so far as they are enacted between two persons, we can glance back to
the factor of economy which impressed us as an important item in the
psychological conception of wit since we offered the first explanation
of wit-technique. Long ago we dismissed the nearest but also the
simplest conception of this economy, where it was a matter of avoiding
psychic expenditure in general by a maximum restriction in the use of
words and by the production of associations of ideas. We had then
already asserted that brevity and laconisms are not witty in themselves.
The brevity of wit is a peculiar one; it has to be a “witty” brevity.
The original pleasure gain produced by playing with words and thoughts
resulted, to be sure, from simple economy in expenditure, but with the
development of play into wit the tendency to economize also had to shift
its goals, for whatever might be saved by the use of the same words or
by avoiding new thought connections would surely be of no account when
compared to the colossal expenditure of our mental activity. We may be
permitted to make a comparison between the psychic economy and a
business enterprise. So long as the latter’s transactions are very
small, good policy demands that expenses be kept low and that the costs
of operation be minimized as much as possible. The economy still follows
the absolute height of the expenditure. Later on when the volume of
business has increased, the importance of the business expenses
dwindles; increases in the expenditure totals matter little so long as
the transactions and returns can be sufficiently increased. Keeping down
running expenses would be parsimonious; in fact, it would mean a direct
loss. Nevertheless it would be equally false to assume that with a very
great expenditure there would be no more room for saving. The manager
inclined to economize would now make an effort to save on particular
things and would feel satisfied if the same establishment, with its
costly upkeep, could reduce its expenses at all, no matter how small the
saving would seem in comparison to the entire expenditure. In quite an
analogous manner the detailed economy in our complicated psychic affairs
remains a source of pleasure, as may be shown by everyday occurrences.
Whoever used to have a gas lamp in his room, but now uses electric
light, will experience for a long time a definite feeling of pleasure
when he presses the electric light button; this pleasure continues as
long as at that moment he remembers the complicated arrangements
necessary to light the gas lamp. Similarly the economy of expenditure in
psychic inhibition brought about by wit—small though it may be in
comparison to the sum total of psychic expenditure—will remain a source
of pleasure for us, because we thereby save a particular expenditure
which we were wont to make and which as before we were ready to make.
That the expenditure is expected and prepared for is a factor which
stands unmistakably in the foreground.
A localized economy, as the one just considered, will not fail to give
us momentary pleasure, but it will not bring about a lasting alleviation
so long as what has been saved here can be utilized in another place.
Only when this disposal into a different path can be avoided, will the
special economy be transformed into a general alleviation of the psychic
expenditures. Thus, with clearer insight into the psychic processes of
wit, we see that the factor of alleviation takes the place of economy.
Obviously the former gives us the greater feeling of pleasure. The
process in the first person of the witticism produces pleasure by
removing inhibitions and by diminishing local expenditure; it does not,
however, seem to come to rest until it succeeds through the intervention
of the third person in attaining general relief through discharge.
C. THEORETICAL PART
VI.
THE RELATION OF WIT TO DREAMS AND TO THE UNCONSCIOUS
At the end of the chapter which dealt with the elucidation of the
technique of wit (p. 125) we asserted that the processes of condensation
with and without substitutive formation, displacement, representation
through absurdity, representation through the opposite, indirect
representation, etc., all of which we found participated in the
formation of wit, evinced a far-reaching agreement with the processes of
“dream-work.” We promised, at that time, first to examine more carefully
these similarities, and secondly, so far as such indications point to
search for what is common to both wit and dreams. The discussion of this
comparison would be much easier for us if we could assume that one of
the subjects to be compared—the “dream-work”—were well known. But we
shall probably do better not to take this assumption for granted. I
received the impression that my book _The Interpretation of Dreams_
created more “confusion” than “enlightenment” among my colleagues, and I
know that the wider reading circles have contented themselves to reduce
the contents of the book to a catchword, “Wish fulfillment”—a term
easily remembered and easily abused.
However, in my continued occupation with the problems considered
therein, for the study of which my practice as a psychotherapeutist
affords me much opportunity, I found nothing that would impel me to
change or improve on my ideas; I can therefore peacefully wait until the
reader’s comprehension has risen to my level, or until an intelligent
critic has pointed out to me the basic faults in my conception. For the
purposes of comparison with wit, I shall briefly review the most
important features of dreams and dream-work.
