The unconscious E-Book

Morton Prince

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

This work is designed to be an introduction to abnormal psychology. The problems considered, however, belong equally to normal psychology in that they are problems of psycho-physiological functions and mechanisms. I have made no attempt to develop any particular school of psychological theory but rather, so far as may be, to gather together the knowledge already gained and lay a foundation which can be built upon by any school for the solution of particular problems, especially those of special pathology. I have therefore endeavored to avoid controversial questions although this, of course, has not been wholly possible, and indeed so far as special pathological conditions (the psychoses) have been considered, it has been for the purpose of providing data and testing the principles adduced. The inductive method, alone, I believe, as in the physical sciences, can enable us to arrive at sound conclusions—justify the formulation of theories to explain psychological phenomena. Because of the very difficulties of this field of research—one of which is that of submitting to experimental conditions complex psychological phenomena having so many factors—it is all the more incumbent that the inductive method should be employed. To my way  of thinking we should begin at the bottom and build up bit by bit, drawing, as we go, no wider conclusions than the facts developed warrant; or if we do, these should be recognized clearly as working hypotheses or speculative theories. Skyscrapers should not be erected until the foundations have been examined to see if they will bear the superstructure. That I have wholly succeeded in so rigorously restricting my own endeavors I can scarcely hope. I trust, however, that I have succeeded in consistently maintaining the distinction between facts and their interpretations.

Leseprobe

THE UNCONSCIOUS

THE FUNDAMENTALS OF HUMAN

PERSONALITY NORMAL AND

ABNORMAL

BY

MORTON PRINCE

© 2023 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782385742720

PREFACE

This work is designed to be an introduction to abnormal psychology. The problems considered, however, belong equally to normal psychology in that they are problems of psycho-physiological functions and mechanisms. I have made no attempt to develop any particular school of psychological theory but rather, so far as may be, to gather together the knowledge already gained and lay a foundation which can be built upon by any school for the solution of particular problems, especially those of special pathology. I have therefore endeavored to avoid controversial questions although this, of course, has not been wholly possible, and indeed so far as special pathological conditions (the psychoses) have been considered, it has been for the purpose of providing data and testing the principles adduced. The inductive method, alone, I believe, as in the physical sciences, can enable us to arrive at sound conclusions—justify the formulation of theories to explain psychological phenomena. Because of the very difficulties of this field of research—one of which is that of submitting to experimental conditions complex psychological phenomena having so many factors—it is all the more incumbent that the inductive method should be employed. To my way of thinking we should begin at the bottom and build up bit by bit, drawing, as we go, no wider conclusions than the facts developed warrant; or if we do, these should be recognized clearly as working hypotheses or speculative theories. Skyscrapers should not be erected until the foundations have been examined to see if they will bear the superstructure. That I have wholly succeeded in so rigorously restricting my own endeavors I can scarcely hope. I trust, however, that I have succeeded in consistently maintaining the distinction between facts and their interpretations.

The present volume consists of selected lectures (with the exception of four) from courses on abnormal psychology delivered at the Tufts College Medical School (1908-10) and later at the University of California (1910).[1] These again were based on a series of papers on the Unconscious published in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology (1908-9) of which they are elaborations. Since the lectures were delivered a large amount of new material has been incorporated and the subject matter considered in more detail and more exhaustively than was practical before student bodies. The four additional lectures (X, XI, XII and XIII) appeared in abbreviated form in the same Journal (Oct., Nov., 1912) under the title “The Meaning of Ideas as Determined by Unconscious Settings.” The lecture form has been retained, offering as it does many advantages where, in the exposition of a difficult subject, much that is elemental needs to be stated.

As the subconscious and its processes are fundamentals both in the structure of personality and in the many mechanisms through which personality, normal and abnormal, finds expression, the first eight lectures are devoted to its exposition. Indeed, as has been said, the subconscious is not only the most important problem of psychology, it is the problem. The study of its phenomena must be preliminary to that of the functioning mechanisms of both the normal mind and of those special pathological conditions—the psycho-neuroses—which modern investigators are tracing to its perversions.

In a recently published article M. Bergson concludes with the following prophesy: “To explore the most sacred depths of the unconscious, to labor in what I have just called the subsoil of consciousness, that will be the principal task of psychology in the century which is opening. I do not doubt that wonderful discoveries await it there, as important perhaps as have been in the preceding centuries the discoveries of the physical and natural sciences. That at least is the promise which I make for it, that is the wish that in closing I have for it.”[2]

And yet one reads and hears all sorts of contradictory statements, made by those who it is presumed should know, regarding the actuality of the subconscious. Thus one or another writer, assuming to know, states most positively that there is no such thing as the subconscious. Others, equally emphatic, postulate it as an established fact rather than a theory, or assume it as a philosophical concept or hypothesis to explain particular phenomena. One difficulty is that the term, as commonly used, has many meanings, and it has followed that different writers have assumed it with respectively different meanings. Consequently the subconscious as an actuality has been unwittingly denied when the intent has been really to deny some particular meaning or interpretation, and particular meanings have been subsumed which are only philosophical concepts.

There should be no difficulty in deciding what the facts permit us to postulate. The subconscious is a theory based upon observed facts and formulated to explain those facts. There are many precise phenomena of different kinds which can only be explained as due to explicitly subconscious processes, that is, processes which do not appear in the content of consciousness; just as the phenomena manifested by radium can only be explained by emanations (or rays) which themselves are not visible and cannot be made the object of conscious experience. In each case it is the manifestations of such processes of which we become aware. Subconscious processes and radio-activity stand on precisely the same basis so far as the determination of their actuality is concerned. (The latter have the advantage, of course, in that being physical they are subject to quantitative measurement.) Such being the case it ought to be possible to construct the theory of the subconscious by inductive methods on the basis of facts of observation just as any theory of the physical sciences is constructed.

