effort, from the consideration of children's dreams--the function of the
dream as a guardian of sleep; its origin from two rival tendencies, of
which the one, the longing for sleep, remains constant, while the other
tries to satisfy a psychic stimulus; the proof that the dream is a
significant psychic act; its two main characteristics: wish fulfillment
and hallucinatory experience. And we were almost able to forget that we
are engaged in psychoanalysis. Aside from its connection with errors our
work has no specific connotation. Any psychologist, who is entirely
ignorant of the claims of psychoanalysis, could have given this
explanation of children's dreams. Why has no one done so?
If there were only infantile dreams, our problem would be solved, our
task accomplished, and that without questioning the dreamer, or
approaching the unconscious, and without taking free association into
consideration. The continuation of our task plainly lies in this
direction. We have already repeatedly had the experience that
characteristics that at first seemed universally true, have subsequently
held good only for a certain kind and for a certain number of dreams. It
is therefore for us to decide whether the common characteristics which
we have gathered from children's dreams can be applied universally,
whether they also hold for those dreams that are not transparent, whose
manifest content shows no connection with wishes left over from the
previous day. We think that these dreams have undergone considerable
distortion and for this reason are not to be judged superficially. We
also suspect that for the explanation of this distortion we shall need
the psychoanalytic method which we could dispense with in the
understanding of children's dreams.
There is at any rate a class of dreams that are undistorted, and, just
like children's dreams, are easily recognizable as wish fulfillments. It
is those that are called up throughout life by the imperative needs of
the body--hunger, thirst, sexual desire--hence wish fulfillments in
reaction to internal physical stimuli. For this reason, I have noted the
dream of a young girl, that consisted of a menu following her name (Anna
F......, strawberry, huckleberry, egg-dish, pap), as a reaction to an
enforced day of fasting on account of a spoiled stomach, which was
directly traceable to the eating of the fruits twice mentioned in the
dream. At the same time, the grandmother, whose age added to that of her
grandchild would make a full seventy, had to go without food for a day
on account of kidney-trouble, and dreamed the same night that she had
been invited out and that the finest tid-bits had been set before her.
Observations with prisoners who are allowed to go hungry, or with people
who suffer privations on travels or expeditions, show that under these
conditions the dreams regularly deal with the satisfaction of these
needs. Otto Nordenskjold, in his book _Antarctic_ (1904), testifies to
the same thing concerning his crew, who were ice-bound with him during
the winter (Vol. 1, page 336). "Very significant in determining the
trend of our inmost thoughts were our dreams, which were never more
vivid and numerous than just at this time. Even those of our comrades
who ordinarily dreamed but seldom, now had long stories to tell, when in
the morning we exchanged our latest experiences in that realm of
phantasy. All of them dealt with that outside world that now was so far
away from us, but often they fitted into our present condition. Food and
drink were most often the pivots about which our dreams revolved. One of
us, who excelled in going to great dinners in his sleep, was most happy
whenever he could tell us in the morning that he attended a dinner of
three courses; another one dreamed of tobacco, whole mountains of
tobacco; still another dreamed of a ship that came along on the open
sea, under full sail. One other dream deserves mention: The postman
comes with the mail and gives a long explanation of why it is so late;
he had delivered it to the wrong address and only after great trouble on
his part had succeeded in getting it back. Of course one occupies
himself with even more impossible things in sleep, but in nearly all the
dreams that I myself dreamed or heard tell of, the lack of phantasy was
quite striking. It would surely be of great psychological interest if
all these dreams were recorded. It is easy to understand how we longed
for sleep, since it could offer us everything for which each one of us
felt the most burning desire." I quote further from Du Prel. "Mungo
Park, who during a trip in Africa was almost exhausted, dreamed without
interruption of the fertile valleys and fields of his home. Trenck,
tortured by hunger in the redoubt at Magdeburg, likewise saw himself
surrounded by wonderful meals, and George Back, who took part in
Franklin's first expedition, dreamed regularly and consistently of
luxurious meals when, as a result of terrible privations, he was nearly
dead of hunger."
A man who feels great thirst at night after enjoying highly seasoned
food for supper, often dreams that he is drinking. It is of course
impossible to satisfy a rather strong desire for food or drink by means
of the dream; from such a dream one awakes thirsty and must now drink
real water. The effect of the dream is in this case practically
trifling, but it is none the less clear that it was called up for the
purpose of maintaining the sleep in spite of the urgent impulse to awake
and to act. Dreams of satisfaction often overcome needs of a lesser
intensity.
