my treatment of the dream problems. A younger philosopher, H. Swoboda,
who has undertaken to extend W. Fliesse’s discovery of biological
periodicity (in groups of twenty-three and twenty-eight days) to the
psychic field, has produced an imaginative work,[P] in which, among
other things, he has used this key to solve the riddle of the dream. The
interpretation of dreams would herein have fared badly; the material
contained in dreams would be explained through the coincidence of all
those memories which during the night complete one of the biological
periods for the first or the n-th time. A personal statement from the
author led me to assume that he himself no longer wished to advocate
this theory earnestly. But it seems I was mistaken in this conclusion; I
shall report in another place some observations in reference to
Swoboda’s assertion, concerning the conclusions of which I am, however,
not convinced. It gave me far greater pleasure to find accidentally, in
an unexpected place, a conception of the dream in essentials fully
agreeing with my own. The circumstances of time preclude the possibility
that this conception was influenced by a reading of my book; I must
therefore greet this as the only demonstrable concurrence in the
literature with the essence of my dream theory. The book which contains
the passage concerning the dream which I have in mind was published as a
second edition in 1900 by Lynkus under the title _Phantasien eines
Realisten_.
II
METHOD OF DREAM INTERPRETATION
THE ANALYSIS OF A SAMPLE DREAM
The title which I have given my treatise indicates the tradition which I
wish to make the starting-point in my discussion of dreams. I have made
it my task to show that dreams are capable of interpretation, and
contributions to the solution of the dream problems that have just been
treated can only be yielded as possible by-products of the settlement of
my own particular problem. With the hypothesis that dreams are
interpretable, I at once come into contradiction with the prevailing
dream science, in fact with all dream theories except that of Scherner,
for to “interpret a dream” means to declare its meaning, to replace it
by something which takes its place in the concatenation of our psychic
activities as a link of full importance and value. But, as we have
learnt, the scientific theories of the dream leave no room for a problem
of dream interpretation, for, in the first place, according to these,
the dream is no psychic action, but a somatic process which makes itself
known to the psychic apparatus by means of signs. The opinion of the
masses has always been quite different. It asserts its privilege of
proceeding illogically, and although it admits the dream to be
incomprehensible and absurd, it cannot summon the resolution to deny the
dream all significance. Led by a dim intuition, it seems rather to
assume that the dream has a meaning, albeit a hidden one; that it is
intended as a substitute for some other thought process, and that it is
only a question of revealing this substitute correctly in order to reach
the hidden signification of the dream.
The laity has, therefore, always endeavoured to “interpret” the dream,
and in doing so has tried two essentially different methods. The first
of these procedures regards the dream content as a whole and seeks to
replace it by another content which is intelligible and in certain
respects analogous. This is symbolic dream interpretation; it naturally
goes to pieces at the outset in the case of those dreams which appear
not only unintelligible but confused. The construction which the
biblical Joseph places upon the dream of Pharaoh furnishes an example of
its procedure. The seven fat kine, after which came seven lean ones
which devour the former, furnish a symbolic substitute for a prediction
of seven years of famine in the land of Egypt, which will consume all
the excess which seven fruitful years have created. Most of the
artificial dreams contrived by poets are intended for such symbolic
interpretation, for they reproduce the thought conceived by the poet in
a disguise found to be in accordance with the characteristics of our
dreaming, as we know these from experience.[Q] The idea that the dream
concerns itself chiefly with future events whose course it surmises in
advance—a relic of the prophetic significance with which dreams were
once credited—now becomes the motive for transplanting the meaning of
the dream, found by means of symbolic interpretation, into the future by
means of an “it shall.”
