1. Overview: psychological aspects
2. Fantasy: Freud on omnipotence of thought
3. Attachment and loss: Bowlby on separation
1. Only that film. In all parts of the kingdom these films are called strangers and supposed to portend the arrival of some absent friend. [Coleridge's note]
The superstition that Coleridge employs here (see also line 26) offers an example of the animism or omnipotence of thought of which Freud speaks in the first set of extracts below. This type of thought is developed a little more clearly by Coleridge when he describes turning to the film fluttering on the grate, and making its motion into a "companionable form" which sympathizes with him. In the second verse paragraph of the poem he recalls experiencing this kind of thought more powerfully in childhood.
Why would Coleridge have longed for his home village so persistently as a child? In later years Coleridge referred often to the suffering he experienced in his early years at Christ's Hospital School, to which he was sent at the age of 9 a few months after his father's death. It seems probable that exile to a strange school compounded the loss of his father: already in mourning, the removal to school intensified the disruption of his childhood attachments.
Modern evidence for the effects of bereavement in children is offered by John Bowlby. In the extracts below, a brief account of attachment in young children is taken from volume 1 of Attachment and Loss. This is followed by the summary of a study given in volume 3 that looked at children's responses to the death of a parent. These cases offer several parallels with Coleridge's account in "Frost at Midnight" and with other writings about his life in poetry, letters, and notebooks. Arguably, Coleridge's reflections on being raised in the city compared with the country are misplaced: the actual source of his anxiety, not identified by him here (or elsewhere), lay with the death of his father.
Sigmund Freud, from Totem and Taboo (1913). In Standard Edition, trans. James Strachey, 22 vols. (London: Hogarth Press, 1953-1974), Vol. 13, pp. 85-86, 88.
From Chapter III, Animism, Magic, Omnipotence of Thoughts
The fact that it has been possible to construct a system of contagious magic on associations of contiguity shows that the importance attached to wishes and to the will has been extended from them on to all those psychical acts which are subject to the will. A general overvaluation has thus come about of all mental processes -- an attitude towards the world, that is, which, in view of our knowledge of the relation between reality and thought, cannot fail to strike us as an overvaluation of the latter. Things become less important than ideas of things: whatever is done to the latter will inevitably also occur to the former. Relations which hold between the ideas of things are assumed to hold equally between the things themselves. Since distance is of no importance in thinking -- since what lies furthest apart both in time and space can without difficulty be comprehended in a single act of consciousness -- so, too, the world of magic has a telepathic disregard for special distance and treats past situations as though they were present. In the animistic epoch the reflection of the internal world is bound to blot out the other picture of the world -- the one which we seem to perceive.
By way of summary, then, it may be said that the principle governing magic, the technique of the animistic mode of thinking, is the principle of the 'omnipotence of thoughts'.
I have adopted the term 'omnipotence of thoughts' from a highly intelligent man who suffered from obsessional ideas and who, after having been set right by psycho-analytic treatment, was able to give evidence of his efficiency and good sense [The case of the 'Rat Man': Standard Edition, 10, 233 ff.]. He had coined the phrase as an explanation of all the strange and uncanny events by which he, like others afflicted with the same illness, seemed to be pursued. If he thought of someone, he would be sure to meet that very person immediately afterwards, as though by magic [cf. lines 41-43]. If he suddenly asked after the health of an acquaintance whom he had not seen for a long time, he would hear that he had just died, so that it would look as though a telepathic message had arrived from him. If, without any really serious intention, he swore at some stranger, he might be sure that the man would die soon afterwards, so that he would feel responsible for his death. In the course of the treatment he himself was able to tell me how the deceptive appearance arose in most of these cases, and by what contrivances he himself had helped to strengthen his own superstitious beliefs. All obsessional neurotics are superstitious in this way, usually against their better judgement.
If we are prepared to accept the account given above of the evolution of human views of the universe -- an animistic phase followed by a religious phase and this in turn by a scientific one -- it will not be difficult to follow the vicissitudes of the 'omnipotence of thoughts' through these different phases. At the animistic stage men ascribe omnipotence to themselves. At the religious stage they transfer it to the gods but do not seriously abandon it themselves, for they reserve the power of influencing the gods in a variety of ways according to their wishes. The scientific view of the universe no longer affords any room for human omnipotence; men have acknowledged their smallness and submitted resignedly to death and to the other necessities of nature. None the less some of the primitive belief in omnipotence still survives in men's faith in the power of the human mind, which grapples with the laws of reality.
