10.13125/2039-6597/4442
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Annalisa Federici
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Archaeologies of the Mind: James Joyce’s Ulysses and Pre-Freudian Psychology of the Unconscious
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11
Essays
2021-05-30
2020-11-29
2021-05-30
2021-06-10
164-189
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Annalisa Federici
2021/05/30
10.13125/2039-6597/4442
164
Università degli Studi Roma Tre
2039-6597
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Memory
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189
urn:nbn:it:unica-27346
Archaeologies of the Mind: James Joyce’s Ulysses and Pre-Freudian Psychology of the Unconscious
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between/article/download/4442/4747
11
                Archaeologies of the Mind:
                James Joyce’s Ulysses and
                 Pre-Freudian Psychology
                    of the Unconscious

                                 Annalisa Federici


Abstract
     This essay analyses the representation of mental processes in James Joyce’s
Ulysses in light of “scientific” or “experimental” psychology, whose impact on
the composition of the novel has been quite underestimated. Since concepts
such as “unconscious cerebration” and “mental latency”, or the theorisation of
a close connection between dreams and repression, regularly appeared in
nineteenth-century psychological treatises along with discussions of insanity
and deranged states of consciousness, these ideas are likely to have made
inroads into the cultural milieu in which Ulysses was composed. By analysing
the stratified representation of the characters’ minds, this essay attempts to read
the novel through a focus on pre-Freudian conceptions of unconscious mental
processes and latent memory, and to show that some of the ideas propounded
by early psychologists may have provided the substance for Joyce’s
understanding of the functioning of consciousness, the unconscious and
memory portrayed in Ulysses.

Keywords
     James Joyce; Ulysses; psychology; unconscious; memory

Between, vol. XI, n. 21 (Maggio/May 2021)
ISSN 2039-6597
DOI: 10.13125/2039-6597/4442
Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind




              Archaeologies of the Mind:
              James Joyce’s Ulysses and
               Pre-Freudian Psychology
                  of the Unconscious
                                 Annalisa Federici


     This essay analyses the representation of mental processes in James
Joyce’s Ulysses in light of “scientific” or “experimental” psychology,
which gradually emerged as an autonomous discipline and an
experimental science of the mind in the second half of the nineteenth
century. This innovative field was characterised by the rigorous
observation of physiological phenomena – hence the alternative labels
of “physiological” or “empirical” psychology – and the use of the
experimental method. Reading the stream-of-consciousness technique
or the focus on inner life which characterises modernist fiction in terms
of the interplay between psychology and literature has become a critical
commonplace, as several studies on the literary appropriation of
psychological discourse demonstrate. Martin Jay, for instance, remarks
that the multiple intersections between aesthetic modernism and the
richly articulated field of modern psychology, both characterised by
radical developments taking place at virtually the same time, are based
on «an unprecedented preoccupation with the interior landscape of the
subject», which «led to voyages of scientific and artistic discovery»
(1996: 93). A similar case has been made, more recently, by Mark Micale:
while observing that the far-reaching changes in Western culture
brought by the advent of modernism «occurred precisely when the
distinctively modern disciplines of psychology, psychiatry, and
psychoanalysis began to establish their “scientific” foundations» (2004:


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1), he also notes – as Judith Ryan does in The Vanishing Subject: Early
Psychology and Literary Modernism (1991) – that within the well-
established scholarly debate concerning the influence of new models of
the mind on the depiction of characters’ subjectivity in early twentieth-
century literature, pride of place has been given to the psychoanalytical
theories of Freud and Jung, to the detriment of some of their
predecessors and contemporaries, whose impact on modernist writing
was much greater than is generally realised. According to Micale, it is
fundamental to bear in mind that «psychoanalysis was only one of many
emerging models of mind that comprised the coming of early dynamic
psychiatry and that contributed to the constitution of the modern
psychological self» (2004: 7).
      In his illuminating study Dynamic Psychology in Modernist British
Fiction, George Johnson similarly remarks that, at the turn of the
twentieth century, «a particularly close, symbiotic relationship
developed between the novel and a cluster of discourses pertaining to
selfhood that were labelled “the new psychology”, or, more accurately,
dynamic psychology» (2006: 1). However, «the admittedly important
findings of Sigmund Freud have been so magnified and divorced from
their sources that they have overshadowed and in some cases
obliterated earlier significant advances in psychological knowledge»
(ibid.: 208). Furthermore, he adds that the debate about psychoanalysis
only began to emerge in Britain around 1908, and that, by the outbreak
of the First World War, Freud’s theories on hysteria, sexuality, dreams
and repression had been introduced and widely discussed. Therefore,
psychoanalysis can be said to represent a later manifestation of that new
approach to understanding the inner workings of the human mind
which was already strongly present in the cultural climate at the turn of
the century, and which was increasingly including the exceptional and
the deviant, as the realms of dynamic psychology or psychical research
clearly demonstrate. Though it is not the aim of this essay to penetrate
the domain of spiritualistic or occult psychology, it seems important to
keep in mind, as Henri Ellenberger reminds us in his monumental The
Discovery of the Unconscious (1994), that tendencies in the field of
dynamic psychology other than the later psychoanalytical wave were


