LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 MISS PEARL CHASE
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO 
 DALLAS ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO.. LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA. LTD. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 THE FUNDAMENTALS OF HUMAN 
 
 PERSONALITY NORMAL AND 
 
 ABNORMAL 
 
 BY 
 
 MORTON PRINCE, M.D., LL.D. 
 
 PBOFESSOB (EMEKITI;*) OF DISEASES OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM, 
 TUFTS COLLEGE MEDICAL SCHOOL; CONSULTING PHY- 
 SICIAN TO THE BOSTON CITY HOSPITAL 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1914
 
 COFTKIGHT, 1914 
 
 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1914.
 
 SANTA 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This work is designed to be an introduction to 
 abnormal psychology. The problems considered, 
 however, belong equally to normal psychology in 
 that they are problems of psycho-physiological 
 functions and mechanisms. I have made no attempt 
 to develop any particular school of psychological 
 theory but rather, so far as may be, to gather to- 
 gether the knowledge already gained and lay a 
 foundation which can be built upon by any school 
 for the solution of particular problems, especially 
 those of special pathology. I have therefore en- 
 deavored to avoid controversial questions although 
 this, of course, has not been wholly possible, and 
 indeed so far as special pathological conditions (the 
 psychoses) have been considered, it has been for the 
 purpose of providing data and testing the principles 
 adduced. The inductive method, alone, I believe, as 
 in the physical sciences, can enable us to arrive at 
 sound conclusions justify the formulation of theo- 
 ries to explain psychological phenomena. Because 
 of the very difficulties of this field of research one 
 of which is that of submitting to experimental condi- 
 tions complex psychological phenomena having so 
 many factors it is all the more incumbent that the 
 inductive method should be employed. To my way
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 of thinking we should begin at the bottom and build 
 up bit by bit, drawing, as we go, no wider conclu- 
 sions than the facts developed warrant; or if we do, 
 these should be recognized clearly as working hy- 
 potheses or speculative theories. Skyscrapers 
 should not be erected until the foundations have been 
 examined to see if they will bear the superstructure. 
 That I have wholly succeeded in so rigorously re- 
 stricting my own endeavors I can scarcely hope. I 
 trust, however, that I have succeeded in consistently 
 maintaining the distinction between facts and their 
 interpretations. 
 
 The present volume consists of selected lectures 
 (with the exception of four) from courses on ab- 
 normal psychology delivered at the Tufts College 
 Medical School (1908-10) and later at the University 
 of California (1910).* These again were based on a 
 
 * In this connection it is a satisfaction to the author to note 
 that more recently a committee was appointed by the American 
 Psychological Association (December, 1911) to investigate the rela- 
 tion of psychology to medical education. This committee, after an ex- 
 tensive inquiry by correspondence with all the medical schools of the 
 country, has made a report (Science, Oct. 17, 1913) based upon the 
 preponderating opinion of the best medical schools and of the schools 
 as a whole. The second (in substance) and third conclusions 
 reached in the report were as follows: 
 
 2nd: For entrance in certain schools requiring a preliminary 
 college training of greater or less length an introductory or pre- 
 medical course in psychology should be required in the same way 
 as they now require chemistry, biology, physics, etc., or, in lieu 
 thereof, a course in the medical schools. 
 
 3rd: "It is the belief of most of the best schools that a second 
 course in psychology should precede the course in clinical psychiatry 
 and neurology. This course should have more of a practical nature,
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 series of papers on the Unconscious published in the 
 Journal of Abnormal Psychology (1908-9) of which 
 they are elaborations. Since the lectures were deliv- 
 ered a large amount of new material has been incor- 
 porated and the subject matter considered in more 
 detail and more exhaustively than was practical be- 
 fore student bodies. The four additional lectures 
 (X, XI, XII and XIII) appeared in abbreviated 
 form in the same Journal (Oct., Nov., 1912) under 
 the title "The Meaning of Ideas as Determined by 
 Unconscious Settings." The lecture form has been 
 retained, offering as it does many advantages where, 
 in the exposition of a difficult subject, much that is 
 elemental needs to be stated. 
 
 As the subconscious and its processes are funda- 
 mentals both in the structure of personality and in 
 
 and should deal especially with abnormal mental processes and with 
 the application of psychological principles and facts to medical 
 topics. Although this course should deal chiefly with psychopath- 
 ology, it should not be permitted to develop, or degenerate, into a 
 course in psychiatry, neurology or psychotherapeutics. This course 
 should be clinical in the sense that, as far as possible, clinical 
 material should be the basis of the course, but it should not be 
 clinical in the sense that the students are given particular cases for 
 the purpose of diagnosis or of treatment. The functions of the 
 courses in psychiatry and neurology should not be assumed by this 
 course. ' ' 
 
 The courses, from which I have selected twelve lectures for my 
 present purpose, were designed for just such instruction as is recom- 
 mended in this report. They were, I believe, the first to be given 
 on these subjects in any medical school or college in this country. 
 Necessarily they covered a wider range of topics than the lectures 
 now published which more properly serve as an introduction to the 
 general subject.
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 the many mechanisms through which personality, 
 normal and abnormal, finds expression, the first 
 eight lectures are devoted to its exposition. Indeed, 
 as has been said, the subconscious is not only the 
 most important problem of psychology, it is the 
 problem. The study of its phenomena must be pre- 
 liminary to that of the functioning mechanisms of 
 both the normal mind and of those special patholog- 
 ical conditions the psycho-neuroses which modern 
 investigators are tracing to its perversions. 
 
 In a recently published article M. Bergson con- 
 cludes with the following prophesy: "To explore 
 the most sacred depths of the unconscious, to labor 
 in what I have just called the subsoil of conscious- 
 ness, that will be the principal task of psychology 
 in the century which is opening. I do not doubt that 
 wonderful discoveries await it there, as important 
 perhaps as have been in the preceding centuries the 
 discoveries of the physical and natural sciences. 
 That at least is the promise which I make for it, 
 that is the wish that in closing I have for it. ' ' 
 
 And yet one reads and hears all sorts of contra- 
 dictory statements, made by those who it is pre- 
 sumed should know, regarding the actuality of the 
 subconscious. Thus one or another writer, assum- 
 ing to know, states most positively that there is no 
 such thing as the subconscious. Others, equally em- 
 phatic, postulate it as an established fact rather 
 than a theory, or assume it as a philosophical con- 
 cept or hypothesis to explain particular phenomena. 
 
 *"The Birth of the Dream," The Independent, Oct. 30, 1913.
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 One difficulty is that the term, as commonly used, 
 has many meanings, and it has followed that dif- 
 ferent writers have assumed it with respectively 
 different meanings. Consequently the subconscious 
 as an actuality has been unwittingly denied when 
 the intent has been really to deny some particular 
 meaning or interpretation, and particular meanings 
 have been subsumed which are only philosophical 
 concepts. 
 
 There should be no difficulty in deciding what the 
 facts permit us to postulate. The subconscious is a 
 theory based upon observed facts and formulated to 
 explain those facts. There are many precise phe- 
 nomena of different kinds which can only be ex- 
 plained as due to explicitly subconscious processes, 
 that is, processes which do not appear in the con- 
 tent of consciousness ; just as the phenomena mani- 
 fested by radium can only be explained by emana- 
 tions (or rays) which themselves are not visible and 
 cannot be made the object of conscious experience. 
 In each case it is the manifestations of such proc- 
 esses of which we become aware. Subconscious 
 processes and radio-activity stand on precisely the 
 same basis so far as the determination of their 
 actuality is concerned. (The latter have the advan- 
 tage, of course, in that being physical they are sub- 
 ject to quantitative measurement.) Such being the 
 case it ought to be possible to construct the theory 
 of the subconscious by inductive methods on the 
 basis of facts of observation just as any theory of 
 the physical sciences is constructed.
 
 x PREFACE 
 
 This task I have set before myself as well as that 
 of giving precision to our conception of the theory 
 and taking it out of the domain of philosophical con- 
 cepts. With this purpose in view I have endeavored 
 to apply the method of science and construct the 
 theory by induction from the data of observation 
 and experiment. I dare say this has been a some- 
 what ambitious and some will say, perhaps, over- 
 bold undertaking. Undoubtedly, too, this attitude 
 toward this and other individual problems has not 
 been always consistently maintained, nor perhaps 
 is it completely possible in the present state of the 
 science. 
 
 Our formulations should be as precise as possible 
 and facts and concepts of a different order should 
 not be included in one and the same formula. I 
 have, accordingly, divided the subconscious into two 
 classes, namely (1) the unconscious, or neural dis- 
 positions and processes, and (2) the coconscious, or 
 actual subconscious ideas which do not enter the 
 content of conscious awareness. An unconscious 
 process and a coconscious process are both therefore 
 subconscious processes but particular types thereof 
 the one being purely neural or physical and the 
 other psychological or ideational. 
 
 The soundness of the conclusions reached in this 
 work I leave to the judgment of my critics, of whom 
 I doubt not I shall have many. I do not hesitate to 
 say, however, that it is only by practical familiarity 
 with the phenomena of mental pathology and arti- 
 ficially induced phenomena (such as those of hyp-
 
 PREFACE xi 
 
 nosis, suggestion, etc.), requiring a long training in 
 this field of research (as in other scientific fields), 
 that we can correctly estimate the value of data and 
 the conclusions drawn therefrom; and even then 
 many of our conclusions can be regarded as only 
 provisional. 
 
 In these lectures I have also endeavored (Lectures 
 XIV-XVI) to develop the phenomena of the emo- 
 tional innate dispositions which I conceive play one 
 of the most fundamental parts in human personality 
 and in determining mental and physiological be- 
 havior. 
 
 Experimental methods and the well-known clinical 
 methods of investigation have been employed by me 
 as far as possible. The data made use of have been 
 derived for the most part from my own observations, 
 though confirmatory observations of others have not 
 been neglected. Although a large number and va- 
 riety of subjects or cases have been studied, as they 
 have presented themselves in private and hospital 
 practice, the data have been to a large extent sought 
 in intensive studies, on particular subjects, carried 
 on in some cases over a period of many years. 
 These subjects, because of the ease with which sub- 
 conscious and emotional phenomena were either 
 spontaneously manifested or could be experiment- 
 ally evoked, were particularly suitable for such 
 studies and fruitful in results. It is by such inten- 
 sive studies on special subjects, rather than by cas- 
 ual observation of many cases, that I believe the
 
 adi PREFACE 
 
 deepest insight into mental processes and mechan- 
 isms can be obtained. 
 
 In conclusion I wish to express my great obliga- 
 tion to Mrs. William G. Bean for the great assist- 
 ance she has rendered in many ways in the prepa- 
 ration of this volume. Not the least has been the 
 transcription and typing of my manuscript, for the 
 most part written in a quasi shorthand, reading the 
 printer's proofs, and much other assistance in the 
 preparation of the text for the press. For this her 
 practical and unusually extensive acquaintance with 
 the phenomena has been of great value. 
 
 I am also indebted to Mr. Lydiard Horton for 
 kindly reading the proofs and for many helpful 
 suggestions in clarifying the arrangement of the 
 text a most difficult task considering the colloquial 
 form of the original lectures. 
 
 Boston. 
 
 458 Beacon Street.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 LECTURE PAOB 
 
 I. THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS .... 1 
 
 II. CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NOR- 
 MAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE . . 15 
 
 III. CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NOR- 
 
 MAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE (Con- 
 tinued) 49 
 
 IV. CONSERVATION A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES . . 87 
 V. NEUROGRAMS 109 
 
 VI. SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 147 
 
 VII. SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 188 
 
 VIII. THE UNCONSCIOUS 229 
 
 IX. THE ORGANIZATION OF UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES . 265 
 
 X. THE MEANING OF IDEAS AS DETERMINED BY SETTINGS . 311 
 
 XI. MEANING, SETTINGS, AND THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUS- 
 NESS 338 
 
 XII. SETTINGS OF IDEAS AS SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES IN 
 
 OBSESSIONS 363 
 
 XIII. Two TYPES OF PHOBIA 387 
 
 XIV. THE PHYSIOLOGICAL MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION . 423 
 XV. INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS AND CONFLICTS . . . 446 
 
 XVI. GENERAL PHENOMENA RESULTING FROM EMOTIONAL 
 
 CONFLICTS 488 
 
 SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS . 529
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS: 
 
 THE FUNDAMENTALS OF HUMAN 
 SONALITY, NORMAL AND ABNORMAL 
 
 LECTURE I 
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 
 
 Gentlemen : 
 
 The subject which I have chosen for our first 
 lecture is the theory of the mechanism of memory. 
 I begin with the study of this problem because a 
 knowledge of the facts which underlie the theory of 
 memory is a necessary introduction to an under- 
 standing of the Unconscious, and of the part which 
 subconscious processes play in normal and abnor- 
 mal mental life.* Speaking more specifically, with- 
 out such a preliminary study I do not believe we 
 can interpret correctly a very large number of the 
 disturbances of mind and body which are traceable 
 to the activity of subconscious processes and with 
 which we shall later have to do. 
 
 If we consider memory as a process, and not as 
 specific phases of consciousness, we shall find that it 
 is an essential factor in the mechanisms underlying 
 a large variety of phenomena of normal and abnor- 
 mal life. These phenomena include those of both 
 
 * I divide the Subconscious into two parts, namely the Unconscious 
 and the Coconscious. See preface and Lecture VIII. 
 
 1
 
 2 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 mind and body of a kind not ordinarily conceived of 
 as manifestations of memory. I would have you 
 dwell in your minds for a moment on the fact that I 
 make this distinction between memory as a process 
 and memory as a phase of consciousness or specific 
 mental experience. What we ordinarily and con- 
 ventionally have in mind when we speak of memory 
 is the conscious thought of some past mental experi- 
 ence. But when we conceive of memory as a 
 process we have in mind the whole mechanism 
 through the working of which this past experience 
 is registered, conserved, and reproduced, whether 
 such reproduction be in consciousness or below the 
 surface of consciousness. 
 
 Memory is usually looked upon as something that 
 pertains solely to consciousness. Such a conception 
 is defensible if the meaning of the term is restricted 
 to those facts alone which come within our conscious 
 experience. But when we consider the mechanism 
 by which a particular empirical fact of this kind is 
 introduced into consciousness we find that this con- 
 ception is inadequate. We find then that we are 
 obliged to regard conscious memory as only the end 
 result of a process and, in order to account for this 
 end result, to assume other stages in the process 
 which are not phases of consciousness. Though the 
 end result is a reproduction of the ideas which con- 
 stituted the previous conscious experience, this re- 
 production is not the whole process. 
 
 More than this, the conscious experience is not 
 the only experience that may be reproduced by the
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 3 
 
 process, nor is the end result always and necessarily 
 a state of consciousness. Conscious memory is only 
 a particular type of memory. The same process 
 may terminate in purely unconscious or physiologi- 
 cal effects, or what may be called physiological 
 memory to distinguish it from conscious memory. 
 Along with the revived ideas and their feeling tones 
 there may be a revival of the physiological experi- 
 ences, or processes, which originally accompanied 
 them; such as secretion of sweat, saliva and gastric 
 juice, the contraction and dilatation of the blood 
 vessels, the inhibition or excitation of the heart, 
 lungs and other viscera, the contraction of muscles, 
 etc. These visceral mechanisms, being originally 
 elements in a complex process and accompaniments 
 of the idea, may be reproduced along with the con- 
 scious memory, and even without conscious memory. 
 As this physiological complex is an acquired experi- 
 ence it is entitled to be regarded as memory so far 
 as its reproduction is the end result of the same 
 kind of process or mechanism as that which repro- 
 duces ideas. 
 
 Then, again, investigations into the subconscious 
 have shown that the original experience may be re- 
 produced subconsciously without rising into aware- 
 ness. 
 
 The more comprehensive way, then, of looking at 
 memory is to regard it as a process and not simply 
 as an end result. The process, as we shall see, is 
 made up of three factors Registration, Conserva- 
 tion, and Reproduction. Of these the end result is
 
 4 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 reproduction; conservation being the preservation 
 of that which was registered. 
 
 This view is far more fruitful, as you will pres- 
 ently see, for memory acquires a deeper significance 
 and will be found to play a fundamental and unsus- 
 pected part in the mechanism of many obscure 
 mental processes. 
 
 From this point of view, ipon memory, considered 
 as a process, depend the acquired conscious and 
 subconscious habits of mind and body. 
 
 The process involves unconscious as well as con- 
 scious factors and may be wholly unconscious (sub- 
 conscious). 
 
 Two of its factors registration and conservation 
 are responsible for the building up of the uncon- 
 scious as the storehouse of the mind and, therefore, 
 primarily for all subconscious processes, other than 
 those which are innate. 
 
 To it may be referred the direct excitation of 
 many subconscious manifestations of various kinds. 
 
 Consciously or subconsciously it largely deter- 
 mines our prejudices, our superstitions, our beliefs, 
 our points of view, our attitudes of mind. 
 
 Upon it to a large degree depend what we call 
 personality and character. 
 
 It often is the unsuspected and subconscious 
 secret of our judgments, our sentiments, and im- 
 pulses. 
 
 It is the process which most commonly induces 
 dreams and furnishes the material out of which they 
 are constructed.
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 5 
 
 It is the basis of many hypnotic phenomena. 
 
 In the field of pathology, memory, through its 
 perversions, takes part in and helps to determine 
 the form of a variety of disturbances such as ob- 
 sessions, impulsions, tics, habit psychoses and 
 neuroses, many of the manifestations of that great 
 protean psychosis, hysteria, and other common ail- 
 ments which it is the fashion of the day to term 
 neurasthenia and psychasthenia. It is largely re- 
 sponsible for the conscious and subconscious con- 
 flicts which disrupt the human mind and result in 
 various pathological states. 
 
 Finally, upon the utilization of the processes of 
 memory modern psychotherapeutics, or the educa- 
 tional treatment of disease, is largely based. For 
 many of these reasons an understanding of the 
 mechanism of memory is essential for an under- 
 standing of the subconscious. In short, memory 
 furnishes a standpoint from which we can produc- 
 tively study the normal and abnormal processes of 
 the mind conscious and subconscious. 
 
 These somewhat dogmatic general statements 
 which I have put before you much after the fashion 
 of the lawyer who presents a general statement of 
 his case in anticipation of the evidence I hope 
 will become clear and their truth evident as we 
 proceed; likewise, their bearing upon the facts of 
 abnormal psychology. To make them clear it will 
 be necessary to explain in some detail the generally 
 accepted theory of memory as a process and to cite 
 the numerous data upon which it rests.
 
 6 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 There may be, as, indeed, you will find there are, 
 wide differences of opinion as to the exact psycho- 
 logical mechanism by which a memory-process plays 
 its part in the larger processes of mental life, nor- 
 mal and abnormal, such as I have just mentioned, 
 but that the memory-process is a fundamental 
 factor is revealed by whatever method the problems 
 are attacked. A study, therefore, of this funda- 
 mental factor and a determination of its mechanism 
 are a prerequisite for a study of the more complex 
 processes in which it takes part. For this reason 
 I shall begin the study of the Unconscious (sub- 
 conscious), to which I shall ask your attention in 
 these lectures, with a consideration of the processes 
 of memory. 
 
 If you ask the average person, as I have often 
 done, how or why he remembers he will be puzzled 
 and he is apt to reply, "Why, I just remember," or, 
 ' ' I never thought of that before. ' ' If you push him 
 a bit and ask what becomes of ideas after they have 
 passed out of mind and have given place to other 
 ideas, and how an idea that has passed out of mind, 
 that has gone, disappeared, can be brought back 
 again as memory, he becomes further puzzled. We 
 know that ideas that have passed out of mind may 
 be voluntarily recalled, or reproduced, as memory; 
 we may say that meantime they have become what 
 may be called dormant. But surely something 
 must have happened to enable these conscious ex- 
 periences to be conserved in some way and recalled. 
 Ideas are not material things which, like books, can
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 7 
 
 be laid away on a shelf to be taken up again 
 when wanted, and yet we can recall, or repro- 
 duce, many ideas when we want them just as 
 we can go to a shelf and take down any book we 
 want. 
 
 We learn the alphabet and the multiplication table 
 in childhood. During the greater part of our lives 
 the sensory images, auditory language symbols, etc., 
 which may be summarized as ideas representing 
 these educational experiences, are out of our minds 
 and do not form a continuous part of our conscious 
 experiences, but they may be recalled at any moment 
 as memory. In fact, try as hard as we may, we 
 cannot forget our alphabet or multiplication table. 
 Why is this f 
 
 The older psychology did not bother itself much 
 with these questions which puzzle the average man. 
 It was content for the most part with a descriptive 
 statement of the facts of conscious memory. It 
 did not concern itself with the process by which 
 memory is effected ; nor, so long as psychology dealt 
 only with phases of consciousness, was it of much 
 consequence. It has been only since subconscious 
 processes have loomed large in psychology and have 
 been seen to take part on the one hand in the 
 mechanism of conscious thought and on the other to 
 produce various bodily phenomena, that the process 
 of memory has acquired great practical importance. 
 For it has been seen that in these subconscious 
 processes previous conscious experiences are resur- 
 rected to take part as subconscious memory, conse-
 
 8 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 quently a conscious experience that has passed out 
 of mind may not only recur again as conscious 
 memory, but may recur subconsciously below the 
 threshold of awareness. The study of subconscious 
 processes therefore necessarily includes the proc- 
 esses of memory. And so it has become a matter 
 of considerable moment to follow the fate of experi- 
 ences after they have passed out of mind with a 
 view to determining the mechanism by which they 
 can be reproduced consciously and subconsciously. 
 More than this it is important that the theory of 
 memory should be removed if possible from the 
 domain of purely speculative psychological con- 
 cepts and placed on a sound basis of observation 
 and experiment like other accepted theories of 
 science. 
 
 From the point of view of animism, and indeed 
 of dualism, nothing becomes of the ideas that have 
 passed out of mind ; they simply, for the time being, 
 cease to exist. Consciousness changes its form. 
 Nothing is preserved, nothing is stored up. This 
 is still the popular notion according to which a 
 mental experience at any given moment the con- 
 tent of my consciousness, for instance, at this mo- 
 ment as I speak to you is only one of a series of 
 kaleidoscopic changes or phases of my self-con- 
 sciousness. In saying this what is meant plainly 
 must be that the content of consciousness at any 
 given moment is a phase of a continuing psychical 
 something. We may, perhaps, call this my self- 
 consciousness, and say that when I reproduce an
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 9 
 
 experience as memory I simply bring back (by the 
 power of self-determination) that same previous 
 phase of the psychical something. If I cannot bring 
 it back my failure may be due to a failure of the 
 power of self-determination or and here is a weak 
 point to a failure in the formative cohesion of the 
 elementary ideas of that experience. In this latter 
 alternative no note is taken of a seeming contradic- 
 tion or paradox. If nothing is preserved, if nothing 
 continues to exist, if memory is only one of a series 
 of kaleidoscopic phases of consciousness, how can 
 there be any cohesion or organization within what 
 does not exist? Consciousness according to this no- 
 tion might be likened to the water of a lake in which 
 vortices were constantly being formed, either by the 
 current of inflowing springs from the bottom or the 
 influences of external agencies. One vortex would 
 give place to a succeeding vortex. Memory would 
 be analogous to the reproduction of a previously 
 occurring vortex. 
 
 When, however, such a notion of memory is ex- 
 amined in the light of all the facts which have to be 
 explained it will be found to be descriptive only 
 of our conscious experiences. It does not explain 
 memory; it does not answer the question of the 
 ordinary man, "How can ideas which have ceased 
 to exist be reproduced again as memory 1 ?" For, 
 putting aside various psychological difficulties such 
 as, How can I determine the reproduction of a 
 former phase of consciousness that is, memory 
 without first remembering what I want to deter-
 
 10 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 mine?, or, if this be answered, "By the association 
 of phases (ideas)," how can there be any bond of 
 association between an existing idea and one that 
 does not exist?, and, therefore, how can association 
 bring back that which has ceased to exist? putting 
 aside such questions, there are a number of psycho- 
 physiological facts which this conception of memory 
 will be found inadequate to meet. As a matter of 
 fact, investigations into the behavior of mental 
 processes, particularly under artificial and patho- 
 logical conditions, have disclosed certain phenomena 
 which can be adequately explained only on the 
 supposition that ideas as they pass out of mind 
 the mental experiences of the moment leave some- 
 thing behind, some residuum which is preserved, 
 stored up as it were, and which plays a subsequent 
 part in the process of memory. These phenomena 
 seem to require what may be called a psycho-physi- 
 ological theory of memory. Although the theory 
 has long been one of the concepts of normal 
 psychology it can be said to have been satisfactorily 
 validated only by the investigations of recent years 
 in abnormal psychology. 
 
 The full significance as well as the validity of 
 this theory can be properly estimated only in the 
 light of the facts which have been revealed by 
 modern technical methods of investigation. After 
 all, it is the consequences of a theory which count, 
 and this will be seen to be true particularly as 
 respects memory. The pragmatic point of view of 
 counting the consequences, of determining the dif-
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 11 
 
 ference that the theory makes in the understanding 
 of the mental processes of normal and abnormal 
 life, reveals the importance to us of validating the 
 theory. The consequences of the psycho-physio- 
 logical theory are so far-reaching, in view of its 
 bearing upon a large number of problems in normal 
 and abnormal psychology, that it is worthy of sus- 
 tained and exhaustive examination. I will, there- 
 fore, briefly resume the various classes of facts 
 which support the theory and which any adequate 
 theory of memory must satisfactorily explain. For, 
 as will appear, besides the common facts of memory 
 pertaining to everyday life, there are a large num- 
 ber of other facts which can be observed only when 
 the mind is dissected, so to speak, by pathological 
 processes, and by the production of artificial condi- 
 tions, and when investigations are carried out by 
 special technic. Irrespective of any theory of ex- 
 planation, a knowledge of these facts is extremely 
 important for an understanding of many phenom- 
 ena in the domain of both normal and abnormal 
 psychology. 
 
 The meaning of conservation We all know, as an 
 everyday experience of mankind, that at one time 
 we can recall what happened to us at some par- 
 ticular moment in the past, and at another time we 
 cannot. We know that when we have forgotten 
 some experience if we stimulate or refresh our 
 memory, as the lawyers say to us on the witness- 
 gtand, by reference to our notes, appropriately
 
 12 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 called memoranda, the original experience may 
 come back to mind. Often at one moment we cannot 
 recall a verse, or a name, or a piece of acquired 
 knowledge, while at another time, a little later, we 
 can. We have a feeling, a perhaps justifiable belief, 
 that a desired piece of knowledge is not lost, that it 
 is back somewhere in our minds but we cannot get 
 at it. If, sooner or later, under one circumstance 
 or another, with or without the aid of some kind 
 of stimulus, we can recall the desired knowledge 
 we say it was preserved (or conserved). If we 
 continue, under all circumstances and at all mo- 
 ments, to be unable to recall it we say it is lost, that 
 our memory of it is not conserved. So the notion 
 of conservation of knowledge being something 
 apart from recollection enters even into popular 
 language. What sort of thing conservation is, 
 popular language does not attempt to define. It is 
 clear, however, that we may with propriety speak 
 of the conservation of experiences, using this term 
 in a descriptive sense without forming any definite 
 concept of the nature of conservation. Provision- 
 ally, then, I shall speak of conservation of a given 
 experience in this sense only, meaning that the 
 memory of it is not permanently lost but that under 
 certain particular circumstances we can recall it. 
 
 Now a large mass of observations demonstrate 
 that there are an enormous number of experiences, 
 belonging to both normar and abnormal mental life, 
 which we are unable to voluntarily recall during any 
 period of our lives, no matter how hard we try, or
 
 THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS 13 
 
 what aids to memory we employ. For these ex- 
 periences there is life-long amnesia. Nevertheless, 
 it is easy to demonstrate that, though the personal 
 consciousness of everyday life cannot recall them, 
 they are not lost, properly speaking, but conserved ; 
 for when the personal consciousness has undergone 
 a peculiar change, at moments when certain special 
 alterations have taken place in the conditions of the 
 personal consciousness, at such moments you find 
 that the subject under investigation recalls the 
 apparently lost experiences. These moments are 
 those of hypnosis, abstraction, dreams, and certain 
 pathological states. Again, in certain individuals 
 it is possible by technical devices to awaken sec- 
 ondary mental processes in the form of a subcon- 
 sciousness which may manifest the memories of the 
 forgotten experiences without awareness therefor 
 on the part of the personal consciousness. These 
 manifestations are known as automatic writing and 
 speech. Then, again, by means of certain post- 
 hypnotic phenomena, it is easy to study conserva- 
 tion experimentally. We can make, as you will 
 later see, substantially everything that happened to 
 the subject of the experiment in hypnosis his 
 thoughts, his speech, his actions, for all of which 
 he has complete and irretrievable loss of memory 
 in a waking state we can make memory for all 
 these lost experiences reappear when hypnosis is 
 again induced. Thus we can prove conservation 
 when voluntary memory for experiences is abso- 
 lutely lost. These experiments, among others, as
 
 14 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 we shall also see, also give an insight into the 
 nature of conservation which is the real problem 
 involved in an investigation into the process of 
 memory. 
 
 Before undertaking to solve this problem so far 
 as may be done it is well to obtain a full realiza- 
 tion of the extent to which experiences which have 
 been forgotten may be still conserved. I will there- 
 fore, as I promised you, resume the experimental 
 and other evidence supporting this principle, mak- 
 ing use of both personal observations and those of 
 others. 
 
 NOTE In the following exposition of the evidence for the theory 
 of memory it has been necessary to make use of phenomena subsuming 
 subconscious processes before the subconscious itself has been demon- 
 strated. A few words in explanation of the terms used is therefore 
 desirable to avoid confusing the reader. 
 
 Dividing as I do the subconscious into the unconscious and the 
 coconscious, the former is either simply a neural disposition, or an 
 active neural process without any quality of consciousness; the latter 
 is an actual subconscious idea or a process of thought of which, never- 
 theless, we are not aware. An unconscious and a coconscious process 
 are both, therefore, only particular types of a subconscious process. 
 I might have used the single term subconscious througliout the first 
 seven lectures, but in that case, though temporarily less confusing, 
 the data necessary for the appreciation of the division of the sub- 
 conscious into two orders would not have been at hand. Typical 
 phenomena having been described as unconscious or coconscious (in- 
 stead of simply subconscious), the reader will have already become 
 familiar with examples of each type and be thus prepared for the 
 final discussion in Lecture Fill. PROVISIONALLY, these three 
 terms may be regarded as synonyms. To indicate the synonym, the 
 term "subconscious" has often been added in parenthesis in the 
 text to one or other of the subdivisional terms, and vice versa.
 
 LECTURE H 
 
 CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF 
 NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE 
 
 I. Normal Life 
 
 Evidence obtained by the method of automatic writing. 
 If we take a suitable subject, one in whom "automa- 
 tic writing" has been developed, and study the 
 content of the script, we may find that to a large 
 extent it contains references to, i. e., memories 
 of, experiences which have long been forgotten 
 by the subject and which cannot even by the 
 stimulus of memoranda be voluntarily recalled. 
 
 * Automatic writing is script which has been produced uncon- 
 sciously or involuntarily, although the writer is in an alert state, 
 whether it be the normal waking state or hypnosis. The hand writes, 
 though the subject does not consciously direct it. Ordinarily, though 
 not always, the subject is entirely unaware of what the hand is writ- 
 ing, and often the writing is obtaiaed better if the attention is di- 
 verted and directed toward other matters. The first knowledge then 
 obtained by the subject of what has been written, or that the hand 
 has written at all, is on reading the script. Some persons can culti- 
 vate the art of this kind of writing. Mrs. Verrall and Mrs. Holland, 
 for example, deliberately educated themselves to write automatically, 
 and each published a volume of her records. In other normal people 
 automatic writing seems to develop accidentally or under special cir- 
 cumstances. In certain types of hysteria it is very easily obtained. 
 " Planchette, " which many years ago was in vogue as a parlor game, 
 was only a particular device to effect automatic writing. 
 
 15
 
 16 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 These experiences may be actions performed even 
 as far back as childhood, or passages read in books, 
 or fragments of conversation, etc. Thus B. C. A., 
 who suffers from an intense fear or phobia of cats, 
 particularly white cats, can recall no experience 
 in her life which could have given rise to it. Yet 
 when automatic writing is resorted to the hand 
 writes a detailed account of a fright into which she 
 was thrown, when she was only five or six years 
 of age, by a white kitten which had a fit while she 
 was playing with it. The writing also describes in 
 minute detail the furnishings of the room where the 
 episode occurred, the pattern of the carpet, the 
 decorative designs of the window shades, the fur- 
 niture, etc. As this observation is typical of many 
 others, it may be well to dwell upon it long enough 
 to describe it in some detail for the benefit of those 
 who are not familiar with this class of phenomena. 
 After it had been determined, by a searching ex- 
 amination, that B. C. A. could not recall any ex- 
 perience that might throw light upon her phobia, 
 an attempt was made to recover a possible memory 
 in hypnosis. As is well known, the memory often 
 broadens in hypnosis and events which are forgot- 
 ten when " awake" may be recovered. In this in- 
 stance the subject was put into two different hyp- 
 notic states, but without success. This, again, is 
 a matter of some importance for the principle of 
 conservation. Different hypnotic states in the same 
 individual may be distinguished in that each, among 
 other characteristics, may have different and inde-
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 17 
 
 pendent systems of memories, as we shall see later. 
 The memories which belong to one state cannot be 
 recalled in another. Hence the fact that a memory 
 cannot be recovered in one state is not proof that 
 it is not conserved, nor is a failure to recover the 
 memory of an episode in all states of hypnosis evi- 
 dence of failure of conservation, any more than is 
 the failure to recover a memory in the waking state 
 at any given moment. 
 
 In the experiment with B. C. A., after failing to 
 awaken a possible memory in either state of hyp- 
 nosis, a pencil was put in her hand while she was 
 still hypnotized. The hand then wrote automatic- 
 ally, without the knowledge of the hypnotized sub- 
 ject, the following account of this childhood episode 
 that I have just mentioned:* 
 
 "I think I know about the cats. I can remember 
 myself, a little child, playing on the floor with a 
 kitten, and it began to run about the room and had 
 a fit, I think, and it jumped on me, and I was alone, 
 and I screamed and cried and called my mother, but 
 no one came, and I was very much frightened. I 
 do not believe I ever told anyone. It was a white 
 
 * In this particular experiment, when the hand wrote ' ' automat- 
 ically, " the second hypnotic consciousness vanished and the subject 
 went into a trance state, or what is equivalent to a third hypnotic 
 state. There was no consciousness present, excepting that which was 
 associated with the writing hand. At other times, in experiments of 
 this class with this same subject, the hypnotic or the waking con- 
 sciousness, as the case might be, persisted alert while the hand wrote. 
 For the purpose of the experiment in recovering memories this change 
 in the psychological condition is not of importance, the principle re- 
 mains the same.
 
 18 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 kitten. It ran out of the room and after a bit I 
 
 went on playing. ' ' 
 
 To test the extent of the conserved memories still 
 further the hand was asked to describe the furnish- 
 ings of the room and the plan of the house. It 
 wrote : 
 
 "There were two windows on the side of the 
 room. The shades were gray, I think, with a border 
 of grapes, or something of that color. The carpet 
 was green or gray with green figures. There was 
 a large old-fashioned sofa between one window and 
 the door which led into the dining-room. A book- 
 case and desk-combination, you know. There was a 
 mantle, I think, between the windows. It was the 
 ground floor." 
 
 This childhood episode and the furnishings of the 
 room were completely forgotten by B. C. A. in the 
 sense that they could not be voluntarily recalled. 
 Even after reading the script she could not remem- 
 ber them. She had not seen the room since she was 
 six years of age, the family having removed at that 
 time from the town in which the incident took place. 
 As to the accuracy of the "automatic" account and 
 the possibility of fabrication, the description of the 
 room has been corroborated by the independent and 
 written testimony of an older member of the family. 
 It was not possible to confirm the incident of the 
 kitten as there were no witnesses. This portion of 
 the account, therefore, cannot be proved not to be 
 a fabrication, but I have never known a fabricated 
 statement to be made in this subject's automatic
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 19 
 
 script, and I have obtained from her a large number 
 of statements of different kinds in the course of 
 several years' observation. 
 
 However that may be, the point is not essential, 
 for the minute description, by a special technic, of 
 the furnishings of a room which had not been seen 
 since childhood, a matter of some thirty-five years, 
 and which were totally forgotten, is a sufficient 
 demonstration of the principle of conservation of 
 conscious experiences that cannot be voluntarily 
 recalled. The reproduction of the conscious experi- 
 ence by automatic writing was, of course, an act 
 of memory effected by a special device, and this 
 fact compels us to postulate the conservation of the 
 experience during this long period of time, notwith- 
 standing that the experience could not be recalled 
 voluntarily. Although the conserved experience 
 could not be awakened into memory by voluntary 
 processes of the personal consciousness it could be 
 so awakened by an artificial stimulus under artifi- 
 cial conditions. 
 
 An observation like this, dealing with the con- 
 servation of long forgotten childhood or other ex- 
 periences, is not unique. Quite a collection of 
 recorded cases might be cited. Mr. C. Lowe 
 Dickinson has put on record * one of a young 
 woman (Miss C.), who, in an hypnotic trance, nar- 
 rated a dream-like fabrication of a highly imagina- 
 
 * Journal of the S. P. R., July, 1906. A fuller account of this 
 case was later published in the same journal, August, 1911.
 
 20 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tive character. On one occasion, through the imag- 
 inary intermediation of the spirit of a fictitious 
 person, who was supposed to have lived in the time 
 of Richard II, she gave a great many details about 
 the Earl and Countess of Salisbury, "and other 
 personages of the time, and about the manners and 
 customs of that age. The personages referred to, 
 the details given in connection with them, and 
 especially the genealogical data, were found on ex- 
 amination to be correct, although many of them 
 were such as apparently it would not have been 
 easy to ascertain without considerable historical 
 research. ' ' Miss C. after coming out of the hypnotic 
 trance was in entire ignorance of how she could 
 have obtained this knowledge and could not recall 
 ever having read any book which contained the 
 information she had given. Through automatic 
 writing, however, it was discovered that it was to 
 be found in a book called The Countess Maud, by 
 E. Holt. It then appeared and this is the point of 
 interest bearing on the conservation of forgotten 
 knowledge that this book had been read to her by 
 her aunt fourteen years previously, when she was 
 a child about eleven years old. Both ladies had so 
 completely forgotten its contents that they could 
 not recall even the period with which it dealt. Here 
 were conscious experiences of childhood which, if 
 voluntary recollection were to be made use of as a 
 test, would be rightly said to have been extin- 
 guished, but that they had only lain fallow, con-
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 21 
 
 served in some unconscious fashion, was shown by 
 their reproduction in the hypnotic trance.* 
 
 In this connection I may instance the case of Mrs. 
 C. D., who suffers from a fixed fear of fainting. 
 She cannot recall, even after two prolonged search- 
 ing examinations, the first occasion when this fear 
 developed, or why she has it, and is, therefore, 
 ignorant of its genesis. Yet put into abstraction or 
 light hypnosis she recalls vividly its first occurrence 
 as the effect of an emotional scene of twenty years 
 ago. The details of its psychological content come 
 clearly into consciousness, and its meaning, as a 
 fear of death, is remembered as a part of the ori- 
 ginal episode. That the fixed idea is a recurrence or 
 partial memory of the original complex becomes 
 logically plain and is recognized as such. 
 
 Instances of the reproduction in automatic 
 script of forgotten passages from books are to be 
 found in Mrs. Verrall'sf elaborate records of her 
 own automatic writings. Investigation showed that 
 numerous pieces of English, Latin, and Greek script 
 
 * A remark made by the subject in the trance state, though passed 
 over in the report as apparently inconsequential, has really much 
 meaning when interpreted through that conception of the uncon- 
 scious memory process which will be developed in succeeding chap- 
 ters. The subject, while in the trance, claimed to be in a mental 
 world wherein "is to be found, it is said, not only everything that 
 has ever happened or will happen, but all thoughts, dreams, and im- 
 agination. " In other words, in that psychical condition into which 
 she passed, all the conserved conscious experiences of her life could 
 be awakened into memory. 
 
 f Proceedings of the S. P. B., October, 1906, Chap. XII,
 
 22 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 were not original compositions but only forgotten 
 passages from authors previously read. 
 
 Mrs. Holland's script records, as investigation 
 seemed to show, the exact words expressing a per- 
 sonal sentiment contained in a letter written to her 
 twenty years before and long forgotten. The letter 
 proving this was accidentally discovered.* 
 
 The following instance of a forgotten experience 
 is, in itself, common enough with everybody, but its 
 recovery by automatic writing illustrates how con- 
 servation of the thousand and one simply forgotten 
 acts of everyday life may still persist. It forces, 
 too, a realization of the reason why it is possible 
 that though an act may be forgotten at any given 
 moment it may later at any time flash into the mind. 
 It is still conserved. 
 
 B. C. A. had been vainly hunting for a bunch of 
 keys which she had not seen or thought of for four 
 months, having been in Europe. One day, soon 
 after her return, while writing a letter to her son 
 she was interrupted by her hand automatically and 
 spontaneously writing the desired information. 
 
 * In the automatic script, which purported to be a spiritistic mes- 
 sage from a dead friend named Annette, occurred the enigmatical 
 sentence: "Tell her this comes from the friend who loved cradles 
 and cradled things. ' ' The meaning of this was revealed by the 
 above-mentioned letter to Mrs. Holland, written twenty years pre- 
 viously. It was from a friend of Annette 's, and quoted an extract 
 from Annette's will, which ran, "because I love cradles and cradled 
 things. ' ' When Mrs. Holland was tearing up some old letters she 
 came across this one. ("On the automatic writing of Mrs. Holland," 
 by Miss Alice Johnson: Proceedings of the S. P. E., June, 1908, pp. 
 288, 289.)
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 23 
 
 The letter to her son began as follows: "October 
 30, 19 . Dear Boy: I cannot find those keys- 
 have hunted everywhere" . . . [Here the hand be- 
 gan to write the following, automatically.] "0, I 
 know take a pencil" [Here she did as she was 
 bidden] "you put those keys in the little box where 
 X's watch is." 
 
 In explanation B. C. A. sent me the following 
 letter : * ' The keys were found in the box mentioned. 
 I had hunted for them ever since coming home, 
 October 4th. One key belonged to my box in the 
 safety deposit vault and I had felt very troubled 
 and anxious at not being able to find them. I have 
 no recollection now of putting them where I found 
 them." [Nor was recollection subsequently recov- 
 ered.] 
 
 I could give from my own observation if it were 
 necessary as many instances as could be desired of 
 "automatic" reproductions of forgotten experi- 
 ences of one kind or another the truth of which 
 could be verified by notebook records or other evi- 
 dence. By a forgotten experience of course is 
 meant something more than what cannot for the 
 moment be voluntarily recalled. I mean something 
 that cannot be remembered at any moment nor 
 under any conditions, even after the memory has 
 been prodded by the reproduction in the script 
 something that is apparently absolutely forgotten. 
 The experience may not only be of a trivial nature 
 but something that happened long in the past and of 
 the kind that is ordinarily absolutely forgotten, I
 
 24 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 have often invoked the automatic writing (memor- 
 ies) of the subject to recover data elicited in the 
 past in psychological examinations but which both 
 I and the subject had forgotten. Reference to notes 
 always verified the automatic memories. The 
 records of automatic writing to be found in the 
 literature are rich in reproductions showing con- 
 servation of forgotten experiences. In fact, given a 
 good subject who can write automatically it is easy 
 to obtain experimentally evidence of this kind at 
 will. 
 
 Evidence from abstraction One of the most striking 
 of artificial memory performances is the recovery 
 of the details of inconsequential experiences of 
 everyday life by inducing simple states of abstrac- 
 tion in normal people. It is often astonishing to 
 see with what detail these experiences are 
 conserved. A person may remember any given 
 experience in a general way, such as what he does 
 during the course of the day, but the minute details 
 of the day he ordinarily forgets. Now, if he allows 
 himself to fall into a passive state of abstraction, 
 simply concentrating his attention upon a particu- 
 lar past moment, and gives free rein to all the asso- 
 ciative memories belonging to that moment that 
 float into his mind, at the same time taking care 
 to forego all critical reflection upon them, it will be 
 found that the number of details that will be re- 
 called will be enormously greater than can be 
 recovered by voluntary memory. Memories of the
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 25 
 
 details of each successive moment follow one an- 
 other in continuous succession. This method re- 
 quires some art and practice to be successfully 
 carried out. In the state of abstraction attention to 
 the environment must be completely excluded and 
 concentrated upon the past moments which it is 
 desired to recall. For instance, a young woman, a 
 university student, had lost some money several 
 days before the experiment and desired to learn 
 what had become of it. She remembered, in a gen- 
 eral way, that she had gone to the bank that day, 
 had cashed some checks, made some purchases in 
 the shops of the town, returned to the university, 
 attended lectures, etc., and later had missed the 
 money from her purse. Her memory was about as 
 extensive as that of the ordinary person would be 
 for similar events after the lapse of several days. 
 I put her into a state of abstraction and evoked 
 her memories in the way I have just described. The 
 minuteness and vividness with which the details of 
 each successive act in the day's experiences were 
 recovered were remarkable, and, to the subject, quite 
 astonishing. As the memories arose she recognized 
 them as being accurate, for she then remembered 
 the events as having occurred, just as one remem- 
 bers any occurrence.* In abstraction, she remem- 
 bered with great vividness every detail at the bank- 
 
 * It would have required a stenographer, whom I did not have, to 
 record fully all these recovered memories. They would fill several 
 printed pages, and I can give only a general resum6 of them. Some 
 weeks later the experiment was repeated and a record taken as fully 
 as possible in long hand.
 
 26 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 teller's window, where she placed her gloves, purse, 
 and umbrella, the checks, the money, etc. ; then there 
 came memories of seating herself at a table in the 
 bank, of placing her umbrella here, her purse there, 
 etc. ; of writing a letter, and doing other things ; of 
 absent-mindedly forgetting her gloves and leaving 
 them on the table ;* of going to a certain shop where, 
 after looking at various articles and thinking cer- 
 tain thoughts and making certain remarks, she 
 finally made certain purchases, giving a certain 
 piece of money and receiving the change in coin of 
 certain denominations; of seeing in her purse the 
 exact denominations of the coins (ten and five- 
 dollar gold pieces and the pieces of subsidiary coin- 
 age) which remained; then of going to another shop 
 and similar experiences. Then of numerous details 
 which she had forgotten ; of other later incidents in- 
 cluding lectures, exercising in the gymnasium, etc. 
 Through it all ran the successive fortunes of her 
 purse until the moment came when, looking into 
 it, she found one of the five-dollar gold pieces gone. 
 It became pretty clear that the piece had disap- 
 peared at a moment when the purse was out of her 
 possession, a fact which she had not previously re- 
 membered but had believed the contrary. The 
 hundred and one previously forgotten details which 
 surged into her mind as vivid conscious recollec- 
 tions would take too long to narrate. 
 
 * Later in the day she discovered the loss of her gloves and, not 
 remembering where she had left them, was obliged to retrace her 
 steps in search of them.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 27 
 
 (I have made quite a number of experiments of 
 this kind with similar results. That the memories 
 are not fabrications is shown by the fact that, as 
 they arise, they become recollections in the sense 
 that the subject can then consciously recall the 
 events and place them in time and space as one does 
 in ordinary memory, and particularly by the fact 
 that many of them are often capable of confirma- 
 tion. 
 
 I would here point out that the recovery of for- 
 gotten experiences by the method of abstraction 
 differs in one important psychological respect from 
 their recovery by automatic writing. In the former 
 case the recalled experiences being brought back 
 by associative memories enter into the associations 
 and become true conscious recollections, like any 
 other recollections, while in automatic writing the 
 memories are reproduced in script without enter- 
 ing the personal consciousness at all and while the 
 subject is still in ignorance. Often even after read- 
 ing the script his memory still remains a blank. It 
 is much as if one's ideas had been preserved on a 
 phonographic record and later reproduced without 
 awakening a memory of their original occurrence.* 
 The significance of this difference for the theory 
 
 * Of course the memories recovered by either method may be 
 fabrications as with ordinary voluntary memory, and the automatic 
 script may stimulate the conscious memory to recollect the expe- 
 riences in question. Nevertheless, while the memories are being re- 
 corded by the script, no ' ' conscious ' ' memory is present with sub- 
 jects who are unaware of what the hand is writing.
 
 28 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 of conservation I will point out later after we have 
 considered some other modes of reproduction.) 
 
 Among the conserved forgotten experiences are 
 often to be found fleeting thoughts, ideas, and per- 
 ceptions, so insignificant and trifling that it would 
 not be expected that they would be remembered. 
 Some of them may have entered only the margin or 
 fringe of the content of consciousness, and, there- 
 fore, the subject was only dimly aware of them. 
 Some may have been so far outside the focus of 
 awareness that there was no awareness of them at 
 all, i. e., they were subconscious. Instructive ex- 
 amples of such conserved experiences may be found 
 in persons who suffer from attacks of phobia, i. e., 
 obsessions. The experiences to which I refer occur 
 immediately before and during the attacks. After 
 the attack the ideas of these periods are usually 
 largely or wholly forgotten, particularly the ideas 
 which were in the fringe of consciousness and the 
 idea which, according to my observation, was the 
 exciting cause of the attack. By the method of 
 abstraction I have been able to recover the content 
 of consciousness during the periods in question, in- 
 cluding the fringe of consciousness, and thus dis- 
 cover the nature of the fear of which the patient 
 was unaware because the idea was in the fringe. 
 
 Mrs. C. D., whom I have mentioned as having 
 suffered intensely from attacks of fear, and Miss 
 F. E., who is similarly afflicted with such attacks 
 accompanied by the feeling of unreality, are in- 
 stances in point. As is well known such attacks
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 29 
 
 come on suddenly in the midst of mental tranquil- 
 lity, often without apparent cause so far as the pa- 
 tient can discover. While in the state of abstraction 
 the thoughts, perceptions, and acts of the period 
 just preceding and during the attack, as they suc- 
 cessively occurred, could be evoked in these sub- 
 jects in great detail and with striking vividness. 
 The recovery of these memories has been always a 
 surprise to the patient who, a moment before, had 
 been utterly unable to recall them, and had declared 
 the attack had developed without cause. In the case 
 of Mrs. C. D. it was discovered in this way the real 
 fear was of fainting and death, and in that of Miss 
 F. E. of insanity. These ideas having been in the 
 fringe of consciousness, or background of the mind, 
 the subjects were at the time scarcely aware of 
 them and, therefore, were ignorant of the true 
 nature of their phobias, notwithstanding the over- 
 whelming intensity of the attacks. Among the 
 memories recovered in these and other cases I have 
 always been able to find one of a thought or of a 
 sensory stimulus from the environment which im- 
 mediately preceded and which through association 
 occasioned the attack. When this particular mem- 
 ory was recovered the patient, who had declared 
 that the attack had developed without cause, at once 
 recognized the original idea which was the cause 
 of the attack, just as one recognizes the idea which 
 causes one to blush. The idea sometimes has been 
 a thought suggested by a casual and apparently in- 
 significant word in a sentence occurring in a con-
 
 30 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 versation on indifferent matters, or by a dimly 
 conscious perception of the environment, sometimes 
 an idea occurring as a secondary train of thought 
 perhaps bearing upon some future course of action, 
 and so on. 
 
 As instances of such dimly-conscious perceptions 
 of the environment which I have found I may men- 
 tion a gateway through which the subject was 
 passing, or a bridge about to be crossed; these 
 particular points in the environment being places 
 where previous attacks had occurred. The percep- 
 tions which precipitated the attack may have been 
 entirely subconscious and yet may be brought back 
 to memory. With the pathogenesis of the attacks 
 we are not now directly concerned. The point of 
 interest for us lies in the fact that such forgotten 
 casual ideas and perceptions, some of which had 
 been actually subconscious and some had only en- 
 tered the margin of the focus of attention may, not- 
 withstanding the amnesia, be conserved; and the 
 same is true of any succession of trivial ideas occur- 
 ring at an inconsequential moment in a person 's life. 
 
 However that may be, if you will try to recall 
 in exact detail the thoughts and feelings which suc- 
 cessively passed through your mind at any given 
 moment say three or four weeks ago or even days 
 ago and their accompanying acts, and then (if you 
 can do this, which I very much doubt) try to give 
 them in their original sequence, I think you will 
 realize the force of these observations and appre- 
 ciate the significance of the conservation of such
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 31 
 
 minute experiences and of their reproduction in 
 abstraction. 
 
 Evidence furnished by the method of hypnosis. It is al- 
 most common knowledge that when a person is 
 hypnotized whether lightly or deeply he may be 
 able to remember once well-known events of his 
 conscious life which he has totally forgotten in the 
 full w^aking state. It is not so generally known that 
 he may also be able to recall conscious events of 
 which he was never consciously aware, that is to 
 say, experiences which were entirely subconscious. 
 The same is true, of course, of forgotten experi- 
 ences which originally had entered only the margin 
 of the content of consciousness and of which he was 
 dimly aware. Among the experiences thus recalled 
 may be perceptions of minute details of the environ- 
 ment which escape the attentive notice of the in- 
 dividual, or they may be thoughts which were in 
 the background of the mind and, therefore, never 
 in the full light of attention. You must not fall into 
 the common error of believing every hypnotized per- 
 son can do this, or that any person can do it in 
 any state of hypnosis. There are various "de- 
 grees" or states of hypnosis representing different 
 conditions of dissociation and synthesis. One per- 
 son may successively be put into several different 
 states; many persons can be put into only one, but 
 the degree of dissociation and capacity for syn- 
 thesis in each state and in every person varies very 
 much, and, indeed, according to the technical devices
 
 32 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 employed. Each state is apt to exhibit different 
 systems of memories, that is, to synthesize (recall) 
 past conserved experiences in a different degree. 
 What cannot be recalled in one state may be in 
 another. We may say as a general principle that 
 theoretically any experience that has been con- 
 served can be recalled in some state, and, con- 
 versely, there is theoretically some state in which 
 any conserved experience can be recalled. Practi- 
 cally, of course, we can never induce a state which 
 synthesizes all conserved experiences, nor always 
 one in which any given experience is synthesized. I 
 shall later, in connection with particular types of 
 conscious states, give examples of hypnotic mem- 
 ories showing conservation of such experiences as I 
 have just mentioned. The point you will not lose 
 sight of is that we are concerned with hypnotic 
 phenomena only so far as they may be evidence of 
 the conservation of forgotten experiences. 
 
 There is a class of hypnotic memory phenomena 
 which acquire additional importance because of the 
 bearing they have upon the psycho-genesis of cer- 
 tain pathological conditions. They show the con- 
 servation of the details of an episode in their 
 original chronological order with an exactness that 
 is beyond the powers of voluntary memory to repro- 
 duce. These phenomena consist of the realistic re- 
 production of certain emotional episodes which as 
 a whole may or may not be forgotten. The repro- 
 duction is realistic in the sense that the episodes
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 33 
 
 are acted over again by the individual as if once 
 more he were actually experiencing them. Appar- 
 ently every detail is reproduced, including the 
 emotion with its facial expressions and its other 
 physiological manifestations, and pathological dis- 
 turbances like pain, paralysis, anesthesia, move- 
 ments, etc. I will cite the following three examples : 
 
 M 1, a Eussian, living in this country, suffers 
 
 from psycholeptic attacks dating from an episode 
 which occurred seven years previously and which 
 he has completely forgotten. At that time he was 
 living in Russia. It happened that after returning 
 from a ball he was sent back late at night by his 
 employer, a woman, to look for a ring which she 
 had lost in the ballroom. His way led over a lonely 
 road by a graveyard. As he was passing this place 
 he heard footsteps behind him and became fright- 
 ened. Overcome with terror he fell, partially un- 
 conscious, and his whole right side became affected 
 with spasms and paralysis. He was picked up in 
 this condition and taken to a hospital. Each year 
 since that time he has had recurring attacks of 
 spasms and paralysis.* 
 
 In hypnosis he remembers and relates a dream. 
 This dream is one which recurs periodically but is 
 forgotten after waking from sleep. This is the 
 dream : He is back in his native land ; it is the night 
 of the ball; he sees his employer with outstretched 
 hand commanding him to go search for the ring. 
 
 * Sidis, Prince, and Linenthal : A contribution to the Pathology 
 of Hysteria, Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, June 23, 1904.
 
 34 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Once more he makes his way along the lonely road; 
 he hears footsteps; he becomes frightened, falls, 
 and then awakes, with entire oblivion for the dream, 
 to find his right side paralyzed and in spasms. 
 
 The following experiment is now made. By sug- 
 gestion in hypnosis he is made to believe that he 
 is fifteen years of age. As a consequence in his 
 hypnotic dream he is once more living in Russia 
 before he had learned English. It is now found that 
 he has spontaneously lost all knowledge of the 
 English language and can speak only Eussian. He 
 is told it is the night of the ball and, as in a dream, 
 he is carried successively through the different 
 events of that night. Finally he returns in search 
 of the ring, passes again over the lonely road, hears 
 the footsteps and becomes frightened. At this 
 point his face is suddenly contorted with an expres- 
 sion of fright, the whole right side becomes para- 
 lyzed and anesthetic, and the muscles of face, arm, 
 and leg affected with clonic spasms. At the same 
 time he moans with pain which he experiences in 
 his side, which he hurt when he fell. Though con- 
 sciousness is confused he answers questions and 
 describes the pain which he feels. On being awak- 
 ened all passes off. 
 
 Mrs. W. on her return to Boston after an ab- 
 sence in Europe happened to pass by a certain 
 house on her way to her hotel; the house (a private 
 hospital) was one with which she had very distress- 
 ing associations. On leaving the steamer she took 
 a street car which she left a block distant from the
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 35 
 
 hotel. She walked this distance and as she passed 
 the house she was seized with a sudden attack of 
 fear, dizziness, palpitation, etc. Although it is 
 beside the point I may say that she had not noticed 
 the locality and did not consciously recognize the 
 house until the attack developed. The attack was, 
 therefore, induced by a subconscious perception.* 
 She recalls the incident and describes the attack, 
 remembers that it occurred at this particular spot, 
 but without further detail. 
 
 Now in hypnosis she is taken back to the day of 
 her arrival on the steamship. In imagination, as 
 in a sort of dream, she is living over again that 
 day ; she disembarks from the ship, enters the street 
 car in which she rides a certain distance ; she leaves 
 the car at the point nearest her destination and pro- 
 ceeds to walk the remainder of the distance; sud- 
 denly her face exhibits the liveliest emotion; she 
 becomes strongly agitated and her respiration is 
 short and quick ; her head and eyes turn toward the 
 left and upward, as if in search of a cause, and 
 she exclaims, "Yes, that's it, that's it," as she 
 recognizes in imagination the house which had been 
 the scene of her previous distress. Then the at- 
 tack subsides as she passes by, continuing her way 
 toward her hotel. 
 
 Mrs. E. B. suffers from traumatic hysteria as the 
 
 * The Dissociation of a Personality, by Morton Prince. (New 
 York; Longmans, Green & Co., 1906.) P. 77. Hereafter, when this 
 work is referred to, the title will be indicated simply by ' ' The Dis- 
 sociation. ' '
 
 36 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 result of a slight but emotional accident a fall 
 when alighting from a railway train. The accident 
 resulted in a sprained shoulder and neuritis of the 
 arm. She fully remembers the accident and de- 
 scribes it as any one might. 
 
 When put into hypnosis, however, the memory 
 assumes a different character. She is taken back in 
 imagination to the scene of the accident. Once 
 more the train is entering the station; she leaves 
 the car, steps from the platform upon a truck ; then, 
 unawares, steps off the truck and falls to the 
 ground. As she falls her face suddenly becomes 
 distorted with fear; tears stream down her cheeks, 
 which become suffused; her heart palpitates; she 
 suffers again acute pain in her arm, and so on. Her 
 physical and mental anguish is painful to look upon. 
 Though I try to persuade her that she is not hurt 
 and that the accident is a delusion my effort is not 
 very successful. 
 
 In this experiment, as in the others, there is sub- 
 stantially a reproduction in all its details of the 
 content of consciousness which obtained at the time 
 of the accident, and also of the emotion and its phys- 
 iological manifestations all were faithfully con- 
 served. Further, each event follows in the same 
 chronological sequence as in the original experience. 
 
 But in these observations the reproduction differs 
 somewhat from that of ordinary memory. It is in 
 the form of a dream, hypnotic or normal, and the 
 subject goes back to the time of the experience, 
 which he thinks is the present, and actually lives
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 37 
 
 over again the original episode. Unlike the condi- 
 tions of ordinary memory the whole content of his 
 consciousness is practically limited to that which 
 originally was present, all else, the present and the 
 intervening past, being dissociated and excluded. 
 The original psychological processes and their 
 psycho-physiological accompaniments (pain, paral- 
 ysis, anesthesia, spasms, etc.) repeat themselves as 
 if the present were the past. Plainly, for such a 
 reproduction, the original episode must have left 
 conserved dispositions of some kind which when 
 excited were capable of reenacting the episode in 
 all its psycho-physiological details. From a con- 
 sideration of such phenomena it is easy to under- 
 stand how certain psycho-neuroses may be properly 
 regarded as memories of certain past experiences. 
 The experiences are conserved and under certain 
 conditions reproduced from time to time. 
 
 I may cite one other experiment dealing with the 
 conservation of the details of a day's experiences 
 after the lapse of several months. The subject was 
 a little girl who suffered from hysterical tics. Hop- 
 ing to discover the exciting cause of her nervous 
 disturbance, I put her into deep hypnosis, and 
 evoked the memories of the events of the day on 
 which her disease developed, about six months pre- 
 viously. It was astonishing to hear her recall a 
 continuous series of precise thoughts and acts, 
 many of them trivial, of the kind that would be 
 transient and forgotten by anybody. She began
 
 38 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 with the events of the early morning, giving her 
 own thoughts and acts; the remarks of her father 
 and mother, describing exactly the location in the 
 house at the time of each member of the family ; her 
 arrival at school; the several lessons of the day; 
 the remarks of the teacher; the happenings during 
 recess ; her final entry into the laboratory ; and the 
 sudden onset of the tic. Everything was given in 
 chronological order. The memories were vivid and, 
 as they came up into her mind, were recognized as 
 true recollections.* All this was forgotten when 
 she was awake, that is to say, although conserved, 
 it could not be reproduced. There was no way, of 
 course, of determining the accuracy of these mem- 
 ories and, therefore, their correctness lacks scien- 
 tific proof. On the other hand, the facts, which are 
 in entire correspondence with similar results ob- 
 tained under conditions where confirmation is possi- 
 ble, have value as cumulative evidence.f 
 
 It is not difficult to arrange experiments which 
 will test the accuracy with which the minute details 
 of experiences may be conserved when reproduction 
 
 * Undoubtedly much was forgotten and, therefore, there must 
 have been hiatuses of which she was not aware; but the remarkable 
 thing is that not only so much, but so much that was inconsequential 
 and evanescent was recalled. If additional technical methods had 
 been employed probably more memories could have been recalled. 
 
 f The objection will probably be made that the memories and 
 statements of hypnotized persons are unreliable on several grounds, 
 chiefly suggestibility, liability to illusions and, in some cases, ten- 
 dency to fabrications. This criticism is more likely to come from 
 those who have had a special rather than a wide experience with 
 hypnotism.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 39 
 
 is at fault. A simple test is to have a suitable sub- 
 ject endeavor to repeat verbatim the contents of a 
 letter written by him at some preceding time one 
 week, two weeks, a month, or more. Few people, 
 of course, can do this. If, now, the subject is a suit- 
 able one for the abstraction or hypnotic method it 
 may be that he will be able to reproduce by one or 
 the other method the test letter, word for word; a 
 comparison of the reproduction with the letter will, 
 of course, determine the accuracy of the memory. 
 In such an experiment I have succeeded in getting 
 two subjects, Miss B.* and B. C. A., to repeat ver- 
 batim the contents of fairly long letters, and this 
 even, on certain occasions, when, on account of the 
 subject being a dissociated personality, there was 
 no recollection of the letter at all, not even that it 
 had been written. Such minute reproduction 
 affords further evidence that the conservation of 
 experiences may be much more complete and exact 
 than ordinary conscious memory would lead us to 
 suppose. 
 
 Evidence from hallucinatory phenomena. I may men- 
 tion one more example of conservation of a forgot- 
 ten experience of everyday life as it is an example 
 or mode of reproduction which differs in certain im- 
 portant respects both from that of ordinary 
 memory and that observed under the artificial 
 
 * Miss B., in these pages, always refers to Miss Beauchamp, an 
 account of whose case is given in ' ' The Dissociation. ' ' In this 
 connection cf. pp. 501, 81 and 238 of that work.
 
 40 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 methods thus far described. This mode is that of 
 a visual or an auditory hallucination which may be 
 an exact reproduction in vividness and detail of 
 the original experience. It is a type of a certain 
 class of memory phenomena. One of my subjects, 
 while in a condition of considerable stress of mind 
 owing to the recurrence of the anniversary of her 
 wedding-day, had a vision of her deceased husband, 
 who addressed to her a certain consoling message. 
 It afterwards transpired that this message was an 
 actual reproduction of the words which a friend, in 
 the course of a conversation some months previ- 
 ously, had quoted to her as the words of her own 
 husband just before his death. In the vision the 
 words were put into the mouth of another person, 
 the subject's husband, and were actually heard as 
 an hallucination. Under the peculiar circumstances 
 of their occurrence, however, these words awakened 
 no sense of familiarity; nor did she recognize the 
 source of the words until the automatic writing, 
 which I later obtained, described the circumstances 
 and details of the original episode. Then the ori- 
 ginal experience came back vividly to memory. On 
 the other hand, the "automatic writing" not only 
 remembered the experience but recognized the con- 
 nection between it and the hallucination. (The 
 truth of the writing is corroborated by the written 
 testimony of the other party to the conversation.) 
 Although such types of hallucinatory memories 
 are not actual reproductions of an experience but 
 rather translated representations, yet they show
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 41 
 
 the experience must have been conserved in order 
 to have determined the representation. The actual 
 experience, as we shall see later, is translated into 
 a visual or auditory form which pictures or verb- 
 ally expresses it, as the case may be. This type of 
 hallucination is common. That which is translated 
 may be previous thoughts, or perceptions received 
 through another sense. Thus Mrs. Holland records 
 a visual hallucination which pictured a verbal de- 
 scription previously narrated to her by a friend, 
 but forgotten. The hallucination included "the fig- 
 ure of a very tall thin man, dressed in gray, stand- 
 ing with his back to the fire. He had a long face, I 
 think a mustache certainly no beard and sug- 
 gested young middle age." ... On a second occa- 
 sion "the tall figure in gray was lying on the bed 
 in a very flung-down, slack- join ted attitude. The 
 face was turned from me, the right arm hanging 
 back across the body which lay on the left side. I 
 started violently and my foot seemed to strike an 
 empty bottle on the floor. ' ' 
 
 There is very little doubt that these visions of 
 Mrs. Holland's represented Mr. Gurney, who had 
 died from an accidental dose of chloroform. Mrs. 
 Holland "took very little interest" in Mr. Gurney, 
 hence she had entirely forgotten that the main facts 
 of his death had been told to her a few months pre- 
 viously by the narrator, Miss Alice Johnson.* 
 
 In an hallucination of this sort we have a dra- 
 matic pictorial representation of previous though 
 
 * Proceedings of the S. P. R., June, 1908.
 
 42 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 forgotten knowledge which must have determined 
 it. In order to have determined the hallucination 
 the knowledge must have been conserved somehow. 
 I have frequently observed a similar reproduction 
 of a forgotten experience, which was not visual, 
 through translation into a newly created visual 
 representation in the form of an artificial hallucina- 
 tion. The following is of this kind : Miss B., look- 
 ing into a crystal,* saw a scene laid in a wood near 
 a lake, etc. Several figures appeared in this scene, 
 which was that of a murder. Although she had no 
 recollection of anything that could have given rise 
 to the hallucination, investigation showed that the 
 original experience was to be found in one of Marie 
 Correlli's novels which she had read but forgotten. 
 The vision was a correct representation of the 
 scene as described in the book. 
 
 In suitable subjects almost any past experience, 
 whether forgotten or not, can be reproduced in this 
 way if conserved, and observation shows that the 
 number which are conserved is enormous. I shall 
 
 * Crystal or artificial visions are hallucinatory phenomena which, 
 like automatic writing, can be cultivated by some people. The com- 
 mon technic is to have a person look into a crystal, at the same time 
 concentrating the mind, or putting himself into a state of abstrac- 
 tion. Under these conditions the subject sees a vision, i. e., has a 
 visual hallucination. The vision may be of some person or place, or 
 may represent a scene which may be enacted. Because of the use of 
 a crystal such hallucinations are called ' ' crystal visions, ' ' but a 
 crystal is not requisite; any reflecting surface may be sufficient, or 
 even the concentration of the attention. The crystal or other ob- 
 ject used of course acts only by aiding the concentration of atten- 
 tion and by force of suggestion. The subconscious is tapped.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 43 
 
 have occasion to cite further examples in other con- 
 nections. The phenomenon of translation we shall 
 find when we come to study it, as we shall do in 
 another lecture, throws light upon the nature of 
 conservation for here we are dealing with some- 
 thing more than simple reproduction; what is con- 
 served becomes elaborated into a new composition. 
 
 Evidence obtained from dreams. Another not uncom- 
 mon mode in which forgotten experiences are re- 
 covered is through dreams. The content of the 
 dream may, as Freud has shown, be a cryptic and 
 symbolical expression or representation of the ex- 
 perience,* or a visualized representation or obvious 
 symbolism, much as a painted picture may be a 
 symbolized expression of an idea,t or it may be 
 a realistic reproduction in the sense that the sub- 
 ject lives over again the actual experience. A 
 relative of mine gave me a very accurate descrip- 
 tion of a person whom she had never seen from a 
 dream in which he appeared. After describing his 
 hair, eyes, contour of face, mouth, etc., she ended 
 with the words, "He looks like a cross between a 
 Scotchman and an Irishman." After she had most 
 positively insisted that she had never seen this 
 person or heard him described against my pro- 
 test to the contrary I reminded her that I had 
 myself described him to her only a few days before 
 
 * Freud: Traumdeutung, 2 aufl. 1909. 
 
 f Morton Prince : The Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams. 
 The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, October- November, 1910.
 
 44 Tffi2 UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 in the identical words, ending my description with 
 the remark, "He looks like a cross between a 
 Scotchman and an Irishman. ' ' Even then she could 
 not recall the fact. Von Bechterew has recorded 
 the case of a man who frequently after hearing an 
 opera dreamed the whole opera through.* One sub- 
 ject of mine frequently dreamed over again in very 
 minute detail, after an interval of eight or nine 
 months, the scenes attending the deathbed of a 
 relative. Indeed, in the dream she realistically 
 lived them again in a fashion similar to that of 
 hypnotic dreams such as I have related. Although 
 she had not forgotten these scenes it is highly im- 
 probable that she could have voluntarily recalled 
 them, particularly after the lapse of so long a time, 
 without the aid of the dream, so rich was it in detail, 
 with each event in its chronological order. 
 
 Dream reproductions, whether in a symbolic 
 form or not, are too common to need further state- 
 ment. I would merely point out that the frequency 
 with which childhood's experiences occur in dreams 
 is further evidence of the conservation of these 
 early experiences. The symbolic dream, cryptic or 
 obvious, deserves, however, special consideration 
 because of the data it offers to the problem of the 
 nature of conservation which we shall later study. 
 In this type of dream, if the fundamental principle 
 of the theory of Freud is correct, the content is a 
 
 * Zentralblatt f iir Nervenheilkunde und Psychiatric ; 1909, Heft 
 12.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 45 
 
 symbolical continuation in some form of an antece- 
 dent thought (experience) of the dreamer.* When 
 this thought, which may be forgotten, is recovered 
 the symbolic character of the dream, in many cases, 
 is recognized beyond reasonable doubt.f If this 
 principle is well established, and nearly all investi- 
 gators are in accord on this point, though we need 
 not always accept the given interpretation of in- 
 dividual dreams if the principle is sound, then it 
 follows that symbolism includes memory of the ori- 
 ginal experience which must be conserved. So that 
 even this type of dream offers evidence of conserva- 
 tion of experiences for which there may be total loss 
 of memory (amnesia). 
 
 Before closing this lecture I will return to the 
 point which I temporarily passed by, namely, the 
 significance of the difference in the form of repro- 
 duction according as whether it is by automatic 
 writing or through associative memories in abstrac- 
 tion. In the latter case, as we have seen, the mem- 
 ories are identical in form and principle with those 
 of everyday life. They enter the personal con- 
 sciousness and become conscious memories in the 
 sense that the individual personally remembers the 
 experience in question. Abstraction may be re- 
 garded simply as a favorable condition or moment 
 
 * According to Freud and his school it is always the imaginary 
 fulfilment of a suppressed wish, almost always sexual. For our pur- 
 poses it is not necessary to inquire into the correctness of this in- 
 terpretation or the details of the Freudian theory. 
 
 f For an example, see p. 98.
 
 46 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 when the subject remembers what he had at another 
 previous moment forgotten. We have seen also 
 that the same thing is true of remembering in 
 hypnosis (excepting those special realistic repro- 
 ductions when the subject enters a dream-like or 
 somnambulistic state and lives over again the past 
 experience in question). In automatic writing, on 
 the other hand, the reproduction is by a secondary 
 process entirely separate and independent of the 
 personal consciousness. In the examples I cited the 
 latter was in entire ignorance of the reproduction 
 which did not become a personally conscious mem- 
 ory. At the very same moment when the experi- 
 ences could not be voluntarily remembered, and 
 without a change in the moment's consciousness, 
 something was tapped, as it were, and thereby they 
 were graphically revealed without the knowledge of 
 the subject, without memory of them being intro- 
 duced into the personal consciousness, and even 
 without the subject being able to remember the in- 
 cident after reading the automatic script. Even 
 this stimulus failed to bring back the desired phase 
 of consciousness. It was very much like surrepti- 
 tiously inserting your hand into the pocket of an- 
 other and secretly withdrawing an object which he 
 thinks he has lost. What really happened was this : 
 a secondary process was awakened and this process 
 (of which the principal or personal consciousness 
 was unaware) revealed the memory lost by the per- 
 sonal consciousness. At least this is the interpreta-
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 47 
 
 tion which is the one which all the phenomena of 
 this kind pertaining to subconscious manifestations 
 compel us to draw.* At any rate the automatic 
 script showed that somehow and somewhere outside 
 the personal consciousness the experiences were con- 
 served and under certain conditions could be repro- 
 duced. 
 
 We now also see that the same principle of repro- 
 duction by a secondary process holds in hallucina- 
 tory phenomena whether artificial or spontaneous, 
 and in many dreams. When a person looking into a 
 crystal sees a scene which is a truthful pictorial rep- 
 resentation of an actual past experience which he 
 does not consciously remember, it follows that that 
 visual hallucination must be induced and con- 
 structed by some secondary subconscious process 
 outside of and independent of the processes in- 
 volved in his personal consciousness. And, like- 
 wise, when a dream is a translation of a forgotten 
 experience into symbolical terms it follows that 
 there must be, underlying the dream consciousness, 
 some subconscious process which continues and 
 translates the original experience into and con- 
 structs the dream. 
 
 This being so we are forced to two conclusions : 
 first, in all these types of phenomena the secondary 
 process must in some way be closely related to the 
 
 * If the physiological interpretation be maintained, i. e., that the 
 script was produced by a pure physiological process, this phenomenon 
 would be a crucial demonstration of the nature of conservation, that 
 it is in the form of physical alterations in nervous structure. I do 
 not believe, however, that this interpretation can be maintained.
 
 48 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 original experience in order to reproduce it; and, 
 second, a mental experience must be conserved in 
 some form which permits of a subconscious process 
 reproducing the experience in one or other of the 
 various forms in which memory appears. Further 
 than this I will not go at present, not until we have 
 more extensively reviewed the number and kinds of 
 mental experiences that may be conserved. This 
 we will do in the next lecture.
 
 CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF 
 NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE 
 
 I. Normal Life (Continued) 
 
 I have directed your attention up to this point to 
 the conservation of experiences which at the time 
 of their occurrence, although lost beyond voluntary 
 recall, for the most part occupied the focus of at- 
 tention of the individual were within the full light 
 of consciousness. If these experiences were the 
 only ones which were subject to conservation and 
 I would have you still bear in mind that I am using 
 the term only in the limited sense of the ability to 
 recover an experience in some favorable condition, 
 or moment of consciousness, or through some for- 
 tunate or technical mode of reproduction if, I say, 
 these were the only ones to be conserved, then the 
 conservation of the experiences which make up our 
 mental lives would be considerably curtailed. It so 
 happens, however, that a large part of our mental 
 activity is occupied with acts of which at the mo- 
 ment we are only dimly aware or half aware in 
 that they do not occupy the focus of attention. 
 Some of these are what we call absent-minded acts. 
 Again, many sensations and perceptions do not en- 
 
 49
 
 50 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ter the focus of attention, so that we are either not 
 aware of them, or, if we are, there is so little vivid- 
 ness attached to them that they are almost immedi- 
 ately lost to voluntary memory. The same is true 
 of certain trains of thoughts which course through 
 the mind while one's attention is concentrated on 
 some other line of thought. They are sometimes 
 described as being in the background of the mind. 
 Then, again, we have our dream life, and that of 
 reverie, and the important artificial state of hyp- 
 nosis ; also certain pathological states to which some 
 individuals are subject, such as intoxication, hys- 
 terical crises, deliria, and multiple personality. Ac- 
 cordingly it is important in any investigation into 
 the extent of the field of conservation to inquire 
 whether all this mental life is only fleeting, eva- 
 nescent, psychological experience, or whether it is 
 subject to the same principle of conservation. If 
 the latter be the case it presages consequences 
 which are portentous in the possible multiplicity 
 and manifoldness of the elements which may enter 
 into and may govern the mechanism of mental pro- 
 cesses. But let me not get ahead of my exposition. 
 
 Absent-minded acts In a study made some time 
 ago I recorded the reproduction, as a crystal vision, 
 of an absent-minded act, i. e., one which had not fully 
 entered the focus of consciousness during deep con- 
 centration of the attention. It is a type of numer- 
 ous experiments of this kind that I have made. 
 Miss B. is directed to look into a crystal. She sees
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 51 
 
 therein a vision of herself walking along a particu- 
 lar street in Boston in a brown study. She sees 
 herself take out of her pocket some bank notes, tear 
 them up, and throw them into the street. Now this 
 artificial hallucination, or vision, was a picture of 
 an actual occurrence; in an absent-minded reverie 
 the subject had actually performed this very act 
 under the circumstances portrayed in the vision and 
 had retained no memory of it.* 
 
 Similarly I have frequently recovered knowledge 
 of the whereabouts of articles mislaid absent- 
 mindedly. Sometimes the method used has been, as 
 in the above examples, that of crystal gazing or 
 artificial hallucinations; sometimes hypnotism, 
 sometimes automatic writing, etc. By the last two 
 methods not only the forgotten acts but the ideas 
 and feelings which were outside the focus of atten- 
 tion, but in the fringe of consciousness, and 
 prompted the acts are described. It is needless to 
 give the details of the observations; it suffices to 
 say that each minute detail of the absent-minded 
 act and the thoughts and feelings that determined it 
 are described or mirrored, as the case may be. The 
 point of importance is that concentration of atten- 
 tion is not essential for conservation, and, there- 
 fore, among the vast mass of the conserved ex- 
 periences of life may be found many which, though 
 
 * For a full account of this experiment, see An Experimental 
 Study of Visions, Brain, Winter Number, 1898; The Dissociation, 
 pp. 81, 82.
 
 52 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 once conscious, only entered the margin of aware- 
 ness (not the focus of attention) and never were 
 subject to voluntary recollection. In the absence of 
 attentive awareness at the time for such an experi- 
 ence (and therefore of recollection), we often can 
 only be assured that it ever occurred by circumstan- 
 tial evidence. When this assurance is wanting we 
 are tempted to deny its occurrence and our respon- 
 sibility, but experiment shows that the process of 
 conservation, like the dictagraph, is a more faithful 
 custodian of our experiences than are our volun- 
 tary memories. 
 
 Subconscious perceptions It is not difficult to show 
 that perceptions of the environment which never 
 even entered the fringe of the personal conscious- 
 ness, i. e., of which the individual was never even 
 dimly aware, may be conserved. Indeed, the dem- 
 onstration of their conservation is one of the im- 
 portant pieces of evidence for the occurrence of co- 
 conscious perception and, therefore, of the splitting 
 of consciousness. Mrs. Holland, both by automatic 
 writing and in hypnosis, describes perceptions of 
 the environment (objects seen, etc.) of which she 
 was not aware at the time. Miss B. and B. C. A. re- 
 call, in hypnosis and by automatic writing, para- 
 graphs in the newspapers read through casual 
 glances without awareness thereof. The same is 
 true of perceptions of the environment experienced 
 under experimental conditions as well as fortui- 
 tously. I have made a large number of experiments
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 53 
 
 and other observations of this kind, and have been 
 in the habit of demonstrating before the students at 
 my lectures this evidence of coconscious perception. 
 A simple method is to ask a suitable subject to de- 
 scribe the dress of some person in the audience, or 
 of objects in the environment; if he is unable to do 
 this, then to attempt to obtain as minute a descrip- 
 tion as possible by automatic writing or verbally 
 after he has been hypnotized. It is often quite sur- 
 prising to note with what detail the objects which al- 
 most entirely escaped conscious observation are sub- 
 consciously perceived and remembered. Sometimes 
 the descriptions of my students have been quite em- 
 barrassing from their naive truthfulness to nature. 
 
 The following is an example of such an observa- 
 tion: I asked B. C. A. (without warning and after 
 having covered her eyes) to describe the dress of a 
 friend who was present and with whom she had 
 been conversing for perhaps some twenty minutes. 
 She was unable to do so beyond saying that he wore 
 dark clothes. I then found that I myself was unable 
 to give a more detailed description of his dress, al- 
 though we had lunched and been together about two 
 hours. B. C. A. was then asked to write a descrip- 
 tion automatically. Her hand wrote as follows (she 
 was unaware that her hand was writing) : 
 
 "He has on a dark greenish gray suit, a stripe in 
 it little rough stripe; black bow-cravat; shirt with 
 three little stripes in it; black laced shoes; false 
 teeth ; one finger gone ; three buttons on his coat. ' ' 
 
 The written description was absolutely correct.
 
 54' THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 The stripes in the coat were almost invisible. I 
 had not noticed his teeth or the loss of a finger and 
 we had to count the buttons to make sure of their 
 number owing to their partial concealment by the 
 folds of the unbuttoned coat. The shoe strings I am 
 sure, under the conditions, would have escaped 
 nearly everyone 's observation. 
 
 Subconscious perceptions even more than absent- 
 minded acts offer some of the most interesting phe- 
 nomena of conservation, for these phenomena give 
 evidence of the ability, under certain conditions, to 
 reproduce, in one mode or another, experiences 
 which were never a phase of the personal conscious- 
 ness, never entered even the fringe of the content 
 of this consciousness and of which, therefore, we 
 were never aware. For this reason they are not, 
 properly speaking, forgotten experiences. Their 
 reproduction sometimes produces dramatic effects. 
 The following is an instance: B. C. A., waking one 
 night out of a sound sleep, saw a vision of a young 
 girl dressed in white, standing at the foot of her 
 bed. The vision was extraordinarily vivid, the face 
 so distinct that she was able to give a detailed de- 
 scription of it. She had no recollection of having 
 seen the face before, and it awakened no sense of 
 familiarity. Suspecting, for certain reasons, the 
 figure to be that of a young girl who had recently 
 died and whom I knew that B. C. A. had never 
 known and was not aware that she had ever seen, I 
 placed before her a collection of a dozen or more 
 photographs of different people among which was
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 55 
 
 one of this girl. This photograph she picked out 
 as the one which most resembled the vision (it was 
 a poor likeness) and automatic writing confirmed 
 most positively the choice. Now it transpired that 
 she had passed by this girl on one occasion while 
 the latter was talking to me in the hall of my house, 
 but she had purposely, for certain reasons, not 
 looked at her. Subconsciously, however, she had 
 seen her since she could give, both in hypnosis and 
 by automatic writing, an accurate account of the 
 incident, which I also remembered. B. C. A., how- 
 ever, had no recollection of it. The subconscious 
 perception was later reproduced (after having 
 undergone secondary elaboration) as a vision. 
 
 Similarly I have known paragraphs read in the 
 newspapers out of the corner of her eye, so to speak, 
 and probably by casual glances, not only, as I have 
 said, to be recalled in hypnosis and by automatic 
 writing, but to be reproduced with more or less 
 elaboration in her dreams. She had, as the evidence 
 showed, no awareness at the time of having read 
 these paragraphs and no after recollection of the 
 same. 
 
 Experimentally, as I have said, it is possible to 
 demonstrate other phenomena which are the same 
 in principle. The experiment consists, after sur- 
 reptitiously placing objects under proper precau- 
 tions in the peripheral field of vision, in having the 
 subject fix his eyes on central vision and his atten- 
 tion distracted from the environment by intense 
 concentration or reading. Immediately after re-
 
 56 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 moving the objects it is determined that the subject 
 did not consciously perceive them. But in hypno- 
 sis or by other methods it is found that memory for 
 perceptions of the peripheral objects returns, i. e., 
 the perceptions are reproduced. Auditory stimuli 
 may be used as tests with similar results. 
 
 Likewise, with Miss B., I have frequently ob- 
 tained reproductions of perceptions of which at the 
 time she was unaware. This has been either under 
 similar experimental conditions, or under acciden- 
 tal circumstances when I could confirm the accuracy 
 of the reproductions. For instance, to cite one out 
 of numerous examples, on one occasion I saw her 
 pass by in the street while I was standing on the 
 door-step of a house some fifteen or twenty feet 
 away, well outside the line of her central vision. 
 She was in a brown study. I called to her three 
 times saying, "Good morning, Miss B.," laying the 
 accent each time on a different word. She did not 
 hear me and later had no recollection of the episode. 
 In hypnosis she recalled the circumstances accu- 
 rately and reproduced my words with the accents 
 properly placed. Such observations and experi- 
 ments I have frequently made. They can be varied 
 indefinitely in form and condition. 
 
 The phenomenon of subconscious perception of 
 sensory stimulations applied to anesthetic areas 
 tactile, visual, etc.), in hysterics, first demon- 
 strated by Janet, is of the same order, but has been 
 so often described that only a reference to it is nec- 
 essary. I mention examples here merely that the
 
 57 
 
 different kinds of phenomena that may be brought 
 within the sphere of memory shall be mentioned. 
 For instance, Mrs. E. B.* has an hysterical loss of 
 sensibility in the hand which, in consequence, can be 
 severely pinched or pricked, or an object placed in 
 it, etc., without her being aware of the fact. Not- 
 withstanding this absence of awareness these tactile 
 experiences were conserved since an accurate de- 
 tailed memory of them is recovered in hypnosis, or 
 manifested through automatic writing. The same 
 phenomenon can be demonstrated in Mrs. B., whose 
 right arm is anesthetic. f The same conservation of 
 subconscious perceptions can be experimentally 
 demonstrated during automatic writing. At such 
 times the writing hand becomes anesthetic and if a 
 screen is interposed so that the subject cannot see 
 the hand he is not aware of any stimulations applied 
 to it. Nevertheless such sensory stimulations a 
 prick or a pinch or more complicated impressions 
 are conserved, for the hand will accurately describe 
 all that is done. 
 
 An observation which I made on one of my sub- 
 jects probably belongs here rather than to the pre- 
 ceding types. Several different objects were suc- 
 cessively brought into the field of vision, but so far 
 toward the periphery that they could not be suffi- 
 ciently clearly seen to be identified. In hypnosis, 
 however, they were accurately described, showing 
 
 * The Dissociation, p. 77. 
 
 f For numerous observations of this kind, see Pierre Janet : The 
 Mental States of Hystericals.
 
 58 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the conservation of perceptions that did not enter the 
 vivid awareness or clear perception of the subject. 
 
 It is true, as a study of the coconscious would 
 show, that such phenomena of anesthesia and un- 
 recognized perceptions are dependent upon a dis- 
 sociation of consciousness and upon coconscious 
 perception. But this is a matter of mechanism with 
 which we are not now concerned. The point simply 
 is that subconscious perceptions which never en- 
 tered the awareness of the personal consciousness 
 may be conserved. 
 
 I will cite one more observation, one in which the 
 reproduction was through secondary translation, 
 as we shall see later that it belongs to a class which 
 enables us to determine the nature of conservation. 
 
 B. C. A., actuated by curiosity, looked into a crys- 
 tal and saw there some printed words which had no 
 meaning for her whatever and awakened no mem- 
 ory of any previous experience. It was afterward 
 found that these words represented a cablegram 
 message which she unconsciously overheard while 
 it was being transmitted over the telephone to the 
 telegraph office by my secretary in the next room. 
 She had no recollection of having heard the words, 
 as she was absorbed in reading a book at the time. 
 The correctness of the visual reproduction is shown, 
 not only by automatic writing which remembered 
 and recorded the whole experience, but also by com- 
 parison with the original cablegram. 
 
 Again, in other experiments there appear, in the 
 crystal, visions rich in detail of persons whom she
 
 FOKGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 59 
 
 does not remember having seen, although it can be 
 proved that she actually has seen them. 
 
 The reproduction of subconscious perceptions and 
 forgotten knowledge in dreams, visions, hypnosis, 
 trance states, by automatic writing, etc., is interest- 
 ing apart from the theory of memory. Facts of 
 this kind offer a rational interpretation of many 
 well-authenticated phenomena exploited in spiritis- 
 tic literature. Much of the surprising information 
 given by planchette, table rapping, and similar de- 
 vices commonly employed by mediums, depends 
 upon the translation of forgotten dormant experi- 
 ences into manifestations of this sort. In clinical 
 medicine, too, we can often learn, through repro- 
 ductions obtained by special methods of investiga- 
 tion, the origin of obsessions and other ideas which 
 otherwise are unintelligible. 
 
 Dreams and somnambulisms Many people remember 
 their dreams poorly or not at all, and, in the latter 
 case, are under the belief that they do not dream. 
 But often circumstantial evidence, such as talking 
 in their sleep, shows that they do dream. Now, 
 though ordinarily they cannot remember the 
 dreams, by changing the waking state to an hyp- 
 notic one, or through the device of crystal visions or 
 automatic writing, it is possible in some people to 
 reproduce the whole dream. Amnesia for dreams, 
 therefore, cannot be taken as evidence that they do 
 not occur, and forgotten dream consciousness is 
 subject to the same principles of conservation and
 
 60 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 reproduction as the experiences of waking life. 
 Thus in B. C. A. dreams totally forgotten on awak- 
 ening are easily recovered in hypnosis and in crys- 
 tal visions.* In the case of M 1, which I cited to 
 
 you a little while ago, the forgotten dream in which 
 he lived over again the original episode which led to 
 the development of his hysterical condition and 
 which when repeated in the dream induced each 
 successive attack, was easily recovered in hypnosis. 
 The same was true of the forgotten dreams of Mrs. 
 H. and Miss B. 
 
 The reproduction of nocturnal somnambulistic 
 acts and the ideas which occupied the content of 
 consciousness of the somnambulist can be effected 
 in the same manner. I have quite a collection of 
 observation of this kind. In the study of visions,! 
 to which I have already referred, may be found the 
 observation where Miss B., looking into a crystal, 
 sees herself walking in her sleep and hiding some 
 money under a tablecloth and books lying on the 
 table. The money (which was supposed to have 
 been lost) was found where it was seen in the 
 vision. 
 
 In my notebook are the records of numerous arti- 
 ficial hallucinations of this kind which reproduce 
 sleep-walking acts of B. C. A. To cite one instance : 
 in the crystal she sees herself arise from her bed, 
 turn on the lights, descend the stairs, enter one of 
 the lower rooms, sit by the fire in deep, pensive re- 
 
 * The Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams, loc. cit. 
 f Loc. cit. See p. 51.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 61 
 
 flection, then get up and dance merrily as her som- 
 nambulistic mood changes. Presently, as the cine- 
 matograph-like picture unfolds itself in the crystal, 
 she sees herself go to the writing table, write two 
 letters, ascend the stairs, dropping one letter on the 
 way,* reenter her room, open a glove box, place the 
 remaining letter under the gloves, and finally put 
 out the lights and get into bed when, with the ad- 
 vent of sleep, the vision ends. In the vision the 
 changing expression of her face displays each suc- 
 cessive mood. In hypnosis also the scene is remem- 
 bered and then even the thoughts which accompa- 
 nied each act of the somnambulist are described. 
 Here again, then, we have evidence that even for- 
 gotten dreams and somnambulistic thoughts are not 
 lost but under certain special conditions can be re- 
 vived in one mode or another. 
 
 II. Forgotten Experiences of Artificial and Pathological 
 
 States 
 
 The experiences that I have thus far cited in evi- 
 dence of the principle of the conservation of dor- 
 mant experiences that cannot be voluntarily re- 
 called have been drawn almost entirely from normal 
 everyday life. We now come to a series of facts 
 which are very important in that they show that 
 what is true of the experiences of everyday life is 
 also true of those of artificial and pathological 
 states of which the normal personal consciousness 
 has no cognizance. These facts are also vital for 
 
 * See Lecture VI, p. 185.
 
 62 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the comprehension of post-hypnotic phenomena, of 
 amnesia, multiple personality, and allied dissoci- 
 ated states. Let us consider some of the states 
 from the point of view of conservation. 
 
 Artificial states After a person passes from one 
 dissociated state to another, or from a dissociated 
 state to the full waking state, it is commonly found 
 that there is amnesia for the previous state. This 
 is a general principle. The forgetting of dreams is 
 an example from normal life. For the psychological 
 state of sleep in which dreams occur is one of nor- 
 mal dissociation of consciousness by which the per- 
 ception of the environment, and the great mass of 
 life's experiences, can no longer be brought within 
 the content of the dream consciousness. Hence 
 there is a general tendency to the development of 
 amnesia for dreams after waking when the normal 
 synthesis of the personality has been established. 
 Yet, as we have seen, forgotten dreams can gener- 
 ally be recalled in hypnosis or by some other techni- 
 cal method (e. g., crystal visions and abstraction). 
 Now hypnosis is an artificially dissociated state. 
 After passing from one hypnotic state to another,* 
 or after waking, it is very common to find complete 
 
 * Gurney was among the first to demonstrate the induction of 
 several states in the same subject. He was able to obtain three dif- 
 ferent hypnotic states (Proceedings S. P. R., Vol. IV, p. 515), and 
 Mrs. Sidgwick and Miss Johnson eight in one individual, each with 
 amnesia for the other. Janet, of course, demonstrated the same 
 phenomena. In the cases of Miss B and B. C. A. I obtained a large 
 number of such states.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 63 
 
 amnesia for the whole of the experience belonging to 
 the previous hypnotic state. By no effort whatso- 
 ever can it be recalled and this inability persists 
 during the remainder of the life of the subject. And 
 yet those hypnotic experiences may have been very 
 extensive, particularly if the subject has been hyp- 
 notized a great many times. Nevertheless, it is 
 easy to demonstrate that they are conserved and 
 therefore, like all conserved experiences, potentially 
 still existing, subject to recall under favoring con- 
 ditions ; for, as is well known, if the subject be re- 
 hypnotized they are recalled as normal memories. 
 With the restitution of the hypnotic state the mem- 
 ories which were dormant become synthesized with 
 the hypnotic personality and conscious. 
 
 The method of producing crystal visions may also 
 be used to demonstrate the dormant conservation of 
 experiences originating in hypnotic states. By this 
 method and that of automatic writing, as I have 
 already explained, the memories may be made to 
 reveal themselves, without inducing recollection, at 
 the very moment when the subject cannot voluntar- 
 ily recall them. The subject, of course, being ig- 
 norant of what happened in hypnosis cannot recog- 
 nize the visions as pictorial memories. In illustra- 
 tion of this I would recall the observation in the 
 case of Miss B. where, in such an artificial vision, 
 she saw herself sitting on a sofa smoking a cigar- 
 ette.* This vision represented an incident which 
 
 * Morton Prince : The Dissociation, p. 55 ; also An Experimental 
 Study of Visions, Brain, Winter Number, 1898.
 