Sigmund Freud, "The Uncanny" (1919), in Standard Edition, trans. James Strachey, 22 vols. (London: Hogarth Press, 1953-1974), Vol. 17, pp. 240-241.
These last examples of the uncanny are to be referred to the principle which I have called 'omnipotence of thoughts', taking the name from an expression used by one of my patients. And now we find ourselves on familiar ground. Our analysis of instances of the uncanny has led us back to the old, animistic conception of the universe. This was characterized by the idea that the world was peopled with the spirits of human beings; by the subject's narcissistic overvaluation of his own mental processes [cf. lines 24-26]; by the belief in the omnipotence of thoughts and the technique of magic based on that belief; by the attribution to various outside persons and things of carefully graded magical powers, or 'mana'; as well as by all the other creations with the help of which man, in the unrestricted narcissism of that stage of development, strove to fend off the manifest prohibitions of reality. It seems as if each one of us has been through a phase of individual development corresponding to this animistic stage in primitive men, that none of us has passed through it without preserving certain residues and traces of it which are still capable of manifesting themselves [cf. lines 17-23], and that everything which now strikes us as 'uncanny' fulfils the condition of touching those residues of animistic mental activity within us and bringing them to expression.
At this point I will put forward two considerations which, I think, contain the gist of this short study. In the first place, if psycho-analytic theory is correct in maintaining that every affect belonging to an emotional impulse, whatever its kind, is transformed, if it is repressed, into anxiety [cf. lines 8-10], then among instances of frightening things there must be one class in which the frightening element can be shown to be something repressed which recurs. This class of frightening things would then constitute the uncanny; and it must be a matter of indifference whether what is uncanny was itself originally frightening or whether it carried some other affect [cf. line 26 and line 14] . In the second place, if this is indeed the secret nature of the uncanny, we can understand why linguistic usage has extended das Heimliche ['homely'] into its opposite, das Unheimliche ['the uncanny']; for this uncanny is in reality nothing new or alien, but something which is familiar and old established in the mind and which has become alienated from it only through the process of repression. This reference to the factor of repression enables us, furthermore, to understand Schelling's definition of the uncanny as something which ought to have remained hidden but has come to light.
John Bowlby, from Attachment, Vol. 1 of Attachment and Loss (London: Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1974), pp. 204-5, 206-7.
Although the growth of attachment behaviour during the first year of life is reasonably well chronicled, the course it takes during subsequent years is not. Such information as there is strongly suggests that during the second and most of the third year attachment behaviour is shown neither at less intensity nor with less frequency than it is at the end of the first year. An increase in an infant's perceptual range and in his ability to understand events in the world around him leads, however, to changes in the circumstances that elicit attachment behaviour.
One change is that a child becomes increasingly aware of an impending departure. During his first year an infant protests especially when put down in his cot and, a little later, on seeing his mother disappear from sight. Subsequently a child who, when his mother leaves him, is otherwise engrossed, begins to notice that she is gone and then protests. Thenceforward he is keenly alert to his mother's whereabouts: he spends much time watching her or, if she is out of sight, listening for sound of her movements. During his eleventh or twelfth month he becomes able, by noting her behaviour, to anticipate her imminent departure, and starts to protest before she goes. Knowing this will happen, many a parent of a two-year-old hides preparations until the last minute in order to avoid a clamour.
By most children attachment behaviour is exhibited strongly and regularly until almost the end of the third year. Then a change occurs. This is well illustrated by the common experience of nursery school teachers. Until children have reached about two years and nine months most of them, when attending a nursery school, are upset when mother leaves. Though their crying may last only a short time, they are nonetheless apt to remain quiet and inactive and constantly to demand the attention of the teacher -- in marked contrast to how they behave in the same setting should mother remain with them. After children have reached their third birthday, however, they are usually much better able to accept mother's temporary absence and to engage in play with other children. In many children the change seems to take place almost abruptly, suggesting that at this age some maturational threshold is passed.
A main change is that after their third birthday most children become increasingly able in a strange place to feel secure with subordinate attachment figures, for example a relative or a school teacher. Even so, such feeling of security is conditional. First, the subordinate figures must be familiar people, preferably those whom the child has got to know whilst in the company of his mother. Secondly, the child must be healthy and not alarmed. Thirdly, he must be aware of where his mother is and confident that he can resume contact with her at short notice. In the absence of these conditions he is likely to become or to remain very 'mummyish', or to show other disturbances of behaviour.