This task I have set before myself as well as that of giving precision to our conception of the theory and taking it out of the domain of philosophical concepts. With this purpose in view I have endeavored to apply the method of science and construct the theory by induction from the data of observation and experiment. I dare say this has been a somewhat ambitious and some will say, perhaps, overbold undertaking. Undoubtedly, too, this attitude toward this and other individual problems has not been always consistently maintained, nor perhaps is it completely possible in the present state of the science.

Our formulations should be as precise as possible and facts and concepts of a different order should not be included in one and the same formula. I have, accordingly, divided the subconscious into two classes, namely (1) the unconscious, or neural dispositions and processes, and (2) the coconscious, or actual subconscious ideas which do not enter the content of conscious awareness. An unconscious process and a coconscious process are both therefore subconscious processes but particular types thereof—the one being purely neural or physical and the other psychological or ideational.

The soundness of the conclusions reached in this work I leave to the judgment of my critics, of whom I doubt not I shall have many. I do not hesitate to say, however, that it is only by practical familiarity with the phenomena of mental pathology and artificially induced phenomena (such as those of hypnosis, suggestion, etc.), requiring a long training in this field of research (as in other scientific fields), that we can correctly estimate the value of data and the conclusions drawn therefrom; and even then many of our conclusions can be regarded as only provisional.

In these lectures I have also endeavored (Lectures XIV-XVI) to develop the phenomena of the emotional innate dispositions which I conceive play one of the most fundamental parts in human personality and in determining mental and physiological behavior.

Experimental methods and the well-known clinical methods of investigation have been employed by me as far as possible. The data made use of have been derived for the most part from my own observations, though confirmatory observations of others have not been neglected. Although a large number and variety of subjects or cases have been studied, as they have presented themselves in private and hospital practice, the data have been to a large extent sought in intensive studies, on particular subjects, carried on in some cases over a period of many years. These subjects, because of the ease with which subconscious and emotional phenomena were either spontaneously manifested or could be experimentally evoked, were particularly suitable for such studies and fruitful in results. It is by such intensive studies on special subjects, rather than by casual observation of many cases, that I believe the deepest insight into mental processes and mechanisms can be obtained.

In conclusion I wish to express my great obligation to Mrs. William G. Bean for the great assistance she has rendered in many ways in the preparation of this volume. Not the least has been the transcription and typing of my manuscript, for the most part written in a quasi shorthand, reading the printer’s proofs, and much other assistance in the preparation of the text for the press. For this her practical and unusually extensive acquaintance with the phenomena has been of great value.

I am also indebted to Mr. Lydiard Horton for kindly reading the proofs and for many helpful suggestions in clarifying the arrangement of the text—a most difficult task considering the colloquial form of the original lectures.

Boston.

458 Beacon Street.

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION

The favorable reception which was given to the first edition of this work has tempted me in preparing a new edition at the request of the publishers to incorporate four additional chapters dealing with the general principles underlying the structure and dynamic elements of human personality (Lecture XVII) and a study of a special problem in personality in which these principles are involved, namely, the psychogenesis of multiple personality as illustrated by a study of the case known as B. C. A.[3] (Lectures XVIII-XX.) The latter study was omitted (with other lectures) from the first edition in order to limit the number of subjects treated and the size of the volume.

Although the theory of the subconscious and that of the dynamics of specific conscious and subconscious processes (to the fundamental principles of both of which these lectures were limited) owe their value to our being able through them to explain many mental and physiological abnormalities, they possess an equal value from the light they throw upon the structure and dynamics of that composite whole best termed human personality. Over and above a knowledge of the abnormal, what we as human beings want to know is not only what sort of physiological beings but what sort of conscious beings we are; and how we think and act, and what motives and other impulses whether hidden or in the clear light of awareness, regulate and determine our behavior; what are the forces that do it and how. We want to know the answer to a lot of problems of this character, all of which involve principles of innate and acquired dispositions.

A comprehensive study of human personality would include, as far as may be, answers to all these problems and would require a volume in itself. I have, therefore, not been able more than to give an outline in Lecture XVII of what seem to me to be the fundamental principles involved and the dynamic unitary systems out of which the structure is built up. There are various points of view from which the structure of the mind may be considered, just as with the structure of a literary work of art, or of a complicated mechanism like an automobile. We may consider the structure of the latter, for instance, as an assembly of complex units or mechanisms—cylinders, carburetors, ignition systems, etc.,—each analyzed into its elements, without regard to the dynamic, integrative functioning of the units in the total mechanism. This would be the static point of view. Or we may consider these units as wholes from the standpoint of the forces they generate, the processes they subserve and the parts they play in the total functioning of the whole machine. This is the dynamic point of view. It is this latter which alone has a vital practical interest. The former is of interest only to the technician. So with the mind. The dynamic point of view alone is of practical importance and alone awakens fascinating interest of stirring intensity. So long as psychology held to the static viewpoint it was only of academic value. For submitted to the pragmatic test it made little difference whether it was right or wrong. Nor could it become an applied science. Consequently it is from the dynamic viewpoint that I have sketched in—and it is little more than a sketch—the application of the principles laid down in these lectures to the peculiarly appealing problem of personality. Closely related to this is multiple personality, for it is a special problem in personality, and one that is a fascinating study in itself. But aside from its own intrinsic interest, its practical interest, its chief value is derived from the fact that it is a veritable vivisection of the mind by the mind’s own vital forces, and as such gives us much more definite and precise data for the determination of normal mental mechanisms and processes than can introspective analysis; just as the vivisection of the body in the laboratory and by disease has given us our most precise knowledge of physiology. Consequently the phenomena acquire a greater interest and value from the insight they give into the normal. For there is no more fruitful material for the study of the mechanisms and processes of personality than cases of this sort where there is a disintegration of the normally integrated structural wholes and a reassembling of the component elements into new composite wholes. In the construction of these new personalities certain normal structures and mechanisms are dissected out, so to speak, of the original composite by the stress of the forces that cause the cleavage between systems and are then reassembled into new functioning wholes. There is a veritable vivisection of the mind. In a mind thus disassembled nearly every mental phenomenon, conscious and subconscious—conflicts, hallucinations, coconscious processes, defense reactions, etc.,—can be observed in an isolated form and systematically studied. They are veritable gold mines of psychological phenomena, as William James once expressed it to me in reference to one of my cases. It is strange, therefore, that such cases have been neglected by psychologists who would study mental mechanisms. It is true that for a complete understanding of multiple personality a study of a number of cases should be presented, particularly as many variations are to be observed constituting differing types. But in a volume of this kind this would be impracticable. I have, therefore, limited myself to the psychogenesis of a single case, that of B. C. A. This will I believe be of interest not only as illustrating the basic principles underlying the pathology of multiple personality, but because of the data it offers for the understanding of the structure and mechanisms of the normal self, something that curiously appeals to the egoistic interest of human nature.