In a like manner, under the influence of sexual stimuli, the dream
brings about satisfaction that shows noteworthy peculiarities. As a
result of the characteristic of the sexual urge which makes it somewhat
less dependent upon its object than hunger and thirst, satisfaction in a
dream of pollution may be an actual one, and as a result of difficulties
to be mentioned later in connection with the object, it happens
especially often that the actual satisfaction is connected with confused
or distorted dream content. This peculiarity of the dream of pollution,
as O. Rank has observed, makes it a fruitful subject to pursue in the
study of dream distortion. Moreover, all dreams of desire of adults
usually contain something besides satisfaction, something that has its
origin in the sources of the purely psychic stimuli, and which requires
interpretation to render it intelligible.
Moreover we shall not maintain that the wish-fulfillment dreams of the
infantile kind occur in adults only as reactions to the known imperative
desires. We also know of short clear dreams of this sort under the
influence of dominating situations that arise from unquestionably
psychic sources. As, for example, in dreams of impatience, whenever a
person has made preparations for a journey, for a theatrical
performance, for a lecture or for a visit, and now dreams of the
anticipated fulfillment of his expectations, and so arrives at his goal
the night before the actual experience, in the theatre or in
conversation with his host. Or the well-named dreams of comfort, when a
person who likes to prolong his sleep, dreams that he is already up, is
washing himself, or is already in school, while as a matter of fact he
continues sleeping, hence would rather get up in a dream than in
reality. The desire for sleep which we have recognized as a regular part
of the dream structure becomes intense in these dreams and appears in
them as the actual shaping force of the dream. The wish for sleep
properly takes its place beside other great physical desires.
At this point I refer you to a picture by Schwind, from the Schack
Gallery in Munich, so that you may see how rightly the artist has
conceived the origin of a dream from a dominating situation. It is the
_Dream of a Prisoner_,[29] which can have no other subject than his
release. It is a very neat stroke that the release should be effected
through the window, for the ray of light that awakens the prisoner comes
through the same window. The gnomes standing one above the other
probably represent the successive positions which he himself had to take
in climbing to the height of the window, and I do not think I am
mistaken or that I attribute too much preconcerted design to the artist,
by noting that the uppermost of the gnomes, who is filing the grating
(and so does what the prisoner would like to do) has the features of the
prisoner.
In all other dreams except those of children and those of the infantile
type, distortion, as we have said, blocks our way. At the outset we
cannot ascertain whether they are also wish fulfillments, as we suspect;
from their manifest content we cannot determine from what psychic
stimulus they derive their origin, and we cannot prove that they also
are occupied in doing away with the stimulus and in satisfying it. They
must probably be interpreted, that is, translated; their distortion must
be annulled; their manifest content replaced by their latent thought
before we can judge whether what we have found in children's dreams may
claim a universal application for all dreams.
NINTH LECTURE
THE DREAM
_The Dream Censor_
We have learned to know the origin, nature and function of the dream
from the study of children's dreams. _Dreams are the removal of
sleep-disturbing psychic stimuli by way of hallucinated satisfaction._
Of adults' dreams, to be sure, we could explain only one group, what we
characterized as dreams of an infantile type. As to the others we know
nothing as yet, nor do we understand them. For the present, however, we
have obtained a result whose significance we do not wish to
under-estimate. Every time a dream is completely comprehensible to us,
it proves to be an hallucinated wish-fulfillment. This coincidence
cannot be accidental, nor is it an unimportant matter.
We conclude, on the basis of various considerations and by analogy to
the conception of mistakes, that another type of dream is a distorted
substitute for an unknown content and that it must first be led back to
that content. Our next task is the investigation and the understanding
of this dream distortion.
Dream distortion is the thing which makes the dream seem strange and
incomprehensible to us. We want to know several things about it;
firstly, whence it comes, its dynamics; secondly, what it does; and
finally, how it does it. We can say at this point that dream distortion
is the product of the dream work, that is, of the mental functioning of
which the dream itself is the conscious symptom. Let us describe the
dream work and trace it back to the forces which work upon it.
And now I shall ask you to listen to the following dream. It was
recorded by a lady of our profession, and according to her, originated
with a highly cultivated and respected lady of advanced age. No analysis
of this dream was made. Our informant remarks that to a psychoanalyst
it needs no interpretation. The dreamer herself did not interpret it,
but she judged and condemned it as if she understood its interpretation.
For she said concerning it: "That a woman of fifty should dream such
abominable, stupid stuff--a woman who has no other thought, day and
night, than to care for her child!"
