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; Perhaps this essay had better be called a contribution to the psycho- 

pathology of every-day life; for it is based on the experience of - 

two healthy people who were not happy together— a matter of ■ 

common occurrence. The man, a close friend of mine who i 

,f became interested in psycho-analysis as an amateur, allowed me to 3 

' use his unfortunate circumstances for scientific investigation. 

Their married life had been a succession of quarrels and re- i 

■ conciliations, of which neitiier husband nor wife was able to 

give an explanation, for they had— at least during the first years 

of their marriage — no serious grievances against each other. For 1 

us it will suffice to know that they both carried in their inner 'ij 

selves two contradictory feelings: the wife had accepted her suitor :', 

out of love, no doubt, but she regretted her marriage the second 1 

day after the wedding because slie saw she had made a mistake ■ 

from the material point of view. It is this initial regret that ■; 

developed in time into hostility thanks to the ignorance of the 

husband who rubbed her the wrong way. For although he was 'i 

quite unable to explain his wife's lack of tenderness and solidarity, 
he felt it very keenly, became very excitable and insulted his 
wife, wounding her pride whenever he got into a temper, imme- 

. , diately to regret his anger and to try to make up for it. In that 

' i way he slowly estranged his wife from him. 

;T The result of this situation was that both husband and wife 

V developed a hate for each other, of which they became more 









and more conscious. Still, at the same time they were both 
craving for love and the analysis to which I have submitted the 
husband has proved that his second self sdl! expected from his 
wife the satisfaction of his love-hunger, long after he had begun 
to despise her consciously. Hate and love were tlms in conflict 
in his soul and there is , no doubt that such was the case with 
his wife as well. These feelings came to expression in the songs 
these two people used to sing together, for they were musical, 
and they often took to singing together, the husband accompanying 
at the piano, at least in their quiet days. 

Moreover the husband used to make his children sing, and 
even the melodies he taught them correspond to his secret 
worries, as will be seen. The study of their songs is of 
especial interest to us here, for, without being aware of it, 
the couple only sang such as betrayed their innermost feeUngs. 
These sentiments can be traced back from the texts alone, and 
for that reason I have given up my first idea of communicating 
tlie husband's autobiography wliich he wrote for me, from wluch 
there could not remain the slightest doubt as to the interpretation 
of the poems. But the short analysis of the songs has been under- 
taken with his assistance, and the knowledge acquired in this manner 
is quite convincing. For that reason the reproduction of the 
man's confession is not strictly necessary, especially for readers 
acquainted with day-dreaming. 

The only points to emphasize in the history of this unhappy 

marriage are that the husband's phantasies were mainly provoked 

by the following feelings: first of all, he wished his wife dead. 

This is how he describes it in his own words: 'For years I have 

had a habit, which has often caused me to reproach myself and 

call myself a fool: whenever I met another woman, the first idea 

that arose in my mind was "Would she be the right wife forme?" 

And immediately I started wool-gathering, even while keeping up 

the conversation; at other times this mind-wandering overtook me, 

sometimes with persistence when I walked in the street, or whenever 

my conscious ego was not fully occupied. The theme of these 

phantasies was always the same: I analysed the advantages and 

disadvantages which a hypothetical marriage with the woman m 

question would offer, and at the conclusion, that is when I became 

aware that my ideas were running away with me, one of the last 

ideas of tlie chain would be: "Impossible, you siUy fool, you arc 


married and will remain so till you die, for your -wife has a stronger 
constitution than yours and she wilt outlive you". My failure to 
sever the bonds that united me to my wife affected my day- 
dreaming, which I only found out after I had become acquainted 
with psycho-analysis. My fancies became more obsessive and 
continuous, together with new ones in which I imagined my wife 
had died through an accident All possible sorts of accidents were 
thus considered in turn, and I remember with horror that my egoistic 
desires took me so far as to review many means by which I could 
contrive an accident to bring about the death I unconsciously 
wished. These criminal phantasies often proved very clever and 
diabolic, I dreamt several times that I took her on the river in a 
small boat; through a brusque movement of mine I caused us both 
to fall into the water and as I can swim I let her drown, and 
cried for help only when she had gone under. Or I dreamt that 
she had a fainting fit as she used to have after a violent quarrel; 
1 then kept over her face a wet towel that adhered to the floor 
so as to cut off the air completely and so asphyxiated her without 
leaving any trace of my crime. Or I fancied I looked up the secrets 
of the preparation of the poisons of the middle ages that are said 
to leave no traces. Or else I imagined 1 possessed the wishing 
power of the fairy-tales, and my first wish was to be rid of her. 
These involuntary products of my fancies greatly perplexed me and 
were the cause of much self-reproach. Convinced as I was that they 
were another proof of my bad 'and even criminat character, they 
certainly predisposed me to forgiveness for my wife's short-comings.' 

After this introduction we shall examine first a few songs 
connected with the hate-complex. 

The death-wishes which provoked the criminal and other phan- 
tasies that have been described are represented in his usual songs 
by the following: 


Eh gai, gai, gai, de profundis Ah gay, gay, gay ii£ profundit 

'l*la femrae a rendu My wife has rendered her soui, 

Eh gai, gai, gai, de profundis Ah gay, gay, gay, de profundis, 

Qu'elle aille en paradis. May she go to Paradiae. 

A cctte amc si chfere For this soul so dear 

Lt; paradis convient To Paradise belongs 

Car d'aprts ma grand'mfere For according to my grandmother 

De I'enfer on revient. From hell one may return. 





The poem is by B^ranger (1780-1857), one of the best song 
writers, especially in the satirical vein. The melody is in F flat, 
but light, and in a quick tempo. De profundis are the opening 
words of a hymn of the burial rite in the Roman Catholic Church. 
The word 'hell' is not taboo on the Continent. 

It would be untrue to say that the singer was wholly unconscious 
of the symbolical meaning and the relation it bore to his secret 
death-wishes; but neither did he frankly and consciously take them 
for death-wishes. During the performance he experienced a pleasant 
feeling which he explains to-day by the circumstance that they 
allowed him to exteriorize his innermost desires in a way that did 
not hurt anybody, nor his own sense of conventions. They permitted 
him to play with his feelings as it were, for he sang them only 
when he was quite cheerful. He understood in his inner self that 
they applied to his wife, but only during our analysis did it strike 
him for the first time that they corresponded with the criminal 
phantasies which he has described in the first part of this essay. 

In another song ' Margolon va-t-a I'eau ' there is simply a question 
of a girl who went to fetch water with a pitcher and fell to the 
bottom of the well. Although there is no direct question of the 
death of a wife as in the previous song, it had, however, a deep 
meaning to the subject as he declared himself: 'When I came to 
the line "she fell to the bottom" it was as if in my imagination 
I saw my ovi^n wife fall to the bottom, tlie more so as the text 
was illustrated and one of the images represented Margoton falling 
head downwards. But 1 never had the vision as distincdy as when 
I sing the melody now. Moreover I fancy now that whereas I had 
a vague picture of her falhng, I never looked into the open space, nor 
did I in my imagination make any attempt to pull her out of it' 

I add to this remark the reflection how curious it is to observe 
that in the whole song there was only one detail that attracted 
the subject's attention, namely the above one. It is as if for him 
the rest of the text did not exist, this one peculiarity filling up 
the whole melody, covering up all the rest which was not con- 
sciously perceived, so to speak. This behaviour reminds me of thtjse 
passionate people who m a discussion hear only one word, that 
which touches them, and who are deaf to all other arguments; or 
of patients suffering from some obsession or other. Sometimes the 
obsessing wish to be rid of the woman who spoiled his life did 
not take an uoconsciously criminal expression as is illustrated by: 




Bon voyage A safe journey 

Cher Dumollet, Dear DumoUet, 

A Saint Malo d^barquez sans naufrage. Disembark without shipwreck at Saint 

Bon voyage Malo. 

Cher Dumollet, Bon voyage 

Et revenez si le pays vous plait. Dear Dumollet, 

Si vous voulez voir le capitale, And come back if the country pleases 

M6tiez-vous dcs voleurs, des amis, you. 

Des billets doux, des coups de la If you want to see the capital, 

cabale Distrust thieves, friends, 

Des Pistolets et des torlcolis. Love-letters, blows, intrigues, 

Bon voyage Pistols and stiff necks. 

Cher Dumollet, Bon voyage 

Et revenez si le pays vous plait. Dear Dumollet, 

And come back if ihe country pleases 

. This is a traditional song as the above one. Both are ditties 
our subject had taught his children. He used to take them on 
his knees and they wouid sing while he accompanied them on 
the piano. (These songs are to be found in the fine collection of 
traditional songs Chansons de France pour les peiits Frangais. 
Plon-Nourrit & Cie., Paris). But although he was only in the 
position of a listener his fancy became active as we gatlier from 
these reflections: 'I am quite sure at present that my second 
self understood Mrs. X. for M. Dumollet, and that it even in- 
wardly changed the last verse to "Please do not come back any 
more"; in other words I unconsciously identified Dumollet with 
my wife and in my inner sell altered the words so that they 
suited my secret wish. But of this alteration I was more or less 
aware, for it used to bring a smile to my lips.' Let us add that 
both Ma?goion va-t-a I'eau and Monsieur Dumollet are songs which 
used to obsess our subject. 

We may parallel this observation with another one which I made 
from myself and communicated elsewiiere: 'I was standing on the 
platform of a tram-car in my own town when I saw, without giving 
it my attention, a big advertisement on a wall, the sense of which 
I faintly realized, but not sufficiently well to be able to reproduce 
its wording exactly. The advertisement (translated) ran thus; 
"Beers of the Brewery Beigica, C. S." When the tram had gone 
five hundred yards farther, I became aware that I was humming 
a song and that 1 was at the same time wool-gathering. The text 



applies to the only Belgian training ship, the Belgica, which was 
inaugurated in great pomp after its predecessor had perished at 
sea under dramatic circumstances. The translation of the Flemish 
text is as follows: 

The Belgica, the Belgica. farewell 

A thousand pious wishes follow her od her voyage .... 

I had forgotten the otlier words, but a smile came to my lips as 
soon as I began the process of self-analysis and detected the thought 
that my unconscious self sought to express in this cryptic manner; 
for it flashed through my mind that it was meant as a farewell 
to a person whom I badly wanted to be rid of. Only in my case 
there was not the slightest awareness of the deep meaning before 
I started my analysis.' 

It is quite obvious that the training ship was a symbol for 
the person in question just as Monsieur Dumollet symbolizes our 

subject's wife. 

We now turn our attention to the other complex: his un- 
conscious craving for love. Hear how he betrays his regret at his 
unlucky choice: » 


Tu me disais que tu m'aimais ... Vou told me that you iovcd me- . . 

Tu fendormais au bercement de mes You fell asleep in the rockmg of my 

caresses, caresses, 

Jurant le ciel que pour toujours Swearing to heaven that for ever. 

A mes amours ^'o'" my love 

Tu rendrais les mfimes tendresscs. You would render me the same tender- 

This sounds much like a reproach, although the subject declares 
that he did not in the least intend to blame his wife when he 
sang it. The awareness was much less than in the previous songs. 
He simply liked it because the composition appealed to him, but 
he never reflected, as he did later, upon the reason for his preference. 
The casuistic interest of this study lies therefore, I think, in the 
fact that, whereas usually the reason for selection in art lies buried 
too deep in the uBconscious to be brought to the surface easily, 
here on the contrary we are dealing with a case where tliose 
reasons lie so close to the threshold of consciousness that the 




subject was able to detect them himself, after only a short intro- 
duction into psycho-analytic literature. The subject interprets this 
air in the following way: 'Whenever I sang, as soon as the techniciil 
difficulties were overcome, I used to divide my attention between 
the performance and my preconscious thoughts. Only formerly I 
did not know that. Neither did I suspect that the text of the songs 
had such importance for my choice as now appears after analysis. 
On the contrary, I have always been of the opinion, although I was 
never called upon to express it, that the music alone guided my 
selection; for although my ear is very good, I have no voice, so 
to speak, and I chiefly play pianoforte music. To-day I am per- 
fectly aware that at the same time as I was singing a phantasy 
started in my inner self, and ran parallel to the text, concerning 
itself with the non-realized hopes and promises of our courting, 
and witli strivings for fresh resolutions of mutual love and for- 
bearance.' The man hoped, indeed, that when he had won more 
distinction in hfe his wife would alter her views about him, and 
this unexpressed hope probably constituted the incentive which, 
as he stated himself, turned him into a hard worker. 
The next verses are from Alfred de Musset: 


Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie? 

L'heures'enfuit,Iejoursucc£deau jour. 

Rose ce soir, demain fl^trie, 
Comment vis-tu, toi qui n'as pas 

d'amour ? 
Aujourd'hui le printemps, Ninon, de- 
main I'hiver. 
Quoi, tu n'as pas d'^toile et tu vas sur 

la raer? 
Au combat, sans musique, en voyage 

sans livref 
Quoi, tu n'as pas d'amour et tu paries 

dc vivre ? 
Moi, pour unpen d'amour jedonnerais 

mes jours, 
Et je la donnerais pour rien sans les 

Qu'importe que le jour finisse et 


Ninon, Ninon, what dost thou roake 

of life P 
The hour flees, day follows upon day. 
Rose this evening, withered to-morrow 
How dost thou live, thou who hast 

no love? 
To-day is the spring, Ninon, to-morrow 

the winter. 
What, thou hast no star, and thou goest 

on the sea? 
To the battle without music, on travel 

without a bookp 
What, thou hast no love and thou 

speokest of Hving? 
I, for ^ little love I would give my 

And I would give it for nothing without 

the pleasures of love. 
What does it matter that the day ends 

and recommences, 


Quand d'une autre existence le coeur When of another creature 

est animi;? The heart is lull. 

Ouvrez-vous jeunes flours. Si la mort Go open, young flowers. Ifdeath takes 

vous enlfeve, you away, 

La vie est un sommeil, I'amour eo est Life i"? sleep, love is its dream. 

le rfive. And you will have lived if you have 

Et vous aurez v6cu, si vous avez ainn5. loved. 

Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie f Ninon, Ninon, what dost thou make of 


Comment vis-tu, toi qui n'as pas How dost tliou live, thou who hast no 

d'amour? lovef 

The subject interprets this text as a prcconscious reproach to 
his wife, but of course she did not catch its hidden meaning any 
more than her husband. She used to sing it also Euid she also 
probably identified herself with Ninon as well as he. He meant; 
'What are you making of your life and of mine? We are always 
quarrelling and can never get settled in peace. Are you not hungering 
for love, just as I am P I want to be your star, your music, your 
book. What we are doing now is not living. We shall soon both 
be old without having experienced joy. As for me, I am prepared 
to do anything to win your affection. And you, too, are unhappy. 
Why cannot you love me?' 

Otlier songs were more open declarations of love still; only 
the woman whom they were meant for did not understand them; 
neither did the singer know that he was giving himself away. 
This seeking about in the dark of two creatures, who at the 
same time loved and hated each other blindly, is not without its 

At a certain moment the husband left his wife, but although 
consciously he hated her, his second self regretted her, and he 
betrayed his innermost feelings— unknown to himself — through his 
preference for songs to which he gave a personal interpretation, 
quite appropriate to his own case. Here is an example of this 


There's a tear in your eye 
And I'm wondering why, 
For it never should be there at all. 
With such power in your smile. 
Sure a stone you'd beguile, 
So there's never a teardrop should fall. 


■ i 



I When your sweet lilting laughter's 

Like some fairy song 
And your eyes twinkle brifiht as can be, 
You should laugh all the while 
And all other times smile (jjc) 
And now smile a smile for me. 


When Irish eyes are smiling, 

Sure it's like a morn in spring, 

In the lilt of Irish laughter , 

You can hear the angels sing. 

Wtven Irisli hearts are happy 

All the woild seems bright and gay. 

And whenlrish eyes are smihng, 

Sure they steal your heart away. 

Reflections of the subject: There's a tear in your eye: When 
I sang this verse I used to fancy my wife regretted what had 
happened and regret on her part I had always been looking for 
as a token that she would change her hostile attitude towards 
me and try to please me. Those tears my illusion put in her eye 
(and I am not sure whether I did not faintly see her sad face 
before my mental eye during the performance) were to me a 
token that she was longing for me as I was secredy longing for 
her, and that everything would still come right again. 

Wiih such power in your smile, etc. : recalled to me the captivating 
charm of my wife. For I never ceased to admit that she was a 
charming woman who bewitched everybody with whom she came 
into touch. Only her secret hate of me (which I was unable to 
perceive and interpret before) prevented her displaying her charm 
on my behalf. And just this I made the greatest reproach: she 
spent her lovehness on strange men instead of trying to attract 
me who loved her so deeply. During this song, in short, I fancied 
my wife had decided to bewitch me and I thus got my most 
secret wish realised in my imagination: she was — thus ran my 
illusion — going to smile a smile forme. Is it a wonder 1 liked this 
song, which gave me the illusion that my wife was finally going 
to 'steal my heart away'} 

If we now sum up the results of the different analyses — I mean 
of the different 'latent contents', the poems being the 'manifest 
contents'— we find that the complexes of our subject have led 




him to recognize his wife in the following symbols: Stranger's 
wife, Margoton, Monsieur DumoUet, the poet's sweetheart in Tu 
me disais, Ninon, the Irish girl,— and we might add to it the 
training ship Belgica as a symbol for a person. (I shall not insist 
^ere on the symbol voyage = death.) 

In some cases the relation between the subject's wife and the 
character in the song is faintly perceived by the singer-listener; 
in other cases this perception is altogether absent. In the first 
case he is not shocked by the identification because he has an 
ever ready excuse: 'It is only a game after all.' We know that 
this is only a pretext, a euphemism, or to state it quite plainly, 
a He, rendering the illusion possible, preventing the conscious ego 
from becoming aware of the seriousness of the case, from unearthing 
the repressed complex and thus causing pain. I sustain the thesis 
that the same lie is at the bottom of such symbolism that is too 
obscure for the conscious self to get any warning at all of the 
identification that is proceeding irrationally beyond the threshold 
(as in Monsieur Dumollet). I take it also that the lying process 
leading to the deception of the censorship (because the identification 
is based on analogies too absurd to be recognized by the second 
system) is a constant factor of unconscious symbolism. This is 
not the occasion however for developing this point of view and 
I must be satisfied with mentioning it here. For I simply meant 
to call attention to the fact that the study of the songs a musical 
person prefers may lead to the detection of his repressed feelings 
as safely as the other ways followed by psycho-analysts for the 
discovery of the contents of a person's unconscious. I express 
this still otherwise by saying that the choice of songs is deter- 
mined by the singer's complexes, but without his becoming aware 
of the hidden uniformity of his preference. 

I hope that this selection of five songs, interpreted by the subject, 
■will have brought the conviction of truth. They undoubtedly con- 
stitute curious evidence, to say the last about the diverse feelings 
of the two sufferers, and throw a strange light upon the reasons 
for their predilections. As stated already, they afford a basis that 
will allow us to test the subject's interpretations of his wife's musical 
preferences. In her case, however, the songs are as transparent as 
her husband's. I had better not anticipate, but let the texts tell 
their own story; still, I should point out that every song alludes 
to her reveries, which may thus be reconstructed to a certain 




extent; anyhow they allow us to infer that her phantastic ideations 
must have been extremely abundant I reproduce first the example 
which constitutes the replica to those through which her husband 
vented his wish to be rid of her. 


II faut nous dire a.dieu, belle, qui me 

tut douce, 
Ne nous s^parons pas comme deux 

II neige sur 00s coeurs, voici la lune 

rousse, ' 
Le banquet est (ini, demeurons bons 

Puisque nos bras sont las de nos foUes 

Que nous trouvons amer le baiser qui 

fut doux, 
Sachons nous i^viter la misfere des 

Les reproches amers, et les comptes 

Aliens, situ !e veux.faire un pdlerinage 
Au bois, ombreux ti5moin dc nos 

belles amours. 
Nou£ irons eclaci^ comme un jeune 

Nous donnantdesbaisers, ainsi qu'aux 

plus beaux jours. 
II faut nous dire adieu etc. demeurons 
bons amis. 

We must say good-bye to each othtT, 

beautiful one, once so sweet to me^ 
Let us not separate as two enemies. 
It snows upon our hearts, here is the 

red moon. 
The banquet is over, but let us remain 

good friends, 
Whereas our arms are tired of our 

foolish embraces, 
As we find bitter the kiss that once 

was sweet, 
Let us spare each other the misery of 

The bitter reproaches and the jealous 

Let us, if you like, go for a pilgrimage 
To the wood that was once the shadowy 

witness of our splendid love. 
We shall walk with our arms round 

our waists like a young couple. 
Giving each other kisses as in our 

happiest days. 
We must say good-bye, etc. Let us 

remain good friends. 

I think I am entitled to consider this as a replica to Bon voyage, 
cher Dumollet. But something more should be said about it. So 
well does the text represent the feelings of the lady that when the 
divorce had been pronounced against her, she wrote to her former 
husband she was not cross with him, and has since applied to him 
as to a 'good friend'. 

Next I will communicate a song which will throw as much light 
upon her mental life as did the study of her husband's songs. 

' La lune romse begins in April and is often accompanied here by 
frost and cold, and dry winds which shrivel up the blossoms. Figuratively, 
the expression is used in French for the period of matrimonial life which 
is marked by quarrels and disagreements in opposition with lune de miel- 




Dans notre lit d'amour In our love-bed 

Embrassons-nous encore. Let us embrace each other again. 

Aimons-nous tout un jour Let us love each other a whole day, 

Mon amant, je t'adore. My lover, I adore you. 

Si I'heure du d&ir If the hour of the desire 

Au ciet s'annonce brfeve, ' Is announced by the sky for a short 

Grisons-nous de plaisir one, 

Avant qu'il ne s'achfeve. ^ Let us get drunk with pleasure 

Before it is over. 

Refrain Refrain 

Serments d'amour, folic, Vows of love, folly. 

Le coeur est inconstant. The heart is inconstant. 

Profitons du moment Let us take advantage of the moment 

Qui nous lie. Which unites us. 

Serments d'amour, folie, Vows of love, folly, 
Le bonheur ne dure qu'un moment. Happiness only lasts a moment, 

A I'idole jolie Of the pretty idol 

On rfive bien souvent. One dreams quite often. 

Le temps passe, on oublie Time passes, one forgets. 

Serments d'amour, folic, Vows of love, folly. 

The knowledge we have acquired through the previous inter- 
pretations allows us to agree with the husband's opinion, namely, 
that this song corresponds also to the day-dreams of a disenchanted 
woman, whose happiness never lasted more than one moment. 
Therefore her principle is not to beHeve any more in vows of love; 
the heart is inconstant. Still it is very probable that the poor creature's 
conscious self was not so pessimistic and cynical as her preconscious 
ego, for the husband asserts that she sometimes gave proofs of her 
struggle to become a better wife and to meet him half-way. Only 
she could not master her second self that ran away with her, just 
as it does in the case of neurotic patients. 

Here is another song betraying the same undercurrent of feeling: 


1. I. 

Je t'ai rencontrd simplement I have simply met you 

Et tu n'as ricn fait pour chercher i mu And you have not done anything to 

plaire. tr>' to please me. 

Je t'aime pourtant Still I love you 

D'un amour ardent With an ardent love 

Dont rien, jc le sens, ne pourra me Of which nothing will free me, 




Tu seras toujours mon amant 

Et je crois en toi comme au bonheur 

Je te fuis parfois inais je reviens quand- 

C'est plus fort que moi: Je t'aime. 

You will always be my lover 

And I believe in you as in supreme 

I avoid you sometimes, but never- 
theless I come back. 

It is stronger tl;an I; I love you. 


Lorsque je souffre il me faut tes yeux, 

FrofoTids et joyeux 

Afin que j'y mcure. 

Et j'ai besoiu pour revivre, amour, 

De t'avoir un jour, 

Moins qu'un jour, une heure. 

De mc bercer un peu dans tes bras 

Quand mon coeur est las, 

Quand parfois je pleure. 

Ah, crois-le bien, mon ch^ri, mon aim6, 

mon roj, 
je n'ai de bonheur qu'avcc toi. 


When I suffer, 1 want your eyes, 

Deep and joyous 

So that I can die in them. 

And I want for reviving, love, 

To have you one day, 

Less than one day, one hour. 

To lull me a while in your arms 

When my heart is sick. 

When sometimes I weep. 

Ah, believe me, my beloved, 

my king, 
I am only happy with you. 

C'est toi I'ami, quand est mort I'espoir, 
Dont on rfive un soir, 
Et que I'ime implore . . . 
L'ami fitl&lc et jamais constant 
Et le suul pourtant 
Qu'un e fern me adore. 
Sous tes baisers 
Les chagrins passes 
Sont vite efTac^s 
Et Ton s'aime encore . . . 
Ah, crois le bien, mon chiJri, mon 

aimu, mon roi, 
Je n'ai de bonheur qu'avec toi. 
Reprends-moi .... 


You are the friend when hope is dead. 

Of whom one dreams one evening, 

And whom the heart implores . . . 

The true friend, and still never faithful 

And notwithstanding the only one 

Whom a woman adores. 

Under your kisses 

The past chagrins 

Aie soon wiped out 

And we love each other still . . . 

Oh believe me, my darling, my beloved, 

my king, 
I am only happy with you. 
Comu back to me, 
Take me back .... 

I do not tliink a passionate poem like this needs much comment. 
Her hunger for love, at least for love that she could respond to, 
appears in this song, as it shows her inclination for day-dreaming 
{l'a?ni dont on reve et que I'ame implore), which brought her the 
satisfactions that real hfe refused to her. Indeed Fascination sounds 
almost like the obsessing day-dream of a human being craving 
for affection and erotic experience. Anybody who has built 



'castles in the air' (and who has not?) will be able to understand 
the soft emotion that overcomes one in an erotic fancy. Such 
must have been the kind of complex revived in the lady whose 
songs are all about dreaming with open eyes. 

I do not care to let the reader think diat the choice of the 
few songs we are able to reproduce and comment on here, in a 
limited space, is the result of pure chance: tlie songs have been 
selected from a collection of over two hundred, and nearly all of 
them centre about the above complexes. Moreover I adduce below 
some more evidence in favour of the present point of view. But 
the following examples are at the same time intended to provide 
material for the thesis that songs simply provide the singer as 
well as the listener with the occasion for carrying on unawares 
the play of the fancy that is inaugurated with children's games. 
There is only one important difference; when the child is playing 
we know that his phantasy is given free rein. At musical perfor- 
mances the adult does not let us guess — nor is he himself aware — 
that his phantasy too is given free rein, that the illusory power 
of his childhood is again active under or near the threshold, but 
it is the task of psycho-analysis to lay bare the mechanism hiding 
this mental process from the subject's own view. However as this 
essay is not meant to be theoretical let me communicate facts 

In the course of the conversations with my subject with the 
purpose of throwing some. light on the aesthetic problem I am 
trying to make a rough sketch of in these pages, a curious fact 
came to my knowledge: When^is little daughter was seven years 
old she was very fond of this cradle song: 


i_veraon Dfliriei) 

11 iStait un petit navire, 
La belle histoire que voila. 
Dorniez, dormez done, 
Tire lire 
Lire lire, lire lonla. 

Allons dormez, mon petit homme 
Dans notre lit aux rideaux bleus, 
C'est I'heure de faire un bon somme 
Endormez-vous, fermez vos yeux. 


There was once a little ship 

—A fine story this — 

Sleep, sleep, 

Tire lire, 

Lire lire, lire lonla. 

Come, sleep, my little man 
In your bed with blue curtains. 
This is the time to have a good nap, 
Sleep, close your eyes. 



I! faut dormir pour 6trc sage, 
Dormez a ma belle chanson. 
Car vous savez, seion I'usa^i; 
Ce qu'on fait d'un m6chant gar^on. 

On met en mer, sur un navire, 
L'(.'nfa;it mechant, qui ne dort pas. 
Cest en vain qu'alors, il soupire, 
Dors ou sinon, tu partiras. * 

Au bout de ciriq a six semaines, 
Les vivres manquent, tu sais bien, 
Les c5tes sont encore lointaiaes, 
Que devcnir, on n'a plus rien. 

Mais on tire a la courte-paille 
Pour savoir qui sera mangd, 
Ricn qu'en y songeant, je iressaille, 
Le sort cboisit le tooins agi5. 

Ce serait toi, ch^ri, dors vite. 
Dors vite pour ne pas partir. 
Comme un oiseau frileux au gite, 
Dans ton bon lit il faut dormir. 

