Our moral health depends on the limitation of these two psychological activities, one by the other, on this equilibrium between the automatic force of the past, and the conscious and voluntary effort of the present.
--Pierre Janet 1
Everything comes back to phenomena of immobilization, of psychical forgetting. A hysteric who seems paraplegic behaves as if he has forgotten that he has legs; he has lost the mental representation of a part of his body.
--Jules Dérejine 2
Hysteria was surely the most prominent and memorable maladie de la mémoire of the nineteenth century: it served as an intersection for many points of cultural contestation, becoming a marker for positions on issues of gender, sex, mind/body, professionalization and secularization, to name only a few. And hysteria has remained a privileged site for discussing these issues in critical and historical writing over at least the last twenty-five years. Just as the conceptualization of memory and forgetting were at the core of writings on hysteria in the late nineteenth century, so recent writings continue to debate the ways we are to remember hysteria, those who supposedly suffered from it, and those who supposedly tried to understand or alleviate that suffering. The focus on maladies of memory forced nineteenth century physicians to consider what it meant to have a healthy memory, and a normal relation to the past. 3 What does it mean to suffer from the past, to be pained by memory? How is it that some people manage not to suffer from the past, to orient themselves properly in relation to the loss of the present? How does attention to the past develop from being a choice, a matter of taste, to being a duty, a matter of obligation, to being an obsession, a matter of mental illness? These questions remain crucial for us in our own fin-de-siècle, with memory disorders continuing to be a a major vehicle for their discussion. 4
The fascination with hysteria and the investigation of it have, of course, a very long history, about which there is now an enormous and high quality body of critical writing. 5 I focus on the moment of this history when the study of hysteria comes together with the study of hypnosis, both tied to a concern with the question of how one recalls and manages to live with the past. Hypnosis becomes an important subject of medical investigation in France after Eugène Azam brings the famous case of Félida X's dédoublement (doubling of the personality, or the early form of what is now called multiple personality) to the attention of Paul Broca and the Academy of Sciences in 1859. 6 Hypnosis was a technique that seemed to show that radical disturbances of memory could be created in normal people, that our faculty of memory could be manipulated in ways that deeply compromised its function as the core of personal identity. Hypnosis and hysteria work together to create a crisis in thinking about memory and normality. Who is vulnerable to hypnotic suggestion and why? Who can claim expertise about such matters, when hypnosis in various forms had been part of popular culture long before the birth of psychology? The neurologist Jean-Martin Charcot linked hypnosis to his investigations of psychopathology, ultimately concluding that hypnosis was a form of hysteria. And Charcot's authority in regard to hysteria was second to none. But other investigators inside and outside the medical profession claimed that we were all more or less susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. They did not mean to imply that we were all vulnerable hysterics, but they left it unclear how we discriminated among these phenomena and among the classes of people with whom they should be associated. In the 1880s, the alienist Legrand de Saulle claimed that there were fifty thousand hysterics in Paris, ten thousand having attacks. 7 Did that not mean that there were forty thousand invisible hysterics in the city, radically disturbed people without the major symptoms of the disturbance? How, in this case, to tell the normal from the abnormal?
The effort to define normality and to set firm limits to health was of great importance in late-nineteenth-century France, a period in which the Third Republic was establishing itself as a secular polity of reason, of enlightenment. The new order should have the capacity to define the abnormal, to explain what had been regarded as mysterious or had remained within the realm of religion and magic. The famously deceptive disease of hysteria posed a great challenge to this regime, and the investigation of equally puzzling hypnotic phenomena led even the most scientific observers into areas where they were no longer at home. Doctors knew that hypnosis allowed individuals to have access to different sets of memories, or to forget (to not experience?) painful events. In medical amphitheaters they showed colleagues women under a hypnotic trance with no reactions to or memory of the needles stuck in their arms. But in other showplaces, there were demonstrations that were more difficult to integrate into the domain of science. Spiritists and mediums claimed that hypnotic trances gave them access to different temporal dimensions, that they could in fact speak with the dead. Conventional memory, they claimed, could be supplemented through hypnosis with a cosmic memory. Psychologists, psychiatrists, and neurologists joined hands with the mediums and tried to ascertain whether they were on the road to a revolutionary discovery about the nature of time and memory, or whether they were dupes. Often they arrived in séances with the latest photographic equipment so as to capture ephemeral events in a permanent form. Photography, they thought, was the perfect vehicle for remembering the materialization of the spiritual/mental: in medicine and spiritism. Was photography also the proper model for an ideal connection to the past?
In late-nineteenth century France, hypnosis was a bridge between the normal and the abnormal. Hysterics lived on the bridge and were represented as either revealing to us the otherness of serious illness or the true possibilities that lay hidden within ourselves. Some writers on hypnosis attempted to normalize it as a transition between states that could be described (if not yet fully explained) in the language of science. 8 For them, hypnosis was very much like sleep, and hypnotic phenomena like dreams. The spiritists pulled in the opposite direction, pointing to hypnosis as the link to a realm that could not be accounted for in materialist terms. Thus, for diverse writers concerned with these sorts of issues, there was much at stake in the link between hysteria and hypnosis, and in the question of whether everyone was vulnerable to hypnotic suggestion. Does our faculty of memory contain within it the secrets that allow us to escape from the confines of conventional corporeal (and temporal) existence? Or is our faculty of memory so vulnerable to suggestion that it reveals the fragility of personal identity? Who has the capacity to cross into and return from the abnormal; who has the authority to claim to understand this crossing; and how can they represent what they have found there to the rest of us?
In order for hysteria to become conceptualized as a disorder of memory, the disease had to be separated from its traditional gynecological aetiology, a task for which Pierre Briquet's Traité clinique et thérapeutique de l'hystérie was a decisive intellectual step. 9 Briquet's treatise assumes importance in large part because it can be viewed retrospectively as leading toward Charcot's elevation of hysteria in the 1870s and 1880s to the center of French cultural life. Charcot established a clinical inventory of the disease, reducing its florid variety of symptoms to an orderly series of stages. Although he was convinced that degenerate heredity played a crucial role in the neurological predisposition to the disease, Charcot paid increasing attention to the psychological aspects of the illness throughout his career. 10
It is crucial to see that in much of the medical writing on hysteria at the end of the nineteenth century the disease was seen as a radical dysfunction of memory. The link between memory and hysteria was the concept of trauma. The term "trauma" had been used regularly in Western medicine to refer to a bodily wound. Charcot developed the category of traumatic hysteria to understand those instances of the disease (especially among men) that could be traced to some "shock" to the nervous system. As Mark Micale has pointed out, Charcot's writing in this regard was part of a general European and American concern with the diverse long-term effects of injuries to the head and spine. 11 In the 1880s and 1890s in Britain and France these injuries were frequently linked to railway accidents, and the term "railway spine" designated an array of post-traumatic pathological effects. 12 But this approach did not result in finding hard anatomical evidence of a wound. To what, then, was the nervous system reacting, when it began to malfunction some time after the original accident (or shock) had taken place? How to understand a wound that refused to heal yet remained invisible?
For Charcot the many lawsuits brought against railway lines by passengers and workers who claimed to have suffered from some traumatic shock as a result of train travel were often based merely "on hysteria and only hysteria." 13 In saying this, Charcot was partly noting the hereditary antecedents of those who suffered from railway spine. 14 But he was also underscoring the disjunction between the pathogenic event (a train accident, a t, a brush with danger) and the onset of symptoms, a disjunction both temporal and causal. Symptoms might not begin immediately after the original shock, and the symptoms that did arise could often not be reconnected to the original event through some plausible causal chain. The troubles of the young male hysteric might be linked in his mind to the time when he was frightened by a falling object, but it was impossible for the physician to discover how the trauma produced a wound which led to a wide range of hysterical symptoms.
The memory of some occurrence, and not the original experience itself was seen as the pathogenic factor, and often at the center of the constellation of hysterical symptoms was an event that disrupted subsequent memory. The strange case of Mme. D.'s hysterical amnesia was discussed by Charcot, Janet, and other physicians of the 1880s. 15 Mme. D., thirty-four years old and the wife of an honest workman, was calmly sitting at her sewing machine in the small city of M., when she was told by a man she did not recognize: "Prepare a bed, we are bringing you your husband who is dead." She did not move but began to cry. The strange man told her to stop crying and to prepare the bed. Then, he left as suddenly as he had come. After the neighbors heard her cries, they returned with her husband, who was in good health and knew nothing of this. Upon seeing him, Mme. D. fell into convulsions. She cried out for her husband, and seemed to have hallucinations.
After this attack, Mme. D. awoke without any memory of what had transpired. Indeed, she had lost all memories dating back to the previous 14 July, about six weeks prior to the false report of her husband's death. Moreover, and this is what attracted the interest of writers at the time, she seemed incapable of having any new memories. The trauma, when combined with a predisposition to hysteria, led to hysterical "retro-anterograde" amnesia. Charcot used the word "elaboration" to describe the process through which an idea or remembered event acquired hysterical potency over time. Through elaboration or auto-suggestion the trauma accumulated force and became the root of the hysterical symptoms. Like hypnotic suggestion, elaboration was a process that took place in the brain, but not one that involved any conscious awareness. In the case of Mme. D., the shock of hearing of her husband's death and then seeing him continued to block her capacity to remember (and thus to experience) any new events. 16
The concept of elaboration depended on a new and complex notion of the brain and of memory, one presupposing that an original event is remembered by the subject in ways that are independent of consciousness. The subject, or perhaps we can say "part of the subject," registers the event neurologically, storing its representation in the brain. The stored event continues to have effects on the workings of the nervous system, even if the event itself can not be recalled consciously by the subject. This process, of course, is very familiar to us, but in the late nineteenth century the idea of memories having effects independently of consciousness was new and disturbing. Curiously, Charcot paid almost no attention to the significance of the stored event. The initial experience was treated like an electrical charge that continued to have consequences on the nervous system, not as an event that was cognitively or emotionally unbearable for the conscious subject. The shock of this experience could even divide the faculty of memory or "double" it. A doubled memory led to split personality, faculties of memory working in isolation from one another--the same phenomena that Azam saw in Félida X, a case that also fascinated Charcot because it put memory at the center of hysteria and split personality.
