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diff --git a/old/69930-0.txt b/old/69930-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 69a60cb..0000000 --- a/old/69930-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18342 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The unconscious, by Morton Prince - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The unconscious - The fundamentals of human personality, normal and abnormal - -Author: Morton Prince - -Release Date: February 2, 2023 [eBook #69930] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Turgut Dincer, KD Weeks and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCONSCIOUS *** - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. - -Footnotes have been moved to follow the Lecture in which they are -referenced. - -Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please -see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding -the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation. - - - - - THE UNCONSCIOUS - - - - -[Illustration] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO - DALLAS · ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - TORONTO - - - - - THE UNCONSCIOUS - - - THE FUNDAMENTALS OF HUMAN - PERSONALITY NORMAL AND - ABNORMAL - - - - - BY - - MORTON PRINCE, M.D., LL.D. - - PROFESSOR (EMERITUS) OF DISEASES OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM, - TUFTS COLLEGE MEDICAL SCHOOL; CONSULTING PHYSICIAN - TO THE BOSTON CITY HOSPITAL - - - - - SECOND EDITION - REVISED - - - - - - - - - =New York= - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1921 - - - - - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1914 and 1921 - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - - ------- - - Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1914. - New Edition, June, 1921. - - - - - PREFACE - - -This work is designed to be an introduction to abnormal psychology. The -problems considered, however, belong equally to normal psychology in -that they are problems of psycho-physiological functions and mechanisms. -I have made no attempt to develop any particular school of psychological -theory but rather, so far as may be, to gather together the knowledge -already gained and lay a foundation which can be built upon by any -school for the solution of particular problems, especially those of -special pathology. I have therefore endeavored to avoid controversial -questions although this, of course, has not been wholly possible, and -indeed so far as special pathological conditions (the psychoses) have -been considered, it has been for the purpose of providing data and -testing the principles adduced. The inductive method, alone, I believe, -as in the physical sciences, can enable us to arrive at sound -conclusions—justify the formulation of theories to explain psychological -phenomena. Because of the very difficulties of this field of -research—one of which is that of submitting to experimental conditions -complex psychological phenomena having so many factors—it is all the -more incumbent that the inductive method should be employed. To my way -of thinking we should begin at the bottom and build up bit by bit, -drawing, as we go, no wider conclusions than the facts developed -warrant; or if we do, these should be recognized clearly as working -hypotheses or speculative theories. Skyscrapers should not be erected -until the foundations have been examined to see if they will bear the -superstructure. That I have wholly succeeded in so rigorously -restricting my own endeavors I can scarcely hope. I trust, however, that -I have succeeded in consistently maintaining the distinction between -facts and their interpretations. - -The present volume consists of selected lectures (with the exception of -four) from courses on abnormal psychology delivered at the Tufts College -Medical School (1908-10) and later at the University of California -(1910).[1] These again were based on a series of papers on the -Unconscious published in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology (1908-9) of -which they are elaborations. Since the lectures were delivered a large -amount of new material has been incorporated and the subject matter -considered in more detail and more exhaustively than was practical -before student bodies. The four additional lectures (X, XI, XII and -XIII) appeared in abbreviated form in the same Journal (Oct., Nov., -1912) under the title “The Meaning of Ideas as Determined by Unconscious -Settings.” The lecture form has been retained, offering as it does many -advantages where, in the exposition of a difficult subject, much that is -elemental needs to be stated. - -As the subconscious and its processes are fundamentals both in the -structure of personality and in the many mechanisms through which -personality, normal and abnormal, finds expression, the first eight -lectures are devoted to its exposition. Indeed, as has been said, the -subconscious is not only the most important problem of psychology, it is -_the_ problem. The study of its phenomena must be preliminary to that of -the functioning mechanisms of both the normal mind and of those special -pathological conditions—the psycho-neuroses—which modern investigators -are tracing to its perversions. - -In a recently published article M. Bergson concludes with the following -prophesy: “To explore the most sacred depths of the unconscious, to -labor in what I have just called the subsoil of consciousness, that will -be the principal task of psychology in the century which is opening. I -do not doubt that wonderful discoveries await it there, as important -perhaps as have been in the preceding centuries the discoveries of the -physical and natural sciences. That at least is the promise which I make -for it, that is the wish that in closing I have for it.”[2] - -And yet one reads and hears all sorts of contradictory statements, made -by those who it is presumed should know, regarding the actuality of the -subconscious. Thus one or another writer, assuming to know, states most -positively that there is no such thing as the subconscious. Others, -equally emphatic, postulate it as an established fact rather than a -theory, or assume it as a philosophical concept or hypothesis to explain -particular phenomena. One difficulty is that the term, as commonly used, -has many meanings, and it has followed that different writers have -assumed it with respectively different meanings. Consequently the -subconscious as an actuality has been unwittingly denied when the intent -has been really to deny some particular meaning or interpretation, and -particular meanings have been subsumed which are only philosophical -concepts. - -There should be no difficulty in deciding what the facts permit us to -postulate. The subconscious is a theory based upon observed facts and -formulated to explain those facts. There are many precise phenomena of -different kinds which can only be explained as due to explicitly -subconscious processes, that is, processes which do not appear in the -content of consciousness; just as the phenomena manifested by radium can -only be explained by emanations (or rays) which themselves are not -visible and cannot be made the object of conscious experience. In each -case it is the manifestations of such processes of which we become -aware. Subconscious processes and radio-activity stand on precisely the -same basis so far as the determination of their actuality is concerned. -(The latter have the advantage, of course, in that being physical they -are subject to quantitative measurement.) Such being the case it ought -to be possible to construct the theory of the subconscious by inductive -methods on the basis of facts of observation just as any theory of the -physical sciences is constructed. - -This task I have set before myself as well as that of giving precision -to our conception of the theory and taking it out of the domain of -philosophical concepts. With this purpose in view I have endeavored to -apply the method of science and construct the theory by induction from -the data of observation and experiment. I dare say this has been a -somewhat ambitious and some will say, perhaps, overbold undertaking. -Undoubtedly, too, this attitude toward this and other individual -problems has not been always consistently maintained, nor perhaps is it -completely possible in the present state of the science. - -Our formulations should be as precise as possible and facts and concepts -of a different order should not be included in one and the same formula. -I have, accordingly, divided the subconscious into two classes, namely -(1) the _unconscious_, or neural dispositions and processes, and (2) the -_coconscious_, or actual subconscious ideas which do not enter the -content of conscious awareness. An unconscious process and a coconscious -process are both therefore _subconscious_ processes but particular types -thereof—the one being purely neural or physical and the other -psychological or ideational. - -The soundness of the conclusions reached in this work I leave to the -judgment of my critics, of whom I doubt not I shall have many. I do not -hesitate to say, however, that it is only by practical familiarity with -the phenomena of mental pathology and artificially induced phenomena -(such as those of hypnosis, suggestion, etc.), requiring a long training -in this field of research (as in other scientific fields), that we can -correctly estimate the value of data and the conclusions drawn -therefrom; and even then many of our conclusions can be regarded as only -provisional. - -In these lectures I have also endeavored (Lectures XIV-XVI) to develop -the phenomena of the emotional innate dispositions which I conceive play -one of the most fundamental parts in human personality and in -determining mental and physiological behavior. - -Experimental methods and the well-known clinical methods of -investigation have been employed by me as far as possible. The data made -use of have been derived for the most part from my own observations, -though confirmatory observations of others have not been neglected. -Although a large number and variety of subjects or cases have been -studied, as they have presented themselves in private and hospital -practice, the data have been to a large extent sought in intensive -studies, on particular subjects, carried on in some cases over a period -of many years. These subjects, because of the ease with which -subconscious and emotional phenomena were either spontaneously -manifested or could be experimentally evoked, were particularly suitable -for such studies and fruitful in results. It is by such intensive -studies on special subjects, rather than by casual observation of many -cases, that I believe the deepest insight into mental processes and -mechanisms can be obtained. - -In conclusion I wish to express my great obligation to Mrs. William G. -Bean for the great assistance she has rendered in many ways in the -preparation of this volume. Not the least has been the transcription and -typing of my manuscript, for the most part written in a quasi shorthand, -reading the printer’s proofs, and much other assistance in the -preparation of the text for the press. For this her practical and -unusually extensive acquaintance with the phenomena has been of great -value. - -I am also indebted to Mr. Lydiard Horton for kindly reading the proofs -and for many helpful suggestions in clarifying the arrangement of the -text—a most difficult task considering the colloquial form of the -original lectures. - -Boston. -458 Beacon Street. - - - - - PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION - - -The favorable reception which was given to the first edition of this -work has tempted me in preparing a new edition at the request of the -publishers to incorporate four additional chapters dealing with the -general principles underlying the structure and dynamic elements of -human personality (Lecture XVII) and a study of a special problem in -personality in which these principles are involved, namely, the -psychogenesis of multiple personality as illustrated by a study of the -case known as B. C. A.[3] (Lectures XVIII-XX.) The latter study was -omitted (with other lectures) from the first edition in order to limit -the number of subjects treated and the size of the volume. - -Although the theory of the subconscious and that of the dynamics of -specific conscious and subconscious processes (to the fundamental -principles of both of which these lectures were limited) owe their value -to our being able through them to explain many mental and physiological -abnormalities, they possess an equal value from the light they throw -upon the structure and dynamics of that composite whole best termed -human personality. Over and above a knowledge of the abnormal, what we -as human beings want to know is not only what sort of physiological -beings but what sort of conscious beings we are; and how we think and -act, and what motives and other impulses whether hidden or in the clear -light of awareness, regulate and determine our behavior; what are the -forces that do it and how. We want to know the answer to a lot of -problems of this character, all of which involve principles of innate -and acquired dispositions. - -A comprehensive study of human personality would include, as far as may -be, answers to all these problems and would require a volume in itself. -I have, therefore, not been able more than to give an outline in Lecture -XVII of what seem to me to be the fundamental principles involved and -the dynamic unitary systems out of which the structure is built up. -There are various points of view from which the structure of the mind -may be considered, just as with the structure of a literary work of art, -or of a complicated mechanism like an automobile. We may consider the -structure of the latter, for instance, as an assembly of complex units -or mechanisms—cylinders, carburetors, ignition systems, etc.,—each -analyzed into its elements, without regard to the dynamic, integrative -functioning of the units in the total mechanism. This would be the -static point of view. Or we may consider these units as wholes from the -standpoint of the forces they generate, the processes they subserve and -the parts they play in the total functioning of the whole machine. This -is the dynamic point of view. It is this latter which alone has a vital -practical interest. The former is of interest only to the technician. So -with the mind. The dynamic point of view alone is of practical -importance and alone awakens fascinating interest of stirring intensity. -So long as psychology held to the static viewpoint it was only of -academic value. For submitted to the pragmatic test it made little -difference whether it was right or wrong. Nor could it become an applied -science. Consequently it is from the dynamic viewpoint that I have -sketched in—and it is little more than a sketch—the application of the -principles laid down in these lectures to the peculiarly appealing -problem of personality. Closely related to this is multiple personality, -for it is a special problem in personality, and one that is a -fascinating study in itself. But aside from its own intrinsic interest, -its practical interest, its chief value is derived from the fact that it -is a veritable vivisection of the mind by the mind’s own vital forces, -and as such gives us much more definite and precise data for the -determination of normal mental mechanisms and processes than can -introspective analysis; just as the vivisection of the body in the -laboratory and by disease has given us our most precise knowledge of -physiology. Consequently the phenomena acquire a greater interest and -value from the insight they give into the normal. For there is no more -fruitful material for the study of the mechanisms and processes of -personality than cases of this sort where there is a disintegration of -the normally integrated structural wholes and a reassembling of the -component elements into new composite wholes. In the construction of -these new personalities certain normal structures and mechanisms are -dissected out, so to speak, of the original composite by the stress of -the forces that cause the cleavage between systems and are then -reassembled into new functioning wholes. There is a veritable -vivisection of the mind. In a mind thus disassembled nearly every mental -phenomenon, conscious and subconscious—conflicts, hallucinations, -coconscious processes, defense reactions, etc.,—can be observed in an -isolated form and systematically studied. They are veritable gold mines -of psychological phenomena, as William James once expressed it to me in -reference to one of my cases. It is strange, therefore, that such cases -have been neglected by psychologists who would study mental mechanisms. -It is true that for a complete understanding of multiple personality a -study of a number of cases should be presented, particularly as many -variations are to be observed constituting differing types. But in a -volume of this kind this would be impracticable. I have, therefore, -limited myself to the psychogenesis of a single case, that of B. C. A. -This will I believe be of interest not only as illustrating the basic -principles underlying the pathology of multiple personality, but because -of the data it offers for the understanding of the structure and -mechanisms of the normal self, something that curiously appeals to the -egoistic interest of human nature. - - MORTON PRINCE. - - - - - TABLE OF CONTENTS - - PAGE - - PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION v - - PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION xiii - - LECTURE - - I. THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 1 - - II. CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, 15 - ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE - - III. CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, 49 - ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE—(Continued) - - IV. CONSERVATION A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 87 - - V. NEUROGRAMS 109 - - VI. SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 147 - - VII. SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 188 - - VIII. THE UNCONSCIOUS 229 - - IX. THE ORGANIZATION OF UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 265 - - X. THE MEANING OF IDEAS AS DETERMINED BY SETTINGS 311 - - XI. MEANING, SETTINGS, AND THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 338 - - XII. SETTINGS OF IDEAS AS SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES IN 363 - OBSESSIONS - - XIII. TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 387 - - XIV. THE PHYSIOLOGICAL MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 423 - - XV. INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS AND CONFLICTS 446 - - XVI. GENERAL PHENOMENA RESULTING FROM EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 488 - - XVII. THE STRUCTURE AND DYNAMIC ELEMENTS OF HUMAN PERSONALITY 529 - - XVIII. THE PSYCHOGENESIS OF MULTIPLE PERSONALITY—THE CASE OF B. 545 - C. A. - - XIX. (The Same Continued)—THE B PERSONALITY 593 - - XX. (The Same Continued)—THE A PERSONALITY 614 - - SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 634 - - INDEX 645 - - - - - THE UNCONSCIOUS - - - - - THE UNCONSCIOUS: - - THE FUNDAMENTALS OF HUMAN PERSONALITY, - NORMAL AND ABNORMAL - - - - - LECTURE I - THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS - - -Gentlemen: - -The subject which I have chosen for our first lecture is the theory of -the mechanism of memory. I begin with the study of this problem because -a knowledge of the facts which underlie the theory of memory is a -necessary introduction to an understanding of the Unconscious, and of -the part which subconscious processes play in normal and abnormal mental -life.[4] Speaking more specifically, without such a preliminary study I -do not believe we can interpret correctly a very large number of the -disturbances of mind and body which are traceable to the activity of -subconscious processes and with which we shall later have to do. - -If we consider memory as a _process_, and not as specific phases of -consciousness, we shall find that it is an essential factor in the -mechanisms underlying a large variety of phenomena of normal and -abnormal life. These phenomena include those of both mind and body of a -kind not ordinarily conceived of as manifestations of memory. I would -have you dwell in your minds for a moment on the fact that I make this -distinction between memory as a process and memory as a phase of -consciousness or specific mental experience. What we ordinarily and -conventionally have in mind when we speak of memory is the conscious -thought of some past mental experience. But when we conceive of memory -as a process we have in mind the whole mechanism through the working of -which this past experience is _registered_, _conserved_, and -_reproduced_, whether such reproduction be in consciousness or below the -surface of consciousness. - -Memory is usually looked upon as something that pertains solely to -consciousness. Such a conception is defensible if the meaning of the -term is restricted to those facts alone which come within our conscious -experience. But when we consider the mechanism by which a particular -empirical fact of this kind is introduced into consciousness we find -that this conception is inadequate. We find then that we are obliged to -regard conscious memory as only the end result of a process and, in -order to account for this end result, to assume other stages in the -process which are not phases of consciousness. Though the end result is -a reproduction of the ideas which constituted the previous conscious -experience, this reproduction is not the whole process. - -More than this, the conscious experience is not the only experience that -may be reproduced by the process, nor is the end result always and -necessarily a state of consciousness. _Conscious memory is only a -particular type of memory._ The same process may terminate in purely -unconscious or physiological effects, or what may be called -physiological memory to distinguish it from conscious memory. Along with -the revived ideas and their feeling tones there may be a revival of the -physiological experiences, or processes, which originally accompanied -them; such as secretion of sweat, saliva and gastric juice, the -contraction and dilatation of the blood vessels, the inhibition or -excitation of the heart, lungs and other viscera, the contraction of -muscles, etc. These visceral mechanisms, being originally elements in a -complex process and accompaniments of the idea, may be reproduced along -with the conscious memory, and even without conscious memory. As this -physiological complex is an acquired experience it is entitled to be -regarded as memory so far as its reproduction is the end result of the -same kind of process or mechanism as that which reproduces ideas. - -Then, again, investigations into the subconscious have shown that the -original experience may be reproduced subconsciously without rising into -awareness. - -The more comprehensive way, then, of looking at memory is to regard it -as a process and not simply as an end result. The process, as we shall -see, is made up of three factors—Registration, Conservation, and -Reproduction. Of these the end result is reproduction; conservation -being the preservation of that which was registered. - -This view is far more fruitful, as you will presently see, for memory -acquires a deeper significance and will be found to play a fundamental -and unsuspected part in the mechanism of many obscure mental processes. - -From this point of view, upon memory, considered _as a process_, depend -the acquired conscious and subconscious habits of mind and body. - -The process involves unconscious as well as conscious factors and may be -wholly unconscious (subconscious). - -Two of its factors—registration and conservation—are responsible for the -building up of the unconscious as the storehouse of the mind and, -therefore, primarily for all subconscious processes, other than those -which are innate. - -To it may be referred the direct excitation of many subconscious -manifestations of various kinds. - -Consciously or subconsciously it largely determines our prejudices, our -superstitions, our beliefs, our points of view, our attitudes of mind. - -Upon it to a large degree depend what we call personality and character. - -It often is the unsuspected and subconscious secret of our judgments, -our sentiments, and impulses. - -It is the process which most commonly induces dreams and furnishes the -material out of which they are constructed. - -It is the basis of many hypnotic phenomena. - -In the field of pathology, memory, through its perversions, takes part -in and helps to determine the form of a variety of disturbances such as -obsessions, impulsions, tics, habit psychoses and neuroses, many of the -manifestations of that great protean psychosis, hysteria, and other -common ailments which it is the fashion of the day to term neurasthenia -and psychasthenia. It is largely responsible for the conscious and -subconscious conflicts which disrupt the human mind and result in -various pathological states. - -Finally, upon the utilization of the processes of memory modern -psychotherapeutics, or the educational treatment of disease, is largely -based. For many of these reasons an understanding of the mechanism of -memory is essential for an understanding of the subconscious. In short, -memory furnishes a standpoint from which we can productively study the -normal and abnormal processes of the mind—conscious and subconscious. - -These somewhat dogmatic general statements—which I have put before you -much after the fashion of the lawyer who presents a general statement of -his case in anticipation of the evidence—I hope will become clear and -their truth evident as we proceed; likewise, their bearing upon the -facts of abnormal psychology. To make them clear it will be necessary to -explain in some detail the generally accepted theory of memory as a -process and to cite the numerous data upon which it rests. - -There may be, as, indeed, you will find there are, wide differences of -opinion as to the exact psychological mechanism by which a -memory-process plays its part in the larger processes of mental life, -normal and abnormal, such as I have just mentioned, but that the -memory-process is a fundamental factor is revealed by whatever method -the problems are attacked. A study, therefore, of this fundamental -factor and a determination of its mechanism are a prerequisite for a -study of the more complex processes in which it takes part. For this -reason I shall begin the study of the Unconscious (subconscious), to -which I shall ask your attention in these lectures, with a consideration -of the processes of memory. - -If you ask the average person, as I have often done, how or why he -remembers he will be puzzled and he is apt to reply, “Why, I just -remember,” or, “I never thought of that before.” If you push him a bit -and ask what becomes of ideas after they have passed out of mind and -have given place to other ideas, and how an idea that has passed out of -mind, that has gone, disappeared, can be brought back again as memory, -he becomes further puzzled. We know that ideas that have passed out of -mind may be voluntarily recalled, or reproduced, as memory; we may say -that meantime they have become what may be called dormant. But surely -something must have happened to enable these conscious experiences to be -conserved in some way and recalled. Ideas are not material things which, -like books, can be laid away on a shelf to be taken up again when -wanted, and yet we can recall, or reproduce, many ideas when we want -them just as we can go to a shelf and take down any book we want. - -We learn the alphabet and the multiplication table in childhood. During -the greater part of our lives the sensory images, auditory language -symbols, etc., which may be summarized as ideas representing these -educational experiences, are out of our minds and do not form a -continuous part of our conscious experiences, but they may be recalled -at any moment as memory. In fact, try as hard as we may, we cannot -forget our alphabet or multiplication table. Why is this? - -The older psychology did not bother itself much with these questions -which puzzle the average man. It was content for the most part with a -descriptive statement of the facts of conscious memory. It did not -concern itself with the process by which memory is effected; nor, so -long as psychology dealt only with phases of consciousness, was it of -much consequence. It has been only since subconscious processes have -loomed large in psychology and have been seen to take part on the one -hand in the mechanism of conscious thought and on the other to produce -various bodily phenomena, that the process of memory has acquired great -practical importance. For it has been seen that in these subconscious -processes previous conscious experiences are resurrected to take part as -subconscious memory, consequently a conscious experience that has passed -out of mind may not only recur again as conscious memory, but may recur -subconsciously below the threshold of awareness. The study of -subconscious processes therefore necessarily includes the processes of -memory. And so it has become a matter of considerable moment to follow -the fate of experiences after they have passed out of mind with a view -to determining the mechanism by which they can be reproduced consciously -and subconsciously. More than this it is important that the theory of -memory should be removed if possible from the domain of purely -speculative psychological concepts and placed on a sound basis of -observation and experiment like other accepted theories of science. - -From the point of view of animism, and indeed of dualism, nothing -becomes of the ideas that have passed out of mind; they simply, for the -time being, cease to exist. Consciousness changes its form. Nothing is -preserved, nothing is stored up. This is still the popular notion -according to which a mental experience at any given moment—the content -of my consciousness, for instance, at this moment as I speak to you—is -only one of a series of kaleidoscopic changes or phases of my -self-consciousness. In saying this what is meant plainly must be that -the content of consciousness at any given moment is a phase of a -continuing psychical something. We may, perhaps, call this my -self-consciousness, and say that when I reproduce an experience as -memory I simply bring back (by the power of self-determination) that -same previous phase of the psychical something. If I cannot bring it -back my failure may be due to a failure of the power of -self-determination or—and here is a weak point—to a failure in the -formative cohesion of the elementary ideas of that experience. In this -latter alternative no note is taken of a seeming contradiction paradox. -If nothing is preserved, if nothing continues to exist, if memory is -only one of a series of kaleidoscopic phases of consciousness, how can -there be any cohesion or organization within what does not exist? -Consciousness according to this notion might be likened to the water of -a lake in which vortices were constantly being formed, either by the -current of inflowing springs from the bottom or the influences of -external agencies. One vortex would give place to a succeeding vortex. -Memory would be analogous to the reproduction of a previously occurring -vortex. - -When, however, such a notion of memory is examined in the light of all -the facts which have to be explained it will be found to be descriptive -only of our conscious experiences. It does not explain memory; it does -not answer the question of the ordinary man, “How can ideas which have -ceased to exist be reproduced again as memory?” For, putting aside -various psychological difficulties such as, How can I determine the -reproduction of a former phase of consciousness—that is, memory—without -first _remembering_ what I want to determine?, or, if this be answered, -“By the association of phases (ideas),” how can there be any bond of -association between an existing idea and one that does not exist?, and, -therefore, how can association bring back that which has ceased to -exist?—putting aside such questions, there are a number of -psycho-physiological facts which this conception of memory will be found -inadequate to meet. As a matter of fact, investigations into the -behavior of mental processes, particularly under artificial and -pathological conditions, have disclosed certain phenomena which can be -adequately explained only on the supposition that ideas as they pass out -of mind—the mental experiences of the moment—leave something behind, -some residuum which is preserved, stored up as it were, and which plays -a subsequent part in the process of memory. These phenomena seem to -require what may be called a psycho-physiological theory of memory. -Although the theory has long been one of the concepts of normal -psychology it can be said to have been satisfactorily validated only by -the investigations of recent years in abnormal psychology. - -The full significance as well as the validity of this theory can be -properly estimated only in the light of the facts which have been -revealed by modern technical methods of investigation. After all, it is -the consequences of a theory which count, and this will be seen to be -true particularly as respects memory. The pragmatic point of view of -counting the consequences, of determining the difference that the theory -makes in the understanding of the mental processes of normal and -abnormal life, reveals the importance to us of validating the theory. -The consequences of the psycho-physiological theory are so far-reaching, -in view of its bearing upon a large number of problems in normal and -abnormal psychology, that it is worthy of sustained and exhaustive -examination. I will, therefore, briefly résumé the various classes of -facts which support the theory and which any adequate theory of memory -must satisfactorily explain. For, as will appear, besides the common -facts of memory pertaining to everyday life, there are a large number of -other facts which can be observed only when the mind is dissected, so to -speak, by pathological processes, and by the production of artificial -conditions, and when investigations are carried out by special technic. -Irrespective of any theory of explanation, a knowledge of these facts is -extremely important for an understanding of many phenomena in the domain -of both normal and abnormal psychology. - -=The meaning of conservation.=—We all know, as an everyday experience of -mankind, that at one time we can recall what happened to us at some -particular moment in the past, and at another time we cannot. We know -that when we have forgotten some experience if we stimulate or refresh -our memory, as the lawyers say to us on the witness-stand, by reference -to our notes, appropriately called memoranda, the original experience -may come back to mind. Often at one moment we cannot recall a verse, or -a name, or a piece of acquired knowledge, while at another time, a -little later, we can. We have a feeling, a perhaps justifiable belief, -that a desired piece of knowledge is not lost, that it is back somewhere -in our minds but we cannot get at it. If, sooner or later, under one -circumstance or another, with or without the aid of some kind of -stimulus, we can recall the desired knowledge we say it was preserved -(or conserved). If we continue, under all circumstances and at all -moments, to be unable to recall it we say it is lost, that our memory of -it is not conserved. So the notion of conservation of knowledge being -something apart from recollection enters even into popular language. -What sort of thing conservation is, popular language does not attempt to -define. It is clear, however, that we may with propriety speak of the -conservation of experiences, using this term in a descriptive sense -without forming any definite concept of the nature of conservation. -Provisionally, then, I shall speak of conservation of a given experience -in this sense only, meaning that the memory of it is not permanently -lost but that under certain particular circumstances we can recall it. - -Now a large mass of observations demonstrate that there are an enormous -number of experiences, belonging to both normal and abnormal mental -life, which we are unable to voluntarily recall during any period of our -lives, no matter how hard we try, or what aids to memory we employ. For -these experiences there is life-long amnesia. Nevertheless, it is easy -to demonstrate that, though the personal consciousness of everyday life -cannot recall them, they are not lost, properly speaking, but conserved; -for when the personal consciousness has undergone a peculiar change, at -moments when certain special alterations have taken place in the -conditions of the personal consciousness, at such moments you find that -the subject under investigation recalls the apparently lost experiences. -These moments are those of hypnosis, abstraction, dreams, and certain -pathological states. Again, in certain individuals it is possible by -technical devices to awaken secondary mental processes in the form of a -subconsciousness which may manifest the memories of the forgotten -experiences without awareness therefor on the part of the personal -consciousness. These manifestations are known as automatic writing and -speech. Then, again, by means of certain post-hypnotic phenomena, it is -easy to study conservation experimentally. We can make, as you will -later see, substantially everything that happened to the subject of the -experiment in hypnosis—his thoughts, his speech, his actions, for all of -which he has complete and irretrievable loss of memory in a waking -state—we can make memory for all these lost experiences reappear when -hypnosis is again induced. Thus we can prove conservation when voluntary -memory for experiences is absolutely lost. These experiments, among -others, as we shall also see, also give an insight into the nature of -conservation which is the real problem involved in an investigation into -the process of memory. - -Before undertaking to solve this problem—so far as may be done—it is -well to obtain a full realization of the extent to which experiences -which have been forgotten may be still conserved. I will therefore, as I -promised you, résumé the experimental and other evidence supporting this -principle, making use of both personal observations and those of others. - -_NOTE—In the following exposition of the evidence for the theory of -memory it has been necessary to make use of phenomena subsuming -subconscious processes before the subconscious itself has been -demonstrated. A few words in explanation of the terms used is therefore -desirable to avoid confusing the reader._ - -_Dividing as I do the subconscious into the unconscious and the -coconscious, the former is either simply a neural disposition, or an -active neural process without any quality of consciousness; the latter -is an actual subconscious idea or a process of thought of which, -nevertheless, we are not aware. An unconscious and a coconscious process -are both, therefore, only particular types of a subconscious process. I -might have used the single term subconscious throughout the first seven -lectures, but in that case, though temporarily less confusing, the data -necessary for the appreciation of the division of the subconscious into -two orders would not have been at hand. Typical phenomena having been -described as unconscious or coconscious (instead of simply -subconscious), the reader will have already become familiar with -examples of each type and be thus prepared for the final discussion in -Lecture VIII. PROVISIONALLY, these three terms may be regarded as -synonyms. To indicate the synonym, the term “subconscious” has often -been added in parenthesis in the text to one or other of the -subdivisional terms, and vice versa._ - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - In this connection it is a satisfaction to the author to note that - more recently a committee was appointed by the American Psychological - Association (December, 1911) to investigate the relation of psychology - to medical education. This committee, after an extensive inquiry by - correspondence with all the medical schools of the country, has made a - report (Science, Oct. 17, 1913) based upon the preponderating opinion - of the best medical schools and of the schools as a whole. The second - (in substance) and third conclusions reached in the report were as - follows: - - 2nd: For entrance in certain schools requiring a preliminary college - training of greater or less length an introductory or pre-medical - course in psychology should be required in the same way as they now - require chemistry, biology, physics, etc., or, in lieu thereof, a - course in the medical schools. - - 3rd: “It is the belief of most of the best schools that a second - course in psychology should precede the course in clinical psychiatry - and neurology. This course should have more of a practical nature, and - should deal especially with abnormal mental processes and with the - application of psychological principles and facts to medical topics. - Although this course should deal chiefly with psychopathology, it - should not be permitted to develop, or degenerate, into a course in - psychiatry, neurology or psychotherapeutics. This course should be - clinical in the sense that, as far as possible, clinical material - should be the basis of the course, but it should not be clinical in - the sense that the students are given particular cases for the purpose - of diagnosis or of treatment. The functions of the courses in - psychiatry and neurology should not be assumed by this course.” - - The courses, from which I have selected twelve lectures for my present - purpose, were designed for just such instruction as is recommended in - this report. They were, I believe, the first to be given on these - subjects in any medical school or college in this country. Necessarily - they covered a wider range of topics than the lectures now published - which more properly serve as an introduction to the general subject. - -Footnote 2: - - “The Birth of the Dream,” _The Independent_, Oct. 30, 1913. - -Footnote 3: - - A descriptive account of this case, written as a sort of autobiography - by the subject herself, was published in the _Journal of Abnormal - Psychology_ (Vol. 3, Nos. 4 & 5, 1908-1909) under the title “My Life - as a Dissociated Personality.” This remarkable account includes an - instructive description of the coconscious self of considerable value. - -Footnote 4: - - I divide the Subconscious into two parts, namely the Unconscious and - the Coconscious. See preface and Lecture VIII. - - - - - LECTURE II - CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND - PATHOLOGICAL LIFE - - I. Normal Life - -=Evidence obtained by the method of automatic writing.=—If we take a -suitable subject, one in whom “_automatic writing_”[5] has been -developed, and study the content of the script, we may find that to a -large extent it contains references to, i.e., memories of, experiences -which have long been forgotten by the subject and which cannot even by -the stimulus of memoranda be voluntarily recalled. These experiences may -be actions performed even as far back as _childhood_, _or_ passages read -in books, or fragments of conversation, etc. Thus B. C. A., who suffers -from an intense fear or phobia of cats, particularly _white_ cats, can -recall no experience in her life which could have given rise to it. Yet -when automatic writing is resorted to the hand writes a detailed account -of a fright into which she was thrown, when she was only five or six -years of age, by a white kitten which had a fit while she was playing -with it. The writing also describes in minute detail the furnishings of -the room where the episode occurred, the pattern of the carpet, the -decorative designs of the window shades, the furniture, etc. As this -observation is typical of many others, it may be well to dwell upon it -long enough to describe it in some detail for the benefit of those who -are not familiar with this class of phenomena. - -After it had been determined, by a searching examination, that B. C. A. -could not recall any experience that might throw light upon her phobia, -an attempt was made to recover a possible memory in hypnosis. As is well -known, the memory often broadens in hypnosis and events which are -forgotten when “awake” may be recovered. In this instance the subject -was put into two different hypnotic states, but without success. This, -again, is a matter of some importance for the principle of conservation. -Different hypnotic states in the same individual may be distinguished in -that each, among other characteristics, may have different and -independent systems of memories, as we shall see later. The memories -which belong to one state cannot be recalled in another. Hence the fact -that a memory cannot be recovered in one state is not proof that it is -not conserved, nor is a failure to recover the memory of an episode in -all states of hypnosis evidence of failure of conservation, any more -than is the failure to recover a memory in the waking state at any given -moment. - -In the experiment with B. C. A., after failing to awaken a possible -memory in either state of hypnosis, a pencil was put in her hand while -she was still hypnotized. The hand then wrote automatically, without the -knowledge of the hypnotized subject, the following account of this -childhood episode that I have just mentioned:[6] - -“I think I know about the cats. I can remember myself, a little child, -playing on the floor with a kitten, and it began to run about the room -and had a fit, I think, and it jumped on me, and I was alone, and I -screamed and cried and called my mother, but no one came, and I was very -much frightened. I do not believe I ever told anyone. It was a white -kitten. It ran out of the room and after a bit I went on playing.” - -To test the extent of the conserved memories still further the hand was -asked to describe the furnishings of the room and the plan of the house. -It wrote: - -“There were two windows on the side of the room. The shades were gray, I -think, with a border of grapes, or something of that color. The carpet -was green or gray with green figures. There was a large old-fashioned -sofa between one window and the door which led into the dining-room. A -bookcase and desk-combination, you know. There was a mantle, I think, -between the windows. It was the ground floor.” - -This childhood episode and the furnishings of the room were completely -forgotten by B. C. A. in the sense that they could not be voluntarily -recalled. Even after reading the script she could not remember them. She -had not seen the room since she was six years of age, the family having -removed at that time from the town in which the incident took place. As -to the accuracy of the “automatic” account and the possibility of -fabrication, the description of the room has been corroborated by the -independent and written testimony of an older member of the family. It -was not possible to confirm the incident of the kitten as there were no -witnesses. This portion of the account, therefore, cannot be proved not -to be a fabrication, but I have never known a fabricated statement to be -made in this subject’s automatic script, and I have obtained from her a -large number of statements of different kinds in the course of several -years’ observation. - -However that may be, the point is not essential, for the minute -description, by a special technic, of the furnishings of a room which -had not been seen since childhood, a matter of some thirty-five years, -and which were totally forgotten, is a sufficient demonstration of the -principle of conservation of conscious experiences that cannot be -voluntarily recalled. The reproduction of the conscious experience by -automatic writing was, of course, an act of memory effected by a special -device, and this fact compels us to postulate the conservation of the -experience during this long period of time, notwithstanding that the -experience could not be recalled voluntarily. Although the conserved -experience could not be awakened into memory by voluntary processes of -the personal consciousness it could be so awakened by an artificial -stimulus under artificial conditions. - -An observation like this, dealing with the conservation of long -forgotten childhood or other experiences, is not unique. Quite a -collection of recorded cases might be cited. Mr. C. Lowe Dickinson has -put on record[7] one of a young woman (Miss C.), who, in an hypnotic -trance, narrated a dream-like fabrication of a highly imaginative -character. On one occasion, through the imaginary intermediation of the -spirit of a fictitious person, who was supposed to have lived in the -time of Richard II, she gave a great many details about the Earl and -Countess of Salisbury, “and other personages of the time, and about the -manners and customs of that age. The personages referred to, the details -given in connection with them, and especially the genealogical data, -were found on examination to be correct, although many of them were such -as apparently it would not have been easy to ascertain without -considerable historical research.” Miss C. after coming out of the -hypnotic trance was in entire ignorance of how she could have obtained -this knowledge and could not recall ever having read any book which -contained the information she had given. Through automatic writing, -however, it was discovered that it was to be found in a book called _The -Countess Maud_, by E. Holt. It then appeared—and this is the point of -interest bearing on the conservation of forgotten knowledge—that this -book had been read to her by her aunt _fourteen years previously, when -she was a child about eleven years old_. Both ladies had so completely -forgotten its contents that they could not recall even the period with -which it dealt. Here were conscious experiences of childhood which, if -voluntary recollection were to be made use of as a test, would be -rightly said to have been extinguished, but that they had only lain -fallow, conserved in some unconscious fashion, was shown by their -reproduction in the hypnotic trance.[8] - -In this connection I may instance the case of Mrs. C. D., who suffers -from a fixed fear of fainting. She cannot recall, even after two -prolonged searching examinations, the first occasion when this fear -developed, or why she has it, and is, therefore, ignorant of its -genesis. Yet put into abstraction or light hypnosis she recalls vividly -its first occurrence as the effect of an emotional scene of twenty years -ago. The details of its psychological content come clearly into -consciousness, and its meaning, as a fear of death, is remembered as a -part of the original episode. That the fixed idea is a recurrence or -partial memory of the original complex becomes logically plain and is -recognized as such. - -Instances of the reproduction in automatic script of _forgotten passages -from books_ are to be found in Mrs. Verrall’s[9] elaborate records of -her own automatic writings. Investigation showed that numerous pieces of -English, Latin, and Greek script were not original compositions but only -forgotten passages from authors previously read. - -Mrs. Holland’s script records, as investigation seemed to show, the -exact words expressing a personal sentiment contained in a letter -written to her _twenty years_ before and long forgotten. The letter -proving this was accidentally discovered.[10] - -The following instance of a forgotten experience is, in itself, common -enough with everybody, but its recovery by automatic writing illustrates -how conservation of the thousand and one simply _forgotten acts of -everyday life_ may still persist. It forces, too, a realization of the -reason why it is possible that though an act may be forgotten at any -given moment it may later at any time flash into the mind. It is still -conserved. - -B. C. A. had been vainly hunting for a bunch of keys which she had not -seen or thought of for four months, having been in Europe. One day, soon -after her return, while writing a letter to her son she was interrupted -by her hand automatically and spontaneously writing the desired -information. The letter to her son began as follows: “October 30, 19—. -Dear Boy: I cannot find those keys—have hunted everywhere”.... [Here the -hand began to write the following, automatically.] “_O, I know—take a -pencil_” [Here she did as she was bidden] “_you put those keys in the -little box where X’s watch is._” - -In explanation B. C. A. sent me the following letter: “The keys were -found in the box mentioned. I had hunted for them ever since coming -home, October 4th. One key belonged to my box in the safety deposit -vault and I had felt very troubled and anxious at not being able to find -them. I have no recollection now of putting them where I found them.” -[Nor was recollection subsequently recovered.] - -I could give from my own observation if it were necessary as many -instances as could be desired of “automatic” reproductions of forgotten -experiences of one kind or another the truth of which could be verified -by notebook records or other evidence. By a forgotten experience of -course is meant something more than what cannot for the moment be -voluntarily recalled. I mean something that cannot be remembered at any -moment nor under any conditions, _even after the memory has been prodded -by the reproduction in the script_—something that is apparently -absolutely forgotten. The experience may not only be of a trivial nature -but something that happened long in the past and of the kind that is -ordinarily absolutely forgotten. I have often invoked the automatic -writing (memories) of the subject to recover data elicited in the past -in psychological examinations but which both I and the subject had -forgotten. Reference to notes always verified the automatic memories. -The records of automatic writing to be found in the literature are rich -in reproductions showing conservation of forgotten experiences. In fact, -given a good subject who can write automatically it is easy to obtain -experimentally evidence of this kind at will. - -=Evidence from abstraction.=—One of the most striking of artificial -memory performances is the recovery of the details of inconsequential -experiences of everyday life by inducing simple states of _abstraction_ -in normal people. It is often astonishing to see with what detail these -experiences are conserved. A person may remember any given experience in -a general way, such as what he does during the course of the day, but -the minute details of the day he ordinarily forgets. Now, if he allows -himself to fall into a passive state of abstraction, simply -concentrating his attention upon a particular past moment, and gives -free rein to all the associative memories belonging to that moment that -float into his mind, at the same time taking care to forego all critical -reflection upon them, it will be found that the number of details that -will be recalled will be enormously greater than can be recovered by -voluntary memory. Memories of the details of each successive moment -follow one another in continuous succession. This method requires some -art and practice to be successfully carried out. In the state of -abstraction attention to the environment must be completely excluded and -concentrated upon the past moments which it is desired to recall. For -instance, a young woman, a university student, had lost some money -several days before the experiment and desired to learn what had become -of it. She remembered, in a general way, that she had gone to the bank -that day, had cashed some checks, made some purchases in the shops of -the town, returned to the university, attended lectures, etc., and later -had missed the money from her purse. Her memory was about as extensive -as that of the ordinary person would be for similar events after the -lapse of several days. I put her into a state of abstraction and evoked -her memories in the way I have just described. The minuteness and -vividness with which the details of each successive act in the day’s -experiences were recovered were remarkable, and, to the subject, quite -astonishing. _As the memories arose she recognized them as being -accurate, for she then remembered the events as having occurred_, just -as one remembers any occurrence.[11] In abstraction, she remembered with -great vividness every detail at the bank teller’s window, where she -placed her gloves, purse, and umbrella, the checks, the money, etc.; -then there came memories of seating herself at a table in the bank, of -placing her umbrella here, her purse there, etc.; of writing a letter, -and doing other things; of absent-mindedly forgetting her gloves and -leaving them on the table;[12] of going to a certain shop where, after -looking at various articles and thinking certain thoughts and making -certain remarks, she finally made certain purchases, giving a certain -piece of money and receiving the change in coin of certain -denominations; of seeing in her purse the exact denominations of the -coins (ten and five-dollar gold pieces and the pieces of subsidiary -coinage) which remained; then of going to another shop and similar -experiences. Then of numerous details which she had forgotten; of other -later incidents including lectures, exercising in the gymnasium, etc. -Through it all ran the successive fortunes of her purse until the moment -came when, looking into it, she found one of the five-dollar gold pieces -gone. It became pretty clear that the piece had disappeared at a moment -when the purse was out of her possession, a fact which she had not -previously remembered but had believed the contrary. The hundred and one -previously forgotten details which surged into her mind as vivid -conscious recollections would take too long to narrate. - -(I have made quite a number of experiments of this kind with similar -results. That the memories are not fabrications is shown by the fact -that, as they arise, they become recollections in the sense that the -subject can then consciously recall the events and place them in time -and space as one does in ordinary memory, and particularly by the fact -that many of them are often capable of confirmation. - -I would here point out that the recovery of forgotten experiences by the -method of _abstraction_ differs in one important psychological respect -from their recovery by _automatic writing_. In the former case the -recalled experiences being brought back by associative memories enter -into the associations and become true conscious recollections, like any -other recollections, while in automatic writing the memories are -reproduced in script without entering the personal consciousness at all -and while the subject is still in ignorance. Often even after reading -the script his memory still remains a blank. It is much as if one’s -ideas had been preserved on a phonographic record and later reproduced -without awakening a memory of their original occurrence.[13] The -significance of this difference for the theory of conservation I will -point out later after we have considered some other modes of -reproduction.) - -Among the conserved forgotten experiences are often to be found fleeting -thoughts, ideas, and perceptions, so insignificant and trifling that it -would not be expected that they would be remembered. Some of them may -have entered only the margin or fringe of the content of consciousness, -and, therefore, the subject was only dimly aware of them. Some may have -been so far outside the focus of awareness that there was no awareness -of them at all, i.e., they were subconscious. Instructive examples of -such conserved experiences may be found in persons who suffer from -attacks of phobia, i.e., obsessions. The experiences to which I refer -occur immediately before and during the attacks. After the attack the -ideas of these periods are usually largely or wholly forgotten, -particularly the ideas which were in the fringe of consciousness and the -idea which, according to my observation, was the exciting cause of the -attack. By the method of abstraction I have been able to recover the -content of consciousness during the periods in question, including the -fringe of consciousness, and thus discover the nature of the fear of -which the patient was unaware because the idea was in the fringe. - -Mrs. C. D., whom I have mentioned as having suffered intensely from -attacks of fear, and Miss F. E., who is similarly afflicted with such -attacks accompanied by the feeling of unreality, are instances in point. -As is well known such attacks come on suddenly in the midst of mental -tranquillity, often without apparent cause so far as the patient can -discover. While in the state of abstraction the thoughts, perceptions, -and acts of the period just preceding and during the attack, as they -successively occurred, could be evoked in these subjects in great detail -and with striking vividness. The recovery of these memories has been -always a surprise to the patient who, a moment before, had been utterly -unable to recall them, and had declared the attack had developed without -cause. In the case of Mrs. C. D. it was discovered in this way the real -fear was of fainting and death, and in that of Miss F. E. of insanity. -These ideas having been in the fringe of consciousness, or background of -the mind, the subjects were at the time scarcely aware of them and, -therefore, were ignorant of the true nature of their phobias, -notwithstanding the overwhelming intensity of the attacks. Among the -memories recovered in these and other cases I have always been able to -find one of a thought or of a sensory stimulus from the environment -which immediately preceded and which through association occasioned the -attack. When this particular memory was recovered the patient, who had -declared that the attack had developed without cause, at once recognized -the original idea which was the cause of the attack, just as one -recognizes the idea which causes one to blush. The idea sometimes has -been a thought suggested by a casual and apparently insignificant word -in a sentence occurring in a conversation on indifferent matters, or by -a dimly conscious perception of the environment, sometimes an idea -occurring as a secondary train of thought perhaps bearing upon some -future course of action, and so on. - -As instances of such dimly-conscious perceptions of the environment -which I have found I may mention a gateway through which the subject was -passing, or a bridge about to be crossed; these particular points in the -environment being places where previous attacks had occurred. The -perceptions which precipitated the attack may have been entirely -subconscious and yet may be brought back to memory. With the -pathogenesis of the attacks we are not now directly concerned. The point -of interest for us lies in the fact that such forgotten casual ideas and -perceptions, some of which had been actually subconscious and some had -only entered the margin of the focus of attention may, notwithstanding -the amnesia, be conserved; and the same is true of any succession of -trivial ideas occurring at an inconsequential moment in a person’s life. - -However that may be, if you will try to recall in exact detail the -thoughts and feelings which successively passed through your mind at any -given moment say three or four weeks ago—or even days ago—and their -accompanying acts, and then (if you can do this, which I very much -doubt) try to give them in their original sequence, I think you will -realize the force of these observations and appreciate the significance -of the conservation of such minute experiences and of their reproduction -in abstraction. - -=Evidence furnished by the method of hypnosis.=—It is almost common -knowledge that when a person is hypnotized—whether lightly or deeply—he -may be able to remember once well-known events of his conscious life -which he has totally forgotten in the full waking state. It is not so -generally known that he may also be able to recall conscious events of -which he was never consciously aware, that is to say, experiences which -were entirely subconscious. The same is true, of course, of forgotten -experiences which originally had entered only the margin of the content -of consciousness and of which he was dimly aware. Among the experiences -thus recalled may be perceptions of minute details of the environment -which escape the attentive notice of the individual, or they may be -thoughts which were in the background of the mind and, therefore, never -in the full light of attention. You must not fall into the common error -of believing every hypnotized person can do this, or that any person can -do it in any state of hypnosis. There are various “degrees” or states of -hypnosis representing different conditions of dissociation and -synthesis. One person may successively be put into several different -states; many persons can be put into only one, but the degree of -dissociation and capacity for synthesis in each state and in every -person varies very much, and, indeed, according to the technical devices -employed. Each state is apt to exhibit different systems of memories, -that is, to synthesize (recall) past conserved experiences in a -different degree. What cannot be recalled in one state may be in -another. We may say as a general principle that _theoretically_ any -experience that has been conserved can be recalled in some state, and, -conversely, there is theoretically some state in which any conserved -experience can be recalled. Practically, of course, we can never induce -a state which synthesizes all conserved experiences, nor always one in -which any given experience is synthesized. I shall later, in connection -with particular types of conscious states, give examples of hypnotic -memories showing conservation of such experiences as I have just -mentioned. The point you will not lose sight of is that we are concerned -with hypnotic phenomena only so far as they may be evidence of the -conservation of forgotten experiences. - -There is a class of hypnotic memory phenomena which acquire additional -importance because of the bearing they have upon the _psycho-genesis_ of -certain pathological conditions. They show the conservation of the -details of an episode in their original chronological order with an -exactness that is beyond the powers of voluntary memory to reproduce. -These phenomena consist of the realistic reproduction of certain -emotional episodes which as a whole may or may not be forgotten. The -reproduction is realistic in the sense that the episodes are acted over -again by the individual as if once more he were actually experiencing -them. Apparently every detail is reproduced, including the emotion with -its facial expressions and its other physiological manifestations, and -pathological disturbances like pain, paralysis, anesthesia, movements, -etc. I will cite the following three examples: - -M——l, a Russian, living in this country, suffers from psycholeptic -attacks dating from an episode which occurred seven years previously and -_which he has completely forgotten_. At that time he was living in -Russia. It happened that after returning from a ball he was sent back -late at night by his employer, a woman, to look for a ring which she had -lost in the ballroom. His way led over a lonely road by a graveyard. As -he was passing this place he heard footsteps behind him and became -frightened. Overcome with terror he fell, partially unconscious, and his -whole right side became affected with spasms and paralysis. He was -picked up in this condition and taken to a hospital. Each year since -that time he has had recurring attacks of spasms and paralysis.[14] - -In _hypnosis_ he remembers and relates a dream. This dream is one which -recurs periodically but is _forgotten after waking from sleep_. This is -the dream: He is back in his native land; it is the night of the ball; -he sees his employer with outstretched hand commanding him to go search -for the ring. Once more he makes his way along the lonely road; he hears -footsteps; he becomes frightened, falls, and then awakes, with entire -oblivion for the dream, to find his right side paralyzed and in spasms. - -The following experiment is now made. By suggestion in hypnosis he is -made to believe that he is fifteen years of age. As a consequence in his -hypnotic dream he is once more living in Russia before he had learned -English. It is now found that he has spontaneously lost all knowledge of -the English language and can speak only Russian. He is told it is the -night of the ball and, as in a dream, he is carried successively through -the different events of that night. Finally he returns in search of the -ring, passes again over the lonely road, hears the footsteps and becomes -frightened. At this point his face is suddenly contorted with an -expression of fright, the whole right side becomes paralyzed and -anesthetic, and the muscles of face, arm, and leg affected with clonic -spasms. At the same time he moans with pain which he experiences in his -side, which he hurt when he fell. Though consciousness is confused he -answers questions and describes the pain which he feels. On being -awakened all passes off. - -Mrs. W. on her return to Boston after an absence in Europe happened to -pass by a certain house on her way to her hotel; the house (a private -hospital) was one with which she had very distressing associations. On -leaving the steamer she took a street car which she left a block distant -from the hotel. She walked this distance and as she passed the house she -was seized with a sudden attack of fear, dizziness, palpitation, etc. -Although it is beside the point I may say that she had not noticed the -locality and did not consciously recognize the house until the attack -developed. The attack was, therefore, induced by a subconscious -perception.[15] She recalls the incident and describes the attack, -remembers that it occurred at this particular spot, but without further -detail. - -Now in hypnosis she is taken back to the day of her arrival on the -steamship. In imagination, as in a sort of dream, she is living over -again that day; she disembarks from the ship, enters the street car in -which she rides a certain distance; she leaves the car at the point -nearest her destination and proceeds to walk the remainder of the -distance; suddenly her face exhibits the liveliest emotion; she becomes -strongly agitated and her respiration is short and quick; her head and -eyes turn toward the left and upward, as if in search of a cause, and -she exclaims, “Yes, that’s it, that’s it,” as she recognizes in -imagination the house which had been the scene of her previous distress. -Then the attack subsides as she passes by, continuing her way toward her -hotel. - -Mrs. E. B. suffers from traumatic hysteria as the result of a slight but -emotional accident—a fall—when alighting from a railway train. The -accident resulted in a sprained shoulder and neuritis of the arm. She -fully remembers the accident and describes it as any one might. - -When put into hypnosis, however, the memory assumes a different -character. She is taken back in imagination to the scene of the -accident. Once more the train is entering the station; she leaves the -car, steps from the platform upon a truck; then, unawares, steps off the -truck and falls to the ground. As she falls her face suddenly becomes -distorted with fear; tears stream down her cheeks, which become -suffused; her heart palpitates; she suffers again acute pain in her arm, -and so on. Her physical and mental anguish is painful to look upon. -Though I try to persuade her that she is not hurt and that the accident -is a delusion my effort is not very successful. - -In this experiment, as in the others, there is substantially a -reproduction in all its details of the content of consciousness which -obtained at the time of the accident, and also of the emotion and its -physiological manifestations—all were faithfully conserved. Further, -each event follows in the same chronological sequence as in the original -experience. - -But in these observations the reproduction differs somewhat from that of -ordinary memory. It is in the form of a dream, hypnotic or normal, and -the subject goes back to the time of the experience, which he thinks is -the present, and actually lives over again the original episode. Unlike -the conditions of ordinary memory the whole content of his consciousness -is practically limited to that which originally was present, all else, -the present and the intervening past, being dissociated and excluded. -The original psychological processes and their psycho-physiological -accompaniments (pain, paralysis, anesthesia, spasms, etc.) repeat -themselves as if the present were the past. Plainly, for such a -reproduction, the original episode must have left conserved dispositions -of some kind which when excited were capable of reënacting the episode -in all its psycho-physiological details. From a consideration of such -phenomena it is easy to understand how certain psycho-neuroses may be -properly regarded as memories of certain past experiences. The -experiences are conserved and under certain conditions reproduced from -time to time. - -I may cite one other experiment dealing with the conservation of the -details of a day’s experiences after the lapse of several months. The -subject was a little girl who suffered from hysterical tics. Hoping to -discover the exciting cause of her nervous disturbance, I put her into -deep hypnosis, and evoked the memories of the events of the day on which -her disease developed, _about six months previously_. It was astonishing -to hear her recall a continuous series of precise thoughts and acts, -many of them trivial, of the kind that would be transient and forgotten -by anybody. She began with the events of the early morning, giving her -own thoughts and acts; the remarks of her father and mother, describing -exactly the location in the house at the time of each member of the -family; her arrival at school; the several lessons of the day; the -remarks of the teacher; the happenings during recess; her final entry -into the laboratory; and the sudden onset of the tic. Everything was -given in chronological order. The memories were vivid and, as they came -up into her mind, were recognized as true recollections.[16] All this -was forgotten when she was awake, that is to say, although conserved, it -could not be reproduced. There was no way, of course, of determining the -accuracy of these memories and, therefore, their correctness lacks -scientific proof. On the other hand, the facts, which are in entire -correspondence with similar results obtained under conditions where -confirmation is possible, have value as cumulative evidence.[17] - -It is not difficult to arrange experiments which will test the accuracy -with which the minute details of experiences may be conserved when -reproduction is at fault. A simple test is to have a suitable subject -endeavor to repeat _verbatim_ the contents of a letter written by him at -some preceding time—one week, two weeks, a month, or more. Few people, -of course, can do this. If, now, the subject is a suitable one for the -abstraction or hypnotic method it may be that he will be able to -reproduce by one or the other method the test letter, word for word; a -comparison of the reproduction with the letter will, of course, -determine the accuracy of the memory. In such an experiment I have -succeeded in getting two subjects, Miss B.[18] and B. C. A., to repeat -_verbatim_ the contents of fairly long letters, and this even, on -certain occasions, when, on account of the subject being a dissociated -personality, there was no recollection of the letter at all, not even -that it had been written. Such minute reproduction affords further -evidence that the conservation of experiences may be much more complete -and exact than ordinary conscious memory would lead us to suppose. - -=Evidence from hallucinatory phenomena=.—I may mention one more example -of conservation of a forgotten experience of everyday life as it is an -example or mode of reproduction which differs in certain important -respects both from that of ordinary memory and that observed under the -artificial methods thus far described. This mode is that of a _visual_ -or an _auditory hallucination_ which may be an exact reproduction in -vividness and detail of the original experience. It is a type of a -certain class of memory phenomena. One of my subjects, while in a -condition of considerable stress of mind owing to the recurrence of the -anniversary of her wedding-day, had a vision of her deceased husband, -who addressed to her a certain consoling message. It afterwards -transpired that this message was an actual reproduction of the words -which a friend, in the course of a conversation some months previously, -had quoted to her as the words of her own husband just before his death. -In the vision the words were put into the mouth of another person, the -subject’s husband, and were actually heard as an hallucination. Under -the peculiar circumstances of their occurrence, however, these words -awakened no sense of familiarity; nor did she recognize the source of -the words until the automatic writing, which I later obtained, described -the circumstances and details of the original episode. Then the original -experience came back vividly to memory. On the other hand, the -“automatic writing” not only remembered the experience but recognized -the connection between it and the hallucination. (The truth of the -writing is corroborated by the written testimony of the other party to -the conversation.) - -Although such types of hallucinatory memories are not actual -reproductions of an experience but rather translated representations, -yet they show the experience must have been conserved in order to have -determined the representation. The actual experience, as we shall see -later, is translated into a visual or auditory form which pictures or -verbally expresses it, as the case may be. This type of hallucination is -common. That which is translated may be previous thoughts, or -perceptions received through another sense. Thus Mrs. Holland records a -visual hallucination which pictured a verbal description previously -narrated to her by a friend, but forgotten. The hallucination included -“the figure of a very tall thin man, dressed in gray, standing with his -back to the fire. He had a long face, I think a mustache—certainly no -beard—and suggested young middle age.”... On a second occasion “the tall -figure in gray was lying on the bed in a very flung-down, slack-jointed -attitude. The face was turned from me, the right arm hanging back across -the body which lay on the left side. I started violently and my foot -seemed to strike an empty bottle on the floor.” - -There is very little doubt that these visions of Mrs. Holland’s -represented Mr. Gurney, who had died from an accidental dose of -chloroform. Mrs. Holland “took very little interest” in Mr. Gurney, -hence she had entirely forgotten that the main facts of his death had -been told to her a few months previously by the narrator, Miss Alice -Johnson.[19] - -In an hallucination of this sort we have a dramatic pictorial -representation of previous though forgotten knowledge which must have -determined it. In order to have determined the hallucination the -knowledge must have been conserved somehow. I have frequently observed a -similar reproduction of a forgotten experience, which was not visual, -through translation into a newly created _visual_ representation in the -form of an artificial hallucination. The following is of this kind: Miss -B., looking into a crystal,[20] saw a scene laid in a wood near a lake, -etc. Several figures appeared in this scene, which was that of a murder. -Although she had no recollection of anything that could have given rise -to the hallucination, investigation showed that the original experience -was to be found in one of Marie Correlli’s novels which she had read but -forgotten. The vision was a correct representation of the scene as -described in the book. - -In suitable subjects almost any past experience, whether forgotten or -not, can be reproduced in this way if conserved, and observation shows -that the number which are conserved is enormous. I shall have occasion -to cite further examples in other connections. The phenomenon of -translation we shall find when we come to study it, as we shall do in -another lecture, throws light upon the nature of conservation for here -we are dealing with something more than simple reproduction; what is -conserved becomes elaborated into a new composition. - -=Evidence obtained from dreams.=—Another not uncommon mode in which -forgotten experiences are recovered is through dreams. The content of -the dream may, as Freud has shown, be a cryptic and symbolical -expression or representation of the experience,[21] or a visualized -representation or obvious symbolism, much as a painted picture may be a -symbolized expression of an idea,[22] or it may be a realistic -reproduction in the sense that the subject lives over again the actual -experience. A relative of mine gave me a very accurate description of a -person whom she had never seen from a dream in which he appeared. After -describing his hair, eyes, contour of face, mouth, etc., she ended with -the words, “He looks like a cross between a Scotchman and an Irishman.” -After she had most positively insisted that she had never seen this -person or heard him described—against my protest to the contrary—I -reminded her that I had myself described him to her only a few days -before in the identical words, ending my description with the remark, -“He looks like a cross between a Scotchman and an Irishman.” Even then -she could not recall the fact. Von Bechterew has recorded the case of a -man who frequently after hearing an opera dreamed the whole opera -through.[23] One subject of mine frequently dreamed over again in very -minute detail, after an interval of eight or nine months, the scenes -attending the deathbed of a relative. Indeed, in the dream she -realistically lived them again in a fashion similar to that of hypnotic -dreams such as I have related. Although she had not forgotten these -scenes it is highly improbable that she could have voluntarily recalled -them, particularly after the lapse of so long a time, without the aid of -the dream, so rich was it in detail, with each event in its -chronological order. - -Dream reproductions, whether in a symbolic form or not, are too common -to need further statement. I would merely point out that the frequency -with which childhood’s experiences occur in dreams is further evidence -of the conservation of these early experiences. The symbolic dream, -cryptic or obvious, deserves, however, special consideration because of -the data it offers to the problem of the nature of conservation which we -shall later study. In this type of dream, if the fundamental principle -of the theory of Freud is correct, the content is a symbolical -continuation in some form of an antecedent thought (experience) of the -dreamer.[24] When this thought, which may be forgotten, is recovered the -symbolic character of the dream, in many cases, is recognized beyond -reasonable doubt.[25] If this principle is well established, and nearly -all investigators are in accord on this point, though we need not always -accept the given interpretation of individual dreams—if the principle is -sound, then it follows that symbolism includes memory of the original -experience which must be conserved. So that even this type of dream -offers evidence of conservation of experiences for which there may be -total loss of memory (amnesia). - -Before closing this lecture I will return to the point which I -temporarily passed by, namely, the significance of the _difference in -the form of reproduction_ according as whether it is by automatic -writing or through associative memories in abstraction. In the latter -case, as we have seen, the memories are identical in form and principle -with those of everyday life. They enter the personal consciousness and -become conscious memories in the sense that the individual personally -remembers the experience in question. Abstraction may be regarded simply -as a favorable condition or moment when the subject remembers what he -had at another previous moment forgotten. We have seen also that the -same thing is true of remembering in hypnosis (excepting those special -realistic reproductions when the subject enters a dream-like or -somnambulistic state and lives over again the past experience in -question). In automatic writing, on the other hand, the reproduction is -by a secondary process entirely separate and independent of the personal -consciousness. In the examples I cited the latter was in entire -ignorance of the reproduction which did not become a personally -conscious memory. At the very same moment when the experiences could not -be voluntarily remembered, and without a change in the moment’s -consciousness, something was tapped, as it were, and thereby they were -graphically revealed without the knowledge of the subject, without -memory of them being introduced into the personal consciousness, and -even without the subject being able to remember the incident after -reading the automatic script. Even this stimulus failed to bring back -the desired phase of consciousness. It was very much like -surreptitiously inserting your hand into the pocket of another and -secretly withdrawing an object which he thinks he has lost. What really -happened was this: a secondary process was awakened and this process (of -which the principal or personal consciousness was unaware) revealed the -memory lost by the personal consciousness. At least this is the -interpretation which is the one which all the phenomena of this kind -pertaining to subconscious manifestations compel us to draw.[26] At any -rate the automatic script showed that somehow and somewhere _outside the -personal consciousness_ the experiences were conserved and under certain -conditions could be reproduced. - -We now also see that the same principle of reproduction by a secondary -process holds in hallucinatory phenomena whether artificial or -spontaneous, and in many dreams. When a person looking into a crystal -sees a scene which is a truthful pictorial representation of an actual -past experience which he does not consciously remember, it follows that -that visual hallucination must be induced and constructed by some -secondary subconscious process outside of and independent of the -processes involved in his personal consciousness. And, likewise, when a -dream is a translation of a forgotten experience into symbolical terms -it follows that there must be, underlying the dream consciousness, some -subconscious process which continues and translates the original -experience into and constructs the dream. - -This being so we are forced to two conclusions: first, in all these -types of phenomena the secondary process must in some way be closely -related to the original experience in order to reproduce it; and, -second, a mental experience must be conserved in some form which permits -of a subconscious process reproducing the experience in one or other of -the various forms in which memory appears. Further than this I will not -go at present, not until we have more extensively reviewed the number -and kinds of mental experiences that may be conserved. This we will do -in the next lecture. - ------ - -Footnote 5: - - Automatic writing is script which has been produced unconsciously or - involuntarily, although the writer is in an alert state, whether it be - the normal waking state or hypnosis. The hand writes, though the - subject does not consciously direct it. Ordinarily, though not always, - the subject is entirely unaware of what the hand is writing, and often - the writing is obtained better if the attention is diverted and - directed toward other matters. The first knowledge then obtained by - the subject of what has been written, or that the hand has written at - all, is on reading the script. Some persons can cultivate the art of - this kind of writing. Mrs. Verrall and Mrs. Holland, for example, - deliberately educated themselves to write automatically, and each - published a volume of her records. In other normal people automatic - writing seems to develop accidentally or under special circumstances. - In certain types of hysteria it is very easily obtained. “Planchette,” - which many years ago was in vogue as a parlor game, was only a - particular device to effect automatic writing. - -Footnote 6: - - In this particular experiment, when the hand wrote “automatically,” - the second _hypnotic consciousness vanished_ and the subject went into - a _trance_ state, or what is equivalent to a third hypnotic state. - There was no consciousness present, excepting that which was - associated with the writing hand. At other times, in experiments of - this class with this same subject, the hypnotic or the waking - consciousness, as the case might be, persisted _alert_ while the hand - wrote. For the purpose of the experiment in recovering memories this - change in the psychological condition is not of importance, the - principle remains the same. - -Footnote 7: - - _Journal of the S. P. R._, July, 1906. A fuller account of this case - was later published in the same journal, August, 1911. - -Footnote 8: - - A remark made by the subject in the trance state, though passed over - in the report as apparently inconsequential, has really much meaning - when interpreted through that conception of the unconscious memory - process which will be developed in succeeding chapters. The subject, - while in the trance, claimed to be in a mental world wherein “is to be - found, it is said, not only everything that has ever happened or will - happen, but all thoughts, dreams, and imagination.” In other words, in - that psychical condition into which she passed, all the conserved - conscious experiences of her life could be awakened into memory. - -Footnote 9: - - _Proceedings of the S. P. R._, October, 1906, Chap. XII. - -Footnote 10: - - In the automatic script, which purported to be a spiritistic message - from a dead friend named Annette, occurred the enigmatical sentence: - “Tell her this comes from the friend who loved cradles and cradled - things.” The meaning of this was revealed by the above-mentioned - letter to Mrs. Holland, written twenty years previously. It was from a - friend of Annette’s, and quoted an extract from Annette’s will, which - ran, “because I love cradles and cradled things.” When Mrs. Holland - was tearing up some old letters she came across this one. (“On the - automatic writing of Mrs. Holland,” by Miss Alice Johnson: - _Proceedings of the S. P. R._, June, 1908, pp. 288, 289.) - -Footnote 11: - - It would have required a stenographer, whom I did not have, to record - fully all these recovered memories. They would fill several printed - pages, and I can give only a general résumé of them. Some weeks later - the experiment was repeated and a record taken as fully as possible in - long hand. - -Footnote 12: - - Later in the day she discovered the loss of her gloves and, not - remembering where she had left them, was obliged to retrace her steps - in search of them. - -Footnote 13: - - Of course the memories recovered by either method may be fabrications - as with ordinary voluntary memory, and the automatic script may - stimulate the conscious memory to recollect the experiences in - question. Nevertheless, while the memories are being recorded by the - script, no “conscious” memory is present with subjects who are unaware - of what the hand is writing. - -Footnote 14: - - Sidis, Prince, and Linenthal: A contribution to the Pathology of - Hysteria, _Boston Medical and Surgical Journal_, June 23, 1904. - -Footnote 15: - - The Dissociation of a Personality, by Morton Prince. (New York; - Longmans, Green & Co., 1906.) P. 77. Hereafter, when this work is - referred to, the title will be indicated simply by “The Dissociation.” - -Footnote 16: - - Undoubtedly much was forgotten and, therefore, there must have been - hiatuses of which she was not aware; but the remarkable thing is that - not only so much, but so much that was inconsequential and evanescent - was recalled. If additional technical methods had been employed - probably more memories could have been recalled. - -Footnote 17: - - The objection will probably be made that the memories and statements - of hypnotized persons are unreliable on several grounds, chiefly - suggestibility, liability to illusions and, in some cases, tendency to - fabrications. This criticism is more likely to come from those who - have had a special rather than a wide experience with hypnotism. - -Footnote 18: - - Miss B., in these pages, always refers to Miss Beauchamp, an account - of whose case is given in “The Dissociation.” In this connection cf. - pp. 501, 81 and 238 of that work. - -Footnote 19: - - _Proceedings of the S. P. R._, June, 1908. - -Footnote 20: - - Crystal or artificial visions are hallucinatory phenomena which, like - automatic writing, can be cultivated by some people. The common - technic is to have a person look into a crystal, at the same time - concentrating the mind, or putting himself into a state of - abstraction. Under these conditions the subject sees a vision, i.e., - has a visual hallucination. The vision may be of some person or place, - or may represent a scene which may be enacted. Because of the use of a - crystal such hallucinations are called “crystal visions,” but a - crystal is not requisite; any reflecting surface may be sufficient, or - even the concentration of the attention. The crystal or other object - used of course acts only by aiding the concentration of attention and - by force of suggestion.—_The subconscious is tapped._ - -Footnote 21: - - Freud: Traumdeutung, 2 aufl. 1909. - -Footnote 22: - - Morton Prince: The Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams. _The - Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, October-November, 1910. - -Footnote 23: - - Zentralblatt für Nervenheilkunde und Psychiatrie; 1909, Heft 12. - -Footnote 24: - - According to Freud and his school it is always the imaginary - fulfilment of a suppressed wish, almost always sexual. For our - purposes it is not necessary to inquire into the correctness of this - interpretation or the details of the Freudian theory. - -Footnote 25: - - For an example, see p. 98. - -Footnote 26: - - If the physiological interpretation be maintained, i.e., that the - script was produced by a pure physiological process, this phenomenon - would be a crucial demonstration of the nature of conservation, that - it is in the form of physical alterations in nervous structure. I do - not believe, however, that this interpretation can be maintained. - - - - - LECTURE III - CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND - PATHOLOGICAL LIFE - - I. Normal Life (Continued) - -I have directed your attention up to this point to the conservation of -experiences which at the time of their occurrence, although lost beyond -voluntary recall, for the most part occupied the focus of attention of -the individual—were within the full light of consciousness. If these -experiences were the only ones which were subject to conservation—and I -would have you still bear in mind that I am using the term only in the -limited sense of the ability to recover an experience in some favorable -condition, or moment of consciousness, or through some fortunate or -technical mode of reproduction—if, I say, these were the only ones to be -conserved, then the conservation of the experiences which make up our -mental lives would be considerably curtailed. It so happens, however, -that a large part of our mental activity is occupied with acts of which -at the moment we are only dimly aware—or half aware—in that they do not -occupy the focus of attention. Some of these are what we call -absent-minded acts. Again, many sensations and perceptions do not enter -the focus of attention, so that we are either not aware of them, or, if -we are, there is so little vividness attached to them that they are -almost immediately lost to voluntary memory. The same is true of certain -trains of thoughts which course through the mind while one’s attention -is concentrated on some other line of thought. They are sometimes -described as being in the background of the mind. Then, again, we have -our dream life, and that of reverie, and the important artificial state -of hypnosis; also certain pathological states to which some individuals -are subject, such as intoxication, hysterical crises, deliria, and -multiple personality. Accordingly it is important in any investigation -into the extent of the field of conservation to inquire whether all this -mental life is only fleeting, evanescent, psychological experience, or -whether it is subject to the same principle of conservation. If the -latter be the case it presages consequences which are portentous in the -possible multiplicity and manifoldness of the elements which may enter -into and may govern the mechanism of mental processes. But let me not -get ahead of my exposition. - -=Absent-minded acts.=—In a study made some time ago I recorded the -reproduction, as a crystal vision, of an absent-minded act, i.e., one -which had not fully entered the focus of consciousness during deep -concentration of the attention. It is a type of numerous experiments of -this kind that I have made. Miss B. is directed to look into a crystal. -She sees therein a vision of herself walking along a particular street -in Boston in a brown study. She sees herself take out of her pocket some -bank notes, tear them up, and throw them into the street. Now this -artificial hallucination, or vision, was a picture of an actual -occurrence; in an absent-minded reverie the subject had actually -performed this very act under the circumstances portrayed in the vision -and had retained no memory of it.[27] - -Similarly I have frequently recovered knowledge of the whereabouts of -articles mislaid absent-mindedly. Sometimes the method used has been, as -in the above examples, that of crystal gazing or artificial -hallucinations; sometimes hypnotism, sometimes automatic writing, etc. -By the last two methods not only the forgotten acts but the ideas and -feelings which were outside the focus of attention, but in the fringe of -consciousness, and prompted the acts are described. It is needless to -give the details of the observations; it suffices to say that each -minute detail of the absent-minded act and the thoughts and feelings -that determined it are described or mirrored, as the case may be. The -point of importance is that concentration of attention is not essential -for conservation, and, therefore, among the vast mass of the conserved -experiences of life may be found many which, though once conscious, only -entered the margin of awareness (not the focus of attention) and never -were subject to voluntary recollection. In the absence of attentive -awareness at the time for such an experience (and therefore of -recollection), we often can only be assured that it ever occurred by -circumstantial evidence. When this assurance is wanting we are tempted -to deny its occurrence and our responsibility, but experiment shows that -the process of conservation, like the dictagraph, is a more faithful -custodian of our experiences than are our voluntary memories. - -=Subconscious perceptions=.—It is not difficult to show that perceptions -of the environment which _never even entered the fringe of the personal -consciousness, i.e., of which the individual was never even dimly -aware_, may be conserved. Indeed, the demonstration of their -conservation is one of the important pieces of evidence for the -occurrence of coconscious perception and, therefore, of the splitting of -consciousness. Mrs. Holland, both by automatic writing and in hypnosis, -describes perceptions of the environment (objects seen, etc.) of which -she was not aware at the time. Miss B. and B. C. A. recall, in hypnosis -and by automatic writing, paragraphs in the newspapers read through -casual glances without awareness thereof. The same is true of -perceptions of the environment experienced under experimental conditions -as well as fortuitously. I have made a large number of experiments and -other observations of this kind, and have been in the habit of -demonstrating before the students at my lectures this evidence of -coconscious perception. A simple method is to ask a suitable subject to -describe the dress of some person in the audience, or of objects in the -environment; if he is unable to do this, then to attempt to obtain as -minute a description as possible by automatic writing or verbally after -he has been hypnotized. It is often quite surprising to note with what -detail the objects which almost entirely escaped conscious observation -are subconsciously perceived and remembered. Sometimes the descriptions -of my students have been quite embarrassing from their naïve -truthfulness to nature. - -The following is an example of such an observation: I asked B. C. A. -(without warning and after having covered her eyes) to describe the -dress of a friend who was present and with whom she had been conversing -for perhaps some twenty minutes. She was unable to do so beyond saying -that he wore dark clothes. I then found that I myself was unable to give -a more detailed description of his dress, although we had lunched and -been together about two hours. B. C. A. was then asked to write a -description automatically. Her hand wrote as follows (she was unaware -that her hand was writing): - -“He has on a dark greenish gray suit, a stripe in it—little rough -stripe; black bow-cravat; shirt with three little stripes in it; black -laced shoes; false teeth; one finger gone; three buttons on his coat.” - -The written description was absolutely correct. The stripes in the coat -were almost invisible. I had not noticed his teeth or the loss of a -finger and we had to count the buttons to make sure of their number -owing to their partial concealment by the folds of the unbuttoned coat. -The shoe strings I am sure, under the conditions, would have escaped -nearly everyone’s observation. - -Subconscious perceptions even more than absent-minded acts offer some of -the most interesting phenomena of conservation, for these phenomena give -evidence of the ability, under certain conditions, to reproduce, in one -mode or another, experiences which were never a phase of the personal -consciousness, never entered even the fringe of the content of this -consciousness and of which, therefore, we were never aware. For this -reason they are not, properly speaking, forgotten experiences. Their -reproduction sometimes produces dramatic effects. The following is an -instance: B. C. A., waking one night out of a sound sleep, saw a vision -of a young girl dressed in white, standing at the foot of her bed. The -vision was extraordinarily vivid, the face so distinct that she was able -to give a detailed description of it. She had no recollection of having -seen the face before, and it awakened no sense of familiarity. -Suspecting, for certain reasons, the figure to be that of a young girl -who had recently died and whom I knew that B. C. A. had never known and -was not aware that she had ever seen, I placed before her a collection -of a dozen or more photographs of different people among which was one -of this girl. This photograph she picked out as the one which most -resembled the vision (it was a poor likeness) and automatic writing -confirmed most positively the choice. Now it transpired that she had -passed by this girl on one occasion while the latter was talking to me -in the hall of my house, but she had purposely, for certain reasons, not -looked at her. Subconsciously, however, she had seen her since she could -give, both in hypnosis and by automatic writing, an accurate account of -the incident, which I also remembered. B. C. A., however, had no -recollection of it. The subconscious perception was later reproduced -(after having undergone secondary elaboration) as a vision. - -Similarly I have known paragraphs read in the newspapers out of the -corner of her eye, so to speak, and probably by casual glances, not -only, as I have said, to be recalled in hypnosis and by automatic -writing, but to be reproduced with more or less elaboration in her -dreams. She had, as the evidence showed, no awareness at the time of -having read these paragraphs and no after recollection of the same. - -Experimentally, as I have said, it is possible to demonstrate other -phenomena which are the same in principle. The experiment consists, -after surreptitiously placing objects under proper precautions in the -peripheral field of vision, in having the subject fix his eyes on -central vision and his attention distracted from the environment by -intense concentration or reading. Immediately after removing the objects -it is determined that the subject did not consciously perceive them. But -in hypnosis or by other methods it is found that memory for perceptions -of the peripheral objects returns, i.e., the perceptions are reproduced. -Auditory stimuli may be used as tests with similar results. - -Likewise, with Miss B., I have frequently obtained reproductions of -perceptions of which at the time she was unaware. This has been either -under similar experimental conditions, or under accidental circumstances -when I could confirm the accuracy of the reproductions. For instance, to -cite one out of numerous examples, on one occasion I saw her pass by in -the street while I was standing on the door-step of a house some fifteen -or twenty feet away, well outside the line of her central vision. She -was in a brown study. I called to her three times saying, “Good morning, -Miss B.,” laying the accent each time on a different word. She did not -hear me and later had no recollection of the episode. In hypnosis she -recalled the circumstances accurately and reproduced my words with the -accents properly placed. Such observations and experiments I have -frequently made. They can be varied indefinitely in form and condition. - -The phenomenon of subconscious perception of sensory _stimulations -applied to anesthetic areas_ (tactile, visual, etc.), in hysterics, -first demonstrated by Janet, is of the same order, but has been so often -described that only a reference to it is necessary. I mention examples -here merely that the different kinds of phenomena that may be brought -within the sphere of memory shall be mentioned. For instance, Mrs. E. -B.[28] has an hysterical loss of sensibility in the hand which, in -consequence, can be severely pinched or pricked, or an object placed in -it, etc., without her being aware of the fact. Notwithstanding this -absence of awareness these tactile experiences were conserved since an -accurate detailed memory of them is recovered in hypnosis, or manifested -through automatic writing. The same phenomenon can be demonstrated in -Mrs. R., whose right arm is anesthetic.[29] The same conservation of -subconscious perceptions can be experimentally demonstrated during -automatic writing. At such times the writing hand becomes anesthetic and -if a screen is interposed so that the subject cannot see the hand he is -not aware of any stimulations applied to it. Nevertheless such sensory -stimulations—a prick or a pinch or more complicated impressions—are -conserved, for the hand will accurately describe all that is done. - -An observation which I made on one of my subjects probably belongs here -rather than to the preceding types. Several different objects were -successively brought into the field of vision, but so far toward the -periphery that they could not be sufficiently clearly seen to be -identified. In hypnosis, however, they were accurately described, -showing the conservation of perceptions that did not enter the vivid -awareness or clear perception of the subject. - -It is true, as a study of the coconscious would show, that such -phenomena of anesthesia and unrecognized perceptions are dependent upon -a dissociation of consciousness and upon coconscious perception. But -this is a matter of mechanism with which we are not now concerned. The -point simply is that subconscious perceptions which never entered the -awareness of the personal consciousness may be conserved. - -I will cite one more observation, one in which the reproduction was -through secondary translation, as we shall see later that it belongs to -a class which enables us to determine the nature of conservation. - -B. C. A., actuated by curiosity, looked into a crystal and saw there -some printed words which had no meaning for her whatever and awakened no -memory of any previous experience. It was afterward found that these -words represented a cablegram message which she unconsciously overheard -while it was being transmitted over the telephone to the telegraph -office by my secretary in the next room. She had no recollection of -having heard the words, as she was absorbed in reading a book at the -time. The correctness of the visual reproduction is shown, not only by -automatic writing which remembered and recorded the whole experience, -but also by comparison with the original cablegram. - -Again, in other experiments there appear, in the crystal, visions rich -in detail of persons whom she does not remember having seen, although it -can be proved that she actually has seen them. - -The reproduction of subconscious perceptions and forgotten knowledge in -dreams, visions, hypnosis, trance states, by automatic writing, etc., is -interesting apart from the theory of memory. Facts of this kind offer a -rational interpretation of many well-authenticated phenomena exploited -in spiritistic literature. Much of the surprising information given by -planchette, table rapping, and similar devices commonly employed by -mediums, depends upon the translation of forgotten dormant experiences -into manifestations of this sort. In clinical medicine, too, we can -often learn, through reproductions obtained by special methods of -investigation, the origin of obsessions and other ideas which otherwise -are unintelligible. - -=Dreams and somnambulisms=.—Many people remember their dreams poorly or -not at all, and, in the latter case, are under the belief that they do -not dream. But often circumstantial evidence, such as talking in their -sleep, shows that they do dream. Now, though ordinarily they cannot -remember the dreams, by changing the waking state to an hypnotic one, or -through the device of crystal visions or automatic writing, it is -possible in some people to reproduce the whole dream. Amnesia for -dreams, therefore, cannot be taken as evidence that they do not occur, -and forgotten dream consciousness is subject to the same principles of -conservation and reproduction as the experiences of waking life. Thus in -B. C. A. dreams totally forgotten on awakening are easily recovered in -hypnosis and in crystal visions.[30] In the case of M——l, which I cited -to you a little while ago, the forgotten dream in which he lived over -again the original episode which led to the development of his -hysterical condition and which when repeated in the dream induced each -successive attack, was easily recovered in hypnosis. The same was true -of the forgotten dreams of Mrs. H. and Miss B. - -The reproduction of nocturnal somnambulistic acts and the ideas which -occupied the content of consciousness of the somnambulist can be -effected in the same manner. I have quite a collection of observation of -this kind. In the study of visions,[31] to which I have already -referred, may be found the observation where Miss B., looking into a -crystal, sees herself walking in her sleep and hiding some money under a -tablecloth and books lying on the table. The money (which was supposed -to have been lost) was found where it was seen in the vision. - -In my notebook are the records of numerous artificial hallucinations of -this kind which reproduce sleep-walking acts of B. C. A. To cite one -instance: in the crystal she sees herself arise from her bed, turn on -the lights, descend the stairs, enter one of the lower rooms, sit by the -fire in deep, pensive reflection, then get up and dance merrily as her -somnambulistic mood changes. Presently, as the cinematograph-like -picture unfolds itself in the crystal, she sees herself go to the -writing table, write two letters, ascend the stairs, dropping one letter -on the way,[32] reënter her room, open a glove box, place the remaining -letter under the gloves, and finally put out the lights and get into bed -when, with the advent of sleep, the vision ends. In the vision the -changing expression of her face displays each successive mood. In -hypnosis also the scene is remembered and then even the thoughts which -accompanied each act of the somnambulist are described. Here again, -then, we have evidence that even forgotten dreams and somnambulistic -thoughts are not lost but under certain special conditions can be -revived in one mode or another. - - II. Forgotten Experiences of Artificial and Pathological States - -The experiences that I have thus far cited in evidence of the principle -of the conservation of dormant experiences that cannot be voluntarily -recalled have been drawn almost entirely from normal everyday life. We -now come to a series of facts which are very important in that they show -that what is true of the experiences of everyday life is also true of -those of _artificial_ and _pathological_ states of which the normal -personal consciousness has no cognizance. These facts are also vital for -the comprehension of post-hypnotic phenomena, of amnesia, multiple -personality, and allied dissociated states. Let us consider some of the -states from the point of view of conservation. - -=Artificial states.=—After a person passes from one _dissociated state_ -to another, or from a dissociated state to the full waking state, it is -commonly found that there is amnesia for the previous state. This is a -general principle. The forgetting of dreams is an example from normal -life. For the psychological state of sleep in which dreams occur is one -of normal dissociation of consciousness by which the perception of the -environment, and the great mass of life’s experiences, can no longer be -brought within the content of the dream consciousness. Hence there is a -general tendency to the development of amnesia for dreams after waking -when the normal synthesis of the personality has been established. Yet, -as we have seen, forgotten dreams can generally be recalled in hypnosis -or by some other technical method (e. g., crystal visions and -abstraction). Now _hypnosis_ is an artificially dissociated state. After -passing from one hypnotic state to another,[33] or after waking, it is -very common to find complete amnesia for the whole of the experience -belonging to the previous hypnotic state. By no effort whatsoever can it -be recalled and this inability persists during the remainder of the life -of the subject. And yet those hypnotic experiences may have been very -extensive, particularly if the subject has been hypnotized a great many -times. Nevertheless, it is easy to demonstrate that they are conserved -and therefore, like all conserved experiences, potentially still -existing, subject to recall under favoring conditions; for, as is well -known, if the subject be rehypnotized they are recalled as normal -memories. With the restitution of the hypnotic state the memories which -were dormant become synthesized with the hypnotic personality and -conscious. - -The method of producing crystal visions may also be used to demonstrate -the dormant conservation of experiences originating in hypnotic states. -By this method and that of automatic writing, as I have already -explained, the memories may be made to reveal themselves, without -inducing recollection, at the very moment when the subject cannot -voluntarily recall them. The subject, of course, being ignorant of what -happened in hypnosis cannot recognize the visions as pictorial memories. -In illustration of this I would recall the observation in the case of -Miss B. where, in such an artificial vision, she saw herself sitting on -a sofa smoking a cigarette.[34] This vision represented an incident -which occurred during one of the subject’s hypnotic states when she had -smoked a cigarette. Naturally Miss B., in her ignorance of the facts, -denied the truthfulness of the vision. Other examples of a like kind -might be cited if it were necessary. - -By automatic writing, also, evidence of the same principle may be -obtained. The conserved memories are _tapped_, so to speak. Thus I -suggest to Mrs. R. in hypnosis that after waking she shall write certain -verses or sentences. After being awakened she reproduces automatically, -as directed, the desired verses or sentences which, of course, belonged -to her hypnotic experiences.[35] In other words, although the personal -consciousness did not remember the hypnotic experience of having -received the command and of having given the promise to write the -verses, etc., the automatic writing by the act of fulfilling the command -showed that all this was conserved; here again was evidence of -conservation, in some form, of an experience at the very moment when the -personal consciousness was unable to voluntarily recall what had taken -place in hypnosis. Such experiments may be varied indefinitely. - -The following is an instance of the same phenomenon obtained by tapping -without the use of previous suggestion in hypnosis: subject B. C. A. One -of the hypnotic states, b, was waked up to become B, this change being -followed, as usual, by amnesia. By means of automatic writing an -accurate account was now obtained of the experiences which had taken -place during the previous moments in hypnosis, the subject being unaware -of what the hand wrote. Here were complete memories of the whole period -of which the personal consciousness, B, had no knowledge. One of the -most striking, not to say dramatic, demonstrations of this kind can -sometimes be obtained in cases exhibiting several different hypnotic -states. For instance: “c” and “b” are two different hypnotic phases -belonging to the same individual (B. C. A.). c knows nothing of the -experiences of b, and b nothing of c, each having amnesia for the other. -Now one has only to whisper in the ear of c, asking a question of b, and -at once, by automatic speech, the dormant b phase responds, giving such -information as is sought in proof of the conservation of any given -experience belonging to the tapped b phase. The consciousness of c -apparently continues uninterruptedly during the experiment. The same -evidence could be obtained by automatic writing under the same -conditions. Again in the b phase another state known as “Alpha and -Omega” can be tapped, giving similar evidence of conservation. In the -case of Miss B. the same phenomena could be elicited. In this respect -hypnotic states may show the same behavior as alternating personalities -of which I shall presently speak. - -Suggested _post-hypnotic phenomena_ depend, in part, on the conservation -of dormant complexes. In hypnosis I give a suggestion that the subject -on waking shall, at a given moment, take a cigarette and smoke it. There -is thus formed a complex of ideas which becomes dormant and forgotten -after waking. Later, by some mechanism which we need not inquire into -now, the ideas of the dormant complex enter the field of the personal -self; the idea of smoking a cigarette arises therein and the subject -puts the idea into execution. These consequences of the suggestion could -not occur unless the experiences were conserved. Or, we may take an -experiment where the hypnotic experiences are reproduced automatically -by writing. Here the conserved experiences form a secondary system split -off from the personal consciousness. This system reproduces the hypnotic -experiences as memory outside of the personal consciousness. - -From a practical point of view this principle of the conservation of the -experiences of the hypnotic state is of the utmost importance. The fact -that a person does not remember them on waking—if such be the case—is of -little consequence in principle, and, practically, this amnesia does not -preclude these experiences from influencing the waking personality. _As -experiences and potential memories they all belong to and are part of -the personality._ The hypnotic experiences being conserved our -personality may still be modified and determined in its judgments, -points of view, and attitudes by them, as by other unrecognized memories -when such modifications have been effected in the hypnotic state. When -the last is the case the hypnotically modified judgments, etc., may -introduce themselves into the content of consciousness in the waking -state by association without being recognized as memories. There may be -no recollection of the source of the new ideas, of the reason for the -modification of a given judgment or attitude of mind, because there is -no recollection of the hypnotic state as a whole; but so far as the new -judgment or attitude is a reproduction of an hypnotic experience it is -memory, although not perfect memory or recollection in the sense of -localizing the experience in the past. - -This principle can easily be demonstrated experimentally. It is only -necessary, for instance, to state to a suitably suggestible subject that -the weather, with which previously he was discontented is, after all, -fine; for although it is raining, still, the crops need rain; it will -allay the dust and make motoring pleasant, it will give him an -opportunity to finish his neglected correspondence, etc. The whole -prospect, he is told, is pleasing. He accepts, we assume, the new point -of view. He is then waked up and has complete amnesia for the -experience. Now these ideas, developed in the hypnotic state, are -conserved as potential memories. Though with the change of the -moment-consciousness they cannot be voluntarily recalled, they have -entered into associations to form a new viewpoint. Just speak to him -about the weather and watch the result. His discontent has disappeared -and given place to satisfaction. He expresses himself as quite pleased -with the weather and gives the same reasons for his satisfaction as were -suggested to and accepted by him in hypnosis. He does not recognize his -new views as reproductions, i.e., memories, of previous experiences -because he has no recollection of the hypnotic state. He does not -remember when and how he changed his mind; but these experiences have -determined his views because they have become a part of his conscious -system of thought. The principle applies to a large part of our -judgments not formed in hypnosis. There is nothing very remarkable about -it. The process is similar to that of ordinary thought though it has had -an artificial and different origin. The complex of ideas having been -formed in hypnosis still remains organized and some of its elements -enter the complexes of the personal consciousness, just as in normal -life ideas of buried experiences of which we have no recollection -intrude themselves from time to time and shape our judgments and the -current of our thoughts without our realizing what has determined our -mental processes. We have forgotten the source of our judgments, but -this forgetfulness does not affect the mechanism of the process. - -=Pathological states.=—In the _functional amnesias_ of a pathological -character we find the same phenomenon of conservation. Various types of -amnesia are encountered. I will specify only the episodic, epochal, and -the continuous, so commonly observed in hysteria. This field has been -threshed over by many observers and I need refer only to a few instances -as illustrations. In the first two types the experiences which are -forgotten may have occurred during the previous normal condition. In the -episodic the particular episode which is forgotten may have been, -strangely enough, one which from the very important part it played in -the life of the subject and its peculiar impressiveness and significance -we should expect would be necessarily remembered, especially as memory -in other respects is normal. But for the same reasons it is not -surprising to find that the experience has been conserved somehow and -somewhere although it cannot be recalled. The classical cases of -Fräulein O. and Lucy R. reported by Breuer and Freud[36] are typical. - -From my own collection of cases I will cite the following episode from -the case of B. C. A. This subject received a mental shock as the result -of an emotional conflict of a distressing character. This experience was -the exciting factor in the development of her psychosis, a dissociation -of personality. In the resulting “neurasthenic” state, although her -memory was normal for all other experiences of her life, this particular -episode with all its manifold details, notwithstanding its great -significance in her life, completely dropped out of her memory.[37] - -This incident was a very intimate one and it is not necessary to give -the details. When put to the test all effort to recall the episode -voluntarily is without result, and even suggestions in two hypnotic -states fail to awaken it in those states. Yet when a pencil is put in -her hand these memories are made to manifest themselves by automatic -writing. During the writing the subject remains in a perfectly alert -state but is unaware of what her hand is doing. At a later period after -the subject had been restored to the normal condition she could -voluntarily recall these memories thus, again, showing their -conservation. - -One other example of episodic amnesia I will cite, inasmuch as, aside -from the question of conservation, it is of practical importance, being -typical of experiences which lead to obsessions of phobia. The subject, -O. N., had an intense fear of towers such as might contain bells that -might ring. She had no recollection of the first occasion when the fear -occurred or of any experience which might have given rise to it, and, of -course, could give no explanation of the obsession. Neither in -abstraction or hypnosis could any related memories be evoked, but by -automatic writing she “unconsciously” described an emotional and -dramatic scene which was the occasion of the first occurrence of the -fear and which had taken place some twenty-five years previously when -she was a young girl. - -With the reason for the amnesia we are not particularly concerned at -present excepting so far as it serves to make clear the distinction -between recollection and conservation, and to throw light on the nature -of the latter. The episodes in both these instances were of a strongly -emotional character. Now we have known for many years from numerous -observations that emotion tends to disrupt the mind and to dissociate -the experiences which give rise to the affective state so that they -cannot be brought back into consciousness. We may particularize further -and, making use of the known impulsive force of emotion, attribute the -dissociation (or inhibition) in many cases to a conflict between certain -ideas belonging to the experience and other opposing ideas which, with -the emotion, they have awakened. The impulsive force of the latter -ideas, being the stronger, dissociates, or, to use the expressive term -introduced by Freud, represses, the former. The principle of -dissociation by conflict has been formulated and elaborated by Freud in -his well-known theory which has been made use of to explain all -functional amnesias. It is not necessary to go as far as that, nor does -the theory as such concern us now. It is sufficient if in certain cases -the amnesia (or dissociation) is a dissociation (repression) induced by -the conative force of conflicting emotion. If so we should expect that -the amnesia would be of a temporary nature and would continue only so -long as the conflict and dissociating force continued. In any favorable -moment when repression ceased or failed to be operative, as in hypnosis -or abstraction, reproduction (recollection) could occur. But this -requires that the registration of the experience should be something -specific that can be dissociated without obliteration. And, further, it -must be something that can be so conserved, somehow and somewhere, -_during dissociation_ that, as in the case of reproduction by automatic -writing, it can escape the influence of the repressing force and express -itself autonomously, i.e., without the expressed memory of the -experience entering the personal consciousness. To this we shall return -later. - -In the two examples I have cited, if my interpretation is correct, the -amnesia was due to dissociation by conflict and hence the conservation, -as is the rule in functional dissociation, and the reproduction by -automatic writing. This principle of dissociation by conflict and of -conservation of the dissociated remembrances is of great practical -importance as we shall see in later lectures. It can be best studied -experimentally with cases of multiple personality. In the case of Miss -B. numerous examples of amnesia from conflict were observed. Owing to -the precise organization of the consciousness into two distinct -personalities it was possible to definitely determine beyond question -the antagonistic ideas of one personality which voluntarily induced the -conflict and, by the impulsive force of their emotion, caused the -amnesia in the other personality.