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diff --git a/75333-0.txt b/75333-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ddfe560 --- /dev/null +++ b/75333-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2256 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75333 *** + + + + + + ON DREAMS + + + BY + PROF. DR. SIGM. FREUD + + ONLY AUTHORISED ENGLISH TRANSLATION + BY + M. D. EDER + FROM THE SECOND GERMAN EDITION + + WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY + + W. LESLIE MACKENZIE, M.A., M.D., LL.D. + + MEDICAL MEMBER OF THE LOCAL GOVERNMENT BOARD FOR SCOTLAND; LATE FERGUSON + SCHOLAR IN PHILOSOPHY; LATE EXAMINER IN MENTAL PHILOSOPHY, UNIVERSITY OF + ABERDEEN + +[Illustration: AGE QUOD AGIS] + + NEW YORK + REBMAN COMPANY + HERALD SQUARE BUILDING + 141–145 WEST 36TH STREET + + + + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PAGE + I. THE SCIENTIFIC AND POPULAR VIEWS OF DREAMS CONTRASTED 1 + II. DREAMS HAVE A MEANING—ANALYSIS OF A DREAM—MANIFEST AND + LATENT CONTENT OF DREAMS 6 + III. THE DREAM AS REALISATION OF UNFULFILLED DESIRES—INFANTILE + TYPE OF DREAMS 21 + IV. THE DREAM-MECHANISM—CONDENSATION—DRAMATISATION 33 + V. THE DREAM-MECHANISM CONTINUED—DISPLACEMENT—TRANSVALUATION OF + ALL PSYCHICAL VALUES 45 + VI. THE DREAM-MECHANISM CONTINUED—THE EGO IN THE DREAM 54 + VII. THE DREAM-MECHANISM CONTINUED—REGARD FOR INTELLIGIBILITY 68 + VIII. RELATION OF DREAMS TO OTHER UNCONSCIOUS MENTAL + PROCESSES—REPRESSION 78 + IX. THREE CLASSES OF DREAMS 84 + X. WHY THE DREAM DISGUISES THE DESIRES—THE CENSORSHIP 88 + XI. THE DREAM THE GUARDIAN OF SLEEP 92 + XII. DREAM SYMBOLISM—MYTHS AND FOLKLORE 100 + XIII. ELEMENTS COMMON TO NORMAL AND ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 107 + + + + + INTRODUCTION + + +“The interpretation of dreams,” says Professor Freud in one place, “is +the royal road to a knowledge of the part the unconscious plays in the +mental life.” + +Even standing alone this statement is sufficiently striking; it is at +once a theory and a challenge. But it does not stand alone. It comes at +the end of many years of research among every class of mental diseases. +It comes, therefore, with the authentication of experience. It is not to +be lightly set aside; it claims our study; and the study of it will not +go unrewarded. The short essay here translated by Dr. Eder is but an +introduction to the vast field opened up by Professor Sigm. Freud and +his colleagues. Already the journals of clinical psychology, normal or +morbid, are full of the discussions of Professor Freud’s methods and +results. There is a “Freud School.” That alone is a proof that the +method is novel if not new. There are, of course, violent opponents and +critical students. The opponents may provoke, but it is to the critical +students that Professor Freud will prefer to speak. “The condemnation,” +said Hegel, “that a great man lays upon the world is to force it to +explain him.” Of a new method, either of research or of treatment—and +the Freud method is both—the same may be said. It is certain that, +whatever our prejudice against details may be, the theory of +“psycho-analysis” and the treatment based upon it deserves, if only as a +mental exercise, our critical consideration. But Professor Freud is not +alone in the world of morbid psychology. Let me digress for a moment. + +Over twenty years ago it was my special business to study and criticise +several textbooks on insanity. To the study of these textbooks I came +after many years of discipline in normal psychology and the related +sciences. When I came to insanity proper, I found that practically not a +single textbook made any systematic effort to show how the morbid +symptoms we classified as “mental diseases” had their roots in the +mental processes of the normal mind. In his small book, “Sanity and +Insanity,” Dr. Charles Mercier did make an effort to lay out, as it +were, the institutes of insanity, the normal groundwork out of which the +insanities grew, the groups of ideas that to-day serve to direct our +conduct and to-morrow lose their adjustment to any but a specially +adapted environment. In his later works, particularly in “Psychology, +Normal and Morbid,” Dr. Mercier has followed up the central ideas of the +early study. All the more recent textbooks in English contain efforts in +the same direction; but with a few striking exceptions they are studies +rather of physical symptoms associated with mental processes than of +morbid psychology proper. It was not until there came from across the +Channel Dr. Pierre Janet’s carefully elaborated studies on Hysteria that +I realised what a wealth of psychological material had remained hidden +in our asylums, in our nervous homes, even in our ordinary hospitals, +and in the multitudes of strange cases that occur in private practice. +Janet, a pupil of the Charcot School—Charcot, who made _la Salpetrière_ +famous—pushed the minute analysis of morbid mental states into regions +practically hitherto untouched. He was not alone. His colleague, +Professor Raymond, and others in France and Germany, all work with the +same main ideas. Janet’s books read like romances. His studies on +Psychological Automatism, the Mental State of Hystericals, Neuroses and +Fixed Ideas, and many others on the part played by the unconscious, were +such rich mines of fact and suggestion that Professor William James, in +his “Principles of Psychology,” said of them: “All these facts taken +together, form unquestionably the beginning of an inquiry which is +destined to throw a new light into the very abysses of our nature.” +Curiously, not in this country—the country of great psychologists, +Locke, Berkeley, Hume, Hartley, Thomas Reid, Dugald Stewart, Adam Smith, +James Mill, John Stuart Mill, Bain, Spencer, among the dead, and whole +schools of distinguished psychologists among the living—not in this +country, but in America, was the value of the new material seriously +considered. Here and there, within recent years, in this country, +Janet’s elaborate studies have not been fruitless; but I could not +readily name any clinician in this country that has produced similar +studies. It is to the continents of Europe and America, which in this +field are in intimate touch, that we must go if we are to see the rich +outgrowths of morbid psychology. I do not say that the work done by our +English students of insanity is not, of its kind, as great and as +important as any done in the world, but it is none the less true that, +until a few years ago, the methods of Janet, Raymond, Bernheim, Beaunis, +not to speak of Moll, Forel, and Oppenheim, were practically unstudied +here. In America it has been entirely different. Even the names of the +men are now familiar in our English magazines—Muensterberg, Morton +Prince, Boris Sidis, Ernest Jones, J. Mark Baldwin, not to mention +William James and Stanley Hall. It looks as if every new idea unearthed +in the Old World is put to the test by someone in the new. Britain +remains curiously cold. + +It would be interesting to ask the reason. Is it our metaphysical +training? Is it the failure of the philosophical schools to realize the +value of all this new raw material of study? Is it, perhaps, the fear +that “the unity of consciousness” may be endangered by the study of +Double Personality, Multiple Personality, Dissociation of Consciousness, +Dormant Complexes, Hysterias, Phobias, Obsessions, Psychoneuroses, Fixed +Ideas, Hysterical Amnesias, Hypermnesias, and the masses of other +notions correlated, roughly, under the term “unconscious”? The +suggestion of fear is not mere conjecture. Many years ago a +distinguished student of philosophy, a pupil and friend of Sir William +Hamilton, indicated to me, when I spoke to him of some recent work on +Double Personality, that he had difficulty in placing the new work, +feeling that, in admitting the possibility of multiple personality, he +was sacrificing the primary concept of philosophy, the unity of +consciousness. It did not perhaps occur to him that, when two so-called +“persons” speak together, there are, in popular language, “two +personalities”—each, no doubt, in a separate body, but each having his +own “unity of consciousness.” + +If this be a fact, is there any greater difficulty in explaining the +other fact that two persons may be, as James put it, under the same hat? +The metaphysical difficulty, if there be a difficulty, is neither more +nor less in the one case than in the other. But it is needless to ask +why a whole field of study has been, relatively, neglected in this +country. For now we have begun to make up leeway. + +This translation by Dr. Eder is an introduction to the latest phase of +the study of the unconscious. It brings us back to the point I began +with, the relation of the normal to the morbid. Dreams are a part of +everyone’s normal experience, yet they are shown here to be of the same +tissue, of the same mental nature, as other phenomena that are +undoubtedly morbid. Dreams therefore offer in the normal a budding-point +for the study of morbid growths. And the study of dreams by Freud came +long after his studies of such neuroses as the phobias, hysterias, and +the rest. To dreams he applied the same method of investigation and +treatment as to the others, and he found that dreams offered an +unlimited field for the same kind of study. + +Perhaps, before going further, I should attempt to disarm criticism +about the term “unconscious.” We speak of subconsciousness, +co-consciousness, unconscious mind, unconscious cerebration; or what +other terms should we use? Here it is better to avoid discussion, for we +are concerned less with theory than with practice. And in Freud’s work, +whether we accept his theory or not, the practice is of primary +importance. He takes the view that no conscious experience is entirely +lost; what seems to have vanished from the current consciousness has +really passed into a subconsciousness, where it lives on in an organised +form as real as if it were still part of the conscious personality. This +view, with various modifications, is adopted by many students of morbid +psychology. But there is another view. Muensterberg, for instance, +maintains that it is unnecessary to speak of “subconsciousness,” for +every fact can be explained in terms of physiology. He would accept the +term “co-conscious” or “co-consciousness”; but in one chapter he ends +the discussion by saying: “But whether we prefer the physiological +account or insist on the co-conscious phenomena, in either case is there +any chance for the subconscious to slip in? That a content of +consciousness is to a high degree dissociated, or that the idea of the +personality is split off, is certainly a symptom of pathological +disturbance, but it has nothing to do with the constituting of two +different kinds of consciousness, or with breaking the continuous +sameness of consciousness itself. The most exceptional and most uncanny +occurrences of the hospital teach after all the same which our daily +experience ought to teach us: there is no subconsciousness” +(“Psychotherapy,” p. 157). + +There are many refinements of distinction that we could make here, and +if any reader is anxious to consider them, he will find some of them in +a small volume on “Subconscious Phenomena,” by Muensterberg, Ribot, and +others (Rebman, London). + +Here it is not of primary importance to come to any conclusion on the +best term to use or the complement theory of the facts. The discussion +is far from an end; but the harvest of facts need not wait for the end +of the discussion. + +Meanwhile, let it be said that Professor Freud has been steeped in this +whole subject from his student days. It is, however, less important to +discuss his theory than to understand his method. The method is called +“psycho-analysis.” The name is not inviting, and it might apply to any +form of mental analysis; but it is at least consistently Greek in +etymology, and has taken on a technical meaning in the medical schools. +What is the method? + +Let it be granted that a person has undergone a strongly emotional +experience—for example, a sudden shock or fright. If the person is +highly nervous, the shock may result in some degree of dissociation. +This may take the form of a loss of memory for certain parts of the +experience. Let it be so. The ultimate result may be an unreasonable +fear of some entirely harmless object or situation. The person is afraid +of a crowd, or afraid of a closed door, or has an intense fear of some +animal or person. For this fear he can give no reason; he cannot tell +when it began nor why it persists. He may more or less overcome it; but +he may not. All through his future life he will go about with a +helplessly unreasonable fear of a closed door (claustrophobia) or of a +crowd (agoraphobia). Minor varieties of such an affection are to be +found in every person’s experience. On investigation, however, the root +of the fear can be discovered: it is the product of the original +emotional shock. The intellectual details of the emotional experience +have completely vanished from the memory, but the emotion remains, and +it is attached to some accidental object or circumstance present in the +original experience. Thousands of illustrations could be given. They +are, unfortunately, only too numerous. In this essay on the +Interpretation of Dreams the reader will find many simple cases. + +If, now, the person so affected is placed in a quiet room, if he is +requested to concentrate his mind on the disturbing object or idea +associated with his fear, if he is encouraged to observe passively the +chance ideas which float up to him when he thus concentrates himself, if +he utters, under the direction of his medical attendant, every such idea +as it comes into his mind, there is a strange result. These ideas, +coming apparently by chance from nowhere in particular, are, when +carefully studied, found to be linked up with some past experience, +dating, perhaps, from months or years away. If each idea as it emerges +is followed up, if the other ideas dragged into consciousness by it are +carefully recorded, it is found that sooner or later entirely forgotten +experiences come into clear consciousness. There are many ways of +helping this process. One of the ways is this: Let a series of words be +arranged; let the doctor speak one of them to the patient; let the +patient, in the shortest time possible to him, say right out whatever +idea is suggested to him by the word; let the time taken to make the +response be recorded in seconds and fractions of a second—a thing easy +enough to do with a stop-watch. Then, when the responses to a long +series of words are all recorded, and the time each response has taken, +it is found that some responses have taken much longer than others. This +prolongation of the response-time is always found whenever the test word +has stirred up a memory associated with emotion. By following up further +the ideas stirred by this word, more ideas of a related kind are +discovered, often to the patient’s surprise. Things long forgotten come +back to memory; circumstances that apparently had no relation to the +present consciousness are found to be linked in sequence with +it—emotions, unreasoning fears, anxieties, that apparently had no +relation to any particular experience, are found at last to be part and +parcel of things that happened long ago. Once the doctor has his cue, he +can range in many directions, and probe the mind again and again, until +he reveals multitudes of suppressed memories, forgotten ideas, forgotten +elements of experience. He can even get back into early childhood, +which, to the patient himself, leaves many and many a blank area in the +memory. But always the doctor lights, sooner or later, on some complex +experience in which the particular fear or anxiety arose. + +But now, if the case is a suitable one, a still stranger thing happens. +When the forgotten experience has thus artfully been brought into the +full light of consciousness, the patient finds himself satisfied with +the explanation, and loses his particular fear. He can now go back over +the whole history of its genesis; he can link up the old experience to +the new, and so he attains once more satisfaction and peace of mind. Up +till now he could not be reasoned out of his anxiety; he had always