But Charcot did not pursue an investigation of doubling as a separate pathological entity. He saw the phenomenon under what he imagined as controlled conditions in hypnosis. Under hypnotism, subjects are given access to a set of memories different from those that they would recall in their normal personalities. This access can often be remembered, with the proper hypnotic suggestion, so as to integrate the different faculties of memory. In other words, once a forgotten event is remembered under hypnosis, it can often be opened to the normal faculties of recollection. Alternatively, that which happens during the hypnotic trance can, through suggestion, be closed off from remembrance in the normal state. "You will remember nothing of what has happened here after I awaken you."
These techniques were long familiar to mesmerists and more mainstream scientific investigators by the time Charcot announced his serious interest in hypnosis in 1882. 17 But when Charcot lent his prestige to the study of hypnosis and related states, it seemed to make new phenomena visible and old explanations suddenly worth taking seriously. Charcot took a narrow view of his subject, one that legitimated his own expertise. There was nothing mysterious about the phenomena, no invisible fluids or forces from the beyond. Hypnotism was a series of several "nervous states," which, like the stages of hysteria, could be isolated and described in detail. As Anne Harrington notes, "Charcot manages, in one fell swoop, both to give an aura of medical respectability to a formerly shunned and suspect subject, and simultaneously to stake a clear claim to the medical profession's exclusive competency to deal with this subject." 18 For him, hypnotism was an artificially created hysteria, and thus could be used to investigate cases of the spontaneously generated disease. One of the ways the master did this was by hypnotizing female hysterics and suggesting to them that they mimic the symptoms of male hysterics. His best patients performed splendidly.
In the case of Mme. D., hypnosis proved very valuable indeed. First, it allowed Charcot to determine that the woman was indeed registering her experiences, even though she could not recall them. "This woman," the doctor wrote, "whom we have been able to hypnotize, rediscovers in her hypnotic sleep the memory of all the facts that have transpired until the present." 19 Hypnosis thus revealed a "second self" which did not suffer the effects of the trauma that afflicted her conscious self. The traumatic idea, the false report of her husband's death, had acted as a form of suggestion, cutting off a faculty of memory as did hypnotic sleep. For Charcot, the nervous system of the traumatized subject functioned much like the nervous system of the hypnotized subject. They were hysterical. The task for Charcot in the case of Mme. D. was to use hypnotism to overcome the disjunction between the first and second selves. Hypnosis functioned both as the sign of the pathology and the possibility of curing it. If the patient was willing to follow the hypnotic suggestion to remember, then the wound of the trauma could be healed.
But remembering for Charcot did not have any of the connotations of integrating the self or facing one's desires that it would come to have in the twentieth century. Remembering was a behavior that Charcot wanted to promote, a behavior currently inhibited by a (probably degenerate) nervous system that had not recovered from a shock (a trauma) it had received. Marcel Gauchet has emphasized Charcot's indebtedness to the neurophysiologists who by 1870 had established that "the totality of the nervous system can and should be analyzed in terms of unities similar in structure and function; that is to say, in terms of sensori-motor connections and reflex processes." 20 The reflexive reactions of a degenerate nervous system following a trauma leave it vulnerable to suggestion--that is one of the key reasons for the production of symptoms. Suggestion can also be used to get the system back on track.
It is instructive here to examine how Pierre Janet made sense of this same case. Janet had a very different intellectual itinerary than Charcot, although their interests crossed over the field of hysteria and hypnotism. Whereas the latter came to this area from roots in neurology and clinical diagnosis, the former's intellectual formation began in philosophy, and he wrote his doctoral dissertation on psychological automatism on the basis of his experiments with hysterics in Le Havre. 21 Pursuing a second degree in medicine, he was invited by Charcot to direct a laboratory of psychological research at the Salpêtrière in 1889, where he especially studied the operations of memory in hysteria and hypnotism. For Janet, abnormal memory was at the core of hysteria: "I am convinced that amnesia is very important in hysteria," he wrote, "and that it is even one of the cardinal symptoms of this affliction . . . the principal fact which affects more or less all the others, [is] disturbance of memory." 22 Hysterics often seemed to live without past or future. Their amnesia, however, stemmed from their inability to connect to the memories that they did in fact have. The hysterics remembered, but they did not know that they remembered. The investigator could determine this through hypnosis.
An amnesia of a hysterical nature . . . is not due to the destruction itself of traces left by sensations. In other words, in all hysterical amnesias the conservation of memories still continues . . . this forgetting is only an appearance, an illusion; it suffices to put her to sleep again, through suggestion, or better still through an automatic habit, to put her into a moral state analogous to that from which she has just emerged in order for her to rediscover her memories. 23
Doctors first became aware that Mme. D. was conserving traces of events when she referred to them while talking in her sleep, crying out about the dog that had bitten her in the street. 24 While awake, she had no conscious recollection of the dog or her cauterization treatment for rabies (with Dr. Pasteur!). As noted above, when hypnotized Mme. D. did show that she recalled all the events since the practical joke. Janet also showed that Mme. D. could retain hypnotic suggestions and carry them out after she had been awakened from her somnambulistic state. There was memory in Mme. D. But where was it, and why was she unable to access it?
This last question is not one that seemed to interest Charcot. He wrote about the patient on the level of the nervous system, not on the level of consciousness. For Janet, on the other hand, Mme. D.'s dilemma was further evidence of unconscious or subconscious memory. 25 Psychologists (Janet was probably thinking especially of Ribot) had written extensively on two facets of memory: the conservation of memories and the reproduction of images. The third ingredient that Janet underlined was the "perception personnelle des souvenirs" (the personal perception of memories) or the "assimilation des images" (the assimilation of the [stored] images).
It is necessary that the personal perception seizes this image and reattaches it to the other memories, to sensations either clear or confused, exterior or interior, the totality of which constitutes our personality. 26
One can see Janet here as translating Charcot's neurological holism back into psychological terms. One of the major accomplishments of neurophysiology in the late nineteenth century was to use neurological response mechanisms to provide an explanation of human behavior without a dependence on the murky area of consciousness. These mechanisms operated independently of consciousness. Janet was, of course, well aware of these processes, having cut his intellectual teeth on the philosophical problem of automatic actions. At least in regard to memory, however, he made their independence of consciousness an aspect of their abnormality as memory. Thus, in the case of Mme. D. her amnesia resulted from her inability to attach the registration of experience to the other memories which constituted her personality.
It is as if these patients had become incapable of having a personal perception of their memories, of assimilating to their present personalities the images which continue to be conserved and automatically reproduced in their minds; as if their personalities, definitively blocked at a certain point, can no longer grow through the addition, the assimilation of new elements. 27
The lack of a "personal perception of one's memories" not only restricts one's personality, it is linked with one's openness to imitate the personalities of others or to follow their hypnotic suggestions. Janet confronted the difficulty of using this tendency to imitation, to accept suggestions, as a weapon against the disintegrated self. Patients could be led to imitate an integrated personality. But did this make them well or merely continue (even deepen) the illness?
Janet's concern with the powers and dangers of hysterical imitation are particularly evident in his discussion of his treatment of Marceline. 28 Marceline entered the hospital in 1887 and was in a severely anoretic state. Refusing almost all food and water, unable to urinate, with severe visual and auditory impairments, and insensible across the surface of her body, she seemed only to have left a "last breath of life." Janet was alerted to the case by his brother Jules, and they attempted to hypnotize the patient in the hope of getting some food into her.
Marceline was easily hypnotizable, and the brothers were shocked by the "singular state" which the hypnotic trance brought on. She ate and drank without difficulty, was able to urinate on her own, and showed sensibility and unimpaired hearing and sight. The vivacity of the hypnotized Marceline was striking, but since the Janets regarded this state as "artificial," they felt obliged to "awaken" her. As soon as the hypnotic state was lifted, Marceline fell back into her prior condition, although she now also had a gap in her memory. She had no recollection of anything that had transpired while she had been hypnotized. Pierre Janet noted:
Nevertheless, thanks to these artificial somnambulisms, we were able to nourish her and cause her to recover her strength. But it was always impossible to make her eat in the period considered normal, which we always brought back by awakening her. So that, tired of thus putting her to sleep at each meal, which was very long, we left her for whole days in the artificial state. The only result was apparently a great advantage, since all day she ate well, urinated completely, and presented more sensibility, memory, and activity. One day her parents, finding her in this fine artificial state, considered her cured, and took her out of the hospital. 29
The "artificial state," however, did not last. With her first menstrual period, Marceline relapsed into her "normal" state, but this time she had forgotten the weeks since leaving the hospital. All the symptoms returned, and her parents brought her back to the hospital. "In the presence of all these disturbances," Janet reports, "I could do nothing else but put her to sleep again, or rather bring her back to her artificial state" (MSH, 88). He continues:
Incredibly enough, this situation continued for fifteen years. Marceline would come to me in order to be put to sleep, enter into her alert state, and then go away very happy, with complete activity, sensibility, and memory. She would remain thus for a few weeks; then, either slowly or suddenly, in consequence of some emotion, fall back into her numbness, return to the state we had considered primitive and natural, with the same visceral disturbances. The forgetfulness now extended over whole years, and disturbed her existence completely. She would hasten to come to me to get herself transformed again. Things continued thus for years together, till the death of the poor girl, who succumbed to pulmonary tuberculosis. [MSH, 88-89]
Marceline's is an important case because it underlines how the study of hysteria became a study of what is normal. Which is the normal woman? How do we measure progress? One clear measure of her progress is that she is eating, that she is not near death. But she must be hypnotized in order to be "normal," and the cost of this progress is her increasing dependence on hypnotism and on the doctor. For Janet, "the provoked somnambulism became for this patient a second existence more complete than the first and was entirely substituted for it." 30 Do we read this as the loss of self or as the acquisition of a reasonable self given to her by the physician?
