PSYCHOANALYSIS[173]
Psychoanalysis is not only scientific, but also technical in character;
and from results technical in their nature, has been developed a new
psychological science which might be called "analytical psychology."
Psychologists and doctors in general are by no means conversant
with this particular branch of psychology, owing to the fact that
its technical foundations are as yet comparatively unknown to them.
Reason for this may be found in that the new method is exquisitely
psychological, and therefore belongs neither to the realm of medicine
nor to that of experimental psychology. The medical man has, as a rule,
but little knowledge of psychology; and the psychologist has no medical
knowledge. There is therefore a lack of suitable soil in which to plant
the spirit of this new method. Furthermore, the method itself appears
to many persons so arbitrary that they cannot reconcile it with their
scientific conscience. The conceptions of Freud, the founder of this
method, laid particular stress upon the sexual factor; this fact has
aroused strong prejudice, and many scientific men are repelled merely
by this feeling. I need hardly remark that such an antipathy is not a
logical ground for rejecting a new method. The facts being so, it is
obvious that the psychoanalyst should discuss the principles rather than
the results of his method, when he speaks in public; for he who does not
acknowledge the scientific character of the method cannot acknowledge
the scientific character of its results.
Before I enter into the principles of the psychoanalytic method, I must
mention two common prejudices against it.
The first of these is that psychoanalysis is nothing but a somewhat
deep and complicated form of anamnesis. Now it is well known that the
anamnesis is based upon the evidence supplied by the patient's family,
and upon his own conscious self-knowledge, revealed in reply to direct
questions. The psychoanalyst naturally develops his anamnesic data as
carefully as any other specialist; but this is merely the patient's
history, and must not be confused with analysis. Analysis is the
reduction of an actual conscious content of a so-called accidental
nature, into its psychological determinants. This process has nothing to
do with the anamnesic reconstruction of the history of the illness.
The second prejudice, which is based, as a rule, upon a superficial
knowledge of psychoanalytic literature, is that psychoanalysis is
a method of suggestion, by which a faith or doctrine of living is
imposed upon the patient, thereby effecting a cure in the manner of
mental healing or Christian Science. Many analysts, especially those
who have worked in psychoanalysis for a long time, previously used
therapeutic suggestion, and are therefore familiar with its workings.
They know that the psychoanalyst's method of working is diametrically
opposed to that of the hypnotist. In direct contrast with therapeutic
suggestion, the psychoanalyst does not attempt to force anything upon
his patient which the latter does not see himself, and find reasonable
with his own understanding. Faced with the constant desire on the
part of the neurotic patient to receive suggestions and advice, the
analyst just as constantly endeavours to lead him away from this
passive receptive attitude, and make him use his common sense and
powers of criticism, that equipped with these he may become fitted to
meet the problems of life independently. We have often been accused
of forcing interpretations upon patients, interpretations that were
frequently quite arbitrary in character. I wish that one of these
critics would make the attempt to force such arbitrary interpretations
upon my patients, who are often persons of great intelligence and high
culture, and who are, indeed, not infrequently my own colleagues. The
impossibility of such an undertaking would soon be laid bare. In
psychoanalysis we are dependent upon the patient and his judgment, for
the reason that the very nature of analysis consists in leading him to
a knowledge of his own self. The principles of psychoanalysis are so
entirely different from those of therapeutic suggestion that they are
not comparable.
An attempt has also been made to compare analysis with the reasoning
method of Dubois, which is in itself a rational process. This comparison
does not however hold good, for the psychoanalyst strictly avoids
argument and persuasion with his patients. He must naturally listen to
and take note of the conscious problems and conflicts of his patient,
but not for the purpose of fulfilling his desire to obtain advice or
direction with regard to his conduct. The problems of a neurotic patient
cannot be solved by advice and conscious argument. I do not doubt
that good advice at the right time can produce good results; but I do
not know whence one can obtain the belief that the psychoanalyst can
always give the right advice at the right time. The neurotic conflict
is frequently, indeed as a rule, of such a character that advice cannot
possibly be given. Furthermore, it is well known that the patient only
desires authoritative advice in order that he may cast aside the burden
of responsibility, referring himself and others to the opinion of the
higher authority.