A demonstration of the way in which such symbolic interpretation is
arrived at cannot, of course, be given. Success remains a matter of
ingenious conjecture, of direct intuition, and for this reason dream
interpretation has naturally been elevated to an art, which seems to
depend upon extraordinary gifts.[R] The other of the two popular methods
of dream interpretation entirely abandons such claims. It might be
designated as the “cipher method,” since it treats the dream as a kind
of secret code, in which every sign is translated into another sign of
known meaning, according to an established key. For example, I have
dreamt of a letter, and also of a funeral or the like; I consult a
“dream book,” and find that “letter” is to be translated by “vexation,”
and “funeral” by “marriage, engagement.” It now remains to establish a
connection, which I again am to assume pertains to the future, by means
of the rigmarole which I have deciphered. An interesting variation of
this cipher procedure, a variation by which its character of purely
mechanical transference is to a certain extent corrected, is presented
in the work on dream interpretation by Artemidoros of Daldis.[2] Here
not only the dream content, but also the personality and station in life
of the dreamer, are taken into consideration, so that the same dream
content has a significance for the rich man, the married man, or the
orator, which is different from that for the poor man, the unmarried
man, or, say, the merchant. The essential point, then, in this procedure
is that the work of interpretation is not directed to the entirety of
the dream, but to each portion of the dream content by itself, as though
the dream were a conglomeration, in which each fragment demands a
particular disposal. Incoherent and confused dreams are certainly the
ones responsible for the invention of the cipher method.[S]
The worthlessness of both these popular interpretation procedures for
the scientific treatment of the subject cannot be questioned for a
moment. The symbolic method is limited in its application and is capable
of no general demonstration. In the cipher method everything depends
upon whether the key, the dream book, is reliable, and for that all
guarantees are lacking. One might be tempted to grant the contention of
the philosophers and psychiatrists and to dismiss the problem of dream
interpretation as a fanciful one.
I have come, however, to think differently. I have been forced to admit
that here once more we have one of those not infrequent cases where an
ancient and stubbornly retained popular belief seems to have come nearer
to the truth of the matter than the judgment of the science which
prevails to-day. I must insist that the dream actually has significance,
and that a scientific procedure in dream interpretation is possible. I
have come upon the knowledge of this procedure in the following manner:—
For several years I have been occupied with the solution of certain
psychopathological structures in hysterical phobias, compulsive ideas,
and the like, for therapeutic purposes. I have been so occupied since
becoming familiar with an important report of Joseph Breuer to the
effect that in those structures, regarded as morbid symptoms, solution
and treatment go hand in hand.[T] Where it has been possible to trace
such a pathological idea back to the elements in the psychic life of the
patient to which it owes its origin, this idea has crumbled away, and
the patient has been relieved of it. In view of the failure of our other
therapeutic efforts, and in the face of the mysteriousness of these
conditions, it seems to me tempting, in spite of all difficulties, to
press forward on the path taken by Breuer until the subject has been
fully understood. We shall have elsewhere to make a detailed report upon
the form which the technique of this procedure has finally assumed, and
the results of the efforts which have been made. In the course of these
psychoanalytical studies, I happened upon dream interpretation. My
patients, after I had obliged them to inform me of all the ideas and
thoughts which came to them in connection with the given theme, related
their dreams, and thus taught me that a dream may be linked into the
psychic concatenation which must be followed backwards into the memory
from the pathological idea as a starting-point. The next step was to
treat the dream as a symptom, and to apply to it the method of
interpretation which had been worked out for such symptoms.
For this a certain psychic preparation of the patient is necessary. The
double effort is made with him, to stimulate his attention for his
psychic perceptions and to eliminate the critique with which he is
ordinarily in the habit of viewing the thoughts which come to the
surface in him. For the purpose of self-observation with concentrated
attention, it is advantageous that the patient occupy a restful position
and close his eyes; he must be explicitly commanded to resign the
critique of the thought-formations which he perceives. He must be told
further that the success of the psychoanalysis depends upon his noticing
and telling everything that passes through his mind, and that he must
not allow himself to suppress one idea because it seems to him
unimportant or irrelevant to the subject, or another because it seems
nonsensical. He must maintain impartiality towards his ideas; for it
would be owing to just this critique if he were unsuccessful in finding
the desired solution of the dream, the obsession, or the like.
