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The Interpretation of Dreams Chapter 1 - H. The Relation between Dreams and Mental Diseases Psychology
II. THE METHOD OF DREAM INTERPRETATION
The Analysis of a Specimen Dream
THE epigraph on the title-page of this volume indicates the tradition to which I
prefer to ally myself in my conception of the dream. I am proposing to show that
dreams are capable of interpretation; and any contributions to the solution of
the problems which have already been discussed will emerge only as possible
by-products in the accomplishment of my special task. On the hypothesis that
dreams are susceptible of interpretation, I at once find myself in disagreement
with the prevailing doctrine of dreams- in fact, with all the theories of
dreams, excepting only that of Scherner, for to interpret a dream is to specify
its meaning, to replace it by something which takes its position in the
concatenation of our psychic activities as a link of definite importance and
value. But, as we have seen, the scientific theories of the dream leave no room
for a problem of dream- interpretation; since, in the first place, according to
these theories, dreaming is not a psychic activity at all, but a somatic process
which makes itself known to the psychic apparatus by means of symbols. Lay
opinion has always been opposed to these theories. It asserts its privilege of
proceeding illogically, and although it admits that dreams are incomprehensible
and absurd, it cannot summon up the courage to deny that dreams have any
significance. Led by a dim intuition, it seems rather to assume that dreams have
a meaning, albeit a hidden one; that they are intended as a substitute for some
other thought-process, and that we have only to disclose this substitute
correctly in order to discover the hidden meaning of the dream.
The unscientific world, therefore, has always endeavoured to interpret dreams,
and by applying one or the other of two essentially different methods. The first
of these methods envisages the dream-content as a whole, and seeks to replace it
by another content, which is intelligible and in certain respects analogous.
This is symbolic dream-interpretation; and of course it goes to pieces at the
very outset in the case of those dreams which are not only unintelligible but
confused. The construction which the biblical Joseph placed upon the dream of
Pharaoh furnishes an example of this method. The seven fat kine, after which
came seven lean ones that devoured the former, were a symbolic substitute for
seven years of famine in the land of Egypt, which according to the prediction
were to consume all the surplus that seven fruitful years had produced. Most of
the artificial dreams contrived by the poets * are intended for some such
symbolic interpretation, for they reproduce the thought conceived by the poet in
a guise not unlike the disguise which we are wont to find in our dreams.
* In a novel Gradiva, by the poet W. Jensen, I chanced to discover several
fictitious dreams, which were perfectly correct in their construction, and could
be interpreted as though they had not been invented, but had been dreamt by
actual persons. The poet declared, upon my inquiry, that he was unacquainted
with my theory of dreams. I have made use of this agreement between my
investigations and the creations of the poet as a proof of the correctness of my
method of dream-analysis (Der Wahn und die Traume in W. Jenson's Gradiva, vol. i
of the Schriften zur angewandten Seelenkunde, 1906, edited by myself, Ges.
Schriften, vol. ix).
The idea that the dream concerns itself chiefly with the future, whose form it
surmises in advance- a relic of the prophetic significance with which dreams
were once invested- now becomes the motive for translating into the future the
meaning of the dream which has been found by means of symbolic interpretation.
A demonstration of the manner in which one arrives at such a symbolic
interpretation cannot, of course, be given. Success remains a matter of
ingenious conjecture, of direct intuition, and for this reason
dream-interpretation has naturally been elevated into an art which seems to
depend upon extraordinary gifts. * The second of the two popular methods of
dream- interpretation entirely abandons such claims. It might be described as
the cipher method, since it treats the dream as a kind of secret code in which
every sign is translated into another sign of known meaning, according to an
established key. For example, I have dreamt of a letter, and also of a funeral
or the like; I consult a "dream-book," and I find that "letter" is to be
translated by "vexation" and "funeral" by "engagement." It now remains to
establish a connection, which I am again to assume as pertaining to the future,
by means of the rigmarole which I have deciphered. An interesting variant of
this cipher procedure, a variant in which its character of purely mechanical
transference is to a certain extent corrected, is presented in the work on
dream-interpretation by Artemidoros of Daldis. *(2) Here not only the
dream-content, but also the personality and social position of the dreamer are
taken into consideration, so that the same dream-content has a significance for
the rich man, the married man, or the orator, which is different from that which
applies to the poor man, the bachelor, or, let us say, the merchant. The
essential point, then, in this procedure is that the work of interpretation is
not applied to the entirety of the dream, but to each portion of the
dream-content severally, as though the dream were a conglomerate in which each
fragment calls for special treatment. Incoherent and confused dreams are
certainly those that have been responsible for the invention of the cipher
method. *(3)
* Aristotle expressed himself in this connection by saying that the best
interpreter of dreams is he who can best grasp similarities. For dream-pictures,
like pictures in water, are disfigured by the motion (of the water), so that he
hits the target best who is able to recognize the true picture in the distorted
one (Buchsenschutz, p. 65).
*(2) Artemidoros of Daldis, born probably in the beginning of the second century
of our calendar, has furnished us with the most complete and careful elaboration
of dream-interpretation as it existed in the Graeco-Roman world. As Gompertz has
emphasized, he ascribed great importance to the consideration that dreams ought
to be interpreted on the basis of observation and experience, and he drew a
definite line between his own art and other methods, which he considered
fraudulent. The principle of his art of interpretation is, according to Gompertz,
identical with that of magic: i.e., the principle of association. The thing
dreamed meant what it recalled to the memory- to the memory, of course, of the
dream-interpreter! This fact- that the dream may remind the interpreter of
various things, and every interpreter of different things- leads, of course, to
uncontrollable arbitrariness and uncertainty. The technique which I am about to
describe differs from that of the ancients in one essential point, namely, in
that it imposes upon the dreamer himself the work of interpretation. Instead of
taking into account whatever may occur to the dream-interpreter, it considers
only what occurs to the dreamer in connection with the dream-element concerned.
