There has hitherto been no occasion for philosophers to bestir
themselves with a psychology of repression. We must be allowed to
construct some clear conception as to the origin of dreams as the first
steps in this unknown territory. The scheme which we have formulated not
only from a study of dreams is, it is true, already somewhat
complicated, but we cannot find any simpler one that will suffice. We
hold that our psychical apparatus contains two procedures for the
construction of thoughts. The second one has the advantage that its
products find an open path to consciousness, whilst the activity of the
first procedure is unknown to itself, and can only arrive at
consciousness through the second one. At the borderland of these two
procedures, where the first passes over into the second, a censorship is
established which only passes what pleases it, keeping back everything
else. That which is rejected by the censorship is, according to our
definition, in a state of repression. Under certain conditions, one of
which is the sleeping state, the balance of power between the two
procedures is so changed that what is repressed can no longer be kept
back. In the sleeping state this may possibly occur through the
negligence of the censor; what has been hitherto repressed will now
succeed in finding its way to consciousness. But as the censorship is
never absent, but merely off guard, certain alterations must be conceded
so as to placate it. It is a compromise which becomes conscious in this
case—a compromise between what one procedure has in view and the demands
of the other. _Repression_, _laxity of the censor_, _compromise_—this is
the foundation for the origin of many another psychological process,
just as it is for the dream. In such compromises we can observe the
processes of condensation, of displacement, the acceptance of
superficial associations, which we have found in the dream work.
It is not for us to deny the demonic element which has played a part in
constructing our explanation of dream work. The impression left is that
the formation of obscure dreams proceeds as if a person had something to
say which must be disagreeable for another person upon whom he is
dependent to hear. It is by the use of this image that we figure to
ourselves the conception of the _dream distortion_ and of the
censorship, and ventured to crystallise our impression in a rather
crude, but at least definite, psychological theory. Whatever explanation
the future may offer of these first and second procedures, we shall
expect a confirmation of our correlate that the second procedure
commands the entrance to consciousness, and can exclude the first from
consciousness.
Once the sleeping state overcome, the censorship resumes complete sway,
and is now able to revoke that which was granted in a moment of
weakness. That the _forgetting_ of dreams explains this in part, at
least, we are convinced by our experience, confirmed again and again.
During the relation of a dream, or during analysis of one, it not
infrequently happens that some fragment of the dream is suddenly
forgotten. This fragment so forgotten invariably contains the best and
readiest approach to an understanding of the dream. Probably that is why
it sinks into oblivion—_i.e._, into a renewed suppression.