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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



already much in vogue at the beginning of the twentieth century, and
thus likely to have made inroads into the cultural milieu in which
modernist masterpieces such as Joyce’s Ulysses were composed.
      Furthermore, while Freud is generally credited with having
advanced a revolutionary theory of the human mind according to which
psychical symptoms are often the surface manifestations of deeply
repressed conflicts, we should not forget that concepts such as William
Carpenter’s “unconscious cerebration” and William Hamilton’s “mental
latency” regularly appeared in nineteenth-century treatises on the
newborn science of psychology. The notion of latent thought, active and
dynamic but beyond human control or the threshold of consciousness,
was of central importance to the conception of self from the mid-
Victorian period throughout the twentieth century. Analogously, the
deep interest raised at that time by “deranged” states of consciousness
can be said to have paved the way for – though not immediately
prefigured – Freud’s studies on hysteria and neurosis, which led him to
formulate the theory that the unconscious mind governs behaviour to a
greater extent than people are normally aware. As Alison Winter
explains in her comprehensive study of the rise and fall of mesmerism
in Britain, the unconscious today is a notion laden with Freudian
baggage, which has «charged this term in a way that makes it misleading
when applied to the early and mid-Victorians» (1998: 10). To revert to its
pre-Freudian significance implies restoring to it the original multiplicity
of a conceptual umbrella gathering approaches which were widely
different, though sharing a basic concern of Victorian mental theories,
that is how, and to what extent, are visible actions and behaviours
governed by non-rational processes beyond conscious control.
      In the cultural context of late nineteenth and early twentieth
century, in which the new science of the mind widely permeated
intellectual debate, the literary imaginary was inevitably influenced by
innovative theories of selfhood, memory, consciousness or the
unconscious, as well as their pathological alterations, formulated within
the field of coeval psychological investigation. As Roger Smith has
effectively pointed out, «psychology in Britain was shaped in a public
arena, not through the specialization or differentiation of academic life»


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(2004: 83); moreover, the periodical press played a major role in
moulding «a discourse about psychology as part of a public, non-
specialist culture» (ibid.: 98). Therefore, a key assumption in the present
study is that fiction in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century
participated in contemporary debates about the nature of sensory
perceptions, conscious and unconscious processes as well as memory,
and shaped the way psychologists – who often developed their
arguments through literary allusions and tropes, or referred to cases
from novels as well as real life to illustrate their points – wrote about the
powers and mysteries of the mind. Scholars like Rick Rylance (2000) and
Erik Lindberg (2000), among others, have variously emphasised this
phenomenon, which extends from the Victorian age, when psychology
emerged as an autonomous discipline, to the modernist period,
characterised by further theoretical advancements. In a thought-
provoking study of the substrate in which early twentieth-century
culture is rooted, Jenny Bourne Taylor and Sally Shuttleworth maintain
that

        The relationship between the conscious and the unconscious
     mind and the significance and workings of memory were central to
     the debate about the nature of individual and social identity during
     the nineteenth century. [...] And although they [Victorian
     psychologists] did not directly prefigure Freud’s work their writing
     was an important part of the intellectual context within which
     psychoanalytic theory arose. In mid-nineteenth-century Britain, the
     interest in what William Carpenter termed “unconscious
     cerebration” was closely connected to the growing enquiry into
     modes of insanity and the uncertain division between “deranged”
     and “sane” states of mind. As with the specific accounts of
     phrenology, mesmerism, and the various forms of insanity, mid-
     century debates on “latent thought” or the “automatic action” of
     the mind wavered between a desire to explore and to control the
     self. (1998: 67)

    In line with the general scholarly interest in psychoanalytical
psychology and consequent neglect of empirical or experimental


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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



psychology in relation to modernist literature, the importance of the
latter in the cultural milieu in which Ulysses was written has been quite
underestimated. Although scholars – primarily Richard Ellmann in his
1965 biography – have often pointed out Joyce’s disavowal of interest
and even aversion to psychoanalysis, there is an extensive bibliography
on the subject1, while (to the best of my knowledge) there has not yet
been an attempt, other than John Rickard’s, to analyse previous models
of consciousness and theories of memory which may have influenced
Joyce’s representation of psychic phenomena. In his seminal study
entitled Joyce’s Book of Memory: The Mnemotechnic of Ulysses, Rickard
contends that

         Ulysses functions as a site of struggle or tension between
      competing philosophical and psychological conceptions of the
      nature of human subjectivity and the role of memory within that
      subjectivity or selfhood. Ulysses – shaped both by the dominant
      philosophical and psychological discourses of its own time and by
      older models of mind or self – enacts or works through the struggle
      between these often incompatible models rather than presenting
      one version or model of subjectivity. (1999: 3)

     In his illustration of what he terms, following Cheryl Herr (1987),
Ulysses’s “cultural unconscious” – that is, the intellectual substrate
which informed the novel – the critic frequently mentions Freud and
Jung, but he does so alongside William James, Henri Bergson, Michael
Maher and others. Furthermore, Ellmann’s listing of the volumes
contained in Joyce’s Trieste library, appended to his 1977 study The
Consciousness of Joyce, provides a treasury of clues about the author’s

      1
       Joyce’s bold claim to Djuna Barnes in a 1922 interview has now become
proverbial: «in Ulysses I have recorded, simultaneously, what a man says, sees,
thinks, and what such seeing, thinking, saying does, to what you Freudians
call the subconscious – but as for psychoanalysis, [...] it’s neither more nor less
than blackmail» (Barnes 1922: 65, also qtd. in Ellmann 1982: 524).
Psychoanalytic studies of Joyce include, among several others, Brivic 1980;
Friedman 1993; Kimball 1983 and 1991; Shechner 1974; Thurston 2004.