According to the recent records of the missionary, Tfinkdjit (Anthropos, 1913),
it would seem that the modern dream- interpreters of the Orient likewise
attribute much importance to the co-operation of the dreamer. Of the
dream-interpreters among the Mesopotamian Arabs this writer relates as follows:
"Pour interpreter exactement un songe les oniromanciens les plus habiles
s'informent de ceux qui les consultent de toutes les circonstances qu'ils
regardent necessaires pour la bonne explication.... En un mot, nos oniromanciens
ne laissent aucune circonstance leur echapper et ne donnent l'interpretation
desiree avant d'avoir parfaitement saisi et recu toutes les interrogations
desirables." [To interpret a dream exactly, the most practised interpreters of
dreams learn from those who consult them all circumstances which they regard as
necessary for a good explanation.... In a word, our interpreters allow no
circumstance to be overlooked and do not give the desired interpretation before
perfectly taking and apprehending all desirable questions.] Among these
questions one always finds demands for precise information in respect to near
relatives (parents, wife, children) as well as the following formula: habistine
in hoc nocte copulam conjugalem ante vel post somnium [Did you this night have
conjugal copulation before or after the dream?] "L'idee dominante dans
l'interpretation des songes consiste a expliquer le reve par son oppose." [The
dominant idea in the interpretation of dreams consists in explaining the dream
by its opposite.]
*(3) Dr. Alfred Robitsek calls my attention to the fact that Oriental
dream-books, of which ours are pitiful plagiarisms, commonly undertake the
interpretation of dream-elements in accordance with the assonance and similarity
of words. Since these relationships must be lost by translation into our
language, the incomprehensibility of the equivalents in our popular
"dream-books" is hereby explained. Information as to the extraordinary
significance of puns and the play upon words in the old Oriental cultures may be
found in the writings of Hugo Winckler. The finest example of a
dream-interpretation which has come down to us from antiquity is based on a play
upon words. Artemidoros relates the following (p. 225): "But it seems to me that
Aristandros gave a most happy interpretation to Alexander of Macedon. When the
latter held Tyros encompassed and in a state of siege, and was angry and
depressed over the great waste of time, he dreamed that he saw a Satyr dancing
on his shield. It happened that Aristandros was in the neighbourhood of Tyros,
and in the escort of the king, who was waging war on the Syrians. By dividing
the word Satyros into sa and turos, he induced the king to become more
aggressive in the siege. And thus Alexander became master of the city." (Sa
Turos = Thine is Tyros.) The dream, indeed, is so intimately connected with
verbal expression that Ferenczi justly remarks that every tongue has its own
dream- language. A dream is, as a rule, not to be translated into other
languages.
The worthlessness of both these popular methods of interpretation does not admit
of discussion. As regards the scientific treatment of the subject, the symbolic
method is limited in its application, and is not susceptible of a general
exposition. In the cipher method everything depends upon whether the key, the
dream-book, is reliable, and for that all guarantees are lacking. So that one
might be tempted to grant the contention of the philosophers and psychiatrists,
and to dismiss the problem of dream-interpretation as altogether fanciful. *
* After the completion of my manuscript, a paper by Stumpf came to my notice
which agrees with my work in attempting to prove that the dream is full of
meaning and capable of interpretation. But the interpretation is undertaken by
means of an allegorizing symbolism, and there is no guarantee that the procedure
is generally applicable.
I have, however, come to think differently. I have been forced to perceive that
here, once more, we have one of those not infrequent cases where an ancient and
stubbornly retained popular belief seems to have come nearer to the truth of the
matter than the opinion of modern science. I must insist that the dream actually
does possess a meaning, and that a scientific method of dream-interpretation is
possible. I arrived at my knowledge of this method in the following manner:
For years I have been occupied with the resolution of certain
psycho-pathological structures- hysterical phobias, obsessional ideas, and the
like- with therapeutic intentions. I have been so occupied, in fact, ever since
I heard the significant statement of Joseph Breuer, to the effect that in these
structures, regarded as morbid symptoms, solution and treatment go hand in hand.
* Where it has been possible to trace a pathological idea back to those elements
in the psychic life of the patient to which it owed its origin, this idea has
crumbled away, and the patient has been relieved of it. In view of the failure
of our other therapeutic efforts, and in the face of the mysterious character of
these pathological conditions, it seemed to me tempting, in spite of all the
difficulties, to follow the method initiated by Breuer until a complete
elucidation of the subject had been achieved. I shall have occasion elsewhere to
give a detailed account of the form which the technique of this procedure has
finally assumed, and of the results of my efforts. In the course of these
psycho-analytic studies, I happened upon the question of dream-interpretation.
My patients, after I had pledged them to inform me of all the ideas and thoughts
which occurred to them in connection with a given theme, related their dreams,
and thus taught me that a dream may be interpolated in the psychic
concatenation, which may be followed backwards from a pathological idea into the
patient's memory. The next step was to treat the dream itself as a symptom, and
to apply to it the method of interpretation which had been worked out for such
symptoms.
* Studien uber Hysterie, 1895. [Compare page 26 above.]
For this a certain psychic preparation on the part of the patient is necessary.
A twofold effort is made, to stimulate his attentiveness in respect of his
psychic perceptions, and to eliminate the critical spirit in which he is
ordinarily in the habit of viewing such thoughts as come to the surface. For the
purpose of self-observation with concentrated attention it is advantageous that
the patient should take up a restful position and close his eyes; he must be
explicitly instructed to renounce all criticism of the thought-formations which
he may perceive. He must also be told that the success of the psycho-analysis
depends upon his noting and communicating everything that passes through his
mind, and that he must not allow himself to suppress one idea because it seems
to him unimportant or irrelevant to the subject, or another because it seems
nonsensical. He must preserve an absolute impartiality in respect to his ideas;
for if he is unsuccessful in finding the desired solution of the dream, the
obsessional idea, or the like, it will be because he permits himself to be
critical of them.