A!lcz-vous-en, petit navire, 
L'enfant dort, il restera la. 
Dormez, dormez done, tire lire. 
Lire, lire, lire lonla. 

You should sleep to be good, 
Fall asleep to my pretty song. 
For you know what is usually done 
To a bad boy. 

They put on the sea in a ship 
The bad boy that does not sleep. 
His sighs are in vain then, 
Sleep lest you have to go away. 

After five or six weeks 
Food runs short, you know it, 
The coast is still far off. 
What will become of them, nothing 

But they draw lots 

To know who shall be eaten. 

The simple thought of it makes me 

Fate chooses the youngest 

It would be you, darling, sleep soon, 
Sleep soon so as not to go. 
As a chilly birdie in the nest 
You should sleep in your warm bed. 

Go away, little ship, 

Baby sleeps, he will stay here, 

Sleep, sleep, tire lire, 

Lire lire lire lonla. 

It now happened that every time the child sang this lullaby- 
she burst into tears at a certain moment, so that the performance 
had to be interrupted till the crisis was over; and then the song 
was resumed where it had been broken off. But the girl always 
declined to tell the reason of her crying, and still it was obvious 
that she did not weep for grief: when the turn of Le petit Navire 
was arriving the father passed over several pages at a time so as 
not to remind die child of the song that caused her tears. But 
she always noticed the trick and insisted on singing the lullaby. 

To-day the little girl has become a young lady engaged to be 
married quite soon. But she is still as fond as ever of her pettt 
Navire; she even knows three different readings of it, Her predi- 
lection for cradle songs has induced her to learn a couple of 
dozen, but this amount does not strike her for her collection 



comprises more than two hundred songs. And still this preference 
of hers is not without a hidden meaning, as I am able to show. 

Being asked of late the reason of her crying when in her 
childhood she used to sing Le petit Navire she wrote as follows: 
'During the first verse I saw a little pink baby in a cradle and 
the mother beside it, rocking it to and fro while bending over it 
and singing. In the last verses, as it was not possible that the 
baby should be a cabin-boy (it did not occur to me tliat it could 
be anything else but a cabin-boy) he became a little fellow of 
y ■ ' seven or eight years old. And then a lump rose in my throat at 

the words 

'^ C'est en vain qu'alors il soupirc, 
Dors ou sinon tu partiras. 

It was not the fact of being eaten that appalled me, but the 
action of "going". Then in the last verse "Allez-vous-en, petit 
'' navire" the child would become a baby again in the cradle, with an 

ivory crucifix at the top. And the mother pressed it in her arms 
as if it had really come back from a long journey. And then I 
cried for joy as I pictured to myself the mother's happiness at 
retaining her child, at not seeing it go away, while she could say 

Allez-vous-en, petit navire, 
L'enfant dort, il rcstera la. 

■ whereupon my tears would flow abundantly.' 

My curiosity however was not quite satisfied yet with this 
confession and I asked her why she likes at present Le petit 
Navire. With an ingenuousness as unaffected as charming came 
the reply: 'Always for the same reason: when I sing that song 
t think of my little kiddy [in spe) and I have always thought of 
my littie baby when I sang it.' Thereupon the father confided to 
me that for years the adolescent girl used to remain alone in her 
room for the purpose of sewing in private baby-shirts and garments 
for her little 'kiddy'. He himself gave her that advice after he 
had guessed that she had become aware of her wish to become 
a mother and of the conflict this knowledge provoked in her 
' mind. For the same reason he had encouraged her playing with 

her doll. 

From this we may infer the following: a craving for mother- 
hood—at least in an infantile form— manifested itself in the young 

i' child when it was unable still to become aware of it, because it 


could neither analyze itself nor understand the problem of pro- 
creation; it is thanks to this inability that tlie instinct of repro- 
duction could provoke phenomena observable for outsiders. The 
same craving for motherhood in its adult form survives in the 
! young woman with only a few alterations: she has become aware 

^ of her feelings and the thoughts they incite; that is why she tries 

' to hide their exteriorizations. But she finds the same satisfaction 

^ as in her childhood in the play of her phantasy, either at the 

[■ occasion of the game with the doll, at the sewing of the baby's 

' outfit, or the singing of her preferred lullabies. The main differ- 

^ ence from the observer's point of view between the child and 

' the young woman is a question of hiding. 

I take it that in the present case the young lady's sexual 
need did not take a symbolic nor subHmated form because, thanks 
) to her father's understanding and influence, she. could allow the 

ideations, to which it gave rise, to invade her consciousness so 
that she could deal there with them in a direct manner, mostly 
inform of play; sometimes though they provoked tears of sorrow 
and despair, when the would-be mother got tired of awaiting the 
nuptials. Both pleasure and grief however provoked manifestations 
which are simply different ways of abreaction, or else the bringing 
into activity of different safety valves. 

I started this argument with the aim of demonstrating that 
the preference of the cradle songs of the young woman is exactly 
as determined by her repressed feelings, by her secret wishes as 
are those of both her father and mother. I hope I have carried 
my point. 

This study of the influence of phantastical thinking upon artistic 
preference is the flrst, as far as I know, to be undertaken upon 
individuals who, from a medical point of view at least, enjoy 
perfect mental health. For that reason it would be dangerous to 
* draw general conclusions and I shall not go further than to offer 

a few remarks, hoping that otliers will take up the subject and 
I bring us new knowledge. 

I I first of all lay stress on the circumstance that, according to 

f the autobiographer, he has at no time been aware of the close 

relation that exists between his musical predilections and his affec- 
tive complexes, and such will undoubtedly also be the case for his 
I wife. As to the latter it will not be extreme to suggest that had 

her opinion been asked, she would have regarded it as nonsensical 



that her secret thoughts and phantasies should be inferred from the 
texts of her favourite songs. We may admit that both singers were 
not, or at the most were only very dimly, aware of the fact that 
, all the songs they liked best expressed their own secret wishes. 

But then there is a question that arises immediately. Knowing 
( that such repressed wishes existed and were very often active in 

the preconscious, knowing also that they sang with full consciousness 
texts that directly applied to them, we may ask ourselves how it 
came about that tliis intimate relation remained hidden from their 
awareness. Normally indeed, as soon as an idea arises in our 
preconscious which corresponds with a conscious pre-occupation, 
with an admitted wish, we are immediately warned of this ideation 
by what is called an intuition. The relation between the two aspects 
or the two ways of functioning of our psychic apparatus is usually 
established spontaneously, and I have tried to demonstrate elsewhere 
that it is one form or another of the affect of discovery, 'the feeling 
oi eureka\ which performs in this connection. In the present case, on 
the contrary, the contents of the conscious and the preconscious, 
of affective and of intentional ideations, are strictly kept apart, so 
that we may ask ourselves what is the psychic mechanism that 
performs this r61e of acting as a screen between the two forms of 

In my opinion the possibility of keeping phantasy and reality, 

I or the conscious and unconscious selves apart, is due to tlie 

mechanism of lying, which, like all other mental processes was an 

unconscious operation before man learned to apply it intentionally. 

In my study on day-dreams I have shown that our preconscious 

often makes use of lies for the convenience of the conscious ego, 

., • e. g. in allowing one to continue to sleep in the morning. The 

, same may be said of the alterations which the perceptions of reality 

, undergo in Freud's indulgence-dreams (cp. tlie one of the burning 

t child) although in these cases the lying process is not so obvious 

\ as in my day-dreams. Similarly I shall here attempt to establish 

that the relations, which in normal circumstances arise spontaneously 

between the reactions of the outer world and the contents of the 

preconscious, are side-tracked by means of lies, so that the passing 

of the repressed complexes across the threshold is prevented and 

avoided. (When the songs are sung even by the subject they are 

still registered as occurrences of the outer world, because they 

reach the psychic apparatus through tlie sensitive organs). 

■ I 



In his autobiography the subject emphasises his own defects. 
Would it not seem more natural if he had sought to excuse himself 
by laying stress on tlie shortcomings of his companion? He admits 
that he has a bad character, although I, who know him intimately, 
can vouch that this is not so. He addresses reproaches to himself 
for his excitability and ill-humour. He avows to himself that he 
does not possess the talent for exteriorising his feelings. In short, 
he puts a great part of the blame upon himself. 

Simultaneously he seeks in his inner self to excuse Ms wife's 
behaviour. He takes over a great part of the responsibility for his 
wife's faults: if he had better understood her, so he argues in his 
phantasies, he would not have left her. He tolerates the presence 
7 of other men, with the intention of procuring her secondary sexual 

satisfaction, which he thinks he keeps from her because he is too 
much absorbed by his labours. These and the other excuses invoked 
on her behalf in the autobiography are nothing else but forms of 
self-deception. They have for consequence an attenuation of the 
strength of the affective accent of his painful recollections; the 
remembrances which the circumstances of his daily life come to 
revive in an irresistible way become more bearable. Therefore 
repression is less necessary; we may suppose that complete 
repression, i. e., oblivion, is unobtainable because the presence of 
his wife is a cause of continuous revival of the distressing past. 
But the subject does not feel its necessity, for as with neurotics 
and hysterics, the attenuation he has obtained allows him to play 
with his feelings. They are exteriorized through his songs without 
passing through his consciousness, in a manner comparable to the 
unconscious abreaction of affective complexes in movements, in 
muscular contractions whose true meaning escapes the notice of 
the censor. 

The subject's preconscious lies are shifted as it were between 
the painful contents of the unconscious and reality (the songs) so 
that the affective material acquires another character which does 
not any longer attract conscious attention. In other words the lies 
cause a shifting of the affective accent The faults of the wife, 
the wounds of amour-propre, are less felt, are deprived of their 
disturbing power, are partially forgotten, and a new possibility 
arises: that which cannot be entirely repressed may be looked at 
in another, less distressing light Indeed we shall be allowed to 
consider the songs we have analysed as symbols for the affective 



State of the singer's unconscious. Symbolism in this case seems to be 
the consequence of a comproniise arrived at without the conscious 
intervention of the subjects. It looks here as if symbolisaiion were 
an alternative to repression when the latter becomes impossible. 

This deduction is very tempting and I shall try to find out 
whether it suits the other circumstances of the case. In the auto- 
biography the husband states that after a year and a half s separation 
he was able to idealize his wife again. On being asked what he 
meant by that expression, he explained that as time went on he 
had forgotten all he had suffered with her. He did not recollect any 
longer — at least instantaneously— any of the wretched scenes that 
had occurred almost daily during the past years; he had perfectly- 
repressed them. From the other side in his phantasies he laid stress 
upon her qualities, the ones which she displayed so bewitchingly 
in the presence of other men and which he wanted so badly to 
turn towards the satisfaction of his own cravings. We conclude 
from this that his idealisation was rendered possible by a successful 
repression and we notice the absence of any symbolisation. 

On the contrary when the facts that had come to his knowledge 
were beyond the power of oblivion, of repression, we can still ob- 
serve the same tendencies of the subject active as in former years: 
the wish to adapt to circumstances, to make the best of it, in short 
to win his wife's love. But where repression had become impossible 
symbolisation made its appearance. 

If it be true that the best-loved poets have been those whose 
affective life has been the most unsatisfactory, because their libido 
has never been satisfied adequately, my theory that symbolisation 
is an alternative for repression gets support from that quarter also. 
Symbolisation would then simply be a means of economy. It 
seems an expression of the least effort. If my point of view is ad- 
mitted this is a fact which further inquiries into the problem will 
have to take into account. Here, however, 1 cannot deal further 
with the question although the subject is not exhausted. 

Finally 1. wish to emphasize my starting-point once again. In 
this essay I have attempted to prove that the songs of this married 
couple betray a tendency to play mentally with painful or forbidden 
recollections which are not meant for communication; this is 
characteristic of all psychopath ological cases. This playing is 
especially evident in No. I (of the husband) and No. 8 (of the wife), 
although the same character is traceable in all the songs. 



The songs numbered 3 and 4 (of the husband) chiefly express 

regret, but it is not of a despairing nature. Their full significance 

can only be grasped when we bear in mind that all the others (i, 2) 

J of tiie husband and 6, 7, 8, (of the wife) represent the realisation 

j of their secret wishes exactly as do dream pictures. Therefore 

[ I think that the common c/iaracterisiic of all iJiese songs is tliat they 

rendered it possible for the second selves of the singers to enjoy a 

mental play in which tlteir secret wishes were represented as reaiised, 

and it is highly probable that therein lies the secret of the singers' 

enjoyment, the reason for their predilection. Their second selves 

recognize secretly, without awareness, the representation of their 

own phantastic thinking processes. 





Development in the human being manifests itself in a progressive 
growth and exercise of all senses. As the individual grows older the 
senses must correspondingly become more acute. In observing any 
child, one can clearly see how it constantly exercises all its senses. 
It is fascinated by light and color; it loves sounds of all kinds; it 
exercises its sense of smell and there is nothing within its reach 
that it does not wish to touch and taste. 

All animals at first evince a very simple and crude mechanism 
for the taking of nourishment. Young mammals at first subsist on 
the simplest diet of milk furnished by the mother, but as they grow 
and develop they make themselves more and more independent 
of this form of food, and the nourishment then becomes of a more 
general kind. We usually classifyanimals ascarnivorous, herbivorous 
or omnivorous. The last is probably a product of necessity as well 
as civilization. It may also be assumed that, like in the individual, 
everything was very simple to start with in the race, and became 
more and more complex as time went on. Be that as it may, in a 
state of nature, every animal finally settles down to one definite 
form of nourishment. Every species subsists on some special type 
of food. That this type of food can be varied is well known. We 
know, for instance, that the anthropoid monkeys although primarily 
frugivorous, devouring very little organic matter, soon learn to 
enjoy any form of food, they can even be taught to drink and eat 
food that is at first very obnoxious to them. The highest form of 
animal organization, modern man, shows the greatest complexity 
and generality in this regard. No one is considered civilized unless 
he is very versatile in his tastes for all sorts of foods and dishes, 
regardless of their nutritional value. This, like all other habits, 

^ Read before the Bergen County Medical Society, April, 1922. 



j had to be developed through training. No child takes at first kindly 

j to any form of food, whether the mother thinks it is good for it or 

{ ' not. Having subsisted on milk, it distrusts every other food that 

t does not look and taste exactly like milk; gradually, however, it takes 

i different foods and not only becomes used to them but finds them 

J' necessary. In other words, taste may be developed through training. 

I I dare say that a savage African would not at first take kindly to 

; any of our table d'h6te dishes, but if he would survive the first few 

he would soon learn to enjoy them. Stefansson tells us that the 
Eskimos who have never eaten any salt cannot tolerate it at all, 
f and when he first came to the far north he found it very irksome to 

eat food without salt, but after having been there for years he can ^ 

now dispense with salt; not only is it not necessary, but he feels ! 

that he is much better off without it.= In his extremely interesting 
book,^ Leo Miller tells us of some savage Indian tribes which are ' 

captured by the whites in order to be forced into civilization. These ■! 

Indians have never tasted salt, so that tlie first taste of it is given 
to them in captivity, at the so-called missions, but they soon develop \ 

such an extreme craving for it tliat it is used by their captors as 
an alluring premium to keep them under the stress of civilization. ; 

Miller tells of Indians who, after escaping from the mission stockades ; 

voluntarily returned after an absence of eighteen months, because of 
their extreme desire for salt. A similar habit formation can be 
observed in children, who act like savages in the acquisition of habits. 
I have seen a little boy of seven who suffered from alcoholism, as 
I have also seen any number of very young boys who enjoyed the 
use of tobacco. This is particularly seen in the lower strata of 
society and among semi-enlightened races. I am reliably informed 
that in our South it is common to see very young boys chew and 
smoke. Captain Baudesson,^ speaking of the use of tobacco among 
' the natives of Indo-China states that 'even the babies eagerly 

compete for a suck at the stick which serves their fathers as a pipe- 
cleaner,' and Capt. Ward,"* speaking of the same subject states: 
'And all, even children smoke.' 

One can quite understand the mechanisms of eating, and the 
pleasure as well as satiation obtained through any form of food, 

^ Stefansson: The Friendly Arctic, 1921, p. 366. 
( * Leo Miller: In the Wilds of South America, 1918, p. 306. 

' * Capt. Baudesson: Indo-China, p. 31. 

f " Capt. Ward: In Farthest Burma, 1921, p. 153, \ 

432 A. A. BRILL 

but the peculiar thing is that a great many people show a need for 
certain articles, which in the narrow sense we cannot call nutritious, 
but which nevertheless seem to serve as a sort of food, or better as 
a gratification for the taste buds and gastric tract. I refer to chewing 
and smoking. I have questioned over four hundred men and some 
women, as to the origin of their smoking, at what age they began, 
and what their first experience in smoking was. With only three 
exceptions, no matter when one began to smoke, and I might say 
that most of them began between the ages of nine and fourteen, no 
one took kindly to it; in fact, most of the men 'became sick' after 
the iirst attempt, but in spite of it, they invariably returned to it and 
not only became habituated to it but would consider it a calamity 
to be deprived of it. It is hardly necessary to say that habitual 
smokers enjoy smoking- It will also interest you to know that 
smoking not only plays a great part in the individual but also in the 
economy of the race. I have it from a very reliable source that we 
consumed over 992 million dollars worth of tobacco in 1920; of this, 
over 773 millions went for cigars and cigarettes, over 216 millions 
for chewing and smoking tobacco, and over ar millions for snuff; 
this mode of taking in tobacco is largely used by lumber-jacks who 
not only take it directly through snuffing, but mix it with whisky. 
It is said to be a very strong, intoxicating drink. 

When one delves into the history of tobacco, with the object of 
studying habit formation, one finds many interesting facts. One 
learns, for instance, that it was first used by the North American 
Indians, and introduced into the world by a certain Jean Nicot, 
from which we have the name ' nicotine '. Without going into the 
history of the tobacco habit, which in itself is a most fascinating 
psychological study, we will content ourselves by staling that as soon 
as the weed was introduced into any continent or country it soon 
took firm root and no amount of repressive measures could stop its 
progress. In view of the fanatical outbursts against smoking by 
present day reformers it will be of interest to hear how the colonists 
W'ho were initiated into the tobacco habits by our natives took to 
the habit. Eggleston* states: 'The early law-makers of Massachusetts 
had sought to put tobacco under ban, or at least to hamper it after 
the example set in England, where tobacco was forbidden in ale- 
houses because it was believed to excite a thirst for strong drink. 

e < 

The Colonists at Home', Century Magaeine VII., p. 886. 



But revered preachers became fond of the pipe, and the restrictions 
were quite broicen down by their examples. Groups of New Eng- 
land ministers were wont to fill a room so full of smoke that it became 
stifling. Long before the close of the seventeenth century, ladies 
of social standing in New England 'smoked it' as the phrase ran; 
t a"d in 1708 one finds the Governor o£ Massachusetts showing 

i friendly feeling by sociably smoking a pipe with the wife of Judge 

; ' Sewall.' 

We have tried to investigate why the American Indians began 
to smoke in the first place, and we soon plunged into realms hardly 
penetrable by psychiatrists. Thus we find, for instance, that smoking 
was not originally indulged in as a luxury, that it was at first used 
for religious and secular ceremonials. One authority claims that 
the native Indian priests used to put themselves into trances in order 
to have communion with their gods. The Indians, according to one 
authority (Billing's History of Tobacco) considered the plant a gift 
from the Great Spirit, for their comfort and enjoyment. In this 
connection, it may be mentioned that when first discovered in 
America it was cultivated only by the females of the tribe. According 
to Faviholt (Tobacco in 1809), tobacco was used in the ceremonies 
of making war and concluding peace, and the pipe which one used 
for tobacco was buried with him when he died. Perhaps the most 
interesting part of it is that tobacco was used by the Pueblos to pro- 
duce clouds of smoke in order to frighten their enemies. Besides 
smoking it, it was also snufTed, and some even made concoctions of 
^ it and drank it. From what we can gather, after we read all these 

authorities, the Indians originally used tobacco, not as a pleasurable 
stimulant, but as a ceremonial. In some cases it served as a narcotic 
for those who wished to put themselves in communion with the 
spirits, and was also used at important functions, such as declaration 
t of war and conclusion of peace. We have all read about the 'Pipe 

of Peace' in our early histories of the United States. I do not think 
that we venture far when we assume that the tobacco habit was a 
later development. 

In our own modern life, tobacco has played no little part; it is 
no exaggeration to say that the great majority of males smoke, chew 
or snuff, and the same may be said of some women. From time 
immemorial tobacco was supposed to be bad for the physical as well 
as the moral part of the individual, and disregarding the moral 
elements one notes that of late years the physical harms have 


434 A. A. BRILL 

gradually centered on the nerves. Every neurotic who consults us 
■will ask: 'Doctor, what do you think of .smoking? ' The patient 
invariably tells you he smokes so many cigarettes or cigars per 
day, and wants to know whetlier he should continue to smoke. My 
answer usually is: 'If you feel that tobacco hurts you, stop it' Very 
few give up smoking for any length of time, some refuse to stop it 
altogether, but are perfectly willing to reduce it; they claim that it 
is a necessity, that it is a sedative to thera. 1 have asked many 
intelligent persons, inveterate smokers, why they smoke and most of 
them find it at first hard to formulate tlieir feelings about it. They 
all agree that smoking not only satisfies a certain craving in the 
mouth, they enjoy the taste of tobacco, but tliat it also produces a 
general sootliing effect of which all smokers seem to be in need. 
To quote a typical case: ' I am extremely fond of smoking," said a 
learned teacher of mathematics, ' because I like the taste and odor of 
tobacco and last but not least it calms my nerves and helps me in 
my work. I feel sure that I would be lost without my cigar or pipe; 
when I was deprived of smoking as happened on a few occasions 
at the behest of my doctor, I felt irritable and wretched and acted 
almost like a drug addict. I thought of disobeying tlie order and 
on one occasion actually smoked surreptitiously. I know that I do 
better work when I smoke or chew my cigar.' A prominent merchant 
told me that during business depressions he smoked almost twice as 
much as during ordinary times, and that he knows that smoking 
helps him in mental concentration. 

I have also questioned a number of laborers who spoke in a 
similar manner concerning their pipe or chew. 

Smoking is also used in the expression of neurotic disturbances 
and in a number of cases determines, as it were, the neurosis. To 
make myself clear I will cite the following cases: 

Some years ago I treated a patient for compulsion neurosis. He 
was a man of about thirty-five years, who showed a rather severe type 
of this neurosis, where ceremonials were connected with almost 
every act of his life. He smoked little, and as far as I could discover, 
he used it only as a form of self -punishment. He began to smoke 
at the age of about fourteen, after having gone through the usual 
experiences of beginners. His father, a very strict and exactmg 
person, though himself a steady smoker, forbade his son the use of 
tobacco, so that the latter had to smoke in secret. As he grew older 
and went to college, he smoked moderately, and his father did not 




object to it. When his compulsion neurosis developed, he gradually 
showed the following ceremonial in reference to his smoking: He 
would suddenly stop smoking altogetlier, and then he would have 
as it were, an attack of smoking and would then smoke a dozen 
cigars a day and probably a package or two of cigarettes. That 
usually gave him a great deal of excitement; he feared that tobacco 
did him a lot of harm, that it gave him 'heart trouble', that it 
would eventually kill him, but in spite of all these fears, he con- 
tinued to smoke until some doctor absolutely forbade it. This struggle 
with tobacco continued in him after he came under my care. When 
I went into his mental make-up I soon found that his smoking was 
intimately connected with his compulsions. It expressed both a 
deiiance and a punishment. His father played the central part in 
his neurosis, and whenever he made an eijort to indentify himself 
with him he would begin to smoke and strive to outdo him, Sooner 
or later he received a command not to smoke, which he often 
recognized as coming from his father, and he stopped it for a while, 
but as he was warned so often by his father and others that smoking 
did harm, he then resumed smoking as a self-punishment for dis- 
obeying his father, and wished all tlie time that it would kill him 
or drive him into insanity. When he actually began to feel badly he 
always consulted a doctor and when the doctor told him to stop he 
would stop for good. There was no doubt at all that the doctor 
always stood for his father. The manner of his smoking was quite 
peculiar; it was a definite ceremonial. The brand of cigars or cigaret- 
tes he used depended on the way it was advertised. He invariably 
bought those cigars which were named after a distinguished per- 
sonage and rejected all brands of cigarettes whose packing or 
advertising showed any reference to women. The act of smoking 
was performed in a definite way. He always picked out the fifth 
cigar or cigarette, beginning at the right side of the box, rubbed it 
lightly a few times, then picked out a match in the same way. If 
the match did not catch fire at the first rubbing on the box, he gave 
up smoking for the time. These ceremonials kept him from smoking 
in public. One might say that by the way he drew in the smoke and 
exhaled it, he wished to express certain ideas of compliance, 
resistance and defiance to his father. When he first consulted me 
about the smoking he told me that he well recognized the pathological 
element of it, but he added: 'If that could be removed, I would 
love to smoke; I feel that I would like to smoke four or five cigars 

4.36 A. A. BRILL 

a day and a package of cigarettes.' In other words, one could say 
that this patient indulged in two kinds of smoking, one a normal 
smoking, the otlier pathological smoking. I also wish to say tliat he is 
an ardent smoker at the present time, after he had been cured of his 
compulsion neurosis for a number of years. 

The next case was a man of about fifty years, who all his life-time 
struggled with smoking. He would continue to smoke for a number 
of years when it would suddenly occur to him that smoking did him 
harm. He would then consult doctors who would try to cure him 
of the tobacco habit. No one ever discovered anything harmful as 
the result of his smoking, and he never smoked to excess as far as 
one could judge, but there were plenty of physicians who treated him 
for it. I soon noticed that it was not as simple a process as one 
thought. When I told him that if he felt that he smoked too much 
he ought to cut it down, he said, ' All right, Doctor '. The next day 
he would insist that he did not cut down enough. I naturally 
remarked, 'Why don't you cut it down some more? ' and he again 
said, * AU right, I will do it.' And so he continued until I finally told 
him to stop it altogether. He was satisfied for a few days, but he 
would invariably say, 'It's a terrible thing to go around without 
taking a smoke occasionally. Do you think that it does so much 
harm? ' I would naturally have to say, ' I don't think so,' to which 
he would reply, ' Why did you tell me to stop it? ' In brief, here the 
situation was entirely masturbatic. This man had not lived with 
his wife for years, and what he actually consulted me for was conflicts 
about masturbation; he applied the very same emotions to smoking 
as he did to masturbation. In fact, one could invariably see the 
very same emotional display in reference to masturbation as m 
smoking. When he first consulted me about his masturbation he had 
the usual fears and conflicts. I told him that I considered masturba- 
tion simply an autoerotic activity, and that it usually does no physical 
or mental harm. He then asked me a lot of questions about the 
frequency of such indulgence and then decided that he would never 
do it again. A few days later he would say. ' Now, well, if it does 
no harm why shouldn't a man indulge in it, etc? ' It was plainly seen 
that his habit was a part of his obsessions and that the smoking was 
largely a substitute for the masturbation. 

Lately a man consulted me for excessive smoking. This patient, 
who voluntarily informed me that he was a sadist, said to me, 
'Doctor, I do not wish to discuss witli you my sexual life; I know 


that I have a sexual aberration, but I am perfectly satisfied with it 

I have no conflicts about it, but I need help to overcome a bad 

habit; of late I have been smoking more and more. I now smoke 

between forty and fifty cigarettes a day, and quite a number of 

cigars, and I fee] that it is doing me harm. I tried in every possible 

I way to stop it, but nothing seems to help; my will-power is 

» paralyzed.' As the patient told me that he did not wish to consult 

me about his sexual life, there was only one thing to do, and that 

' was to tell him to stop smoking, or cut it down, or perhaps give 

him a tonic or something. But when I actually told him that, he 

said, ' Well, what was the use of coming to you? I tried that 

myself and I could not stop it.' My retort was, 'If you really want 

me to help you, you will have to tell me everything. Then and then 

only will I be able to treat you successfully.' 