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reading habits in the crucial period in his artistic development
comprised between 1904 and 19202. The variety of the books that Joyce
collected while he was writing Ulysses, and that he left behind him in
Trieste when he moved to Paris in 1920, reflects the range of specific
intellectual needs that he felt during the composition of his masterpiece
and shows that the author may have been far more interested than he
ever admitted in the psychoanalytical discourse of the time. As Wim
Van Mierlo has more recently pointed out, however, it was not until a
set of notes, taken from the third volume of Freud’s Collected Papers, was
discovered in one of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake notebooks that some
evidence of a direct contact with the psychoanalytical intertext could be
found. In his view, «the genetic connections [...] allow a further
contextualization of Joyce’s contact with the New Psychology» (Van
Mierlo 1997: 116) and demonstrate that the author «was able to draw on
psychoanalytical writings without necessarily subscribing to a
psychoanalytic agenda» (ibid.). Although such evidence is perhaps not
necessary, since psychoanalysis was very much in the air in the late
1910s and 20s, it is in any case particularly instructive that among the
volumes owned by Joyce one can find Freud’s Eine Kindheitserinnerung
des Leonardo da Vinci (Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood,
1910) and Zur Psychopathologie des Alltagslebens (The Psychopathology of
Everyday Life, 1917), Jung’s Die Bedeutung des Vaters für das Schicksal des
Einzelnen (The Significance of the Father in the Destiny of the Individual,
1909), along with Michael Maher’s Psychology: Empirical and Rational
(second American edition, date unknown). Joyce’s knowledge of this
book is particularly relevant to the purpose of the present study, not
only for its intrinsic value as illustration of the scholar’s personal views


     2
       For a list of the items in the collection, see Ellmann 1977: 97-134, as well
as Gillespie 1986. Elsewhere, Gillespie cites Ellmann’s catalogue as «the only
detailed source for information on Joyce’s reading over the period during
which he was writing the majority of the works which make up his canon»
(1983: 19). Such findings caused Ellmann to reconsider the question of Joyce’s
dismissal of psychoanalytical theories that he had often addressed in the first
edition of his biography (1965).


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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



on the most commonly debated psychological issues of the time, but also
because it represents a compendium of preceding and coeval
psychological doctrines and offers historical outlines of contemporary
scientific concerns such as mental faculties, sensory perception and
memory. While it is far from certain that Joyce may have read or directly
known about nineteenth-century psychological theories, Maher’s
explicit mention of Carpenter and Hamilton along with Gustav Fechner,
William James, G.H. Lewes, Théodule Ribot, Dugald Stewart and James
Sully – among others – is likely to have provided a sort of mediation.
Joyce’s habit of quoting extensively from other works of the Western
canon, of layering or “seeding” the text of Ulysses with traces of older
texts and traditions, makes it evident that these borrowings extended far
beyond the books that make up the Trieste library. However, the
presence of Maher’s treatise can be seen as evidence of the fact that Joyce
had an interest in the “new psychology” and included a variety of
psychological ideas in his novel.
      Tracing the impact of the most significant European psychological
discourse on the composition of Joyce’s Ulysses – a text notoriously
appropriating, reworking and even subverting countless texts and
discourses – could seem risky. Though exploring potential sources, this
study moves beyond the implications of influence and concerns itself
with some of the works and theories that may have provided the
substance for Joyce’s understanding of the functioning of mind,
consciousness, the unconscious and memory represented in his
masterpiece. The intellectual climate in which Ulysses was composed
was dominated – in both specialist discourse, circulating widely through
the popular press, and common knowledge – by a materialist science of
the self which rejected dualistic separations of body and mind, and
which was at the same time fascinated and unsettled by those inner
regions that remained beyond conscious control. Moving from the
assumption that there are complex and diverse ways in which literature
and science were interwoven and mutually influential in the Victorian
as well as in the modernist period, this essay aims to explore the
extensive connections between literary and psychological discussions of
the way the mind functions, as well as the participation of fictive


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narrative in the province of emergent psychology of the unconscious
and memory science. Therefore, it proposes to offer new insights into
Joyce’s Ulysses – a novel that is entirely permeated by psychological
language and theory, and constantly reflects on issues under debate in
late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century psychological texts –
through a focus on pre-Freudian conceptions of unconscious mental
processes and latent memory. As the editors of the thought-provoking
collection Cognitive Joyce point out in their introduction, «in Ulysses, the
exceptionally-detailed, true-to-life portrayal of the human mind is a
constant concern of the narrative, whichever character we may be
following» (Belluc - Bénéjam 2018: 2). Furthermore, it seems evident that
Joyce incorporated a variety of psychological notions in Ulysses, often
displaying his familiarity with the scientific language of psychology.
This chiefly occurs in the verbose and pedantic style of episodes such as
“Eumaeus” – whose corresponding organ is “nerves” – and “Ithaca”,
where one can find a number of revealing passages: «his mental organs
for the moment refusing to dictate further» (U 16.788-89)3; «as if both
their minds were travelling, so to speak, in the one train of thought» (U
16.1580-81); «What suddenly arrested his ingress?/The right temporal
lobe of the hollow sphere of his cranium came into contact with a solid
timber angle where, an infinitesimal but sensible fraction of a second
later, a painful sensation was located in consequence of antecedent
sensations transmitted and registered» (U 17.1274-78); «Why, firstly and
secondly, did he not consult the work in question?/Firstly, in order to
exercise mnemotechnic: secondly, because after an interval of amnesia,
when, seated at the central table, about to consult the work in question,
he remembered by mnemotechnic the name of the military engagement,
Plevna» (U 17.1421-25). Such excerpts demonstrate the author’s
acquaintance with, and even highly ironic use of, nineteenth-century
psychophysiological theories of mental blocks, or obstructions in the