[38] The same phenomena were observed -in the case of B. C. A. As memory for the forgotten experiences in these -instances returned as soon as the conflict ceased, conservation of them -necessarily persisted during the amnesia. - -Perhaps I may be permitted to digress here slightly to point out that -this same (in principle) phenomenon may be effected experimentally by -suggestion. The suggested idea which has the force of a volition or -unexpressed wish, coming in conflict with the knowledge of previously -familiar facts, inhibits or represses the reproduction in consciousness -of this knowledge as memory. It is easy to prove, however, that this -knowledge is conserved though it cannot be recalled. Thus, I give -appropriate suggestions to B. C. A. in hypnosis that she shall be -unable, when awake, to remember a certain unpleasant episode connected -with a person named “August.” After being awakened she has complete -amnesia, not only for the episode, but even for the name. The -suppression of the memory of the episode carries with it by association -the name of the person. In fact, the name itself has no meaning for her. -When asked to give the names of the calendar months after mentioning -“July” she hesitates, then gives “September” as the next. Even when the -name “August” is mentioned to her it has no meaning and sounds like a -word of a foreign language. The memory of the episode has become dormant -so far as volitional recollection is concerned. It can, however, be -_recalled as a coconscious process_ through automatic writing, as in the -preceding experiment, and then the word in all its meanings and -associations is also awakened in the coconsciousness. - -The same phenomenon may be observed clinically in transition types -standing halfway between the amnesia following emotional episodes and -that produced by external suggestion. Auto-suggestion may then be a -factor in the mechanism, as in the following example: In a moment of -discouragement and despair B. C. A., torn by an unsolved problem, said -to herself after going to bed at night, “I shall go to sleep and I shall -forget everything, my name and everything else.” Of course she did not -intend or expect to forget literally her name, but she gave expression -to a petulant despairing conditional wish which if fulfilled would be a -solution to her problem; as much as if she said, “If I should forget who -I am my troubles would be ended.” Nevertheless the auto-suggestion with -its strong feeling tones worked for repression. The next day, when about -to give her name by telephone, she discovered that she had forgotten it. -On testing her later I found that she could not speak, write, or read -her name. She could not even understandingly read the same word when -used with a different signification, i.e., stone [her name, we will -suppose, is Stone], nor the letters of the same. This amnesia persisted -for three days until removed by my suggestion. That the lost knowledge -was all the time conserved is further shown by the fact that during the -amnesia the name was remembered in hypnosis and also reproduced by -automatic writing. - -In the epochal type of amnesia a person, perhaps after a shock, suddenly -loses all memory for lost _epochs_, it may be for days and even for -years of his preceding life. In the classical case of Mr. Hanna, studied -by Boris Sidis, the amnesia was for his whole previous life, so that the -subject was like a new-born child. It is easy to show, however, that the -forgotten epoch is normally conserved by making use of the various -methods of reproduction at our disposal. In the case of Hanna, Sidis was -able through “hypnoidization” and suggestion to bring back memory -pictures of the amnesic periods. “While the subject’s attention is thus -distracted, events, names of persons, of places, sentences, phrases, -whole paragraphs of books totally lapsed from memory, and in language -the very words of which sounded bizarre to his ears and the meaning of -which was to him inscrutable—all that flashed lightning-like on the -patient’s mind. So successful was this method that on one occasion the -patient was frightened by the flood of memories that rose suddenly from -the obscure subconscious [unconscious] regions, deluged his mind, and -were expressed aloud, only to be forgotten the next moment. To the -patient himself it appeared as if another being took possession of his -tongue.”[39] - -In another class of cases of epochal amnesia known as _fugues_ the -subject, having forgotten his past life and controlled by fancied ideas, -perhaps wanders away not knowing who he is or anything of the previous -associations of his life. The “Lowell Case” of amnesia, which I had an -opportunity to carefully observe and which later was more extensively -studied for me by Dr. Coriat, may be instanced.[40] A woman suddenly -left her home without apparent rhyme or reason. When later found she had -lost all recollection of her name, her personality, her family, and her -surroundings, and her identity was only accidentally discovered through -the publication of her photograph in the newspaper. She then had almost -complete amnesia for her previous life. - -Another case, also studied by Dr. Coriat and the writer, was that of a -policeman who suddenly deserted his official duty in Boston and went to -New York, where he wandered about without knowledge of who he was, his -name, his age, his occupation, indeed, as there is reason to believe, of -his past life. When he came to himself three days later he found himself -in a hospital with complete amnesia for the three days’ fugue. When I -examined him some days later this amnesia still persisted but Dr. Coriat -was able to recover memories of his vagrancy in New York showing that -the experiences of this fugue were still conserved. It is hardly -necessary to remind you that, of course, the memories of his normal life -which during the fugue it might have been thought were lost were shown -to have been conserved, as on “coming to himself” they were recovered. -In the “Lowell Case” substantially similar conditions were found. - -In _continuous or anterograde_ amnesia the subject forgets every -experience nearly as fast as it happens. The classical case of Mme. D., -studied by Charcot and later more completely by Janet, is an example. -The conservation of the forgotten experiences was demonstrated by these -authors. - -In _multiple personality_ amnesia for large epochs in the subject’s life -is quite generally a prominent feature. In one phase of personality -there is no knowledge whatsoever of existence in another phase. Thus, -for instance, all the experiences of BI and BIV, in the case of Miss B., -were respectively unknown to the other. When, however, the change took -place from one personality to the other, with accompanying amnesia, all -the great mass of experiences of the one personality still remained -organized and conserved during the cycle of the other’s existence. With -the reversion to the first personality, whichever it might be, the -previously formed experiences of that personality became capable of -manifesting themselves as conscious memories. This conservation could -also be shown, in this case, by the method of tapping the conserved -memories and producing crystal visions or artificial hallucinations. -Those who are familiar with the published account of the case will -remember that BIV was in the habit at one time of acquiring knowledge of -the amnesic periods of BI’s existence by “fixing” her mind and obtaining -a visual picture of the latter’s acts. Likewise, it will be remembered -that by crystal visions I was enabled to bring into consciousness a -vision of the scene at the hospital which, through its emotional -influence, caused the catastrophe of dissociation of personality, and -also of the scene enacted by BI just preceding the awakening of BIV, of -all of which BIV had no knowledge.[41] As with Mr. Hanna sometimes these -memories instead of being complex pictures were scrappy—mere flashes in -the pan. The same condition of conservation of the experiences of one -personality during the existence of another obtained in the case of B. -C. A. and numerous cases recorded in the literature. In this respect the -condition is the same as that which obtains in hypnotic states and which -I mentioned a few moments ago. - -We may, in fact, lay it down as a general law that during any -dissociated state, no matter how extensive or how intense the amnesia, -all the experiences that can be recalled in any other state, whether the -normal one or another dissociated state, are conserved and, -theoretically at least, can be made to manifest themselves. And, -likewise and to the same extent, during the normal state the experiences -which belong to a dissociated state are still conserved, notwithstanding -the existing amnesia for those experiences. Furthermore, if we were -dealing with special pathology we would be able to show that many -pathological phenomena are due to the subconscious manifestations of -such conserved and forgotten experiences. - -Observation shows that the experiences of _trance states_ and allied -conditions are similarly conserved. Fanny S., as the result of an -emotional shock, due to a distressing piece of news, goes into a -trance-like state of which she has no memory afterwards. Later, a -recollection of this supposedly unconscious state, including the content -of her trance thoughts and the sayings and doings of those about her, is -recovered by a special device. B. C. A. likewise fell into a trance of -which there was no recollection. The whole incident was equally fully -recovered in a crystal vision, and also conscious memory of it brought -back to personal consciousness by a special technic. In the vision she -saw herself apparently unconscious, the various people about her each -performing his part in the episode; the doctor administering a -hypodermic dose of medicine, etc. In hypnosis she remembered in addition -the thoughts of the trance consciousness and the various remarks made by -different people in attendance. - -Even _delirious states_ for which there is complete amnesia may be -conserved. I have observed numerous instances of this in the case of -Miss B. For instance, the delirious acts occurring in the course of -pneumonia were reproduced in a crystal vision by Miss B. and the -delirious thoughts as well were remembered by the secondary personality, -Sally.[42] I have records of several examples of conservation of -delirium in this case. Quite interesting was the repetition of the same -delirium due to ether narcosis in succeeding states of narcosis as -frequently happened. A very curious phenomenon of the same order was the -following: After the subject had been etherized a number of times I -adopted the ruse of pretending to etherize one of the secondary -personalities, using the customary inhaler but without ether. The -efficient factor was, of course, suggestion. The subject would, at least -apparently, become unconscious, passing into a state which had all the -superficial appearances of deep etherization. At the end of the -procedure she would slowly return to consciousness, repeat the same -stereotyped expletives and other expressions which she regularly made -use of when ether was actually used, and make the same grimaces and -signs of discomfort, etc. This behavior would seem to indicate that the -mental and physical experiences originally induced by a physical agent -were conserved and later reproduced under imaginary conditions. - -Mental experiences formed in states of _alcoholic intoxication_ without -delirium may be conserved as dormant complexes. Dr. Isador Coriat,[43] -in his studies of _alcoholic amnesia_, was able to restore memories of -experiences occurring during the alcoholic state showing that they were -still conserved. The person, during the period for which later there is -amnesia, may or may not be what is ordinarily called drunk, although -under the influence of alcohol. Later, when he comes to himself, he is -found to have forgotten the whole alcoholic period—perhaps several days -or a week—during which he may have acted with apparently ordinary -intelligence, and perhaps have committed criminal acts. By one or -another of several technical methods memory of the forgotten period may -often be recalled. Dr. C. W. Pilgrim[44] also has reported two cases of -this kind in which he succeeded in restoring the memories of the -forgotten alcoholic state. I might also recall here the case, cited by -Ribot, of the Irish porter who, having lost a package while drunk, got -drunk again and remembered where he had left it. - -Of course, in order to demonstrate the conservation of forgotten -experiences it is necessary, when abstraction is not sufficient, to -employ subjects in whom more profound dissociation of consciousness can -be produced by one or another of the artificial means described so as to -permit of the reproduction of the hidden (conserved) experiences of -mental life. Such subjects, however, are sufficiently common. Often the -passive state of abstraction after some practice is sufficient. - - Summary - -Although in the above résumé of the phenomena of memory I have for the -most part made use of personal observations, these, so far as the -phenomena themselves are concerned, are in accord with those of other -observers. It would have been easy to have drawn for corroboration upon -the writings of Gurney, Janet, Charcot, Breuer, Freud, Sidis, Coriat, -and others. - -A survey of all the facts which I have outlined in this lecture forces -us to ask ourselves the question: To what extent are life’s experiences -conserved? Indeed it was to meet this question that I have reviewed so -large a variety of forgotten experiences which experiment or observation -in individual cases has shown to be conserved. If my aim had been to -show simply that an experience, which has been lost beyond all possible -voluntary recall, may still be within the power of reproduction when -special devices adapted to the purpose are employed, it would not have -been necessary to cover such a wide field of inquiry. To meet the wider -question it was necessary to go farther afield and examine a large -variety of experiences occurring in multiform conditions of mental life. - -After doing this the important principle is forced upon us in strong -relief that it matters not in what period of life, or in what state, -experiences have occurred, or how long a time has intervened since their -occurrence; they may still be conserved. They become dormant, but under -favorable conditions they may be awakened and may enter conscious life. -We have seen, even by the few examples I have given, that childhood -experiences that are supposed to have long been buried in oblivion may -be conserved. We have seen that the mental life of artificial and -pathological states is subject to the same principle; that the -experiences of hypnosis, trance states, deliria, intoxication, -dissociated personality—though there may be absolute amnesia in the -normal waking state for them—may still be capable of reproduction as -memory. Yet of the vast number of mental experiences which we have -during the course of our lives we can voluntarily recall but a -fractional part. What proportion of the others is conserved is -difficult, if not impossible, to determine. The difficulty is largely a -practical one due to the inadequacy of our technical methods of -investigation. In the first place, our technic is only applicable to a -limited number of persons. In the second place, it is obvious that when -an episode—occurring in the course of everyday life—is forgotten, but is -recovered under one or another of the conditions I have described, it is -only in a minority of instances that circumstances will permit -confirmation of this evidence by collateral and independent testimony. -Still, if we take the evidence as a whole its cumulative force is such -as to compel the conviction that a vast number of experiences, more than -we can possibly voluntarily recall, are conserved, and that it is -impossible to affirm that any given experience may not persist in a -dormant state. It is impossible to say what experiences of our daily -life have failed to be conserved and what are awaiting only a favorable -condition of reproduction to be stimulated into activity as memory. Even -if they cannot be reproduced by voluntary effort, or by some one -particular device, they may be by another and, if all devices fail, they -may be recovered in pathological conditions like delirium, trance, -spontaneous hallucinations, etc., or in normal dissociated states like -dreams. The inability to recall an experience is no evidence whatever -that it is not conserved. Indeed, even when the special methods and -moments fail it is still not always possible to say that it is not -conserved. - -It would be a gross exaggeration to say, on the basis of the evidence at -our disposal, that all life’s experiences persist as potential memories, -or even that this is true of the greater number. It is, however, -undoubtedly true that of the great mass of experiences which have passed -out of all voluntary recollection, an almost incredible, even if -relatively small, number still lie dormant, and, under favoring -conditions, many can be brought within the field of conscious memory. -The significance of this fact will become apparent to us later after we -have studied the nature of conservation. Still more significant, -particularly for abnormal psychology, is the fact we have brought out by -our technical methods of investigation; namely, that almost any -conserved experience under certain conditions can function as a -subconscious memory and become translated into, i.e., produce sensory -and motor automatic phenomena, such as hallucinations, writing, speech, -etc. It will not be surprising if we shall find that various other -disturbances of mind and body are produced by such subconscious -processes. - -Two striking facts brought out by some of these investigations are the -minuteness of the details with which forgotten experiences may be -conserved and the long periods of time during which conservation may -persist. Thus, as we have seen, experiences dating back to early -childhood may be shown to be preserved in extremely minute detail though -the individual has long forgotten them. Furthermore, it has been shown -that even remembered experiences may be conserved in far more elaborate -detail than would appear from so much of the experience as can be -voluntarily recalled. Probably our voluntary memory is not absolutely -perfect for any experience in all its details but the details that are -conserved often far exceed those that can be recalled. - -In the survey of life’s experiences which we have studied we have, for -the most part, considered those which have had objective relation and -have been subject to confirmation by collateral testimony. But we should -not overlook the fact that among mental experiences are those of the -inner as well as outer life. To the former belong the hopes and -aspirations, the regrets, the fears, the doubts, the self-communings and -wrestlings with self, the wishes, the loves, the hates, all that we are -not willing to give out to the world, and all that we would forget and -would strive not to admit to ourselves. All this inner life belongs to -our experience and is subject to the same law of conservation. - -Finally, it should be said that much of what is not ordinarily regarded -as memory is made up of conserved experiences. A large part of every -mental content is memory the source of which is forgotten. Just as our -vocabulary is memory, though we do not remember how and where it was -acquired, so our judgments, beliefs, and opinions are in large part made -up of past experiences which are forgotten but which have left their -traces as integral parts of concepts ingrained in our personalities. - ------ - -Footnote 27: - - For a full account of this experiment, see An Experimental Study of - Visions, _Brain_, Winter Number, 1898; The Dissociation, pp. 81, 82. - -Footnote 28: - - The Dissociation, p. 77. - -Footnote 29: - - For numerous observations of this kind, see Pierre Janet: The Mental - States of Hystericals. - -Footnote 30: - - The Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams, loc. cit. - -Footnote 31: - - Loc. cit. See p. 51. - -Footnote 32: - - See Lecture VI, p. 185. - -Footnote 33: - - Gurney was among the first to demonstrate the induction of several - states in the same subject. He was able to obtain three different - hypnotic states (Proceedings S. P. R., Vol. IV, p. 515), and Mrs. - Sidgwick and Miss Johnson eight in one individual, each with amnesia - for the other. Janet, of course, demonstrated the same phenomena. In - the cases of Miss B. and B. C. A. I obtained a large number of such - states. - -Footnote 34: - - Morton Prince: The Dissociation, p. 55; also An Experimental Study of - Visions, _Brain_, Winter Number, 1898. - -Footnote 35: - - Some of the Revelations of Hypnotism, _Boston Medical and Surgical - Journal_, May 22, 1890. - -Footnote 36: - - Studien über Hysterie. - -Footnote 37: - - Of course I am not discussing here the genetic mechanism of the - amnesia, being concerned only with the principle of conservation. - -Footnote 38: - - The Dissociation, pp. 284-5, 456-9. - -Footnote 39: - - Boris Sidis: The Psychology of Suggestion, p. 224; see also Multiple - Personality, p. 143. - -Footnote 40: - - _The Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, Vol. II, p. 93. - -Footnote 41: - - The Dissociation, pp. 220, 221, 255, 531, 532. - -Footnote 42: - - The Dissociation, p. 83. - -Footnote 43: - - _The Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, Vol. I, No. 3. - -Footnote 44: - - _American Journal of Insanity_, July, 1910. - - - - - LECTURE IV - CONSERVATION A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES - - -A consideration of all the facts of observation and experiment of the -kind which I have recited in the last two lectures—and I might have -multiplied them many times—forces us to the conclusion that whether or -not we can recall any given experience it may be still conserved. Bear -in mind that I have used conservation, thus far, only in the sense that -under favoring changes in the moment’s consciousness, or by special -methods of stimulation, a past experience may reproduce itself, or may -be made to reproduce itself, in one form or another of memory. - -It may be, for example, that you have to-day only a vague and general -recollection of the last lecture and if you should endeavor to write an -account of it from memory the result would be but a fragmentary report. -And yet it is quite possible that, if one or another of the various -technical methods I have described could be applied to some one of you, -we should be able to recover quite exact memories, of certain portions -at least, of the lecture—perhaps _verbatim_ transcripts of certain -portions, and large numbers of facts which are quite beyond your present -recollection. - -Our study of those phenomena of memory which I cited in the last lecture -was carried only so far as to allow us to draw the conclusions as to -conservation which I have just stated. And, in drawing these -conclusions, let me repeat—we have provisionally limited the meaning of -the term conservation simply to the potential ability to reproduce -experiences, with or without recollection, either in their original -form, or translated into a graphic, visual, or auditory expression of -them. We have not attempted from these phenomena to draw conclusions as -to the nature of conservation, or as to whether it is anything apart -from reproduction under favorable conditions. If we do not look below -the surface of the phenomena it might be held that memory is only a -recurrent phase of consciousness, and that the term conservation is only -a figure of speech to express the ability to determine that recurrence -in our self-consciousness. - -Let us examine now a little more closely some of the phenomena we have -already examined but inadequately. - -=Residual processes underlying automatic motor phenomena: writing, -speech, gestures, etc.=—We will take writing as a type and the following -as an example: In a state of hypnosis a subject learns a verse by heart. -It is then suggested that this verse shall be written automatically -after he has been awakened. (By arranging the conditions of the -experiment in this way we make certain that the script afterwards -written shall express a memory and not a fabrication.) After the subject -returns to the normal waking state he has complete amnesia for the whole -hypnotic state and therefore for the verse. Now, if the experiment is -successful, his hand writes the given verse without the subject being -aware of what his hand is writing, and it may be without being aware -that his hand is writing anything at all. The whole thing has been done -without participation of his consciousness and without his knowing that -any such phenomenon was to occur. (Of course any of his conscious -experiences while in the hypnotic state might have been used as a test, -these being known to the experimenter as well.) Now the things to be -noted are: - -1, that the script expresses a memory; that is, reproduces previous -_conserved_ conscious ideas—the verse. It expresses memory just exactly -as it would express it if it had been consciously and voluntarily -written. - -2, that these ideas _while in a state of conservation_ and without -entering consciousness—i.e., becoming conscious memory—express -themselves in written language. - -3, that this occurs while the subject has complete amnesia for the -conserved ideas and therefore he could not possibly reproduce them as -conscious memory. - -4, that that which effects the writing is not a recurring phase of the -self-consciousness which is concerned at the moment with totally -different ideas. - -5, that the “state of conservation” is, at least during the writing, a -specific state existing and functioning independently and outside of the -personal self-consciousness. - -6, that in functioning it induces specific processes which make use of -the same organized physiological mechanisms which ordinarily are made -use of by conscious memory to express itself in writing and that these -processes are not in, but independent of, consciousness. - -We are forced to conclude therefore that a conscious experience—in this -case the ideas of the verse—is conserved through the medium of some kind -of residuum of itself capable of specific functioning and inducing -processes which reproduce in the form of written symbols the ideas of -the original experience. - -We need not consider for the present the nature of the residuum, and its -process, whether it is the ideas themselves or something else. - -=Residual processes underlying hallucinations.=—We will take the -observation of B. C. A. looking into a crystal and reading some printed -words—a cablegram—which she had previously unconsciously overheard.[45] -The words were, let us say, “Best Wishes and a Happy New Year.” This -visual picture was not a literal reproduction of the original -experience, which was a subconscious _auditory_ experience of the same -words, of which she was not aware; but plainly, nevertheless, the visual -picture must have been determined somehow by the auditory experience. -Equally plainly the visual image was not a recurrent phase of the -consciousness, for the words of the message had not been previously -_seen_. What occurred was this: the antecedent auditory perception -manifested itself in consciousness _after an interval of time_ as a -visual hallucination of the words. There was a reproduction of the -original experience but not in its original form. It had undergone a -_secondary alteration_ by which the visual perception replaced the -auditory perception. As a memory it was a conversion or _translation_ of -an auditory experience into terms of another sense. Now the conversion -must have been effected by some mechanism outside of consciousness; that -is to say, it was not an ordinary visualization, i.e., intensely vivid -secondary images pertaining to a _conscious_ memory, as when one thinks -of the morning’s breakfast table and visualizes it; for there was no -conscious memory of the words, or knowledge that there ever had been -such an experience. The visualization therefore must have been induced -by something not in the content of consciousness,—something we have -called a secondary process, of which the individual is unaware. - -We can conceive of the phenomenon originating in either one of two -possible modes. Either the hallucination was a newly fabricated -conscious experience; or it was a reproduction of secondary visual -images originally belonging to the auditory perception at the time of -its occurrence and now thrust into consciousness in an intensely vivid -form. In either case, for this to have taken place something must have -been left by the original experience and conserved apart from and -independent of the content of the personal consciousness at any and all -moments—something capable of functioning after an interval of time as a -secondary process _outside of the personal consciousness_. The only -intelligible explanation of the phenomenon is that the original auditory -impression persisted, somehow and somewhere, in a form capable of -conservation as a specific and independent residuum during all -subsequent changes in the content of consciousness. This residuum either -fabricated the hallucination or thrust its secondary images into -consciousness to become the hallucination. - -The phenomenon by itself does not permit a conclusion as to the nature -of the residuum, whether it is psychological or neural; i.e., whether an -auditory perception, as perception, still persists subconsciously -outside the focus of awareness of consciousness, or whether it has left -an alteration of some kind in the neurons. Whatever the inner nature of -the conserved experience it _obviously must have a very specific and -independent existence, somehow and somewhere, outside of the awareness -of consciousness, and one capable of secondary functioning in a way that -can reproduce the original experience in terms of another sense. In -other words, conservation must be in the form of some kind of residuum, -psychological or neural_. It must be, therefore, something very -different from reproduction or a recurrent phase of consciousness. -Further, it must form a stage in the process of memory of which -reproduction is the final result. - -This observation of course does not stand alone. I have cited a number -of observations and might cite many more in which the same phenomenon of -transformation or conversion of sensory images of one sense into images -of another sense was prominent. Indeed a study of hallucinations, -artificial or spontaneous, which are representations of former -experiences and where the determining factors can be ascertained, will -show that in most, if not all, of them this same _mechanism of -conversion_ is at work. Take, for instance, the experiment cited in our -last lecture, the one in which Miss B. was directed to look into a -crystal for the purpose of discovering the whereabouts of some money she -had lost without being aware of the fact. In the crystal she sees a -vision of herself walking along a particular street in Boston absorbed -in thought. She sees herself in a moment of absent-mindedness take some -banknotes out of her pocket, tear them up, and throw them into the -street. - -Now this artificial hallucination was, as we have seen, a picture of an -actual occurrence for which there was amnesia. It must, therefore, have -been determined by that experience. The psychological phenomena -manifested, however, were really much more complicated than would appear -at first sight. An analysis of this vision, which unfolded itself like a -cinematograph picture, would show that it was a composite visual -representation of several different kinds of experiences—of past -perceptions of her body and face, of her conscious knowledge of her -relation to the environment (in the street), of muscular movements, and -of her knowledge derived from subconscious tactile impressions of the -act. Of these last she was not aware at the time of their occurrence. -Much of this knowledge must have persisted as a residuum of the original -experience and functioned subconsciously. Thereby, perhaps, the original -secondary visual images were reproduced and emerged into consciousness -as the hallucination or pictorial memory. - -Similar phenomena indicative of conservation being effected by means of -a residuum of the original experience may be produced experimentally in -various ways. For instance, in certain hysterics with anesthesia if you -prick a number of times a part of the body—say the hand—in which all -tactile sensation has been lost, and later direct the subject to look -into a crystal, he will see a number, perhaps written on a hand. This -number, let us say five, will correctly designate the number of times -the hand was pricked. Now, because of the loss of sensibility, the -subject was unaware of the pin-pricks. Nevertheless, of course, they -were recorded subconsciously, coconsciously). Their subsequent -transformation into a visual hallucination not only shows that they were -conserved, but that they left something which was capable of taking -part, outside of consciousness, in a secondary process which gave rise -to the hallucination. - -An examination of all crystal visions, so far as they are translated -memories of actual experiences, will show this same evidence for a -conserved residuum. - -That _conservation is not merely a figure of speech_ to express the -ability to determine the recurrence of a previous experience, but means -a specific residuum capable of independent and elaborate functioning, is -brought out more conspicuously in those visions which are elaborately -fabricated symbolisms of an antecedent experience. In other words, the -vision is not a literal recurrence of a previous phase of consciousness, -in that the latter has been worked over, so to speak, so as to appear in -consciousness in a reconstructed form. Though reconstructed it either -still retains its original meaning or is worked out to a completion of -its thoughts, or to a fulfilment of the emotional strivings pertaining -to them (anxieties, wishes, etc.). These visions, perhaps, more -frequently occur spontaneously, often at moments of crises in a person’s -life, but also are observed under experimental conditions. Sometimes -they answer the doubts, scruples and other problems which have troubled -the subject, sometimes they express the imaginary fulfilment of intense -longings or of anxieties and dreads which have been entertained, or -disturbing thoughts which have pricked the conscience.[46] We are -obliged to conclude, in the light of experimental observations of the -same class, that such phenomena are determined by the specific residua -of antecedent thoughts which must be conserved and function in a -specific manner to appear in this metamorphosed form. - -=Similar residual processes underlying post-hypnotic -phenomena.=—Conserved experiences which give rise to more complicated -secondary elaboration may be observed in suggested post-hypnotic -phenomena. Experiments of this kind may be varied in many ways. The -phenomenon may be an hallucination similar to the one I have just -described in hysterics, or a so-called subconscious calculation. You -suggest in hypnosis to a suitable subject that he shall multiply certain -numbers, or calculate the number of seconds intervening between certain -hours—let us say between 10:43 and 5:13 o’clock—the answer to be given -in writing on a certain day. The subject is then awakened immediately, -before he has time to do the calculation while in hypnosis. Later, if -the experiment is successful, at the time designated the subject will -absent-mindedly or automatically write the figures giving the answer. - -There are two modes in which these calculations may be accomplished. In -a special and limited class of cases, where there is a large split-off -subconscious personality, or doubling of consciousness, the calculation -may be made entirely by this secondary subconscious self, in the same -fashion as it would be made by the principal personality if the problem -were given in the waking state. The subconscious personality will go -through each conscious step in the calculation in the same way.[47] In a -second class of cases the _calculations are worked out, apparently, -unconsciously_, without participation in the process by a subconscious -personality even when such exists. At most it would seem that isolated -numbers representing different steps in the calculation arise from time -to time coconsciously as a limited secondary consciousness (of which the -personal consciousness is unaware) until finally the figures of the -completed answer appear therein. The calculation itself appears to be -still another process outside both the personal and the secondary -consciousness. When the problem has been finished the answer is finally -given automatically. The whole process is too complicated to go into at -this time before we have studied the problems of the coconscious.[48] It -is enough to say that it is plain that the hypnotic experience—the -suggested problem—must be considered as some kind of specific residuum, -psychological or neural, and that this residuum must be one capable of -quite elaborate independent and subconscious intellectual activity -before finally becoming transformed into the final answer. - -=Residual processes underlying dreams.=—When citing the evidence of -dreams for the conservation of forgotten experiences I spoke of one type -of dream as a symbolical memory. I may now add it is more than this; it -is a fabrication. The original experience or thought may appear in the -dream after being worked over into a fantasy, allegory, symbolism, or -other product of imagination. Such a dream is not a recurrent phase of -consciousness, but a _newly fabricated phase_. Further, analytical and -experimental researches go to show that the fabrication is performed by -the original phase without the latter recurring in the content of the -personal consciousness. The original phase must therefore have been -conserved in some form capable of such independent and specific -functioning, i.e., fabrication below the threshold of consciousness. For -instance: - - The subject dreamed that she was standing where two roads separated. - One was broad and bright and beautiful, and many people she knew were - going that way. The other road was the rocky path, quite dark, and no - one was going that way, but she had to go. And she said, “Oh, why must - I go this way? Will no one go with me?” And a voice replied, “I will - go with you.” She looked around, and there were some tall black - figures; they all had names across their foreheads in bright letters, - and the one who spoke was Disappointment; and all the others said, “We - will go with you,” and they were Sorrow, Loss, Pain, Fear, and - Loneliness, and she fell down on her face in anguish. - -Now an analysis of the antecedent thought of this subject and a -knowledge of her circumstances and mental life, though we cannot go into -them here, make it perfectly clear that as a fact, whether there was any -causal connection or not, this dream _was_ a symbolic expression of -those thoughts. The rocky path has been shown to be symbolic of her -conception of her own life entertained through years—the other road -symbolic of the life longed for and imagined as granted to others. -Likewise the rest of the dream symbolized, in a way which any one can -easily recognize, the lot which she had in her disappointment actually -fancied was hers. The thoughts thus symbolized had been constantly -recurring thoughts and therefore had been conserved. They were -reproduced in the dream, not in their original form, but translated into -symbols and an allegory. Something must, therefore, have effected the -translation. In other words, the dream is not a recurrent phase of -consciousness but _an allegorical fabrication_ which expresses these -thoughts, not literally as they originally occurred, but in the form of -an imaginative story. Now the similarity of the allegorical dream -thoughts to the original thoughts can be explained only in two ways: -either as pure chance coincidence, or through a relation of cause and -effect. In the latter case the dream might have been determined either -by the specific antecedent thoughts in question—those revealed as -memories in the analysis, or both series might have been determined by a -third, as yet unrevealed, series. For the purposes of the present -problem it is immaterial which so long as the dream was determined by -some antecedent thought. The very great frequency, not to say -universality, with which this same similarity or a logical relation with -antecedent thoughts is found in dreams after analysis renders chance -coincidence very improbable. We must believe, therefore, that the dream -was determined by antecedent experiences. It is beyond my purpose to -enter here into an exposition of the theory of the mechanism of dreams, -although I shall touch upon it later in some detail in connection with -subconscious processes. We need here only concern ourselves with this -mechanism so far as it bears upon the principle of conservation. Suffice -it to say that analytical observations (Freud) have, it seems to me, -conclusively shown that conserved experiences may be not only the -determining factors in dreams, but that _while in a state of -conservation they are capable of undergoing elaborate fabrication and -afterwards appearing so thoroughly transformed in consciousness as not -to be superficially recognizable_. I have also been able to reach the -same conclusions by the method of experimental production of dreams. - -The only question is, in what form can a thought be so conserved that it -can, _while still in a state of conservation_, without itself rising -into consciousness, fabricate a symbolism, allegory, or other work -requiring imagination and reasoning? The only logical and intelligible -inference is that the antecedent conscious experience has been either -itself specifically conserved as such outside of the personal -consciousness, or has left some neural residuum or disposition capable -of functioning and constructing the conscious dream fabrication. - -=Residual processes underlying physiological bodily -disturbances.=—Before proceeding further I would invite your attention -to another class of facts as these facts must be taken into -consideration in any theory of conservation. These facts show that the -residua can, by subconscious functioning, induce _physiological bodily -manifestations_ without reproducing the original mental experience as -conscious memory. In certain abnormal conditions of the nervous system, -i.e., in certain psychoneuroses, we meet with certain involuntary -actions of the limbs or muscles known as spasms and contractures; also -with certain impairment of functions such as blindness, deafness, loss -of sensation (anesthesia), paralysis, etc. These disturbances are purely -functional, meaning that they are not due to any organic disease. Now -the evidence seems to be conclusive that these physiological -disturbances are caused sometimes by ideas after they have passed out of -consciousness and become, as ideas, dormant, i.e., while they are in a -state of conservation and have ceased to be ideas—or, at least, ideas of -which the subject is aware. A moment’s consideration will convince you -that this means that ideas, or, at least, experiences in a state of -conservation, and without being reproduced as conscious memory, can so -function as to affect the body in one or other of the ways I have -mentioned. To do this they must exist in some specific form that is -independent of the personal consciousness of the moment. To take, for -example, an actual case which I have elsewhere described: - -B. C. A., in a dream, had a visual hallucination of a flash of light -which revealed a scene in a cave and which was followed by blindness -such as would physiologically follow a tremendous flash. In the dream -she is warned that if she looks into the cave, she will be blinded. She -looks; there is a blinding flash and loss of vision follows; after -waking she was still partially blind, but she continued from time to -time to see momentary flashes of light revealing certain of the objects -seen in the dream in the cave, and these flashes would be succeeded -temporarily by absolute blindness as in the dream. She had no memory of -the dream. Now psychological analysis disclosed the meaning of the -dream; it was a symbolical representation of certain conserved -(subconscious) previous thoughts—thoughts apprehensive of the future -into which she dared not look, thinking she would be overwhelmed. _While -in a state of conservation_ the residua of _these_ antecedent thoughts -had translated themselves into the symbolical hallucination of the dream -and the loss of vision. Similarly after waking, although she had no -memory of the dream, the conserved residua of the same thoughts -continued to translate themselves into visual hallucinations and to -induce blindness.[49] It would take too long for me to enter here into -the details of the analysis which forces this conclusion.[50] - -Similarly, as is well known, convulsions resembling epilepsy, paralysis, -spasms, tics, contractures, etc., may be caused directly or indirectly -by ideas, after they have passed out of consciousness and ceased to take -part in the conscious processes of thought. At least that is the -interpretation which the facts elicited by the various methods of -investigation seem to require. - -There is an analogous class of phenomena which ought to be mentioned -among the possible data bearing upon the theory of memory, although too -much weight cannot be placed upon them as their interpretation is not -wholly clear. I will discuss them in detail later in connection with the -phenomena of the emotions. They are certain _emotional phenomena_ which -are attributed by some writers to ideas in a state of conservation. It -has been demonstrated that ideas to which strong feeling tones are -attached are accompanied by such physiological effects as disturbance of -respiration, of the heart’s action, of the vaso-motor system, of the -secretions, etc., and also by certain _galvanic phenomena_ which are due -to the diminution of the electrical resistance of the body, probably -caused by increased secretion of sweat.[51] - -Now the point is that such phenomena are sometimes experimentally -obtained in connection with certain test words[52] spoken to the subject -experimented upon, although he has no recollection of any incident in -his life which could have given an emotional tone to the word and, -therefore, can give no explanation of the physical reaction. By various -technical methods, however, memories of a forgotten emotional experience -in which the idea (represented by the word) plays a part and through -which it derived its emotional tone are resurrected. I have been able to -obtain such reactions from test words which investigation showed -referred to the incidents of terrifying dreams which were _completely -forgotten_ in the waking state. When the test word was given, the -subject might, for instance, exhibit a respiratory disturbance—a sudden -gasp—without conscious knowledge of its significance, and the -galvanometer, with which the subject was in circuit, would show a wide -deflection. Recovery of the dream in hypnosis would explain the meaning -of the emotional disturbance excited by the word. The interpretation -which has been put upon such phenomena is that the residua of the -forgotten experience are “struck” by the test word. As the forgotten -experience originally included the emotion and its physiological -reaction, so the residua are linked by association to the emotional -mechanism and when stimulated function as a subconscious process and -excite the reaction. If this interpretation, strongly held by some, be -correct, the phenomena are important for the support they give to the -theory of conservation. They would indicate that conscious experiences -must be conserved in a very specific subconscious form, one that is -capable, without becoming conscious memory, of exciting the -physiological apparatus of the emotions in a manner identical with that -of conscious emotional ideas. They are open, however, to a simpler -explanation, whether more probable or not: namely, that it is not the -residua of the forgotten experience which unconsciously excite the -physiological reaction, but the auditory symbol, the test word itself. -The symbol having been once associated with the emotional reaction, it -afterwards of itself, through a short circuit so to speak, suffices to -induce the reaction, though the origin of the association has been -forgotten and, therefore, the subject is in entire ignorance of the -reason for the strong feeling manifestation. On the other hand, in some -instances test words associated with emotional experiences which -_originally_ were entirely coconscious and _had never entered conscious -awareness at all_ give the reactions in question.[53] As coconscious -memories of such experiences can be demonstrated it would seem at first -sight as if under such conditions the word-reactions must come from a -true subconscious process—the subconscious memory. And yet even here it -is difficult to eliminate absolutely the possibility of the second -interpretation. There are, however, a large number of emotional -phenomena occurring in pathological conditions which can only be -intelligibly interpreted as being due to the residua of previously -conscious experiences functioning as a subconscious process. These -phenomena we shall have occasion to review in succeeding lectures. They -are too complex to enter upon at this stage. - -Aside, then, from these word-reactions we have a sufficient number of -other phenomena, such as I have cited, which indicate that conscious -experiences when conserved must persist in a form capable of exciting -purely physiological reactions without the experiences themselves rising -into consciousness again as memory. The form must also be one which -permits of their functioning as intelligent processes although not -within the conscious field of awareness of the moment. - -As a final summing up of the experiments and observations of the kind -which I have thus far cited, dealing with forgotten experiences, we may -say that they lead us to the following conclusions: - -1. That conservation is something very different from reproduction. - -2. A given experience is conserved through the medium of some kind of -residuum of that experience. This residuum must have a specific -existence independent of consciousness, in that it is capable of -specific and independent functioning, coincidentally with and outside of -the consciousness of any given moment. Its nature must be such that it -can incite through specific processes the following phenomena in none of -which the conscious processes of the moment take part as factors: - -(a) Specific memory for the given experience expressed through the -established physiological mechanisms of external expression (speech, -writing, gestures) after the manner of a mnesic process. - -(b) A mnesic hallucination which is a representation of the antecedent -perceptual experience but after having undergone translation into terms -of another sense. - -(c) A mnesic hallucination in which the original experience appears -synthesized with various other experiences into an elaborate -representation of a complex experience, or secondarily elaborated into a -symbolism, allegory or other fabrication. - -(d) Mnesic phenomena which are a logical continuation of the antecedent -conscious experiences and such as ordinarily are produced by conscious -processes of thought—reasoning, imagination, volition (mathematical -calculations, versification, fabrication, etc.). - -(e) Physical phenomena (paralyses contractures, vasomotor disturbances, -etc.). - -In other words a specific experience while in a state of conservation -and without being reproduced in consciousness can incite or induce -processes which incite these and similar phenomena. - ------ - -Footnote 45: - - Lecture III, p. 58. - -Footnote 46: - - For specific instances, see Lecture VII. - -Footnote 47: - - Morton Prince: Experimental Evidence for Coconscious Ideation, - _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, April-May, 1908. - -Footnote 48: - - For further details, see Lecture VI, p. 169. - -Footnote 49: - - Prince: Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams, _Jour. of Abn. - Psych._, October-November, 1910. - -Footnote 50: - - If, lacking this knowledge of the data, any one chooses to insist that - it was not the conserved residua of previous thoughts, but of the - dream itself (the only alternative entertainable explanation) which - induced, _after waking_, the hallucinatory phenomena and blindness, we - still fall back upon the same principle, namely, that of the - subconscious functioning of conserved residua of a conscious - experience producing a physiological (and psychological) effect. - -Footnote 51: - - According to recent researches of Sidis in conjunction with Kalmus, - and later with Nelson (The Nature and Causation of the Galvanic - Phenomenon, Psychological Review, March, 1910) similar galvanic - phenomena under similar conditions may be caused by the _generation_ - of an electric current within the body. - -Footnote 52: - - The test word (e. g., boat, stone, hat, etc.) of course represents an - idea which may have various associations in the mind of the subject. - -Footnote 53: - - Morton Prince and Frederick Peterson: Experiments in Psycho-Galvanic - Reactions from Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideas in a Case of Multiple - Personality, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, April-May, 1908. - - - - - LECTURE V - NEUROGRAMS - - -We have got as far as showing that the phenomena of memory to be -intelligible require that ideas which have passed out of mind must be -conserved through some sort of residuum left by the original experience. -But this as a theory of memory is incomplete; the question remains, -_How_, and in what form, manner, or way, are they conserved? In other -words, What is the nature of the residuum? Is it psychical or -physical?[54] As we have seen, from the fact that something outside of -the personal consciousness can manifest memory of a given experience at -the very same moment when the personal consciousness has amnesia for -that experience, we are compelled to infer that conservation must be by -a medium, psychological or physiological, capable of being excited as a -specific secondary process. Now this medium must be either an -undifferentiated “Psyche” or specific differentiated residua. In the -former case we postulate a concept of a transcendental something beyond -experience and of which, like the soul after death, we have and can have -no knowledge. To this concept of an undifferentiated Psyche we shall -return presently. - -If the second alternative—specific differentiated residua—be the medium -by which experiences are conserved, then the residua must be either -specific psychological states, i.e., the original psychological -experience itself as such; or neural residua (or dispositions) such as -when excited are ordinarily correlated with a conscious memory. In -either case the medium would be such as to permit of the experiences -manifesting themselves, while so conserved outside of the personal -consciousness, as a very specific secondary process, not only -reproducing the original experience as memory, but elaborating the same -and exhibiting imagination, reasoning, volition, feeling, etc. Unless -the doctrine of the undifferentiated Psyche be accepted it is difficult -to conceive of any other mode in which conservation can be effected so -as to permit of the phenomena of memory outside of consciousness. - -=Conservation considered as psychological residua.=—It is hypothetically -possible that our thoughts and other mental experiences after they have -passed out of mind, out of our awareness of the moment, may continue -their psychological existence as such although we are not aware of them. -Such an hypothesis derives support from the fact that researches of -recent years in abnormal psychology have given convincing evidence that -an idea, under certain conditions, after it has passed out of our -awareness may still from time to time take on another sort of existence, -_one in which it still remains an idea, although our personal -consciousness of the moment is not aware of it_. A coconscious idea, it -may be called. More than this, in absent-mindedness, in states of -abstraction, in artificial conditions as typified in automatic writing, -and particularly in pathological conditions (hysteria), it has been -fairly demonstrated, as I think we are entitled to assert, that -coconscious ideas in the form of sensations, perceptions, thoughts, even -large systems of ideas, may function and pursue autonomous and -contemporaneous activity outside of the various systems of ideas which -make up the personal consciousness. It usually is not possible for the -individual to bring such ideas within the focus of his awareness. -Therefore, there necessarily results a doubling of consciousness,—two -consciousnesses, one of which is the personal consciousness and the -other a coconsciousness. These phenomena need to be studied by -themselves. We shall consider them here only so far as they bear on the -problem of conscious memory. Observation has shown that among ideas of -this kind it often happens that many are memories, reproductions of -ideas that once belonged to the personal consciousness. Hence, on first -thought, it seems plausible that conservation might be effected by the -content of any moment’s consciousness becoming _coconscious_ after the -ideas have passed out of awareness. According to such an hypothesis all -the conscious experiences of our lives, that are conserved, would form a -great coconscious field where they would continue their existence in -specific form as ideas, and whence they could be drawn upon for use at -any future time. - -Various difficulties are raised by this hypothesis. In the first place, -there is no evidence that coconscious ideas have a continuous existence. -The technical methods of investigation which give evidence of such ideas -functioning outside of the awareness of the personal consciousness do -not show that at any given moment they are any more extensive than are -those which fill the field of the personal consciousness. Indeed, -usually, the coconscious field is of very limited extent. There remains -an enormous field of conserved experiences to be accounted for. So far -then as coconscious ideas can be discovered by our methods of -investigation they are _inadequate to account for the whole of the -conservation of life’s experiences_. - -In the second place, these ideas come and go in the same fashion as do -those which make up the content of the main personal consciousness; and -many are constantly recurring to become coconscious memories. The same -problem, of the nature of conservation, therefore confronts us with -coconscious ideas in the determination of the mechanism of coconscious -memory. To explain conservation through coconscious ideas is but a -shifting of the problem. If a broader concept be maintained, namely, -that this coconsciousness, which can be demonstrated in special -conditions, is but a fraction of the sum total of coconscious ideas -outside of the personal awareness, we are confronted with a concept -which from its philosophical nature deals with postulates beyond -experience. We can neither prove nor disprove it. There is much that can -be said in its support for the deeper we dive into the subconscious -regions of the mind the more extensively do we come across evidences of -coconscious states underlying specific phenomena. Nevertheless, the -demonstration of coconscious states in any number of specific phenomena -does not touch the problem of the nature of conservation. In weighing -the probability of the hypothesis on theoretical grounds it would seem, -as I have already said in a preceding lecture, to be hardly conceivable -that ideas that had passed out of mind, the thoughts of the moment of -which we are no longer aware, can be treasured, conserved as such in a -sort of psychological storehouse or reservoir of consciousness, just as -if they were static or material facts. Such a conception would require -that every specific state of consciousness, every idea, every thought, -perception, sensation and feeling, after it had passed out of mind for -the moment, should enter a great sea of ideas which would be the sum -total of all our past experiences. In this sum-total millions of ideas -would have to be conserved _in concrete_ form until wanted again for use -by the personal consciousness of the moment. Here would be found, in -what you will see at once would be a real subconscious mind beyond the -content or confines of our awareness, stored up, so to speak, ready for -future use, the mass of our past mental experiences. Here you would -find, perhaps, the visualized idea of a seagull soaring over the waters -of your beautiful bay conserved in association with the idea of the -mathematical formula, a + b = c; the one having originated in a -perception of the outer world through the window of your study while you -were working at a lesson in algebra which gave rise to the latter. And -yet conserved as ideas, as such vast numbers of experiences would be, we -should not be aware of them until they were brought by some mysterious -agency into the consciousness of the moment. The great mass of the -mental experiences of our lives which we have at our command, our -extensive educational and other acquisitions from which we consciously -borrow from time to time, as well as those which, we have seen, are -conserved though they cannot be voluntarily reproduced, all these mental -experiences, by the hypothesis, would still have persisting conscious -existences in their _original concrete psychological form_. - -Such an hypothesis, to my mind, is hardly thinkable, and yet this very -hypothesis has been proposed, though in less concrete form perhaps, in -the doctrine of the “subliminal mind,” a particular form of the theory -of the subconscious mind. This doctrine, which we owe to the genius of -the late W. H. H. Meyers, has more recently appeared, without full -recognition of its paternity, in the writings of a more modern school of -psychology. According to this doctrine our personal consciousness, the -ideas which we have at any given moment and of which we are aware, are -but a small portion of the sum total of our consciousness. Of this -sum-total we are aware, at any given moment, of only a fractional -portion. Our personal consciousness is but sort of up-rushes from this -great sum of conscious states which have been called the subliminal -mind, the subliminal self, the subconscious self. These conscious -up-rushes make up the personal “I,” with the sense of awareness for -their content. - -The facts to be explained do not require such a metaphysical hypothesis. -All that is required is that our continuously occurring experiences -should be conserved in a _form_, and by an arrangement, which will allow -the concrete ideas belonging to them to reappear in consciousness -whenever the conserved arrangement is again stimulated. This -requirement, the theory of conservation, which is generally accepted by -those who approach the problem by psycho-physiological methods, fully -satisfies. Before stating this theory in specific form let me mention to -you still another variety of the subliminal hypothesis, metaphysical in -its nature, which appeals to some minds of a philosophical tendency. - -=Conservation considered as an undifferentiated psychical something or -“psyche.”=—It is difficult to state this hypothesis clearly and -precisely for it is necessarily vague, transcending as it does human -experience. It is conceived, as I understand the matter, or at least the -hypothesis connotes, that ideas of the moment, after ceasing to be a -part of awareness, subside and become merged in some form or other in a -larger mind or consciousness of which they were momentary concrete -manifestations or phases. This consciousness is conceived as a sort of -unity. Ideas out of awareness still persist as consciousness in some -form though not necessarily as specific ideas. According to this -hypothesis, it is evident that when the ideas of the moment’s awareness -subside and become merged into the larger consciousness either one of -two things must happen; they must either be conserved as specific ideas, -or lose their individuality as states of consciousness, and become fused -in this larger consciousness as an undifferentiated psychical something. -Some like to call it a “psyche,” apparently finding that by using a -Greek term, or a more abstract expression, they avoid the difficulties -of clear thinking. - -The first alternative is equivalent to the hypothesis of conservation in -the form of coconscious specific ideas which we have just discussed. The -second alternative still leaves unexplained the mechanism by which -differentiation again takes place in this psychical unity, how a -conscious unity becomes differentiated again into and makes up the -various phases (ideas) of consciousness at each moment; that is, the -mechanism of memory. - -But, aside from this difficulty, the hypothesis is opposed by evidence -which we have already found for the persistence of ideas (after -cessation as states of consciousness) in some concrete form capable of -very specific activity and of producing very specific effects. We have -seen that such ideas may under certain conditions continue to manifest -the same specific functionating activity as if continuing their -existence in concrete form (e. g., so-called subconscious solution of -problems, physiological disturbances, etc.). This phenomenon is scarcely -reconcilable with the hypothesis that ideas after passing out of -awareness lose their concrete specificity and become merged into an -undifferentiated psychical something.[55] - -Furthermore, for a concept transcending experience to be acceptable it -must be shown that it adequately explains all the known facts, is -incompatible with none, and that the facts are not intelligible on any -other known principle. These conditions seem to me far from having been -fulfilled. Before accepting such a concept it is desirable to see if -conservation cannot be brought under some principle within the domain of -experience. - -=Conservation considered as physical residua.=—Now the theory of memory -which offers a satisfactory explanation of the mode in which -registration, conservation, and reproduction occur postulates the -conserved residua as physical in nature. Whenever we have a mental -experience of any kind—a thought, or perception of the environment, or -feeling—some change, some “trace,” is left in the neurons of the brain. -I need not here discuss the relation between brain activity and mind -activity. It is enough to remind you that, whatever view be held, it is -universally accepted that every mental process is accompanied by a -physical process in the brain; that, parallel with every series of -thoughts, perceptions, or feelings, there goes a series of physical -changes of some kind in the brain neurons. And, conversely, whenever -this same series of physical changes occurs the corresponding series of -mental processes, that is, of states of consciousness, arises. In other -words, physical brain processes or experiences are correlated with -corresponding mind processes or experiences, and vice versa.[56] This is -known as the doctrine of psycho-physical parallelism. Upon this doctrine -the whole of psycho-physiology and psycho-pathology rests. Mental -physiology, cerebral localization, and mental diseases excepting on its -assumption are unintelligible—indeed, the brain as the organ of the mind -becomes meaningless. We need not here inquire into the nature of the -parallelism, whether it is of the nature of dualism, e. g., a -parallelism of two different kinds of facts, one psychical and the other -physical; or whether it is a monism, i.e., a parallelism of two -different aspects of one and the same fact or a parallelism of a single -reality (mind) with a mode of apprehending it (matter)—mind and matter -in their inner nature being held to be practically one and the same. The -theory of memory is unaffected whichever view of the mind-brain relation -be held. - -Now, according to the psycho-physiological theory of memory, with every -passing state of conscious experience, with every idea, thought, or -perception, the brain process that goes along with it leaves some trace, -some residue of itself, within the neurons and in the functional -arrangements between them. It is an accepted principle of physiology -that when a number of neurons, involved, let us say, in a coördinated -sensori-motor act, are stimulated into functional activity they become -so associated and the paths between them become so opened or, as it -were, sensitized, that a _disposition_ becomes established for the whole -group, or a number of different groups, to function together and -reproduce the original reaction when either one or the other is -afterward stimulated into activity. This “disposition” is spoken of in -physiological language as a lowering of the threshold of excitability—a -term which does not explain but only describes the fact. For an -explanation we must look to the nature of the physical change that is -wrought in the neurons by the initial functioning. This change we may -speak of as a _residuum_. - -Similarly a system of brain neurons, which in any experience is -correlated in activity with conscious experience, becomes, so to speak, -sensitized and acquires, in consequence, a “disposition” to function -again as a system (lowering of thresholds?) in a like fashion; so that -when one element in the system is again stimulated it reproduces the -whole original brain process, and with this reproduction (according to -the doctrine of psycho-physical parallelism) there is a reproduction of -the original conscious experience. In other words, without binding -ourselves down to absolute precision of language, it is sufficiently -accurate to say that every mental experience leaves behind a residue, or -a trace, of the physical brain process in the chain of brain neurons. -This residue is the physical _register_ of the mental experience. _This -physical register may be conserved or not._ If it is conserved we have -the requisite condition for memory; the _form_ in which our mental -experiences are conserved. But it is not until these physical registers -are stimulated and the original brain experience is reproduced that we -have memory. If this occurs the reproduction of the brain experience -reproduces the conscious experience, i.e., conscious memory (according -to whatever theory of parallelism is maintained). Thus in all ideation, -in every process of thought, the record of the conscious stream may be -registered and conserved in the correlated neural process. Consequently, -the neurons in retaining residua of the original process become, to a -greater or less degree, _organized into a functioning system_ -corresponding to the system of ideas of the original mental process and -capable of reproducing it. When we reproduce the original ideas in the -form of memories it is because there is a reproduction of the -physiological neural process. - -It is important to note that just as, on the psychological side, memory -always involves the awakening of a previous conscious experience by an -associated idea, one that was an element in the previous system of -associated sensations, perceptions, thoughts, etc., making up the -experience, so, on the physiological side, we must suppose that it -involves stimulation of the whole system of neurons belonging to this -experience by the physiological stimulus corresponding to the conscious -element or stimulus. For instance, if I see my friend A, the image is -not a memory, though it is one I have had many times before and has left -residua of itself capable of being reproduced as memory. But if I see -his hat, and immediately previously linked pictorial images of him arise -in my mind; or, if, when I see him, there arise images of his library in -which I have previously seen him, these images are memory. A conscious -memory is always the reproduction of an experience by an associated idea -or other element of experience (conscious or subconscious). Similarly we -must infer that the neurons correlated with any past mental experience -are stimulated by associated neuron processes. This is the -foundation-stone of mental physiology; for upon the general principle of -the correlation of mental processes with neural processes rests the -whole of cerebral localization and brain physiology. - -Although we assume newly arranged dynamic associations of neurons -corresponding to associations of ideas, we do not know how this -rearrangement is brought about, though we may conceive of it as -following the physiological laws of lowering of thresholds of -excitability. Nor do we know whether the modifications left as residua -(by which the thresholds are lowered) are physical or chemical in their -nature, though there is some reason for believing they may be chemical. - -=Chemical and physical theories of residua.=—It is possible that, -through chemical changes of some kind left in the system of neurons -corresponding to an experience, the neurons may become sensitized so as -to react again as a whole to a second stimulus applied to one element. -In other words a hyper-susceptibility may become established. There is a -physiological phenomenon, known as anaphylaxis, which may possibly prove -more than analogous, in that it depends upon the production, through -chemical changes, of hyper-susceptibility to a stimulus which before was -inert. The phenomenon is one of sensitizing the body to certain -previously innocuous substances. If, for instance, a serum from a horse -be injected into a guinea pig no observable reaction follows. But, if a -second dose be injected, a very pronounced reaction follows and the -animal dies with striking manifestations called anaphylactic shock. This -consists of spasm of the bronchioles of the lungs induced by contraction -of their unstriated muscles and results in an attack of asphyxia.[57] - -The mechanism of anaphylaxis is a very complicated one involving the -production in the blood of chemical substances called antibodies, and is -far from being thoroughly understood. One theory is that sensitization -consists in the “fixing” of the cells of the tissues with these -antibodies. This may or may not be correct—probably not—and I am far -from wishing to imply that sensitization of the neurons, as a -consequence of functioning, has anything in common with the mechanism of -sensitizing the body in anaphylaxis. I merely wish to point out that -sensitizing nervous tissue through chemical changes is a physiological -concept quite within the bounds of possibility; and, as all functioning -is probably accompanied by metabolic (chemical) changes, such metabolic -changes may well persist in neurons after brain reactions produce -sensitization. - -If this hypothesis of sensitization should be proven it would offer an -intelligible mechanism of the phenomenon of memory. If the system of -neurons engaged in any conscious experience were sensitized by chemical -changes it would acquire a hyper-susceptibility. The system as a whole -would consequently be excited into activity by any other functioning -system of neurons with which it was in anatomical association and might -reproduce the originally correlated conscious experience. - -Various theories based on known or theoretical chemical or physical -alterations in the neurons have been proposed to account for memory on -the physiological side. Robertson[58] has proposed that it is of the -nature of autocatalysis. Catalysis is the property possessed by certain -bodies called catalyzers of initiating or accelerating chemical -reactions which would take place without the catalyzer, but more slowly. -“A catalyzer is a stimulus which excites a transformation of energy. The -catalyzer plays the same rôle in a chemical transformation as does the -minimal exciting force which sets free the accumulation of potential -energy previous to its transformation into kinetic energy. A catalyzer -is the friction of the match which sets free the chemical energy of the -powder magazine.”[59] - -Numerous examples of catalytic actions might be given from chemistry. -The inversion of sugar by acids, the decomposition of hydrogen peroxide -by platinum black, fermentation by means of a soluble ferment or -diastase, a phenomenon which may almost be called vital, are all -instances. According to Leduc “the action of pepsin, of the pancreatic -ferment, of zymase and other similar ferments has a great analogy with -the purely physical phenomenon of catalysis.” - -In auto-catalysis one of the _products_ of the reaction acts as the -catalyzer. Now Robertson concluded, as a result of his experiments -carried out on frogs, that the processes which accompany the excitation -of the cells of the neurons are of the nature of catalysis; for he found -that they have as one effect the production of an acid; and he also -found that acids accelerate such processes which he concludes to be -probably of the nature of oxidations. “The chemical phenomena which -constitute the activity of a neuron cell,” he says, “seem to us then an -_auto-catalytic oxidation_, that is to say, an oxidation in which one of -the products of the reaction acts as a catalyzer in the reaction.” It -occurred to him then that the physiological correlate of memory might be -explained on the principle of auto-catalysis. When, to test this -hypothesis, he came to compare the results of certain psychological -experiments on memory, made by two different experimenters (Ebbinghaus -and Smith), with the law characteristic of auto-catalytic chemical -reactions, he found that they corresponded in a surprisingly close way -with this law. That is to say, assuming the value of the residua of -memory (measured by the number of syllables learnt by heart) to be -proportional to the mass of the chemical product of auto-catalysis, we -should expect that the increase of the number of syllables or other -experiences retained by memory following increase of repetitions would -obey the law of catalytic reaction as expressed in the mathematical -formula established for the reaction. Now, as a fact, he found that the -number of syllables that should be so retained in memory, as calculated -theoretically by the formula, corresponded in a remarkable way with the -actual number determined by experiment. “The agreement was closer,” the -author states, “than that which generally obtained in experiments in -chemical dynamics carried out _in vitro_.” Robertson sums up his -conclusions as follows: - -“5th. We have shown that the phenomenon of which the subjective aspect -is called ‘memory’ is of a nature indicating that the autocatalyzed -chemical reactions form the mechanism conditioning the response of the -central nervous system to stimuli. - -“6th. In admitting that the extent of the trace of memory may be -proportionate to the mass of a product of an autocatalyzed chemical -reaction unfolding itself in the central nervous system as the result of -the application of a stimulus, we have shown that the relation which one -theoretically deduces between the mass of memory material and the number -of repetitions corresponds to that which has been found by experience. - -“7th. On the basis of the hypothesis above mentioned we have shown that -the law of Weber-Fechner admits of a rational physico-chemical -interpretation, and that the result thus obtained, provided the -hypothesis above mentioned be an exact representation of facts, is that -the intensity of the sensation is at each instant proportionate to the -mass of the product of the autocatalyzed chemical reaction above -mentioned and, consequently, to the extent of the trace of memory.” - -While it is easy to understand that auto-catalysis may take part in the -chemical process which underlies the performance of simple volition, as -inferred by Robertson,[60] and perhaps reproduction in the memory -process, it is difficult to understand how such a chemical action can -explain conservation. The problem is not that of acceleration of an -action, but of something like the storing up of energy. - -Rignano[61] has proposed an hypothesis according to which the cells of -the nervous system are to be considered as so many accumulators, -analogous to electric accumulators or storage batteries. “The -similarities and differences which nerve currents present in comparison -with electric currents warrant us in assuming in nerve currents some of -the properties of electric currents, and in attributing at the same time -to the first other properties which the electric do not possess, -provided these qualities are not incompatible with the others.” - -Now, according to the hypothesis, the specific nervous current set up by -any stimulus forms and deposits in the nucleus of the cells (through -which the current flows) a _substance_ which adds itself to the others -already there without changing them and which is capable, under -appropriate conditions, of being discharged and restoring the same -_specific_ current by which it was produced. Each cell thus becomes what -Rignano calls an _elementary nervous accumulator_. He points out that -“both the conception of _accumulators of nervous energy in tension_, and -that of _accumulators of a specific nervous energy constituting their -specific irritability_,” which the hypothesis includes, are not new but -“an ordinary conception very generally employed.”... “The only new thing -which the above definition includes is the hypothesis that the -substance, which is thus capable of giving as a discharge a given -nervous current, _was produced and deposited_ only by a nervous current -of the same specificity, but in the inverse direction, and could have -been produced and deposited only by such a current.” "In just this -capacity of restoring again the same specificity of nervous current as -that by which each element had been deposited one would look for the -cause of the mnemonic faculty, in the widest sense, which all living -matter possesses. And further the very essence of the mnemonic faculty -would consist entirely in this restitution.“ - -”_The specific elementary accumulators_ (previously termed specific -potential elements) are thus susceptible now of receiving a third name, -namely, that of _mnemonic elements_." “The preservation of memories is -to be ascribed to the accumulations of substance,” while “the -reawakening of these memories consists in the restitution of the same -currents [by discharge of the substance] as had formerly constituted the -actual sensation or impression.” - -By this hypothesis Rignano explains not only memory but the inheritance -of acquired characters and the whole process of specialization of cells, -all of which phenomena are special instances of such elementary -accumulators of organic energy being formed and discharged. - -Any attempt, with our present knowledge, to postulate particular kinds -of chemical or physical changes in the nervous system as the theoretical -residua of physiological dispositions left by psychological experiences -must necessarily be speculative. And any hypothesis can only have so -much validity as may come from its capability of explaining the known -facts. It is interesting, however, to note some of the directions which -attempts have taken to find a solution of the problem. For the present -it is best to rest content with the theory to which we have been led, -step by step, in our exposition, namely, that conservation is effected -by some sort of physiological residua. This theory, of course, is an old -one, and has been expressed by many writers. What we want, however, is -not expressions of opinion but facts supporting them. It would seem as -if the facts accumulated in recent years by experimental and abnormal -psychology all tended to strengthen the theory, notwithstanding an -inclination in certain directions to seek a psychological interpretation -of conservation. - -Some minds of a certain philosophical bent will not be able to get over -the difficulty of conceiving how a psychological process can be -conserved by the physical residuum of a physiological process. But this -is only the old difficulty involved in the problem of the relation -between mind and brain of which conservation is only a special example. -That a mind process and a brain process are so intimately related that -either one determines the other there is no question. It is assumed in -every question of psycho-physiology. The only question is the How. I may -point out in passing, but without discussion, that if we adopt the -doctrine of panpsychism for which I have elsewhere argued[62]—namely, -that there is only one process—the mental—in one and the same -individual, and that what we know as the physical process is only the -mode of apprehending the mental process by another individual; if we -adopt this doctrine of monism the difficulty is solved. In other words, -the psychical (and consciousness) is reality, while matter (and physical -process) is a _phenomenon_, the disguise, so to speak, under which the -psychical appears when apprehended through the special senses. According -to this view in their last analysis all physical facts are psychical in -nature, although not psychological (for psychological means -consciousness), so that physiological and psychical are one. To this -point I shall return in another lecture. - -=Neurograms.=—Whatever may be the exact nature of the theoretical -alterations left in the brain by life’s experiences they have received -various generic terms; more commonly “brain residua,” and “brain -dispositions.” I have been in the habit of using the term _neurograms_ -to characterize these brain records. Just as telegram, Marconigram, and -phonogram precisely characterize the form in which the physical -phenomena which correspond to our (verbally or scripturally expressed) -thoughts, are recorded and conserved, so neurogram precisely -characterizes my conception of the form in which a system of brain -processes corresponding to thoughts and other mental experiences is -recorded and conserved.[63] - -Of course it must not be overlooked that such neurograms are pure -theoretical conceptions, and have never been demonstrated by objective -methods of physical research. They stand in exactly the same position as -the atoms and molecules and ions and electrons of physics and chemistry, -and the “antibodies” and “complements” of bacteriology. No one has seen -any of these postulates of science. They are only inferred. All are -theoretical concepts; but they are necessary concepts if the phenomena -of physical, chemical, and bacteriological science are to be -intelligible. The same may be said for brain changes if the phenomena of -brain and mind are to be intelligible. - -And so it happens that though our ideas pass out of mind, are forgotten -for the moment, and become dormant, their physiological records still -remain, as sort of vestigia, much as the records of our spoken thoughts -are recorded on the moving wax cylinder of the phonograph. When the -cylinder revolves again the thoughts once more are reproduced as -auditory language. A better analogy would be the recording and -reproducing of our thoughts by the dynamic magnetization of the iron -wire in another type of the instrument. The vibration of the voice by -means of a particular electrical mechanism leaves _dynamic traces_ in -the form of corresponding magnetic changes in the passing wire, and when -the magnetized wire again is passed before the reproducing diaphragm the -spoken thoughts are again reproduced. So, when the ideas of any given -conscious experience become dormant, the physiological records, or -dynamic rearrangements, still remain organized as physiological -unconscious complexes, and, with the excitation of these physiological -complexes, the corresponding psychological memories awake. - -It is only as such physiological complexes that ideas that have become -dormant can be regarded as still existing. If our knowledge were deep -enough, if by any technical method we could determine the exact -character of the modifications of the dispositions of the neurons that -remain as vestiges of thought and could decipher their meaning, we could -theoretically read in our brains the record of our lives, as if -graphically inscribed on a tablet. As Ribot has well expressed it: “... -Feelings, ideas, and intellectual actions in general are not fixed and -only become a portion of memory when there are corresponding residua in -the nervous system—residua consisting, as we have previously -demonstrated, of nervous elements, and dynamic associations among those -elements. On this condition, and this only, can there be conservation -and reproduction.”[64] _Dormant ideas are thus equivalent to conserved -physiological complexes._ We may use either term to express the fact. - -The observations and experiments I have recited have led us to the -conclusion that conservation of an experience is something quite -specific and distinct from the reproduction of it. They compel us to the -conclusion that we are entitled, as I pointed out at the opening of -these lectures, to regard memory as a _process_ and the result of at -least two factors—conservation and reproduction. But as conservation is -meaningless unless there is something to be conserved, we must also -assume _registration_; that is, that every conserved mental experience -is primarily registered somehow and somewhere. Conservation implies -registration. - -Such is the theory of memory as a _process of registration, -conservation, and reproduction_. Thus it will be seen (according to the -theory) that ideas which have passed out of mind are preserved, if at -all, not as ideas, but as physical alterations or records in the brain -neurons and in the functional dynamic arrangements between them. - -From this you will easily understand that while, as you have seen from -concrete observations, we can have conservation of experiences without -memory (reproduction) we cannot have memory without conservation. Three -factors are essential for memory, and memory may fail from the failure -of any one of them. Unless an experience is registered in some form -there will be nothing to preserve, and memory will fail because of lack -of registration. If the experience has been registered, memory may fail, -owing to the registration having faded out, so to speak, either with -time or from some other reason; that is, nothing having been conserved, -nothing can be reproduced. Finally, though an experience has been -registered and conserved, memory may still fail, owing to failure of -reproduction. The neurographic records must be made active once more, -stimulated into an active process, in order that the original experience -may be recalled, i.e., reproduced. Thus what we call conscious memory is -the final result of a process involving the three factors, registration, -conservation, and reproduction. - -=Physiological memory.=—Memory as commonly regarded and known to -psychology is a _conscious_ manifestation but, plainly, if we regard it, -as we have thus far, as a process, then, logically, we are entitled to -regard any process which consists of the three factors, registration, -conservation, and reproduction of experiences, as memory, whether the -final result be the reproduction of a conscious experience, or one to -which no consciousness was ever attached. In other words, theoretically -it is quite possible that acquired physiological body-experiences may be -reproduced by exactly the same process as conscious experiences, and -their reproduction would be entitled to be regarded as memory quite as -much as if the experience were one of consciousness. In principle it is -evident that it is entirely immaterial whether that which is reproduced -is a conscious or an unconscious experience so long as the mechanism of -the process is the same. - -Now, as a matter of fact, there are a large number of acquired -physiological body-actions which, though unconscious, must be regarded -quite as much as manifestations of memory as is the conscious repetition -of the alphabet, or any other conscious acquisition. Having been -acquired they are _ipso facto_ reproductions of organized experiences. -We all know very well that movements acquired volitionally, and perhaps -laboriously, are, after constant repetition, reproduced with precision -without conscious guidance. - -They are said to be automatic; even the guiding afferent impressions do -not enter the content of consciousness. The maintaining of the body in -one position, sitting or standing, though requiring a complicated -correlation of a large number of muscles, is carried out without -conscious volition. It is the same with walking and running. Still more -complicated movements are similarly performed in knitting, typewriting -and playing the piano, shaving, buttoning a coat, etc. We do not even -know the elementary movements involved in the action, and must become -aware of them by observation. The neurons remember, i.e., conserve and -reproduce the process acquired by previous conscious experiences. But -though it is memory it is not conscious memory, it is unconscious -memory, i.e., a physiological memory. The acquired dispositions repeat -themselves—what is called habit. Precision in games of skill largely -depend upon this principle. A tennis player must learn the “stroke” to -play the game well. This means that the muscles must be coordinated to a -delicate adjustment which, once learned, must be unconsciously -remembered and used, without consciously adjusting the muscles each time -the ball is hit. Indeed some organic memories are so tenacious that a -player once having learned the stroke finds great difficulty even by -effort of will in unlearning it and making his muscles play a different -style of stroke. Likewise one who has learned to use his arms in -sparring by one method finds difficulty in learning to spar by another -method. In fact almost any acquired movement is compounded of elementary -movements which by repetition were linked and finely adjusted to produce -the resultant movement, and finally conserved as an _unconscious -physiological arrangement_. As one writer has said, the neuron -organization “faithfully preserves the records of processes often -performed.” - -In what has just been said the fact has not been overlooked that the -initiation or modification of any of the movements which have been -classed as physiological memory (knitting, typewriting, games of skill, -etc.), even after their acquisition, is necessarily voluntary and -therefore, so far, a conscious memory, but the nice coördination of -afferent and efferent impulses for the adjustment of the muscles -involved becomes, by repetition, an unconscious mechanism, and is -performed outside the province of the will as an act of _unconscious -memory_. By repeated experience the neurons become functionally -organized in such a way as to acquire and conserve a functional -“disposition” to reproduce the movements originally initiated by -volition. - -Physiological memory has indeed, as it seems, been recently -experimentally demonstrated by Rothmann, who educated a dog from which -the hemispheres had been removed to perform certain tricks; e. g., to -jump over a hurdle.[65] - -Still another variety of memory is _psycho-physiological_. This type is -characterized by a combination of psychological and physiological -elements and is important, as we shall see later, because of the -conspicuous part which such memories play in pathological conditions. -Certain bodily reactions which are purely physiological, such as -vaso-motor, cardiac, respiratory, intestinal, digestive, etc., -disturbances, become, as the result of certain experiences, linked with -one or another psychical element (sensations, perceptions, thoughts), -and, this linking becoming conserved as a “disposition,” the -physiological reaction is reproduced whenever the psychical element is -introduced into consciousness. Thus, for example, the perception or -thought of a certain person may become, as the result of a given social -episode, so linked with blushing or cardiac palpitation that whenever -the former is thrust into consciousness, no matter how changed the -conditions may be from those of the original episode, the physiological -reaction of the blood vessels or heart is reproduced. Here the original -psycho-physiological experience—the association of an idea (or psychical -element) with the physiological process is conserved and reproduced. -Such a reproduction is essentially a psycho-physiological memory -depending wholly upon the acquired disposition of the neurons.[66] - -Thus, to take an actual example from real life, a certain person during -a series of years was expecting to hear bad news because of the illness -of a member of the family and consequently was always startled, and her -“heart always jumped into her throat,” whenever the telephone rang. -Finally the news came. That anxiety is long past, but now when the -telephone rings, although she is not expecting bad news and no thought -of the original experience consciously arises in her mind, her “heart -always gives a leap and sometimes she bursts into a perspiration.” - -A beautiful illustration of this type of memory is to be found in the -results of the extremely important experiments, for psychology as well -as physiology, of Pawlow and his co-workers in the reflex stimulation of -saliva in dogs. These experiments show the possibility of linking a -physiological process to a psychological process by education, and -through the conservation of the association reproducing the -physiological process as an act of unconscious memory. (The experiments, -of course, were undertaken for an entirely different purpose, namely, -that of studying the digestive processes only.) It should be explained -that it was shown that the salivary glands are selective in their -reaction to stimuli in that they do not respond at all to some (pebbles, -snow), but respond to others with a thin watery fluid containing mere -traces of mucin or a slimy mucin-holding fluid, according as to whether -the stimulating substance is one which the dog rejects, and which -therefore must be washed out or diluted (sands, acids, bitter and -caustic substances), or is an eatable substance and must as a food bolus -be lubricated for the facilitation of its descent. Dryness of the food, -too, largely determined the quantity of the saliva. - -Now the experiments of the St. Petersburg laboratory brought out another -fact which is of particular interest for us and which is thus described -by Pawlow. “In the course of our experiments it appeared that all the -phenomena of adaptation which we saw in the salivary glands under -_physiological_ conditions, such, for instance, as the introduction of -the stimulating substances into the buccal cavity, reappeared in exactly -the same manner under the influence of _psychological_ conditions—that -is to say, when we merely drew the animal’s attention to the substances -in question. Thus, when we pretended to throw pebbles into the dog’s -mouth, or to cast in sand, or to pour in something disagreeable, or, -finally, when we offered it this or that kind of food, a secretion -either immediately appeared or it did not appear, in accordance with the -properties of the substance which we had previously seen to regulate the -quantity and nature of the juice when _physiologically_ excited to flow. -If we pretended to throw in sand a watery saliva escaped from the mucous -glands; if food, a slimy saliva. And if the food was dry—for example, -dry bread—a large quantity of saliva flowed out even when it excited no -special interest on the part of the dog. When, on the other hand, a -moist food was presented—for example, flesh—much less saliva appeared -than in the previous case however eagerly the dog may have desired the -food. This latter effect is particularly obvious in the case of the -parotid gland.”[67] - -It is obvious that in these experiments, when the experimenter pretended -to throw various substances into the dog’s mouth, the action was -effective in producing the flow of saliva of specific qualities because, -through repeated experiences, the pictorial images (or ideas) of the -substance had become associated with the specific physiological salivary -reaction, and this association had been conserved as a neurogram. -Consequently the neurographic residue when stimulated each time by the -pretended action of the experimenter reproduced reflexly the specific -physiological reaction and, so far as the process was one of -registration, conservation, and reproduction, it was an act of -psycho-physiological memory. - -That this is the correct interpretation of the educational mechanism is -made still more evident by other results that were obtained; for it was -found that the effective psychical stimulus may be part of wider -experiences or a complex of ideas; everything that has been in any way -psychologically associated with an object which physiologically excites -the saliva reflex may also produce it; the plate which customarily -contains the food, the furniture upon which it stands; the person who -brings it; even the sound of the voice and the sound of the steps of -this person.[68] - -Indeed, it was found that any sensory stimulus could be educated into -one that would induce the flow of saliva, if the stimulus had been -previously associated with food which normally excited the flow. “Any -ocular stimulus, any desired sound, any odor that might be selected, and -the stimulation of any part of the skin, either by mechanical means or -by the application of heat or cold, have in our hands never failed to -stimulate the salivary glands, although they were all of them at one -time supposed to be inefficient for such a purpose. This was -accomplished by applying these stimuli simultaneously with the action of -the salivary glands, this action having been evolved by the giving of -certain kinds of food or by forcing certain substances into the dog’s -mouth.”[69] It is obvious that reflex excitation thus having been -accomplished by the education of the nerve centers to a previously -indifferent stimulus the reproduction of the process through this -stimulus is, in principle, an act of physiological memory.[70] - -The experiences of the dogs embraced quite large systems of ideas and -sensory stimuli which included the environment of persons and their -actions, the furniture, plates, and other objects; and various ocular, -auditory, and other sensory stimuli applied arbitrarily to the dogs. All -these experiences had been welded into an associative system and -conserved as neurograms. Consequently it was only necessary to stimulate -again any element in the neurogram to reproduce the whole process, -including the specific salivary reaction. - -We shall see later that these experiments acquire additional interest -from the fact that in them is to be found the fundamental principle of -what under other conditions can be recognized as a _psycho-neurosis—an -abnormal or perverted association and memory_. The effects produced by -this association of stimuli may be regarded as the germ of the habit -psychosis, and in these experiments we have experimental demonstration -of the mechanism of these psychoses—but this is another story which we -will take up by and by. - -=Recollection.=—This is as good a place as any other to call attention -to a certain special form of memory. Recollection and memory are not -synonymous terms. We are accustomed to think of memory as including, in -addition to other qualities, recollection, i.e., what is called -localization of the experience in time and space. It connotes an -awareness of the content of the memory having been once upon a time a -previous experience which is more or less accurately located in a given -past time (yesterday, or a year ago, or twenty years ago), and in -certain local relations of space (when we were at school, or riding in a -railway car with so and so). But, as Ribot points out, this (relatively -to physiological memories) is ... “only a certain kind of memory which -we call perfect.” For we have just seen that, when memory is considered -as a process, reproduced physiological processes, which contain no -elements of consciousness and therefore of localization, may be memory. -But more than this, I would insist, _recollection is only a more perfect -kind of conscious memory_. Ribot would make recollection a peculiarity -of all conscious memory, but this is plainly an oversight. As we saw in -previous lectures there may be _conscious memories which do not contain -any element of recollection_, or, in other words, such conscious -memories resemble in every way, in principle, the reproduction of -organic neuron processes in that they have no conscious localization in -the past. In dissociated personalities, for instance, and in other types -of _dissociated conditions_ (functional amnesia, post-hypnotic states, -etc.), the names of persons, places, faces, objects, and even complex -ideas may flash into the mind without any element of recollection. The -person may have no idea whence they come, but by experiment it is easy -to demonstrate that they are automatic memories of past experiences.[71] -In the sensory automatisms known as _crystal visions_, pictures which -accurately reproduce, symbolically, past experiences of which the -subject has no recollection may vividly arise in the mind. Such pictures -are real conscious symbolic memories. _Dreams_, too, as we have seen, -may be unrecognized memories in that they may reproduce conscious -experiences, something heard or seen perhaps, but which has been -completely forgotten even when awake. Again, modern methods of -investigation show that numerous ideas that occur in the course of our -_everyday thoughts_—names, for instance—are excerpts from, or vestiges -of, previous conscious experiences of which we have no recollection, -that is to say, they are memories, reproductions of formerly experienced -ideas. In the absence of recollection they seem to belong only to the -present. Memories which hold an intermediate place between these -automatic memories and those of true recollection are certain memories, -like the alphabet or a verse or phrase once learned by heart which we -are able at best to localize only dimly in the past. Indeed, the greater -part of our _vocabulary_ is but conscious memory without localization in -the past. So we see that recollection is not an essential even for -conscious memories. It is only a particular phase of memory just as are -automatic conscious memories. - ------ - -Footnote 54: - - I use this term physical in the sense in which it is used in the - physical sciences without reference to any metaphysical concept or the - ultimate nature of matter or of a physical process. - -Footnote 55: - - The psyche would have to be one which would be capable of becoming - differentiated at one and the same moment into two independent - consciousnesses—the personal and the secondary; a soul split into two, - so to speak. The desire to explain a secondary consciousness by this - doctrine has probably given rise to the popular notion of two souls in - a single body! - -Footnote 56: - - If the theory of the unconscious presented in these lectures be firmly - established this doctrine will have to be modified to this extent, - that, while all mental processes are accompanied by brain processes, - brain processes that ordinarily have conscious equivalents can within - certain limits occur without them and exhibit all the characteristics - of intelligence—unconscious cerebration. _Indeed, it becomes probable - that every mental process is a part of a larger mechanism in which - unconscious brain processes not correlated with the specifically - conscious processes are integral factors._ - -Footnote 57: - - Dr. S. J. Meltzer has pointed out in a very suggestive article - (_Journal American Medical Association_, Vol. IV, No. 12) that the - anaphylactic attack resembles that of bronchial asthma in man, and - argues that this latter disease may be the same phenomenon. - -Footnote 58: - - T. Brailsford Robertson: Sur la Dynamique chimique du système nerveux - central, Archiv. de Physiol. v. 6, 1908, p. 388. Ueber die Wirkung von - Säuren auf das Athmungs Zentrum, Arch. f. die Gesammte Physiologie, - Bd. 145, Hft. 5 u. 6, 1912. - -Footnote 59: - - Stéphane Leduc: The Mechanism of Life. - -Footnote 60: - - Further studies in the chemical dynamics of the central nervous - system, Folio Neuro-Biologica, Bd. VI, Nos. 7 and 8, 1912. - -Footnote 61: - - Eugenio Rignano: Upon the Inheritance of Acquired Characters. Trans. - by Basil C. H. Harvey, Chicago. Open Court Publishing Co., 1911. - -Footnote 62: - - Prince: The Nature of Mind and Human Automatism, 1885: - Hughlings-Jackson on the Connection between the Mind and Brain, - _Brain_, p. 250, 1891; The Identification of Mind and Matter, - _Philosoph. Rev._, July, 1904. - -Footnote 63: - - Richard Semon (Die Mneme, 1908) has adopted the term Engramm with much - the same signification that I have given to Neurogram, excepting that - Engramm has a much wider meaning and connotation. It is not limited to - nervous tissue, but includes the residual changes held by some to be - left in all irritable living substances after stimulation. All such - substances are therefore capable of memory in a wide sense (Mneme). - -Footnote 64: - - Th. Ribot: Diseases of Memory, pp. 154, 155. Translation by William - Huntington Smith. D. Appleton & Co. - -Footnote 65: - - Cf. Lecture VIII, p. 238. - -Footnote 66: - - Emotion is a factor in the genesis of such phenomena, but may be - disregarded for the present until we have studied the phenomena of the - emotions by themselves. - -Footnote 67: - - The Work of the Digestive Glands (English Translation), p. 152. - -Footnote 68: - - Psychische Erregung der Speicheldrusen, J. P. Pawlow. Ergebnisse der - Physiologie, 1904, I Abteil., p. 182. - -Footnote 69: - - Huxley Lecture, _Br. Med. Jour._, October 6, 1906. - -Footnote 70: - - Pawlow overlooked in these experiments the possible, if not probable, - intermediary of the emotions in producing the effects. The principle, - however, would not be affected thereby. - -Footnote 71: - - Compare “The Dissociation,” pp. 254, 261. For examples, see also - “Multiple Personality,” by Boris Sidis, and “The Lowell Case of - Amnesia,” by Isador Coriat, _The Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, Vol. - II, p. 93. - - - - - LECTURE VI - SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES - - -In what I have said thus far I have had another purpose in view than -that of a mere exposition of the psycho-physiological theory of memory. -This other and chief purpose has been to lay the foundation for a -conception of the _Unconscious_ in its larger aspect. We have seen that -thoughts and other conscious experiences that have passed out of mind -may be and to an enormous extent are conserved and, from this point of -view, may be properly regarded as simply _dormant_. Further we have seen -that all the data collected by experimental pathology and other -observations lead to the conclusion that conservation is effected in the -form of neurographic residua or brain neurograms—organized physiological -records of passing mental experiences of all sorts and kinds. We have -seen that these neurographic records conserve not only our educational -acquisitions and general stock of knowledge—all those experiences which -we remember—but a vast number of others which we cannot spontaneously -recall, including, it may be, many which date back to early childhood, -and many which we have deliberately repressed, put out of mind and -intentionally forgotten. We have also seen that it is not only these -mental experiences which occupied the focus of our attention that leave -their counterpart in neurograms, but those as well of which we are only -partially aware—absent-minded thoughts and acts and sensations and -perceptions which never entered our awareness at all—subconscious or -coconscious ideas as they are called. Finally, we have seen that the -mental experiences of every state, normal, artificial, or pathological, -whatever may be the state of the personal consciousness, are subject to -the same principle of conservation. In this way, in the course of any -one’s natural life, an enormous field of neurograms is formed -representing ideas which far transcend in multitude and variety those of -the personal consciousness at any given moment and all moments, and -which are far beyond the voluntary beck and call of the personal -consciousness of the individual. - -Neurograms are concepts and, by the meaning of the concept, they are -unconscious. It is not necessary to enter into the question whether they -are in their ultimate nature psychical or physical. That is a -philosophical question.[72] They are at any rate unconscious in this -sense; they are devoid of consciousness, i.e., have none of the -psychological attributes of any of the elements of consciousness, and in -the sense in which any physiological arrangement or process is not -conscious, i.e., is unconscious. We have here, then, in the concept of -brain residual neurograms the fundamental meaning of the -_Unconscious_.[73] _The unconscious is the great storehouse of -neurograms which are the physiological records of our mental lives._ By -the terms of the concept neurograms are primarily passive—the potential -form, as it were, in which psychical energy is stored. This is not to -say, however, that, from moment to moment, certain ones out of the great -mass may not become active processes. On the contrary, according to the -theory of memory, when certain complexes of neurograms are stimulated -they take on activity and function—the potential energy becomes -converted into dynamic energy. In correlation with the functioning of -such neurographic complexes, the complexes of ideas which they -conserve—the psychological equivalents—are reproduced (according to the -doctrines of monism and parallelism) and enter the stream of the -personal consciousness. The unconscious becomes the conscious (monism), -or provided with correlated conscious accompaniments (parallelism), and -we may speak of the ideas arising out of the unconscious. - -=Neurograms may also function as subconscious processes exhibiting -intelligence and determining mental and bodily behavior.=—Here two -important questions present themselves. Is it a necessary consequence -that when unconscious neurograms become active processes psychological -equivalents must be awakened; and when they are awakened, must they -_necessarily_ enter the stream of the personal consciousness? If both -these questions may be answered in the negative, _then plainly in either -case such active processes become by definition subconscious -processes_—of an _unconscious_ nature in the one case and of a -_coconscious_ nature in the other. They would be subconscious because in -the first place they would occur outside of consciousness and there is -no awareness of them, and in the second place they would be a -dissociated second train of processes distinct from those engaged in the -conscious stream of the moment. Theoretically such subconscious -processes, whether unconscious or coconscious, might perform a variety -of functions according to the specificity of their activities. - -Now, in preceding lectures, when marshalling the evidence for -conservation, we met with a large number and variety of phenomena -(automatic writing, hallucinations, post-hypnotic phenomena, dreams, -“unconscious” solution of problems, etc.), which clearly demonstrated -that memory might be manifested by processes of which the individual was -unaware and which were outside the content of consciousness. Hence these -phenomena presented very clear evidence of the occurrence of processes -that may be properly termed _subconscious_.[74] Attention, however, was -primarily directed to them only so far as they offered evidence of -conservation and of the mode by which conservation was effected. But -necessarily these evidences were subconscious manifestations of -forgotten experiences (memory), and in so far as this was the case we -saw that unconscious neurograms can take on activity and function -subconsciously; i.e., without their psychological equivalents (i.e., -correlated conscious memory) entering the stream of the personal -consciousness. We may now speak of these processes as =subconscious -memory=. But when their manifestations are carefully scrutinized they -will be found to exhibit more than memory. They may, for instance, -exhibit logical elaboration of the original experiences, and what -corresponds to fabrication, reasoning, volition and affectivity. -_Theoretically_ this is what we should expect if any of the conserved -residual experiences of life can function subconsciously. As life’s -experiences include fears, doubts, scruples, wishes, affections, -resentments, and numerous other affective states, innate dispositions, -and instincts, the subconscious memory process necessarily may include -any of these affective complexes of ideas and tendencies. An affective -complex means an idea (or ideas) linked to one or more emotions and -feelings. In other words, any acquired residua drawn from the general -storehouse of life’s experiences may be systematized with feelings and -emotions, the innate dispositions and instincts of the organism. Now it -is a general psychological law that such affective states tend by the -force of their conative impulses to carry the specific ideas with which -they are systematized to fulfilment through mental and bodily behavior. -Consequently, theoretically, it might thus well be that the residua of -diverse experiences, say a fear or a wish, by the force of such impulses -might become activated into very specific subconscious processes with -very specific tendencies expressing themselves in very specific ways, -producing very specific and diverse phenomena. Thus memory would be but -one of the manifestations of subconscious processes. - -Now, as a matter of fact, there are a large number of phenomena which -not only justify the postulation of subconscious processes but also the -inference that such processes, activated by their affective impulses, -may so influence conscious thought that the latter is modified in -various ways; that it may be determined in this or that direction, -inhibited, interrupted, distorted, made insistent, and given -pathological traits. There is also a large variety of bodily phenomena -which can be explicitly shown to be due to subconscious processes, and -many which are only explicable by such a mechanism. Indeed, a -subconscious process may become very complex and constellated with any -one or many of the psycho-physiological mechanisms of the organism. In -special artificial and pathological conditions where such processes -reach their highest development, as manifested through their phenomena, -they may exhibit that which when consciously performed is understood to -be _intelligence_, comprising reasoning, constructive imagination, -volition, and feeling; in short, what is commonly called thought or -mental processes. Memory, of course, enters as an intrinsic element in -these manifestations just as it is an intrinsic element in all thought. -The automatic script that describes the memories of a long-forgotten -childhood experience may at the same time reason, indulge in jests, -rhyme, express cognition and understanding of questions—indeed (if put -to the test), might not only pass a Binet-Simon examination for -intelligence, but take a high rank in a Civil Service examination. In -these more elaborate exhibitions of subconscious intelligence it is -obvious that there is an exuberant efflorescence of the residua -deposited in many unconscious fields by life’s experiences and -synthesized into a _subconscious functioning system_. - -It is beyond the scope of this lecture to examine into the particular -_mechanism_ by which a subconscious process is provoked at all—why, for -instance, a dormant wish or fear-neurogram becomes activated into a -subconscious wish or fear, or having become activated, the mechanism by -which such a wish or fear manifests itself in this phenomenon or that—or -to examine even any large number of the various phenomena which are -provoked by subconscious processes, and it is not my intention to do so. -Such problems belong to special psychology and special pathology. Of -recent years, for instance, certain schools of psychology, and in -particular the Freudian school, have attempted to establish particular -mechanisms by which subconscious processes come into being and express -themselves. We are engaged in the preliminary and fundamental task of -establishing, if possible, certain basic principles which any mechanism -must make use of, and, as a deeper-lying theoretical question, the -nature of such processes. - -The subconscious now belongs to popular speech and it is the fashion of -the day to speak of it glibly enough, but I fear it means very little to -the average person. It is involved in vagueness if not mystery. Yet as a -necessary induction from observed facts it has a very precise and -concrete meaning devoid of abstruseness, just as the other has a precise -and concrete meaning. Although subconscious processes were originally -postulated on theoretical grounds, the theory is fortunately open to -experimental tests so that it is capable of being placed on an -experimental basis like other concepts of science. It is possible to -artificially create such processes and study their phenomena; that is to -say, the modes in which they manifest their activities, their influence -upon conscious and bodily processes. We can study their effect in -inhibiting and distorting thought, in determining it in this or that -direction, in creating hallucinatory, emotional, amnesic, and other -mental phenomena, in inducing physiological disturbances of motion, -sensation, of the viscera, etc. We can also study the capabilities and -limitations of the subconscious in carrying on intelligent operations -below the threshold of consciousness. Again, we can investigate the -phenomena of this kind as met with in the course of clinical -observations, and by technical methods of research explore the -subconscious and thus explicitly reveal the process underlying and -inducing the phenomena. By such methods of investigation the -subconscious has been removed from the field of speculative psychology, -and placed in the field of experimental research. We have thus been -enabled to postulate a subconscious process as a _definite concrete -process producing very definite phenomena_. These processes and their -phenomena have become a field of study in themselves and, from my point -of view, the determination of the laws of the subconscious should be -approached by such experimental and technical methods of research. After -its various modes of activity, its capabilities and limitations have -been in this way established, its laws can then be applied to the -solution of conditions surrounding particular problems. Though we can -determine the actuality of a particular subconscious process this does -not mean that we can determine all the components of that process; we -may be able to determine many or perhaps none of these: just as among -the constituents of a crowd we may discern an active, turbulent group -creating a disturbance, though we may not be able to recognize all the -components of the group or the scattered individuals acting in -conjunction with it. Nor may we be able to determine the intrinsic -nature of a subconscious process—whether it is a conscious or -unconscious one, but only the actuality of the process, the conditions -of its activity, and the phenomena which it induces. - -_A subconscious process may be provisionally defined as one of which the -personality is unaware, which, therefore, is outside the personal -consciousness, and which is a factor in the determination of conscious -and bodily phenomena, or produces effects analogous to those which might -be directly or indirectly induced by consciousness._ It would be out of -the question at this time to enter into an exposition of the larger -subject—the multiform phenomena of the subconscious, but as its -processes are fundamental to an understanding of many phenomena with -which we shall have to deal, we should have a clear understanding of the -grounds on which such processes are postulated as specific, concrete -occurrences. The classical demonstration of subconscious occurrences -makes use of certain phenomena of hysteria, particularly those of -subconscious personalities and artificial “automatic” phenomena like -automatic writing. The epoch-making researches of Janet[75] on hysterics -and almost coincidently with him of Edmund Gurney on hypnotics very -clearly established the fact that these phenomena are the manifestations -of _dissociated_ processes outside of and independent of the personal -consciousness. Among the phenomena, for example, are motor activities of -various kinds such as ordinarily are or may be induced by conscious -intelligence. As the individual, owing to anesthesia, may be entirely -unaware even that he has performed any such act, the process that -performed it must be one that is subconscious. - -=The intrinsic nature of subconscious processes.=—Janet further brought -forward indisputable evidence showing that in hysteria these -subconscious processes are real coconscious processes. It is only -another mode of expressing this to say that there is a dissociation or -division of consciousness in consequence of which certain ideas do not -enter the content of the personal consciousness of the individual. It is -possible, as he was the first to show, to communicate with and, in -hypnotic and other dissociated states, recover memories of these -split-off ideas of which the individual is unaware, and thereby -establish the principle that these ideas are the subconscious process -which induces the hysterical phenomena. (These phenomena are of a great -many kinds and include sensory as well as motor automatisms, inhibition -of thought and will, deliria, visceral, emotional, and other -disturbances of mind and body.) The hysterical subconscious process is -thus determined to be a very specific concrete _coconscious_ process, -one, the elements of which are memories and other particular ideas. This -type of subconscious process, therefore, may be regarded as the -activated residua of antecedent experiences with or without secondary -elaboration. All subsequent investigations during the past twenty-five -years have served but to confirm the accuracy of Janet’s observations -and conclusions. It would be out of the question at this time, before -coconscious ideas have been systematically studied, to attempt to -present the evidence on which this interpretation of certain -subconscious phenomena rests. This will be done in other lectures.[76] I -will simply say that this evidence for coconsciousness occurring in -certain special conditions, artificial and pathological, and perhaps as -a constituent of the normal content of consciousness, is of precisely -the same character as that for the occurrence of consciousness in any -other individual but one’s self. If we reject the evidence of hysterical -phenomena, of that furnished by a coconscious personality, and by -automatic script and speech, etc., we shall have to reject precisely -similar evidence for consciousness in other people than ourselves.[77] -The evidence is explicit and not implied. - -A subconscious personality is a condition where complexes of -subconscious processes have been constellated into a personal system, -manifesting a secondary system of self-consciousness endowed with -volition, intelligence, etc. Such a subconscious personality is capable -of communicating with the experimenter and describing its own mental -processes. It can, after repression of the primary personality, become -the sole personality for the time being, and then remember its previous -subconscious life, as we all remember our past conscious life, and can -give full and explicit information regarding the nature of the -subconscious process. By making use of the testimony of a subconscious -personality and its various manifestations, we can not only establish -the actuality of subconscious processes and their intrinsic nature in -these conditions, but by prearrangement with this personality -predetermine any particular process we desire and study the modes in -which it influences conscious thought and conduct. For instance, we can -prescribe a conflict between the subconsciousness and the personal -consciousness, between a subconscious wish and a conscious wish, or -volition, and observe the resultant mental and physical behavior, which -may be inhibition of thought, hallucinations, amnesia, motor phenomena, -etc. The possibilities and limitations of subconscious influences can in -this way be experimentally studied. Subconscious personalities, -therefore, afford a valuable means for studying the mechanism of the -mind.