to the hospital for treatment for the follow¬ 
 ing reasons : for some weeks she has been terribly wretched 
 and anxious, has been sleeping badly, has terrifying dreams, 
 and suffers also during the day from anxiety and depression. 
 All these things are admittedly without foundation, she her¬ 
 self is surprised at them, and must admit her husband is 
 perfectly right when he insists they are all “ stuff and non¬ 
 sense.” All the same she cannot get away from them. 
 Strange ideas come to her too; she is going to die and is 
 going to hell. She gets on very well with her husband. 
 
 The psychoanalytic examination of the case immediately 
 brought the following: some weeks before, she happened to 
 take up some religious tracts which had long lain about 
 the house unread. There she read that swearers would go 
 to hell. She took this very much to heart, and has since 
 thought it incumbent on her to prevent people swearing or 
 she herself will go to hell. About a fortnight before she 
 read these tracts, her father, who lived with her, suddenly 
 died from a stroke. She was not actually present at his 
 

 166 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 death, but arrived when he was already dead. Her terror 
 and grief were very great. 
 
 In the days following the death she thought much about it 
 all, wondering why her father had to meet his end so abruptly. 
 In the midst of such meditations it suddenly occurred to her 
 that the last words she had heard her father say were: “ I 
 also am one of those who have fallen from the cart into 
 the devil’s clutches.” The remembrance filled her with grief, 
 and she recalled how often her father had sworn savagely. 
 She wondered then whether there really were a life after 
 death, and whether her father were in heaven or hell. During 
 these musings she came across the tracts and began to read 
 them, getting to the place where it said that swearers go to 
 hell. Then came upon her great fear and terror; she over¬ 
 whelmed herself with reproaches, she ought to have stopped 
 her father’s swearing, deserved punishment for her neglect. 
 She would die and would be condemned to hell. Henceforth 
 she was full of sorrow, moody, tormented her husband with 
 this obsessive idea, and renounced all joy and happiness. 
 
 The patient’s life-history (reproduced partly in her own 
 words) is as follows:— 
 
 She is the youngest of five brothers and sisters and was 
 always her father's favourite. The father gave her eveiy- 
 thing she wanted if he possibly could. For instance, if she 
 wanted a new dress and her mother refused it, she could 
 be sure her father would bring her one next time he went 
 to town. The mother died rather early. At twenty-four the 
 patient married the man of her choice, against her father s 
 wishes. The father simply disapproved of her choice although 
 he had nothing particular against the man. After the wedding 
 she made her father come and live with them. That seemed 
 a matter of course, she said, since the other relations had 
 never suggested having him with them. The father was a 
 quarrelsome swearer and drunkard. Husband and father- 
 in-law, as may easily be imagined, got on extremely badly 
 together. The patient would always meekly fetch her father 
 spirits from the inn, although this gave rise perpetually to 
 anger and altercations. But she finds her husband “ all 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 167 
 
 right.” He is a good, patient fellow with only one failing: 
 he does not obey her father enough; she finds that incom¬ 
 prehensible, and would rather have her husband knuckle 
 under to her father. All said and done, father is still father. 
 In the frequent quarrels she always took her father s part. 
 But she has nothing to say against her husband and he is 
 usually right in his protests, but one must help one’s father. 
 
 Soon it began to seem to her that she had sinned against 
 her father by marrying against his will, and she often felt, 
 after one of these incessant wrangles, that her love for her 
 husband had quite vanished. And since her father’s death 
 it is impossible to love her husband any longer, for his 
 disobedience was the most frequent occasion of her father s 
 fits of raging and swearing. At one time the quarreling 
 became too painful for the husband, and he induced his 
 wife to find rooms for her father elsewhere, where he lived 
 for two years. During this time husband and wife lived 
 together peaceably and happily. But by degrees the patient 
 began to reproach herself for letting her father live alone; 
 in spite of everything he was her father. And in the end, 
 despite the husband’s protests, she fetched him home again 
 because, as she said, in truth she did love her father better 
 than her husband. Scarcely was the old man back in the 
 house before strife was renewed. And so it went on till 
 the father’s sudden death. 
 
 After this recital she broke out into a whole series of 
 lamentations : she must separate from her husband: she 
 would have done it long ago if it were not for the children. 
 She had indeed done an ill-deed, committed a very great sin 
 when she married her husband against her father’s wish. She 
 ought to have taken the man whom her father had wanted 
 her to have. He certainly would have obeyed her father and 
 then everything would have been right. Oh, her husband 
 was not by a long way so kind as her father, she could do 
 anything with her father, but not with her husband. Her 
 father had given her everything she wanted. Now she would 
 best of all like to die , so that she might be with her father. 
 
 When this outburst was over, I inquired eagerly on what 
 
168 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 grounds she had refused the husband suggested by her 
 father. 
 
 The father, a small peasant on a lean little farm, had 
 taken as a servant, just at the time when his youngest 
 daughter came into the world, a miserable little boy, a 
 foundling. The boy developed in most unpleasant fashion: 
 he was so stupid that he could not learn to read or write 
 or even speak quite properly. He was an absolute idiot. 
 As he approached manhood there developed on his neck 
 a series of ulcers, some of which opened and continually 
 discharged pus, giving such a dirty, ugly creature a horrible 
 appearance. His intelligence did not grow with his years, 
 so he stayed on as servant in the peasant’s house without 
 any recognised wage. 
 
 To this youth the father wanted to marry his favourite 
 daughter. 
 
 The girl, fortunately, had not been disposed to yield, 
 but now she regretted it, since this idiot would unquestionably 
 have been more obedient to her father than her good man 
 had been. 
 
 Here, as in the foregoing case, it must be clearly under¬ 
 stood that the patient is not at all weak-minded. Both possess 
 normal intelligence, which unfortunately the blinkers of the 
 infantile constellation prevent their using. That appears 
 with quite remarkable clearness in this patient’s life-story. 
 The father’s authority is never questioned! It makes not 
 the least difference that he is a quarrelsome drunkard, the 
 obvious cause of all the quarrels and disturbances; on the 
 contrary, the lawful husband must give way to the bogey, 
 and at last our patient even comes to regret that her father 
 did not succeed in completely destroying her life’s happiness. 
 So now she sets about doing that herself through her neurosis, 
 which compels in her the wish to die, that she may go to 
 hell, whither, be it noted, the father has already betaken 
 himself. 
 
 If we are ever disposed to see some demonic power at 
 work controlling mortal destiny, surely we can see it here 
 in these melancholy silent tragedies working themselves out 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHEE 169 
 
 slowly, torturingly, in the sick souls of our neurotics. Some, 
 step by step, continually struggling against the unseen 
 powers, do free themselves from the clutches of the demon 
 who forces his unsuspecting victims from one savage mis¬ 
 chance to another: others rise up and win to freedom, only 
 to be dragged back later to the old paths, caught in the 
 noose of the neurosis. You cannot even maintain that these 
 unhappy people are neurotic or “ degenerates.” If we normal 
 people examine our lives from the psychoanalytic standpoint, 
 we too perceive how a mighty hand guides us insensibly to 
 our destiny and not always is this hand a kindly one. 1 We 
 often call it the hand of God or of the Devil, for the power 
 of the infantile constellation has become mighty during the 
 course of the centuries in affording support and proof to all 
 the religions. 
 
 But all this does not go so far as to say that we must cast 
 the blame of inherited sins upon our parents. A sensitive 
 child whose intuition is only too quick in reflecting in his 
 own soul all the excesses of his parents must, lay the blame 
 for his fate on his own characteristics. But, as our last case 
 shows, this is not always so, for the parents can (and 
 unfortunately only too often do) fortify the evil in the child’s 
 soul, preying upon the child’s ignorance to make him the 
 slave of their complexes. In our case this attempt on the 
 part of the father is quite obvious. It is perfectly clear why 
 he wanted to marry his daughter to this brutish creature: he 
 wanted to keep her and make her his slave for ever. What he 
 did is but a crass exaggeration of what is done by thousands 
 of so-called respectable, educated people, who have their own 
 share in this educational dust-heap of enforced discipline. The 
 
 1 Between whiles we believe ourselves masters of our acts at any given 
 moment. But when we look back along our life’s path and fix our eyes 
 chiefly upon our unfortunate steps and their consequences, often we cannot 
 understand how we came to do this and leave that undone, and it seems as 
 if some power outside ourselves had directed our steps. Shakespeare says; 
 
 “ Fate show thy force : ourselves we do not owe; 
 
 What is decreed must be, and be this so! ” 
 
 Schopenhauer, “Ueber die anscheinende Absichtlichkeit im Schicksale des 
 Einzelnen. Parerga und Paralipomena.” 
 
170 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 fathers who allow their children no independent possession of 
 their own emotions, who fondle their daughters with ill- 
 concealed eroticism and tyrannical passion, who keep their 
 sons in leading-strings, force them into callings and finally 
 marry them off “ suitably,” and the mothers who even in 
 the cradle excite their children with unhealthy tenderness, 
 later on make them into slavish dolls, and then at last, out 
 of jealousy, destroy their children’s love-life fundamentally, 
 they all act not otherwise than this stupid and brutal boor. 
 
 It will be asked, wherein lies the parents’ magic power 
 to bind their children to themselves, as with fetters, often for 
 the whole of their lives ? The psychoanalyst knows that it 
 is nothing but the sexuality on both sides. 
 
 We are always trying not to admit the child’s sexuality. 
 That view only comes from wilful ignorance, which happens 
 to be very prevalent again just now. 1 
 
 I have not given any real analysis of these cases. We 
 therefore do not know what happened within the hearts of 
 these puppets of fate when they were children. A profound 
 insight into a child’s mind as it grows and lives, hitherto 
 unattainable, is given in Freud’s contribution to the first 
 half-yearly volume of Jahrbucli fur Psyclioanalytische u. Psycho- 
 pathologische Forscliungen. If I venture, after Freud’s masterly 
 presentation, to offer another small contribution to the study 
 of the child-mind it is because the psychoanalytic records of 
 cases seem to me always valuable. 
 
 Case 4.—An eight year old boy, intelligent, rather delicate- 
 looking, is brought to me by his mother, on account of 
 enuresis. During the consultation the child always hangs 
 on to his mother, a pretty, youthful woman. The parents’ 
 
 1 This was seen in the Amsterdam Congress of 1907, where a prominent 
 French savant assured us that the Freudian theory was but “ une plaisan- 
 terie.” This gentleman has demonstrably neither read Freud’s latest works 
 nor mine, he knows less about the subject than a little child. This opinion, 
 so admirably grounded, ended with the applause of a well-known German 
 professor. One can but bow before such thoroughness. At the same Congress 
 another well-known German neurologist immortalised his name with the 
 following intellectual reasoning: “If hysteria on Freud’s conception does 
 indeed rest on repressed affects, then the whole German army must be 
 hysterical.” 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 171 
 
 marriage is a happy one, but the father is strict, and the boy 
 (the eldest child) is rather afraid of him. The mother com¬ 
 pensates for the father’s strictness by corresponding tenderness, 
 to which the boy responds so much that he never gets away 
 from his mother’s apron-strings. He never plays with his 
 schoolfellows, never goes alone into the street unless he has 
 to go to school. He fears the boys’ roughness and violence 
 and plays thoughtful games at home or helps his mother with 
 housework. He is extremely jealous of his father. He cannot 
 bear it when the father shows tenderness to the mother. 
 
 I took the boy aside and asked him about his dreams. 
 
 He dreams very often of a black snake which wants to bite 
 his face . Then he cries out, and his mother has to come from 
 the next room to his bedside. 
 
 In the evening he goes quietly to bed. But when he falls 
 asleep it seems to him that a wicked black man with a sabre or 
 gun lies on his bed—a tall, thin man who wants to kill him. 
 
 His parents sleep in the adjoining room. It often seems 
 to him that something dreadful is going on there, as if there 
 are great black snakes or wicked men who want to kill his 
 Mamma. Then he has to cry out and his mother comes to 
 
 comfort him. 
 
 Every time he wets his bed, he calls his mother, who has 
 
 to settle him down again in dry things. 
 
 The father is a tall thin man. Every morning he stands 
 at the washstand naked in full view of the child, to perform 
 a thorough ablution. The child also tells me that at night 
 he is often suddenly waked from sleep by a strange sound in 
 the next room; then he is always horribly afraid as if some¬ 
 thing dreadful were going on in there, some struggle but his 
 mother quiets him, says there’s nothing to be afraid of. 
 
 It is not difficult to see whence comes the black snake and 
 who the wicked man is, and what is happening in the next 
 room. It is equally easy to understand the boy’s aim when 
 he calls out for his mother: he is jealous and separates her 
 from the father. This he does also in the daytime whenever 
 he sees his father caressing her. So far the boy is simply his 
 father’s rival for his mother’s love. 
 

 172 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 But now comes the circumstance that the snake and the 
 bad man also threaten him, there happens to him the same 
 thing as to his mother in the next room. Thus he identifies 
 himself with his mother and proposes a similar relationship 
 for himself with his father. That is owing to his homosexual 
 component which feels like a woman towards the father. 
 What enuresis signifies in this case is, from the Freudian 
 standpoint, not difficult to understand. The micturition 
 dream throws light upon it. Let me refer to an analysis of 
 the same kind in my article: “ L’analyse des reves, Annee 
 psychologique ” (1909). Enuresis must be regarded as an 
 infantile sex-surrogate; in the dream-life of adults too it is 
 easily used as a cloak for the urge of sexual desire. 
 
 This little example shows what goes on in the mind of an 
 eight year old boy, just when he is in a position of dependence 
 upon his parents, but the blame is also partly due to the too 
 strict father and the too tender mother. 
 
 The infantile attitude here, it is evident, is nothing but 
 infantile sexuality. If now we survey all the far-reaching 
 possibilities of the infantile constellation we are forced to say 
 that in essence our life's fate is identical with the fate of our 
 sexuality. If Freud and his school devote themselves first 
 and foremost to tracing out the individual’s sexuality it is 
 certainly not in order to excite piquant sensations, but to 
 gain a deeper insight into the driving forces that determine 
 that individual’s fate. In this we are not saying too much, 
 rather understating the case. If we can strip off the veils 
 shrouding the problems of individual destiny, we can after¬ 
 wards widen our view from the history of the individual to 
 the history of nations. And first of all we can look at the 
 history of religions, at the history of the phantasy-systems 
 of whole peoples and epochs. The religion of the Old Testa¬ 
 ment elevated the paterfamilias to the Jehovah of the Jews 
 whom the people had to obey in fear and dread. The 
 Patriarchs are an intermediate stage towards the deity. 
 The neurotic fear and dread of the Jewish religion, the 
 imperfect, not to say unsuccessful attempt at the sublimation 
 of a still too barbarous people, gave rise to the excessive 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHER 178 
 
 severity of the Mosaic Law, the ceremonial constraint of the 
 neurotic. 1 
 
 Only the prophets succeeded in freeing themselves from 
 this constraint; in them the identification with Jehovah, the 
 complete sublimation, is successful. They became the fathers 
 of the people. Christ, the fulfilment of prophecy, put an end 
 to this fear of God and taught mankind that the true relation 
 to the Godhead is “ love.” Thus he destroyed the cere¬ 
 monial constraint of the Law and gave the example of a 
 personal loving relationship to God. The later imperfect 
 sublimation of the Christian Mass leads again to the cere¬ 
 monial of the Church from which occasionally the minds 
 capable of sublimation among the saints and reformers have 
 been able to free themselves. Not without cause therefore 
 does modern theology speak of “inner” or “personal 
 experiences as having great enfranchising power, for always 
 the ardour of love transmutes the dread and constraint into 
 
 a higher, freer type of feeling. 
 
 What we see in the development of the world-process, 
 the original source of the changes in the Godhead, we see 
 also in the individual. Parental power guides the child like 
 a higher controlling fate. But when he begins to grow up, 
 there begins also the conflict between the infantile constel¬ 
 lation and the individuality, the parental influence dating 
 from the prehistoric (infantile) period is repressed, sinks 
 into the Unconscious but is not thereby eliminated; by 
 invisible threads it directs the individual creations of the 
 ripening mind as they appear. Like everything that has 
 passed into the Unconscious, the infantile constellation sends 
 up into consciousness dim, foreboding feelings, feelings of 
 mysterious guidance and opposing influences. Here are the 
 roots of the first religious sublimations. In the place of the 
 father, with his constellating virtues and faults, there 
 appears, on the one hand, an altogether sublime deity, on the 
 other the devil, in modern times for the most part largely 
 whittled away by the perception of one’s own moral .re¬ 
 sponsibility. Elevated love is attributed to the former, a 
 
 1 Gf. Freud, “ Zeitschrift fUr Religionspsychologie,” 1907. 
 
174 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 lower sexuality to the latter. As soon as we approach the 
 territory of the neurosis, the antithesis is stretched to the 
 utmost limit. God becomes the symbol of the most complete 
 sexual repression, the Devil the symbol of sexual lust. Thus 
 it is that the conscious expression of the father constellation, 
 like every expression of an unconscious complex when it 
 appears in consciousness, gets its Janus-face, its positive and 
 its negative components. A curious, beautiful example of 
 this crafty play of the Unconscious is seen in the love- 
 episode in the Book of Tobias. Sarah, the daughter of 
 Baguel in Ecbatana, desires to marry; but her evil fate wills 
 it that seven times, one after another, she chooses a husband 
 who dies on the marriage-night. The evil spirit Asmodi, by 
 whom she is persecuted, kills these husbands. She prays to 
 Jehovah to let her die rather than suffer this shame again. 
 She is despised even by her father’s maid-servants. The 
 eighth bridegroom, Tobias, is sent to her by God. He too is 
 led into the bridal-chamber. Then the old Raguel, who has 
 only pretended to go to bed, gets up again and goes out and 
 digs his son-in-law’s grave beforehand, and in the morning 
 sends a maid to the bridal-chamber to make sure of the 
 expected death. But this time Asmodi’s part is played out, 
 Tobias is alive. 
 
 Unfortunately medical etiquette forbids me to give a case 
 of hysteria which fits in exactly with the above instance, 
 except that there were not seven husbands, but only three, 
 ominously chosen under all the signs of the infantile con¬ 
 stellation. Our first case too comes under this category and 
 in our third we see the old peasant at work preparing to 
 dedicate his daughter to a like fate. 
 
 As a pious and obedient daughter (compare her beautiful 
 prayer in chapter iii.) Sarah has brought about the usual 
 sublimation and cleavage of the father-complex and on the 
 one side has elevated her childish love to the adoration of 
 God, on the other has turned the obsessive force of her 
 father’s attraction into the persecuting demon Asmodi. 
 The legend is so beautifully worked out that it displays the 
 father in his twofold aspect, on the one hand as the 
 
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FATHEK 175 
 
 inconsolable father of the bride, on the other as the secret 
 digger of his son-in-law’s grave, whose fate he foresees. This 
 beautiful fable has become a cherished paradigm for my 
 analysis, for by no means infrequent are such cases where 
 the father-demon has laid his hand upon his daughter, so 
 that her whole life long, even when she does mairy, there is 
 never a true union, because her husband s image never 
 succeeds in obliterating the unconscious and eternally 
 operative infantile father-ideal. This is valid not only for 
 daughters, but equally for sons. A beautiful instance of 
 such a father-constellation is given in Dr. Brill’s recently 
 published : “ Psychological factors in dementia pr^cox. An 
 analysis.” 1 
 
 In my experience the father is usually the decisive and 
 dangerous object of the child’s phantasy, and if ever it 
 happens to be the mother, I have been able to discover 
 behind her a grandfather to whom she belonged in her heart. 
 
 I must leave this question open: my experience does not 
 go far enough to warrant a decision. It is to be hoped 
 that the experience of the coming years will sink deeper 
 shafts into this still dark land which I have been able but 
 momentarily to light up, and will discover to us more of 
 the secret workshop of that fate-deciding demon of whom 
 Horace says: 
 
 “ Scit Genuis natale comes qui temperat astrum, 
 
 Naturae deus humanae, mortalis in unum, 
 
 Quodque caput, vultu mutabilis, albus et ater.” 
 
 1 Journal of Abnormal Psychology , vol. III., p. 219, 1908. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A CONTRIBUTION TO THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 RUMOUR 1 
 
 About a year ago the school authorities in N. asked me to 
 give a professional opinion as to the mental condition of 
 Marie X., a thirteen year old schoolgirl. Marie had been 
 expelled from school because she had been instrumental in 
 originating an ugly rumour, spreading gossip about her class- 
 teacher. The punishment hit the child, and especially her 
 parents, very hard, so that the school authorities were inclined 
 to readmit her if protected by a medical opinion. The facts 
 were as follows:— 
 
 The teacher had heard indirectly that the girls were 
 attributing some equivocal sexual story to him. On investiga¬ 
 tion it was found that Marie X. had one day related a dream 
 to three girl-friends which ran somewhat as follows :— 
 
 “ The class was going to the swimming baths. I had to 
 go to the boys’ because there was no more room. Then we 
 swam a long way out in the lake (asked who did so : ‘ Lina P., 
 the teacher, and myself’). A steamer came along. The 
 teacher asked us if we wished to get into it. We came to 
 K. A wedding was just going on there (asked whose: * a 
 friend of the teacher’s’). We were also to take part in it. 
 Then we went for a journey (who? ‘I, Lina P., and the 
 teacher ’). It was like a honeymoon journey. We came to 
 Andermatt, and there was no more room in the hotel, so we 
 were obliged to pass the night in a barn. The w T oman got a 
 child there, and the teacher became the godfather.” 
 
 When I examined the child she told this dream. The 
 teacher had likewise related the dream in writing. In this 
 
 1 “ Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse,” 1911, vol. I., p. 81. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF BUMOUE 
 
 177 
 
 earlier version the obvious blanks after the word “ steamer ” 
 in the above text were filled up as follows: “ We got up. 
 Soon we felt cold. An old man gave us a blouse which the 
 teacher put on.” On the other hand, there was an omission 
 of the passage about finding no room in the hotel, and being 
 obliged to pass the night in the barn. 
 
 The child told the dream immediately, not only to her 
 three friends but also to her mother. The mother repeated it 
 to me with only trifling differences from the two versions given 
 above. The teacher, in his further investigations, carried out 
 with deepest misgivings, failed, like myself, to get indications 
 of any more dangerous material. There is therefore a strong 
 probability that the original recital could not have run very 
 differently. (The passage about the cold and the blouse 
 seems to be an early interpolation, for it is an attempt to 
 supply a logical relationship. Coming out of the water one 
 is wet, has on only a bathing dress, and is therefore unable 
 to take part in a wedding before putting on some clothes.) 
 At first, of course, the teacher would not allow that the whole 
 affair had arisen only out of a dream. He rather suspected 
 it to be an invention. He was, however, obliged to admit 
 that the innocent telling of the dream was apparently a 
 fact, and that it was unnatural to regard the child as 
 capable of such guile as to indicate some sexual equivocation 
 in this disguised form. For a time he wavered between the 
 view that it was a question of cunning invention, and the 
 view that it was really a question of a dream, innocent in 
 itself, which had been understood by the other children in 
 a sexual way. When his first indignation wore off he con¬ 
 cluded that Marie X.’s guilt could not be so great, and 
 that her phantasies and those of her companions had con¬ 
 tributed to the rumour. He then did something really 
 valuable. He placed Marie’s companions under supervision, 
 and made them all write out what they had heard of the 
 dream. 
 
 Before turning our attention to this, let us cast a glance 
 at the dream analytically. In the first place, we must accept 
 the facts and agree with the teacher that we have to do with 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 a dream and not with an invention ; for the latter the am¬ 
 biguity is too great. Conscious invention tries to create un¬ 
 broken transitions; the dream takes no account of this, but 
 sets to work regardless of gaps, which, as we have seen, here 
 give occasion for interpolations during the conscious revision. 
 The gaps are very significant. In the swimming bath there 
 is no picture of undressing, being unclothed, nor any detailed 
 description of their being together in the water. The omission 
 of being dressed on the ship is compensated for by the above- 
 mentioned interpolation, but only for the teacher, thus indi¬ 
 cating that his nakedness was in most urgent need of cover. 
 The detailed description of the wedding is wanting, and the 
 transition from the steamer to the wedding is abrupt. The 
 reason for stopping overnight in the barn at Andermatt is 
 not to be found at first. The parallel to this is, however, 
 the want of room in the swimming-bath, which made it 
 necessary to go into the men’s department; in the hotel the 
 want of room again emphasises the separation of the sexes. 
 The picture of the barn is most insufficiently filled out. The 
 birth suddenly follows and quite without sequence. The 
 teacher as godfather is extremely equivocal. Marie’s role in 
 the whole story is throughout of secondary importance, 
 indeed she is only a spectator. 
 
 All this has the appearance of a genuine dream, and those 
 of my readers who have a wide experience of the dreams of 
 girls of this age, will assuredly confirm this view. Hence the 
 meaning of the dream is so simple that we may quietly leave 
 its interpretation to her school companions, whose declara¬ 
 tions are as follows: 
 
 Aural Witnesses. 
 
 Witness I .—“ M. dreamed that she and Lina P. had gone 
 swimming with our teacher. After they had swum out in the 
 lake pretty far, M. said she could not swim any further as her 
 foot hurt her so much. The teacher said she might sit on my 1 
 back. M. got up and they swam out. After a time a steamer 
 
 1 Author’s italics. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RUMOUR 
 
 179 
 
 came along and they got up on it. Our teacher seems to have 
 had a rope by which he tied M. and L. together and dragged 
 them out into the lake. They travelled thus as far as Z., 
 where they stepped out. But now they had no clothes on. 
 The teacher bought a jacket, whilst M. and L. got a long, 
 thick veil, and all three walked up the street along the lake. 
 This was when the wedding was going on. Presently they 
 met the party. The bride had on a blue silk dress but no 
 veil. She asked M. and L. if they would be kind enough to 
 give her their veil. M. and L. gave it, and in return they 
 were allowed to go to the wedding. They went into the Sun 
 Inn. Afterwards they went a honeymoon journey to Ander- 
 matt; I do not know now whether they went to the Inn at A. 
 or at Z. There they got coffee, potatoes, honey, and butter. 
 
 I must not say any more, only the teacher finally was 
 made godfather. 
 
 Remarks .—The round-about story concerning the want of 
 room in the swimming-bath is absent; Marie goes direct with 
 her teacher to the bath. Their persons are more closely 
 bound together in the water by means of the rope fastening 
 the teacher and the two girls together. The ambiguity of 
 the “ getting up ” in the first story has other consequences 
 here, for the part about the steamer in the first story now 
 occurs in two places; in the first the teacher takes Marie 
 on his back. The delightful little slip “ she could sit on 
 my back ” (instead of his), shows the real part taken by 
 the narrator herself in this scene. This makes it clear why 
 the dream brings the steamer somewhat abruptly into action, 
 in order to give an innocent, harmless turn to the equivocal 
 “ getting up,” instead of another which is common, for instance, 
 in music-hall songs. The passage about the want of clothing, 
 the uncertainty of which has been already noticed, arouses 
 the special interest of the narrator. The teacher buys a 
 jacket, the girls get a long veil (such as one only wears in 
 case of death or at weddings). That the latter is meant is 
 shown by the remark that the bride had none (it is the 
 bride who wears the veil). The narrator, a girl friend of 
 Marie, here helps the dreamer to dream further : the possession 
 
180 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of the veil designates the bride or the brides, Marie and 
 Lina. Whatever is shocking or immoral in this situation is 
 relieved by the girls giving up the veil; it then takes an 
 innocent turn. The narrator follows the same mechanism in 
 the cloaking of the equivocal scene at Andermatt; there is 
 nothing but nice food, coffee, potatoes, honey, butter; a 
 turning back to the infantile life according to the well-known 
 method. The conclusion is apparently very abrupt: the 
 teacher becomes a godfather. 
 
 Witness II. —M. dreamt she had gone bathing with L. P. 
 and the teacher. Far out in the lake M. said to the teacher 
 that her leg was hurting her very much. Then the teacher 
 said she could get up on him. I don’t know now whether 
 the last sentence was really so told, but I think so. As 
 there was just then a ship on the lake the teacher said she 
 should swim as far as the ship and then get in. I don’t 
 remember exactly how it went on. Then the teacher or M., 
 I don’t really remember which, said they would get out at Z. 
 and run home. Then the teacher called out to two gentle¬ 
 men who had just been bathing there, that they might carry 
 the children to land. Then L. P. sat up on one man, and M. 
 on the other fat man, and the teacher held on to the fat man’s 
 leg and swam after them. Arrived on land they ran home. 
 On the way the teacher met his friend who had a wedding. 
 M. said: “ It was then the fashion to go on foot, not in a 
 carriage.” Then the bride said she must now go along also. 
 Then the teacher said it would be nice if the two girls gave 
 the bride their black veils, which they had got on the way. 
 I can’t now remember how. The children gave it her, and 
 the bride said they were really dear generous children. 
 Then they went on further and put up at the Sun Hotel. 
 There they got something to eat, I don’t know exactly what. 
 Then they went to a barn and danced. All the men had 
 taken off their coats except the teacher. Then the bride said 
 he ought to take off his coat also. Then the teacher hesi¬ 
 tated but finally did so. Then the teacher was . . . Then 
 the teacher said he was cold. I must not tell any more; it 
 is improper. That’s all I heard of the dream. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OE RUMOUR 
 
 181 
 
 Remarks .—The narrator pays special attention to the 
 getting up, but is uncertain whether in the original it referred 
 to getting up on the teacher or the steamer. This uncertainty 
 is, however, amply compensated for by the elaborate inven¬ 
 tion of the two strangers who take the girls upon their backs. 
 The getting up is too valuable a thought for the narrator to 
 surrender, but she is troubled by the idea of the teacher 
 seeing the object. The want of clothing likewise arouses 
 much interest. The bride’s veil has, it is true, become the 
 black veil of mourning (naturally in order to conceal anything 
 indelicate). There is not only no innocent twisting, but it 
 is conspicuously virtuous (“dear, generous children”); the 
 amoral wish has become changed into virtue which receives 
 special emphasis, arousing suspicion as does every accentu¬ 
 ated virtue. 
 
 This narrator exuberantly fills in the blanks in the scene 
 of the barn: the men take off their coats ; the teacher also, 
 and is therefore . . . i.e. naked and hence cold. Whereupon 
 it becomes too improper. 
 
 The narrator has correctly recognised the parallels which 
 were suspected in the criticisms of the original dream; she 
 has filled in the scene about the undressing which belongs to 
 the bathing, for it must finally come out that the girls are 
 together with the naked teacher. 
 
 Witness III. —M. told me she had dreamt: Once I went 
 to the baths but there was no room for me. The teacher 
 took me into his dressing-room. I undressed and went 
 bathing. I swam until I reached the bank. Then I met the 
 teacher. He said would I not like to swim across the lake 
 with him. I went, and L. P. also. We swam out and were 
 soon in the middle of the lake. I did not want to swim any 
 further. Now I can’t remember it exactly. Soon a ship came 
 up, and we got up on the ship. The teacher said, “I am 
 cold,” and a sailor gave us an old shirt. The three of us 
 each tore a piece of the shirt away. I fastened it round the 
 neck. Then we left the ship and swam away towards K. 
 
 L. P. and I did not want to go further, and two fat men 
 took us upon their backs. In K. we got a veil which we put 
 
182 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 on. In K. we went into the street. The teacher met his 
 friend who invited us to the wedding. We went to the Sun 
 and played games. We also danced the polonaise; now I 
 don’t remember exactly. Then we went for a honeymoon 
 journey to Andermatt. The teacher had no money with him, 
 and stole some chestnuts in Andermatt. The teacher said, 
 “ I am so glad that I can travel with my two pupils.” Then 
 there is something improper which I will not write. The 
 dream is now finished. 
 
 Remarks .—The undressing together now takes place in 
 the narrow space of the dressing-room at the baths. The 
 want of dress on the ship gives occasion to a further variant. 
 (The old shirt torn in three.) In consequence of great un¬ 
 certainty the getting up on the teacher is not mentioned. 
 Instead, the two girls get up on two fat men. As “fat” 
 becomes so prominent it should be noted that the teacher is 
 more than a little plump. The setting is thoroughly typical; 
 each one has a teacher. The duplication or multiplication 
 of the persons is an expression of their significance, i.e. of the 
 stored-up libido. 1 (Compare the duplication of the attribute 
 in dementia praecox in my “Psychology of Dementia Praecox.”) 
 In cults and mythologies the significance of this duplication 
 is very striking. (Cp. the Trinity and the two mystical 
 formulas of confession: “ Isis una quae es omnia. Hermes 
 omnia solus et ter unus.”) Proverbially we say he eats, 
 drinks, or sleeps “for two.” The multiplication of the 
 personality expresses also an analogy or comparison— my 
 friend has the same “ aetiological value ” (Freud) as myself. 
 In dementia praecox, or schizophrenia, to use Bleuler’s 
 wider and better term, the multiplication of the person¬ 
 ality is mainly the expression of the stored-up libido, 
 for it is invariably the person to whom the patient has 
 transference who is subjected to this multiplication. (“ There 
 are two professors N.” “Oh, you are also Dr. J.; this 
 morning another came to see me who called himself Dr. J.”) 
 It seems that, corresponding to the general tendency in 
 schizophrenia, this splitting is an analytic degradation whose 
 
 1 This also holds good for any objects that are repeated. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RUMOUR 
 
 18B 
 
 motive is to prevent the arousing of too violent impressions. 
 A final significance of the multiplication of personality which, 
 however, does not come exactly under this concept is the 
 raising of some attribute of the person to a living figure. 
 A simple instance is Dionysos and his companion Phales, 
 wherein Phales is the equivalent of Phallos, the personifica¬ 
 tion of the penis of Dionysos. The so-called attendants of 
 Dionysos (Satyri, Sileni, Msenades, Mimallones, etc.) consist 
 of the personification of the attributes of Dionysos. 
 
 The scene in Andermatt is portrayed with a nice wit, or 
 more properly speaking, dreamt further : “ The teacher steals 
 chestnuts,” that is equivalent to saying he does what is pro¬ 
 hibited. By chestnuts is meant roasted chestnuts, which on 
 account of the incision are known as a female sexual symbol. 
 Thus the remark of the teacher, that he was especially glad 
 to travel with his pupils, following directly upon the theft of 
 the chestnuts, becomes intelligible. This theft of the chest¬ 
 nuts is certainly a personal interpolation, for it does not occur 
 in any of the other accounts. It shows how intensive was the 
 inner participation of the school companions of Marie X. in 
 the dream; resting upon similar aetiological requirements. 
 
 This is the last of the aural witnesses. The story of the 
 veil, the pain in the feet, are items which we may perhaps 
 suspect to have been suggested in the original narrative. 
 Other interpolations are, however, absolutely personal, and 
 are due to independent inner participation in the meaning of 
 the dream. 
 
 Hearsay Evidence. 
 
 (I.) The whole school had to go bathing with the teacher. 
 M. X. had no place in the bath in which to undress. Then 
 the teacher said : “ You can come into my room and undress 
 with me.” She must have felt very uncomfortable. When 
 both were undressed they went into the lake. The teacher 
 took a long rope and wound it round M. Then they both 
 swam far out. But M. got tired, and then the teacher took 
 
184 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 her upon his back. Then M. saw Lina P.; she called out to 
 her, Come along with me, and Lina came. Then they 
 all swam out still farther. They met a ship. Then the 
 teacher asked, “ May we get in ? these girls are tired.” The 
 boat stopped, and they could all get up. I do not know 
 exactly how they came ashore again at K. Then the teacher 
 got an old night-shirt. He put it on. Then he met an old 
 friend who was celebrating his wedding. The teacher, M. 
 and L. were invited. The wedding was celebrated at the 
 Crown in K. They wanted to play the polonaise. The 
 teacher said he would not accompany them. Then the others 
 said he might as well. He did it with M. The teacher said: 
 “ I shall not go home again to my wife and children. I love 
 you best, M.” She was greatly pleased. After the wedding 
 there was the honeymoon journey. The teacher, M. and L. 
 had to accompany the others also. The journey was to 
 Milan. Afterwards they went to Andermatt, where they 
 could find no place to sleep. They went to a barn, where 
 they could stop the night all together. I must not say any 
 more because it becomes highly improper.” 
 
 Remarks .—The undressing in the swimming-bath is 
 properly detailed. The union in the water receives a further 
 simplification for which the story of the rope led the way ; 
 the teacher fastens himself to Marie. Lina P. is not 
 mentioned at all; she only comes later when Marie is already 
 sitting upon the teacher. The dress is here a jacket. The 
 wedding ceremony contains a very direct meaning. “ The 
 teacher will not go home any more to wife and child.” Marie 
 is the darling. In the barn they all found a place together, 
 and then it becomes highly improper. 
 
 (II.) It was said that she had gone with the school to the 
 swimming-baths to bathe. But as the baths were over-full 
 the teacher had called her to come to him. We swam out to 
 the lake, and L. P. followed us. Then the teacher took a 
 string and bound us to one another. I do not know now 
 exactly how they again got separated. But after a long time 
 they suddenly arrived at Z. There a scene is said to have 
 taken place which I would rather not tell, for if it were true 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RUMOUR 
 
 185 
 
 it would be too disgraceful; also now I don’t know exactly 
 bow it is said to have been, for I was very tired, only I also 
 heard that M. X. is said to have told how she was always to 
 remain with our teacher, and he again and again caressed 
 her as his favourite pupil. If I knew exactly I would also 
 say the other thing, but my sister only said something about 
 a little child which was born there, and of which the teacher 
 was said to have been the godfather. 
 
 Remarks .—Note that in this story the improper scene is 
 inserted in the place of the wedding ceremony, where it is as 
 apposite as at the end, for the attentive reader will certainly 
 have already observed that the improper scene could have 
 taken place in the swimming-bath dressing-room. The pro¬ 
 cedure has been adopted which is so frequent in dreams 
 as a whole; the final thoughts of a long series of dream 
 images contain exactly what the first image of the series was 
 trying to represent. The censor pushes the complex away 
 as long as possible through ever-renewed disguises, displace¬ 
 ments, innocent renderings, etc. It does not take place in 
 the bathing-room, in the water the “ getting up ” does not 
 occur, on landing it is not on the teacher’s back that the girls 
 are sitting, it is another pair who are married in the barn, 
 another girl has the child, and the teacher is only—godfather. 
 All these images and situations are, however, directed to 
 pick out the complex, the desire for coitus. Nevertheless the 
 action still occurs at the back of all these metamorphoses, 
 and the result is the birth placed at the end of the scene. 
 
 (III.) Marie said: the teacher had a wedding with his 
 wife, and they went to the “Crown” and danced with one 
 another. M. said a lot of wild things which I cannot repeat 
 or write about, for it is too embarrassing. 
 
 Remarks .—Here everything is too improper to be told. 
 Note that the marriage takes place with the wife. 
 
 (IY.) .... that the teacher and M. once went bathing, 
 and he asked M. whether she wanted to come along too. She 
 said “yes.” When they had gone out together they met L. P., 
 and the teacher asked whether she wished to come along. 
 And they went out farther. Then I also heard that she said 
 
186 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 that the teacher said L. P. and she were the favourite pupils. 
 She also told us that the teacher was in his swimming 
 drawers. Then they went to a wedding, and the bride got a 
 little child. 
 
 Remarks .—The personal relationship to the teacher is 
 strongly emphasised (the “ favourite pupils ”), likewise the 
 want of clothing (“ swimming drawers ”). 
 
 (Y.) M. and L. P. went bathing with the teacher. When 
 M. and L. P. and the teacher had swum a little way, M. said: 
 “ I cannot go any further, teacher, my foot hurts me.” Then 
 the teacher said she should sit on his back, which M. did. 
 Then a small steamer came along, and the teacher got into 
 the ship. The teacher had also two ropes, and he fastened 
 both children to the ship. Then they went together to Z. and 
 got out there. Then the teacher bought himself a dressing 
 jacket and put it on, and the children had put a cloth over 
 themselves. The teacher had a bride, and they were in a 
 barn. Both children were with the teacher and the bride in 
 the barn, and danced. I must not write the other thing, for 
 it is too awful. 
 
 Remarks .—Here Marie sits upon the teacher’s back. The 
 teacher fastens the two children by ropes to the ship, from 
 which it can be seen how easily ship is put for teacher. The 
 jacket again emerges as the piece of clothing. It was the 
 teacher’s own wedding, and what is improper comes after the 
 dance. 
 
 (YI.) The teacher is said to have gone bathing with the 
 whole school. M. could not find any room, and she cried. 
 The teacher is said to have told M. she could come into his 
 dressing-room. 
 
 “ I must leave out something here and there,” said my 
 sister, “ for it is a long story.” But she told me something 
 more which I must tell in order to speak the truth. When 
 they were in the bath the teacher asked M. if she wished to 
 swim out into the lake with him. To which she replied, “ If 
 I go along, you come also.” Then we swam until about half¬ 
 way. Then M. got tired, and then the teacher pulled her 
 by a cord. At K. they went on land, and from there to Z. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RUMOUR 
 
 187 
 
 (The teacher was all the time dressed as in the bath.) There 
 we met a friend, whose wedding it was. We were invited by 
 this friend. After the ceremony there was a honeymoon 
 journey, and we came to Milan. We had to pass one night 
 in a barn where something occurred which I cannot say. 
 The teacher said we were his favourite pupils, and he also 
 kissed M. 
 
 Remarks .—The excuse “ I must leave out something here 
 and there” replaces the undressing. The teacher’s want of 
 clothing is emphasised. The journey to Milan is a typical 
 honeymoon. This passage also seems to be an independent 
 fancy, due to some personal participation. Marie clearly 
 figures as the loved one. 
 
 (VII.) The whole school and the teacher went bathing. 
 They all went into one room. The teacher also. M. alone 
 had no place, and the teacher said to her, “I have still 
 room,” she went. Then the teacher said, “ Lie on my back, 
 I will swim out into the lake with you.” I must not write 
 any more, for it is improper; I can hardly say it at all. 
 Beyond the improper part which followed I do not know any 
 more of the dream. 
 
 Remarks .—The narrator approaches the basis. Marie is 
 to lie upon the teacher’s back in the bathing compartment. 
 Beyond the improper part she cannot give any more of the 
 dream. 
 
 (VIII.) The whole school went bathing. M. had no room 
 and was invited by the teacher into his compartment. The 
 teacher swam out with her and told her that she was his 
 darling or something like that. When they got ashore at Z. 
 a friend was just having a wedding and he invited them both 
 in their swimming costumes. The teacher found an old 
 dressing jacket and put it over the swimming drawers. He 
 (the teacher) also kissed M. and said he would not return 
 home to his wife any more. They were also both invited 
 on the honeymoon journey. On the journey they passed 
 Andermatt, where they could not find any place to sleep, 
 and so had to sleep in the hay. There was a woman; the 
 dreadful part now comes, it is not at all right to make 
 
188 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 something serious into mockery and laughter. This woman 
 got a small child. I will not say any more now, for it 
 becomes too dreadful. 
 
 Remarks .—The narrator is thoroughgoing. (He told her 
 simply she was his darling. He kissed her and said he 
 would not go home to his wife.) The vexation about the 
 silly tattling which breaks through at the end suggests some 
 peculiarity in the narrator. From subsequent investigation 
 it was found that this girl was the only one of the witnesses 
 who had been early and intentionally given an explanation 
 about sex by her mother. 
 
 Epickisis. 
 
 So far as the interpretation of the dream is concerned, 
 there is nothing for me to add; the children have taken care 
 of all the essentials, leaving practically nothing over for 
 psychoanalytic interpretation. Rumour has analysed and 
 interpreted the dream. So far as I know rumour has not 
 hitherto been investigated in this new capacity. This 
 case certainly makes it appear worth while to fathom the 
 psychology of rumour. In the presentation of the material I 
 have purposely restricted myself to the psychoanalytic point 
 of view, although I do not deny that my material offers 
 numerous openings for the invaluable researches of the 
 followers of Stern, Claparede, and others. 
 
 The material enables us to understand the structure of 
 the rumour, but psychoanalysis cannot rest satisfied with 
 that. The why and wherefore of the whole manifestation 
 demands further knowledge. As we have seen, the teacher, 
 astonished by this rumour, was left puzzled by the problem, 
 wondering as to its cause and effect. How can a dream which 
 is notoriously incorrect and meaningless (for teachers are, as 
 is well known, grounded in psychology) produce such effects, 
 such malicious gossip ? Faced by this, the teacher seems to 
 have instinctively hit upon the correct answer. The effect of 
 the dream can only be explained by its being “le vrai mot de 
 la situation,” i.e. that the dream formed the fit expression 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RUMOUR 
 
 189 
 
 for something that was already in the air. It was the spark 
 which fell into the powder magazine. The material contains 
 all the proofs essential for this view. I have repeatedly 
 drawn attention to their own unrecognised participation in 
 the dream by Marie’s school-companions, and the special 
 points of interest where any of them have added their own 
 phantasies or dreams. The class consists of girls between 
 twelve and thirteen years of age, who therefore are in the 
 midst of the prodromata of puberty. The dreamer Marie X. 
 is herself physically almost completely developed sexually, 
 and in this respect ahead of her class; she is therefore a 
 leader who has given the watch-word for the Unconscious, 
 and thus brought to expression the sexual complexes of her 
 companions which were lying there ready prepared. 
 
 As can be easily understood the occasion was most painful 
 to the teacher. The supposition that therein lay some secret 
 motive of the schoolgirls is justified by the psychoanalytic 
 axiom—judge actions by their results rather than by their 
 conscious motives. 1 Consequently it would be probable that 
 Marie X. had been especially troublesome to her teacher. 
 Marie at first liked this teacher most of all. In the course of 
 the latter half-year her position had, however, changed. She 
 had become dreamy and inattentive, and towards the dusk of 
 evening was afraid to go into the streets for fear of bad men. 
 She talked several times to her companions about sexual things 
 in a somewhat obscene way; her mother asked me anxiously 
 how she should explain the approaching menstruation to 
 her daughter. On account of this alteration in conduct Marie 
 had forfeited the good opinion of her teacher, as was clearly 
 evidenced for the first time by a school report, which she and 
 some of her friends had received a few days before the out¬ 
 break of the rumour. The disappointment was so great that 
 the girls had imagined all kinds of fancied acts of revenge 
 against the teacher; for instance, they might push him on to 
 the lines so that the train would run over him, etc. Marie 
 was especially to the fore in these murderous phantasies. 
 On the night of this great outburst of anger, when her former 
 
 1 See “ The Association Method,” Lecture III. 
 
190 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 liking for her teacher seemed quite forgotten, that repressed 
 part of herself announced itself in the dream, and fulfilled its 
 desire for sexual union with the teacher—as a compensation 
 for the hate which had filled the day. 
 
 On waking, the dream became a subtle instrument of her 
 hatred, because the wish-idea was also that of her school 
 companions, as it always is in rumours of this kind. Revenge 
 certainly had its triumph, but the recoil upon Marie herself 
 was still more severe. Such is the rule when our impulses 
 are given over to the Unconscious. Marie X. was expelled 
 from school, but upon my report she was allowed to return 
 to it. 
 
 I am well aware that this little communication is in¬ 
 adequate and unsatisfactory from the point of view of exact 
 science. Had the original story been accurately verified we 
 should have clearly demonstrated what we have now been 
 only able to suggest. This case therefore only posits a 
 question, and it remains for happier observers to collect 
 convincing experiences in this field. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 ON THE SIGNIFICANCE OF NUMBER-DREAMS. 1 
 
 The symbolism of numbers which greatly engaged the 
 imaginative philosophy of earlier centuries has again 
 acquired a fresh interest from the analytic investigations 
 of Freud and his school. But in the material of number- 
 dreams we no longer discover conscious puzzles of symbolic 
 concatenations of numbers but the unconscious roots of 
 the symbolism of numbers. There is scarcely anything 
 quite fundamentally new to offer in this spheie since the 
 presentations of Freud, Adler and Stekel. It must heie 
 suffice to corroborate their experiences by recording paiallel 
 cases. I have had under observation a few cases of this 
 kind which are worth reporting for their general interest. 
 
 The first three instances are from a middle-aged married 
 man whose conflict of the moment was an extra-conjugal 
 love affair. The piece of the dream from which I take the 
 symbolised number is: in front of the manager his general 
 subscription. The manager comments on the high number of the 
 subscription . It reads 2477. 
 
 The analysis of the dream brings out a rathei ungentle- 
 manly reckoning up of the expense of the affair which is foieign 
 to the generous nature of the dreamer, and which the un¬ 
 conscious makes use of as a resistance to this affair. The 
 preliminary interpretation is therefore, that the number has 
 some financial importance and origin. A rough estimate of the 
 expenses so far leads to a number which in fact approaches 
 2477 francs; a more exact reckoning, however, gives 2387 
 francs, which could be only arbitrarily translated into 2477. 
 I then left the numbers to the free association of the patient; 
 
 i “ Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse,” 1911, p. 567. 
 
192 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 it occurs to him that the figure in the dream should be 
 divided as 24-77. Perhaps it is a telephone number; this 
 supposition proves incorrect. The next association is that 
 it is the total of some numbers. A reminiscence then occurs 
 to him that he once told me that he had celebrated the 100th 
 birthday of his mother and himself when his mother was 
 65 and he was 35 years old. (Their birthdays are on the 
 same day.) 
 
 In this way the patient arrived at the following series of 
 associations:— 
 
 He is born on . 
 
 26 II. 
 
 His mistress. 
 
 28 VIII. 
 
 His wife. 
 
 1 III. 
 
 His mother (his father is long dead) 
 
 26 II. 
 
 His two children .... 
 
 29 IV. 
 
 and 
 
 18 VII. 
 
 The patient is born 
 
 II. 75. 
 
 His mistress. 
 
 VIII. 85. 
 
 Pie is now 36 years old, his mistress 25. 
 
 It this series of associations is written in the usual figures, 
 the following addition is arrived at :— 
 
 26. II. 
 
 
 262 
 
 28. VIII. 
 
 
 288 
 
 1. III. 
 
 
 13 
 
 26. II. 
 
 = 
 
 262 
 
 29. IV. 
 
 
 294 
 
 13. VII. 
 
 
 137 
 
 II. 75. 
 
 — 
 
 275 
 
 VIII. 85 
 
 = 
 
 885 
 
 25 
 
 
 25 
 
 36 
 
 = 
 
 36 
 
 
 
 2477 
 
 This series, which includes all the members of his family, 
 gives the number 2477. 
 
 This construction led to a deeper layer of the dream’s 
 meaning. The patient is most closely united to his family, 
 but on the other hand very much in love. This situation 
 
ON THE SIGNIFICANCE OF NUMBER-DREAMS 19?> 
 
 provokes a severe conflict. The detailed description of the 
 manager’s appearance (which I leave out for the sake of 
 brevity) pointed to the analyst, from whom the patient 
 rightly fears and desires firm control and criticism of his 
 condition of dependence and bondage. 
 
 The dream which followed soon afterwards, reported in 
 brief, runs: The analyst asks the patient what he actually does 
 at his mistress ' 1 ? to which the patient replied he plays there , 
 and that indeed on a very high number , on 152. The analyst 
 remarks : “ You are sadly cheated.” 
 
 The analysis displayed again a repressed tendency to 
 reckon up the expense of the affair. The amount spent 
 monthly was close on 152 francs, it was from 148-158 francs. 
 The remark that he was being cheated alludes to the point at 
 issue in the difficulties of the patient with his mistress. She 
 maintains that he had deflowered her ; he, on the contrary, is 
 firmly convinced that she was not a virgin, and that she had 
 already been seduced by some one else at the time when he 
 was seeking her favours and she was refusing him. The ex¬ 
 pression “ number ” leads to the associations : number of the 
 gloves, calibre-number. From there the next step was to 
 the fact that he recognized, at the first coitus, a noticeable 
 width of the opening instead of the expected resistance of 
 the hymen. To him, this is proof of the deception. The 
 unconscious naturally makes use of this opportunity as an 
 effective means of opposition to the relationship. 152 proves 
 at first refractory to further analysis. The number on a 
 subsequent occasion aroused the really not remote associa¬ 
 tion, “ house-number.” Then came this series of associa¬ 
 tions. When the patient first knew her the lady lived at 
 X Street No. 17, then Y Street No. 129, then Z Street No. 48. 
 
 Here the patient thought that he had clearly gone far 
 beyond 152, the total being 194. It then occurred to him 
 that the lady had removed from No. 48 Z Street at 
 his instigation for certain reasons; it must therefore run 
 194 — 48 = 146. She now lives in A Street No. 6, there¬ 
 fore 146 + 6 = 152. 
 
 The following dream was obtained during a later part 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of the analysis. The patient dreamt that he had received 
 an account from the analyst in which he teas charged interest 
 for delay in payment from the period September 3 rd to 29th. 
 The interest on the total of 815 francs was 1 franc. 
 