The details of this patient's case are as follows: He was an only 
child who was brought up in a very religious home. In fact, I feel 
that both his parents were suffering from a pathological form of 
religion. Like all only children, he was more or less isolated, and his 
mother took particular care that he should not come in contact with 
other children, especially boys whom she considered too rough to 
play with him. Her object seemed to be to keep him very gentle, 
and to bring him up as a nice girl rather than a boy. This isolated 
existence not only continued his infantile autoerotism, he sucked his 
thumb until puberty, but as he was sexually quite precocious, he 
developed very early in life a rich autoerotic mode of expression 
which was accompanied by masturbation. While confined to his home 
he often watched the rough boys playing in tlie street and one day 
he saw them tie a little girl's hands and drag her around by a rope. 
; This made a strong impression on him so that he soon reproduced 

with his doll what tlie boys did witli the little girl. It gave him much 
pleasure and with some variations he continued tiiis playing with 
his doll for many years. As he grew into puberty and was ashamed 
! to continue with the doll he fancied these situations with girls and 

f his fancies were later accompanied by sexual feelings. These sadistic 

* fancies continued until he was actually able to put them into 

operation. As I said before, when he came to me he told me that 
he is living through his sadistic life quite unimpeded, that he has 
married a woman who is perfectly willing to cooperate with him in 
his sadistic outlet, and that he has been married for a number of years, 
and both he and his wife feel that they are very happily married. He 


1 1' 

Liu . J 

438 A. A. BRILL 

also told me that his wife had no objection to the indulgence of his 

sadistic tendencies with other women, provided he did not fall in 

love with them, and that he had actually found a number of women 

with whom he had sucli experiences. He mentioned, particularly 

one who was ' a terrible masochist ', and who gave liim ' a wonderful 

outlet ', but who left the city six months ago. He also said that 

for the last few months he tried to restrict himself to his wife for 

various reasons. In the first place, he read psychoanalysis which 

told him tliat in order to do good work one has to restrict oneself; 

he wanted to sublimate. Secondly, following this very adequate 

.- outlet he could not find any other woman to take her place. When 

I discussed his mode of sadism he said that he was not a person 

who liked blood, but that his outlet consisted in tying women. He 

'■ just wanted to feel that they were powerless, that they could not 

] help themselves, and that was enough to gratify his libido. 'But,' 

he added ' the only trouble at the present time is that my wife is so 

willing that I no longer wish to indulge in it with her.' In otlier 

i, words, as a result of his late experiences, this patient has been suffering 

I for months from an inadequate sexual outlet, after he had had a very 

': full sadistic outlet through that particular woman, and because 

[; this Outlet was shut off, he regressed to an autoerotic infantile 

1. outlet in which smoking was a substitute for his early thumbsucking. 

[. I could give a number of similar cases, but I merely wish to say that 

I we find two kinds of smoking, one, the normally indulged habit of 

smoking which gives the individual no particular conflict, except 

, that he wishes to be informed about it as about any article of food, 

I and the other form, which one might say is a part of one's neurotic 

symptoms. Like everything else connected with the senses, the 

neurotic incorporates the tobacco taste into his neurosis and uses 

it as an expression for his ceremonials or any other psychoneurotic 


We have already indicated that neurotic smoking, like 

any other symptom, represents a regression to infantile autoerotism 

and judging by the nature of its activity we have no doubt that its 

infantile root is thumbsucking. Now thumbsucking, as is known, 

is the autoerotic outlet par excellence. The child originally sucks 

1' its thumb because it wishes to repeat the first pleasure it has 

li . experienced in the taking of nourishment. Thumbsucking has 

I, hardly anj-thing to do with nourishment; not all children suck their 

* ■ thumbs; as Freud puts it: ' It may be assumed that it is found only in 



children in whom the erogenous lip zone is constitutionally reinforced. ' 
Freud also states that ' children in whom this is retained are habitual 
Itissers whezi adults, and show the tendency to perverse kissing, or 
as men they have a marked desire for drinking and smoking.'''. In 
cases where smoking assumed the role of a neurotic symptom, I 
have always found that the individual concerned was a strong 
thumbsucker and that he continued this autoerotic activity to a 
much later age than the average. The cases that I have mentioned 
have all remembered having sucked their thumbs, their hands, or 
some other part of the body. But I must say, that as wide an experience 
with psychoneurotics as I have had, I have seen comparatively 
few cases that utilized the tobacco taste as psychoneurotic symptoms. 
To be sure, I have seen quite a number who never used it and were 
fanatically against it, but in all those that I have studied, it always 
represented a regression to autoerotism. Smoking was then no 
longer the pleasurable outlet that the average smoker speaks of, but 
had rather a negative significance. Instead of feeling the sedative 
effect of it and the pleasure of a good cigar or a good pipe, the 
psychoneurotic usually conceived it as something disagreeable, 
something that he had to cope with. 

But if we may say psychoneurotic smoking is a regression to 
autoerotism, can we say the same of smoking in general? It 
would seem so. In the first place, smoking is primarily a stimulant 
to tlie lip zone and to the taste buds of the oral cavity, and in this 
way it does not diSer very much from chewing or any other 
stimulant in the solid or liquid form — say alcohol. It is well known 
that stimulation of the oral zone is extremely common among 
savages, children -as well as among grown-ups. Travelers, and 
students of primitive people have often been struck by it amoi^ 
savages. Thus Miller^ states that 'the natives of Colombia con- 
sume large quantities of condiments.' And when he talks of the 
porters that went through the jungle with him, carrying heavy 
weights, he says: 'During the grueling day their mouths were kept 
well filled with cocoa and lime, and the apparent amount of 
sustenance and endurance derived from the herb is extraordinary; 
nor does it seem to have any bad effect.' In his very interesting 
book 'Vagabonding Down the Andes ' Franck, speaking of coca leaf 

' "Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex'. 
» Miller loc. cit., p. 83. 



chewing by the Indians of the Andes says, 'The Indians thrust the 
leaves one by one into their mouths, and as they become moistened, 
add a bit of Ume or ashes, dipped with what looks like an enlarged 
toothpick from a tiny calabash which, with a leather pouch for the 
leaves themselves, constitutes the most indispensable article of the 
aboriginal equipment' Beaver « states that the Giraras chew con- 
tinually; Morgenthaler in his 'Matahari' states that 'chewing betel 
nuts is constantly indulged in by all people among the Siamese,' 
and Stefansson " states: ' It seems that Eskimos have always used 
chewing gum. They got it from spruce trees or made it of seal 
blood in primitive times, and now take to the commercial variety of 
it more readily than to any other imported commodity.' The same 
activity is seen in infants who suck their thumbs or any other 
substance in the form of pacifiers, and in many adults who bite 
their finger nails and cuticles. Moreover all tlie races who are 
habitual chewers are just as fond of smoking and it is also well 
known that races of lower civilization consume more tobacco than 
those who are more enlightened. The tobacco per capita is highest 
among the West Indians, and they also indulge in such spicy foods 
as chili con came. The same holds true of young civilized races. 
It is well known that there are only very few enlightened countries 
where chewing, either tobacco or some gum, is indulged in. The 
New Zealanders are called ' gum suckers ', while in one year over 
twenty-four million dollars worth of chewing gum was consumed 
in the United States of America; this is especially noticed in the 


In brief, it is my conviction that tobacco, whether indulged in 
a normal or abnormal sense, is either a continuation of an infantile, 
autoerotic gratification, or a regression to it. It would seem that, 
like all senses, the sense of taste especially craves continual gratifi- 
cation. That accounts for the fact that civilized people usually 
overeat, and the old saying, 'Magna crapula quam glaudio ' is just 
as true to-day. It is not so much to fill the stomach as to gratify 
the taste buds of the oral cavity. The Roman emperors recognizing 
this fact had vomitor'iums in their palaces, and when the guests 
were gorged to extreme satiation they took an emetic and retired 
to the vomitorium and then started over again. It was merely an 
effort to gratify continually one's palate. This abnorm al grati fi- 

» W. N. Beaver 'Unexplored New Guinea', 1920, p. 206. 
" 'The Friendly Arctic', p. 565. 


cation is also noticed in our own times; alcoholics often resort to 
emetics in order to be able to drink more, and I have heard of at 
least one convivial affair where the guests, at the suggestion of the 
host left the dinner table and rode horse-back so as to enable them 
to eat more later. Among neurotics one sees this same manifestation 
in unconscious mechanisms. Thus a young hysterical woman had 
attacks of over-eating whenever she became depressed. She con- 
sumed enormous quantities of food which she then vomited or she 
developed marked tympanitis for which she had to be treated. 
Another patient had attacks during which she consumed pounds of 
candy; she designated these attacks as candy debauches. Still 
another patient devoured pounds of roast beef during her attacks, 
which were called hy her family ' Beef jags ', and then acted like one 
drunk, I can also report the case of a man who whenever irritated 
by anything at home immediately runs to the nearest restaurant 
and gorges himself ad nauseam. He is against tobacco and 
alcohol, both of which he indulged in excessively in his younger 
days. In all these cases the patients resorted to autoerotic outlets 
when object libido was denied to them. All smokers realize that 
they smoke more when they are 'nervous ' and the merchant whom 
I quoted above told me that he spent almost twice as much money 
for tobacco during a year of business depression than during 
ordinary times. Nor does it matter much whether the tobacco is of 
the finest or poor quality, it is merely a question of habituating the 
taste buds to a certain brand of tobacco. Last but not least the 
innate feeling of rivalry,- the desire to excel one's fellow being in 
the gratification of one's wishes, causes many persons to smoke the 
best brands of tobacco simply because it satisfies their vanity. Just 
as in the other outlets, e.g. music, drama and art, there is a great 
deal of bluff about it. The average smoker hardly knows the 
difference between poor and good tobacco, I have been fooled into 
enjoying a Corona by the label placed upon a cheap cigar by 
my witty friend. But what is still more significant, I have tried 
the same trick on habitual smokers who claimed to be connoisseurs 
of tobacco and they were invariably fooled. This does not, however, 
hold true in all cases; there are some persons who really can tell a 
good cigar from a poor one but I maintain that even here it is 
primarily a question of stimulating the oral cavity. Smoking, as 
it is indulged today — good tobacco, good cigars and good cigaret- 
tes — is purely a modern development. The old Indians undoubtedly 



442 A. A. BRILL 

began with ail kinds of weeds, and by a process of selection gradually 
became used to tobacco, probably because of its taste and slight 
sedative effect; once the taste was developed it offered a certain 
gratification to the lip zones, as well as to the general emoiional 
state. It is well known that even nowadays through advertisement, one 
readily develops a taste for any kind of tobacco. One of the leading 
tobacco merchants told me that one particular brand, which is very 
popular now, has formerly been rejected as 'musty' tobacco, unfit 
for smoking, but that an enterprising merchant brought it on the 
market, and developed, as it were, a taste for it, and now millions 

crave it. 

One of my patients, a smoker of good tobacco was forced to live 
for a few years in the Philippine Islands. At first it was a great 
hardship to smoke the native cigars, but he soon became habituated 
to it, and now when he is home he prefers his Philippine cigars. 
It matters not whether it is good tobacco or bad tobacco, once a 
taste is developed for it it serves the purpose. That accounts for 
the fact that since the advent of prohibition there is more con- 
sumption of tobacco and candy than ever before. The taste buds 
must be gratified in some way. This is particularly true in indivi- 
duals whose sexual life cannot be gratified. Following the war there 
was a marked increase in smoking in Central Europe, particularly 
among women, which some tried to explain by saying that smoking 
diminished the appetite for food. This is true only in so far as 
we always overeat in normal times, but there is no doubt that it 
also is a recompense for the hard times endured by the people of 
Central Europe, for the loss of so many men; in brief, it is a 
regression to infantile autoerotism because of inadequate adult 

sexual outlets. 

In summing up one can say that smoking like chewing is a 
form of autoerotism which is indulged by most modem men and 
some women. Masculine aggression which manifests itself in all 
activities of man is also evidenced in the tobacco habit. Aggressive 
men are invariably strong smokers. As the receptor of nourishmerit 
the mouth zone seems to require almost constant stimulation, 
especially when the individual is laboring under difficulties. It is 
plausible that primitive man was first impelled to gratify this 
impulse because of hunger, and that the accidental development of 
chewing and smoking objects helped him to withstand the pangs of 
hunger. The inexorable demands of life still exist despite our 



iprogressive civilization, hence modern man so readily accepted 
smoking from his savage brother. Smoking and chewing certainly 
alleviate hunger even today, a fact which was repeatedly shown 
during the last war. But as modern man rarely sutlers real hunger 
in the biologic sense, the cravings of the erogenous zone of the 
mouth have to be gratified in other ways; smoking, chewing, drink- 
ing, etc. serve this purpose extremely well. Another purely sexual 
outlet belonging to object libido and referable to the same zone is 
the kiss, which is plainly a manifestation of modern sex suppression; 
primitive people do not kiss. That some smoke more than others, 
is in the first place a question of constitution. Male aggression is 
also evidenced in the tobacco habit and as modern man bears the 
heaviest load of civilization he smokes, chews and drinks more than 
the woman, who is passive by nature. The women smokers that 
one met in former years, especially in Anglo-Saxon countries, 
mostly belonged to the aggressive prostitute type, but as present 
! day ^social and economic conditions hamper the woman more and 

( more in the exercising of her maternal functions and force her into 

1; activities that are essentially unfeminine, she too, gradually takes 

f to smoking. Of the forty-five women smokers that I have 

J questioned, only six really craved smoking, most of the others made 

a bluff at it, they just imitated Mrs, or Miss so-and-so whom they 
admired, Two single women told me that the only reason they 
smoked was because it stopped their bad habit of nail and finger 
biting. Here it was clearly a continuation of an autoerotic activity, 
while in the others it was an expression of the masculine protest. 
It was an unsuccessful effort to be a man with whom they are 
forced to compete against their will. Unlike their primitive sisters 
and modern men few modern women really enjoy smoking and 
those who do, use it for the same reason as men; it supplies a need. 
Viewed in this light, it seems quite natural that the stolid, catatonic 
I looking American Indian who formerly led the same monotonous 

and rude existence as is still observed among his South American 
brothers, should have developed the art of smoking, an infantile 
autoerotic manifestation. Originally he used tobacco in ceremonials, 
he might have wished to identify himself with the Great Spirit from 
whom all fire comes; later he used it just as other races used food. 
The 'Pipe of Peace* undoubtedly has the same significance as the 
'Communal Feast' among the Arabs and other races.^* One cannot 
" Cf. Freud: Totem and Taboo, translated by A. A. Brill, 1916. 


444 A. A. BRILL 

indulge in interpretations concerning things that have happened so 
many centuries ago, but it would seem plausible that the origin of 
smoking as a gratification was due to the desire to be big, to look 
formidable. As we said above, in the Indians, it was at first a 
desire to hold fire in the mouth, or to blow smoke at their enemies 
in order to confuse them and make themelves look equal to the 
gods. And the only reason why the modern boy takes to smoking, 
in spite of his first disagreeable experience with it, is also because 
he wishes to be big. In other words, smoking is a mode of expres- 
sion evinced by almost all modern and primitive men. It is an 
expression of an aggressive libido which the individual attempts 
to adjust. In the normal person who has the average amount of 
elan vital it is an excellent outlet, in the neurotic it is woven into 
conflicts. Its existence in the average man shows a healthy reaction 
to life, it signifies that the individual has a normal way of giving 
and taking libido, it matters not that it serves as a mode of 
exhibitionism. Contrary to the general belief I have never seen a 
single neurosis or psychosis that could be definitely attributed in any 
way to tobacco. On the other hand, one is more justified in looking 
with suspicion on the abstainer, one may think of a physical or nervous 
disturbance. Most of the fanatical opponents of tobacco that I have 
known were all bad neurotics. For the average normal individual 
who uses it moderately— and normals always do— it is as 6seful and 
pleasurable as alcohol and other outlets. There is no question that 
had the founder of the ReformaUon tasted the solacing pleasures of 
tobacco, his famous quotation would have read 'Who loves not 
tobacco, wine, woman, and song, he is a fool his whole life long.' 








I propose to use the psychoanalytic approach (not its technique) 

for making an excursion into one of the most obscure and most 

difficult fields of psychologic research. I refer to the alleged human 

experience of the infinite — of God. Quite unavoidably this will lead 

to an exposition of some important, but as yet inconclusive, support 

I for a tentative theory of the mental mechanisms and the psyclio- 

ii genetics of some theologic concepts, and of some philosophic tlieories. 

It will also furnish a fragment of an evolutionary concept of the 

human psyche. In its psychologic aspect, some experience as of the 

, infinite is believed to be the very essence of all Christian mysticism. 

Such experiences are also the basis of mystical pantheism and 

I perhaps of all mysticism. Probably in a lesser degree of intensity 

this same subjective condition is a psychologic preparedness for the 

.; ready acceptance of the philosophic creed of the idealist monists. 

I By this route will come some suggestive contribution to the psycho- 

' logy of philosophers and of their philosophies. 

As a part of this program some comparison will be made between 
the limitations of mental processes involved in these mystical 
\ experiences and some of the limitations which hamper the prenatal 

f psyche. In the prenatal psyche the limitations which we are to 

consider, are due chiefly to the physical limitations, imposed by the 
foetal status. The corresponding limitations in the physically mature 
humans will appear to be psychogenetic, and the immediate result 
of emotional inhibitions. Such speculations about a prenatal psyche 
will hereinafter be compared with the mental processes of an actual 
case, wherein psychologic inhibitions, which duplicate some of the 
limitations imposed on the foetus, did produce ' experiences of the 
infinite '. Thus we may come to see that much mysticism may be 
the product of morbid eroticisms. 





This discussion will proceed in about the same order in which 
these concepts developed in my own mind. This I conceive to be 
also the natural historic order in which many and perhaps most of 
the thoughts of mankind are developed. First we achieve an 
' instinctive insight ', that is a phantasy, or what is seemingly an. 
a priori judgment. Later, if at all, come the correctives and the 
justification by means of more consciously coordinated objective 
data and studies. Later on this portrayal of prenatal psychisms 
can become a fragment in a concept of evolutionary psychology. 

On the Use' of Metaphysics 

■ According to the outlined plan, I mtend to record some specu- 
lations which may seem to be as futile as they are unrelated to any 
previous conscious connection with the goal to which they lead me. 
It will be objected that, for scientists, all speculation about the 
foetal psyche are utterly useless metaphysics. On the contrary, I 
believe that it can be made to appear that we do have some little 
actual data upon which to base speculation about the prenatal psyche. 
Even if this were not so, it does not follow that even the purer 
metaphysics about the foetal psyche is wholly useless. 

Every concept that can be formed or formulated in a human, 
brain, represents the realities, as those appear at some level of mental 
evolution. Adequately to understand metaphysicians and mystica we 
must include a classification of each in a scale of evolutionary 

From this approach, therefore, the portrayal of the evolution of 
my own thinking in relation to the present problem, is perhaps m 
itself a contribution to evolutionary psychology. Thus I justify the 
use of my own metaphysics, as portraying one stage in the 
progressive approach toward making my concept a more exact 
transcript of the realities of psychologic maturing in general. 

From this psycho-evolutionary viewpoint there is a very great. 
difference between the metaphysics which I am about to expound 
and the similar metaphysics of a mature mystic. I am quite 
conscious of the mental mechanisms involved in the psychologic. 
trick that I may seem to be playing upon myself. During a similar 
performance, the genuine mystic is relatively unconscious of such' 
factors. This difference in our status will, of course, show itself in 
difJerences as to the resultant valuations and of the consequent 
conduct, in relation to our respective metaphysics. - 

^ ' 


Persistence of Prenaial Psychologic Habits 

Dr. S. A. Tannenbaiim has told me of a child at whose birth he 
officiated. The delivery was difficult because the infant's arm was 
displaced in an unusual manner, so that the hand was pressed against 
the cheek. Years after its birth this child never went to sleep except 
when its hand was in the prenatal position. Here we see the post- 
natal psycho-physiologic influence of prenatal habit. The tendency 
to avoid interference with our established habits is with all of us, 
although we seldom trace the growth o£ habits so far back as the 
foetal status. The difficulty that some people have about sleeping 
while lying on their backs may at times be due, in part, to this 
persistance of prenatal habit. 

Similarly the explanation has been offered for the unduly 
prolonged practice of bed-wetting, that it is a mere persistance of 
prenatal habit.* The infantile impulse (its subconscious desire) is 
for the return to the prenatal comfort of being encased in warm 
fluid. Bed-wetting, within limited skin-area and limited time, 
reproduces a close imitation, which measurably gratifies the desire 
for the recurrence of prenatal, habitual sensations. Nursing prob- 
ably gratifies a similar craving. Through contact by means of 
tlie sensitive tissues of the mouth, and the similarity of sensations 
of feeling, by the umbilical cord and by the esophagus, the infant 
comes, among other things, to feel a suggestive nearness, a relatively 
close union with the mother, which feeling of union is in its 
sensations a little like unto the prenatal union, and may well suggest 
some agreeable habitual affects of a more complete prenatal nutritive 
union, as an added pleasure to the nursing process. Such pleasurable 
organic memories, so associated with some prenatal sensations, help 

j to explain the aiTect-values attached to thumbsucking, gum-chewing 

f and a ' cold smoke '. 

Psycho-Pathologic Regressions 

In some cases of dementia praecox, we see conduct like unto 
that of a person seeking to return, as near as may be, to intra-uterine 
conditions. In the late stages of this psychologic regression, the 
individual arrives at a state where consciousness of objectives seems 


* An interesting statement of the mental mechanisms involved has 
Just come to my attention. D. Forsyth, Rudiments of Character- 
Psychoanalytic Review, 1921, Vol. VIII, p. 123. 



to be excluded (inhibited), with approximately the same thorough- 
ness as under intra-uteriiie conditions, The psychologic regression 
of senile dementia also exhibits the characteristics of a progressive 
exclusion from consciousness, from memory and from desire, of the 
I present objective realities, and a corresponding return to the 

1 memories and phantasies of adolescence, childhood, infancy and to 

psychologic disintegration, and a consequent return to functioning 
on an exclusively bio-chemical level. 

Dr. Paul Bjerre amid some acute observations has expressed this 
1 vievf: ' Hypnosis is a temporary sinking back into that primary state 

of rest which obtains during foetal life.'^ Again, the hypnotised 
person excludes from consciousness approximately all objective rela- 
tions except those stimuli coming from the hypnotist. Dr. Sigmund 
Freud has reached a similar conception of ordinary sleep ' as 
a state essentially consisting in a restoration of the most complete 
form of narcissism [self regard], the [unconscious] wish to return 
to the mother's womb.'* This view is confirmed by such facts as 
the case reported above from Dr, Tannenbaum. 

Hypothetical Prenatal Psychisms 

How can we construct an imaginative metaphysics such as may, 
! with some degree of seeming reasonableness, be ascribed to a foetal 

psyche, assumed to be able to formulate its apparent relation to the 
' universe? 

' We may refresh our memory concerning the indisoluble unity of 

, the force -aspect and the matter-aspect of the unknowable cosmic 

stuff that makes up our organism; of its probable continuity of 
change from the aspects of force dealt with by the physicist, through 
the aspects of force known to the biologist, up into the psychologic 
aspect of cosmic stuff, called psychic energy. Thus we may. have 
concluded that psychic evolution is but the counterpart of biologic 
evolution and presents only another aspect of the same law 
of change. We know a little about the limiting conditions of 
psychic functioning after birth, and a considerable amount about 
the nfcntal mechanisms that are involved in the later processes. We 
are reminded that parturition does not involve a complete revolution 

" Requoted from: 'The Intellectual and the Wage Workers', by 
Herbert E. Cory, Sunwise Turn, N.Y. City, 1919, p. 139. 

These words are those of Dr. Ernest Jones, in an English abstract 
of Dr. Freud's work, see this Journal, 1920, Vol. I, p. 181. 




of impulsive habit, but that prenatal habits persist, as more or less 
subconscious urges or cravings. 

Each reader will elaborate the brief suggestions that have been 
made. Each will bring into the resultant mental picture such 
cultural materials and psychologic insight as previous experiences 
have brought to them. Each will use that material as the present 
emotional equilibrium, or disturbance, will permit, or compel each 
to coordinate a little or all of it into one or more larger concepts, or 
aspects of one whole. Relative efficiency in the accuracy and 
completeness of the resultant imaginative equipment will of course 
depend upon the multiplicity, variety and complexity of the coordi- 
nated and unified data from the past, which are available and 
efficiently coordinated. AH of this will again be accompanied by 
varying efficiency of the ' instinctive ' psychologic insight. 

So we achieve a concept of the psyche in the process of regression 
as well as in the process of evolution. Upon this foundation, by 
the aid of a constructive imagination, we can see known tendencies 
and processes, as a continuous becoming. With the aid of a trained 
constructive imagination, we can extend the known processes of 
psychic evolution and regression a little beyond both of tlie limits 
within which our observations have hitherto actually been confined. 
Thus we can prognosticate something of a mental evolution not yet 
attained, as well as achieve some moderately accurate concept 
concerning prenatal psychisms. 

Prenatal Oneness with the Universe 
So far as I am informed, a child of slightly premature birth 
exhibits no immediate marked traits of psychologic difEerence from 
those infants which have enjoyed the full period of gestation. 
Parturition, in and of itself, appears to make no very great difference, 
or sudden internal developmental change in the psyche, or in its 
habitual valuations. Changes wrought after parturition are deter- 
mined mainly and gradually by the interaction with newly accessible 
objectives. The prematurely born child, that finishes its period of 
gestation in an incubator, during the time spent therein necessarily 
undergoes psychologic changes slower than the infant which is not 
thus excluded from the greater variety and complexity of environ- 
mental contacts and influences. By such reasoning, it may be 
concluded that the physical limitations against becoming conscious 
of experience with a larger and changing environment, are among 



the chief factors which preclude the earlier achievement of a 
consciousness of limitations within and of relations without the 
mother-self combination. 

In fact the foetal existence, from the foetal jwint of view, must 
appear as that vague and undefined and seemingly limitless mother- 
self combination. If we can assume a vague and uncertain awareness 
of existence under such conditions, and without a ca[)acity for making 
any diiferentiation between the mother-part and the ego-part; and if 
we imagine the foetus to have become sufficiently conscious of the 
bare facts of such an existence, with a power to formulate its 
apparent situation and relations; then the foetus might declare: ' I 
and my mother are one '. Indeed they are so organically one that 
the death of either mother or foetus very often involves the death 
of the other. From our hypothetical degree of awareness, the self 
seems to include the mother, and the mother to include the foetal 
ego.* So the foetal state is accurately described in these theologic 
terms: 'Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in 
you all.'o 

With the foetal unawareness of the maternal limitations, and 
seeing from the foetal point of view, the mother-self combination, 
quite unavoidably and by subconscious processes, might be assumed 
to constitute an infinite self-existent cosmos. The temporal or causal 
relations being excluded from consciousness, the foetus could say: 
' I AM THAT I AM '." For want of consciousness of spacial limitations 
of the mother-self combination the foetus could say: 'I am the all in 
all.' With a budding consciousness of limits to time, space, energy 
(power and causation), and of consciousness itself, as consciousness 
of consciousness (omnipotent and omniscient thought), there would 
naturally develop an impulse toward further self -explanation as to 
the approaching consciousness of these separate aspects of the in- 
finite, and their contrasting finites. At some stage in the progression,. 
something might appear to the hypothetical foetal consciousness, 
which would be capable of being formulated like this: ' I (the mother- 
self in every potentiality) appear to extend indefinitely, or to fade 
out into nothingness.' This same emotion (feeling plus idea) in the 
ebb and flow of becoming, may be focalized in consciousness either 

* John xvii. 21.; Also: John xiv. 10 and 20. 

" Eph. iv. 6. 

^ Exodus iii. 14. 



upon the seemingly expanding or the seemingly shrinking appearance 
of its consciousness of self. When an accession of the consciousness 
of being was in progress it might say: ' I am expanding toward 
infinitude.' Or from the other appearance of an ebbing consciousness 
of existence, it might say: ' I am being absorbed into (annihilated 
by) the universe, shrinking into nothingness.' If both the ebb and 
flow of consciousness, of distinction from the environment, are but 
different aspects of the same process there could be a simultaneous 
awareness. This then might be formulated as; ' I am at once the 
infinite and nothingness.' All absolutes, as mere metaphysical 
abstractions, must appear from the absolute standpoint to be both 
mutually inclusive, and mutually destructive, and therefore, identical, 
that is to say in the absolute there are no distinguishing limitations. 
This is so because the absolute (the unrelated) according to the 
hypotliesis cannot undergo change. It is the all — all the time. 

