psychological point of view. It consists in the transformation of
thoughts into _visual images_. Let us be quite clear that not everything
in the dream-thoughts is thus transformed; much keeps its original form
and appears also in the manifest dream as thought or knowledge, on the
part of the dreamer; again, translation of them into visual images is
not the only possible transformation of thoughts. But it is nevertheless
the essential feature in the formation of dreams, and, as we know, this
part of the dream-work is, if we except one other case, the least
subject to variation; for single dream-elements, moreover, _plastic
word-representation_ is a process already familiar to us.
Obviously this achievement is by no means an easy one. In order to get
some idea of its difficulty, imagine that you had undertaken to replace
a political leading article in a newspaper by a series of illustrations;
you would have to abandon alphabetic characters in favour of
hieroglyphics. The people and concrete objects mentioned in the article
could be easily represented, perhaps even more satisfactorily, in
pictorial form; but you would expect to meet with difficulties when you
came to the portrayal of all the abstract words and all those parts of
speech which indicate relations between the various thoughts, e.g.
particles, conjunctions, and so forth. With the abstract words you would
employ all manner of devices: for instance, you would try to render the
text of the article into other words, more unfamiliar perhaps, but made
up of parts more concrete and therefore more capable of such
representation. This will remind you of the fact that most abstract
words were originally concrete, their original significance having
faded; and therefore you will fall back on the original concrete meaning
of these words wherever possible. So you will be glad that you can
represent the “possessing” of an object as a literal, physical “sitting
upon” it (possess = _potis_ + _sedeo_). This is just how the dream-work
proceeds. In such circumstances you can hardly demand great accuracy of
representation, neither will you quarrel with the dream-work for
replacing an element which is difficult to reduce to pictorial form,
such as the idea of breaking marriage vows, by some other kind of
breaking, e.g. that of an arm or leg.[39] In this way you will to some
extent succeed in overcoming the awkwardness of rendering alphabetic
characters into hieroglyphs.
When you come to represent those parts of speech which indicate
thought-relations, e.g. “because,” “therefore,” “but,” and so on, you
have no such means as those described to assist you; so that these parts
of the text must be lost, so far as your translation into pictorial form
is concerned. Similarly, the content of the dream-thoughts is resolved
by the dream-work into its ‘raw material,’ consisting of objects and
activities. You may be satisfied if there is any possibility of
indicating somehow, by a more minute elaboration of the images, certain
relations which cannot be represented in themselves. In a precisely
similar manner the dream-work succeeds in expressing much of the content
of the latent thoughts by means of peculiarities in the _form_ of the
manifest dream, by its distinctness or obscurity, its division into
various parts, etc. The number of parts into which a dream is divided
corresponds as a rule with the number of its main themes, the successive
trains of thought in the latent dream; a short preliminary dream often
stands in an introductory or causal relation to the subsequent detailed
main dream; whilst a subordinate dream-thought is represented by the
interpolation into the manifest dream of a change of scene, and so on.
The form of dreams, then, is by no means unimportant in itself, and
itself demands interpretation. Several dreams in the same night often
have the same meaning, and indicate an endeavour to control more and
more completely a stimulus of increasing urgency. In a single dream, a
specially difficult element may be represented by “doubling” it, i.e. by
more than one symbol.
If we continue the comparison of dream-thoughts with the manifest dreams
representing them, we discover in all directions things we should never
have expected, e.g. that even nonsense and absurdity in dreams have
their meaning; in fact, at this point the contrast between the medical
and the psycho-analytic view of dreams becomes more marked than ever
before. According to the medical view, the dream is absurd because while
dreaming our mental activity has renounced its functions; according to
our view, on the other hand, the dream becomes absurd when it has to
represent a criticism implicit in the latent thoughts—the opinion: “It
is absurd.” The dream I told you, about the visit to the theatre (“three
tickets for one florin and a half”) is a good example of this: the
opinion thus expressed was as follows: “It was _absurd_ to marry so
early.”
Similarly, we find out when we interpret dreams what is the real meaning
of the doubts and uncertainties, so frequently mentioned by dreamers,
whether a certain element did actually appear in the dream, whether it
was really this and not rather something else. As a rule, there is
nothing in the latent thoughts corresponding with these doubts and
uncertainties; they originate wholly through the operation of the
censorship and are comparable to a not entirely successful attempt at
erasure.
One of our most surprising discoveries is the manner in which
_opposites_ in the latent dream are dealt with by the dream-work. We
know already that points of agreement in the latent material are
replaced by condensation in the manifest dream. Now contraries are
treated in just the same way as similarities, with a marked preference
for expression by means of the _same_ manifest element. An element in
the manifest dream which admits of an opposite may stand simply for
itself, or for its opposite, or for both together; only the sense can
decide which translation is to be chosen. It accords with this that
there is no representation of a “No” in dreams, or at least none which
is not ambiguous.
