why do we not know why we travel? haven’t we the imperative obligation to recuperate? does not our malady enforce a trip to a health resort? are we not thirsty for new countries, new people, a new environment?
peace! peace! no, we do not know! or rather, we do not wish to know. naturally, we always have a few superficial motives at our disposal when it suits us to mask our unconscious secrets from ourselves and from the world. why do we travel? psychologists have given many reasons, but they do not go beyond such superficial motives as “the desire for a change,” “a craving for excitement,” “curiosity,” “fatigue, the need for a rest,” “flight from the home,” etc. some go further and attribute the desire to travel to the elementary pleasure of being in motion. for these psychologists the little child’s first step is its first journey, the last step of the weary aged their last journey. others again veritably classify journeys and distinguish between trips undertaken for health reasons, business trips, scientific trips, etc.
vain beginning! in reality one trip is like another. if we would understand the elementary feelings associated with a trip we must go back [pg 134]to our youth. in youth we still have a sense of the wonderful; in youth the horizon of our fantasies is aglow with wondrous visions. but of course the world about us is solemn and wearisome, full of duties and obligations. but ah, the wide world without! there dangerous adventures smile alluringly; there unrestrained freedom beckons; there deeds may be achieved that may make kings of us. in our thoughts we build a small skiff that will take us out of the narrow channel of our homes into the vast sea; we battle on the prairie with the brave and crafty indians; we seek out the sun-burned gold-fields in the new world; we put a hurried girdle round about the earth, and—when at top speed—we would even attempt a flight to the moon.
nothing that makes an impression on the human mind is ever lost. our youth with its fantasies and childish desires exerts an important influence on us all our life. henceforth all our excursions are journeys into the realm of youth. all, all are alike. life hems us in with innumerable obstacles, bonds, and walls. the older we grow the greater becomes the weight that loads us down. in the depths of the soul the tintinnabulation of youth is ringing and speaking to us of life and freedom, and keeps on ringing alluringly till weary man surrenders and takes a trip. the tinkling music of the soul works strongest on the mind of youth. he, fortunate he, knows not the difference between the music [pg 135]of his heart and the hum of the world without. he knows not yet that the world is everywhere the same, the people everywhere the same, and the mountains, the lakes, the seas, with but slight variations, the same. his longings carry him out, far out, and he seeks their fulfilment.
the adult lives a life of bitter disappointments. he never seeks the new. he longs only to get rid of the old. and the aged wanderer, having reached the end of the vale of life, follows his buried wishes, his memories of the beautiful days in which there was still something to hope for, in which he was not beyond self-deception.
it is not to be denied that ours is the travelling age. this is partly due to the fact that we experience so little, as we have already said, in our craving for excitement. the many inventions that have conquered time and space have made it possible for us to fly over the whole world, and thus the primary purpose of travelling, the hunger for experience, shrinks into trivial, merry or vexatious hotel adventures. but in every such trip one may discover a deeply hidden kernel of the voyages of the old vikings. every journey is a tour of conquest. here at home we have found our level; our neighbours know us and have passed their irrevocable judgment on our person. to travel means to conquer the world anew, to make oneself respected and esteemed. every new touring acquaintance must stand for a new conquest. we display all [pg 136]our talents for which we no longer have any use at home and all our almost rusty intellectual weapons, our amiability, our courteousness, our gallantry, are again taken out of the soul’s lumber chamber and put to use in conquering new persons. this secret foolery compensates us for all the plans of conquest that we have long ago given up. to conquer persons without having to depend on one’s social background is one of the greatest delights of travelling.
how strange! as in ordinary life we seek ourself and are overjoyed to find ourself in our environment and get most out of the individual who is most like ourself, so everywhere abroad we seek our own home. how happy we are on beholding a familiar face even though it be that of a person who has been ever so unsympathetic or indifferent. we are delighted with him and greet him like a trusted friend—only because he represents for us a fragment of our home which we have been seeking out here and which we have found, to some extent, in him. that is why such discoveries make us happiest as revealing identities with our home. even in this the infantile character of travelling is shown. just as in our youth we had to learn many things that we had to forget subsequently so we act with regard to our journeys; every new city, every new region is a kind of primer whose fundamentals we have to make our own no matter how much it goes against our grain to do so. the faithful visiting of all the objects [pg 137]of interest with our baedeker in our hands, the profound sense of an obligation to have seen so-and-so is clearly such an infantile trait and has about it much of the youthfulness and school-boyishness of the time in which the teacher’s authority meant compelling knowledge to follow a set norm.
much might be said about the technique of travelling. the manner in which the thought springs from the unconscious, gently and with tender longing, takes on more definite shape and apparently suddenly breaks out during the night with the violence of a deed, presents almost a neurotic picture, and one is justified, from this point of view, in speaking of a “touring neurosis.” every repression begets a compulsive idea. the repression of the emotions of youth begets a touring neurosis. the compulsion is strongest in the first few days during which difficult internal conflicts have to be overcome. the threads that bind us to our home, our vocation, and our beloved, must first be wholly severed. this happens only after several days, after the so-called “travel-reaction.” that is the name i would propose for that unpleasant feeling that overcomes us after a few days. suddenly we feel lonesome and alone, curse the desire that prompted us to leave our home, and play with the idea whether it would not be better to terminate the trip and go back home. it is only when this reaction has been overcome, when the conflict between the present and the [pg 138]past has been decided in favour of the latter, only then has one acquired the correct attitude to travelling, an attitude which depends upon a complete forgetting of our social and individual obligations. it is, for all the world, as if after this reaction we had suppressed all our relations to our home and freed all our inhibitions. only then can we enjoy the pleasure of travelling, but, alas, it lasts only a short time. for soon there rises before our eyes, like a threatening monster, the time when we must again resume our obligations. the sense of duty gets stronger and stronger, the desire for travelling gets weaker and weaker, and after a short but decisive conflict, the fever for travelling abates, leaving behind it a little heap of ashes in which the feeble coals of memory gradually die.