In direct contrast to all previous methods, psychoanalysis endeavours to
overcome the disorders of the neurotic psyche through the subconscious,
not through the conscious self. In this work we naturally have need of
the patient's conscious content, for his subconsciousness can only be
reached _viâ_ the conscious. The material furnished by the anamnesis
is the source from which our work starts. The detailed recital usually
furnishes many valuable clues which make the psychogenic origin of the
symptoms clear to the patient. This work is naturally only necessary
where the patient is convinced that his neurosis is organic in its
origin. But even in those cases where the patient is convinced from the
very first of the psychic nature of his illness, a critical survey
of the history is very advantageous, since it discloses to him a
psychological concatenation of ideas of which he was unaware. In this
manner those problems which need special discussion are frequently
brought to the surface. Work of this kind may occupy many sittings.
Finally the explanation of the conscious material reaches an end, in so
far as neither the patient nor the doctor can add anything to it that
is decisive in character. Under the most favourable circumstances the
end comes with the formulation of the problem which proved itself to be
impossible of solution. Let us take, for instance, the case of a man
who was once well, but who became a neurotic between the age of 35 and
40. His position in life is assured, and he has a wife and children.
Parallel with his neurosis he developed an intense resistance towards
his professional work. He observed that the first symptoms of neurosis
became noticeable when he had to overcome a certain difficulty in regard
to it. Later on his symptoms became aggravated with each successive
difficulty that arose. An amelioration in his neurosis occurred whenever
fortune favoured him in his professional work. The problem that results
from a critical discussion of the anamnesis is as follows:--
The patient is aware that if he could improve his work, the mere
satisfaction that would result could bring about the much-desired
improvement in his neurotic condition. He cannot, however, make his work
more efficient because of his great resistance against it. This problem
cannot be solved by any reasoning process.
Let us take another case. A woman of 40, the mother of four children,
became neurotic four years ago after the death of one of her children.
A new period of pregnancy, followed by the birth of another child,
produced a great improvement in her condition. The patient now lived
in the thought that it would be a great help to her if she could have
yet another child. Believing, however, that this could not happen, she
attempted to devote her energies to philanthropic interests. But she
failed to obtain the least satisfaction from this work. She observed a
distinct alleviation of her complaint whenever she succeeded in giving
real, living interest to any matter, but she felt entirely incapable
of discovering anything that could bring her lasting interest and
satisfaction. It is clear that no process of reasoning can solve this
problem.
Here psychoanalysis must begin with the endeavour to solve the problem
as to what prevents the patient from developing interests above and
beyond her longing for a child.
Since we cannot assume that we know from the very beginning what the
solution of such problems is, we must at this point trust to the clues
furnished us by the individuality of the patient. Neither conscious
questioning nor rational advice can aid us in the discovery of these
clues, for the causes which prevent us from finding them are hidden
from her consciousness. There is, therefore, no clearly indicated path
by which to reach these subconscious inhibitions. The only rule that
psychoanalysis lays down for our guidance in this respect, is to let the
patient speak of that which occurs to him at the moment. The analyst
must observe carefully what the patient says and, in the first instance,
take due note thereof without attempting to force his own opinions upon
him. Thus we observe that the patient whom I first mentioned begins by
talking about his marriage, which we hitherto had reason to regard as
normal. We now learn that he constantly has difficulties with his wife,
and that he does not understand her in the least. This knowledge causes
the physician to remark that the patient's professional work is clearly
not his only problem; but that his conjugal relations are also in need
of revision. This starts a train of thought in which many further ideas
occur to the patient, concerning his married life. Hereupon follow ideas
about the love affairs he had before his marriage. These experiences,
related in detail, show that the patient was always somewhat peculiar
in his more intimate relations with women, and that this peculiarity
took the form of a certain childish egoism. This is a new and surprising
point of view for him, and explains to him many of his misfortunes with
women.