[78] - -The conclusion, then, seems compulsory that the subconscious processes -in many conditions, particularly those that are artificially induced and -those that are pathological, are _coconscious_ processes. - -There are other phenomena, however, which require the postulation of a -subconscious process, yet which, when the subconscious is searched by -the same methods made use of in hysterical phenomena, do not reveal -explicit evidence of coconsciousness. An analysis of the subconscious -revelations as well as the phenomena themselves seems to favor the -interpretation that in some cases the underlying process is in part and -in others wholly _unconscious_. The only ground for the interpretation -that all subconscious processes are wholly conscious is the assumption -that, as some are conscious, all must be. This is as unsound as the -assumption that, because at the other end of the scale some complex -actions (e. g., those performed by decerebrated animals) are intelligent -and yet performed by processes necessarily unconscious, therefore all -actions not under the guidance of the personal consciousness are -performed by unconscious processes. - -If some subconscious processes are unconscious they are equivalent to -physiological processes such as, _ex hypothesi_, are correlated with all -conscious processes and perhaps may be identified with them. In truth, -they mean nothing more nor less than “unconscious cerebration.” - -We can say at once that considering the complexity and multiformity of -psycho-physiological phenomena there would seem to be no _a priori_ -reason why all subconscious phenomena must be the same in respect to -being either coconscious or unconscious; some may be the one and some -the other. It is plainly a matter of interpretation of the facts and -there still exists some difference of opinion. The problem is a very -difficult one to settle by methods at present available; yet it can only -be settled by the same methods, in principle, that we depend upon to -determine the reality of a personal consciousness in other persons than -ourselves. No amount of _a priori_ argument will suffice. Perhaps some -day a criterion of a conscious state of which the individual is unaware -will be found, just as the psycho-galvanic phenomenon is possibly a -criterion of an effective state. Any conclusions which we reach at -present should be regarded as provisional.[79] - - SPECIAL PROBLEMS OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS - -As one of our foremost psychologists has said, the subconscious is not -only the most important problem of psychology, it is _the_ problem. But -of course it involves many problems of practical and theoretical -interest. Among them are: - -First of all the evidential justification of the postulation of -subconscious processes in general. - -Second; the intrinsic nature of such processes. In other words and more -specifically, whether the neurograms of experiences after becoming -active subconscious _processes_ continue to be devoid of consciousness, -nothing but a brain process,—i.e., unconscious; or whether in becoming -activated they become conscious (monism), or acquire conscious -equivalents (parallelism), notwithstanding they are outside (dissociated -from) the content of the personal consciousness. - -Third; the kind and complexity of functions a subconscious process can -perform. Can it perform the same functions as are ordinarily performed -by conscious _intelligence_ (as we commonly understand that term); that -is to say memory, perception, reasoning, imagination, volition, -affectivity, etc.? If so, to what extent? - -Fourth; are the processes of the conscious mind only a part of a larger -mechanism of which a submerged part is a subconscious process? - -Fifth; to what extent can and do subconscious processes determine the -processes of the conscious mind and bodily behavior in normal and -abnormal conditions? - -These are some of the problems of the subconscious which for the most -part have been only incompletely investigated. - -It is, of course, beyond the scope of these introductory lectures to -discuss with any completeness the evidence at hand bearing upon these -problems or to even touch upon many of the points involved. We may, -however, study more deeply than we have done some of the phenomena with -which we have become familiar with a view to seeing what light they -throw upon some of these problems, particularly the first three. - -=1, 2, and 3; Actuality, Intrinsic Nature and Intelligence of -Subconscious Processes.=—As to the first question, whether subconscious -processes can be established in principle as a sound induction from -experimental and clinical facts and not merely as a hypothetical -concept, I have already pointed out that many manifestations of -conservation already cited in the exposition of the theory of memory are -of equal evidential value for the _actuality_ of such processes. Let us -now consider them in more detail from the point of view, more -particularly, of the second and third questions—the _intrinsic nature_ -(whether coconscious or unconscious) and _intelligence_ of the -underlying processes at work. In any given case however the actuality of -the subconscious process must always be first demonstrated. - -If we leave aside those conditions (hysteria, coconscious personalities) -wherein specific memory of a coconscious process can be recovered, or -such a process can be directly communicated with (automatic writing and -speech), the conditions required for the valid postulation of a -subconscious process underlying any given phenomenon are: first, that -the causal factor shall be positively _known_; second, that it shall be -an antecedent experience; and, third, that it shall not be in the -content of consciousness at the moment of the occurrence of the -phenomenon. If the causal factor and the phenomenon are both known, then -the only unknown factor to be determined is the process, if any, -_intervening between the two_. If this is not in consciousness, a -subconscious process must be postulated. - -Obviously, if the known causal factor is _immediately_ related to the -caused phenomenon, the subconscious process must be the causal factor -itself. But if the known causal factor is _not immediately_ related to -the caused phenomenon, there must be an intervening process which must -be subconscious, perhaps consisting of a succession of processes -eventuating in the final phenomenon. For instance, if the causal factor -is a hypnotic suggestion (for which there is afterwards amnesia) that -the subject when awake shall automatically raise the right arm, a -subconscious process which is the memory of that suggestion immediately -provokes the automatic phenomenon. If, however, the suggestion is that -of a series of automatic actions involving complicated behavior, or if -it is a mathematical calculation, the intervening process which provokes -the end result must not only be subconscious but must be a more or less -complicated succession of processes. - -When, on the other hand, the causal factor is not known but only -inferred with greater or less probability, the justification of the -postulation of a subconscious process may be invalidated by the -uncertainty of the inference. If for example a person raises his right -hand or has a number come into his head without obvious cause, any -_inferred_ antecedent experience as the causal factor must be open to -more or less doubt, and, therefore, a subconscious process cannot be -postulated with certainty. This uncertainty seriously affects the -validity of conclusions drawn from clinical phenomena where the -antecedent experience as well as a subconscious process must be inferred -and perhaps even a matter of guesswork. - -Let us examine then, a few selected phenomena where the causal factor in -the process is a known antecedent conscious experience, one which can be -logically related to the succeeding phenomenon only by the postulation -of an intervening process of some kind. By an analysis of the antecedent -experience and the caused phenomenon into their constituent elements we -shall often be able to infer the functional characteristics of this -intervening process. Then, if the subject is a favorable one, by the use -of hypnotic and other methods we may be able to obtain an insight into -the intrinsic nature of the subconscious process and determine how far -it is conscious and how far unconscious. Necessarily the most available -phenomena are those experimentally induced. We can arrange beforehand -the causal experience and the phenomenon which it is to determine—an -hallucination, a motor automatism, a dream, a conscious process of -thought, or the product of an intellectual operation. The number of -observations we shall examine might be made much larger and the types -more varied. Those I have selected have such close analogies with -certain experiences of everyday and pathological life that what is found -to be true of them will afford valuable fundamentals in the elucidation -of these latter experiences.[80] - -=Subconscious processes in which the causal factor was antecedently -known.=—I. The evidential value of _post-hypnotic phenomena_ ranks -perhaps in the first place for our purpose as the conditions under which -they occur are largely under control. Among these showing subconscious -processes of a high order of intelligence are: - -(a) The well-known subconscious mathematical calculations which I cited -in a previous lecture (p. 96). There is no possible explanation of this -phenomenon except that the calculation was a subconscious process and -done either coconsciously or unconsciously. That it may be done, in some -cases, by coconscious processes of which the subject is unaware is -substantiated by the evidence.[81] In other cases this does not appear -to be wholly the case if we can rely upon hypnotic memories. We will -examine this process in connection with: - -(b) A second class of post-hypnotic phenomena, namely, those of -suggested actions carried out by the subject more or less automatically, -in a sort of absent-minded way, without his being aware of what he is -doing. The subject is directed in hypnosis to perform such or such an -action after being awakened. Sometimes the suggested action is performed -consciously, the suggested ideas with their impulses arising in his -mind, but without his knowing why. In other instances, however, he -performs the action automatically without being consciously aware at the -moment that he is doing it, his attention being directed toward -something else. Such actions must be performed by some kind of -subconscious processes instigated by the ideas suggested in hypnosis. - -Now hypnotic and other technically evoked memories sometimes reveal the -conscious content of the processes involved in both classes of -phenomena. For instance: two intelligent subjects, who have been the -object of extensive observations on this point, are able to recall in -hypnosis the previous occurrence of coconscious ideas of a peculiar -character. The description of these ideas has been very precise and has -carried a conviction, I believe, to all those who have had an -opportunity to be present at these observations that these recollections -were true memories and not fabrications.[82] The statements of these -subjects is that in their own cases, under certain conditions of -everyday life, coconscious ideas _of which the principal consciousness -is not aware_ emerge into the subconscious, persist for a longer or -shorter time, and then subside to be replaced by others. So long as the -conditions of their occurrence continue these coconscious ideas keep -coming and going, interchanging with one another. Sometimes these ideas -take the form of images, or what is described as visual “pictures.” When -the conditions are those of the subconscious solution of a mathematical -calculation then the same “pictures” occur and take the form of the -figures involved in the calculation; the figures come and go, apparently -add, subtract, and multiply themselves until the final result appears in -figures. An example will make this clear. - -While the subject was in hypnosis the problem was given to add 458 and -367, the calculation to be done _subconsciously_ after she was awake. -The problem was successfully accomplished in the usual way. The mode in -which the calculation was effected was then investigated with the -following result: In what may be termed for convenience the secondary -consciousness, i.e., the subconsciousness, the numbers 458 and 367 -appeared as distinct visualizations. These numbers were placed one over -the other, “with a line underneath them such as one makes in adding. The -visualization kept coming and going; sometimes the line was crooked and -sometimes it was straight. The secondary consciousness did not do the -sum at once, but by piecemeal. It took a long time before it was -completed.” The sum was not apparently done as soon as one would do it -when awake, by volitional calculation, “but rather the figures _added -themselves_, in a curious sort of way. The numbers were visualized and -the visualization kept coming and going and the columns at different -times added themselves, as it seemed, the result appearing at the -bottom.” In another problem (453 to be multiplied by 6) the process was -described as follows: The numbers were visualized in a line, thus, 453 × -6. Then the 6 arranged itself under the 453. The numbers kept coming and -going the same as before. Sometimes, however, they added themselves, and -sometimes the 6 subtracted itself from the larger number. Finally, -however, the result was obtained. As in the first problem, the numbers -kept coming and going in the secondary consciousness until the problem -was solved and then they ceased to appear. It is to be understood, of -course, that the _principal or personal consciousness was not aware of -these coconscious figures, or even that any calculation was being or to -be performed_. - -In suggested post-hypnotic actions, the pictures that come and go -correspond to and represent the details of the action as it is carried -out. Each detail is preceded or accompanied by its coconscious image or -picture. Likewise, when somatic phenomena have followed dreams, pictures -representing certain elements of the dream have appeared as secondary -conscious states. When the subject has been disturbed by some unsolved -moral or social problem (not suggested) the pictures have been symbolic -representations of the disturbing doubts and scruples.[83] - -One of these two subjects, while in hypnosis and able to recollect what -goes on in the secondary consciousness, thus describes the coconscious -process during the _spontaneous_ subconscious solution of problems. -“When a problem on which my waking self is engaged remains unsettled, it -is still kept in mind by the secondary consciousness even though put -aside by my waking self. My secondary consciousness often helps me to -solve problems which my waking consciousness has found difficulty in -doing. But it is not my secondary consciousness that accomplishes the -final solution itself, but it helps in the following way: Suppose, for -instance, I am trying to translate a difficult passage in Virgil. I work -at it for some time and am puzzled. Finally, unable to do it, I put it -aside, leaving it unsolved. I decide that it is not worth bothering -about and so put it out of my mind. But it is a mistake to say you put -it _out_ of your mind. What you do is, you put it _into_ your mind; that -is to say, you don’t put it out of your mind if the problem remains -unsolved and unsettled. By putting it _into_ your mind I mean that, -although the waking consciousness may have put it aside, the problem -still remains in the secondary consciousness. In the example I used the -memory of the passage from Virgil would be retained persistently by my -secondary consciousness. Then from time to time a whole lot of -fragmentary memories and thoughts connected with the passage would arise -in this consciousness. Some of these thoughts, perhaps, would be -memories of the rules of grammar, or different meanings of words in the -passage, in fact, anything I had read, or thought, or experienced in -connection with the problem. These would not be logical, connected -thoughts, and they would not solve the problem. My secondary -consciousness does not actually do this, i.e., in the example taken, -translate the passage. The translation is not effected here. But later -when my waking consciousness thinks of the problem again, these -fragmentary thoughts of my secondary consciousness arise in my mind, and -with this information I complete the translation. The actual translation -is put together by my waking consciousness.[84] I am not conscious of -the fact that these fragments of knowledge existed previously in my -secondary consciousness. I do not remember a problem ever to have been -solved by the secondary consciousness.[85] It is always solved by the -waking self, although the material for solving it may come from the -secondary. When my waking consciousness solves it in this way, the -solution seems to come in a miraculous sort of way, sometimes as if it -came to me from somewhere else than my own mind. I have sometimes -thought, in consequence, that I had solved it in my sleep.”[86] - -A series of observations conducted with a fourth subject (O. N.) gave -the following results, briefly summarized. (This subject, like the -others, is practiced in introspection and can differentiate her memories -with precision.) She distinguishes “two strata” in her mental processes -(an upper and lower). The “upper stratum” consists of the thoughts in -the focus of attention. The lower (also called the background of her -mind) consists of the perceptions and thoughts which are not in the -focus. This stratum, of course, corresponds with what is commonly -recognized as the fringe of consciousness, and, as is usual, when her -attention is directed elsewhere she is not aware of it. She can, -however, bring this fringe within the field of attention and then she -becomes aware of, or rather remembers, its content during the preceding -moment. To be able to do this is nothing out of the ordinary, but what -is unusual is this: by a trick of abstraction which she has long -practiced, she can bring the memory of the fringe or stratum into the -full light of awareness and then it is discovered that it has been -exceedingly rich in thoughts, far richer than ordinary attention would -show and a fringe is supposed to be. It is indeed a veritable -coconsciousness in which there goes on a secondary stream of thoughts -often of an entirely different character and with different affects from -those of the upper stratum. It is common for thoughts which she _has -resolutely put out of her mind as intolerable or unacceptable, or -problems which have not been solved, to continue functioning in the -lower stratum without entering awareness_.[87] She can, however, at any -time become aware of them by the trick of abstraction referred to, and -sometimes they emerge apparently spontaneously and suddenly[88] replace -the “upper stratum.” In hypnosis also the content of the lower stratum -can be distinctly recalled. - -Now the point I have been coming to is, the subject has acquired the -habit of postponing the decision of many everyday problems and giving -them, as a matter of convenience, to this second stratum or fringe to -solve. She puts one aside, that is out of (or _into_) her mind and it -goes into this stratum. Then, later, when the time for action comes, she -voluntarily goes into abstraction, becomes aware of the subconscious -thoughts of the second stratum and, lo and behold! the problem is found -to be solved. If a plan of action, all the details are found arranged as -if planned “consciously.” If asked a moment before what plans had been -decided upon and decision reached she would have been obliged in her -conscious ignorance to reply, “I don’t know.”[89] - -An analysis of these different observations shows, first, that the -post-hypnotic phenomena—calculations (a) and actions (b)—were performed -by a subconscious process. Of this there can be no manner of doubt, even -if the subsequent hypnotic memories of the process be rejected as -untrustworthy. The phenomenon—the answer to the mathematical problem in -the one case and the motor acts in the other—is so logically related to -the suggestion, and can be predicted with such certainty, that only a -causal relation can be admitted. - -Second, in the calculation phenomena the process is clearly of an -intellectual character requiring _reasoning_ and the coöperation of -mathematical _memory_. (Reasoning is more conspicuous when the problem -is more complicated, as in the calculation of the number of seconds -intervening between, say, twenty-two minutes past eleven and seventeen -minutes past three o’clock.)[90] The phenomenon is the solution of a -problem. - -The final phenomenon was not _immediately_ related to the suggested -idea. It was the final result of a quite long series of logical -processes of a more or less complex character occurring over a period of -time as in conscious calculation. _Conation_ (volition?) would seem also -to be essential to carry the suggested idea to fulfilment. _Subconscious -cognition_ would seem also to be required. There must have been an -intelligent appreciation of what the problem was and as soon as the -solution was accomplished the process stopped. Random figuring did not -continue. - -In the post-hypnotic motor acts conation is obvious. Here too there is a -series of subconscious processes covering a period of time and carrying -out a purpose. The suggested causal idea did not include the acts -necessary for the fulfillment of the idea. Each step was adapted to an -end, ceased as soon as it accomplished that end, and was followed by -another in logical sequence, the whole taking place as if performed by -an intelligence. Reasoning may or may not be involved according to the -complexity of the actions. - -Third; _the coconscious figures in the calculation experiments do not -constitute the whole of the process_. They would seem to be the product -of some deeper underlying process. The figures “kept coming and going” -and seemed to “add themselves.” There was no conscious process that -related the figures to one another and determined whether the problem -was one of addition or multiplication—as is the case when we do a -calculation consciously; that is to say, of course, if the hypnotic -personality remembered the whole of the conscious calculation. It was -more as if there was an underlying unconscious process which did the -calculation, certain final results of which appeared as dissociated -states of consciousness, i.e., figures which did not enter the personal -consciousness. The process reminds us of the printing of visible letters -by the concealed works of a typewriter; or of visible letters of an -electrically illuminated sign appearing and disappearing according as -the concealed mechanism is worked. This interpretation is in entire -accord with the spontaneous occurrence of the coconscious images during -the everyday life of these subjects. These images were pictorial -representations of antecedent thoughts and seemed to be the products or -elements of these thoughts apparently functioning as underlying -unconscious processes. Likewise, in post-hypnotic suggested actions, I -have not been able to obtain memories of coconscious thoughts directing -the actions, but only the images described. These behave as if they were -the product of another underlying process determining the action. -Inferences of this sort are as compulsory as the inference that the -illumination of a sensitive plate observed in the study of -radio-activity must be due to the bombardment of the plate by invisible -particles emitted by the radio-active substance. These particles and the -process which ejects them can only be inferred from the effects which -they produce. So, in the above observations, it would seem as if the -coconscious figures, and other images involved, must be ejected as -conscious phenomena by an underlying process. There is no explicit -evidence that this is conscious. - -I said advisedly, a moment ago, “if the hypnotic personality remembered -the whole of the conscious calculation,” for, as a matter of fact, we -find, when we examine several different hypnotic states in the same -subject, that their memories for coconscious ideas are not coextensive, -one (or more) being fuller than another. Indeed in certain states there -may not be any such memories at all. It is necessary, therefore, to -obtain by hypnosis a degree of dissociation which will allow the -complete memories of this kind to be evoked. In the subjects I made use -of this procedure was followed. Theoretically it might be held that, no -matter how complete the memories evoked in the various states, some -other state might possibly be obtained in which still more complete -memory would be manifested. Theoretically this is true and all -conclusions are subject to this criticism. Practically, however, I -found, when making these investigations, that I seemed to have come to -the limit of such possibilities, for, obtain as I would new dissociated -arrangements of personality, after a certain point no additional -memories could be evoked. There is still another possibility that there -may be coconscious processes for which no memories can be evoked by any -method or in any state. - -II. _Artificially induced visual hallucinations_ with which we have -already become familiar can, as we have seen, only be interpreted as the -product of subconscious processes. If only because of the important part -that hallucinations play in insanity and other pathological states and -of the frequency with which they occur in normal people (mystics and -others), the characteristics of the subconscious process are well worth -closer study. What is found to be true of the experimental type is -probably true of the spontaneous variety whether occurring in -pathological or normal conditions. Indeed, as we shall see, spontaneous -hallucinations have the same characteristics. We have considered them -thus far only from two points of view, viz. (1) as evidence of -conservation of forgotten experiences, and (2) as evidence for specific -residua of such experiences functioning as subconscious processes. Now, -artificial visual hallucinations, like the spontaneous ones, may be -limited—relatively speaking—to what is apparently little more than an -exact reproduction of an antecedent visual perception, e. g., a person -or object. But, generally speaking, it is more than this and when -analyzed will be found almost always to be the expression of a -complicated process. For instance, take the relatively simple crystal -vision, of the subject smoking a cigarette in a particular situation -during hypnosis, which I have previously cited. (Lecture III.) As a -matter of fact, the subject had no primary visual perceptions at the -time of the original episode at all. She was in hypnosis, her eyes were -closed, and she did not and could not see herself (particularly her own -face) or the cigarette or her surroundings. And yet the vision pictured -everything exactly as it had occurred in my presence, even to the -expression of her features. Looking into the crystal the subject saw -herself sitting in a particular place, enacting a series of movements, -talking and smoking a cigarette with a peculiar smile and expression of -enjoyment on her face.[91] For this experience there was complete -amnesia after waking from hypnosis and at the time of the vision. - -Now consider further the facts and their implications. In the mechanism -of the process eventuating in the visual phenomenon we obviously have -two known factors: the antecedent causal factor—the hypnotic -episode—and, after a time interval, the end result—the vision. As there -was no conscious memory of the hypnotic episode the neurograms of the -latter must have functioned subconsciously to have produced the vision. -But what particular neurograms? As the subject’s eyes had been closed in -hypnosis, and, in any event, as she could not have seen her own face, -there were at the time no _visual_ perceptions of herself smoking a -cigarette, and therefore the vision could not have been simply a -reproduction of a visual experience. There were, however, tactual, -gustatory, and other perceptions and ideas of self and environment, and -these perceptions and ideas of course possessed _secondary visual -images_.[92] The simplest mechanism would be that the neurograms of this -complex of perception and ideas of self, etc., functioned subconsciously -and their _secondary_ visual images emerged into consciousness to be the -vision. I give this as the simplest mechanism by which we can conceive -of a visual representation of an antecedent experience emerging out of a -subconscious process.[93] There is a considerable body of data -supporting this interpretation. - -But the original experiences of the episode included more than the mere -perceptions and movements of the subject. They included trains of -thought and enjoyment of the cigarette smoking experience. All formed a -complex of which the tactual and other perceptions of self were -subordinate elements. At one moment, of course, one element, and, at -another moment another element, had been in the focus of awareness, the -others becoming shifted into the fringe _where at all times were -secondary visual images of herself_. Did the subconscious process -underlying the vision include the whole of this complex? As to this, one -peculiarity of the vision has much significance. In behavior it acted -after the manner of a cinematographic or “moving picture,” and -delineated each successive movement of the episode, as if a rapid series -of photographs had been taken for reproduction. In this manner even the -emotional and changing play of the features of the vision-self, -expressive of the previous thoughts and enjoyment, were depicted. Such a -cinematographic series of visual images would seem to require a -concurrent subconscious process to produce the successive changes in the -hallucinatory images. As these changes apparently correspond from moment -to moment with the changes that had occurred in the content of -consciousness during the causal episode, it would also seem that the -subconscious process was a reproduction in subconscious terms of -substantially the whole original mental episode. This conclusion is -fortified by the following additional facts: In many experiments of this -kind, if the subject’s face be watched during the visualization, it will -be observed that _it shows the same play of features as is displayed by -the vision face_,[94] and the visualizer at the same moment _experiences -the same emotion as is expressed by the features of the vision -face_,[95] and sometimes knows “what her [my] vision self is thinking -about.” In other words, _in particular instances_, sometimes the -feelings alone and sometimes both the thoughts and feelings expressed in -pantomime in the hallucination arise at the same moment in -consciousness. This would seem to indicate that the same processes which -determined the mimetic play of features in the _hallucination_ were -determining at the same moment the same play in the features of the -visualizer, and that these processes were a subconscious memory of -substantially all the original perceptions and thoughts. That is to say, -this memory in such cases remains sometimes entirely subconscious and -sometimes emerges into consciousness. The hallucination is simply a -projected visualization induced by what is taking place subconsciously -in the subject’s mind at the moment. Whether this shall remain entirely -subconscious or shall emerge partially or wholly into consciousness -depends upon psychological conditions peculiar to the subject. - -That even when the thoughts of the causal experience emerge in -consciousness along with the vision a portion of the functioning -complex—e. g., the perceptual elements—may still remain submerged is -shown by the following example: The vision, one of several of the same -kind, portrayed in pantomime an elaborate nocturnal somnambulistic act. -It represented the subject walking in her sleep with eyes closed; then -sitting before the fire in profound and depressing thought; then -joyously dancing; then writing letters, etc., and finally ascending the -stairs, _unconsciously dropping one of the letters from her hand on the -way_,[96] and returning to bed. During the visualization the thoughts -and feelings of the vision-self, even the contents of the letters, arose -in the mind of the visualizer whose features and tone of voice betrayed -the feelings. - -The point to be noted in this observation is that the _vision reproduced -as a detail of the somnambulistic act the accidental dropping of a -letter from the hand of the somnambulist who was unaware of the fact_; -it reproduced what was not in conscious experience. How came it that an -act for which there had been no awareness could appear in the vision? -The only explanation is that originally in the somnambulistic state, as -is so commonly observed in hypnotic somnambulism, there was a -subconscious tactual perception (with secondary visual images?) of -dropping the letter and now the memory of this antecedent perception, -functioning subconsciously, induced this detail of the vision. The -general conclusion then would seem to be justified that this -hallucination was determined by a fairly large complex of antecedent -somnambulistic experiences of which a part emerged as the hallucination -and the thoughts of the somnambulist into consciousness, and a part—the -tactual and other perceptions—remained submerged as the subconscious -process. How much more may have been contained in this process the facts -do not enable us to determine. - -An examination, then, of even the more simple artificial hallucinations -discloses that underlying them there is a residual process which is -quite an extensive subconscious memory of antecedent thoughts, -perceptions and affective experiences. Whether this memory is only an -unconscious functioning neurogram or whether it is also a coconscious -memory, or partly both, cannot be determined from the data.[97] The -bearing of these results upon the interpretation of _insane -hallucinations_ is obvious. - -Our examination of subconscious processes in the two classes of -phenomena thus far studied—post-hypnotic phenomena and artificial -hallucinations—permits the following general conclusions: First, there -is positive evidence to show that in some instances, in their intrinsic -nature, they are coconscious. In other instances, in the absence of such -evidence, it is permissible to regard them as unconscious. Second, that -in the quality of the functions performed they frequently exhibit that -which is characteristic of Intelligence. This characteristic will be -seen to be still more pronounced in the phenomena which we shall next -study. - ------ - -Footnote 72: - - I forbear to enter into the question of the nature of consciousness - and matter. In the last analysis, matter and mind probably are to be - identified as different manifestations of one and the same - principle—the doctrine of monism—call it psychical, spiritual, or - material, or energy, as you like, according to your fondness for - names. For our purpose it is not necessary to touch this philosophical - problem as we are dealing only with specific biological experiences. - -Footnote 73: - - Also quite commonly termed the Subconscious. Unfortunately the term - unconscious, as noun or adjective, is used in two senses, viz., (1) - pertaining to unawareness (for example, I am unconscious of such and - such a thing), and (2) in the sense of not having the psychological - attribute of consciousness, i.e., non-conscious. - - In the first sense the adjective is used, as in the phrase - “unconscious process” to define a process of which we are unaware - without connotation as to whether it is a psychological process or a - brain process; also the noun (The Unconscious) is used to signify - something not in awareness regardless of whether that something is - psychological or not; on the other hand, as an adjective it is also - used, as in the phrase “unconscious ideas,” to specifically signify - real ideas of which we are unaware. - - In the second sense, as noun or adjective, it is used to denote - specifically brain residua or processes, which, of course, are devoid - of consciousness. With this interchange of meaning the term is apt to - be confusing and is lacking in precision. _In the text unconscious - will be used always with the second meaning, unless inverted commas or - the context plainly indicate the first meaning._ (Cf. Lecture VIII, - pp. 248-254). - -Footnote 74: - - Also termed by some writers _unconscious_. (See preceding footnote.) - -Footnote 75: - - Pierre Janet: L’automatisme psychologique, Paris, 1889, and numerous - other works. - -Footnote 76: - - Not included in this volume. - -Footnote 77: - - Cf. Prince: The Dissociation; also A Symposium on the Subconscious, - _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, June-July, 1907; Experiments to - Determine Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideation, _Journal of Abnormal - Psychology_, April-May, 1908; Experiments in Psycho-Galvanic Reactions - from Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideas in a Case of Multiple - Personality, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, June-July, 1908; The - Subconscious [_Rapports et Comptes Rendus, 6me Congrès International - de Psychologie_, 1909]; also, My Life as a Dissociated Personality, by - B. C. A., _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, October-November, 1908. - -Footnote 78: - - The value of subconscious personalities for this purpose has been - overlooked, owing, I suppose, to such conditions being unusual and - bizarre, and the assumption that they have little in common with - ordinary subconscious processes. But it ought to be obvious that _in - principle_ it makes little difference whether a subconscious system is - constellated into a large self-conscious system called a personality, - or whether it is restricted to a system limited to a few particular - coconscious ideas. In the former case the possibilities of its - interfering with the personal consciousness may be more extended and - more influential, that is all. - -Footnote 79: - - Of course, from a practical (clinical) point of view, it is of no - consequence whether given phenomena are induced by coconscious or - unconscious processes; the individual is not aware of either. Let me - answer, however, a strange objection that has been made to such an - inquiry. It has been objected that as it makes no practical difference - whether the subconscious process, which induces a given phenomenon, is - coconscious or unconscious, and as in many given cases it is difficult - or impossible to determine the question, therefore, that such - inquiries are useless. Plainly such an objection only concerns applied - science, not science itself. It concerns only the practicing physician - who deals solely with reactions. Likewise it makes no difference to - the practicing chemist whether some atoms are positive and some - negative ions, and whether on further analysis they are systems of - electrons, and whether, again, electrons are points of electricity. - The practical chemist deals only with reactions. Such questions, - however, having to do with the ultimate nature of matter are of the - highest interest to science. Likewise the nature of subconscious - processes is of the highest interest to psychological science. - -Footnote 80: - - I have passed over the classical hysterical phenomena as they open a - very large subject which needs a special treatment by itself. The - subconscious processes underlying them, so far as they have been - determined, are, as I have explained, admittedly coconscious, though - some may be in part unconscious. They are too complicated to be - entered into here. - -Footnote 81: - - Prince: Experiments to Determine Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideation, - _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, April-May, 1908. - -Footnote 82: - - Among these I might mention the names of a dozen or more well-known - psychologists and physicians of experience and repute who have - observed one or both of these cases. Through the kindness of Dr. G. A. - Waterman I have had an opportunity to investigate a third case, one of - his patients, who described similar coconscious “pictures” - accompanying certain impulsive conscious acts. The pictures, when of - persons, were described as “life size,” and were likened to those of a - cinematograph. Also, as with one of my cases, suggested post-hypnotic - actions were accompanied by such coconscious pictures representing in - successive stages the act to be performed. An analysis of both the - impulsive and the suggested phenomena seemed to clearly show that the - pictures emerged from a deeper lying submerged process induced by the - residuum of a dream and of the suggestion, respectively. - -Footnote 83: - - Cf. Lecture IV. These coconscious pictures are so varied and occur in - so many relations that they need to be studied by themselves. - -Footnote 84: - - This, of course, so far as she could determine from the data of - memory. The more correct interpretation probably is that the thoughts - of the “secondary consciousness” were supplied by a still deeper - underlying subconscious process, certain elements of which emerged as - dissociated conscious states (not in the focus of attention). This - same process probably was the real agent in doing the actual - translation, and later thrust the necessary data into awareness in - such fashion that the translation seemed to be performed consciously. - If all the required data is supplied to consciousness the problem is - thereby done. - -Footnote 85: - - The subject here, of course, refers not to experimental but to - spontaneous solutions. When experimentally performed the whole problem - was solved subconsciously. Furthermore, a memory of a detail of this - kind of remote experiences obviously would not be reliable, but only - immediately after an experience. In fact, spontaneous solutions - sometimes occurred entirely subconsciously. (Cf. Lecture VII.) In the - experimental calculation experiments the solution is made - subconsciously in accordance with the prescribed conditions of the - experiment. In other observations on this subject the coconscious - pictures represented past experiences of the subject, much as do - crystal visions, and suggest that these past experiences were - functioning unconsciously. - -Footnote 86: - - Prince: Some of the Present Problems of Abnormal Psychology, Congress - of Arts and Sciences, St. Louis, 1904, V. 5, p. 770. - -Footnote 87: - - Practically similar conditions I have found in B. C. A., and Miss B., - though described by the subjects in different phraseology. - -Footnote 88: - - For instance, to take a sensational example, on one occasion in the - midst of hilarity while singing, laughing, etc., she suddenly became - depressed and burst into tears. What happened was this: It was a - sorrowful anniversary, and in the “lower stratum” sad memories had - been recurring during the period of hilarity. These memories had come - into consciousness early in the morning, but she had resolutely put - them out of her mind. They had, however, kept recurring in the lower - stratum, and suddenly emerged into the upper stratum of consciousness - with the startling effect described. More commonly, however, the - emergence of the lower stratum is simply a shifting play of thought. - It is interesting to note that censored thoughts and temptations are - apt to go into the lower stratum and here with their affects continue - at play. _These sometimes reappear as dreams._ - -Footnote 89: - - The validity of the evidence of memory as applied to subconscious - processes needs to be carefully weighed. It is a question of method, - and if the method is fallacious all conclusions fall to the ground. In - the sciences of normal psychology and psychiatry and psychopathology, - the data given by memory are and necessarily must be relied upon to - furnish a knowledge of the content of mental processes and the mental - symptoms, and all methods of psychological analysis are based on the - data of memory. Without such data there could be no such sciences. As - a matter of experience the method is found to be reliable when - properly checked by multiple observations. If by special methods of - technique mental processes, which do not enter the awareness of the - moment, are later brought into consciousness as data of memory, are - these data _per contra_ to be rejected as hallucinatory? This is what - their rejection would mean. Now, as a fact, there are phenomena, like - coconscious personalities, which compel the postulation of coconscious - processes. If this is the case, if there are coconscious processes - which do not enter awareness, it would be the strangest thing if there - were not conditions of the personality in which a memory of these - processes could be obtained. This fact would have to be explained. The - bringing of coconscious processes into consciousness as data of memory - does not seem therefore to be anything _a priori_ improbable and there - would seem to be no reason why the memory of them should be more - unreliable than that of conscious processes in the forms of attention. - Indeed, if the fringe of consciousness be regarded as coconscious, it - is an every-day act common to everybody. Such data necessarily should - be checked up by multiple observations. - -Footnote 90: - - For examples of this kind, see Prince, Experiments to Determine - Coconscious Ideation, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, April-May, - 1908. - -Footnote 91: - - The Dissociation, pp. 55, 56. - -Footnote 92: - - It is only necessary to close one’s eyes, then grimace and move one’s - limbs to become conscious of these secondary images which picture each - movement of the features, etc. - -Footnote 93: - - The mechanism is probably not quite so simple as this, probably past - visual perceptions of self and the environment took part, so that the - vision was a fusion or composite of these older primary images and the - secondary images. The principle of mechanism, however, would not be - affected by this added element. Sidis (The Doctrine of Primary and - Secondary Sensory Elements, _Psych. Rev._, January-March, 1908) has - maintained that all hallucinations are the emerging of the secondary - images of previous perceptions. If, on the other hand, the vision be - interpreted as something fabricated by the subconscious process—as - must be the case with some hallucinations—then this process must have - been much more complicated than memory. Something akin at least to - constructive imagination and intelligence that translated the - experiences into visual terms. - -Footnote 94: - - That is to say, as described by the visualizer. - -Footnote 95: - - Cf. The Dissociation, pp. 211-220. - -Footnote 96: - - At this point the subject watching the vision remarked, “I drop one of - the letters, but I do not know I have done so.” In other words, - conscious of the content of the somnambulist’s consciousness, the - visualizer knows that there is no awareness of this act. The letter - was afterward found by the servant on the stairs. - -Footnote 97: - - Coconscious ideas may provoke hallucinations. (For examples consult - “Hallucinations” in Index to The Dissociation.) - - - - - LECTURE VII - SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE - (Continued) - - -III. _Subconscious intelligence underlying spontaneous -hallucinations._—Spontaneous hallucinations often offer opportunities to -study subconscious processes exhibiting constructive intelligence. -Although properly belonging to clinical phenomena, they often can be so -clearly related to an antecedent experience as to allow us to determine -the causal factor with the same exactness as in the experimental type, -and, therefore, to infer the connecting subconscious link with equal -probability. Some of these spontaneous visions indicate that the -subconscious link must be of considerable complexity and equivalent to -logical processes of reasoning, volition, and purposive intelligence. -Sometimes the same subconscious processes which fabricate the vision -determine also other processes of conscious thought and movements. - -In illustration I may cite an incident in the life of Miss B., which I -have previously described: - - “Miss B., as a child, frequently had visions of the Madonna and - Christ, and used to believe that she had actually seen them. It was - her custom when in trouble, if it was only a matter of her school - lessons, or something that she had lost, to resort to prayer. Then she - would be apt to have a vision of Christ. The vision never spoke, but - sometimes made signs to her, and the expression of His face made her - feel _that all was well_. After the vision passed she felt that her - difficulties were removed, and if it was a bothersome lesson which she - had been unable to understand it all became intelligible at once. Or, - if it was something that she had lost, _she at once went to the spot - where it was_.”... [For example, while under observation.] "Miss B. - had lost a bank check and was much troubled concerning it. For five - days she had made an unsuccessful hunt for it, systematically going - through everything in her room. She remembered distinctly placing the - check between the leaves of a book, when some one knocked at her door, - and this was the last she saw of the check. She had become very much - troubled about the matter, and in consequence, after going to bed that - night she was unable to sleep, and rose several times to make a - further hunt. Finally, at 3 o’clock in the morning, she went to bed - and fell asleep. At 4 o’clock she woke with the consciousness of a - presence in the room. She arose, and in a moment saw a vision of - Christ, who did not speak, but smiled. She at once felt, as she used - to, _that everything was well_, and that the vision foretold that she - should find the check. All her anxiety left her at once. The figure - retreated toward the bureau, but the thought flashed into her mind - that the lost check was in the drawer of her desk. A search, however, - showed that it was not there. She then walked automatically to the - bureau, opened the top drawer, took out some stuff upon which she had - been sewing, unfolded it, and there was the check along with one or - two other papers. - - “Neither Miss B. nor BII [hypnosis] has any memory of any specific - thought which directed her to open the drawer and take out her sewing, - nor of any conscious idea that the check was there. Rather, she did - it, so far as her consciousness goes, automatically, as she used to do - automatic writing.”[98] - -Further investigation revealed the fact that the money had been put away -absent-mindedly and “unconsciously”; in hypnosis the memory of this act -was recovered. - -In this observation we have two so-called automatic phenomena of -different types—one a sensory automatism, the vision, the other a motor -automatism or actions leading to the finding of the money. The motor -acts being automatic were necessarily determined by subconscious -processes and plainly required a knowledge of the hiding-place. This -knowledge also plainly must have been conserved in the unconscious and -now, in answer to her wish to find the lost money, acting as a -subconscious process, fulfilled her wish in a practical way. - -The vision was of Christ smiling. Seeing it the subject at once “felt -that all was well,” and her anxiety vanished. It was plainly therefore a -fabricated visual symbolism though one which she had frequently before -experienced. It may be taken as a message sent by subconscious processes -to her anxious consciousness and it is not too much to say had a -purposive meaning, viz., to allay her anxiety. The question is, What was -the causal factor which determined this symbolism? Logically it is a -compulsory inference that the same conserved knowledge and subconscious -processes, which eventuated in the motor automatisms, must have been the -causal factor that determined the visual symbolism which carried the -reassuring message to consciousness. This subconscious knowledge first -allayed her anxiety and then proceeded to answer her problem of the -whereabouts of the lost money. More specifically, the primary causal -factor was the preceding anxious wish to find the money; the resulting -phenomena were the sensory and motor automatisms, allaying the anxiety -and fulfilling the wish; _between the two as connecting links were -subconscious processes of an intelligent, purposive, volitional -character which first fabricated a visual symbolism as a message to -consciousness and then made use of the conserved knowledge of her -previous absent-minded act to solve her problem_. The subconscious -process as a whole we thus see was of quite a complicated character. In -this example it is impossible to determine from the data at hand whether -the subconscious process was coconscious or unconscious. - -The observation which I have elsewhere described as “an hallucination -from the subconscious”[99] is an excellent example of an intelligent -subconscious process indicative of judgment and purpose. The -hallucination occurred in my presence as a result of an antecedent -experience for which I was a moment before responsible. It was therefore -of the nature of an experiment and the causal factor was known. The -antecedent experience consisted of certain remarks and behavior of the -subject while under the influence of an illusion during a dissociated -state for which there was subsequent amnesia. The vision was of a friend -whose face was sad, as of one who had been injured, and seemed to -reproach her. At the same moment she heard his voice which said, “How -could you have betrayed me?” The hallucinatory words and the visual -image were in no sense a reproduction of the causal, i.e., antecedent, -experience. They were the expression of a _subconscious self-reproach_ -in consequence of that experience. This reproach connoted a subconscious -belief or logical judgment, drawn from the experience, that she had -broken a promise.[100] It was a subconscious reaction to a subconscious -belief. I say both the reproach and the judgment were subconscious -because, in the dissociated state, owing to the illusion, and in the -normal after-state owing to the amnesia, she was entirely ignorant of -having done anything that could be construed into breaking a promise. -This interpretation of the episode must therefore have been entirely -subconscious. The self-reproach emerged into consciousness but -translated into visual and auditory hallucinations. These were plainly a -condemnatory message sent from the subconscious to the personal -consciousness and might aptly be termed “the prickings of a subconscious -conscience.” The primary causal factor was simply certain statements -(conserved in the unconscious) made to me by the subject and for which -afterwards there was amnesia. Intervening between this antecedent -experience and the resulting hallucinatory phenomena a subconscious -process must be postulated as a necessary connecting link. This process -plainly involved memory and an intelligent judgment, an emotional -reaction, and an expression of this judgment and reaction translated -into hallucinatory phenomena. Apparently also a distinct purpose to -upbraid the personality was manifested. - -The accounts of _sudden religious conversion_ are full of instances of -hallucinations occurring at the time of the “crisis” and these—visions -and voices—are often logical symbolisms of antecedent thoughts of the -subject. By analogy with similar experimental phenomena we are compelled -to interpret them in the same way and postulate these antecedent -experiences as the causal factors. If this postulation is sound then the -connecting subconscious link is often a quite complicated process of an -intelligent character. - -In one instance in which the occurrence was similar in principle to -sudden religious conversion I was able to determine beyond question the -causal antecedents of the hallucinatory phenomenon. I will not repeat -the details here;[101] suffice it to say that the hallucination, -consisting of a vision and an auditory message from the subject’s -deceased husband (see p. 40), answered the doubts and scruples with -which the subject had been previously tormented. It was a logical answer -calculated to allay distressing memories against which she had been -fighting, “the old ideas of dissatisfaction with life, the feelings of -injury, bitterness, and rebellion against fate and the ‘kicking against -the pricks’ which these memories evoked.” It expressed previously -entertained ideas which she had tried to accept but without success. The -exposition of this answer in the _hallucinatory symbolism_ required a -subconscious process involving considerable reasoning. _The phenomenon -as a whole was a message addressed to her own consciousness by -subconscious processes to answer her doubts and anxious questionings of -herself, and to settle the conflict going on in her mind._ The logical -connection between the different elements of this hallucination and -certain antecedent experiences which had harassed the subject are so -close that there is no room left for doubting that these experiences -were the causal factors. And so I might analyze a large number of -spontaneous hallucinations wherein you would find the same evidence for -subconscious processes _showing intelligent constructive imagination, -reasoning, volition, and purposive effort_, and expressing themselves in -automatisms which either solve a disturbing problem or carry to fruition -a subconscious purpose. - -I offer no excuse for multiplying these observations of hallucinatory -phenomena, even at the expense of tedious repetition, for such studies -give an insight into the mechanism of the hallucinations met with in the -insanities and other pathological states. They offer, too, an insight -into the basic process involved in dreams as these are a type of -hallucinatory phenomena. It is by a study of hallucinations -experimentally created, and others where we are in a position to know -the causal factors, that we can learn the mechanisms underlying similar -phenomena occurring in normal pathological conditions. As a rule in the -latter conditions it is difficult to determine beyond question the true -causal factors and, therefore, the particular subconscious processes -involved. Such phenomena as I have presented justify the conclusion of -the “new psychology” that the _hallucinations of the insane_ are not -haphazard affairs but the resultant of subconscious processes evoked by -antecedent experiences. In conclusion, then, we may say that _in -artificial hallucinations as experimentally conducted, and in certain -spontaneous hallucinations, we have two known factors; the causal factor -(the antecedent experience) and the hallucinatory phenomenon—the effect. -Intervening between the two is an inferred subconscious process of -considerable complexity which is required to explain the causal -connection_. With the exact mechanism of hallucinatory phenomena we are -not at present concerned, but only with the evidence of the actuality of -a subconscious process, of its character as an intelligence, and with -its intrinsic nature. - -As to the last problem it is plain that further investigations are -required and that the methods at present at our disposal for its -solution leave much to be desired. All things considered a conservative -summing up would be that the subconscious process may be both -coconscious and unconscious. - -IV. _Subconscious intelligence underlying dreams._ As is well known, -Freud advanced the theory, now well fortified by numerous observations -of others, that underlying a dream is a subconscious process which -fabricates the conscious dream. According to Freud and his followers -this subconscious process is always an antecedent wish and the dream is -an imaginary fulfillment of that wish. This part of the theory (as well -as the universality of an underlying process) is decidedly questionable. -My own observations lead me to believe that a dream may be also the -expression of antecedent doubts, scruples, anxieties, etc., or may be an -answer to an unsolved problem. We need not concern ourselves with this -particular question here. I refer to it simply to point out that its -correct solution depends upon the correct determination of the true -causal factor which is necessarily antecedently unknown and must be -inferred. It is inferred or selected from the associated memories evoked -by the so-called method of analysis. Hence it must be always an element -open to greater or less doubt. _Dreams are a type of hallucinatory -phenomena_ and therefore we should expect that their mechanism would -correspond more or less closely with that of other hallucinatory -phenomena. - -With the object in view of determining whether a dream could be produced -_experimentally_ and brought within the category of phenomena where the -causal factor was antecedently known, and thus determine the actuality -of a subconscious process as a necessary intervening link between the -two, I made the following experiment. It should be noted that a wish -_fulfilment_ necessarily means a dream content so far different in form -from the content of the _wish itself_ that the postulation of a -connecting link, conscious or subconscious, is required. I also sought, -if a subconscious process could be postulated, to discover how elaborate -and what sort of a work of constructive imagination a subconscious wish -could evolve. - -To a suitable subject while in a deep hypnotic trance state I gave a -suggestion in the form of a wish to be worked out to fulfilment in a -dream. It so happened that this subject was going through a period of -stress and strain for which she sought relief. I also knew that she had -a very strong desire to do a good piece of original psychological work -and had advised her to take up the work as a solution of her -difficulties. So, taking advantage of this desire, I impressed upon her, -for the purpose of emphasizing the impulsive force of the desire, that -she now had the longed-for opportunity as the culmination of her -previous years of training to do the work. I then gave her the following -suggestion: “You want to do a good piece of original work and your dream -to-night will be the fulfillment of the wish.” No hint as to what form -the dream fulfilment should take was given, nor had she any knowledge -before being put into the trance state that I intended to make an -experiment. - -It is interesting to note how the dream has a logical form which is -unfolded as an argument. This itself is an allegorical transcript of the -reasons previously suggested to her for the particular solution of her -problem. - -The dream was a long one and into it were logically introduced as a part -of the argument the actual distressing circumstances for the relief of -which I had advised taking up the piece of psychological work as an -outlet to her feelings and solution of her problem of life. I will give -in detail only so much of the dream as contains the wish fulfilment -(which became also a part of the dream argument), summarizing the -remainder. The dream begins with an allegorical description of the great -task involved in the study of psychology by all the workers of the -world. The science of psychology is symbolized by a temple. “I dreamed I -was where they were building a great temple or cathedral; an enormous -place covering many acres of ground. Hundreds of men were building. Some -were building spires, some were building foundations, and some were -tearing down what they had built, some parts had fallen down of -themselves. I was wandering around looking on.” Then she proceeds to -help one of the builders who was building a particular part of the -temple by bringing him material in the form of stones. This she had -actually done, in real life, contributing much psychological material -out of her own experiences. Many of these experiences had been very -intimate ones from her inner life and had involved much suffering; hence -the stones which she contributed in her dream were big and heavy and -were beyond her strength to carry, so that she could only roll them,—and -some were sharp and made her hands bleed, so that her contribution -involved much suffering. This part of the dream was not only a prelude -to the suggested wish fulfilment but, as interpreted, contained a wish -fulfilment in itself. - -Then there was interjected an allegorical but very accurate description -of the distressing circumstances to which I have referred and for which, -as a problem of life, the suggested work was advised as a solution. Then -logically followed the wish fulfilment and solution. She heard the voice -of the builder whom she had been helping say to her, “‘Now, here are all -the materials and you must build a temple of your own,’ and I [she] -said, ‘I cannot,’ and he said, ‘you can, and I will help you.’ So I -began to build the stones I had taken him. It was hard work, but I kept -on, and a most beautiful temple grew up.... All the stones were very -brilliant in color, but each one was stained with a drop of blood that -came from a wound in my heart. And the temple grew up; and I handled all -the stones; but somehow the temple grew up of itself and lots of people -were coming from all directions to look at it, and someone, who seemed -to be William James, said, ‘It is the most valuable part of the temple,’ -and I felt very proud....’” After another interjection of the -distressing problem of her life just alluded to, the dream ends with the -figure of “a beautiful shining angel with golden spreading wings and the -word ‘Hope’ written on his forehead.” This figure “spread his lovely -wings and rose right up through the temple and became the top of the -spire, a gorgeous shining figure of Hope.”[102] - -After this dream was obtained the subject, who had no knowledge that any -suggestion had been given to induce the dream, was told to analyze the -dream herself by the method of associative memories. As is customary in -the use of this method, in which she had had considerable experience, -the memories associated with each element of the dream were obtained. -These memories all led back directly to her interest in psychology and -desire to contribute some original work, and to her own life’s -experiences. Every one of the dream-elements (temple, spires, -foundations, stones, bleeding hands, drop of blood from the wound in her -heart, etc.) evoked associative memories which justified the inference -that these elements were symbolisms of past experiences or of -constructive imagination. - -That this dream was determined by, and the explicit imaginary fulfilment -of the antecedent wish made use of in the experiment and motivated by -the suggestion would seem to be conclusively shown. - -If, then, in any case a causal relation between an antecedent wish and -its dream fulfilment exists, it follows that there must be some link -between that wish experienced in the past and the present dream -fulfilment, some mode, mechanism, or process by which a past thought, -without entering consciousness, can continue to its own fulfilment in a -conscious work of the imagination, the dream. I say without entering -consciousness because the original specific thought-wish does not appear -in the dream consciousness, which is only the fulfilment. The phenomenon -as a whole is also inexplicable unless there was some motivating factor -or force which determined the form of the dream just as in conscious -fabrication and argument “we” consciously motivate and arrange the form -of the product. The only logical and intelligible inference is that the -_original wish_, becoming reawakened (by the preceding suggestion) -during sleep, _continued to function outside of the dream consciousness, -as a motivating and directing subconscious process_. - -But what was the content of this process, and to what extent can its -elements be correlated with those of the dream? The experimental data of -this dream do not afford an answer to this question. (Those of the -observation I shall next give will permit a deeper insight into the -character and content of their process.) It is a reasonable inference, -however, inasmuch as the different elements of the dream—temple, stones, -etc., the material out of which it is constructed—are found to be -logical symbolizations of their associative memories, that these -memories took part in the subconscious process and consequently may be -correlated with their dream-symbols. In other words the content of the -subconscious process was more than a wish, or wish neurogram, it -included a large complex of memories of diverse experiences that can be -recognized through their symbolizations in the dream. This complex, -motivated by a particular wish, fabricated the dream, just as in the -hallucinations I have cited an underlying process fabricated the -hallucination as a symbolic expression of a subconscious judgment, -self-reproach, etc. To do this a process that must be termed a -_subconscious intelligence_ was required. The dream was an allegory, a -product of constructive imagination in the logical form of an argument, -and if constructed by an underlying process the latter must have had the -same characteristics.[103] - -This experimental dream confirms therefore the general principle -formulated by Freud from the analysis of dreams in which the causal -factor is an inferred wish. It is likewise on the assumption of my -having correctly inferred this factor that I have insisted that a dream -may be a fabricated expression of thoughts other than wishes or may be -the solution of an unsolved problem. In this last case _the dream -phenomena and mechanism seem to be analogous in every way to the -subconscious solution of mathematical problems_ which I have already -described. In such and other cases the subconscious process would seem -to be a continuation and elaboration of the antecedent suggested -problem. - -In dreams, then, or, as we should strictly limit ourselves for the -present to saying, _in certain dreams_, there are, as Freud first -showed, two processes; one is the conscious dream, the other is a -subconscious process which is the actuated residuum of a previous -experience and determines the dream.[104] It would be going beyond the -scope of our subject to enter into a full exposition of this -interpretation at this time and I must refer you for a discussion of the -dream problem to works devoted to the subject. - -We have not, of course, touched the further problem of the _How_: how a -subconscious intelligence induces a conscious dream which is not an -emergence of the elements of that intelligence into self-consciousness, -but a symbolization of them. This is a problem which still awaits -solution. From certain data at hand it seems likely that so far as -concerns the hallucinatory perceptual elements of a dream they can be -accounted for as the _emergence of the secondary images_ pertaining to -the subconscious “ideas.” - -The following observation is an _example of subconscious versification -and_ also of _constructive imagination_. It also, I think, gives an -insight into the character and content of the underlying process which -constructs a dream. I give the observation in the subject’s own words: - - "I woke suddenly some time between three and four in the morning. I - was perfectly wide awake and conscious of my surroundings but for a - short time—perhaps two or three minutes—I could not move, and I saw - this vision which I recognized as such. - - "The end of my room seemed to have disappeared, and I looked out into - boundless space. It looked misty but bright, as if the sun was shining - behind a light fog. There were shifting wisps of fog blowing lightly - about, and these wisps seemed to gather into the forms of a man and a - woman. The figures were perfectly clear and lifelike—I recognized them - both. The man was dressed in dark every-day clothes, the woman in - rather flowing black; her face was partly hidden on his breast; one - arm was laid around his neck; both his arms were around her, and he - was looking down at her, smiling very tenderly. They seemed to be - surrounded by a sort of rosy atmosphere; a large, very bright star was - above their heads—not in the heavens, but just over them; tall rose - bushes heavy with red roses in full bloom grew up about them, and the - falling petals were heaped up around their feet. Then the man bent his - head and kissed her. - - "The vision was extraordinarily clear and I thought I would write it - down at once. I turned on the light by my bedside, took pencil and - paper lying there and wrote, as I supposed, _practically what I have - written here_. I then got up, was up some minutes, went back to bed, - and after a while to sleep. The clock struck four soon after getting - back into bed. I do not think I experienced any emotion at the moment - of seeing the vision, but after writing it down I did. - - "The next morning I picked up the paper to read over what I had - written and was amazed at the language and the rhythm. This is what I - had written: - - "‘Last night I waked from sleep quite suddenly, - And though my brain was clear my limbs were tranced. - Beyond the walls of my familiar room - I gazed outward into luminous space. - Before my staring eyes two forms took shape, - Vague, shadowy, slowly gathering from the mists, - Until I saw before me, you—my Love! - And folded to your breast in close embrace - Was she, that other, whom I may not name. - A rosy light bathed you in waves of love; - Above your heads there shone a glowing star; - Red roses shed their leaves about your feet. - And as I gazed with eyes that could not weep - You bent your head and laid your lips on hers. - And my rent soul’ ... [Apparently unfinished.] - - “The thoughts were the same as my conscious thoughts had been—the - vision was well described—but the language was entirely different from - anything I had thought, and the writing expressed the emotion which I - had not consciously experienced in seeing the vision, but which (I - have since learned) I had felt during the dream, and which I did - consciously feel _after_ writing. When I wrote I meant simply to state - the facts of the vision.”[105] - -The subject was unable to give any explanation of the vision or of the -composition of the verse. She rarely remembers her dreams and had no -memory of any dream the night of this vision. By hypnotic procedure, -however, I was able to recover memories of a dream which occurred just -before she woke up. It appeared that in the dream she was wandering in a -great open space and saw this “picture in a thin mist. The mist seemed -to blow apart” and disclosed the “picture” which was identical with the -vision. At the climax of the dream picture the dreamer experienced an -intense emotion well described in the verse by the unfinished phrase, -“My rent soul...” The dreamer “shrieked, and fell on the ground on her -face, and grew cold from head to foot and waked up.” - -The vision after waking, then, was a repetition of a preceding _dream_ -vision and we may safely assume that it was fabricated by the same -underlying process which fabricated the dream, this process repeating -itself after waking. - -So far the phenomenon was one which is fairly common. Now when we come -to examine the automatically written script we find it has a number of -significant characteristics. (1) It describes a conscious episode, (2) -As a literary effort for one who is not a poetical writer it is fairly -well written and probably quite as good verse as the subject can -consciously write; (3) It expresses the mental attitude, sentiments and -emotions experienced in the dream but not at the time of the vision. -_These had also been antecedent experiences_; (4) Both the central ideas -of the verse and the vision symbolically represented certain antecedent -presentiments of the future; (5) The script gives of the vision an -interpretation which was not consciously in mind at the moment of -writing. - -Now, inasmuch as these sentiments and interpretations were not in the -conscious mind at the moment of writing, the script _suggests_ that the -process that wrote it was not simply a subconscious memory of the vision -but the same process which fabricated the dream. Indeed, the phenomenon -is open to the suspicion that this same process expresses the same ideas -in verbal symbolism as a substitution for the hallucinatory symbolism. -To determine this point, an effort was made to recover by technical -methods memories of this process; that is to determine what wrote the -verse and by what sort of a process. The following was brought out: - -1. The script was written automatically. The subject thought she was -writing certain words and expressing certain thoughts and did not -perceive that she was writing different words. “Something seemed to -prevent her seeing the words she wrote.” There were two trains of -“thought.” - -2. The “thoughts” of the verse were in her “subconscious mind.”[106] -These “thoughts” (also described as “words”) were not logically arranged -or as written in the verse, but “sort of tumbled together—mixed up a -little.” “They were not like the thoughts one thinks in _composing_ a -verse.” There did not seem to be any attempt at selection from the -thoughts or words. No evidence could be elicited to show that the -composing was done here. - -3. Concurrently with these subconscious, mixed-up thoughts coconscious -“images” of the words of the verse came just at the moment of writing -them down. The images were bright, printed words. Sometimes one or two -words would come at a time and sometimes a whole line. - -In other words all happened _as if_ there was a deeper underlying -process which did the composing and from this process certain thoughts -without logical order emerged to form a subconscious stream and after -the composing was done the words of the verse emerged as coconscious -images as they were to be written. This underlying process, then, -“automatically” did the writing and the composing. Hence it seemed to -the subject even when remembering in hypnosis the subconscious thoughts -and images that both were done unconsciously. - -As to whether this underlying process was the same as that which -fabricated the dream and the hallucination, the evidence, albeit -circumstantial, would seem to render this almost certain. In the first -place the verse was only a poetical arrangement of the subconscious -thoughts disclosed; the vision was an obvious symbolic expression or -visual representation of the same thoughts (that is, of course, of those -concerned with the subject matter of the vision). The only difference -would seem to be in the form of the expression—verbal and visual imagery -respectively.[107] In the second place the vision was an exact -repetition of the dream vision. It is not at all rare to find certain -phenomena of dreams (visual, motor, sensory, etc.) repeating themselves -after waking.[108] This can only be explained by the subconscious -repetition of the dream process. Consequently we are compelled to infer -the same subconscious process underlying the dream-vision. More than -this, it was possible to trace these thoughts back to antecedent -experiences of the dreamer, so that in the last analysis the -dream-vision, waking-vision, and poetical expression of the vision could -be related with almost certainty to the same antecedent experiences as -the causal factors. - -Certain conclusions then seem compulsory: underlying the dream, vision, -and script was a subconscious process in which the fundamental factors -were the same. As this process showed itself capable of poetical -composition, constructive imagination, volition, memory, and affectivity -it was a _subconscious intelligence_. - -As to its intrinsic nature—coconscious or unconscious—according to the -evidence at least the process that wrote the script contained conscious -elements—the coconscious thoughts and images. - -We may assume the same for the dream and the vision. As to the mechanism -of the vision it is quite conceivable, not to say probable, that, -corresponding to the coconscious images of the printed words during the -writing, there were similar images of the vision scene (both in the -dream and the waking state), but these _instead of remaining coconscious -emerged into consciousness to be the vision_.[109] Whether the still -deeper underlying process was conscious or unconscious could not be -determined by any evidence accessible and must be a matter of -hypothesis. - -The chief importance that attaches to this observation, it seems to me, -is the insight it gives into the character of the underlying process of -a dream. If the conclusions I have drawn are sound, then the -subconscious process which determines the conscious dream may be what is -actually an _intelligence_ and it matters not whether a coconscious or -unconscious one. This seems to me to be a conclusion fraught with the -highest significance for the theory of dreams and hallucinatory -phenomena in general. Of course we all know well enough that dissociated -subconscious processes may be intelligent and influence the content of -the personal consciousness, as witness coconscious personalities. If the -underlying process of a dream may be something akin to such a -personality, something capable of reasoning, imagination and volition, -it renders intelligible the fundamental principle of the Freudian theory -of a double process—the “latent” and “manifest” dream. One of the -difficulties in the general acceptance of this theory has been, I think, -the difficulty of conceiving a subconscious process—the “latent -dream”—capable of the intelligent fabrication of a “manifest” dream -phantasy which is a cryptic symbolization of the subject’s thoughts. -Such a fabrication has all the earmarks of purpose, fore-thought and -constructive imagination. But if this underlying process can be -identified, even though it be in a single case, with such an -intelligence as that which wrote the poetical script we have studied, it -is plainly quite capable of fabricating the wildest dream phantasy. - -I have suggested that the _subconscious intelligence_ may be _comparable -to the phenomenon of a coconscious personality_. It is worth noting in -this connection that in the case of Miss B. the coconscious personality, -Sally, who claimed to be awake while Miss B. was dreaming, also claimed -that Miss B. sometimes dreamed about what Sally was thinking of at the -moment.[110] In other words, the thoughts of a large systematized -coconscious intelligence determined the dream just as these thoughts -sometimes emerged into Miss B.’s mind when awake. That a coconscious -personality may persist awake while the principal personality is asleep -I have been able to demonstrate in another case (B. C. A.). It was also -noted in Dr. Barrows’ case of Anna Winsor. Moreover, Sally was shown to -be a persistent, sane coconsciousness while Miss B. was delirious and -also while she was apparently deeply etherized and unconscious.[111] -After all it is difficult to distinguish _in principle_ the condition of -sleep with a persisting coconsciousness from a state of deep hypnotic -trance where the subject is apparently unconscious. In this condition, -although the waking consciousness has disappeared, there can be shown to -be a persisting “secondary” consciousness which can be communicated with -by automatic writing and which later can exhibit memories of occurrences -in the environment during the hypnotic trance. (B. C. A.) - -What has been said does not touch, of course, the other mechanisms of -the Freudian theory nor the unessential, greatly over-emphasized theory -that the subconscious dream is always a sexual wish. On the contrary, -the principle throws a strong, _a priori_ doubt upon the correctness of -this generalization. It is plainly, however, a matter of fact which -might be easily determined by observation were it not for the difficulty -of correctly referring clinical phenomena to the correct antecedent -experiences as their causal factors. In the last analysis it becomes -always a matter of interpretation. - -=Applied psychology.=—Much has been discovered in recent years regarding -the part played by subconscious processes in the production of normal -and abnormal phenomena. But we do not as yet know the possibilities and -limitations of these processes. We have as yet but an imperfect -knowledge of what they can do, what they can’t do, and what they do do, -and of the mechanisms by which they are called into play and provoke -phenomena. _Many pathological phenomena_ have been shown to be due to -subconscious processes; and it is quite probable that these play an -important part in determining the mental processes of normal life, but -this is still largely theory. In applied psychology and psychopathology -the “subconscious” has been made use of to explain many phenomena with -which we have practically to deal. Assumed as a concept the phenomena -are explained by it with a greater or less degree of probability. In -those _hysterical conditions_ where the subconscious processes have been -shown to be split-off conscious processes, we can often recover memories -of the latter and demonstrate their relation to the hysterical phenomena -by the various technical methods already mentioned. But where this -cannot be done, as is ordinarily the case, some conserved antecedent -experience must be inferred as the causal factor and assumed to be the -functioning subconscious process which determines the phenomenon. To a -large extent, then, in applied psychology and psychopathology the -postulation in specific cases of a subconscious process is theoretical -and open to more or less doubt. In other words, although a principle may -be established, its application, as in all applied sciences, is apt to -meet with difficulties. - -Now the application of the principle of a subconscious process to the -explanation of a given phenomenon is rendered peculiarly difficult -because for practical purposes it is not so much the question of a -subacting process that is at issue as it is of what particular -antecedent experience is concerned in the process. The question is of -the causal factor. For example, we may know from general experience in a -large number of instances that a given hysterical phenomenon—a tic or a -convulsive attack or an hallucination or a dream—must be in all -probability determined by a subconscious process derived from some -conserved experience, but what specific experience may be a matter of -considerable uncertainty. _Hence the different theories and schools of -interpretation_ that have arisen. The importance of clearly appreciating -the nature of such problems and properly estimating the different -theories at their true value is so great that I may be permitted a few -words in further explanation. - -Let us take dreams as a type. The conscious dream may be made up of -fantastic imagery and apparently absurd thoughts without apparent -logical meaning. Now from general experience we may believe that the -dream is a cryptic symbolic expression of a logical subconscious -process—perhaps a wish. The question is, what wish? The symbolism cannot -be deciphered on its face. Now, by the analytic method associative -memories pertaining to each element of the dream are recovered in -abstraction. When a memory of antecedent thoughts of which the dream -element is a logical symbolism or synonym and which give an intelligent -meaning to the dream is recovered, we infer that these antecedent -thoughts are contained in the determining subconscious process. Further, -as it is found that certain objects or actions (e. g., snakes, flying, -etc.) frequently occur in the dreams of different people as symbolisms -of the same thoughts, it is inferred that whenever these objects or -actions appear in the dream they are always symbolisms of the same -underlying thoughts. - -Obviously the mere fact of an antecedent experience arising as an -associative memory is not of itself evidence of its being the causal -factor. Hundreds of such memories might be obtained. To have evidential -value the memory must give logical meaning to the dream or dream element -under investigation. Now, as a matter of fact, more than one memory can -often be obtained which answers these conditions. Consequently it -becomes a matter of selection from memories, or interpretation, as to -which is the correct solution of a given dream problem—and _mutatis -mutandis_ of a pathological phenomenon. Naturally the selection is -largely determined by personal views and _a priori_ concepts. It also -follows that if one accepts the universality of a given symbolism and is -committed to a given theory one can, by going far enough, find -associations in vast numbers of dreams that will support that theory. -The correct solution of a dream problem, that is, the correct -determination of the specific underlying process, depends upon the -correct determination of the causal factor and this must be inferred. -The inferential nature of the latter factor therefore introduces a -possible source of error. There must frequently be considerable latitude -in the interpretation. This is not to gainsay that in a large number of -instances the logical relation between antecedent experiences (recovered -by associative memories) and the dream is so close and obtrusive that -doubt as to the true subconscious process can scarcely be entertained. - -An example of a condensed _analysis of a dream_ will illustrate the -practical difficulty often presented in determining by clinical methods -the correct causal factor and subconscious process of a dream. I select -a simple one which consists of two scenes:[112] - - "C. was somewhere and saw an old woman who appeared to be a _Jewess_. - She was holding a _bottle_ and a _glass_, and seemed to be drinking - whisky. Then this woman changed into her own _mother_, who had the - bottle and glass, and appeared likewise to be drinking whisky. - - “Then the door opened and her _father_ appeared. He had on her - _husband’s dressing gown_, and he was holding _two sticks of wood_ in - his hand.” - -Before interpreting this dream I will state that the subject had been -tormented (as was brought out by the associative memories) by the -question whether poor people should be condemned if they yielded to -temptation, particularly that of drinking. This problem she could not -answer satisfactorily to herself. It is the inferred causal factor in -the dream process. The dream gave an answer to this problem. - -Let me also point out that the material, that is, the elements out of -which this dream was constructed (indicated by the words italicized), -was found in the thoughts of the dreamer on the preceding day and -particularly just before going to sleep. The first scene of the dream -ends with the mother drinking whisky: the second scene represents the -father appearing with two sticks of wood. For the sake of simplicity of -illustration I will confine myself to the _interpretation_ of this first -scene as it will answer our present purposes. - - “As to the first scene” (by technical methods of analysis) “a rich - collection of memories was obtained. It appeared that on the previous - morning the subject had walked with a _poor Jewess_ through the slums, - and had passed by some men who had been _drinking_. This led her to - think at the time of the lives of these poor people; of the - _temptations_ to which they were exposed; of how little we know of - this side of life and of its _temptations_. She wondered what the - effect of such surroundings, particularly of seeing people _drinking_, - would have upon the child of the Jewess. She wondered if such people - ought to be condemned if they yielded to drink and other temptations. - She thought that she herself would not blame such people if they - yielded, and that we ought not to _condemn_ them. Then in the - psychoanalysis there came memories of her mother, whose character she - admired and who _never condemned any one_. She remembered how her - mother, who was an invalid, always had a glass of _whisky_ and water - on her table at night, and how the family used to joke her about it. - Then came memories again of her husband sending _bottles of whisky_ to - her mother; of the latter _drinking_ it at night; of the men whom she - had seen in the slums and who had been _drinking_. These, very - briefly, were the experiences accompanied by strong feeling tones - which were called up as associative memories of this scene of the - dream. With these in mind, it is not difficult to construct a logical, - though symbolic, meaning of it. In the dream _a_ Jewess (not _the_ - Jewess, but a type) is in the act of drinking whisky—in other words, - the poor, whom the _Jewess_ represents, yield to the temptation which - the dreamer had thought of with considerable intensity of feeling - during the day. The dreamer’s own judgment, after considerable - cogitation, had been that such people were not to be condemned. Was - she right? The dream answers the question, for the Jewess changes in - the dream to her mother, for whose judgment she had the utmost - respect. Her mother now drinks the whisky as she had actually done in - life, a logical justification (in view of her mother’s fine character - and liberal opinion) of her own belief, which was somewhat intensely - expressed in her thoughts of that morning, a belief in not condemning - poor people who yield to such temptations. The dream scene is - therefore the symbolical representation and justification of her own - belief,[113] and answers the doubts and scruples that beset her mind.” - -Whether or not this is the correct interpretation of this dream depends -entirely upon whether the true causal factors were found. If through the -analysis this was the case, as I believe—namely, the scruple or ethical -problem whether poor people who yield to temptation ought to be -condemned—then the interpretation given is logically sound and the dream -is an answer to the doubts and scruples that beset the dreamer’s mind. -But the answer is a pictorial symbolism and therefore requires an -intervening subconscious process which induces and finally expresses -itself in the symbolism. We may suppose that this process in response to -and as a subconscious incubation of the ethical problem took some form -like this: “Poor people like the Jewess are not to be condemned for -yielding to the temptation (of drinking) for my mother, who was beyond -criticism, showed by her life she would not have condemned them.” - -This may or may not be the true subconscious process and the correct -interpretation of the dream. But it is one possible and logical -interpretation based upon the actually found antecedent experiences and -associative memories of the dreamer. Now it so happens that this -interpretation and that of other dreams[114] which I endeavored to trace -to antecedent experiences have been warmly challenged by certain -clinicians because the inferred causal factors were not found to be -antecedent repressed sexual wishes. It is insisted on theoretical -grounds that the content of the dreams plainly indicated that there must -have been such wishes and that if these had been found this dream would -have been unfolded as a logical symbolical fulfilment of a sexual wish. -Which interpretation is correct is inconsequential for our present -purpose. The controversy only relates to the universality of the sexual -theory of dreams. The point is that this difference in interpretation -shows the possibility of error in the determination of the causal factor -and the subconscious process by clinical methods. The dream may be -logically related to two or more antecedent experiences and we have no -criterion of which is the correct one. To insist upon one or the other -savors of pure dogmatism.[115] Indeed, the justification for the -postulation in a dream of any subconscious process in the last analysis -depends upon the soundness of the postulation of the antecedent -experience as the causal factor. If this factor falls to the ground the -subconscious process falls with it. - -The second point to which this discussion leads us is that the latitude -of interpretation allowed by the method of analysis has given rise to -different views as to the specific character of the subconscious process -found in many dreams. According to the theory of Freud, to whose genius -we are indebted for the discovery of this process, it is almost always a -sexual wish and the dream is always the imaginary, even though cryptic, -fulfilment of that wish. On the other hand, as a result of my own -studies, if I may venture to lay weight upon them, I have been forced to -the conclusion that _a dream may be the symbolical expression of almost -any thought_ to which strong emotional tones with their impulsive forces -have been linked, particularly anxieties, apprehensions, sorrows, -beliefs, wishes, doubts, and scruples, which function subconsciously in -the dream. It may be a solution of unsolved problems with which the mind -has been occupied,[116] just as in the waking state a mathematical or -other problem may be solved subconsciously. In some subjects the problem -is particularly apt to be one involving a conflict between opposing -impulses, therefore one which has troubled the dreamer.[117] - -We have seen that in experimental and spontaneous hallucinatory -phenomena, where the causal factor is known, a subconscious process is -the essential feature of the mechanism. In this respect the mechanism is -identical with that of certain dreams. Indeed, dreams are one type of -hallucinatory phenomena. In fact we met with one dream the chief element -of which was repeated afterward in the waking state as a vision. We are -justified, then, in applying the principle of a subconscious process to -the elucidation of the _visions of normal people_, although it may be -difficult to determine exactly the specific content of the process and -the antecedent thought from which it was derived. Sometimes the content -of a vision and the known circumstances under which it occurred are -sufficient to enable us to interpret the phenomenon with reasonable -certainty. In the following historical examples it is not difficult to -recognize that the vision was a symbolic answer to a problem which had -troubled the conscience of the Archduke Charles of Austria. Unable to -solve his problem consciously and come to a decision, it was solved for -him by a subconscious process. Indeed, as a fact, the vision was -accepted by Charles as an answer to his doubts and perhaps changed the -future history of Austria. - - “The Archduke Charles (the father of the present Emperor of Austria) - was also greatly troubled in his mind as to the right to waive his - claim to the crown in favor of his son. According to his own statement - he only finally made up his mind when, while earnestly praying for - guidance in his perplexity, he had _a vision of the spirit of his - father, the late Emperor Francis, laying his hand on the head of his - youthful grandson and thus putting all his own doubts to rest_.”[118] - -The likeness in type of the dream which we have just discussed to this -vision is instructive. In the former the mother of the dreamer answers -the question of conscience by drinking the whisky; in the latter the -father of the visualizer does the same by laying his hand on the head of -the object of the doubt. - -I have already pointed out the evidence for a subconscious process -underlying the hallucinatory phenomena of sudden religious -conversion.[119] I may further cite here, as an analogous phenomenon, -the following historical example of not only hallucinatory symbolism, -but of _explicitly conscious processes of thought_ which were elaborated -by subconscious processes. It is Margaret Mary’s vision of the Sacred -Heart. Margaret earnestly desired (according to her biographer)—— - - “To be loved by God! and loved by him to distraction (aimé jusqu’à la - folie)!—Margaret melted away with love at the thought of such a thing. - Like St. Philip of Neri in former times, or like St. Francis Xavier, - she said to God: ‘Hold back, O my God, these torrents which overwhelm - me, or else enlarge my capacity for their reception.’” - -The answer and the form of the fulfilment of this wish came as an -hallucination. She had a vision of Christ’s Sacred Heart - - “‘surrounded with rays more brilliant than the sun, and transparent - like a crystal. The wound which he received on the cross visibly - appeared upon it. There was a crown of thorns roundabout this divine - Heart, and a cross above it.’ At the same time Christ’s voice told her - that, unable longer to contain the flames of his love for mankind, he - had chosen her by a miracle to spread the knowledge of them. He - thereupon took out her mortal heart, placed it inside of his own and - inflamed it, and then replaced it in her breast, adding: ‘Hitherto - thou hast taken the name of my slave, hereafter thou shalt be called - the well-beloved disciple of my Sacred Heart.’”[120] - -There is scarcely room to doubt, on the strength of the evidence as -presented, that the antecedent longings of Margaret impelled by the -conative force of their emotions were the causal factor of this vision. -These longings, organized in the unconscious, must have gone through -subconscious incubation (as William James has pointed out) and then -emerged after maturity into consciousness as a symbolic visualization -accompanied by hallucinatory words which were the expression of explicit -subconscious imagination. Indeed, all such hallucinatory symbolisms—like -the mental phenomena in general of sudden religious conversion—can only -be psychologically explained as the emergence into consciousness of -subconscious processes. The problem in each case is the determination of -the content of the process.[121] - -_Reflection, consideration, meditation._—We are entering upon more -uncertain ground in attempting to apply the mechanism of subconscious -processes to every-day thought. There are certain types of thought, -however, which behave as if this mechanism were at work. When, for -instance, we take a problem “under advisement,” reflect upon it, give it -“thoughtful consideration,” it seems as if, in weighing the facts pro -and con, in looking at it from different points of view, i.e., in -switching it into different settings, in considering all the facts -related to it, we _voluntarily_ recall each fact that comes into -consciousness. Yet it is quite possible, and indeed I think more than -probable, reasoning from analogy, that the processes which present each -fact, switch each point of view, or setting into consciousness, are -subconscious and that what we do is chiefly to select from those which -are thus brought into consciousness the ideas, settings, etc., which -fulfil best the requirements of the question. In profound reflection or -attention to thought (a form of absentmindedness) it seems as if it were -more a matter of attention to and selection from the “free associations” -which involuntarily come into the mind than of determining voluntarily -what shall come in. If this be so, it is evident that the subconscious -plays a much more extensive part in the mechanism of thought than is -ordinarily supposed. We have not, however, sufficient data to allow us -to do much more than theorize in the matter. Yet there are certain data -which suggest the probability of the correctness of this hypothesis. In -this connection I would point out how entirely confirmatory of this view -is the testimony of the hypnotic consciousness which was cited in the -previous lecture and which I will ask you to recall. You will remember -that this testimony was to the effect that when a problem was under -consideration associative memories required for its solution kept -emerging out of the unconscious into the secondary consciousness.[122] - -Consider certain facts of every-day experience. A novel and difficult -question is put up to us for decision. We have, we will say, to decide -whether a certain piece of property situated in a growing district of a -city shall be sold or held for future development: or a political -manager has to decide whether or not to pursue a certain policy to win -an election; or the President of the United States has to decide the -policy of the government in certain land questions in Alaska. Now each -of us would probably say that we could not decide such a question -offhand; we would want time for consideration. If we attempted -voluntarily, at the moment the question is put, to recall to mind all -the different facts involved, to consider the given question from all -aspects, to switch the main facts into their different settings, we -would find it an impossible thing to do. We consequently take the matter -“under advisement,” to use the conventional expression. We want time. -Now what we apparently, and I think undoubtedly, do is to put the -problem _into_ our minds and leave it, so to speak, to incubate. Then, -from time to time, as we take up the matter for consideration, the -various facts involved in the different aspects of the question, and -belonging to their different settings, arise to mind. Then we weigh, -compare, and estimate the value of these different facts and arrive at a -judgment. All happens as if subconscious processes had been at work, as -if the problem had been going through a subconscious incubation, -switching in this and switching in that set of facts, and presenting -them to consciousness, the final selection of the deciding point of view -being left to the latter. The subconscious garners from the storehouse -of past experiences, those which have a bearing on the question and are -required for its solution, brings them into consciousness, and then our -logical conscious processes form the judgment. The degree to which -subconscious processes in this way take part in forming judgments would -vary according to the mental habits of the individual, the complexity of -the problem, the affectivity and conflicting character of the elements -involved. Under this theory we see that there is a deeper psychological -basis for the every-day practice of taking “under advisement” or “into -consideration” a matter, before giving judgment, than would appear on -the surface. There is considerable experimental evidence in favor of -this theory. In discussing above the subconscious solution of problems I -cited certain evidence, obtained from the memories of subjects in -hypnosis, for coconscious and unconscious processes taking part in such -solutions. I have been able to accumulate evidence of this kind showing -the coöperation of processes outside of consciousness in determining the -point of view and final judgment of the subject when a matter has been -under advisement; particularly when the subject has been disturbed by -doubts and scruples. It is plain that in the final analysis any question -on which we reserve our judgment is a problem which we put _into_ our -minds. And, after all, _it is only a question of degree and affectivity -between the state of mind which hesitates to decide an impersonal -question, like a judicial decision, and one that involves a scruple of -conscience_. This latter state often eventuates in hallucinatory and -other phenomena involving subconscious processes. Scruples of -conscience, it is true, usually have strong affective elements as -constituents, but the former may also have them, particularly when -involving personal ambitions, political principles, etc. - ------ - -Footnote 98: - - The Dissociation, Appendix L, p. 548. - -Footnote 99: - - The Dissociation, Chapter XXXI. - -Footnote 100: - - As a matter of fact, the judgment was erroneous, though a justifiable - inference. - -Footnote 101: - - Cf. The Dissociation, 2d edition, p. 567. - -Footnote 102: - - William James had once said to her in my presence that she could make - a valuable contribution to psychology. It is interesting to note, - although it is aside from the question at issue, that this subject had - strenuously denied that there was any “hope,” insisting that she was - absolutely devoid of any such sentiment. Through hypnotic memories, - however, I was able to demonstrate that this was only consciously - true, and that there were very evident and strong coconscious ideas of - hope of which she was not consciously aware. She had refused to - acknowledge these ideas to herself and by repression had dissociated - them from the personal consciousness. These ideas now expressed - themselves symbolically in the dream. - -Footnote 103: - - We must remember that a dreaming state is a dissociated state (like a - fugue or trance), and numerous observations have shown that in such - conditions any of the dormant related experiences of life may modify, - repress, resist, alter, and determine the content of the dissociated - consciousness. It is difficult to conceive of a dream allegory being - constructed by the dream consciousness itself. If that were the - mechanism, we should expect that the associative ideas for which - symbols are chosen would appear during the dream construction as is - the case in waking imagination. The method of the mental processes is - very different in the latter. We there _select_ from a number of - associative ideas that crowd into consciousness, choose our symbols, - and remember the rejected ideas. This is not the case with dream - imagination. The imagery develops as if done by something else. - -Footnote 104: - - It must not be assumed that all dreams are determined by a - subconscious process or that all are symbolic. On the contrary, from - evidence in hand, there is reason to believe that some dreams have - substantially the same mechanism as waking imagination subject to the - limitations imposed by the existing dissociation of consciousness - during sleep. Just as, in the waking state, thoughts may or may not be - determined by subconscious processes, so in the sleeping state. We - know too little about the mechanisms of thought to draw wide - generalizations or to dogmatize. - -Footnote 105: - - “For two or three days previously I had been trying to write some - verses, and had been reading a good deal of poetry. I had been - thinking in rhythm. I had also been under considerable nervous and - emotional strain for some little time in reference to the facts - portrayed in the verse.” - -Footnote 106: - - By this is meant “thoughts” of which she was not aware. Numerous - observations on this subject have disclosed such subconscious ideas in - connection with other phenomena. This corresponds with the testimony - of other subjects previously cited. (Lecture VI.) - -Footnote 107: - - As a theory of the mechanism of the vision I would suggest that it was - the emergence of the secondary visual images belonging to the - subconscious ideas. - -Footnote 108: - - See page 102. Also Prince: The Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams. - _Jour. Abnormal Psychology_. Oct.-Nov., 1910. G. A. Waterman: Dreams - as a Cause of Symptoms. Ibid. Oct.-Nov., 1910. - -Footnote 109: - - I base this theory on other observations where coconscious images or - “visions” of scenes occurred. When these images emerge into - consciousness the subject experienced a vision. - -Footnote 110: - - The Dissociation, p. 332. - -Footnote 111: - - The Dissociation of a Personality, p. 330. - -Footnote 112: - - Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams, _Journal Abnormal Psychology_, - Oct.-Nov., 1910. - -Footnote 113: - - The symbolic expression of beliefs and symbolic answers to doubts and - scruples is quite common in another type of symbolism, viz., visions. - Religious and political history is replete with examples. - -Footnote 114: - - _Loc. cit._ - -Footnote 115: - - It has been answered that experience in a large number of cases shows - that dreams always can be related logically to sexual experiences. To - this it may be answered they can also in an equal number of cases, - indeed in many of these same cases, be related to non-sexual - experiences. - -Footnote 116: - - _Loc. cit._ It is possible, however, that sometimes the problem has - been solved subconsciously in the waking state, the answer then - appearing in the dream. - -Footnote 117: - - Here we find an analogy with certain allied phenomena—the visions and - voices experienced as phenomena of sudden religious conversion. - -Footnote 118: - - Francis Joseph and His Sir Horace Rumbold. Page 151. (Italics mine.) - -Footnote 119: - - See also, “The Psychology of Sudden Religious Conversion,” _Journal - Abnormal Psychology_, April, 1906, and “The Dissociation,” 2nd Edit., - pages 344 and 564; also James’ “The Varieties of Religious - Experience.” - -Footnote 120: - - Quoted by William James, page 343. - -Footnote 121: - - Some will undoubtedly read into Margaret’s vision a cryptic sexual - symbolism. To do so seems to me too narrow a view, in that it fails to - give full weight to other instincts (and emotions) and to appreciate - all the forces of human personality. - -Footnote 122: - - Lecture VI, pp. 169-172. - - - - - LECTURE VIII - THE UNCONSCIOUS - - -Our studies up to this point have led us to the general conclusion that -a large measure of the experiences of life are conserved or deposited in -what may be called a storehouse of neurographic dispositions or residua. -_This storehouse is the unconscious._ From this storehouse our conscious -processes draw for the material of thought. Further, a large amount and -variety of evidence, which we have briefly and incompletely reviewed, -has shown that conserved experiences may function without arising into -consciousness, i.e., as a subconscious process. To what extent such -processes take part in the mechanism of thought, contribute to the -formation of judgments, determine the point of view and meaning of -ideas, give direction to the stream and formulate the content of -consciousness, and in particular conditions, by a species of -translation, manifest themselves consciously as phenomena which we -designate abnormal constitute special problems which require to be -studied by themselves. - -=Physiological memory and processes.=—There is one phase of the -unconscious which for the sake of completeness ought to be touched upon -here, particularly as it is of considerable importance in any biological -conception of intelligence. _There is every reason to believe that_ -intrinsically _there is no essential difference between those -physiological dispositions and activities of the lower nervous centers -(subcortical ganglia and spinal cord), which condition and determine -unconscious behavior, and those dispositions and activities of the -higher centers—the cortex—which condition and determine both conscious -and unconscious behavior._ The former are undoubtedly innate in that -they are primarily conditioned by inherited anatomical and physiological -prearrangements of neurons and the latter are pre-eminently acquired -through experience although probably not wholly so. (Our knowledge of -the localization of function in the nervous system is not sufficiently -definite to enable us to delimit the localization of either innate or -acquired dispositions.) The innate activities of the lower nervous -centers so far as represented by movements can be clearly differentiated -from those of the higher centers and recognized in the behavior of -so-called “spinal” animals and of animals from which the cerebral -hemispheres have been removed. In the former the connection between the -spinal cord and all parts of the nervous system above having been -severed, whatever movements are executed are performed by the spinal -cord alone and therefore of course by unconscious processes. The latter -animals, although their actions are more complex and closely approximate -(with important differences) those of normal animals, are also devoid or -nearly devoid of consciousness. I say “nearly devoid” because in the -interpretation of the experiments it is difficult to disprove that, as -some hold, elementary sensations—qua sensation—are retained, though -others regard the animals as purely unconscious physiological machines. - -In the spinal animal, in response to specific stimuli, various movements -are elicited which though of a purposive character are effected, as has -been so admirably worked out by Sherington, by complex spinal mechanisms -of a reflex character. The so-called “scratch reflex” and the reflex -movements of walking, trotting, and galloping (the animal being -suspended in air) are examples. Such reflexes involve not only the -excitation of certain movements appropriate to the stimulus but the -inhibition of antagonistic muscles and reflex movements. Further in the -integration of the spinal system, reflexes are compounded, one bringing -to the support of another allied accessory reflexes so that various -coöperative movements are executed. A constellation of reflexes leads to -quite complex spinal mechanisms responsive to groups of stimuli acting -concurrently and resulting in behavior which is purposive and adaptive -to the situation. The neural processes executing such movements are -necessarily conditioned by inherited dispositions and structural -arrangements of the neurons. - -In the animal from which the cerebral hemispheres only have been removed -there can be little doubt that the physiological mechanisms governing -behavior differ only in complexity, not in kind, from those of the -spinal reflexes; that in passing through successive anatomical levels -from the spinal animal to this decerebrate animal with the addition of -each successive ganglion the increasing complexity of behavior -corresponds to increasing complexity of mechanisms or compounding of -reflexes. And yet in the decerebrate animal without consciousness, as we -must believe (excepting perhaps elementary sensations), the subcortical -ganglia and spinal cord continue to perform exceedingly complex actions -ordinarily, as we suppose, guided in the normal animal by consciousness. -The reptile crawls; the fish swims; indeed the lancet fish has no brain, -all its functions being regulated by its spinal cord. The frog hops and -swims; the hen preens its feathers, walks and flies; the dog walks and -runs. These, however, are the simplest examples of decerebrate behavior. -Indeed it may be quite complex. The more recent experiments of Schräder -on the pigeon and falcon and Goltz and Rothmann on the dog, not to -mention those of earlier physiologists, have shown that the decerebrate -unconscious (?) animal performs about all the movements performed by the -normal animal.[123] “A mammal such as a rabbit, in the same way as a -frog and a bird, may in the complete or all but complete absence of the -cerebral hemispheres maintain a natural posture, free from all signs of -disturbance of equilibrium, and is able to carry out with success at all -events all the usual and common bodily movements. And as in the bird and -frog, the evidence also shows that these movements not only may be -started by, but in their carrying out are guided by and coordinated by, -afferent impulses along afferent nerves, including those of the special -senses. But in the case of the rabbit it is even still clearer than in -the case of the bird that the effects of these afferent impulses are -different from those which result when the impulses gain access to an -intact brain. The movements of the animal seem guided by impressions -made on its retina, as well as on other sensory nerves; we may perhaps -speak of the animal as the subject of sensations; but there is no -satisfactory evidence that it possesses either visual or other -perceptions, or that the sensations which it experiences give rise to -ideas.”[124] - -Even _spontaneity_ which at one time was supposed to be lost it is now -agreed returns if the animal is kept alive long enough. It “wanders -about in the room untiringly the greater part of the day” (Loeb). - -Of course there are differences in the animal’s behavior when compared -with normal behavior, but these differences are not so easy to interpret -in psychological terms. Loeb, apparently following Schräder, does not -believe the animal is blind or deaf or without sensation for it reacts -to light, to noise, to smell, to tactile impressions, etc. It avoids -obstacles and is guided by visual impressions, etc. The falcon jumps at -and catches a mouse introduced in its cage; the dog growls and snaps if -its paw is pinched and endeavors to get away or bite the offending hand; -the pigeon flies and alights upon a bar, apparently visually measuring -distance, and so on. But though it is guided by visual and other sensory -_impressions_, does it have visual, auditory and other _images_, that -is, conscious sensory states? This is not easy to answer. It certainly -acts like an animal that is not blind nor deaf nor without tactual -sensation, and yet it is conceivable that it is guided simply by sensory -mechanisms without conscious sensation. The main reason, apparently, for -believing the animal to be without sensation, as some believe (e. g., -Morgan) is the absence of the cerebral cortex in which alone sensation -is believed to be “localized.” Recently Rothmann[125] has succeeded in -keeping alive for three years a dog from which the entire cerebrum was -extirpated. It was then killed. Although the dog, like Goltz’ dog, in -its behavior exhibited an abundance of functions in the spheres of -mobility, sensibility, feeding, barking, etc., Rothmann came to the -conclusion that it was blind and deaf.[126] Although apparently without -taste for bitter, sweet, sour, and acid, yet the dog reacted differently -to edible and non-edible substances, swallowing the former and rejecting -the latter (moist sand); raw flesh was eaten preferably to cooked flesh -and Goltz’ dog rejected from its mouth food made bitter with quinine. -Some kind of gustatory processes (probably purely reflex as in Pawlow’s -association experiments) were therefore retained though not necessarily -taste as such. But blindness and deafness in the dog cannot negative the -retention in birds and other animals of visual and auditory impressions -of some kind which guide and originate behavior. But whether such -impressions are psychologically sensations or not, the animal certainly -does not possess visual or other _perceptions_, because the “sensations” -have no “meaning.” Schräder’s falcon, for example, would jump at and -catch with its claws a moving mouse in the cage, but there the matter -was at an end; it did not devour it as would a normal falcon. Any moving -object had for it the same meaning as a mouse and excited the same -movement. So the decerebrate dog does not distinguish friend from -stranger and other dogs have no meaning for it. All objects are alike to -all decerebrate animals. In the popular language of the street “all -coons look alike” to them. In other words the main defect is loss of -memory for conscious experiences, of what Loeb calls associative-memory, -the conscious memory which gives meaning to sensations, transforms them -by synthesis into _perception_ of objects and gives still further -meaning to the objects. Hence for the pigeon without its cerebrum -“Everything is only a mass in space, it moves aside for every pigeon or -attempts to climb over it, just as it would in the case of a stone. All -authors agree in the statement that to these animals all objects are -alike. They have no enemies and no friends. They live like hermits no -matter in how large a company they find themselves. The languishing coo -of the male makes as little impression upon the female deprived of its -cerebrum as the rattling of peas or the whistle which formerly made it -hasten to its feeding place. Neither does the female show interest in -its young. The young ones that have just learned to fly pursue the -mother, crying unceasingly for food, but they might as well beg food of -a stone.”[127] - -One of the chief utilities of conscious memory is the means it offers -the psycho-physiological organism to make use of past experiences to -adapt present conduct to a present situation. This the brainless animal -cannot do. Hence it is a mindless physiological automaton. All the -actions performed by it, however complex they may be, are unquestionably -performed and primarily conditioned by inherited neural arrangements and -dispositions. They may be even regarded as complexly compounded reflex -processes similar excepting in complexity, as Sherrington has held, to -the mechanisms of the spinal cord. The behavior of the animal is -therefore by definition instinctive. But even so this fact in no way -throws light upon the intrinsic nature of the physiological process, but -only upon the conditions of its occurrence. Acquired behavior is also -conditioned—conditioned by acquired dispositions. The difference -physiologically between the two is that in instinctive behavior the -neural processes are confined to pathways established by evolutionary -development, and in acquired behavior to pathways established by -experience. Both must be conditioned by pathways, and the process in its -inner nature must be the same in both. Many cortical processes, to be -sure, are conscious—i.e., correlated with consciousness—but probably not -all. And this quality of consciousness permitting of conscious memory is -of great utility in the organization of acquired dispositions that -provide the means for the adaption of the animal to each new -environmental situation. - -Furthermore, it is not at all certain that the behavior of the -decerebrate animal is not in part determined by _secondarily acquired -dispositions_. In the normal animal instinctive actions become modified -and perfected after the very first performances of the act by conscious -experience[128] and it is not at all certain that dispositions so -acquired and essential for these modifications are not conserved and -incorporated in the unconscious neural arrangements of the subcortical -centers. So far as this may be the case the acquired modifications of -instinctive behavior may be manifested in the actions of the decerebrate -animals. In other words, the unconscious processes of the lower nervous -centers motivating movements (and visceral functions) may include -_acquired dispositions or physiological memories_. - -That the subcortical centers are capable of memory seems to have been -shown for the first time by Rothmann’s dog. This mindless animal proved -to be capable of a certain amount of education. It learned to avoid -hitting against objects, and to do certain tricks—jumping over a hurdle -and following on its hind legs a stool upon which its fore feet were -placed as the stool was dragged forward. “In the perfection of all these -performances the influence of practice was easily recognized.” This -means, if the interpretation given is correct, that new dispositions and -new connections may be acquired within the lower centers _without the -intervention of the integrating influence of the cortex_ or conscious -intelligence.[129] This is an important contribution for apparently the -attempt to educate brainless animals had not been previously made, and -their capability for education demonstrated. - -The important bearing which this fact has upon this discussion is that -it shows that unconscious processes are capable of memory, that is -physiological memory. It may be said that this statement needs some -modification if the sensory “impressions” guiding the decerebrate animal -are to be interpreted as true psychological, however elementary, -“sensations.” It would seem to me on the contrary only to accentuate the -fact that the processes of the brainless animal are on a transition -level between the purely unconscious processes of the spinal animal and -the purely (if ever wholly so) conscious processes of the normal animal, -and that intrinsically all are of the same nature. If sensation enters -into the complex reflex reactions of the brainless animal it would seem -that it can only be an elemental conscious factor in a complicated -unconscious physiological mechanism. In this mechanism it can have no -more specific importance in determining behavior, because of the fact of -its being a psychological state, than if it were a receptor “impression” -intercalated in the arc of an innate process. It is not linked with any -associative memories of the past or foresight into the future; it does -not constitute conscious intelligence. As a conscious experience it -cannot have that kind of “meaning” which in the normal animal modifies -instinctive processes and determines conduct. It probably plays simply -the same part in the whole process, which otherwise is wholly -unconscious, that the associative sensory image plays in determining the -flow of thick or thin saliva in Pawlow’s dogs—simply a single link in a -chain of associated reflex processes. - -The next point to which I would direct attention is that from an -objective point of view the behavior of the decerebrate animal may be in -nature _intelligent_ in the empirical sense of that word. The dog that -growls and snaps when his foot is pinched, tries to draw it away, and, -failing that, bites at the offending hand; the “educated” dog that jumps -over a hurdle, and walks on his hind legs, following a stool supporting -his front legs, to my way of thinking performs intelligent actions -whether it has a brain or not. If intelligence is arbitrarily limited to -actions performed by conscious processes, then intelligence becomes a -mere question of terms.