 Under this reproach of meanness and avariciousness 
 levelled at the analyst, the patient covered, as analysis 
 proved, a violent unconscious envy. Diverse things in the 
 life of the analyst can arouse the patient’s envy, one fact 
 here in particular had recently made a marked impression. 
 His physician had received an addition to the family. The 
 disturbed relations between the patient and his wife unfor¬ 
 tunately does not permit such an expectation in his case. 
 Hence his ground for envy and invidious comparisons. 
 
 As before, the analysis of 315 produces a separation 
 into 3—1—5. To three he associates—his doctor has three 
 children, just lately there is one in addition. He himself 
 would have five children were all living; as it is he has 
 3 _ 1 = 2 living; for three of the children were stillborn. 
 The symbolism of the numbers is not exhausted by these 
 associations. 
 
 The patient remarks that the period from 3rd to 29th 
 September contains twenty-six days. His next thought is 
 to add this and the other figures of the dream: 
 
 26 
 
 315 
 
 _1 
 
 342 
 
 "With 342 he carries out the same operation as on 315, 
 splitting it into 3—4—2. Whereas before it came out that 
 his doctor had three children, and then had another, and 
 the patient had five, now it runs: the doctor had three 
 children, and now has four, patient has only two. He re¬ 
 marks on this that the second figure sounds like a rectifica¬ 
 tion in contrast with the wish fulfilment of the first. 
 
 The patient, who had discovered this explanation for 
 himself without my help, declared himself satisfied. His 
 physician, however, was not; to him it seemed that the 
 
ON THE SIGNIFICANCE OF NUMBER-DREAMS 195 
 
 above disclosures did not exhaust the rich possibilities that 
 determined the unconscious images. The patient had, for 
 instance, added to the figure five that of the stillborn children ; 
 one was born in the 9th month and two in the 7th. He 
 also emphasised the fact that his wife had had two mis¬ 
 carriages, one in the 5th week and the other in the 7th. 
 Adding these figures together we get the determination of 
 the number 26. 
 
 Child of 7 months 
 
 7 
 
 )) }> 1 5 > 
 
 9 
 
 )) 5 ) ° } f 
 
 23 „ 
 
 2 miscarriages (5 + 7 weeks) 3 ,, 
 
 26 
 
 It seems as if the number twenty-six were determined by 
 the number of the lost times of pregnancy. This time 
 (twenty-six days) denotes, in the dream, a delay for which 
 the patient was charged one franc interest. He has, in fact, 
 suffered a delay through the lost pregnancies, for his doctor 
 has, during the time the patient has known him, surpassed 
 him with one child. One franc must be one child. We have 
 already seen the tendency of the patient to add together all 
 his children, even the dead ones, in order to outdo his rival. 
 The thought that his physician had outdone him by one child 
 could easily react immediately upon the determination of 1. 
 We will therefore follow up this tendency of the patient, and 
 carry on his play with figures, by adding to the figure 26, 
 the two complete pregnancies of nine months each. 
 
 26 + 9 + 9 = 44 
 
 If we follow the tendency to split up the numbers we get 
 2 + 6 and 4 + 4, two groups of figures which have only this 
 in common, that each group gives 8 by addition. These 
 numbers are, as we must notice, composed entirely of the 
 months of pregnancy given by the patient. Compare with 
 them those groups of figures which contain the information 
 
196 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 as to the doctor’s fecundity, viz. 315 and 342; it is to be 
 noted that the resemblance lies in their sum-total giving 
 9 : 9 _ 8 == 1 . It looks as if here likewise the notion about 
 the differentiation of 1 were carried out. As the patient 
 remarked, 315 seems thus a wish fulfilment, 342 on the other 
 hand a rectification. An ingenious fancy playing round will 
 discover the following difference between the two numbers: 
 
 3 x 1 x 5 = 15. 3 X 4 X 2 = 24. 24- 15 =9 
 
 Here again we come upon the important figure 9, which 
 neatly combines the reckoning of the pregnancies and births. 
 
 It is difficult to say where the borderline of play begins; 
 necessarily so, for the unconscious product is the creation 
 of a sportive fancy, of that psychic impulse out of which 
 play itself arises. It is repugnant to the scientific mind to 
 have serious dealings with this element of play, which on all 
 sides loses itself in the vague. But it must be never forgotten 
 that the human mind has for thousands of years amused 
 itself with just this kind of game; it were therefore nothing 
 wonderful if this historic past again compelled admission 
 in dream to similar tendencies. The patient pursues in his 
 waking life similar phantastic tendencies about figures, as 
 is seen in the fact already mentioned of the celebration of 
 the 100th birthday. Their presence in the dream therefore 
 need not surprise us. In a single example of unconscious 
 determination exact proofs are often lacking, but the sum 
 of our experiences entitles us to rely upon the accuracy 
 of the individual discoveries. In the investigation of free 
 creative phantasy we are in the region, almost more than 
 anywhere else, of broad empiricism; a high measure of 
 discretion as to the accuracy of individual results is conse¬ 
 quently required, but this in nowise obliges us to pass over 
 in silence what is active and living, for fear of being execrated 
 as unscientific. There must be no parleying with the super¬ 
 stition-phobia of the modern mind; for this itself is a means 
 by which the secrets of the unconscious are kept veiled. 
 
 It is of special interest to see how the problems of the 
 patient are mirrored in the unconscious of his wife. His 
 
ON THE SIGNIFICANCE OF NUMBER-DEE AMS 197 
 
 wife had the following dream: She dreamt, and this is the 
 whole dream: “Luke 137.” The analysis of the number 
 gives the following. To 1 she associates: The doctor has 
 another child. He had three. If all her children were living 
 she would have 7; now she has only 3 — 1 = 2. But she 
 desires 1 + 3 + 7 = 11 (a twin number, 1 and 1), which ex¬ 
 presses her wish that her two children had been pairs of 
 twins, for then she would have reached the same number of 
 children as the doctor. Her mother once had twins. The 
 hope of getting a child by her husband is very precarious; 
 this had for a long time turned her ideas in the unconscious 
 towards a second marriage. Other phantasies pictured her 
 as “done with,” i.e. having reached the climacteric at 44. 
 She is now 33 years old, therefore in 11 years she will 
 have reached her 44th year. This is an important period 
 as her father died in his 44th year. Her phantasy of 
 the 44th year contains the idea of the death of her father. 
 The emphasis of the death of her father corresponds to the 
 repressed phantasy of the death of her husband, who is the 
 obstacle to a second marriage. At this place the material 
 belonging to the dream “ Lake 137 ” comes in to solve the 
 conflict. The dreamer is, one soon discovers, in no wise 
 well up in her Bible, she has not read her Bible for an in¬ 
 credible time, she is not at all religious. It were therefore 
 quite purposeless to have recourse to associations here. 
 The dreamer’s ignorance of her Bible is so great that she 
 did not even know that the citation “ Luke 137” could 
 only refer to the Gospel of St. Luke. When she turned up 
 the New Testament she came to the Acts of the Apostles. 
 As chapter i. has only 26 verses and not 37, she took the 
 7th verse, “It is not for you to know the times or the 
 seasons, which the Father hath put in his own power.” 
 
 But if we turn to Luke i. 37, we find the Annunciation 
 of the Virgin. 
 
 Verse 35. The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the 
 power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also 
 that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called 
 the Son of God. 
 
198 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Verse 36. And, behold, thy cousin Elisabeth, she hath 
 also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth 
 ' month with her, who was called barren. 
 
 Verse 37. For with God nothing shall be impossible. 
 
 The necessary continuation of the analysis of “Luke 
 137 ” demanded the looking up of Luke xiii. 7, where it says: 
 
 Verse 6. A certain man had a fig tree planted in his 
 vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found 
 none. 
 
 Verse 7. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, 
 Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, 
 and find none : cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground ? 
 
 The fig-tree, which from antiquity has been a symbol of 
 the male genital, is to be cut down on account of its un¬ 
 fruitfulness. This passage is in complete accord with in¬ 
 numerable sadistic phantasies of the dreamer, concerned 
 with the cutting or biting off of the penis. The relation to 
 her husband’s unfruitful organ is obvious. That she with¬ 
 draws her libido from her husband is clear for he is impotent 
 as regard herself; it is equally clear that she undergoes 
 regression to the father (“which the father hath put in his 
 own power ”) and identifies herself with her mother who had 
 twins. 1 By thus advancing her age the dreamer places her 
 husband in regard to herself in the position of a son or boy, 
 of an age at which impotency is normal. Furthermore, the 
 desire to overcome her husband is easily understood from, 
 and amply evidenced in, her earlier analysis. It is therefore 
 only a confirmation of what has been already said, if, follow¬ 
 ing up the matter of “ Luke 137,” we find in Luke vii. 
 verse 12, Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, 
 behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son 
 of his mother, and she was a widow. (13) And when the 
 Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, 
 Weep not. (14) And he came and touched the bier: and 
 they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, 
 I say unto thee, Arise. 
 
 In the particular psychological situation of the dreamer 
 
 1 The husband’s principal conflict is a pronounced mother-complex. 
 
ON THE SIGNIFICANCE OF NUMBER-DREAMS 199 
 
 the allusion to the resurrection presents a delightful meaning 
 as the cure of her husband’s impotency. Then the whole 
 problem would be solved. There is no need for me to point 
 out in so many words the numerous wish-fulfilments con¬ 
 tained in this material; they are obvious to the reader. 
 
 The important combination of the symbol “Luke 137” 
 must be conceived as cryptomnesia, since the dreamer is quite 
 unversed in the Bible. Both Flournoy 1 and myself 2 have 
 already drawn attention to the important effects of this 
 phenomenon. So far as one can be humanly certain the 
 question of any manipulation of the material with intent to 
 deceive does not come into consideration in this case. Those 
 well posted in psychoanalysis will be able to allay any such 
 suspicion simply from the disposition and setting of the 
 material as a whole. 
 
 1 Flournoy, “ Des Indes a la Planete Mars.” Idem: “ Nouvelles observa¬ 
 tions sur un cas de somnambulisme,” Arch, de Pyschol., vol. I. 
 
 2 See chapter I, p. 86. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CRITICISM OF BLEULER’S “THEORY OF 
 SCHIZOPHRENIC NEGATIVISM.” 1 
 
 Bleuler’s work contains a noteworthy clinical analysis of 
 “ Negativism.” Besides giving a very precise and discerning 
 summary of the various manifestations of negativism, the 
 author presents us with a new psychological conception well 
 worthy of attention, viz. the concept of ambivalency and of 
 ambitendency , thus formulating the psychological axiom that 
 every tendency is balanced by its opposite tendency (to this 
 must be added that positive action is produced by a com¬ 
 paratively small leaning to one side of the scale). Similarly all 
 other tendencies, under the stress of emotions, are balanced 
 by their opposites—thus giving an ambivalent character to 
 their expression. This theory rests on clinical observation of 
 katatonic negativism, which more than proves the existence 
 of contrasting tendencies and values. These facts are well 
 known to psychoanalysis, where they are summed up under 
 the concept of resistance. But this must not be taken as 
 meaning that every positive psychic action simply calls up its 
 opposite. One may easily gain the impression from Bleuler’s 
 work that his standpoint is that, cum grano salis the concep¬ 
 tion, or the tendency of the Schizophrenic is always accom¬ 
 panied by its opposite. For instance, Bleuler says :— 
 
 1. “ Disposing causes of negativistic phenomena are: the 
 ambitendency by which every impulse is accompanied by its 
 opposite.” 
 
 2. “ Ambivalency, which gives two opposed emotional ex¬ 
 pressions to the same idea, and would regard that idea as 
 positive and negative at the same time.” 
 
 1 “ Sonderabdruck aus dem Jalirbuch fur psychoanalytische und psycho- 
 patkologische Forschungen,” vol. III. 
 
SCHIZOPHRENIC NEGATIVISM 
 
 201 
 
 3. “ The schizophrenic splitting of the psyche which pre¬ 
 vents any final summing up of the conflicting and corre¬ 
 sponding psychisms, so that the unsuitable impulse can he 
 realised just as much as the right one, and the negative 
 thought substituted for the right one.” “ On this theory, 
 negative manifestations may directly arise, since non-selected 
 positive and negative psychisms may stand for one another,” 
 and so on. 
 
 If we investigate psychoanalytically a case of obvious 
 ambivalency, i.e . of a more or less unexpected negative 
 instead of a positive reaction, we find that there is a strict 
 sequence of psychological causes conditioning negative re¬ 
 action. The tendency of this sequence is to disturb the 
 intention of the contrasting or opposite series, that is to say, 
 it is resistance set up by a complex . This fact, which has not 
 yet been refuted by any other observations, seems to me to 
 contradict the above-mentioned formulae. (For confirmation, 
 see my “ Pyschology of Dementia Praecox,” p. 103.) Psycho¬ 
 analysis has proved conclusively that a resistance always has 
 an intention and a meaning; that there is no such thing as a 
 capricious playing with contrasts. The systematic character 
 of resistance holds good, as I believe I have proved, even in 
 schizophrenia. So long as this position, founded upon a 
 great variety of experience, is not disproved by any other 
 observations, the theory of negativism must adapt itself 
 to it. Bleuler in a sense supports this when he says: 
 “ For the most part the negative reaction does not simply 
 appear as accidental, but is actually preferred to the right 
 oneT This admits that negativism is of the nature of 
 resistance. Once admit this, and the primary importance of 
 ambivalency disappears so far as negativism is concerned. 
 The tendency to resistance remains as the only fundamental 
 principle. Ambivalency can in no sense be put on all fours 
 with the “ schizophrenic splitting of the psyche,” but must 
 be regarded as a concept which gives expression to the 
 universal and ever-present inner association of pairs of 
 opposites. (One of the most remarkable examples of this 
 is the “ contrary meaning of root-words.” See Freud’s 
 
202 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 “ Essay on Dreams,” Jahrbuch, vol. II., p. 179.) The 
 same thing applies to ambitendency. Neither is specific 
 of schizophrenia, but applies equally to the neuroses and 
 the normal. All that remains to katatonic negativism is 
 the intentional contrasty i.e. the resistance. From this expla¬ 
 nation we see that resistance is something different from 
 ambivalency; it is the dynamic factor which makes manifest 
 the ambivalency everywhere latent. What is characteristic 
 of the diseased mind is not ambivalency but resistance. 
 This implies the existence of a conflict between two opposite 
 tendencies which has succeeded in raising the normally 
 present ambivalency into a struggle of opposing components. 
 (Freud has very aptly called this, “ The separation of pairs 
 of opposites.”) In other words it is a conflict of wills, bring¬ 
 ing about the neurotic condition of “ disharmony within the 
 self.” This condition is the only “ splitting of the psyche ” 
 known to us, and is not so much to be regarded as a pre¬ 
 disposing cause, but rather as a manifestation resulting 
 from the inner conflict—the “incompatibility of the complex” 
 (Riklin). 
 
 Resistance } as the fundamental fact of schizophrenic dis¬ 
 sociation, thus becomes something which, in contra-distinc¬ 
 tion to ambivalency, is not eo ipso identical with the concept 
 of the state of feeling, but is a secondary and supplementary 
 one, with its own special and quasi independent psycholo¬ 
 gical development; and this is identical with the necessary 
 previous history of the complex in every case. It follows 
 that the theory of negativism coincides with the theory of 
 the complex, as the complex is the cause of the resistance. 
 
 Bleuler summarises the causes of negativism as follows : 
 
 (a) The autistic retirement of the patient into his own 
 
 phantasies. 
 
 (b) The existence of a life-wound (complex) which must 
 
 be protected from injury. 
 
 ( c ) The misconception of the environment and of its 
 
 meaning. 
 
 (d) The directly hostile relation to environment. 
 
 (e) The pathological irritability of schizophrenics. 
 
SCHIZOPHRENIC NEGATIVISM 203 
 
 I 
 
 ( f) The “ press of ideas,” and other aggravations of 
 
 action and thought. 
 
 ( g ) Sexuality with its ambivaleney on the emotional plane 
 
 is often one of the roots of negative reaction. 
 
 (a) Autistic withdrawal into one’s own phantasies 1 is 
 what I formerly designated as the obvious overgrowth of the 
 phantasies of the complex. The strengthening of the complex 
 is coincident with the increase of the resistance. 
 
 (b) The life-wound ( Lebenswund ) is the complex which, as 
 a matter of course, is present in every case of schizophrenia, 
 and of necessity always carries with it the phenomena of 
 autism or auto-erotism (introversion), for complexes and in¬ 
 voluntary egocentricity are inseparable reciprocities. Points 
 (a) and (b) are therefore identical. ( Of . “ Psychology of 
 Dementia Praecox,” chapters ii. and iii.) 
 
 (c) It is proved that the misconception of environment 
 is an assimilation of the complex. 
 
 (d) The hostile relation to environment is the maximum 
 of resistance as psychoanalysis clearly shows, (d) goes 
 with (a). 
 
 (e) “ Irritability ” proves itself psychoanalytically to be 
 one of the commonest results of the complex. I designated 
 it complex-sensibility. Its generalised form (if one may use 
 such an expression) shows itself as a damming up of the 
 affect (= damming of the libidd)y consequent on increased 
 resistance. So-called neurasthenia is a classical example 
 of this. 
 
 (/) Under the term “ press of ideas,” and similar in¬ 
 tellectual troubles, may be classified the (< want of clearness 
 and logic of the schizophrenic thinking,” which Bleuler 
 considers a predisposing cause. I have, as I may presume 
 is known, expressed myself with much reserve on what he 
 regards as the premeditation of the schizophrenic adjust¬ 
 ment. Further and wider experience has taught me that 
 the laws of the Freudian psychology of dreams and the 
 
 1 Autism (Bleuler) = Auto-erotism (Freud). For some time I have em¬ 
 ployed the concept of introversion for this condition. 
 
204 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 theory of the neuroses must be turned towards the ob¬ 
 scurities of schizophrenic thinking. The painfulness of the 
 elaborated complex necessitates a censorship of its expression} 
 This principle has to be applied to schizophrenic disturbance 
 ol thinking; and until it has been proved that this principle 
 is not applicable to schizophrenia, there is no justification 
 for setting up a new principle; i.e. to postulate that schizo¬ 
 phrenic disturbance of ideas is something primary. Investi¬ 
 gations of hypnagogic activity, as well as association reactions 
 in states of concentrated attention, give psychical results 
 which up to now are indistinguishable from the mental 
 conditions in schizophrenia. For example, an heightened- 
 flowing intensity (“ Ausgiebige Entspannung ”) of attention 
 suffices to conjure up images as like as two peas to the 
 phantasies and expressions of schizophrenia. It will be re¬ 
 membered that I have attributed the notorious disturbances 
 of attention in schizophrenia to the special character of 
 the complex; an idea which further experiences since 1906 
 have confirmed. I have found good reasons for considering 
 specific schizophrenic thought-disturbance to be the result of 
 a complex. 
 
 Now as regards the symptoms of thought-pressure, it is 
 first and foremost a thought-compulsion, which, as Freud 
 has well shown, is first a thought-complex and secondly a 
 sexualisation of the thought. Then to the symptom of thought- 
 pressure there is superadded at least a demoniac impulse 
 such as may be observed in every vigorous release or production 
 of libido. 
 
 Thought-pressure, on closer examination, is seen to be a 
 result of schizophrenic introversion, which necessarily leads 
 to a sexualisation of the thought; i.e. to an autonomy of the 
 complex. 2 
 
 (o) The transition to sexuality appears from the psycho¬ 
 analytical standpoint difficult to understand. If we consider 
 that the development of resistance coincides in every case 
 with the history of the complex we must ask ourselves : 
 
 1 Hence the replacing of the complex by its corresponding symbol. 
 See “ Psychology of Dementia Praecox,” chapters iv. and v. 
 
SCHIZOPHRENIC NEGATIVISM 
 
 205 
 
 Is the complex sexual or not ? (It goes without saying that 
 we must understand sexuality in its proper sense of psycho¬ 
 sexuality.) To this question psychoanalysis gives the invari¬ 
 able answer: Resistance always springs from a peculiar sexual 
 development . The latter leads in the well-known manner to 
 conflict, i.e. to the complex. Every case of schizophrenia 
 which has so far been analysed confirms this. It can there¬ 
 fore claim at least to be a working hypothesis, and one to 
 be followed up. In the present state of our knowledge, it 
 is therefore not easy to see why Bleuler only allows to 
 sexuality a gwasi-determining influence on the phenomena 
 of negativism; for psychoanalysis demonstrates that the 
 cause of negativism is resistance ; and that with schizo¬ 
 phrenia, as with all other neuroses, this arises from the 
 peculiar sexual development. 
 
 It can scarcely be doubted to-day that schizophrenia, 
 with its preponderance of the mechanisms of introversion, 
 possesses the same mechanism as any other “ psycho¬ 
 neurosis.” In my opinion, at any rate, its peculiar symptoms 
 (apart from the clinical and anatomical standpoints) are only 
 to be studied by psychoanalysis, i.e . when the investigation 
 is mainly directed to the genetic impetus. I have, therefore, 
 endeavoured to indicate how Bleuler’s hypothesis stands in 
 the light of the theory of complexes; I feel myself bound to 
 emphasise the complex-theory in this relation, and am not 
 disposed to surrender this conception, which is as illumi¬ 
 nating as it was difficult to evolve. 
 

 CHAPTER VII 
 PSYCHOANALYSIS 1 
 
 Psychoanalysis is not only scientific, but also technical in 
 character; and from results technical in their nature, has 
 been developed a new psychological science which might be 
 called “ analytical psychology.” 
 
 Psychologists and doctors in general are by no means 
 conversant with this particular branch of psychology, owing 
 to the fact that its technical foundations are as yet com¬ 
 paratively unknown to them. Reason for this may be found 
 in that the new method is exquisitely psychological, and 
 therefore belongs neither to the realm of medicine nor to 
 that of experimental psychology. The medical man has, 
 as a rule, but little knowledge of psychology; and the 
 psychologist has no medical knowledge. There is therefore 
 a lack of suitable soil in which to plant the spirit of this 
 new method. Furthermore, the method itself appears to 
 many persons so arbitrary that they cannot reconcile it with 
 their scientific conscience. The conceptions of Freud, the 
 founder of this method, laid particular stress upon the sexual 
 moment; this fact has aroused strong prejudice, and many 
 scientific men are repelled merely by this feeling. I need 
 hardly remark that such an antipathy is not a logical ground 
 for rejecting a new method. The facts being so, it is obvious 
 that the psychoanalyst should discuss the principles rather 
 than the results of his method, when he speaks in public ; 
 for he who does not acknowledge the scientific character of 
 the method cannot acknowledge the scientific character of 
 its results. 
 
 Before I enter into the principles of the psychoanalytic 
 method, I must mention two common prejudices against it. 
 
 1 Reprinted from the Transactions of the Psyclio-Medical Society, 
 August 5th, 1913. 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 207 
 
 The first of these is that psychoanalysis is nothing but a 
 somewhat deep and complicated form of anamnesis. Now it 
 is well known that the anamnesis is based upon the evidence 
 supplied by the patient’s family, and upon his own conscious 
 self-knowledge, revealed in reply to direct questions. The 
 psychoanalyst naturally develops his anamnesic data as 
 carefully as any other specialist; but this is merely the 
 patient’s history, and must not be confused with analysis. 
 Analysis is the reduction of an actual conscious content of a 
 so-called accidental nature, into its psychological determi¬ 
 nants. This process has nothing to do with the anamnesic 
 reconstruction of the history of the illness. 
 
 The second prejudice, which is based, as a rule, upon a 
 superficial knowledge of psychoanalytic literature, is that 
 psychoanalysis is a method of suggestion, by which a faith 
 or doctrine of living is imposed upon the patient, thereby 
 effecting a cure in the manner of mental healing or Chris¬ 
 tian Science. Many analysts, especially those who have 
 worked in psychoanalysis for a long time, previously used 
 therapeutic suggestion, and are therefore familiar with its 
 workings. They know that the psychoanalyst’s method of 
 working is diametrically opposed to that of the hypnotist. 
 In direct contrast with therapeutic suggestion, the psycho¬ 
 analyst does not attempt to force anything upon his patient 
 which the latter does not see himself, and find reasonable 
 with his own understanding. Faced with the constant desire 
 on the part of the neurotic patient to receive suggestions and 
 advice, the analyst just as constantly endeavours to lead him 
 away from this passive receptive attitude, and make him 
 use his common sense and powers of criticism, that equipped 
 with these he may become fitted to meet the problems of 
 life independently. We have often been accused of forcing 
 interpretations upon patients, interpretations that were fre¬ 
 quently quite arbitrary in character. I wish that one of 
 these critics would make the attempt to force such arbitrary 
 interpretations upon my patients, who are often persons of 
 great intelligence and high culture, and who are, indeed, not 
 infrequently my own colleagues. The impossibility of such 
 
208 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 an undei taking would soon be laid bare. In psychoanalysis 
 we are dependent upon the patient and his judgment, for the 
 reason that the very nature of analysis consists in leading 
 him to a knowledge of his own self. The principles of 
 psychoanalysis are so entirely different from those of 
 therapeutic suggestion that they are not comparable. 
 
 An attempt has also been made to compare analysis 
 with the reasoning method of Dubois, which is in itself a 
 rational process. This comparison does not however hold 
 good, for the psychoanalyst strictly avoids argument and 
 persuasion with his patients. He must naturally listen to 
 and take note of the conscious problems and conflicts of 
 his patient, but not for the purpose of fulfilling his desire 
 to obtain advice or direction with regard to his conduct. 
 The problems of a neurotic patient cannot be solved by 
 advice and conscious argument. I do not doubt that good 
 advice at the right time can produce good results; but I do 
 not know whence one can obtain the belief that the psycho¬ 
 analyst can always give the right advice at the right time. 
 The neurotic conflict is frequently, indeed as a rule, of such 
 a character that advice cannot possibly be given. Further¬ 
 more, it is well known that the patient only desires authori¬ 
 tative advice in order that he may cast aside the burden of 
 responsibility, referring himself and others to the opinion of 
 the higher authority. 
 
 In direct contrast to all previous methods, psycho¬ 
 analysis endeavours to overcome the disorders of the 
 neurotic psyche through the sub-conscious, not through the 
 conscious self. In this work we naturally have need of 
 the patient’s conscious content, for his sub-consciousness can 
 only be reached via the conscious. The material furnished 
 by the anamnesis is the source from which our work starts. 
 The detailed recital usually furnishes many valuable clues 
 which make the psychogenic origin of the symptoms clear to 
 the patient. This work is naturally only necessary where 
 the patient is convinced that his neurosis is organic in its 
 origin. But even in those cases where the patient is con¬ 
 vinced from the very first of the psychic nature of his illness, 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 209 
 
 a critical survey of the history is very advantageous, since it 
 discloses to him a psychological concatenation of ideas of 
 which he was unaware. In this manner those problems 
 which need special discussion are frequently brought to 
 the surface. Work of this kind may occupy many sittings. 
 Finally the explanation of the conscious material reaches an 
 end, in so far as neither the patient nor the doctor can add 
 anything to it that is decisive in character. Under the most 
 favourable circumstances the end comes with the formulation 
 of the problem, which proves itself to be impossible of solution. 
 Let us take, for instance, the case of a man who was once 
 well, but who became a neurotic between the age of 85 and 
 40. His position in life is assured, and he has a wife and 
 children. Parallel with his neurosis he developed an intense 
 resistance towards his professional work. He observed that 
 the first symptoms of neurosis became noticeable when he 
 had to overcome a certain difficulty in regard to it. Later 
 on his symptoms became aggravated with each successive 
 difficulty that arose. An amelioration in his neurosis oc¬ 
 curred whenever fortune favoured him in his professional 
 work. The problem that results from a critical discussion 
 of the anamnesis is as follows :— 
 
 The patient is aware that if he could improve his work, 
 the mere satisfaction that would result could bring about 
 the much-desired improvement in his neurotic condition. He 
 cannot, however, make his work more efficient because of his 
 great resistance against it. This problem cannot be solved 
 by any reasoning process. 
 
 Let us take another case. A woman of 40, the mother 
 of four children, became neurotic four years ago after the 
 death of one of her children. A new period of pregnancy, 
 followed by the birth of another child, produced a great 
 improvement in her condition. The patient now lived in the 
 thought that it would be a great help to her if she could 
 have yet another child. Believing, however, that this could 
 not happen, she attempted to devote her energies to philan¬ 
 thropic interests. But she failed to obtain the least satis¬ 
 faction from this work. She observed a distinct alleviation 
 
 14 
 
210 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of her complaint whenever she succeeded in giving real, 
 living interest to any matter, but she felt entirely incapable 
 of discovering anything that could bring her lasting interest 
 and satisfaction. It is clear that no process of leasoning 
 can solve this problem. 
 
 Here psychoanalysis must begin with the endeavour to 
 solve the problem as to what prevents the patient from 
 developing interests above and beyond her longing for a child. 
 
 Since we cannot assume that we know from the veiy 
 beginning what the solution of such problems is, we must at 
 this point trust to the clues furnished us by the individuality 
 of the patient. Neither conscious questioning nor rational 
 advice can aid us in the discovery of these clues, for the 
 causes which prevent us from finding them are hidden from 
 her consciousness. There is, therefore, no clearly indicated 
 path by which to reach these sub-conscious inhibitions. The 
 only rule that psychoanalysis lays down for our guidance in 
 this respect, is to let the patient speak of that which occurs 
 to him at the moment. The analyst must observe carefully 
 what the patient says, and in the first instance, take due 
 note thereof without attempting to force his own opinions 
 upon him. Thus we observe that the patient whom I first 
 mentioned begins by talking about his marriage, which we 
 hitherto had reason to regard as normal. We now learn 
 that he constantly has difficulties with his wife, and that 
 he does not understand her in the least. This knowledge 
 causes the physician to remark that the patient s professional 
 work is clearly not his only problem; but that his conjugal 
 relations are also in need of revision. This starts a train of 
 thought in which many further ideas occur to the patient, 
 concerning his married life. Hereupon follow ideas about 
 the love affairs he had before his marriage. These expe¬ 
 riences, related in detail, show that the patient was always 
 somewhat peculiar in his more intimate relations with women, 
 and that this peculiarity took the form of a certain childish 
 egoism. This is a new and surprising point of view for him, 
 and explains to him many of his misfortunes with women. 
 
 We cannot in every case get so far as this on the simple 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 211 
 
 principle of letting the patient talk; few patients have their 
 psychic material so much on the surface. Furthermore, 
 many persons have a positive resistance against speaking 
 freely about what occurs to them on the spur of the moment; 
 it is often too painful to tell the doctor, whom perhaps they 
 do not entirely trust; in other cases because apparently 
 nothing occurs to them, they force themselves to speak of 
 matters about which they are more or less indifferent. This 
 habit of not talking to the point by no means proves that 
 patients consciously conceal their unpleasant contents, for 
 such irrelevant speaking can occur quite unconsciously. In 
 such cases it sometimes helps the patient if he is told that 
 he must not force himself, that he must only seize upon the 
 very first thoughts that present themselves, no matter how 
 unimportant or ridiculous they may seem. In certain cases 
 even these instructions are of no use, and then the doctor is 
 obliged to have recourse to other expedients. One of these 
 is the employment of the association test, which usually gives 
 excellent information as to the chief momentary tendencies 
 of the individual. 
 
 A second expedient is dream analysis; this is the real 
 instrument of psychoanalysis. We have already experienced 
 so much opposition to dream analysis that a brief exposi¬ 
 tion of its principles is necessary. The interpretation of 
 dreams, as well as the meaning given to them, is, as we 
 know, in bad odour. It is not long since that oneirocritics 
 were practised and believed in; nor is the time long past 
 when even the most enlightened human beings were entirely 
 under the ban of superstition. It is therefore comprehensible 
 that our age should still retain a certain lively fear of those 
 superstitions which have but recently been partially over¬ 
 come. To this timidity in regard to superstition, the oppo¬ 
 sition to dream analysis is in a large measure due; but 
 analysis is in no wise to blame for this. We do not select 
 the dream as our object because we pay it the homage of 
 superstitious admiration, but because it is a psychic product 
 that is independent of the patient’s consciousness. We ask 
 for the patient’s free thoughts, but he gives us little, or 
 
212 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 nothing; or at best something forced or irrelevant. Dreams 
 are free thoughts, free phantasies, they are not forced, and 
 they are psychic phenomena just as much as thoughts are. 
 
 It may be said of the dream that it enters into the con¬ 
 sciousness as a complex structure, the connection between 
 the elements of which is not conscious. Only by afterwards 
 mining associations to the separate pictures of the dream, can 
 the origin of these pictures, in certain recollections of the 
 near and more remote past, be proved. One asks oneself: 
 
 “ Where have I seen or heard that ? ” And by the same 
 process of free association comes the memory that one has 
 actually experienced certain parts of the dream, some of 
 them yesterday, some at an earlier date. This is well known, 
 and every one will probably agree to it. Thus far the dream 
 presents itself, as a rule, as an incomprehensible composi¬ 
 tion of certain elements which are not in the first instance 
 conscious, but which are later recognised by the process of 
 free association. This might be disputed on the ground that 
 it is an a priori statement. I must remark, however, that 
 this conception conforms to the only generally recognised 
 working hypothesis as to the genesis of dreams, namely, the 
 derivation of the dream from experiences and thoughts of 
 the recent past. We are, therefore, upon known ground. 
 Not that certain dream parts have under all circumstances 
 been known to the individual, so that one might ascribe 
 to them the character of being conscious; on the contrary, 
 they are frequently, even generally, unrecognisable. Not 
 until later do we remember having consciously experienced 
 this or that dream part. We may therefore regard the 
 dream from this point of view as a product that comes from 
 a subconscious origin. The technical unfolding of these 
 subconscious sources is a mode of procedure that has a ways 
 been instinctively employed. One simply tries to remember 
 whence the dream parts come. Upon this most simp e 
 principle the psychoanalytic method of solving dreams is 
 based. It is a fact that certain dream parts are dem e 
 from our waking life and, indeed, from experiences which, 
 owing to their notorious lack of importance, would frequen y 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 213 
 
 have been consigned to certain oblivion, and were therefore 
 well on their way towards becoming definitely subconscious. 
 Such dream parts are the results of subconscious represen¬ 
 tations (images). 
 
 The principles according to which psychoanalysis solves 
 dreams are therefore exceedingly simple, and have really 
 been known for a long time. The further procedure follows 
 the same path logically and consistently. If one spends 
 considerable time over a dream, which really never happens 
 outside psychoanalysis, one can succeed in finding more 
 and more recollections for the separate dream parts. It is, 
 however, not always possible to discover recollections for 
 certain other parts; and then one must leave them for the 
 time being, whether one likes it or not. When I speak of 
 “ recollections ” I naturally do not mean merely memories of 
 certain concrete experiences, but also of their inter-related 
 meanings. The collected recollections are known as the 
 dream material. With this material one proceeds according 
 to a scientific method that is universally valid. If one has 
 any experimental material to work up, one compares its 
 separate parts and arranges them according to their simi¬ 
 larities. Exactly the same course is pursued in dealing 
 with the dream material; one gathers together its common 
 characteristics, whether these be formal or material. In 
 doing this one must absolutely get rid of certain prejudices. 
 I have always observed that the beginner expects to find 
 some tendency or other according to which he endeavours to 
 mould his material. I have noticed this particularly in the 
 cases of colleagues who were previously more or less violent 
 opponents of psychoanalysis, owing to their well-known 
 prejudices and misunderstandings. When fate willed that 
 I should analyse them, and they consequently gained at last 
 an insight into the method of analysis, it was demonstrated 
 that the first mistake which they had been apt to make in 
 their own psychoanalytic practice was that they forced the 
 material into accord with their own preconceived opinions; 
 that is, they allowed their former attitude towards psycho¬ 
 analysis, which they were not able to appreciate objectively, 
 
214 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 but only according to subjective phantasies, to have its 
 influence upon their material. If one goes so far as to 
 venture upon the task of examining the dream material, one 
 must permit no comparison to frighten one away. The 
 material consists, as a general rule, of very unequal images, 
 from which it is under some circumstances most difficult to 
 obtain the “tertium comparationis.” I must forego giving 
 you detailed examples of this, since it is quite impossible to 
 introduce such extensive material into a lecture. 
 
 One pursues, then, the same method in classifying the 
 unconscious content, as is used everywhere in comparing 
 materials for the purpose of drawing conclusions from them. 
 One objection has often been made, namely : why should the 
 dream have a subconscious content at all? This objection 
 is unscientific in my opinion. Every psychological moment 
 has its own history. Every sentence that I utter has, besides 
 the meaning consciously intended by me, a meaning that is 
 historical; and this last may be entirely different from the 
 conscious meaning. I am purposely expressing myself some¬ 
 what paradoxically. I certainly should not take it upon 
 myself to explain each sentence according to its individual- 
 historical meaning. That is easier in the case of larger and 
 more complex formations. Every one is certainly convinced 
 of the fact that a poem—in addition to its manifest contents 
 —is also particularly characteristic of its author, in its form, 
 subject-matter, and the history of its origin. Whereas the 
 poet gave skilful expression to a fleeting mood in his song, 
 the historian of literature sees in it and beyond it, things 
 which the poet would never have suspected. The analysis 
 which the literary critic makes of the subject-matter furnished 
 by the poet may be compared with psychoanalysis in its 
 method, even to the very errors which occur therein. The 
 psychoanalytic method may be aptly compared with his¬ 
 torical analysis and synthesis. Let us assume, for instance, 
 that we do not understand the meaning of the rite of 
 baptism as it is practised in our churches to-day. The 
 priest tells us that baptism means the reception of the child 
 into the Christian community. But we are not satisfied with 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 215 
 
 this. Why should the child be sprinkled with water, etc. ? 
 In order that we may understand this rite we must gather 
 together materials for comparison from the history of the 
 rite, that is, from the memories of mankind appertaining to 
 it; and this must be done from various points of view. 
 
 Firstly—Baptism is clearly a rite of initiation, a con¬ 
 secration. Therefore those memories, above all, must be 
 assembled which preserve the rites of initiation. 
 
 Secondly—The act of baptism is performed with water. 
 This especial form of procedure proves the necessity of weld¬ 
 ing together another chain of memories concerning rites in 
 which water was used. 
 
 Thirdly—The child is sprinkled with water when it is 
 christened. In this case we must gather together all the 
 forms of the rite, as where the neophyte is sprinkled, or 
 
 where the child is submerged, etc. 
 
 Fourthly—We must recollect all the reminiscences in 
 mythology and all the superstitious customs which are in any 
 respect similar to the symbolic act of baptism. 
 
 In this manner we obtain a comparative study of the act 
 of baptism. Thus we ascertain the elements from which 
 baptism is derived ; we further ascertain its original meaning, 
 and at the same time make the acquaintance of a world rich 
 in religious mythology, which makes clear to us all the 
 multifarious and derived meanings of the act of baptism. 
 Thus the analyst deals with the dream. He gathers together 
 historical parallels for each dream part, even though they 
 be very remote, and attempts to construct the psychologi¬ 
 cal history of the dream and the meanings that underlie it. 
 By this monographic elaboration of the dream one gains, 
 exactly as in the analysis of the act of baptism, a deep insight 
 into the wonderfully subtle and significant network of sub¬ 
 conscious determinations; an insight which, as I have said, 
 can only be compared with the historical understanding of 
 an act that we used only to consider from a very one-sided 
 and superficial point of view. 
 
 I cannot disguise the fact that in practice, especially at 
 the beginning of an analysis, we do not in all cases make 
 
216 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 complete and ideal analyses of dreams, but that we more 
 generally continue to gather together the dream associations 
 until the problem which the patient hides from us becomes 
 so clear that even he can recognize it. This problem is then 
 subjected to conscious elaboration until it is cleared up as 
 far as possible, and once again we stand before a question 
 that cannot be answered. 
 
 You will now ask what course is to be pursued when the 
 patient does not dream at all; I can assure you that hitherto 
 all patients, even those who claimed never to have dreamed 
 before, began to dream when they went through analysis. 
 But on the other hand it frequently occurs that patients who 
 began by dreaming vividly are suddenly no longer able to 
 remember their dreams. The empirical and practical rule, 
 which I have hitherto regarded as binding, is that the patient, 
 if he does not dream, has sufficient conscious material, which 
 he keeps back for certain reasons. A common reason is : 
 “ I am in the doctor’s hands and am quite willing to be 
 treated by him. But the doctor must do the work, I shall 
 remain passive in the matter.” 
 
 Sometimes the resistances are of a more serious character. 
 For instance, persons who cannot admit certain morally 
 grave sides to their characters, project their deficiencies upon 
 the doctor by calmly presuming that he is more or less 
 deficient morally, and that for this reason they cannot 
 communicate certain unpleasant things to him. If, then, 
 a patient does not dream from the beginning, or ceases to 
 dream, he retains material which is susceptible of conscious 
 elaboration. Here the personal relation between the doctor 
 and his patient may be regarded as the chief hindrance. It 
 can prevent them both, the doctor as well as the patient, 
 from seeing the situation clearly. We must not forget that, 
 as the doctor shows, and must show, a searching interest in 
 the psychology of his patient, so, too, the patient, if he has 
 an active mind, gains some familiarity with the psychology 
 of the doctor, and assumes a corresponding attitude towards 
 him. Thus the doctor is blind to the mental attitude of 
 the patient to the exact extent that he does not see himself 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 217 
 
 and his own subconscious problems. Therefore I main¬ 
 tain that a doctor must be analysed before he practises 
 analysis. Otherwise the practice of analysis can easily be a 
 great disappointment to him, because he can, under certain 
 circumstances, reach a point where further progress is 
 impossible, a situation which may make him lose his head. 
 He is then readily inclined to assume that psychoanalysis is 
 nonsense, so as to avoid the admission that he has run his 
 vessel ashore. If you are sure of your own psychology you 
 can confidently tell your patient that he does not dream 
 because there is still conscious material to be disposed of. 
 
 I say that one must be sure of one’s self in such cases, for 
 the opinions and unsparing criticisms to which one some¬ 
 times has to submit, can be excessively disturbing to one 
 who is unprepared to meet them. The immediate conse¬ 
 quence of such a loss of personal balance on the part of the 
 doctor is that he begins to argue with his patient, in order 
 to maintain his influence over him; and this, of course, 
 renders all further analysis impossible. 
 
 I have told you that, in the first instance, dreams need 
 only be used as sources of material for analysis. At the 
 beginning of an analysis it is not only unncessary, but also 
 unwise, to make a so-called complete interpretation of a 
 dream; for it is very difficult indeed to make a complete and 
 really exhaustive interpretation. The interpretations of dreams 
 that one sometimes reads in psychoanalytic publications are 
 often one-sided, and not infrequently contestable formulations. 
 
 I include among these certain one-sided sexual reductions of 
 the Viennese school. In view of the comprehensive many- 
 sidedness of the dream material one must beware, above 
 all, of one-sided formulations. The many-sidedness of the 
 meaning of a dream, not its singleness of meaning, is of 
 the utmost value, especially at the beginning of the psycho¬ 
 analytic treatment. Thus, for instance, a patient had the 
 following dream not long after her treatment had begun : 
 
 II She ivas in a hotel in a strange city . Suddenly a fire 
 broke out; and her husband and her father, ivho were with 
 her, helped her in the work of saving others .” The patient 
 
218 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 was intelligent, extraordinarily sceptical, and absolutely con¬ 
 vinced that dream analysis was nonsense. I had difficulty 
 in inducing her to give dream analysis even one trial. In¬ 
 deed, I saw at once that I could not inform my patient of the 
 real content of the dream under these circumstances, because 
 her resistances were much too great. I selected the fire, the 
 most conspicuous occurrence of the dream, as the starting 
 point for obtaining her free associations. The patient told 
 me that she had recently read in a newspaper that a certain 
 hotel in Z. had been burnt down; that she remembered the 
 hotel because she had once lived in it. At the hotel she had 
 made the acquaintance of a man, and from this acquaintance 
 a somewhat questionable love affair developed. In connection 
 with this story the fact came out that she had already had 
 quite a number of similar adventures, all of which had a 
 certain frivolous character. This important bit of past 
 history was brought out by the first free association with 
 a dream part. It would have been impossible in this case 
 to make clear to the patient the very striking meaning of 
 the dream. With her frivolous mental attitude, of which her 
 scepticism was only a special instance, she could have calmly 
 repelled any attempt of this kind. But after the frivolity of 
 her mental attitude was recognised and proved to her, by 
 the material that she herself had furnished, it was possible 
 to analyse the dreams which followed much more thoroughlj 7 . 
 
 It is, therefore, advisable in the beginning to make use 
 of dreams for the purpose of reaching the important sub¬ 
 conscious material by means of the patient’s free associations 
 in connection with them. This is the best and most cautious 
 method, especially for those who are just beginning to 
 practise analysis. An arbitrary translation of the dreams 
 is absolutely unadvisable. That would be a superstitious 
 practice based on the acceptance of well-established symbolic 
 meanings. But there are no fixed symbolic meanings. There 
 are certain symbols that recur frequently, but we are not able 
 to get beyond general statements. For instance, it is quite 
 incorrect to assume that the snake, when it appears in dreams, 
 has a merely phallic meaning; just as incorrect as it is to 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 219 
 
 deny that it may have a phallic meaning in some cases. 
 Every symbol has more than one meaning. I can therefore 
 not admit the correctness of exclusively sexual interpretations, 
 such as appear in some psychoanalytic publications, for my 
 experience has made me regard them as one-sided, and there¬ 
 fore insufficient. As an example of this I will tell you a very 
 simple dream of a young patient of mine. It was as follows : 
 
 11 1 was going up a flight of stairs with my mother cincl sistei . 
 When we reached the top I was told that my sister ivas soon 
 to have a child .” 
 
 I shall now show you how, on the strength of the hitherto 
 prevailing point of view, this dream may be translated so 
 that it receives a sexual meaning. We know that the incest 
 phantasy plays a prominent part in the life of a neurotic. 
 Hence the picture “ with my mother and sister ” might be 
 regarded as an allusion in this direction. The stairs ha\e 
 a sexual meaning that is supposedly well established; they 
 represent the sexual act, because of the rhythmic climbing 
 of steps. The child that my patient’s sister is expecting is 
 nothing but the logical result of these premises. The dieam, 
 translated thus, would be a clear fulfilment of infantile de¬ 
 sires, which as we know play an important part of Freud s 
 theory of dreams. 
 
 Now I have analysed this with the aid of the following 
 process of reasoning : If I say that the stairs are a symbol 
 for the sexual act, whence do I obtain the right to regard the 
 mother, the sister, and the child as concrete ; that is, as not 
 symbolic ? If, on the strength of the claim that dream pictures 
 are symbolic, I give to certain of^these pictures the value of 
 symbols, what right have I to exempt certain other dream 
 parts from this process ? If, therefore, I attach symbolic value 
 to the ascent of the stairs, I must also attach a symbolic 
 value to the pictures that represent the mother, the sister, 
 and the child. Therefore I did not translate the dream, but 
 really analysed it. The result was surprising. I will give 
 you the free associations with the separate dream parts, word 
 for word, so that you can form your own opinions concerning 
 the material. I should state in advance that the young man 
 
220 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 had finished his studies at the university a few months 
 previously; that he found the choice of a profession too 
 difficult to make; and that he thereupon became a neurotic. 
 In consequence of this he gave up his work. His neurosis 
 took, among other things, a decidedly homo-sexual form. 
 
 The patient’s associations with his mother are as follows : 
 “ I have not seen her for a long time, a very long time. I 
 really ought to reproach myself for this. It is wrong of me 
 to neglect her so.” “ Mother,” then, stands here for some¬ 
 thing which is neglected in an inexcusable manner. I said 
 to the patient: “ What is that?” And he replied, with 
 considerable embarrassment, “ My work.” 
 
 With his sister he associated as follows: “ It is years 
 since I have seen her. I long to see her again. Whenever I 
 think of her I recall the time when I took leave of her. I 
 kissed her with real affection; and at that moment I under¬ 
 stood for the first time what love for a woman can mean.” 
 It is at once clear to the patient that his sister represents 
 “love for woman.” 
 
 With the stairs he has this association: “Climbing up¬ 
 wards ; getting to the top ; making a success of life; being 
 grown up; being great.” The child brings him the ideas: 
 “New born; a revival; a regeneration; to become a new 
 man.” 
 
 One only has to hear this material in order to understand 
 at once that the patient’s dream is not so much the fulfilment 
 of infantile desires, as it is the expression of biological duties 
 which he has hitherto neglected because of his infantilism. 
 Biological justice, which is inexorable, sometimes compels 
 the human being to atone in his dreams for the duties which 
 he has neglected in real life. 
 
 This dream is a typical example of the prospective and 
 teleological function of dreams in general, a function that has 
 been especially emphasised by my colleague Dr. Maeder. If 
 we adhered to the one-sidedness of sexual interpretation, the 
 real meaning of the dream would escape us. Sexuality in 
 dreams is, in the first instance, a means of expression, and 
 by no means always the meaning and the object of the dream. 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 221 
 
 The unfolding of the prospective or teleological meaning of 
 dreams is of particular importance as soon as analysis is so 
 far advanced that the eyes of the patient are more easily 
 turned upon the future, than upon his inner life and upon 
 the past. 
 
 In connection with the application of symbolism, we can 
 also learn from the example furnished us by this dream, 
 that there can be no fixed and unalterable dream symbols, 
 but at best a frequent repetition of fairly general meanings. 
 So far as the so-called sexual meaning of dreams, in parti¬ 
 cular, is concerned, my experience has led me to lay down 
 
 the following practical rules : 
 
 If dream analysis at the beginning of the treatment shows 
 that the dream has an undoubted sexual meaning, this 
 meaning is to be taken realistically; that is, it is proved 
 thereby that the sexual problem itself must be subjected to 
 a careful revision. If, for instance, an incest phantasy is 
 clearly shown to be a latent content of the dream, one must 
 subject the patient’s infantile relations towards his parents 
 and his brothers and sisters, as well as his relations towards 
 other persons who are fitted to play the part of his father or 
 mother in his mind, to a careful examination on this basis. 
 But if a dream that comes in a later stage of the analysis 
 has, let us say, an incest phantasy as its essential content, 
 a phantasy that we have reason to consider disposed of, 
 concrete value must not be attached to it under all circum¬ 
 stances ; it must be regarded as symbolic. In this case 
 symbolic value, not concrete value, must be attached to the 
 sexual phantasy. If we did not go beyond the concrete 
 value in this case, we should keep reducing the patient to 
 sexuality, and this would arrest the progress of the develop¬ 
 ment of his personality. The patient’s salvation is not to be 
 found by thrusting him back again into primitive sexuality; 
 this would leave him on a low plane of civilisation whence 
 he could never obtain freedom and complete restoration to 
 health. Retrogression to a state of barbarism is no advantage 
 
 at all for a civilised human being. 
 
 The above-mentioned formula, according to which the 
 
222 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 sexuality of a dream is a symbolic or analogous expression, 
 naturally also holds good in the case of dreams occurring in 
 the beginning of an analysis. But the practical reasons that 
 have induced us not to take into consideration the symbolic 
 value of this sexual phantasy, owe their existence to the fact 
 that a genuine realistic value must be given to the abnormal 
 sexual phantasies of a neurotic, in so far as the latter suffers 
 himself to be influenced in his actions by these phantasies. 
 Expeiience teaches us that these phantasies not only hinder 
 him from adapting himself suitably to his situation, but that 
 they also lead him to all manner of really sexual acts, and 
 occasionally even to incest. Under these circumstances, it 
 would be of little use to consider the symbolic content of the 
 dream only; the concrete content must first be disposed of. 
 