an +answer for any explanation; he had always a fresh foolish reason for his +fear. Now all this vanishes. He finds his mind once more running +smoothly, and his “phobia” gone. The unreasoning dread has been tracked +back to its lair, and its lair has been destroyed in the process. + +There are many other methods of achieving the same result; let this +generalised sketch suffice. + +What now is the theory? The theory is that the mental experience or +“complex” had, for some reason and by some mechanism, been submerged, or +suppressed, or forgotten. Freud maintains that there is a fundamental +tendency in the mind to suppress every experience that is associated +with painful emotion. This doctrine is allied to Bain’s “Law of +Conservation”—that painful experiences depress the vitality and tend to +disappear, while pleasant experiences exalt the vitality and tend to +remain in memory. At any rate, by some process the painful experience +disappears from conscious memory, but it does not cease to exist. It may +lie dormant, or it may work subconsciously, and throw up the emotional +bubbles that continue, without a known reason, to excite the ordinary +consciousness. But the complex, though deep and partly dormant, never +gets beyond reach. By the method of concentration, by the use of “free +associations,” by the following up of all the clues offered by the ideas +“fished up,” the submerged complex can, element by element, be brought +back. When once it is brought back the patient is restored, the dormant +complexes once more resume their place in the total current of his +experience, and the mind flows at peace. + +This is, roughly, the method of psycho-analysis. It has been applied in +various types of neurosis—hysterias, obsessions, phobias, etc. It has +not always succeeded in removing the morbid conditions, but it has +succeeded so often that it may legitimately be regarded as a method of +treatment. As a matter of discovery it is arduous, and demands the +highest skill and invention if it is to succeed. Incidentally it reveals +masses of unpleasant ideas, of painful ideas, even of disgusting ideas; +but, in the right hands, it leads to the healing of the mind. + + MACBETH. How does your patient, doctor? + + DOCTOR. Not so sick, my lord, + + As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, + + That keep her from her rest. + + MACBETH. Cure her of that; + + Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d; + + Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; + + Raze out the written troubles of the brain; + + And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, + + Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff, + + Which weighs upon the heart? + + DOCTOR. Therein the patient + + Must minister to himself. + +And here, insensibly, we have passed into the World of Dreams. The +morbid and the normal have come together. Dreams are the awaking of +dormant complexes; they are transfigured experiences; they come into +consciousness trailing clouds of emotion, and fill the dreamer’s +imagination with mysterious images. It is here that the method of +psycho-analysis most fascinates the student. It looks as if once more +the “interpretation of dreams” had become a reality. The results of +psycho-analysis, even when the method is applied with a master hand and +the details are interpreted with a skill that comes only of a quick +imagination, are not entirely convincing; but they are certainly such as +to make more and more observation desirable. In the present short essay +Professor Freud gives a sketch of psycho-analysis as it is applied to +the interpretations of dreams. His examples, if they are enough to +illustrate the theory, are hardly enough to prove it, but they are +intended as an introduction to his more elaborate studies; and, +hitherto, observers as they have increased in experience have gained in +conviction. That the method goes a long way to prove that dreams are not +a chaotic sport of the brain, but are a manifestation of ordered mental +experience, is beyond doubt. It would be easy to show where the theory +does not cover facts, but it is equally easy to show many facts that it +does cover. + +What, then, is the theory? Briefly this, that dreams are very largely +the expressions of unfulfilled desires. Where, as in children, the +waking experience and the sleeping experience differ from each other by +very little, the dream, or sleeping experience, readily takes the form +of the ungratified desires of the day. But as the mind grows older the +dream expression of a desire gets more intricate. By-and-by it is too +intricate to be deciphered from direct memory, and then there is a +chance for the method of psycho-analysis. What of the dream is +remembered gives the cue for the analysis. Take a remembered element of +a dream, track it back and back by free association or other method, and +you will find that, at one or two removes, the remembered element stirs +up forgotten elements, and ultimately brings coherence out of +incoherence. + +This appears simple, but let the reader study the dreams analysed in +this essay, and he will find himself stirred by a thousand suggestions. +For Professor Freud has constructed empirical laws out of his masses of +material. The dream as it appears to the dreamer he calls the _manifest +dream ideas_. But as these are too absurd to form a coherent reality, he +gives ground for believing that they represent _latent dream ideas_. The +manifest dream is a mass of symbols representing elements in the latent +dream ideas. How the latent dream ideas generate the manifest dream is +discovered by psycho-analysis, the translation from the latent to the +manifest is the effect of the _dream work_. The dream work is the very +core of the difficulty. It is round this that Professor Freud’s greatest +subtleties of method are focussed. He shows that every dream is linked +to something that occurs on the previous day, some recent experience, +but the experience emerges in the dream as part of the current panorama +of the subjective life, and there is no date to the beginning of the +panorama—it may go back to any point in the individual’s history, even +into the preconscious days of early infancy. The day’s experience and +the life’s experience flow in a single stream, and the images that +appear in dreams are but the symbols of all the latent ideas of that +experience. How, by displacement of this element or that, compound +symbols are formed; how, by the foreshortening of experience and the +linking of the past with the present in a single idea, masses of old +memories are clotted into a single point; how, in the freedom of the +dream world, where the tension of the waking life is relaxed, where the +exacting stimulations of the day are reduced, where the consciousness of +duty to be done in the highly organised conditions of social conduct is +lowered, where, in a word, the _censor_ is drowsy or asleep, where the +dream symbols shape themselves into dramatic scenes of endless +variety—these it is that Professor Freud’s theory endeavours to set +forth. Displacement, condensation, dramatisation—these are the short +names for these long and complicated processes. In the course of his +expositions, Professor Freud uses these processes almost as if they were +demons, and he admits frankly their figurative character. But he pleads +that they represent real processes, and is ready to accept better names +when he finds them. To trace back the dream images to a definite meaning +in experience is the aim of the psycho-analysis of dreams. And the +successes in these must be tested by the facts. Sometimes the results +are highly persuasive, sometimes they look highly fanciful, always they +are full of suggestion and keep close to realities. + +The dream symbolism, in particular, it is easy to criticise; but, after +all, dream symbolism is a reality. The point to investigate is, what +dream images are legitimately considered symbolic and what not. One has +only to remember that every word spoken or written is a symbol, and a +symbol in much the same sense as the symbolism of dreams, for every +written or spoken word is a complicated series of motions that express +meanings. The dream images are complicated series of images that express +meanings. The difficulty of symbolism is no greater in the one case than +in the other. But the variety of dream symbols is so immense that the +difficulties of tracing their meaning are enormous. It is here that the +method meets its greatest difficulties; but, equally, it is here that it +scores its greatest triumphs. Spoken or written language is a +technically organised system of symbols; dream language is as yet a +poorly organised system of symbols. The method of psycho-analysis aims +at organising them. Some test results are described in this essay; +multitudes of others are to be found in the literature that is flowing +from the application of the psycho-analytic method. Time alone will show +how far the organisation of dream symbols into a definite “language of +dreams” is, in any given society, actual or possible. But the effort of +organisation has led Professor Freud to another fine fetch of theory, +for his dream symbolism suggests many curious explanations for the +mythologies of all ages and all countries. Myth symbols, that seem to +defy explanation, he traces back to their roots in the “unconscious” of +primitive man. + +That the emotions of sex should play an enormous part in the processes +of analysis is to be expected; for the sex emotions are among the +deepest, if not the deepest, of our nature, and colour every experience. +From their proximate beginning in infancy—and Freud’s theory here is of +immense significance—to their multiform derivatives in adult life, the +sex emotions exercise an influence on every phase of development, and, +in one form or another, are themselves a normal index of the stages of +development. It is therefore reasonable to expect that they should play +a great part in the formation of obsessions, of fixed ideas, of +perversions, of repressed complexes. In every civilisation, as Freud +indicates, the sex emotions are the most difficult to control, and have +demanded the greatest amount of restraint. + +Restraints lead to repressions, repressions lead to dissociations, +dissociations lead to irregularities of action. When, therefore, as in +dreams, the restraints of the social day are withdrawn, naturally the +repressed ideas tend to emerge once more. How much these ideas account +for in the hysterias, how much “the shocks of despised love” affect even +the normal life, needs no emphasis, but Freud pushes his analysis +farther, and tracks the sex emotions, like many other fundamental +emotions, into a thousand by-paths of ordinary experience. But it would +be foolishness to say that sex emotions are everything in the ruins of +the “Buried Temple.” Far from it. What is true of the sex emotions is +true of all other emotions in their varying degrees, and often what +looks like predominant sex emotions may turn out to be accidental rather +than causative, a concomitant symptom rather than the initiatory centre +of disturbance. But these points are all controversial. It is the object +of Freud to put them to the test. If his general theory be true, the +dream-world will more and more become the revealer of our deepest and +oldest experience. + +It would be easy to fill many pages with illustrative items and relative +criticisms, but that is not the purpose of an introduction. Here I am +concerned simply to recommend this essay to the careful study of all +those interested in the mental history of the individual, and in the +blotting out from the mind of needless fears and anxieties. And no one +need hesitate to enter on this study, whatever his metaphysical theories +may be. Even the “unity of consciousness” will not suffer, for, through +his unending efforts to link the experiences of the day with the whole +experience of the individual life, Professor Freud, by the union of +buried consciousness, restores to the mind a new unity of consciousness. + +Dr. Eder, whose studies in this field have been long and varied, does +well to present to British readers this essay which serves as an +introduction to the more elaborate studies of FREUD and his school, and +I am glad to have the privilege of saying so. + + W. LESLIE MACKENZIE. + + + + + I. + + +In what we may term “prescientific days” people were in no uncertainty +about the interpretation of dreams. When they were recalled after +awakening they were regarded as either the friendly or hostile +manifestation of some higher powers, demoniacal and Divine. With the +rise of scientific thought the whole of this expressive mythology was +transferred to psychology; to-day there is but a small minority among +educated persons who doubt that the dream is the dreamer’s own psychical +act. + +But since the downfall of the mythological hypothesis an interpretation +of the dream has been wanting. The conditions of its origin; its +relationship to our psychical life when we are awake; its independence +of disturbances which, during the state of sleep, seem to compel notice; +its many peculiarities repugnant to our waking thought; the incongruence +between its images and the feelings they engender; then the dream’s +evanescence, the way in which, on awakening, our thoughts thrust it +aside as something bizarre, and our reminiscences mutilating or +rejecting it—all these and many other problems have for many hundred +years demanded answers which up till now could never have been +satisfactory. Before all there is the question as to the meaning of the +dream, a question which is in itself double-sided. There is, firstly, +the psychical significance of the dream, its position with regard to the +psychical processes, as to a possible biological function; secondly, has +the dream a meaning—can sense be made of each single dream as of other +mental syntheses? + +Three tendencies can be observed in the estimation of dreams. Many +philosophers have given currency to one of these tendencies, one which +at the same time preserves something of the dream’s former +over-valuation. The foundation of dream life is for them a peculiar +state of psychical activity, which they even celebrate as elevation to +some higher state. Schubert, for instance, claims: “The dream is the +liberation of the spirit from the pressure of external nature, a +detachment of the soul from the fetters of matter.” Not all go so far as +this, but many maintain that dreams have their origin in real spiritual +excitations, and are the outward manifestations of spiritual powers +whose free movements have been hampered during the day (“Dream +Phantasies,” Scherner, Volkelt). A large number of observers acknowledge +that dream life is capable of extraordinary achievements—at any rate, in +certain fields (“Memory”). + +In striking contradiction with this the majority of medical writers +hardly admit that the dream is a psychical phenomenon at all. According +to them dreams are provoked and initiated exclusively by stimuli +proceeding from the senses or the body, which either reach the sleeper +from without or are accidental disturbances of his internal organs. The +dream has no greater claim to meaning and importance than the sound +called forth by the ten fingers of a person quite unacquainted with +music running his fingers over the keys of an instrument. The dream is +to be regarded, says Binz, “as a physical process always useless, +frequently morbid.” All the peculiarities of dream life are explicable +as the incoherent effort, due to some physiological stimulus, of certain +organs, or of the cortical elements of a brain otherwise asleep. + +But slightly affected by scientific opinion and untroubled as to the +origin of dreams, the popular view holds firmly to the belief that +dreams really have got a meaning, in some way they do foretell the +future, whilst the meaning can be unravelled in some way or other from +its oft bizarre and enigmatical content. The reading of dreams consists +in replacing the events of the dream, so far as remembered, by other +events. This is done either scene by scene, _according to some rigid +key_, or the dream as a whole is replaced by something else of which it +was a _symbol_. Serious-minded persons laugh at these efforts—“Dreams +are but