[130] There arises also the practical difficulty -that certain types of behavior, which by common assent and common sense -are regarded as purely automatic and unintelligent, must be termed -intelligent because guided by consciousness. I cannot help thinking that -“intelligence” is a pragmatic question, not a biological or -psychological one. It would be much more conducive to a clear -understanding of biological problems to use intelligence only as a -convenient and useful expression, like sanity or insanity, to designate -certain behavior which conforms to a type which, without strictly -defining its limits, popular language has defined as intelligent. Sanity -and insanity have ceased to be terms of scientific value because they -cannot be defined in terms of specific mental conditions and much less -in terms of mental processes. So intelligence cannot be defined in terms -of conscious and unconscious processes. Any attempt to do so meets with -insuperable difficulties and becomes “confusion worse confounded.” When -we say then that the behavior of the decerebrate dog may be intelligent, -all that is meant is that the animal exhibits behavior identical with -that which in the normal animal we would empirically call intelligent. -In this sense unconscious processes may exhibit intelligence. It was -from this viewpoint, I think, that Foster concluded: “In short, the more -we study the phenomena exhibited by animals possessing a part only of -their brain, the closer we are pushed to the conclusion that no sharp -line can be drawn between volition and lack of volition, or between the -possession and absence of intelligence. Between the muscle-nerve -preparation at one limit, and our conscious willing selves at the other, -there is a continuous gradation without a break; we cannot fix on any -linear barrier in the brain or in the general nervous system, and say -‘beyond this there is volition and intelligence, but up to this there is -none.’”[131] - -It has already been pointed out (Lecture V) that, in man, complicated -actions which have been volitionally and perhaps laboriously acquired -may be afterwards involuntarily and unconsciously performed.[132] In -other words, after intelligent actions have been acquired by conscious -processes, they may be performed by subconscious processes for which -there is no conscious awareness and probably these may be either -coconscious or entirely unconscious. There is no sharp dividing line -between the activities of the unconscious, coconscious, and conscious. - -When we descend in the scale of animal life to the insects (bees, ants, -etc.,) we observe motor activity of a highly complex character of a kind -that is termed intelligent, but we are forced to conclude, from various -considerations, that the elements of consciousness have dwindled away to -what can be nothing more than mere sensibility. In other words -consciousness is reduced to its lowest terms, but behavior and the -neural processes are maintained at a high level of complexity. -Accordingly there is a disproportion between the complexity of the motor -behavior and the inferred simplicity of consciousness, for in the higher -animals the former would be correlated with complex psychological -processes. If this be so, the motor activities must be determined by -processes which are mostly unconscious. - -In still lower forms of life the motor activities can be referred to -simple tropisms, and thus necessarily are wholly unconscious. - -Between the most complex unconscious physiological processes performed -by the nervous system and the simpler cerebral processes accompanied by -consciousness there is not as wide a step as might seem when -superficially viewed. The physiological process may, as we have seen, -manifest itself in acts of quite as intelligent a character as those -exhibited by the conscious process, and indeed more so; for the -conscious act may be little more than a limited reflex. On the other -hand a psychological process may be so elementary that it contains -nothing of awareness of self, of intelligence, or of volition in the -true sense—nothing more, perhaps, than an elementary sensation without -even perception. But it may be said that the presence of the most -rudimentary state of consciousness makes all the difference and renders -the gulf between the two impassable. - -We are not called upon to discuss that question here. It is one which -involves the ultimate nature of physical processes. A distinction should -be made between psychological and psychical, these not being coextensive -and always interchangeable terms. Psychological pertains to the -empirical data of consciousness, (thoughts, ideas, sensations, etc.) -while psychical pertains to the inner or ultimate nature of these data. -Though the data as given in consciousness are psychical, that which is -psychical may not be solely manifested as psychological phenomena. It -may be manifested as physical phenomena and perhaps be identified with -the energy of the universe. Hence the doctrine of panpsychism. And so it -may be that in its ultimate analysis an unconscious process is psychical -(monism) although not psychological and not manifesting itself as a -datum of consciousness. Certain it is that, _objectively_ viewed, there -is nothing to distinguish physiological from psychological intelligence. -If the extraordinary instinctive habits exhibited by insects, such as -bees and ants and by still lower forms of animal life, can rightly be -interpreted as, in large part at least, manifestations of physiological -processes, as is quite possible, the distinction between the conscious -and the unconscious in respect to intelligence and adaptability to -environment would be reduced to one only of degree. That some of the -lowest forms of life are endowed with consciousness, in any sense in -which the word has psychological meaning, seems incredible, though they -manifest instinctive intelligence of no mean order. The fact probably -is, as I have just intimated, that those processes we call physiological -and those we call psychological are in their inner nature identical, and -the former are quite capable of functioning, incredible as it may seem, -in a fashion that we are accustomed to believe can only be the attribute -of conscious intelligence. This does not mean, of course, that the -physiological intelligence can reach the same degree of perfection as -that reached by conscious intelligence, though conversely, the latter -may be of a lower order than physiological intelligence.[133] From this -point of view we are logically entitled to regard physiological -processes, even of the lower nervous centers and even though they are -not acquired but due to congenital structural and functional -arrangement, as phases of the unconscious. - -=Psycho-physical parallelism and monism.=—According to the doctrine of -psycho-physical parallelism every mental process is correlated with -(accompanied by) a brain process. As brain processes thus viewed are -“unconscious” (in the sense of not having the attribute of -consciousness) we may express this in other terms and say: every -“conscious” process is accompanied by an “unconscious” process. I have -no intention of entering here into the question of the validity of the -doctrine of psycho-physical parallelism. I wish merely to point out that -if parallelism is a true formulation of the mind-brain problem, as I -have just stated it, the converse ought to hold true, namely, that every -brain process of a certain kind involving intelligence ought to be -correlated with consciousness. But if some subconscious processes -manifesting what is equivalent to thought, reasoning, judgment, -imagination, volition, etc., are unconscious—as seems likely if not -probable—then this converse does not hold true. This has some bearing on -the validity of the doctrine; for if physical processes can perform -substantially the same function as conscious intelligence it is -difficult to reconcile this fact with what I may call naïve -psycho-physical parallelism. - -It is reconcilable, however, with psychic monism. According to this -doctrine it is not a question of parallelism at all. There is only one -process—the psychical. The physical brain process is only an aspect or -special mode of apprehending this one. All is psychical but not -psychological. That which we apprehend in the form of the unconscious is -really psychical and hence is capable of performing the same _kind_ of -function as it performs when it becomes psychological. It is not at all -certain that unconscious processes may not comprise an intelligence -possessing faculties identical in kind with those of conscious -intelligence and indistinguishable from the latter. Subconscious -processes may exhibit perception, cognition, reason, imagination, -conation (will), feeling, etc., and it is possible that some of these -processes may be correctly interpreted as unconscious. At any rate, from -the point of view of monism, whether the real psychical process or, -probably more correctly, how much of it shall emerge as a psychological -state of consciousness depends upon intrinsic conditions. Though we -cannot penetrate within them it is quite conceivable that it is a matter -of complexity of synthesization and coöperative activity of psychical -energies. This is a most interesting problem closely related to that of -awareness and self-consciousness. - -=The meanings of the unconscious, subconscious, and coconscious.=—Though -the term “unconscious” is in general use it has so many connotations -derived from its various meanings in metaphysics, psychology, and -physiology that its use has given rise to considerable confusion of -thought, particularly, I am compelled to believe, in the interpretation -of specific psycho-physiological phenomena. Nevertheless, it has been so -well established in our nomenclature that we could not replace it if we -would. Nor is it wholly desirable to do so. It is a good and useful -term, but I believe that with each advance in the precision of our -knowledge we ought, so far as accumulative data permit, to give -precision to the concept for which it stands. Just as in physical -science we attempt to give precision to our concept of electricity in -conformity with new data accumulated from time to time, so our -psychological concepts should be defined and limited in accordance with -the advance in knowledge. Some do not like to define the term, not being -quite willing to commit themselves unreservedly to the complete -acceptance of the physiological theory of memory and to cut adrift -from the metaphysical concept of a subliminal mind. If the -psycho-physiological theory of memory, which is now generally accepted, -is sound, we have one meaning of the unconscious which is a very -definite concept, namely, the brain residua, physiological -“dispositions” or neurograms in which the experiences of life are -conserved. These terms become, therefore, synonyms for the unconscious. -That, under certain conditions, the passive neurograms may, under -stimulation, become active and function unconsciously (i.e., without -corresponding psychological equivalents being introduced into the -personal consciousness), need not invalidate the concept. We are then -dealing with an unconscious and dynamic process. The effects of such -functioning are simply the manifestations of the unconscious and may be -recognized either in modifications of the stream of consciousness or in -bodily disturbances. The term unconscious is an appropriate and -descriptive term to characterize that which is devoid of the attributes -of consciousness. This use of the term has been sanctioned by common -usage. - -Unfortunately, however, the term has been also employed to characterize -another and distinct class of facts, namely _Co-[or Sub-]conscious -Ideas_. We shall have occasion to study these psychological phenomena in -other lectures.[134] We have seen examples in many of the phenomena I -have cited. It is sufficient to say here, that as conceived of, and as -we have seen, they are very _definite states of coconsciousness—a -coexisting dissociated consciousness or coconsciousness of which the -personal consciousness is not aware_, i.e., of which it is -“unconscious.” Hence they have been called “unconscious ideas” and have -been included in the unconscious, particularly by German writers. But -this is plainly using the term in a different sense—using it as a -synonym for the longer phrase, “ideas we are unaware of,” and not as a -characterization of that which is physiological and non-psychological. - -“Unconscious ideas” in this sense (the equivalent of coconscious ideas) -would include conscious states that we are not aware of simply because -not in the focus of attention but in the fringe of the content of -consciousness. The term would also include pathologically split-off and -independently acting coconscious ideas or systems of ideas such as occur -in hysteria, reaching their apogee in coconscious personalities and in -automatic writings. Here we have a series of facts essentially different -from the conceptual facts of physical residua, the form in which -experiences are conceived to be conserved. Manifestly it is confusing -and incorrect to define both by “the unconscious.” And to speak of the -former as “unconscious ideas” and of the latter as “unconscious,” -although technically correct, leads to confusion from using the term -“unconscious” in two different senses.[135] - -As a concept in a scheme of metaphysics, “unconscious ideas”—i.e., ideas -of which we are not conscious, have long been recognized. Leibnitz was -the first to maintain, on theoretical grounds and by _a priori_ -reasoning, the existence of ideas of which we are not aware, as did -likewise Kant, influenced by Leibnitz, and later Schilling, and Herbart; -while Hartmann evolved the unconscious into a biological and -metaphysical system.[136] - -By most American, English, and French psychologists such ideas, as -conceived at least by Leibnitz, Kant, and Herbart, would to-day be -called subconscious or coconscious ideas. Hartmann included all -physiological processes of the nervous system in the Unconscious and -ascribed to them special attributes (will, purpose, etc.). The -Unconscious accordingly has connotations from which it is not easy to -rid ourselves in dealing with it. It is generally agreed that it is -desirable to have a term which shall cover all classes of -facts—coconscious ideas, conserved experiences, and physiological -processes—without committal of opinion as to interpretation.[137] - -It does not follow, however, that the term “unconscious” is the one that -should be chosen. On the contrary, as unconscious has two distinct and -different meanings (that pertaining to unawareness and that which is -non-psychological) it is a very undesirable term if we wish to be -precise in our terminology. That we should have a term which shall -precisely define ideas which are not in awareness and which shall -distinguish them from physiological processes is necessitated by the -fact that such ideas in themselves form a distinct field of -investigation. - -The term “subconscious” is commonly used, excepting by German writers, -to characterize these coconscious ideas. In fact, by some French medical -writers, particularly Janet, it is very precisely limited to such ideas. -By other authors it is employed in this sense and also to include the -physical residua of experiences, and sometimes with the additional -meaning of unconscious physiological neurograms, or processes, which it -defines—in fact, to denote any conserved experience or process outside -of consciousness. On the other hand, among these authors, some do not -admit the validity of the concept of coconscious ideas, but interpret -all so-called subconscious manifestations as the expression of the -physiological functioning of physiological neurograms in which the -experiences of life are conserved. Subconscious and unconscious are, -therefore, quite commonly, but not always, employed as synonyms to -define two or three different classes of facts. For practical reasons, -as already stated, it is desirable to have a term which shall embrace -all classes of facts, and of the two terms in common use, subconscious -and unconscious, the former is preferable, as it is not subject to the -double meaning above mentioned. I, therefore, use the term subconscious -in a generic sense to _include_ (_a_) _coconscious ideas or processes_; -(_b_) _unconscious neurograms, and_ (_c_) _unconscious processes_. Of -course it is only a matter of terminology. The conceptual facts may then -be thus classified: - - { (synonym: subconsciousideas.) - { The coconscious { - { { {a: Conserved dormant - { { {neurograms or neural - { { {dispositions. - The subconscious { - { { {b: Active functioning - { The unconscious { {neurograms or neural - { { processes. - { { (synonym: unconscious - { { processes.) - -Subconscious as an adjective used to qualify ideas is plainly equivalent -to coconscious ideas. This terminology I have found useful in keeping -the different classes of conceptual facts separate in my mind and I -believe it will prove to be equally useful to others. With the -conceptual facts clearly differentiated it will be generally easy to -recognize the various senses in which the terms are used when found in -the writings of others. - -=The unconscious as a fundamental of personality.=—A survey of all the -facts and their relations, which I have outlined in the preceding -lectures, brings into strong relief the important principle that no -matter in what state complexes of ideas are formed, so long as they are -conserved, they become a part of our personality. They become dormant, -but, being conserved, they may under favorable conditions be awakened -and enter our conscious life. It matters not whether complexes of ideas -have been formed in our personal consciousness, or in a state of -hypnosis, in dreams, in conditions of dissociated personality, in -coconsciousness, or any other dissociated state. They all become parts -of ourselves and may afterwards be revived under favoring conditions, -whether volitionally, automatically, by artificial devices, by -involuntary stimuli, or other agencies. They may or may not be subject -to voluntary recall as recollections, but, so long as they form part of -our dormant consciousness as physiological neurograms, they belong to -the personal self. “After all,” as Miss B. used to say, and correctly, -referring to her different dissociated personalities, BI, B III, and -BIV, “after all, they are all myself.” It makes no difference in what -state an experience has occurred. A potential memory of it may persist -and may, in one way or another, be revived, no matter how or when it -originated. - -Through the conception of the _sub_conscious as resolvable, on the one -hand, into the _un_conscious, passive or active physiological -dispositions, and, on the other hand, into _co_active conscious states, -the subconscious becomes simplified and intelligible. It offers a basis -on which may be constructed comprehensible theories of memory, -suggestibility, post-hypnotic phenomena, dreams, automatic writing and -similar phenomena, artificial hallucinations, the protean phenomena of -hysteria, and the psycho-neuroses, as well as the mechanism of thought. -It enables us also to construct a rational concept of personality and -self. As we shall see, when we take up the study of multiple personality -in later lectures, out of the aggregate of the accumulated and varied -experience of the past conserved in the unconscious may be constructed a -number of different personalities, each depending upon a synthesis and -rearrangement of life’s neurograms and innate dispositions and -instincts. All dormant ideas with their feeling tones and conative -tendencies belong to our personality, but they may be arranged with -varying instincts and innate dispositions into a number of -differentiated systems, each synthesized into a corresponding -personality. In the unconscious may be conserved a vast number of life’s -experiences ranging in time almost from the cradle to the grave. The -hopes, the wishes, the anxieties of childhood may still be there, lying -fallow, but capable of injecting themselves under favoring conditions -into our personalities. Properly speaking, from this point of view, -aside from certain artificial and pathological conditions, there is, -_normally_, no distinct “subconscious _self_,” or “subliminal _self_,” -or “secondary _self_,” or “hidden _self_.” In artificial and -pathological conditions there may be, as has been frequently shown, a -splitting of consciousness and the aggregation into a secondary -coconscious system of large systems of ideas which have all the -characteristics of personality. This secondary personality (of which the -primary personality is not aware) may have its own memories, feelings, -perceptions, and thoughts. It may appropriate to itself various -complexes of neurograms deposited by the experiences of life which are -not at the disposal of the principal personality. Such a coconscious -system may properly be spoken of as a subconscious _self_. But there is -no evidence that, _normally_, such systems exist. All that we are -entitled to affirm is that every individual’s consciousness may include -ideas of which he is not aware, and that he has at his disposal, to a -greater or less extent, a large unconscious storehouse in which are -neurographically conserved a large and varied mass of life’s -experiences. These experiences may be arranged in systems, as we shall -see in the next lecture, but they do not constitute a “self.” To speak -of them as a subconscious, subliminal, secondary, or hidden self is to -construct concepts which are allegories, metaphors, symbolisms, -personifications of concrete phenomena. Their use tends to fallacious -reasoning and to perverted inductions from the facts. Becoming major -premises in a syllogism, they lead to erroneous interpretations of the -simplest facts, just as fixed ideas or obsessions tend to a perverted -interpretation of the environment. - -We are now in a position to see that the psycho-physiological theory of -memory has a far-reaching significance. The facts which have been -brought before you in evidence of the theory have been selected largely -from those which were capable of verification by experimentation and by -other objective testimony. They include a large variety of experiences -which occurred in pathological conditions like amnesia and multiple -personality, and in artificial conditions like hypnosis and -intoxication. Such abnormal conditions enable us to show by testimony, -independent of the individual, that these experiences had actually -occurred, and, therefore, to show that the reproductions of these -experiences were in principle truthful memories. They also enable us to -appreciate the enormous variety and quantity of experiences which, -although absolutely beyond the power of voluntary recall, may be -conserved nevertheless as neurograms, and also to appreciate the -minuteness of detail in which the brain records may be preserved. - -If you will stop a moment to think, and give play to your imagination, -you will see that the principle of the neurographic conservation of -experiences must be true not only of our outer life, of our experiences -with our environment, but of our whole _inner life_, normal as well as -abnormal. It is always possible that any thought, any feeling, however -trivial and transitory, may leave neurograms in the brain. It is always -possible that even a fleeting doubt or scruple, thoughts which flash -into the mind and straightway are put out again, all may leave their -records and dispositions to function again. Even a passing doubt which -any of you may entertain regarding the interpretation of the phenomena I -have described, and the correctness of our conclusions, may be recorded. -Indeed, it is a matter of some importance for the understanding of -abnormal mental conditions that many of those horrid little sneaking -thoughts which we do not like to admit to ourselves, the thoughts which -for one reason or another we endeavor to repress, to put out of our -minds, may leave their indelible traces. In fact, these are the very -thoughts, the ones which we try hardest to forget, to push aside, which -are most likely to be conserved. The harder we try, the stronger the -feelings attached to them, the more likely they are to leave neurograms -in the brain though they may never be reproduced. This has been shown by -observation of pathological conditions, like hysteria and psychasthenia, -and by experimentation. In repressing our thoughts we do not put them -out of our minds, but, as the subject previously cited, who in hypnosis -could recall such repressed thoughts, said, we put them _into_ our -minds. In other words, we conserve them as neurograms. - -In one sense, I suppose, we may say that every one leads a double life. -Let me hasten to say to you, I mean this not in a moral but in an -intellectual sense. Every one’s mental life may fairly be said to be -divided between those ideas, thoughts, and feelings which he receives -from and gives out to his social world, the social environment in which -he lives, and those which belong more properly to his inner life and the -innermost sanctuary of his personality and character. The former include -the activities and the educational acquisitions which he seeks to -cultivate and conserve for future use. The latter include the more -intimate communings with himself, the doubts and fears and scruples -pertaining to the moral, religious, and other problems of life, and the -struggles and trials and difficulties which beset its paths; the -internal contests with the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the -devil. The conventionalities of the social organization require that the -outward expression of many of these should be put under restraint. -Indeed, society insists that some, the sexual strivings, are aspects of -life and human nature which are not to be spoken or thought of. Now, of -course, this inner life must also leave its neurographic tracings along -with the outer life, and must, potentially at least, become a part of -our personality, liable to manifest itself in character and in other -directions. But, more than this, abnormal psychology, through its -technical methods of investigation and through the perverted -manifestations exhibited in sick conditions of mind and body, has shown -us that the neurograms deposited as the experiences of this inner life -may flower, to use an expression of the lamented William James, below -the threshold of consciousness, and, under certain conditions, where the -mind is in unstable equilibrium, burst forth in mental and bodily -manifestations of an unusual character. Thus in processes of this kind -we find an explanation of religious phenomena like sudden conversion; of -dreams and of certain pathological phenomena like the hallucinations, -deliria, crises, and bodily manifestations of hysteria, and the numerous -automatic phenomena of spiritualistic mediums. Such phenomena may then -be interpreted as the _flowering or functioning of the unconscious_. - -The essential difference in the consequences which follow from this -psycho-physiological conception of memory, based as it is on the -unconscious, and those which follow from that conception which is -popularly held must be obvious. According to popular understanding the -mental life which we have outlived, the life which we have put behind -us, whether that of childhood or of passing phases of adult life, is -only an ephemeral, evanescent phase of consciousness which once out of -mind, put aside or forgotten, need no longer be taken into consideration -as pertaining to, much less influencing, our personality. Writers of -fiction who undertake to depict human nature almost invariably, I -believe, are governed by this point of view. They describe their -characters as throwing overboard their past, their dominating beliefs, -convictions, and other traits as easily as we should toss undesirable -refuse into the ocean. Their heroes and heroines jettison their -psychological cargoes as if they were barrels of molasses whenever their -personalities show signs of going down in the storms of life’s -experiences. According to this view, which is derived from an imperfect -conception of mental processes, any passing phase of consciousness -ceases to have potential existence or influence as soon as it is -forgotten, or as soon as it ceases to be a consciously dominating belief -or motive of life. It is assumed that so long as we do not bring it back -into consciousness it belongs to us no more than as if it had originated -in the mind of another, or had taken flight on the wings of a dove. This -is true in part only. A phase of consciousness may not be conserved, or -it may become so modified by the clash with new experiences that a -rearrangement of its elements takes place and it becomes, for instance, -a new motive or belief, or a new setting to give a new meaning to an -idea. On the other hand, any passing phase may, as we have seen, still -belong to our personality even though it lies hidden in its depths. That -we no longer recall it, bring it voluntarily into the field of our -personal consciousness, does not negative its continuing (though -dormant) existence, and its further influence upon the personality -through the subconscious workings of the mind. - -In conclusion, and by way of partial recapitulation, we may say, first: -The records of our lives are written in unconscious dormant complexes -and therein conserved so long as the residua retain their dynamic -potentialities. It is the unconscious, rather than the conscious, which -is the important factor in personality and intelligence. The unconscious -furnishes the formative material out of which our judgments, our -beliefs, our ideals, and our characters are shaped. - -In the second place, the unconscious, besides being a _static_ -storehouse, has _dynamic_ functions. It is evident that, theoretically, -if unconscious complexes are once formed they may, under favoring -conditions of the psycho-physical organism, become revived and play an -important part in pathological mental life. If through dissociation they -could be freed from the normal inhibition and the counterbalancing -influences of the normal mental mechanism, and given an independence and -freedom from voluntary control, they might, by functioning, produce -abnormal states like fixed ideas, delusions, automatisms, -hallucinations, etc. A study of such abnormal phenomena confirms this -theoretical view and finds in this conception of the unconscious an -explanation of the origin of many of them. The hallucinations and -bizarre notions and delusions of the insane, the hysteric, and -psychasthenic, where all seems chaos, without law or order, are often -due to the resurrection and fabricating effect of unconscious complexes -formed by the earlier experiences of the patient’s life. Of course, the -mechanism by which such phenomena are produced is a complicated one -about which there is much difference of opinion and which we cannot -enter into here. In post-hypnotic phenomena and artificial -hallucinations we have experimental examples of the principle. - -More than this, and more important, there is considerable evidence going -to show that conserved experiences functioning as subconscious processes -take part in and determine the conscious processes of everyday life. On -the one hand stored neurograms may undergo subconscious incubation, -assimilating the material deposited by the varied experiences of life to -finally burst forth in ripened judgments, beliefs, and convictions, as -is so strikingly shown in sudden religious conversions and allied mental -manifestations. Through a similar incubating process, the stored -material needed for the solution of baffling problems is gathered -together and oftentimes assimilated and arranged and formulated as an -answer to the question. On the other hand, subconscious processes may be -but a hidden part of that mechanism which determines our everyday -judgment and our points of view, our attitudes of mind, the meanings of -our ideas, and the traits of our characters. Antecedent experiences -functioning as such processes may determine our fantasies and our -dreams. Thus functioning as dynamic processes the stored residua of the -past may provide the secrets of our moods, our impulses, our prejudices, -our beliefs, and our judgments. - -It remains, however, for future investigation to determine the exact -mechanism and the relative extent to which subconscious processes play -their parts. - ------ - -Footnote 123: - - For a general account of the behavior of decerebrate animals and - summary of these experiments see Loeb’s “Physiology of the Brain,” and - Schäfer’s Text Book of Physiology. - -Footnote 124: - - M. Foster: A Text Book of Physiology, 1895, page 726. - -Footnote 125: - - Von M. Rothmann: Demonstration des Hundes ohne Grossirn. _Bericht über - den V Kongress f. Experiment. Psychol. in Berlin, 1912_, page 256. The - report is too meager to admit of independent judgment of the animal’s - behavior in many of its details. - -Footnote 126: - - Until the basal ganglia have been microscopically examined it cannot - be determined that the loss of function was not due to secondary - organic lesions. In Goltz’ dog, which acted like a blind dog, one - optic nerve was cut and the corpora striata and optic thalami were - partly involved in the lesion. - -Footnote 127: - - Quoted from Schräder by Loeb. - -Footnote 128: - - Cf. Lloyd Morgan: Instinct and Experience, 1912. - -Footnote 129: - - Dr. Morgan in his work, “Instinct and Experience,” 1912, published - before Rothmann’s observations, remarks that this “is not inherently - improbable” although it had not as yet been demonstrated. - -Footnote 130: - - From the point of view here adopted, the recent discussions and - controversies over the problems of “instinct and intelligence” have - been much muddled by the arbitrary denial of conscious elements to an - instinctive process, and by the acceptation of consciousness or - conscious experience as the criterion of intelligence. In this view - instinct and intelligence become contrasted concepts which to my way - of thinking they are not necessarily at all. If it is admitted that - instinct is an innate disposition, its contrasted quality is that - which is _acquired_ and not the quality of consciousness. It is true - that acquired behavior is commonly if not always determined by - conscious processes (conscious experience), but likewise innate - behavior may be determined by processes which contain conscious - elements. Surely fear is instinctive and is a conscious element in an - innate process; and so must be visual and other sensory images, as in - the first peck of a chicken. To look upon the first visual image - simply as conscious “experience,” as an “onlooker,” and reject it as a - factor in the process which determines that first peck, seems to me to - be arbitrary psychology if not physiology. If consciousness may be a - quality of an innate process—and why not?—it cannot be a criterion of - intelligence. The true converse of the conscious is the unconscious. - - This adopted antithesis between consciousness and instinct, from this - point of view as well as the arbitrary limitation of the localization - of the whole of an instinctive process to the subcortical centers, - vitiates the force of the very able presentation of the subject by Dr. - Morgan, if I correctly understand him. I know of no data which forbid - the cortex to be included in the innate mechanism of an instinctive - process. On the contrary, it is difficult to understand instinctive - behavior and its modifications through conscious experience unless - cortical centers are included in the psycho-physiological arcs. At any - rate we may define instinct and intelligence in terms of the conscious - and the unconscious, or in brain terms, but we should not mix up these - aspects with that of localization in the definition. Mr. McDougall’s - conception of instinct appeals to me more strongly from both a - biological and a psychological point of view, and further seems to me - to be more in consonance with the data of experience. - -Footnote 131: - - A Text Book of Physiology, 1893, page 727. - -Footnote 132: - - The localization of the processes concerned in all such acquired - automatic behavior—whether it is in the cortex or subcortical - centers—is an unsolved problem. - -Footnote 133: - - If the subconscious processes which perform a mathematical calculation - and other problems, which logically determine the symbolism of a - dream, etc., can be correctly interpreted as unconscious, they plainly - exhibit a higher order of intelligence than any conscious processes in - lower animals, or even some conscious processes of man, like brushing - away a fly. - -Footnote 134: - - Not included in this volume. - -Footnote 135: - - It has been objected that to speak of unconscious ideas is a - contradiction of terms. This seems to me to smack of quibbling as we - know well enough that the adjective is used in the sense of - unawareness. - -Footnote 136: - - For a good account of the history of the theory of unconscious ideas - in philosophy see Hartmann’s “Philosophy of the Unconscious,” where - the following quotations may be found: “To have ideas and yet not to - be conscious of them—there seems to be a contradiction in that—for how - can we know that we have them if we are not conscious of them? - Nevertheless, we may become aware indirectly that we have an idea, - although we be not directly cognizant of the same.” (Kant, - Anthropology, sec. 5.) And again: "Innumerable are the sensations and - perceptions whereof we are not conscious although we must undoubtedly - conclude that we have them, obscure ideas as they may be called (to be - found in animals as well as in man). The clear ideas, indeed, are but - an infinitely small fraction of these same exposed to consciousness. - That only a few spots on the great chart of our minds are illuminated - may well fill us with amazement in contemplating this nature of ours. - (Ibid.) - - “Now unconscious ideas” are such “as are in consciousness without our - being aware of them” (Herbart). - - It is interesting to notice how Kant’s statement might well be - substituted for that of Myers’ of his “Subliminal.” It is difficult to - understand the peculiar antagonistic attitude of certain theoretical - psychologists to the theory of subconscious (coconscious) ideas in - view of the history of this theory in philosophy. They seem to have - forgotten their philosophy and not to have kept pace with experimental - psychology. - -Footnote 137: - - See footnote on p. 149. - - - - - LECTURE IX - THE ORGANIZATION OF UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES - - -=Everyday life.=—It will be well at this point to state in orderly -fashion a few general principles governing the organization of complexes -or syntheses of ideas[138] which, as we shall see, play an important -part in normal and abnormal life. Although this statement will be little -more than descriptive of what is common experience it will be helpful in -classifying and obtaining a useful perspective of the phenomena with -which we shall deal. - -Now, as every one knows, the elemental ideas which make up the -experience of any given moment tend to become organized (i.e., -synthesized and conserved) into a system or complex of ideas, linked -with emotions, feelings and other innate dispositions, so that when one -of the ideas belonging to the experience comes to mind the experience as -a whole is recalled. We may conveniently term such a system when in a -state of conservation, an _unconscious complex_[139] _or neurogram, or -system of neurograms_. If we wish to use psychological terms we may -speak of it as a complex or synthesis of dormant ideas. Although we may -formulate this principle as the “association of ideas” the formula can -have only a descriptive significance pertaining to a relation in time -(and not a causal one) unless there be included an unconscious factor by -which the association becomes effective in exciting one idea through -another—i.e., through a linking of neural dispositions. We cannot -conceive of any conscious relation between ideas that can possibly -induce this effect. It must be some _unconscious dynamic relation_[140] -and be explained in terms of neural dispositions. If this be so, all -ideas are dynamically associated and related in a process which does not -appear in consciousness and which is essential for organization into a -complex. Every system of associated ideas, therefore, implies -conservation through an organized unconscious complex. - -Complexes may be very feebly organized in that the elemental ideas are -weakly conserved or weakly associated; in which case when we try to -recall the original experience only a part or none of it is recalled. - -On the other hand, a complex may be strongly organized and include a -large number of details of an experience. This is usually owing to the -fact that the original experience was accompanied by strong emotional -tones, or by marked interest and attention, or was frequently repeated. - -=Emotional Complexes=: 1. When the original experience was accompanied -by an emotion it may be regarded as having excited one or more of the -emotional instincts of anger, fear, disgust, etc. The excitation of the -instinct or instincts is in one sense a _reaction_ to the ideas of the -experience. The instincts then become organized about one or more of the -ideas to form a sentiment (Shand) and the whole is incorporated in a -complex which then acquires an affective character. The impulsive force -of the instinct thereafter largely determines the behavior of the -complex. (To this we shall return later when we consider the instincts.) -General observation shows that emotional experiences are more likely to -be conserved and also voluntarily recalled. Given such an emotional -complex nearly anything associated with some detail of the experience -may, by the law of association, automatically or involuntarily revive -it, or the emotional reaction with a greater or less number of its -associated memories. This tendency seems to be directly proportionate to -the intensity of the instinct (fear, anger, etc.) incorporated in the -complex. Sometimes, it is true, a strongly emotional experience, even an -experience of great moment in an individual’s life, is completely -forgotten, so completely that no associated idea avails as a stimulus to -awaken it. Usually in all such cases the neurograms are isolated, etc., -by dissociation. They still, however, may be strongly organized and -conserved as an unconscious complex and sometimes may be excited as a -subconscious process by an associated stimulus. In such conditions it -very frequently is found that the dissociation is due to conflict -between the emotion belonging to the complex and another emotional -complex. The impulsive force of the latter dissociates the former -complex which then cannot be voluntarily reproduced as memory, nor -awakened by any association under normal conditions. We have then a -condition of amnesia and often an hysterical condition. To this -important phenomenon we shall return when we consider the emotions. -Passing over these exceptional conditions of conflicting emotions (which -being explained “prove the rule”), it still remains true that in -everyday life emotional experiences are not only more likely to be -conserved but to be subject to voluntary recall, or awakened -involuntarily by an associated stimulus. - -If, for instance, we have experienced a railroad accident involving -exciting incidents, loss of life, etc., the words “railroad,” -“accident,” “death,” or a sudden crashing sound, or the sight of blood, -or even riding in a railroad train may recall the experience, or at -least the prominent features in it. The earlier events and those -succeeding the accident may have passed out of all possibility of -voluntary recall. To take an instance commonplace enough, but which -happens to have come within my recent observation: a fireman, hurrying -to a fire, was injured severely by being thrown from a hose-wagon -against a telegraph-pole with which the wagon collided. He narrowly -escaped death. Although three years have elapsed he still cannot ride on -a wagon to a fire without the memory of substantially the whole accident -rising in his mind. When he does so he again lives through the accident, -including the thoughts just previous to the actual collision when -realizing his situation he was overcome with terror, and he again -manifests all the organic physical expressions of fear, viz., -perspiration, tremor, and muscular weakness. Here is a well organized -and fairly limited complex. It is also plainly an imperative memory, -that is to say, any stimulus-idea associated with some element in the -complex reproduces the experience as memory whether it is wished or not. -Try as hard as he will he cannot prevent its recurrence. The stimulus -that excites such involuntary memories may be a spoken word (as in the -psycho-galvanic and other associative experiments which we shall -consider in a later lecture), or it may be a visual perception of the -environment—of a person or place—or it may be a repetition of the -circumstances attending the original experience, however induced. The -phenomenon may also be regarded as an automatism or automatic process. -As the biological instinct of fear is incorporated in the complex it is -also a _phobia_. - -_Why_ our fireman suffered the intense terror that he did at the time of -the accident, why he experienced the thoughts which surged into his -mind, why he suffered this emotional experience, while another man going -through the same accident suffers no more than the physical injury (if -any) at the time, and why the experience continues to recur as an -imperative memory are problems which we are not considering now. The -fact is that he did suffer the terror and its agonizing thoughts, and, -this being the case, their constant recurrence, i.e., the reproduction -of the experience, is a memory. And this memory consists of a well -organized complex of ideas, feelings, and physiological accompaniments. -I emphasize this point because an imperatively recurring mental -experience of this sort is a psychosis, and, so far as the principle of -memory enters into it, so far memory becomes a part of the mechanism of -obsessions. - -The reason why the man at the moment of the accident experienced the -terrorizing thoughts that he did, and why he continued to experience -them, must be sought in associated conserved experiences of his past. -These experiences were the psycho-genetic factors. It would take us too -far out of the way to consider this problem, which belongs to the -obsessions, at this time, but, as I have touched upon it, I may say in -passing that the accident would have awakened no sense of terror and no -emotional shock if a _psychological torch_ had not already been -prepared. This torch was made up of ideas previously imbibed from the -social environment and made ready to be set aflame by the match set to -it by the accident. In the unconsciousness of this man were written in -neurographic records the dangers attending accidents of this kind and -dangers which still threatened his present and future. - -Likewise the _insistence_ of the memory can be related to a setting of -associated thoughts which gave meaning to his perception of himself as -one affected, as he believed, with a serious injury threatening his -future. His fear was also, therefore, a fear of the present and future. -Thus not only the experiences of the accident itself became organized -into a group and conserved as a memory, but were organized with memories -of still other experiences which stood in a genetic relation to them. If -it were necessary I could give from my personal observation numerous -examples of this mode of organization of complexes through emotional -experiences and of their reproduction as automatic memories. - -An historical example of complex-organizing of this kind is narrated in -Tallentyre’s delightful life of Voltaire. Toward the end of Voltaire’s -famous residence at the court of Frederick the Great, as the latter’s -guest, one of those pestiferous friends who cannot help repeating -disagreeable personal gossip for our benefit swore to Voltaire to having -heard Frederick remark, “I shall want him (Voltaire) at the most another -year; one squeezes the orange and throws away the rind.” From that -moment a complex of emotional ideas was formed in Voltaire’s mind, that, -do what he would, he could not get rid of. He wrote it to his friends, -thought about it, dreamed about it; he tried to forget it, but to no -purpose; it would not “down”; the rind kept constantly rising. It -brought with it every memory of Frederick’s character and actions that -fitted the remark. - -Voltaire, like many men of genius, was a neurasthenic and his ideas with -strong emotional tones tended to become strongly organized and acquire -great force. “The orange rind haunts my dreams,” he wrote; “I try not to -believe it.... We go to sup with the king and are gay enough -sometimes;—the man who fell from the top of a steeple and found the fall -through the air soft and said, ‘Good, provided it lasts,’ is not a -little as I am.” The emotional complex which so tormented Voltaire that -it literally became an obsession was a recurring memory. The experience -had been strongly registered and conserved, owing to the emotional tone, -but the reason _why_ there was so much emotion, and _why_ it absorbed so -many associated ideas into itself and kept recurring would undoubtedly -have been found to lie, if we could have probed Voltaire’s mind, in its -settings—his previous stormy experiences with Frederick, his knowledge -of Frederick’s character, his previous _apprehensions_ of what later -actually occurred, and, most probably, self-reproach for his own -behavior, _the consequences of which he feared to face_. All this, -conserved as neurograms, was set ablaze by the remark and furnished not -only the emotion but the material for the content of the complex. These -previous experiences, therefore, stood in genetic relation to the -latter, excited the emotional reaction of anger, resentment and fear, -and prevented the complex from subsiding. The exciting cause for each -recurrence of the complex was, of course, some associated stimulus from -the environment, or train of thought. - -Another interesting historical example is the foolish complex which is -said to have disturbed the pretty Mme. Leclerc (Pauline Bonaparte, who -was afterward the Princess Borghese). This fascinating and beautiful -woman was enjoying her triumph at a ball. Seated in a little boudoir off -the ball-room she was entertaining “guests who came to admire her and -fill her cup to overflowing. There was, however, a Mme. de Contades, who -had been deserted by her own cavaliers at the appearance of Pauline. -Approaching, now, on the arm of her escort, she said in a tone -sufficiently loud so that every one, including Pauline, could hear -perfectly: ‘Mon Dieu, what a misfortune! Oh, what a pity! She would be -so pretty but for that!’ ‘But for what?’ asked her cavalier. All eyes -were turned upon poor Mme. Leclerc, who thought there must be something -the matter with her coiffure and began to redden and suffocate. ‘But do -you not see what I mean?’ persisted Mme. de Contades, with the cold -cruelty of a jealous woman. ‘What a pity! Yes, truly, how unfortunate! -Such a really pretty head to have such ears! If I had ears like those I -would have them cut off. Yes, positively, they are like those of a pug -dog. You who know her, Monsieur, advise her to have it done; it would be -a charitable act.’ Pauline, more beautiful than ever in her blushes, -rose, tears blinding her eyes, then sank back upon the sofa, hiding her -face in her hands, sick with mortification and shame. As a matter of -fact, her ears were not ugly, only a little too flat. From that day, -however, she always dressed her hair over them or concealed them under a -bandeau, as in the well-known painting of her.”[141] - -Fixed ideas relating to physical blemishes are not uncommonly observed -as obsessions in psychasthenics. With our knowledge of such psychical -manifestations it is easy to imagine Pauline’s antecedent thoughts -regarding her own flat ears, and repugnance to this defect in others, -her suspicions of unfavorable criticisms and of not being admired, etc., -all organized with the instinct of self-abasement (emotion of -subjection) and forming a sentiment of self-depreciation and shame in -her mind. - -2. The outbreak of such _automatic memories_ is particularly prone -to occur in persons of a particular temperament (the apprehensive -temperament, in which the biological instinct of fear is the -paramount factor), in fatigue states, and in so-called neurotic -people—neurasthenics, psychasthenics, and hysterics. In such people -the organization of the complex probably has been largely a -previously _subconscious incubating process_, as in the phenomenon -of “sudden religious conversion.” Later the sudden suggestion or -awakening by whatsoever means of an idea, which has roots in the -antecedent thoughts engaged in the subconscious process, readily -gives occasion for the outbreak of the complex. The latter then -excites the emotional reaction of anger, horror, antipathy, fear, -jealousy, etc., which becomes incorporated in the complex. When once -formed the automatism becomes the psychosis. The following case is -an illustration: - -L. E. W., forty-nine years of age, farmer and lawyer by occupation, a -man of strenuous disposition, broke down under stress and strain with -severe but common symptoms of mental and physical fatigue modified and -exaggerated by apprehensions of incurable illness. At the end of a year -there developed scruples and jealous suspicions of his wife’s chastity, -not persistent but recurring from time to time in attacks, and always -awakened by a suggestion of some kind—an associated idea, a remark -heard, an act of some kind on the part of the wife, etc. Between the -attacks he was entirely free from such thoughts, but during the attack, -which came on with the usual suddenness, these thoughts—always the same -doubts, suspicions, reasonings, jealousy, and fear—were dominating, -imperative, and painful. An open-minded, frank, intelligent man he fully -realized that his scruples were entirely unfounded and even -characterized them as “delusions.” It was interesting, so clear was he -in this respect, to hear him discuss his attacks between times with his -wife, as if they were recurrent appendicitis. The attacks would pass off -in a short time after discussing his scruples with his wife, and then he -became natural again; they involved great suffering and he feared, as -people thus afflicted so often do, that they spelled impending insanity. -And yet it was easy to determine that they were only _imperative -recurrent memories_, conserved complexes emerging from the unconscious. -He had been married twenty-two years. He was of a jealous nature, and -before marriage it annoyed him to think that his wife had been courted -by other men, that she wrote them letters, etc. He began to think of her -as a flirt, that she was going to jilt him, and to have misgivings of -her character. He grew jealous and suspicions of possible unchastity -worried him, but reasoning with himself he would say, “O, pshaw! it is -an abominable suspicion,” “an hallucination,” and put the thought out of -his mind, as he said. But we know he really put the thought _into_ his -mind to be conserved in the unconscious, as a complex of chastity -scruples, and there undergo incubation and further development. Later he -had had spells of jealousy during his married life but no true -imperative ideas until he broke down in health, and then, as he himself -expressed it, “the devil got the upper hand and said, ‘I’ve got you -now.’” - -The devil was the complex organized twenty-two years previously with the -emotion of jealousy[142] centered about the idea of his wife and the -whole neurographically conserved. The impulsive force of the emotion was -constantly striving to awaken and give expression to the unconscious -complex. He was able to hold it in check, to repress it, by the -conflicting force of other sentiments until these became weakened by the -development of the psychasthenic state. Then these latter controlling -elements of personality were repressed in turn whenever the more -powerful jealousy complex was awakened. The whole mechanism was -undoubtedly more complicated than this, in that the jealousy complex had -a setting in certain unsophisticated and puritanical ideas of conduct -(brought to light in the analysis) which gave a peculiar meaning (for -him) to his wife’s actions. So long as this setting persisted it would -be next to impossible to modify the jealousy complex. - -Whatever the mechanism, ideas with strong emotional tones (particularly -fear, anger, jealousy, and disgust), no matter how absurd or repellent, -or unjustified, and whether acceptable or unacceptable, tend to become -organized and welded into a complex which is thereby conserved. The -impulsive force of the incorporated emotion tends to awaken and give -expression to the complex whenever stimulated. The recurrence of such an -organized complex so far as it is reproduction is, of course, in -principle, memory, and an imperative memory or _fixed idea_. Whether the -complex shall be awakened as such a recurrent memory, or shall function -as a dissociated subconscious process, producing other disturbances, or -remain quiescent in the unconscious, depends upon other factors which we -need not now consider. - -3. Clinically the _periodic recurrence_ of such complexes is an -_obsession_. An obsession _as met with_ is most likely to be -characterized by fear not only because the instinct of fear is the most -painful of the emotions, but for another reason. Although biologically -fear is useful as a defense for the preservation of the individual, when -perverted by useless associations it becomes harmful, in that it is not -only painful but prevents the adjustment of the individual to his -environment and thereby takes on a pathological taint. Complexes with -other emotions are less likely to be harmful and therefore less -frequently apply for relief. Yet imperative ideas with jealousy, anger, -hatred, love, disgust, etc., centered about an object are exceedingly -common though their possessors less often resort to a physician. - -From another point of view abnormal complexes, represented by these -examples, may be regarded as “_association psychoses_.” Sometimes the -physiological bodily accompaniments form the greater part of the complex -which is for the most part made up of physiological disturbances -(vasomotor, cardiac, gastric, respiratory, secretory, muscular, etc.); -almost pure association _neuroses_ they then become. Neuroses of this -kind we shall consider in a later lecture.[143] - -Sometimes, particularly in people of intensive temperaments, “imperative -ideas” are formed by gradual evolution in consequence of the mind -constantly dwelling with emotional intensity on certain phases of -thought—i.e., through repetition. This we see in the development of -religious complexes or faiths, but it is also obtrusive in other fields -of thought, political, industrial, social, etc. Hence the evolution of -_fanatics_. A. D. is a man of strong feeling and great imagination. As a -child he was a constant witness of quarrels between his father and -mother. His mind dwelt upon these experiences and there developed in him -at an early date strong aversions toward marriage. Aversion means the -instinct of repulsion or disgust. This instinct therefore became -systematized with the idea of marriage as its object forming an intense -sentiment of aversion. Even as a boy the aversion impelled him to -determine never to marry and later he formed strong theoretical -anti-matrimonial views which became almost a religion. For years he -talked about his views, argued and preached about them like a fanatic to -his friends. His aversion rose in successful conflict against every -temptation to matrimony and his anti-matrimonial complex became an -obsession. The consequences were what might have been expected when, -later in life, he allowed himself in a moment of sympathetic weakness -and owing to compromising situations to slip within the matrimonial -noose. The complex then, like that of Voltaire’s orange rind, would not -down at his own bidding, or at that of his devoted spouse for whom he -had, in other respects, a strong affection mingled with personal -admiration. The resulting situation can be imagined. - -4. _Hysterical attacks._ It is of practical importance to note another -part which emotional complexes may play in psychopathology. In certain -pathological conditions in which there is limitation of the field of -consciousness (involving a disappearance of a large part of the normal -mental life) often all that persists of consciousness and represents the -personal self is the obsessing complex which previously tormented the -patient. In hysterical crises, psycholeptic attacks, trance, and certain -types of epilepsy this is peculiarly the case. In these states the -content of consciousness consists almost wholly, or at least largely, of -a recurrent memory of an experience which originated in the normal life -and which has been conserved in the unconscious. Here the obsessing -ideas, which at one time were voluntarily entertained by the subject, -or, as frequently happens, originated in some emotional experience, -automatically recur, while the remainder of the conscious life becomes -dissociated and suppressed; in other words the obsessing ideas emerge -out of the unconscious (neurograms) and became substantially the whole -conscious field. In hysterical attacks, particularly, the complex is -accompanied by the same strong emotional tone—such as fear, anxiety, -jealousy, or anger—which belonged to the original experience. In such -pathological subjects, whenever the complex is awakened, the remainder -of the conscious field tends to become dissociated and the psychological -state to be reproduced. Hence, in such states, the ideas repeat -themselves over and over again with the recurrence of the attacks. The -subject lives over again as in a dream the original attack, which is a -stereotyped revivification of the original experience. This peculiarity -of the mental condition in attacks has been described by various -writers. The dream of the hystero-epileptic is substantially always the -same. Janet has accurately described the origin and rôle of the fixed -ideas in the hysterical attack. “These ideas,” he says, “are not -conceived, invented at the moment; they formulate themselves; they are -only _repetitions_. Thus, the most important of the hallucinations which -harassed Marcelle during her cloud-attack was but the exact reproduction -of a scene which had taken place the previous year. The fixed ideas of -dying, of not eating, are the reproduction of certain desperate -resolutions taken some years ago. Formerly these ideas had some sense, -were more or less well connected with a motive. A desperate love affair -had been the cause of her attempts at suicide; she refused to eat in -order to let herself die of hunger, etc. To-day these ideas are again -reproduced, but without connection and without reason. She has, we -convinced ourselves, completely forgotten her old despair, and has not -the least wish to die. The idea of suicide comes to her to-day without -any relation to her present situation, and she is in despair at the idea -of this suicide which imposes itself on her as a relic of her past, so -to say. She does not know why she refuses to eat; the ideas of suicide -and refusal of food are dissociated. The one exists without the other. -At one moment she hears the voice, ‘Do not eat,’ and yet she has no -thought of death; at another, she thinks of killing herself and yet she -accepts nourishment. We always find in fixed ideas this characteristic -of automatic repetition of the past without connection, without actual -logic.”[144] - -When certain emotional and distressing ideas of wounded love are -awakened in M. C., an hysteric, she is thrown into an hysterical attack -in which these ideas recur over and over again and dominate -consciousness. In P. M., another hysteric, ideas of loneliness and -jealousy, which had previously been entertained but which had been -thrust out of her mind again and again in a conscientious struggle with -her moral nature, recur, emerge from the unconscious and dominate the -field of consciousness in each hysterical attack which they induce. - -6. In the _psycholeptic_, a variant of the hysteric, the same -sensations, motor phenomena, and hallucinations, and the same bizarre -ideas—whatever the symptomatic phenomena—characterize each attack. This -could be shown experimentally in M——l.[145] - -Of course the degree of dissociation of consciousness, the content of -the fixed idea, and the physiological manifestations vary in individual -cases, according to the nature of the case. Sometimes the disturbance of -consciousness is slight and the physiological manifestations -predominant. - -From a consideration of all the facts we see that a conserved complex -associated with strong feeling tones may play a disastrous and -pathological part in certain individuals. - -It is well to bear in mind here, as before, that in these statements we -are only giving a literal description of the psychological events -without attempt to form any theory of the mechanism of the processes, or -the antecedent psychogenetic factors which lead to the development of -the particular fixed ideas or complexes. About this there may be and is -a difference of view. - -=Systematized Complexes.= In contrast with the limited group of fixed -ideas, organized with one or more emotions (i.e., instincts) I have been -describing, are the large _systems_ of complexes or associated -experiences which become organized and fairly distinctly differentiated -in the course of the development of every one’s personality. In many, at -least, of these systems there will be found a predominant emotion and -certain instinctive tendencies, and a predominant feeling tone—of -pleasure or pain, of exaltation or depression, etc. It is quite possible -that careful investigation would disclose that it is this conflicting -affective force which is responsible for the differentiation of one -system from another with opposing affects and tendencies. The -differentiation of such systematized complexes is of considerable -practical importance for normal and abnormal personality. Among such -systems may here be mentioned those which are related to certain -_subjects_ or departments of human experience, or are related in _time_, -or to certain dispositions or _moods_ of the individual. The first may -be called _subject_ systems, the second _chronological_ systems, and the -last _mood_ systems. - -1. _Subject systems_: I find myself interested, for instance, in several -fields of human knowledge; (a) abnormal psychology; (b) public -franchises; (c) yachting; (d) local politics; (e) business affairs. To -each of these I give a large amount of thought, accumulate many data -belonging to each, and devote a considerable amount of active work to -carrying into effect my ideas in each field. Five large systems are thus -formed, each consisting of facts, opinions, memories, experiences, etc., -distinct from those belonging to the others. To each there is an emotion -and a feeling tone which have more or less distinctive qualities; these -coming from the intellectual interest of abnormal psychology differing -qualitatively from those of the “joy of battle” excited by a public -contest with a railroad corporation or gas company, as it does from that -of the exhilarating sport of a yacht race, or from the annoying and -rather depressing care of business interests; and so on. - -These five subject-complexes do not form independent automatisms or -isolated systems which may intrude themselves in any conscious field, -but comprise large associations, memories of experiences in a special -field of thought. Within that field the ideas of the system are no more -strongly organized than are ideas in general; but it can be recognized -that the system as a whole with its affective tones is fairly well -delimited from the other complexes of other spheres of thought. It is -difficult, for certain individuals at least, to introduce the -associations of one subject-complex into the focus of attention so long -as another is invested with personal interest and occupies the attention -of consciousness. They find it difficult to switch[146] their minds from -one subject to another and back again. On the other hand, it is said of -Napoleon that he had all the subjects of his experiences arranged in -drawers of his mind, and that he could open each drawer at will, take -out any subject he wished, and shut it up again as he wished. Ability of -this kind involves remarkable control over the mind and is not given to -all. - -I have frequently made observations like the following on myself, -showing the organization and differentiation of systems: I collect the -various data belonging to one of the problems discussed in these -lectures. I arrange all in an orderly fashion in my mind, work out the -logical relations and the conclusions to which they lead, as well as -their relations to other data and problems. The whole is then -schematically arranged on paper to await proper elaboration the next -morning, when it will be written out on waking, the preliminary mental -arrangement having been done at night. A large complex has been created, -the various details of which are luminously clear and the sequence of -the ideas vividly conceived, the conclusions definite. There is, -further, an affective tone of joy and exaltation which is apt to -accompany the accomplishment of an intellectual problem and which -produces a feeling of increased energy. - -The next morning, as I awake and gradually return to full consciousness, -another and very different kind of complex almost exclusively fills my -mind, owing probably to the fatigue following the previous night’s work. -All sorts of gloomy thoughts, memories of experiences better forgotten, -course through the mind; and entirely different emotions (instincts), -and a strong feeling of depression dominate the mental panorama. The -whole—ideas, emotions, and feelings—makes a complex which has been -experienced over and over again, and is recognized as such. The same old -ideas, emotions, thoughts, and memories, conserved as neurograms, repeat -themselves almost in stereotyped fashion. The mental complex has -completely changed and the exuberant energy of the night before has -given place to listless inertia. - -All this is commonplace enough, merely morning depression you will say, -due to fatigue; and so it is. But mark the sequel. - -I now remember that I have a task to perform and before rising take -paper and pencil, lying ready at my side, to write out the theme -previously arranged in skeleton. But to my surprise I find that it -cannot be recalled. To be sure, I can, by effort of will, recall -individual facts, but the facts have lost their associations and -meaning, they remain comparatively isolated in memory; all their -correlated ramifications, their associated ideas and relations, which -the night before stood out in relief and crowded into consciousness, -have gone. The emotional tone and impulses which energized the thoughts -have also disappeared, and with them the system of complexes as a whole. -It has been dissociated, inhibited, repressed, and there is _amnesia_ -for it. With the fatigue depression a new system, with different -emotions and feelings, now dominates the mind and the desired system -cannot be switched in. - -This amnesia is not one of conservation but one of reproduction; for -later in the day the fatigue and depression disappear, a new energizing -emotional tone arises and the sought-for system is switched in and -returns in its entirety. With this change the depression system in turn -disappears, and now it is difficult to recall it, excepting that as an -intellectual fact I remember that such thoughts occupied my mind in the -early morning hours. The two systems as a whole are distinctly -differentiated from and alternate with one another. - -All this is only expressing in somewhat technical language a common -experience, as most people, I suppose, have such _alternations of -complexes_. The facts are trite enough; but, because they are of common -experience, it is well to formulate them and so, as far as possible, -give precision to our conception of the psychological relations which -have a distinct bearing on the principles of dissociated personality and -other psychoses, on character and psycho-therapeutics. When, at a later -time, we take up for study the subject of dissociated personality[147] -we shall find that the dissociation of consciousness sometimes takes its -lines of cleavage between systems of complexes of this kind.[148] And, -above all, the formation of complexes _is the foundation stone of -psycho-therapeutics_. - -The methods of _education and therapeutic suggestion_ are variants of -this mode of organizing mental processes. Both, in principle, are -substantially the same, differing only in detail. They depend for their -effect upon the implantation in the mind of ideational complexes -organized by repetition, or by the impulsive force of their affective -tones, or both. Every form of education necessarily involves the -artificial formation of such complexes, whether in a pedagogical, -religious, ethical, scientific, social, or professional field. So in -psychotherapy by artfully directed suggestion, or education in the -narrower sense, complexes may be similarly formed and organized. New -points of view and “sentiments” may be inculcated, useful emotions and -feelings excited, and the personality correspondingly modified. Roughly -speaking, this is accomplished by suggesting ideas that will form -_settings_ (associations) that give new and desired meanings to -previously harmful ideas; and these ideas, as well as any others we -desire to implant in the mind, are organized by suggestion with emotions -(instincts) of a useful, pleasurable, and exalting kind to form -desirable sentiments, and to carry the ideas to fulfilment. Thus -sentiments of right, or of ambition, or of sympathy, or of altruism, or -of disinterestedness in self are awakened; and, with all this, opposing -emotions are aroused to conflict with and repress the distressing ones, -and the whole welded into a complex which becomes conserved -neurographically and thereby a part of the personality. - -Under ordinary conditions of every-day mental life _social suggestion_ -acts like therapeutic suggestion. But the suggestions of every-day life -are so subtle and insidious that they are scarcely consciously -recognized. - -2. _Chronological systems_ (using complex in a rather extended sense) -are those which embrace the experiences of certain epochs of our lives -rather than the subject material included in them. In a general way -events as they are successively experienced become associated together, -and with other elements of personality, so that the later recollection -of one event in the chain of an epoch recalls successively the others. -Conversely a break in the chain of memory may occur at any point and the -chain only be picked up at a more distant date, leaving between, as a -hiatus, an epoch for which there is amnesia of reproduction. This -normally common _amnesia affords confirmatory evidence_ of the -associative relation of successive events. Involving as it does the -unimportant and unemotional experiences as well as the important and -emotional—though the former may be as well conserved as the latter—it is -not easy to understand. The principle, however, plays an important part -in abnormal amnesia particularly, but not necessarily, where there is a -dissociation of personality. - -The epoch may be of a few hours, or it may be of days, of months, or -years. The simplest example is the frequent amnesia for the few hours -preceding a physical injury to the head resulting in temporary -unconsciousness. In other cases it is the result of extensive -dissociation effected by suggestion (e. g., in hypnosis), or psychical -trauma including therein emotional conflicts. Thus, to cite an -experimental example: Miss B. is troubled by a distressing memory which -constantly recurs to her mind during the twenty-four hours. To relieve -her I suggest that she will completely forget the original experience. -To my surprise, though the suggestion is limited to the experience -alone, the whole twenty-four hours are completely wiped out of her -memory. She cannot recall a single incident of that day. The whole epoch -which had associations with the memory is dissociated. - -When the epochal amnesia follows psychical trauma the condition of -memory is apt to present the following peculiarity and the personality -may be altered. When the epoch is the immediate past, i.e., includes the -experiences extending from a certain past date up to the present, it -sometimes happens that memory reverts to that past date. That is to say, -the personality goes back to the period last remembered in which he -believes, for the moment, he is still living, the memory of the -succeeding last epoch being dissociated from the personal consciousness. -Under such conditions there is something more than amnesia. The -neurographic residua of the remembered epoch are revived and its -experiences remembered as if they had just been lived. There is not only -a dissociation of the memories of one epoch, but a resurrection of the -conserved and maybe forgotten experiences of a preceding one. The -synthesis of these memories restores again the personal consciousness of -that period. Before the cleavage took place the recollection of the -resurrected epoch may have been very incomplete and vague; afterward the -new personality remembers it as if just experienced. The personality is, -however, in other respects generally (always?) something different from -the personality of that particular epoch. The dissociation is apt to -involve a certain number of acquired traits and certain innate -dispositions and instincts, while other outlived and repressed traits -and innate dispositions and instincts are apt to be reawakened and -synthesized into an altered abnormal personality. But this is another -story that does not concern us now. - -As an example of epochal amnesia I may cite Mrs. J——, who, after -dissociation occurs, has amnesia for all the events of several years -succeeding a certain hour of a certain day when a psychical trauma -(shock) occurred. She thinks she is living on that day and remembers in -great detail its events as if they had just occurred. - -Miss B. reverts on one occasion to a day, six years back, when she -received a psychical shock; the complexes of her personality of that day -are revived as if just lived, all the succeeding years being forgotten; -on another occasion she reverts to a day when she was living in another -city seven or eight years before. - -M——l reverts to an early period of his life when he was living in -Russia, and forgets all since including even his knowledge of English. - -B. C. A. on several occasions reverts to different epochs of her life -with complete amnesia for all after events. On each occasion she takes -up the thread of her mental life as if living in the past, and recites -the events as if just lived. - -Likewise, after a subject reverts from the abnormal to the normal state, -after a short or long condition of altered personality, there may be a -complete amnesia for the abnormal epoch, and although now normal he -thinks it the same day on which dissociation occurred. - -Thus, Miss O. develops a condition of dissociated personality lasting -six months during which, as it unfortunately happens, she falls in love -with a man whom she had never known in her normal state. At the end of -this period she “wakes up” with a complete loss of memory for the phase -of altered personality and, therefore, to find that her fiancé is -apparently a stranger to her (!). - -The same amnesia in the normal state for prolonged epochs in which the -personality was altered was conspicuous in the case of Miss B. In -William James’ often-cited case of Ansel Bourne and Dr. E. E. Mayer’s -case of Chas. W. the subjects returned to their normal states with -complete amnesia for the abnormal epochs of two months and seventeen -years respectively. - -After all, the common _amnesia for the hypnotic state after waking is -the same phenomenon_. - -Such observations show the possible systematization of epoch complexes, -although the determining conditions are not as yet understood. - -3. _Disposition or Mood systems._—Among the loosely organized complexes -in many individuals, and possibly in all of us, there are certain -dispositions toward views of life which represent natural inclinations, -desires, and modes of activity, which, for one reason or another, we -tend to suppress or are unable to give full play to. Many individuals, -for example, are compelled by the exactions of their duties and -responsibilities to lead serious lives, to devote themselves to pursuits -which demand all their energies and thought and which, therefore, do not -permit of indulgence in the lighter enjoyments of life; and yet they may -have a natural inclination to partake of the pleasures which innately -appeal to all mankind and which many actually pursue; in other words, to -yield to the impulsive force of the innate disposition, or instinct, of -play. But these desires are repressed. Nevertheless the longing for -these pleasures, under the impulses of this instinct, recurs from time -to time. The mind dwells on them, the imagination is excited and weaves -a fabric of pictures, sentiments, thoughts, and emotions the whole of -which thus becomes organized into a systematized complex. - -There may be a conflict, a rebellion and “kicking against the pricks” -and, thereby, a liberation of emotional force of the instinct, -impressing, on the one hand, a stronger organization of the whole -process, and, on the other, repressing all conflicting desires. Or, the -converse of this may hold and a person who devotes his life to the -lighter enjoyments may have aspirations and longings for the more -serious pursuits, and in this respect the imagination may similarly -build up a complex which may similarly express itself. The recurrence of -such complexes is one form of what we call a “mood” which has a -distinctively emotional tone of its own derived from the instincts and -sentiments which are dominant. Such a “disposition” system is often -spoken of as “_a side to one’s character_,” to which a person may from -time to time give play. Thus a person is said to have “many sides to his -character,” and exhibits certain alternations of personality which may -be regarded as normal prototypes of those which occur as abnormal -states. - -It may be interesting to note in passing that the well-known -characteristics of people of a certain temperament, in consequence of -which they can pursue their respective vocations only when they are “in -the mood for it,” can be referred to this principle of complex -formations and dissociation of rival systems. Literary persons, -musicians, and artists in whom “feeling” is apt to be cultivated to a -degree of self-pampering are conspicuous in this class. The ideas -pertaining to the development of their craft form mixed subject and mood -complexes which tend to have strong emotional and feeling tones. When -some other affective tone is substituted, organized within a conflicting -complex, it is difficult for such persons to revive the subject complex -belonging to the piece of work in hand and necessary for its -prosecution. “The ideas will not come,” because the whole subject -complex which supplies the material with which the imagination is to -work has been dissociated and replaced by some other. Certain elements -in the complex can be revived piece-meal, as it were, but the complex -will not develop in mass with the emotional driving energy which belongs -to it. Not having their complexes and affects under voluntary control it -is necessary for such persons to wait until, from an alteration in the -coenesthesis or for some other reason, an alteration in the “feeling” -has taken place with a revival of the right complex _in mass_. - -No more exquisite illustration of these “disposition complexes” could be -found than in the personality of William Sharp. Sharp’s title to -literary fame very largely rests upon the writings which he gave to the -world under the feminine name of Fiona Macleod. The identity of the -author was concealed from the world until his death, and it is still a -common belief that this concealment and the assumption of the feminine -pseudonym were nothing more than a literary hoax. Nothing could be -farther from the truth. There were two William Sharps; by which I mean, -of course, there were two very strongly organized and sharply cut sides -to his character. Each had its points of view, its complexes of ideas, -its imaginings, and, above all, its creative tendencies and feeling -tones. The one side—the one christened William Sharp—was the bread and -butter earner, the relatively practical man who came in contact with the -world—literary critic, “biographer, essay and novel writer as well as -poet”—the experienced side which was obliged to correct its imagination -by constant comparison with reality. The other side—Fiona Macleod—was -the so-called inner man; what he himself called his “true inward self.” -As Fiona he lived in his imagination and dreamed. The development of -this side of his personality began while, as he said, “I was still a -child.” “He found,” his biographer writes,[149] “as have other -imaginative, psychic children, that he had an inner life, a curious -power of visions unshared by any one about him, so that what he related -was usually discredited; but the psychic side of his nature was too -intimate a part of his mind to be killed by misunderstanding. He learned -to shut it away—to keep it as a thing apart—a mystery of his own, a -mystery to himself.” - -This inner life, as time went on, became a mood which he fostered and -developed and in which he built up great complexes of fancies, points of -view, and emotions, which, when the other side of his character came -uppermost, remained neurographically conserved and dormant in the -unconscious. The Fiona complexes he distinctly felt to be feminine in -type so that when he came to give expression to them, as he felt he -must, he concealed this side of his character under a feminine -pseudonym. “My truest self,” he wrote, “the self who is below all other -selves, and my most intimate life, and joys, and sufferings, thoughts, -emotions, and dreams must find expression, yet I cannot save in this -hidden way.” - -“From time to time the emotional, the more intimate self, would sweep -aside all conscious control; a dream, a sudden inner vision, an idea -that had lain dormant in what he called ‘the mind behind the mind’ would -suddenly visualize itself and blot out everything else from his -consciousness, and under such impulse he would write at great speed, -hardly aware of what, or how, he wrote, so absorbed was he in the vision -with which for the moment he was identified.” - -“All my work,” he said, “is so intimately wrought with my own -experiences that I cannot tell you about _Pharais_, etc., without -telling you my whole life.” - -William Sharp himself realized the two moods or “sides,” which became in -time developed into two distinct personalities. These he distinctly -recognized, although there was no amnesia. “Rightly or wrongly,” he -wrote, “I am conscious of something to be done by one side of me, by -one-half of me, by the true inward mind as I believe—(apart from the -overwhelmingly felt mystery of a dual mind, and a reminiscent life, and -a woman’s life and nature within concurring with and oftenest dominating -the other)....” This dual personality was so strongly realized by him -that on his birthdays he wrote letters to himself as Fiona signed -“Will,” and _vice versa_. - -I have dwelt upon this historical example of the exaggerated development -of mood complexes because, while well within the limits of normal life, -it brings home to us the recognition of psychological facts which we -all, more or less, have in common. But, more important than this, in -certain abnormal conditions where the dissociation between systems of -complexes becomes more exaggerated, mood, subject, chronological and -other complexes, linked as each is with its own characteristic emotions -and feelings—instincts and other innate dispositions—play a paramount -part and dominate the personality. In the _hysterical personality_, in -particular, there is more or less complete reversion to or a -subconscious awakening of one or other such complex. Where the -hysterical dissociation becomes so extreme as to eventuate in amnesia in -one state for another the different systems of complexes are easily -recognized as so many phases of _multiple personality_. But in so -identifying the ideational content of phases of personality it should -not be overlooked that intensive studies of multiple personality -disclose the fact that the dissociation of one phase for another carries -with it certain of the instincts innate in every organism. What I mean -to say is, observation of psychopathological states has shown that -instincts, such as play, hunger, anger, fear, love, disgust, the sexual -instincts, etc., may be dissociated separately or in conjunction with -complexes of ideas. In every case of multiple personality that I have -had the opportunity to study each phase has been shorn of one or more of -these inborn psycho-physiological dispositions and I believe this -obtains in every true case. As a result certain sentiments and traits -are lost while those that are retained stamp an individuality upon the -phase. And as the conative forces of the retained instincts are not -balanced and checked by the dissociated opposing instincts, the -sentiments which they form and the emotional reactions to which they -give rise stand out as dominating traits. Thus one phase may be -characterized by pugnacity, self-assertion, and elation; another by -submission, fear and tender feeling; and so on. - -This is not the place to enter into an explanation of dissociated -personality, but I may point out, in anticipation of a deeper discussion -of the subject, that, in accordance with these two principles, in such -conditions we sometimes find that disposition and other complexes -conserved in the unconscious come to the surface and displace or -substitute themselves for the other complexes which dominate a -personality. A complex or system of complexes that is only a mood or a -“side of the character” of a normal individual, may in conditions of -dissociation become the main complex and chief characteristic of the new -personality. In Miss B., for instance, the personality known as BI was -made up almost entirely of the religious and ethical ideas with -corresponding instincts which formed one side of the original self. In -the personality known as Sally we had for the most part the -chronological and mood complexes of youth representing the enjoyment of -youthful pleasures and sports, the freedom from conventionalities and -artificial restraints generally imposed by duties and responsibilities; -she was a resurrection of child life. In BIV the complex represented the -ambitions and activities of practical life. In Miss B., as a whole, -normal, without disintegration, it was easy to recognize all three -dispositions as sides of her character, though each was kept ordinarily -within proper bounds by the conflicting influence of the others. It was -only necessary to put her in an environment which encouraged one or the -other side, to associate her with people who strongly suggested one or -the other of her own characteristics, whether religious, social, -pleasure-loving, or intellectual, to see the characteristics of BI, -Sally, or BIV stand out in relief as the predominant personality. Then -we had the alternating play of these different sides of her character. - -Likewise in B. C. A. In each of the personalities, B and A, similar -disposition complexes could be recognized each corresponding to a side -of the character of the original personality C. In A were represented -the complexes formed by ideas of duty, responsibility, and moral -scruples; in B were represented the complexes formed by the longing for -fun and the amusements which life offered. When the cleavage of -personality took place it was between these two complexes, just as it -was in Miss B. between the several complexes above described. This is -well brought out in the respective autobiographies of B[150] and -Sally[151] in these two cases. In many cases of hysteria in which -dissociation of personality can be recognized the same phenomenon is -often manifest. A careful study will reveal it also, I believe, in other -cases of multiple personality, although, of course, as we have seen, the -dissociation may be along other lines; that is, between other complexes -than those of disposition. - -This principle of the conservation, as neurograms in the unconscious, of -complexes representing “sides” to one’s character, gives a new meaning -to the saying _In vino veritas_. In alcoholic and other forms of -intoxication there results a loss of inhibition, of self-control, and -the disposition complexes, which have been repressed or concealed by the -individual as a matter of social defense, arise out of the unconscious, -and, for the time being, become the dominant mood or phase of -personality. When these complexes represent the true inner life and -nature of the individual, freed from the repressing protection of -expediency, we can then truly say “In vino veritas.” - -=Complexes organized in hypnotic and other dissociated conditions.=—1. -We have been speaking thus far of complexes formed in the course of -every-day life and which take part in the composition of the normal -personality. But it is obvious that a complex may be organized in any -condition of personality so long as we are dealing with consciousness, -however limited or disturbed. Thus in _artificial states_, like hypnosis -and the subconscious process which produces automatic writing, ideas may -be synthesized into systems as well as in normal waking life. This is -exemplified by the fact that in hypnosis the memories of past hypnotic -experiences are conserved and form systems of memories dissociated from -the memories of waking life. When the subject regains the normal -condition of the personal self, though there may be amnesia for the -hypnotic experiences their neurograms remain conserved to the same -extent and in the same fashion as do those of the waking life. -Consequently on the return to the hypnotic state the memories of -previous hypnotic experiences are recovered. - -This systematization of hypnotic experiences is easily recognized in -those cases where several different hypnotic states can be obtained in -the same individual. Each state has its own system of memories differing -from, and with amnesia for, those of the others. Each system also has -its own feeling tones, one system, for example, having a tone of -elation, another, of depression, etc. The systematization is still more -accentuated in cases like the one mentioned in the second lecture (p. -19), where the subject goes into a hypnotic state resembling a trance, -and lives in an ideal world, peopled by imaginary persons, and in an -imaginary environment, perhaps a spirit world or another planet. The -content of consciousness consists of fabrications which make up a -fancied life. In the instance I have mentioned the subject imagined she -was living in a world of spirits; in Flournoy’s classical case, Mlle -Hélène Smith imagined she was an inhabitant of the planet Mars, and -spoke a fabricated language. In these states the same systems of ideas -invariably appeared. - -2. In consequence of this principle of systematization it is in our -power by educational suggestion in hypnosis to organize mental processes -and _build complexes_ of the same kind and in the same way as when the -subject is awake. In fact, it is more readily done, inasmuch as in -hypnosis the critical judgment and reflection tend to be suspended. The -suggested ideas are accepted and education more easily accomplished. -While in hypnosis the individual may thus be made to accept and hold new -beliefs, new judgments, in short, new knowledge.[152] After waking he -may or may not remember his hypnotic experiences. Generally he does. If -he does the new knowledge, if firmly organized (by repetition and strong -affective tones) is still retained, and if accepted (i.e., not repressed -by conflicting ideas) shapes his views and conduct in accordance -therewith. Even if his hypnotic experiences are not remembered, they -still belong to his personality, inasmuch as they are neurographically -conserved, and, experience shows, may still influence his stream of -consciousness. His views are modified by his unconscious personality. -His ideas may and generally do awaken the neurograms of associated -systems created in hypnosis. Not remembering the hypnotic state as a -whole he does not remember the _origin_ of his new knowledge; that is -all. - -One point to be borne in mind is that conserved ideas, whether we can -recall them or not, so long as they are conserved are a part of our -personality, as I have previously pointed out, and ideas can emerge from -the unconscious into the field of the conscious though we have -completely forgotten their origin. It requires but a single experiment -in the induction of suggested post-hypnotic phenomena to demonstrate -these principles. - -3. As to those _pathological states_ where there is a splitting of -personality—hysterical crises, psycholeptic attacks, trance states, -certain types of epilepsy, etc.—complexes may similarly be formed in -them. In these conditions there is a dissociation of a large part of the -normal mental life, and that which is left is only a limited field of -consciousness. A new synthesis comes into being out of the unconscious -to represent the personal self. Though the content of consciousness is a -reproduction of, or determined by certain previous experiences, it is -also true that in these states new experiences may result in new -complexes which then take part in the personality as with hypnotic -experiences. - -=Personality as the survival of organized antecedent experiences.=—Of -course all our past mental experiences do not persist as organized -complexes. The latter, after they have served their purpose, tend to -become disaggregated, just as printer’s type is disaggregated or -distributed after it has served its purpose in printing. In the -organization and development of personality the elements of the mental -experiences become sifted, as it were. Normally, in the adaptation of -the individual to the environment, the unessential and useless, the -intermediate steps leading to the final and useful, tend to drop out -without leaving surviving residua, while the essential and useful tend -to remain as memories capable of recall. In the unconscious these remain -more or less permanently fixed as limited ideas, sentiments, and systems -of complexes. Further, those complexes of experiences which persist not -only provide the material for our memories, but tend, consciously or -unconsciously, to shape the judgments, beliefs, convictions, habits, and -tendencies of our mental lives. Whence they came, how they were born, we -have long ceased to remember. We often arrive at conclusions which we -imagine in our ignorance we have constructed at the moment unaided out -of our inner consciousness. In one sense this is true, but that inner -consciousness has been largely determined by the vestiges furnished by -forgotten experiences. Many of these we imbibed from our environment and -the experiences of our fellows; in this sense we are all plagiarists of -the past. - -Furthermore, we react, to a large extent, to our environment in a way -that we do not thoroughly understand because these reactions are -determined by the impulses of unconscious complexes organized with -innate dispositions. Indeed, our reactions to the environment, our moral -and social conduct, the affective reactions of our sentiments, -instincts, feelings, and other conative tendencies, our “habits,” -judgments, points of view, and attitudes of mind—all that we term -character and personality—are predetermined by the mental experiences of -the past by which they are developed, organized, and conserved in the -unconscious. Otherwise all would be chaos. We are thus the offspring of -our past and the past is the present. - -This same principle underlies what is called the “social conscience,” -the “civic” and “national conscience,” patriotism, public opinion, what -the Germans call “Sittlichkeit,” the war attitude of mind, etc. All -these mental attitudes may be reduced to common habits of thought and -conduct derived from mental experiences common to a given community and -conserved as complexes in the unconscious of the several individuals of -the community.[153] - -Through education, whether scholastic, vocational, or social, we inherit -the experiences of our predecessors and become “... the heir of all the -ages, in the foremost files of time.” But the conceptions of one age can -never represent those of a preceding age. The veriest layman in science -today could not entertain the conceptions underlying many hypotheses -formulated by the wisest of the preceding age—of a Galileo, a Descartes, -or Pascal. Lucretius, in the first century B. C., argued, with what for -the time was great force, that the soul of man was corporeal and that it -“must consist of very small seeds and be inwoven through veins and flesh -and sinews; inasmuch as, after it has all withdrawn from the whole body -the exterior contour of the limbs preserves itself entire and not a -tittle of the weight is lost.” - -Lucretius gave much thought to this problem, but to-day the least -cultured person, who has never reflected at all on psychological -matters, would recognize the foolishness of such a conception and reject -the hypothesis.[154] He would call it _common-sense_ which guided him, -but common-sense depends upon the fact that in the unconscious lie -memories, the reasons for and origin of which we do not remember; these -nullify such an hypothesis. These contradicting ideas, sifted out of -those belonging to the social education, have become fixed as dormant or -organized memories, and determine the judgments and trends of the -personal consciousness. These memory vestiges may work for good or evil, -shape our personal consciousness into a useful or useless form, one that -adapts or unfits the organism to its environment. In the latter case -they drive the organism into the field of pathological psychology. - ------ - -Footnote 138: - - I am using this word in the general sense of any mental experience as - in the common phrase, “the association of ideas,” and not in the - restricted sense of Titchener as the equivalent of a perception. - -Footnote 139: - - I use this word “complex” in the general sense in which it is commonly - used and not with the specific meaning given to it by the Zurich - school, which limits it to a system of ideas to which a strong - affective tone is attached and which, because of its personally - distressing character, is repressed into the subconscious. - -Footnote 140: - - Which may be psychical, although not psychological. - -Footnote 141: - - Sisters of Napoleon, by M. Joseph Turquan. - -Footnote 142: - - McDougall (Social Psychology) regards jealousy as a complex emotional - state in which anger, tender emotion, and other innate dispositions - are factors. - -Footnote 143: - - Not included in this volume. - -Footnote 144: - - Aboulie et idées fixes, Revue philosophique, 1891, i., p. 279. Mental - State of Hystericals, p. 408. - -Footnote 145: - - P. 33. - -Footnote 146: - - The switching process is an interesting problem in itself. (Cf. Max - Levy-Suhl: Ueber Einstellungsvorgänge in normalen und anormalen - Seelenzuständen. Zeitschrift für Psychotherapie und Medizinishe - Psychologie, Bd. 11, Hft. 3, 1910.) An example is the well-known - psychological diagram which may be perceived at one moment as a flight - of steps and at another as an overhanging wall, according as which - perception of the same line is switched in. - -Footnote 147: - - Lectures not included in this volume. - -Footnote 148: - - In the case of Miss B., for example, Sally had absolute amnesia for - certain systems of subject-complexes (Latin, French, etc.) possessed - by the other personalities. - -Footnote 149: - - William Sharp, A Memoir, by Elizabeth A. Sharp. - -Footnote 150: - - My Life as a Dissociated Personality, _Journal of Abnormal - Psychology_, October-November, 1908, December-January, 1909. - -Footnote 151: - - The Dissociation, Chapter XXIII. - -Footnote 152: - - Provided, of course, this new knowledge is justified and not - contradicted by the facts and principles of life. In other words, it - must be believed, at least, to be the truth. - -Footnote 153: - - While these pages were in press, Lord Haldane in his Montreal address - (before the American Bar Association), which has attracted wide - attention, developed the psychological principle of “Sittlichkeit,” as - applied to communities, the nation and groups of nations. By - “Sittlichkeit” is meant the social habit of mind and action underlying - social customs, the instinctive sense of social obligation which is - the foundation of society. This plainly includes what is often called - the social conscience and actions impelled thereby. In further - definition of this principle Lord Haldane quotes Fichte as stating - “Sittlichkeit” to mean “those principles of conduct which regulate - people in their relations to each other, and have become matter of - habit and second nature at the stage of culture reached, and of which, - therefore, we are not explicitly conscious.” The point was made that - the citizen is governed “only to a small extent by law and legality on - the one hand, and by the dictates of the individual conscience on the - other.” It is the more extensive system of “Sittlichkeit” which plays - the predominant rôle. Out of this system there develops a unity of - thought and “a common ideal” which can be made to penetrate the soul - of a people and to take complete possession of it. Likewise there - develops “a general will with which the will of the good citizen is in - accord.” This will of the community (inspired by the common ideal) is - common to the individuals composing it. Lord Haldane goes on to make - the point that what is now true within a single nation may in time - come to be true between nations or a group of nations. Thus an - international habit of looking to common ideals may grow up - sufficiently strong to develop a general will, and to make the binding - power of those ideas a reliable sanction for their obligations to each - other. With this thesis, ably presented and fortified though it be, we - are not here concerned. The point I wish to make is that this - conception of “Sittlichkeit” which Lord Haldane in his remarkable - address, destined I believe to become historic, so ably develops and - applies to the solution of a world-problem is in psychological terms - identical with that of complexes of ideas and affects organized in the - unconscious. - -Footnote 154: - - Professor G. S. Fullerton, in the course of an essay, “Is the Mind in - the Body?” interestingly refers to this fact and points out that - common sense directs the common man in repudiating ancient doctrines, - and that it is “part of his share in the heritage of the race.” “The - common sense which guides men is the resultant attitude due to many - influences, some of them dating very far back indeed.” _The Popular - Science Monthly_, May, 1907. - - - - - LECTURE X - THE MEANING OF IDEAS AS DETERMINED BY SETTINGS - - -In the preceding lecture when describing the organization of emotional -complexes, I mentioned, somewhat incidentally, that their fuller meaning -was to be found in antecedent experiences of life; and that these -experiences conserved in the unconscious formed a setting that gave the -point of view and attitude of mind. It was pointed out also that if we -wish to know the reason why a given experience, like that of Voltaire -with Frederick, awakens a strong emotional reaction, and why the memory -of this experience continues persistently organized with the emotion or -gives rise to the emotional reaction whenever stimulated, we must look -to this setting of antecedent experiences which gives the ideas of the -complexes meaning. We need now to inquire to what extent the unconscious -complex in which the setting has roots may take part in the process -which gives meaning to an idea. It is a problem in _psychogenesis_ and -psychological mechanisms. As an imperatively recurring emotional complex -is an obsession the full meaning of any given obsession is involved in -the psychological problem of “Idea and Meaning.” - -Let us, then, take up for discussion this latter problem as preliminary -to the study of that important psychosis—obsessing ideas and emotions. - -A perception, or, what is in principle the same thing, an idea of an -object, although apparently a simple thing, is really, as a rule, a -complex affair. Without attempting to enter deeply into the psychology -of perception (and ideas), and particularly into the conventional -conception of perception as usually expounded in the text-books—a -conception which to my mind is inadequate and incomplete[155]—it is -sufficient for our immediate purposes to point out in a general rough -way the following facts concerning perception. - -=Perception a synthesis of primary and secondary images.=—Perception may -be regarded both as a process and as a group of conscious elements some -of which are within the focus of attention or awareness and some of -which are outside this focus. As _a process_ it undoubtedly may include -much that is entirely subconscious and therefore without conscious -equivalents, and much that appears in consciousness. As a group of -conscious elements it is a fusion, amalgamation, or compounding of many -elements. - -My perception of X., for example, whom I recognize as an acquaintance, -is much more than a cluster of visual sensations—I mean the sensations -of color and form that come from the stimulation of my retina. Besides -these sensations it includes a number of imaginal memory images some of -which are only in the fringe of consciousness and can only be recognized -by introspection or under special conditions. These secondary images, as -they are called, may be (as they most often are) visual, orienting him -in space and in past associative relations, according to my previous -experiences; they may be auditory—the imaginal sound of his voice or -verbal images of his name; or they may be the so-called kinesthetic -images, etc.; and all these images supplement the actual visual -sensations of color and form. - -That such images take part in perception is of course well recognized in -every text-book on psychology where they will be found described. It is -easy to become aware of them under certain conditions. For instance, to -take an auditory perception from every-day life, you are listening -through the telephone and hear a strange voice speaking. Aside from the -meaning of the words you are conscious of little more than auditory -sensations although you do perceive them as those of a human voice and -not of a phonograph. Then of a sudden you recognize the voice as that of -an acquaintance. Instantly visual images of his face, and perhaps of the -room in which he is speaking and his situation therein, of the -furnishings of the room, etc., become associated with the voice. Your -perception of the voice now takes on a fuller meaning in accordance with -these imaginal images. In such an experience, common probably to -everybody, the secondary images which take part in perception are -unusually clear and easily detected. - -Again, let us take a visual perception. You meet face to face a person -whom at first sight seems unfamiliar; then in a flash visual images of a -scene in a room where you first met, verbal images of his name, and the -sound of his voice rush into consciousness. The comparatively simple -perception of a man has now given place to a more complex perception -(apperception) of an acquaintance and has acquired a new meaning. This -new meaning is in part due to these images which have supplemented the -visual sensations; but it is also due to the coöperation of another and -important factor—the context—which I will presently consider. - -Another situation of every-day life in which we become aware of the -images is when riding in a street car at night we look out of the window -and fail to recognize the individual buildings as we pass them though we -perceive them as houses. The neighborhood being obscured by darkness, -the buildings have no meaning from the point of view of their uses, -proprietorship, locality, etc., but only from an architectural point of -view. Then suddenly, by some apparently subconscious process, visual -memory images of the unseen neighborhood (hidden in darkness), and of -the interior of the buildings, flash into consciousness in conjunction -with the actual visual pictures of the buildings. In imagination we at -once see the locality and recognize (or apperceive) the buildings which -acquire a new meaning as particular shops, which we have often entered, -located in a particular locality, etc. - -Again, take a tactual perception: If you close your eyes and touch, say -a point on your left hand, with your finger, you not only perceive the -touch but you perceive the exact spot that you touched. Your perception -includes localization. Now if you fix your attention and introspect -carefully you will find that you visualize your hand and see, more or -less vividly, the point touched (and the touching finger). If you draw a -figure on the hand you will visualize that figure. That is to say -imaginal visual images of the hand, figure, etc., enter into the tactual -perceptions. You will probably also be able to feel faint tactual -“images” of the hand (joints, fingers, etc.) which combine with the -visualization.[156] The whole complex is the perception proper. - -The images which take part in actual perception, or in ideas of objects, -vary with the mode of perception (whether visual, auditory, tactile, -etc.) and with objects, and in different people. Reading, or the -perception of words, is in many people accompanied by the sound of the -words or kinesthetic images of words. If the printed words are those of -a person whose voice is familiar to us we may actually hear his -voice.[157] General kinesthetic images may occur in perception, as with -objects which look heavy, i.e., have secondary tactual sensations of -heaviness. Likewise tactile and olfactory images may enter the -perceptual field and supplement the visual sensations. When the -sensational experiences of perception are tactile, auditory, olfactory, -or gustatory visual images probably always take part in the perceptual -field if the object is perceived as, e. g., the perception of velvet by -touch and of an orange by smell. Summing all this up we may say, using -Titchener’s words: “perceptions are selected groups of sensations in -which images are incorporated as an integral part of the whole process.” -We may further say the secondary images give meaning to sensations in -forming a perception. - -Now, before proceeding further in this exposition, I would point out -that if memory images are habitually synthesized with sensations to form -a given perception, and if perception is a matter of synthesis, then, -theoretically, it ought to be possible to dissociate these images. -Further, in that case, the perception as such ought to disappear. That -this theoretical assumption correctly represents the facts I have been -able to demonstrate by the following experiment which I have repeated -many times. I should first explain that it has been shown by Janet that -by certain technical procedures some hysterics can be distracted in such -a way that the experimenter’s voice is not consciously heard by them, -but is heard and understood subconsciously. The ordinary procedure is to -whisper to the subject while his attention is focused on something else. -The whisper undoubtedly acts as a suggestion that the subject will not -consciously hear what is whispered. The whispered word-images are -accordingly dissociated, but are perceived coconsciously, and whatever -coconsciousness exists can be in this way surreptitiously communicated -with and responses obtained without the knowledge of the personal -consciousness. In this way I have been able to make numerous -observations showing the presence of dissociated coconscious complexes -which otherwise would not have been suspected. Now the experiment which -I am about to cite was made for the purpose of determining whether -certain experiences for which the subject had amnesia were coconsciously -remembered, but the results obtained, besides giving affirmative -evidence on this point, furnished certain instructive facts indicative -of the dissociation of secondary images. - -The subject, Miss B., was in the state known as BIVa, an hypnotic state, -_her eyes closed_. While she was conversing with me on a subject which -held her attention I whispered in her ear with the view of communicating -with coconscious ideas as above explained. While I was whispering, she -remarked, “Where have you gone?” and later asked why I went away and -what I kept coming and going for. On examination it then appeared that -it seemed to her that during the moments when I whispered in her ear I -had gone away. That is to say, she could no longer visualize my body, -the secondary imaginal visual images being dissociated with my whispered -words. At these times, however, she continued the conversation and was -not at all in a dreamy state. Testing her tactile sense it was found -that there was no dissociation of this sense during these moments. She -felt tactile impressions while she was not hearing my voice, but she -explained afterwards [while whispering, of course, I could not ask -questions regarding sensations aloud] that when I touched her, and when -she held my hand, palpating it in a curious way as if trying to make out -what it was, she felt the tactile impressions, or tactile sensations, -but not naturally. It appeared as the result of further observations -that this feeling of unnaturalness and strangeness was due to a -dissociation of the secondary visual images which normally occur with -the tactile images. (She described the tactile impressions of my hand as -similar to those she felt when she lifted her own hand when it had “gone -to sleep”; it felt dead and heavy as if it belonged to no one in -particular. - -Testing further it was found that, _before abstraction_, while she held -my hand she could definitely visualize my hand, arm, and even face. -While she was thus visualizing I again abstracted her auditory -perceptions by the whispering process. At once the secondary visual -images of my hand, etc., disappeared. As with the auditory perceptions -she could not obtain these visual images, although a moment before she -could visualize as far as the elbow. - -Desiring now to learn whether these dissociated visual images were -perceived coconsciously I whispered, at the same time holding her hand, -“Do you see my hand, arm, and face?” She nodded (automatically) “Yes.” -“Does _she_ [meaning the personal consciousness] see them?” (Answer by -nod) “No.” (The personal consciousness (BIVa) was unaware of the -questions and nodding; the latter was performed subconsciously.) - -This experiment was repeated several times. As often as she ceased to -hear my voice she ceased to visualize my hand, though she could feel it -without recognizing it. It follows, therefore, that the dissociation of -the auditory perceptions of my voice having also robbed the subject’s -personal consciousness of all visual images of my body, her previous -tactual perception of my hand lost thereby its visual images and ceased -to be a perception. - -Let us take another observation: We have seen that a tactual perception -of the body includes secondary imaginal visual and other sensory images -besides the tactile sensation. Now, of course, if sensation is -dissociated so that one has complete anesthesia, no tactile sensation -can be perceived. Under such conditions an anesthetic person -theoretically might not be able to imagine the dissociated tactile -sensations and the associated visual images included in tactile -perception. If so such a person would not be able to visualize his body. -In other words, in accordance with the well-known principle that the -dissociation of a specific memory robs the personal consciousness of -other elements of experiences synthesized with the specific memory, the -dissociation of the tactile images carries with it the visual images -associated in perception. This theoretical proposition is confirmed by -actual observation. Thus B. C. A. in one hypnotic state has general -anesthesia, so complete that she has no consciousness of her body -whatsoever. She does not know whether she is standing or sitting, nor -the attitude of her limbs, or her location in space; she is simply -thought in space. Now it is found that she can visualize the -experimenter, the room, and the objects in the room although she cannot -visualize any part of her own body. The dissociation of the tactual -field of consciousness is so complete that she cannot evoke imaginal -tactual images of the body, and this dissociation of these images -carries with it that of the associated imaginal visual images. Visual -images of the environment, however, not being synthesized with the -tactual body images, can be still evoked. So we see from observations -based on introspection and experimentation that perception includes, -besides primary simple sensations of an object, secondary imaginal -images of various kinds and in various numbers. - -=Besides images the content of ideas includes “Meaning”.=—What I have -said thus far refers to perception and idea as the content of -consciousness—a group of conscious states. But this is not all when -perception is regarded as a _process_. The objects of experience have -associative relations to other objects, actions, conduct, stimuli, -constellated ideas, etc., i.e., past experiences represented by -conserved (unconscious) complexes. As a result of previous experiences -various associations have been organized with ideas and these complexes -form the setting or the “context” (Tichener) which gives ideas meaning. -As the secondary images give meaning to sensations to form ideas (or -perceptions), so these associated complexes as settings give meaning to -ideas. This setting in more general terms may be regarded as the -attitude of mind, point of view, interest, etc. Just as the context in a -printed sentence gives meaning to a given word, and determines which of -two or more ideas it is meant to be the sign of, so in the process of -all perceptions the associated ideas give meaning to the perception. -Indeed it is probable that the context as a process determines what -images shall become incorporated with sensations to form the nucleus of -the perception. Perception thus takes one meaning when it is -constellated with one complex and another meaning when constellated with -another complex. - -“Meaning” plays such an important part in the mental reactions of -pathological and everyday life that I feel we must study it a little -more closely before proceeding with our theme. - -The idea horse[158] as the content of consciousness includes more than -the primary and secondary sensory images which constitute a perception -of an animal with four legs distinguished anatomically from other -animals: The idea includes the meaning of a particular kind of animal -possessing certain functions, useful for particular purposes and -occupying a particular place in civilization, etc. We are distinctly -conscious of this meaning; and although we may abstract more or less -successfully the visual image of the animal from the meaning, and attend -to the former alone, the result is an artifact. Likewise we may as an -artifice abstract, to a large degree, the meaning from the image, -keeping the latter in the background, and attend to the meaning. - -That meaning—just as much as the sensory image of an object—is part of -the conscious content of an idea becomes apparent at once, the moment -the setting becomes altered and an object is collocated with a new set -of experiences (knowledge regarding it). X, for example, has been known -to the world as a pious, god-fearing, moral man, a teacher of the -Christian religion. My perception of him, so far as made up of images, -is, properly speaking, that which distinguishes him anatomically from -other men of my acquaintance, that by which I recognize him as X and not -as Y. But my perception also has a distinctly conscious meaning, that of -a Christian man. This meaning also distinguishes him in his qualities -from other men. Now it transpires to every one’s astonishment that X is -a foul, cruel, murderer of women—a Jack-the-Ripper. My perception of him -is the same but it has acquired an entirely different meaning. A -bestial, villainous meaning has replaced the Christian meaning. So -almost all objects have different meanings in different persons’ minds, -or at different times in the same person’s mind, according to the -settings (experiences) with which they are collocated. My perception of -A has the meaning of physician, while one of his family perceives him as -father or husband. My perception of a snake, it may be, has the meaning -of a loathsome, venomous animal, while a naturalist’s perception may be -that of a vertebrate representing a certain stage of evolution, and a -psychologist holding certain theories may perceive it with a meaning -given by those theories, viz.: as a sexual symbol. - -This fact of meaning becomes still more obvious when we reflect that the -meaning of a perception, as of A’s personality as a physician or father, -may occupy the focus of attention while the images of his face, voice, -etc., may sink into the background. - -Every one is agreed then that every idea or combination of ideas has -“meaning” of some sort. Even nonsense syllables have in a psychological -sense some meaning, which may be an alliteration of sound, or a -symbolism of nonsense (e. g., “fol-de-rol-di-rol-dol-day”) or as -suitable tests for psychological experiments. I am speaking now, of -course, of meaning as dealt with by psychology as a content of -consciousness, and not as dealt with by logic. Every one also will -probably agree that the content of an idea is a composite of sensory -elements (images) and meaning—I would like to say of perception and -meaning; but the use of two abstract terms is likely to lead to a -juggling with words by turning attention away from the concrete facts -for which the terms stand, and by connoting a sharp distinction between -perception and meaning which, as I observe the facts, does not hold. -Indeed the common though useful habit of psychologists of treating -meaning as an abstract symbol without specific reference to those -elements of the content of consciousness for which it stands has, it -seems to me, led to considerable confusion of thought. - -Mr. Hoernlé, who has given us one of the clearest expositions of _idea -and meaning_ that I have read,[159] designates that constituent of an -idea which is the psychical image of an object (e. g., “the visual -perception of a horse”) by the term “sign.” “Signs,” he states “are -always sensational in nature, whether they are actual sensations (as in -sense-perception) or ideas (images or ‘revived’ sensations).” -Accordingly an idea is a composite of sign and meaning, or, as Mr. -Hoernlé has well expressed it: “Both the idea[160] and its meaning, -then, must be present in consciousness. Or perhaps it would be more -accurate to say that they form together a complex psychical whole, a -‘psychosis,’ of which the different elements, however, enjoy different -degrees of prominence in consciousness or draw upon themselves different -amounts of attention.... Normally we apperceive merely the meaning, and -the image or sign remains in the background, in the shade as it were. -But of course we can make the image or sign the special object of -attention; we can apperceive it and correspondingly the meaning falls -into the background. But it does not disappear; it remains in -consciousness.” And again, “every idea is a concrete whole of sign and -meaning, in which the meaning, even when unanalyzed and ‘implicit’ is -what is essential and prominent in consciousness. The sign on the other -hand which we saw reason to identify with certain sensational elements -in this conscious experience is normally subordinate and I have called -this concrete idea a ‘psychic whole’....” - -I quote these passages from Mr. Hoernlé as they are admirably clear -statements of the theory, but as descriptions they are a very incomplete -analysis of the content of ideas, and fall far short of what we require -to know when dealing with the problem of mental mechanisms. It is all -very well to speak of meaning in this general way; but to rest content -with such an abstract term is to only present the problem and there stop -short. Mr. Hoernlé rests content with the negative statement that -meaning “does not consist in images and other words.” What then does it -consist in? - -It must be admitted that the problem is a very difficult one and -therefore it is, I suppose, that most psychologists, as if scenting -danger, seem to dodge the question and rest content to use meaning as a -symbol like the unknown _x_ and _y_ of algebra. If meaning is a part of -the content of consciousness it must be analyzable into specific -conscious elements (images, thoughts, words, feelings or what not) -representing to some extent and in some way past experiences. - -Obviously a full rounded-out psychology of meaning must include an -analysis of the content of meaning.