Part 5

In another case, taking up a thing by mistake is combined with mislaying it. A lady travelled to Rome with her brother-in-law, a famous artist. The visitor was much fêted by the Germans living in Rome and received, among other things, a present of an antique gold medal. The lady was vexed because her brother-in-law did not appreciate the fine specimen highly enough. After her sister had arrived she returned home and discovered, upon unpacking, that she had brought the medal with her—how, she did not know. She wrote at once to her brother-in-law telling him that she would send the stolen property back to him the next day. But the next day the medal was so cleverly mislaid that it could not be discovered and could not be returned, and then it began to dawn upon the lady what her “absent-mindedness” had meant, namely, that she wanted to keep the work of art for herself.[23]

I have already given you an example of a combination of forgetfulness with an error, in the case in which someone forgets an appointment, and a second time, with the firm intention of not forgetting it again, appears at an hour which is not the appointed one. A quite analogous case was told me from his own experience by a friend who pursues literary as well as scientific interests. He said: “Some years ago I accepted election to the Council of a certain literary society because I hoped that the society might at some time be useful to me in getting a play of mine produced; and, although not much interested, I attended the meetings regularly every Friday. A few months ago I received an assurance that my play would be produced at a theatre in F. and since then it has invariably happened that I _forget_ to attend the meetings of the society. When I read your writings on this subject, I reproached myself with my meanness in staying away now that these people can no longer be of use to me and determined on no account to forget on the following Friday. I kept reminding myself of my resolution until I carried it out and stood at the door of the meeting-room. To my amazement it was closed and the meeting was already over! I had made a mistake in the day of the week and it was then Saturday!”

It would be tempting to collect more of these examples, but I will pass on and, instead, let you glance at those cases in which interpretation has to wait for confirmation in the future.

The main condition in these cases is, as we might expect, that the mental situation at the time is unknown or cannot be ascertained. At the moment, therefore, our interpretation is no more than a supposition to which we ourselves would not ascribe too much weight. Later, however, something happens which shows us how well justified our previous interpretation was. I was once the guest of a young married couple and heard the young wife laughingly describe her latest experience, how the day after the return from the honeymoon she had called for her sister and gone shopping with her as in former times, while her husband went to his business. Suddenly she noticed a man on the other side of the street and, nudging her sister, said, “Look, there goes Mr. K.” She had forgotten that this man had been her husband for some weeks. A shudder went over me as I heard the story, but I dared not draw the inference. Several years later the little incident came back to my mind after this marriage had come to a most unhappy end.

Maeder tells a story of a lady who had forgotten to try on her wedding-dress the day before the wedding, to the despair of the dressmaker, and remembered it only late in the evening. He connects it with the fact that soon after the marriage she was divorced by her husband. I know a woman now divorced from her husband who, in managing her money-affairs, frequently signed documents with her maiden name, many years before she really resumed it. I know of other women who lost their wedding-rings on the honeymoon and know, too, that the course of the marriage lent meaning to this accident. And now one striking example more, with a better ending. It is told of a famous German chemist that his marriage never took place because he forgot the hour of the ceremony and went to the laboratory instead of to the church. He was wise enough to let the matter rest with one attempt, and died unmarried at a ripe age.

Perhaps the idea has also come to you that in these examples mistakes seem to have replaced the omens or portents of the ancients. And indeed, certain kinds of portents were nothing but errors, for instance, when anyone stumbled or fell down. It is true that another group of omens bore the character of objective events rather than of subjective acts. But you would not believe how difficult it is sometimes to decide whether a specific instance belongs to the first category or to the second. The act knows so often how to disguise itself as a passive experience.

Everyone of us who can look back over a fairly long experience of life would probably say that he might have spared himself many disappointments and painful surprises, if he had had the courage and resolution to interpret as omens the little mistakes which he noticed in his intercourse with others, and to regard them as signs of tendencies still in the background. For the most part one does not dare to do this; one has an impression that one would become superstitious again by a circuitous scientific path. And then, not all omens come true, and our theories will show you how it is that they need not all come true.