We cannot in every case get so far as this on the simple principle
of letting the patient talk; few patients have their psychic material
so much on the surface. Furthermore, many persons have a positive
resistance against speaking freely about what occurs to them on the
spur of the moment; it is often too painful to tell the doctor whom
perhaps they do not entirely trust; in other cases because apparently
nothing occurs to them, they force themselves to speak of matters about
which they are more or less indifferent. This habit of not talking to
the point by no means proves that patients consciously conceal their
unpleasant contents, for such irrelevant speaking can occur quite
unconsciously. In such cases it sometimes helps the patient if he is
told that he must not force himself, that he must only seize upon the
very first thoughts that present themselves, no matter how unimportant
or ridiculous they may seem. In certain cases even these instructions
are of no use, and then the doctor is obliged to have recourse to other
expedients. One of these is the employment of the association test,
which usually gives excellent information as to the chief momentary
tendencies of the individual.
A second expedient is dream analysis; this is _the real instrument_ of
psychoanalysis. We have already experienced so much opposition to dream
analysis that a brief exposition of its principles is necessary. The
interpretation of dreams, as well as the meaning given to them, is, as
we know, in bad odour. It is not long since that oneirocritics were
practised and believed in; nor is the time long past when even the most
enlightened human beings were entirely under the ban of superstition.
It is therefore comprehensible that our age should still retain a
certain lively fear of those superstitions which have but recently been
partially overcome. To this timidity in regard to superstition, the
opposition to dream analysis is in a large measure due; but analysis is
in no wise to blame for this. We do not select the dream as our object
because we pay it the homage of superstitious admiration, but because it
is a psychic product that is independent of the patient's consciousness.
We ask for the patient's free thoughts, but he gives us little, or
nothing; or at best something forced or irrelevant. Dreams are free
thoughts, free phantasies, they are not forced, and they are psychic
phenomena just as much as thoughts are.
It may be said of the dream that it enters into the consciousness as
a complex structure, the connection between the elements of which is
not conscious. Only by afterwards joining associations to the separate
pictures of the dream, can the origin of these pictures, in certain
recollections of the near and more remote past, be proved. One asks
oneself: "Where have I seen or heard that?" And by the same process of
free association comes the memory that one has actually experienced
certain parts of the dream, some of them yesterday, some at an earlier
date. This is well known, and every one will probably agree to it.
Thus far the dream presents itself, as a rule, as an incomprehensible
composition of certain elements which are not in the first instance
conscious, but which are later recognised by the process of free
association. This might be disputed on the ground that it is an _a
priori_ statement. I must remark, however, that this conception conforms
to the only generally recognised working hypothesis as to the genesis
of dreams, namely, the derivation of the dream from experiences and
thoughts of the recent past. We are, therefore, upon known ground.
Not that certain dream parts have under all circumstances been known
to the individual, so that one might ascribe to them the character of
being conscious; on the contrary, they are frequently, even generally,
unrecognisable. Not until later do we remember having consciously
experienced this or that dream part. We may therefore regard the dream
from this point of view as a product that comes from a subconscious
origin. The technical unfolding of these subconscious sources is a mode
of procedure that has always been instinctively employed. One simply
tries to remember whence the dream parts come. Upon this most simple
principle the psychoanalytic method of solving dreams is based. It
is a fact that certain dream parts are derived from our waking life
and, indeed, from experiences which, owing to their notorious lack of
importance, would frequently have been consigned to certain oblivion,
and were therefore well on their way towards becoming definitely
subconscious. Such dream parts are the results of subconscious
representations (images).
