Chapter XVIII: The Psychogenesis of Multiple Personality—the Case of B. 545 (1)

C. A.

XIX. (The Same Continued)—THE B PERSONALITY 593

XX. (The Same Continued)—THE A PERSONALITY 614

SUMMARY AND GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 634

INDEX 645

THE UNCONSCIOUS

THE UNCONSCIOUS:

THE FUNDAMENTALS OF HUMAN PERSONALITY,
NORMAL AND ABNORMAL

LECTURE I
THEORY OF MEMORY AS A PROCESS

Gentlemen:

The subject which I have chosen for our first lecture is the theory of the mechanism of memory. I begin with the study of this problem because a knowledge of the facts which underlie the theory of memory is a necessary introduction to an 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._

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Footnote 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.

Footnote 2:

“The Birth of the Dream,” _The Independent_, Oct. 30, 1913.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.=—It is almost common knowledge that when a person is hypnotized—whether lightly or deeply—he may be able to remember once well-known events of his conscious life which he has totally forgotten in the full waking state. It is not so generally known that he may also be able to recall conscious events of which he was never consciously aware, that is to say, experiences which were entirely subconscious. The same is true, of course, of forgotten experiences which originally had entered only the margin of the content of consciousness and of which he was dimly aware. Among the experiences thus recalled may be perceptions of minute details of the environment which escape the attentive notice of the individual, or they may be thoughts which were in the background of the mind and, therefore, never in the full light of attention. You must not fall into the common error of believing every hypnotized person can do this, or that any person can do it in any state of hypnosis. There are various “degrees” or states of hypnosis representing different conditions of dissociation and synthesis. One person may successively be put into several different states; many persons can be put into only one, but the degree of dissociation and capacity for synthesis in each state and in every person varies very much, and, indeed, according to the technical devices employed. Each state is apt to exhibit different systems of memories, that is, to synthesize (recall) past conserved experiences in a different degree. What cannot be recalled in one state may be in another. We may say as a general principle that _theoretically_ any experience that has been conserved can be recalled in some state, and, conversely, there is theoretically some state in which any conserved experience can be recalled. Practically, of course, we can never induce a state which synthesizes all conserved experiences, nor always one in which any given experience is synthesized. I shall later, in connection with particular types of conscious states, give examples of hypnotic memories showing conservation of such experiences as I have just mentioned. The point you will not lose sight of is that we are concerned with hypnotic phenomena only so far as they may be evidence of the conservation of forgotten experiences.

There is a class of hypnotic memory phenomena which acquire additional importance because of the bearing they have upon the _psycho-genesis_ of certain pathological conditions. They show the conservation of the details of an episode in their original chronological order with an exactness that is beyond the powers of voluntary memory to reproduce. These phenomena consist of the realistic reproduction of certain emotional episodes which as a whole may or may not be forgotten. The reproduction is realistic in the sense that the episodes are acted over again by the individual as if once more he were actually experiencing them. Apparently every detail is reproduced, including the emotion with its facial expressions and its other physiological manifestations, and pathological disturbances like pain, paralysis, anesthesia, movements, etc. I will cite the following three examples:

M——l, a Russian, living in this country, suffers from psycholeptic attacks dating from an episode which occurred seven years previously and _which he has completely forgotten_. At that time he was living in Russia. It happened that after returning from a ball he was sent back late at night by his employer, a woman, to look for a ring which she had lost in the ballroom. His way led over a lonely road by a graveyard. As he was passing this place he heard footsteps behind him and became frightened. Overcome with terror he fell, partially unconscious, and his whole right side became affected with spasms and paralysis. He was picked up in this condition and taken to a hospital. Each year since that time he has had recurring attacks of spasms and paralysis.[14]

In _hypnosis_ he remembers and relates a dream. This dream is one which recurs periodically but is _forgotten after waking from sleep_. This is the dream: He is back in his native land; it is the night of the ball; he sees his employer with outstretched hand commanding him to go search for the ring. Once more he makes his way along the lonely road; he hears footsteps; he becomes frightened, falls, and then awakes, with entire oblivion for the dream, to find his right side paralyzed and in spasms.