FOURTH LECTURE THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ERRORS (_conclusion_)

That errors have a meaning we may certainly set down as established by our efforts up to this point, and may take this conclusion as a basis for our further investigations. Let me once more emphasize the fact that we do not maintain—and for our purposes do not need to maintain—that every single mistake which occurs has a meaning, although I think that probable. It is enough for us to prove that such a meaning is relatively frequent in the various forms of errors. In this respect, by the way, the various forms show certain differences. Some cases of slips of the tongue, slips of the pen, and so on, may be the effect of a purely physiological cause, though I cannot believe this possible of those errors which depend upon forgetfulness (forgetting of names or intentions, mislaying, and so on); losing possessions is in all probability to be recognized as unintentional in some cases; altogether our conceptions are only to a certain extent applicable to the mistakes which occur in daily life. These limitations should be borne in mind by you when we proceed on the assumption that errors are mental acts arising from the mutual interference of two intentions.

This is the first result of our psycho-analysis. Hitherto psychology has known nothing of such interferences or of the possibility that they could occasion manifestations of this kind. We have widened the domain of mental phenomena to a very considerable extent and have won for psychology phenomena which were never before accredited to it.

Let us dwell for a moment on the proposition that errors are “mental acts.” Does this mean any more than our former statement, that they have a meaning? I do not think so; on the contrary, it is a more indefinite statement and one more open to misunderstanding. Everything that can be observed in mental life will be designated at one time or another as a mental phenomenon. It depends, however, whether the particular mental phenomenon is directly due to bodily, organic or material agencies, in which case it does not fall to psychology for investigation; or whether it arose directly from other mental processes, behind which at some point the succession of organic agencies then begins. We have in mind the latter state of things when we describe a phenomenon as a mental process, and it is therefore more expedient to put our statement in this form: The phenomenon has meaning; and by meaning we understand significance, intention, tendency and a position in a sequence of mental concatenations.

There is another group of occurrences which is very closely related to errors but for which this name is not suitable. We call them ‘accidental’ and symptomatic acts. They also appear to be unmotivated, insignificant and unimportant but, in addition to this, they have very clearly the feature of superfluity. They are, on the one hand, distinguishable from errors by the absence of any second intention to which they are opposed and which they disturb; on the other hand, they merge without any definite line of demarcation into the gestures and movements which we regard as expressions of the emotions. To this class of accidental performances belong all those apparently purposeless acts which we carry out, as though in play, with clothing, parts of the body, objects within reach; also the omission of such acts; and again the tunes which we hum to ourselves. I maintain that all such performances have meaning and are explicable in the same way as are errors, that they are slight indications of other more important mental processes, and are genuine mental acts. I propose, however, not to linger over this further extension of the field of mental phenomena, but to return to the errors; for by a consideration of them problems of importance in the enquiry into psycho-analysis can be worked out much more clearly.

Undoubtedly, the most interesting questions which we formulated while considering errors, and have not yet answered, are the following: We said that errors result from the mutual interference of two different intentions, of which one may be called the intention interfered with, and the other the interfering tendency. The intentions interfered with give rise to no further questions, but concerning the others we wish to know, first, what kind of intentions these are that arise as disturbers of others, and secondly, what are the relations between the interfering tendencies and those which suffer the interference?

Allow me to take slips of the tongue again as representative of the whole series, and to answer the second question before the first.

The interfering tendency in the slip of the tongue may be connected in meaning with the intention interfered with, in which case the former contains a contradiction of the latter, or corrects, or supplements it. Or, in other more obscure and more interesting cases, the interfering tendency may have no connection whatever in meaning with the intention interfered with.

Evidence for the first of these two relationships can be found without difficulty in the examples already studied and in others similar to them. In almost all cases of slips of the tongue where the opposite of what is meant is said the interfering tendency expresses the opposite meaning to that of the intention interfered with, and the slip is the expression of the conflict between two incompatible impulses. “I declare the meeting open, but would prefer to have closed it” is the meaning of the President’s slip. A political paper which had been accused of corruption defends itself in an article meant to culminate with the words: “Our readers will testify that we have always laboured for the public benefit in the most _disinterested_ manner.” But the editor entrusted with the composition of the defence wrote “in the most _interested_ manner.” That is to say, he thinks, “I have to write this stuff, but I know better.” A representative of the people, urging that the Kaiser should be told the truth “_rückhaltslos_” (unreservedly), hears an inner voice terrified at his boldness, and by a slip of the tongue transforms _rückhaltslos_ into “_rückgratslos_” (without backbone, ineffectually).