sea-foam!” + + + + + II. + + +One day I discovered to my amazement that the popular view grounded in +superstition, and not the medical one, comes nearer to the truth about +dreams. I arrived at new conclusions about dreams by the use of a new +method of psychological investigation, one which had rendered me good +service in the investigation of phobias, obsessions, illusions, and the +like, and which, under the name “psycho-analysis,” had found acceptance +by a whole school of investigators. The manifold analogies of dream life +with the most diverse conditions of psychical disease in the waking +state have been rightly insisted upon by a number of medical observers. +It seemed, therefore, _a priori_, hopeful to apply to the interpretation +of dreams methods of investigation which had been tested in +psychopathological processes. Obsessions and those peculiar sensations +of haunting dread remain as strange to normal consciousness as do dreams +to our waking consciousness; their origin is as unknown to consciousness +as is that of dreams. It was practical ends that impelled us, in these +diseases, to fathom their origin and formation. Experience had shown us +that a cure and a consequent mastery of the obsessing ideas did result +when once those thoughts, the connecting links between the morbid ideas +and the rest of the psychical content, were revealed which were +heretofore veiled from consciousness. The procedure I employed for the +interpretation of dreams thus arose from psychotherapy. + +This procedure is readily described, although its practice demands +instruction and experience. Suppose the patient is suffering from +intense morbid dread. He is requested to direct his attention to the +idea in question, without, however, as he has so frequently done, +meditating upon it. Every impression about it, without any exception, +which occurs to him should be imparted to the doctor. The statement +which will be perhaps then made, that he cannot concentrate his +attention upon anything at all, is to be countered by assuring him most +positively that such a blank state of mind is utterly impossible. As a +matter of fact, a great number of impressions will soon occur, with +which others will associate themselves. These will be invariably +accompanied by the expression of the observer’s opinion that they have +no meaning or are unimportant. It will be at once noticed that it is +this self-criticism which prevented the patient from imparting the +ideas, which had indeed already excluded them from consciousness. If the +patient can be induced to abandon this self-criticism and to pursue the +trains of thought which are yielded by concentrating the attention, most +significant matter will be obtained, matter which will be presently seen +to be clearly linked to the morbid idea in question. Its connection with +other ideas will be manifest, and later on will permit the replacement +of the morbid idea by a fresh one, which is perfectly adapted to +psychical continuity. + +This is not the place to examine thoroughly the hypothesis upon which +this experiment rests, or the deductions which follow from its +invariable success. It must suffice to state that we obtain matter +enough for the resolution of every morbid idea if we especially direct +our attention to the _unbidden_ associations _which disturb our +thoughts_—those which are otherwise put aside by the critic as worthless +refuse. If the procedure is exercised on oneself, the best plan of +helping the experiment is to write down at once all one’s first +indistinct fancies. + +I will now point out where this method leads when I apply it to the +examination of dreams. Any dream could be made use of in this way. From +certain motives I, however, choose a dream of my own, which appears +confused and meaningless to my memory, and one which has the advantage +of brevity. Probably my dream of last night satisfies the requirements. +Its content, fixed immediately after awakening, runs as follows: + +“_Company; at table or table d’hôte.... Spinach is served. Mrs. E. L., +sitting next to me, gives me her undivided attention, and places her +hand familiarly upon my knee. In defence I remove her hand. Then she +says: ‘But you have always had such beautiful eyes.’... I then +distinctly see something like two eyes as a sketch or as the contour of +a spectacle lens._...” + +This is the whole dream, or, at all events, all that I can remember. It +appears to me not only obscure and meaningless, but more especially odd. +Mrs. E. L. is a person with whom I am scarcely on visiting terms, nor to +my knowledge have I ever desired any more cordial relationship. I have +not seen her for a long time, and do not think there was any mention of +her recently. No emotion whatever accompanied the dream process. + +Reflecting upon this dream does not make it a bit clearer to my mind. I +will now, however, present the ideas, without premeditation and without +criticism, which introspection yielded. I soon notice that it is an +advantage to break up the dream into its elements, and to search out the +ideas which link themselves to each fragment. + +_Company; at table or table d’hôte._ The recollection of the slight +event with which the evening of yesterday ended is at once called up. I +left a small party in the company of a friend, who offered to drive me +home in his cab. “I prefer a taxi,” he said; “that gives one such a +pleasant occupation; there is always something to look at.” When we were +in the cab, and the cab-driver turned the disc so that the first sixty +hellers were visible, I continued the jest. “We have hardly got in and +we already owe sixty hellers. The taxi always reminds me of the table +d’hôte. It makes me avaricious and selfish by continuously reminding me +of my debt. It seems to me to mount up too quickly, and I am always +afraid that I shall be at a disadvantage, just as I cannot resist at +table d’hôte the comical fear that I am getting too little, that I must +look after myself.” In far-fetched connection with this I quote: + + “To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us, + To guilt ye let us heedless go.” + +Another idea about the table d’hôte. A few weeks ago I was very cross +with my dear wife at the dinner-table at a Tyrolese health resort, +because she was not sufficiently reserved with some neighbours with whom +I wished to have absolutely nothing to do. I begged her to occupy +herself rather with me than with the strangers. That is just as if I had +_been at a disadvantage at the table d’hôte_. The contrast between the +behaviour of my wife at that table and that of Mrs. E. L. in the dream +now strikes me: “_Addresses herself entirely to me._” + +Further, I now notice that the dream is the reproduction of a little +scene which transpired between my wife and myself when I was secretly +courting her. The caressing under cover of the tablecloth was an answer +to a wooer’s passionate letter. In the dream, however, my wife is +replaced by the unfamiliar E. L. + +Mrs. E. L. is the daughter of a man to whom I _owed money_! I cannot +help noticing that here there is revealed an unsuspected connection +between the dream content and my thoughts. If the chain of associations +be followed up which proceeds from one element of the dream one is soon +led back to another of its elements. The thoughts evoked by the dream +stir up associations which were not noticeable in the dream itself. + +Is it not customary, when someone expects others to look after his +interests without any advantage to themselves, to ask the innocent +question satirically: “Do you think this will be done _for the sake of +your beautiful eyes_?” Hence Mrs. E. L.’s speech in the dream. “You have +always had such beautiful eyes,” means nothing but “people always do +everything to you for love of you; you have had _everything for +nothing_.” The contrary is, of course, the truth; I have always paid +dearly for whatever kindness others have shown me. Still, the fact that +_I had a ride for nothing_ yesterday when my friend drove me home in his +cab must have made an impression upon me. + +In any case, the friend whose guests we were yesterday has often made me +his debtor. Recently I allowed an opportunity of requiting him to go by. +He has had only one present from me, an antique shawl, upon which eyes +are painted all round, a so-called Occhiale, as a _charm_ against the +_Malocchio_. Moreover, he is an _eye specialist_. That same evening I +had asked him after a patient whom I had sent to him for _glasses_. + +As I remarked, nearly all parts of the dream have been brought into this +new connection. I still might ask why in the dream it was _spinach_ that +was served up. Because spinach called up a little scene which recently +occurred at our table. A child, whose _beautiful eyes_ are really +deserving of praise, refused to eat _spinach_. As a child I was just the +same; for a long time I loathed _spinach_, until in later life my tastes +altered, and it became one of my favourite dishes. The mention of this +dish brings my own childhood and that of my child’s near together. “You +should be glad that you have some spinach,” his mother had said to the +little gourmet. “Some children would be very glad to get spinach.” Thus +I am reminded of the parents’ duties towards their children. Goethe’s +words— + + “To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us, + To guilt ye let us heedless go”— + +take on another meaning in this connection. + +Here I will stop in order that I may recapitulate the results of the +analysis of the dream. By following the associations which were linked +to the single elements of the dream torn from their context, I have been +led to a series of thoughts and reminiscences where I am bound to +recognise interesting expressions of my psychical life. The matter +yielded by an analysis of the dream stands in intimate relationship with +the dream content, but this relationship is so special that I should +never have been able to have inferred the new discoveries directly from +the dream itself. The dream was passionless, disconnected, and +unintelligible. During the time that I am unfolding the thoughts at the +back of the dream I feel intense and well-grounded emotions. The +thoughts themselves fit beautifully together into chains logically bound +together with certain central ideas which ever repeat themselves. Such +ideas not represented in the dream itself are in this instance the +antitheses _selfish, unselfish, to be indebted, to work for nothing_. I +could draw closer the threads of the web which analysis has disclosed, +and would then be able to show how they all run together into a single +knot; I am debarred from making this work public by considerations of a +private, not of a scientific, nature. After having cleared up many +things which I do not willingly acknowledge as mine, I should have much +to reveal which had better remain my secret. Why, then, do not I choose +another dream whose analysis would be more suitable for publication, so +that I could awaken a fairer conviction of the sense and cohesion of the +results disclosed by analysis? The answer is, because every dream which +I investigate leads to the same difficulties and places me under the +same need of discretion; nor should I forgo this difficulty any the more +were I to analyse the dream of someone else. That could only be done +when opportunity allowed all concealment to be dropped without injury to +those who trusted me. + +The conclusion which is now forced upon me is that the dream is a _sort +of substitution_ for those emotional and intellectual trains of thought +which I attained after complete analysis. I do not yet know the process +by which the dream arose from those thoughts, but I perceive that it is +wrong to regard the dream as psychically unimportant, a purely physical +process which has arisen from the activity of isolated cortical elements +awakened out of sleep. + +I must further remark that the dream is far shorter than the thoughts +which I hold it replaces; whilst analysis discovered that the dream was +provoked by an unimportant occurrence the evening before the dream. + +Naturally, I would not draw such far-reaching conclusions if only one +analysis were known to me. Experience has shown me that when the +associations of any dream are honestly followed such a chain of thought +is revealed, the constituent parts of the dream reappear correctly and +sensibly linked together; the slight suspicion that this concatenation +was merely an accident of a single first observation must, therefore, be +absolutely relinquished. I regard it, therefore, as my right to +establish this new view by a proper nomenclature. I contrast the dream +which my memory evokes with the dream and other added matter revealed by +analysis: the former I call the dream’s _manifest content_; the latter, +without at first further subdivision, its _latent content_. I arrive at +two new problems hitherto unformulated: (1) What is the psychical +process which has transformed the latent content of the dream into its +manifest content? (2) What is the motive or the motives which have made +such transformation exigent. The process by which the change from latent +to manifest content is executed I name the _dream work_. In contrast +with this is the _work of analysis_, which produces the reverse +transformation. The other problems of the dream—the inquiry as to its +stimuli, as to the source of its materials, as to its possible purpose, +the function of dreaming, the forgetting of dreams—these I will discuss +in connection with the latent dream content. + +I shall take every care to avoid a confusion between the _manifest_ and +the _latent content_, for I ascribe all the contradictory as well as the +incorrect accounts of dreamlife to the ignorance of this latent content, +now first laid bare through analysis. + + + + + III. + + +The conversion of the latent dream thoughts into those manifest deserves +our close study as the first known example of the transformation of +psychical stuff from one mode of expression into another. From a mode of +expression which, moreover, is readily intelligible into another which +we can only penetrate by effort and with guidance, although this new +mode must be equally reckoned as an effort of our own psychical +activity. From the standpoint of the relationship of latent to manifest +dream content, dreams can be divided into three classes. We can, in the +first place, distinguish those dreams which have a _meaning_ and are, at +the same time, _intelligible_, which allow us to penetrate into our +psychical life without further ado. Such dreams are numerous; they are +usually short, and, as a general rule, do not seem very noticeable, +because everything remarkable or exciting surprise is absent. Their +occurrence is, moreover, a strong argument against the doctrine which +derives the dream from the isolated activity of certain cortical +elements. All signs of a lowered or subdivided psychical activity are +wanting. Yet we never raise any objection to characterising them as +dreams, nor do we confound them with the products of our waking life. + +A second group is formed by those dreams which are indeed self-coherent +and have a distinct meaning, but appear strange because we are unable to +reconcile their meaning with our mental life. That is the case when we +dream, for instance, that some dear relative has died of plague when we +know of no ground for expecting, apprehending, or assuming anything of +the sort; we can only ask ourself wonderingly: “What brought that into +my head?” To the third group those dreams belong which are void of both +meaning and intelligibility; they are _incoherent, complicated, and +meaningless_. The overwhelming number of our dreams partake of this +character, and this has given rise to the contemptuous attitude towards +dreams and the medical theory of their limited psychical activity. It is +especially in the longer and more complicated dream-plots that signs of +incoherence are seldom missing. + +The contrast between manifest and latent dream content is clearly only +of value for the dreams of the second and more especially for those of +the third class. Here are problems which are only solved when the +manifest dream is replaced by its latent content; it was an example of +this kind, a complicated and unintelligible dream, that