 These arguments are based upon a different conception 
 of the dream from that put forward by Freud ; for, indeed, 
 my experience has forced me to a different conception. 
 According to Freud, the dream is in its essence a symbolic 
 veil for repressed desires, which are in conflict with the 
 ideals of the personality. I am obliged to regard the dream 
 structure from a different point of view. The dream for me 
 is, in the first instance, the subliminal picture of the psycho¬ 
 logical condition of the individual in his waking state. It 
 presents a resume of the subliminal association material 
 which is brought together by the momentary psychological 
 situation. The volitional meaning of the dream, which 
 Freud calls the repressed desire, is, for me, essentially a 
 means of expression. The activity of the consciousness, 
 speaking biologically, represents the psychological effort 
 which the individual makes in adapting himself to the con¬ 
 ditions of life. His consciousness endeavours to adjust itself 
 to the necessities of the moment, or, to put it differently: 
 there are tasks ahead of the individual, which he must 
 overcome. In many cases the solution is unknown; and 
 for this reason the consciousness always tries to find the 
 solution by the way of analogous experience. We always 
 try to grasp what is unknown and in the future, according 
 to our mental understanding of what has gone before. Now 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 223 
 
 we have no reasons for assuming that the unconscious 
 follows other laws than those which apply to conscious 
 thought. The unconscious, like the conscious, gathers 
 itself about the biological problems and endeavours to find 
 solutions for these by analogy with what has gone before, 
 just as much as the conscious does. Whenever we wish to 
 assimilate something that is unknown, we arrive at it by a 
 process of comparison. A simple example of this is the 
 well-known fact that, when America was discovered by the 
 Spaniards, the Indians took the horses of the conquerors, 
 which were strange to them, for large pigs, because pigs 
 were familiar to their experience. This is the mental process 
 which we always employ in recognising unknown things; 
 and this is the essential reason for the existence of symbolism. 
 It is a process of comprehension by means of analogy. The 
 apparently repressed desires, contained in the dream, are 
 volitional tendencies which serve as language-material for 
 subconscious expression. So far as this particular point is 
 concerned, I am in full accord with the views of Adler, another 
 member of Freud’s school. With reference to the fact that 
 subconscious materials of expression are volitional elements, 
 or tendencies, I may say that this is dependent upon the 
 archaic nature of dream thinking, a problem with which I 
 have already dealt in previous researches. 1 
 
 Owing to our different conception of the structure of the 
 dream, the further course of analysis also gains a different 
 complexion from that which it had until now. The symbolic 
 valuation given to sexual phantasies in the later stages of 
 analysis necessarily leads less to the reduction of the patient s 
 personality into primitive tendencies, than to the extension 
 and further development of his mental attitude ; that is, it 
 tends to make his thinking richer and deeper, thus giving 
 him what has always been one of the most powerful weapons 
 that a human being can have in his struggle to adapt himself 
 to life. By following this new course logically, I have come 
 to the conclusion that these religious and philosophical 
 motive forces—the so-called metaphysical needs of the human 
 
 1 See “ Psychology of the Unconscious,” Jung. 
 
224 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 being—must receive positive consideration at the bands of 
 the analyst. Though he must not destroy the motive forces 
 that underlie them, by reducing them to their primitive, 
 sexual roots, he must make them serve biological ends as 
 psychologically valuable factors. Thus these instincts assume 
 once more those functions that have been theirs from time 
 immemorial. 
 
 Just as primitive man was able, with the aid of religious 
 and philosophical symbol, to free himself from his original 
 state, so, too, the neurotic can shake off his illness in a 
 similar way. It is hardly necessary for me to say, that I do 
 not mean by this, that the belief in a religious or philosophical 
 dogma should be thrust upon the patient; I mean simply 
 that he has to reassume that psychological attitude which, 
 in an earlier civilisation, was characterised by the living 
 belief in a religious or philosophical dogma. But the 
 religious-philosophical attitude does not necessarily corre¬ 
 spond to the belief in a dogma. A dogma is a transitory 
 intellectual formulation; it is the result of the religious- 
 philosophical attitude, and is dependent upon time and 
 circumstances. This attitude is itself an achievement of 
 civilization; it is a function that is exceedingly valuable 
 from a biological point of view, for it gives rise to the 
 incentives that force human beings to do creative work for 
 the benefit of a future age, and, if necessary, to sacrifice 
 themselves for the welfare of the species. 
 
 Thus the human being attains the same sense of unity 
 and totality, the same confidence, the same capacity for self- 
 sacrifice in his conscious existence that belongs unconsciously 
 and instinctively to wild animals. Every reduction, every 
 digression from the course that has been laid down for the 
 development of civilisation does nothing more than turn the 
 human being into a crippled animal; it never makes a so- 
 called natural man of him. My numerous successes and 
 failures in the course of my analytic practice have convinced 
 me of the invariable correctness of this psychological orienta¬ 
 tion. We do not help the neurotic patient by freeing him 
 from the demand made by civilisation ; we can only help him 
 
PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 225 
 
 by inducing him to take an active part in the strenuous task 
 of carrying on the development of civilisation. The suffering 
 which he undergoes in performing this duty takes the place 
 of his neurosis. But, whereas the neurosis and the com¬ 
 plaints that accompany it are never followed by the delicious 
 feeling of good work well done, of duty fearlessly performed, 
 the suffering that comes from useful work, and from victory 
 over real difficulties, brings with it those moments of peace 
 and satisfaction which give the human being the priceless 
 feeling that he has really lived his life. 
 
 15 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ON PSYCHOANALYSIS 1 
 
 After many years’ experience I now know that it is ex¬ 
 tremely difficult to discuss psychoanalysis at public meetings 
 and at congresses. There are so many misconceptions 
 of the matter, so many prejudices against certain psycho¬ 
 analytic views, that it becomes an almost impossible task to 
 reach mutual understanding in public discussion. I have 
 always found a quiet conversation on the subject much more 
 useful and fruitful than heated discussions coram publico. 
 However, having been honoured by an invitation from the 
 Committee of this Congress as a representative of the psycho¬ 
 analytic movement, I will do my best to discuss some of the 
 fundamental theoretical conceptions of psychoanalysis. I 
 must limit myself to this part of the subject because I am 
 quite unable to place before my audience all that psycho¬ 
 analysis means and strives for, all its various applications, 
 its psychology, its theoretical tendencies, its importance for 
 the realm of the so-called “ Geisteswissenschaften,” e.g. 
 Mythology, Comparative Religion, Philosophy, &c. But if I 
 am to discuss certain theoretical problems fundamental to 
 psychoanalysis, I must presuppose my audience to he well 
 acquainted with the development and main results of psycho¬ 
 analytic researches. Unfortunately, it often happens that 
 people believe themselves entitled to judge psychoanalysis 
 who have not even read the literature. It is my firm con¬ 
 viction that no one is competent to form a judgment concern¬ 
 ing the subject until he has studied the fundamental works 
 on psychoanalysis. 
 
 In spite of the fact that Freud’s theory of neurosis has 
 been worked out in great detail, it cannot be said to be, on the 
 whole, very clear or easily accessible. This justifies my giving 
 
 i Paper given before tbe 17tb International Medical Congress, London, 1913. 
 
ON PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 227 
 
 you a very short abstract of his fundamental views concerning 
 the theory of neurosis. 
 
 You are aware that the original theory that hysteria and 
 the related neuroses take their origin in a trauma or shock of 
 sexual character in early childhood, was given up about fifteen 
 years ago. It soon became obvious that the sexual trauma 
 could not be the real cause of a neurosis, since this is found 
 so universally; there is scarcely a human being who has not 
 had some sexual shock in early youth, and yet compara¬ 
 tively few have incurred a neurosis in later life. Freud 
 himself soon became aware that several of the patients who 
 related an early traumatic event, had only invented the 
 story of a so-called trauma; it had never taken place in 
 reality, and was a mere creation of phantasy. Moreover, 
 on further investigation it became quite obvious that even 
 a trauma which had actually occurred was not always re¬ 
 sponsible for the whole of the neurosis, although it does 
 sometimes look as if the structure of the neurosis depended 
 entirely upon the trauma. If a neurosis were the inevitable 
 consequence of a trauma it would be quite incomprehensible 
 why neurotics are not incomparably more numerous. 
 
 This apparently heightened shock-effect was clearly based 
 upon the exaggerated and morbid phantasy of the patient. Freud 
 also saw that this same phantasy manifested itself in relatively 
 early bad habits, which he called infantile perversities. His 
 new conception of the aetiology of a neurosis was based upon 
 this further understanding and traced the neurosis back to 
 some sexual activity in early infancy; this conception led on 
 to his recent view that the neurotic is “ fixed ” to a certain 
 period of his early infancy, because he still seems to preserve 
 some trace of it, direct or indirect, in his mental attitude. 
 Freud also makes the attempt to classify or to differentiate 
 the neuroses, including dementia praecox, according to the 
 stage of the infantile development in which the fixation took 
 place. 
 
 From the standpoint of this theory, the neurotic appears 
 to be entirely dependent upon his infantile past, and all his 
 troubles in later life, his moral conflicts, and deficiencies, seem 
 
228 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 to be derived from the powerful influence of that period. The 
 therapy and its main preoccupation are in full accord with 
 this view, and are chiefly concerned with the unravelling of 
 this infantile fixation, which is understood as an unconscious 
 attachment of the sexual libido to certain infantile phantasies 
 and habits. 
 
 This is, so far as I can see, the essence of Freud’s theory. 
 But this conception neglects the following important question : 
 What is the cause of this fixation of the libido to the old 
 infantile phantasies and habits ? We have to remember that 
 almost every one has at some time had infantile phantasies and 
 habits exactly corresponding to those of a neurotic, but they do 
 not become fixed to them ; consequently, they do not become 
 neurotic later on. The aetiological secret of the neurosis, 
 therefore, does not consist in the mere existence of infantile 
 phantasies, but lies in the so-called fixation. The manifold 
 statements of the existence of infantile sexual phantasies in 
 neurotic cases are worthless, in so far as they attribute an 
 aetiological value to them, for the same phantasies can 
 be found in normal individuals as well, a fact which I 
 have often proved personally. It is only the fixation which 
 seems to be characteristic. It is important to demand the 
 nature of the proofs of the real existence of this infantile 
 fixation. Freud, an absolutely sincere and thorough em¬ 
 piricist, would never have evolved this hypothesis had 
 he not had sufficient grounds for it. The grounds are 
 found in the results of the psychoanalytic investigations of 
 the unconscious. Psychoanalysis discloses the unconscious 
 existence of manifold phantasies, which have their end 
 root in the infantile past and turn around the so-called 
 “ Kern-complex,” or nucleus-complex, which may be desig¬ 
 nated in male individuals as the (Edipus-complex and in 
 females as the Electra-complex. These terms convey their 
 own meaning exactly. The whole tragic fate of (Edipus and 
 Electra took place within the narrow confines of the family, 
 just as the child’s fate lies wholly within the family boundaries. 
 Hence the (Edipus conflict is very characteristic of an in¬ 
 fantile conflict, so also is the Electra conflict. The existence 
 
ON PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 2-29 
 
 of these conflicts in infancy is largely proven by means of 
 psychoanalytic experience. It is in the realm of this complex 
 that the fixation is supposed to have taken place. Through 
 the highly potent and effective existence of the nucleus- 
 complex in the unconscious of neurotics, Freud was led to 
 the hypothesis, that the neurotic has a peculiar fixation or 
 attachment to it. Not the mere existence of this complex—for 
 everybody has it in the unconscious—but the very strong 
 attachment to it is what is typical of the neurotic. He is far 
 more influenced by this complex than the normal person; 
 many examples in confirmation of this statement will be 
 found in every one of the recent psychoanalytic histories of 
 neurotic cases. 
 
 We must admit that this conception is a very plausible 
 one, because the hypothesis of fixation is based upon the 
 well-known fact, that certain periods of human life, and par¬ 
 ticularly infancy, do sometimes leave determining traces for 
 ever. The only question is, whether this principle is a 
 sufficient explanation or not. If we examine persons who 
 have been neurotic from infancy it seems to be confirmed, 
 for we see the nucleus-complex as a permanent and powerful 
 activity throughout the whole life. But if we take cases 
 which never show any considerable traces of neurosis except 
 at the particular time when they break down, and there are 
 many such, this principle becomes doubtful. If there is such 
 a thing as fixation, it is not permissible to base upon it 
 a new hypothesis, claiming that at times during certain 
 epochs of life the fixation becomes loosened and ineffective, 
 while at others it suddenly becomes strengthened and effective 
 In such cases we find the nucleus-complex as active and as 
 potent as in those which apparently support the theory of 
 fixation. Here a critical attitude is peculiarly justifiable, when 
 we consider the often-repeated observation that the moment 
 of the outbreak of the disease is by no means indifferent; as 
 a rule it is most critical. It usually occurs at the moment 
 when a new psychological adjustment, that is, a new adaptation, 
 is demanded . Such moments facilitate the outbreak of a 
 neurosis, as every experienced neurologist knows. This fact 
 
230 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 seems to me extremely significant. If the fixation were iudeed 
 real we should expect to find its influence constant, i.e. a 
 neurosis continuous throughout life. This is obviously not the 
 case. The psychological determination of a neurosis is only 
 partially due to an early infantile predisposition; it is due to 
 a certain actual cause as well. And if we carefully examine 
 the kind of infantile phantasies and events to which the neurotic 
 individual is attached, we shall be obliged to agree that there 
 is nothing in them specific for neurosis. Normal individuals 
 have pretty much the same kind of internal and external ex¬ 
 periences, and are attached to them to an even astonishing 
 degree, without developing a neurosis. You will find primitive 
 people especially, very much bound to their infantility. It 
 now begins to look as if this so-called fixation were a normal 
 phenomenon, and that the importance of infancy for the 
 later mental attitude is natural and prevails everywhere. The 
 fact that the neurotic seems to be markedly influenced by his 
 infantile conflicts, shows that it is less a matter of fixation 
 than of a peculiar use which he makes of his infantile past. 
 It looks as if he exaggerated its importance, and attributed 
 a very great artificial value to it (Adler, a pupil of Freud’s, 
 expresses a very similar view). It would be unjust to say 
 that Freud confined himself to the hypothesis of fixation ; he 
 also was conscious of the impression I have just discussed. 
 He called this phenomenon of reactivation or secondary ex¬ 
 aggeration of infantile reminiscences “regression.” But in 
 Freud’s conception it appears as if the incestuous desires of 
 the (Edipus-complex were the real cause of the regression to 
 infantile phantasies. If this were the case, we should have 
 to postulate an unexpected intensity of the primary inces¬ 
 tuous tendencies. This view led Freud to his recent com¬ 
 parison between the so-called psychological “ incest-barrier ” 
 in children and the “ incest-taboo ” in primitive man. He 
 supposes that a real incestuous desire has led the primitive 
 man to the invention of a protective law; while to me it looks 
 as if the incest-taboo is one among numerous taboos of all 
 sorts, and due to the typical superstitious fear of primi¬ 
 tive man, a fear existing independently of incest and its 
 
ON PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 231 
 
 interdiction. I am able to attribute as little particular 
 strength to incestuous desires in childhood as in primitive 
 humanity. I do not even seek the reason for regression in 
 primary incestuous or any other sexual desires. I must state 
 that a purely sexual aetiology of neurosis seems to me much 
 too narrow. I base this criticism upon no prejudice against 
 sexuality, but upon an intimate acquaintance with the whole 
 problem. 
 
 Therefore I suggest that the psychoanalytic theory should 
 be liberated from the purely sexual standpoint. In place of 
 it I should like to introduce an energic view-point into the 
 psychology of neurosis. 
 
 All psychological phenomena can be considered as mani¬ 
 festations of energy, in the same way as all physical pheno¬ 
 mena are already understood as energic manifestations 
 since Robert Mayer discovered the law of the conservation 
 of energy. This energy is subjectively and psychologically 
 conceived as desire . I call it libido , using the word in the 
 original meaning of this term, which is by no means only 
 sexual. Sallustius applies the term exactly in the way we do 
 here: “ Magis in armis et militaribus equis f quam in scortis et 
 conviviis libidinem habebantT 
 
 From a broader standpoint libido can be understood as 
 vital energy in general, or as Bergson’s elan vital. The first 
 manifestation of this energy in the suckling is the instinct of 
 nutrition. From this stage the libido slowly develops through 
 manifold varieties of the act of sucking into the sexual function. 
 Hence I do not consider the act of sucking as a sexual act. 
 The pleasure in sucking can certainly not be considered as 
 sexual pleasure, but as pleasure in nutrition, for it is nowhere 
 proved that pleasure is sexual in itself. This process of 
 development continues into adult life and is connected with 
 a constantly increased adaptation to the external world. 
 Whenever the libido, in the process of adaptation, meets an 
 obstacle, an accumulation takes place which normally gives 
 rise to an increased effort to overcome the obstacle. But if 
 the obstacle seems to be insurmountable, and the individual 
 renounces the overcoming of it, the stored-up libido makes a 
 
232 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 regression. In place of being employed in the increased 
 effort, the libido now gives up the present task and returns 
 to a former and more primitive way of adaptation. We meet 
 with the best examples of such regressions very frequently in 
 hysterical cases where a disappointment in love or marriage 
 gives rise to the neurosis. There we find the well-known dis¬ 
 turbances of nutrition, resistance against eating, dyspeptic 
 symptoms of all sorts, etc. In these cases the regressive 
 libido, turning away from its application to the work of 
 adaptation, holds sway over the function of nutrition and 
 provokes considerable disturbance. Such cases are obvious 
 examples of regression. Similar effects of regression are to be 
 found in cases where there are no troubles in the function of 
 nutrition, and here we readily find a regressive revival of 
 reminiscences of a time long past. We find a revival of the 
 images of the parents, of the (Edipus-complex. Here things 
 and events of infancy—never before important—suddenly 
 become so. They are regressively reanimated. Take away 
 the obstacle in the path of life and this whole system of 
 infantile phantasies at once breaks down and becomes again 
 as inactive and as ineffective as before. But do not let us 
 forget that, to a certain extent, it is at work influencing us 
 always and everywhere. I cannot forbear to mention that 
 this view comes very near Janet’s hypothesis of the substi¬ 
 tution of the “ parties superieures ” of a function by its 
 “ parties inferieures.” I would also remind you of Claparede’s 
 conception of neurotic symptoms as emotional reflexes of a 
 primitive nature. 
 
 Therefore I no longer find the cause of a neurosis in the 
 past, but in the present. I ask what the necessary task is, 
 which the patient will not accomplish. The whole list of his 
 infantile phantasies does not give me any sufficient setiological 
 explanation, because I know that these phantasies are only 
 puffed up by the regressive libido, which has not found 
 its natural outlet into a new form of adjustment to the demands 
 of life. 
 
 You may ask why the neurotic has a special inclination not 
 to accomplish Ins necessary tasks. Here let me point out 
 
ON PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 283 
 
 that no living being adjusts itself easily and smoothly to new 
 conditions. The principle of the minimum of effort (“ Prinzip 
 des kleinsten Kraftmasses ”) is valid everywhere. 
 
 A sensitive and somewhat inharmonious character, as a 
 neurotic always is, will meet special difficulties and perhaps 
 more unusual tasks in life than a normal individual, who as 
 a rule has only to follow the well-established line of an 
 ordinary life. For the neurotic there is no established way, 
 for his aims and tasks are apt to be of a highly individual 
 character. He tries to follow the more or less uncontrolled 
 and half-conscious way of normal people, not fully realizing 
 his own critical and very different nature, which imposes upon 
 him more effort than the normal person is required to exert. 
 There are neurotics who have shown their increased sensi¬ 
 tiveness and their resistance against adaptation in the very 
 first weeks of life, in their difficulty in taking the mother’s 
 breast, and in their exaggerated nervous reactions, &c. For 
 this portion of a neurotic predisposition it will always be 
 impossible to find a psychological aetiology, for it is anterior 
 to all psychology. But this predisposition—you may call it 
 “ congenital sensitiveness ” or by what name you like—is the 
 cause of the first resistances against adaptation. In such case, 
 the way of adaptation being blocked, the biological energy we 
 call libido does not find its appropriate outlet or activity, and 
 therefore replaces an up-to-date and suitable form of adapta¬ 
 tion by an abnormal, or primitive, one. 
 
 In neurosis we speak of an infantile attitude or the pre¬ 
 dominance of infantile phantasies and desires. In so far as 
 infantile impressions and desires are of obvious importance 
 in normal people, they are equally influential in neurosis, but 
 they have here no setiological significance, they are reactions 
 merely, being chiefly secondary and regressive phenomena. 
 It is perfectly true, as Freud states, that infantile phantasies 
 determine the form and further development of neurosis, but 
 this is not aetiology. Even when we find perverted sexual 
 phantasies of which we can prove the existence in childhood, 
 we cannot consider them of setiological significance. A neu¬ 
 rosis is not really originated by infantile sjexual phantasis, 
 
284 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 and the same must be said of the sexualism oi neurotic 
 phantasy in general. It is not a primary phenomenon, based 
 upon a perverted sexual disposition, but merely secondary, 
 and a consequence of a failure to apply the stored-up libido 
 in a suitable way. I realize that this is a very old view, but 
 this does not prevent its being true. The fact that the patient 
 himself very often believes that this infantile phantasy is the 
 real cause of the neurosis, does not prove that he is right in 
 his belief, or that a theory following the same belief is right 
 either. It may look as if it were so, and I must confess that 
 indeed very many cases do have that appearance. At all 
 events, it is perfectly easy to understand how Freud came to 
 this view. Every one having any psychoanalytic experience 
 will agree with me here. 
 
 To sum up : I cannot see the real aetiology of a neurosis 
 in the various manifestations of infantile sexual development 
 and their corresponding phantasies. The fact that they are 
 exaggerated and put into the foreground in neurosis is a 
 consequence of the stored-up energy or libido. The psycho¬ 
 logical trouble in neurosis, and neurosis itself, can be 
 considered as an act of adaptation that has failed. This formu¬ 
 lation might reconcile certain views of Janet’s with Freud’s 
 view, that a neurosis is—under a certain aspect—an attempt 
 at self-cure; a view which can be and has been applied to 
 many diseases. 
 
 Here the question arises whether it is still advisable to 
 bring to light all the patient’s phantasies by analysis, if we 
 now consider them as of no setiological significance. Psycho¬ 
 analysis hitherto has proceeded to the unravelling of these 
 phantasies because they were considered to be aetiologically 
 significant. My altered view concerning the theory of 
 neurosis does not change the procedure of psychoanalysis. 
 The technique remains the same. We no longer imagine 
 we are unearthing the end-root of the disease, but we have 
 to pull up the sexual phantasies because the energy which 
 the patient needs for his health, that is, for his adapta¬ 
 tion, is attached to them. By means of psychoanalysis 
 the connexion between the conscious and the libido in the 
 
ON PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 285 
 
 unconscious is re-established. Thus you restore this un¬ 
 conscious libido to the command of conscious intention. 
 Only in this way can the formerly split-off energy become 
 again applicable to the accomplishment of the necessary 
 tasks of life. Considered from this standpoint, psycho¬ 
 analysis no longer appears to be a mere reduction of the 
 individual to his primitive sexual wishes, but it becomes 
 clear that, if rightly understood, it is a highly moral task of 
 immense educational value. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 ON SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 
 
 Correspondence between Dr. Jung and Dr. Loy appear¬ 
 ing IN “ PsYCHOTHERAPEUTISCHE ZEITFRAGEN.” PUBLISHED 
 by Dr. Loy, Sanatorium L’Abri, Territet-Montreux, 
 Switzerland, 1914 . 
 
 I 
 
 From Dr. Loy. 
 
 12th January, 1913. 
 
 What you said at our last conversation was extraordinarily 
 stimulating. I was expecting you to throw light upon the 
 interpretation of my own and my patients’ dreams from the 
 standpoint of Freud’s “ Interpretation of Dreams.” Instead, 
 you put before me an entirely new conception : the dream as 
 a means of re-establishing the moral equipoise, fashioned in 
 the realm below the threshold of consciousness. That in¬ 
 deed is a fruitful conception. But still more fruitful appears 
 to me your other suggestion. You regard the problems 
 of psychoanalysis as much deeper than I had ever thought: 
 it is no longer merely a question of getting rid of trouble¬ 
 some pathological symptoms; the analysed person gets to 
 understand not his anxiety-experiences alone, but his whole 
 self most completely, and by means of this understanding 
 he can build up and fashion his whole life anew. But he 
 himself must be the builder, the Analyst only furnishes him 
 with the necessary tools. 
 
 To begin with, I would ask you to consider what justifi¬ 
 cation there is for the original procedure of Breuer and 
 Freud, now entirely given up both by Freud himself and by 
 you, but practised by Frank, for instance, as his only 
 method : I mean “ the abreaction of the inhibited effects 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 287 
 
 under light hypnosis.” Why have you given up the cathartic 
 method ? More particularly, has light hypnosis in psycho¬ 
 catharsis a different value from suggestion during sleep, long 
 customary in treatment by suggestion ? that is, has it only 
 the value which the suggestionist contributes, or does it 
 claim to possess only the value which the patient’s belief 
 bestows upon it? To put it another way, is suggestion 
 in the waking-state equivalent to suggestion in hypnoidal 
 states, as Bernheim now asserts, after having used sug¬ 
 gestion for many years exclusively in hypnosis ? You will 
 tell me we must talk of psychoanalysis, not of suggestion. 
 But I really mean this : is not the suggestion , by means of 
 which the psychocatharsis in the hypnoidal state produces 
 therapeutic effects, (modified naturally, by the patients’ age, 
 etc.) the main factor in the therapeutic success of the psycho¬ 
 catharsis? Frank, in his “Affehtstorungen says: “these 
 partial adjustments of effect, suggestibility and suggestion, 
 are almost altogether omitted in the psychocathartic treat¬ 
 ment in light sleep, in so far as the content of the reproduced 
 presentations is concerned.” Is that really true? Frank 
 himself adds: “ How can meditation upon the dreams of 
 
 youth in itself lead to the discharge of the stored-up anxiety, 
 whether in hypnoidal states or under any other conditions ? 
 Must one not suppose, with much greater probability, that 
 the anxiety-states would become more pronounced through 
 such concentration upon them?” [I have noticed that my¬ 
 self, and much more than I at all liked.] One does indeed 
 say to the patient: “ First we must stir up, then after¬ 
 wards comes peace.” And it does come. But does it not 
 come in spite of the stirring-up process , because gradually, by 
 means of frequent talks under light hypnosis, the patient 
 gets such confidence in the doctor that he becomes suscep¬ 
 tible to direct suggestion, and that produces at first improve¬ 
 ment and finally, cure ? I go still further : in an analysis 
 in the waking-state , is not the patient’s belief that the method 
 employed will cure him, coupled with his ever-growing trust in 
 the doctor, a main cause of his cure? And I ask even 
 further: in every systematically carried-out therapeutic 
 
238 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 treatment, is not faith in it, trust in the doctor, a main 
 factor in its success ? I will not indeed say the only factor, 
 for one cannot deny that the physical, dietetic and chemical 
 procedures, when properly selected, have a real effect in 
 securing a cure, over and above the obvious effect of their 
 indirect suggestion. 
 
 II 
 
 From Dr. Jung. 
 
 28th January, 1913. 
 
 With regard to your question as to the applicability of the 
 cathartic method, the following is my standpoint: every 
 method is good if it serves its purpose, including every 
 method of suggestion, even Christian Science, Mental 
 Healing, etc. “ A truth is a truth , when it works.” It is quite 
 another question whether a scientific physician can answer 
 for it to his conscience should he sell little bottles of Lourdes- 
 water because that suggestion is at times very useful. Even 
 the so-called highly scientific suggestion-therapy employs 
 the wares of the medicine-man and the exorcising Schaman. 
 And please, why should it not ? The public is not even now 
 much more advanced and continues to expect miracles from 
 the doctor. And truly those doctors should be deemed 
 clever—worldly-wise in every respect—who understand the 
 art of investing themselves with the halo of the medicine¬ 
 man. Not only have they the biggest practices—they have 
 also the best results. This is simply because countless 
 physical maladies (leaving out of count the neuroses) are 
 complicated and burdened with psychic elements to an 
 extent scarcely yet suspected. The medical exorcist’s whole 
 behaviour betrays his full valuation of the psychic element 
 when he gives the patient the opportunity of fixing his faith 
 firmly upon the doctor’s mysterious personality. Thus does he 
 win the sick man’s mind, which henceforth helps him indeed 
 to restore his body also to health. The cure works best 
 when the doctor really believes in his own formulae, otherwise 
 he ma}^ be overcome by scientific doubt and so lose the correct, 
 
SOME CBUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 239 
 
 convincing tone. I, too, for a time practised hypnotic 
 suggestion enthusiastically. But there befell me three 
 dubious incidents which I want you to note : 
 
 1. Once there came to me to be hypnotised for various 
 neurotic troubles a withered peasant-woman of some fifty 
 years old. She was not easy to hypnotise, was very restless, 
 kept opening her eyes—but at last I did succeed. When I 
 waked her after about half an hour she seized my hand and 
 with many words testified to her overflowing gratitude. I 
 said: “ But you are by no means cured yet, so keep your 
 thanks till the end of the treatment. She. I am not 
 thanking you for that, but—(blushing and whispering)— 
 because you have been so decent." So she said, looked at 
 me with a sort of tender admiration and departed. I gazed 
 long at the spot where she had stood—and asked myself, con¬ 
 founded, “ So decent ? ’’—good heavens ! surely she hadn’t 
 imagined, somehow or other. . . . This glimpse made me 
 suspect for the first time that possibly the loose-minded 
 person, by means of that notorious feminine (I should at 
 that time have said “ animal ” ) directness of instinct, under¬ 
 stood more about the essence of hypnotism than I with all 
 my knowledge of the scientific profundity of the text-books. 
 
 Therein lay my harmlessness. 
 
 2. Next came a pretty, coquettish, seventeen-year-old gill 
 with a harassed, suspicious mother. The young daughtei had 
 suffered since early girlhood from enuresis nocturna, which, 
 among other difficulties, hindered her from going to a 
 boarding-school abroad. 
 
 At once I thought of the old woman and her wisdom. 
 I tried to hypnotise the girl; she laughed affectedly and 
 prevented hypnosis for twenty minutes. Of course I kept 
 quiet and thought: I know why you laugh; you have already 
 fallen in love with me, but I will give you proof of my 
 decency in gratitude for your wasting my time with your 
 challenging laughter. I succeeded in hypnotising her. 
 Success followed at once. The enuresis stopped, and I there¬ 
 fore informed the young lady later that, instead of Wednes¬ 
 day, I would not see her again for hypnosis till the following 
 
240 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Saturday. On Saturday she arrived with a cross countenance, 
 presaging failure. The enuresis had come back again. I 
 remembered my wise old woman, and asked : “ When did the 
 enuresis return ? ” She (unsuspecting), “ Wednesday night.” 
 I thought to myself, There it is again, she wants to show me 
 that I simply must see her on Wednesdays too ; not to see me 
 for a whole long week is too much for a tender, loving heart. 
 But I was quite resolved to give no help to such annoying 
 romancing, so I said, “ To continue the hypnosis would be 
 quite wrong under these circumstances. We must drop it 
 for quite three weeks, to give the enuresis a chance to stop. 
 Then come again for treatment.” In my malicious heart I 
 knew I should then be on my holiday and so the course of 
 hypnotic treatment would come to an end. After the holidays 
 my locum tenens told me the young lady had been there with 
 the news that the enuresis had vanished, but her disappoint¬ 
 ment at not seeing me was very keen. The old woman was 
 right, thought I. 
 
 3. The third case gave my joy in suggestion its death¬ 
 blow. This was the manner of it. She was a lady of 
 sixty-five who came stumbling into the consulting-room with 
 a crutch. She had suffered from pain in the knee-joint for 
 seventeen years, and this at times kept her in bed for many 
 weeks. No doctor had been able to cure her, and she had 
 tried every possible remedy of present-day medicine. After I 
 had suffered the stream of her narrative to flow over me 
 for some ten minutes, I said, “ I will try to hypnotise you, 
 perhaps that will do you good.” She, “ Oh yes, please do! ” 
 leaned her head on one side and fell asleep before ever I 
 said or did anything. She passed into somnambulism and 
 showed every form of hypnosis you could possibly desire. 
 After half an hour I had the greatest difficulty in waking 
 her; when at last she was awake she jumped up: “ I am 
 well, I am all right, you have cured me.” I tried to make 
 timid objections, but her praises drowned me. She could 
 really walk. Then I blushed and said, embarrassed, to 
 my colleagues: “Look! behold the wondrously successful 
 hypnotic therapy.” That day saw the death of my connection 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 241 
 
 with treatment by suggestion; the therapeutic praise won 
 by this case shamed and humiliated me. When, a year 
 later, at the beginning of my hypnotic course, the good old 
 lady returned, this time with the pain in her back, I was 
 already sunk in hopeless cynicism; I saw written on her 
 forehead that she had just read the notice of the re-opening 
 of my clinic in the newspaper, that vexatious romanticism 
 had provided her with a convenient pain in the back so that 
 she might have a pretext for seeing me, and again let herself 
 be cured in the same theatrical fashion. This proved true 
 in every particular. 
 
 As you will understand, a man possessed of scientific con¬ 
 science cannot endure such cases without embarrassment. 
 There ripened the resolve in me to renounce suggestion alto¬ 
 gether rather than to allow myself passively to be transformed 
 into a miracle-worker. I wanted to understand what really 
 went on in the souls of people. It suddenly seemed to me 
 incredibly childish to think of dispelling an illness with charms, 
 and that this should be the only result of our scientific 
 endeavours for a psychotherapy. Thus for me the discovery 
 of Breuer and Freud was a veritable deliverance. I took up 
 their method with unalloyed enthusiasm and soon recognised 
 how right Freud was, when at a very early date, indeed so 
 far back as the Studien ueber Hysterie , he began to direct 
 a searchlight upon the accompanying circumstances of the 
 so-called trauma. I too soon discovered that certainly some 
 traumata with an obvious etiological tinge are opportunely 
 present. But the greater number appeared highly improb¬ 
 able. So many of them seemed so insignificant, even so 
 normal, that at most one could regard them as just pro¬ 
 viding the opportunity for the neurosis to appear. But what 
 especially spurred my criticism was the fact that so many 
 traumata were simply inventions of phantasy which had 
 never really existed. This perception was enough to make 
 me sceptical about the whole trauma-theory. (But I have 
 dealt with these matters in detail in my lectures on the 
 theory of psychoanalysis). 1 I could no longer suppose that 
 
 1 “ Psychoanalysis.” Nervous and Mental Disease, No. 19. Monograph series. 
 
 16 
 
242 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the hundred and one cathartic experiences of a phantastically 
 puffed-up or entirely invented trauma was anything but 
 the effect of suggestion. It is well enough if it helps. If 
 one only had not a scientific conscience and that impulsion 
 towards the truth! I found in many cases, especially when 
 dealing with more mentally gifted patients, that I must 
 recognise the therapeutic limitations of this method. It is, 
 of course, a definite plan, and convenient for the doctor, 
 since it makes no particular demands upon his intellect for 
 new adaptations. The theory and practice are both of the 
 pleasantest simplicity: “ The neurosis is caused by a trauma. 
 The trauma is abreacted.” When the abreaction takes place 
 under hypnotism, or with other magical accessories (dark 
 room, peculiar lighting, and the rest), I remember once 
 more the wise old woman, who opened my eyes not merely 
 to the magic influence of the mesmeric gestures, but also 
 to the essential character of hypnotism itself. But what 
 alienated me once for all from this relatively efficacious 
 indirect method of suggestion, based as it is upon an 
 equally efficacious false theory, was the perception I ob¬ 
 tained at the same time that, behind the confused deceptive 
 intricacies of neurotic phantasies, there stands a conflict , 
 which may be best described as a moral one. With this 
 there began for me a new era of understanding. Besearch 
 and therapy now coincided in the attempt to discover the 
 causes and the rational solution of this conflict. That is 
 what psychoanalysis meant to me. Whilst I had been 
 getting this insight, Freud had built up his sexual theory of 
 the neurosis, and therewith had brought forward an enormous 
 number of questions for discussion, all of which I thought 
 deserved the profoundest consideration. Thus I have had 
 the good fortune of co-operating with Freud for a long time, 
 and working with him in the investigation of the problem of 
 sexuality in neurosis. You, perhaps, know from some of my 
 earlier work that I was always dubious somewhat concerning 
 the significance of sexuality. 1 This has now become the exact 
 point where I am no longer altogether of Freud’s opinion. 
 
 1 See Author’s preface to “ The Psychology of Dementia Praecox.” 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 248 
 
 I have preferred to answer your questions in rather non- 
 sequent fashion. Whatever is still unanswered, let me now 
 repeat: light hypnosis and complete hypnosis are but varying 
 grades of intensity of unconscious attraction towards the 
 hypnotist. Who can here venture to draw sharp distinc¬ 
 tions ? To a critical intelligence it is unthinkable that 
 suggestibility and suggestion can be excluded in the cathartic 
 method. They are present everywhere and are universal 
 human attributes, even with Dubois and the psychoanalysts 
 who think they work on purely rational lines. No technique , 
 no self-deception avails here—the doctor works nolens volens — 
 and perhaps primarily—by means of his personality , that 
 is by suggestion. In the cathartic treatment, what is of far 
 more importance to the patient than the conjuring up of 
 old phantasies, is the being so often with the doctor, and 
 confidence and belief in him personally, and in his method. 
 The belief, the self-confidence, perhaps also the devotion with 
 which the doctor does his work, are far more important things 
 to the patient (imponderabilia though they be) than the recalling 
 of old traumata. 1 
 
 Ultimately we shall some day know from the history 
 of medicine everything that has ever been of service; then 
 perhaps at last we may come to the really desirable therapy, 
 to psychotherapy. Did not even the old materia medica 
 of filth have brilliant cures ?—cures which only faded away 
 with the belief in it! 
 
 Because I recognise that the patient does attempt to lay 
 hold of the doctor’s personality, in spite of all possible rational 
 safeguards, I have formulated the demand that the psycho¬ 
 therapeutist shall be held just as responsible for the cleanness 
 of his own hands as is the surgeon. I hold it to be an 
 absolutely indispensable preliminary that the psychoanalyst 
 should himself first undergo an analysis, for his personality 
 is one of the chief factors in the cure. 
 
 1 Thus a patient, who had been treated by a young colleague without 
 very much result, once said to me : “ Certainly I made great progress with 
 him, and I am much better than I was. He tried to analyse my dreams. 
 It’s true he never understood them, but he took so much trouble over them. 
 He is really a good doctor.” 
 
244 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Patients read the doctor’s character intuitively and they 
 should find in him a human being, with faults indeed, but also 
 a man who has striven at every point to fulfil his on n human 
 duties in the fullest sense. I think that this is the first healing 
 factor. Many times I have had the opportunity of seeing 
 that the analyst is successful with his treatment just in so far 
 as he has succeeded in his own moral development. I think 
 this answer will satisfy your question. 
 
 Ill 
 
 From Dr. Loy . 
 
 2nd February, 1913. 
 
 You answer several of my questions in a decidedly 
 affirmative sense. You take it as proved that in the cures by 
 the cathartic method the main rdle is played by faith in the 
 doctor and in his method, and not by the “ abreaction” of 
 real or imaginary traumata. I also. Equally I am at one 
 with your view that the cures of the old materia medica of 
 filth, as well as the Lourdes cures, or those of the Mental 
 Healers, Christian Scientists and Persuasionists, are to be 
 attributed to faith in the miracle-worker, rather than to any 
 of the methods employed. 
 
 Now comes the ticklish point: the augur can remain an 
 augur so long as he himself believes the will of the gods is 
 made manifest by the entrails of the sacrificial beast. When 
 he no longer believes, he has to ask himself: Shall I con¬ 
 tinue to use my augur’s authority to further the welfare 
 of the State, or shall I make use of my newer, and (I 
 hope) truer convictions of to-day ? Both ways are possible. 
 The first is called opportunism; the second the pursuit of 
 truth, and scientific honour. For a doctor, the fiist way 
 brings perhaps therapeutic success and fame; the second, 
 reproach: such a man is not taken seriously. What I 
 esteem most highly in Freud and his school is just this 
 passionate desire for truth. But again, it is precisely here 
 that people pronounce a different verdict: “ It is impossible 
 for the busy practitioner to keep pace with the development 
 
SOME CKUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 245 
 
 of the views of this investigator and his initiates.” (Frank, 
 “ Affektstorungen Einleitung.”) 
 
 One can easily disregard this little quip, but one must 
 take more seriously one’s self-criticism. We may have to ask 
 ourselves whether, since science is an undivided, ever-flowing 
 stream, we are justified in relinquishing on conscientious 
 grounds, any method or combination of methods by means 
 of which we know cures can be achieved ? 
 
 Looking more closely at the fundamental grounds of 
 your aversion to the use of hypnosis (or semi-hypnosis, the 
 degree matters nothing) in treatment by suggestion , (which as 
 a matter of fact every doctor and every therapeutic method 
 makes use of willy-nilly, no matter what it is called); it is 
 clear that what has disgusted you in hypnotism is at bottom 
 nothing but the so-called “ transference ” to the doctor, which 
 you, with your unalloyed psychoanalytic treatment, can get 
 rid of as little as any one else, for indeed it plays a 
 chief part in the success of the treatment. Your insistence 
 that the psychoanalyst must be answerable for the cleanness 
 of his own hands—(here I agree with you unreservedly)— 
 —is an inevitable conclusion. But, after all, does any¬ 
 thing more “augurish” really cling to the use made of 
 hypnosis in psychotherapeutic treatment, than to the quite 
 inevitable use made of the “ transference to the doctor ” 
 for therapeutic ends ? In either case we must perforce 
 “ take shares ” in faith as a healing agent. As for the 
 feeling which the patient—whether man or woman—enter¬ 
 tains for the doctor, is there never anything in the back¬ 
 ground save conscious or unconscious sexual desire? In 
 many cases your view is most certainly correct; more than 
 one woman has been frank enough to confess that the 
 beginning of hypnosis was accompanied by voluptuous plea¬ 
 sure. But this is not true in all instances—or how would 
 you explain the underlying feeling in the hypnotising of one 
 animal by another, e.g. snake and bird. Surely you can say 
 that there the feeling of fear reigns, fear which is an inversion 
 of the libido, such as comes upon the bride in that hypnoidal 
 state before she yields to her husband wherein pure sexual 
 
246 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 desire rules, though possibly it contains an element of fear. 
 However this may be, from your three cases I cannot draw 
 any ethical distinction between the “ unconscious readiness 
 towards the hypnotist ” and the “ transference to the doctor ” 
 which should avail to condemn a combination of hypnotism 
 and psychoanalysis as a method of treatment. You will 
 ask why I cling to the use of hypnotism; or rather of 
 hypnoidal states. Because I think there are cases that 
 can be much more rapidly cured thereby, than through a 
 purely psychoanalytic treatment. For example, in no more 
 than five or six interviews I cured a fifteen-year-old girl who 
 had suffered from enuresis nocturna from infancy, but was 
 otherwise thoroughly healthy, gifted, and pre-eminent at 
 school: she had previously tried all sorts of treatment 
 without any result. 
 
 Perhaps I ought to have sought out the psychoanalytic 
 connexion between the enuresis and her psychosexual atti¬ 
 tude and explained it to her, etc., but I could not, she had 
 only the short Easter holidays for treatment: so I just 
 hypnotised her and the tiresome trouble vanished. It was a 
 lasting cure. 
 
 In psychoanalysis I use hypnosis to help the patient to 
 overcome “ resistances.” 
 
 Further, I use light hypnosis in association with psycho¬ 
 analysis, to hasten the advance when the “re-education” 
 stage comes. 
 
 For example, a patient afflicted with washing-mania was 
 sent to me after a year’s psychocathartic treatment by 
 Dr. X. The symbolic meaning of her washing-ceremonial 
 was first made plain to her ; she became more and more 
 agitated during the “abreaction” of alleged traumata in 
 childhood, because she had persuaded herself by auto-sug¬ 
 gestion that she was too old to be cured, that she saw no 
 “ images,” etc. So I used hypnosis to help her to diminish 
 the number of her washings, “ so that the anxiety-feeling 
 would be banished ”; and to train her to throw things on 
 the ground and pick them up again without washing her 
 hands afterwards, etc. 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 247 
 
 In view of these considerations, if you feel disposed 
 to go further into the matter, I should be grateful if you 
 would furnish me with more convincing reasons why hypnotic 
 treatment must he dispensed with; and explain how to do 
 without it, or with what to replace it in such cases. Were 
 I convinced, I would give it up as you have done, but 
 what convinced you has, so far, not convinced me. Si duo 
 faciunt idem , non est idem. 
 
 Now I want to consider another important matter to which 
 you alluded, but only cursorily, and to put one question: 
 behind the neurotic phantasies there stands, you say, almost 
 always (or always) a moral conflict which belongs to the 
 present moment. That is perfectly clear to me. Research 
 and therapy coincide; their task is to search out the founda¬ 
 tions and the rational solution of the conflict. Good. But 
 can the rational solution always be found? “Reasons of 
 expediency” so often bar the way, varying with the type 
 of patient, for instance children, young girls and women 
 from “pious” catholic or protestant families. Again that 
 accursed opportunism ! A colleague of mine was perfectly 
 right when he began to give sexual enlightenment to a young 
 French patient, a boy who was indulging in masturbation. 
 Whereupon, like one possessed, in rushed a bigoted grand¬ 
 mother, and a disagreeable sequel ensued. How to act in 
 these and similar cases ? What to do in cases where there 
 arises a moral conflict between love and duty (a conflict in 
 married life) ?—or in general between instinct and moral 
 duty ? What to do in the case of a girl afflicted with hyste¬ 
 rical or anxiety symptoms, needing love and having no 
 chance to marry, either because she cannot find a suitable 
 man or because, being “well-connected,” she wants to 
 remain chaste ? Simply try to get rid of the symptoms 
 by suggestion? But that is wrong as soon as one knows 
 of a better way. How to reconcile these two consciences: 
 that of the man who does not want to confine his fidelity 
 to truth within his own four walls; and that of the doctor 
 who must cure, or if he dare not cure according to his real 
 convictions (owing to opportunist-motives), must at least 
 
248 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 procure some alleviation ? We live in the present, but with 
 the ideas and ideals of the future. That is our conflict. 
 How resolve it ? 
 
 IV 
 
 From Dr. Jung. 
 
 4th February, 1913. 
 
 You have put me in some perplexity by the questions 
 in your yesterday’s letter. You have rightly grasped the 
 spirit which dictated my last. I am glad you, too, recognise 
 this spirit. There are not very many who can boast of such 
 tolerance. I should deceive myself if I regarded my stand¬ 
 point as that of a practical physician. First and foremost 
 I am a scientist; naturally that gives me a different outlook 
 upon many problems. In my last letter I certainly left out 
 of count the doctor’s practical needs, but chiefly that I might 
 show you on what grounds we might be moved to relinquish 
 hypnotic therapy. To remove the first objection at once, let 
 me say that I did not give up hypnotism because I desired to 
 avoid dealing with the basic motives of the human soul, but 
 rather because I wanted to battle with them directly and openly. 
 When once I understood what kind of forces play a part 
 in hypnotism I gave it up, simply to get rid of all the indirect 
 advantages of this method. As we psychoanalysts see regret¬ 
 fully every day—and our patients also —ice do not work with 
 the “ transference to the doctor, ” 1 hut against it and in spite of it. 
 It is just not upon the faith of the sick man that we can 
 build, but upon his criticism. So much would I say at the 
 outset upon this delicate question. 
 
 As your letter shows, we are at one in regard to the 
 theoretical aspect of treatment by suggestion. So we can 
 now apply ourselves to the further task of coming to mutual 
 understanding about the practical question. 
 
 Your remarks on the physician’s dilemma—whether to be 
 
 1 Defined in the Freudian sense, as the transference to the doctor of infantile 
 and sexual phantasies. A more advanced conception of the transference per¬ 
 ceives in it the important process of emotional approach [ EmfUhlung ] which 
 at first makes use of infantile and sexual analogies. 
 
SOME CEUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 249 
 
 magician or scientist—bring us to the heart of the discussion. 
 I strive to he no fanatic—although there are not a few who 
 reproach me with fanaticism. I contend not for the applica¬ 
 tion of the psychoanalytic method solely and at all costs, 
 but for the recognition of every method of investigation and 
 treatment. I was a medical practitioner quite long enough to 
 realise that practice obeys, and should obey, other laws than 
 does the search after truth. One might almost say practice 
 must first and foremost submit to the laws of opportunism. 
 The scientist does great injustice to the practitioner if he 
 reproaches him for not using the “ one true ” scientific 
 method. As I said to you in my last letter: “A truth is a 
 truth, when it works.” But on the other hand, the practi¬ 
 tioner must not reproach the scientist if in his search for 
 truth and for newer and better methods, he makes trial of 
 unusual ways. After all, it is not the practitioner but the 
 investigator, and the latter’s patient, who will have to bear 
 any injury that may arise. The practitioner must certainly 
 use those methods which he knows how to use to greatest 
 advantage, and which give him the best relative results. My 
 tolerance, indeed, extends, as you see, even to Christian 
 Science. But I deem it most uncalled for that Frank, a 
 practising doctor, should depreciate research in which he 
 cannot participate, and particularly the very line of research 
 to which he owes his own method. It is surely time to cease 
 this running down of every new idea. No one asks Frank 
 and all whom he represents to become psychoanalysts; we 
 grant them the right to their existence, why should they always 
 seek to cut ours short ? 
 
 As my own “ cures ” show you, I do not doubt the effect 
 of suggestion. Only I had the idea that I could perhaps 
 discover something still better. This hope has been amply 
 justified. Not for ever shall it be said— 
 
 “ The good attained, is oft of fairer still 
 The enemy, calling it vain illusion, falsehood’s snare.” 
 
 I confess frankly were I doing your work I should often be in 
 difficulties if I relied only on psychoanalysis. I can scarcely 
 
250 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 imagine a general practice, especially in a sanatorium, with 
 no other means than psychoanalysis. At Dr. Bircher’s 
 sanatorium in Zurich the principle of psychoanalysis is 
 adopted completely, by several of the assistants, but a 
 whole series of other important educative influences are 
 also brought to bear upon the patients, without which 
 matters would probably go very badly. In my own purely 
 psychoanalytic practice I have often regretted that I could 
 not avail myself of the other methods of re-education that 
 are naturally at hand in an institution—this, of course, only 
 in special cases where one is dealing with extremely un¬ 
 controlled, uneducated persons. Which of us has shown any 
 disposition to assert that we have discovered a panacea ? 
 There are cases in which psychoanalysis operates less effec¬ 
 tively than any other known method. But who has ever 
 claimed psychoanalysis should be employed in every sort of 
 case, and on every occasion ? Only a fanatic could maintain 
 such a view. Patients for whom psychoanalysis is suitable 
 have to be selected. I unhesitatingly send cases I think 
 unsuitable to other doctors. As a matter of fact this does 
 not happen often, because patients have a way of sort¬ 
 ing themselves out. Those who go to an analyst usually 
 know quite well why they go to him and not to some one 
 else. However, there are very many neurotics well suited 
 for psychoanalysis. In these matters every scheme must 
 be looked at in due perspective. It is never quite wise to 
 try to batter down a stone wall with your head. Whether 
 simple hypnotism, the cathartic treatment, or psychoanalysis 
 shall be used, must be determined by the conditions of the 
 case and the preference of the particular doctor. Every 
 doctor will obtain the best results with the instrument he 
 knows best. 
 
 But, barring exceptions, I must say definitely that for me 
 and for my patients also , psychoanalysis proves itself better than 
 any other method. This is not merely a matter of feeling; 
 from manifold experiences I know many cases can indeed be 
 cured by psychoanalysis which are refractory to all other 
 methods of treatment. I have many colleagues whose 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 251 
 
 experience is the same, even men engaged altogether in 
 practice. It is scarcely to be supposed that a method alto¬ 
 gether contemptible would meet with so much support. 
 
 When once psychoanalysis has been applied in a suitable 
 case, it is imperative that rational solutions of the conflicts 
 should be found. The objection is at once advanced that 
 many conflicts are intrinsically incapable of solution. That 
 view is sometimes taken because only an external solution 
 is thought of—and that, at bottom is no real solution at all. 
 If a man cannot get on with his wife he naturally thinks the 
 conflict would be solved if he were to marry some one else. 
 If such marriages are examined they are seen to be no solu¬ 
 tion whatsoever. The old Adam enters upon the new marriage 
 and bungles it just as badly as he did the earlier one. A 
 real solution comes only from within, ancl only then because the 
 patient has been brought to a new standpoint . 
 
 Where an external solution is possible no psychoanalysis 
 is necessary; in seeking an internal solution we encounter 
 the peculiar virtues of psychoanalysis. The conflict between 
 “ love and duty ” must be solved upon that particular plane 
 of character where “ love and duty ” are no longer in op¬ 
 position, for indeed they really are not so. The familiar 
 conflict between “ instinct and conventional morality ” must be 
 solved in such a way that both factors are taken satisfactorily 
 into account, and this is only possible through a change of 
 character. This change psychoanalysis can bring about. In 
 such cases external solutions are worse than none at all. 
 Naturally the particular situation dictates which road the 
 doctor must ultimately follow, and what is then his duty. 
 I regard the conscience-searching question of the doctor’s 
 remaining true to his scientific convictions, as rather unim¬ 
 portant in comparison with the incomparably weightier ques¬ 
 tion as to how he can best help his patient. The doctor must , 
 on occasion, be able to play the augur. Mundus vult decipi 
 —but the cure is no deception. It is true there is a 
 conflict between ideal conviction and concrete possibility. 
 But we shoidd ill prepare the ground for the seed of the future, 
 ivere ice to forget the tasks of the pn'esent, and seek only to 
 
252 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 cultivate ideals. That is but idle dreaming. Do not forget 
 that Kepler cast horoscopes for money, and that countless 
 artists have been condemned to work for wages. 
 
 V. 
 
 From Dr. Loy. 
 
 9th February, 1913. 
 