Morton Prince.

THE UNCONSCIOUS

PREFACE

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION

LECTURE I THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS

LECTURE II CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE

I. Normal Life

LECTURE III CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE

I. Normal Life (Continued)

II. Forgotten Experiences of Artificial and Pathological States

Summary

LECTURE IV CONSERVATION A RESIDUUM OF EXPERIENCES

LECTURE V NEUROGRAMS

LECTURE VI SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES

SPECIAL PROBLEMS OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS

LECTURE VII SUBCONSCIOUS INTELLIGENCE (Continued)

LECTURE VIII THE UNCONSCIOUS

LECTURE IX THE ORGANIZATION OF UNCONSCIOUS COMPLEXES

LECTURE X THE MEANING OF IDEAS AS DETERMINED BY SETTINGS

LECTURE XI MEANING, SETTING, AND THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS

LECTURE XII SETTINGS OF IDEAS AS SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS

LECTURE XIII TWO TYPES OF PHOBIA (Obsessions Continued)

LECTURE XIV THE PHYSIOLOGICAL MANIFESTATIONS OF EMOTION

Physiological Mimicry of Disease.

LECTURE XV INSTINCTS, SENTIMENTS, AND CONFLICTS

LECTURE XVI GENERAL PHENOMENA RESULTING FROM EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS

LECTURE XVII THE STRUCTURE AND DYNAMIC ELEMENTS OF HUMAN PERSONALITY

LECTURE XVIII THE PSYCHOGENESIS OF MULTIPLE PERSONALITY[264]The Case of B. C. A.

I

LECTURE XIX (THE SAME CONTINUED)—THE B PERSONALITY

LECTURE XX (THE SAME CONTINUED)—THE A PERSONALITY

REINTEGRATION OF A AND B INTO A NORMAL PERSONALITY C

SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS

INDEX OF NAMES[305]

ADDENDUM: NAMES AND SUBJECTS

LECTURE I THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS

Gentlemen:

The subject which I have chosen for our first lecture is the theory of the mechanism of memory. I begin with the study of this problem because a knowledge of the facts which underlie the theory of memory is a necessary introduction to an understanding of the Unconscious, and of the part which subconscious processes play in normal and abnormal mental life.[4] Speaking more specifically, without such a preliminary study I do not believe we can interpret correctly a very large number of the disturbances of mind and body which are traceable to the activity of subconscious processes and with which we shall later have to do.

If we consider memory as a process, and not as specific phases of consciousness, we shall find that it is an essential factor in the mechanisms underlying a large variety of phenomena of normal and abnormal life. These phenomena include those of both mind and body of a kind not ordinarily conceived of as manifestations of memory. I would have you dwell in your minds for a moment on the fact that I make this distinction between memory as a process and memory as a phase of consciousness or specific mental experience. What we ordinarily and conventionally have in mind when we speak of memory is the conscious thought of some past mental experience. But when we conceive of memory as a process we have in mind the whole mechanism through the working of which this past experience is registered, conserved, and reproduced, whether such reproduction be in consciousness or below the surface of consciousness.

Memory is usually looked upon as something that pertains solely to consciousness. Such a conception is defensible if the meaning of the term is restricted to those facts alone which come within our conscious experience. But when we consider the mechanism by which a particular empirical fact of this kind is introduced into consciousness we find that this conception is inadequate. We find then that we are obliged to regard conscious memory as only the end result of a process and, in order to account for this end result, to assume other stages in the process which are not phases of consciousness. Though the end result is a reproduction of the ideas which constituted the previous conscious experience, this reproduction is not the whole process.

More than this, the conscious experience is not the only experience that may be reproduced by the process, nor is the end result always and necessarily a state of consciousness. Conscious memory is only a particular type of memory. The same process may terminate in purely unconscious or physiological effects, or what may be called physiological memory to distinguish it from conscious memory. Along with the revived ideas and their feeling tones there may be a revival of the physiological experiences, or processes, which originally accompanied them; such as secretion of sweat, saliva and gastric juice, the contraction and dilatation of the blood vessels, the inhibition or excitation of the heart, lungs and other viscera, the contraction of muscles, etc. These visceral mechanisms, being originally elements in a complex process and accompaniments of the idea, may be reproduced along with the conscious memory, and even without conscious memory. As this physiological complex is an acquired experience it is entitled to be regarded as memory so far as its reproduction is the end result of the same kind of process or mechanism as that which reproduces ideas.

Then, again, investigations into the subconscious have shown that the original experience may be reproduced subconsciously without rising into awareness.

The more comprehensive way, then, of looking at memory is to regard it as a process and not simply as an end result. The process, as we shall see, is made up of three factors—Registration, Conservation, and Reproduction. Of these the end result is reproduction; conservation being the preservation of that which was registered.

This view is far more fruitful, as you will presently see, for memory acquires a deeper significance and will be found to play a fundamental and unsuspected part in the mechanism of many obscure mental processes.