     3
      Joyce, James, Ulysses: The Corrected Text, Ed. Hans Walter Gabler,
Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1986; hereafter cited by episode and line number
as U.



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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



flow of thoughts and mnemonic associations; the well-known metaphor
of the “train of thought”, applied to conscious as well as unconscious
mental activity (and which was also believed to be able to transmigrate
from one subject to another, as popular reports on experiments in
telepathy and mesmerism attested); the idea of the localisation of mental
functions and sensations in specific areas of the brain, first introduced
by phrenologists and also referred to in Maher’s Psychology; and, last but
not least, the systematic attempts to improve the efficiency of memory
which were very much in the news in the late nineteenth century. This
and other evidence clearly shows, as Van Mierlo also suggests, that
«despite his frequent attacks on psychoanalysis, Joyce was not at all
averse to the subject of psychology» (1997: 123), and that his treatment
of the discipline was also aimed at rendering the chaos in cognitions
about human mental functioning often generated by manifold, always
evolving and sometimes contrasting models and doctrines.
     One of the most common conceptions in coeval psychological
theories, which directly or indirectly found their way into Ulysses, was
the idea of a correlation between psychical (inner, hidden) and physical
(outer, manifest) phenomena. The British psychophysiologists (in
particular Henry Holland, G.H. Lewes, William Carpenter) were
distinguished authors of treatises on psychology in connection with
cerebral physiology. They sought to elucidate the correlation between
mind and brain, between the intellectual and physical functions, as well
as the mental manifestations of the nervous system. They essentially
followed current lines of research demonstrating that reflex actions
extend to the brain and produce acts of which we may be cognisant
because of their effects, but over which we exercise no volitional control.
Another interesting dichotomy characterising Joyce’s representation of
mental phenomena is that of consciousness (what is observable and
superficial) versus the unconscious (what is concealed and submerged).
Furthermore, as Rickard remarks, «images of burial and exhumation
abound in Ulysses, surfacing frequently in the thoughts of both Stephen
and Bloom» (1999: 56), and acting as «metaphors for the repression of
unpleasant or disturbing memories and for the inevitable way that these
memories return over and over again to consciousness» (ibid.). He also


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notes that Freud, who took great interest in the unearthing of Pompeii
and found in archaeological excavation a metaphor for the
psychoanalytic recovery of the past, may provide an interesting parallel
to Joyce in his development of similar metaphors for the workings of
repression. If Freud’s assimilation of archaeology into his topographical
model of the mind has been well excavated, I would also add, however,
that nineteenth-century theories of the unconscious, widely
disseminated in popular culture, anticipated both Freud’s attempt to
unearth the human psyche and the use of archaeological metaphors,
often conceiving the reading of dreams as a means of exploring the
intricate archaeology of the mind.
      Following Ellenberger’s claim that, in nineteenth-century dynamic
psychology, dream, hypnotism (formerly known as magnetic or
mesmeric sleep), spontaneous somnambulism and related trance-like
states were adopted as the main approach to the unconscious, several
scholars have recently focused attention on Victorian watershed
developments in the physiology of sleep and dreamy mental states.
Natalya Lusty and Helen Groth, for instance, have questioned a «neat
epistemic break between nineteenth- and twentieth-century approaches
to dreaming» (2013: 7), thus demonstrating that Freud’s psychoanalysis
did not necessarily herald the emergence of modern dream theory as
many scholars suppose. In the period under consideration, dreams and
other dreamlike states could be nebulous concepts. Therefore, the
categorisation of dreamy kinds of mental events was irregular and
contested, and the uncertain status of dream-states had remarkable
implications for the notions of consciousness and selfhood. The keen
interest in dreams as revelation of a deeper self or otherwise submerged
layers of the mind underwent significant shifts during the second half
of the nineteenth century, culminating in James Sully’s groundbreaking
essay “The Dream as a Revelation” (published in 1893 in the influential
Fortnightly Review), which Freud would approvingly cite in his own The
Interpretation of Dreams a few years later, chiefly with reference to the
palimpsest metaphor. As Groth elsewhere points out, «Sully’s dream
interpretation is equally concerned with the generative interplay
between chaos and order, surface and depth» (2014: 114); moreover, he