 The selfsame passion for truth possesses us both when 
 we think of pure research, and the same desire to cure when* 
 we are considering therapy. For the scientist, as for the 
 doctor, we desire the fullest freedom in all directions, fullest 
 freedom to select and use the methods which promise the 
 best fulfilment of their ends at any moment. Here we are 
 at one; but there remains a postulate we must establish to 
 the satisfaction of others if we want recognition for our views. 
 
 First and foremost there is a question that must be 
 answered, an old question asked already in the Gospels: 
 What is Truth ? I think clear definitions of fundamental 
 ideas are most necessary. How shall we contrive a working 
 definition of the conception “ Truth ” ? Perhaps an allegory 
 may help us. 
 
 Imagine a gigantic prism extending in front of the sun, 
 so that its rays are broken up, but suppose man entirely 
 ignorant of this fact. I exclude the invisible, chemical and 
 ultra-violet rays. Men who live in a blue-lit region will say : 
 “ The sun sends forth blue light only.” They are right and 
 yet they are wrong: from their standpoint they are capable 
 of perceiving only a fragment of truth. And so too with the 
 inhabitants of the red, yellow, and in-between regions. And 
 they will all scourge and slay one another to force their belief 
 in their fragment upon the others—till, grown wiser through 
 travelling in each others’ regions, they come to the harmoni¬ 
 ous agreement that the sun sends out light of varying colours. 
 That comprehends more truth, but it is not yet the Truth. 
 Only when a giant lens shall have re-combined the split-up 
 rays and when the invisible, chemical and heat rays have 
 given proof of their own specific effects, will a view more 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 253 
 
 in accordance with the facts be able to arise, and men will 
 perceive that the sun emits white light which is split up 
 by the prism into differing rays with different peculiarities, 
 which rays can be recombined by the lens into one mass 
 of white light. 
 
 This example shows sufficiently well that the road to 
 Truth leads through far-reaching and comparative observa¬ 
 tions, the results of which must be controlled by the help of 
 freely chosen experiments , until well-grounded hypotheses and 
 theories can be put forward; but these hypotheses and 
 theories will fall to the ground as soon as a single new obser¬ 
 vation or experiment contradicts them. 
 
 The way is difficult, and in the end all man ever attains 
 to is relative truth. But such relative truth suffices for the 
 time being, if it serves to explain the most important actual 
 concatenations of the past, to light up present problems, 
 to predict those of the future, so that we are then in a posi¬ 
 tion to achieve adaptation through our knowledge. But abso¬ 
 lute truth could be accessible only to omniscience, aware of 
 all possible concatenations and combinations; that is not 
 possible, for the concatenations and their combinations are 
 infinite. Accordingly, we shall never know more than an 
 approximate truth. Should new relationships be discovered, 
 new combinations built up, then the picture changes, and with 
 it the entire possibilities in knowledge and power. To what 
 revolutions in daily life does not every new scientific discovery 
 lead : how absurdly little was the beginning of our first ideas 
 of electricity, how inconceivably great the results ! Time and 
 again it is necessary to repeat this commonplace, because one 
 sees how life is always made bitter for the innovators in every 
 scientific field, and now is it being made especially so for the 
 disciples of the psychoanalytic school. Of course, every one 
 admits the truth of this platitude so long as it is a matter 
 of “ academic ” discussion, but only so long; just as soon 
 as a concrete case has to be considered, sympathies and 
 antipathies rush into the foreground and darken judgment. 
 And therefore the scientist must fight tirelessly, appealing to 
 logic and honour, for freedom of research in every field, and 
 
254 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 must not permit authority, of no matter what political or 
 religious tinge, to advance reasons of opportunism to destroy 
 or restrict this freedom; opportunist reasons may be and 
 are in place elsewhere, not here. Finally we must com¬ 
 pletely disavow that maxim of the Middle Ages: “ Philo- 
 sophia ancilla Theologies ,” and no less, too, the war-cries 
 of the university class-rooms with their partisanship of 
 one or other religious or political party. All fanaticism is 
 the enemy of science, which must above all things be 
 independent . 
 
 And when we turn from the search for Truth back once 
 more to therapeutics, we see immediately that here too we 
 are in agreement. In practice expediency must rule : the 
 doctor from the yellow region must adapt himself to the 
 sick in the yellow region, as must the doctor in blue region 
 to his patients; both have the same object in view. And 
 the doctor who lives in the white light of the sun, must take 
 into consideration the past experiences of his patients from 
 the yellow or blue region, in spite of, or perhaps rather 
 because of, his own wider knowledge. In such cases the way 
 to healing will be long and difficult, may indeed lead more 
 easily into a cul-de-sac , than in cases where he has to do with 
 patients who, like himself, have already come to a knowledge 
 of the white sunlight, or, one might say, when his patient- 
 material has “ already sorted itself out.” With such sorted- 
 out material the psychoanalyst can employ psychoanalysis 
 exclusively; and may deem himself happy in that he need 
 not “ play the augur.” Now, what are these psychoanalytic 
 methods ? If I understand you aright, from beginning to 
 end it is a question of dealing directly and openly with the 
 basic forces of the human soul , so that the analysed person, be 
 he sick or sound or in some stage between—for health and 
 sickness flow over by imperceptible degrees into one another 
 —shall gradually have his eyes opened to the drama that is 
 being acted within him. He has to come to an understanding 
 of the development of the hostile automatisms of his person¬ 
 ality, and by means of this understanding he must gradually 
 learn to free himself from them ; he must learn, too, how to 
 
SOME CEUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 255 
 
 employ and strengthen the favourable automatisms. He must 
 learn to make his self-knowledge real, and of practical use, 
 to control his soul’s workings so that a balance may be 
 established between the spheres of emotion and reason. And 
 what share in all this has the physician’s suggestion ? I can 
 scarcely believe that suggestion can be altogether avoided till 
 the patient feels himself really free. Such freedom, it goes 
 without saying, is the main thing to strive for, and it must 
 be active . The sick man who simply obeys a suggestion, 
 obeys it only just so long as the “ transference to the doctor ” 
 remains potent. 
 
 But if he wishes to be able to adjust himself to all circum¬ 
 stances he must have fortified himself “ from within.” He 
 should no longer need the crutches of faith, but be capable 
 of encountering all theoretical and practical problems squarely, 
 and of solving them by himself. That is surely your view ? 
 Or have I not understood correctly ? 
 
 I next ask, must not every single case be treated differently, 
 of course within the limits of the psychoanalytic method. For 
 if every case is a case by itself, it must indeed demand 
 individual treatment. 
 
 “ II n’y a pas de maladies, il n’y a que des malades,” said 
 a French doctor whose name escapes me. But on broad lines , 
 what course, from a technical point of view, does analysis 
 take, and what deviations occur most frequently ? That 
 I would gladly learn from you. I take for granted that all 
 “ augurs’ tricks,” darkened rooms, masquerading, chloroform, 
 are out of the question. 
 
 Psychoanalysis—purged so far as is humanly possible from 
 suggestive influence—appears to have an essential difference 
 from Dubois’ psychotherapy. With Dubois, from the begin¬ 
 ning conversation about the past is forbidden, and “ the moral 
 reasons for recovery ” placed in the forefront; whilst psycho¬ 
 analysis uses the subconscious material from the patient’s 
 past as well as present, for present self-understanding. 
 Another difference lies in the conception of morality: morals 
 are above all “ relative But what essential forms shall 
 they assume at those moments when one can hardly avoid 
 
256 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 suggestion ? You will say, the occasion must decide. Agreed, 
 as regards older people, or adults, who have to live in an 
 unenlightened milieu. But if one is dealing with children, 
 the seed of the future, is it not a sacred duty to enlighten 
 them as to the shaky foundations of the so-called “ moral ” 
 conceptions of the past, which have only a dogmatic basis ; 
 is it not a duty to educate them into full freedom by cour¬ 
 ageously unveiling Truth ? I ask this not so much with 
 regard to the analysing doctor as to the teacher. May not 
 the creation of free schools be looked for as one task for the 
 psychoanalyst ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 From Dr. Jung . 
 
 llth February, 1913. 
 
 The idea of the relativity of “ Truth ” has been current for 
 ages, but whether true or not, it does not stand in the way of 
 anything save the beliefs of dogma and authority. 
 
 You ask me, or indeed tell me—what psychoanalysis is. 
 Before considering your views, permit me first to try and mark 
 out the territory and definition of psychoanalysis. Psycho¬ 
 analysis is primarily just a method—but a method complying 
 with all the rigorous demands insisted upon to-day by the 
 conception “ method.” Let it be made plain at once that 
 psychoanalysis is not an anamnesis , as those who know 
 everything without learning are pleased to believe. It is 
 essentially a method for the exploration of the unconscious 
 associations, into which no question of the conscious self 
 enters. Again, it is not a kind of examination of the nature 
 of an intelligence test, though this mistake is common in 
 certain circles. It is no cathartic method , abreacting real and 
 phantastic “ traumata,” with or without hypnosis. Psycho¬ 
 analysis is a method which makes possible the analytic reduction 
 of the psychic content to its simplest expression , and the discovery 
 of the line of least resistance in the development of a harmonious 
 personality. In neurosis, straightforward direction of life’s 
 energies is lacking, because opposing tendencies traverse and 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 257 
 
 hinder psychological adaptation. Psychoanalysis, so far as 
 our present knowledge of it goes, thus appears to be simply 
 a rational nerve-therapy. 
 
 For the technical application of psychoanalysis no pro¬ 
 gramme can be formulated. There are only general prin¬ 
 ciples, and, for the individual case, working rules. (Here let 
 me refer you to Freud’s work in volume I. of the Inter¬ 
 nationale Zeitschrift fur Arztliche Psychoanalyse.) My one 
 working rule is to conduct the analysis as a perfectly 
 ordinary, sensible conversation, and to avoid all appearance 
 of medical magic. 
 
 The leading principle of the psychoanalytic technique is to 
 analyse the psychic material which offers itself then and there . 
 Eveiy interference on the part of the analyst, with the object 
 of inducing the analysis to follow some systematic course, is 
 a gross mistake in technique. So-called chance is the law and 
 the order of psychoanalysis. 
 
 Natuially in the beginning of the analysis the anamnesis 
 and the diagnosis come first. The subsequent analytic pro¬ 
 cess develops quite differently in every case. To give rules 
 is well-nigh impossible. All one can say is that very fre¬ 
 quently, quite at the beginning, a series of resistances have 
 to be overcome, resistances against both method and man. 
 Patients having no idea of psychoanalysis must first be given 
 some understanding of the method. In those who already 
 know something of it, there are very often many misconcep¬ 
 tions to set right, and frequently one has to deal also with 
 many reproaches cast by scientific criticism. In either case 
 the misconceptions rest upon arbitrary interpretations, super¬ 
 ficiality, or complete ignorance of the facts. 
 
 If the patient is himself a doctor his special knowledge 
 may prove extremely tiresome. To intelligent colleagues it 
 is best to give a complete theoretic exposition. With foolish 
 and limited persons you begin quietly with analysis. In the 
 unconscious of such folk there is a confederate that never 
 refuses help. From the analysis of the very earliest dreams 
 the emptiness of the criticism is obvious; and ultimately of 
 the whole beautiful edifice of supposedly scientific scepticism 
 
 17 
 
258 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 nothing remains, save a little heap of personal vanity. I have 
 
 had amusing experiences here. 
 
 It is best to let the patient talk freely and to^ confine 
 oneself to pointing out connexions here and there. When the 
 conscious material is exhausted we come to the dreams, which 
 furnish us with the subliminal material. If people have no 
 dreams, as they allege, or if they forget them, there is usually 
 still some conscious material that ought to be produced and 
 discussed, but is kept back owing to resistances. When the 
 conscious is emptied then come the dreams, which are indeed, 
 as you know, the chief material of the analysis. 
 
 How the “Analysis” is to be made and what is to be 
 said to patients depends, firstly, upon the material to be dealt 
 with; secondly, on the doctor’s skill; and, thirdly, on the 
 patient’s capacity. I must insist that no one ought to under¬ 
 take analysis except on the basis of a sound knowledge of 
 the subject, that necessitates an intimate understanding of the 
 existing literature. Without this, the work may be bungled. 
 
 I do not know what else to tell you beforehand. I must 
 wait for further questions. In regard to questions of morality 
 and education let me say that these belong to the later stages 
 of the analysis, wherein they find—or should find solutions 
 for themselves. You cannot compile recipes out of psychoanalysis. 
 
 VII. 
 
 From Dr. Loy. 
 
 10th February, 1913. 
 
 You write that a solid knowledge of the psychoanalytic 
 literature is necessary for an initiation into psychoanalysis. 
 I should agree, but with a certain reservation: the more one 
 reads the more one notices how many contradictions there 
 are among the different writers, and less and less does one 
 know— un til one has had sufficient personal experience to 
 which view to give adherence, since quite frequently assertions 
 are made without any proof. For example, I had thought 
 (strengthened in the view by my own experience of suggestion- 
 therapy) that the transference to the doctor might be an 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 259 
 
 essential condition in the patient’s cure. But you write : 
 “We psychoanalysts do not build upon the patient’s faith, 
 rather do we have to deal with his criticism.” And Stekel 
 writes, on the other hand ( Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse , 
 3rd year, vol. IV., p. 176 , “ Ausgange der psychoanalytischen 
 Kuren ”): “ Love for the doctor can become a power 
 essential to recovery. Neurotics never get well for love of 
 themselves. They recover out of love for the doctor. They 
 give him that pleasure.” Here again, surely, stress is laid 
 on the power of suggestion ? And yet Stekel too thinks he is 
 a psychoanalyst pure and simple. On the other hand, you 
 say in your letter of Jan. 20th that “the doctor’s personality 
 is one of the main factors in the cure.” Should not this 
 expression be translated : “ When the doctor inspires re¬ 
 spect in the patient and is worthy of his love, the patient will 
 gladly follow his example and endeavour to recover from his 
 neurosis and fulfil his human duties in the widest sense ” ? I 
 think one can only emerge from all this uncertainty by means 
 of much personal experience, which will indicate also which 
 way best suits one’s own personality and brings the greatest 
 therapeutic success. This is a further reason for undergoing 
 analysis oneself, to recognise fully what one is. I was de¬ 
 cidedly in agreement with your definition of psychoanalysis 
 in its first (negative) portion: psychoanalysis is neither an 
 anamnesis nor a method of examination after the fashion of 
 a test for intelligence, nor yet a psychocatharsis . In your 
 second (positive) part, however, your definition : “ Psycho¬ 
 analysis is a method of discovering the line of least resist¬ 
 ance to the harmonious development of the whole personality,” 
 seems to me valid for the patient’s inertia, but not for the 
 releasing of the sublimated libido with a view to the new 
 direction of life. You consider that the neurosis causes a 
 lack of singleness of aim in life, because opposing tendencies 
 hinder psychic adaptation. True, but will not this psychic 
 adaptation eventuate quite differently according as the patient, 
 when well, directs his life either to the avoidance of pain 
 merely (line of least resistance) or to the achievement of 
 the greatest pleasure ?—In the first case he would be more 
 
260 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 passive, lie would merely reconcile himself “ to the empti¬ 
 ness of reality” (Stekel, loc. cit. y p. 187). In the second 
 he would be “ filled with enthusiasm ” for something or 
 other or some person or other. But what will determine 
 this choice of his as to whether he will be passive rather 
 than active in his “second life”? In your view, will the 
 determining factor manifest itself spontaneously in the course 
 of the analysis, and must the doctor carefully avoid swaying 
 the balance to one side or other by his influence ? Or must 
 he, if he does not renounce the right to canalise the patient’s 
 libido in some particular direction, renounce the right to be 
 called a psychoanalyst, and is he to be regarded as “ moderate ” 
 or altogether as “wild”? 1 (Cf. Furtmuller, “Wandlungen 
 in der Freudschen Schule,” Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse , 
 vols. IV., V., 3rd year, p. 191.) But I think you have already 
 answered this question, since in your last letter you write : 
 “ Every interference on the part of the analyst is a gross 
 mistake in technique. So-called chance is the law and the 
 order of psychoanalysis.” But, torn from its context, per¬ 
 haps this does not quite give your whole meaning. With 
 regard to detailed explanation of the psychoanalytic method 
 before the beginning of the analysis, I think you agree with 
 Freud and Stekel: give too little rather than too much. For 
 the knowledge instilled into a patient remains more or less half¬ 
 knowledge, and half-knowledge engenders “ the desire to know 
 better ” (than the analyst), which only impedes progress. 
 So, after brief explanation, first “ let the patient talk,” then 
 and there point out connexions, then after the exhaustion of 
 the conscious material, take dreams. 
 
 But there another difficulty confronts me which I have 
 already pointed out in our talks: you find the patient 
 adapting himself to the doctor’s tone, language, jargon, 
 whether from conscious imitation, transference, or even 
 resistance, when he can fight the analyst with his own 
 weapons; how then can you possibly prevent his beginning 
 to produce all manner of phantasies as supposedly real 
 
 1 “Selected Papers on Hysteria and other Psychoneuroses." Mono¬ 
 graph Series , No 4, last edition. 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 261 
 
 traumata of early childhood, and dreams supposedly sponta¬ 
 neous which are in reality, though not designedly, directly 
 or indirectly suggested ? I then told you that Forel (“ Der 
 Hypnotismus ”) made his patients dream just what he 
 wanted, and I have myself easily repeated the experiment. 
 But if the analyst desires to suggest nothing , should he 
 remain silent for the most part and let the patient speak 
 —except that in interpreting dreams he may lay before the 
 patient his own interpretation ? 
 
 VIII 
 
 From Dr. Jung . 
 
 18th February, 1918. 
 
 I cannot but agree with your observation that confusion 
 reigns in psychoanalytic literature. Just at this moment 
 different points of view are developing in the theoretical 
 conception of the analytic results; not to mention many 
 individual deviations. Over against Freud’s almost purely 
 causal conception, there has developed, apparently in abso¬ 
 lute contradiction, Adler’s purely final view, but in reality 
 the latter is an essential complement of Freud’s theory. I 
 hold rather to a middle course, taking into account both 
 standpoints. That discord still reigns round the ultimate 
 questions of psychoanalysis need not surprise us when 
 we consider the difficulty. The problem of the therapeutic 
 effect of psychoanalysis is bound up in particular with 
 supremely difficult questions, so that it would indeed be 
 astonishing if we had yet reached final certitude. Stekel’s 
 statement to which you refer is very characteristic. What he 
 says about love for the doctor is obviously true, but it is 
 a simple affirmation, and not a goal or plumb-line of the 
 analytic therapy. If his statement were the goal, many 
 cures, it is true, would be possible, but also many calamities 
 might result which are avoidable. But the aim is so to 
 educate the patient, that he will get well for his own sake 
 
*262 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 and by reason of his own determination, rather than to procure 
 his doctor some sort of advantage ; though of course it would 
 be absurd from the therapeutic standpoint not to allow the 
 patient to get better because in doing so he does the doctor a 
 good turn also. It suffices if the patient knows it. But we 
 must not prescribe for him which path he should take to 
 recovery. Naturally it seems to me (from the psycho¬ 
 analytic standpoint) an inadmissible use of suggestive in¬ 
 fluence if the patient is compelled to get better out of love for 
 the doctor. And indeed such compulsion may sometimes take 
 bitter revenge. The “you must and shall be saved’ is no 
 more to be commended in nerve-therapy than in any other 
 department of life. It contradicts the principle of analytic 
 treatment, which shuns all coercion and desires to let every¬ 
 thing grow up from within. I do not, as you know, object to 
 influencing by use of suggestion in general, but merely to a 
 doubtful motivation. If the doctor demands that his patient 
 shall get well from love of himself, the patient may easily 
 reckon on reciprocal services and will without doubt try to 
 extort them. I can but utter a warning against any such 
 method. A far stronger motive for recovery—also a far 
 healthier and ethically more valuable one—consists in the 
 patient’s thorough insight into the real state of affairs, the 
 recognition of how things are now and how they ought to be. 
 The man of any sort of worth will then discern that he can 
 hardly sit down at ease in the quagmire of his neurosis. 
 
 With your rendering of what I said about the healing 
 power of personality I cannot entirely agree. I wrote that 
 the doctor’s personality has a power for healing because the 
 patient reads the doctor’s personality: not that he produces 
 a cure through love of the doctor. The doctor cannot prevent 
 the patient’s beginning to behave himself towards his con¬ 
 flicts just as the doctor himself behaves, for nothing is finer 
 than a neurotic’s intuition. But every strong transference 
 serves this same purpose. If the doctor makes himself charm¬ 
 ing he buys off from the patient a series of resistances which 
 he should have overcome, and whose overcoming will cer¬ 
 tainly have to be gone through later on. Nothing is won 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 263 
 
 by this technique; at most the beginning of the analysis 
 is made easy for the patient (though this is not quite with¬ 
 out its use in certain cases). To be able to crawl through a 
 barbed wire fence without some enticing end in view testifies 
 to an ascetic strength of will which you can expect neither 
 from the ordinary person nor from the neurotic. Even the 
 Christian religion, whose moral demands certainly reached 
 a great height, thought it no scorn to represent the near 
 approach of the Kingdom of Heaven as goal and reward of 
 earthly pain. In my view, the doctor may well speak of the 
 rewards which follow the toils of analysis. But he must not 
 depict himself or his friendship, in hints or promises as reward, 
 if he is not seriously determined to keep his word. 
 
 In regard to your criticism of my outline-definition of the 
 conception of psychoanalysis, it must be observed that the 
 road over the steep mountain is the line of least resistance 
 only when a ferocious bull waits for you in the pleasant 
 valley-road. In other words, the line of least resistance is a 
 compromise with all demands, and not with inertia alone. 
 It is prejudice to think that the line of least resistance 
 coincides with the path of inertia. (That’s what we thought 
 in the days when we dawdled over Latin exercises.) Inertia 
 is only an immediate advantage and leads to consequences 
 which produce the worst resistances; as a whole, it does not 
 lie in the direction of least resistance. Life along the line 
 of least resistance is not synonymous with a man’s regard¬ 
 less pursuit of his own egoistic desires. He who lives thus, 
 soon painfully perceives that he is not moving along the 
 line of least resistance, for he is also a social being, and 
 not merely a bundle of egoistic instincts, as some people 
 rather like to depict him. This is best seen among primitive 
 men and herd-animals, who all have a richly developed social 
 sense. Without it, indeed, the herd could not exist at all. 
 Man as herd-animal has therefore by no manner of means to 
 subject himself to laws enforced on him from without; he 
 carries his social imperatives within himself, a priori, as an 
 inborn necessity. As you see, I here put myself in decided 
 opposition to certain views—I think quite unjustified—which 
 
264 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 have been put forth here and there inside the psychoanalytic 
 movement. 
 
 So the line of least resistance does not signify eo ipso 
 the avoidance of unpleasure so much as the just balancing 
 of unpleasure and pleasure. Painful activity by itself leads 
 to no result but exhaustion. Man must be able to take 
 pleasure in his life, or the struggle of life has no reward. 
 What direction the patient’s future life should take is not 
 ours to judge. We must not imagine we know better 
 than his own nature—or we prove ourselves educators of 
 the worst kind. Psychoanalysis is but a means of removing 
 stones from the path, and in no way a method (as hypnotism 
 often pretends to be) of putting anything into the patient 
 which was not there before. So we renounce any attempt 
 to give a direction, and occupy ourselves only with setting 
 in proper relief all that analysis brings into the light of 
 day, in order that the patient may see clearly, and be 
 in a position to draw the appropriate conclusions. Any¬ 
 thing that he has not himself won, he does not in the long 
 run believe in; and all that he has received from authority 
 keeps him still infantile. He must rather be put in such 
 a position as will enable him to take control of his own 
 life. It is the art of the psychoanalyst to follow the 
 patient’s apparently mistaken paths without prejudice, and 
 thus to discover his strayed and separated sheep. Working 
 on a system, according to a preconceived scheme, we spoil 
 the best results of the analysis. So I hold fast to the 
 maxim you quote from me: “Every interference on the 
 part of the analyst is a gross mistake in technique. So- 
 called chance is the law and the order of psychoanalysis.” 
 
 You surely recognise that the schoolmaster-view never 
 releases us from the attempt to correct Nature and the desire 
 to force upon her our limited “truths.” In nerve-therapy 
 we get so many wonderful experiences—unforeseen and im¬ 
 possible to foresee—that surely we ought to dismiss all hope 
 of being infallibly able to point out the right path. The 
 roundabout way and even the wrong way are necessary. If 
 you deny this you must also deny that the errors in the 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 265 
 
 history of the whole world have been necessary. That indeed 
 were a world-conception fit for a schoolmaster. For psycho¬ 
 analysis this view suits not at all. 
 
 The question as to how much the analyst involuntarily 
 suggests to the patient is a very ticklish one. Undoubtedly 
 that has a much more important place than psychoanalysts 
 have till now admitted. Experience has convinced us that 
 the patient rapidly avails himself of the ideas won through 
 the analysis, and of whatever comes to light through 
 the shaping' of the dreams. You may obtain all manner 
 of such impressions from Stekel’s book: “Die Sprache 
 des Traumes ” (“The Language of the Dream”). I had 
 once a most instructive experience: a very intelligent lady 
 had from the beginning extreme transference phantasies 
 which appeared in well-recognised erotic forms. Nevertheless 
 she entirely declined to admit their existence. Of course 
 she was betrayed by the dreams in which my own person 
 was hidden behind some other figure, and often difficult 
 to unveil. A long series of such dreams forced me at 
 last to say : “ So you see it is always like that, and the 
 person of whom one has really dreamt is replaced and 
 hidden by some one else in the manifest dream.” Till then 
 the patient had obstinately contested this point. But this 
 time she could no longer evade it, and had to admit my 
 rule—but only that she might play me a trick. Next day 
 she brought me a dream in which she and I appeared in 
 a manifest lascivious situation. I was naturally perplexed 
 and thought of my rule. Her first association to the dream 
 was the malicious question: “It’s always true, isn’t it, that 
 the person of whom one is really dreaming is replaced by 
 some one else in the manifest dream-content ? ” 
 
 Clearly, she had made use of her experience to find a 
 protective formula by means of which she secured the open 
 expression of her phantasies in an apparently innocent way. 
 
 This example aptly shows how patients avail themselves 
 of insight gained during analysis ; they use it symbolically. 
 You get caught in your own net if you give credence to 
 the idea of unalterable, permanent symbols. That has 
 
266 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 already happened to more than one psychoanalyst. It 
 is therefore fallacious to try to prove any particular theory 
 from the dreams arising in the course of analysis. For this 
 purpose the only conclusive dreams are those derived from 
 demonstrably uninfluenced persons. In such cases one 
 would only have to exclude the possibility of telepathic 
 thought-reading. But if you concede this possibility you 
 will have to subject very many things to a rigorous re¬ 
 examination and, among others, many judicial verdicts. 
 
 But although we must do full justice to the force of 
 suggestion, we must not overrate it. The patient is no 
 empty sack into which you may stuff whatever you like; 
 on the contrary, he brings his own predetermined contents 
 which strive obstinately against suggestion and always ob¬ 
 trude themselves afresh. Through analytic “ suggestions, ” 
 only the outward form is determined, never the content— 
 this is always being freshly impressed upon my notice. The 
 form is the unlimited, the ever-changing; but the content is 
 fixed, and only to be assailed slowly and with great difficulty. 
 Were it not so, suggestion therapy would be in every respect 
 the most effective, profitable, and easiest therapy,—a real 
 panacea. That, alas ! it is not, as every honourable hypnotist 
 will freely admit. 
 
 To return to your question as to how far it is con¬ 
 ceivable that patients may deceive the doctor by making use 
 —perhaps involuntarily—of his expressions: this is indeed 
 a very serious problem. The analyst must exercise all pos¬ 
 sible care and practise unsparing self-criticism if he would 
 avoid, as far as possible, being led into error by patients’ 
 dreams. It may be admitted that they almost always use 
 modes of expression in their dreams learnt in analysis 
 some more, some less. Interpretations of earlier symbols 
 will themselves be used again as fresh symbols in later dreams. 
 It happens not seldom, for instance, that sexual situations 
 which appear in symbolic form in the earlier dreams, will 
 appear “undisguised” in later ones, and here again they 
 are the symbolic expression of ideas of another character 
 capable of further analysis. The not infrequent dream 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 267 
 
 of incestuous cohabitation is by no means an “undisguised” 
 content, but a dream as freshly symbolic and capable of 
 analysis as all others. You surely only reach the paradoxical 
 view that such a dream is “ undisguised ” if you are pledged 
 to the sexual theory of neurosis. 
 
 That the patient may mislead the doctor for a longer 
 or shorter time by means of deliberate deception and mis¬ 
 representation is possible ; just as occasionally happens in all 
 other departments of medicine. Therewith the patient injures 
 himself most, since he has to pay for every deception or 
 suppression, with aggravated or additional symptoms. De¬ 
 ceptions are so obviously disadvantageous to himself that 
 in the end he can scarcely avoid the definite relinquishment 
 of such a course. 
 
 The technique of analysis we can best postpone for oral 
 discussion. 
 
 IX 
 
 From Dr. Loy. 
 
 23rd February, 1913. 
 
 From your letter of 16th February I want first to single out 
 the end, where you so admirably assign to its proper place 
 the power of suggestion in psychoanalysis: “ The patient is 
 no empty sack, into which you can cram what you will; he 
 brings his own predetermined content with him, with which 
 one has always to reckon afresh.” With this I fully agree, 
 my own experience confirms it. And you add : “ This content 
 remains untouched by involuntary analytical suggestion, but 
 its form is altered, proteus-fashion, beyond measure.” So 
 it becomes a matter of a sort of “mimicry” by which the 
 patient seeks to escape the analyst, who is driving him into a 
 corner and therefore for the moment seems to him an enemy. 
 Until at last, through the joint work of patient and analyst 
 —the former spontaneously yielding up his psychic content, 
 the latter only interpreting and explaining—the analysis 
 succeeds in bringing so much light into the darkness of the 
 
268 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 patient’s psyche that he can see the true relationships and, 
 without any preconceived plan of the analyst’s, can himself 
 draw the right conclusions and apply them to his future life. 
 This new life will betake itself along the line of least resist¬ 
 ance—or should we not rather say, the least resistances, as 
 • a “ compromise with all the necessities,” in a just balancing 
 of pleasure and unpleasure ? It is not we who must arbitra¬ 
 rily seek to determine how matters stand for the patient and 
 what will benefit him; his own nature decides. In other words, 
 we must assume the role of the accoucheur who can bring 
 out into the light of day a child already alive, but who must 
 avoid a series of mistakes if the child is to remain able to live 
 and the mother is not to be injured. All this is very clear to 
 me, since it is only the application to the psychoanalytic 
 method of a general principle which should have universal 
 validity: never do violence to Nature. Hence I also see 
 that the psychoanalyst must follow his patient’s appar¬ 
 ently “ wrong roads ” if the patient is ever to arrive at his 
 own convictions and be freed once and for all from infantile 
 reliance on authority. We ourselves as individuals have learnt, 
 or can only learn, by making mistakes, how to avoid them 
 for the future, and mankind as a whole has created the 
 conditions of its present and future stages of development 
 quite as much by frequent travel along wrong paths as along 
 the right road. Have not many neurotics—I do not know if 
 you will agree, but I think so—become ill partly for the very 
 reason that their infantile faith in authority has fallen to 
 pieces ? Now they stand before the wreckage of their faith, 
 weeping over it, in dire distress because they cannot find a 
 substitute which shall show them clearly whither their life’s 
 course should now turn. So they remain stuck fast betwixt 
 infancy which they must unwillingly renounce, and the 
 serious duties of the present and future (the moral conflict). 
 I see, particularly in such cases, you are right in saying 
 it is a mistake to seek to replace the lost faith in 
 authority by another similar faith, certain to be useful only 
 so long as the belief lasted. This applies to the deliberate 
 use of suggestion in psychoanalysis, and the building upon 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 269 
 
 the transference to the doctor as the object of the analytic 
 therapy. I am no longer in doubt about your maxim: 
 “ Every interference on the analyst’s part is a gross mistake 
 in technique. So-called chance is the law and the order of 
 psychoanalysis.” Further, I am entirely in agreement with 
 you when you say that altruism necessarily must be innate in 
 man considered as a herd-animal. The contrary would be the 
 thing to be wondered at. 
 
 I should be much disposed to agree that not the egoistic, 
 but the altruistic instincts are primary. Love and trust 
 of the child for the mother who feeds it, nurses, cherishes 
 and pets it,—love of the man for his wife, regarded as the 
 going out towards another’s personality,—love for offspring, 
 care for it,—love for kinsfolk, etc. The egoistic instincts 
 owe their origin to the desire for exclusive possession of all 
 that surrounds love, the desire to possess the mother exclu¬ 
 sively, in opposition to the father and the brothers and 
 sisters, the desire to have a woman for himself alone, the 
 desire to possess exclusively ornaments, clothing, etc. But 
 perhaps you will say I am paradoxical and that the instincts, 
 egoistic or altruistic, arise together in the heart of man, and 
 that every instinct is ambivalent in nature. But I have to 
 ask if the feelings and instincts are really ambivalent ? Are 
 they exactly bipolar ? Are the qualities of all emotions 
 altogether comparable ? Is love really the opposite of hate ? 
 
 However that may be, in any case it is well that man 
 bears the social law within himself, as an inborn imperative ; 
 otherwise our civilised humanity would fare badly, having to 
 subject themselves to laws imposed on them from outside 
 only: they would be impervious to the inheritance of the 
 earlier religious faiths, and would soon fall into complete 
 anarchy. Man would then have to ask himself whether it 
 would not be better to maintain by force an extreme belief in 
 religious authority such as prevailed in the Middle Ages. For 
 the benefits of civilisation, which strove to grant every indi¬ 
 vidual as much outward freedom as was consistent with the 
 freedom of others, would be well worth the sacrifice of free 
 research. But the age of this use of force against nature is 
 
270 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 past, civilised man has left this wrong track behind, not 
 arbitrarily, but obeying an inner necessity, and we may look 
 joyfully towards the future. Mankind, advancing in know¬ 
 ledge, will find its way across the ruins of faith in authority 
 to the moral autonomy of the individual. 
 
 X 
 
 From Dr. Jung. 
 
 March, 1913. 
 
 At various places in your letters it has struck me that 
 the problem of “transference” seems to you particularly 
 critical. Your feeling is entirely justified. The transference 
 is indeed at present the central problem of analysis. 
 
 You know that Freud regards the transference as the 
 projection of infantile phantasies upon the doctor. To this 
 extent the transference is an infantile-erotic relationship. 
 All the same, viewed from the outside, superficially, the 
 thing by no means always looks like an infantile-erotic 
 situation. As long as it is a question of the so-called 
 “positive” transference, the infantile-erotic character can 
 usually be recognised without difficulty. But if it is a 
 “ negative ” transference, you can see nothing but violent 
 resistances which sometimes veil themselves in seemingly 
 critical or sceptical dress. In a certain sense the deter¬ 
 mining factor in such circumstances is the patient’s relation 
 to authority, that is, in the last resort, to the father. In 
 both forms of transference the doctor is treated as if he 
 were the father—according to the situation either tenderly 
 or with hostility. In this view the transference has the 
 force of a resistance as soon as it becomes a question of 
 resolving the infantile attitude. But this form of trans¬ 
 ference must be destroyed, inasmuch as the object of 
 analysis is the patient’s moral autonomy. A lofty aim, you 
 will say. Indeed lofty, and far off, but still not altogether 
 so remote, since it actually corresponds to one of the pre¬ 
 dominating tendencies of our stage of civilisation, namely, 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 271 
 
 that urge towards individualisation by which our whole 
 epoch deserves to be characterised. (Cf. Muller-Lyer: “ Die 
 Familie.”) If a man does not believe in this orientation 
 and still bows before the scientific causal view-point, he will, 
 of course, be disposed merely to resolve this hostility, and to 
 let the patient remain in a positive relationship towards the 
 father, thus expressing the ideal of an earlier epoch of civilisa¬ 
 tion. It is commonly recognised that the Catholic Church 
 represents one of the most powerful organisations based upon 
 this earlier tendency. I cannot venture to doubt that there 
 are very many individuals who feel happier under com¬ 
 pulsion from others than when forced to discipline them¬ 
 selves. (Cf. Shaw: 4 £ Man and Superman.”) Nonetheless, 
 we do our neurotic patients a grievous wrong if we try to force 
 them all into the category of the unfree. Among neurotics, 
 there are not a few who do not require any reminders of 
 their social duties and obligations; rather are they born or 
 destined to become the bearers of new social ideals. They 
 are neurotic so long as they bow down to authority and 
 refuse the freedom to which they are destined. Whilst we 
 look at life only retrospectively, as is the case in the Viennese 
 psychoanalytic writings, we shall never do justice to this 
 type of case and never bring the longed-for deliverance. For 
 in that fashion we can only educate them to become obedient 
 children, and thereby strengthen the very forces that have 
 made them ill—their conservative retardation and their sub¬ 
 missiveness to authority. Up to a certain point this is the 
 right way to take with the infantile resistance which cannot 
 yet reconcile itself with authority. But the power which 
 edged them out from their retrograde dependence on the 
 father is not at all a childish desire for insubordination, but 
 the powerful urge towards the development of an individual 
 personality, and this struggle is their imperative life’s task. 
 Adler’s psychology does much greater justice to this situation 
 than Freud’s 
 
 In the one case (that of infantile intractability) the posi¬ 
 tive transference signifies a highly important achievement, 
 heralding cure; in the other (infantile submissiveness) it 
 
272 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 portends a dangerous backsliding, a convenient evasion of 
 life’s duty. The negative transference represents in the first 
 case an increased resistance, thus a backsliding and an 
 evasion of duty, but in the second it is an advance of heal¬ 
 ing significance. (For the two types, cf. Adler’s “ Trotz und 
 Gehorsam.”) 
 
 The transference then is, as you see, to be judged quite 
 differently in different cases. 
 
 The psychological process of “ transference ”—be it nega¬ 
 tive or positive—consists in the libido entrenching itself , as 
 it were, round the personality of the doctor, the doctor 
 accordingly representing certain emotional values. (As you 
 know, by libido I understand very much what Antiquity 
 meant by the cosmogenic principle of Eros; in modern termi¬ 
 nology simply “ psychic energy.”) The patient is bound to 
 the doctor, be it in affection, be it in opposition, and cannot 
 fail to follow and imitate the doctor’s psychic adaptations. 
 To this he finds himself urgently compelled. And with the 
 best will in the world and all technical skill, the doctor can¬ 
 not prevent him, for intuition works surely and instinctively, 
 in despite of the conscious judgment, be it never so strong. 
 Were the doctor himself neurotic, and inadequate in response 
 to the demands of the external life, or inharmonious within, 
 the patient would copy the defect and build it up into the 
 fabric of his own presentations : you may imagine the result. 
 
 Accordingly I cannot regard the transference as merely 
 the transference of infantile-erotic phantasies; no doubt that 
 is what it is from one standpoint, but I see also in it, as I 
 said in an earlier letter, the process of the growth of feeling 
 and adaptation. From this standpoint the infantile erotic 
 phantasies, in spite of their indisputable reality, appear 
 rather as material for comparison or as analogous pictures 
 of something not understood as yet, than as independent 
 desires. This seems to me the real reason of their being 
 unconscious. The patient, not knowing the right attitude, 
 tries to grasp at a right relationship to the doctor by way of 
 comparison and analogy with his infantile experiences. It is 
 not surprising that he gropes back for just the most intimate 
 
SOME CRUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 273 
 
 relations of bis childhood, to discover the appropriate formula 
 for his attitude to the doctor, for this relationship also is 
 very intimate, and to some extent different from the sexual 
 relationship, just as is that of the child towards its parents. 
 This relationship—child to parent—which Christianity has 
 everywhere set up as the symbolic formula for human re¬ 
 lationships, provides a way of restoring to the patient that 
 directness of ordinary human emotion of which he had been 
 deprived through the inroad of sexual and social values (from 
 the standpoint of power, etc.). The purely sexual, more or 
 less primitive and barbaric valuation, operates in far-reaching 
 ways against a direct, simple human relationship, and there¬ 
 upon a blocking of the libido occurs which easily gives rise 
 to neurotic formations. By means of analysis of the infantile 
 poition of the transference-phantasies, the patient is brought 
 back to the remembrance of his childhood’s relationship, and 
 stripped of its infantile qualities—gives him a beautiful, 
 clear picture of direct human intercourse as opposed to the 
 puiely sexual valuation. I cannot regard it as other than a 
 misconception to judge the childish relationship retrospec¬ 
 tively and therefore as exclusively a sexual one, even though 
 a certain sexual content can in no wise be denied to it. 
 
 Recapitulating, let me say this much of the positive trans¬ 
 ference :— 
 
 The patients libido fastens upon the person of the doctor, 
 taking the shape of expectation, hope, interest, trust, friend¬ 
 ship and love. Then the transference produces the projec¬ 
 tion upon the doctor of infantile phantasies, often of pre¬ 
 dominatingly erotic tinge. At this stage the transference is 
 usually of a decidedly sexual character, in spite of the sexual 
 component remaining relatively unconscious. But this phase 
 of feeling serves the higher aspect of the growth of human 
 leeling as a bridge, whereby the patient becomes conscious of 
 the defectiveness of his own adaptation, through his recog¬ 
 nition of the doctor s attitude, which is accepted as one 
 suitable to life’s demands, and normal in its human relation¬ 
 ships. By help of the analysis, and the recalling of his 
 childish relationships, the road is seen which leads right 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 out of those exclusively sexual or “power” evaluations of 
 social surroundings which were acquired in pubeity and 
 strongly reinforced by social prejudices. This road leads on 
 towards a purely human relation and intimacy, not derived 
 solely from the existence of a sexual or power-relation, but 
 depending much more upon a regard for personality. That 
 is the road to freedom which the doctor must show his 
 patient. 
 
 Here indeed I must not omit to say that the obstinate 
 clinging to the sexual valuation would not be maintained 
 so tenaciously if it had not also a very deep significance 
 for that period of life in which propagation is of primary 
 importance. The discovery of the value of human personality 
 belongs to a riper age. For young people the search for the 
 valuable personality is very often merely a cloak for the 
 evasion of their biological duty. On the other hand, an 
 older person’s exaggerated looking back towards the sexual 
 valuation of youth, is an undiscerning and often cowardly 
 and convenient retreat from a duty which demands the 
 recognition of personal values and his own enrolment among 
 the ranks of the priesthood of a newer civilisation. The 
 young neurotic shrinks back in terror from the extension of 
 his tasks in life, the old from the dwindling and shrinking 
 
 of the treasures he has attained. 
 
 This conception of the transference is, you will have 
 noted, most intimately connected with the acceptance of the 
 idea of biological “duties.” By this term you must under¬ 
 stand those tendencies or motives in human beings giving 
 rise to civilisation, as inevitably as in the bird they give rise 
 to the exquisitely woven nest, and in the stag to the produc¬ 
 tion of antlers. The purely causal, not to say materialistic 
 conception of the immediately preceding decades, would con¬ 
 ceive the organic formation as the reaction of living matter, 
 and this doubtless provides a position heuristically useful, 
 but, as far as any real understanding goes, leads only to a 
 more or less ingenious and apparent reduction and postpone¬ 
 ment of the problem. Let me refer you to Bergson’s 
 excellent criticism of this conception. From external forces 
 
SOME CEUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 275 
 
 but half the result, at most, could ensue; the other half lies 
 within the individual disposition of the living material, 
 without which it is obvious the specific reaction-formation 
 could never be achieved. This principle must be applied 
 also in psychology. The psyche does not only react; it also 
 gives its own individual reply to the influences at work upon 
 it, and at least half the resulting configuration and its exist¬ 
 ing disposition is due to this. Civilisation is never, and again 
 never, to be regarded as merely reaction to environment. 
 That shallow explanation we may abandon peacefully to the 
 past century. It is just these very dispositions which we 
 must regard as imperative in the psychological sphere; it 
 is easy to get convincing proof daily of their compulsive 
 power. What I call “biological duty”is identical with these 
 dispositions. 
 
 In conclusion, I must deal with a matter which seems 
 to have caused you uneasiness, namely, the moral question. 
 Among our patients we see many so-called immoral ten¬ 
 dencies, therefore the thought involuntarily forces itself upon 
 the psychotherapist as to how things would go if all these 
 desires were to be gratified. You will have discerned already 
 from my earlier letters that these desires must not be 
 estimated too literally. As a rule it is rather a matter of 
 unmeasured and exaggerated demands, arising out of the 
 patient’s stored-up libido, which have usurped a prominent 
 position, usually quite against his own wish. In most cases 
 the canalisation of the libido for the fulfilment of life’s 
 simple duties, suffices to reduce these exaggerated desires 
 to zero. But in some cases it must be recognised that such 
 “immoral” tendencies are in no way removed by analysis; 
 on the contrary, they appear more often and more clearly, 
 hence it becomes plain that they belong to the individual’s 
 biological duties* And this is particularly true of certain 
 sexual claims, whose aim is an individual valuation of 
 sexuality. This is not a question for pathology, it is a 
 social question of to-day which peremptorily demands an 
 ethical solution. For many it is a biological duty to work 
 for the solution of this question, to discover some sort of 
 
276 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 practical solution. (Nature, it is well known, does not con¬ 
 tent herself with theories.) To-day we have no real sexual 
 morality, only a legal attitude towards sexuality; just as the 
 early Middle Ages had no genuine morality for financial 
 transactions, but only prejudices and a legal standpoint. We 
 are not yet sufficiently advanced in the domain of free sexual 
 activity to distinguish between a moral and an immoral 
 relationship. We have a clear expression of this in the 
 customary treatment, or rather ill-treatment, of unmarried 
 motherhood. For a great deal of sickening hypocrisy, for 
 the high tide of prostitution, and for the prevalence of sexual 
 diseases, we may thank both our barbarous, undifferentiated 
 legal judgments about the sexual situation, and our inability 
 to develop a finer moral perception of the immense psychologic 
 differences that may exist in free sexual activity. 
 
 This reference to the existence of an exceedingly com¬ 
 plicated and significant problem, may suffice to explain why 
 we by no means seldom meet with individuals among our 
 patients who are quite specially called, because of their 
 spiritual and social gifts, to take an active part in the work 
 of civilisation—for this they are biologically destined. We 
 must never forget that what to-day is deemed a moral law 
 will to-morrow be cast into the melting-pot and transformed, 
 so that in the near or distant future it may serve as the 
 basis of a new ethical structure. This much we ought to 
 have learnt from the history of civilisation, that the forms 
 of morality belong to the category of transitory things. 
 The finest psychological tact is required with these critical 
 natures, so that the dangerous corners of infantile irrespon¬ 
 sibility, indolence and uncontrolledness may be turned, and 
 a pure, untroubled vision of the possibility of a moral 
 autonomous activity made possible. Five per cent, on 
 money lent is fair interest, twenty per cent, is despicable 
 usury. That point of view we have to apply equally to 
 the sexual situation. 
 
 So it comes about that there are many neurotics whose 
 innermost delicacy of feeling prevents their being at one 
 with present-day morality, and they cannot adapt themselves 
 
SOME CBUCIAL POINTS IN PSYCHOANALYSIS 277 
 
 to civilisation as long as their moral code has gaps in 
 it, the filling up of which is a crying need of the age. 
 We deceive ourselves greatly if we suppose that many 
 mariied women are neurotic only because they are un¬ 
 satisfied sexually or because they have not found the right 
 man, or because they still have a fixation to their infantile 
 sexuality. The real ground of the neurosis is, in many 
 cases, the inability to recognise the work that is waiting 
 foi them, of helping to build up a new civilisation. We 
 are all far too much at the standpoint of the “nothing- 
 but psychology; we persist in thinking we can squeeze 
 the new future which is pressing in at the door, into the 
 framework of the old and the known. And thus the view is 
 only of the present, never of the future. But it was of most 
 profound psychological significance when Christianity first 
 discovered, in the orientation towards the future, a redeem¬ 
 ing principle for mankind. In the past nothing can be 
 altered, and in the present little, but the future is ours and 
 capable of raising life’s intensity to its highest pitch. A 
 little space of youth belongs to us, all the rest of life 
 belongs to our children. 
 
 Thus does your question as to the significance of the 
 loss of faith in authority answer itself. The neurotic is ill 
 not because he has lost his old faith, but because he has not 
 yet found a new form for his finest aspirations. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 IN PSYCHOPATHOLOGY 1 
 
 When we speak of a thing as being “ unconscious ” we must 
 not forget that from the point of view of the functioning of 
 the brain a thing may be unconscious to us in two ways— 
 physiologically or psychologically. I shall only deal with 
 the subject from the latter point of view. So that for our 
 purposes we may define the unconscious as “ the sum of all 
 those psychological events which are not apperceived, and so 
 are unconscious.” 
 
 The unconscious contains all those psychic exents whic , 
 because of the lack of the necessary intensity of their func¬ 
 tioning, are unable to pass the threshold which divides the 
 conscious from the unconscious; so that they remain in 
 effect below the surface of the conscious, and flit by in 
 subliminal phantom forms. 
 
 It has been known to psychologists since the time of 
 Leibniz that the elements—that is to say, the ideas and 
 feelings which go to make up the conscious mind, the so- 
 called conscious content—are of a complex nature, and rest 
 upon far simpler and altogether unconscious elements; it is 
 the combination of these which gives the element of conscious¬ 
 ness. Leibniz has already mentioned the perceptions insen- 
 sibles —those vague perceptions which Kant called shadowy 
 representations, which could only attain to consciousness in 
 an indirect manner. Later philosophers assigned the first 
 place to the unconscious, as the foundation upon which the 
 conscious was built. 
 
 1 Paper given before the Section of Neurology and Psychological Medicine, 
 Aberdeen, 1914. Reprinted from the British Medical Journal , by kind per¬ 
 mission of the Editor, Dr. Dawson Williams. 
 
THE UNCONSCIOUS IN PSYCHOPATHOLOGY 279 
 
 But this is not the place to consider the many speculative 
 theories nor the endless philosophical discussions concerning 
 the nature and quality of the unconscious. We must be 
 satisfied with the definition already given, which will prove 
 quite sufficient for our purpose, namely the conception of the 
 unconscious as the sum of all psychical processes below the 
 threshold of consciousness. 
 
 The question of the importance of the unconscious for 
 psychopathology may be briefly put as follows: “ In what 
 manner may we expect to find unconscious psychic material 
 behave in cases of psychosis and neurosis ? ” 
 
 In order to get a better grasp of the situation in con¬ 
 nexion with mental disorders, we may profitably consider 
 first how unconscious psychic material behaves in the case 
 of normal people,especially trying to visualize what in normal 
 men is apt to be unconscious. As a preliminary to this 
 knowledge we must get a complete understanding of what is 
 contained in the conscious mind; and then, by a process of 
 elimination we may expect to find what is contained in the 
 unconscious, for obviously —per exclusionem —what is in the 
 conscious cannot be unconscious. For this purpose we 
 examine all activities, interests, passions, cares, and joys, 
 which are conscious to the individual. All that we are thus 
 able to discover becomes, ipso facto, of no further moment as 
 a content of the unconscious, and we may then expect to find 
 only those things contained in the unconscious which we have 
 not found in the conscious mind. 
 
 Let us take a concrete example: A merchant, who is 
 happily married, father of two children, thorough and pains¬ 
 taking in his business affairs, and at the same time trying in 
 a reasonable degree to improve his position in the world, 
 carries himself with self-respect, is enlightened in religious 
 matters, and even belongs to a society for the discussion of 
 liberal ideas. 
 
 What can we reasonably consider to be the content of the 
 unconscious in the case of such an individual ? 
 
 Considered from the above theoretical standpoint, every¬ 
 thing in the personality that is not contained in the conscious 
 
280 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 mind should be found in the unconscious. Let us agree, 
 then, that this man consciously considers himself to possess 
 all the fine attributes we have just described—no more, no 
 less. Then it must obviously result that he is entirely 
 unaware that a man may be not merely industrious, thorough, 
 and painstaking, but that he may also be careless, indifferent, 
 untrustworthy; for some of these last attributes are the 
 common heritage of mankind and may be found to be 
 an essential component of every character. This worthy 
 merchant forgets that quite recently he allowed several letters 
 to remain unanswered which he could easily have answered 
 at once. He forgets, too, that he failed to bring a book 
 home which his wife has asked him to get at the book-stall, 
 where she had previously ordered it, although he might 
 easily have made a note of her wish. But such occurrences 
 are common with him. Therefore we are obliged to conclude 
 that he is also lazy and untrustworthy. He is convinced 
 that he is a thoroughly loyal subject; but for all that he 
 failed to declare the whole of his income to the assessor, and 
 when they raise his taxes, he votes for the Socialists. 
 
 He believes himself to be an independent thinker, yet a 
 little while back he undertook a big deal on the Stock Ex¬ 
 change, and when he came to enter the details of the trans¬ 
 action in his books he notices with considerable misgivings 
 that it fell upon a Friday, the 13th of the month. There¬ 
 fore, he is also superstitious and not free in his thinking. 
 