 64 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 occurred during one of the subject's hypnotic states 
 when she had smoked a cigarette. Naturally Miss 
 B., in her ignorance of the facts, denied the truth- 
 fulness of the vision. Other examples of a like 
 kind might be cited if it were necessary. 
 
 By automatic writing, also, evidence of the same 
 principle may be obtained. The conserved mem- 
 ories are tapped, so to speak. Thus I suggest to 
 Mrs. B. in hypnosis that after waking she shall 
 write certain verses or sentences. After being 
 awakened she reproduces automatically, as di- 
 rected, the desired verses or sentences which, of 
 course, belonged to her hypnotic experiences.* In 
 other words, although the personal consciousness 
 did not remember the hypnotic experience of hav- 
 ing received the command and of having given the 
 promise to write the verses, etc., the automatic writ- 
 ing by the act of fulfilling the command showed that 
 all this was conserved; here again was evidence of 
 conservation, in some form, of an experience at the 
 very moment when the personal consciousness was un- 
 able to voluntarily recall what had taken place in hyp- 
 nosis. Such experiments may be varied indefinitely. 
 
 The following is an instance of the same phe- 
 nomenon obtained by tapping without the use of 
 previous suggestion in hypnosis: subject B. C. A. 
 One of the hypnotic states, b, was waked up to be- 
 come B, this change being followed, as usual, by am- 
 
 * Some of the Revelations of Hypnotism, Boston Medical and 
 Surgical Journal, May 22, 1890.
 
 65 
 
 nesia. By means of automatic writing an accurate 
 account was now obtained of the experiences which 
 had taken place during the previous moments in 
 hypnosis, the subject being unaware of what the 
 hand wrote. Here were complete memories of the 
 whole period of which the personal consciousness, 
 B, had no knowledge. One of the most striking, not 
 to say dramatic, demonstrations of this kind can 
 sometimes be obtained in cases exhibiting several 
 different hypnotic states. For instance: "c" and 
 "b" are two different hypnotic phases belonging 
 to the same individual (B. C. A.), c knows nothing 
 of the experiences of b, and b nothing of c, each hav- 
 ing amnesia for the other. Now one has only to 
 whisper in the ear of c, asking a question of b, and 
 at once, by automatic speech, the dormant b phase 
 responds, giving such information as is sought in 
 proof of the conservation of any given experience 
 belonging to the tapped b phase. The consciousness 
 of c apparently continues uninterruptedly during 
 the experiment. The same evidence could be ob- 
 tained by automatic writing under the same condi- 
 tions. Again in the b phase another state known as 
 "Alpha and Omega" can be tapped, giving similar 
 evidence of conservation. In the case of Miss B. 
 the same phenomena could be elicited. In this respect 
 hypnotic states may show the same behavior as alter- 
 nating personalities of which I shall presently speak. 
 Suggested post-hypnotic phenomena depend, in 
 part, on the conservation of dormant complexes. In 
 hypnosis I give a suggestion that the subject on
 
 66 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 waking shall, at a given moment, take a cigarette 
 and smoke it. There is thus formed a complex of 
 ideas which becomes dormant and forgotten after 
 waking. Later, by some mechanism which we need 
 not inquire into now, the ideas of the dormant com- 
 plex enter the field of the personal self ; the idea of 
 smoking a cigarette arises therein and the subject 
 puts the idea into execution. These consequences of 
 the suggestion could not occur unless the expe- 
 riences were conserved. Or, we may take an ex- 
 periment where the hypnotic experiences are repro- 
 duced automatically by writing. Here the conserved 
 experiences form a secondary system split off from 
 the personal consciousness. This system repro- 
 duces the hypnotic experiences as memory outside 
 of the personal consciousness. 
 
 From a practical point of view this principle of 
 the conservation of the experiences of the hypnotic 
 state is of the utmost importance. The fact that a 
 person does not remember them on waking if such 
 be the case is of little consequence in principle, 
 and, practically, this amnesia does not preclude 
 these experiences from influencing the waking per- 
 sonality. As experiences and potential memories 
 they all belong to and are part of the personality. 
 The hypnotic experiences being conserved our per- 
 sonality may still be modified and determined in its 
 judgments, points of view, and attitudes by them, as 
 by other unrecognized memories when such modifi- 
 cations have been effected in the hypnotic state.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 67 
 
 When the last is the case the hypnotically modified 
 judgments, etc., may introduce themselves into 
 the content of consciousness in the waking state by 
 association without being recognized as memories. 
 There may be no recollection of the source of the 
 new ideas, of the reason for the modification of a 
 given judgment or attitude of mind, because there is 
 no recollection of the hypnotic state as a whole; 
 but so far as the new judgment or attitude is a re- 
 production of an hypnotic experience it is memory, 
 although not perfect memory or recollection in the 
 sense of localizing the experience in the past. 
 
 This principle can easily be demonstrated experi- 
 mentally. It is only necessary, for instance, to state 
 to a suitably suggestible subject that the weather, 
 with which previously he was discontented is, after 
 all, fine; for although it is raining, still, the crops 
 need rain ; it will allay the dust and make motoring 
 pleasant, it will give him an opportunity to finish 
 his neglected correspondence, etc. The whole pros- 
 pect, he is told, is pleasing. He accepts, we assume, 
 the new point of view. He is then waked up and has 
 complete amnesia for the experience. Now these 
 ideas, developed in the hypnotic state, are con- 
 served as potential memories. Though with the 
 change of the moment-consciousness they cannot be 
 voluntarily recalled, they have entered into associa- 
 tions to form a new viewpoint. Just speak to him 
 about the weather and watch the result. His dis- 
 content has disappeared and given place to satisfac- 
 tion. He expresses himself as quite pleased with
 
 68 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the weather and gives the same reasons for his sat- 
 isfaction as were suggested to and accepted by him 
 in hypnosis. He does not recognize his new views 
 as reproductions, i. e., memories,, of previous experi- 
 ences because he has no recollection of the hypnotic 
 state. He does not remember when and how he 
 changed his mind; but these experiences have de- 
 termined his views because they have become a part 
 of his conscious system of thought. The principle 
 applies to a large part of our judgments not formed 
 in hypnosis. There is nothing very remarkable 
 about it. The process is similar to that of ordinary 
 thought though it has had an artificial and differ- 
 ent origin. The complex of ideas having been 
 formed in, hypnosis still remains organized and 
 some of its elements enter the complexes of the per- 
 sonal consciousness, just as in normal life ideas of 
 buried experiences of which we have no recollection 
 intrude themselves from time to time and shape our 
 judgments and the current of our thoughts without 
 our realizing what has determined our mental proc- 
 esses. We have forgotten the source of our judg- 
 ments, but this forgetfulness does not affect the 
 mechanism of the process. 
 
 Pathological states In the functional amnesias of 
 a pathological character we find the same phenome- 
 non of conservation. Various types of amnesia are 
 encountered. I will specify only the episodic, 
 epochal, and the continuous, so commonly observed 
 in hysteria. This field has been threshed over by
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 69 
 
 many observers and I need refer only to a few in- 
 stances as illustrations. In the first two types the 
 experiences which are forgotten may have occurred 
 during the previous normal condition. In the epi- 
 sodic the particular episode which is forgotten may 
 have been, strangely enough, one which from the 
 very important part it played in the life of the sub- 
 ject and its peculiar impressiveness and signifi- 
 cance we should expect would be necessarily remem- 
 bered, especially as memory in other respects is nor- 
 mal. But for the same reasons it is not surprising 
 to find that the experience has been conserved some- 
 how and somewhere although it cannot be recalled. 
 The classical cases of Fraulein 0. and Lucy B. re- 
 ported by Breuer and Freud * are typical. 
 
 From my own collection of cases I will cite the 
 following episode from the case of B. C. A. This 
 subject received a mental shock as the result of an 
 emotional conflict of a distressing character. This 
 experience was the exciting factor in the develop- 
 ment of her psychosis, a dissociation of personality. 
 In the resulting "neurasthenic" state, although her 
 memory was normal for all other experiences of her 
 life, this particular episode with all its manifold de- 
 tails, notwithstanding its great significance in her 
 life, completely dropped out of her memory.f 
 
 This incident was a very intimate one and it is 
 not necessary to give the details. When put to the 
 
 * Studien iiber Hysterie. 
 
 t Of course I am not discussing here the genetic mechanism of 
 the amnesia, being concerned only with the principle of conservation.
 
 70 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 test all effort to recall the episode voluntarily is 
 without result, and even suggestions in two hypnotic 
 states fail to awaken it in those states. Yet when a 
 pencil is put in her hand these memories are made to 
 manifest themselves by automatic writing. During 
 the writing the subject remains in a perfectly alert 
 state but is unaware of what her hand is doing. At a 
 later period after the subject had been restored to the 
 normal condition she could voluntarily recall these 
 memories thus, again, showing their conservation. 
 
 One other example of episodic amnesia I will cite, 
 inasmuch as, aside from the question of conserva- 
 tion, it is of practical importance, being typical of 
 experiences which lead to obsessions of phobia. 
 The subject, 0. N., had an intense fear of towers 
 such as might contain bells that might ring. She 
 had no recollection of the first occasion when the 
 fear occurred or of any experience which might 
 have given rise to it, and, of course, could give no 
 explanation of the obsession. Neither in abstrac- 
 tion or hypnosis could any related memories be 
 evoked, but by automatic writing she "uncon- 
 sciously" described an emotional and dramatic 
 scene which was the occasion of the first occurrence 
 of the fear and which had taken place some twenty- 
 five years previously when she was a young girl. 
 
 With the reason for the amnesia we are not par- 
 ticularly concerned at present excepting so far as 
 it serves to make clear the distinction between recol- 
 lection and conservation, and to throw light on the 
 nature of the latter. The episodes in both these in-
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 71 
 
 stances were of a strongly emotional character. 
 Now we have known for many years from numerous 
 observations that emotion tends to disrupt the mind 
 and to dissociate the experiences which give rise 
 to the affective state so that they cannot be brought 
 back into consciousness. We may particularize 
 further and, making use of the known impulsive 
 force of emotion, attribute the dissociation (or inhi- 
 bition) in many cases to a conflict between certain 
 ideas belonging to the experience and other oppos- 
 ing ideas which, with the emotion, they have awak- 
 ened. The impulsive force of the latter ideas, being 
 the stronger, dissociates, or, to use the expressive 
 term introduced by Freud, represses, the former. 
 The principle of dissociation by conflict has been 
 formulated and elaborated by Freud in his well- 
 known theory which has been made use of to explain 
 all functional amnesias. It is not necessary to go as 
 far as that, nor does the theory as such concern us 
 now. It is sufficient if in certain cases the amnesia 
 (or dissociation) is a dissociation (repression) in- 
 duced by the conative force of conflicting emotion. 
 If so we should expect that the amnesia would be 
 of a temporary nature and would continue only so 
 long as the conflict and dissociating force continued. 
 In any favorable moment when repression ceased or 
 failed to be operative, as in hypnosis or abstraction, 
 reproduction (recollection) could occur. But this 
 requires that the registration of the experience 
 should be something specific that can be dissociated 
 without obliteration. And, further, it must be some-
 
 72 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 thing that can be so conserved, somehow and some- 
 where, during dissociation that, as in the case of 
 reproduction by automatic writing, it can escape the 
 influence of the repressing force and express itself 
 autonomously, i. e., without the expressed memory 
 of the experience entering the personal conscious- 
 ness. To this we shall return later. 
 
 In the two examples I have cited, if my interpre- 
 tation is correct, the amnesia was due to dissocia- 
 tion by conflict and hence the conservation, as is the 
 rule in functional dissociation, and the reproduc- 
 tion by automatic writing. This principle of dis- 
 sociation by conflict and of conservation of the dis- 
 sociated remembrances is of great practical impor- 
 tance as we shall see in later lectures. It can be 
 best studied experimentally with cases of multiple 
 personality. In the case of Miss B. numerous ex- 
 amples of amnesia from conflict were observed. 
 Owing to the precise organization of the conscious- 
 ness into two distinct personalities it was possible 
 to definitely determine beyond question the antago- 
 nistic ideas of one personality which voluntarily in- 
 duced the conflict and, by the impulsive force of their 
 emotion, caused the amnesia in the other personal- 
 ity.* The same phenomena were observed in the 
 case of B. C. A. As memory for the forgotten expe- 
 riences in these instances returned as soon as the 
 conflict ceased, conservation of them necessarily 
 persisted during the amnesia. 
 
 * The Dissociation, pp. 284-5, 456-9.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 73 
 
 Perhaps I may be permitted to digress here 
 slightly to point out that this same (in principle) 
 phenomenon may be effected experimentally by sug- 
 gestion. The suggested idea which has the force of 
 a volition or unexpressed wish, coming in conflict 
 with the knowledge of previously familiar facts, in- 
 hibits or represses the reproduction in conscious- 
 ness of this knowledge as memory. It is easy to 
 prove, however, that this knowledge is conserved 
 though it cannot be recalled. Thus, I give appro- 
 priate suggestions to B. C. A. in hypnosis that she 
 shall be unable, when awake, to remember a certain 
 unpleasant episode connected with a person named 
 ' ' August ' ' After being awakened she has complete 
 amnesia, not only for the episode, but even for the 
 name. The suppression of the memory of the epi- 
 sode carries with it by association the name of the 
 person. In fact, the name itself has no meaning for 
 her. When asked to give the names of the calendar 
 months after mentioning ( l July ' ' she hesitates, then 
 gives "September" as the next. Even when the 
 name "August" is mentioned to her it has no mean- 
 ing and sounds like a word of a foreign language. 
 The memory of the episode has become dormant so 
 far as volitional recollection is concerned. It can, 
 however, be recalled as a coconscious process 
 through automatic writing, as in the preceding ex- 
 periment, and then the word in all its meanings and 
 associations is also awakened in the coconsciousness. 
 
 The same phenomenon may be observed clini- 
 cally in transition types standing halfway between
 
 74 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the amnesia following emotional episodes and that 
 produced by external suggestion. Auto-suggestion 
 may then be a factor in the mechanism, as in the 
 following example : In a moment of discouragement 
 and despair B. C. A., torn by an unsolved problem, 
 said to herself after going to bed at night, * ' I shall 
 go to sleep and I shall forget everything, my name 
 and everything else. ' ' Of course she did not intend 
 or expect to forget literally her name, but she gave 
 expression to a petulant despairing conditional wish 
 which if fulfilled would be a solution to her prob- 
 lem; as much as if she said, "If I should forget who 
 I am my troubles would be ended." Nevertheless 
 the auto-suggestion with its strong feeling tones 
 worked for repression. The next day, when about 
 to give her name by telephone, she discovered that 
 she had forgotten it. On testing her later I found 
 that she could not speak, write, or read her name. 
 She could not even understandingly read the same 
 word when used with a different signification, i. e., 
 stone [her name, we will suppose, is Stone], nor 
 the letters of the same. This amnesia persisted for 
 three days until removed by my suggestion. That 
 the lost knowledge was all the time conserved is 
 further shown by the fact that during the amnesia 
 the name was remembered in hypnosis and also re- 
 produced by automatic writing. 
 
 In the epochal type of amnesia a person, per- 
 haps after a shock, suddenly loses all memory for 
 lost epochs, it may be for days and even for years of
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 75 
 
 his preceding life. In the classical case of Mr. 
 Hanna, studied by Boris Sidis, the amnesia was for 
 his whole previous life, so that the subject was like 
 a new-born child. It is easy to show, however, that 
 the forgotten epoch is normally conserved by mak- 
 ing use of the various methods of reproduction at 
 our disposal. In the case of Hanna, Sidis was able 
 through "hypnoidization" and suggestion to bring 
 back memory pictures of the amnesic periods. 
 "While the subject's attention is thus distracted, 
 events, names of persons, of places, sentences, 
 phrases, whole paragraphs of books totally lapsed 
 from memory, and in language the very words of 
 which sounded bizarre to his ears and the meaning 
 of which was to him inscrutable all that flashed 
 lightning-like on the patient's mind. So successful 
 was this method that on one occasion the patient 
 was frightened by the flood of memories that rose 
 suddenly from the obscure subconscious [uncon- 
 scious] regions, deluged his mind, and were ex- 
 pressed aloud, only to be forgotten the next moment. 
 To the patient himself it appeared as if another be- 
 ing took possession of his tongue."* 
 
 In another class of cases of epochal amnesia 
 known as fugues the subject, having forgotten his 
 past life and controlled by fancied ideas, perhaps 
 wanders away not knowing who he is or anything of 
 the previous associations of his life. The "Lowell 
 Case" of amnesia, which I had an opportunity to 
 
 * Boris Sidis : The Psychology of Suggestion, p. 224 ; see also 
 Multiple Personality, p. 143.
 
 76 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 carefully observe and which later was more exten- 
 sively studied for me by Dr. Coriat, may be in- 
 stanced.* A woman suddenly left her home with- 
 out apparent rhyme or reason. When later found 
 she had lost all recollection of her name, her person- 
 ality, her family, and her surroundings, and her iden- 
 tity was only accidentally discovered through the pub- 
 lication of her photograph in the newspaper. She then 
 had almost complete amnesia for her previous life. 
 
 Another case, also studied by Dr. Coriat and the 
 writer, was that of a policeman who suddenly de- 
 serted his official duty in Boston and went to New 
 York, where he wandered about without knowledge 
 of who he was, his name, his age, his occupation, in- 
 deed, as there is reason to believe, of his past life. 
 When he came to himself three days later he found 
 himself in a hospital with complete amnesia for the 
 three days' fugue. When I examined him some 
 days later this amnesia still persisted but Dr. Coriat 
 was able to recover memories of his vagrancy in 
 New York showing that the experiences of this 
 fugue were still conserved. It is hardly necessary 
 to remind you that, of course, the memories of his 
 normal life which during the fugue it might have 
 been thought were lost were shown to have been 
 conserved, as on " coming to himself ' ' they were re- 
 covered. In the ''Lowell Case" substantially simi- 
 lar conditions were found. 
 
 In continuous or anterograde amnesia the subject 
 forgets every experience nearly as fast as it hap- 
 
 * The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Vol. II, p. 93.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 77 
 
 pens. The classical case of Mme. D., studied by 
 Charcot and later more completely by Janet, is an 
 example. The conservation of the forgotten experi- 
 ences was demonstrated by these authors. 
 
 In multiple personality amnesia for large epochs 
 in the subject's life is quite generally a prominent 
 feature. In one phase of personality there is no 
 knowledge whatsoever of existence in another 
 phase. Thus, for instance, all the experiences of 
 BI and BIV, in the case of Miss B., were respec- 
 tively unknown to the other. When, however, the 
 change took place from one personality to the other, 
 with accompanying amnesia, all the great mass of 
 experiences of the one personality still remained 
 organized and conserved during the cycle of the 
 other's existence. With the reversion to the first 
 personality, whichever it might be, the previously 
 formed experiences of that personality became ca- 
 pable of manifesting themselves as conscious mem- 
 ories. This conservation could also be shown, in 
 this case, by the method of tapping the conserved 
 memories and producing crystal visions or artificial 
 hallucinations. Those who are familiar with the 
 published account of the case will remember that 
 BIV was in the habit at one time of acquiring knowl- 
 edge of the amnesic periods of BI's existence by 
 " fixing" her mind and obtaining a visual picture of 
 the latter 's acts. Likewise, it will be remembered 
 that by crystal visions I was enabled to bring into 
 consciousness a vision of the scene at the hospital
 
 78 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 which, through its emotional influence, caused the 
 catastrophe of dissociation of personality, and also 
 of the scene enacted by BI just preceding the awak- 
 ening of BIV, of all of which BIV had no knowl- 
 edge.* As with Mr. Hanna sometimes these mem- 
 ories instead of being complex pictures were scrappy 
 mere flashes in the pan. The same condition of 
 conservation of the experiences of one personality 
 during the existence of another obtained in the case 
 of B. C. A. and numerous cases recorded in the lit- 
 erature. In this respect the condition is the same 
 as that which obtains in hypnotic states and which I 
 mentioned a few moments ago. 
 
 We may, in fact, lay it down as a general law that 
 during any dissociated state, no matter how exten- 
 sive or how intense the amnesia, all the experiences 
 that can be recalled in any other state, whether the 
 normal one or another dissociated state, are con- 
 served and, theoretically at least, can be made to 
 manifest themselves. And, likewise and to the 
 same extent, during the normal state the experi- 
 ences which belong to a dissociated state are still 
 conserved, notwithstanding the existing amnesia for 
 those experiences. Furthermore, if we were deal- 
 ing with special pathology we would be able to show 
 that many pathological phenomena are due to the 
 subconscious manifestations of such conserved and 
 forgotten experiences. 
 
 Observation shows that the experiences of trance 
 states and allied conditions are similarly conserved. 
 
 * The Dissociation, pp. 220, 221, 255, 531, 532.
 
 79 
 
 Fanny S., as the result of an emotional shock, due 
 to a distressing piece of news, goes into a trance- 
 like state of which she has no memory afterwards. 
 Later, a recollection of this supposedly unconscious 
 state, including the content of her trance thoughts 
 and the sayings and doings of those about her, is 
 recovered by a special device. B. C. A. likewise fell 
 into a trance of which there was no recollection. 
 The whole incident was equally fully recovered in a 
 crystal vision, and also conscious memory of it 
 brought back to personal consciousness by a special 
 technic. In the vision she saw herself apparently 
 unconscious, the various people about her each per- 
 forming his part in the episode ; the doctor admin- 
 istering a hypodermic dose of medicine, etc. In 
 hypnosis she remembered in addition the thoughts 
 of the trance consciousness and the various remarks 
 made by different people in attendance. 
 
 Even delirious states for which there is complete 
 amnesia may be conserved. I have observed numer- 
 ous instances of this in the case of Miss B. For in- 
 stance, the delirious acts occurring in the course of 
 pneumonia were reproduced in a crystal vision by 
 Miss B. and the delirious thoughts as well were re- 
 membered by the secondary personality, Sally.* I 
 have records of several examples of conservation 
 of delirium in this case. Quite interesting was the 
 repetition of the same delirium due to ether narcosis 
 in succeeding states of narcosis as frequently hap- 
 pened. A very curious phenomenon of the same or- 
 
 * The Dissociation, p. 83.
 
 80 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 der was the following: After the subject had been 
 etherized a number of times I adopted the ruse of 
 pretending to etherize one of the secondary per- 
 sonalities, using the customary inhaler but without 
 ether. The efficient factor was, of course, sugges- 
 tion. The subject would, at least apparently, be- 
 come unconscious, passing into a state which had all 
 the superficial appearances of deep etherization. At 
 the end of the procedure she would slowly return to 
 consciousness, repeat the same stereotyped exple- 
 tives and other expressions which she regularly 
 made use of when ether was actually used, and make 
 the same grimaces and signs of discomfort, etc. 
 This behavior would seem to indicate that the mental 
 and physical experiences originally induced by a 
 physical agent were conserved and later reproduced 
 under imaginary conditions. 
 
 Mental experiences formed in states of alcoholic 
 intoxication without delirium may be conserved as 
 dormant complexes. Dr. Isador Coriat,* in his 
 studies of alcoholic amnesia, was able to restore 
 memories of experiences occurring during the alco- 
 holic state showing that they were still conserved. 
 The person, during the period for which later there 
 is amnesia, may or may not be what is ordinarily 
 called drunk, although under the influence of alco- 
 hol. Later, when he comes to himself, he is found to 
 have forgotten the whole alcoholic period perhaps 
 several days or a week during which he may have 
 acted with apparently ordinary intelligence, and 
 
 * The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Vol. I, No. 3.
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 81 
 
 perhaps have committed criminal acts. By one or 
 another of several technical methods memory of the 
 forgotten period may often be recalled. Dr. C. W. 
 Pilgrim * also has reported two cases of this kind in 
 which he succeeded in restoring the memories of the 
 forgotten alcoholic state. I might also recall here 
 the case, cited by Ribot, of the Irish porter who, 
 having lost a package while drunk, got drunk again 
 and remembered where he had left it. 
 
 Of course, in order to demonstrate the conserva- 
 tion of forgotten experiences it is necessary, when 
 abstraction is not sufficient, to employ subjects in 
 whom more profound dissociation of consciousness 
 can be produced by one or another of the artificial 
 means described so as to permit of the reproduction 
 of the hidden (conserved) experiences of mental 
 life. Such subjects, however, are sufficiently com- 
 mon. Often the passive state of abstraction after 
 some practice is sufficient. 
 
 Summary 
 
 Although in the above resume of the phenomena 
 of memory I have for the most part made use of 
 personal observations, these, so far as the phenom- 
 ena themselves are concerned, are in accord with 
 those of other observers. It would have been easy 
 to have drawn for corroboration upon the writings 
 of Gurney, Janet, Charcot, Breuer, Freud, Sidis, 
 Coriat, and others. 
 
 * American Journal of Insanity, July, 1910.
 
 82 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 A survey of all the facts which I have outlined in 
 this lecture forces us to ask ourselves the question : 
 To what extent are life's experiences conserved? 
 Indeed it was to meet this question that I have re- 
 viewed so large a variety of forgotten experiences 
 which experiment or observation in individual cases 
 has shown to be conserved. If my aim had been to 
 show simply that an experience, which has been lost 
 beyond all possible voluntary recall, may still be 
 within the power of reproduction when special de- 
 vices adapted to the purpose are employed, it would 
 not have been necessary to cover such a wide field 
 of inquiry. To meet the wider question it was 
 necessary to go farther afield and examine a large 
 variety of experiences occurring in multiform con- 
 ditions of mental life. 
 
 After doing this the important principle is forced 
 upon us in strong relief that it matters not in what 
 period of life, or in what state, experiences have 
 occurred, or how long a time has intervened since 
 their occurrence ; they may still be conserved. They 
 become dormant, but under favorable conditions 
 they may be awakened and may enter conscious life. 
 We have seen, even by the few examples I have 
 given, that childhood experiences that are supposed 
 to have long been buried in oblivion may be con- 
 served. We have seen that the mental life of arti- 
 ficial and pathological states is subject to the same 
 principle; that the experiences of hypnosis, trance 
 rtates, deliria, intoxication, dissociated personality 
 though there may be absolute amnesia in the nor-
 
 FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES 83 
 
 mal waking state for them may still be capable 
 of reproduction as memory. Yet of the vast num- 
 ber of mental experiences which we have during the 
 course of our lives we can voluntarily recall but a 
 fractional part. What proportion of the others is 
 conserved is difficult, if not impossible, to determine. 
 The difficulty is largely a practical one due to the 
 inadequacy of our technical methods of investiga- 
 tion. In the first place, our technic is only applica- 
 ble to a limited number of persons. In the second 
 place, it is obvious that when an episode occurring 
 in the course of everyday life is forgotten, but is 
 recovered under one or another of the conditions I 
 have described, it is only in a minority of instances 
 that circumstances will permit confirmation of this 
 evidence by collateral and independent testimony. 
 Still, if we take the evidence as a whole its cumula- 
 tive force is such as to compel the conviction that 
 a vast number of experiences, more than we can 
 possibly voluntarily recall, are conserved, and that 
 it is impossible to affirm that any given experience 
 may not persist in a dormant state. It is impossible 
 to say what experiences of our daily life have failed 
 to be conserved and what are awaiting only a favor- 
 able condition of reproduction to be stimulated into 
 activity as memory. Even if they cannot be repro- 
 duced by voluntary effort, or by some one particular 
 device, they may be by another and, if all devices 
 fail, they may be recovered in pathological condi- 
 tions like delirium, trance, spontaneous hallucina- 
 tions, etc., or in normal dissociated states like
 
 84 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 dreams. The inability to recall an experience is no 
 evidence whatever that it is not conserved. Indeed, 
 even when the special methods and moments fail it 
 is still not always possible to say that it is not con- 
 served. 
 
 It would be a gross exaggeration to say, on the 
 basis of the evidence at our disposal, that all life's 
 experiences persist as potential memories, or even 
 that this is true of the greater number. It is, how- 
 ever, undoubtedly true that of the great mass of 
 experiences which have passed out of all voluntary 
 recollection, an almost incredible, even if relatively 
 small, number still lie dormant, and, under favoring 
 conditions, many can be brought within the field of 
 conscious memory. The significance of this fact 
 will become apparent to us later after we have 
 studied the nature of conservation. Still more sig- 
 nificant, particularly for abnormal psychology, is 
 the fact we have brought out by our technical meth- 
 ods of investigation; namely, that almost any con- 
 served experience under certain conditions can 
 function as a subconscious memory and become 
 translated into, i.e., produce sensory and motor 
 automatic phenomena, such as hallucinations, writ- 
 ing, speech, etc. It will not be surprising if we shall 
 find that various other disturbances of mind and 
 body are produced by such subconscious processes. 
 
 Two striking facts brought out by some of these 
 investigations are the minuteness of the details 
 with which forgotten experiences may be conserved 
 and the long periods of time during which conserva-
 
 85 
 
 tion may persist. Thus, as we have seen, experi- 
 ences dating back to early childhood may be shown 
 to be preserved in extremely minute detail though 
 the individual has long forgotten them. Further- 
 more, it has been shown that even remembered 
 experiences may be conserved in far more elaborate 
 detail than would appear from so much of the 
 experience as can be voluntarily recalled. Prob- 
 ably our voluntary memory is not absolutely perfect 
 for any experience in all its details but the details 
 that are conserved often far exceed those that can 
 be recalled. 
 
 In the survey of life's experiences which we have 
 studied we have, for the most part, considered those 
 which have had objective relation and have been 
 subject to confirmation by collateral testimony. But 
 we should not overlook the fact that among mental 
 experiences are those of the inner as well as outer 
 life. To the former belong the hopes and aspira- 
 tions, the regrets, the fears, the doubts, the self- 
 communings and wrestlings with self, the wishes, 
 the loves, the hates, all that we are not willing to 
 give out to the world, and all that we would forget 
 and would strive not to admit to ourselves. All this 
 inner life belongs to our experience and is subject 
 to the same law of conservation. 
 
 Finally, it should be said that much of what is 
 not ordinarily regarded as memory is made up of 
 conserved experiences. A large part of every men- 
 tal content is memory the source of which is for- 
 gotten. Just as our vocabulary is memory, though
 
 86 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 we do not remember how and where it was acquired, 
 so our judgments, beliefs, and opinions are in large 
 part made up of past experiences which are for- 
 gotten but which have left their traces as integral 
 parts of concepts ingrained in our personalities.
 
 LECTURE IV 
 CONSERVATION A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 
 
 A consideration of all the facts of observation 
 and experiment of the kind which I have recited in 
 the last two lectures and I might have multiplied 
 them many times forces us to the conclusion that 
 whether or not we can recall any given experience 
 it may be still conserved. Bear in mind that I have 
 used conservation, thus far, only in the sense that 
 under favoring changes in the moment's conscious- 
 ness, or by special methods of stimulation, a past 
 experience may reproduce itself, or may be made 
 to reproduce itself, in one form or another of 
 memory. 
 
 It may be, for example, that you have to-day only 
 a vague and general recollection of the last lecture 
 and if you should endeavor to write an account of 
 it from memory the result would be but a fragmen- 
 tary report. And yet it is quite possible that, if 
 one or another of the various technical methods I 
 have described could be applied to some one of you, 
 we should be able to recover quite exact memories, 
 of certain portions at least, of the lecture perhaps 
 verbqtim transcripts of certain portions, and large 
 
 87
 
 88 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 numbers of facts which are quite beyond your pres- 
 ent recollection. 
 
 Our study of those phenomena of memory which 
 I cited in the last lecture was carried only so far 
 as to allow us to draw the conclusions as to con- 
 servation which I have just stated. And, in draw- 
 ing these conclusions, let me repeat we have pro- 
 visionally limited the meaning of the term conserva- 
 tion simply to the potential ability to reproduce ex- 
 periences, with or without recollection, either in 
 their original form, or translated into a graphic, 
 visual, or auditory expression of them. We have 
 not attempted from these phenomena to draw con- 
 clusions as to the nature of conservation, or as to 
 whether it is anything apart from reproduction 
 under favorable conditions. If we do not look be- 
 low the surface of the phenomena it might be held 
 that memory is only a recurrent phase of conscious- 
 ness, and that the term conservation is only a figure 
 of speech to express the ability to determine that 
 recurrence in our self -consciousness. 
 
 Let us examine now a little more closely some of 
 the phenomena we have already examined but in- 
 adequately. 
 
 Residual processes underlying automatic motor phe- 
 nomena: writing, speech, gestures, etc. We will take 
 writing as a type and the following as an example : 
 In a state of hypnosis a subject learns a verse by 
 heart. It is then suggested that this verse shall 
 be written automatically after he has been awak-
 
 A RESIDUUM OP EXPERIENCES 89 
 
 ened. (By arranging the conditions of the experi- 
 ment in this way we make certain that the script 
 afterwards written shall express a memory and 
 not a fabrication.) After the subject returns to 
 the normal waking state he has complete amnesia 
 for the whole hypnotic state and therefore for the 
 verse. Now, if the experiment is successful, his 
 hand writes the given verse without the subject 
 being aware of what his hand is writing, and it may 
 be without being aware that his hand is writing 
 anything at all. The whole thing has been done 
 without participation of his consciousness and with- 
 out his knowing that any such phenomenon was to 
 occur. (Of course any of his conscious experiences 
 while in the hypnotic state might have been used 
 as a test, these being known to the experimenter 
 as well.) Now the things to be noted are: 
 
 1, that the script expresses a memory; that is, 
 reproduces previous conserved conscious ideas the 
 verse. It expresses memory just exactly as it would 
 express it if it had been consciously and voluntarily 
 written. 
 
 2, that these ideas while in a state of conservation 
 and without entering consciousness i. e., becoming 
 conscious memory express themselves in written 
 language. 
 
 3, that this occurs while the subject has complete 
 amnesia for the conserved ideas and therefore he 
 could not possibly reproduce them as conscious 
 memory. 
 
 4, that that which effects the writing is not a
 
 90 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 recurring phase of the self -consciousness which is 
 concerned at the moment with totally different ideas. 
 
 5, that the "state of conservation" is, at least 
 during the writing, a specific state existing and 
 functioning independently and outside of the per- 
 sonal self-consciousness. 
 
 6, that in functioning it induces specific processes 
 which make use of the same organized physiological 
 mechanisms which ordinarily are made use of by 
 conscious memory to express itself in writing and 
 that these processes are not in, but independent of, 
 consciousness. 
 
 We are forced to conclude therefore that a con- 
 scious experience in this case the ideas of the verse 
 is conserved through the medium of some kind of 
 residuum of itself capable of specific functioning 
 and inducing processes which reproduce in the form 
 of written symbols the ideas of the original experi- 
 ence. 
 
 We need not consider for the present the nature 
 of the residuum, and its process, whether it is the 
 ideas themselves or something else. 
 
 Residual processes underlying hallucinations. We will 
 take the observation of B. C. A. looking into a 
 crystal and reading some printed words a cable- 
 gram which she had previously unconsciously 
 overheard.* The words were, let us say, "Best 
 Wishes and a Happy New Year." This visual pic- 
 ture was not a literal reproduction of the original 
 
 * Lecture III, p. 58.
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 91 
 
 experience, which was a subconscious auditory ex- 
 perience of the same words, of which she was not 
 aware; but plainly, nevertheless, the visual picture 
 must have been determined somehow by the audi- 
 tory experience. Equally plainly the visual image 
 was not a recurrent phase of the consciousness, for 
 the words of the message had not been previously 
 seen. What occurred was this : the antecedent audi- 
 tory perception manifested itself in consciousness 
 after an interval of time as a visual hallucination 
 of the words. There was a reproduction of the 
 original experience but not in its original form. It 
 had undergone a secondary alteration by which the 
 visual perception replaced the auditory perception. 
 As a memory it was a conversion or translation of 
 an auditory experience into terms of another sense. 
 Now the conversion must have been effected by 
 some mechanism outside of consciousness; that is 
 to say, it was not an ordinary visualization, i. e., 
 intensely vivid secondary images pertaining to a 
 conscious memory, as when one thinks of the morn- 
 ing's breakfast table and visualizes it; for there 
 was no conscious memory of the words, or knowl- 
 edge that there ever had been such an experience. 
 The visualization therefore must have been induced 
 by something not in the content of consciousness, 
 something we have called a secondary process, of 
 which the individual is unaware. 
 
 We can conceive of the phenomenon originating 
 in either one of two possible modes. Either the 
 hallucination was a newly fabricated conscious ex-
 
 92 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 perience; or it was a reproduction of secondary 
 visual images originally belonging to the auditory 
 perception at the time of its occurrence and now 
 thrust into consciousness in an intensely vivid form. 
 In either case, for this to have taken place some- 
 thing must have been left by the original experience 
 and conserved apart from and independent of the 
 content of the personal consciousness at any and 
 all moments something capable of functioning 
 after an interval of time as a secondary process out- 
 side of the personal consciousness. The only in- 
 telligible explanation of the phenomenon is that the 
 original auditory impression persisted, somehow 
 and somewhere, in a form capable of conservation 
 as a specific and independent residuum during all 
 subsequent changes in the content of consciousness. 
 This residuum either fabricated the hallucination 
 or thrust its secondary images into consciousness 
 to become the hallucination. 
 
 The phenomenon by itself does not permit a con- 
 clusion as to the nature of the residuum, whether 
 it is psychological or neural ; i. e., whether an audi- 
 tory perception, as perception, still persists sub- 
 consciously outside the focus of awareness of 
 consciousness, or whether it has left an alteration of 
 some kind in the neurons. Whatever the inner na- 
 ture of the conserved experience it obviously must 
 have a very specific and independent existence, 
 somehow and somewhere, outside of the awareness 
 of consciousness, and one capable of secondary 
 functioning in a way that can reproduce the orig-
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 93 
 
 inal experience in terms of another sense. In other 
 words, conservation must be in the form of some 
 kind of residuum, psychological or neural. It must 
 be, therefore, something very different from 
 reproduction or a recurrent phase of conscious- 
 ness. Further, it must form a stage in the proc- 
 ess of memory of which reproduction is the final 
 result. 
 
 This observation of course does not stand alone. 
 I have cited a number of observations and might 
 cite many more in which the same phenomenon of 
 transformation or conversion of sensory images of 
 one sense into images of another sense was promi- 
 nent. Indeed a study of hallucinations, artificial or 
 spontaneous, which are representations of former 
 experiences and where the determining factors can 
 be ascertained, will show that in most, if not all, of 
 them this same mechanism of conversion is at work. 
 Take, for instance, the experiment cited in our last 
 lecture, the one in which Miss B. was directed to 
 look into a crystal for the purpose of discovering 
 the whereabouts of some money she had lost without 
 being aware of the fact. In the crystal she sees a 
 vision of herself walking along a particular street 
 in Boston absorbed in thought. She sees herself in 
 a moment of absent-mindedness take some bank- 
 notes out of her pocket, tear them up, and throw 
 them into the street. 
 
 Now this artificial hallucination was, as we have 
 seen, a picture of an actual occurrence for which 
 there was amnesia. It must, therefore, have been
 
 94 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 determined by that experience. The psychological 
 phenomena manifested, however, were really much 
 more complicated than would appear at first sight. 
 An analysis of this vision, which unfolded itself like 
 a cinematograph picture, would show that it was a 
 composite visual representation of several different 
 kinds of experiences of past perceptions of her 
 body and face, of her conscious knowledge of her 
 relation to the environment (in the street), of mus- 
 cular movements, and of her knowledge derived 
 from subconscious tactile impressions of the act. 
 Of these last she was not aware at the time of their 
 occurrence. Much of this knowledge must have 
 persisted as a residuum of the original experience 
 and functioned subconsciously. Thereby, perhaps, 
 the original secondary visual images were repro- 
 duced and emerged into consciousness as the hallu- 
 cination or pictorial memory. 
 
 Similar phenomena indicative of conservation 
 being effected by means of a residuum of the orig- 
 inal experience may be produced experimentally 
 in various ways. For instance, in certain hysterics 
 with anesthesia if you prick a number of times a 
 part of the body say the hand in which all tactile 
 sensation has been lost, and later direct the subject 
 to look into a crystal, he will see a number, perhaps 
 written on a hand. This number, let us say five, will 
 correctly designate the number of times the hand 
 was pricked. Now, because of the loss of sensibility, 
 the subject was unaware of the pin-pricks. Never- 
 theless, of course, they were recorded subcon-
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 95 
 
 sciously, coconsciously). Their subsequent trans- 
 formation into a visual hallucination not only shows 
 that they were conserved, but that they left some- 
 thing which was capable of taking part, outside 
 of consciousness, in a secondary process which gave 
 rise to the hallucination. 
 
 An examination of all crystal visions, so far as 
 they are translated memories of actual experiences, 
 will show this same evidence for a conserved resi- 
 duum. 
 
 That conservation is not merely a figure of speech 
 to express the ability to determine the recurrence 
 of a previous experience, but means a specific re- 
 siduum capable of independent and elaborate func- 
 tioning, is brought out more conspicuously in those 
 visions which are elaborately fabricated symbol- 
 isms of an antecedent experience. In other words, 
 the vision is not a literal recurrence of a previous 
 phase of consciousness, in that the latter has been 
 worked over, so to speak, so as to appear in con- 
 sciousness in a reconstructed form. Though recon- 
 structed it either still retains its original meaning 
 or is worked out to a completion of its thoughts, or 
 to a fulfilment of the emotional strivings pertaining 
 to them (anxieties, wishes, etc.). These visions, 
 perhaps, more frequently occur spontaneously, 
 often at moments of crises in a person's life, but 
 also are observed under experimental conditions. 
 Sometimes they answer the doubts, scruples and 
 other problems which have troubled the subject, 
 sometimes they express the imaginary fulfilment of
 
 96 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 intense longings or of anxieties and dreads which 
 have been entertained, or disturbing thoughts which 
 have pricked the conscience.* We are obliged to 
 conclude, in the light of experimental observations 
 of the same class, that such phenomena are deter- 
 mined by the specific residua of antecedent thoughts 
 which must be conserved and function in a specific 
 manner to appear in this metamorphosed form. 
 
 Similar residual processes underlying post-hypnotic phe- 
 nomena Conserved experiences which give rise to 
 more complicated secondary elaboration may be 
 observed in suggested post-hypnotic phenomena. 
 Experiments of this kind may be varied in many 
 ways. The phenomenon may be an hallucination 
 similar to the one I have just described in hysterics, 
 or a so-called subconscious calculation. You sug- 
 gest in hypnosis to a suitable subject that he 
 shall multiply certain numbers, or calculate the 
 number of seconds intervening between certain 
 hours let us say between 10 :43 and 5 :13 o 'clock 
 the answer to be given in writing on a certain day. 
 The subject is then awakened immediately, before 
 he has time to do the calculation while in hypnosis. 
 Later, if the experiment is successful, at the time 
 designated the subject will absent-mindedly or auto- 
 matically write the figures giving the answer. 
 
 There are two modes in which these calculations 
 may be accomplished. In a special and limited class 
 of cases, where there is a large split-off subconscious 
 
 * For specific instances, see Lecture VII,
 
 97 
 
 personality, or doubling of consciousness, the cal- 
 culation may be made entirely by this secondary 
 subconscious self, in the same fashion as it would be 
 made by the principal personality if the problem 
 were given in the waking state. The subconscious 
 personality will go through each conscious step in 
 the calculation in the same way.* In a second class 
 of cases the calculations are worked out, apparently, 
 unconsciously, without participation in the process 
 by a subconscious personality even when such exists. 
 At most it would seem that isolated numbers repre- 
 senting different steps in the calculation arise from 
 time to time coconsciously as a limited secondary 
 consciousness (of which the personal consciousness 
 is unaware) until finally the figures of the com- 
 pleted answer appear therein. The calculation it- 
 self appears to be still another process outside 
 both the personal and the secondary consciousness. 
 When the problem has been finished the answer is 
 finally given automatically. The whole process is 
 too complicated to go into at this time before we 
 have studied the problems of the coconscious.f 
 It is enough to say that it plain that the hypnotic 
 experience the suggested problem must be con- 
 sidered as some kind of specific residuum, psy- 
 chological or neural, and that this residuum must be 
 one capable of quite elaborate independent and sub- 
 conscious intellectual activity before finally becom- 
 ing transformed into the final answer. 
 
 * Morton Prince : Experimental Evidence for Coconscious Idea- 
 tion, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, April-May, 1908. 
 f For further details, see Lecture VI, p. 169.
 
 98 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Residual processes underlying dreams. When citing 
 the evidence of dreams for the conservation of for- 
 gotten experiences I spoke of one type of dream as 
 a symbolical memory. I may now add it is more 
 than this; it is a fabrication. The original experi- 
 ence or thought may appear in the dream after 
 being worked over into a fantasy, allegory, sym- 
 bolism, or other product of imagination. Such a 
 dream is not a recurrent phase of consciousness, but 
 a newly fabricated phase. Further, analytical and 
 experimental researches go to show that the fabri- 
 cation is performed by the original phase without 
 the latter recurring in the content of the personal 
 consciousness. The original phase must therefore 
 have been conserved in some form capable of such 
 independent and specific functioning, i. e., fabrica- 
 tion below the threshold of consciousness. For in- 
 stance : 
 
 The subject dreamed that she was standing where two roads 
 separated. One was broad and bright and beautiful, and many 
 people she knew were going that way. The other road was the 
 rocky path, quite dark, and no one was going that way, but she 
 had to go. And she said, "Oh, why must I go this way? Will no 
 one go with me?" And a voice replied, "I will go with you." She 
 looked around, and there were some tall black figures; they all 
 had names across their foreheads in bright letters, and the one 
 who spoke was Disappointment ; and all the others said, "We will 
 go with you," and they were Sorrow, Loss, Pain, Fear, and Lone- 
 liness, and she fell down on her face in anguish. 
 
 Now an analysis of the antecedent thought of this 
 subject and a knowledge of her circumstances and 
 mental life, though we cannot go into them here, 
 make it perfectly clear that as a fact, whether there
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 99 
 
 was any causal connection or not, this dream was 
 a symbolic expression of those thoughts. The rocky 
 path has been shown to be symbolic of her concep- 
 tion of her own life entertained through years the 
 other road symbolic of the life longed for and 
 imagined as granted to others. Likewise the rest 
 of the dream symbolized, in a way which any one 
 can easily recognize, the lot which she had in her 
 disappointment actually fancied was hers. The 
 thoughts thus symbolized had been constantly recur- 
 ring thoughts and therefore had been conserved. 
 They were reproduced in the dream, not in their 
 original form, but translated into symbols and an 
 allegory. Something must, therefore, have effected 
 the translation. In other words, the dream is not 
 a recurrent phase of consciousness but an allegori- 
 cal fabrication which expresses these thoughts, not 
 literally as they originally occurred, but in the form 
 of an imaginative story. Now the similarity of the 
 allegorical dream thoughts to the original thoughts 
 can be explained only in two ways: either as pure 
 chance coincidence, or through a relation of cause 
 and effect. In the latter case the dream might have 
 been determined either by the specific antecedent 
 thoughts in question those revealed as memories 
 in the analysis, or both series might have been deter- 
 mined by a third, as yet unrevealed, series. For 
 the purposes of the present problem it is immaterial 
 which so long as the dream was determined by some 
 antecedent thought. The very great frequency, not 
 to say universality, with which this same similarity
 
 100 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 or a logical relation with antecedent thoughts is 
 found in dreams after analysis renders chance coin- 
 cidence very improbable. We must believe, there- 
 fore, that the dream was determined by antecedent 
 experiences. It is beyond my purpose to enter here 
 into an exposition of the theory of the mechanism 
 of dreams, although I shall touch upon it later in 
 some detail in connection with subconscious proc- 
 esses. We need here only concern ourselves with 
 this mechanism so far as it bears upon the principle 
 of conservation. Suffice it to say that analytical 
 observations (Freud) have, it seems to me, conclu- 
 sively shown that conserved experiences may be not 
 only the determining factors in dreams, but that 
 while in a state of conservation they are capable of 
 undergoing elaborate fabrication and afterwards 
 appearing so thoroughly transformed in conscious- 
 ness as not to be superficially recognizable. I have 
 also been able to reach the same conclusions by the 
 method of experimental production of dreams. 
 
 The only question is, in what form can a thought 
 be so conserved that it can, while still in a state 
 of conservation, without itself rising into conscious- 
 ness, fabricate a symbolism, allegory, or other work 
 requiring imagination and reasoning? The only 
 logical and intelligible inference is that the antece- 
 dent conscious experience has been either itself spe- 
 cifically conserved as such outside of the personal 
 consciousness, or has left some neural residuum or 
 disposition capable of functioning and constructing 
 the conscious dream fabrication.
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 101 
 
 Residual processes underlying physiological bodily dis- 
 turbances Before proceeding further I would invite 
 your attention to another class of facts as these 
 facts must be taken into consideration in any theory 
 of conservation. These facts show that the residua 
 can, by subconscious functioning, induce physiologi- 
 cal bodily manifestations without reproducing the 
 original mental experience as conscious memory. 
 In certain abnormal conditions of the nervous sys- 
 tem, i. e., in certain psychoneuroses, we meet with 
 certain involuntary actions of the limbs or muscles 
 known as spasms and contractures ; also with cer- 
 tain impairment of functions such as blindness, 
 deafness, loss of sensation (anesthesia), paralysis, 
 etc. These disturbances are purely functional, 
 meaning that they are not due to any organic dis- 
 ease. Now the evidence seems to be conclusive that 
 these physiological disturbances are caused some- 
 times by ideas after they have passed out of con- 
 sciousness and become, as ideas, dormant, i. e., while 
 they are in a state of conservation and have ceased 
 to be ideas or, at least, ideas of which the subject 
 is aware. A moment's consideration will convince 
 you that this means that ideas, or, at least, expe- 
 riences in a state of conservation, and without be- 
 ing reproduced as conscious memory, can so func- 
 tion as to affect the body in one or other of the 
 ways I have mentioned. To do this they must exist 
 in some specific form that is independent of the per- 
 sonal consciousness of the moment. To take, for
 
 102 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 example, an actual case which I have elsewhere 
 described : 
 
 B. C. A., in a dream, had a visual hallucination of 
 a flash of light which revealed a scene in a cave and 
 which was followed by blindness such as would 
 physiologically follow a tremendous flash. In the 
 dream she is warned that if she looks into the cave 
 she will be blinded. She looks ; there is a blinding 
 flash and loss of vision follows; after waking she 
 was still partially blind, but she continued from 
 time to time to see momentary flashes of light re- 
 vealing certain of the objects seen in the dream in 
 the cave, and these flashes would be succeeded tem- 
 porarily by absolute blindness as in the dream. She 
 had no memory of the dream. Now psychological 
 analysis disclosed the meaning of the dream ; it was 
 a symbolical representation of certain conserved 
 (subconscious) previous thoughts thoughts appre- 
 hensive of the future into which she dared not look, 
 thinking she would be overwhelmed. While in a 
 state of conservation the residua of these antece- 
 dent thoughts had translated themselves into the 
 symbolical hallucination of the dream and the loss 
 of vision. Similarly after waking, although she had 
 no memory of the dream, the conserved residua of 
 the same thoughts continued to translate themselves 
 into visual hallucinations and to induce blindness.* 
 It would take too long for me to enter here into the 
 
 * Prince : Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams, Jour, of 
 Abn. Psych., October-November, 1910.
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 103 
 
 details of the analysis which forces this conclusion.* 
 Similarly, as is well known, convulsions resemb- 
 ling epilepsy, paralysis, spasms, tics, contractures, 
 etc., may be caused directly or indirectly by ideas, 
 after they have passed out of consciousness and 
 ceased to take part in the conscious processes of 
 thought. At least that is the interpretation which 
 the facts elicited by the various methods of investi- 
 gation seem to require. 
 
 There is an analogous class of phenomena which 
 ought to be mentioned among the possible data 
 bearing upon the theory of memory, although too 
 much weight cannot be placed upon them as their 
 interpretation is not wholly clear. I will discuss 
 them in detail later in connection with the phenom- 
 ena of the emotions. They are certain emotional 
 phenomena which are attributed by some writers to 
 ideas in a state of conservation. It has been demon- 
 strated that ideas to which strong feeling tones are 
 attached are accompanied by such physiological 
 effects as disturbance of respiration, of the heart's 
 action, of the vaso-motor system, of the secretions, 
 etc., and also by certain galvanic phenomena which 
 are due to the diminution of the electrical resist- 
 
 * If, lacking this knowledge of the data, any one chooses to insist 
 that it was not the conserved residua of previous thoughts, but of the 
 dream itself (the only alternative entertainable explanation) which 
 induced, after waking, the hallucinatory phenomena and blindness, 
 we still fall back upon the same principle, namely, that of the 
 subconscious functioning of conserved residua of a conscious experi- 
 ence producing a physiological (and psychological) effect.
 
 104 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ance of the body, probably caused by increased 
 secretion of sweat.* 
 
 Now the point is that such phenomena are some- 
 times experimentally obtained in connection with 
 certain test words f spoken to the subject experi- 
 mented upon, although he has no recollection of any 
 incident in his life which could have given an emo- 
 tional tone to the word and, therefore, can give no 
 explanation of the physical reaction. By various 
 technical methods, however, memories of a for- 
 gotten emotional experience in which the idea 
 (represented by the word) plays a part and through 
 which it derived its emotional tone are resurrected. 
 I have been able to obtain such reactions from test 
 words which investigation showed referred to the 
 incidents of terrifying dreams which were com- 
 pletely forgotten in the waking state. When the 
 test word was given, the subject might, for instance, 
 exhibit a respiratory disturbance a sudden gasp 
 without conscious knowledge of its significance, and 
 the galvanometer, with which the subject was in 
 circuit, would show a wide deflection. Eecovery of 
 the dream in hypnosis would explain the meaning of 
 the emotional disturbance excited by the word. The 
 
 * According to recent researches of Sidis in conjunction with 
 Kalmus, and later with Nelson (The Nature and Causation of the 
 Galvanic Phenomenon, Psychological Beview, March, 1910) similar 
 galvanic phenomena under similar conditions may be caused by the 
 generation of an electric current within the body. 
 
 f The test word (e. g., boat, stone, hat, etc.) of course represents 
 an idea which may have various associations in the mind of the 
 subject.
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 105 
 
 interpretation which has been put upon such phe- 
 nomena is that the residua of the forgotten experi- 
 ence are " struck" by the test word. As the for- 
 gotten experience originally included the emotion 
 and its physiological reaction, so the residua are 
 linked by association to the emotional mechanism 
 and when stimulated function as a subconscious 
 process and excite the reaction. If this interpreta- 
 tion, strongly held by some, be correct, the phe- 
 nomena are important for the support they give 
 to the theory of conservation. They would indicate 
 that conscious experiences must be conserved in 
 a very specific subconscious form, one that is ca- 
 pable, without becoming conscious memory, of excit- 
 ing the physiological apparatus of the emotions in 
 a manner identical with that of conscious emotional 
 ideas. They are open, however, to a simpler ex- 
 planation, whether more probable or not: namely, 
 that it is not the residua of the forgotten experi- 
 ence which unconsciously excite the physiological 
 reaction, but the auditory symbol, the test word 
 itself. The symbol having been once associated 
 with the emotional reaction, it afterwards of itself, 
 through a short circuit so to speak, suffices to induce 
 the reaction, though the origin of the association 
 has been forgotten and, therefore, the subject is in 
 entire ignorance of the reason for the strong feeling 
 manifestation. On the other hand, in some instances 
 test words associated with emotional experiences 
 which originally were entirely coconscious and had 
 never entered conscious awareness at all give the
 
 106 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 reactions in question.* As coconscious memories of 
 such experiences can be demonstrated it would seem 
 at first sight as if under such conditions the word- 
 reactions must come from a true subconscious proc- 
 ess the subconscious memory. And yet even here 
 it is difficult to eliminate absolutely the possibility 
 of the second interpretation. There are, however, a 
 large number of emotional phenomena occurring in 
 pathological conditions which can only be intelligibly 
 interpreted as being due to the residua of previously 
 conscious experiences functioning as a subconscious 
 process. These phenomena we shall have occasion 
 to review in succeeding lectures. They are too com- 
 plex to enter upon at this stage. 
 
 Aside, then, from these word-reactions we have a 
 sufficient number of other phenomena, such as I 
 have cited, Tzhich indicate that conscious experi- 
 ences when conserved must persist in a form ca- 
 pable of exciting purely physiological reactions 
 without the experiences themselves rising into con- 
 sciousness again as memory. The form must also 
 be one which permits of their functioning as intelli- 
 gent processes although not within the conscious 
 field of awareness of the moment. 
 
 As a final summing up of the experiments and 
 observations of the kind which I have thus far cited, 
 
 * Morton Prince and Frederick Peterson : Experiments in Psycho- 
 Galvanic Eeactions from Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideas in a Case 
 of Multiple Personality, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, April- 
 May, 1908.
 
 A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES 
 
 dealing with forgotten experiences, we may say that 
 they lead us to the following conclusions : 
 
 1. That conservation is something very different 
 from reproduction. 
 
 2. A given experience is conserved through the 
 medium of some kind of residuum of that experi- 
 ence. This residuum must have a specific existence 
 independent of consciousness, in that it is capable of 
 specific and independent functioning, coincidentally 
 with and outside of the consciousness of any given 
 moment. Its nature must be such that it can incite 
 through specific processes the following phenomena 
 in none of which the conscious processes of the mo- 
 ment take part as factors : 
 
 (a) Specific memory for the given experience 
 expressed through the established physiological 
 mechanisms of external expression (speech, writing, 
 gestures) after the manner of a mnesic process. 
 
 (b) A mnesic hallucination which is a represen- 
 tation of the antecedent perceptual experience but 
 after having undergone translation into terms of 
 another sense. 
 
 (c) A mnesic hallucination in which the original 
 experience appears synthesized with various other 
 experiences into an elaborate representation of a 
 complex experience, or secondarily elaborated into 
 a symbolism, allegory or other fabrication. 
 
 (d) Mnesic phenomena which are a logical con- 
 tinuation of the antecedent conscious experiences 
 and such as ordinarily are produced by conscious 
 processes of thought reasoning, imagination, voli-
 
 108 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tion (mathematical calculations, versification, fab- 
 rication, etc.). 
 
 (e) Physical phenomena (paralyses contrac- 
 tures, vasomotor disturbances, etc.). 
 
 In other words a specific experience while in a 
 state of conservation and without being reproduced 
 in consciousness can incite or induce processes 
 which incite these and similar phenomena.
 
 LECTURE V 
 NEUROGRAMS 
 
 We have got as far as showing that the phenom- 
 ena of memory to be intelligible require that ideas 
 which have passed out of mind must be conserved 
 through some sort of residuum left by the original 
 experience. But this as a theory of memory is in- 
 complete; the question remains, How, and in what 
 form, manner, or way, are they conserved? In 
 other words, What is the nature of the residuum? 
 Is it psychical or physical? * As we have seen, 
 from the fact that something outside of the personal 
 consciousness can manifest memory of a given ex- 
 perience at the very same moment when the per- 
 sonal consciousness has amnesia for that experi- 
 ence, we are compelled to infer that conservation 
 must be by a medium, psychological or physiologi- 
 cal, capable of being excited as a specific secondary 
 process. Now this medium must be either an 
 undiff erentiated * ' Psyche ' ' or specific differentiated 
 residua. In the former case we postulate a concept 
 of a transcendental something beyond experience 
 
 * I use this term physical in the sense in which it is used in the 
 physical sciences without reference to any metaphysical concept or 
 the ultimate nature of matter or of a physical process. 
 
 109
 
 110 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 and of which, like the soul after death, we have and 
 can have no knowledge. To this concept of an Tin- 
 differentiated Psyche we shall return presently. 
 
 If the second alternative specific differentiated 
 residua be the medium by which experiences are 
 conserved, then the residua must be either specific 
 psychological states, i. e., the original psychological 
 experience itself as such; or neural residua (or 
 dispositions) such as when excited are ordinarily 
 correlated with a conscious memory. In either case 
 the medium would be such as to permit of the 
 experiences manifesting themselves, while so con- 
 served outside of the personal consciousness, as a 
 very specific secondary process, not only reproduc- 
 ing the original experience as memory, but elabor- 
 ating the same and exhibiting imagination, reason- 
 ing, volition, feeling, etc. Unless the doctrine of 
 the undifferentiated Psyche be accepted it is diffi- 
 cult to conceive of any other mode in which conserv- 
 ation can be effected so as to permit of the phe- 
 nomena of memory outside of consciousness. 
 
 Conservation considered as psychological residua. It is 
 hypothetically possible that our thoughts and other 
 mental experiences after they have passed out of 
 mind, out of our awareness of the moment, may 
 continue their psychological existence as such 
 although we are not aware of them. Such an 
 hypothesis derives support from the fact that re- 
 searches of recent years in abnormal psychology 
 have given convincing evidence that an idea, under
 
 NEUROGRAMS 111 
 
 certain conditions, after it has passed out of our 
 awareness may still from time to time take on an- 
 other sort of existence, one in which it still remains 
 an idea, although our personal consciousness of the 
 moment is not aware of it. A coconscious idea, it 
 may be called. More than this, in absent-minded- 
 ness, in states of abstraction, in artificial conditions 
 as typified in automatic writing, and particularly in 
 pathological conditions (hysteria), it has been 
 fairly demonstrated, as I think we are entitled to 
 assert, that coconscious ideas in the form of sensa- 
 tions, perceptions, thoughts, even large systems of 
 ideas, may function and pursue autonomous and 
 contemporaneous activity outside of the various 
 systems of ideas which make up the personal con- 
 sciousness. It usually is not possible for the in- 
 dividual to bring such ideas within the focus of his 
 awareness. Therefore, there necessarily results a 
 doubling of consciousness, two consciousnesses, one 
 of which is the personal consciousness and the other 
 a coconsciousness. These phenomena need to be 
 studied by themselves. We shall consider them 
 here only so far as they bear on the problem of 
 conscious memory. Observation has shown that 
 among ideas of this kind it often happens that many 
 are memories, reproductions of ideas that once be- 
 longed to the personal consciousness. Hence, on 
 first thought, it seems plausible that conservation 
 might be effected by the content of any moment's 
 consciousness becoming coconscious after the ideas 
 have passed out of awareness. According to such
 
 112 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 an hypothesis all the conscious experiences of our 
 lives, that are conserved, would form a great cocon- 
 scious field where they would continue their exist- 
 ence in specific form as ideas, and whence they 
 could be drawn upon for use at any future time. 
 
 Various difficulties are raised by this hypothesis. 
 In the first place, there is no evidence that cocon- 
 scious ideas have a continuous existence. The tech- 
 nical methods of investigation which give evidence 
 of such ideas functioning outside of the awareness 
 of the personal consciousness do not show that at 
 any given moment they are any more extensive than 
 are those which fill the field of the personal con- 
 sciousness. Indeed, usually, the coconscious field 
 is of very limited extent. There remains an enor- 
 mous field of conserved experiences to be accounted 
 for. So far then as coconscious ideas can be dis- 
 covered by our methods of investigation they are 
 inadequate to account for the whole of the con- 
 servation of life's experiences. 
 
 In the second place, these ideas come and go in 
 the same fashion as do those which make up the 
 content of the main personal consciousness; and 
 many are constantly recurring to become coconscious 
 memories. The same problem, of the nature of 
 conservation, therefore confronts us with cocon- 
 scious ideas in the determination of the mechanism 
 of coconscious memory. To explain conservation 
 through coconscious ideas is but a shifting of the 
 problem. If a broader concept be maintained, 
 namely, that this coconsciousness, which can be
 
 NEUROGRAMS 113 
 
 demonstrated in special conditions, is but a fraction 
 of the sum total of coconscious ideas outside of the 
 personal awareness, we are confronted with a con- 
 cept which from its philosophical nature deals with 
 postulates beyond experience. We can neither 
 prove nor disprove it. There is much that can be 
 said in its support for the deeper we dive into the 
 subconscious regions of the mind the more exten- 
 sively do we come across evidences of coconscious 
 states underlying specific phenomena. Neverthe- 
 less, the demonstration of coconscious states in any 
 number of specific phenomena does not touch the 
 problem of the nature of conservation. In weighing 
 the probability of the hypothesis on theoretical 
 grounds it would seem, as I have already said in a 
 preceding lecture, to be hardly conceivable that 
 ideas that had passed out of mind, the thoughts of 
 the moment of which we are no longer aware, can 
 be treasured, conserved as such in a sort of psycho- 
 logical storehouse or reservoir of consciousness, 
 just as if they were static or material facts. Such 
 a conception would require that every specific state 
 of consciousness, every idea, every thought, per- 
 ception, sensation and feeling, after it had passed 
 out of mind for the moment, should enter a great 
 sea of ideas which would be the sum total of all our 
 past experiences. In this sum-total millions of 
 ideas would have to be conserved in concrete form 
 until wanted again for use by the personal con- 
 sciousness of the moment. Here would be found, in 
 what you will see at once would be a real subcon-
 
 114 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 scious mind beyond the content or confines of our 
 awareness, stored up, so to speak, ready for future 
 use, the mass of our past mental experiences. Here 
 you would find, perhaps, the visualized idea of a 
 seagull soaring over the waters of your beautiful 
 bay conserved in association with the idea of the 
 mathematical formula, a+b=c; the one having 
 originated in a perception of the outer world 
 through the window of your study while you were 
 working at a lesson in algebra which gave rise to 
 the latter. And yet conserved as ideas, as such vast 
 numbers of experiences would be, we should not be 
 aware of them until they were brought by some 
 mysterious agency into the consciousness of the mo- 
 ment. The great mass of the mental experiences 
 of our lives which we have at our command, our 
 extensive educational and other acquisitions from 
 which we consciously borrow from time to time, as 
 well as those which, we have seen, are conserved 
 though they cannot be voluntarily reproduced, all 
 these mental experiences, by the hypothesis, would 
 still have persisting conscious existences in their 
 original concrete psychological form. 
 
 Such an hypothesis, to my mind, is hardly think- 
 able, and yet this very hypothesis has been pro- 
 posed, though in less concrete form perhaps, in the 
 doctrine of the "subliminal mind," a particular 
 form of the theory of the subconscious mind. This 
 doctrine, which we owe to the genius of the late 
 W. H. H. Meyers, has more recently appeared, 
 without full recognition of its paternity, in the
 
 NEUROGRAMS 115 
 
 writings of a more modern school of psychology. 
 According to this doctrine our personal conscious- 
 ness, the ideas which we have at any given moment 
 and of which we are aware, are but a small portion 
 of the sum total of our consciousness. Of this sum- 
 total we are aware, at any given moment, of only a 
 fractional portion. Our personal consciousness is 
 but sort of up-rushes from this great sum of con- 
 scious states which have been called the subliminal 
 mind, the subliminal self, the subconscious self. 
 These conscious up-rushes make up the personal 
 "I," with the sense of awareness for their content. 
 The facts to be explained do not require such a 
 metaphysical hypothesis. All that is required is 
 that our continuously occurring experiences should 
 be conserved in a form, and by an arrangement, 
 which will allow the concrete ideas belonging to 
 them to reappear in consciousness whenever the 
 conserved arrangement is again stimulated. This 
 requirement, the theory of conservation, which is 
 generally accepted by those who approach the prob- 
 lem by psycho-physiological methods, fully satisfies. 
 Before stating this theory in specific form let me 
 mention to you still another variety of the sublim- 
 inal hypothesis, metaphysical in its nature, which 
 appeals to some minds of a philosophical tendency. 
 
 Conservation considered as an undifferentiated psychical 
 something or "psyche." It is difficult to state this hy- 
 pothesis clearly and precisely for it is necessarily 
 vague, transcending as it does human experience.
 
 116 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 It is conceived, as I understand the matter, or at least 
 the hypothesis connotes, that ideas of the moment, 
 after ceasing to be a part of awareness, subside and 
 become merged in some form or other in a larger 
 mind or consciousness of which they were momen- 
 tary concrete manifestations or phases. This con- 
 sciousness is conceived as a sort of unity. Ideas 
 out of awareness still persist as consciousness in 
 some form though not necessarily as specific ideas. 
 According to this hypothesis, it is evident that when 
 the ideas of the moment's awareness subside and 
 become merged into the larger consciousness either 
 one of two things must happen ; they must either be 
 conserved as specific ideas, or lose their individu- 
 ality as states of consciousness, and become fused 
 in this larger consciousness as an undifferentiated 
 psychical something. Some like to call it a 
 ' ' psyche, ' ' apparently finding that by using a Greek 
 term, or a more abstract expression, they avoid the 
 difficulties of clear thinking. 
 
 The first alternative is equivalent to the hypothe- 
 sis of conservation in the form of coconscious spe- 
 cific ideas which we have just discussed. The second 
 alternative still leaves unexplained the mechanism 
 by which differentiation again takes place in this 
 psychical unity, how a conscious unity becomes dif- 
 ferentiated again into and makes up the various 
 phases (ideas) of consciousness at each moment; 
 that is, the mechanism of memory. 
 
 But, aside from this difficulty, the hypothesis is 
 opposed by evidence which we have already found
 
 NEUROGRAMS 117 
 
 for the persistence of ideas (after cessation as 
 states of consciousness) in some concrete form ca- 
 pable of very specific activity and of producing very 
 specific effects. We have seen that such ideas may 
 under certain conditions continue to manifest the 
 same specific functionating activity as if continuing 
 their existence in concrete form (e. g., so-called sub- 
 conscious solution of problems, physiological dis- 
 turbances, etc.). This phenomenon is scarcely 
 reconcilable with the hypothesis that ideas after 
 passing out of awareness lose their concrete spe- 
 cificity and become merged into an undifferentiated 
 psychical something.* 
 
 Furthermore, for a concept transcending experi- 
 ence to be acceptable it must be shown that it ade- 
 quately explains all the known facts, is incompatible 
 with none, and that the facts are not intelligible on 
 any other known principle. These conditions seem 
 to me far from having been fulfilled. Before accept- 
 ing such a concept it is desirable to see if conserva- 
 tion cannot be brought under some principle within 
 the domain of experience. 
 
 Conservation considered as physical residua. Now the 
 theory of memory which offers a satisfactory ex- 
 planation of the mode in which registration, con- 
 
 * The psyche would have to be one which would be capable of 
 becoming differentiated at one and the same moment into two in- 
 dependent consciousnesses the personal and the secondary; a soul 
 split into two, so to speak. The desire to explain a secondary con- 
 sciousness by this doctrine has probably given rise to the popular 
 notion of two souls in a single body!
 
 118 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 nervation, and reproduction occur postulates the 
 conserved residua as physical in nature. Whenever 
 we have a mental experience of any kind a thought, 
 or perception of the environment, or feeling some 
 change, some "trace," is left in the neurons of 
 the brain. I need not here discuss the relation be- 
 tween brain activity and mind activity. It is enough 
 to remind you that, whatever view be held, it is 
 universally accepted that every mental process is 
 accompanied by a physical process in the brain; 
 that, parallel with every series of thoughts, percep- 
 tions, or feelings, there goes a series of physical 
 changes of some kind in the brain neurons. And, 
 conversely, whenever this same series of physical 
 changes occurs the corresponding series of mental 
 processes, that is, of states of consciousness, arises. 
 In other words, physical brain processes or expe- 
 riences are correlated with corresponding mind 
 processes or experiences, and vice versa.* This is 
 known as the doctrine of psycho-physical parallel- 
 ism. Upon this doctrine the whole of psycho-physi- 
 ology and psycho-pathology rests. Mental physi- 
 ology, cerebral localization, and mental diseases 
 
 * If the theory of the unconscious presented in these lectures be 
 firmly established this doctrine will have to be modified to this ex- 
 tent, that, while all mental processes are accompanied by brain 
 processes, brain processes that ordinarily have conscious equivalents 
 can within certain limits occur without them and exhibit all the 
 characteristics of intelligence unconscious cerebration. Indeed, it 
 becomes probable that every mental process is a part of a larger 
 mechanism in which unconscious brain processes not correlated with 
 the specifically conscious processes are integral factors.
 
 NEUROGRAMS 119 
 
 excepting on its assumption are unintelligible in- 
 deed, the brain as the organ of the mind becomes 
 meaningless. We need not here inquire into the na- 
 ture of the parallelism, whether it is of the nature 
 of dualism, e. g., a parallelism of two different kinds 
 of facts, one psychical and the other physical; or 
 whether it is a monism, i. e., a parallelism of two 
 different aspects of one and the same fact or a 
 parallelism of a single reality (mind) with a mode 
 of apprehending it (matter) mind and matter in 
 their inner nature being held to be practically one 
 and the same. The theory of memory is unaffected 
 whichever view of the mind-brain relation be held. 
 Now, according to the psycho-physiological 
 theory of memory, with every passing state of con- 
 scious experience, with every idea, thought, or per- 
 ception, the brain process that goes along with it 
 leaves some trace, some residue of itself, within the 
 neurons and in the functional arrangements be- 
 tween them. It is an accepted principle of physi- 
 ology that when a number of neurons, involved, let 
 us say, in a coordinated sensori-motor act, are stim- 
 ulated into functional activity they become so asso- 
 ciated and the paths between them become so 
 opened or, as it were, sensitized, that a disposition 
 becomes established for the whole group, or a num- 
 ber of different groups, to function together and 
 reproduce the original reaction when either one or 
 the other is afterward stimulated into activity. This 
 "disposition" is spoken of in physiological lan- 
 guage as a lowering of the threshold of excitability
 
 120 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 a term which does not explain but only describes 
 the fact. For an explanation we must look to the 
 nature of the physical change that is wrought in 
 the neurons by the initial functioning. This change 
 we may speak of as a residuum. 
 
 Similarly a system of brain neurons, which in any 
 experience is correlated in activity with conscious 
 experience, becomes, so to speak, sensitized and ac- 
 quires, in consequence, a "disposition" to function 
 again as a system (lowering of thresholds'?) in a 
 like fashion; so that when one element in the sys- 
 tem is again stimulated it reproduces the whole 
 original brain process, and with this reproduction 
 (according to the doctrine of psycho-physical par- 
 allelism) there is a reproduction of the original 
 conscious experience. In other words, without bind- 
 ing ourselves down to absolute precision of lan- 
 guage, it is sufficiently accurate to say that every 
 mental experience leaves behind a residue, or a 
 trace, of the physical brain process in the chain of 
 brain neurons. This residue is the physical regis- 
 ter of the mental experience. This physical register 
 may be conserved or not. If it is conserved we have 
 the requisite condition for memory; the form in 
 which our mental experiences are conserved. But 
 it is not until these physical registers are stimulated 
 and the original brain experience is reproduced 
 that we have memory. If this occurs the reproduc- 
 tion of the brain experience reproduces the con- 
 scious experience, i. e., conscious memory (accord- 
 ing to whatever theory of parallelism is main-
 
 NEUROGRAMS 121 
 
 tained). Thus in all ideation, in every process of 
 thought, the record of the conscious stream may be 
 registered and conserved in the correlated neural 
 process. Consequently, the neurons in retaining 
 residua of the original process become, to a greater 
 or less degree, organized into a functioning system 
 corresponding to the system of ideas of the original 
 mental process and capable of reproducing it. 
 When we reproduce the original ideas in the form 
 of memories it is because there is a reproduction of 
 the physiological neural process. 
 
 It is important to note that just as, on the psy- 
 chological side, memory always involves the awak- 
 ening of a previous conscious experience by an 
 associated idea, one that was an element in the 
 previous system of associated sensations, percep- 
 tions, thoughts, etc., making up the experience, so, 
 on the physiological side, we must suppose that it 
 involves stimulation of the whole system of neu- 
 rons belonging to this experience by the physiologi- 
 cal stimulus corresponding to the conscious ele- 
 ment or stimulus. For instance, if I see my friend 
 A, the image is not a memory, though it is one I 
 have had many times before and has left residua of 
 itself capable of being reproduced as memory. But 
 if I see his hat, and immediately previously linked 
 pictorial images of him arise in my mind; or, if, 
 when I see him, there arise images of his library in 
 which I have previously seen him, these images are 
 memory. A conscious memory is always the re- 
 production of an experience by an associated idea.
 
 122 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 or other element of experience (conscious or sub- 
 conscious). Similarly we must infer that the 
 neurons correlated with any past mental experience 
 are stimulated by associated neuron processes. 
 This is the foundation-stone of mental physiology; 
 for upon the general principle of the correlation of 
 mental processes with neural processes rests the 
 whole of cerebral localization and brain physiology. 
 Although we assume newly arranged dynamic 
 associations of neurons corresponding to associa- 
 tions of ideas, we do not know how this rearrange- 
 ment is brought about, though we may conceive of 
 it as following the physiological laws of lowering of 
 thresholds of excitability. Nor do we know whether 
 the modifications left as residua (by which the 
 thresholds are lowered) are physical or chemical in 
 their nature, though there is some reason for believ- 
 ing they may be chemical. 
 
 Chemical and physical theories of residua It is pos- 
 sible that, through chemical changes of some kind 
 left in the system of neurons corresponding to an 
 experience, the neurons may become sensitized so 
 as to react again as a whole to a second stimulus 
 applied to one element. In other words a hyper- 
 susceptibility may become established. There is a 
 physiological phenomenon, known as anaphylaxis, 
 which may possibly prove more than analogous, 
 in that it depends upon the production, through 
 chemical changes, of hyper-susceptibility to a stimu- 
 lus which before was inert. The phenomenon is
 
 NEUROGRAMS 123 
 
 one of sensitizing the body to certain previously 
 innocuous substances. If, for instance, a serum 
 from a horse be injected into a guinea pig no ob- 
 servable reaction follows. But, if a second dose be 
 injected, a very pronounced reaction follows and 
 the animal dies with striking manifestations called 
 anaphylactic shock. This consists of spasm of the 
 bronchioles of the lungs induced by contraction of 
 their unstriated muscles and results in an attack 
 of asphyxia.* 
 
 The mechanism of anaphylaxis is a very compli- 
 cated one involving the production in the blood of 
 chemical substances called antibodies, and is far 
 from being thoroughly understood. One theory is 
 that sensitization consists in the "fixing" of the 
 cells of the tissues with these antibodies. This may 
 or may not be correct probably not and I am 
 far from wishing to imply that sensitization of the 
 neurons, as a consequence of functioning, has any- 
 thing in common with the mechanism of sensitizing 
 the body in anaphylaxis. I merely wish to point 
 out that sensitizing nervous tissue through chemi- 
 cal changes is a physiological concept quite within 
 the bounds of possibility; and, as all functioning is 
 probably accompanied by metabolic (chemical) 
 changes, such metabolic changes may well persist in 
 neurons after brain reactions produce sensitization. 
 
 * Dr. S. J. Meltzer has pointed out in a very suggestive article 
 (Journal American Medical Association, Vol. IV, No. 12) that the 
 anaphylactic attack resembles that of bronchial asthma in man, and 
 argues that this latter disease may be the same phenomenon,
 
 124 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 If this hypothesis of sensitization should be 
 proven it would offer an intelligible mechanism of 
 the phenomenon of memory. If the system of neu- 
 rons engaged in any conscious experience were 
 sensitized by chemical changes it would acquire a 
 hyper-susceptibility. The system as a whole would 
 consequently be excited into activity by any other 
 functioning system of neurons with which it was 
 in anatomical association and might reproduce the 
 originally correlated conscious experience. 
 
 Various theories based on known or theoretical 
 chemical or physical alterations in the neurons have 
 been proposed to account for memory on the physi- 
 ological side. Robertson * has proposed that it is 
 of the nature of autocatalysis. Catalysis is the 
 property possessed by certain bodies called cata- 
 lyzers of initiating or accelerating chemical reactions 
 which would take place without the catalyzer, but 
 more slowly. "A catalyzer is a stimulus which ex- 
 cites a transformation of energy. The catalyzer 
 plays the same role in a chemical transformation 
 as does the minimal exciting force which sets free 
 the accumulation of potential energy previous to 
 its transformation into kinetic energy. A catalyzer 
 is the friction of the match which sets free the 
 chemical energy of the powder magazine. ' ' f 
 
 Numerous examples of catalytic actions might 
 
 * T. Brailsf ord Kobertson : Sur la Dynamique chimique du systeme 
 nerveux central, Archiv. de Physiol. v. 6, 1908, p. 388. Ueber die 
 Wirkung von Sauren auf das Athmungs Zentrum, Arch. f. die 
 Gesammte Physiologic, Bd. 145, Hft. 5 u. 6, 1912. 
 
 f Stephane Leduc : The Mechanism of Life.
 
 NEUROGRAMS 125 
 
 be given from chemistry. The inversion of sugar 
 by acids, the decomposition of hydrogen peroxide 
 by platinum black, fermentation by means of a solu- 
 ble ferment or diastase, a phenomenon which may 
 almost be called vital, are all instances. According 
 to Leduc "the action of pepsin, of the pancreatic 
 ferment, of zymase and other similar ferments has 
 a great analogy with the purely physical phenome- 
 non of catalysis." 
 
 In auto-catalysis one of the products of the reac- 
 tion acts as the catalyzer. Now Robertson con- 
 cluded, as a result of his experiments carried out 
 on frogs, that the processes which accompany the 
 excitation of the cells of the neurons are of the 
 nature of catalysis; for he found that they have 
 as one eif ect the production of an acid ; and he also 
 found that acids accelerate such processes which 
 he concludes to be probably of the nature of oxida- 
 tions. "The chemical phenomena which constitute 
 the activity of a neuron cell," he says, "seem to 
 us then an auto-catalytic oxidation, that is to say, 
 an oxidation in which one of the products of the 
 reaction acts as a catalyzer in the reaction." It 
 occurred to him then that the physiological corre- 
 late of memory might be explained on the principle 
 of auto-catalysis. When, to test this hypothesis, he 
 came to compare the results of certain psychological 
 experiments on memory, made by two different ex- 
 perimenters (Ebbinghaus and Smith), with the law 
 characteristic of auto-catalytic chemical reactions, 
 he found that they corresponded in a surprisingly
 
 126 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 close way with this law. That is to say, assuming 
 the value of the residua of memory (measured by 
 the number of syllables learnt by heart) to be pro- 
 portional to the mass of the chemical product of 
 auto-catalysis, we should expect that the increase 
 of the number of syllables or other experiences re- 
 tained by memory following increase of repetitions 
 would obey the law of catalytic reaction as ex- 
 pressed in the mathematical formula established 
 for the reaction. Now, as a fact, he found that the 
 number of syllables that should be so retained in 
 memory, as calculated theoretically by the formula, 
 corresponded in a remarkable way with the actual 
 number determined by experiment. "The agree- 
 ment was closer," the author states, "than that 
 which generally obtained in experiments in chemical 
 dynamics carried out in vitro." Robertson sums up 
 his conclusions as follows : 
 
 "5th: We have shown that the phenomenon of 
 which the subjective aspect is called 'memory' is 
 of a nature indicating that the autocatalyzed chemi- 
 cal reactions form the mechanism conditioning the 
 response of the central nervous system to stimuli. 
 
 "6th. In admitting that the extent of the trace 
 of memory may be proportionate to the mass of a 
 product of an autocatalyzed chemical reaction un- 
 folding itself in the central nervous system as the 
 result of the application of a stimulus, we have 
 shown that the relation which one theoretically de- 
 duces between the mass of memory material and
 
 NEUROGRAMS 127 
 
 the number of repetitions corresponds to that which 
 has been found by experience. 
 
 * ' 7th. On the basis of the hypothesis above men- 
 tioned we have shown that the law of Weber- 
 Fechner admits of a rational physico-chemical in- 
 terpretation, and that the result thus obtained, pro- 
 vided the hypothesis above mentioned be an exact 
 representation of facts, is that the intensity of the 
 sensation is at each instant proportionate to the 
 mass of the product of the autocatalyzed chemical 
 reaction above mentioned and, consequently, to the 
 extent of the trace of memory. ' ' 
 
 While it is easy to understand that auto-catalysis 
 may take part in the chemical process which under- 
 lies the performance of simple volition, as inferred 
 by Robertson,* and perhaps reproduction in the 
 memory process, it is difficult to understand how 
 such a chemical action can explain conservation. 
 The problem is not that of acceleration of an action, 
 but of something like the storing up of energy. 
 
 Rignanof has proposed an hypothesis according to 
 which the cells of the nervous system are to be con- 
 sidered as so many accumulators, analogous to elec- 
 tric accumulators or storage batteries. "The simi- 
 larities and differences which nerve currents pre- 
 sent in comparison with electric currents warrant 
 us in assuming in nerve currents some of the prop- 
 
 * Further studies in the chemical dynamics of the central ner- 
 vous system, Folio Neuro-Biologica, Bd. VI, Nos. 7 and 8, 1912. 
 
 t Eugenio Rignano: Upon the Inheritance of Acquired Charac- 
 ters. Trans, by Basil C. H. Harvey, Chicago. Open Court Publish- 
 ing Co., 1911.
 
 128 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 erties of electric currents, and in attributing at the 
 same time to the first other properties which the 
 electric do not possess, provided these qualities are 
 not incompatible with the others. ' ' 
 
 Now, according to the hypothesis, the specific 
 nervous current set up by any stimulus forms and 
 deposits in the nucleus of the cells (through which 
 the current flows) a substance which adds itself to 
 the others already there without changing them 
 and which is capable, under appropriate conditions, 
 of being discharged and restoring the same specific 
 current by which it was produced. Each cell thus 
 becomes what Rignano calls an elementary nervous 
 accumulator. He points out that ''both the concep- 
 tion of accumulators of nervous energy in tension, 
 and that of accumulators of a specific nervous en- 
 ergy constituting their specific irritability," which 
 the hypothesis includes, are not new but "an ordi- 
 nary conception very generally employed." . . . 
 "The only new thing which the above definition in- 
 cludes is the hypothesis that the substance, which is 
 thus capable of giving as a discharge a given nerv- 
 ous current, was produced and deposited only by a 
 nervous current of the same specificity, but in the 
 inverse direction, and could have been produced and 
 deposited only by such a current." "In just this 
 capacity of restoring again the same specificity of 
 nervous current as that by which each element had 
 been deposited one would look for the cause of the 
 mnemonic faculty, in the widest sense, which all liv- 
 ing matter possesses. And further the very essence
 
 NEUROGRAMS 129 
 
 of the mnemonic faculty would consist entirely in 
 this restitution." 
 
 "The specific elementary accumulators (previ- 
 ously termed specific potential elements) are thus 
 susceptible now of receiving a third name, namely, 
 that of mnemonic elements." "The preservation 
 of memories is to be ascribed to the accumulations 
 of substance," while "the reawakening of these 
 memories consists in the restitution of the same cur- 
 rents [by discharge of the substance] as had formerly 
 constituted the actual sensation or impression." 
 
 By this hypothesis Bignano explains not only 
 memory but the inheritance of acquired characters 
 and the whole process of specialization of cells, all 
 of which phenomena are special instances of such 
 elementary accumulators of organic energy being 
 formed and discharged. 
 
 Any attempt, with our present knowledge, to pos- 
 tulate particular kinds of chemical or physical 
 changes in the nervous system as the theoretical 
 residua of physiological dispositions left by psycho- 
 logical experiences must necessarily be speculative. 
 And any hypothesis can only have so much validity 
 as may come from its capability of explaining the 
 known facts. It is interesting, however, to note 
 some of the directions which attempts have taken to 
 find a solution of the problem. For the present it is 
 best to rest content with the theory to which we 
 have been led, step by step, in our exposition, 
 namely, that conservation is effected by some sort 
 of physiological residua. This theory, of course, is
 
 130 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 an old one, and has been expressed by many writers. 
 What we want, however, is not expressions of opin- 
 ion but facts supporting them. It would seem as if 
 the facts accumulated in recent years by experi- 
 mental and abnormal psychology all tended to 
 strengthen the theory, notwithstanding an inclina- 
 tion in certain directions to seek a psychological in- 
 terpretation of conservation. 
 
 Some minds of a certain philosophical bent will 
 not be able to get over the difficulty of conceiving 
 how a psychological process can be conserved by 
 the physical residuum of a physiological process. 
 But this is only the old difficulty involved in the 
 problem of the relation between mind and brain of 
 which conservation is only a special example. That 
 a mind process and a brain process are so intimately 
 related that either one determines the other there 
 is no question. It is assumed in every question of 
 psycho-physiology. The only question is the How. 
 I may point out in passing, but without discussion, 
 that if we adopt the doctrine of panpsychism for 
 which I have elsewhere argued * namely, that there 
 is only one process the mental in one and the 
 same individual, and that what we know as the phys- 
 ical process is only the mode of apprehending the 
 mental process by another individual; if we adopt 
 this doctrine of monism the difficulty is solved. In 
 other words, the psychical (and consciousness) is 
 
 * Prince: The Nature of Mind and Human Automatism, 1885: 
 Hughlings-Jackson on the Connection between the Mind and Brain, 
 Brain, p. 250, 1891; The Identification of Mind and Matter, 
 Philosoph. Rev., July, 1904,
 
 NEUROGRAMS 131 
 
 reality, while matter (and physical process) is a 
 phenomenon, the disguise, so to speak, under which 
 the psychical appears when apprehended through 
 the special senses. According to this view in their 
 last analysis all physical facts are psychical in na- 
 ture, although not psychological (for psychological 
 means consciousness), so that physiological and 
 psychical are one. To this point I shall return in 
 another lecture. 
 
 Neurograms. Whatever may be the exact nature of 
 the theoretical alterations left in the brain by life 's 
 experiences they have received various generic 
 terms; more commonly " brain residua," and "brain 
 dispositions." I have been in the habit of using 
 the term neurograms to characterize these brain 
 records. Just as telegram, Marconigram, and 
 phonogram precisely characterize the form in 
 which the physical phenomena which correspond to 
 our (verbally or scripturally expressed) thoughts, 
 are recorded and conserved, so neurogram precisely 
 characterizes my conception of the form in which a 
 system of brain processes corresponding to 
 thoughts and other mental experiences is recorded 
 and conserved.* 
 
 *Kichard Semon (Die Mneme, 1908) has adopted the term 
 Engramm with much the same signification that I have given to 
 Neurogram, excepting that Engramm has a much wider meaning 
 and connotation. It is not limited to nervous tissue, but includes 
 the residual changes held by some to be left in all irritable living 
 substances after stimulation. All such substances are therefore 
 capable of memory in a wide sense (Mneme).
 
 132 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Of course it must not be overlooked that such 
 neurograms are pure theoretical conceptions, and 
 have never been demonstrated by objective methods 
 of physical research. They stand in exactly the 
 same position as the atoms and molecules and ions 
 and electrons of physics and chemistry, and the 
 "antibodies" and " complements " of bacteriology. 
 No one has seen any of these postulates of science. 
 They are only inferred. All are theoretical con- 
 cepts; but they are necessary concepts if the phe- 
 nomena of physical, chemical, and bacteriological 
 science are to be intelligible. The same may be said 
 for brain changes if the phenomena of brain and 
 mind are to be intelligible. 
 
 And so it happens that though our ideas pass out 
 of mind, are forgotten for the moment, and become 
 dormant, their physiological records still remain, as 
 sort of vestigia, much as the records of our spoken 
 thoughts are recorded on the moving wax cylinder 
 of the phonograph. When the cylinder revolves 
 again the thoughts once more are reproduced as 
 auditory language. A better analogy would be the 
 recording and reproducing of our thoughts by the 
 dynamic magnetization of the iron wire in another 
 type of the instrument. The vibration of the voice 
 by means of a particular electrical mechanism 
 leaves dynamic traces in the form of corresponding 
 magnetic changes in the passing wire, and when the 
 magnetized wire again is passed before the repro- 
 ducing diaphragm the spoken thoughts are again re- 
 produced. So, when the ideas of any given con-
 
 NEUROGRAMS 133 
 
 scious experience become dormant, the physiologi- 
 cal records, or dynamic rearrangements, still re- 
 main organized as physiological unconscious com- 
 plexes, and, with the excitation of these physiologi- 
 cal complexes, the corresponding psychological 
 memories awake. 
 
 It is only as such physiological complexes that 
 ideas that have become dormant can be regarded as 
 still existing. If our knowledge were deep enough, 
 if by any technical method we could determine the 
 exact character of the modifications of the disposi- 
 tions of the neurons that remain as vestiges of 
 thought and could decipher their meaning, we could 
 theoretically read in our brains the record of our 
 lives, as if graphically inscribed on a tablet. As 
 Bibot has well expressed it: " . . . Feelings, ideas, 
 and intellectual actions in general are not fixed and 
 only become a portion of memory when there are 
 corresponding residua in the nervous system re- 
 sidua consisting, as we have previously demon- 
 strated, of nervous elements, and dynamic associa- 
 tions among those elements. On this condition, and 
 this only, can there be conservation and reproduc- 
 tion." Dormant ideas are thus equivalent to con- 
 served physiological complexes. We may use either 
 term to express the fact. 
 
 The observations and experiments I have recited 
 have led us to the conclusion that conservation of 
 an experience is something quite specific and dis- 
 
 * Th. Eibot : Diseases of Memory, pp. 154, 155. Translation by 
 William Huntington Smith. D. Appleton & Co.
 
 134 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tinct from the reproduction of it. They compel us 
 to the conclusion that we are entitled, as I pointed 
 out at the opening of these lectures, to regard 
 memory as a process and the result of at least two 
 factors conservation and reproduction. But as 
 conservation is meaningless unless there is some- 
 thing to be conserved, w T e must also assume regis- 
 tration; that is, that every conserved mental experi- 
 ence is primarily registered somehow and some- 
 where. Conservation implies registration. 
 
 Such is the theory of memory as a process of reg- 
 istration, conservation, and reproduction. Thus it 
 will be seen (according to the theory) that ideas 
 which have passed out of mind are preserved, if at 
 all, not as ideas, but as physical alterations or rec- 
 ords in the brain neurons and in the functional 
 dynamic arrangements between them. 
 
 From this you will easily understand that while, 
 as you have seen from concrete observations, we 
 can have conservation of experiences without mem- 
 ory (reproduction) we cannot have memory without 
 conservation. Three factors are essential for mem- 
 ory, and memory may fail from the failure of any 
 one of them. Unless an experience is registered in 
 some form there will be nothing to preserve, and 
 memory will fail because of lack of registration. If 
 the experience has been registered, memory may 
 fail, owing to the registration having faded out, so 
 to speak, either with time or from some other rea- 
 son; that is, nothing having been conserved, noth- 
 ing can be reproduced. Finally, though an experi-
 
 NEUROGRAMS 135 
 
 ence has been registered and conserved, memory 
 may still fail, owing to failure of reproduction. The 
 neurographic records must be made active once 
 more, stimulated into an active process, in order 
 that the original experience may be recalled, i.-e., 
 reproduced. Thus what we call conscious memory 
 is the final result of a process involving the three 
 factors, registration, conservation, and reproduction. 
 
 Physiological memory. Memory as commonly re- 
 garded and known to psychology is a conscious 
 manifestation but, plainly, if we regard it, as we 
 have thus far, as a process, then, logically, we are 
 entitled to regard any process which consists of the 
 three factors, registration, conservation, and repro- 
 duction of experiences, as memory, whether the 
 final result be the reproduction of a conscious expe- 
 rience, or one to which no consciousness was ever 
 attached. In other words, theoretically it is quite 
 possible that acquired physiological body-experien- 
 ces may be reproduced by exactly the same process 
 as conscious experiences, and their reproduction 
 would be entitled to be regarded as memory quite as 
 much as if the experience were one of consciousness. 
 In principle it is evident that it is entirely imma- 
 terial whether that which is reproduced is a con- 
 scious or an unconscious experience so long as the 
 mechanism of the process is the same. 
 
 Now, as a matter of fact, there are a large number 
 of acquired physiological body-actions which, 
 though unconscious, must be regarded quite as much
 
 136 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 as manifestations of memory as is the conscious 
 repetition of the alphabet, or any other conscious 
 acquisition. Having been acquired they are ipso 
 facto reproductions of organized experiences. We 
 all know very well that movements acquired voli- 
 tionally, and perhaps laboriously, are, after con- 
 stant repetition, reproduced with precision with- 
 out conscious guidance. 
 