we subjected to +analysis. Against our expectation we, however, struck upon reasons which +prevented a complete cognizance of the latent dream thought. On the +repetition of this same experience we were forced to the supposition +that there is an _intimate bond, with laws of its own, between the +unintelligible and complicated nature of the dream and the difficulties +attending communication of the thoughts connected with the dream_. +Before investigating the nature of this bond, it will be advantageous to +turn our attention to the more readily intelligible dreams of the first +class where, the manifest and latent content being identical, the dream +work seems to be omitted. + +The investigation of these dreams is also advisable from another +standpoint. The dreams of _children_ are of this nature; they have a +meaning, and are not bizarre. This, by the way, is a further objection +to reducing dreams to a dissociation of cerebral activity in sleep, for +why should such a lowering of psychical functions belong to the nature +of sleep in adults, but not in children? We are, however, fully +justified in expecting that the explanation of psychical processes in +children, essentially simplified as they may be, should serve as an +indispensable preparation towards the psychology of the adult. + +I shall therefore cite some examples of dreams which I have gathered +from children. A girl of nineteen months was made to go without food for +a day because she had been sick in the morning, and, according to nurse, +had made herself ill through eating strawberries. During the night, +after her day of fasting, she was heard calling out her name during +sleep, and adding: “_Tawberry, eggs, pap._” She is dreaming that she is +eating, and selects out of her menu exactly what she supposes she will +not get much of just now. + +The same kind of dream about a forbidden dish was that of a little boy +of twenty-two months. The day before he was told to offer his uncle a +present of a small basket of cherries, of which the child was, of +course, only allowed one to taste. He woke up with the joyful news: +“Hermann eaten up all the cherries.” + +A girl of three and a half years had made during the day a sea trip +which was too short for her, and she cried when she had to get out of +the boat. The next morning her story was that during the night she had +been on the sea, thus continuing the interrupted trip. + +A boy of five and a half years was not at all pleased with his party +during a walk in the Dachstein region. Whenever a new peak came into +sight he asked if that were the Dachstein, and, finally, refused to +accompany the party to the waterfall. His behaviour was ascribed to +fatigue; but a better explanation was forthcoming when the next morning +he told his dream: _he had ascended the Dachstein_. Obviously he +expected the ascent of the Dachstein to be the object of the excursion, +and was vexed by not getting a glimpse of the mountain. The dream gave +him what the day had withheld. The dream of a girl of six was similar; +her father had cut short the walk before reaching the promised objective +on account of the lateness of the hour. On the way back she noticed a +signpost giving the name of another place for excursions; her father +promised to take her there also some other day. She greeted her father +next day with the news that she had dreamt that _her father had been +with her to both places_. + +What is common in all these dreams is obvious. They completely satisfy +wishes excited during the day which remain unrealised. They are simply +and undisguisedly realisations of wishes. + +The following child-dream, not quite understandable at first sight, is +nothing else than a wish realised. On account of poliomyelitis a girl, +not quite four years of age, was brought from the country into town, and +remained over night with a childless aunt in a big—for her, naturally, +huge—bed. The next morning she stated that she had dreamt that _the bed +was much too small for her, so that she could find no place in it_. To +explain this dream as a wish is easy when we remember that to be “big” +is a frequently expressed wish of all children. The bigness of the bed +reminded Miss Little-Would-be-Big only too forcibly of her smallness. +This nasty situation became righted in her dream, and she grew so big +that the bed now became too small for her. + +Even when children’s dreams are complicated and polished, their +comprehension as a realisation of desire is fairly evident. A boy of +eight dreamt that he was being driven with Achilles in a war-chariot, +guided by Diomedes. The day before he was assiduously reading about +great heroes. It is easy to show that he took these heroes as his +models, and regretted that he was not living in those days. + +From this short collection a further characteristic of the dreams of +children is manifest—_their connection with the life of the day_. The +desires which are realised in these dreams are left over from the day +or, as a rule, the day previous, and the feeling has become intently +emphasised and fixed during the day thoughts. Accidental and indifferent +matters, or what must appear so to the child, find no acceptance in the +contents of the dream. + +Innumerable instances of such dreams of the infantile type can be found +among adults also, but, as mentioned, these are mostly exactly like the +manifest content. Thus, a random selection of persons will generally +respond to thirst at night-time with a dream about drinking, thus +striving to get rid of the sensation and to let sleep continue. Many +persons frequently have these comforting _dreams_ before waking, just +when they are called. They then dream that they are already up, that +they are washing, or already in school, at the office, etc., where they +ought to be at a given time. The night before an intended journey one +not infrequently dreams that one has already arrived at the destination; +before going to a play or to a party the dream not infrequently +anticipates, in impatience, as it were, the expected pleasure. At other +times the dream expresses the realisation of the desire somewhat +indirectly; some connection, some sequel must be known—the first step +towards recognising the desire. Thus, when a husband related to me the +dream of his young wife, that her monthly period had begun, I had to +bethink myself that the young wife would have expected a pregnancy if +the period had been absent. The dream is then a sign of pregnancy. Its +meaning is that it shows the wish realised that pregnancy should not +occur just yet. Under unusual and extreme circumstances, these dreams of +the infantile type become very frequent. The leader of a polar +expedition tells us, for instance, that during the wintering amid the +ice the crew, with their monotonous diet and slight rations, dreamt +regularly, like children, of fine meals, of mountains of tobacco, and of +home. + +It is not uncommon that out of some long, complicated and intricate +dream one specially lucid part stands out containing unmistakably the +realisation of a desire, but bound up with much unintelligible matter. +On more frequently analysing the seemingly more transparent dreams of +adults, it is astonishing to discover that these are rarely as simple as +the dreams of children, and that they cover another meaning beyond that +of the realisation of a wish. + +It would certainly be a simple and convenient solution of the riddle if +the work of analysis made it at all possible for us to trace the +meaningless and intricate dreams of adults back to the infantile type, +to the realisation of some intensely experienced desire of the day. But +there is no warrant for such an expectation. Their dreams are generally +full of the most indifferent and bizarre matter, and no trace of the +realisation of the wish is to be found in their content. + +Before leaving these infantile dreams, which are obviously unrealised +desires, we must not fail to mention another chief characteristic of +dreams, one that has been long noticed, and one which stands out most +clearly in this class. I can replace any of these dreams by a phrase +expressing a desire. If the sea trip had only lasted longer; if I were +only washed and dressed; if I had only been allowed to keep the cherries +instead of giving them to my uncle. But the dream gives something more +than the choice, for here the desire is already realised; its +realisation is real and actual. The dream presentations consist chiefly, +if not wholly, of scenes and mainly of visual sense images. Hence a kind +of transformation is not entirely absent in this class of dreams, and +this may be fairly designated as the dream work. _An idea merely +existing in the region of possibility is replaced by a vision of its +accomplishment._ + + + + + IV. + + +We are compelled to assume that such transformation of scene has also +taken place in intricate dreams, though we do not know whether it has +encountered any possible desire. The dream instanced at the +commencement, which we analysed somewhat thoroughly, did give us +occasion in two places to suspect something of the kind. Analysis +brought out that my wife was occupied with others at table, and that I +did not like it; in the dream itself _exactly the opposite_ occurs, for +the person who replaces my wife gives me her undivided attention. But +can one wish for anything pleasanter after a disagreeable incident than +that the exact contrary should have occurred, just as the dream has it? +The stinging thought in the analysis, that I have never had anything for +nothing, is similarly connected with the woman’s remark in the dream: +“You have always had such beautiful eyes.” Some portion of the +opposition between the latent and manifest content of the dream must be +therefore derived from the realisation of a wish. + +Another manifestation of the dream work which all incoherent dreams have +in common is still more noticeable. Choose any instance, and compare the +number of separate elements in it, or the extent of the dream, if +written down, with the dream thoughts yielded by analysis, and of which +but a trace can be refound in the dream itself. There can be no doubt +that the dream working has resulted in an extraordinary compression or +_condensation_. It is not at first easy to form an opinion as to the +extent of the condensation; the more deeply you go into the analysis, +the more deeply you are impressed by it. There will be found no factor +in the dream whence the chains of associations do not lead in two or +more directions, no scene which has not been pieced together out of two +or more impressions and events. For instance, I once dreamt about a kind +of swimming-bath where the bathers suddenly separated in all directions; +at one place on the edge a person stood bending towards one of the +bathers as if to drag him out. The scene was a composite one, made up +out of an event that occurred at the time of puberty, and of two +pictures, one of which I had seen just shortly before the dream. The two +pictures were The Surprise in the Bath, from Schwind’s Cycle of the +Melusine (note the bathers suddenly separating), and a picture of The +Flood, by an Italian master. The little incident was that I once +witnessed a lady, who had tarried in the swimming-bath until the men’s +hour, being helped out of the water by the swimming-master. The scene in +the dream which was selected for analysis led to a whole group of +reminiscences, each one of which had contributed to the dream content. +First of all came the little episode from the time of my courting, of +which I have already spoken; the pressure of a hand under the table gave +rise in the dream to the “under the table,” which I had subsequently to +find a place for in my recollection. There was, of course, at the time +not a word about “undivided attention.” Analysis taught me that this +factor is the realisation of a desire through its contradictory and +related to the behaviour of my wife at the table d’hôte. An exactly +similar and much more important episode of our courtship, one which +separated us for an entire day, lies hidden behind this recent +recollection. The intimacy, the hand resting upon the knee, refers to a +quite different connection and to quite other persons. This element in +the dream becomes again the starting-point of two distinct series of +reminiscences, and so on. + +The stuff of the dream thoughts which has been accumulated for the +formation of the dream scene must be naturally fit for this application. +There must be one or more common factors. The dream work proceeds like +Francis Galton with his family photographs. The different elements are +put one on top of the other; what is common to the composite picture +stands out clearly, the opposing details cancel each other. This process +of reproduction partly explains the wavering statements, of a peculiar +vagueness, in so many elements of the dream. For the interpretation of +dreams this rule holds good: When analysis discloses _uncertainty_ as to +_either_—_or_ read _and_, taking each section of the apparent +alternatives as a separate outlet for a series of impressions. + +When there is nothing in common between the dream thoughts, the dream +work takes the trouble to create a something, in order to make a common +presentation feasible in the dream. The simplest way to approximate two +dream thoughts, which have as yet nothing in common, consists in making +such a change in the actual expression of one idea as will meet a slight +responsive recasting in the form of the other idea. The process is +analogous to that of rhyme, when consonance supplies the desired common +factor. A good deal of the dream work consists in the creation of those +frequently very witty, but often exaggerated, digressions. These vary +from the common presentation in the dream content to dream thoughts +which are as varied as are the causes in form and essence which give +rise to them. In the analysis of our example of a dream, I find a like +case of the transformation of a thought in order that it might agree +with another essentially foreign one. In following out the analysis I +struck upon the thought: _I should like to have something for nothing_. +But this formula is not serviceable to the dream. Hence it is replaced +by another one: “I should like to enjoy something free of cost.”[1] The +word “kost” (taste), with its double meaning, is appropriate to a table +d’hôte; it, moreover, is in place through the special sense in the +dream. At home if there is a dish which the children decline, their +mother first tries gentle persuasion, with a “Just taste it.” That the +dream work should unhesitatingly use the double meaning of the word is +certainly remarkable; ample experience has shown, however, that the +occurrence is quite usual. + +Footnote 1: + + “Ich möchte gerne etwas geniessen ohne ‘Kosten’ zu haben.” A pun upon + the word “kosten,” which has two meanings—“taste” and “cost.” In “Die + Traumdeutung,” third edition, p. 71 footnote, Professor Freud remarks + that “the finest example of dream interpretation left us by the + ancients is based upon a pun” (from “The Interpretation of Dreams,” by + Artemidorus Daldianus). “Moreover, dreams are so intimately bound up + with language that Ferenczi truly points out that every tongue has its + own language of dreams. A dream is as a rule untranslatable into other + languages.”