I have noticed in the course of my psycho-analytical work that the psychological
state of a man in an attitude of reflection is entirely different from that of a
man who is observing his psychic processes. In reflection there is a greater
play of psychic activity than in the most attentive self-observation; this is
shown even by the tense attitude and the wrinkled brow of the man in a state of
reflection, as opposed to the mimic tranquillity of the man observing himself.
In both cases there must be concentrated attention, but the reflective man makes
use of his critical faculties, with the result that he rejects some of the
thoughts which rise into consciousness after he has become aware of them, and
abruptly interrupts others, so that he does not follow the lines of thought
which they would otherwise open up for him; while in respect of yet other
thoughts he is able to behave in such a manner that they do not become conscious
at all- that is to say, they are suppressed before they are perceived. In
self-observation, on the other hand, he has but one task- that of suppressing
criticism; if he succeeds in doing this, an unlimited number of thoughts enter
his consciousness which would otherwise have eluded his grasp. With the aid of
the material thus obtained- material which is new to the self-observer- it is
possible to achieve the interpretation of pathological ideas, and also that of
dream-formations. As will be seen, the point is to induce a psychic state which
is in some degree analogous, as regards the distribution of psychic energy
(mobile attention), to the state of the mind before falling asleep- and also, of
course, to the hypnotic state. On falling asleep the undesired ideas emerge,
owing to the slackening of a certain arbitrary (and, of course, also critical)
action, which is allowed to influence the trend of our ideas; we are accustomed
to speak of fatigue as the reason of this slackening; the emerging undesired
ideas are changed into visual and auditory images. In the condition which it
utilized for the analysis of dreams and pathological ideas, this activity is
purposely and deliberately renounced, and the psychic energy thus saved (or some
part of it) is employed in attentively tracking the undesired thoughts which now
come to the surface- thoughts which retain their identity as ideas (in which the
condition differs from the state of falling asleep). Undesired ideas are thus
changed into desired ones.
There are many people who do not seem to find it easy to adopt the required
attitude toward the apparently "freely rising" ideas, and to renounce the
criticism which is otherwise applied to them. The "undesired ideas" habitually
evoke the most violent resistance, which seeks to prevent them from coming to
the surface. But if we may credit our great poet-philosopher Friedrich Schiller,
the essential condition of poetical creation includes a very similar attitude.
In a certain passage in his correspondence with Korner (for the tracing of which
we are indebted to Otto Rank), Schiller replies in the following words to a
friend who complains of his lack of creative power: "The reason for your
complaint lies, it seems to me, in the constraint which your intellect imposes
upon your imagination. Here I will make an observation, and illustrate it by an
allegory. Apparently it is not good- and indeed it hinders the creative work of
the mind- if the intellect examines too closely the ideas already pouring in, as
it were, at the gates. Regarded in isolation, an idea may be quite
insignificant, and venturesome in the extreme, but it may acquire importance
from an idea which follows it; perhaps, in a certain collocation with other
ideas, which may seem equally absurd, it may be capable of furnishing a very
serviceable link. The intellect cannot judge all these ideas unless it can
retain them until it has considered them in connection with these other ideas.
In the case of a creative mind, it seems to me, the intellect has withdrawn its
watchers from the gates, and the ideas rush in pell-mell, and only then does it
review and inspect the multitude. You worthy critics, or whatever you may call
yourselves, are ashamed or afraid of the momentary and passing madness which is
found in all real creators, the longer or shorter duration of which
distinguishes the thinking artist from the dreamer. Hence your complaints of
unfruitfulness, for you reject too soon and discriminate too severely" (letter
of December 1, 1788).
And yet, such a withdrawal of the watchers from the gates of the intellect, as
Schiller puts it, such a translation into the condition of uncritical
self-observation, is by no means difficult.
Most of my patients accomplish it after my first instructions. I myself can do
so very completely, if I assist the process by writing down the ideas that flash
through my mind. The quantum of psychic energy by which the critical activity is
thus reduced, and by which the intensity of self-observation may be increased,
varies considerably according to the subject-matter upon which the attention is
to be fixed.
The first step in the application of this procedure teaches us that one cannot
make the dream as a whole the object of one's attention, but only the individual
components of its content. If I ask a patient who is as yet unpractised: "What
occurs to you in connection with this dream?" he is unable, as a rule, to fix
upon anything in his psychic field of vision. I must first dissect the dream for
him; then, in connection with each fragment, he gives me a number of ideas which
may be described as the thoughts behind this part of the dream. In this first
and important condition, then, the method of dream-interpretation which I employ
diverges from the popular, historical and legendary method of interpretation by
symbolism and approaches more nearly to the second or cipher method. Like this,
it is an interpretation in detail, not en masse; like this, it conceives the
dream, from the outset, as something built up, as a conglomerate of psychic
formations.
In the course of my psycho-analysis of neurotics I have already subjected
perhaps more than a thousand dreams to interpretation, but I do not wish to use
this material now as an introduction to the theory and technique of
dream-interpretation. For quite apart from the fact that I should lay myself
open to the objection that these are the dreams of neuropaths, so that the
conclusions drawn from them would not apply to the dreams of healthy persons,
there is another reason that impels me to reject them. The theme to which these
dreams point is, of course, always the history of the malady that is responsible
for the neurosis. Hence every dream would require a very long introduction, and
an investigation of the nature and aetiological conditions of the
psychoneuroses, matters which are in themselves novel and exceedingly strange,
and which would therefore distract attention from the dream- problem proper. My
purpose is rather to prepare the way, by the solution of the dream-problem, for
the solution of the more difficult problems of the psychology of the neuroses.