 They are said to be automatic; even the guiding 
 afferent impressions do not enter the content of 
 consciousness. The maintaining of the body in one 
 position, sitting or standing, though requiring a 
 complicated correlation of a large number of mus- 
 cles, is carried out without conscious volition. It is 
 the same with walking and running. Still more 
 complicated movements are similarly performed in 
 knitting, typewriting and playing the piano, shav- 
 ing, buttoning a coat, etc. We do not even know the 
 elementary movements involved in the action, and 
 must become aware of them by observation. The 
 neurons remember, i. e., conserve and reproduce the 
 process acquired by previous conscious experiences. 
 But though it is memory it is not conscious mem- 
 ory, it is unconscious memory, i. e., a physiological 
 memory. The acquired dispositions repeat them- 
 selves what is called habit. Precision in games of 
 skill largely depend upon this principle. A tennis 
 player must learn the "stroke" to play the game 
 well. This means that the muscles must be co- 
 ordinated to a delicate adjustment which, once 
 learned, must be unconsciously remembered and
 
 NEUROGRAMS 137 
 
 used, without consciously adjusting the muscles 
 each time the ball is hit. Indeed some organic mem- 
 ories are so tenacious that a player once having 
 learned the stroke finds great difficulty even by ef- 
 fort of will in unlearning it and making his muscles 
 play a different style of stroke. Likewise one who 
 has learned to use his arms in sparring by one 
 method finds difficulty in learning to spar by an- 
 other method. In fact almost any acquired move- 
 ment is compounded of elementary movements 
 which by repetition were linked and finely adjusted 
 to produce the resultant movement, and finally con- 
 served as an unconscious physiological arrange- 
 ment. As one writer has said, the neuron organi- 
 zation "faithfully preserves the records of proc- 
 esses often performed." 
 
 In what has just been said the fact has not been 
 overlooked that the initiation or modification of any 
 of the movements which have been classed as physi- 
 ological memory (knitting, typewriting, games of 
 skill, etc.), even after their acquisition, is necessar- 
 ily voluntary and therefore, so far, a conscious mem- 
 ory, but the nice coordination of afferent and effer- 
 ent impulses for the adjustment of the muscles in- 
 volved becomes, by repetition, an unconscious mech- 
 anism, and is performed outside the province of the 
 will as an act of unconscious memory. By repeated 
 experience the neurons become functionally orga- 
 nized in such a way as to acquire and conserve a 
 functional "disposition" to reproduce the move- 
 ments originally initiated by volition.
 
 138 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Physiological memory has indeed, as it seems, 
 been recently experimentally demonstrated by Roth- 
 mann, who educated a dog from which the hemi- 
 spheres had been removed to perform certain 
 tricks ; e. g., to jump over a hurdle.* 
 
 Still another variety of memory is psycho-physio- 
 logical. This type is characterized by a combina- 
 tion of psychological and physiological elements 
 and is important, as we shall see later, because of 
 the conspicuous part which such memories play in 
 pathological conditions. Certain bodily reactions 
 which are purely physiological, such as vaso-motor, 
 cardiac, respiratory, intestinal, digestive, etc., dis- 
 turbances, become, as the result of certain experi- 
 ences, linked with one or another psychical ele- 
 ment (sensations, perceptions, thoughts), and, this 
 linking becoming conserved as a "disposition," the 
 physiological reaction is reproduced whenever the 
 psychical element is introduced into consciousness. 
 Thus, for example, the perception or thought of a 
 certain person may become, as the result of a given 
 social episode, so linked with blushing or cardiac 
 palpitation that whenever the former is thrust into 
 consciousness, no matter how changed the condi- 
 tions may be from those of the original episode, the 
 physiological reaction of the blood vessels or heart 
 is reproduced. Here the original psycho-physio- 
 logical experience the association of an idea (or 
 psychical element) with the physiological process is 
 conserved and repoduced. Such a reproduction is 
 
 * Cf . Lecture VIII, p. 238.
 
 NEUROGRAMS 139 
 
 essentially a psycho-physiological memory depend- 
 ing wholly upon the acquired disposition of the neu- 
 rons.* 
 
 Thus, to take an actual example from real life, a 
 certain person during a series of years was expect- 
 ing to hear bad news because of the illness of a 
 member of the family and consequently was always 
 startled, and her "heart always jumped into her 
 throat," whenever the telephone rang. Finally the 
 news came. That anxiety is long past, but now 
 when the telephone rings, although she is not ex- 
 pecting bad news and no thought of the original ex- 
 perience consciously arises in her mind, her " heart 
 always gives a leap and sometimes she bursts into a 
 perspiration. ' ' 
 
 A beautiful illustration of this type of memory is 
 to be found in the results of the extremely impor- 
 tant experiments, for psychology as well as physiol- 
 ogy, of Pawlow and his co-workers in the reflex stim- 
 ulation of saliva in dogs. These experiments show 
 the possibility of linking a physiological process to 
 a psychological process by education, and through 
 the conservation of the association reproducing the 
 physiological process as an act of unconscious mem- 
 ory. (The experiments, of course, were undertaken 
 for an entirely different purpose, namely, that of 
 studying the digestive processes only.) It should 
 be explained that it was shown that the salivary 
 
 * Emotion is a factor in the genesis of such phenomena, but may 
 be disregarded for the present until we have studied the phenomena 
 of the emotions by themselves.
 
 140 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 glands are selective in their reaction to stimuli in 
 that they do not respond at all to some (pebbles, 
 snow), but respond to others with a thin watery 
 fluid containing mere traces of mucin or a slimy 
 mucin-holding fluid, according as to whether the 
 stimulating substance is one which the dog rejects, 
 and which therefore must be washed out or diluted 
 (sands, acids, bitter and caustic substances), or is 
 an eatable substance and must as a food bolus be 
 lubricated for the facilitation of its descent. Dry- 
 ness of the food, too, largely determined the quan- 
 tity of the saliva. 
 
 Now the experiments of the St. Petersburg labo- 
 ratory brought out another fact which is of particu- 
 lar interest for us and which is thus described by 
 Pawlow. "In the course of our experiments it ap- 
 peared that all the phenomena of adaptation which 
 we saw in the salivary glands under physiological 
 conditions, such, for instance, as the introduction of 
 the stimulating substances into the buccal cavity, 
 reappeared in exactly the same manner under the 
 influence of psychological conditions that is to say, 
 when we merely drew the animal's attention to the 
 substances in question. Thus, when we pretended 
 to throw pebbles into the dog's mouth, or to cast in 
 sand, or to pour in something disagreeable, or, fi- 
 nally, when we offered it this or that kind of food, a 
 secretion either immediately appeared or it did not 
 appear, in accordance with the properties of the 
 substance which we had previously seen to regu- 
 late the quantity and nature of the juice when
 
 NEUROGRAMS 141 
 
 physiologically excited to flow. If we pretended to 
 throw in sand a watery saliva escaped from the 
 mucous glands; if food, a slimy saliva. And if the 
 food was dry for example, dry bread a large 
 quantity of saliva flowed out even when it excited no 
 special interest on the part of the dog. When, on 
 the other hand, a moist food was presented for ex- 
 ample, flesh much less saliva appeared than in the 
 previous case however eagerly the dog may have 
 desired the food. This latter effect is particularly 
 obvious in the case of the parotid gland." 
 
 It is obvious that in these experiments, when the 
 experimenter pretended to throw various sub- 
 stances into the dog's mouth, the action was effec- 
 tive in producing the flow of saliva of specific quali- 
 ties because, through repeated experiences, the pic- 
 torial images (or ideas) of the substance had be- 
 come associated with the specific physiological sali- 
 vary reaction, and this association had been con- 
 served as a neurogram. Consequently the neuro- 
 graphic residue when stimulated each time by the 
 pretended action of the experimenter reproduced 
 reflexly the specific physiological reaction and, so 
 far as the process was one of registration, conserva- 
 tion, and reproduction, it was an act of psycho- 
 physiological memory. 
 
 That this is the correct interpretation of the edu- 
 cational mechanism is made still more evident by 
 other results that were obtained; for it was found 
 
 * The Work of the Digestive Glands (English Translation), p. 
 152.
 
 142 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 that the effective psychical stimulus may be part of 
 wider experiences or a complex of ideas; every- 
 thing that has been in any way psychologically as- 
 sociated with an object which physiologically ex- 
 cites the saliva reflex may also produce it; the plate 
 which customarily contains the food, the furniture 
 upon which it stands; the person who brings it; 
 even the sound of the voice and the sound of the 
 steps of this person.* 
 
 Indeed, it was found that any sensory stimulus 
 could be educated into one that would induce the 
 flow of saliva, if the stimulus had been previously 
 associated with food which normally excited the 
 flow. "Any ocular stimulus, any desired sound, any 
 odor that might be selected, and the stimulation of 
 any part of the skin, either by mechanical means or 
 by the application of heat or cold, have in our hands 
 never failed to stimulate the salivary glands, al- 
 though they were all of them at one time supposed 
 to be inefficient for such a purpose. This was ac- 
 complished by applying these stimuli simultane- 
 ously with the action of the salivary glands, this ac- 
 tion having been evolved by the giving of certain 
 kinds of food or by forcing certain substances into 
 the dog's mouth. "f It is obvious that reflex exci- 
 tation thus having been accomplished by the edu- 
 cation of the nerve centers to a previously indiffer- 
 ent stimulus the reproduction of the process 
 
 * Psychische Erregung der Speicheldrusen, J. P. Pawlow. Ergeb- 
 nisse der Physiologie, 1904, I Abteil., p. 182. 
 
 t Huxley Lecture, Br. Med. Jour., October 6, 1906.
 
 NEUROGKAMS 143 
 
 through this stimulus is, in principle, an act of 
 physiological memory.* 
 
 The experiences of the dogs embraced quite large 
 systems of ideas and sensory stimuli which in- 
 cluded the environment of persons and their actions, 
 the furniture, plates, and other objects ; and various 
 ocular, auditory, and other sensory stimuli applied 
 arbitrarily to the dogs. All these experiences had 
 been welded into an associative system and con- 
 served as neurograms. Consequently it was only 
 necessary to stimulate again any element in the 
 neurogram to reproduce the whole process, includ- 
 ing the specific salivary reaction. 
 
 We shall see later that these experiments acquire 
 additional interest from the fact that in them is to 
 be found the fundamental principle of what under 
 other conditions can be recognized as a psycho- 
 neurosis an abnormal or perverted association 
 and memory. The effects produced by this associa- 
 tion of stimuli may be regarded as the germ of the 
 habit psychosis, and in these experiments we have 
 experimental demonstration of the mechanism of 
 these psychoses but this is another story which we 
 will take up by and by. 
 
 Recollection This is as good a place as any other 
 to call attention to a certain special form of mem- 
 ory. Recollection and memory are not synonymous 
 
 * Pawlow overlooked in these experiments the possible, if not 
 probable, intermediary of the emotions in producing the effects. 
 The principle, however, would not be affected thereby.
 
 144 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 terms. We are accustomed to think of memory as 
 including, in addition to other qualities, recollection, 
 i. e., what is called localization of the experience in 
 time and space. It connotes an awareness of the 
 content of the memory having been once upon a time 
 a previous experience which is more or less accu- 
 rately located in a given past time (yesterday, or a 
 year ago, or twenty years ago), and in certain local 
 relations of space (when we were at school, or rid- 
 ing in a railway car with so and so). But, as Bibot 
 points out, this (relatively to physiological mem- 
 ories) is ... "only a certain kind of memory 
 which we call perfect. ' ' For we have just seen that, 
 when memory is considered as a process, repro- 
 duced physiological processes, which contain no 
 elements of consciousness and therefore of localiza- 
 tion, may be memory. But more than this, I would 
 insist, recollection is only a more perfect kind of 
 conscious memory. Bibot would make recollection 
 a peculiarity of all conscious memory, but this is 
 plainly an oversight. As we saw in previous lec- 
 tures there may be conscious memories which do not 
 contain any element of recollection, or, in other 
 words, such conscious memories resemble in every 
 way, in principle, the reproduction of organic neuron 
 processes in that they have no conscious localization 
 in the past. In dissociated personalities, for in- 
 stance, and in other types of dissociated conditions 
 (functional amnesia, post-hypnotic states, etc.), the 
 names of persons, places, faces, objects, and even 
 complex ideas may flash into the mind without any
 
 NEUROGRAMS 145 
 
 element of recollection. The person may have no 
 idea whence they come, but by experiment it is easy 
 to demonstrate that they are automatic memories 
 of past experiences.* In the sensory automatisms 
 known as crystal visions, pictures which accurately 
 reproduce, symbolically, past experiences of which 
 the subject has no recollection may vividly arise in 
 the mind. Such pictures are real conscious sym- 
 bolic memories. Dreams, too, as we have seen, may 
 be unrecognized memories in that they may repro- 
 duce conscious experiences, something heard or 
 seen perhaps, but which has been completely for- 
 gotten even when awake. Again, modern methods 
 of investigation show that numerous ideas that oc- 
 cur in the course of our everyday thoughts names, 
 for instance are excerpts from, or vestiges of, pre- 
 vious conscious experiences of which we have no 
 recollection, that is to say, they are memories, re- 
 productions of formerly experienced ideas. In the 
 absence of recollection they seem to belong only to 
 the present. Memories which hold an intermediate 
 place between these automatic memories and those 
 of true recollection are certain memories, like the 
 alphabet or a verse or phrase once learned by heart 
 which we are able at best to localize only dimly in 
 the past. Indeed, the greater part of our vocabu- 
 lary is but conscious memory without localization in 
 
 * Compare ' ' The Dissociation, ' ' pp. 254, 261. For examples, see 
 also "Multiple Personality," by Boris Sidis, and "The Lowell Case 
 of Amnesia," by Isador Coriat, The Journal of Abnormal Psychol- 
 ogy, Vol. II, p. 93.
 
 146 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the past. So we see that recollection is not an es- 
 sential even for conscious memories. It is only a 
 particular phase of memory just as are automatic 
 conscious memories.
 
 LECTURE VI 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 
 
 In what I have said thus far I have had another 
 purpose in view than that of a mere exposition of 
 the psycho-physiological theory of memory. This 
 other and chief purpose has been to lay the founda- 
 tion for a conception of the Unconscious in its larger 
 aspect. We have seen that thoughts and other con- 
 scious experiences that have passed out of mind may 
 be and to an enormous extent are conserved and, 
 from this point of view, may be properly regarded 
 as simply dormant. Further we have seen that all 
 the data collected by experimental pathology and 
 other observations lead to the conclusion that con- 
 servation is effected in the form of neurographic 
 residua or brain neurograms organized physio- 
 logical records of passing mental experiences of all 
 sorts and kinds. We have seen that these neuro- 
 graphic records conserve not only our educational 
 acquisitions and general stock of knowledge all 
 those experiences which we remember but a vast 
 number of others which we cannot spontaneously 
 recall, including, it may be, many which date back 
 to early childhood, and many which we have delib- 
 erately repressed, put out of mind and intentionally 
 
 147
 
 148 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 forgotten. We have also seen that it is not only 
 these mental experiences which occupied the focus 
 of our attention that leave their counterpart in 
 neurograms, but those as well of which we are only 
 partially aware absent-minded thoughts and acts 
 and sensations and perceptions which never entered 
 our awareness at all subconscious or coconscious 
 ideas as they are called. Finally, we have seen that 
 the mental experiences of every state, normal, arti- 
 ficial, or pathological, whatever may be the state of 
 the personal consciousness, are subject to the same 
 principle of conservation. In this way, in the course 
 of any one 's natural life, an enormous field of neuro- 
 grams is formed representing ideas which far tran- 
 scend in multitude and variety those of the personal 
 consciousness at any given moment and all moments, 
 and which are far beyond the voluntary beck and 
 call of the personal consciousness of the individual. 
 Neurograms are concepts and, by the meaning of 
 the concept, they are unconscious. It is not neces- 
 sary to enter into the question whether they are in 
 their ultimate nature psychical or physical. That is 
 a philosophical question.* They are at any rate un- 
 conscious in this sense; they are devoid of con- 
 sciousness, i. e., have none of the psychological at- 
 
 * I forbear to enter into the question of the nature of conscious- 
 ness and matter. In the last analysis, matter and mind probably 
 are to be identified as different manifestations of one and the same 
 principle the doctrine of monism call it psychical, spiritual, or ma- 
 terial, or energy, as you like, according to your fondness for names. 
 For our purpose it is not necessary to touch this philosophical prob- 
 lem as we are dealing only with specific biological experiences.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 149 
 
 tributes of any of the elements of consciousness, 
 and in the sense in which any physiological ar- 
 rangement or process is not conscious, i. e., is un- 
 conscious. We have here, then, in the concept of 
 brain residual neurograms the fundamental mean- 
 ing of the Unconscious.* The unconscious is the 
 great storehouse of neurograms which are the 
 physiological records of our mental lives. By the 
 terms of the concept neurograms are primarily pas- 
 sive the potential form, as it were, in which psy- 
 chical energy is stored. This is not to say, however, 
 that, from moment to moment, certain ones out of 
 the great mass may not become active processes. 
 On the contrary, according to the theory of memory, 
 when certain complexes of neurograms are stimu- 
 
 * Also quite commonly termed the Subconscious. Unfortunately 
 the term unconscious, as noun or adjective, is used in two senses, 
 viz., (1) pertaining to unawareness (for example, I am unconscious 
 of such and such a thing), and (2) in the sense of not having the 
 psychological attribute of consciousness, i. e., non-conscious. 
 
 In the first sense the adjective is used, as in the phrase "uncon- 
 scious process" to define a process of which we are unaware without 
 connotation as to whether it is a psychological process or a brain 
 process; also the noun (The Unconscious) is used to signify some- 
 thing not in awareness regardless of whether that something is 
 psychological or not; on the other hand, as an adjective it is also 
 used, as in the phrase "unconscious ideas," to specifically signify 
 real ideas of which we are unaware. 
 
 In the second sense, as noun or adjective, it is used to denote 
 specifically brain residua or processes, which, of course, are devoid 
 of consciousness. With this interchange of meaning the term is 
 apt to be confusing and is lacking in precision. In the text un- 
 conscious will be used always with the second meaning, unless in- 
 verted commas or the context plainly indicate the first meaning. 
 (Cf. Lecture VIII, pp. 248-254).
 
 150 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 lated they take on activity and function the po- 
 tential energy becomes converted into dynamic en- 
 ergy. In correlation with the functioning of such 
 neurographic complexes, the complexes of ideas 
 which they conserve the psychological equivalents 
 are reproduced (according to the doctrines of 
 monism and parallelism) and enter the stream of 
 the personal consciousness. The unconscious be- 
 comes the conscious (monism), or provided with 
 correlated conscious accompaniments (parallelism), 
 and we may speak of the ideas arising out of the un- 
 conscious. ' ' 
 
 Neurograms may also function as subconscious processes 
 exhibiting intelligence and determining mental and bodily 
 behavior Here two important questions present 
 themselves. Is it a necessary consequence that when 
 unconscious neurograms become active processes 
 psychological equivalents must be awakened; and 
 when they are awakened, must they necessarily 
 enter the stream of the personal consciousness! If 
 both these questions may be answered in the nega- 
 tive, then plainly in either case such active processes 
 become by definition subconscious processes of an 
 unconscious nature in the one case and of a cocon- 
 scious nature in the other. They would be subcon- 
 scious because in the first place they would occur 
 outside of consciousness and there is no awareness 
 of them, and in the second place they would be a 
 dissociated second train of processes distinct from 
 those engaged in the conscious stream of the mo-
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 151 
 
 ment. Theoretically such subconscious processes, 
 whether unconscious or coconscious, might perform 
 a variety of functions according to the specificity of 
 their activities. 
 
 Now, in preceding lectures, when marshalling the 
 evidence for conservation, we met with a large num- 
 ber and variety of phenomena (automatic writing, 
 hallucinations, post-hypnotic phenomena, dreams, 
 ''unconscious" solution of problems, etc.), which 
 clearly demonstrated that memory might be mani- 
 fested by processes of which the individual was un- 
 aware and which were outside the content of con- 
 sciousness. Hence these phenomena presented very 
 clear evidence of the occurrence of processes that 
 may be properly termed subconscious.* Attention, 
 however, was primarily directed to them only so far 
 as they offered evidence of conservation and of the 
 mode by which conservation was effected. But nec- 
 essarily these evidences were subconscious manifes- 
 tations of forgotten experiences (memory), and in 
 so far as this was the case we saw that unconscious 
 neurograms can take on activity and function sub- 
 consciously ; i. e., without their psychological equiva- 
 lents (i. e., correlated conscious memory) entering 
 the stream of the personal consciousness. We may 
 now speak of these processes as subconscious mem- 
 ory. But when their manifestations are carefully 
 scrutinized they will be found to exhibit more than 
 memory. They may, for instance, exhibit logical 
 
 * Also termed by some writers unconscious. (See preceding foot- 
 note.)
 
 152 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 elaboration of the original experiences, and what 
 corresponds to fabrication, reasoning, volition and 
 affectivity. Theoretically this is what we should 
 expect if any of the conserved residual experiences 
 of life can function subconsciously. As life's ex- 
 periences include fears, doubts, scruples, wishes, af- 
 fections, resentments, and numerous other affective 
 states, innate dispositions, and instincts, the subcon- 
 scious memory process necessarily may include any 
 of these affective complexes of ideas and tendencies. 
 An affective complex means an idea (or ideas) 
 linked to one or more emotions and feelings. In 
 other words, any acquired residua drawn from the 
 general storehouse of life's experiences may be sys- 
 tematized with feelings and emotions, the innate 
 dispositions and instincts of the organism. Now it 
 is a general psychological law that such affective 
 states tend by the force of their conative impulses 
 to carry the specific ideas with which they are sys- 
 tematized to fulfilment through mental and bodily 
 behavior. Consequently, theoretically, it might 
 thus well be that the residua of diverse experiences, 
 say a fear or a wish, by the force of such impulses 
 might become activated into very specific subcon- 
 scious processes with very specific tendencies ex- 
 pressing themselves in very specific ways, produc- 
 ing very specific and diverse phenomena. Thus 
 memory would be but one of the manifestations of 
 subconscious processes. 
 
 Now, as a matter of fact, there are a large num- 
 ber of phenomena which not only justify the postu-
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 153 
 
 lation of subconscious processes but also the infer- 
 ence that such processes, activated by their affective 
 impulses, may so influence conscious thought that 
 the latter is modified in various ways ; that it may be 
 determined in this or that direction, inhibited, in- 
 terrupted, distorted, made insistent, and given pa- 
 thological traits. There is also a large variety of 
 bodily phenomena which can be explicitly shown to 
 be due to subconscious processes, and many which 
 are only explicable by such a mechanism. Indeed, a 
 subconscious process may become very complex and 
 constellated with any one or many of the psycho- 
 physiological mechanisms of the organism. In spe- 
 cial artificial and pathological conditions where 
 such processes reach their highest development, as 
 manifested through their phenomena, they may ex- 
 hibit that which when consciously performed is un- 
 derstood to be intelligence, comprising reasoning, 
 constructive imagination, volition, and feeling; in 
 short, what is commonly called thought or mental 
 processes. Memory, of course, enters as an intrin- 
 sic element in these manifestations just as it is an 
 intrinsic element in all thought. The automatic 
 script that describes the memories of a long-forgot- 
 ten childhood experience may at the same time rea- 
 son, indulge in jests, rhyme, express cognition and 
 understanding of questions indeed (if put to the 
 test), might not only pass a Binet-Simon examina- 
 tion for intelligence, but take a high rank in a Civil 
 Service examination. In these more elaborate ex- 
 hibitions of subconscious intelligence it is obvious
 
 154 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 that there is an exuberant efflorescence of the re- 
 sidua deposited in many unconscious fields by life's 
 experiences and synthesized into a subconscious 
 functioning system. 
 
 It is beyond the scope of this lecture to examine 
 into the particular mechanism by which a subcon- 
 scious process is provoked at all why, for instance, 
 a dormant wish or fear-neurogram becomes acti- 
 vated into a subconscious wish or fear, or having 
 become activated, the mechanism by which such a 
 wish or fear manifests itself in this phenomenon or 
 that or to examine even any large number of the 
 various phenomena which are provoked by subcon- 
 scious processes, and it is not my intention to do so. 
 Such problems belong to special psychology and 
 special pathology. Of recent years, for instance, 
 certain schools of psychology, and in particular the 
 Freudian school, have attempted to establish par- 
 ticular mechanisms by which subconscious processes 
 come into being and express themselves. We are 
 engaged in the preliminary and fundamental task of 
 establishing, if possible, certain basic principles 
 which any mechanism must make use of, and, as a 
 deeper-lying theoretical question, the nature of such 
 processes. 
 
 The subconscious now belongs to popular speech 
 and it is the fashion of the day to speak of it glibly 
 enough, but I fear it means very little to the aver- 
 age person. It is involved in vagueness if not mys- 
 tery. Yet as a necessary induction from observed 
 facts it has a very precise and concrete meaning
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 155 
 
 devoid of abtruseness, just as the other has a pre- 
 cise and concrete meaning. Although subconscious 
 processes were originally postulated on theoretical 
 grounds, the theory is fortunately open to experi- 
 mental tests so that it is capable of being placed on 
 an experimental basis like other concepts of science. 
 It is possible to artificially create such processes 
 and study their phenomena; that is to say, the 
 modes in which they manifest their activities, their 
 influence upon conscious and bodily processes. We 
 can study their effect in inhibiting and distorting 
 thought, in determining it in this or that direction, 
 in creating hallucinatory, emotional, amnesic, and 
 other mental phenomena, in inducing physiological 
 disturbances of motion, sensation, of the viscera, 
 etc. We can also study the capabilities and limita- 
 tions of the subconscious in carrying on intelligent 
 operations below the threshold of consciousness. 
 Again, we can investigate the phenomena of this 
 kind as met with in the course of clinical observa- 
 tions, and by technical methods of research explore 
 the subconscious and thus explicitly reveal the proc- 
 ess underlying and inducing the phenomena. By 
 such methods of investigation the subconscious has 
 been removed from the field of speculative psychol- 
 ogy, and placed in the field of experimental re- 
 search. We have thus been enabled to postulate a 
 subconscious process as a definite concrete process 
 producing very definite phenomena. These proc- 
 esses and their phenomena have become a field of 
 study in themselves and, from my point of view,
 
 156 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the determination of the laws of the subconscious 
 should be approached by such experimental and 
 technical methods of research. After its various 
 modes of activity, its capabilities and limitations 
 have been in this way established, its laws can then 
 be applied to the solution of conditions surround- 
 ing particular problems. Though we can determine 
 the actuality of a particular subconscious process 
 this does not mean that we can determine all the 
 components of that process ; we may be able to de- 
 termine many or perhaps none of these: just as 
 among the constituents of a crowd we may discern 
 an active, turbulent group creating a disturbance, 
 though we may not be able to recognize all the com- 
 ponents of the group or the scattered individuals 
 acting in conjunction with it. Nor may we be able 
 to determine the intrinsic nature of a subconscious 
 process whether it is a conscious or unconscious 
 one, but only the actuality of the process, the con- 
 ditions of its activity, and the phenomena which it 
 induces. 
 
 A subconscious process may be provisionally de- 
 fined as one of which the personality is unaware, 
 which, therefore, is outside the personal conscious- 
 ness, and which is a factor in the determination of 
 conscious and bodily phenomena, or produces ef- 
 fects analogous to those which might be directly or 
 indirectly induced by consciousness. It would be 
 out of the question at this time to enter into an ex- 
 position of the larger subject the multiform phe- 
 nomena of the subconscious, but as its processes are
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 157 
 
 fundamental to an understanding of many phenom- 
 ena with which we shall have to deal, we should 
 have a clear understanding of the grounds on which 
 such processes are postulated as specific, concrete 
 occurrences. The classical demonstration of sub- 
 conscious occurrences makes use of certain phenom- 
 ena of hysteria, particularly those of subconscious 
 personalities and artificial "automatic" phenomena 
 like automatic writing. The epoch-making re- 
 searches of Janet * on hysterics and almost coinci- 
 dently with him of Edmund Gurney on hypnotics 
 very clearly established the fact that these phenom- 
 ena are the manifestations of dissociated processes 
 outside of and independent of the personal con- 
 sciousness. Among the phenomena, for example, 
 are motor activities of various kinds such as ordi- 
 narily are or may be induced by conscious intelli- 
 gence. As the individual, owing to anesthesia, may 
 be entirely unaware even that he has performed any 
 such act, the process that performed it must be one 
 that is subconscious. 
 
 The intrinsic nature of subconscious processes. Janet 
 further brought forward indisputable evidence show- 
 ing that in hysteria these subconscious processes 
 are real coconscious processes. It is only another 
 mode of expressing this to say that there is a dis- 
 sociation or division of consciousness in conse- 
 quence of which certain ideas do not enter the con- 
 
 * Pierre Janet : L 'automatisme psychologique, Paris, 1889, and 
 numerous other works.
 
 158 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tent of the personal consciousness of the individual. 
 It is possible, as he was the first to show, to commu- 
 nicate with and, in hypnotic and other dissociated 
 states, recover memories of these split-off ideas of 
 which the individual is unaware, and thereby estab- 
 lish the principle that these ideas are the subcon- 
 scious process which induces the hysterical phenom- 
 ena. (These phenomena are of a great many kinds 
 and include sensory as well as motor automatisms, 
 inhibition of thought and will, deliria, visceral, emo- 
 tional, and other disturbances of mind and body.) 
 The hysterical subconscious process is thus deter- 
 mined to be a very specific concrete coconscious proc- 
 ess, one, the elements of which are memories and 
 other particular ideas. This type of subconscious 
 process, therefore, may be regarded as the activated 
 residua of antecedent experiences with or without 
 secondary elaboration. All subsequent investiga- 
 tions during the past twenty-five years have served 
 but to confirm the accuracy of Janet's observations 
 and conclusions. It would be out of the question at 
 this time, before coconscious ideas have been sys- 
 tematically studied, to attempt to present the evi- 
 dence on which this interpretation of certain sub- 
 conscious phenomena rests. This will be done in 
 other lectures.* I will simply say that this evi- 
 dence for coconsciousness occurring in certain spe- 
 cial conditions, artificial and pathological, and per- 
 haps as a constituent of the normal content of con- 
 sciousness, is of precisely the same character as 
 
 * Not included in this volume.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 159 
 
 that for the occurrence of consciousness in any 
 other individual but one 's self. If we reject the evi- 
 dence of hysterical phenomena, of that furnished 
 by a coconscious personality, and by automatic 
 script and speech, etc., we shall have to reject pre- 
 cisely similar evidence for consciousness in other 
 people than ourselves.* The evidence is explicit 
 and not implied. 
 
 A subconscious personality is a condition where 
 complexes of subconscious processes have been con- 
 stellated into a personal system, manifesting a sec- 
 ondary system of self-consciousness endowed with 
 volition, intelligence, etc. Such a subconscious per- 
 sonality is capable of communicating with the ex- 
 perimenter and describing its own mental processes. 
 It can, after repression of the primary personality, 
 become the sole personality for the time being, and 
 then remember its previous subconscious life, as we 
 all remember our past conscious life, and can give 
 full and explicit information regarding the nature 
 of the subconscious process. By making use of the 
 testimony of a subconscious personality and its va- 
 rious manifestations, we can not only establish the 
 
 * Cf . Prince : The Dissociation ; also A Symposium on the Sub- 
 conscious, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, June-July, 1907; Ex- 
 periments to Determine Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideation, Jour- 
 nal of Abnormal Psychology, April-May, 1908; Experiments in 
 Psycho-Galvanic Eeactions from Coconscious (Subconscious) Ideas in 
 a Case of Multiple Personality, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 
 June- July, 1908; The Subconscious [Eapports et Comptes Eendus, 
 6me Congrts International de Psychologie, 1909] ; also, My Life as 
 a Dissociated Personality, by B. C. A., Journal of Abnormal Psychol- 
 ogy, October- November, 1908.
 
 160 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 actuality of subconscious processes and their intrin- 
 sic nature in these conditions, but by prearrange- 
 ment with this personality predetermine any par- 
 ticular process we desire and study the modes in 
 which it influences conscious thought and conduct. 
 For instance, we can prescribe a conflict between 
 the subconsciousness and the personal conscious- 
 ness, between a subconscious wish and a conscious 
 wish, or volition, and observe the resultant mental 
 and physical behavior, which may be inhibition of 
 thought, hallucinations, amnesia, motor phenomena, 
 etc. The possibilities and limitations of subcon- 
 scious influences can in this way be experimentally 
 studied. Subconscious personalities, therefore, 
 afford a valuable means for studying the mechanism 
 of the mind.* 
 
 The conclusion, then, seems compulsory that the 
 subconscious processes in many conditions, particu- 
 larly those that are artificially induced and those 
 that are pathological, are coconscious processes. 
 
 There are other phenomena, however, which re- 
 quire the postulation of a subconscious process, yet 
 which, when the subconscious is searched by the 
 
 * The value of subconscious personalities for this purpose has 
 been overlooked, owing, I suppose, to such conditions being unusual 
 and bizarre, and the assumption that they have little in common with 
 ordinary subconscious processes. But it ought to be obvious that in 
 principle it makes little difference whether a subconscious system is 
 constellated into a large self-conscious system called a personality, 
 or whether it is restricted to a system limited to a few particular 
 coconscious ideas. In the former case the possibilities of its inter- 
 fering with the personal consciousness may be more extended and 
 more influential, that is all.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 161 
 
 same methods made use of in hysterical phenomena, 
 do not reveal explicit evidence of coconsciousness. 
 An analysis of the subconscious revelations as well 
 as the phenomena themselves seems to favor the 
 interpretation that in some cases the underlying 
 process is in part and in others wholly unconscious. 
 The only ground for the interpretation that all sub- 
 conscious processes are wholly conscious is the 
 assumption that, as some are conscious, all must be. 
 This is as unsound as the assumption .that, because 
 at the other end of the scale some complex actions 
 (e. g., those performed by decerebrated animals) 
 are intelligent and yet performed by processes 
 necessarily unconscious, therefore all actions not 
 under the guidance of the personal consciousness 
 are performed by unconscious processes. 
 
 If some subconscious processes are unconscious 
 they are equivalent to physiological processes such 
 as, ex hypothesi, are correlated with all conscious 
 processes and perhaps may be identified with them. 
 In truth, they mean nothing more nor less than "un- 
 conscious cerebration." 
 
 We can say at once that considering the complex- 
 ity and multiformity of psycho-physiological phe- 
 nomena there would seem to be no a priori reason 
 why all subconscious phenomena must be the same 
 in respect to being either coconscious or unconscious ; 
 some may be the one and some the other. It is 
 plainly a matter of interpretation of the facts and 
 there still exists some difference of opinion. The 
 problem is a very difficult one to settle by methods
 
 162 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 at present available; yet it can only be settled by 
 the same methods, in principle, that we depend upon 
 to determine the reality of a personal consciousness 
 in other persons than ourselves. No amount of a 
 priori argument will suffice. Perhaps some day a 
 criterion of a conscious state of which the individual 
 is unaware will be found, just as the psycho-galvanic 
 phenomenon is possibly a criterion of an effective 
 state. Any conclusions which we reach at present 
 should be regarded as provisional.* 
 
 SPECIAL PROBLEMS OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS 
 
 As one of our foremost psychologists has said, 
 the subconscious is not only the most important 
 problem of psychology, it is the problem. But of 
 
 * Of course, from a practical (clinical) point of view, it is of no 
 consequence whether given phenomena are induced by coconscious or 
 unconscious processes; the individual is not aware of either. Let me 
 answer, however, a strange objection that has been made to such 
 an inquiry. It has been objected that as it makes no practical 
 difference whether the subconscious process, which induces a given 
 phenomenon, is coconscious or unconscious, and as in many given 
 cases it is difficult or impossible to determine the question, therefore, 
 that such inquiries are useless. Plainly such an objection only 
 concerns applied science, not science itself. It concerns only the 
 practicing physician who deals solely with reactions. Likewise it 
 makes no difference to the practicing chemist whether some atoms 
 are positive and some negative ions, and whether on further analysis 
 they are systems of electrons, and whether, again, electrons are points 
 of electricity. The practical chemist deals only with reactions. Such 
 questions, however, having to do with the ultimate nature of matter 
 are of the highest interest to science. Likewise the nature of sub- 
 conscious processes is of the highest interest to psychological science.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 163 
 
 course it involves many problems of practical and 
 theoretical interest. Among them are : 
 
 First of all the evidential justification of the 
 postulation of subconscious processes in general. 
 
 Second; the intrinsic nature of such processes. 
 In other words and more specifically, whether the 
 neurograms of experiences after becoming active 
 subconscious processes continue to be devoid of con- 
 sciousness, nothing but a brain process, i. e., un- 
 conscious; or whether in becoming activated they 
 become conscious (monism), or acquire conscious 
 equivalents (parallelism), notwithstanding they are 
 outside (dissociated from) the content of the per- 
 sonal consciousness. 
 
 Third; the kind and complexity of functions a 
 subconscious process can perform. Can it perform 
 the same functions as are ordinarily performed by 
 conscious intelligence (as we commonly understand 
 that term) ; that is to say memory, perception, rea- 
 soning, imagination, volition, affectivity, etc.? If 
 so, to what extent? 
 
 Fourth; are the processes of the conscious mind 
 only a part of a larger mechanism of which a sub- 
 merged part is a subconscious process? 
 
 Fifth; to what extent can and do subconscious 
 processes determine the processes of the conscious 
 mind and bodily behavior in normal and abnormal 
 conditions ? 
 
 These are some of the problems of the subcon- 
 scious which for the most part have been only in- 
 completely investigated.
 
 164 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 It is, of course, beyond the scope of these intro- 
 ductory lectures to discuss with any completeness 
 the evidence at hand bearing upon these problems 
 or to even touch upon many of the points involved. 
 We may, however, study more deeply than we have 
 done some of the phenomena with which we have 
 become familiar with a view to seeing what light 
 they throw upon some of these problems, particu- 
 larly the first three. 
 
 1, 2, and 3; Actuality, Intrinsic Nature and Intelligence 
 of Subconscious Processes. As to the first question, 
 whether subconscious processes can be established 
 in principle as a sound induction from experimental 
 and clinical facts and not merely as a hypothetical 
 concept, I have already pointed out that many mani- 
 festations of conservation already cited in the ex- 
 position of the theory of memory are of equal evi- 
 dential value for the actuality of such processes. 
 Let us now consider them in more detail from the 
 point of view, more particularly, of the second and 
 third questions the intrinsic nature (whether co- 
 conscious or unconscious) and intelligence of the 
 underlying processes at work. In any given case 
 however the actuality of the subconscious process 
 must always be first demonstrated. 
 
 If we leave aside those conditions (hysteria, cocon- 
 scious personalities) wherein specific memory of a 
 coconscious process can be recovered, or such a 
 process can be directly communicated with (auto- 
 matic writing and speech), the conditions required
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 165 
 
 for the valid postulation of a subconscious process 
 underlying any given phenomenon are: first, that 
 the causal factor shall be positively known; second, 
 that it shall be an antecedent experience ; and, third, 
 that it shall not be in the content of consciousness 
 at the moment of the occurrence of the phenomenon. 
 If the causal factor and the phenomenon are both 
 known, then the only unknown factor to be deter- 
 mined is the process, if any, intervening between 
 the two. If this is not in consciousness, a subcon- 
 scious process must be postulated. 
 
 Obviously, if the known causal factor is immedi- 
 ately related to the caused phenomenon, the sub- 
 conscious process must be the causal factor itself. 
 But if the known causal factor is not immediately 
 related to the caused phenomenon, there must be an 
 intervening process which must be subconscious, 
 perhaps consisting of a succession of processes 
 eventuating in the final phenomenon. For instance, 
 if the causal factor is a hypnotic suggestion (for 
 which there is afterwards amnesia) that the sub- 
 ject when awake shall automatically raise the right 
 arm, a subconscious process which is the memory of 
 that suggestion immediately provokes the automatic 
 phenomenon. If, however, the suggestion is that 
 of a series of automatic actions involving compli- 
 cated behavior, or if it is a mathematical calculation, 
 the intervening process which provokes the end re- 
 sult must not only be subconscious but must be a 
 more or less complicated succession of processes. 
 
 When, on the other hand, the causal factor is not
 
 166 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 known but only inferred with greater or less prob- 
 ability, the justification of the postulation of a sub- 
 conscious process may be invalidated by the uncer- 
 tainty of the inference. If for example a person 
 raises his right hand or has a number come into 
 his head without obvious cause, any inferred ante- 
 cedent experience as the causal factor must be open 
 to more or less doubt, and, therefore, a subconscious 
 process cannot be postulated with certainty. This 
 uncertainty seriously affects the validity of con- 
 clusions drawn from clinical phenomena where the 
 antecedent experience as well as a subconscious proc- 
 ess must be inferred and perhaps even a matter of 
 guesswork. 
 
 Let us examine then, a few selected phenomena 
 where the causal factor in the process is a known 
 antecedent conscious experience, one which can be 
 logically related to the succeeding phenomenon only 
 by the postulation of an intervening process of 
 some kind. By an analysis of the antecedent ex- 
 perience and the caused phenomenon into their con- 
 stituent elements we shall often be able to infer 
 the functional characteristics of this intervening 
 process. Then, if the subject is a favorable one, 
 by the use of hypnotic and other methods we may 
 be able to obtain an insight into the intrinsic nature 
 of the subconscious process and determine how far 
 it is conscious and how far unconscious. Neces- 
 sarily the most available phenomena are those ex- 
 perimentally induced. We can arrange beforehand 
 the causal experience and the phenomenon which it
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 167 
 
 is to determine an hallucination, a motor automa- 
 tism, a dream, a conscious process of thought, or 
 the product of an intellectual operation. The num- 
 ber of observations we shall examine might be made 
 much larger and the types more varied. Those I have 
 selected have such close analogies with certain expe- 
 riences of everyday and pathological life that what is 
 found to be true of them will afford valuable funda- 
 mentals in the elucidation of these latter experiences.* 
 
 Subconscious processes in which the causal factor was 
 antecedently known I. The evidential value of post- 
 hypnotic phenomena ranks perhaps in the first place 
 for our purpose as the conditions under which they 
 occur are largely under control. Among these 
 showing subconscious processes of a high order of 
 intelligence are : 
 
 (a) The well-known subconscious mathematical 
 calculations which I cited in a previous lecture 
 (p. 96). There is no possible explanation of this 
 phenomenon except that the calculation was a sub- 
 conscious process and done either coconsciously or 
 unconsciously. That it may be done, in some 
 cases, by coconscious processes of which the subject 
 is unaware is substantiated by the evidence.! In 
 
 * I have passed over the classical hysterical phenomena as they 
 open a very large subject which needs a special treatment by itself. 
 The subconscious processes underlying them, so far as they have 
 been determined, are, as I have explained, admittedly coconscious, 
 though some may be in part unconscious. They are too complicated 
 to be entered into here. 
 
 t Prince: Experiments to Determine Coconscious (Subconscious) 
 Ideation, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, April-May, 1908,
 
 168 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 other cases this does not appear to be wholly the 
 case if we can rely upon hypnotic memories. We 
 will examine this process in connection with: 
 
 (b) A second class of post-hypnotic phenomena, 
 namely, those of suggested actions carried out by 
 the subject more or less automatically, in a sort of 
 absent-minded way, without his being aware of 
 what he is doing. The subject is directed in hyp- 
 nosis to perform such or such an action after being 
 awakened. Sometimes the suggested action is per- 
 formed consciously, the suggested ideas with their 
 impulses arising in his mind, but without his know- 
 ing why. In other instances, however, he performs 
 the action automatically without being consciously 
 aware at the moment that he is doing it, his atten- 
 tion being directed toward something else. Such 
 actions must be performed by some kind of subcon- 
 scious processes instigated by the ideas suggested in 
 hypnosis. 
 
 Now hypnotic and other technically evoked mem- 
 ories sometimes reveal the conscious content of the 
 processes involved in both classes of phenomena. 
 For instance: two intelligent subjects, who have 
 been the object of extensive observations on this 
 point, are able to recall in hypnosis the previous 
 occurrence of coconscious ideas of a peculiar char- 
 acter. The description of these ideas has been veiy 
 precise and has carried a conviction, I believe, to 
 all those who have had an opportunity to be present 
 at these observations that these recollections were
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 169 
 
 true memories and not fabrications.* The state- 
 ments of these subjects is that in their own cases, 
 under certain conditions of everyday life, cocon- 
 scious ideas of which the principal consciousness is 
 not aware emerge into the subconscious, persist for 
 a longer or shorter time, and then subside to be re- 
 placed by others. So long as the conditions of their 
 occurrence continue these coconscious ideas keep 
 coming and going, interchanging with one another. 
 Sometimes these ideas take the form of images, or 
 what is described as visual " pictures." When the 
 conditions are those of the subconscious solution of 
 a mathematical calculation then the same ' ' pictures ' ' 
 occur and take the form of the figures involved in 
 the calculation ; the figures come and go, apparently 
 add, subtract, and multiply themselves until the 
 final result appears in figures. An example will 
 make this clear. 
 
 While the subject was in hypnosis the problem 
 was given to add 458 and 367, the calculation to be 
 
 * Among these I might mention the names of a dozen or more 
 well-known psychologists and physicians of experience and repute who 
 have observed one or both of these cases. Through the kindness of 
 Dr. G. A. Waterman I have had an opportunity to investigate a 
 third case, one of his patients, who described similar coconscious 
 "pictures" accompanying certain impulsive conscious acts. The pic- 
 tures, when of persons, were described as ' ' life size, ' ' and were 
 likened to those of a cinematograph. Also, as with one of my cases, 
 suggested post-hypnotic actions were accompanied by such cocon- 
 scious pictures representing in successive stages the act to be per- 
 formed. An analysis of both the impulsive and the suggested phe- 
 nomena seemed to clearly show that the pictures emerged from a 
 deeper lying submerged process induced by the residuum of a dream 
 and of the suggestion, respectively.
 
 170 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 done subconsciously after she was awake. The 
 problem was successfully accomplished in the usual 
 way. The mode in which the calculation was 
 effected was then investigated with the following 
 result : In what may be termed for convenience the 
 secondary consciousness, i. e., the subconsciousness, 
 the numbers 458 and 367 appeared as distinct visu- 
 alizations. These numbers were placed one over 
 the other, "with a line underneath them such as 
 one makes in adding. The visualization kept com- 
 ing and going; sometimes the line was crooked and 
 sometimes it was straight. The secondary con- 
 sciousness did not do the sum at once, but by piece- 
 meal. It took a long time before it was completed. ' ' 
 The sum was not apparently done as soon as one 
 would do it when awake, by volitional calculation, 
 "but rather the figures added themselves, in a curi- 
 ous sort of way. The numbers were visualized and 
 the visualization kept coming and going and the 
 columns at different times added themselves, as it 
 seemed, the result appearing at the bottom." In 
 another problem (453 to be multiplied by 6) the 
 process \vas described as follows: The numbers 
 were visualized in a line, thus, 453 x 6. Then the 
 6 arranged itself under the 453. The numbers kept 
 coming and going the same as before. Sometimes, 
 however, they added themselves, and sometimes the 
 6 subtracted itself from the larger number. Finally, 
 however, the result was obtained. As in the first 
 problem, the numbers kept coming and going in the 
 secondary consciousness until the problem was
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 171 
 
 solved and then they ceased to appear. It is to be 
 understood, of course, that the principal or per- 
 sonal consciousness was not aware of these cocon- 
 scious figures, or even that any calculation was 
 being or to be performed. 
 
 In suggested post-hypnotic actions, the pictures 
 that come and go correspond to and represent the 
 details of the action as it is carried out. Each 
 detail is preceded or accompanied by its coconscious 
 image or picture. Likewise, when somatic phe- 
 nomena have followed dreams, pictures represent- 
 ing certain elements of the dream have appeared 
 as secondary conscious states. When the subject 
 has been disturbed by some unsolved moral or social 
 problem (not suggested) the pictures have been 
 symbolic representations of the disturbing doubts 
 and scruples.* 
 
 One of these two subjects, while in hypnosis and 
 able to recollect what goes on in the secondary con- 
 sciousness, thus describes the coconscious process 
 during the spontaneous subconscious solution of 
 problems. ''When a problem on which my waking 
 self is engaged remains unsettled, it is still kept in 
 mind by the secondary consciousness even thougli 
 put aside by my waking self. My secondary con- 
 sciousness often helps me to solve problems which 
 my waking consciousness has found difficulty in 
 doing. But it is not my secondary consciousness 
 
 * Cf. Lecture IV. These coconscious pictures are so varied and 
 occur in so many relations that they need to be studied by them- 
 selves.
 
 172 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 that accomplishes the final solution itself, but it 
 helps in the following way: Suppose, for instance, 
 I am trying to translate a difficult passage in Vir- 
 gil. I work at it for some time and am puzzled. 
 Finally, unable to do it, I put it aside, leaving it 
 unsolved. I decide that it is not worth bothering 
 about and so put it out -of my mind. But it is a 
 mistake to say you put it out of your mind. What 
 you do is, you put it into your mind ; that is to say, 
 you don't put it out of your mind if the problem 
 remains unsolved and unsettled. By putting it into 
 your mind I mean that, although the waking con- 
 sciousness may have put it aside, the problem still 
 remains in the secondary consciousness. In the 
 example I used the memory of the passage from 
 Virgil would be retained persistently by my secon- 
 dary consciousness. Then from time to time a 
 whole lot of fragmentary memories and thoughts 
 connected with the passage would arise in this con- 
 sciousness. Some of these thoughts, perhaps, would 
 be memories of the rules of grammar, or different 
 meanings of words in the passage, in fact, anything 
 I had read, or thought, or experienced in connection 
 with the problem. These would not be logical, con- 
 nected thoughts, and they would not solve the prob- 
 lem. My secondary consciousness does not actually 
 do this, i. e., in the example taken, translate the 
 passage. The translation is not effected here. But 
 later when my waking consciousness thinks of the 
 problem again, these fragmentary thoughts of my
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 173 
 
 secondary consciousness arise in my mind, and with 
 this information I complete the translation. The 
 actual translation is put together by my waking 
 consciousness.* I am not conscious of the fact that 
 these fragments of knowledge existed previously in 
 my secondary consciousness. I do not remember 
 a problem ever to have been solved by the secondary 
 consciousness.! It is always solved by the waking 
 self, although the material for solving it may come 
 from the secondary. When my waking conscious- 
 ness solves it in this way, the solution seems to 
 come in a miraculous sort of way, sometimes as if 
 it came to me from somewhere else than my own 
 
 * This, of course, so far as she could determine from the data 
 of memory. The more correct interpretation probably is that 
 the thoughts of the ' ' secondary consciousness ' ' were supplied by a 
 still deeper underlying subconscious process, certain elements of which 
 emerged as dissociated conscious states (not in the focus of atten- 
 tion). This same process probably was the real agent in doing the 
 actual translation, and later thrust the necessary data into awareness 
 in such fashion that the translation seemed to be performed con- 
 sciously. If all the required data is supplied to consciousness the 
 problem is thereby done. 
 
 t The subject here, of course, refers not to experimental but to 
 spontaneous solutions. When experimentally performed the whole 
 problem was solved subconsciously. Furthermore, a memory of a de- 
 tail of this kind of remote experiences obviously would not be re- 
 liable, but only immediately after an experience. In fact, sponta- 
 neous solutions sometimes occurred entirely subconsciously. (Cf. 
 Lecture VII.) In the experimental calculation experiments the 
 solution is made subconsciously in accordance with the prescribed 
 conditions of the experiment. In other observations on this sub- 
 ject the coconscious pictures represented past experiences of the 
 subject, much as do crystal visions, and suggest that these past 
 experiences were functioning unconsciously.
 
 174 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 mind. I have sometimes thought, in consequence, 
 that I had solved it in my sleep. ' ' * 
 
 A series of observations conducted with a fourth 
 subject (0. N.) gave the following results, briefly 
 summarized. (This subject, like the others, is prac- 
 ticed in introspection and can differentiate her 
 memories with precision.) She distinguishes "two 
 strata" in her mental processes (an upper and 
 lower). The "upper stratum" consists of the 
 thoughts in the focus of attention. The lower (also 
 called the background of her mind) consists of the 
 perceptions and thoughts which are not in the focus. 
 This stratum, of course, corresponds with what is 
 commonly recognized as the fringe of conscious- 
 ness, and, as is usual, when her attention is directed 
 elsewhere she is not aware of it. She can, however, 
 bring this fringe within the field of attention and 
 then she becomes aware of, or rather remembers, 
 its content during the preceding moment. To be 
 able to do this is nothing out of the ordinary, but 
 what is unusual is this: by a trick of abstraction 
 which she has long practiced, she can bring the 
 memory of the fringe or stratum into the full light 
 of awareness and then it is discovered that it has 
 been exceedingly rich in thoughts, far richer than 
 ordinary attention would show and a fringe is sup- 
 posed to be. It is indeed a veritable coconscious- 
 ness in which there goes on a secondary stream of 
 thoughts often of an entirely different character 
 
 * Prince : Some of the Present Problems of Abnormal Psychol- 
 ogy, Congress of Arts and Sciences, St. Louis, 1904, V; 5, p. 770.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 175 
 
 and with different affects from those of the upper 
 stratum. It is common for thoughts which she has 
 resolutely put out of her mind as intolerable or un- 
 acceptable, or problems which have not been solved, 
 to continue functioning in the lower stratum with- 
 out entering awareness.* She can, however, at any 
 time become aware of them by the trick of abstrac- 
 tion referred to, and sometimes they emerge appar- 
 ently spontaneously and suddenly! replace the 
 "upper stratum." In hypnosis also the content of 
 the lower stratum can be distinctly recalled. 
 
 Now the point I have been coming to is, the sub- 
 ject has acquired the habit of postponing the deci- 
 sion of many everyday problems and giving them, 
 as a matter of convenience, to this second stratum 
 or fringe to solve. She puts one aside, that is out of 
 (or into) her mind and it goes into this stratum. 
 Then, later, when the time for action comes, she 
 
 * Practically similar conditions I have found in B. C. A., and 
 Miss B., though described by the subjects in different phraseology. 
 
 t For instance, to take a sensational example, on one occasion in 
 the midst of hilarity while singing, laughing, etc., she suddenly be- 
 came depressed and burst into tears. What happened was this: It 
 was a sorrowful anniversary, and in the ' ' lower stratum ' ' sad mem- 
 ories had been recurring during the period of hilarity. These mem- 
 ories had come into consciousness early in the morning, but she had 
 resolutely put them out of her mind. They had, however, kept re- 
 curring in the lower stratum, and suddenly emerged into the upper 
 stratum of consciousness with the startling effect described. More 
 commonly, however, the emergence of the lower stratum is simply a 
 shifting play of thought. It is interesting to note that censored 
 thoughts and temptations are apt to go into the lower stratum and 
 here with their affects continue at play. These sometimes reappear 
 as dreams.
 
 176 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 voluntarily goes into abstraction, becomes aware of 
 the subconscious thoughts of the second stratum 
 and, lo and behold! the problem is found to be 
 solved. If a plan of action, all the details are found 
 arranged as if planned "consciously." If asked a 
 moment before what plans had been decided upon 
 and decision reached she would have been obliged 
 in her conscious ignorance to reply, "I don't 
 know." * 
 
 An analysis of these different observations shows, 
 
 * The validity of the evidence of memory as applied to sub- 
 conscious processes needs to be carefully weighed. It is a question 
 of method, and if the method is fallacious all conclusions fall to the 
 ground. In the sciences of normal psychology and psychiatry and 
 psychopathology, the data given by memory are and necessarily must 
 be relied upon to furnish a knowledge of the content of mental proc- 
 esses and the mental symptoms, and all methods of psychological 
 analysis are based on the data of memory. Without such data there 
 could be no such sciences. As a matter of experience the method is 
 found to be reliable when properly checked by multiple observations. 
 If by special methods of technique mental processes, which do not 
 enter the awareness of the moment, are later brought into conscious- 
 ness as data of memory, are these data per contra to be rejected as 
 hallucinatory? This is what their rejection would mean. Now, as 
 a fact, there are phenomena, like coconscious personalities, which 
 compel the postulation of coconscious processes. If this is the case, 
 if there are coconscious processes which do not enter awareness, it 
 would be tne strangest thing if there were not conditions of the 
 personality in which a memory of these processes could be ob- 
 tained. This fact would have to be explained. The bringing of co- 
 conscious processes into consciousness as data of memory does not 
 seem therefore to be anything a priori improbable and there would 
 seem to be no reason why the memory of them should be more un- 
 reliable than that of conscious processes in the forms of attention. 
 Indeed, if the fringe of consciousness be regarded as coconscious, it 
 is an every-day act common to everybody. Such data necessarily 
 should be checked up by multiple observations.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 177 
 
 first, that the post-hypnotic phenomena calcula- 
 tions (a) and actions (b) were performed by a 
 subconscious process. Of this there can be no man- 
 ner of doubt, even if the subsequent hypnotic mem- 
 ories of the process be rejected as untrustworthy. 
 The phenomenon the answer to the mathematical 
 problem in the one case and the motor acts in the 
 other is so logically related to the suggestion, and 
 can be predicted with such certainty, that only a 
 causal relation can be admitted. 
 
 Second, in the calculation phenomena the process 
 is clearly of an intellectual character requiring 
 reasoning and the cooperation of mathematical 
 memory. (Reasoning is more conspicuous when the 
 problem is more complicated, as in the calculation 
 of the number of seconds intervening between, say, 
 twenty-two minutes past eleven and seventeen min- 
 utes past three o'clock.)* The phenomenon is the 
 solution of a problem. 
 
 The final phenomenon was not immediately re- 
 lated to the suggested idea. It was the final result 
 of a quite long series of logical processes of a more 
 or less complex character occurring over a period 
 of time as in conscious calculation. Conation (voli- 
 tion?) would seem also to be essential to carry the 
 suggested idea to fulfilment. Subconscious cogni- 
 tion would seem also to be required. There must 
 have been an intelligent appreciation of what the 
 
 * For examples of this kind, see Prince, Experiments to Determine 
 Coconscious Ideation, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, April-May, 
 1908.
 
 178 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 problem was and as soon as the solution was accom- 
 plished the process stopped. Eandom figuring did 
 not continue. 
 
 In the post-hypnotic motor acts conation is obvi- 
 ous. Here too there is a series of subconscious proc- 
 esses covering a period of time and carrying out a 
 purpose. The suggested causal idea did not include 
 the acts necessary for the fulfillment of the idea. 
 Each step was adapted to an end, ceased as soon as 
 it accomplished that end, and was followed by an- 
 other in logical sequence, the whole taking place as 
 if performed by an intelligence. Eeasoning may or 
 may not be involved according to the complexity of 
 the actions. 
 
 Third; the coconscious figures in the calculation 
 experiments do not constitute the whole of the proc- 
 ess. They would seem to be the product of some 
 deeper underlying process. The figures "kept com- 
 ing and going" and seemed to "add themselves." 
 There was no conscious process that related the 
 figures to one another and determined whether the 
 problem was one of addition or multiplication as 
 is the case when we do a calculation consciously; 
 that is to say, of course, if the hypnotic personality 
 remembered the whole of the conscious calculation. 
 It was more as if there was an underlying uncon- 
 scious process which did the calculation, certain 
 final results of which appeared as dissociated states 
 of consciousness, i. e., figures which did not enter 
 the personal consciousness. The process reminds us 
 of the printing of visible letters by the concealed
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 179 
 
 works of a typewriter; or of visible letters of an 
 electrically illuminated sign appearing and disap- 
 pearing according as the concealed mechanism is 
 worked. This interpretation is in entire accord 
 with the spontaneous occurrence of the coconscious 
 images during the everyday life of these subjects. 
 These images were pictorial representations of an- 
 tecedent thoughts and seemed to be the products 
 or elements of these thoughts apparently function- 
 ing as underlying unconscious processes. Likewise, 
 in post-hypnotic suggested actions, I have not been 
 able to obtain memories of coconscious thoughts 
 directing the actions, but only the images described. 
 These behave as if they were the product of another 
 underlying process determining the action. Infer- 
 ences of this sort are as compulsory as the inference 
 that the illumination of a sensitive plate observed in 
 the study of radio-activity must be due to the bom- 
 bardment of the plate by invisible particles emitted 
 by the radio-active substance. These particles and 
 the process which ejects them can only be inferred 
 from the effects which they produce. So, in the 
 above observations, it would seem as if the cocon- 
 scious figures, and other images involved, must be 
 ejected as conscious phenomena by an underlying 
 process. There is no explicit evidence that this is 
 conscious. 
 
 I said advisedly, a moment ago, "if the hypnotic 
 personality remembered the whole of the conscious 
 calculation, ' ' for, as a matter of fact, we find, when 
 we examine several different hypnotic states in the
 
 180 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 same subject, that their memories for coconscious 
 ideas are not coextensive, one (or more) being fuller 
 than another. Indeed in certain states there may 
 not be any such memories at all. It is necessary, 
 therefore, to obtain by hypnosis a degree of disso- 
 ciation which will allow the complete memories of 
 this kind to be evoked. In the subjects I made use 
 of this procedure was followed. Theoretically it 
 might be held that, no matter how complete the mem- 
 ories evoked in the various states, some other state 
 might possibly be obtained in which still more com- 
 plete memory would be manifested. Theoretically 
 this is true and all conclusions are subject to this 
 criticism. Practically, however, I found, when mak- 
 ing these investigations, that I seemed to have come 
 to the limit of such possibilities, for, obtain as I 
 would new dissociated arrangements of personality, 
 after a certain point no additional memories could 
 be evoked. There is still another possibility that 
 there may be coconscious processes for which no 
 memories can be evoked by any method or in any 
 state. 
 
 II. Artificially induced visual hallucinations with 
 which we have already become familiar can, as we 
 have seen, only be interpreted as the product of 
 subconscious processes. If only because of the im- 
 portant part that hallucinations play in insanity 
 and other pathological states and of the frequency 
 with which they occur in normal people (mystics 
 and others), the characteristics of the subconscious 
 process are well worth closer study. What is found
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 181 
 
 to be true of the experimental type is probably true 
 of the spontaneous variety whether occurring in 
 pathological or normal conditions. Indeed, as we 
 shall see, spontaneous hallucinations have the same 
 characteristics. We have considered them thus far 
 only from two points of view, viz. (1) as evidence 
 of conservation of forgotten experiences, and (2) as 
 evidence for specific residua of such experiences 
 functioning as subconscious processes. Now, arti- 
 ficial visual hallucinations, like the spontaneous 
 ones, may be limited relatively speaking to what 
 is apparently little more than an exact reproduc- 
 tion of an antecedent visual perception, e. g., a 
 person or object. But, generally speaking, it is 
 more than this and when analyzed will be found 
 almost always to be the expression of a complicated 
 process. For instance, take the relatively simple 
 crystal vision, of the subject smoking a cigarette 
 in a particular situation during hypnosis, which I 
 have previously cited. (Lecture III.) As a matter 
 of fact, the subject had no primary visual percep- 
 tions at the time of the original episode at all. She 
 was in hypnosis, her eyes were closed, and she did 
 not and could not see herself (particularly her own 
 face) or the cigarette or her surroundings. And 
 yet the vision pictured everything exactly as it had 
 occurred in my presence, even to the expression of 
 her features. Looking into the crystal the subject 
 saw herself sitting in a particular place, enacting a 
 series of movements, talking and smoking a cigar- 
 ette with a peculiar smile and expression of enjoy-
 
 182 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ment on her face.* For this experience there was 
 complete amnesia after waking from hypnosis and 
 at the time of the vision. 
 
 Now consider further the facts and their impli- 
 cations. In the mechanism of the process eventuat- 
 ing in the visual phenomenon we obviously have two 
 known factors: the antecedent causal factor the 
 hypnotic episode and, after a time interval, the 
 end result the vision. As there was no conscious 
 memory of the hypnotic episode the neurograms of 
 the latter must have functioned subconsciously to 
 have produced the vision. But what particular 
 neurograms? As the subject's eyes had been closed 
 in hypnosis, and, in any event, as she could not have 
 seen her own face, there were at the time no visual 
 perceptions of herself smoking a cigarette, and 
 therefore the vision could not have been simply a re- 
 production of a visual experience. There were, how- 
 ever, tactual, gustatory, and other perceptions and 
 ideas of self and environment, and these perceptions 
 and ideas of course possessed secondary visual im- 
 ages.-^ The simplest mechanism would be that the 
 neurograms of this complex of perception and ideas 
 of self, etc., functioned subconsciously and their 
 secondary visual images emerged into consciousness 
 to be the vision. I give this as the simplest mechan- 
 ism by which we can conceive of a visual representa- 
 
 * The Dissociation, pp. 55, 56. 
 
 f It is only necessary to close one 's eyes, then grimace and move 
 one's limbs to become conscious of these secondary images which 
 picture each movement of the features, etc.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 183 
 
 tion of an antecedent experience emerging out of a 
 subconscious process.* There is a considerable body 
 of data supporting this interpretation. 
 
 But the original experiences of the episode in- 
 cluded more than the mere perceptions and move- 
 ments of the subject. They included trains of 
 thought and enjoyment of the cigarette smoking 
 experience. All formed a complex of which the 
 tactual and other perceptions of self were subordi- 
 nate elements. At one moment, of course, one ele- 
 ment, and, at another moment another element, had 
 been in the focus of awareness, the others becoming 
 shifted into the fringe where at all times were sec- 
 ondary visual images of herself. Did the subcon- 
 scious process underlying the vision include the 
 whole of this complex? As to this, one peculiarity 
 of the vision has much significance. In behavior it 
 acted after the manner of a cinematographic or 
 "moving picture," and delineated each successive 
 movement of the episode, as if a rapid series of 
 photographs had been taken for reproduction. In 
 
 * The mechanism is probably not quite so simple as this, proba- 
 bly past visual perceptions of self and the environment took part, so 
 that the vision was a fusion or composite of these older primary 
 images and the secondary images. The principle of mechanism, how- 
 ever, would not be affected by this added element. Sidis (The Doc- 
 trine of Primary and Secondary Sensory Elements, Psych. Bev., 
 January-March, 1908) has maintained that all hallucinations are the 
 emerging of the secondary images of previous perceptions. If, on 
 the other hand, the vision be interpreted as something fabricated by 
 the subconscious process as must be the case with some hallucina- 
 tions then this process must have been much more complicated than 
 memory. Something akin at least to constructive imagination and 
 intelligence that translated the experiences into visual terms.
 
 184 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 this manner even the emotional and changing play 
 of the features of the vision-self, expressive of the 
 previous thoughts and enjoyment, were depicted. 
 Such a cinematographic series of visual images 
 would seem to require a concurrent subconscious 
 process to produce the successive changes in the 
 hallucinatory images. As these changes apparently 
 correspond from moment to moment with the 
 changes that had occurred in the content of con- 
 sciousness during the causal episode, it would also 
 seem that the subconscious process was a reproduc- 
 tion in subconscious terms of substantially the whole 
 original mental episode. This conclusion is forti- 
 fied by the following additional facts : In many 
 experiments of this kind, if the subject's face be 
 watched during the visualization, it will be observed 
 that it shows the same play of features as is dis- 
 played by the vision face,* and the visualizer at the 
 same moment experiences the same emotion as is 
 expressed by the features of the vision facefi and 
 sometimes knows "what her [my] vision self is 
 thinking about." In other words, in particular in- 
 stances, sometimes the feelings alone and sometimes 
 both the thoughts and feelings expressed in panto- 
 mime in the hallucination arise at the same moment 
 in consciousness. This would seem to indicate that 
 the same processes which determined the mimetic 
 play of features in the hallucination were deter- 
 mining at the same moment the same play in the 
 
 * That is to say, as described by the visualizer. 
 t Cf, The Dissociation, pp. 211-220,
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 185 
 
 features of the visualizer, and that these processes 
 were a subconscious memory of substantially all the 
 original perceptions and thoughts. That is to say, 
 this memory in such cases remains sometimes en- 
 tirely subconscious and sometimes emerges into con- 
 sciousness. The hallucination is simply a projected 
 visualization induced by what is taking place sub- 
 consciously in the subject's mind at the moment. 
 Whether this shall remain entirely subconscious or 
 shall emerge partially or wholly into consciousness 
 depends upon psychological conditions peculiar to 
 the subject. 
 
 That even when the thoughts of the causal experi- 
 ence emerge in consciousness along with the vision 
 a portion of the functioning complex e. g., the per- 
 ceptual elements may still remain submerged is 
 shown by the following example : The vision, one 
 of several of the same kind, portrayed in pantomime 
 an elaborate nocturnal somnambulistic act. It rep- 
 resented the subject walking in her sleep with eyes 
 closed ; then sitting before the fire in profound and 
 depressing thought; then joyously dancing; then 
 writing letters, etc., and finally ascending the stairs, 
 unconsciously dropping one of the letters from her 
 hand on the way* and returning to bed. During 
 the visualization the thoughts and feelings of the 
 vision-self, even the contents of the letters, arose in 
 
 * At this point the subject watching the vision remarked, ' ' I drop 
 one of the letters, but I do not know I have done so. ' ' In other 
 words, conscious of the content of the somnambulist's consciousness, 
 the visualizer knows that there is no awareness of this act. The 
 letter was afterward found by the servant on the stairs.
 
 186 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the mind of the visualizer whose features and tone 
 of voice betrayed the feelings. 
 
 The point to be noted in this observation is that 
 the vision reproduced as a detail of the somnambu- 
 listic act the accidental dropping of a letter from 
 the*~hand of the somnambulist who was unaware of 
 the fact; it reproduced what was not in conscious 
 experience. How came it that an act for which 
 there had been no awareness could appear in the 
 vision? The only explanation is that originally in 
 the somnambulistic state, a is so commonly ob- 
 served in hypnotic somnambulism, there was a sub- 
 conscious tactual perception (with secondary visual 
 images?) of dropping the letter and now the mem- 
 ory of this antecedent perception, functioning sub- 
 consciously, induced this detail of the vision. The 
 general conclusion then would seem to be justified 
 that this hallucination was determined by a fairly 
 large complex of antecedent somnambulistic experi- 
 ences of which a part emerged as the hallucination 
 and the thoughts of the somnambulist into con- 
 sciousness, and a part the tactual and other per- 
 ceptions remained submerged as the subconscious 
 process. How much more may have been contained 
 in this process the facts do not enable us to deter- 
 mine. 
 
 An examination, then, of even the more simple 
 artificial hallucinations discloses that underlying 
 them there is a residual process which is quite an 
 extensive subconscious memory of antecedent 
 thoughts, perceptions and affective experiences.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 187 
 
 Whether this memory is only an unconscious func- 
 tioning neurogram or whether it is also a cocon- 
 scious memory, or partly both, cannot be determined 
 from the data.* The bearing of these results upon 
 the interpretation of insane hallucinations is obvi- 
 ous. 
 
 Our examination of subconscious processes in the 
 two classes of phenomena thus far studied post 
 hypnotic phenomena and artificial hallucinations- 
 permits the following general conclusions: First, 
 there is positive evidence to show that in some in- 
 stances, in their intrinsic nature, they are cocon- 
 scious. In other instances, in the absence of such evi- 
 dence, it is permissible to regard them as uncon- 
 scious. Second, that in the quality of the functions 
 performed they frequently exhibit that which is 
 characteristic of Intelligence. This characteristic 
 will be seen to be still more pronounced in the phe- 
 nomena which we shall next study. 
 
 * Coconscious ideas may provoke hallucinations. (For examples 
 consult "Hallucinations" in Index to The Dissociation.)
 
 LECTURE VII 
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 
 
 (Continued) 
 
 III. Subconscious intelligence underlying spon- 
 taneous hallucinations. Spontaneous hallucinations 
 often offer opportunities to study subconscious proc- 
 esses exhibiting constructive intelligence. Although 
 properly belonging to clinical phenomena, they often 
 can be so clearly related to an antecedent experience 
 as to allow us to determine the causal factor with the 
 same exactness as in the experimental type, and, 
 therefore, to infer the connecting subconscious link 
 with equal probability. Some of these spontaneous 
 visions indicate that the subconscious link must 
 be of considerable complexity and equivalent to 
 logical processes of reasoning, volition, and pur- 
 posive intelligence. Sometimes the same subcon- 
 scious processes which fabricate the vision deter- 
 mine also other processes of conscious thought and 
 movements. 
 
 In illustration I may cite an incident in the life 
 of Miss B., which I have previously described : 
 
 "Miss B., as a child, frequently had visions of the Madonna 
 and Christ, and used to believe that she had actually seen them. 
 It was her custom when in trouble, if it was only a matter of her 
 school lessons, or something that she had lost, to resort to prayer. 
 Then she would be apt to have a vision of Christ. The vision 
 
 188
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 189 
 
 never spoke, but sometimes made signs to her, mid the expression 
 of His face made her feel that all was well. After the vision 
 passed she felt that her difficulties were removed, and if it was a 
 bothersome lesson which she had been unable to understand it all 
 became intelligible at once. Or, if it was something that she had 
 lost, she at once went to the spot where it was." . . . [For 
 example, while under observation.] "Miss B. had lost a bank 
 check and was much troubled concerning it. For five days she 
 had made an unsuccessful hunt for it, systematically going through 
 everything in her room. She remembered distinctly placing the 
 check between the leaves of a book, when some one knocked at 
 her door, and this was the last she saw of the check. She had be- 
 come very much troubled about the matter, and in consequence, 
 after going to bed that night she was unable to sleep, and rose sev- 
 eral times to make a further hunt. Finally, at 3 o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, she went to bed and fell asleep. At 4 o'clock she woke with 
 the consciousness of a presence in the room. She arose, and in a 
 moment saw a vision of Christ, who did not speak, but smiled. 
 She at once felt, as she used to, that everything was well, and that 
 the vision foretold that she should find the check. All her anxiety 
 left her at once. The figure retreated toward the bureau, but the 
 thought flashed into her mind that the lost check was in the 
 drawer of her desk. A search, however, showed that it was not 
 there. She then walked automatically to the bureau, opened the 
 top drawer, took out some stuff upon which she had been sewing, 
 unfolded it, and there was the check along with one or two other 
 papers. 
 
 "Neither Miss B. nor BII [hypnosis] has any memory of any 
 specific thought which directed her to open the drawer and take 
 out her sewing, nor of any conscious idea that the check was 
 there. Rather, she did it, so far as her consciousness goes, auto- 
 matically, as she used to do automatic writing."* 
 
 Further investigation revealed the fact that the 
 money had been put away absent-mindedly and ' ' un- 
 
 * The Dissociation, Appendix L, p. 548.
 
 190 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 consciously"; in hypnosis the memory of this act 
 was recovered. 
 
 In this observation we have two so-called auto- 
 matic phenomena of different types one a sensory 
 automatism, the vision, the other a motor automa- 
 tism or actions leading to the finding of the money. 
 The motor acts being automatic were necessarily 
 determined by subconscious processes and plainly 
 required a knowledge of the hiding-place. This 
 knowledge also plainly must have been conserved 
 in the unconscious and now, in answer to her wish 
 to find the lost money, acting as a subconscious proc- 
 ess, fulfilled her wish in a practical way. 
 
 The vision was of Christ smiling. Seeing it the 
 subject at once "felt that all was well," and her 
 anxiety vanished. It was plainly therefore a fabri- 
 cated visual symbolism though one which she had 
 frequently before experienced. It may be taken as 
 a message sent by subconscious processes to her 
 anxious consciousness and it is not too much to 
 say had a purposive meaning, viz., to allay her 
 anxiety. The question is, What was the causal fac- 
 tor which determined this symbolism? Logically it 
 is a compulsory inference that the same conserved 
 knowledge and subconscious processes, which event- 
 uated in the motor automatisms, must have been 
 the causal factor that determined the visual sym- 
 bolism which carried the reassuring message to con- 
 sciousness. This subconscious knowledge first 
 allayed her anxiety and then proceeded to answer 
 her problem of the whereabouts of the lost money.
 
 191 
 
 More specifically, the primary causal factor was 
 the preceding anxious wish to find the money; the 
 resulting phenomena were the sensory and motor 
 automatisms, allaying the anxiety and fulfilling the 
 wish; between the two as connecting links were sub- 
 conscious processes of an intelligent, purposive, 
 volitional character which first fabricated a visual 
 symbolism as a message to consciousness and then 
 made use of the conserved knowledge of her previ- 
 ous absent-minded act to solve her problem. The 
 subconscious process as a whole we thus see was of 
 quite a complicated character. In this example it 
 is impossible to determine from the data at hand 
 whether the subconscious process was coconscious 
 or unconscious. 
 
 The observation which I have elsewhere described 
 as "an hallucination from the subconscious " * is 
 an excellent example of an intelligent subconscious 
 process indicative of judgment and purpose. The 
 hallucination occurred in my presence as a result 
 of an antecedent experience for which I was a 
 moment before responsible. It was therefore of 
 the nature of an experiment and the causal factor 
 was known. The antecedent experience consisted 
 of certain remarks and behavior of the subject while 
 under the influence of an illusion during a dissoci- 
 ated state for which there was subsequent amnesia. 
 The vision was of a friend whose face was sad, as of 
 one who had been injured, and seemed to reproach 
 
 * The Dissociation, Chapter XXXI.
 
 192 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 her. At the same moment she heard his voice which 
 said, "How could you have betrayed me?" The 
 hallucinatory words and the visual image were in 
 no sense a reproduction of the causal, i. e., antece- 
 dent, experience. They were the expression of a 
 subconscious self-reproach in consequence of that 
 experience. This reproach connoted a subconscious 
 belief or logical judgment, drawn from the experi- 
 ence, that she had broken a promise.* It was a sub- 
 conscious reaction to a subconscious belief. I say 
 both the reproach and the judgment were subcon- 
 scious because, in the dissociated state, owing to the 
 illusion, and in the normal after-state owing to the 
 amnesia, she was entirely ignorant of having done 
 anything that could oe construed into breaking a 
 promise. This interpretation of tlie episode must 
 therefore have been entirely subconscious. The self- 
 reproach emerged into consciousness but translated 
 into visual and auditory hallucinations. These were 
 plainly a condemnatory message sent from the sub- 
 conscious to the personal consciousness and might 
 aptly be termed "the prickings of a subconscious 
 conscience." The primary causal factor was sim- 
 ply certain statements (conserved in the uncon- 
 scious) made to me by the subject and for which 
 afterwards there was amnesia. Intervening be- 
 tween this antecedent experience and the resulting 
 hallucinatory phenomena a subconscious process 
 must be postulated as a necessary connecting link. 
 
 * As a matter of fact, the judgment was erroneous, though a 
 justifiable inference.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 193 
 
 This process plainly involved memory and an in- 
 telligent judgment, an emotional reaction, and an 
 expression of this judgment and reaction trans- 
 lated into hallucinatory phenomena. Apparently 
 also a distinct purpose to upbraid the personality 
 was manifested. 
 
 The accounts of sudden religious conversion are 
 full of instances of hallucinations occurring at the 
 time of the " crisis" and these visions and voices 
 are often logical symbolisms of antecedent 
 thoughts of the subject. By analogy with similar 
 experimental phenomena we are compelled to inter- 
 pret them in the same way and postulate these an- 
 tecedent experiences as the causal factors. If this 
 postulation is sound then the connecting subcon- 
 scious link is often a quite complicated process of 
 an intelligent character. 
 
 In one instance in which the occurrence was simi- 
 lar in principle to sudden religious conversion I 
 was able to determine beyond question the causal 
 antecedents of the hallucinatory phenomenon. I 
 will not repeat the details here;* suffice it to say 
 that the hallucination, consisting of a vision and an 
 auditory message from the subject's deceased hus- 
 band (see p. 40), answered the doubts and scruples 
 with which the subject had been previously tor- 
 mented. It was a logical answer calculated to allay 
 distressing memories against which she had been 
 fighting, "the old ideas of dissatisfaction with life, 
 the feelings of injury, bitterness, and rebellion 
 
 * Cf . The Dissociation, 2d edition, p. 567.
 
 194 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 against fate and the ' kicking against the pricks' 
 which these memories evoked." It expressed pre- 
 viously entertained ideas which she had tried to 
 accept but without success. The exposition of this 
 answer in the hallucinatory symbolism required a 
 subconscious process involving considerable reason- 
 ing. The phenomenon as a whole was a message 
 addressed to her own consciousness by subconscious 
 processes to answer her doubts and anxious ques- 
 tionings of herself, and to settle the conflict going 
 on in her mind. The logical connection between the 
 different elements of this hallucination and certain 
 antecedent experiences which had harassed the sub- 
 ject are so close that there is no room left for doubt- 
 ing that these experiences were the causal factors. 
 And so I might analyze a large number of spon- 
 taneous hallucinations wherein you would find the 
 same evidence for subconscious processes showing 
 intelligent constructive imagination, reasoning, voli- 
 tion, and purposive effort, and expressing them- 
 selves in automatisms which either solve a disturb- 
 ing problem or carry to fruition a subconscious pur- 
 pose. 
 
 I offer no excuse for multiplying tnese observa- 
 tions of hallucinatory phenomena, even at the ex- 
 pense of tedious repetition, for such studies give 
 an insight into the mechanism of the hallucinations 
 met with in the insanities and other pathological 
 states. They offer, too, an insight into the basic 
 process involved in dreams as these are a type of 
 hallucinatory phenomena. It is by a study of hallu-
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 195 
 
 cinations experimentally created, and others where 
 we are in a position to know the causal factors, that 
 we can learn the mechanisms underlying similar 
 phenomena occurring in normal pathological condi- 
 tions. As a rule in the latter conditions it is diffi- 
 cult to determine beyond question the true causal 
 factors and, therefore, the particular subconscious 
 processes involved. Such phenomena as I have 
 presented justify the conclusion of the "new psy- 
 chology" that the hallucinations of the insane are 
 not haphazard affairs but the resultant of subcon- 
 scious processes evoked by antecedent experiences. 
 In conclusion, then, we may say that in artificial 
 hallucinations as experimentally conducted, and in 
 certain spontaneous hallucinations, we have two 
 known factors; the causal factor (the antecedent ex- 
 perience) and the hallucinatory phenomenon the 
 effect. Intervening between the two is an inferred 
 subconscious process of considerable complexity 
 which is required to explain the causal connection. 
 With the exact mechanism of hallucinatory phenom- 
 ena we are not at present concerned, but only with 
 the evidence of the actuality of a subconscious proc- 
 ess, of its character as an intelligence, and with its 
 intrinsic nature. 
 
 As to the last problem it is plain that further 
 investigations are required and that the methods at 
 present at our disposal for its solution leave much 
 to be desired. All things considered a conservative 
 summing up would be that the subconscious process 
 may be both coconscious and unconscious.
 
 196 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 IV. Subconscious intelligence underlying dreams. 
 As is well known, Freud advanced the theory, now 
 well fortified by numerous observations of others, 
 that underlying a dream is a subconscious process 
 which fabricates the conscious dream. According to 
 Freud and his followers this subconscious process 
 is always an antecedent wish and the dream is an 
 imaginary fulfillment of that wish. This part of 
 the theory (as well as the universality of an under- 
 lying process) is decidedly questionable. My own ob- 
 servations lead me to believe that a dream may be 
 also the expression of antecedent doubts, scruples, 
 anxieties, etc., or may be an answer to an unsolved 
 problem. We need not concern ourselves with this 
 particular question here. I refer to it simply to 
 point out that its correct solution depends upon the 
 correct determination of the true causal factor 
 which is necessarily antecedently unknown and must 
 be inferred. It is inferred or selected from the asso- 
 ciated memories evoked by the so-called method of 
 analysis. Hence it must be always an element open 
 to greater or less doubt. Dreams are a type of 
 hallucinatory phenomena and therefore we should 
 expect that their mechanism would correspond more 
 or less closely with that of other hallucinatory phe- 
 nomena. 
 
 With the object in view of determining whether 
 a dream could be produced experimentally and 
 brought within the category of phenomena where 
 the causal factor was antecedently known, and thus 
 determine the actuality of a subconscious process as
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 197 
 
 a necessary intervening link between the two, I 
 made the following experiment. It should be noted 
 that a wish fulfilment necessarily means a dream 
 content so far different in form from the content of 
 the ivish itself that the postulation of a connecting 
 link, conscious or subconscious, is required. I also 
 sought, if a subconscious process could be postu- 
 lated, to discover how elaborate and what sort of 
 a work of constructive imagination a subconscious 
 wish could evolve. 
 
 To a suitable subject while in a deep hypnotic 
 trance state I gave a suggestion in the form of a 
 wish to be worked out to fulfilment in a dream. It 
 so happened that this subject was going through 
 a period of stress and strain for which she sought 
 relief. I also knew that she had a very strong de- 
 sire to do a good piece of original psychological 
 work and had advised her to take up the work as a 
 solution of her difficulties. So, taking advantage 
 of this desire, I impressed upon her, for the purpose 
 of emphasizing the impulsive force of the desire, 
 that she now had the longed-for opportunity as the 
 culmination of her previous years of training to 
 do the work. I then gave her the following sugges- 
 tion: "You want to do a good piece of original 
 work and your dream to-night will be the fulfillment 
 of the wish." No hint as to what form the dream 
 fulfilment should take was given, nor had she any 
 knowledge before being put into the trance state 
 that I intended to make an experiment. 
 
 It is interesting to note how the dream has a
 
 198 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 logical form which is unfolded as an argument. 
 This itself is an allegorical transcript of the rea- 
 sons previously suggested to her for the particular 
 solution of her problem. 
 
 The dream was a long one and into it were logi- 
 cally introduced as a part of the argument the actual 
 distressing circumstances for the relief of which I 
 had advised taking up the piece of psychological 
 work as an outlet to her feelings and solution of 
 her problem of life. I will give in detail only so 
 much of the dream as contains the wish fulfilment 
 (which became also a part of the dream argument), 
 summarizing the remainder. The dream begins 
 with an allegorical description of the great task 
 involved in the study of psychology by all the work- 
 ers of the world. The science of psychology is sym- 
 bolized by a temple. "I dreamed I was where they 
 were building a great temple or cathedral; an enor- 
 mous place covering many acres of ground. Hun- 
 dreds of men were building. Some were building 
 spires, some were building foundations, and some 
 were tearing down what they had built, some parts 
 had fallen down of themselves. I was wandering 
 around looking on." Then she proceeds to help 
 one of the builders who was building a particular 
 part of the temple by bringing him material in the 
 form of stones. This she had actually done in real 
 life, contributing much psychological material out 
 of her own experiences. Many of these experiences 
 had been very intimate ones from her inner life and 
 had involved much suffering ; hence the stones which
 
 199 
 
 she contributed in her dream were big and heavy 
 and were beyond her strength to carry, so that she 
 could only roll them, and some were sharp and 
 made her hands bleed, so that her contribution in- 
 volved much suffering. This part of the dream 
 was not only a prelude to the suggested wish fulfil- 
 ment but, as interpreted, contained a wish fulfil- 
 ment in itself. 
 
 Then there was interjected an allegorical but very 
 accurate description of the distressing circum- 
 stances to which I have referred and for which, as 
 a problem of life, the suggested work was advised 
 as a solution. Then logically followed the wish 
 fulfilment and solution. She heard the voice of the 
 builder whom she had been helping say to her, 
 " 'Now, here are all the materials and you must 
 build a temple of your own,' and I [she] said, 'I 
 cannot, ' and he said, ' you can, and I will help you. ' 
 So I began to build the stones I had taken him. It 
 was hard work, but I kept on, and a most beautiful 
 temple grew up. . . . All the stones were very 
 brilliant in color, but each one was stained with a 
 drop of blood that came from a wound in my heart. 
 And the temple grew up; and I handled all the 
 stones; but somehow the temple grew up of itself 
 and lots of people were coming from all directions 
 to look at it, and someone, who seemed to be William 
 James, said, 'It is the most valuable part of the 
 temple,' and I felt very proud. . . .' After an- 
 other interjection of the distressing problem of her 
 life just alluded to, the dream ends with the figure
 
 200 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 of * ' a beautiful shining angel with golden spreading 
 wings and the word 'Hope' written on his fore- 
 head." This figure "spread his lovely wings and 
 rose right up through the temple and became the 
 top of the spire, a gorgeous shining figure of 
 Hope."* 
 
 After this dream was obtained the subject, who 
 had no knowledge that any suggestion had been 
 given to induce the dream, was told to analyze the 
 dream herself by the method of associative mem- 
 ories. As is customary in the use of this method, 
 in which she had had considerable experience, the 
 memories associated with each element of the dream 
 were obtained. These memories all led back di- 
 rectly to her interest in psychology and desire to 
 contribute some original work, and to her own life 's 
 experiences. Every one of the dream-elements 
 (temple, spires, foundations, stones, bleeding hands, 
 drop of blood from the wound in her heart, etc.) 
 evoked associative memories which justified the 
 inference that these elements were symbolisms of 
 past experiences or of constructive imagination. 
 
 * William James had once said to her in my presence that she 
 could make a valuable contribution to psychology. It is interesting 
 to note, although it is aside from the question at issue, that this 
 subject had strenuously denied that there was any "hope," insisting 
 that she was absolutely devoid of any such sentiment. Through 
 hypnotic memories, however, I was able to demonstrate that this was 
 only consciously true, and that there were very evident and strong 
 coconscious ideas of hope of which she was not consciously aware. 
 She had refused to acknowledge these ideas to herself and by repres- 
 sion had dissociated them from the personal consciousness. These 
 ideas now expressed themselves symbolically in the dream.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 201 
 
 That this dream was determined by, and the ex- 
 plicit imaginary fulfilment of the antecedent wish 
 made use of in the experiment and motivated by 
 the suggestion would seem to be conclusively shown. 
 
 If, then, in any case a causal relation between an 
 antecedent wish and its dream fulfilment exists, it 
 follows that there must be some link between that 
 wish experienced in the past and the present dream 
 fulfilment, some mode, mechanism, or process by 
 which a past thought, without entering conscious- 
 ness, can continue to its own fulfilment in a con- 
 scious work of the imagination, the dream. I say 
 without entering consciousness because the original 
 specific thought-wish does not appear in the dream 
 consciousness, which is only the fulfilment. The 
 phenomenon as a whole is also inexplicable unless 
 there was some motivating factor or force which 
 determined the form of the dream just as in con- 
 scious fabrication and argument "we" consciously 
 motivate and arrange the form of the product. The 
 only logical and intelligible inference is that the 
 original ivisli, becoming reawakened (by the preced- 
 ing suggestion) during sleep, continued to function 
 outside of the dream consciousness, as a motivating 
 and directing subconscious process. 
 
 But what was the content of this process, and to 
 what extent can its elements be correlated with 
 those of the dream? The experimental data of this 
 dream do not afford an answer to this question. 
 (Those of the observation I shall next give will per- 
 mit a deeper insight into the character and content
 
 202 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 of their process.) It is a reasonable inference, 
 however, inasmuch as the different elements of the 
 dream temple, stones, etc., the material out of 
 which it is constructed are found to be logical sym- 
 bolizations of their associative memories, that these 
 memories took part in the subconscious process and 
 consequently may be correlated with their dream- 
 symbols. In other words the content of the subcon- 
 scious process was more than a wish, or wish neu- 
 rogram, it included a large complex of memories 
 of diverse experiences that can be recognized 
 through their symbolizations in the dream. This 
 complex, motivated by a particular wish, fabricated 
 the dream, just as in the hallucinations I have cited 
 an underlying process fabricated the hallucination 
 as a symbolic expression of a subconscious judg- 
 ment, self-reproach, etc. To do this a process that 
 must be termed a subconscious intelligence was re- 
 quired. The dream was an allegory, a product of 
 constructive imagination in the logical form of an 
 argument, and if constructed by an underlying proc- 
 ess the latter must have had the same character- 
 istics.* 
 
 * We must remember that a dreaming state is a dissociated state 
 (like a fugue or trance), and numerous observations have shown that 
 in such conditions any of the dormant related experiences of life may 
 modify, repress, resist, alter, and determine the content of the dis- 
 sociated consciousness. It is difficult to conceive of a dream al- 
 legory being constructed by the dream consciousness itself. If that 
 were the mechanism, we should expect that the associative ideas for 
 which symbols are chosen would appear during the dream construc- 
 tion as is the case in waking imagination. The method of the mental 
 processes is very different in the latter. We there select from a
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 203 
 
 This experimental dream confirms therefore the 
 general principle formulated by Freud from the 
 analysis of dreams in which the causal factor is an 
 inferred wish. It is likewise on the assumption of 
 my having correctly inferred this factor that I have 
 insisted that a dream may be a fabricated expres- 
 sion of thoughts other than wishes or may be the 
 solution of an unsolved problem. In this last case 
 the dream phenomena and mechanism seem to be 
 analogous in every way to the subconscious solu- 
 tion of mathematical problems which I have already 
 described. In such and other cases the subcon- 
 scious process would seem to be a continuation and 
 elaboration of the antecedent suggested problem. 
 
 In dreams, then, or, as we should strictly limit 
 ourselves for the present to saying, in certain 
 dreams, there are, as Freud first showed, two proc- 
 esses; one is the conscious dream, the other is a 
 subconscious process which is the actuated resi- 
 duum of a previous experience and determines the 
 dream.* It would be going beyond the scope of our 
 
 number of associative ideas that crowd into consciousness, choose 
 our symbols, and remember the rejected ideas. This is not the case 
 with dream imagination. The imagery develops as if done by some- 
 thing else. 
 
 * It must not be assumed that all dreams are determined by a 
 subconscious process or that all are symbolic. On the contrary, from 
 evidence in hand, there is reason to believe that some dreams have 
 substantially the same mechanism as waking imagination subject to 
 the limitations imposed by the existing dissociation of consciousness 
 during sleep. Just as, in the waking state, thoughts may or may not 
 be determined by subconscious processes, so in the sleeping state. 
 We know too little about the mechanisms of thought to draw wide 
 generalizations or to dogmatize.
 
 204 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 subject to enter into a full exposition of this inter- 
 pretation at this time and I must refer you for a 
 discussion of the dream problem to works devoted 
 to the subject. 
 
 We have not, of course, touched the further prob- 
 lem of the How: how a subconscious intelligence in- 
 duces a conscious dream which is not an emergence 
 of the elements of that intelligence into self-con- 
 sciousness, but a symbolization of them. This is a 
 problem which still awaits solution. From certain 
 data at hand it seems likely that so far as concerns 
 the hallucinatory perceptual elements of a dream 
 they can be accounted for as the emergence of the 
 secondary images pertaining to the subconscious 
 1 'ideas." 
 
 The following observation is an example of sub- 
 conscious versification and also of constructive 
 imagination. It also, I think, gives an insight into 
 the character and content of the underlying process 
 which constructs a dream. I give the observation 
 in the subject's own words: 
 
 "I woke suddenly some time between three and four in the 
 morning. I was perfectly wide awake and conscious of my sur- 
 roundings but for a short time perhaps two or three minutes I 
 could not move, and I saw this vision which I recognized as such. 
 
 "The end of my room seemed to have disappeared, and I 
 looked out into boundless space. It looked misty but bright, as 
 if the sun was shining behind a light fog. There were shifting 
 wisps of fog blowing lightly about, and these wisps seemed to 
 gather into the forms of a man and a woman. The figures were 
 perfectly clear and lifelike I recognized them both. The man 
 was dressed in dark every-day clothes, the woman in rather flow-
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 205 
 
 ing black; her face was partly hidden on his breast; one arm 
 was laid around his neck; both his arms were around her, and 
 he was looking down at her, smiling very tenderly. They seemed 
 to be surrounded by a sort of rosy atmosphere; a large, very 
 bright star was above their heads not in the heavens, but just 
 over them; tall rose bushes heavy with red roses in full bloom 
 grew up about them, and the falling petals were heaped up around 
 their feet. Then the man bent his head and kissed her. 
 
 "The vision was extraordinarily clear and I thought I would 
 write it down at once. I turned on the light by my bedside, took 
 pencil and paper lying there and wrote, as I supposed, prac- 
 tically what I have written here. I then got up, was up some 
 minutes, went back to bed, and after a while to sleep. The clock 
 struck four soon after getting back into bed. I do not think I 
 experienced any emotion at the moment of seeing the vision, but 
 after writing it down I did. 
 
 "The next morning I picked up the paper to read over what I 
 had written and was amazed at the language and the rhythm. 
 This is what I had written : 
 
 " 'Last night I waked from sleep quite suddenly, 
 
 And though my brain was clear my limbs were tranced. 
 Beyond the walls of my familiar room 
 
 I gazed outward into luminous space. 
 Before my staring eyes two forms took shape, 
 
 Vague, shadowy, slowly gathering from the mists, 
 Until I saw before me, you my Love ! 
 
 And folded to your breast in close embrace 
 Was she, that other, whom I may not name. 
 
 A rosy light bathed you in waves of love ; 
 Above your heads there shone a glowing star; 
 
 Red roses shed their leaves about your feet. 
 And as I gazed with eyes that could not weep 
 
 You bent your head and laid your lips on hers. 
 And my rent soul ' . . . [Apparently unfinished.]
 