In the examples already given, which produce an impression of contraction and abbreviation, the process represents a correction, addition, or continuation, in which a second tendency manifests itself alongside the first. “Things were then revealed, but better say it straight out, they were filthy, therefore,—things were then _refilled_.” “The people who understand this subject may be counted on the fingers of one hand, but no, there is really only one person who understands it, very well then,—can be counted on _one finger_.” Or, “my husband can eat and drink what he likes, but, you know, _I_ don’t permit him to like this and that; so then,—he may eat and drink what _I_ like.” In all these cases the slip arises from the content of the intention interfered with, or is directly connected with it.

The other kind of relationship between the two interfering tendencies seems strange. If the interfering tendency has nothing to do with the content of the one interfered with, whence comes it then, and how does it happen to make itself manifest just at that point? Observation, which alone can supply the answer to this, shows that the interfering tendency proceeds from a train of thought which has occupied the person shortly before and then reveals itself in this way as an after-effect, irrespective of whether or not it has already been expressed in speech. It is really therefore to be described as a perseveration, though not necessarily a perseveration of spoken words. An associative connection between the interfering tendency and that interfered with is not lacking here either, though it is not found in the content but is artificially established, sometimes with considerable “forcing” of the connections.

Here is a simple example of this which I observed myself. Once in the beautiful Dolomites I met two Viennese ladies who were starting for a walking-tour. I accompanied them part of the way and we discussed the pleasures, but also the trials, of this way of life. One of the ladies admitted that spending the day like this entailed much discomfort. “It certainly is very unpleasant to tramp all day in the sun till one’s blouse ... and things are soaked through.” In this sentence she had to overcome a slight hesitation at one point. Then she continued: “But then, when one gets _nach Hose_ and can change....” (_Hose_ means drawers: the lady meant to say _nach Hause_ which means _home_). We did not analyse this slip, but I am sure you will easily understand it. The lady’s intention had been to enumerate a more complete list of her clothes, “blouse, chemise and drawers.” From motives of propriety, mention of the drawers (_Hose_) was omitted; but in the next sentence, the content of which is quite independent, the unuttered word came to light as a distortion of the word it resembled in sound, _home_ (_Hause_).

Now we can turn at last to the main question which has been so long postponed, namely, what kind of tendencies these are which bring themselves to expression in this unusual way by interfering with other intentions. They are evidently very various, yet our aim is to find some element common to them all. If we examine a series of examples for this purpose we shall soon find that they fall into three groups. To the _first_ group belong the cases in which the interfering tendency is known to the speaker and, moreover, was felt by him before the slip. Thus, in the case of the slip “refilled,” the speaker not only admitted that he had criticized the events in question as “filthy,” but further, that he had had the intention, which he subsequently reversed, of expressing this opinion in words. A _second_ group is formed by other cases in which the interfering tendency is likewise recognized by the speaker as his own, but he is not aware that it was active in him before the slip. He therefore accepts our interpretation, but remains to some extent surprised by it. Examples of this attitude are probably more easily found in other errors than in slips of the tongue. In the _third_ group the interpretation of the interfering tendency is energetically repudiated by the speaker; not only does he dispute that it was active in him before the slip, but he will maintain that it is altogether entirely alien to him. Recall the case about hiccoughing and the positively discourteous rebuff which I brought upon myself by detecting the interfering tendency. You know that in our attitude towards these cases you and I are still far from an agreement. I should make nothing of the after-dinner speaker’s denial and hold fast to my interpretation unwaveringly, while you, I imagine, are still impressed by his vehemence and are wondering whether one should not forego the interpretation of such errors and let them pass for purely physiological acts, as in the days before analysis. I can imagine what it is that alarms you. My interpretation includes the assumption that tendencies of which a speaker knows nothing can express themselves through him and that I can deduce them from various indications. You hesitate before a conclusion so novel and so pregnant with consequences. I understand that, and admit that up to a point you are justified. But let one thing be clear: if you intend to carry to its logical conclusion the conception of errors which has been confirmed by so many examples, you must decide to make this startling assumption. If you cannot do this, you will have to abandon again the understanding of errors which you had only just begun to obtain.