A welcome analogy to this strange behaviour of the dream-work is
furnished in the development of language. Many philologists have
maintained that in the oldest languages opposites such as: strong—weak,
light—dark, large—small, were expressed by the same root word
(_antithetical sense of primal words_). Thus, in old Egyptian “_ken_”
stood originally for both “strong” and “weak.” In speaking,
misunderstanding was guarded against in the use of such ambivalent words
by the intonation and accompanying gestures; in writing, by the addition
of a so-called “determinative,” that is to say, of a picture which was
not meant to be expressed orally. Thus, “_ken_” = “strong” was written
in such a way that after the letters there was a picture of a little man
standing upright; when “_ken_” meant “weak,” there was added the picture
of a man in a slack, crouching attitude. Only at a later period did the
two opposite meanings of the same primal word come to be designated in
two different ways by slight modifications of the original. Thus, from
“_ken_” meaning “strong—weak” were derived two words: “_ken_” = “strong”
and “_kan_” = “weak.” Nor is it only the oldest languages, in the last
stages of their development, which have retained many survivals of these
early words capable of meaning either of two opposites, but the same is
true of much younger languages, even those which are to-day still
living. I will quote some illustrations of this taken from the work of
C. Abel (1884):
In Latin, such ambivalent words are:
_altus_ = high or deep. _sacer_ = sacred or accursed.
As examples of modifications of the original root, I quote:
_clamare_ = to shout. _clam_ = quietly, silently, secretly.
_siccus_ = dry. _succus_ = juice.
and, in German, _Stimme_ = voice. _stumm_ = dumb.
A comparison of kindred languages yields a large number of examples:
English: lock = to shut. German: _Loch_ = hole. _Lücke_ = gap.
English: cleave.[40] German: _kleben_ = to stick, adhere.
The English word “without,” originally carrying with it both a positive
and a negative connotation, is to-day used in the negative sense only,
but it is clear that “with” has the signification, not merely of “adding
to,” but of “depriving of,” from the compounds “withdraw,” “withhold”
(cf. the German _wieder_).
Yet another peculiarity of the dream-work has its counterpart in the
development of language. In ancient Egyptian, as well as in other later
languages, the sequence of sounds was transposed so as to result in
different words for the same fundamental idea. Examples of this kind of
parallels between English and German words may be quoted:
_Topf_ (pot)—pot. Boat—tub. Hurry—_Ruhe_ (rest). _Balken_
(beam)—_Kloben_ (club). wait—_täuwen_ (to wait).
Parallels between Latin and German:—
_capere_—_packen_ (to seize). _ren_—_Niere_ (kidney).
Such transpositions as have taken place here in the case of single words
are made by the dream-work in a variety of ways. The inversion of the
meaning, i.e. substitution by the opposite, is a device with which we
are already familiar; but, besides this, we find in dreams inversion of
situations or of the relations existing between two persons, as though
the scene were laid in a “topsy-turvy” world. In dreams often enough the
hare shoots the hunter. Again, inversion is met with in the sequence of
events, so that in dreams cause follows effect, which reminds us of what
sometimes happens in a third-rate theatrical performance, when first the
hero falls and then the shot which kills him is fired from the wings. Or
there are dreams in which the whole arrangement of the elements is
inverted, so that in interpreting them the last must be taken first, and
the first last, in order to make sense at all. You remember that we also
found this in our study of dream-symbolism, in which the act of plunging
or falling into water has the same meaning as that of emerging from
water, namely, giving birth or being born, and going up steps or a
ladder means the same as coming down them. We cannot fail to recognize
the advantage reaped for dream-distortion by this freedom from
restrictions in representing the dream-thoughts.
These features of the dream-work may be termed _archaic_. They cling to
the primitive modes of expression of languages or scripts, and yield the
same difficulties, which we shall touch upon later in the course of some
critical observations on this topic.
Now let us consider some other aspects of the subject. Clearly what has
to be accomplished by the dream-work is the transformation of the latent
thoughts, as expressed in words, into perceptual forms, most commonly
into visual images. Now our thoughts originated in such perceptual
forms; their earliest material and the first stages in their development
consisted of sense-impressions, or, more accurately, of memory-pictures
of these. It was later that words were attached to these pictures and
then connected so as to form thoughts. So that the dream-work subjects
our thoughts to a _regressive_ process and retraces the steps in their
development; in the course of this REGRESSION all new acquisitions won
during this development of memory-pictures into thoughts must
necessarily fall away.
This then is what we mean by the dream-work. Beside what we have learnt
of its processes our interest in the manifest dream is bound to recede
far into the background; I will, however, devote still a few more
remarks to the manifest dream, for, after all, that is the only part of
the dream with which we have any direct acquaintance.