Janet came to understand his patient as having lived in a normal state before puberty. Her problem was not that she had more than one personality. Jules Janet had stressed that everyone has two personalities, but most people have their first at least as strong as the second. Thus, the second personality, the unconscious one, only erupts in dreams, when drunk, and very occasionally. 31 Pierre came to believe that when they found Marceline in her anoretic state, she had already lost her normal self, and one of the chief signs of this loss was her amnesia. Hypnosis restored her memory and thus her first personality. By reconnecting her to the past the physician returned her to normality. Her second, disordered, destructive personality could be kept at bay through the forces of memory.
But the forces of memory relied on the power of hypnosis wielded by the physician. The success of the treatment depended on the patient's vulnerability to suggestion, but this vulnerability itself was a sign of the illness: "The very power of our suggestions, which seems to us positive, is a mark of the profound disagregation of the mind, and the more the recovery appears to be easy, the more the mind is, in reality, sick." 32 Those patients who were apparently healed through suggestion developed a need for more suggestion, a "surprisingly violent" need to confess, to be directed. Suggestion can not set the patient free from the illness, because in hysteria "la passion somnambulique" (the hypnotic passion) is at the center of the illness (NIF, 211). The physician will naturally think his treatment is working well, as he sees the patient, eager to please him, returning for more treatments and apparently improving steadily as a result of the suggestions, the "moral guidance" he provides. But the physician should not be fooled:
The true sign of the recovery of the patient is the departure of the physician, who one sends away with pleasure; unhappily, this sign does not exist among the patients with whom we work. They are always incapable of dismissing their doctor. This influence exercised by the physician on the patients appears crucial to us in these mental disturbances. 33
In cases like Marceline's Janet was inclined to attribute the need for suggestion to an extremely weak hereditary constitution. The hysteria is not fixed on a certain idea or a particular memory; it is a global condition which justifies pessimism about any long-lasting therapeutic outcome.
Mme. D.'s amnesia was specific and limited. Although there was some questionable nervousness in her family's past, she had been basically healthy until the "lugubrious joke" that the stranger had played on her. For Janet the case was crucial, because it pointed to what he saw as the root of traumatic hysteria: dissociation of the personality provoked by an intense emotion. 34 How was one to provide the hysteric with renewed capacities for psychological synthesis? One of the chief obstacles was the now elaborated memory of the trauma, which Janet described as an idée fixe. But whereas Charcot's neuro-hynpnotic approach to Mme. D. was to find an efficacious suggestion to remember, Janet explored how forgetting might be essential to cure: "One of the most precious discoveries of pathological psychology would be that which would give us the certain means to provoke the forgetting of a specific psychological phenomenon." 35
After months of failing to get Mme. D. to make the false report a conscious memory, he attempted "to suppress it" ("la supprimer") or at least "to modify it" ("la modifier") so as to make it less frightening. While hypnotized, Mme. D. heard a knock at the door--but instead of the stranger entering the house, it was the psychologist himself! And instead of announcing the terrifying news, Janet's image said only: "Mme. D., prepare a bed because I would like to sleep at your house in M." 36 Now when Mme. D. had the recurrent dream about the incident, it aroused much less emotion, thus allowing her personality to integrate the various segments of the past into her personal memory. Janet de-elaborates the memory and thus removes its potency. In Charcot's terms, by manipulating the image he destroys its ability to continue to affect the nervous system. The past is in the way. By changing the past, the psychologist opens the possibilities of new memory for Mme. D.
Janet's interest in real trauma has made him an important re for recent feminist critiques of Freud, and his emphasis on dissociation rather than repression has drawn the attention of many who work with people victimized by violence or traumatic accidents. 37 The Freudian concept of repression always involves the question of desire; how does the person's ambivalence interact with memory to disturb the present? Janet was usually uninterested in this sort of question, concentrating instead on eliminating the potency of the link to the past. Although he departed from Charcot's neurological model in very significant ways, Janet also regarded memory as a potentially pathogenic element, but one that could be diffused through certain techniques in the present. The potency of the past for both men was extremely dangerous, and Janet emphasized how forgetting was essential to any healthy existence. "[I]t is more difficult than one generally believes to forget something. To know how to forget something is often as important as to know how to learn, because forgetting is the condition of forward movement, of progress, of life itself." 38 An element from the past which disturbed the possibilities for psychological synthesis (a trauma) could be removed, or at least recomposed. "In a word, after the disappearance of the idée fixe, the unity of the spirit is reconstituted." 39 The hygienic attributes of forgetting led the psychologist to reach beyond psychopathology for a general social law: "Forgetting is very often a virtue of individuals and peoples. 'It is necessary to know how to forget,' said Taine." 40
Janet struggled to find techniques that would give his traumatized patients the capacity to forget. Escaping from the grip of the past did not involve returning to it, or coming to understand its significance for one's present. The doctor could remove one's memory of the past, or at least change the past that one remembered. Nietzsche wrote that the will's "gnashing of teeth" and its "secret melancholy" was that it could not will backwards, it could not change the past. 41 With hypnosis, Janet (and many of those around him) thought he had found a treatment that could.
Janet used hypnosis as a technology of forgetting in a variety of circumstances. In their somnambulistic states, hysterics had their traumatic memories or idées fixes removed like malignant tumors; or, perhaps more accurately, the growths were rendered benign. Of course, in these conditions, it is not the patient's will which is "willing backwards." It is the physician's will (in the form of suggestion) which enters into the psyche of the patient when her or his own will is suspended through hypnosis. Janet regarded suggestion as an important psychological phenomenon, but (and here he remained linked with Charcot's school against the claims of Bernheim and the school of Nancy) he also regarded it as pathological. The more vulnerable one was to suggestion, the less stable was one's own psychological synthesis. Traumatic events were those that disrupted this synthesis, allowing unhealthy suggestions to develop into generally pathological behavior. Janet did not classify the types of events that might become traumatic. Everything depended on the overall health of one's psychological constitution--analogous to Charcot's neurological predisposition. If there were degenerate hereditary factors at work, the hysteric would only imitate psychological synthesis to satisfy his or her desire for suggestion. In cases where symptoms were caused by an isolated traumatic event, Janet believed that a healthy personal psychological synthesis could be restored by removing the experiences that had disrupted it.
Another case of Janet's provides an example of restoration through a transformation of the past. "Achille" thought he was possessed by the devil, but the psychologist discovered that it was the past that had taken control of his life. In "A Case of Possession," Janet exorcises the past with the powerful tools of the new science. After making Achille's internal devil obey his commands under hypnosis, Janet was able to discover the precipitating cause, the idée fixe behind his patient's ornate "medieval delusions." Achille had been sexually unfaithful to his wife, was consumed by fear and guilt, and was possessed by a subconscious emotion of remorse. 42 How to remove the remorse? Remove the sin, and the remorse and the delusions around it would also vanish. "An idea, a memory, can be considered as a system of images that one can destroy in separating its elements, in altering them separately, in substituting in the compound one or another partial image for those which exist." 43 In the case of Achille, an hallucination of his wife could be integrated through hypnotic suggestion into his reconred memory of adultery "au moment convenable" (at the opportune moment; EMH, 404). Thus, in rearranging the past, the psychologist grants a full pardon. Achille, we are told, returned home and remained in good health.
In this case of what he called l'exorcisme moderne, Janet participates in the Salpêtrière school's effort to use the tools of modern science to redescribe phenomena that had been thought to belong either to the world of religion or to the realm of the paranormal. In the Bibliothèque Diabolique series and in a variety of other publications, Charcot and his disciples used the language of psychopathology to demystify religious experience. Not only did they argue that witches were hysterics and not criminals, they also rewrote the biographies of saints to show that they, too, were hysterical. As they did with hypnosis, the doctors were attempting to show the power of their new techniques over material once thought to lie beyond the borders of science. By bringing this material into the scientific domain, the doctors were claiming new territory for the empire of rational investigation and thereby increasing their own power within the contest of competing scientific disciplines. 44
But if hypnosis and suggestion offered a language that could be used to redescribe religious and paranormal phenomena, it also confronted some investigators with occurrences that deeply shook their scientific presuppositions. The experts in hypnosis at the end of the century were not only to be found at the Salpêtrière and other hospitals, but were also scattered around the country in carnivals, séance halls, and even the living rooms of the bourgeoisie. Despite Charcot's stern warnings about the danger of these unprofessional practitioners of hypnosis, in fin-de-siècle France they remained enormously popular. 45 And some of their most faithful auditors were men of science who sought not so much to bring the hypnotists or mediums within the territory of science, but to use their work to destroy its borders. 46
Perhaps the most important and interesting of these res is Charles Richet. 47 Richet's interest in hypnotism and in the mesmerists preceded Charcot's by several years, but since he did not medicalize the phenomena his work at first had little impact on the scientific community. A professor of physiology at the Sorbonne, Richet emphasized that the self was comprised of memory, and investigated hypnotism's capacity to erase one's personal memories and substitute for them another set of images, another self. 48 In cases of "artificial somnambulism", the new collection of images were the suggestions given by the hypnotist. Hysterics and those who suffered from a dédoublement de la personnalité (doubling of the personality) were often cases of spontaneous or natural somnambulism. How did suggestion work for them? Richet, like Janet, was fascinated by memories which seemed to work outside of consciousness. These memories functioned as suggestions, creating alternate personalities.