                                                                             173
Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



employs numerous images of layering and stratifications which
frequently appeared in the psychological discourse of the time. For
instance, in his study not only does Sully argue that, «like some
palimpsest, the dream discloses beneath its worthless surface-characters
traces of an old and precious communication» (qtd. in Bourne Taylor -
Shuttleworth 1998: 121); he also refers to an «unveiling during sleep of
the more instinctive layers of our mental life» (ibid.: 118), or an
«emergence into the full light of consciousness of deeper and
customarily veiled strata of our nature» (ibid.: 118–19). By conceiving
dreams as revelations allowing «the overlaid strata of old experience to
come to light again» (ibid.: 120), he contends, «we may learn much
concerning that organic substrate of our conscious personality which
links us on to the animal series» (ibid.: 119). As Sully puts it, his
conception mainly derives from contemporary envisaging of the brain
as «a hierarchy of organs, the higher and later evolved seeming to
control, and in a measure to repress, the functional activities of the lower
and earlier» (ibid.: 118).
     Dreams and repression, for instance, are closely related in Ulysses
when Stephen Dedalus is involuntarily confronted with the ghostly
apparition of his mother – for whose death he feels deep remorse – first
during sleep in “Telemachus” and then in one of the hallucinatory
visions in “Circe”. Such revenant is clearly the materialisation of the
character’s repressed memories, showing that some images and
recollections have the power to come back as forcefully as one tries to
elude them:

         In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body
      within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and
      rosewood, her breath, bent over him with mute secret words, a faint
      odour of wetted ashes. Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to
      shake and bend my soul. On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her
      agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath
      rattling in horror, while all prayed on their knees. Her eyes on me
      to strike me down. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum turma circumdet:




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     iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat. Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!
     No, mother. Let me be and let me live. (U 1.270-79)

        STEPHEN: Ho!

        (Stephen’s mother, emaciated, rises stark through the floor, in leper grey
     with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a torn bridal veil, her face worn
     and noseless, green with gravemould. Her hair is scant and lank. She fixes
     her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and opens her toothless
     mouth uttering a silent word. A choir of virgins and confessors sing
     voicelessly.)

        THE CHOIR: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum ....

        Iubilantium te virginum ..... (U 15.4155-65)

      In these excerpts such an evil, repressed memory, which is
distorted by Stephen’s sense of guilt for not praying on his mother’s
deathbed, is so vivid as to become – as seems appropriate to a dream or
a visionary, expressionistic, hallucinatory episode like “Circe” – the
apparition of a ghost, and is clearly a twisted projection of the past onto
the present, since the revenant comes back from the dead bearing traces
of the original scene impressed on Stephen’s mind mixed with elements
of fantasy. The latter passage can be easily interpreted as typical Circean
dream play or reverie, where spectral presences haunt the minds of the
living and repeated phrases or leitmotifs haunt the text of the novel.
However, it is also a complex literary representation of Freudian and
pre-Freudian theories of the return of the repressed, especially
considering Stephen’s previous attempt to free himself from the burden
of the past by uttering in despair «No, mother. Let me be and let me
live». Therefore, by analysing the stratified representation of the
characters’ minds in Ulysses, as well as a series of dichotomies arising
from the depiction of their inner life – changing surface versus
sedimented depth, submerged/repressed past versus conscious present
– it is possible to show that some of the ideas propounded by early



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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



psychologists may have provided the substance for Joyce’s
understanding of the workings of mind, consciousness, the unconscious
and memory portrayed in his masterpiece.
     The field of physiological psychology in the mid-nineteenth
century sought a theory of the mind which could explain varying and
often troubling states of consciousness. As Anne Harrington argues in
Medicine, Mind, and the Double Brain (1987), Victorian mental science put
a great emphasis on the notion of the duality of the mind or “double
consciousness”, generally considered as a type of disorder concerning
associative mechanisms or a form of disrupted memory. The label was
variously applied to a spectrum of mental states ranging from insanity
and dual personalities to dreams, reverie, somnambulism and
mesmerism, and was generally based on what was known in neurology
as “double brain”, or the notion that each hemisphere of the brain might
function as a distinct organ. All of this definitely reinforced popular
fascination with the hidden movements of the mind outside conscious
control. The assumption that personal identity mainly consisted of
different layers – or, better, of an unconscious, deep self, created through
different strands of latent memory and underlying a conscious,
superficial self – often intersected with the physiological argument that
the reason for such division was to be found in the structure of the brain.
For instance, the authoritative British physicians Henry Holland and
Arthur Wigan took a close interest in recollection and its pathological
alterations, advancing the thesis that not only was the brain a double
organ, but also that the cerebrum actually consisted of two distinct and
separate brains, working either with or against each other, and thus
possibly generating conditions of insanity or mental disorder. In his
Chapters on Mental Physiology (1852), undoubtedly one of the most
influential psychological studies to be published in the mid-nineteenth
century, Holland formulated the concept of “double consciousness”
seen as related to disorders in associative and mnemonic mechanisms.
He claimed that

        It has been a familiar remark that in certain states of mental
      derangement, as well as in some cases of hysteria which border


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     closely upon it, there appear, as it were, two minds [...]. If the latter
     explanation be admitted, then the cases just mentioned come under
     the description of what has been termed double consciousness; where
     the mind passes by alternation from one state to another, each
     having the perception of external impressions and appropriate
     trains of thought, but not linked together by the ordinary
     gradations, or by mutual memory. (1852: 185-87)

      Holland’s description – applying to all those phenomena in which
there is a disruption in the unity of consciousness and mutual memory
is absent – was taken to extremes by Wigan in his treatise entitled A New
View of Insanity: The Duality of the Mind (1844), where he argued that the
human mind is split between competing physical and moral brains,
setting up a physically divided moral dichotomy. Wigan purported to
prove

         that each cerebrum is a distinct and perfect whole, as an organ of
     thought. That a separate and distinct process of thinking or
     ratiocination may be carried on in each cerebrum simultaneously.
     [...] That from the apparent division of each cerebrum into three
     lobes, it is a natural and reasonable presumption that the three
     portions have distinct offices. (1844: 26-29)

