Chapter II: The Association Method (2)

This conception is of importance in the consideration of the influence of environment and education. The example shows what passes over from the mother to the child. It is not the good and pious precepts, nor is it any other inculcation of pedagogic truths that have a moulding influence upon the character of the developing child, but what most influences him is the peculiarly affective state which is totally unknown to his parents and educators. The concealed discord between the parents, the secret worry, the repressed hidden wishes, all these produce in the individual a certain affective state with its objective signs which slowly but surely, though unconsciously, works its way into the child's mind, producing therein the same conditions and hence the same reactions to external stimuli. We know the depressing effect mournful and melancholic persons have upon us. A restless and nervous individual infects his surroundings with unrest and dissatisfaction, a grumbler with his discontent, etc. Since grown-up persons are so sensitive to surrounding influences, we should certainly expect this to be even more noticeable among children, whose minds are as soft and plastic as wax. The father and mother impress deeply into the child's mind the seal of their personality; the more sensitive and mouldable the child the deeper is the impression. Thus things that are never even spoken about are reflected in the child. The child imitates the gesture, and just as the gesture of the parent is the expression of an emotional state, so in turn the gesture gradually produces in the child a similar feeling, as it feels itself, so to speak, into the gesture. Just as the parents adapt themselves to the world, so does the child. At the age of puberty when it begins to free itself from the spell of the family, it enters into life with, so to say, a surface adaptation entirely in keeping with that of the father and mother. The frequent and often very deep _depressions of puberty_ emanate from this; they are symptoms which are rooted in the difficulty of new adjustment. The youthful person at first tries to separate himself as much as possible from his family; he may even estrange himself from it, but inwardly this only ties him the more firmly to the parental image. I cite the case of a young neurotic who ran away from his parents; he was estranged from, and almost hostile to them, but he admitted to me that he possessed a special sanctum; it was a strong box containing his old childhood books, old dried flowers, stones, and even small bottles of water from the well at his home and from a river along which he walked with his parents, etc.

The first attempts to assume friendship and love are constellated in the strongest manner possible by the relation to parents, and here one can usually observe how powerful are the influences of the familiar constellations. It is not rare, for instance, for a healthy man whose mother was hysterical to marry a hysteric, or for the daughter of an alcoholic to choose an alcoholic for her husband. I was once consulted by an intelligent and educated young woman of twenty-six who suffered from a peculiar symptom. She thought that her eyes now and then took on a strange expression which exerted a disagreeable influence on men. If she then looked at a man he became self-conscious, turned away and said something rapidly to his neighbour, at which both were either embarrassed or inclined to laugh. The patient was convinced that her look excited indecent thoughts in the men. It was impossible to convince her of the falsity of her conviction. This symptom immediately aroused in me the suspicion that I dealt with a case of paranoia rather than with a neurosis. But as was shown only three days later by the further course of the treatment, I was mistaken, for the symptom promptly disappeared after it had been explained by analysis. It originated in the following manner: The lady had a lover who deserted her in a very marked manner. She felt utterly forsaken; she withdrew from all society and pleasure, and entertained suicidal ideas. In her seclusion there accumulated unadmitted and repressed erotic wishes which she unconsciously projected on men whenever she was in their company. This gave rise to the conviction that her look excited erotic wishes in men. Further investigation showed that her deserting lover was a lunatic, which she had not apparently observed. I expressed my surprise at her unsuitable choice, and added that she must have had a certain predilection for loving mentally abnormal persons. This she denied, stating that she had once before been engaged to be married to a normal man. He, too, deserted her; and on further investigation it was found that he, too, had been in an insane asylum shortly before,--another lunatic! This seemed to me to confirm with sufficient certainty my belief that she had an unconscious tendency to choose insane persons. Whence originated this strange taste? Her father was an eccentric character, and in later years entirely estranged from his family. Her whole love had therefore been turned away from her father to a brother eight years her senior; him she loved and honoured as a father, and this brother became hopelessly insane at the age of fourteen. That was apparently the model from which the patient could never free herself, after which she chose her lovers, and through which she had to become unhappy. Her neurosis which gave the impression of insanity, probably originated from this infantile model. We must take into consideration that we are dealing in this case with a highly educated and intelligent lady, who did not pass carelessly over her mental experiences, who indeed reflected much over her unhappiness, without, however, having any idea whence her misfortune originated.