For Richet, memory was the "prolongation of an excitation" (la prolongation d'une excitation). 49 After some event was registered, the registration remained a permanent trace of the event. Conscious memory was just that bit of the past that we could recall at any given time. In fact, memory was much broader, since nothing was ever lost to it.
As one has said for a long time, no fact disappears from memory: everything is fixed in it. Everything acts on us and leaves an indelible trace. Our intellectual existence at a moment is the result of all the impressions received in our past existence. How few, in this immense number, are perceived by consciousness. 50
In order to investigate this broader memory, one had to make use of subjects who had access to the world beyond consciousness, and for Richet, like many of his colleagues, this meant work on psychopathologies. In addition, however, Richet was drawn to people on the margins of conventional society who claimed to have access not only to other states of consciousness but also to other worlds. The truth was revealed at the margins, whether these were in hospital wards or spiritist séances. As Joseph Maxwell, a colleague of Azam's in Bordeaux's hospitals and an assiduous participant in séances of the paranormal with Richet, said: "From the beginning of my experiments . . . I understood that one could study certain apparently supernormal manifestations only with the aid of mental and nervous pathology." 51
Many of Charcot's colleagues (including Janet) were interested in paranormal phenomena. In the work for his doctoral dissertation Janet researched the claims of a medium, and Charcot's last publication dealt with faith healing. 52 But as we have seen, this sort of work was usually in the mode of demystification, the mode of showing how the extraordinary claims made for paranormal phenomena were either fraudulent or easily explained through the conventional categories of science (often of medicine). Richet thought of himself as a much more open-minded researcher than his counterparts at the Salpêtrière because he was ready to accept the possible occurrence of some phenomena that the doctors would never consider. Thus, he was one of the most enthusiastic researchers into that which could not be explained through our conventional understanding of the natural world. He wed a conventional belief in scientific progress (plus real scientific achievement) with an enormous appetite for the occult and the abnormal.
For example, Richet stressed the reasonableness of research into the appearance of ghosts. Now that we can communicate across space (through the telegraph and the telephone), the next task is to communicate over time. To communicate over time meant ultimately to eliminate the border of death. We do not expect to talk to our dearly departed grandparents, he assured his readers. But we do expect our great-grandchildren to contact us. That is what scientific progress is all about. 53 There would be nothing about this that violated the laws of nature. 54 On the contrary, Richet emphasized, our increased understanding and control of nature would allow us to overcome the temporal and spatial constraints that currently governed our lives. This was, after all, what science and technology had been doing throughout the second half of the nineteenth century. He was, he kept reminding his readers, a very reasonable man. 55
As a biologist interested in memory, it seemed plausible to Richet to move from the rational investigation of hypnotism and memory into scientific research on life after death. The physiological basis of memory was the "prolongation of an excitation," a trace left somewhere independently of one's awareness. Hypnotism showed that human memory was far more extensive than human consciousness. Richet began with the nineteenth-century scientific truism that nothing disappeared from memory and then wondered whether traces of the past continued to exist independently of the normal human capacity to recall them. If the material basis of memory was simply the "prolongation of an excitation," then perhaps there were media other than the brain in which this prolongation continued. Perhaps normal recall was only one way to access past time, and there were other possibilities unreasonably excluded by mere prejudice.
This does not mean that what is occult today will be occult tomorrow. Three hundred years ago, electricity was an occult force. Before Schelle and Lavoisier, chemistry was an occult science and was called alchemy; and it is only scarcely twenty years ago that animal magnetism ceased to be an occult science. 56
Elsewhere, Richet wrote, "It is the first time that one dares to study scientifically that which follows death. Who, then, will dare to say, without having cast an eye on this work, that it is a folly?" 57 He wanted only to collect evidence for further scientific work, and he defended his work on telepathy and on spiritism with a straightforward appeal to empiricism. We must have the facts before we can try to make sense of these extraordinary claims!
Photography was the privileged medium for presenting these facts in the late nineteenth century, as it was considered by many as the technology that perfectly copied the world even while prolonging, in a real sense, its excitations. Richet used photography not to define and hence limit what counts as real, but instead to change the way we understood the nature of reality and our connection to it. The photographic plate could record aspects of the world that our eyes (at least the eyes of most people) were not sensitive enough to register. For those who believed that our unaided senses offered us only the most superficial connection to reality, photography provided a tool to investigate the possibility of other realms, other modes of existence (e.g., the supernatural, the abnormal). It also was used to provide evidence of the appearance of these other realms in our reality. Nothing, after all, escapes the camera. In this regard, the camera was imagined to be like memory, for which nothing was ever lost. The photograph materialized an event, fixing movement in a concrete, physical process. The abnormal could be made available for all to see.
Thus, many photographers were not only seeking the banal, the everyday, but they were on the hunt for the abnormal and the extreme. Reality contained more than most people ever saw, and the camera could expand the normal range of the visible by bringing the abnormal into it. Photographers went into the hospitals to photograph the sick, into the asylums to photograph the insane, into the jails to capture the prisoners (forever), into the séances to record how hypnosis was used to communicate with the beyond of the unconscious and the beyond of the après mort (world after death). The transmission of something like the fluide vitale (vital fluid), long appealed to by mesmerists, magnetizers, mediums, and hypnotists, would be seen through photographic inscription. In late-nineteenth-century France, these "extreme photographs" were used to expand the domain of the real, or at least to alter the conception of reality and its representation that had come to be accepted in the fin-de-siècle.
Photographs of ghosts were used as evidence of the existence of an afterlife, or at least of some world beyond the one visible to us in space and time. These pictures should be seen as part of a more general effort to find a place for the non-material in a culture increasingly dominated by technological change and scientific legitimation. In the age of positivism the search for some evidence of the existence of an afterlife took on new forms. The acceleration of secularization in official culture in the last decades of the nineteenth century reconred the organization of interest in the "spiritual" or "non-material" world. The increasing pace of technological change and scientific advance both explained more about the natural world and opened more mysteries in it. The development of electric power, the invention of the recording phonograph and the discovery of X rays are only a few of the markers of what was taken to be both signs of scientific power and indices of the profound mysteriousness of nature. For many, photography offered the possibility of recording this mysteriousness with one of the most powerful and accessible products of scientific progress. As Gabriel Delanne put it in 1893:
We see how much importance critics attach to photographic proof; it establishes, in fact, irresistibly, the certainty that one has really witnessed an objective phenomenon, and that there is no question of hallucination in the sight of the materialized spirit. . . . Well, we spirits, we have just told the positivists: we have become your disciples, we have adopted your method, and we accept as true that the truths demonstrated by analysis, the senses, and observation. 58
The disciples of positivism would bring one of its favorite tools into the dark cabinets of spiritism. There the camera would ratify the reality of phenomena that otherwise would lie beyond the limits of the scientific imagination. Séance-goers were no more the dupes of fake mediums than were physicians falling for the malingering of false hysterics. Photography would substantiate the reality of the phenomenon. One of the key words here is materialization: the process through which the spiritual or mental world, and especially the world of the past, is made manifest to us. Photography is the medium that can give this process a permanent, concrete form.
Photography was a powerful example of how an increased understanding of natural processes allowed us to have deeper insight into and control over the real. Already in the 1870s, attempts to photograph ghosts were in full swing. Photography could stop time (although, through the 1870s, it still took some time to get a proper exposure), thus making a permanent trace of reality. Thus photography could be used to satisfy--or at least address--the desire to remain in contact with the dead. Photographic portraits of the dead rapidly became a commonplace in late- nineteenth-century bourgeois France, with many of the big Parisian studios advertising portraits d'après decés (after death) as part of their repertoire of services for the consumer. These portraits were usually taken in the hours just after death, when the pain of loss was most acute and the possibilities of photographic preservation most apparent. In the 1870s, however, an enterprising Parisian photographer, Buguet, had the idea of using the medium to photograph the deceased even after they had been long buried. He brought mournful clients to his studio at 5 Boulevard Montparnasse where they would be kept waiting with another "client" who in reality was an associate of the photographer and who acquired information about the physical characteristics of the deceased. When the real client entered the studio proper, he or she was asked to concentrate on the dearly departed. Buguet explained that through a very special process the photographic plate could capture the connection that was established between the intense memory of the client and the deceased. After finishing the supposed exposure, the photographer withdrew into a second studio where he sketched on the plate an impression of a head to "satisfy all tastes." 59 Buguet's studio became well known, and it was even doing a mail order business ("concentrate on the photographer and the deceased, and our special camera can record the image . . . distance is no obstacle"). Satisfaction was guaranteed. If the picture does not look at all like your loved one, send it back and we'll try again. Eventually, the police took an interest in the studio, and when Buguet produced a picture of what was supposed to be the commissaire's deceased wife, he was promptly arrested. The commissaire had never married.
The photographic con artist became notorious after his 1875 trial, and the photography of spirits fell into general disrepute by the late 1870s. But with the increased scientific importance given to hypnotism and hysteria in the 1880s and 1890s, photographers were once again enlisted to make the abnormal real and concrete. Hysteria was said by many to be the somatization of desires and of traumatic memory; this process could be revealed by hypnosis. Hysterical symptoms were the materialization of the past, of the hysteric's wounded memory. Physicians, psychologists and philosophers worked extensively with mediums who could reproduce hysterical symptoms when in hypnotic trance. The hypnotic trance allowed the hysteria to take a material form. The trance could also allow the spirit to take material form. Photography could record this materialization of the beyond just as it had recorded the somatization of the hysterical desire in a symptom.