 So here we are not at all surprised to find these com¬ 
 pensating vices to be an essential content of the uncon¬ 
 scious. Obviously, therefore, the reverse is true—namely, 
 that unconscious virtues compensate for conscious de¬ 
 ficiencies. The law which ought to follow as the result of 
 such deductions would appear to be quite simple—to wit, 
 the conscious spendthrift is unconsciously a miser; the 
 philanthropist is unconsciously an egoist and misanthrope. 
 But, unfortunately, it is not quite so easy as that, although 
 there is a basis of truth in this simple rule. For there are 
 essential hereditary dispositions of a latent or manifest 
 nature which upset the simple rule of compensation, and 
 
THE UNCONSCIOUS IN PSYCHOPATHOLOGY 281 
 
 which vary greatly in individual cases. From entirely 
 different motives a man may, for instance, be a philan¬ 
 thropist, but the manner of his philanthropy depends upon 
 his originally inherited disposition, and the way in which the 
 philanthropic attitude is compensated depends upon his 
 motives. It is not sufficient simply to know that a certain 
 person is philanthropic in order to diagnose an unconscious 
 egoism. For we must also bring to such a diagnosis a careful 
 study of the motives involved. 
 
 In the case of normal people the principal function of the 
 unconscious is to effect a compensation and thus produce a 
 balance. All extreme conscious tendencies are softened and 
 toned down through an effective opposite impulse in the un¬ 
 conscious. This compensating agency, as I have tried to 
 show in the case of the merchant, maintains itself through 
 certain unconscious, inconsequent activities, as it were, which 
 Freud has very well described as symptomatic acts ( Symptom- 
 handlungen ). 
 
 To Freud we owe thanks also for having called attention 
 to the importance of dreams, for by means of them, also, we 
 are able to learn much about this compensating function. 
 There is a fine historical example of this in the well- 
 known dream of Nebuchadnezzar in the fourth chapter of 
 the Book of Daniel, where Nebuchadnezzar at the height 
 of his power had a dream which foretold his downfall. He 
 dreamed of a tree which had raised its head even up to 
 heaven and now must be hewn down. This is a dream 
 which is obviously a counterpoise to the exaggerated feeling 
 of royal power. 
 
 Now considering states in which the mental balance is 
 disturbed, we can easily see, from what has preceded, wherein 
 lies the importance of the unconscious for psychopathology. 
 Let us ponder the question of where and in what manner 
 the unconscious manifests itself in abnormal mental condi¬ 
 tions. The way in which the unconscious works is most 
 clearly seen in disturbances of a psychogenic nature, such as 
 hysteria, compulsion neurosis, etc. 
 
 We have known for a long time that certain symptoms 
 
282 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of these disturbances are produced by unconscious psychic 
 events. Just as clear, but less recognised, are the mani¬ 
 festations of the unconscious in actually insane patients. 
 As the intuitive ideas of normal men do not spring from 
 logical combinations of the conscious mind, so the halluci¬ 
 nations and delusions of the insane arise, not out of conscious 
 but out of unconscious processes. 
 
 Formerly, when we held a more materialistic view of 
 psychiatry we were inclined to believe that all delusions, hal¬ 
 lucinations, stereotypic acts, etc., were provoked by morbid 
 processes in the brain cells. Such a theory, however, ignores 
 that delusions, hallucinations, etc., are also to be met with in 
 certain functional disturbances, and not only in the case of 
 functional disturbances, but also in the case of normal people. 
 Primitive people may have visions and hear strange voices 
 without having their mental processes at all disturbed. To 
 seek to ascribe symptoms of that nature directly to a disease 
 of the brain cells I hold to be superficial and unwarranted. 
 Hallucinations show very plainly how a part of the uncon¬ 
 scious content can force itself across the threshold of the 
 conscious. The same is true of a delusion whose appearance 
 is at once strange and unexpected by the patient. 
 
 The expression “mental balance” is no mere figure of 
 speech, for its disturbance is a real disturbance of that equi¬ 
 librium which actually exists between the unconscious and 
 conscious content to a greater extent than has heretofore 
 been recognised or understood. As a matter of fact, it amounts 
 to this—that the normal functioning of the unconscious 
 processes breaks through into the conscious mind in an 
 abnormal manner, and thereby disturbs the adaptation of 
 the individual to his environment. 
 
 If we study attentively the history of any such person 
 coming under our observation, we shall often find that he has 
 been living for a considerable time in a sort of peculiar 
 individual isolation, more or less shut off from the world 
 of reality. This constrained condition of aloofness may be 
 traced back to certain innate or early acquired peculiarities, 
 which show themselves in the events of his life. For instance, 
 
THE UNCONSCIOUS IN PSYCHOPATHOLOGY 283 
 
 in the histories of those suffering from dementia prsecox we 
 often hear such a remark as this: “ He was always of a 
 pensive disposition, and much shut up in himself. After his 
 mother died he cut himself off still more from the world, 
 shunning his friends and acquaintances.” Or again, we may 
 hear, “ Even as a child he devised many peculiar inventions ; 
 and later, when he became an engineer, he occupied himself 
 with most ambitious schemes.” 
 
 Without discussing the matter further it must be plain 
 that a counterpoise is produced in the unconscious as a 
 compensation to the one-sidedness of the conscious attitude. 
 In the first case we may expect to find an increasing 
 pressing forward in the unconscious, of a wish for human 
 intercourse, a longing for mother, friends, relations; while 
 in the second case self-criticism will try to establish a correct¬ 
 ing balance. Among normal people a condition never 
 arises so one-sided that the natural corrective tendencies of 
 the unconscious entirely lose their value in the affairs of 
 everyday life ; but in the case of abnormal people, it is 
 eminently characteristic that the individual entirely fails to 
 recognise the compensating influences which arise in the 
 unconscious. He even continues to accentuate his one-sided¬ 
 ness ; this is in accord with the well-known psychological 
 fact that the worst enemy of the wolf is the wolf-hound, 
 the greatest despiser of the negro is the mulatto, and that 
 the biggest fanatic is the convert; for I should be a fanatic 
 were I to attack a thing outwardly which inwardly I am 
 obliged to concede as right. 
 
 The mentally unbalanced man tries to defend himself 
 against his own unconscious, that is to say, he battles against 
 his own compensating influences. The man already dwelling 
 in a sort of atmosphere of isolation, continues to remove him¬ 
 self further and further from the world of reality, and the 
 ambitious engineer strives by increasingly morbid exaggera¬ 
 tions of invention to disprove the correctness of his own com¬ 
 pensating powers of self-criticism. As a result of this a 
 condition of excitation is produced, from which results a 
 great lack of harmony between the conscious and unconscious 
 
284 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 attitudes. The pairs of opposites are torn asunder, the result¬ 
 ing division or strife leads to disaster, for the unconscious soon 
 begins to intrude itself violently upon the conscious processes. 
 Then odd and peculiar thoughts and moods supervene, and 
 not infrequently incipient forms of hallucination, which 
 clearly bear the stamp of the internal conflict. 
 
 These corrective impulses or compensations which now 
 break through into the conscious mind, should theoretically 
 be the beginning of the healing process, because through 
 them the previously isolated attitude should apparently 
 be relieved. But in reality this does not result, for the 
 leason that the unconscious corrective impulses which thus 
 succeed in making themselves apparent to the conscious 
 mind, do so in a form that is altogether unacceptable to 
 consciousness. 
 
 The isolated individual begins to hear strange voices, which 
 accuse him of murder and all sorts of crimes. These voices 
 drive him to desperation and in the resulting agitation he 
 attempts to get into contact with the surrounding milieu, and 
 does what he formerly had anxiously avoided. The com¬ 
 pensation, to be sure, is reached, but to the detriment of the 
 individual. 
 
 The pathological inventor, who is unable to profit by his 
 previous failures, by refusing to recognise the value of his 
 own self-criticism, becomes the creator of still more pre¬ 
 posterous designs. He wishes to accomplish the impossible but 
 falls into the absurd. After a while he notices that people talk 
 about him, make unfavourable remarks about him, and even 
 scoff at him. He believes a far-reaching conspiracy exists to 
 frustrate his discoveries and render them objects of ridicule. 
 By this means his unconscious brings about the same results 
 that his self-criticism could have attained, but again only to 
 the detriment of the individual, because the criticism is 
 projected into his surroundings. 
 
 An especially typical form of unconscious compensation— 
 to give a further example—is the paranoia of the alcoholic. 
 The alcoholic loses his love for his wife ; the unconscious 
 compensation tries to lead him back again to his duty, but 
 
THE UNCONSCIOUS IN PSYCHOPATHOLOGY 285 
 
 only partially succeeds, for it causes him to become jealous 
 of his wife as if he still loved her. As we know, he may 
 even go so far as to kill both his wife and himself, merely 
 out of jealousy. In other words, his love for his wife has not 
 been entirely lost, it has simply become subliminal; but from 
 the realm of the unconscious it can now only reappear in the 
 form of jealousy. 
 
 We see something of a similar nature in the case of 
 religious converts. One who turns from protestantism to 
 Catholicism has, as is well known, the tendency to be some¬ 
 what fanatical. His protestantism is not entirely re¬ 
 linquished, but has merely disappeared into the unconscious, 
 where it is constantly at work as a counter-argument against 
 the newly acquired Catholicism. Therefore the new convert 
 feels himself constrained to defend the faith he has adopted 
 in a more or less fanatical way. It is exactly the same in 
 the case of the paranoiac, who feels himself constantly con¬ 
 strained to defend himself against all external criticism, 
 because his delusional system is too much threatened from 
 within. 
 
 The strange manner in which these compensating in¬ 
 fluences break through into the conscious mind, derives its 
 peculiarities from the fact that they have to struggle against 
 the resistances already existing in the conscious mind, and 
 therefore present themselves to the patient’s mind in a 
 thoroughly distorted manner. And secondly, these com¬ 
 pensating equivalents are obliged necessarily to present 
 themselves in the language of the unconscious—that is, in 
 material of a heterogeneous and subliminal nature. For 
 all the material of the conscious mind which is of no 
 further value, and can find no suitable employment, becomes 
 subliminal, such as all those forgotten infantile and phantastic 
 creations that have ever entered the heads of men, of which 
 only the legends and myths still remain. For certain reasons 
 which I cannot discuss further here, this latter material is 
 frequently found in dementia praecox. 
 
 I hope I may have been able to give in this brief con¬ 
 tribution, which I feel to be unfortunately incomplete, a 
 
286 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 glimpse of the situation as it presents itself to me of the 
 importance of the unconscious in psychopathology. It would 
 be impossible in a short discourse to give an adequate idea 
 of all the work that has already been done in this field. 
 
 To sum up, I may say that the function of the uncon¬ 
 scious in conditions of mental disturbance, is essentially a 
 compensation of the content of the conscious mind. But 
 because of the characteristic condition of one-sidedness of the 
 conscious striving in all such cases, the compensating 
 correctives are rendered useless. It is, however, inevitable 
 that these unconscious tendencies break through into the 
 conscious mind, but in adapting themselves to the character 
 of the one-sided conscious aims, it is only possible for them 
 to appear in a distorted and unacceptable form. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A CONTRIBUTION TO THE STUDY OF PSYCHO¬ 
 LOGICAL TYPES 1 
 
 It is well known that in their general physiognomy Hysteria 
 and Dementia Prsecox present a striking contrast, which is 
 seen particularly in the attitude of the sufferers towards 
 the external world. The reactions provoked in the hysteric 
 surpass the normal level of intensity of feeling, whilst this 
 level is not reached at all by the precocious dement. The 
 picture presented by these contrasted illnesses is one of 
 exaggerated emotivity in the one, and extreme apathy in 
 the other, with regard to the environment. In their personal 
 relations this difference is very marked. Abstraction creates 
 some exceptions here, for we remain in affective rapport with 
 our hysterical patients, which is not the case in dementia 
 prsecox. 
 
 The opposition between these two nosological types is 
 also seen in the rest of their symptomatology. From the 
 intellectual point of view the products of hysterical imagina¬ 
 tion may be accounted for in a very natural and human way 
 in each individual case by the antecedents and individual 
 history of the patient; while the inventions of the precocious 
 dement, on the contrary, are more nearly related to dreams 
 than to normal consciousness, and they display moreover an 
 incontestably archaic tendency, wherein mythological crea¬ 
 tions of primitive imagination are more in evidence than the 
 personal memories of the patient. From the physical point 
 of view we do not find in dementia prsecox those symptoms 
 
 1 Delivered at the Psychoanalytical Congress, Munich, 1918. Translated 
 from Archives de Psychologie, by kind permission of the Editor, Dr. 
 Claparede. 
 
288 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 so common in the hysteric, which simulate well known or 
 severe organic affections. 
 
 All this clearly indicates that hysteria is characterised 
 by a centrifugal tendency of the libido, 1 whilst in dementia 
 praecox its tendency is centripetal. The reverse occurs, 
 however, where the illness has fully established its com¬ 
 pensatory effects. In the hysteric the libido is always 
 hampered in its movements of expansion and forced to 
 regress upon itself; one observes that such individuals cease 
 to partake in the common life, are wrapped up in their 
 phantasies, keep their beds, or are unable to live outside 
 their sick-rooms, etc. The precocious dement, on the contrary, 
 during the incubation of his illness turns away from the 
 outer world in order to withdraw into himself; but when the 
 period of morbid compensation arrives, he seems constrained 
 to draw attention to himself, and to force himself upon the 
 notice of those around him, by his extravagant, insupport¬ 
 able, or directly aggressive conduct. 
 
 I propose to use the terms “Extraversion ” and “ Intro¬ 
 version ” to describe these two opposite directions of the 
 libido, further qualifying them, however, as “ regressive ” in 
 morbid cases where phantasies, fictions, or phantastic inter¬ 
 pretations, inspired by emotivity, falsify the perceptions of 
 the subject about things, or about himself. We say that he 
 is extraverted when he gives his fundamental interest to the 
 outer or objective world, and attributes an all-important and 
 essential value to it: he is introverted, on the contrary, when 
 the objective world suffers a sort of depreciation, or want of 
 consideration, for the sake of the exaltation of the individual 
 himself, who then monopolising all the interest, grows to 
 believe no one but himself worthy of consideration. I will 
 call 4 'regressive extraversion” the phenomenon which Ereud 
 
 1 In Freud’s writings the term “libido” has always a sexual meaning. 
 But it is well known that Jung has restored to this term its classical meaning 
 of desire or passion in general. He has pointed out recently that we might, 
 following Clapar^de’s proposal, translate it by the word “ interest.” We have 
 preferred in the present translation to keep to the term “ libido ” to express 
 the instinctive psychological effort, the Alan vital , the joy of living, the funda¬ 
 mental interest of the individual, etc. See page 231. 
 
PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPES 
 
 289 
 
 calls “transference” (Ubertragung), by which the hysteric 
 p rojects into th e^objective world the illusions, or subjective 
 values of his feelings. In the same way I shall call “ regres¬ 
 sive introversion,” the opposite pathological phenomenon 
 which we find in dementia praecox, where the subject himself 
 suffers these phantastical transfigurations. 
 
 It is obvious that these two contrary movements of the 
 libido, as simple psychic mechanisms, may play a part alter¬ 
 nately in the same individual, since after all they serve the 
 same purpose by different methods—namely, to minister to his 
 well-being. Freud has taught us that in the mechanism of 
 hysterical transference the individual aims at getting rid of 
 disagreeable memories or impressions, in order to free himself 
 from painful complexes, by a process of “ repression.” Con¬ 
 versely in the mechanism of introversion, the personality 
 tends to concentrate itself upon its complexes, and with them, 
 to isolate itself from external reality, by a process which is 
 not properly speaking “ repression,” but which would be better 
 rendered perhaps by the term “ depreciation ” (Entwertung) 
 of the objective world. 
 
 The existence of two mental affections so opposite in 
 character as hysteria and dementia praecox, in which the 
 contrast rests on the almost exclusive supremacy of extra¬ 
 version or introversion, suggests that these two psychological 
 types may exist equally well in normal persons, who may be 
 characterised by the relative predominance of one or other 
 of the two mechanisms. Psychiatrists know very well that 
 before either illness is fully declared, patients already present 
 the characteristic type, traces of which are to be found from 
 the earliest years of life. As Binet pointed out so well, the 
 neurotic only accentuates and shews in relief the characteristic 
 traits of his personality. One knows, of course, that the 
 hysterical character is not simply the product of the illness, 
 but pre-existed it in a measure. And Hoch has shown by 
 his researches into the histories of his dementia praecox 
 patients, that this is also the case with them; dissociations 
 or eccentricities were present before the onset of the illness. 
 
 If this is so, one may certainly expect to meet the same 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 contrast between psychological temperaments outside the 
 sphere of pathology. It is moreover easy to cull from litera¬ 
 ture numerous examples which bear witness to the actual 
 existence of these two opposite types of mentality. Without 
 pretending to exhaust the subject, I will give a few striking 
 examples. 
 
 In my opinion, we owe the best observations on this 
 subject to the philosophy of William James. 1 He lays down 
 the principle that no matter what may be the temperament 
 of a “ professional philosopher,” it is this temperament which 
 he feels himself forced to express and to justify in his philo¬ 
 sophy. And starting from this idea, which is altogether 
 in accord with the spirit of psychoanalysis, divides philo¬ 
 sophers into two classes : the “ Tender-minded,” who are only 
 interested in the inner life and spiritual things; and the 
 “ Tougli-minded,” who lay most stress on material things 
 and objective reality. We see that these two classes are 
 actuated by exactly opposite tendencies of the libido : the 
 “ tender-minded” represent introversion, the “tough-minded ” 
 extraversion. 
 
 James says that the tender-minded are characterised by 
 rationalism; they are men of principles and of systems, 
 they aspire to dominate experience and to transcend it by 
 abstract reasoning, by their logical deductions, and purely 
 rational conceptions. They care little for facts, and the 
 multiplicity of phenomena hardly embarrasses them at all: 
 they forcibly fit data into their ideal constructions, and 
 reduce everything to their a priori premises. This was the 
 method of Hegel in settling beforehand the number of 
 the planets. In the domain of mental pathology we again 
 meet this kind of philosopher in paranoiacs, who, without 
 being disquieted by the flat contradictions presented by ex¬ 
 perience, impose their delirious conceptions on the universe, 
 and find means of interpreting everything, and according to 
 Adler “ arranging ” everything, in conformity with their 
 morbidly preconceived system. 
 
 The other traits which James depicts in this type follow 
 
 1 “ Pragmatism,” Chapter I. 
 
PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPES 
 
 291 
 
 naturally from its fundamental character. The tender- 
 minded man, he says, is intellectual, idealist, optimist, 
 religious, partisan of free-will, a monist, and a dogmatist. 
 All these qualities betray the almost exclusive concentration of 
 the libido upon the intellectual life. This concentration upon 
 the inner world of thought is nothing else than introversion. 
 In so far as experience plays a role with these philosophers, 
 it serves only as an allurement or fillip to abstraction, in 
 response to the imperative need to fit forcibly all the chaos 
 of the universe within well-defined limits, which are, in 
 the last resort, the creation of a spirit obedient to its 
 subjective values. 
 
 The tough-minded man is positivist and empiricist. He 
 regards only matters of fact. Experience is his master, his 
 exclusive guide and inspiration. It is only empirical pheno¬ 
 mena demonstrable in the outside world which count. Thought 
 is merely a reaction to external experience. In the eyes of 
 these philosophers principles are never of such value as 
 facts; they can only reflect and describe the sequence of 
 phenomena and cannot construct a system. Thus their 
 theories are exposed to contradiction under the overwhelm¬ 
 ing accumulation of empirical material. Psychic reality for 
 the positivist limits itself to the observation and experience 
 of pleasure and pain; he does not go beyond that, nor does 
 he recognise the rights of philosophical thought. Remain¬ 
 ing on the ever-changing surface of the phenomenal world, 
 he partakes himself of its instability; carried away in the 
 chaotic tumult of the universe, he sees all its aspects, all 
 its theoretical and practical possibilities, but he never 
 arrives at the unity or the fixity of a settled system, which 
 alone could satisfy the idealist or tender-minded. The posi¬ 
 tivist depreciates all values in reducing them to elements 
 lower than themselves; he explains the higher by the lower, 
 and dethrones it, by showing that it is “ nothing but such 
 another thing,” which has no value in itself. 
 
 From these general characteristics, the others which 
 James points out logically follow. The positivist is a sen¬ 
 sualist, giving greater value to the specific realm of the 
 
•292 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 senses than to reflection which transcends it. He is a 
 materialist and a pessimist, for he knows only too well the 
 hopeless uncertainty of the course of things. He is irre¬ 
 ligious, not being in a state to hold firmly to the realities 
 of the inner world as opposed to the pressure of external 
 facts; he is a determinist and fatalist, only able to show ' 
 resignation; a pluralist, incapable of all synthesis; and 
 finally a sceptic, as a last and inevitable consequence of all 
 the rest. 
 
 The expressions, therefore, used by James, show clearly 
 that the diversity of types is the result of a different localisa¬ 
 tion of the libido ; this libido is the magic power in the depth 
 of our being, which, following the personality, carries it some¬ 
 times towards internal life, and sometimes towards the objec¬ 
 tive world. James compares, for example, the religious 
 subjectivism of the idealist, and the quasi-religious attitude 
 of the contemporary empiricist: “ Our exteem for facts has 
 not neutralised in us all religiousness. It is itself almost 
 religious. Our scientific temper is devout.” 1 
 
 A second parallel is furnished by Wilhelm Ostwald, 2 
 who divides “ savants ” and men of genius into classics and 
 romantics. The latter are distinguished by their rapid 
 reactions, their extremely prompt and abundant production 
 of ideas and projects, some of which are badly digested and of 
 doubtful value. They are admirable and brilliant masters, 
 loving to teach, of a contagious ardour and enthusiasm, 
 which attracts many pupils, and makes them founders of 
 schools, exercising great personal influence. Herein our 
 type of extraversion is easily recognised. The classics of 
 Ostwald are, on the contrary, slow to react; they produce 
 with much difficulty, are little capable of teaching or of 
 exercising direct personal influence, and lacking enthusiasm 
 are paralysed by their own severe criticism, living apart and 
 absorbed in themselves, making scarcely any disciples, but 
 
 1 “ Pragmatism,” ch. i., p. 14. 
 
 2 W. Ostwald “ Grosse Manner,” Leipzig, 1910 (11th Lecture, “ Classics 
 and Romanticists ”). See also his contribution, “ A propos de la Biologie du 
 Savant,” Bibliotheque Universelle, Oct., 1910. 
 
PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPES 
 
 293 
 
 producing works of finished perfection which often bring 
 them posthumous tame. All these characteristics correspond 
 to introversion. 
 
 We find a further very valuable example in the aesthetic 
 theory of Warringer. Borrowing from A. Riegl his expression 
 Volonte d’art absolue ” to express the internal force which 
 inspiies the artist, he distinguishes two forms, viz. sympathy 
 (Einfiihlung) and abstraction ; and the term which he employs 
 indicates that here, too, we witness the activity of the 
 push of the libido, the stirring of the elan vital. t( In the 
 same way, says Warringer, “as the sympathetic impulse 
 finds its satisfaction in organic beauty, so abstract impulse 
 discovers beauty in the inorganic, which is the negation of all 
 life, in crystallised forms, and in a general manner wherever 
 the severity of abstract law reigns.” Whilst sympathy repre¬ 
 sents the warmth of passion which carries it into the presence 
 of the object in order to assimilate it and penetrate it with 
 emotional values ; abstraction, on the other hand, despoils the 
 object of all that could recall life, and grasps it by purely 
 intellectual thought, crystallised and fixed into the rigid 
 forms of law,—the universal, the typical. Bergson also makes 
 use of these images of crystallisation, solidification, etc., to 
 illustrate the essence of intellectual abstraction. 
 
 Warringer s Abstraction represents the process which 
 I have already remarked as a consequence of introversion, 
 namely, the exaltation of the intellect, in the place of the 
 depreciated reality of the external world. “ Sympathy ” corre¬ 
 sponds in fact to extraversion, for, as Lipps has pointed out, 
 
 “ W hat 1 perceive sympathetically in an object is, in a 
 general manner life, and life is power, internal work, effort, 
 and execution. To live, in a word, is to act, and to act 
 is to experience intimately the force which we give out; 
 experience creates activity, which is essentially of a spon¬ 
 taneous character.” “^Esthetic enjoyment,” said Warrin- 
 ger, “ is ^the enjoyment of one’s own self projected into the 
 “ object,” a formula which corresponds absolutely with our 
 definition of transference. This aesthetic conception does not 
 refer to the positivist in James’s sense; it is rather the attitude 
 
294 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of the idealist for whom psychological reality only is interest¬ 
 ing, and worthy of consideration. Warringer adds, “ what is 
 essential lies not in the gradation of the feeling, but pre¬ 
 eminently in the feeling itself; that is to say, the inner move¬ 
 ment, the intimate life, the unfolding of the Subject’s own 
 activity; the value of a line or of a form, depends in our 
 eyes on the biological value it holds for us; that which gives 
 beauty is solely our own vital feeling, which we unconsciously 
 project into it.” This view corresponds exactly with my own 
 way of understanding the theory of the libido, in attempting 
 to keep the true balance between the two psychological 
 opposites of introversion and extraversion. 
 
 The polar opposite of sympathy is abstraction. The 
 impulse of abstraction is conceived by Warringer “ as the 
 result of a great internal conflict of the human soul in 
 the presence of the external world, and from the religious 
 standpoint, it corresponds to a strong transcendental colouring 
 of all the representations man has made to himself of reality.” 
 We recognise clearly in this definition the primordial tendency 
 to introversion. To the introverted type the universe does 
 not appear beautiful and desirable, but disquieting, and even 
 dangerous; it is a manifestation against which the subject puts 
 himself on the defensive; he entrenches himself in his inner 
 fastness, and fortifies himself therein by the invention of 
 geometrical figures, full of repose, perfectly clear even in 
 their minutest details, the primitive magic power of which 
 assures him of domination over the surrounding world. 
 
 “ The need of abstraction is the origin of all art,” says 
 Warringer. Here is a great principle, which gains weighty 
 confirmation from the fact that precocious dements reproduce 
 forms and figures which present the closest analogy to those 
 of primitive humanity, not only in their thoughts but also 
 in their drawings. 
 
 We should recall that Schiller had already tried to 
 formulate the same presentation in what he calls the Naive 
 and Sentimental types. The latter is in quest of nature, whilst 
 the former is itself “ all nature.” Schiller also saw that 
 these two types result from the predominance of psychological 
 
PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPES 
 
 295 
 
 mechanisms which might be met with in one and the same 
 individual. “It is not only in the same poet,” he said, “but 
 even in the same work that these two types of mentality are 
 found united. . . . The naive poet pursues only nature and 
 feeling in their simplicity, and all his effort is limited to the 
 imitation and reproduction of reality. The sentimental poet, 
 on the contrary, reflects the impression he receives from 
 objects. The object here is allied to an idea, and the poetic 
 power of the work depends on this alliance.” These quotations 
 shew what types Schiller had in view, and one recognises 
 their fundamental identity with those with which we are 
 here dealing. 
 
 We find another instance in Nietzsche’s contrast between 
 the minds of Apollo and of Dionysus. The example which 
 Nietzsche uses to illustrate this contrast is instructive— 
 namely, that between a dream and intoxication. In a dream 
 the individual is shut up in himself, in intoxication, on the 
 contrary, he forgets himself to the highest degree, and, set 
 free from his self-consciousness, plunges into the multiplicity 
 of the objective world. To depict Apollo, Nietzsche borrows 
 the words of Schopenhauer, “ As upon a tumultuous sea, 
 which disgorges and swallows by turns, lost to view in the 
 mountains of foaming waves, the mariner remains seated 
 tranquilly on his plank, full of confidence in his frail barque; 
 so individual man, in a world of troubles, lives passive and 
 serene, relying with confidence on the principle of ‘ indi¬ 
 viduation.’” “Yes,” continues Nietzsche, “we might say 
 that the unshakeable confidence in this principle, and the 
 calm security of those whom it has inspired, have found 
 in Apollo their most sublime expression, and we may always 
 recognise in him the most splendid and divine personifica¬ 
 tion of the principle of making an individual.” The Apollien 
 state, as Nietzsche conceives it, is consequently the with¬ 
 drawal into oneself, that is, introversion. Conversely in the 
 Dionysian state, psychic intoxication, indicates in his view the 
 unloosening of a torrent of libido which expends itself upon 
 things. “ This is not only,” says Nietzsche, “ the alliance 
 of man with man, which finds itself confirmed afresh under 
 
296 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the Dionysian enchantment; it is alienated Nature, hostile 
 or enslaved, which also celebrates her reconciliation with her 
 prodigal child,—man. Spontaneously Earth offers her gifts 
 and the wild beasts from rock and desert draw near peace¬ 
 fully. The car of Dionysus is lost under flowers and garlands ; 
 panthers and tigers approach under his yoke.” 
 
 If we change Beethoven’s “Hymn of Praise ” into a picture, 
 and giving rein to our imagination, contemplate the millions 
 of beings prostrated and trembling in the dust, at such a 
 moment the Dionysian intoxication will be near at hand. 
 Then is the slave free ; then all the rigid and hostile barriers 
 which poverty and arbitrary or insolent custom have estab¬ 
 lished between man and man are broken down. Now, by 
 means of this gospel of universal harmony, each feels him¬ 
 self not only reunited, reconciled, fused with his neighbour, 
 but actually identified with him, as if the veil of “ Mai'a was 
 torn away, nothing remaining of it but a few shreds floating 
 before the mystery of the Primordial Unity.” 1 It would be 
 superfluous to add comment to these quotations. 
 
 In concluding this series of examples culled outside my 
 own special domain, I will quote the linguistic hypothesis of 
 Finck, 2 where we also see the duality in question. The 
 structure of language, according to Finck, presents two 
 principal types : in one the subject is generally conceived as 
 active : “ I see him,” “ I strike him down; ” in the other the 
 subject experiences and feels, and it is the object which acts: 
 “ He appears to me,” “ He succumbs to me.” The first type 
 clearly shews the libido as going out of the subject,—this 
 is a centrifugal movement; the second as coming out of the 
 object,—this movement is centripetal. We meet with this 
 latter introverted type especially in the primitive languages 
 of the Esquimaux. 
 
 In the domain of Psychiatry also these two types have 
 been described by Otto Gross, 3 who distinguishes two forms 
 
 1 Nietzsche, “ The Birth of Tragedy,” trans. Wm. A. Haussmann. 
 
 2 Finck, “Der deutsche Sprachbon als Aus druck, deutscher Weltan¬ 
 schauung. ” Marburg, 1899. 
 
 3 Gross, “ Die zerebrale Sekundarfonktion.” Leipsig, 1902. 
 
PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPES 
 
 297 
 
 of mental debility: the one a diffuse and shallow conscious¬ 
 ness, the other a concentrated and deep consciousness. The 
 first is characterised by weakness of the consecutive function, 
 the second by its excessive reinforcement. Gross has recog¬ 
 nised that the consecutive function is in intimate relation 
 with affectivity, from which we might infer that he is dealing 
 once more with our two psychological types. The relation he 
 establishes between maniac depressive insanity and the state 
 of diffuse or extended and shallow mental disease shows that 
 the latter represents the extraverted type; and the relation 
 between the psychology of the paranoiac and repressed 
 mentality, indicates the identity of the former with the in¬ 
 troverted type. 
 
 After the foregoing considerations no one will be astonished 
 to find that in the domain of psychoanalysis we also have 
 to reckon with the existence of these two psychological types. 
 
 On the one side we meet with a theory which is essentially 
 reductive, pluralist, causal and sensualist; this is Freud’s 
 standpoint. This theory limits itself rigidly to empirical 
 facts, and traces back complexes to their antecedents and 
 their elemental factors. It regards the psychological life as 
 being only an effect, a reaction to the environment, and 
 accords the greatest role and the largest place to sensa¬ 
 tion. On the other side we have the diametrically opposed 
 theory of Adler 1 which is an entirely philosophical and 
 finalistic one. In it phenomena are not reducible to earlier 
 and very primitive factors, but are conceived as “ arrange¬ 
 ments,” the outcome of intentions and of ends of an extremely 
 complex nature. It is no longer the view of causality but 
 of finality which dominates researches : the history of the 
 patient and the concrete influences of the environment are 
 of much less importance than the dominating principles, the 
 “fictions directrices,” of the individual. It is not essential 
 for him to depend upon the object, and to find in it his fill of 
 subjective enjoyment, but to protect his own individuality 
 and to guarantee it against the hostile influences of the 
 environment. 
 
 1 Adler, “ Uber den nervosen Charakter.” Wiesbaden, 1912. 
 
298 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Whilst Freud’s psychology has for its predominant note 
 the centrifugal tendency, which demands its happiness and 
 satisfaction in the objective world, in that of Adler the chief 
 role belongs to the centripetal movement, which tends to 
 the supremacy of the subject, to his triumph and his liberty, 
 as opposed to the overwhelming forces of existence. The 
 expedient to which the type described by Freud has recourse 
 is “ infantile transference,” by means of which he projects 
 phantasy into the object and finds a compensation for the 
 difficulties of life in this transfiguration. In the type de¬ 
 scribed by Adler what is characteristic is, on the contrary, the 
 “ virile protest,” personal resistance, the efficacious safe¬ 
 guard which the individual provides for himself, in affirming 
 and stubbornly enclosing himself in his dominating ideas. 
 
 The difficult task of elaborating a psychology which should 
 pay equal attention to the two types of mentality belongs to 
 the future. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS 1 
 
 A dream is a psychic structure which at first sight appears 
 to be in striking contrast with conscious thought, because 
 judging by its form and substance, it apparently does not lie 
 within the continuity of development of the conscious con¬ 
 tents, it is not integral to it, but is a mere external and 
 apparently accidental occurrence. Its mode of genesis is in 
 itself sufficient to isolate a dream from the other contents of 
 the conscious, for it is a survival of a peculiar psychic activity 
 which takes place during sleep, and does not originate in the 
 manifest and clearly logical and emotional continuity of the 
 event experienced. 
 
 But a careful observer should have no difficulty in dis¬ 
 covering that a dream is not entirely severed from the con¬ 
 tinuity of the conscious, for in almost every dream certain 
 details are found which have their origin in the impressions, 
 thoughts, or states of mind of one of the preceding days. In 
 so far a certain continuity does exist, albeit a retrograde one. 
 But any one keenly interested in the dream problem cannot 
 have failed to observe that a dream has also a progressive 
 continuity—if such an expression be permitted—since dreams 
 occasionally exert a remarkable influence upon the conscious 
 mental life, even of persons who cannot be considered super¬ 
 stitious or particularly abnormal. These occasional after¬ 
 effects are usually seen in a more or less distinct change in 
 the dreamer’s frame of mind. 
 
 It is probably in consequence of this loose connection 
 with the other conscious contents, that the recollected dream 
 
 1 This lecture was prepared for the Berne Medical Congress, 1914, post¬ 
 poned on the outbreak of war. 
 
300 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 is so extremely unstable. Many dreams baffle all attempts 
 at reproduction, even immediately after waking, others can 
 only be remembered with doubtful accuracy, and compara¬ 
 tively few can be termed really distinct and clearly repro- 
 duceable. This peculiar reaction with regard to recollection 
 may be understood by considering the characteristics of the 
 various elements combined in a dream. The combination of 
 ideas in dreams is essentially phantastic , they are linked 
 together in a sequence which, as a rule, is quite foreign to 
 our current way of thinking, and in striking contrast to the 
 logical sequence of ideas which we consider to be a special 
 characteristic of conscious mental processes. 
 
 It is to this characteristic that dreams owe the common 
 epithet of “meaningless.” Before pronouncing this verdict, 
 we must reflect that dreams and their chain of ideas are 
 something that we do not understand. Such a verdict would 
 therefore be merely a projection of our non-comprehension 
 upon its object. But that would not prevent its own peculiar 
 meaning being inherent in a dream. 
 
 In spite of the fact that for centuries an endeavour has 
 been made to extract a prophetic meaning from dreams, 
 Freud’s discovery is practically the first attempt to find their 
 real significance. His work merits the term “ scientific,” 
 because this investigator has evolved a technique which, not 
 only he, but many other investigators also assert, achieves 
 its object, namely, the understanding of the meaning of the 
 dream. This meaning is not identical with the one to which 
 the manifest dream content makes fragmentary allusion. 
 
 This is not the place for a critical discussion of Freud’s 
 psychology of dreams. But I will try to give a brief summary 
 of what may be regarded as more or less established facts of 
 dream psychology to-day. 
 
 The first question we must discuss is, whence do we deduce 
 the justification for attributing to dreams any other signifi¬ 
 cation than the unsatisfying fragmentary meaning of the 
 manifest dream content ? 
 
 As regards this point a particularly weighty argument is 
 the fact that Freud discovered the hidden meaning of dreams 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS 
 
 801 
 
 by empiric and not deductive methods. A further argument 
 in favour of a possible hidden, as opposed to the manifest 
 meaning of dreams, is obtained by comparing dream-phan¬ 
 tasies with other phantasies (day-dreams and the like) in one 
 and the same individual. It is not difficult to conceive that 
 such day-phantasies have not merely a superficial, concre- 
 tistical meaning, but also a deeper psychological meaning. 
 It is solely on account of the brevity that I must impose upon 
 myself, that I do not submit materials in proof of this. But 
 I should like to point out that what may be said about the 
 meaning of phantasies, is well illustrated by an old and 
 widely diffused type of imaginative story, of which iEsop’s 
 Fables are typical examples, wherein, for instance, the story 
 is some objectively impossible phantasy about the deeds of 
 a lion and an ass. The concrete superficial meaning of the 
 fable is an impossible phantasm, but the hidden moral 
 meaning is plainly palpable upon reflection. It is charac¬ 
 teristic of children that they are pleased and satisfied with 
 the exoteric meaning of the story. But by far the best argu¬ 
 ment for the existence of a hidden meaning in dreams, is 
 provided by the conscientious application of the technical 
 procedure to solve the manifest dream content. 
 
 This brings us to our second main point, viz.—the ques¬ 
 tion of analytic procedure. Here again I desire neither to 
 defend nor to criticise Freud’s views and discoveries, but 
 rather to confine myself to what seem to me to be firmly 
 established facts. 
 
 The fact that a dream is a psychic structure, does not 
 give us the slightest ground for assuming that it obeys laws 
 and designs other than those applicable to any other psychic 
 structure. According to the maxim: principia explicandi 
 prater necessitatem non sunt multiplicand^ we have to treat 
 dreams in analysis just as any other psychic structure, until 
 experience teaches us some better way. 
 
 We know that every psychic construction considered 
 from the standpoint of causality, is the resultant of previous 
 psychic contents. Moreover, we know also that every psychic 
 structure, considered from the standpoint of finality has its 
 
302 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 own peculiar meaning ancl purpose in the actual psychic 
 process. This standard must also be applied to dreams. 
 When, therefore, we seek a psychological explanation of a 
 dream, we must first know what were the preceding experiences 
 out of which it is combined. We must trace the antecedents 
 of every point in the dream picture. For example : some 
 one dreams “ that he is walking in a street , a child is running 
 in front of him, who is suddenly run over by a motor-car .” We 
 will trace the antecedents of this dream-picture, with the 
 aid of the dreamer’s recollections. 
 
 He recognises the street as one down which he had walked 
 on the previous day. The child he acknowledges as his 
 brother’s child, whom he had seen on the previous evening 
 when visiting his brother. The motor accident reminds him 
 of an accident that had actually occurred a few days before, 
 but of which he had only read an account in a newspaper. 
 Popular opinion is known to be satisfied with this kind of 
 explanation. People say: “ Oh, that is why I dreamt such 
 and such a thing! ” 
 
 Obviously this explanation is absolutely unsatisfactory 
 from a scientific standpoint. The dreamer walked down 
 many streets on the previous day, why was this particular 
 one selected ? He had read about several accidents, why 
 did he select just this ? The mere disclosure of an antecedent 
 is by no means sufficient; for a plausible determination 
 of the dream presentation can only be obtained from the 
 competition of various causae. The collection of additional 
 material proceeds, according to the principle of recollection 
 that has been called the Association Method . The result, 
 as will easily be understood, is the admission of a multi¬ 
 farious and quite heterogeneous mass of material, having 
 apparently nothing in common but the fact of its evident 
 associative connection with the dream contents, otherwise it 
 could not have been reproduced by means of this content. 
 
 How far the collection of such material should go, is an 
 important question from the technical point of view. Since 
 the entire psychic content of a life may be ultimately dis¬ 
 closed from any single starting point, theoretically the whole 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS 
 
 308 
 
 previous life-experience might be found in every dream. But 
 we only need to assemble just so much material as is abso¬ 
 lutely necessary in order to comprehend the dream’s meaning. 
 The limitation of the material is obviously an arbitrary pro¬ 
 ceeding, according to that principle of Kant’s which defines 
 to comprehend as “to perceive to the extent necessary for our 
 purpose .” For instance, when undertaking a survey of the 
 causae of the French Revolution, we could in amassing our 
 material include not only the history of medieval France but 
 also that of Rome and Greece, which certainly would not be 
 “ necessary for our purpose,” for we can comprehend the 
 historical genesis of the Revolution just as well from much 
 more limited material. 
 
 Except for the aforesaid arbitrary limitation, the col¬ 
 lecting of material lies outside the investigator’s discretion. 
 The material gathered must now be sifted and examined, 
 according to principles which are always applied to the 
 examination of historical or any other experimental scientific 
 material. The method is an essentially comparative one, 
 which obviously cannot be applied automatically, but is 
 largely dependent upon the skill and aim of the investigator. 
 
 When a pyschological fact has to be explained, it must 
 be remembered that psychological data necessitate a twofold 
 point of view, namely, the view point of causality and of 
 finality. I use the word finality intentionally, in order to 
 avoid confusion with the idea “ teleology.” I use finality 
 to denote the immanent psychological teleology. In so far 
 as we apply the view point of causality to the material that 
 has been associated with the dream, we reduce the manifest 
 dream content to certain fundamental tendencies or ideas. 
 These, as one would expect, are elementary and universal in 
 character. 
 
 For instance, a young patient dreams as follows : I am 
 standing in a strange garden , and pluck an apple from a tree. 
 I look about cautiously , to make sure no one sees me .” 
 
 The associated dream material is a remembrance of 
 having once, when a boy, plucked a couple of pears sur¬ 
 reptitiously from another person’s garden. 
 
304 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 The feeling of having a bad conscience, which is a 
 prominent feature in the dream, reminds him of a situation 
 he experienced on the previous day. He met a young lady 
 in the street—a casual acquaintance—and exchanged a few 
 words with her. At that moment a gentleman passed whom 
 he knew, whereupon our patient was suddenly seized with 
 a curious feeling of embarrassment, as if he had done some¬ 
 thing wrong. He associated the apple with the scene in 
 Paradise, together with the fact that he had never really 
 understood why the eating of the forbidden fruit should have 
 been fraught with such dire consequences for our first parents. 
 This had always made him feel angry; it seemed to him an 
 unjust act of God, for God had made men as they were, with 
 all their curiosity and greed. 
 
 Another association was, that sometimes his father had 
 punished him for certain things in a way that seemed to him 
 incomprehensible. The worst punishment had been bestowed 
 after he had secretly watched girls bathing. 
 
 That led up to the confession that he had recently begun 
 a love affair with a housemaid, but had not yet carried it 
 through to a conclusion. On the night before the dream he 
 had had a rendezvous with her. 
 
 Upon reviewing this material we see that the dream 
 contains a very transparent reference to the incident of the 
 previous day. The connecting associative material shows 
 that the apple episode is palpably meant for an erotic scene. 
 For various other reasons, too, it may be considered extremely 
 probable that this experience of the previous day is still 
 operative even in this dream. In the dream the young man 
 plucks the apple of Paradise, which in reality he has not yet 
 plucked. The remainder of the material associated with the 
 dream is concerned with another experience of the previous 
 day, namely, with the peculiar feeling of a bad conscience, 
 which seized the dreamer when he was talking to his casual 
 lady acquaintance ; this, again, was connected with the fall of 
 man in Paradise, and finally with an erotic misdemeanour of 
 his childhood, for which his father had punished him severely. 
 All these associations are linked together by the idea of guilt. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS 
 
 305 
 
 In the first place we will consider this material from 
 Freud’s point of causality; in other words, we will “inter¬ 
 pret ” it, to use Freud’s expression. A wish has been left 
 unfulfilled from the day before the dream. In the dream 
 \ this wish is realised in the symbolical apple scene. But why 
 is this realisation disguised and hidden under a symbolic 
 image instead of being expressed in a distinctly sexual 
 thought? Freud would refer to the unmistakable sense of 
 guilt shown up by the material, and say the morality that 
 has been inculcated in the young man from childhood 
 is bent on repressing such wishes, and to that end brands 
 the natural craving as immoral and reprehensible. The 
 suppressed immoral thought can therefore only achieve 
 expression by means of a symbol. As these thoughts are 
 incompatible with the moral content of the conscious ego, 
 a psychic factor adopted by Freud, called the Censor , prevents 
 this wish from passing undisguised into consciousness. 
 
 Reviewing the dream from the standpoint of finality, 
 which I contrast with that of Freud, does not—as I wish to 
 establish explicitly—involve a denial of the dream’s causae, 
 but rather a different interpretation of the associative 
 material collected around the dream. The material facts 
 remain the same, but the standard by which they are 
 measured is altered. The question may be formulated 
 simply as follows: What is this dream’s purpose ? What 
 should it effect ? These questions are not arbitrary, in 
 as much as they may be applied to every psychic activity. 
 Everywhere the question of the “why” and “wherefore” 
 may be raised. 
 
 It is clear that the material added by the dream to the 
 previous day’s erotic experience, chiefly emphasises the sense 
 of guilt in the erotic act. The same association has already 
 been shown to be operative in another experience of the 
 previous day in the meeting with his casual lady acquaint¬ 
 ance, when the feeling of a bad conscience was automatically 
 and inexplicably aroused, as if, in that instance, too, the 
 young man had done something wrong. This experience 
 also plays a part in the dream, which is even intensified by 
 
 20 
 
306 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the association of additional, appropriate material; the 
 erotic experience of the day before being depicted by the 
 story of the Fall which was followed by such a severe 
 punishment. 
 
 I maintain that there exists in the dreamer an uncon¬ 
 scious propensity or tendency to conceive his erotic experiences 
 as guilt . It is most characteristic that the association with 
 the Fall of Man should ensue, the young man having never 
 really grasped why the punishment should have been so 
 drastic. This association throws light upon the reasons 
 why the dreamer did not think simply, “I am doing what 
 is not right.” Obviously he does not knoiv that he might 
 condemn his own conduct as morally wrong. This is 
 actually the case. His conscious belief is that his conduct 
 does not matter in the least, morally, as all his friends were 
 acting in the same way; besides, for other reasons, too, he 
 is unable to understand why such a fuss should be made 
 about it. 
 
 Whether this dream should be considered full, or void, 
 of meaning depends upon a very important question, viz. 
 whether the standpoint of morality, handed down to us 
 through the ages by our forefathers, is held to be full or 
 void of meaning. I do not wish to wander off into a philoso¬ 
 phical discussion of this question, but would merely observe 
 that mankind must obviously have had very good reasons 
 for devising this morality, otherwise it would be truly in¬ 
 comprehensible why such restraints should be imposed upon 
 one of man’s strongest cravings. If we attach due value to 
 this fact, we are bound to pronounce this dream to be full of 
 meaning, for it reveals to the young man the necessity of 
 facing his erotic conduct boldly from the view point of 
 morality. Even quite primitive races have in some respects 
 extremely strict legislation concerning sexuality. This fact 
 proves that sexual morality in particular is a not-to-be- 
 despised factor in the soul’s higher functions, but deserves 
 to be taken fully into account. In this case it should be 
 added, that the young man—influenced by his friends’ 
 example — somewhat thoughtlessly let himself be guided 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DKEAMS 
 
 307 
 
 exclusively by bis erotic cravings, unmindful of the fact that 
 man is a morally responsible being and must perforce submit 
 
 voluntarily or involuntarily—to a morality that be himself 
 has created. 
 
 In this dream we can discern a compensating function of 
 the unconscious, consisting in the fact that those thoughts , 
 propensities , and tendencies of a human personality which in 
 conscious life are too seldom recognised , come spontaneously into 
 action in the sleeping state , when to a large extent the conscious 
 process is disconnected. 
 
 m Tiie question might certainly be raised, of what use is 
 this to the dreamer if he does not understand the dream ? 
 
 To this I must remark that to understand is not an 
 exclusively intellectual process, for—as experience proves— 
 man may be influenced—nay, even very effectually convinced 
 —by innumerable things, for which he has no intellectual 
 understanding. I will merely remind my readers of the 
 efficacy of religious symbols. 
 
 The example given above might suggest the thought that 
 the function of dreams should be understood as a distinctly 
 “ moral ” one. Such appears to be the case in the afore¬ 
 mentioned specimen, but if we recall the formula according 
 to which dreams contain the subliminal materials of a given 
 moment, we cannot speak simply of a “ moral ” function. 
 For it is worthy of note that the dreams of those persons 
 whose actions are morally unexceptionable, bring materials to 
 light that might well be characterised as “ immoral ” in the 
 current meaning of that term. Thus it is significant that 
 St. Augustine was glad that God did not hold him responsible 
 for his dreams. The unconscious is the unknown of a given 
 moment, therefore it is not surprising that all those aspects 
 that are essential for a totally different point of view, 
 should be added by dreams to the conscious psychological 
 situation of a given moment. It is evident that this function 
 of dreams signifies a psychological adjustment, a compensa¬ 
 tion essential for properly balanced action. In the conscious 
 process of reflection it is indispensable that, so far as possible, 
 we should realise all the aspects and consequences of a 
 
308 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 problem, in order fco find the right solution. This process 
 is continued automatically in the more or less unconscious 
 state of sleep, wherever—as our previous experience seems 
 to show—all those other points of view occur to the dreamer 
 (at least by way of allusion) that during the day were under¬ 
 estimated or even totally ignored—in other words, were 
 comparatively unconscious. 
 
 As regards the much-discussed symbolism of dreams, the 
 value attached to it varies according to whether the stand¬ 
 point of causality or of finality is adopted. According to 
 Freud’s causal view point it proceeds from a craving , viz. 
 from the suppressed dream-wish. This craving is always 
 somewhat simple and primitive, and is able to disguise itself 
 under manifold forms. For instance, the young man in 
 question might just as well have dreamt that he had to open 
 a door with a key, or that he had to travel by aeroplane, or 
 that he was kissing his mother, etc. From this standpoint 
 all those things would have had the same meaning. In this 
 way, the typical adherents of Freud’s school have come to 
 the point of interpreting—to give a gross instance—almost 
 all long objects in dreams as phallic symbols. 
 
 From the view-point of finality, the various dream pictures 
 have each their own peculiar value. For instance, if the 
 young man, instead of dreaming of the apple scene, had 
 dreamt he had to open a door with a key, the altered dream 
 picture would have furnished associative material of an 
 essentially different character; that, again, would have 
 resulted in the conscious situation being supplemented by 
 associations of a totally different kind from those connected 
 with the apple scene. From this point of view, it is the 
 diversity of the dream’s mode of expression that is full of 
 meaning, and not the uniformity in its significance. The 
 causal view-point tends by its very nature towards uniformity 
 of meaning, that is, towards a fixed significance of symbols. 
 On the other hand, the final view-point perceives in an 
 altered dream picture, the expression of an altered psycho¬ 
 logical situation. It recognises no fixed meaning of symbols. 
 From this standpoint all the dream pictures are important 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS 
 
 309 
 
 in themselves, each one having a special significance of its 
 own, to which it owes its inclusion in the dream. Keeping to 
 our previous example, we see that from the standpoint of 
 finality the symbol in this dream is approximately equivalent 
 to a parable; it does not conceal, but it teaches. The apple 
 scene recalls vividly the sense of guilt, at the same time 
 disguising the real deed of our first parents. 
 
 It is obvious we reach very dissimilar interpretations of 
 the meaning of the dream, according to the point of view 
 adopted. The question now arises, which is the better or 
 truer version ? After all, for us therapeuts it is a practical 
 and not a merely theoretical necessity which leads us to seek 
 for some comprehension of the meaning of dreams. In 
 treating our patients we must for practical reasons endeavour 
 to lay hold of any means that will enable us to train them 
 effectually. It should be quite evident from the foregoing 
 example, that the material associated with the dream has 
 opened up a question calculated to make many matters clear 
 to the young man, which, hitherto, he has heedlessly over¬ 
 looked. But by disregarding these things he was really 
 overlooking something in himself, for he possesses a moral 
 standard and a moral need just like any other man. By 
 trying to live without taking this fact into consideration, 
 his life is one-sided and incomplete, so to say inco-ordinate; 
 which has the same consequences for the psychological life 
 as a one-sided and incomplete diet has for the physical. In 
 order to develop a person’s individuality and independence 
 to the uttermost, we need to bring to fruition all those 
 functions that have hitherto attained but little conscious 
 development or none at all. In order to achieve this aim, 
 we must for therapeutic reasons enter into all those un¬ 
 conscious aspects, of things brought forward by the dream 
 material. This makes it abundantly clear that the view¬ 
 point of finality is singularly important as an aid to the 
 practical development of the individual. 
 