But if I eliminate the dreams of neurotics, which constitute my principal
material, I cannot be too fastidious in my treatment of the rest. Only those
dreams are left which have been incidentally related to me by healthy persons of
my acquaintance, or which I find given as examples in the literature of
dream-life. Unfortunately, in all these dreams I am deprived of the analysis
without which I cannot find the meaning of the dream. My mode of procedure is,
of course, less easy than that of the popular cipher method, which translates
the given dream-content by reference to an established key; I, on the contrary,
hold that the same dream-content may conceal a different meaning in the case of
different persons, or in different connections. I must, therefore, resort to my
own dreams as a source of abundant and convenient material, furnished by a
person who is more or less normal, and containing references to many incidents
of everyday life. I shall certainly be confronted with doubts as to the
trustworthiness of these self- analyses and it will be said that arbitrariness
is by no means excluded in such analyses. In my own judgment, conditions are
more likely to be favourable in self-observation than in the observation of
others; in any case, it is permissible to investigate how much can be
accomplished in the matter of dream- interpretation by means of self-analysis.
There are other difficulties which must be overcome in my own inner self. One
has a comprehensible aversion to exposing so many intimate details of one's own
psychic life, and one does not feel secure against the misinterpretations of
strangers. But one must be able to transcend such considerations. "Tout
psychologiste," writes Delboeuf, "est oblige de faire l'aveu meme de ses
faiblesses s'il croit par la jeter du jour sur quelque probleme obscur." * And I
may assume for the reader that his initial interest in the indiscretions which I
must commit will very soon give way to an exclusive engrossment in the
psychological problems elucidated by them.' *(2)
* Every psychologist is obliged to admit even his own weaknesses, if he thinks
by that he may throw light on a difficult problem.
*(2) However, I will not omit to mention, in qualification of the above
statement, that I have practically never reported a complete interpretation of a
dream of my own. And I was probably right not to trust too far to the reader's
discretion.
I shall therefore select one of my own dreams for the purpose of elucidating my
method of interpretation. Every such dream necessitates a preliminary statement;
so that I must now beg the reader to make my interests his own for a time, and
to become absorbed, with me, in the most trifling details of my life; for an
interest in the hidden significance of dreams imperatively demands just such a
transference.
PRELIMINARY STATEMENT
In the summer of 1895 I had treated psycho-analytically a young lady who was an
intimate friend of mine and of my family. It will be understood that such
complicated relations may excite manifold feelings in the physician, and
especially the psychotherapist. The personal interest of the physician is
greater, but his authority less. If he fails, his friendship with the patient's
relatives is in danger of being undermined. In this case, however, the treatment
ended in partial success; the patient was cured of her hysterical anxiety, but
not of all her somatic symptoms. At that time I was not yet quite sure of the
criteria which denote the final cure of an hysterical case, and I expected her
to accept a solution which did not seem acceptable to her. In the midst of this
disagreement, we discontinued the treatment for the summer holidays. One day a
younger colleague, one of my most intimate friends, who had visited the patient-
Irma- and her family in their country residence, called upon me. I asked him how
Irma was, and received the reply: "She is better, but not quite well." I realize
that these words of my friend Otto's, or the tone of voice in which they were
spoken, annoyed me. I thought I heard a reproach in the words, perhaps to the
effect that I had promised the patient too much, and- rightly or wrongly- I
attributed Otto's apparent taking sides against me to the influence of the
patient's relatives, who, I assumed, had never approved of my treatment. This
disagreeable impression, however, did not become clear to me, nor did I speak of
it. That same evening I wrote the clinical history of Irma's case, in order to
give it, as though to justify myself, to Dr. M, a mutual friend, who was at that
time the leading personality in our circle. During the night (or rather in the
early morning) I had the following dream, which I recorded immediately after
waking. * -
* This is the first dream which I subjected to an exhaustive interpretation.
DREAM OF JULY 23- 24, 1895
A great hall- a number of guests, whom we are receiving- among them Irma, whom I
immediately take aside, as though to answer her letter, and to reproach her for
not yet accepting the "solution." I say to her: "If you still have pains, it is
really only your own fault."- She answers: "If you only knew what pains I have
now in the throat, stomach, and abdomen- I am choked by them." I am startled,
and look at her. She looks pale and puffy. I think that after all I must be
overlooking some organic affection. I take her to the window and look into her
throat. She offers some resistance to this, like a woman who has a set of false
teeth. I think, surely, she doesn't need them.- The mouth then opens wide, and I
find a large white spot on the right, and elsewhere I see extensive
grayish-white scabs adhering to curiously curled formations, which are evidently
shaped like the turbinal bones of the nose.- I quickly call Dr. M, who repeats
the examination and confirms it.... Dr. M looks quite unlike his usual self; he
is very pale, he limps, and his chin is clean-shaven.... Now my friend Otto,
too, is standing beside her, and my friend Leopold percusses her covered chest,
and says "She has a dullness below, on the left," and also calls attention to an
infiltrated portion of skin on the left shoulder (which I can feel, in spite of
the dress).... M says: "There's no doubt that it's an infection, but it doesn't
matter; dysentery will follow and the poison will be eliminated." ... We know,
too, precisely how the infection originated. My friend Otto, not long ago, gave
her, when she was feeling unwell, an injection of a preparation of propyl...
propyls... propionic acid... trimethylamin (the formula of which I see before
me, printed in heavy type).... One doesn't give such injections so rashly....
Probably, too, the syringe was not clean.
This dream has an advantage over many others. It is at once obvious to what
events of the preceding day it is related, and of what subject it treats. The
preliminary statement explains these matters. The news of Irma's health which I
had received from Otto, and the clinical history, which I was writing late into
the night, had occupied my psychic activities even during sleep. Nevertheless,
no one who had read the preliminary report, and had knowledge of the content of
the dream, could guess what the dream signified. Nor do I myself know. I am
puzzled by the morbid symptoms of which Irma complains in the dream, for they
are not the symptoms for which I treated her. I smile at the nonsensical idea of
an injection of propionic acid, and at Dr. M's attempt at consolation. Towards
the end the dream seems more obscure and quicker in tempo than at the beginning.
In order to learn the significance of all these details I resolve to undertake
an exhaustive analysis.