There are things which unconsciously appear to us as a matter of course, and it is for this reason that we do not see them truly, but attribute everything to the so-called congenital character. I could cite any number of examples of this kind. Every patient furnishes contributions to this subject of the determination of destiny through the influence of the familiar milieu. In every neurotic we see how the constellation of the infantile milieu influences not only the character of the neurosis, but also life's destiny, even in its minute details. The unhappy choice of a profession, and innumerable matrimonial failures can be traced to this constellation. There are, however, cases where the profession has been well chosen, where the husband or wife leaves nothing to be desired, and where still the person does not feel well but works and lives under constant difficulties. Such cases often appear under the guise of chronic neurasthenia. Here the difficulty is due to the fact that the mind is unconsciously split into two parts of divergent tendencies which are impeding each other; one part lives with the husband or with the profession, while the other lives unconsciously in the past with the father or mother. I have treated a lady who, after suffering many years from a severe neurosis, merged into a dementia præcox. The neurotic affection began with her marriage. This lady's husband was kind, educated, well to do, and in every respect suitable for her; his character showed nothing that would in any way interfere with a happy marriage. The marriage was nevertheless unhappy, all congenial companionship being excluded because the wife was neurotic.

The important heuristic axiom of every psychoanalysis reads as follows: _If a person develops a neurosis this neurosis contains the counter-argument against the relation of the patient to the individual with whom he is most intimately connected._ A neurosis in the husband loudly proclaims that he has intensive resistances and contrary tendencies against his wife; if the wife has a neurosis she has a tendency which diverges from her husband. If the person is unmarried the neurosis is then directed against the lover or the sweetheart or against the parents. Every neurotic naturally strives against this relentless formulation of the content of his neurosis, and he often refuses to recognise it at any cost, but still it is always justified. To be sure, the conflict is not on the surface, but must generally be revealed through a painstaking psychoanalysis.

The history of our patient reads as follows:

The father had a powerful personality. She was his favourite daughter, and entertained for him a boundless veneration. At the age of seventeen she for the first time fell in love with a young man. At that time she twice dreamt the same dream, the impression of which never left her in all her later years; she even imputed a mystic significance to it, and often recalled it with religious dread. In the dream she saw a tall, masculine figure with a very beautiful white beard; at this sight she was permeated with a feeling of awe and delight as if she experienced the presence of God Himself. This dream made the deepest impression on her, and she was constrained to think of it again and again. The love affair of that period proved to be one of little warmth, and was soon given up. Later the patient married her present husband. Though she loved her husband she was led continually to compare him with her deceased father; this comparison always proved unfavourable to her husband. Whatever the husband said, intended, or did, was subjected to this standard and always with the same result: "My father would have done all this better and differently." Our patient's life with her husband was not happy, she could neither respect nor love him sufficiently; she was inwardly dissatisfied. She gradually developed a fervent piety, and at the same time violent hysterical symptoms supervened. She began by going into raptures now over this and now over that clergyman; she was looking everywhere for a spiritual friend, and estranged herself more and more from her husband. The mental trouble manifested itself about ten years after marriage. In her diseased state she refused to have anything to do with her husband and child; she imagined herself pregnant by another man. In brief, the resistances against her husband, which hitherto had been laboriously repressed, came out quite openly, and among other things manifested themselves in insults of the gravest kind directed against him.

In this case we see how a neurosis appeared, as it were, at the moment of marriage, _i.e. this neurosis expresses the counter-argument against the husband_. What is the counter-argument? The counter-argument is the father of the patient, for she verified her belief daily that her husband was not the equal of her father. When the patient first fell in love there had appeared a symptom in the form of an extremely impressive dream or vision. She saw the man with the very beautiful white beard. Who was this man? On directing her attention to the beautiful white beard she immediately recognised the phantom. It was of course her father. Thus every time the patient merged into a love affair the picture of her father inopportunely appeared and prevented her from adjusting herself psychologically to her husband.

I purposely chose this case as an illustration because it is simple, obvious, and quite typical of many marriages which are crippled through the neurosis of the wife. The cause of the unhappiness always lies in a too firm attachment to the parents. The infantile relationship has not been given up. We find here one of the most important tasks of pedagogy, namely, the solution of the problem how to free the growing individual from his unconscious attachments to the influences of the infantile milieu, in such a manner that he may retain whatever there is in it that is suitable and reject whatever is unsuitable. To solve this difficult question on the part of the child seems to me impossible at present. We know as yet too little about the child's emotional processes. The first and only real contribution to the literature on this subject has in fact appeared during the present year. It is the analysis of a five-year-old boy published by Freud.

The difficulties on the part of the child are very great. They should not, however, be so great on the part of the parents. In many ways the parents could manage the love of children more carefully, more indulgently, and more intelligently. The sins committed against favourite children by the undue love of the parents could perhaps be avoided through a wider knowledge of the child's mind. For many reasons I find it impossible to say anything of general validity concerning the bringing up of children as it is affected by this problem. We are as yet very far from general prescriptions and rules; indeed we are still in the realm of casuistry. Unfortunately, our knowledge of the finer mental processes in the child is so meagre that we are not yet in any position to say where the greatest trouble lies, whether in the parents, in the child, or in the conception of the milieu. Only psychoanalyses of the kind that Professor Freud has published in the _Jahrbuch_, 1909,[141] will help us out of this difficulty. Such comprehensive and profound observations should act as a strong inducement to all teachers to occupy themselves with Freud's psychology. This psychology offers more values for practical pedagogy than the physiological psychology of the present.