Mystic Imagination 

"Without the mystic imagination, we tend to interpret the 
descriptive words of such concepts merely according to the 
dictionary, and thus fall further short of acquiring the concepts of 
the absolute than does the mystic. Accordingly, for such more 
limited minds, all discussion of absolutes are either meaningless, or 
seem to involve absurd contradictions. At best only the psychologic 
mechanisms of our feeling-relation to concepts of approaching 
absolutes can be made intelligible. Those possessing the mystic 
imagination have no difficulty in seeing what is meant by the seeming 
identity of the ultimate absolutes, of opposite tendencies which are 
observed in finite relations. At any rate, all such hypotheses are 
forced upon some of us, perhaps cliiefly by the limitations of our 
thinking faculties. At best, so I am compelled to think about my 
feeling of these absolutes, in so far as I can approach thinking about 
them at all. We actually approach to thinking about absolutes only 
in so far as we succeed in reproducing imaginatively that foetal 
psychologic condition, which at least momentarily exclude from 
consciousness all inductively and consciously derived factors of the 
consciousness of finite relations. Perhaps the most successful result 
may be called a feeling-concept of the infinite. VVe will understand 
the mystic just in so far as we interpret his words as descriptive of 
his psychologic states, rather than of things objective to us, or to 
the mystic. 


It is by such processes that I have been made to believe that I 
can, in imagination, reproduce for myself, the mental mechanism 
of those who believe they actually experience such infinites. When 
we achieve, as near as may be, an imaginative reproduction of the 
foetal psychologic status, under some of its limitations in relation to 
the potentials of these concepts, then I believe that we will also have 
achieved a high degree of preparedness for understanding the mental 
and emotional mechanisms which are involved in tlie alleged human 
experience of God, as that is expounded by such persons as Prof. 
William E. Hocking. So also do we acquire a key to the psycho- 
genetics of the varying philosophies of idealist monists, whether as 
crude as that of Mary Baker Eddy,' or as clever as that of May 
Sinclair, or as solemn as that of Josiah Royce. 

Omnipotence of Helplessness 

Under some or all intra-uterine conditions, the foetus apparently 
cannot experience and consciously register any limitation of its 
powers. Interesting consequences would follow if it could become 
aware of its energy; of the existence of life as power, without 
anything more; or if it could exclude from consciousness, or was 
incapable of co-ordinating any related, contrasting and limiting 
conditions. Having become conscious of energy, abstracted from 
all else and especially from that which imposes the consciousness of 
limits thereto, then the formulation of such a status could easily be: 
' I am omnipotent.' The process of becoming conscious of our 
limitations and ever more consciously and contentedly acting 
accordingly, is part of the very essence of psychologic maturing. 
It is a growth from unconscious ' Godhood ' toward an ever more 
mature hu manhood. 

A foetus, in the uterus, has all its needs satisfied, apparently 
without being and probably before ever becoming, conscious of them 
as desires. In fact there is an organic mobile unity, of which need 
and supply are but different aspects of the same process, appearing 

' 'Christian Science and Sex'. New York Medical Journal (New 
York City), Nov. 27, 1920, Vol. CXII, no. 22, whole no. 2191, 
pp. 851-2. 

Truth Seeker, (N. Y. City). Jan. i, 1921, Vol. XLVIII, no. r, p. ro. 

Freethinker (London, Eng.), Feb. 27, 1921, Vol. XLI, no. 9, 
pp. 139-140. 

The Crucible (Seattle, Wash.). Mch. 13, igai. Vol. V, no. 181, p. 3. 


as a constant and approximate equilibrium. To be able to command 
the satisfaction of all desires, or to have an undemanded automatic 
satisfaction of one's needs, is the condition, manifestation and 
evidence of omnipotence, that is — Godhood. Therefore, if the 
foetus could become conscious of its situation, it would inevitably 
seem quite justified in formulating its apparent status and the 
resultant mental states, by declaring belief in its own eternal 
omnipotence. To such a being it might seem reasonable to say of 
itself: ' Within me, for me and through me, " the Lord God omni- 
potent reigneth ".'" ' In me as " in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting 
strength ".' » 

Come to budding consciousness, of energy, or power, but without 
a co-ordination of any consciousness of its limitations, and then 
verbally expressed, the foetus might believe and say: ' I created the 
cosmos, by willing it.' Or, from another aspect of consciousness: 
' I created it out of myself,' or ' out of nothingness ','" for betv^'een 
these two there can be no distinction from the viewpoint of the 
seemingly subjective absolute. One might speak of this self- 
projected omnipotence in biblical terms, tlius: 'He stretched out 
the north over the empty space and hangeth the earth upon 
nothing. ... By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens.' " Or 
again: 'By the word of the Lord were the heavens made and all 
the hosts of them [by the limitless energy which is symbolized] by 
the breath of his mouth.' " 

This more or less hypothetical foeta! psyche, with its unawareness 
of distinction, has an approximate analogue in those physically 
mature primitive peoples, who have no word for ' I ' or ' mine ' but 
have words for ' we ' and ' ours '. I have found the same thing in 
the difficulty I had in teaching a three year old boy the proper use 
of ' I ' and ' you '. I have also seen it crudely manifested in members 
of the negro ' Church of the Living God.' These mystical pantheists 
collectively are ' God ', and at their meetings they often open their 

* Rev. xix. I. 

' Isa. xxvi. 4. 

'" For an interesting speculation see: John Henry, Cardinal Newman, 
in: Discourses to Mixed Congregations, 284, pp.66, 70, 75, 87, 92. 
Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. VI, pp. 365-6. See also: Ingersoll's 
ridicule of such positions. 

" Job xxvi. 7 and ^3- 

*' Ps. xxxiii. 6. 


'testimony' something like this; 'I am glad to be here among 
myself to glorify myself, I am God.' '^ Some of their sect claim 
immortality in the flesh, an attribute of omnipotence — of Godhaod, 
It is from the study of such cases as these, and the one hereinafter 
incompletely reported, that 1 secured my conception of the mental 
mechanisms herein set forth. 

Infinite Space and no Space 

The physical conditions of foetal existence appears to preclude 
all possibility of the foetus becoming conscious of the spacial limits 
to its being. This is so because of its peculiar union with the 
maternal envelope. The developed foetal physical entity fades oui 
so gradually through the maternal organism that no one can draw 
precisely the dividing line between the two. And yet, tlie foetal 
psyche is probably sufficiently distinct fromthematernalconsciousness 
to preclude in the former any consciousness of knowable relations 
with the environment beyond the mother-self combination. Betore 
becoming conscious of the distinction between the mother-self and 
the beyond-mother, and before becoming conscious of the distinction 
between the foetal self and the maternal envelope, the conditions 
of foetal existence would seem to preclude any consciousness of 
spacial limitations to itself. That is to say: because of the physio- 
logical conditions alone, any developed human brain, similary situated 
within the womb, would find it impossible to arrive at any conception 
of space limits beyond which the mother-self , is non-existent. 

If we can imagine a physically mature human whose obsessions 
and emotional inhibitions supply the same limitations to the 
possibilities of consciousness, then we have a situation which might 
induce the delusion that its victim occupied infinite space. Having 
thus delusionally projected one's self into the universe and become 
one with an infinite God, it can seemingly be said of us that: ' If 
J ascend up into heaven, thou art there: If I make my bed in hell, 
behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning and 
dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy head 
lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.' " For such religionists 
God is equally subjective and yet imminent everywhere. 

'* Living Gods, Azoth. Oct. 1918, Vol. Ill, no. 4, pp. 202-5. For 
another and closer study see: 'The Psychology of one Pajitheist, 
Psychoanalyiic Review, July 1921, Vol. VIII, no. 3, pp. 314-28. 

'^ Ps. cxxxix. 8-10. 



Either the foetus (assumed to have become conscious) or a 
physically mature human being so inhibited as indicated, could only 
intellectualize its status by something which somehow is the equi- 
valent of: ' I am the all in all '; or as do some East Indian mystics; 
' I am a conscious centre of the all mind.' These latter, however, 
show a vague sense of some difference between ' the conscious centre ' 
(the ego) and the 'all mind ' which for them seems to include the 
rest of the universe. 

Mental Mechanism of Seeming Expansion and Contraction ' 

It may happen that the obsessing emotion comes on slowly, 
accompanied by a gradual dimming of the consciousness of objectives. 
This process bears an appearance as if objectives were fading or 
receding — or as if the self were expanding. As the obsession 
approaches completeness, the appearance of self-expansion may seem 
to become the ultimate of infinite space. But there is also a parallel 
interpretation, leading to the other extreme. We can be conscious 
of self only by contrast with the not-self. As the consciousness of 
objectives fades away, as into the distance, so also disappears the 
opportunity for contrast, upon which depends the consciousness of 
self. Accordingly, the onrush of the obsessing emotion which 
obliterates the consciousness of self as distinct from objectives, can 
produce also tlie illusion of the ego shrinking toward nothingness. 
Here then we can see the psychologic unity for the simultaneous 
belief in one's approaching the occupancy of infinite space and of 
shrinking to nothingness. Also this helps us to understand a belief 
in one's own experience of the infinite, and some of the relationships 
of this illusion to, and its dependence upon, some of the limitations 
which nature imposed upon the foetal psyche. 

Thus again do we realize how a psychologically disrupted and 
physically mature personality can develop and hold the delusions of 
grandeur which express themselves in widely accepted religious and 
philosophic theories. At moments when the influence of some great 
and morbid emotion is nearest to a complete obsession, the 
consciousness of time, space, energy and the consciousness of 
consciousness itself, may be equally or unequally obscured. In fact 
the each and all of these relations are but incomplete and imperfect 
aspects of the ultimate and unknowable cosmic stuiT. As one or 
anotlier of these aspects is less obscured than the rest, it will 
dominate the resultant philosophy. So it comes that philosophers 


array themselves into opposing schools, and quarrel about the 
theories constructed upon their unimportant differences of emphasis. 
The common sense element of unification between the conflicting 
philosophies will be found, by studying the psychology of 
philosophers with the view to discovering within each the psycho- 
genesis of the particular point of emphasis, and its compulsion which 
made each particular philosophy inevitable, for its propoiients. 
Their differences then are seen to be wholly due to those limitations 
which compel the generalizing of different and differently incomplete, 
aspects of things and their ways. 

The case of Adelaide M.B. 

With so much of speculation based upon previous and largely 
unreported studies, I now come to report a most unusual case in which 
the foregoing speculations were confirmed, and for which these 
antecedent speculations furnished me a helpful explanation. 

Frequently, during many years, Adelaide enjoyed strange and 
unavoidable transports of ecstatic horror. She compared her 
experiences with those of her many mystical friends. Practically 
all of these agreed that she had the genuine mystic thrill, which only 
comes to the highly evolved mystic. She had seemingly all known 
varieties of these manifestations. Each mystic friend had some 
formula for the intellectualization of one or another aspect of her 
strange, delightfully painful, transports. Her experience of the 
infinite was one of her most popular ' stunts ', and seemingly the one 
which she had in common with the largest number of her mystical 
friends. She was offered several different intellectual izations for 
this, as in terms of ' universal consciousness ' of ' infinite love ', the 
'experience of God', etc. Her mystical friends seemed to think that 
she was to be envied. However, unlike her friends, the joy of these 
experiences was far from being unalloyed bliss. The most intense 
ecstasy always had for her an inseparable and equally intense horror. 
Accordingly she never could accept whole-heartedly any of the 
explanatory metaphysical theories, of her mystical friends. . Neither 
could she be as certain about the glory which these experiences were 
supposed to confer upon her. Nor could she find any new and 
original explanation of her own, that would satisfy her. At times, 
when she was not the centre of attention from awe-inspired, mystic 
admirers, she could have wished to avoid a repetition of her mystic 
experience. However, that was also beyond her conscious control. 



And yet, all tliose of her friends who spoke as with authority in 
mystical matters, assured her that she had the very real thing, to be 
desired above all else. Why must doubts creep in? What was 
wrong? Those who adequately co-ordinate all that has hereinbefore 
been said, will readily see a partial explanation as we proceed with 
her description. Further explanation will follow at the close of her 
statement. Quite against her will she was plunged into succeeding 
'strange feelings of unreality in common objects [and] the loss of 
[consciousness of] contact with daily things, in which the solidity of 
the outer world is lost, and tlie soul seems, in utter loneliness, to 
bring forth out of its own depths, the mad dance of fantastic 
phantoms which have hitherto appeared as independently real and 
living.' But unlike Bertrand Russell she failed to achieve 'a sense 
of mystery unveiled, [or] of a hidden wisdom now suddenly become 
■ certain beyond the possibility of a doubt ' much less ' a definite 
belief '. At times she had all these and yet she seemed to want to 
get away from it. Both doubt and uncertainty haunted her, even 
when she was unwilling to confess that. 

She was at such times compelled into a state where her mind 
was stripped of everything consciously derived from objectives, a 
state that ' would hinder sight, hearing, touch or even thought ' of 
such things. Yet in spite of this seeming mystic's preparedness she 
could not even 'get any the' least glimpse' of God. She could not 
visualize an objective personality nor Intel lectualize her obsessing 
ecstasy in terras of a satisfying pantheism. Although a thousand times 
she was 'down in this utter nakedness' of mind, her subjective 
never vouchsafed the least inkling of ' the wee small voice ' of God. 
And yet, her mind was doubtless ' centrally united in itself ' — ' empty, ■ 
open, receptive '. Quite involuntarily there was a complete relax- 
ation of conscious will but there came not the feeling of relief, joy, 
satisfaction nor a sense of power and love, ' which usually come to 
mystics,' as the aftermath. Instead her ecstatic flights were 
inseparably mingled with most extraordinary horror. The mystic 
joy unalloyed was never hers. 

Other Mystics Appear 

She talked with many mystics, giving descriptions of her 
experience. Uniformly they told her that hers was the genuine 
mystic ecstasy, and that it was beautiful, wonderful and divine and 
that in her extreme form of it she should consider herself among the 



most fortunate and happy mortals. But she could not relieve herself 
of the accompanying ' horrible deadly sweet torture '. In her 
perplexity she read mystic literature, and with this and the help 
of admiring mystic friends, she quite persuaded herself that she was 
the most wonderful ' psychic ' of the age, but still this did not give 
her the desired solace. Always the ecstasy seemed hellish, devilishly 
sweet while also inspiring the most horrible fear of death. 

She had often felt herself leave the body, and expand to include 
the universe and had felt herself shrinking almost into nothingness, 
annihilation, death. She read many ordinary mystics and such 
philosophic mystics as Euken, Sabatier, and Hocking. She 
recognized her experience to be like unto theirs in its essence, yet 
she could not share their joy and her own ' sweet torture ' seemed 
also to preclude her from deriving any lasting satisfaction out of 
their explanations, or metaphysics. 

Her own mystic experiences acquired its first great access of 

importance during an extreme ' nervous breakdown '. The more 

extraordinary characteristics were much increased during a later 

neurotic collapse. This first collapse occurred after an experience 

so extraordinary as almost to defy duplication. Of this I will give 

an account later on. She spent months in a sanitarium, almost 

constantly under the influence of horrific hallucinations, essentially 

a manic depressive. Since her first discharge, six or seven years 

had elapsed, during which some charitable persons, physicians and 

faith healers, and every variety of mystic offered her aid. Also 

two psychanalysts took a hand, briefly giving some selfunderstanding 

and aid toward making her selfsupporting. From an excess of 

caution, I think, these also failed to make the attack directly upon 

her mystic experience, and thought it inexpedient or premature to 

analyse her sanitarium hallucinations, of which she had kept a diary. 

Since the time they could devote to her without pay was also limited 

they were each content to turn her off with considerable practical 

improvement but without having uncovered the mechanisms which 

most interested me. When cast off by the second analyst, she 

returned to the psychic healers. These again confirmed and 

reinforced her mystical theories and predispositions, including the 

dogma of reincarnation etc., by which she had to her own logical 

satisfaction explained and confirmed the objective verity of some of 

her sanitarium hallucinations. Thus the 'healers' revivified the 

extraordinary painful events of the past. Another collapse was 



inevitable. Then she appealed to me because she had nowhere else 
to go, and because she knew of my interest in such experiences. I 
took her to my home for a month not as a patient but as a subject 
for investigation, in the field of religious psychology. I told her 
that incidental to my pursuit she would doubtless get some relief, 
but my primal object was investigation not therapy. I believe that 
we were both well satisfied with the result. 

Just before she came to me, she had without assistance discovered 
the immediate erotic source of her mystical experiences. At my 
request she wrote out a description thereof for me. I will now 
quote it. Then I will follow the psychologic explanation which 
made it impossible for her to enjoy them or explain them as do 
other mystics. 

An Experience of Universal Consciousness 

Her experiences of merging with universal consciousness had 
been regular occurrences for about seven years, and always a 
paradoxical mixture of beauty and horror. At first there was no 
conscious involvement of sex. Later there occasionally appeared to 
be such. The same is true of the feeling of vibration, the 
consciousness of which also grew with time. I give herewith a 
description of two such experiences, the first being without a 
consciousness of sex or vibratory sensations. The second description 
is of an experience during her last breakdown shortly before she 
came to me. It was very important to her because through it she 
became for the first time conscious of the true genesis of her ' universal 
consciousness', her 'infinite love' or 'her experience of God'. I 
quote her words as she wrote them. 

' I awoke from sleep about one o'clock. (I find there is a law 
of rhythm in these experiences.) My worst attacks come between 3 

twelve and two in the morning. The tide dies down about four A 

o'clock in the morning. It is the same in the afternoon — at four 
o'clock in the afternoon the tide ebbs. There were no vibrations 
when I awoke. There was no sex. I was soaring, expanding into 
this awful unknown, yet familiar, state of consciousness. My brain 
could no longer hold my soul. It was going outward into space — 
and space was nothingness. I was beating against the awful limits — 
the circle by which I was held was being broken by something within 
me — unknown and feared. I knew that I was about to die — ^and 


I could not die. I feared death — that awful unknown state of 
consciousness. I could not die. And I so wanted life — wholesome 
active, vital eartli life. I had never wanted anything else since I 
could remember. 

' And in this awful unknown state of universal consciousness I 
discovered something else. There was no room for anything but 
love; there was nothing but love. Not sex love, but understanding 
love of everything that lived or ever had lived. And that was hell. 
I did not want to be the universal consciousness, understanding and 
loving everything. Nothing was then left. That was hell. For it was 
nothingness. For in that awful opening, unknown, yet familiar, state, 
all were one. There was no division. And that was the hell again 
of nothingness^no variety — nothing! The closing of the vicious 
circle from which I could not escape; which I so wished to escape. 

' I rushed around the room and out into the bathroom, battled 
with this horror, which must mean death. I think, but am not sure, 
that in this attack the solar plexus, which usually pulls out of 
the body in these attacks, wat not affected. 

' But in many later attacks, particularly in a much later one, 
the solar plexus seemed to turn wrongside out, and I was definitely 
out of the body, and by fighting pulled myself back in — for I would 
not go out into those psychic states, if I could help it. They are 
hell for me. I do not want them. I only want firm earth life, away 
from all this terrible high-pitched stuff. I awake from sleep in 
these attacks when the solar-plexus is pulling me out into horror. 
Then I fight to get back in the body. I do not remember in this 
experience of soaring just how I brought myself back again.' 

Now comes her description of the informing experience which 
came to her a little before her second major collapse and shortly 
before she came to me. 

Identity with the Universe 

'The beginning of these experiences was after several days of 
feeling myself a puzzle, with all the parts fitting in together, and 
getting no relief, from this and from the other states. I finally lay 
down on the bed one evening and thought of the woman [a 
psychanalyst] who had been working with me for some time and who 
had given me help and who understood my troubles and psychic 
experiences. I did not know which way to turn or where to go for 
help. No one seemed able to help me or to understand my torture. 


I thought of this woman, who had been called out of town. Then 
it occurred to me that she should be able to help me from the 
distance, as she reached people by thought — more than thought — 
the speaking to the inner self or soul. So I began to concentrate, 
saying to her simply what my trouble was — that I was in need of 
help. Before this my body had been in a state of tingling vibration 
that always comes when I am at a high nervous pitch — a sort of 
trembling, tingling vibration — as though I am about to disintegrate 
into atoms. As I concentrated, this tiftgling vibration began to 
gather itself together, to become systemized and automatic, and 
rhytJimic. It " did itself " automatically, in perfect rhythm without 
any volition of mine. Inside tny outer physical body I felt a Ane 
inner body, exactly the counterpart of the outer, and yet internal to 
it. All grossness was removed from it — it was a thing of wonderful 
lightness and beauty — but to my sense the beauty was horrible, 
sickening and deadly-sweet, as would be the perfume of a death- 
dealing orchid, with an overpowering, unknown perfume. It 
fascinated yet repelled — and in the meantime the unknown perfect 
rhythmic viliration of the inner body went on. It was all sex rhythm; 
the clitoris was the centre from which in vibrating rhythmic waves 
went out enveloping, in this unknown deadly rhythmic sex sweetness, 
the entire body. It was terrifying, with an unknown terror. It 
was fascination, sex-impulse, cloying sweetness and superstitious 
horror raised to the «th' degree— it was another state of consciousness, 
for which there is no human language. It was ecstasy— ecstasy 
that turned my soul sick. And it was all sex-centered in the clitoris 
of the fine inner body, radiating from the center outward into 
unknown and awful space, beating, throbbing in perfect rhythm. It 
was hell — sex hell. It was the universe — sex universe. And I was 
the universe — the sex universe, beating, throbbing outward into 
nothingness. And it was all so familiar — somewhere, in some 
unknown state that I had known before it [her first breakdown and 
its causes] had all happened. I had always known this awful thing. 
Something was opening— and the deadly sex rhythm swept me 
onward. But only the clitoris was involved — not the rest of the 
sex organs in any way. I was no longer myself— I was the 
universe— which was one mighty rhythmic throbbing creature of 
sex, beating outward from the centre.' 

' Then into this opening consciousness came a voice — an inner 
voice — sweet and clear as a fine silver bell — ^familiar with the 


familiarity of something forever known — forgotten for a brief 
time — and now unfolding again as a bud unfolds into a flower. It 
was within the centre of myself — not the sex centre (or the clitoris) 
but within my inner self — the intangible self. 

' " Listen ", it said, " and you will hear ". " Listen and you will 
hear " this voice like an inner hell in the soul centre of the universe, 
went on and on. All the time the inner rhythm kept up and the 
sickening horror enveloped me. I did not want this awful thing — 
this horrible opening of universal consciousness. This terrible and 
■unknown — yet always known — state. It was worse than any hell 
I had ever conceived — for it was past any limited human conception. 
Always known — forgotten for a brief time^now opening into the 
immensity of space — into the awfulness of nothingness. And 
nothingness is beyond the horrors of hell — for it is past human 

' Then I suddenly knew that it was death I was feeling. I sprang 
in deadly terror from the bed, fighting with the state. I could not 
die. I would not die. I wanted life. How I wanted life, I came 
back to the old suffering state, with an added fear. I was about 
to die.' 

A Phantasy and Masturbation 

' Dressing, I went to Dr. H — [a mystic healer] (who under- 
stands all psychic states from experience). He also gives physical 
treatments which lower the blood pressure and as he expresses it, 
" bring you down to earth again ". I wanted earth, any kind of grey 
suffering earth, very much. Anything but that hell of ecstasy and 
universal consciousness — this opening out into the awful unknown. 
In terror I related to him the entire experience. If he did not 
understand it, it seemed to me I should go mad. To my relief 
temporarily he did understand it entirely — except that he has no 
fear and could not understand why I feared so. That there was 
nothing to fear. He assured me there was not the slightest danger 
of my dying — that my pulse was strong, tliat my physical condition 
and heart were perfectly all right. That if I went on nothing could 
happen. That the things I suffered so from were simply [spirituall 
. " laws ". 

' I went home quieted — let down to earth again. But as soon as 
I undressed and got into bed the rhythmic vibrations of the inner 
body began again — there was not the same terrifying consciousness 



this time, as I recollect, of the universal consciousness — to the same 
extent. It was present however. I thought, " I will see this 
through; Dr. H — says there is nothing to fear." But I did not 
like the deadly sweetness — at times I did, slipped over into the 
consciousness of it, then back again, longing to be just a grey human 
being once more. 

' Then I thought, " I do not want to send out this sex thing to 
a woman. I do not want a woman [the analyst] I want a man." 
That was one reason why I had felt so strongly the horror before — if 
I was going to have exalted sex relations I did not wish them with 
a woman, particularly with that woman. I wanted a man — exalted 
or not. And I did not wish to be so hellishly exalted— I wanted life 
and to get down to normal sex relations with the right man — ^tliat 
was all I had ever wanted. All this damn-fool high-pitched sex 
stuff had not come upon ine from choice. I wished fervently that 
those who wanted psychic intercourse could have it, I desired 
only natural human relations, in a natural, wholesome human way. 
It was all I had ever wanted. Why, then, was this forced upon me? 

' I thought, " To whom, to what man, shall I direct this whirling 
inner sex vibration? " I found the man— the one I wished. By 
this time all the sex organs, as well as the clitoris, were involved— 
but all in this fine inner body. [In imagination] I drew the man 
into my self; he lay there close to my heart—the inner heart — and 
the rhythmic vibrations swept on. It was deadly, nauseatingly 
sweet— the sweetness of hell— yet— at times I almost swept up to 
the exalted sweetness of its heaven. I said to the [imaginary] man 
as he lay there, what I have sometimes said to him [in reality] in 
joke, " well; I have vamped you at last. You like it, don't you? " 

' Then the vibrations, which had not gone to the pitch of orgasm, 
suddenly began to die down. They came no more. And my exalted 
state of universal sex vibrations ended in a plain and ordinary 
masturbation, with physical relief. I was so relieved to find that 
I was stilt an ordinary human being that I did not feel the disgust 
I might ordinarily have felt at this. It was such relief to know 
that I was still human — disgustingly human. I went to sleep.' 

Why ike Horror? 

Now let me tell you a little of the history of this woman, only 
just enough to explain her inability to derive the usual unalloyed jny 
and unmitigated exaltation out of her mystic experience. Be it 



remembered that every one of the many mystics with whom she came 

in contact recognized the genuine mystic quality of her thrills, as 

being like unto their own exalted and exalting experiences. Whatever 

partial (and probably temporary) relief the unfortunate woman 

derived from her enhghtenment through me, came from my 

explanation of the mental mechanisms of her hallucinations at the 

sanitarium and of these mystic trances of hers. These explanations 

were in line with my previous theories of the status and mechiinisms 

of the hypothetical prenatal psyche, and were but more detailed 

I explanations and applications of the views hereinbefore expressed. 

^' This woman had lived in illicit sexual relations with a married 

^ man during fifteen years. This, with all the incidentals that 

(* accompany such relations, gradually produced an unbearable condition 

ii of self-reproach. Accompanying this evergrowing state of suppressed 

\ fear came the progressive withdrawal from contact with other 

1 humans. In the last three years she became a voluntary secret 

(' prisoner in a small room adjoining his office, venturing out only after 

dark, and not even daring to appear at a window during the day.>* 

One night about Christmas time 1913, during sexual congress in 

I this chamber, the man died before reaching the orgasm. Now her 

I secret was proclaimed on the front page of every newspaper in the 

country. She was held in custody on suspicion of murder and 
robbery. An autopsy exhonorated her of the murder charge, and 
further examination iniluced a dismissal of the case for larceny as 
being unsupported by the facts. Philanthropic strangers provided 
I' care for her at a sanitarium. 

Already psychanalysts see some of the objective causes of the 
feeling of horror associated with her later psycho-erotic experiences. 
But I wish to give at least a little further detail of the mental 
mechanism involved in the psychogenetics of this ' horror '. From 
the description given me I conclude that for months after the above 
painful events, this woman moved about as if in a trance, frequently 
with the same mingling of ' sweetness and horror ' expressed by her 
in the last description. Also she was in an almost constant state 
of hallucination, living as the reincarnated spirit of Mary Queen of 
Scots and other celebrities who had suffered the agonies of cruel 
mquisitions. Here too, she had all the mystic experience of floating, 
flymg, the fourth dimension, communication with the living dead. 


See Upton Sinclair; The Brass Check, chap. 22. 



universal mind, etc. In these hallucinations the deceased paramour 
was a regular attendant upon her, and gave her much common sense 
advice. But the realities of the situation could .not be faced, The 
trance hallucinations were of course, defensive reactions. Practically 
all the mental mechanisms involved in the formation of the 
hallucination-content were explained to her by me, treating the 
hallucinations as an ordinary dream. 