I have noticed in the course of my psychoanalytic work that the state of
mind of a man in contemplation is entirely different from that of a man
who is observing his psychic processes. In contemplation there is a
greater play of psychic action than in the most attentive
self-observation; this is also shown by the tense attitude and wrinkled
brow of contemplation, in contrast with the restful features of
self-observation. In both cases, there must be concentration of
attention, but, besides this, in contemplation one exercises a critique,
in consequence of which he rejects some of the ideas which he has
perceived, and cuts short others, so that he does not follow the trains
of thought which they would open; toward still other thoughts he may act
in such a manner that they do not become conscious at all—that is to
say, they are suppressed before they are perceived. In self-observation,
on the other hand, one has only the task of suppressing the critique; if
he succeeds in this, an unlimited number of ideas, which otherwise would
have been impossible for him to grasp, come to his consciousness. With
the aid of this material, newly secured for the purpose of
self-observation, the interpretation of pathological ideas, as well as
of dream images, can be accomplished. As may be seen, the point is to
bring about a psychic state to some extent analogous as regards the
apportionment of psychic energy (transferable attention) to the state
prior to falling asleep (and indeed also to the hypnotic state). In
falling asleep, the “undesired ideas” come into prominence on account of
the slackening of a certain arbitrary (and certainly also critical)
action, which we allow to exert an influence upon the trend of our
ideas; we are accustomed to assign “fatigue” as the reason for this
slackening; the emerging undesired ideas as the reason are changed into
visual and acoustic images. (_Cf._ the remarks of Schleiermacher[61] and
others, p. 40.) In the condition which is used for the analysis of
dreams and pathological ideas, this activity is purposely and
arbitrarily dispensed with, and the psychic energy thus saved, or a part
of it, is used for the attentive following of the undesired thoughts now
coming to the surface, which retain their identity as ideas (this is the
difference from the condition of falling asleep). “Undesired ideas” are
thus changed into “desired” ones.
The suspension thus required of the critique for these apparently
“freely rising” ideas, which is here demanded and which is usually
exercised on them, is not easy for some persons. The “undesired ideas”
are in the habit of starting the most violent resistance, which seeks to
prevent them from coming to the surface. But if we may credit our great
poet-philosopher Friedrich Schiller, a very similar tolerance must be
the condition of poetic production. At a point in his correspondence
with Koerner, for the noting of which we are indebted to Mr. Otto Rank,
Schiller answers a friend who complains of his lack of creativeness in
the following words: “The reason for your complaint lies, it seems to
me, in the constraint which your intelligence imposes upon your
imagination. I must here make an observation and illustrate it by an
allegory. It does not seem beneficial, and it is harmful for the
creative work of the mind, if the intelligence inspects too closely the
ideas already pouring in, as it were, at the gates. Regarded by itself,
an idea may be very trifling and very adventurous, but it perhaps
becomes important on account of one which follows it; perhaps in a
certain connection with others, which may seem equally absurd, it is
capable of forming a very useful construction. The intelligence cannot
judge all these things if it does not hold them steadily long enough to
see them in connection with the others. In the case of a creative mind,
however, the intelligence has withdrawn its watchers from the gates, the
ideas rush in pell-mell, and it is only then that the great heap is
looked over and critically examined. Messrs. Critics, or whatever else
you may call yourselves, you are ashamed or afraid of the momentary and
transitory madness which is found in all creators, and whose longer or
shorter duration distinguishes the thinking artist from the dreamer.
Hence your complaints about barrenness, for you reject too soon and
discriminate too severely” (Letter of December 1, 1788).
And yet, “such a withdrawal of the watchers from the gates of
intelligence,” as Schiller calls it, such a shifting into the condition
of uncritical self-observation, is in no way difficult.
Most of my patients accomplish it after the first instructions; I myself
can do it very perfectly, if I assist the operation by writing down my
notions. The amount, in terms of psychic energy, by which the critical
activity is in this manner reduced, and by which the intensity of the
self-observation may be increased, varies widely according to the
subject matter upon which the attention is to be fixed.