—TRANSLATOR. + +Through condensation of the dream certain constituent parts of its +content are explicable which are peculiar to the dream life alone, and +which are not found in the waking state. Such are the composite and +mixed persons, the extraordinary mixed figures, creations comparable +with the fantastic animal compositions of Orientals; a moment’s thought +and these are reduced to unity, whilst the fancies of the dream are ever +formed anew in an inexhaustible profusion. Everyone knows such images in +his own dreams; manifold are their origins. I can build up a person by +borrowing one feature from one person and one from another, or by giving +to the form of one the name of another in my dream. I can also visualise +one person, but place him in a position which has occurred to another. +There is a meaning in all these cases when different persons are +amalgamated into one substitute. Such cases denote an “and,” a “just +like,” a comparison of the original person from a certain point of view, +a comparison which can be also realised in the dream itself. As a rule, +however, the identity of the blended persons is only discoverable by +analysis, and is only indicated in the dream content by the formation of +the “combined” person. + +The same diversity in their ways of formation and the same rules for its +solution hold good also for the innumerable medley of dream contents, +examples of which I need scarcely adduce. Their strangeness quite +disappears when we resolve not to place them on a level with the objects +of perception as known to us when awake, but to remember that they +represent the art of dream condensation by an exclusion of unnecessary +detail. Prominence is given to the common character of the combination. +Analysis must also generally supply the common features. The dream says +simply: _All these things have an “x” in common._ The decomposition of +these mixed images by analysis is often the quickest way to an +interpretation of the dream. Thus I once dreamt that I was sitting with +one of my former university tutors on a bench, which was undergoing a +rapid continuous movement amidst other benches. This was a combination +of lecture-room and moving staircase. I will not pursue the further +result of the thought. Another time I was sitting in a carriage, and on +my lap an object in shape like a top-hat, which, however, was made of +transparent glass. The scene at once brought to my mind the proverb: “He +who keeps his hat in his hand will travel safely through the land.” By a +slight turn the _glass hat_ reminded me of _Auer’s light_, and I knew +that I was about to invent something which was to make me as rich and +independent as his invention had made my countryman, Dr. Auer, of +Welsbach; then I should be able to travel instead of remaining in +Vienna. In the dream I was travelling with my invention, with the, it is +true, rather awkward glass top-hat. The dream work is peculiarly adept +at representing two contradictory conceptions by means of the same mixed +image. Thus, for instance, a woman dreamt of herself carrying a tall +flower-stalk, as in the picture of the Annunciation (Chastity-Mary is +her own name), but the stalk was bedecked with thick white blossoms +resembling camellias (contrast with chastity: La dame aux Camelias). + +A great deal of what we have called “dream condensation” can be thus +formulated. Each one of the elements of the dream content is +_overdetermined_ by the matter of the dream thoughts; it is not derived +from one element of these thoughts, but from a whole series. These are +not necessarily interconnected in any way, but may belong to the most +diverse spheres of thought. The dream element truly represents all this +disparate matter in the dream content. Analysis, moreover, discloses +another side of the relationship between dream content and dream +thoughts. Just as one element of the dream leads to associations with +several dream thoughts, so, as a rule, the _one dream thought represents +more than one dream element_. The threads of the association do not +simply converge from the dream thoughts to the dream content, but on the +way they overlap and interweave in every way. + +Next to the transformation of one thought in the scene (its +“dramatisation”), condensation is the most important and most +characteristic feature of the dream work. We have as yet no clue as to +the motive calling for such compression of the content. + + + + + V. + + +In the complicated and intricate dreams with which we are now concerned, +condensation and dramatisation do not wholly account for the difference +between dream contents and dream thoughts. There is evidence of a third +factor, which deserves careful consideration. + +When I have arrived at an understanding of the dream thoughts by my +analysis I notice, above all, that the matter of the manifest is very +different from that of the latent dream content. That is, I admit, only +an apparent difference which vanishes on closer investigation, for in +the end I find the whole dream content carried out in the dream +thoughts, nearly all the dream thoughts again represented in the dream +content. Nevertheless, there does remain a certain amount of difference. + +The essential content which stood out clearly and broadly in the dream +must, after analysis, rest satisfied with a very subordinate rôle among +the dream thoughts. These very dream thoughts which, going by my +feelings, have a claim to the greatest importance are either not present +at all in the dream content, or are represented by some remote allusion +in some obscure region of the dream. I can thus describe these +phenomena: _During the dream work the psychical intensity of those +thoughts and conceptions to which it properly pertains flows to others +which, in my judgment, have no claim to such emphasis._ There is no +other process which contributes so much to concealment of the dream’s +meaning and to make the connection between the dream content and dream +ideas irrecognisable. During this process, which I will call _the dream +displacement_, I notice also the psychical intensity, significance, or +emotional nature of the thoughts become transposed in sensory vividness. +What was clearest in the dream seems to me, without further +consideration, the most important; but often in some obscure element of +the dream I can recognise the most direct offspring of the principal +dream thought. + +I could only designate this dream displacement as the _transvaluation of +psychical values_. The phenomena will not have been considered in all +its bearings unless I add that this displacement or transvaluation is +shared by different dreams in extremely varying degrees. There are +dreams which take place almost without any displacement. These have the +same time, meaning, and intelligibility as we found in the dreams which +recorded a desire. In other dreams not a bit of the dream idea has +retained its own psychical value, or everything essential in these dream +ideas has been replaced by unessentials, whilst every kind of transition +between these conditions can be found. The more obscure and intricate a +dream is, the greater is the part to be ascribed to the impetus of +displacement in its formation. + +The example that we chose for analysis shows, at least, this much of +displacement—that its content has a different centre of interest from +that of the dream ideas. In the forefront of the dream content the main +scene appears as if a woman wished to make advances to me; in the dream +idea the chief interest rests on the desire to enjoy disinterested love +which shall “cost nothing”; this idea lies at the back of the talk about +the beautiful eyes and the far-fetched allusion to “spinach.” + +If we abolish the dream displacement, we attain through analysis quite +certain conclusions regarding two problems of the dream which are most +disputed—as to what provokes a dream at all, and as to the connection of +the dream with our waking life. There are dreams which at once expose +their links with the events of the day; in others no trace of such a +connection can be found. By the aid of analysis it can be shown that +every dream, without any exception, is linked up with our impression of +the day, or perhaps it would be more correct to say of the day previous +to the dream. The impressions which have incited the dream may be so +important that we are not surprised at our being occupied with them +whilst awake; in this case we are right in saying that the dream carries +on the chief interest of our waking life. More usually, however, when +the dream contains anything relating to the impressions of the day, it +is so trivial, unimportant, and so deserving of oblivion, that we can +only recall it with an effort. The dream content appears, then, even +when coherent and intelligible, to be concerned with those indifferent +trifles of thought undeserving of our waking interest. The depreciation +of dreams is largely due to the predominance of the indifferent and the +worthless in their content. + +Analysis destroys the appearance upon which this derogatory judgment is +based. When the dream content discloses nothing but some indifferent +impression as instigating the dream, analysis ever indicates some +significant event, which has been replaced by something indifferent with +which it has entered into abundant associations. Where the dream is +concerned with uninteresting and unimportant conceptions, analysis +reveals the numerous associative paths which connect the trivial with +the momentous in the psychical estimation of the individual. _It is only +the action of displacement if what is indifferent obtains recognition in +the dream content instead of those impressions which are really the +stimulus, or instead of the things of real interest._ In answering the +question as to what provokes the dream, as to the connection of the +dream, in the daily troubles, we must say, in terms of the insight given +us by replacing the manifest latent dream content: _The dream does never +trouble itself about things which are not deserving of our concern +during the day, and trivialities which do not trouble us during the day +have no power to pursue us whilst asleep._ + +What provoked the dream in the example which we have analysed? The +really unimportant event, that a friend invited me to a _free ride in +his cab_. The table d’hôte scene in the dream contains an allusion to +this indifferent motive, for in conversation I had brought the taxi +parallel with the table d’hôte. But I can indicate the important event +which has as its substitute the trivial one. A few days before I had +disbursed a large sum of money for a member of my family who is very +dear to me. Small wonder, says the dream thought, if this person is +grateful to me for this—this love is not cost-free. But love that shall +cost nothing is one of the prime thoughts of the dream. The fact that +shortly before this I had had several _drives_ with the relative in +question puts the one drive with my friend in a position to recall the +connection with the other person. The indifferent impression which, by +such ramifications, provokes the dream is subservient to another +condition which is not true of the real source of the dream—the +impression must be a recent one, everything arising from the day of the +dream. + +I cannot leave the question of dream displacement without the +consideration of a remarkable process in the formation of dreams in +which condensation and displacement work together towards one end. In +condensation we have already considered the case where two conceptions +in the dream having something in common, some point of contact, are +replaced in the dream content by a mixed image, where the distinct germ +corresponds to what is common, and the indistinct secondary +modifications to what is distinctive. If displacement is added to +condensation, there is no formation of a mixed image, but a _common +mean_ which bears the same relationship to the individual elements as +does the resultant in the parallelogram of forces to its components. In +one of my dreams, for instance, there is talk of an injection with +_propyl_. On first analysis I discovered an indifferent but true +incident where _amyl_ played a part as the excitant of the dream. I +cannot yet vindicate the exchange of amyl for propyl. To the round of +ideas of the same dream, however, there belongs the recollection of my +first visit to Munich, when the _Propylæa_ struck me. The attendant +circumstances of the analysis render it admissible that the influence of +this second group of conceptions caused the displacement of amyl to +propyl. _Propyl_ is, so to say, the mean idea between _amyl_ and +_propylæa_; it got into the dream as a kind of _compromise_ by +simultaneous condensation and displacement. + +The need of discovering some motive for this bewildering work of the +dream is even more called for in the case of displacement than in +condensation. + + + + + VI. + + +Although the work of displacement must be held mainly responsible if the +dream thoughts are not refound or recognised in the dream content +(unless the motive of the changes be guessed), it is another and milder +kind of transformation which will be considered with the dream thoughts +which leads to the discovery of a new but readily understood act of the +dream work. The first dream thoughts which are unravelled by analysis +frequently strike one by their unusual wording. They do not appear to be +expressed in the sober form which our thinking prefers; rather are they +expressed symbolically by allegories and metaphors like the figurative +language of the poets. It is not difficult to find the motives for this +degree of constraint in the expression of dream ideas. The dream content +consists chiefly of visual scenes; hence the dream ideas must, in the +first place, be prepared to make use of these forms of presentation. +Conceive that a political leader’s or a barrister’s address had to be +transposed into pantomime, and it will be easy to understand the +transformations to which the dream work is constrained by regard for +this _dramatisation of the dream content_. + +Around the psychical stuff of dream thoughts there are ever found +reminiscences of impressions, not infrequently of early childhood—scenes +which, as a rule, have been visually grasped. Whenever possible, this +portion of the dream ideas exercises a definite influence upon the +modelling of the dream content; it works like a centre of +crystallisation, by attracting and rearranging the stuff of the dream +thoughts. The scene of the dream is not infrequently nothing but a +modified repetition, complicated by interpolations of events that have +left such an impression; the dream but very seldom reproduces accurate +and unmixed reproductions of real scenes. + +The dream content does not, however, consist exclusively of scenes, but +it also includes scattered fragments of visual images, conversations, +and even bits of unchanged thoughts. It will be perhaps to the point if +we instance in the briefest way the means of dramatisation which are at +the disposal of the dream work for the repetition of the dream thoughts +in the peculiar language of the dream. + +The dream thoughts which we learn from the analysis exhibit themselves +as a psychical complex of the most complicated superstructure. Their +parts stand in the most diverse relationship to each other; they form +backgrounds and foregrounds, stipulations, digressions, illustrations, +demonstrations, and protestations. It may be said to be almost the rule +that one train of thought is followed by its contradictory. No feature +known to our reason whilst awake is absent. If a dream is to grow out of +all this, the psychical matter is submitted to a pressure which +condenses it extremely, to an inner shrinking and displacement, creating +at the same time fresh surfaces, to a selective interweaving among the +constituents best adapted for the construction of these scenes. Having +regard to the origin of this stuff, the term _regression_ can be fairly +applied to this process. The logical chains which hitherto held the +psychical stuff together become lost in this transformation to the dream +content. The dream work takes on, as it were, only the essential content +of the dream thoughts for elaboration. It is left to analysis to restore +the connection which the dream work has destroyed. + +The dream’s means of expression must therefore be regarded as meagre in +comparison with those of our imagination, though the dream does not +renounce all claims to the restitution of logical relation to the dream +thoughts. It rather succeeds with tolerable frequency in replacing these +by formal characters of its own. + +By reason of the undoubted connection existing between all the parts of +dream thoughts, the dream is able to embody this matter into a single +scene. It upholds a _logical connection_ as _approximation in time and +space_, just as the painter, who groups all the poets for his picture of +Parnassus who, though they have never been all together on a mountain +peak, yet form ideally a community. The dream continues this method of +presentation in individual dreams, and often when it displays two +elements close together in the dream content it warrants some special +inner connection between what they represent in the dream thoughts. It +should be, moreover, observed that all the dreams of one night prove on +analysis to originate from the same sphere of thought. + +The causal connection between two ideas is either left without +presentation, or replaced by two different long portions of dreams one +after the other. This presentation is frequently a reversed one, the +beginning of the dream being the deduction, and its end the hypothesis. +The direct _transformation_ of one thing into another in the dream seems +to serve the relationship of _cause_ and _effect_. + +The dream never utters the _alternative_ “_either-or_,” but accepts both +as having equal rights in the same connection. When “either-or” is used +in the reproduction of dreams, it is, as I have already mentioned, to be +replaced by “_and_.” + +Conceptions which stand in opposition to one another are preferably +expressed in dreams by the same element.