But her original inability to face the realities in the concrete, 
had left her so that at the sanitarium she was still unable to feel 
and act as if her man was really dead, and as if she were not still 
under suspicion of having murdered him, and in danger of being 
electrecuted. All the horrors present and potential of tliat unfor- 
tunate condition were suppressed, to function mainly below the 
surface of consciousness. For her conscious phantasies the man 
was still able to appear and talk to her. The need for a perpetually 
obsessive ecstasy was great, as the only way of keeping the terrifying 
present objectives out of consciousness. Therefore the interrupted 
copulation could not be treated in her action as having been 
discontinued by the death. For her there had been no death. The 
rhythmic 'copulation was still in progress. So it remained in 
consciousness when need be, as ever in process of being completed. 
But the causes of the terror only could be excluded from 
consciousness; the feeling of terror was there just the same, and from 
below the surface of consciousness It was still obtruding itself into 
the ecstatic delights. So it became impossible for her to receive 
therefrom joy unalloyed as did other mystics; or to wholly accept the 
popular mystic interpretation of the psycho-erotic ecstasy as a 
satisfactory experience of a beneficent God, or of infinite consciousness, 
of universal love, of the indwelling spirit, of the mysterious operations 
of the Tloly Ghost, or the inner miracle of Grace, effecting her 
sanctification. No self -glorifying mystic theory was wholly 
satisfying, because the feeling of horror, of fear could not be whotlv 
suppressed or even excluded from consciousness. For once the 
subconscious instead of creating a most wonderful mystic and 
psychic, succeeded only in spoiling one. 

The experience of Adelaide M.B., like all other psychologic 
experiences, are explainable from many different viewpoints. The 
relatively orthodox mystics, of course saw predominantly those 
aspects of her ecstasy which were like unto their own. Now that 
we see the erotic origin of her ecstasy, we can better understand 


that probably all of the experiences which express themselves, in such 
a great variety of mystical and metaphysical theory, each is but 
expressive of the individual's personal cultural status, and emotional 
needs, and that perhaps all of them have a similar involvement of 
erotic factors. When tlie interest and cultural development preclude 
intellectuahzation in terms of religion and of superhuman sanctions 
and valuations, the experience and the same mental mechanismj) 
easily predispose to idealistic philosophies. 

When psychologists get away from the theologian's and the 
philosopher's habit of searching for ultimate solutions, then like the 
physicist and the psychanalyst their attention may become wholly 
centered upon the study of natural processes. Those whose concern 
is predominantly with the understanding of the psychologic (force-) 
aspect of the anergic processes in the human organism involved in, 
and conducing to mystical experiences and to their metaphysical 
and religious intellectuahzation, to be a useful step toward the 
better understanding of these psychologic processes. With the hope 
that this essay has measurably served that purpose, I close. 







' Rescue phantasies ' are among those wish-creations of neurotics 
that are familiar and quite comprehensible to us since the time 
when, in 1910, Freud explained their unconscious meaning and 
traced their origin to the parental complex.^ In these phantasies 
a neurotic sometimes rescues his father, at other times his mother, 
from danger of death. Phantasies of saving the mother'^ life 
arise chiefly from the son's tender feelings, and according to Freud's 
analysis also contain, in addition to the rescue tendency, the wish 
to present the mother with a child. Rank^ later made a more 
elaborate study of these phantasies; he ^ and Harnik* have enabled 
us to understand the phantasies of rescuing the mother which are 
found in the works of poets. 

Freud pointed out that the tendency to rescue the father is 
chiefly the expression of an impulse of defiance on the son's part. 
He also refers to tlie usual form in which these phantasies commonly 
appear. The son generally rescues some representative of the 
father, for instance, a king, or any other highly placed person, from 
an impending danger to life. In another place = he gives an example 
of a typical phantasy of father-rescue but without giving a detailed 
analysis of it. I have often come across the same phantasy in my 
patients, and I may presume other analysts to be familiar with it. 

' Jakrbuch der Psychoanalyse, igro, Bd. II, S. 396; also in Kleine 
Schriften zur Neurosenlehre, Vierte Folge, S. 210. 

^ Belege zur Eettungsphantasie, Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse, 

1910-11, Bd. I, S. 331. 

^ Das Inzestraotiv in Dichtung und Sage, 1912, and Internationale 
Zeitschrift fur Psychoanalyse, 19 14. Bd. II, S. 43 et seq. 

* Imago, 1912, Bd. I, S. 507. 

" Id the ' Traumdeutung ' in the discussion of day-dreams and also 
in the discussion of an example in the ' Psychopathol. d. AUtagslebens '. 



I should like therefore to submit its unconscious content, particularly 
its symbolism, to a closer examination, and I hope to show that 
we ought not to be satisfied with recognizing a neurotic product 
of this kind as Hie effect of the infantile defiance that Freud has 
already perceived in it. Deeper analysis seems to me necessary; 
as will be shown, it yields important information about the patient's 
unconscious, and it also gives us an insight into the deeper layers 
of otlier closely-related phantasies which we shall draw on for 

In the phantasy I have in mind the patient imagines he is walking 
along a street. He unexpectedly sees coming towards him at a 
terrifiG pace a carriage in which is sitting the king (or another highly 
placed personage). He instantly seizes the horses by the reins and 
brings the carriage to a standstill, thus saving the king from the 
risk of death. 

I If we first of all consider only the manifest content of the rescue 

phantasy we easily recognise it as the opposite of the Oedipus myth. 

'■ The person saves the king's life, instead of taking it — as Oedipus 

I does. In the manifest content the son has nothing to do with the 

risk of death the king runs; in fact, the son runs this risk himself 
for his father's sake. 

On the other hand, it is worth noting those parts of the manifest 
content of the two phantasies that are in agreement. In both 
phantasies the meeting with the king is represented as due to 

J chance; and it is particularly striking that in both of them the king 

; is advancing in a carriage.^ 

If we now use our definite knowledge that in the unconscious 

I,, 'king' is synonymous with father, and 'rescue' with killing, then 

the far-reaching agreement of the rescue phantasy with the Oedipus 
myth becomes quite evident. In the Oedipus myth, it is true, the 
killing of the king occurs undisguisedly; but this variation is 
explicable from the fact that the upper layer of the myth represents 
a crime in the remote past, from which every member of the 
people who fabricated the myth consciously thinks himself far 
removed. The neurotic, on the other hand, is himself the central 
point of the manifest content of the rescue phantasy; the 
transformation of an onslaught into a rescue is due to the stricter 
application of the censorship. 

^ Dr. Carl Miiller drew my attention to this parallel in a discussion 

, at the Berlin Psycho-Analytical Society. 


The rescue phantasy contains a whole series of details the 

determination of which is in no way explained by our having 
recognised the king as the father, and the rescue as containing 
an ambivalent meaning which includes his destruction. Those 
elements in the phantasy which are predominantly symbolic are: 
driving, the carriage, the horses, their bolting, the street, the chance 
meeting, pulling up the horses. 

Beginning with the first-mentioned element, driving, die 
sexual -symbolic significance of which is quite familiar to us, we 
arrive at a layer of latent phantasies with the meaning: the son 
becomes — unexpectedly — a spectator of the father performing 

The symbolic significance of the horses- now becomes evident, 
and the over-determination of each element is here shown in a 
particularly instructive manner. In the cases where I have analysed 
this phantasy the carriage was constantly pictured as a carriage j 

and pair; the two animals in movement together are comprehensible . ) 

as symbols of the parents. The meaning of the bolting now 
becomes clear. In many dreams, and in tliose phantasies of [ 

neurotics which are accompanied by anxiety, coitus (and also 
onanism) is represented by a movement that becomes quicker and ... 

quicker, and cannot be moderated or stopped.^ This reminds us, 
for example, of the anxiety of certain neurotic persons on going 
downhill or downstairs: their anxiety refers to the danger they 
run of losing control of their speed. The same patients also 
commonly feel anxiety while being conveyed in any vehicle which . 
they cannot stop at will at any moment (railway-trains, etc.). 
These patients protect themselves against the danger to which they 
would be exposed were they, if only for a moment, to surrender 
control over their libido; they displace their anxiety, however, on 
to the situations mentioned, which are well-suited to act as symbolic 
substitutes for the repressed ideas. 

If the bolting of the animals represents the sexual act, then the 
intervention of the son who stops the horses can only correspond 
to the tendency to prevent the parents' intercourse. The intention 
to 'separate the parents' is among those impulses which we find 
particularly often originating in the Oedipus complex. The 
censorship conceals this intention; in its place appears the chance 

' The relations of these phobias to repressed urethral erotism cannot 
be gone into here. 



which causes the son to arrive on the scene just at the moment 

when the furious onrush begins. 

Although in the manifest content the well-meaning motive of 
the rescue phantasy comes to expression, the motive of defiance 
predominates at its deeper level — tlie defiant meaning which Freud 
has already recognised as the essential motive in rescuing the father. 
A contrast to the phantasy of rescuing the mother at once becomes 
clear; in this latter wish-formation the son procreates a child with 
the mother, while in the father-saving phantasy he prevents the 
father from doing the same thing. The close relation of the two 
ideas is now evident. To this may be added the tendency, which 
Freud has already appreciated, of being 'quits' with the father 
by saving his life; the father now ' owes ' his life to his son, just 
as the latter ' owes ' his to the father. 

This analysis does not so far do justice to the manifold 
determination of the horse as a sexual symbol. Associations lead 
further to the horse as a symbol of male power, and also as a 
sjonbol of the male sexual organ, just as in the analysis of dreams 
with a similar content. Locomotives, automobiles, steamers, etc. 
are known as dream-symbols with the same meaning; common to 
them all is the idea of an urgent forward advance with a force that 
cannot be checked. If, therefore, the son successfully holds up the 
bolting horses, he thereby proves his superiority over the male 
power of the father whom in his childish idealizing admiration 
he had raised to the rant: of king, i. e. to the most powerful of men. 
But in preventing the father (at a deeper level of the phantasy) 
from carrying out the act which is indicated symbolically, he robs 
him of the masculinity which had been tlie object of such admiration. 
The rescue phantasy is now seen to contain the impulse to castrate 
the father besides that of killing him and separating the parents; 
Every-day psycho-analytic experience shows, moreover, that 
phantasies of killing and castration are always most intimately 
associated with each other. Before discussing the castration 
symbolism, and particularly the idea of the son's genital superiority 
which is represented in the phantasy, we must consider a further 
determination of the horse, and also the significance of the carriage 
in rescue phantasies. 

The king, who embodied originally all the ideals of masculinity, 
travels proudly in a carriage as befits his importance. The carriage 
serves him as a vehicle, the horse as a draught-animal; both are 


symbols of a woman, i. e. the mother. We can now recognise 
the expression of a further wish in the bolting of the horses: the 
mother is in league with the son, she ' runs away ' from the father; 
she even brings him (the father) into danger of death and delivers 
him up, so to speak, to his son. But if it is the mother who 
threatens the father's life, and the son who endeavours to save it, 
then the son's neurotic sense of guilt is effectually relieved. A 
dream quoted below will support this interpretation. 

One other symbol has still to be considered — namely, the street 
in which the event takes place. In the Oedipus myth also the 
murder of the father occurs in the street, and not in the royal 
palace or elsewhere. This detail must signify something as do all 
the others. Now we know that the street is a common symbol 
of the female genitals; and by applying logically our knowledge 
of symbolism on tliis point we are able to discover both in tl\e 
rescue phantasy and in the Oedipus myth an element which has not 
so far been noted in them. 

The street in which the son and father join issue needs no 
further comment. The idea of a contest about the maternal genitals, 
however, covers two different kinds of unconscious phantasies. 
The first is easily recognisable. A duel between father and son 
is a frequently recurring motive in myths and dreams. In virtue 
of its particular symbolism, however, the Oedipus myth gives to 
this combat the further significance of a competitive struggle for 
genital superiority. 

King Laios is not the only occupant of the carriage. He is 
accompanied by a driver, a herald, and two servants. The king 
and the driver endeavour to force Oedipus out of the way as he 
advances towards them. Oedipus resists and gives the driver i 
blow. The king now aims a blow at Oedipus and hits him on the 
head with his thorny stick. This causes Oedipus to attack the 
king with his staff; he kills him, so that the king falls backwards 
from the carriage. Then the king's attendants engage Oedipus in 
a hand-to-^hand conflict, in which Oedipus wins. 

The metaphorical language is very clear here." The blow on 
the head is a typical castration symbol. Oedipus does not defend 

8 It is not my present intention to give an exhaustive analysis of 
the myth. I only mention a few points regarding the content of the 


himself with a proper weapon, but with a stick — again a usual 
sexual symbol — against his father's especially dangerous stick, and 
thus clears his path to his mother. The killing of a number of 
men serves to emphasize the hero's superiority. They are all 
merely minor representatives of the father's figure. Moreover, it 
is significant that the father first of all opposes the son, on which 
the latter deals the first blow, not at the father himself, but at the 
driver, i. e. a representative of the father. The father tlien attacks 
the son, and only at the end does the latter kill him in self-defence. 
Here is repeated the theme with which the myth opened: the father 
endeavours to destroy the life of his new-born son; therefore 
Oedipus' later deed bears the character of retaliation, and thereby 
gains some extenuation. 

Now we are familiar with a typical neurotic phantasy in which 
the son's conflict with the father is transplanted into the earliest 
past, i.e. into the period before the son's birth. These peculiar 
phantasies are well-known to every psycho-analyst, e. g. the 
phantasy of the son witnessing parental sexual intercourse while 
in his mother's body. Certain dreams, in which the dreamer wishes 
to pass along the birth passage, but finds his way barred by his 
father (i.e. his genital organ), occupy a special position among 
these products. 

One of my patients dreamed he was on a ship coming from 

the sea into a canal; the ship got into a kind of morass and collided 
with a carman who was coming from the opposite direction with 
his cart. Ship and cart are quite comprehensible in this connection 
as male sexual symbols. The boggy canal represents the mother's 
bowel (earth). According to infantile theories procreation and 
birth take place by way of this passage. The dreamer coming from 
the sea on a ship reminds us of the representation of the birth of 
the hero in many sagas;* water is one of the most frequent birth 
symbols. I cannot here go into the individual determinants of 
this dream, but will return to the birth symbolism concealed in the 
Oedipus saga. 

When the fatal meeting with Laios occurs Oedipus is on his way 
to his yet unknown parents. In a narrow part of the road he 
meets his father who is driving towards him, just like the carman 

" Compare Rank, Der Mythus von der Geburt des Helden. (Schrilt^ 

zur angewandten Seelenkunde, Heft 5) 2. Aufiage, 1921. 


in my patient's dream. There can be no doubt that a birth phantasy 
is contained in the myth at this point; the son must, as it were, 
Brst remove his father out of the way in order to be born. Once 
more we are reminded of the beginning of the myth, namely, of 
that oracle which prophesied to Laios that his son would kill him 
and then marry his own mother. On hearing this Laios arranges 
that the new-born son should be exposed on the mountains with 
his feet pierced (castration symbol). The father therefore prevents 
the son's entry into life by exposure on the mountains, and the 
way to the mother by castration. Oedipus' later journey to Thebes 
is a second representation of his birth. Again bis father appears 
in his path, and this time the son kills the father without recognising 
him — the new-born child has always to learn to recognise its parents. 
In the rescue phantasy these tendencies are made unrecognisable 
by a higher degree of repression and distortion (conversion into 
the opposite) than exists in the myth which we are comparing with 
it. As the analysis of the rescue phantasy gave us hints of the 
symbolic content of the Oedipus myth, so from this myth a new 
light is thrown on those deeper layers of the rescue phantasy which 
are subjected to extensive distortion. 

Our knowledge of the rescue phantasy and Oedipus complex 
can be supplemented from yet another side. Neurotics who produce 
father-saving phantasies occasionally furnish dreams which supple- 
ment these phantasies in a peculiar way. I will quote an example. 
The dream is as follows: 

' I am sitting on the left of my mother in a little dog-cart to 
which one horse is harnessed. My father is standing by the off- 
wheel. His position signifies that he is speaking or has spoken to 
my mother, yet no words were heard; at all events my mother 
apparently took no notice. He looked very tired and pale. He 
turned away silently from the dog-cart and went off in an opposite 
direction to the one in which we were going- When I saw him 
disappear I expected he would soon come back, and tunied to my 
mother, saying, " We can drive to and-fro in the meantime ". My 
mother made a slight movement with the reins which she held in 
her hands, and the horse began to move slowly. After a few 
moments I took the reins out of her hands, whipped up the horse, 
and we drove off quickly '. 

Psycho-analysts will easily recognise that this dream originated 
in the Oedipus complex. The son takes the seat on his mother's 


left in the dog-cart, which is only built for two persons, and this 
seat is the husband's. The father is set aside, he looks pale and 
tired, keeps silence, and disappears. We must consider the 
expectation of his return as a product of dream distortion which 
was necessary to circumvent the censorship. While the removal of 
the father is represented in a relatively simple manner, the second 
chief constituent part of the Oedipus phantasy, the union of the son 
with the mother, is concealed in a complicated symbolism which 
merits our particular consideration. The incest is represented bv 
the journey of mother and son together. It begins significantly 
enough at the moment when the father has disappeared. Oar dream 
therefore commences where the rescue phantasy ends; for this 
latter is concluded by the death of tiie father. Up to this moment 
the mother has curbed her libido and that of her son (libido = horse). 
When the son proposes ' to drive to and fro ' (symbol of coitus 
movement) it is the mother who gives the signal, and the horse 
starts (symbol of erection). The movement proceeds with increasing 
speed, which we understand in the sense discussed above. 

In this dream we find the horse again representing male activity, 
but at the same time also the female libido, and besides this it is 
also a penis symbol, just as in the rescue phantasy. It is of interest, 
however, that in both instances the son takes possession of the reins, 
whereby he assumes the role of the father. One particularly striking 
agreement between the two phantasies is the 'running away', in 
the dream the mother runs away with the son, and this is 
accompanied by the increasing pace of the horse, just as in the 
phantasy of the bolting horses. 

The foregoing analysis leaves no doubt tiiat even the day- 
dreamings which are apparently most simple owe their origin to 
the co-operation of the most varied kinds of impulses. Hence they 
need a most careful analytic investigation into all tlieir details. 
In the present case this analysis makes possible instructive com- 
parisons with other phantasies which make use of very similar 
symbolisms. The symbolism of the carriage, horses, driving and 
the mcreasing speed is suited to bring to expression in a high 
degree of condensation quite a number of repressed sexual 
tendencies. Along such paths we obtain an insight into the 
alternating phases of the struggle between impulse and repression, 
both m the individual and in the masses who create the myths. 

' Ti^H!< 





Had the same great reasoner looked on, as my father illustrated his 
systems of noses, and observed my uncle Toby's deportment— what great 
attention he gave to every word — and as oft as he took his pipe from 
his mouth, with what wonderful seriousness he contemplated the length 
of it — surveying it transversely as he held it betwixt his finger and his 
thumb — then fore-right — then this way, and then that, in all its possible 
directions and foreshortenings — he would have concluded my uncle Toby 
had got hold of the medius terminus, and was syllogizing and measuring 
with it the truth of each hypothesis of long noses, in order, as my father 
laid them before him. 

Sterne: Tristram Shandy, Book III, chap. xi. 

\ Tobacco, divine, rare, superexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond 

all their panaceas, potable gold, and philosophers stones, a soveraign 
remedy to al! diseases . . . but, as it is commonly abused by most men, 
which take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischief, a violent purger 
of goods, lands, health, hellish, divelish and damned tobacco, the mine 
and overthrow of body and soul. 

Burton: The Anatomy of Melancholy, Part. 2, Sec. 4, Mem. 2, Sub. i. 

I have thought it worth while, in connection with Dr. Brill's 
interesting article on ' Tobacco and the Individual ' which I read in 
proof,^ to summarise shortly some points in the symbolism of 
smoking. I am aware that tJiis subject can be convincingly treated 
only by means of a detailed comparative study; I nevertheless 
imagine that such a summary as I have made may help the non- 
analyst to a fuller understanding of Dr. Brill's paper. 

Tobacco can symbolise faeces. Like faeces it is brown, has an 

1 TJiis number of the Journal, p. 430. 

475 II* 


odour, should be moist, is associated with heat and burning sensa- 
tions, is packed tight and is released from its tight package, may 
be hard or soft to the touch, etc. It can also be associated with 
faeces in less direct ways, e. g. it is probable that many pipe-smokers 
m mixing their tobacco by hand are really solving the equation: 
tobacco = mud = faeces. Many people abstain from smoking for a 
certain period, looking forward with pleasure to the moment (e.g. 
on the next railway journey!) when they have decided to smoke 
agam. Others, too, give it up for as long as they can with the certain 
knowledge that they will at some near date have the pleasure and 
pain of starting again. This waiting to smoke starts echoes of what 
we know of the psychical mechanism of constipation. It is worth 
calling to mind the wretches we see in the street collecting cigarette 
ends (the discarded == faeces). 

Tobacco can symbolise the penis. Knowing, as we do, that faeces 
can symbolise the penis, we are not being very adventurous or 
straining material too greatly when we say: tobacco ( = mud = 
faeces = ) = penis. 

Tobacco can symbolise semen. The physical dissimilarity of the 
two substances is more marked in this case than in that of the 
association tobacco = faeces, just as the disgust and incredulity of 
the reader at this moment is more intense. The idea of semen being 
m connection with the mouth is more deeply repressed and so the 
symbolism is more distant. It can take the following route, via 
faeces: tobacco = faeces = semen, for faeces, besides symbolising 
the penis, are a well-known symbolic equivalent of semen itself. It 
IS perhaps worth mentioning that tobacco is strong and mild not 
strong and zveak; ' weak ' would signify inferiority in both tobacco 
and semen, whereas 'mild ' has no such connotation. 

Tobacco smoke can symbolise Ratus. The pleasure taken in 
puffing smoke, and in releasing it suddenly from the mouth and the 
pleasure in its scent are all evidently displacements upwards of the 
infantile pleasure in passing flatus. 

Tobacco smoke can symbolise semen. Flatus has been shown to 
be equivalent in the unconscious to semen. We can therefore say: 
tobacco smoke = flatus = semen. The disgust of tobacco smoke 
many women show is surely thus in part a fear of impregnation, 
Perhaps the fear that the smoke should 'get into the furniture' 
means the same thing; the woman identifies herself with her house 
and all that is in it. 


Cigarettes and cigars can symbolise the penis. They are cylindri- 
cal and tubular. They have a hot, red end. They emit smoke that 
is fragant ( = flatus = semen). The cigar is brown and large and 
so perhaps appears at iirst more dangerous. It is remarkable that 
freak cigars are usually large, whereas freak cigarettes are often 
(though not always) too small to be smoked. There are various 
amusing practical jokes for sale in the shops which consist of 
cigarettes and cigars that perform tricks. The cigarette 
continually stands on end, however you lay it down (erection), 
another squirts water (emission), a third explodes like a fire-work; 
one cigar is blown into and expands to an enormous size, from the 
other a mouse is shot out All these jokes convey the idea of potency; 
we must not forget, moreover, the giggles when the flapper finds she 
has taken a limp, empty cigarette. 

Pipes and cigarette holders can symbolise both the penis and the 
vagina. The shape of the pipe, while workable in a symbol of the 
penis, is nevertheless further removed from it and therefore a more 
obvious disguise than either the cigarette or the cigar. This 

':■ disguise is made doubly sure by the fact that the pipe, as too 

the cigarette holder, is also a symbol of the vagina. It has a bowl 
or vessel into which tobacco can be inserted, as the cigarette holder 
has, a cavity for the cigarette. Pipes, like women, often have gold 

Offering cigarettes. Most men carry about with them adequate 
supplies of cigarettes, so that they always have one to offer. A man 
always offers his companion a cigarette when he takes one himself. 
But at the same time a man does not generally like to be given 
' cigarettes — he keeps to his own brand. Certain types of effeminate 

men accept innumerable cigarettes from their friends, but seldom 
offer cigarettes themselves. They buy ten at a time. Women smok- 
ers, however, if they carry cigarettes at all, usually have tiny cases 
holding two or three; they therefore do not offer their cigarettes, 
nor are they expected to. After quarrelling, two men accept cigar- 
ettes from one another. 

Lighting cigarettes. A man as a rule likes to light his own 
cigarette and, in fact, usually has a slightly unpleasant feeling 

I when another strikes a light for him — as if he couldn't do it himself! 

\ At the same time many men enjoy giving a light to other men— 

particularly it seems to their superiors, or to those whom they can 
regard as 'father'. It is as if they said 'You are getting too old 




to strike a light; it comes so easily to me— let me show you'. 

Naturally the ' father ' resents It and hurriedly feels for his own box 

of matches. In the same way, a man does not like taking a light 

from a woman. Most women smokers take it quite for granted that 

the man they are with will light their cigarette; indeed, if he does not 

offer to do this she feels hurt: 'If you don't do that you are 

indifferent to me! ' But she would hardly offer a light to a man! Still, 

most men enjoy doing it and would feel that they had been slow if 

they saw the woman they were with do it for herself. A male 

subject-homo-erotic likes to receive a light from another man, while 

the object-homo-erotic likes to give it. The custom of taking a light 

from another cigarette is more complex. If matches are at hand, 

it seems a bothersome and dumsy way of getting a light in addition 

to which it often spells the destruction of the cigarette from which 

the light is taken. The impulse is probably a homosexual one 

(cigarette to cigarette = penis to penis), but it is not_ unconnected 

with the castration complex. 

The act of smoking. The cigarette is usually held in the hand, 
though some smokers greatly dislike touching it and use a holder 
instead. The smoke is drawn rhythmically, inhalers taking, or saying 
that they take it right down into their lungs, after which it is blown 
out of the mouth or the nose. There are smokers, mostly of cigars, 
who keep the ash on to the latest possible moment, and others, 
usually of cigarettes, who continually shake off the ash. The cigar, 
which is already big, thus retains its shape and size, while the 
Cigarette, which is small, is thus encouraged to become smaller still. 
A man still asks a lady's permission to smoke. 

The boy smoking. Only a down-right abandoned boy would 
smoke a cigar; the boy who will not smoke a cigarette is a 'girl '. 
A boy seldom thinks of smoking a pipe. He smokes in secret because 
he is forbidden to smoke. He is told that if he smokes he will not 
grow. It will lead to illness and death. Nevertheless, he likes to 
be seen smoking by his friends, and he then feels like a man. He 
looks big because he resembles his father in having what he has 
(and what has been taken from him)— a penis. 

Masturbation. Not only do men repeat over smoking the conflicts 
ttiey had over masturbation; they repeat the act itself in a symbolic 
form m which symbolism: the cigarette = the penis. This may also 
be represented by the equation: cigarette = thumb = breast = penis. 
But there is more to be said. In smoking the cigarette is held in the 


hand, as the penis was. A man is therefore saying in effect ' I am 
not only masturbating, which you forbade, but I am holding it in 
my hand, which you forbade as well '. 

The man smoking. He cannot describe why he wants to smoke. 
He uses vague phrases. There is something he lacks and if he 
smokes he no longer lacks it; but what he lacks is uncertain. One 
might suggest that what he wants is a cigarette ( = the penis he 
lost). After intercourse many men smoke a cigarette. They feel 
more strongly than usual this feeling of want, of lack; they have been 
castrated and compensate in this way. However, he has certain 
positive satisfaction in smoking. He feels self-confident; he feels 
complete; he feels 'as good as another'; in the company of women 
he feels more maie. A soldier hides his cigarette in the presence 

of his superior. 

The woman smoking. They too sometimes feel, as the man felt, 
that something is missing, lacking. To-day. when smoking is after 
all mainly a masculine amusement, they can still feel that they are 
doing something that men do and possessing something that men 
possess. Perhaps the woman who wants a cigarette after intercourse 
feels just at this moment most definitely castrated and thus, by 
smoking, reassures herself. They like to be given, but not to give, 
cigarettes (motion = gift = penis). They do, however, give boxes 
of cigarettes and pipes— but that is quite another matter. 

Exhibitionism. Much of the satisfaction in smoking seems to be 
of an exhibitionistic kind. The smoker wishes to exhibit his pems. 
Some men persuade unwilling women to smoke; they beg the mother 
to show her penis. Everybody has heard playful expressions of 
disgust at the idea of a Jew with a large nose and a large cigar, and 
the long German pipes have often been caricatured. 

Ambivalence. Particularly striking is the general ambivalence 
in connection with smoking. The second quotation with which I have 
headed this note is an illustration of this. Further, probably the 
majority of smokers, firmly as they believe in the benefit they derive 
from smoking, have at one time or another had fears that smoking 
did them harm. The violently opposed medical opinions on the 
subject make one doubt whether both those doctors who say smoking 
is one way of committing suicide and those who maintain that it is 
not only harmless but beneficial have based their opinions on a 
precise scientific foundation. In lesser things, one may remark on 
the women who say ' Oh, don't bother about the ash — it's good for 


the carpets ' and the others who are horrified if a little fal! to ihe 
ground. Some men must smoke while working; others make a rule 
never to smoke in business hours and look on smoking during work 
as a sign of laziness. Also, the cigarette is modest but malicious, 
while the cigar is arrogant but hurts not. 