 The view point of causality is obviously more in accord 
 with the scientific spirit of our time, with its strictly causal- 
 istic reasoning. Much may be said for Freud’s view as a 
 
310 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 scientific explanation of dream psychology. But I must 
 dispute its completeness, for the psyche cannot be conceived 
 merely from the causal aspect, but necessitates also a final 
 view-point. Only a combination of both points of view which 
 has not yet been attained to the satisfaction of the scientific 
 mind, owing to great difficulties both of a practical and 
 theoretical nature—can give us a more complete conception 
 of the essence of dreams. 
 
 I would like to treat briefly of some further problems 
 of dream psychology, that border on the general discussion 
 of dreams. Firstly, as to the classification of dreams; I 
 do not wish to overestimate either the practical or theoretical 
 significance of this question. I investigate yearly some 1500- 
 2000 dreams, and this experience enables me to state that 
 typical dreams actually do exist. But they are not very 
 frequent, and from the view-point of finality they lose much 
 of the importance accorded them by the fixed significance 
 of symbols of the causal view-point. It seems to me that 
 the typical themes of dreams are of far greater importance, 
 for they permit of a comparison with the themes of mythology. 
 Many of these mythological themes—in the study of which 
 Frobenius has rendered notable service—are also found in 
 dreams, often with precisely the same significance. Un¬ 
 fortunately the limited time at my disposal, does not permit 
 me to lay detailed materials before you : this has been done 
 elsewhere. 1 But I desire to emphasise the fact that the 
 comparison of the typical themes of dreams with those of 
 mythology obviously suggests the idea (already put forward 
 by Nietzsche) that dream thought should be conceived from 
 a phylogenetic point of view as an older form of thought. 
 Instead of multiplying examples in explanation of my 
 meaning, I will briefly refer you to our specimen dream. 
 As you remember, that dream introduced the apple scene 
 as a typical representation of erotic guilt. The gist ol its 
 purport is : “ I am doing wrong in acting like this.” But 
 
 1 “ The Psychology of the Unconscious ” (“ Wandlungen und Symbole de 
 Libido ”). Moffat, Yard & Co. 
 
I 
 
 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS 
 
 811 
 
 it is characteristic that a dream never expresses itself in this 
 logically abstract way, but always in the language of parable 
 or simile. This peculiarity is also a characteristic feature 
 of primitive languages, whose flowery idioms always strike 
 us. If you call to mind the writings of ancient literature 
 —e.g. the language of simile in the Bible—you will find what 
 nowadays is achieved by means of abstract expressions, could 
 Vnew only be attained by means of simile. Even such a 
 phil«pher as Plato did not disdain to express certain 
 fundamental ideas by means of simile. 
 
 Jmt as the body bears traces of its phylogenetic develop- 
 mentjiso also does the human mind. There is therefore 
 nothing surprising in the possibility of the allegories of our 
 dreams 'ieing an archaic survival. 
 
 At tie same time the theft of the apple in our example 
 is a typcal theme of dreams, often recurring with various 
 modificatons. It is also a well-known theme in mythology, 
 and is f(und not only in the story of Paradise, but in 
 numerouf myths and fables of all ages and climes. It is 
 one of th>se universally human similes, which can reappear 
 in any oie, at any time. Thus, dream psychology opens 
 up a way to a general comparative psychology, from which 
 we hope tcgain the same understanding of the development 
 and struchre of the human soul, as comparative anatomy 
 has given is concerning the human body. 
 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 Introduction A 
 
 My short sketch on the Content of the Psychoses whicB first 
 appeared in the series of “ Schriften zur Angewandten Belen- 
 kunde ” under Freud’s editorship was designed to g we the 
 non-professional but interested public some insight into the 
 psychological point of view of recent psychiatry. I chose 
 by way of example a case of the mental disorder known as 
 Dementia Prsecox, which Bleuler calls Schizophrenia. Statis¬ 
 tically this extensive group contains by far the largest 
 number of cases of psychosis. Many psychiatrists would 
 prefer to limit it, and accordingly make use of other nomen¬ 
 clature and classification. From the psychological stand¬ 
 point the change of name is unimportant, for it is of less 
 value to know what a thing is called than to know what it is. 
 The cases of mental disorder sketched in this essay belong to 
 well-known and frequently occurring types, familiar to the 
 alienist. The facts will not be altered if these disorders are 
 called by some other name than dementia praecox. 
 
 I have presented my view of the psychological basis in a 
 work 1 whose scientific validity has been contested upon all 
 sorts of grounds. For me it is sufficient justification that a 
 psychiatrist of Bleuler’s standing has fully accepted, in his 
 great monograph on the disease, all the essential points in 
 my work. The difference between us is as to the question 
 whether, in relation to the anatomical basis, the psychological 
 disorders should be regarded as primary or secondary. The 
 
 resolution of this weighty question depends upon the general 
 
 > 
 
 1 “The Psychology of Dementia Praecox,” translated by Brill and 
 Peterson, Monograph Series of the Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases. 
 New York. 
 

 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 813 
 
 problem as to whether the prevailing dogma in psychiatry— 
 “ disordersJof the mind are disorders of the brain ”—presents 
 a final triSi or not. This dogma leads to absolute sterility 
 as soon as lniversal validity is ascribed to it. There are un¬ 
 doubted psychogenic mental diseases (the so-called hysterical) 
 which are properly regarded as functional in contrast with 
 organic disekses which rest upon demonstrable anatomical 
 
 changes. Di 
 
 sorders of the brain should only be called 
 
 organic when the psychic symptoms depend upon an un¬ 
 
 doubtedly pri 
 prascox this 
 anatomical c 
 being able t 
 
 mary disease of the brain. Now in dementia 
 is by no means a settled question. Definite 
 langes are present, but we are very far from 
 relate the psychological symptoms to these 
 changes. We| have, at least, positive information as to the 
 functional natlure of early schizophrenic conditions; more¬ 
 over the organic character of paranoia and many paranoid 
 forms is still in great uncertainty. This being so it is worth 
 while to inquire whether manifestations of degeneration could 
 not also be plrovoked by psychological disturbance of func¬ 
 tion. Such 1m idea is only incomprehensible to those who 
 smuggle materialistic preconceptions into their scientific 
 theories. This ^question does not even rest upon some funda¬ 
 mental and arlbitrary spiritualism, but upon the following 
 simple reflection!. Instead of assuming that some hereditary 
 disposition, or A toxaemia, gives rise directly to organic pro¬ 
 cesses of disease*, I incline to the view that upon the basis of 
 predisposition, vlhose nature is at present unknown to us, 
 there arises a ilion-adaptable psychological function which 
 can proceed to Jlevelop into manifest mental disorder; this 
 may secondarily* determine organic degeneration with its 
 own train of symlptoms. In favour of this conception is the 
 fact that we haj^e no proof of the primary nature of the 
 organic disorder,! but overwhelming proofs exist of a primary 
 psychological faJalt in function, whose history can be traced 
 back to the patient’s childhood. In perfect agreement with 
 this conception ils the fact that analytic practice has given 
 us experience of leases where patients on the border-line of 
 dementia praecox Ihave been brought back to normal life. 
 
314 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 Even if anatomical leisons or organic symtotoms were 
 constantly present, science ought not to imaginelhe psycho¬ 
 logical standpoint could advisedly be neglected Bor the un¬ 
 doubted psychological relationship be given up as imimportant. 
 If, for instance, carcinoma were to prove an infecuous disease 
 the peculiar growth and degenerative process of carcinomatous 
 cells would still be a constant factor requiring investigation 
 on its own account. But, as I have said, the correlation 
 between the anatomical findings, and the psychological 
 picture of the disease is so loose that it is extremely desirable 
 to study the psychological side of it thoroughly, i 
 
 Part I j 
 
 Psychiatry is the stepchild of medicine. / All the other 
 branches of medicine have one great advantage over it—the 
 scientific methods can be applied; there are'things to be 
 seen, and felt, physical and chemical methods of; investigation 
 to be followed: the microscope shows the dreaded bacillus, 
 the surgeon’s knife halts at no difficulty and give,3 us glimpses 
 of most inaccessible organs of vital importance.' Psychiatry, 
 which engages in the exploration of the mind, 4tands ever at 
 the door seeking in vain to weigh and measure as in the 
 other departments of science. We have long! known that we 
 have to do with a definite organ, the brain; but only beyond 
 the brain, beyond the morphological basis do we reach what 
 is important for us—the mind; as indefinable as it ever was, 
 still eluding any explanation, no matter j how ingenious. 
 Former ages, endowing the mind with substance, and personi¬ 
 fying every incomprehensible occurrence in feature, regarded 
 mental disorder as the work of evil spirits ;( the patient was 
 looked upon as one possessed, and the methods of treatment 
 were such as fitted this conception. This ndiediaeval concep¬ 
 tion occasionally gains credence and express 
 A classical example is the driving out of the 
 elder Pastor Blumhardt carried out successfully in the famous 
 case of Gottlieb in Diltus. 1 To the honour of the Middle 
 
 1 Bresler, “ Kulturliistorischer Beitrag zur Hysteriie.” Allg. Zeitschrift 
 fur Psychiatrie, Bd. LIII., p. 333. Ziindel, “Biographic Blumhardts.” 
 
 ion even to-day. 
 devil which the 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 315 
 
 Ages let it also be said that there are to be found early 
 evidences of a sound rationalism. In the sixteenth century 
 at the Julius Hospital in Wurzburg mental patients were 
 already treated side by side with others physically ill, and 
 the treatment seems to have been really humane. With the 
 'opening of the modern era, and with the dawn of the first 
 scientific ideas, the original barbaric personification of the 
 unknown Great Power gradually disappeared. A change 
 arose in the conception of mental disease in favour of a more 
 philosophic moral attitude. The old view that every mis¬ 
 fortune was the revenge of the offended gods returned new- 
 clothed to fit the times. Just as physical diseases can, in 
 many cases, be regarded as self-inflicted on account of 
 negligence, mental diseases were likewise considered to be 
 due to some moral injury, or sin. Behind this conception 
 the angry godhead also stood. Such views played a great 
 role, right up to the beginning of last century, especially in 
 Germany. In France, however, about the same time a new 
 idea was appearing, destined to sway psychiatry for a hundred 
 years. Pinel, whose statue fittingly stands at the gateway of 
 the Salpetriere in Paris, took away the chains from the 
 insane and thus freed them from the symbol of the criminal. 
 In a very real way he formulated for the world the humane 
 and scientific conception of modern times. A little later 
 Esquirol and Bayle discovered that certain forms of insanity 
 ended in death, after a relatively short time, and that certain 
 constant changes in the brain could be demonstrated post 
 mortem. Esquirol had described as an entity general 
 paralysis of the insane, or as it was popularly called “ soften¬ 
 ing of the brain,” a disease which is always bound up with 
 chronic inflammatory degeneration of the cerebral matter. 
 Thus was laid the foundation of the dogma which you will 
 find repeated in every text-book of psychiatry, viz. “ diseases 
 of the mind are diseases of the brain.” Confirmation of this 
 conception was added about the same time by Gall’s dis¬ 
 coveries which traced partial or complete loss of the power of 
 speech a psychical capacity—to a lesion in the region of the 
 left lower frontal convolution. Somewhat later this view 
 
316 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 proved to be of general applicability. Innumerable cases of 
 extreme idiocy or other intense mental disorders were found 
 to be caused by tumours of the brain. Towards the end of 
 the nineteenth century Wernicke (recently deceased) localised 
 the speech centre in the left temporal lobe. This epoch- 
 making discovery raised hopes to the highest pitch. It was 
 expected that at no distant day every characteristic and 
 every psychical activity would be assigned a place in the 
 cortical grey matter. Gradually, increased attempts were 
 made to trace the primary mental changes in the psychoses 
 back to certain parallel changes in the brain. Meynert, the 
 famous Viennese psychiatrist, described a formal scheme in 
 which the alteration in blood-supply in certain regions was 
 to play the chief part in the origin of the psychoses. 
 Wernicke made a similar but far more ingenious attempt 
 at a morphological explanation of psychical disorders. The 
 visible result of this tendency is seen in the fact that even 
 the smallest and least renowned asylum has, to-day, its 
 anatomical laboratory where cerebral sections are cut, stained, 
 and microscoped. Our numerous psychiatric journals are full 
 of morphological contributions, investigations into the struc¬ 
 ture and distribution of cells in the cortex, and other varying 
 source of disorders in the different mental diseases. 
 
 Psychiatry has come into fame as gross materialism. 
 And quite rightly, for it is on the road—or rather reached 
 it long ago—to put the organ, the instrument, above function. 
 Function has become the dependent accessory of its organs, 
 the mind the dependent accessory of the brain. In modern 
 mental therapy the mind has been the loser, whilst great 
 progress has been made in cerebral anatomy; of the mind 
 we know less than nothing. Current psychiatry behaves 
 like a man who thinks he can unriddle the meaning and 
 importance of a building by a mineralogical investigation of 
 its stones. Let us attempt to realise which mental diseases 
 show obvious changes in the brain, and what is their proportion. 
 
 In the last four years we have received 1325 patients at 
 Burgholzi; 1 331 a year. Of these 9 per cent, suffered from 
 
 1 Central Asylum and University Psychiatric Clinic in Zurich. 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 317 
 
 congenital psychic anomalies. By this is understood a cer¬ 
 tain inborn defect of the psyche. Of these 9 per cent., about 
 a quarter were imbeciles. Here we meet certain changes in 
 the brain such as microcephalus, hydrocephalus, malforma¬ 
 tions or absence of portions of the brain. The remaining 
 three-quarters of these congenital defects present no typical 
 changes in the brain. 
 
 Three per cent, of our patients suffer from epileptic 
 mental troubles. In the course of epilepsy there arises 
 gradually a typical degeneration of the brain. The degenera¬ 
 tion is, however, only discoverable in severe cases and when 
 the disease has existed for some time. If the attacks have 
 only existed for a relatively short time, not more than a few 
 years, the brain as a rule shows nothing. Seventeen per 
 cent, of our patients suffer from progressive paralysis and 
 senile dementia. Both diseases present characteristic 
 changes in the brain. In paralysis there is most extensive 
 shrinkage of the brain, so that the cortex is often reduced by 
 one half. The frontal portions of the brain more especially, 
 may be reduced to a third of the normal weight. There is 
 a similar destruction of substance in senile decay. 
 
 Fourteen per cent, of the patients annually received are 
 cases of poisoning, at least 13 per cent, of these being due to 
 alcohol. As a rule in slight cases nothing is to be found in 
 the brain; in only a relatively few severe cases is there 
 shrinkage of the cortex, generally of slight degree. The 
 number of these severe cases amounts to less than 1 per 
 cent, of the yearly cases of alcoholism. 
 
 Six per cent, of the patients suffer from so-called maniacal 
 depressive insanity which includes the maniacs and the 
 melancholics. The essence of this disease is readily intel¬ 
 ligible to the public. Melancholia is a condition of abnormal 
 sadness without disorder of intelligence or memory. Mania 
 is the opposite, the rule being an abnormally excited state 
 with great restlessness ; likewise without deep disturbance 
 of intelligence and memory. In thi3 disease there are no 
 demonstrable morphological changes in the brain. 
 
 Forty-five per cent, of the patients suffer from the real and 
 
318 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 common mental disease called dementia praecox. The name 
 is a very unhappy one, for the dementia is not always pre¬ 
 cocious, nor in all cases is there dementia. Unfortunately 
 the disease is too often incurable; even in the best cases, in 
 those that recover, where the outside public would not ob¬ 
 serve any abnormality, there is always really present some 
 defect in the emotional life. The picture presented by the 
 disease is extraordinarily diverse ; generally there is some 
 disorder of feeling, frequently delusions and hallucinations. 
 As a rule there is nothing to be found in the brain. Even in 
 cases of a most severe type, lasting for years, an intact brain 
 is not infrequently found post mortem. In a few cases only 
 certain slight changes are present which, however, cannot as 
 yet be reduced to any law. 
 
 To sum up : in round figures a quarter of our insane 
 patients show more or less clearly extensive changes and 
 destruction of the brain, while three-fourths have a brain 
 which seems to be generally unimpared or at most exhibit 
 such changes as give no explanation of the psychological 
 disturbance. 
 
 These figures offer the best possible proof that the purely 
 morphological view-point of modern psychiatry leads only 
 very indirectly, if at all, to the understanding of the mental 
 disorder, which is our aim. We must take into account the 
 fact that those mental diseases which show the most marked 
 disturbances of the brain end in death; for this reason the 
 chronic inmates of the asylum form its real population, con¬ 
 sisting of some 70 to 80 percent, of cases of dementia praecox, 
 that is, of patients in whom anatomical changes are practi¬ 
 cally non-existent. The psychiatry of the future must come 
 to grips with the core of the thing; the path is thus made 
 clear —it can only be by ivay of psychology. Hence in our 
 Zurich clinic we have entirely discarded the anatomical view 
 and turned to the psychological investigation of insanity. As 
 most of our patients suffer from dementia praecox we were 
 naturally concerned with this as our chief problem. 
 
 The older asylum physicians paid great attention to the 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 819 
 
 psychological precursors of mental disorder, just as the public 
 still does, following a true instinct. We accepted this hint 
 and carefully investigated the previous psychological history 
 wherever possible. Our trouble was richly rewarded, for we 
 often found, to our surprise, that the disease broke out at 
 a moment of some great emotion which, in its turn, had 
 arisen in a so-called normal way. We found moreover that 
 in the mental disease which ensued a number of symptoms 
 occurred which it was quite labour in vain to study from the 
 morphological standpoint. These same symptoms, however, 
 were comprehensible when considered from the standpoint 
 of the individual’s previous history. Freud’s fundamental 
 investigations into the psychology of hysteria and dreams 
 afforded us the greatest stimulus and help in our work. 
 
 A few instances of the latest method in psychiatry will 
 make the subject clearer than mere dry theory. In order to 
 bring home to you the difference in our conception I will 
 first describe the medical history in the older fashion, and 
 subsequently give the solution characteristic of the new 
 departure. 
 
 The case to be considered is that of a cook aged 32; 
 she had no hereditary taint, was always industrious and 
 conscientious, and had never been noticeable for eccentric 
 behaviour or the like. Quite recently she became acquainted 
 with a young man whom she wished to marry. From that 
 time on she began to show certain peculiarities. She often 
 spoke of his not liking her much, was frequently out of 
 sorts, ill-tempered, and sat alone brooding; once she orna¬ 
 mented her Sunday hat very strikingly with red and green 
 feathers, another day she bought a pair of pince-nez in 
 order to wear them when she went out walking with her 
 fiance. One day the sudden idea that her teeth were 
 rather ugly would not let her rest, and she resolved to get a 
 plate, although there was no absolute need. She had all 
 her teeth out under an anaesthetic. The night after the 
 operation she suddenly had a severe anxiety-attack. She 
 cried and moaned that she was damned for ever, for she 
 had committed a great sin ; she should not have allowed 
 
320 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 her teeth to be extracted. People must pray for her, that 
 God might pardon her sin. In vain her friends attempted 
 to talk her out of her fears, to assure her that the extraction 
 of teeth was really no sin; it availed nothing. At day¬ 
 break she became somewhat quieter; she worked through¬ 
 out the da,y. On following nights the attacks were repeated. 
 When consulted by the patient I found her quiet, but she wore 
 a rather vacant expression. I talked to her about the opera¬ 
 tion, and she assured me it was not so dreadful to have teeth 
 extracted, but still it was a great sin, from which position, 
 despite every persuasion, she could not be moved. She con¬ 
 tinually repeated in plaintive, pathetic tones, “ I should not 
 have allowed my teeth to be extracted; oh yes, that was 
 a great sin which God will never forgive me.” She gave 
 the impression of real insanity. A few days later her con¬ 
 dition grew worse, and she had to be brought into the asylum. 
 The anxiety-attack had extended and was persistent, and the 
 mental disorder lasted for months. 
 
 The history shows a series of entirely unrelated symptoms. 
 Why all the queer story of the hat and pince-nez? Why 
 those anxiety-attacks ? Why this delusion that the extrac¬ 
 tion of her teeth was an unpardonable sin ? Nothing here 
 is clear. The morphologically-minded psychiatrist would 
 say: This is just a typical case of dementia praecox; it is 
 the essence of insanity, of madness, to talk of nothing but 
 mysteries; the standpoint of the diseased mind towards the 
 world is displaced, is “ mad.” What is no sin for the normal, 
 the patient finds a sin. It is a bizarre delusion charac¬ 
 teristic of dementia praecox. The extravagant lamentation 
 about this supposed sin is what is known as “ inadequate ” 1 
 emotional emphasis. The queer ornamentation of the hat, 
 the pince-nez, are bizarre notions such as are very common 
 in these patients. Somewhere in the brain certain cells 
 have fallen into disorder, and manufacture illogical, sense¬ 
 less ideas of one kind and another which are quite without 
 psychological meaning. The patient is obviously a hereditary 
 
 1 In psychiatry “ inadequate ” is employed to denote disproportion between 
 feeling and idea whether in excess or the reverse. 
 
321 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 degenerate with a weak brain, having a twist, which is 
 the origin of the disorder. For some reason or other the 
 disease has suddenly broken out. It could just as easily 
 have broken out at any other time. Perhaps we should 
 have had to capitulate to these arguments had real psycho¬ 
 logical analysis not come to our aid. In filling up the cer¬ 
 tificate required for her removal to the asylum, it transpired 
 that many years ago she had had an affair which termi¬ 
 nated ; her lover left her with an illegitimate child. Nobody 
 had been told of this. When she was again in love a dilemma 
 arose, and she asked herself, What will this new lover say 
 about it ? At first she postponed the marriage, becoming more 
 and more worried, and then the eccentricities began. To 
 understand these we must immerse ourselves in the psycho¬ 
 logy of a naive soul. If we have to disclose some painful 
 secret to a beloved person, we try first to strengthen his love 
 in order to obtain beforehand a guarantee of his forgiveness. 
 We do it by flattery or by caresses, or we try to impress 
 the value of our own personality in order to raise it in the 
 eyes of the other. Our patient decked herself out with 
 beautiful feathers, which to her simple taste seemed precious. 
 The wearing of “ pince-nez ” increases the respect of children 
 even of a mature age. And who does not know people who 
 will have their teeth extracted, out of pure vanity, in order 
 that they may wear a plate to improve their appearance ? 
 
 After such an operation most people have a slight, nervous 
 reaction, and then everything becomes more difficult to bear. 
 This was, as a matter of fact, just the moment when the 
 catastrophe did occur, in her terror lest her fiance should 
 break with her when he heard of her previous life. That was 
 the first anxiety-attack. Just as the patient had not acknow¬ 
 ledged her secret in all these years, so she now sought to 
 guard it, ana shifted the fear in her guilty conscience on to 
 the extraction of the teeth; she thus followed a method well 
 known to us, for when we dare not acknowledge some great 
 sin we deplore some small sin with the greater emphasis. 
 
 The problem seemed insoluble to the weak and sensitive 
 mind of the patient, hence the affect became insurmountably 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 great; this is the mental desire as presented from the 
 psychological side. The series of apparently meaningless 
 events, the so-called madness, have now a meaning; a signi¬ 
 ficance appertains to the delusions, making the patient more 
 human to us. Here is a person like ourselves, beset by 
 universal human problems; no longer merely a cerebral 
 machine thrown out of gear. Hitherto we thought that the 
 insane patient revealed nothing to us by symptoms, save the 
 senseless products of his disordered cerebral cells, but that 
 was academic wisdom reeking of the study. When we pene¬ 
 trate into the human secrets of our patients, we recognise mental 
 disease to be an unusual reaction to emotional problems 
 which are in no wise foreign to ourselves, and the delusion 
 discloses the psychological system upon which it is based. 
 
 The light which shines forth from this conception seems 
 to us so enormously powerful because it forces us into the 
 innermost depths of that tremendous disorder which is most 
 common in our asylums, and hitherto least understood; by 
 reason of the craziness of the symptoms it is the type that 
 strikes the public as madness in excelsis. 
 
 The case which I have just sketched is a simple one. It 
 is transparent. My second example is somewhat moie com¬ 
 plicated. It is the case of a man between 30 and 40 years 
 of age; he is a foreign archaeologist of great learning and 
 most unusual intelligence. He was a precocious boy of quite 
 excellent character, great sensitiveness, and rare gifts. Physi¬ 
 cally he was small, always weakly, and a stammerer. He 
 grew up and was educated abroad, and afteiwaids studied 
 for several terms at B-. So far there had been no dis¬ 
 
 order of any kind. On the completion of his university 
 career he became zealously absorbed in his archaeological 
 work, which gradually engulfed him to such an extent that 
 he was dead to the world and all its pleasures. He worked 
 incessantly, and buried himself entirely in his books. He 
 became quite unsociable; before, awkward and shy in society, 
 he now fled from it altogether, and saw no one beyond a few 
 friends. He thus led the life of a hermit devoted entirely to 
 science. A few years later, on a holiday tour, he revisited 
 
323 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 B—-, where he remained a few days. He walked a great 
 deal in the environs of the town. His few acquaintances now 
 found him somewhat strange, taciturn, and nervous. After 
 a somewhat protracted walk he seemed tired, and said that 
 he did not feel very well. He then remarked he must get 
 himself hypnotised, he felt his nerves unsteady. On top 
 of this he was attacked by physical illness, viz. inflam¬ 
 mation of the lungs. Very soon a peculiar state of excite¬ 
 ment supervened which led to suicidal ideas. He was 
 brought to the asylum, where for weeks he remained in an 
 extremely excited state. He was completely deranged, and 
 did not know where he was; he spoke in broken sentences 
 which no one could understand. He was often so excited 
 and aggressive that it took several attendants to hold him. 
 He gradually became quieter, and one day came to himself, 
 as if waking out of a long, confused dream. He soon com¬ 
 pletely regained his health, and was discharged as cured. 
 He returned to his home and again immersed himself in 
 books. In the following years he published several remark¬ 
 able works, but, as before, his life was that of a hermit 
 living entirely in his books and dead to the world. He then 
 gradually acquired the name of a dried-up misanthrope 
 lost to all meaning of the beauty of life. A few years after 
 
 his first illness a brief holiday brought him again to B_. 
 
 As before he took his solitary walks in the environs. One day 
 he was suddenly overcome by a faint feeling, and lay down 
 in the street. He was carried into a neighbouring house 
 where he immediately became extremely excited. He began 
 to perform gymnastics, jumped over the rails of the bed 
 turned somersaults in the room, began to declaim in a loud 
 voice, sang his own improvisations, etc. He was again 
 brought to the asylum. The excitement continued. He 
 extolled his wonderful muscles, his beautiful figure, his 
 enormous strength. He believed that he had discovered a 
 natural law by which a wonderful voice could be developed. 
 
 He regarded himself as a great singer, and a marvellous 
 reciter, and at the same time he was a great inspired poet and 
 3omposer to whom verse and melody came spontaneously. 
 
324 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 All this was in pitiable and very remarkable contrast to 
 reality. He is a small weakly man of unimposing build, with 
 poorly developed muscles betraying at the first glance the 
 atrophying effect of his studious life. He is unmusical, his 
 voice is weak and he sings out of tune ; he is a bad speaker, 
 because of his stutter. For weeks he occupied himself in 
 the asylum with peculiar jumping, and contortions of the 
 body which he called gymnastics, he sang and declaimed. 
 Then he became more quiet and dreamy, often stared thought¬ 
 fully in front of him for a long time, now and then sang 
 a love song which, despite its want of musical expression, 
 betrayed a pretty feeling for love’s aspirations. . This also 
 was in complete contrast with the dryness and isolation of 
 his normal life. He gradually became accessible for lengthy 
 conversations. 
 
 We will break off the history of the disease here, and sum 
 up what is furnished so far by observation of the patient. 
 
 In the first illness the delirium broke out unexpectedly, 
 and was followed by a mental disorder with confused ideas 
 and violence which lasted for several weeks. Complete 
 recovery appeared to have taken place. Six years later 
 there was a sudden outbreak of mania, grandiose delusions, 
 bizarre actions, followed by a twilight-stage gradually leading 
 to recovery. Here we again see a typical case of dementia 
 praecox, of the katatonic variety, especially characterised by 
 peculiar movements and actions. In psychiatry the views 
 obtaining at present would regard this as localised cellular 
 disease of some part of the cortex, exhibiting confusional 
 states, delusions of grandeur, peculiar contortions of the 
 muscles, or twilight-states, which taken all together have as 
 little psychological meaning as the bizarre shapes of a drop 
 of lead thrown into water. 
 
 This is not my view. It was certainly no accidental freak 
 of the brain-cells that created the dramatic contrasts shown in 
 the second illness. We can see that these contrasts, the so- 
 called grandiose delusions, were very subtly determined by the 
 deficiencies in the patient’s personality. Without doubt, any 
 one of us would naturally regard these deficiencies seriously 
 
325 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 in ouiselves. Who would not have the desire to find com¬ 
 pensation for the aridness of his profession and of his life 
 m the joys of poetry and music and to restore to his body 
 the natural power and beauty stolen from it by the study’s 
 atmosphere ? Do we not recall with envy the energy of a 
 Demosthenes who, despite his stammering, became a great 
 orator ? If our patient thus fulfilled the obvious gaps in his 
 physical and mental life by delusional wishes, the supposition 
 is warranted that the whispered love-song which he sang 
 fiom time to time, filled up a painful blank in his being, 
 which became more painful the more it was concealed. The 
 explanation is not far to seek. It is simply the old story, 
 born anew in every human soul, in a guise befitting the 
 destined creature’s highest sensibilities. 
 
 When oui patient was a student he learnt to know and 
 love a girl-student. Together they made many excursions in 
 the enviions of the town; but his exceeding timidity and 
 bashfulness (the lot of the stammerer), never permitted him 
 an opportunity of getting out the appropriate words. More¬ 
 over, he was poor and had nothing to offer her but hopes. 
 The time came for the termination of his studies ; she went 
 away, and he also, and they never saw one another again. 
 And not long afterwards he heard she had married some 
 one else. Then he relinquished his hopes, but he did not 
 know that Eros never emancipates his slaves. 
 
 He buried himself in abstract learning, not to forget, but 
 to work for her in his thoughts. He wanted to keep the love 
 in his heart quite secret, and never to betray that secret. 
 He would dedicate his works to her without her ever knowing 
 it. The compromise succeeded, but not for long. Once he 
 travelled through the town where he heard she lived—rit 
 seems to have been an accident that he travelled through 
 that town. He did not leave the train, which only made a 
 short halt there. From the window he saw standing in the 
 distance a young woman with a little child, and thought it 
 was she. Impossible to say whether it was really so or not. 
 He does not think he felt any peculiar feeling at that moment ; 
 anyway he gave himself no trouble to ascertain whether it 
 
326 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 was she, which makes the presumption strong that it was 
 not really she. The unconscious wanted to be left in peace 
 with its illusion. Shortly afterwards he again came to B , 
 the place of old memories. Then he felt something strange 
 stir in his soul, an uneasy feeling, akin to Nietzsche’s— 
 
 “ Not for long shalt thou thirst, 0 burning heart! 
 
 There is promise in the air, 
 
 Winds come to me from unknown mouths— 
 
 The healing coolness comes.’' 
 
 Civilised man no longer believes in demons, he calls 
 in the doctor. Our patient wanted to be hypnotised. Then 
 madness overcame him. What was going on in him ? 
 
 He answered this question in broken sentences, with long 
 pauses, in that twilight-stage that heralds convalescence. I 
 give as faithfully as may be his own words. When he fell ill 
 he suddenly lost the well-regulated world and found himself 
 in the chaos of an overmastering dream, a sea of blood and 
 fire; the world was out of joint; everywhere conflagration, 
 volcanic outbreaks, earthquakes, mountains fell in, followed 
 by enormous battles where the peoples fell upon one another; 
 he became involved more and more in the battle of nature, he 
 was right in the midst of those fighting, wrestling, defending 
 himself, enduring unutterable misery and pain; gradually he 
 was exalted and strengthened by a strange calming feeling 
 that some one was watching his struggles, that his loved one 
 saw all from afar. That was the time when he showed real 
 violence to the attendants. He felt his strength increasing 
 and saw himself at the head of great armies which he would 
 lead to victory. Then more great battles and at length 
 victory. He would try to get his loved one as prize of victory. 
 As he drew near her the illness ceased, and he awoke from 
 a long dream. 
 
 His daily life again began to follow the regular routine. 
 He shut himself up in his work and forgot the abyss within 
 
 himself. A few years later he is again at B- Demon or 
 
 Destiny ? Again he followed the old trail and again was 
 overborne by old memories. But this time he was not im¬ 
 mersed in the depths of confusion. He remained orientated 
 
327 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 and en rapport with his surroundings. The struggle was 
 considerably milder, but he did gymnastics, practised the 
 aits, and made good his deficiencies; then followed the dreamy 
 stage with the love-songs, corresponding to the period of 
 victoiy in the first psychosis. In this state, according to his 
 own words, he had a dreamlike feeling as if he stood upon 
 the borders of two worlds and knew not whether truth stood 
 on the right or on the left. He told me, “It is said she is 
 married, but I believe she is not, but is still waiting for me; 
 I feel that it must be so. It is ever to me as if she were not 
 married, and as if success were yet attainable.” 
 
 Our patient here portrayed but a pale copy of the scene in 
 the first attack of psychosis, when he, the victor, stood before 
 his mistress. In the course of a few weeks after this con¬ 
 
 versation the scientific interests of the patient again began to 
 predominate. He spoke with obvious unwillingness about 
 his intimate life, he repressed it more and more, and finally 
 turned away from it as if it did not belong to himself. Thus 
 gradually the gate of the under-world became closed. There 
 remained nothing but a certain tense expression, and a look 
 which, though fixed on the outer world, was turned inwards at 
 the same time; and this alone hinted at the silent activity of 
 the unconscious, preparing new solutions for his insoluble 
 problem. This is the so-called cure in dementia prsecox. 
 
 Hitherto we psychiatrists used not to be able to suppress 
 a laugh when we read an artist’s attempts to portray a 
 psychosis. These attempts have been generally regarded as 
 quite useless, for the writer introduces into his conception of 
 the psychosis psychological relationships quite foreign to the 
 clinical picture of the disease. But the artist has not simply 
 proceeded to copy a case out of a psychiatric text-book; he 
 knows as a rule better than the psychiatrist. 
 
 The case which I have sketched is not unique, it is typical 
 of a whole class for which the artist Spitteler has created 
 a model of universal validity; the model is Imago. I may 
 take for granted that you know all about that case. The 
 psychological gulf, however, between the creation of the artist 
 and the insane person remains great. The world of the 
 
828 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 artist is one of solved problems; the world of reality, that of 
 unsolved problems. The mental patient is a faithful image 
 of this reality. His solutions are unsatisfying illusions, his 
 cure a temporary giving up of the problem, which yet goes on 
 working in the depths of the unconscious, and at the appointed 
 time again rises to the surface and creates new illusions with 
 new scenery; part of the history of mankind is here seen 
 abridged. 
 
 Psychological analysis is far from being able to explain 
 in complete and illuminating fashion all cases of the disease 
 with which we are here concerned. On the contrary, the 
 majority remain obscure and difficult to understand, and 
 chiefly because only a certain proportion of patients recover. 
 Our last patient is noteworthy because his return to a normal 
 state afforded us a survey of the period of his illness. Un¬ 
 fortunately the advantage of this standpoint is not always 
 possible to us, for a great number of persons never find 
 their way back from their dreams. They are lost in the 
 maze of a magic garden where the same old story is re¬ 
 peated again and again in a timeless present. For patients 
 the hands of the clock of the world remain stationary; there 
 is no time, no further development. It makes no diffeience 
 to them whether they dream for two days or thirty years. I 
 had a patient in my ward who was five years without uttering 
 a word, in bed, and entirely buried in himself. For years I 
 visited him twice daily, and as I reached his bedside I could 
 see at once that there was no change. One day I was just 
 about to leave the room when a voice I did not recognise 
 called out — (i Who are you ? What do you want here ? ” I 
 saw with astonishment that it was the dumb patient who had 
 suddenly regained his voice, and obviously his senses also. I 
 told him I was his doctor, whereupon he asked angrily, why 
 was he kept a prisoner here, and why did no one ever speak 
 to him ? He said this in an injured voice just like a normal 
 person whom one had neglected for a couple of days. I 
 informed him that he had been in bed quite speechless for 
 five years and had responded to nothing, whereat he looked 
 at me fixedly and without understanding. Naturally I tried 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 829 
 
 to discover what had gone on in him during these five years, 
 but could learn nothing. Another patient with a similar 
 symptom, when asked why he had remained silent for years, 
 maintained, “ Because I wanted to spare the German 
 language.” 1 These examples show that it is often impos¬ 
 sible to lift the veil of the secret, for the patients themselves 
 have neither interest nor pleasure in explaining their strange 
 experiences, in which as a rule they realise nothing peculiar. 
 
 Occasionally the symptoms themselves are a sign-post to 
 the understanding of the psychology of the disease. 
 
 We had a patient who was for thirty-five years an inmate 
 at Burgholzli. For decades she lay in bed, she never spoke 
 or reacted to anything, her head was always bowed, her 
 back bent and the knees somewhat drawn up. She was 
 always making peculiar rubbing movements with her hands, 
 so as to give rise during the course of years to thick horny 
 patches on her hands. She kept the thumb and index finger 
 of her right hand together as in the movement of sewing. 
 When she died I tried to discover what she had been formerly. 
 Nobody in the asylum recalled ever having seen her out of 
 bed. Only our chief attendant had a memory of having seen 
 her sitting in the same attitude as that she afterwards took 
 up in bed, at that time she was making rapid movements 
 of extension of the arm across the right knee; it was said 
 of her that she was sewing shoes, later that she was polish¬ 
 ing shoes. As time went on the movements became more 
 limited till finally there remained but a slight rubbing move¬ 
 ment, and only the finger and thumb retained the sewing 
 position. In vain I consulted our old attendant, she knew 
 nothing about the patient’s previous history. When the 
 seventy-year-old brother came to the funeral I asked him 
 what had been the cause of his sister’s illness ; he told me that 
 she had had a love-affair, but for various reasons it had come 
 to nothing. The girl had taken this so to heart that she 
 became low-spirited. In answer to a query about her lover 
 it was found that he was a shoemaker. 
 
 Unless you see here some strange play of accident, you 
 
 I am indebted for this example to my colleague Dr. Abraham of Berlin. 
 
330 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 must agree that the patient had kept the memory-picture of 
 her lover unaltered in her heart for thirty-five years. 
 
 One might easily think that these patients who give 
 an impression of imbecility are only burnt-out ruins of 
 humanity. But such is probably not the case. One can 
 often prove directly that such patients register everything 
 going on around them even with a certain curiosity, and 
 have an excellent memory for it all. This is the reason 
 why many patients become for a time pretty sensible again, 
 and develop mental powers which one believed they had 
 long since lost. Such intervals occur occasionally during 
 serious physical disease, or just before death. We had a 
 patient with whom it was impossible to carry on a sane 
 conversation; he only produced a mad medley of delusions 
 and words. He once fell seriously ill physically, and I ex¬ 
 pected it w T ould be very difficult to treat him. Not at all. He 
 was quite changed, he became friendly and amiable, and 
 carried out all his doctor’s orders patiently and gratefully. 
 His eyes lost their evil darting looks, and shone quietly and 
 understandingly. One morning I came to his room with the 
 usual greeting: “ Good morning. How are you getting 
 on?” The patient answered me in the well-known way: 
 “ There again comes one of the dog and monkey troupe 
 wanting to play the Saviour.” Then I knew his physical 
 trouble was over. From that moment the whole of his 
 reason was as if “ blown away ” again. 
 
 From these observations we see that reason still survives, 
 but is pushed away into some corner by the complete pre¬ 
 occupation of the mind with diseased thoughts. 
 
 Why is the mind compelled to exhaust itself in the 
 elaboration of diseased nonsense ? On this difficult question 
 our new insight throws considerable light. To-day we can say 
 that the pathological images dominate the interests of the 
 patient so completely, because they are simply derivatives of 
 the most important questions that used to occupy the person 
 when normal—what in insanity is now an incomprehensible 
 maze of symptoms, used to be fields of vital interest to the 
 former personality. 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 381 
 
 I will cite as an example a patient who was twenty years 
 in the asylum. She was always a puzzle to the physicians, 
 lor the absurdity of her delusions exceeded anything that 
 the boldest imagination could create. 
 
 She was a dressmaker by trade, born in 1845, of very 
 poor family. Her sister early went wrong and was finally 
 lost in the swamp of prostitution. The patient herself led 
 an industrious, respectable, reserved life. She fell ill in 
 1886 in her 39th year—at the threshold of the age when so 
 many a dream is brought to naught. Her illness consisted 
 in delusions and hallucinations which increased rapidly, and 
 soon became so absurd that no one could understand her 
 wishes and complaints. In 1887 she came to the asylum. 
 In 1888 her statements, so far as the delusions were con¬ 
 cerned, were not intelligible. She maintained such mon¬ 
 strous things as that: “ At night her spinal marrow had 
 been torn out \ pains in the back had been caused by sub¬ 
 stances that went through the walls and were covered with 
 magnetism.” “ The monopoly fixed the sorrows which are 
 not in the body and do not fly about in the air.” “ Excur¬ 
 sions are made by breathing in chemistry, and by suffocation 
 regions are destroyed.” 
 
 In 1892 the patient styled herself the “Bank Note 
 Monopoly, Queen of the Orphans, Proprietress of the 
 Burgholzli Asylum; ” she said : “ Naples and I must provide 
 the world with macaroni ” (Nudel). 
 
 In 1896 she became “ Germania and Helvetia from 
 exclusively pure butter ” ; she also said, “ I am Noah’s Ark, 
 the boat of salvation and respect.” 
 
 Since then the disease has greatly increased; her last 
 creation is the delusion that she is the “ lily red sea monster 
 and the blue one.” 
 
 These instances will show you how far the incomprehensi¬ 
 bility of such pathological formations go. Our patient was 
 for years the classic example of meaningless delusional ideas 
 in dementia praecox; and many hundreds of medical students 
 have received from the demonstration of this case a permanent 
 impression of the sinister power of insanity. But even this 
 
332 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 case has not withstood the newer technique of psychoanalysis. 
 What the patient says is not at all meaningless; it is full of 
 significance, so that he who has the key can understand 
 without overmuch difficulty. 
 
 Time does not allow me to describe the technique by means 
 of which I succeeded in lifting the veil of her secret. I must 
 content myself by giving a few examples to make the strange 
 changes of thought and of speech in this patient clear to you. 
 
 She said of herself that she was Socrates. The analysis of 
 this delusion presented the following ideas : Socrates was the 
 wisest man, the man of greatest learning ; he was infamously 
 accused, and had to die in prison at the hands of strange men. 
 She was the best dressmaker, but “ never unnecessarily cut a 
 thread, and never allowed a piece of material to lie about on 
 the floor.” She worked ceaselessly, and now she has been 
 falsely accused, wicked men have shut her up, and she will 
 have to die in the asylum. 
 
 Therefore she is Socrates; this is, as you see, simple 
 metaphor, based upon obvious analogy. Take another 
 example: “I am the finest professor and the finest artist in the 
 world” 
 
 The analysis furnishes the remarks that she is the best 
 dressmaker and chooses the most beautiful models which 
 show up well and waste little material; she puts on the 
 trimming only where it can be seen. She is a professor, and 
 an artist in her work. She makes the best clothes and calls 
 them absurdly “ The Schnecke Museum-clothes.” Her 
 customers are only such persons as frequent the Schnecke 
 House and the Museum (the Schnecke House is the aristo¬ 
 cratic club. It is near the Museum and the Library, another 
 rendezvous of the aristocratic set of Zurich), for she is the 
 best dressmaker and makes only Schnecke Museum 1 clothing. 
 
 The patient also calls herself Mary Stuart. Analysis showed 
 the same analogy as with Socrates: innocent suffering and 
 death of a heroine. 
 
 “Iam the Lorelei .” Analysis: This is an old and well-known 
 song : “ I know not what it means,” etc. Whenever she wants 
 
 1 As one might say in England, “ a Bond Street dressmaker.” 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 388 
 
 to speak about her affairs people do not understand her, and 
 say they don’t know what it means ; hence she is the Lorelei. 
 
 “ I am Switzerland .” Analysis : Switzerland is free, no 
 one can rob Switzerland of her freedom. The patient does 
 not belong to the asylum, she would be free like Switzerland, 
 hence she is Switzerland. 
 
 “I am a crane” Analysis: In the “ Cranes of Ibykus ” 
 it is said: “ Whosoever is free of sin and fault shall preserve 
 the pure soul of a child.” She has been brought innocent to 
 the asylum and has never committed a crime—hence she is 
 a crane. 
 
 “I am Schillers Bell” Analysis: Schiller’s Bell is the 
 greatest work of the great master. She is the best and most 
 industrious dressmaker, and has achieved the highest rung in 
 the art of dressmaking—hence she is Schiller’s Bell. 
 
 “I am Hufeland .” Analysis: Hufeland was the best 
 doctor. She suffers intolerably in the asylum and is more¬ 
 over treated by the worst doctors. She is, however, so 
 prominent a personality that she had a claim to the best 
 doctors, that is to a doctor like Hufeland—hence she is 
 Hufeland. 
 
 The patient used the expression “ I am ” in a very arbi¬ 
 trary way. Sometimes it meant “it belongs to me” or “it 
 is proper for me”; sometimes it means “I should have.” 
 This is seen from the following analysis: 
 
 “ I am the master-key” Analysis : The master-key is the 
 key that opens all the doors of the asylum. Properly, accord¬ 
 ing to all rights, the patient should long since have obtained 
 this key for she has been for many years “ the proprietress of 
 the Burgholzli Asylum.” She expresses this reflection very 
 much simplified in the sentence, “ I am the master-key.” 
 
 The chief content of her delusions is concentrated in the 
 following words : — 
 
 “7 am the monoyly .” Analysis: The patient means the 
 bank-note monoply, which has belonged to her for some time. 
 She believes that she possesses the monopoly of the entire 
 bank notes of the world, thus creating enormous riches for 
 herself, in compensation for the poverty and lowliness of her 
 
834 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 lot. Her parents died early ; hence she is the Queen of the 
 Orphans. Her parents lived and died in great poverty. Her 
 blessings are extended to them also, the dreamlike delusions 
 of the patient benefit them in many ways. She says textu- 
 ally : “ My parents are clothed by me, my sorely-tried mother, 
 full of sorrow—I sat with her at table—covered in white with 
 superfluity.” 
 
 This is another of these malleable hallucinations which 
 the patient had daily. It is one of those scenes of wish-fulfil¬ 
 ment, with poverty on one side and riches on the other, re¬ 
 calling Hauptmanns Hannele; more especially that scene 
 where Gottwald says : “ She was clothed in rags—now she is 
 bedeckt in silken robes; and she ran about barefoot—now 
 she has shoes of glass to her feet. Soon she will live in a 
 golden castle and eat each day of baked meats. Here has she 
 lived on cold potatoes. . . .” 
 
 The wish-fulfilments of our patient go even further. 
 Switzerland has to furnish her with an income of 150,000 
 francs. The Director of the Burgholzli owes her 80,000 francs 
 damages for wrongful incarceration. She is the proprietress 
 of a distant island with silver mines, the “ mightiest silver 
 island in the world.” Therefore she is also the greatest orator, 
 possesses the most wonderful eloquence, for, as she says, 
 “ Speech is silver, silence gold.” To her all the beautiful 
 landed estates belong—all the rich quarters, towns and lands, 
 she is the proprietress of a world, even a “ threefold pro¬ 
 prietress of the world.” Whilst poor Hannele was only elevated 
 to the side of the Heavenly Bridegroom, our patient has the 
 “ Key of Heaven,” she is not only the honoured earthly queens 
 Mary Stuart and Queen Louise of Prussia, but she is also the 
 Queen of Heaven, the Mother of God as well as the Godhead. 
 Even in this earthly world where she was but a poor, ill- 
 regarded homely dressmaker she attained fulfilments of her 
 human wishes, for she had taken three husbands from the 
 best families in the town and her fourth was the Emperor 
 Francis. From these marriages there were two phantom 
 children—a little boy and a little girl. Just as she clothed, 
 fed and feasted her parents, so she provided for the future of 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 885 
 
 her children. To her son she bequeathed the great bazaar of 
 Zurich, therefore her son is a “ Zur,” for the proprietor of a 
 Bazaar is a “Zur.” The daughter resembles her mother; 
 hence she becomes the proprietress of the asylum and takes 
 her mother’s place so that the mother is released from cap¬ 
 tivity. The daughter therefore receives the title of “ Agency 
 of Socrates,” for she replaces Socrates in captivity. 
 
 These instances by no means exhaust the delusional fancies 
 of the patient. But they will give you some idea, I hope, of 
 the richness of her inner life although she was apparently so 
 dull and apathetic, or, as was said imbecile, and sat for twenty 
 years in her workroom, where she mechanically repaired her 
 linen, occasionally uttering a complex of meaningless frag¬ 
 ments which no one had hitherto been able to understand. 
 Her odd lack of words can now be seen in another light; they 
 are fragments of enigmatical inscriptions, of fairy-story 
 phantasies, which have escaped from the hard world to found 
 a world of their own. Here the tables are ever laden, and a 
 thousand feasts are celebrated in golden palaces. The patient 
 can only spare a few mysterious symbols for the gloomy dim 
 shores of reality; they need not be understood, for our under¬ 
 standing has not been necessary for her for this long time. 
 
 Nor is this patient at all unique. She is one of a type. 
 Similar phantasies are always found in patients of this kind, 
 though not always in such profusion. 
 
 The parallels with Hauptmann’s Hannele show that here 
 likewise the artist has shown us the way with the free creation 
 of his own phantasy. From this coincidence, which is not 
 accidental, we may conclude that there is something common 
 both to the artist and the insane and not to them alone. 
 Every human being has also within himself that restless 
 creative phantasy which is ever engaged in assuaging the 
 harshness of reality. Whoever gives himself unsparingly 
 and carefully to self-observation, will realise that there dwells 
 within him something which would gladly hide and cover up 
 all that is difficult and questionable in life, and thus procure 
 an easy and free path. Insanity grants the upper hand to 
 this something. When once it is uppermost, reality is more 
 
336 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 or less quickly driven out. It becomes a distant dream, and 
 the dream which enchains the patient wholly or in part, and 
 often for life, has now the attributes of reality. We normal 
 persons, who have to do entirely with reality, see only the 
 products of disordered fancy, but not the wealth of that side of 
 the mind which is turned away from us. Unfortunately only 
 too often no further knowledge reaches us of the things 
 which are transpiring on that other side, because all the 
 bridges are broken down which unite this side with that. 
 
 We do not know to-day whether these new views are of 
 universal or only of limited validity; the more carefully and 
 perseveringly we examine our patients, the more we shall 
 meet cases, which, despite apparent total imbecility, will yet 
 afford us at least some fragmentary insight into the obscurities 
 of the psychical life. This life is far removed from that mental 
 poverty which the prevailing theories were compelled to 
 accept. 
 
 However far we are from being able to understand fully 
 the concatenations of that obscure world, at least we may 
 maintain, with complete assurance, that in dementia praecox 
 there is no symptom which can be described as psychologically 
 baseless and meaningless. The most absurd things are in 
 reality symbols of ideas which are not only generally under¬ 
 standable, but also universally operative in the human heart. 
 In insanity we do not discover anything new and unknown, 
 but we look at the foundation of our own being, the source 
 of those life-problems in which we are all engaged. 
 
 Part II 
 
 The number of psychoanalytic investigations into the 
 psychology of dementia praecox has considerably increased 
 since the publication of my book upon the subject. 1 When, 
 in 1903,1 made the first analysis of a case of dementia praecox, 
 there dawned on me a premonition of the possibilities of 
 future discoveries in this sphere. This has been confirmed. 
 
 Freud first submitted a case of paranoid dementia to 
 
 1 “ The Psychology of Dementia Praecox.” 
 
387 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 closer psychological investigation. 1 This he was enabled to 
 do by means of an analytic technique perfected through his 
 rich experiences with neurotics. He selected the famous auto¬ 
 biography of P. Schreber, “ Denkwiirdigkeiten eines Nerven- 
 kranken. The patient could not be analysed personally, but 
 having published his most interesting autobiography all the 
 material wanted for an analysis was to be found in it. 
 
