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Freud's Story of the Child's Game of <i>'Fort'-'Da'</i></font><br><br>
</b> <font size="+2"> At this point I propose to leave the dark and dismal subject<br>
of the traumatic neurosis and pass on to examine the method<br>
of working employed by the mental apparatus in one of its<br>
earliest normal activities‹I mean in children's play.<br><br>
The different theories of children's play have only recently<br>
been summarized and discussed from the psychoanalytic point<br>
of view by Pfeifer (1919), to whose paper I would refer my<br>
readers. These theories attempt to discover the motives which<br>
lead children to play, but they fail to bring into the foreground<br>
the economic motive, the consideration of the yield of pleasure<br>
involved. Without wishing to include the whole field covered<br>
by these phenomena, I have been able, through a chance opportunity which presented itself, to throw some light upon the<br>
first game played by a little boy of one and a half and invented<br>
by himself. It was more than a mere fleeting observation, for I<br>
lived under the same roof as the child and his parents for some<br>
weeks, and it was some time before I discovered the meaning<br>
of the puzzling activity which he constantly repeated.<br><br>
The child was not at all precocious in his intellectual de<br>
velopment. At the age of one and a half he could say only a few<br>
comprehensible words; he could also make use of a number of<br>
sounds which expressed a meaning intelligible to those around<br>
him. He was, however, on good terms with his parents and their<br>
one servant-girl, and tributes were paid to his being a 'good<br>
boy'. He did not disturb his parents at night, he conscientiously<br>
obeyed orders not to touch certain things or go into certain<br>
rooms, and above all he never cried when his mother left him<br>
for a few hours. At the same time, he was greatly attached to<br>
his mother, who had not only fed him herself but had also<br>
looked after him without any outside help. This good little boy,<br>
however, had an occasional disturbing habit of taking any small<br>
objects he could get hold of and throwing them away from him<br>
into a corner, under the bed, and so on, so that hunting for his<br>
toys and picking them up was often quite a business. As he did<br>
this he gave vent to a loud, long-drawn-out 'o-o-o-o', accompanied by an expression of interest and satisfaction. His mother<br>
and the writer of the present account were agreed in thinking<br>
that this was not a mere interjection but represented the German word 'fort' ['gone']. I eventually realized that it was a<br>
game and that the only use he made of any of his toys was to<br>
play 'gone' with them. One day I made an observation which<br>
confirmed my view. The child had a wooden reel with a piece<br>
of string tied round it. It never occurred to him to pull it along<br>
the floor behind him, for instance, and play at its being a carriage. What he did was to hold the reel by the string and very<br>
skilfully throw it over the edge of his curtained cot, so that it<br>
disappeared into it, at the same time uttering his expressive<br>
'o-o-o-o'. He then pulled the reel out of the cot again by the<br>
string and hailed its reappearance with a joyful 'da' ['there'].<br>
This, then, was the complete game‹disappearance and return.<br>
As a rule one only witnessed its first act, which was repeated<br>
untiringly as a game in itself, though there is no doubt that the<br>
greater pleasure was attached to the second act.<sup>l</sup><br><br>
The interpretation of the game then became obvious. It<br>
was related to the child's great cultural achievement‹the instinctual renunciation (that is, the renunciation of instinctual<br>
satisfaction) which he had made in allowing his mother to go<br>
away without protesting He compensated himself for this, as it<br>
were, by himself staging the disappearance and return of the<br>
objects within his reach. It is of course a matter of indifference<br>
from the point of view of judging the effective nature of the<br>
game whether the child invented it himself or took it over on<br>
ome outside suggestion. Our interest is directed to another<br>
point. The child cannot possibly have felt his mother's departure as something agreeable or even indifferent. How then does<br>
his repetition of this distressing experience as a game fit in with<br>
the pleasure principle? It may perhaps be said in reply that her<br>
departure had to be enacted as a necessary preliminary to her joyful return, and that it was in the latter that lay the true purpose<br><br>
<font size="-1"><sup>1</sup> A further observation subsequently confirmed th interpretation<br>
fully. One day the child's mother had been away for several hours and<br>
on her return was met with the words 'Baby o-o~o!' which was at first<br>
incomprehensible. It soon turned out, however, that during this long<br>
period of solitude the child had found a method of making himself<br>
appear. He had discovered his reflection in a full- length mirror which<br>
did not quite reach to the ground, so that by crouching down he could<br>
