CHAPTER 2
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[1] 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.
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.[2] 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.[3] 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.[4]
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.[5]
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.[6] 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.
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."[7] 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.'[8]
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.[9]
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.[10] 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.[11]
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,"[12] 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.[13] 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. -
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.[14] 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.
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes
[1] 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).
[2] 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).
[3] 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.]
[4] 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.
[5] 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.
[6] Studien uber Hysterie, 1895. [Compare page 26 above.]
[7] Every psychologist is obliged to admit even his own weaknesses,
if he thinks by that he may throw light on a difficult problem.
[8] 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.
[9] This is the first dream which I subjected to an exhaustive
interpretation.
[10] 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.
[11] 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.
[12] "Ananas," moreover, has a remarkable assonance with the family
name of my patient Irma.
[13] 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.
[14] Even if I have not, as might be expected, accounted for
everything that occurred to me in connection with the work of
interpretation.