LECTURE III

EXPERIENCES CONCERNING THE PSYCHIC LIFE OF THE CHILD[142]

Ladies and Gentlemen: In our last lecture we saw how important the emotional processes of childhood are for later life. In to-day's lecture I should like to give you some insight into the psychic life of the child through the analysis of a four-year-old girl. It is much to be regretted that there are few among you who have had the opportunity of reading the analysis of "Little Hans" (_Kleiner Hans_), which was published by Freud during the current year.[143] I ought to begin by giving you the content of that analysis, so that you might be in a position to compare Freud's results with those obtained by me, and observe the marked, and astonishing similarity between the unconscious creations of the two children. Without a knowledge of the fundamental analysis of Freud, much in the report of the following case will appear strange, incomprehensible, and perhaps unacceptable to you. I beg you, however, to defer your final judgment and to enter upon the consideration of these new subjects with a kindly disposition, for such pioneer work in virgin soil requires not only the greatest patience on the part of the investigator, but also the unprejudiced attention of his audience. Because the Freudian investigations apparently involve a discussion of the most intimate secrets of sexuality many people have had a feeling of repulsion against them, and have therefore rejected everything as a matter of course without any real disproof. This, unfortunately, has almost always been the fate of Freud's doctrines up to the present. One must not come to the consideration of these matters with the firm conviction that they do not exist, for it may easily happen that for the prejudiced they really do not exist. One should perhaps assume the author's point of view for the moment and investigate these phenomena under his guidance. Only in this way can the correctness or otherwise of our observations be affirmed. We may err, as all human beings err. But the continual holding up to us of our mistakes--perhaps they are worse than mistakes--does not help us to see things more distinctly. We should prefer to see _wherein_ we err. That should be demonstrated to us in our own sphere of experience. Thus far, however, no one has succeeded in meeting us on our own ground, nor in giving us a different conception of the things which we ourselves see. We still have to complain that our critics persist in maintaining complete ignorance about the matters in question. The only reason for this is that they have never taken the trouble to become thoroughly acquainted with our method; had they done this they would have understood us.

The little girl to whose sagacity and intellectual vivacity we are indebted for the following observations is a healthy, lively child of emotional temperament. She has never been seriously ill, and never, even in the realm of the nervous system, had there been observed any symptoms prior to this investigation. In the report which follows we shall have to waive any connected description, for it is made up of anecdotes which treat of one experience out of a whole cycle of similar ones, and which cannot, therefore, be arranged scientifically and systematically, but must rather be described somewhat in the form of a story. We cannot as yet dispense with this manner of description in our analytical psychology, for we are still far from being able in all cases to separate with unerring certainty what is curious from what is typical.

* * * * *

When the little daughter, whom we will call Anna, was about three years old, she once had the following conversation with her grandmother:

Anna: "Grandma, why are your eyes so dim?"

Grandma: "Because I am old."

A.: "But you will become young again."

G.: "No, do you know, I shall become older and older, and then I shall die."

A.: "Well, and then?"

G.: "Then I shall be an angel."

A.: "And then will you be a little baby again?"

The child found here a welcome opportunity for the provisional solution of a problem. For some time before she had been in the habit of asking her mother whether she would ever have a living doll, a little child, a little brother. This naturally included the question as to the origin of children. As such questions appeared only spontaneously and indirectly, the parents attached no significance to them, but responded to them as lightly and in appearance as carelessly as the child seemed to ask them. Thus she once received from her father the pretty story that children are brought by the stork. Anna had already heard somewhere a more serious version, namely, that children, are little angels living in heaven, and are brought from heaven by the stork. This theory seems to have become the starting point for the investigating activity of the little one. From the conversation with the grandmother it could be seen that this theory was capable of wide application, namely, it not only solved in a comforting manner the painful idea of parting and dying, but at the same time also the riddle of the origin of children. Such solutions which kill at least two birds with one stone were formerly tenaciously adhered to in science, and cannot be removed from the mind of the child without a certain amount of shock.

Just as the birth of a little sister was the turning point in the history of "Little Hans," so in this case it was the birth of a brother, which happened when Anna had reached the age of four years. The pregnancy of the mother apparently remained unnoticed; _i.e._ the child never expressed herself on this subject. On the evening before the birth, when labour pains were beginning, the child was in her father's room. He took her on his knee and said, "Tell me, what would you say if you should get a little brother to-night?" "I would kill him" was the prompt answer. The expression "to kill" looks very serious, but in reality it is quite harmless, for "to kill" and "to die" in child language signify only to remove, either in the active or in the passive sense, as has already been pointed out a number of times by Freud. "To kill" as used by the child is a harmless word, especially so when we know that the child uses the word "kill" quite promiscuously for all possible kinds of destruction, removal, demolition, etc. It is, nevertheless, worth while to note this tendency (see the analysis of _Kleiner Hans_, p. 5).