make his mirror-image 'gone'. [A further reference to this gtory will be<br>
found in <i>The Interpretatron of Dreams,</i> Standard Ed, 5, 461n.]</font><br><br>
of the game. But against this must be counted the observed<br>
fact that the first act, that of departure, was staged as a game<br>
in itself and far more frequently than the episode in its entirety,<br>
with its pleasurable ending.<br><br>
No certain decision can be reached from the analysis of a<br>
single case like this. On an unprejudiced view one gets an impression that the child turned his experience into a game from<br>
another motive. At the outset he was in a passive situation‹he<br>
was overpowered by the experience; but, by repeating it,<br>
unpleasurable though it was, as a game, he took on an active<br>
part. These efforts might be put down to an instinct for mastery<br>
that was acting independently of whether the memory was<br>
in itself pleasurable or not. But still another interpretation may<br>
be attempted. Throwing away the object so that it was 'gone'<br>
might satisfy an impulse of the child's, which was suppressed in<br>
his actual life, to revenge himself on his mother for going away<br>
from him. In that case it would have a defiant meaning: 'All<br>
right, then, go away! I don't need you. I'm sending you away<br>
myself.' A year later, the same boy whom I had observed at his<br>
first game used to take a toy, if he was angry with it, and throw<br>
it on the floor, exclaiming: 'Go to the fwont!' He had heard at<br>
that time that his absent father was 'at the front', and was far<br>
from regretting his absence; on the contrary he made it quite<br>
clear that he had no desire to be disturbed in his sole possession<br>
of his mother.l We know of other children who liked to express<br>
similar hostile impulses by throwing away objects instead of<br>
persons.' We are therefore left in doubt as to whether the<br>
impulse to work over in the mind some overpowering experience so as to make oneself master of it can find expression as a<br>
primary event, and independently of the pleasure principle.<br>
For, in the case we have been discussing, the child may, after<br>
all, only have been able to repeat his unpleasant experience in<br>
play because the repetition carried along with it a yield of<br>
pleasure of another sort but none the less a direct one.<br><br>
Nor shall we be helped in our hesitation between these two<br>
views by further considering children's play. It is clear that in</font><p><font size="+2"><br>
<br>
<font size="-1"><sup>1</sup> When this child was five and three-quarters, his mother died. Now<br>
that she was really 'gone' ('o-o-o'), the little boy showed no signs of<br>
grief. It is true that in the interval a second child had been born and had<br>
roused him to violent jealousy.</font><br><br>
their play children repeat everything that has made a great<br>
impression on them in real life, and that in doing so they<br>
abreact the strength of the impression and, as one might put<br>
it, make themselves master of the situaffon. But on the other<br>
hand it is obvious that all their play is influenced by a wish<br>
hat dominates them the whole time‹the wish to be grown-up<br>
and to be able to do what grown-up people do. It can also be<br>
observed that the unpleasurable nature of an experience does<br>
not always unsuit it for play. If the doctor looks down a child's<br>
throat or carries out some small operation on him, we may be<br>
quite sure that these frightening experiences will be the subject<br>
of the next game; but we must not in that connection overlook<br>
the fact that there is a yield of pleasure from another source.<br>
As the child passes over from the passivity of the experience to<br>
the activity of the game, he hands on the disagreeable experience to one of his playmates and in this way revenges himself<br>
on a substitute.<br><br>
Nevertheless, it emerges from this discussion that there is no<br>
need to assume the existence of a special imitative instinct in<br>
order to provide a motive for play. Finally, a reminder may be<br>
added that the artistic play and artistic imitation carried out<br>
by adults, which, unlike children's, are aimed at an audience,<br>
do not spare the spectators (for instance, in tragedy) the most<br>
painful experiences and can yet be felt by them as highly enjoyable. This is convincing proof that, even under the dominance<br>
of the pleasure principle, there are ways and means enough of<br>
making what is in itself unpleasurable into a subject to be<br>
recollected and worked over in the mind. The consideration of<br>
these cases and situations, which have a yield of pleasure as<br>
their final outcome, should be undertaken by some system of<br>
aesthetics with an economic approach to its subiect-matter<br>
They are of no use for our purposes, since they presuppose the<br>
existence and dominance of the pleasure principle; they give<br>
no evidence of the operation of tendencies beyond the pleasure<br>
principle, that is, of tendencies more primitive than it and independent of it.</font> <br>
<br>
[pp. 14-17 from <i>Beyond The Pleasure Principle</i>, Volume
18, Standard Edition.]