The principles according to which psychoanalysis solves dreams are
therefore exceedingly simple, and have really been known for a long
time. The further procedure follows the same path logically and
consistently. If one spends considerable time over a dream, which
really never happens outside psychoanalysis, one can succeed in finding
more and more recollections for the separate dream parts. It is,
however, not always possible to discover recollections for certain
other parts; and then one must leave them for the time being, whether
one likes it or not. When I speak of "recollections" I naturally do
not mean merely memories of certain concrete experiences, but also of
their inter-related meanings. The collected recollections are known
as the dream material. With this material one proceeds according to a
scientific method that is universally valid. If one has any experimental
material to work up, one compares its separate parts and arranges them
according to their similarities. Exactly the same course is pursued
in dealing with the dream material; one gathers together its common
characteristics, whether these be formal or material. In doing this one
must absolutely get rid of certain prejudices. I have always observed
that the beginner expects to find some tendency or other according
to which he endeavours to mould his material. I have noticed this
particularly in the cases of colleagues who were previously more or
less violent opponents of psychoanalysis, owing to their well-known
prejudices and misunderstandings. When fate willed that I should analyse
them, and they consequently gained at last an insight into the method
of analysis, it was demonstrated that the first mistake which they had
been apt to make in their own psychoanalytic practice was that they
forced the material into accord with their own preconceived opinions;
that is, they allowed their former attitude towards psychoanalysis,
which they were not able to appreciate objectively, but only according
to subjective phantasies, to have its influence upon their material.
If one goes so far as to venture upon the task of examining the dream
material, one must permit no comparison to frighten one away. The
material consists, as a general rule, of very unequal images, from which
it is under some circumstances most difficult to obtain the "tertium
comparationis." I must forego giving you detailed examples of this,
since it is quite impossible to introduce such extensive material into a
lecture.
One pursues, then, the same method in classifying the unconscious
content, as is used everywhere in comparing materials for the purpose
of drawing conclusions from them. One objection has often been made,
namely: why should the dream have a subconscious content at all? This
objection is unscientific in my opinion. Every psychological moment
has its own history. Every sentence that I utter has, besides the
meaning consciously intended by me, a meaning that is historical; and
this last may be entirely different from the conscious meaning. I am
purposely expressing myself somewhat paradoxically. I certainly should
not take it upon myself to explain each sentence according to its
individual-historical meaning. That is easier in the case of larger and
more complex formations. Every one is certainly convinced of the fact
that a poem--in addition to its manifest contents--is also particularly
characteristic of its author, in its form, subject-matter, and the
history of its origin. Whereas the poet gave skilful expression to
a fleeting mood in his song, the historian of literature sees in it
and beyond it, things which the poet would never have suspected. The
analysis which the literary critic makes of the subject-matter furnished
by the poet may be compared with psychoanalysis in its method, even to
the very errors which occur therein. The psychoanalytic method may be
aptly compared with historical analysis and synthesis. Let us assume,
for instance, that we do not understand the meaning of the rite of
baptism as it is practised in our churches to-day. The priest tells
us that baptism means the reception of the child into the Christian
community. But we are not satisfied with this. Why should the child be
sprinkled with water, etc.? In order that we may understand this rite we
must gather together materials for comparison from the history of the
rite, that is, from the memories of mankind appertaining to it; and this
must be done from various points of view.
Firstly--Baptism is clearly a rite of initiation, a consecration.
Therefore those memories, above all, must be assembled which preserve
the rites of initiation.
Secondly--The act of baptism is performed with water. This especial form
of procedure proves the necessity of welding together another chain of
memories concerning rites in which water was used.
Thirdly--The child is sprinkled with water when it is christened. In
this case we must gather together all the forms of the rite, where the
neophyte is sprinkled or where the child is submerged, etc.
Fourthly--We must recollect all the reminiscences in mythology and
all the superstitious customs which are in any respect similar to the
symbolic act of baptism.
In this manner we obtain a comparative study of the act of baptism.
Thus we ascertain the elements from which baptism is derived; we
further ascertain its original meaning, and at the same time make the
acquaintance of a world rich in religious mythology, which makes clear
to us all the multifarious and derived meanings of the act of baptism.
Thus the analyst deals with the dream. He gathers together historical
parallels for each dream part, even though they be very remote and
attempts to construct the psychological history of the dream and the
meanings that underlie it. By this monographic elaboration of the
dream one gains, exactly as in the analysis of the act of baptism, a
deep insight into the wonderfully subtle and significant network of
subconscious determinations; an insight which, as I have said, can only
be compared with the historical understanding of an act that we used
only to consider from a very one-sided and superficial point of view.