 206 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 "The thoughts were the same as my conscious thoughts had 
 been the vision was well described but the language was en- 
 tirely different from anything I had thought, and the writing ex- 
 pressed the emotion which I had not consciously experienced in 
 seeing the vision, but which (I have since learned) I had felt dur- 
 ing the dream, and which I did consciously feel after writing. 
 When I wrote I meant simply to state the facts of the vision."* 
 
 The subject was unable to give any explanation 
 of the vision or of the composition of the verse. 
 She rarely remembers her dreams and had no mem- 
 ory of any dream the night of this vision. By hyp- 
 notic procedure, however, I was able to recover 
 memories of a dream which occurred just before 
 she woke up. It appeared that in the dream she was 
 wandering in a great open space and saw this ' ' pic- 
 ture in a thin mist. The mist seemed to blow apart" 
 and disclosed the "picture" which was identical 
 with the vision. At the climax of the dream picture 
 the dreamer experienced an intense emotion well 
 described in the verse by the unfinished phrase, 
 "My rent soul ..." The dreamer "shrieked, and 
 fell on the ground on her face, and grew cold from 
 head to foot and waked up." 
 
 The vision after waking, then, was a repetition of 
 a preceding dream vision and we may safely assume 
 that it was fabricated by the same underlying proc- 
 
 * ' ' For two or three days previously I had been trying to write 
 some verses, and had been reading a good deal of poetry. I had 
 been thinking in rhythm. I had also been under considerable nerv- 
 ous and emotional strain for some little time in reference to the facts 
 portrayed in the verse. ' '
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 207 
 
 ess which fabricated the dream, this process re- 
 peating itself after waking. 
 
 So far the phenomenon was one which is fairly 
 common. Now when we come to examine the auto- 
 matically written script we find it has a number of 
 significant characteristics. (1) It describes a con- 
 scious episode, (2) As a literary effort for one who 
 is not a poetical writer it is fairly well written and 
 probably quite as good verse as the subject can con- 
 sciously write; (3) It expresses the mental attitude, 
 sentiments and emotions experienced in the dream 
 but not at the time of the vision. These had also 
 been antecedent experiences; (4) Both the central 
 ideas of the verse and the vision symbolically repre- 
 sented certain antecedent presentiments of the fu- 
 ture; (5) The script gives of the vision an interpre- 
 tation which was not consciously in mind at the mo- 
 ment of writing. 
 
 Now, inasmuch as these sentiments and interpre- 
 tations were not in the conscious mind at the mo- 
 ment of writing, the script suggests that the proc- 
 ess that wrote it was not simply a subconscious 
 memory of the vision but the same process which 
 fabricated the dream. Indeed, the phenomenon is 
 open to the suspicion that this same process ex- 
 presses the same ideas in verbal symbolism as a sub- 
 stitution for the hallucinatory symbolism. To de- 
 termine this point, an effort was made to recover by 
 technical methods memories of this process ; that is 
 to determine what wrote the verse and by what sort 
 of a process. The following was brought out :
 
 208 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 1. The script was written automatically. The 
 subject thought she was writing certain words and 
 expressing certain thoughts and did not perceive 
 that she was writing different words. ''Something 
 seemed to prevent her seeing the words she wrote. ' ' 
 There were two trains of ' ' thought. ' ' 
 
 2. The ' ' thoughts ' ' of the verse were in her * ' sub- 
 conscious mind."* These " thoughts" (also de- 
 scribed as "words") were not logically arranged or 
 as written in the verse, but "sort of tumbled to- 
 gether mixed up a little." "They were not like 
 the thoughts one thinks in composing a verse." 
 There did not seem to be any attempt at selection 
 from the thoughts or words. No evidence could be 
 elicited to show that the composing was done here. 
 
 3. Concurrently with these subconscious, mixed- 
 up thoughts coconscious "images" of the words of 
 the verse came just at the moment of writing them 
 down. The images were bright, printed words. 
 Sometimes one or two words would come at a time 
 and sometimes a whole line. 
 
 In other words all happened as if there was a 
 deeper underlying process which did the composing 
 and from this process certain thoughts without logi- 
 cal order emerged to form a subconscious stream 
 and after the composing was done the words of the 
 verse emerged as coconscious images as they were 
 
 * By this is meant ' ' thoughts ' ' of which she was not aware. 
 Numerous observations on this subject have disclosed such subcon- 
 scious ideas in connection with other phenomena. This corresponds 
 with the testimony of other subjects previously cited. (Lecture VI.)
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 209 
 
 to be written. This underlying process, then, "au- 
 tomatically" did the writing and the composing. 
 Hence it seemed to the subject even when remem- 
 bering in hypnosis the subconscious thoughts and 
 images that both were done unconsciously. 
 
 As to whether this underlying process was the 
 same as that which fabricated the dream and the 
 hallucination, the evidence, albeit circumstantial, 
 would seem to render this almost certain. In the 
 first place the verse was only a poetical arrange- 
 ment of the subconscious thoughts disclosed; the 
 vision was an obvious symbolic expression or visual 
 representation of the same thoughts (that is, of 
 course, of those concerned with the subject matter 
 of the vision). The only difference would seem to 
 be in the form of the expression verbal and visual 
 imagery respectively.* In the second place the 
 vision was an exact repetition of the dream vision. 
 It is not at all rare to find certain phenomena of 
 dreams (visual, motor, sensory, etc.) repeating 
 themselves after waking.f This can only be ex- 
 plained by the subconscious repetition of the dream 
 process. Consequently we are compelled to infer the 
 same subconscious process underlying the dream- 
 vision. More than this, it was possible to trace 
 
 * As a theory of the mechanism of the vision I would suggest 
 that it was the emergence of the secondary visual images belonging 
 to the subconscious ideas. 
 
 t See page 102. Also Prince : The Mechanism and Interpreta- 
 tion of Dreams. Jour. Abnormal Psychology. Oct.-Nov., 1910. G. 
 A. Waterman: Dreams as a Cause of Symptoms. Ibid. Oct.-Nov., 
 1910.
 
 210 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 these thoughts back to antecedent experiences of 
 the dreamer, so that in the last analysis the dream- 
 vision, waking- vision, and poetical expression of the 
 vision could be related with almost certainty to the 
 same antecedent experiences as the causal factors. 
 
 Certain conclusions then seem compulsory: un- 
 derlying the dream, vision, and script was a sub- 
 conscious process in which the fundamental factors 
 were the same. As this process showed itself ca- 
 pable of poetical composition, constructive imagina- 
 tion, volition, memory, and affectivity it was a sub- 
 conscious intelligence. 
 
 As to its intrinsic nature coconscious or uncon- 
 conscious according to the evidence at least the 
 process that wrote the script contained conscious 
 elements the coconscious thoughts and images. 
 
 We may assume the same for the dream and the 
 vision. As to the mechanism of the vision it is quite 
 conceivable, not to say probable, that, correspond- 
 ing to the coconscious images of the printed words 
 during the writing, there were similar images of the 
 vision scene (both in the dream and the waking 
 state), but these instead of remaining coconscious 
 emerged into consciousness to be the vision.* 
 Whether the still deeper underlying process was 
 conscious or unconscious could not be determined 
 by any evidence accessible and must be a matter of 
 hypothesis. 
 
 * I base this theory on other observations where coconscious 
 images or "visions" of scenes occurred. When these images 
 emerge into consciousness the subject experienced a vision.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 211 
 
 The chief importance that attaches to this obser- 
 vation, it seems to me, is the insight it gives into the 
 character of the underlying process of a dream. If 
 the conclusions I have drawn are sound, then the 
 subconscious process which determines the con- 
 scious dream may be what is actually an intelligence 
 and it matters not whether a coconscious or uncon- 
 scious one. This seems to me to be a conclusion 
 fraught with the highest significance for the theory 
 of dreams and hallucinatory phenomena in general. 
 Of course we all know well enough that dissociated 
 subconscious processes may be intelligent and influ- 
 ence the content of the personal consciousness, as 
 witness coconscious personalities. If the underly- 
 ing process of a dream may be something akin to 
 such a personality, something capable of reasoning, 
 imagination and volition, it renders intelligible the 
 fundamental principle of the Freudian theory of a 
 double process the "latent" and "manifest" 
 dream. One of the difficulties in the general ac- 
 ceptance of this theory has been, I think, the diffi- 
 culty of conceiving a subconscious process the ' ' la- 
 tent dream" capable of the intelligent fabrication 
 of a "manifest" dream phantasy which is a cryptic 
 symbolization of the subject's thoughts. Such a 
 fabrication has all the earmarks of purpose, fore- 
 thought and constructive imagination. But if this 
 underlying process can be identified, even though it 
 be in a single case, with such an intelligence as that 
 which wrote the poetical script we have studied, it
 
 212 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 is plainly quite capable of fabricating the wildest 
 dream phantasy. 
 
 I have suggested that the subconscious intelli- 
 gence may be comparable to the phenomenon of a 
 coconscious personality. It is worth noting in this 
 connection that in the case of Miss B. the cocon- 
 scious personality, Sally, who claimed to be awake 
 while Miss B. was dreaming, also claimed that Miss 
 B. sometimes dreamed about what Sally was think- 
 ing of at the moment.* In other words, the thoughts 
 of a large systematized coconscious intelligence de- 
 termined the dream just as these thoughts some- 
 times emerged into Miss B.'s mind when awake. 
 That a coconscious personality may persist awake 
 while the principal personality is asleep I have been 
 able to demonstrate in another case (B. C. A.). It 
 was also noted in Dr. Barrows' case of Anna Win- 
 sor. Moreover, Sally w r as show r n to be a persistent, 
 sane coconsciousness while Miss B. was delirious 
 and also while she was apparently deeply etherized 
 and unconscious/}- After all it is difficult to distin- 
 guish in principle the condition of sleep with a per- 
 sisting coconsciousness from a state of deep hyp- 
 notic trance where the subject is apparently uncon- 
 scious. In this condition, although the waking con- 
 sciousness has disappeared, there can be shown to 
 be a persisting "secondary" consciousness which 
 can be communicated with by automatic writing and 
 which later can exhibit memories of occurrences in 
 
 * The Dissociation, p. 332. 
 
 f The Dissociation of a Personality, p. 330.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 213 
 
 the environment during the hypnotic trance. 
 (B. C. A.) 
 
 What has been said does not touch, of course, the 
 other mechanisms of the Freudian theory nor the 
 unessential, greatly over-emphasized theory that the 
 subconscious dream is always a sexual wish. On 
 the contrary, the principle throws a strong, a priori 
 doubt upon the correctness of this generalization. 
 It is plainly, however, a matter of fact which might 
 be easily determined by observation were it not for 
 the difficulty of correctly referring clinical phenom- 
 ena to the correct antecedent experiences as their 
 causal factors. In the last analysis it becomes al- 
 ways a matter of interpretation. 
 
 Applied psychology. Much has been discovered in 
 recent years regarding the part played by subcon- 
 scious processes in the production of normal and ab- 
 normal phenomena. But we do not as yet know the 
 possibilities and limitations of these processes. We 
 have as yet but an imperfect knowledge of what 
 they can do, what they can't do, and what they do 
 do, and of the mechanisms by which they are called 
 into play and provoke phenomena. Many patho- 
 logical phenomena have been shown to be due to 
 subconscious processes ; and it is quite probable that 
 these play an important part in determining the 
 mental processes of normal life, but this is still 
 largely theory. In applied psychology and psycho- 
 pathology the "subconscious" has been made use of 
 to explain many phenomena with which we have
 
 UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 practically to deal. Assumed as a concept the phe- 
 nomena are explained by it with a greater or less de- 
 gree of probability. In those hysterical conditions 
 where the subconscious processes have been shown 
 to be split-off conscious processes, we can often re- 
 cover memories of the latter and demonstrate their 
 relation to the hysterical phenomena by the various 
 technical methods already mentioned. But where 
 this cannot be done, as is ordinarily the case, some 
 conserved antecedent experience must be inferred 
 as the causal factor and assumed to be the function- 
 ing subconscious process which determines the phe- 
 nomenon. To a large extent, then, in applied psy- 
 chology and psychopathology the postulation in spe- 
 cific cases of a subconscious process is theoretical 
 and open to more or less doubt. In other words, al- 
 though a principle may be established, its applica- 
 tion, as in all applied sciences, is apt to meet with 
 difficulties 
 
 Now the application of the principle of a subcon- 
 scious process to the explanation of a given phe- 
 nomenon is rendered peculiarly difficult because for 
 practical purposes it is not so much the question of 
 a subacting process that is at issue as it is of what 
 particular antecedent experience is concerned in the 
 process. The question is of the causal factor. For 
 example, we may know from general experience in a 
 large number of instances that a given hysterical 
 phenomenon a tic or a convulsive attack or an hal- 
 lucination or a dream must be in all probability 
 determined by a subconscious process derived from
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 215 
 
 some conserved experience, but what specific expe- 
 rience may be a matter of considerable uncertainty. 
 Hence the different theories and schools of interpre- 
 tation that have arisen. The importance of clearly 
 appreciating the nature of such problems and prop- 
 erly estimating the different theories at their true 
 value is so great that I may be permitted a few 
 words in further explanation. 
 
 Let us take dreams as a type. The conscious 
 dream may be made up of fantastic imagery and ap- 
 parently absurd thoughts without apparent logical 
 meaning. Now from general experience we may 
 believe that the dream is a cryptic symbolic expres- 
 sion of a logical subconscious process perhaps a 
 wish. The question is, what wish! The symbolism 
 cannot be deciphered on its face. Now, by the an- 
 alytic method associative memories pertaining to 
 each element of the dream are recovered in abstrac- 
 tion. When a memory of antecedent thoughts of 
 which the dream element is a logical symbolism or 
 synonym and which give an intelligent meaning to 
 the dream is recovered, we infer that these antece- 
 dent thoughts are contained in the determining sub- 
 conscious process. Further, as it is found that cer- 
 tain objects or actions (e. g., snakes, flying, etc.) fre- 
 quently occur in the dreams of different people as 
 symbolisms of the same thoughts, it is inferred that 
 whenever these objects or actions appear in the 
 dream they are always symbolisms of the same un- 
 derlying thoughts. 
 
 Obviously the mere fact of an antecedent experi-
 
 216 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ence arising as an associative memory is not of it- 
 self evidence of its being the causal factor. Hun- 
 dreds of such memories might be obtained. To 
 have evidential value the memory must give logical 
 meaning to the dream or dream element under in- 
 vestigation. Now, as a matter of fact, more than 
 one memory can often be obtained which answers 
 these conditions. Consequently it becomes a mat- 
 ter of selection from memories, or interpretation, 
 as to which is the correct solution of a given dream 
 problem and mutatis mutandis of a pathological 
 phenomenon. Naturally the selection is largely de- 
 termined by personal views and a priori concepts. 
 It also follows that if one accepts the universality 
 of a given symbolism and is committed to a given 
 theory one can, by going far enough, find associa- 
 tions in vast numbers of dreams that will support 
 that theory. The correct solution of a dream prob- 
 lem, that is, the correct determination of the speci- 
 fic underlying process, depends upon the correct de- 
 termination of the causal factor and this must be 
 inferred. The inferential nature of the latter fac- 
 tor therefore introduces a possible source of error. 
 There must frequently be considerable latitude in 
 the interpretation. This is not to gainsay that in a 
 large number of instances the logical relation be- 
 tween antecedent experiences (recovered by associ- 
 ative memories) and the dream is so close and ob- 
 trusive that doubt as to the true subconscious proc- 
 ess can scarcely be entertained. 
 An example of a condensed analysis of a dream
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 217 
 
 will illustrate the practical difficulty often presented 
 in determining by clinical methods the correct 
 causal factor and subconscious process of a dream. 
 I select a simple one which consists of two scenes: * 
 
 "C. was somewhere and saw an old woman who appeared to be 
 a Jewess. She was holding a bottle and a glass, and seemed to be 
 drinking whisky. Then this woman changed into her own mother, 
 who had the bottle and glass, and appeared likewise to be drink- 
 ing whisky. 
 
 "Then the door opened and her father appeared. He had on 
 her husband's dressing gown, and he was holding two sticks of 
 wood in his hand." 
 
 Before interpreting this dream I will state that 
 the subject had been tormented (as was brought out 
 by the associative memories) by the question 
 whether poor people should be condemned if they 
 yielded to temptation, particularly that of drinking. 
 This problem she could not answer satisfactorily to 
 herself. It is the inferred causal factor in the 
 dream process. The dream gave an answer to this 
 problem. 
 
 Let me also point out that the material, that is, 
 the elements out of which this dream was con- 
 structed (indicated by the words italicized), was 
 found in the thoughts of the dreamer on the pre- 
 ceding day and particularly just before going to 
 sleep. The first scene of the dream ends with the 
 mother drinking whisky: the second scene repre- 
 sents the father appearing with two sticks of wood. 
 
 * Mechanism and Interpretation of Dreams, Journal Abnormal 
 Psychology, Oct.-Nov., 1910.
 
 218 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 For the sake of simplicity of illustration I will con- 
 fine myself to the interpretation of this first scene 
 as it will answer our present purposes. 
 
 "As to the first scene" (by technical methods of analysis) "a 
 rich collection of memories was obtained. It appeared that on the 
 previous morning the subject had walked with a poor Jewess 
 through the slums, and had passed by some men who had been 
 drinking. This led her to think at the time of the lives of these 
 poor people; of the temptations to which they were exposed; of 
 how little we know of this side of life and of its temptations. 
 She wondered what the effect of such surroundings, particularly 
 of seeing people drinking, would have upon the child of the 
 Jewess. She wondered if such people ought to be condemned if 
 they yielded to drink and other temptations. She thought that 
 she herself would not blame such people if they yielded, and that 
 we ought not to condemn them. Then in the psychoanalysis there 
 came memories of her mother, whose character she admired and 
 who never condemned any one. She remembered how her mother, 
 who was an invalid, always had a glass of whisky and water on 
 her table at night, and how the family used to joke her about it. 
 Then came memories again of her husband sending bottles of 
 whisky to her mother; of the latter drinking it at night; of the 
 men whom she had seen in the slums and who had been drinking. 
 These, very briefly, were the experiences accompanied by strong 
 feeling tones which were called up as associative memories of this 
 scene of the dream. With these in mind, it is not difficult to con- 
 struct a logical, though symbolic, meaning of it. In the dream 
 a Jewess (not the Jewess, but a type) is in the act of drinking 
 whisky in other words, the poor, whom the Jewess represents, 
 yield to the temptation which the dreamer had thought of with 
 considerable intensity of feeling during the day. The dreamer's 
 own judgment, after considerable cogitation, had been that such 
 people were not to be condemned. Was she right? The dream 
 answers the question, for the Jewess changes in the dream to her 
 mother, for whose judgment she had the utmost respect. Her
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLfGENCE 219 
 
 mother now drinks the whisky as she had actually done in life, a 
 logical justification (in view of her mother's fine character and 
 liberal opinion) of her own belief, which was somewhat intensely 
 expressed in her thoughts of that morning, a belief in not con- 
 demning poor people who yield to such temptations. The dream 
 scene is therefore the symbolical representation and justification of 
 her own belief,* and answers the doubts and scruples that beset 
 her mind." 
 
 Whether or not this is the correct interpretation 
 of this dream depends entirely upon whether the 
 true causal factors were found. If through the an- 
 alysis this was the case, as I believe namely, the 
 scruple or ethical problem whether poor people who 
 yield to temptation ought to be condemned then 
 the interpretation given is logically sound and the 
 dream is an answer to the doubts and scruples that 
 beset the dreamer's mind. But the answer is a pic- 
 torial symbolism and therefore requires an inter- 
 vening subconscious process which induces and fi- 
 nally expresses itself in the symbolism. We may 
 suppose that this process in response to and as a 
 subconscious incubation of the ethical problem took 
 some form like this: "Poor people like the Jewess 
 are not to be condemned for yielding to the tempta- 
 tion (of drinking) for my mother, who was beyond 
 criticism, showed by her life she would not have con- 
 demned them." 
 
 This may or may not be the true subconscious 
 
 * The symbolic expression of beliefs and symbolic answers to 
 doubts and scruples is quite common in another type of symbolism, 
 viz., visions. Eeligious and political history is replete with exam- 
 ples.
 
 220 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 process and the correct interpretation of the dream. 
 But it is one possible and logical interpretation 
 based upon the actually found antecedent experi- 
 ences and associative memories of the dreamer. 
 Now it so happens that this interpretation and that 
 of other dreams * which I endeavored to trace to 
 antecedent experiences have been warmly chal- 
 lenged by certain clinicians because the inferred 
 causal factors were not found to be antecedent re- 
 pressed sexual wishes. It is insisted on theoretical 
 grounds that the content of the dreams plainly indi- 
 cated that there must have been such wishes and that 
 if these had been found this dream would have been 
 unfolded as a logical symbolical fulfilment of a sex- 
 ual wish. Which interpretation is correct is incon- 
 sequential for our present purpose. The contro- 
 versy only relates to the universality of the sexual 
 theory of dreams. The point is that this difference 
 in interpretation shows the possibility of error in 
 the determination of the causal factor and the sub- 
 conscious process by clinical methods. The dream 
 may be logically related to two or more antecedent 
 experiences and we have no criterion of which is the 
 correct one. To insist upon one or the other savors 
 of pure dogmatism.! Indeed, the justification for 
 the postulation in a dream of any subconscious proc- 
 
 * Loc. cit. 
 
 f It has been answered that experience in a large number of cases 
 shows that dreams always can be related logically to sexual experi- 
 ences. To this it may be answered they can also in an equal number 
 of cases, indeed in many oi these same cases, be related to non-sexual 
 experiences.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 221 
 
 ess in the last analysis depends upon the sound- 
 ness of the postulation of the antecedent experience 
 as the causal factor. If this factor falls to the 
 ground the subconscious process falls with it. 
 
 The second point to which this discussion leads 
 us is that the latitude of interpretation allowed by 
 the method of analysis has given rise to different 
 views as to the specific character of the subconscious 
 process found in many dreams. According to the 
 theory of Freud, to whose genius we are indebted 
 for the discovery of this process, it is almost 
 always a sexual wish and the dream is always 
 the imaginary, even though cryptic, fulfilment of 
 that wish. On the other hand, as a result 
 of my own studies, if I may venture to lay weight 
 upon them, I have been forced to the conclusion that 
 a dream may be the symbolical expression of almost 
 any thought to which strong emotional tones with 
 their impulsive forces have been linked, particularly 
 anxieties, apprehensions, sorrows, beliefs, wishes, 
 doubts, and scruples, which function subconsciously 
 in the dream. It may be a solution of unsolved 
 problems with which the mind has been occupied,* 
 just as in the waking state a mathematical or other 
 problem may be solved subconsciously. In some 
 subjects the problem is particularly apt to be 
 one involving a conflict between opposing im- 
 
 * Loc. cit. It is possible, however, that sometimes the problem 
 has been solved subconsciously in the waking state, the answer then 
 appearing in the dream.
 
 222 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 pulses, therefore one which has troubled the 
 dreamer.* 
 
 We have seen that in experimental and spontane- 
 ous hallucinatory phenomena, where the causal fac- 
 tor is known, a subconscious process is the essential 
 feature of the mechanism. In this respect the mech- 
 anism is identical with that of certain dreams. In- 
 deed, dreams are one type of hallucinatory phenom- 
 ena. In fact we met with one dream the chief ele- 
 ment of which was repeated afterward in the wak- 
 ing state as a vision. We are justified, then, in ap- 
 plying the principle of a subconscious process to the 
 elucidation of the visions of normal people, although 
 it may be difficult to determine exactly the specific 
 content of the process and the antecedent thought 
 from which it was derived. Sometimes the content 
 of a vision and the known circumstances under 
 which it occurred are sufficient to enable us to in- 
 terpret the phenomenon with reasonable certainty. 
 In the following historical examples it is not diffi- 
 cult to recognize that the vision was a symbolic an- 
 swer to a problem which had troubled the conscience 
 of the Archduke Charles of Austria. Unable to 
 solve his problem consciously and come to a deci- 
 sion, it was solved for him by a subconscious proc- 
 ess. Indeed, as a fact, the vision was accepted by 
 Charles as an answer to his doubts and perhaps 
 changed the future history of Austria. 
 
 * Here we find an analogy with certain allied phenomena the 
 visions and voices experienced as phenomena of sudden religious 
 conversion.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 223 
 
 "The Archduke Charles (the father of the present Emperor of 
 Austria) was also greatly troubled in his mind as to the right to 
 waive his claim to the crown in favor of his son. According to 
 his own statement he only finally made up his mind when, while 
 earnestly praying for guidance in his perplexity, he had a vision 
 of the spirit of his father, the late Emperor Francis, laying his 
 hand on the head of his youthful grandson and thus putting all his 
 own doubts to rest." * 
 
 The likeness in type of the dream which we have 
 just discussed to this vision is instructive. In the 
 former the mother of the dreamer answers the ques- 
 tion of conscience by drinking the whisky; in the 
 latter the father of the visualizer does the same by 
 laying his hand on the head of the object of the 
 doubt. 
 
 I have already pointed out the evidence for a sub- 
 conscious process underlying the hallucinatory phe- 
 nomena of sudden religious conversion.! I may 
 further cite here, as an analogous phenomenon, the 
 following historical example of not only hallucina- 
 tory symbolism, but of explicitly conscious proc- 
 esses of thought which were elaborated by subcon- 
 scious processes. It is Margaret Mary's vision of 
 the Sacred Heart. Margaret earnestly desired (ac- 
 cording to her biographer) 
 
 "To be loved by God! and loved by him to distraction (aim6 
 jusqu'a la folie) ! Margaret melted away with love at the 
 
 * Francis Joseph and His Times Sir Horace Eumbold. Page 
 151. (Italics mine.) 
 
 t See also, ' ' The Psychology of Sudden Religious Conversion, ' ' 
 Journal Abnormal Psychology, April, 1906, and "The Dissociation," 
 2nd Edit., pages 344 and 564; also James' "The Varieties of Re- 
 ligious Experience."
 
 224 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 thought of such a thing-. Like St. Philip of Neri in former times, 
 or like St. Francis Xavier, she said to God : 'Hold back, my 
 God, these torrents which overwhelm me, or else enlarge my ca- 
 pacity for their reception.' " 
 
 The answer and the form of the fulfilment of this 
 wish came as an hallucination. She had a vision of 
 Christ's Sacred Heart 
 
 " 'surrounded with rays more brilliant than the sun, and trans- 
 parent like a crystal. The wound which he received on the cross 
 visibly appeared upon it. There was a crown of thorns round- 
 about this divine Heart, and a cross above it.' At the same 
 time Christ's voice told her that, unable longer to contain the 
 flames of his love for mankind, he had chosen her by a miracle to 
 spread the knowledge of them. He thereupon took out her mortal 
 heart, placed it inside of his own and inflamed it, and then re- 
 placed it in her breast, adding: 'Hitherto thou hast taken the 
 name of my slave, hereafter thou shalt be called the well-beloved 
 disciple of my Sacred Heart.' " * 
 
 There is scarcely room to doubt, on the strength 
 of the evidence as presented, that the antecedent 
 longings of Margaret impelled by the conative force 
 of their emotions were the causal factor of this 
 vision. These longings, organized in the uncon- 
 scious, must have gone through subconscious incu- 
 bation (as William James has pointed out) and 
 then emerged after maturity into consciousness 
 as a symbolic visualization accompanied by hal- 
 lucinatory words which were the expression of 
 explicit subconscious imagination. Indeed, all such 
 
 * Quoted by William James, page 343.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 225 
 
 hallucinatory symbolisms like the mental phenom- 
 ena in general of sudden religious conversion can 
 only be psychologically explained as the emergence 
 into consciousness of subconscious processes. The 
 problem in each case is the determination of the 
 content of the process.* 
 
 Reflection, consideration, meditation. We are en- 
 tering upon more uncertain ground in attempting to 
 apply the mechanism of subconscious processes to 
 every-day thought. There are certain types of 
 thought, however, which behave as if this mechanism 
 were at work. When, for instance, we take a prob- 
 lem "under advisement," reflect upon it, give it 
 ' ' thoughtful consideration, ' ' it seems as if, in weigh- 
 ing the facts pro and con, in looking at it from dif- 
 ferent points of view, i. e., in switching it into dif- 
 ferent settings, in considering all the facts related 
 to it, we voluntarily recall each fact that comes into 
 consciousness. Yet it is quite possible, and indeed 
 I think more than probable, reasoning from analogy, 
 that the processes which present each fact, switch 
 each point of view, or setting into consciousness, 
 are subconscious and that what we do is chiefly to 
 select from those which are thus brought into con- 
 sciousness the ideas, settings, etc., which fulfil best 
 the requirements of the question. In profound re- 
 flection or attention to thought (a form of absent- 
 
 * Some will undoubtedly read into Margaret's vision a cryptic 
 sexual symbolism. To do so seems to me too narrow a view, in that 
 it fails to give full weight to other instincts (and emotions) and to 
 appreciate all the forces of human personality.
 
 226 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 mindedness) it seems as if it were more a matter of 
 attention to and selection from the "free associa- 
 tions" which involuntarily come into the mind than 
 of determining voluntarily what shall come in. If 
 this be so, it is evident that the subconscious plays a 
 much more extensive part in the mechanism of 
 thought than is ordinarily supposed. We have not, 
 however, sufficient data to allow us to do much more 
 than theorize in the matter. Yet there are certain 
 data which suggest the probability of the correct- 
 ness of this hypothesis. In this connection I would 
 point out how entirely confirmatory of this view is 
 the testimony of the hypnotic consciousness which 
 was cited in the previous lecture and which I will 
 ask you to recall. You will remember that this tes- 
 timony was to the effect that when a problem was 
 under consideration associative memories required 
 for its solution kept emerging out of the unconscious 
 into the secondary consciousness.* 
 
 Consider certain facts of every-day experience. 
 A novel and difficult question is put up to us for de- 
 cision. We have, we will say, to decide whether a 
 certain piece of property situated in a growing dis- 
 trict of a city shall be sold or held for future devel- 
 opment: or a political manager has to decide 
 whether or not to pursue a certain policy to win an 
 election; or the President of the United States has 
 to decide the policy of the government in certain 
 land questions in Alaska. Now each of us would 
 probably say that we could not decide such a ques- 
 
 * Lecture VI, pp. 169-172.
 
 SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE 227 
 
 tion offhand ; we would want time for consideration. 
 If we attempted voluntarily, at the moment the ques- 
 tion is put, to recall to mind all the different facts 
 involved, to consider the given question from all as- 
 pects, to switch the main facts into their different 
 settings, we would find it an impossible thing to do. 
 We consequently take the matter "under advise- 
 ment," to use the conventional expression. We 
 want time. Now what we apparently, and I think 
 undoubtedly, do is to put the problem into our minds 
 and leave it, so to speak, to incubate. Then, from 
 time to time, as we take up the matter for considera- 
 tion, the various facts involved in the different as- 
 pects of the question, and belonging to their differ- 
 ent settings, arise to mind. Then we weigh, com- 
 pare, and estimate the value of these different facts 
 and arrive at a judgment. All happens as if sub- 
 conscious processes had been at work, as if the prob- 
 lem had been going through a subconscious incuba- 
 tion, switching in this and switching in that set of 
 facts, and presenting them to consciousness, the final 
 selection of the deciding point of view being left to 
 the latter. The subconscious garners from the store" 
 house of past experiences, those which have a bear- 
 ing on the question and are required for its solution, 
 brings them into consciousness, and then our logical 
 conscious processes form the judgment. The degree 
 to which subconscious processes in this way take 
 part in forming judgments would vary according to 
 the mental habits of the individual, the complexity 
 of the problem, the affectivity and conflicting char-
 
 228 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 acter of the elements involved. Under this theory 
 we see that there is a deeper psychological basis for 
 the every-day practice of taking "under advise- 
 ment" or "into consideration" a matter, before 
 giving judgment, than would appear on the surface. 
 There is considerable experimental evidence in fa- 
 vor of this theory. In discussing above the subcon- 
 scious solution of problems I cited certain evidence, 
 obtained from the memories of subjects in hypnosis, 
 for coconscious and unconscious processes taking 
 part in such solutions. I have been able to accumu- 
 late evidence of this kind showing the cooperation 
 of processes outside of consciousness in determining 
 the point of view and final judgment of the subject 
 when a matter has been under advisement ; particu- 
 larly when the subject has been disturbed by doubts 
 and scruples. It is plain that in the final analysis 
 any question on which we reserve our judgment is a 
 problem which we put into our minds. And, after 
 all, it is only a question of degree and affectivity be- 
 tween the state of mind which hesitates to decide an 
 impersonal question, like a judicial decision, and one 
 that involves a scruple of conscience. This latter 
 state often eventuates in hallucinatory and other 
 phenomena involving subconscious processes. Scru- 
 ples of conscience, it is true, usually have strong af- 
 fective elements as constituents, but the former may 
 also have them, particularly when involving per- 
 sonal ambitions, political principles, etc.
 
 LECTURE VIII 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Our studies up to this point have led us to the 
 general conclusion that a large measure of the ex- 
 periences of life are conserved or deposited in what 
 may be called a storehouse of neurographic dispo- 
 sitions or residua. This storehouse is the uncon- 
 scious. From this storehouse our conscious proc- 
 esses draw for the material of thought. Further, 
 a large amount and variety of evidence, which we 
 have briefly and incompletely reviewed, has shown 
 that conserved experiences may function without 
 arising into consciousness, i. e., as a subconscious 
 process. To what extent such processes take part 
 in the mechanism of thought, contribute to the for- 
 mation of judgments, determine the point of view 
 and meaning of ideas, give direction to the stream 
 and formulate the content of consciousness, and in 
 particular conditions, by a species of translation, 
 manifest themselves consciously as phenomena 
 which we designate abnormal constitute special 
 problems which require to be studied by themselves. 
 
 Physiological memory and processes. There is one 
 phase of the unconscious which for the sake of com- 
 
 229
 
 230 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 pleteness ought to be touched upon here, particu- 
 larly as it is of considerable importance in any bio- 
 logical conception of intelligence. There is every 
 reason to believe that intrinsically there is no essen- 
 tial difference between those physiological disposi- 
 tions and activities of the lower nervous centers 
 (subcortical ganglia and spinal cord), which condi- 
 tion and determine unconscious behavior, and those 
 dispositions and activities of the higher centers the 
 cortex which condition and determine both con- 
 scious and unconscious behavior. The former are 
 undoubtedly innate in that they are primarily condi- 
 tioned by inherited anatomical and physiological 
 prearrangements of neurons and the latter are pre- 
 eminently acquired through experience although 
 probably not wholly so. (Our knowledge of the 
 localization of function in the nervous system is not 
 sufficiently definite to enable us to delimit the locali- 
 zation of either innate or acquired dispositions.) 
 The innate activities of the lower nervous centers so 
 far as represented by movements can be clearly dif- 
 ferentiated from those of the higher centers and 
 recognized in the behavior of so-called ' ' spinal ' ' an- 
 imals and of animals from which the cerebral hemi- 
 spheres have been removed. In the former the con- 
 nection between the spinal cord and all parts of the 
 nervous system above having been severed, what- 
 ever movements are executed are performed by the 
 spinal cord alone and therefore of course by uncon- 
 scious processes. The latter animals, although their 
 actions are more complex and closely approximate
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 231 
 
 (with important differences) those of normal ani- 
 mals, are also devoid or nearly devoid of conscious- 
 ness. I say ''nearly devoid" because in the inter- 
 pretation of the experiments it is difficult to dis- 
 prove that, as some hold, elementary sensations 
 qua sensation are retained, though others regard 
 the animals as purely unconscious physiological ma- 
 chines. 
 
 In the spinal animal, in response to specific stim- 
 uli, various movements are elicited which though of 
 a purposive character are effected, as has been so 
 admirably worked out by Sherington, by complex 
 spinal mechanisms of a reflex character. The so- 
 called ' ' scratch reflex ' ' and the reflex movements of 
 walking, trotting, and galloping (the animal being 
 suspended in air) are examples. Such reflexes in- 
 volve not only the excitation of certain movements 
 appropriate to the stimulus but the inhibition of an- 
 tagonistic muscles and reflex movements. Further 
 in the integration of the spinal system, reflexes are 
 compounded, one bringing to the support of an- 
 other allied accessory reflexes so that various co- 
 operative movements are executed. A constellation 
 of reflexes leads to quite complex spinal mechanisms 
 responsive to groups of stimuli acting concurrently 
 and resulting in behavior which is purposive and 
 adaptive to the situation. The neural processes ex- 
 ecuting such movements are necessarily conditioned 
 by inherited dispositions and structural arrange- 
 ments of the neurons. 
 
 In the animal from which the cerebral hemi-
 
 232 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 spheres only have been removed there can be little 
 doubt that the physiological mechanisms governing 
 behavior differ only in complexity, not in kind, from 
 those of the spinal reflexes ; that in passing through 
 successive anatomical levels from the spinal animal 
 to this decerebrate animal with the addition of each 
 successive ganglion the increasing complexity of be- 
 havior corresponds to increasing complexity of 
 mechanisms or compounding of reflexes. And yet in 
 the decerebrate animal without consciousness, as we 
 must believe (excepting perhaps elementary sensa- 
 tions), the subcortical ganglia and spinal cord con- 
 tinue to perform exceedingly complex actions ordi- 
 narily, as we suppose, guided in the normal animal 
 by consciousness. The reptile crawls; the fish 
 swims; indeed the lancet fish has no brain, all its 
 functions being regulated by its spinal cord. The 
 frog hops and swims; the hen preens its feathers, 
 walks and flies; the dog walks and runs. These, 
 however, are the simplest examples of decerebrate 
 behavior. Indeed it may be quite complex. The 
 more recent experiments of Schrader on the pigeon 
 and falcon and Goltz and Rothmann on the dog, 
 not to mention those of earlier physiologists, have 
 shown that the decerebrate unconscious (?) animal 
 performs about all the movements performed by 
 the normal animal.* "A mammal such as a rab- 
 bit, in the same way as a frog and a bird, may 
 
 * For a general account of the behavior of decerebrate animals 
 and summary of these experiments see Loeb 'a ' ' Physiology of the 
 Brain," and Schafer's Text Book of Physiology.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 233 
 
 in the complete or all but complete absence of the 
 cerebral hemispheres maintain a natural posture, 
 free from all signs of disturbance of equilibrium, 
 and is able to carry out with success at all events 
 all the usual and common bodily movements. And 
 as in the bird and frog, the evidence also shows that 
 these movements not only may be started by, but in 
 their carrying out are guided by and coordinated by, 
 afferent impulses along afferent nerves, including 
 those of the special senses. But in the case of the 
 rabbit it is even still clearer than in the case of the 
 bird that the effects of these afferent impulses are 
 different from those which result when the impulses 
 gain access to an intact brain. The movements of 
 the animal seem guided by impressions made on its 
 retina, as well as on other sensory nerves; we may 
 perhaps speak of the animal as the subject of sensa- 
 tions; but there is no satisfactory evidence that it 
 possesses either visual or other perceptions, or that 
 the sensations which it experiences give rise to 
 ideas." * 
 
 Even spontaneity which at one time was supposed 
 to be lost it is now agreed returns if the animal is 
 kept alive long enough. It "wanders about in the 
 room untiringly the greater part of the day" 
 (Loeb). 
 
 Of course there are differences in the animal's be- 
 havior when compared with normal behavior, but 
 these differences are not so easy to interpret in psy- 
 chological terms. Loeb, apparently following 
 
 * M. Foster: A Text Book of Physiology, 1895, page 726.
 
 234 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Schrader, does not believe the animal is blind or 
 deaf or- without sensation for it reacts to light, to 
 noise, to smell, to tactile impressions, etc. It avoids 
 obstacles and is guided by visual impressions, etc. 
 The falcon jumps at and catches a mouse introduced 
 in its cage; the dog growls and snaps if its paw is 
 pinched and endeavors to get away or bite the of- 
 fending hand; the pigeon flies and alights upon a 
 bar, apparently visually measuring distance, and so 
 on. But though it is guided by visual and other sen- 
 sory impressions, does it have visual, auditory and 
 other images, that is, conscious sensory states f This 
 is not easy to answer. It certainly acts like an ani- 
 mal that is not blind nor deaf nor without tactual 
 sensation, and yet it is conceivable that it is guided 
 simply by sensory mechanisms without conscious 
 sensation. The main reason, apparently, for believ- 
 ing the animal to be without sensation, as some be- 
 lieve (e. g., Morgan) is the absence of the cerebral 
 cortex in which alone sensation is believed to be "lo- 
 calized. ' ' Eecently Eothmann * has succeeded in 
 keeping alive for three years a dog from which the 
 entire cerebrum was extirpated. It was then killed. 
 Although the dog, like Goltz' dog, in its behavior 
 exhibited an abundance of functions in the spheres 
 of mobility, sensibility, feeding, barking, etc., Eoth- 
 mann came to the conclusion that it was blind and 
 
 * Von M. Eothmann : Demonstration des Hundes ohne Gross- 
 irn. Sericlit uber den V Kongress f. Experiment. Psychol. in Ber- 
 lin, 1912, page 256. The report is too meager to admit of independ- 
 ent judgment of the animal 's behavior in many of ita details.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 235 
 
 deaf.* Although apparently without taste for bit- 
 ter, sweet, sour, and acid, yet the dog reacted differ- 
 ently to edible and non-edible substances, swallowing 
 the former and rejecting the latter (moist sand) ; 
 raw flesh was eaten preferably to cooked flesh and 
 Goltz' dog rejected from its mouth food made bit- 
 ter with quinine. Some kind of gustatory processes 
 (probably purely reflex as in Pawlow's association 
 experiments) were therefore retained though not 
 necessarily taste as such. But blindness and deaf- 
 ness in the dog cannot negative the retention in 
 birds and other animals of visual and auditory im- 
 pressions of some kind which guide and originate 
 behavior. But whether such impressions are psy- 
 chologically sensations or not, the animal certainly 
 does not possess visual or other perceptions, be- 
 cause the "sensations" have no "meaning." 
 Schrader's falcon, for example, would jump at and 
 catch with its claws a moving mouse in the cage, but 
 there the matter was at an end; it did not devour it 
 as would a normal falcon. Any moving object had 
 for it the same meaning as a mouse and excited the 
 same movement. So the decerebrate dog does not 
 distinguish friend from stranger and other dogs 
 have no meaning for it. All objects are alike to all 
 decerebrate animals. In the popular language of 
 the street "all coons look alike" to them. In other 
 
 * Until the basal ganglia have been microscopically examined it 
 cannot be determined that the loss of function was not due to sec- 
 ondary organic lesions. In Goltz' dog, which acted like a blind dog, 
 one optic nerve was cut and the corpora striata and optic thalami 
 were partly involved in the lesion.
 
 236 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 words the main defect is loss of memory for con- 
 scious experiences, of what Loeb calls associative- 
 memory, the conscious memory which gives meaning 
 to sensations, transforms them by synthesis into 
 perception of objects and gives still further mean- 
 ing to the objects. Hence for the pigeon without its 
 cerebrum "Everything is only a mass in space, it 
 moves aside for every pigeon or attempts to climb 
 over it, just as it would in the case of a stone. All 
 authors agree in the statement that to these animals 
 all objects are alike. They have no enemies and no 
 friends. They live like hermits no matter in how 
 large a company they find themselves. The lan- 
 guishing coo of the male makes as little impression 
 upon the female deprived of its cerebrum as the rat- 
 tling of peas or the whistle which formerly made it 
 hasten to its feeding place. Neither does the female 
 show interest in its young. The young ones that 
 have just learned to fly pursue the mother, crying 
 unceasingly for food, but they might as well beg 
 food of a stone." * 
 
 One of the chief utilities of conscious memory is 
 the means it offers the psycho-physiological organ- 
 ism to make use of past experiences to adapt present 
 conduct to a present situation. This the brainless 
 animal cannot do. Hence it is a mindless physio- 
 logical automaton. All the actions performed by it, 
 however complex they may be, are unquestionably 
 performed and primarily conditioned by inherited 
 neural arrangements and dispositions. They may 
 
 * Quoted from Schrader by Loeb.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 237 
 
 be even regarded as complexly compounded reflex 
 processes similar excepting in complexity, as Sher- 
 rington has held, to the mechanisms of the spinal 
 cord. The behavior of the animal is therefore by 
 definition instinctive. But even so this fact in no 
 way throws light upon the intrinsic nature of the 
 physiological process, but only upon the conditions 
 of its occurrence. Acquired behavior is also condi- 
 tioned conditioned by acquired dispositions. The 
 difference physiologically between the two is that in 
 instinctive behavior the neural processes are con- 
 fined to pathways established by evolutionary de- 
 velopment, and in acquired behavior to pathways 
 established by experience. Both must be condi- 
 tioned by pathways, and the process in its inner na- 
 ture must be the same in both. Many cortical proc- 
 esses, to be sure, are conscious i. e., correlated 
 with consciousness but probably not all. And this 
 quality of consciousness permitting of conscious 
 memory is of great utility in the organization of ac- 
 quired dispositions that provide the means for the 
 adaption of the animal to each new environmental 
 situation. 
 
 Furthermore, it is not at all certain that the be- 
 havior of the decerebrate animal is not in part de- 
 termined by secondarily acquired dispositions. In 
 the normal animal instinctive actions become modi- 
 fied and perfected after the very first performances 
 of the act by conscious experience * and it is not at 
 all certain that dispositions so acquired and essen- 
 
 * Cf . Lloyd Morgan: Instinct and Experience, 1912.
 
 238 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tial for these modifications are not conserved and 
 incorporated in the unconscious neural arrange- 
 ments of the subcortical centers. So far as this may 
 be the case the acquired modifications of instinctive 
 behavior may be manifested in the actions of the de- 
 cerebrate animals. In other words, the unconscious 
 processes of the lower nervous centers motivating 
 movements (and visceral functions) may include 
 acquired dispositions or physiological memories. 
 
 That the subcortical centers are capable of mem- 
 ory seems to have been shown for the first time by 
 Eothmann's dog. This mindless animal proved to 
 be capable of a certain amount of education. It 
 learned to avoid hitting against objects, and to do 
 certain tricks jumping over a hurdle and follow- 
 ing on its hind legs a stool upon which its fore feet 
 were placed as the stool was dragged forward. * ' In 
 the perfection of all these performances the influ- 
 ence of practice was easily recognized." This 
 means, if the interpretation given is correct, that 
 new dispositions and new connections may be ac- 
 quired within the lower centers without the inter- 
 vention of the integrating influence of the cortex or 
 conscious intelligence.* This is an important con- 
 tribution for apparently the attempt to educate 
 brainless animals had not been previously made, 
 and their capability for education demonstrated. 
 
 The important bearing which this fact has upon 
 
 * Dr. Morgan in his work, ' ' Instinct and Experience, ' ' 1912, pub- 
 lished before Kothmann 's observations, remarks that this ' ' is not in- 
 herently improbable" although it had not as yet been demonstrated.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 239 
 
 this discussion is that it shows that unconscious proc- 
 esses are capable of memory, that is physiological 
 memory. It may be said that this statement needs 
 some modification if the sensory "impressions" 
 guiding the decerebrate animal are to be interpreted 
 as true psychological, however elementary, "sensa- 
 tions." It would seem to me on the contrary only 
 to accentuate the fact that the processes of the 
 brainless animal are on a transition level between 
 the purely unconscious processes of the spinal ani- 
 mal and the purely (if ever wholly so) conscious 
 processes of the normal animal, and that intrinsi- 
 cally all are of the same nature. If sensation en- 
 ters into the complex reflex reactions of the brain- 
 less animal it would seem that it can only be an ele- 
 mental conscious factor in a complicated uncon- 
 scious physiological mechanism. In this mechanism 
 it can have no more specific importance in deter- 
 mining behavior, because of the fact of its being a 
 psychological state, than if it were a receptor 
 "impression" intercalated in the arc of an innate 
 process. It is not linked with any associative mem- 
 ories of the past or foresight into the future ; it does 
 not constitute conscious intelligence. As a con- 
 scious experience it cannot have that kind of "mean- 
 ing" which in the normal animal modifies instinc- 
 tive processes and determines conduct. It prob- 
 ably plays simply the same part in the whole proc- 
 ess, which otherwise is wholly unconscious, that the 
 associative sensory image plays in determining the 
 flow of thick or thin saliva in Pawlow's dogs sim-
 
 240 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ply a single link in a chain of associated reflex proc- 
 esses. 
 
 The next point to which I would direct attention 
 is that from an objective point of view the behavior 
 of the decerebrate animal may be in nature intelli- 
 gent in the empirical sense of that word. The dog 
 that growls and snaps when his foot is pinched, 
 tries to draw it away, and, failing that, bites at the 
 offending hand; the "educated" dog that jumps 
 over a hurdle, and walks on his hind legs, following 
 a stool supporting his front legs, to my way of think- 
 ing performs intelligent actions whether it has a 
 brain or not. If intelligence is arbitrarily limited to 
 actions performed by conscious processes, then in- 
 telligence becomes a mere question of terms.* 
 
 * From the point of view here adopted, the recent discussions and 
 controversies over the problems of ' ' instinct and intelligence ' ' have 
 been much muddled by the arbitrary denial of conscious elements to 
 an instinctive process, and by the acceptation of consciousness or 
 conscious experience as the criterion of intelligence. In this view 
 instinct and intelligence become contrasted concepts which to my 
 way of thinking they are not necessarily at all. If it is admitted 
 that instinct is an innate disposition, its contrasted quality is that 
 which is acquired and not the quality of consciousness. It is true 
 that acquired behavior is commonly if not always determined by con- 
 scious processes (conscious experience), but likewise innate behavior 
 may be determined by processes which contain conscious elements. 
 Surely fear is instinctive and is a conscious element in an innate 
 process; and so must be visual and other sensory images, as in the 
 first peck of a chicken. To look upon the first visual image simply 
 as conscious "experience," as an "onlooker," and reject it as a 
 factor in the process which determines that first peck, seems to me 
 to be arbitrary psychology if not physiology. If consciousness may 
 be a quality of an innate process and why not? it cannot be a
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 241 
 
 There arises also the practical difficulty that certain 
 types of behavior, which by common assent and com- 
 mon sense are regarded as purely automatic and 
 unintelligent, must be termed intelligent because 
 guided by consciousness. I cannot help thinking 
 that " intelligence " is a pragmatic question, not a 
 biological or psychological one. It would be much 
 more conducive to a clear understanding of bio- 
 logical problems to use intelligence only as a con- 
 venient and useful expression, like sanity or in- 
 sanity, to designate certain behavior which conforms 
 to a type which, without strictly denning its limits, 
 popular language has defined as intelligent. San- 
 ity and insanity have ceased to be terms of scientific 
 value because they cannot be defined in terms of 
 specific mental conditions and much less in terms 
 of mental processes. So intelligence cannot be de- 
 criterion of intelligence. The true converse of the conscious is the 
 unconscious. 
 
 This adopted antithesis between consciousness and instinct, from 
 this point of view as well as the arbitrary limitation of the localiza- 
 tion of the whole of an instinctive process to the subcortical centers, 
 vitiates the force of the very able presentation of the subject by Dr. 
 Morgan, if I correctly understand him. I know of no data which 
 forbid the cortex to be included in the innate mechanism of an in- 
 stinctive process. On the contrary, it is difficult to understand in- 
 stinctive behavior and its modifications through conscious experience 
 unless cortical centers are included in the psycho-physiological arcs. 
 At any rate we may define instinct and intelligence in terms of the 
 conscious and the unconscious, or in brain terms, but we should not 
 mix up these aspects with that of localization in the definition. 
 Mr. McDougall 's conception of instinct appeals to me more strongly 
 from both a biological and a psychological point of view, and further 
 seems to me to be more in consonance with the data of experience.
 
 242 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 fined in terms of conscious and unconscious proc- 
 esses. Any attempt to do so meets with insuperable 
 difficulties and becomes "confusion worse con- 
 founded." When we say then that the behavior of 
 the decerebrate dog may be intelligent, all that is 
 meant is that the animal exhibits behavior identical 
 with that which in the normal animal we would em- 
 pirically call intelligent. In this sense unconscious 
 processes may exhibit intelligence. It was from this 
 viewpoint, I think, that Foster concluded: "In 
 short, the more we study the phenomena exhibited 
 by animals possessing a part only of their brain, 
 the closer we are pushed to the conclusion that no 
 sharp line can be drawn between volition and lack 
 of volition, or between the possession and absence 
 of intelligence. Between the muscle-nerve prepara- 
 tion at one limit, and our conscious willing selves at 
 the other, there is a continuous gradation without 
 a break; we cannot fix on any linear barrier in the 
 brain or in the general nervous system, and say 
 'beyond this there is volition and intelligence, but 
 up to this there is none. ' " * 
 
 It has already been pointed out (Lecture V) that, 
 in man, complicated actions which have been voli- 
 tionally and perhaps laboriously acquired may be 
 afterwards involuntarily and unconsciously per- 
 formed, f In other words, after intelligent actions 
 
 * A Text Book of. Physiology, 1893, page 727. 
 
 f The localization of the processes concerned in all such acquired 
 automatic behavior whether it is in the cortex or subcortical cen- 
 ters is an unsolved problem.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 243 
 
 have been acquired by conscious processes, they may 
 be performed by subconscious processes for which 
 there is no conscious awareness and probably these 
 may be either coconscious or entirely unconscious. 
 There is no sharp dividing line between the activities 
 of the unconscious, coconscious, and conscious. 
 
 When we descend in the scale of animal life to the 
 insects (bees, ants, etc.,) we observe motor activity 
 of a highly complex character of a kind that is 
 termed intelligent, but we are forced to conclude, 
 from various considerations, that the elements of 
 consciousness have dwindled away to what can be 
 nothing more than mere sensibility. In other words 
 consciousness is reduced to its lowest terms, but 
 behavior and the neural processes are maintained 
 at a high level of complexity. Accordingly there is 
 a disproportion between the complexity of the mo- 
 tor behavior and the inferred simplicity of con- 
 sciousness, for in the higher animals the former 
 would be correlated with complex psychological 
 processes. If this be so, the motor activities must be 
 determined by processes which are mostly uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 In still lower forms of life the motor activities can 
 be referred to simple tropisms, and thus necessarily 
 are wholly unconscious. 
 
 Between the most complex unconscious physio- 
 logical processes performed by the nervous system 
 and the simpler cerebral processes accompanied by 
 consciousness there is not as wide a step as might 
 seem when superficially viewed. The physiological
 
 244 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 process may, as we have seen, manifest itself in 
 acts of quite as intelligent a character as those ex- 
 hibited by the conscious process, and indeed more 
 so ; for the conscious act may be little more than a 
 limited reflex. On the other hand a psychological 
 process may be so elementary that it contains noth- 
 ing of awareness of self, of intelligence, or of voli- 
 tion in the true sense nothing more, perhaps, than 
 an elementary sensation without even perception. 
 But it may be said that the presence of the most 
 rudimentary state of consciousness makes all the 
 difference and renders the gulf between the two 
 impassable. 
 
 We are not called upon to discuss that question 
 here. It is one which involves the ultimate nature 
 of physical processes. A distinction should be made 
 between psychological and psychical, these not being 
 coextensive and always interchangeable terms. 
 Psychological pertains to the empirical data of con- 
 sciousness, (thoughts, ideas, sensations, etc.) while 
 psychical pertains to the inner or ultimate nature 
 of these data. Though the data as given in con- 
 sciousness are psychical, that which is psychical may 
 not be solely manifested as psychological phenom- 
 ena. It may be manifested as physical phenomena 
 and perhaps be identified with the energy of the 
 universe. Hence the doctrine of panpsychism. And 
 so it may be that in its ultimate analysis an uncon- 
 scious process is psychical (monism) although not 
 psychological and not manifesting itself as a datum 
 of consciousness. Certain it is that, objectively
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 245 
 
 viewed, there is nothing to distinguish physiologi- 
 cal from psychological intelligence. If the extraor- 
 dinary instinctive habits exhibited by insects, such 
 as bees and ants and by still lower forms of animal 
 life, can rightly be interpreted as, in large part at 
 least, manifestations of physiological processes, as 
 is quite possible, the distinction between the con- 
 scious and the unconscious in respect to intelligence 
 and adaptability to environment would be reduced 
 to one only of degree. That some of the lowest 
 forms of life are endowed with consciousness, in any 
 sense in which the word has psychological meaning, 
 seems incredible, though they manifest instinctive 
 intelligence of no mean order. The fact probably is, 
 as I have just intimated, that those processes we 
 call physiological and those we call psychological 
 are in their inner nature identical, and the former 
 are quite capable of functioning, incredible as it 
 may seem, in a fashion that we are accustomed to 
 believe can only be the attribute of conscious intelli- 
 gence. This does not mean, of course, that the phy- 
 siological intelligence can reach the same degree of 
 perfection as that reached by conscious intelligence, 
 though conversely, the latter may be of a lower 
 order than physiological intelligence.* From this 
 point of view we are logically entitled to regard 
 
 * If the subconscious processes which perform a mathematical cal- 
 culation and other problems, which logically determine the symbolism 
 of a dream, etc., can be correctly interpreted as unconscious, they 
 plainly exhibit a higher order of intelligence than any conscious 
 processes in lower animals, or even some conscious processes of man, 
 like brushing away a fly.
 
 246 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 physiological processes, even of the lower nervous 
 centers and even though they are not acquired but 
 due to congenital structural and functional arrange- 
 ment, as phases of the unconscious. 
 
 Psycho-physical parallelism and monism. According to 
 the doctrine of psycho-physical parallelism every 
 mental process is correlated with (accompanied by) 
 a brain process. As brain processes thus viewed 
 are "unconscious" (in the sense of not having the 
 attribute of consciousness) we may express this in 
 other terms and say: every "conscious" process is 
 accompanied by an "unconscious" process. I have 
 no intention of entering here into the question of 
 the validity of the doctrine of psycho-physical 
 parallelism. I wish merely to point out that if 
 parallelism is a true formulation of the mind- 
 brain problem, as I have just stated it, the con- 
 verse ought to hold true, namely, that every brain 
 process of a certain kind involving intelligence 
 ought to be correlated with consciousness. But if 
 some subconscious processes manifesting what is 
 equivalent to thought, reasoning, judgment, imagina- 
 tion, volition, etc., are unconscious as seems likely 
 if not probable then this converse does not hold 
 true. This has some bearing on the validity of the 
 doctrine ; for if physical processes can perform sub- 
 stantially the same function as conscious intelli- 
 gence it is difficult to reconcile this fact with what 
 I may call naive psycho-physical parallelism. 
 
 It is reconcilable, however, with psychic monism.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 247 
 
 According to this doctrine it is not a question of 
 parallelism at all. There is only one process the 
 psychical. The physical brain process is only an 
 aspect or special mode of apprehending this one. 
 All is psychical but not psychological. That which 
 we apprehend in the form of the unconscious is 
 really psychical and hence is capable of performing 
 the same kind of function as it performs when it 
 becomes psychological. It is not at all certain that 
 unconscious processes may not comprise an intelli- 
 gence possessing faculties identical in kind with 
 those of conscious intelligence and indistinguisha- 
 ble from the latter. Subconscious processes may 
 exhibit perception, cognition, reason, imagination, 
 conation (will), feeling, etc., and it is possible that 
 some of these processes may be correctly inter- 
 preted as unconscious. At any rate, from the point 
 of view of monism, whether the real psychical proc- 
 ess or, probably more correctly, how much of it 
 shall emerge as a psychological state of conscious- 
 ness depends upon intrinsic conditions. Though we 
 cannot penetrate within them it is quite conceivable 
 that it is a matter of complexity of synthesization 
 and cooperative activity of psychical energies. This 
 is a most interesting problem closely related to 
 that of awareness and self-consciousness. 
 
 The meanings of the unconscious, subconscious, and co- 
 conscious. Though the term "unconscious" is in 
 general use it has so many connotations derived 
 from its various meanings in metaphysics, psychol-
 
 248 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ogy, and physiology that its use has given rise to 
 considerable confusion of thought, particularly, I am 
 compelled to believe, in the interpretation of specific 
 psycho-physiological phenomena. Nevertheless, it 
 has been so well established in our nomenclature that 
 we could not replace it if we would. Nor is it wholly 
 desirable to do so. It is a good and useful term, 
 but I believe that with each advance in the pre- 
 cision of our knowledge we ought, so far as accumu- 
 lative data permit, to give precision to the concept 
 for which it stands. Just as in physical science we 
 attempt to give precision to our concept of elec- 
 tricity in conformity with new data accumulated 
 from time to time, so our psychological concepts 
 should be defined and limited in accordance with 
 the advance in knowledge. Some do not like to 
 define the term, not being quite willing to commit 
 themselves unreservedly to the complete acceptance 
 of the physiological theory of memory and to cut 
 adrift from the metaphysical concept of a sublimi- 
 nal mind. If the psycho-physiological theory of 
 memory, which is now generally accepted, is sound, 
 we have one meaning of the unconscious which is 
 a very definite concept, namely, the brain residua, 
 physiological " dispositions" or neurograms in 
 which the experiences of life are conserved. These 
 terms become, therefore, synonyms for the uncon- 
 scious. That, under certain conditions, the passive 
 neurograms may, under stimulation, become active 
 and function unconsciously (i. e., without corre- 
 sponding psychological equivalents being introduced
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 249 
 
 into the personal consciousness), need not invali- 
 date the concept. We are then dealing with an un- 
 conscious and dynamic process. The effects of such 
 functioning are simply the manifestations of the 
 unconscious and may be recognized either in modi- 
 fications of the stream of consciousness or in bodily 
 disturbances. The term unconscious is an appro- 
 priate and descriptive term to characterize that 
 which is devoid of the attributes of consciousness. 
 This use of the term has been sanctioned by com- 
 mon usage. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the term has been also 
 employed to characterize another and distinct class 
 of facts, namely Co-[or Sub-] conscious Ideas. We 
 shall have occasion to study these psychological 
 phenomena in other lectures.* We have seen ex- 
 amples in many of the phenomena I have cited. It 
 is sufficient to say here, that as conceived of, and as 
 we have seen, they are very definite states of cocon- 
 sciousness a coexisting dissociated consciousness 
 or coconsciousness of which the personal conscious- 
 ness is not aware, i. e., of which it is ''unconscious." 
 Hence they have been called ''unconscious ideas" 
 and have been included in the unconscious, particu- 
 larly by German writers. But this is plainly using 
 the term in a different sense using it as a synonym 
 for the longer phrase, "ideas we are unaware of," 
 and not as a characterization of that which is physi- 
 ological and non-psychological. 
 
 "Unconscious ideas" in this sense (the equiva- 
 
 * Not included in this volume.
 
 250 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 lent of coconscious ideas) would include conscious 
 states that we are not aware of simply because not 
 in the focus of attention but in the fringe of the 
 content of consciousness. The term would also in- 
 clude pathologically split-off and independently act- 
 ing coconscious ideas or systems of ideas such as 
 occur in hysteria, reaching their apogee in cocon- 
 scious personalities and in automatic writings. 
 Here we have a series of facts essentially different 
 from the conceptual facts of physical residua, the 
 form in which experiences are conceived to be con- 
 served. Manifestly it is confusing and incorrect to 
 define both by "the unconscious." And to speak 
 of the former as "unconscious ideas" and of the 
 latter as "unconscious," although technically cor- 
 rect, leads to confusion from using the term "un- 
 conscious" in two different senses.* 
 
 As a concept in a scheme of metaphysics, "un- 
 conscious ideas" i. e., ideas of which we are not 
 conscious, have long been recognized. Leibnitz was 
 the first to maintain, on theoretical grounds and by 
 a priori reasoning, the existence of ideas of which we 
 are not aware, as did likewise Kant, influenced by 
 Leibnitz, and later Schilling, and Herbart; while 
 Hartmann evolved the unconscious into a biological 
 and metaphysical system, f 
 
 * It has been objected that to speak of unconscious ideas is a 
 contradiction of terms. This seems to me to smack of quibbling as 
 we know well enough that the adjective is used in the sense of un- 
 awareness. 
 
 f For a good account of the history of the theory of unconscious 
 ideas in philosophy see Hartmann 's "Philosophy of the Uncon-
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 251 
 
 By most American, English, and French psychol- 
 ogists such ideas, as conceived at least by Leibnitz, 
 Kant, and Herbart, would to-day be called sub- 
 conscious or coconscious ideas. Hartmann included 
 all physiological processes of the nervous system 
 in the Unconscious and ascribed to them special 
 attributes (will, purpose, etc.). The Unconscious 
 accordingly has connotations from which it is not 
 easy to rid ourselves in dealing with it. It is gen- 
 erally agreed that it is desirable to have a term 
 which shall cover all classes of facts coconscious 
 ideas, conserved experiences, and physiological proc- 
 
 scious, ' ' where the following quotations may be found : "To have 
 ideas and yet not to be conscious of them there seems to be a con- 
 tradiction in that for how can we know that we have them if we 
 are not conscious of them? Nevertheless, we may become aware in- 
 directly that we have an idea, although we be not directly cognizant 
 of the same." (Kant, Anthropology, sec. 5.) And again: " In- 
 numerable are the sensations and perceptions whereof we are not 
 conscious although we must undoubtedly conclude that we have 
 them, obscure ideas as they may be called (to be found in animals 
 as well as in man). The clear ideas, indeed, are but an infinitely 
 small fraction of these same exposed to consciousness. That only a 
 few spots on the great chart of our minds are illuminated may well 
 fill us with amazement in contemplating this nature of ours. (Ibid.) 
 
 "Now unconscious ideas" are such "as are in consciousness 
 without our being aware of them" (Herbart). 
 
 It is interesting to notice how Kant's statement might well be 
 substituted for that of Myers' of his "Subliminal." It is difficult 
 to understand the peculiar antagonistic attitude of certain theoreti- 
 cal psychologists to the theory of subconscious (coconscious) ideas 
 in view of the history of this theory in philosophy. They seem to 
 have forgotten their philosophy and not to have kept pace with ez- 
 perimental psychology.
 
 252 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 esses without committal of opinion as to inter- 
 pretation.* 
 
 It does not follow, however, that the term " un- 
 conscious" is the one that should be chosen. On 
 the contrary, as unconscious has two distinct and 
 different meanings (that pertaining to unawareness 
 and that which is non-psychological) it is a very 
 undesirable term if we wish to be precise in our 
 terminology. That we should have a term which shall 
 precisely define ideas which are not in awareness and 
 which shall distinguish them from physiological 
 processes is necessitated by the fact that such ideas 
 in themselves form a distinct field of investigation. 
 
 The term "subconscious" is commonly used, ex- 
 cepting by German writers, to characterize these co- 
 conscious ideas. In fact, by some French medical 
 writers, particularly Janet, it is very precisely 
 limited to such ideas. By other authors it is em- 
 ployed in this sense and also to include the physical 
 residua of experiences, and sometimes with the addi- 
 tional meaning of unconscious physiological neuro- 
 grams, or processes, which it defines in fact, to 
 denote any conserved experience or process outside 
 of consciousness. On the other hand, among these 
 authors, some do not admit the validity of the con- 
 cept of coconscious ideas, but interpret all so-called 
 subconscious manifestations as the expression of 
 the physiological functioning of physiological neu- 
 rograms in which the experiences of life are con- 
 served. Subconscious and unconscious are, there- 
 
 * See footnote on p. 149.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 253 
 
 fore, quite commonly, but not always, employed as 
 synonyms to define two or three different classes 
 of facts. For practical reasons, as already stated, 
 it is desirable to have a term which shall embrace 
 all classes of facts, and of the two terms in com- 
 mon use, subconscious and unconscious, the former 
 is preferable, as it is not subject to the double mean- 
 ing above mentioned. I, therefore, use the term 
 subconscious in a generic sense to include (a) cocon- 
 scious ideas or processes; (b) unconscious neuro- 
 grams, and (c) unconscious processes. Of course it 
 is only a matter of terminology. The conceptual 
 facts may then be thus classified : 
 
 T (synonym : 
 
 The coconscious J subconscious 
 ideas.) 
 
 a : Conserved 
 dormant 
 neurograms 
 or neural 
 dispositions. 
 
 The subconscious < 
 
 The unconscious 
 
 b: Active 
 
 functioning 
 
 neurograms 
 
 or neural 
 
 processes. 
 
 (synonym: 
 
 unconscious 
 
 processes.)
 
 254 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Subconscious as an adjective used to qualify ideas 
 is plainly equivalent to coconscious ideas. This 
 terminology I have found useful in keeping the dif- 
 ferent classes of conceptual facts separate in my 
 mind and I believe it will prove to be equally useful 
 to others. With the conceptual facts clearly differ- 
 entiated it will be generally easy to recognize the 
 various senses in which the terms are used when 
 found in the writings of others. 
 
 The unconscious as a fundamental of personality. A 
 survey of all the facts and their relations, which I 
 have outlined in the preceding lectures, brings into 
 strong relief the important principle that no matter 
 in what state complexes of ideas are formed, so 
 long as they are conserved, they become a part of 
 our personality. They become dormant, but, being 
 conserved, they may under favorable conditions be 
 awakened and enter our conscious life. It matters 
 not whether complexes of ideas have been formed in 
 our personal consciousness, or in a state of hypno- 
 sis, in dreams, in conditions of dissociated person- 
 ality, in coconsciousness, or any other dissociated 
 state. They all become parts of ourselves and may 
 afterwards be revived under favoring conditions, 
 whether volitionally, automatically, by artificial de- 
 vices, by involuntary stimuli, or other agencies. 
 They may or may not be subject to voluntary recall 
 as recollections, but, so long as they form part of 
 our dormant consciousness as physiological neuro- 
 grams, they belong to the personal self. ''After
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 255 
 
 all, ' ' as Miss B. used to say, and correctly, referring 
 to her different dissociated personalities, BI, B 
 III, and BIV, "after all, they are all myself." It 
 makes no difference in what state an experience has 
 occurred. A potential memory of it may persist and 
 may, in one way or another, be revived, no matter 
 how or when it originated. 
 
 Through the conception of the subconscious as 
 resolvable, on the one hand, into the imconscious, 
 passive or active physiological dispositions, and, on 
 the other hand, into coactive conscious states, the 
 subconscious becomes simplified and intelligible. It 
 offers a basis on which may be constructed compre- 
 hensible theories of memory, suggestibility, post- 
 hypnotic phenomena, dreams, automatic writing 
 and similar phenomena, artificial hallucinations, the 
 protean phenomena of hysteria, and the psycho- 
 neuroses, as well as the mechanism of thought. It 
 enables us also to construct a rational concept of 
 personality and self. As we shall see, when we take 
 up the study of multiple personality in later lectures, 
 out of the aggregate of the accumulated and varied 
 experience of the past conserved in the unconscious 
 may be constructed a number of different person- 
 alities, each depending upon a synthesis and rear- 
 rangement of life's neurograms and innate disposi- 
 tions and instincts. All dormant ideas with their 
 feeling tones and conative tendencies belong to our 
 personality, but they may be arranged with varying 
 instincts and innate dispositions into a number of 
 differentiated systems, each synthesized into a cor-
 
 256 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 responding personality. In the unconscious may 
 be conserved a vast number of life's experiences 
 ranging in time almost from the cradle to the grave. 
 The hopes, the wishes, the anxieties of childhood 
 may still be there, lying fallow, but capable of in- 
 jecting themselves under favoring conditions into 
 our personalities. Properly speaking, from this 
 point of view, aside from certain artificial and path- 
 ological conditions, there is, normally, no distinct 
 "subconscious self," or "subliminal self," or "sec- 
 ondary self," or "hidden self." In artificial and 
 pathological conditions there may be, as has been 
 frequently shown, a splitting of consciousness and 
 the aggregation into a secondary coconscious sys- 
 tem of large systems of ideas which have all the 
 characteristics of personality. This secondary per- 
 sonality (of which the primary personality is not 
 aware) may have its own memories, feelings, per- 
 ceptions, and thoughts. It may appropriate to itself 
 various complexes of neurograms deposited by the 
 experiences of life which are not at the disposal of 
 the principal personality. Such a coconscious sys- 
 tem may properly be spoken of as a subconscious 
 self. But there is no evidence that, normally, such 
 systems exist. All that we are entitled to affirm 
 is that every individual's consciousness may include 
 ideas of which he is not aware, and that he has at 
 his disposal, to a greater or less extent, a large 
 unconscious storehouse in which are neurographi- 
 cally conserved a large and varied mass of life's 
 experiences. These experiences may be arranged
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 257 
 
 in systems, as we shall see in the next lecture, but 
 they do not constitute a "self." To speak of 
 them as a subconscious, subliminal, secondary, or 
 hidden self is to construct concepts which are 
 allegories, metaphors, symbolisms, personifications 
 of concrete phenomena. Their use tends to falla- 
 cious reasoning and to perverted inductions from 
 the facts. Becoming major premises in a syllo- 
 gism they lead to erroneous interpretations of the 
 simplest facts, just as fixed ideas or obsessions 
 tend to a perverted interpretation of the environ- 
 ment. 
 
 We are now in a position to see that the psycho- 
 physiological theory of memory has a far-reaching 
 significance. The facts which have been brought 
 before you in evidence of the theory have been 
 selected largely from those which were capable of 
 verification by experimentation and by other objec- 
 tive testimony. They include a large variety of ex- 
 periences which occurred in pathological conditions 
 like amnesia and multiple personality, and in arti- 
 ficial conditions like hypnosis and intoxication. 
 Such abnormal conditions enable us to show by tes- 
 timony, independent of the individual, that these 
 experiences had actually occurred, and, therefore, 
 to show that the reproductions of these experiences 
 were in principle truthful memories. They also 
 enable us to appreciate the enormous variety and 
 quantity of experiences which, although absolutely 
 beyond the power of voluntary recall, may be con- 
 served nevertheless as neurograms, and also to ap-
 
 258 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 predate the minuteness of detail in which the brain 
 records may be preserved. 
 
 If you will stop a moment to think, and give play 
 to your imagination, you will see that the principle 
 of the neurographic conservation of experiences 
 must be true not only of our outer life, of our ex- 
 periences with our environment, but of our whole 
 inner life, normal as well as abnormal. It is always 
 possible that any thought, any feeling, however 
 trivial and transitory, may leave neurograms in the 
 brain. It is always possible that even a fleeting 
 doubt or scruple, thoughts which flash into the mind 
 and straightway are put out again, all may leave 
 their records and dispositions to function again. 
 Even a passing doubt which any of you may enter- 
 tain regarding the interpretation of the phenomena 
 I have described, and the correctness of our con- 
 clusions, may be recorded. Indeed, it is a matter 
 of some importance for the understanding of ob- 
 normal mental conditions that many of those horrid 
 little sneaking thoughts which we do not like to 
 admit to ourselves, the thoughts which for one rea- 
 son or another we endeavor to repress, to put out of 
 our minds, may leave their indelible traces. In fact, 
 these are the very thoughts, the ones which we try 
 hardest to forget, to push aside, which are most 
 likely to be conserved. The harder we try, the 
 stronger the feelings attached to them, the more 
 likely they are to leave neurograms in the brain 
 though they may never be reproduced. This has 
 been shown by observation of pathological condi-
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 259 
 
 tions, like hysteria and psychasthenia, and by ex- 
 perimentation. In repressing our thoughts we do 
 not put them out of our minds, but, as the subject 
 previously cited, who in hypnosis could recall such 
 repressed thoughts, said, we put them into our minds. 
 In other words, we conserve them as neurograms. 
 In one sense, I suppose, we may say that every 
 one leads a double life. Let me hasten to say to 
 you, I mean this not in a moral but in an intellectual 
 sense. Every one's mental life may fairly be said 
 to be divided between those ideas, thoughts, and 
 feelings which he receives from and gives out to 
 his social world, the social environment in which he 
 lives, and those which belong more properly to his 
 inner life and the innermost sanctuary of his per- 
 sonality and character. The former include the 
 activities and the educational acquisitions which he 
 seeks to cultivate and conserve for future use. The 
 latter include the more intimate communings with 
 himself, the doubts and fears and scruples pertain- 
 ing to the moral, religious, and other problems of 
 life, and the struggles and trials and difficulties 
 which beset its paths ; the internal contests with the 
 temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil. 
 The conventionalities of the social organization re- 
 quire that the outward expression of many of these 
 should be put under restraint. Indeed, society in- 
 sists that some, the sexual strivings, are aspects of 
 life and human nature which are not to be spoken 
 or thought of. Now, of course, this inner life must 
 also leave its neurographic tracings along with the
 
 260 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 outer life, and must, potentially at least, become a 
 part of our personality, liable to manifest itself in 
 character and in other directions. But, more than 
 this, abnormal psychology, through its technical 
 methods of investigation and through the perverted 
 manifestations exhibited in sick conditions of mind 
 and body, has shown us that the neurograms de- 
 posited as the experiences of this inner life may 
 flower, to use an expression of the lamented William 
 James, below the threshold of consciousness, and, 
 under certain conditions, where the mind is in un- 
 stable equilibrium, burst forth in mental and bodily 
 manifestations of an unusual character. Thus in 
 processes of this kind we find an explanation of 
 religious phenomena like sudden conversion; of 
 dreams and of certain pathological phenomena like 
 the hallucinations, deliria, crises, and bodily mani- 
 festations of hysteria, and the numerous automatic 
 phenomena of spiritualistic mediums. Such phe- 
 nomena may then be interpreted as the flowering or 
 functioning of the unconscious. 
 
 The essential difference in the consequences which 
 follow from this psycho-physiological conception of 
 memory, based as it is on the unconscious, and those 
 which follow from that conception which is popu- 
 larly held must be obvious. According to popular 
 understanding the mental life which we have out- 
 lived, the life which we have put behind us, whether 
 that of childhood or of passing phases of adult life, 
 is only an ephemeral, evanescent phase of conscious- 
 ness which once out of mind, put aside or forgotten,
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 261 
 
 need no longer be taken into consideration as per- 
 taining to, much less influencing, our personality. 
 Writers of fiction who undertake to depict human 
 nature almost invariably, I believe, are governed by 
 this point of view. They describe their characters 
 as throwing overboard their past, their dominating 
 beliefs, convictions, and other traits as easily as 
 we should toss undesirable refuse into the ocean. 
 Their heroes and heroines jettison their psychologi- 
 cal cargoes as if they were barrels of molasses when- 
 ever their personalities show signs of going down 
 in the storms of life's experiences. According to 
 this view, which is derived from an imperfect con- 
 ception of mental processes, any passing phase of 
 consciousness ceases to have potential existence or 
 influence as soon as it is forgotten, or as soon as 
 it ceases to be a consciously dominating belief or 
 motive of life. It is assumed that so long as we 
 do not bring it back into consciousness it belongs 
 to us no more than as if it had originated in the 
 mind of another, or had taken flight on the wings 
 of a dove. This is true in part only. A phase of 
 consciousness may not be conserved, or it may be- 
 come so modified by the clash with new experiences 
 that a rearrangement of its elements takes place and 
 it becomes, for instance, a new motive or belief, or 
 a new setting to give a new meaning to an idea. On 
 the other hand, any passing phase may, as we have 
 seen, still belong to our personality even though it 
 lies hidden in its depths. That we no longer recall 
 it, bring it voluntarily into the field of our personal
 
 UJNUOJNSUIOUS 
 
 consciousness, does not negative its continuing 
 (though dormant) existence, and its further influ- 
 ence upon the personality through the subconscious 
 workings of the mind. 
 
 In conclusion, and by way of partial recapitula- 
 tion, we may say, first: The records of our lives 
 are written in unconscious dormant complexes and 
 therein conserved so long as the residua retain their 
 dynamic potentialities. It is the unconscious, rather 
 than the conscious, which is the important factor 
 in personality and intelligence. The unconscious 
 furnishes the formative material out of which our 
 judgments, our beliefs, our ideals, and our char- 
 acters are shaped. 
 
 In the second place, the unconscious, besides being 
 a static storehouse, has dynamic functions. It is 
 evident that, theoretically, if unconscious complexes 
 are once formed they may, under favoring condi- 
 tions of the psycho-physical organism, become re- 
 vived and play an important part in pathological 
 mental life. If through dissociation they could be 
 freed from the normal inhibition and the counter- 
 balancing influences of the normal mental mechan- 
 ism, and given an independence and freedom from 
 voluntary control, they might, by functioning, pro- 
 duce abnormal states like fixed ideas, delusions, au- 
 tomatisms, hallucinations, etc. A study of such ab- 
 normal phenomena confirms this theoretical view 
 and finds in this conception of the unconscious an 
 explanation of the origin of many of them. The 
 hallucinations and bizarre notions and delusions of
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 263 
 
 the insane, the hysteric, and psychasthenic, where 
 all seems chaos, without law or order, are often due 
 to the resurrection and fabricating effect of uncon- 
 scious complexes formed by the earlier experiences 
 of the patient's life. Of course, the mechanism by 
 which such phenomena are produced is a compli- 
 cated one about which there is much difference of 
 opinion and which we cannot enter into here. In 
 post-hypnotic phenomena and artificial hallucina- 
 tions we have experimental examples of the 
 principle. 
 
 More than this, and more important, there is con- 
 siderable evidence going to show that conserved ex- 
 periences functioning as subconscious processes take 
 part in and determine the conscious processes of 
 everyday life. On the one hand stored neurograms 
 may undergo subconscious incubation, assimilating 
 the material deposited by the varied experiences of 
 life to finally burst forth in ripened judgments, be- 
 liefs, and convictions, as is so strikingly shown in 
 sudden religious conversions and allied mental 
 manifestations. Through a similar incubating proc- 
 ess, the stored material needed for the solution 
 of baffling problems is gathered together and often- 
 times assimilated and arranged and formulated as 
 an answer to the question. On the other hand, sub- 
 conscious processes may be but a hidden part of 
 that mechanism which determines our everyday 
 judgment and our points of view, our attitudes of 
 mind, the meanings of our ideas, and the traits of 
 our characters. Antecedent experiences function-
 
 264 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ing as such processes may determine our fantasies 
 and our dreams. Thus functioning as dynamic proc- 
 esses the stored residua of the past may provide 
 the secrets of our moods, our impulses, our preju- 
 dices, our beliefs, and our judgments. 
 
 It remains, however, for future investigation to 
 determine the exact mechanism and the relative ex- 
 tent to which subconscious processes play their 
 parts.
 
 LECTURE IX 
 THE ORGANIZATION OF UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 
 
 Everyday life It will be well at this point to state 
 in orderly fashion a few general principles govern- 
 ing the organization of complexes or syntheses of 
 ideas * which, as we shall see, play an important 
 part in normal and abnormal life. Although this 
 statement will be little more than descriptive of 
 w r hat is common experience it will be helpful in clas- 
 sifying and obtaining a useful perspective of the 
 phenomena with which we shall deal. 
 
 Now, as every one knows, the elemental ideas 
 w r hich make up the experience of any given moment 
 tend to become organized (i. e., synthesized and con- 
 served) into a system or complex of ideas, linked 
 with emotions, feelings and other innate disposi- 
 tions, so that when one of the ideas belonging to the 
 experience comes to mind the experience as a whole 
 is recalled. We may conveniently term such a sys- 
 tem when in a state of conservation, an unconscious 
 
 * I am using this word in the general sense of any mental ex- 
 perience as in the common phrase, "the association of ideas," and 
 not in the restricted sense of Titchener as the equivalent of a percep- 
 tion. 
 
 265
 
 266 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 complex * or neurogram, or system of neurograms. 
 If we wish to use psychological terms we may speak 
 of it as a complex or synthesis of dormant ideas. 
 Although we may formulate this principle as the 
 " association of ideas" the formula can have only a 
 descriptive significance pertaining to a relation in 
 time (and not a causal one) unless there be included 
 an unconscious factor by which the association be- 
 comes effective in exciting one idea through another 
 i. e., through a linking of neural dispositions. We 
 cannot conceive of any conscious relation between 
 ideas that can possibly induce this effect. It must 
 be some unconscious dynamic relation f and be ex- 
 plained in terms of neural dispositions. If this be 
 so, all ideas are dynamically associated and related 
 in a process which does not appear in consciousness 
 and which is essential for organization into a com- 
 plex. Every system of associated ideas, therefore, 
 implies conservation through an organized uncon- 
 scious complex. 
 
 Complexes may be very feebly organized in that 
 the elemental ideas are weakly conserved or weakly 
 associated; in which case when we try to recall the 
 original experience only a part or none of it is re- 
 called. 
 
 On the other hand, a complex may be strongly 
 
 * I use this word ' ' complex ' ' in the general sense in which it is 
 commonly used and not with the specific meaning given to it by the 
 Zurich school, which limits it to a system of ideas to which a strong 
 affective tone is attached and which, because of its personally dis- 
 tressing character, is repressed into the subconscious. 
 
 I Which may be psychical, although not psychological.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 267 
 
 organized and include a large number of de- 
 tails of an experience. This is usually owing to 
 the fact that the original experience was accom- 
 panied by strong emotional tones, or by marked in- 
 terest and attention, or was frequently repeated. 
 
 Emotional Complexes: 1. When the original experi- 
 ence was accompanied by an emotion it may be 
 regarded as having excited one or more of the emo- 
 tional instincts of anger, fear, disgust, etc. The ex- 
 citation of the instinct or instincts is in one sense a 
 reaction to the ideas of the experience. The instincts 
 then become organized about one or more of the 
 ideas to form a sentiment (Shand) and the whole 
 is incorporated in a complex which then acquires an 
 affective character. The impulsive force of the in- 
 stinct thereafter largely determines the behavior of 
 the complex. (To this we shall return later when 
 we consider the instincts.) General observation 
 shows that emotional experiences are more likely to 
 be conserved and also voluntarily recalled. Given 
 such an emotional complex nearly anything asso- 
 ciated with some detail of the experience may, by 
 the law of association, automatically or involun- 
 tarily revive it, or the emotional reaction with a 
 greater or less number of its associated memories. 
 This tendency seems to be directly proportionate to 
 the intensity of the instinct (fear, anger, etc.) incor- 
 porated in the complex. Sometimes, it is true, a 
 strongly emotional experience, even an experience 
 of great moment in an individual's life, is completely
 
 268 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 forgotten, so completely that no associated idea 
 avails as a stimulus to awaken it. Usually in all 
 such cases the neurograms are isolated, etc., by dis- 
 sociation. They still, however, may be strongly or- 
 ganized and conserved as an unconscious complex 
 and sometimes may be excited as a subconscious 
 process by an associated stimulus. In such condi- 
 tions it very frequently is found that the dissocia- 
 tion is due to conflict between the emotion belonging 
 to the complex and another emotional complex. The 
 impulsive force of the latter dissociates the former 
 complex which then cannot be voluntarily repro- 
 duced as memory, nor awakened by any association 
 under normal conditions. We have then a condition 
 of amnesia and often an hysterical condition. To 
 this important phenomenon we shall return when 
 we consider the emotions. Passing over these ex- 
 ceptional conditions of conflicting emotions (which 
 being explained " prove the rule"), it still remains 
 true that in everyday life emotional experiences are 
 not only more likely to be conserved but to be sub- 
 ject to voluntary recall, or awakened involuntarily 
 by an associated stimulus. 
 
 If, for instance, we have experienced a railroad 
 accident involving exciting incidents, loss of life, 
 etc., the words "railroad," "accident," "death," or 
 a sudden crashing sound, or the sight of blood, or 
 even riding in a railroad train may recall the ex- 
 perience, or at least the prominent features in it. 
 The earlier events and those succeeding the accident 
 may have passed out of all possibility of voluntary
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 269 
 
 recall. To take an instance commonplace enough, but 
 which happens to have come within my recent obser- 
 vation: a fireman, hurrying to a fire, was injured 
 severely by being thrown from a hose-wagon against 
 a telegraph-pole with which the wagon collided. He 
 narrowly escaped death. Although three years have 
 elapsed he still cannot ride on a wagon to a fire 
 without the memory of substantially the whole acci- 
 dent rising in his mind. When he does so he again 
 lives through the accident, including the thoughts 
 just previous to the actual collision when realizing 
 his situation he was overcome with terror, and he 
 again manifests all the organic physical expressions 
 of fear, viz., perspiration, tremor, and muscular 
 weakness. Here is a well organized and fairly 
 limited complex. It is also plainly an imperative 
 memory, that is to say, any stimulus-idea associated 
 with some element in the complex reproduces the 
 experience as memory whether it is wished or not. 
 Try as hard as he will he cannot prevent its recur- 
 rence. The stimulus that excites such involuntary 
 memories may be a spoken word (as in the psycho- 
 galvanic and other associative experiments which 
 we shall consider in a later lecture), or it may be a 
 visual perception of the environment of a person 
 or place or it may be a repetition of the circum- 
 stances attending the original experience, however 
 induced. The phenomenon may also be regarded as 
 an automatism or automatic process. As the biologi- 
 cal instinct of fear is incorporated in the complex 
 it is also a phobia.
 
 270 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Why our fireman suffered the intense terror that 
 he did at the time of the accident, why he experi- 
 enced the thoughts which surged into his mind, why 
 he suffered this emotional experience, while another 
 man going through the same accident suffers no 
 more than the physical injury (if any) at the time, 
 and why the experience continues to recur as an 
 imperative memory are problems which we are not 
 considering now. The fact is that he did suffer the 
 terror and its agonizing thoughts, and, this being 
 the case, their constant recurrence, i. e., the repro- 
 duction of the experience, is a memory. And this 
 memory consists of a well organized complex of 
 ideas, feelings, and physiological accompaniments. 
 I emphasize this point because an imperatively re- 
 curring mental experience of this sort is a psychosis, 
 and, so far as the principle of memory enters into it, 
 so far memory becomes a part of the mechanism of 
 obsessions. 
 
 The reason why the man at the moment of the 
 accident experienced the terrorizing thoughts that 
 he did, and why he continued to experience them, 
 must be sought in associated conserved experiences 
 of his past. These experiences were the psycho- 
 genetic factors. It would take us too far out of the 
 way to consider this problem, which belongs to the 
 obsessions, at this time, but, as I have touched upon 
 it, I may say in passing that the accident would have 
 awakened no sense of terror and no emotional shock 
 if a psychological torch had not already been pre- 
 pared. This torch was made up of ideas previously
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 271 
 
 imbibed from the social environment and made 
 ready to be set aflame by the match set to it by the 
 accident. In the unconsciousness of this man were 
 written in neurographic records the dangers attend- 
 ing accidents of this kind and dangers which still 
 threatened his present and future. 
 
 Likewise the insistence of the memory can be re- 
 lated to a setting of associated thoughts which gave 
 meaning to his perception of himself as one affected, 
 as he believed, with a serious injury threatening his 
 future. His fear was also, therefore, a fear of the 
 present and future. Thus not only the experiences 
 of the accident itself became organized into a group 
 and conserved as a memory, but were organized with 
 memories of still other experiences which stood in a 
 genetic relation to them. If it were necessary I could 
 give from my personal observation numerous ex- 
 amples of this mode of organization of complexes 
 through emotional experiences and of their repro- 
 duction as automatic memories. 
 
 An historical example of complex-organizing of 
 this kind is narrated in Tallentyre's delightful life 
 of Voltaire. Toward the end of Voltaire's famous 
 residence at the court of Frederick the Great, as 
 the latter 's guest, one of those pestiferous friends 
 who cannot help repeating disagreeable personal 
 gossip for our benefit swore to Voltaire to having 
 heard Frederick remark, "I shall want him (Vol- 
 taire) at the most another year; one squeezes the 
 orange and throws away the rind. ' ' From that mo-
 
 272 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ment a complex of emotional ideas was formed in 
 Voltaire's mind, that, do what he would, he could 
 not get rid of. He wrote it to his friends, thought 
 about it, dreamed about it ; he tried to forget it, but 
 to no purpose; it would not ''down"; the rind kept 
 constantly rising. It brought with it every memory 
 of Frederick's character and actions that fitted the 
 remark. 
 
 Voltaire, like many men of genius, was a neuras- 
 thenic and his ideas with strong emotional tones 
 tended to become strongly organized and acquire 
 great force. ' ' The orange rind haunts my dreams, ' ' 
 he wrote ; * * I try not to believe it. ... We go to sup 
 with the king and are gay enough sometimes; the 
 man who fell from the top of a steeple and found the 
 fall through the air soft and said, 'Good, provided 
 it lasts,' is not a little as I am." The emotional 
 complex which so tormented Voltaire that it literally 
 became an obsession was a recurring memory. The 
 experience had been strongly registered and con- 
 served, owing to the emotional tone, but the reason 
 why there was so much emotion, and why it ab- 
 sorbed so many associated ideas into itself and kept 
 recurring would undoubtedly have been found to 
 lie, if we could have probed Voltaire's mind, in its 
 settings his previous stormy experiences with 
 Frederick, his knowledge of Frederick's character, 
 his previous apprehensions of what later actually 
 occurred, and, most probably, self-reproach for his 
 own behavior, the consequences of ivhich he feared 
 to face. All this, conserved as neurograms, was set
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 273 
 
 ablaze by the remark and furnished not only the 
 emotion but the material for the content of the 
 complex. These previous experiences, therefore, 
 stood in genetic relation to the latter, excited the 
 emotional reaction of anger, resentment and fear, 
 and prevented the complex from subsiding. The ex- 
 citing cause for each recurrence of the complex was, 
 of course, some associated stimulus from the envi- 
 ronment, or train of thought. 
 
 Another interesting historical example is the fool- 
 ish complex which is said to have disturbed the 
 pretty Mme. Leclerc (Pauline Bonaparte, who was 
 afterward the Princess Borghese). This fascinat- 
 ing and beautiful woman was enjoying her triumph 
 at a ball. Seated in a little boudoir off the ball- 
 room she was entertaining "guests who came to 
 admire her and fill her cup to overflowing. There 
 was, however, a Mme. de Contades, who had been 
 deserted by her own cavaliers at the appearance of 
 Pauline. Approaching, now. on the arm of her 
 escort, she said in a tone sufficiently loud so that 
 every one, including Pauline, could hear perfectly: 
 'Mon Dieu, what a misfortune! Oh, what a pity! 
 She would be so pretty but for that!' 'But for 
 what?' asked her cavalier. All eyes were turned 
 upon poor Mme. Leclerc, who thought there must 
 be something the matter with her coiffure and began 
 to redden and suffocate. 'But do you not see 
 what I mean?' persisted Mme. de Contades, with 
 the cold cruelty of a jealous woman. 'What a pity! 
 Yes, truly, how unfortunate ! Such a really pretty
 
 274 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 head to have such ears ! If I had ears like those I 
 would have them cut off. Yes, positively, they are 
 like those of a pug dog. You who know her, Mon- 
 sieur, advise her to have it done ; it would be a char- 
 itable act.' Pauline, more beautiful than ever in 
 her blushes, rose, tears blinding her eyes, then sank 
 back upon the sofa, hiding her face in her hands, 
 sick with mortification and shame. As a matter of 
 fact, her ears were not ugly, only a little too flat. 
 From that day, however, she always dressed her 
 hair over them or concealed them under a bandeau, 
 as in the well-known painting of her. ' ' * 
 
 Fixed ideas relating to physical blemishes are not 
 uncommonly observed as obsessions in psychasthen- 
 ics. With our knowledge of such psychical manifes- 
 tations it is easy to imagine Pauline's antecedent 
 thoughts regarding her own flat ears, and repug- 
 nance to this defect in others, her suspicions of un- 
 favorable criticisms and of not being admired, etc., 
 all organized with the instinct of self-abasement 
 (emotion of subjection) and forming a sentiment of 
 self-depreciation and shame in her mind. 
 