[2] There seems no “not” in +dreams. Opposition between two ideas, the relation of conversion, is +represented in dreams in a very remarkable way. It is expressed by the +reversal of another part of the dream content just as if by way of +appendix. We shall later on deal with another form of expressing +disagreement. The common dream sensation of _movement checked_ serves +the purpose of representing disagreement of impulses—a _conflict of the +will_. + +Footnote 2: + + It is worthy of remark that eminent philologists maintain that the + oldest languages used the same word for expressing quite general + antitheses. In C. Abel’s essay, “Ueber den Gegensinn der Urworter” + (1884), the following examples of such words in English are given: + “gleam—gloom”; “to lock—loch”; “down—The Downs”; “to step—to stop.” In + his essay on “The Origin of Language” (“Linguistic Essays,” p. 240), + Abel says: “When the Englishman says ‘without,’ is not his judgment + based upon the comparative juxtaposition of two opposites, ‘with’ and + ‘out’; ‘with’ itself originally meant ‘without,’ as may still be seen + in ‘withdraw.’ ‘Bid’ includes the opposite sense of giving and of + proffering” (Abel, “The English Verbs of Command,” “Linguistic + Essays,” p. 104; see also Freud, “Ueber den Gegensinn der Urworte”: + _Jahrbuch für Psychoanalytische und Psychopathologische Forschungen_, + Band ii., part i., p. 179).—TRANSLATOR. + +Only one of the logical relationships—that of _similarity_, _identity_, +_agreement_—is found highly developed in the mechanism of dream +formation. Dream work makes use of these cases as a starting-point for +condensation, drawing together everything which shows such agreement to +a _fresh unity_. + +These short, crude observations naturally do not suffice as an estimate +of the abundance of the dream’s formal means of presenting the logical +relationships of the dream thoughts. In this respect, individual dreams +are worked up more nicely or more carelessly, our text will have been +followed more or less closely, auxiliaries of the dream work will have +been taken more or less into consideration. In the latter case they +appear obscure, intricate, incoherent. When the dream appears openly +absurd, when it contains an obvious paradox in its content, it is so of +purpose. Through its apparent disregard of all logical claims, it +expresses a part of the intellectual content of the dream ideas. +Absurdity in the dream denotes _disagreement_, _scorn_, _disdain_ in the +dream thoughts. As this explanation is in entire disagreement with the +view that the dream owes its origin to dissociated, uncritical cerebral +activity, I will emphasise my view by an example: + +“_One of my acquaintances, Mr. M——, has been attacked by no less a +person than Goethe in an essay with, we all maintain, unwarrantable +violence. Mr. M—— has naturally been ruined by this attack. He complains +very bitterly of this at a dinner-party, but his respect for Goethe has +not diminished through this personal experience. I now attempt to clear +up the chronological relations which strike me as improbable. Goethe +died in 1832. As his attack upon Mr. M—— must, of course, have taken +place before, Mr. M—— must have been then a very young man. It seems to +me plausible that he was eighteen. I am not certain, however, what year +we are actually in, and the whole calculation falls into obscurity. The +attack was, moreover, contained in Goethe’s well-known essay on +‘Nature.’_” + +The absurdity of the dream becomes the more glaring when I state that +Mr. M—— is a young business man without any poetical or literary +interests. My analysis of the dream will show what method there is in +this madness. The dream has derived its material from three sources: + +1. Mr. M——, to whom I was introduced at a dinner-party, begged me one +day to examine his elder brother, who showed signs of mental trouble. In +conversation with the patient, an unpleasant episode occurred. Without +the slightest occasion he disclosed one of his brother’s _youthful +escapades_. I had asked the patient the _year of his birth_ (_year of +death_ in dream), and led him to various calculations which might show +up his want of memory. + +2. A medical journal which displayed my name among others on the cover +had published a _ruinous_ review of a book by my friend F—— of Berlin, +from the pen of a very _juvenile_ reviewer. I communicated with the +editor, who, indeed, expressed his regret, but would not promise any +redress. Thereupon I broke off my connection with the paper; in my +letter of resignation I expressed the hope that our _personal relations +would not suffer from this_. Here is the real source of the dream. The +derogatory reception of my friend’s work had made a deep impression upon +me. In my judgment, it contained a fundamental biological discovery +which only now, several years later, commences to find favour among the +professors. + +3. A little while before, a patient gave me the medical history of her +brother, who, exclaiming “_Nature, Nature!_” had gone out of his mind. +The doctors considered that the exclamation arose from a study of +_Goethe’s_ beautiful essay, and indicated that the patient had been +overworking. I expressed the opinion that it seemed more _plausible_ to +me that the exclamation “Nature!” was to be taken in that sexual meaning +known also to the less educated in our country. It seemed to me that +this view had something in it, because the unfortunate youth afterwards +mutilated his genital organs. The patient was eighteen years old when +the attack occurred. + +The first person in the dream thoughts behind the ego was my friend who +had been so scandalously treated. “_I now attempted to clear up the +chronological relations._” My friend’s book deals with the chronological +relations of life, and, amongst other things, correlates _Goethe’s_ +duration of life with a number of days in many ways important to +biology. The ego is, however, represented as a general paralytic (“_I am +not certain what year we are actually in_”). The dream exhibits my +friend as behaving like a general paralytic, and thus riots in +absurdity. But the dream thoughts run ironically. “Of course he is a +madman, a fool, and you are the genius who understands all about it. But +shouldn’t it be the _other way round_?” This inversion obviously took +place in the dream when Goethe attacked the young man, which is absurd, +whilst anyone, however young, can to-day easily attack the great Goethe. + +I am prepared to maintain that no dream is inspired by other than +egoistic emotions. The ego in the dream does not, indeed, represent only +my friend, but stands for myself also. I identify myself with him +because the fate of his discovery appears to me typical of the +acceptance _of my own_. If I were to publish my own theory, which gives +sexuality predominance in the ætiology of psycho-neurotic disorders (see +the allusion to the eighteen-year-old patient—“_Nature, Nature!_”), the +same criticism would be levelled at me, and it would even now meet with +the same contempt. + +When I follow out the dream thoughts closely, I ever find only _scorn_ +and _contempt_ as _correlated with the dream’s absurdity_. It is well +known that the discovery of a cracked sheep’s skull on the Lido in +Venice gave Goethe the hint for the so-called vertebral theory of the +skull. My friend plumes himself on having as a student raised a hubbub +for the resignation of an aged professor who had done good work +(including some in this very subject of comparative anatomy), but who, +on account of _decrepitude_, had become quite incapable of teaching. The +agitation my friend inspired was so successful because in the German +Universities an _age limit_ is not demanded for academic work. _Age is +no protection against folly._ In the hospital here I had for years the +honour to serve under a chief who, long fossilised, was for decades +notoriously _feeble-minded_, and was yet permitted to continue in his +responsible office. A trait, after the manner of the find in the Lido, +forces itself upon me here. It was to this man that some youthful +colleagues in the hospital adapted the then popular slang of that day: +“No Goethe has written that,” “No Schiller composed that,” etc. + + + + + VII. + + +We have not exhausted our valuation of the dream work. In addition to +condensation, displacement, and definite arrangement of the psychical +matter, we must ascribe to it yet another activity—one which is, indeed, +not shared by every dream. I shall not treat this position of the dream +work exhaustively; I will only point out that the readiest way to arrive +at a conception of it is to take for granted, probably unfairly, that it +_only subsequently influences the dream content which has already been +built up_. Its mode of action thus consists in so co-ordinating the +parts of the dream that these coalesce to a coherent whole, to a dream +composition. The dream gets a kind of façade which, it is true, does not +conceal the whole of its content. There is a sort of preliminary +explanation to be strengthened by interpolations and slight alterations. +Such elaboration of the dream content must not be too pronounced; the +misconception of the dream thoughts to which it gives rise is merely +superficial, and our first piece of work in analysing a dream is to get +rid of these early attempts at interpretation. + +The motives for this part of the dream work are easily gauged. +This final elaboration of the dream is due to a _regard for +intelligibility_—a fact at once betraying the origin of an action which +behaves towards the actual dream content just as our normal psychical +action behaves towards some proffered perception that is to our liking. +The dream content is thus secured under the pretence of certain +expectations, is perceptually classified by the supposition of its +intelligibility, thereby risking its falsification, whilst, in fact, the +most extraordinary misconceptions arise if the dream can be correlated +with nothing familiar. Everyone is aware that we are unable to look at +any series of unfamiliar signs, or to listen to a discussion of unknown +words, without at once making perpetual changes through _our regard for +intelligibility_, through our falling back upon what is familiar. + +We can call those dreams _properly made up_ which are the result of an +elaboration in every way analogous to the psychical action of our waking +life. In other dreams there is no such action; not even an attempt is +made to bring about order and meaning. We regard the dream as “quite +mad,” because on awaking it is with this last-named part of the dream +work, the dream elaboration, that we identify ourselves. So far, +however, as our analysis is concerned, the dream, which resembles a +medley of disconnected fragments, is of as much value as the one with a +smooth and beautifully polished surface. In the former case we are +spared, to some extent, the trouble of breaking down the +super-elaboration of the dream content. + +All the same, it would be an error to see in the dream façade nothing +but the misunderstood and somewhat arbitrary elaboration of the dream +carried out at the instance of our psychical life. Wishes and phantasies +are not infrequently employed in the erection of this façade, which were +already fashioned in the dream thoughts; they are akin to those of our +waking life—“day-dreams,” as they are very properly called. These wishes +and phantasies, which analysis discloses in our dreams at night, often +present themselves as repetitions and refashionings of the scenes of +infancy. Thus the dream façade may show us directly the true core of the +dream, distorted through admixture with other matter. + +Beyond these four activities there is nothing else to be discovered in +the dream work. If we keep closely to the definition that dream work +denotes the transference of dream thoughts to dream content, we are +compelled to say that the dream work is not creative; it develops no +fancies of its own, it judges nothing, decides nothing. It does nothing +but prepare the matter for condensation and displacement, and refashions +it for dramatisation, to which must be added the inconstant last-named +mechanism—that of explanatory elaboration. It is true that a good deal +is found in the dream content which might be understood as the result of +another and more intellectual performance; but analysis shows +conclusively every time that these _intellectual operations were already +present in the dream thoughts, and have only been taken over by the +dream content_. A syllogism in the dream is nothing other than the +repetition of a syllogism in the dream thoughts; it seems inoffensive if +it has been transferred to the dream without alteration; it becomes +absurd if in the dream work it has been transferred to other matter. A +calculation in the dream content simply means that there was a +calculation in the dream thoughts; whilst this is always correct, the +calculation in the dream can furnish the silliest results by the +condensation of its factors and the displacement of the same operations +to other things. Even speeches which are found in the dream content are +not new compositions; they prove to be pieced together out of speeches +which have been made or heard or read; the words are faithfully copied, +but the occasion of their utterance is quite overlooked, and their +meaning is most violently changed. + +It is, perhaps, not superfluous to support these assertions by examples: + +1. _A seemingly inoffensive, well-made dream of a patient. She was going +to market with her cook, who carried the basket. The butcher said to her +when she asked him for something: “That is all gone,” and wished to give +her something else, remarking: “That’s very good.” She declines, and +goes to the greengrocer, who wants to sell her a peculiar vegetable +which is bound up in bundles and of a black colour. She says: “I don’t +know that; I won’t take it.”_ + +The remark “That is all gone” arose from the treatment. A few days +before I said myself to the patient that the earliest reminiscences of +childhood _are all gone_ as such, but are replaced by transferences and +dreams. Thus I am the butcher. + +The second remark, “_I don’t know that_,” arose in a very different +connection. The day before she had herself called out in rebuke to the +cook (who, moreover, also appears in the dream): “_Behave yourself +properly_; I don’t know _that_”—that is, “I don’t know this kind of +behaviour; I won’t have it.” The more harmless portion of this speech +was arrived at by a displacement of the dream content; in the dream +thoughts only the other portion of the speech played a part, because the +dream work changed an imaginary situation into utter irrecognisability +and complete inoffensiveness (while in a certain sense I behave in an +unseemly way to the lady). The situation resulting in this phantasy is, +however, nothing but a new edition of one that actually took place. + +2. A dream apparently meaningless relates to figures. “_She wants to pay +something; her daughter takes three florins sixty-five kreuzers out of +her purse; but she says: ‘What are you doing? It only costs twenty-one +kreuzers.’