Analysis
The hall- a number of guests, whom we are receiving. We were living that summer
at Bellevue, an isolated house on one of the hills adjoining the Kahlenberg.
This house was originally built as a place of entertainment, and therefore has
unusually lofty, hall-like rooms. The dream was dreamed in Bellevue, a few days
before my wife's birthday. During the day my wife had mentioned that she
expected several friends, and among them Irma, to come to us as guests for her
birthday. My dream, then, anticipates this situation: It is my wife's birthday,
and we are receiving a number of people, among them Irma, as guests in the large
hall of Bellevue.
I reproach Irma for not having accepted the "solution." I say, "If you still
have pains, it is really your own fault." I might even have said this while
awake; I may have actually said it. At that time I was of the opinion
(recognized later to be incorrect) that my task was limited to informing
patients of the hidden meaning of their symptoms. Whether they then accepted or
did not accept the solution upon which success depended- for that I was not
responsible. I am grateful to this error, which, fortunately, has now been
overcome, since it made life easier for me at a time when, with all my
unavoidable ignorance, I was expected to effect successful cures. But I note
that, in the speech which I make to Irma in the dream, I am above all anxious
that I shall not be blamed for the pains which she still suffers. If it is
Irma's own fault, it cannot be mine. Should the purpose of the dream be looked
for in this quarter?
Irma's complaints- pains in the neck, abdomen, and stomach; she is choked by
them. Pains in the stomach belonged to the symptom- complex of my patient, but
they were not very prominent; she complained rather of qualms and a feeling of
nausea. Pains in the neck and abdomen and constriction of the throat played
hardly any part in her case. I wonder why I have decided upon this choice of
symptoms in the dream; for the moment I cannot discover the reason.
She looks pale and puffy. My patient had always a rosy complexion. I suspect
that here another person is being substituted for her.
I am startled at the idea that I may have overlooked some organic affection.
This, as the reader will readily believe, is a constant fear with the specialist
who sees neurotics almost exclusively, and who is accustomed to ascribe to
hysteria so many manifestations which other physicians treat as organic. On the
other hand, I am haunted by a faint doubt- I do not know whence it comes-
whether my alarm is altogether honest. If Irma's pains are indeed of organic
origin, it is not my duty to cure them. My treatment, of course, removes only
hysterical pains. It seems to me, in fact, that I wish to find an error in the
diagnosis; for then I could not be reproached with failure to effect a cure.
I take her to the window in order to look into her throat. She resists a little,
like a woman who has false teeth. I think to myself, she does not need them. I
had never had occasion to inspect Irma's oral cavity. The incident in the dream
reminds me of an examination, made some time before, of a governess who at first
produced an impression of youthful beauty, but who, upon opening her mouth, took
certain measures to conceal her denture. Other memories of medical examinations,
and of petty secrets revealed by them, to the embarrassment of both physician
and patient, associate themselves with this case.- "She surely does not need
them," is perhaps in the first place a compliment to Irma; but I suspect yet
another meaning. In a careful analysis one is able to feel whether or not the
arriere-pensees which are to be expected have all been exhausted. The way in
which Irma stands at the window suddenly reminds me of another experience. Irma
has an intimate woman friend of whom I think very highly. One evening, on paying
her a visit, I found her at the window in the position reproduced in the dream,
and her physician, the same Dr. M, declared that she had a diphtheritic
membrane. The person of Dr. M and the membrane return, indeed, in the course of
the dream. Now it occurs to me that during the past few months I have had every
reason to suppose that this lady too is hysterical. Yes, Irma herself betrayed
the fact to me. But what do I know of her condition? Only the one thing, that
like Irma in the dream she suffers from hysterical choking. Thus, in the dream I
have replaced my patient by her friend. Now I remember that I have often played
with the supposition that this lady, too, might ask me to relieve her of her
symptoms. But even at the time I thought it improbable, since she is extremely
reserved. She resists, as the dream shows. Another explanation might be that she
does not need it; in fact, until now she has shown herself strong enough to
master her condition without outside help. Now only a few features remain, which
I can assign neither to Irma nor to her friend; pale, puffy, false teeth. The
false teeth led me to the governess; I now feel inclined to be satisfied with
bad teeth. Here another person, to whom these features may allude, occurs to me.
She is not my patient, and I do not wish her to be my patient, for I have
noticed that she is not at her ease with me, and I do not consider her a docile
patient. She is generally pale, and once, when she had not felt particularly
well, she was puffy. * I have thus compared my patient Irma with two others, who
would likewise resist treatment. What is the meaning of the fact that I have
exchanged her for her friend in the dream? Perhaps that I wish to exchange her;
either her friend arouses in me stronger sympathies, or I have a higher regard
for her intelligence. For I consider Irma foolish because she does not accept my
solution. The other woman would be more sensible, and would thus be more likely
to yield. The mouth then opens readily; she would tell more than Irma. *(2)
* The complaint of pains in the abdomen, as yet unexplained, may also be
referred to this third person. It is my own wife, of course, who is in question;
the abdominal pains remind me of one of the occasions on which her shyness
became evident to me. I must admit that I do not treat Irma and my wife very
gallantly in this dream, but let it be said, in my defence, that I am measuring
both of them against the ideal of the courageous and docile female patient.
*(2) I suspect that the interpretation of this portion has not been carried far
enough to follow every hidden meaning. If I were to continue the comparison of
the three women, I should go far afield. Every dream has at least one point at
which it is unfathomable: a central point, as it were, connecting it with the
unknown.
What I see in the throat: a white spot and scabby turbinal bones. The white spot
recalls diphtheria, and thus Irma's friend, but it also recalls the grave
illness of my eldest daughter two years earlier, and all the anxiety of that
unhappy time. The scab on the turbinal bones reminds me of my anxiety concerning
my own health. At that time I frequently used cocaine in order to suppress
distressing swellings in the nose, and I had heard a few days previously that a
lady patient who did likewise had contracted an extensive necrosis of the nasal
mucous membrane. In 1885 it was I who had recommended the use of cocaine, and I
had been gravely reproached in consequence. A dear friend, who had died before
the date of this dream, had hastened his end by the misuse of this remedy.