 2. The outbreak of such automatic memories is 
 particularly prone to occur in persons of a particu- 
 lar temperament (the apprehensive temperament, in 
 which the biological instinct of fear is the paramount 
 factor), in fatigue states, and in so-called neurotic 
 people neurasthenics, psychasthenics, and hyster- 
 ics. In such people the organization of the complex 
 probably has been largely a previously subcon- 
 
 * Sisters of Napoleon, by M. Joseph Turquan.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 275 
 
 scious incubating process, as in the phenomenon of 
 1 'sudden religious conversion." Later the sudden 
 suggestion or awakening by whatsoever means of 
 an idea, which has roots in the antecedent thoughts 
 engaged in the subconscious process, readily gives 
 occasion for the outbreak of the complex. The lat- 
 ter then excites the emotional reaction of anger, hor- 
 ror, antipathy, fear, jealousy, etc., which becomes 
 incorporated in the complex. When once formed the 
 automatism becomes the psychosis. The following 
 case is an illustration : 
 
 L. E. W., forty-nine years of age, farmer and 
 lawyer by occupation, a man of strenuous disposi- 
 tion, broke down under stress and strain with severe 
 but common symptoms of mental and physical 
 fatigue modified and exaggerated by apprehensions 
 of incurable illness. At the end of a year there 
 developed scruples and jealous suspicions of his 
 wife's chastity, not persistent but recurring from 
 time to time in attacks, and always awakened by 
 a suggestion of some kind an associated idea, a 
 remark heard, an act of some kind on the part of 
 the wife, etc. Between the attacks he was entirely 
 free from such thoughts, but during the attack, 
 which came on with the usual suddenness, these 
 thoughts always the same doubts, suspicions, rea- 
 sonings, jealousy, and fear were dominating, im- 
 perative, and painful. An open-minded, frank, in- 
 telligent man he fully realized that his scruples were 
 entirely unfounded and even chara'cterize'd them as
 
 276 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ' ' delusions. ' ' It was interesting, so clear was he in 
 this respect, to hear him discuss his attacks between 
 times with his wife, as if they were recurrent appen- 
 dicitis. The attacks would pass off in a short time 
 after discussing his scruples with his wife, and then 
 he became natural again ; they involved great suffer- 
 ing and he feared, as people thus afflicted so often 
 do, that they spelled impending insanity. And yet 
 it was easy to determine that they were only impera- 
 tive recurrent memories, conserved complexes 
 emerging from the unconscious. He had been mar- 
 ried twenty- two years. He was of a jealous nature, 
 and before marriage it annoyed him to think that his 
 wife had been courted by other men, that she wrote 
 them letters, etc. He began to think of her as a 
 flirt, that she was going to jilt him, and to have 
 misgivings of her character. He grew jealous and 
 suspicions of possible unchastity worried him, but 
 reasoning with himself he would say, ' ' 0, pshaw ! it 
 is an abominable suspicion," "an hallucination," 
 and put the thought out of his mind, as he said. 
 But we know he really put the thought into his 
 mind to be conserved in the unconscious, as a com- 
 plex of chastity scruples, and there undergo incuba- 
 tion and further development. Later he had had 
 spells of jealousy during his married life but no true 
 imperative ideas until he broke down in health, and 
 then, as he himself expressed it, "the devil got the 
 upper hand and said, ' I Ve got you now. ' ' ' 
 
 The devil was the complex organized twenty-two
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 277 
 
 years previously with the emotion of jealousy * cen- 
 tered about the idea of his wife and the whole neu- 
 rographically conserved. The impulsive force of 
 the emotion was constantly striving to awaken and 
 give expression to the unconscious complex. He 
 was able to hold it in check, to repress it, by the 
 conflicting force of other sentiments until these be- 
 came weakened by the development of the psychas- 
 thenic state. Then these latter controlling elements 
 of personality were repressed in turn whenever the 
 more powerful jealousy complex was awakened. 
 The whole mechanism was undoubtedly more com- 
 plicated than this, in that the jealousy complex had 
 a setting in certain unsophisticated and puritanical 
 ideas of conduct (brought to light in the analysis) 
 which gave a peculiar meaning (for him) to his 
 wife's actions. So long as this setting persisted it 
 would be next to impossible to modify the jealousy 
 complex. 
 
 "Whatever the mechanism, ideas with strong 
 emotional tones (particularly fear, anger, jealousy, 
 and disgust), no matter how absurd or repellent, or 
 unjustified, and whether acceptable or unacceptable, 
 tend to become organized and welded into a com- 
 plex which is thereby conserved. The impulsive 
 force of the incorporated emotion tends to awaken 
 and give expression to the complex whenever stimu- 
 lated. The recurrence of such an organized complex 
 
 * McDougall (Social Psychology) regards jealousy as a complex 
 emotional state in which anger, tender emotion, and other innate 
 dispositiens are factors.
 
 278 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 so far as it is reproduction is, of course, in principle, 
 memory, and an imperative memory or fixed idea. 
 Whether the complex shall be awakened as such a 
 recurrent memory, or shall function as a dissociated 
 subconscious process, producing other disturbances, 
 or remain quiescent in the unconscious, depends 
 upon other factors which we need not now consider. 
 
 3. Clinically the periodic recurrence of such com- 
 plexes is an obsession. An obsession as met with is 
 most likely to be characterized by fear not only be- 
 cause the instinct of fear is the most painful of the 
 emotions, but for another reason. Although biologi- 
 cally fear is useful as a defense for the preservation 
 of the individual, when perverted by useless associa- 
 tions it becomes harmful, in that it is not only pain- 
 ful but prevents the adjustment of the individual to 
 his environment and thereby takes on a pathological 
 taint. Complexes with other emotions are less likely 
 to be harmful and therefore less frequently apply 
 for relief. Yet imperative ideas with jealousy, 
 anger, hatred, love, disgust, etc., centered about an 
 object are exceedingly common though their pos- 
 sessors less often resort to a physician. 
 
 From another point of view abnormal complexes, 
 represented by these examples, may be regarded as 
 <l association psychoses." Sometimes the physio- 
 logical bodily accompaniments form the greater part 
 of the complex which is for the most part made up 
 of physiological disturbances (vasomotor, cardiac, 
 gastric, respiratory, secretory, muscular, etc.) j al-
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 279 
 
 most pure association neuroses they then become. 
 Neuroses of this kind we shall consider in a later 
 lecture.* 
 
 Sometimes, particularly in people of intensive 
 temperaments, " imperative ideas" are formed by 
 gradual evolution in consequence of the mind con- 
 stantly dwelling with emotional intensity on certain 
 phases of thought i. e., through repetition. This 
 we see in the development of religious complexes or 
 faiths, but it is also obtrusive in other fields of 
 thought, political, industrial, social, etc. Hence the 
 evolution of fanatics. A. D. is a man of strong 
 feeling and great imagination. As a child he was 
 a constant witness of quarrels between his father 
 and mother. His mind dwelt upon these experi- 
 ences and there developed in him at an early date 
 strong aversions toward marriage. Aversion 
 means the instinct of repulsion or disgust. This 
 instinct therefore became systematized with the 
 idea of marriage as its object forming an intense 
 sentiment of aversion. Even as a boy the aversion 
 impelled him to determine never to marry and later 
 he formed strong theoretical anti-matrimonial views 
 which became almost a religion. For years he 
 talked about his views, argued and preached about 
 them like a fanatic to his friends. His aversion 
 rose in successful conflict against every temptation 
 to matrimony and his anti-matrimonial complex be- 
 came an obsession. The consequences were what 
 might have been expected when, later in life, he al- 
 
 * Not included in this volume.
 
 280 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 lowed himself in a moment of sympathetic weakness 
 and owing to compromising situations to slip within 
 the matrimonial noose. The complex then, like that 
 of Voltaire's orange rind, would not down at his 
 own bidding, or at that of his devoted spouse for 
 whom he had, in other respects, a strong affection 
 mingled with personal admiration. The resulting 
 situation can be imagined. 
 
 5. Hysterical attacks. It is of practical impor- 
 tance to note another part which emotional com- 
 plexes may play in psychopathology. In certain 
 pathological conditions in which there is limita- 
 tion of the field of consciousness (involving a disap- 
 pearance of a large part of the normal mental life) 
 often all that persists of consciousness and repre- 
 sents the personal self is the obsessing complex 
 which previously tormented the patient. In hysteri- 
 cal crises, psycholeptic attacks, trance, and certain 
 types of epilepsy this is peculiarly the case. In these 
 states the content of consciousness consists almost 
 wholly, or at least largely, of a recurrent memory 
 of an experience which originated in the normal life 
 and which has been conserved in the unconscious. 
 Here the obsessing ideas, which at one time were 
 voluntarily entertained by the subject, or, as fre- 
 quently happens, originated in some emotional ex- 
 perience, automatically recur, while the remainder 
 of the conscious life becomes dissociated and sup- 
 pressed ; in other words the obsessing ideas emerge 
 out of the unconscious (neurograms) and became
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 281 
 
 substantially the whole conscious field. In hysteri- 
 cal attacks, particularly, the complex is accompanied 
 by the same strong emotional tone such as fear, 
 anxiety, jealousy, or anger which belonged to the 
 original experience. In such pathological subjects, 
 whenever the complex is awakened, the remainder 
 of the conscious field tends to become dissociated 
 and the psychological state to be reproduced. 
 Hence, in such states, the ideas repeat themselves 
 over and over again with the recurrence of the at- 
 tacks. The subject lives over again as in a dream 
 the original attack, which is a stereotyped revivifi- 
 cation of the original experience. This peculiarity 
 of the mental condition in attacks has been described 
 by various writers. The dream of the hystero-epi- 
 leptic is substantially always the same. Janet has 
 accurately described the origin and role of the fixed 
 ideas in the hysterical attack. "These ideas," he 
 says, "are not conceived, invented at the moment; 
 they formulate themselves; they are only repeti- 
 tions. Thus, the most important of the hallucina- 
 tions which harassed Marcelle during her cloud- 
 attack was but the exact reproduction of a scene 
 which had taken place the previous year. The fixed 
 ideas of dying, of not eating, are the reproduction 
 of certain desperate resolutions taken some years 
 ago. Formerly these ideas had some sense, were 
 more or less well connected with a motive. A desper- 
 ate love affair had been the cause of her attempts 
 at suicide ; she refused to eat in order to let herself 
 die of hunger, etc. To-day these ideas are again
 
 282 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 reproduced, but without connection and without rea- 
 son. She has, we convinced ourselves, completely 
 forgotten her old despair, and has not the least 
 wish to die. The idea of suicide comes to her to-day 
 without any relation to her present situation, and 
 she is in despair at the idea of this suicide which 
 imposes itself on her as a relic of her past, so to 
 say. She does not know why she refuses to eat; 
 the ideas of suicide and refusal of food are disso- 
 ciated. The one exists without the other. At one 
 moment she hears the voice, 'Do not eat/ and yet 
 she has no thought of death; at another, she thinks 
 of killing herself and yet she accepts nourishment. 
 We always find in fixed ideas this characteristic of 
 automatic repetition of the past without "connec- 
 tion, without actual logic. ' ' * 
 
 When certain emotional and distressing ideas of 
 wounded love are awakened in M. C., an hysteric, 
 she is thrown into an hysterical attack in which 
 these ideas recur over and over again and dominate 
 consciousness. In P. M., another hysteric, ideas of 
 loneliness and jealousy, which had previously been 
 entertained but which had been thrust out of her 
 mind again and again in a conscientious struggle 
 with her moral nature, recur, emerge from the un- 
 conscious and dominate the field of consciousness 
 in each hysterical attack which they induce. 
 
 6. In the psycholeptic, a variant of the hysteric, the 
 same sensations, motor phenomena, and hallucina- 
 
 * Aboulie et idees fixes, Eevue philosophique, 1891, i., p. 279. 
 Mental State of Hystericals, p. 408.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 283 
 
 tions, and the same bizarre ideas whatever the 
 symptomatic phenomena characterize each attack. 
 This could be shown experimentally in M 1.* 
 
 Of course the degree of dissociation of conscious- 
 ness, the content of the fixed idea, and the physio- 
 logical manifestations vary in individual cases, ac- 
 cording to the nature of the case. Sometimes the 
 disturbance of consciousness is slight and the physi- 
 ological manifestations predominant. 
 
 From a consideration of all the facts we see that 
 a conserved complex associated with strong feeling 
 tones may play a disastrous and pathological part 
 in certain individuals. 
 
 It is well to bear in mind here, as before, that in 
 these statements we are only giving a literal de- 
 scription of the psychological events without at- 
 tempt to form any theory of the mechanism of the 
 processes, or the antecedent psychogenetic factors 
 which lead to the development of the particular fixed 
 ideas or complexes. About this there may be and is 
 a difference of view. 
 
 Systematized Complexes. In contrast with the lim- 
 ited group of fixed ideas, organized with one or 
 more emotions (i. e., instincts) I have been describ- 
 ing, are the large systems of complexes or associated 
 experiences which become organized and fairly dis- 
 tinctly differentiated in the course of the develop- 
 ment of every one's personality. In many, at least, 
 of these systems there will be found a predominant 
 
 *P. 33.
 
 284 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 emotion and certain instinctive tendencies, and a 
 predominant feeling tone of pleasure or pain, of 
 exaltation or depression, etc. It is quite possible 
 that careful investigation would disclose that it is 
 this conflicting affective force which is responsible 
 for the differentiation of one system from another 
 with opposing affects and tendencies. The differen- 
 tiation of such systematized complexes is of con- 
 siderable practical importance for normal and ab- 
 normal personality. Among such systems may here 
 be mentioned those which are related to certain sub- 
 jects or departments of human experience, or are 
 related in time, or to certain dispositions or moods 
 of the individual. The first may be called subject 
 systems, the second chronological systems, and the 
 last mood systems. 
 
 1. Subject systems: I find myself interested, for 
 instance, in several fields of human knowledge; (a) 
 abnormal psychology; (b) public franchises; (c) 
 yachting; (d) local politics; (e) business affairs. 
 To each of these I give a large amount of thought, 
 accumulate many data belonging to each, and de- 
 vote a considerable amount of active work to carry- 
 ing into effect my ideas in each field. Five large 
 systems are thus formed, each consisting of facts, 
 opinions, memories, experiences, etc., distinct from 
 those belonging to the others. To each there is an 
 emotion and a feeling tone which have more or less 
 distinctive qualities; these coming from the intel- 
 lectual interest of abnormal psychology differing
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 285 
 
 qualitatively from those of the "joy of battle" ex- 
 cited by a public contest with a railroad corporation 
 or gas company, as it does from that of the exhilar- 
 ating sport of a yacht race, or from the annoying 
 and rather depressing care of business interests; 
 and so on. 
 
 These five subject-complexes do not form inde- 
 pendent automatisms or isolated systems which may 
 intrude themselves in any conscious field, but com- 
 prise large associations, memories of experiences in 
 a special field of thought. Within that field the ideas 
 of the system are no more strongly organized than 
 are ideas in general; but it can be recognized that 
 the system as a whole with its affective tones is 
 fairly well delimited from the other complexes of 
 other spheres of thought. It is difficult, for certain 
 individuals at least, to introduce the associations 
 of one subject-complex into the focus of attention so 
 long as another is invested with personal interest 
 and occupies the attention of consciousness. They 
 find it difficult to switch * their minds from one sub- 
 ject to another and back again. On the other hand, 
 it is said of Napoleon that he had all the subjects of 
 his experiences arranged in drawers of his mind, 
 and that he could open each drawer at will, take out 
 
 * The switching process is an interesting problem in itself. (Cf. 
 Max Levy-Suhl: Ueber Einstellungsvorgange in normalen und anor- 
 malen Seelenzustanden. Zeitschrift fur Psychotherapie und Medi- 
 zinishe Psychologic, Bel. 11, Hft. 3, 1910.) An example is the well- 
 known psychological diagram which may be perceived at one moment 
 as a flight of steps and at another as an overhanging wall, according 
 as which perception of the same line is switched in.
 
 286 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 any subject he wished, and shut it up again as he 
 wished. Ability of this kind involves remarkable 
 control over the mind and is not given to all. 
 
 I have frequently made observations like the fol- 
 lowing on myself, showing the organization and dif- 
 ferentiation of systems: I collect the various data 
 belonging to one of the problems discussed in these 
 lectures. I arrange all in an orderly fashion in my 
 mind, work out the logical relations and the conclu- 
 sions to which they lead, as well as their relations to 
 other data and problems. The whole is then 
 schematically arranged on paper to await proper 
 elaboration the next morning, when it will be written 
 out on waking, the preliminary mental arrange- 
 ment having been done at night. A large complex 
 has been created, the various details of which are 
 luminously clear and the sequence of the ideas viv- 
 idly conceived, the conclusions definite. There is, 
 further, an affective tone of joy and exaltation which 
 is apt to accompany the accomplishment of an intel- 
 lectual problem and which produces a feeling of 
 increased energy. 
 
 The next morning, as I awake and gradually re- 
 turn to full consciousness, another and very differ- 
 ent kind of complex almost exclusively fills my mind, 
 owing probably to the fatigue following the previous 
 night's work. All sorts of gloomy thoughts, mem- 
 ories of experiences better forgotten, course through 
 the mind; and entirely different emotions (in- 
 stincts), and a strong feeling of depression domi- 
 nate the mental panorama. The whole ideas, emo-
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 287 
 
 tions, and feelings makes a complex which has been 
 experienced over and over again, and is recognized 
 as such. The same old ideas, emotions, thoughts, 
 and memories, conserved as neurograms, repeat 
 themselves almost in stereotyped fashion. The men- 
 tal complex has completely changed and the ex- 
 uberant energy of the night before has given place 
 to listless inertia. 
 
 All this is commonplace enough, merely morning 
 depression you will say, due to fatigue ; and so it is. 
 But mark the sequel. 
 
 I now remember that I have a task to perform 
 and before rising take paper and pencil, lying 
 ready at my side, to write out the theme previously 
 arranged in skeleton. But to my surprise I find that 
 it cannot be recalled. To be sure, I can, by effort 
 of will, recall individual facts, but the facts have 
 lost their associations and meaning, they remain 
 comparatively isolated in memory; all their corre- 
 lated ramifications, their associated ideas and rela- 
 tions, which the night before stood out in relief and 
 crowded into consciousness, have gone. The emo- 
 tional tone and impulses which energized the 
 thoughts have also disappeared, and with them the 
 system of complexes as a whole. It has been disso- 
 ciated, inhibited, repressed, and there is amnesia for 
 it. With the fatigue depression a new system, with 
 different emotions and feelings, now dominates the 
 mind and the desired system cannot be switched in. 
 
 This amnesia is not one of conservation but one 
 of reproduction ; for later in the day the fatigue and
 
 288 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 depression disappear, a new energizing emotional 
 tone arises and the sought-for system is switched in 
 and returns in its entirety. With this change the de- 
 pression system in turn disappears, and now it is 
 difficult to recall it, excepting that as an intellectual 
 fact I remember that such thoughts occupied my 
 mind in the early morning hours. The two systems 
 as a whole are distinctly differentiated from and 
 alternate with one another. 
 
 All this is only expressing in somewhat technical 
 language a common experience, as most people, I 
 suppose, have such alternations of complexes. The 
 facts are trite enough; but, because they are of 
 common experience, it is well to formulate them 
 and so, as far as possible, give precision to our con- 
 ception of the psychological relations which have a 
 distinct bearing on the principles of dissociated per- 
 sonality and other psychoses, on character and psy- 
 cho-therapeutics. When, at a later time, we take up 
 for study the subject of dissociated personality * 
 we shall find that the dissociation of consciousness 
 sometimes takes its lines of cleavage between sys- 
 tems of complexes of this kind.f And, above all, the 
 formation of complexes is the foundation stone of 
 psycho-therapeutics. 
 
 The methods of education and therapeutic sugges- 
 tion are variants of this mode of organizing mental 
 
 * Lectures not included in this volume. 
 
 f In the case of Miss B., for example, Sally had absolute amnesia 
 for certain systems of subject-complexes (Latin, French, etc.) pos- 
 sessed by the other personalities.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 289 
 
 processes. Both, in principle, are substantially the 
 same, differing only in detail. They depend for 
 their effect upon the implantation in the mind of 
 ideational complexes organized by repetition, or by 
 the impulsive force of their affective tones, or both. 
 Every form of education necessarily involves the 
 artificial formation of such complexes, whether in a 
 pedagogical, religious, ethical, scientific, social, or 
 professional field. So in psychotherapy by artfully 
 directed suggestion, or education in the narrower 
 sense, complexes may be similarly formed and or- 
 ganized. New points of view and "sentiments" 
 may be inculcated, useful emotions and feelings ex- 
 cited, and the personality correspondingly modified. 
 Eoughly speaking, this is accomplished by suggest- 
 ing ideas that will form settings (associations) that 
 give new and desired meanings to previously harm- 
 ful ideas ; and these ideas, as well as any others we 
 desire to implant in the mind, are organized by sug- 
 gestion with emotions (instincts) of a useful, pleas- 
 urable, and exalting kind to form desirable senti- 
 ments, and to carry the ideas to fulfilment. Thus 
 sentiments of right, or of ambition, or of sympathy, 
 or of altruism, or of disinterestedness in self are 
 awakened ; and, with all this, opposing emotions are 
 aroused to conflict with and repress the distressing 
 ones, and the whole welded into a complex which 
 becomes conserved neurographically and thereby a 
 part of the personality. 
 
 Under ordinary conditions of every-day mental 
 life social suggestion acts like therapeutic sugges-
 
 290 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tion. But the suggestions of every-day life are so 
 subtle and insidious that they are scarcely con- 
 sciously recognized. 
 
 2. Chronological systems (using complex in a 
 rather extended sense) are those which embrace the 
 experiences of certain epochs of our lives rather 
 than the subject material included in them. In a 
 general way events as they are successively experi- 
 enced become associated together, and with other 
 elements of personality, so that the later recollection 
 of one event in the chain of an epoch recalls succes- 
 sively the others. Conversely a break in the chain 
 of memory may occur at any point and the chain 
 only be picked up at a more distant date, leaving be- 
 tween, as a hiatus, an epoch for which there is am- 
 nesia of reproduction. This normally common am- 
 nesia affords confirmatory evidence of the associa- 
 tive relation of successive events. Involving as it 
 does the unimportant and unemotional experiences 
 as well as the important and emotional though the 
 former may be as well conserved as the latter it 
 is not easy to understand. The principle, however, 
 plays an important part in abnormal amnesia par- 
 ticularly, but not necessarily, where there is a dis- 
 sociation of personality. 
 
 The epoch may be of a few hours, or it may be of 
 days, of months, or years. The simplest example is 
 the frequent amnesia for the few hours preceding 
 a physical injury to the head resulting in temporary 
 unconsciousness. In other cases it is the result of
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 291 
 
 extensive dissociation effected by suggestion (e. g., 
 in hypnosis), or psychical trauma including therein 
 emotional conflicts. Thus, to cite an experimental 
 example: Miss B. is troubled by a distressing 
 memory which constantly recurs to her mind during 
 the twenty-four hours. To relieve her I suggest 
 that she will completely forget the original experi- 
 ence. To my surprise, though the suggestion is lim- 
 ited to the experience alone, the whole twenty-four 
 hours are completely wiped out of her memory. She 
 cannot recall a single incident of that day. The 
 whole epoch which had associations with the memory 
 is dissociated. 
 
 When the epochal amnesia follows psychical 
 trauma the condition of memory is apt to present 
 the following peculiarity and the personality may be 
 altered. "When the epoch is the immediate past, i. e., 
 includes the experiences extending from a certain 
 past date up to the present, it sometimes happens 
 that memory reverts to that past date. That is to 
 say, the personality goes back to the period last re- 
 membered in which he believes, for the moment, he 
 is still living, the memory of the succeeding last 
 epoch being dissociated from the personal conscious- 
 ness. Under such conditions there is something 
 more than amnesia. The neurographic residua of 
 the remembered epoch are revived and its experi- 
 ences remembered as if they had just been lived. 
 There is not only a dissociation of the memories of 
 one epoch, but a resurrection of the conserved and 
 maybe forgotten experiences of a preceding one.
 
 The synthesis of these memories restores again the 
 personal consciousness of that period. Before the 
 cleavage took place the recollection of the resurrec- 
 ted epoch may have been very incomplete and vague ; 
 afterward the new personality remembers it as if 
 just experienced. The personality is, however, 
 in other respects generally (always?) something dif- 
 ferent from the personality of that particular epoch. 
 The dissociation is apt to involve a certain number 
 of acquired traits and certain innate dispositions 
 and instincts, while other outlived and repressed 
 traits and innate dispositions and instincts are apt 
 to be reawakened and synthesized into an altered ab- 
 normal personality. But this is another story that 
 does not concern us now. 
 
 As an example of epochal amnesia I may cite Mrs. 
 J , who, after dissociation occurs, has amnesia 
 for all the events of several years succeeding a cer- 
 tain hour of a certain day when a psychical trauma 
 (shock) occurred. She thinks she is living on that 
 day and remembers in great detail its events as if 
 they had just occurred. 
 
 Miss B. reverts on one occasion to a day, six years 
 back, when she received a psychical shock; the com- 
 plexes of her personality of that day are revived as 
 if just lived, all the succeeding years being forgot- 
 ten ; on another occasion she reverts to a day when 
 she was living in another city seven or eight years 
 before. 
 
 M 1 reverts to an early period of his life when
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 293 
 
 he was living in Russia, and forgets all since includ- 
 ing even his knowledge of English. 
 
 B. C. A. on several occasions reverts to different 
 epochs of her life with complete amnesia for all 
 after events. On each occasion she takes up the 
 thread of her mental life as if living in the past, and 
 recites the events as if just lived. 
 
 Likewise, after a subject reverts from the abnor- 
 mal to the normal state, after a short or long condi- 
 tion of altered personality, there may be a complete 
 amnesia for the abnormal epoch, and although now 
 normal he thinks it the same day on which dissocia- 
 tion occurred. 
 
 Thus, Miss 0. develops a condition of dissociated 
 personality lasting six months during which, as it 
 unfortunately happens, she falls in love with a 
 man whom she had never known in her normal state. 
 At the end of this period she "wakes up" with a 
 complete loss of memory for the phase of altered 
 personality and, therefore, to find that her fiance is 
 apparently a stranger to her ( !). 
 
 The same amnesia in the normal state for pro- 
 longed epochs in which the personality was altered 
 was conspicuous in the case of Miss B. In William 
 James' often-cited case of Ansel Bourne and Dr. 
 E. E. Mayer's case of Chas. W. the subjects returned 
 to their normal states with complete amnesia for the 
 abnormal epochs of two months and seventeen years 
 respectively. 
 
 After all, the common amnesia for the hypnotic 
 state after ivaking is the same phenomenon.
 
 294 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Such observations show the possible systematiza- 
 tion of epoch complexes, although the determining 
 conditions are not as yet understood. 
 
 3. Disposition or Mood systems. Among the 
 loosely organized complexes in many individuals, 
 and possibly in all of us, there are certain disposi- 
 tions toward views of life which represent natural 
 inclinations, desires, and modes of activity, which, 
 for one reason or another, we tend to suppress or 
 are unable to give full play to. Many individuals, 
 for example, are compelled by the exactions of their 
 duties and responsibilities to lead serious lives, to 
 devote themselves to pursuits which demand all 
 their energies and thought and which, therefore, 
 do not permit of indulgence in the lighter enjoy- 
 ments of life ; and yet they may have a natural in- 
 clination to partake of the pleasures which innately 
 appeal to all mankind and which many actually pur- 
 sue ; in other words, to yield to the impulsive force 
 of the innate disposition, or instinct, of play. But 
 these desires are repressed. Nevertheless the long- 
 ing for these pleasures, under the impulses of this 
 instinct, recurs from time to time. The mind dwells 
 on them, the imagination is excited and weaves a 
 fabric of pictures, sentiments, thoughts, and emo- 
 tions the whole of which thus becomes organized into 
 a systematized complex. 
 
 There may be a conflict, a rebellion and "kicking 
 against the pricks" and, thereby, a liberation of 
 errfdtional fo'rce of the instinct, impressing, on the
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 295 
 
 one hand, a stronger organization of the whole 
 process, and, on the other, repressing all conflicting 
 desires. Or, the converse of this may hold and a 
 person who devotes his life to the lighter enjoyments 
 may have aspirations and longings for the more 
 serious pursuits, and in this respect the imagination 
 may similarly build up a complex which may simi- 
 larly express itself. The recurrence of such com- 
 plexes is one form of what we call a "mood" which 
 has a distinctively emotional tone of its own derived 
 from the instincts and sentiments which are domi- 
 nant. Such a "disposition" system is often spoken 
 of as "a side to one's character," to which a person 
 may from time to time give play. Thus a person is 
 said to have "many sides to his character," and ex- 
 hibits certain alternations of personality which may 
 be regarded as normal prototypes of those which 
 occur as abnormal states. 
 
 It may be interesting to note in passing that the 
 well-known characteristics of people of a certain 
 temperament, in consequence of which they can pur- 
 sue their respective vocations only when they are 
 "in the mood for it," can be referred to this prin- 
 ciple of complex formations and dissociation of rival 
 systems. Literary persons, musicians, and artists 
 in whom "feeling" is apt to be cultivated to a de- 
 gree of self -pampering are conspicuous in this class. 
 The ideas pertaining to the development of their 
 craft form mixed subject and mood complexes which 
 tend to have strong emotional and feeling tones. 
 When some other affective tone is substituted, ov-
 
 296 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ganized within a conflicting complex, it is difficult 
 for such persons to revive the subject complex be- 
 longing to the piece of work in hand and necessary 
 for its prosecution. "The ideas will not come," be- 
 cause the whole subject complex which supplies the 
 material with which the imagination is to work has 
 been dissociated and replaced by some other. Cer- 
 tain elements in the complex can be revived piece- 
 meal, as it were, but the complex will not develop in 
 mass with the emotional driving energy which be- 
 longs to it. Not having their complexes and affects 
 under voluntary control it is necessary for such per- 
 sons to wait until, from an alteration in the coenes- 
 thesis or for some other reason, an alteration in 
 the "feeling" has taken place with a revival of the 
 right complex in mass. 
 
 No more exquisite illustration of these "dispo- 
 sition complexes" could be found than in the per- 
 sonality of William Sharp. Sharp 's title to literary 
 fame very largely rests upon the writings which he 
 gave to the world under the feminine name of Fiona 
 Macleod. The identity of the author was concealed 
 from the world until his death, and it is still a com- 
 mon belief that this concealment and the assumption 
 of the feminine pseudonym were nothing more than 
 a literary hoax. Nothing could be farther from the 
 truth. There were two William Sharps; by which 
 I mean, of course, there were two very strongly or- 
 ganized and sharply cut sides to his character. 
 Each had its points of view, its complexes of ideas,
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 297 
 
 its imaginings, and, above all, its creative tenden- 
 cies and feeling tones. The one side the one chris- 
 tened William Sharp was the bread and butter 
 earner, the relatively practical man who came in 
 contact with the world literary critic, "biographer, 
 essay and novel writer as well as poet" the experi- 
 enced side which was obliged to correct its imag- 
 ination by constant comparison with reality. The 
 other side Fiona Macleod was the so-called inner 
 man ; what he himself called his ' l true inward self. ' ' 
 As Fiona he lived in his imagination and dreamed. 
 The development of this side of his personality be- 
 gan while, as he said, "I was still a child." "He 
 found," his biographer writes,* "as have other im- 
 aginative, psychic children, that he had an inner life, 
 a curious power of visions unshared by any one 
 about him, so that what he related was usually dis- 
 credited ; but the psychic side of his nature was too 
 intimate a part of his mind to be killed by misun- 
 derstanding. Pie learned to shut it away to keep 
 it as a thing apart a mystery of his own, a mystery 
 to himself." 
 
 This inner life, as time went on, became a mood 
 which he fostered and developed and in which he 
 built up great complexes of fancies, points of view, 
 and emotions, which, when the other side of his char- 
 acter came uppermost, remained neurographically 
 conserved and dormant in the unconscious. The 
 Fiona complexes he distinctly felt to be feminine in 
 type so that when he came to give expression to 
 
 * William Sharp, A Memoir, by Elizabeth A. Sharp.
 
 298 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 them, as he felt he must, he concealed this side of 
 his character under a feminine pseudonym. "My 
 truest self," he wrote, "the self who is below all 
 other selves, and my most intimate life, and joys, 
 and sufferings, thoughts, emotions, and dreams must 
 find expression, yet I cannot save in this hidden 
 way. ' ' 
 
 "From time to time the emotional, the more inti- 
 mate self, would sweep aside all conscious control; 
 a dream, a sudden inner vision, an idea that had lain 
 dormant in what he called 'the mind behind the 
 mind' would suddenly visualize itself and blot out 
 everything else from his consciousness, and under 
 such impulse he would write at great speed, hardly 
 aware of what, or how, he wrote, so absorbed was he 
 in the vision with which for the moment he was iden- 
 tified." 
 
 "All my work," he said, "is so intimately 
 wrought with my own experiences that I cannot tell 
 you about Pharais, etc., without telling you my 
 whole life." 
 
 William Sharp himself realized the two moods or 
 "sides," which became in time developed into two 
 distinct personalities. These he distinctly recog- 
 nized, although there was no amnesia. * ' Rightly or 
 wrongly," he wrote, "I am conscious of something 
 to be done by one side of me, by one-half of me, by 
 the true inward mind as I believe (apart from the 
 overwhelmingly felt mystery of a dual mind, and a 
 reminiscent life, and a woman's life and nature 
 within concurring with and oftenest dominating the
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 299 
 
 other) . . . ' This dual personality was so 
 strongly realized by him that on his birthdays he 
 wrote letters to himself as Fiona signed "Will," and 
 vice versa. 
 
 I have dwelt upon this historical example of the 
 exaggerated development of mood complexes be- 
 cause, while well within the limits of normal life, it 
 brings home to us the recognition of psychological 
 facts which we all, more or less, have in common. 
 But, more important than this, in certain abnormal 
 conditions where the dissociation between systems 
 of complexes becomes more exaggerated, mood, sub- 
 ject, chronological and other complexes, linked as 
 each is with its own characteristic emotions and feel- 
 ings instincts and other innate dispositions play a 
 paramount part and dominate the personality. In 
 the hysterical personality, in particular, there is 
 more or less complete reversion to or a subconscious 
 awakening of one or other such complex. Where 
 the hysterical dissociation becomes so extreme as 
 to eventuate in amnesia in one state for another the 
 different systems of complexes are easily recognized 
 as so many phases of multiple personality. But in 
 so identifying the ideational content of phases of 
 personality it should not be overlooked that inten- 
 sive studies of multiple personality disclose the fact 
 that the dissociation of one phase for another car- 
 ries with it certain of the instincts innate in every 
 organism. What I mean to say is, observation of 
 psychopathological states has shown that instincts,
 
 300 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 such as play, hunger, anger, fear, love, disgust, the 
 sexual instincts, etc., may be dissociated separately 
 or in conjunction with complexes of ideas. In every 
 case of multiple personality that I have had the op- 
 portunity to study each phase has been shorn of 
 one or more of these inborn psycho-physiological 
 dispositions and I believe this obtains in every true 
 case. As a result certain sentiments and traits are 
 lost while those that are retained stamp an individu- 
 ality upon the phase. And as the conative forces of 
 the retained instincts are not balanced and checked 
 by the dissociated opposing instincts, the sentiments 
 which they form and the emotional reactions to 
 which they give rise stand out as dominating traits. 
 Thus one phase may be characterized by pugnacity, 
 self-assertion, and elation; another by submission, 
 fear and tender feeling; and so on. 
 
 This is not the place to enter into an explanation 
 of dissociated personality, but I may point out, in 
 anticipation of a deeper discussion of the subject, 
 that, in accordance with these two principles, in such 
 conditions we sometimes find that disposition and 
 other complexes conserved in the unconscious come 
 to the surface and displace or substitute themselves 
 for the other complexes which dominate a personal- 
 ity. A complex or system of complexes that is only 
 a mood or a " side of the character " of a normal in- 
 dividual, may in conditions of dissociation become 
 the main complex and chief characteristic of the new 
 personality. In Miss B., for instance, the personal- 
 ity known as BI was made up almost entirely of the
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 301 
 
 religious and ethical ideas with corresponding in- 
 stincts which formed one side of the original self. 
 In the personality known as Sally we had for the 
 most part the chronological and mood complexes of 
 youth representing the enjoyment of youthful pleas- 
 ures and sports, the freedom from conventionalities 
 and artificial restraints generally imposed by duties 
 and responsibilities ; she was a resurrection of child 
 life. In BIV the complex represented the ambitions 
 and activities of practical life. In Miss B., as a 
 whole, normal, without disintegration, it was easy to 
 recognize all three dispositions as sides of her char- 
 acter, though each was kept ordinarily within proper 
 bounds by the conflicting influence of the others. It 
 was only necessary to put her in an environment 
 which encouraged one or the other side, to associate 
 her with people who strongly suggested one or the 
 other of her own characteristics, whether religious, 
 social, pleasure-loving, or intellectual, to see the 
 characteristics of BI, Sally, or BIV stand out in 
 relief as the predominant personality. Then we had 
 the alternating play of these different sides of her 
 character. 
 
 Likewise in B. C. A. In each of the personalities, 
 B and A, similar disposition complexes could be 
 recognized each corresponding to a side of the char- 
 acter of the original personality C. In A were rep- 
 resented the complexes formed by ideas of duty, re- 
 sponsibility, and moral scruples; in B were repre- 
 sented the complexes formed by the longing for fun 
 and the amusements which life offered. When the
 
 302 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 cleavage of personality took place it was between 
 these two complexes, just as it was in Miss B. be- 
 tween the several complexes above described. This 
 is well brought out in the respective autobiographies 
 of B * and Sally f in these two cases. In many cases 
 of hysteria in which dissociation of personality can 
 be recognized the same phenomenon is often mani- 
 fest. A careful study will reveal it also, I believe, 
 in other cases of multiple personality, although, of 
 course, as we have seen, the dissociation may be 
 along other lines ; that is, between other complexes 
 than those of disposition. 
 
 This principle of the conservation, as neurograms 
 in the unconscious, of complexes representing 
 "sides" to one's character, gives a new meaning to 
 the saying In vino veritas. In alcoholic and other 
 forms of intoxication there results a loss of inhibi- 
 tion, of self-control, and the disposition complexes, 
 which have been repressed or concealed by the in- 
 dividual as a matter of social defense, arise out of 
 the unconscious, and, for the time being, become the 
 dominant mood or phase of personality. When 
 these complexes represent the true inner life and 
 nature of the individual, freed from the repressing 
 protection of expediency, we can then truly say "In 
 vino veritas." 
 
 Complexes organized in hypnotic and other dissociated 
 conditions. 1. "We have been speaking thus far of 
 
 * My Life as a Dissociated Personality, Jowrnal of Abnormal 
 Psychology, October- November, 1908, DVdetaber-Jairaary, 
 t The Dissociation, Chapter XXIII.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 303 
 
 complexes formed in the course of every-day life and 
 which take part in the composition of the normal 
 personality. But it is obvious that a complex may 
 be organized in any condition of personality so long 
 as we are dealing with consciousness, however lim- 
 ited or disturbed. Thus in artificial states, like hyp- 
 nosis and the subconscious process which produces 
 automatic writing, ideas may be synthesized into 
 systems as well as in normal waking life. This is 
 exemplified by the fact that in hypnosis the mem- 
 ories of past hypnotic experiences are conserved and 
 form systems of memories dissociated from the 
 memories of waking life. When the subject regains 
 the normal condition of the personal self, though 
 there may be amnesia for the hypnotic experiences 
 their neurograms remain conserved to the same ex- 
 tent and in the same fashion as do those of the wak- 
 ing life. Consequently on the return to the hyp- 
 notic state the memories of previous hypnotic ex- 
 periences are recovered. 
 
 This systematization of hypnotic experiences is 
 easily recognized in those cases where several dif- 
 ferent hypnotic states can be obtained in the same 
 individual. Each state has its own system of memor- 
 ies differing from, and with amnesia for, those of the 
 others. Each system also has its own feeling tones, 
 one system, for example, having a tone of elation, 
 another, of depression, etc. The systematization is 
 still more accentuated in cases like the one men- 
 tioned in the second lecture (p. 19), where the sub- 
 ject goes into a hypnotic state resembling a trance,
 
 304 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 and lives in an ideal world, peopled by imaginary 
 persons, and in an imaginary environment, perhaps 
 a spirit world or another planet. The content of 
 consciousness consists of fabrications which make 
 up a fancied life. In the instance I have mentioned 
 the subject imagined she was living in a world of 
 spirits; in Flournoy's classical case, Mile Helene 
 Smith imagined she was an inhabitant of the planet 
 Mars, and spoke a fabricated language. In these 
 states the same systems of ideas invariably ap- 
 peared. 
 
 2. In consequence of this principle of systematiza- 
 tion it is in our power by educational suggestion in 
 hypnosis to organize mental processes and build com- 
 plexes of the same kind and in the same way as when 
 the subject is awake. In fact, it is more readily 
 done, inasmuch as in hypnosis the critical judg- 
 ment and reflection tend to be suspended. The sug- 
 gested ideas are accepted and education more easily 
 accomplished. While in hypnosis the individual 
 may thus be made to accept and hold new beliefs, 
 new judgments, in short, new knowledge.* After 
 waking he may or may not remember his hypnotic 
 experiences. Generally he does. If he does the new 
 knowledge, if firmly organized (by repetition and 
 strong affective tones) is still retained, and if ac- 
 cepted (i. e., not repressed by conflicting ideas) 
 shapes his views and conduct in accordance there- 
 
 * Provided, of course, this new knowledge is justified and not 
 contradicted by the facts and principles of life. In other words, it 
 must be believed, at least, to be the truth.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 305 
 
 with. Even if his hypnotic experiences are not re- 
 membered, they still belong to his personality, inas- 
 much as they are neurographically conserved, and, 
 experience shows, may still influence his stream of 
 consciousness. His views are modified by his uncon- 
 scious personality. His ideas may and generally do 
 awaken the neurograms of associated systems cre- 
 ated in hypnosis. Not remembering the hypnotic 
 state as a whole he does not remember the origin of 
 his new knowledge ; that is all. 
 
 One point to be borne in mind is that conserved 
 ideas, whether we can recall them or not, so long as 
 they are conserved are a part of our personality, as 
 I have previously pointed out, and ideas can emerge 
 from the unconscious into the field of the conscious 
 though we have completely forgotten their origin. 
 It requires but a single experiment in the induction 
 of suggested post-hypnotic phenomena to demon- 
 strate these principles. 
 
 3. As to those pathological states where there is a 
 splitting of personality hysterical crises, psycho- 
 leptic attacks, trance states, certain types of epi- 
 lepsy, etc. complexes may similarly be formed in 
 them. In these conditions there is a dissociation of 
 a large part of the normal mental life, and that 
 which is left is only a limited field of consciousness. 
 A new synthesis comes into being out of the uncon- 
 scious to represent the personal self. Though the 
 content of consciousness is a reproduction of, or de- 
 termined by certain previous experiences, it is also 
 true that in these states new experiences may result
 
 306 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 in new complexes which then take part in the per- 
 sonality as with hypnotic experiences. 
 
 Personality as the survival of organized antecedent expe- 
 riences Of course all our past mental experiences 
 do not persist as organized complexes. The latter, 
 after they have served their purpose, tend to become 
 disaggregated, just as printer's type is disaggre- 
 gated or distributed after it has served its purpose 
 in printing. In the organization and development of 
 personality the elements of the mental experiences 
 become sifted, as it were. Normally, in the adapta- 
 tion of the individual to the environment, the unes- 
 sential and useless, the intermediate steps leading 
 to the final and useful, tend to drop out without leav- 
 ing surviving residua, while the essential and useful 
 tend to remain as memories capable of recall. In 
 the unconscious these remain more or less perma- 
 nently fixed as limited ideas, sentiments, and sys- 
 tems of complexes. Further, those complexes of ex- 
 periences which persist not only provide the mate- 
 rial for our memories, but tend, consciously or un- 
 consciously, to shape the judgments, beliefs, convic- 
 tions, habits, and tendencies of our mental lives. 
 Whence they came, how they were born, we have 
 long ceased to remember. We often arrive at con- 
 clusions which we imagine in our ignorance we have 
 constructed at the moment unaided out of our in- 
 ner consciousness. In one sense this is true, but 
 that inner consciousness has been largely deter- 
 mined by the vestiges furnished by forgotten expe-
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 307 
 
 riences. Many of these we imbibed from our envir- 
 onment and the experiences of our fellows; in this 
 sense we are all plagiarists of the past. 
 
 Furthermore, we react, to a large extent, to our 
 environment in a way that we do not thoroughly 
 understand because these reactions are determined 
 by the impulses of unconscious complexes organ- 
 ized with innate dispositions. Indeed, our reac- 
 tions to the environment, our moral and social con- 
 duct, the affective reactions of our sentiments, in- 
 stincts, feelings, and other conative tendencies, our 
 "habits," judgments, points of view, and attitudes 
 of mind all that we term character and personality 
 are predetermined by the mental experiences of 
 the past by which they are developed, organized, and 
 conserved in the unconscious. Otherwise all would 
 be chaos. We are thus the offspring of our past and 
 the past is the present. 
 
 This same principle underlies what is called the 
 "social conscience," the "civic" and "national con- 
 science," patriotism, public opinion, what the Ger- 
 mans call " Sittlichkeit, " the war attitude of mind, 
 etc. All these mental attitudes may be reduced to 
 common habits of thought and conduct derived from 
 mental experiences common to a given community 
 and conserved as complexes in the unconscious of 
 the several individuals of the community.* 
 
 * While these pages were in press, Lord Haldane in his Montreal 
 address (before the American Bar Association), which has attracted 
 wide attention, developed the psychological principle of "Sittlicb-
 
 308 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Through education, whether scholastic, voca- 
 tional, or social, we inherit the experiences of our 
 predecessors and become " . . . the heir of all the 
 ages, in the foremost files of time." But the con- 
 ceptions of one age can never represent those of a 
 preceding age. The veriest layman in science to- 
 
 keit, " as applied to communities, the nation and groups of nations. 
 By " Sittlichkeit " is meant the social habit of mind and action 
 underlying social customs, the instinctive sense of social obligation 
 which is the foundation of society. This plainly includes what is 
 often called the social conscience and actions impelled thereby. In 
 further definition of this principle Lord Haldane quotes Fichte as 
 stating ' ' Sittlichkeit ' ' to mean ' ' those principles of conduct which 
 regulate people in their relations to each other, and have become 
 matter of habit and second nature at the stage of culture reached, 
 and of which, therefore, we are not explicitly conscious. ' ' The point 
 was made that the citizen is governed "only to a small extent by 
 law and legality on the one hand, and by the dictates of the indi- 
 vidual conscience on the other. " It is the more extensive system of 
 "Sittlichkeit" which plays the predominant role. Out of this sys- 
 tem there develops a unity of thought and ' ' a common ideal ' ' which 
 can be made to penetrate the soul of a people and to take complete 
 possession of it. Likewise there develops "a general will with which 
 the will of the good citizen is in accord." This will of the com- 
 munity (inspired by the common ideal) is common to the indi- 
 viduals composing it. Lord Haldane goes on to make the point that 
 what is now true within a single nation may in time come to be 
 true between nations or a group of nations. Thus an international 
 habit of looking to common ideals may grow up sufficiently strong 
 to develop a general will, and to make the binding power of those 
 ideas a reliable sanction for their obligations to each other. With 
 this thesis, ably presented and fortified though it be, we are not 
 here concerned. The point I wish to make is that this conception of 
 ' ' Sittlichkeit ' ' which Lord Haldane in his remarkable address, des- 
 tined I believe to become historic, so ably develops and applies to 
 the solution of a world-problem is in psychological terms identical 
 with that of complexes of ideas and affects organized in the un- 
 conscious.
 
 UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES 309 
 
 day could not entertain the conceptions underlying 
 many hypotheses formulated by the wisest of the 
 preceding age of a Galileo, a Descartes, or Pascal. 
 Lucretius, in the first century B. C., argued, with 
 what for the time was great force, that the soul of 
 man was corporeal and that it "must consist of very 
 small seeds and be inwoven through veins and flesh 
 and sinews ; inasmuch as, after it has all withdrawn 
 from the whole body the exterior contour of the 
 limbs preserves itself entire and not a tittle of the 
 weight is lost." 
 
 Lucretius gave much thought to this problem, but 
 to-day the least cultured person, who has never re- 
 flected at all on psychological matters, would rec- 
 ognize the foolishness of such a conception and re- 
 ject the hypothesis.* He would call it common-sense 
 which guided him, but common-sense depends upon 
 the fact that in the unconscious lie memories, the 
 reasons for and origin of which we do not remem- 
 ber; these nullify such an hypothesis. These con- 
 tradicting ideas, sifted out of those belonging to the 
 social education, have become fixed as dormant or 
 organized memories, and determine the judgments 
 and trends of the personal consciousness. These 
 memory vestiges may work for good or evil, shape 
 
 Professor G. S. Fullerton, in the course of an essay, "Is the 
 Mind in the Body?" interestingly refers to this fact and points out 
 that common sense directs the common man in repudiating ancient 
 doctrines, and that it is "part of his share in the heritage of the 
 race. " " The common sense which guides men is the resultant atti- 
 tude due to many influences, some of them dating very far back 
 indeed." The Popular Science Monthly, May, 1907.
 
 310 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 our personal consciousness into a useful or useless 
 form, one that adapts or unfits the organism to its 
 environment. In the latter case they drive the or- 
 ganism into the field of pathological psychology.
 
 LECTUEE X 
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS AS DETERMINED BY 
 
 SETTINGS 
 
 In the preceding lecture when describing the or- 
 ganization of emotional complexes, I mentioned, 
 somewhat incidentally, that their fuller meaning 
 was to be found in antecedent experiences of life; 
 and that these experiences conserved in the uncon- 
 scious formed a setting that gave the point of view 
 and attitude of mind. It was pointed out also that 
 if we wish to know the reason why a given experi- 
 ence, like that of Voltaire with Frederick, awakens 
 a strong emotional reaction, and why the memory of 
 this experience continues persistently organized 
 with the emotion or gives rise to the emotional re- 
 action whenever stimulated, we must look to this set- 
 ting of antecedent experiences which gives the ideas 
 of the complexes meaning. We need now to inquire 
 to what extent the unconscious complex in which the 
 setting has roots may take part in the process which 
 gives meaning to an idea. It is a problem in 
 psycho genesis and psychological mechanisms. As 
 an imperatively recurring emotional complex is an 
 obsession the full meaning of any given obsession is 
 involved in the psychological problem of "Idea and 
 Meaning. ' ' 
 
 311
 
 312 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Let us, then, take up for discussion this latter 
 problem as preliminary to the study of that impor- 
 tant psychosis obsessing ideas and emotions. 
 
 A perception, or, what is in principle the same 
 thing, an idea of an object, although apparently a 
 simple thing, is really, as a rule, a complex affair. 
 Without attempting to enter deeply into the psychol- 
 ogy of perception (and ideas), and particularly into 
 the conventional conception of perception as usu- 
 ally expounded in the text-books a conception 
 which to my mind is inadequate and incomplete * 
 it is sufficient for our immediate purposes to point 
 out in a general rough way the following facts con- 
 cerning perception. 
 
 Perception a synthesis of primary and secondary images. 
 Perception may be regarded both as a process 
 and as a group of conscious elements some of 
 which are within the focus of attention or aware- 
 ness and some of which are outside this focus. As 
 a process it undoubtedly may include much that is 
 entirely subconscious and therefore without con- 
 scious equivalents, and much that appears in con- 
 sciousness. As a group of conscious elements it is 
 a fusion, amalgamation, or compounding of many 
 elements. 
 
 * In that it takes into account only a limited number of the 
 data at our disposal and neglects methods of investigation which 
 afford data essential for the understanding of this psychological 
 process.
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 313 
 
 My perception of X., for example, whom I recog- 
 nize as an acquaintance, is much more than a clus- 
 ter of visual sensations I mean the sensations of 
 color and form that come from the stimulation of my 
 retina. Besides these sensations it includes a num- 
 ber of imaginal memory images some of which are 
 only in the fringe of consciousness and can only be 
 recognized by introspection or under special condi- 
 tions. These secondary images, as they are called, 
 may be (as they most often are) visual, orienting 
 him in space and in past associative relations, ac- 
 cording to my previous experiences; they may be 
 auditory the imaginal sound of his voice or verbal 
 images of his name; or they may be the so-called 
 kinesthetic images, etc. ; and all these images supple- 
 ment the actual visual sensations of color and form. 
 
 That such images take part in perception is of 
 course well recognized in every text-book on psy- 
 chology where they will be found described. It is 
 easy to become aware of them under certain condi- 
 tions. For instance, to take an auditory perception 
 from every-day life, you are listening through the 
 telephone and hear a strange voice speaking. Aside 
 from the meaning of the words you are conscious of 
 little more than auditory sensations although you do 
 perceive them as those of a human voice and not of 
 a phonograph. Then of a sudden you recognize the 
 voice as that of an acquaintance. Instantly visual 
 images of his face, and perhaps of the room in which 
 he is speaking and his situation therein, of the fur- 
 nishings of the room, etc., become associated with
 
 314 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the voice. Your perception of the voice now takes 
 on a fuller meaning in accordance with these imag- 
 inal images. In such an experience, common prob- 
 ably to everybody, the secondary images which take 
 part in perception are unusually clear and easily de- 
 tected. 
 
 Again, let us take a visual perception. You meet 
 face to face a person whom at first sight seems unfa- 
 miliar ; then in a flash visual images of a scene in a 
 room where you first met, verbal images of his name, 
 and the sound of his voice rush into consciousness. 
 The comparatively simple perception of a man has 
 now given place to a more complex perception (ap- 
 perception) of an acquaintance and has acquired a 
 new meaning. This new meaning is in part due to 
 these images which have supplemented the visual 
 sensations; but it is also due to the cooperation of 
 another and important factor the context which I 
 will presently consider. 
 
 Another situation of every-day life in which we 
 become aware of the images is when riding in a 
 street car at night we look out of the window and 
 fail to recognize the individual buildings as we pass 
 them though we perceive them as houses. The 
 neighborhood being obscured by darkness, the 
 buildings have no meaning from the point of view 
 of their uses, proprietorship, locality, etc., but only 
 from an architectural point of view. Then sud- 
 denly, by some apparently subconscious process, 
 visual memory images of the unseen neighborhood 
 (hidden in darkness), and of the interior of the
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 315 
 
 buildings, flash into consciousness in conjunction 
 with the actual visual pictures of the buildings. In 
 imagination we at once see the locality and recog- 
 nize (or apperceive) the buildings which acquire a 
 new meaning as particular shops, which we have 
 often entered, located in a particular locality, etc. 
 
 Again, take a tactual perception: If you close 
 your eyes and touch, say a point on your left hand, 
 with your finger, you not only perceive the touch but 
 you perceive the exact spot that you touched. Your 
 perception includes localization. Now if you fix 
 your attention and introspect carefully you will find 
 that you visualize your hand and see, more or less 
 vividly, the point touched (and the touching finger). 
 If you draw a figure on the hand you will visualize 
 that figure. That is to say imaginal visual images 
 of the hand, figure, etc., enter into the tactual per- 
 ceptions. You will probably also be able to feel 
 faint tactual "images" of the hand (joints, fingers, 
 etc.) which combine with the visualization.* The 
 whole complex is the perception proper. 
 
 The images which take part in actual perception, 
 
 * It is of interest to note again in this connection that these 
 secondary images may emerge from a subconscious process to form 
 the structure of an hallucination. Various facts of observation 
 which I have collected support the thesis advanced by Sidis (loc. 
 cit.) on theoretical grounds "that hallucinations are synthesized 
 compounds of secondary sensory elements dissociated completely or 
 incompletely from their primary elements." It would carry us too 
 far away from our theme to consider here this problem of special 
 pathology. Sidis further insists that hallucinations are not central, 
 but always "are essentially of peripheral origin," a view which, it 
 seems to me, ia incompatible with numerous facts of observation.
 
 316 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 or in ideas of objects, vary with the mode of per- 
 ception (whether visual, auditory, tactile, etc.) and 
 with objects, and in different people. Beading, or 
 the perception of words, is in many people accom- 
 panied by the sound of the words or kinesthetic im- 
 ages of words. If the printed words are those of a 
 person whose voice is familiar to us we may actu- 
 ally hear his voice.* General kinesthetic images 
 may occur in perception, as with objects which look 
 heavy, i. e., have secondary tactual sensations of 
 heaviness. Likewise tactile and olfactory images 
 may enter the perceptual field and supplement the 
 visual sensations. When the sensational experi- 
 ences of perception are tactile, auditory, olfactory, 
 or gustatory visual images probably always take 
 part in the perceptual field if the object is perceived 
 as, e. g., the perception of velvet by touch and of 
 an orange by smell. Summing all this up we may 
 say, using Titchener 's words : ' ' perceptions are se- 
 lected groups of sensations in which images are in- 
 corporated as an integral part of the whole proc- 
 ess." We may further say the secondary images 
 give meaning to sensations in forming a perception. 
 
 Now, before proceeding further in this exposition, 
 I would point out that if memory images are habitu- 
 ally synthesized with sensations to form a given per- 
 ception, and if perception is a matter of synthesis, 
 
 * I once dictated into a phonograph a passage of a published 
 work. Whenever I read that passage now I hear the sound of my 
 own voice as it was emitted by the phonograph.
 
 THE MEANING OP IDEAS 317 
 
 then, theoretically, it ought to be possible to dis- 
 sociate these images. Further, in that case, the per- 
 ception as such ought to disappear. That this the- 
 oretical assumption correctly represents the facts I 
 have been able to demonstrate by the following ex- 
 periment which I have repeated many times. I 
 should first explain that it has been shown by Janet 
 that by certain technical procedures some hysterics 
 can be distracted in such a way that the experimen- 
 ter's voice is not consciously heard by them, but is 
 heard and understood subconsciously. The ordi- 
 nary procedure is to whisper to the subject while his 
 attention is focused on something else. The whis- 
 per undoubtedly acts as a suggestion that the sub- 
 ject will not consciously hear what is whispered. 
 The whispered word-images are accordingly disso- 
 ciated, but are perceived coconsciously, and what- 
 ever coconsciousness exists can be in this way sur- 
 reptitiously communicated with and responses ob- 
 tained without the knowledge of the personal con- 
 sciousness. In this way I have been able to make 
 numerous observations showing the presence of dis- 
 sociated coconscious complexes which otherwise 
 would not have been suspected. Now the experi- 
 ment which I am about to cite was made for the 
 purpose of determining whether certain experiences 
 for which the subject had amnesia were cocon- 
 sciously remembered, but the results obtained, be- 
 sides giving affirmative evidence on this point, fur- 
 nished certain instructive facts indicative of the dis- 
 sociation of secondary images.
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 The subject, Miss B., was in the state known as 
 BlVa, an hypnotic state, her eyes closed. While 
 she was conversing with me on a subject which held 
 her attention I whispered in her ear with the view of 
 communicating with coconscious ideas as above ex- 
 plained. While I was whispering, she remarked, 
 "Where have you gone?" and later asked why I 
 went away and what I kept coming and going for. 
 On examination it then appeared that it seemed to 
 her that during the moments when I whispered in 
 her ear I had gone away. That is to say, she could 
 no longer visualize my body, the secondary imagi- 
 nal visual images being dissociated with my whis- 
 pered words. At these times, however, she continued 
 the conversation and was not at all in a dreamy 
 state. Testing her tactile sense it was found that 
 there was no dissociation of this sense during these 
 moments. She felt tactile impressions while she 
 was not hearing my voice, but she explained after- 
 wards [while whispering, of course, I could not ask 
 questions regarding sensations aloud] that when I 
 touched her, and when she held my hand, palpating 
 it in a curious way as if trying to make out what it 
 was, she felt the tactile impressions, or tactile sen- 
 sations, but not naturally. It appeared as the re- 
 sult of further observations that this feeling of 
 unnaturalness and strangeness was due to a dis- 
 sociation of the secondary visual images which nor- 
 mally occur with the tactile images. (She described 
 the tactile impressions of my hand as similar to 
 those she felt when she lifted her own hand when it
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 319 
 
 had "gone to sleep"; it felt dead and heavy as if 
 it belonged to no one in particular. 
 
 Testing further it was found that, before abstrac- 
 tion, while she held my hand she could definitely 
 visualize my hand, arm, and even face. While she 
 was thus visualizing I again abstracted her auditory 
 perceptions by the whispering process. At once the 
 secondary visual images of my hand, etc., disap- 
 peared. As with the auditory perceptions she could 
 not obtain these visual images, although a moment 
 before she could visualize as far as the elbow. 
 
 Desiring now to learn whether these dissociated 
 visual images were perceived coconsciously I whis- 
 pered, at the same time holding her hand, "Do you 
 see my hand, arm, and face?" She nodded (automa- 
 tically) "Yes." "Does she [meaning the personal 
 consciousness] see them?" (Answer by nod) "No." 
 (The personal consciousness (BlVa) was unaware 
 of the questions and nodding; the latter was per- 
 formed subconsciously.) 
 
 This experiment was repeated several times. As 
 often as she ceased to hear my voice she ceased to 
 visualize my hand, though she could feel it without 
 recognizing it. It follows, therefore, that the dis- 
 sociation of the auditory perceptions of my voice 
 having also robbed the subject's personal conscious- 
 ness of all visual images of my body, her previous 
 tactual perception of my hand lost thereby its vis- 
 ual images and ceased to be a perception. 
 
 Let us take another observation: We have seen 
 that a tactual perception of the body includes sec-
 
 320 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ondary imaginal visual and other sensory images 
 besides the tactile sensation. Now, of course, if 
 sensation is dissociated so that one has complete 
 anesthesia, no tactile sensation can be perceived. 
 Under such conditions an anesthetic person theo- 
 retically might not be able to imagine the dissociated 
 tactile sensations and the associated visual images 
 included in tactile perception. If so such a person 
 would not be able to visualize his body. In other 
 words, in accordance with the well-known principle 
 that the dissociation of a specific memory robs the 
 personal consciousness of other elements of experi- 
 ences synthesized with the specific memory, the dis- 
 sociation of the tactile images carries with it the 
 visual images associated in perception. This theo- 
 retical proposition is confirmed by actual observa- 
 tion. Thus B. C. A. in one hypnotic state has gen- 
 eral anesthesia, so complete that she has no con- 
 sciousness of her body whatsoever. She does not 
 know whether she is standing or sitting, nor the 
 attitude of her limbs, or her location in space; she 
 is simply thought in space. Now it is found that she 
 can visualize the experimenter, the room, and the 
 objects in the room although she cannot visualize 
 any part of her own body. The dissociation of the 
 tactual field of consciousness is so complete that she 
 cannot evoke imaginal tactual images of the body, 
 and this dissociation of these images carries with it 
 that of the associated imaginal visual images. Vis- 
 ual images of the environment, however, not being 
 synthesized with the tactual body images, can be still
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 321 
 
 evoked. So we see from observations based on in- 
 trospection and experimentation that perception in- 
 cludes, besides primary simple sensations of an ob- 
 ject, secondary imaginal images of various kinds 
 and in various numbers. 
 
 Besides images the content of ideas includes "Mean- 
 ing." What I have said thus far refers to per- 
 ception and idea as the content of consciousness 
 a group of conscious states. But this is not all 
 when perception is regarded as a process. The ob- 
 jects of experience have associative relations to 
 other objects, actions, conduct, stimuli, constellated 
 ideas, etc., i. e., past experiences represented by 
 conserved (unconscious) complexes. As a result of 
 previous experiences various associations have been 
 organized with ideas and these complexes form the 
 setting or the " context" (Tichener) which gives 
 ideas meaning. As the secondary images give mean- 
 ing to sensations to form ideas (or perceptions), so 
 these associated complexes as settings give meaning 
 to ideas. This setting in more general terms may be 
 regarded as the attitude of mind, point of view, in- 
 terest, etc. Just as the context in a printed sentence 
 gives meaning to a given word, and determines 
 which of two or more ideas it is meant to be the sign 
 of, so in the process of all perceptions the associated 
 ideas give meaning to the perception. Indeed it is 
 probable that the context as a process determines 
 what images shall become incorporated with sensa- 
 tions to form the nucleus of the perception. Percep-
 
 322 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tion thus takes one meaning when it is constellated 
 with one complex and another meaning when con- 
 stellated with another complex. 
 
 "Meaning" plays such an important part in the 
 mental reactions of pathological and everyday life 
 that I feel we must study it a little more closely be- 
 fore proceeding with our theme. 
 
 The idea horse * as the content of consciousness 
 includes more than the primary and secondary sen- 
 sory images which constitute a perception of an 
 animal with four legs distinguished anatomically 
 from other animals : The idea includes the meaning 
 of a particular kind of animal possessing certain 
 functions, useful for particular purposes and occu- 
 pying a particular place in civilization, etc. We 
 are distinctly conscious of this meaning; and al- 
 
 * I intentionally do not here say idea of a horse because the use 
 of the preposition (while, of course, correctly used to distinguish 
 horse as an idea from a material horse, or the former as a particu- 
 lar idea among ideas in general) has led, as it seems to me, in- 
 sidiously to specious reasoning. Thus Mr. Hoernle (Image, Idea and 
 Meaning, Mind, January, 1907) argues that every idea has a mean- 
 ing because every idea is an idea of some thing. Although this is 
 true in a descriptive sense, psychologically idea-of-a-horse is a com- 
 pound term and an imagined horse. The idea itself is horse. The 
 speciousness of the reasoning appears when we substitute horse for 
 idea; then the phrase would read, a "horse is always a horse of 
 something." I agree, of course, that every idea has a meaning, but 
 uot to this particular reasoning by which the conclusion is reached, 
 as when, for example, Mr. Hoernle when traversing James' theory 
 cites "image of the breakfast table" to denote that the breakfast 
 table is the meaning of the image. The image is the (imagined) 
 breakfast table. They are not different things as are leg and chair 
 in the phrase, "leg of the chair," where chair plainly gives the 
 meaning to leg.
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 323 
 
 though we may abstract more or less successfully 
 the visual image of the animal from the meaning, 
 and attend to the former alone, the result is an arti- 
 fact. Likewise we may as an artifice abstract, to a 
 large degree, the meaning from the image, keeping 
 the latter in the background, and attend to the mean- 
 ing. 
 
 That meaning just as much as the sensory image 
 of an object is part of the conscious content of an 
 idea becomes apparent at once, the moment the 
 setting becomes altered and an object is collocated 
 with a new set of experiences (knowledge regarding 
 it). X, for example, has been known to the world 
 as a pious, god-fearing, moral man, a teacher of the 
 Christian religion. My perception of him, so far 
 as made up of images, is, properly speaking, that 
 which distinguishes him anatomically from other 
 men of my acquaintance, that by which I recognize 
 him as X and not as Y. But my perception also has 
 a distinctly conscious meaning, that of a Christian 
 man. This meaning also distinguishes him in his 
 qualities from other men. Now it transpires to 
 every one's astonishment that X is a foul, cruel, 
 murderer of women a Jack-the-Ripper. My per- 
 ception of him is the same but it has acquired an 
 entirely different meaning. A bestial, villainous 
 meaning has replaced the Christian meaning. So 
 almost all objects have different meanings in differ- 
 ent persons' minds, or at different times in the same 
 person's mind, according to the settings (experi- 
 ences) with which they are collocated. My percep-
 
 324 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 tion of A has the meaning of physician, while one 
 of his family perceives him as father or husband. 
 My perception of a snake, it may be, has the mean- 
 ing of a loathsome, venomous animal, while a natur- 
 alist's perception may be that of a vertebrate repre- 
 senting a certain stage of evolution, and a psycholo- 
 gist holding certain theories may perceive it with 
 a meaning given by those theories, viz. : as a sexual 
 symbol. 
 
 This fact of meaning becomes still more obvious 
 when we reflect that the meaning of a perception, as 
 of A's personality as a physician or father, may 
 occupy the focus of attention while the images of 
 his face, voice, etc., may sink into the background. 
 
 Every one is agreed then that every idea or com- 
 bination of ideas has "meaning" of some sort. 
 Even nonsense syllables have in a psychological 
 sense some meaning, which may be an alliteration of 
 sound, or a symbolism of nonsense (e. g., "fol-de- 
 rol-di-rol-dol-day") or as suitable tests for psy- 
 chological experiments. I am speaking now, of 
 course, of meaning as dealt with by psychology as 
 a content of consciousness, and not as dealt with 
 by logic. Every one also will probably agree that 
 the content of an idea is a composite of sensory 
 elements (images) and meaning I would like to 
 say of perception and meaning; but the use of two 
 abstract terms is likely to lead to a juggling with 
 words by turning attention away from the concrete 
 facts for which the terms stand, and by connoting a 
 sharp distinction between perception and meaning
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 325 
 
 which, as I observe the facts, does not hold. Indeed 
 the common though useful habit of psychologists of 
 treating meaning as an abstract symbol without 
 specific reference to those elements of the content 
 of consciousness for which it stands has, it seems 
 to me, led to considerable confusion of thought. 
 
 Mr. Hoernle, who has given us one of the clearest 
 expositions of idea and meaning that I have read,* 
 designates that constituent of an idea which is the 
 psychical image of an object (e. g., "the visual per- 
 ception of a horse ' ') by the term ' ' sign. " " Signs, ' ' 
 he states "are always sensational in nature, whether 
 they are actual sensations (as in sense-perception) 
 or ideas (images or 'revived' sensations)." Accord- 
 ingly an idea is a composite of sign and meaning, 
 or, as Mr. Hoernle has well expressed it: "Both the 
 idea f and its meaning, then, must be present in con- 
 sciousness. Or perhaps it would be more accurate 
 to say that they form together a complex psychical 
 whole, a 'psychosis,' of which the different elements, 
 however, enjoy different degrees of prominence in 
 consciousness or draw upon themselves different 
 amounts of attention. . . . Normally we apperceive 
 merely the meaning, and the image or sign remains 
 in the background, in the shade as it were. But of 
 course we can make the image or sign the special 
 object of attention ; we can apperceive it and corre- 
 spondingly the meaning falls into the background. 
 
 * E. F. Hoernle, Image, Idea and Meaning, Mind, January, 1907. 
 
 t Idea, according to Mr. Hoernle' 's context, is here used in the 
 
 sense of a word, imags or sign.
 
 326 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 But it does not disappear ; it remains in conscious- 
 ness." And again, " every idea is a concrete whole 
 of sign and meaning, in which the meaning, even 
 when unanalyzed and 'implicit' is what is essential 
 and prominent in consciousness. The sign on the 
 other hand which we saw reason to identify with 
 certain sensational elements in this conscious ex- 
 perience is normally subordinate and I have called 
 this concrete idea a 'psychic whole' ..." 
 
 I quote these passages from Mr. Hoernle as they 
 are admirably clear statements of the theory, but as 
 descriptions they are a very incomplete analysis 
 of the content of ideas-, and fall far short of what 
 we require to know when dealing with the problem 
 of mental mechanisms. It is all very well to speak 
 of meaning in this general way; but to rest content 
 with such an abstract term is to only present the 
 problem and there stop short. Mr. Hoernle rests 
 content with the negative statement that meaning 
 "does not consist in images and other words." 
 What then does it consist in? 
 
 It must be admitted that the problem is a very 
 difficult one and therefore it is, I suppose, that most 
 psychologists, as if scenting danger, seem to dodge 
 the question and rest content to use meaning as a 
 symbol like the unknown x and y of algebra. If 
 meaning is a part of the content of consciousness 
 it must be analyzable into specific conscious ele- 
 ments (images, thoughts, words, feelings or what 
 not) representing to some extent and in some way- 
 past experiences.
 
 THE MEANING OP IDEAS 327 
 
 Obviously a full rounded-out psychology of mean- 
 ing must include an analysis of the content of mean- 
 ing.* I have no intention of entering upon this task 
 here and it is not my business. It would, however, 
 be of very great assistance in solving many of the 
 problems of abnormal psychology if the psychology 
 of meaning were better worked out. But con- 
 versely, I would say, considerable light on the psy- 
 chology of meaning can be derived from the study 
 of abnormal conditions, and of the mental phenom- 
 ena artificially provoked by hypnotic procedures. 
 Some of the observations which I shall presently 
 cite contribute, I believe, to this end. 
 
 Permit me also to point out as the point is one 
 which has considerable bearing on our theme that 
 the descriptive statement that ideas are a composite 
 of two distinct elements, perception (images, signs) 
 and meaning, is inadequate in another respect; it 
 is too static and schematic. Although it is conve- 
 nient to distinguish between perception and mean- 
 ing, they shade into one another and indeed there 
 does not seem to be any justification for regarding 
 them as other than one dynamic process. As we 
 have seen, perception is made up of a primary sen- 
 sory image of an object combined with a number of 
 secondary images. This in itself is a "psychic 
 whole", and, as I view it, contains meaning. My 
 perception of a watch contains secondary images 
 
 * Of course the constituents of the content must vary in each in- 
 dividual instance, but the kind of conscious elements that in general 
 give meaning to the sensory part of the idea can be determined.
 
 328 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 which give it the meaning of a watch and make it 
 something more than a visual image. It may have a 
 still larger and different meaning, that of a souve- 
 nir of a dead friend, and in this larger meaning the 
 perception of the watch becomes subordinate, as a 
 sign or group of images, and sinks into the back- 
 ground, while the added meaning occupies the focus 
 of attention. Indeed the primary image of a per- 
 ception may sink into relative insignificance in the 
 background, while the secondary images become all- 
 important and practically constitute the actual per- 
 ception (or idea) as a psychic whole. Consider, for 
 instance, what different secondary images (and 
 meaning) are in the focus and how the primary 
 image of the word "son" (spoken or written) al- 
 most disappears, according as the context shows it 
 to be my son or your son ; and how correspondingly 
 different are those ideas. And so with a wider filial 
 meaning of son. It is safe to say that King Lear's 
 idea of "daughter" had not the filial meaning con- 
 ventionally ascribed to that relationship. 
 
 If all this that I have said is valid the difference 
 between that which we call perception and that 
 which we call meaning is one of complexity. The 
 less complex we call perception, the more complex, 
 meaning. Both are determined by past experiences 
 the residua of which are the settings. 
 
 This may be illustrated by the following : "We will 
 suppose that three persons in imagination perceive 
 a certain building used as a department store on
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 329 
 
 a certain street I have in mind now, in a growing 
 section of the city. One of these persons is an archi- 
 tect, another is an owner of property on this street, 
 and the third is a woman who is in the habit of 
 making purchases in the department store. When 
 the architect thinks of the building he perceives it 
 in his mind's eye in an architectural setting, that 
 is, its architectural style, proportions, features, and 
 relations. His perception includes a number of 
 secondary images of the neighboring buildings, of 
 their styles of architecture, and of their relations 
 from an aesthetic point of view. In the perception 
 of the owner of property there are also a number of 
 secondary images, but these are of the passing peo- 
 ple and traffic, of neighboring buildings as shops 
 and places of business. In the perception of the 
 woman the secondary images are of the interior of 
 the store, the articles for sale, clothes she would like 
 to purchase and possibly bargains dear to every 
 woman's heart. Plainly each perceives the building 
 from a different point of view. Each might per- 
 ceive the building from the same point of view, but 
 the point of view differs because of the differences 
 in the past experiences of each. 
 
 In the case of the architect these experiences were 
 those of previous observations on the architecture 
 of the growing neighborhood. In the case of the 
 property owner they were of thoughtful reflections 
 on the future development of neighboring property, 
 on the industrial relations of the building to busi- 
 ness, and on the speculative future value of the
 
 330 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 property. In the case of the woman they were of 
 purchases she had made, of articles she had seen 
 and desired, of scenes inside the shop, etc. Out of 
 these experiences respectively a complex was built 
 and conserved in the mind of each. The idea of the 
 building is set in these respective experiences which 
 therefore may be called its setting. The imaginal 
 perception of the building obviously has a different 
 meaning for each of our three observers, and it is 
 plainly the setting which governs the meaning, i. e., 
 an architectural, industrial, or shopping meaning, 
 as the case happens to be ; and we may further say 
 the setting determines the point of view or attitude 
 of mind or interest. Either the perception proper 
 of the building or the meaning may be in the focus 
 of attention and the other recede into the back- 
 ground or the fringe of awareness. 
 
 Further, different affects may enter into each set- 
 ting and, therefore, into the perception. With the 
 architectural perception there may be linked an 
 aesthetic joyful emotion ; with the industrial percep- 
 tion a depressing emotion of anxiety; with the shop- 
 ping perception perhaps one of anger. (This link- 
 ing of an emotion, of course, has a great importance 
 for psychopathic states.) 
 
 The dependence of perceptions upon their settings 
 for meaning has been very beautifully expressed by 
 Emerson in "Each and All": 
 
 "Nothing is fair or good alone. 
 I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
 Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
 
 THE MEANING OP IDEAS 331 
 
 I brought him home, in his nest, at even; 
 
 He sings the song, but it cheers not now, 
 
 For I did not bring home the river and sky; 
 
 He sang to my ear they sang to my eye. 
 
 The delicate shells lay on the shore; 
 
 The bubbles of the latest wave 
 
 Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, 
 
 And the bellowing of the savage sea 
 
 Greeted their safe escape to me. 
 
 I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
 
 I fetched my sea-born treasures home; 
 
 But the poor unsightly, noisome things 
 
 Had left their beauty on the shore 
 
 With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar." 
 
 The practical application of the theory to emotional out- 
 breaks of everyday life The significance of these 
 principles for our purpose lies in the fact that 
 they enable us to understand numerous psycho- 
 logical events of everyday and pathological life 
 that otherwise would be unintelligible. It is 
 worth while then to study a little more closely 
 the practical application in everyday life of this 
 principle of settings before applying it to the 
 more difficult problem of imperative ideas or obses- 
 sions. 
 
 No psychological event, any more than a physical 
 event, stands entirely isolated, all alone by itself, 
 without relation to other events. Every psychologi- 
 cal event is related more or less intimately to ante- 
 cedent events, and the practical importance or value 
 of this relation depends for the individual partly 
 upon the nature of the relation itself, and partly
 
 332 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 upon the ontological value of those anterior events, 
 i. e., the part they played and still play in the per- 
 sonality of the individual. No event, therefore, if 
 it is to be completely interpreted, should be viewed 
 by itself but only in relation to preceding ones. For 
 example : a husband good humoredly and thought- 
 lessly chaffs his wife about the cost of a new hat 
 which she exhibits with pride and pleasure. The 
 wife in reply expresses herself by an outburst of 
 anger which, to the astonished bystander, seems an 
 entirely unjustifiable and inexplicable response to 
 an entirely inadequate cause. Now if the bystander 
 were permitted to make a psychological inquiry into 
 the mental processes of the wife, he would find that 
 the chaffing remark had meaning for her very differ- 
 ent from what it had for him, and probably also 
 for the husband; that it meant much more to her 
 than the cost of that hat. He would find that it was 
 set in her mind in a number of antecedent experi- 
 ences consisting of criticisms of the wife by the hus- 
 band for extravagance in dress ; and perhaps crimi- 
 nations and recriminations involving much angry 
 feeling on the part of both, and he would probably 
 find that when the hat was purchased the possibility 
 of criticism on the ground of extravagance passed 
 through her mind. The chaffing remark of the hus- 
 band therefore in the mind of the wife had for a 
 context all these past experiences which formed a 
 setting and gave an unintended meaning to the re- 
 mark. The angry response, therefore, was dictated 
 by these antecedent experiences and not simply by
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 333 
 
 the trivial matter of the cost of a hat, standing by 
 itself. The event can only be interpreted in the light 
 of these past conserved experiences. How much of 
 all this antecedent experience was in consciousness 
 at the moment is another question which we shall 
 presently consider. 
 
 I have often had occasion to interpret cryptic oc- 
 currences of this kind happening with patients or 
 acquaintances. They make quite an amusing social 
 game. (A knowledge of this principle shows the 
 impossibility of outsiders judging the Tightness or 
 wrongness of misunderstandings and contretemps 
 between individuals particularly married people.) 
 To complete the interpretation of this episode of 
 the hat although a little beside the point under 
 consideration : plainly the anger to which the wife 
 gave expression was the affect linked with and the 
 reaction to the setting-complex formed by antece- 
 dent experiences. To state the matter in another 
 way, these experiences were the formative material 
 out of which a psychological torch had been plasti- 
 cally fashioned ready to be set ablaze by the first 
 touch of a match in this case the chaffing remark 
 or associated idea. This principle of the setting, 
 which gives meaning to an idea, being the conserved 
 neurograms of related antecedent experiences is 
 strikingly manifest in pathological and quasi-patho- 
 logical conditions. I will mention only two in- 
 stances. 
 
 The first, that of X. Y. Z., I shall have occasion to
 
 334 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 refer to in more detail in connection with the emo- 
 tions and instincts in a later lecture.* This lady, on 
 the first night of her marriage, felt deeply hurt in 
 her pride from a fancied neglect on the part of her 
 husband. The cause was trivial and could not pos- 
 sibly be taken by any sensible person as an adequate 
 justification for the resentment which followed and 
 the somewhat tragic revenge which she practiced 
 (continuous voluntary repression of the sexual in- 
 stinct during many years). But the fancied slight 
 had a meaning for her which did not appear on the 
 surface. As she herself insisted, in attempted ex- 
 tenuation of her conduct, "You must not take it 
 alone by itself but in connection with the past. ' ' It 
 appeared that during the betrothal period there 
 had been a number of experiences wounding to her 
 pride and leading to angry resentment. These had 
 been ostensibly but not really forgiven. The action 
 of her spouse on the important night in question had 
 a meaning for her of a slight, because it stood in 
 relation to all these other antecedent experiences, 
 and through these only could its meaning (for her) 
 be interpreted. As a practical matter of therapeu- 
 tics it became evident that the cherished resentment 
 of years and the physiological consequences could 
 only be removed by readjusting the setting the 
 memories of all the antecedent experiences with 
 their resentment. 
 
 The second instance was a case of hysteria of the 
 neurasthenic type with outbreaks of emotional at- 
 
 * P. 462, Ix?<2ture XIV.
 
 THE MEANING OF IDEAS 335 
 
 tacks in a middle-aged woman. It developed imme- 
 diately, in the midst of good health, out of a violent 
 and protracted fit of anger, almost frenzy, two years 
 ago, culminating in the first emotional or hysterical 
 attack. Looked at superficially the fit of anger 
 would be considered childish because it was aroused 
 by the fact that some children were allowed to make 
 the day hideous by firing cannon-crackers continu- 
 ally under her window in celebration of the national 
 holiday. When more deeply analyzed it was found 
 that the anger was really resentment at what she 
 considered unjustifiable treatment of herself by 
 others, and particularly by her husband, who would 
 not take steps to have the offense stopped. It is 
 impossible to go into all the details here; suffice it 
 to say that below the surface the experiences of life 
 had deposited a large accumulation of grievances 
 against which resentment had been continuous over 
 a long series of years. Although loving and respect- 
 ing her husband, a man of force and character, yet 
 she had long realized she was not as necessary to 
 his life as she wanted to be ; that he could get along 
 without her, however fond he was of her; and that 
 he was the stronger character in one way. She 
 wanted to be wanted. Against all this for years 
 she had felt anger and resentment. She had con- 
 cealed her feelings, controlled them, repressed them, 
 if you will, but there remained a general dissatis- 
 faction against life, a "kicking against the pricks," 
 and a quickness to anger, though its expression had
 
 336 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 been well controlled. These were the formative in- 
 fluences which laid the mine ready to be fired by a 
 spark, feelings of resentment and anger which had 
 been incubating for years. Finally the spark came 
 in the form of a childish offense. The frenzy of 
 anger was ostensibly only the reaction to that of- 
 fense, but it was really the explosion of years of 
 antecedent experiences. The apparent offense was 
 only the manifested cause, symbolic if you like so 
 to express it, of the underlying accumulated causes 
 contained in life's grievances.* After completion 
 of the analysis the patient herself recognized this in- 
 terpretation to be the true meaning of her anger and 
 point of view. 
 
 Similarly in everyday life the emotional shocks 
 from fear in dangerous situations, to which most 
 people are subject and which so often give rise to 
 traumatic psychoses, must primarily find their 
 source in the psychological setting of the percep- 
 tion of the situation (railroad, automobile, and other 
 accidents). This setting is fashioned from the con- 
 served knowledge of the fatal and other conse- 
 quences of such accidents. This knowledge, de- 
 posited by past mental experiences that which has 
 been heard and read induces a dormant apprehen- 
 sion of accidents and gives the meaning of danger 
 to a perception of a present situation, and in itself, 
 
 Prince: The Mechanism of Recurrent Psychopathic States, with 
 Special Eeference to Anxiety States, Journal of Abnormal Psychol- 
 ogy, June-July, 1911, pp. 153-154.
 
 THE MEANING OP IDEAS 337 
 
 I may add, furnishes the neurographic fuel ready to 
 be set ablaze by the first accident.* 
 
 * Ibid., p. 152. It is interesting to note that statistics show that 
 traumatic psychoses following railway accidents are comparatively 
 rare among trainmen, while exceedingly common among passengers. 
 The reason is to be found in the difference in the settings of ideas 
 of accidents in the two classes of persons. It is the same psycholog- 
 ical difference that distinguishes the seasoned veteran soldier from 
 the raw recruit in the presence of the enemy.
 
 LECTURE XI 
 
 MEANING, SETTING, AND THE FRINGE OF CON- 
 SCIOUSNESS 
 
 The content of the fringe of consciousness considered as a 
 subconscious zone It is obvious that all the past ex- 
 periences which originate the meaning of an idea 
 cannot be in consciousness at a given moment. If I 
 carefully introspect my imaginal perception or idea 
 of an object, say of a politician, I do not find in my 
 consciousness all the elements which have given me 
 my viewpoint or attitude of mind toward him the 
 meaning of my idea of him as a great statesman 
 or a demagogue, whichever it be and yet it may 
 not be difficult, by referring to my memory, to find 
 the past experiences which have furnished the set- 
 ting which gives this viewpoint. Very little of all 
 these past experiences can be in the content of con- 
 sciousness, and much less in the focus of attention, 
 at any given moment, nevertheless I cannot doubt 
 that these experiences really determined the mean- 
 ing of my idea, for if challenged I proceed to recite 
 this conserved knowledge. And so it is with every- 
 one who defends the validity of the meaning of his 
 ideas. 
 
 The question at once comes to mind in the case 
 
 338
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 339 
 
 of any given perception, how much of past experi- 
 ence (associated ideas) is in consciousness at any 
 given moment as the setting which provides the 
 meaning! 
 
 That the meaning must be in consciousness is ob- 
 vious; else the term "meaning" would have no 
 meaning it would be sheer nonsense to talk of ideas 
 having meaning. As I have said, the meaning may 
 be in the focus of attention or it may be in the 
 fringe or background according to the point of in- 
 terest. If in the focus of attention, meaning plainly 
 may, synchronously or successively, include ideas of 
 quite a large number of past experiences, but if in 
 the background it may be another matter. In this 
 case it may be held, and probably in many instances 
 quite rightly, that meaning is a short summary of 
 past experiences, or summing up in the form of a 
 symbol, and that this summary or symbol is in the 
 focus of attention or in the fringe of awareness, i. 
 e., is clearly or dimly conscious. Thus, in one of the 
 examples above given, the industrial meaning of 
 the owner's idea of the building might be a short 
 summing up of his past cogitations on the business 
 value of the property ; in the case of my idea of the 
 politician, the symbol "statesman" or "dema- 
 gogue" as the case might be might be in con- 
 sciousness and be the meaning. All the rest of the 
 past associative experiences in either case would 
 furnish the origin of the setting but would not be 
 the actual functioning setting itself. 
 
 It must be confessed, however, that the content
 
 340 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 of meaning, when it is not in the focus of attention, 
 often becomes very elusive when we try to clearly 
 revive it retrospectively and differentiate the par- 
 ticular states of consciousness present at any given 
 moment. It is probably because of this elusiveness, 
 as of something that seems to evade analysis, that 
 it was so long overlooked as an object of psychologi- 
 cal study. Yet if meaning is not something more 
 than an abstract term, and is really a component 
 of a moment's consciousness, we ought to be able 
 to analyze it in any given instance provided our 
 methods of investigation are adequate. The diffi- 
 culty, I think, largely arises from the fact that the 
 minute we direct attention to such elements of the 
 content of consciousness of any given moment as 
 are not in the focus of attention they at once become 
 shifted into the focus and the composition of the 
 content also becomes altered. Consequently we are 
 never immediately vividly or fully aware of the 
 whole content. The only method of learning what 
 is the whole content at any given moment is by ret- 
 rospection the recovery of it as memory. Fur- 
 ther, special technical methods are required. Then, 
 too, image and meaning are constantly shifting their 
 relative positions, at one time the one being in the 
 focus of attention, the other in the fringe, and vice 
 versa. 
 
 When speaking colloquially of the content of con- 
 sciousness we have in mind those ideas or compo- 
 nents of ideas elements of thought which are in
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 341 
 
 the focus of attention, and therefore that of which 
 we are more or less vividly aware. If you were 
 asked to state what was in your mind at a given 
 moment it is the vivid elements, upon which your 
 attention was focused, that you would describe. 
 But, as everyone knows, these do not constitute the 
 whole field of consciousness at any given moment. 
 Besides these there is in the background of the mind, 
 outside the focus, a conscious margin or fringe of 
 varying extent (consisting of sensations, percep- 
 tions, and even thoughts] of which you are only 
 dimly aware. It is a sort of twilight zone in which 
 the contents are so slightly illuminated by aware- 
 ness as to be scarcely recognizable. The contents 
 of this zone are readily forgotten owing to their 
 having been outside the focus of attention ; but much 
 can be recalled if an effort to do so (retrospection) 
 is made immediately after any given moment's ex- 
 perience. Much can only be recalled by the use of 
 special technical methods of investigation. I be- 
 lieve that the more thoroughly this wonderful re- 
 gion is explored the richer it will be found to be in 
 conscious elements. 
 
 It must not be thought that because we are only 
 dimly aware of the contents of this twilight zone 
 therefore the individual elements lack definiteness 
 and positive reality. To do so is to confuse the 
 awareness of a certain something with that some- 
 thing itself. To so think would be like thinking that, 
 because we do not distinctly recognize objects in the 
 darkness, therefore they are but shadowy forms
 
 342 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 without substance. When, in states of abstraction 
 or hypnosis, the ideas of this fringe of attention are 
 recalled, as often is easily done, they are remem- 
 bered as very definite, real, conscious elements, and 
 the memory of them is as vivid as that of most 
 thoughts. That these marginal ideas are not 
 " vivid" at the time of their occurrence means sim- 
 ply that they are not in such dynamic relations with 
 the whole content of consciousness as to be the focus 
 of awareness or attention. What sort of relations 
 are requisite for "awareness" is an unsolved prob- 
 lem. It seems to be a matter not only of synthesis 
 but of dynamic relations within the synthesis. 
 
 However that may be, outside that dynamic syn- 
 thesis which we distinguish as the focus of attention 
 we can at certain moments recognize or recall to 
 memory (whether through technical devices or not) 
 a number of different conscious states. These may 
 be roughly classified as follows: 
 
 1: Visual, auditory, and other sensory impres- 
 sions to which we are not giving attention (e. g., 
 the striking of a clock; the sound of horses passing 
 in the street; voices from the next room; coenaes- 
 thetic and other sensations of the body. 
 
 2 : The secondary sensory images of which I 
 spoke in the last lecture as taking part in percep- 
 tion. 
 
 3: Associative memories and thoughts pertain- 
 ing to the ideas in the focus of attention. 
 
 4 : Secondary independent trains of thought not 
 related to those in the focus of attention. (As when
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 343 
 
 we are 'doing one thing or listening to conversation 
 and thinking of something else. Very likely, how- 
 ever, what appear to be secondary trains of thought 
 are often only alternating trains. I have, however, 
 a considerable collection of data showing such con- 
 comitant secondary trains in certain subjects (cf. 
 Lecture VI). Such a train can be demonstrated to 
 be a precisely differentiated "stream" of conscious- 
 ness in absent-minded conditions, where it may con-' 
 stitute a veritable doubling of consciousness. 
 
 Some of these marginal elements may be so dis- 
 tinctly within the field of awareness that we are 
 conscious of them, but dimly so.* Others, in par- 
 ticular cases at least, may be so far outside and 
 hidden in the twilight obscurity that the subject is 
 not even dimly aware of them. In more technical 
 parlance, we may say, they are so far dissociated 
 that they belong to an ultra-marginal zone and are 
 really subconscious. Evidence of their having been 
 present can only be obtained through memories re- 
 covered in hypnosis, abstraction, and by other meth- 
 ods. These may be properly termed coconscious. 
 Undoubtedly the degree of awareness for marginal 
 elements, i. e., the degree of dissociation between 
 the elements of the content of consciousness, varies 
 at different moments in the same individual accord- 
 ing to the degree of concentration of attention and 
 
 * It is very doubtful whether vivid awareness is a matter of in- 
 tensity because, among other reasons, subconscious ideas of which the 
 individual is entirely unaware and elements in the fringe may have 
 decided intensity.
 
 344 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the character of the fixation, e. g., whether upon the 
 environment or upon inner thoughts. It also varies 
 much in different individuals. Therefore some per- 
 sons lend themselves as more favorable subjects for 
 the detection of marginal and ultra-marginal states 
 than others. Furthermore, according to certain 
 evidence at hand, there is, in some persons at least, 
 a constant shifting or interchange of elements going 
 on between the field of attention and the marginal 
 and the ultra-marginal zone what is within the first 
 at one moment is in the second, or is entirely sub- 
 conscious, the next, and vice versa. 
 
 Amnesia develops very rapidly for the contents 
 of the twilight region, as I have already stated, and 
 this renders their recognition difficult.* 
 
 In favorable subjects memory of that portion of 
 the content of consciousness which is commonly 
 called the fringe can be recovered in abstraction and 
 hypnosis. In these states valuable information can 
 be obtained regarding the content of consciousness 
 at any given previous moment,f and this informa- 
 tion reveals that there were present in the fringe 
 conscious states of which the subject was never 
 aware, or of which he is later ignorant owing to 
 amnesia. I have studied the fringe of conscious- 
 
 * The development of amnesia seems to be inversely proportionate 
 to the degree of awareness, provided there are no other dissociating 
 factors, such as an emotional complex. 
 
 f This is due to the well-known fact (demonstrated in a large 
 variety of phenomena) that ideas dissociated from the personal con- 
 sciousness awake may become synthesized as memories with this same 
 consciousness in hypnosis.
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 345 
 
 ness by this method in a number of subjects. A 
 number of years ago a systematic study of the field 
 of the content of consciousness outside the focus of 
 awareness, including not only the fringe but what 
 may be called the ultra-marginal (subconscious) 
 zone, was made in a very favorable subject (Miss 
 B.), and the general results were given in an ad- 
 dress on the "Problems of Abnormal Psychol- 
 ogy" * at the Congress of Arts and Sciences held in 
 St. Louis (1904). I may be permitted to quote that 
 summary here. The term "secondary conscious- 
 ness ' ' is used in this passage to designate the fringe 
 and ultra-marginal (subconscious) zone. 
 
 * ' A systematic examination was made of the per- 
 sonal consciousness in hypnosis regarding the per- 
 ceptions and content of the secondary conscious- 
 ness during definite moments, of which the events 
 were prearranged or otherwise known, the subject 
 not being in absent-mindedness. It is not within 
 the scope of an address of this sort to give the de- 
 tails of these observations, but in this connection 
 I may state briefly a summary of the evidence, re- 
 serving the complete observation for future publi- 
 cation. It was found that 
 
 "1. A large number of perceptions visual, au- 
 ditory, tactile, and thermal images, and sometimes 
 emotional states occurred outside of the per- 
 sonal consciousness and, therefore, the subject was 
 not conscious of them when awake. The visual 
 
 * See Proceedings, also The Psychological Beview, March-May, 
 1905.
 
 346 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 images were particularly those of peripheral vision, 
 such as the extra-conscious [marginal or ultra-mar- 
 ginal] perception of a person in the street who was 
 not recognized by the personal waking conscious- 
 ness; and the perception of objects intentionally 
 placed in the field of peripheral vision and not per- 
 ceived by the subject, whose attention was held in 
 conversation. Auditory images of passing car- 
 riages, of voices, footsteps, etc., thermal images of 
 heat and cold from the body were similarly found 
 to exist extra-consciously, and to be entirely un- 
 known to the personal waking consciousness. 
 
 "2. As to the content of the concomittant (dis- 
 sociated) ideas, it appeared, by the testimony of 
 the hypnotic self, that as compared with those of 
 the waking consciousness the secondary ideas were 
 quite limited. They were, as is always the experi- 
 ence of the subject, made up for the most part of 
 emotions (e. g., annoyances), and sensations (vis- 
 ual, auditory, and tactile images of a room, of par- 
 ticular persons, people's voices, etc). They were 
 not combined into a logical proposition, though in 
 using words to describe them it is necessary to so 
 combine them and therefore give them a rather arti- 
 ficial character as 'thoughts.' It is questionable 
 whether the word 'thoughts' may be used to de- 
 scribe mental states of this kind, and the word was 
 used by the hypnotic self subject to this qualifica- 
 tion. Commonly, I should infer, a succession of such 
 'thoughts' may arise, but each is for the most part 
 limited to isolated emotions and sensorial images
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 347 
 
 and lacks the complexity and synthesis of the wak- 
 ing mentation. 
 