And now follows the dreams of the "_services of love_." "She goes into
Military Hospital No. 1, and says to the sentry at the gate, that she
must speak to the chief physician ... (she mentions a name which is not
familiar to her), as she wants to offer her service to the hospital. She
stresses the word 'service,' so love services. Since she is an old lady
he lets her pass after some hesitation. But instead of reaching the
chief physician, she finds herself in a large somber room in which there
are many officers and army doctors sitting and standing around a long
table. She turns with her proposal to a staff doctor who, after a few
words, soon understands her. The words of her speech in the dream are,
'I and numerous other women and girls of Vienna are ready for the
soldiers, troops, and officers, without distinction....' Here in the
dream follows a murmuring. That the idea is, however, correctly
understood by those present she sees from the semi-embarrassed, somewhat
malicious expressions of the officers. The lady then continues, 'I know
that our decision sounds strange, but we are in bitter earnest. The
soldier in the field is not asked either whether or not he wants to
die.' A moment of painful silence follows. The staff doctor puts his arm
around her waist and says, 'Madame, let us assume that it really came to
that ...' (murmurs). She withdraws from his arm with the thought, 'They
are all alike!' and answers, 'My heavens, I am an old woman, and perhaps
will never be confronted with that situation; one consideration,
moreover, must be kept in mind: the consideration of age, which prevents
an older woman from ... with a very young boy ... (murmurs) ... that
would be horrible.' The staff doctor, 'I understand perfectly.' Several
officers, among them one who had paid court to her in her youth, laugh
loudly, and the lady asks to be conducted to the chief physician, whom
she knows, so that everything may be arranged. At this she realizes with
great dismay that she does not know his name. The staff officer,
nevertheless, very politely and respectfully shows her the way to the
second story, up a very narrow winding iron stairway which leads to the
upper story directly from the door of the room. In going up she hears an
officer say, 'That is a tremendous decision irrespective of whether a
woman is young or old; all honor to her!'
"With the feeling that she is merely doing her duty, she goes up an
endless staircase."
This dream she repeats twice in the course of a few weeks, with--as the
lady notices--quite insignificant and very senseless changes.
This dream corresponds in its structure to a day dream. It has few gaps,
and many of its individual points might have been elucidated as to
content through inquiry, which, as you know, was omitted. The
conspicuous and interesting point for us, however, is that the dream
shows several gaps, gaps not of recollection, but of original content.
In three places the content is apparently obliterated, the speeches in
which these gaps occur are interrupted by murmurs. Since we have
performed no analysis, we have, strictly speaking, also no right to make
any assertion about the meaning of the dream. Yet there are intimations
given from which something may be concluded. For example, the phrase
"services of love," and above all the bits of speech which immediately
precede the murmurs, demand a completion which can have but one meaning.
If we interpolate these, then the phantasy yields as its content the
idea that the dreamer is ready, as an act of patriotic duty, to offer
her person for the satisfaction of the erotic desires of the army,
officers as well as troops. That certainly is exceedingly shocking, it
is an impudent libidinous phantasy, but--it does not occur in the dream
at all. Just at the point where consistency would demand this
confession, there is a vague murmur in the manifest dream, something is
lost or suppressed.
I hope you will recognize the inevitability of the conclusion that it is
the shocking character of these places in the dream that was the motive
for their suppression. Yet where do you find a parallel for this state
of affairs? In these times you need not seek far. Take up any political
paper and you will find that the text is obliterated here and there, and
that in its place shimmers the white of the paper. You know that that is
the work of the newspaper censor. In these blank spaces something was
printed which was not to the liking of the censorship authorities, and
for that reason it was crossed out. You think that it is a pity, that it
probably was the most interesting part, it was "the best part."
In other places the censorship did not touch the completed sentence. The
author foresaw what parts might be expected to meet with the objection
of the censor, and for that reason he softened them by way of
prevention, modified them slightly, or contented himself with innuendo
and allusion to what really wanted to flow from his pen. Thus the sheet,
it is true, has no blank spaces, but from certain circumlocutions and
obscurities of expression you will be able to guess that thoughts of the
censorship were the restraining motive.
Now let us keep to this parallel. We say that the omitted dream
speeches, which were disguised by a murmuring, were also sacrifices to a
censorship. We actually speak of a _dream censor_ to which we may
ascribe a contributing part in the dream distortion. Wherever there are
gaps in the manifest dream, it is the fault of the dream censor. Indeed,
we should go further, and recognize each time as a manifestation of the
dream censor, those places at which a dream element is especially faint,
indefinitely and doubtfully recalled among other, more clearly
delineated portions. But it is only rarely that this censorship
manifests itself so undisguisedly, so naively one may say, as in the
example of the dream of the "services of love." Far more frequently the
censorship manifests itself according to the second type, through the
production of weakenings, innuendoes, allusions instead of direct
truthfulness.