We know dreams by the recollection which usually seems fragmentary and
which occurs upon awakening. It is then a structure made up mostly of
visual or other sensory impressions, which represents to us a deceptive
picture of an experience, and may be mingled with mental processes (the
“knowledge” in the dream) and emotional manifestations. What we thus
remember as a dream I call “the manifest dream-content.” The latter is
often altogether absurd and confused, at other times it is merely one
part or another that is so affected. But even if it be entirely
coherent, as in the case of some anxiety dreams, it stands out in our
psychic life as something strange, for the origin of which one cannot
account. Until recently the explanation for these peculiarities of the
dream has been sought in the dream itself in that it was considered
roughly speaking an indication of a muddled, dissociated, and “sleepy”
activity of the nervous elements.
As opposed to this view I have shown that the excessively peculiar
“manifest” dream-content can regularly be made comprehensible, and that
it is a disfigured and changed transcription of certain correct psychic
formations which deserve the name of “latent dream-thoughts.” One gains
an understanding of the latter by resolving the manifest dream-content
into its component parts without regard for its apparent meaning, and
then by following up the threads of associations which emanate from each
one of the now isolated elements. These become interwoven and in the end
lead to a structure of thoughts, which is not only entirely accurate,
but also fits easily into the familiar associations of our psychic
processes. During this “analysis” the dream-content loses all of the
peculiarities so strange to us; but if the analysis is to be successful,
we must firmly cast aside the critical objections which incessantly
arise against the reproduction of the individual associations.
_The Dream-work_
From the comparison of the remembered manifest dream-content with the
latent dream-thoughts thus discovered there arises the conception of
“dream-work.” The entire sum of the transforming processes which have
changed the latent dream-thought into the manifest dream is called the
dream-work. The astonishment which formerly the dream evoked in us is
now perceived to be due to the dream-work.
The function of the dream-work may be described in the following manner.
A structure of thoughts, mostly very complicated, which has been built
up during the day and not brought to settlement—a day remnant—clings
firmly even during night to the energy which it had assumed—the
underlying center of interest—and thus threatens to disturb sleep. This
day remnant is transformed into a dream by the dream-work and in this
way rendered harmless to sleep. But in order to make possible its
employment by the dream-work, this day remnant must be capable of being
cast into the form of a wish, a condition that is not difficult to
fulfill. The wish emanating from the dream-thoughts forms the first step
and later on the nucleus of the dream. Experience gained from
analyses—not the theory of the dream—teaches us that with children a
fond wish left from the waking state suffices to evoke a dream, which is
coherent and senseful, but almost always short, and easily recognizable
as a “wish fulfillment.” In the case of adults the universally valid
condition for the dream-creating wish seems to be that the latter should
appear foreign to conscious thinking, that is, it should be a repressed
wish, or that it should supply consciousness with reinforcement from
unknown sources. Without the assumption of the unconscious activity in
the sense used above, I should be at a loss to develop further the
theory of dreams and to explain the material gleaned from experience in
dream-analyses. The action of this unconscious wish upon the logical
conscious material of dream-thoughts now results in the dream. The
latter is thereby drawn down into the unconscious, as it were, or to
speak more precisely, it is exposed to a treatment which usually takes
place at the level of unconscious mental activity, and which is
characteristic of this mental level. Only from the results of the
“dream-work” have we thus far learned to know the qualities of this
unconscious mental activity and its differentiation from the
“foreconscious” which is capable of consciousness.
_The Unconscious_
A novel and difficult theory that runs counter to our habitual modes of
thinking can hardly gain in lucidity by a condensed exposition. I can
therefore accomplish little more in this discussion than refer the
reader to the detailed treatment of the unconscious in my
_Interpretation of Dreams_, and also to Lipps’s work, which I consider
most important. I am aware that he who is under the spell of a good old
philosophical training, or stands aloof from a so-called philosophical
system, will oppose the assumption of the “unconscious psychic
processes” in Lipps’s sense and in mine and will desire to prove the
impossibility of it preferably by means of definitions of the term
psychic. But definitions are conventional and changeable. I have often
found that persons who dispute the unconscious on the grounds of its
absurdity or impossibility have not received their impressions from
those sources from which I, at least, have found it necessary to draw,
in order to become aware of its existence. These opponents had never
witnessed the effect of a posthypnotic suggestion, and they were
immensely surprised at the evidence I imparted to them gleaned from my
analysis of unhypnotized neurotics. They had never gained the conception
of the unconscious as something which one does not really know, while
cogent proofs force one to supplement this idea by saying that one
understands by the unconscious something capable of consciousness,
something concerning which one has not thought and which is not in the
field of vision of consciousness. Nor had they attempted to convince
themselves of the existence of such unconscious thoughts in their own
psychic life by means of an analysis of one of their own dreams, and
when I attempted this with them, they could perceive their own mental
occurrences only with astonishment and confusion. I have also gotten the
impression that these are essentially affective resistances which stand
in the way of the acceptation of the “unconscious,” and that they are
based on the fact that no one is desirous of becoming acquainted with
his unconscious, and it is most convenient to deny altogether its
possibility.