</b> <font size="+2"> At this point I propose to leave the dark and dismal subject<br>
of the traumatic neurosis and pass on to examine the method<br>
of working employed by the mental apparatus in one of its<br>
earliest normal activities‹I mean in children's play.<br><br>
The different theories of children's play have only recently<br>
been summarized and discussed from the psychoanalytic point<br>
of view by Pfeifer (1919), to whose paper I would refer my<br>
readers. These theories attempt to discover the motives which<br>
lead children to play, but they fail to bring into the foreground<br>
the economic motive, the consideration of the yield of pleasure<br>
involved. Without wishing to include the whole field covered<br>
by these phenomena, I have been able, through a chance opportunity which presented itself, to throw some light upon the<br>
first game played by a little boy of one and a half and invented<br>
by himself. It was more than a mere fleeting observation, for I<br>
lived under the same roof as the child and his parents for some<br>
weeks, and it was some time before I discovered the meaning<br>
of the puzzling activity which he constantly repeated.<br><br>
The child was not at all precocious in his intellectual de<br>
velopment. At the age of one and a half he could say only a few<br>
comprehensible words; he could also make use of a number of<br>
sounds which expressed a meaning intelligible to those around<br>
him. He was, however, on good terms with his parents and their<br>
one servant-girl, and tributes were paid to his being a 'good<br>
boy'. He did not disturb his parents at night, he conscientiously<br>
obeyed orders not to touch certain things or go into certain<br>
rooms, and above all he never cried when his mother left him<br>
for a few hours. At the same time, he was greatly attached to<br>
his mother, who had not only fed him herself but had also<br>
looked after him without any outside help. This good little boy,<br>
however, had an occasional disturbing habit of taking any small<br>
objects he could get hold of and throwing them away from him<br>
into a corner, under the bed, and so on, so that hunting for his<br>
toys and picking them up was often quite a business. As he did<br>
this he gave vent to a loud, long-drawn-out 'o-o-o-o', accompanied by an expression of interest and satisfaction. His mother<br>
and the writer of the present account were agreed in thinking<br>
that this was not a mere interjection but represented the German word 'fort' ['gone']. I eventually realized that it was a<br>
game and that the only use he made of any of his toys was to<br>
play 'gone' with them. One day I made an observation which<br>
confirmed my view. The child had a wooden reel with a piece<br>
of string tied round it. It never occurred to him to pull it along<br>
the floor behind him, for instance, and play at its being a carriage. What he did was to hold the reel by the string and very<br>
skilfully throw it over the edge of his curtained cot, so that it<br>
disappeared into it, at the same time uttering his expressive<br>
'o-o-o-o'. He then pulled the reel out of the cot again by the<br>
string and hailed its reappearance with a joyful 'da' ['there'].<br>
This, then, was the complete game‹disappearance and return.<br>
As a rule one only witnessed its first act, which was repeated<br>
untiringly as a game in itself, though there is no doubt that the<br>
greater pleasure was attached to the second act.<sup>l</sup><br><br>
The interpretation of the game then became obvious. It<br>
was related to the child's great cultural achievement‹the instinctual renunciation (that is, the renunciation of instinctual<br>
satisfaction) which he had made in allowing his mother to go<br>
away without protesting He compensated himself for this, as it<br>
were, by himself staging the disappearance and return of the<br>
objects within his reach. It is of course a matter of indifference<br>
from the point of view of judging the effective nature of the<br>
game whether the child invented it himself or took it over on<br>
ome outside suggestion. Our interest is directed to another<br>
point. The child cannot possibly have felt his mother's departure as something agreeable or even indifferent. How then does<br>
his repetition of this distressing experience as a game fit in with<br>
the pleasure principle? It may perhaps be said in reply that her<br>
departure had to be enacted as a necessary preliminary to her joyful return, and that it was in the latter that lay the true purpose<br><br>
<font size="-1"><sup>1</sup> A further observation subsequently confirmed th interpretation<br>
fully. One day the child's mother had been away for several hours and<br>
on her return was met with the words 'Baby o-o~o!' which was at first<br>
incomprehensible. It soon turned out, however, that during this long<br>
period of solitude the child had found a method of making himself<br>
appear. He had discovered his reflection in a full- length mirror which<br>
did not quite reach to the ground, so that by crouching down he could<br>
make his mirror-image 'gone'. [A further reference to this gtory will be<br>