[161] I have no intention of entering -upon this task here and it is not my business. It would, however, be of -very great assistance in solving many of the problems of abnormal -psychology if the psychology of meaning were better worked out. But -conversely, I would say, considerable light on the psychology of meaning -can be derived from the study of abnormal conditions, and of the mental -phenomena artificially provoked by hypnotic procedures. Some of the -observations which I shall presently cite contribute, I believe, to this -end. - -Permit me also to point out—as the point is one which has considerable -bearing on our theme—that the descriptive statement that ideas are a -composite of two distinct elements, perception (images, signs) and -meaning, is inadequate in another respect; it is too static and -schematic. Although it is convenient to distinguish between perception -and meaning, they shade into one another and indeed there does not seem -to be any justification for regarding them as other than one dynamic -process. As we have seen, perception is made up of a primary sensory -image of an object combined with a number of secondary images. This in -itself is a “psychic whole”, and, as I view it, contains meaning. My -perception of a watch contains secondary images which give it the -meaning of a watch and make it something more than a visual image. It -may have a still larger and different meaning, that of a souvenir of a -dead friend, and in this larger meaning the perception of the watch -becomes subordinate, as a sign or group of images, and sinks into the -background, while the added meaning occupies the focus of attention. -Indeed the primary image of a perception may sink into relative -insignificance in the background, while the secondary images become -all-important and practically constitute the actual perception (or idea) -as a psychic whole. Consider, for instance, what different secondary -images (and meaning) are in the focus and how the primary image of the -word “son” (spoken or written) almost disappears, according as the -context shows it to be _my_ son or _your_ son; and how correspondingly -different are those ideas. And so with a wider filial meaning of son. It -is safe to say that King Lear’s idea of “daughter” had not the filial -meaning conventionally ascribed to that relationship. - -If all this that I have said is valid the difference between that which -we call perception and that which we call meaning is one of complexity. -The less complex we call perception, the more complex, meaning. Both are -determined by past experiences the residua of which are the settings. - -This may be illustrated by the following: We will suppose that three -persons in imagination perceive a certain building used as a department -store on a certain street I have in mind now, in a growing section of -the city. One of these persons is an architect, another is an owner of -property on this street, and the third is a woman who is in the habit of -making purchases in the department store. When the architect thinks of -the building he perceives it in his mind’s eye in an architectural -setting, that is, its architectural style, proportions, features, and -relations. His perception includes a number of secondary images of the -neighboring buildings, of their styles of architecture, and of their -relations from an æsthetic point of view. In the perception of the owner -of property there are also a number of secondary images, but these are -of the passing people and traffic, of neighboring buildings as shops and -places of business. In the perception of the woman the secondary images -are of the interior of the store, the articles for sale, clothes she -would like to purchase and possibly bargains dear to every woman’s -heart. Plainly each perceives the building from a different point of -view. Each might perceive the building from the same point of view, but -the point of view differs because of the differences in the past -experiences of each. - -In the case of the architect these experiences were those of previous -observations on the architecture of the growing neighborhood. In the -case of the property owner they were of thoughtful reflections on the -future development of neighboring property, on the industrial relations -of the building to business, and on the speculative future value of the -property. In the case of the woman they were of purchases she had made, -of articles she had seen and desired, of scenes inside the shop, etc. -Out of these experiences respectively a complex was built and conserved -in the mind of each. The idea of the building is set in these respective -experiences which therefore may be called its setting. The imaginal -perception of the building obviously has a different meaning for each of -our three observers, and it is plainly the setting which governs the -meaning, i.e., an architectural, industrial, or shopping meaning, as the -case happens to be; and we may further say the setting determines the -point of view or attitude of mind or interest. _Either the perception -proper of the building or the meaning may be in the focus of attention -and the other recede into the background or the fringe of awareness._ - -Further, different _affects_ may enter into each setting and, therefore, -into the perception. With the architectural perception there may be -linked an æsthetic joyful emotion; with the industrial perception a -depressing emotion of anxiety; with the shopping perception perhaps one -of anger. (This linking of an emotion, of course, has a great importance -for psychopathic states.) - -The dependence of perceptions upon their settings for meaning has been -very beautifully expressed by Emerson in “Each and All”: - - “Nothing is fair or good alone. - I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven, - Singing at dawn on the alder bough; - I brought him home, in his nest, at even; - He sings the song, but it cheers not now, - For I did not bring home the river and sky; - He sang to my ear—they sang to my eye. - The delicate shells lay on the shore; - The bubbles of the latest wave - Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, - And the bellowing of the savage sea - Greeted their safe escape to me. - I wiped away the weeds and foam, - I fetched my sea-born treasures home; - But the poor unsightly, noisome things - Had left their beauty on the shore - With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.” - -=The practical application of the theory to emotional outbreaks of -everyday life.=—The significance of these principles for our purpose -lies in the fact that they enable us to understand numerous -psychological events of everyday and pathological life that otherwise -would be unintelligible. It is worth while then to study a little more -closely the practical application in everyday life of this principle of -settings before applying it to the more difficult problem of imperative -ideas or obsessions. - -No psychological event, any more than a physical event, stands entirely -isolated, all alone by itself, without relation to other events. Every -psychological event is related more or less intimately to antecedent -events, and the practical importance or value of this relation depends -for the individual partly upon the nature of the relation itself, and -partly upon the ontological value of those anterior events, i.e., the -part they played and still play in the personality of the individual. No -event, therefore, if it is to be completely interpreted, should be -viewed by itself but only in relation to preceding ones. For example: a -husband good humoredly and thoughtlessly chaffs his wife about the cost -of a new hat which she exhibits with pride and pleasure. The wife in -reply expresses herself by an outburst of anger which, to the astonished -bystander, seems an entirely unjustifiable and inexplicable response to -an entirely inadequate cause. Now if the bystander were permitted to -make a psychological inquiry into the mental processes of the wife, he -would find that the chaffing remark had meaning for her very different -from what it had for him, and probably also for the husband; that it -meant much more to her than the cost of that hat. He would find that it -was set in her mind in a number of antecedent experiences consisting of -criticisms of the wife by the husband for extravagance in dress; and -perhaps criminations and recriminations involving much angry feeling on -the part of both, and he would probably find that when the hat was -purchased the possibility of criticism on the ground of extravagance -passed through her mind. The chaffing remark of the husband therefore in -the mind of the wife had for a context all these past experiences which -formed a setting and gave an unintended meaning to the remark. The angry -response, therefore, was dictated by these antecedent experiences and -not simply by the trivial matter of the cost of a hat, standing by -itself. The event can only be interpreted in the light of these past -conserved experiences. How much of all this antecedent experience was in -consciousness at the moment is another question which we shall presently -consider. - -I have often had occasion to interpret cryptic occurrences of this -kind happening with patients or acquaintances. They make quite an -amusing social game. (A knowledge of this principle shows the -impossibility of outsiders judging the rightness or wrongness of -misunderstandings and contretemps between individuals—particularly -married people.) To complete the interpretation of this episode of the -hat—although a little beside the point under consideration: plainly -the anger to which the wife gave expression was the affect linked with -and the reaction to the setting-complex formed by antecedent -experiences. To state the matter in another way, these experiences -were the formative material out of which a _psychological torch_ had -been plastically fashioned ready to be set ablaze by the first touch -of a match—in this case the chaffing remark or associated idea. This -principle of the setting, which gives meaning to an idea, being the -conserved neurograms of related antecedent experiences is strikingly -manifest in pathological and quasi-pathological conditions. I will -mention only two instances. - -The first, that of X. Y. Z., I shall have occasion to refer to in more -detail in connection with the emotions and instincts in a later -lecture.[162] This lady, on the first night of her marriage, felt deeply -hurt in her pride from a fancied neglect on the part of her husband. The -cause was trivial and could not possibly be taken by any sensible person -as an adequate justification for the resentment which followed and the -somewhat tragic revenge which she practiced (continuous voluntary -repression of the sexual instinct during many years). But the fancied -slight had a meaning for her which did not appear on the surface. As she -herself insisted, in attempted extenuation of her conduct, “You must not -take it alone by itself but in connection with the past.” It appeared -that during the betrothal period there had been a number of experiences -wounding to her pride and leading to angry resentment. These had been -_ostensibly but not really forgiven_. The action of her spouse on the -important night in question had a meaning for her of a slight, because -it stood in relation to all these other antecedent experiences, and -through these only could its meaning (for her) be interpreted. As a -practical matter of therapeutics it became evident that the cherished -resentment of years and the physiological consequences could only be -removed by readjusting the setting—the memories of all the antecedent -experiences with their resentment. - -The second instance was a case of hysteria of the neurasthenic type with -outbreaks of emotional attacks in a middle-aged woman. It developed -immediately, in the midst of good health, out of a violent and -protracted fit of anger, almost frenzy, two years ago, culminating in -the first emotional or hysterical attack. Looked at superficially the -fit of anger would be considered childish because it was aroused by the -fact that some children were allowed to make the day hideous by firing -cannon-crackers continually under her window in celebration of the -national holiday. When more deeply analyzed it was found that the anger -was really _resentment_ at what she considered unjustifiable treatment -of herself by others, and particularly by her husband, who would not -take steps to have the offense stopped. It is impossible to go into all -the details here; suffice it to say that _below the surface_ the -experiences of life had deposited _a large accumulation of grievances_ -against which resentment had been continuous over a long series of -years. Although loving and respecting her husband, a man of force and -character, yet she had long realized she was not as necessary to his -life as she wanted to be; that he could get along without her, however -fond he was of her; and that he was the stronger character in one way. -She wanted to be wanted. Against all this for years she had felt anger -and resentment. She had concealed her feelings, controlled them, -repressed them, if you will, but there remained a general -dissatisfaction against life, a “kicking against the pricks,” and a -quickness to anger, though its expression had been well controlled. -These were the formative influences which laid the mine ready to be -fired by a spark, feelings of resentment and anger which had been -incubating for years. Finally the spark came in the form of a childish -offense. The frenzy of anger was ostensibly only the reaction to that -offense, but it was really the explosion of years of antecedent -experiences. The apparent offense was only the manifested cause, -symbolic if you like so to express it, of the underlying accumulated -causes contained in life’s grievances.[163] After completion of the -analysis the patient herself recognized this interpretation to be the -true meaning of her anger and point of view. - -Similarly in everyday life the _emotional shocks_ from fear in dangerous -situations, to which most people are subject and which so often give -rise to traumatic psychoses, must primarily find their source in the -psychological setting of the perception of the situation (railroad, -automobile, and other accidents). This setting is fashioned from the -conserved knowledge of the fatal and other consequences of such -accidents. This knowledge, deposited by past mental experiences—that -which has been heard and read—induces a dormant apprehension of -accidents and gives the meaning of danger to a perception of a present -situation, and in itself, I may add, furnishes the neurographic fuel -ready to be set ablaze by the first accident.[164] - ------ - -Footnote 155: - - In that it takes into account only a limited number of the data at our - disposal and neglects methods of investigation which afford data - essential for the understanding of this psychological process. - -Footnote 156: - - It is of interest to note again in this connection that these - secondary images may emerge from a subconscious process to form the - structure of an hallucination. Various facts of observation which I - have collected support the thesis advanced by Sidis (loc. cit.) on - theoretical grounds “that hallucinations are synthesized compounds of - secondary sensory elements dissociated completely or incompletely from - their primary elements.” It would carry us too far away from our theme - to consider here this problem of special pathology. Sidis further - insists that hallucinations are not central, but always “are - essentially of peripheral origin,” a view which, it seems to me, is - incompatible with numerous facts of observation. - -Footnote 157: - - I once dictated into a phonograph a passage of a published work. - Whenever I read that passage now I hear the sound of my own voice as - it was emitted by the phonograph. - -Footnote 158: - - I intentionally do not here say idea _of_ a horse because the use of - the preposition (while, of course, correctly used to distinguish horse - as an idea from a material horse, or the former as a particular idea - among ideas in general) has led, as it seems to me, insidiously to - specious reasoning. Thus Mr. Hoernlé (Image, Idea and Meaning, _Mind_, - January, 1907) argues that every idea has a meaning because every idea - is an idea _of_ some thing. Although this is true in a descriptive - sense, psychologically idea-of-a-horse is a compound term and an - imagined horse. The idea itself is horse. The speciousness of the - reasoning appears when we substitute horse for idea; then the phrase - would read, a “horse is always a horse of something.” I agree, of - course, that every idea has a meaning, but not to this particular - reasoning by which the conclusion is reached, as when, for example, - Mr. Hoernlé when traversing James’ theory cites “image _of_ the - breakfast table” to denote that the breakfast table is the meaning of - the image. The image _is_ the (imagined) breakfast table. They are not - different things as are leg and chair in the phrase, “leg of the - chair,” where chair plainly gives the meaning to leg. - -Footnote 159: - - R. F. Hoernlé, Image, Idea and Meaning, _Mind_, January, 1907. - -Footnote 160: - - Idea, according to Mr. Hoernlé’s context, is here used in the sense of - a word, image or sign. - -Footnote 161: - - Of course the constituents of the content must vary in each individual - instance, but the kind of conscious elements that in general give - meaning to the sensory part of the idea can be determined. - -Footnote 162: - - P. 462, Lecture XIV. - -Footnote 163: - - Prince: The Mechanism of Recurrent Psychopathic States, with Special - Reference to Anxiety States, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, - June-July, 1911, pp. 153-154. - -Footnote 164: - - Ibid., p. 152. It is interesting to note that statistics show that - traumatic psychoses following railway accidents are comparatively rare - among trainmen, while exceedingly common among passengers. The reason - is to be found in the difference in the settings of ideas of accidents - in the two classes of persons. It is the same psychological difference - that distinguishes the seasoned veteran soldier from the raw recruit - in the presence of the enemy. - - - - - LECTURE XI - MEANING, SETTING, AND THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS - - -=The content of the fringe of consciousness considered as a subconscious -zone.=—It is obvious that all the past experiences which originate the -meaning of an idea cannot be in consciousness at a given moment. If I -carefully introspect my imaginal perception or idea of an object, say of -a politician, I do not find in my consciousness all the elements which -have given me my viewpoint or attitude of mind toward him—the meaning of -my idea of him as a great statesman or a demagogue, whichever it be—and -yet it may not be difficult, by referring to my memory, to find the past -experiences which have furnished the setting which gives this viewpoint. -Very little of all these past experiences can be in the content of -consciousness, and much less in the focus of attention, at any given -moment, nevertheless I cannot doubt that these experiences really -determined the meaning of my idea, for if challenged I proceed to recite -this conserved knowledge. And so it is with everyone who defends the -validity of the meaning of his ideas. - -The question at once comes to mind in the case of any given perception, -how much of past experience (associated ideas) is in consciousness at -any given moment as the setting which provides the meaning? - -That the meaning must be in consciousness is obvious; else the term -“meaning” would have no meaning—it would be sheer nonsense to talk of -ideas having meaning. As I have said, the meaning may be in the focus of -attention or it may be in the fringe or background according to the -point of interest. If in the focus of attention, meaning plainly may, -synchronously or successively, include ideas of quite a large number of -past experiences, but if in the background it may be another matter. In -this case it may be held, and probably in many instances quite rightly, -that meaning is a short summary of past experiences, or summing up in -the form of a symbol, and that this summary or symbol is in the focus of -attention or in the fringe of awareness, i. e., is clearly or dimly -conscious. Thus, in one of the examples above given, the industrial -meaning of the owner’s idea of the building might be a short summing up -of his past cogitations on the business value of the property; in the -case of my idea of the politician, the symbol “statesman” or -“demagogue”—as the case might be—might be in consciousness and be the -meaning. All the rest of the past associative experiences in either case -would furnish the origin of the setting but would not be the actual -functioning setting itself. - -It must be confessed, however, that the content of meaning, when it is -not in the focus of attention, often becomes very elusive when we try to -clearly revive it retrospectively and differentiate the particular -states of consciousness present at any given moment. It is probably -because of this elusiveness, as of something that seems to evade -analysis, that it was so long overlooked as an object of psychological -study. Yet if meaning is not something more than an abstract term, and -is really a component of a moment’s consciousness, we ought to be able -to analyze it in any given instance provided our methods of -investigation are adequate. The difficulty, I think, largely arises from -the fact that the minute we direct attention to such elements of the -content of consciousness of any given moment as are not in the focus of -attention they at once become shifted into the focus and the composition -of the content also becomes altered. Consequently we are never -_immediately_ vividly or fully aware of the whole content. The only -method of learning what is the whole content at any given moment is by -_retrospection_—the recovery of it as memory. Further, special technical -methods are required. Then, too, image and meaning are constantly -shifting their relative positions, at one time the one being in the -focus of attention, the other in the fringe, and _vice versa_. - -When speaking colloquially of the content of consciousness we have in -mind those ideas or components of ideas—elements of thought—which are in -the focus of attention, and therefore that of which we are more or less -vividly aware. If you were asked to state what was in your mind at a -given moment it is the vivid elements, upon which your attention was -focused, that you would describe. But, as everyone knows, these do not -constitute the whole field of consciousness at any given moment. Besides -these there is in the background of the mind, outside the focus, _a -conscious margin or fringe_ of varying extent (_consisting of -sensations, perceptions, and even thoughts_) _of which you are only -dimly aware_. It is a sort of twilight zone in which the contents are so -slightly illuminated by awareness as to be scarcely recognizable. The -contents of this zone are readily forgotten owing to their having been -outside the focus of attention; but much can be recalled if an effort to -do so (retrospection) is made immediately after any given moment’s -experience. Much can only be recalled by the use of special technical -methods of investigation. I believe that the more thoroughly this -wonderful region is explored the richer it will be found to be in -conscious elements. - -It must not be thought that because we are only dimly aware of the -contents of this twilight zone therefore the individual elements lack -definiteness and positive reality. To do so is to confuse the awareness -of a certain something with that something itself. To so think would be -like thinking that, because we do not distinctly recognize objects in -the darkness, therefore they are but shadowy forms without substance. -When, in states of abstraction or hypnosis, the ideas of this fringe of -attention are recalled, as often is easily done, they are remembered as -_very definite, real, conscious elements_, and the memory of them is as -vivid as that of most thoughts. That these marginal ideas are not -“vivid” at the time of their occurrence means simply that they are not -in such dynamic relations with the whole content of consciousness as to -be the focus of awareness or attention. What sort of relations are -requisite for “awareness” is an unsolved problem. It seems to be a -matter not only of synthesis but of dynamic relations within the -synthesis. - -However that may be, outside that dynamic synthesis which we distinguish -as the focus of attention we can at certain moments recognize or recall -to memory (whether through technical devices or not) a number of -different conscious states. These may be roughly classified as follows: - -1: Visual, auditory, and other sensory impressions to which we are not -giving attention—(e. g., the striking of a clock; the sound of horses -passing in the street; voices from the next room; coenæsthetic and other -sensations of the body. - -2: The secondary sensory images of which I spoke in the last lecture as -taking part in perception. - -3: Associative memories and thoughts pertaining to the ideas in the -focus of attention. - -4: Secondary independent trains of thought not related to those in the -focus of attention. (As when we are doing one thing or listening to -conversation and thinking of something else. Very likely, however, what -appear to be secondary trains of thought are often only alternating -trains. I have, however, a considerable collection of data showing such -concomitant secondary trains in certain subjects (cf. Lecture VI). Such -a train can be demonstrated to be a precisely differentiated “stream” of -consciousness in absent-minded conditions, where it may constitute a -veritable doubling of consciousness. - -Some of these marginal elements may be so distinctly within the field of -awareness that we are conscious of them, but dimly so.[165] Others, in -particular cases at least, may be so far outside and hidden in the -twilight obscurity that the subject is not even dimly aware of them. In -more technical parlance, we may say, they are so far dissociated that -they belong to _an ultra-marginal zone and are really subconscious_. -Evidence of their having been present can only be obtained through -memories recovered in hypnosis, abstraction, and by other methods. These -may be properly termed coconscious. Undoubtedly the degree of awareness -for marginal elements, i.e., the degree of dissociation between the -elements of the content of consciousness, varies at different moments in -the same individual according to the degree of concentration of -attention and the character of the fixation, e. g., whether upon the -environment or upon inner thoughts. It also varies much in different -individuals. Therefore some persons lend themselves as more favorable -subjects for the detection of marginal and ultra-marginal states than -others. Furthermore, according to certain evidence at hand, there is, in -some persons at least, a constant shifting or interchange of elements -going on between the field of attention and the marginal and the -ultra-marginal zone—what is within the first at one moment is in the -second, or is entirely subconscious, the next, and _vice versa_. - -Amnesia develops very rapidly for the contents of the twilight region, -as I have already stated, and this renders their recognition -difficult.[166] - -In favorable subjects memory of that portion of the content of -consciousness which is commonly called the fringe can be recovered in -abstraction and hypnosis. In these states valuable information can be -obtained regarding the content of consciousness at any given previous -moment,[167] and this information reveals that there were present in the -fringe conscious states of which the subject was never aware, or of -which he is later ignorant owing to amnesia. I have studied the fringe -of consciousness by this method in a number of subjects. A number of -years ago _a systematic study_ of the field of the content of -consciousness outside the focus of awareness, including not only the -fringe but what may be called the ultra-marginal (subconscious) zone, -was made in a very favorable subject (Miss B.), and the general results -were given in an address on the “Problems of Abnormal Psychology”[168] -at the Congress of Arts and Sciences held in St. Louis (1904). I may be -permitted to quote that summary here. The term “secondary consciousness” -is used in this passage to designate the fringe and ultra-marginal -(subconscious) zone. - -"A systematic examination was made of the personal consciousness in -hypnosis regarding the perceptions and content of the secondary -consciousness during definite moments, of which the events were -prearranged or otherwise known, the subject not being in -absent-mindedness. It is not within the scope of an address of this sort -to give the details of these observations, but in this connection I may -state briefly a summary of the evidence, reserving the complete -observation for future publication. It was found that— - -"1. A large number of perceptions—visual, auditory, tactile, and thermal -images, and sometimes emotional states—occurred outside of the personal -consciousness and, therefore, the subject was not conscious of them when -awake. The visual images were particularly those of peripheral vision, -such as the extra-conscious [marginal or ultra-marginal] perception of a -person in the street who was not recognized by the personal waking -consciousness; and the perception of objects intentionally placed in the -field of peripheral vision and not perceived by the subject, whose -attention was held in conversation. Auditory images of passing -carriages, of voices, footsteps, etc., thermal images of heat and cold -from the body were similarly found to exist extra-consciously, and to be -entirely unknown to the personal waking consciousness. - -"2. As to the content of the concomittant (dissociated) ideas, it -appeared, by the testimony of the hypnotic self, that as compared with -those of the waking consciousness the secondary ideas were quite -limited. They were, as is always the experience of the subject, made up -for the most part of emotions (e. g., annoyances), and sensations -(visual, auditory, and tactile images of a room, of particular persons, -people’s voices, etc). They were not combined into a logical -proposition, though in using words to describe them it is necessary to -so combine them and therefore give them a rather artificial character as -‘thoughts.’ It is questionable whether the word ‘thoughts’ may be used -to describe mental states of this kind, and the word was used by the -hypnotic self subject to this qualification. Commonly, I should infer, a -succession of such ‘thoughts’ may arise, but each is for the most part -limited to isolated emotions and sensorial images and lacks the -complexity and synthesis of the waking mentation. - -"3. The memories, emotions, and perceptions of which the subject is not -conscious when awake are remembered in hypnosis and described. The -thoughts of which the subject is conscious when awake are those which -are concentrated on what she is doing. The others, of which she is not -conscious, are a sort of side-thoughts. These are not logically -connected among themselves, are weak, and have little influence on the -personal (chief) train of thought. Now, although when awake the subject -is conscious of some thoughts and not of others, both kinds keep running -into one another and therefore the conscious and the subconscious are -constantly uniting, disuniting, and interchanging. _There is no hard and -fast line between the conscious and the subconscious, for at times what -belongs to one passes into the other, and vice versa._ The waking self -is varying the grouping of its thoughts all the time in such a way as to -be continually including and excluding the subconscious thoughts. The -personal pronoun ‘I,’ or, when spoken to, ‘you,’ applied equally to her -waking self and to her hypnotic self, _but these terms were not -applicable to her unconscious thoughts, which were not self-conscious_. -For convenience of terminology it was agreed to arbitrarily call the -thoughts of which the subject is conscious when awake the _waking -consciousness_, and the thoughts of which when awake she is not -conscious the _secondary consciousness_. In making this division the -hypnotic self insisted most positively on one distinction, namely that -the secondary consciousness was in no sense a _personality_. The pronoun -_I_ could not be applied to it. In speaking of the thoughts of this -second group of mental states alone, she could not say ‘I felt this,’ ‘I -saw that.’ These thoughts were better described as, for the most part, -unconnected, discrete sensations, impressions, and emotions, and were -not synthesized into a personality. They were not, therefore, -self-conscious. When the waking self was hypnotized, the resulting -hypnotic self acquired the subconscious perceptions of the second -consciousness; she then could say ‘_I_,’ and the hypnotic ‘_I_’ included -what were formerly ‘subconscious’ perceptions. In speaking of the -secondary personality by itself, then, it is to be understood that -self-consciousness and personality are always excluded. This testimony -was verified by test instances of subconscious perception of visual and -auditory images of experiences occurring in my presence. - -"4. Part played by the secondary consciousness in (a) normal mentation. -The hypnotic self testified that the thoughts of the secondary -consciousness do not form a logical chain. They do not have volition. -They are entirely passive and have no direct control over the subject’s -voluntary actions. - -"(b) Part played by the secondary consciousness in absent-mindedness. -(1) Some apparently absent-minded acts are only examples of amnesia. -There is no doubling of consciousness at the time. It is a sort of -continuous amnesia brought about by lack of attention. (2) In true -absent-mindedness there does occur a division of consciousness along -lines which allow a large field to, and relatively wide synthesis of the -dissociated states. The personal consciousness is proportionately -restricted. The subconscious thoughts may involve a certain amount of -volition and judgment, as when the subject subconsciously took a book -from the table, carried it to the bookcase, started to place it on the -shelf, found that particular location unsuitable, arranged a place on -another shelf where the book was finally placed. No evidence, however, -was obtained to show that the dissociated consciousness is capable of -wider and more original synthesis than is involved in adapting habitual -acts to the circumstances of the moment. - -"(c) Solving problems by the secondary consciousness. [The statement of -the hypnotic self regarding the part played by the ‘secondary -consciousness’ has already been given in Lecture VI, p. 167.] - -“The subject of these observations was at the time in good mental and -physical condition. Criticism may be made that, the subject being one -who had exhibited for a long time previously the phenomena of mental -dissociation, she now, though for the time being recovered, tended to a -greater dissociation and formation of subconscious states than does a -normal person, and that the subconscious phenomena were therefore -exaggerated. This is true. It is probable that the subconscious flora of -ideas in this subject are richer than in the ordinary individual. These -phenomena probably represent the extreme degree of dissociation -compatible with normality. And yet, curiously enough, the evidence -tended to show that the more robust the health of the individual, the -more stable her mind, the richer the field of these ideas.” - -Of course it is a question how far the findings in a particular and -apparently specially favorable subject are applicable to people in -general. I would say, however, that I have substantially confirmed these -observations in another subject, B. C. A., when in apparent health. In -this latter subject the richness of the fringe and what may be called -the ultra-marginal region in conscious states is very striking. The same -is true of O. N. (cf. Lecture VI, p. 174). Again in psychasthenics, -suffering from attacks of phobia, association, or habit psycho-neuroses, -etc., I have been able to recover, after the attack has passed off, -memories of conscious states which during and preliminary to the attack -were outside the focus of attention. Of some of these the subject had -been dimly aware, and of some apparently entirely unaware (i.e., they -were coconscious). For the former as well as the latter there followed -complete amnesia, so that the subject was ignorant of their previous -presence, and believed that the whole content of consciousness was -included in the anxiety or other state which occupied the focus of -attention. Consequently I am in the habit, when investigating a -pathological case, like an obsession, of inquiring (by technical -methods) into the fringe of attention and even the ultra-marginal -region, and reviving the ideas contained therein, particularly those for -which there is amnesia. My purpose has been to discover the presence of -ideas or thoughts which as a setting would explain the meaning of the -idea which was the object of fear (a phobia), the exciting cause of -psycho-neurotic attacks, etc. To this I shall presently return. - -If all that I have said is true, it follows that the _whole content or -field of consciousness at any given moment includes not only -considerably more than that which is within the field of attention but -more than is within the field of awareness_. The field of conscious -states as a whole comprises the focus of attention plus the marginal -fringe; and besides this there may be a true subconscious ultra-marginal -field comprising conscious states of which the personal consciousness is -not even dimly aware. We may schematically represent the relations of -the different fields by a diagram (Fig. 1). - -It will be noted that the field of conscious states includes A., B., and -C. and is larger than that of awareness, which includes A. and B. The -field of awareness is larger than that of attention (A.), but the focus -of awareness coincides with the field of attention, or, as it is -ordinarily termed, the focus of attention. Of course there is no sharp -line of demarcation between any of these fields, but a gradual shading -from A. to D. Any such diagrammatic representation, although of help to -those who like to visualize concepts, must give a false viewpoint; as in -reality the relations are dynamic or functional, and the different -fields more properly should be viewed as different but inter-related -participants in a large dynamic mechanism. - -[Illustration: -Fig. 1. A. Attention and focus of awareness. - B. Fringe of awareness. - C. Subconscious, i.e., coconscious states (ultramarginal). - D. Unconscious processes. -] - -=The meaning of ideas may be found in the fringe of consciousness.=—Let -us now return from this general survey of the fringe of consciousness to -our theme—the setting which gives meaning to ideas. - -It is obvious that, theoretically, when I attend to the perceptive -images of an idea, the meaning of that idea, not being in the focus of -awareness, may be found among the conscious states that make up the -fringe of the dynamic field. For instance, if my idea of a certain -politician, my knowledge of whom, we will say, has been gained entirely -from the newspapers, is that of a bad man—a “crook”—this meaning may be -dimly in the fringe of my awareness. It is not necessary that any large -part of this knowledge should be in the marginal zone of the content of -consciousness but only a summary of all the knowledge I have acquired -regarding him. The _origin_ of this meaning—a crook—I can easily find in -my associative memories of what I have read. But there would seem to be -no need of all these to persist as a functioning setting—a short summary -in the form of an idea, secondary image, a word or symbol of a bad man -would seem to be sufficient. The same principle is applicable to a large -number of the simple images of objects in my environment—a book, an -electric lamp, a horse, etc. - -It is not easy with such normal ideas of everyday life to analyze the -fringe and determine precisely its contents. There is no sharp dividing -line between the various zones—the whole being a dynamic system. _The -moment attention is directed to the marginal zones they become the focus -and vice versa._ To obtain accurate knowledge of the marginal zones we -require individuals suitable for a special technique by which the -constituents of these zones can be brought back as memory. - -For such purposes certain persons with pathological ideas (e. g., -phobias)[169] are very favorable subjects for various reasons not -necessary to go into. - -Now, as respects the simple normal ideas of everyday life, such as I -have just cited, a person can give very clearly his viewpoint. He has a -very definite notion of the meaning of his perceptions and can give his -reasons for them based on his associative memories of past experiences -which he can recall. But in the conditions to which I am now referring -_a person can give no explanation_ of a particular viewpoint which may -be of a very definite but unusual (abnormal) character. Nor can he -recall any experiences which would explain the origin of it. I have in -mind particularly the obsessions. - -Now, according to my observations, we find in the marginal zones of the -content of consciousness conscious elements which in particular cases -may even give a hitherto unsuspected meaning to the pathological idea. I -have found in these zones thoughts which gave meaning to emotions and -other symptoms excited by apparently inadequate objects. Thus, in H. O., -attacks of recurrent nausea and fear almost prohibiting social -intercourse were always due to thoughts of self-disgust hidden in the -fringe. - -Let us take a concrete case, that of a person who has a pathological -fear and who, as we know is often the case, can give no explanation of -his viewpoint. The fear may be that of fainting, or of thunderstorms, of -a particular disease, say cancer, or of so-called “unreality” attacks, -or what not. This so-called “fear” is of course an idea of self or other -object linked with, or which occasions as a reaction, the strong emotion -of fear. It recurs in attacks which are excited by stimuli, of one kind -or another, that are associated with the idea. The patient can give no -explanation of the _meaning_ of this idea that renders intelligible why -it should occasion his fear. There is nothing in his consciousness, so -far as he knows, which gives an adequate meaning to it. - -Thus, for example, C. D. was the victim of attacks of fear; the attacks -were so intense that at times she had been almost a prisoner in her -house, in dread of attacks away from home; and yet she was unable even -after two prolonged searching examinations to define the exact nature of -the fear which was the salient feature of the attacks, or, from her -ordinary memories, to give any explanation of its origin. She remembered -many moments in the last twenty years when the fear had come upon her -with great intensity, but she could not recall the date of its inception -and, therefore, the conditions under which it originated; consequently -nothing satisfactory could be elicited beyond an early history of -“anxiety attacks” or indefinable fear of great intensity attached to no -specific idea that she knew. - -As a result of searching investigation by technical methods it was -brought out that the specific object of the fear was _fainting_. When an -attack developed, besides intense physiological disturbances and -confusion of thought, there was in the content of consciousness a -feeling that her mind was flying off into space and a definite thought -of losing consciousness or fainting, and that she was going to faint. -There was amnesia for these thoughts following the attacks. She never -had fainted in the attacks and, as it later transpired, had fainted only -once in her life. Here then, _dimly in the content_ of consciousness, -was the object of the fear in an attack. But the object was afterwards -forgotten; hence she could not explain what she was afraid of. Why -fainting should be such a terrible accident to be feared she also could -not explain. - -The question now was, what possible meaning could fainting have for her -that she so feared it? This she did not know. - -Now, on still further investigation, I found that there was always in -the fringe of consciousness during an attack and also during the -anticipatory fear of an attack, _an idea and fear of death_. This, to -use her expression, “was in the background of her mind”; it referred to -impending fainting. It appeared then that in the fringe or -ultra-marginal zone was the _idea of death as the meaning of fainting_. -_Of this she was never aware._ It was really subconscious. It was the -meaning of her idea of herself fainting. In consequence of this meaning -fainting was equivalent to her own death. She would not have been afraid -of fainting if she had not believed or could have been made to believe -that in her case it did not mean death. We might properly say that the -real object of the fear was death. - -When this content of the fringe of attention was recovered, the patient -voluntarily remarked that she had not been aware of the presence during -the attacks of that idea, but now she remembered it clearly, and also -realized plainly why she was afraid of fainting,—what she had not -understood before. (It must be borne in mind that this meaning of -fainting, as a state equivalent to death, did not pertain to fainting in -general but solely to herself. She knew perfectly well that fainting in -other people was not dangerous; it was only an unrecognized belief -regarding a possible accident to herself.) Besides this content of the -fringe of attention it was also easy to show that the fringe often -included the thought (or idea) which had been the immediate excitant of -each attack. Sometimes this stimulus-idea entered the focus of -attention; sometimes it was only in the fringe. In either case there was -apt to be amnesia for it, but it could always be recalled to memory in -abstraction or hypnosis. - -The content of consciousness taken as a whole, i.e., to include both the -focus and the fringe of attention, then would adequately determine the -meaning of this subject’s idea of fainting as applied to herself. - -But why this meaning of fainting? It must have been derived from -antecedent experiences. An idea can no more have a meaning without -antecedent experiences with which it is or once was linked than can the -word “parallelopipedon” have a geometrical meaning without a previous -geometrical experience, or “Timbuctoo” a personal meaning without being -set in a personal experience, whether of missionaries or hymn-books. - -I will not take the time to give the detailed results of the -investigation by hypnotic procedures that followed. I will merely -summarize by stating that the fear of death from fainting was a -recurrent memory, i.e., _a recurrence of the content of consciousness_ -of a moment during an incident that occurred more than twenty years -before, when she was a young girl about 18 years of age. At the time as -the result of a nervous shock she had fainted, and just before losing -consciousness she definitely thought her symptoms meant death. At this -thought she became frightened, and ever since she has been afraid of -fainting. There was no conscious association between her phobia and this -youthful episode. When the memory of the latter was recovered she -remarked, “I wonder why I never thought of that before.” - -But this again was not all. A searching investigation of the unconscious -(residua) in deep hypnosis revealed the fact that death from fainting -was organized with still wider experiences involving a fear of death. At -the moment of the nervous shock just before fainting (_fancied as -dying_) she thought of her mother who was dangerously ill from _cancer_ -in an adjoining room, and a great fear swept over her at the thought of -what might happen to her mother if she should hear of the cause of her -(the patient’s) nervous shock and of her _death_. It further transpired -that the idea of death and fear of it were set in a still larger series -of experiences.[170] It had, indeed, dated from a childhood experience -when she was eight years of age. At that time she was frightened when a -pet animal died and a fear of death had been more or less continuously -present in her mind ever since, but not always consciously so; meaning -that it was sometimes in awareness and sometimes in the _ultra-marginal -zone_ of consciousness. She had been able to conceal the fear until the -fainting episode occurred and, as she in hypnosis asserted, fear -afterward had continued to be present more or less persistently, -although _she was not conscious of the fact when awake_ (excepting in -the phobic attacks) and it had attached itself to various ideas of -intercurrent illnesses. But these ideas could all be reduced to two, -_fainting and cancer_. Ever since her mother’s illness and death she had -a fear of death from cancer, believing she might inherit the disease. -This thought and the fear it aroused had been constantly in her mind but -never previously confessed. It was the real meaning of her fear of -illness which had been conspicuous and puzzling to her physician. She -had imagined that each illness might mean cancer, but had successfully -concealed this thought. The idea of death and the fear it excited had -thus become constellated in a large _unconscious_ complex derived from -past experiences which included the fainting episode, her mother’s death -from cancer and the possibility of having cancer herself. This last was -still _consciously believed_ and was very real to her. - -Without pursuing further the details it is evident that although the -meaning of fainting—death—was in the fringe of consciousness and -subconscious, it had as a setting a large group of fear-inspiring -experiences, more particularly those involving cancer. But there was no -conscious association between her fear of fainting and that of cancer. -_Of this setting, during a phobic attack, only the ideas of fainting and -fear-inspiring death enter the various zones of consciousness._ - -As to why this apparently unsophisticated idea of death still -_persisted_ in connection with that of fainting is another problem with -which we are not concerned at this moment. We should have to consider -more specifically the content of the setting in which, besides the -cancer-belief, probably subconscious self-reproaches would be found. - -=Meaning may be the conscious elements of a functioning larger -subconscious complex.=—However, whatever be its conscious constituents, -obviously meaning must be derived from antecedent experiences and -without such experiences no idea can have meaning. If, then, antecedent -experiences determine the meaning of the idea, it is _theoretically_ -possible, particularly with insistent ideas, that the conscious elements -involved in meaning are, with many ideas at least, only part and parcel -of a larger complex which is for the most part unconscious. That is to -say, a portion of this complex—perhaps the larger portion represented by -the residua of past experiences—would, under this hypothesis, be -unconscious while certain elements would arise in consciousness as the -meaning of a given idea. Under such conditions a hidden subconscious -process would really determine the conscious setting which gives the -meaning. The whole setting would be partly conscious and partly hidden -in the unconscious. Such a mechanism may be roughly likened to that of a -clock, so far as concerns the relation of the chimes and hands to the -works concealed inside the case. Though the visible hands and the -audible chimes appear to indicate the time, the real process at work is -that of the hidden mechanism. To inhibit the chime or regulate the time -rate the mechanism must be altered. And so with an insistent idea: The -unconscious part of the complex setting must be altered to alter the -meaning of the idea. Of course the analogy must not be carried too far -as in the case of the clock the chimes and hands are only epiphenomena, -while conscious ideas are elements in the functioning mechanism. - -Such a theory would afford an adequate explanation of the psychogenesis -and mechanism of certain pathological ideas such as the phobia of C. D. -At any rate, it is plain that an explanation of such ideas must be -sought, on the one hand, in their meanings and in the antecedent -experiences to which they are related, and, on the other, in the -processes which determine their insistency or fixation. - -The facts which support this theory, to which our studies have led us, -we will take up for consideration in our next lecture. - ------ - -Footnote 165: - - It is very doubtful whether vivid awareness is a matter of intensity - because, among other reasons, subconscious ideas of which the - individual is entirely unaware and elements in the fringe may have - decided intensity. - -Footnote 166: - - The development of amnesia seems to be inversely proportionate to the - degree of awareness, provided there are no other dissociating factors, - such as an emotional complex. - -Footnote 167: - - This is due to the well-known fact (demonstrated in a large variety of - phenomena) that ideas dissociated from the personal consciousness - awake may become synthesized as memories with this same consciousness - in hypnosis. - -Footnote 168: - - See _Proceedings_, also _The Psychological Review_, March-May, 1905. - -Footnote 169: - - All pathological processes are only the normal under altered - conditions. - -Footnote 170: - - Among them was the following: A few months later her mother died. C. - D. was in the room with the body, her back turned toward the bed where - the body lay. Suddenly she was startled by the window curtain blowing - out of the window. The noise and the partial vision of the curtain - gave her a start, for she thought the body had risen up in bed. At - this point, while in hypnosis, C. D. remarked, “Ah! that explains the - dream which I am always having. I am constantly having a frightful - dream of my mother lying dead and rising up as a corpse from the bed. - This dream always gives me a great terror.” - - - - - LECTURE XII - SETTINGS OF IDEAS AS SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS - - -In our last lecture we were led to two conclusions: (1) that the -conscious elements which are the meaning of an idea may be in the -marginal zones; and (2) more important, that “meaning” may be only a -part of a larger setting of antecedent experiences, which is an -unconscious complex. - -Let us now consider the further question raised in the theory finally -proposed; namely, whether the submerged elements of a complex remain -quiescent or _whether, in some cases at least, this portion functions -subconsciously_ and takes part as an active factor in the whole process -by which the meaning of an idea and its accompanying emotional tone -invades the content of consciousness. If the latter be true, a hidden -subconscious process would, according to the theory (to repeat what was -previously said), really determine the conscious setting which gives the -meaning. Such a mechanism was roughly likened to that of a clock. If -such were the mechanism in insistent ideas, obsessions, and impulsions, -it would, as I have intimated, explain their insistency, their -persisting recurrence, the difficulty in modifying them, notwithstanding -the subject realizes their falsity, the point of view often inexplicable -to the subject, and the persistence of the affect. There is a constant -striving of affective subconscious processes, when stimulated, to carry -themselves to fulfilment. Consequently as we know from numerous -observations, the feelings and emotions (pleasantness and -unpleasantness, exaltation and depression; fear, anger, etc.) pertaining -to subconscious processes tend to emerge into consciousness;[171] and -likewise ideational constituents of the process often emerge into the -fringe of the content of consciousness and even the focus of awareness. -Given such a subconsciously functioning setting to an idea, it would -necessarily tend by the impulsive force of its emotion to make the -latter insistent, and resist the inhibiting control of the personal -consciousness. - -In the case of C. D., cited in the last lecture, we were led to the -conclusion, as the result of analysis, that her insistent phobia might -be due to the impulsive force of such subconscious complexes. The whole -problem is a very difficult one, dealing as we are with complicated -mechanisms and such elusive and fluid factors as conscious and -subconscious processes. It is useless, therefore, to attempt to -formulate the mechanisms with anything like scientific exactness. - -It must be borne in mind, further, that the method of analysis (employed -with C. D.), meaning thereby the bringing to light associated memories -of past experiences, cannot positively demonstrate that those -experiences take part as the causal factor in a present process. It can -demonstrate the sequence of mental events, and, therefore, each -successive link in a chain of evidence leading to the final act; or it -can demonstrate the material out of which we can select with a greater -or less degree of probability the factor which, in accordance with a -theory—in this case that of subconscious processes—seems most likely to -be the causal factor. Thus in the analysis of a bacterial culture we can -select the one which seems on various considerations to be the most -likely cause of an etiologically undetermined disease, but for actual -demonstration we must employ synthetic methods; that is, actually -reproduce the disease by inoculation with a bacterium. So with -psychological processes synthetic methods are required for positive -demonstration. - -We have _available synthetic methods in hypnotic procedures_. These -give, it seems to me, positive results of value. If a subject is -hypnotized and in this state a complex is formed, it will be found that -this complex will determine, after the subject is awakened, the point of -view and therefore the meaning of the central idea when it comes into -consciousness, and this though the subject has complete amnesia for the -hypnotic experience. In this manner, if the idea is one which previously -had a very definite and undesirable meaning which we wish to eradicate, -we can organize a complex which shall include that idea and yet give it -a very different meaning, provided it is one acceptable to the subject. - -To take simple examples, and to begin with a hypothetical case, but one -which in practice I have frequently duplicated: A subject is hypnotized -and although, in fact, the day is a beautifully fair one we point out -that it is really disagreeable because the sunshine is glowing and hot; -that such weather means dusty roads, drought, the drying up of the water -supply, the withering of the foliage, that the country needs rain, etc. -We further assert that this will be the subject’s point of view. In this -way we form a cluster of ideas as a setting to the weather which gives -it, fair as it is, an entirely different and unpleasant meaning and one -which is accepted. The subject is now awakened and has complete amnesia -for the hypnotic experience. When attention is directed to the weather -it is found that his point of view, for the time being at least, is -changed from what it was before being hypnotized. The perception of the -clear sky and the sunlight playing upon the ground includes secondary -images of heat, of dust, of withered foliage, etc., such as have been -previously experienced on disagreeable, hot, dusty days, and some of the -associated thoughts with their affects suggested in hypnosis arise in -consciousness; perhaps only a few, but, if he continues to think about -the weather, perhaps many. Manifestly the new setting formed in hypnosis -has been switched into association with the conscious perceptions of the -environment and has induced the secondary images and associated -thoughts, emotions, and feelings which give meaning. But it is equally -manifest, though many elements bubble up, so to speak, from the -unconscious setting into consciousness, that most of this setting -remains submerged in the unconscious. - -In similar fashion I made a subject regard, metaphorically speaking, as -a cesspool for sewage a river which was being converted into a beautiful -water park by a dam.[172] It is scarcely necessary to cite additional -observations. - -Manifestly such phenomena belong to the well-known class of so-called -“suggested post-hypnotic phenomena.” These we have already seen -(solution of problems predetermined actions, &c., Lecture VI) require -the postulate of a subconscious process. It is therefore difficult to -resist the conclusion that, when the suggested phenomenon is the -“meaning” of an idea, this also involves a subconscious process—that a -hypnotically organized setting functioning subconsciously ejects the -meaning into consciousness. In other words, the unconscious setting is a -part of the whole “psychosis” or complex, a factor in the functioning -mechanism; it is dynamic and not merely static, and is a functioning -part of the “psychic whole” of the given ideas (sign, perception, and -meaning). To use the analogy of the clock, the unconscious part of the -complex corresponds in a way to the works and determines what shall -appear in consciousness. In the case of the ideas of everyday life, and -particularly of pathological insistent ideas, unconscious complexes can -be shown, by methods of analysis and by interpretation, to be existent -and to be settings. We therefore infer that they similarly take part in -the functioning process of ideation. But, as I have said, as any idea -has many different settings and associated complexes, it is difficult to -determine by this method with positiveness which setting or other -complex, if any, is _in activity_ and takes part in the process. Hence -the different theories that have been offered to explain the precise -psychogenesis of insistent ideas. - -=Therapeutic application.=—By similar procedures in a very large number -of instances, for therapeutic purposes, I have changed the setting, the -viewpoint, and the meaning of ideas without any realization on the -patient’s part of the reason for this change. This is the goal of -psychotherapy, and in my judgment the one fundamental principle common -to all technical methods of such treatment, different as these methods -appear to be when superficially considered. - -It is obvious that in everyday life when by arguments, persuasion, -suggestion, punishment, exhortation, or prayer we change the viewpoint -of a person, we do so by building up complexes which shall act as -settings and give new meanings to his ideas. I may add, if we wish to -sway him to carry this new viewpoint to fulfilment through action we -introduce into the complex an emotion which by the driving force of its -impulses shall carry the ideas to practical fruition. This is the art of -the orator in swaying audiences to his views. Shakespeare has given us a -classic example in Marc Antony’s speech to the Roman populace. - -The practical application to therapeutics of these principles of -rearranging the setting of a perception by artificial complex building -may be seen from the following actual case, which I have already cited -in previous contributions.[173] - -I suggest to B. C. A. in hypnosis ideas of well-being, of recovery from -her infirmity; I picture a future roseate with hope, stimulate her -ambitions with suggestions of duties to be performed, deeds to be -accomplished. With all this there goes an emotional tone of exaltation -which takes the place of the depression and of the sense of failure -previously present. This emotional tone gives increased energy to her -organization, revitalizing, as it were, her psycho-physiological -processes [and by conflict represses the previously dissociating affect -and sentiment]. The whole I weave artfully and designedly into a -complex. Whatever neurotic symptoms were previously present I do not -allow to enter this complex. Indeed, the complex is such that they are -incompatible with it. The headache, nausea, and other bodily -discomforts, pure functional disturbances in this instance, are -dissociated and cease to torment. After “waking” there is complete -amnesia for the complex. Yet it is still organized, for it can be -recovered again in hypnosis. It is simply dormant. But the emotional -tone still persists after waking, and invades the personal synthesis, -which takes on a correspondingly ecstatic tone. The aspect of her -environment, her conception of her relation to the world and her past, -present, and future mental life have become colored, so to speak, by the -new feeling, as if under a new light. But, more than this, new syntheses -have been formed with new tones. If we probe deep enough we find that -many ideas of the dormant complex have, through association with the -environment (_point de repère_), become interwoven with those of the -previous personal consciousness and given all a new meaning. A moment -ago [her view was that] she was an invalid, incapacitated, exiled from -her social and family life, etc. What was there to look forward to? Now: -What of that? She is infinitely better; what a tremendous gain; at such -a rate of progress in a short time a new life will be open to her, -etc.—a radically new point of view. Now, too, she feels buoyant with -health and energy, ready to start afresh on her crusade for health and -life. Her neurotic symptoms have vanished. Such is the change that she -gratefully speaks of it as the work of a wizard. But the mechanism of -the transformation is simple enough. The exaltation, artificially -suggested in hypnosis, persists, altering the trend of her ideas and -giving new energy. The perceptions of her environment, cognition of -herself, etc., have entered into new syntheses which the introduction of -new _ideas_, new points of view have developed; thus the content of her -ideas has taken a definite, precise shape. Whence came these new ideas? -They seem to her to have come miraculously, for she has forgotten the -hypnotic complex. But forgetting an experience is not equivalent to its -not having happened, or to that experience not having been a part of -one’s own psychic life. The hypnotic consciousness remains a part of -one’s self (as a neurographic complex), however absolutely we have lost -awareness of it. Its experiences become fixed, though dormant, just as -do the experiences of our personal conscious life. The mechanism is the -same. - -The following letter from this patient, received by chance after these -paragraphs were written, well expresses the psychological conditions -following hypnotic suggestion: - - “Something has happened to me—I have a new point of view. I don’t know - what has changed me so all at once, but it is as if scales had fallen - from my eyes; I see things differently. That affair at L—— was nothing - to be ashamed of, Dr. Prince. I showed none of the common sense which - I really possess; I regret it bitterly; but I was not myself, and even - as [it was] I did nothing to be ashamed of—quite the contrary, - indeed.... Anyway, for some reason—I don’t know why, but perhaps you - do—I have regained my own self-respect and find to my amazement that I - need never have lost it. You know what I was a year ago—you know what - I am now—not much to be proud of, perhaps; but I am the work of your - hands, and a great improvement on [my poor old self]. I owe you what - is worth far more than life itself ... namely, the _desire_ to live. - You have given me life and you have given me something to fill it with - ... I feel more like myself than for a long time. I am ‘my own man - again,’ so to say, and if you keep me and help me a little longer I - shall be well.” - -In interpreting the phenomena it must be remembered that in such -suggestive experiments the subject after waking has complete amnesia for -the whole hypnotic experience, for all the ideas which were organized -into the complex to form the setting. And yet this viewpoint, in spite -of this amnesia, is that which was suggested, and he does not know why -his view has changed. That a large fraction of the hypnotic complex (or -setting) remains submerged in the unconscious can be readily shown. The -only question is whether it becomes an active subconscious process out -of which certain elements emerge as meaning into consciousness. - -=The setting in obsessions.=—This question of the functioning of -unconscious complexes as subconscious processes is of fundamental -importance for psychology, whether normal or abnormal, and if well -established gives an entirely new aspect to its problems. We cannot -therefore be too exacting in demanding proof for the postulation of -subconscious processes as part of the mechanisms we are considering, or, -at least, requiring sufficient evidence to justify them as a _reasonable -theory_. If assumed as an hypothesis many otherwise obscure phenomena -become intelligible by one or other theory making use of them. - -Let us examine for a moment the obsessions as one of the most important -problems with which abnormal psychology has to deal, and which offer -themselves as exaggerated examples of ideas with insistent meanings. The -phenomena are psychological and physical. They occur in a sporadic form, -as well as in a recurring obsessional form. Let us consider them simply -as phenomena irrespective of recurrence. They may be arranged by -gradations in types in which they appear: - -A, as purely physical disturbances; - -B, as physical disturbances plus conscious emotion; - -C, as physical disturbances plus conscious emotion plus a specific idea -of the object of the emotion, but _without_ logical meaning; - -D, as physical disturbances plus emotion plus idea plus meaning. - -In the first type the physical phenomena (such as commonly attend -emotion) can be traced to a functioning subconscious emotional complex -of which the phenomena are physical manifestations; in the second to a -functioning subconscious complex ejecting its emotion into -consciousness. In the third we find by analysis an associated -unconscious complex (setting), which logically would account for the -emotion of the obsessing idea, and infer, by analogy with A and B, that -it is a dynamic factor in the psychosis. In the fourth we find a similar -complex, which logically would account for all the physical and -conscious phenomena. - -_Type A_: The following observation may be cited as an example. At the -conclusion of some experiments, made on one subject in the presence of -another patient and while conversing socially at afternoon tea, I -noticed that the subject manifested marked tremor of the hands to such -an extent that the cup in her hand shook and rattled in its saucer. She -herself commented on the fact, and laughingly remarked that she did not -know what was the matter with her; at times she would “get awfully hot -all over and would break out in perspiration.” She could give no -explanation of this phenomenon which had not been present before the -experiments were begun. The subject was now put into deep hypnosis, in a -state in which communication was obtained only by writing, and thereby -the subconscious tapped. Without going into all the details, the sum and -substance of the information obtained in this hypnotic state was this: -coconscious images (pictures), of which she was not consciously aware, -kept coming and going; these were the coconscious phenomena I have -previously described (p. 169). When certain images appeared -coconsciously the tremor developed, and when others appeared the tremor -ceased; when still others appeared there were vasomotor disturbances and -perspiration as well as tremor. - -The images as I interpret them were the secondary images belonging to -subconscious ideas or processes.[174] To understand the conditions in -this instance it will be necessary to explain certain antecedent facts. -I had arranged to make certain hypnotic and other experiments on two -patients in the presence of each other. The one in question, the subject -of this observation, hesitated to have them made on herself in the -presence of a second person, fearing lest the various subconscious -phenomena which she exhibited would be regarded as stigmata and she be -thought “queer.” Each, of course, wished to see the experiments on the -other. The subject in question had for a long time been rather obsessed -with the insistent foolish idea that if people knew she manifested these -phenomena they would not care to know her socially. It was a point of -view which had been more or less obstinately maintained in spite of all -contradictory arguments. The idea had specifically recurred from time to -time in particular situations, and had caused considerable emotional -disturbance. If not a true obsession it was close to one. Nevertheless -she wanted to take part both for the object of seeing the experiments -and also of meeting the second patient. Still there were anxious doubts -and scruples in her mind arising from her desire, on the one hand, and a -fear, on the other, that it was a social mistake to do so. This had been -going on during several days and had been even the subject of -correspondence, discussions, etc. It was only at the last moment that -she could screw up her courage to take part in the experiments. - -Finally the experiments were made, with the result as above stated. Now -the coconscious images which were accompanied by the tremors, etc., were -pictures of herself, of the second patient, and of myself. These images -coming and going seemed, as in a pantomime, to symbolize her previous -thoughts. Sometimes the image of the second patient turned away from the -subject, sometimes the three images were present, but the one of the -subject stood apart from the others as if an outcast, and in both these -latter cases particularly she would shake with tremor, and would “get -awfully hot all over,” and break out in perspiration. Then apparently -reassuring pictures would come and the tremor would cease. - -Besides these coconscious images there was a train of coconscious -thought of which she was not personally aware. There was the thought -that perhaps, after all, it was a mistake to have taken part in the -experiments, as X, the second patient, was not a physician, and her wish -to see the subject hypnotized must have been largely curiosity. Of this -train of thought the subject was not aware. _At the same time_ -concurrently there was in her personal consciousness the “thought that -she liked X, that it was very good of her to have come, and awfully kind -of you to take your time to conduct the experiments.” There was also a -conscious emotion of pleasure and something akin to hope, and -nervousness at the situation. By contrast coconsciously there was a -greater feeling of nervousness and the _emotion of fear_ of which she -was not consciously aware. By a few appropriate suggestions all these -phenomena were made to disappear. - -It would take us too long and be too much of a digression to go more -deeply into these subconscious phenomena. From what has been given, -which is corroborated by a large number of observations of the same -sort, it seems to me we are justified in concluding that the physical -manifestations of emotion (tremor, etc.) in the instance were determined -by subconscious processes which were the _functioning residua of -antecedent thoughts with their emotions_. - -But more than this these antecedent thoughts were obsessing ideas of -self-abasement, i.e., of herself as a person who socially was stamped -with a stigma and, therefore, as a sort of outcast. These thoughts had -formed one setting to the actual situation in which she found herself. -The subconscious complex, therefore, contained a perception plus the -meaning of the situation plus emotion; in other words, the whole of the -psychosis including the affect was subconscious in that none of its -elements emerged into consciousness. Another and rival perception of the -situation was that which was actually in consciousness and which has -been described. The physical phenomena were the manifestation of the -subconscious affect and would have been equally manifested if the affect -had become conscious. In such a case, then, we may say the whole of one -setting actually functions subconsciously. - -The case of H. O. is the same in principle as I interpret it, but is -distinguished by the fact that the dissociation of processes was not so -extreme. The obsessing idea was in the ultramarginal zone of -consciousness and, to this extent, subconscious. Briefly stated, H. O. -for many years was the victim of an intense obsession, in consequence of -which she had practically foregone social life, and found herself unable -to travel for fear she would be afflicted with her psychosis in trains, -etc. The physical symptom was intense nausea suddenly arising as an -attack. When attacked with this there developed also depression and a -mental state which is perhaps best described as a mood. She could give -no explanation of the attacks. On examination it developed that always -in the “background of her mind,” just preceding the attack, there came -the idea of disgust of self. At once the nausea as the physical -expression of disgust was experienced. The disgust-idea was always -excited by some associated stimulus. The meaning of this “sentiment” was -set in a large complex of past experiences. Into all this I will not go. -The point is that the only conscious elements of her obsession were in -the extreme fringe of consciousness, sufficiently dissociated to be -practically coconscious,[175] but the _physical symptoms_ were -distressingly prominent. _Relief was easily effected simply by -organizing a new complex giving a new point of view of self._ - -Complexes consisting entirely of the physiological manifestations of -emotion without conscious emotion undoubtedly occur. A long time ago I -described such a neurosis under the name of Fear Neurosis[176] in -distinction from psychosis. The symptom complex was interpreted as a -persisting automatism derived from antecedent fear states that had been -outgrown. From our present standpoint and fuller knowledge we must -believe that underlying this automatism is probably an unconscious -complex of these antecedent experiences including the fear which takes -part in the functioning mechanism. It may be called, then, a -subconscious psychosis. - -True _hysterical laughter and crying_ are undoubtedly phenomena of this -type and due to the same mechanism. These phenomena are well known to be -purely automatic; that is to say, they are emotional manifestations -unaccompanied in consciousness by thoughts or even by emotions -corresponding to them. The subject laughs or cries without knowing why -and without even feeling merry or sad. I forbear to digress sufficiently -to present the evidence for the interpretation that the phenomena are -due to subconscious processes of the kind just described. Let me merely -say that in one instance, N. O., intensely studied, the automatic crying -was traced by experimental and clinical methods to a persisting and -often insistent subconscious childhood’s perception and meaning of -self—as a lonely, unhappy child. This perception, etc., could be -differentiated from the conscious perception belonging to adult age. - -Numerous observations of emotional phenomena similar in principle have -been recorded in the case of Miss B.[177] These observations included -automatic facial expressions of pleasure, anger, and fear. These -expressions could always be traced to subconscious processes and in this -case to actual ideas of a coconscious personality. But the principle is -the same. _Sometimes the affect linked to the process welled up into -consciousness and sometimes it did not._ When, in the case of Miss B., -the automatic phenomena were determined by coconscious ideas it was -because the perceptions of the secondary subconscious personality had a -humorous, angry, or fear setting, as the case might be. These particular -observations are of especial interest because they allow us to clearly -distinguish _at almost one and the same moment the different -manifestations corresponding to the different settings with which the -same idea may be clustered_. While, for instance, the personal -consciousness of Miss B. perceived a person or situation with -apprehension and manifested this apprehension in her facial expression -as well as verbally, the subconscious perception of the same person or -situation was one of joy which broke through Miss B.’s apprehensive -feature in automatic smiles. In other words, two different perceptions -(with opposite meanings) of one and the same object functioned at the -same time. - -These observations, as interpreted, are of wider significance in that -they allow us to understand the mechanism of many phenomena of everyday -life. For instance, the _hysteria of crowds_ may be explained on the -same principle; likewise the outbreak of emotional physical -manifestations in a person whose attention is absorbed (abstraction and -distraction) in reading or hearing something (e. g., at a play), which, -it may be inferred, touches some inner emotional experience of his life. -In the kind of instance I have in mind introspection fails to reveal the -presence of conscious thoughts or sometimes even emotions which -adequately explain the physical disturbance. When not abstracted by the -reading or play, the same ideas he was attending to a moment before fail -to excite these disturbances. - -As has been said, “everyone is a little hysterical,” meaning that under -certain conditions—particularly those of stress and strain and strong -emotion—the mind becomes a bit disintegrated, and unconscious complexes -manifest themselves through what are called hysterical symptoms. - -_Type B_: In this class the subject is afflicted with attacks of -_conscious emotion_, most conspicuously and commonly fear, _plus the -same physical disturbances as in type A_, but without any specific idea -in consciousness to which the emotion is related. When we examine -certain favorable subjects like Miss B., B. C. A., H. O. and O. N., in -whom memories of subconscious processes can be obtained by technical -procedures, specific coconscious ideas can be demonstrated during the -attacks of fear. These ideas are those of fear of some specific object. -The emotion pertaining to these ideas _alone_ emerges into -consciousness, the subject remaining unaware of the ideas themselves. In -the case of Miss B. numerous observations of this kind were -recorded.[178] When the obsessing fear constantly recurs it is a -so-called “_anxiety neurosis_,”[179] as I interpret the phenomena. - -A typically perfect example of anxiety neurosis was the recurring -attacks of intense anxiety accompanied by a feeling of suffocation and -oppression of the chest experienced by one of my subjects. Investigation -disclosed that the first attack immediately followed a dream which was -forgotten, but recovered in hypnosis. It appeared that in the dream she -was accused by a certain person of certain delinquencies and threatened -with exposure. At this point in the dream she was overcome with fear and -anguish as in the after attacks. It also appeared that previously she -had been and still was apprehensive of this person’s loyalty. By -inference and analogy with the well-established after-phenomena of -dreams (p. 101), we must assume that the dream process still functioned -subconsciously and produced the anxiety attacks.[180] - -In this connection it is well to notice that it is a common observation -that not only the affect of emotion but that of _feeling_ also may -emerge from the subconscious into consciousness and color the attitude -of the personal consciousness. This may be demonstrated by hypnotic -procedures. When in hypnosis complexes of ideas with strong feeling -tones, whether of pleasure or displeasure, of exaltation or depression, -are suggested, the subject after awakening experiences these same -feeling tones which dominate the personality. The subject then feels -pleasantly exalted or unpleasantly depressed, as the case may be, -without knowing the reason why. In alternating personalities the same -phenomena may sometimes be observed. In the case of Miss B. the feeling -tones which dominated the one personality invaded the consciousness of -the other personality, often causing considerable distress after the -alternation had occurred and although there was amnesia for all that had -gone before.[181] Thus BIV complained of the feelings of depression from -which BI shortly before had suffered, although her own ideas were far -from being of a depressing nature. This depression welled up from the -unconscious. It was in consequence of this phenomenon that BIV wrote: -“BI’s constant grieving wears on my nerves. It is harder to endure than -one would believe possible. I would rather give and take with Sally—a -thousand times rather.” Likewise when a subject has feelings of -unpleasantness and depression which he cannot explain it is easy in -certain subjects to demonstrate the concurrence of coconscious ideas -with these feeling tones. The affect in such cases emerges into -consciousness, though the subject is unaware of the coconscious ideas. -Correspondingly the feelings may be those of pleasantness and -exaltation. The demonstration of coconscious processes as the sources of -the conscious feelings of course can only be made in subjects in whom -memories of coconscious processes can be evoked. In such subjects I have -observed the phenomena on almost numberless occasions. But it can be -provoked in almost any good hypnotic subject. To awake pleasurable and -exalting feelings, to substitute them for their opposite when such are -present, belongs to therapeutic art. The skillful therapeutist endeavors -to provoke the former by the various procedures at his command. The -important principle underlying such procedures is that the feeling tones -pertaining to ideas may still invade the personal consciousness after -the ideas have become dormant in the unconscious. - -This principle, it seems to me, is of far-reaching application. The -persistence of the feeling tone in a pleasant or unpleasant mental -attitude after the experience giving rise to it has become dormant is -_observed in everyday life_ and can be explained on this principle. We -have an exalting experience, engage in a spirited game of tennis, watch -an exciting football match, or take part in an exhilarating dance. For -the remainder of the day or the next day we still experience all the -stimulating pleasurable feeling, even though in the cares of our -vocation the memories of the previous experiences have remained dormant, -not having once been called to mind. The only difference between such -experiences of everyday life and those of hypnosis is that in one case -we can, if we will, recall the origin of the feeling and in the other we -cannot. In both we do not.[182] - -Dormant _dream_ complexes may give rise to similar phenomena. In a minor -way everyone, probably, has experienced the persistence of the emotional -effects of a dream after waking and after the memory of the dream has -vanished. More commonly, of course, the dream is remembered, but in the -cases of people who do not remember their dreams the phenomenon is -precise. B. C. A., for example, does not as a rule remember her dreams, -but nevertheless frequently awakes in a state of anxiety or exaltation -which has considerable persistency. In hypnosis the dream which gives -rise to the emotional state is recovered. - -In pathological conditions these post-hypnotic, hysterical, dream, and -other phenomena suggest, among other questions, whether in depressive -and excited psychoses the affective element is not derived from -submerged unconscious complexes. _Melancholias_, for example, may in -some cases at least derive their feeling tone from such complexes. - ------ - -Footnote 171: - - Janet: The Mental States of Hystericals, pp. 289-290. Prince: The - Dissociation, pp. 132-5, 262, 297–8, 324-5, 497. - -Footnote 172: - - The Unconscious, _Journal Abnormal Psychology_, April-May, 1909. - -Footnote 173: - - Morton Prince: (Psychotherapeutics; A Symposium. Richard G. Badger, - Boston, 1910.) Also The Unconscious, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, - April-May, and June-July, 1909. - -Footnote 174: - - See p. 178, Lecture VI. - -Footnote 175: - - Memory of them could only be obtained in abstraction and hypnosis. - -Footnote 176: - - Fear Neurosis, _Boston Med. and Surg. Journal_, September 28, 1898. - -Footnote 177: - - The Dissociation, see index, “Subconscious Ideas,” and “Subconscious - Self.” - -Footnote 178: - - The Dissociation, loc. cit. - -Footnote 179: - - Ibid., p. 132. - -Footnote 180: - - It is worth noting that this interpretation is supported by the - therapeutic result. The attacks completely and quickly ceased after - the setting to her apprehensive idea was so altered, by one single - explanation, that she no longer feared the loyalty of her friend. - -Footnote 181: - - The Dissociation, pp. 262, 297, 298 and 324, 325, 497; also The - Unconscious, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, April-May, 1909. - -Footnote 182: - - Prince: The Unconscious, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, April-May - and June-July, 1909. - - - - - LECTURE XIII - TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA - (_Obsessions Continued_) - - -_Type C_: In this type _the affect is linked with an idea as its object -in consciousness but without meaning_, so that whenever this idea is -awakened it is accompanied by the affect alone. Some of the phobias are -the most common pathological exemplars. Nor is there anything in the -content of consciousness which gives meaning to the idea as something -that should occasion anxiety. The subject, in other words, does not know -why he is afraid of the given object. In such cases the restoration of -dormant memories will disclose antecedent experiences in which the idea -is set and which explains the origin and meaning of the fear. Here again -we have the principle shown in a clear cut way in conditions of -alternating personality. For instance take the case of Miss B. An -emotion, apparently paradoxical, would be aroused in BIV in connection -with a strange person or place, or in consequence of a reference by some -one to an unknown event. BIV, without apparent reason, would feel an -intense emotion in connection with something or other which she did not -remember to have ever heard or seen before. A face, a name, a particular -locality where she happened to find herself would arouse a strong -emotional effect without her knowing the reason. The memories of the -experiences to which these emotions belonged were a part of BI’s life -and could easily be recalled by her when the personalities again -alternated and BI came into existence. When BIV came again these -experiences, of course, would be forgotten and become dormant, but the -emotions associated with the visual, auditory, and other images of a -given person or place, or whatever it might be, would be liable to be -aroused in her by the perception, in spite of the amnesia, whenever the -given person or place, as it might be, came into her daily life. Here -the conscious content of the psychosis consists of perception plus -affect without meaning. - -I formerly was inclined to interpret such paradoxical emotions on the -principle of the simple linking of an affect to a perception. But when -we consider that, on the reversion of the personality to BI the -perception, meaning, and affect still remained organized as a conscious -psychic whole, it is much more probable that the meaning took part as a -subconscious process in the mechanism of BIV’s emotional psychosis and -was responsible for the paradox. In the case of recurrent fears the -antecedent experiences which contain their meaning are conserved as -unconscious complexes. The psychosis differs clinically from types A and -B only in that another conscious element has been added,—viz.: the idea -of an object of the fear. It is consistent therefore to infer that the -unconscious complexes are a submerged part of the mechanism by which the -affect is maintained in association with the object. The conscious and -the subconscious form a psychic whole. - -As an instance let us take the following case of phobia. It was -ostensibly one of church-steeples and towers of any kind. The patient, a -woman about forty years of age, dreaded and tried in consequence to -avoid the sight of one. When she passed by such a tower she was very -strongly affected emotionally, experiencing always a feeling of terror -or anguish accompanied by the usual marked physical symptoms. Sometimes -even speaking of a tower would at once awaken this emotional complex -which expressed itself outwardly in her face, as I myself observed on -several occasions. Considering the frequency with which church and -schoolhouse towers are met with in everyday life, one can easily imagine -the discomfort arising from such a phobia. Before the mystery was -unraveled she was unable to give any explanation of the origin or -meaning of this phobia, and could not connect it with any episode in her -life, or even state how far back in her life it had existed. Vaguely she -thought it existed when she was about fifteen years of age and that it -might have existed before that. Now it should be noted that an idea of a -tower with bells had in her mind no meaning whatsoever that explained -the fear. It had no more meaning than it would have in anybody’s mind. -In the content of consciousness there was only the perception plus -emotion and no corresponding meaning. Accordingly I sought to discover -the origin and meaning of the phobia by the so-called psycho-analytic -method. - -When I attempted to recover the associated memories by this method, the -mere mention of bells in a tower threw her into a panic in which -anxiety, “thrills,” and perspiration were prominent. Before making the -analysis I had constructed a theory in my mind to the effect that a -phobia for bells in a tower was a sexual symbolism, being led to this -partly by the suggestiveness of the object and partly by the fact that I -had found symbolisms of a sexual kind in her dreams.[183] - -Analysis was conducted at great length and memories covering a wide -field of experiences were elicited. When asked to think of bells in a -tower, or each of these objects separately, there was at first a -complete blocking of thought in that her mind became a blank. Later, -memories which to a large extent, but not wholly, played in various -relations around her mother (who is dead) as the central object came -into the field of consciousness. Nothing, however, was awakened that -gave the slightest meaning to the phobia even on the wildest -interpretation. The patient, who had been frequently hypnotized by -another physician, tended during the analysis to go into a condition of -unusually deep abstraction, to such a degree that on breaking off the -analysis she failed to remember, save very imperfectly, the memories -elicited. Such an abstraction is hypnosis. - -Finally, after all endeavors to discover the genesis of the phobia by -analysis were in vain, I tried another method. While she was in hypnosis -I put a pencil in her hand with the object of obtaining the desired -information through automatic writing. _While she was narrating some -irrelevant memories of her mother_, the hand rapidly wrote as follows: -“G.... M.... church and my father took my mother to Bi.... where she -died and we went to Br.... and they cut my mother. I prayed and cried -all the time that she would live and the church bells were always -ringing and I hated them.” - -When she began to write the latter part of this script she became -depressed, sad, indeed anguished; tears flowed down her cheeks and she -seemed to be almost heartbroken. In other words, it appeared as if she -were subconsciously living over again the period described in the -script. I say subconsciously for she did not know what her hand had -written or why she was anguished. During the writing of the first part -of the script she was verbally describing other memories; during the -latter part she ceased speaking. - -After awakening from hypnosis and when she had become composed in her -mind she narrated, at my request, the events referred to in the script. -She remembered them clearly as they happened when she was about fifteen -years of age. It appeared that she was staying at that time in G.... -M...., a town in England. Her mother, who was seriously ill, was taken -to a great surgeon to be operated upon. She herself suffered great -anxiety and anguish lest her mother should not recover. She went twice a -day to the church to pray for her mother’s recovery and in her anguish -declared that if her mother did not recover she would no longer believe -in God. The chimes in the tower of the church, which was close to her -hotel, sounded every quarter hour; they got on her nerves; she hated -them; she could not bear to hear them, and while she was praying they -added to her anguish. Ever since this time the ringing of bells has -continued to cause a feeling of anguish. This narrative was not -accompanied by emotion as was the automatic script. - -It now transpired that it was the _ringing_ of the church bells, or the -_anticipated ringing_ of bells, that caused the fear, and not the -perception of a tower itself. When she saw a tower she feared lest bells -should ring. This was the object of the phobia.[184] She could not -explain why she had never before connected her phobia with the episode -she described. This failure of association as we know is not uncommon, -and in this case was apparently related to a determination to put out of -mind an unbearable episode associated with so much anguish. There had -been for years a more or less constant mental conflict with her phobia. -The subject had striven not to think of or look at belfries, churches, -schoolhouses, or any towers, or to hear the ringing of their bells, or -to talk about them. She had endeavored to protect herself by keeping -such ideas out of her mind. Before further analyzing the case there are -two points which are well worth calling attention to: - -1. When the subject subconsciously described the original childhood -experience by automatic script there was intense emotion—fear—which -emerged into consciousness without her knowing the reason thereof. When, -on the other hand, she later from her conscious memories described the -same experience there was no such emotion. In other words it was only -when the conserved residua of the experience functioned consciously and -autonomously as a dissociated, independent process that emotion was -manifested. So long as the memories were described from the view-point -of the matured adult personal consciousness there was no emotion. As a -subconscious process they were unmodified by this later viewpoint. This -suggests at least that when the phobia was excited by the sight or idea -of a tower it was due likewise to a subconscious process and that this -was one and the same as that which induced the experimental phobia. - -2. The phraseology of the script is noticeable. The account is just such -as a child might have written. It reads as if the conserved thoughts of -a child had awakened and functioned subconsciously. - -From this history, so far as given, it is plain that the psychosis in -one sense is a recurring antecedent experience or memory, but it is only -a partial memory. The whole of the experience does not recur but only -the emotion in association with the ringing of bells. The rest of that -experience, viz., the idea of the possible death of her mother with its -attendant grief and anguish associated with the visits to the church, -the praying for recovery and finally the realization of the fatal -ending—all that which originally excited the fear and _gave the -ringing-of-bells-in-a-tower meaning_ was conserved as a setting in the -unconscious. That the rest of the experience was conserved was shown by -the fact that it could be recalled not only by automatic writing but, -although not in association with the phobia, to conscious memory. From -this point of view the fear of bells ringing may be regarded as a -recurrence of the original fear—that of her mother’s death—now derived -from a subconsciously functioning setting. The child was afraid to face -her grief and so now the matured adult was also afraid. - -From another point of view the ringing of bells may be regarded as -standing for, or a symbol of, her mother’s death with which it was so -intimately associated, and this symbol awakened the same fear as did -originally the idea itself of the death. An object may still be the -symbol of another, although the association between the two cannot be -recalled. (The transference of the emotional factor of an experience to -some element in it is a common occurrence; e. g., a fear of knives in a -person who has had the fear of committing suicide.) - -The discovered antecedent experiences of childhood then give a hitherto -unsuspected meaning to the ringing of bells. It is a meaning—the _mise -en scène_ of a tragedy of grief and a symbol of that tragedy. But was -that tragedy with its grief the _real_ meaning of the child’s fear or, -perhaps more correctly, the _whole_ of the meaning? And is it still the -meaning in the mind of the adult woman? Does the mere conservation of a -painful memory of grief explain its persistent recurrent subconscious -functioning during twenty-five years, well into adult life, so that the -child’s emotion shall be reawakened whenever one element (bell-tower) of -the original experience is presented to consciousness? And, still more, -can the persistence of a mere association of the affect with the object -independently of a subconscious process explain the psychosis? Either of -these two last propositions is absurd on its face as being opposed to -the experience of the great mass of mankind. The vast majority of people -have undergone disturbing, sorrowful or fear-inspiring experiences at -some time during the course of their lives and they do not find that -they cannot for years afterwards face some object or idea belonging to -that experience without being overwhelmed with the same emotion. Such -emotion in the course of time subsides and dies out. A few, relatively -speaking, do so suffer and then, because contrary to general experience, -it is called a psychosis. - -We must, then, seek some other and adequate factor in the case under -examination. When describing the episode in the church, the subject -stated that on one occasion she omitted to go to church to pray and the -thought came to her that if her mother died it would be due to this -omission, and _it would be her fault_. The “eye of God”[185] she thought -was literally upon her in her every daily act and when her mother did -die she thought that it was God’s punishment of herself because of that -one failure. Consequently she thought _that she was to blame for her -mother’s death_; that _her mother’s death was her fault_. She feared to -face her mother’s death, not because of grief—that was a mere -subterfuge, a self-deception—but because she thought she was to blame; -and she feared to face towers with bells, or rather the ringing of -bells, because they symbolized or stood for that death (just as a -tomb-stone would stand for it), and in facing that fact she had to face -her own fancied guilt and self-reproach and this she dared not do. _This -was the real fear_, the fear of facing her own guilt. The emotion then -was not only a recurrence of the affect associated with the church -episode but a _reaction to self-reproach_. The ringing of bells, -somewhat metaphorically speaking, reproached her as Banquo’s ghost -reproached Macbeth. - -All this was the child’s point of view. - -But I found that the patient, an adult woman, _still believed and -obstinately maintained_ that her mother’s death was her fault. She had -never ceased to believe it. Why was this? Why had not the -unsophisticated belief of a child become modified by the maturity of -years? It did not seem to be probable that the given child’s reason was -the real adult reason for self-reproach. I did not believe it. A woman -forty years of age could not reproach herself on such grounds. And, even -if this belief had been originally the real reason, as a matter of fact -she had outgrown the child’s religious belief. She was a thorough-going -agnostic. Further probing brought out the following: - -Two years before her mother’s death, the patient, then thirteen years -old, owing to her own carelessness and disobedience to her mother’s -instructions, had contracted a “cold” which had been diagnosed as -incipient phthisis. By the physician’s advice her mother took her to -Europe for a “cure” and was detained there (as she believed) for two -years, all on account of the child’s health. At the end of this period a -serious, chronic disease from which the mother had long suffered was -found to have so developed as to require an emergency operation. The -patient _still believed_ and argued that if her mother had not been -compelled to take her abroad she (the mother) would have been under -medical supervision at home, would have been operated upon long before -and in all probability would not have died. Furthermore, as the patient -had heedlessly and disobediently exposed herself to severe cold and -thereby contracted the disease compelling the sojourn in Europe, she was -to blame for the train of circumstances ending fatally. - -All this was perfectly logical and true, assuming the facts as -presented. Here then was the real reason for the patient’s persistent -belief that her mother’s death was her fault and the persistent -self-reproach. _It also transpired that all this had weighed upon the -child’s mind and that the child had likewise believed it._ So the child -had two reasons for self-reproach. One was neglecting to pray and the -other was being the indirect cause of the fatal operation. Both were -intensely believed in. The first based on the “eye of God” theory she -had outgrown, but the other had persisted. - -Summing up our study to this point: All these memories involving grief, -suffering, self-reproach, bells and mother formed an unconscious setting -which gave meaning to bells in towers and took part in the functioning -to form a psychic whole. The conscious psychosis was first the emergence -into consciousness of two elements only, the perception and the affect, -and the fear was a reaction to self-reproach, a fear to face self-blame. - -Now even if the mother’s death were logically, by a train of fortuitous -circumstances, the patient’s fault, why did an otherwise intelligent -woman lay so much stress upon an irresponsible child’s behavior? The -child after all behaved no differently from other children. People do -not consciously blame themselves in after life for the ultimate -consequences of childhood’s heedlessness. According to common experience -such self-reproaches do not last into adult life without some -continuously acting factor. - -A search in this case into the unconscious brought to light a persisting -idea that when events in her life happened unfortunately it was due to -her fault. It had cropped out again and again in connection with -inconsequential as well as consequential matters. She had, for instance, -been really unable on many occasions to leave home on pleasure trips for -fear lest some accident might happen within the home and consequently it -would be due to her fault; and if away she was in constant dread of -something happening for which she would be to blame. It was not a fear -of what might happen—an accident to the children, for example—but that -it would be her fault. I have heard her, when some matter of apparently -little concern had gone wrong, suddenly exclaim, “Was it my fault?” her -voice and features manifesting a degree of emotion almost amounting to -terror. When her brother died (still earlier, before her mother’s death) -she had blamed herself for that death, as later with her mother, on the -same religious grounds. This self-reproach for happenings, fancied as -due to her fault, has frequently appeared in her dreams. It would take -us too far afield to trace the origin and psychogenesis of this idea. -Suffice to say, it can be followed back to early childhood when she was -five or six years of age. She was a lonely, unhappy child. She thought -herself ugly and unattractive and disliked and that so it always would -be through life, and it was all her fault because she was ugly, as she -thought.[186] The instinct of self-abasement (McDougall[187]) or -negative self-feeling (Ribot) dominated the personality as the most -insistent instinct and from its intensity within the self-regarding -sentiment (McDougall) formed a sentiment of self-depreciation. She -wanted to be liked and believed it to be her own fault that, as she -fancied, she was not and never would be, and reproached herself -accordingly. This sentiment of self depreciation with its impulse to -render self-reproach has persisted, as with many people, all her life -and has been fostered by unwise and thoughtless domestic criticism. The -persistence to the present day of this impulse to self-reproach is shown -in the following observation: - -Quite recently this subject began to suffer from general fatigue, -insomnia, distressing dreams, hysterical crying, indefinable anxiety and -pseudo twilight states or extreme states of abstraction. In these states -she became oblivious of her environment, did not hear the conversation -going on about her, nor answer when directly spoken to. This became so -noticeable that she became the jest of her companions. In these states -her mind was always occupied with reveries (not fantasies), though -mostly pleasant, regarding a very near relative who had died about six -months previously. Her distressing dreams also concerned this relative. -It appeared, therefore, probable, on the face of the symptoms that they -were in some way related to this relative’s death. - -Now it transpired, as I already knew, that the relative had died under -somewhat tragic circumstances and that our subject’s experience during -the last illness was unusually distressing and sorrowful. _This -experience, she asserted, she could not bear to speak or even think -about and over and over again had refused to do so and put it out of her -mind. She further asserted that her reason for this attitude was the -distressing nature of the scenes in which she took part._ - -Now I did not believe that this was the true reason, although given in -good faith. It was improbable on its face. To say that a grown woman, -forty years of age, could not do what every woman can do, tolerate -sorrowful memories simply because they were sorrowful, and must perforce -put them out of her mind, is sheer nonsense. There must be some other -reason. - -On examining a dream it was found to be peculiar in one respect: It was -not an imaginative or fantastic composition, but a detailed and precise -living over again of the scenes at the death bed: that is to say, it was -a sort of somnambulistic state. In recalling this dream[188] she could -not for some time recover the ending. Finally it “broke through,” as she -expressed it. The dream was as follows: First came many details of the -vigil of the last night of the illness; then she went to her room and to -bed to snatch a few moments’ sleep; she was waked up by the husband of -the dying relative appearing in her room. He sat on the edge of her bed -and said to her, “All is over.” Up to this point the facts of the dream -were actual representations in great detail of the actual facts as they -had occurred, but at this moment the dream presented a fact which had -not occurred in the real scene; she suddenly, in the dream, sat up in -bed and exclaimed, “My God! then I ought to have sent for the doctor!” - -Here was the key to the intolerance for memories of the illness of the -relative and the death-bed scene. What had happened was this: The -question had arisen early in the illness whether or not a doctor should -be sent for from London in consultation. The expense, owing to the -distance, would have been considerable. The whole responsibility and -decision rested upon the subject. Against the opinion of other relatives -she had decided that it was inadvisable. After the fatal ending the -question had arisen again whether or not she ought to have sent for the -consultant and she had been tormented by the doubt as to whether she did -right; _was the fatal result her fault_? Although she had reasoned with -herself that her decision was good judgment and right still there had -always lurked a doubt in her mind. She was also somewhat disturbed by -the thought of what the husband’s opinion might be. - -The real reason why she could not tolerate the memories of the last -illness of this relative, and the psychogenesis of the symptoms now were -plain: they were not grief but self-reproach with its instinct of -self-abasement. The memories brought to her mind that the fault was -her’s and with the thought came self-reproach. _This self-reproach she -was afraid of and unwilling to face._ This fact she recognized and -frankly confessed after the disclosures of the analysis. - -Now follows the therapeutic sequel. The relative’s illness at the -beginning was in no way of a dangerous nature and the proposed -consultation had nothing to do with the question of danger to life. The -death was due to purely an accidental factor and could not have been -foreseen. When I assured her in hypnosis, with full explanation, that -her decision had been medically sound, as it was, the change in her -mental attitude was delightful to look upon. “Wasn’t it my fault! Wasn’t -it my fault!” she exclaimed in excitement. Anxiety, dread, and -depression gave way to exhilaration and joyousness. Thereupon she woke -up completely relieved in mind, and retained the same feeling of joy, -but without knowing the reason thereof. The explanation was repeated to -her in the waking state and she then fully realized (as she did also in -hypnosis) that her previous view was a pure subterfuge and fully -appreciated the truth of the discovered reason for her inability to face -her painful memories. The twilight states, the insomnia, and the -distressing dreams, the anxiety, and other symptoms ceased at once. - -Returning to the phobia for bells, in the light of all these facts, the -patient’s belief that her mother’s death was her fault and the -consequent self-reproach were obviously only a particular concrete -example of a lifelong emotional tendency originating in the experiences -of childhood to blame herself; and this tendency was the striving to -express itself of the instinct of self-abasement (with the emotion of -self-subjection) which, incorporated within “the self-regarding -sentiment” (McDougall), was so intensely cultivated and had played so -large a part in her life. Indeed this instinct had almost dominated her -self-regarding sentiment and had given rise time and again to -self-reproach for accidental happenings. It now specifically determined -her attitude of mind toward the series of events which led up to the -fatal climax and determined her judgment of self-condemnation and -self-reproach. These last most probably received increased emotional -force from the large number of roots in painful associations of -antecedent experiences (particularly of childhood) in which the -self-regarding sentiment, self-debasement, and self-reproaches were -incorporated.[189] _Nevertheless the fear was of a particular concrete -self-reproach._ The general tendency was of practical consequence only -so far as it explained the particular point of view and might induce -other self-reproaches. - -As a general summary of this study it would appear that we can postulate -a larger setting to the phobia than the grief inspiring experiences -attending her mother’s death. The unconscious complex included the -belief that she was to blame and the sentiment of self-reproach, and the -whole gave a fuller meaning to the ringing of bells in a tower. The fear -besides being a recurring association was also a reaction to the -subconsciously excited setting of a fancied truth or self-accusation. -Although excited by towers and steeples the fear was really of -self-reproach. Towers, steeples, and bells not only in a sense -symbolized her mother’s death, but her own fancied fault. It was in this -sense and for this reason that she dared not face such objects. The -conscious and the unconscious formed a psychic whole.[190] - -Now in reaching these conclusions see how far we have traveled: Starting -with an ostensible phobia for towers, we find it is more correctly one -of ringing-of-bells, but without conscious association; then we reach a -childhood’s tragedy; then a self-reproach on religious grounds; then a -belief in a fault of childhood’s behavior culminating in a lifelong -self-reproach—the causal factor and psychologically the true object of -the phobia: and between this last self-reproach and the phobia no -conscious association. - -The _therapeutic_ procedure and results are instructive. As the fear was -induced by a belief in a fancied fault exciting a self-reproach, -obviously if this belief should be destroyed the self-reproach must -cease and the fear must disappear. Now when all the facts were brought -to light, the patient, as is usual, recognized the truth of them. She -also recognized fully and completely the real nature of the fear, of the -self-blame and of the self-reproach. There remained no lingering doubt -in her mind, nevertheless the bringing to “the full light of day” of all -this did not cure the phobia. As the first procedure in the therapeusis -it was pointed out that it was contrary to common sense to blame herself -for the heedlessness of a child; that all children were disobedient; -that she would have been a little prig if she had been the sort of a -child that never disobeyed, and that she would not have blamed any other -child who had behaved in a similar way under similar circumstances, and -so on. She simply said that she recognized all this intellectually as -true and yet, although it was the point of view which she would take -with another person in the same situation, it did not in any way alter -her attitude toward herself. In other words the bringing to the full -light of day of the facts did not cure the phobia. It was necessary to -change the setting of her belief. _To do this either the alleged facts -had to be shown to be not true or else new facts had to be introduced -which would give them a new meaning._ This, briefly told, was done in -the following way: - -She was put into light hypnosis in order that exact and detailed -memories of her childhood might be brought out. Then, through her own -memories, it was demonstrated, that is to say, the _patient herself -demonstrated_, that there was considerable doubt about her having had -phthisis at all; that she was not taken to the usual places of “cures” -for phthisis but sojourned in the gay and pleasant cities and watering -places of Europe; that her mother really staid in Europe because she -enjoyed it and made an excuse of her daughter’s health not to come home; -that she might have returned at any time but did not want to do so; and -that the fault lay, if anywhere, with her physician at home. When this -was brought out the patient remarked, “Why, of course, I see it now! My -mother did not stay in Europe on account of my health but because she -enjoyed it, and might have returned if she had wanted to. I never -thought of that before! It was not my fault at all!” After coming out of -hypnosis the facts as elicited were laid before the patient; she again -said that she saw it all clearly, as she had done in hypnosis, and her -whole point of view was changed. - -The therapeutics, then, consisted in showing that the alleged facts upon -which the patient’s logical conclusions had been based were false. The -setting thereby was altered, and a new and true meaning given to the -real facts. The result was towers and steeples no longer excited fears, -the phobia ceased at once—an immediate cure.[191] - -_Type D._ In this type _the conscious psychosis consists of idea, -meaning, affect, and physical disturbance_. F. E. suffered from attacks -of so-called “unreality” accompanied with intense fear. She was unable -to give an intelligent explanation as to why she was afraid of the -attacks—harmless in themselves—until it was brought out that there was -in the _background of her mind_ the thought that the attacks spelled -insanity (or that she was likely to go insane) and also death. Following -the attacks there was amnesia for these thoughts. Her fear really, then, -was of insanity and death. The content of consciousness in the attacks -contained the perception of herself as an insane person, thoughts which -expressed the meaning of her attacks, and fear. (The usual physical -disturbances of course accompanied the fear.) No amount of explanation -of the harmlessness of the unreality syndrome sufficed to change her -point of view, i.e., its meaning to her. But going further it was -discovered that her self-regarding sentiment and her ideas of insanity -and death were organized with a large number of fear-inspiring -antecedent experiences which explained why she regarded the attacks as -dangerous to her mentality and life; and why the biological instinct of -fear was incorporated with the self-regarding sentiment. These -experiences had long passed out of mind and there was no conscious -association between them and her phobia, but they could be recalled as -associative memories.[192] The unreality attacks had for her two -meanings which were within the content of consciousness, viz., 1, -insanity, and 2, death. The first was derived from (a) antecedent -girlhood and later experiences which had engendered the unsophisticated -belief that having the mind fixed on one subject, as was obtrusively and -painfully the case at one time, meant insanity: and (b), from the fact -that the bewildering, irreconcilable, absurd thoughts, conflicts, and -emotions in which the unreality attacks culminated meant insanity. - -The second meaning (death) was derived from (a) the previous fixed idea -(just referred to), organized with that of insanity—namely, an -unsophisticated medieval idea of hell which was conceived of as the -equivalent of death and which had excited an intense horror of both; and -(b) from the fact that in the unreality attacks there was a _struggling_ -for air; struggling was in her mind, the equivalent of convulsions;[193] -convulsions of unconsciousness; and unconsciousness of death. All these -various ideas and the intense fears which each gave rise to had become -organized into a complex, and, in consequence of these antecedent -experiences in which self took a prominent part, the instinct of fear—as -I conceive the matter—became incorporated within the self-regarding -sentiment. (Anything that aroused this sentiment tended to arouse the -emotion of fear, as in another person it would tend to arouse the -emotion of pride, or self-abasement.) At any rate this organized complex -was the setting which gave the meaning to her phobia. There can be, I -think, no manner of doubt about this. The patient herself explained her -viewpoint through these ideas here briefly summarized. The only question -is as to the mechanism of the phobia. Now as Type D, of which these -cases are examples, differs clinically from the preceding three types -only in the addition of one more element—meaning—to the conscious -psychic whole, a consistent interpretation would seem to compel us to -postulate also a functioning subconscious complex or setting and in this -case of the antecedent experiences disclosed as a factor in the -mechanism and a part of the psychic whole. Out of this complex emerged -into consciousness the idea of insanity and death and fear as the -meaning of the unreality syndrome, the whole constituting the phobia -psychosis. - -That there was in fact a subconsciously functioning process derived from -this complex would seem to be almost conclusively shown by another -phenomenon manifested. I refer to the vivid _visualization of herself in -a convulsion, struggling for air and manifesting fright_, which she -experienced in each attack. We have seen that such a visualization -(i.e., a modified vision) is the expression (secondary images?) of a -subconscious process (co-conscious ideas?). As a matter of fact this -particular visualization was a pictorial representation of antecedent -thoughts organized with thoughts of death and insanity and still -conserved in the unconscious. We must believe, then, that it was these -antecedent thoughts (in the first place her apprehension of inheriting -Bright’s disease and convulsions from her father, and in the second -place her conception of the unreality syndrome as a state which might -possibly end in convulsions) which, functioning subconsciously, induced -the quasi hallucinatory expression of themselves.