 "3. The memories, emotions, and perceptions of 
 which the subject is not conscious when awake are 
 remembered in hypnosis and described. The 
 thoughts of which the subject is conscious when 
 awake are those which are concentrated on what she 
 is doing. The others, of which she is not conscious, 
 are a sort of side-thoughts. These are not logically 
 connected among themselves, are weak, and have 
 little influence on the personal (chief) train of 
 thought. Now, although when awake the subject is 
 conscious of some thoughts and not of others, both 
 kinds keep running into one another and therefore 
 the conscious and the subconscious are constantly 
 uniting, disuniting, and interchanging. There is no 
 hard and fast line between the conscious and the 
 subconscious, for at times what belongs to one 
 passes into the other, and vice versa. The waking 
 self is varying the grouping of its thoughts all the 
 time in such a way as to be continually including 
 and excluding the subconscious thoughts. The per- 
 sonal pronoun 'I,' or, when spoken to, 'you,' applied 
 equally to her waking self and to her hypnotic self, 
 but these terms were not applicable to her uncon- 
 scious thoughts, which were not self-conscious. For 
 convenience of terminology it was agreed to arbi- 
 trarily call the thoughts of which the subject is con- 
 scious when awake the waking consciousness, and 
 the thoughts of which when awake she is not con- 
 scious the secondary consciousne-ss. In making this
 
 348 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 division the hypnotic self insisted most positively 
 on one distinction, namely that the secondary con- 
 sciousness was in no sense a personality. The pro- 
 noun I could not be applied to it. In speaking of the 
 thoughts of this second group of mental states alone, 
 she could not say 'I felt this,' 'I saw that.' These 
 thoughts were better described as, for the most part, 
 unconnected, discrete sensations, impressions, and 
 emotions, and were not synthesized into a person- 
 ality. They were not, therefore, self-conscious. 
 When the waking self was hypnotized, the resulting 
 hypnotic self acquired the subconscious perceptions 
 of the second consciousness; she then could say '// 
 and the hypnotic '/' included what were formerly 
 'subconscious' perceptions. In speaking of the sec- 
 ondary personality by itself, then, it is to be under- 
 stood that self-consciousness and personality are 
 always excluded. This testimony was verified by 
 test instances of subconscious perception of visual 
 and auditory images of experiences occurring in 
 my presence. 
 
 "4. Part played by the secondary consciousness 
 in (a) normal mentation. The hypnotic self testi- 
 fied that the thoughts of the secondary conscious- 
 ness do not form a logical chain. They do not have 
 volition. They are entirely passive and have no 
 direct control over the subject's voluntary actions. 
 
 " (b) Part played by the secondary conscious- 
 ness in absent-mindedness. (1) Some apparently 
 absent-minded acts are only examples of amnesia. 
 There is no doubling of consciousness at the time.
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 343 
 
 It is a sort of continuous amnesia brought about by 
 lack of attention. (2) In true absent-mindedness 
 there does occur a division of consciousness along 
 lines which allow a large field to, and relatively wide 
 synthesis of the dissociated states. The personal 
 consciousness is proportionately restricted. The 
 subconscious thoughts may involve a certain amount 
 of volition and judgment, as when the subject sub- 
 consciously took a book from the table, carried it to 
 the bookcase, started to place it on the shelf, found 
 that particular location unsuitable, arranged a place 
 on another shelf where the book was finally placed. 
 No evidence, however, was obtained to show that 
 the dissociated consciousness is capable of wider and 
 more original synthesis than is involved in adapt- 
 ing habitual acts to the circumstances of the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " (c) Solving problems by the secondary con- 
 sciousness. [The statement of the hypnotic self re- 
 garding the part played by the 'secondary con- 
 sciousness' has already been given in Lecture 
 VI, p. 167.] 
 
 "The subject of these observations was at the 
 time in good mental and physical condition. Criti- 
 cism may be made that, the subject being one who 
 had exhibited for a long time previously the phe- 
 nomena of mental dissociation, she now, though for 
 the time being recovered, tended to a greater dis- 
 sociation and formation of subconscious states than 
 does a normal person, and that the subconscious 
 phenomena were therefore exaggerated. This is
 
 350 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 true. It is probable that the subconscious flora of 
 ideas in this subject are richer than in the ordinary 
 individual. These phenomena probably represent 
 the extreme degree of dissociation compatible with 
 normality. And yet, curiously enough, the evidence 
 tended to show that the more robust the health of 
 the individual, the more stable her mind, the richer 
 the field of these ideas." 
 
 Of course it is a question how far the findings 
 in a particular and apparently specially favorable 
 subject are applicable to people in general. I would 
 say, however, that I have substantially confirmed 
 these observations in another subject, B. C. A., when 
 in apparent health. In this latter subject the rich- 
 ness of the fringe and what may be called the ultra- 
 marginal region in conscious states is very striking. 
 The same is true of 0. N. (cf. Lecture VI, p. 174). 
 Again in psychasthenics, suffering from attacks of 
 phobia, association, or habit psycho-neuroses, etc., 
 I have been able to recover, after the attack has 
 passed off, memories of conscious states which dur- 
 ing and preliminary to the attack were outside the 
 focus of attention. Of some of these the subject 
 had been dimly aware, and of some apparently en- 
 tirely unaware (i. e., they were coconscious) For 
 the former as well as the latter there followed com- 
 plete amnesia, so that the subject was ignorant of 
 their previous presence, and believed that the whole 
 content of consciousness was included in the anxiety 
 or other state which occupied the focus of attention. 
 Consequently I am in the habit, when investigating
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 351 
 
 a pathological case, like an obsession, of inquiring 
 (by technical methods) into the fringe of attention 
 and even the ultra-marginal region, and reviving 
 the ideas contained therein, particularly those for 
 which there is amnesia. My purpose has been to 
 discover the presence of ideas or thoughts which 
 as a setting would explain the meaning of the idea 
 which was the object of fear (a phobia), the exciting 
 cause of psycho-neurotic attacks, etc. To this I 
 shall presently return. 
 
 If all that I have said is true, it follows that the 
 whole content or field of consciousness at any given 
 moment includes not only considerably more than 
 that which is ivithin the field of attention but more 
 than is within the field of awareness. The field of 
 conscious states as a whole comprises the focus 
 of attention plus the marginal fringe; and besides 
 this there may be a true subconscious ultra-marginal 
 field comprising conscious states of which the per- 
 sonal consciousness is not even dimly aware. We 
 may schematically represent the relations of the 
 different fields by a diagram (Fig. 1). 
 
 It will be noted that the field of conscious states 
 includes A., B., and C. and is larger than that of 
 awareness, which includes A. and B. The field of 
 awareness is larger than that of attention (A.), but 
 the focus of awareness coincides with the field of 
 attention, or, as it is ordinarily termed, the focus of 
 attention. Of course there is no sharp line of de- 
 marcation between any of these fields, but a gradual 
 shading from A. to D. Any such diagrammatic
 
 352 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Fig. 1. A. Attention and focus of awareness. 
 
 B. Fringe of awareness. 
 
 C. Subconscious, i. e., coconscious states (ultramarginal). 
 
 D. Unconscious processes. 
 
 representation, although of help to those who like to 
 visualize concepts, must give a false viewpoint; as 
 in reality the relations are dynamic or functional, 
 and the different fields more properly should be 
 viewed as different but inter-related participants 
 in a large dynamic mechanism. 
 
 The meaning of ideas may be found in the fringe of con- 
 sciousness Let us now return from this general sur- 
 vey of the fringe of consciousness to our theme 
 the setting which gives meaning to ideas. 
 
 It is obvious that, theoretically, when I attend to 
 the perceptive images of an idea, the meaning of 
 that idea, not being in the focus of awareness, may 
 be found among the conscious states that make up 
 the fringe of the dynamic field. For instance, if
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 353 
 
 my idea of a certain politician, my knowledge of 
 whom, we will say, has been gained entirely from 
 the newspapers, is that of a bad man a "crook" 
 this meaning may be dimly in the fringe of my 
 awareness. It is not necessary that any large part 
 of this knowledge should be in the marginal zone 
 of the content of consciousness but only a summary 
 of all the knowledge I have acquired regarding him. 
 The origin of this meaning a crook I can easily 
 find in my associative memories of what I have read. 
 But there would seem to be no need of all these to 
 persist as a functioning setting a short summary 
 in the form of an idea, secondary image, a word or 
 symbol of a bad man would seem to be sufficient. 
 The same principle is applicable to a large number 
 of the simple images of objects in my environment 
 a book, an electric lamp, a horse, etc. 
 
 It is not easy with such normal ideas of every- 
 day life to analyze the fringe and determine pre- 
 cisely its contents. There is no sharp dividing line 
 between the various zones the whole being a dy- 
 namic system. The moment attention is directed 
 to the marginal zones they become the focus and 
 vice versa. To obtain accurate knowledge of the 
 marginal zones we require individuals suitable for 
 a special technique by which the constituents of 
 these zones can be brought back as memory. 
 
 For such purposes certain persons with pathologi- 
 cal ideas (e. g., phobias)* are very favorable sub- 
 
 * All pathological processes are only the normal under altered 
 conditions.
 
 354 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 jects for various reasons not necessary to go 
 into. 
 
 Now, as respects the simple normal ideas of every- 
 day life, such as I have just cited, a person can 
 give very clearly his viewpoint. He has a very 
 definite notion of the meaning of his perceptions and 
 can give his reasons for them based on his associa- 
 tive memories of past experiences which he can re- 
 call. But in the conditions to which I am now re- 
 ferring a person can give no explanation of a par- 
 ticular viewpoint which may be of a very definite 
 but unusual (abnormal) character. Nor can he re- 
 call any experiences which would explain the origin 
 of it. I have in mind particularly the obsessions. 
 
 Now, according to my observations, we find in 
 the marginal zones of the content of consciousness 
 conscious elements which in particular cases may 
 even give a hitherto unsuspected meaning to the 
 pathological idea. I have found in these zones 
 thoughts which gave meaning to emotions and other 
 symptoms excited by apparently inadequate objects. 
 Thus, in H. 0., attacks of recurrent nausea and fear 
 almost prohibiting social intercourse were always 
 due to thoughts of self-disgust hidden in the fringe. 
 
 Let us take a concrete case, that of a person who 
 has a pathological fear and who, as we know is often 
 the case, can give no explanation of his viewpoint. 
 The fear may be that of fainting, or of thunder- 
 storms, of a particular disease, say cancer, or of 
 so-called "unreality" attacks, or what not. This 
 so-called "fear" is of course an idea of self or other
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 355 
 
 object linked with, or which occasions as a reaction, 
 the strong emotion of fear. It recurs in attacks 
 which are excited by stimuli, of one kind or another, 
 that are associated with the idea. The patient can 
 .give no explanation of the meaning of this idea that 
 renders intelligible why it should occasion his fear. 
 There is nothing in his consciousness, so far^ as he 
 knows, which gives an adequate meaning to it. 
 
 Thus, for example, C. D. was the victim of at- 
 tacks of fear; the attacks were so intense that at 
 times she had been almost a prisoner in her house, 
 in dread of attacks away from home; and yet she 
 was unable even after two prolonged searching ex- 
 aminations to define the exact nature of the fear 
 which was the salient feature of the attacks, or, from 
 her ordinary memories, to give any explanation of 
 its origin. She remembered many moments in the 
 last twenty years when the fear had come upon her 
 \vith great intensity, but she could not recall the 
 date of its inception and, therefore, the conditions 
 under which it originated; consequently nothing 
 satisfactory could be elicited beyond an early his- 
 tory of "anxiety attacks" or indefinable fear of 
 great intensity attached to no specific idea that she 
 knew. 
 
 As a result of searching investigation by technical 
 methods it was brought out that the specific object 
 of the fear was fainting. Wk en an attack devel- 
 oped, besides intense physiological disturbances 
 and confusion of thought, there was in the content 
 of consciousness a feeling that her mind was flying
 
 356 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 off into space and a definite thought of losing con- 
 sciousness or fainting, and that she was going to 
 faint. There was amnesia for these thoughts fol- 
 lowing the attacks. She never had fainted in the 
 attacks and, as it later transpired, had fainted only 
 once in her life. Here then, dimly in the content of 
 consciousness, was the object of the fear in an at- 
 tack. But the object was afterwards forgotten; 
 hence she could not explain what she was afraid of. 
 Why fainting should be such a terrible accident to 
 be feared she also could not explain. 
 
 The question now was, what possible meaning 
 could fainting have for her that she so feared it? 
 This she did not know. 
 
 Now, on still further investigation, I found that 
 there was always in the fringe of consciousness dur- 
 ing an attack and also during the anticipatory fear 
 of an attack, an idea and fear of death. This, to 
 use her expression, "was in the background of her 
 mind"; it referred to impending fainting. It ap- 
 peared then that in the fringe or ultra-marginal 
 zone was the idea of death as the meaning of faint- 
 ing. Of this ~she was never aware. -It-was really 
 subconscious. It was the meaning of her idea of her- 
 self fainting. In consequence of this meaning faint- 
 ing was equivalent to her own death. She would not 
 have been afraid of fainting if she had not believed 
 or could have been made to believe that in her case 
 it did not mean death. Wejoiight properly say that 
 the real object of the fear was death. 
 
 When this content of the fringe of attention was
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 357 
 
 recovered, the patient voluntarily remarked that 
 she had not been aware of the presence during the 
 attacks of that idea, but now she remembered it 
 clearly, and also realized plainly why she was afraid 
 of fainting, what she had not understood before. 
 (It must be borne in mind that this meaning of faint- 
 ing, as a state equivalent to death, did not pertain to 
 fainting in general but solely to herself. She knew 
 perfectly well that fainting in other people was not 
 dangerous; it was only an unrecognized belief re- 
 garding a possible accident to herself.) Besides this 
 content of the fringe of attention it was also easy to 
 show that the fringe often included the thought (or 
 idea) which had been the immediate excitant of each 
 attack. Sometimes this stimulus-idea entered the 
 focus of attention; sometimes it was only in the 
 fringe. In either case there was apt to be amnesia 
 for it, but it could always be recalled to memory in 
 abstraction or hypnosis. 
 
 The content of consciousness taken as a whole, 
 i. e., to include both the focus and the fringe of at- 
 tention, then would adequately determine the mean- 
 ing of this subject's idea of fainting as applied to 
 herself. 
 
 But why this meaning of fainting? It must have 
 been derived from antecedent experiences. An jdefl 
 can no more have a meaning without antecedent ox- 
 peri ences with which it is or once was linked than 
 can the word "parallelopipedon" have a geometri- 
 cal meaning without a previous geometrical experi- 
 ence, or ' ' Timbuctoo " a personal meaning without
 
 358 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 being set in a personal experience, whether of mis- 
 sionaries or hymn-books. 
 
 I will not take the time to give the detailed results 
 of the investigation by hypnotic procedures that fol- 
 lowed. I will merely summarize by stating that the 
 fear of death from fainting was a recurrent memory, 
 i. e., a recurrence of the content of consciousness of 
 a moment during an incident that occurred more 
 than twenty years before, when she was a young 
 girl about 18 years of age. At the time as the result 
 of a nervous shock she had fainted, and just before 
 losing consciousness she definitely thought her 
 symptoms meant death. At this thought she became 
 frightened, and ever since she has been afraid of 
 fainting. There was no conscious association be- 
 tween her phobia and this youthful episode. When 
 the memory of the latter was recovered she re- 
 marked, ' ' I wonder why I never thought of that be- 
 fore." 
 
 But this again was not all. A searching investi- 
 gation of the unconscious (residua) in deep hypno- 
 sis revealed the fact that death from fainting was 
 organized with still wider experiences involving a 
 fear of death. At the moment of the nervous shock 
 just before fainting (fancied as dying) she thought 
 of her mother who was dangerously ill from cancer 
 in an adjoining room, and a great fear swept over 
 her at the thought of what might happen to her 
 mother if she_shoukLJiear of the cause of her (the 
 patient's) "nervous shock and of her death. It 
 ftirtl&r transpdred that the idea of death and fear of
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 359 
 
 it were set in a still larger series of experiences.* It^ 
 had, indeed, dated from a childhood experience when 
 she was eight years of age. At that time she was 
 frightened when a pet animal died and a fear of 
 death had been more or less continuously present in 
 her mind ever since, but not always consciously so ; 
 meaning that it was sometimes in awareness and 
 sometimes in the ultra-marginal zone of conscious- 
 ness. She had been able to conceal the fear until the 
 fainting episode occurred and, as she in hypnosis 
 asserted, fear afterward had continued to be pres- 
 ent more or less persistently, although she was 
 not conscious of the fact when awake (excepting in 
 the phobic attacks) and it had attached itself to va- 
 rious ideas of iritercurrent illnesses. But these 
 ideas could all be reduced to two, fainting and 
 cancer. Ever since her mother's illness and death 
 she had a fear of death from cancer, believing she 
 might inherit the disease. This thought and the 
 fear it aroused had been constantly in her mind but 
 never previously confessed. It was the real mean- 
 ing of her fear of illness which had been conspicuous 
 and puzzling to her physician. She had imagined 
 
 * Among them was the following : A few months later her mother 
 died. C. D. was in the room with the body, her back turned toward 
 the bed where the body lay. Suddenly she was startled by the win- 
 dow curtain blowing out of the window. The noise and the partial 
 vision of the curtain gave her a start, for she thought the body had 
 risen up in bed. At this point, while in hypnosis, C. D. remarked, 
 "Ah! that explains the dream which I am always having. I am 
 constantly having a frightful dream of my mother lying dead and 
 rising up as a corpse from the bed. This dream always gives me a 
 great terror."
 
 360 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 that each illness might mean cancer, but had suc- 
 cessfully concealed this thought. Jhe idea of death 
 ancfffie fear it excited had thus become constellated 
 in a large unconscious complex derived from past 
 experiences which included the fainting episode, her 
 mother's death from cancer and the possibility of 
 having cancer herself. This last was still con- 
 sciously believed and was very real to her. 
 
 Without pursuing further the details it is evident 
 that although the meaning of fainting death was 
 in the fringe of consciousness and subconscious, 
 it had as a setting a large group of fear-inspiring 
 experiences, more particularly those involving can- 
 cer. But there was no conscious association between 
 her fear of fainting and that of cancer. Of this set- 
 ting, during a phobic attack, only the ideas of faint- 
 ing and fear-inspiring death enter the various zones 
 of consciousness. 
 
 As to why this apparently unsophisticated idea of 
 death still persisted in connection with that of faint- 
 ing is another problem with which we are not con- 
 cerned at this moment. We should have to consider 
 more specifically the content of the setting in which, 
 besides the cancer-belief, probably subconscious self- 
 reproaches would be found. 
 
 Meaning may be the conscious elements of a function- 
 ing larger subconscious complex. However, whatever 
 be its conscious constituents, obviously mean- 
 ing must be derived from antecedent experi- 
 ences and without such experiences no idea can
 
 THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS 361 
 
 have meaning. If, then, antecedent experiences 
 determine the meaning of the idea, it is theoretically 
 possible, particularly with insistent ideas, that the 
 conscious elements involved in meaning are, with 
 many ideas at least, only part and parcel of a larger 
 complex which is for the most part unconscious. 
 That is to say, a portion of this complex perhaps 
 the larger portion represented by the residua of past 
 experiences would, under this hypothesis, be un- 
 conscious while certain elements would arise in con- 
 sciousness as the meaning of a given idea. Under 
 such conditions a hidden subconscious process would 
 really determine the conscious setting which gives 
 the meaning. The whole setting would be partly 
 conscious and partly hidden in the unconscious. 
 Such a mechanism may be roughly likened to that of 
 a clock, so far as concerns the relation of the chimes 
 and hands to the works concealed inside the case. 
 Though the visible hands and the audible chimes ap- 
 pear to indicate the time, the real process at work is 
 that of the hidden mechanism. To inhibit the chime 
 or regulate the time rate the mechanism must be al- 
 tered. And so with an insistent idea: The uncon- 
 scious part of the complex setting must be altered to 
 alter the meaning of the idea. Of course the analogy 
 must not be carried too far as in the case of the clock 
 the chimes and hands are only epiphenomena, while 
 conscious ideas are elements in the functioning 
 mechanism. 
 
 Such a theory would afford an adequate explana- 
 tion of the psychogenesis and mechanism of certain
 
 362 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 pathological ideas such as the phobia of C. D. At 
 any rate, it is plain that an explanation of such ideas 
 must be sought, on the one hand, in their meanings 
 and in the antecedent experiences to which they are 
 related, and, on the other, in the processes which de- 
 termine their insistency or fixation. 
 
 The facts which support this theory, to which our 
 studies have led us, we will take up for consideration 
 in our next lecture.
 
 LECTURE XII 
 
 SETTINGS OF IDEAS AS SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES 
 IN OBSESSIONS 
 
 In our last lecture we were led to two conclusions : 
 
 (1) that the conscious elements which are the mean- 
 ing of an idea may be in the marginal ^zones ; and 
 
 (2) more important, that "meaning" may be only 
 a part of a larger setting of antecedent experiences, 
 which is an unconscious complex. 
 
 Let us now consider the further question raised 
 in the theory finally proposed ; namely, whether the 
 submerged elements of a complex remain quies- 
 cent or whether, in some cases at least, this por- 
 tion functions subconsciously and takes part as an 
 active factor in the whole process by which the 
 meaning of an idea and its accompanying emotional 
 tone invades the content of consciousness. If the 
 latter be true, a hidden subconscious process would, 
 according to the theory (to repeat what was pre- 
 viously said), really determine the conscious setting 
 which gives the meaning. Such a mechanism was 
 roughly likened to that of a clock. If such were the 
 mechanism in insistent ideas, obsessions, and impul- 
 sions, it would, as I have intimated, explain their 
 insistency, their persisting recurrence, the difficulty 
 
 363
 
 364 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 in modifying them, notwithstanding the subject 
 realizes their falsity, the point of view often inex- 
 plicable to the subject, and the persistence of the 
 affect. There is a constant striving of affective sub- 
 conscious processes, when stimulated, to carry them- 
 selves to fulfilment. Consequently as we know from 
 numerous observations, the feelings and emotions 
 (pleasantness and unpleasantness, exaltation and 
 depression; fear, anger, etc.) pertaining to subcon- 
 scious processes tend to emerge into consciousness ;* 
 and likewise ideational constituents of the process 
 often emerge into the fringe of the content of con- 
 sciousness and even the focus of awareness. Given 
 such a subconsciously functioning setting to an idea, 
 it would necessarily tend by the impulsive force of 
 its emotion to make the latter insistent, and resist 
 the inhibiting control of the personal consciousness. 
 
 In the case of C. D., cited in the last lecture, we 
 were led to the conclusion, as the result of analysis, 
 that her insistent phobia might be due to the impul- 
 sive force of such subconscious complexes. The 
 whole problem is a very difficult one, dealing 
 as we are with complicated mechanisms and such 
 elusive and fluid factors as conscious and subcon- 
 scious processes. It is useless, therefore, to attempt 
 to formulate the mechanisms with anything like sci- 
 entific exactness. 
 
 It must be borne in mind, further, that the 
 method of analysis (employed with C. D.), meaning 
 
 * Janet : The Mental States of Hystericals, pp. 289-290. Prince : 
 The Dissociation, pp. 132-5, 262, 297-8, 324-5, 497.
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 365 
 
 thereby the bringing to light associated memories 
 of past experiences, cannot positively demonstrate 
 that those experiences take part as the causal fac- 
 tor in a present process. It can demonstrate the 
 sequence of mental events, and, therefore, each suc- 
 cessive link in a chain of evidence leading to the 
 final act; or it can demonstrate the material out of 
 which we can select with a greater or less degree 
 of probability the factor which, in accordance with 
 a theory in this case that of subconscious processes 
 seems most likely to be the causal factor. Thus in 
 the analysis of a bacterial culture we can select the 
 one which seems on various considerations to be the 
 most likely cause of an etiologically undetermined 
 disease, but for actual demonstration we must em- 
 ploy synthetic methods ; that is, actually reproduce 
 the disease by inoculation with a bacterium. So 
 with psychological processes synthetic methods are 
 required for positive demonstration. 
 
 We have available synthetic methods in hypnotic 
 procedures. These give, it seems to me, positive re- 
 sults of value. If a subject is hypnotized and in this 
 state a complex is formed, it will be found that this 
 complex will determine, after the subject is awak- 
 ened, the point of view and therefore the meaning of 
 the central idea when it comes into consciousness, 
 and this though the subject has complete amnesia 
 for the hypnotic experience. In this manner, if the 
 idea is one which previously had a very definite and 
 undesirable meaning which we wish to eradicate, we
 
 366 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 can organize a complex which shall include that 
 idea and yet give it a very different meaning, pro- 
 vided it is one acceptable to the subject. 
 
 To take simple examples, and to begin with a hy- 
 pothetical case, but one which in practice I have fre- 
 quently duplicated : A subject is hypnotized and al- 
 though, in fact, the day is a beautifully fair one we 
 point out that it is really disagreeable because the 
 sunshine is gloAving and hot; that such weather 
 means dusty roads, drought, the drying up of the 
 water supply, the withering of the foliage, that the 
 country needs rain, etc. We further assert that this 
 will be the subject's point of view. In this way we 
 form a cluster of ideas as a setting to the weather 
 which gives it, fair as it is, an entirely different and 
 unpleasant meaning and one which is accepted. The 
 subject is now awakened and has complete amnesia 
 for the hypnotic experience. When attention is di- 
 rected to the weather it is found that his point of 
 view, for the time being at least, is changed from 
 what it was before being hypnotized. The percep- 
 tion of the clear sky and the sunlight playing upon 
 the ground includes secondary images of heat, of 
 dust, of withered foliage, etc., such as have been 
 previously experienced on disagreeable, hot, dusty 
 days, and some of the associated thoughts with their 
 affects suggested in hypnosis arise in consciousness ; 
 perhaps only a few, but, if he continues to think 
 about the weather, perhaps many. Manifestly the 
 new setting formed in hypnosis has been switched 
 into association with tide (Jonscidus perceptions 6f
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 367 
 
 the environment and has induced the secondary im- 
 ages and associated thoughts, emotions, and feelings 
 which give meaning. But it is equally manifest, 
 though many elements bubble up, so to speak, from 
 the unconscious setting into consciousness, that most 
 of this setting remains submerged in the uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 In similar fashion I made a subject regard, meta- 
 phorically speaking, as a cesspool for sewage a river 
 which was being converted into a beautiful water 
 park by a dam.* It is scarcely necessary to cite 
 additional observations. 
 
 Manifestly such phenomena belong to the well- 
 known class of so-called ''suggested post-hypnotic 
 phenomena." These we have already seen (solu- 
 tion of problems predetermined actions, &c., Lec- 
 ture VI) require the postulate of a subconscious 
 process. It is therefore difficult to resist the conclu- 
 sion that, when the suggested phenomenon is the 
 "meaning" of an idea, this also involves a subcon- 
 scious process that a hypnotically organized set- 
 ting functioning subconsciously ejects the meaning 
 into consciousness. In other words, the unconscious 
 setting is a part of the whole "psychosis" or com- 
 plex, a factor in the functioning mechanism; it is 
 dynamic and not merely static, and is a func- 
 tioning part of the "psychic whole" of the given 
 ideas (sign, perception, and meaning). To use the 
 analogy of the clock, the unconscious part of the 
 
 * The Unconscious, Journal Abnormal Psychology, April-May, 
 1909.
 
 368 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 complex corresponds in a way to the works and de- 
 termines what shall appear in consciousness. In the 
 case of the ideas of everyday life, and particularly 
 of pathological insistent ideas, unconscious com- 
 plexes can be shown, by methods of analysis and by 
 interpretation, to be existent and to be settings. We 
 therefore infer that they similarly take part in the 
 functioning process of ideation. But, as I have said, 
 as any idea has many different settings and asso- 
 ciated complexes, it is difficult to determine by this 
 method with positiveness which setting or other 
 complex, if any, is in activity and takes part in the 
 process. Hence the different theories that have been 
 offered to explain the precise psychogenesis of in- 
 sistent ideas. 
 
 Therapeutic application By similar procedures in a 
 very large number of instances, for therapeutic 
 purposes, I have changed the setting, the viewpoint, 
 and the meaning of ideas without any realization on 
 the patient's part of the reason for this change. 
 This is the goal of psychotherapy, and in my judg- 
 ment the one fundamental principle common to all 
 technical methods of such treatment, different as 
 these methods appear to be when superficially con- 
 sidered. 
 
 It is obvious that in everyday life when by argu- 
 ments, persuasion, suggestion, punishment, exhorta- 
 tion, or prayer we change the viewpoint of a person, 
 we do so by building up complexes which shall act 
 as settings and give new meanings to his ideas. I
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 369 
 
 may add, if we wish to sway him to carry this new 
 viewpoint to fulfilment through action we introduce 
 into the complex an emotion which by the driving 
 force of its impulses shall carry the ideas to prac- 
 tical fruition. This is the art of the orator in sway- 
 ing audiences to his views. Shakespeare has given 
 us a classic example in Marc Antony's speech to the 
 Roman populace. 
 
 The practical application to therapeutics of these 
 principles of rearranging the setting of a perception 
 by artificial complex building may be seen from the 
 following actual case, which I have already cited in 
 previous contributions.* 
 
 I suggest to B. C. A. in hypnosis ideas of well- 
 being, of recovery from her infirmity; I picture a 
 future roseate with hope, stimulate her ambitions 
 with suggestions of duties to be performed, deeds 
 to be accomplished. With all this there goes an 
 emotional tone of exaltation which takes the place 
 of the depression and of the sense of failure previ- 
 ously present. This emotional tone gives increased 
 energy to her organization, revitalizing, as it were, 
 her psycho-physiological processes [and by conflict 
 represses the previously dissociating affect and sen- 
 timent] . The whole I weave artfully and designedly 
 into a complex. Whatever neurotic symptoms were 
 previously present I do not allow to enter this com- 
 plex. Indeed, the complex is such that they are in- 
 
 * Morton Prince: (Psychotherapeutics; A Symposium. Richard 
 G. Badger, Boston, 1910.) Also The Unconscious, Journal of Abnor- 
 mal Psychology, April-May, and June-July, 1909.
 
 370 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 compatible with it. The headache, nausea, and other 
 bodily discomforts, pure functional disturbances in 
 this instance, are dissociated and cease to torment. 
 After "waking" there is complete amnesia for the 
 complex. Yet it is still organized, for it can be re- 
 covered again in hypnosis. It is simply dormant. 
 But the emotional tone still persists after waking, 
 and invades the personal synthesis, which takes on 
 a correspondingly ecstatic tone. The aspect of her 
 environment, her conception of her relation to the 
 world and her past, present, and future mental life 
 have become colored, so to speak, by the new feeling, 
 as if under a new light. But, more than this, new 
 syntheses have been formed with new tones. If we 
 probe deep enough we find that many ideas of the 
 dormant complex have, through association with the 
 environment (point de repere), become interwoven 
 with those of the previous personal consciousness 
 and given all a new meaning. A moment ago [her 
 view was that] she was an invalid, incapacitated, ex- 
 iled from her social and family life, etc. What was 
 there to look forward to? Now: What of that? She 
 is infinitely better ; what a tremendous gain ; at such 
 a rate of progress in a short time a new life will be 
 open to her, etc. a radically new point of view. 
 Now, too, she feels buoyant with health and energy, 
 ready to start afresh on her crusade for health and 
 life. Her neurotic symptoms have vanished. Such 
 is the change that she gratefully speaks of it as the 
 work of a wizard. But the mechanism of the trans- 
 formation is simple enough. The exaltation, artifi-
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 371 
 
 cially suggested in hypnosis, persists, altering the 
 trend of her ideas and giving new energy. The per- 
 ceptions of her environment, cognition of herself, 
 etc., have entered into new syntheses which the in- 
 troduction of new ideas, new points of view have 
 developed ; thus the content of her ideas has taken a 
 definite, precise shape. Whence came these new 
 ideas ? They seem to her to have come miraculously, 
 for she has forgotten the hypnotic complex. But 
 forgetting an experience is not equivalent to its not 
 having happened, or to that experience not having 
 been a part of one 's own psychic life. The hypnotic 
 consciousness remains a part of one's self (as a 
 neurographic complex), however absolutely we have 
 lost awareness of it. Its experiences become fixed, 
 though dormant, just as do the experiences of our 
 personal conscious life. The mechanism is the same. 
 The following letter from this patient, received 
 by chance after these paragraphs were written, well 
 expresses the psychological conditions following 
 hypnotic suggestion : 
 
 "Something has happened to me I have a new point of view. 
 I don't know what has changed me so all at once, but it is as if 
 scales had fallen from my eyes; I see things differently. That 
 
 affair at L was nothing to be ashamed of, Dr. Prince. I 
 
 showed none of the common sense which I really possess; I regret 
 it bitterly ; but I was not myself, and even as [it was] I did noth- 
 ing to be ashamed of quite the contrary, indeed. . . . Any- 
 way, for some reason I don't know why, but perhaps you do I 
 have regained my own self-respect and find to my amazement that 
 I need never have lost it. You know what I was a year ago 
 you know what I am now not much to be proud of, perhaps;
 
 372 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 but I am the work of your hands, and a great improvement on 
 [my poor old self]. I owe you what is worth far more than life 
 itself . . . namely, the desire to live. You have given me life 
 and you have given me something to fill it with ... I feel 
 more like myself than for a long time. I am 'my own man 
 again/ so to say, and if you keep me and help me a little longer 
 I shall be well." 
 
 In interpreting the phenomena it must be remem- 
 bered that in such suggestive experiments the sub- 
 ject after waking has complete amnesia for the 
 whole hypnotic experience, for all the ideas which 
 were organized into the complex to form the set- 
 ting. And yet this viewpoint, in spite of this am- 
 nesia, is that \vhich was suggested, and he does not 
 know why his view has changed. That a large frac- 
 tion of the hypnotic complex (or setting) remains 
 submerged in the unconscious can be readily shown. 
 The only question is whether it becomes an active 
 subconscious process out of which certain elements 
 emerge as meaning into consciousness. 
 
 The setting in obsessions This question of the func- 
 tioning of unconscious complexes as subconscious 
 processes is of fundamental importance for psy- 
 chology, whether normal or abnormal, and if well es- 
 tablished gives an entirely new aspect to its prob- 
 lems. We cannot therefore be too exacting in de- 
 manding proof for the postulation of subconscious 
 processes as part of the mechanisms we are consid- 
 ering, or, at least, requiring sufficient evidence to 
 justify them as a reasonable theory. If assumed as
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 373 
 
 an hypothesis many otherwise obscure phenomena 
 become intelligible by one or other theory making 
 use of them. 
 
 Let us examine for a moment the obsessions as 
 one of the most important problems with which ab- 
 normal psychology has to deal, and which offer 
 themselves as exaggerated examples of ideas with 
 insistent meanings. The phenomena are psycho- 
 logical and physical. They occur in a sporadic form, 
 as well as in a recurring obsessional form. Let us 
 consider them simply as phenomena irrespective of 
 recurrence. They may be arranged by gradations 
 in types in which they appear : 
 
 A, as purely physical disturbances ; 
 
 B, as physical disturbances plus conscious emo- 
 tion; 
 
 C, as physical disturbances plus conscious emo- 
 tion plus a specific idea of the object of the emotion, 
 but without logical meaning ; 
 
 D, as physical disturbances plus emotion plus idea 
 plus meaning. 
 
 In the first type the physical phenomena (such 
 as commonly attend emotion) can be traced to a 
 functioning subconscious emotional complex of 
 which the phenomena are physical manifestations; 
 in the second to a functioning subconscious complex 
 ejecting its emotion into consciousness. In the third 
 we find by analysis an associated unconscious com- 
 plex (setting), which logically would account for the 
 emotion of the obsessing idea, and infer, by analogy 
 with A and B, that it is a dynamic factor in the
 
 374 THE 
 
 psychosis. In the fourth we find a similar complex, 
 which logically would account for all the physical 
 and conscious phenomena. 
 
 Type A : The following observation may be cited 
 as an example. At the conclusion of some experi- 
 ments, made on one subject in the presence of an- 
 other patient and while conversing socially at after- 
 noon tea, I noticed that the subject manifested 
 marked tremor of the hands to such an extent that 
 the cup in her hand shook and rattled in its saucer. 
 She herself commented on the fact, and laughingly 
 remarked that she did not know what was the mat- 
 ter with her; at times she would "get awfully hot 
 all over and would break out in perspiration. ' ' She 
 could give no explanation of this phenomenon which 
 had not been present before the experiments were 
 begun. The subject was now put into deep hypnosis, 
 in a state in which communication was obtained only 
 by writing, and thereby the subconscious tapped. 
 Without going into all the details, the sum and sub- 
 stance of the information obtained in this hypnotic 
 state was this: coconscious images (pictures), of 
 which she was not consciously aware, kept coming 
 and going; these were the coconscious phenomena I 
 have previously described (p. 169). When certain 
 images appeared coconsciously the tremor devel- 
 oped, and when others appeared the tremor ceased ; 
 when still others appeared there were vasomotor 
 disturbances and perspiration as well as tremor. 
 
 The images as I interpret them were the sec-
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 375 
 
 ondary images belonging to subconscious ideas or 
 processes.* To understand the conditions in this in- 
 stance it will be necessary to explain certain ante- 
 cedent facts. I had arranged to make certain hyp- 
 notic and other experiments on two patients in the 
 presence of each other. The one in question, the 
 subject of this observation, hesitated to have them 
 made on herself in the presence of a second person, 
 fearing lest the various subconscious phenomena 
 which she. exhibited would be regarded as stigmata 
 and she be thought "queer." Each, of course, 
 wished to see the experiments on the other. The 
 subject in question had for a long time been rather 
 obsessed with the insistent foolish idea that if 
 people knew she manifested these phenomena they 
 would not care to know her socially. It was a 
 point of view which had been more or less obsti- 
 nately maintained in spite of all contradictory argu- 
 ments. The idea had specifically recurred from time 
 to time in particular situations, and had caused con- 
 siderable emotional disturbance. If not a true ob- 
 session it was close to one. Nevertheless she wanted 
 to take part both for the object of seeing the ex- 
 periments and also of meeting the second patient. 
 Still there were anxious doubts and scruples in her 
 mind arising from her desire, on the one hand, and 
 a fear, on the other, that it was a social mistake to 
 do so. This had been going on during several days 
 and had been even the subject of correspondence, 
 discussions, etc. It was only at the last moment 
 
 * See p. 178, Lecture VI.
 
 376 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 that she could screw up her courage to take part in 
 the experiments. 
 
 Finally the experiments were made, with the re- 
 sult as above stated. Now the coconscious images 
 which were accompanied by the tremors, etc., were 
 pictures of herself, of the second patient, and of 
 myself. These images coming and going seemed, 
 as in a pantomime, to symbolize her previous 
 thoughts. Sometimes the image of the second pa- 
 tient turned away from the subject, sometimes the 
 three images were present, but the one of the subject 
 stood apart from the others as if an outcast, and in 
 both these latter cases particularly she would shake 
 with tremor, and would "get awfully hot all over," 
 and break out in perspiration. Then apparently 
 reassuring pictures would come and the tremor 
 would cease. 
 
 Besides these coconscious images there was a 
 train of coconscious thought of which she was not 
 personally aware. There was the thought that per- 
 haps, after all, it was a mistake to have taken part 
 in the experiments, as X, the second patient, was 
 not a physician, and her wish to see the subject 
 hypnotized must have been largely curiosity. Of 
 this train of thought the subject was not aware. 
 A t the same time concurrently there was in her per- 
 sonal consciousness the "thought that she liked X, 
 that it was very good of her to have come, and 
 awfully kind of you to take your time to conduct the 
 experiments." There was also a conscious emotion 
 of pleasure and something akin to hope, and nerv-
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 377 
 
 ousness at the situation. By contrast coconsciously 
 there was a greater feeling of nervousness and the 
 emotion of fear of which she was not consciously 
 aware. By a few appropriate suggestions all these 
 phenomena were made to disappear. 
 
 It would take us too long and be too much of a 
 digression to go more deeply into these subcon- 
 scious phenomena. From what has been given, 
 which is corroborated by a large number of observa- 
 tions of the same sort, it seems to me we are justi- 
 fied in concluding that the physical manifestations 
 of emotion (tremor, etc.) in the instance were de- 
 termined by subconscious processes which were the 
 functioning residua of antecedent thoughts with 
 their emotions. 
 
 But more than this these antecedent thoughts 
 were obsessing ideas of self-abasement, i. e., of her- 
 self as a person who socially was stamped with a 
 stigma and, therefore, as a sort of outcast. These 
 thoughts had formed one setting to the actual situ- 
 ation in which she found herself. The subconscious 
 complex, therefore, contained a perception plus the 
 meaning of the situation plus emotion; in other 
 words, the whole of the psychosis including the af- 
 fect was subconscious in that none of its elements 
 emerged into consciousness. Another and rival per- 
 ception of the situation was that which was actually 
 in consciousness and which has been described. The 
 physical phenomena were the manifestation of the 
 subconscious affect and would have been equally 
 manifested if the affect had become conscious. In
 
 378 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 such a case, then, we may say the whole of one set- 
 ting actually functions subconsciously. 
 
 The case of H. 0. is the same in principle as I in- 
 terpret it, but is distinguished by the fact that the 
 dissociation of processes was not so extreme. The 
 obsessing idea was in the ultramarginal zone of con- 
 sciousness and, to this extent, subconscious. Briefly 
 stated, H. 0. for many years was the victim of an 
 intense obsession, in consequence of which she had 
 practically foregone social life, and found herself 
 unable to travel for fear she would be afflicted with 
 her psychosis in trains, etc. The physical symptom 
 was intense nausea suddenly arising as an attack. 
 When attacked with this there developed also de- 
 pression and a mental state which is perhaps best 
 described as a mood. She could give no explanation 
 of the attacks. On examination it developed that 
 always in the "background of her mind," just pre- 
 ceding the attack, there came the idea of disgust of 
 self. At once the nausea as the physical expression 
 of disgust was experienced. The disgust-idea was 
 always excited by some associated stimulus. The 
 meaning of this "sentiment" was set in a large com- 
 plex of past experiences. Into all this I will not go. 
 The point is that the only conscious elements of her 
 obsession were in the extreme fringe of conscious- 
 ness, sufficiently dissociated to be practically cocon- 
 scious,* but the physical symptoms were distress- 
 ingly prominent. Relief was easily effected simply 
 
 * Memory of them could only be obtained in abstraction and 
 hypnosis.
 
 PEOCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 379 
 
 by organizing a new complex giving a new point of 
 view of self. 
 
 Complexes consisting entirely of the physiological 
 manifestations of emotion without conscious emo- 
 tion undoubtedly occur. A long time ago I de- 
 scribed such a neurosis under the name of Fear 
 Neurosis * in distinction from psychosis. The symp- 
 tom complex was interpreted as a persisting autom- 
 atism derived from antecedent fear states that had 
 been outgrown. From our present standpoint and 
 fuller knowledge we must believe that underlying 
 this automatism is probably an unconscious complex 
 of these antecedent experiences including the fear 
 which takes part in the functioning mechanism. It 
 may be called, then, a subconscious psychosis. 
 
 True hysterical laughter and crying are undoubt- 
 edly phenomena of this type and due to the same 
 mechanism. These phenomena are well known to be 
 purely automatic ; that is to say, they are emotional 
 manifestations unaccompanied in consciousness by 
 thoughts or even by emotions corresponding to 
 them. The subject laughs or cries without knowing 
 why and without even feeling merry or sad. I for- 
 bear to digress sufficiently to present the evidence 
 for the interpretation that the phenomena are due 
 to subconscious processes of the kind just described. 
 Let me merely say that in one instance, N. 0., in- 
 tensely studied, the automatic crying was traced by 
 experimental and clinical methods to a persisting 
 
 Fear Neurosis, Boston Med. and Swg. Journal, September 28, 
 1898.
 
 380 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 and often insistent subconscious childhood's percep- 
 tion and meaning of self as a lonely, unhappy child. 
 This perception, etc., could be differentiated from 
 the conscious perception belonging to adult age. 
 
 Numerous observations of emotional phenomena 
 similar in principle have been recorded in the case 
 of Miss B.* These observations included automatic 
 facial expressions of pleasure, anger, and fear. 
 These expressions could always be traced to sub- 
 conscious processes and in this case to actual ideas 
 of a coconscious personality. But the principle is 
 the same. Sometimes the affect linked to the process 
 welled up into consciousness and sometimes it did 
 not. When, in the case of Miss B., the automatic 
 phenomena were determined by coconscious ideas it 
 was because the perceptions of the secondary sub- 
 conscious personality had a humorous, angry, or 
 fear setting, as the case might be. These particular 
 observations are of especial interest because they 
 allow us to clearly distinguish at almost one and the 
 same moment the different manifestations corre- 
 sponding to the different settings with which the 
 same idea may be clustered. While, for instance, 
 the personal consciousness of Miss B. perceived a 
 person or situation with apprehension and mani- 
 fested this apprehension in her facial expression as 
 well as verbally, the subconscious perception of the 
 same person or situation was one of joy which broke 
 through Miss B.'s apprehensive feature in auto- 
 
 * The Dissociation, see index, ' ' Subconscious Ideas, ' ' and ' ' Sub- 
 conscious Self. ' '
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 381 
 
 matic smiles. In other words, two different percep- 
 tions (with opposite meanings) of one and the same 
 object functioned at the same time. 
 
 These observations, as interpreted, are of wider 
 significance in that they allow us to understand 
 the mechanism of many phenomena of everyday 
 life. For instance, the hysteria of crowds may be 
 explained on the same principle; likewise the out- 
 break of emotional physical manifestations in a per- 
 son whose attention is absorbed (abstraction and dis- 
 traction) in reading or hearing something (e. g., at 
 a play), which, it may be inferred, touches some in- 
 ner emotional experience of his life. In the kind of 
 instance I have in mind introspection fails to reveal 
 the presence of conscious thoughts or sometimes 
 even emotions which adequately explain the physical 
 disturbance. When not abstracted by the reading or 
 play, the same ideas he was attending to a moment 
 before fail to excite these disturbances. 
 
 As has been said, * ' everyone is a little hysterical, ' ' 
 meaning that under certain conditions particu- 
 larly those of stress and strain and strong emotion 
 the mind becomes a bit disintegrated, and uncon- 
 scious complexes manifest themselves through what 
 are called hysterical symptoms. 
 
 Type B: In this class the subject is afflicted with 
 attacks of conscious emotion, most conspicuously 
 and commonly fear, plus the same physical dis- 
 turbances as in type A, but without any specific idea 
 in consciousness to which the emotion is related.
 
 382 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 When we examine certain favorable subjects like 
 Miss B., B. C. A., H. 0. and O. N., in whom memories 
 of subconscious processes can be obtained by tech- 
 nical procedures, specific coconscious ideas can be 
 demonstrated during the attacks of fear. These 
 ideas are those of fear of some specific object. The 
 emotion pertaining to these ideas alone emerges 
 into consciousness, the subject remaining unaware 
 of the ideas themselves. In the case of Miss B. 
 numerous observations of this kind were recorded.* 
 When the obsessing fear constantly recurs it is a 
 so-called "anxiety neurosis,"^ as I interpret the 
 phenomena. 
 
 A typically perfect example of anxiety neurosis 
 was the recurring attacks of intense anxiety accom- 
 panied by a feeling of suffocation and oppression 
 of the chest experienced by one of my subjects. In- 
 vestigation disclosed that the first attack imme- 
 diately followed a dream which was forgotten, but 
 recovered in hypnosis. It appeared that in the 
 dream she was accused by a certain person of cer- 
 tain delinquencies and threatened with exposure. At 
 this point in the dream she was overcome with fear 
 and anguish as in the after attacks. It also appeared 
 that previously she had been and still was apprehen- 
 sive of this person's loyalty. By inference and 
 analogy with the well-established after-phenomena 
 of dreams (p. 101), we must assume that the dream 
 
 * The Dissociation, loc. eit. 
 t Ibid., p. 132.
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 383 
 
 process still functioned subconsciously and pro- 
 duced the anxiety attacks.* 
 
 In this connection it is well to notice that it is 
 a common observation that not only the affect of 
 emotion but that of feeling also may emerge from 
 the subconscious into consciousness and color the 
 attitude of the personal consciousness. This may 
 be demonstrated by hypnotic procedures. When in 
 hypnosis complexes of ideas with strong feeling 
 tones, whether of pleasure or displeasure, of exalta- 
 tion or depression, are suggested, the subject after 
 awakening experiences these same feeling tones 
 which dominate the personality. The subject then 
 feels pleasantly exalted or unpleasantly depressed, 
 as the case may be, without knowing the reason 
 why. In alternating personalities the same phe- 
 nomena may sometimes be observed. In the case 
 of Miss B. the feeling tones which dominated the 
 one personality invaded the consciousness of the 
 other personality, often causing considerable dis- 
 tress after the alternation had occurred and al- 
 though there was amnesia for all that had gone be- 
 fore.f Thus BIV complained of the feelings of de- 
 pression from which BI shortly before had suf- 
 fered, although her own ideas were far from being 
 of a depressing nature. This depression welled up 
 
 * It is worth noting that this interpretation is supported by the 
 therapeutic result. The attacks completely and quickly ceased after 
 the setting to her apprehensive idea was so altered, by one single 
 explanation, that she no longer feared the loyalty of her friend. 
 
 f The Dissociation, pp. 262, 297, 298 and 324, 325, 497; also The 
 Unconscious, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, April-May, 1909.
 
 384 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 from the unconscious. It was in consequence of this 
 phenomenon that BIV wrote : ' ' BI 's constant griev- 
 ing wears on my nerves. It is harder to endure 
 than one would believe possible. I would rather 
 give and take with Sally a thousand times rather. ' ' 
 Likewise when a subject has feelings of unpleasant- 
 ness and depression which he cannot explain it is 
 easy in certain subjects to demonstrate the concur- 
 rence of coconscious ideas with these feeling tones. 
 The affect in such cases emerges into consciousness, 
 though the subject is unaware of the coconscious 
 ideas. Correspondingly the feelings may be those 
 of pleasantness and exaltation. The demonstration 
 of coconscious processes as the sources of the con- 
 scious feelings of course can only be made in sub- 
 jects in whom memories of coconscious processes 
 can be evoked. In such subjects I have observed 
 the phenomena on almost numberless occasions. But 
 it can be provoked in almost any good hypnotic sub- 
 ject. To awake pleasurable and exalting feelings, 
 to substitute them for their opposite when such are 
 present, belongs to therapeutic art. The skillful 
 therapeutist endeavors to provoke the former by the 
 various procedures at his command. The important 
 principle underlying such procedures is that the 
 feeling tones pertaining to ideas may still invade the 
 personal consciousness after the ideas have become 
 dormant in the unconscious. 
 
 This principle, it seems to me, is of far-reaching 
 application. The persistence of the feeling tone in 
 a pleasant or unpleasant mental attitude after the
 
 PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS 385 
 
 experience giving rise to it has become dormant is 
 observed in everyday life and can be explained on 
 this principle. We have an exalting experience, en- 
 gage in a spirited game of tennis, watch an exciting 
 football match, or take part in an exhilarating dance. 
 For the remainder of the day or the next day we 
 still experience all the stimulating pleasurable feel- 
 ing, even though in the cares of our vocation the 
 memories of the previous experiences have remained 
 dormant, not having once been called to mind. The 
 only difference between such experiences of every- 
 day life and those of hypnosis is that in one case we 
 can, if we will, recall the origin of the feeling and in 
 the other we cannot. In both we do not.* 
 
 Dormant dream complexes may give rise to simi- 
 lar phenomena. In a minor way everyone, probably, 
 has experienced the persistence of the emotional ef- 
 fects of a dream after waking and after the memory 
 of the dream has vanished. More commonly, of 
 course, the dream is remembered, but in the cases 
 of people who do not remember their dreams the 
 phenomenon is precise. B. C. A., for example, does 
 not as a rule remember her dreams, but neverthe- 
 less frequently awakes in a state of anxiety or exal- 
 tation which has considerable persistency. In 
 hypnosis the dream which gives rise to the emo- 
 tional state is recovered. 
 
 In pathological conditions these post-hypnotic, 
 hysterical, dream, and other phenomena suggest, 
 
 * Prince: The Unconscious, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 
 April-May and June-July, 1909.
 
 386 THE 
 
 among other questions, whether in depressive and 
 excited psychoses the affective element is not derived 
 from submerged unconscious complexes. Melan- 
 cholias, for example, may in some cases at least de- 
 rive their feeling tone from such complexes.
 
 LECTURE XIII 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 
 
 (Obsessions Continued) 
 
 Type C: In this type the affect is linked with an 
 idea as its object in consciousness but without mean- 
 ing, so that whenever this idea is awakened it is 
 accompanied by the affect alone. Some of the pho- 
 bias are the most common pathological exemplars. 
 Nor is there anything in the content of conscious- 
 ness which gives meaning to the idea as something 
 that should occasion anxiety. The subject, in other 
 words, does not know why he is afraid of the given 
 object. In such cases the restoration of dormant 
 memories will disclose antecedent experiences in 
 which the idea is set and which explains the origin 
 and meaning of the fear. Here again we have the 
 principle shown in a clear cut way in conditions of 
 alternating personality. For instance take the case 
 of Miss B. An emotion, apparently paradoxical, 
 would be aroused in BIV in connection with a 
 strange person or place, or in consequence of a 
 reference by some one to an unknown event. BIV, 
 without apparent reason, would feel an intense emo- 
 tion in connection with something or other which 
 
 387
 
 388 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 she did not remember to have ever heard or seen 
 before. A face, a name, a particular locality where 
 she happened to find herself would arouse a strong 
 emotional effect without her knowing the reason. 
 The memories of the experiences to which these 
 emotions belonged were a part of BPs life and 
 could easily be recalled by her when the personali- 
 ties again alternated and BI came into existence. 
 When BIV came again these experiences, of course, 
 would be forgotten and become dormant, but the 
 emotions associated with the visual, auditory, and 
 other images of a given person or place, or what- 
 ever it might be, would be liable to be aroused in 
 her by the perception, in spite of the amnesia, when- 
 ever the given person or place, as it might be, came 
 into her daily life. Here the conscious content of 
 the psychosis consists of perception plus affect with- 
 out meaning. 
 
 I formerly was inclined to interpret such para- 
 doxical emotions on the principle of the simple link- 
 ing of an affect to a perception. But when we con- 
 sider that, on the reversion of the personality to 
 BI the perception, meaning, and affect still re- 
 mained organized as a conscious psychic whole, it is 
 much more probable that the meaning took part as 
 a subconscious process in the mechanism of BIV's 
 emotional psychosis and was responsible for the 
 paradox. In the case of recurrent fears the ante- 
 cedent experiences which contain their meaning are 
 conserved as unconscious complexes. The psycho- 
 sis differs clinically from types A ana T3"only in
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 389 
 
 that another conscious element has been added, 
 viz. : the idea of an object of the fear. It is con- 
 sistent therefore to infer that the unconscious com- 
 plexes are a submerged part of the mechanism by 
 which the affect is maintained in association with 
 the object. The conscious and the subconscious 
 form a psychic whole. 
 
 As an instance let T us take the following case of 
 phobia. It was ostensibly one of church- steeples 
 and towers of any kind. The patient, a woman 
 about forty years of age, dreaded and tried in con- 
 sequence to avoid the sight of one. When she passed 
 by such a tower she was very strongly affected emo- 
 tionally, experiencing always a feeling of terror 
 or anguish accompanied by the usual marked physi- 
 cal symptoms. Sometimes even speaking of a tower 
 would at once awaken this emotional complex which 
 expressed itself outwardly in her face, as I myself 
 observed on several occasions. Considering the fre- 
 quency with which church and schoolhouse towers 
 are met with in everyday life, one can easily imagine 
 the discomfort arising from such a phobia. Before 
 the mystery was unraveled she was unable to give 
 any explanation of the origin or meaning of this 
 phobia, and could not connect it with any episode 
 in her life, or even state how far back in her life 
 it had existed. Vaguely she thought it existed when 
 she was about fifteen years of age and that it might 
 have existed before that. Now it should be noted 
 that an idea of a tower with bells had in her mind
 
 390 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 no meaning whatsoever that explained the fear. It 
 had no more meaning than it would have in any- 
 body's mind. In the content of consciousness there 
 was only the perception plus emotion and no cor- 
 responding meaning. Accordingly I sought to dis- 
 cover the origin and meaning of the phobia by the 
 so-called psycho-analytic method. 
 
 When I attempted to recover the associated mem- 
 ories by this method, the mere mention of bells in 
 a tower threw her into a panic in which anxiety, 
 "thrills," and perspiration were prominent. Be- 
 fore making the analysis I had constructed a theory 
 in my mind to the effect that a phobia for bells in 
 a tower was a sexual symbolism, being led to this 
 partly by the suggestiveness of the object and 
 partly by the fact that I had found symbolisms of 
 a sexual kind in her dreams.* 
 
 Analysis was conducted at great length and memo- 
 ries covering a wide field of experiences were 
 elicited. When asked to think of bells in a tower, 
 or each of these objects separately, there was at 
 first a complete blocking of thought in that her mind 
 became a blank. Later, memories which to a large 
 extent, but not wholly, played in various relations 
 around her mother (who is dead) as the central 
 object came into the field of consciousness. Noth- 
 ing, however, was awakened that gave the slightest 
 meaning to the phobia even on the wildest interpre- 
 tation. The patient, who had been frequently hyp- 
 
 * In making the analysis, therefore, I was in no way antagonistic 
 in my mind tp the Freudian hypothesis.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 391 
 
 notized by another physician, tended during the 
 analysis to go into a condition of unusually deep 
 abstraction, to such a degree that on breaking off 
 the analysis she failed to remember, save very im- 
 perfectly, the memories elicited. Such an abstrac- 
 tion is hypnosis. 
 
 Finally, after all endeavors to discover the gene- 
 sis of the phobia by analysis were in vain, I tried 
 another method. While she was in hypnosis I put 
 a pencil in her hand with the object of obtaining the 
 desired information through automatic writing. 
 While she ivas narrating some irrelevant memories 
 of her mother, the hand rapidly wrote as follows: 
 
 ' ' G M church and my father took my 
 
 mother to Bi where she died and we went to 
 
 Br and they cut my mother. I prayed and 
 
 cried all the time that she would live and the church 
 bells were always ringing and I hated them." 
 
 When she began to write the latter part of this 
 script she became depressed, sad, indeed anguished ; 
 tears flowed down her cheeks and she seemed to be 
 almost heartbroken. In other words, it appeared 
 as if she were subconsciously living over again the 
 period described in the script. I say subconsciously 
 for she did not know what her hand had written or 
 why she was anguished. During the writing of 
 the first part of the script she was verbally describ- 
 ing other memories; during the latter part she 
 ceased speaking. 
 
 After awakening from hypnosis and when she 
 had become composed in her mind she narrated, at
 
 392 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 my request, the events referred to in the script. She 
 remembered them clearly as they happened when 
 she was about fifteen years of age. It appeared that 
 
 she was staying at that time in G M , 
 
 a town in England. Her mother, who was seriously 
 ill, was taken to a great surgeon to be operated 
 upon. She herself suffered great anxiety and 
 anguish lest her mother should not recover. She 
 went twice a day to the church to pray for her 
 mother's recovery and in her anguish declared that 
 if her mother did not recover she would no longer 
 believe in God. The chimes in the tower of the 
 church, which was close to her hotel, sounded every 
 quarter hour; they got on her nerves; she hated 
 them; she could not bear to hear them, and while 
 she was praying they added to her anguish. Ever 
 since this time the ringing of bells has continued 
 to cause a feeling of anguish. This narrative was 
 not accompanied by emotion as was the automatic 
 script. 
 
 It now transpired that it was the ringing of the 
 church bells, or the anticipated ringing of bells, that 
 caused the fear, and not the perception of a tower 
 itself. When she saw a tower she feared lest bells 
 should ring. This was the object of the phobia.* 
 
 * I want to emphasize this point, because certain students, as- 
 suming the well-known alleged sexual symbolism as the meaning of 
 steeples and towers, will read and have read such an interpretation 
 into this phobia. As a matter of fact, although these objects had 
 been originally alleged by the subject herself to be the object of the 
 fear it was done thoughtlessly as the result of careless introspection. 
 Later she clearly distinguished the true object. They were no more
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 393 
 
 She could not explain why she had never before 
 connected her phobia with the episode she described. 
 This failure of association as we know is not uncom- 
 mon, and in this case was apparently related to a 
 determination to put out of mind an unbearable epi- 
 sode associated with so much anguish. There had 
 been for years a more or less constant mental con- 
 flict with her phobia. The subject had striven not 
 to think of or look at belfries, churches, school- 
 houses, or any towers, or to hear the ringing of their 
 bells, or to talk about them. She had endeavored to 
 protect herself by keeping such ideas out of her 
 mind. Before further analyzing the case there are 
 two points which are well worth calling attention to : 
 1. When the subject subconsciously described the 
 original childhood experience by automatic script 
 there was intense emotion fear which emerged 
 into consciousness without her knowing the reason 
 thereof. When, on the other hand, she later from 
 her conscious memories described the same experi- 
 
 the object than the churches and schoolhouses themselves. They bore 
 an incidental association only, and only indicated where the ringing 
 of bells might be expected to be heard, having been an element in the 
 original episode. Nor were bells, qua bells, the object of the phobia, 
 but the ringing-of -bells of the kind that recalled the mother's death. 
 In other words, the fear was of bells with a particular meaning. 
 Nor was the fear absolutely limited to tower-bells, for it transpired 
 that the subject had refrained from having, as she desired, an alarm 
 bell arranged in her house in the country (in case of fire, etc.), be- 
 cause of her phobia. (This note is perhaps made necessary by the 
 violent shaking of the heads of my Freudian friends that I noticed 
 at this point during the presentation of this case before the Ameri- 
 can Psychopathological Association.) See Jour. Abn. Psychol., Oct.- 
 Nov., 1913.
 
 394 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ence there was no such emotion. In other words 
 it was only when the conserved residua of the ex- 
 perience functioned consciously and autonomously 
 as a dissociated, independent process that emotion 
 was manifested. So long as the memories were 
 described from the view-point of the matured adult 
 personal consciousness there was no emotion. As a 
 subconscious process they were unmodified by this 
 later viewpoint. This suggests at least that when 
 the phobia was excited by the sight or idea of a 
 tower it was due likewise to a subconscious process 
 and that this was one and the same as that which 
 induced the experimental phobia. 
 
 2. The phraseology of the script is noticeable. 
 The account is just such as a child might have 
 written. It reads as if the conserved thoughts of 
 a child had awakened and functioned subconsciously. 
 
 From this history, so far as given, it is plain that 
 the psychosis in one sense is a recurring antecedent 
 experience or memory, but it is only a partial mem- 
 ory. The whole of the experience does not recur 
 but only the emotion in association with the ring- 
 ing of bells. The rest of that experience, viz., the 
 idea of the possible death of her mother with its 
 attendant grief and anguish associated with the 
 visits to the church, the praying for recovery and 
 finally the realization of the fatal ending all that 
 which originally excited the fear and gave the ring- 
 ing-of-bells-in-a-tower meaning was conserved as a 
 setting in the unconscious. That the rest of the 
 experience was conserved was shown by the fact
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 395 
 
 that it could be recalled not only by automatic 
 writing but, although not in association with the 
 phobia, to conscious memory. From this point of 
 view the fear of bells ringing may be regarded as 
 a recurrence of the original fear that of her 
 mother 's death now derived from a subconsciously 
 functioning setting. The child was afraid to face 
 her grief and so now the matured adult was also 
 afraid. 
 
 From another point of view the ringing of bells 
 may be regarded as standing for, or a symbol of, 
 her mother's death with which it was so intimately 
 associated, and this symbol awakened the same fear 
 as did originally the idea itself of the death. An 
 object may still be the symbol of another, although 
 the association between the two cannot be recalled. 
 (The transference of the emotional factor of an 
 experience to some element in it is a common occur- 
 rence; e. g., a fear of knives in a person who has 
 had the fear of committing suicide.) 
 
 The discovered antecedent experiences of child- 
 hood then give a hitherto unsuspected meaning to 
 the ringing of bells. It is a meaning the mise en 
 scene of a tragedy of grief and a symbol of that 
 tragedy. But was that tragedy with its grief the 
 real meaning of the child's fear or, perhaps more 
 correctly, the whole of the meaning? And is it still 
 the meaning in the mind of the adult woman ? Does 
 the mere conservation of a painful memory of grief 
 explain its persistent recurrent subconscious func- 
 tioning during twenty-five years, well into adult life,
 
 396 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 so that the child's emotion shall be reawakened 
 whenever one element (bell- tower) of the original 
 experience is presented to consciousness? And, 
 still more, can the persistence of a mere association 
 of the affect with the object independently of a sub- 
 conscious process explain the psychosis? Either 
 of these two last propositions is absurd on its face 
 as being opposed to the experience of the great mass 
 of mankind. The vast majority of people have 
 undergone disturbing, sorrowful or fear-inspiring 
 experiences at some time during the course of their 
 lives and they do not find that they cannot for years 
 afterwards face some object or idea belonging to 
 that experience without being overwhelmed with the 
 same emotion. Such emotion in the course of time 
 subsides and dies out. A few, relatively speaking, 
 do so suffer and then, because contrary to general 
 experience, it is called a psychosis. 
 
 We must, then, seek some other and adequate fac- 
 tor in the case under examination. When describing 
 the episode in the church, the subject stated that 
 on one occasion she omitted to go to church to pray 
 and the thought came to her that if her mother died 
 it would be due to this omission, and it would be her 
 fault. The "eye of God"* she thought was literally 
 
 * This idea had its origin in a child 's fairy tale, and had been 
 fostered by the governess as a useful expedient in enforcing good 
 behavior. The child accepting the fairy legend believed the Eye of 
 God was always on her and every one in the world, and observed all 
 that each did or omitted to do. The legend excited her imagination, 
 and she used to think about it and wonder how God could keep His 
 eye on so many people as there were in the world. At a still earlier
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 397 
 
 upon her in her every daily act and when her mother 
 did die she thought that it was God's punishment 
 of herself because of that one failure. Consequently 
 she thought that she was to blame for her mother's 
 death; that her mother's death was her fault. She 
 feared to face her mother's death, not because of 
 grief that was a mere subterfuge, a self-deception 
 but because she thought she was to blame; and 
 she feared to face towers with bells, or rather the 
 ringing of bells, because they symbolized or stood 
 for that death (just as a tomb-stone would stand for 
 it), and in facing that fact she had to face her own 
 fancied guilt and self-reproach and this she dared 
 not do. This was the real fear, the fear of facing 
 her own guilt. The emotion then was not only a 
 recurrence of the affect associated with the church 
 episode but a reaction to self-reproach. The ringing 
 of bells, somewhat metaphorically speaking, re- 
 proached her as Banquo's ghost reproached Mac- 
 beth. 
 
 All this was the child's point of view. 
 
 But I found that the patient, an adult woman, 
 stiU believed and obstinately maintained that her 
 mother's death was her fault. She had never ceased 
 to believe it. Why was this! Why had not the 
 
 age, when she was about eight, she had thought her little brother's 
 death was also her fault, because she had neglected one night, at the 
 time of his illness, God's eye being upon her, to say her prayers. 
 For a long time afterward she suffered similarly from self-reproach. 
 It is interesting to compare the outgrowing with maturity of this 
 self-reproach with the persistence of the later one, evidently owing 
 to the reasons given in the text.
 
 398 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 unsophisticated belief of a child become modified by 
 the maturity of years ? It did not seem to be proba- 
 ble that the given child's reason was the real adult 
 reason for self-reproach. I did not believe it. A 
 woman forty years of age could not reproach her- 
 self on such grounds. And, even if this belief had 
 been originally the real reason, as a matter of fact 
 she had outgrown the child's religious belief. She 
 was a thorough-going agnostic. Further probing 
 brought out the following: 
 
 Two years before her mother's death, the patient, 
 then thirteen years old, owing to her own careless- 
 ness and disobedience to her mother's instructions, 
 had contracted a "cold" which had been diagnosed 
 as incipient phthisis. By the physician's advice 
 her mother took her to Europe for a "cure" and 
 was detained there (as she believed) for two years, 
 all on account of the child's health. At the end of 
 this period a serious, chronic disease from which 
 the mother had long suffered was found to have so 
 developed as to require an emergency operation. 
 The patient still believed and argued that if her 
 mother had not been compelled to take her abroad 
 she (the mother) would have been under medical 
 supervision at home, would have been operated upon 
 long before and in all probability would not have 
 died. Furthermore, as the patient had heedlessly 
 and disobediently exposed herself to severe cold and 
 thereby contracted the disease compelling the so- 
 journ in Europe, she was to blame for the train of 
 circumstances ending fatally.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 399 
 
 All this was perfectly logical and true, assuming 
 the facts as presented. Here then was the real rea- 
 son for the patient's persistent belief that her 
 mother's death was her fault and the persistent self- 
 reproach. It also transpired that all this had 
 weighed upon the child's mind and that the child 
 had likewise believed it. So the child had two rea- 
 sons for self-reproach. One was neglecting to pray 
 and the other was being the indirect cause of the 
 fatal operation. Both were intensely believed in. 
 The first based on the "eye of God" theory she had 
 outgrown, but the other had persisted. 
 
 Summing up our study to this point: All these 
 memories involving grief, suffering, self-reproach, 
 bells and mother formed an unconscious setting 
 which gave meaning to bells in towers and took part 
 in the functioning to form a psychic whole. The con- 
 scious psychosis was first the emergence into con- 
 sciousness of two elements only, the perception and 
 the affect, and the fear was a reaction to self-re- 
 proach, a fear to face self -blame. 
 
 Now even if the mother's death were logically, 
 by a train of fortuitous circumstances, the patient's 
 fault, why did an otherwise intelligent woman lay 
 so much stress upon an irresponsible child's be- 
 havior? The child after all behaved no differently 
 from other children. People do not consciously 
 blame themselves in after life for the ultimate con- 
 sequences of childhood's heedlessness. According 
 to common experience such self-reproaches do not
 
 400 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 last into adult life without some continuously acting 
 factor. 
 
 A search in this case into the unconscious brought 
 to light a persisting idea that when events in her 
 life happened unfortunately it was due to her fault. 
 It had cropped out again and again in connection 
 with inconsequential as well as consequential mat- 
 ters. She had, for instance, been really unable on 
 many occasions to leave home on pleasure trips for 
 fear lest some accident might happen within the 
 home and consequently it would be due to her fault ; 
 and if away she was in constant dread of something 
 happening for which she would be to blame. It 
 was not a fear of what might happen an accident 
 to the children, for example but that it would be 
 her fault. I have heard her, when some matter of 
 apparently little concern had gone wrong, suddenly 
 exclaim, "Was it my fault?" her voice and features 
 manifesting a degree of emotion almost amounting 
 to terror. "When her brother died (still earlier, be- 
 fore her mother's death) she had blamed herself for 
 that death, as later with her mother, on the same re- 
 ligious grounds. This self-reproach for happenings, 
 fancied as due to her fault, has frequently appeared 
 in her dreams. It would take us too far afield to 
 trace the origin and psychogenesis of this idea. Suf- 
 fice to say, it can be followed back to early child- 
 hood when she was five or six years of age. She 
 was a lonely, unhappy child. She thought herself 
 ugly and unattractive and disliked and that so it al-
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 401 
 
 ways would be through life, and it was all her fault 
 because she was ugly, as she thought.* The instinct 
 
 * Another example of this idea and of the way it induced a 
 psychosis is the following: She had an intense dislike to hearing the 
 sound of running water. This sound induced an intense feeling of 
 unhappiness and loneliness. This feeling was so intense that whenever 
 she heard the sound of running water she endeavored to get away 
 from it. The sound of a fountain or rainwater running from a roof, 
 for example, would cause such unpleasant feelings that she would 
 change her sleeping room to avoid them. Likewise drawing water to 
 fill the bathtub was so unpleasant that she would insist upon the 
 door being closed to exclude the sound. She could give no explana- 
 tion of this psychosis. It was discovered in the following way: She 
 had been desirous of finding out the cause, and we had discussed the 
 subject. I had promised that I would unravel the matter in due time, 
 after the other phobia had been cured. I then hypnotized her and, 
 while she was in hypnosis and just after we had completed the other 
 problem, she remarked that a memory of the running water associa- 
 tion was on the verge of emerging into her mind. She could not 
 get it for some time, and then, after some effort, it suddenly emerged. 
 She described it as follows : "It was at Bar Harbor. She was about 
 eight years of age. There was a brook there called Duck Brook. 
 The older girls used to go up there on Sundays for a walk with the 
 boys. I went with them one Sunday, accompanied by the governess, 
 and was standing by the brook with a boy. It was a very noisy 
 brook, the water running down from the hillside. While I was stand- 
 ing by the brook, watching the running water, the boy left me to 
 join the other girls, who had gone off. I thought that was the way 
 it would always be in life; that I was ugly, and that they would 
 never stay with me. I felt lonely and unhappy. During that sum- 
 mer I would not join parties of the same kind, fearing or feeling 
 that the same thing would happen. I stayed at home by myself, and 
 when I refused to go it was attributed to sullenness. They did not 
 know my real reasons. Ever since I have been unable to bear the 
 sound of running water, which produces the feeling of unhappiness 
 and loneliness, the same feeling that I had at that time. I thought 
 then that it was all my fault, because I was ugly." It was then 
 tentatively pointed out at some length to the subject that as she 
 now knew all the facts which had been brought to the "full light
 
 402 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 of self-abasement (McDougall*) or negative self- 
 feeling (Eibot) dominated the personality as the 
 most insistent instinct and from its intensity within 
 the self -regarding sentiment (McDougall) formed a 
 sentiment of self-depreciation. She wanted to be 
 liked and believed it to be her own fault that, as 
 she fancied, she was not and never would be, and 
 reproached herself accordingly. This sentiment of 
 self depreciation with its impulse to render self-re- 
 proach has persisted, as with many people, all her 
 life and has been fostered by unwise and thoughtless 
 domestic criticism. The persistence to the present 
 day of this impulse to self-reproach is shown in the 
 following observation: 
 
 Quite recently this subject began to suffer from 
 general fatigue, insomnia, distressing dreams, hys- 
 terical crying, indefinable anxiety and pseudo twi- 
 light states or extreme states of abstraction. In 
 these states she became oblivious of her environ- 
 ment, did not hear the conversation going on about 
 her, nor answer when directly spoken to. This be- 
 
 of day," etc., she, of course, would no longer have her former un- 
 pleasant emotions from the sound of running water. Hereupon, to 
 put the question to the test, I reached out my hand and poured 
 some water from a caraffe, by chance standing by, into a tumbler, 
 letting the water fall from a height to make a sound. At once she 
 manifested discomfort, and sought to restrain me with her hand. 
 Plainly the setting had to be changed. This was easily done by 
 leading her to see that her childhood's ideas had been proven by 
 life's experiences to be false. When this became apparent she 
 laughed at herself, and the psychosis ceased at once. 
 * Social Psychology.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 403 
 
 came so noticeable that she became the jest of her 
 companions. In these states her mind was always 
 occupied with reveries (not fantasies), though 
 mostly pleasant, regarding a very near relative who 
 had died about six months previously. Her dis- 
 tressing dreams also concerned this relative. It ap- 
 peared, therefore, probable, on the face of the symp- 
 toms that they were in some way related to this 
 relative's death. 
 
 Now it transpired, as I already knew, that the rel- 
 ative had died under somewhat tragic circumstances 
 and that our subject's experience during the last 
 illness was unusually distressing and sorrowful. 
 This experience, she asserted, she could not bear to 
 speak or even think about and over and over again 
 had refused to do so and put it out of her mind. She 
 further asserted that her reason for this attitude 
 was the distressing nature of the scenes in which 
 she took part. 
 
 Now I did not believe that this was the true rea- 
 son, although given in good faith. It was improba- 
 ble on its face. To say that a grown woman, forty 
 years of age, could not do what every woman can 
 do, tolerate sorrowful memories simply because they 
 were sorrowful, and must perforce put them out of 
 her mind, is sheer nonsense. There must be some 
 other reason. 
 
 On examining a dream it was found to be peculiar 
 in one respect: It was not an imaginative or fan- 
 tastic composition, but a detailed and precise living 
 over again of the scenes at the death bed: that is
 
 404 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 to say, it was a sort of somnambulistic state. In re- 
 calling this dream* she could not for some time re- 
 cover the ending. Finally it " broke through," as 
 she expressed it. The dream was as follows : First 
 came many details of the vigil of the last night of 
 the illness; then she went to her room and to bed 
 to snatch a few moments ' sleep ; she was waked up 
 by the husband of the dying relative appearing in 
 her room. He sat on the edge of her bed and said 
 to her, "All is over." Up to this point the facts 
 of the dream were actual representations in great 
 detail of the actual facts as they had occurred, but 
 at this moment the dream presented a fact which 
 had not occurred in the real scene ; she suddenly, in 
 the dream, sat up in bed and exclaimed, "My God! 
 then I ought to have sent for the doctor!" 
 
 Here was the key to the intolerance for memories 
 of the illness of the relative and the death-bed scene. 
 What had happened was this: The question had 
 arisen early in the illness whether or not a doctor 
 should be sent for from London in consultation. 
 The expense, owing to the distance, would have been 
 considerable. The whole responsibility and decision 
 rested upon the subject. Against the opinion of 
 other relatives she had decided that it was inadvisa- 
 ble. After the fatal ending the question had arisen 
 again whether or not she ought to have sent for the 
 consultant and she had been tormented by the doubt 
 as to whether she did right; was the fatal result her 
 
 * This was done in hypnosis, the dream being forgotten when 
 awake.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 405 
 
 fault? Although she had reasoned with herself that 
 her decision was good judgment and right still there 
 had always lurked a doubt in her mind. She was 
 also somewhat disturbed by the thought of what the 
 husband's opinion might be. 
 
 The real reason why she could not tolerate the 
 memories of the last illness of this relative, and the 
 psychogenesis of the symptoms now were plain: 
 they were not grief but self-reproach with its in- 
 stinct of self-abasement. The memories brought to 
 her mind that the fault was her's and with the 
 thought came self-reproach. This self-reproach she 
 was afraid of and unwilling to face. This fact she 
 recognized and frankly confessed after the dis- 
 closures of the analysis. 
 
 Now follows the therapeutic sequel. The rela- 
 tive's illness at the beginning was in no way of a 
 dangerous nature and the proposed consultation had 
 nothing to do with the question of danger to life. 
 The death was due to purely an accidental factor 
 and could not have been foreseen. When I assured 
 her in hypnosis, with full explanation, that her de- 
 cision had been medically sound, as it was, the 
 change in her mental attitude was delightful to look 
 upon. "Wasn't it my fault! Wasn't it my fault!" 
 she exclaimed in excitement. Anxiety, dread, and 
 depression gave way to exhilaration and joyousness. 
 Thereupon she woke up completely relieved in mind, 
 and retained the same feeling of joy, but without 
 knowing the reason thereof. The explanation was 
 repeated to her in the waking state and she then
 
 406 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 fully realized (as she did also in hypnosis) that 
 her previous view was a pure subterfuge and fully 
 appreciated the truth of the discovered reason for 
 her inability to face her painful memories. The 
 twilight states, the insomnia, and the distressing 
 dreams, the anxiety, and other symptoms ceased at 
 once. 
 
 Returning to the phobia for bells, in the light of 
 all these facts, the patient's belief that her mother's 
 death was her fault and the consequent self-re- 
 proach were obviously only a particular concrete ex- 
 ample of a lifelong emotional tendency originating 
 in the experiences of childhood to blame herself; 
 and this tendency was the striving to express itself 
 of the instinct of self-abasement (with the emotion 
 of self -subjection) which, incorporated within "the 
 self -regarding sentiment" (McDougall), was so in- 
 tensely cultivated and had played so large a part 
 in her life. Indeed this instinct had almost domi- 
 nated her self-regarding sentiment and had given 
 rise time and again to self-reproach for acci- 
 dental happenings. It now specifically determined 
 her attitude of mind toward the series of events 
 which led up to the fatal climax and determined her 
 judgment of self-condemnation and self-reproach. 
 These last most probably received increased emo- 
 tional force from the large number of roots in pain- 
 ful associations of antecedent experiences (particu- 
 larly of childhood) in which the self -regarding 
 sentiment, self-debasement, and self-reproaches
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 407 
 
 were incorporated.* Nevertheless the fear was of 
 a particular concrete self-reproach. The general 
 tendency was of practical consequence only so far 
 as it explained the particular point of view and 
 might induce other self-reproaches. 
 
 As a general summary of this study it would ap- 
 pear that we can postulate a larger setting to the 
 phobia than the grief inspiring experiences attend- 
 ing her mother's death. The unconscious complex 
 included the belief that she was to blame and the 
 sentiment of self-reproach, and the whole gave a 
 fuller meaning to the ringing of bells in a tower. 
 The fear besides being a recurring association was 
 also a reaction to the subconsciously excited setting 
 of a fancied truth or self-accusation. Although ex- 
 cited by towers and steeples the fear was really of 
 self-reproach. Towers, steeples, and bells not only 
 in a sense symbolized her mother's death, but her 
 own fancied fault. It was in this sense and for this 
 reason that she dared not face such objects. The 
 
 * For instance, when I came to the therapeutics I found in ab- 
 straction that the patient did not want to give up her point of view 
 ' ' because, ' ' as she said, ' ' it forms an excuse so that when I feel 
 lonely, if there is nothing else to be lonely about, I have that memory 
 and point of view to fall back upon as something to justify my 
 crying and feeling lonely and blue." 
 
 When she now feels blue and cries, as happens occasionally, and 
 she asks herself Why? then she drifts back in her mind to childhood 
 and remembers she was lonely and then cries the harder. Then she 
 vaguely thinks of her mother's death being her fault. She likes 
 therefore to hold on to this as a peg on which to hang any present 
 feeling of blueness and loneliness.
 
 408 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 conscious and the unconscious formed a psychic 
 whole.* 
 
 Now in reaching these conclusions see how far 
 we have traveled : Starting with an ostensible pho- 
 bia for towers, we find it is more correctly one of 
 ringing-of -bells, but without conscious association; 
 then we reach a childhood's tragedy; then a self- 
 reproach on religious grounds; then a belief in a 
 fault of childhood's behavior culminating in a life- 
 long self-reproach the causal factor and psycho- 
 logically the true object of the phobia : and between 
 this last self-reproach and the phobia no conscious 
 association. 
 
 The therapeutic procedure and results are instruc- 
 tive. As the fear was induced by a belief in a fan- 
 cied fault exciting a self-reproach, obviously if 
 this belief should be destroyed the self-reproach 
 must cease and the fear must disappear. Now when 
 all the facts were brought to light, the patient, as 
 is usual, recognized the truth of them. She also 
 
 * Some, I have no doubt, will insist upon seeing in towers with 
 bells a sexual symbol, and in the self-reproach a reaction to a re- 
 pressed infantile or other sexual wish. But I cannot accede to this 
 view first, because a tower was not only not the real object of the 
 phobia, but not even the alleged object, which was the ringing of 
 bells; secondly, because it is an unnecessary postulate unsupported 
 by evidence, and, thirdly, because in fact, the associative memories of 
 early life were conspicuously free from sex knowledge, wishes, curi- 
 osity, episodes and imaginings, nor was there any evidence of the so- 
 called ' ' mother complex " or " father-complex, ' ' or any other sexual 
 complex that I could find after a most exhaustive probing. The 
 impulses of instincts other than sexual are sufficient to induce 
 psychical trauma, insistent ideas, and emotion. To hold otherwise 
 is to substitute dogma for the evidence of experience.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 409 
 
 recognized fully and completely the real nature of 
 the fear, of the self -blame and of the self-reproach. 
 There remained no lingering doubt in her mind, 
 nevertheless the bringing to "the full light of day" 
 of all this did not cure the phobia. As the first pro- 
 cedure in the therapeusis it was pointed out that it 
 was contrary to common sense to blame herself for 
 the heedlessness of a child; that all children were 
 disobedient; that she would have been a little prig 
 if she had been the sort of a child that never dis- 
 obeyed, and that she would not have blamed any 
 other child who had behaved in a similar way under 
 similar circumstances, and so on. She simply said 
 that she recognized all this intellectually as true and 
 yet, although it was the point of view which she 
 would take with another person in the same situa- 
 tion, it did not in any way alter her attitude toward 
 herself. In other words the bringing to the full 
 light of day of the facts did not cure the phobia. 
 It was necessary to change the setting of her belief. 
 To do this either the alleged facts had to be shown 
 to be not true or else new facts had to be introduced 
 which would give them a new meaning. This, briefly 
 told, was done in the following way: 
 
 She was put into light hypnosis in order that ex- 
 act and detailed memories of her childhood might 
 be brought out. Then, through her own memories, 
 it was demonstrated, that is to say, the patient her- 
 self demonstrated, that there was considerable 
 doubt about her having had phthisis at all ; that she 
 was not taken to the usual places of "cures" for
 
 410 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 phthisis but sojourned in the gay and pleasant cities 
 and watering places of Europe; that her mother 
 really staid in Europe because she enjoyed it and 
 made an excuse of her daughter's health not to 
 come home; that she might have returned at any 
 time but did not want to do so; and that the fault 
 lay, if anywhere, with her physician at home. When 
 this was brought out the patient remarked, "Why, 
 of course, I see it now! My mother did not stay 
 in Europe on account of my health but because she 
 enjoyed it, and might have returned if she had 
 wanted to. I never thought of that before ! It was 
 not my fault at all ! " After coming out of hypnosis 
 the facts as elicited were laid before the patient ; she 
 again said that she saw it all clearly, as she had 
 done in hypnosis, and her whole point of view was 
 changed. 
 
 The therapeutics, then, consisted in showing that 
 the alleged facts upon which the patient's logical 
 conclusions had been based were false. The set- 
 ting thereby was altered, and a new and true mean- 
 ing given to the real facts. The result was towers 
 and steeples no longer excited fears, the phobia 
 ceased at once an immediate cure.* 
 
 Type D. In this type the conscious psychosis con- 
 sists of idea, meaning, affect, and physical disturb- 
 
 * It is worth noting that between the bringing to the ' ' full light 
 of day" the facts furnished by the analysis and the cure a full year 
 and a half elapsed, during which the phobia continued. The "cure" 
 was effected at one sitting. The original study was undertaken on 
 purely psychological grounds; the cure for the purpose of completing 
 the study.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 411 
 
 ance. F. E. suffered from attacks of so-called " un- 
 reality" accompanied with intense fear. She was 
 unable to give an intelligent explanation as to why 
 she was afraid of the attacks harmless in them- 
 selves until it was brought out that there was in 
 the background of her mind the thought that the 
 attacks spelled insanity (or that she was likely to 
 go insane) and also death. Following the attacks 
 there was amnesia for these thoughts. Her fear 
 really, then, was of insanity and death. The con- 
 tent of consciousness in the attacks contained the 
 perception of herself as an insane person, thoughts 
 which expressed the meaning of her attacks, and 
 fear. (The usual physical disturbances of course 
 accompanied the fear.) No amount of explanation 
 of the harmlessness of the unreality syndrome suf- 
 ficed to change her point of view, i. e., its meaning 
 to her. But going further it was discovered that 
 her self-regarding sentiment and her ideas of in- 
 sanity and death were organized with a large num- 
 ber of fear-inspiring antecedent experiences which 
 explained why she regarded the attacks as danger- 
 ous to her mentality and life ; and why the biological 
 instinct of fear was incorporated with the self -re- 
 garding sentiment. These experiences had long 
 passed out of mind and there was no conscious asso- 
 ciation between them and her phobia, but they could 
 be recalled as associative memories.* The unreality 
 
 * This account will be clearer if read in connection with the full 
 analysis ("A Clinical Study of a Case of Phobia"), published in 
 the Jour, of Abn. Psychol, October-November, 1912.
 
 412 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 attacks had for her two meanings which were within 
 the content of consciousness, viz., 1, insanity, and 2, 
 death. The first was derived from (a) antecedent 
 girlhood and later experiences which had engen- 
 dered the unsophisticated belief that having the 
 mind fixed on one subject, as was obtrusively and 
 painfully the case at one time, meant insanity: and 
 (b), from the fact that the bewildering, irreconcila- 
 ble, absurd thoughts, conflicts, and emotions in 
 which the unreality attacks culminated meant 
 insanity. 
 
 The second meaning (death) was derived from 
 (a) the previous fixed idea (just referred to), or- 
 ganized with that of insanity namely, an unsophis- 
 ticated medieval idea of hell which was conceived 
 of as the equivalent of death and which had excited 
 an intense horror of both; and (b) from the fact 
 that in the unreality attacks there was a struggling 
 for air; struggling was in her mind, the equivalent 
 of convulsions;* convulsions of unconsciousness; 
 and unconsciousness of death. All these various 
 ideas and the intense fears which each gave rise to 
 had become organized into a complex, and, in conse- 
 quence of these antecedent experiences in which self 
 took a prominent part, the instinct of fear as I 
 conceive the matter became incorporated within 
 the self-regarding sentiment. (Anything that 
 aroused this sentiment tended to arouse the emotion 
 of fear, as in another person it would tend to arouse 
 
 * She was apprehensive of having inherited Blight's disease from 
 her father, who had convulsions.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 413 
 
 the emotion of pride, or self-abasement.) At any 
 rate this organized complex was the setting which 
 gave the meaning to her phobia. There can be, I 
 think, no manner of doubt about this. The patient 
 herself explained her viewpoint through these ideas 
 here briefly summarized. The only question is as 
 to the mechanism of the phobia. Now as Type D, 
 of which these cases are examples, differs clinically 
 from the preceding three types only in the addition 
 of one more element meaning to the conscious 
 psychic whole, a consistent interpretation would 
 seem to compel us to postulate also a functioning 
 subconscious complex or setting and in this case of 
 the antecedent experiences disclosed as a factor in 
 the mechanism and a part of the psychic whole. Out 
 of this complex emerged into consciousness the idea 
 of insanity and death and fear as the meaning of 
 the unreality syndrome, the whole constituting the 
 phobia psychosis. 
 
 That there was in fact a subconsciously function- 
 ing process derived from this complex would seem 
 to be almost conclusively shown by another phe- 
 nomenon manifested. I refer to the vivid visualiza- 
 tion of herself in a convulsion, struggling for air 
 and manifesting fright, which she experienced in 
 each attack. We have seen that such a visualization 
 (i. e., a modified vision) is the expression (sec- 
 ondary images!) of a subconscious process (co- 
 conscious ideas?). As a matter of fact this particu- 
 lar visualization was a pictorial representation of 
 antecedent thoughts organized with thoughts of
 
 414 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 death and insanity and still conserved in the un- 
 conscious. We must believe, then, that it was these 
 antecedent thoughts (in the first place her appre- 
 hension of inheriting Bright 's disease and convul- 
 sions from her father, and in the second place her 
 conception of the unreality syndrome as a state 
 which might possibly end in convulsions) which, 
 functioning subconsciously, induced the quasi hal- 
 lucinatory expression of themselves.* It is difficult 
 to get away from the conclusion that the remainder 
 of the setting from which the ideas of insanity and 
 death were derived also functioned as a subcon- 
 scious process. "Whether this process was cocon- 
 scious or unconscious is a secondary question which 
 we need not consider. 
 
 In weighing the probabilities of this interpreta- 
 tion we should bear in mind that there were two 
 conscious beliefs of which the patient was fully 
 aware and which were very real to her ; namely, the 
 liability of becoming insane and to convulsions and 
 death. The conative force of the instinct of fear 
 linked to such ideas is quite sufficient to drive them 
 to expression when out of mind and subconscious. 
 Or expressed differently we may say that the fear 
 was a reaction to these ideas which the patient dared 
 not face. 
 
 We ought not, however, to be too sweeping in our 
 generalizations and go further than the facts war- 
 
 * It is quite possible that this subconscious process induced the 
 unreality syndrome in which struggling for air was the salient 
 symptom.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 415 
 
 rant. We are not justified in concluding that the 
 linking of an affect to an idea always includes a 
 subconscious mechanism. On the contrary, as I have 
 previously said, probably in the great majority of 
 such experiences, aside from obsessions, no such 
 mechanism is required to explain the facts. 
 
 The Inability to Voluntarily Modify Obsessions. 
 We are now in a position on this theory to look 
 a little more deeply into the structure and mechan- 
 ism of an obsession and thereby realize why it is 
 that the unfortunate victims are so helpless to mod- 
 ify or control them. Indeed this behavior of the 
 setting could be cited as another piece of circum- 
 stantial evidence for the theory that the setting is 
 largely unconscious and that only a few elements of 
 it enter the field of consciousness. If we simply ex- 
 plain to a person who has a true obsession, i. e., an 
 insistent idea with a strong feeling tone, the falsity 
 of the point of view, the explanation in many cases 
 at least has no or little effect in changing the view- 
 point, though the patient admits the correctness of 
 the explanation. The patient cannot modify his idea 
 even if he will. But if the original complex, which 
 is hidden in the unconscious and which gives rise 
 to the meaning of the idea, is discovered, and so 
 altered that it takes on a new meaning and differ- 
 ent feeling tones, the patient's conscious idea be- 
 comes modified and ceases to be insistent. This 
 would imply that the insistent idea is only an ele- 
 ment in a larger unconscious complex which is the
 
 416 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 setting and unconsciously determines the viewpoint. 
 The reason why the patient cannot voluntarily alter 
 his viewpoint becomes intelligible by this theory, be- 
 cause that which determines it is unconscious and 
 unknown. He may not even know what his point 
 of view is, owing to the meaning being in the fringe 
 of consciousness. 
 
 If this theory of the mechanism is soundly es- 
 tablished the difficulty of correcting obsessions be- 
 comes obvious and intelligible. It is also obvious 
 that there are theoretically two ways in which an 
 obsession might be corrected. 
 
 1. A new setting with strong affects may be arti- 
 ficially created so that the perception acquires an- 
 other equally strong meaning and interest. 
 
 2. The second way theoretically would be to bring 
 into consciousness the setting and the past experi- 
 ences of which the setting is a sifted residuum, and 
 reform it by introducing new elements, including 
 new emotions and feelings. In this way the old set- 
 ting and point of view would become transformed 
 and a new point of view substituted which would 
 give a new meaning to the perception. 
 
 Now in practice both these theoretical methods of 
 destroying an obsession are found to work, although 
 both are not always equally efficacious in the same 
 case. In less intense obsessions where the complex 
 composing the setting is only partially and incon- 
 sequently submerged, and to a slight degree differ- 
 entiated from the mass of conscious experiences, 
 the first and simpler method practically is amply
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 417 
 
 sufficient. We might say that the greater the de- 
 gree to which the setting is conscious and the less 
 the degree to which it has acquired, as an uncon- 
 scious process, independent autonomous activity the 
 more readily it may be transformed by this method. 
 
 On the other hand in the more intense obsessions, 
 where a greater part of the setting is unconscious, 
 has wide ramifications and has become differenti- 
 ated as an independent autonomous process, the 
 more difficult it is to suppress it and prevent its 
 springing into activity whenever excited by some 
 stimulus (such as an associated idea). In such in- 
 stances the second method is more efficacious. It 
 is obvious that, so long as the setting to a central 
 idea remains organized and conserved in the uncon- 
 scious, the corresponding perception and meaning 
 are always liable under favoring conditions (such as 
 fatigue, ill health, etc.) to be switched into conscious- 
 ness and replace the new formed perception. This 
 means of course a recurrence. Nevertheless medi- 
 cal experience from the beginning of time has shown 
 that this is not necessarily or always the case. The 
 technique, therefore, of the treatment of obsessions 
 will vary from "simple explanations" (Taylor) 
 without preliminary analysis to the more compli- 
 cated and varying procedures of analysis and re- 
 education in its many forms. 
 