 In this study Freud shows out of what infantile forms of 
 thought and instincts the delusional system was built up. 
 The peculiar delusions which the patient had about his doctor 
 whom he identified with God or with a godlike being, and 
 certain other surprising and really blasphemous ideas, Freud 
 was able to reduce most ingeniously to his infantile relation¬ 
 ship to his father. This case also presented similar bizarre and 
 grotesque concatenations of ideas as the one I have described. 
 As the author himself says, his work confines itself to the 
 task of pointing out those universally existent and undifferen¬ 
 tiated foundations out of which we may say every psychological 
 formation is historically developed. 2 This reductive analytical 
 process did not, however, furnish such enlightening results 
 m regard to the rich and surprising symbolism in patients of 
 this kind, as we had been accustomed to expect from the same 
 method in the realm of the psychology of hysteria. In read- 
 mg certain works of the Zurich school, for example, Maeder, 3 
 Spielrem, 4 Nelken, 5 Grebelskaja, 6 Itten, 7 one is powerfully 
 
 impressed by the enormous symbol-formation in dementia 
 praecox. 
 
 Some of the authors still proceed essentially by the method 
 analytic reduction, tracing back the complicated delusional 
 
 * Jahrbuch fiir psychoanalytische Forschung, vol. III. pp. 9 and 558. 
 
 P a lW° mP * * ls ° Ferenczi: “ u ker die Rolle der Homosexuality in der 
 Pathogenese der Paranoia,” Jahrb., III., p. 101. 
 
 ken ” M 7r/rfeh'f PS5Ch ? 1 ° SiS '; he Untersuchu »ge° an Dementia praecox Kran- 
 e “> ^hrbnch f. psychoanalyt. Forsch., II., p. 185 . 
 
 phrene!’Uc?iID, p b 3 r 29 d ft PSyChoIogisohei1 Inhalt dalles von Schizo- 
 
 phr m »! k - e L : .,iv!p y lo5 h ff e . Be ° ba0htUO S el1 Phantasien eines Sehizo- 
 
 • m! belS u ^3 a .*, Ps y c k° lo g isc he Analyse eines Paranoiden,” l.c., IV., p. 116 ff. 
 
 n • ei rage zur Psychologie der Dementia praecox,” l.c., p. V., 1 ff. 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 formation into its simpler and more universal components, 
 as I have done in the preceding pages. One cannot, however, 
 resist the feeling that this method hardly does justice to the 
 fulness and the almost overpowering wealth of phantastic 
 symbol-formation, although it does undoubtedly throw a light 
 upon the subject in certain directions. 
 
 Let me illustrate with an example. We should be thankful 
 for a commentary upon “Faust” which traced back all the 
 diverse material of Part II. to its historical sources, or for 
 a psychological analysis of Part I. which pointed out how 
 the dramatic conflict corresponds to a personal conflict in 
 the soul of the poet; we should be glad of an exposition 
 which pointed out how this subjective conflict is itself based 
 upon those ultimate and universal human things which are 
 nowise foreign to us since we all carry the seeds of them in 
 our hearts. Nevertheless we should be a little disappointed. 
 We do not read “Faust” just in order to discover that also 
 we are, in all things, “human, all too human.” Alas, we 
 know that hut too well already. Let any one who has not yet 
 learnt it go for a little while out into the world and look 
 at it without preconceptions and with open eyes. He will 
 turn back from the might and power of the “ too human, 
 hungrily he will pick up his “Faust, not to find again 
 what he has just left, but to learn how a man like Goethe 
 shakes off these elemental human things and finds freedom 
 for his soul. When we once know who was the “ Prokto- 
 phantasmist,” to what chronological events the mass of 
 symbols in Part II. relates, how it is all intimately hound up 
 with the poet’s own soul and conditioned by it, we come to 
 regard this determination as less important than the problem 
 itself—what does the poet mean by his symbolic creation? 
 Proceeding purely reductively, one discovers the final meaning 
 in these universal human things; and demands nothing 
 further from an explanation than that the unknown and com¬ 
 plicated shall be reduced to the known and simple. I should 
 like to designate this kind of understanding as retrospective 
 understanding. But there is another kind of understand¬ 
 ing, which is not analytic reduction, but is of a synthetic 
 
339 
 
 THE CONTENT OP THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 or constructive nature. I would designate this prospective 
 understanding , and the corresponding method as the Con¬ 
 structive method. 
 
 It is common knowledge that present-day scientific explana¬ 
 tion rests upon the basis of the causal principle. Scientific 
 explanation is causal explanation. We are therefore naturally 
 inclined, whenever we think scientifically, to explain causally ; 
 to undertand a thing and to regard it as explained whenever 
 it is reduced analytically to its cause and general principle. 
 
 In so far Freud’s psychological method of interpretation is 
 strictly scientific. 
 
 If we apply this method to our “ Faust ” it must become 
 clear that something more is required for a true understanding. 
 It will even seem to us that we have not gathered the poet’s 
 deepest meaning if we only see in it universal foregone human 
 conclusions. What we really want to find out is how this man 
 has redeemed himself as an individual, and when we arrive 
 at this comprehension then we shall also understand the 
 symbol given by Goethe. It is true we may then fall into 
 the error that we understand Goethe himself. But let us be 
 cautious and modest, simply saying we have thereby arrived 
 at an understanding of ourselves. I am thinking here of 
 Kant’s thought-compelling definition of comprehension, as 
 
 “ the realisation of a thing to the extent which is sufficient 
 for our purpose.” 
 
 This understanding is, it is true, subjective, and therefore 
 not scientific for those to whom science and explanation by 
 the causal principle are identical. But the validity of this 
 identification is open to question. In the sphere of psychology 
 must emphasise my doubt on this point. 
 
 We speak of “ objective ” understanding when we have 
 ?iven a causal explanation. But at bottom, understanding is 
 1 subjective process upon which we confer the quality “ objec- 
 iive ” really only to differentiate it from another kind of under- 
 itanding which is also a psychological and subjective process, 
 mt u P° n which > without further ado, we bestow the quality 
 subjective. ’ The attitude of to-day only grants scientific 
 ■alue to “objective” understanding, on account of its 
 
340 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 universal validity. This standpoint is incontestably conect 
 wherever it is not a question of the psychological process 
 itself, and hence it is valid in all sciences apart from pure 
 psychology. 
 
 To interpret Faust objectively, i.e. from the causal stand¬ 
 point, is as though a man were to consider a sculpture from 
 the historical, technical and—last but not least from the 
 mineralogical standpoint. But where lurks the real meaning 
 of the wondrous work ? Where is the answer to that most 
 important question : what aim had the artist in mind, and how 
 are we ourselves to understand his work subjectively ? To 
 the scientific spirit this seems an idle question which anyhow 
 has nothing to do with science. It comes furthermore into 
 collision with the causal principle, for it is a purely specula¬ 
 tive constructive view. And the modern world has overthrown 
 this spirit of scholasticism. 
 
 But if we would approach to an understanding of psycho¬ 
 logical things we must remember the fact of the subjective 
 conditioning of all knowledge. The world is as we see it and 
 not simply objective; this holds true even more of the mind. 
 Of course it is possible to look at the mind objectively, just 
 as at Faust, or a Gothic Cathedral. In this objective con¬ 
 ception there is comprised the whole worth and worthless¬ 
 ness of current experimental psychology and psychoanalysis. 
 The scientific mind, thinking causally, is incapable of under¬ 
 standing what is ahead; it only understands what is past, 
 that is, retrospective. Like Ahriman, the Persian devil, it 
 has the gift of After-Knowledge. But this spirit is only one 
 half of a complete comprehension. The other more important 
 half is prospective or constructive; if we are not able to 
 understand what lies ahead, then nothing is understood. If 
 psychoanalysis, following Freud’s orientation, should succeed 
 in presenting an uninterrupted and conclusive connection 
 beween Goethe’s infantile sexual development and his woik, 
 or, following Adler, between the infantile struggle for power 
 of the adult Goethe and his work, an interesting proposition 
 would have been solved—we should have learnt how a master¬ 
 piece can be reduced to the simplest thinkable elements which 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 341 
 
 are universal, and to be found working within the depths of 
 everything and everybody. But did Goethe construct his 
 work to this end ? Was it his intention that it should be 
 thus conceived ? 
 
 It must be sufficiently clear that such an understanding, 
 though undoubtedly scientific, would be entirely, utterly, 
 beside the mark. This statement is valid for psychology in 
 general. To understand the psyche causally, means to under¬ 
 stand but half of it. The causal understanding of Faust 
 enlightens us as to how it became a finished work of art, but 
 reveals nothing of the living meaning of the poet. That 
 meaning only lives if we experience it, in and through ourselves. 
 In so far as our actual present life is for us something essen¬ 
 tially new and not a repetition of all that has gone before, 
 the great value of such a work is to be seen, not in its causal 
 development, but in its living reality for our own lives. We 
 should be indeed depreciating a work like Faust if we were 
 only to regard it as something that has been perfected and 
 finished , it is only understood when conceived as a becoming 
 and as an ever new-experiencing. 
 
 Thus we must regard the human psyche. Only on one 
 side is the mind a Has Been, and as such subordinate to the 
 causal principle. On the other side the mind is a Becoming 
 that can only be grasped synthetically or constructively. The 
 causal standpoint asks how it is this actual mind has become 
 what it appears to-day ? The constructive standpoint asks 
 
 how a bridge can be built from this actual psyche to its own 
 future ? 
 
 Just as the causal method finally reaches the general 
 principles of human psychology by the analysis and reduction 
 of individual events, so does the constructive standpoint reach 
 aims that are general by the synthesis of individual tendencies. 
 The mind is a point of passage and thus necessarily determined 
 from two sides. On the one side it offers a picture of the pre¬ 
 cipitate of the past, and on the other side a picture of the 
 germinating knowledge of all that is to come, in so far as the 
 psyche creates its own future. 
 
 ^ hat has been is, on the one hand, the result and apex 
 
342 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 of all that was—as such it appears to the causal standpoint; 
 on the other hand, it is an expression of all that is to be. 
 The future is only apparently like the past, but in its essence 
 always new and unique, (the causal standpoint would like 
 to invert this sentence) thus the actual formula is incomplete, 
 germlike so to say, in relation to what is to be. 
 
 To get any conception of this expression of what is to be 
 we are forced to apply a constructive interest to it. I almost 
 felt myself tempted to say, “a scientific interest.” But 
 modern science is identical with the causal principle. So long 
 as we consider the actual mind causally, that is scientifi¬ 
 cally, we elude the mind as a Becoming. This other side of 
 the psyche can never be grasped by the exclusive use of the 
 causal principle, but only by means of the constructive 
 standpoint. The causal standpoint reduces things to their 
 elements, the constructive standpoint elaborates them into 
 something higher and more complicated. This latter stand¬ 
 point is necessarily a speculative one. 
 
 Constructive understanding is, however, differentiated from 
 scholastic speculation because it imposes no general validity, 
 but only subjective validity. When the speculative philosopher 
 believes he has comprehended the world once for all by his 
 System, he deceives himself; he has only comprehended him¬ 
 self and then naively projected that view upon the world. In 
 reaction against this, the scientific method of the modern world 
 has almost put an end to speculation and gone to the other 
 extreme. It would create an “objective” psychology. In 
 opposition to such efforts, the stress which Freud has placed 
 upon individual psychology is of immortal merit. The extra¬ 
 ordinary importance of the subjective in the development of 
 the objective mental process was thus first brought adequately 
 into prominence. 
 
 Subjective speculation lays no claim to universal validity, 
 it is identical with constructive understanding. It is a sub¬ 
 jective creation, which, looked at externally, easily seems to 
 be a so-called infantile phantasy, or at least an unmistak¬ 
 able derivative of it; from an objective standpoint it must be 
 judged as such, in so far as objective is regarded as identical 
 
848 
 
 THE CONTENT OE THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 with scientific or causal. Looked at from within, however, 
 constructive understanding means redemption. 
 
 Creation that is the great redemption from suffering 
 and easiness of living.” 1 
 
 Starting from these considerations as to the psychology of 
 those mental patients to whom the Schreber case belongs, we 
 must, from the “ objective-scientific ” standpoint, reduce the 
 structuial phantasy of the patient to its simple and most 
 generally valid elements. This Freud had done. But that 
 is only half of the work to be done. The other half is the con¬ 
 structive understanding of Schreber’s system. The question 
 is: What end, what freedom, did the patient hope to achieve 
 by the creation of his system ? 
 
 The scientific thinker of to-day will regard this question 
 as inappropriate. The psychiatrist will certainly smile at it, 
 for he is thoroughly assured of the universal validity of his 
 causalism, he knows the psyche merely as something that is 
 made, descendent, reactive. Not uncommonly there lurks the 
 unconscious prejudice that the psyche is a brain-secretion. 
 
 Looking at such a morbid system without preconception, 
 and asking ourselves what goal this delusional system is 
 aiming at, we see, in fact, firstly, that it is endeavouring to 
 get at something, and secondly, that the patient also devotes 
 all his will-power to the service of the system. There are 
 patients who develop their delusions with scientific thorough¬ 
 ness, often dragging in an immense material of comparison 
 and proof. Schreber certainly belongs to this class. Others 
 do not proceed so thoroughly and learnedly, but content them¬ 
 selves with heaping up synonymous expressions for that at 
 which they are aiming. The case of the patient I have 
 described, who assumes all kinds of titles, is a good instance 
 of this. 
 
 The patient s unmistakable striving to express something 
 through and by means of his delusion, Freud conceives retro¬ 
 spectively, as the satisfaction of his infantile wishes by means 
 of imagination. Adler reduces it to the desire for power. 
 
 1 Nietzsche, “ Thus spake Zarathustra.” 
 
344 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 For him the delusion-formation is a “ manly protest,” a 
 means of gaining security for himself against his menaced 
 superiority. Thus characterised, this struggle is likewise 
 infantile and the means employed—the delusional creation 
 —is infantile because insufficient for its purpose; one can 
 therefore understand why Freud declines to accept Adler’s 
 point of view. Freud, rightly on the whole, subsumes this 
 infantile struggle for power under the concept of the infantile 
 w 7 ish. 
 
 The constructive standpoint is different. Here the delu¬ 
 sional system is neither infantile nor, upon the whole, eo ipso 
 pathological but subjective , and hence justified within the 
 scope of the subjective. The constructive standpoint abso¬ 
 lutely denies the conception that the subjective phantasy- 
 creation is merely an infantile wish, symbolically veiled; or 
 that it is merely that in a higher degree; it denies that it is 
 a convulsive and egoistic adhesion to the fiction of its own 
 superiority, in so far as these are to be regarded as finalistic 
 explanations. The subjective activity of the mind can be 
 judged from without, just as one can, in the end, so judge 
 everything. But this judgment is inadequate, because it is 
 the very essence of the subjective that it cannot be judged 
 objectively. We cannot measure distance in pints. The 
 subjective can be only understood and judged subjectively, 
 that is, constructively. Any other judgment is unfair and 
 does not meet the question. 
 
 The absolute credit which the constructive standpoint 
 confers upon the subjective, naturally seems to the “ scien¬ 
 tific ” spirit as an utter violation of reason. But this scien¬ 
 tific spirit can only take up arms against it so long as the 
 constructive is not avowedly subjective . The constructive com¬ 
 prehension also analyses, but it does not reduce . It decom¬ 
 poses the delusion into typical components. What is to be 
 regarded as the type at a given time is shown from the attain¬ 
 ment of experience and knowledge reached at that time. 
 
 Even the most individual delusional systems are not abso¬ 
 lutely unique, occurring only once, for they offer striking and 
 obvious analogies with other systems. From the comparati\ e 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 345 
 
 analysis of many systems the typical formations are 
 drawn. If one can speak of reduction at all, it is only a 
 question of reduction to general type, but not to some uni¬ 
 versal principle obtained inductively or deductively, such as 
 “ Sexuality ” or “ Struggle for Power.” This paralleling 
 with other typical formations only serves for a widening of 
 the basis upon which the construction is to be built. If one 
 were to proceed entirely subjectively one would go on con¬ 
 structing in the language of the patient and in bis mental 
 range. One would arrive at some structure which was illu¬ 
 minating to the patient and to the investigator of the case but 
 not to the outer scientific public. The public would be unable 
 to enter into the peculiarities of the speech and thought of 
 the individual case in question without further help. 
 
 The works of the Zurich school referred to, contain careful 
 and detailed expositions of individual material. In these 
 materials there are very many typical formations which are 
 unmistakably analogies with mythological formations. There 
 arose from the perception of this relationship, a new and 
 valuable source for comparative study. The acceptance of 
 the possibility of such a comparison will not be granted im¬ 
 mediately, but the question is only whether the materials to 
 be compared really are similar or not. It will also be con¬ 
 tended that pathological and mythological formations are not 
 immediately comparable. But this objection must not be 
 raised a priori, for only a conscientious comparison can deter¬ 
 mine whether any true parallelism exists or not. At the pre¬ 
 sent moment all we know is that they are both structures of 
 the imagination which, like all such products, rest essentially 
 upon the activity of the unconscious. Experience must teach 
 us whether such a comparison is valid. The results hitherto 
 obtained are so encouraging that further work along these 
 lines seems to me most hopeful and important. I made 
 practical use of the constructive method in a case which 
 Flournoy published in the Archives de Psychologic, although 
 he did not express anything about its nature at that time. 
 
 1 “ Quelques faits d’imagination creatrice subconsciente,” Miss Miller, 
 vol. V., p. 36. 
 
346 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 The case dealt with a rather neurotic young lady who, in 
 Flournoy’s publication, described how surprised she was at 
 the connecting phantasy-formations which penetrated from the 
 unconscious into the conscious. I subjected these phantasies, 
 which the lady herself reproduced in some detail, to my con¬ 
 structive methods and gave the results of these investigations 
 in my book, “ The Psychology of the Unconscious.” 
 
 This book has, I regret to say, met many perhaps in¬ 
 evitable misunderstandings. But I have had one precious 
 consolation, for my book received the approval of Flournoy 
 himself, who published the original case which he knew 
 personally. It is to be hoped that later works will make 
 the standpoint of the Zurich school intelligible to a wider 
 public. Whoever by help of this work has taken the 
 trouble to grasp the essence of the constructive method, will 
 readily imagine how great are the difficulties of investigation, 
 and how much greater still are the difficulties of objective 
 presentation of such investigations. 
 
 Among the many difficulties and opportunities for mis¬ 
 understanding I should like to adduce one difficulty which is 
 especially characteristic. In an intensive study of Schreber’s 
 or any similar case, it will be discovered that these patients 
 are consumed by the desire for a new world-philosophy 
 which may be of the most bizarre kind. Their aim is 
 obviously to create a system such as will help them in the 
 assimilation of unknown psychical phenomena, i.e. enable 
 them to adapt their own unconscious to the world. This 
 arrangement produces a subjective system which must be 
 considered as a necessary transition-stage on the path to 
 the adaptation of their personality in regard to the world in 
 general. But the patient remains stationary at this transi¬ 
 tory stage and assumes his subjective view is the world’s, 
 hence he remains ill. He cannot free himself from his sub¬ 
 jectivism, and does not find the link to objective thinking, i.e. 
 to society. He does not reach the real summit of self-under¬ 
 standing, for he remains with a merely subjective understand¬ 
 ing of himself. But a mere subjective understanding is not 
 real and adequate. As Feuerbach says : Understanding is only 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 847 
 
 real when it is in accord with that of some other rational beings. 
 Then it becomes objective 1 and the link with life is reached. 
 
 I am convinced that not a few will raise the objection that 
 in the first place the psychological process of adaptation does 
 not proceed by the method of first creating a world-philosophy ; 
 secondly, that it is in itself a sign of unhealthy mental dis¬ 
 position even to make the attempt to adapt oneself by way of 
 a “ world-philosophy.” 
 
 Undoubtedly there are innumerable persons who are cap¬ 
 able of adaptation without creating any preliminary philo¬ 
 sophy. If they ever arrive at any general theory of the world 
 it is always subsequently. But, on the other hand, there are 
 just as many who are only able to adapt themselves by way 
 of a preliminary intellectual formulation. To all they do not 
 understand they are unable to adapt themselves. Generally 
 it comes about that they do adapt themselves just in so far as 
 they can grasp the situation intellectually. To these latter 
 seem to belong all those patients to whom we have been giving 
 our consideration. 
 
 Medical experience has taught us that there are two large 
 groups of functional nervous disorders. The one embraces 
 all those forms of disease which are designated hysterical , 
 the other all those forms which the French school has desig¬ 
 nated psychasthenic. Although the line of demarcation is 
 rather uncertain, one can mark off two psychological types 
 which are obviously different; their psychology is diametri¬ 
 cally opposed. I have called these—the Introverted and 
 Extraverted types. The hysteric belongs to the type of Ex¬ 
 traversion , the psychasthenic to the type of Introversion , as 
 does dementia praecox, in so far as we know it to-day. This 
 terminology, Introversion and Extraversion, is bound up with 
 my way of regarding mental phenomena as forms of energy. 
 I postulate a hypothetical fundamental striving which I desig¬ 
 nate libido . 2 In the classical use of the word, libido never 
 
 1 Here “ objective ” understanding is not identical with causal under¬ 
 standing. 
 
 “ This energy may also be designated as horme. Horm6 is a Greek word 
 °PM— force, attack, press, impetuosity, violence, urgency, zeal. It is related 
 
348 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 had an exclusively sexual connotation as it has in medicine. 
 The word interest , as Claparede once suggested to me, could 
 be used in this special sense, if this expression had to-day 
 a less extensive application. Bergson’s concept, elan vital , 
 would also serve if this expression were less biological and 
 more psychological. Libido is intended to be an energising 
 expression for psychological values. The psychological value 
 is something active and determining; hence it can be re¬ 
 garded from the energic standpoint without any pretence of 
 exact measurement. 
 
 The introverted type is characterised by the fact that his 
 libido is turned towards his own personality to a certain 
 extent—he finds within himself the unconditioned value. 
 The extraverted type has his libido to a certain extent exter¬ 
 nally ; he finds the unconditioned value outside himself. The 
 introvert regards everything from the aspect of his own per¬ 
 sonality ; the extravert is dependent upon the value of his 
 object. I must emphasise the statement that this question 
 of types is the question of our psychology, and that every 
 further advance must probably proceed by way of this ques¬ 
 tion. The difference between these types is almost alarm¬ 
 ing in extent. So far there is only one small preliminary 
 communication by myself 1 on this theory of type, which 
 is particularly important for the conception of dementia 
 prsecox. On the psychiatric side Gross 2 has called attention 
 to the existence of two psychological types. His two types 
 are (1) those with limited but deep consciousness, and (2) 
 those with broad but superficial consciousness. The former 
 correspond to my introverted and the latter to my extroverted 
 type. In my article I have collected some other instances 
 among which I would especially call attention to the striking 
 description of the two types given by William James in his 
 book on “Pragmatism.” Fr. Th. Yischer has differentiated 
 the two types very wittily by her division of the learned into 
 
 to Bergson’s “ 61an vital.” The concept horm6 is an energic expression for 
 psychological values. 
 
 1 See p. 287. 
 
 2 “ Die zeerbrale Sekundarfunktion.” Leipzig, 1902. 
 
THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 849 
 
 “reason-mongers,” and “matter-mongers.” In the sphere 
 of psychoanalysis Freud follows the psychology of Extra¬ 
 version, Adler that of Introversion. The irreconcilable oppo¬ 
 sition between the views of Freud and those of Adler (see 
 especially his book “ Uber den nervosen Charakter”) is 
 readily explained by the existence of two diametrically opposed 
 psychological types which view the same things from entirely 
 different aspects. An Extravert can hardly, or only with 
 great difficulty, come to any understanding with an Introvert, 
 on any delicate psychological question. 
 
 An Extravert can hardly conceive the necessity which 
 compels the Introvert to conquer the world by means of a 
 system. And yet this necessity exists, otherwise we should 
 have no philosophical systems and dogmas, presumed to be 
 universally valid. Civilised humanity would be only empiricists 
 and the sciences only the experimental sciences. Causalism 
 and empiricism are undoubtedly mighty forces in our present- 
 day mental life, but it may come to be otherwise. 
 
 This difference in type is the first great obstacle which 
 stands in the way of an understanding concerning fundamental 
 conceptions of our psychology. A second objection arises 
 from the circumstance that the constructive method, faithful 
 to itself, must adapt itself to the lines of the delusion. The 
 direction along which the patient develops his morbid thoughts 
 has to be accepted seriously, and followed out to its end; 
 the investigator thus places himself at the standpoint of the 
 psychosis. This procedure may expose him to the suspicion 
 of being deranged himself; or at least risks a misunderstand¬ 
 ing which is considered terribly disgraceful—he may himself 
 have some world-philosophy! The confirmation of such a 
 possibility is as bad as being “ unscientific.” But every one 
 has a world-philosophy though not every one knows he has. 
 And those who do not know it have simply an unconscious 
 and therefore inadequate and archaic philosophy. But every¬ 
 thing psychological that is allowed to remain in the mind 
 neglected and not developed, remains in a primitive state. 
 A striking instance of how universal theories are influenced 
 by unconscious archaic points of view has been furnished by 
 
850 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 a famous German historian whose name matters to us not 
 at all. This historian took it for granted that once upon 
 a time people propagated themselves through incest, for 
 in the first human families the brother was assigned to the 
 sister. This theory is wholly based upon his still unconscious 
 belief in Adam and Eve as the first and only parents of man¬ 
 kind. It is on the whole better to discover for oneself a 
 modern world-philosophy, or at least to make use of some 
 decent system which will prevent any errors of that kind. 
 
 One could put up with being despised as the possessor of 
 a world-philosophy; but there is a greater danger. The 
 public may come to believe the philosophy, beaten out by the 
 constructive method, is to be regarded as a theoretical and 
 objectively valid insight into the meaning of the world in 
 general. 
 
 I must now again point out that it is an obstinate, 
 scholastic misunderstanding not to he able to distinguish 
 between a world-philosophy which is only psychological, and 
 an extra-psychological theory, which concerns the objective 
 thing. It is absolutely essential that the student of the 
 results of the constructive method should be able to draw this 
 distinction. In its first results the constructive method does 
 not produce anything that could be called a scientific theory; 
 it furnishes the psychological lines of development , a path so to 
 say. I must here refer the reader to my book. 
 
 The analytic reductive method has the advantage of being 
 much simpler than the constructive method. The former 
 reduces to well-known universal elements of an extremely 
 simple nature. The latter has, with extremely complicated 
 material, to construct the further path to some often unknown 
 end. This obliges the psychologist to take full account of all 
 those forces which are at work in the human mind. The 
 reductive method strives to replace the religious and philo¬ 
 sophical needs of man, by their more elementary components, 
 following the principle of the “nothing but,” as James so 
 aptly calls it. But to construct aright, we must accept the 
 developed aspirations as indispensable components, essential 
 elements, of spiritual growth. Such work extends far beyond 
 
851 
 
 THE CONTENT OF THE PSYCHOSES 
 
 empirical concepts, but that is in accordance with the nature 
 of the human soul, which has never hitherto rested content 
 with experience alone. Everything new in the human mind 
 proceeds from speculation. Mental development proceeds by 
 way of speculation, never by way of limitation to mere experi¬ 
 ence. I realise that my views are parallel with those of 
 Bergson, and that in my book the concept of the libido which 
 I have given, is a concept parallel to that of “ elan vital ”; 
 my constructive method corresponds to Bergson’s “intuitive 
 method.” I, however, confine myself to the psychological 
 side and to practical work. When I first read Bergson a 
 year and a half ago I discovered to my great pleasure every¬ 
 thing which I had worked out practically, but expressed by 
 him in consummate language and in a wonderfully clear 
 philosophic style. 
 
 Working speculatively with psychological material there 
 
 I is a risk of being sacrificed to the general misunderstanding 
 which bestows the value of an objective theory upon the line 
 of psychological evolution thus elaborated. So many people 
 feel themselves in this way at pains to find grounds whether 
 such a theory is correct or not. Those who are particularly 
 brilliant even discover that the fundamental concepts can be 
 traced back to Heraclitus or some one even earlier. Let me 
 confide to these knowing folk that the fundamental ideas 
 employed in the constructive method stretch back even beyond 
 any historical philosophy, viz. to the dynamic “views” of 
 primitive peoples. If the result of the constructive method 
 were scientific theory, it would go very ill with it, for then it 
 would be a falling back to the deepest superstition. But 
 since the constructive method results in something far re¬ 
 moved from scientific theory the great antiquity of the basic 
 concepts therein must speak in favour of its extreme correct¬ 
 ness. Not until the constructive method has presented us 
 with much practical experience can we come to the construc¬ 
 tion of a scientific theory, a theory of the psychological lines of 
 development. But we must first of all content ourselves with 
 confirming these lines individually. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 In common with other sciences, psychology had to go through 
 its scholastic-philosophic stage, and to some extent this has 
 lasted on into the present time. This philosophic psychology 
 has incurred our condemnation in that it decides ex cathedra 
 what is the nature of the soul, and whence and how it derives its 
 attributes. The spirit of modern scientific investigation has 
 summarily disposed of all these phantasies and in their place 
 has established an exact empiric method. We owe to this our 
 present-day experimental psychology or “psychophysiology 
 as the French call it. This new direction originated with 
 Fechner, that Janus-minded spirit, who in his remarkable 
 Psychophysik (1860) embarked on the mighty enterprise of 
 introducing the physical standpoint into the conception of 
 psychical phenomena. The whole idea of this work—and not 
 least its astonishing mistakes—proved most fruitful in results. 
 For Wundt, Fechner’s young contemporary, carried on his 
 work, and it is Wundt’s great erudition, enormous power of 
 work and genius for elaborating methods of experimental 
 research, which have given to modern psychology its prevailing 
 direction. 
 
 Until quite recently experimental psychology remained 
 essentially academic. The first notable attempt to utilise some 
 few at any rate of its innumerable experimental methods in 
 the service of practical psychology came from the psychiatrists 
 of the former Heidelberg school (Kraepelin, Aschaffenburg, etc.); 
 it is quite intelligible that the psychotherapists should be 
 the first to feel the urgent need for more exact knowledge of 
 psychic processes. 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 353 
 
 Next came pedagogy, making its own demands upon 
 psychology. Out of this has recently grown up an “ experi¬ 
 mental pedagogy,” and in this field Neumann in Germany 
 and Binet in France have rendered signal services. The 
 physician, the so-called “nerve-specialist,” has the most 
 urgent need of psychological knowledge if he would really 
 elp his patients, for neurotic disturbances, such as hysteria, 
 and all things classed as “ nervousness,” are of psychic origin' 
 an necessarily demand psychic treatment. Cold water, light 
 air electricity, magnetism, etc., are only effective temporarily’ 
 and quite often are of no use at all. They are frequently 
 introduced into treatment in a not very commendable fashion 
 simply because reliance is placed upon their suggestive effect! 
 But it is m his soul that the patient is really sick; in those 
 most complicated and lofty functions which we scarcely dare 
 to include in the province of medicine. The doctor must 
 needs in such a ease, be a psychologist, must needs under¬ 
 stand the human soul. He cannot evade the urgent demand 
 upon him. So he naturally turns for help to psychology, since 
 his psychiatry text-books have nothing to offer him. But 
 modern experimental psychology is very far from being able 
 to afford him any connected insight into the most vital 
 psychic processes, that is not its aim. As far as possible it 
 tries to isolate those simple elementary phenomena which 
 border on the physiological, and then study them in an isolated 
 state. It quite ignores the infinite variation and movement of 
 the mental life of the individual, and accordingly, its knowledge 
 and its facts are so many isolated details, uninspired by anv 
 comprehensive idea capable of bringing them into co-ordina- 
 tion. Hence it comes about that the inquirer after the secrets 
 of the human soul, learns rather less than nothing from ex¬ 
 perimental psychology. He would be better advised to abandon 
 exact science take off his scholar’s gown, say farewell to his 
 study, and then, strong in manly courage, set out to wander 
 through the world; alike through the horrors of prisons, lunatic 
 asyiums and hospitals, through dreary outlying taverns, 
 through brothels and gambling-hells, into elegant drawing¬ 
 rooms, the Stock Exchanges, socialist meetings, churches, 
 
 23 
 
354 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 revival gatherings of strange religious sects, experiencing in 
 his own person love and hate and every kind of suffering. 
 He would return laden with richer knowledge than his yard- 
 long text-books could ever have given him, and thus equipped, 
 he can indeed be a physician to his patients, for he under¬ 
 stands the soul of man. He may be pardoned if his respect 
 for the “corner-stones” of experimental psychology is no 
 longer very considerable. There is a great gulf fixed between 
 what science calls “psychology,” on the one hand, and what 
 the practice of everyday life expects from psychology on the 
 
 other. 
 
 This need became the starting-point of a new psychology 
 whose inception we owe first and foremost to the genius of 
 Sigmund Freud, of Vienna, to his researches into functional 
 nervous disease. The new type of psychology might be de¬ 
 scribed as “ analytical psychology.” Professor Bleuler has 
 coined the name “Deep Psychology,” 1 to indicate that the 
 Freudian psychology takes as its province the deeper regions, 
 the “ hinterland ” of the soul, the “ unconscious.”, Freud 
 names his method of investigation “ psychoanalysis,” and it 
 is under this designation that this new direction in psycho¬ 
 logy is now everywhere recognised. 
 
 Before we approach the matter more closely, we must first 
 consider the relationship of the new psychology to the earlier 
 science. Here we encounter a singular little farce which once 
 again proves the truth of Anatole France’s apothegm : “ Les 
 
 savants ne sont pas curieux.” 
 
 The first important piece of work 2 in this new field 
 awakened only the faintest echo, in spite of the fact that it 
 offered a new and fundamental conception of the neuroses. 
 Certain writers expressed their approbation, and then, on the 
 next page, proceeded to explain their cases of hysteria in the 
 good old way. It was much as if a man should subscribe fully 
 to the idea of the earth’s being spherical, and yet continue to 
 
 > Bleuler, “ Die Psychoanalyse Freuds.” Jahrbttcli fiir psychoanalytic 
 
 “rr’and F^uT” selected Papers on Hysteria and other Psycho- 
 neuroses.” “ Nervous and Mental Disease,” Monograph series, No. 4. 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 355 
 
 represent it as flat. Freud’s next publications 1 were practi¬ 
 cally unnoticed, although they contributed findings of im¬ 
 measurable importance to the domain of psychiatry. When 
 m 1900 he produced the first real psychological elucidation 
 of the dream , 2 (previously there had reigned over this territory 
 a suitable nocturnal darkness), he was ridiculed; and when 
 m the middle of the last decade he began to illumine the 
 psychology of sexuality itself , 3 and at the same time the 
 “ Zurich school” decided to range itself on his side, a storm 
 of abuse, sometimes of the coarsest kind, burst upon him, 
 nor has it yet ceased to rage. At the last South-west 
 German Congress of alienists in Baden-Baden, the adherents 
 of the new psychology had the pleasure of hearing Hoche, 
 University Professor of Psychiatry at Freiburg in Breisgau’ 
 escribe the movement in a long and much-applauded 
 address, as an outbreak of mental aberration among doctors . 
 The old proverb: “Medicus medicum non decimat ” was 
 here quite put to shame. How carefully the question had 
 been studied was shewn by the naive remark of one of the 
 most distinguished neurologists of Paris, which I myself heard 
 at the International Congress in 1907: “ It is true I have not 
 read Freud’s works (he did not happen to know any German !), 
 but as for his theories, they are nothing but a “ mauvaise 
 plaisanterie.” Freud, dignified, masterly, once said to me, 
 
 “ 1 first became clearly conscious of the value of my discoveries' 
 when they were met everywhere with resistance and anger; 
 since that time I have judged the value of my work according 
 to the degree of opposition provoked. It is against my sexual 
 theory that the greatest indignation is felt, so it would seem 
 therein lies my best work. Perhaps after all the real bene¬ 
 factors of mankind are its false teachers, for opposition to the 
 false doctrine pushes men willy nilly into truth. Your truth- 
 teller is a pernicious fellow, he drives men into error.” 
 
 The reader must now calmly accept the idea that in this 
 
 1 Freud, “ Sammlung kleiner Schriften zur Neurosenlehre.” Deuticke * 
 Wien. 
 
 2 Freud, “ The Interpretation of Dreams.” George Allen. 
 
 3 Freud, “ Three Contributions to the SexuaLTheory,” Monograph Series. 
 
356 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 psychology he is dealing with something quite unique, if not 
 indeed with some altogether irrational, sectarian, or occult 
 wisdom ; for what else could possibly provoke all the scientific 
 authorities to turn away on the very threshold and utterly 
 refuse to cross it ? 
 
 Accordingly, we must look more closely into this psycho¬ 
 logy. As long ago as Charcot’s time it was recognised that 
 neurotic symptoms are “ psychogenic,” that is, that they have 
 their origin in the psyche. It was also known, thanks mainly 
 to the work of the Nancy School, that every hysterical symptom 
 can be exactly reproduced by means of suggestion. But how 
 a hysterical system arises, and its relationship to psychic 
 causes, were altogether unknown. In the beginning of the 
 ’eighties Dr. Breuer, an old Viennese doctor, made a dis¬ 
 covery 1 which was really the true starting-point of the new 
 psychology. He had a very intelligent young patient (a woman) 
 suffering from hysteria, who exhibited the following symptoms 
 among others: A spastic paralysis of the right arm, occa¬ 
 sional disturbances of consciousness or twilight-states, and 
 loss of the power of speech in so far as she no longer retained 
 any knowledge of her mother-tongue, and could only express 
 herself in English (so-called systematic aphasia). They sought 
 at that time, and still seek, in such a case to establish some 
 theory of anatomical disturbance, although there was just as 
 little disturbance in the arm-centre in the brain as in that of 
 any normal man who boxes another’s ears. The symptom¬ 
 atology of hysteria is full of anatomical impossibilities; such 
 as the case of the lady who had lost her hearing completely 
 through some hysterical malady. None the less she often 
 used to sing, and once when she was singing her doctor sat 
 down at the piano unnoticed by her and softly accompanied 
 her. Passing from one strophe to another he suddenly altered 
 the key, and she, quite unconscious of what she was doing, 
 sang on in the altered key. Thus she heard—yet did not hear. 
 The various forms of systematic blindness present similar 
 phenomena. We have the case of a man suffeiing fiom com 
 plete hysterical blindness. In the course of the treatment he 
 
 1 Cp. Breuer and Freud, “ Selected Papers on Hysteria.” 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 357 
 
 recovers his sight, but at first, and for some long time, only par¬ 
 tially : he could see everything with one exception—people’s 
 heads. He saw all the people around him without heads. 
 Thus he saw—yet did not see. From a large number of like ex¬ 
 periences it has long been concluded that it is only the patient's 
 consciousness which does not see, does not hear, but the sense- 
 function has nothing at all the matter with it. This state of 
 affairs is directly contradictory to the essence of an organic 
 disturbance, which always, to some extent involves the function 
 After this digression let us return to Breuer’s case. Since 
 there was no organic cause for the disturbance, the case was 
 clearly to be regarded as hysterical, that is, psychogenic. Dr. 
 
 reuer had noticed that if during her twilight-states (whether 
 spontaneous or artificially induced) he let the patient freely 
 express the reminiscences and phantasies that thronged in 
 upon her, her condition was afterwards much improved for 
 some hours. He made systematic use of this observation in her 
 further treatment. The patient herself invented the appropriate 
 name for it of “ talking cure ” or, in jest, “ chimney sweeping.” 
 
 Her illness began whilst she was nursing her dying father, 
 t is easy to understand that her phantasies busied themselves 
 mainly with this disturbing time. In the twilight-states 
 memories of this period reappeared with photographic fidelity, 
 distinct m every detail: no waking recollection is ever so 
 plastically and exactly reproduced. The term hypermnesia is 
 applied to this heightening of the power of memory, which 
 occurs without difficulty in certain states of contracted con¬ 
 sciousness. Bemarkable things now came to light. Out of 
 the many things told, one ran somewhat as follows. 1 
 
 On a certain night she was in a state of great anxiety about 
 her father s high temperature. She sat by his bed, waiting 
 for the surgeon who was coming from Vienna to perform an 
 operation Her mother had gone out of the room for a little 
 while, and Anna (the patient) sat by the bed, with her right 
 irm hanging over the back of her chair. She fell into a kind 
 if waking-dream in which she saw a black snake come out 
 
 leuro^es ” 6r ^ “ SeleC ‘ 6d » Hysteria and other Psycho- 
 
858 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 from the wall and approach the sick man, prepared to bite. 
 (It is very probable that some real snakes had been seen in 
 the fields behind the house, and that she had been frightened 
 by them ; this would furnish the material for her hallucina 
 tion.) She wanted to drive the creature away, but felt 
 paralysed; her right arm, hanging over the chair, had “ gone 
 to sleep,” was anaesthetic and paretic, and as she looked 
 her fingers turned into little snakes with death s heads (the 
 nails). Probably she tried to drive the snake away with her 
 paralysed right hand, and thereby the anaesthesia and paralysis 
 became associated with the snake-hallucination. Even after 
 the snake had disappeared, her terror remained great. She 
 tried to pray, but found she had no words in any language, 
 until at length she managed to remember some English 
 nursery rhymes, and then she could go on thinking and pray¬ 
 ing in that language. 
 
 This was the actual scene in which the paralysis and 
 speech-disturbance arose ; the describing it served to remove 
 the speech-trouble, and in this same fashion the case was 
 finally completely cured. 
 
 I must restrict myself to this one instance. In Bieuer 
 and Freud’s book there is a wealth of similar examples. It 
 is easy to understand that scenes such as these make a veiy 
 strong impression, and accordingly there is an inclination to 
 attribute a causal significance to them in the genesis of the 
 symptoms. The then current conception of hysteria, arising 
 from the English “nervous shock” theory, which Charcot 
 strongly supported, came in conveniently to elucidate Breuer’s 
 discovery, hence arose the trauma-tlieory maintaining that 
 the hysterical symptom and, in so far as the symptoms com¬ 
 prise the disease, hysteria itself, arises from some psyscliic 
 injury (or trauma ), the effect of which is retained in the 
 unconscious indefinitely. Freud, working as Breuer s col¬ 
 league, amply confirmed this discovery. It was fully demon¬ 
 strated that not one out of the many hundred hysterical 
 symptoms came down ready made from heaven; they had 
 already been conditioned by past psychic experiences. To 
 some extent, therefore, this new conception opened up a field 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 359 
 
 of very important empirical work. But Freud’s tireless 
 spirit of inquiry could not long rest content at this superficial 
 layer, since already there obtruded deeper and more difficult 
 problems. It is obvious enough that moments of great fear 
 and anxiety, such as Breuer’s patient went through, would 
 leave behind a lasting effect, but how is it that these happen¬ 
 ings are themselves already deeply stamped with the mark of 
 
 I morbidity ? Must we suppose that the trying sick-nursing in 
 itself produce such a result ? If so, such effects should occur 
 much more frequently, for there are, unfortunately, many 
 trying cases of sick-nursing, and the nurse’s nervous con¬ 
 stitution is by no means always of the soundest. To this 
 problem medicine gives its admirable answer; the “ x ” in 
 the calculation is predisposition; there is a tendency to these 
 things. But for Freud the problem was, what exactly con¬ 
 stitutes this predisposition? This question led logically to 
 an investigation of all that had preceded the psychic trauma. 
 It is a matter of common observation that distressing scenes 
 have markedly different effects upon the different partici¬ 
 pants, and that things which to some are quite indifferent 
 or even pleasant, such as frogs, mice, snakes, cats, excite the 
 greatest aversion in others. There are the cases of women 
 who can calmly be present at a very bad operation, but who 
 tremble all over with horror and nausea at the touch of a 
 cat. By way of illustration let me give the case of a young 
 
 I lady suffering from severe hysteria following a sudden fright. 1 
 She had been at a social gathering, and was on her way 
 home at midnight accompanied by several acquaintances, 
 when a carriage came up behind them at full speed. All 
 
 I the others moved out of the way, but she, beside herself with 
 fright, ran down the middle of the road just in front of the 
 horses. The coachman cracked his whip and cursed and 
 swore in vain. She ran down the whole length of the street 
 till a bridge was reached. There her strength failed her, and 
 to escape the horses’ feet in her despair she would have 
 jumped into the water had not passers-by prevented her. 
 
 1 For further particulars of this case see Jung, “The Theory of Psycho¬ 
 analysis.” 
 
860 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 This same lady happened to be in Petrograd during that san¬ 
 guinary Revolution of the 22nd of January, and saw a street 
 cleared by the volleys of soldiers. All around her people 
 were dropping down dead or wounded, but she retained her 
 calmness and self-possession, and caught sight of a door 
 which gave her escape into another street. These terrible 
 moments agitated her neither at the time nor later on. She 
 was quite well afterwards, indeed felt better than usual. 
 
 Essentially similar reactions can quite often be observed. 
 Hence it follows that the intensity of the trauma is of small 
 pathogenic importance; the peculiar circumstances determine 
 its pathogenic effect. Here, then, we have the key which 
 enables us to unlock at least one of the anterooms to an 
 understanding of predisposition. We must now ask what 
 were the unusual circumstances in this carriage scene ? The 
 terror and apprehension began as soon as the lady heard the 
 trampling horses. For a moment she thought this portended 
 some terrible fate, her death, or something equally frightful; 
 the next, she lost all sense of what she was doing. 
 
 This powerful impression was evidently connected in some 
 way with the horses. The predisposition of the patient to 
 react in such an exaggerated fashion to a not very remark¬ 
 able incident, might result from the fact that horses had some 
 special significance for her. It might be suspected that she 
 had experienced some dangerous accident with them; this 
 actually turned out to be the case. When a child of about 
 seven years old she was out for a drive with the coachman; 
 the horses shied and galloped at full speed towards a steep 
 river-bank. The coachman jumped down, and shouted to 
 her to do the same, but in her extreme terror she could scarcely 
 bring herself to obey. She did, however, just manage to 
 jump out in the nick of time, whilst the horses and carriage 
 were dashed to pieces below. No proof is needed that such 
 an experience must leave a lasting impression behind it. 
 But it does not offer any explanation for such an exaggerated 
 reaction to an inadequate stimulus. So far we only know 
 that this later symptom had its prologue in childhood, but 
 its pathological aspect remains obscure. To penetrate into 
 
361 
 
 NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 the heart of such a mystery it was necessary to accumulate 
 further material. And the greater our experience the clearer 
 does it become that in all cases with such traumatic experi¬ 
 ences analysed up to the present, there co-exists a special kind 
 of distuibance which can only be described as a derangement 
 in the sphere of love. Not all of us give due credit to the 
 anomalous nature of love, reaching high as heaven, sinking 
 
 low as hell, uniting in itself all extremes of good and evil, of 
 lofty and low. 1 
 
 As soon as Freud recognised this, a decisive change came 
 about in his view. In his earlier researches, whilst more or 
 less dominated by Charcot’s trauma-theory, he had sought 
 for the origin of the neurosis in actual traumatic experiences ; 
 but now the centre of gravity shifted to a very different point. 
 This is best demonstrated by reference to our case; we can 
 understand that horses might easily play a significant part in 
 the patient’s life, but it is not clear why there should be this 
 later reaction, so exaggerated, so uncalled for. It is not her 
 fear of horses which forms the morbid factor in this curious 
 stoiy; to get at the real truth we must remember our empirical 
 conclusion, that, side by side with traumatic experiences, there 
 is also invariably present some disturbance in the sphere of 
 love. We must now go on to inquire whether perhaps there 
 
 is anything unsatisfactory in this respect in the case under 
 review. 
 
 Our patient has a young man friend, to whom she is 
 thinking of becoming engaged, she loves him and expects to 
 be happy with him. At first nothing more is discoverable ; 
 but the investigator must not let himself be deterred by a 
 negative result in the beginning of this preliminary question¬ 
 ing.. When the direct way does not lead to the desired end, 
 an indirect way may be taken. We accordingly turn our 
 attention back to that strange moment when she ran away in 
 front of the horses. We inquire who were her companions 
 
 , . 1 ^ may sti11 a PP ly to love the sa ying : “The heaven above, the heaven 
 below, The sky above, the sky below, All things above, all things below, Succeed 
 an prosper (Old Mystic). Mephistopheles expresses the idea when he 
 escribes himself as “ Part of that power which still produceth good, whilst 
 ever scheming ill.” 
 
362 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 and what kind of social gathering was it, and find it was a 
 farewell-party to her best friend, on her departure to a foieign 
 health-resort on account of a nervous break-down. Y e are 
 told this friend is happily married and is the mother of one 
 child. We may well doubt the assertion that she is happy. 
 If she really were so, it is hardly to be supposed she would 
 be “ nervous ” and in need of a cure. When I attacked the 
 situation from a different vantage-ground, I learnt that oui 
 patient—after this episode—had been taken by her friends to 
 the nearest safe place—her host’s house. In her exhausted 
 state he took charge of her. When the patient came to this 
 part of her story, she suddenly broke off, was embarrassed, 
 fidgeted and tried to turn the subject. Evidently some dis¬ 
 agreeable reminiscences had suddenly cropped up. After obsti¬ 
 nate resistances had been overcome, she admitted something 
 very strange had happened that night. Her host had made her 
 a passionate declaration of love, thus occasioning a situation 
 that, in the absence of his wife, might well be considered both 
 painful and difficult. Ostensibly this declaration came upon 
 her like a “ bolt from the blue.” But a small dose of criticism 
 applied to such an assertion soon apprises us that these things 
 never do drop suddenly from the sky; they always have their 
 previous history. It was a task of the following weeks to dig 
 out piecemeal a long love-story. I will attempt to sketch in 
 
 the picture as it appeared finally. f 
 
 As a child the patient was a thorough tomboy, loved boys 
 boisterous games, laughed at her own sex, and would have 
 nothing to do with feminine ways or occupations. Aftei 
 puberty, just when the sex-issue should have meant much to 
 her, she began to shun all society; she seemingly hated and 
 despised everything which could remind her even lemotely 
 of the biological destiny of mankind, and lived in a world of 
 phantasy which had nothing in common with rude reality. 
 Thus, till her twenty-fourth year, she escaped all the little 
 adventures, hopes and expectations which ordinalily move a 
 girl at this age. But finally she got to know the two men 
 who were destined to destroy the thorny hedge which had 
 grown up around her. Mr. A. was her best friend’s husband ; 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 863 
 
 I Mr. B. was their bachelor-friend. She liked both; but pretty 
 soon found B. the more sympathetic, and an intimacy grew 
 
 I up between them which made an engagement seem likely. 
 Through her friendship with him and with Mrs. A., she often 
 met Mr. A. His presence excited her inexplicably, made her 
 nervous. Just at this time she went to a big party. All her 
 friends were there. She became lost in thought, and in a 
 reverie was playing with her ring, when suddenly it slipped 
 out of her hand and rolled under the table. Both men tried 
 to find it and Mr. B. managed to get it. With a meaning 
 smile he put the ring back on her finger, and said, “ You 
 know what that means! ” Overcome by some strange, irre¬ 
 sistible feeling, she tore the ring from her finger and flung it 
 out of the open window. Naturally a painful moment for all 
 ensued, and she soon went away, much depressed. A little 
 while after, so-called chance brought her for her summer 
 holidays to the health-resort where A. and his wife were stay¬ 
 ing. It was then that Mrs. A. began to suffer from nerve- 
 trouble, and frequently felt too unwell to leave the house. So 
 our patient could often go out for walks alone with A. One 
 day they were out in a small boat. She was boisterously 
 merry and fell overboard. Mr. A. saved her with difficulty as 
 she could not swim, and he managed to lift her into the boat in 
 
 I a half-unconscious state. Then he kissed her. This romantic 
 event wove fast the bonds between them. In self-defence she 
 did her best to get herself engaged to B. and to persuade her¬ 
 self that she loved him. Of course this queer comedy could 
 not escape the sharp eye of feminine jealousy. Mrs. A., her 
 friend, guessed the secret, and was so much upset by it that 
 her nervous condition grew bad enough to necessitate her 
 
 I trying a cure at a foreign health-resort. At the farewell¬ 
 gathering the demon came to our patient and whispered: 
 “ To-night he will be alone, something must happen to you 
 so that you can go to his house.” And so indeed it came 
 about; her strange behaviour made her friends take her to 
 his house, and thus she achieved her desire. 
 
 After this explanation the reader will probably be inclined 
 to assume that only diabolical subtlety could think out and 
 
364 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 set in motion such a chain of circumstances. There is no 
 doubt about the subtlety, but the moral evaluation is less 
 certain. I desire to lay special emphasis upon the fact that 
 the patient was in no sense conscious of the motives of this 
 dramatic performance. The incident apparently just came 
 about of itself without any conscious motive whatsoever. 
 But the whole previous history makes it perfectly clear that 
 everything was most ingeniously directed towards the other 
 aim; whilst the conscious self was apparently working to 
 bring about the engagement to Mr. B., the unconscious 
 compulsion to take the other road was still stronger. 
 
