attention to this. When I ask a man to say what comes to his mind about
any given element in a dream, I require him to give himself up to the
process of FREE ASSOCIATION _which follows when he keeps in mind the
original idea_. This necessitates a peculiar attitude of the attention,
something quite different from reflection, indeed, precluding it. Many
people adopt this attitude without any difficulty, but others when they
attempt to do so display an incredible inaptitude. There is a still
higher degree of freedom in association which appears when I dispense
with any particular stimulus-idea and perhaps only describe the kind and
species of association that I want; for example, ask someone to let a
proper name or a number occur to him. An association of this sort
should, one would say, be even more subject to choice and unaccountable
than the kind used in our technique. Nevertheless, it can be shown that
in every instance it will be strictly determined by important inner
attitudes of mind, which are unknown to us at the moment when they
operate, just as much unknown as are the disturbing tendencies which
cause errors, and those tendencies which bring about so-called “chance”
actions.
I myself and many after me have repeatedly made an examination of names
and numbers called up without any particular idea as a starting-point;
some of these experiments have been published. The method is this: a
train of associations is stirred up by the name which occurred, and
these associations, as you see, are no longer quite free, but are
attached just so far as the associations to the different elements of
the dream are attached; this train of associations is then kept up until
the thoughts arising from the impulse have been exhausted. By that time,
however, you will have explained the motivation and significance of the
free association with a name. The experiments yield the same result
again and again; the information they give us often includes a wealth of
material and necessitates going far afield into its ramifications. The
associations to numbers that arise spontaneously are perhaps the most
demonstrative; they follow upon one another so swiftly and make for a
hidden goal with such astounding certainty that one is really quite
taken aback. I will give you just one example of a name-analysis of this
sort, because it happens to be one which does not involve the handling
of a great mass of material.
Once, when I was treating a young man, I happened to say something on
this subject and to assert that in spite of our apparent freedom of
choice in such matters we cannot, in point of fact, think of any name
which cannot be shown to be narrowly determined by the immediate
circumstances, the idiosyncrasies, of the person experimented with and
his situation at the moment. As he was inclined to be sceptical, I
proposed that he should make the experiment himself then and there. I
knew that he had unusually numerous relationships of all sorts with
women and girls, so I told him that I thought he would have an
exceptionally large number to choose from if he were to let the name of
a woman occur to him. He agreed. To my surprise, or rather perhaps to
his own, he did not overwhelm me with an avalanche of women’s names, but
remained silent for a time, and then confessed that the only name which
came into his mind at all was “Albine.” “How curious! What do you
connect with this name? How many Albines do you know?” Strangely enough,
he knew no one of the name of Albine, and he found no associations to
the name. One might infer that the analysis had failed; but no, it was
already complete, and no further association was required. The man
himself was unusually fair in colouring, and whilst talking to him in
analysis I had often jokingly called him an _albino_; moreover, we were
just in the midst of tracing the _feminine_ element in his nature. So it
was he himself who was this female albino, the “woman” who interested
him most at the moment.
In the same way, the tunes which suddenly come into a man’s head can be
shown to be conditioned by some train of thought to which they belong,
and which for some reason is occupying his mind without his knowing
anything about it. It is easy to show that the connection with the tune
is to be sought either in the words which belong to it or in the source
from which it comes: I must, however, make this reservation, that I do
not maintain this in the case of really musical people of whom I happen
to have had no experience; in them the musical value of the tune may
account for its suddenly emerging into consciousness. The first case is
certainly much more common; I know of a young man who for some time was
absolutely haunted by the tune (a charming one, I admit) of the song of
Paris in _Helen of Troy_, until his attention was drawn in analysis to
the fact that at that time an “Ida” and a “Helen” were rivals in his
interest.
If then the associations which arise quite freely are determined in this
way and belong to some definite context, we are surely justified in
concluding that associations attached to one single stimulus-idea must
be equally narrowly conditioned. Examination shows as a fact that they
are not only attached in the first place to the stimulus-idea which we
have provided for them, but that they are also dependent, in the second
place, on circles of thoughts and interests of strong affective value
(_complexes_, as we call them) of whose influence at the time nothing is
known, that is to say, on unconscious activities.