I cannot disguise the fact that in practice, especially at the beginning
of an analysis, we do not in all cases make complete and ideal analyses
of dreams, but that we more generally continue to gather together the
dream associations until the problem which the patient hides from us
becomes so clear that even he can recognize it. This problem is then
subjected to conscious elaboration until it is cleared up as far as
possible, and once again we stand before a question that cannot be
answered.
You will now ask what course is to be pursued when the patient does not
dream at all; I can assure you that hitherto all patients, even those
who claimed never to have dreamed before, began to dream when they
went through analysis. But on the other hand it frequently occurs that
patients who began by dreaming vividly are suddenly no longer able to
remember their dreams. The empirical and practical rule, which I have
hitherto regarded as binding, is that the patient, if he does not dream,
has sufficient conscious material, which he keeps back for certain
reasons. A common reason is: "I am in the doctor's hands and am quite
willing to be treated by him. But the doctor must do the work, I shall
remain passive in the matter."
Sometimes the resistances are of a more serious character. For
instance, persons who cannot admit certain morally grave sides to
their characters, project their deficiencies upon the doctor by calmly
presuming that he is more or less deficient morally, and that for this
reason they cannot communicate certain unpleasant things to him. If,
then a patient does not dream from the beginning or ceases to dream he
retains material which is susceptible of conscious elaboration. Here the
personal relation between the doctor and his patient may be regarded
as the chief hindrance. It can prevent them both, the doctor as well
as the patient, from seeing the situation clearly. We must not forget
that, as the doctor shows, and must show, a searching interest in the
psychology of his patient, so, too, the patient, if he has an active
mind, gains some familiarity with the psychology of the doctor and
assumes a corresponding attitude towards him. Thus the doctor is blind
to the mental attitude of the patient to the exact extent that he does
not see himself and his own subconscious problems. Therefore I maintain
that a doctor must be analysed before he practises analysis. Otherwise
the practice of analysis can easily be a great disappointment to him,
because he can, under certain circumstances, reach a point where further
progress is impossible, a situation which may make him lose his head.
He is then readily inclined to assume that psychoanalysis is nonsense,
so as to avoid the admission that he has run his vessel ashore. If you
are sure of your own psychology you can confidently tell your patient
that he does not dream because there is still conscious material to be
disposed of. I say that one must be sure of one's self in such cases,
for the opinions and unsparing criticisms to which one sometimes has to
submit, can be excessively disturbing to one who is unprepared to meet
them. The immediate consequence of such a loss of personal balance on
the part of the doctor is that he begins to argue with his patient, in
order to maintain his influence over him; and this, of course, renders
all further analysis impossible.
I have told you that, in the first instance, dreams need only be used
as sources of material for analysis. At the beginning of an analysis it
is not only unnecessary, but also unwise, to make a so-called complete
interpretation of a dream; for it is very difficult indeed to make a
complete and really exhaustive interpretation. The interpretations of
dreams that one sometimes reads in psychoanalytic publications are often
one-sided, and not infrequently contestable formulations. I include
among these certain one-sided sexual reductions of the Viennese school.
In view of the comprehensive many-sidedness of the dream material one
must beware, above all, of one-sided formulations. The many-sidedness of
the meaning of a dream, not its singleness of meaning, is of the utmost
value, especially at the beginning of the psychoanalytic treatment.
Thus, for instance, a patient had the following dream not long after her
treatment had begun: "_She was in a hotel in a strange city. Suddenly
a fire broke out; and her husband and her father, who were with her,
helped her in the work of saving others._" The patient was intelligent,
extraordinarily sceptical, and absolutely convinced that dream analysis
was nonsense. I had difficulty in inducing her to give dream analysis
even one trial. Indeed I saw at once that I could not inform my patient
of the real content of the dream under these circumstances because
her resistances were much too great. I selected the fire, the most
conspicuous occurrence of the dream, as the starting point for obtaining
her free associations. The patient told me that she had recently read
in a newspaper that a certain hotel in Z. had been burnt down; that she
remembered the hotel because she had once lived in it. At the hotel
she had made the acquaintance of a man, and from this acquaintance a
somewhat questionable love affair developed. In connection with this
story the fact came out that she had already had quite a number of
similar adventures, all of which had a certain frivolous character.