The birth occurred early in the morning, and later the father entered the room where Anna slept. She awoke as he came in. He imparted to her the news of the advent of a little brother, which she took with surprise and strained facial expression. The father took her in his arms and carried her into the lying-in room. She first threw a rapid glance at her somewhat pale mother and then displayed something like a mixture of embarrassment and suspicion as if thinking, "Now what else is going to happen?" (Father's impression.) She displayed hardly any pleasure at the sight of the new arrival, so that the cool reception she gave it caused general disappointment. During the forenoon she kept very noticeably away from her mother; this was the more striking as she was usually much attached to her. But once when her mother was alone she ran into the room, embraced her and said, "Well, aren't you going to die now?" Now a part of the conflict in the child's psyche is revealed to us. Though the stork theory was never really taken seriously, she accepted the fruitful re-birth hypothesis, according to which a person by dying helps a child into life. Accordingly the mother, too, must die; why, then, should the newborn child, against whom she already felt childish jealousy, cause her pleasure? It was for this reason that she had to seek a favourable opportunity of reassuring herself as to whether the mother was to die, or rather was moved to express the hope that she would not die.

With this happy issue, however, the re-birth theory sustained a severe shock. How was it possible now to explain the birth of her little brother and the origin of children in general? There still remained the stork theory which, though never expressly rejected, had been implicitly waived through the assumption of the re-birth theory. The explanations next attempted unfortunately remained hidden from the parents as the child went to stay with her grandmother for a few weeks. From the latter's report the stork theory was often discussed, and was naturally reinforced by the concurrence of those about her.

When Anna returned to her parents, she again, on meeting her mother, evinced the same mixture of embarrassment and suspicion which she had displayed after the birth. The impression, though inexplicable, was quite unmistakable to both parents. Her behaviour towards the baby was very nice. During her absence a nurse had come into the house who, on account of her uniform, made a deep impression on Anna; to be sure, the impression at first was quite unfavourable as she evinced the greatest hostility to her. Thus nothing could induce her to allow herself to be undressed and put to sleep by this nurse. Whence this resistance originated was soon shown in an angry scene near the cradle of the little brother in which Anna shouted at the nurse, "This is not your little brother, he is mine!" Gradually, however, she became reconciled to the nurse, and began to play nurse herself; she had to have her white cap and apron, and "nursed" now her little brother, and now her doll.

In contrast to her former mood she became unmistakably mournful and dreamy. She often sat for a long time under the table singing stories and making rhymes, which were partially incomprehensible but sometimes contained the "nurse" theme ("I am a nurse of the green cross"). Some of the stories, however, distinctly showed a painful feeling striving for expression.

Here we meet with a new and important feature in the little one's life: that is, we meet with reveries, even a tendency towards poetic fancies and melancholic attacks. All of them things which we are wont first to encounter at a later period of life, at a time when the youth or maiden is preparing to sever the family tie and to enter independently upon life, but is still held back by an inward, painful feeling of homesickness for the warmth of the parental hearth. At such a time the youth begins to replace what is lacking with poetic fancies in order to compensate for the deficiency. To approximate the psychology of a four-year-old child to that of the youth approaching puberty will at first sight seem paradoxical; the relationship lies, however, not in the age but rather in the mechanism. The elegiac reveries express the fact that a part of that love which formerly belonged, and should belong, to a real object, is now _introverted_, that is, it is turned inward into the subject and there produces an increased imaginative activity. What is the origin of this _introversion_? Is it a psychological manifestation peculiar to this age, or does it owe its origin to a conflict?

This is explained in the following occurrence. It often happened that Anna was disobedient to her mother, she was insolent, saying, "I am going back to grandma."

Mother: "But I shall be sad when you leave me."

Anna: "Oh, but you have my little brother."

This reaction towards the mother shows what the little one was really aiming at with her threats to go away again; she apparently wished to hear what her mother would say to her proposal, that is, to see what attitude her mother would actually assume to her, whether her little brother had not ousted her altogether from her mother's regard. One must, however, give no credence to this little trickster. For the child could readily see and feel that, despite the existence of the little brother, there was nothing essentially lacking to her in her mother's love. The reproach to which she subjects her mother is therefore unjustified, and to the trained ear this is betrayed by a slightly affected tone. Such an unmistakable tone does not expect to be taken seriously and hence it obtrudes itself more vehemently. The reproach as such cannot be taken seriously by the mother, for it was only the forerunner of other and this time more serious resistances. Not long after the conversation narrated above, the following scene took place:

Mother: "Come, we are going into the garden now!"

Anna: "You are telling lies, take care if you are not telling the truth."