A reason far starting to smoke. With all this symbolic basis— 
where the whole ceremonial of smoking seems to correspond with its 
phalHc significance— I should like to lay stress expressly on a point 
that Dr. Brill no doubt felt to be too obvious to mention. I refer to 
the reason, or at least one of the reasons, why people start smoking 
(and, of course, why they go on), that is the phallic significance of 
the cigarette, cigar and pipe. It is thus a substitute for the penis 
(mother's breast) of which they have been deprived (castrated, 
weaned). This attraction, however it be elaborated, appears to be 
sufficient to overcome the slight barrier caused by the fact that some 
people do not like the taste at first— slight because after all it is a 
very good taste. 







It is a well-known fact that certain organs of the liuman body are at 
times replaced both psychically and physically by other organs of the 
body, and the function assigned to the primary organ is more or less 
carried out by the substituted one. Instances of this substitution are 
replacement of the penis by the tongue and the vagina by the mouth. 
The particular replacement on which I wish to make an obser- 
vation refers to the tongue as a substitute for the penis. 

The psychical substitution of the penis by the tongue is frequently 
found in dreams, phantasies, fairy tales, etc. Its use as a symbol 
is derived from certain of its characteristics which it has in common 
with the penis, for example, both are elongated organs usually flaccid 
but which become lengthened and stiffened on protrusion, in colour 
and texture there are distinct similarities, and power of movement, 
moistness and slipperyness are common to both. This utilisation 
of the tongue as a symbol of the penis is not usually recognised con- 
sciously, and no term is applied to it voluntarily that shows that its 
definite connection with the penis is consciously appreciated. 

On the other hand in those cases where the tongue is used as an 
obvious physical substitute for the penis the substitution is fully 
conscious. The well-known example of this is cunniHngus; here the 
tongue is applied directly to the female sex organs. Although the 
tongue in this case is used as a direct substitute for the penis I had 
never seen or heard it stated that the person consciously perceived 
any lingual sensations analogous to penile ones under like conditions. 
A short time ago, however, I came across a case which has caused 
me to amend the above statement. 

A man whose main source of sexual gratification is obtained by 
the practice of cunnilingus, and that by preference on girls from 
fourteen to sixteen years of age, perceives the physical feeling of 
erection in his tongue analogous to erection of the penis. 





If, for instance, a prepossessing girl about fifteen years old is 
pointed out to him he tyts her lasciviously, makes a sucking noise 
with his lips pursed, and says, ' Ah! she gives me a " tongue-stand"'. 
(The term 'tongue-stand' is equivalent to the frequently heard 
vulgar expression ' cock-stand '). This man then perceives a physical 
sensation in his tongue similar to that accompanying an erection of 
the penis under conditions that might ordinarily induce erection of 
that organ. ■ '- t*:f||| 

The case is interesting in that it supports very definitely the fact 
of replacement of the penis by the tongue in the sense that a physical 
feeling intrinsic in tlic penis itself is transferred to the tongue. It 
also helps thereby to confirm the fact of the symbolisation of the 
penis by means of the tongue. 



E. K. Tillman. The Psychoanalytic Theory from an Evolutionist's 
Viewpoint. Psychoanalytic Review, 1921, Vol. VIII, p. 349. 

The author considers that, psycho-analytical theory is not only ' in 
accord with the facts of evolution* (he is especially struck by the 
plasticity of the instincts and emotions as disclosed by psycho-analysis), 
but also tends to modify certain general evolutionary ideas, particularly 
in constituting an impressive argument against the Spencerian idea that 
evolution is synonymous with progress and in thus leading us back to 
Darwin's original non-teleo!ogical conception. On the other hand he 
thinks that a social psychology built on psycho-anaiytJcal theory would 
have only a passing value, lasting until our sexual customs were brought 
more into relation with biological facts. In this he evidently over- 
estimates social prejudice as a cause of repression and does not realise 
how deeply seated the causes of repression are. 

E. J. 

Ed. Claparede: Freud et la psychanalyse. Revae de Geneve, Dec. 
1920, p. 846 a 864. 

Beaucoup de psychiStres franqais ont reproche i la psa. de n'apporter 
rien de nouveau. Claparede montre combien ce reproche est peu fonde. 
Certes la psychologie officielle parlait de ci de la de notions analogues 
<1 celles du refoulement ou de la derivation, et plus d'un psychologue 
avait deja attire I'attention sur I'importance du sentiment et de la 
sexuality dans les mobiles de nos actions; mais ce n'etait la que quelques 
pages ^garees. Claparede rend justice a Freud et montre qu'il a 6te 
le premier a rassembler par quelques hypotheses fecondes, ces faits 
disparates. A ce propos voici ce qu'il ^crit: 

'Refuse-t-on k Newton la gloire d'avoir d^couvcrt la gravitation 
uriverselle, parceque son trait de genie n*a guere consiste qu'i 
rapprocher des donn^es qui toutes avaient it^ etablies avant lui, i tirer 
parti des Etudes mathematiques de Descartes et de Fermat, des 
experiences dc Galilee sur la chute des corps, de celles d'Huygens sur 



la force centrifuge, des observations de Kepler et de Hooke sur le 
mouvement des planetes? Sans doute, tout, dans le domaine de la 
gravitation, avait ete decouvert, sauf, justement, la .loi elle-mgme de 
gravitation. Eh bien, nous pouvous dire aussi que rien, dans la psa. 
n'est entierement nouveau, sauf, precisement, la psa.' 

La psa. a ete si souvent decriee en France que nous croyons utile 
de citer ici les paroles par lesquelles Claparede cherche a la legitimer: 
'Vraie ou fausse, cette theorie generale a au moins I'avantage, et ce 
n'est pas rien de relier entre eux des faits trOs disparates, de les 
coordonner, de les rapprocher tout en marquant ce qui les distingue, de 
leur assigner a chacun un determinisme, de les faire deriver tous de 
quelques princips generaux auxquels a conduit I'observation elle-meme. 
Or, en science, une hypothcse, meme si elle est loin d'etre? deiinitivement 
demontree — et y-a-t-il une theorie qui puisse se flatter de I'fitre?— est 
legitime si elle rend mieux compte que les precedentes des phenoraenes 
qui I'ont sorcitee. ' Que la theorie psychanalytiqueconstitueunehypothese 
qui merite d'etre prise en consideration, c'est le moins qu'on puisse dire 
d'elle. Et les phenomenes dont elle s'occupe sont d'une telle importance, 
elle etend son empire sur tant de domaines qui interessent I'humanite, 
qu'il n'est plus admissible aujourd'hui que Ic public cultive nourisse 
a son endroit des preventions ridicules, attitude vraiment trop naive 
en face de I'edifice imposant que constitue la somme des travaux de 
I'ecole nouvelle.' 

Apres avoir montre ce qu'il y avait d'original dans les theories de 
Freud sur le refoulement. Taction des elements refoules, le degutsement, 
le reve, la compensation de la realite, la pensee symbolique, le refuge 
dans la maladie, et la libido, ii insistc sur I'interSt que presente toute 
cette psychologic dynamique; 

'En appuyant sur le cote dynamique des phenomenes subconscients, 
la psa. est pour la psychologic un fermant viviEant, La psychologie 
exp^rimentale qui s'est appliquee a nous renseigner sur le mecanisme des 
processus mentaux a presque completement oublie de sonder les raisons 
des mouvements de ces mecanismes. Ce sont ces ressorts caches que la 
psa. a decouvrir et a decrire.' R. PE Sauii^sure. 


Cornelius. Le mecanisme des Amotions. Archives internationales 
de nettroL, 1920, No i, p. 33 a 73, No 2, p. i a 15, No 3, p. 89 a 107. 

Aprcs avoir indique sommairement quelles etaient les differences 
de point de vue des ecoles de Freud, de Jung et d'Adter, I'auteur decrit 
Tanalyse qu'il a faite d'une femme qui ressentait une angoisse chaque 
fois qu'elle entendait un bruit regulier, rhythm^. II s'etonnc du peu 



de succes qu'il a eu, et de la cooclut que la psa. n'est que d'un tr^s 
petit secours pour la therapeutique des nevroses. Mais innombrabies 
sont ses fautes de technique. Sa malade d'abord avait 50 ans les 
seances n'avaient pas lieu tous les jours. D'autre part I'auteur adressait 
directement des questions a sa malade, et souvent sur des points qui 
eveillaient chez elle une vive emotion. Enfin cette analyse ne se pour- 
suivit que pendant 5 seances! Parmi les traumatisme que I'auteur a 
trouve chez sa malade, citons le fait qu'a I'age de 14 ans elle avait 
surpris ie coit de ses parents. Cornelius pretend que cet evenement ne 
pent entrer en ligne de compte pour un psychanalyste, puisque d'une 
part il n'etait pas refoule et que d'autre part il se passait dans la seconde 
enfance. L'auteur semble done ignorer tout a fait les dernieres idees 
de Freud sur la genese des nevroses. Nous avons vu que les premices 
d'ou etait parti Tauteur etaient fausses, nous ne nous arreterons par 
consequent pas a ses conclusions. R, de Saussuke. 


0. A. R. Berkeley-Hill. A Case of Paranoid Dissociation. Psycho- 
analytic Review, 1922, Vol. IX, p. i. 

A very detailed study of a case of dementia paranoides. 

E. J. 

Alfred Carver. Notes on the Analysis of a Case of Melancholia. 
Journal of Neurology and Psyckopathology, 1921, Vol. I, p. 320. 

A short analysis of a melancholic patient aged 44. In his conclusions 
Carver brings out clearly two of the most characteristic features of 
the psychogenesis of melancholia, namely, the identification of the 
subject with the love-object and the fact that the self-reproaches are 
displacements on to the self of reproaches originally intended against 
the love-object. The importance of hate in the mechanism, though 
hinted at, is not so, plainly brought out. E, J. 

E. Prideaux. Criminal Responsibility and Insanity. Psyche, igar, 
Vol. II, p, 29. 

This is an excellent discussion of the different views held in regard 
to criminal responsibility, the relation between the medical and legal 
aspects etc. It is written throughout from a modern point of view. 



H. Flournoy: Delire d' interpretation au debut. (A propos de la 
theorie evolutive et causale des psyclioses.) Archives suisses de 
neurologie et de psychiatrie, Zurich, T. VII, 1920, p. 188 k 135, 

Nous ne pouvons pas resumer ici le cas tres coniplexe et erabrouill6 
que le Dr. Flournoy nous rapporte. Q'uil nous suiBse de dire qu'il en 
a eclaire la psychogenese avec beaucoup de clarte et de perspicacite. 
Nous voudrions par contre, resumer ici les quelques considerations 
tlieoriques auxquelles I'a amenc sa malade. L'explication de psycho- 
genese qu'il nous propose est a la fois dynamiquc et causale. La 
psychose serait ici le resultat d'wne lutte entre des forces antagonistes, 
d'un conflict dent t'issue a ete defavorable. F. oppose cette explication 
a l'explication traditionelle de la degenerescence et de la predisposition 
cons ti tut ionelle, 

' Pourquoi ', dit-il, ' une succession d'erreurs de jugements, de faux 
aiguillages, de mauvaix piis, — minimes d'abord, mais dont chacun en 
entrainera un autre, s'il ne sont pas corriges au fur et k mesure, — ne 
finirait-il pas par produire un veritable derangement mental? . . . il n'est 
pas question, entendons-nous, de nier I'heredite ou la predisposition, car, 
parmi les facteurs etiologiques, multiples dans toutes les maladies, ces 
derniers prennent leur place comme les autres ... En fait de demonstra- 
tion, ies deux hypotheses sont exactement sur le meme pied, et il n'est 
pas moins scientifique de donner sa preference a I'uiie plutot qu'a I'autre.' 

L'hypothese de I'heredite amene au pessimisme et au scepticisme le 
plus complet en ce qui touche la th^rapeutique, tandisque l'hypothese d'un 
trouble ideo-aftectif incite a la recherche de therapeutiques nouvelles. 

' Nous respirons tous des bacilles de Koch, et seulement quelques- 
uns d'entre nous deviennent tuberculeux; si I'on avait attache d'embl^e 
une importance exclusive a la predisposition morbide, on ne se serait pas 
donne la peine de chercher plus loin, et le bacille serait peut-€tre encore 


R. Dupouy: Confusion mentale d'originale puerperale. Bulletin 
medical. 1920, p. 722. 

Le Dr. Dupouy est bien coiinu par son interessant livre sur les 
opiumanes, c'est pourquoi noes avons era utile de signaler son article 
quoiqu'i! ne fasse pas directement allusion a la psa, D. remarque princi- 
palement que le delire d'origine puerperale se rapporte avec predilection 
aux Amotions sexuelles de la femme. R. oe Saussure. 



Chavigny and Cuny. The Reactions of Psychopaths— their Pro- 
fessional Taint. L'Encephale, Sept. — Oct. 1921, p. 163. 

1. In a small room was found the dead body of an electrician who 
had electrocuted himself by connecting the poles of an electric lieht 
bracket, one with the brass handle of the door, the other with the key 
which had been pushed into his anus. The body was found with one 
hand clasping the handle of the door to complete the circuit. 

It may be assumed that this was an accidental suicide. 

2. An officer in the French Army would address some sentinel and, 
having ascertained that he was on fixed duty, would take off his cap. 
tell him that his hair was too long, produce a pair'of clippers from 
his own pocket and cut olf all the sentinel's hair. On one occasion, 
he did the same to a private soldier in a train, ordered him to lower 
his trousers and proceeded further to cut ofE his pubic hair. 

The authors correctly infer that both of these patients were homo- 
sexual, but they draw no conclusions as to the homosexuality being 
conscious or unconscious. W. H. B. Stoddart, 


L. D. Hubbard. A Dream Study. Psychoanalytic Review. 1921, 
Vol. VIII, p. 73. 

An anagogic study of a dream in five acts. The author imitates 
Maeder in confounding the latent content with the dream structure, 


G. Stragnell. The Dream in Russian Literature. Psychoanalytic 
Review, igzi, Vol, VIII, p. 225, 

A study of the passages dealing with dreams io the writings of 
Dostoevsky, Korolenko, Gogol, Pushkin, Tchernychewsky, Kuprin, 
Turgenev, and Chekov, Much interesting material is brought forward 
in confirmation of Freud's theory. E. J. 


L. H. Horton. What Drives the Dream Mechanism? Journal 
of Abnormal Psychology, 1920, Vol. XV, p. 224. 

The mechanisms which the author brings forward seem to be built 
up entirely on his reading and interpretation of the manifest content of 
dreams and therefore are of little interest to the psycho-analyst. 

D. B. 


L. H. Horton. Resolution of a Skin Phobia with Nightmare. 
Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 1920, Vol. XV, p, 157. 

The author's method of dream interpretation seems to be allied to 
that used by Stekel. He evidently relies on his own interpretation of the 
material, and therefore from a psycho-analytical point of view the article 
is valueless. D. B. 


C. P, Oberndorf. Some Phases of Autoerotism. New York Medical 
Journal, November 8, 1919- 

The author commences his article by saying that the Freudian concept 
of the development of sexual pleasure traces pleasurable sensations 
primarily to bodily functions, such as suckling, rocking and swaying and 
simpler tactile movements, and he includes these under the term 
autoerotism. So far we can accept what be says, but when he adds that 
' we can concur with the assertion of White that, " All pleasure founds 
in the last analysis in sex pleasure"' we must disagree with him. This 
latter view, which is unfortunately rather prevalent and thought to be 
based on psycho-analysis, has never been stated by Freud or those who 
accept the psycho-analytic principles in toto. It is only pleasure of a 
specific quality and having certain characteristics that can be regarded 
as sexual pleasure, and any other pleasure requires a different explanation. 

The author next makes a few cursory remarks on narcissism, and 
then proceeds to deal with masturbation. He quotes several cases in 
which existed conflicts regarding masturbatory practices. 

D. B. 

W. Stekel. Zoanthropy and Zoophilia. Psyche and Eros, 1922, 
Vok III, p. 22. 

A discussion, with much illustrative material, of the many ways in 
which animals may play an important part in human fancy. 

E. J. 

I. H. Coriat. Sex and Hunger. Psychoanalytic Review, 192 1, 
Vol. VIII, p. 375. 

This is supposed to be a discussion of the psycho-analytical views 
of sex and hunger, but it is vitiated at the outset by radical 


misapprehension of the nature of these views. He speaks of nutritiona! 
libido as a different thing fiom sexual libido, and is under the illusion 
that, according to Freud, ' the pleasure derived from satisfying hunger 
is at bottom sexual'. E, J. 

Applied Psycho- Analysis 

Frida Teller. Die Wechselbeziehungen von psychischem Konflikt und 
korperlichem Leiden bei Schiller, (On the correlation of psychical 
conflict and physical suffering in Schiller.) Imago, 1921, Vol. VII, p. 95. 

The author tries to show that Schiller chose the ' escape into illness ' 
whenever he felt unable to grapple with serious psychical conflicts. She 
proves her thesis by different quotations from Schiller's letters and 
in a very interesting manner shows how Schiller's last dramatic works 
were interfered with by illness mainly because he had chosen conflicts 
arising from the Oedipus complex to represent them. Those topics 
interested him most, but he felt unable to develop them dispassionately 
in his work and the intense mental strain made him prefer — uncon- 
sciously, of course — to escape into illness. This connection the author 
shows up on Schiller's 'Demetrius'; which remained unfinished. Schiller 
regressed so far to infantile complexes that he seemed unable to give 
up the ' gain of illness ', for illness seems the only way to abreact his 
unconscious libidinal tendencies. Kaxherine Jones. 

Theodore Schroeder. Shaker Celibacy and Salacity Psychologically 
Interpreted. New York Medical Journal, June i, 1921, p. Soo. 

The author gives a short history and psychological interpretation of 
the Shaker Sect. It is interesting in that it again brings out the 
well-recognised fact that repressed sexuality is the motivating force 
of religious sects and movements. The author also seems to have some 
acquaintance with psycho-analysis as evidenced by some of his 
interpretations.' •-*. B, 

Ghristin. Hamlet. Semaine littiraire, Geneve, 7 Mai 1921, 
Le Dr. Christin resume ici les interpretations que les psychanalystes 
ont donn^es de cette piece. II montre ensuite combien celles-ci sont plus 
plausibles que les explications de Goethe ou de Janet. 

R. DB Saussure. 



Albert Thibaudet. Psychaiialyse et litterature. Nouvelle Revue 
Frangaise, Avril 1921. 

Monsieur Thibaudet est un excellent critique litteraire. Mal- 
heureusement i] a voulu dunner son avis sur un aujet qu'il ne connait 
guere, et il n'a pas manque de dire des sottiscs. Ceci a propos du 
livre de Monsieur Vodoz sur Roland. Je ne m'attarderai pas a relcver 
les erreurs d'un ecrivain qui parle des idees de Freud sans avoir jamais lu 
un de ses livres. Je prefere relever ici une des seules phrases 
reconfortantes de cet article. 

' II nous faut comprendre que ces coups de sonde dans I'inconscient 
poetique ou artistique touchent en effet une matiere tres riche, une 
epaisseur de realites interieures oil bien des decouvertes sont possibles.' 

R. Dii Saussure. 

Goblet d'Alviella. L'Initiation, institution sociale, magique et religi- 
euse. Revue de I'kist. des Religions^ T. LXXXI, No i, janv., fevr., 
Paris, 1920. 

L'auteur de cet important article commence par indiquer que dans 
toutes les societes rudiment aires, les individus du meme sexe et du meme 
Sge, ayant les mgmes interets. les meines gouts, les memes occupations, 
ont une tendance a se grouper en societes particulieres au sein de la 
societe generale. Ce sont comrae autant de classes juxtaposces qui 
comprennent respectiveraent les impuberes, les adultes, les celibataires, 
les hoinmes maries, les femmes dans leurs diverses conditions physio- 
logiques, les groupes totemiques, clans, phratries. les etrangers et meme 
les morts. 

Or tout passage de Tune de ces classes a une autre est accompagni 
par une modification dans la forme ou la nature des influences 
surhumaines avec lesquelles I'individu se trouve en rapport. D'autre 
part en penetrant dans la nouvelle societe, les etrangers risquent d'y 
apporter les effluves magiques et contagieuses de leur ancien milieu. II 
faudra done a la fois les purifier, les agreger et les instruire. Tel est 
le triple objet de I'lnitiation. 

L'auteur croit constater que I'element magique du debut disparait 
peu i peu, en devenant plus religieux, plus moral et enfin plus simple- 
ment social. Quand la croyance a I'efficacite de la magie commence 
a disparaitre, ou quand les cultes publics gagnent en importance, il arrive 
que les societes secretes deviennent graduellement de simples clubs, d'oii 
tout element mystique a disparuo. 

yuant au rite de I'lnitiation lui-mgme il comporte entre autre: 
(i) Une serie de formalites qui reiachent et dissolvent les liens du 
neophyte avec son milieu anterieur. (2) Une autre s^rie de formalitis 



qui Tagrefent au monde surhumain. (3) Une exhibition d'obj'ets sacres, 
ainsi que des instructions relatives a leur nature ou leur destination, 
(4) Des rites de retour ou de reintegration qui signalent la rentr^e 
de I'initie dans le monde profane. 

Ces rites, surtout ceux des trois premieres categories se rencontrent 
dans toutes les initiations, aussi bien chez les sauvages que chez les 

Comment agissent ces rites sur la personne du neophyte? 
(i) Par une production d'infiuences mystiques qui modifient sa nature 
spirituelle et meme physique. (2) II y a substitution, voire superposition 
d'une ame nouvelle qui descend du monde des esprits (Frazer). (3) Par 
une application plus accentuee de I'idee de regeneration, I'initie repasse 
a I'etat d'embryon. 

En ce qui concerne ce dernier aspect, fort important, de I'initiation, 
I'auteur cite un certain nombre de references tres signilicatives. Chez 
les Nosairis du Liban, I'initiation etait assimilee a un enfaiitement; le 
neophyte s'appelait foetus. En Egypte le Pharaon qu'on sacrait solennelle- 
ment (assimilation a Osiris) devait s'envelopper dans la peau d'un animal 
intitulee ' la peau berceau'. En Inde le jeune Brahmane, au cours de son 
initiation, devait assumer I'attitude d'un embryon, en se plaqant sur une 
peau d'antilope noire qui representait la mat rice. Ensuite il ^tait 
qualifie de deu^r fois ne. 

Cette mort en vue d'obtenir la grace d'une nouvelle naissance est 
du reste nettement indiquee dans la ceremonie de ' Profession des 
voeux' chez les Ben^dictins. EUe est une vraie initiation, avec ['obli- 
gation du secret en moins. Le novice s'etend sur le sol entre quatre 
cierges. On le couvre du drap mortuaire; I'assistance entonne sur lui 
le miserere; puis 11 se releve, embrasse tous les assistants et s'en va 
communier entre les mains de I'Abbe. 

Dans I'initiation enfin le badigeonage joue un rSIe. II est le rite 
proprement de la separation, et il comprend egalement des mutilations 
(circoncision, extirpation d'une dent, ablation d'une phalange, etc.). 

L'agregation au nouveau milieu comprend souvent I'application d'un 
nouveau nom, lequel est souvent accompagne de I'emploi d'une nouvelle 
langue, formee soit d'expressions et de tournures archaiques, soit de 
mots usuels qui empruntent une nouvelle intonation. 

Ferdinand Morel. 

A. Winterstein. Der Sammler. (The Collector.) Imago, 1921, Vol. 
VII, p. 180. , 

A not very detailed psycho-analysis of a novel by Victor Fleischer, 
bearing the above mentioned title, the story of a retired high official who 



spends all his time and a legacy on collecting medals. Meeting a young 
expert he becomes obsessed by the fear of the superiority and arrogance 
of the young man and, afraid of a crushing judgement, does not want to 
show him his collection. The analysis of the novel points out the anal- 
erotic character traits showing themselves in the passion for collecting. 
It follows the lines shewn by Freud and Jones. 

Katherine Jones. 


W. J. Lawrence. The Phallus on the Early English Stage. Psyche 
and Eros, 1921, Vol. II, p. 161. 

Contrary to what is often stated, Lawrence shews here by the aid of 
some rare material that representation o£ the pliallus was by no means 
unknown on the Elizabethan stage. E. J. 

H, E. Barnes. Some Reflections on the Possible Service of 
Analytical Psychology to History. Psychoanalytic Review, 1921, Vol. 

VIII, p. 22. 

In this very suggestive sketch the author illustrates the principles 
he laid down in a valuable study published in the American Journal of 
Psychology (See this Journal, Vol. Ill, p. 360) by applying them to some 
points in American history. The main part of the article is taken up by 
a study of the psychological motives of Alexander Hamilton and Thomas 
Jefferson. E. J. 


J. E. Towne. A Psychoanalytic Study of Shakspere's Coriolanus, 
Psychoaitalyiic Review, 1921, Vol. VIII, p. 84. 

A short study, in terms of psycho-analysis, of the influence exerted 
on Coriolanus by his mother. The respects in which Shakespeare deviated 
from Plutarch's version are noted. E. J. 


L'EvoLUTioN DES Facult^s Conscientes. Thfese pr^sent^e k la Fa- 
cult^ des Lettres de Paris pour le doctorat d'Universit^, par J. Varen- 
donck, Docteur ^s Sciences Pedologiques, Ancien Charg^ de Cours k la 
Faculte de P^dologie de Bruxelles. (Gand, I Vanderpoorten ; Paris, 
Felix Alcan, 192 1, pp. 204.) 

This book probably suffers to some extent from the fact that it 
was prepared as a doctorate thesis, for the method of exposition 
sometimes suggests that Dr. Varendonck was workiug under the re- 
conunetidation which the reviewer remembers to have had impressed 
upon him when he entered for his first examination: 'Assume that 
the examiners know nothing'. Excellent as this precept may perhaps 
be for a candidate dealing with (possibly ignorant or prejudiced, but 
presumably patient) examiners, it is less applicable to an author's 
dealings with his other readers, for whom the perusal of his book 
should, we may suppose, be a pleasure and not merely an official duty; 
as regards whom, it may (except in the case of elementary text books) 
legitimately be assumed that they already know something on the subject 
of the book; and who (unlike examiners or reviewers) are at liberty to 
put down the book, should they find it too long-winded for their taste. 
In the present case the reader will probably feel that the original thesis 
might very well have been condensed and abbreviated before its pre- 
sentation to the general public and that the main points which Dr. 
Varendonck wishes to bring forward would have stood out much more 
"clearly, if their presentation had been less encumbered by long elaboration 
and illustration of a good many fairly obvious and well known matters. 
At any rate it may be safely said that the reading of the book would 
have been made considerably easier, and probably also more profitable. 
by a judicious arrangement of sub-headings (in the text, not merely in 
the list of contents) within the five chapters of which the volume is 
composed, averaging as these do forty closely printed pages apiece. 

Having said this much in deprecation of the manner in which the 
book is written, it is only fair to add that the matter it contains is 
often of considerable interest. Dr. Varendonck starts with a con- 
sideration of what he calls 'Duplicative Memory' (i.e. simple 
redintegration) and then goes on to deal with ' Synthetic Memory ' as 



operative in Perception and Conception. Perception being regarded as 
a synthesis provoked by the environment, ideas, thoughts and concepts 
are considered as syntheses provoked from within by the conscious or 
unconscious Self; thought being defined as 'the adaptation of revived 
memories to a present situation, under the dominance of an affect or of 
the will' (p. 88). Following Ferrier and liihot (the authors quoted by 
him in this connection), he believes that one of the principal functions 
of consciousness is to inhibit movement (p. 140), this inhibition of 
movement being an essential pre-condition of choice (p. 149). Automatism, 
vi-hich excludes choice, represents the Opposite pole from consciousness, 
and corresponds to a tendency 'd faire durer ce qui est bon'. to 
perpetuate a successful adaptation to the environment. But ' the 
continuous variations of the environment are opposed to this inertia and 
systematisation and produce an instability of the mental equilibrium'. 
As ^ the mind develops it keeps up the struggle against the 
variability of the non-Self. It does not allow itself to be overcome by 
circumstances, but on the contrary endeavours to adapt itself to them 
by means of reactions which become more and more numerous as we 
ascend the scale of life. The necessity of overcoming circumstances on 
pain of death sharpens the desire for self-preservation, which, instead 
of relying on unproductive routine, passes in review all the syntheses of 
which memory stands possessed, to arrive sometimes at the most un- 
expected solutions (p. 169). In animals and infants consciousness tends 
to be relatively intermittent (p. 170), disappearing as soon as there is no 
longer any necessity for choice. In men, owing to the continuousness of 
their desires, consciousness tends to be more permanent. The desires 
of the animal are relatively simple and therefore often satisfied, whereas 
man (owing to the subdivision and ramification of the more primitive 
longings) ' is constantly tormented by desire from the moment that he 
wakes until the moment that he goes to sleep' (p. 171). The biological 
advantages of consciousness ' are the result of a long evolution, in the 
course of which the mind has been compelled to overcome its own 
inertia (which pushes it towards a constant reproduction of the syntheses 
that he ready to hand in memory) and to suppress the tendency to 
spontaneous movement, inhibiting thus the simpler desires of a more 
primitive and less adapted kind' (p. 193). The ultimate function of 
consciousness is thus always a new and more perfect adaptation to the 
environment (p. 197). 