 Affects. Here a word of caution in the interpre- 
 tation of emotional reactions is necessary. In the 
 building of complexes, as we have seen, an affect 
 becomes linked to an idea through an emotional ex-
 
 418 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 perience. The recurrence of that idea always in- 
 volves the recurrence of the affect. It is not a logi- 
 cal necessity that the original experience which occa- 
 sioned the affect should always be postulated as a 
 continuing subconscious process to account for the 
 affect in association with the idea. It is quite pos- 
 sible, if not extremely probable, that in the simpler 
 types, at least, of the emotional complexes, the as- 
 sociation between the idea and affect becomes so 
 firmly established that the conscious idea alone, 
 without the cooperation of a subconscious process, 
 is sufficient to awake the emotion; just as in Paw- 
 low's dogs the artificially formed association be- 
 tween a tactile stimulus and the salivary glands is 
 sufficient to excite the glands to activity, or as in 
 human beings the idea of a ship by pure association 
 may determine fear and nausea, the sound of run- 
 ning water by the force of association may excite 
 the bladder reflex, or an ocular stimulus the so- 
 called hay fever complex. So in word-association 
 reactions, when a word is accompanied by an affect- 
 reaction the word itself may be sufficient to excite 
 the reaction without assuming that an "uncon- 
 scious complex has been struck." The total mech- 
 anism of the process we are investigating must be 
 determined in each case for itself. 
 
 In the study and formulation of psychological 
 phenomena there is one common tendency and dan- 
 ger, and that is of making the phenomena too sche- 
 matic and sharply defined, as if we were dealing
 
 TWO TYPES OP PHOBIA 419 
 
 with material objects. Mental processes are not 
 only plastic but shifting, varying, unstable, and un- 
 dergo modifications of structure almost from mo- 
 ment to moment. We describe a complex schemati- 
 cally as if it had a fixed, immutable, and well-defined 
 structure. This is far from being the case. Al- 
 though there may be a fairly fixed nucleus, the 
 cluster, as a whole, is ill defined and undergoes con- 
 siderable modification from moment to moment. 
 New elements enter the cluster and replace or are 
 added to those which previously took part in the 
 composition. An analogy might be made with a 
 large cluster of electric lights arranged about a 
 central predominant light, but so arranged that in- 
 dividual lights could be switched in and cut out of 
 the cluster at any moment and different colored 
 lights substituted. The composition and structure 
 of the cluster, and the intensity and color of the 
 light, could be varied from moment to moment, yet 
 the cluster as a cluster maintained. We might carry 
 the analogy farther and imagine the cluster to be 
 an advertising sign which had a meaning the ad- 
 vertisement. This meaning might or might not be 
 altered by the changes in the individual lamps. 
 
 The same indefiniteness pertains to the demarca- 
 tion between the conscious and the subconscious. 
 What was conscious at one moment may be subcon- 
 scious the next and vice versa. Under normal con- 
 ditions there is a continual shifting between the 
 conscious and subconscious. I have made numer- 
 ous investigations to determine this point, and the
 
 420 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 evidence is fairly precise, and to me convincing, 
 that this shifting continually occurs,* as might well 
 be inferred on theoretical grounds. Nor, excepting 
 in special pathological and artificial dissociated con- 
 ditions, is the distinction between the conscious and 
 subconscious at any moment always sharp and pre- 
 cise; it is often rather a matter of vividness and 
 shading, and whether a conscious state is in the 
 focus of attention or in the fringe. Experimental 
 observation confirms introspection in this respect. 
 In view of the foregoing we can now appreciate 
 a fallacy which has been too commonly accepted in 
 the interpretation of therapeutic facts. It is quite 
 generally held that it is a necessity that the under- 
 lying unconscious complexes cannot be modified 
 without bringing them to the "full light of day" by 
 analysis. The facts of everyday observation do not 
 justify this conclusion. The awakening of dormant 
 memories of past experiences is mainly of impor- 
 tance for the purpose of giving us exact infor- 
 mation of what we need to modify, not necessarily 
 for the purpose of effecting the modification. Owing 
 to the fluidity of complexes, whether unconscious 
 or conscious, our conscious ideas can become incor- 
 porated in unconscious complexes. This means that 
 any new setting in which we may incorporate our 
 conscious ideas to give them a new meaning beconus 
 effective in the associations which these ideas have 
 as a dormant complex. The latter is able to assimi- 
 
 * I am excluding conditions like split personalities, automatic 
 writing, etc., and refer rather to normal mental processes.
 
 TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA 421 
 
 late from the conscious any new material offered 
 to it. Practical therapeutics and everyday experi- 
 ence abundantly have shown this. I have accom- 
 plished this, and I believe every therapeutist has 
 done the same time and again. We should be cau- 
 tious not to overlook common experience in the 
 enthusiasm for new theories and dramatic observa- 
 tions. The difficulty is in knowing what we want to 
 modify, and for this purpose analytical investiga- 
 tions of one sort or another are of the highest as- 
 sistance, because they furnish us with the required 
 information. If we recover the memories of the 
 unconscious complex our task is easier, as we can 
 apply our art with the greater skill. 
 
 When we speak of a setting to an idea we are 
 not entitled to think of it as a sharply defined group 
 of ideas, or sharply limited subconscious process. 
 When we identify it with the residua of past ex- 
 periences we are not entitled, on the basis of exact 
 knowledge, to arbitrarily make up a selected cluster 
 of residua which shall exclude those and include 
 these residual elements of antecedent associated ex- 
 periences, and dogmatically postulate the composi- 
 tion of the complex which we call the setting. Analy- 
 sis by the very limitations of the method fails to 
 permit of such arbitrary selection, and synthetic 
 methods are not sufficiently exact for the purpose. 
 All we can say is that from the residua of various 
 past experiences a complex is sifted out to become 
 the setting. And even then no process is entirely
 
 422 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 autonomous and entirely removed from the interfer- 
 ing, directing, and cooperative influence of other 
 processes. Even with simple and purely physiolog- 
 ical processes, such as the knee jerk, this is true. 
 Although the knee jerk may be schematically con- 
 ceived as a simple reflex arc involving the peripheral 
 nerves and the spinal cord, nevertheless other parts 
 of the nervous system the brain and the spinal 
 cord provide cooperative processes which take 
 part, and under special conditions take a very active 
 part, in modifying the phenomenon. While we are 
 justified, for the clarifying purposes of exposition, 
 in schematizing the phenomenon by selecting the 
 spinal reflex as the predominant process, yet we 
 do not overlook the cooperative processes which 
 may control and modify the spinal reflex. If this is 
 true of purely physiological processes, it is still 
 more true of the enormously more complex proc- 
 esses of human intelligence. 
 
 We may say, then, not only that with our present 
 knowledge and our present methods we are not able 
 to precisely differentiate the settings of ideas, but 
 that it is highly improbable that settings as com- 
 plexes of residua are with any preciseness func- 
 tionally entirely autonomous and removed from the 
 influence of other associative processes. 
 
 We need further investigations into the psychol- 
 ogy and processes of settings, and until we have 
 wider and more exact knowledge it is well not to 
 theorize and still more not to dogmatize. It is an 
 inviting field which awaits the psychologist.
 
 LECTURE XIV 
 THE PHYSIOLOGICAL MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 
 
 Emotion,* more particularly fear, plays so large 
 a part in the psychogenesis and symptomatology of 
 the psychoses that it is desirable to have a clear 
 realization of its physiological and psychological 
 manifestations and of the disturbances of the or- 
 ganism which it can induce. It is not necessary for 
 our purpose to discuss the various theories of the 
 nature of emotion that have been propounded; we 
 need deal only with the manifestations of emotion 
 and its effect upon the organism.f We will con- 
 sider the physiological manifestations first. 
 
 When a strong emotion is awakened in conscious- 
 ness there are a large number of physiological re- 
 actions, for the most part visceral, which can be 
 noted. Some of these may be graphically recorded 
 and measured by means of instruments of precision. 
 These physiological reactions are numerous and 
 have been extensively described by Fere J among 
 others. The earlier work of Mosso upon the dis- 
 
 * I use the word, not in the strict but in the popular and gen- 
 eral sense, to include feeling, indeed all affective states, excepting 
 where the context gives the strict meaning. 
 
 t The James- Lange theory is disregarded here as untenable. 
 
 J La Pathologie des Emotions, 1892. 
 
 423
 
 424 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 turbances of the respiration and vasomotor ap- 
 paratus induced by sensory stimulation is well 
 known. 
 
 More recently considerable experimental work 
 has been done, particularly by German investiga- 
 tors, to determine the influence of affective states 
 upon the circulation and respiration. 
 
 Modifications of the peripheral circulation, mani- 
 fested through pallor or turgescence of the skin and 
 measured by changes recorded by the plethismo- 
 graph in the volume of the limbs; modifications of 
 the volume of the heart and of the rhythm and 
 force of the beats recorded by the sphygmograph, 
 and of arterial tension measured by the sphygmo- 
 monometer are common phenomena. (Fear is 
 more particularly accompanied by pallor, and 
 shame by turgescence blushing. Anger in some is 
 manifested by pallor and in others by turgescence, 
 and so on.) Changes in rate of the heart-beats be- 
 long to popular knowledge. It is not so well known, 
 even to physiologists that the volume of the heart 
 may be affected by emotion. In several series of 
 observations made under conditions of emotional 
 excitement upon a large number of healthy men, 
 candidates for civil service appointments, I re- 
 corded in a high percentage not only alterations in 
 the rate and rhythm and force of the heart-beat, but 
 temporary dilatation of the heart lasting during the 
 period of excitement.* This dilatation in some 
 
 * Physiological Dilatation and the Mitral Sphincter as Factors in 
 Functional and Organic Disturbances of the Heart, The American
 
 425 
 
 cases was sufficient to lead to insufficiency of the mi- 
 tral valve and to give rise to murmurs. The exami- 
 nation was purposely conducted so as to induce a 
 high degree of emotional excitement, at least in 
 many men. In another series of observations (not 
 published) the arterial tension was measured, and 
 it was found, as would be expected, that an increase 
 of tension accompanied the cardiac excitation under 
 emotion.* 
 
 Fig. 2. J., acute katatonic stupor, b is a wave selected from the 
 series in which 6 is sudden call by name. The galvanometer curve (a) 
 is slight, but the change in the pneumograph curve is notable. 
 (Peterson and Jung.f) 
 
 Journal of the Medical Sciences, February, 1901; also, The Occur- 
 rence and Mechanism of Physiological Heart Murmurs (Endocar- 
 dial) in Healthy Individuals, The Medical Record, April 20, 1889. 
 
 * The emotional factor is a source of possible fallacy in all ob- 
 servations on arterial tension and must be guarded against. 
 
 t Frederick Peterson and C. G. Jung: Psycho-Physical Investiga- 
 tions with the Galvanometer and Pneumograph, Brain, Vol. XXX, 
 July, 1907, p. 153.
 
 426 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 As to the respiratory apparatus the effect of emo- 
 tion in altering the rate and depth of respiration 
 may be shown by the pneumograph ; by this method 
 the effects of slight emotion that otherwise would 
 escape observation may be detected. Such a dis- 
 turbance of respiration is shown in the tracing, 
 Fig. 2. 
 
 That emotion will profoundly affect the respira- 
 tion has of course been common knowledge from 
 time immemorial, and has been made use of by 
 writers of fiction and actors for dramatic effect. 
 The same may be said of modifications of the func- 
 tioning of the whole respiratory apparatus, includ- 
 ing the nostrils and the mouth; and likewise of the 
 decrease or increase of secretions (dryness of the 
 mouth from fear, and "foaming" from anger). 
 These are among the well known physiological ef- 
 fects of emotions. 
 
 Increase of sweat sometimes amounting to an out- 
 pour, and alterations in the amount of the various 
 glandular secretions (salivary, gastric, etc.), and 
 rigor are important phenomena. 
 
 The remarkable researches of Pawlow * and his 
 co-workers in Russia on the work of the digestive 
 glands, and those of Cannon y in America on the 
 movements of the stomach and intestines have re- 
 
 * The Work of the Digestive Glands (English Translation), Lon- 
 don, 1902. 
 
 t For a summary of Cannon 's work, see his article, Recent Ad- 
 vances in the Physiology of the Digestive Organs Bearing on Medi- 
 cine and Surgery, The Medical Journal of Medical Sciences, 1906, 
 New Series, Vol. CXXXI, pp. 563-578.
 
 427 
 
 vealed that these functions are influenced in an as- 
 tonishing degree by psychical factors. 
 
 Although it has long been known that the sight of 
 food under certain conditions would call forth a 
 secretion of gastric juice in a hungry dog (Bidder 
 and Smith, 1852), and common observation has told 
 us that emotion strongly affects the gastrointestinal 
 functions, increasing or diminishing the secretions 
 of saliva and gastric juice, and even producing dys- 
 peptic disturbances and diarrhrea, it has remained 
 for Pawlow and his co-workers to demonstrate the 
 important part which the ' ' appetite, " as a psychical 
 state, plays in the process of digestion. In hungry 
 dogs a large quantity of gastric juice, rich in fer- 
 ment, is poured out when food is swallowed, and 
 even at the sight of food, and it was proved that 
 this outpouring was due to psychical influences. 
 Simply teasing and tempting the animal with food 
 cause secretions, and food associations in the en- 
 vironment may have the same effect. "If the dog 
 has not eaten for a long time every movement, the 
 going out of the room, the appearance of the at- 
 tendant who ordinarily feeds the animal in a word, 
 every triviality may give rise to excitation of the 
 gastric glands." (Pawlow, p. 73.) This first se- 
 creted juice is called "appetite juice," and is an im- 
 portant factor in the complicated process of diges- 
 tion. "The appetite is the first and mightiest 
 exciter of the secretory nerves of the stomach." 
 (Pawlow, p. 75.) Pawlow 's results have been con- 
 firmed in man by Hornborg, Umber, Bickel, and
 
 428 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Cade and Latarjet. The mere chewing of appetizing 
 food, for instance, is followed by a copious discharge 
 of gastric juice, while chewing of rubber and dis- 
 tasteful substances has a negative result. Depres- 
 sing emotions inhibit the secretion of juice (Bickel). 
 More than this, Cannon,* in his very remarkable 
 experiments on the movements of the stomach and 
 intestines, found that in animals (cat, rabbit, dog, 
 etc.), gastric peristalsis is stopped whenever the 
 animal manifests signs of rage, distress, or even 
 anxiety. "Any signs of emotional disturbance, 
 even the restlessness and continual mewing 1 which 
 may be taken to indicate uneasiness and discom- 
 fort, were accompanied in the cat by total cessation 
 of the segmentation movements of the small intes- 
 tines, and of antiperistalsis in the proximal colon." 
 Bickel and Sasaki have confirmed in dogs these emo- 
 tional effects obtained by Pawlow and Cannon. 
 
 The effect of the emotions on the digestive proc- 
 esses is so important from the standpoint of clin- 
 ical medicine that I quote the following summary 
 of published observations from Cannon: "Horn- 
 borg found that when the boy whom he studied 
 chewed agreeable food a more or less active secre- 
 tion of the gastric juice was started, whereas the 
 chewing of indifferent material was without influ- 
 ence. 
 
 * American Journal of Medical Sciences, 1906, p. 566. See also 
 "The Influence of Emotional States on the Functions of the Ali- 
 mentary Canal," by the same writer (ibid., April, 1909) for an in- 
 teresting resume of the subject.
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 429 
 
 "Not only is it true that normal secretion is fa- 
 vored by pleasurable sensations during mastication, 
 but also that unpleasant feelings, such as vexation 
 and some of the major emotions, are accompanied 
 by a failure of secretion. Thus Hornborg was un- 
 able to confirm in his patient the observation of 
 Pawlow that mere sight of food to a hungry sub- 
 ject causes the flow of gastric juice. Hornborg 
 explains the difference between his and Pawlow J s 
 results by the difference in the reaction of the sub- 
 jects to the situation. When food was shown, but 
 withheld, Pawlow 's hungry dogs were all eagerness 
 to secure it, and the juice at once began to flow. 
 Hornborg 's little boy, on the contrary, became vexed 
 when he could not eat at once, and began to cry; 
 then no secretion appeared. Bogen also reports 
 that his patient, a child, aged three and a half years, 
 sometimes fell into such a passion in consequence 
 of vain hoping for food, that the giving of the food, 
 after calming the child, was not followed by any 
 secretion of the gastric juice. 
 
 "The observations of Bickel and Sasaki confirm 
 and define more precisely the inhibitory effects of 
 violent emotion on gastric secretion. They studied 
 these effects on a dog with an O3sophageal fistula, 
 and with a side pouch of the stomach which, accord- 
 ing to Pawlow 's method, opened only to the exterior. 
 If the animal was permitted to eat while the 
 oesophageal fistula was open the food passed out 
 through the fistula and did not go to the stomach. 
 Bickel and Sasaki confirmed the observation of
 
 430 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Pawlow that this sham feeding is attended by a 
 copious flow of gastric juice, a true ' psychic secre- 
 tion,' resulting from the pleasurable taste of the 
 food. In a typical instance the sham feeding lasted 
 five minutes, and the secretion continued for twenty 
 minutes, during which time 66.7 c. c. of pure gastric 
 juice was produced. 
 
 * ' On another day a cat was brought into the pres- 
 ence of the dog, whereupon the dog flew into a great 
 fury. The cat was soon removed, and the dog paci- 
 fied. Now the dog was again given the sham feeding 
 for five minutes. In spite of the fact that the ani- 
 mal was hungry and ate eagerly, there was no se- 
 cretion worthy of mention. During a period of 
 twenty minutes, corresponding to the previous ob- 
 servation, only 9 c. c. of acid fluid was produced, 
 and this was rich in mucus. It is evident that in 
 the dog, as in the boy observed by Bogen, strong 
 emotions can so profoundly disarrange the mech- 
 anisms of secretion that the natural nervous exci- 
 tation accompanying the taking of food cannot 
 cause the normal flow. 
 
 "On another occasion Bickel and Sasaki started 
 gastric secretion in the dog by sham feeding, and 
 when the flow of gastric juice had reached a cer- 
 tain height the dog was infuriated for five minutes 
 by the presence of the cat. During the next fifteen 
 minutes there appeared only a few drops of a very 
 mucous secretion. Evidently in this instance a 
 physiological process, started as an accompaniment 
 of a psychic state quietly pleasurable in character,
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 431 
 
 was almost entirely stopped by another psychic 
 state violent in character. 
 
 "It is noteworthy that in both the positive and 
 negative results of the emotional excitement illus- 
 trated in Bickel and Sasaki's dog the effects per- 
 sisted long after the removal of the exciting condi- 
 tion. This fact Bickel was able to confirm in a girl 
 with O3sophageal and gastric fistulas; the gastric 
 secretion long outlasted the period of eating, al- 
 though no food entered the stomach. The impor- 
 tance of these observations to personal economics 
 is too obvious to require elaboration. 
 
 "Not only are the secretory activities of the 
 stomach unfavorably affected by strong emotions; 
 the movements of the stomach as well, and, indeed, 
 the movements of almost the entire alimentary 
 canal, are wholly stopped during excitement. ' ' * 
 
 So you see that the proverb, "Better a dinner 
 of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred 
 therewith," has a physiological as well as a moral 
 basis. 
 
 Nearly any sensory or psychical stimulus can be 
 artificially made to excite the secretion of saliva as 
 determined by experimentation on animals by 
 Pawlow. 
 
 It is probable that all the ductless glands (thy- 
 roid, suprarenal, etc.), are likewise under the influ- 
 ence of the emotions. The suprarenal glands se- 
 crete a substance which in almost infinitesimal doses 
 has a powerful effect upon the heart and blood ves- 
 
 * American Journal of the Medical Sciences, April, 1909.
 
 432 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 sels, increasing the force of the former and con- 
 tracting the peripheral arterioles. The recent 
 observations of Cannon and de la Paz have demon- 
 strated in the cat that under the influence of fear or 
 anger an increase of this substance is poured into 
 the circulation.* Cannon, Shohl and Wright have 
 also demonstrated that the glycosuria which was 
 known to occur. in animals experimented upon in 
 the laboratory is due (in cats) to the influence of 
 the emotions, very probably discharging through 
 the sympathetic system on the adrenal glands and 
 increasing their secretion.! The glycosuria is un- 
 doubtedly due to an increase of sugar in the blood. 
 It is interesting to note, in this connection, that there 
 is considerable clinical evidence that indicates that 
 some cases of diabetes and glycosuria have an emo- 
 tional origin. The same is true of disease of the 
 thyroid gland (exophthalmic goiter). 
 
 Most of the viscera are innervated by the sympa- 
 thetic system, and the visceral manifestations of 
 emotion indicate the dominance of sympathetic im- 
 pulses. "When, for example, a cat becomes fright- 
 ened, the pupils dilate, the stomach and intestines 
 are inhibited, the heart beats rapidly, the hairs of 
 the back and tail stand erect all signs of nervous 
 discharge along sympathetic paths" (Cannon). 
 Cannon and his co-workers have further made the 
 acute suggestion that, as adrenalin itself is capable 
 
 *Cannon and de la Paz: American Journal of Physiology, April 
 1, 1911. 
 
 t Cannon, Shohl, and Wright, Ibid., December 1, 1911.
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OP EMOTION 433 
 
 of working the effects evoked by sympathetic stimu- 
 lation, ' ' the persistence of the emotional state, after 
 the exciting object has disappeared, can be ex- 
 plained" by the persistence of the adrenalin in the 
 blood. There is reason to believe that some of the 
 adrenal secretion set free by nervous stimulation 
 returning in the blood stream to the glands stimu- 
 lates them to further activity, and this would tend 
 to continue the emotional effect after the emotion 
 has subsided. " Indeed it was the lasting effect of 
 excitement in digestive processes which suggested" 
 to Cannon his investigations.* 
 
 According to Fere f the pupils may dilate under 
 the influence of asthenic emotions and contract with 
 sthenic emotions. However that may be, the dilata- 
 tion of the pupils during states of fear may be dem- 
 onstrated in animals. 
 
 The influence of emotion on the muscular system 
 need hardly be more than referred to. Tremor, 
 twitchings, particularly of the facial muscles, and 
 other involuntary movements, as well as modifica- 
 tions of the tonus of the muscles, are common ef- 
 fects. All sorts of disturbances occur, ranging from 
 increase of excitability to paralysis. Everyone 
 knows that under the influence of powerful emo- 
 tion, whether of joy, anger, or fear, there is dis- 
 charged an increase of energy to the muscles, some- 
 times of an intensity which enables an individual to 
 
 * These effects of adrenalin suggest that the secretion may take 
 some part in pathological anxiety states, 
 t Pathologic cles Emotions, 1892.
 
 434 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 exert force of which he is ordinarily incapable. Or 
 this energy, instead of being discharged into the 
 channels being made use of by the will, and so aug- 
 menting its effects, may be so discharged as to in- 
 hibit the will, and produce paralysis of the will and 
 muscular action. 
 
 These muscular vasomotor and secretory changes 
 need not surprise us, as indeed they have a biologi- 
 cal meaning. As Sherrington * has pointed out, 
 " there is a strong bond between emotion and mus- 
 cular action. Emotion 'moves' us, hence the word 
 itself. If developed in intensity, it impels toward 
 vigorous movement. Every vigorous movement of 
 the body . . . involves also the less noticeable co- 
 operation of the viscera, especially of the circu- 
 latory and respiratory [and, I would add, the 
 secretory glands of the skin]. The extra demand 
 made upon the muscles that move the frame involves 
 a heightened action of the nutrient organs which 
 supply to the muscles the material for their en- 
 ergy"; and also involves a heightened action of the 
 sweat glands to maintain the thermic equilibrium. 
 1 'We should expect," Sherrington remarks, "vis- 
 ceral action to occur along with the muscular ex- 
 pression of emotion," and we should expect, it may 
 be added, that through this mechanism emotion 
 should become integrated with vasomotor, secretory, 
 and other visceral functions. 
 
 Another physiological effect of emotion ought to 
 be mentioned, as of recent years it has been the ob- 
 
 * The Integrative Action of the Nervous System, p. 266.
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 435 
 
 ject of much and intensive study by numerous stu- 
 dents and has been frequently made use of in the 
 clinical study of mental derangements and in the 
 study of subconscious phenomena, I refer to the 
 so-called "psycho-galvanic reflex." As an outcome 
 of all the investigations which have been made by 
 numerous students into this phenomenon, it now 
 seems clear that there are two types of galvanic 
 reactions, distinct from each other, which can be 
 recognized. The one type first described by Fere * 
 consists in an increase, brought about by emotion, 
 of a galvanic current made to pass through the body 
 from a galvanic cell. If a very sensitive galvanome- 
 ter is put in circuit with the body and such a cell, a 
 certain deviation of the needle of course may be 
 noted varying in amplitude according to the resist- 
 ance of the body. Now, if an idea associated with 
 emotion i. e., possessing a sufficient amount of af- 
 fective tone is made to enter the consciousness of 
 the person experimented upon, there is observed an 
 increased deflection of the needle, showing an in- 
 crease of current under the influence of the emotion. 
 The generally accepted interpretation of this in- 
 crease is that it is due to diminished resistance of 
 the skin (with which the electrodes are in contact) 
 caused by an increase of the secretions of the sweat 
 glands. A similar increase of current follows vari- 
 ous sensory stimulations, such as the pricking of a 
 
 * Note sur les modifications de la resistance eleetrique sons 1 'in- 
 fluence des excitations sensorielles et des Emotions, C. E, Soc. de 
 Biologic, 1888, p. 217.
 
 436 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 pin, loud noises, etc. It may be interesting for his- 
 torical reasons to quote here Fere's statement of his 
 observations, as they seem to be generally over- 
 looked. In his volume, "La Pathologic des Emo- 
 tions, ' ' in 1892, he thus sums up his earlier and later 
 observations: "I then produce various sensory 
 stimulations visual (colored glasses), auditory 
 (tuning fork), gustatory, olfactory, etc. Where- 
 upon there results a sudden deviation of the needle 
 of the galvanometer which, for the strongest stimu- 
 lations, may travel fifteen divisions (milliamperes). 
 The same deviation may also be produced under the 
 influence of sthenic emotions, that is to say, it is 
 produced under all the conditions where I have pre- 
 viously noticed an augmentation of the size of the 
 limbs, made evident through the plethysmograph. 
 Absence of stimulation, on the contrary, increases 
 the resistance; in one subject the deviation was re- 
 duced by simply closing the eyes. 
 
 "Since these facts were first described at the Bi- 
 ological Society I have been enabled to make more 
 exact observations by using the process recom- 
 mended by A. Vigouroux (De la resistance elec- 
 trique chex les melancoliques, Th. 1890, p. 17), and 
 I have ascertained that under the influence of pain- 
 ful emotions or tonic emotions the electrical resist- 
 ance may, in hystericals, instantaneously vary from 
 4,000 to 60,000 ohms." 
 
 It will be noticed that Fere attributed the varia- 
 tions of the current to variations of resistance of 
 the body induced by sensations and emotions,
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OP EMOTION 437 
 
 The method of obtaining the psycho-galvanic re- 
 action may be varied in many ways, the underlying 
 principle being the same, namely, the arousing of 
 an emotion of some kind. This may be simply 
 through imagined ideas, or by expectant attention, 
 sensory stimulation, suggested thoughts, verbal 
 stimuli, etc. According to Peterson and Jung,* 
 1 1 excluding the effect of attention, we find that every 
 stimulus accompanied by an emotion causes a rise 
 in the electric curve, and directly in proportion to 
 the liveliness and actuality of the emotion aroused. 
 The galvanometer is therefore a measurer of the 
 amount of emotional tone, and becomes a new instru- 
 ment of precision in psychological research. ' ' This 
 last statement can hardly be said to be justified, as 
 we have no means of measuring the "liveliness and 
 actuality" of an emotion and, therefore, of co-re- 
 lating it with a galvanic current, nor have we any 
 grounds for assuming that the secretion of sweat 
 (upon which the diminished resistance of the body 
 presumably depends) is proportionate to the live- 
 liness of the emotion, or, indeed, even that it always 
 occurs. It is enough to say that the galvanic cur- 
 rent is in general a means of detecting the presence 
 of emotion. 
 
 The second type of galvanic reaction, as shown by 
 Sidis and Kalmus,f does not depend upon the di- 
 
 * Psycho-Physical Investigations with the Galvanometer and Pneu- 
 mograph in Normal and Insane Individuals, Brain, Vol. XXX, July, 
 1907. 
 
 f Psychological Beview, November, 1908, and January, 1909.
 
 438 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 minished resistance of the body to a galvanic cur- 
 rent passing from without through the body, but is 
 a current originating within the body under the in- 
 fluence of emotion. Sidis and Kalmus concluded 
 that "active psycho-physiological processes, sen- 
 sory and emotional processes, with the exception of 
 purely ideational ones, initiated in a living organ- 
 ism, bring about electromotive forces with conse- 
 quent galvanometric deflections." In a later series 
 of experiments Sidis and Nelson * came to the con- 
 clusion that the origin of the electromotive force 
 causing the galvanic deflection was in the muscles. f 
 Wells and Forbes, J on the other hand, conclude from 
 their own investigation that the origin of the gal- 
 vanic current is to be found in the sweat gland ac- 
 tivity and believe the muscular origin improbable. 
 From a clinical standpoint the question is unimpor- 
 tant. 
 
 Sensory disturbances. On the sensory side the 
 effect of emotions, particularly unpleasant ones, in 
 
 * The Nature and Causation of the Galvanic Phenomena, Psycho- 
 logical Eeview, March, 1910, Journal of Abnormal Psychology, June- 
 July, 1910. 
 
 f Having demonstrated the development of electromotive force 
 within the body, these experimenters assumed that every psycho-gal- 
 vanic reaction was of this type. But plainly, their results do not 
 contradict the phenomenon of diminished resistance of the body to 
 an electric current brought about by emotion stimulating the sweat 
 glands. The evidence indicates, as I have said, two types of psycho- 
 galvanic phenomena. 
 
 $ On Certain Electrical Processes in the Human Body and Their 
 Relation to Emotional Eeaetions, Archives of Psychology, March, 
 1911.
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 439 
 
 awakening " thrills" and all sorts of sensations in 
 different parts of the body is a matter of everyday 
 observation. Nausea, dizziness, headache, pains of 
 different kinds are common accompaniments. Such 
 reactions, however, largely vary as idiosyncrasies 
 of the individual, and are obviously not open to ex- 
 perimentation or measurement. Whether they 
 should be spoken of as physiological or aberrant re- 
 actions is a matter of terminology. They are, how- 
 ever, of common occurrence. In pathological condi- 
 tions disagreeable sensations accompanying fear, 
 grief, disgust, and other distressing forms of emo- 
 tion often play a prominent part, and as symptoms 
 contribute to the syndromes of the psychosis. The 
 following quaintly described case quoted by Cannon 
 from Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy is as good 
 as a more modern illustration: "A gentlewoman of 
 the same city saw a fat hog cut up ; when the entrails 
 were opened, and a noisome savour offended her 
 nose, she much disliked, and would not longer abide ; 
 a physician in presence told her, as that hog, so was 
 she full of filthy excrements, and aggravated the 
 matter by some other loathsome instances, insomuch 
 this nice gentlewoman apprehended it so deeply that 
 she fell forthwith a vomiting; was so mightily dis- 
 tempered in mind and body that, with all his art and 
 persuasion, for some months after, he could not re- 
 store her to herself again; she could not forget or 
 remove the object out of her sight." Cannon re- 
 marks : * ' Truly, here was a moving circle of causa- 
 tion, in which the physician himself probably played
 
 440 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the part of a recurrent augmenter of the trouble. 
 The first disgust disturbed the stomach, and the dis- 
 turbance of the stomach, in turn, aroused in the 
 mind greater disgust, and thus between them the in- 
 fluences continued to and fro until digestion was 
 impaired and serious functional derangement super- 
 vened. The stomach is 'king of the belly,' quotes 
 Burton, ' for if he is affected all the rest suffer with 
 him.' " 
 
 Such cases could be multiplied many fold from the 
 records of every psychopathologist. I happen by 
 chance to be interrupted while writing this page by 
 a patient who presents herself suffering from a 
 phobia of fainting. When this fear (possibly with 
 other emotions) is awakened she is attacked by 
 nausea and eructation of the gastric contents, and, 
 if she takes food, by vomiting of the meal. (Owing 
 to a misunderstanding of the true pathology by her 
 physician, her stomach was washed out constantly 
 for a period of two years without relief!) 
 
 General psychopathology In the light of all these 
 well-known physiological effects of emotion it is 
 apparent that when an idea possessing a strong emo- 
 tional tone, such as fear or its variants, enters con- 
 sciousness, it is accompanied by a complex of physi- 
 ological reactions. In other words, fear, as a bio- 
 logical reaction of the organism to a stimulus, does 
 not consist of the psychical element alone, but in- 
 cludes a large syndrome of physiological processes.
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 441 
 
 We can, indeed, theoretically construct a schema 
 which would represent the emotional reaction. This 
 schema would undoubtedly vary in detail in particu- 
 lar cases, according to the excitability of the differ- 
 ent visceral functions involved in different individu- 
 als and to the mixture of the emotions taking part 
 (fear, disgust, shame, anger, etc.). As one type, for 
 instance, of a schema, taking only the most obtrusive 
 phenomena which do not require special technique 
 for their detection, we would have : 
 
 Fear (or one of its variants, anxiety, apprehension, 
 etc., or a compound emotion that includes fear). 
 
 Inhibition of thought (confusion). 
 
 Pallor of the skin. 
 
 Increased perspiration. 
 
 Cardiac palpitation. 
 
 Respiratory disturbances. 
 
 Tremor. 
 
 Muscular weakness. 
 
 Gastric and intestinal disturbances. 
 
 (Blushing or congestion of the skin would replace 
 pallor if the fear was represented or accompanied 
 by shame or bashfulness, etc. (self -debasement and 
 self-consciousness),* or if the affective state was 
 anger.) 
 
 On the sensory side we would have various pares- 
 thesiae varying with the idiosyncrasies of the indi- 
 
 * Morbid self-consciousness is commonly accompanied by fear and 
 other emotions. Nausea, although the specific manifestation of dis- 
 gust, not rarely is induced by fear.
 
 M2 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 vidual, and apparently dependent upon the paths 
 through which the emotional energy is discharged: 
 
 "Thrills." 
 
 Feeling of oppression in the chest. 
 
 Headache. 
 
 Nausea (with or without vomiting). 
 
 Pains, fatigue, etc. 
 
 It is of practical importance to note that attacks 
 of powerful emotions, according to common experi- 
 ence, are apt to be followed by exhaustion; conse- 
 quently in morbid fears fatigue is a frequent 
 sequela. 
 
 Physiological Mimicry of Disease. 
 
 Now, theoretically, one or more of these physio- 
 logical disturbances might be so obtrusive as to be 
 the predominant feature of the syndrome and to 
 mask the psychical element which might then be 
 overlooked. Gastric and intestinal disturbances, for 
 instance, or cardiac distress, might be so marked as 
 not to be recognized as simply manifestations of an 
 emotion, but be mistaken for true gastric, intestinal, 
 or heart disease. Going one step further, if a per- 
 son had a frequently recurring fear, as is so com- 
 mon, and the physiological symptoms were obtru- 
 sively predominant, these latter would necessarily 
 recur in attacks and, overshadowing the psychical 
 element, might well have all the appearance (both to 
 the subject and the observer) of true disease of the 
 viscera. 
 
 Now, as a fact this theoretical possibility is just
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 443 
 
 what happens. It is one of the commonest of oc- 
 currences, although it is too frequently misunder- 
 stood.* A person, we will say, has acquired owing 
 to no matter what psychogenetic factor a recurrent 
 fear. This fear, or, in less obtrusive form, anxiety, 
 or apprehension, is, we will say, of disease heart 
 disease or insanity or fainting or cancer or epilepsy 
 or what not. It recurs from time to time when awak- 
 ened by some thought or stimulus from the environ- 
 ment. At once there is an outburst of physiological, 
 i. e., functional disturbances, in the form of an "at- 
 tack." There may be violent cardiac and respira- 
 tory disease, tremor, flushing, perspiration, diar- 
 
 * A good example is that of an extreme ' ' neurasthenic, ' ' who 
 had been reduced to a condition of severe inanition from inability to 
 take a proper amount of food because of failure of digestion, nausea, 
 and vomiting. Examined by numerous and able physicians in this 
 country and Europe, none had been able to recognize any organic 
 disease or the true cause of the gastric difficulty which remained a 
 puzzle. As a therapeutic measure her stomach had been continuously 
 and regularly washed out. Yet it was not difficult to recognize, after 
 analyzing the symptoms and the conditions of their occurrence, that 
 the disturbances of the gastric functions were due to complex mental 
 factors, the chief of which, emotion, inhibited the gastric function, 
 as in Cannon's experiments, and indirectly or directly, induced the 
 nausea and vomiting. The correctness of this diagnosis was recog- 
 nized by the attending physician and patient. Sometimes a phobia 
 complicates a true organic disease and produces symptoms which 
 mimic the symptoms of the latter heart disease, for example. In 
 this case it is often difficult to recognize the purely phobic character 
 of the symptoms. O. H. C. was such a case. Though there was 
 severe valvular disease of the heart, compensation was good and there 
 was little if any cardiac disability. The attacks of dyspnoea and 
 other symptoms were unmistakably the physical manifestation of a 
 phobia of the disease. The phobia had been artificially created by 
 overcautious physicians.
 
 444 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 , sensory disturbances, etc., followed by more 
 or less lasting exhaustion. On the principle of com- 
 plex building, which we have discussed in a previous 
 lecture, the various physiological reactions em- 
 braced in such a scheme as I have outlined tend to 
 become welded into a complex (or association 
 psycho-neurosis), and this complex of reactions in 
 consequence recurs as a syndrome every time the 
 fear is reexcited. On every occasion when the anx- 
 iety recurs, a group of symptoms recurs which is 
 made up of these physical manifestations of emo- 
 tion which are peculiar to the individual case. The 
 symptoms, unless a searching inquiry is made into 
 their mode of onset, sequence, and associative rela- 
 tions, will appear a chaotic mass of unrelated phe- 
 nomena ; or only certain obtrusive ones, which in the 
 mind of the patient point to disease of a particular 
 organ, are described by him. The remainder have to 
 be specifically sought for by the investigator. The 
 latter, if experienced in such psycho-neuroses, can 
 often from his knowledge of the phenomena of emo- 
 tion anticipate the facts and in a large degree fore- 
 tell to the patient the list of symptoms from which 
 he suffers. By those who lack familiarity with these 
 functional disturbances mistakes in diagnosis are 
 frequently made. Disease of the heart, or of the 
 stomach, or of the nervous system is frequently 
 diagnosed when the symptoms are simply the 
 product of emotion. Quite commonly, when the 
 symptoms are less related to particular organs, but 
 more conspicuously embrace vasomotor, sensory,
 
 MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION 445 
 
 digestive disturbances (inhibition of function), and 
 fatigue, the syndrome is mistaken for so-called 
 neurasthenia.* Thus it happens that in recurrent 
 morbid fears known as the phobias or obsessions 
 a group of symptoms are met with which at first 
 sight appear to be unrelated bodily disturbances, 
 but which when analyzed are seen to be only a cer- 
 tain number of physiological manifestations of emo- 
 tion welded into a complex. On every occasion that 
 the fear recurs this complex is reproduced. 
 
 It now remains to study the effect of the emotions 
 on the psychical side. This we shall do in the next 
 lecture. 
 
 * One has only to compare routine out-patient hospital records 
 with the actual state of patients to verify the truth of this state- 
 ment. For purposes of instruction I have frequently done this before 
 the class. The true nature of the psycho-neurosis and the irrele- 
 vancy of the routine record and diagnosis have, I believe, been com- 
 monly made manifest. Sometimes, however, of course, phobias com- 
 plicate other diseases, and we have a mixed symptomatology.
 
 LECTURE XV 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, AND CONFLICTS 
 
 It is generally agreed that emotions proper (as 
 distinguished from other affective states) may be 
 divided into those which are primary (anger, fear, 
 disgust, etc.), and those (jealousy, admiration, 
 hatred, etc.), which are compounded of two or more 
 primary emotions. McDougall has made a great 
 contribution to our knowledge in having made clear 
 that a primary emotion is not only instinctive, but 
 is the central or psychical element in a reflex process 
 consisting, besides, of an ingoing stimulus and an 
 outgoing impulse. The whole process is the in- 
 stinct.* It is of course innate, and depends on con- 
 
 * . . . " Every instinctive process has the three aspects of all 
 mental processes, the cognitive, the affective, and the conative. Now, 
 the innate psychophysical disposition, which is an instinct, may be 
 regarded as consisting of three corresponding parts, an afferent, a 
 central, and a motor or efferent part, whose activities are the cog- 
 nitive, the affective, and the conative features respectively of the 
 total instinctive process. The afferent or receptive part of the total 
 disposition is some organized group of nervous elements or neurones 
 that is specially adapted to receive and to elaborate the impulses 
 initiated in the sense-organ by the native object of the instinct; its 
 constitution and activities determine the sensory content of the psy- 
 chophysical process. From the afferent part the excitement spreads 
 over to the central part of the disposition; the constitution of this 
 part determines in the main the distribution of the nervous impulses, 
 
 446
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 447 
 
 genital prearrangements of the nervous system. 
 The central element, the emotion, provides the cona- 
 tive or impulse force which carries the instinct to 
 fulfilment. It is the motive power, the dynamic 
 agent that executes, that propels the response which 
 follows the stimulus. Though we speak of anger 
 and fear, for example, as instincts, McDougall is 
 unquestionably right in insisting that more correctly 
 speaking the activated instinct is a process in which 
 the emotion is only one factor the psychical. The 
 instincts of anger and fear should more precisely be 
 termed respectively * ' pugnacity with the emotion of 
 anger ' ' and ' ' flight with the emotion of fear. ' ' In the 
 one case, the emotion, as the central reaction to a 
 stimulus, by its conative force impels to pugnacity; 
 in the other fear impels to flight; and so with the 
 other instincts and their emotions which I would 
 suggest may be termed arbitrarily the emotion-in- 
 stincts, to distinguish them from the more general 
 instincts and innate dispositions with which animal 
 psychology chiefly deals, and in which the affective 
 
 especially the impulses that descend to modify the working of the 
 visceral organs, the heart, lungs, blood vessels, glands, etc., in the 
 manner required for the most effective excitation of the instinctive 
 action; the nervous activities of this central part are the correlates 
 of the affective or emotional aspect or feature of the total physical 
 process. The excitement of the efferent or motor part reaches it by 
 the way of the central part; its construction determines the dis- 
 tribution of impulses to the muscles of the skeletal system by which 
 the instinctive action is effected, and its nervous activities are the 
 correlates of the conative element of the physical process, of the felt 
 impulse to action." William McDougall. An introduction to Social 
 Psychology, p. 32,
 
 448 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 element is feebler or has less of the specific psychical 
 quality. For brevity's sake, however, we may speak 
 of the instinct of anger, fear, tender feeling, etc. Of 
 course they are biological in their nature. 
 
 This formulation, by McDougall, of emotion as 
 one factor in an instinctive process must be re- 
 garded as one of the most important contributions 
 to our knowledge of the mechanism of emotion. It 
 can scarcely be traversed, as it is little more than a 
 descriptive statement of observed facts. It is 
 strange that this conception of the process should 
 have been so long overlooked. Its value lies in re- 
 placing vagueness with a precise conception of one 
 of the most important of psychological phenomena, 
 and enables us to clearly understand the part played 
 by emotion in mental processes. It also shows 
 clearly the inadequacy of the objective methods of 
 normal psychology when attempting to investigate 
 emotion by measuring the discharge of its impulsive 
 force in one direction only, namely, the disturbances 
 of the functions of the viscera (vasomotor, glandu- 
 lar, etc.). It discharges also along lines of mental 
 activity and conduct. 
 
 When studying the organization of complexes, 
 and in other lectures, we saw, as everyone knows in 
 a general way, that affects may become linked with 
 ideas, and that the force derived from this associa- 
 tion gives to the ideas intensity and conative influ- 
 ence. Further, it was developed that the linking of 
 a strong affect tends to stronger registration and 
 conservation of experiences. This linking of an af-
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 449 
 
 feet to an idea is one of the foundation stones of 
 the pathology of the psycho-neuroses. One might 
 say that upon it "hangs all the law and the 
 prophets. ' ' 
 
 Inasmuch as a sentiment, even in the connotations 
 of popular language, besides being an idea always 
 involves an affective element, it is obvious that a 
 sentiment is an idea of an object with which one or 
 more emotions are organized. But, obvious as it is, 
 it remained for Mr. Shand, as McDougall reminds 
 us, to make this precise definition. It is hardly a 
 discovery as the latter puts it, as the facts them- 
 selves have been long known; but it is a valuable 
 definition and its value lies in helping us to think 
 clearly. Nearly every idea, if not every idea, has an 
 affective tone of some kind, or is one of a complex of 
 ideas endowed with such tone. This tone may be 
 weak so as to be hardly recognizable, or it may be 
 strong. Now, if emotion is one factor in an instinc- 
 tive process, it is evident that a sentiment more pre- 
 cisely is an idea of an object linked or organized 
 with one or more "emotion-instincts." As Mc- 
 Dougall has precisely phrased it, "A sentiment is 
 an organized system of emotional dispositions cen- 
 tered about the idea of some object." The impul- 
 sive force of the emotional dispositions or linked 
 instincts becomes the conative force of the idea, and 
 it is this factor which carries the idea to fruition. 
 This is one of the most important principles of func- 
 tional psychology. Its value can scarcely be exag-
 
 450 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 gerated. Without the impulse of a linked emotion 
 ideas would be lifeless, dead, inert, incapable of de- 
 termining conduct. But when we say that an emo- 
 tion becomes linked to, i. e., organized with that com- 
 posite called an idea, we really mean (according to 
 this theory of emotion) that it is the whole instinct, 
 the emotional innate disposition of which the emo- 
 tion is only a part that is so linked. The instinct has 
 also afferent and efferent activities. The latter is 
 an impulsive or conative force discharged by the 
 emotion. Thus the affective element of an instinc- 
 tive process a process which is a biological reaction 
 provides the driving force, makes the idea a 
 dynamic factor, moves us to carry the idea to fulfil- 
 ment. As McDougall has expressed it: 
 
 "We may say, then, that directly or indirectly the instincts are 
 the prime movers of all human activity; by the conative or im- 
 pulsive force of some instinct (or of some habit derived from 
 some instinct), every train of thought, however cold and passion- 
 less it may seem, is borne along toward its end, and every bodily 
 activity is initiated and sustained. The instinctive impulses de- 
 termine the ends of all activities and supply the driving power 
 by which all mental activities are sustained; and all the complex 
 intellectual apparatus of the most highly developed mind is but 
 a means toward these ends, is but the instrument by which these 
 impulses seek their satisfactions, while pleasure and pain do but 
 serve to guide them in their choice of the means. 
 
 "Take away these instinctive dispositions with their powerful 
 impulses, and the organism would become incapable of activity of 
 any kind ; it would lie inert and motionless like a wonderful clock- 
 work whose mainspring had been removed, or a steam engine 
 whose fires had been drawn. These impulses are the mental forces 
 that maintain and shape all the life of individuals and societies,
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 451 
 
 and in them \ve are confronted with the central mystery of life 
 and mind and will." * 
 
 Furthermore the organization of the emotions 
 until ideas to form, sentiments is essential for self- 
 control and regulation of conduct, and becomes a 
 safeguard against mental, physiological, and social 
 chaos. 
 
 "The growth of the sentiments is of the utmost importance for 
 the character and conduct of individuals and of societies; it is the 
 organization of the affective and conative life. In the absence of 
 sentiments our emotional life would be a mere chaos, without 
 oider, consistency, or continuity of any kind; and all our social 
 relations and conduct, being based on the emotions and their im- 
 pulses, would be correspondingly chaotic, unpredictable, and un- 
 stable. It is only through the systematic organization of the emo- 
 tional dispositions in sentiments that the volitional control of the 
 immediate promptings of the emotions is rendered possible. Again, 
 our judgments of value and of merit are rooted in our sentiments ; 
 and our moral principles have the same source, for they arc 
 formed by our judgments of moral value." f 
 
 Summing up, then, we may say one of the chief 
 functions of emotion is to provide the conative force 
 which enables ideas to fulfill their aims, and one 
 of the chief functions of sentiments to control and 
 regulate the emotions. 
 
 Besides the instinctive dispositions proper there 
 are other innate dispositions which similarly pro- 
 vide conative force and determine activities. For 
 
 * Social Psychology, p. 44. 
 f Ibid, p. 159.
 
 452 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the practical purposes of the problems with which 
 we are concerned, the conative or impulsive forces 
 of all such innate dispositions and the sentiments 
 which they help to form are here, it should be under- 
 stood, considered together and included under in- 
 stincts. 
 
 The conative function of emotion I shall take up in a 
 later lecture * (in connection with the psychogenesis 
 of multiple personality) the instincts and senti- 
 ments for discussion in more detail. The point to 
 which I wish in this connection to call attention is 
 that when a simple emotion-instinct, or an idea 
 linked with an instinct (a sentiment) is awakened 
 by any stimulus, its impulsive force is discharged 
 in three directions: the first is toward the excitation 
 of those articulated movements and ideas which 
 guide and carry the instinct to fruition to fight in 
 the case of anger, to flee in the case of fear, to cher- 
 ish in the case of love, etc. Second (accessory to the 
 first) the excitation of many of the various visceral 
 functions which we have reviewed reinforces the in- 
 stinctive movements; e. g., for pugnacity or flight 
 the increased respiration and activity of the heart 
 increase the supply of oxygen and blood to the mus- 
 cles; the secretion of sweat regulates the tempera- 
 ture during increased activity, the increased secre- 
 tion of adrenalin and the increased secretion of 
 sugar may, as Cannon suggests, respectively keep 
 up the emotional state (after the cause of the fear 
 
 * Not included in this volume.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 453 
 
 or anger has subsided) and meet the demand of the 
 muscles for an extra supply of food, etc. 
 
 Later experiments of Cannon seem to show that 
 the adrenal secretion removes the fatigue of mus- 
 cles ; and, further, that stimulation of the splanchic 
 nerves will largely recover fatigued muscles, in- 
 creasing the efficiency as much as 100 per cent.* As 
 emotion discharges its impulses along splanchic 
 pathways to the adrenal glands, the inference as to 
 the function of emotion in overcoming fatigue is 
 obvious. 
 
 As to the sensory accompaniments of emotion, it 
 is quite reasonable to suppose that their role is to 
 supplement and reinforce in consciousness the af- 
 fect, thereby aiding in arousing the individual to a 
 full appreciation of the situation and to such volun- 
 tary effort (whether to guide and assist the instinct 
 to its fulfillment or to repress it) as, in the light of 
 past experiences, his judgment dictates. These 
 sensory disturbances on this theory act as additional 
 warnings in consciousness where the affect proper 
 might be too weak.f Their function would be like 
 that of pain in the case of organic disease. Pain 
 is a biological reaction and a warning to the indi- 
 vidual to rest the diseased part,} as well as a danger 
 signal. 
 
 The third direction which the discharge of the 
 
 * Personally communicated. 
 
 t This theory of the part played by the sensory accompaniments 
 of visceral activity I would suggest as a substitute for the James- 
 Lange theory. 
 
 $ Hilton : Rest and Pain.
 
 454 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 impulsive force of the emotion takes is toward the 
 repression of the conflicting conative force of such 
 other emotions as would act in an antagonistic di- 
 rection.* The utility of the discharge in this direc- 
 tion is supplementary to that of the excitation of the 
 visceral functions: the former protects against the 
 invasion of counteracting forces, the latter strength- 
 ens the force of the impulse in question. 
 
 Conflicts thus arise. When an emotion is aroused 
 a conflict necessarily occurs between its impulse and 
 that of any other existing affective state, the im- 
 pulse of which is antagonistic to the aim of the for- 
 mer. Consequently instincts and sentiments which, 
 through the conative force of their emotion, tend 
 to drive the conduct of the individual in a course in 
 opposition to that of a newly aroused emotion (in- 
 stinct) meet with resistance. Whichever instinct or 
 sentiment, meaning whichever impulse, is the 
 stronger necessarily downs the other; inhibits the 
 central and efferent parts of the process ideas, 
 emotions and impulses though the afferent part 
 conveys the stimulus to the central factor. Thus 
 processes of thought to which the inhibited senti- 
 ment or instinct would normally give rise, or 
 with which it is systematized, are likewise inhib- 
 ited and behavior correspondingly modified. These 
 statements are only descriptive of what is common 
 experience. If one recalls to mind the principal 
 primary emotions (instincts) such as the sexual, an- 
 
 * Note analogues in Sherrington 'B mechanism of the spinal re- 
 flexes.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 455 
 
 ger, fear, tender feeling, hunger, self-abasement, 
 self-assertion, curiosity, etc., this is seen to be an 
 obvious biological truth.* Fear is suppressed by 
 anger, tender feeling, or curiosity (wonder), and 
 vice versa; hunger and the sexual instinct by dis- 
 gust. 
 
 What is true of the primitive instincts and 
 their primary emotions is also true of compound 
 instincts (emotions) and of sentiments, i. e., ideas 
 about which one or several emotions are systema- 
 tized. We may, therefore, for brevity's sake, speak 
 of a conflict of ideas or sentiments or emotions or 
 instincts indiscriminately. In other words, any af- 
 fective state may be suppressed by conflict with an- 
 other and stronger affective state. A timid mother, 
 impelled by the parental instinct, has no fear of 
 danger to herself when her child is threatened. The 
 instinct of pugnacity (anger) in this case not being 
 antagonistic (in conflict) is not only not suppressed 
 but may be awakened as a reaction to aid in the 
 expression of the parental instinct. Per contra, 
 when anger would conflict with this instinct, as when 
 the child does wrong, the anger is suppressed by 
 the parental instinct. Conversely, the sentiment 
 of love for a particular person may be completely 
 suppressed by jealousy and anger. Hatred of a 
 person may expel from consciousness previous sen- 
 timents of sympathy, justice, pity, respect, fear, etc. 
 The animal under the influence of the parental in- 
 
 * I follow in the main McDougall '& classification as sufficiently 
 adequate and accurate for our purposes.
 
 456 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 stinct may be incapable of fear in defense of its 
 young, particularly if anger is excited. Fear may 
 be suppressed in an animal or human being if either 
 is impelled by great curiosity over a strange object. 
 Instead of taking to flight, the animal may stand 
 still in wonder. Similarly in man, curiosity to ex- 
 amine, for example, an explosive an unexploded 
 shell or bomb inhibits the fear of danger often, as 
 we know, with disastrous results. The suppression 
 of the sexual instinct by conflict is one of the most 
 notorious of the experiences of this kind in every- 
 day life. This instinct cannot be excited during an 
 attack of fear and anger, and even during moments 
 of its excitation, if there is an invasion of another 
 strong emotion the sexual instinct at once is re- 
 pressed. Under these conditions, as with other 
 instincts, even habitual excitants can no longer ini- 
 tiate the instinctive process. Chloe would appeal in 
 vain to her lover if he were suddenly seized with 
 fright or she had inadvertently awakened in him 
 an intense jealousy or anger. Similarly the instinct 
 may be suppressed, particularly in men, as every 
 psycho-pathologist has observed, by the awakening 
 of the instinct of self -subjection with its emotion 
 of self-abasement (McDougall) with fear, shown in 
 the sentiments of incapacity, shame, etc. The au- 
 thors of "Vous n'avez rien a declarer" makes this 
 the principal theme in this laughable drama. In- 
 deed the principle of the suppression of one instinct 
 by conflict with another has been made use of by 
 writers of fiction and drama in all times.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 457 
 
 This principle of inhibition by conflict allows us 
 to understand the imperative persistence (if not 
 the genesis) of certain sexual perversions in other- 
 wise healthy-minded and normal people who have 
 a loathing for such perversions in other people but 
 can not overcome them in themselves. H. 0., for 
 example, has such a perversion, and yet the idea 
 of this perversion in another person excites a lively 
 emotion of disgust. In other words, at bottom, as 
 we say, she is right-minded. How then account for 
 the continuance of a self practice which she repro- 
 bates in another, censures in herself, and desires to 
 be free of, and why does not the instinct of repul- 
 sion, and the sentiment of self respect, etc., act in 
 herself as a safeguard! Introspective examination 
 shows that when the sexual emotion is awakened, 
 disgust and the sentiments of pride and self respect 
 are suppressed, and the momentarily activating in- 
 stinct determines all sorts of sophistical reasoning 
 by which the perversion is justified to herself. As 
 soon as the instinct accomplishes its aim it becomes 
 exhausted, and at once intense disgust, meeting with 
 no opposition, becomes awakened and in turn de- 
 termines once more her right-minded ideas. Based 
 upon this mechanism one therapeutic procedure 
 would be to organize artificially so intense senti- 
 ments of disgust for the perversion and of self-re- 
 spect that they would suppress the sexual impulse.* 
 
 Likewise the intense religious emotions (awe, rev- 
 erence, self-abasement, divine love, etc.) may, if 
 
 * In fact, this was successfully done.
 
 458 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 sufficiently strong, suppress the opposing instincts 
 of anger, fear, play, and self-assertion, and emotions 
 compounded of them. Examples might be cited 
 from the lives of religious martyrs and fanatics. 
 
 If it is true that "the instincts are the prime 
 movers of all human activity," and that through 
 their systematic organization with ideas into senti- 
 ments they are so harnessed and brought under 
 subjection that they can be utilized for the well- 
 being of the individual; and if through this har- 
 nessing the immediate promptings of the emotions 
 are brought under volitional control, then all con- 
 duct, in the last analysis, is determined by the cona- 
 tive force of instincts * (and other innate disposi- 
 tions) harnessed though they be to ideas. For 
 though volition itself can control, reinforce, and de- 
 termine the particular sentiment and thus govern 
 conduct, reinforce, for instance, a weaker abstract 
 moral sentiment so that it shall dominate any lower 
 brutish instinct or sentiment with which it conflicts, 
 still, volition must be a more complex form of cona- 
 tion and itself issue from sentiments. 
 
 We need not enter into this troublesome problem 
 of the nature of the willjf nor does it concern us. 
 
 * For purposes of simplification I leave aside feelings of pleas- 
 ure and pain, excitement and depression, for though their main func- 
 tions may be only to guide or shape the actions prompted by the 
 instincts, as McDougall affirms, still I think there is sound reason to 
 believe that feelings also have conative force and are cooperative im- 
 pulsive factors. 
 
 t McDougall has proposed the ingenious theory that that which 
 we understand, properly speaking, by "will" is a complex form of
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 459 
 
 It is enough for our purpose to recognize that voli- 
 tion can reinforce a sentiment and thus take part 
 in conflicts. In this way undesirable instincts and 
 sentiments can be voluntarily overcome and in- 
 hibited or repressed and mental processes and con- 
 duct determined. 
 
 Nor are we concerned here with conduct which 
 pertains more properly to social psychology. Our 
 task is much more limited and simple, namely to 
 inquire into the immediate conscious phenomena 
 provoked by emotion, just as we have studied the 
 physiological phenomena. We have seen that one 
 such phenomenon is inhibition or repression of an- 
 tagonistic instincts and sentiments provoked by con- 
 flict. (We shall see later that a conflict may arise 
 
 conation issuing from a particular sentiment, viz., the complexly 
 organized sentiment of self ("self -regarding sentiment"). The be- 
 havior immediately determined by the primitive instincts and other 
 sentiments cannot be classed as volition, but should be regarded as 
 simple instinctive conation. When, therefore, the will reinforces a 
 sentiment and determines conduct it is tixe self -regarding sentiment 
 which provides the ' ' volitional ' ' impulse and is the controlling fac- 
 tor. If this theory should stand it would give a satisfactory solution 
 of this difficult question. Perhaps it receives some support on the 
 part of abnormal psychology in that certain observations seem to 
 show, if I correctly interpret them, that self-consciousness is a com- 
 plex capable of being dissociated like any idea or sentiment. I shall 
 presently describe a quasi-pathological state which may be called 
 depersonalization. In this state the "conscious intelligence" present 
 is able to think and reason logically and sanely, is capable of good 
 judgments, and has an unusually large field of memory, in short, is a 
 very intelligent consciousness; nevertheless, it exhibits a very strange 
 phenomenon: it has lost all consciousness of self; it has no sense of 
 personality, of anything to which the term "I" can be applied. 
 This sentiment seems to be absolutely dissociated in this state.
 
 460 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 between a conscious and an entirely subconscious 
 sentiment with similar resulting phenomena.) 
 
 Repression of individual instincts may be lasting The 
 repressions resulting from conflict which we have 
 just been considering have been of a temporary na- 
 ture lasting only just so long as the conflict has 
 lasted. It is instructive to note that just as an 
 instinct can be cultivated until it becomes a ruling 
 trait in the character, so it can be permanently re- 
 pressed, or so intensely repressed that it cannot be 
 awakened excepting by unusual excitants or under 
 unusual conditions. Such a persisting repression 
 may be brought about either directly by volitional 
 conflict or indirectly through the cultivation of an- 
 tagonistic sentiments. The cultivation of an in- 
 stinct is a common enough observation. Every one 
 can point to some one of his acquaintance who has 
 so fostered his instinct of anger or fear, has so 
 cultivated the habit of one or the other reaction that 
 he has become the slave of his emotion. Conversely, 
 by the conative force of the will, and still more suc- 
 cessfully by the cultivation of appropriate moral 
 and religious and other sentiments, and complexes 
 or " settings" systematized about those sentiments, 
 a person can inhibit any instinct or any sentiment 
 organized with that instinct. A bad-tempered per- 
 son can thus, if he chooses, become good-tempered; 
 a coward, a brave person ; a person governed by the 
 instinct of self -subjection can repress it by the cul- 
 tivation of sentiments of self-assertion, and so on.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 461 
 
 The complete repression of unchristian instincts 
 and sentiments is the acquired characteristic of 
 the saintly character. The cultivation and repres- 
 sion of character traits and tendencies along these 
 lines obviously belong to the domains of the psy- 
 chology of character, social psychology, and crimin- 
 ology. But the persisting repression of at least 
 one instinct the sexual instinct may take on 
 pathological significance * while that of sentiments 
 may lead to pathological dissociation and to the 
 formation of disturbing subconscious states. To 
 this latter type of repression we shall presently re- 
 turn. 
 
 That the sexual instinct may be involuntarily and 
 persistently repressed by conflict is shown by the 
 following case: 
 
 F. S. presented herself at the hospital clinic be- 
 cause of hysterical epileptiform attacks of six 
 months' duration. The attacks, which had been 
 caused by an emotional trauma, were easily cured 
 by suggestion. After recovery she fell into lamen- 
 tations over the fact that she was sterile owing to 
 both ovaries having been removed three years be- 
 
 * The repression of the sexual instinct and of sexual wishes plays 
 the dominant r61e in the Freudian psychology. If a wish may be 
 correctly defined psychologically as the impulsive fores of a sentiment 
 striving toward an end plus the pleasurable feeling resulting from 
 the imagined attainment of that end, i. e., the imagined gratification 
 of the impulse, then the repression of a wish belongs to the phe- 
 nomena of repressed sentiments rather than of primitive instincts. 
 This distinction, I think, is of some importance, as will appear when 
 we consider subconscious sentiments.
 
 462 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 fore because of pelvic disease. Just before the 
 operation she had also suffered from an emotional 
 trauma (fear). Although complete recovery from 
 her symptoms had followed the operation, the sex- 
 ual instinct had been abolished for three years. She 
 was now much distressed over her inability to have 
 children, complaining it had led to domestic in- 
 felicity, and apprehending divorce which had been 
 threatened 'on the ground of her sterility. Having 
 confidence in the strength of certain fundamental 
 principles of human nature, and disbelieving the 
 reasons alleged by the husband for divorce, I was 
 able to restore domestic felicity, as well as demon- 
 strate the psycho-physiological principle that the 
 instinct was not lost but only inhibited. A single 
 suggestion in hypnosis, psychologically constructed 
 so as to bear a strong conative impulse that would 
 overcome any other conflicting affective impulses 
 and carry itself to fruition, restored not only the 
 lost function * but conjugal happiness. That the in- 
 stinct had only been inhibited is obvious. Whether 
 the repressing factor had been fear or an involun- 
 tary auto-suggestion was not determined. 
 
 The following case is instructive not only because 
 of the lasting dissociation of this instinct as a 
 
 * In making use of suggestion for therapeutic purposes it is es- 
 sential to construct one with strong emotional tones and pleasurable 
 and exalting feelings for the purposes of increasing resistances to 
 contrary impulses, and carrying the suggestion to fruition. This I 
 believe to be one of the secrets of successful suggestive procedure. 
 The construction of an effective suggestion is an art in itself and 
 must be based on the psychological conditions existing in each case.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 463 
 
 result of a conflict, but because the dissociation was 
 volitionally and intentionally effected as a revenge. 
 Other interesting features are the transference of 
 the repressing revenge affect to an object (clothes 
 which became an amulet or fetish to protect from 
 sexual approaches, and the building of a complex 
 ("raw oyster") which became the bearer of the 
 repressing force. X. Y. Z. received a deep wound 
 to her pride on the first night of her honeymoon 
 when her husband forgot his bride of a few hours 
 who was awaiting him in the nuptial chamber. 
 Happening to meet in the hotel some political ac- 
 quaintances after the bride had retired, he became 
 absorbed in a political discussion and forgot! 
 When he appeared after a prolonged absence and 
 presented his excuses she was hurt in her pride 
 and offended to think that she was of so little im- 
 portance to him that he could become interested in 
 talking politics.* There was anger too, and she 
 vowed to herself to show, or, to use her own words, 
 she ''would be hanged if" she would show that she 
 had any liking for or any interest in the marital 
 intimacy. (She had never hitherto experienced any 
 sexual feelings and, like most young girls, was en- 
 tirely ignorant of the physical side. Nevertheless, 
 from what she had been told, she had idealized the 
 
 * Of course this attitude is not to be viewed as an isolated event 
 standing all alone by itself. It must be read like nearly all events 
 of life in relation to a series of antecedent events. These, to her, 
 had denoted indifference, and now on this crucial occasion formed the 
 real setting and gave the offensive meaning to her spouse's forget- 
 fulness.
 
 464 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 spiritual union of husband and wife and anticipated 
 pleasurable experiences.) So purposely she re- 
 pressed any interest, made herself absolutely in- 
 different to her spouse's amorous attentions and 
 experienced absolutely no sexual feeling; and so 
 it continued for some days. In view of what later 
 happened, and what we know of conflicts, we must 
 believe that the impulses which carried her volition 
 to fruition came from the emotions of anger, pride, 
 and revenge. 
 
 Then one afternoon, just after she had finished 
 dressing herself preparatory to going out, her hus- 
 band came into her room and made advances to 
 her. The idea appealed to her and .she became 
 emotionally excited at the thought. But in the 
 middle of the act when the libido began to be 
 aroused, suddenly she remembered that she had been 
 snubbed at the first and that her role was to show 
 no liking or interest. There were reawakened the 
 emotions of pride, anger, and revenge, although not 
 malicious revenge. Impelled by these emotions she 
 actually gave herself suggestions to effect her pur- 
 pose a determination to get square with the past. 
 She said to herself, "I must not like it; I must put 
 it away back in my mind, I must become flabby as 
 an oyster." Thereupon she became ''perfectly 
 limp and uninterested and the feelings of flabbiness 
 came over" her, and the beginning sexual feeling 
 subsided at once. (That day she had eaten some 
 raw oysters and had been impressed by them as the 
 essence of flabbiness.) She admitted having con-
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 465 
 
 turned during succeeding years to cherish this re- 
 vengeful feeling as to the sexual relation to get 
 square with the past. She defended it, however, 
 (although admitting the childishness of the original 
 episode) on the ground that the slight to her pride 
 must be viewed in connection with a long series of 
 antecedent experiences. These must therefore be 
 viewed as the setting which gave meaning to her 
 idea of sexual relations with her husband. After 
 this at the sexual approach under conventional 
 marital conditions she for a time always volition- 
 ally induced this flabby ' ' raw-oyster ' ' sensation and 
 feeling. Later it would automatically arise at the 
 first indication or suggestion of the approach and 
 counteract the libido. It was now no longer neces- 
 sary to be on guard, knowing she could not be taken 
 unawares. The consequence has been that the pa- 
 tient has never consciously experienced any sexual 
 feeling beyond those first beginnings at the time 
 of the experience when she was fully dressed. The 
 patient can produce the ''raw-oyster" state at will 
 and exhibited it voluntarily during the examination. 
 The state as then observed was one of lethargy or 
 extreme relaxation. There was no general anaes- 
 thesia; pinching and pricking was felt perfectly, 
 but, as she remarked, they carried no sensation of 
 discomfort. "I do not care at the moment," she 
 explained, * ' what any one does to me ; no sensation 
 would cause pleasure or discomfort." To arouse 
 the state she thinks of the sexual approach first, 
 and then the state comes. The sexual instinct has
 
 466 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 never been aroused by reading, or associative ideas 
 of any kind. "It does not exist," to quote her 
 words. 
 
 Clothes became an amulet of protection in the 
 following way : Ever since that afternoon when she 
 was taken unawares in her clothes (and "almost 
 liked it") she realized and feared that sexual ap- 
 proaches when she was fully clothed might arouse 
 the sexual instinct. Consequently she was more on 
 her guard when fully clothed than at night for 
 fear of being taken unawares. The idea that she 
 must be on her guard when clothed became fixed, 
 and, at first, when in this condition, she was always 
 on her guard ready to defend herself by pugnacity. 
 Then any approach at such times, if accompanied 
 by physical contact, awakened an instinctive reac- 
 tion which became a defense; it aroused the in- 
 stincts of fear and anger. Any affectionate demon- 
 stration suggestive of the approach on the part of 
 her husband would arouse these defensive instincts. 
 On the other hand, when half dressed there has 
 been no such ebullition of emotion ; she has in conse- 
 quence always believed that having clothes on would 
 protect her against admirers. Indeed, as a fact, 
 this is so, for any show of affection from any one 
 manifested by a touch, even the friendly pat of the 
 hand, will cause an unnecessary and unreasonable 
 outburst of uncontrollable anger, such as to aston- 
 ish and startle the offender. Clothes, becoming 
 thus a sentiment in which the instincts of flight and 
 pugnacity are incorporated, have also become a pro-
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 467 
 
 tection in themselves an amulet to ward off dan- 
 ger. 
 
 What reason, it may be asked, is there for believ- 
 ing that the sexual instinct really exists in this case, 
 and is only repressed or dissociated? I may not 
 state all the reasons ; it is sufficient to say that the 
 evidence is to be found in dreams. The large num- 
 ber of sexual dreams which the subject has experi- 
 enced, many of them accompanied by realistic sex- 
 ual manifestations and not symbolic only, leave no 
 doubt of this fact.* 
 
 Conflicts with subconscious sentiments. Thus 
 far we have been considering conflicts between sen- 
 timents and emotional processes which have been 
 in the full light of consciousness. But in previous 
 lectures we have seen that ideas with strong emo- 
 tional tones may be dissociated and function below 
 the threshold of consciousness as coconscious proc- 
 esses. It is theoretically possible, therefore, that 
 conflicts might arise between a dissociated cocon- 
 scious sentiment and one that is antagonistic to 
 it in consciousness. To appreciate this theoretical 
 condition let me point out that there is one impor- 
 tant difference between the ultimate consequences 
 of the repression of an instinct and of a sentiment. 
 
 * Notwithstanding the frequency with which asexuality is met 
 with in women, I am strongly inclined to the opinion that the sexual 
 instinct in the sex is never really absent, excepting, of course, in late 
 life and in organic disease. No woman is born without it. When 
 apparently absent it is only inhibited or dissociated by the subtle in- 
 fluences of the environment, education, conflicting sentiments, etc.
 
 468 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 If an instinct is repressed (it being only an innate 
 disposition) it ceases to be an active factor in the 
 functioning organism. It is inhibited. A stimulus 
 that ordinarily suffices to excite it fails to do so, 
 and it may respond only to an extraordinarily pow- 
 erful stimulus, or perhaps none will awaken it. 
 Thus abstinence from food fails to awaken a sense 
 of hunger in a person who has lost this instinct for 
 any reason, even though appetizing food be placed 
 before him.* Similarly anger, or fear, or tender 
 emotion, or self-assertion, or disgust, in certain 
 persons cannot be awakened excepting by very un- 
 usual stimuli. In other words, the psycho-physi- 
 ological reflex is completely or relatively in abey- 
 ance just as much so as is an organic reflex (e. g., 
 the knee-jerk) which has been inhibited. Normally, 
 of course, it is rare for an instinct to be absolutely 
 inhibited excepting temporarily, as has been ex- 
 plained, during a conflict with another instinct. In 
 certain pathological conditions (e. g., dissociated 
 personality), almost any instinct may be persist- 
 ently inhibited. In normal conditions there is, how- 
 ever, one exception, namely the sexual instinct, 
 which, as we have seen from instances cited, may 
 be inhibited during long periods of time. In women 
 this inhibition is common and is effected, as I be- 
 lieve, by the subtle and insensible influence of the 
 environment of the child and by social education, 
 in other words, by the social taboo. Wherever 
 
 * A distinction should bo made between hunger and appetite. 
 Food may excite appetite, although hunger has been appeased.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 469 
 
 inhibition occurs observation would seem to show 
 that the psycho-physiological function has ceased 
 to take part in the functioning organism. 
 
 With sentiments, however, the case stands dif- 
 ferently. A sentiment, being an idea about which 
 a system of emotional dispositions has been organ- 
 ized, when repressed by conflict, or when simply out 
 of mind, whether capable of reproduction as mem- 
 ory or not, may, like all ideas, still be conserved, as 
 we have seen, as an unconscious neurogram. As we 
 have also seen, so long as it is conserved it is still 
 a part of the personality. Even though repressed 
 it is not necessarily absolutely inhibited but may 
 be simply dissociated and then be able to take on 
 dissociated subconscious activity. As a subcon- 
 scious process the idea continues still organized 
 with its emotional dispositions, and the conative 
 forces of these, under certain conditions, may con- 
 tinue striving to give expression to the idea. We 
 have already become familiar with one phenomenon 
 of this striving, namely, the emerging into con- 
 sciousness of the emotional element of the senti- 
 ment while the idea remains subconscious, thus 
 producing an unaccountable fear or joy, feelings of 
 pleasure or pain, etc. (p. 381). 
 
 1. This being so, it having been determined that 
 under certain conditions any conserved experi- 
 ence may become activated as a dissociated sub- 
 conscious process, it is theoretically quite possible 
 that the impulses of an activated subconscious sen- 
 timent might come into conflict with the impulses of
 
 470 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 a conscious process the two being antagonistic. 
 The resulting phenomena might be the same as 
 when both factors to the contest are in conscious- 
 ness. In such a conflict if the impulsive force of 
 the subconscious sentiment is the stronger the con- 
 scious ideas, sentiments, and feelings in short, the 
 conscious process would be repressed, and vice 
 versa. Or if the subconscious sentiment got the 
 worst of the conflict and could not repress the con- 
 scious process, the former, being dissociated and 
 an independent " automatic" process, might theo- 
 retically induce various other phenomena in the 
 effort to fulfil its aim. If it could not directly over- 
 come the impulses of the conscious process it might 
 circumvent the latter by inducing mental and physi- 
 ological disturbances which would indirectly pre- 
 vent the conscious impulses from fulfilling their 
 aim; e. g., inhibition of the will, dissociation or 
 total inhibition of consciousnes, amnesia for par- 
 ticular memories, motor phenomena interfering 
 with normal activity, etc. The subconscious senti- 
 ment engaging in such a conflict could be excited 
 to activity by any associative antagonistic idea in 
 consciousness. It should be noted that the subject 
 being entirely unaware of the subconscious process 
 would not know the cause of the resulting phe- 
 nomena. 
 
 2. Now, in fact, such hypothetical conflicts and 
 phenomena are actually observed in very neat and 
 precise form under experimental conditions, par- 
 ticularly in pathological or quasi-pathological sub-
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 471 
 
 jects. These conditions are particularly instruc- 
 tive as they allow us to clearly recognize the sub- 
 conscious character of the conflicting process and 
 detect the exact sentiment concerned therein. 
 
 The following experiment illustrative of such a 
 conflict between a conscious and subconscious proc- 
 ess I have repeated many times in one subject with 
 the same resulting phenomenon. It has been 
 demonstrated on several occasions to psychologists 
 and others. On the first occasion when the phe- 
 nomenon was observed it was entirely spontaneous 
 and unexpected as also has since been frequently 
 the case. 
 
 B. C. A. in one phase of alternating personality 
 
 (B) was asked to mention a certain complex of 
 ideas which was known to have been organized 
 about a distressing " sentiment" in another phase 
 
 (C) causing considerable unhappiness. This sen- 
 timent included a strong emotion of pride in conse- 
 quence of which she had in the C phase intense 
 objections to revealing these ideas. As she herself 
 said, she "would have gone to the stake first." 
 Phase B has no such sentiment, but on the contrary 
 the ideas in question were only amusing to her.* 
 
 * Note that the same idea forms different sentiments in different 
 phases or moods, according to the emotions with which it is linked. 
 In this case, in phase C, it is linked with mortification, self-abase- 
 ment, possibly anger, pride, and feelings of pain and depression; 
 in phase B, with joyful emotions and feelings of pleasure and ex- 
 citement. Also note that the former sentiment, although out of mind 
 at the time of the observation, is conserved in the unconscious.
 
 472 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 In phase B, therefore, she not only had no objection 
 to revealing the sentiment distressing to C but de- 
 sired for therapeutic reasons to do so. In accord- 
 ance with this difference of sentiments the differ- 
 ence in the attitude of mind in the two phases 
 toward the same experience was quite striking. The 
 impulse in the one was to conceal the experiences 
 and sentiment, in the other to divulge them. 
 
 Now, in reply to an interrogatory as to what was 
 distressing in the C phase, B begins to mention the 
 sentiment. At once, and to her astonishment, her 
 lips and tongue are tied by painful spasms involv- 
 ing, also, the throat muscles. She becomes dumb, 
 unable to overcome the resistance. She struggles 
 in vain to speak. When she gives up the struggle 
 to pronounce the forbidden words she speaks with 
 ease on other subjects saying "something pre- 
 vented me from speaking.'' Each time that she 
 endeavors to turn State's evidence and to peach 
 on herself, the same struggle is repeated. When 
 she persists in her effort, using all her will-power, 
 the effect of the conflicting force extends to con- 
 sciousness. Her thoughts become first confused, 
 then obliterated, and she falls back in her seat limp, 
 paralyzed, and apparently unconscious. The 
 thoughts to which she strove to give expression have 
 disappeared. She now cannot even will to speak. 
 
 But she is not really unconscious, it is only an- 
 other phase; there is only a dissociation or inhibi- 
 tion of the consciousness comprising the system of 
 ideas making up the B phase and an awakening of
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 473 
 
 another restricted system. When automatic writ- 
 ing is tried, it is found that a limited field of con- 
 sciousness is present in which are to be found the 
 ideas which opposed the resistance. A precise 
 statement of the opposing factors (volition) which 
 offered the resistance and brought about the con- 
 flict, the spasm of the vocal apparatus, and finally 
 inhibition or dissociation of consciousness, is ob- 
 tained from this dissociated restricted field.* 
 
 This phenomenon carries its own interpretation 
 on its face and cannot be doubted. Certain senti- 
 ments, for the moment dormant and outside the 
 focus of awareness of the subject, are " struck" or 
 stimulated by memories within that focus. The 
 conative force of the conscious wishes to which the 
 subject seeks to give expression meets with the re- 
 sistance of a similar and more powerful force from 
 the previously dormant sentiment. The latter car- 
 ries itself to fulfilment and controls the vocal ap- 
 paratus at first, and then, finding itself likely to be 
 overcome by the will-power of the personality, an- 
 nihilates the latter by the inhibition and dissocia- 
 tion of consciousness. 
 
 Various forms of the same phenomenon of con- 
 flict with subconscious processes I have experi- 
 mentally demonstrated in Miss B. and O. N. 
 Spontaneous manifestations of the same have also 
 
 * At first the subject (B) had no anticipation or supposition that 
 such a conflict would occur. Later she learned after repeated expe- 
 riences to anticipate the probable consequences of trying to tell tales- 
 out-of -school.
 
 474 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 been frequently observed in all three subjects. In 
 the published account of Miss B.* numerous ex- 
 amples are given. I will merely refer to the attacks 
 of aboulia, the dissociations of consciousness and 
 inhibition of thought, and of speech resulting in 
 stuttering and dumbness, the inhibition of motor 
 activity, the induction of systematized anesthesia 
 and alexia, etc. In the prolonged study of the case 
 I was the witness, I was going to say, of innumera- 
 ble exhibitions of such manifestations, and the book 
 is replete with examples of conflicts between oppos- 
 ing mental processes. B. C. A. in her account, "My 
 Life as a Dissociated Personality, ' ' f has described 
 similar spontaneous phenomena. It is worth noting 
 in this connection that the commonplace phenomena 
 of systematized anesthesia (negative hallucina- 
 tions) may be induced by conflict with a subcon- 
 scious process motivated by strong emotion. Thus 
 Miss B. in one of her phases could not see the writ- 
 ing on a sheet of paper which appeared blank to 
 her; on another occasion she could not see the 
 printing of the pages of a French novel which she 
 therefore took to be a blank book, nor could she 
 see a bookcase containing French books. The sub- 
 conscious conflicting ideas were motivated by anger 
 in the one case and jealousy in the other. That the 
 conflicting ideas in this case were elements synthe- 
 sized in a large dissociated system or subconscious 
 
 * The Dissociation, see Index : ' ' Subconscious ideas. ' ' 
 
 t Journal of Abnormal Psychology, October-November, 1908. 
 
 The Dissociation, p. 538.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 475 
 
 self in no way affects the principle, which is that 
 of conflict between processes. The conflicting proc- 
 ess in such conditions is a more complex one, that 
 is all. Undoubtedly the systematized anesthesia, so 
 easily induced by hypnotic suggestion and which 
 has been made the subject of much study, may be 
 explained on the same principle, although the affec- 
 tive elements are not so obtrusive. The conflict is 
 between the personal volition of the subject to see 
 the marked playing-card, if that is the test object 
 used in the experiment, and the suggested idea not 
 to see it. The latter wins if the experiment is suc- 
 cessful and inhibits the perception of the card 
 i. e., dissociates it from the focus of awareness. 
 (The emotional tones involved are obscure; possi- 
 bly they are curiosity on the one hand vs. self-sub- 
 jection on the other.) 
 
 The unconscious resistance to suggestion is prob- 
 ably of the same nature. Every one knows that it 
 is difficult to hypnotize a person who resists the 
 suggestion. This resistance may come from a 
 counter auto-suggestion which may be entirely in- 
 voluntary, perhaps a conviction on the part of the 
 subject that she cannot be hypnotized, or an un- 
 willingness to be i. e., desire not to be hypnotized 
 or fear. The same is true of waking a person from 
 hypnosis. In other words, an antagonistic pre- 
 paredness of the mind blocks involuntarily the sug- 
 gestion. A very pretty illustration is the follow- 
 ing: H. 0. discovered that she could easily and 
 rapidly hypnotize herself by simply passing her
 
 476 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 own fingers over her eyelids, but she could not wake 
 herself out of hypnosis. She then discovered that, 
 if she first gave herself the suggestion that she 
 would wake when she desired, she could quickly do 
 so. Likewise, if she suggested to herself that she 
 could not hypnotize herself the customary proce- 
 dure was without effect. Though this observation 
 is a common phenomenon the rapidity and ease with 
 which the phenomenon was demonstrated were as 
 striking as it was amusing to watch her struggle 
 to awake when the preparatory anticipatory auto- 
 suggestion had not been given. 
 
 In 0. N. more complicated phenomena induced by 
 conflicts with subconscious complexes have been 
 equally precise and striking. In this subject I find, 
 as the result of repeated observations, that, in order 
 that a suggestion, that is antagonistic to a preexist- 
 ing attitude of mind possessing a strong feeling 
 tone, shall not be resisted in hypnosis, it must be 
 first formally accepted by the personality before 
 hypnosis is induced. If this viewpoint is not pre- 
 formed, after hypnosis is induced the blocking atti- 
 tude cannot be altered. Practically this means that 
 the subject shall bring into consciousness and dis- 
 close ideas with which the intended suggestion will 
 conflict and shall modify them voluntarily. This 
 she does by first candidly accepting a new point of 
 view, and then, secondly, by a technical procedure 
 of her own, namely, by preparing her mind not to 
 resist in hypnosis. This procedure, briefly stated 
 and simplified, is as follows: she first says to her-
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 477 
 
 self, "I will 'take out' that [resisting] idea." Then 
 she arranges in her thoughts the ideas of accept- 
 ance which she will substitute. Then she puts her- 
 self into a state of abstraction (hypnosis) and sug- 
 gests to herself that the resisting idea is taken out 
 and that my intended suggestion shall be her view- 
 point. Even then, sometimes, when the resisting 
 idea is one harking back to a long past period of 
 life and belonging to a pathologically organized 
 "mood," known as the "b mood" or state, the 
 acceptance of the suggestion may be ineffectual. 
 Under these circumstances and when the hypnotic 
 dissociation is carried too far, so that the hypnotic 
 state is reduced to the "b mood," the previously 
 auto-suggested acceptance of the idea by the pa- 
 tient is thereby ostracized from the hypnotic field 
 and is unable to play its part and have effect. So 
 much by way of explanation. Now when the precau- 
 tion has not been taken to see that any resisting 
 idea has been "taken out" and when the intended 
 suggestion has not been accepted, one of the fol- 
 lowing phenomena is observed: (1) the hypnotic 
 personality when the suggestion is given becomes 
 "automatically" and unconsciously restless, en- 
 deavors, without knowing why, to avoid listening, 
 and to push me away, shifting her attitude and 
 struggling to withdraw herself from contact or 
 proximity all the time the face expressing hos- 
 tility and disapproval in its features; or (2) com- 
 plete obnubilation of consciousness supervenes so 
 that the suggestions are not heard; or (3) the sub-
 
 478 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ject suddenly wakes up. The last frequently hap- 
 pens as often as the suggestion is repeated; and 
 yet in hypnosis (and also, of course, when awake), 
 the subject is unaware of what causes the resist- 
 ance and the resulting phenomena. But if now the 
 subject is warned of what has occurred and accepts 
 the suggestion by the procedure mentioned (unless 
 the "b mood" I have mentioned recurs), the resist- 
 ance and other phenomena at once cease and the 
 suggestion takes effect. Thus in this case the con- 
 flicting ideas can always be precisely determined 
 and the conditions of the experiment arranged at 
 will and the results controlled. It is obvious that 
 all three phenomena are different modes by which 
 the subconscious idea resists the suggested idea and 
 accomplishes its aim. 
 
 3. In entire accordance with the experimental re- 
 sults are certain pathological disturbances which 
 from time to time interrupt the course of everyday 
 life of this subject, 0. N. These disturbances con- 
 sist of one or more of the following: a dissociative 
 state in which the pathological "b mood" is domi- 
 nant; a lethargic state; twilight state; complete re- 
 pression of certain normal sentiments and in- 
 stincts; complete alteration of previously estab- 
 lished points of view; morbid self-reproach; nerv- 
 ousness, restlessness, agitation; anger at opposi- 
 tion; indecision of thought, etc. Now, whenever 
 such phenomena recur, with practical certainty, 
 they can always be traced by the use of technical
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 479 
 
 methods to a conflict with a turbulent sentiment (in 
 which strong emotional tones are incorporated) 
 previously lying dormant in the unconscious. 
 Sometimes the turbulent sentiment can be definitely 
 traced to childhood's experiences. Very often it 
 has been intentionally formed and put into her mind 
 by the subject herself for the very purpose of in- 
 ducing the repression of other sentiments, to which 
 for one reason or another for the time being she 
 objects, and of changing her habitual point of view. 
 Her method of artificially accomplishing this result 
 is exceedingly instructive. It is similar to the au- 
 to-suggestive process I have described in connec- 
 tion with the hypnotic experiments. Having first 
 prearranged her psychological plan, she proceeds 
 to put herself into abstraction and to "take out", 
 as she calls it, her previous sentiment (or instinct) 
 and substitute an antagonistic sentiment. When 
 she comes to herself out of abstraction, the previ- 
 ously objected to sentiment has completely van- 
 ished. If it is one concerning a person or mode of 
 life, she becomes completely indifferent to that 
 person or mode of life as if previously no sentiment 
 had existed. If an intimate friend, he becomes only 
 an acquaintance toward whom she has entirely new 
 feelings corresponding to the new sentiment; if a 
 physician, nothing that he says has influence with 
 her, her new feeling, we will say, being that of 
 resentment; if a mode of life, she has lost all inter- 
 est in that mode and is governed by an interest in 
 a new mode. Even physiological bodily instincts
 
 480 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 have been in this way suppressed. She has in- 
 dulged this psychological habit for years. Again 
 and again when she has exhibited these, and still 
 other, phenomena, I have been able to discover their 
 origin in this auto-suggestive procedure. 
 
 Some of the other phenomena I have just men- 
 tioned are more likely to be traced to autochthonous 
 conflicts between everyday ideas dissatisfactions 
 with actual conditions of life, and wishes for other 
 conditions, unwillingness to forego the fulfilment 
 of certain wishes and accept the necessary condi- 
 tions as they exist, etc. The natural consequence 
 is restlessness, agitation, anger, indecision, etc. 
 The dissociation of personality, with the outcrop- 
 ping .of the ' ' b mood, ' ' follows a conflict due to 
 the excitation of certain childhood complexes, con- 
 served in the unconscious and embracing sentiments 
 in which are incorporated the instinct of self-sub- 
 jection or abasement. This "b mood" is a study in 
 itself. The self-reproaches are, I believe, also 
 traceable to this instinct. 
 
 Conflicts may even occur between two processes, 
 both of which are subconscious and therefore out- 
 side of the awareness of the subject. Thus, in B. 
 C. A. I have frequently observed the following: 
 while the right hand has been engaged in automatic 
 writing, the left hand, motivated by a subconscious 
 sentiment antagonistic to the subconscious ideas 
 performing the writing, has seized the pencil, 
 broken it, or thrown it across the room. The two
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 481 
 
 conflicting systems of thought, each with its own 
 sentiments and wishes, have been made to disclose 
 themselves and exhibit their antitheses and antipa- 
 thies. 
 
 The principle of emotional conflict and the phe- 
 nomena we have outlined enable us to understand 
 the mechanism of prolonged reaction time and 
 blocking of thought observed in the so-called "word 
 association tests." These tests involve too large a 
 subject for us to enter upon them here. Let it suf- 
 fice to say that when a test word strikes an emo- 
 tional complex the response of the subject by an 
 associated word may be delayed or completely 
 blocked. The emotional impulse which inhibits the 
 response may come from an awakened conscious 
 or subconscious memory. 
 
 The psychogalvanic reaction as physical evidence of actual 
 subconscious emotional discharge. This reaction may be 
 also used to demonstrate that subconscious processes 
 may actually give forth emotional impulses without 
 the ideas of those processes entering the personal 
 consciousness. 
 
 1. I may be permitted to cite here some experi- 
 ments,* which I made with Dr. Frederick Peterson, 
 as they leave the minimum of latitude for interpre- 
 tation and come as close as possible to the demon- 
 stration of emotional discharges from processes en- 
 tirely outside of awareness. Such a demonstration 
 
 * Journal Abn, Psychol., June- July, 1908.
 
 482 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 is important for the theory of subconscious conflicts. 
 
 The experiments were undertaken in a case of 
 multiple personality (B. C. A.) with a view to ob- 
 taining the galvanic phenomenon from coconscious 
 states. This case offered an exceptional oppor- 
 tunity to determine whether the galvanic reaction 
 could be obtained in one personality from the dis- 
 sociated complexes deposited ~by the experiences of 
 the second alternating personality for which there 
 was complete amnesia on the part of the first. 
 These dissociated experiences, of course, had never 
 entered the awareness of the personality tested, who, 
 therefore, necessarily could not possibly recall them 
 to memory. With the information furnished by the 
 second personality, it was easy to arrange test 
 words associated with the emotional ideas of the 
 experiences belonging to this personality and un- 
 known to the one tested. 
 
 Similarly it was possible to test whether galvanic 
 reaction could be obtained from complexes from 
 subconscious complexes the residua of forgotten 
 dreams, as in this case the dreams were not remem- 
 bered on waking. An account of the dreams could 
 be obtained in hypnosis. The dreams were there- 
 fore simply dissociated. 
 
 Again we could test the possibility of obtaining re- 
 actions from subconscious perceptions and thoughts 
 which had never arisen into awareness. The re- 
 quired information concerning these perceptions and 
 thoughts could be obtained in this case in hypnosis. 
 
 Now we found that test words which expressed
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 483 
 
 the emotional ideas belonging to a forgotten dream 
 gave, in spite of the amnesia, very marked rises in 
 the galvanic curve. The same was true of the test 
 words referring to dissociated experiences belong- 
 ing to the alternating personality for which the 
 tested personality had amnesia, and of the subcon- 
 scious perceptions. For instance (as an example 
 of the latter), the word lorgnette, referring to a 
 subconscious perception of a stranger unnoticed by 
 the conscious personality, gave a very lively reac- 
 tion. 
 
 Further, pin pricks, which could not be con- 
 sciously perceived owing to the anesthesia of the 
 skin, gave strong reactions. 
 
 Now here in the first two sets of observations 
 were emotional effects apparently obtained from 
 what were very precise complexes which were def- 
 initely underlying, in that they never had been 
 experienced by the personality tested and there- 
 fore could not come from memories, or from associa- 
 tions of which this personality was aware. They 
 could only come from the residua of a personality 
 which had experienced them and which was now 
 " underlying. " That these experiences had been 
 conserved is shown by the recovery of them in a 
 hypnotic state, and by their being remembered by 
 the secondary personality. Even the pin pricks, 
 which were not felt on account of the anesthesia, 
 gave reactions. It could be logically inferred, there- 
 fore, that the galvanic reaction was due to the ac- 
 tivity of subconscious complexes, using the term in
 
 484 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the narrow and restricted sense of conserved resi- 
 dua without conscious equivalents. But the condi- 
 tions were more complicated than I have described. 
 There was in this case a veritable coconscious per- 
 sonality, a split-off, well-organized system of con- 
 scious states synthesized into a personal conscious- 
 ness two foci of self-consciousness. Now the 
 coconscious personality with its large system of 
 thoughts had full memory of all these amnesic ex- 
 periences; it remembered the dreams and the ex- 
 periences of the second personality, and perceived 
 the pin pricks. Hence we concluded that the gal- 
 vanic phenomena were obtained from the memory 
 and perceptions of this coconscious personality. 
 
 This demonstration of an actual physical dis- 
 charge is proof positive that an emotional process 
 can function subconsciously. This being so, it only 
 needs this discharge to come into conflict with some 
 other process, conscious or subconscious, for one or 
 other phenomenon of conflict to be manifested. 
 
 2. This psycho-galvanic phenomenon may be corre- 
 lated with those phenomena which we have already 
 studied (p. 381) wherein the emotional element 
 of the process alone rises into consciousness. The 
 former phenomenon is therefore the manifestation 
 of the efferent and the latter of the central part of 
 the activated emotional disposition. The former 
 supports the interpretation of various clinical motor 
 phenomena as being the efferent manifestations of 
 purely subconscious emotional processes. I refer
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 485 
 
 to hysterical tics, spasms, contractures, etc. The 
 latter phenomenon we have had frequent occasion 
 to refer to. You will remember, for instance, that 
 in the case of Miss B. on numerous occasions it was 
 observed that emotion, particularly of fear, swept 
 over the conscious personality without apparent 
 cause. This emotion could be traced to specific dis- 
 sociated and coconscious ideas. Likewise in B. C. A., 
 states of anxiety or depression could be related to 
 specific coconscious ideas which, having been 
 shunted out of the field of consciousness, continued 
 their activity in a coconscious state. Janet, as might 
 be expected of so accurate an observer, long ago de- 
 scribed the same phenomenon the invasion of the 
 personal consciousness by the emotion belonging to 
 a coconscious idea. "Isabella," he writes, "pre- 
 sents constantly conditions which have the same 
 character ; we shall cite but one other in the interest 
 of the study of dementia. For a week or so she has 
 been gloomy and sad; she hides and will not speak 
 to anyone. We have trouble in getting a few words 
 from her, and these she says very low, casting her 
 eyes down: 'I am not worthy to speak with other 
 people. ; . . I am very much ashamed, I have a 
 crushing load on my mind like a terrible gnawing re- 
 morse ... 'A remorse about what!' 'Ah! 
 that's just it. I am trying to find it out day and 
 night. What is it that I could have done last week? 
 for before I was not thus. Tell me candidly, did I do 
 something very bad last week?' This time, as will 
 be seen, the question is no longer about an act, but
 
 486 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 about a feeling, a general emotional state which she 
 interprets as remorse; she is equally incapable of 
 understanding and expressing the fixed idea which 
 determines this feeling. If you divert the subject's 
 attention, you can obtain the automatic writing, and 
 you will see that the hand of the patient constantly 
 writes the same name, that of Isabella's sister who 
 died a short time ago. During the attacks and the 
 somnambulic sleep we establish a very complicated 
 dream in which this poor young girl thinks she mur- 
 dered her sister. That is quite a common delirium, 
 you will say; perhaps so, but for a hysteric it pre- 
 sents itself in a rather curious manner. She suf- 
 fers only from its rebound, experiences only the 
 emotional side of it; of the delirium itself she is 
 wholly ignorant; the latter remains subcon- 
 scious." . . . 
 