From this point of view, upon memory, considered as a process, depend the acquired conscious and subconscious habits of mind and body.

The process involves unconscious as well as conscious factors and may be wholly unconscious (subconscious).

Two of its factors—registration and conservation—are responsible for the building up of the unconscious as the storehouse of the mind and, therefore, primarily for all subconscious processes, other than those which are innate.

To it may be referred the direct excitation of many subconscious manifestations of various kinds.

Consciously or subconsciously it largely determines our prejudices, our superstitions, our beliefs, our points of view, our attitudes of mind.

Upon it to a large degree depend what we call personality and character.

It often is the unsuspected and subconscious secret of our judgments, our sentiments, and impulses.

It is the process which most commonly induces dreams and furnishes the material out of which they are constructed.

It is the basis of many hypnotic phenomena.

In the field of pathology, memory, through its perversions, takes part in and helps to determine the form of a variety of disturbances such as obsessions, impulsions, tics, habit psychoses and neuroses, many of the manifestations of that great protean psychosis, hysteria, and other common ailments which it is the fashion of the day to term neurasthenia and psychasthenia. It is largely responsible for the conscious and subconscious conflicts which disrupt the human mind and result in various pathological states.

Finally, upon the utilization of the processes of memory modern psychotherapeutics, or the educational treatment of disease, is largely based. For many of these reasons an understanding of the mechanism of memory is essential for an understanding of the subconscious. In short, memory furnishes a standpoint from which we can productively study the normal and abnormal processes of the mind—conscious and subconscious.

These somewhat dogmatic general statements—which I have put before you much after the fashion of the lawyer who presents a general statement of his case in anticipation of the evidence—I hope will become clear and their truth evident as we proceed; likewise, their bearing upon the facts of abnormal psychology. To make them clear it will be necessary to explain in some detail the generally accepted theory of memory as a process and to cite the numerous data upon which it rests.

There may be, as, indeed, you will find there are, wide differences of opinion as to the exact psychological mechanism by which a memory-process plays its part in the larger processes of mental life, normal and abnormal, such as I have just mentioned, but that the memory-process is a fundamental factor is revealed by whatever method the problems are attacked. A study, therefore, of this fundamental factor and a determination of its mechanism are a prerequisite for a study of the more complex processes in which it takes part. For this reason I shall begin the study of the Unconscious (subconscious), to which I shall ask your attention in these lectures, with a consideration of the processes of memory.

If you ask the average person, as I have often done, how or why he remembers he will be puzzled and he is apt to reply, “Why, I just remember,” or, “I never thought of that before.” If you push him a bit and ask what becomes of ideas after they have passed out of mind and have given place to other ideas, and how an idea that has passed out of mind, that has gone, disappeared, can be brought back again as memory, he becomes further puzzled. We know that ideas that have passed out of mind may be voluntarily recalled, or reproduced, as memory; we may say that meantime they have become what may be called dormant. But surely something must have happened to enable these conscious experiences to be conserved in some way and recalled. Ideas are not material things which, like books, can be laid away on a shelf to be taken up again when wanted, and yet we can recall, or reproduce, many ideas when we want them just as we can go to a shelf and take down any book we want.

We learn the alphabet and the multiplication table in childhood. During the greater part of our lives the sensory images, auditory language symbols, etc., which may be summarized as ideas representing these educational experiences, are out of our minds and do not form a continuous part of our conscious experiences, but they may be recalled at any moment as memory. In fact, try as hard as we may, we cannot forget our alphabet or multiplication table. Why is this?

The older psychology did not bother itself much with these questions which puzzle the average man. It was content for the most part with a descriptive statement of the facts of conscious memory. It did not concern itself with the process by which memory is effected; nor, so long as psychology dealt only with phases of consciousness, was it of much consequence. It has been only since subconscious processes have loomed large in psychology and have been seen to take part on the one hand in the mechanism of conscious thought and on the other to produce various bodily phenomena, that the process of memory has acquired great practical importance. For it has been seen that in these subconscious processes previous conscious experiences are resurrected to take part as subconscious memory, consequently a conscious experience that has passed out of mind may not only recur again as conscious memory, but may recur subconsciously below the threshold of awareness. The study of subconscious processes therefore necessarily includes the processes of memory. And so it has become a matter of considerable moment to follow the fate of experiences after they have passed out of mind with a view to determining the mechanism by which they can be reproduced consciously and subconsciously. More than this it is important that the theory of memory should be removed if possible from the domain of purely speculative psychological concepts and placed on a sound basis of observation and experiment like other accepted theories of science.

From the point of view of animism, and indeed of dualism, nothing becomes of the ideas that have passed out of mind; they simply, for the time being, cease to exist. Consciousness changes its form. Nothing is preserved, nothing is stored up. This is still the popular notion according to which a mental experience at any given moment—the content of my consciousness, for instance, at this moment as I speak to you—is only one of a series of kaleidoscopic changes or phases of my self-consciousness. In saying this what is meant plainly must be that the content of consciousness at any given moment is a phase of a continuing psychical something. We may, perhaps, call this my self-consciousness, and say that when I reproduce an experience as memory I simply bring back (by the power of self-determination) that same previous phase of the psychical something. If I cannot bring it back my failure may be due to a failure of the power of self-determination or—and here is a weak point—to a failure in the formative cohesion of the elementary ideas of that experience. In this latter alternative no note is taken of a seeming contradiction paradox. If nothing is preserved, if nothing continues to exist, if memory is only one of a series of kaleidoscopic phases of consciousness, how can there be any cohesion or organization within what does not exist? Consciousness according to this notion might be likened to the water of a lake in which vortices were constantly being formed, either by the current of inflowing springs from the bottom or the influences of external agencies. One vortex would give place to a succeeding vortex. Memory would be analogous to the reproduction of a previously occurring vortex.