found in <i>The Interpretatron of Dreams,</i> Standard Ed, 5, 461n.]</font><br><br>
of the game. But against this must be counted the observed<br>
fact that the first act, that of departure, was staged as a game<br>
in itself and far more frequently than the episode in its entirety,<br>
with its pleasurable ending.<br><br>
No certain decision can be reached from the analysis of a<br>
single case like this. On an unprejudiced view one gets an impression that the child turned his experience into a game from<br>
another motive. At the outset he was in a passive situation‹he<br>
was overpowered by the experience; but, by repeating it,<br>
unpleasurable though it was, as a game, he took on an active<br>
part. These efforts might be put down to an instinct for mastery<br>
that was acting independently of whether the memory was<br>
in itself pleasurable or not. But still another interpretation may<br>
be attempted. Throwing away the object so that it was 'gone'<br>
might satisfy an impulse of the child's, which was suppressed in<br>
his actual life, to revenge himself on his mother for going away<br>
from him. In that case it would have a defiant meaning: 'All<br>
right, then, go away! I don't need you. I'm sending you away<br>
myself.' A year later, the same boy whom I had observed at his<br>
first game used to take a toy, if he was angry with it, and throw<br>
it on the floor, exclaiming: 'Go to the fwont!' He had heard at<br>
that time that his absent father was 'at the front', and was far<br>
from regretting his absence; on the contrary he made it quite<br>
clear that he had no desire to be disturbed in his sole possession<br>
of his mother.l We know of other children who liked to express<br>
similar hostile impulses by throwing away objects instead of<br>
persons.' We are therefore left in doubt as to whether the<br>
impulse to work over in the mind some overpowering experience so as to make oneself master of it can find expression as a<br>
primary event, and independently of the pleasure principle.<br>
For, in the case we have been discussing, the child may, after<br>
all, only have been able to repeat his unpleasant experience in<br>
play because the repetition carried along with it a yield of<br>
pleasure of another sort but none the less a direct one.<br><br>
Nor shall we be helped in our hesitation between these two<br>
views by further considering children's play. It is clear that in</font><p><font size="+2"><br>
<br>
<font size="-1"><sup>1</sup> When this child was five and three-quarters, his mother died. Now<br>
that she was really 'gone' ('o-o-o'), the little boy showed no signs of<br>
grief. It is true that in the interval a second child had been born and had<br>
roused him to violent jealousy.</font><br><br>
their play children repeat everything that has made a great<br>
impression on them in real life, and that in doing so they<br>
abreact the strength of the impression and, as one might put<br>
it, make themselves master of the situaffon. But on the other<br>
hand it is obvious that all their play is influenced by a wish<br>
hat dominates them the whole time‹the wish to be grown-up<br>
and to be able to do what grown-up people do. It can also be<br>
observed that the unpleasurable nature of an experience does<br>
not always unsuit it for play. If the doctor looks down a child's<br>
throat or carries out some small operation on him, we may be<br>
quite sure that these frightening experiences will be the subject<br>
of the next game; but we must not in that connection overlook<br>
the fact that there is a yield of pleasure from another source.<br>
As the child passes over from the passivity of the experience to<br>
the activity of the game, he hands on the disagreeable experience to one of his playmates and in this way revenges himself<br>
on a substitute.<br><br>
Nevertheless, it emerges from this discussion that there is no<br>
need to assume the existence of a special imitative instinct in<br>
order to provide a motive for play. Finally, a reminder may be<br>
added that the artistic play and artistic imitation carried out<br>
by adults, which, unlike children's, are aimed at an audience,<br>
do not spare the spectators (for instance, in tragedy) the most<br>
painful experiences and can yet be felt by them as highly enjoyable. This is convincing proof that, even under the dominance<br>
of the pleasure principle, there are ways and means enough of<br>
making what is in itself unpleasurable into a subject to be<br>
recollected and worked over in the mind. The consideration of<br>
these cases and situations, which have a yield of pleasure as<br>
their final outcome, should be undertaken by some system of<br>
aesthetics with an economic approach to its subiect-matter<br>
They are of no use for our purposes, since they presuppose the<br>
existence and dominance of the pleasure principle; they give<br>
no evidence of the operation of tendencies beyond the pleasure<br>
principle, that is, of tendencies more primitive than it and independent of it.</font> <br>
<br>
[pp. 14-17 from <i>Beyond The Pleasure Principle</i>, Volume
18, Standard Edition.]