_Condensation and Displacement in the Dream-work_
The dream-work, to which I return after this digression, subjects the
thought material uttered in the optative mood to a very peculiar
elaboration. First of all it proceeds from the optative to the
indicative mood; it substitutes “it is” for “would it were!” This “it
is” is destined to become part of an hallucinatory representation which
I have called the “regression” of the dream-work. This regression
represents the path from the mental images to the sensory perceptions of
the same, or if one chooses to speak with reference to the still
unfamiliar—not to be understood anatomically—topic of the psychic
apparatus, it is the region of the thought-formation to the region of
the sensory perception. Along this road which runs in an opposite
direction to the course of development of psychic complications the
dream-thoughts gain in clearness; a plastic situation finally results as
a nucleus of the manifest “dream picture.” In order to arrive at such a
sensory representation the dream-thoughts have had to experience
tangible changes in their expression. But while the thoughts are changed
back into mental images they are subjected to still greater changes,
some of which are easily conceivable as necessary, while others are
surprising. As a necessary secondary result of the regression one
understands that nearly all relationships within the thoughts which have
organized the same are lost to the manifest dream. The dream-work takes
over, as it were, only the raw material of the ideas for representation,
and not the thought-relations which held each other in check; or at
least it reserves the freedom of leaving the latter out of the question.
On the other hand, there is a certain part of the dream-work which
cannot be traced to the regression or to the recasting into mental
images; it is just that part which is significant to us for the analogy
to wit-formation. The material of the dream-thoughts experiences an
extraordinary compression or _condensation_ during the dream-work. The
starting-points of this condensation are those points which are common
to two or more dream-thoughts because they naturally pertain to both or
because they are inevitable consequences of the contents of two or more
dream-thoughts, and since these points do not regularly suffice for a
prolific condensation new artificial and fleeting common points come
into existence, and for this purpose preferably words are used which
combine different meanings in their sounds. The newly framed common
points of condensation enter as representatives of the dream-thoughts
into the manifest dream-content, so that an element of the dream
corresponds to a point of junction or intersection of the
dream-thoughts, and with regard to the latter it must in general be
called “overdetermined.” The process of condensation is that part of the
dream-work which is most easily recognizable; it suffices to compare the
recorded wording of a dream with the written dream-thoughts gained by
means of analysis, in order to get a good impression of the
productiveness of dream condensation.
It is not easy to convince one’s self of the second great change that
takes place in the dream-thoughts through the agency of the dream-work.
I refer to that process which I have called the dream _displacement_. It
manifests itself by the fact that what occupies the center of the
manifest dream and is endowed with vivid sensory intensity has occupied
a peripheral and secondary position in the dream-thoughts, and _vice
versa_. This process causes the dream to appear out of proportion when
compared with the dream-thoughts, and it is because of this displacement
that it seems strange and incomprehensible to the waking state. In order
that such a displacement should occur it must be possible for the
occupation energy to pass uninhibited from important to insignificant
ideas,—a process which in normal conscious thinking can only give the
impression of “faulty thinking.”
Transformation into expressive activity, condensation, and displacement
are the three great functions which we can ascribe to the dream-work. A
fourth, to which too little attention was given in _The Interpretation
of Dreams_, does not come into consideration here for our purpose. In a
consistent elucidation of the ideas dealing with the “topic of the
psychic apparatus” and “regression,” which alone can lend value to these
working hypotheses, an effort would have to be made to determine at what
stages of regression the various transformations of the dream-thoughts
occur. As yet no serious effort has been made in this direction, but at
least we can speak definitely about displacement when we say that it
must arise in the thought material while the latter is in the level of
the unconscious processes. One will probably have to think of
condensation as a process that extends over the entire course up to the
outposts of the perceptive region; but in general it suffices to assume
that there is a simultaneous activity of all the forces which
participate in the formation of dreams. In view of the reserve which one
must naturally exercise in the treatment of such problems, and in
consideration of the inability to discuss here the main objections to
these problems, I should like to trust somewhat to the assertion that
the process of the dream-work which prepares the dream is situated in
the region of the unconscious. Roughly speaking, one can distinguish
three general stages in the formation of the dream; first, the
transference of the conscious day remnants into the unconscious, a
transference in which the conditions of the sleeping state must
co-operate; secondly, the actual dream-work in the unconscious; and
thirdly, the regression of the elaborated dream material to the region
of perception, whereby the dream becomes conscious.