When, however, such a notion of memory is examined in the light of all the facts which have to be explained it will be found to be descriptive only of our conscious experiences. It does not explain memory; it does not answer the question of the ordinary man, “How can ideas which have ceased to exist be reproduced again as memory?” For, putting aside various psychological difficulties such as, How can I determine the reproduction of a former phase of consciousness—that is, memory—without first remembering what I want to determine?, or, if this be answered, “By the association of phases (ideas),” how can there be any bond of association between an existing idea and one that does not exist?, and, therefore, how can association bring back that which has ceased to exist?—putting aside such questions, there are a number of psycho-physiological facts which this conception of memory will be found inadequate to meet. As a matter of fact, investigations into the behavior of mental processes, particularly under artificial and pathological conditions, have disclosed certain phenomena which can be adequately explained only on the supposition that ideas as they pass out of mind—the mental experiences of the moment—leave something behind, some residuum which is preserved, stored up as it were, and which plays a subsequent part in the process of memory. These phenomena seem to require what may be called a psycho-physiological theory of memory. Although the theory has long been one of the concepts of normal psychology it can be said to have been satisfactorily validated only by the investigations of recent years in abnormal psychology.

The full significance as well as the validity of this theory can be properly estimated only in the light of the facts which have been revealed by modern technical methods of investigation. After all, it is the consequences of a theory which count, and this will be seen to be true particularly as respects memory. The pragmatic point of view of counting the consequences, of determining the difference that the theory makes in the understanding of the mental processes of normal and abnormal life, reveals the importance to us of validating the theory. The consequences of the psycho-physiological theory are so far-reaching, in view of its bearing upon a large number of problems in normal and abnormal psychology, that it is worthy of sustained and exhaustive examination. I will, therefore, briefly résumé the various classes of facts which support the theory and which any adequate theory of memory must satisfactorily explain. For, as will appear, besides the common facts of memory pertaining to everyday life, there are a large number of other facts which can be observed only when the mind is dissected, so to speak, by pathological processes, and by the production of artificial conditions, and when investigations are carried out by special technic. Irrespective of any theory of explanation, a knowledge of these facts is extremely important for an understanding of many phenomena in the domain of both normal and abnormal psychology.

The meaning of conservation.—We all know, as an everyday experience of mankind, that at one time we can recall what happened to us at some particular moment in the past, and at another time we cannot. We know that when we have forgotten some experience if we stimulate or refresh our memory, as the lawyers say to us on the witness-stand, by reference to our notes, appropriately called memoranda, the original experience may come back to mind. Often at one moment we cannot recall a verse, or a name, or a piece of acquired knowledge, while at another time, a little later, we can. We have a feeling, a perhaps justifiable belief, that a desired piece of knowledge is not lost, that it is back somewhere in our minds but we cannot get at it. If, sooner or later, under one circumstance or another, with or without the aid of some kind of stimulus, we can recall the desired knowledge we say it was preserved (or conserved). If we continue, under all circumstances and at all moments, to be unable to recall it we say it is lost, that our memory of it is not conserved. So the notion of conservation of knowledge being something apart from recollection enters even into popular language. What sort of thing conservation is, popular language does not attempt to define. It is clear, however, that we may with propriety speak of the conservation of experiences, using this term in a descriptive sense without forming any definite concept of the nature of conservation. Provisionally, then, I shall speak of conservation of a given experience in this sense only, meaning that the memory of it is not permanently lost but that under certain particular circumstances we can recall it.

Now a large mass of observations demonstrate that there are an enormous number of experiences, belonging to both normal and abnormal mental life, which we are unable to voluntarily recall during any period of our lives, no matter how hard we try, or what aids to memory we employ. For these experiences there is life-long amnesia. Nevertheless, it is easy to demonstrate that, though the personal consciousness of everyday life cannot recall them, they are not lost, properly speaking, but conserved; for when the personal consciousness has undergone a peculiar change, at moments when certain special alterations have taken place in the conditions of the personal consciousness, at such moments you find that the subject under investigation recalls the apparently lost experiences. These moments are those of hypnosis, abstraction, dreams, and certain pathological states. Again, in certain individuals it is possible by technical devices to awaken secondary mental processes in the form of a subconsciousness which may manifest the memories of the forgotten experiences without awareness therefor on the part of the personal consciousness. These manifestations are known as automatic writing and speech. Then, again, by means of certain post-hypnotic phenomena, it is easy to study conservation experimentally. We can make, as you will later see, substantially everything that happened to the subject of the experiment in hypnosis—his thoughts, his speech, his actions, for all of which he has complete and irretrievable loss of memory in a waking state—we can make memory for all these lost experiences reappear when hypnosis is again induced. Thus we can prove conservation when voluntary memory for experiences is absolutely lost. These experiments, among others, as we shall also see, also give an insight into the nature of conservation which is the real problem involved in an investigation into the process of memory.

Before undertaking to solve this problem—so far as may be done—it is well to obtain a full realization of the extent to which experiences which have been forgotten may be still conserved. I will therefore, as I promised you, résumé the experimental and other evidence supporting this principle, making use of both personal observations and those of others.

NOTE—In the following exposition of the evidence for the theory of memory it has been necessary to make use of phenomena subsuming subconscious processes before the subconscious itself has been demonstrated. A few words in explanation of the terms used is therefore desirable to avoid confusing the reader.

Dividing as I do the subconscious into the unconscious and the coconscious, the former is either simply a neural disposition, or an active neural process without any quality of consciousness; the latter is an actual subconscious idea or a process of thought of which, nevertheless, we are not aware. An unconscious and a coconscious process are both, therefore, only particular types of a subconscious process. I might have used the single term subconscious throughout the first seven lectures, but in that case, though temporarily less confusing, the data necessary for the appreciation of the division of the subconscious into two orders would not have been at hand. Typical phenomena having been described as unconscious or coconscious (instead of simply subconscious), the reader will have already become familiar with examples of each type and be thus prepared for the final discussion in Lecture VIII. PROVISIONALLY, these three terms may be regarded as synonyms. To indicate the synonym, the term “subconscious” has often been added in parenthesis in the text to one or other of the subdivisional terms, and vice versa.