     Though sometimes considered as speculative at that time, such
theories directly or indirectly paved the way for modern neuroscience
and the study of the localisation of mental functions in specific parts of
the brain, which had already been anticipated by Lavater’s
physiognomy and Gall’s phrenology. Regardless of their scientific
validity, the immense popularity of these notions cannot be denied, as
shown by Joyce’s allusion in “Circe” to “your knowledge bump” (U
15.2095), that is the phrenologists’ assumption that particular mental
faculties were localised in precise regions of the brain, and that the
strength of a given faculty was evidenced by the prominence of its
region in the skull.




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      In the second half of the nineteenth century the concept of “double
consciousness” continued to be discussed as an extreme state of
disordered association or disrupted memory and formed part of a much
wider debate concerning the presence of hidden traces within the mind.
William Hamilton’s theory of “latent mental modification” remained a
major influence on later psychological writing and in all subsequent
debates on the presence of latent traces in human thought. In his Lectures
on Metaphysics (1877), Hamilton moves from the assumption that «the
infinitely greater part of our spiritual treasures, lies always beyond the
sphere of consciousness, hid in the obscure recesses of the mind» (1877:
339). After distinguishing three degrees of what he calls “mental
latency”, he concludes that «the sphere of our conscious modifications
is only a small circle in the centre of a wider sphere of action and passion,
of which we are only conscious through its effects» (ibid.: 349).
Hamilton’s theory was also mentioned in William Carpenter’s pivotal
treatise entitled Principles of Mental Physiology (1874), whose aim was to
develop and reinterpret typical associationist assumptions by
establishing a materialist analysis of the mind. Carpenter advances his
theory of “unconscious cerebration” also in connection with the
widespread notion of a difference between voluntary and involuntary
memory. Quite interestingly, he describes this faculty in terms of
superposed layers, namely as the “storing-up” of mental representations
leaving an indelible trace on our present states of mind:

         Now there is very strong Physiological reason to believe that this
      “storing-up of ideas” in the Memory is the psychological
      expression of physical changes in the Cerebrum, by which
      ideational states are permanently registered or recorded; so that
      any “trace” left by them, although remaining so long outside the
      “sphere of consciousness” as to have seemed non-existent, may be
      revived again in full vividness under certain special conditions.
      (1874: 436)

    Eventually, it was chiefly to the connection between conscious and
unconscious memory that most discussions on the self or the role of



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recollection in shaping personal identity reverted. While nineteenth-
century psychologists recognised that the sense of a continuous self
depends on the awareness of the connections between past and present
experiences, they also acknowledged that memory actually contains
much more than what we consciously recall, and may act as a repository
of latent impressions. For instance, in his Psychology: Empirical and
Rational, Maher considered memory both a conservative and a
reproductive faculty essentially based on the mechanism of association,
or better as

        the faculty of retaining, reproducing, and recognizing
     representations of past experiences. [...] During the whole of our life
     the greater portion of our mental possessions lies below the surface
     of consciousness, and exist only in a condition of potential
     resuscitation. It is the power of recalling and recognizing these
     dormant cognitions which completes and perfects this instrument
     of knowledge. (1890: 179)

      The author also referred to the notions – recurring in contemporary
intellectual debate – of «spontaneous or automatic memory, and voluntary
memory, or the power of recollection» (ibid.: 180). It is noteworthy that,
among the most common metaphors for such stratified conceptions of
the self, one can find the archaeological analogy, in which the past is
continually brought to the surface and thus made present, or the notion
of palimpsest, representative of a vision of personal identity according
to which memories and experiences are superposed but never erased.
To quote a revealing example, in his Problems of Life and Mind (1874) G.H.
Lewes – a novelist and journalist who also wrote extensively on psycho-
physiological issues – contended that the mind

        is not a passive recipient of external impressions, but an active
     co-operant. [...] What the Senses inscribe on it, are not merely the
     changes of the external world; but these characters are commingled
     with the characters of preceding inscriptions. The sensitive subject




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      is no tabula rasa: it is not a blank sheet of paper, but a palimpsest.
      (1874: 162)

      As mentioned before, the notion of the palimpsest is particularly
useful to account for the textual representation of consciousness, the
unconscious and memory in Ulysses, characterised by countless
refractions, stratifications and overlaps. As Susan Stanford Friedman
puts it, «like a palimpsest, both psyche and literary text are layered, with
repressed elements erupting in disguised forms onto the manifest
surface of consciousness, of a text» (1992: 58). Therefore, Joyce’s novel,
actually a text where ghostly traces of former and coeval writings still
remain, can be said to develop enduring metaphors for the architecture
and workings of the human mind as well as eclectic, multi-layered
constructions of selfhood which reverberated throughout the nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries. For instance, the fundamental role played
by memory in the construction of personal identity acquires central
importance in Ulysses and manifests itself as a delicate balance between
the threat of a possible dissolution of the self and the function of
recollection, which accumulates both personal experiences and
narrative fragments in a coherent and teleological sequence. Moreover,
it also calls into question notions of continuity and discontinuity, unity
and fragmentation, surface and depth. The tension between the need to
remember and the desire to leave behind one’s past, along with the
creation of a continuous conception of selfhood through the powers of
personal memory, deeply concern the protagonists of the novel.
Memory in Ulysses sometimes deals with the desire to recover a past that
cannot be brought back, but more often with the attempt to conceal and
restrain it. Since earlier experiences are frequently so unpleasant as to be
resisted and repressed, another significant instance of stratification in
the representation of the characters’ subjectivity is the dichotomy
between conscious present and submerged past, or between memory
and repression, consciousness and the unconscious. The text of the novel
thus resonates with psychological theories concerning the presence of
latent traces of past events, thoughts and memories suddenly emerging
and becoming manifest in the ordinary functioning of mental processes.