 "It will be seen by this last example that, in some 
 cases, a small portion of the fixed idea may be con- 
 scious. Isabella feels that she is troubled by some 
 remorse, she knows not what. It thus frequently 
 happens that hystericals, during their normal wak- 
 ing time, complain of a certain mental attitude, so 
 much so that they partly look as if obsessed. Ce- 
 lestine experiences thus feelings of anger which she 
 cannot explain." 
 
 As might be expected intense conflicts may have 
 wide-reaching consequences and lead to the devel- 
 opment of pathological conditions. Indeed, in the 
 latter we find the most clear-cut exemplars of re- 
 
 * The Mental State of Hystericals, pp. 289-290.
 
 INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, CONFLICTS 487 
 
 pression (dissociation) and other phenomena pro- 
 duced by conflict. I shall point out in later lec- 
 tures * how in a specific case intense religious sen- 
 timents completely repressed their antagonistic in- 
 stincts and eventuated in dissociation of (multiple) 
 personality (Miss B.) Likewise with B. C. A., as I 
 interpret the phenomena, the dissociation of per- 
 sonality resulted from a conflict between wishes 
 that could not be fulfilled and sentiments of duty, 
 respect, etc. We shall see later the significance of 
 this principle for the understanding of other patho- 
 logical states. 
 
 * Not included in this volume.
 
 LECTURE XVI 
 
 GENERAL PHENOMENA RESULTING FROM EMO- 
 TIONAL CONFLICTS 
 
 The awakening of intense emotional impulses we 
 have seen tends to intensify certain activities and 
 to inhibit other conflicting ones. Further when that 
 which is inhibited is a sentiment possessing an 
 intense emotion the sentiment tends to become dis- 
 sociated * from the personal consciousness and free 
 
 * Inhibition and dissociation, although often loosely used as in- 
 terchangeable terms, are not strictly synonymous, in that, theoreti- 
 cally at least, they are not coextensive. That which is inhibited may 
 be absolutely, even if temporarily, suppressed as a functioning proc- 
 ess, as in physiological inhibition (e. g., of reflexes, motor acts, 
 etc.) ; or it may be only inhibited from taking part in the mechan- 
 isms of the personal consciousness, and thereby dissociated from that 
 psychophysiological system. In the latter case the inhibited process 
 is not absolutely suppressed, but may be capable under favoring con- 
 ditions of independent functioning outside of that system. This is 
 dissociation in its more precise sense. Inhibition may be said to have 
 induced dissociation, and then the two may be regarded as only dif- 
 ferent aspects of one and the same thing. In the former case (abso- 
 lute suppression) the inhibited process cannot function at all, as in 
 certain types of amnesic aphasia when the memory for language is 
 functionally suppressed. Inhibition therefore may or may not be 
 equivalent to dissociation. Practically as observed in psychological 
 phenomena it is often difficult to distinguish between them, and it is 
 convenient to consider them together. 
 
 488
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 489 
 
 to become by the force of its own emotional dispo- 
 sitions a subconscious process. As a consequence 
 of these tendencies there may result a number of 
 psycho-physiological conditions of personality with 
 some of which we should become familiar. They 
 are observable, as would be expected, in every-day 
 life, and when highly accentuated become patho- 
 logical phenomena. Let us now consider some of 
 them in detail. 
 
 Contraction of the field of consciousness and of personality. 
 In every-day life intense emotion excludes from 
 the field of awareness thoughts that are unrelated, 
 antagonistic to and incompatible with the ideas ex- 
 citing the emotion, and perceptions of the environ- 
 ment that ordinarily would enter awareness. The 
 field of consciousness is thereby contracted and lim- 
 ited to thoughts excited by or associated with the 
 emotion. Thus, for example, in the heat of anger the 
 mind is dominated by the particular object or 
 thought which gave rise to the anger, or by anger ex- 
 citing associated ideas. Conflicting memories and 
 correlated knowledge that would modify the point of 
 view and judgment and mollify (inhibit) the anger 
 are suppressed and cannot enter the focus of atten- 
 tion. Further, a person in such a state may not 
 perceive many ocular, auditory, tactile, and other 
 impressions coming from the environment; he 
 may not see the people about him, hear what 
 is said, or feel what is done to him, or only in 
 an imperfect way. All these sensations are either
 
 490 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 actually inhibited or prevented from entering 
 awareness (dissociated) by the conflicting conative 
 force of the emotion. In other words there is a 
 dissociation (or inhibition) of consciousness and 
 consequent contraction of its field to certain emo- 
 tional ideas. 
 
 To take a concrete example, you are playing a 
 game of cards and with zest throw yourself into the 
 game. Something happens to arouse your anger. 
 At once there is a conflict: The impulsive force of 
 your pugnacity instinct meets with the impulsive 
 force of your play instinct and its pleasure feelings. 
 If the former is the stronger, the latter with the 
 ideas to which it is linked are inhibited, repressed, 
 driven out of consciousness. The pleasure of play 
 ceases and its impulses no longer determine your 
 thoughts. Further, you forget the cards that have 
 been played though you knew them well a moment 
 before, you may forget your manners, become ob- 
 livious to social etiquette and the environment. You 
 can no longer reason on the play of the cards; 
 you forget your card knowledge. All these proc- 
 esses are inhibited, and consequently the field 
 of consciousness and personality becomes con- 
 tracted. 
 
 On the other hand, the emotion of anger dominat- 
 ing the mind, ideas associated with or which tend 
 to carry your pugnacity instinct to fruition, arise 
 and direct and determine your conduct. Habit re- 
 actions are likely to come automatically into play, 
 and you break out into angry denunciatory speech,
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 491 
 
 if that is your habit. I leave you to fill out the de- 
 tails of the picture for yourselves. 
 
 And yet, again through training in self-control, a 
 self-regarding sentiment conflicting with the anger 
 impulse may be awakened, and the latter in turn 
 be dominated, repressed, inhibited. 
 
 In the case of an intense fear it is common ob- 
 servation that this contraction may reach a high de- 
 gree. In the excitement of a railroad accident the 
 frightened passenger does not feel the bruising and 
 pain which he otherwise would suffer, nor hear the 
 shrieks of his fellow passengers nor perceive but a 
 small part of what is occurring about him, but 
 driven only by the intensely motivating idea of es- 
 cape from danger he struggles for safety. His field 
 of consciousness is limited to the few ideas of dan- 
 ger, escape, and the means of safety. All else is 
 dissociated by the conative force of the emotion and 
 cannot enter the focus of attention. He could not 
 philosophize on the accident if he would. In ordi- 
 nary concentration of attention or absent-minded- 
 ness the same phenomenon of contraction of the field 
 of consciousness occurs occasioned by interest; but 
 with cessation of interest the field of awareness 
 quickly widens. So in contraction of this field from 
 emotion the normal is restored so soon as the emo- 
 tion ceases. 
 
 When this same general contraction of the field 
 of consciousness, effected by the repressing force of 
 emotion, reaches a certain acme we have a patho-
 
 492 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 logical condition the hysterical state. The field of 
 consciousness is now occupied by the single disso- 
 ciating idea or complex of ideas with its emotion 
 that did the repressing a condition of mono-ideism. 
 All other conscious processes are inhibited or disso- 
 ciated. When the complex is an intensely emotional 
 one, its nervous energy, now unbridled, is free to 
 discharge itself in many directions, perhaps pro- 
 ducing convulsive phenomena of one kind or 
 another. 
 
 To attribute these effects of emotion to repression 
 from conflict is only to express the facts in different 
 terms. But it would be often an over-emphasis to 
 describe what takes place as a specific conflict be- 
 tween particular sentiments. It is often rather the 
 discharge of a blind impulsive force in every direc- 
 tion which, like a blast of dynamite, suppresses or 
 dissociates every other process which might come 
 into consciousness and displace it. 
 
 Systematized dissociation. Quite commonly the 
 dissociated field, by whatever force isolated, instead 
 of being general may be systematized. By this is 
 meant that only certain perceptions, or groups or 
 categories of ideas that have been organized into a 
 system, or have associative relations, are pre- 
 vented from entering the personal synthesis. In 
 other respects the conscious processes may be 
 normal. The simplest type is probably sys- 
 tematized anesthesia, exemplified in every-day life 
 in anyone who fails to perceive his eye-glasses,
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 493 
 
 or any other object he is in search of that is 
 lying under his nose on the table before him; and 
 by the post-hypnotic phenomenon exhibited by the 
 subject who fails to perceive a marked playing 
 card or to hear or see a given person, though 
 he perceives all the other cards in the pack and 
 everyone else in the room; and by the hysteric 
 who likewise fails to perceive certain system- 
 atized sensations, such as the printing on a 
 page which, itself, therefore appears blank. That 
 which is dissociated in these examples is a compa- 
 ratively very simple complex, but it may involve 
 larger and larger groups of remembrances, percep- 
 tions, sentiments (with their emotions and feel- 
 ings), settings, attitudes, instincts, and other innate 
 dispositions, etc., organized into a system about the 
 sentiment of self. Such groups and systems may, 
 as we saw when studying the organization of com- 
 plexes (Lecture IX), be dissociated in that they 
 cease to take part in the functioning of the person- 
 ality. The personality becomes thereby contracted. 
 
 1. The principle involved is this : When a specific 
 idea or psycho-physiological function (memory, sen- 
 sation, perception, instinct) is by any force dis- 
 sociated, the exiled idea or function tends to carry 
 with itself into seclusion other ideas and functions 
 with which it is systematized. The dissociation is 
 apt to involve much more than the particular psy- 
 chological element in question in that it ' ' robs ' ' the 
 personal consciousness of much else. I have already
 
 494 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 cited in a previous lecture (p. 318) examples of this 
 principle. I need merely remind you of the obser- 
 vation with Miss B., where the systematized disso- 
 ciation of auditory images pertaining to the experi- 
 menter carried with it the associated secondary 
 visual images of him necessary for tactile percep- 
 tion of his hand. Similarly, in B. C. A., the general 
 dissociation of tactile images carried with it the 
 secondary visual images necessary for the visuali- 
 zation of her body. A large number of examples 
 drawn from all kinds of dissociative phenomena 
 might be given. I will content myself with men- 
 tioning two or three more : In automatic writing 
 the dissociated muscular control of the hands usu- 
 ally robs the personal consciousness, so far as the 
 hand is concerned, of all sensory perception, and 
 in automatic speech the dissociation of the faculty 
 of speech often robs the personal consciousness of 
 the auditory perception of the subject's own voice. 
 In hysterics, the specific dissociation of one class of 
 perceptions carries away others systematized with 
 them. In systematized anesthesia it is often easy 
 to recognize this fact. A good example of this is 
 that recorded in the case of Miss B., who, believing 
 she had lost her finger rings, not only could not 
 be made to see or feel them, but also not even the 
 ribbon on which they were hung round her neck, or 
 to hear them click together, or to feel the tug of the 
 ribbon when I pulled it.* The perceptions of these 
 associated sensations were therefore also with- 
 
 * The Dissociation, p. 189.
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 495 
 
 drawn. The same principle can be demonstrated by 
 suggestion in suitable subjects. Thus, for example, 
 I suggest to one of these subjects in hypnosis that 
 she will forget an episode associated with a certain 
 person named " August." After waking she has 
 amnesia not only for the episode but for the name 
 of the person and for the word in its other mean- 
 ings, e. g., the name of a calendar month. She can- 
 not recall that a month intervenes between July 
 and September. 
 
 In these examples the source of the dissociating 
 force is not in every case obvious. But this need 
 not concern us now. What I want to point out is 
 that when the dissociation is the consequence of an 
 emotional discharge the same principle frequently 
 comes into play, the same phenomenon of systema- 
 tization is of common occurrence. It may be recog- 
 nized with considerable exactness when a conflict 
 between sentiments has been artificially created. 
 Thus the phenomenon, described in the last lecture 
 (p. 476), of inhibition of sentiments by a self-sug- 
 gested antagonistic sentiment, may equally well be 
 cited in evidence of this principle. Similarly, 0. N. 
 suggested to herself a sentiment antagonistic to a 
 specific sentiment which she previously entertained 
 regarding a particular person. Not only was the 
 latter sentiment dissociated but a number of other 
 allied sentiments systematized around the same per- 
 son were also incidentally and unintentionally re- 
 pressed and withdrawn from consciousness, so much
 
 496 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 so that her whole point of view was altered.* (It 
 was easy in hypnosis by the procedures already 
 stated to synthesize the sentiments at will so as to 
 drive out, with suggested antagonistic sentiments, 
 the undesired ones. The change of viewpoint and 
 feeling after waking from hypnosis was often quite 
 dramatic.) 
 
 2. By this mechanism we can explain the dissocia- 
 tion of large systems of sentiments leaving a con- 
 tracted personality a mere extract of its former 
 self dissociated and distinguished from what it 
 was by different sentiments, instincts and other in- 
 nate dispositions. f The facts seem to show that the 
 awakening of the emotional impulses of certain sen- 
 timents inhibits, not only those particular antago- 
 nistic sentiments with which the former are incom- 
 patible, but large systems of sentiments, and many 
 instincts and other innate dispositions with which 
 the inhibited sentiments are systematized. The 
 contracted self may or may not be able to recall 
 to memory the fact of having previously experienced 
 the dissociated sentiments. But whether so or not 
 
 * One sees the same phenomenon in every-day life. Let a person 
 acquire under a sense of injury a dislike of one who previously was 
 a friend, and every sentiment involving friendship, admiration, es- 
 teem, gratitude, loyalty, etc., is repressed with a complete change of 
 attitude. Politics furnishes many examples. 
 
 f Exemplified in Miss B. by Sally, in O. N. by the b mood, and 
 in B. C. A. by phase B, and also in the earlier stages of the ease by 
 phase A.
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 497 
 
 the latter no longer functionally participate in the 
 personality. 
 
 This mechanism, to be sure, is an interpretation 
 but the facts are easily demonstrated. Minor types 
 of such dissociations result in what we have de- 
 scribed as ''moods." More extreme types are 
 pathological and characterized as phases of person- 
 ality. 
 
 3. The contrast of the sentiments in such moods 
 and phases with the habitual sentiments having 
 identically the same objects is striking. In other 
 words the object is organized with an entirely dif- 
 ferent group of emotions (instincts). The subject's 
 sentiment of husband or wife or father or son no 
 longer contains the emotions of love and reverence, 
 etc. ; but, perhaps, there are organized within it the 
 emotions of anger, hatred, contempt, etc. A self- 
 regarding sentiment of self -subjection with shame, 
 "feelings" of inadequacy and depression may be 
 substituted for self-assertion, pride, self-respect, 
 etc. These clinical facts are matters of observation. 
 
 B n suffers from constantly recurring and very 
 
 intense attacks of asthma which have certain char- 
 acteristics which stamp it as an hysterical tic. 
 In the attacks it is noticeable that her personality 
 and disposition normally amiable, gentle, and 
 affectionate undergo a change. The parental in- 
 stinct and sentiments of affection for her family, 
 of whom she is very fond, of modesty, of pride, 
 of consideration for others, etc., disappear and are
 
 498 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 replaced by others of an opposite character. Fear, 
 anger, and resentment are easily aroused, etc. B. 
 C. A. in phase B of personality knew nothing of 
 remorse, self-reproach, or despair which character- 
 ized the normal phase, and experienced only emo- 
 tions and feelings of pleasure and happiness.* 
 
 Janet, with his customary accuracy in observing 
 facts, has noted these changes, although I think in 
 his attempt at interpretation he has not quite 
 recognized the mechanism by which they are 
 brought about. "With Renee," this author re- 
 marks, when noting the facts, "we have gradually 
 seen disappearing the taste for finery ; her coquetry 
 vanity, even disappeared. With others, the love 
 of property is gone; they lose all that belongs to 
 them and do not care. Bertha formerly had great 
 timidity; she now wonders at the loss of it. She 
 goes and comes at night ; she looks at dead bones of 
 which she was afraid in past years, and asks: 
 'Why does all this make no impression on me now?' 
 Marie, especially, is very curious as to that. She 
 takes no longer any interest in things or people. 
 Overwhelmed with misfortunes, consequences of her 
 malady, and, after having been in comfortable cir- 
 cumstances, reduced to extreme poverty, she does 
 not perceive that her situation is serious. She loses 
 money, when she has only a few pennies left; she 
 mislays her clothing, can scarcely keep on the dress 
 
 * My Life as a Dissociated Personality, Jl. Ab. Psychol., Decem- 
 ber-January, 1908-9.
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 499 
 
 she is wearing and does not seem to trouble herself 
 about it in the least. Yet we observe that she is still 
 intelligent and might provide against her situation. 
 She does so very little, and only wonders at her 
 indifference. 'Formerly I took care of my things; 
 now I do not.' There are some still more charac- 
 teristic facts to be observed in this patient. For- 
 merly she loved her husband and was even quite 
 jealous about him. She was devoted to her two 
 children. Since her illness she has gradually aban- 
 doned her children, who have been reared by her 
 sisters, and she finally left her husband. For the 
 last three years, instead of her former happy life, 
 she leads about Paris the most miserable existence. 
 Not once did she inquire about her husband or her 
 children. She heard indirectly of the former's 
 death. ' Strange ! ' she said, * it does not affect me in 
 the least; yet, I assure you, it does not make me 
 happy, either ... I simply don't care.' 'But if we 
 were to tell you that your little Louis [it was her 
 favorite child] is dead, too ? ' ' How do you suppose 
 it can affect me ? I have forgotten him ! ' 
 
 4. Janet, when interpreting such phenomena, at- 
 tributes them to "psychological feebleness" in con- 
 sequence of which the personality cannot synthesize 
 more than a certain number of emotions and ideas 
 to form the personal self-consciousness. It cer- 
 tainly cannot perform the synthesis involved in re- 
 taining certain formerly possessed sentiments, etc., 
 
 The Mental State of Hystericals, p. 205.
 
 500 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 but it is not because of feebleness. Many hysterics 
 can synthesize quite as many psychological ele- 
 ments as a normal person, but not sentiments and 
 emotions of a certain character, i. e., those which 
 pertain to certain experiences, to certain systems 
 of remembrances. M. Janet has quite correctly 
 pointed out that, in spite of the apathy and lack of 
 emotionality of hysterics in certain directions, 
 which, I would insist, in the last analysis means 
 the absence of particular sentiments and instincts 
 in other directions these patients are ' ' extremely ex- 
 citable and susceptible of very exaggerated emo- 
 tions," which in turn means the retention of par- 
 ticular sentiments and instincts. These last domi- 
 nate the personality. Here is the key to the enigma. 
 From this point of view, the effect of the impulsive 
 force of the dominating emotions has been misinter- 
 preted by M. Janet. These emotions are the causal 
 factors in determining the apathy, i. e., absence of 
 particular sentiments and instincts, and explain 
 why they cannot be brought within the personal 
 synthesis. If we bear in mind that emotion means 
 discharge of force, an adequate explanation of such 
 phenomena in a great many instances, at least, is 
 to be found in the principle of conflict and dissocia- 
 tion. The conflict is between the impulsive forces 
 of the emotions pertaining either to antagonistic 
 instincts or to sentiments organized within differ- 
 ent systems. With the excitation of emotion, in- 
 stincts and sentiments which have opposing cona- 
 tive tendencies are inhibited, repressed, or disso-
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 501 
 
 elated, and with them the systems with which they 
 are organized. The emotion does not so much 
 cause "psychological feebleness" in consequence 
 of which the personality cannot synthesize senti- 
 ments, as it inhibits and dissociates antagonistic 
 sentiments, etc., which consequently cannot be syn- 
 thesized. The result you may call " feebleness" if 
 you like. 
 
 Hence it is that hysterics present the seeming 
 paradox of having, as M. Janet observed, "in 
 reality fewer emotions than is generally thought 
 and [in] that their principal character is here, as 
 it is always, a diminution of psychological phenom- 
 ena. These patients are in general very indifferent, 
 at least to all that is not directly connected with a 
 small number of fixed ideas." According to the 
 view which we are maintaining, the "fewer emo- 
 tions" are due to the dissociation of many senti- 
 ments and instincts by the dominating emotional 
 complex. 
 
 5. Let us not forget that this explanation is a mat- 
 ter of interpretation, but the interpretation comports 
 with what is common observation of what happens 
 when a new emotion which is incompatible with an 
 existing emotion (fear anger) is excited. In the 
 case of Miss B., the alternation of the personality 
 coincident with the excitation of an emotion oc- 
 curred with such frequency, not to say with regu- 
 larity, that there seemed to be no room to doubt
 
 502 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 the causal factor and the mechanism.* Sometimes 
 the dissociation resulted in the formation of new 
 phases of personality in which Miss B. reverted to 
 a past epoch of time in which she lived once more, 
 the experiences of all later epochs being dissociated ; 
 sometimes in phases with a very contracted field of 
 consciousness without orientation in time or place 
 and with little knowledge of self or environment; 
 sometimes and in these instances the dissociation 
 of organized systems could most clearly be recog- 
 nized in the substitution of one of the already 
 established phases (BI, BIV, or Bill) for another. 
 It is not always easy without intensive study, to 
 determine the exact sentiment or instinct which is 
 responsible for the dissociation, although the actual 
 occurrence of the emotional state just preceding the 
 development of the phenomenon is obtrusively obvi- 
 ous. "At various times as a result of emotionally 
 disintegrating circumstances" at least eight differ- 
 ent phases were observed in addition to the three 
 regularly recurrent phases. f 
 
 In B. C. A. the gradual organization through the 
 circumstances of life of a group of "rebellious" 
 ideas, in which the dominating sentiments and in- 
 stincts were intensely antagonistic to those previ- 
 ously peculiar to the subject, could be clearly 
 determined. So antagonistic was this group that 
 it was known as the rebellious complex but termed 
 
 * The Dissociation, cf . Index : ' ' Emotion, the Disintegrating Ef- 
 fect of," and Chapters XXVIII and XXIX. 
 j- The Dissociation, p. 462.
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 503 
 
 B complex for convenience. It became by succes- 
 sive accretions a large system and phase of per- 
 sonality. The details are too extensive to enter 
 into at this time ; suffice it to say that as the result 
 of what is called an "emotional shock" the B sys- 
 tem came into being. This interpreted means that 
 the shock was really the excitation of the rebellious 
 sentiments and other emotions belonging to the B 
 system; there was a conflict; the habitual senti- 
 ments and the system to which they belonged were 
 inhibited and replaced by the former (B). Later 
 the displaced sentiments and their corresponding A 
 system were awakened, the emotions giving rise to 
 another shock, a conflict, and the B system, in turn, 
 was inhibited. And so it could be recognized that 
 alternations of systems could be evoked by the 
 alternate excitation of sentiments and instincts or 
 complexes, if you prefer the term pertaining to 
 each. 
 
 6. This summary of the pheriomena of conflict in- 
 ducing dissociation of personality would be incom- 
 plete if the dissociations effected by entirely sub- 
 conscious processes were not mentioned. These 
 can be very neatly studied with coconscious 
 personalities, as such personalities can give very 
 precise information of the mode by which the dis- 
 placement of the primary personality is effected. 
 In the cases of Miss B. and B. C. A. "Sally" and 
 "B," respectively, have done this. It appears, ac- 
 cording to this testimony, that coconscious "will-
 
 504 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ing" or strong conation, even simply a wish to 
 inhibit the principal consciousness, would effect that 
 result. Thus, for instance, B testified: "When 
 A is present I can 'come' voluntarily by willing, 
 i. e., blot A out and then I 'come.' . . . By willing 
 I mean I would say to A: '. . . . Go away': 'Get 
 out of the way': 'Let me come: I will come,' and 
 then A disappeared. She was gone and I was there. 
 It was almost instantaneous. . . . Sometimes the 
 wish to change would blot out A without actual 
 willing. ' ' 
 
 In the case of Miss B. similar testimony of the 
 effect of coconscious willing and wishes was ob- 
 tained. 
 
 When the coconscious wishes, sentiments, etc., are 
 not synthesized into a large self-conscious system 
 (i.e., coconscious personality) which can give direct 
 testimony as to the subconscous conflicts, the for- 
 mer and the process which they incite must be 
 inferred from known antecedent factors and the 
 observed phenomena of inhibition or dissociation. 
 That general and systematized dissociation are 
 phenomena which can be, and frequently are, in- 
 duced by the conative force of purely subconscious 
 processes, in view of the multiform data offered by 
 hysterics can be open to no manner of doubt. The 
 process may be also formulated in terms of conflict. 
 
 Laws governing the lines of cleavage of personality. In 
 systematized dissociation there is a cleavage be- 
 tween certain organized systems of experiences and
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 505 
 
 functions and the remainder of the personality. 
 The contracted personality is consequently shorn of 
 much. But we understand only very incompletely 
 the laws which determine the direction of the line 
 of cleavage and the consequent extent of the dis- 
 sociated field. Unquestionably this follows the law 
 of organization of complexes in a general way, but 
 not wholly so. For instance, it is impossible by 
 this la\v or by any known mechanism to explain the 
 anesthesia which sometimes, apparently spontane- 
 ously, appears in certain hypnotic states. A given 
 subject, e. g., B. C. A., is simply hypnotized by sug- 
 gestion and successively falls into two different 
 states. In one state the subject is found to be 
 completely anesthetic and in the other normally 
 esthetic. The subject is one and the same and the 
 dissociating suggestion, which is the same in each 
 case, contains nothing specifically related to sensa- 
 tion ; and yet the line of cleavage is within the field 
 of sensation in the one case and without it in the 
 other; i. e., that which is dissociated includes the 
 sensory field in the one state and not in the other. 
 Similarly when the disaggregation of personality is 
 brought about by the force of a conflicting emotion, 
 the resulting hysterical state or dissociated person- 
 ality may be robbed of certain sensory or motor 
 functions, although these functions are not as far 
 as we can see logically related to the emotion or the 
 ideas coupled with it. Thus a person receives an 
 emotional shock and develops a one-sided anesthesia 
 and paralysis a very common phenomenon.
 
 506 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Louis Vive used to pass into one state in which he 
 had left hemiplegia and into another in which he 
 had right hemiplegia, another with paraplegia. 
 Each state had its own systematized memories, but 
 why each had its own and different motor and 
 sensory dissociations cannot be explained. In Miss 
 B. the dissociation which resulted in the formation 
 of the secondary personality, Sally, withdrew, with- 
 out apparent rhyme or reason, the whole general 
 field of sensations so that Sally was completely 
 anesthetic.* The sensory functions seemed to be 
 wantonly ejected along with the repressed com- 
 plexes of ideas. Per contra, by the same process 
 which results in dissociation, lost functions are often 
 paradoxically synthesized. Mrs. E. B. and Mrs. R., 
 anesthetic when "awake," are found to be normally 
 esthetic in hypnosis ; i. e., the sensory functions are 
 spontaneously synthesized with the hypnotic per- 
 sonality. In other words, in hypnosis the personal 
 synthesis is in this respect more normal than in the 
 "waking" state. 
 
 Again, when amnesia results it may cover a past 
 epoch retrograde amnesia without obvious rea- 
 son for the chronological line of cleavage. In short 
 the suppression by dissociation of a specific psy- 
 chological element remembrance, perception, sen- 
 timent, etc. not only tends to rob the personality 
 of a whole psychological system in which it is 
 organized but of other faculties, the relation of 
 
 * We shall study in other lectures the forces and mechanisms 
 which effected the dissociation in this case.
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 507 
 
 which to the specifically dissociated element is ob- 
 scure. It seems as if the dissociation sometimes fol- 
 lowed physiological as well as psychological lines.* 
 It is in accordance with this principle that instincts 
 and sentiments which are not immediately con- 
 cerned in the specific conflict nor antagonistic to the 
 dissociating emotion are often suppressed. Thus 
 it is that hysterics, as we have seen by examples, 
 have lost so many emotions (instincts) and the sen- 
 timents involving them, though they are so excitable 
 to the emotions that are retained. In the case of 
 B. C. A. the secondary personality B, the resultant 
 (as I interpret the case) of the conflict between the 
 play instinct and sentiments of duty, responsibility, 
 etc., lost the parental instinct with the emotion of 
 tender feeling (McDougall) and that of fear, with 
 their corresponding sentiments. She was shock- 
 ingly devoid of filial and maternal love and, indeed, 
 of affection, in the true sense, for her friends. 
 Likewise Sally (in the case of Miss B.), also the 
 product of conflict between the impulses of the play 
 instinct and those of the religious emotions, was 
 entirely devoid of fear, of the sexual, and of certain 
 other instincts not antagonistic to the dominating 
 play instinct. She had lost also a great many, if not 
 all, sentiments involving the tender feeling. As in 
 the examples given of dissociation of motor, sen- 
 sory, and other functions, the dissociative line of 
 
 * See Morton Prince: Some of the Present Problems of Abnormal 
 Psychology, St. Louis Congress of Arts and Sciences (1904), Vol. 5, 
 p. 772; also, The Psychological Beview, March-May, 1905, p. 139.
 
 508 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 cleavage had excluded more than was engaged in 
 the conflict. Of course, there always must be some 
 reason for the direction taken by any line of cleav- 
 age, following the application of force, whether the 
 fracture be of a psycho-physiological organism or 
 of a piece of china ; but when the conditions are as 
 complex as they are in the human organism their 
 determination becomes a difficult problem. When 
 we come to study multiple personality we shall see 
 that the suppression of instincts plays an important 
 role. 
 
 Amnesia. It is a general rule that when a person 
 passes from a condition of extreme dissociation to 
 the normal state there is a tendency for amnesia to 
 supervene for the previous dissociated state (mul- 
 tiple personalities, epileptic and hysterical fugues, 
 hypnotic and dream states, etc.). Likewise in every- 
 day life it frequently happens, when the dissociation 
 effected by emotion results in an extremely re- 
 tracted field of consciousness, that, after this emo- 
 tional state has subsided and the normal state has 
 been restored, memory for the excited retracted 
 state, including the actions performed, is abolished 
 or impaired. Even criminal acts committed in 
 highly emotional states (anger, "brain storms," 
 etc.) may be forgotten afterwards. In other words, 
 in the normal state there is in turn a dissociation 
 of the residua of the excited state. The experiences 
 of this latter state are not lost, however, but only 
 dissociated in that they cannot be synthesized with
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 509 
 
 the personal eonsciousness and thereby reproduced 
 as memory. That they may be still conserved as 
 neurographic residua is shown in those cases suit- 
 able for experimental investigation where they can 
 be reproduced by artificial devices (hypnotism, ab- 
 straction, etc.). 
 
 Thus B. C. A. could not recall a certain emotional 
 experience although it made a tremendous impres- 
 sion upon her, disrupted her personality, and in- 
 duced her illness. In other respects her memory 
 was normal. Janet has described this amnesia fol- 
 lowing emotional shocks, notably in the classical 
 case of Mme. D. 
 
 1. On first thought it seems strange that a person 
 cannot remember such an important experience as 
 that, for example, of B. C. A., when for all else 
 the memory is normal. That this experience had 
 awakened conflicting ideas and intense, blazing emo- 
 tions with great retraction of the field of conscious- 
 ness of the moment is shown by the history. Later 
 there was found to be a hiatus in the memory, the 
 amnesia beginning and ending sharply at particular 
 points, shortly before and shortly after this experi- 
 ence. In other words, the extremely dissociated and 
 retracted emotional field could not be synthesized 
 with the personal consciousness or, one might say, 
 with the sentiment of self. In hypnosis, however, 
 this could be done and the memory recovered. 
 Freud has proposed an ingenious theory involving
 
 510 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 a particular mechanism by which such amnesic 
 effects are produced. According to this theory the 
 dissociated experience cannot be recalled because 
 it is so painful that it cannot be tolerated by con- 
 sciousness; i. e., attempted emergence as memory 
 meets with the resistance of conflicting subcon- 
 scious thoughts, acting as a censor or guardian, 
 and the experience is repressed and prevented from 
 entering consciousness. (It would be, perhaps, 
 within the scope of this theory to say that the im- 
 pulsive force of the conflicting sentiments (involv- 
 ing pride and self-respect and the instinct of anger) 
 awakened at the moment of the experience con- 
 tinued more or less subconsciously to repress the 
 memory of the whole experience.) 
 
 2. If expressed in the following form I think the 
 theory would equally well explain such amnesias, 
 be in conformity with certain known hypnotic phe- 
 nomena and, perhaps, be more acceptable: An ex- 
 perienced desire not to face, or think of, i. e., to 
 recall to memory, a certain painful experience is 
 conserved in the usual way. When an attempt is 
 made to recall the episode this desire becomes an 
 active subconscious process and inhibits the mem- 
 ory process. The analogue of this we have in post- 
 hypnotic amnesia induced by suggestion. In the 
 hypnotic state the suggestion is given that the sub- 
 ject after waking shall have forgotten a certain 
 experience, a name, or an episode. After waking
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 511 
 
 the conative force * of the suggested idea, function- 
 ing entirely subconsciously (as there is complete 
 forgetfulness for the hypnotic state), inhibits the 
 memory of the test experience in that there is found 
 to be amnesia for the latter. One may say there 
 has been a subconscious conflict followed by in- 
 hibition of one of the belligerents. That antecedent 
 thoughts of the individual can likewise become acti- 
 vated as subconscious processes and come into con- 
 flict with other processes and inhibit them, thus pre- 
 venting them from becoming conscious, we have 
 already seen. The antagonism of the motives in 
 the two processes is often obvious. Numerous ex- 
 amples of inhibitions (induced by conflicts with sub- 
 conscious ideas, emotions, and conations) of mental 
 processes which could afterwards be recalled to 
 memory in a secondary state of personality have 
 been recorded in the case of Miss B.f Likewise in 
 B. C. A. similar phenomena were testified to as due 
 to subconscious conflicts. J There would seem to be 
 no question therefore of either the occurrence of 
 subconscious conflicts or their efficiency in produc- 
 ing amnesia. 
 
 Probably derived from the "will to believe," the desire to 
 please the experimenter, or other elements in the hypnotic setting. 
 The conception of .a " censor ' ' or desire to protect the personal con- 
 sciousness from something painful is an unnecessary complication. 
 
 f The Dissociation. 
 
 $ Cf. My Life as a Dissociated Personality, JL Abn. Psychol, 
 October-November, 1908.
 
 512 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 3. However all this may be, there is no need for 
 us now to enter into the question of mechanisms. 
 Certain it is, though, that we often forget what we 
 want to forget, which means memories that are 
 unpleasant; and certain types of pathological am- 
 nesia answer to the Freudian mechanism or some 
 modification of it. Certain amnesias undoubtedly 
 follow deliberate wishes to put certain experiences 
 out of mind, just as they follow hypnotic sugges- 
 tions that they shall be forgotten. A very neat 
 example is that of the observation previously 
 given (Lecture III, p. 74) of the subject who, in a 
 moment of despair and resentment against criti- 
 cism, expressed a wish to forget her own marriage 
 name, and lo! and behold! on waking the next day 
 she found she could not recall it. But amnesias of 
 this kind differ in an important respect from the 
 classical amnesias of hysteria. In the latter variety 
 the dissociation is so extensive that reproduction 
 cannot be effected by any associated idea of the 
 personal consciousness; for reproduction another 
 state of consciousness (hypnosis, alteration of per- 
 sonality, etc.) with which the forgotten experience 
 is synthesized must be obtained or the subconscious 
 must be tapped. In the former variety although 
 the reproduction cannot be effected through an idea 
 with which it stands in affectively painful associa- 
 tion, it can be by some other indifferent idea or com- 
 plex with which it is systematized. For instance, 
 in the case of the phobia for the ringing of bells 
 in a tower which we have studied, the original
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 513 
 
 episode could not be recalled in association with the 
 object of the phobia, notwithstanding that this ob- 
 ject was an element in the episode, but it was 
 readily recalled in association with contemporary 
 events of the subject's life. In the case of C. D., 
 who had experienced a painful episode of fainting 
 the same amnesic relations obtained. 
 
 4. On the other hand there are other forms of am- 
 nesia which the Freudian mechanism is totally in- 
 adequate to explain, or of which it offers only a par- 
 tial explanation. I refer to the persisting amnesias 
 of reproduction exemplified by much of the common 
 forge tfulness of every-day life (often due to dis-in- 
 terest) ; by the amnesias for whole systems of experi- 
 ences in hypnotic states, in different phases of mul- 
 tiple personality, fugues, and deliria; by certain 
 retrograde, general, and continuous amnesias of 
 hysteria, alcoholic amnesia, etc. In some of these the 
 amnesia is a dissociation of systems undoubtedly 
 effected by the force of emotional impulses dis- 
 charged by antagonistic complexes. This is to view 
 the amnesia from its psychological aspect. But it 
 may also be viewed from its correlated physiological 
 aspect. 
 
 Let us note first that reproduction is a synthetic 
 process which requires some sort of dynamic asso- 
 ciation between the neurogram underlying an idea 
 present in the personal consciousness and the con- 
 served neurograms of a past experience. From this 
 view we may in the future find the explanation of
 
 514 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 amnesia (resulting from the dissociative effect of 
 emotion) in the configuration of the physical paths 
 of residua traveled and engraved by an emotional 
 experience. The emotional discharge may have pre- 
 vented an associative path of residua being estab- 
 lished with the dissociated experience.* 
 
 5. Amnesia is too large a subject for us to go into 
 its mechanisms at this time and we are not called 
 upon to do so. It is enough to point out the different 
 forms of amnesia which at times are the resultants 
 of emotion. Inasmuch as experiences are organized 
 in complexes and still further in large systems, 
 which include settings (that give meaning to the 
 particular experiences) and other associated senti- 
 ments, instincts and other innate dispositions, the 
 dissociation of a single experience may involve a 
 large complex of experiences, or a whole system of 
 such, .and result either in a simple amnesia alone 
 or in an alteration of personality accompanied 
 by amnesia. Such amnesias are generally clas- 
 sified as localized, systematized, general, or con- 
 tinuous. 
 
 * T. Brailsford Robertson, in a very recent communication on the 
 ' ' Chemical Dynamics of the Central Nervous System ' ' and ' ' The 
 Physiological conditions underlying heightened suggestibility, hyp- 
 nosis, multiple personality, sleep, etc." (Folia Neuro-Biologica, Bd. 
 VII, Nr. 4/5, 1913), has attempted to correlate these conditions and 
 also amnesia (as one of their phenomena) with the isolation of paths 
 ' ' canalised ' ' by auto-catalysed chemical reactions. These processes 
 he concludes, from previous studies, "underlie and determine the 
 activities of the central nervous system (and therefore the physical 
 correlates of mental phenomena)." (See Lecture V, p. 124.)
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 515 
 
 6. The first, as it seems to me, is also in prin- 
 ciple systematized, the distinction being clini- 
 cal rather than psychological. By localized is 
 meant an amnesia extending over an epoch of time. 
 Thus, in the instance already cited, Miss B. sud- 
 denly found that she could not recall a single mo- 
 ment of a particular day, although previously she 
 had remembered well the incidents, owing to a dis- 
 tressing experience the memory of which had tor- 
 mented her during the whole day. The amnesia was 
 localized in time. It was the result of a suggestion 
 which I gave in hypnosis that the painful experi- 
 ence only should be forgotten ; but unexpectedly the 
 remembrances of the whole day disappeared. In 
 other words, the dissociation of a particular remem- 
 brance robbed the personal consciousness of all 
 other remembrances with which it was systema- 
 tized. That it .was so systematized was made evi- 
 dent by the fact that throughout the course of the 
 day it had so dominated her mind that she was con- 
 tinuously under its emotional influence. The am- 
 nesia was therefore not only localized but systema- 
 tized with the day's experiences. It is to be noted 
 that the hypnotic suggestion necessarily exerted its 
 dissociating force subconsciously after waking. 
 
 Similarly in multiple personality, one alternating 
 phase often has complete amnesia for the preceding 
 epoch belonging to another phase. This amnesia 
 may extend over a period of from a few minutes to 
 years, according to the length of time that the sec- 
 ond phase was in existence. It is therefore local-
 
 516 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 ized. But it is also systematized, not in the sense 
 of relating to only a particular category of remem- 
 brances, such as those of a particular object 
 father, child, etc. but in the sense of bearing upon 
 all the experiences organized within a large system 
 of sentiments, instincts, settings, etc., characteris- 
 tic of the second personality. With the dissociation 
 of this system the remembrances of its experiences 
 go, too. Undoubtedly the dissociating force is that 
 of the awakened sentiments, etc., of the succeeding 
 phase. These are always antagonistic to those of the 
 dissociated phase, although those of the one are not 
 necessarily painful to the other. They are simply 
 incompatible with one another, and it may quite 
 well be that their force is subconsciously dis- 
 charged. Systematized amnesia, on the other hand, 
 may not be localized, bearing as it may only on a 
 particular category of remembrances, let us say of 
 a foreign language with which the subject previ- 
 ously was familiar. 
 
 7. The retrograde type of localized amnesia is com- 
 mon following emotional shocks. The case of Mme. 
 D., made classical by Charcot and Janet, is a very 
 excellent example. This woman lost not only all 
 memory of the painful emotional state into which 
 she was thrown by the brutal announcement of her 
 husband's death, but of the preceding six weeks. 
 The amnesia for the episode might be accounted for 
 on the theory of conflict, but it is difficult to explain 
 the retrograde extension unless it be there was
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 517 
 
 some systematization covering the six weeks' pe- 
 riod within the mental life of the patient not dis- 
 closed by the examination. 
 
 General and continuous amnesia, the one cover- 
 ing the whole previous life of the subject, the other 
 for events as fast as they are experienced, also, 
 though rarely, occur as the sequence of emotion. 
 
 Subconscious traumatic memories. When an emotional 
 complex has once been organized by an emotional 
 trauma and more or less dissociated from the per- 
 sonality by the conflicting emotional impulses, it is 
 conserved as a neurogram more or less isolated. 
 The fact of amnesia for the experience is evidence 
 of its isolation in that it cannot be awakened and 
 synthesized with the personal consciousness. Now, 
 given such an isolated neurogram, observation 
 shows that it may be excited to autonomous subcon- 
 scious activity by associative stimuli of one kind or 
 another. It thus becomes an emotional subconscious 
 memory-process and may by further incubation and 
 elaboration induce phenomena of one kind or 
 another. 
 
 This is readily understood when it is remembered 
 that such a memory, or perhaps more precisely 
 speaking its neurogram, is organized with one or 
 more emotional dispositions (instincts) and these 
 dispositions by their impulsive forces tend when 
 stimulated to awaken the memory and carry its 
 ideas to fulfillment. The subconscious memory thus 
 acquires a striving to fulfil its aim. We ought to
 
 518 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 distinguish in this mechanism between the isolation 
 of the neurogram and that of the process. The 
 former is antecedent to the latter. 
 
 The phenomena which may be induced by such a 
 subconscious memory may be of all kinds such as 
 we have seen are induced by subconscious processes 
 and emotions hallucinations, various motor phe- 
 nomena, disturbances of conscious thought, dreams 
 and those phenomena which we have seen are the 
 physiological and psychological manifestation of 
 emotion and its conflicts, etc. 
 
 Undoubtedly the mental feebleness, manifested 
 by a feeling of exhaustion or fatigue, which so fre- 
 quently is the sequel of intense conscious emotion, 
 favors the excitation to activity of such subcon- 
 scious autonomous processes or memory when ante- 
 cedent isolation has occurred. This enfeeblement of 
 personality probably is the more marked the larger 
 the systems included in the dissociation. Certain 
 it is that in fatigued states, whether induced by 
 physical or mental "storm and stress," subcon- 
 scious processes become more readily excited. The 
 greater the dissociation the greater the mental insta- 
 bility and liability to autonomous processes. Time 
 and again it was noted, for instance in the case of 
 Miss B. and B. C. A., that when the primary per- 
 sonality was exhausted by physical and emotional 
 strain, the subconscious personality was able to 
 manifest autonomous activity producing all sorts of 
 phenomena (when it could not do so in conditions of 
 mental health) even to inhibiting the whole primary
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 519 
 
 personality.* The direct testimony of the sub- 
 conscious personality was to the same effect. 
 
 Mental confusion Fortunate is the person who has 
 never felt embarrassment when the attention of 
 others has been directed to himself, or when some 
 act or thought which he wished to conceal has be- 
 come patent to others, or when called upon without 
 warning to make a speech in public. Unless one is 
 endowed with extraordinary self-assurance he will 
 become, under such or similar circumstances, bash- 
 ful, self-conscious, and shy, his thought confused, 
 and he will find it difficult to respond with ready 
 tongue. Associated ideas a propos of the matter in 
 hand fail to enter consciousness, his thoughts be- 
 come blocked even to his mind becoming a blank; 
 he hesitates, stammers, and stands dumb, or too 
 many ideas, in disorderly fashion and without ap- 
 parent logical relation, crowd in and he is unable to 
 make selection of the proper words. In short, his 
 mind becomes confused, perhaps even to the extent 
 of dizziness. The ideas that do arise are inadequate 
 and are likely to be inappropriate, painful, and per- 
 haps suspicious. The dominating emotion is early 
 reinforced by the awakening of its ally, the fear in- 
 stinct, with all its physiological manifestations. 
 Then tremor, palpitation, perspiration, and vaso- 
 motor disturbances break out. Shame may be 
 added to the emotional state. 
 
 * The Dissociation, Chapter XXIX; My Life as a Dissociated Per- 
 sonality, pp. 39 and 41.
 
 520 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 1. This reaction becomes intelligible if we regard 
 it as one of conflict resulting in painful bashfulness 
 and shame, inhibition of thought; the excitation of 
 painful ideas, amnesia, and limitation of the field of 
 consciousness. The self-regarding sentiment is 
 awakened and dominates the content of conscious- 
 ness. The conflict is primarily between two in- 
 stincts organized within this sentiment that of 
 self-abasement (negative self -feeling) and that of 
 self-assertion (positive self feeling). The impul- 
 sive force of the former, awakened by the stimulus 
 of the situation let us say the presence and imag- 
 ined criticism of others opposes and contends with 
 that of the latter which is excited by the desire of 
 the person to display his powers and meet the oc- 
 casion. The result of the struggle between the two 
 impulses is emotional agitation or bashfulness. If 
 this bashfulness is ''qualified by the pain of baf- 
 fled positive self feeling" there results the emotion 
 of shame.* But these emotional states are not the 
 whole consequences of the conflict. Almost always 
 fear comes to the rescue as a biological reaction 
 for the protection of the individual and impels to 
 flight. The impulsive force of this instinct is now 
 united to that of self-abasement and the conjoined 
 force inhibits or blocks the development of ideas, 
 memories, and speech symbols appropriate to the 
 occasion and dissociates many perceptions of the 
 
 * In this analysis I follow McDougall who seems to me to have 
 analyzed clearly and adequately the emotional conditions. (Social 
 Psychology, p. 145.)
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 521 
 
 environment. On the other hand, the self-regard- 
 ing sentiment evokes various associative abasing 
 ideas of self and related memories. The victim is 
 fortunate if unfounded suspicions and other pain- 
 ful thoughts (through which criticism of self is im- 
 agined and the situation falsely interpreted) do not 
 arise. Or there may be an oscillation of ideas cor- 
 responding to the conflicting sentiments and in- 
 stincts. A person in sucli a condition experiences 
 mental confusion and embarrassment. The con- 
 dition is often loosely spoken of as self-conscious- 
 ness and shyness. 
 
 2. Painfully emotional self-consciousness of this 
 type as the sequence of special antecedent psycho- 
 genetic factors is frequently met with as an obses- 
 sion. Then fear, with its physiological manifesta- 
 tions, is always an obtrusive element. Individuals 
 who suffer from this psychosis sometimes cannot 
 even come into the presence of strangers or any 
 public situation without experiencing an attack of 
 symptoms such as I have somewhat schematically 
 described. The phenomena may be summarized as 
 bashfulness, emotion of fear, inhibition, dissocia- 
 tion, limitation of the field of consciousness, ideas 
 of self, confusion of thought and speech, inappro- 
 priate and delayed response, delusions of suspicion, 
 tremor, palpitation, etc. 
 
 The symptomatic structure of the psychoneuroses When 
 
 studying the physiological manifestations of emo- 
 tion (Lecture XIV), we saw how a large variety of
 
 522 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 disturbances of bodily functions, induced by the dis- 
 charge of emotional impulses, may be organized 
 into a symptom-complex which might, if repeatedly 
 stimulated, recur from time to time. On the basis 
 of these physiological manifestations we were able 
 to construct a schema of the physiological symp- 
 toms occurring in the emotional psycho-neuroses. 
 We obtained a structure of such symptoms corre- 
 sponding to the facts of clinical experience. We 
 then went on in the next lecture to examine the psy- 
 chological disturbances induced by emotion and 
 found a number of characteristic phenomena. The 
 view was held that emotion is the driving force 
 which bears along ideas to their end and makes the 
 organism capable of activity. We found conflicts 
 between opposing impulses resulting in repression, 
 dissociation, and inhibition of ideas and instincts, 
 and limitation of the field of consciousness. We 
 saw that sentiments in which strong emotions 
 were incorporated tended to become dominating, 
 to the exclusion of other sentiments from con- 
 sciousness, and to acquire organic intensity and 
 thereby to be carried to fruition. We saw also that 
 the dominating emotional discharges might come 
 from sentiments within the field of consciousness, 
 and therefore of which the individual is aware, or 
 from entirely subconscious sentiments of which he 
 is unaware. And we saw that conflicts might be be- 
 tween entirely conscious sentiments or between a 
 conscious and a subconscious sentiment, and so on. 
 (Indeed, a conflict may be between two subconscious
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 523 
 
 sentiments as may be experimentally demonstrated 
 with corresponding phenomena.) 
 
 Now the practical significance of these phenom- 
 ena of emotion, both as observed in every-day life 
 and under experimental conditions, lies in the fact 
 that they enable us to understand the symptomatic 
 structure, and up to a certain point the psychogene- 
 sis of certain psychoneuroses of very common oc- 
 currence. (For a complete understanding of the 
 psychogenesis of any given psychoneurosis, such as 
 a phobia, we must know all the antecedent experi- 
 ences which formed the setting and gave meaning to 
 the dominating ideas and determined the in- 
 stincts which have become incorporated with them 
 to form sentiments. This we saw when study- 
 ing the settings in obsessions (Lectures XII and 
 XIII).) 
 
 It is evident, that, theoretically, if antecedent con- 
 ditions have prepared the emotional soil, and if an 
 emotional complex, an intense sentiment, or instinct 
 should be aroused by some stimulus, any one of a 
 number of different possible psychopathic states 
 might ensue, largely through the mechanism of con- 
 flict, according, on the one hand, to the degree and 
 extent of the dissociation, inhibition, etc., estab- 
 lished, and on the other to the character and 
 systematization of the emotional complex or in- 
 stinct. As with the physiological manifesta- 
 tions of emotion, we can construct various theo- 
 retical schemata to represent the psychological 
 structure of these different states. Practically both
 
 524 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 types the physiological and psychological must 
 necessarily almost always be combined. 
 
 1. The impulsive force of the emotion might re- 
 press all other ideas than the one in question from 
 the field of consciousness, which would then be 
 contracted to that of the limited emotional complex 
 awakened; all opposing ideas and instincts would 
 then be dissociated or inhibited a state substan- 
 tially of mono-ideism. Let us imagine the domi- 
 nating emotional complex to be a mother's belief 
 that her child had been killed, this idea being awak- 
 ened by the sudden announcement of the news. The 
 parental sentiment with child as its object would 
 become organized into a complex with the emotions 
 of fear, sorrow, painful depressed feelings, etc., 
 which the news excited. This complex, being de- 
 prived as a result of the ensuing dissociation 
 of the inhibiting and modifying influence of all 
 counteracting ideas, would be free to expend its 
 conative force along paths leading to motor, vis- 
 ceral, and other physiological disturbances. An 
 emotional complex of ideas would be then formed 
 which after the restoration of the normal alert state 
 would remain dormant, but conserved in the un- 
 conscious. Later, when the emotional complex is 
 again awakened by some stimulus (associative 
 thoughts), dissociation would again take place and 
 the complex again become the whole of the personal 
 consciousness for the time being. This theoretical 
 schema corresponds accurately with one type of hyster- 
 ical attack.
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 525 
 
 2. If again the awakened complex should be one 
 which is constellated with a large system of dor- 
 mant ideas and motives deposited in the uncon- 
 cious by the experiences of life, the new field of 
 consciousness would not be contracted to a mono- 
 ideism. We should have to do with a phase of per- 
 sonality, one which was formed by a rearrangement 
 of life's experiences. In this case the usual every- 
 day settings (or systems) of ideas being in conflict 
 with the sentiments of the resurrected system would 
 be dissociated and become dormant. The ideas, 
 with their affects, which would come to the surface 
 and dominate, would be those of previously dor- 
 mant emotional complexes and their constellated 
 system. The prevailing instincts and other innate 
 dispositions would be, respectively, those corre- 
 sponding to the two phases, the antagonistic dispo- 
 sitions being in each case inhibited. This schema 
 would accurately correspond to a so-called "mood." 
 If the demarcation of systems were sharply defined 
 and absolute so that amnesia of one for the other 
 resulted, the new state would be recognized as one 
 of dissociated or secondary personality. A "mood" and 
 secondary personality would shade into one another. 
 
 3. Still another theoretical schema could be con- 
 structed if, following the hysterical dissociated 
 state represented by schema 1, there were not a 
 complete return to normality, i. e., complete synthe- 
 sis of personality. The dissociation effected by the 
 impulsive force of the evoked emotional complex 
 and the repressed personal self-conscious-system
 
 526 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 might be so intense that, on the restoration of the 
 latter, the former would remain dissociated in turn. 
 The emotional complex would then, in accordance 
 with what we know of the genesis of subconscious 
 ideas, become split off from the personal conscious- 
 ness and unable to enter the focus of awareness. 
 Amnesia for the emotional experience would ensue. 
 Such a split-off idea might, through the impul- 
 sive force of its emotion and that of its setting, 
 take on independent activity and function cocon- 
 sciously and produce various automatic phenomena ; 
 that is, phenomena which are termed automatic be- 
 cause not determined by the personal consciousness. 
 The dissociation might include various sensory, 
 motor and other functions, thereby robbing the per- 
 sonal consciousness of these functions (anesthesia, 
 paralysis, etc.). Such a schema corresponds to the 
 hysterical subconscious fixed idea (Janet). 
 
 In such a schema also, in accordance with what 
 we know of the behavior of emotion, though the 
 ideas of the complex remained subconscious, the 
 emotion linked with them might erupt into the con- 
 sciousness of the personal self. The person would 
 then become aware of it without knowing its source. 
 The emotion might be accompanied by its various 
 physiological manifestations such as we have stu- 
 died. If the emotion were one of fear the subject 
 might be in an anxious state without knowing why 
 he is afraid an indefinable fear, as it is often called 
 by the subjects of it. 
 
 4. If, owing to one or more emotional experi-
 
 EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS 527 
 
 ences, an intense sentiment were created in which is 
 organized about its object one or more of the emo- 
 tions of fear, anger, disgust, self-subjection, etc., 
 with their physiological manifestations (tremor, 
 palpitation, vasomotor disturbances, nausea, ex- 
 haustion, etc.) and their psychological disturbances 
 (contraction of the field of consciousness, dissocia- 
 tion, etc.) ; and if the whole were welded into a com- 
 plex, we would have the structure of an obsession. 
 Such an organized complex would be excited from 
 time to time by any associated stimulus and develop 
 in the form of attacks: hence termed a recurrent 
 psychopathic state as well as obsession. (As we 
 have seen, the psychogenesis of the sentiment is to 
 be found in antecedent experiences organized with 
 its object giving meaning and persistence to the ob- 
 session.) 
 
 5. Finally (to add one more schema out of many 
 that might be constructed), if a number of physio- 
 logical disturbances (pain, secretory, gastric, car- 
 diac, etc), such as occur as the symptoms of a dis- 
 ease, were through repeated experiences associated 
 and thereby organized with the idea of the disease, 
 they would recur as an associative process when- 
 ever the idea was presented to consciousness. Here 
 we have the structure of an "association or habit- 
 neurosis," a disease mimicry. Numerous examples 
 of the type of cardiac, gastric, pulmonary, laryn- 
 geal, joint, and other diseases might be given. The 
 physical symptoms in such neuroses are obtrusive, 
 while the psychical elements (including emotion)
 
 528 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 which, of course, are always factors, conscious or 
 subconscious, remain in the background. 
 
 The study of the individual psychoneuroses be- 
 longs to special pathology, and need not concern us 
 here. We are only occupied with the general prin- 
 ciples involved in their structure and psycho- 
 genesis.
 
 XVII 
 
 SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 
 
 We may now bring this study of human person- 
 ality to a close, incomplete as it is. We have not 
 by any means exhausted all the factors of person- 
 ality, but, guided by practical consideration, we have 
 at least examined the chief of its fundamentals, 
 more particularly those which are concerned in the 
 disturbances which general psychopathology makes 
 the object of study. Such a study should be under- 
 taken preparatory to that of special pathology or 
 particular complexes of disturbances of function 
 (the functional psychoneuroses). The aim of psy- 
 chology should be to become capable of being an 
 applied science. So far as a science is only of 
 academic interest it fails to be of real value to the 
 world. Physics, chemistry, astronomy, mineralogy, 
 geology, physiology, bacteriology, botany, and many 
 departments of zoology, etc., can be applied, and 
 other sciences at least tend to form our notions of 
 the universe in which we live, and thus to mould 
 our religious, philosophical and other conceptions. 
 Until very recent years it was an opprobium of psy- 
 chology, as studied and taught, that it had not be- 
 
 529
 
 530 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 come divorced from philosophy * and stood amongst 
 the few sciences that could not be applied to prac- 
 tical life and was for the most part of academic in- 
 terest only. Now, however, in the field of medicine 
 psychology is fast looming to the front as of great 
 practical interest not the older psychology, but the 
 new psychology of functions and mechanisms. In 
 the field of human efficiency in the mechanical arts 
 it is also fast becoming capable of practical appli- 
 cation. With the above aim in view we have dealt 
 in these lectures more particularly with those psy- 
 chological activities a knowledge of which can be 
 applied in the theory and practice of medicine. But 
 as the laws governing the organism are general, not 
 special, what has been found is as applicable to 
 normal as to pathological life. 
 
 We have not attempted to enter the field of special 
 pathology to study the psycho-pathology of special 
 diseases. So far as this has been done it has been 
 mainly for the purpose of seeking data. Our aim has 
 been rather to obtain that knowledge of functions 
 which will serve as an introduction to such medical 
 studies. Even in this limited field there are any 
 number of specific problems which have been scarce- 
 ly more than touched upon and any one of which, by 
 itself, would be a rich field of investigation. 
 
 It is well now, in conclusion, to make a general 
 survey of the fields which we have tilled, and gather 
 
 * In most universities to-day Psychology is classed as a depart- 
 ment of Philosophy! How long is this attitude to be continued?
 
 SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 531 
 
 together into a whole, so far as possible, the results 
 of our gleaning. 
 
 We have seen on the basis of the phenomena of 
 memory that the "mind" includes more than con- 
 scious processes; that it includes a vast storehouse 
 of acquired "dispositions" deposited by the experi- 
 ences of life, and that these dispositions (by which 
 mental experiences are conserved) may be regarded 
 as chemical or physical in their nature, as sort of 
 residua deposited (if we are asked to confine our- 
 selves to terms of the same order) by the neural 
 processes correlated with the conscious experiences 
 of life. This storehouse of acquired dispositions 
 provides the material for conscious and subcon- 
 scious processes ; and thus provides the wherewithal 
 which enables the personality to be guided in its 
 behavior by the experiences of the past. It provides 
 the elements of memory which we know must be 
 supplied by the mind in every perception of the 
 environment even the simplest and which are re- 
 quired for every process of thought. Indeed 
 throughout our review of processes and manifesta- 
 tions of mind, which we need not recapitulate, we 
 have continually come upon evidences of these dis- 
 positions playing as I foretold in our first lecture 
 an underlying and responsible part. 
 
 The fact that brain dispositions are of one order 
 of events (physical) while psychological processes 
 are of another (psychical) is in no way an objection 
 to such an interpretation, as in this antithesis we
 
 532 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 have only the old mind-matter problem dualism, or 
 monism, or parallelism. 
 
 We have also seen that in neural dispositions, 
 whether acquired or innate, we have a conception of 
 the unconscious that is definite, precise. 
 
 We have also reviewed the evidence going to show 
 that though the main teleological function of the 
 unconscious, so far as it represents acquired dispo- 
 sitions, is to provide the material for conscious 
 memory and conscious processes, in order that the 
 organism may be consciously guided in its reac- 
 tions by experience, yet under certain conditions 
 neurographic residua can function as a subcon- 
 scious process which may be unconscious, i.e., with- 
 out being accompanied by conscious equivalents. 
 The latter were classed as a sub-order of subcon- 
 scious processes. We saw reason for believing that 
 any neurogram deposited by life's experience can, 
 given certain other factors, thus function subcon- 
 sciously, either autonomously or as a factor in a 
 large mechanism embracing both conscious and un- 
 conscious elements ; and that this was peculiarly the 
 case when the neurogram was organized with an 
 emotional disposition or instinct. The impulsive 
 force of the latter gives energy to the former and 
 enables it to be an active factor in determining 
 behavior. The organism may then be subcon- 
 sciously governed in its reactions to the environ- 
 ment. 
 
 After a consideration of actions so habitually per- 
 formed that they become automatic and free from
 
 SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 533 
 
 conscious direction (so-called habit-reactions), of 
 actions performed by decerebrate animals, of cere- 
 bro-spinal reflexes, and many motor activities of 
 lower forms of animal life, we came to the conclu- 
 sion that they also were performed by unconscious 
 neural dispositions and processes, analogous to, or 
 identical with (as the case might be) the acquired 
 dispositions and processes correlated with conscious 
 processes. Many of them may likewise be acquired 
 and in a pragmatic sense intelligent. We thus were 
 able to broaden our conception of the unconscious 
 and its functioning, and at the same time see the 
 further necessity of distinguishing the unconscious 
 as a subdivision of the subconscious. 
 
 Proceeding further we found that besides sub- 
 conscious processes that are distinctly unconscious, 
 there are others which are distinctly conscious (or 
 at least unconscious processes with conscious accom- 
 paniments) but which do not enter the focus or 
 fringe of awareness in other words, true subcon- 
 scious ideas. These were termed coconscious as a 
 second subdivision of the subconscious. They may 
 include true perceptions, memories, thoughts, voli- 
 tion, imagination, etc. As with unconscious proc- 
 esses, any conserved experience of life, under cer- 
 tain conditions and given certain other factors, may 
 thus function coconsciously, particularly if organ- 
 ized with and activated by an innate emotional dis- 
 position. So we may have subconscious processes 
 both without and with conscious equivalents. We 
 have also seen that coconscious processes may ex-
 
 534 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 hibit intelligence of a high order, and the same thing 
 is possibly true in a less degree of unconscious proc- 
 esses. We found evidence showing that a con- 
 served idea may undergo subconscious incubation 
 and elaboration, and that subconscious processes 
 may acquire a marked degree of autonomy, may 
 determine or inhibit conscious processes of thought, 
 solve problems, enter into conflicts, and in various 
 modes produce all sorts of psychological phenomena 
 (hallucinations, impulsive phenomena, aboulia, am- 
 nesia, dissociation of personality, etc.). 
 
 We have seen how, by the use of the experimental 
 method of "tapping," and by hypnotic and other 
 procedures, that this same autonomy can be demon- 
 strated, manifesting itself by impulsive phenomena 
 (writing, speech, gestures, and all sorts of motor 
 automatisms) on the one hand, and sensory autom- 
 atisms (hallucinations) on the other. And we 
 have seen that by similar procedures, in specially 
 adapted individuals, remembrances of coconscious 
 processes that have induced identical phenomena 
 can be recalled. With this precise knowledge of the 
 processes at work these automatisms were corre- 
 lated with the spontaneous occurrence of the same 
 kinds of phenomena in the psychoses and in normal 
 conditions. Their occurrence in all sorts of patho- 
 logical conditions thus becomes intelligible. 
 
 Evidence has been adduced to show that life's 
 experiences, and therefore acquired dispositions, 
 tend to become organized into groups. The latter, 
 termed for descriptive purposes neurograms, there-
 
 by acquire a functional unity ; and they may become 
 compounded into larger functioning groups, or com- 
 plexes, and still larger systems of neurograms. 
 Whether their origin is remembered or not they be- 
 come a part of the personality. Such complexes and 
 systems play an important part by determining 
 mental and bodily behavior. Amongst other things 
 they tend to determine the points of view, the atti- 
 tudes of mind, the individual and social conscience, 
 judgment, etc., and, as large systems, may become 
 " sides to one's character." When such complexes 
 have strong emotional tones they may set up con- 
 flicts leading to the inhibition of antagonistic senti- 
 ments, and sometimes to the contraction and even 
 disruption of the personality. All these phenomena 
 can be induced by the artificial creation and organi- 
 zation of complexes and this principle becomes an 
 important one in therapeutics. 
 
 When studying ideas we found that, besides sen- 
 sory images, they have meaning derived from ante- 
 cedent associated experiences that form the setting 
 or context. Further evidence was adduced to show 
 that this setting and the idea formed a psychic 
 whole ; but that often the former remained subcon- 
 scious while the idea only, or the affect only, or both, 
 emerged into the content of consciousness. The sig- 
 nificance of this mechanism lay in the fact that it 
 enabled us to understand the insistency of emo- 
 tional ideas or obsessions. Indeed reasons have 
 been given for holding that subconscious processes 
 perform a part in most processes of thought
 
 536 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 Besides acquired dispositions, organized and, so 
 to speak, deposited by life's experiences, person- 
 ality includes many that are innate, and therefore 
 conditioned by inherited pre-formed anatomical and 
 physiological arrangements of the nervous system. 
 These function after the manner of a physiological 
 reflex ; and the theory was adopted that the emotions 
 are the central elements in certain of such disposi- 
 tions. These may therefore be called emotional dis- 
 positions or instincts. By the excitation of such 
 emotional reflexes the organism reacts in an emo- 
 tional manner to the environment. 
 
 In the organization of life's experiences the emo- 
 tional dispositions tend to become synthesized with 
 ideas to form sentiments and therefore synthesized 
 with the neurographic residua by which ideas are 
 conserved. Thus, on the one hand, neurograms and 
 systems of neurograms become organized with in- 
 nate emotional dispositions, and, on the other, ideas 
 become energized by the emotional impulsive force 
 that carries the ideas to fruition. 
 
 As to general psycho-pathological and certain 
 physiological phenomena, a large variety such as 
 anxiety states, hallucinations, and automatic motor 
 phenomena, are clearly the manifestations of auto- 
 matic subconscious processes; some are the result- 
 ants of conflicts between the impulsive forces of dis- 
 tinctly conscious sentiments, others between those 
 of conscious and subconscious sentiments; others 
 are the physiological manifestation of emotional 
 processes, conscious or subconscious. Some,
 
 SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 537 
 
 indicative of losses from personality (such as 
 amnesia, anesthesia, paralysis, altered person- 
 ality, etc.), are the resultants of inhibitions 
 or dissociations of acquired or innate dis- 
 positions, effected by the conflicting force of 
 antagonistic factors. These resultants may or 
 may not be associated with the excitation and domi- 
 nance of complexes, or large systems of acquired 
 dispositions. If so, moods, trance states, fugues, 
 somnambulistic states, secondary personalities, and 
 other hysterical states come into being. In all cases 
 these various pathological conditions are functional 
 derangements of the fundamental factors of a given 
 human personality expressions of the same mech- 
 anisms which the organism normally makes use of 
 to adapt itself harmoniously to its own past or 
 present experiences and to its environment. 
 
 Viewing as a whole the phenomena we have stud- 
 ied, we see why it is that personality is a complex 
 affair in that in its make-up there enter many fac- 
 tors, some acquired and some innate. Each of these 
 is capable of more or less autonomy and upon their 
 harmonious cooperation depends the successful 
 adaptation of the personality to its environment. 
 It is, we may say with almost literal truth, when 
 these factors work to cross purposes that a per- 
 sonality ceases to be a harmonious whole; just as 
 the individuals composing a group of persons, a 
 football team, for example, when they fail to work 
 together and each strives to fulfill his own purposes,
 
 538 THE UNCONSCIOUS 
 
 cease to be a single team. Consciousness is not a 
 unity in any sense that the term has any significant 
 meaning beyond that which is a most banal plati- 
 tude. The "unity of consciousness" seems to be a 
 cant-expression uttered by some unsophisticated 
 ancient philosopher and repeated like an article of 
 faith by each successive generation without stop- 
 ping to think of its meaning or to test it by refer- 
 ence to facts. Neither a reference to the evidence 
 of consciousness or to its manifestations gives sup- 
 port to the notion of unity. The mind is rather an 
 aggregation of potential or functioning activities 
 some of which may combine into associative func- 
 tioning processes at one time and some at another; 
 while again these different activities may become 
 disaggregated with resulting contraction of person- 
 ality, on the one hand, and conflicting multiple activ- 
 ities on the other. 
 
 The unconscious, representing as it does all the 
 past experiences of life that have been conserved, 
 is not limited to any particular type of experiences ; 
 nor are the subconscious and conscious processes 
 to which it gives rise more likely to be determined 
 by any particular antecedents, such as those of 
 childhood, as some would have us believe. Nor are 
 these motivated by any particular class of emotional 
 instincts or strivings of human personality. The 
 instincts and other innate dispositions which are 
 fundamental factors are, as we have seen, multi- 
 form, and any one of them may provide the motivat- 
 ing force which activates subconscious as well as
 
 SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 539 
 
 conscious processes. Impelled by any one or com- 
 bination of these instincts unconscious complexes 
 may undergo subconscious incubation and in the 
 striving to find expression may work for harmony 
 or, by conflict with other complexes, for discord. 
 
 Having grasped the foregoing general principles 
 governing the functioning mechanisms of the mind, 
 we are prepared to undertake the study of the more 
 particular problems of everyday life and of special 
 pathology.
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Barrows, Ira, 213. 
 
 "B. C. A.", 159, 302. 
 
 Bergson, viii. 
 
 Bicknel, 428, 429, 430, 431. 
 
 Bidder and Schmidt, 427. 
 
 Bogen, 429, 430. 
 
 Breuer, J., 69. 
 
 Cade and Latarjet, 428. 
 Cannon, W. B., 426, 428, 432, 
 
 439, 452, 453. 
 Charcot, 77, 526. 
 Coriat, I. H., 76, 145. 
 
 De la Paz, D., 432. 
 Dickenson, C. Lowe, 19. 
 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 330. 
 
 , Ch., 423, 433, 436. 
 Flournoy, Th., 304. 
 Foster, M., 233, 242. 
 Freud, Sigmund, 45, 71, 196, 
 
 203, 221, 509. 
 Fullerton, G. S., 309. 
 
 Goltz, F., 232. 
 
 Gurney, Edmund, 62, 157. 
 
 Haldane, (Lord), 307. 
 Hartmann, 250, 251. 
 Herbart, 250, 251. 
 Hilton, 453. 
 
 HoernlS, R. F., 322, 325. 
 "Mrs. Holland," 22. 
 Hornborg, 427, 428, 429. 
 
 James, William, 223, 224, 260. 
 
 Janet, Pierre, 56, 62, 77, 157, 
 252, 281, 317, 364, 485, 498, 
 499, 500, 501, 506, 509, 526. 
 
 Johnson, (Miss) Alice, 22, 62. 
 
 Jung, C. J., 425, 437. 
 
 Kant, 250, 251. 
 
 Leibnitz, 250, 251. 
 Loeb, J., 232, 233, 236. 
 Lucretius, 309. 
 
 McDougall, William, 241, 446, 
 447, 448, 449, 450, 455, 456, 
 458. 
 
 Meltzer, 8. J., 123. 
 
 Morgan, Lloyd, 234, 237, 238, 
 241. 
 
 Mosso, 423. 
 
 Myers, Frederick W. H., 251. 
 
 541
 
 542 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Pawlow, J. P., 139, 235, 426, 
 427, 428, 429, 430, 431. 
 
 Peterson, Frederick, 106, 425, 
 437, 481. 
 
 Pilgrim, C. W., 81. 
 
 Bibot, Th., 133, 144. 
 Eignano, Eugenic, 127. 
 Eobertson, T. Brailsford, 124, 
 
 125, 127, 514. 
 
 Eothmann, Von M., 232, 234. 
 Eumbold, Horace, 223. 
 
 Schafer, E. A., 232. 
 
 Schilling, 250. 
 
 Schrader, Max E. G., 232, 234, 
 
 235, 236. 
 
 Semon, Eichard, 131. 
 Shand, 267, 449. 
 Sharp, Elizabeth A., 297. 
 
 Sherrington, C. S., 231, 234, 237. 
 Shohl, A. T., 432. 
 Sidgwick, Mrs. Henry, 62. 
 Sidis, Boris, 75, 104, 145, 183, 
 
 315. 
 
 Sidis and Kalmas, 104, 437, 438. 
 Sidis and Nelson, 104, 438. 
 
 Tallentyre, 271. 
 Titchener, E. B., 316, 321. 
 Turquan, Joseph, 274. 
 
 Umber, 427. 
 
 Verrall, (Mrs.), 21. 
 Vigouroux, A., 436. 
 
 Waterman, G. A., 169, 209. 
 Wells and Forbes, 438. 
 Wright, W. S., 432.
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 Absent-minded acts, conserva- 
 tion of, 50. 
 Affective states, suppression of, 
 
 by conflict, 455. 
 Affects, see Emotion. 
 
 as conative force of ideas, 
 
 448. 
 
 linking of, to ideas funda- 
 mental for the pathology of 
 the psychoneuroses, 449. 
 Amnesia, continuous, 76; epi- 
 sodic, 69; epochal, 74. 
 from conflict, 71, 508-518. 
 theory of, following emotion, 
 
 509-514. 
 different forms of, following 
 
 emotion, 514-517. 
 Anxiety neurosis, emergence of 
 emotion from a subcon- 
 scious idea in, 382, 526. 
 Association neuroses, 279, 527. 
 Association psychoses, 278. 
 
 Bash/illness as resultant of 
 emotional conflict, 520. 
 
 Behavior, acquired and instinc- 
 tive, 237, 238; conscious 
 and unconscious, 230. 
 
 Coconscious, the meaning of 
 
 the, 247-254. 
 
 Ooconscious ideas, 168, 249,254. 
 images, 169-171, 178, 208, 
 
 210, 374-376. 
 
 Coconscious processes, auto- 
 analysis of the content of, 
 171, 176. 
 
 Complex of ideas, definition of 
 a, 265. 
 
 Complexes (systematized), dis- 
 sociated, as phases of mul- 
 tiple personality, 299-302. 
 emotional, 267; organization 
 
 of emotional, 267-274. 
 systematized, 283: Subject 
 systems, 284; alternation 
 of, 288; in dissociated per- 
 sonality, 288. Chronologi- 
 cal systems, 290; differen- 
 tiated by amnesia, 290-294. 
 Mood' systems, 294; regard- 
 ed as a "side to one's 
 character," 295; illustrated 
 by William Sharp, 296. 
 unconscious, organization of, 
 in hypnotic and other dis- 
 sociated conditions, 302- 
 306; in pathological states, 
 305; in psyc bother apeu tics, 
 288-289, 304; underlying 
 the individual, social, civic 
 and national conscience, 
 public opinion, Sittlichkeit, 
 etc., 307. 
 
 Conflict, from conative force of 
 
 emotion, 71, 454. 
 between conscious and sub- 
 conscious sentiments, 460, 
 
 543
 
 544 
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 467-480; in pathological con- 
 ditions, 478; under experi- 
 mental conditions, 470-478. 
 Conflict between emotional im- 
 pulses, 454; and sentiments, 
 455. 
 
 between two subconscious 
 processes, 480. 
 
 general phenomena of, 488: 
 contraction of field of con- 
 sciousness and personality, 
 489-492; the hysterical 
 state, 492; systematized dis- 
 sociation, 492504; system- 
 atized anesthesia, 492; con- 
 tracted personality, 496; 
 change of sentiments, 497; 
 alternation of personality, 
 501; multiple personality, 
 502; amnesia, 508-517; sub- 
 conscious traumatic mem- 
 ories, 517; mental confu- 
 sion, 519-521; bashfulness, 
 520; self-consciousness, 521. 
 
 suppression of instincts and 
 affective states by, 454- 
 458. 
 
 Confusion (mental), as resultant 
 of emotional conflicts, 519; 
 theory of, 520. 
 Conservation, meaning of, 12. 
 
 a residuum of experience, 87. 
 
 considered as psychological 
 residua, 110; as coconscious 
 ideas, 111; as an undiffer- 
 entiated psyche, 115; as 
 physical residua, 117; as 
 neural dispositions, 117. 
 
 evidence of, furnished by 
 automatic writing, 15; ab- 
 
 straction, 24; hypnosis, 31; 
 hallucinatory phenomena, 
 39; dreams, 43. 
 
 Conservation, of absent-minded 
 acts, 50 
 
 of forgotten artificial states, 
 62; (hypnosis, 62). 
 
 of forgotten dreams and som- 
 nambulisms, 59. 
 
 of forgotten experiences of 
 normal life, 15. 
 
 of forgotten pathological 
 states, 68 (amnesia, 68; 
 deliria, 79; fugues, 75; in- 
 toxications, 80; multiple 
 personality, 77). 
 
 of inner life, 85. 
 
 of subconscious perceptions, 
 52. 
 
 Decerebrate Animal, behavior 
 of, 231. 
 
 intelligent behavior of, 240. 
 Dissociation, due to conflict, 71, 
 469, 472-475, 480, 487, 486, 
 492-504. 
 
 amnesia following, 508. 
 
 effected by subconscious proc- 
 esses, 504. 
 
 laws of cleavage of person- 
 ality in, 504-508. 
 
 systematized, 492-504; prin- 
 ciple involved, 493. 
 Dreams, as a type of hallucina- 
 tory phenomena, 222. 
 
 physiological after-phenomena, 
 101. 
 
 subconscious process underly- 
 ing, 196-213. 
 
 symbolism in, 200, 202.
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 545 
 
 Emotion, see Affects. 
 
 amnesia, as resultant of, 514- 
 517. 
 
 emergence of, from subcon- 
 scious ideas, 382-386, 387- 
 388, 391, 485. 
 
 general psychopathology of, 
 440-442. 
 
 James-Lange theory of, 423, 
 453. 
 
 physiological manifestations 
 of, 423; changes in circula- 
 tion, 424; modifications of 
 volume and action of heart, 
 424; of respiratory appara- 
 tus, 426; of glandular secre- 
 tions, 426; of the functions 
 of the digestive glands, 426; 
 of the movements of the 
 stomach and intestines, 426; 
 of salivary secretion, 431; 
 of secretion of ductless 
 glands, 431; of pupils, 433; 
 of muscular system, 433; 
 the psycho-galvanic reflex, 
 435. 
 
 physiological symptoms of, 
 caused by subconscious 
 ideas, 377-381. 
 
 phenomena of, due to subcon- 
 scious processes, 103. 
 
 provides the impulsive force 
 of an instinct, 447; one of 
 chief functions of, 451. 
 
 psycho-physiological schema of 
 manifestations of emotion, 
 441; physiological mimicry 
 of disease, 442. 
 
 sensory accompaniments of, 
 453. 
 
 Emotion, sensory disturbances 
 
 caused by, 438 
 the central psychical element 
 in an innate reflex process, 
 446. 
 
 the conative function of, 451, 
 452-460; discharge of force 
 in three directions, 452. 
 
 Emotions, as the prime-movers 
 of all human activity, 450; 
 organization of, with ideas 
 essential for self-control, 
 etc., 451, 458. 
 primary and compound, 446. 
 
 Emotional discharge from sub- 
 conscious processes, evi- 
 dence for, 481. 
 
 Emotional reactions, acquired, 
 do not always involve sub- 
 conscious processes, 418. 
 
 Fanatics, 279. 
 
 Fear neurosis due to subcon- 
 scious ideas, 379. 
 
 ! Feeling, may emerge from sub- 
 conscious complexes, 383 
 386. 
 
 Fixed idea (imperative), 278- 
 279. 
 
 Fringe (of consciousness), con- 
 considered as a subcon- 
 scious zone, 338-352; as a 
 twilight zone, 341; consists 
 of definite, real elements, 
 342; ultramarginal or co- 
 conscious zone, 343-352. 
 content of the, 342-352; only 
 recovered by memory, 340, 
 353. 
 effect of attention in shift-
 
 546 
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 ing the content of focus 
 and, 340, 353. 
 
 Fringe (of consciousness) , mean- 
 ing of ideas may be in the, 
 352-360. 
 
 Glycosuria, due to emotion, 432. 
 
 Hallucinations, see Visions, 
 as the emergence of second- 
 ary sensory images of sub- 
 conscious ideas, 182-183, 
 204, 209-210, 315. 
 
 Hysterical attacks, as recur- 
 rent complexes, 280, 282; 
 laughter and crying due to 
 subconscious processes, 379. 
 
 Idea, a composite of sign and 
 meaning, 325. 
 
 Idea and Meaning, the problem 
 of, 311. 
 
 Ideas, content of, includes 
 
 "Meaning," 321-331. 
 setting of, 321, 330. 
 
 Images, of perception, either in 
 the focus of attention or in 
 the fringe, 330, 340. 
 
 Images, secondary, in percep- 
 tion, 182-183, 313; dissocia- 
 tion of, 318-321; from sub- 
 conscious ideas, 204, 209, 
 315-321, 375, 413. 
 
 Instinct and Intelligence, 240. 
 
 Instinct, McDougall 's concep- 
 tion of an, 446. 
 as an emotional disposition, 
 447, 467. 
 
 Instinctive process, three as- 
 pects of an, 446. 
 
 Instincts, conduct determined 
 by, 458; suppression of, by 
 conflict, 454458; may be 
 lasting, 460-467. 
 
 difference between conse- 
 quences of repression of, 
 and of sentiments, 467-469. 
 Intelligence, 240. 
 
 and instinct, 240. 
 
 a pragmatic question, 241. 
 
 conscious and unconscious, 
 240-246. 
 
 "Meaning," as a part of the 
 content of ideas, 321-331. 
 
 as determined by a subcon- 
 scious process, 361. 
 
 as the conscious elements of 
 a larger subconscious com- 
 plex, 360-362, 363. 
 
 derived from the setting, 321, 
 330. 
 
 may be in the fringe of con- 
 sciousness, 352-360, 363. 
 
 must be in consciousness, 339. 
 
 the problem of, 311. 
 Melancholia, depressive feeling 
 in, as emergence from a 
 subconscious complex, 386. 
 Memory, as a process, 1; of reg- 
 istration, conservation and 
 reproduction, 2, 134. 
 
 conscious, a particular type, 
 3; without recollection, 144. 
 
 physiological, 3, 135, 229, 238. 
 
 psycho-physiological, 138. 
 
 significance of theory of, 257- 
 264. 
 
 subconscious, 84, 151, 517. 
 
 unconscious, 137.
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 547 
 
 Memories, automatic, 267; out- 
 break of, 274; as hysterical 
 attacks, 280; as obsessions, 
 271, 278, 280; as a phobia, 
 269. 
 
 Monism, doctrine of, 246. 
 Neurograms, 109, 131. 
 
 as organized systems of 
 
 neurons, 121. 
 as physiological dispositions, 
 
 131. 
 
 as subconscious processes, 
 150-157. 
 
 Obsessions, clinical characteris- 
 tics of, 278. 
 four types of, 373. 
 
 type A, purely physical dis- 
 turbances caused by sub- 
 conscious ideas, 374-381. 
 type B, emotion plus phy- 
 sical disturbances, 881- 
 386; as "anxiety neu- 
 rosis," 382. 
 
 type C, emotion plus phy- 
 sical disturbances, plus 
 idea, 387-410. 
 
 type D, idea, meaning, emo- 
 tion and physical disturb- 
 ance, 410-415. 
 inability to voluntarily 
 
 modify, 415. 
 therapeutics of, 416. 
 the setting in, 372. 
 
 Parallelism, doctrine of, 246. 
 Perception, a synthesis of pri- 
 mary and secondary images, 
 312-321. 
 may include affects, 330. 
 
 Personalities, subconscious, val- 
 ue of, for study of mental 
 mechanisms, 160. 
 Personality, as survival of an- 
 tecedent experiences, 306- 
 310. 
 
 dissociated, 299-302. 
 
 includes conserved but forgot- 
 ten experiences of hypnotic 
 states, 66. 
 
 multiple, 299-302. 
 Phobia, see Obsessions. 
 
 as an automatism, 269. 
 
 of steeples (case), 389-410; 
 of fainting (case), 355- 
 360; of insanity (case), 
 411-414. 
 
 Psycho - galvanic phenomenon, 
 induced by subconscious 
 processes, 103. 
 
 nature of, 435-438. 
 
 a phenomenon of emotion, 
 435. 
 
 as evidence of subconscious 
 emotional discharge, 481- 
 484. 
 
 Psycholeptic attack, as an or- 
 ganized complex, 282. 
 Psychoneuroses, symptomatic 
 structure of, 521-528; the 
 hysterical attack, 524; the 
 dissociated personality, 525; 
 the subconscious fixed idea, 
 526; the anxiety state, 526; 
 an obsession, 527; an as- 
 sociation neurosis, 527. 
 Psychotherapeutics, based on 
 organization of complexes, 
 288-289; in hypnosis, 304. 
 
 by the organization of uncon-
 
 548 
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 scious settings of ideas, 
 368-372, 416. 
 
 Psychotherapeutics of obses- 
 sions, 416. 
 
 Physiological Dispositions, in- 
 nate and acquired, 230, 231. 
 
 in the spinal animal, 231. 
 
 in the decerebrate animal, 
 231. 
 
 determinants of conscious and 
 unconscious behavior, 230. 
 
 Recollection, 143. 
 
 a more perfect kind of con- 
 scious memory, 144. 
 
 Reflection, subconscious proc- 
 esses underlying, 225-228. 
 
 Religious conversion (sudden), 
 193, 223. 
 
 Reproduction, dissimilarity of 
 types in abstraction and 
 automatic writing, 27. 
 realistic, 32. 
 
 Residua, as neural dispositions, 
 
 119. 
 
 chemical and physical theories 
 of, 122; analogy with ana- 
 phylaxis, 123; theory of 
 auto-catalysis, 124-127; of 
 nervous accumulators, 127- 
 129. 
 
 Residual Processes, underlying 
 automatic motor phe- 
 nomena, 88; hallucinations, 
 90; post - hypnotic phe- 
 nomena, 96; dreams, 98; 
 physiological bodily dis- 
 turbances, 101. 
 
 Self -consciousness, as resultant 
 of emotional conflict, 521. 
 
 Sentiment, definition of a, 449; 
 as an organized system of 
 emotional dispositions cen- 
 tered about an idea, 449- 
 450. 
 
 difference between the con- 
 sequences of repression of 
 an instinct and of a, 467- 
 469. 
 
 Sentiments, essential for self- 
 control and regulation of 
 conduct, 451; in absence of, 
 emotional life would be 
 chaos, 451; suppression of, 
 by conflict, 454-458. 
 repression of, may lead to 
 the formation of patho- 
 logical subconscious states, 
 461. 
 
 "Settings," theory of, 311; 
 practical application to 
 everyday life, 331-337. 
 not sharply defined groups of 
 
 ideas, 421. 
 
 as part of an unconscious 
 complex and a subconscious 
 process, 361, 363, 367; in- 
 adequacy of analysis as a 
 method of proof, 364, 368; 
 synthetic methods, 365; 
 therapeutic application of, 
 368-372; in obsessions, 372- 
 386, 387-415. 
 
 Subconscious, The, demarcation 
 between, and the conscious, 
 419; difficulties of interpre- 
 tation by clinical methods, 
 220; in applied psychology, 
 213-228. 
 meanings of, 247-254; three
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 549 
 
 classes of facts included in, 
 253. 
 
 Subconscious, The, special prob- 
 lems of, 162. 
 
 subdivisions of, x, 14, 253. 
 Subconscious, emotional dis- 
 charge shown by psycho- 
 galvanic reaction, 481-484. 
 
 ideas, 249-254. 
 
 intelligence, 150, 153, 163, 
 164, 177-180, 187, 188; un- 
 derlying spontaneous hallu- 
 cinations, 188-195; under- 
 lying dreams, 196-213; com- 
 parable to a coconscious 
 personality, 211-212. 
 
 mathematical calculations, 96, 
 167, 169-171, 177-179. 
 
 perception, 52. 
 
 performance of post-hypnotic 
 phenomena, 168, 171. 
 
 personality, 159; value of, for 
 study of mind, 159-160. 
 
 process, definition of a, 156. 
 
 processes, evidence for, 151, 
 163; validity of memory as 
 evidence for, 176; actual- 
 ity, intrinsic nature, and 
 intelligence of, 164; as co- 
 conscious, 157; as uncon- 
 scious, 161; conditions re- 
 quired for proof of, 164 
 166; as determinants of be- 
 havior, 153, 163; of the 
 meanings of ideas, 361, 363; 
 of physical symptoms, 377; 
 intrinsic nature of, 157, 163, 
 164; underlying artificial 
 visual hallucinations, 180- 
 
 187; spontaneous visual hal- 
 lucinations, 188-195; under- 
 lying dreams, 196-213. 
 
 Subconscious self, 256. 
 solution of problems, 171- 
 176. 
 
 Symbolism, in dreams, 200, 202; 
 in visions, 222. 
 
 Unconscious, The, 229; as a 
 storehouse of neurograms, 
 149. 
 
 as a fundamental of person- 
 ality, 254-264. 
 
 has dynamic functions, 262. 
 
 the meanings of the, 149, 247- 
 
 254. 
 
 Unconscious, calculations, 178; 
 intelligence, 187, 210-211. 
 
 complex as the setting of 
 ideas, 361-363. 
 
 complexes, organization of, 
 265; definition of, 265. 
 
 ideas, 249-254. 
 
 Visions, see Hallucinations. 
 
 as the emergence of second- 
 ary visual images of sub- 
 conscious ideas, 1823, 204, 
 209-210, 315, 413. 
 
 crystal, 42. 
 
 subconscious processes under- 
 lying normal, 222. 
 
 symbolism in, 222. 
 
 Will, McDougall 's theory of the, 
 
 458. 
 Word-association reactions and 
 
 the principle of conflict, 
 
 481.
 
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 Professor of Philosophy, Vassar College 
 
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 "As the author points out, the title of this book might more appropri- 
 ately have been 'The Animal Mind deducted from Experimental Evidence,' 
 for the facts here set forth are very largely the results of the experi- 
 mental method in comparative psychology. The mass of experimental 
 material that has been accumulated from the researches of physiologists 
 and psychologists is always great, but is also for the most part inaccessible 
 to the ordinary student, being widely scattered and to a considerable extent 
 published in the journals of specialists, which the average college library 
 does not contain. Hence the usefulness of the present . . . interesting 
 work." New York Sun. 
 
 Genetic Psychology 
 
 BY EDWIN A. KIRKPATRICK 
 
 Director of the Child Study Department of the Fitchburg (Mass.) State 
 
 Normal School 
 
 Cloth. I2mo. 373 pages. $1.25 net 
 
 "Genetic Psychology," by Professor Edwin A. Kirkpatrick, will stand 
 almost alone in its building up of a system of psychological study by strictly 
 biological methods. In his working out of the genesis of intelligence, while 
 concerning himself largely with the dawning of intelligence among the 
 lower forms of animal life, he has given a quantity of facts, carefully grouped 
 so as to show not merely the earlier phenomena of mind but its behavior 
 under an increasing complexity of structure and environment. Psychology 
 thus studied must necessarily be interwoven with the facts of anatomy and 
 physiology, and in the process the author has used a wealth of illustration, 
 and has marshalled the vast body of information gathered in twenty years 
 of investigation and study so as to produce a fascinating work which will 
 not fail to stimulate individual study. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 The Feeble-Minded 
 
 A Guide to Study and Practice 
 
 BY E. B. SHERLOCK, M.D., B.Sc., LOND., D.P.H., 
 
 Barrister-at-Law, formerly Superintendent of the Belmont Asylum for 
 Idiots, and Lecturer on Biology in the Westminster Hospital Medical 
 School. With an Introductory Note by Sir H. B. Donkin, M. D. Oxon., 
 F. R. C. P. Lond., Medical Adviser to the Prison Commissioners, 
 Member of the Prisons Board, Consulting Physician to Westminster 
 Hospital, late Member of the Royal Commission on the Care and Con- 
 trol of the Feeble-Minded. 
 
 Cloth. 327 pages. Indexes. Illustrated. 8vo. $3.00 net 
 
 This book is in fact a brief introduction to the subject of feeble-minded- 
 ness. The earlier chapters treat the anatomical and physiological facts 
 which are believed to be correlated with psychological happenings. Such 
 facts as belong more particularly to those special departments of biology, 
 which are known as pathology, etiology and taxonomy, are then dealt with, 
 and finally the subject is considered in its legal, medical and educational 
 bearings. The bibliography is very complete and comprehensive, and the 
 book is authoritative in its treatment of this important subject. 
 
 Epilepsy 
 
 A Study of the Idiopathic Disease 
 
 BY WM. ALDREN TURNER, M.D. 
 Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, London, etc. 
 
 Cloth. 285 pages. Illustrated. 8w. $3.25 net 
 
 A new book of the highest authority, based upon a study of 1,000 cases, 
 and treating the disease as one which follows a definite {course and exhibits 
 distinctive phenomena. The author has had unusual opportunities for 
 observation in the London hospitals. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 Conduct and Its Disorders 
 Biologically Considered 
 
 BY CHARLES ARTHUR MERCIER, M.D., F.R.C.P., F.R.C.S. 
 
 Physician for Mental Diseases to Charing Cross Hospital; Author of "A 
 Textbook of Insanity," "Criminal Responsibility," etc. 
 
 Cloth. 377 pages. 8vo. $3.25 net 
 
 It would appear that few studies are more important than that of Con- 
 duct, and yet, though many departments of conduct are described in many 
 books, there is not in existence, curiously enough, any comprehensive study 
 of conduct as a whole. The principle on which the investigation of human 
 conduct is made in this book is the biological principle and its aim is merely 
 to explain from a purely scientific standpoint. 
 
 A Text-Book of Insanity 
 
 BY CHARLES ARTHUR MERCIER, M.D. 
 
 Cloth. 346 pages, izmo. $1.75 net 
 
 The aim of this book is to supply a long needed want, namely, that of a 
 text-book in compact form for use of students. The author has made a 
 distinction between forms of insanity and varieties of insanity, a distinction 
 which he believes goes far to solve the difficulties of classification which 
 have been so great a stumbling block to writers on insanity for generations. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 The Kallikak Family 
 
 BY HENRY H. GODDARD 
 Illustrated with charts and half tones 
 
 Cloth. 8vo. 121 pages. $1.50 net 
 
 A genuine story of real people, this book is a study in heredity, the name 
 of the family being, of course, fictitious. As director of the Training School 
 at Vineland, N. J., Dr. Goddard has long been studying the cause of feeble- 
 mindedness and he here presents the results of an investigation made of 
 one notorious family of degenerates. Taking scientific observations as a 
 base, Dr. Goddard has told a story which will be of interest to students of 
 education, medicine and sociology, and, because of its dramatic intensity, 
 to the general reader. 
 
 The First Principles of Heredity 
 
 BY S. HERBERT, M.D. (Vienna), 
 M.R.C.S. (Eng.), L.R.C.P. (Lond.) 
 
 Cloth. 199 pages. Index. Illustrated. 8vo. $1.75 net 
 
 This book is prepared for the use of students as a text in connection with 
 a course in Heredity. Its purpose is to supply in a simple yet scientific man- 
 ner all that may be desirable for those who have no previous knowledge of 
 the subject to know in regard to Heredity in order to obtain a grasp of the 
 subject as a whole. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
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