M.: "What are you thinking of? I _am_ telling the truth."

A.: "No, you are not telling the truth."

M.: "You will soon see that I am telling the truth: we are going into the garden now."

A.: "Indeed, is that true? Is that really true? Are you not lying?"

Scenes of this kind were repeated a number of times. This time the tone was more rude and more vehement, and at the same time the accent on the word "lie" betrayed something special which the parents did not understand; indeed, at first they attributed too little significance to the spontaneous utterances of the child. In this they merely did what education usually does in general, _ex officio_. We usually pay little heed to children in every stage of life; in all essential matters, they are treated as not responsible, and in all unessential matters, they are trained with an automatic precision.

Under resistances there always lies a question, a conflict, of which we hear later and on other occasions. But usually one forgets to connect the thing heard with the resistances. Thus, on another occasion, Anna put to her mother the following questions:--

Anna: "I should like to become a nurse when I grow big--why did you not become a nurse?"

Mother: "Why, as I have become a mother I have children to nurse anyway."

A. (Reflecting): "Indeed, shall I be a lady like you, and shall I talk to you then?"

The mother's answer again shows whither the child's question was really directed. Apparently Anna, too, would like to have a child to "nurse" just as the nurse has. Where the nurse got the little child is quite clear. Anna, too, could get a child in the same way if she were big. Why did not the mother become such a nurse, that is to say, how did she get a child if not in the same way as the nurse? Like the nurse, Anna, too, could get a child, but how that fact might be changed in the future or how she might come to resemble her mother in the matter of getting children is not clear to her. From this resulted the thoughtful question, "Indeed, shall I be a lady like you? Shall I be quite different?" The stork theory evidently had come to naught, the dying theory met a similar fate; hence she now thinks one may get a child in the same way, as, for example, the nurse got hers. She, too, could get one in this natural way, but how about the mother who is no nurse and still has children? Looking at the matter from this point of view, Anna asks: "Why did you not become a nurse?" namely, "why have you not got your child in the natural way?" This peculiar indirect manner of questioning is typical, and evidently corresponds with the child's hazy grasp of the problem, unless we assume a certain diplomatic uncertainty prompted by a desire to evade direct questioning. We shall later find an illustration of this possibility. Anna is evidently confronted with the question "Where does the child come from?" The stork did not bring it; mother did not die; nor did mother get it in the same way as the nurse. She has, however, asked this question before and received the information from her father that the stork brings children; this is positively untrue, she can never be deceived on this point. Accordingly, papa and mama and all the others lie. This readily explains her suspicion at the childbirth and her discrediting of her mother. But it also explains another point, namely, the elegiac reveries which we have attributed to a partial introversion. We know now what was the real object from which love was removed and uselessly introverted, namely, it had to be taken _from the parents_ who deceived her and refused to tell her the truth. (What can this be which must not be uttered? What is going on here?) Such were the parenthetic questions of the child, and the answer was: Evidently this must be something to be concealed, perhaps something dangerous. Attempts to make her talk and to draw out the truth by means of artful questions were futile, so _resistance is placed against resistance_, and the introversion of love begins. It is evident that the capacity for sublimation in a four-year-old child is still too slightly developed to be capable of performing more than symptomatic services. The mind, therefore, depends on another compensation, namely, it resorts to one of the relinquished infantile devices for securing love by force, preferably that of crying and calling the mother at night. This had been diligently practised and exhausted during her first year. It now returns, and corresponding to the period of life has become well determined and equipped with recent impressions. It was just after the earthquakes in Messina, and this event was discussed at the table. Anna was extremely interested in everything, she repeatedly asked her grandmother to tell her how the earth shook, how the houses fell in and many people lost their lives. After this she had nocturnal fears, she could not be alone, her mother had to go to her and stay with her; otherwise she feared that an earthquake would happen, that the house would fall and kill her. During the day, too, she was much occupied with such thoughts. While walking with her mother she annoyed her with such questions as, "Will the house be standing when we return home? Are you sure there is no earthquake at home? Will papa still be living?" About every stone lying in the road she asked whether it was from an earthquake. A building in course of erection was a house destroyed by the earthquake, etc. Finally, she began to cry out frequently at night that the earthquake was coming and that she heard the thunder. Each evening she had to be solemnly assured that there was no earthquake coming.

Many means of calming her were tried, thus she was told, for example, that earthquakes only occur where there are volcanoes. But then she had to be satisfied that the mountains surrounding the city were not volcanoes. This reasoning led the child by degrees to a desire for learning, as strong as it was unnatural at her age, which showed itself in a demand that all the geological atlases and text-books should be brought to her from her father's library. For hours she rummaged through these works looking for pictures of volcanoes and earthquakes, and asking questions continually. Here we are confronted by an energetic effort to sublimate the fear into an eager desire for knowledge, which at this age made a decidedly premature exaction. But how many a gifted child suffering in exactly the same way with such problems, is "cosseted" through this untimely sublimation, by no means to its advantage. For, by favouring sublimation at this age one is merely strengthening manifestation of neurosis. The root of the eager desire for knowledge is _fear_, and _fear is the expression of converted libido_; that is, it is the expression of _an introversion which has become neurotic_, which at this age is neither necessary nor favourable for the development of the child.