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Several nineteenth-century psychologists paved the way for Freudian
psychoanalysis in emphasising the capacity of powerful emotional
experiences to leave enduring traces upon the mind, which represented
an opportunity to explore altered mental states and recover submerged
memories inaccessible to ordinary consciousness. Notions of shock and
trauma, closely related to ideas about unconscious knowledge and
conscious recall, formed a crucial aspect of the way in which
physiological psychology envisaged the interdependence of
consciousness, memory and the emotions, or attempted to think through
the relations between mind and body. As Jill Matus interestingly
remarks, «the term “trauma” emerged in the late nineteenth century
when the label for a physical wound came to be associated with a mental
state» (2009: 7). This notion clearly presupposed that «the mind had to
be conceived of as physical, material and physiological – and therefore
vulnerable – like the body» (ibid.). In reading Ulysses, therefore, it is
compelling to focus attention on models of the unconscious at work in
literary representations of a self whose wounds are invisible, but
detectable in aberrations of mind, memory, affect and dream which,
though linked in materialist science to the physical, are also associated
with the psychological sphere.
      Both Bloom and Stephen must face psychological impasses in their
lives, that is, blocks and obstructions essentially deriving from
dysfunctions of memory, or rather from a problematic relationship with
traumatic occurrences such as Rudolph Virag’s suicide or the deaths of
May Dedalus and Rudy Bloom. In parallel with nineteenth- and early
twentieth-century interest in the disruption of associative and
mnemonic mechanisms, characters in Ulysses are paralysed by crucial
experiences and by the consequent difficulty in remembering or coping
with them. Furthermore, reproducing phenomena known as
“unconscious cerebration” or “mental latency”, the text of the novel
manifests the characters’ attempts to repress unpleasant thoughts or
recollections which come back as vehemently as one tries to evade them.
For instance, the traumatic event of Rudolph Virag’s suicide is a
persistent psychological impasse for the protagonist of Ulysses, who
tries, to no avail, to overcome it. The loss of his father represents a


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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



disturbing memory that frequently flashes through Bloom’s mind
provoking a deep sense of guilt. In the following extract from “Lotus-
Eaters”, the thoughts and visual perceptions combining in Bloom’s
stream of consciousness give rise, almost by chance, to the sudden
recollection of Virag’s death – activated by the idea of Ophelia’s suicide
in Shakespeare’s Hamlet – while seeing a playbill in the street, and
repressed immediately after:

         Mr Bloom stood at the corner, his eyes wandering over the
      multicoloured hoardings. Cantrell and Cochrane’s Ginger Ale
      (Aromatic). Clery’s Summer Sale. No, he’s going on straight. Hello.
      Leah tonight. Mrs Bandman Palmer. Like to see her again in that.
      Hamlet she played last night. Male impersonator. Perhaps he was
      a woman. Why Ophelia committed suicide. Poor papa! How he
      used to talk of Kate Bateman in that. Outside the Adelphi in London
      waited all the afternoon to get in. Year before I was born that was:
      sixtyfive. And Ristori in Vienna. What is this the right name is? By
      Mosenthal it is. Rachel, is it? No. The scene he was always talking
      about where the old blind Abraham recognises the voice and puts
      his fingers on his face. Nathan’s voice! His son’s voice! I hear the
      voice of Nathan who left his father to die of grief and misery in my
      arms, who left the house of his father and left the God of his father.
      Every word is so deep, Leopold. Poor papa! Poor man! I’m glad I
      didn’t go into the room to look at his face. That day! O, dear! O,
      dear! Ffoo! Well, perhaps it was best for him. Mr Bloom went round
      the corner and passed the drooping nags of the hazard. No use
      thinking of it any more. Nosebag time. Wish I hadn’t met that
      M‘Coy fellow. (U 5.192-212)

     Owing to what Freud – preceded by nineteenth-century theorists
of “unconscious cerebration” and “mental latency” – would designate
the return of the repressed, which dominates and impinges upon the
present, Bloom, like Stephen, has never been able to fully come to terms
with the deaths in his past or with the displeasing thoughts that he
always dismisses or avoids. For both characters, traumatic experiences
in connection with people they have lost may be able to activate other



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repressed material and justify their deep sense of guilt and unease. Thus
it seems appropriate that the figure of the deceased Rudolph Virag
comes back, materialising as a spectre, in the “Circe” episode, which is
much more adequate for ghostly apparitions, and where the characters
must inescapably confront their latent fears and anxieties, but also their
dreams and fantasies. Here Bloom encounters his hidden past, coping
with his deep anguish over the memory of his father. Virag comes back
from the underworld to admonish his son and unleash a profound sense
of guilt linked to his Jewish origins and recanted Judaism:

        ([...] A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftan of an
     elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles
     hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn
     face.) [...]