The forces participating in the dream-formation may be recognized as the
following: the wish to sleep; the sum of occupation energy which still
clings to the day remnants after the depression brought about by the
state of sleep; the psychic energy of the unconscious wish forming the
dream; and the opposing force of the “_censor_,” which exercises its
authority in our waking state, and is not entirely abolished during
sleep. The task of dream-formation is, above all, to overcome the
inhibition of the censor, and it is just this task that is fulfilled by
the displacement of the psychic energy within the material of the
dream-thoughts.
_The Formula for Wit-work_
Now we recall what caused us to think of the dream while investigating
wit. We found that the character and activity of wit were bound up in
certain forms of expression and technical means, among which the various
forms of condensation, displacement, and indirect representation were
the most conspicuous. But the processes which led to the same
results—condensation, displacement, and indirect expression—we learned
to know as peculiarities of dream-work. Does not this analogy almost
force us to the conclusion that wit-work and dream-work must be
identical at least in one essential point? I believe that the dream-work
lies revealed before us in its most important characters, but in wit we
find obscured just that portion of the psychic processes which we may
compare with the dream-work, namely, the process of wit-formation in the
first person. Shall we not yield to the temptation to construct this
process according to the analogy of dream-formation? Some of the
characteristics of dreams are so foreign to wit that that part of the
dream-work corresponding to them cannot be carried over to the
wit-formation. The regression of the stream of thought to perception
certainly falls away as far as wit is concerned. However, the other two
stages of dream-formation, the sinking of a foreconscious[57] thought
into the unconscious, and the unconscious elaboration, would give us
exactly the result which we might observe in wit if we assumed this
process in wit-formation. Let us decide to assume that this is the
proceeding of wit-formation in the case of the first person. _A
foreconscious thought is left for a moment to unconscious elaboration
and the results are forthwith grasped by the conscious perception._
Before, however, we attempt to prove the details of this assertion we
wish to consider an objection which may jeopardize our assumption. We
start with the fact that the techniques of wit point to the same
processes which become known to us as peculiarities of dream-work. Now
it is an easy matter to say in opposition that we would not have
described the techniques of wit as condensation, displacement, etc., nor
would we have arrived at such a comprehensive agreement in the means of
representation of wit and dreams, if our previous knowledge of
dream-work had not influenced our conception of the technique of wit; so
that at the bottom we find that wit confirms only those tentative
theories which we brought to it from our study of dreams. Such a genesis
of agreement would be no certain guarantee of its stability beyond our
preconceived judgment. No other author has thought of considering
condensation, displacement, and indirect expression as active factors of
wit. This might be a possible objection, but nevertheless it would not
be justified. It might just as well be said that in order to recognize
the real agreement between dreams and wit our ordinary knowledge must be
augmented by a specialized knowledge of dream-work. However, the
decision will really depend only upon the question whether the examining
critic can prove that such a conception of the technique of wit in the
individual examples is forced, and that other nearer and
farther-reaching interpretations have been suppressed in favor of mine;
or whether the critic will have to admit that the tentative theories
derived from the study of dreams can be really confirmed through wit. My
opinion is that we have nothing to fear from such a critic and that our
processes of reduction have confidently pointed out in which forms of
expression we must search for the techniques of wit. That we designated
these techniques by names which previously anticipated the result of the
agreement between the technique of wit and the dream-work was our just
prerogative, and really nothing more than an easily justified
simplification.
There is still another objection which would not be vital, but which
could not be so completely refuted. One might think that the techniques
of wit that fit in so well considering the ends we have in view deserve
recognition, but that they do not represent all possible techniques of
wit or even all those in use. Also that we have selected only the
techniques of wit which were influenced by and would suit the pattern of
the dream-work, whereas others ignored by us would have demonstrated
that such an agreement was not common to all cases. I really do not
trust myself to make the assertion that I have succeeded in explaining
all the current witticisms with reference to their techniques, and I
therefore admit the possibility that my enumeration of wit-techniques
may show many gaps. But I have not purposely excluded from my discussion
any form of technique that was clear to me, and I can affirm that the
most frequent, the most essential, and the most characteristic technical
means of wit have not eluded my attention.
_Wit as an Inspiration_