It IS thus clear that Dr. Varendonck's line of thought is very similar 
to that of Freud in some of his more recent ' metapsychological ' writings, 
though Freud has perhaps a clearer conception of the ultimate 
implications of the desire for adaptation, i. e. the total cessation of vital 
activities that constitutes the aim of the 'Death Instinct'. The present 
book does not appear to contain any reference to these later writings of 


» ■ 




Freud, so that the two thinkers would seem to have arrived independently 
at much the same conclusion, 

J. C. F. 

Practical Psycho-Analysis. By H. Somerville, B.Sc, F.C.S., L.R.C.F., 
M.R.C.S. (Baillifere, Tindall and Cox, London, 1922, pp. 142, Price 6s.) 
The title of Dr. Somerville's book, 'Practical Psycho-Analysis', 
reminds us of a lecturer who a short while ago advertised a lecture 
on 'Psycho-Analysis'. After the lecture a psycho-analyst went up to 
the lecturer and asked him why he had advertised a lecture on ' Psycho- 
Analysis', as his lecture had practically nothing to do with psycho- 
analysis, and what little he had to say on the subject was incorrect and 
entirely misleading. He replied, 'I chose the title "Psycho-Analysis" 
because it draws so well'. 

If Dr. Somerville had called his book ' Psychological Analysis applied 
to War Neurotics' and had left out all reference to psycho-analysis, at 
least in name, it might have been read with a certain amount of interest 
and perhaps edification. But when he calls the book 'Practical Psycho- 
Analysis' we fail to see the relevancy of the title. 

The book indicates quite painstaking work in the elucidation of 
certain complexes and conflicts in war neurotics, and for this reason is 
to be commended. Nevertheless we cannot agree with many of his 
findings and explanations from psycho-analytical points of view. 
[ It is to be regretted that medical men and others whose apparent 

£ knowledge of the theory and practice of psycho-analysis is exceedingly 

y limited and frequently incorrect should choose to write on the subject. 

The muhiplication of these kinds of books is certainly to be deprecated, 
for not only are they incorrect expositions of the subject, but they tend 
to bring the science into disrepute. 

D. B. 


SHAKESPEARE'S 'Hamlet'. By A. Clutton-Brock. (Methuen & Co., 
London, 1922, p. 125. Price 5s.) 

Like so many books with the same title, this has an ambitious aim. 
The author tells us : ' There still remains the question—" Why did Hamlet 
delay to kill the King?"; and to that I wish to find an answer, so that 
it may no longer be an obstacle to anyone's experience of the play' 

(P-30- . ' •' 

The various modern attempts to answer this question are, largely 

because of the well-known Freudian theory of Hamlet, becoming more 
and more definitely psychological and, although Mr. Glutton-Brock 


nowhere acknowledges his indebtedness to this theory, it is evident that 
he has been extensively influenced by it. He rejects the older 'con- 
stitutional' explanations of Hamlet's delay-and of course the so-called 
objective' explanations— and he insists that the inhibition is of internal 
origin. • It is not policy, it is an obstacle within himself, a repulsion 
that he does not understand' (p. 42). He well says (p. 50} that 'The 
fact that he cannot put his unconscious self before himself is the 
tragedy '. 

He would ascribe this inhibition purely to the effect of shock on 
hearing of the murder and particularly on realising the full horror of 
his mother's re-marriage (p. 45)- 'If we would explain the shock which 
his mother's adultery had given him in psychological terms, we may say 
that, having thought of her entirely as a mother, he found something 
vilely incongruous in her renewing her sexual youth with his uncle' 
(P- 63). ' He hates but with a hatred that cannot be satisfied with any 
act of revenge, since it is really not so much hatred even of the King 
as of a beastliness in life itself which the King represents for him' 

It seems to us that Mr. Clutton-Brock has expressed the gist of his 
view more concisely in a letter addressed to the New Statesman (May 27. 
1922) and as this may not be accessible to our readers we take the 
liberty of making the following quotation from it. ' In the soliloquies 
Shakespeare opens to us the conscious mind of a man who at the same 
time desires to do something and is prevented from doing it by an 
obstacle in his unconscious mind. Hamlet does not "shrink" con- 
sciously, "from what he conceives to be the duty of murdering his 
stepfather"; on the contrary he is ready enough to murder him, when he 
cannot see him, even in his mother's presence, and he hates him so 
bitterly that he would really like to catch him in the incestuous pleasure 
of his bed. The obstacle is unconscious, and I maintain that it comes 
of shock, not of any normal shrinking of a "gracious and exquisitely 
civilised youth". If that were so, it would be plainly expressed in the 
play, for. when Shakespeare wishes to express anything by dramatic 
jneans, he can do it. The reason why I advance my theory is. not 
because I am in love with it as a theory-it may be scientifically wrong. 
and 1 know that it is loosely expressed— but because I wish to insist 
that the creative faculty in art is much more scientifically accurate than 
IS «onIy supposed. My point is that Shakespeare knew how Hamlet 
would behave in those circumstances, by aesthetic intuition; and that this 
intuition exercised on a case of great psychological difficulty, can be 
conhrmed by the scientific knowledge of a later age. If my theory is 
wrong, I am still sure that the right theory of Hamlet's behaviour can be 
discovered; because aesthetically he convinces us, and because he was. 
therefore, conceived with complete aesthetic intuition.' 




It seems to us that Mr. Clutton- Brock is entirely right in insisting 
on the precise correlation between the aesthetic and the scientific aspects 
of creative art. If either of these has a flaw, then neither can the other 
be flawless. We can only regret that in formulating an explanation he 
has been so timid as to halt at the beginning of the psychological pro- 
blem, instead of boldly facing its unescapable consequences. 

But the real object of the book cannot have been to exploit a part of 
a familiar theory without making any acknowledgement to this. We 
prefer to think that the motive impelling Mr. Clutton-Brock to write 
the book was the desire to contradict the pessimistic conclusion lately 
expressed by Mr. J. M. Robertson, and still more crudely by Mr. Eliot, 
namely, that because an intellectual explanation of Hamlet's motivation 
is not readily forthcoming therefore the play must be regarded as an 
aesthetic failure. He deals clearly with this confusion between the 
province of the intellect and of intuition in art. ' Because there is an 
intellectual problem which proves too much for Mr. Eliot, he concludes 
that the aesthetic problem has proved too much for Shakespeare, But 
was any character in drama ever expressedmore completely than Hamlet? 
He may not be explained, to Mr. Eliot's satisfaction; but that was not 
Shakespeare's task. It is the essence of the tragedy that none of the 
possible actions can satisfy Hamlet, and for reasons which I shall try 
to explain in my second chapter; but, though Hamlet's behaviour may 
seem to us unintelligible psychologically, we are, aesthetically, convinced 
by it. As he acts, we feel, so he would act; and that is all we have a right 
to demand of the dramatist. There is no play that gives us a stronger feel- 
ing of certainty, and this must come from Shakespeare himself. He 
knew what Hamlet would do, though he did not know why he would do it; he 
saw Hamlet actually doing it, saw him speaking, thinking, feeling and 
acting, as if be were a real man, and so makes him real to us' 
(pp. 24-5). 

The larger, and better, part of the book is takai up with an exposition 
and appreciation of the aesthetics of Hamlet, where the author, being on 
safer ground than in the domain of psychology, writes interestingly and 
convincingly. E. J. 

EssAi HiSTORiQUE SUR LE SACRIFICE. By Alfred Loisy. (Un vol. in-S de 
540 p. Nourry, Paris 1920.} 

Dans cet ouvrage, qui contient une masse enorme de recherches et 
de references, I'auteur etudie revolution de certains rites sacrificatoires 
des temps les plus recuWs oii des traces sensibles nous en ont ete'conser- 
vees, jusque dans les religions les plus raffinees, en passant par les rites 
rudimentaires des Aruntas et de naturels australiens actuels. 



• M. Loisy donne a faction rituelk du sacrifice le sens de "destruction 
d'un objet sensible done de vie ou qui est cense contenir de la vie, 
moyetinant laqueile on a pense inflcencer les forces invisibles, soit pour 
se d^rober a letir atteinte, lorsqu'on les suppose nuisibles ou dangereuses, 
soit afin de promouvoir leur (Euvre, de leur procurer satisfatjon et 
, hommage, d'entrer en communication ou iTi6me en communion avec 


j M. Loisy decouvre a I'origine du sacrifice rituel deux elements ctroitc- 

ment associes: L'element magique, par leque] on veut agir mecanique- 

ment sur ks forces invisibles, et en tirer un profit quelconque, et I'ek- 

I ment plutot religieux par le moycn duquel on cherche a flechir, a ex- 

1- ploiter, ou tout au moins a influencer dans un sens favorable une ou 

; des personnalites surhumaines. 

j Leque! de ces deux elements est primitif? M. Loisy n'afflrme rien 

' de fa^on trop absolue, car ces deux elements, si loin que I'on remonte 

I en arriere, n'apparaissent jamais entierement isoles. Toutefois I'auteur 

I note qu'a mesure que les cultes s'organisent et evoluent, l'element de 

I magie diminuc et celui de la religion augmente, et un element de plus 

I en plus moral finit par s'ajouter a l'element magique, et le transforme 

F- peu a peu. Mais il ne faudrait pas se figtirer que l'element magique fasse 

;. jamais entierement defaut dans le sacrifice. 

M. Loisy voit dans le sacrifice rituel "un effort confus, coOteux, 
: douloureux et vain pour acheter le libre usage des choses de ce monde, 

I ■ pour acheter la prosperite des nations, pour acheter I'immortalite bien- 

heu reuse." 
I En dehors des effets magiques, c'est-a-dlre purement fictifs, M. Loisy 

j admet il est vrai que le sacrifice rituel puisse avoir des effets plus reels. 

( Ainsi le rite fait I'unite mystique du clan, II cr^e et entretient la 

I conscience permanente de la societe primitive, que ce rite soit celui de la 

; communion totemique chez les Aruntas d'Australie, qu'il soit i'omophagie 

dionysiaque ou I'eucharistte chretienne. 

Un second efEet du sacrifice rituel, en outre du lien social, est la con- 
fiance qu'il donne a Fhomme. " La magie primitive est cette reaction 
contre les impressions inquietantes ou terrifiantes de la nature sur 
r I'homme inculte. A la merci des elements, des saisons, de ce que la terre 

i '"• donne ou lui refuse, des bonnes ou des mauvaises chances de sa cbasse 

1 ou de sa peche, aussi du hasard de ses combats avec ses semblables, il 

[ croit trouver le moyen de regulariser par des slmulacres d'action ces 

chances plus ou moins incertaines." II y trouve une confiance rudimen- 
\ taire pour son humble vie, mais c'est la le commencement du courage 

' moral. 

i • 

\ • Ferdinand Morel. 


Les origijjes de la Medeciie. Empirisme ou Magie? By P, Saintyves. 
(Paris, Nourry, 1920, in-8. 98 pages.) 

Comme dans ses ouvrages precedents Saintyves nous donne ici une 

document a tion un peu fragmentaire et touffue, mais fort instructive et 

tres variee. C'est precisement cette variety de sa documentation qui 

I'empSche de se rattacher completement ni a I'une ni a I'autre des deux 

theories " un peu simplistes" de I'origine de la me^ecine et de la phar- 

macie, celle pureraent empirique et celle mystique et magique. II fait 

la part qui lui revient au hasard dans la decouverte plus ou moins 

fortuite de certains remedes et de certains procedes. II fait la part 

egalement de 1'" instinct" de I'homme dans Ja decouverte de medicaments 

propres a soulager ses maux, Mais la partie beaucoup la plus impor- 

tante de sa documentation le pousse a voir a. I'origine de la medecine des 

influences mystiques et surtout magiques. La magie est a la fois une 

connaissance, un art et un cuUe. Elle est I'ensemble des doctrines, des 

techniques et des sentiments par lesquels le primitif explique I'univers, 

capte et utilise ses forces invisibles et determine son attitude mentale 

vis-a-vis des puissances raysterieuses, L'auteur donne de la magie, ilont 

il decrit une foule de procedes, cette definition: "Elle est une sorte de 

physique spirituelle construite sur de vastes et enfantines generalisations 

en vue de fins utilitaires." 

Ferdinand Morel. 

Les oricikes magiques de la royautS. By Sir James George Frazer. 

Trad, de P. Hyacinthe. (Loyson, Paris, 1920, in-8. 399 pages.) 

Parmi les causes qui aboutissent a I'etablissement de la royaute dans 
la societe l'auteur note les " influences qui portcrent le magicien on le 
gu^risseur de la societe primitive au rang eminent de monarque dans 
les groupes sociaux plus avances ". C'est done par I'etude de la magie 
que l'auteur pense arriver a la veritable comprehension de I'origine de 
cette institution, qui en evoluant changea si profondement de signifi- 

On trouvera dans cette etude des pages fort documentees sur la 
Magie et ses deux aspects, I'un positif, c'est-a-dire la sorcellerie et I'autre 
nigatif, c'est-a-dire le tabou. La magie positive ordonne: "Fais ceci, 
afin que telle chose arrive" et la magie negative ordonne: " Ne fais pas 
ceci de crainte que telle chose n'arrive". Cette double attitude dureste 
se retrouve dans sa forme plus evoluee, dans I'institution de la royaute. 

Ferdinand Morel. 



The Annual Meeting of the American Psychoanalytic Association 
took place in Washington, D. C. with Dr. G. Lane TaneyhiU of 
Baltimore in the chair. The members present were Drs. Stuart 
and White of Washington, D. C, Drs. TaneyhiU and Burrow of 
Baltimore, Dr. Coriat of Boston, Dr. Farnell of Providence, Dr. 
Wholley of Pittsburg, and Drs. JelHffe, Clark, Stern, Kcnipf, and 
Oberndorf of New York. At the business session it was voted tliat 
the dues to the International Psycho-Analytical Association which 
had been allowed to lapse during the period of the War, be again 
resumed. In as much as the Constitution of the Association had 
been lost during the confusion of the war years, Dr. Clark moved 
that a committee consisting of the retiring president, the new 
president and the secretary be appointed to draw up a new 
constitution and a suggestion made by Dr. Coriat was carried that 
in the formulation of the new constitution only physicians be 
admitted to membership, this stipulation however not to be 
retroactive. The following new members were elected: Drs. Lorrin 
B. Johnson, Washington, D. C, Dr. Ross Mc. C. Chapman, Sheppard 
and Enoch Pratt Hospital, Towson, Md., Dr. Donald McPherson, 
Peter Bent Brigham Hospital, Boston, and Dr. George W, 
Smeltz, Pittsburg, Pa. The officers for tlie year were elected as 
follows: President: Dr. C. C. Wholley, Pittsburg, Pa., Secretary- 
Treasurer: Dr. C. P. Oberndorf, New York City, Councilors: Drs. 
Pierce Clark and Adolph Stern, New York, and Trigant Burrow, 

The scientific program, given during an afternoon and an evening 
session, was attended by a large number of guests who are not 
members of the Association. 

Dr. Trigant Burrow of Baltimore read a paper on ' Some 
Sociological Aspects of Our Unconscious '. 



In our psychoanalytic account of the mechanism of hysterical 
conversion, witli its manifold recourses of concealment of underlying 
sexual inadvertencies, we have not as yet reckoned with the 
mechanism that seeks the popular condonements of the social 
consensus as a handy contraceptive to consciousness. For this reason 
many sexual or egocentric trends which are dislodged from their 
foothold within the individual psyche find a hospitable abode in the 
hidden crevices of tlie social unconscious. Though a process of 
analysis may prove quite competent to outcountenance the 
unconscious illusions of the individual neurotic, these same 
unconscious tendencies, when pooled in what is the consensus of 
the collective social mind, are rendered wholly impervious to 
consciousness by virtue of the numerical preponderance of their mere 
social representation. 

It is the substance of this thesis that it is not beyond the range 
of possibility that such a social or group form of unconsciousness 
may equally underlie the reactions of our own analytic consensus 
and that accordingly, as psychoanalysts, having the task of 
unearthing the secret ingrowths of the vicarious and unconscious, 
it is not less a part of our analytic obligation to try to discover 
whether traces of such socially systematized forms of conversion 
may not be present within the group expression embodied in our 
own psychoanalj'tic system. (Author's Abstract.) 
Discussed by Dr. Taneyhill. 

The second paper was : ' Paleopsychology. A Tentative Sketch 
of the Origin and Evolution of Symbolic Function,' by Dr. Smith 
Ely Jelliffe. 

In this paper Dr. Jelliffe sketched in broad lines the general 
energic concept that man like any other bit of living matter can 
Dest be understood as a machine that captures, transforms and 
delivers energy. In the course of millions of years of evolution, it 
has structuralized its efforts to capture more and more energy and 
this in turn has developed more and more complex mechanisms for 
its transformation and delivery. The sources of the energy are the 
entire cosmos. The generally held energic stimuli are fairly well 
recognized, but they are not as elementary as is more or less 
commonly held. In addition to heat, light, gravity, barometric 
pressure, gravity, inertia, chemical, tactile, auditory and other types 
of stimuli, the reader emphasized a function of the auditory stimuli 
which had grown progressively more and more complicated, but still 


must be included in the general scheme. These were the symbols 
which he held were sources of energy stimuli and carriers, or 
deliverers, also. They were the most important of all the stimuli 
with which man had to deal, and therefore their origin and function 
was of great significance. He said that the caloric measuring of 
energy was an infantile concept and totally inadequate to register 
energy interchanges in the human being. He would approach the 
problem of the symbol formation from the phyletic standpoint and 
endeavor to trace out by methods comparable to those of paleontology 
a practical program in the understanding of dynamic psychopathology. ■ 
In all this there is nothing new or startling since the idea is old, 
but until Freud's and Jung's work on the ' Unconscious ' was 
available, there was no practical program in the sense sought. With 
the notion that the unconscious contained the entire phyletic history 
of the main developmental phylum, Jelliffe seeks to establish a 
functional relationship between the need of the individual craving 
in the unconscious and the functional capacity of tlie symbol to 
discharge the need. He discusses from what sources one might 
collect the material for such correlations and for practical purposes 
comes to the dream as the most fertile field. Here the study of 
the symbols is followed out in the sense of trying to find out a 
geological horizon. That is, as in the study of paleontology ccrtam 
proportional variations in the number and kind of fossils are 
regarded as determining the stratum's nature, so in the dream a large 
amount of individual material must be sorted in order to outline 
the deposit. The idea of chief value emphasized in this study is 
that a definite dynamic relationship may be found to exist between 
the bodily action patterns that the individual is striving to put over, 
and the symbols which are aiding in the night life of the individual 
to effect a balanced relation between conscious permissions and 
unconscious strivings. Jelliffe, therefore, would attempt to construct 
a series of symbol horizons from Archaic to Organ Erotic, to 
Narcissistic, to Social, indicating a progressive development in the 
functional capacity of the symbol to handle energy discharge. The 
greater the need of the patient to utilize archaic or lower level 
symbols, the greater the strees there was heing put upon physiological 
function, and therefore, anatomical structure. From this point of 
view he argues a psychopathologicat foundation for much that has 
been termed organic disease. He would construct a more or less 
monistic scheme for a constitutional pathology which may be more 



accurately and dynamically comprehended than those that attempt 
the problem from the point of view of desiring this or that organ. 
Only by getting to the sjTnbolic level can the ' Organism as a Whole ' 
be understood. Its deepest needs come out in the unconscious 
strivings. The present of early phyletic symbol formations offer 
a measure of estimating the psychological tension accompanying the 
discharge of function. (Author's Abstract). 

Discussed by Drs. Coriat, Kempf, Clark and Stragnell (guest). 

Dr. Oberndorf read a paper on ' Neurosis Attributed to an 
exceptional Organ' (to be published in this Journal). 

Dr. Coriat read a paper on: 'A practical study of the 
unconscious resistances in a case of psycho-sexual impotence.' In 
this instance the analytic therapy released a number of resistances 
during the course of one visit and this mass of resistances, for 
purposes of description, was termed a 'bombardment of resistances.' 
The number of resistances was six in all and took the form of 
symbolized resistance dreams and symptomatic actions and 
forgetting. This bombardment may be interpreted as the subject's 
vigorous attack, by all methods at his disposal, in an e£Eort to defeat 
the analytic therapy, because he unconsciously felt, that while one 
resistance might be easily overcome, a veritable bombardment might 
be successful. Only when each resistance was thoroughly analyzed 
and dispelled could the treatment again be carried on smootlily. 

The paper also emphasizes certain practical points in the 
detection and handling of resistances during analytic treatment and 
in the social contacts of every day life, such as the concealing of 
resistances under the cover of transference, resistances between 
individuals not under analysis, the stubbornness of the anal-erotic as 
productive of resistances and finally the importance of long, detailed 
dreams, which may conceal in their manifest content a latent and 
unconscious resistance. (Author's Abstract.) 
Discussed by Drs. Stern, Kempf and Burrow. 

'Psychoanalysis from the Standpoint of a Therapeutic Oppor- 
tunist,' by Dr. D. D. V. Stuart, Jr. 

This paper is not intended as a presentation of any new ideas. 
It merely expresses a doubt of the wisdom of regarding psycho- 
analysis as the method of choice in the treatment of all psychoneurotic 
patients. This doubt is the outgrowth of the writer's ten years' 
experience with the method. 


The basic tenets of psychoanalysis may be looked on as established 
facts, but its usefulness as a therapeutic agent is confined to a much 
more limited group of cases than most analysts appear to realize. 
This, for the reason that it is not infrequently followed by a conscious 
revolt against the trends which it brings to light; the revolt being 
determined by the patient's inability to make his newly acquired self- 
knowledge iit in with the circumstances of his life. The parallel 
so often drawn between psychoanalytic treatment and a surgical 
operation, tends to make us forget a point of wide divergence 
between the two procedures. In each case the cause of the symptoms 
may be said to be removed, but the analogy holds good no further 
than this. Recovery from an uncomplicated operation depends only 
upon the skill of the surgeon, plus proper after-care for a relatively 
short time. In the analysed neurotic on the other hand, recovery, 
that is, re-adjustment, depends more on the circumstances of the 
patient's whole subsequent life than on the work of the analyst. 
The sublimation of his anti-social and forbidden trends may be 
prevented if his environment is such as to keep these tendencies 
consciously active. 

Two cases are quoted, both anxiety-hysterics, to illustrate this 
point; one of whom was treated by the writer and one by another 
psychoanalyst, some six years ago. In each of these patients an 
incest-complex had been uncovered as the chief motivating factor, 
and in each there has been a lasting relief from the symptoms per 
se. Both patients however, have suffered ever since from a conscious 
rebellion against their aberrant trends, which has at times made 
them extremely uncomfortable. The writer feels that these patients 
and others like them who have come under his observation, might 
have been better handled from the standpoint of therapeusis had a 
less radical form of treatment been used; an attempt to rationalize 
their symptoms, for example. 

Accordinglj', he no longer employs psychoanalysis as his first 
choice in treating neurotic patients. Instead, he makes use of that 
method which seems most likely to enable tlie patient quickly to 
manage his own difficulties. (Author's Abstract.) 

Dr. E. J. Kempf reported an instance of ' Prophetic Dreams '. 
A symposium on suicide was introduced by a paper on ' A Study 
of the Unconscious Motivations to Suicide,' by L. Pierce Clark, 
M.D., New York City. 


Two great fields are as yet almost untouched as regards the title 
aspects of our subject: the causes for suicide in children and the 
adult abnormal and insane. I shall confine my clinical study to the 
latter. In a psychiatric setting one almost invariably finds an 
onanistic, an incest, or an inversion motive at the bottom of the 
suicidal impulse. The dynamic element is for the patient to solve 
his conflict by repressing it; during this process the psychic tension 
increases and many formulations of the repressed affects expose 
themselves in the psychoses directly and plainly as such, or in 
symbolized categories of hallucinations and delusions or manners 
of conduct. Why are the perverted and inverted fancies operative 
in these individuals and not in others? Undoubtedly the 
concatenations of circumstances of life entail not a few failures of 
the normal repressing mechanism and thus liberate the florid aspects 
of the particular type of psychosis; but this alone is not sufficient 
to explain the basic psychosis, much less the particular extra tension 
moment of suicide. What, then does? All potential suicides usually 
voluntarily detail their natural undue affectability. This is possibly 
inherent, common in the family stock; it may be an hereditary taint, 
or, more simply, one may say it is summated in the essential infantility 
of the emotions due, no doubt, to the earliest fixations to one or the 
other parent. Nor may one solely indict the incautious fostering of 
infantile love on the part of the parent. Perhaps in most instances 
the parents have had nothing consciously to do with it. Many are 
apt to blame the particular individual for not having himself broken 
the family tie; but this again is not fair, neither in the making of 
the fixation nor its riddance. We can easily see that though it were 
once perhaps a conscious selective attachment, in the great majority 
it would almost seem that it had never fully entered consciousness 
and is only capable of working its disastrous result by remaining 
unconscious throughout. To become partly conscious is to lose its 
power to produce the psychotic picture. 

What therefore, is the determining factor in the suicidal act? 
(r) There must be a great disturbance of the normal balance of 
desire of life. This may or may not formulate itself as a distinct 
psychosis — a psychosis is the more formal and common setting. 
(2) There is in this regression or withdrawal from a normal 
adaptation to reality an increase of intrapsychic tension — this tension 
formed from the conscious and unconscious conflicts, usually resolves 
itself into what is properly called a sin, either of commission or 



omission. (3) If the infantile unconscious demand is sufficiently 
strong and the mental regression goes deeply eneugh we obtain the 
fundamental solution in ^e if- destruction, not because at the last the 
person really chooses this end consciously but because the dynamic 
fixation of infantile attachment decides it. This is usually formulated 
directly as the call of the parent or the loved one or by the still more 
insistent demand of a supreme being. Psychologically one easily 
discerns in the beckoning or call of the latter as that of the all 
compelling parent. It matters little for our purpose whether one 
views this sin-pattern of the suicide as a religious formulation or 
an imposition of a social custom, ego versus herd instinct, Conscious 
reasons for suicide have no finality and we get nowhere in endlessly 
recounting them- However, many conscious formulations have in 
them vague distortions and projections from the unconscious which 
make them worthy of notation if not for dependence in suicide 
motivation. Clinical data was brought forward to substantiate the 
contention laid down in the thesis. (Author's Abstract.) 

The discussion of suicide was opened by Dr. White and continued 
by Drs. Kempf, Jelliffe, Taneyhill, Stragnell, WhoUey, Coriat, 
Oberndorf and Stern. "" 

C. P. Obermdokf, Secretary. 


May 2, ip22. 

a. Dr. Sachs: Further remarks on the analysis of a case of 
obsessional neurosis. 

b. Frau Klein: Compulsion to disguise and pseudologia. 

c. Dr. Koerber: Psychogenic nose-bleeding. 

d. cand. med. Rohr: A pseudological phantasy in Dostoiewski. 
^- Dr. Boehm: On short dreams. 

f' Dr. Abraham: An infantile theory about women. 

May 9, jp2j. Pr. Dr. Hubemiann: Review of Varendonck's 
' Unconscious Phantastic Thinking '. 

May 16, ip22. Short Communications. 

June 6, 1^)22. 

a. Dr. Boehm: An inhibition of learning. 

b. Dr. C. Miiller: The single number of the penis and the tendency 
. to monogamy in women. 



c. Dr. Abraham: The equivalence of excrement and money. 