Associations attached in this way have been made the subject of very
instructive experiments, which have played a notable part in the history
of psycho-analysis. Wundt’s school originated the so-called
‘association-experiment,’ in which the subject of the experiment is
bidden to reply to a given ‘stimulus-word’ as quickly as possible with
whatever ‘reaction-word’ occurs to him. The following points may then be
noted: the interval which elapses between the sounding of the
stimulus-word and of the reaction-word, the nature of the latter, and
possibly any mistake which comes in when the same experiment is repeated
later, and so on. The Zurich School, under the leadership of Bleuler and
Jung, arrived at the explanation of the reactions to the
association-experiment by asking the person experimented upon to throw
light upon any associations which seemed at all remarkable, by means of
subsequent associations. In this way it became clear that these unusual
reactions were most strictly determined by the complexes of the person
concerned. By this discovery Bleuler and Jung built the first bridge
between experimental psychology and psycho-analysis.
Having heard this you may possibly say: “We admit now that free
associations are subject to determination and not a matter of choice, as
we thought at first, and we admit this also in the case of associations
to the elements of dreams. But it is not this that we are bothering
about. You maintain that the association to each element in the dream is
determined by some mental background to this particular element, a
background of which we know nothing. We cannot see that there is any
proof of this. Naturally we expect that the association to the
dream-element will be shown to be conditioned by one of the complexes of
the dreamer, but what good is that to us? That does not help us to
understand the dream; it merely leads to some knowledge of these
so-called complexes, as did the association-experiment; but what have
these to do with the dream?”
You are right, but you are overlooking an important point, the very
thing which deterred me from choosing the association-experiment as a
starting-point for this discussion. In this experiment the
stimulus-word, the single thing which determines the reaction, is chosen
by us at will, and the reaction stands as intermediary between this
stimulus-word and the complex aroused in the person experimented upon.
In the dream, the stimulus-word is replaced by something derived from
the mental life of the dreamer, from sources unknown to him, and hence
may very probably be itself a ‘derivative of a complex.’ It is not,
therefore, altogether fantastic to suppose that the further associations
connected with the elements of the dream are determined by no other
complex than that which has produced the particular element itself, and
that they will lead to the discovery of that complex.
Let me give you another instance which may serve to show that, in the
case of dreams, the facts bear out our expectations. The forgetting of
proper names is really an excellent prototype of what happens in
dream-analysis, only that in the former case one person alone is
concerned, while in the interpretation of dreams there are two. When I
forget a name temporarily, I am still certain that I know it, and by way
of a détour through Bernheim’s experiment, we are now in a position to
achieve a similar certainty in the case of the dreamer. Now this name
which I have forgotten, and yet really know, eludes me. Experience soon
teaches me that no amount of thinking about it, even with effort, is any
use. I can, however, always think of another or of several other names
instead of the forgotten one. When such a substitute name occurs to me
spontaneously, only then is the similarity between this situation and
that of dream-analysis evident. The dream-element also is not what I am
really looking for; it is only a substitute for something else, for the
real thing which I do not know and am trying to discover by means of
dream-analysis. Again the difference is that when I forget a name I know
perfectly well that the substitute is not the right one, whereas we only
arrived at this conception of the dream-element by a laborious process
of investigation. Now there also is a way in which, when we forget a
name, we can by starting from the substitute, arrive at the real thing
eluding our consciousness at the moment, i.e. the forgotten name. If I
turn my attention to these substitute names and let further associations
to them come into my mind, I arrive after a short or a long way round at
the name I have forgotten, and in so doing I discover that the
substitutes I have spontaneously produced had a definite connection
with, and were determined by, the forgotten name.
I will give you an instance of an analysis of this sort: one day I found
that I could not call to mind the name of the small country on the
Riviera, of which Monte Carlo is the capital. It was most annoying, but
so it was. I delved into all my knowledge about the country; I thought
of Prince Albert of the House of Lusignan, of his marriages, of his
passion for deep-sea exploration—in fact of everything I could summon
up, but all to no purpose. So I gave up trying to think and, instead of
the name I had lost, let substitute names come into my mind. They came
quickly: Monte Carlo itself, then Piedmont, Albania, Montevideo, Colico.
Albania was the first to attract my attention; it was immediately
replaced by Montenegro, probably because of the contrast between black
and white. Then I noticed that four of the substitute names have the
same syllable “mon,” and immediately I recalled the forgotten word and
cried out “Monaco.” You see the substitutes really originated in the
forgotten name; the four first came from the first syllable and the last
gave the sequence of the syllables and the whole of the final syllable.
Incidentally, I could quite easily find out what had made me forget the
name for the time being. Monaco is the Italian name for Munich, and it
was some thoughts connected with this town which had acted as an
inhibition.