I quickly call Dr. M, who repeats the examination. This would simply correspond
to the position which M occupied among us. But the word quickly is striking
enough to demand a special examination. It reminds me of a sad medical
experience. By continually prescribing a drug (sulphonal), which at that time
was still considered harmless, I was once responsible for a condition of acute
poisoning in the case of a woman patient, and hastily turned for assistance to
my older and more experienced colleague. The fact that I really had this case in
mind is confirmed by a subsidiary circumstance. The patient, who succumbed to
the toxic effects of the drug, bore the same name as my eldest daughter. I had
never thought of this until now; but now it seems to me almost like a
retribution of fate- as though the substitution of persons had to be continued
in another sense: this Matilda for that Matilda; an eye for an eye, a tooth for
a tooth. It is as though I were seeking every opportunity to reproach myself for
a lack of medical conscientiousness.
Dr. M is pale; his chin is shaven, and he limps. Of this so much is correct,
that his unhealthy appearance often arouses the concern of his friends. The
other two characteristics must belong to another person. An elder brother living
abroad occurs to me, for he, too, shaves his chin, and if I remember him
rightly, the M of the dream bears on the whole a certain resemblance to him. And
some days previously the news arrived that he was limping on account of an
arthritic affection of the hip. There must be some reason why I fuse the two
persons into one in my dream. I remember that, in fact, I was on bad terms with
both of them for similar reasons. Both had rejected a certain proposal which I
had recently made them.
My friend Otto is now standing next to the patient, and my friend Leopold
examines her and calls attention to a dulness low down on the left side. My
friend Leopold also is a physician, and a relative of Otto's. Since the two
practice the same specialty, fate has made them competitors, so that they are
constantly being compared with one another. Both of them assisted me for years,
while I was still directing a public clinic for neurotic children. There, scenes
like that reproduced in my dream had often taken place. While I would be
discussing the diagnosis of a case with Otto, Leopold would examine the child
anew and make an unexpected contribution towards our decision. There was a
difference of character between the two men like that between Inspector Brasig
and his friend Karl. Otto was remarkably prompt and alert; Leopold was slow and
thoughtful, but thorough. If I contrast Otto and the cautious Leopold in the
dream I do so, apparently, in order to extol Leopold. The comparison is like
that made above between the disobedient patient Irma and her friend, who was
believed to be more sensible. I now become aware of one of the tracks along
which the association of ideas in the dream proceeds: from the sick child to the
children's clinic. Concerning the dulness low on the left side, I have the
impression that it corresponds with a certain case of which all the details were
similar, a case in which Leopold impressed me by his thoroughness. I thought
vaguely, too, of something like a metastatic affection, but it might also be a
reference to the patient whom I should have liked to have in Irma's place. For
this lady, as far as I can gather, exhibited symptoms which imitated
tuberculosis.
An infiltrated portion of skin on the left shoulder. I know at once that this is
my own rheumatism of the shoulder, which I always feel if I lie awake long at
night. The very phrasing of the dream sounds ambiguous: Something which I can
feel, as he does, in spite of the dress. "Feel on my own body" is intended.
Further, it occurs to me how unusual the phrase infiltrated portion of skin
sounds. We are accustomed to the phrase: "an infiltration of the upper posterior
left"; this would refer to the lungs, and thus, once more, to tuberculosis.
In spite of the dress. This, to be sure, is only an interpolation. At the clinic
the children were, of course, examined undressed; here we have some contrast to
the manner in which adult female patients have to be examined. The story used to
be told of an eminent physician that he always examined his patients through
their clothes. The rest is obscure to me; I have, frankly, no inclination to
follow the matter further.
Dr. M says: "It's an infection, but it doesn't matter; dysentery will follow,
and the poison will be eliminated." This, at first, seems to me ridiculous;
nevertheless, like everything else, it must be carefully analysed; more closely
observed it seems after all to have a sort of meaning. What I had found in the
patient was a local diphtheritis. I remember the discussion about diphtheritis
and diphtheria at the time of my daughter's illness. Diphtheria is the general
infection which proceeds from local diphtheritis. Leopold demonstrates the
existence of such a general infection by the dulness, which also suggests a
metastatic focus. I believe, however, that just this kind of metastasis does not
occur in the case of diphtheria. It reminds me rather of pyaemia.
It doesn't matter is a consolation. I believe it fits in as follows: The last
part of the dream has yielded a content to the effect that the patient's
sufferings are the result of a serious organic affection. I begin to suspect
that by this I am only trying to shift the blame from myself. Psychic treatment
cannot be held responsible for the continued presence of a diphtheritic
affection. Now, indeed, I am distressed by the thought of having invented such a
serious illness for Irma, for the sole purpose of exculpating myself. It seems
so cruel. Accordingly, I need the assurance that the outcome will be benign, and
it seems to me that I made a good choice when I put the words that consoled me
into the mouth of Dr. M. But here I am placing myself in a position of
superiority to the dream; a fact which needs explanation.
But why is this consolation so nonsensical?
Dysentery. Some sort of far-fetched theoretical notion that the toxins of
disease might be eliminated through the intestines. Am I thereby trying to make
fun of Dr. M's remarkable store of far- fetched explanations, his habit of
conceiving curious pathological relations? Dysentery suggests something else. A
few months ago I had in my care a young man who was suffering from remarkable
intestinal troubles; a case which had been treated by other colleagues as one of
"anaemia with malnutrition." I realized that it was a case of hysteria; I was
unwilling to use my psycho-therapy on him, and sent him off on a sea-voyage. Now
a few days previously I had received a despairing letter from him; he wrote from
Egypt, saying that he had had a fresh attack, which the doctor had declared to
be dysentery. I suspect that the diagnosis is merely an error on the part of an
ignorant colleague, who is allowing himself to be fooled by the hysteria; yet I
cannot help reproaching myself for putting the invalid in a position where he
might contract some organic affection of the bowels in addition to his hysteria.