June 30, 1923. Fr. Dr. J. Miiller: The rfile of urethral erotism 
in the aetiology of the depressive neuroses. 

July 4, 1922. 

a. cand. phil. Fuchs: Review of Bemfeld's 'Corporate Life among 
the Young '. 

b. cand. med. Rohr: Contributions to the premisses of pedagogy. 

Quarterly Report 


There have been one Meeting of Members and four Meetings 
of Members and Associate Members since the last report. The 
Meetings have been very well attended. 

At the Meeting of Members on June 21, 1922, the following new 
Associate Members were elected: 

Dr. Josephine Brown, Pan's Field, Headley, Hants. 

Dr. Sylvia Payne, 57 Carlisle Road, Eastbourne. 

Dr. H. Torrance Thomson, 3 Hillside Crescent, Edinburgh. 

At a Meeting held on April 5, as there was no set paper for 
the evening a general discussion took place on points brought for- 
ward by Members. 

Dr. Jones quoted a dream he had had with its interpretation. 
The dream bore out Abraham's views on the father-saving 


Dr. Bryan mentioned a slip of the tongue during a patient's 
analysis, and also a point from the analysis of a homosexual. 

Dr. Stoddart raised the question of the topography of repression. 

At the Meeting on May 3, the Members had the pleasure of 
welcoming Prof. Claparfede as a visitor. 

Dr. T. Glover read a paper entitled 'Notes on the Psycho- 
pathology of Suicide', 

The author discussed the suicidal impulse with reference to 
illustrative case material, (i) As supporting Freud's view of the 
ego-impulses as death-seeking tendencies forced by instinct-repetition 


to conform to delayed and stereotyped technique of dying. 
Disorder or regression of ego-impulses may unmask their real 
aim. Weakness or failure of sex instincts (life-seeking) play a 
twofold part in failing to keep the ego-impulses to their task, and 
in deranging the ego through back-flooding of libido after failure 
in object-love. (2) Primitive people can die 'voluntarily', buf suicide 
in modem people is more than mere achievement of death (stimulus- 
free state); it is also obviously the satisfaction of a sadistic im- 
pulse. (3) The stages of the development of the sadistic impulse 
were discussed in this connection (inverted sadism), and also the 
mechanism described by Freud in his article 'Trauerund Melancholic' 
in which the sadistic impulse is shown to be vented on the image 
of the narcissistically loved person withdrawn into the self. (4) The 
possibility of an ego- regress ion to a stage when the child fails to 
discriminate between self and outer world and wreaks on self 
sadistic and hostile impulses appropriate to outer sources of painful 
excitations- (5) A parallel phylogenetic regression to a stage when 
animals (Ferenczi) deal with painful excitations through auto-plastic 
response of self-mutilation, etc. (6) Possibility of older type of 
dealing with painful excitations than either projection or intro- 
jection, i. e. introjection of painful stimulations in order to deal with 
them. (7) Relationship of this archaic response to aggressive 'oral' 

impulses. (8) Relationship of 'birth' and 'death' phantasies. 
(9) Symbolism of suicidal act over-determined. (10) Possibility of 
failure of suicidal act being unconsciously foreseen. (l l) Significance , 
of suicidal customs (Hari-Kari). (Author's Abstract.) 

The Meeting on May 17 was taken up with the discussion of 
Dr. J. Glover's paper read at the last Meeting. 

Dr. Jones opened the discussion. He first of all complimented 
Dr. Glover on the excellence of his paper and the interesting and 
original views expressed in it. He then took up those parts of the 
paper that were based on Freud's more recent writings and ex- 
plained Freud's theories relating to these parts of the paper. 

Other Members then joined in the discussion which was extremely 

On June 21, Dr. Jones read a paper on 'The Island of Ireland'. 

It was pointed out that, probably because of her peculiar 
geographical position as an island in the Western Sea, Ireland had 
from the beginning of history to the present day always been re- 
garded as being invested with maternal attributes, and the bearing 



of this on the psychology of Irish politics was discussed. The 
symbolic equivalency of the ideas: island — virgin — mother — womb 
was considered. A discussion followed. 

Douglas Bryan, 
Hon. Sec 


April I, ip22. Dr. S. Feldmann: Extracts from the analysis of 
a homosexual. 

April 33, 1^22. Dr. Sandor Rad6: Psycho-analysis and the 
critique of knowledge. 

May 6, ipss. Dr. Sandor Rad6: Totemism and Sodomy (A 
preliminary communication). 

Dr. Sigm. Pfeifer: On the psycho-analytical clarification of 
apparently occult phenomena. 

Dr. S. Ferenczi: Further remarks on 'Observations on tic' and 
'The dream of the learned suckling'. 

May 20, 1922. Dr. Stefan Hollfis: On the sense of time. 

lime 77, ip32. Dr. Josef Michael Eisler: Hysterical phenomena 
of the uterus. 



October 2^, ipsi. An informal talk by Dr. H. W. Frink, con- 
cerning his CMperience with Prof. Freud in Vienna. 

The talk was unusually interesting, especially because Dr. Frink 
gave,in so far as it was possible, an account of the analysis he under- 
went, in order to illustrate both the technique and the material 
that presents itself in the course of a psycho-analytical procedure. 

The main heads of Dr. Frink's paper were as follows; Freud's 
personality. How the analysis began. The first resistance. Trans- 
ference: doubts, anger. First insight and first unconscious ideas. 

What unconscious ideas are like and how they make their 
appearance in the analysis. 

Some unconscious ideas: Remnants of religion, sexual theories, 
cover memories. 

Infantile amnesia: Importance for analysis. 


Apparent and real influence of brother. Some very early 
memories and father's confirmation of them. 

Freud's technique: Advantage of lying down. Passivity of the ana- 
lyst. Looking for the deep unconscious and the resistances. The hand- 
ling of transference. Analysis and Synthesis. The need of being ana- 
lyzed as a preparation for practice. Impossibility of analyzing oneself. 

Illustration of the disappearance of a former reaction through 
analysis. , 

November 2p, ip2i. 'Psychoanalysis and Sociology' by Prof. 
Ogborn of Columbia University. 

At this meeting an amendment to the constitution was made, 
to the effect that 'Associate members shall consist of physicians 
or other professional persons in related fields, who are interested 
in psychoanalytic endeavor. Associate members shall not be 
permitted to vote.' 

Dr. Hyman L. Levin, of Buffalo, N. Y. was elected to Active 

January 31, ipZ2. 'Problems in Delinquency' by Dr. M. Ken- 

At this meeting officers for the year 1922 were elected. 

President, Dr. Adolph Stem. 
Vice-Pres., Dr. A. A. Brill. 
Sec, Dr. M. K. Isham. 

Cor. Sec, Dr. T. H. Ames. 

March zp, ip22. The subject was the European Experiences 
of Drs. C. P. Oberndorf and Leonard Blumgart, especially with 
reference to their psycho-analytical experiences with Prof. Freud. 

The talks covered the general status of psychoanalysis in the 
various European countries, and a comparison with that existing 
in America. The feeling was that in America psychoanalysis, from 
a seriously scientific standpoint, had not made as much progress 
as it might. It was the opinion of the speakers and of the members 
in general that the admission of laymen to the practice of psycho- 
analysis in America would not work for its benefit. 

The speakers emphasized again the importance, if not the 
absolute necessity, of an analysis by a competent analyst of a 
person who wishes to qualify as an analyst, in order to gain a 
working knowledge of the technique; this in itself requires some 
acquaintance with one's own unconscious material, The speakers 



mentioned some of their difficulties in and reactions to their 
analysis; also the difference in the reactions of the two speakers. 

An interesting discussion followed. 

Dr. T. H. Ames resigned from the Society. 

April 2$, ip22. Subject 'Clinical Problems of the Psycho- 
pathic Personality', by Dr. B. Glueck. The salient characteristics 
of the psychopathic individual were dwelt upon, and it was 
indicated in what ways the psycho-analytic method, both of 

approach and therapy, was applicable. 

Adolph Stern. 

List of Members 

Dr. Joseph J. Asch, 780 Lexington Ave., New York. 

Dr. Leonard Blumgart, 57 W. 58th St., New York. 

Dr. A. A. Brill, l W. 70th St., New York. 

Dr. F. J. Farnell, 219 Waterman St., Providence, R. I. 

Dr. Horace W. Frink, 17 E. 38th St, New York. 

Dr. Bernard Glueck, 9 W. 48th St., New York. 

Dr. M. S. Gregory, 'The Wyoming', 7th Ave. & SSth St., 

New York. 
Dr. Mary K. Isham, 135 W. 79th St., New York. 
Dr. Josephine Jackson, 1971 Morton Ave., Pasadena, California. 
Dr. S. P. Jewett, 1200 Madison Ave., New York. 
Dr. A. Kardiner, 230 W. 79th St., New York. 
Dr. Marion Kenworthy, Bureau of Children's Guidance, 9 W. 

48th St., New York. 
Dr. Philip R. Lehrman. 353 W. 85th St., New York. 
Dr. Hyman Levin, 33 Allen St., Buffalo, New York. 
Dr. M. A. Meyer, 53 E. 9Sth St., New York. 
Dr. C. P. Oberndorf, 249 W. 74th St., New York. 
Dr. B. Onuf, 208 Montross Ave., Rutherford, N. J. 
Dr. Albert Polon, 890 Tiffany St., Bronx. 

Dr. Irving J. Sands, Bellevue Hospital, E. 26th St, New York. 
Dr. Joseph Smith, 123 Brooklyn Ave., Brooklyn. 
Dr. John B. Solley, 968 Lexington Ave., New York. 
Dr. Edith R- Spaulding, 418 W. 20th St., New York. 
Dr. Adolph Stem, 40 W. 84th SL, New York. 
Dr. Simon Rothenberg, 67 Hanson Place. Brooklyn, New York. 
Dr. I. S. Wechsler, 1291 Madison Ave., New York. 


Dr. F. E. Williams, c/o Mental Hygiene, 370 Seventh Ave 
New York. 

Dr. Alfred M. Mamlet, Newark City Hospital, New Jersey. 

Dr. B. Silverman, Alontafiore Hospital, Gun Hill Road, New York. 


March 29. 1922. Frau Dr. Hug-Hellmuth: The Explanation 
of Sexual Matters to Children. (To be published.) 

April 13, ip22. Discussion of Dr. Hug-Hcllmuth's paper. 

April 26, 1922. Dr. Otto Rank: Remarks on Mozart's 'Don 
Juan'. (Published in Imago, 1922, Band VHI, S. 142.) 

May 3, 1922. Business Meeting: Discussion of matters relating 
to the Clinic. *■ 

May 10, 1922. Discussion of Dr. Rank's paper. 

Dr. Hitschmann: Perineal eroticism in men. 

Dr. Bychowski: i. A visual hallucination as an expression of 
ambivalence in the transference. 

2. Remarks on the analysis of an obsessional neurotic. 
_ Dr. Reik: Oedipus and the Sphinx. Part H. (To be published 
in Vol. 11. of 'Probleme der Religionspsychologie '.) 

May ST. 1922. Frl. Anna Freud (visitor): The Relation of 
Beating-Phantasies to a Day-Dream. (To be published in this 

June ij, 1922. Business meeting. 

Frl. Anna Freud was elected a member. 

The circular questionnaire of the Central Executive, relating to 
questions of membership and a Diploma for analysts, was read. 

Dr. Rank proposed the following resolutions: 

I. That members only (of the International Psycho-Analytical 
Association, i. e. members of the Vienna Society and members of 
other branch societies staying in Vienna) should be admitted to the 
meetings of this Society. 

On early application to the Chairman for his permission and 
tnat of the speaker for the occasion, persons who may be presupposed 
to have an adequate (scientific) interest in the subject to be discussed 
may be admitted as visitors to a particular meeting. Such permission 
IS available for one meeting only and only for meetings at which 







papers will be read (not for business meetings, discussions and short 
communications) . 

2. That the Rules of the Society concerning the election of new 
members should be supplemented as follows: On the application of 
a candidate for membership the question of his suitability for 
i membership in respect of his scientific theoretical and practical 

knowledge of the subject must be put to the vote at a meeting of 
' Members and carried by a majority. If the vote is in the affirmative 

f the candidate may attend the scientific meetings of the Society as 

I a ' Candidate for Membership ' for the period of three months. The 

paper or address which he is required by the Rules to give before 
his election to the Society shall be given within this period and the 
final vote of election to the Society shall, as hitherto, be taken on 
the evidence of his suitability as judged by this paper and by the 
part taken by him in the discussions at the meetings attended by 
him. If this vote is in tlie negative his candidateship for membership 
and right of entry to the meetings forthwith expires. 

The two resolutions were passed after some discussion. 
June 31, i(f23. Dr. Salomea Kempnor and Frau Lou Andreas- 
Salome were elected members of the Society. 

Frau Dr. Hug-Hellrauth made a communication on the subject 
of the Committee for Instruction in Psycho-Analysis at the Clinic. 
Herr August Aichhorn (visitor) : Education in Reformatories. 
(To be published in Imago.) 

Election of Members 

Frau Lou Andreas-Salome, Gottingen, Herzberger LandstraBe loi. 

Frl. Anna Freud, Wien IX., Berggasse 19. 

Frau Dr. Salomea Kempner, at present in Vienna. 



Owing to the political state of Russia, it is more than usually 
difficult to collect facts or to record progress in psycho-analytical 
circles. Russia has been split asunder by the revolution and the 
ensuing civil wars, and as there is no communication between the 
separate parts, it has been impossible to collect and publish accounts 


either of proceedings of meetings or of papers read and discussed. 
Scientific journals have entirely ceased to appear during the last 
three years: the only journal concerning itself with Freudian con- 
ceptions — Psychotherapia — stopped publication in 191 7, owing to 
financial difficulties. 

Such being the conditions, it is only possible to speak or write 
from personal knowledge of what has transpired in the narrowest 
scientific circles, so that although psycho-analytical thought may 
be making headway in this or that part of Russia, no news has 
filtered through. 

The foUowings reports are concerned solely with work done in 
Petrograd and Moscow. Dr. Sara Neiditsch (Berlin) is responsible 
for the Petrograd report, and Dr. Ossipow (Prag) for the Moscow 
details, to which Dr. Passenheim, who has but lately returned from 
that city, has contributed information which is incorporated in this 
general report. 

Representative men of science show but little interest for the 
theory of psycho-analysis and none whatever for the practice 
thereof. At their meetings mention is occasionally made of the 
Freudian dynamic conception of mental processes. Freud's sexual 
theory, a priori, meets with Httle sympathy. In spite of this aloofness 
the position is not unfavourable, as the following facts will show. 

Towards the end of 1919 the Mosga Institute was opened in 
Petrograd under the presidency of Professor Bechterew. This 
Institute was founded for the study of brain pathology. The clinical 
department was under the supervision of Dr. Tatiana Rosenthal, and 
the treatment of neurotic patients is chiefly on psycho-analytical lines, 
with Dr. Rosenthal as the official psycho-analyst. 

In the course of the winter session 1919-20, Dr. T.Rosenthal 
gave a course of lectures on psycho-analysis in the Mosga Institute. 

Another Institute was opened in the autumn months of 1920 
by the School Care Committee for Backward Children, and here also 
the treatment of psycho-neurotic children is based on psycho-analysis. 
Professor Bechterew is the director of this clinic, and Dr. Rosen- 
thal was the head physician. In an address on ' Mental disturbances 
of children', Professor Griboyedow, the chief official of the Care 
Committee department, went into the question of psycho-analysis, 
and although he criticised the sexual theories, he emphasized their 
great value. 1 


At the first National Congress of Russian Care Committees for 
Backward Children, held in August 1920 in Moscow, Dr. Rosen- 
thal read a paper on 'The value of Freudian conceptions in the 
education of children '. This important Congress was attended 
by teachers and members of the medical profession, and the dis- 
cussions following on her paper were stimulating and favourable. 
A resolution was proposed by Dr. Rosenthal that all doctors and 
teachers of young children should be trained in psycho-analysis, 
but for some unknown reason this was not put to the vote. 

In February, 1920, a journal entitled 'Questions of Individual 
Psychology ' appeared with an article by Dr. Rosenthal on ' The 
suffering and the work of Dostojewski ', a psychological inquiry. 
In this article she tried to show the connection between his morbid 
peculiarities and his creative powers. From a psycho-analytical 
point of view the article is full of interest. In the theoretical part 
of the paper, complete acceptance and application of the Freudian 
teachings are wanting, and in consequence we, have confusion of 
thought; for together with deprecatory remarks on Freud's psycho- 
sexual monism as, the driving force of artistic work, we find 
Dr. Rosenthal full of appreciation of Freud's service to the deeper 
understanding of the individual artist's work. She says: 'Putting 
the psycho-sexual monism on one side, the psycho-analytical con- 
ceptions of Freud maintain that the root principle of creative 
expression lies in the immanent unconscious driving and purposive 
processes. Artistic creation depends wholly on the desires of the 
artist. Dissatisfaction with reality, the wish to be free from all 
privations result in the artist turning away from reality and 
transferring his interests to the realisation of his phantasy-life. 
The artist creates above all to satisfy himself. Subjective feelings 
of freedom that creative power brings along with it, the opportunity 
of projecting parts of his own ego into his own productions, offer 
the artist the possibility of relieving his mental strain. He is thus 
delivered from his sorrows and enjoys great happiness.' The 
writer draws attention to the fact that this point of view more 
especially lays stress on the subjective emotional basis of creative 
art, and is analogous to the phantasies and creations of mental 
derangement and of neurotics; she emphasizes, however, the fact 
that the difference between the creations of a neurotic and an artist 
are infinitely greater and more important than the similarity of the 


psycho-genesis, and that the theories of Freud do not solve the 
root problem of creative genius. 

The analytical part deals with those works of Dostojewski which 
lie between his first powerful and successful work 'Poor Folk' 
and his arrest. A period of loneliness, poverty and hardship stunted 
his mental powers. His nearest friends failed to understand his 
condition, and his outpourings were accepted with great hesitation. 
In his works, Dostojewski turns from reality, regressing to a world 
of phantasy, and he grows more and more egocentric. ' The Second 
Self, 'Netotschka Neswanowa' and 'The Landlady' fall within 
this period. Basing her remarks on a careful study of his biography 
and autobiography, Professor Rosenthal shows that Dostojewski in 
all these novels portrays his own mental state. In 'The Second 
Self, he depicts a maniacal excitement with hallucinations. In 
the person of Goliadkin the younger, the hallucinations of the 
'second self give the wish-fulfilment of those desires which the 
moral personality of Goliadkin abhors and represses. 

'Netotschka Neswanowa' is a confession. Here we have an 
amiable musician whose first production is his masterpiece and who 
retreats more and more into himself till he ends in madness. A 
friend of this musician is made to say: 'It was a bitter struggle 
between the morbidly strained will and the complete inner 
powerlcssness for the production of purposive work. For whilst his 
sick phantasies forged the most impossible plans for the future, he 
did not notice that he had lost the key to all art, the fundamental 
mechanism.' To this Professor Rosenthal says 'We fieed but sub- 
stitute amiable writer for "amiable musician" to understand the 
fate of Dostojewski. The similarity between the two is to be found 
m the smallest details; take this for instance: "A friend once met 
the unhappy and degraded musician in the street, and the latter 
turned away as if he had not seen him". According to Panajewa, 
the exact incident, even to time, happened to Dostojewski.' 

In 'The Landlady', the Oedipus complex is portrayed exactly '\' 

according to Freudian lines. But the bearing and interpretation of " I 

the complex, in relation to the whole output of the autlior is > 

overlooked. ^, 

In the second part of the article the writer had intended to -^ 

analyse those novels which take their place among the foremost in ,« 

the whole of literature, but her death prevented this. Dr. Tatiana J 

Rosenthal was but 36 years old, the mother of a gifted, much-loved :; 

' ; 


child, competent and successful in her profession, but her end came 
tragically by her own hand. She began her studies at the age of 
17 in Zurich, when full of enthusiasm for social amelioration, and 
joined the social democratic party. Her studies were interrupted 
several times by her zeal for the revolutionary agitation in Russia. 
In 1906 she again returned to Zurich, weary and dispirited, wavering 
between medicine and law. She believed at that date that the latter 
profession wouM help more definitely in her social work. Quite 
by accident she came across Freud's ' Interpretation of Dreams ' and 
was full of enthusiasm, foreseeing a new horizon for psychology 
along the path of self -revelation to which Freud points the way. 
She exclaimed 'What a harmony we might have with the combination 
of Freud and Marx '. Her determination to take up medicine and 
especially psychiatry was in a great measure owing to this chance 
acquaintance with Freud. In igir, after finishing her medical 
examinations, she returned to Petrograd as a trained and proficient 
psycho-analyst, fully prepared to spread the teachings of Freud. 
She used every opportunity at scientific meetings, apart from her 
own special lectures, to press the question of psycho-analysis. 
Opposition to the sexual theories she met by putting the doctrines 
of repression and sublimation in the foreground and pointing out 
that the horrifying impression produced by the sexual theory should 
be equated by Freud's teachings of the possibility of sublimation. 

Any headway that psycho-analytic thought may have made in 
Petrograd during recent years is owing in a great measure to the 
steady work of Dr. Tatiana Rosenthal. Practical work on broad 
lines became possible during the last few years of her life. As 
head physician at the Institute for the study of Brain Pathology, 
opened in 1919, she gave the psycho-neurotic patients psycho- 
analytic treatment. It was here also that she lectured on the subject. 
Her intense wish to found and direct an Institute for the treatment 
of psycho-neurotic children was realised in the autumn of 1920, and 
she here applied the re-educational bearings of the science of psycho- 
analysis. She put all her strength into the development of this 
Institute, assisted by a few young fellow-workers whom she had 
specially trained. Unfortunately no up-to-date report has been 
received of the undertaking. 

The literary psycho-analytical work of Dr. Tatiana Rosenthal is 
best appreciated in her essay ' " The Dangerous Age " in the light of 


Psycho- Analysis '.^ In 1920 the first part of her afore-mentioned 
article on Dostojewsky appeared under the title of ' The sorrows and 
labours of Dostojewski '. Of her other literary efforts, we may 
mention 'The Anxiety Affects of War Neurotics' and 'Adler's 
Individual Psychology'. She read papers and spoke on Adler's 
theories at scientific meetings. 

To turn now to Moscow. Professor Serbsky was director 
of the University clinic for psychiatry and did good service 
to his country in both the practical and theoretical side of this work 
before he died in 1917. The following account will explain his 
position to psycho-analysis. Dr. Ossipow was physician in charge of 
this clinic, and on presenting his first report based on Freudian 
teachings to a committee of his clinical co-workers, he received an 
appreciative hearing. This report was based on the first findings 
of Freud, and did not take into consideration the newer aspects as 
presented in 'Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex.' Professor 
Serbsky was satisfied that the predominating factor in the aetiology 
of a neurosis was to be found in sexual disturbances. The word 
' sexuality ' in the wide sense of the word was, however, a stumbling- 
block and he was of the opinion tliat Freud put a sex meaning to 

In the students' 'Short Handbook on the Treatment of 
Psychological Disturbances ' Serbsky allots a few pages to psycho- 
analysis according to Freud. The following passage is taken from 
the book: 'Freud, in his later works, has considerably widened the 
conception of the psychical trauma, but has retained the sexual 
character inasmuch as sexuality (libido) is given the widest meaning, 
to include even the sucking of the infant at the breast and the 
excretory functions, etc. The source of neurosis, according to 
Freud, is always to be found in infantile sexual experiences in the 
widest sense of the word; these experiences are repressed as they 
come into conflict with the moral demands of the growing ego and 
the outer world. This exclusively sexual character at the bottom 
of every trauma arouses the opposition of other authorities to 
Freud's theory. And it is essential that other moments should be 
taken into account in cases of traumatic hysteria or of shock- 
manifestations that may result from, say, a fire or the bite of a 
dog, etc. Such traumatic moments are not less important than the 

' Karin Michaelis: The Dangerous Age. 



sexual trauma in their determination. The Freudian school answers 
that this hypothesis does not alter the case, for the later aetiological 
moments are but the means taken to present the latent dispositions in 
the manifest form, and these latent dispositions are rooted in 
infantile sexuality. The Freudian theory deserves the greatest 
attention, for upon it is founded a therapeutic treatment which has 
already shown many important and remarkable results.' 

Divergence of opinion on the sexual theory made no difference in 
the friendly relations between the director and the clinical 
practitioners. Professor Serbsky continued to give his whole-hearted 
interest to the out-patients' department with Drs. Assatini, Dowbrja 
and Ossipow in daily attendance, each being responsible for two 
days' service weekly. Unfortunately events connected with the 
University in 1911 moved against the continuance of Professor 
Serbsky as director. He resigned his post and out of personal 
respect practically all the physicians went out with him, 
irrespective of their divergent political opinions. The out-patients' 
department, and what was even" more of a deprivation, the clinical 
library were now closed to them, but it was not long before a new 
and independent society devoted to psychiatry was founded by these 
late university professors and sympathisers. It was known as the 
'Lesser Friday Society', Here Dr. O. Felzmann distinguished 
himself by his energy and interest in psycho-analysis. He had 
already in the university days given proof of his ability in his 
excellent reports. In 191 2, this 'Lesser Friday Society' became 
independent of 'The Friday Society' but continued its friendly 
relations with this latter. In both societies Professor Serbsky acted 
as chairman at meetings, but the * Lesser Friday Society ' differed 
from otlier medical societies in opening its membership not only to 
doctors but to specialists of kindred subjects, such as criminology, 
pedagogy, psychology, etc. The meetings of the ' Lesser Friday ' 
were popular and well attended. Here Freudian theories were well 
to the fore, and in 1914 a programme was arranged for the special 
study of the Freudian conceptions. At the outbreak of war, many 
of the members were swept intp the service of their country and 
the society was closed down. 

The latest scientific intelligence reports a considerable interest 
in Moscow for psycho-analysis. At the beginning of March 1921 
a society was formed for the study of the principles of creative art. 


It began with a. membership of eight; three of these are doctors 
whose names as contributors to the Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse 
are not unknown to psycho-analysts: Professor Ermakow, the 
chairman of the Society, also Dr. Bernstein and Dr. Wulff. Pro- 
fessor Syderow and Gabritschewski, the former holding a chair 
in aesthetics, and tlie latter one in philosophy, are also members. 

Appended is a list of papers read and of subjects discussed at 
the meetings. 

1. Professor Syderow: Statues of river-gods. 

2. Professor Gabritschewski: Greek vases. 

3. Professor Ermakow: Drawings of children up to three years 
of age. The professor pointed out the sexual differences between 
the drawings of boys and girls of this age. He distinguished 
between the 'haptic' principle prevalent amongst boys that was 
more directed towards perspective, and the 'tactic' principle in 
girls that turned more readily to bodily forms. 

4. Professor Ermakow gave four lectures on the melancholia of 
Durer (a book on the subject is in the press). 

5. Professor Ermakow: Mirror-magic of Durer. 

6. Professor Ermakow exhibited ornaments similar to Persian 
patterns, made by a girl of eight. The girl had never seen such, patterns, 
and the lecturer explained it by the light of psycho-analysis. 

7. Professor Ermakow: Relations of tactile erotism to carpet 
(ornamentation) decoration. Professor Ermakow has written a 
treatise on the psychological aspect of expression in decorative 

In July Dr. Ermakow founded an institute for children up to 
three years of age, in which all those persons who look after the 
children will be analysed, in order to nullify ihe injurious effects of 
their own complexes on the work. Dr. Ermakow is the director of 
the institute and Dr, Wulff his assistant. 



At the Seventh International Psycho-Analytical Congress at 
Berlin Professor Freud announced the following theme as a subject 
for the Prize Essay: 'The Relation of Psycho- Analytic Technique 
to Psycho-Analytic Theory.' 

Essays should examine the extent to which psycho-analytic 
technique has influenced the theory and how far these are furthering 
or hindering each other at the present time. 

Essays deahng with this subject should be addressed by May i, 
1923 to Professor Sigm. Freud, Berggasse 19, Vienna IX. Manu- 
scripts should be typewritten and, for purposes of identification, 
should bear a pseudonym, while the name and address of the author 
should be enclosed in a sealed envelope, which should also bear the 
pseudonym. Essays may be written in English or German. 

Professor Freud will judge the essays with the assistance of 
Dr. K. Abraham and Dr. M. Eitingon. 

A prize will be awarded to the value of 20.000 Marks at the 
date of the Berlin Congress. 




Volume Hi, Part 4 
Issued Dec. 1922 


'' I