Now that is a very pretty example, but it is too simple. In other cases
you might have to take a longer succession of associations to the
substitute name, and then the analogy to dream-analysis would be
clearer. I have had experiences of that sort, too. A stranger once
invited me to drink some Italian wine with him, and in the inn he found
he had forgotten the name of the wine which he had meant to order on
account of his very pleasant recollections of it. A number of dissimilar
substitute names occurred to him, and from these I was able to infer
that the thought of someone called Hedwig had made him forget the name
of the wine. Sure enough, not only did he tell me that there had been a
Hedwig with him on the occasion when he first tasted the wine, but this
discovery brought back to him the name he wanted. He was now happily
married, and “Hedwig” belonged to earlier days which he did not care to
recall.
What is possible in the case of forgotten names must be also possible in
the interpretation of dreams: starting from the substitute, we must be
able to arrive at the real object of our search by means of a train of
associations; and further, arguing from what happens with forgotten
names, we may assume that the associations to the dream-element will
have been determined not only by that element but also by the real
thought which is not in consciousness. If we could do this, we should
have gone some way towards justifying our technique.
SEVENTH LECTURE
MANIFEST CONTENT AND LATENT THOUGHTS
You see that our study of errors has not been fruitless. Thanks to our
exertions in that direction, we have—reasoning from the hypotheses with
which you are familiar—secured two results: a conception of the nature
of the dream-element and a technique of dream-interpretation. The
conception of the dream-element is as follows: it is not in itself a
primary and essential thing, a ‘thought proper,’ but a substitute for
something else unknown to the person concerned, just as is the
underlying intention of the error, a substitute for something the
knowledge of which is indeed possessed by the dreamer but is
inaccessible to him. We hope to be able to carry over the same
conception on to the dream as a whole, which consists of a number of
such elements. Our method is to allow other substitute-ideas, from which
we are able to divine that which lies hidden, to emerge into
consciousness by means of free association to the said elements.
I am now going to propose that we introduce an alteration in our
nomenclature in order to make our terminology more flexible. Instead of
using the words “hidden,” “inaccessible,” or “proper,” let us give a
more precise description and say “inaccessible to the consciousness of
the dreamer” or “unconscious.” By that we mean nothing more than was
implied in the case of the forgotten word, or the underlying intention
responsible for the error; that is to say, _unconscious at the moment_.
It follows that in contradistinction we may call the dream-elements
themselves, and those substitute-ideas arrived at by the process of
association, _conscious_. No theoretical implication is so far contained
in these terms; no exception can be taken to the use of the word
“unconscious” as a description at once applicable and easy to
understand.[26]
Now, transferring our conception from the single element to the dream as
a whole, it follows that the latter is the distorted substitute for
something else, something unconscious, and that the task of
dream-interpretation is to discover these unconscious thoughts. Hence
are derived three important rules which should be observed in the work
of dream-interpretation:
1. We are not to trouble about the surface meaning of the dream, whether
it be reasonable or absurd, clear or confused; in no case does it
constitute the unconscious thoughts we are seeking. (An obvious
limitation of this rule will force itself upon us later.)
2. We are to confine our work to calling up substitute-ideas for every
element and not to ponder over them and try to see whether they contain
something which fits in, nor to trouble ourselves about how far they are
taking us from the dream-element.
3. We must wait until the hidden unconscious thoughts which we are
seeking appear of their own accord, just as in the case of the missing
word “Monaco” in the experiment which I described.
Now we understand also how entirely indifferent it is whether we
remember much or little of our dreams, above all whether we remember
them accurately or not. The dream as remembered is not the real thing at
all, but _a distorted substitute_ which, by calling up other
substitute-ideas, provides us with a means of approaching the thought
proper, of bringing into consciousness the unconscious thoughts
underlying the dream. If our recollection was at fault, all that has
happened is that a further distortion of the substitute has taken place,
and this distortion itself cannot be without motivation.
We can interpret our own dreams as well as those of others; indeed, we
learn more from our own and the process carries more conviction. Now if
we experiment in this direction, we notice that something is working
against us. Associations come, it is true, but we do not admit them all;
we are moved to criticize and to select. We say to ourselves of one
association: “No, that does not fit in—it is irrelevant,” and of
another: “That is too absurd,” and of a third: “That is quite beside the
point”; and then we can observe further that in making such objections
we stifle, and in the end actually banish, the associations before they
have become quite clear. So on the one hand we tend to hold too closely
to the initial idea, that is, the dream-element itself, and on the
other, by allowing ourselves to select, we vitiate the results of the
process of free association. If we are not attempting the interpretation
by ourselves, but are allowing someone else to interpret, we shall
clearly perceive another motive impelling us to this selection,
forbidden as we know it to be. We find ourselves thinking at times: “No,
this association is too unpleasant; I cannot, or will not, tell it to
him.”