Thus, although most children after their third birthday show attachment behaviour less urgently and frequently than before, it nonetheless still constitutes a major part of behaviour. Furthermore, though becoming attenuated, attachment behaviour of a kind not very different from that seen in four year-olds persists throughout early school years. When out walking, children of five and six, and even older, like at times to hold, even grasp, a parent's hand, and resent it if the parent refuses. When playing with others, if anything goes badly wrong, they at once return to parent, or parent substitute. If more than a little frightened, they seek immediate contact. Thus, throughout the latency of an ordinary child, attachment behaviour continues as a dominant strand in his life.
John Bowlby, from Loss: Sadness and Depression, Vol. 3 of Attachment and Loss (London: Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1980), pp. 312, 315-6.
Amongst all those who have surveyed different groups of individuals who have lost a parent during childhood there is now substantial agreement in regard to the enormous importance of a child's experience after the loss. Individuals who later develop a psychiatric disorder, it is found, are far more likely than are those who do not to have received deficient parental care following the loss. Discontinuities of care, including being cared for in unloving foster homes or institutions and of being moved from one 'home' to another, have been the lot of many. Alternatively, should a child have remained in his home, he is likely to have had to take a parental role prematurely instead of being cared for himself. By contrast, those who have developed well despite having lost a parent during childhood are likely to have received continuous and stable parental care during the years following their loss.
[T]he effect that a parent's death has on a child is powerfully influenced by the pattern of family relationships to which the child is exposed after it.
Certainly all the studies which have reported the childhood experiences of those who subsequently become psychiatric casualties point to the same conclusion. An example is a study by Arthur and Kemme (1964) of 83 children and adolescents, aged between 4½ and 17 years, who had been referred to a children's psychiatric hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan, with a variety of emotional and behavioural problems, all of which, having either developed or become greatly exacerbated following the death of a parent, could be regarded as attributable at least in part to the loss. Sixty were boys, of whom 40 had lost father and 20 mother; 23 were girls, of whom 14 had lost father and 9 mother.
Although the details given by Arthur and Kemme are rather sparse, it is evident that the conditions affecting these children and adolescents prior to the loss and/or surrounding it and/or after it had been extremely adverse in a high proportion of cases; and in many of them it was possible to see, at least in outline, how the conditions to which the child had been, or was still being subjected, were contributing to the problems complained of. Amongst the adverse conditions prominent in this series of cases were parents who had quarrelled or separated, and parents who had threatened to abandon the children, children who had experienced several earlier separations, and children who had been made to feel responsible for making the parent ill. After the death many of the children had been given little or no information about it; and subsequently many also had experienced extremely unstable relationships. Of the 83 parental deaths, 10 had been due to suicide . . .
In the great majority of the cases reported psychological disturbance had been present before the death, often long before it. Nevertheless, in most of them it was evident that bereavement had increased any existing disturbances. As in the case of adults, therefore, the experience of loss is found to interact with the psychological consequences of both previous and subsequent adverse experiences to produce the particular clinical picture seen.
As might be expected, some of the commonest ways in which children and adolescents respond to the loss of a parent include becoming chronically sad or anxious, or some mixture of the two; and many develop elusive somatic symptoms. In the Michigan series over a quarter appeared sad at the time of referral, 16 of the 83 were showing intense separation anxiety and 19 were experiencing acute night terrors [note]. About a quarter were excessively clinging during the day and/or were insisting at night on sleeping with the surviving parent, or a sibling.
Yet, although many appeared obviously sad and anxious, many others did not. On the contrary, 29 children -- about one third -- were overactive and in greater or less degree aggressive. Some engaged in unprovoked violence towards peers or adults or inexplicable destruction of property.
In many of the cases an explanation of a child's sadness, anxiety or anger could be found without difficulty in the way he was construing the cause of his parent's death and/or the situation in which he now found himself. Seventeen were construing the death in terms of their having been abandoned. As one boy put it: 'My father left me and I'm very angry with him.' Double that number, namely 40 per cent, were attributing the cause of death either to themselves or to the surviving parent. Several made plain why they did so. One boy, for example, had been warned by his mother that he would be the death of her. Another supposed that his mother had committed suicide because he had been so naughty. . . .
Arthur, B., & Kemme, M. L. (1964). Bereavement in childhood. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 5, 37-49.
Coleridge frequently experienced nightmares about Christ's Hospital School well into adulthood. For a vivid, general view of his nightmares see his poem "Pains of Sleep" (1803): remote link.