it is a profound feeling of bliss that we feel at home, for down at the bottom of the heart we have always been faithful to the home. we see everything in the new colours with which our journey has beautified the dull gray of daily life; alas! they are only temporary joys, borrowed harmonies, which lose their intensity in the day’s progress and are bound to return to their former dulness.
particular mention must be made of the journeys of married couples. these, too, are trips into the realm of youth, into the beautiful country of the betrothal period, and thus every such trip is a new honeymoon. the energies which had hitherto been devoted to [pg 139]the discharge of their duties have now been freed and burst powerfully into the amatory sphere; but they may also intensify components of aversion and hatred, and are just as likely to emphasize antagonisms as, under circumstances, they may build bridges over bottomless depths. inasmuch as en tour thought and feeling are dominated by infantile traits, and inasmuch as to a certain extent a new spring of love awakens with the youthful fire and youthful tenderness, a journey may—just because of these results—result in disappointments such as cannot otherwise be brought to light in staid old age.
let us also make mention of the opportunity a journey gives one of living a purely physical existence, of enjoying the rare pleasure of feeling oneself a creature of muscles, a thing all backbone and little brain. let us also mention the delight of feeling oneself a stranger, of shaking off every irritating constraint, of being able to break with impunity the rules of propriety and good breeding, and we have, in comparison with all the really important psychological motives, touched only a small part of the surface psychology of travelling.
and now i come to the really important point of my thesis. what i have hitherto said is of general validity, applying to the generality of travelling people. but i believe that every individual has also a secret, deep-lying motive of which he himself is unaware and which one rarely is in a position to discover. now and then [pg 140]one may succeed in discovering such a motive and one is then astonished at the strange things that may be hidden behind the passion of travelling.
there are so many things that we seek all our life and that, alas! we can never find. one is on the hunt for a friend who will “understand” him; another for a beloved whom he can comprehend; the third for a place where he may find the people he has dreamed of. which of us has not his secret, dark desires and longings which really belong to “the other one” within us and not to the outer personage on whom the sun shines? what is denied us by the environment may possibly be found somewhere beyond. what withers here may bear luxuriant blossoms somewhere beyond....
the deepest-lying, repressed desires are the driving power in the fever for travelling. we are infected—infected by the seeds that have been slumbering within us for years and which have now with mysterious power engendered the ardour that drives us on to travel. behind every journey there lies a hidden motive. it will, of course, be a difficult matter to discover in every case this deeply hidden motive, this innermost spring of action. in some cases one succeeds, however, and lights upon most remarkable things. one may hit upon some exciting touring experience of earlier days, upon a strange fantasy, upon some sweet wish that seems to be too grotesque to be spoken of openly. [pg 141]no one has yet fathomed just what constitutes happiness. it is never the present, always the future. a trip is a journey into the future, a hunting after happiness.
the best light on the psychology of the “touring neurosis” is thrown by a consideration of the opposite phenomenon—the “fear of travelling.” there are many persons who are afraid of every journey, for whom a railroad trip is a torture, for whom going away from home is a punishment. there are persons who have compromised with the present and have given up all hope of a future; who have no happiness to lose and therefore have no wish to achieve any; who fear any great change and who have become wrapped up in themselves. they are the great panegyrists of home, the enthusiastic patriots, the contemners of everything foreign. they behave exactly like the fox for whom the grapes were too sour. because their fears won’t let them travel they prove to themselves and to the world at large that travelling is nonsensical, that the city they live in is the best of all places to live in. the fear of travelling also has a hidden motive which not rarely is fortified by justifiable and unjustifiable consciousness of guilt. why we do not travel is often a much more interesting problem than why we do travel.
fear and desire are brother and sister and emanate from the same primal depths. the wish often converts to fear and fear to wish. [pg 142]one who is incapable in his heart to fly from himself and his environment bears a heavy and unbreakable chain within his soul. so do we all. but we break it now and then. the future may perhaps create free human beings. then there may perhaps be no abysms of the soul. just at present darkness surrounds us. the mysteries of the soul are barred to us. its depths are unfathomable. even if we have illumined some hidden corner and brought something that was long concealed to the light of consciousness, it is only like a drop snatched from the infinity of the ocean. the real reason why we travel can be told us only by our “other self,” that “other one” whom we buried in our remote youth. whither we travel is quite clear. large and small, young and old, fools and wise men—all journey to the realm of youth. life takes us into the kingdom of dreams, and the dream takes us back again into life, into that life to which we have been assigned and to which our deepmost desires belong. what desires? those are the secrets we anxiously conceal from ourselves.