Let us pause a moment on that which unites the three groups and is common to the three mechanisms of a slip of the tongue. Fortunately this common element is unmistakable. In the first two groups the interfering tendency is admitted by the speaker; in the first, there is the additional fact that it showed itself immediately before the slip. But in both cases _it has been forced back.[24] The speaker had determined not to convert the idea into speech and then it happens that he makes a slip of the tongue; that is to say, the tendency which is debarred from expression asserts itself against his will and gains utterance, either by altering the expression of the intention permitted by him, or by mingling with it, or actually by setting itself in place of it._ This then is the mechanism of a slip of the tongue.

For my own part I can bring the process in the third group also into perfect harmony with the mechanism here described. I need only assume that these three groups are differentiated by the varying degrees to which the forcing back of an intention is effective. In the first group, the intention is present and makes itself perceptible before the words are spoken; not until then does it suffer the rejection for which it indemnifies itself in the slip. In the second group the rejection reaches further back; the intention is no longer perceptible even before the speech. It is remarkable that this does not hinder it in the least from being the active cause of the slip! But this state of things simplifies the explanation of the process in the third group. I shall be bold enough to assume that a tendency can still express itself by an error though it has been debarred from expression for a long time, perhaps for a very long time, has not made itself perceptible at all, and can therefore be directly repudiated by the speaker. But leaving aside the problem of the third group, you must conclude from the other cases that _a suppression (Unterdrückung) of a previous intention to say something is the indispensable condition for the occurrence of a slip of the tongue_.

We may now claim to have made further progress in the understanding of errors. We not only know them to be mental phenomena in which meaning and purpose are recognizable, not only know that they arise from the mutual interference of two different intentions, but in addition we know that, for one of these intentions to be able to express itself by interfering with another, it must itself have been subject to some hindrance against its operation. It must first be itself interfered with, before it can interfere with others. Naturally this does not give us a complete explanation of the phenomena which we call errors. We see at once further questions arising, and in general we suspect that as we progress towards comprehension the more numerous will be the occasions for new questions. We might ask, for instance, why the matter does not proceed much more simply. If the intention to restrain a certain tendency instead of carrying it into effect is present in the mind, then this restraint ought to succeed, so that nothing whatever of the tendency gains expression, or else it might fail so that the restrained tendency achieves full expression. But errors are _compromise_-formations; they express part-success and part-failure for each of the two intentions; the threatened intention is neither entirely suppressed nor, apart from some instances, does it force itself through intact. We can imagine that special conditions must be present for the occurrence of such interference (or compromise)-formations, but we cannot even conjecture of what kind they may be. Nor do I think that we could discover these unknown circumstances by penetrating further into the study of errors. It will be necessary first to examine thoroughly yet other obscure fields of mental life: only the analogies to be met with there can give us courage to form those assumptions which are requisite for a more searching elucidation of errors. And one other point! To work from slight indications, as we constantly do in this field, is not without its dangers. There is a mental disorder called combinatory paranoia in which the practice of utilizing such small indications is carried beyond all limits, and I naturally do not contend that the conclusions which are built up on such a basis are throughout correct. Only by the breadth of our observations, by the accumulation of similar impressions from the most varied forms of mental life, can we guard against this danger.

So now we will leave the analysis of errors. But there is one thing more which I might impress upon you: to keep in mind, as a model, the method by which we have studied these phenomena. You can perceive from these examples what the aim of our psychology is. Our purpose is not merely to describe and classify the phenomena, but to conceive them as brought about by the play of forces in the mind, as expressions of tendencies striving towards a goal, which work together or against one another. We are endeavouring to attain a _dynamic conception_ of mental phenomena. In this conception, the trends we merely infer are more prominent than the phenomena we perceive.

So we will probe no further into errors; but we may still take a fleeting glimpse over the breadth of this whole field, in the course of which we shall both meet with things already known and come upon the tracks of others that are new. In so doing, we will keep to the division into three groups of slips of the tongue, made at the beginning of our study, together with the co-ordinate forms of slips of the pen, misreading, mis-hearing; of forgetting with its subdivisions according to the object forgotten (proper names, foreign words, resolutions, impressions); and of mislaying, mistaking, and losing, objects. Mistakes, in so far as they concern us, are to be grouped partly under the head of forgetting, partly under acts erroneously performed (picking up the wrong objects, etc.).