One of the prominent theories of hypnosis in the last two decades of the century linked the trance to "the doubling of personality." The person (usually a woman) in the hypnotic trance was said to enter into (or create) another personality. According to Aleksandr Aksakof, the photographic plate was able to register the form of this other personality--as distinct from the body of the person in trance. For Aksakof, the photograph reveals something that is not visible to the human eye. The light- sensitive plate can capture things that elude us. Aksakof here goes beyond using the camera to make permanent astonishing but ephemeral things we have seen. He thinks of photography as offering us a new tool for recording the invisible so as to expand what we can see. 60
Hyppolite Baraduc was one of photography's most ardent explorers of the invisible. Unlike the scientists who went to séances armed with a camera in case a ghost appeared, Baraduc was using the light-sensitive plate to record what we never could see, attempting to create an "iconography of the invisible." 61 In this realm, "nothing is lost . . . everything is transformed; and if we now rediscover the earthly dust of worlds or of beings that have existed, we should also be able to rediscover vécues potentialities [lived potentialities], the shadows of those who have passed." 62 Photography is not limited to the body, but can register the vital forces that continue to emanate from our spirit. Thus, photography is our chief weapon against time; not because it can freeze the moment in which action takes place but because it can show us that nothing is lost in our world. Death is only transformation and photography can give us evidence of the results of this process.
The publication of photographs that claimed to show the mysterious forces at work in our universe quickly resulted in essays that challenged the interpretations of the images. For the brothers Lumière, writing in the 1890s, the halo effect that so captivated Baraduc was only a technical problem of certain cameras or plates, and it could be alleviated through the choice of particular lenses. 63
If photographs of the invisible were dismissed as illusions generated in the darkroom, how was one to explain the photographs that recorded the very strange phenomena that were occurring in séances at the end of the century? Verbal reports from even the most distinguished observers could be dismissed or attributed to tromperie (fraud), but who could "deny the reality of the photograph?" With the advent of fairly rapid exposure times and of flash photography, cameras joined scientific observers to document how the hypnotic trance (variously red as access to an unconscious, a second personality, or a different dimension of temporality) allowed another world to become visible in ours. One of the great products of this effort to document the reality of the spirit world through photography is Julliete Alexandre-Bisson's Les Phénomènes dits de matérialisation: étude experimentale, published in 1914, based on her experiments in the late nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries with Dr. Schrenk-Notzing and the medium Eva. These experiments produced "ectoplasm" the substance that emerges from the medium as a sign of the beyond (this, after all her orifices had been checked before the séance by Schrenk-Notzing and other observers to guard against trickery), and ideoplasms. Ideoplasms were images that appeared above or behind the medium's head--faces of a spirit called from the beyond. The photographer could capture that ephemeral image in a permanent form.
The ectoplasm that emerges from the medium's mouth or other bodily cavities was evidence of contact with the beyond, and the ideal photograph would show the medium in the throes of putting forth this mysterious substance (. 1 - 2). With ideoplasms, the best example is when the ghostly image seems to emerge out of the ectoplasm--so we have a double dose of evidence from another world grasped by the photographic apparatus (. 3 - 4).
If it was difficult to doubt the veracity of the photographic recording (something was in front of the camera and the witnesses), it was very possible to question what was being recorded. Skeptical critics pointed out that the ideoplasms resembled photographs of famous people that had appeared in popular magazines; the medium had cut these out, attached them to a stick and a black sheet, and in the dark room someone had waved them about in front of the gullible séance participants. The photo of the so-called "ideoplasm," the critics claimed, was really a photo of a photo!
Schrenk-Notzing replied that the ideoplasm was a materialization of the medium's hypnotized memory of a photograph. First there is the photo of a famous person. The image becomes part of the medium's extraordinary memory, and these mnemonic powers cause a materialization of the image, which is then photographed by the investigator. Thus, the ideoplasm is not a fraud, it is the return of the image to the concrete through a powerful projection of memory. The photographer in the séance records this projection, and the image produced should count as evidence of the reality of the powers of the medium's memory. The medium's powers were real, even if they led only to the imitation of an image. And photography's powers to document remained substantial, even if they led only to copies of other photographs in the effort to realize the fervent desire to see beyond the visible and to live beyond the limits of mortality.
We saw above that doctors working with hysterics considered their symptoms as materializations of the past. In the hospitals, too, photography became a privileged medium for representing these materializations. 64 And these doctors so concerned with the fragility and the malleability of memory sought to register their own work with permanence. In 1875 Bourneville and Regnard set up a photographic service in Charcot's wing of the Salpêtrière, and soon after they began publishing pictures alongside their case studies. This was six years after the establishment of the Photographic Revue of the Hospitals of Paris, a publishing venture in which Bourneville became an editor in 1870. Photography gave direct access to the Truth, and the directors of the journal hoped to have as much success with their medium as did clinical photographers of skin disease who had been at work already for some time. Charcot considered himself not a theorist of hysteria, but someone who was able to see it more clearly than anyone else. Seeing things cleanly, grasping them with the eye and without theory was an attempt to see them outside of time. The perfect instrument for that (the perfect weapon, as Didi-Huberman has said) was photography. It was photography that helped the celebrated doctor respond to the charge that the hysterics in the Salpêtrière were merely imitating the disease that Charcot and his famous patients had prescribed for them. In 1887 the doctor wrote: "It would be something truly miraculous if I could thus create these diseases according to my caprice and my fantasy. But the truth is that I am there absolutely only the photographer; I inscribe what I see." 65 The doctor is a light-sensitive plate, he merely receives and records the symptoms.
The difficulty with this analogy, however, is that the doctor himself is both discursive--the images must be translated into words (what is lost in the translation?)--and transitory (when he is no longer there to see, what he has seen disappears). The photographic study is the perfect complement to the vision of the doctor. The photograph dispenses with the need for words; nothing can be lost in the translation. The photograph is permanent, an absolute memory which will be fresh long after the doctor is gone. But what is seen?
In one photograph ( 5), published in 1878, we see Augustine in her normal state. Where in this picture is the hysteria? Where is the recording or the inscription of a disease? A photograph like "Tetanisme" ( 6) is to reveal the core of the illness, or perhaps the signs of the illness. Or is it that in hysteria the signs are the core of the disease? By now the series of images known as Attitudes Passionnelles (hysterical postures) are quite familiar (. 7 - 9).[ 7][ 8][ 9] 66 There are many more photographs of Augustine in the various positions that had come to be famous as the positions of hysteria. The camera, like Doctor Charcot, is presented as inventing nothing, suggesting nothing. The photographic imperative will see all, will demand revelation from the patient. The photographic imperative must see into the disease. The model seems to have been the photographs which were eventually housed in the museum of dermatological disorders. These images are able to enclose the disease as they record its signs. The diseased organ, the skin, is there before us in these pictures; but where is Augustine's disease? Where is it located?
The photographic imperative will record what is revealed. But with the hysteric, the camera's desire to reveal is itself recorded in the look (even when the eyes are closed) of Augustine. The hysteric is the subject who will be revealed, and although in this period male hysteria is recognized (with some pride) as a possibility, it is the [Begin Page 22] woman who is revealed by the male doctor and his camera. Knowing the desire for revelation, acknowledging this desire in her own look, in the positions of her body, becomes a part of hysterical desire, and perhaps of hysterical suffering. We see revealed by the photographs the desire for revelation of the photographer, of the psychiatrist whose fantasy of passively recording the desire of these women becomes part of their desire, becomes part of their hysteria. And, of course, the mise-en-scène of these pictures, their artfulness, discloses the futility and the denials of this dream of passive recording. In the Archives de l'Assistance Publique one can consult what seems to be some of the original photographs eventually published in the Iconographie. On the back of a few of them, written lightly in pencil, there are instructions to the photographer for publication-ready copies: "Lighten a little the bottom of the clothes and the hands; accentuate the eyes in the sentiment of the gaze [sentiment du regard]; put a few creases in the blouse." 67
This was frustrating work for the physician and his photographer. The hysteric's illness, according to many, was in her deception, her appearance of illness. This did not mean she was faking, or that she was not ill. As the psychiatrist Lasegue noted, not anybody who pleases can be a hypochondriac; the symptoms of hysteria could be lies, but they were still symptoms of a real illness. 68 (Remember the photograph of the ghost/photograph.) How does the hysteric force her body to lie? How could photography, in recording that lie, capture the truth? What if the hysteric's production of symptoms is stimulated, aroused by the photographer's sensitive recording of appearance? The attempt of the physician to record the hysteric, to commit her through images to a memory which knew no forgetting, placed the photographic imperative within the dialectics of hysterical desire, by which I mean a desire for recognition combined with a radical denial of the possibilities for satisfying this desire. The physician/photographer was in the position to reward the hysteric by seeing (and preserving) her as a model of the disease. The hysteric was in the position of rewarding the physician/photographer by giving him the model of hysteria. The pictures were immediately criticized for being modeled, that is, for picturing merely imitations of symptoms. The models were too good. The women, the critics said, were only responding to suggestion, not from some trauma in the past, but from the doctors or other patients. The photographs only recorded the product of the suggestion. But was susceptibility to suggestion a real disease, and, if so, how was it to be recorded?
After leaving the Salpêtrière, Dr. Bourneville became the director of the service of hysteria, epilepsy, and idiocy at Bicêtre, a men's hospital outside of Paris. At his new post, the doctor continued to make use of photography. He wanted to commit the physicians' work on disease to memory in forms that escaped the problems of the interdependence of the hysteric and her photographer. Bourneville is an exceptionally interesting character. An accomplished physician, he was a radically anticlerical deputy to the National Assembly. Not content with chasing the church from hospitals and positions of pedagogic power, Bourneville edited the Bibliothèque Diabolique, which published retrospective diagnoses of saints and miracle workers as hysterics avant la lettre.