It is natural that the manifest dream should lose some of its importance
in our eyes. It must strike us as a matter of indifference whether it is
carefully composed or split up into a succession of disconnected
pictures. Even when the outward form of the dream is apparently full of
meaning, we know that this appearance has been arrived at by the process
of dream-distortion, and can have as little organic connection with the
inner content of the dream as exists between the _façade_ of an Italian
church and its general structure and ground-plan. At times, however,
this _façade_ of the dream has a meaning too, reproducing an important
part of the latent thoughts with little or no distortion. But we cannot
know this until we have interpreted the dream and thus arrived at an
opinion with regard to the degree of distortion present. A similar doubt
obtains where two elements seem to be closely connected; such connection
may contain a valuable hint that the corresponding elements in the
latent dream are similarly related, but at other times we can convince
ourselves that what is connected in thought has become widely separated
in the dream.
In general we must refrain from attempting to explain one part of the
manifest dream by another part, as though the dream were a coherent
conception and a pragmatic representation. It is in most cases
comparable rather to a piece of Breccia stone, composed of fragments of
different kinds of stone cemented together in such a way that the
markings upon it are not those of the original pieces contained in it.
There is, as a matter of fact, one mechanism in the dream-work, known as
SECONDARY ELABORATION, the object of which is to combine the immediate
results of the work into a single and fairly coherent whole; during this
process the material is often so arranged as to give rise to total
misunderstanding, and for this purpose any necessary interpolations are
made.
On the other hand, we should not overrate the dream-work or attribute to
it more than is its due. Its activity is limited to the achievements
here enumerated; condensation, displacement, plastic representation and
secondary elaboration of the whole dream; these are all that it can
effect. Such manifestations of judgement, criticism, surprise, or
deductive reasoning, as are met with in dreams are not brought about by
the dream-work and are only very rarely the expression of subsequent
reflection about the dream; but are for the most part fragments of the
latent thoughts introduced into the manifest dream with more or less
modification and in a form suited to the context. Again, the dream-work
cannot create conversation in dreams; save in a few exceptional cases,
it is imitated from, and made up of, things heard or even said by the
dreamer himself on the previous day, which have entered into the latent
thoughts as the material or incitement of his dream. Neither do
mathematical calculations come into the province of the dream-work;
anything of the sort appearing in the manifest dream is generally a mere
combination of numbers, a pseudo-calculation, quite absurd as such, and
again only a copy of some calculation comprised in the latent thoughts.
In these circumstances it is not surprising that the interest which was
felt in the dream-work soon becomes directed instead towards the latent
thoughts which disclose themselves in a more or less distorted form
through the manifest dream. We are not justified, however, in a
theoretical consideration of the subject, in letting our interest stray
so far that we altogether substitute the latent thoughts for the dream
as a whole, and make some pronouncement on the latter which is only true
of the former. It is strange that the findings of psycho-analysis could
be so misused as to result in confusion between the two. The term
“dream” can only be applied to the _results of the dream-work_, i.e. to
the _form_ into which the latent thoughts have been rendered by the
dream-work.
This work is a process of a quite peculiar type; nothing like it has
hitherto been known in mental life. This kind of condensation,
displacement, and regressive translation of thoughts into images, is a
novelty, the recognition of which in itself richly rewards our efforts
in the field of psycho-analysis. You will again perceive, from the
parallels to dream-work, the connections revealed between
psycho-analytic and other research, especially in the fields of the
development of speech and thought. You will only realize the further
significance of the insight so acquired when you learn that the
mechanism of the dream-work is a kind of model for the formation of
neurotic symptoms.
I know too that it is not possible for us yet to grasp the full extent
of the fresh gain accruing to psychology from these labours. We will
only hint at the new proofs thereby afforded of the existence of
unconscious mental activities—for this indeed is the nature of the
latent dream-thoughts—and at the promise dream-interpretation gives of
an approach, wider than we ever guessed at, to the knowledge of the
unconscious life of the mind.
Now, however, I think the time has come to give you individual examples
of various short dreams, which will illustrate the points for which I
have already prepared you.
TWELFTH LECTURE
EXAMPLES OF DREAMS AND ANALYSIS OF THEM
You must not be disappointed if I present you once more with fragments
of dream-interpretations, instead of inviting you to participate in the
interpretation of one fine long dream. You will say that after so much
preparation you surely have a right to expect that; and you will express
your conviction that, after successful interpretations of so many
thousands of dreams, it should long ago have been possible to collect a
number of striking examples by which the truth of all our assertions
about the dream-work and dream-thoughts could be demonstrated. Yes, but
there are too many difficulties in the way of fulfilling this wish of
yours.