        RUDOLPH: What you making down this place? Have you no
     soul? (with feeble vulture talons he feels the silent face of Bloom) Are you
     not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? Are you not my dear
     son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the god of his
     fathers Abraham and Jacob?

        BLOOM: (with precaution) I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All
     that’s left of him. (U 15.248-64)

     The paternity theme which, also through biblical allusions, was
already at the heart of the previously quoted excerpt from “Lotus-
Eaters” – and which permeates the whole novel, linking Bloom to both
his deceased father Rudolph Virag and his dead son Rudy, but also
connecting Stephen, who has disowned his natural father Simon
Dedalus, to Bloom as spiritual father – comes back in this passage from
“Circe” with equally complex intertextual overtones. As with Stephen
confronting the ghost of his mother assailed by a deep sense of guilt,
here Bloom’s hallucinatory encounter with his dead father, merging real
(«yellow poison streaks», «drawn face») and visionary elements, could
be easily interpreted as a representation of Freudian and pre-Freudian



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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind



theories of the return of the repressed. However, it may as well be a
mocking re-enactment of the archetypal scene of Hamlet’s encounter
with his father’s ghost, as is also evidenced by its script style. In other
words, Joyce seems to appropriate coeval psychological discourse and
adapt it to his own concerns as a writer confronting the ghosts of the
past and the looming figure of Shakespeare as a model and spiritual
father, with whom he engages in an intermittent dialogue throughout
the whole novel. Not only does the distorted repetition of certain
phrases and leitmotifs related to deceased parental figures link the
characters’ memory to textual memory, but this faculty also involves the
allusion to, and reworking of, other texts of the literary tradition as
intertextual memory. It seems clear that, while stressing the importance
of recollection as a way of sustaining a coherent personal and authorial
identity, Ulysses also shows a persistent preoccupation with movements
of the mind which lay outside the control of conscious memory or the
will, as well as an enduring fascination with multi-layered constructions
of both self and text.
      In conclusion, the representation of mental phenomena in Joyce’s
Ulysses seems to resonate with images and concepts that widely
permeated the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century cultural
sphere through the new science of the mind, chiefly the dualism
between surface and depth, conscious and unconscious states, voluntary
and involuntary memory, or the notions of repression and mental
latency. All of this bears witness to a general interest, long before the
advent of Freudian psychoanalysis, in the attempt to excavate the
human psyche and explore the intricate archaeology of the mind. In
particular, within the novel’s layered representation of consciousness,
or inside the vast repository of the characters’ personal memories of
their own past life and experiences, special attention is paid to such
traumatic events as the loss of parental and filial figures, that Stephen
and Bloom desperately try to overcome and repress. This shows that, in
the ever-shifting temporal dimension of Ulysses, the past is not simply
“received” by the present in a voluntary act of recollection; rather, the
present is actually “haunted” by the past and its latent traces, which are
in turn modelled, reinvented and reconstructed by the present itself.


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Memory in Ulysses has the potential to become a process of creative
exchange in which past, present and future moments are allowed to
interconnect. Such fluid representation of time at work in the novel is of
course closely related to the question of identity and the continuity or
discontinuity between former and actual selves; or, as Bloom puts it,
«tomorrow is a new day will be. Past was is today. What now is will then
morrow as now was be past yester» (U 15.2409-10). Not only does this
passage reveal, once again, how concepts of memory, time, personal
identity and text production entwine in the very fabric of Ulysses; it also
self-reflexively points to the way in which a masterpiece of literary
modernism was able to merge coeval cultural concerns, such as the focus
on subjectivity and inner life, with scientific theories firmly rooted in the
previous century. Just as Joyce’s understanding of the psyche is depicted
as stratified in Ulysses, so the novel relies upon a bedrock of pre-
Freudian thought.




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Annalisa Federici, Archaeologies of the Mind




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                                The Author
Annalisa Federici

       Annalisa Federici holds a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from
the University of Perugia. Her main research areas are literary
modernism, James Joyce, Virginia Woolf, formal aspects in fiction, and
the relationship between writing and psychological processes. She is the
author of the books Il linguaggio e la realtà. La narrativa modernista di
Virginia Woolf e James Joyce (2011) and “In a Kind of Retrospective
Arrangement”: Essays on James Joyce and Memory (2016), as well as of a
number of critical essays on Virginia Woolf, James Joyce, Samuel
Beckett, Ford Madox Ford, Nathalie Sarraute, Michel Butor. She is
currently working on Joyce, little magazines, expatriate autobiography
and celebrity culture in interwar Paris.

      Email: annalisafederici3@gmail.com



                                The Article
Date sent: 15/02/2021
Date accepted: 15/04/2021
Date published: 30/05/2021



                        How to cite this article
Federici, Annalisa, “Archaeologies of the Mind: James Joyce’s Ulysses
and Pre-Freudian Psychology of the Unconscious”, Forme e metamorfosi
del ‘non conscio’ prima e dopo Freud: ‘ideologie scientifiche’ e rappresentazioni
letterarie, Eds. R. Behrens - F. Bouchard - S. Contarini - C. Murru - G.
Perosa, Between, XI.21 (2021), http://www.betweenjournal.it/




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