The following experiment is now made. By suggestion in hypnosis he is made to believe that he is fifteen years of age. As a consequence in his hypnotic dream he is once more living in Russia before he had learned English. It is now found that he has spontaneously lost all knowledge of the English language and can speak only Russian. He is told it is the night of the ball and, as in a dream, he is carried successively through the different events of that night. Finally he returns in search of the ring, passes again over the lonely road, hears the footsteps and becomes frightened. At this point his face is suddenly contorted with an expression of fright, the whole right side becomes paralyzed and anesthetic, and the muscles of face, arm, and leg affected with clonic spasms. At the same time he moans with pain which he experiences in his side, which he hurt when he fell. Though consciousness is confused he answers questions and describes the pain which he feels. On being awakened all passes off.

Mrs. W. on her return to Boston after an absence in Europe happened to pass by a certain house on her way to her hotel; the house (a private hospital) was one with which she had very distressing associations. On leaving the steamer she took a street car which she left a block distant from the hotel. She walked this distance and as she passed the house she was seized with a sudden attack of fear, dizziness, palpitation, etc. Although it is beside the point I may say that she had not noticed the locality and did not consciously recognize the house until the attack developed. The attack was, therefore, induced by a subconscious perception.[15] She recalls the incident and describes the attack, remembers that it occurred at this particular spot, but without further detail.

Now in hypnosis she is taken back to the day of her arrival on the steamship. In imagination, as in a sort of dream, she is living over again that day; she disembarks from the ship, enters the street car in which she rides a certain distance; she leaves the car at the point nearest her destination and proceeds to walk the remainder of the distance; suddenly her face exhibits the liveliest emotion; she becomes strongly agitated and her respiration is short and quick; her head and eyes turn toward the left and upward, as if in search of a cause, and she exclaims, “Yes, that’s it, that’s it,” as she recognizes in imagination the house which had been the scene of her previous distress. Then the attack subsides as she passes by, continuing her way toward her hotel.

Mrs. E. B. suffers from traumatic hysteria as the result of a slight but emotional accident—a fall—when alighting from a railway train. The accident resulted in a sprained shoulder and neuritis of the arm. She fully remembers the accident and describes it as any one might.

When put into hypnosis, however, the memory assumes a different character. She is taken back in imagination to the scene of the accident. Once more the train is entering the station; she leaves the car, steps from the platform upon a truck; then, unawares, steps off the truck and falls to the ground. As she falls her face suddenly becomes distorted with fear; tears stream down her cheeks, which become suffused; her heart palpitates; she suffers again acute pain in her arm, and so on. Her physical and mental anguish is painful to look upon. Though I try to persuade her that she is not hurt and that the accident is a delusion my effort is not very successful.

In this experiment, as in the others, there is substantially a reproduction in all its details of the content of consciousness which obtained at the time of the accident, and also of the emotion and its physiological manifestations—all were faithfully conserved. Further, each event follows in the same chronological sequence as in the original experience.

But in these observations the reproduction differs somewhat from that of ordinary memory. It is in the form of a dream, hypnotic or normal, and the subject goes back to the time of the experience, which he thinks is the present, and actually lives over again the original episode. Unlike the conditions of ordinary memory the whole content of his consciousness is practically limited to that which originally was present, all else, the present and the intervening past, being dissociated and excluded. The original psychological processes and their psycho-physiological accompaniments (pain, paralysis, anesthesia, spasms, etc.) repeat themselves as if the present were the past. Plainly, for such a reproduction, the original episode must have left conserved dispositions of some kind which when excited were capable of reënacting the episode in all its psycho-physiological details. From a consideration of such phenomena it is easy to understand how certain psycho-neuroses may be properly regarded as memories of certain past experiences. The experiences are conserved and under certain conditions reproduced from time to time.