In 1885 Bourneville established the musée pathologique (pathological museum) at Bicêtre. The museum collected human skeletons, bones of animals, and fetuses in various stages of development. Mme. Forino, a midwife from the suburb of Gentilly, considerably enriched the museum's collection with her own private holdings in 1886. The museum also contained portraits of physicians at the hospital, and photographs of patients in various stages of their illness, including portraits of the dead and of cadavers during autopsies. Bourneville seemed to worry that the public would think of the museum as a collection of curiosities, and in the Bulletins of 1887, and also 1888, 1889, and 1890, he repeated that he had not collected objects for the merely curious, but materials to be used in serious research. Not only should physicians be able to use the museum for further study, the general public should find there the evidence of medicine's steady progress against the ravages of disease.
In 1887 Parisian newspapers reported the visit of the Minister of the Interior to the pathological museum at Bicêtre. The museum was made up of one room that stored specimens meant to shed light on various diseases: epilepsy, idiocy, hysteria. A favorite technique for preserving the signs of disease were wax models of bodies twisted by illness. But photography remained a privileged form. One paper noted that the minister stopped for some time before photographs of children under the care of Bourneville. "It was easy to follow the phases of the disease. To the extent that the patient entered the path of healing, the structure of the face is modified, the brutal impression of characteristics is attenuated, pupils are dilated, the eyes become clear and lively and the cheeks are colored and take on a shade of freshness and health." 69 Progress for the patient. Progress for the doctor. Progress for the minister.
But these are not the photographs I have seen. What remains of the musée pathologique are not signs of progress but signs of the inexorable degradation that disease brings. We see children standing next to a measuring stick when admitted to the unit; we see them next in various stages of their stay in the hospital. In one series, a young girl, Blaise, is shown looking scared, small but almost precious next to the measuring rod. Like all the other children in these pictures, she is clothed in warm, winter greys. Then we see her some months later and the illness has overwhelmed the person. We then see her dead, photographed on the cold metal table. But this is not the end of the story: the insistence on taking the camera to the core of the disease ends up with a photograph of a brain, which the inscription beneath tells us was once hers.
In other photographs (. 10-14) we see the death masks--or should I call them death skulls?--made before autopsy. [ 10] [ 11] [ 12] [ 13] [ 14] They are among the many found tucked away on the shelves in the basement of the Museum of Public Assistance of the City of Paris. Some of the skulls show extraordinary deformations. Others are striking for their expression, the wisps of hair which still cling to eyelashes and scalp after a hundred years. The skulls--and remember the claim that these were not objects of curiosity, but tools for serious research--were kept in cabinets to be seen by hospital visitors, doctors, and those who would in the future admire the work done to understand illness and heal the sick.
Charcot had told the doctors in his department that they should think of the extraordinary number and diversity of ailments available to them at the Salpêtrière as a vast musée pathologique vivant (living museum of pathology). Later, like Bourneville, he aimed at something more permanent, and more public. A museum that would house the challenges and triumphs of the new school of psychiatry. Bourneville, in his pathological museum at Bicêtre, wanted to inscribe his work in permanent forms: photography, wax res, plaster skulls. A living museum, a museum of the living, would die, its res disappear. With photographs and sculpture, the terror of illness and the capacities of medicine to overcome that terror could be rendered permanent. Memory, these doctors knew, had to be embodied. But bodies, they also knew, degraded, vanished. The musée pathologique would overcome forgetting in a permanent tribute to scientific progress and the powerful physicians who made it possible.
But as I said, the skulls are in the basement of a museum, and not one known for attracting long lines of people. There is almost nothing left of Charcot's museum at the Salpêtrière. Soon after these doctors died, their memorials were unfunded, their treasures unclaimed or dispersed. The museum's traces, its remains, have been almost forgotten. What do these photographs and plaster res still express of the doctors' hopes for recognition, for permanent progress; what do they express of the patients' agony in the final degradation of disease?
Following Charcot, Freud wrote of hysterical symptoms as residues and mnemonic symbols of particular experiences. He compared the signs of disease to monuments and other symbols of memory. 70 In late-nineteenth-century French psychiatry, Freud learned to think of hysteria as the failure to overcome trauma. A fixed idea is elaborated into a symptom or into a sign, the past remains in the present. The doctors, too, tried to keep the past in full view of the present. Of course, they did not embody past traumas, they tried to memorialize past triumphs. French doctors at the end of the nineteenth century seized new technologies of representation to immortalize patients whose pasts continued to wound them. In so doing, it would be too much to say they behaved like their hysterical patients. But we can see how the pathological museums came to resemble the hysterics in their display of temporal disorder; the painful disruptions of hysteria and the cool display of disease and death in the museum are inverted metaphors for one another. Both embodied signs (of achievement, of trauma) which were never to be forgotten. And both exemplify that desire which can become pathological: the desire to overcome memory and forgetting, to overcome the passage of time by representing and collecting the ephemeral in permanent form.
Michael S. Roth is Assistant Director for Scholars and Seminars at the Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities. His most recent books are The Ironist's Cage: Trauma, Memory and the Construction of History and the edited volume in honor of Carl Schorske, Rediscovering History: Culture, Politics and the Psyche .
Unless otherwise indicated, all translations into English are the author's.
1. The original reads: "Nôtre santé morale dépend de la limitation de ces deux activités psychologiques l'une par l'autre, de cet équilibre entre la force automatique du passé et l'effort conscient et volontaire du présent" (Pierre Janet, L'État mental des hystériques [Paris: Félix Alcan, 1911], 215; hereafter abbreviated EMH).
2. Quoted in Etienne Trillat, Histoire de l'hystérie (Paris, 1983), 211.
3. See Michael S. Roth, "Remembering Forgetting: Maladies de la Mémoire in Nineteenth-Century France," Representations 26 (spring 1989): 49-68; "Dying of the Past: Medical Studies of Nostalgia in Nineteenth-Century France," History and Memory 3 (spring/summer 1991): 5-29; "The Time of Nostalgia: Medicine, History, and Normality in Nineteenth-Century France," Time and Society 1 (May 1992): 271. Also see Ian Hacking, Rewriting the Soul: Multiple Personality and the Sciences of Memory (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), especially 154-209.
4. I have discussed these issues in the introduction to The Ironist's Cage: Memory, Trauma, and the Construction of History (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), and in "Victims, Memory, History," Tikkun (March/April 1994): 59-60. For strong contrast, see Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery (New York: Basic Books, 1992), and Frederick Crews, The Memory Wars (New York: New York Review of Books, 1995).
5. The best general survey now available is Mark Micale, Approaching Hysteria: Disease and Its Interpretations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995).
6. On Félida X and Doctor Azam see Roth, "Remembering Forgetting," 49-68, and Hacking, Rewriting the Soul, 159-170.
7. Henri Legrand de Saulle, Les Hystériques: État physique et état mental, actes insolites, délictueux et criminels (Paris: Libraire J.-B. Bailliere, 1883), 3.
8. The work of Josef Delboeuf is a good example of this tendency. See his "De l'Analogie entre l'état hypnotique et l'état normal," Revue de l'hypnotisme 3 : 289-92.
9. This had to do with Briquet's insistence on male hysteria. In this regard, see Jan Goldstein, "The Uses of Male Hysteria: Medical and Literary Discourse in Nineteenth-Century France," Representations 34 (Summer 1991): 152. Also see Mark S. Micale, "Charcot and the Idea of Hysteria in the Male: Gender, Mental Science and Medical Diagnosis in late-nineteenth century France," Medical History 34 (October 1990): 363-411; and Elaine Showalter, "Hysteria, Feminism, and Gender," in Hysteria Beyond Freud, ed. Sander Gilman et al. (Berkeley: University of California Press), 286-344.
10. On Charcot's medical work and cultural importance, see, for example: Micale, Approaching Hysteria; Georges Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystérie: Charcot et l'Iconographie Photographique de la Salpêtrière (Paris: Macula, 1982); Jan Goldstein, Console and Classify: The French Psychiatric Profession in the Nineteenth Century (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Georges Guillain, Charcot: Sa Vie--Son Oeuvre (Paris: Masson, 1955); Martha Noel Evans, Fits and Starts: A Genealogy of Hysteria in Modern France (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), 9-50; Debora L. Silverman, Art Nouveau in Fin-de-Siècle France: Politics, Psychology, and Style (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 75-106.
11. Micale, "Charcot and the Idea of Hysteria in the Male," 385. See also Esther Fischer-Homberger, Die traumatische Neurose: vom somatischen zum sozialen Leiden (Bern: H. Huber, 1975).
12. See, for example, George Frederick Drinka, The Birth of Neurosis: Myth, Malady, and the Victorians (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984), 108-122.
13. Charcot, Leçons sur l'hystérie virile (Paris: Le Sycomore, 1984), 36.
14. For all his emphasis on traumatic events as the precipitating causes of hysteria, Charcot firmly believed that degenerate heredity left one vulnerable (predisposed) to such events. On the popularity of degeneracy as a category in late-nineteenth century medical and social texts, see, for example, Debora Silverman, Art Nouveau; Robert Nye, The Origins of Crowd Psychology: Gustave Le Bon and the Crisis of Mass Democracy in the Third Republic (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1975); and Susana Barrows, Distorting Mirrors: Visions of the Crowd in late-nineteenth century France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981).
15. See Charcot, "Sur an cas d'amnésie rétro-antérograde," Revue de médecine 12 (January 1892): 81-96; Janet, "L'Amnésie continue," Revue générale des sciences (30 March 1893): 167-69; and A. Souques, "Essai sur l'amnésie rétro-antérograde dans l'hystérie, les traumatismes cérébraux et l'alcoolisme chronique," Revue de médecine 12 (May 1892): 366-401; (November 1892): 867-81.