Furthermore, dysentery sounds not unlike diphtheria, a word which does not occur
in the dream.
Yes, it must be the case that with the consoling prognosis, Dysentery will
develop, etc., I am making fun of Dr. M, for I recollect that years ago he once
jestingly told a very similar story of a colleague. He had been called in to
consult with him in the case of a woman who was very seriously ill, and he felt
obliged to confront his colleague, who seemed very hopeful, with the fact that
he found albumen in the patient's urine. His colleague, however, did not allow
this to worry him, but answered calmly: "That does not matter, my dear sir; the
albumen will soon be excreted!" Thus I can no longer doubt that this part of the
dream expresses derision for those of my colleagues who are ignorant of
hysteria. And, as though in confirmation, the thought enters my mind: "Does Dr.
M know that the appearances in Irma's friend, his patient, which gave him reason
to fear tuberculosis, are likewise due to hysteria? Has he recognized this
hysteria, or has he allowed himself to be fooled?"
But what can be my motive in treating this friend so badly? That is simple
enough: Dr. M agrees with my solution as little as does Irma herself. Thus, in
this dream I have already revenged myself on two persons: on Irma in the words,
If you still have pains, it is your own fault, and on Dr. M in the wording of
the nonsensical consolation which has been put into his mouth.
We know precisely how the infection originated. This precise knowledge in the
dream is remarkable. Only a moment before this we did not yet know of the
infection, since it was first demonstrated by Leopold.
My friend Otto gave her an injection not long ago, when she was feeling unwell.
Otto had actually related during his short visit to Irma's family that he had
been called in to a neighbouring hotel in order to give an injection to someone
who had been suddenly taken ill. Injections remind me once more of the
unfortunate friend who poisoned himself with cocaine. I had recommended the
remedy for internal use only during the withdrawal of morphia; but he
immediately gave himself injections of cocaine.
With a preparation of propyl... propyls... propionic acid. How on earth did this
occur to me? On the evening of the day after I had written the clinical history
and dreamed about the case, my wife opened a bottle of liqueur labelled
"Ananas," * which was a present from our friend Otto. He had, as a matter of
fact, a habit of making presents on every possible occasion; I hope he will some
day be cured of this by a wife. *(2) This liqueur smelt so strongly of fusel oil
that I refused to drink it. My wife suggested: "We will give the bottle to the
servants," and I, more prudent, objected, with the philanthropic remark: "They
shan't be poisoned either." The smell of fusel oil (amyl...) has now apparently
awakened my memory of the whole series: propyl, methyl, etc., which furnished
the preparation of propyl mentioned in the dream. Here, indeed, I have effected
a substitution: I dreamt of propyl after smelling amyl; but substitutions of
this kind are perhaps permissible, especially in organic chemistry. -
* "Ananas," moreover, has a remarkable assonance with the family name of my
patient Irma.
*(2) In this the dream did not turn out to be prophetic. But in another sense it
proved correct, for the "unsolved" stomach pains, for which I did not want to be
blamed, were the forerunners of a serious illness, due to gall-stones.
Trimethylamin. In the dream I see the chemical formula of this substance- which
at all events is evidence of a great effort on the part of my memory- and the
formula is even printed in heavy type, as though to distinguish it from the
context as something of particular importance. And where does trimethylamin,
thus forced on my attention, lead me? To a conversation with another friend, who
for years has been familiar with all my germinating ideas, and I with his. At
that time he had just informed me of certain ideas concerning a sexual
chemistry, and had mentioned, among others, that he thought he had found in
trimethylamin one of the products of sexual metabolism. This substance thus
leads me to sexuality, the factor to which I attribute the greatest significance
in respect of the origin of these nervous affections which I am trying to cure.
My patient Irma is a young widow; if I am required to excuse my failure to cure
her, I shall perhaps do best to refer to this condition, which her admirers
would be glad to terminate. But in what a singular fashion such a dream is
fitted together! The friend who in my dream becomes my patient in Irma's place
is likewise a young widow.
I surmise why it is that the formula of trimethylamin is so insistent in the
dream. So many important things are centered about this one word: trimethylamin
is an allusion, not merely to the all-important factor of sexuality, but also to
a friend whose sympathy I remember with satisfaction whenever I feel isolated in
my opinions. And this friend, who plays such a large part in my life: will he
not appear yet again in the concatenation of ideas peculiar to this dream? Of
course; he has a special knowledge of the results of affections of the nose and
the sinuses, and has revealed to science several highly remarkable relations
between the turbinal bones and the female sexual organs. (The three curly
formations in Irma's throat.) I got him to examine Irma, in order to determine
whether her gastric pains were of nasal origin. But he himself suffers from
suppurative rhinitis, which gives me concern, and to this perhaps there is an
allusion in pyaemia, which hovers before me in the metastasis of the dream.
One doesn't give such injections so rashly. Here the reproach of rashness is
hurled directly at my friend Otto. I believe I had some such thought in the
afternoon, when he seemed to indicate, by word and look, that he had taken sides
against me. It was, perhaps: "How easily he is influenced; how irresponsibly he
pronounces judgment." Further, the above sentence points once more to my
deceased friend, who so irresponsibly resorted to cocaine injections. As I have
said, I had not intended that injections of the drug should be taken. I note
that in reproaching Otto I once more touch upon the story of the unfortunate
Matilda, which was the pretext for the same reproach against me. Here,
obviously, I am collecting examples of my conscientiousness, and also of the
reverse.