1. In this connection it is a satisfaction to the author to note that more recently a committee was appointed by the American Psychological Association (December, 1911) to investigate the relation of psychology to medical education. This committee, after an extensive inquiry by correspondence with all the medical schools of the country, has made a report (Science, Oct. 17, 1913) based upon the preponderating opinion of the best medical schools and of the schools as a whole. The second (in substance) and third conclusions reached in the report were as follows:

2nd: For entrance in certain schools requiring a preliminary college training of greater or less length an introductory or pre-medical course in psychology should be required in the same way as they now require chemistry, biology, physics, etc., or, in lieu thereof, a course in the medical schools.

3rd: “It is the belief of most of the best schools that a second course in psychology should precede the course in clinical psychiatry and neurology. This course should have more of a practical nature, and should deal especially with abnormal mental processes and with the application of psychological principles and facts to medical topics. Although this course should deal chiefly with psychopathology, it should not be permitted to develop, or degenerate, into a course in psychiatry, neurology or psychotherapeutics. This course should be clinical in the sense that, as far as possible, clinical material should be the basis of the course, but it should not be clinical in the sense that the students are given particular cases for the purpose of diagnosis or of treatment. The functions of the courses in psychiatry and neurology should not be assumed by this course.”

The courses, from which I have selected twelve lectures for my present purpose, were designed for just such instruction as is recommended in this report. They were, I believe, the first to be given on these subjects in any medical school or college in this country. Necessarily they covered a wider range of topics than the lectures now published which more properly serve as an introduction to the general subject.

2. “The Birth of the Dream,” The Independent, Oct. 30, 1913.

3. A descriptive account of this case, written as a sort of autobiography by the subject herself, was published in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology (Vol. 3, Nos. 4 & 5, 1908-1909) under the title “My Life as a Dissociated Personality.” This remarkable account includes an instructive description of the coconscious self of considerable value.

4. I divide the Subconscious into two parts, namely the Unconscious and the Coconscious. See preface and Lecture VIII.

LECTURE II CONSERVATION OF FORGOTTEN EXPERIENCES OF NORMAL, ARTIFICIAL, AND PATHOLOGICAL LIFE

I. Normal Life

Evidence obtained by the method of automatic writing.—If we take a suitable subject, one in whom “automatic writing”[5] has been developed, and study the content of the script, we may find that to a large extent it contains references to, i.e., memories of, experiences which have long been forgotten by the subject and which cannot even by the stimulus of memoranda be voluntarily recalled. These experiences may be actions performed even as far back as childhood, or passages read in books, or fragments of conversation, etc. Thus B. C. A., who suffers from an intense fear or phobia of cats, particularly white cats, can recall no experience in her life which could have given rise to it. Yet when automatic writing is resorted to the hand writes a detailed account of a fright into which she was thrown, when she was only five or six years of age, by a white kitten which had a fit while she was playing with it. The writing also describes in minute detail the furnishings of the room where the episode occurred, the pattern of the carpet, the decorative designs of the window shades, the furniture, etc. As this observation is typical of many others, it may be well to dwell upon it long enough to describe it in some detail for the benefit of those who are not familiar with this class of phenomena.

After it had been determined, by a searching examination, that B. C. A. could not recall any experience that might throw light upon her phobia, an attempt was made to recover a possible memory in hypnosis. As is well known, the memory often broadens in hypnosis and events which are forgotten when “awake” may be recovered. In this instance the subject was put into two different hypnotic states, but without success. This, again, is a matter of some importance for the principle of conservation. Different hypnotic states in the same individual may be distinguished in that each, among other characteristics, may have different and independent systems of memories, as we shall see later. The memories which belong to one state cannot be recalled in another. Hence the fact that a memory cannot be recovered in one state is not proof that it is not conserved, nor is a failure to recover the memory of an episode in all states of hypnosis evidence of failure of conservation, any more than is the failure to recover a memory in the waking state at any given moment.

In the experiment with B. C. A., after failing to awaken a possible memory in either state of hypnosis, a pencil was put in her hand while she was still hypnotized. The hand then wrote automatically, without the knowledge of the hypnotized subject, the following account of this childhood episode that I have just mentioned:[6]

“I think I know about the cats. I can remember myself, a little child, playing on the floor with a kitten, and it began to run about the room and had a fit, I think, and it jumped on me, and I was alone, and I screamed and cried and called my mother, but no one came, and I was very much frightened. I do not believe I ever told anyone. It was a white kitten. It ran out of the room and after a bit I went on playing.”

To test the extent of the conserved memories still further the hand was asked to describe the furnishings of the room and the plan of the house. It wrote:

“There were two windows on the side of the room. The shades were gray, I think, with a border of grapes, or something of that color. The carpet was green or gray with green figures. There was a large old-fashioned sofa between one window and the door which led into the dining-room. A bookcase and desk-combination, you know. There was a mantle, I think, between the windows. It was the ground floor.”

This childhood episode and the furnishings of the room were completely forgotten by B. C. A. in the sense that they could not be voluntarily recalled. Even after reading the script she could not remember them. She had not seen the room since she was six years of age, the family having removed at that time from the town in which the incident took place. As to the accuracy of the “automatic” account and the possibility of fabrication, the description of the room has been corroborated by the independent and written testimony of an older member of the family. It was not possible to confirm the incident of the kitten as there were no witnesses. This portion of the account, therefore, cannot be proved not to be a fabrication, but I have never known a fabricated statement to be made in this subject’s automatic script, and I have obtained from her a large number of statements of different kinds in the course of several years’ observation.