16. But Mme. D. did recognize Charcot when she would be reexamined by him. The doctor concluded that this was because she had seen André Brouillet's much-reproduced painting of Charcot, Une Leçon Clinique à la Salpêtrière, prior to the 14 July of her trauma.
17. Adam Crabtree regards Charcot's paper delivered to the Académie des Sciences on 13 February 1882 as decisive. This was published as "Sur les divers états nerveux déterminés par l'hypnotisation chez les hystériques," Comptes-rendus hebdomadaires de séances de l'Académie des Sciences 94 : 403-405. In 1881, Charcot had already published Contribution à l'étude de l'hypnotisme chez les hystériques (Paris: Progrès médical, 1881). See Adam Crabtree, From Mesmer to Freud: Magnetic Sleep and the Roots of Psychological Healing (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 166-67.
18. Anne Harrington, "Hysteria, Hypnosis, and the Lure of the Invisible: The Rise of Neo-Mesmerism in Fin-de-Siècle French Psychiatry," in The Anatomy of Madness: Essays in the History of Psychiatry, vol. 3, ed. W. F. Bynum, Roy Porter, and Michael Shepherd (New York: Routledge, 1988), 227.
19. The original reads: "Cette femme, que nous avons pu hypnotiser, retrouve dans le sommeil hypnotique la mémoire de tous les faits écoulés jusqu'au moment présent" (Charcot, "Sur un cas d'amnésie rétro-antérograde," 85).
20. The original reads: "la totalité du système nerveux peut et doit être analysée en termes d'unités similaires de structure et de fonction, c'est-à-dire de connexions sensori-motrices et de processus réflexes" (Marcel Gauchet, L'Inconscient Cérébral [Paris: Seuil, 1992], 65). Gauchet discusses Charcot's relationship with Luys, 111-19.
21. Pierre Janet, L'automatisme psychologique (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1889); parts of this study had already appeared from 1886-1888 in the Revue Philosophique.
22. The original reads:
Eh bien, je suis convaincu, à tort ou à raison, que l'amnésie est très important dans l'hystérie, que c'est même un des symptomes cardinaux de cette affection. Il ne me semble pas qu'il soit possible de rien comprendre aux divers symptomes que vous pouvez avoir à observer . . . si vous n'avez pas d'abord étudié autant que possible le fait principal qui intervient plus ou moins dans tous les autres, le trouble de la mémoire.
Pierre Janet, "L'Anesthésie hystérique," Archives de Neurologie 69, 70 : 32. This publication was based on a series of lectures given by Janet at the Salpêtrière. In the first lecture, he makes a case for the psychological understanding of the disease, which he calls a maladie de la personnalité.
23. The original reads: "Une amnésie de nature hystérique, n'est pas due à la destruction même des traces laissés par les sensations. En d'autres termes, dans toute amnésie hystérique, la conservation des souvenirs subsiste encore. . . . Eh bien, cet oubli n'est qu'une apparence, une illusion; il suffit de la rendormir, de la remettre par suggestion, ou mieux par une habitude automatique dans un état moral analogue à celui dont elle vient de sortir pour qu'elle retrouve tous les souvenirs" (Janet, "L'Anesthésie hystérique," 40).
24. Pierre Janet, Neuroses et idées fixes, 4th ed. (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1925), 127; hereafter abbreviated NIF.
25. Janet writes: "Nous voyons bien par ces faits et bien d'autres du même genre que les souvenirs des événements récents existent même pendant la veille, mais qu'ils existent d'une manière toute particulière; ils semblent sinon inconscients, du moins subconscients, c'est-à-dire en dehors de la conscience des malades" (NIF, 130; my emphasis).
26. The original reads: "Il faut qu'une sorte de synthèse réunisse les sensations produites et les rattache à la masse des idées antérieures, des sentiments passés et présents, de la cnesthésie actuelle dout l'ensemble constitue la personnalité" (NIF, 135).
27. The original reads:
Les choses se passant comme si ces malades étaient devenues incapables d'avoir la perception personnelle de leurs souvenirs, d'assimiler à leur personnalité présente les images qui continuent à se conserver et à se reproduire automatiquement dans leur esprit, comme si leur personnalité arrêtée définitivement à un certain point ne pouvait plus s'accroître par l'adjonction, l'assimilation d'élements nouveaux. [NIF, 138]
For an approach to amnesia which also emphasizes the integration (or association) of memories but does so on the level of neuro-anatomy, see Korsakoff, "Étude Médico-Psychologique sur une forme des Maladies de la Mémoire," Revue Philosophique 28 (May 1889), 501-30.
28. Janet discusses Marceline in detail in EMH, 545-688, under the title of a "Félida Artificielle." He had earlier published this account in the Revue Philosophique in 1909.
29. Pierre Janet, The Major Symptoms of Hysteria: Fifteen Lectures Given in the Medical School of Harvard University (New York: Hafner, 1965), 88; hereafter abbreviated MSH.
30. The original reads: "le somnambulisme provoqué est devenu chex cette malade une seconde existence plus complète que la première et s'est entièrement substitué à elle" (EMH, 371).
31. Jules Janet, "L'hystérie et l'hypnotisme, d'après la théorie de la double personnalité," Revue scientifique 20 (19 May 1888): 617-23.
32. The original reads: "La puissance même de nos suggestions qui nous paraît heureuse est une marque de la profonde désagrégation de l'esprit, et plus la guérison est en apparence facile, plus l'esprit est en réalité malade" (NIF, 193).
33. The original reads: "Le véritable signe de la guérison d'une malade, c'est le départ du médecin que l'on revoie avec plaisir; malheureusement ce signe n'existe pas chez les malades dont nous nous occupons, ils sont toujours incapables de renvoyer leur médecin. . . . Cette influence exercée par le médecin sur les malades, nous paraît capitale dans ces peturbations de l'esprit" (NIF, 208).
34. NIF, 143.
35. The original reads: "Une des découvertes les plus précieuses de la psychologie pathologique serait celle qui nous donnerait le moyen sûr de provoquer l'oublie d'un phénomène psychologique déterminée" (NIF, 404).
36. The original reads: "'Mme. D., préparez un lit, car je désire coucher chez vous à M.'"(NIF, 146).
37. Ruth Leys has discussed Janet's emphasis on forgetting in the context of debates on memory in the beginning of this century and in recent psychological treatments of post-traumatic disorders, in "Tramatic Cures: Shell Shock, Janet, and the Question of Memory," Critical Inquiry 20 (Summer 1994): 623-62.
38. The original reads: "il est plus difficile qu'on ne le croit généralement d'oublier quelque chose. Savoir oublier est souvent une qualité aussi bien que savoir apprendre, car l'oubli est la condition de la marche en avant, du progrès, de la vie même" (NIF, 404).
39. The original reads: "En un mot, après la disparition de l'idée fixe, l'unité de l'esprit se reconstituiait" (NIF, 405).
40. EMH, 422.
41. Friedrich Nietzsche, "Redemption," in Thus Spake Zarathustra, trans. Thomas Commons (New York: Modern Library, 1970), 153.
42. EMH, 403.
43. The original reads: "Une idée, un souvenir peut être considéré comme un système d'images que l'on peut détruire, en séparant ses éléments, en les altérant isolément, en substituant dans le composé telle ou telle image partielle à celles qui existaient" (EMH, 404).
44. See in this regard the important work of Goldstein, Console and Classify. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987).
45. See Charcot, "Spiritisme et hystérie," in Oeuvres Complètes, vol. 3, Leçons sur les maladies du système nerveux (Paris: Lecrosnier et Babé, 1890), 229-38; and "Une lettre de M. Charcot au sujet des séances publiques d'hypnotisme," Revue de l'hypnotisme : 380. Carnival performers were well aware of Charcot's reputation as an expert hypnotist and even imitated him in their performances. See A. R. G. Owen, Hysteria, Hypnosis, and Healing: The Work of J.-M. Charcot (London: Dennis Dobson, 1971), 204.
46. On the two-way street between French psychiatry and the occult, see Harrington, "Hysteria, Hypnosis, and the Lure of the Invisible," 226-46.
47. For biographical information, see Marilisa Juri, Charles Richet, physiologiste, 1850-1935 (Zurich: Juris Druck & Verlag, 1965); and Stewart Wolf, Brain, Mind, and Medicine: Charles Richet and the Origins of Physiological Psychology (New Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Publishers, 1993).
48. Richet writes, "Ainsi la conscience de la personnalité dépend de nos souvenirs. . . Mais que ces souvenirs personnels se dissipent; que cette conscience du moi d'il y a une minute, du moi, d'il y a un jour, du moi d'il y a un an, du moi d'il y a vingt ans, vienne à s'effacer; alors, je n'aurai plus d'autre moi que celui qui résultera des conditions extérieures" (Charles Richet, L'Homme et l'Intelligence: Fragments de physiologie et de psychologie [Paris: Félix Alcan, 1884], 248).
49. Charles Richet, "De la Mémoire Elémentaire," Revue Philosophique 11 (June 1881): 545.
50. The original reads: "Comme on l'a dit depuis longemps, nul fait ne disparaît de la mémoire: tout se fixe en elle. Tout agit sur nous, et laisse un trace indélébile. Nôtre existence intellectuelle du moment est la résultante de toutes les impressions recues dans notre existence passée. Combien peu, dans l'immense nombre, sont perçues par la conscience?" (Richet, L'Homme et l'Intelligence, 537).