Clearly these objections threaten to spoil the success of our work. We
must guard against them when we are interpreting our own dreams by
resolving firmly not to yield to them, and, in interpreting those of
someone else, by laying down the hard and fast rule that he must not
withhold any association, even if one of the four objections I have
named rises up against it, namely, that it is too unimportant, too
absurd, too irrelevant or too unpleasant to speak of. He promises to
keep this rule, and we may well feel annoyed when we find how badly he
fulfils his promise later on. At first we account for this by imagining
that in spite of our authoritative assurance he is not convinced that
the process of free association will be justified by its results; and
perhaps our next idea will be to win him over first to our theory, by
giving him books to read or sending him to lectures so that he may be
converted to our views on the subject. But we shall be saved from any
such false steps by observing that the same critical objections against
certain associations arise even in ourselves, whom we surely cannot
suspect of doubt, and can only subsequently, on second thoughts as it
were, be overcome.
Instead of being annoyed at the dreamer’s disobedience, we can turn this
experience to good account as a means of learning something new,
something which is the more important the more unprepared we were for
it. We realize that the work of dream-interpretation is encountering
opposition by a _resistance_ which expresses itself in this very form of
critical objections. This resistance is independent of the theoretical
conviction of the dreamer. We learn even more than this. Experience
shows that a critical objection of this nature is never justified. On
the contrary, the associations which people wish to suppress in this way
prove _without exception_ to be the most important, to be decisive for
the discovery of the unconscious thought. When an association is
accompanied by an objection of this sort it positively calls for special
notice.
This resistance is something entirely new; a phenomenon which we have
found by following out our hypotheses, although it was not included in
them. We are not altogether agreeably surprised by this new factor which
we have to reckon with, for we suspect already that it will not make our
work any easier: it might almost tempt us to give up the effort with
dreams altogether. To take such a trivial subject and then to have so
much trouble, instead of spinning along smoothly with our technique! But
we might on the other hand find these difficulties fascinating and be
led to suspect that the work will be worth the trouble. Resistances
invariably confront us when we try to penetrate to the hidden
unconscious thought from the substitute offered by the dream-element. We
may suppose, therefore, that something very significant must be
concealed behind the substitute; for, if not, why should we meet with
such difficulties, the purpose of which is to keep up the concealment?
When a child will not open his clenched fist to show what is in it, we
may be quite certain that it is something which he ought not to have.
As soon as we introduce into our subject the dynamic conception of
resistance, we must bear in mind that this factor is something
quantitatively variable. There are greater and lesser resistances, and
we are prepared to find these differences showing themselves in the
course of our work. Perhaps we can connect with this another experience
also met with in the process of dream-interpretation. I mean that
sometimes only a few associations—perhaps not more than one—suffice to
lead us from the dream-element to the unconscious thought behind it,
whilst on other occasions long chains of associations are necessary and
many critical objections have to be overcome. We shall probably think
that the number of associations necessary varies with the varying
strength of the resistances, and very likely we shall be right. If there
is only a slight resistance, the substitute is not far removed from the
unconscious thought; a strong resistance on the other hand causes great
distortions of the latter, and thereby entails a long journey back from
the substitute to the unconscious thought itself.
Perhaps this would be a good moment to select a dream and try our
technique upon it, to see whether the expectations we have entertained
are realized. Very well, but what dream shall we choose? You do not know
how difficult it is for me to decide, nor can I make it clear to you yet
what the difficulties are. Obviously there must be dreams in which on
the whole there is very little distortion, and one would think it would
be best to begin with these. But which are the least distorted dreams?
Those which make good sense and are not confused, of which I have
already given you two examples? In assuming this, we should make a great
mistake, for examination shows that these dreams have undergone an
exceptionally high degree of distortion. Supposing then that I make no
special condition but take any dream at random, you would probably be
very much disappointed. We might have to observe and record such a vast
number of associations to the single dream-elements that it would be
quite impossible to gain any clear view of the work as a whole. If we
write the dream down and compare with it all the associations which it
produces, we are likely to find that they have multiplied the length of
the text of the dream many times. So the most practical method would
seem to be that of selecting for analysis several short dreams, each of
which can at least convey some idea to us or confirm some supposition.
This will be the course we shall decide to take, unless experience gives
us a hint where we ought really to look for slightly distorted dreams.
But I can suggest another means of simplifying matters, one which lies
right before us. Instead of attempting the interpretation of whole
dreams, let us confine ourselves to single dream-elements and find out
by taking a series of examples how the application of our technique
explains them:—