Whither this eager desire for knowledge was ultimately directed is explained by a series of questions which arose almost daily. "Why is Sophie (a younger sister) younger than I?" "Where was Freddie (the little brother) before? Was he in heaven? What was he doing there? Why did he come down just now, why not before?"

This state of affairs led the father to decide that the mother should tell the child when occasion offered _the truth concerning the origin of the little brother_. This having been done, Anna soon thereafter asked about the stork. Her mother told her that the story of the stork was not true, but that Freddie grew inside his mother like the flowers in a plant. At first he was very little, and then he became bigger and bigger as a plant does. She listened attentively without the slightest surprise, and then asked, "But did he come out all by himself?"

Mother: "Yes."

Anna: "But he cannot walk!"

Sophie: "Then he crawled out."

Anna, overhearing her little sister's answer: "Is there a hole here? (pointing to the breast) or did he come out of the mouth? Who came out of the nurse?" She then interrupted herself and exclaimed, "No, no, the stork brought baby brother down from heaven." She soon left the subject and again wished to see pictures of volcanoes. During the evening following this conversation she was calm. The sudden explanation produced in the child a whole series of ideas, which manifested themselves in certain questions. New unexpected perspectives were opened; she rapidly approached the main problem, namely, the question, "_Where did the baby come out?_" _Was it from a hole in the breast or from the mouth?_ Both suppositions are entirely qualified to form acceptable theories. We even meet with recently married women who still entertain the theory of the hole in the abdominal wall or of the Cæsarean section; this is supposed to betray a very unusual degree of innocence. But as a matter of fact it is not innocence; we are always dealing in such cases with infantile sexual activities, which in later life have brought the _vias naturales_ into ill repute.

It may be asked where the child got the absurd idea that there is a hole in the breast, or that the birth takes place through the mouth. Why did she not select one of the natural openings existing in the pelvis from which things come out daily? The explanation is simple. Very shortly before, our little one had invoked some educational criticism from her mother by a heightened interest in both openings with their remarkable excretions,--an interest not always in accord with the requirements of cleanliness and decorum. Then for the first time she became acquainted with the exceptional laws relating to these bodily regions and, being a sensitive child, she soon learned that there was something here to be tabooed. This region, therefore, must not be referred to. Anna had simply shown herself docile and had so adjusted herself to the cultural demands that she thought (at least spoke) of the simplest things last. The incorrect theories substituted for correct laws sometimes persist for years until brusque explanations come from without. It is, therefore, no wonder that such theories, the forming of and adherence to which are favoured even by parents and educationalists should later become determinants for important symptoms in a neurosis, or of delusions in a psychosis, just as I have shown that in dementia præcox[144] what has existed in the mind for years always remains somewhere, though it may be hidden under compensations of a seemingly different kind.

But even before this question was settled as to where the child really comes out a new problem obtruded itself, viz. the children came out of the mother, but how is it with the nurse? Did some one come out of her too? This question was followed by the remark, "No, no, the stork brought down baby brother from heaven." What is there peculiar about the fact that nobody came out of the nurse? We recall that Anna identified herself with the nurse, and planned to become a nurse later, for she, too, would like to have a child, and she could have one as well as the nurse. But now when it is known that the little brother grew in mama, how is it now?

This disquieting question is averted by a quick return to the stork-angel theory which has never been really believed and which after a few trials is at last definitely abandoned. Two questions, however, remain in the air. The first reads as follows: Where does the child come out? The second, a considerably more difficult one, reads: How does it happen that mama has children while the nurse and the servants do not? All these questions did not at first manifest themselves.

On the day following the explanation, while at dinner, Anna spontaneously remarked: "My brother is in Italy, and has a house of cloth and glass, but it does not tumble down."

In this case, as in the others, it was impossible to ask for an explanation; the resistances were too great and Anna could not be drawn into conversation. This former officious and pretty explanation is very significant. For some three months the two sisters had been building a stereotyped fanciful conception of a "big brother." This brother knows everything, he can do and has everything, he has been and is in every place where the children are not; he is owner of great cows, oxen, horses, dogs; everything is his, etc. Every one has such a "big brother." We must not look far for the origin of this fancy; the model for it is the _father_ who seems to correspond to this conception; he seems to be like a brother to mama. The children, too, have their similar powerful "brother." This brother is very brave; he is at present in dangerous Italy and inhabits an impossible fragile house, and _it does not tumble down_. For the child this realises an important wish: _the earthquake is no longer to be dangerous_; in consequence _the child's fear disappeared and did not return_. The fear of earthquakes now entirely vanished. Instead of calling her father to her bed to conjure away the fear, she now became very affectionate and begged him every night to kiss her.