51. The original reads: "Dès le début de mes expériences, j'ai été frappé d'un fait qui m'a paru certain. Je me suis aperçu que l'on ne pouvait étudier certaines manifestations en apparence supranormales qu'à l'aide de la pathologie nerveuse et mentale" (Joseph Maxwell, Les Phénomènes psychiques: recherches, observations, methodes [Paris: Félix Alcan, 1903], 16).
52. Both Richet and Janet worked with the woman that Janet named "Leonie," after first having named her "Mme. B." See Janet's discussion of Mme. B. in "Notes sur quelque phénomènes de somnambulisme," Bulletin de la société de psychologie physiologique : 24, and L'automatisme psychologique (Paris, Félix Alcan, 1889), 49. See also Jacqueline Carroy, Hypnose, suggestion et psychologie: l'invention des sujets (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1991), 84-86. Charcot's discussion of faith healing is in his La foi qui guérit (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1897).
53. See, for example, Richet's preface to Maxwell, Les phénomènes psychiques, ix: "Il y a dix ans on ne soupconnait pas l'existence des rayons Roentgen. Avant la photographie on ne savait pas que la lumière réduit les sels d'argent. Les ondes hertziennes ne sont connues que depuis trente ans à peine. Il y a deux cent ans, on ne connaissant de cette force immense électrique que la propriété de l'ambre frotté."
54. Charles Richet, "A Propos du mysticisme modern: réplique à M. Rosenbach," Annales des sciences psychiques 2 : 292-301.
55. See Juri, Charles Richet, and Wolf, Brain, Mind, and Medicine.
56. The original reads: "Cela ne veut pas dire que ce qui est occulte aujourd'hui sera occulte demain. Il y a trois cent ans, l'électricité était une force occulte. Avant Schelle et Lavoisier, la chimie était un science occulte et on l'appalait l'alchimie; et il n'y a guère plus de vingt ans que le magnétisme animale a cessé d'être une science occulte" (Charles Richet, "Lettre a M. Dariex," Annales des sciences psychiques 1 [1891]: 4).
57. The original reads: "C'est la première fois qu'on ose étudier scientifiquement le lendemain de la mort. Qui donc osera dire, sans avoir jeté les yeux sur cet ouvrage, que c'est une folie?" (Charles Richet, "Préface" to Les Hallucinations télépathiques, by Edmund Gurney, F. W. H. Myers, and Frank Podmore, trans. L. Mariller [Paris: Félix Alcan, 1891], xiii).
58. The original reads: "On voit combien les critiques attachent d'importance à la preuve photographique; c'est qu'elle établit, en effet, irresistiblement, la certitude que l'on a bien assisté à un phénomène objectif et que l'hallucination n'est pour rien dans la vision de l'esprit matérialisé. . . . Eh, bien, nous spirites, nous venons dire aux positivistes ceci: Nous sommes devenus vos disciples, nous avons adopté votre méthode, et nous acceptons pour vraies que les vérités démonstrées par l'analyse, les sens et l'observation" (Gabriel Delanne, Le Phénomène spirite: témoinages des savants, 4th ed. [Paris: Chamuel, 1893], 192, 264).
59. H. Fourtier, "Les Joyeusetés de la photographie: photographies spirites," Photo-Journal 8 : 243.
60. Aleksandr Aksakov, Animisme et spiritisme: Essai d'un examen critique des phénomènes médiumiques, trans. from the Russian by Berthold Sandow (Paris: P. G. Leymarie, 1895).
61. Baraduc writes: "Je reste donc bien cantonné dans le domaine de l'iconographie de l'invisible. . . . J'ai surtout cherché à obtenir les signatures de forces cachées, forces vitales et psychiques, niés jusq'au présent" (Hyppolite Baraduc, L'Ame humaine: ses mouvements, ses lumières et l'iconographie de l'invisible fluidique [Paris: Carre, 1896], 34).
62. The original reads: "des forces inconnues, appartenant au domaine de l'invisible, ou rien ne se perd, ou tout se transforme; et si l'on retrouve actuellement la poussière terrestre de mondes ou d'êtres ayant existé, on doit aussi pouvoir les résidus de potentialités veçues" (Baraduc, L'Ame humaine, 40).
63. See Fourtier, "Les Joyeusetés de la photographie," 241-45.
64. See Ulrich Baer, "Photography and Hysteria: Towards a Poetics of the Flash," Yale Journal of Criticism 7 (spring 1994): 41-77.
65. The original reads: "Ce serait chose vraiment merveilleuse que je puisse ansi créer des maladies au gré de mon caprice et de ma fantaisie. Mais à la vérité, je ne suis absolument là que le photographe; j'inscris ce que je vois" (Jean-Martin Charcot, Leçons du mardi à la Salpêtrière. Policlinique 1887-1888 [Paris: Delahaye & Lecrosnier, 1888], 178; quoted in Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystérie, 32).
66. See the excellent discussion in Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystérie, 119-25; and Baer, "Photography and Hysteria," which provides a powerful interpretation as well as an excellent bibliography.
67. See the Collection Bourneville in the Archives de l'Assistance Publique, Paris.
68. As quoted in Owen, Hysteria, Hypnosis, and Healing, 247.
69. From Le Gil Blas, 25 August 1887, in Press Clippings collection on Bourneville in the Archives de l'Assistance Publique: M24 234-5.
70. See Michael S. Roth, "Freud's Use and Abuse of the Past," in The Ironist's Cage, 186-200, and Psycho-Analysis as History: Negation and Freedom in Freud (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1995). Also see Patrick Hutton, History as an Art of Memory (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1993), 59-67.


The Province is responsible for managing Crown land in British Columbia. In an average year the Province receives and processes between 5,000 and 7,000 applications for the use of Crown land. Learn more about the process.
Use this site to find, learn about, and comment on active Crown Land applications in British Columbia.
Don't know either of these numbers?


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My Project
|
Functions | |
| void | startBoard () |
| Initializes the board's array. More... | |
| void | updateBoard (int seed) |
| Updates the board's array. More... | |
| void | printBoard () |
| Prints current board onto the terminal. More... | |
| bool | emptyCell (int x, int y) |
| Checks if a cell is empty. More... | |
| void | paintBoardCell (int x, int y, uint16_t color) |
| paints a board cell More... | |
| void | clearBoardCell (int x, int y, uint16_t oldColor, uint16_t color) |
| clears a board cell with a new color More... | |
| void | paintBoard () |
| paints board with the alive blocks More... | |
Variables | |
| int | boardArr [12][12] |
utils for board
| void clearBoardCell | ( | int | x, |
| int | y, | ||
| uint16_t | oldColor, | ||
| uint16_t | color | ||
| ) |
clears a board cell with a new color
| x | the x position of the cell |
| y | the y position of the cell |
| color | the old color of the cell in hex |
| oldColor | the new color of the cell in hex |
| bool emptyCell | ( | int | x, |
| int | y | ||
| ) |
Checks if a cell is empty.
| x | the x position of the cell |
| y | the y position of the cell |
| void paintBoard | ( | ) |
paints board with the alive blocks
| void paintBoardCell | ( | int | x, |
| int | y, | ||
| uint16_t | color | ||
| ) |
paints a board cell
| x | the x position of the cell |
| y | the y position of the cell |
| color | the color of the cell in hex |
| void printBoard | ( | ) |
Prints current board onto the terminal.
| void startBoard | ( | ) |
Initializes the board's array.
| void updateBoard | ( | int | seed | ) |
Updates the board's array.
| seed | helps with getting a random number |
| int boardArr[12][12] |


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B.C.’s ‘Dr. Frankenstein of guns’ back in jail yet again for trafficking in Glock parts - Barriere Star Journal
by Paul HendersonBradley Michael Friesen has parole revoked for allegedly importing gun parts yet again
A 40-year-old man from Hope once dubbed “the Dr. Frankenstein of guns” who was out on parole for trafficking in handgun parts is back in jail for allegedly doing it again, according to the province’s anti-gang task force.
Bradley Michael Friesen was already on a lifetime prohibition for firearms, restricted firearms, prohibited weapons, prohibited devices and prohibited ammunition from a 2001 conviction when he was sentenced to 10 years in jail in 2014.
Those charges stemmed from a Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit of B.C. (CFSEU-BC) investigation that began in May 2014 when the United States ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobaco, Firearms and Explosives) approved CFSEU-BC requesting assistance in an investigation on Friesen.
He was suspected of selling Glock auto sears and switches, gun parts that convert Glock pistols to fully automatic and silencers via the internet.
He served five years of a 10-year sentence and was released on parole that was set to expire in 2023.
Dubbed “the Dr. Frankenstein of guns” at one point, Friesen was in the news a year ago when he successfully sued over a traffic accident that took place before he was imprisoned on the firearms charges. In a lawsuit launched from prison, he sued a driver who collided with him in 2011 in Langley and was awarded $88,000 in damages.
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• RELATED: Okanagan border agents sniff out U.S. handguns
Then in October of this year, Canada Border Services Agency intercepted and seized three separate packages containing prohibited devices. The intended recipient was Friesen.
On Nov. 14, the CFSEU-BC, assisted by CBSA and Hope RCMP, arrested Friesen on a number of firearms-related offences and conducted a search warrant of his residence in Hope.
He was held in custody and transported to a correctional institution upon the suspension of his parole. The investigation continues and currently no new Criminal Code of Canada charges have been laid at this time.
“Bradley Friesen is a well-known offender who is alleged to have showed a complete disregard for the safety of the public, and a complete disregard for the conditions placed on him upon his release into the public”, said CFSEU-BC spokesperson Sgt. Brenda Winpenny. “The ability of the CFSEU-BC to successfully work with our many provincial partners has taken potentially lethal items off the street and put a dangerous offender back behind bars.”
– with a file from Matthew Claxton, Langley Times