It is not my intention to take up the whole subject of jealousy. But morbid jealousy shows certain definite, almost regular, relations to homosexuality which we must consider. We have seen that homosexuality may be hidden from consciousness. That is also true of jealousy. I have seen many neurotics who have suffered tremendously on account of their jealousy, without being aware of it. In the masking of neurosis jealousy assumes most remarkable forms.
The next case illustrates the masking of jealousy, its fusion with homosexuality, and contains various points of psychologic interest:
70. A highly intelligent subject, H. J., writes me: “Have you already reflected on how we discern certain similarities on certain days and fail to do so at other times? You are undoubtedly aware that neurotics and normal persons are fond of finding resemblances when they formulate identifications. The lover finds that the beloved walks like mother, or that she talks like the latter, and if physically no resemblance can be established he finds the same mental characteristics, the same soul, perhaps the same shortcomings. But I want to speak of an entirely different peculiarity. One forenoon I see a man, who looked enough like my friend, X, the painter, to be taken for the latter. I walk up to him and say: Hello, X,—still under the impression of that mistake. A strange face wearing a beard of familiar form is staring at me. I offer the usual apologetic explanation and go my way. After a while I see again my friend X, this time somewhat dimly, not quite so certain of it as before. I recover from this illusion quickly enough.
“By that time my psychologic curiosity is roused and it occurs to me that my wife told me that morning she was going to visit the painter, X, during the forenoon. I listened indifferently to the statement, merely asking her to give him my greetings. But a certain unrest must have risen in the unconscious: your wife goes to the painter who likes her and makes love to her. Nothing of that in consciousness at all. Painters are a light-minded class who do not take such things seriously. Who knows whether your wife will be strong enough to resist?
“These secret fears led to a symptomatic act. I accosted a stranger as X, the painter. In other words,—a wish fulfilment. For if I meet X on the street he cannot possibly be in his studio at this time. My wish is that he shall not be at home. My wife shall go to the studio and find: Mr. X is not in.... That wish came up on three different occasions that morning. For I thought I saw Mr. X in the street three different times. Moreover, I project X upon strange faces. Because I think constantly of X, because my mind is wholly preoccupied with him, because I am innerly preoccupied with the uncountenanced thought: what does X now do with your wife?—I see X everywhere. Ringstrasse is filled with men looking like him; every man is a Mr. X.
“The illusion at this juncture denotes also another suspicion. An additional thought renders the first one pregnant with significance. Yesterday I heard the opinion expressed at a gathering, ‘Any woman may be had and there is no such thing as a virtuous woman!’ I opposed vehemently that cynical thought (Pauschalverdächtigung) and I tried to the best of my ability to point out the ridiculous and unfair implications of this notion. And today I am surprised to find myself entertaining the thought. These men who look like X, the great unknown, are alike attractive and powerful men, just like X. You are reflecting: Who knows whether this or that man is not actually your wife’s lover? Why do the words from Faust come into my mind: ‘The whole town has her’?... In justice to my wife’s honor I must now state that she is in fact an exemplary woman and that I entertain no trace of suspicion about her conduct. But I am deliberately looking for excuses to vindicate myself. I mean to believe that every woman is guilty, including therefore my own wife, so as to justify in my eyes my new love affairs.... I am envious of X, of his free ways with women, and would like to be in his place, receiving ladies in the studio. I would like to be X. In my phantasy I am X, and see myself as X in every stranger.
“A lady of my acquaintance always saw her deceased husband on the street in the person of some stranger who seemed closely to resemble him. This peculiar resemblance to strangers was noticeable particularly when her mind turned to light and frivolous thoughts. As if the image of the husband came forward to warn and protect her: ‘It is only three years since I have passed away and already you begin to turn your mind to trivial joys? Beware. I watch you from Heaven and I see everything you do.’”
We admit freely that our subject is a keen-minded psychologist possessing an extraordinary capacity for introspection, yet this excellent piece of self-analysis seemed to me to overlook something important. I therefore write Mr. H. J. that I should like to talk this interesting episode over with him and I invite him to call on me. He accepts the invitation. From our conversation I report only some of the more important points:
“Has it not struck you that the men who impressed you as bearing resemblance were exclusively attractive and powerful men?”
“No, because my friend, X, the painter, is also an attractive and well built man. Others would not look like him....”