The first step in the application of this procedure now teaches us that
not the dream as a whole, but only the parts of its contents separately,
may be made the object of our attention. If I ask a patient who is as
yet unpractised: “What occurs to you in connection with this dream?” as
a rule he is unable to fix upon anything in his psychic field of vision.
I must present the dream to him piece by piece, then for every fragment
he gives me a series of notions, which may be designated as the
“background thoughts” of this part of the dream. In this first and
important condition, then, the method of dream interpretation which I
employ avoids the popular, traditional method of interpretation by
symbolism famous in the legends, and approaches the second, the “cipher
method.” Like this one it is an interpretation in detail, not _en
masse_; like this it treats the dream from the beginning as something
put together—as a conglomeration of psychic images.
In the course of my psychoanalysis of neurotics, I have indeed already
subjected many thousand dreams to interpretation, but I do not now wish
to use this material in the introduction to the technique and theory of
dream interpretation. Quite apart from the consideration that I should
expose myself to the objection that these are dreams of neuropathic
subjects, the conclusions drawn from which would not admit of
reapplication to the dreams of healthy persons, another reason forces me
to reject them. The theme which is naturally always the subject of these
dreams, is the history of the disease which is responsible for the
neurosis. For this purpose there would be required a very long
introduction and an investigation into the nature and logical conditions
of psychoneuroses, things which are in themselves novel and unfamiliar
in the highest degree, and which would thus distract attention from the
dream problem. My purpose lies much more in the direction of preparing
the ground for a solution of difficult problems in the psychology of the
neuroses by means of the solution of dreams. But if I eliminate the
dreams of neurotics, I must not treat the remainder too
discriminatingly. Only those dreams still remain which have been
occasionally related to me by healthy persons of my acquaintance, or
which I find as examples in the literature of dream life. Unfortunately
in all these dreams the analysis is lacking, without which I cannot find
the meaning of the dream. My procedure is, of course, not as easy as
that of the popular cipher method, which translates the given dream
content according to an established key; I am much more prepared to find
that the same dream may cover a different meaning in the case of
different persons, and in a different connection I must then resort to
my own dreams, as an abundant and convenient material, furnished by a
person who is about normal, and having reference to many incidents of
everyday life. I shall certainly be with doubts as to the
trustworthiness of these “self-analyses.” Arbitrariness is here in no
way avoided. In my opinion, conditions are more likely to be favourable
in self-observation than in the observation of others; in any case, it
is permissible to see how much can be accomplished by means of
self-analysis. I must overcome further difficulties arising from inner
self. One has a readily understood aversion to exposing so many intimate
things from one’s own psychic life, and one does not feel safe from the
misinterpretation of strangers. But one must be able to put one’s self
beyond this. “Toute psychologiste,” writes Delbœuf,[26] “est obligé de
faire l’aveu même de ses faiblesses s’il croit par là jeter du jour sur
quelque problème obscure.” And I may assume that in the case of the
reader, the immediate interest in the indiscretions which I must commit
will very soon give way to exclusive engrossment in the psychological
problems which are illuminated by them.
I shall, therefore, select one of my own dreams and use it to elucidate
my method of interpretation. Every such dream necessitates a preliminary
statement. I must now beg the reader to make my interests his own for a
considerable time, and to become absorbed with me in the most trifling
details of my life, for an interest in the hidden significance of dreams
imperatively demands such transference.