[194] It is difficult -to get away from the conclusion that the remainder of the setting from -which the ideas of insanity and death were derived also functioned as a -subconscious process. Whether this process was conscious or unconscious -is a secondary question which we need not consider. - -In weighing the probabilities of this interpretation we should bear in -mind that there were two conscious beliefs of which the patient was -fully aware and which were very real to her; namely, the liability of -becoming insane and to convulsions and death. The conative force of the -instinct of fear linked to such ideas is quite sufficient to drive them -to expression when out of mind and subconscious. Or expressed -differently we may say that the fear was a reaction to these ideas which -the patient dared not face. - -We ought not, however, to be too sweeping in our generalizations and go -further than the facts warrant. We are not justified in concluding that -the linking of an affect to an idea always includes a subconscious -mechanism. On the contrary, as I have previously said, probably in the -great majority of such experiences, aside from obsessions, no such -mechanism is required to explain the facts. - -_The Inability to Voluntarily Modify Obsessions._—We are now in a -position on this theory to look a little more deeply into the structure -and mechanism of an obsession and thereby realize why it is that the -unfortunate victims are so helpless to modify or control them. Indeed -this behavior of the setting could be cited as another piece of -circumstantial evidence for the theory that the setting is largely -unconscious and that only a few elements of it enter the field of -consciousness. If we simply explain to a person who has a true -obsession, i.e., an insistent idea with a strong feeling tone, the -falsity of the point of view, the explanation in many cases at least has -no or little effect in changing the viewpoint, though the patient admits -the correctness of the explanation. The patient cannot modify his idea -even if he will. But if the original complex, which is hidden in the -unconscious and which gives rise to the meaning of the idea, is -discovered, and so altered that it takes on a new meaning and different -feeling tones, the patient’s conscious idea becomes modified and ceases -to be insistent. This would imply that the insistent idea is only an -element in a larger unconscious complex which is the setting and -unconsciously determines the viewpoint. The reason why the patient -cannot voluntarily alter his viewpoint becomes intelligible by this -theory, because that which determines it is unconscious and unknown. He -may not even know what his point of view is, owing to the meaning being -in the fringe of consciousness. - -If this theory of the mechanism is soundly established the difficulty of -correcting obsessions becomes obvious and intelligible. It is also -obvious that there are theoretically two ways in which an obsession -might be corrected. - -1. A new setting with strong affects may be artificially created so that -the perception acquires another equally strong meaning and interest. - -2. The second way theoretically would be to bring into consciousness the -setting and the past experiences of which the setting is a _sifted_ -residuum, and reform it by introducing new elements, including new -emotions and feelings. In this way the old setting and point of view -would become transformed and a new point of view substituted which would -give a new meaning to the perception. - -Now in practice both these theoretical methods of destroying an -obsession are found to work, although both are not always equally -efficacious in the same case. In less intense obsessions where the -complex composing the setting is only partially and inconsequently -submerged, and to a slight degree differentiated from the mass of -conscious experiences, the first and simpler method practically is amply -sufficient. We might say that the greater the degree to which the -setting is conscious and the less the degree to which it has acquired, -as an unconscious process, independent autonomous activity the more -readily it may be transformed by this method. - -On the other hand in the more intense obsessions, where a greater part -of the setting is unconscious, has wide ramifications and has become -differentiated as an independent autonomous process, the more difficult -it is to suppress it and prevent its springing into activity whenever -excited by some stimulus (such as an associated idea). In such instances -the second method is more efficacious. It is obvious that, so long as -the setting to a central idea remains organized and conserved in the -unconscious, the corresponding perception and meaning are always liable -under favoring conditions (such as fatigue, ill health, etc.) to be -switched into consciousness and replace the new formed perception. This -means of course a recurrence. Nevertheless medical experience from the -beginning of time has shown that this is not necessarily or always the -case. The technique, therefore, of the treatment of obsessions will vary -from “simple explanations” (Taylor) without preliminary analysis to the -more complicated and varying procedures of analysis and re-education in -its many forms. - -_Affects._—Here a word of caution in the interpretation of emotional -reactions is necessary. In the building of complexes, as we have seen, -an affect becomes linked to an idea through an emotional experience. The -recurrence of that idea always involves the recurrence of the affect. It -is not a logical necessity that the original experience which occasioned -the affect should always be postulated as a continuing subconscious -process to account for the affect in association with the idea. It is -quite possible, if not extremely probable, that in the simpler types, at -least, of the emotional complexes, the association between the idea and -affect becomes so firmly established that the conscious idea alone, -without the coöperation of a subconscious process, is sufficient to -awake the emotion; just as in Pawlow’s dogs the artificially formed -association between a tactile stimulus and the salivary glands is -sufficient to excite the glands to activity, or as in human beings the -idea of a ship by pure association may determine fear and nausea, the -sound of running water by the force of association may excite the -bladder reflex, or an ocular stimulus the so-called hay fever complex. -So in word-association reactions, when a word is accompanied by an -affect-reaction the word itself may be sufficient to excite the reaction -without assuming that an “unconscious complex has been struck.” The -total mechanism of the process we are investigating must be determined -in each case for itself. - -In the study and formulation of psychological phenomena there is one -common tendency and danger, and that is of making the phenomena too -schematic and sharply defined, as if we were dealing with material -objects. Mental processes are not only plastic but shifting, varying, -unstable, and undergo modifications of structure almost from moment to -moment. We describe a complex schematically as if it had a fixed, -immutable, and well-defined structure. This is far from being the case. -Although there may be a fairly fixed nucleus, the cluster, as a whole, -is ill defined and undergoes considerable modification from moment to -moment. New elements enter the cluster and replace or are added to those -which previously took part in the composition. An analogy might be made -with a large cluster of electric lights arranged about a central -predominant light, but so arranged that individual lights could be -switched in and cut out of the cluster at any moment and different -colored lights substituted. The composition and structure of the -cluster, and the intensity and color of the light, could be varied from -moment to moment, yet the cluster as a cluster maintained. We might -carry the analogy farther and imagine the cluster to be an advertising -sign which had a meaning—the advertisement. This meaning might or might -not be altered by the changes in the individual lamps. - -The same indefiniteness pertains to the demarcation between the -conscious and the subconscious. What was conscious at one moment may be -subconscious the next and _vice versa_. Under _normal_ conditions there -is a continual shifting between the conscious and subconscious. I have -made numerous investigations to determine this point, and the evidence -is fairly precise, and to me convincing, that this shifting continually -occurs,[195] as might well be inferred on theoretical grounds. Nor, -excepting in special pathological and artificial dissociated conditions, -is the distinction between the conscious and subconscious at any moment -always sharp and precise; it is often rather a matter of vividness and -shading, and whether a conscious state is in the focus of attention or -in the fringe. Experimental observation confirms introspection in this -respect. - -In view of the foregoing we can now appreciate a fallacy which has been -too commonly accepted in the interpretation of therapeutic facts. It is -quite generally held that it is a necessity that the underlying -unconscious complexes cannot be modified without bringing them to the -“full light of day” by analysis. The facts of everyday observation do -not justify this conclusion. The awakening of dormant memories of past -experiences is mainly of importance for the purpose of giving us exact -information of _what_ we need to modify, not necessarily for the purpose -of effecting the modification. Owing to the fluidity of complexes, -whether unconscious or conscious, our conscious ideas can become -incorporated in unconscious complexes. This means that any new setting -in which we may incorporate our conscious ideas to give them a new -meaning becomes effective in the associations which these ideas have as -a dormant complex. The latter is able to assimilate from the conscious -any new material offered to it. Practical therapeutics and everyday -experience abundantly have shown this. I have accomplished this, and I -believe every therapeutist has done the same time and again. We should -be cautious not to overlook common experience in the enthusiasm for new -theories and dramatic observations. The difficulty is in knowing what we -want to modify, and for this purpose analytical investigations of one -sort or another are of the highest assistance, because they furnish us -with the required information. If we recover the memories of the -unconscious complex our task is easier, as we can apply our art with the -greater skill. - -When we speak of a setting to an idea we are not entitled to think of it -as a sharply defined group of ideas, or sharply limited subconscious -process. When we identify it with the residua of past experiences we are -not entitled, on the basis of exact knowledge, to arbitrarily make up a -selected cluster of residua which shall exclude those and include these -residual elements of antecedent associated experiences, and dogmatically -postulate the composition of the complex which we call the setting. -Analysis by the very limitations of the method fails to permit of such -arbitrary selection, and synthetic methods are not sufficiently exact -for the purpose. All we can say is that from the residua of various past -experiences a complex is sifted out to become the setting. And even then -no process is entirely autonomous and entirely removed from the -interfering, directing, and coöperative influence of other processes. -Even with simple and purely physiological processes, such as the knee -jerk, this is true. Although the knee jerk may be schematically -conceived as a simple reflex arc involving the peripheral nerves and the -spinal cord, nevertheless other parts of the nervous system—the brain -and the spinal cord—provide coöperative processes which take part, and -under special conditions take a very active part, in modifying the -phenomenon. While we are justified, for the clarifying purposes of -exposition, in schematizing the phenomenon by selecting the spinal -reflex as the predominant process, yet we do not overlook the -coöperative processes which may control and modify the spinal reflex. If -this is true of purely physiological processes, it is still more true of -the enormously more complex processes of human intelligence. - -We may say, then, not only that with our present knowledge and our -present methods we are not able to precisely differentiate the settings -of ideas, but that it is highly improbable that settings as complexes of -residua are with any preciseness functionally entirely autonomous and -removed from the influence of other associative processes. - -We need further investigations into the psychology and processes of -settings, and until we have wider and more exact knowledge it is well -not to theorize and still more not to dogmatize. It is an inviting field -which awaits the psychologist. - ------ - -Footnote 183: - - In making the analysis, therefore, I was in no way antagonistic in my - mind to the Freudian hypothesis. - -Footnote 184: - - I want to emphasize this point, because certain students, assuming the - well-known alleged sexual symbolism as the meaning of steeples and - towers, will read and have read such an interpretation into this - phobia. As a matter of fact, although these objects had been - originally alleged by the subject herself to be the object of the fear - it was done thoughtlessly as the result of careless introspection. - Later she clearly distinguished the true object. They were no more the - object than the churches and schoolhouses themselves. They bore an - incidental association only, and only indicated where the ringing of - bells might be expected to be heard, having been an element in the - original episode. Nor were bells, qua bells, the object of the phobia, - but the ringing-of-bells of the kind that recalled the mother’s death. - In other words, the fear was of bells with a particular meaning. Nor - was the fear absolutely limited to tower-bells, for it transpired that - the subject had refrained from having, as she desired, an alarm bell - arranged in her house in the country (in case of fire, etc.), because - of her phobia. (This note is perhaps made necessary by the violent - shaking of the heads of my Freudian friends that I noticed at this - point during the presentation of this case before the American - Psychopathological Association.) See _Jour. Abn. Psychol._, Oct.-Nov., - 1913. - -Footnote 185: - - This idea had its origin in a child’s fairy tale, and had been - fostered by the governess as a useful expedient in enforcing good - behavior. The child accepting the fairy legend believed the Eye of God - was always on her and every one in the world, and observed all that - each did or omitted to do. The legend excited her imagination, and she - used to think about it and wonder how God could keep His eye on so - many people as there were in the world. At a still earlier age, when - she was about eight, she had thought her little brother’s death was - also her fault, because she had neglected one night, at the time of - his illness, God’s eye being upon her, to say her prayers. For a long - time afterward she suffered similarly from self-reproach. It is - interesting to compare the outgrowing with maturity of this - self-reproach with the persistence of the later one, evidently owing - to the reasons given in the text. - -Footnote 186: - - Another example of this idea and of the way it induced a psychosis is - the following: She had an intense dislike to hearing the sound of - running water. This sound induced an intense feeling of _unhappiness - and loneliness_. This feeling was so intense that whenever she heard - the sound of running water she endeavored to get away from it. The - sound of a fountain or rainwater running from a roof, for example, - would cause such unpleasant feelings that she would change her - sleeping room to avoid them. Likewise drawing water to fill the - bathtub was so unpleasant that she would insist upon the door being - closed to exclude the sound. She could give no explanation of this - psychosis. It was discovered in the following way: She had been - desirous of finding out the cause, and we had discussed the subject. I - had promised that I would unravel the matter in due time, after the - other phobia had been cured. I then hypnotized her and, while she was - in hypnosis and just after we had completed the other problem, she - remarked that a memory of the running water association was on the - verge of emerging into her mind. She could not get it for some time, - and then, after some effort, it suddenly emerged. She described it as - follows: “It was at Bar Harbor. She was about eight years of age. - There was a brook there called Duck Brook. The older girls used to go - up there on Sundays for a walk with the boys. I went with them one - Sunday, accompanied by the governess, and was standing by the brook - with a boy. It was a very noisy brook, the water running down from the - hillside. While I was standing by the brook, watching the running - water, the boy left me to join the other girls, who had gone off. I - thought that was the way it would always be in life; that I was ugly, - and that they would never stay with me. I felt lonely and unhappy. - During that summer I would not join parties of the same kind, fearing - or feeling that the same thing would happen. I stayed at home by - myself, and when I refused to go it was attributed to sullenness. They - did not know my real reasons. Ever since I have been unable to bear - the sound of running water, which produces the feeling of unhappiness - and loneliness, the same feeling that I had at that time. I thought - then that it was all my fault, because I was ugly.” It was then - tentatively pointed out at some length to the subject that as she now - knew all the facts which had been brought to the “full light of day,” - etc., she, of course, would no longer have her former unpleasant - emotions from the sound of running water. Hereupon, to put the - question to the test, I reached out my hand and poured some water from - a caraffe, by chance standing by, into a tumbler, letting the water - fall from a height to make a sound. At once she manifested discomfort, - and sought to restrain me with her hand. Plainly the setting had to be - changed. This was easily done by leading her to see that her - childhood’s ideas had been proven by life’s experiences to be false. - When this became apparent she laughed at herself, and the psychosis - ceased at once. - -Footnote 187: - - Social Psychology. - -Footnote 188: - - This was done in hypnosis, the dream being forgotten when awake. - -Footnote 189: - - For instance, when I came to the therapeutics I found in abstraction - that the patient did not want to give up her point of view “because,” - as she said, “it forms an excuse so that when I feel lonely, if there - is nothing else to be lonely about, I have that memory and point of - view to fall back upon as something to justify my crying and feeling - lonely and blue.” - - When she now feels blue and cries, as happens occasionally, and she - asks herself Why? then she drifts back in her mind to childhood and - remembers she was lonely and then cries the harder. Then she vaguely - thinks of her mother’s death being her fault. She likes therefore to - hold on to this as a peg on which to hang any present feeling of - blueness and loneliness. - -Footnote 190: - - Some, I have no doubt, will insist upon seeing in towers with bells a - sexual symbol, and in the self-reproach a reaction to a repressed - infantile or other sexual wish. But I cannot accede to this view - first, because a tower was not only not the real object of the phobia, - but not even the alleged object, which was the ringing of bells; - secondly, because it is an unnecessary postulate unsupported by - evidence, and, thirdly, because in fact, the associative memories of - early life were conspicuously free from sex knowledge, wishes, - curiosity, episodes and imaginings, nor was there any evidence of the - so-called “mother complex” or “father-complex,” or any other sexual - complex that I could find after a most exhaustive probing. The - impulses of instincts other than sexual are sufficient to induce - psychical trauma, insistent ideas, and emotion. To hold otherwise is - to substitute dogma for the evidence of experience. - -Footnote 191: - - It is worth noting that between the bringing to the “full light of - day” the facts furnished by the analysis and the cure a full year and - a half elapsed, during which the phobia continued. The “cure” was - effected at one sitting. The original study was undertaken on purely - psychological grounds; the cure for the purpose of completing the - study. - -Footnote 192: - - This account will be clearer if read in connection with the full - analysis (“A Clinical Study of a Case of Phobia”), published in the - _Jour, of Abn. Psychol._, October-November, 1912. - -Footnote 193: - - She was apprehensive of having inherited Bright’s disease from her - father, who had convulsions. - -Footnote 194: - - It is quite possible that this subconscious process induced the - unreality syndrome in which struggling for air was the salient - symptom. - -Footnote 195: - - I am excluding conditions like split personalities, automatic writing, - etc., and refer rather to normal mental processes. - - - - - LECTURE XIV - THE PHYSIOLOGICAL MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION - - -Emotion,[196] more particularly fear, plays so large a part in the -psychogenesis and symptomatology of the psychoses that it is desirable -to have a clear realization of its physiological and psychological -manifestations and of the disturbances of the organism which it can -induce. It is not necessary for our purpose to discuss the various -theories of the nature of emotion that have been propounded; we need -deal only with the _manifestations_ of emotion and its effect upon the -organism.[197] We will consider the physiological manifestations first. - -When a strong emotion is awakened in consciousness there are a large -number of physiological reactions, for the most part visceral, which can -be noted. Some of these may be graphically recorded and measured by -means of instruments of precision. These physiological reactions are -numerous and have been extensively described by Féré[198] among others. -The earlier work of Mosso upon the disturbances of the respiration and -vasomotor apparatus induced by sensory stimulation is well known. - -More recently considerable experimental work has been done, particularly -by German investigators, to determine the influence of affective states -upon the circulation and respiration. - -Modifications of the _peripheral circulation_, manifested through pallor -or turgescence of the skin and measured by changes recorded by the -plethismograph in the volume of the limbs; modifications of the volume -of the _heart_ and of the rhythm and force of the beats recorded by the -sphygmograph, and of arterial tension measured by the sphygmomonometer -are common phenomena. (Fear is more particularly accompanied by pallor, -and shame by turgescence—blushing. Anger in some is manifested by pallor -and in others by turgescence, and so on.) Changes in rate of the -heart-beats belong to popular knowledge. It is not so well known, even -to physiologists that the volume of the heart may be affected by -emotion. In several series of observations made under conditions of -emotional excitement upon a large number of healthy men, candidates for -civil service appointments, I recorded in a high percentage not only -alterations in the rate and rhythm and force of the heart-beat, but -temporary dilatation of the heart lasting during the period of -excitement.[199] This dilatation in some cases was sufficient to lead to -insufficiency of the mitral valve and to give rise to murmurs. The -examination was purposely conducted so as to induce a high degree of -emotional excitement, at least in many men. In another series of -observations (not published) the arterial tension was measured, and it -was found, as would be expected, that an increase of tension accompanied -the cardiac excitation under emotion.[200] - -[Illustration: - - Fig. 2. J., acute katatonic stupor. b is a wave selected from the - series in which 6 is sudden call by name. The galvanometer curve (a) - is slight, but the change in the pneumograph curve is notable. - (Peterson and Jung.[201]) -] - -As to the _respiratory apparatus_ the effect of emotion in altering the -rate and depth of respiration may be shown by the pneumograph; by this -method the effects of slight emotion that otherwise would escape -observation may be detected. Such a disturbance of respiration is shown -in the tracing, Fig. 2. - -That emotion will profoundly affect the respiration has of course been -common knowledge from time immemorial, and has been made use of by -writers of fiction and actors for dramatic effect. The same may be said -of modifications of the functioning of the whole respiratory apparatus, -including the nostrils and the mouth; and likewise of the decrease or -increase of secretions (dryness of the mouth from fear, and “foaming” -from anger). These are among the well known physiological effects of -emotions. - -Increase of _sweat_ sometimes amounting to an outpour, and alterations -in the amount of the various _glandular secretions_ (_salivary_, -_gastric_, etc.), and _rigor_ are important phenomena. - -The remarkable researches of Pawlow[202] and his co-workers in Russia on -the _work of the digestive glands_, and those of Cannon[203] in America -on the _movements of the stomach and intestines_ have revealed that -these functions are influenced in an astonishing degree by psychical -factors. - -Although it has long been known that the sight of food under certain -conditions would call forth a secretion of gastric juice in a hungry dog -(Bidder and Smith, 1852), and common observation has told us that -emotion strongly affects the gastrointestinal functions, increasing or -diminishing the secretions of saliva and gastric juice, and even -producing dyspeptic disturbances and diarrhœa, it has remained for -Pawlow and his co-workers to demonstrate the important part which the -“appetite,” as a psychical state, plays in the process of digestion. In -hungry dogs a large quantity of gastric juice, rich in ferment, is -poured out when food is swallowed, and even at the sight of food, and it -was proved that this outpouring was due to psychical influences. Simply -teasing and tempting the animal with food cause secretions, and food -associations in the environment may have the same effect. “If the dog -has not eaten for a long time every movement, the going out of the room, -the appearance of the attendant who ordinarily feeds the animal—in a -word, every triviality—may give rise to excitation of the gastric -glands.” (Pawlow, p. 73.) This first secreted juice is called “appetite -juice,” and is an important factor in the complicated process of -digestion. “The appetite is the first and mightiest exciter of the -secretory nerves of the stomach.” (Pawlow, p. 75.) Pawlow’s results have -been confirmed in man by Hornborg, Umber, Bickel, and Cade and Latarjet. -The mere chewing of appetizing food, for instance, is followed by a -copious discharge of gastric juice, while chewing of rubber and -distasteful substances has a negative result. Depressing emotions -inhibit the secretion of juice (Bickel). More than this, Cannon,[204] in -his very remarkable experiments on the movements of the stomach and -intestines, found that in animals (cat, rabbit, dog, etc.), gastric -peristalsis is stopped whenever the animal manifests signs of rage, -distress, or even anxiety. “Any signs of emotional disturbance, even the -restlessness and continual mewing which may be taken to indicate -uneasiness and discomfort, were accompanied in the cat by total -cessation of the segmentation movements of the small intestines, and of -antiperistalsis in the proximal colon.” Bickel and Sasaki have confirmed -in dogs these emotional effects obtained by Pawlow and Cannon. - -The effect of the emotions on the digestive processes is so important -from the standpoint of clinical medicine that I quote the following -summary of published observations from Cannon: "Hornborg found that when -the boy whom he studied chewed agreeable food a more or less active -secretion of the gastric juice was started, whereas the chewing of -indifferent material was without influence. - -"Not only is it true that normal secretion is favored by pleasurable -sensations during mastication, but also that unpleasant feelings, such -as vexation and some of the major emotions, are accompanied by a failure -of secretion. Thus Hornborg was unable to confirm in his patient the -observation of Pawlow that mere sight of food to a hungry subject causes -the flow of gastric juice. Hornborg explains the difference between his -and Pawlow’s results by the difference in the reaction of the subjects -to the situation. When food was shown, but withheld, Pawlow’s hungry -dogs were all eagerness to secure it, and the juice at once began to -flow. Hornborg’s little boy, on the contrary, became vexed when he could -not eat at once, and began to cry; then no secretion appeared. Bogen -also reports that his patient, a child, aged three and a half years, -sometimes fell into such a passion in consequence of vain hoping for -food, that the giving of the food, after calming the child, was not -followed by any secretion of the gastric juice. - -"The observations of Bickel and Sasaki confirm and define more precisely -the inhibitory effects of violent emotion on _gastric secretion_. They -studied these effects on a dog with an œsophageal fistula, and with a -side pouch of the stomach which, according to Pawlow’s method, opened -only to the exterior. If the animal was permitted to eat while the -œsophageal fistula was open the food passed out through the fistula and -did not go to the stomach. Bickel and Sasaki confirmed the observation -of Pawlow that this sham feeding is attended by a copious flow of -gastric juice, a true ‘psychic secretion,’ resulting from the -pleasurable taste of the food. In a typical instance the sham feeding -lasted five minutes, and the secretion continued for twenty minutes, -during which time 66.7 c. c. of pure gastric juice was produced. - -"On another day a cat was brought into the presence of the dog, -whereupon the dog flew into a great fury. The cat was soon removed, and -the dog pacified. Now the dog was again given the sham feeding for five -minutes. In spite of the fact that the animal was hungry and ate -eagerly, there was no secretion worthy of mention. During a period of -twenty minutes, corresponding to the previous observation, only 9 c. c. -of acid fluid was produced, and this was rich in mucus. It is evident -that in the dog, as in the boy observed by Bogen, strong emotions can so -profoundly disarrange the mechanisms of secretion that the natural -nervous excitation accompanying the taking of food cannot cause the -normal flow. - -"On another occasion Bickel and Sasaki started gastric secretion in the -dog by sham feeding, and when the flow of gastric juice had reached a -certain height the dog was infuriated for five minutes by the presence -of the cat. During the next fifteen minutes there appeared only a few -drops of a very mucous secretion. Evidently in this instance a -physiological process, started as an accompaniment of a psychic state -quietly pleasurable in character, was almost entirely stopped by another -psychic state violent in character. - -"It is noteworthy that in both the positive and negative results of the -emotional excitement illustrated in Bickel and Sasaki’s dog the effects -persisted long after the removal of the exciting condition. This fact -Bickel was able to confirm in a girl with œsophageal and gastric -fistulas; the gastric secretion long outlasted the period of eating, -although no food entered the stomach. The importance of these -observations to personal economics is too obvious to require -elaboration. - -“Not only are the secretory activities of the stomach unfavorably -affected by strong emotions; the movements of the stomach as well, and, -indeed, the movements of almost the entire alimentary canal, are wholly -stopped during excitement.”[205] - -So you see that the proverb, “Better a dinner of herbs where love is -than a stalled ox and hatred therewith,” has a physiological as well as -a moral basis. - -Nearly any sensory or psychical stimulus can be artificially made to -excite the _secretion of saliva_ as determined by experimentation on -animals by Pawlow. - -It is probable that all the _ductless glands_ (thyroid, suprarenal, -etc.), are likewise under the influence of the emotions. The suprarenal -glands secrete a substance which in almost infinitesimal doses has a -powerful effect upon the heart and blood vessels, increasing the force -of the former and contracting the peripheral arterioles. The recent -observations of Cannon and de la Paz have demonstrated in the cat that -under the influence of fear or anger an increase of this substance is -poured into the circulation.[206] Cannon, Shohl and Wright have also -demonstrated that the glycosuria which was known to occur in animals -experimented upon in the laboratory is due (in cats) to the influence of -the emotions, very probably discharging through the sympathetic system -on the adrenal glands and increasing their secretion.[207] The -glycosuria is undoubtedly due to an increase of sugar in the blood. It -is interesting to note, in this connection, that there is considerable -clinical evidence that indicates that some cases of diabetes and -glycosuria have an emotional origin. The same is true of disease of the -thyroid gland (exophthalmic goiter). - -Most of the viscera are innervated by the sympathetic system, and the -visceral manifestations of emotion indicate the dominance of sympathetic -impulses. “When, for example, a cat becomes frightened, the pupils -dilate, the stomach and intestines are inhibited, the heart beats -rapidly, the hairs of the back and tail stand erect—all signs of nervous -discharge along sympathetic paths” (Cannon). Cannon and his co-workers -have further made the acute suggestion that, as adrenalin itself is -capable of working the effects evoked by sympathetic stimulation, “the -persistence of the emotional state, after the exciting object has -disappeared, can be explained” by the persistence of the adrenalin in -the blood. There is reason to believe that some of the adrenal secretion -set free by nervous stimulation returning in the blood stream to the -glands stimulates them to further activity, and this would tend to -continue the emotional effect after the emotion has subsided. “Indeed it -was the lasting effect of excitement in digestive processes which -suggested” to Cannon his investigations.[208] - -According to Féré[209] the _pupils_ may dilate under the influence of -asthenic emotions and contract with sthenic emotions. However that may -be, the dilatation of the pupils during states of fear may be -demonstrated in animals. - -exert force of which he is ordinarily incapable. Or this energy, instead -of being discharged into the channels being made use of by the will, and -so augmenting its effects, may be so discharged as to inhibit the will, -and produce paralysis of the will and muscular action. - -These muscular vasomotor and secretory changes need not surprise us, as -indeed they have a biological meaning. As Sherrington[210] has pointed -out, “there is a strong bond between emotion and muscular action. -Emotion ‘moves’ us, hence the word itself. If developed in intensity, it -impels toward vigorous movement. Every vigorous movement of the body ... -involves also the less noticeable co-operation of the viscera, -especially of the circulatory and respiratory [and, I would add, the -secretory glands of the skin]. The extra demand made upon the muscles -that move the frame involves a heightened action of the nutrient organs -which supply to the muscles the material for their energy”; and also -involves a heightened action of the sweat glands to maintain the thermic -equilibrium. “We should expect,” Sherrington remarks, “visceral action -to occur along with the muscular expression of emotion,” and we should -expect, it may be added, that through this mechanism emotion should -become integrated with vasomotor, secretory, and other visceral -functions. - -Another physiological effect of emotion ought to be mentioned, as of -recent years it has been the object of much and intensive study by -numerous students and has been frequently made use of in the clinical -study of mental derangements and in the study of subconscious phenomena. -I refer to the so-called “_psycho-galvanic reflex_.” As an outcome of -all the investigations which have been made by numerous students into -this phenomenon, it now seems clear that there are two types of galvanic -reactions, distinct from each other, which can be recognized. The one -type first described by Féré[211] consists in an increase, brought about -by emotion, of a galvanic current made to pass through the body from a -galvanic cell. If a very sensitive galvanometer is put in circuit with -the body and such a cell, a certain deviation of the needle of course -may be noted varying in amplitude according to the resistance of the -body. Now, if an idea associated with emotion—i.e., possessing a -sufficient amount of affective tone—is made to enter the consciousness -of the person experimented upon, there is observed an increased -deflection of the needle, showing an increase of current under the -influence of the emotion. The generally accepted interpretation of this -increase is that it is due to diminished resistance of the skin (with -which the electrodes are in contact) caused by an increase of the -secretions of the sweat glands. A similar increase of current follows -various sensory stimulations, such as the pricking of a pin, loud -noises, etc. It may be interesting for historical reasons to quote here -Féré’s statement of his observations, as they seem to be generally -overlooked. In his volume, “La Pathologie des Emotions,” in 1892, he -thus sums up his earlier and later observations: "I then produce various -sensory stimulations—visual (colored glasses), auditory (tuning fork), -gustatory, olfactory, etc. Whereupon there results a sudden deviation of -the needle of the galvanometer which, for the strongest stimulations, -may travel fifteen divisions (milliampères). The same deviation may also -be produced under the influence of sthenic emotions, that is to say, it -is produced under all the conditions where I have previously noticed an -augmentation of the size of the limbs, made evident through the -plethysmograph. Absence of stimulation, on the contrary, increases the -resistance; in one subject the deviation was reduced by simply closing -the eyes. - -“Since these facts were first described at the Biological Society I have -been enabled to make more exact observations by using the process -recommended by A. Vigouroux (De la résistance électrique chez les -mélancoliques, Th. 1890, p. 17), and I have ascertained that under the -influence of painful emotions or tonic emotions the electrical -resistance may, in hystericals, instantaneously vary from 4,000 to -60,000 ohms.” - -It will be noticed that Féré attributed the variations of the current to -variations of resistance of the body induced by sensations and emotions. - -The method of obtaining the psycho-galvanic reaction may be varied in -many ways, the underlying principle being the same, namely, the arousing -of an emotion of some kind. This may be simply through imagined ideas, -or by expectant attention, sensory stimulation, suggested thoughts, -verbal stimuli, etc. According to Peterson and Jung,[212] “excluding the -effect of attention, we find that every stimulus accompanied by an -emotion causes a rise in the electric curve, and directly in proportion -to the liveliness and actuality of the emotion aroused. The galvanometer -is therefore a measurer of the amount of emotional tone, and becomes a -new instrument of precision in psychological research.” This last -statement can hardly be said to be justified, as we have no means of -measuring the “liveliness and actuality” of an emotion and, therefore, -of co-relating it with a galvanic current, nor have we any grounds for -assuming that the secretion of sweat (upon which the diminished -resistance of the body presumably depends) is proportionate to the -liveliness of the emotion, or, indeed, even that it always occurs. It is -enough to say that the galvanic current is in general a means of -detecting the presence of emotion. - -The second type of galvanic reaction, as shown by Sidis and Kalmus,[213] -does not depend upon the diminished resistance of the body to a galvanic -current passing from without through the body, but is a current -originating within the body under the influence of emotion. Sidis and -Kalmus concluded that “active psycho-physiological processes, sensory -and emotional processes, with the exception of purely ideational ones, -initiated in a living organism, bring about electromotive forces with -consequent galvanometric deflections.” In a later series of experiments -Sidis and Nelson[214] came to the conclusion that the origin of the -electromotive force causing the galvanic deflection was in the -muscles.[215] Wells and Forbes,[216] on the other hand, conclude from -their own investigation that the origin of the galvanic current is to be -found in the sweat gland activity and believe the muscular origin -improbable. From a clinical standpoint the question is unimportant. - -_Sensory disturbances._ On the sensory side the effect of emotions, -particularly unpleasant ones, in awakening “thrills” and all sorts of -sensations in different parts of the body is a matter of everyday -observation. _Nausea_, _dizziness_, _headache_, _pains_ of different -kinds are common accompaniments. Such reactions, however, largely vary -as idiosyncrasies of the individual, and are obviously not open to -experimentation or measurement. Whether they should be spoken of as -physiological or aberrant reactions is a matter of terminology. They -are, however, of common occurrence. In pathological conditions -disagreeable sensations accompanying fear, grief, disgust, and other -distressing forms of emotion often play a prominent part, and as -symptoms contribute to the syndromes of the psychosis. The following -quaintly described case quoted by Cannon from Burton’s Anatomy of -Melancholy is as good as a more modern illustration: “A gentlewoman of -the same city saw a fat hog cut up; when the entrails were opened, and a -noisome savour offended her nose, she much disliked, and would not -longer abide; a physician in presence told her, as that hog, so was she -full of filthy excrements, and aggravated the matter by some other -loathsome instances, insomuch this nice gentlewoman apprehended it so -deeply that she fell forthwith a vomiting; was so mightily distempered -in mind and body that, with all his art and persuasion, for some months -after, he could not restore her to herself again; she could not forget -or remove the object out of her sight.” Cannon remarks: “Truly, here was -a moving circle of causation, in which the physician himself probably -played the part of a recurrent augmenter of the trouble. The first -disgust disturbed the stomach, and the disturbance of the stomach, in -turn, aroused in the mind greater disgust, and thus between them the -influences continued to and fro until digestion was impaired and serious -functional derangement supervened. The stomach is ‘king of the belly,’ -quotes Burton, ‘for if he is affected all the rest suffer with him.’” - -Such cases could be multiplied many fold from the records of every -psychopathologist. I happen by chance to be interrupted while writing -this page by a patient who presents herself suffering from a phobia of -fainting. When this fear (possibly with other emotions) is awakened she -is attacked by nausea and eructation of the gastric contents, and, if -she takes food, by vomiting of the meal. (Owing to a misunderstanding of -the true pathology by her physician, her stomach was washed out -constantly for a period of two years without relief!) - -=General psychopathology.=—In the light of all these well-known -physiological effects of emotion it is apparent that when an idea -possessing a strong emotional tone, such as fear or its variants, enters -consciousness, it is accompanied by a complex of physiological -reactions. In other words, fear, _as a biological reaction_ of the -organism to a stimulus, does not consist of the psychical element alone, -but includes a large syndrome of physiological processes. We can, -indeed, theoretically construct a schema which would represent the -emotional reaction. This schema would undoubtedly vary in detail in -particular cases, according to the excitability of the different -visceral functions involved in different individuals and to the mixture -of the emotions taking part (fear, disgust, shame, anger, etc.). As one -type, for instance, of a schema, taking only the most obtrusive -phenomena which do not require special technique for their detection, we -would have: - -Fear (or one of its variants, anxiety, apprehension, etc., or a compound -emotion that includes fear). - -Inhibition of thought (confusion). - -Pallor of the skin. - -Increased perspiration. - -Cardiac palpitation. - -Respiratory disturbances. - -Tremor. - -Muscular weakness. - -Gastric and intestinal disturbances. - -(Blushing or congestion of the skin would replace pallor if the fear was -represented or accompanied by shame or bashfulness, etc. -(self-debasement and self-consciousness),[217] or if the affective state -was anger.) - -On the sensory side we would have various paresthesiæ varying with the -idiosyncrasies of the individual, and apparently dependent upon the -paths through which the emotional energy is discharged: - -“Thrills.” - -Feeling of oppression in the chest. - -Headache. - -Nausea (with or without vomiting). - -Pains, fatigue, etc. - -It is of practical importance to note that attacks of powerful emotions, -according to common experience, are apt to be followed by exhaustion; -consequently in morbid fears fatigue is a frequent sequela. - - Physiological Mimicry of Disease. - -Now, theoretically, one or more of these physiological disturbances -might be so obtrusive as to be the predominant feature of the syndrome -and to mask the psychical element which might then be overlooked. -Gastric and intestinal disturbances, for instance, or cardiac distress, -might be so marked as not to be recognized as simply manifestations of -an emotion, but be mistaken for true gastric, intestinal, or heart -disease. Going one step further, if a person had a frequently recurring -fear, as is so common, and the physiological symptoms were obtrusively -predominant, these latter would necessarily recur in attacks and, -overshadowing the psychical element, might well have all the appearance -(both to the subject and the observer) of true disease of the viscera. - -Now, as a fact this theoretical possibility is just what happens. It is -one of the commonest of occurrences, although it is too frequently -misunderstood.[218] A person, we will say, has acquired—owing to no -matter what psychogenetic factor—a recurrent fear. This fear, or, in -less obtrusive form, anxiety, or apprehension, is, we will say, of -disease—heart disease or insanity or fainting or cancer or epilepsy or -what not. It recurs from time to time when awakened by some thought or -stimulus from the environment. At once there is an outburst of -physiological, i.e., functional disturbances, in the form of an -“attack.” There may be violent cardiac and respiratory disease, tremor, -flushing, perspiration, diarrhœa, sensory disturbances, etc., followed -by more or less lasting exhaustion. On the principle of complex -building, which we have discussed in a previous lecture, the various -physiological reactions embraced in such a scheme as I have outlined -tend to become welded into a complex (or association psycho-neurosis), -and this complex of reactions in consequence recurs as a syndrome every -time the fear is reëxcited. On every occasion when the anxiety recurs, a -group of symptoms recurs which is made up of these physical -manifestations of emotion which are peculiar to the individual case. The -symptoms, unless a searching inquiry is made into their mode of onset, -sequence, and associative relations, will appear a chaotic mass of -unrelated phenomena; or only certain obtrusive ones, which in the mind -of the patient point to disease of a particular organ, are described by -him. The remainder have to be specifically sought for by the -investigator. The latter, if experienced in such psycho-neuroses, can -often from his knowledge of the phenomena of emotion anticipate the -facts and in a large degree foretell to the patient the list of symptoms -from which he suffers. By those who lack familiarity with these -functional disturbances mistakes in diagnosis are frequently made. -Disease of the heart, or of the stomach, or of the nervous system is -frequently diagnosed when the symptoms are simply the product of -emotion. Quite commonly, when the symptoms are less related to -particular organs, but more conspicuously embrace vasomotor, sensory, -digestive disturbances (inhibition of function), and fatigue, the -syndrome is mistaken for so-called _neurasthenia_.[219] Thus it happens -that in recurrent morbid fears—known as the phobias or obsessions—a -group of symptoms are met with which at first sight appear to be -unrelated bodily disturbances, but which when analyzed are seen to be -only a certain number of physiological manifestations of emotion welded -into a complex. On every occasion that the fear recurs this complex is -reproduced. - -It now remains to study the effect of the emotions on the psychical -side. This we shall do in the next lecture. - ------ - -Footnote 196: - - I use the word, not in the strict but in the popular and general - sense, to include feeling, indeed all affective states, excepting - where the context gives the strict meaning. - -Footnote 197: - - The James-Lange theory is disregarded here as untenable. - -Footnote 198: - - La Pathologie des Emotions, 1892. - -Footnote 199: - - Physiological Dilatation and the Mitral Sphincter as Factors in - Functional and Organic Disturbances of the Heart, _The American - Journal of the Medical Sciences_, February, 1901; also, The Occurrence - and Mechanism of Physiological Heart Murmurs (Endocardial) in Healthy - Individuals, _The Medical Record_, April 20, 1889. - -Footnote 200: - - The emotional factor is a source of possible fallacy in all - observations on arterial tension and must be guarded against. - -Footnote 201: - - Frederick Peterson and C. G. Jung: Psycho-Physical Investigations with - the Galvanometer and Pneumograph, _Brain_, Vol. XXX, July, 1907, p. - 153. - -Footnote 202: - - The Work of the Digestive Glands (English Translation), London, 02. - -Footnote 203: - - For a summary of Cannon’s work, see his article, Recent Advances in - the Physiology of the Digestive Organs Bearing on Medicine and - Surgery, _The Medical Journal of Medical Sciences_, 1906, New Series, - Vol. CXXXI, pp. 563-578. - -Footnote 204: - - _American Journal of Medical Sciences_, 1906, p. 566. See also “The - Influence of Emotional States on the Functions of the Alimentary - Canal,” by the same writer (_ibid._, April, 1909) for an interesting - résumé of the subject. - -Footnote 205: - - _American Journal of the Medical Sciences_, April, 1909. - -Footnote 206: - - Cannon and de la Paz: _American Journal of Physiology_, April 1, 1911. - -Footnote 207: - - Cannon, Shohl, and Wright, Ibid., December 1, 1911. - -Footnote 208: - - These effects of adrenalin suggest that the secretion may take some - part in pathological anxiety states. - -Footnote 209: - - Pathologie des Emotions, 1892. - - The influence of emotion on the _muscular system_ need hardly be more - than referred to. Tremor, twitchings, particularly of the facial - muscles, and other involuntary movements, as well as modifications of - the tonus of the muscles, are common effects. All sorts of - disturbances occur, ranging from increase of excitability to - paralysis. Everyone knows that under the influence of powerful - emotion, whether of joy, anger, or fear, there is discharged an - increase of energy to the muscles, sometimes of an intensity which - enables an individual to - -Footnote 210: - - The Integrative Action of the Nervous System, p. 266. - -Footnote 211: - - Note sur les modifications de la résistance électrique sous - l’influence des excitations sensorielles et des émotions, _C. R. Soc. - de Biologie_, 1888, p. 217. - -Footnote 212: - - Psycho-Physical Investigations with the Galvanometer and Pneumograph - in Normal and Insane Individuals, _Brain_, Vol. XXX, July, 1907. - -Footnote 213: - - _Psychological Review_, November, 1908, and January, 1909. - -Footnote 214: - - The Nature and Causation of the Galvanic Phenomena, _Psychological - Review_, March, 1910, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, June-July, - 1910. - -Footnote 215: - - Having demonstrated the development of electromotive force within the - body, these experimenters assumed that every psycho-galvanic reaction - was of this type. But plainly, their results do not contradict the - phenomenon of diminished resistance of the body to an electric current - brought about by emotion stimulating the sweat glands. The evidence - indicates, as I have said, two types of psycho-galvanic phenomena. - -Footnote 216: - - On Certain Electrical Processes in the Human Body and Their Relation - to Emotional Reactions, _Archives of Psychology_, March, 1911. - -Footnote 217: - - Morbid self-consciousness is commonly accompanied by fear and other - emotions. Nausea, although the specific manifestation of disgust, not - rarely is induced by fear. - -Footnote 218: - - A good example is that of an extreme “neurasthenic,” who had been - reduced to a condition of severe inanition from inability to take a - proper amount of food because of failure of digestion, nausea, and - vomiting. Examined by numerous and able physicians in this country and - Europe, none had been able to recognize any organic disease or the - true cause of the gastric difficulty which remained a puzzle. As a - therapeutic measure her stomach had been continuously and regularly - washed out. Yet it was not difficult to recognize, after analyzing the - symptoms and the conditions of their occurrence, that the disturbances - of the gastric functions were due to complex mental factors, the chief - of which, emotion, inhibited the gastric function, as in Cannon’s - experiments, and indirectly or directly, induced the nausea and - vomiting. The correctness of this diagnosis was recognized by the - attending physician and patient. Sometimes a phobia complicates a true - organic disease and produces symptoms which mimic the symptoms of the - latter—heart disease, for example. In this case it is often difficult - to recognize the purely phobic character of the symptoms. O. H. C. was - such a case. Though there was severe valvular disease of the heart, - compensation was good and there was little if any cardiac disability. - The attacks of dyspnœa and other symptoms were unmistakably the - physical manifestation of a phobia of the disease. The phobia had been - artificially created by overcautious physicians. - -Footnote 219: - - One has only to compare routine out-patient hospital records with the - actual state of patients to verify the truth of this statement. For - purposes of instruction I have frequently done this before the class. - The true nature of the psycho-neurosis and the irrelevancy of the - routine record and diagnosis have, I believe, been commonly made - manifest. Sometimes, however, of course, phobias complicate other - diseases, and we have a mixed symptomatology. - - - - - LECTURE XV - INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, AND CONFLICTS - - -It is generally agreed that emotions proper (as distinguished from other -affective states) may be divided into those which are primary (anger, -fear, disgust, etc.), and those (jealousy, admiration, hatred, etc.), -which are compounded of two or more primary emotions. McDougall has made -a great contribution to our knowledge in having made clear that a -primary emotion is not only instinctive, but is the central or psychical -element in a reflex process consisting, besides, of an ingoing stimulus -and an outgoing impulse. The whole process is the instinct.[220] It is -of course innate, and depends on congenital prearrangements of the -nervous system. The central element, the emotion, provides the conative -or impulse force which carries the instinct to fulfilment. It is the -motive power, the dynamic agent that executes, that propels the response -which follows the stimulus. Though we speak of anger and fear, for -example, as instincts, McDougall is unquestionably right in insisting -that more correctly speaking the activated instinct is a process in -which the emotion is only one factor—the psychical. The instincts of -anger and fear should more precisely be termed respectively “pugnacity -with the emotion of anger” and “flight with the emotion of fear.” In the -one case, the emotion, as the central reaction to a stimulus, by its -conative force impels to pugnacity; in the other fear impels to flight; -and so with the other instincts and their emotions which I would suggest -may be termed arbitrarily the _emotion-instincts_, to distinguish them -from the more general instincts and innate dispositions with which -animal psychology chiefly deals, and in which the affective element is -feebler or has less of the specific psychical quality. For brevity’s -sake, however, we may speak of the instinct of anger, fear, tender -feeling, etc. Of course they are biological in their nature. - -This formulation, by McDougall, of emotion as one factor in an -instinctive process must be regarded as one of the most important -contributions to our knowledge of the mechanism of emotion. It can -scarcely be traversed, as it is little more than a descriptive statement -of observed facts. It is strange that this conception of the process -should have been so long overlooked. Its value lies in replacing -vagueness with a precise conception of one of the most important of -psychological phenomena, and enables us to clearly understand the part -played by emotion in mental processes. It also shows clearly the -inadequacy of the objective methods of normal psychology when attempting -to investigate emotion by measuring the discharge of its impulsive force -in one direction only, namely, the disturbances of the functions of the -viscera (vasomotor, glandular, etc.). It discharges also along lines of -mental activity and conduct. - -When studying the organization of complexes, and in other lectures, we -saw, as everyone knows in a general way, that _affects may become linked -with ideas_, and that the force derived from this association gives to -the ideas intensity and conative influence. Further, it was developed -that the linking of a strong affect tends to stronger registration and -conservation of experiences. This linking of an affect to an idea is one -of the foundation stones of the pathology of the psycho-neuroses. One -might say that upon it “hangs all the law and the prophets.” - -Inasmuch as a sentiment, even in the connotations of popular language, -besides being an idea always involves an affective element, it is -obvious that _a sentiment is an idea of an object with which one or more -emotions are organized_. But, obvious as it is, it remained for Mr. -Shand, as McDougall reminds us, to make this precise definition. It is -hardly a discovery as the latter puts it, as the facts themselves have -been long known; but it is a valuable definition and its value lies in -helping us to think clearly. Nearly every idea, if not every idea, has -an affective tone of some kind, or is one of a complex of ideas endowed -with such tone. This tone may be weak so as to be hardly recognizable, -or it may be strong. Now, if emotion is one factor in an instinctive -process, it is evident that a sentiment more precisely is an idea of an -object linked or organized with one or more “emotion-instincts.” As -McDougall has precisely phrased it, “A sentiment is an organized system -of emotional dispositions centered about the idea of some object.” The -impulsive force of the emotional dispositions or linked instincts -becomes the conative force of the idea, and it is this factor which -carries the idea to fruition. This is one of the most important -principles of functional psychology. Its value can scarcely be -exaggerated. Without the impulse of a linked emotion ideas would be -lifeless, dead, inert, incapable of determining conduct. But when we say -that an emotion becomes linked to, i.e., organized with that composite -called an idea, _we really mean (according to this theory of emotion) -that it is the whole instinct, the emotional innate disposition of which -the emotion is only a part that is so linked_. The instinct has also -afferent and efferent activities. The latter is an impulsive or conative -force discharged by the emotion. Thus the affective element of an -instinctive process—a process which is a biological reaction—provides -the driving force, makes the idea a dynamic factor, moves us to carry -the idea to fulfilment. As McDougall has expressed it: - - "We may say, then, that directly or indirectly the instincts are the - prime movers of all human activity; by the conative or impulsive force - of some instinct (or of some habit derived from some instinct), every - train of thought, however cold and passionless it may seem, is borne - along toward its end, and every bodily activity is initiated and - sustained. The instinctive impulses determine the ends of all - activities and supply the driving power by which all mental activities - are sustained; and all the complex intellectual apparatus of the most - highly developed mind is but a means toward these ends, is but the - instrument by which these impulses seek their satisfactions, while - pleasure and pain do but serve to guide them in their choice of the - means. - - “Take away these instinctive dispositions with their powerful - impulses, and the organism would become incapable of activity of any - kind; it would lie inert and motionless like a wonderful clockwork - whose mainspring had been removed, or a steam engine whose fires had - been drawn. These impulses are the mental forces that maintain and - shape all the life of individuals and societies, and in them we are - confronted with the central mystery of life and mind and will.”[221] - -Furthermore _the organization of the emotions with ideas to form -sentiments is essential for self-control and regulation of conduct_, and -becomes a safeguard against mental, physiological, and social chaos. - - “The growth of the sentiments is of the utmost importance for the - character and conduct of individuals and of societies; it is the - organization of the affective and conative life. In the absence of - sentiments our emotional life would be a mere chaos, without order, - consistency, or continuity of any kind; and all our social relations - and conduct, being based on the emotions and their impulses, would be - correspondingly chaotic, unpredictable, and unstable. It is only - through the systematic organization of the emotional dispositions in - sentiments that the volitional control of the immediate promptings of - the emotions is rendered possible. Again, our judgments of value and - of merit are rooted in our sentiments; and our moral principles have - the same source, for they are formed by our judgments of moral - value.”[222] - -Summing up, then, we may say _one of the chief functions of emotion_ is -to provide the conative force which enables ideas to fulfill their aims, -and one of the chief functions of sentiments to control and regulate the -emotions. - -Besides the instinctive dispositions proper there are other innate -dispositions which similarly provide conative force and determine -activities. For the practical purposes of the problems with which we are -concerned, the conative or impulsive forces of all such innate -dispositions and the sentiments which they help to form are here, it -should be understood, considered together and included under instincts. - -=The conative function of emotion.=—I shall take up in a later -lecture[223] (in connection with the psychogenesis of multiple -personality) the instincts and sentiments for discussion in more detail. -The point to which I wish in this connection to call attention is that -when a simple emotion-instinct, or an idea linked with an instinct (a -sentiment) is awakened by any stimulus, _its impulsive force is -discharged in three directions_: the _first_ is toward the excitation of -those articulated movements and ideas which guide and carry the instinct -to fruition—to fight in the case of anger, to flee in the case of fear, -to cherish in the case of love, etc. _Second_ (accessory to the first) -the excitation of many of the various visceral functions which we have -reviewed reinforces the instinctive movements; e. g., for pugnacity or -flight the increased respiration and activity of the heart increase the -supply of oxygen and blood to the muscles; the secretion of sweat -regulates the temperature during increased activity, the increased -secretion of adrenalin and the increased secretion of sugar may, as -Cannon suggests, respectively keep up the emotional state (after the -cause of the fear or anger has subsided) and meet the demand of the -muscles for an extra supply of food, etc. - -Later experiments of Cannon seem to show that the adrenal secretion -removes the fatigue of muscles; and, further, that stimulation of the -splanchic nerves will largely recover fatigued muscles, increasing the -efficiency as much as 100 per cent.[224] As emotion discharges its -impulses along splanchic pathways to the adrenal glands, the inference -as to the function of emotion in overcoming fatigue is obvious. - -As to the _sensory accompaniments of emotion_, it is quite reasonable to -suppose that their rôle is to supplement and reinforce in consciousness -the affect, thereby aiding in arousing the individual to a full -appreciation of the situation and to such voluntary effort (whether to -guide and assist the instinct to its fulfillment or to repress it) as, -in the light of past experiences, his judgment dictates. These sensory -disturbances on this theory act as additional warnings in consciousness -where the affect proper might be too weak.[225] Their function would be -like that of pain in the case of organic disease. Pain is a biological -reaction and a warning to the individual to rest the diseased part,[226] -as well as a danger signal. - -The _third_ direction which the discharge of the impulsive force of the -emotion takes is toward the repression of the conflicting conative force -of such other emotions as would act in an antagonistic direction.[227] -The utility of the discharge in this direction is supplementary to that -of the excitation of the visceral functions: _the former protects -against the invasion of counteracting forces, the latter strengthens the -force of the impulse in question_. - -_Conflicts thus arise._ When an emotion is aroused a conflict -necessarily occurs between its impulse and that of any other existing -affective state, the impulse of which is antagonistic to the aim of the -former. Consequently instincts and sentiments which, through the -conative force of their emotion, tend to drive the conduct of the -individual in a course in opposition to that of a newly aroused emotion -(instinct) meet with resistance. Whichever instinct or sentiment, -meaning whichever impulse, is the stronger necessarily downs the other; -inhibits the central and efferent parts of the process—ideas, emotions -and impulses—though the afferent part conveys the stimulus to the -central factor. Thus processes of thought to which the inhibited -sentiment or instinct would normally give rise, or with which it is -systematized, are likewise inhibited and behavior correspondingly -modified. These statements are only descriptive of what is common -experience. If one recalls to mind the principal primary emotions -(instincts) such as the sexual, anger, fear, tender feeling, hunger, -self-abasement, self-assertion, curiosity, etc., this is seen to be an -obvious biological truth.[228] Fear is suppressed by anger, tender -feeling, or curiosity (wonder), and _vice versa_; hunger and the sexual -instinct by disgust. - -What is true of the primitive instincts and their primary emotions is -also true of compound instincts (emotions) and of sentiments, i.e., -ideas about which one or several emotions are systematized. We may, -therefore, for brevity’s sake, speak of a conflict of ideas or -sentiments or emotions or instincts indiscriminately. In other words, -_any affective state may be suppressed by conflict with another and -stronger affective state_. A timid mother, impelled by the parental -instinct, has no fear of danger to herself when her child is threatened. -The instinct of pugnacity (anger) in this case not being antagonistic -(in conflict) is not only not suppressed but may be awakened as a -reaction to aid in the expression of the parental instinct. _Per -contra_, when anger would conflict with this instinct, as when the child -does wrong, the anger is suppressed by the parental instinct. -Conversely, the sentiment of love for a particular person may be -completely suppressed by jealousy and anger. Hatred of a person may -expel from consciousness previous sentiments of sympathy, justice, pity, -respect, fear, etc. The animal under the influence of the parental -instinct may be incapable of fear in defense of its young, particularly -if anger is excited. Fear may be suppressed in an animal or human being -if either is impelled by great curiosity over a strange object. Instead -of taking to flight, the animal may stand still in wonder. Similarly in -man, curiosity to examine, for example, an explosive—an unexploded shell -or bomb—inhibits the fear of danger often, as we know, with disastrous -results. The suppression of the sexual instinct by conflict is one of -the most notorious of the experiences of this kind in everyday life. -This instinct cannot be excited during an attack of fear and anger, and -even during moments of its excitation, if there is an invasion of -another strong emotion the sexual instinct at once is repressed. Under -these conditions, as with other instincts, even habitual excitants can -no longer initiate the instinctive process. Chloe would appeal in vain -to her lover if he were suddenly seized with fright or she had -inadvertently awakened in him an intense jealousy or anger. Similarly -the instinct may be suppressed, particularly in men, as every -psycho-pathologist has observed, by the awakening of the instinct of -self-subjection with its emotion of self-abasement (McDougall) with -fear, shown in the sentiments of incapacity, shame, etc. The authors of -“_Vous n’avez rien à declarer_” makes this the principal theme in this -laughable drama. Indeed the principle of the suppression of one instinct -by conflict with another has been made use of by writers of fiction and -drama in all times. - -This principle of inhibition by conflict allows us to understand the -imperative persistence (if not the genesis) of certain sexual -perversions in otherwise healthy-minded and normal people who have a -loathing for such perversions in other people but can not overcome them -in themselves. H. O., for example, has such a perversion, and yet the -idea of this perversion in another person excites a lively emotion of -disgust. In other words, at bottom, as we say, she is right-minded. How -then account for the continuance of a self practice which she reprobates -in another, censures in herself, and desires to be free of, and why does -not the instinct of repulsion, and the sentiment of self respect, etc., -act in herself as a safeguard? Introspective examination shows that when -the sexual emotion is awakened, disgust and the sentiments of pride and -self respect are suppressed, and the momentarily activating instinct -determines all sorts of sophistical reasoning by which the perversion is -justified to herself. As soon as the instinct accomplishes its aim it -becomes exhausted, and at once intense disgust, meeting with no -opposition, becomes awakened and in turn determines once more her -right-minded ideas. Based upon this mechanism one therapeutic procedure -would be to organize artificially so intense sentiments of disgust for -the perversion and of self-respect that they would suppress the sexual -impulse.[229] - -Likewise the intense religious emotions (awe, reverence, self-abasement, -divine love, etc.) may, if sufficiently strong, suppress the opposing -instincts of anger, fear, play, and self-assertion, and emotions -compounded of them. Examples might be cited from the lives of religious -martyrs and fanatics. - -If it is true that “the instincts are the prime movers of all human -activity,” and that through their systematic organization with ideas -into sentiments they are so harnessed and brought under subjection that -they can be utilized for the well-being of the individual; and if -through this harnessing the immediate promptings of the emotions are -brought under volitional control, then _all conduct, in the last -analysis, is determined by the conative force of instincts_[230] (and -other innate dispositions) harnessed though they be to ideas. For though -volition itself can control, reinforce, and determine the particular -sentiment and thus govern conduct,—reinforce, for instance, a weaker -abstract moral sentiment so that it shall dominate any lower brutish -instinct or sentiment with which it conflicts, still, volition must be a -more complex form of conation and itself issue from sentiments. - -We need not enter into this troublesome problem of the nature of the -will;[231] nor does it concern us. It is enough for our purpose to -recognize that volition can reinforce a sentiment and thus take part in -conflicts. In this way undesirable instincts and sentiments can he -voluntarily overcome and inhibited or repressed and mental processes and -conduct determined. - -Nor are we concerned here with conduct which pertains more properly to -social psychology. Our task is much more limited and simple, namely to -inquire into the immediate conscious phenomena provoked by emotion, just -as we have studied the physiological phenomena. We have seen that one -such phenomenon is inhibition or repression of antagonistic instincts -and sentiments provoked by conflict. (We shall see later that a conflict -may arise between a conscious and an entirely subconscious sentiment -with similar resulting phenomena.) - -=Repression of individual instincts may be lasting.=—The repressions -resulting from conflict which we have just been considering have been of -a temporary nature lasting only just so long as the conflict has lasted. -It is instructive to note that just as an instinct can be cultivated -until it becomes a ruling trait in the character, so it can be -permanently repressed, or so intensely repressed that it cannot be -awakened excepting by unusual excitants or under unusual conditions. -Such a persisting repression may be brought about either directly by -volitional conflict or indirectly through the cultivation of -antagonistic sentiments. The cultivation of an instinct is a common -enough observation. Every one can point to some one of his acquaintance -who has so fostered his instinct of anger or fear, has so cultivated the -habit of one or the other reaction that he has become the slave of his -emotion. Conversely, by the conative force of the will, and still more -successfully by the cultivation of appropriate moral and religious and -other sentiments, and complexes or “settings” systematized about those -sentiments, a person can inhibit any instinct or any sentiment organized -with that instinct. A bad-tempered person can thus, if he chooses, -become good-tempered; a coward, a brave person; a person governed by the -instinct of self-subjection can repress it by the cultivation of -sentiments of self-assertion, and so on. The complete repression of -unchristian instincts and sentiments is the acquired characteristic of -the saintly character. The cultivation and repression of character -traits and tendencies along these lines obviously belong to the domains -of the psychology of character, social psychology, and criminology. But -the persisting repression of at least one instinct—the sexual -instinct—may take on pathological significance[232] while that of -sentiments may lead to pathological dissociation and to the _formation -of disturbing subconscious states_. To this latter type of repression we -shall presently return. - -That the sexual instinct may be involuntarily and persistently repressed -by conflict is shown by the following case: - -F. S. presented herself at the hospital clinic because of hysterical -epileptiform attacks of six months’ duration. The attacks, which had -been caused by an emotional trauma, were easily cured by suggestion. -After recovery she fell into lamentations over the fact that she was -sterile owing to both ovaries having been removed three years before -because of pelvic disease. Just before the operation she had also -suffered from an emotional trauma (fear). Although complete recovery -from her symptoms had followed the operation, the sexual instinct had -been abolished for three years. She was now much distressed over her -inability to have children, complaining it had led to domestic -infelicity, and apprehending divorce which had been threatened on the -ground of her sterility. Having confidence in the strength of certain -fundamental principles of human nature, and disbelieving the reasons -alleged by the husband for divorce, I was able to restore domestic -felicity, as well as demonstrate the psycho-physiological principle that -the instinct was not lost but only inhibited. A single suggestion in -hypnosis, psychologically constructed so as to bear a strong conative -impulse that would overcome any other conflicting affective impulses and -carry itself to fruition, restored not only the lost function[233] but -conjugal happiness. That the instinct had only been inhibited is -obvious. Whether the repressing factor had been fear or an involuntary -auto-suggestion was not determined. - -The following case is instructive not only because of the lasting -dissociation of this instinct as a result of a conflict, but because the -dissociation was volitionally and intentionally effected as a revenge. -Other interesting features are the transference of the repressing -revenge affect to an object (clothes which became an amulet or fetish to -protect from sexual approaches, and the building of a complex (“raw -oyster”) which became the bearer of the repressing force. X. Y. Z. -received a deep wound to her pride on the first night of her honeymoon -when her husband forgot his bride of a few hours who was awaiting him in -the nuptial chamber. Happening to meet in the hotel some political -acquaintances after the bride had retired, he became absorbed in a -political discussion and—forgot! When he appeared after a prolonged -absence and presented his excuses she was hurt in her pride and offended -to think that she was of so little importance to him that he could -become interested in talking politics.[234] There was anger too, and she -vowed to herself to show, or, to use her own words, she “would be hanged -if” she would show that she had any liking for or any interest in the -marital intimacy. (She had never hitherto experienced any sexual -feelings and, like most young girls, was entirely ignorant of the -physical side. Nevertheless, from what she had been told, she had -idealized the spiritual union of husband and wife and anticipated -pleasurable experiences.) So purposely she repressed any interest, made -herself absolutely indifferent to her spouse’s amorous attentions and -experienced absolutely no sexual feeling; and so it continued for some -days. In view of what later happened, and what we know of conflicts, we -must believe that the impulses which carried her volition to fruition -came from the emotions of anger, pride, and revenge. - -Then one afternoon, just after she had finished dressing herself -preparatory to going out, her husband came into her room and made -advances to her. The idea appealed to her and she became emotionally -excited at the thought. But in the middle of the act when the libido -began to be aroused, suddenly she remembered that she had been snubbed -at the first and that her rôle was to show no liking or interest. There -were reawakened the emotions of pride, anger, and revenge, although not -malicious revenge. Impelled by these emotions she actually gave herself -suggestions to effect her purpose—a determination to get square with the -past. She said to herself, “I must not like it; I must put it away back -in my mind, I must become flabby as an oyster.” Thereupon she became -“perfectly limp and uninterested and the feelings of flabbiness came -over” her, and the beginning sexual feeling subsided at once. (That day -she had eaten some raw oysters and had been impressed by them as the -essence of flabbiness.) She admitted having continued during succeeding -years to cherish this revengeful feeling as to the sexual relation—to -get square with the past. She defended it, however, (although admitting -the childishness of the original episode) on the ground that the slight -to her pride must be viewed in connection with a long series of -antecedent experiences. These must therefore be viewed as the setting -which gave meaning to her idea of sexual relations with her husband. -After this at the sexual approach under conventional marital conditions -she for a time always volitionally induced this flabby “raw-oyster” -sensation and feeling. Later it would automatically arise at the first -indication or suggestion of the approach and counteract the libido. It -was now no longer necessary to be on guard, knowing she could not be -taken unawares. The consequence has been that the patient has never -consciously experienced any sexual feeling beyond those first beginnings -at the time of the experience when she was fully dressed. The patient -can produce the “raw-oyster” state at will and exhibited it voluntarily -during the examination. The state as then observed was one of lethargy -or extreme relaxation. There was no general anæsthesia; pinching and -pricking was felt perfectly, but, as she remarked, they carried no -sensation of discomfort. “I do not care at the moment,” she explained, -“what any one does to me; no sensation would cause pleasure or -discomfort.” To arouse the state she thinks of the sexual approach -first, and then the state comes. The sexual instinct has never been -aroused by reading, or associative ideas of any kind. “It does not -exist,” to quote her words. - -Clothes became an amulet of protection in the following way: Ever since -that afternoon when she was taken unawares in her clothes (and “almost -liked it”) she realized and feared that sexual approaches when she was -fully clothed might arouse the sexual instinct. Consequently she was -more on her guard when fully clothed than at night for fear of being -taken unawares. The idea that she must be on her guard when clothed -became fixed, and, at first, when in this condition, she was always on -her guard ready to defend herself by _pugnacity_. Then any approach at -such times, if accompanied by physical contact, awakened an instinctive -reaction which became a defense; it aroused the instincts of fear and -anger. Any affectionate demonstration suggestive of the approach on the -part of her husband would arouse these defensive instincts. On the other -hand, when half dressed there has been no such ebullition of emotion; -she has in consequence always believed that having clothes on would -protect her against admirers. Indeed, as a fact, this is so, for any -show of affection from any one manifested by a touch, even the friendly -pat of the hand, will cause an unnecessary and unreasonable outburst of -uncontrollable anger, such as to astonish and startle the offender. -Clothes, becoming thus a sentiment in which the instincts of flight and -pugnacity are incorporated, have also become a protection in -themselves—an amulet to ward off danger. - -What reason, it may be asked, is there for believing that the sexual -instinct really exists in this case, and is only repressed or -dissociated? I may not state all the reasons; it is sufficient to say -that the evidence is to be found in dreams. The large number of sexual -dreams which the subject has experienced, many of them accompanied by -realistic sexual manifestations and not symbolic only, leave no doubt of -this fact.[235] - -_Conflicts with subconscious sentiments._ Thus far we have been -considering conflicts between sentiments and emotional processes which -have been in the full light of consciousness. But in previous lectures -we have seen that ideas with strong emotional tones may be dissociated -and function below the threshold of consciousness as coconscious -processes. It is theoretically possible, therefore, that conflicts -might arise between a dissociated coconscious sentiment and one that -is antagonistic to it in consciousness. To appreciate this theoretical -condition let me point out that there is one important _difference -between the ultimate consequences of the repression of an instinct and -of a sentiment_. If an instinct is repressed (it being only an innate -disposition) it ceases to be an active factor in the functioning -organism. It is inhibited. A stimulus that ordinarily suffices to -excite it fails to do so, and it may respond only to an -extraordinarily powerful stimulus, or perhaps none will awaken it. -Thus abstinence from food fails to awaken a sense of hunger in a -person who has lost this instinct for any reason, even though -appetizing food be placed before him.[236] Similarly anger, or fear, -or tender emotion, or self-assertion, or disgust, in certain persons -cannot be awakened excepting by very unusual stimuli. In other words, -the psycho-physiological reflex is completely or relatively in -abeyance just as much so as is an organic reflex (e. g., the -knee-jerk) which has been inhibited. Normally, of course, it is rare -for an instinct to be absolutely inhibited excepting temporarily, as -has been explained, during a conflict with another instinct. In -certain pathological conditions (e. g., dissociated personality), -almost any instinct may be persistently inhibited. In normal -conditions there is, however, one exception, namely the sexual -instinct, which, as we have seen from instances cited, may be -inhibited during long periods of time. In women this inhibition is -common and is effected, as I believe, by the subtle and insensible -influence of the environment of the child and by social education, in -other words, by the social taboo. Wherever inhibition occurs -observation would seem to show that the psycho-physiological function -has ceased to take part in the functioning organism. - -With sentiments, however, the case stands differently. A sentiment, -being an idea about which a system of emotional dispositions has been -organized, when repressed by conflict, or when simply out of mind, -whether capable of reproduction as memory or not, may, like all ideas, -still be conserved, as we have seen, as an unconscious neurogram. As we -have also seen, so long as it is conserved it is still a part of the -personality. Even though repressed it is not necessarily absolutely -inhibited but may be simply dissociated and then be _able to take on -dissociated subconscious activity_. As a subconscious process the idea -continues still organized with its emotional dispositions, and the -conative forces of these, under certain conditions, may continue -striving to give expression to the idea. We have already become familiar -with one phenomenon of this striving, namely, the emerging into -consciousness of the emotional element of the sentiment while the idea -remains subconscious, thus producing an unaccountable fear or joy, -feelings of pleasure or pain, etc. (p. 381). - -1. This being so, it having been determined that _under certain -conditions_ any conserved experience may become activated as a -dissociated subconscious process, it is _theoretically_ quite possible -that the impulses of an activated subconscious sentiment might come into -conflict with the impulses of a conscious process—the two being -antagonistic. The resulting phenomena might be the same as when both -factors to the contest are in consciousness. In such a conflict if the -impulsive force of the subconscious sentiment is the stronger the -conscious ideas, sentiments, and feelings—in short, the conscious -process—would be repressed, and _vice versa_. Or if the subconscious -sentiment got the worst of the conflict and could not repress the -conscious process, the former, being dissociated and an independent -“automatic” process, might theoretically induce various other phenomena -in the effort to fulfil its aim. If it could not directly overcome the -impulses of the conscious process it might circumvent the latter by -inducing mental and physiological disturbances which would indirectly -prevent the conscious impulses from fulfilling their aim; e. g., -inhibition of the will, dissociation or total inhibition of -consciousness, amnesia for particular memories, motor phenomena -interfering with normal activity, etc. The subconscious sentiment -engaging in such a conflict could be excited to activity by any -associative antagonistic idea in consciousness. It should be noted that -the subject being entirely unaware of the subconscious process would not -know the cause of the resulting phenomena. - -2. Now, in fact, _such hypothetical conflicts and phenomena are actually -observed_ in very neat and precise form _under experimental conditions_, -particularly in pathological or quasi-pathological subjects. These -conditions are particularly instructive as they allow us to clearly -recognize the subconscious character of the conflicting process and -detect the exact sentiment concerned therein. - -The following experiment illustrative of such a conflict between a -conscious and subconscious process I have repeated many times in one -subject with the same resulting phenomenon. It has been demonstrated on -several occasions to psychologists and others. On the first occasion -when the phenomenon was observed it was entirely spontaneous and -unexpected as also has since been frequently the case. - -B. C. A. in one phase of alternating personality (B) was asked to -mention a certain complex of ideas which was known to have been -organized about a distressing “sentiment” in another phase (C) causing -considerable unhappiness. This sentiment included a strong emotion of -pride in consequence of which she had in the C phase intense objections -to revealing these ideas. As she herself said, she “would have gone to -the stake first.” Phase B has no such sentiment, but on the contrary the -ideas in question were only amusing to her.[237] In phase B, therefore, -she not only had no objection to revealing the sentiment distressing to -C but desired for therapeutic reasons to do so. In accordance with this -difference of sentiments the difference in the attitude of mind in the -two phases toward the same experience was quite striking. The impulse in -the one was to conceal the experiences and sentiment, in the other to -divulge them. - -Now, in reply to an interrogatory as to what was distressing in the C -phase, B begins to mention the sentiment. At once, and to her -astonishment, her lips and tongue are tied by painful spasms involving, -also, the throat muscles. She becomes dumb, unable to overcome the -resistance. She struggles in vain to speak. When she gives up the -struggle to pronounce the forbidden words she speaks with ease on other -subjects saying “something prevented me from speaking.” Each time that -she endeavors to turn State’s evidence and to peach on herself, the same -struggle is repeated. When she persists in her effort, using all her -will-power, the effect of the conflicting force extends to -consciousness. Her thoughts become first confused, then obliterated, and -she falls back in her seat limp, paralyzed, and apparently unconscious. -The thoughts to which she strove to give expression have disappeared. -She now cannot even will to speak. - -But she is not really unconscious, it is only another phase; there is -only a dissociation or inhibition of the consciousness comprising the -system of ideas making up the B phase and an awakening of another -restricted system. When automatic writing is tried, it is found that a -limited field of consciousness is present in which are to be found the -ideas which opposed the resistance. A precise statement of the opposing -factors (volition) which offered the resistance and brought about the -conflict, the spasm of the vocal apparatus, and finally inhibition or -dissociation of consciousness, is obtained from this dissociated -restricted field.[238] - -This phenomenon carries its own interpretation on its face and cannot be -doubted. Certain sentiments, for the moment dormant and outside the -focus of awareness of the subject, are “struck” or stimulated by -memories within that focus. The conative force of the conscious wishes -to which the subject seeks to give expression meets with the resistance -of a similar and more powerful force from the previously dormant -sentiment. The latter carries itself to fulfilment and _controls the -vocal apparatus at first, and then, finding itself likely to be overcome -by the will-power of the personality, annihilates the latter by the -inhibition and dissociation of consciousness_. - -Various forms of the same phenomenon of conflict with subconscious -processes I have experimentally demonstrated in Miss B. and O. N. -Spontaneous manifestations of the same have also been frequently -observed in all three subjects. In the published account of Miss B.[239] -numerous examples are given. I will merely refer to the attacks of -aboulia, the dissociations of consciousness and inhibition of thought, -and of speech resulting in stuttering and dumbness, the inhibition of -motor activity, the induction of systematized anesthesia and alexia, -etc. In the prolonged study of the case I was the witness, I was going -to say, of innumerable exhibitions of such manifestations, and the book -is replete with examples of conflicts between opposing mental processes. -B. C. A. in her account, “My Life as a Dissociated Personality,”[240] -has described similar spontaneous phenomena. It is worth noting in this -connection that the commonplace phenomena of systematized anesthesia -(negative hallucinations) may be induced by conflict with a subconscious -process motivated by strong emotion. Thus Miss B. in one of her phases -could not see the writing on a sheet of paper which appeared blank to -her; on another occasion she could not see the printing of the pages of -a French novel which she therefore took to be a blank book, nor could -she see a bookcase containing French books.[241] The subconscious -conflicting ideas were motivated by anger in the one case and jealousy -in the other. That the conflicting ideas in this case were elements -synthesized in a large dissociated system or subconscious self in no way -affects the principle, which is that of conflict between processes. The -conflicting process in such conditions is a more complex one, that is -all. Undoubtedly the systematized anesthesia, so easily induced by -hypnotic suggestion and which has been made the subject of much study, -may be explained on the same principle, although the affective elements -are not so obtrusive. The conflict is between the personal volition of -the subject to see the marked playing-card, if that is the test object -used in the experiment, and the suggested idea not to see it. The latter -wins if the experiment is successful and inhibits the perception of the -card—i. e., dissociates it from the focus of awareness. (The emotional -tones involved are obscure; possibly they are curiosity on the one hand -vs. self-subjection on the other.) - -The _unconscious resistance to suggestion_ is probably of the same -nature. Every one knows that it is difficult to hypnotize a person who -resists the suggestion. This resistance may come from a counter -auto-suggestion which may be entirely involuntary, perhaps a conviction -on the part of the subject that she cannot be hypnotized, or an -unwillingness to be—i.e., desire not to be hypnotized or fear. The same -is true of waking a person from hypnosis. In other words, an -antagonistic preparedness of the mind blocks involuntarily the -suggestion. A very pretty illustration is the following: H. O. -discovered that she could easily and rapidly hypnotize herself by simply -passing her own fingers over her eyelids, but she could not wake herself -out of hypnosis. She then discovered that, if she first gave herself the -suggestion that she would wake when she desired, she could quickly do -so. Likewise, if she suggested to herself that she could not hypnotize -herself the customary procedure was without effect. Though this -observation is a common phenomenon the rapidity and ease with which the -phenomenon was demonstrated were as striking as it was amusing to watch -her struggle to awake when the preparatory anticipatory autosuggestion -had not been given. - -In O. N. _more complicated phenomena_ induced by conflicts with -subconscious complexes have been equally precise and striking. In this -subject I find, as the result of repeated observations, that, in order -that a suggestion, that is antagonistic to a preexisting attitude of -mind possessing a strong feeling tone, shall not be resisted in -hypnosis, it must be first formally accepted by the personality _before_ -hypnosis is induced. If this viewpoint is not preformed, after hypnosis -is induced the blocking attitude cannot be altered. Practically this -means that the subject shall _bring into consciousness and disclose -ideas_ with which the intended suggestion will conflict and shall modify -them voluntarily. This she does by first candidly accepting a new point -of view, and then, secondly, by a technical procedure of her own, -namely, by preparing her mind not to resist in hypnosis. This procedure, -briefly stated and simplified, is as follows: she first says to herself, -“I will ‘take out’ that [resisting] idea.” Then she arranges in her -thoughts the ideas of acceptance which she will substitute. Then she -puts herself into a state of abstraction (hypnosis) and _suggests to -herself_ that the resisting idea _is_ taken out and that my intended -suggestion shall be her viewpoint. Even then, sometimes, when the -resisting idea is one harking back to a long past period of life and -belonging to a pathologically organized “mood,” known as the “b mood” or -state, the acceptance of the suggestion may be ineffectual. Under these -circumstances and _when the hypnotic dissociation is carried too far_, -so that the hypnotic state is reduced to the “b mood,” the previously -auto-suggested acceptance of the idea by the patient is thereby -ostracized from the hypnotic field and is unable to play its part and -have effect. So much by way of explanation. Now when the precaution has -not been taken to see that any resisting idea has been “taken out” and -when the intended suggestion has not been accepted, one of the following -phenomena is observed: (1) the hypnotic personality when the suggestion -is given becomes “automatically” and unconsciously restless, endeavors, -_without knowing why_, to avoid listening, and to push me away, shifting -her attitude and struggling to withdraw herself from contact or -proximity—all the time the face expressing hostility and disapproval in -its features; or (2) complete obnubilation of consciousness supervenes -so that the suggestions are not heard; or (3) the subject suddenly wakes -up. The last frequently happens as often as the suggestion is repeated; -and yet in hypnosis (and also, of course, when awake), the subject is -unaware of what causes the resistance and the resulting phenomena. But -if now the subject is warned of what has occurred and accepts the -suggestion by the procedure mentioned (unless the “b mood” I have -mentioned recurs), the resistance and other phenomena at once cease and -the suggestion takes effect. Thus in this case the conflicting ideas can -always be precisely determined and the conditions of the experiment -arranged at will and the results controlled. It is obvious that all -three phenomena are different modes by which the subconscious idea -resists the suggested idea and accomplishes its aim. - -3. _In entire accordance with the experimental results are certain -pathological disturbances_ which from time to time interrupt the course -of everyday life of this subject, O. N. These disturbances consist of -one or more of the following: a dissociative state in which the -pathological “b mood” is dominant; a lethargic state; twilight state; -complete repression of certain normal sentiments and instincts; complete -alteration of previously established points of view; morbid -self-reproach; nervousness, restlessness, agitation; anger at -opposition; indecision of thought, etc. Now, whenever such phenomena -recur, with practical certainty, they can always be traced by the use of -technical methods to a conflict with a turbulent sentiment (in which -strong emotional tones are incorporated) previously lying dormant in the -unconscious. Sometimes the turbulent sentiment can be definitely traced -to childhood’s experiences. Very often it has been intentionally formed -and put into her mind by the subject herself for the very purpose of -inducing the repression of other sentiments, to which for one reason or -another for the time being she objects, and of changing her habitual -point of view. Her method of artificially accomplishing this result is -exceedingly instructive. It is similar to the auto-suggestive process I -have described in connection with the hypnotic experiments. Having first -prearranged her psychological plan, she proceeds to put herself into -abstraction and to “take out”, as she calls it, her previous sentiment -(or instinct) and substitute an antagonistic sentiment. When she comes -to herself out of abstraction, the previously objected to sentiment has -completely vanished. If it is one concerning a person or mode of life, -she becomes completely indifferent to that person or mode of life as if -previously no sentiment had existed. If an intimate friend, he becomes -only an acquaintance toward whom she has entirely new feelings -corresponding to the new sentiment; if a physician, nothing that he says -has influence with her, her new feeling, we will say, being that of -resentment; if a mode of life, she has lost all interest in that mode -and is governed by an interest in a new mode. Even physiological bodily -instincts have been in this way suppressed. She has indulged this -psychological habit for years. Again and again when she has exhibited -these, and still other, phenomena, I have been able to discover their -origin in this auto-suggestive procedure. - -Some of the other phenomena I have just mentioned are more likely -to be traced to _autochthonous conflicts between everyday -ideas_—dissatisfactions with actual conditions of life, and wishes -for other conditions, unwillingness to forego the fulfilment of -certain wishes and accept the necessary conditions as they exist, -etc. The natural consequence is restlessness, agitation, anger, -indecision, etc. The dissociation of personality, with the -outcropping of the “b mood,” follows—a conflict due to the -excitation of certain childhood complexes, conserved in the -unconscious and embracing sentiments in which are incorporated the -instinct of self-subjection or abasement. This “b mood” is a study -in itself. The self-reproaches are, I believe, also traceable to -this instinct. - -_Conflicts may even occur between two processes, both of which are -subconscious_ and therefore outside of the awareness of the subject. -Thus, in B. C. A. I have frequently observed the following: while the -right hand has been engaged in automatic writing, the left hand, -motivated by a subconscious sentiment antagonistic to the subconscious -ideas performing the writing, has seized the pencil, broken it, or -thrown it across the room. The two conflicting systems of thought, each -with its own sentiments and wishes, have been made to disclose -themselves and exhibit their antitheses and antipathies. - -The principle of emotional conflict and the phenomena we have outlined -enable us to understand the mechanism of prolonged reaction time and -blocking of thought observed in the so-called “word association tests.” -These tests involve too large a subject for us to enter upon them here. -Let it suffice to say that when a test word strikes an emotional complex -the response of the subject by an associated word may be delayed or -completely blocked. The emotional impulse which inhibits the response -may come from an awakened conscious or subconscious memory. - -=The psychogalvanic reaction as physical evidence of actual subconscious -emotional discharge.=—This reaction may be also used to demonstrate that -subconscious processes may actually give forth emotional impulses -without the ideas of those processes entering the personal -consciousness. - -1. I may be permitted to cite here some experiments,[242] which I made -with Dr. Frederick Peterson, as they leave the minimum of latitude for -interpretation and come as close as possible to the demonstration of -emotional discharges from processes entirely outside of awareness. Such -a demonstration is important for the theory of subconscious conflicts. - -The experiments were undertaken in a case of multiple personality (B. C. -A.) with a view to obtaining the galvanic phenomenon from coconscious -states. This case offered an exceptional opportunity to determine -whether the galvanic reaction could be obtained in one personality from -the dissociated complexes _deposited by the experiences of the second -alternating personality for which there was complete amnesia on the part -of the first_. These dissociated experiences, of course, had never -entered the awareness of the personality tested, who, therefore, -necessarily could not possibly recall them to memory. With the -information furnished by the second personality, it was easy to arrange -test words associated with the emotional ideas of the experiences -belonging to this personality and unknown to the one tested. - -Similarly it was possible to test whether galvanic reaction could be -obtained from complexes—from subconscious complexes—the residua of -forgotten dreams, as in this case the dreams were not remembered on -waking. An account of the dreams could be obtained in hypnosis. The -dreams were therefore simply dissociated. - -Again we could test the possibility of obtaining reactions from -subconscious perceptions and thoughts which had never arisen into -awareness. The required information concerning these perceptions and -thoughts could be obtained in this case in hypnosis. - -Now we found that test words which expressed the emotional ideas -belonging to a forgotten dream gave, in spite of the amnesia, very -marked rises in the galvanic curve. The same was true of the test words -referring to dissociated experiences belonging to the _alternating_ -personality for which the tested personality had amnesia, and of the -subconscious perceptions. For instance (as an example of the latter), -the word _lorgnette_, referring to a subconscious perception of a -stranger unnoticed by the conscious personality, gave a very lively -reaction. - -Further, pin pricks, which could not be consciously perceived owing to -the _anesthesia_ of the skin, gave strong reactions. - -Now here in the first two sets of observations were emotional effects -apparently obtained from what were very precise complexes which were -definitely underlying, in that they never had been experienced by the -personality tested and therefore could not come from memories, or from -associations of which this personality was aware. They could only come -from the residua of a personality which had experienced them and which -was now “underlying.” That these experiences had been conserved is shown -by the recovery of them in a hypnotic state, and by their being -remembered by the secondary personality. Even the pin pricks, which were -not felt on account of the anesthesia, gave reactions. It could be -logically inferred, therefore, that the galvanic reaction was due to the -activity of subconscious complexes, using the term in the narrow and -restricted sense of conserved residua without conscious equivalents. But -the conditions were more complicated than I have described. There was in -this case a veritable coconscious personality, a split-off, -well-organized system of conscious states synthesized into a personal -consciousness—two foci of self-consciousness. Now the coconscious -personality with its large system of thoughts had full memory of all -these amnesic experiences; it remembered the dreams and the experiences -of the second personality, and perceived the pin pricks. Hence we -concluded that the galvanic phenomena were obtained from the memory and -perceptions of this coconscious personality. - -This demonstration of an actual physical discharge is proof positive -that an emotional process can function subconsciously. This being so, -_it only needs this discharge to come into conflict with some other -process, conscious or subconscious, for one or other phenomenon of -conflict to be manifested_. - -2. This psycho-galvanic phenomenon may be correlated with those -phenomena which we have already studied (p. 381) wherein the emotional -element of the process alone rises into consciousness. The former -phenomenon is therefore the manifestation of the efferent and the latter -of the central part of the activated emotional disposition. The former -supports the interpretation of various clinical motor phenomena as being -the efferent manifestations of purely subconscious emotional processes. -I refer to hysterical tics, spasms, contractures, etc. The latter -phenomenon we have had frequent occasion to refer to. You will remember, -for instance, that in the case of Miss B. on numerous occasions it was -observed that emotion, particularly of fear, swept over the conscious -personality without apparent cause. This emotion could be traced to -specific dissociated and coconscious ideas. Likewise in B. C. A., states -of anxiety or depression could be related to specific coconscious ideas -which, having been shunted out of the field of consciousness, continued -their activity in a coconscious state. Janet, as might be expected of so -accurate an observer, long ago described the same phenomenon—the -invasion of the personal consciousness by the emotion belonging to a -coconscious idea. “Isabella,” he writes, “presents constantly conditions -which have the same character; we shall cite but one other in the -interest of the study of dementia. For a week or so she has been gloomy -and sad; she hides and will not speak to anyone. We have trouble in -getting a few words from her, and these she says very low, casting her -eyes down: ‘I am not worthy to speak with other people.... I am very -much ashamed, I have a crushing load on my mind like a terrible gnawing -remorse....’—‘A remorse about what?’—‘Ah! that’s just it. I am trying to -find it out day and night. What is it that I could have done last week? -for before I was not thus. Tell me candidly, did I do something very bad -last week?’ This time, as will be seen, the question is no longer about -an act, but about a feeling, a general emotional state which she -interprets as remorse; she is equally incapable of understanding and -expressing the fixed idea which determines this feeling. If you divert -the subject’s attention, you can obtain the automatic writing, and you -will see that the hand of the patient constantly writes the same name, -that of Isabella’s sister who died a short time ago. During the attacks -and the somnambulic sleep we establish a very complicated dream in which -this poor young girl thinks she murdered her sister. That is quite a -common delirium, you will say; perhaps so, but for a hysteric it -presents itself in a rather curious manner. She suffers only from its -rebound, experiences only the emotional side of it; of the delirium -itself she is wholly ignorant; the latter remains subconscious.”... - -“It will be seen by this last example that, in some cases, a small -portion of the fixed idea may be conscious. Isabella feels that she is -troubled by some remorse, she knows not what. It thus frequently happens -that hystericals, during their normal waking time, complain of a certain -mental attitude, so much so that they partly look as if obsessed. -Celestine experiences thus feelings of anger which she cannot -explain.”[243] - -As might be expected intense conflicts may have wide-reaching -consequences and lead to the development of pathological conditions. -Indeed, in the latter we find the most clear-cut exemplars of repression -(dissociation) and other phenomena produced by conflict. I shall point -out in later lectures[244] how in a specific case intense religious -sentiments completely repressed their antagonistic instincts and -eventuated in dissociation of (multiple) personality (Miss B.) Likewise -with B. C. A., as I interpret the phenomena, the dissociation of -personality resulted from a conflict between wishes that could not be -fulfilled and sentiments of duty, respect, etc. We shall see later the -significance of this principle for the understanding of other -pathological states. - ------ - -Footnote 220: - - ... “Every instinctive process has the three aspects of all mental - processes, the cognitive, the affective, and the conative. Now, the - innate psychophysical disposition, which is an instinct, may be - regarded as consisting of three corresponding parts, an afferent, a - central, and a motor or efferent part, whose activities are the - cognitive, the affective, and the conative features respectively of - the total instinctive process. The afferent or receptive part of the - total disposition is some organized group of nervous elements or - neurones that is specially adapted to receive and to elaborate the - impulses initiated in the sense-organ by the native object of the - instinct; its constitution and activities determine the sensory - content of the psychophysical process. From the afferent part the - excitement spreads over to the central part of the disposition; the - constitution of this part determines in the main the distribution of - the nervous impulses, especially the impulses that descend to modify - the working of the visceral organs, the heart, lungs, blood vessels, - glands, etc., in the manner required for the most effective excitation - of the instinctive action; the nervous activities of this central part - are the correlates of the affective or emotional aspect or feature of - the total physical process. The excitement of the efferent or motor - part reaches it by the way of the central part; its construction - determines the distribution of impulses to the muscles of the skeletal - system by which the instinctive action is effected, and its nervous - activities are the correlates of the conative element of the physical - process, of the felt impulse to action.” William McDougall. An - introduction to Social Psychology, p. 32. - -Footnote 221: - - Social Psychology, p. 44. - -Footnote 222: - - Ibid, p. 159. - -Footnote 223: - - Not included in this volume. - -Footnote 224: - - Personally communicated. - -Footnote 225: - - This theory of the part played by the sensory accompaniments of - visceral activity I would suggest as a substitute for the James-Lange - theory. - -Footnote 226: - - Hilton: Rest and Pain. - -Footnote 227: - - Note analogues in Sherrington’s mechanism of the spinal reflexes. - -Footnote 228: - - I follow in the main McDougall’s classification as sufficiently - adequate and accurate for our purposes. - -Footnote 229: - - In fact, this was successfully done. - -Footnote 230: - - For purposes of simplification I leave aside feelings of pleasure and - pain, excitement and depression, for though their main functions may - be only to guide or shape the actions prompted by the instincts, as - McDougall affirms, still I think there is sound reason to believe that - feelings also have conative force and are coöperative impulsive - factors. - -Footnote 231: - - McDougall has proposed the ingenious theory that that which we - understand, properly speaking, by “will” is a complex form of conation - issuing from a particular sentiment, viz., the complexly organized - sentiment of self (“self-regarding sentiment”). The behavior - immediately determined by the primitive instincts and other sentiments - cannot be classed as volition, but should be regarded as simple - instinctive conation. When, therefore, the will reinforces a sentiment - and determines conduct it is the self-regarding sentiment which - provides the “volitional” impulse and is the controlling factor. If - this theory should stand it would give a satisfactory solution of this - difficult question. Perhaps it receives some support on the part of - abnormal psychology in that certain observations seem to show, if I - correctly interpret them, that self-consciousness is a complex capable - of being dissociated like any idea or sentiment. I shall presently - describe a quasi-pathological state which may be called - depersonalization. In this state the “conscious intelligence” present - is able to think and reason logically and sanely, is capable of good - judgments, and has an unusually large field of memory, in short, is a - very intelligent consciousness; nevertheless, it exhibits a very - strange phenomenon: it has lost all consciousness of self; it has no - sense of personality, of anything to which the term “I” can be - applied. This sentiment seems to be absolutely dissociated in this - state. - -Footnote 232: - - The repression of the sexual instinct and of sexual wishes plays the - dominant rôle in the Freudian psychology. If a wish may be correctly - defined psychologically as the impulsive force of a sentiment striving - toward an end plus the pleasurable feeling resulting from the imagined - attainment of that end, i.e., the imagined gratification of the - impulse, then the repression of a wish belongs to the phenomena of - repressed sentiments rather than of primitive instincts. This - distinction, I think, is of some importance, as will appear when we - consider subconscious sentiments. - -Footnote 233: - - In making use of suggestion for therapeutic purposes it is essential - to construct one with strong emotional tones and pleasurable and - exalting feelings for the purposes of increasing resistances to - contrary impulses, and carrying the suggestion to fruition. This I - believe to be one of the secrets of successful suggestive procedure. - The construction of an effective suggestion is an art in itself and - must be based on the psychological conditions existing in each case. - -Footnote 234: - - Of course this attitude is not to be viewed as an isolated event - standing all alone by itself. It must be read like nearly all events - of life in relation to a series of antecedent events. These, to her, - had denoted indifference, and now on this crucial occasion formed the - real setting and gave the offensive meaning to her spouse’s - forgetfulness. - -Footnote 235: - - Notwithstanding the frequency with which asexuality is met with in - women, I am strongly inclined to the opinion that the sexual instinct - in the sex is never really absent, excepting, of course, in late life - and in organic disease. No woman is born without it. When apparently - absent it is only inhibited or dissociated by the subtle influences of - the environment, education, conflicting sentiments, etc. - -Footnote 236: - - A distinction should be made between hunger and appetite. Food may - excite appetite, although hunger has been appeased. - -Footnote 237: - - Note that the same idea forms different sentiments in different phases - or moods, according to the emotions with which it is linked. In this - case, in phase C, it is linked with mortification, self-abasement, - possibly anger, pride, and feelings of pain and depression; in phase - B, with joyful emotions and feelings of pleasure and excitement. Also - note that the former sentiment, although out of mind at the time of - the observation, is conserved in the unconscious. - -Footnote 238: - - At first the subject (B) had no anticipation or supposition that such - a conflict would occur. Later she learned after repeated experiences - to anticipate the probable consequences of trying to tell - tales-out-of-school. - -Footnote 239: - - The Dissociation, see Index: “Subconscious ideas.” - -Footnote 240: - - _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, October-November, 1908. - -Footnote 241: - - The Dissociation, p. 538. - -Footnote 242: - - _Journal Abn. Psychol._, June-July, 1908. - -Footnote 243: - - The Mental State of Hystericals, pp. 289-290. - -Footnote 244: - - Not included in this volume. - - - - - LECTURE XVI - GENERAL PHENOMENA RESULTING FROM EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS - - -The awakening of intense emotional impulses we have seen tends to -intensify certain activities and to inhibit other conflicting ones. -Further when that which is inhibited is a sentiment possessing an -intense emotion the sentiment tends to become dissociated[245] from the -personal consciousness and free to become by the force of its own -emotional dispositions a subconscious process. As a consequence of these -tendencies there may result a number of psycho-physiological conditions -of personality with some of which we should become familiar. They are -observable, as would be expected, in every-day life, and when highly -accentuated become pathological phenomena. Let us now consider some of -them in detail. - -=Contraction of the field of consciousness and of personality.=—In -every-day life intense emotion excludes from the field of awareness -thoughts that are unrelated, antagonistic to and incompatible with the -ideas exciting the emotion, and perceptions of the environment that -ordinarily would enter awareness. The field of consciousness is thereby -contracted and limited to thoughts excited by or associated with the -emotion. Thus, for example, in the heat of anger the mind is dominated -by the particular object or thought which gave rise to the anger, or by -anger exciting associated ideas. Conflicting memories and correlated -knowledge that would modify the point of view and judgment and mollify -(inhibit) the anger are suppressed and cannot enter the focus of -attention. Further, a person in such a state may not perceive many -ocular, auditory, tactile, and other impressions coming from the -environment; he may not see the people about him, hear what is said, or -feel what is done to him, or only in an imperfect way. All these -sensations are either actually inhibited or prevented from entering -awareness (dissociated) by the conflicting conative force of the -emotion. In other words there is a dissociation (or inhibition) of -consciousness and consequent contraction of its field to certain -emotional ideas. - -To take a concrete example, you are playing a game of cards and with -zest throw yourself into the game. Something happens to arouse your -anger. At once there is a conflict: The impulsive force of your -pugnacity instinct meets with the impulsive force of your play instinct -and its pleasure feelings. If the former is the stronger, the latter -with the ideas to which it is linked are inhibited, repressed, driven -out of consciousness. The pleasure of play ceases and its impulses no -longer determine your thoughts. Further, you forget the cards that have -been played though you knew them well a moment before, you may forget -your manners, become oblivious to social etiquette and the environment. -You can no longer reason on the play of the cards; you forget your card -knowledge. All these processes are inhibited, and consequently the field -of consciousness and personality becomes contracted. - -On the other hand, the emotion of anger dominating the mind, ideas -associated with or which tend to carry your pugnacity instinct to -fruition, arise and direct and determine your conduct. Habit reactions -are likely to come automatically into play, and you break out into angry -denunciatory speech, if that is your habit. I leave you to fill out the -details of the picture for yourselves. - -And yet, again through training in self-control, a self-regarding -sentiment conflicting with the anger impulse may be awakened, and the -latter in turn be dominated, repressed, inhibited. - -In the case of an intense fear it is common observation that this -contraction may reach a high degree. In the excitement of a railroad -accident the frightened passenger does not feel the bruising and pain -which he otherwise would suffer, nor hear the shrieks of his fellow -passengers nor perceive but a small part of what is occurring about him, -but driven only by the intensely motivating idea of escape from danger -he struggles for safety. His field of consciousness is limited to the -few ideas of danger, escape, and the means of safety. All else is -dissociated by the conative force of the emotion and cannot enter the -focus of attention. He could not philosophize on the accident if he -would. In ordinary concentration of attention or absent-mindedness the -same phenomenon of contraction of the field of consciousness occurs -occasioned by interest; but with cessation of interest the field of -awareness quickly widens. So in contraction of this field from emotion -the normal is restored so soon as the emotion ceases. - -When this same general contraction of the field of consciousness, -effected by the repressing force of emotion, reaches a certain acme we -have a pathological condition—the _hysterical state_. The field of -consciousness is now occupied by the single dissociating idea or complex -of ideas with its emotion that did the repressing—a condition of -mono-ideism. All other conscious processes are inhibited or dissociated. -When the complex is an intensely emotional one, its nervous energy, now -unbridled, is free to discharge itself in many directions, perhaps -producing convulsive phenomena of one kind or another. - -To attribute these effects of emotion to repression _from conflict_ is -only to express the facts in different terms. But it would be often an -over-emphasis to describe what takes place as a specific conflict -between particular sentiments. It is often rather the discharge of a -blind impulsive force in every direction which, like a blast of -dynamite, suppresses or dissociates every other process which might come -into consciousness and displace it. - -_Systematized dissociation._—Quite commonly the dissociated field, by -whatever force isolated, instead of being general may be systematized. -By this is meant that only certain perceptions, or groups or categories -of ideas that have been organized into a system, or have associative -relations, are prevented from entering the personal synthesis. In other -respects the conscious processes may be normal. The simplest type is -probably systematized anesthesia, exemplified in every-day life in -anyone who fails to perceive his eye-glasses, or any other object he is -in search of that is lying under his nose on the table before him; and -by the post-hypnotic phenomenon exhibited by the subject who fails to -perceive a _marked_ playing card or to hear or see a given person, -though he perceives all the other cards in the pack and everyone else in -the room; and by the hysteric who likewise fails to perceive certain -systematized sensations, such as the printing on a page which, itself, -therefore appears blank. That which is dissociated in these examples is -a comparatively very simple complex, but it may involve larger and -larger groups of remembrances, perceptions, sentiments (with their -emotions and feelings), settings, attitudes, instincts, and other innate -dispositions, etc., organized into a system about the sentiment of self. -Such groups and systems may, as we saw when studying the organization of -complexes (Lecture IX), be dissociated in that they cease to take part -in the functioning of the personality. The personality becomes thereby -contracted. - -1. The principle involved is this: When a specific idea or -psycho-physiological function (memory, sensation, perception, instinct) -is by any force dissociated, the exiled idea or function tends to carry -with itself into seclusion other ideas and functions with which it is -systematized. The dissociation is apt to involve much more than the -particular psychological element in question in that it “robs” the -personal consciousness of much else. I have already cited in a previous -lecture (p. 318) examples of this principle. I need merely remind you of -the observation with Miss B., where the systematized dissociation of -auditory images pertaining to the experimenter carried with it the -associated secondary visual images of him necessary for tactile -perception of his hand. Similarly, in B. C. A., the general dissociation -of tactile images carried with it the secondary visual images necessary -for the visualization of her body. A large number of examples drawn from -all kinds of dissociative phenomena might be given. I will content -myself with mentioning two or three more: In automatic writing the -dissociated muscular control of the hands usually robs the personal -consciousness, so far as the hand is concerned, of all sensory -perception, and in automatic speech the dissociation of the faculty of -speech often robs the personal consciousness of the auditory perception -of the subject’s own voice. In hysterics, the specific dissociation of -one class of perceptions carries away others systematized with them. In -systematized anesthesia it is often easy to recognize this fact. A good -example of this is that recorded in the case of Miss B., who, believing -she had lost her finger rings, not only could not be made to see or feel -them, but also not even the ribbon on which they were hung round her -neck, or to hear them click together, or to feel the tug of the ribbon -when I pulled it.