However that may be, the point is not essential, for the minute description, by a special technic, of the furnishings of a room which had not been seen since childhood, a matter of some thirty-five years, and which were totally forgotten, is a sufficient demonstration of the principle of conservation of conscious experiences that cannot be voluntarily recalled. The reproduction of the conscious experience by automatic writing was, of course, an act of memory effected by a special device, and this fact compels us to postulate the conservation of the experience during this long period of time, notwithstanding that the experience could not be recalled voluntarily. Although the conserved experience could not be awakened into memory by voluntary processes of the personal consciousness it could be so awakened by an artificial stimulus under artificial conditions.

An observation like this, dealing with the conservation of long forgotten childhood or other experiences, is not unique. Quite a collection of recorded cases might be cited. Mr. C. Lowe Dickinson has put on record[7] one of a young woman (Miss C.), who, in an hypnotic trance, narrated a dream-like fabrication of a highly imaginative character. On one occasion, through the imaginary intermediation of the spirit of a fictitious person, who was supposed to have lived in the time of Richard II, she gave a great many details about the Earl and Countess of Salisbury, “and other personages of the time, and about the manners and customs of that age. The personages referred to, the details given in connection with them, and especially the genealogical data, were found on examination to be correct, although many of them were such as apparently it would not have been easy to ascertain without considerable historical research.” Miss C. after coming out of the hypnotic trance was in entire ignorance of how she could have obtained this knowledge and could not recall ever having read any book which contained the information she had given. Through automatic writing, however, it was discovered that it was to be found in a book called The Countess Maud, by E. Holt. It then appeared—and this is the point of interest bearing on the conservation of forgotten knowledge—that this book had been read to her by her aunt fourteen years previously, when she was a child about eleven years old. Both ladies had so completely forgotten its contents that they could not recall even the period with which it dealt. Here were conscious experiences of childhood which, if voluntary recollection were to be made use of as a test, would be rightly said to have been extinguished, but that they had only lain fallow, conserved in some unconscious fashion, was shown by their reproduction in the hypnotic trance.[8]

In this connection I may instance the case of Mrs. C. D., who suffers from a fixed fear of fainting. She cannot recall, even after two prolonged searching examinations, the first occasion when this fear developed, or why she has it, and is, therefore, ignorant of its genesis. Yet put into abstraction or light hypnosis she recalls vividly its first occurrence as the effect of an emotional scene of twenty years ago. The details of its psychological content come clearly into consciousness, and its meaning, as a fear of death, is remembered as a part of the original episode. That the fixed idea is a recurrence or partial memory of the original complex becomes logically plain and is recognized as such.

Instances of the reproduction in automatic script of forgotten passages from books are to be found in Mrs. Verrall’s[9] elaborate records of her own automatic writings. Investigation showed that numerous pieces of English, Latin, and Greek script were not original compositions but only forgotten passages from authors previously read.

Mrs. Holland’s script records, as investigation seemed to show, the exact words expressing a personal sentiment contained in a letter written to her twenty years before and long forgotten. The letter proving this was accidentally discovered.[10]

The following instance of a forgotten experience is, in itself, common enough with everybody, but its recovery by automatic writing illustrates how conservation of the thousand and one simply forgotten acts of everyday life may still persist. It forces, too, a realization of the reason why it is possible that though an act may be forgotten at any given moment it may later at any time flash into the mind. It is still conserved.

B. C. A. had been vainly hunting for a bunch of keys which she had not seen or thought of for four months, having been in Europe. One day, soon after her return, while writing a letter to her son she was interrupted by her hand automatically and spontaneously writing the desired information. The letter to her son began as follows: “October 30, 19—. Dear Boy: I cannot find those keys—have hunted everywhere”.... [Here the hand began to write the following, automatically.] “O, I know—take a pencil” [Here she did as she was bidden] “you put those keys in the little box where X’s watch is.”

In explanation B. C. A. sent me the following letter: “The keys were found in the box mentioned. I had hunted for them ever since coming home, October 4th. One key belonged to my box in the safety deposit vault and I had felt very troubled and anxious at not being able to find them. I have no recollection now of putting them where I found them.” [Nor was recollection subsequently recovered.]

I could give from my own observation if it were necessary as many instances as could be desired of “automatic” reproductions of forgotten experiences of one kind or another the truth of which could be verified by notebook records or other evidence. By a forgotten experience of course is meant something more than what cannot for the moment be voluntarily recalled. I mean something that cannot be remembered at any moment nor under any conditions, even after the memory has been prodded by the reproduction in the script—something that is apparently absolutely forgotten. The experience may not only be of a trivial nature but something that happened long in the past and of the kind that is ordinarily absolutely forgotten. I have often invoked the automatic writing (memories) of the subject to recover data elicited in the past in psychological examinations but which both I and the subject had forgotten. Reference to notes always verified the automatic memories. The records of automatic writing to be found in the literature are rich in reproductions showing conservation of forgotten experiences. In fact, given a good subject who can write automatically it is easy to obtain experimentally evidence of this kind at will.