In the first place, I must confess that there is nobody who makes the
interpretation of dreams his main business. In what circumstances, then,
do we come to interpret them? At times we may occupy ourselves, for no
particular purpose, with the dreams of a friend, or we may work out our
own dreams over a period of time in order to train ourselves for
psycho-analytic work; but chiefly we have to do with the dreams of
nervous patients who are undergoing psycho-analytic treatment. These
last dreams provide splendid material and are in no respect inferior to
those of healthy persons, but the technique of the treatment obliges us
to subordinate dream-interpretation to therapeutic purposes and to
desist from the attempt to interpret a large number of the dreams as
soon as we have extracted from them something of use for the treatment.
Again, many dreams which occur during the treatment elude full
interpretation altogether; since they have their origin in the whole
mass of material in the mind which is as yet unknown to us, it is not
possible to understand them until the completion of the cure. To relate
such dreams would necessarily involve revealing all the secrets of a
neurosis; this will not do for us, since we have taken up the problem of
dreams in preparation for the study of the neuroses.
Now I expect you would willingly dispense with this material and would
prefer to listen to the explanation of dreams of healthy persons or
perhaps of your own. But the content of these dreams makes that
impossible. One cannot expose oneself, nor anyone whose confidence has
been placed in one, so ruthlessly as a thorough interpretation of a
dream would necessitate; for, as you already know, they touch upon all
that is most intimate in the personality. Apart from the difficulty
arising out of the nature of the material, there is another difficulty
as regards relating the dreams. You are aware that the dream seems
foreign and strange to the dreamer himself; how much more so to an
outsider to whom his personality is unknown. The literature of
psycho-analysis shows no lack of good and detailed dream-analyses; I
myself have published some which formed part of the history of certain
pathological cases. Perhaps the best example of a dream-interpretation
is that published by O. Rank, consisting of the analysis of two
mutually-related dreams of a young girl. These cover about two pages of
print, while the analysis of them runs into 76 pages. It would need
almost a whole term’s lectures in order to take you through a work of
this magnitude. If we selected some fairly long and considerably
distorted dream we should have to enter into so many explanations, to
adduce so much material in the shape of associations and recollections,
and to go down so many sidetracks, that a single lecture would be quite
unsatisfying and would give no clear idea of it as a whole. So I must
ask you to be content if I pursue a less difficult course, and relate
some fragments from dreams of neurotic patients, in which this or that
isolated feature may be recognized. Symbols are the easiest features to
demonstrate and, after them, certain peculiarities of the regressive
character of dream-representation. I will tell you why I regard each of
the following dreams as worth relating.
1. A dream consisted only of two short pictures: _The dreamer’s uncle
was smoking a cigarette, although it was Saturday.—A woman was fondling
and caressing the dreamer as though he were her child._
With reference to the first picture, the dreamer (a Jew) remarked that
his uncle was a very pious man who never had done, and never would do,
anything so sinful as smoking on the Sabbath. The only association to
the woman in the second picture was that of the dreamer’s mother. These
two pictures or thoughts must obviously be related to one another; but
in what way? Since he expressly denied that his uncle would in reality
perform the action of the dream, the insertion of the conditional “if”
will at once suggest itself. “If my uncle, that deeply religious man,
were to smoke a cigarette on the Sabbath, then I myself might be allowed
to let my mother fondle me.” Clearly, that is as much as to say that
being fondled by the mother was something as strictly forbidden as
smoking on the Sabbath is to the pious Jew. You will remember my telling
you that in the dream-work all relations among the dream-thoughts
disappear; the thoughts are broken up into their raw material, and our
task in interpreting is to re-insert these connections which have been
omitted.
2. My writings on the subject of dreams have placed me to some extent in
the position of public consultant on the question, and for many years
now I have received letters from the most diverse quarters communicating
dreams to me or asking for my opinion. Naturally I am grateful to all
those who have given me sufficient material with their dreams to make an
interpretation possible, or have themselves volunteered one. The
following dream of a medical student in Munich dating from 1910, belongs
to this category; and I quote it because it may prove to you how hard it
is, generally speaking, to understand a dream until the dreamer has
given us what information he can about it. For I have a suspicion that
in the bottom of your hearts you think that the translating of the
symbols is the ideal method of interpretation and that you would like to
discard that of free association; I want, therefore, to clear your minds
of so pernicious an error.
July 18th, 1910. Towards morning I had the following dream: _I was
bicycling down a street in Tübingen, when a brown dachshund came rushing
after me and caught hold of one of my heels. I rode a little further and
then dismounted, sat down on a step and began to beat the creature off,
for it had set its teeth fast in my heel._ (The dog’s biting me and the
whole scene roused no unpleasant sensations.) _Two elderly ladies were
sitting opposite, watching me with grinning faces. Then I woke up and,
as has frequently happened before, with the transition to waking
consciousness the whole dream was clear to me._