[246] The perceptions of these associated sensations -were therefore also withdrawn. The same principle can be demonstrated by -suggestion in suitable subjects. Thus, for example, I suggest to one of -these subjects in hypnosis that she will forget an episode associated -with a certain person named “August.” After waking she has amnesia not -only for the episode but for the name of the person and for the word in -its other meanings, e. g., the name of a calendar month. She cannot -recall that a month intervenes between July and September. - -In these examples the source of the dissociating force is not in every -case obvious. But this need not concern us now. What I want to point out -is that when the dissociation is the consequence of an emotional -discharge the same principle frequently comes into play, the same -phenomenon of systematization is of common occurrence. It may be -recognized with considerable exactness when a conflict between -sentiments has been artificially created. Thus the phenomenon, described -in the last lecture (p. 476), of inhibition of sentiments by a -self-suggested antagonistic sentiment, may equally well be cited in -evidence of this principle. Similarly, O. N. suggested to herself a -sentiment antagonistic to a specific sentiment which she previously -entertained regarding a particular person. Not only was the latter -sentiment dissociated but a number of other allied sentiments -systematized around the same person were also incidentally and -unintentionally repressed and withdrawn from consciousness, so much so -that her whole point of view was altered.[247] (It was easy in hypnosis -by the procedures already stated to synthesize the sentiments at will so -as to drive out, with suggested antagonistic sentiments, the undesired -ones. The change of viewpoint and feeling after waking from hypnosis was -often quite dramatic.) - -2. By this mechanism we can explain the dissociation of large systems of -sentiments leaving a contracted personality—a mere extract of its former -self—dissociated and distinguished from what it was by different -sentiments, instincts and other innate dispositions.[248] The facts seem -to show that the awakening of the emotional impulses of certain -sentiments inhibits, not only those particular antagonistic sentiments -with which the former are incompatible, but large systems of sentiments, -and many instincts and other innate dispositions with which the -inhibited sentiments are systematized. The contracted self may or may -not be able to recall to memory the fact of having previously -experienced the dissociated sentiments. But whether so or not the latter -no longer functionally participate in the personality. - -This mechanism, to be sure, is an interpretation but the facts are -easily demonstrated. Minor types of such dissociations result in what we -have described as “moods.” More extreme types are pathological and -characterized as phases of personality. - -3. The contrast of the sentiments in such moods and phases with the -habitual sentiments having identically the same objects is striking. In -other words the object is organized with an entirely different group of -emotions (instincts). The subject’s sentiment of husband or wife or -father or son no longer contains the emotions of love and reverence, -etc.; but, perhaps, there are organized within it the emotions of anger, -hatred, contempt, etc. A self-regarding sentiment of self-subjection -with shame, “feelings” of inadequacy and depression may be substituted -for self-assertion, pride, self-respect, etc. These clinical facts are -matters of observation. B——n suffers from constantly recurring and very -intense attacks of asthma which have certain characteristics which stamp -it as an hysterical tic. In the attacks it is noticeable that her -personality and disposition—normally amiable, gentle, and -affectionate—undergo a change. The parental instinct and sentiments of -affection for her family, of whom she is very fond, of modesty, of -pride, of consideration for others, etc., disappear and are replaced by -others of an opposite character. Fear, anger, and resentment are easily -aroused, etc. B. C. A. in phase B of personality knew nothing of -remorse, self-reproach, or despair which characterized the normal phase, -and experienced only emotions and feelings of pleasure and -happiness.[249] - -Janet, with his customary accuracy in observing facts, has noted these -changes, although I think in his attempt at interpretation he has not -quite recognized the mechanism by which they are brought about. “With -Renée,” this author remarks, when noting the facts, “we have gradually -seen disappearing the taste for finery; her coquetry—vanity, -even—disappeared. With others, the love of property is gone; they lose -all that belongs to them and do not care. Bertha formerly had great -timidity; she now wonders at the loss of it. She goes and comes at -night; she looks at dead bones of which she was afraid in past years, -and asks: ‘Why does all this make no impression on me now?’ Marie, -especially, is very curious as to that. She takes no longer any interest -in things or people. Overwhelmed with misfortunes, consequences of her -malady, and, after having been in comfortable circumstances, reduced to -extreme poverty, she does not perceive that her situation is serious. -She loses money, when she has only a few pennies left; she mislays her -clothing, can scarcely keep on the dress she is wearing and does not -seem to trouble herself about it in the least. Yet we observe that she -is still intelligent and might provide against her situation. She does -so very little, and only wonders at her indifference. ‘Formerly I took -care of my things; now I do not.’ There are some still more -characteristic facts to be observed in this patient. Formerly she loved -her husband and was even quite jealous about him. She was devoted to her -two children. Since her illness she has gradually abandoned her -children, who have been reared by her sisters, and she finally left her -husband. For the last three years, instead of her former happy life, she -leads about Paris the most miserable existence. Not once did she inquire -about her husband or her children. She heard indirectly of the former’s -death. ‘Strange!’ she said, ‘it does not affect me in the least; yet, I -assure you, it does not make me happy, either ... I simply don’t care.’ -‘But if we were to tell you that your little Louis [it was her favorite -child] is dead, too?’ ‘How do you suppose it can affect me? I have -forgotten him!’”[250] - -4. Janet, when interpreting such phenomena, attributes them to -“psychological feebleness” in consequence of which the personality -cannot synthesize more than a certain number of emotions and ideas to -form the personal self-consciousness. It certainly cannot perform the -synthesis involved in retaining certain formerly possessed sentiments, -etc., but it is not because of _feebleness_. Many hysterics can -synthesize quite as _many_ psychological elements as a normal person, -but not sentiments and emotions of a certain _character_, i.e., those -which pertain to certain experiences, to certain systems of -remembrances. M. Janet has quite correctly pointed out that, in spite of -the apathy and lack of emotionality of hysterics in certain -directions,—which, I would insist, in the last analysis means the -absence of _particular_ sentiments and instincts—in other directions -these patients are “extremely excitable and susceptible of very -exaggerated emotions,” which in turn means the retention of particular -sentiments and instincts. These last dominate the personality. Here is -the key to the enigma. - -From this point of view, the effect of the impulsive force of the -dominating emotions has been misinterpreted by M. Janet. These emotions -are the causal factors in determining the apathy, i.e., absence of -particular sentiments and instincts, and explain _why_ they cannot be -brought within the personal synthesis. If we bear in mind that emotion -means discharge of force, an adequate explanation of such phenomena in a -great many instances, at least, is to be found in the principle of -conflict and dissociation. The conflict is between the impulsive forces -of the emotions pertaining either to antagonistic instincts or to -sentiments organized within different systems. With the excitation of -emotion, instincts and sentiments which have opposing conative -tendencies are inhibited, repressed, or dissociated, and with them the -systems with which they are organized. The emotion does not so much -cause “psychological feebleness” in consequence of which the personality -cannot synthesize sentiments, as it inhibits and dissociates -antagonistic sentiments, etc., which consequently cannot be synthesized. -The _result_ you may call “feebleness” if you like. - -Hence it is that hysterics present the seeming paradox of having, as M. -Janet observed, “in reality fewer emotions than is generally thought and -[in] that their principal character is here, as it is always, a -diminution of psychological phenomena. These patients are in general -very indifferent, at least to all that is not directly connected with a -small number of fixed ideas.” According to the view which we are -maintaining, the “fewer emotions” are due to the dissociation of many -sentiments and instincts by the dominating emotional complex. - -5. Let us not forget that this explanation is a matter of -interpretation, but the interpretation comports with what is common -observation of what happens when a new emotion which is incompatible -with an existing emotion (fear—anger) is excited. In the case of Miss -B., the alternation of the personality coincident with the excitation of -an emotion occurred with such frequency, not to say with regularity, -that there seemed to be no room to doubt the causal factor and the -mechanism.[251] Sometimes the dissociation resulted in the formation of -new phases of personality in which Miss B. reverted to a past epoch of -time in which she lived once more, the experiences of all later epochs -being dissociated; sometimes in phases with a very contracted field of -consciousness without orientation in time or place and with little -knowledge of self or environment; sometimes—and in these instances the -dissociation of organized systems could most clearly be recognized—in -the substitution of one of the already established phases (BI, BIV, or -BIII) for another. It is not always easy without intensive study, to -determine the exact sentiment or instinct which is responsible for the -dissociation, although the actual occurrence of the emotional state just -preceding the development of the phenomenon is obtrusively obvious. “At -various times as a result of emotionally disintegrating circumstances” -at least eight different phases were observed in addition to the three -regularly recurrent phases.[252] - -In B. C. A. the gradual organization through the circumstances of life -of a group of “rebellious” ideas, in which the dominating sentiments and -instincts were intensely antagonistic to those previously peculiar to -the subject, could be clearly determined. So antagonistic was this group -that it was known as the rebellious complex but termed B complex for -convenience. It became by successive accretions a large system and phase -of personality. The details are too extensive to enter into at this -time; suffice it to say that as the result of what is called an -“emotional shock” the B system came into being. This interpreted means -that the shock was really the excitation of the rebellious sentiments -and other emotions belonging to the B system; there was a conflict; the -habitual sentiments and the system to which they belonged were inhibited -and replaced by the former (B). Later the displaced sentiments and their -corresponding A system were awakened, the emotions giving rise to -another shock, a conflict, and the B system, in turn, was inhibited. And -so it could be recognized that alternations of systems could be evoked -by the alternate excitation of sentiments and instincts—or complexes, if -you prefer the term—pertaining to each. - -6. This summary of the phenomena of conflict inducing dissociation of -personality would be incomplete if the _dissociations effected by -entirely subconscious processes_ were not mentioned. These can be very -neatly studied with coconscious personalities, as such personalities can -give very precise information of the mode by which the displacement of -the primary personality is effected. In the cases of Miss B. and B. C. -A. “Sally” and “B,” respectively, have done this. It appears, according -to this testimony, that coconscious “willing” or strong conation, even -simply a wish to inhibit the principal consciousness, would effect that -result. Thus, for instance, B testified: “When A is present I can ‘come’ -voluntarily by willing, i.e., blot A out and then I ‘come.’... By -willing I mean I would say to A: ‘... Go away’: ‘Get out of the way’: -‘Let me come: I _will_ come,’ and then A disappeared. She was gone and I -was there. It was almost instantaneous.... Sometimes the wish to change -would blot out A without actual willing.” - -In the case of Miss B. similar testimony of the effect of coconscious -willing and wishes was obtained. - -When the coconscious wishes, sentiments, etc., are not synthesized into -a large self-conscious system (i.e., coconscious personality) which can -give direct testimony as to the subconscious conflicts, the former and -the process which they incite must be inferred from known antecedent -factors and the observed phenomena of inhibition or dissociation. That -general and systematized dissociation are phenomena which can be, and -frequently are, induced by the conative force of purely subconscious -processes, in view of the multiform data offered by hysterics can be -open to no manner of doubt. The process may be also formulated in terms -of conflict. - -=Laws governing the lines of cleavage of personality.=—In systematized -dissociation there is a cleavage between certain organized systems of -experiences and functions and the remainder of the personality. The -contracted personality is consequently shorn of much. But we understand -only very incompletely the laws which determine _the direction of the -line of cleavage_ and the consequent extent of the dissociated field. -Unquestionably this follows the law of organization of complexes in a -general way, but not wholly so. For instance, it is impossible by this -law or by any known mechanism to explain the anesthesia which sometimes, -apparently spontaneously, appears in certain hypnotic states. A given -subject, e. g., B. C. A., is simply hypnotized by suggestion and -successively falls into two different states. In one state the subject -is found to be completely anesthetic and in the other normally esthetic. -The subject is one and the same and the dissociating suggestion, which -is the same in each case, contains nothing specifically related to -sensation; and yet the line of cleavage is within the field of sensation -in the one case and without it in the other; i.e., that which is -dissociated includes the sensory field in the one state and not in the -other. Similarly when the disaggregation of personality is brought about -by the force of a conflicting emotion, the resulting hysterical state or -dissociated personality may be robbed of certain sensory or motor -functions, although these functions are not as far as we can see -logically related to the emotion or the ideas coupled with it. Thus a -person receives an emotional shock and develops a one-sided anesthesia -and paralysis—a very common phenomenon. Louis Vivé used to pass into one -state in which he had left hemiplegia and into another in which he had -right hemiplegia, another with paraplegia. Each state had its own -systematized memories, but why each had its own and different motor and -sensory dissociations cannot be explained. In Miss B. the dissociation -which resulted in the formation of the secondary personality, Sally, -withdrew, without apparent rhyme or reason, the whole general field of -sensations so that Sally was completely anesthetic.[253] The sensory -functions seemed to be wantonly ejected along with the repressed -complexes of ideas. _Per contra_, by the same process which results in -dissociation, lost functions are often paradoxically synthesized. Mrs. -E. B. and Mrs. R., anesthetic when “awake,” are found to be normally -esthetic in hypnosis; i.e., the sensory functions are spontaneously -synthesized with the hypnotic personality. In other words, in hypnosis -the personal synthesis is in this respect more normal than in the -“waking” state. - -Again, when amnesia results it may cover a past epoch—retrograde -amnesia—without obvious reason for the chronological line of cleavage. -In short the suppression by dissociation of a specific psychological -element—remembrance, perception, sentiment, etc.—not only tends to rob -the personality of a whole psychological system in which it is organized -but of other faculties, the relation of which to the specifically -dissociated element is obscure. It seems as if the dissociation -sometimes followed physiological as well as psychological lines.[254] It -is in accordance with this principle that instincts and sentiments which -are not immediately concerned in the specific conflict nor antagonistic -to the dissociating emotion are often suppressed. Thus it is that -hysterics, as we have seen by examples, have lost so many emotions -(instincts) and the sentiments involving them, though they are so -excitable to the emotions that are retained. In the case of B. C. A. the -secondary personality B, the resultant (as I interpret the case) of the -conflict between the play instinct and sentiments of duty, -responsibility, etc., lost the parental instinct with the emotion of -tender feeling (McDougall) and that of fear, with their corresponding -sentiments. She was shockingly devoid of filial and maternal love and, -indeed, of affection, in the true sense, for her friends. Likewise Sally -(in the case of Miss B.), also the product of conflict between the -impulses of the play instinct and those of the religious emotions, was -entirely devoid of fear, of the sexual, and of certain other instincts -not antagonistic to the dominating play instinct. She had lost also a -great many, if not all, sentiments involving the tender feeling. As in -the examples given of dissociation of motor, sensory, and other -functions, the dissociative line of cleavage had excluded more than was -engaged in the conflict. Of course, there always must be some reason for -the direction taken by any line of cleavage, following the application -of force, whether the fracture be of a psycho-physiological organism or -of a piece of china; but when the conditions are as complex as they are -in the human organism their determination becomes a difficult problem. -When we come to study multiple personality we shall see that the -suppression of instincts plays an important rôle. - -=Amnesia.=—It is a general rule that when a person passes from a -condition of extreme dissociation to the normal state there is a -tendency for _amnesia_ to supervene for the previous dissociated state -(multiple personalities, epileptic and hysterical fugues, hypnotic and -dream states, etc.). Likewise in everyday life it frequently happens, -when the dissociation effected by emotion results in an extremely -retracted field of consciousness, that, after this emotional state has -subsided and the normal state has been restored, memory for the excited -retracted state, including the actions performed, is abolished or -impaired. Even criminal acts committed in highly emotional states -(anger, “brain storms,” etc.) may be forgotten afterwards. In other -words, in the normal state there is in turn a dissociation of the -residua of the excited state. The experiences of this latter state are -not lost, however, but only dissociated in that they cannot be -synthesized with the personal consciousness and thereby reproduced as -memory. That they may be still conserved as neurographic residua is -shown in those cases suitable for experimental investigation where they -can be reproduced by artificial devices (hypnotism, abstraction, etc.). - -Thus B. C. A. could not recall a certain emotional experience although -it made a tremendous impression upon her, disrupted her personality, and -induced her illness. In other respects her memory was normal. Janet has -described this amnesia following emotional shocks, notably in the -classical case of Mme. D. - -1. On first thought it seems strange that a person cannot remember such -an important experience as that, for example, of B. C. A., when for all -else the memory is normal. That this experience had awakened conflicting -ideas and intense, blazing emotions with great retraction of the field -of consciousness of the moment is shown by the history. Later there was -found to be a hiatus in the memory, the amnesia beginning and ending -sharply at particular points, shortly before and shortly after this -experience. In other words, the extremely dissociated and retracted -emotional field could not be synthesized with the personal consciousness -or, one might say, with the sentiment of self. In hypnosis, however, -this could be done and the memory recovered. Freud has proposed an -ingenious theory involving a particular mechanism by which such amnesic -effects are produced. According to this theory the dissociated -experience cannot be recalled because it is so painful that it cannot be -tolerated by consciousness; i.e., attempted emergence as memory meets -with the resistance of conflicting subconscious thoughts, acting as a -censor or guardian, and the experience is repressed and prevented from -entering consciousness. (It would be, perhaps, within the scope of this -theory to say that the impulsive force of the conflicting sentiments -(involving pride and self-respect and the instinct of anger) awakened at -the moment of the experience continued more or less subconsciously to -repress the memory of the whole experience.) - -2. If expressed in the following form I think the theory would equally -well explain such amnesias, be in conformity with certain known hypnotic -phenomena and, perhaps, be more acceptable: An experienced desire not to -face, or think of, i.e., to recall to memory, a certain painful -experience is conserved in the usual way. When an attempt is made to -recall the episode _this desire becomes an active subconscious process_ -and inhibits the memory process. The analogue of this we have in -posthypnotic amnesia induced by suggestion. In the hypnotic state the -suggestion is given that the subject after waking shall have forgotten a -certain experience, a name, or an episode. After waking the conative -force[255] of the suggested idea, functioning _entirely subconsciously_ -(as there is complete forgetfulness for the hypnotic state), inhibits -the memory of the test experience in that there is found to be amnesia -for the latter. One may say there has been a subconscious conflict -followed by inhibition of one of the belligerents. That antecedent -thoughts of the individual can likewise become activated as subconscious -processes and come into conflict with other processes and inhibit them, -thus preventing them from becoming conscious, we have already seen. The -antagonism of the motives in the two processes is often obvious. -Numerous examples of inhibitions (induced by conflicts with subconscious -ideas, emotions, and conations) of mental processes which could -afterwards be recalled to memory in a secondary state of personality -have been recorded in the case of Miss B.[256] Likewise in B. C. A. -similar phenomena were testified to as due to subconscious -conflicts.[257] There would seem to be no question therefore of either -the occurrence of subconscious conflicts or their efficiency in -producing amnesia. - -3. However all this may be, there is no need for us now to enter into -the question of mechanisms. Certain it is, though, that we often forget -what we want to forget, which means memories that are unpleasant; and -certain types of pathological amnesia answer to the Freudian mechanism -or some modification of it. Certain amnesias undoubtedly follow -deliberate wishes to put certain experiences out of mind, just as they -follow hypnotic suggestions that they shall be forgotten. A very neat -example is that of the observation previously given (Lecture III, p. 74) -of the subject who, in a moment of despair and resentment against -criticism, expressed a wish to forget her own marriage name, and lo! and -behold! on waking the next day she found she could not recall it. But -amnesias of this kind differ in an important respect from the classical -amnesias of hysteria. In the latter variety the dissociation is so -extensive that reproduction cannot be effected by any associated idea of -the personal consciousness; for reproduction another state of -consciousness (hypnosis, alteration of personality, etc.) with which the -forgotten experience is synthesized must be obtained or the subconscious -must be tapped. In the former variety although the reproduction cannot -be effected through an idea with which it stands in affectively painful -association, it can be by some other indifferent idea or complex with -which it is systematized. For instance, in the case of the phobia for -the ringing of bells in a tower which we have studied, the original -episode could not be recalled in association with the object of the -phobia, notwithstanding that this object was an element in the episode, -but it was readily recalled in association with contemporary events of -the subject’s life. In the case of C. D., who had experienced a painful -episode of fainting the same amnesic relations obtained. - -4. On the other hand there are other forms of amnesia which the -_Freudian mechanism is totally inadequate to explain_, or of which it -offers only a partial explanation. I refer to the persisting amnesias of -reproduction exemplified by much of the common forgetfulness of -every-day life (often due to dis-interest); by the amnesias for whole -systems of experiences in hypnotic states, in different phases of -multiple personality, fugues, and deliria; by certain retrograde, -general, and continuous amnesias of hysteria, alcoholic amnesia, etc. In -some of these the amnesia is a dissociation of systems undoubtedly -effected by the force of emotional impulses discharged by antagonistic -complexes. This is to view the amnesia from its psychological aspect. -But it may also be viewed from its _correlated physiological aspect_. - -Let us note first that reproduction is a synthetic process which -requires some sort of dynamic association between the neurogram -underlying an idea present in the personal consciousness and the -conserved neurograms of a past experience. From this view we may in the -future find the explanation of amnesia (resulting from the dissociative -effect of emotion) in the configuration of the physical paths of residua -traveled and engraved by an emotional experience. The emotional -discharge may have prevented an associative path of residua being -established with the dissociated experience.[258] - -5. Amnesia is too large a subject for us to go into its mechanisms at -this time and we are not called upon to do so. It is enough to point out -_the different forms of amnesia_ which at times are the resultants of -emotion. Inasmuch as experiences are organized in complexes and still -further in large systems, which include settings (that give meaning to -the particular experiences) and other associated sentiments, instincts -and other innate dispositions, the dissociation of a single experience -may involve a large complex of experiences, or a whole system of such, -and result either in a simple amnesia alone or in an alteration of -personality accompanied by amnesia. Such amnesias are generally -classified as _localized_, _systematized_, _general_, or _continuous_. - -6. The first, as it seems to me, is also in principle systematized, the -distinction being clinical rather than psychological. By _localized_ is -meant an amnesia extending over an epoch of time. Thus, in the instance -already cited, Miss B. suddenly found that she could not recall a single -moment of a particular day, although previously she had remembered well -the incidents, owing to a distressing experience the memory of which had -tormented her during the whole day. The amnesia was localized in time. -It was the result of a suggestion which I gave in hypnosis that the -painful experience only should be forgotten; but unexpectedly the -remembrances of the whole day disappeared. In other words, the -dissociation of a particular remembrance robbed the personal -consciousness of all other remembrances with which it was systematized. -That it was so systematized was made evident by the fact that throughout -the course of the day it had so dominated her mind that she was -continuously under its emotional influence. The amnesia was therefore -not only localized but _systematized_ with the day’s experiences. It is -to be noted that the hypnotic suggestion necessarily exerted its -dissociating force subconsciously after waking. - -Similarly in multiple personality, one alternating phase often has -complete amnesia for the preceding epoch belonging to another phase. -This amnesia may extend over a period of from a few minutes to years, -according to the length of time that the second phase was in existence. -It is therefore localized. But it is also systematized, not in the sense -of relating to only a particular category of remembrances, such as those -of a particular object—father, child, etc.—but in the sense of bearing -upon all the experiences organized within a large system of sentiments, -instincts, settings, etc., characteristic of the second personality. -With the dissociation of this system the remembrances of its experiences -go, too. Undoubtedly the dissociating force is that of the awakened -sentiments, etc., of the succeeding phase. These are always antagonistic -to those of the dissociated phase, although those of the one are not -necessarily painful to the other. They are simply incompatible with one -another, and it may quite well be that their force is subconsciously -discharged. Systematized amnesia, on the other hand, may not be -localized, bearing as it may only on a particular category of -remembrances, let us say of a foreign language with which the subject -previously was familiar. - -7. The _retrograde_ type of localized amnesia is common following -emotional shocks. The case of Mme. D., made classical by Charcot and -Janet, is a very excellent example. This woman lost not only all memory -of the painful emotional state into which she was thrown by the brutal -announcement of her husband’s death, but of the _preceding_ six weeks. -The amnesia for the episode might be accounted for on the theory of -conflict, but it is difficult to explain the retrograde extension unless -it be there was some systematization covering the six weeks’ period -within the mental life of the patient not disclosed by the examination. - -_General and continuous amnesia_, the one covering the whole previous -life of the subject, the other for events as fast as they are -experienced, also, though rarely, occur as the sequence of emotion. - -=Subconscious traumatic memories.=—When an emotional complex has once -been organized by an emotional trauma and more or less dissociated from -the personality by the conflicting emotional impulses, it is conserved -as a neurogram more or less isolated. The fact of amnesia for the -experience is evidence of its isolation in that it cannot be awakened -and synthesized with the personal consciousness. Now, given such an -isolated neurogram, observation shows that it may be excited to -autonomous subconscious activity by associative stimuli of one kind or -another. It thus becomes an emotional subconscious memory-process and -may by further incubation and elaboration induce phenomena of one kind -or another. - -This is readily understood when it is remembered that such a memory, or -perhaps more precisely speaking its neurogram, is organized with one or -more emotional dispositions (instincts) and these dispositions by their -impulsive forces tend when stimulated to awaken the memory and carry its -ideas to fulfillment. The subconscious memory thus acquires a striving -to fulfil its aim. We ought to distinguish in this mechanism between the -isolation of the neurogram and that of the process. The former is -antecedent to the latter. - -The phenomena which may be induced by such a subconscious memory may be -of all kinds such as we have seen are induced by subconscious processes -and emotions—hallucinations, various motor phenomena, disturbances of -conscious thought, dreams and those phenomena which we have seen are the -physiological and psychological manifestation of emotion and its -conflicts, etc. - -Undoubtedly the _mental feebleness_, manifested by a feeling of -exhaustion or fatigue, which so frequently is the sequel of intense -conscious emotion, favors the excitation to activity of such -subconscious autonomous processes or memory when antecedent isolation -has occurred. This enfeeblement of personality probably is the more -marked the larger the systems included in the dissociation. Certain it -is that in fatigued states, whether induced by physical or mental “storm -and stress,” subconscious processes become more readily excited. The -greater the dissociation the greater the mental instability and -liability to autonomous processes. Time and again it was noted, for -instance in the case of Miss B. and B. C. A., that when the primary -personality was exhausted by physical and emotional strain, the -subconscious personality was able to manifest autonomous activity -producing all sorts of phenomena (when it could not do so in conditions -of mental health) even to inhibiting the whole primary personality.[259] -The direct testimony of the subconscious personality was to the same -effect. - -=Mental confusion.=—Fortunate is the person who has never felt -embarrassment when the attention of others has been directed to himself, -or when some act or thought which he wished to conceal has become patent -to others, or when called upon without warning to make a speech in -public. Unless one is endowed with extraordinary self-assurance he will -become, under such or similar circumstances, bashful, self-conscious, -and shy, his thought confused, and he will find it difficult to respond -with ready tongue. Associated ideas _à propos_ of the matter in hand -fail to enter consciousness, his thoughts become blocked even to his -mind becoming a blank; he hesitates, stammers, and stands dumb, or too -many ideas, in disorderly fashion and without apparent logical relation, -crowd in and he is unable to make selection of the proper words. In -short, his mind becomes confused, perhaps even to the extent of -dizziness. The ideas that do arise are inadequate and are likely to be -inappropriate, painful, and perhaps suspicious. The dominating emotion -is early reinforced by the awakening of its ally, the fear instinct, -with all its physiological manifestations. Then tremor, palpitation, -perspiration, and vasomotor disturbances break out. Shame may be added -to the emotional state. - -1. This reaction becomes intelligible if we regard it as one of conflict -resulting in painful bashfulness and shame, inhibition of thought; the -excitation of painful ideas, amnesia, and limitation of the field of -consciousness. The self-regarding sentiment is awakened and dominates -the content of consciousness. The conflict is primarily between two -instincts organized within this sentiment—that of self-abasement -(negative self-feeling) and that of self-assertion (positive self -feeling). The impulsive force of the former, awakened by the stimulus of -the situation—let us say the presence and imagined criticism of -others—opposes and contends with that of the latter which is excited by -the desire of the person to display his powers and meet the occasion. -The result of the struggle between the two impulses is emotional -agitation or _bashfulness_. If this bashfulness is “qualified by the -pain of baffled positive self feeling” there results the emotion of -shame.[260] But these emotional states are not the whole consequences of -the conflict. Almost always fear comes to the rescue as a biological -reaction for the protection of the individual and impels to flight. The -impulsive force of this instinct is now united to that of self-abasement -and the conjoined force inhibits or blocks the development of ideas, -memories, and speech symbols appropriate to the occasion and dissociates -many perceptions of the environment. On the other hand, the -self-regarding sentiment evokes various associative abasing ideas of -self and related memories. The victim is fortunate if unfounded -suspicions and other painful thoughts (through which criticism of self -is imagined and the situation falsely interpreted) do not arise. Or -there may be an oscillation of ideas corresponding to the conflicting -sentiments and instincts. A person in such a condition experiences -mental confusion and embarrassment. The condition is often loosely -spoken of as self-consciousness and shyness. - -2. Painfully emotional _self-consciousness_ of this type as the sequence -of special antecedent psychogenetic factors is frequently met with as an -obsession. Then fear, with its physiological manifestations, is always -an obtrusive element. Individuals who suffer from this psychosis -sometimes cannot even come into the presence of strangers or any public -situation without experiencing an attack of symptoms such as I have -somewhat schematically described. The phenomena may be summarized as -bashfulness, emotion of fear, inhibition, dissociation, limitation of -the field of consciousness, ideas of self, confusion of thought and -speech, inappropriate and delayed response, delusions of suspicion, -tremor, palpitation, etc. - -=The symptomatic structure of the psychoneuroses.=—When studying the -physiological manifestations of emotion (Lecture XIV), we saw how a -large variety of disturbances of bodily functions, induced by the -discharge of emotional impulses, may be organized into a symptom-complex -which might, if repeatedly stimulated, recur from time to time. On the -basis of these physiological manifestations we were able to construct a -schema of the physiological symptoms occurring in the emotional -psycho-neuroses. We obtained a structure of such symptoms corresponding -to the facts of clinical experience. We then went on in the next lecture -to examine the psychological disturbances induced by emotion and found a -number of characteristic phenomena. The view was held that emotion is -the driving force which bears along ideas to their end and makes the -organism capable of activity. We found conflicts between opposing -impulses resulting in repression, dissociation, and inhibition of ideas -and instincts, and limitation of the field of consciousness. We saw that -sentiments in which strong emotions were incorporated tended to become -dominating, to the exclusion of other sentiments from consciousness, and -to acquire organic intensity and thereby to be carried to fruition. We -saw also that the dominating emotional discharges might come from -sentiments within the field of consciousness, and therefore of which the -individual is aware, or from entirely subconscious sentiments of which -he is unaware. And we saw that conflicts might be between entirely -conscious sentiments or between a conscious and a subconscious -sentiment, and so on. (Indeed, a conflict may be between two -subconscious sentiments as may be experimentally demonstrated with -corresponding phenomena.) - -Now the practical significance of these phenomena of emotion, both as -observed in every-day life and under experimental conditions, lies in -the fact that they enable us to understand the symptomatic _structure_, -and up to a certain point the psychogenesis of certain psychoneuroses of -very common occurrence. (For a complete understanding of the -psychogenesis of any given psychoneurosis, such as a phobia, we must -know all the antecedent experiences which formed the setting and gave -meaning to the dominating ideas and determined the instincts which have -become incorporated with them to form sentiments. This we saw when -studying the settings in obsessions (Lectures XII and XIII).) - -It is evident, that, theoretically, if antecedent conditions have -prepared the emotional soil, and if an emotional complex, an intense -sentiment, or instinct should be aroused by some stimulus, any one of a -number of different possible psychopathic states might ensue, largely -through the mechanism of conflict, according, on the one hand, to the -degree and extent of the dissociation, inhibition, etc., established, -and on the other to the character and systematization of the emotional -complex or instinct. As with the physiological manifestations of -emotion, we can construct various theoretical schemata to represent the -psychological structure of these different states. Practically both -types—the physiological and psychological—must necessarily almost always -be combined. - -1. The impulsive force of the emotion might repress all other ideas than -the one in question from the field of consciousness, which would then be -contracted to that of the limited emotional complex awakened; all -opposing ideas and instincts would then be dissociated or inhibited—a -state substantially of mono-ideism. Let us imagine the dominating -emotional complex to be a mother’s belief that her child had been -killed, this idea being awakened by the sudden announcement of the news. -The parental sentiment with child as its object would become organized -into a complex with the emotions of fear, sorrow, painful depressed -feelings, etc., which the news excited. This complex, being deprived—as -a result of the ensuing dissociation—of the inhibiting and modifying -influence of all counteracting ideas, would be free to expend its -conative force along paths leading to motor, visceral, and other -physiological disturbances. An emotional complex of ideas would be then -formed which after the restoration of the normal alert state would -remain dormant, but conserved in the unconscious. Later, when the -emotional complex is again awakened by some stimulus (associative -thoughts), dissociation would again take place and the complex again -become the whole of the personal consciousness for the time being. This -theoretical schema corresponds accurately with =one type of hysterical -attack=. - -2. If again the awakened complex should be one which is constellated -with a large system of dormant ideas and motives deposited in the -unconscious by the experiences of life, the new field of consciousness -would not be contracted to a mono-ideism. We should have to do with a -phase of personality, one which was formed by a rearrangement of life’s -experiences. In this case the usual everyday settings (or systems) of -ideas being in conflict with the sentiments of the resurrected system -would be dissociated and become dormant. The ideas, with their affects, -which would come to the surface and dominate, would be those of -previously dormant emotional complexes and their constellated system. -The prevailing instincts and other innate dispositions would be, -respectively, those corresponding to the two phases, the antagonistic -dispositions being in each case inhibited. This schema would accurately -correspond to a so-called “mood.” If the demarcation of systems were -sharply defined and absolute so that amnesia of one for the other -resulted, the new state would be recognized as one of =dissociated or -secondary personality=. A “mood” and secondary personality would shade -into one another. - -3. Still another theoretical schema could be constructed if, following -the hysterical dissociated state represented by schema 1, there were not -a complete return to normality, i.e., complete synthesis of personality. -The dissociation effected by the impulsive force of the evoked emotional -complex and the repressed personal self-conscious-system might be so -intense that, on the restoration of the latter, the former would remain -dissociated in turn. The emotional complex would then, in accordance -with what we know of the genesis of subconscious ideas, become split off -from the personal consciousness and unable to enter the focus of -awareness. Amnesia for the emotional experience would ensue. Such a -split-off idea might, through the impulsive force of its emotion and -that of its setting, take on independent activity and function -coconsciously and produce various automatic phenomena; that is, -phenomena which are termed automatic because not determined by the -personal consciousness. The dissociation might include various sensory, -motor and other functions, thereby robbing the personal consciousness of -these functions (anesthesia, paralysis, etc.). Such a schema corresponds -to the =hysterical subconscious fixed idea= (Janet). - -In such a schema also, in accordance with what we know of the behavior -of emotion, though the ideas of the complex remained subconscious, the -emotion linked with them might erupt into the consciousness of the -personal self. The person would then become aware of it without knowing -its source. The emotion might be accompanied by its various -physiological manifestations such as we have studied. If the emotion -were one of fear the subject might be in an =anxious state= without -knowing why he is afraid—an indefinable fear, as it is often called by -the subjects of it. - -4. If, owing to one or more emotional experiences, an intense sentiment -were created in which is organized about its object one or more of the -emotions of fear, anger, disgust, self-subjection, etc., with their -physiological manifestations (tremor, palpitation, vasomotor -disturbances, nausea, exhaustion, etc.) and their psychological -disturbances (contraction of the field of consciousness, dissociation, -etc.); and if the whole were welded into a complex, we would have the -structure of an obsession. Such an organized complex would be excited -from time to time by any associated stimulus and develop in the form of -attacks: hence termed a recurrent psychopathic state as well as -obsession. (As we have seen, the psychogenesis of the sentiment is to be -found in antecedent experiences organized with its object giving meaning -and persistence to the obsession.) - -5. Finally (to add one more schema out of many that might be -constructed), if a number of physiological disturbances (pain, -secretory, gastric, cardiac, etc), such as occur as the symptoms of a -disease, were through repeated experiences associated and thereby -organized with the idea of the disease, they would recur as an -associative process whenever the idea was presented to consciousness. -Here we have the structure of an “=association or habit-neurosis=,” a -disease mimicry. Numerous examples of the type of cardiac, gastric, -pulmonary, laryngeal, joint, and other diseases might be given. The -physical symptoms in such neuroses are obtrusive, while the psychical -elements (including emotion) which, of course, are always factors, -conscious or subconscious, remain in the background. - -The study of the individual psychoneuroses belongs to special pathology, -and need not concern us here. We are only occupied with the general -principles involved in their structure and psycho-genesis. - ------ - -Footnote 245: - - Inhibition and dissociation, although often loosely used as - interchangeable terms, are not strictly synonymous, in that, - theoretically at least, they are not coextensive. That which is - inhibited may be absolutely, even if temporarily, suppressed as a - functioning process, as in physiological inhibition (e. g., of - reflexes, motor acts, etc.); or it may be only inhibited from taking - part in the mechanisms of the personal consciousness, and thereby - dissociated from that psychophysiological system. In the latter case - the inhibited process is not absolutely suppressed, but may be capable - under favoring conditions of independent functioning outside of that - system. This is dissociation in its more precise sense. Inhibition may - be said to have induced dissociation, and then the two may be regarded - as only different aspects of one and the same thing. In the former - case (absolute suppression) the inhibited process cannot function at - all, as in certain types of amnesic aphasia when the memory for - language is functionally suppressed. Inhibition therefore may or may - not be equivalent to dissociation. Practically as observed in - psychological phenomena it is often difficult to distinguish between - them, and it is convenient to consider them together. - -Footnote 246: - - The Dissociation, p. 189. - -Footnote 247: - - One sees the same phenomenon in every-day life. Let a person acquire - under a sense of injury a dislike of one who previously was a friend, - and every sentiment involving friendship, admiration, esteem, - gratitude, loyalty, etc., is repressed with a complete change of - attitude. Politics furnishes many examples. - -Footnote 248: - - Exemplified in Miss B. by Sally, in O. N. by the b mood, and in B. C. - A. by phase B, and also in the earlier stages of the case by phase A. - -Footnote 249: - - My Life as a Dissociated Personality, _Jl. Ab. Psychol._, - December-January, 1908-9. - -Footnote 250: - - The Mental State of Hystericals, p. 205. - -Footnote 251: - - The Dissociation, cf. Index: “Emotion, the Disintegrating Effect of,” - and Chapters XXVIII and XXIX. - -Footnote 252: - - The Dissociation, p. 462. - -Footnote 253: - - We shall study in other lectures the forces and mechanisms which - effected the dissociation in this case. - -Footnote 254: - - See Morton Prince: Some of the Present Problems of Abnormal - Psychology, _St. Louis Congress of Arts and Sciences_ (1904), Vol. 5, - p. 772; also, _The Psychological Review_, March-May, 1905, p. 139. - -Footnote 255: - - Probably derived from the “will to believe,” the desire to please the - experimenter, or other elements in the hypnotic setting. The - conception of a “censor” or desire to protect the personal - consciousness from something painful is an unnecessary complication. - -Footnote 256: - - The Dissociation. - -Footnote 257: - - Cf. My Life as a Dissociated Personality, _Jl. Abn. Psychol._, - October-November, 1908. - -Footnote 258: - - T. Brailsford Robertson, in a very recent communication on the - “Chemical Dynamics of the Central Nervous System” and “The - Physiological conditions underlying heightened suggestibility, - hypnosis, multiple personality, sleep, etc.” (_Folia Neuro-Biologica_, - Bd. VII, Nr. 4/5, 1913), has attempted to correlate these conditions - and also amnesia (as one of their phenomena) with the isolation of - paths “canalised” by auto-catalysed chemical reactions. These - processes he concludes, from previous studies, “underlie and determine - the activities of the central nervous system (and therefore the - physical correlates of mental phenomena).” (See Lecture V, p. 124.) - -Footnote 259: - - The Dissociation, Chapter XXIX; My Life as a Dissociated Personality, - pp. 39 and 41. - -Footnote 260: - - In this analysis I follow McDougall who seems to me to have analyzed - clearly and adequately the emotional conditions. (Social Psychology, - p. 145.) - - - - - LECTURE XVII - THE STRUCTURE AND DYNAMIC ELEMENTS OF HUMAN PERSONALITY - - -We ought to be able now to construct out of the various elements we have -studied a general scheme, if not the details, of that composite whole -which we call _Personality_. This should include its structure as well -as its elements and dynamics. - -It is obvious that we must have a fairly comprehensive and accurate -conception of these factors if we would understand those alterations of -personality which are met with as pathological conditions and -particularly their psychogenesis. Multiple personality, for instance, as -it occurs in the alternating and coconscious types can only be -comprehended through a knowledge of the normal structure and dynamic -mechanisms. On the other hand the phenomena of this latter pathological -condition throw a flood of light upon the normal and can be utilized to -test the validity of theories. I shall complete these lectures by a -study from the psychogenetic point of view of a case of dissociated and -multiple personality. Certain phenomena met with in this derangement of -the normal have been frequently cited in the preceding lectures and -certain general principles underlying them and the alterations giving -rise to multiplication of the personality and character in one -individual have been referred to. A study of the psychogenesis of a -concrete case will on the one hand illustrate these principles and, on -the other, the structure and dynamics of normal personality. - -Before making such a study, however, we ought to have a working -conception of the normal; and this we are entitled, from the point of -view of dynamic psychology, to construct on the basis of data supplied -by studies of abnormal and normal mental behavior. The older way of -considering human personality was to conceive it as an “ego” with -various faculties. We may now consider it as _a composite structure -built by experience upon a foundation of performed, inherited, -psycho-physiological dynamic mechanisms (instincts, etc.), containing -within themselves their own driving forces_. - -Let us glance for a moment at this foundation with a view to a full -comprehension of the significance of the innate instinctive and other -dispositions composing its structure. The structure and the dynamics of -these dispositions themselves we have already studied (Chap. XV). Their -teleological aspect needs further exposition for in their functioning -the processes which they carry out have a distinctly purposive character -for the personality. - -Every instinct has an aim or end which it strives to fulfil and which -alone satisfies it; and it contains in itself the driving force which, -as an urge, or impulse, sets into activity the mechanism and carries the -instinctive process, unless blocked by some other process, to completion -and satisfies the aim of the instinct. Thus the instinct of flight -impelled by the urge of fear has an aim to escape from danger and is not -satisfied until the danger is escaped. Until that end is gained fear -will not subside. If impeded in its activity it may awaken the pugnacity -instinct which coming to the rescue may fight for safety. Similarly the -instincts of acquisition and self-assertion are not satisfied and their -urge persists until their ends are gained—the acquisition of certain -objects in the one case and self-display or domination of other -individuals or situations in the other case. Obviously the instincts and -other innate dispositions have a biological significance, -ontogenetically and phylogenetically, in that they serve the -preservation of the individual and species and the perpetuation of the -latter. And obviously in the drive to satisfy their aims they determine -and govern behavior. But in doing this they become modified and -controlled by experience—by the dispositions which are acquired by -experience. In this way the behavior of the individual becomes adapted -to the specific situations of the environment. Necessarily these -modifications of the workings of the innate mechanisms by the imposition -of experience upon and within them become very complicated and the -problems of instinct and experience thereby evoked have been the object -of much study and debate. - -Now with such fundamental innate mechanisms as a basis the composite -structure of personality is built up by experience, according to the -theory I am presenting. - -By experience new “dispositions” are deposited (i.e., acquired), and -organized, systematized, not only amongst themselves but integrated with -the inherited mechanisms. Thus, on the one hand, are formed new -mechanisms which in their functioning manifest themselves as mental -processes and behavior, and, on the other, the instinctive mechanisms -are brought under control by experience and mental processes acquire a -driving force, or an extra driving force, from the impulsive forces of -the integrated instinctive mechanisms. - -Accordingly we may say: _Personality_ is the sum total of all the -biological innate dispositions, impulses, tendencies, appetites and -instincts of the individual and of all the _acquired_ dispositions and -tendencies—acquired by experience. And to these it is limited. - -The former would embrace inherited, innate psychophysiological -mechanisms or arrangements, such as those of the emotions, feelings, -appetites and other tendencies manifested in instinctive reactions to -the environment; the latter the memories, ideas, sentiments and other -intellectual dispositions acquired and organized within the personality -by the experiences of life. - -The integration into one functioning organism, or whole, of all these -innate and acquired dispositions with their mechanisms and inherent -forces by which they come into play is personality. - -As thus defined personality includes more than _character_. Character is -the sum total of the predominating dispositions, or tendencies, -popularly called traits. Thus in the domain of the innate dispositions -every personality includes anger, fear, curiosity, and other instinctive -reactions, but one personality might possess an angry temperament, while -another an amiable temperament, meaning that in the one anger is aroused -quickly and by a large variety of situations; in the other it is rarely -aroused and by few situations; in the one anger is excited whenever the -individual is thwarted, opposed, or wounded in his feelings; in the -other the response is never or rarely anger in such situations but -perhaps sorrow, or pity, or some other feeling. One is said to be quick -to anger; the other slow to anger. Hence the character of the one is -said to be “good tempered,” the other “bad tempered.” Yet every normal -personality will manifest anger in some situation. - -Likewise with fear: one person reacts with fear to all sorts of -threatening situations; another rarely and to very few. One is said to -have a timorous, or an apprehensive, the other a brave, or bold, -“sandy,” character. Yet every one manifests fear in one of its phases -(apprehension, anxiety, etc.) in some situation. There is no personality -born without the fear instinct. - -Likewise in the domain of acquired dispositions personality includes the -ideals, “sentiments,” desires, points of view, attitudes, etc., of the -individual in respect to himself, to life and the environment. These -being acquired by educational, social and environmental experiences -largely differ in every individual. Some become common, or substantially -common to all or many. But those that are peculiar to, or acquire a -dominating position and influence in the personality, play their -part—and even a greater part than the primitive instinctive -dispositions—in distinguishing the character of one personality from -that of another. For in a large measure they determine the reaction to -situations, the behavior and the modes of thought as intellectual -processes. They stamp the _quality_ or character of the intelligence -(its content) rather than the _degree or capacity_ of the same.[261] On -this side, then, character is so much of personality as is represented -by the dominating acquired dispositions of the individual. But as innate -and acquired dispositions become inter-organized by experience, as -traits, into complex functioning wholes, or complexes, acquired traits -include the former. - -Thus a personality may exhibit a character recognized as idealistic, -altruistic, selfish, egotistic, social, anti-social, etc., according to -what ideals, “sentiments,” morals, etc., have been acquired by -experience. It is in these respects that he is largely the product of -his education and environment, the influences of which have also -organized his innate dispositions (instincts, etc.,) with his -intellectual processes. - -We have already seen (Lectures IX and XV) that the acquired dispositions -are, by the very experiences by which they are acquired, organized into -complexes and systems of complexes which are conserved as such in the -storehouse of the unconscious to be drawn upon by memory or to be -awakened again to activity as occasion may demand to serve the purposes -of mental life. Now, large numbers of these complexes have not only an -organized structure but a dynamic potentiality and in consequence of -these two characteristics each tends to function as a dynamic psychic -whole. For in such complexes are incorporated one or more emotional or -other instinctive mechanisms from which their chief energy and aim are -derived. (This theory postulates not only a structure of mental -dispositions but a correlated structure of hypothetical physiological -dispositions which I have termed the “neurogram.”)[262] In so far as -dynamic complexes and systems of complexes have structure and tend to -function as psychic wholes they take on the character of unitary -mechanisms or systems. From this point of view the most fruitful -conception of the structure of personality is that which views it as -built up of dynamic units which may be classed as primary and secondary. -The primary units are the innate psychophysiological arrangements or -mechanisms which we have agreed to call the instincts, or innate -tendencies or dispositions, in many of which are incorporated the -emotions and other affects. These primary units become organized by -experience into larger units or unitary systems. Whether they are also -_innately_ organized amongst themselves and by themselves into larger -systems as some maintain (Shand) may or may not be the case. It is not -necessary for our present purposes to consider this problem. It is -sufficient that those dispositions which are innate, such as those of -anger, fear, joy, etc., do become organized by and with experiences into -larger and larger dynamic unitary systems. - -The secondary units are the acquired complexes and systems of complexes -within which are incorporated one or more primary units. In these are -found as already mentioned the ideals, “sentiments,” wishes, -aspirations, forebodings, apprehensions, and all other organized systems -of thought which, on the one hand have their roots in the deposited -experiences of life and, on the other, their promptings and urges in the -primitive innate instincts and other dispositions. Thus the innate and -acquired dispositions are organized into unitary systems of greater and -greater complexity but each having a tendency and, under certain -conditions of dissociation, a greater or less freedom to function as a -psychic whole. And the integration or potential integration of all these -units and unitary complexes and systems into a functioning whole is -personality. This does not mean that all the primary and secondary units -take part in the functioning of the personality; on the contrary, as we -have seen, many lie dormant, for one reason or the other, in the -unconscious. But, as we have also seen, they are potentially capable of -being awakened and determining mental and bodily behavior. Furthermore, -evidence has been adduced to show that the various units of personality -do not always coöperate and function harmoniously with one another, as -no doubt they ought to do, but sometimes are incited to conflicts and -then they play the deuce with the individual and he fails to be able to -adapt himself to the realities of life. - -Amongst these acquired unitary systems there are certain ones which are -of preëminent importance for the personality in the determination of -mental behavior. I refer to those complexes known as the _sentiments_. -By this term, as we have seen, is understood the organization of an -acquired disposition—the idea of an object—or complex of such -dispositions (the psychic whole of idea plus its “meaning” derived from -the setting of associated experiences) with one or more innate emotional -dispositions. It must not be overlooked for one moment that a sentiment -is something more than the organization of an emotion or other affect -with an idea. There is nothing novel or fruitful in such a limited -conception of the structure of a sentiment as this. A sentiment in its -structure is the organization of an idea and meaning with an emotional -instinct which has an aim and end which the instinct strives to attain -and which alone satisfies the urge of the instinct. Such a structure has -great significance and the conception is a most fruitful one. For -because of this structure the excitation of the idea necessarily -involves the excitation of the instinct and the impulse of the latter -determines behavior in reference to the object of the idea and carries -the instinct to fruition. Thus if the sentiment be one of love the -excitation of the instincts organized with the object determines through -their urge the behavior to cherish or possess the object of the -sentiment. And the attainment of this aim alone satisfies it. If the -sentiment be one of apprehension of an object the instinct of fear -incites behavior to escape from the danger contained in the meaning of -the object. A sentiment in the hierarchy of units is a unitary system -built up by the organization (through experience) of primary units with -a secondary unitary complex (idea, meaning, etc.). - -The importance of the sentiments in the dynamics of personality and -therefore in the determination of mental and bodily behavior I have -already dwelt upon (Lecture XV). But there is one sentiment which plays -such an important rôle both in these respects and in that unitary system -which we know as the empirical self, or consciousness of self that -something more needs to be said about it. This sentiment is that which -McDougall has termed the “self-regarding sentiment” which is intimately -bound up with the idea or conception of the empirical self, and both -should be considered together. It is only by regarding, as it seems to -me, the conception or idea of the empirical self as a secondary unitary -complex organized by experience that we can approach the solution of the -problem of the self and understand the phenomenon of two selves in one -personality, as so often occurs in multiple personality. - -The self-regarding sentiment, according to McDougall’s theoretical -analysis—and I may say his analysis has been confirmed by my own -practical analyses of concrete cases—has structurally organized within -it by experience the two opposing instincts, self-abasement and -self-assertion, but either may be the dominating one. The idea or -conception of self, proper, is, according to the theory, a complex and -integrated whole organized by experience like the self-regarding -sentiment. “McDougall has argued,” to quote what I have written in a -study of multiple personality,[263] “and I think soundly ‘that the idea -of self and the self-regarding sentiment are essentially social -products; that their development is effected by constant interplay -between personalities, between the self and society; that, for this -reason, the complex conception of self thus attained implies constant -reference to others and to society in general, and is, in fact, not -merely a conception of self, but always one’s self in relation to other -selves.’ But, as I would argue, this formulation must be considerably -broadened. Every sentiment (and therefore the self-regarding sentiment) -has roots in and is consequently related to what has gone before. And -the experiences of what has gone before of the self, i.e., what has been -previously experienced (ideally or realistically) by the individual in -reference to the object of the sentiment, determines the attitude of -mind and point of view towards that object, and is responsible for the -organization of the object and instinct into a sentiment. The sentiment -is the resultant and the expression of those antecedent experiences. -They form its setting and give it meaning beyond the mere emotional -tone. You cannot separate sentiment, conceived as a linked object and -emotional instinct, from such a setting. They form a psychic whole. This -is not only theoretically true, but actual dealings with pathological -sentiments (in which the principle can be most clearly studied), called -phobias and other emotional obsessions, bring out this intimate relation -between the sentiment and the conserved setting of antecedent -experiences. Such practical dealings also show not only that the -sentiment is the outgrowth of and the expression of this setting, but -that by changing the setting the sentiment can be correspondingly -altered.... I want to emphasize that in the dynamic functioning of a -sentiment the setting coöperates in maintaining and carrying it to the -fruition and satisfaction of its aim.” - -So far as concerns the incorporation of the two instincts, -self-abasement and self-assertion, “McDougall with keen insight and -analysis, has argued that the self-regarding sentiment is organized with -these two innate dispositions, but in different degrees in different -individuals, and with the growth of the mind one may replace the other -in the adaptation of the individual to the changing environment. Taking -two extreme types, he draws a picture of the proud, arrogant, -self-assertive, domineering person, with the feeling of masterful -superiority, and angry resentment of criticism and control, and who -knows no shame and is indifferent to moral approval and disapproval. In -this personality the instincts of self-assertion and anger are the -dominating innate dispositions of the self-regarding sentiment. On the -other hand we have the type of the submissive, dependent character, with -a feeling of inferiority, when the contrary disposition is the -dominating one. McDougall’s analysis was beautifully illustrated in the -case of Miss Beauchamp by two personalities, BI and BIV, fragments of -the original self, which were actual specimens from real life of his -theoretic types. Again McDougall’s theoretic analysis of the conception -of self, showing the idea to be one ‘always of one’s self in relation to -other selves,’ is concretely illustrated and substantiated by the -dissection of this mind effected by trauma.” - -The study of another case, that of “Maria” furnished the same results as -respects the two personalities that were manifested, as did that of “B. -C. A.” - -As to the conception of the empirical self and as “an important addition -to this theory both from a structural and dynamic point of view, I would -insist again that the complex conception of self includes a setting of -mental experiences of much wider range, in which the idea of self is -incorporated and which gives the idea meaning. The range of this setting -extends beyond ‘other selves’ and ‘society in general’ and may include -almost any of life’s experiences.” By way of illustration let us take -the two selves known as the “Saint” (BI) and the “Realist” (BIV) in the -case of Miss Beauchamp. "Concretely and more correctly the psychological -interpretation of the ‘reference to others and society in general,’ of -the relation of one’s self to other selves, would in this particular -instance be as follows: the Saint’s conception of self (with the -self-regarding sentiment) was related to an ideal world and ideal selves -contained in religious conceptions; and hence it became organized in a -larger setting which gave it a meaning of divine perfection such as is -obtained, or aspired to by saints, and in which were incorporated the -emotional dispositions of awe, reverence, love, self-abasement, etc. -This conception was not a product of, or related to the social -environment. Rather it was the product of an ideal world. She, as has -been said, lived in a world of idealism, oblivious of the realities -round about her, which she saw not ‘clearly and truly’ but as they were -colored by her imagination. Her idea of self thus became the ‘saintly -sentiment’ of self-perfection. - -“On the other hand the conception of self in BIV, the Realist, was -related to and set in the realities of this social world as they clearly -are, the world of her objective environment. And in this conception of -self the instinctive dispositions of self-assertion and anger -contributed the promptings and motive force to dominate these realities -and bend them to her will.” - -It must be an obvious conclusion from the numerous and multiform -subconscious phenomena which were cited in previous lectures that all -the unitary and complexes and systems which enter into the composite -structure of personality do not necessarily emerge into awareness. Some -function subconsciously and in this way determine conscious mental -processes and behavior. Many remain conserved in the unconscious and -have only a potential reality in that they remain latent but susceptible -of being awakened into activity. It is also true that in the course of -the growth of the personality many become modified by experience and -metamorphosed into new sentiments, new ideals, new desires, new -apprehensions, new meanings, etc. - -The necessity for adaptation of the personality to the realities of life -necessarily gives rise to conflicts, for the urges of some unitary -complexes cannot be satisfied, and some are incompatible with the -situations which reality presents, or with one another. A practical -solution of the problem is compulsory. Compensation is sought. Sometimes -compensation or compromise is successfully attained; sometimes it is -not. Or the solution may be accepted and the urge of a rebellious system -incompatible with the demands of reality is suppressed by voluntary or -automatic repression. When neither compensation nor compromise is -attained, or when the situation is not accepted and the rebellious urge -continues, then disruption or disarrangement of the personality may -follow with such resulting phenomena as have been already described. -Integrated systems may become disintegrated or dissociated, permitting -of independent autonomous functioning of conflicting systems. And of the -unitary systems taking part in such conflicts one or more may, as we -have seen, function subconsciously. Furthermore, as observation shows, -dissociated complexes may take on growth independently of the integrated -systems of the personal consciousness and thus create large subconscious -systems. On the other hand both one or more primary units (innate -dispositions) and secondary unitary complexes and systems (acquired -dispositions) may by the force of conflicts be completely repressed and -cease to function within the personality. Thus, for example, certain -instincts may be suppressed and systematic amnesia and other defects be -produced. And so on. - -Without pursuing further this exposition of the empirical personality or -going into details, it would seem that some such conception of the -structure of personality as that of which I have given a mere outline -will alone satisfy the phenomena actually observed under normal and -abnormal conditions. Indeed the theory would seem to be a compelling -induction from the phenomena derived from clinical observation and -experiment. - -Against this preliminary sketch of the structure and dynamic mechanisms -of the normal personality as a background I will in the next lecture -present a study of a case of dissociated and multiple personality, as -the alterations of structure and the dynamic manifestations observed in -cases of this kind, on the one hand, concretely illustrate the -principles involved, and, on the other, present some of the most -important data on which the theory is founded. - ------ - -Footnote 261: - - “Intelligence tests” therefore do not afford tests of character which - is the most important element of personality from a sociological point - of view. (See “Character vs. Intelligence in Personality Studies” by - Dr. Guy Fernald, _Jour. Abnormal Psychology_, Vol. XV, No. 1.) - -Footnote 262: - - Indeed I cannot see that mental “disposition” has any reality - excepting so far as it is derived from its correlated physiological - disposition. (See p. 266.) - -Footnote 263: - - Miss Beauchamp: “The Theory of the Psychogenesis of Multiple - Personality”; _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, Vol. XV, Nos. 2-3; pp. - 108, 120-121. - - - - - LECTURE XVIII - THE PSYCHOGENESIS OF MULTIPLE PERSONALITY[264] - THE CASE OF B. C. A. - - I - -As an introduction let me say that in a previous lecture (The -Unconscious, Lecture VIII) I pointed out that in a general way -alteration of personality is effected through the primary organization -by experience and later coming into dominating activity of particular -unitary systems of ideas with their affects, on the one hand, and the -displacement by dissociation or inhibition of other conflicting systems -on the other. In slighter degrees and when transient this alteration may -be regarded as a mood. When the alteration is more enduring, and so -marked by contrast with the preceding and normal condition as to -obtrusively alter the character and behavior of the individual and his -capacity for adjustment to his environment, we have a pathological -condition. When the alteration is slight and affects few systems it may -be easily overlooked; or when it is accompanied, as it often is, by -physiological disturbances, it may be so masked by them as to be -mistaken for so-called neurasthenia. It is when the dissociation is so -comprehensive as to deprive the individual of memory of his previous -phase of personality, or of certain acquired knowledge or other -particular experiences that the personality is easily recognized as a -dissociated one. When the inhibiting or repressing force that induces -dissociation ceases to be effective, that is when the dissociated -systems come again into activity and repress the temporarily dominant -systems, then the individual returns to his normal condition (in which -he may or may not remember the dissociated state), just as a person -returns to his habitual character after the passing of a mood. We may -speak of the two phases—the normal and the altered one—as constituting -together _multiple personality_. As these two phases may continue to -alternate with one another they are also alternating personalities. The -second or altered state is also sometimes called a _secondary -personality_. There may be several such secondary personalities which -may alternate with each other or the normal personality. - -It should be noted that the formation of a secondary personality is -primarily the result of two processes, _dissociation_ and _synthesis_ -though it is subject to _secondary growth_ through various processes. As -a result of the first process, dissociation, systems of thought, ideas, -memories, emotions and dispositions previously habitual in the -individual may cease to take part in the affected person’s mental -processes. The influence of these systems with their conative tendencies -is therefore no longer for the time being in play. - -When we pass in review a large number of cases, we find that the systems -of ideas, which (through the dissociating process) cease to take part in -personality, may be quite various. One or more “sides” to one’s -character, for instance, may vanish, and the individual may exhibit -always a single side on all occasions; or the ethical systems built up -and conserved by early pedagogical, social, and environmental training -may cease to take part in the mental processes and regulate conduct; or, -again, the ideas which pertain to the lighter side of life and its -social enjoyments may be lost and only the more serious attributes of -mind retained. There may even be amnesia in consequence of dissociation -for chronological epochs of the individual’s life, or for certain -particular episodes, or for certain specific knowledge, such as -educational acquirements (mathematics, Greek, Latin, music, literature, -etc., or knowledge of a trade or profession, and even of language). -Amnesia alone, however, does not constitute alteration of personality -strictly speaking; for a person may have complete loss of memory for -certain specific experiences without true alteration of character. It is -of important significance, as we shall see, that the dissociated or -inhibited[265] systems may include emotions, instincts and innate -dispositions. - -Examination of recorded cases shows too that besides mental memories, -physiological functions may be involved in the dissociation. Thus there -may be loss of sensation in its various forms, and of the special -senses, or of the power of movement (paralysis), or of visceral -functions (gastric, sexual, etc.). Dissociation may, then, involve quite -large parts of the personality including very precise and definite -physiological and psychological functions. We see examples of these -different dissociations in numerous cases. - -As to the mechanism by which pathological dissociation is effected, it -may be well to point out here that there is no reason to suppose that it -is anything more than an exaggeration of the normal mechanism by which, -on the one hand, mental processes are temporarily inhibited from -entering the field of consciousness, and, on the other, physiological -functions are normally suppressed and prevented from taking part in the -psychophysiological economy. (For instance, the suppression of the -gastro-intestinal functions by an emotional discharge.) Every mental -process involves the repression of some conflicting process; otherwise -all would be chaos in the mind. And every physiological process involves -some repression of another process. The movements of walking involve the -inhibition alternatively of the flexor and extensor muscles according as -which is active in the movement. - -This principle is conspicuous in absent mindedness and voluntary -attention when every antagonistic or irrelevant thought and even -consciousness of the environment is prevented by a conflicting force -from entering the field of consciousness. In other words, every mental -process involves a conflict and inhibition: in physiological terms a -raising of the threshold of the antagonistic mental process in -consequence of which it cannot function unless the stimulus be -increased. This is a normal mechanism and process. The conditions which -determine absolute and continuous dissociation or inhibition become the -object of study. - -By the second process, synthesis, particular unitary systems of ideas -with the conative tendencies of their feeling tones rise to the surface -out of the unconscious and become synthesized with the perceptions, and -such memories and other mental systems and faculties of the individual -as are retained. Thus it may be that unitary dispositions, sentiments -and systems belonging to a particular “side” of the character—the -amiable or the brutal, the unselfish or the selfish, the ungenerous or -the generous, the practical or the idealistic, the literary or the -business, the religious or worldly, the youthful and gay, or the mature -and serious, etc., to any side may become uppermost and be the dominant -trait of the secondary personality. Or it may be that the systems of -ideas, disposition, etc., belonging to childhood and long outgrown, but -conserved nevertheless in the unconscious, may be resurrected and -becoming synthesized with other systems form a personality childish in -character. Or, again, sentiments, thoughts, dispositions, tendencies, -instincts which, though intimately belonging to the individual, have -been restrained, repressed, concealed from the world for one reason or -another, may, being set free through dissociation from the repressing -thoughts, rise to the surface and take part in the synthesis of the new -personality. - -In other words there is a rearrangement and readjustment of the innate -dispositions and those deposited by the experiences of life which go to -form personality. Some by the process of dissociation are expelled from -the personal synthesis; some which had been previously expelled -(repressed) by education, maturity of character, direct volition, and -other processes of mental development are brought back into it. - -It is obvious that when such rearrangements and readjustments have -occurred the mental reactions of the individual will vary largely from -what they were before. The reaction to the environment will become -altered. When systems which give rise to the habitual modes of thought -are dissociated, naturally the reactions of the individual will not be -influenced by them but by those of the new synthesis, and the character -will be correspondingly changed. Inasmuch as out of the great storehouse -of the unconscious any number of combinations of systems may be -arranged, it is obvious that any number of secondary personalities may -be formed in the same person. As many as ten or twelve have been -observed. - -A study of cases which have come under my personal observation, and the -reports to be found in the literature of those cases of multiple -personality which have been studied with sufficient intensity and -exhaustiveness, allow these general and preliminary statements, which -are little more than descriptive of the facts, to be verified.[266] One -of the best examples is the case of B. C. A. which I had an opportunity -of studying over a long period of time, and to which reference has been -frequently made. I shall take this as the object of our study in -psychogenesis.[267] - -This subject has herself written at my request two introspective -analyses of her own case, one by the normal personality and the other by -the secondary personality. These analyses are of great value.[268] They -give different versions of the same facts in accordance with the -differing memories, knowledge and points of view of the differing -personalities. The second also gives an account of the claimed -co-conscious life as experienced by herself and unknown to the normal -personality. We cannot do better than take them as a basis for a genetic -study of the case and reproduce portions of them here. In this study I -have made use, in addition to this material, of a large number of -personal observations extending over five years, of numerous letters and -analyses written by the subject at different times in her various phases -of personality, of the memories in hypnosis, in which state many -subconscious and dissociated perceptions and thoughts not otherwise -remembered are brought to light, and of numerous analyses of her -memories made on many occasions, at the expense of many hours of labor. -Other sources of information have also been made use of. This -investigation has resulted in a voluminous collection of records filling -several large portfolios. In making the analyses and in many of the -letters the subject, with extreme frankness and in the interests of -psychology has gone in great detail into and has laid bare the most -intimate facts of her mental life. This is true of each of the phases of -personality, so that the point of view from which the same facts were -seen in different moods has been obtained. This is a matter of no small -consequence as the same fact often acquires a different aspect or -meaning according to the view point of the mood in which it is -experienced. A large amount of data pertaining to the inner life of the -subject has thus become accessible. It is obvious that data of this sort -are necessary if the psychological status of any given period of an -individual’s life is to be related to antecedent mental experiences as -etiological factors. But this sort of data is that which usually is most -difficult to obtain. Our inner lives we keep hidden as in a sealed book -from the world. In all published reports of multiple personality these -data are lacking, the studies dealing almost entirely with such facts -only as were open to the observation of the investigator. It necessarily -results from such a study of the inner life of a person living in the -circle to which this subject belongs that many of the data are too -intimate and personal for publication. However much one may be -interested in science there is a point beyond which one shrinks from -exposing one’s self in print. I am, therefore, at many points very -properly limited to the use of general phrases and summarizing -expressions instead of explicit statements of particular facts which, I -am aware, would be more satisfactory to the critic. This limitation -cannot be helped, but is probably compensated for by the fact that, if -it did not exist, the subject would be one whose introspective -observations would be of much less value. - -I will only add to this statement that the data were not collected in -support of a preconceived theory or even of a working hypothesis, but -only after they were gathered—in fact, after much of this material was -forgotten—were they brought together and studied. It was then found that -when the different pieces of evidence were pieced together they allowed -of only one conclusion, namely, that which the subject herself in the -main reached independently as the facts were laid bare and brought into -the field of her consciousness by the means I have described. - -By way of preface to the subject’s introspective analyses I reproduce -here the following remarks, which I wrote as an introduction to the -“Life,” but slightly expanded and with a few verbal changes to make the -matter clearer. - -An account of the various phases of dissociated personality written by -the patient after recovery and restoration of memory for all the -different phases cannot fail to be of interest. If the writer is endowed -with the capacity for accurate introspection and statement such an -account ought to give an insight into the condition of the mind during -these dissociated states that is difficult to obtain from objective -observation, or, if elicited from a clinical narration of the patient, -to accurately transcribe. In that remarkable book, “A Mind that Found -Itself,” the author, writing after recovery from insanity, has given us -a unique insight into the insane mind. Similarly the writer of the -following account allows us to see the beginnings of the differentiation -of her mind into complexes, the final development of a dissociated or -multiple personality, and to understand the moods, points of view, -motives, and dominating ideas which characterized each phase. Such an -account could only be given by a person who has had the experience, and -who has the introspective and literary capacity to describe it. - -The writer in publishing, though with some reluctance and at my request, -her experiences as a multiple personality, is actuated only, as I can -testify, by a desire to contribute to our knowledge of such conditions. -The experiences of her illness—now happily recovered from—have led her -to take an active interest in abnormal psychology and to inform herself, -so far as is possible by the study of the literature, on many of the -problems involved. The training thus acquired has plainly added to the -accuracy and value of her introspective observations. - -A brief preliminary statement will be necessary in order that the -account as told by the patient may be fully intelligible. - -The subject was under my observation for about four years. When first -seen the case presented the ordinary picture of so-called neurasthenia, -characterized by persistent fatigue and the usual somatic symptoms, and -by moral doubts and scruples. This condition, at first unsuspected, was -later found to be a phase of multiple personality and was then termed -and is described in the following account as state or personality A. -Later another state, spoken of as personality B, suddenly developed. A -had no memory of B, but the latter had full knowledge of A. Besides -differences in memory A and B manifested distinct and markedly different -characteristics and traits which included moods, tastes, health, -emotions, feelings, instincts, sentiments, points of view, habits of -thought, and controlling ideas. In place, for instance, of the -depression, fatigue, and moral doubts and scruples of A, B manifested -rather a condition of exaltation, and complete freedom from neurasthenia -and its accompanying obsessional ideas. A and B alternated during a long -period of time with one another. After A, for example, had existed as a -personality for a number of hours or days she changed to B, and vice -versa. After the first appearance of B it was soon recognized that both -states were only fragments, so to speak, or phases of a dissociated -personality, and neither represented the normal complete personality. -After prolonged study this latter normal state was obtained in hypnosis -(c´), and on being waked up a personality was found which possessed the -combined memories of A and B, and was free from the pathological -stigmata which respectively characterized each. This normal person is -spoken of as C. Normal C had, therefore, been split and resynthesized -into two systems of complexes or personalities, A and B. Leaving out for -the sake of simplicity certain intermediate hypnotic states, A and B -could be hypnotized into a single hypnotic state which was a synthesis -that could be recognized as a complete normal personality in hypnosis. -All that remained to do was to wake up this state and we had the normal -C. This process could be reversed and repeated as often as desired: that -is, C could be split again into A and B, then resynthesized in c´ who -when awakened became C again. This relationship may be diagramatically -expressed as follows:[269] - -[Illustration] - -The various traits which characterized and differentiated the different -personalities will appear in the course of this genetic study. With this -introduction we will proceed to the latter. - - II - THE DISRUPTION OF PERSONALITY - -The first of the accounts above mentioned by the _normal_ personality, -C, written after recovery, is in the form of a letter. She had complete -memory for both her phases A and B. It will be noticed in passing that -this normal self speaks of the phases A and B as herself, transformed to -be sure, but still herself in different “states.” “As A, _I_ felt” so -and so, “as B, _I_ felt” thus, etc. On the other hand, the secondary -personality, B, in her account, always refers to the other personalities -as distinct personages, and uses the third person “she” in speaking of -them. In this matter of differentiation of personalities B was very -insistent, maintaining, as has been frequently noted in other cases, -that she had no sense of identity of her own self-consciousness with -that of the others. “I am, at any rate, a distinct personality,” she -remarks. In her consciousness there was no feeling that the -self-consciousness of C and A was identical with her own, but the -contrary. This frequent phenomenon presents a standpoint from which the -problem of the “I” may be studied. What is it that determines the -self-consciousness of an ego? We are not concerned with this old -question at present, but it is worth noting that cases of dissociated -personality offer favorable material for the solution of the problem. - -The following extracts from the accounts by “C” and “B” have been taken -as a basis for our analysis which will further attempt to coordinate the -two accounts and to clarify the psychological development of the case. - - FROM ACCOUNT GIVEN BY THE NORMAL PERSONALITY C AFTER RECOVERY - - MY DEAR DR. PRINCE, - - You have asked me to give you an account of my illness as it seems to - me now that I am myself and well; describing myself in those changes - of personality which we have called “A” and “B.” - - It is always difficult for one to analyze one’s self accurately and - the conditions have been very complex. I think, however, that I have a - clear conception and appreciation of my case. I remember myself - perfectly as “A” and as “B.” I remember my thoughts, my feelings, and - my points of view in each personality, and can see where they are the - same and where they depart from my normal self. These points of view - will appear as we go on and I feel sure that my memory can be trusted. - I recall clearly how in each state I regarded the other state and how - in each I regarded myself. - - As I have said, I have now, as “C,” all the memories of both states - (though none of the co-conscious life which, as B, I claimed and - believed I had). _These memories are clearly differentiated in my - mind._[270] It would be impossible to confuse the two as the moods - which governed each were so absolutely different, but it is quite - another thing to make them distinct on paper. I have, however, been so - constantly under your observation that you can, no doubt, correct any - statement I may make which is not borne out by your own knowledge. - - I am, perhaps, of a somewhat emotional nature, and have never been - very strong physically though nothing of an invalid. I have always - been self-controlled and not at all hysterical, as I would use the - word. On the contrary, I was, I am sure, considered a very sensible - woman by those who know me well, though I am not so sure what they may - think of me now. I am, however, very sensitive and responsive to - impressions in the sense that I am easily affected by my environment. - For instance, at the theatre I lose myself in the play and feel keenly - all the emotions portrayed by the actors. _These emotions are - reflected vividly in my face and manner sometimes to the amusement of - those with me and, if the scene is a painful one, it often takes me a - long time to recover from the effect of it. The same is true of scenes - from actual life._[271] - - Before this disintegration took place I had borne great responsibility - and great sorrow with what I think I am justified in calling - fortitude, and I do not think the facts of my previous life would - warrant the assumption that I was naturally nervously unstable. It - does not carry great weight, I know, for one to say of one’s self,—I - am sensible, I am stable, I am not hysterical,—but I believe the - statement can be corroborated by the testimony of those who have known - me through my years of trial. The point I wish to make is that my case - shows that such an illness as I have had is possible to a - constitutionally stable person and is not confined to those of an - hysterical tendency. - - A year previous to this division of personality a long nervous strain, - covering a period of four years, had culminated in the death of one - very dear to me—my husband. I was, at the end of that period, in good - physical health, though nervously worn, but this death occurred in - such a way as to cause me a great shock, and within the six days - following I lost twenty pounds in weight. For nearly three months I - went almost entirely without food, seemingly not eating enough to - sustain life. I did not average more than three or four hours’ sleep - out of the twenty-four, but I felt neither hungry nor faint, and was - extremely busy and active, being absorbed both by home - responsibilities and business affairs. The end of the year (5 years - after the beginning of my husband’s illness), however, found me in - very poor health physically and I was nervously and mentally - exhausted. I was depressed, sad, felt that I had lost all that made - life worth living and, indeed, I wished to die. I was very nervous, - unable to eat or sleep, easily fatigued, suffered constantly from - headache, to which I had always been subject, and was not able to take - much exercise. The physician under whose care I was at this time told - me, when I asked him to give my condition a name, that I was suffering - from “nervous and cerebral exhaustion.” - - _It was at this time that the shock which caused the division of - personality occurred_ [_resulting_ in period III]. - -Although this last statement is true so far as concerns the complete -dissociation of personality which resulted in the birth of an -independent alternating personality, the first beginning of the genesis -of that personality can be traced back to a far earlier period when she -was about twenty years of age, that is to say _nineteen years before the -final cleavage. These beginnings were an embryonic cluster or unitary -complex of rebellious ideas, “floating thoughts, impulses, desires, -inclinations” and intense feelings which came into being at this early -period in consequence of an emotional trauma._ - -I propose to trace in the course of this study, first, the gradual -growth by successive syntheses of this rebellious cluster with other -idea-clusters during a period of _fourteen_ years. - -Second, its incubation, organization and segregation from the main -personality during a second period of _five_ years as a fairly well -defined unitary complex known as the _B complex_. - -Third, the culmination of the incubating process and, as the result of -an emotional shock, final bursting into flower of the B complex as the -_B personality_ (i.e., nineteen years from the time of the beginning of -disaggregation through rebellious thoughts). - -Fourth, the reversion to the original personality, but now one so -disintegrated, shorn and shattered by the segregation of the autonomous -B complex and of certain instincts as to be a so-called secondary -disintegrated _personality_, _A_. - -Fifth, the alternation of these two strongly contrasted abnormal -personalities. - -Finally, the reintegration of the two abnormal personalities into one -normal original personality, C. - -In following the evolution of the personalities my main purpose will be -to bring to light the psychological forces which brought about the -disaggregation, on the one hand, and the synthetic construction of the -new personal systems, on the other. The following arrangement of these -changes in the personality by periods will be convenient for -reference.[272] - - Period I. From wedding to beginning of husband’s illness - (14 years) characterized by a group of - rebellious ideas. - - Period II. During husband’s illness (4 years) and one year - thereafter (5 years), characterized by B - _complex_ and terminating with shock. - - Period III. Beginning with shock, characterized by B - _personality_ and terminating one month later - by another shock in - - Period IV. _Personality_ A, plus B complex, lasting one - week, followed by - - Period V. Characterized by alternations of A and B - personalities and lasting several years until - reintegrated in original normal personality, - C. - -All these changes from period I to IV inclusive were caused by emotional -shocks awakened by a common factor in closely associated situations. In -period IV the A personality had no amnesia for personality B. This -amnesia developed in period V. - - THE REBELLION - - PERIOD I - -The writer C in her account passes over the early first period, but she -remembers clearly the historical facts and has given a very precise -description of them in the many analyses which have been made and -recorded. Moreover in the second account,[273] written in the secondary -B phase of personality, she recognizes the embryonic emotional complex -of this first period, and its genetic relation to the later B _complex_, -and to her own still later developed B _personality_. “This complex” she -(B) wrote, “it seems to me is the same, though only slightly developed, -as that which appeared later and is described as complex B. In trying to -explain this condition, which it seems to me was the first start of what -ultimately resulted in a division of personality, I will divide the time -into periods, and I will call this period I.” (This same division into -periods I have thought it well to follow.) She also identified the ideas -of this early complex with ideas and feelings which she still -entertained and which formed a marked characteristic of her own -dissociated (B) personality. - -For the sake of clearness and simplicity of phraseology it will be well -from now on to speak of the subject when in the dissociated B state -simply as B, and when united in the normal state as C. In this way, as C -points out, we shall avoid constant repetition and circumlocution in -such phrases as, “when the subject was in the B state,” etc. You must -not, however, be misled by the connotation of terms and read into this -nomenclature more than the psychological facts warrant, or make -distinctions of personality which transcend in any way psychological -laws. Dissociated and multiple personality are not novel freak -phenomena, but are only exaggerations of the normal and due to -exaggerations of normal processes, and it is for this reason that they -are of interest and importance. For, being exaggerations, they -accentuate and bring out into high relief certain tendencies and -functional mechanisms which belong to normal conditions, and they -differentiate mental processes, one from another, which normally are not -so easily recognized. - -They are caricatures, so to speak, of the normal. In one respect they -may be likened to the staining of an anatomical specimen prepared for -the microscope by which the various anatomical structures are brought -out into strong contrast with one another and easily differentiated, -like the boundaries of countries on a colored map. Without the staining -all would have a homogeneous appearance and differentiation would be -difficult. So, though a secondary personality is in one sense but a -phase of the whole personality, it is characterized largely by an -accentuation or domination of particular constituents to be found in the -given normal everyday personality, and by the subordination or -suppression of others, both being effected by the exaggeration of the -normal processes of dissociation and synthesis. In such a secondary -personality these constituents and processes are easily recognized -though they may be hidden under normal conditions. In saying that a -secondary personality is a phase of the whole personality the latter -term—whole personality—must be taken in the sense of including all the -past experiences of life which have been organized, deposited and -conserved in the unconscious, and all the instincts and innate -dispositions of the individual. These past experiences form, as we have -seen,[274] a storehouse of formative material which, for the most part, -under ordinary conditions, may lie dormant though potential; but any -elements of this material may, under special influences, be awakened to -activity and, uniting with particular constituents of the normal -everyday personality, take part under the urge of their own instinctive -impulses and dispositions in the formation of a new personality. The -remainder of the normal personality then becomes submerged and dormant -in the unconscious. - -To return to the evolution of the B personality. If this final phase be -correctly traced back 19 years to the early antecedent rebellious -complex above referred to, we shall see that the evolution of multiple -personality in this case passed through several successive stages and -was of slow growth. Speaking generally, it may, indeed, be ascribed, -primarily, on the one hand, to the disruptive or dissociating effect of -continuous _conflicts_ between the opposing impulses of innate -dispositions and instincts (emotions), and, on the other, to the gradual -synthesization of the components of personality repressed by these -conflicts into the subconscious. The secondary incubation of these -repressed and other deposited experiences of life followed, with the -final setting free of all this formative material, when fully matured, -by the force, awakened by a trauma, of the conative emotional impulses -belonging to it. The analogues of these phenomena and mechanisms are -observed in sudden religious conversion which in principle is an -alteration of personality.[275] - -All the historical evidence at hand, derived from searching -investigation, goes to show that at the early period to which I have -referred (period I) the subject received an emotional shock, “which,” B -wrote, “it seems to me, as I look at it now, resulted in the first -cleavage of personality. This emotion was one of fright and led to -rebellion [in the form of rebellious thoughts] against a certain -condition of her life, and formed a small vague complex [of thoughts and -emotions] which persisted in the sense that it recurred from time to -time, though it was always immediately suppressed.”[276] And this vague -complex of rebellious thoughts necessarily soon gave rise to and -included other “floating thoughts, impulses, desires, inclinations,” all -of which the subject suppressed or endeavored to suppress during a long -period of years. “This complex,” she adds, as quoted above, “it seems to -me, was the same, though only slightly developed, as that which appeared -later, and is described as complex B.” - -The “shock” when more deeply analyzed proved to be the excitation of -certain emotions which, besides a mild degree of fright, were intense -repugnance or disgust. They were a reaction to or defense against -another affect, which was also excited and which we will term, in -deference to our subject’s good taste, X. The emotion of repugnance was -so intense as to require considerable fortitude to withstand and gave -rise to much agitation. It accompanied a cluster of “rebellious” ideas -awakened by the realization of an unexpectedly disagreeable situation -and relation. This cluster I shall call the _rebellious complex_ to -distinguish it from the later B complex into which it became -constellated. This rebellious complex with the emotion of repugnance -(instinct of repulsion) was of necessity frequently excited by the -conditions of life and, therefore, of frequent recurrence, after the -fashion of an obsession. After the first shock the fright naturally -subsided, for one reason, from habituation to the conditions. The X -affect, never experienced before, from the very first was repressed by -the inhibiting force of the more intense emotion of disgust.[277] Fear -also was involved in this repression, for there was a conflict between -the opposing forces of conflicting emotions; and in such a conflict—as, -for example, between fear and anger—the stronger tends to repress its -antagonist and whatever it conflicts with. Consequently the recurring -rebellious complex was habitually accompanied by repugnance alone. The -exact constitution of this rebellious complex I am not at liberty to -mention. It may have been a matter of mother-in-law, or of social -arrangements, or particular duties and responsibilities, or something -else—it does not matter and it is not necessary to say. It was a -shrinking from a particular condition of her life. It was certainly not -a wish unless this repugnance and “kicking against the pricks” can be -twisted into its opposite as a wish to be free from the objectionable -condition. Still less was it a morally unacceptable unconscious, being -just the opposite; for both the rebellious thoughts and the wish to be -free from the condition objected to were acceptable and justified to -herself in her mind, and, in her secret thoughts at least, tolerated as -natural and reasonable.[278] Nor was the X affect an _intolerable_ wish. -If a wish there was no reason why it should not have been gratified. -Nevertheless, as B affirms, the rebellious thoughts were put out of -mind, as thoughts of a disagreeable fact, as they arose from time to -time; but this was only from a sense of duty in consideration of -responsibilities undertaken. I could make this clearer if I were at -liberty to enter into the details of these rebellious thoughts. Her life -in every other respect was an unusually happy one, surrounded by all -that one should desire, and included a devoted husband whom she loved, -admired and respected. For these reasons alone she felt it a duty to -suppress all expression of her rebellious feelings. - -The main point, from the point of view of psychogenesis, is that at this -early stage we have constantly _recurring conflicts between the conative -forces pertaining to emotions linked with sentiments of duty, loyalty, -and affection, on the one hand, and those pertaining to the rebellious -thoughts with corresponding desires, impulses, etc., reinforced with the -emotion of repugnance, on the other_. The former always won and the -latter were inhibited or repressed into the unconscious. These were not -the only rebellious thoughts that were repressed. There were others from -which the original rebellion received accretions. That such constantly -repressed thoughts with their strong feeling tones should be conserved -in the unconscious was a psychological necessity, and also that they -should emerge by the force of their own urge into consciousness from -time to time like an obsession whenever stimulated by environmental and -personal conditions. I may simply cite the two following simple -examples. - -The subject, governed by the maternal instinct, naturally loved to take -care of her baby and “make things for him to wear, and fuss over them”; -and yet there were “floating thoughts” of an opposite character which -later, as will appear, emerged and became conspicuous in the B complex -and B personality. “She was very fond of her father-in-law and did -everything to make him happy,” and yet there were other thoughts which -conceived of him as a “fussy old bother.” These again were represented -later in the loss of sentiments of affection and in the point of view of -the B phases. There was no real dissociation and doubling of -consciousness; these conflicting attitudes and tendencies were, at least -in the beginning until the later period of stress and strain when they -eventuated in corresponding action, merely _evanescent thoughts, wishes -and impulses which easily passed out of mind_, or an undercurrent of -thought such as all of us have more or less. - -Later, when they became more insistent and persistent, they had to be -repressed by an effort of will. - -Then it followed that C, conscious of these contrary impulses, -reproached herself for them, thought herself wicked to have them, and -when they became insistent repressed them. Their intrusion into -consciousness was probably favored by a considerable degree of -neurasthenia, for when she was ill they were more frequent and -obtrusive, while with good health and happiness they disappeared, as is -the case with all obsessing ideas. - -The occurrence of such contrary impulses would probably have been of no -account and nothing more would have been heard from them, as in the case -of ordinary mortals, if it had not been for a period of stress and -strain which she was destined to undergo. As it was, the awakening of -these contrary thoughts and impulses was fraught with a danger to the -psychical unity, a danger that actually materialized, namely: as these -conflicting impulses, being also rebellious against the conditions of -life, were constantly awakened contemporaneously with the specialized -frequently recurring “rebellious complex,” the whole tended to become -synthesized into a large complex which later, during the second period -of stress and strain, became in turn the nucleus of a still larger -complex (B). During this latter period, as we shall see, like the forces -of a growing political revolution, the rebellious thoughts and impulses -increased in number, frequency and intensity, until there were times -when they acquired the mastery in the conflicts and repressed the -previously opposing thoughts of duty, affection, etc., and dominated the -personality. The effect of such intense conflict was to cause by -repression a rift in the personality, i.e., to dissociate a large system -of ideas (with their emotions), from other systems. All this will appear -as we go on. - -There is another point which it is interesting here to note. The -secondary phase B looking back recognizes (i.e., has a sense of -awareness) that the “rebellious thoughts” and the various contrary -impulses were herself. “_I was the rebellion_;” “I think of the -rebellion as myself;” “I was the rebellion which she kept to herself;” -“The first complex formed a something I am;” “I think I am made up of -all the impulses which began to come then;” "It seems to me, as I think -of it now, that I was always there—sometimes more, sometimes less—in the -form of conflicting impulses.“ In these and similar phrases B, over and -over again, in numerous analyses at widely separated intervals, -identifies these early conscious processes with her own individuality. -Nevertheless, ”_I was not an_ I _then_, you know," she explains, “but to -understand what I write you will have to call me so. I remember them now -as my thoughts, but at that time I never thought of myself as a self.” -“I never thought, ‘I’ do not like this or that then; _it was like an -impulse in the other direction_.” Let it not be forgotten, then, that at -the beginning the rebellious complex and impulses were not synthesized -and segregated as an ego. Nevertheless, in fact, whenever she attempts -to describe the early rebellious complex and the impulses she drops into -the mode of saying, “I felt so and so,” and finds herself obliged to use -this personal pronoun when thinking of these past thoughts, and the same -is true when she speaks of the more fully developed subsequent B -complex. - -You will say that there is nothing particularly remarkable or unusual in -this. We all think of our past thoughts as our own, even when they -occurred, say, in absent mindedness when there was no consciousness of -self. _But the unusual thing is that B—the subject in the B phase of -personality—does not think of C’s other thoughts or conscious -experiences as her own._ In fact she persistently refuses to recognize -these others as hers. She has no feeling of their having belonged to her -own consciousness. “They were not my thoughts,” she says. This is true -of this other content of the conscious life of the early first period as -well as of the later periods when the B complex and the B personality -appeared. “_She_ liked,” such and such a thing; “_I_ didn’t!” "_She_ -thought,“ so and so; ”_I_ didn’t;" referring respectively to the -thoughts of the dominant consciousness and the contrary thoughts. “Yet -in referring to the B _complex_,” she writes of the second period, “I -find myself continually saying ‘I’; it is difficult not to do so. This, -I think, must show the intimate relation between the two. I think of the -B complex and I find I think of it as myself, although I do not think of -A and C as myself, and they do not seem to be my own personality.” - -This feeling by a secondary personality that certain conscious -experiences belong, or belonged, to her own personal consciousness or -ego and that others do not, or did not, belong is a common phenomenon in -such cases and is of great significance. It is a phenomenon which -justifies the inference that the relation which one system of ideas -bears to that which we call the ego is different from that of the other -system; it is a phenomenon, too, which must be taken into account in -solving the problem of the ego. When we study the records of cases of -multiple personality we find as a frequent observation that the -secondary personality distinguishes between the conscious experiences -which belong to itself and those which belong to the principal -personality, and to other secondary personalities, if more than one. -This differentiation is based upon the feeling of a particular -self-consciousness being attached to the former and not to the latter. -The conception of self and the self-regarding sentiment differ markedly -in their content in the different phases of personality. The analysis of -their contents shows this to be the case: e. g., the contained images -and affects. It is not, therefore, simply a matter of the experiences -occurring at different chronological epochs. Indeed the two different -sets of experiences may be synchronous, one being conscious and the -other co-conscious. - -I have passed over a question which is sure to be asked: Why did the -“unexpectedly disagreeable” situation, whatever it was, occasion the -“shock” and the rebellious complex? I may say frankly that the situation -was not one which would induce such a disastrous effect in the ordinary -individual. The answer is to be found in the principle of settings which -give meaning to ideas. [Every idea over and above the sensory images -which take part in its content has meaning; and the meaning is -determined by antecedent experiences (thoughts, perceptions, feelings, -etc.) with which it is associated, i.e., in which it is set. An idea of -a particular individual, for example, has one meaning for one person and -another meaning for another according to the associated mental -experiences of each. These experiences form the setting or context which -determines the meaning, point of view, and attitude of mind towards any -given object or situation presented to consciousness.][279] Whenever an -emotional “shock” (one that is not a simple instinct reaction) occurs, -this setting of antecedent experiences, organized with the idea and -emotions, acts as a unitary complex, a psychic whole, and behaves as a -sort of psychological torch which some later experience sets aflame, so -to speak, as an emotional shock. Because of this setting the idea reacts -in accordance with the emotions (fear, disgust, etc.) which the -“meaning” includes, and induces a defense reaction. Now analytical -investigation revealed settings to the “situation” dating in part from -early childhood and in part from later experiences. An attitude of mind, -therefore, already existed which was ready to react with the emotions -(fear and disgust) which were excited by the meaning of the situation. -It is easy to see, in the light of the actual facts, that if a certain -factor of the situation had been altered, without altering the situation -itself, its meaning would have been altered, i.e., it would not have -awakened the setting built up by the experiences of life, and would not -have excited the emotional response (shock) that ensued. - - DISSOCIATION - -But the organization of an emotional complex was not the whole effect of -these experiences. In addition, if the memories of B can be trusted—and -I believe they can—there resulted in a minor degree a cleavage or -dissociation of personality. This was not so pronounced as to give rise -to noticeable pathological manifestations, but apparently sufficient to -make at least a line of indenture, so to speak, which afterwards was -easily broadened and deepened into a complete dissociation. This is not -easy to demonstrate at this late date, but there are certain facts that -have some evidential value. - -In the first place, according to the evidence, there developed a -tendency in what we have called the rebellious complex to take on -independent activity, or an automatism after the nature of an obsession, -outside the domain of the will and self-control. No amount of reasoning -or of self-reproach sufficed to change the point of view. Like an -obsession it would not down and recurred automatically. - -In the second place, it seems, according to B’s memories, that the -activity of the rebellious complex of ideas began to take place to a -certain extent outside the focus of the attentive consciousness, in the -sense that the personal consciousness was not conscious or aware of -their presence. This means that at times when the ideas in question were -not in consciousness, and therefore might be supposed to be dormant in -the unconscious, they recurred nevertheless and were in subconscious -activity, i.e., were co-conscious. This statement is based upon the -interrogation of B who to the best of her memory thought that the -“rebellious ideas were split off and went on by themselves while the -subject C was thinking of other things, without her being aware of -them.” “They were co-conscious as I know it now.” - -Too much weight should not be laid upon memories of this kind after such -long intervals of time, and I would not be understood as doing so; but -that the memories of this secondary personality may be given their just -value it should be explained that, like some other secondary -personalities, B’s memory embraces not only the mental states (thoughts, -perceptions, feelings, etc.,) of the principal personality which were -within the focus of attention, but those which were in the fringe or -margin of awareness and those which were entirely outside, i.e., fully -subconscious. This has proved to be the case by numerous test -observations and experiments. B might, therefore, remember split off -(co-conscious) rebellious states if they existed. One reason for this -enlargement of the field of memory of this phase of personality is that -besides being an alternating personality[280] she is a co-conscious -personality. But this is another story which we shall have to postpone -for the present. - -In the third place, the constant invasion of the field of the personal -consciousness by the contrary impulses, which I have already spoken of, -suggest, if they do not establish, a certain degree of automatic -activity arising from the unconscious and dissociated from the rest of -the conscious field. In the light of what has already been told and of -later developments, to be described in the next lecture, the inference -assumes a high degree of probability that these impulses were -manifestations of ideas and feeling tones belonging to an earlier period -of life—childhood or girlhood—which had been conserved in the -unconscious and which now erupted into the field of the personal -co-consciousness. - -I do not want to make too much of these early tendencies to dissociation -nor is the matter important. For historical comprehension, however, it -is desirable that the facts should be mentioned for, if our -interpretation be correct, they were evidently steps in the evolution of -the final disintegration. - -Thus matters went on during this first period, covering a span of 14 -years; sometimes the rebellious complex, enlarged and constellated with -conflicting thoughts, desires and impulses, recurred with frequency, and -sometimes they remained dormant for considerable intervals, the state of -general health apparently often being the conditioning factor. - - III - THE EVOLUTION OF THE B COMPLEX - - PERIOD II - -At the end of the 14-year span—when the _second period_ begins—the -subject “received a great shock in the sudden illness of her husband. -This illness was of such a nature that she knew no complete recovery was -possible and that death might result at any time.” This second shock -aroused once more the emotion of fright, and the old rebellion and a -certain apprehensiveness, a trait which is inherent to a marked degree -in her character. During the following four years which covered the -illness of her husband she was almost literally torn to pieces mentally -by this apprehensiveness—always anticipating the inevitable hanging over -her. - -After the first two weeks, when her husband’s temporary recovery took -place, the same old rebellious complex returned with intensified force -as the condition that gave rise to it returned. But she repressed all -expression of it, resolved that no one should guess her secret because -she did not wish to give pain to another. So she kept her secret to -herself, and what she kept to herself became the _beginnings_ of a new -personality. “Then came the nervous strain of sorrow, anxiety, and care, -and the inability to reconcile herself to the inevitable. This nervous -strain continued for four years. C’s life during this time was given up -entirely to the care of her husband; she tried to live up to her -ideal—which was a high one—of duty and responsibility, and always having -the sense of failure, discouragement and apprehension.” Necessarily she -was cut off from the social world of gaiety by the care that devolved -upon her or, considering her temperament, thought she was. A person of -less intense feeling and governed by pure intellect quite likely might -have reasonably arranged her life so that she could have both given all -the care she wished to the invalid, on the one hand, and participated in -the pleasures of social life, on the other. But, like many anxious wives -and mothers whom all physicians see, her anxiety and feelings were too -intense for such cool reasoning, her mind became single tracked and she -shut herself off from the world she loved. Consequently, during this -period of stress and strain the old rebellious complex not only became -intensified and more persistent, but also became enlarged and -systematized with a still larger cluster of rebellious thoughts. To the -old rebellion there was now added a rebellion against the hardness of -fate which was about to cheat her out of the happiness which belonged to -her, and still more against the new conditions of life as she found -them. This is what the incurable illness of her husband meant to her. - - She rebelled bitterly [B writes in a letter;] she _could_ not have it - so and it _was_ so. No one knew what his illness was and she bent - every energy to conceal his true condition. She blamed herself for his - illness [in her ignorance of the pathology of disease], and after a - time she began to have that sense of being double. More than anything - else she wanted to be happy; she saw all happiness going and she could - _not_ let it go—it _must_ not—she _would_ be happy, and she - _couldn’t_. It was a fight with herself all the time. We were A and B - then just as much as we are now. The part that afterwards became A - doing all that a devoted conscientious wife could do, determined that - her husband should never miss anything of love and care; and the part - that afterwards became B rebelling against it all, not willing to give - up her youth, longing for pleasure, and above all for happiness. To be - happy, that was always the cry, and it was not possible. - -It was a longing for conditions which in her mind seemed essential, and -she could not accept the conditions as they were. “It was a rebellion, a -longing for happiness, a disinclination to give up the pleasures of life -which the conditions required; and there was a certain _determination to -have these pleasures in spite of everything_, and this resulted in a -constant struggle between C and this complex.” It was that inability, -which is so common and causes so much mental disturbance and unhappiness -in so many people, to reconcile and adjust oneself to the actual -situation of one’s life and accept it. And here, in the case of B. C. -A., we recognize in the center of the rebellion of this second period of -stress and strain, the same thoughts which had cropped up evanescently -during the first period but now become more intense and persistent, more -disturbing and the fundamental, cause of the inability to adjust herself -to the situation. - -These thoughts, however, were not tolerated by the subject and were put -out of mind and _repressed into the unconscious by her rightmindedness_. -It thus became a matter of conflict between the light-hearted gay -sentiments and temperament of inexperienced youth which, in ignorance of -life, finds it difficult to accept its serious responsibilities, and the -sentiments of honor, duty, and affection which were the dominating -traits. These facts are too intimate to go into in greater detail, but -each one will probably recognize in himself some such conflicting -desires and tendencies. - -This is the place to point out certain major traits in the character of -B. C. A. which enable us to recognize more clearly the source of the -conflicting impulses and help to make intelligible their uprushes. There -were two strongly marked elements in her character which had always been -noticeable and which, given the appropriate conditions, were almost -bound to come in conflict. B. C. A. during all her girlhood days and -early married life was noted for her happy, buoyant, lively, -light-hearted disposition. She was ready at all times for pleasure and -could not bear to give it up, and she had an unusually intense desire to -be happy; she loved happiness and wanted happiness, and when happiness -dominated, as it generally did in a person of such a disposition, she -was filled with the “joy of life.” Responsive to her environment,[281] -when her surroundings were sympathetic all the joy and mirth of her own -personality was given out and reflected upon others. She was of an -intense nature in that she felt all the anxieties, sorrows, and joys of -life with great and equal intensity. But it was joy and happiness which -appealed to her as the one thing she must preserve. This was one of her -character traits. - -On the other hand, the second trait was equally strong, namely, -unreasonably high moral ideals, so high even in the little every day -affairs of life that only a strong stern fanatic or ascetic could live -consistently and perpetually up to them; she was intensely conscientious -and high-minded with an almost inordinate sense of honor and duty; and -there was also an overweening pride in her rectitude and moral ideals -which sometimes seems to have transcended common-sense; and there was -pride in her pride. Reserved and rather unapproachable to strangers she -was affectionate to relatives and intimates. - -These two traits of character if analyzed would be seen to be two great -strongly contrasted unitary systems of ideas and sentiments with their -respective emotions and feelings. They formed two sides to her -personality, and the conflicts that ensued could be said to have been -between the two sides. - -To say that these two traits or groups of traits—love of the joy of life -and conscientious devotion to duty—were combined in one person is not of -course to mention anything out of the ordinary. What was out of the -ordinary was the intensity with which each existed. Now that she has -recovered from her illness and has reverted to the normal synthesized -personality these traits are still easily noticeable. None but a person -of unusually strong, fixed character, capable of holding an ideal -continuously in mind, subordinating all else, could have downed the cry -for happiness and lighter pleasures of life. When we come to the -secondary split personalities we shall see that the splitting was -between these two traits or systems; the elements of one gathering about -itself associated elements, formed one personality with corresponding -reactions to the environment, and the elements of the other in similar -fashion formed the other personality. Thus stronger conflicts arose. - -The recognition of mental conflicts as disturbances of personality and -determinants of conduct is as old as literature itself. They have been -the theme of poets, dramatists and fiction writers of every age. It has -remained for modern dynamic psychology to study and determine with -exactness the phenomena, discover the mental mechanisms involved and -formulate the laws. One school, the so-called psycho-analysts, claims to -find in practically all conflicts, a very complicated mechanism -involving repression, unconscious processes (generally a sexual wish for -the most part from infantile life) a “censor,” a compromise, conversion -and disguisement of the repressed factor in the form of a -psycho-neurosis, or other mental and physiological phenomena, -substitution, etc. I have no intention of entering into a discussion of -the correctness of such mechanisms. The sole point I wish to make is -that, even if so, to find such mechanisms and results to be universal is -the reductio ad absurdum just as it would be to find that a conflict -between a policeman and a resisting rioter is always carried out by a -process which is manifested by a black eye and cracked skull, arrest, -trial and conviction of the rioter. The process of the physical conflict -may be simple or complex and be manifested and terminated in many ways. -It may be carried out by and result in simple dissociation of the rioter -from the crowd and sending him home about his business. - -So with mental conflicts which may be manifested in many ways and have -various results. In previous lectures we have considered some of these -ways and results. One way and mechanism is, as in the latter example of -the rioter, the simple repression and dissociation of the weaker factor -resulting in the domination of the stronger, and the determination of -conduct according to the impulses and tendencies organized within the -mental system that has gained the ascendency. But in maintaining social -law and order we may have to deal, not with a single rioter, but with a -mob or organized rebellion. Then the repression of the uprising may -bring into action more men and more systematized forces and may result -in the repression of organized factions and an alteration of the social -system. So mental conflicts may involve large systems and result in -extensive rearrangements and repressions; in other words, an alteration -with dissociation of personality. This was the mechanism and result in -the case now under examination. - -The conflicts were between the impulses or conative forces discharged -from the emotions pertaining to youthful sentiments of pleasure and joy -and play and ideas with exalting pleasure-feeling tones, all -constituting wishes for the pleasures and happiness of youth—conflicts, -I mean, between these forces and those of ethical sentiments of duty, -together with other sentiments involving the emotions of affection, -anxiety, sympathy, admiration, and depressing pain-feeling tones. _For -the time being, at least, the latter won and the former were repressed._ -But they were still there, conserved in the unconscious, ready to spring -to life in response to a stimulus at any favorable opportunity when the -repressing force of the will power was weakened by stress and strain. So -we see that the conflicting wishes and impulses which jarred and -threatened the mental equilibrium of the subject were, after all, only -impulses or incursions from the unconscious of repressed antecedent -mental experiences (wishes and conative tendencies) which were elements -in the normal character. - -Thus it came about that the original complex of rebellious thoughts -against a _particular_ condition had become slowly enlarged into a -rebellion against _general conditions_, and _constellated with a number -of specific wishes for pleasure (which were incompatible with her life) -and their corresponding impulses into a still larger complex_. - -It is this latter that we have called the _B complex_. - -It had become evolved and organized out of the original “rebellious” -complex as its nucleus by receiving successive accretions from later -rebellious ideas and wishes in conflict with the personality, much as -the pearl in the oyster grows by successive accretions. - -From one point of view it was a highly developed “mood.” - -It was still under control but later, as we shall find, it was destined -to assume autonomous activity and play a dominant rôle. - -“C was still conscious of these thoughts, [B wrote in her account], but -they represented to her the selfish and weak part of her nature and she -tried to suppress them; tried to put them out of her mind but they still -persisted, and she was always to a greater or less extent aware of them. -There was no lack of awareness and no amnesia. As the months and years -went on the sorrow and anxiety of the C group increased, and the -conflicting thoughts and _rebellion_ of the B group increased. C was -ashamed of the latter and always tried to suppress such thoughts as they -arose. If during those years anything happy had come to C the formation -of this rebellious complex would, I believe, have been retarded, perhaps -stopped altogether, but nothing pleasant happened; it was all grief, and -everything went wrong.” - -Notwithstanding the continuing stress and strain and lack of joy all -probably would have gone well if C’s husband had recovered and she had -retained her physical health. Returning to her normal life, she would -have been only one more of those who have lived through a period of -anxious perturbation. But unfortunately, as it happened, “C’s husband -died suddenly away from home, the one thing she had [dreaded and] felt -she could not bear.” She received the news over the telephone. - - She did not recover [B states] from the shock and became more and more - nervous, was very much depressed, easily fatigued, suffered constantly - from headache, and was possessed by all sorts of doubts and fears, - reproaching herself for things done and undone. She also overtaxed her - strength in attending to business matters. - -C’s physical health immediately and suddenly gave way. Her own account, -already given, goes more into detail and lets us see the extent to which -she was handicapped by physical and mental ill-health in her struggle -against her rebellious impulses—against fate. She was not given half a -chance. Her description of her condition at this period, as noted at the -beginning of this account, is worth repeating here in this connection: - - I was at that time in good physical health, though nervously worn, but - this death occurred in such a way as to cause me a great shock and - within the six days following I lost twenty pounds in weight. For - nearly three months I went almost entirely without food, seemingly not - eating enough to sustain life, and I did not average more than three - or four hours’ sleep out of the twenty-four, but I felt neither hungry - nor faint, and was extremely busy and active, being absorbed both by - home responsibilities and business affairs. The end of the year, - however, found me in very poor health physically and I was nervously - and mentally exhausted. I was depressed, sad, felt that I had lost all - that made life worth living and, indeed, I wished to die. I was very - nervous, unable to eat or sleep, easily fatigued, suffered constantly - from headache, to which I had always been subject, and was not able to - take much exercise. The physician under whose care I was at this time - told me, when I asked him to give my condition a name, that I was - suffering from “nervous and cerebral exhaustion.” - -It is always the case in so-called neurasthenic states that the power of -self-control is weakened, resistance to obsessing thoughts diminishes -and the latter tend to take on automaticity and invade and dissociate -the personality. And there is also a certain degree of repression and -dissociation of previously dominant systems of ideas. In other words -every case of real so-called “neurasthenia” and hysteria is a greater or -less alteration of personality.