In order to test this new state of affairs the father showed her pictures illustrating volcanoes and earthquake devastations. Anna remained unaffected, she examined the pictures with indifference, remarking, "These people are dead; I have already seen that quite often." The picture of a volcanic eruption no longer had any attraction for her. Thus all her scientific interest collapsed and vanished as suddenly as it came. During the days following the explanation Anna had quite important matters to occupy herself with; she disseminated her newly acquired knowledge among those about her in the following manner: She began by again circumstantially affirming what had been told her, viz. that Freddy, her younger sister, and herself had grown in her mother, that papa and mama grew in their mothers, and that the servants likewise grew in their respective mothers. By frequent questions she tested the true basis of her knowledge, for her suspicion was aroused in no small measure, so that it needed many confirmations to remove all her uncertainties.

On one occasion the trustworthiness of the theory threatened to go to pieces. About a week after the explanation, the father was taken ill with influenza and had to remain in bed during the forenoon. The children knew nothing about this, and Anna, coming into the parents' bedroom, saw what was quite unusual, namely, that her father was remaining in bed. She again took on a peculiar surprised expression; she remained at a distance from the bed and would not come nearer; she was apparently again reserved and suspicious. But suddenly she burst out with the question, "Why are you in bed; have you a plant in your inside too?"

The father naturally had to laugh. He calmed her, however, by assuring her that children never grow in the father, that only women can have children, and not men; thereupon the child again became friendly. But though the surface was calm the problems continued to work in the dark. A few days later, while at dinner, Anna related the following dream: "I dreamed last night of Noah's ark." The father then asked her what she had dreamed about it, but Anna's answer was sheer nonsense. In such cases it is necessary only to wait and pay attention. A few minutes later she said to her mother, "I dreamed last night about Noah's ark, and there were a lot of little animals in it." Another pause. She then began her story for the third time. "_I dreamed last night about Noah's ark, and there were a lot of baby animals in it, and underneath there was a lid and that opened and all the baby animals fell out._"

The children really had a Noah's ark, but its opening, a lid, was on the roof and not underneath. In this way she delicately intimated that the story of the birth from mouth or breast is incorrect, and that she had some inkling where the children came out.

A few weeks then passed without any noteworthy occurrences. On one occasion she related the following dream: "_I dreamed about papa and mama; they had been sitting late in the study, and we children were there too._" On the face of this we find a wish of the children to be allowed to sit up as long as the parents. This wish is here realised, or rather it is utilised to express a more important wish, namely, _to be present in the evening when the parents are alone_; of course, quite innocently, it was in the _study_ where she has seen all the interesting books, and where she has satiated her thirst for knowledge; _i.e._ she was really seeking an answer to the burning question, whence the little brother came. If the children were there they would find out.[145] A few days later Anna had a terrifying dream from which she awoke crying, "The earthquake is coming, the house has begun to shake." Her mother went to her and calmed her by saying that the earthquake was not coming, that everything was quiet, and that everybody was asleep. Whereupon Anna said: "_I would like to see the spring, when all the little flowers are coming out and the whole lawn is full of flowers; I would like to see Freddy, he has such a dear little face. What is papa doing? What is he saying?_" The mother said, "He is asleep, and isn't saying anything now." Little Anna then remarked with a sarcastic smile: "_He will surely be sick again to-morrow._"

This text should be read backwards. The last sentence was not meant seriously, as it was uttered in a mocking tone. When the father was sick the last time, Anna suspected that he had a "plant in his inside." The sarcasm signifies: "To-morrow papa is surely going to have a child." But this also is not meant seriously. Papa is not going to have a child; mama alone has children; perhaps she will have another child to-morrow; but where from? "What does papa do?" The formulation of the difficult problem seems here to come to the surface. It reads: What does papa really do if he does not bear children? The little one is very anxious to have a solution for all these problems; she would like to know how Freddy came into the world, she would like to see how the little flowers come out of the earth in the spring, and these wishes are hidden behind the fear of earthquakes.

After this intermezzo Anna slept quietly until morning. In the morning her mother asked her what she had dreamed. She did not at first recall anything, and then said: "_I dreamed that I could make the summer, and then some one threw a Punch_[146] _down into the closet._"

This peculiar dream apparently has two different scenes which are separated by "then." The second part draws its material from the recent wish to possess a Punch, that is, to have a boy doll just as mama has a little boy. Some one threw Punch down into the closet; one often lets other things fall down into the water closet. _It is just like this that the children, too, come out._ We have here an analogy to the "Lumpf-theory" of little Hans.[147] Whenever several scenes are found in one dream, each scene ordinarily represents a particular variation of the complex elaboration. Here accordingly the first part is only a variation of the theme found in the second part. The meaning of "to see the spring" or "to see the little flowers come out" we have already remarked. Anna now dreams that she _can make the summer_, that is she can bring it about that the little flowers shall come out. She herself can make a little child, and the second part of the dream represents this just as one makes a motion in the w.c. Here we find the egoistic wish which is behind the seemingly objective interest of the previous night's conversation.