For a third type of dream censorship I know of no parallel in the
practice of newspaper censorship, yet it is just this type that I can
demonstrate by the only dream example which we have so far analyzed. You
will remember the dream of the "three bad theatre tickets for one florin
and a half." In the latent thoughts of this dream, the element
"_precipitately, too soon_," stood in the foreground. It means: "It was
foolish to marry so _early_, it was also foolish to buy theatre tickets
so _early_, it was ridiculous of the sister-in-law to spend her money so
_hastily_, merely to buy an ornament." Nothing of this central element
of the dream thought was evident in the manifest dream. In the latter,
going to the theatre and getting the tickets were shoved into the
foreground. Through this displacement of the emphasis, this regrouping
of the elements of the content, the manifest dream becomes so dissimilar
from the latent dream thoughts that no one would suspect the latter
behind the former. This displacement of emphasis is a favorite device of
the dream distortion and gives the dream that strangeness which makes
the dreamer himself unwilling to recognize it as his own production.
Omission, modification, regrouping of the material, these, then, are the
effects of the dream censor and the devices of dream distortion. The
dream censorship itself is the author, or one of the authors, of the
dream distortion whose investigation now occupies us. Modification and
rearrangement we are already accustomed to summarize as _displacement_.
After these remarks concerning the effects of the dream censor, let us
now turn to their dynamics. I hope you will not consider the expression
too anthropomorphically, and picture the dream censor as a severe little
manikin who lives in a little brain chamber and there performs his
duties; nor should you attempt to localize him too much, to think of a
brain center from which his censoring influence emanates, and which
would cease with the injury or extirpation of this center. For the
present, the term "dream censor" is no more than a very convenient
phrase for a dynamic relationship. This phrase does not prevent us from
asking by what tendencies such influence is exerted and upon which
tendencies it works; nor will we be surprised to discover that we have
already encountered the dream censor before, perhaps without recognizing
him.
For such was actually the case. You will remember that we had a
surprising experience when we began to apply our technique of free
association. We then began to feel that some sort of a resistance
blocked our efforts to proceed from the dream element to the unconscious
element for which the former is the substitute. This resistance, we
said, may be of varying strength, enormous at one time, quite negligible
at another. In the latter case we need cross only a few intermediate
steps in our work of interpretation. But when the resistance is strong,
then we must go through a long chain of associations, are taken far
afield and must overcome all the difficulties which present themselves
as critical objections to the association technique. What we met with in
the work of interpretation, we must now bring into the dream work as
the dream censor. The resistance to interpretation is nothing but the
objectivation of the dream censor. The latter proves to us that the
force of the censor has not spent itself in causing the dream
distortion, has not since been extinguished, but that this censorship
continues as a permanent institution with the purpose of preserving the
distortion. Moreover, just as in the interpretation the strength of the
resistance varied with each element, so also the distortion produced by
the censor in the same dream is of varying magnitude for each element.
If one compares the manifest with the latent dream one sees that certain
isolated latent elements have been practically eliminated, others more
or less modified, and still others left unchanged, indeed, have perhaps
been taken over into the dream content with additional strength.
But we wanted to discover what purposes the censorship serves and
against which tendencies it acts. This question, which is fundamental to
the understanding of the dream, indeed perhaps to human life, is easily
answered if we look over a series of those dreams which have been
analyzed. The tendencies which the censorship exercises are those which
are recognized by the waking judgment of the dreamer, those with which
he feels himself in harmony. You may rest assured that when you reject
an accurate interpretation of a dream of your own, you do so with the
same motives with which the dream censor works, the motives with which
it produces the dream distortion and makes the interpretation necessary.
Recall the dream of our fifty-year old lady. Without having interpreted
it, she considers her dream abominable, would have been still more
outraged if our informant had told her anything about the indubitable
meaning; and it is just on account of this condemnation that the
shocking spots in her dream were replaced by a murmur.
The tendencies, however, against which the dream censor directs itself,
must now be described from the standpoint of this instance. One can say
only that these tendencies are of an objectionable nature throughout,
that they are shocking from an ethical, aesthetic and social point of
view, that they are things one does not dare even to think, or thinks of
only with abhorrence. These censored wishes which have attained to a
distorted expression in the dream, are above all expressions of a
boundless, reckless egoism. And indeed, the personal ego occurs in
every dream to play the major part in each of them, even if it can
successfully disguise itself in the manifest content. This _sacro
egoismo_ of the dream is surely not unconnected with the sleep-inducing
cessation of psychic activity which consists, it should be noted, in the
withdrawal of interest from the entire external world.