Probably too the syringe was not clean. Another reproach directed at Otto, but
originating elsewhere. On the previous day I happened to meet the son of an old
lady of eighty-two, to whom I am obliged to give two injections of morphia
daily. At present she is in the country, and I have heard that she is suffering
from phlebitis. I immediately thought that this might be a case of infiltration
caused by a dirty syringe. It is my pride that in two years I have not given her
a single infiltration; I am always careful, of course, to see that the syringe
is perfectly clean. For I am conscientious. From the phlebitis I return to my
wife, who once suffered from thrombosis during a period of pregnancy, and now
three related situations come to the surface in my memory, involving my wife,
Irma, and the dead Matilda, whose identity has apparently justified my putting
these three persons in one another's places.
I have now completed the interpretation of the dream. * In the course of this
interpretation I have taken great pains to avoid all those notions which must
have been suggested by a comparison of the dream-content with the dream-thoughts
hidden behind this content. Meanwhile the meaning of the dream has dawned upon
me. I have noted an intention which is realized through the dream, and which
must have been my motive in dreaming. The dream fulfills several wishes, which
were awakened within me by the events of the previous evening (Otto's news, and
the writing of the clinical history). For the result of the dream is that it is
not I who am to blame for the pain which Irma is still suffering, but that Otto
is to blame for it. Now Otto has annoyed me by his remark about Irma's imperfect
cure; the dream avenges me upon him, in that it turns the reproach upon himself.
The dream acquits me of responsibility for Irma's condition, as it refers this
condition to other causes (which do, indeed, furnish quite a number of
explanations). The dream represents a certain state of affairs, such as I might
wish to exist; the content of the dream is thus the fulfilment of a wish; its
motive is a wish.
* Even if I have not, as might be expected, accounted for everything that
occurred to me in connection with the work of interpretation.
This much is apparent at first sight. But many other details of the dream become
intelligible when regarded from the standpoint of wish-fulfilment. I take my
revenge on Otto, not merely for too readily taking sides against me. in that I
accuse him of careless medical treatment (the injection), but I revenge myself
also for the bad liqueur which smells of fusel oil, and I find an expression in
the dream which unites both these reproaches: the injection of a preparation of
propyl. Still I am not satisfied, but continue to avenge myself by comparing him
with his more reliable colleague. Thereby I seem to say: "I like him better than
you." But Otto is not the only person who must be made to feel the weight of my
anger. I take my revenge on the disobedient patient, by exchanging her for a
more sensible and more docile one. Nor do I pass over Dr. M's contradiction; for
I express, in an obvious allusion, my opinion of him: namely, that his attitude
in this case is that of an ignoramus (Dysentery will develop, etc.). Indeed, it
seems as though I were appealing from him to someone better informed (my friend,
who told me about trimethylamin), just as I have turned from Irma to her friend,
and from Otto to Leopold. It is as though I were to say: Rid me of these three
persons, replace them by three others of my own choice, and I shall be rid of
the reproaches which I am not willing to admit that I deserve! In my dream the
unreasonableness of these reproaches is demonstrated for me in the most
elaborate manner. Irma's pains are not attributable to me, since she herself is
to blame for them, in that she refuses to accept my solution. They do not
concern me, for being as they are of an organic nature, they cannot possibly be
cured by psychic treatment. Irma's sufferings are satisfactorily explained by
her widowhood (trimethylamin!); a state which I cannot alter. Irma's illness has
been caused by an incautious injection administered by Otto, an injection of an
unsuitable drug, such as I should never have administered. Irma's complaint is
the result of an injection made with an unclean syringe, like the phlebitis of
my old lady patient, whereas my injections have never caused any ill effects. I
am aware that these explanations of Irma's illness, which unite in acquitting
me, do not agree with one another; that they even exclude one another. The whole
plea- for this dream is nothing else- recalls vividly the defence offered by a
man who was accused by his neighbour of having returned a kettle in a damaged
condition. In the first place, he had returned the kettle undamaged; in the
second place it already had holes in it when he borrowed it; and in the third
place, he had never borrowed it at all. A complicated defence, but so much the
better; if only one of these three lines of defence is recognized as valid, the
man must be acquitted.
Still other themes play a part in the dream, and their relation to my
non-responsibility for Irma's illness is not so apparent: my daughter's illness,
and that of a patient with the same name; the harmfulness of cocaine; the
affection of my patient, who was traveling in Egypt; concern about the health of
my wife; my brother, and Dr. M; my own physical troubles, and anxiety concerning
my absent friend, who is suffering from suppurative rhinitis. But if I keep all
these things in view, they combine into a single train of thought, which might
be labelled: Concern for the health of myself and others; professional
conscientiousness. I recall a vaguely disagreeable feeling when Otto gave me the
news of Irma's condition. Lastly, I am inclined, after the event, to find an
expression of this fleeting sensation in the train of thoughts which forms part
of the dream. It is as though Otto had said to me: "You do not take your medical
duties seriously enough; you are not conscientious; you do not perform what you
promise." Thereupon this train of thought placed itself at my service, in order
that I might give proof of my extreme conscientiousness, of my intimate concern
about the health of my relatives, friends and patients. Curiously enough, there
are also some painful memories in this material, which confirm the blame
attached to Otto rather than my own exculpation. The material is apparently
impartial, but the connection between this broader material, on which the dream
is based, and the more limited theme from which emerges the wish to be innocent
of Irma's illness, is, nevertheless, unmistakable.
I do not wish to assert that I have entirely revealed the meaning of the dream,
or that my interpretation is flawless.
I could still spend much time upon it; I could draw further explanations from
it, and discuss further problems which it seems to propound. I can even perceive
the points from which further mental associations might be traced; but such
considerations as are always involved in every dream of one's own prevent me
from interpreting it farther. Those who are overready to condemn such reserve
should make the experiment of trying to be more straightforward. For the present
I am content with the one fresh discovery which has just been made: If the
method of dream- interpretation here indicated is followed, it will be found
that dreams do really possess a meaning, and are by no means the expression of a
disintegrated cerebral activity, as the writers on the subject would have us
believe. When the work of interpretation has been completed the dream can be
recognized as a wish fulfilment.
The Interpretation of Dreams Chapter III. THE DREAM AS WISH-FULFILMENT
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