This important bit of past history was brought out by the first free
association with a dream-part. It would have been impossible in this
case to make clear to the patient the very striking meaning of the
dream. With her frivolous mental attitude, of which her scepticism was
only a special instance, she could have calmly repelled any attempt of
this kind. But after the frivolity of her mental attitude was recognised
and proved to her, by the material that she herself had furnished, it
was possible to analyse the dreams which followed much more thoroughly.
It is, therefore, advisable in the beginning to make use of dreams for
the purpose of reaching the important subconscious material by means
of the patient's free associations in connection with them. This is
the best and most cautious method, especially for those who are just
beginning to practise analysis. An arbitrary translation of the dreams
is absolutely unadvisable. That would be a superstitious practice based
on the acceptance of well-established symbolic meanings. But there
are no fixed symbolic meanings. There are certain symbols that recur
frequently, but we are not able to get beyond general statements. For
instance, it is quite incorrect to assume that the snake, when it
appears in dreams, has a merely phallic meaning; just as incorrect
as it is to deny that it may have a phallic meaning in some cases.
Every symbol has more than one meaning. I can therefore not admit the
correctness of exclusively sexual interpretations, such as appear in
some psychoanalytic publications, for my experience has made me regard
them as one-sided and therefore insufficient. As an example of this I
will tell you a very simple dream of a young patient of mine. It was as
follows: "_I was going up a flight of stairs with my mother and sister.
When we reached the top I was told that my sister was soon to have a
child._"
I shall now show you how, on the strength of the hitherto prevailing
point of view, this dream may be translated so that it receives a sexual
meaning. We know that the incest phantasy plays a prominent part in
the life of a neurotic. Hence the picture "with my mother and sister"
might be regarded as an allusion in this direction. The "stairs" have a
sexual meaning that is supposedly well established; they represent the
sexual act because of the rhythmic climbing of steps. The child that
my patient's sister is expecting is nothing but the logical result of
these premises. The dream, translated thus, would be a clear fulfilment
of infantile desires which as we know play an important part in Freud's
theory of dreams.
Now I have analysed this with the aid of the following process of
reasoning: If I say that the stairs are a symbol for the sexual act,
whence do I obtain the right to regard the mother, the sister, and the
child as concrete; that is, as not symbolic? If, on the strength of
the claim that dream pictures are symbolic, I give to certain of these
pictures the value of symbols, what right have I to exempt certain other
dream parts from this process? If, therefore, I attach symbolic value
to the ascent of the stairs, I must also attach a symbolic value to the
pictures that represent the mother, the sister, and the child. Therefore
I did not translate the dream, but really analysed it. The result was
surprising. I will give you the free associations with the separate
dream-parts, word for word, so that you can form your own opinions
concerning the material. I should state in advance that the young man
had finished his studies at the university a few months previously; that
he found the choice of a profession too difficult to make; and that he
thereupon became a neurotic. In consequence of this he gave up his work.
His neurosis took, among other things, a decidedly homosexual form.
The patient's associations with his mother are as follows: "I have not
seen her for a long time, a very long time. I really ought to reproach
myself for this. It is wrong of me to neglect her so." "Mother," then,
stands here for something which is neglected in an inexcusable manner. I
said to the patient: "What is that?" And he replied, with considerable
embarrassment, "My work."
With his sister he associated as follows: "It is years since I have seen
her. I long to see her again. Whenever I think of her I recall the time
when I took leave of her. I kissed her with real affection; and at that
moment I understood for the first time what love for a woman can mean."
It is at once clear to the patient that his sister represents "love for
woman."