_” + +The dreamer was a stranger who had placed her child at school in Vienna, +and who was able to continue under my treatment so long as her daughter +remained at Vienna. The day before the dream the directress of the +school had recommended her to keep the child another year at school. In +this case she would have been able to prolong her treatment by one year. +The figures in the dream become important if it be remembered that time +is money. One year equals 365 days, or, expressed in kreuzers, 365 +kreuzers, which is three florins sixty-five kreuzers. The twenty-one +kreuzers correspond with the three weeks which remained from the day of +the dream to the end of the school term, and thus to the end of the +treatment. It was obviously financial considerations which had moved the +lady to refuse the proposal of the directress, and which were answerable +for the triviality of the amount in the dream. + +3. A lady, young, but already ten years married, heard that a friend of +hers, Miss Elise L——, of about the same age, had become engaged. This +gave rise to the following dream: + +_She was sitting with her husband in the theatre; the one side of the +stalls was quite empty. Her husband tells her, Elise L—— and her fiancé +had intended coming, but could only get some cheap seats, three for one +florin fifty kreuzers, and these they would not take. In her opinion, +that would not have mattered very much._ + +The origin of the figures from the matter of the dream thoughts and the +changes the figures underwent are of interest. Whence came the one +florin fifty kreuzers? From a trifling occurrence of the previous day. +Her sister-in-law had received 150 florins as a present from her +husband, and had quickly got rid of it by buying some ornament. Note +that 150 florins is one hundred times one florin fifty kreuzers. For the +_three_ concerned with the tickets, the only link is that Elise L—— is +exactly three months younger than the dreamer. The scene in the dream is +the repetition of a little adventure for which she has often been teased +by her husband. She was once in a great hurry to get tickets in time for +a piece, and when she came to the theatre _one side of the stalls was +almost empty_. It was therefore quite unnecessary for her to have been +in _such a hurry_. Nor must we overlook the absurdity of the dream that +two persons should take three tickets for the theatre. + +Now for the dream ideas. It was _stupid_ to have married so early; _I +need not_ have been _in so great a hurry_. Elise L——’s example shows me +that I should have been able to get a husband later; indeed, one a +_hundred times better_ if I had but waited. I could have bought _three_ +such men with the money (dowry). + + + + + VIII. + + +In the foregoing exposition we have now learnt something of the dream +work; we must regard it as a quite special psychical process, which, so +far as we are aware, resembles nothing else. To the dream work has been +transferred that bewilderment which its product, the dream, has aroused +in us. In truth, the dream work is only the first recognition of a group +of psychical processes to which must be referred the origin of +hysterical symptoms, the ideas of morbid dread, obsession, and illusion. +Condensation, and especially displacement, are never-failing features in +these other processes. The regard for appearance remains, on the other +hand, peculiar to the dream work. If this explanation brings the dream +into line with the formation of psychical disease, it becomes the more +important to fathom the essential conditions of processes like dream +building. It will be probably a surprise to hear that neither the state +of sleep nor illness is among the indispensable conditions. A whole +number of phenomena of the everyday life of healthy persons, +forgetfulness, slips in speaking and in holding things, together with a +certain class of mistakes, are due to a psychical mechanism analogous to +that of the dream and the other members of this group. + +Displacement is the core of the problem, and the most striking of all +the dream performances. A thorough investigation of the subject shows +that the essential condition of displacement is purely psychological; it +is in the nature of a motive. We get on the track by thrashing out +experiences which one cannot avoid in the analysis of dreams. I had to +break off the relations of my dream thoughts in the analysis of my dream +on p. 11 because I found some experiences which I do not wish strangers +to know, and which I could not relate without serious damage to +important considerations. I added, it would be no use were I to select +another instead of that particular dream; in every dream where the +content is obscure or intricate, I should hit upon dream thoughts which +call for secrecy. If, however, I continue the analysis for myself, +without regard to those others, for whom, indeed, so personal an event +as my dream cannot matter, I arrive finally at ideas which surprise me, +which I have not known to be mine, which not only appear _foreign_ to +me, but which are _unpleasant_, and which I would like to oppose +vehemently, whilst the chain of ideas running through the analysis +intrudes upon me inexorably. I can only take these circumstances into +account by admitting that these thoughts are actually part of my +psychical life, possessing a certain psychical intensity or energy. +However, by virtue of a particular psychological condition, the +_thoughts could not become conscious to me_. I call this particular +condition “_Repression_.” It is therefore impossible for me not to +recognise some causal relationship between the obscurity of the dream +content and this state of repression—this _incapacity of consciousness_. +Whence I conclude that the cause of the obscurity is _the desire to +conceal these thoughts_. Thus I arrive at the conception of the _dream +distortion_ as the deed of the dream work, and of _displacement_ serving +to disguise this object. + +I will test this in my own dream, and ask myself, What is the thought +which, quite innocuous in its distorted form, provokes my liveliest +opposition in its real form? I remember that the free drive reminded me +of the last expensive drive with a member of my family, the +interpretation of the dream being: I should for once like to experience +affection for which I should not have to pay, and that shortly before +the dream I had to make a heavy disbursement for this very person. In +this connection, I cannot get away from the thought _that I regret this +disbursement_. It is only when I acknowledge this feeling that there is +any sense in my wishing in the dream for an affection that should entail +no outlay. And yet I can state on my honour that I did not hesitate for +a moment when it became necessary to expend that sum. The regret, the +counter-current, was unconscious to me. Why it was unconscious is quite +another question which would lead us far away from the answer which, +though within my knowledge, belongs elsewhere. + +If I subject the dream of another person instead of one of my own to +analysis, the result is the same; the motives for convincing others is, +however, changed. In the dream of a healthy person the only way for me +to enable him to accept this repressed idea is the coherence of the +dream thoughts. He is at liberty to reject this explanation. But if we +are dealing with a person suffering from any neurosis—say from +hysteria—the recognition of these repressed ideas is compulsory by +reason of their connection with the symptoms of his illness and of the +improvement resulting from exchanging the symptoms for the repressed +ideas. Take the patient from whom I got the last dream about the three +tickets for one florin fifty kreuzers. Analysis shows that she does not +think highly of her husband, that she regrets having married him, that +she would be glad to change him for someone else. It is true that she +maintains that she loves her husband, that her emotional life knows +nothing about this depreciation (a hundred times better!), but all her +symptoms lead to the same conclusion as this dream. When her repressed +memories had rewakened a certain period when she was conscious that she +did not love her husband, her symptoms disappeared, and therewith +disappeared her resistance to the interpretation of the dream. + + + + + IX. + + +This conception of repression once fixed, together with the distortion +of the dream in relation to repressed psychical matter, we are in a +position to give a general exposition of the principal results which the +analysis of dreams supplies. We learnt that the most intelligible and +meaningful dreams are unrealised desires; the desires they pictured as +realised are known to consciousness, have been held over from the +daytime, and are of absorbing interest. The analysis of obscure and +intricate dreams discloses something very similar; the dream scene again +pictures as realised some desire which regularly proceeds from the dream +ideas, but the picture is unrecognisable, and is only cleared up in the +analysis. The desire itself is either one repressed, foreign to +consciousness, or it is closely bound up with repressed ideas. The +formula for these dreams may be thus stated: _They are concealed +realisations of repressed desires._ It is interesting to note that they +are right who regard the dream as foretelling the future. Although the +future which the dream shows us is not that which will occur, but that +which we would like to occur. Folk psychology proceeds here according to +its wont; it believes what it wishes to believe. + +Dreams can be divided into three classes according to their relation +towards the realisation of desire. Firstly come those which exhibit a +_non-repressed, non-concealed desire_; these are dreams of the infantile +type, becoming ever rarer among adults. Secondly, dreams which express +in _veiled_ form some _repressed desire_; these constitute by far the +larger number of our dreams, and they require analysis for their +understanding. Thirdly, these dreams where repression exists, but +_without_ or with but slight concealment. These dreams are invariably +accompanied by a feeling of dread which brings the dream to an end. This +feeling of dread here replaces dream displacement; I regarded the dream +work as having prevented this in the dream of the second class. It is +not very difficult to prove that what is now present as intense dread in +the dream was once desire, and is now secondary to the repression. + +There are also definite dreams with a painful content, without the +presence of any anxiety in the dream. These cannot be reckoned among +dreams of dread; they have, however, always been used to prove the +unimportance and the psychical futility of dreams. An analysis of such +an example will show that it belongs to our second class of dreams—a +_perfectly concealed_ realisation of repressed desires. Analysis will +demonstrate at the same time how excellently adapted is the work of +displacement to the concealment of desires. + +A girl dreamt that she saw lying dead before her the only surviving +child of her sister amid the same surroundings as a few years before she +saw the first child lying dead. She was not sensible of any pain, but +naturally combated the view that the scene represented a desire of hers. +Nor was that view necessary. Years ago it was at the funeral of the +child that she had last seen and spoken to the man she loved. Were the +second child to die, she would be sure to meet this man again in her +sister’s house. She is longing to meet him, but struggles against this +feeling. The day of the dream she had taken a ticket for a lecture, +which announced the presence of the man she always loved. The dream is +simply a dream of impatience common to those which happen before a +journey, theatre, or simply anticipated pleasures. The longing is +concealed by the shifting of the scene to the occasion when any joyous +feeling were out of place, and yet where it did once exist. Note, +further, that the emotional behaviour in the dream is adapted, not to +the displaced, but to the real but suppressed dream ideas. The scene +anticipates the long-hoped-for meeting; there is here no call for +painful emotions. + + + + + X. + + +There has hitherto been no occasion for philosophers to bestir +themselves with a psychology of repression. We must be allowed to +construct some clear conception as to the origin of dreams as the first +steps in this unknown territory. The scheme which we have formulated not +only from a study of dreams is, it is true, already somewhat +complicated, but we cannot find any simpler one that will suffice. We +hold that our psychical apparatus contains two procedures for the +construction of thoughts. The second one has the advantage that its +products find an open path to consciousness, whilst the activity of the +first procedure is unknown to itself, and can only arrive at +consciousness through the second one. At the borderland of these two +procedures, where the first passes over into the second, a censorship is +established which only passes what pleases it, keeping back everything +else. That which is rejected by the censorship is, according to our +definition, in a state of repression. Under certain conditions, one of +which is the sleeping state, the balance of power between the two +procedures is so changed that what is repressed can no longer be kept +back. In the sleeping state this may possibly occur through the +negligence of the censor; what has been hitherto repressed will now +succeed in finding its way to consciousness. But as the censorship is +never absent, but merely off guard, certain alterations must be conceded +so as to placate it. It is a compromise which becomes conscious in this +case—a compromise between what one procedure has in view and the demands +of the other. _Repression_, _laxity of the censor_, _compromise_—this is +the foundation for the origin of many another psychological process, +just as it is for the dream. In such compromises we can observe the +processes of condensation, of displacement, the acceptance of +superficial associations, which we have found in the dream work. + +It is not for us to deny the demonic element which has played a part in +constructing our explanation of dream work. The impression left is that +the formation of obscure dreams proceeds as if a person had something to +say which must be disagreeable for another person upon whom he is +dependent to hear. It is by the use of this image that we figure to +ourselves the conception of the _dream distortion_ and of the +censorship, and ventured to crystallise our impression in a rather +crude, but at least definite, psychological theory. Whatever explanation +the future may offer of these first and second procedures, we shall +expect a confirmation of our correlate that the second procedure +commands the entrance to consciousness, and can exclude the first from +consciousness. + +Once the sleeping state overcome, the censorship resumes complete sway, +and is now able to revoke that which was granted in a moment of +weakness. That the _forgetting_ of dreams explains this in part, at +least, we are convinced by our experience, confirmed again and again. +During the relation of a dream, or during analysis of one, it not +infrequently happens that some fragment of the dream is suddenly +forgotten. This fragment so forgotten invariably contains the best and +readiest approach to an understanding of the dream. Probably that is why +it sinks into oblivion—_i.e._, into a renewed suppression. + + + + + XI. + + +Viewing the dream content as the representation of a realised desire, +and referring its vagueness to the changes made by the censor in the +repressed matter, it is no longer difficult to grasp the function of +dreams. In fundamental contrast with those saws which assume that sleep +is disturbed by dreams, we hold the _dream as the guardian of sleep_. So +far as children’s dreams are concerned, our view should find ready +acceptance. + +The sleeping state or the psychical change to sleep, whatsoever it be, +is brought about by the child being sent to sleep or compelled thereto +by fatigue, only assisted by the removal of all stimuli which might open +other objects to the psychical apparatus. The means which serve to keep +external stimuli distant are known; but what are the means we can employ +to depress the internal psychical stimuli which frustrate sleep? Look at +a mother getting her child to sleep. The child is full of beseeching; he +wants another kiss; he