Preliminary statement: In the summer of 1895 I had psychoanalytically
treated a young lady who stood in close friendship to me and those near
to me. It is to be understood that such a complication of relations may
be the source of manifold feelings for the physician, especially for the
psychotherapist. The personal interest of the physician is greater, his
authority is less. A failure threatens to undermine the friendship with
the relatives of the patient. The cure ended with partial success, the
patient got rid of her hysterical fear, but not of all her somatic
symptoms. I was at that time not yet sure of the criteria marking the
final settlement of a hysterical case, and expected her to accept a
solution which did not seem acceptable to her. In this disagreement, we
cut short the treatment on account of the summer season. One day a
younger colleague, one of my best friends, who had visited the
patient—Irma—and her family in their country resort, came to see me. I
asked him how he found her, and received the answer: “She is better, but
not altogether well.” I realise that those words of my friend Otto, or
the tone of voice in which they were spoken, made me angry. I thought I
heard a reproach in the words, perhaps to the effect that I had promised
the patient too much, and rightly or wrongly I traced Otto’s supposed
siding against me to the influence of the relatives of the patient, who,
I assume, had never approved of my treatment. Moreover, my disagreeable
impression did not become clear to me, nor did I give it expression. The
very same evening, I wrote down the history of Irma’s case, in order to
hand it, as though for my justification, to Dr. M., a mutual friend, who
was at that time a leading figure in our circle. During the night
following this evening (perhaps rather in the morning) I had the
following dream, which was registered immediately after waking:—
DREAM OF JULY 23–24, 1895
_A great hall—many guests whom we are receiving—among them Irma, whom I
immediately take aside, as though to answer her letter, to reproach her
for not yet accepting the “solution.” I say to her: “If you still have
pains, it is really only your own fault.” She answers: “If you only knew
what pains I now have in the neck, stomach, and abdomen; I am drawn
together.” I am frightened and look at her. She looks pale and bloated;
I think that after all I must be overlooking some organic affection. I
take her to the window and look into her throat. She shows some
resistance to this, like a woman who has a false set of teeth. I think
anyway she does not need them. The mouth then really opens without
difficulty and I find a large white spot to the right, and at another
place I see extended grayish-white scabs attached to curious curling
formations, which have obviously been formed like the turbinated bone—I
quickly call Dr. M., who repeats the examination and confirms it.... Dr.
M.’s looks are altogether unusual; he is very pale, limps, and has no
beard on his chin.... My friend Otto is now also standing next to her,
and my friend Leopold percusses her small body and says: “She has some
dulness on the left below,” and also calls attention to an infiltrated
portion of the skin on the left shoulder (something which I feel as he
does, in spite of the dress).... M. says: “No doubt it is an infection,
but it does not matter; dysentery will develop too, and the poison will
be excreted.... We also have immediate knowledge of the origin of the
infection. My friend Otto has recently given her an injection with a
propyl preparation when she felt ill, propyls.... Propionic acid ...
Trimethylamine (the formula of which I see printed before me in heavy
type).... Such injections are not made so rashly.... Probably also the
syringe was not clean.”_
This dream has an advantage over many others. It is at once clear with
what events of the preceding day it is connected, and what subject it
treats. The preliminary statement gives information on these points. The
news about Irma’s health which I have received from Otto, the history of
the illness upon which I have written until late at night, have occupied
my psychic activity even during sleep. In spite of all this, no one, who
has read the preliminary report and has knowledge of the content of the
dream, has been able to guess what the dream signifies. Nor do I myself
know. I wonder about the morbid symptoms, of which Irma complains in the
dream, for they are not the same ones for which I have treated her. I
smile about the consultation with Dr. M. I smile at the nonsensical idea
of an injection with propionic acid, and at the consolation attempted by
Dr. M. Towards the end the dream seems more obscure and more terse than
at the beginning. In order to learn the significance of all this, I am
compelled to undertake a thorough analysis.
ANALYSIS
_The hall—many guests, whom we are receiving._
We were living this summer at the Bellevue, in an isolated house on one
of the hills which lie close to the Kahlenberg. This house was once
intended as a place of amusement, and on this account has unusually
high, hall-like rooms. The dream also occurred at the Bellevue, a few
days before the birthday of my wife. During the day, my wife had
expressed the expectation that several friends, among them Irma, would
come to us as guests for her birthday. My dream, then, anticipates this
situation: It is the birthday of my wife, and many people, among them
Irma, are received by us as guests in the great hall of the Bellevue.
_I reproach Irma for not having accepted the solution. I say: “If you
still have pains, it is your own fault.”_