With the stairs he has this association: "Climbing upwards; getting to
the top; making a success of life; being grown up; being great." The
child brings him the ideas: "New born; a revival; a regeneration; to
become a new man."
One only has to hear this material in order to understand at once that
the patient's dream is not so much the fulfilment of infantile desires,
as it is the expression of biological duties which he has hitherto
neglected because of his infantilism. Biological justice, which is
inexorable, sometimes compels the human being to atone in his dreams for
the duties which he has neglected in real life.
This dream is a typical example of the prospective and teleological
function of dreams in general, a function that has been especially
emphasised by my colleague Dr. Maeder. If we adhered to the
one-sidedness of sexual interpretation, the real meaning of the dream
would escape us. Sexuality in dreams is, in the first instance, a means
of expression, and by no means always the meaning and the object of
the dream. The unfolding of the prospective or teleological meaning
of dreams is of particular importance as soon as analysis is so far
advanced that the eyes of the patient are more easily turned upon the
future, than upon his inner life and upon the past.
In connection with the application of symbolism, we can also learn from
the example furnished us by this dream, that there can be no fixed and
unalterable dream symbols, but at best a frequent repetition of fairly
general meanings. So far as the so-called sexual meaning of dreams,
in particular, is concerned, my experience has led me to lay down the
following practical rules:
If dream analysis at the beginning of the treatment shows that the
dream has an undoubted sexual meaning, this meaning is to be taken
realistically; that is, it is proved thereby that the sexual problem
itself must be subjected to a careful revision. If, for instance, an
incest phantasy is clearly shown to be a latent content of the dream,
one must subject the patient's infantile relations towards his parents
and his brothers and sisters, as well as his relations towards other
persons who are fitted to play the part of his father or mother in his
mind, to a careful examination on this basis. But if a dream that comes
in a later stage of the analysis has, let us say, an incest phantasy
as its essential content, a phantasy that we have reason to consider
disposed of, concrete value must not be attached to it under all
circumstances; it must be regarded as symbolic. In this case symbolic
value, not concrete value, must be attached to the sexual phantasy. If
we did not go beyond the concrete value in this case, we should keep
reducing the patient to sexuality, and this would arrest the progress of
the development of his personality. The patient's salvation is not to be
found by thrusting him back again into primitive sexuality; this would
leave him on a low plane of civilisation whence he could never obtain
freedom and complete restoration to health. Retrogression to a state of
barbarism is no advantage at all for a civilised human being.
The above-mentioned formula, according to which the sexuality of a
dream is a symbolic or analogous expression, naturally also holds good
in the case of dreams occurring in the beginning of an analysis. But the
practical reasons that have induced us not to take into consideration
the symbolic value of this sexual phantasy, owe their existence to the
fact that a genuine realistic value must be given to the abnormal sexual
phantasies of a neurotic, in so far as the latter suffers himself to be
influenced in his actions by these phantasies. Experience teaches us
that these phantasies not only hinder him from adapting himself suitably
to his situation, but that they also lead him to all manner of really
sexual acts, and occasionally even to incest. Under these circumstances,
it would be of little use to consider the symbolic content of the dream
only; the concrete content must first be disposed of.