wants to play yet awhile. His requirements are in +part met, in part drastically put off till the following day. Clearly +these desires and needs, which agitate him, are hindrances to sleep. +Everyone knows the charming story of the bad boy (Baldwin Groller’s) who +awoke at night bellowing out, “_I want the rhinoceros_.” A really good +boy, instead of bellowing, would have _dreamt_ that he was playing with +the rhinoceros. Because the dream which realises his desire is believed +during sleep, it removes the desire and makes sleep possible. It cannot +be denied that this belief accords with the dream image, because it is +arrayed in the psychical appearance of probability; the child is without +the capacity which it will acquire later to distinguish hallucinations +or phantasies from reality. + +The adult has learnt this differentiation; he has also learnt the +futility of desire, and by continuous practice manages to postpone his +aspirations, until they can be granted in some roundabout method by a +change in the external world. For this reason it is rare for him to have +his wishes realised during sleep in the short psychical way. It is even +possible that this never happens, and that everything which appears to +us like a child’s dream demands a much more elaborate explanation. Thus +it is that for adults—for every sane person without exception—a +differentiation of the psychical matter has been fashioned which the +child knew not. A psychical procedure has been reached which, informed +by the experience of life, exercises with jealous power a dominating and +restraining influence upon psychical emotions; by its relation to +consciousness, and by its spontaneous mobility, it is endowed with the +greatest means of psychical power. A portion of the infantile emotions +has been withheld from this procedure as useless to life, and all the +thoughts which flow from these are found in the state of repression. + +Whilst the procedure in which we recognise our normal ego reposes upon +the desire for sleep, it appears compelled by the psycho-physiological +conditions of sleep to abandon some of the energy with which it was wont +during the day to keep down what was repressed. This neglect is really +harmless; however much the emotions of the child’s spirit may be +stirred, they find the approach to consciousness rendered difficult, and +that to movement blocked in consequence of the state of sleep. The +danger of their disturbing sleep must, however, be avoided. Moreover, we +must admit that even in deep sleep some amount of free attention is +exerted as a protection against sense-stimuli which might, perchance, +make an awakening seem wiser than the continuance of sleep. Otherwise we +could not explain the fact of our being always awakened by stimuli of +certain quality. As the old physiologist Burdach pointed out, the mother +is awakened by the whimpering of her child, the miller by the cessation +of his mill, most people by gently calling out their names. This +attention, thus on the alert, makes use of the internal stimuli arising +from repressed desires, and fuses them into the dream, which as a +compromise satisfies both procedures at the same time. The dream creates +a form of psychical release for the wish which is either suppressed or +formed by the aid of repression, inasmuch as it presents it as realised. +The other procedure is also satisfied, since the continuance of the +sleep is assured. Our ego here gladly behaves like a child; it makes the +dream pictures believable, saying, as it were, “Quite right, but let me +sleep.” The contempt which, once awakened, we bear the dream, and which +rests upon the absurdity and apparent illogicality of the dream, is +probably nothing but the reasoning of our sleeping ego on the feelings +about what was repressed; with greater right it should rest upon the +incompetency of this disturber of our sleep. In sleep we are now and +then aware of this contempt; the dream content transcends the censorship +rather too much, we think, “It’s only a dream,” and sleep on. + +It is no objection to this view if there are border-lines for the dream +where its function, to preserve sleep from interruption, can no longer +be maintained—as in the dreams of impending dread. It is here changed +for another function—to suspend the sleep at the proper time. It acts +like a conscientious night-watchman, who first does his duty by quelling +disturbances so as not to waken the citizen, but equally does his duty +quite properly when he awakens the street should the causes of the +trouble seem to him serious and himself unable to cope with them alone. + +This function of dreams becomes especially well marked when there arises +some incentive for the sense perception. That the senses aroused during +sleep influence the dream is well known, and can be experimentally +verified; it is one of the certain but much overestimated results of the +medical investigation of dreams. Hitherto there has been an insoluble +riddle connected with this discovery. The stimulus to the sense by which +the investigator affects the sleeper is not properly recognised in the +dream, but is intermingled with a number of indefinite interpretations, +whose determination appears left to psychical free-will. There is, of +course, no such psychical free-will. To an external sense-stimulus the +sleeper can react in many ways. Either he awakens or he succeeds in +sleeping on. In the latter case he can make use of the dream to dismiss +the external stimulus, and this, again, in more ways than one. For +instance, he can stay the stimulus by dreaming of a scene which is +absolutely intolerable to him. This was the means used by one who was +troubled by a painful perineal abscess. He dreamt that he was on +horseback, and made use of the poultice, which was intended to alleviate +his pain, as a saddle, and thus got away from the cause of the trouble. +Or, as is more frequently the case, the external stimulus undergoes a +new rendering, which leads him to connect it with a repressed desire +seeking its realisation, and robs him of its reality, and is treated as +if it were a part of the psychical matter. Thus, someone dreamt that he +had written a comedy which embodied a definite _motif_; it was being +performed; the first act was over amid enthusiastic applause; there was +great clapping. At this moment the dreamer must have succeeded in +prolonging his sleep despite the disturbance, for when he woke he no +longer heard the noise; he concluded rightly that someone must have been +beating a carpet or bed. The dreams which come with a loud noise just +before waking have all attempted to cover the stimulus to waking by some +other explanation, and thus to prolong the sleep for a little while. + + + + + XII. + + +Whosoever has firmly accepted this _censorship_ as the chief motive for +the distortion of dreams will not be surprised to learn as the result of +dream interpretation that most of the dreams of adults are traced by +analysis to erotic desires. This assertion is not drawn from dreams +obviously of a sexual nature, which are known to all dreamers from their +own experience, and are the only ones usually described as “sexual +dreams.” These dreams are ever sufficiently mysterious by reason of the +choice of persons who are made the objects of sex, the removal of all +the barriers which cry halt to the dreamer’s sexual needs in his waking +state, the many strange reminders as to details of what are called +perversions. But analysis discovers that, in many other dreams in whose +manifest content nothing erotic can be found, the work of interpretation +shows them up as, in reality, realisation of sexual desires; whilst, on +the other hand, that much of the thought-making when awake, the thoughts +saved us as surplus from the day only, reaches presentation in dreams +with the help of repressed erotic desires. + +Towards the explanation of this statement, which is no theoretical +postulate, it must be remembered that no other class of instincts has +required so vast a suppression at the behest of civilisation as the +sexual, whilst their mastery by the highest psychical processes are in +most persons soonest of all relinquished. Since we have learnt to +understand _infantile sexuality_, often so vague in its expression, so +invariably overlooked and misunderstood, we are justified in saying that +nearly every civilised person has retained at some point or other the +infantile type of sex life; thus we understand that repressed infantile +sex desires furnish the most frequent and most powerful impulses for the +formation of dreams.[3] + +Footnote 3: + + Freud, “Three Contributions to Sexual Theory,” translated by A. A. + Brill (_Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease_ Publishing Company, New + York). + +If the dream, which is the expression of some erotic desire, succeeds in +making its manifest content appear innocently asexual, it is only +possible in one way. The matter of these sexual presentations cannot be +exhibited as such, but must be replaced by allusions, suggestions, and +similar indirect means; differing from other cases of indirect +presentation, those used in dreams must be deprived of direct +understanding. The means of presentation which answer these requirements +are commonly termed “symbols.” A special interest has been directed +towards these, since it has been observed that the dreamers of the same +language use the like symbols—indeed, that in certain cases community of +symbol is greater than community of speech. Since the dreamers do not +themselves know the meaning of the symbols they use, it remains a puzzle +whence arises their relationship with what they replace and denote. The +fact itself is undoubted, and becomes of importance for the technique of +the interpretation of dreams, since by the aid of a knowledge of this +symbolism it is possible to understand the meaning of the elements of a +dream, or parts of a dream, occasionally even the whole dream itself, +without having to question the dreamer as to his own ideas. We thus come +near to the popular idea of an interpretation of dreams, and, on the +other hand, possess again the technique of the ancients, among whom the +interpretation of dreams was identical with their explanation through +symbolism. + +Though the study of dream symbolism is far removed from finality, we now +possess a series of general statements and of particular observations +which are quite certain. There are symbols which practically always have +the same meaning: Emperor and Empress (King and Queen) always mean the +parents; room, a woman,[4] and so on. The sexes are represented by a +great variety of symbols, many of which would be at first quite +incomprehensible had not the clues to the meaning been often obtained +through other channels. + +Footnote 4: + + The words from “and” to “channels” in the next sentence is a short + summary of the passage in the original. As this book will be read by + other than professional people the passage has not been translated, in + deference to English opinion.—TRANSLATOR. + +There are symbols of universal circulation, found in all dreamers, of +one range of speech and culture; there are others of the narrowest +individual significance which an individual has built up out of his own +material. In the first class those can be differentiated whose claim can +be at once recognised by the replacement of sexual things in common +speech (those, for instance, arising from agriculture, as reproduction, +seed) from others whose sexual references appear to reach back to the +earliest times and to the obscurest depths of our image-building. The +power of building symbols in both these special forms of symbols has not +died out. Recently discovered things, like the airship, are at once +brought into universal use as sex symbols. + +It would be quite an error to suppose that a profounder knowledge of +dream symbolism (the “Language of Dreams”) would make us independent of +questioning the dreamer regarding his impressions about the dream, and +would give us back the whole technique of ancient dream interpreters. +Apart from individual symbols and the variations in the use of what is +general, one never knows whether an element in the dream is to be +understood symbolically or in its proper meaning; the whole content of +the dream is certainly not to be interpreted symbolically. The knowledge +of dream symbols will only help us in understanding portions of the +dream content, and does not render the use of the technical rules +previously given at all superfluous. But it must be of the greatest +service in interpreting a dream just when the impressions of the dreamer +are withheld or are insufficient. + +Dream symbolism proves also indispensable for understanding the +so-called “typical” dreams and the dreams that “repeat themselves.” If +the value of the symbolism of dreams has been so incompletely set out in +this brief portrayal, this attempt will be corrected by reference to a +point of view which is of the highest import in this connection. Dream +symbolism leads us far beyond the dream; it does not belong only to +dreams, but is likewise dominant in legend, myth, and saga, in wit and +in folklore. It compels us to pursue the inner meaning of the dream in +these productions. But we must acknowledge that symbolism is not a +result of the dream work, but is a peculiarity probably of our +unconscious thinking, which furnishes to the dream work the matter for +condensation, displacement, and dramatisation. + + + + + XIII. + + +I disclaim all pretension to have thrown light here upon all the +problems of the dream, or to have dealt convincingly with everything +here touched upon. If anyone is interested in the whole of dream +literature, I refer him to the works of Sante de Sanctis (I sogni, +Turin, 1899). For a more complete investigation of my conception of the +dream, my work should be consulted: “Die Traumdeutung,” Leipzig and +Vienna, third edition, 1911.[5] I will only point out in what direction +my exposition on dream work should be followed up. + +Footnote 5: + + Freud, “The Interpretation of Dreams,” third edition, translated by A. + A. Brill. London: George Allen and Company, Ltd. + +If I posit as the problem of dream interpretation the replacement of the +dream by its latent ideas—that is, the resolution of that which the +dream work has woven—I raise a series of new psychological problems +which refer to the mechanism of this dream work as well as to the nature +and the conditions of this so-called repression. On the other hand, I +claim the existence of dream thoughts as a very valuable foundation for +psychical construction of the highest order, provided with all the signs +of normal intellectual performance. This matter is, however, removed +from consciousness until it is rendered in the distorted form of the +dream content. I am compelled to believe that all persons have such +ideas, since nearly all, even the most normal, can have dreams. To the +unconsciousness of dream ideas, or their relationship to consciousness +and to repression, are linked questions of the greatest psychological +importance. Their solution must be postponed until the analysis of the +origin of other psychopathic growths, such as the symptoms of hysteria +and of obsessions, has been made clear. + + + + + LITERATURE + + +For a completer study of Dream Symbolism, consult the work of +Artemidorus Daldianus: The Interpretation of Dreams. Rendered into +English by “R. W.”—_i.e._, Robert Wood. The fourth edition, newly +written. B. L., London, 1644. The last edition was published in 1786. + + SCHERNER, R. A. Das Leben des Traumes. Berlin, 1861. + + FREUD. The Interpretation of Dreams. + +For the symbolism of legend, myth, and saga compared with dreams, see— + + ABRAHAM, KARL. Traum und Mythus. + + RANK, OTTO. Der Mythus von der Geburt des Helden. + + RIKLIN, F. Wunscherfüllung und Symbolik im Märchen. + +These three works are published by Franz Deuticke, Vienna. + +English translations are ready, or are in preparation. + +Recent literature will be found in— + + Jahrbuch für Psychoanalytische und Psychopathologische Forschungen: + Franz Deuticke. + + Internationale Zeitschrift für Ärztliche Psychoanalyse; and Imago + (both published by Hugo Heller and Co., Vienna). + + + BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75333 *** |