A few days later the mother was visited by a lady who expected soon to become a mother. The children seemed to take no interest in the matter, but the next day they amused themselves with the following play which was directed by the elder girl; they took all the newspapers they could find in their father's paper-basket and stuffed them under their clothes, so that the imitation was unmistakable. During the night little Anna had another dream: "_I dreamed about a woman in the city; she had a very big stomach._" The chief actor in a dream is always the dreamer himself under some definite aspect; thus the childish play of the day before is fully solved.

Not long after, Anna surprised her mother with the following performance: She stuck her doll under her clothes, then pulled it out slowly head downwards, and at the same time remarked, "_Look, the baby is coming out, now it is all out._" By this means Anna tells her mother, "You see, thus I apprehend the problem of birth. What do you think of it? Is that right?" The play is really meant to be a question, for, as we shall see later, this idea had to be officially confirmed. That rumination on this problem by no means ended here, is shown by the occasional ideas conceived during the following weeks. Thus she repeated the same play a few days later with her Teddy Bear, who stands in the relation of an especially beloved doll. One day, looking at a rose, she said to her grandmother, "See, the rose is getting a baby." As her grandmother did not quite understand her, she pointed to the enlarged calyx and said, "Don't you see it is quite fat here?"

Anna once quarrelled with her younger sister, and the latter exclaimed angrily, "I will kill you." Whereupon Anna answered, "When I am dead you will be all alone; then you will have to pray to God for a live baby." But the scene soon changed: Anna was the angel, and the younger sister was forced to kneel before her and pray to her that she should present to her a living child. In this way Anna became the child-dispensing mother.

Oranges were once served at table. Anna impatiently asked for one and said, "_I am going to take an orange and swallow it all down into my stomach, and then I shall get a baby._" Who does not think here of fairy tales in which childless women become pregnant by swallowing fruit, fish, and similar things?[148] In this way Anna sought to solve the problem _how the children actually come into the mother_. She thus enters into a formulation which hitherto had not been defined with so much clearness. The solution follows in the form of an _analogy_, which is quite characteristic of the archaic thinking of the child. (In the adult, too, there is a kind of thinking by metaphor which belongs to the stratum lying immediately below consciousness; dreams bring the analogies to the surface; the same may be observed also in dementia præcox.) In German as well as in numerous foreign fairy tales one frequently finds such characteristic childish comparisons. Fairy tales seem to be the myths of the child, and therefore contain among other things the mythology which the child weaves concerning the sexual processes. The spell of the fairy tale poetry, which is felt even by the adult, is explained by the fact that some of the old theories are still alive in our unconscious minds. We experience a strange, peculiar and familiar feeling when a conception of our remotest youth is again stimulated. Without becoming conscious it merely sends into consciousness a feeble copy of its original emotional strength.

The problem how the child gets into the mother was difficult to solve. As the only way of taking things into the body is through the mouth, it could evidently be assumed that the mother ate something like a fruit, which then grows inside her. But then comes another difficulty, namely, it is clear enough what the mother produces, but it is not yet clear what the father is good for.

What does the father do? Anna now occupied herself exclusively with this question. One morning she ran into the parents' bedroom while they were dressing, she jumped into her father's bed, lay face downwards, kicked with her legs and called at the same time, "_Look! does papa do that?_" The analogy to the horse of "little Hans" which raised such disturbance with its legs, is very surprising.

With this last performance the problem seemed to be at rest entirely, at least the parents found no opportunity to make any pertinent observations. That the problem should come to a standstill just here is not at all surprising, for this is really its most difficult part. Moreover, we know from experience that not many children go beyond these limits during the period of childhood. The problem is almost too difficult for the childish mind, which still lacks much knowledge necessary to its solution.

This standstill lasted about five months, during which no phobias or other signs of complex-elaboration appeared. After this lapse of time there appeared premonitory signs of some new incidents. Anna's family lived at that time in the country near a lake where the mother and children could bathe. As Anna was afraid to wade farther into the water than knee-deep, her father once put her into the water, which led to an outburst of crying. In the evening while going to bed Anna asked her mother, "Do you not believe that father wanted to drown me?" A few days later there was another outburst of crying. She continued to stand in the gardener's way until he finally placed her in a newly dug hole. Anna cried bitterly, and afterwards maintained that the gardener wished to bury her. Finally she awoke during the night with fearful crying. Her mother went to her in the adjoining room and quieted her. She had dreamed that "a train passed and then fell in a heap."