These arguments are based upon a different conception of the dream
from that put forward by Freud; for, indeed, my experience has forced
me to a different conception. According to Freud, the dream is in its
essence a symbolic veil for repressed desires which are in conflict
with the ideals of the personality. I am obliged to regard the dream
structure from a different point of view. The dream for me is, in the
first instance, the subliminal picture of the psychological condition
of the individual in his waking state. It presents a _résumé_ of the
subliminal association material which is brought together by the
momentary psychological situation. The volitional meaning of the
dream which Freud calls the repressed desire, is, for me, essentially
a means of expression. The activity of the consciousness, speaking
biologically, represents the psychological effort which the individual
makes in adapting himself to the conditions of life. His consciousness
endeavours to adjust itself to the necessities of the moment, or, to put
it differently: there are tasks ahead of the individual, which he must
overcome. In many cases the solution is unknown; and for this reason the
consciousness always tries to find the solution by the way of analogous
experience. We always try to grasp what is unknown and in the future,
according to our mental understanding of what has gone before. Now we
have no reasons for assuming that the unconscious follows other laws
than those which apply to conscious thought. The unconscious, like the
conscious, gathers itself about the biological problems and endeavours
to find solutions for these by analogy with what has gone before, just
as much as the conscious does. Whenever we wish to assimilate something
that is unknown, we arrive at it by a process of comparison. A simple
example of this is the well-known fact that, when America was discovered
by the Spaniards, the Indians took the horses of the conquerors, which
were strange to them, for large pigs, because pigs were familiar to
their experience. This is the mental process which we always employ in
recognising unknown things; and this is the essential reason for the
existence of symbolism. It is a process of comprehension by means of
analogy. The apparently repressed desires, contained in the dream, are
volitional tendencies which serve as language-material for subconscious
expression. So far as this particular point is concerned, I am in full
accord with the views of Adler, another member of Freud's school. With
reference to the fact that subconscious materials of expression are
volitional elements or tendencies, I may say that this is dependent
upon the archaic nature of dream thinking, a problem with which I have
already dealt in previous researches.[174]
Owing to our different conception of the structure of the dream, the
further course of analysis also gains a different complexion from
that which it had until now. The symbolic valuation given to sexual
phantasies in the later stages of analysis necessarily leads less to the
reduction of the patient's personality into primitive tendencies, than
to the extension and further development of his mental attitude; that
is, it tends to make his thinking richer and deeper, thus giving him
what has always been one of the most powerful weapons that a human being
can have in his struggle to adapt himself to life. By following this new
course logically, I have come to the conclusion that these religious
and philosophical motive forces--the so-called metaphysical needs of
the human being--must receive positive consideration at the hands of
the analyst. Though he must not destroy the motive forces that underlie
them, by reducing them to their primitive, sexual roots, he must make
them serve biological ends as psychologically valuable factors. Thus
these instincts assume once more those functions that have been theirs
from time immemorial.
Just as primitive man was able, with the aid of religious and
philosophical symbol, to free himself from his original state, so, too,
the neurotic can shake off his illness in a similar way. It is hardly
necessary for me to say, that I do not mean by this, that the belief in
a religious or philosophical dogma should be thrust upon the patient; I
mean simply that he has to reassume that psychological attitude which,
in an earlier civilisation, was characterised by the living belief in
a religious or philosophical dogma. But the religious-philosophical
attitude does not necessarily correspond to the belief in a dogma. A
dogma is a transitory intellectual formulation; it is the result of
the religious-philosophical attitude, and is dependent upon time and
circumstances. This attitude is itself an achievement of civilization;
it is a function that is exceedingly valuable from a biological point
of view, for it gives rise to the incentives that force human beings to
do creative work for the benefit of a future age, and, if necessary, to
sacrifice themselves for the welfare of the species.
Thus the human being attains the same sense of unity and totality, the
same confidence, the same capacity for self-sacrifice in his conscious
existence that belongs unconsciously and instinctively to wild animals.
Every reduction, every digression from the course that has been laid
down for the development of civilisation does nothing more than turn
the human being into a crippled animal; it never makes a so-called
natural man of him. My numerous successes and failures in the course of
my analytic practice have convinced me of the invariable correctness of
this psychological orientation. We do not help the neurotic patient by
freeing him from the demand made by civilisation; we can only help him
by inducing him to take an active part in the strenuous task of carrying
on the development of civilisation. The suffering which he undergoes in
performing this duty takes the place of his neurosis. But, whereas the
neurosis and the complaints that accompany it are never followed by the
delicious feeling of good work well done, of duty fearlessly performed,
the suffering that comes from useful work, and from victory over real
difficulties, brings with it those moments of peace and satisfaction
which give the human being the priceless feeling that he has really
lived his life.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 173: Reprinted from the _Transactions of the Psycho-Medical
Society_, August 5th, 1913.]
[Footnote 174: See "Psychology of the Unconscious."]