 So once more we must return to our original question, 
 whence comes the pathological, the peculiar and exaggerated 
 reaction to the trauma ? Belying on a conclusion obtained 
 from other analogous experiences, we ventured the conjec¬ 
 ture that in the present case we had to do with a disturbance 
 in the love-life, in addition to the trauma. This supposition 
 was thoroughly borne out; the trauma, which was apparently 
 the cause of the illness, was merely the occasion for some 
 factor, till then unconscious, to manifest itself. This was 
 the significant erotic conflict. With this finding the trauma 
 loses its pathogenic significance and is replaced by a much 
 deeper and more comprehensive conception, which regards 
 the erotic conflict as the pathogenic agent. This conception 
 may be described as the sexual theory of the neurosis. 
 
 I am often asked why it is just the erotic conflict rather 
 than any other which is the cause of the neurosis. There is 
 but one answer to this. No one asserts that this ought 
 necessarily to be the case, but as a simple matter of fact it 
 is always found to be so, notwithstanding all the cousins and 
 aunts, godparents, and teachers, who rage against it. Despite 
 all the indignant assertions to the contrary, the problem and 
 conflicts of love are of fundamental importance for humanity, 1 
 and with increasingly careful study, it comes out ever more 
 clearly that the love-life is of immensely greater importance 
 than the individual suspects. 
 
 1 “ Love ” is used in that larger sense of the word, which indeed belongs to 
 it by right; it does not mean “ mere sexuality.” 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 865 
 
 
 As a consequence of the recognition that the true root of 
 the neurosis is not the trauma, but the hidden erotic conflict, 
 the trauma loses its pathogenic significance. 
 
 Thus the theory had to be shifted on to an entirely 
 different basis, for the investigation now had to face the 
 erotic conflict itself. Our example shows that this contains 
 
 extremely abnormal elements and cannot, primd facie , be 
 compared with an ordinary love conflict. It is surprising, 
 indeed hardly credible, that only the postulated affection 
 should be conscious, whilst the real passion remained un¬ 
 known to the patient. But in this case it is beyond dispute 
 that the real erotic relation remained unillumined, whilst 
 the field of consciousness was dominated by the assumption. 
 If we try to formulate this fact, something like the following 
 proposition results : in a neurosis, two erotic tendencies exist 
 which stand in extreme opposition to one another, and one at 
 least is unconscious. Against this formula the objection can 
 be raised that it has obviously been derived from this one par¬ 
 ticular case, and is therefore lacking in general validity. The 
 criticism will be the more readily urged because no one unpos¬ 
 sessed of special reasons is willing to admit that the erotic 
 conflict is of universal prevalence. On the contrary, it is 
 assumed that this conflict belongs more properly to the sphere 
 of novels, since it is generally depicted as something in the 
 nature of such wild adventures as are described by Karin 
 Michaelis in her “Aberrations of Marriage,” or by Forel in 
 “ The Sexual Question.” But indeed this is not the case ; for 
 we know the wildest and most moving dramas are not played 
 on the stage, but every day in the hearts of ordinary men and 
 women who pass by without exciting attention, and, who betray 
 to the world save through the symbol of a nervous breakdown, 
 nothing of the conflicts that rage within them. But what 
 is so difficult for the layman to grasp is the fact that in most 
 cases patients have no suspicion whatever of the internecine 
 war raging in their unconscious. But remembering that there 
 are many people who understand nothing at all about them¬ 
 selves, we shall be less surprised at the realisation that there 
 are also people who are utterly unaware of their actual conflicts. 
 
366 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 If the reader is now inclined to admit the possible 
 existence of pathogenic, and perhaps even of unconscious 
 conflicts, he will certainly protest that they are not erotic 
 conflicts. If this kind reader should happen himself to be 
 somewhat nervous, the mere suggestion will arouse his in¬ 
 dignation, for we are all inclined, as a result of our education 
 in school and at home, to cross ourselves three times where 
 we meet such words as “erotic” and “sexual”—and so we 
 are conveniently able to think that nothing of that nature 
 exists, or at least very seldom, and at a great distance from 
 ourselves. But it is just this attitude which in the first 
 instance brings about neurotic conflicts. 
 
 We recognise that the course of civilisation consists in 
 the progressive mastering of the animal element in man; it 
 is a process of domestication which cannot be carried through 
 without rebellion on the part of the animal nature still thirst¬ 
 ing for its liberty. Humanity forces itself to endure the re¬ 
 strictions of the civilising process; but from time to time there 
 comes a frenzied bursting of all bonds. Antiquity had expe¬ 
 rience of it in that wave of Dionysian orgies, surging hither 
 from the East, which became an essentially characteristic 
 element of antique culture. Its spirit was partly instru¬ 
 mental in causing the numerous sects and philosophic schools 
 of the last century before Christ, to develop the Stoic ideal 
 into asceticism; and in producing from the polytheistic chaos 
 of those times, the ascetic twin-religions of Mithras and of 
 Christ. A second clearly marked wave of the Dionysian 
 impulse towards freedom swept over the Western world during 
 the Renaissance. It is difficult to judge of one’s own time, but 
 we gain some insight if we note how the Arts are developing, 
 what is the prevailing type of public taste, what men read 
 and write, what societies they found, what “ questions ” are 
 the order of the day, and against what the Philistines are 
 fighting. We find in the long list of our present social 
 problems that the sexual question occupies by no means the 
 last place. It agitates men and women who would shake 
 the foundations of sexual morality, and throw off the burden 
 of moral shame which past centuries have heaped upon Eros. 
 

 NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 B67 
 
 The existence of these aspirations and endeavours cannot be 
 simply denied, or declared indefensible; they exist and there¬ 
 fore presumably not without justification. It is both more 
 interesting and more useful to study carefully the basic causes 
 of these movements than to chime in with the lamentations 
 of the professional mourners over morals, who prophesy with 
 unction the moral downfall of humanity. The moralist least 
 of all trusts God, for he thinks that the beautiful tree of 
 humanity can only thrive by dint of being pruned, bound, 
 and trained on a trellis, whereas Father-Sun and Mother- 
 Earth have combined to make it grow joyfully in accordance 
 with its own laws, which are full of the deepest meaning. 
 
 Serious people are aware that a very real sexual problem 
 does exist at the present time. The rapid development of the 
 towns, coupled with methods of work brought about by the 
 extraordinary division of labour, the increasing industrialisa¬ 
 tion of the country and the growing security of life, combine 
 to deprive humanity of many opportunities of expending 
 emotional energy. Think of the life of the peasant, whose 
 work so rich and full of change, affords him unconscious satis¬ 
 faction by means of its symbolic content; a like satisfaction 
 the factory-hand and the clerk can never know. Think of 
 a life with nature ; of those wonderful moments when, as lord 
 and fructifier, man drives the plough through the earth, and 
 with kingly gesture scatters the seed of the future harvest ; 
 see his justifiable awe before the destructive power of the ele¬ 
 ments, his joy in the fruitfulness of his wife, who gives him 
 daughters and sons, who mean to him increased working 
 power and enhanced prosperity. Alas ! from all this we town- 
 dwellers, we modern machines, are far, far removed. 
 
 Must we not admit that we are already deprived of the 
 most natural and most beautiful of all satisfactions, since we 
 can no longer contemplate the arrival of our own seed, the 
 “ blessing ” of children, with unmixed pleasure ? Marriages 
 where no artifices are resorted to are rare. Is this not an 
 all-important departure from the joys which Mother Nature 
 gave her first-born sons ? Can such a state of affairs bring 
 satisfaction ? Note how men slink to their work, watch their 
 
 
868 
 
 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 faces at an early morning hour in the tram-cars. One of 
 them makes his little wheels, and another writes trivial 
 things which do not interest him; what wonder is it if such 
 men belong to as many clubs as there are days in the 
 week, and that among women little societies flourish, where 
 they pour out on some particular hero or cause those unsatis¬ 
 fied desires which the man dulls at his restaurant or club, 
 imbibing beer and playing at being important ? To these 
 sources of dissatisfaction is added a more serious factor. 
 Nature has provided defenceless, weaponless man with a great 
 amount of energy to enable him not merely to bear passively 
 the grave dangers of existence, but also to conquer them. 
 Mother Nature has equipped her son for tremendous hard¬ 
 ships and has placed a costly premium on the overcoming of 
 them, as Schopenhauer quite understood when he said that 
 “ happiness is really but the termination of unhappiness.” 
 We are, for the most part, shielded from the immediately 
 pressing dangers, and we are therefore daily tempted to ex¬ 
 cess, for in man the animal always becomes rampant when he 
 is not constrained by fierce necessity. Are we then indeed 
 unrestrained ? In what orgiastic festivals do we dispose of 
 the surplus of vital power ? Our moral views do not permit 
 us that outlet. 
 
 But reckon up in how many directions we are met by un¬ 
 satisfied longings; the denial of procreation and begetting, for 
 which purpose nature has endowed us with great energy; the 
 unending monotony of our highly developed modern methods 
 of “ division of labour,” which excludes any interest in the 
 work itself; and above all our effortless security against war, 
 lawlessness, robbery, epidemics, infant and woman mortality 
 —all this gives a sum of surplus energy which must needs find 
 an outlet. But how ? A relatively few create quasi-natural 
 dangers for themselves in reckless sport; many more, seeking 
 to find some equivalent for their more primitive energy, take 
 to alcoholic excess; others expend themselves in the rush of 
 money-making, or in the morbid performance of duties, in 
 perpetual over-work. By such means they try to escape a 
 dangerous storing-up of energy which might force mad outlets 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 369 
 
 for itself. It is for such reasons that we have to-day a sexual 
 question. It is in this direction that men’s energy would 
 ike to expend itself as it has done from time immemorial 
 m periods of security and abundance. Under such circum¬ 
 stances it is not only rabbits that multiply; men and women, 
 oo, become the sport of these accesses of nature: the sport, 
 because their moral views have confined them in a narrow 
 cage, the excessive narrowness of which was not felt so long 
 as harsh external necessity pressed upon them with even 
 greater constraint. But now the man of the cities finds 
 the space too circumscribed. He is surrounded by allurino- 
 emptation, and like an invisible procwreur there slinks through 
 society the knowledge of preventive methods which evade all 
 consequences. Why then moral restraint ? Out of religious 
 consideration for an angry God ? Apart from the prevalence 
 of wide-spread unbelief, even the believing man might quietly 
 ask himself whether, if he himself were God, he would punish 
 the youthful erotic uncontrol of John and Mary with twice 
 twenty-four years of imprisonment and seething in boiling oil 
 buch ideas are no longer compatible with our decorous con¬ 
 ception of God. The God of our time is necessarily much too 
 tolerant to make a great fuss over it; (knavishness and hypo¬ 
 crisy are a thousand times worse). In this way the some¬ 
 what ascetic and hypocritical sexual morality of our time has 
 had the ground cut from under its feet. Or is it the case that 
 we are now protected from dissoluteness by superior wisdom 
 lecognition of the nothingness of human happenings ? Un¬ 
 fortunately we are very far from that; rather does the 
 hypnotic power of tradition keep us in bonds, and through 
 cowardice and thoughtlessness and habit the herd goes tramp- 
 mg on in this same path. But man possesses in the un¬ 
 conscious a fine scent for the spirit of his time; he has an 
 inkling of his own possibilities and he feels in his innermost 
 heart the instability of the foundations of present-day morality 
 no longer supported by living religious conviction. It is thus 
 the greater number of the erotic conflicts of our time originate. 
 Instinct thirsting for liberty thrusts itself up against the 
 yielding barriers of morality ; men are tempted, they desire 
 
 24 
 
370 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 and do not desire. And because they will not and cannot think 
 out to its logical conclusion what it is they really desire, 
 their erotic conflict is largely unconscious; whence conies 
 neurosis. Neurosis then is most intimately bound up with 
 the problem of our times and represents an unsuccessful 
 attempt of the individual to solve the general problem in his 
 own person. Neurosis is a tearing in two of the inner self . 
 For most men the reason of this cleavage is the fact that their 
 conscious self desires to hold to its moral ideal, whilst the 
 unconscious strives after the amoral ideal, steadfastly rejected 
 by the conscious self. People of this kind would like to 
 appear more decent than they really are. But the conflict is 
 often of an opposite kind. There are those who do not out¬ 
 wardly live a decent life at all and do not place the slightest 
 constraint upon their sexuality, but in reality this is a sinful 
 pose assumed for goodness knows what reasons, for down 
 below they have a decorous soul which has somehow gone 
 astray in their unconscious, just as has the real immoral 
 nature in the case of apparently moral people. Extremes of 
 conduct always arouse suspicions of the opposite tendencies in 
 the unconscious. 
 
 It was necessary to make this general statement m order 
 to elucidate the idea of the “erotic conflict ” in analytical 
 psychology, for it is the key to the conception of neurosis. 
 We can now proceed to consider the psychoanalytic technique. 
 Obviously the main problem is, how to arrive by the shortest 
 and best path at a knowledge of the patient’s “ unconscious. 
 The method first used was hypnotism, the patient being ques¬ 
 tioned, on the production of spontaneous, phantasies observed 
 while in a state of hypnotic concentration. This method is 
 still occasionally used, but in comparison with, the present 
 technique is too primitive and therefore unsatisfactory, 
 second method, evolved by the Psychiatric Clinic, Zurich, was 
 the so-called association method, 1 which is chiefly °* theo “ 
 retie, experimental value. Its result is an extensive, though 
 superficial orientation, concerning the unconscious conflict 
 
 i Compare Jung, « Diagnostic^ Associationsstudien.” 
 Barth. 2 volumes. 
 
 Leipzig: 
 
371 
 
 NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 ( complex V The more penetrating method is that of 
 dream-analysis whose discovery belongs to Sigmund Freud. 2 
 
 Of the dream it can be said that “ the stone which the 
 builders rejected has become the head of the corner.” It is 
 only in modern times that the dream (that fleeting and seem¬ 
 ingly insignificant product of the soul), has met with such 
 complete contempt. Formerly it was esteemed, as a harbinger 
 o late, a warning or a consolation, a messenger of the gods. 
 Now we use it as a messenger of the unconscious; it must 
 isclose to us the secrets which our unconscious self enviously 
 
 hides from our consciousness, and it does so with astonishing 
 completeness. ° 
 
 On analytical investigation it becomes plain that the 
 dream, as we remember it, is only a facade which conceals the 
 contents within the house. But if, observing certain technical 
 rules, we get the dreamer to talk about the details of his dream 
 it soon appears that his free associations group themselves in 
 certain directions and round certain topics. These appear to 
 be of personal significance, and have a meaning which at first 
 sight would not be suspected. Careful comparison shows that 
 they are in close and subtle symbolic connection with the 
 dream-fapade. 3 This particular complex of ideas in which all 
 the threads of the dream unite, is the conflict for which we are 
 
 ii . i*i . moment, conditioned by 
 
 the immediate circumstances. What is painful and incom¬ 
 patible is m this way so covered up or split that we can call 
 tt a, wish-fulfilment; but we must immediately add that the 
 wishes fulfilled in the dream do not seem at first sight to 
 >e car wishes, but rather the very opposite. For instance a 
 laughter loves her mother tenderly, but she dreams that her 
 nother is dead; this causes her great grief. Such dreams 
 vhere apparently there is no trace of any wish-fulfilment are 
 
 Joo T ^Jui° ry ° £ “ Comi>W ' is “Psychology of Dementia 
 
 * F * eud ’ “ T k e Interpretation of Dreams.” James Allen 
 a s ™ h e ™ l6S ? drea ^nalysis, the laws of the structure of the dream and 
 s symbolism, form almost a science; this is one of the most important 
 
 'ry arfuous study! h ° l0gy ° f UnCOnscious whose comprehension requires 
 
372 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 innumerable, and are a constant stumbling-block to our 
 learned critics, for -incredible dictu -they still cannot grasp 
 the simple distinction between the manifest and the latent 
 content of the dream. We must guard against such an error ; 
 the conflict dealt with in the dream is an unconscious one, 
 and equally so also is the manner of its solution. Our dreamer 
 has, as a matter of fact, the wish to get away from her mother 
 —expressed in the language of the unconscious, she wants 
 her mother to die. Now we know that a certain section o 
 the unconscious contains all our lost memories, and also all 
 those infantile impulses that cannot find any application m 
 adult life—a series, that is, of ruthless childish desires. We 
 may say that for the most part the unconscious bears an 
 infantile stamp; like the child’s simple wish : “Daddy, when 
 Mummie is dead, will you marry me?” In a dream that 
 infantile expression of a wish is the substitute for a recen 
 wish to marry, which is painful to the dreamer for reasons still 
 undiscovered. This thought, or rather the seriousness of its 
 corresponding intention, is said to be “ repressed into the 
 unconscious” and must there necessarily express itself in an 
 infantile way, for the material which is at the disposal of t le 
 unconscious consists chiefly of infantile memories. As the 
 latest researches of the Zurich school have shown, these 
 are not only infantile memories hut also “ racial ” memories, 
 extending far beyond the limits of individual existence. 
 
 Important desires which have not been sufficiently grati¬ 
 fied, or have been “ repressed,” during the day find their 
 symbolic substitution in dreams. Because moral tendencies 
 usually predominate in waking hours, these ungratified 
 desires which strive to realise themselves symbolically in the 
 dream are, as a rule, erotic ones. It is, therefore somewhat 
 rash to tell dreams before one who understands, for tlie 
 symbolism is often extremely transparent to him who knows 
 the rules ! The clearest in this respect are “ anxiety-dreams 
 which are so common, and which invariably s\ mbolise a 
 
 strong erotic desire. I 
 
 Often the dream apparently deals with quite irrelevan 
 
 i Compare Jung, “ The Psychology of the Unconscious/’ 
 
 
878 
 
 NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 details, thereby making a ridiculous impression; or else it is 
 so unintelligible that we are simply amazed at it, and accord¬ 
 ingly have to overcome considerable resistance in ourselves 
 before we can set to work seriously to unravel its symbolic 
 weaving by patient work. But when at last we penetrate into 
 its real meaning we find ourselves at a bound in the very 
 heait of the dreamer s secrets, and find to our astonishment 
 that an apparently senseless dream is quite full of sense, and 
 deals with extraordinarily important and serious problems of 
 the soul. Having acquired this knowledge we cannot refrain 
 from giving rather more credit to the old superstitions con¬ 
 cerning the meaning of dreams for which our rationalising 
 tendencies, until lately, had no use. 
 
 As Freud says : “ Dream-analysis is the via regia to the 
 unconscious.” Dream-analysis leads us into the deepest per¬ 
 sonal secrets, and it is therefore an invaluable instrument in 
 the hand of the psychotherapist and educator. The objections 
 of the opponents of this method are based, as might be ex¬ 
 pected, upon argument, which (setting aside undercurrents of 
 personal feeling) show the bias of present-day Scholasticism. 
 It so happens that it is just the analysis of dreams which 
 mercilessly uncovers the deceptive morals and hypocritical 
 affectations of man, and shows him the under side of his 
 character; can we wonder if many feel that their toes have 
 been rather painfully trodden upon ? In connection with the 
 dream-analysis I am always reminded of the striking statue 
 of Carnal Pleasure in Bale Cathedral, which shows in front 
 the sweet smile of archaic sculpture, but behind is covered 
 with toads and serpents. Dream-analysis reverses the figure 
 and for once shows the other side. The ethical value of "this 
 reality-correction (Wirklichkeitscorrectur) cannot be disputed. 
 
 It is a painful but extremely useful operation, which makes 
 great demands on both physician and patient. Psycho¬ 
 analysis, m so far as we are considering it as a therapeutic 
 technique, consists mainly of the analysis of many dreams ; 
 the dreams m the course of the treatment bring up the dirt 
 of the unconscious in order that it may be subjected to the 
 disinfecting power of daylight, and in this process many a 
 
374 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 valuable thing believed to have been lost is found again. It is 
 a catharsis of a peculiar kind which is remotely comparable to 
 Socrates’ Maieutic , to “ midwifery.” It is not surprising that 
 for those persons who have themselves now come to believe 
 in their own poses, psychoanalysis is at times a real torture, 
 since in accordance with the old mystic saying, “ Give all thou 
 hast, then only shalt thou receive,” there is first the necessity 
 to get rid of almost all the dearly cherished illusions, to per¬ 
 mit the advent of something deeper, finer, and greater, for 
 only through the mystery of self-sacrifice is it possible to be 
 “ born again.” It is indeed ancient wisdom which again 
 sees the daylight in psychoanalytic treatment, and it is a very 
 curious thing that this particular kind of psychic re-education 
 proves to be necessary at the height of our modern culture; 
 this education which in more than one respect can be com¬ 
 pared to the technique of Socrates, even though psychoanalysis 
 
 penetrates to much greater depths. 
 
 We always find in a patient some conflict, which at a par¬ 
 ticular point, is connected with the great problems of society; 
 so that when the analysis has arrived at this point the 
 apparently individual conflict is revealed as a universal 
 conflict of the environment and the epoch. Neurosis is thus, 
 strictly speaking, nothing but an individual attempt, however 
 unsuccessful, at a solution of the general problem; it must 
 be so, for a general problem, a “ question, is not an end in 
 itself; it only exists in the hearts of individual men and 
 women. The “ question” which troubles the patient is— 
 whether you like it or not—the “ sexual question, or more 
 precisely, the problem of present-day sexual morality. His 
 increased demands upon life and the joy of life, upon glowing 
 reality, can stand the necessary limitations "which reality 
 sets, but not the arbitrary, ill-supported prohibitions of 
 present-day morals, which would curb too much the creative 
 spirit rising up from the depths of the darkness of the beasts 
 that perish. For- the neurotic has in him the soul of a child 
 that can but ill-endure arbitrary limitations of which it does 
 not see the meaning; it tries to adopt the moral standard, 
 but thereby only falls into deeper disunion and distress within 
 
375 
 
 NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 itself. On the one hand it tries to suppress itself, and on the 
 other to free itself—this is the struggle that is called Neurosis, 
 ft this conflict were altogether clear to consciousness it would 
 of course never give rise to neurotic symptoms; these only 
 arise when we cannot see the other side of our character, and 
 the urgency of the problems of that other side. In these 
 circumstances symptoms arise which partially express what 
 is unrecognised in the soul. The symptom is, therefore, an 
 indirect expression of unrecognised desires, which, were they 
 conscious, would be in violent opposition to the sufferer’s 
 moral views. As we have already said, this dark side of the 
 soul does not come within the purview of consciousness, and 
 therefore the patient cannot deal with it, correct it, resign 
 himself to it, or renounce it, for he cannot be said to possess 
 the unconscious impulses; rather have they been repressed 
 from the hierarchy of the conscious soul, have become auto¬ 
 nomous complexes which can be brought again under control 
 by analysis of the unconscious, though not without great 
 resistance. There are a great many patients whose great 
 boast it is that the erotic conflict does not exist for them; they 
 are sure that the sexual question is nonsense, they have no 
 sexuality. These people do not see that other things of un¬ 
 known origin cumber their path, such as hysterical whims, 
 underhand tricks, from which they make themselves, or 
 lose nearest them, suffer; nervous stomach-catarrh, pain 
 here and there, irritability without reason, and a whole host 
 of nervous symptoms. All which things show what is wrong 
 with them, for relatively, only a few specially favoured by 
 fate, avoid the great conflict. 
 
 Analytical psychology has already been reproached with 
 setting at liberty the animal instincts of men, hitherto happily 
 repressed, and causing thereby untold harm. This childish 
 apprehension clearly proves how little trust is put in the 
 efficacy of present-day moral principles. It is pretended that 
 only morals can restrain men from dissoluteness; a much more 
 efficient regulator, however, is necessity, which sets much 
 more real and convincing bounds than any moral principles, 
 it is true that analysis liberates animal instincts, but not 
 
876 ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 as some have said, just in order to let them loose, but rather 
 to make them available for higher application, in so far as 
 this is possible to the particular individual, and in so far 
 as such “ sublimated ” application is required. Under all 
 circumstances it is an advantage to be in full possession of 
 one’s own personality, for otherwise the repressed desires will 
 get in the way in a most serious manner, and overthrow us 
 just in that place where we are most vulnerable; this maggot 
 always destroys the kernel. It is surely better that a man 
 learn to tolerate himself, and instead of making war on him¬ 
 self convert his inner difficulties into real experiences, rathei 
 than uselessly repeat them again and again in phantasy. 
 Then at least he lives, and does not merely consume himself 
 in fruitless struggles. But when men are educated to recog¬ 
 nise the baser side of their own natures, it may be hoped 
 they will learn to understand and love their fellow-men 
 better too. A decrease of hypocrisy and an increase of toler¬ 
 ance towards oneself, can have only good results in tolerance 
 towards one’s neighbours, for men are only too easily dis¬ 
 posed to extend to others the unfairness and violence which 
 
 they do to their own natures. 
 
 The bringing of the individual conflict into relationship 
 with the general moral problem, raises psychoanalysis far 
 beyond the limits of mere medical therapeutics; it provides 
 the patient with a philosophy of life founded upon insight and 
 experience, and this, coupled with his deepened knowledge 
 of his own personality, enables him to adapt himself to 
 reality. It would be almost impossible to construct an 
 adequate picture of analysis from the existing literatuie, as 
 hitherto very little of the material requisite for the technique 
 of a searching analysis has been published. Very great 
 problems in this domain are still awaiting their final solu¬ 
 tion. Unfortunately the number of scientific workers in 
 this field is still rather small; prejudice still prevents the 
 majority of scientific persons from co-operating in this im¬ 
 portant work. Many, especially in Germany, are kept back 
 by fear of ruining their careers should they venture into this 
 
 region. 
 
NEW PATHS IN PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 377 
 
 All the unusual and wonderful phenomena which group 
 themselves round psychoanalysis give us reason to suspect 
 —quite in accordance with psychoanalytic principles—that 
 something of great importance is taking place here, since 
 the learned sections of society, as is usual at first, meet 
 it with violent resistances. But magna est ms veritatis et 
 prcevalebit. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Aberrations of Marriage (Michaelis), 365 
 Abreaction, 242 
 Abstraction, 293 
 
 Accoucheur, the analyst as, 268, 374 
 Acts, symptomatic (Freud), 281 
 Adaptation to father, 127, 160, 175 
 
 „ mother, 125,159,171, 232 
 Adler, viii, ix, 191, 223, 260-61, 290, 297-98, 330, 340, 343-44 349 
 Alcohol, influence of, 12 
 Altruism, 269 
 Ambitendency, 200 
 Ambivalency, 200, 269 
 Amnesia of Ivenes, 68 
 „ periodic, 9 
 Amnesic disturbances, 66-7 
 Anaesthesia, systematic, 68 
 Analysis not a reasoning method, 208 
 „ prejudices against, 206-07 
 
 „ sexualistic conception of, vii 
 
 ,, v. interpretation, 219 
 
 Analyst as accoucheur, 268, 374 
 ,, must be analysed, 244 
 Analytical psychology, moral effect of, 375-76 
 Anamnesis not psychoanalysis, 207 
 Anna, little, 132-54 
 Anxiety dreams, 160, 372 
 Apollo, Introversion, 295 
 Archaic view of life, x 
 Aschaffenburg, 352 
 Assimilation by analogy, 223 
 Association, co-ordinance to father, 157 
 „ familiar, 120-32, 159 
 
 „ method, 80 
 
 Association-concordance (Kerner), 92 
 „ test, calculation in, 109 
 
 „ „ guilt complex, 107 
 
 Attack, hysterical (Ivenes) aetiology of, 74 
 Attention, dispersion of, 46-8 
 Attitudes passionelles, 18 
 Augur, medical, 244 
 
380 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Authority, faith in, 277 
 Auto-hypnosis, 77, 240 
 Automatic personalities (Ivenes), 82 
 ,, table movements, 49, 53, 57 
 „ writing, 27, 49, 54, 57 
 
 Automatism, motor cryptomnesia, 91 
 Automatisms, 13, 47, 49, 54 
 „ of S. W., 20 
 Autonomous complexes, 375 
 Auto-suggestion, 51, 53, 61 
 Azam, case of Albert X., 9 
 „ „ Felida, 66 
 
 Baptism, the rite analysed, 215 
 Bayle, 315 
 
 Bergson, 231, 274, 293, 315, 348, 357 
 Bernheim, 237 
 
 Binet, 2, 12, 47, 56, 59, 60, 85, 289, 353 
 Binet’s definition of somnambulism, 49 
 Biological duties, 274 
 Bircher, 250 
 
 Birth, theories of child, 134 
 
 Bleuler, 5, 14, 201, 312, 354 
 
 Bleuler’s theory of negativism, 201 
 
 Boileau’s case, 9 
 
 Bonamaison’s case, 76 
 
 Bourne, Ansel, case of, 9 
 
 Bourru and Burot, 66 
 
 Bresler’s case, 89 
 
 Breuer, 236, 241 
 
 Breuer’s case, 356-358 
 
 Brill, 175 
 
 Burgholzi, cases of mental disease analysed, 316 
 „ ,, dementia prsecox, 322, 328-35 
 
 Calculation in association test, 109 
 Camuset, 66 
 Case, Azam’s, 9, 66 
 „ Boileau’s, 9 
 „ Bonamaison’s, 76 
 „ Bresler’s, 89 
 ,, Breuer’s, 356-58 
 „ Dyce’s, 84 
 „ Flournoy’s, 69 
 „ Hoefelt’s, 66 
 „ Janet’s, 55 
 „ Kalk’s, 65 
 ,, Macnish’s, 11 
 „ Mesnet’s, 10-11 
 „ Naef’s, 8 
 ,, Pronst’s, 9, 11 
 
INDEX 
 
 381 
 
 Case, Renaudin’s, 67 
 ,, Schreber’s, 343-46 
 ,, Weir Mitchell’s, 64-5, 84 
 Case of Albert X. (Azam), 9 
 „ Elise K., 3-7 
 ,, Felida (Azam), 66 
 ,, Helen Smith (Flournoy), 69 
 ,, little Anna, 132-54 
 ,, little Hans, 132 
 ,, Lucie (Janet), 55 
 
 ,, Mary Reynolds (Weir-Mitchell), 64-5, 84 
 „ S. W., 16-45 
 
 Cases of dementia prsecox, 322, 328-35 
 
 „ mental disease analysed (Burgholzi’s), 316 
 Catalepsy (Ivenes), 28 
 Catharsis, 374 
 Catholic Church, 271 
 Causal principle in science, 339 
 „ view (Freud), 261 
 Cellini, Benvenuto, 63 
 Change in character (Azam’s case), 66 
 „ ,, (Hoefelt’s case), 66 
 
 ,, ,, (Ivenes), 84 
 
 ,, ,, (Kalk’s case), 65 
 
 ,, „ (Mary Reynolds), 64 
 
 „ „ (S. W.), 69 
 
 Charcot, 8, 356, 361 
 
 ,, classification of somnambulic states, 8 
 
 ,, trauma theory, 361 
 
 Chevreul, 50 
 Christ, religion of, 366 
 Christian science, 126, 207, 244, 249 
 Civilisation and neurosis, 224, 374 
 ClaparMe, 188, 232, 348 
 ,, (footnote), 287 
 Clark lectures, 94-156 
 Classification of dreams. 310 
 
 Comparison of dream-symbols with somnambulic personalities, 59 
 Compensation, unconscious, 201, 236, 280, 284, 285 
 Complex, concealment, 117 
 „ Electra, 228 
 ,, incompatibility, 202 
 ,, Kern, 228 
 „ (Edipus, 228, 232 
 ,, resistance, 201 
 
 ,, sensibility, 203 
 
 Complexes, physicians’ own, 216, 243, 257 
 Comprehension by analogy, 223 
 Conflict moral, 225, 242, 247, 251 
 Content, manifest and latent of dream, 372 
 Conscious invention v. dream, 178 
 
382 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Conscious material, use of in analysis, 216 
 Consciousness alternating, 11 
 ,, double, 1 
 
 Constellation, parental, 160-75 
 Constellations, familiar, 119-132 
 Converted libido , 141 
 Cook, Miss Florence, 37 
 Correspondence of Jung and Loy, 236-77 
 Creative work of unconscious, additional, 85 
 Crucial points in Psychoanalysis, 236-77 
 Cryptomnesia, 78, 86, 87, 199 
 
 „ Nietzsche example, 87 
 
 Cryptomnesic hallucinations, 91 
 
 „ motor-automatism, 91 
 
 Darkness, effect of, on suggestibility, 59 
 Dawson Williams, Dr., 278 
 Deception, Ivenes’ wilful, 44 
 
 „ of doctor by patient, 260, 266-67 
 
 “ Deep ” Psychology, 354 
 Deficiency, emotional, 2 
 „ intellectual, 2 
 
 „ mental, 2 
 
 „ neurasthenic, 14 
 
 ,, psychopathic, 3, 13 
 
 Definition of libido , 156, 288 
 Delbruck, 70 
 Delirium, hysterical, 7 
 
 Dementia prsecox, 129, 143, 149, 151, 182, 201, 283,312-18 
 Depreciation by introverted type, 289 
 Depressions of puberty, 127 
 Dessoir, 85 
 
 Diagnosis of facts, 106-13 
 Diehl, 14 
 Dionysus, 183 
 
 „ extraversion, 295 
 Dionysian orgies, 366 
 Distortion produced by resistances, 285 
 Dogma, 224 
 
 Double consciousness, 1, 84 
 
 Dream-analysis the real instrument of the unconscious, 209, 373 
 Dreams, anxiety, 160, 372 
 
 ,, association method, 302 
 
 ,, classification of, 310 
 
 ,, comparative study of, 215 
 
 „ conception of differing from Freud, 222 
 ,, content, manifest and latent, 372 
 
 „ Freud’s conception of, 222 
 
 ,, instances of analysed, 147, 193, 217, 219, 303 
 „ many-sided, 217 
 
 „ no arbitrary interpretation, 218 
 
INDEX 383 
 
 Dreams, no fixed symbols, 218, 221, 265, 308 
 „ number, 191, 193, 197 
 ,, St. Augustine’s, 307 
 „ symbolism of, 308 
 
 „ typical themes of, 310 
 
 Dualism in Ivenes’ sub-conscious personalities 79 
 Dubois, 208, 243, 255 
 Duplication of attributes, 182 
 Duty to children, parental, 153 
 Duties biological, 274 
 
 Eccentricities pre-exist illness, 282, 289 
 Ecstasy, 15, 20 
 
 ,, (Bettina Brentano), 75 
 Ego-complex, 81, 86 
 » >, (Ivenes), 83 
 
 Ego, second (Dessoir), 85 
 „ somnambulic (Ivenes), 76 
 Elan vital , 231 
 Electra-complex, 228 
 Empiricism, 291, 301 
 Energic view point, 231 
 Entoptic phenomena, 61 
 Enuresis nocturna, 170, 237, 239, 246 
 Epilepsy, 1 
 Epileptoid attacks, 14 
 Erler, 71 
 
 Erotic conflict, 364-65, 370 
 Esquirol, 315 
 Etai second , 8 
 Exhaustive states, 13 
 Experiments by Dr. Furst, 157-58 
 Extraversion, 288, 347 
 
 „ regressive, 288 
 
 Familiar associations, 120-32, 159 
 
 „ constellations, influence of, 127 
 Fanaticism, 283 
 
 Father, adaptation to, 127, 160, 175 
 Father-complex, 270 
 Faust analysed, 338-41 
 Fechner, 352 
 Felida, case of, 84 
 F6re, 12 
 Feuerbach, 346 
 Final view (Adler), 261 
 Finck (types), 296 
 Fixation, Freud’s view of, 227 
 „ infantile, 228 
 Flournoy, 60, 78, 199, 345-46 
 
 „ case of Helen Smith, 69 
 
B84 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Folie circulaire , 67 
 Forel, 70, 261 
 
 Forel, The Sexual Question , 365 
 Frank, 236, 245, 249 
 
 Frend, 59, 73, 82, 104, 132-33, 156, 170, 191, 227, 241, 281, 297-93, 305-08, 
 319, 343-44, 349, 354-55, 359, 371, 373 
 Freudian investigations, 133 
 Freud’s case of paranoid dementia, 336-37 
 „ conception of dreams, 222 
 ,, method, 339 
 ,, psychology of dreams, 300 
 
 „ publications, opposition to, 355 
 
 „ theory, 261 
 
 „ „ of infantile sexuality, 172 
 
 Frobenius, 310 
 
 Fiirst’s experiments, 119, 157-58 
 Future character (Felida), 84 
 
 „ „ (Mary Reynolds), 84 
 
 Gall, 315 
 
 Genesis of dreams, 212 
 Genius, 1 
 Gley, 50 
 
 Glossolalia, 89-91 
 
 „ instances of, 28 
 Goethe, 12, 339 
 
 „ psychic stimulation of, 75 
 Grandfathers I. and II. (Ivenes), 80 
 Grebelskaja, 337 
 Gross, 348 
 
 „ (types), 296-97 
 Guilt complex, association test, 107 
 Guinon and Waltke, experiment of, 10, 47 
 
 Hallucination, cryptomnesia, 91 
 
 „ hypnosis in production of, 58 
 
 Hallucination Uleologique , 84 
 Hallucinations, 11, 15, 49, 58, 282 
 
 „ Helen Smith’s, 63, 64 
 
 ,, hypnagogic, 13, 23, 62 
 
 „ hypnopompic, 23, 62 
 
 „ in somnambulism, 60 
 
 ,, intuitive, 64 
 
 „ negative, 68 
 
 Hallucinatory persons, why separated, 83 
 Hans, little, 132 
 Hecker, 64 
 Hedonism, viii 
 Hegel, 290 
 
 Herd-animal, man a, 263 
 
INDEX 
 
 385 
 
 Hoch, 289 
 Hoche, 355 
 
 Hoefelt, spontaneous somnambulism, 66 
 Homosexual tendencies, 165, 172 
 Hypermnesia (footnote), 86 
 Hypnagogic activities, 23, 71, 204 
 „ flashes, 22 
 Hypnopompical dreams, 23 
 Hypnosis in production of hallucination, 58 
 Hypnotic treatment, 6, 237 
 
 w »> diametrically opposed to psychoanalysis, 207 
 
 Hypnotism, essential character of, 243 
 
 » in automatic writing, 54, 56 
 
 Hysteria, 1, 7 
 
 Hysteric, extreme sensibility of, 85 
 Hysterical attack (Ivenes), aetiology of, 74 
 
 „ deafness and paralysis (Breuer), 356 
 
 » delirium, 71 
 
 » dissociation, 81, 287 
 
 „ forgetfulness, 72 
 
 »» identification, 71 
 
 „ somnambulism (case of Elise K.), 3 
 Hystero-epilepsy (Janet), 81 
 Hystero-epileptic attacks, 81 
 Hystero-hypnosis (Ivenes), 79 
 
 Importance of the unconscious, 278 
 » „ types, 348 
 
 Incest-barrier, 230 
 
 Individual, the, a changing identity, ix 
 „ metaphysical needs of, 223 
 Infantile fixation, 228 
 
 „ milieu, influence of, 131 
 transference, 298 
 
 Infantility in primitive people, 230 
 Inspiration, 15 
 
 Instances of dreams analysed, 217, 219 
 Intelligence-complex, 114 
 Interpolations in dreams, 176 
 „ in rumour, 176 
 
 „ v. analysis, 219 
 
 Interpretation of Viennese school, one-sided, 217 
 Introversion, 137, 140, 288, 347 
 
 „ neurosis in child, 140 
 Intuitive hallucinations, 64 
 Itten, 337 
 
 Ivenes , 33-34, 68-84 
 
 „ journeys on other side, 34 
 
 „ mystic character, 69 
 
 „ oracular sayings, 36 
 
 „ race-motherhood, 39 
 
 25 
 
886 
 
 INDEX 
 
 James, William, 290-92 
 
 „ „ pragmatism, 348 
 
 Janet, 46, 74, 81, 104, 232, 234 
 „ automatic writing (case of Lucie), 55 
 „ Lucie and L6onie, 66 
 „ L6onie, 69 
 Janus face, 174 
 Jeanne d’Arc, 63, 84 
 „ „ visions of, 63 
 
 Jung, correspondence with Loy, 236-277 
 
 K., Miss Elise, case of, 15 
 Kalk’s case, 65 
 Kant, 278, 303, 339 
 Katatonic dementia prsecox, 324 
 „ negativism, 202 
 Kern-complex, 228 
 Kerner, 87, 88 
 Kerner’s book, 27, 35, 93 
 
 „ Prophetess of Prevorst, 27, 69 
 Kraepelin, 352 
 
 Kraepelin-Aschaffenburg scheme, 157 
 Kraft-Ebing, 7 
 
 Lapses (case of S.W.), 20-23 
 Legrand du Saulle, 66 
 Lehmann, 50, 51 
 Leibniz, 278 
 
 Lethargy hysterical (Ivenes), 74 
 
 „ „ (Loewenfeld), 76 
 
 Libido, 231, 347-48 
 
 „ canalisation of, 260, 274 
 
 „ defined, 156, 288 
 
 „ stored-up, 234 
 
 Life, archaic view of, x 
 Literature of psychoanalysis, 154-55 
 Little Anna, 132-54 
 Little Hans, 132 
 Loewenfeld, 74-76 
 
 Loy’s correspondence with Jung, 236-77 
 
 Lumpf-theory, 147 
 
 Lying, pathological, 15, 70, 71 
 
 Macario, 64 
 Macnish’s case, 11 
 Maeder, 337 
 
 Man a herd animal, 263, 269 
 Martian language (Helen Smith), 90 
 Masochism, 165 
 
INDEX 
 
 387 
 
 Materia medica of filth, 243-44 
 
 Maury, 62 
 
 Mayer, 231 
 
 Medical augur, 244 
 
 Medium, S.W. as, 18 
 
 Mental balance, 282 
 
 Mental deficiency (neurasthenic), 14 
 
 Mesnet’s case, 10-11 
 
 Metaphysical needs of individual, 223 
 
 Method of association, 370 
 
 Meynert, 316 
 
 Mind the, a Becoming, 341 
 
 Mirror-writing, 54 
 
 Misreading, 17, 46, 48 
 
 Mithras, religion of, 366 
 
 Moral conflict, 225, 242, 247, 251 
 
 Moral effect of analytical psychology, 375-76 
 
 Morchen, 14 
 
 Mother, adaptation to, 125, 159, 171, 232 
 Myers, automatic writing, 54 
 Mystic science, S. W., 40-44 
 Mythology, 226 
 
 Naef’s case, 8 
 
 Naive and sentimental types, 294 
 Nancy school, 356 
 
 Nebuchadnezzar’s dream discussed, 281 
 Necessity, vital, ix, 375 
 Negativism, 200-201 
 
 „ causes of (Bleuler), 202 
 
 „ katatonic, 202 
 
 „ schizophrenic, 200 
 
 Nelken, 337 
 Neumann, 353 
 Neurasthenia, 1, 129 
 Neurosis, 256, 370, 375 
 „ aetiology of, 234 
 
 „ and civilisation, 224, 374 
 
 „ cause of, 232 
 
 » >> outbreak of, 229 
 
 „ counter-argument against husband, 129-31 
 ,, failure in adaptation, 234 
 
 „ Freud’s theory of, 227 
 
 „ introversion in child, 140 
 
 „ psychogenic in essence, 356 
 
 ,, sexual aetiology of too narrow, 231 
 
 „ the cause in present, 232 
 
 Neurotic, a bearer of social ideals, 271, 277 
 Neurotic’s faith in authority, 268 
 „ special task, 233 
 
 Nietzsche, 87, 88, 295-96, 310, 326, 343 
 
388 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Nucleus-complex, 228 
 Number dreams, 292 
 
 Occultism’s premature conclusions, 85 
 Occultist literature, gnostic systems, 93 
 (Edipus-complex, 228, 232 
 Opposition to Freud’s publications, 355 
 Ostwald, 292 
 
 Paranoia, 128, 313 
 
 Paranoid dementia, Freud’s case, 336-37 
 Parental duty to children, 153 
 „ constellation, 160-75 
 
 Parties supdrieures (Janet), 232 
 Pathological cheat, psychology of, 70 
 ,, dreaming of saints, 70 
 Patient and doctor, personal relation, 216-219 
 Patients’ resistances, 117, 202-05, 216 
 Personality of doctor, 238, 243, 259 
 Persuasion methods, 237 
 Phales, 183 
 
 Phantasies, sexual, 228 
 Phenomena, entoptic, 61 
 
 „ of double consciousness as character formations, 
 Philosophy world, 350 
 Physician’s own complexes, 243, 257 
 Pick, 70, 71 
 Pinel, 315 
 
 Power, evaluation, 274 
 
 „ „ (Adler), 340 
 
 Power standpoint, Adler on, viii, ix 
 Predicate type, 125 
 Predisposition to neurosis, 233, 359 
 Press of ideas, 203 
 Preyer, 51 
 
 Prism, parable of, 252 
 
 Problems of the day, sexual, 276, 367-77 
 
 Projection on doctor, 273 
 
 Prophetess of Prevorst, 27, 37, 69, 91-93 
 
 Proust’s case, 9-11 
 
 Prudishness, 154 
 
 „ case of, 119 
 Pseudologia phantastica, 72 
 Pseudological representation, 71 
 Psychic life of child, 132-56 
 
 ,, material unconscious, 279 
 Psychoanalysis a high moral task, 235 
 
 „ defined, 206, 256 
 
 ,, literature of, 154-55 
 
 ,, prejudices against, 206-07 
 
 ,, technique of, 257 
 
INDEX 
 
 389 
 
 Psychoanalyst, education of, 244, 258, 266 
 Psychographic communications, 25 
 Psychological types, study of, 287-98 
 Psychology, deep (Bleuler), 354 
 „ of dreams, 299-311 
 
 „ of pathological cheat, 70 
 
 ,, of rumour, 176 
 
 Psychocatharsis, 237 
 Puberty, changes in character at, 67 
 
 „ dreams of, 74, 178 
 
 ,, of psychopathic, 68 
 
 „ somnambulic attacks at, 84 
 
 „ want of balance at, 45 
 
 Race-mothebhood (Ivenes), 39 
 Rapport effective with hysterics, 81, 287 
 Reaction-times, 98-102 
 „ -type, 157 
 » ,i hysterical, 97 
 ,, „ normal, 96 
 
 Reasoning method of Dubois, 208 
 Reconstruction of life, 236 
 Reincarnation (Ivenes), 37-9 
 Regression, 230, 232 
 Regressive extraversion, 288 
 „ introversion, 289 
 Renaudin’s case, Folie circulaire, 67 
 Repressed thoughts, independent growth of, 82 
 Reproduction experiment, 116 
 Resistances, patients’, 117, 202-05, 216 
 „ productive of distortion, 285 
 Revenge, unconscious, 190 
 
 Reynolds, Mary, case of (change of character), 65 
 Ribot, 66 
 Richer, 66 
 Richet, 92 
 
 ,, definition of somnambulism, 49 
 Rieger, 66 
 Riegl, 293 
 Riklin, 149 
 Rumour, case of, 176 
 
 „ interpolations in, 176 
 
 „ not conscious invention, 178 
 
 S. W., case of, 16-45 
 Saints, pathological dreaming of, 70 
 Schiller, 294 
 Schizophrenia, 201, 312 
 
 » Bleuler’s summary, 203 
 
 Schizophrenic introversion, 204 
 „ splitting, 201 
 
390 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Scholasticism, 340, 352, 373 
 School, the Zurich, 355 
 „ „ Nancy, 356 
 
 Schoolmaster view, 264 
 Schopenhauer, 295, 368 
 Schreber case, 343, 346 
 Schiile, 61 
 
 Semi-somnambulic states, 23 
 Semi-somnambulism (S.W.), 23, 37, 48-9 
 Sexual enlightenment of children, 152, 247 
 „ phantasies, 228 
 „ problems of the day, 277, 367-77 
 Sexual question , Forel, 365 
 Sexual surrogates, 172 
 Sexuality, importance of infantile, 172 
 „ primitive man’s view of, 306 
 Sexualisation of thought, 204 
 Significance of the father, 156 
 
 » yy 
 
 yy 
 
 case 1...160 
 
 yy yy 
 
 yy 
 
 „ 2...162 
 
 yy yy 
 
 yy 
 
 „ 3...165 
 
 yy yy 
 
 yy 
 
 ,, 4...170 
 
 „ of number dreams, 191 
 
 Slips of tongue, 179 
 
 
 
 Smith, Helen, case of, 61, 63-64, 72, 91 
 Socrates, 332, 374 
 Somnambulic attacks, S.W., 28 
 
 „ „ origin of, 75 
 
 „ dialogues, 18 
 ;, personalities, 30-33 
 
 Somnambulism, 2,8, 16, 18, 240 
 Somnambulist’s suggestibility, 92 
 
 „ thought in plastic images, 60 
 
 Spielrein, 337 
 
 Standpoint, causal, final, viii 
 Stanley Hall, Dr., 94 
 Star-dwellers, 35, 36 
 Stekel, 191, 259, 261 
 Stereotypic acts, 282 
 Stimulus word, 101 
 
 „ „ repetition of, 105 
 
 Study of psychological types, 287-98 
 Subconscious personality, how constructed, 55 
 
 „ personalities, Grandfather I. and II., 80 
 
 Subjective roots of dreams, 73 
 
 Sublimation, 140 
 Sucking as sexual act, 231 
 Suggestibility, influence of darkness on, 59 
 „ somnambulist’s, 92 
 
 Suggestion, analysis not a method of, 207 
 „ by analyst, 261, 265, 266 
 
INDEX 
 
 391 
 
 Superstition, scientific dread of, 211 
 „ unconscious, 280 
 
 Swedenborg, 37 
 
 ,, visions of, 63 
 
 Symbol interpreted semiotically, vii 
 „ not fixed, 218, 221, 265, 308 
 „ psychological, two aspects of, viii 
 
 „ value of religious, xi 
 
 Symbolic meaning of sexual phantasies, 222 
 Symbolism, 198, 224 
 
 „ an experience, 222 
 
 ,, book of Tobias, 174 
 
 » chestnuts, meaning of, 183 
 
 « God and devil, 174 
 
 „ of dreams, 59, 218, 308 
 
 » value of religious, 224 
 
 Sympathy (extraversion), 293 
 Symptomatic acts, 46,179, 281 
 Systematic anaesthesia, 68 
 
 Table movements, 85 
 Table-turning, 17, 24, 50 
 Tachypnoea (case of S.W.), 19 
 Teleology, meaning in double consciousness, 84 
 Telepathic thought-reading, 266 
 Tender-minded and tough-minded, 290 
 Thought pressure, 204 
 Thought-reading, 85-92 
 Thought, somnambulic, in plastic images, 60 
 „ transference, 24, 51, 56 
 Tongue, slips of, 179 
 Transference, 245-46, 270, 289 
 „ infantile, 298 
 
 » positive and negative, 270-72 
 
 Trauma, sexual, 227, 242, 358, 361-62 
 „ theory (Charcot), 361 
 Trumbull Ladd, 62 
 
 Truth, what is it, 252, 256 
 Twilight states, 71, 81 
 Type, complex, 114 
 „ definition, 114 
 „ extraverted, 288 
 „ introverted, 288 
 „ objective, 11 
 „ predicate, 115 
 Types (Finck), 296 
 „ (Gross), 296-97 
 „ importance of, 348 
 „ naive and sentimental, 294 
 Tough and tender-minded, 290 
 Typical themes of dreams, 310 
 
392 INDEX 
 
 Unconscious, an extension of the individual, vi 
 „ compensation, 284 
 
 „ importance of the, 278 
 
 „ personalities (Ivenes), 77 
 
 „ psychic material, 279 
 
 „ superstition, 280 
 
 Understanding, prospective, 388 
 „ retrospective, 338 
 
 Value of religious symbolism, 224 
 Viennese school, one-sided interpretations of, 217 
 Visions, Benvenuto Cellini, 63 
 „ hypnagogic, 63, 71 
 
 ,, of Jeanne d’Arc, 63 
 
 „ of S.W., 21 
 
 „ of Swedenborg, 63 
 
 Visual images, 60 
 
 „ v. auditory hallucinations, 61 
 “ Vital necessity,” ix 
 Voisin, 66 
 
 Volitional meaning of dreams, 222 
 Vischer, 348-49 
 
 Wandering impulse, cases of, 9 
 Warringer, 293-94 
 Washing mania, 246 
 Wernicke, 316 
 Westphal, 13 
 Witch-sleep, 75 
 
 Word predicate, type defined, 158 
 
 Word-presentation, 53 
 
 Works of the Zurich school, 345-46 
 
 World-philosophy, 350 
 
 Wundt, 352 
 
 Zschokke, 92 
 Zurich school, 355 
 
 „ works of, 345-46 
 
 THE END 
 
 Baillibre, Tindall <Se Cox, 8, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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