[282] - -Accordingly, although at the beginning of period II the B complex was -only a loosely organized system of rebellious thoughts, wishes and -impulses recurring from time to time, this system now began in her -physically and mentally weakened condition to acquire increased force, -to invade the personal consciousness, and breaking through the -repressing force of the will to gain autonomous sovereignty and -temporarily to dominate the conduct. In the prolonged conflict the -rebellion with its contrary wishes was at moments to gain the -ascendency. In other words, these other elements came to the surface and -gathered to themselves all the discordant elements of personality, much -as a radical political party gathers to itself all the rebellious -discordant factions that are in antagonism to the governing conservative -party. In one sense another side to the character had become -crystallized and autonomous, and, through the intensity of its feeling -tones, became periodically dominant. But not without protest from the -previously dominant elements of personality. This protest, however, had -certain psychological peculiarities which show that the conditions were -not quite as simple as this. I will speak of them later. - -Soon the repressed wishes, impulses—the B complex—began to manifest -themselves in a way which indicated that a definite dissociation had -taken place, although as yet, as I have said, there was no secondary -_self_ or _I_ properly speaking. All the previous undercurrents of -thought—the intensified shrinking from the particular condition of life, -the internal rebellion against the conditions in general, the -disinclinations, longings, wishes, and determinations—had become -synthesized, and began to form a separate train of thought, so that at -one and the same time there was a sense, as is so commonly felt in such -cases, of a double train of thought; she had “a sense of being double.” -It seemed to her, C, that there was “all the time a pulling in a -different way from the way she had to go, a not wanting to live the life -she had to live.” This “sense of being double” seems to have been so -pronounced that to B, looking back upon it, it seemed as if these two -trains of thought (the C personality and the B complex) “occurred -concurrently and simultaneously, so that it could be said that one was -co-conscious with the other,” just as much as when there is loss of -awareness on the part of the principal consciousness for the coconscious -train. In this case there was, however, at this time, no lack of -awareness and there is nothing to prove B’s view of concomitance of -different trains of thought rather than that the two trains did not -rapidly oscillate or alternate from instant to instant. - -The self-accusations and self-reproaches of the principal consciousness, -C, rendered the pleasure impulses still more intolerable and tended the -more to repress the rebellious train and thereby to disrupt further the -personality and to crystallize the secondary synthesis. It became more -than a matter of inner behavior of mental systems: _the outward behavior -became affected and changed_. - -For corresponding to this invasion and domination of the ideas of the B -complex the behavior of C became altered, much to her amazement. That -is, her conduct at times was governed by the impulses of her once -repressed wishes and she found herself then doing things which normally -she had not enjoyed or done. _Her health and strength also, at such -moments, became extraordinarily improved._ - -This alteration of conduct and character and health became more -obtrusive and characteristic at a later date when the B complex had -become developed into the B personality. But the alteration of conduct -can be easily recognized at these earlier times if some of the previous -minor characteristics of C in respect to this sort of behavior are -understood. - - Among these characteristics were a great dislike of riding on electric - cars, an almost abnormal nervousness about bugs and mosquitoes—I - always disliked going into the woods for this reason—an aversion to - exercise in summer, and a fear of canoeing. I had never enjoyed - sitting out from under cover or on the ground as the glare of the sun - was apt to cause headache and I abhorred all crawling things. I was - reserved with strangers and not given to making my friends quickly; - devoted to my family and relatives, fond of my friends, and not in the - habit of neglecting them in any way. I felt much responsibility - concerning business matters and had given a good deal of time and - thought to them. Many more peculiarities might be mentioned. - -In the later B personality, as will be presently related, these and -other traits were replaced by their opposites, but even at this earlier -time the complete reversal of her tastes and behavior was obvious. - - To my surprise [C states in her account] there were times when I did - some of the things above referred to, such as sitting in the woods, - etc. I felt a sense of wonder that I should be doing them and a still - greater wonder that I found them pleasant. There was also a sense at - times of impatience and irritation at being troubled with business - matters or responsibility of any kind and an inclination to throw - aside all care. I wondered at myself for feeling as I did and rather - protested to myself at many of my acts but still kept right on doing - them. It seems to me that these ideas and feelings formed a complex by - which I was more or less governed and that this complex gradually grew - in strength and can be identified with that of the personality (B) - which first developed. - -A more interesting account of this change of conduct is given by B: - - _As she grew more and more neurasthenic_, it seems to me as I look - back upon it, the _B complex grew stronger and more dominant_, and - with this increase of strength of this complex, C began to live a life - _corresponding to the impulses belonging to it_—staying out of doors - entirely—and then there followed much improvement in her health.[283] - She took long rides on the electric cars, which she had always - previously disliked intensively; she had always been very much afraid - of a canoe, but now she went canoeing often and enjoyed it. She was - surprised and astonished that she should enjoy these things, as it was - foreign to her natural and previous ideas and inclinations. There was - no change of character, properly speaking, but she did things she - disapproved of and knew at the time that she disapproved of them. - There was a recognition that she was doing things she would not - previously have done, and she protested to herself, but even this - half-protest was suppressed. She would say to herself, “Why am I doing - these things? I never cared for them before. Why should I care for - them now?” The old doubts and fears were at this time out of her mind. - The personality was C, but influenced and dominated by the B complex - of which, of course, she was perfectly aware. - -What is here described is obviously a mood but a mood which included -altered bodily as well as mental characteristics. The alternation of -neurasthenic and healthy phases also became more obtrusive when the -healthy mood became a personality. The apparent recovery then deceived -the medical attendant. - -In these quoted passages we have a description of the uprush from the -unconscious and successful sovereignty of the conflicting B complex. -Before continuing with our analysis two points are worth noting. First: -With the winning of sovereignty by this system of ideas, the previously -dominating system—or self—sank to an inferior position and assumed the -protesting, one may say, the rebellious attitude. Like two adversaries -in a wrestling conflict, in which first one then the other holds the -vantage and each in turn yields before the superior force of the other, -so it was turn and turn about, and now the rebellious complex becoming -the victor, repressed the protests, the self-reproaches, doubts, fears, -and scruples of the regularly constituted government. - -Second: With the eruption of the B complex into the C personality it is -interesting once more to note the increase of physical strength, and -improvement in the general health. It was thought by her physician that -it was really a condition of health which had supervened but, as will be -seen, this was far from being the case; it was one of psychological -disintegration. Nevertheless with the one system of ideas—the B -complex—there were associated all the mental and bodily reactions of -health, with the other complex the reactions characteristic of the -neurasthenic condition. This alteration was still more noticeable later -when the B _personality_ erupted. The same phenomenon was observed in -the case of Miss Beauchamp. With the appearance of the “Sally” complex -all the neurasthenic symptoms vanished, and the personality became -buoyant with health. Identical variations in health have been observed -in other cases of dissociated personality; one phase of personality -being characterized by an extreme hysterical condition, another by -freedom from such symptoms (Felida X., Marcelline R., and others). This -phenomenon is of great significance for the understanding of the -neurasthenic and hysteric condition. - ------ - -Footnote 264: - - This study was first published in the _Journal of Abnormal - Psychology_, Oct., 1919, but originally was written for this volume. - It was omitted with other lectures from the first edition to limit the - size of the volume. - -Footnote 265: - - Dissociation and inhibition are not coextensive terms for although - inhibition implies dissociation, a dissociated element may not be - necessarily inhibited as it may function subconsciously or - independently of the personal consciousness. - -Footnote 266: - - Unfortunately most of the reported cases were not studied from a - genetic point of view and the reports are too meagre to afford - sufficient data for a study of this kind. But in many cases the - principles can be recognized. In the article “Hysteria from the Point - of View of Dissociated Personality,” _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, - Oct., 1906, I have given a synopsis in tabulated form of the reports - accessible up to the date of publication. - -Footnote 267: - - I would refer those who are interested in this problem of personality - to a similar but more exhaustive study of the case of “Miss Beauchamp” - which I have recently published in the _Journal of Abnormal - Psychology_, Vol. XV, Nos. 2 and 3, 1920. A descriptive account of the - case was published in 1906: _The Dissociation of a Personality_; New - York; Longmans, Green & Co., 1906. - -Footnote 268: - - Published under the title “My Life as a Dissociated Personality” in - the _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_; Oct.-Nov., 1908 and Dec.-Jan., - 1909. - -Footnote 269: - - The broken lines indicate dissociation; the solid lines, synthesis. - -Footnote 270: - - I have italicized a number of words and sentences not thus emphasized - in the original account. - -Footnote 271: - - Sympathetically excited emotions (instincts). - -Footnote 272: - - The division into periods follows that given in the second account by - B. - -Footnote 273: - - _Journal Abnormal Psychology_, Vol. III, No. 5, p. 311. - -Footnote 274: - - Lecture IX. - -Footnote 275: - - Prince: _Jour. Abnormal Psychology_. Vol. I, No. 1, 1906. Also, _The - Dissociation of a Personality_, 2nd ed., Chap. XXI. James: _Varieties - of Religious Experiences_. - -Footnote 276: - - I. e., “Tried not to think of it”; “put it out of her mind as a - disagreeable fact.” - -Footnote 277: - - Instinct of repulsion (McDougall). - -Footnote 278: - - Nor were they the reaction to or the expression of a previously - repressed sexual wish as any such wish would have met no conscious - resistance. It is easy to see in the light of all the facts that, - given a certain change in the conditions, or point of view, there - would have been no shock and no rebellion. - -Footnote 279: - - Lecture X; also, “The Meaning of Ideas as Determined by Unconscious - Settings,” _Journal Abnormal Psychology_, Oct.-Nov., 1912. - -Footnote 280: - - I use the present tense as more convenient although I am speaking of a - past condition. - -Footnote 281: - - As illustrated by her responsive behaviour at the theatre (p. 558), as - I have witnessed it there and socially. - -Footnote 282: - - “Hysteria from the Point of View of Dissociated Personality.” _Journal - Abnormal Psychology_, 1906. - -Footnote 283: - - It is interesting to note the apparent paradox of an increasing - physically neurasthenic phase coincident with an increasing physically - healthy phase. With the subsidence of the latter the neurasthenic - state became obvious. - - - - - LECTURE XIX - (THE SAME CONTINUED)—THE B PERSONALITY - - - PERIOD III - -Let us now return to C’s account of the shock which occurred at this -time, while the B complex was periodically dominant. It was the cause of -the final complete dissociation of personality and the eruption of the -secondary personality B. - - The shock I received was of an intensely emotional nature. It brought - to me, suddenly, the realization that my position in life was entirely - changed, that I was quite alone, and with this there came a feeling of - helplessness and desolation beyond my powers of description. I felt, - too, angry, frightened, insulted. For a few minutes these ideas - flashed through my mind and then—all was changed. All the distressing - ideas of the preceding moments left me, and I no longer resented what, - a moment before, had caused me so much distress. _I became the - personality which we have since called_ “B.” I do not feel now that - the episode was of a character that would have affected a person of a - different nature, or even myself had I been in good health. - Psychologically speaking, I suppose I was already in a somewhat - disintegrated condition and therefore more susceptible. At any rate it - did affect me. _From the moment of that shock I was, literally, a - different person._ Even the episode itself now became of little or no - importance to me; indeed I looked upon it rather as a lark and really - enjoyed it, as I did, in this character, succeeding events. _With the - change to “B” there was no loss of memory as sometimes occurs under - such conditions._ It seems very curious to me that the effect of this - shock was to change me not to the despondent, despairing mood of “A” - which came later, but to the happy mood of “B.” - - In describing the two personalities I shall sometimes have to refer to - them by the letters A and B to avoid the constant repetition of - “myself as A—myself as B.” - - As B, I was, apparently, a perfectly normal person, as will be seen - from the description which follows, except that I was ruled by the - fixed idea that upon me, and me alone, depended the salvation, moral - and physical, of a person who was almost a perfect stranger to me and - who was the subject of a drug habit. I had known this person but a few - weeks. This idea became an obsession; all else sank into - insignificance beside it; _nothing_ else was of any consequence; I - went to all lengths to help this person, doing things which, though - quite right and proper, indeed imperative from my point of view as B, - were unwise and unnecessary. I believed that I was the only one in the - world who would stand by him; that every one else had given him up as - hopeless and that his one chance lay in his belief in me. - -The writer neglects here to say that it was not only as B that she had -undertaken the “salvation” of the drug addict. As C she also shared in -this solicitude and had begun the reformation. B only continued it but -from different motives as later stated by C herself. B does not refer to -it in her story apparently not taking it very seriously. Of course in my -numerous interviews I heard an exhaustive account of the whole affair. - -The marked change in health and strength for the better noted in those -phases, during period II, when the personality was dominated by the B -complex and mentioned in the last lecture was still more accentuated now -in the B personality. C thus refers to it: - - With the change of personality, which will be clearer as you read, - there was also a complete change of physical conditions. _Previously - neurasthenic, I, as B, was perfectly well and strong and felt equal to - anything in the way of physical exercise._ - -You will also remember that in the last lecture I spoke of certain minor -traits which had been characteristic of C and which were markedly -altered in an opposite direction under the dominance of the B complex -and induced impulsive alterations of behavior. These changes were -accentuated in the B personality from the very first as C goes on to -describe. - - The minor traits I have above mentioned were replaced by their - opposites. A walk of three or four miles did not tire me at all; I - tramped through the woods during the hottest days of summer, with - nothing on my head, feeling no discomfort from the heat and no - fatigue; I sat on the ground in the woods, hours at a time, not - minding in the least the bugs and the mosquitoes; canoeing I was very - fond of and felt no fear of the water. I also took long rides on the - electric cars and found them perfectly delightful. These are small - things but, as you see, it was a radical change and seems as strange - to remember as the more important ones. - -The change in the emotional and feeling tones, the former representing a -different set of emotion-instincts, from those that were habitual, is -illustrated in the following passage: - - As B, I was light-hearted and happy and life seemed good to me; I - wanted to live; my pulses beat fuller, my blood ran warmer through my - veins than it ever had done before. I seemed more alive. Nothing is - stranger to remember than the vigorous health of B. Never in my life - was I so well, before or since. I felt much _younger_ and looked so, - for the lines of care, anxiety, sorrow, and fatigue had faded from my - face and the change in expression was remarked upon. I neglected my - family and friends shamefully, writing short and unsatisfactory - letters which left them in ignorance of my health and plans; business - affairs I washed my hands of entirely. I lost the formality and - reserve which was one of my traits. My tastes, ideas, and points of - view were completely changed. - - I remained in this state for some weeks, enjoying life to the utmost - in a way entirely foreign to my natural tastes and inclinations as - described above, walking, boating, etc., living wholly out of doors; - and also doing many irresponsible things which were of a nature to - cause me much distress later. - - Some of this might, perhaps, be ascribed to improved health though - different from anything I had ever been before.[284] - -A point of considerable significance is the youthfulness of this B -phase, a trait which the writer C notes and which B in her account -emphasizes. When later the case came under my observation this -phenomenon was so noticeable that it arrested the attention. - -It may be interesting to hear B’s description of the shock, more -dramatically told than C’s, and of the changes above mentioned of the -personality (health, emotional tones, conduct, and youthfulness) -immediately following. - -It runs as follows: - - At this time there came to C a third shock of a strongly emotional - nature, giving rise to events which I call _period III_. It brought to - her the realization of a fact of which she had been unconscious; she - had never thought of the possibility of such a thing and she was - startled, frightened, angry, all in a flash—and I was there. James, in - explaining “Sudden Religious Conversion,” speaks of a “flowering of - the subconscious,”—well, I “flowered,” and C disappeared somewhere; - _the B complex had become a personality_ and I lived a life of my own - choosing.[285] How slowly this complex gathered form in this case may - be seen from the fact that it was five years from the time of the - beginning of her husband’s illness before I came as a personality. - - Now, when I came as a personality, I felt much younger than C; my - ideas of what constituted pleasure were more like those of a girl of - twenty—as C was when she received the first shock (_period I_). But in - character, points of view, tastes, emotions, in everything that goes - to make up personality I was quite different from anything C had ever - been; also in health. I was strong and vigorous, taking long walks and - feeling no fatigue. I was also very happy. Life seemed so good to me; - everything was so beautiful; the outdoor world looked to me as it does - to one who has been for months shut in through illness. I loved the - trees, the sky, and the wind; but _I did not love people_. I felt no - care or responsibility—that is why I was so happy. I remained the only - personality for about _one month_, when there came the fourth - emotional shock producing _period IV_. - -These accounts need further explanation. C remarks: “It seems very -curious to me that the effect of this shock was to change me not to the -despondent, despairing mood of A, which came later, but to the happy -mood of B.” A consideration of the facts in more detail renders the -reason obvious. It must be kept in mind that the dominant feature of the -B mood or personality was the B complex, and the nucleus of this system -of ideas was the “rebellion” I have described. This rebellion again had -its first beginnings 19 years before (period I). We have traced it -through the succeeding years, with its later accretions, growing and -expanding in intensity and extent, like a political insurrection, until -it had taken into itself a large field of ideas and became the B -complex. Bear in mind here that the primitive germinal first rebellion -was the reaction to an emotional shock in which fright and disgust as -elements occurred plus the X affect to which they were a defense -reaction. Now the second shock which was experienced at the third period -was fundamentally the same in nature as that of the first period. It -gave rise to the same _affect_, X, and mental awakening, to the same -kind of realization of her situation, and the reaction, particularly to -the affect, was the same rebellion. _But the rebellion had meantime, in -the years that had passed, grown into the B complex, and so it was this -B constellation of ideas which erupted into consciousness and dominated -the whole field of personality._ Though the second shock awoke the same -affect as did the original shock, it was consciously mild and probably -for the most part subconscious, being repressed and submerged by the -reacting emotions of fear and anger, which latter blazed forth. And in -the reaction there were, also, the emotions of disgust and -self-assertion and the vengeful emotion. - -With such emotions, particularly anger and disgust, this affect was in -conflict as was also fear. When two primary emotions are in conflict -both cannot live; one will be suppressed. Fear will be suppressed by an -outburst of blazing anger, and anger cannot exist when an overwhelming -fear is excited. One will replace the other. So the mild X affect and -fear were immediately repressed by anger, disgust and the compound -vengeful emotion, the three not in any way conflicting with one another -but as allies reinforcing each other in the attack. - -Consequently from the B personality, which sprang to life as the -reaction to the X affect, this affect itself, was completely repressed -and dissociated, so that this personality _is entirely without this_ and -other traits of the C personality. Likewise, although this is not so -easy to determine, owing to the impossibility of reproducing all -conditions under which a given individual would react normally to any -given emotion, _fear_ and _tender feeling_ (love) seem to have been -dissociated from the B personality. It is certainly true that B -experienced no fear and other emotions with which C habitually reacted -to certain situations. This question of the involvement of the emotions -in dissociation will be discussed in another place. - -As to the X affect, it is of some significance that later, after the -development of the third personality, A, which alternated with B, this -personality retained this affect (as well as fear and others lost to B) -and the awakening of this affect in A would regularly change this -personality to B; that is, repress the A personality and awaken B. Many -times other emotions, particularly anxiety (fear), would have the same -effect, but the affect in question would always induce the change, -apparently as a defense reaction. - -From one point of view it may be maintained that all this emotional -reaction, called “shock,” (that primarily called into being the B -personality) was a defense reaction. It certainly was, as any outburst -of anger may be a defense reaction, as it is in the bull in the ring of -a Spanish bull-fight. Under other conditions anger as an element in the -pugnacity instinct may, like other emotional impulses, be an attacking -reaction. - -But labelling with names does not give us any insight into the mechanism -of a reaction any more than labelling a machine an automobile gives us -any idea of its mechanism. It gives only a teleological meaning to the -machine. - -What is a fruitful question, however, is whether the “shock” was a -defense to an external aggression or to the urge of an unacceptable -subconscious _wish_ containing the repressed affect X. Some will _wish_ -to make this latter interpretation. It is entirely incompatible, -however, with the fact that the same conflict and “shock” had previously -occurred under conditions when, even if there had been such a wish, it -could not have been unacceptable, as there was no reason therefor, but -on the contrary it would have been her duty to have fulfilled it. It is -useless in this case to work that trumpery affect business in this way. - -Furthermore, as a matter of experience, we find from a study of cases of -multiple personality that after two independent systems of ideas have -been formed, almost any emotional shock is liable to cause the -displacement of one system and the substitution of the other system. -This was observed over and over again in the case of Miss -Beauchamp,[286] as it was in this case. Why it should be so is not -always obvious at the time of any given occurrence. That there is a -specific psychological reason and dynamic mechanism we cannot doubt. -Undoubtedly if we could probe sufficiently extensively into the -unconscious in each instance we should find that subtile associations in -the substituted systems had been struck and that the change was thereby -determined. When the associated element is organized with strong -emotions the discharge of the emotion more easily represses and -dissociates the rival conflicting systems. This gives the appearance -that it was the emotion alone, as an isolated factor, which induced the -alternation of personality. - -What happened then when the change of personality took place was this: -The acquired B complex, which had been developing in content and -conative intensity, surged up as a reaction from the unconscious (where -it had been conserved during the normal mood in a dormant condition), -came into conflict with the systems of the normal self and repressed and -replaced this previously dominating side of her nature. By this -dissociation this side was put out of commission so to speak. In turn it -remained dormant, of course, conserved as unconscious neurograms, ready -to be _resurrected_ under favoring conditions by appropriate stimuli. - -But in the formation of the B personality there was more than this; -otherwise there would not have been generated a personality; the -alteration would have been limited to the incursion into the field of -consciousness only of the B complex as had so often happened before. On -the one hand a larger synthesis took place. The B complex dragged out of -the storehouse of the unconscious the acquired and conserved ideas and -other experiences of childhood and girlhood that had an associative -relation to the system which formed the B complex. In this respect it -was a _reversion_ to the earlier period of life. - -On the other hand, there was, as we shall see, a dissociation and -suppression of certain _innate_ dispositions, instincts and sentiments -belonging to normal personality that were in conflict with the B phase. -Specifically the most important of these were, the instinct of -self-abasement and its corresponding self-regarding sentiment, the -“tender emotion” (affection) and its parental instinct (McDougall), the -X affect and its instinct, fear (instinct of flight) and vengeful -emotion. - -The emotions and their instincts and the innate dispositions, appetites -and tendencies, being psycho-physiological arrangements inborn in the -organism and not acquired, are the very foundations of human -personality. Without a recognition of them and without assigning to them -their proper parts and due weight in determining mental traits and -behavior alterations of personality cannot be explained or -understood.[287] - -The justification for the interpretation I have given of the genesis of -the B personality is found in an analysis of its manifested -characteristics. In the first place this B phase by common consent, even -in the opinion of those who were in entire ignorance of what had -psychologically occurred—i.e., the alteration of personality,—was much -younger in character than the mature C. She appeared to be a young girl -of 18 or 19 years of age. Her friends spoke of her, when remarking on -her improved health, as “being as she used to be.” She looked -younger.[288] As I myself observed her on, I might almost say, hundreds -of occasions, the contrast between the actual age of the subject and the -apparent age of B as indicated by expressions of face, the vivacious -mannerisms, the girlish attitude of mind, points of view, tastes, etc., -was remarkable. - -All this together with the lack of appreciation of many of the -responsibilities of life and of the duties and conditions which pertain -to motherhood, social relations and conventions, the loss of sentiments -acquired after marriage, etc., made up a picture of youth that was -unmistakable. The contrast between the mature C and the girlish B became -almost dramatic when the change of personality took place suddenly as it -later frequently did in my presence. - -When we come to analyze the traits which gave this impression of youth -we see that it was justified. One side of C’s character, as we have -seen, was a love of happiness and the pleasures which induce the joy of -life. This side was dominant in B; but the _kind_ of pleasure which -appealed to B was not only that which appeals to youth but that which -had particularly appealed to the subject when a young girl. It was -“tramping through the woods in the hottest days of summer,” canoeing and -rowing in boats, walking, riding in electric cars—in fact, the out-door -life that appealed to her most strongly and was her greatest enjoyment. -“Oh, wouldn’t I just love to tramp through the woods or sail off over -the waves, or anything exciting,” she wrote. Such of these things as she -had been able when a little girl to indulge in she then enjoyed. As a -child and during girlhood she liked camping out and sailing, but as she -grew older, say about sixteen or eighteen, she became afraid of the -water and row boats. Canoeing she had never done before her marriage and -then was afraid of it. - -We have seen that childhood’s experiences are largely conserved, when -not modified by the growth of personality, in the unconscious -(neurographic residua) although they may never come to the surface of -consciousness unless resurrected by some device or accident; and -repression tends to conserve them as unitary complexes maintaining their -own urges. Accordingly in the case of B everything points to the -conclusion that the repressed, conserved sentiments with their organized -emotions and feelings, of the pleasure of childhood and adolescent life, -sentiments by which the young girl was governed, _erupted into -consciousness_. The play-instinct, or innate disposition, long -repressed, particularly was revived and played a large part in -determining behavior. The B personality was thus a _reversion_ to an -early period of life. The rearrangement of the play-instinct and other -innate dispositions will be more conveniently discussed later in -connection and contrast with the A personality. - -Of course there is no sharp line of division between different periods -of life, one running into the other, and the ideas, sentiments, desires, -habits, etc., of one period may continue more or less unchanged well -into another and beyond. Or, as usually happens, they may be modified by -the successive experiences of life. So obviously we cannot ascribe with -precision to a past definite age traits of character of the kind we are -considering. Such traits belong to the evolutional development of the -individual; they tend to become modified by the clash with new -experiences, or, when incompatible with the knowledge and habits -acquired by new experiences, to become repressed—when not incompatible -they may persist late into adult life. So some of these traits have -persisted as a side to, or as elements in the character of B. C. A. into -her present life; some, however, have been modified or repressed into -the unconscious. As age advances, as the child passes into adolescence -and then into maturity, there comes wider knowledge of the facts of the -environment, of its dangers and other relations, a more true and -complete conception of the meaning of life, a more extensive world view, -and a recognition and assumption of duties, cares, and responsibilities. -And all these acquisitions tend to form a conscious organism with new -sentiments which give new acquired reactions to stimuli in place of the -old reactions (traits and other conative tendencies). Activities, for -example, which once received their impulses from play dispositions are -later inhibited by sentiments invested with the instinct of fear -(flight). So B. C. A. acquired a fear of the water (boats, canoeing) and -a dislike of bugs and mosquitoes and electric cars. Why these changes in -her mental reactions took place we cannot say without making a more -extensive search into the experiences of her past life, and the -information when acquired would hardly repay the time and labor of the -inquiry. We cannot say, for example, why she has disliked electric cars -without resurrecting the memories of past experiences pertaining to them -and other associated ideas. Perhaps the dislike arose simply out of the -noise and resulting discomfort and headaches; or it may have had a more -subtile cause in associated ideas of danger which would not appeal to a -girl, or possibly such objects may more subtilely still be the symbolic -expression of some unconscious process. It does not bear upon our -present problem. (The dislike of mosquitoes and bugs very probably arose -from having been bitten and poisoned badly by them when a child.) - -There were certain other youthful traits and tastes in B which are worth -mentioning. This personality was extravagant in money matters. “She,” -the personality A wrote, “spends money as I used to, and will not -acknowledge the necessity of economizing.” That is to say, the -regulation of the household and personal expenses, according to the -requirements of business sense, and proper appreciation of the financial -management was scarcely recognized by B who desired to spend money as B. -C. A. had done as a girl, before being initiated into the -responsibilities of domestic management. Like such a girl, to the -discomforture of the other personality, she spent money as if all were -pin money, without appreciation of making ends meet in the management of -the household. - -Another and what will seem a strange peculiarity of B was the feeling -that she was not the mother of her child. “I am not his mother,” she -would say. “He is not my son”—“_I_ never was married.” “I know all her -experiences,” she wrote me in a letter, “but they are _her_ experiences -not _mine_. Why! _I_ was never married, Dr. Prince, and I am not -Willie’s mother. All those experiences belong to A. I know she _had_ -them, but then, so do you. The only difference is that I know exactly -what she thought about them.” Indeed she carried this so far as to -entirely neglect the responsibility of looking after his life. This was -true also of the time when B. C. A. was ruled by the B complex before -the change to the B personality. On one such occasion for example, she -allowed this young boy to take a long journey of many hundred miles -through the west, roughing it in the woods and canoes, without a care or -anxious thought on her part during the whole time he was gone. All the -arrangements were made by others while she herself did not even go to -the station to see him off. Previously she had always felt the greatest -motherly solicitude for the boy, even foolishly devoted to him, and -could not bear to be parted from him even to accompany her husband on a -journey. - -This peculiar trait is easily understood on the theory that rebellious B -was largely a systematized resurrection of pre-marital complexes but -with a dissociation of the tender emotion (parental instinct). I have -already pointed out that B regarded the “rebellious” complexes as -herself, but not the other ideas of B. C. A. In referring to the former, -as I have said, she used the word I, saying, I thought so and so, but -she did not use such expressions regarding the other systems of B. C. -A.’s thought after the genesis of these rebellious complexes. Likewise -she regarded as her own the earlier youthful experiences before -dissociation occurred. In the constellation of her complexes none of the -experiences of maternity (which occurred after the development of the -rebellious complex) were synthesized, any more than the sentiments and -other conflicting thoughts of the A phase. Even in the embryonic -contrary impulses of the B complex, it will be remembered, there were -dislikes to “fuss” over the baby conflicting with the maternal instinct. -She never, therefore, felt that motherhood was a part of her own -experience. And so her _conception of self_ in its content differed -materially from that of C and A, in that it contained references to -entirely different experiences, and, therefore, included entirely -different images and feelings. And it was organized with a -self-regarding sentiment in which the instinct of self-assertion -predominated instead of that of self-abasement. - -I said that the parental instinct with the emotion of tender feeling was -dissociated. This absence of tender emotion (affection) was also -manifested in her attitude towards the different members of her family -and her friends. As a girl she was markedly affectionate just as A and -later C was, but as B she had lost this trait. She neglected her family -most shockingly, in a way that showed complete absence of the impulses -that come from tender feeling, and without the slightest compunction or -recognition of the fact that she was wanting in affection. I might give -numerous specific instances of this but refrain from doing so for -obvious reasons.[289] B liked people but for other reasons than those -which depend on personal affection. This absence, then, of the tender -emotion with its impulses was the second factor in determining the -feeling that B had of not being the mother of her child. It also, of -course, prevented the building up a new sentiment of maternal affection -through experience. All this is in conformity with our interpretation. - -The way other instincts and innate dispositions were affected will be -better described in connection with the A personality for contrast. - -Another peculiarity of B was the change in literary taste. The lighter -reading in which B found pleasure contrasted strongly with the -literature dealing with the deeper problems of life that appealed to A. -This difference has been touched upon by C in her account. It would take -us too far afield to enter into the psychological reasons for it. - -It remains to point out that the reactions of the personality in -accordance with the new synthesis were intensified and became the sole -reactions by the fact of the dissociation of those systems of ideas -which represented the wider world view and which were organized with -instincts and innate dispositions now inhibited. Those systems were the -outcome of the cares, anxieties, responsibilities, and sorrows of later -life. All these, which were acquired and had their origin at a -comparatively late period, had subsided into the unconscious and ceased -to influence the conscious life and give rise to their corresponding -reactions. The emotions and sentiments of anxiety, remorse, -self-reproach and despair, so conspicuous in the A phase, were -completely dissociated from the B phase and formed no part of it. Though -there was no amnesia for them as past experiences they were dissociated -in the sense that they did not take part as psycho-physiological -dispositions in the personality. They could be voluntarily recalled in -an intellectual way as memories, but like many memories they had lost -their emotional tones and were not awakened by any contemplated or -actual line of conduct. Not entering the new B synthesis there was no -clash by which the reactions might be modified. The sole reactions were, -therefore, those of the B synthesis and were mostly those of pleasure -and joy. You must not overlook the fact, however, that the dissociated -elements of personality were still conserved and, as we shall see, -capable of being resurrected and thereby taking part in the reproduction -of the original personality, or of forming by themselves another -dissociated one. - -The _temperament_ of the B personality is in accord with the conception -of a modified reversion to the conserved unconscious personality of -early life. B. C. A. “was naturally very light-hearted, happy, buoyant.” -Later when going through the stress and strain of her husband’s illness, -and later still after becoming neurasthenic, she became apprehensive and -given to self-reproaches, worry, and depression. She was racked by -emotions of an anxious depressing kind. All this was enormously -accentuated in the secondary personality A, (to be presently described) -whom in banter I used to call “Mrs. Gummidge.” Now B reverted in -temperament to the earlier period; she was free from depression; “had -more courage, was light-hearted, merry; conditions did not seem so -dreadful as they did to A,” and she “took things as they were”; “this -was the way she used to be.” - -If I may anticipate a little the development of the A personality, a -passage or two from letters will show this difference in temperament as -manifested by the emotions. B wrote, “A is nearly crazy about those -papers. She simply ‘tears her hair’ and groans, and then, presto! -change! and I am here.” Again in a note to her other self (A) she -writes: “I suppose you have a ‘deep-horror-then-my-vitals-froze’ -expression on your face now. Really, you suffer more to the square inch -than any one I ever knew.” Although it is hardly fair to ascribe these -emotional traits of A—a disintegrated personality—to the normal C, still -they were and are at times noticeable in C as moods, or when under -stress and strain. (C of course has pleasant affects and joyous moods as -well.) B on the other hand was a perfect stranger to such feelings; she -did not know the meaning of them; they were completely dissociated from -her ideas. B’s sole emotions were those of pleasure and exaltation; C’s -emotions included unpleasant and depressing ones as well, while A’s -stock was made up almost entirely of the latter. This dissociation of -unpleasant and depressing emotions from B is well manifested by her -memories. When C (or A) recalled (and it is still true) an unpleasant -experience the memory was accompanied by the original emotion in its -full intensity. She lived over again the original experience and -manifested all the feeling in the expression of her face and in gesture. -But when B recalled this same experience of C (or A) she simple -remembered it intellectually as a fact, without the feeling tone. In -fact she would recite a painful fact of C’s experience with a gaiety of -tone that betokened enjoyment at the other self’s expense. The same -phenomenon was still more striking in B as a co-conscious -personality.[290] As a co-consciousness she always insisted that while -she knew C’s (and A’s) thoughts she did not feel her emotions. “You see -I know all that A thinks but I do not _feel_ her emotions; she is all -emotion,” she wrote. This she insisted upon again and again. She only -knew what the other personalities felt by the way they acted. Similarly -the affect which was the cause of the “rebellion” was dissociated from -B. This same phenomenon was observed in the case of Miss Beauchamp. -Sally as a co-consciousness knew the thoughts of the personal -consciousness (B I or B IV) but she was not aware of the feelings that -accompanied the thoughts; the feelings she could only guess from the -actions of the principal personality, and as an alternating personality -Sally likewise was entirely devoid of certain emotions which were -strongly accentuated in the other personalities.[291] This dissociation -of affects from B helps us to understand the difference in the reactions -of B, C, and A to the same stimuli. - ------ - -Footnote 284: - - The same as when dominated by the B complex but in a more extreme way. - (M. P.) - -Footnote 285: - - That is, the remainder of the C complex subsided into the - “unconscious,” where, of course, its experiences were conserved. - They could be recalled as a memory by B. As a system of ideas the B - complex had been “flowering” for five years. (M. P.) - -Footnote 286: - - See _Journal Abnormal Psychology_, 1920, Nos. 2 and 3. - -Footnote 287: - - The science of human personality is becoming a special branch of - psychology and is based upon the recognition and study of the innate - psycho-physiological systems of which a few are mentioned here. Of the - most recent works on this subject, those of Alexander F. Shand (The - Foundations of Character) and William McDougall (Social Psychology) - are the most important contributions. They are based on the study of - normal behavior. Abnormal alterations, such as are met with in the - psychoses and multiple personality, will prove to be a more fruitful - field for study and will provide more valuable contributions to our - knowledge of normal mechanisms, just as the pathology of the nervous - system has done for our knowledge of its anatomy and physiology. - Disease dissects the mind far better than can introspection or - observation. - -Footnote 288: - - In a letter written in the phase A to me she writes: “B seems to - revert to the time before all the sorrow and trouble. She writes in - the diary [kept at my direction by the different personalities] as I - used to feel. She ‘won’t be unhappy;’ she ‘will have a good time,’ - etc. She seems younger than I, someway. I find that my friends often - think me more ‘like myself,’ when B is here; she also spends money as - I used to and will not acknowledge the necessity of economizing....” - In another letter she writes: “Then came the time when I was wholly B. - Everything but my own pleasure was cast to the wind. I felt and acted - like a girl of 18, and I know that I _looked_ years younger than I do - now.” - -Footnote 289: - - C writes: “To me this point of the affections is one of the most - interesting and curious. As a child and young girl I was affectionate, - shy, proud, and reserved—everything that B was not. I positively never - had in me any of these traits that B exhibited during those weeks ... - except gaiety.” - - This statement, when analyzed, is in entire agreement with the results - of our study. The absence of affection is what would be expected from - the loss of the primary emotion “tender feeling,” the affective - element in the parental instinct. Shyness is determined by the - instinct of self-abasement which was dissociated from B. Likewise with - the self-regarding sentiment of pride in one of its varieties, - self-respect. According to McDougall this comprises two instincts: - that of self-assertion with its emotion of elation, and that of - self-abasement with its emotion of subjection. The latter instinct we - have seen reason to conclude was inhibited in B. Hence, on this theory - of pride, this sentiment was lost. - -Footnote 290: - - B later became co-conscious with the other personalities as well as - alternating. - -Footnote 291: - - “Miss Beauchamp,” etc.; _Jour. Abn. Psychol._, Vol. XV, p. 80. - - - - - LECTURE XX - (THE SAME CONTINUED)—THE A PERSONALITY - - PERIOD IV - - I - -We may now return to C’s account of her dissociated life—to the point -where she was about to describe the development of another personality, -A, and at which I digressed. - -Bear in mind that it is the B personality that now received the shock -and that the revelation of the deception, therefore, was to a -personality whose point of view was not that of duty or affection but of -mere joy and pleasure. - - After a period of a few weeks I received a second[292] shock, which - was caused by the discovery of deception in matters[293] which my - “obsession” had taken in charge. The revelation came in a flash, _a - strong emotion_ swept over me, and the state B, _with all its traits, - physical characteristics, and points of view disappeared, and I - changed to another state which we have since called A_. In this state - my physical condition was much as it was before the first shock,[294] - that is, I was neurasthenic. From a state of vigorous health I - instantly changed to one of illness and languor; I could hardly sit - up, had constant headache, insomnia, loss of appetite, etc. My mental - characteristics were also different. As before, however, there was no - amnesia either for the state when I was B or for my life before the - first shock. - - Now, though as A I was filled with most disproportionate horror at - what had occurred during the weeks of my life as B, I was ruled by the - same obsession, but with this difference: what I, as B, had done with - a sense of _pleasure_, I, as A, did with a sense of almost horror at - my own actions, feeling that I was compelled to do so by what seemed - at the time a sense of _duty_. I felt that I must carry out certain - obligations, and I doubt now, as I afterward expressed myself to you, - if I could have resisted had I tried. [I. e., she was again governed - as formerly by the B complex.] I would not refuse the demand for help - which was made upon me because, as B, I had promised my aid, but in - complying I was obliged to do things which seemed to me, as A, - shocking and unheard of. I felt that my conduct was open to severe - criticism but I had promised and must fulfil though the skies fell. It - seems to me now, in the light of our present knowledge of B, that I, - while in this A phase, was in a sort of somnambulistic stage governed - by what I have learned were co-conscious ideas belonging to B; and - that the impulses of the B complex were too strong to be resisted; but - in my memory my ideas as B were at this time so curiously intermingled - with my ideas as A that it is useless to try to analyze my mind more - accurately. In mood, points of view and ideals I was A, but I _did_ - the things B would have done, though from a different incentive. - -To fully appreciate the situation and in that light the meaning of A’s -point of view in the preceding passage and in that which follows, we -must remember that, when the original personality B. C. A., as the -neurasthenic and a disintegrated self that we may call the _A mood_, was -suddenly changed by the preceding “shock” to the B personality, for a -few minutes the subject was angry, frightened and felt insulted. There -can be no doubt that if the change had not occurred she would have -resented any further continuance of friendly or philanthropic relations -with the object of her resentment. When she came under my observation -later, as A, she was overwhelmed with (unjustified) humiliation and -blazed with wrath at the mere thought of the episode. Her governing -feeling was vengeful emotion. Even later as the normal C she could not -forgive or forget. - -Now imagine the scene: a person dominated by such feeling suddenly, -without apparent rhyme or reason, completely changing in her feelings -and point of view, regarding the episode as a lark, enjoying it and -smiling and happy. And then in this frolicsome mood continuing to play -for a month with the object of her previous wrath. Such a scene on the -stage would be a most dramatic one. Imagine what must have been the -bewilderment of the victim. - -Then, after some weeks of this play, the B personality changes back to -the disintegrated self, A. As A she remembers what she has done as B in -complete contradiction to her previous feelings and views of the -episode, herself and the object. She is overcome with horror on -remembering her behavior (as B) and yet she finds herself ruled by a -fixed idea of the B complex and going on doing, but from a different -motive, the very things which had horrified her.[295] - -Keeping this situation in mind we can understand A’s feelings and -viewpoint bearing in mind that all was morbidly exaggerated. - - For a few days I remained A and then owing, I think, to a lessening of - nervous tension, I changed again to B [personality] and remained in - that state for two or three weeks during which time I was physically - well and happy again. At the end of this time, as a result of another - realization of the actual situation, A reappeared and was the only - personality for some weeks. These changes were due to successive - emotional shocks. - -The following passage which continues A’s viewpoint accurately describes -her state of mind when she came under my observation. - - When you first saw me I was A at my worst. I had no amnesia for the - events of the preceding months when, as B, I had been filled with the - joy of living. There was no thought on my part of any “change of - personality”—I had never heard of such a thing—but I was like one - slowly awakening from a dream. I was equally aghast at what I (B) had - done for _pleasure_, and at what I (A), had done from a sense of duty; - one seemed as unbelievable as the other.[296] - - One of the most shocking things to me, as A, was the fact that I had - _enjoyed myself_ as B. Had I committed the most dreadful crimes I - could not have felt greater anguish, regret, and remorse. I had been - dominated by the fixed ideas and obsessions of B; I had felt that I - must respond to any call for help made by this person [the - drug-addict] even though it was against my inclination and judgment to - do so; there seemed no choice for me in the matter—I _had_ to;[297] I - could see no point of view but my own. To do what seemed my plain duty - I was willing to sacrifice myself in every way, but could not see that - I (A) was now causing as much anxiety to my family as I had previously - done as B; that I was sacrificing them also, and that my idea of duty - was entirely mistaken. A, it would seem, was the emotional and - idealistic part of my nature magnified a thousand times. My emotions - and ideals as A were not different in kind from those of my normal - self, but were so exaggerated as to be morbid. - - As A I was full of metaphysical doubts and fears, full of scruples. I - did not attend church because I felt that I could no longer honestly - say the Creed and the prayers. The service had lost all meaning to me - and so it seemed hypocritical to take part in it. I felt that I had - utterly failed in the performance of every duty, and tortured myself - with the remembrance of every act of omission and commission. I - accused myself of selfishness, neglect, in fact, of nearly all the - crimes in the calendar including, in an indirect way, that of - murder.[298] My conversation was always of the most serious - character,—religion (I believed in nothing), life after death (of - which I found no hope), and I dwelt much upon the fact that no one - should be judged by their deeds alone, that no one could tell what - hidden motive had prompted any given act. This was because I had (as - B) done so many things which (as A) I wholly disapproved of and felt - might be misunderstood. I did not understand them myself but knew that - my motive had been good. I was frightened, bewildered, shocked, - agonized—concentrated anguish and remorse. During these weeks I - suffered more than it ought to be possible for any one ever to suffer - for anything, and always, over and over in my mind went the same old - thoughts,—“_Why_ did I do as I did? _How_ could I have done it? Why - did it seem right? What would my friends think if they knew? I was - mad! _I was not myself._” Finally I decided to end it all—I could not - live under such a weight of humiliation and self-reproach. I am sure, - Dr. Prince, that you must remember how impossible it was to reason - with me as A, for it was at this time and in this state that I was - sent to you and you first saw me. - -Summing up this statement a new personality had come to the fore—a -personality that was the antithesis of B. The traits which characterized -A had been left entirely out of B while those which had characterized B -were left entirely out of A. Both sets of traits were to be found in C -though less accentuated and less freely manifested. The gaiety, love and -pleasure and joy of life, the absence of all thought of responsibility -and care belonging to B had given place to seriousness, a sense of -responsibility and duty, a feeling of apprehension, to doubts and fears -and self-reproaches. Depression and sorrow had taken the place of -exaltation and joy. The neurasthenic state had replaced buoyant health. - -Now it should be noted that these latter were the traits of the subject -C during the preceding four-year period of stress and strain, and the -succeeding neurasthenic period, and represented a side of her character -which was developed, systematized and intensified by the circumstances -of her life. In accordance with these traits, habits of thought had been -established and by constant repetition complexes had been built. It is -of importance to note that it was against these very A traits that the -“B complex” at that time had rebelled—that very complex which was to -become the chief component of the “B personality,” and which was the -other side of the original self. It was during the neurasthenic state -that the A traits had become abnormally developed and belonged to the -neurasthenic condition. When the personality changed to B these A traits -became dissociated but still remained conserved as unconscious -systematized neurograms; now the A traits were awakened once more, there -was a conflict and the B traits, the lighter side of her character, were -repressed, dissociated and subsided into the unconscious. A was, -therefore, a dissociated personality. She was the original C, if you -please, but now so shattered and shorn as to be but an abstract and -wreck of her former self. The normal C possessing both sets of traits -had been, and now, resynthesized to health, is able to compare, to -weigh, to modify, to balance the judgments obtained from the point of -view of the B system with those of the A system and thus keep a fairly -equitable poise of mind. The one counteracted the other fairly well. The -A and B phases being respectively deprived of the characteristics of the -other, each exhibited its own traits in a highly intensified degree, and -manifested excessive reactions to the environment. The dissociated state -A was plainly a reversion to the stress-and-strain and neurasthenic -period. The awakening of A was the awakening of a system of thoughts -which had lain dormant during the B state. Now the repressed B state was -dormant. - -It is of great significance for an understanding of neurasthenic -disturbances that the awakening of the A system brought back all the -neurasthenic symptoms that had as physical reactions accompanied this -system at the time when it was dominant in C. The A system of thoughts, -emotions, instincts, innate dispositions, etc., and the physical -symptoms necessarily went together, for the latter are the expression or -reaction of a dissociated personality that is deprived of its sthenic -and exalting emotions. The moment the sthenic emotions were brought back -(in C or A) the physical symptoms disappeared. The disappearance of the -neurasthenia even in A when certain emotions were temporarily restored -by suggestion was remarkable. - - II - -What caused the awakening of the A system? We have seen that the -awakening of the rebellious B personality was an emotional trauma which -was the same in kind as that which originally gave rise to the primitive -“rebellion” as a reaction to the emotion. A similar trauma later -awakened the same rebellion but one grown to the large proportions of -the “B complex.” So in like fashion the new trauma to B awakened the A -system as a reaction and associative phenomenon. What was the new -trauma? - -C in her written statement does not give the nature of the “strong -emotion which swept over” her when the “revelation came in a flash.” -It was very different in character from the other. It was -_apprehension_—the apprehension of moral disaster to the person whom -she was trying to save. There was no resentment at the discovered -deception, no thought of wounded self, no feeling of injury as might -be inferred from the language of the writer, but only the thought of -her own _responsibility_ in the circumstances, and of _duty_ -undertaken, and the feeling of _anxiety_ for the future of this other -person; and there was a sense of _disappointment and failure_. These -erupted from the submerged A system. - -It was this same system of ideas, but organized about her husband as -their object, which had been dominant in C during the four years period -of stress-and-strain and “neurasthenia.” They had lain dormant in the -unconscious during the B period. Now they are struck and excited to -activity. There is a conflict. The impulses from the conflicting A -emotions, being the stronger, repress the B impulses and the A system is -awakened as a personality. - -The question at once comes to mind whether the object of B. C. A.’s -solicitude was not a surrogate for her deceased husband, a sort of -symbol, and had not become the object of the transference (to use the -language of the psycho-analysts) of the solicitude which had previously -been bestowed upon her husband’s health and future well-being; whether -this new person had not been substituted for the ill husband in that A -system of ideas which during four years had been characterized by -responsibility, duty, anxiety, disappointment, failure, etc.; whether, -indeed, it might not be held that the solicitude for the salvation of -this drug addict was not a defense reaction against self-reproach for an -imaginary responsibility for the illness of her husband. Such -self-reproaches she describes. - -If this were true, the awakening of the A system by the discovery of the -deception (which was only the banal one of money matters) and -realization of failure, disappointment, etc., would be all the more -comprehensible in view of the very strong and close associations which -the new object would have in the system. But if true I cannot see that -it would have any further or deeper significance. There was no need for -disguisement. Certainly solicitude for a husband, disguised in another -person, needs no disguisement and could not be unacceptable. But painful -_self-reproaches_ for former failure could not be faced, and -satisfaction could be found in the performance of a new duty as a sort -of atonement. - -Again was there any subconscious sex wish or urge that could not be -admitted to herself and to which the change to A was a defense reaction? -I have been unable to discover any. And if there were I am unable to see -how the revelation of deception in money matters required a defense -reaction against the fulfillment of this wish. That sounds like Alice in -Wonderland. - -But why did the revelation shock B, who with her traits would not have -cared? I can answer this from my intimate and fuller knowledge of C’s -and A’s ideas. It was a revelation of the truth. The true character of -the object of their solicitude, “whom everyone else had given up as -hopeless,” was revealed in a flash, and this “revelation” had struck, -not B, but the submerged A (or C) system, which immediately emerged in -an uprush from the unconscious. The shock was not to B but to -subconscious A. And the reaction was “disappointment,” “failure,” -“apprehension,” etc. Similar phenomena have been observed over and over -again in psychological studies as I have frequently witnessed them in -this case. - - III - -In a previous lecture[299] I called attention to the fact that emotions -(instincts) innate dispositions and tendencies are fundamental to -personality and I pointed out that in abnormal alterations the -dissociation may involve one or more of these. Certain of these innate -psycho-physiological systems were cited as having been repressed or -dissociated in this case. It remains to study this phenomenon a little -more closely. - -Psychologists are generally agreed that of the emotions some are -primary, or elementary, and others are complex, that is compounded of -two or more emotions. Fear and anger, for example, are primary and the -conscious elements, like all primary emotions, in biological instincts. -These instincts serve a purpose in the preservation of the species. Of -the complex emotions scorn and loathing may be taken as examples, the -former, it is believed, being compounded of anger and disgust and the -latter of fear and disgust. There is not a general agreement in regard -to all the emotions that should be regarded as primary. Joy and sorrow, -for example, are classed by some as primary and by some as complex. I -made an effort to note and classify in a tentative way the emotions that -were present and absent in the two personalities A and B and have -arranged them in the following table. In this table the classification -of the primary and complex emotions of McDougall has been followed in -the main. - -Of course it is very difficult to determine with certainty if any given -emotion is absolutely absent, as it depends upon suitable conditions -being present for its excitation. An emotion that is repressed might -still be excited if the stimulus were sufficiently strong. Still, it is -significant that emotions which would ordinarily excite a given emotion, -say, tender feeling, or sorrow or fear, in the ordinary normal person, -or did do so in this subject in the A personality, did not do so in the -B personality, or would awaken in the latter only an emotion of joy or -mirth. Under these circumstances, when the A and B personalities -respectively came into being, these differences were easily observed, -and it is noteworthy that then certain emotions were never in evidence -in each respectively, whether potentially present or not. - -It is interesting to note that when a primary emotion was absent, for -instance in personality B, that a compound emotion which included this -primary emotion was also absent. It is obvious that dissociation of -personalities in which certain emotions are repressed offer valuable -data for studying the problem of the classification of emotions, more -reliable than do the usual methods of introspective analysis. - - PRIMARY EMOTIONS, INSTINCTS, FEELINGS AND INNATE DISPOSITIONS - - Personality A Personality B - Anger Present (marked) Never observed, - although sometimes - she felt “provoked” - Fear Present (marked) Never observed - Disgust Present (marked) Never observed - Hunger Slight _Absent (?)_ - Sexual Present _Absent_ - Curiosity Present Present - Joy _Absent_ (present only Present (marked) - when excited by - suggestion) - Sorrow Present (marked) _Absent_ - Parental, Tender- Present _Absent_ - feeling Affection, - etc. - Self-assertion—Elation Present (in pride) Present - Self-abasement—Subjection Present (marked) _Absent_ - Play _Absent_ Present (marked) - Pleasure-feeling tones _Rare_ Constant (marked) - Pain-feeling tones Present (marked) _Absent_ - - COMPOUND EMOTIONS - - Personality A Personality B - Admiration Present ? - Reverence ? ? - Gratitude Present (marked) ? - Scorn { Anger Present (marked) _Absent_ - Disgust - { - Loathing { Fear Present (marked) _Absent_ - { Disgust - Envy ? ? - { Anger - Reproach { Tender- Present _Absent_ - { emotion - Jealousy Present _Absent (?)_ - Vengeful emotion Present _Absent_ - Shame Present _Absent_ - Bashfulness Present _Absent_ - Pity ? _Absent_ - Happiness _Absent_ Constant - -As there were differences in emotions and pleasure-pain feelings -manifested by the two personalities, so also the emotions and feelings -organized with the same objects differed. That is to say, one and the -same object often awakened different emotions or feelings. For example, -the moon excited in A pain, in B pleasure; woods excited in A -apprehension, in B pleasure; a lake, in A fear; in B joy; relatives, in -A affection, in B indifference. Situations, too, that gave A sorrow, -gave B joy, or, it might be, pleased A and bored B. Likewise with -persons: Y—aroused intense hatred, scorn, etc., in A; in B pleasant -feelings. - - IV - -To return to the behavior of the B and A personalities; the B system, -from the fact that it had become for a month, during the third period, -segregated as an independent and autonomous system, had become -crystallized and easily dissociated as _a whole_ from the remainder of -the personalities. The same happened with the A system after it had -become emancipated as a result of the fourth shock. The two systems -readily changed with one another and I had innumerable opportunities of -observing the changes taking place before my eyes and of studying them. -C makes the following statement of these alternations: - - Shortly after I came to you I began to alternate more frequently - between those two states, and it is well to emphasize that one marked - change in the state of A developed. In this state I now had _complete - amnesia_ for my whole life as B; for everything I thought and - did.[300] In other respects, however, these states were identical with - what they had been. The presence of amnesia made no difference in the - fact of change of personality. As I see it I was just as much an - altered personality before the amnesia developed as afterward. As B, I - had no amnesia. - - The amnesia made life very difficult; indeed, except for the help you - gave me I think it would have been impossible and that I should have - gone truly mad. How can I describe or give any clear idea of what it - is to wake suddenly, as it were, and not to know the day of the week, - the time of the day, or why one is in any given position? I would come - to myself as A, perhaps on the street, with no idea of where I had - been or where I was going; fortunate if I found myself alone, for if I - was carrying on a conversation I knew nothing of what it had been; - fortunate indeed, in that case, if I did not contradict something I - had said for, as B, my attitude toward all things was quite the - opposite of that taken by A. Often it happened that I came to myself - at some social gathering—a dinner, perhaps—to find I had been taking - wine (a thing I, as A, felt bound not to do)[301] and what was to me - most shocking and horrifying, smoking a cigarette; never in my life - had I done such a thing and my humiliation was deep and keen. - -The bearing of amnesia on the principle of multiple personality, -perhaps, needs a few words. From the facts as they developed in this -case it must be obvious that the presence or absence of amnesia in no -way affects the reality of altered or secondary personality. B was quite -as much a personality before the development of amnesia as afterwards. -Before this appeared the patient as A in no way differed in -characteristics (other than amnesia) from what she was afterwards, and -the same is true of B. The amnesia simply made the contrast between the -phases more obtrusive; that was all. If, therefore, following the -amnesia each phase can be rightly interpreted—and of this there can be -no doubt—as a dissociated personality, the same must be true of it -antecedent to loss of memory. Each phase had lost and gained certain -traits and peculiarities, and what one had lost the other, to a large -extent, had retained. - -An analysis of the previous life history shows that each represented a -constellation of mental complexes created out of the formative matter of -the past conserved in the unconscious. On the other hand it is obvious -that from another point of view each, before amnesia occurred, was -rightly entitled to be considered as a highly developed “mood” with -strong conative tendencies. In principle the amnesia does not affect the -point of view. One frequently sees in lesser degree such moods in -so-called normal people of a certain temperament. They are in fact -really temporary alterations of personality, though it is not customary -to speak of them as such. After amnesia develops the conditions in other -respects are in no way changed. If such alterations of personality are -combined with a neurasthenic condition it is customary to regard the -phase as one of neurasthenia or hysteria, and, in fact, the state A was -for a long time so regarded until the other state, B, was discovered. - -It is not within the scope of this study to describe in detail the -behavior of the two personalities A and B. Enough has been said to show -that they differed in character so widely as to appear to be two -entirely distinct persons, with contradictory traits, desires, feelings, -points of view, habits, manners, temperaments, and attitudes towards -their environment and towards each other. Alternating as they did, the -situations in which A, at least, was placed were often dramatic and -comparable to that of the case of Miss Beauchamp[302] with which some of -you may be familiar. - -A good general idea of the two personalities and their behavior has been -given by the subject herself in the two articles from which I have -freely quoted. For further details I would refer you to those -accounts[303] which merit careful study. - -Nor can I take up that phase of the problem of dissociation which -involves _co-conscious_ systems of thought. It is too large a subject -and must be reserved for a later occasion. I will merely say that when A -became _unaware_ of the _B complex_ and became amnesic for her -alternating life as B, the latter, B, continued during the A phase; or, -in other words, the co-conscious life was a continuation of the B -alternating life after the change took place to A (or C), but the latter -was unaware of it. - -This seems very difficult to comprehend for those who are not familiar -with the phenomenon. Yet, as I see it, the mechanism and principle are -very simple and the phenomenon is only an exaggeration of the normal. -Otherwise and without a normal mechanism it could not occur. B has also -given in her account a very valuable description based on introspection -of the co-conscious life. This merits careful study. - - REINTEGRATION OF A AND B INTO A NORMAL PERSONALITY C - -You probably will have sufficient curiosity to want to know how the -reintegration of the dissociated phases into a single normal personality -was accomplished: that is to say how a cure was brought about and the -original personality was obtained. It was very simple and can be told in -a few words. The method was the same as that employed in the case of -Miss Beauchamp. - -Each of the dissociated personalities A and B could be hypnotized. When -A was hypnotized she went into a state which we will call _a_ and when B -was hypnotized she went into a state which we will call _b_. Now both -these states could be still further hypnotized. When the process of -hypnotizing _a_ was carried further a state was obtained which we will -provisionally call _x_. When the process of hypnotizing _b_ was carried -further a state was obtained which we will call provisionally _y_. Now, -when studying these two hypnotic states, _x_ and _y_, they were found to -be the same state. That is to say they had the same memories and other -traits of personality. Furthermore they were found to be a combination -of both _a_ and _b_, possessing all the memories, emotions and innate -dispositions which were lost in A and therefore possessed by B and all -those that were lost in B and therefore possessed by A. In other words, -it was the complete normal personality but in the hypnotic state. This -hypnotic state, therefore, which had been previously labeled both _x_ -and _y_ was now labeled _c_. All that remained to do, therefore, was to -wake up _c_ and the trick would be done, for we would then have, -theoretically, the normal C personality. So this procedure was carried -out and the normal personality was obtained. - ------ - -Footnote 292: - - Fourth according to the division of periods here adopted. - -Footnote 293: - - Money matters. - -Footnote 294: - - Second which brought the B personality. - -Footnote 295: - - Apropos of this B states: “I still continued, in a sense, as the B - complex in the same way as during the time when C lived the life which - was in accordance with my nature and opposed to hers, i.e., the out of - doors life during the latter part of the second period; only, as a - result of the time (_period III_) when I was the sole personality - (though I did not think of myself as such) and had lived my own life, - I had, it seems to me as I look back upon it, become more - crystallized. There had before seemed to be a conjoining of two - natures, and there was now, only the second one, myself, was more - strongly integrated. C, or rather A, as I shall call this new phase, - had no amnesia for the preceding period (_III_), and as before was - still perfectly aware of the B complex. She was ruled by this complex, - as C had before been ruled, and kept right on doing things in - accordance with the impulses of the B complex. She was something like - a somnambulist, I think, partly realizing the difference in her - conduct, which seemed strange to her, and unable to help herself.” - -Footnote 296: - - At this time A had removed from the environment in which all this that - has been narrated had taken place, and had come under my care; she was - then A. There were no longer calls for duty to be performed, no longer - responsibilities to carry out. B was dormant and it was impossible for - the fixed idea to act, though undoubtedly if the former situation was - restored the old parts would have been reënacted; as it was A looked - upon the past as a closed chapter and she was able to judge herself as - A and B. In the quiescence of her fixed idea she was able to see - herself, though in a distorted perspective, and reprobated her conduct - in both phases of personality, and as she says, was “aghast.” - -Footnote 297: - - Referring to the fixed idea mentioned above of saving this person. - -Footnote 298: - - Referring to her husband’s illness and death. - -Footnote 299: - - Lecture XVII. - -Footnote 300: - - This came about in the following way: One day while A was in hypnosis - she suddenly and spontaneously changed to a different hypnotic state - characterized by change of facial expression, manner, speech, etc. It - was afterwards recognized that this was the B personality in hypnosis. - I had not before seen or heard of the B personality as such. I had - only known that the subject from her own account had been in a - neurasthenic condition and had been through periods of improvement and - relapses. I did not suspect that these phases of improvement and - relapses represented phases of personality such as was soon discovered - to be the case. A few days after the B personality had appeared in - hypnosis this phase spontaneously waked and alternated as it had - previously done, with the A complex. But now, as the writer says, - there was amnesia on the part of A for B. The explanation for this is - undoubtedly to be found in the fact that a new synthesis and more - complete dissociation of the B complex had taken place through the - experience of hypnosis. Analogous phenomena I have observed in making - experimental observations but it would take us too far away to enter - into this question here. - -Footnote 301: - - During the first weeks of my existence as B I pledged myself to drink - no wine. The promise was made under such conditions that no reasonable - person could have felt bound by it. As B I realized this and felt no - obligation to keep it but as A, I could not feel so, though you had - assured me over and over again that I was not in honor bound. - -Footnote 302: - - Prince: The Dissociation of a Personality, Longmans, Green & Co. - -Footnote 303: - - “My Life as a Dissociated Personality,” _Journal of Abnormal - Psychology_, Vol. III, Nos. 4 and 5. - - - - - SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS - - -We may now bring this study of human personality to a close, incomplete -as it is. We have not by any means exhausted all the factors of -personality, but, guided by practical consideration, we have at least -examined the chief of its fundamentals, more particularly those which -are concerned in the disturbances which general psychopathology makes -the object of study. Such a study should be undertaken preparatory to -that of special pathology or particular complexes of disturbances of -function (the functional psychoneuroses). The aim of psychology should -be to become capable of being an applied science. So far as a science is -only of academic interest it fails to be of real value to the world. -Physics, chemistry, astronomy, mineralogy, geology, physiology, -bacteriology, botany, and many departments of zoology, etc., can be -applied, and other sciences at least tend to form our notions of the -universe in which we live, and thus to mould our religious, -philosophical and other conceptions. Until very recent years it was an -opprobium of psychology, as studied and taught, that it had not become -divorced from philosophy[304] and stood amongst the few sciences that -could not be applied to practical life and was for the most part of -academic interest only. Now, however, in the field of medicine -psychology is fast looming to the front as of great practical -interest—not the older psychology, but the new psychology of functions -and mechanisms. In the field of human efficiency in the mechanical arts -it is also fast becoming capable of practical application. With the -above aim in view we have dealt in these lectures more particularly with -those psychological activities a knowledge of which can be applied in -the theory and practice of medicine. But as the laws governing the -organism are general, not special, what has been found is as applicable -to normal as to pathological life. - -We have not attempted to enter the field of special pathology to study -the psycho-pathology of special diseases. So far as this has been done -it has been mainly for the purpose of seeking data. Our aim has been -rather to obtain that knowledge of functions which will serve as an -introduction to such medical studies. Even in this limited field there -are any number of specific problems which have been scarcely more than -touched upon and any one of which, by itself, would be a rich field of -investigation. - -It is well now, in conclusion, to make a general survey of the fields -which we have tilled, and gather together into a whole, so far as -possible, the results of our gleaning. - -We have seen on the basis of the phenomena of memory that the “mind” -includes more than conscious processes; that it includes a vast -storehouse of acquired “dispositions” deposited by the experiences of -life, and that these dispositions (by which mental experiences are -conserved) may be regarded as chemical or physical in their nature, as -sort of residua deposited (if we are asked to confine ourselves to terms -of the same order) by the neural processes correlated with the conscious -experiences of life. This storehouse of acquired dispositions provides -the material for conscious and subconscious processes; and thus provides -the wherewithal which enables the personality to be guided in its -behavior by the experiences of the past. It provides the elements of -memory which we know must be supplied by the mind in every perception of -the environment—even the simplest—and which are required for every -process of thought. Indeed throughout our review of processes and -manifestations of mind, which we need not recapitulate, we have -continually come upon evidences of these dispositions playing as I -foretold in our first lecture an underlying and responsible part. - -The fact that brain dispositions are of one order of events (physical) -while psychological processes are of another (psychical) is in no way an -objection to such an interpretation, as in this antithesis we have only -the old mind-matter problem—dualism, or monism, or parallelism. - -We have also seen that in neural dispositions, whether acquired or -innate, we have a conception of the unconscious that is definite, -precise. - -We have also reviewed the evidence going to show that though the main -teleological function of the unconscious, so far as it represents -acquired dispositions, is to provide the material for conscious memory -and _conscious_ processes, in order that the organism may be consciously -guided in its reactions by experience, yet under certain conditions -neurographic residua can function as a _subconscious_ process which may -be _unconscious_, i.e., without being accompanied by conscious -equivalents. The latter were classed as a sub-order of subconscious -processes. We saw reason for believing that any neurogram deposited by -life’s experience can, given certain other factors, thus function -subconsciously, either autonomously or as a factor in a large mechanism -embracing both conscious and unconscious elements; and that this was -peculiarly the case when the neurogram was organized with an emotional -disposition or instinct. The impulsive force of the latter gives energy -to the former and enables it to be an active factor in determining -behavior. The organism may then be subconsciously governed in its -reactions to the environment. - -After a consideration of actions so habitually performed that they -become automatic and free from conscious direction (so-called -habit-reactions), of actions performed by decerebrate animals, of -cerebro-spinal reflexes, and many motor activities of lower forms of -animal life, we came to the conclusion that they also were performed by -unconscious neural dispositions and processes, analogous to, or -identical with (as the case might be) the acquired dispositions and -processes correlated with conscious processes. Many of them may likewise -be acquired and in a pragmatic sense intelligent. We thus were able to -broaden our conception of the unconscious and its functioning, and at -the same time see the further necessity of distinguishing the -unconscious as a subdivision of the subconscious. - -Proceeding further we found that besides subconscious processes that are -distinctly unconscious, there are others which are distinctly conscious -(or at least unconscious processes with conscious accompaniments) but -which do not enter the focus or fringe of awareness—in other words, true -subconscious ideas. These were termed _coconscious_ as a second -subdivision of the subconscious. They may include true perceptions, -memories, thoughts, volition, imagination, etc. As with unconscious -processes, any conserved experience of life, _under certain conditions -and given certain other factors_, may thus function coconsciously, -particularly if organized with and activated by an innate emotional -disposition. So we may have subconscious processes both without and with -conscious equivalents. We have also seen that coconscious processes may -exhibit intelligence of a high order, and the same thing is possibly -true in a less degree of unconscious processes. We found evidence -showing that a conserved idea may undergo subconscious incubation and -elaboration, and that subconscious processes may acquire a marked degree -of autonomy, may determine or inhibit conscious processes of thought, -solve problems, enter into conflicts, and in various modes produce all -sorts of psychological phenomena (hallucinations, impulsive phenomena, -aboulia, amnesia, dissociation of personality, etc.). - -We have seen how, by the use of the experimental method of “_tapping_,” -and by hypnotic and other procedures, that this same autonomy can be -demonstrated, manifesting itself by impulsive phenomena (writing, -speech, gestures, and all sorts of motor automatisms) on the one hand, -and sensory automatisms (hallucinations) on the other. And we have seen -that by similar procedures, in specially adapted individuals, -remembrances of coconscious processes that have induced identical -phenomena can be recalled. With this precise knowledge of the processes -at work these automatisms were correlated with the spontaneous -occurrence of the same kinds of phenomena in the psychoses and in normal -conditions. Their occurrence in all sorts of pathological conditions -thus becomes intelligible. - -Evidence has been adduced to show that life’s experiences, and therefore -acquired dispositions, tend to become organized into groups. The latter, -termed for descriptive purposes neurograms, thereby acquire a functional -unity; and they may become compounded into larger functioning groups, or -complexes, and still larger systems of neurograms. Whether their origin -is remembered or not they become a part of the personality. Such -complexes and systems play an important part by determining mental and -bodily behavior. Amongst other things they tend to determine the points -of view, the attitudes of mind, the individual and social conscience, -judgment, etc., and, as large systems, may become “sides to one’s -character.” When such complexes have strong emotional tones they may set -up conflicts leading to the inhibition of antagonistic sentiments, and -sometimes to the contraction and even disruption of the personality. All -these phenomena can be induced by the artificial creation and -organization of complexes and this principle becomes an important one in -therapeutics. - -When studying ideas we found that, besides sensory images, they have -meaning derived from antecedent associated experiences that form the -setting or context. Further evidence was adduced to show that this -setting and the idea formed a psychic whole; but that often the former -remained subconscious while the idea only, or the affect only, or both, -emerged into the content of consciousness. The significance of this -mechanism lay in the fact that it enabled us to understand the -insistency of emotional ideas or obsessions. Indeed reasons have been -given for holding that subconscious processes perform a part in most -processes of thought. - -Besides acquired dispositions, organized and, so to speak, deposited by -life’s experiences, personality includes many that are innate, and -therefore conditioned by inherited pre-formed anatomical and -physiological arrangements of the nervous system. These function after -the manner of a physiological reflex; and the theory was adopted that -the emotions are the central elements in certain of such dispositions. -These may therefore be called emotional dispositions or instincts. By -the excitation of such emotional reflexes the organism reacts in an -emotional manner to the environment. - -In the organization of life’s experiences the emotional dispositions -tend to become synthesized with ideas to form sentiments and therefore -synthesized with the neurographic residua by which ideas are conserved. -Thus, on the one hand, neurograms and systems of neurograms become -organized with innate emotional dispositions, and, on the other, ideas -become energized by the emotional impulsive force that carries the ideas -to fruition. - -As to general psycho-pathological and certain physiological phenomena, a -large variety such as anxiety states, hallucinations, and automatic -motor phenomena, are clearly the manifestations of automatic -subconscious processes; some are the resultants of conflicts between the -impulsive forces of distinctly conscious sentiments, others between -those of conscious and subconscious sentiments; others are the -physiological manifestation of emotional processes, conscious or -subconscious. Some, indicative of losses from personality (such as -amnesia, anesthesia, paralysis, altered personality, etc.), are the -resultants of inhibitions or dissociations of acquired or innate -dispositions, effected by the conflicting force of antagonistic factors. -These resultants may or may not be associated with the excitation and -dominance of complexes, or large systems of acquired dispositions. If -so, moods, trance states, fugues, somnambulistic states, secondary -personalities, and other hysterical states come into being. In all cases -these various pathological conditions are functional derangements of the -fundamental factors of a given human personality—expressions of the same -mechanisms which the organism normally makes use of to adapt itself -harmoniously to its own past or present experiences and to its -environment. - -Finally, out of the innate and acquired dispositions organized by -experience to a very large extent into unitary dynamic systems human -personality is constructed by the integration of these systems (and -other dispositions) into a composite functioning whole. And according as -certain systems acquire dominance and determine fixed and predictable -reactions to the environment character traits are developed. But as -personality is thus a composite, that is an integrated system of lesser -systems these latter are capable of being reassembled or integrated in -varying combinations into many and different composites and thus -multiple personality may be formed. The forces which bring about the -disintegration of the normal composite and the resynthesizing of the -unitary systems into new personalities are to be found in the dynamic -dispositions of conscious and unconscious mechanisms. And we have also -seen that as the empirical ego is a unitary system organized by -experience each personality may contain its own differentiated ego. - -Viewing as a whole the phenomena we have studied, we see why it is that -personality is a complex affair in that in its make-up there enter many -factors, some acquired and some innate. Each of these is capable of more -or less autonomy and upon their harmonious coöperation depends the -successful adaptation of the personality to its environment. It is, we -may say with almost literal truth, when these factors work to cross -purposes that a personality ceases to be a harmonious whole; just as the -individuals composing a group of persons, a football team, for example, -when they fail to work together and each strives to fulfill his own -purposes, cease to be a single team. Consciousness is not a unity in any -sense that the term has any significant meaning beyond that which is a -most banal platitude. The “unity of consciousness” seems to be a -cant-expression uttered by some unsophisticated ancient philosopher and -repeated like an article of faith by each successive generation without -stopping to think of its meaning or to test it by reference to facts. -Neither a reference to the evidence of consciousness or to its -manifestations gives support to the notion of unity. The mind is rather -an aggregation of potential or functioning activities some of which may -combine into associative functioning processes at one time and some at -another; while again these different activities may become disaggregated -with resulting contraction of personality, on the one hand, and -conflicting multiple activities on the other. - -The unconscious, representing as it does all the past experiences of -life that have been conserved, is not limited to any particular type of -experiences; nor are the subconscious and conscious processes to which -it gives rise more likely to be determined by any particular -antecedents, such as those of childhood, as some would have us believe. -Nor are these motivated by any particular class of emotional instincts -or strivings of human personality. The instincts and other innate -dispositions which are fundamental factors are, as we have seen, -multiform, and any one of them may provide the motivating force which -activates subconscious as well as conscious processes. Impelled by any -one or combination of these instincts unconscious complexes may undergo -subconscious incubation and in the striving to find expression may work -for harmony or, by conflict with other complexes, for discord. - -Having grasped the foregoing general principles governing the -functioning mechanisms of the mind, we are prepared to undertake the -study of the more particular problems of everyday life and of special -pathology. - ------ - -Footnote 304: - - In most universities to-day Psychology is classed as a department of - Philosophy! How long is this attitude to be continued? - - - - - INDEX OF NAMES[305] - -Footnote 305: - - See Addendum to index on page 654. - - Barrows, Ira, 213. - “B. C. A.”, 159, 302. - Bergson, viii. - Bicknel, 428, 429, 430, 431. - Bidder and Schmidt, 427. - Bogen, 429, 430. - Breuer, J., 69. - - Cade and Latarjet, 428. - Cannon, W. B., 426, 428, 432, 439, 452, 453. - Charcot, 77, 526. - Coriat, I. H., 76, 145. - - De la Paz, D., 432. - Dickenson, C. Lowe, 19. - - Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 330. - - Féré, Ch., 423, 433, 436. - Flournoy, Th., 304. - Foster, M., 233, 242. - Freud, Sigmund, 45, 71, 196, 203, 221, 509. - Fullerton, G. S., 309. - - Goltz, F., 232. - Gurney, Edmund, 62, 157. - - Haldane, (Lord), 307. - Hartmann, 250, 251. - Herbart, 250, 251. - Hilton, 453. - Hoernlé, R. F., 322, 325. - “Mrs. Holland,” 22. - Hornborg, 427, 428, 429. - - James, William, 223, 224, 260. - Janet, Pierre, 56, 62, 77, 157, 252, 281, 317, 364, 485, 498, 499, 500, - 501, 506, 509, 526. - Johnson, (Miss) Alice, 22, 62. - Jung, C. J., 425, 437. - - Kant, 250, 251. - - Leibnitz, 250, 251. - Loeb, J., 232, 233, 236. - Lucretius, 309. - - McDougall, William, 241, 446, 447, 448, 449, 450, 455, 456, 458. - Meltzer, S. J., 123. - Morgan, Lloyd, 234, 237, 238, 241. - Mosso, 423. - Myers, Frederick W. H., 251. - - Pawlow, J. P., 139, 235, 426, 427, 428, 429, 430, 431. - Peterson, Frederick, 106, 425, 437, 481. - Pilgrim, C. W., 81. - - Ribôt, Th., 133, 144. - Rignano, Eugenio, 127. - Robertson, T. Brailsford, 124, 125, 127, 514. - Rothmann, Von M., 232, 234. - Rumbold, Horace, 223. - - Schäfer, E. A., 232. - Schilling, 250. - Schrader, Max E. G., 232, 234, 235, 236. - Semon, Richard, 131. - Shand, 267, 449. - Sharp, Elizabeth A., 297. - Sherrington, C. S., 231, 234, 237. - Shohl, A. T., 432. - Sidgwick, Mrs. Henry, 62. - Sidis, Boris, 75, 104, 145, 183, 315. - Sidis and Kalmas, 104, 437, 438. - Sidis and Nelson, 104, 438. - - Tallentyre, 271. - Titchener, E. B., 316, 321. - Turquan, Joseph, 274. - - Umber, 427. - - Verrall, (Mrs.), 21. - Vigouroux, A., 436. - - Waterman, G. A., 169, 209. - Wells and Forbes, 438. - Wright, W. S., 432. - - - INDEX OF SUBJECTS - - =Absent-minded acts=, conservation of, 50. - =Affective states=, suppression of, by conflict, 455. - =Affects=, see =Emotion=. - as conative force of ideas, 448. - linking of, to ideas fundamental for the pathology of the - psychoneuroses, 449. - =Amnesia=, continuous, 76; - episodic, 69; - epochal, 74. - from conflict, 71, 508–518. - theory of, following emotion, 509–514. - different forms of, following emotion, 514–517. - =Anxiety neurosis=, emergence of emotion from a subconscious idea in, - 382, 526. - =Association neuroses=, 279, 527. - =Association psychoses=, 278. - - =Bashfulness= as resultant of emotional conflict, 520. - =Behavior=, acquired and instinctive, 237, 238; - conscious and unconscious, 230. - - =Coconscious=, the meaning of the, 247–254. - =Coconscious= ideas, 168, 249, 254. - images, 169–171, 178, 208, 210, 374–376. - =Coconscious= processes, auto-analysis of the content of, 171, 176. - =Complex= of ideas, definition of a, 265. - =Complexes= (systematized), dissociated, as phases of multiple - personality, 299–302. - emotional, 267; - organization of emotional, 267–274. - systematized, 283: - Subject systems, 284; - alternation of, 288; - in dissociated personality, 288. - Chronological systems, 290; - differentiated by amnesia, 290–294. - Mood systems, 294; - regarded as a “side to one’s character,” 295; - illustrated by William Sharp, 296. - unconscious, organization of, in hypnotic and other dissociated - conditions, 302–306; - in pathological states, 305; - in psychotherapeutics, 288–289, 304; - underlying the individual, social, civic and national conscience, - public opinion, Sittlichkeit, etc., 307. - =Conflict=, from conative force of emotion, 71, 454. - between conscious and subconscious sentiments, 460, 467–480; - in pathological conditions, 478; - under experimental conditions, 470–478. - =Conflict= between emotional impulses, 454; - and sentiments, 455. - between two subconscious processes, 480. - general phenomena of, 488: - contraction of field of consciousness and personality, 489–492; - the hysterical state, 492; - systematized dissociation, 492–504; - systematized anesthesia, 492; - contracted personality, 496; - change of sentiments, 497; - alternation of personality, 501; - multiple personality, 502; - amnesia, 508–517; - subconscious traumatic memories, 517; - mental confusion, 519–521; - bashfulness, 520; - self-consciousness, 521. - suppression of instincts and affective states by, 454–458. - =Confusion= (mental), as resultant of emotional conflicts, 519; - theory of, 520. - =Conservation=, meaning of, 12. - a residuum of experience, 87. - considered as psychological residua, 110; - as coconscious ideas, 111; - as an undifferentiated psyche, 115; - as physical residua, 117; - as neural dispositions, 117. - evidence of, furnished by automatic writing, 15; - abstraction, 24; - hypnosis, 31; - hallucinatory phenomena, 39; - dreams, 43. - =Conservation=, of absent-minded acts, 50 - of forgotten artificial states, 62; - (hypnosis, 62). - of forgotten dreams and somnambulisms, 59. - of forgotten experiences of normal life, 15. - of forgotten pathological states, 68 - (amnesia, 68; - deliria, 79; - fugues, 75; - intoxications, 80; - multiple personality, 77). - of inner life, 85. - of subconscious perceptions, 52. - - =Decerebrate Animal=, behavior of, 231. - intelligent behavior of, 240. - =Dissociation=, due to conflict, 71, 469, 472–475, 480, 487, 488, - 492–504. - amnesia following, 508. - effected by subconscious processes, 504. - laws of cleavage of personality in, 504–508. - systematized, 492–504; - principle involved, 493. - =Dreams=, as a type of hallucinatory phenomena, 222. - physiological after-phenomena, 101. - subconscious process underlying, 196–213. - symbolism in, 200, 202. - - =Emotion=, see =Affects=. - amnesia, as resultant of, 514–517. - emergence of, from subconscious ideas, 382–386, 387–388, 391, 485. - general psychopathology of, 440–442. - James-Lange theory of, 423, 453. - physiological manifestations of, 423; - changes in circulation, 424; - modifications of volume and action of heart, 424; - of respiratory apparatus, 426; - of glandular secretions, 426; - of the functions of the digestive glands, 426; - of the movements of the stomach and intestines, 426; - of salivary secretion, 431; - of secretion of ductless glands, 431; - of pupils, 433; - of muscular system, 433; - the psycho-galvanic reflex, 435. - physiological symptoms of, caused by subconscious ideas, 377–381. - phenomena of, due to subconscious processes, 103. - provides the impulsive force of an instinct, 447; - one of chief functions of, 451. - psycho-physiological schema of manifestations of emotion, 441; - physiological mimicry of disease, 442. - sensory accompaniments of, 453. - =Emotion=, sensory disturbances caused by, 438. - the central psychical element in an innate reflex process, 446. - the conative function of, 451, 452–460; - discharge of force in three directions, 452. - =Emotions=, as the prime-movers of all human activity, 450; - organization of, with ideas essential for self-control, etc., 451, - 458. - primary and compound, 446. - =Emotional discharge= from subconscious processes, evidence for, 481. - =Emotional reactions=, acquired, do not always involve subconscious - processes, 418. - - =Fanatics=, 279. - =Fear neurosis= due to subconscious ideas, 379. - =Feeling=, may emerge from subconscious complexes, 383–386. - =Fixed idea= (imperative), 278–279. - =Fringe (of consciousness)=, considered as a subconscious zone, - 338–352; - as a twilight zone, 341; - consists of definite, real elements, 342; - ultramarginal or coconscious zone, 343–352. - content of the, 342–352; - only recovered by memory, 340, 353. - effect of attention in shifting the content of focus and, 340, 353. - =Fringe (of consciousness)=, meaning of ideas may be in the, 352–360. - - =Glycosuria=, due to emotion, 432. - - =Hallucinations=, see =Visions=. - as the emergence of secondary sensory images of subconscious ideas, - 182–183, 204, 209–210, 315. - =Hysterical attacks=, - as recurrent complexes, 280, 282; - laughter and crying due to subconscious processes, 379. - - =Idea=, a composite of sign and meaning, 325. - =Idea and Meaning=, the problem of, 311. - =Ideas=, content of, includes “Meaning,” 321-331. - setting of, 321, 330. - =Images=, of perception, either in the focus of attention or in the - fringe, 330, 340. - =Images, secondary=, in perception, 82–183, 313; - dissociation of, 318–321; - from subconscious ideas, 204, 209, 315–321, 375, 413. - =Instinct and Intelligence=, 240. - =Instinct=, McDougall’s conception of an, 446. - as an emotional disposition, 447, 467. - =Instinctive process=, three aspects of an, 446. - =Instincts=, conduct determined by, 458; - suppression of, by conflict, 454–458; - may be lasting, 460–467. - difference between consequences of repression of, and of sentiments, - 467–469. - =Intelligence=, 240. - and instinct, 240. - a pragmatic question, 241. - conscious and unconscious, 240–246. - - “=Meaning=,” as a part of the content of ideas, 321–331. - as determined by a subconscious process, 361. - as the conscious elements of a larger subconscious complex, 360–362, - 363. - derived from the setting, 321, 330. - may be in the fringe of consciousness, 352–360, 363. - must be in consciousness, 339. - the problem of, 311. - =Melancholia=, depressive feeling in, as emergence from a subconscious - complex, 386. - =Memory=, as a process, 1; - of registration, conservation and reproduction, 2, 134. - conscious, a particular type, 3; - without recollection, 144. - physiological, 3, 135, 229, 238. - psycho-physiological, 138. - significance of theory of, 257–264. - subconscious, 84, 151, 517. - unconscious, 137. - =Memories, automatic=, 267; - outbreak of, 274; - as hysterical attacks, 280; - as obsessions, 271, 278, 280; - as a phobia, 269. - =Monism=, doctrine of, 246. - -=Neurograms=, 109, 131. as organized systems of neurons, 121. as -physiological dispositions, 131. as subconscious processes, 150–157. - - =Obsessions=, clinical characteristics of, 278. - four types of, 373. - type A, purely physical disturbances caused by subconscious ideas, - 374–381. - type B, emotion plus physical disturbances, 381–386; - as “anxiety neurosis,” 382. - type C, emotion plus physical disturbances, plus idea, 387–410. - type D, idea, meaning, emotion and physical disturbance, 410–415. - inability to voluntarily modify, 415. - therapeutics of, 416. - the setting in, 372. - - =Parallelism=, doctrine of, 246. - =Perception=, a synthesis of primary and secondary images, 312–321. - may include affects, 330. - =Personalities, subconscious=, value of, for study of mental - mechanisms, 160. - =Personality=, as survival of antecedent experiences, 306–310. - dissociated, 299–302. - includes conserved but forgotten experiences of hypnotic states, 66. - multiple, 299–302. - =Phobia=, see =Obsessions=. - as an automatism, 269. - of steeples (case), 389–410; - of fainting (case), 355–360; - of insanity (case), 411–414. - =Psycho-galvanic phenomenon=, induced by subconscious processes, 103. - nature of, 435–438. - a phenomenon of emotion, 435. - as evidence of subconscious emotional discharge, 481–484. - =Psycholeptic attack=, as an organized complex, 282. - =Psychoneuroses=, symptomatic structure of, 521–528; - the hysterical attack, 524; - the dissociated personality, 525; - the subconscious fixed idea, 526; - the anxiety state, 526; - an obsession, 527; - an association neurosis, 527. - =Psychotherapeutics=, based on organization of complexes, 288–289; - in hypnosis, 304. - by the organization of unconscious settings of ideas, 368–372, 416. - =Psychotherapeutics= of obsessions, 416. - =Physiological Dispositions=, innate and acquired, 230, 231. - in the spinal animal, 231. - in the decerebrate animal, 231. - determinants of conscious and unconscious behavior, 230. - - =Recollection=, 143. - a more perfect kind of conscious memory, 144. - =Reflection=, subconscious processes underlying, 225–228. - =Religious conversion= (sudden), 193, 223. - =Reproduction=, dissimilarity of types in abstraction and automatic - writing, 27. - realistic, 32. - =Residua=, as neural dispositions, 119. - chemical and physical theories of, 122; - analogy with anaphylaxis, 123; - theory of auto-catalysis, 124–127; - of nervous accumulators, 127–129. - =Residual Processes=, underlying automatic motor phenomena, 88; - hallucinations, 90; - post-hypnotic phenomena, 96; - dreams, 98; - physiological bodily disturbances, 101. - - =Self-consciousness=, as resultant of emotional conflict, 521. - =Sentiment=, definition of a, 449; - as an organized system of emotional dispositions centered about an - idea, 449–450. - difference between the consequences of repression of an instinct and - of a, 467–469. - =Sentiments=, essential for self-control and regulation of conduct, - 451; - in absence of, emotional life would be chaos, 451; - suppression of, by conflict, 454–458. - repression of, may lead to the formation of pathological subconscious - states, 461. - “=Settings=,” theory of, 311; - practical application to everyday life, 331–337. - not sharply defined groups of ideas, 421. - as part of an unconscious complex and a subconscious process, 361, - 363, 367; - inadequacy of analysis as a method of proof, 364, 368; - synthetic methods, 365; - therapeutic application of, 368–372; - in obsessions, 372–386, 387–415. - =Subconscious, The=, demarcation between, and the conscious, 419; - difficulties of interpretation by clinical methods, 220; - in applied psychology, 213–228. - meanings of, 247–254; - three classes of facts included in, 253. - special problems of, 162. - subdivisions of, x, 14, 253. - =Subconscious=, emotional discharge shown by psycho-galvanic reaction, - 481–484. - ideas, 249–254. - intelligence, 150, 153, 163, 164, 177–180, 187, 188; - underlying spontaneous hallucinations, 188–195; - underlying dreams, 196–213; - comparable to a coconscious personality, 211–212. - mathematical calculations, 96, 167, 169–171, 177–179. - perception, 52. - performance of post-hypnotic phenomena, 168, 171. - personality, 159; - value of, for study of mind, 159–160. - process, definition of a, 156. - processes, evidence for, 151, 163; - validity of memory as evidence for, 176; - actuality, intrinsic nature, and intelligence of, 164; - as coconscious, 157; - as unconscious, 161; - conditions required for proof of, 164–166; - as determinants of behavior, 153, 163; - of the meanings of ideas, 361, 363; - of physical symptoms, 377; - intrinsic nature of, 157, 163, 164; - underlying artificial visual hallucinations, 180–187; - spontaneous visual hallucinations, 188–195; - underlying dreams, 196–213. - =Subconscious= self, 256. - solution of problems, 171–176. - =Symbolism=, in dreams, 200, 202; - in visions, 222. - - =Unconscious, The=, 229; - as a storehouse of neurograms, 149. - as a fundamental of personality, 254–264. - has dynamic functions, 262. - the meanings of the, 149, 247–254. - =Unconscious=, calculations, 178; - intelligence, 187, 210–211. - complex as the setting of ideas, 361-363. - complexes, organization of, 265; - definition of, 265. - ideas, 249-254. - - =Visions=, see =Hallucinations=. - as the emergence of secondary visual images of subconscious ideas, - 182–3, 204, 209–210, 315, 413. - crystal, 42. - subconscious processes underlying normal, 222. - symbolism in, 222. - - =Will=, McDougall’s theory of the, 458. - =Word-association= reactions and the principle of conflict, 481. - - - - - ADDENDUM: NAMES AND SUBJECTS - - =Character= as distinguished from Personality, 533. - - =McDougall, Wm.=, 538, 602, 625. - =Mental Conflicts=, mechanisms of, 582. - =Multiple personality=, the psychogenesis of, 545; - product of two processes and secondary growth, 546. - Case of B. C. A., 551; - autobiography, 556; - conflicts between sentiments and rebellious thoughts, 567, 579, - 583; - growth of rebellious thoughts into the larger B complex and the - later B personality, 569, 577–579, 584, 587, 596–598; - unification of the same in the second ego, 570. - The B complex, 584, 587; - manifestations of the B complex in alterations of character and - conduct, 587–592, 616. - The B personality, 593; - the eruption of the B personality from “shock” (conflict), 593, - 601; - the evolution of the B personality, 596–598, 601; - “shock” as a defense reaction, 599; - analysis of the “shock” 601; - the B personality as a reversion to youth, 602–612; - characteristics of the B personality, 603. - The A personality, 614; - eruption of the same by “shock,” 614; - characteristics of the A personality, 612, 614, 619–621; - mechanisms of the “shock” reaction, 621–624. - Dissociation and repression of emotional instincts from the A and B - personalities, 624–627. - Reintegration of the two personalities into one normal whole, 632. - - =Personality=, structure and dynamic elements of, 529; - definition of, 532; - primary and secondary units of its structure, 535. - - =Self=, the conception of, 541. - =Sentiments=, structure of, 537; - the self-regarding sentiments, 538; - conflicts between sentiments in the case of B. C. A., 583. - =Shand, Alexander F.=, 535, 602. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - -The unmatched ‘)’ at 95.1 ‘recorded subconsciously, coconsciously).’, -has no simple resolution, based on the grammar and punctuation, and has -been left as-is. - -There appears to be a confusion of quotation marks at 282.15. The final -phrase contains an opening double quote, which is belied by a short -single-quoted phrase just above, and the final footnote referring to -Janet’s text. - -The labels on the two graphs in the image on p. 425 were chopped and -have been added. - -Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. - - xvii.31 The B Personal[l/it]y Replaced. - 56.28 [(]tactile, visual, etc.) Added. - 97.23 to say that it[ is] plain Inserted. - 138.30 process is conserved and rep[r]oduced Inserted. - 150.12 out of the unconscious.[”] Removed. - 155.1 devoid of ab[s]truseness, Inserted. - 187.8 post[ /-]hypnotic Replaced. - 210.13 coconscious or un[con]conscious Removed. - 214.10 is apt to meet with difficulties[.] Added. - 223.27 and His Times[,] Sir Horace Rumbold Added. - 231.21 that various co[o/ö]perative movements Replaced. - 258.19 [o/a]bnormal mental conditions Replaced. - 280.10 [5/4]. _Hysterical attacks._ Misnumbered. - 436.23 che[x/z] les mélancoliques Replaced. - 470.19 inhibition of consciousnes[s] Added. - 504.18 to the subconsc[i]ous conflicts Inserted. - 525.3 deposited in the uncon[s]cious Inserted. - 598.24 particularly anger and disgust[;/,] Replaced. - 600.11 whether the “shock[”] was a defense Added. - 649.29 [con-]considered as a subconscious zone Removed. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCONSCIOUS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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