‘THE “UNCANNY”’ (1919) Some of Freud’s most interesting speculations on literature emerge when he avoids the two previously discussed psychoanalytic approaches to art – treating invented characters as real people with real pasts that can be analysed, or assuming that one can understand a work of art fully by analysing the author’s childhood sexual fantasies, psychic motivations, etc. In his article ‘The “Uncanny”’ he explores a single concept as it threads its way through literature and life. ‘The “Uncanny”’ mixes together insightful speculation and occasionally heavy-handed readings. In this article Freud devotes himself to uncovering the meanings of an aesthetic concept – the feeling of the ‘uncanny’. He discusses the term uncanny (in German, unheimlich) as a specific form of frightening phenomenon that we find in literature and in life. When we encounter the uncanny we are left feeling spooked and, perhaps, uncertain of the exact source of that fear. What strikes people as frightening, however, varies from person to person. In the article, Freud attempts to find a common thread amongst the differing forms of the uncanny. He traces the changing meanings of unheimlich and he also analyses a number of literary works that he considers uncanny. He comes to the following conclusion about what unites all these experiences: ‘the uncanny is that class of the frightening which leads back to what is known of old and long familiar’ (Freud 1919:340). Freud arrived at this conclusion originally by trawling through a German dictionary to discover the history of the word heimlich. Heimlich’s original meaning was ‘of the house’, familiar, intimate, or friendly. As Freud traces its origins he discovers it has come to mean something else entirely, namely secret or concealed – the opposite of familiar: ‘Thus heimlich is a word the meaning of which develops in the direction of ambivalence, until it finally coincides with its opposite, unheimlich’ (Freud 1919:347). Why, Freud asks, is there this doubling of contradictory meanings? Freud attempts to answer this question by analysing various examples of the uncanny, spending a large section of the article on the German author E.T.A. Hoffmann’s strange story ‘The Sandman’. Without going into all the details of Freud’s complicated reading, I will emphasise the one he also chooses to stress. Freud interprets a particular scene involving a little boy’s fears of losing his eyes as necessarily symbolising castration. This is one of those moments where Freud appears to be reading like a crude Freudian, using a heavy symbolic and sexual interpretation to uncover the one true (sexual) meaning of the story. (See Chapter 2 for more on Freudian sexual symbolism and its ‘crude’ uses.) In fact the alternative sources of uncanny feeling that Freud discusses in other parts of the article are rich and wide-ranging. We might suspect that death would be a more natural source of the uncanny then sexuality, and Freud initially appears to agree: ‘Many people experience the feeling in the highest degree in relation to death and dead bodies, to the return of the dead, and to spirits and ghosts’ (Freud 1919:364). The sense of the uncanny is also very much connected with fears of doubles, especially the fear of oneself having a double. Freud claims that this too relates to primitive beliefs about death. He writes, referring to another analyst Otto Rank’s 1914 book on The Double, that the double in ancient religion or folklore was ‘originally an insurance against the destruction of the ego, an “energetic denial of the power of death”, as Rank says; and probably the “immortal” soul was the first “double” of the body’ (Freud 1919:356). Images of the dead were, according to Freud, originally meant to preserve a continuity between life and death, suggesting that the soul would live on. However, at some point the double reversed itself and became, instead of protection against death, a forewarning of its imminent approach.
The uncanny for Freud, and the ambivalent nature of its two meanings – familiar and unfamiliar – is inseparable from the repeated return of the repressed. A familiar word, if it is repeated too often, can begin to seem unfamiliar; ancient beliefs which were meant to comfort humans for the transience of life can turn into fear of the dead. One of Freud’s examples shows brilliantly how he ties this fear of the dead back into the special hobby-horse psychoanalysis, the fears and anxieties surrounding sexuality: It often happens that neurotic men declare that they feel there is something uncanny about the female genital organs. This unheimlich place, however, is the entrance to the former Heim [home] of all human beings, to the place where each one of us lived once upon a time and in the beginning … whenever a man dreams of a place or country and says to himself, while he is still dreaming: ‘this place is familiar to me, I’ve been here before,’ we may interpret the place as being his mother’s genitals or her body. (Freud 1919:368) Freud’s readings such as this show off his creative flair; they can also make him sound like a onenote wonder. Of course that note is sex – the source of all life, but paradoxically, here, also a reminder of death. Home is the womb, and the womb is where we are before our lives as individuals begin; associated with the death of the self, this heimlich/ unheimlich doubling of ambivalent meanings around the female genitalia returns us, in fantasy, to a former safe, protected but simultaneously deathly and frightening pre-natal state. Freud’s theories suggested that children who seek information about their own origin – the question ‘Where do babies come from?’–are also forced to confront a potentially frightening fact: the idea that they once did not exist, that before they were themselves human beings, they came originally from the powerful ‘nowhere’ of their mother’s body. (See Chapter 3 for the relation of Oedipus to these questions.) The womb, the earliest home of us all, may logically also seem like a terrifying, deathlike place which pre-dates our own existence. However, along with the return to the womb, Freud is also concerned with the distinctly literary nature of uncanny effects, situating uncanny feelings on the border between fiction and reality. He writes: ‘an uncanny effect is often and easily produced when the distinction between imagination and reality is effaced, as when something that we have hitherto regarded as imaginary appears before us in reality, or when a symbol takes over the full function of the thing it symbolizes’ (Freud 1919:367). This indicates another way in which psychoanalytic criticism is very much bound up with the literary. Psychoanalysis is centrally concerned with the difficulty of maintaining the distinction between imagination and reality. When the superficially fantastical content of our dreams tells us something real about our past and our present; when our earliest fantasised relations with our parents affect how we see ourselves and our lives; then it is clear that this aspect of the uncanny may be crucial to understanding Freud’s central contentions. If psychoanalysis is centrally concerned with how or if we can negotiate the line between imagination and reality, then it is a very literary endeavour indeed. Freud exercises his considerable talents as a literary critic in the course of ‘The “Uncanny”’ and finds himself, once again, in the familiar realm of productive contradiction. On the one hand, he suggests that uncanny feelings may be related to the ways in which we can never entirely separate the workings of our mind and our ‘reality’.He is fascinated by the ways in which the presumably literary realm – the world of the imagination as explored by artists, writers, and all of us in fantasy – impinges upon, affects and shapes our ‘real’ lives. These speculations of Freud’s stress the inevitability of further interpretation; the uncanny cannot be securely pinned down as