Evidence from abstraction.—One of the most striking of artificial memory performances is the recovery of the details of inconsequential experiences of everyday life by inducing simple states of abstraction in normal people. It is often astonishing to see with what detail these experiences are conserved. A person may remember any given experience in a general way, such as what he does during the course of the day, but the minute details of the day he ordinarily forgets. Now, if he allows himself to fall into a passive state of abstraction, simply concentrating his attention upon a particular past moment, and gives free rein to all the associative memories belonging to that moment that float into his mind, at the same time taking care to forego all critical reflection upon them, it will be found that the number of details that will be recalled will be enormously greater than can be recovered by voluntary memory. Memories of the details of each successive moment follow one another in continuous succession. This method requires some art and practice to be successfully carried out. In the state of abstraction attention to the environment must be completely excluded and concentrated upon the past moments which it is desired to recall. For instance, a young woman, a university student, had lost some money several days before the experiment and desired to learn what had become of it. She remembered, in a general way, that she had gone to the bank that day, had cashed some checks, made some purchases in the shops of the town, returned to the university, attended lectures, etc., and later had missed the money from her purse. Her memory was about as extensive as that of the ordinary person would be for similar events after the lapse of several days. I put her into a state of abstraction and evoked her memories in the way I have just described. The minuteness and vividness with which the details of each successive act in the day’s experiences were recovered were remarkable, and, to the subject, quite astonishing. As the memories arose she recognized them as being accurate, for she then remembered the events as having occurred, just as one remembers any occurrence.[11] In abstraction, she remembered with great vividness every detail at the bank teller’s window, where she placed her gloves, purse, and umbrella, the checks, the money, etc.; then there came memories of seating herself at a table in the bank, of placing her umbrella here, her purse there, etc.; of writing a letter, and doing other things; of absent-mindedly forgetting her gloves and leaving them on the table;[12] of going to a certain shop where, after looking at various articles and thinking certain thoughts and making certain remarks, she finally made certain purchases, giving a certain piece of money and receiving the change in coin of certain denominations; of seeing in her purse the exact denominations of the coins (ten and five-dollar gold pieces and the pieces of subsidiary coinage) which remained; then of going to another shop and similar experiences. Then of numerous details which she had forgotten; of other later incidents including lectures, exercising in the gymnasium, etc. Through it all ran the successive fortunes of her purse until the moment came when, looking into it, she found one of the five-dollar gold pieces gone. It became pretty clear that the piece had disappeared at a moment when the purse was out of her possession, a fact which she had not previously remembered but had believed the contrary. The hundred and one previously forgotten details which surged into her mind as vivid conscious recollections would take too long to narrate.

(I have made quite a number of experiments of this kind with similar results. That the memories are not fabrications is shown by the fact that, as they arise, they become recollections in the sense that the subject can then consciously recall the events and place them in time and space as one does in ordinary memory, and particularly by the fact that many of them are often capable of confirmation.

I would here point out that the recovery of forgotten experiences by the method of abstraction differs in one important psychological respect from their recovery by automatic writing. In the former case the recalled experiences being brought back by associative memories enter into the associations and become true conscious recollections, like any other recollections, while in automatic writing the memories are reproduced in script without entering the personal consciousness at all and while the subject is still in ignorance. Often even after reading the script his memory still remains a blank. It is much as if one’s ideas had been preserved on a phonographic record and later reproduced without awakening a memory of their original occurrence.[13] The significance of this difference for the theory of conservation I will point out later after we have considered some other modes of reproduction.)

Among the conserved forgotten experiences are often to be found fleeting thoughts, ideas, and perceptions, so insignificant and trifling that it would not be expected that they would be remembered. Some of them may have entered only the margin or fringe of the content of consciousness, and, therefore, the subject was only dimly aware of them. Some may have been so far outside the focus of awareness that there was no awareness of them at all, i.e., they were subconscious. Instructive examples of such conserved experiences may be found in persons who suffer from attacks of phobia, i.e., obsessions. The experiences to which I refer occur immediately before and during the attacks. After the attack the ideas of these periods are usually largely or wholly forgotten, particularly the ideas which were in the fringe of consciousness and the idea which, according to my observation, was the exciting cause of the attack. By the method of abstraction I have been able to recover the content of consciousness during the periods in question, including the fringe of consciousness, and thus discover the nature of the fear of which the patient was unaware because the idea was in the fringe.

Mrs. C. D., whom I have mentioned as having suffered intensely from attacks of fear, and Miss F. E., who is similarly afflicted with such attacks accompanied by the feeling of unreality, are instances in point. As is well known such attacks come on suddenly in the midst of mental tranquillity, often without apparent cause so far as the patient can discover. While in the state of abstraction the thoughts, perceptions, and acts of the period just preceding and during the attack, as they successively occurred, could be evoked in these subjects in great detail and with striking vividness. The recovery of these memories has been always a surprise to the patient who, a moment before, had been utterly unable to recall them, and had declared the attack had developed without cause. In the case of Mrs. C. D. it was discovered in this way the real fear was of fainting and death, and in that of Miss F. E. of insanity. These ideas having been in the fringe of consciousness, or background of the mind, the subjects were at the time scarcely aware of them and, therefore, were ignorant of the true nature of their phobias, notwithstanding the overwhelming intensity of the attacks. Among the memories recovered in these and other cases I have always been able to find one of a thought or of a sensory stimulus from the environment which immediately preceded and which through association occasioned the attack. When this particular memory was recovered the patient, who had declared that the attack had developed without cause, at once recognized the original idea which was the cause of the attack, just as one recognizes the idea which causes one to blush. The idea sometimes has been a thought suggested by a casual and apparently insignificant word in a sentence occurring in a conversation on indifferent matters, or by a dimly conscious perception of the environment, sometimes an idea occurring as a secondary train of thought perhaps bearing upon some future course of action, and so on.

As instances of such dimly-conscious perceptions of the environment which I have found I may mention a gateway through which the subject was passing, or a bridge about to be crossed; these particular points in the environment being places where previous attacks had occurred. The perceptions which precipitated the attack may have been entirely subconscious and yet may be brought back to memory. With the pathogenesis of the attacks we are not now directly concerned. The point of interest for us lies in the fact that such forgotten casual ideas and perceptions, some of which had been actually subconscious and some had only entered the margin of the focus of attention may, notwithstanding the amnesia, be conserved; and the same is true of any succession of trivial ideas occurring at an inconsequential moment in a person’s life.

However that may be, if you will try to recall in exact detail the thoughts and feelings which successively passed through your mind at any given moment say three or four weeks ago—or even days ago—and their accompanying acts, and then (if you can do this, which I very much doubt) try to give them in their original sequence, I think you will realize the force of these observations and appreciate the significance of the conservation of such minute experiences and of their reproduction in abstraction.

Evidence furnished by the method of hypnosis.