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The Interpretation of Dreams Chapter 6 - H. The Affects in Dreams Psychology
VI. THE DREAM-WORK (continued)
I. The Secondary Elaboration
[Psych Web editor's note: in later editions of The Interpretation of Dreams,
this was rendered as "Secondary Revision" with a footnote saying previous
editions used "the somewhat misleading English translation 'secondary
elaboration.'"]
We will at last turn our attention to the fourth of the factors participating in
dream-formation.
If we continue our investigation of the dream-content on the lines already laid
down- that is, by examining the origin in the dream-thoughts of conspicuous
occurrences- we come upon elements that can be explained only by making an
entirely new assumption. I have in mind cases where one manifests astonishment,
anger, or resistance in a dream, and that, too, in respect of part of the
dream-content itself. Most of these impulses of criticism in dreams are not
directed against the dream-content, but prove to be part of the dream-material,
taken over and fittingly applied, as I have already shown by suitable examples.
There are, however, criticisms of this sort which are not so derived: their
correlatives cannot be found in the dream-material. What, for instance, is meant
by the criticism not infrequent in dreams: "After all, it's only a dream"? This
is a genuine criticism of the dream, such as I might make if I were awake, Not
infrequently it is only the prelude to waking; even oftener it is preceded by a
painful feeling, which subsides when the actuality of the dream- state has been
affirmed. The thought: "After all, it's only a dream" in the dream itself has
the same intention as it has on the stage on the lips of Offenbach's Belle
Helene; it seeks to minimize what has just been experienced, and to secure
indulgence for what is to follow. It serves to lull to sleep a certain mental
agency which at the given moment has every occasion to rouse itself and forbid
the continuation of the dream, or the scene. But it is more convenient to go on
sleeping and to tolerate the dream, "because, after all, it's only a dream." I
imagine that the disparaging criticism: "After all, it's only a dream," appears
in the dream at the moment when the censorship. which is never quite asleep,
feels that it has been surprised by the already admitted dream. It is too late
to suppress the dream, and the agency therefore meets with this remark the
anxiety or painful emotion which rises into the dream. It is an expression of
the esprit d'escalier on the part of the psychic censorship.
In this example we have incontestable proof that everything which the dream
contains does not come from the dream-thoughts, but that a psychic function,
which cannot be differentiated from our waking thoughts, may make contributions
to the dream-content. The question arises, does this occur only in exceptional
cases, or does the psychic agency, which is otherwise active only as the
censorship, play a constant part in dream-formation?
One must decide unhesitatingly for the latter view. It is indisputable that the
censoring agency, whose influence we have so far recognized only in the
restrictions of and omissions in the dream-content, is likewise responsible for
interpolations in and amplifications of this content. Often these interpolations
are readily recognized; they are introduced with hesitation, prefaced by an "as
if"; they have no special vitality of their own, and are constantly inserted at
points where they may serve to connect two portions of the dream-content or
create a continuity between two sections of the dream. They manifest less
ability to adhere in the memory than do the genuine products of the
dream-material; if the dream is forgotten, they are forgotten first, and I
strongly suspect that our frequent complaint that although we have dreamed so
much we have forgotten most of the dream, and have remembered only fragments, is
explained by the immediate falling away of just these cementing thoughts. In a
complete analysis, these interpolations are often betrayed by the fact that no
material is to be found for them in the dream- thoughts. But after careful
examination I must describe this case as the less usual one; in most cases the
interpolated thoughts can be traced to material in the dream-thoughts which can
claim a place in the dream neither by its own merits nor by way of over-
determination. Only in the most extreme cases does the psychic function in
dream-formation which we are now considering rise to original creation; whenever
possible it makes use of anything appropriate that it can find in the
dream-material.
What distinguishes this part of the dream-work, and also betrays it, is its
tendency. This function proceeds in a manner which the poet maliciously
attributes to the philosopher: with its rags and tatters it stops up the
breaches in the structure of the dream. The result of its efforts is that the
dream loses the appearance of absurdity and incoherence, and approaches the
pattern of an intelligible experience. But the effort is not always crowned with
complete success. Thus, dreams occur which may, upon superficial examination,
seem faultlessly logical and correct; they start from a possible situation,
continue it by means of consistent changes, and bring it- although this is rare-
to a not unnatural conclusion. These dreams have been subjected to the most
searching elaboration by a psychic function similar to our waking thought; they
seem to have a meaning, but this meaning is very far removed from the real
meaning of the dream. If we analyse them, we are convinced that the secondary
elaboration has handled the material with the greatest freedom, and has retained
as little as possible of its proper relations. These are the dreams which have,
so to speak, already been once interpreted before we subject them to waking
interpretation. In other dreams this tendencious elaboration has succeeded only
up to a point; up to this point consistency seems to prevail, but then the dream
becomes nonsensical or confused; but perhaps before it concludes it may once
more rise to a semblance of rationality In yet other dreams the elaboration has
failed completely; we find ourselves helpless, confronted with a senseless mass
of fragmentary contents.
I do not wish to deny to this fourth dream-forming power, which will soon become
familiar to us- it is in reality the only one of the four dream-creating factors
which is familiar to us in other connections- I do not wish to deny to this
fourth factor the faculty of creatively making new contributions to our dreams.
But its influence is certainly exerted, like that of the other factors, mainly
in the preference and selection of psychic material already formed in the
dream-thoughts. Now there is a case where it is to a great extent spared the
work of building, as it were, a facade to the dream by the fact that such a
structure, only waiting to be used, already exists in the material of the
dream-thoughts. I am accustomed to describe the element of the dream-thoughts
which I have in mind as phantasy; I shall perhaps avoid misunderstanding if I at
once point to the day-dream as an analogy in waking life. * The part played by
this element in our psychic life has not yet been fully recognized and revealed
by psychiatrists; though M. Benedikt has, it seems to me, made a highly
promising beginning. Yet the significance of the day-dream has not escaped the
unerring insight of the poets; we are all familiar with the description of the
day-dreams of one of his subordinate characters which Alphonse Daudet has given
us in his Nabab. The study of the psychoneuroses discloses the astonishing fact
that these phantasies or day-dreams are the immediate predecessors of symptoms
of hysteria- at least, of a great many of them; for hysterical symptoms are
dependent not upon actual memories, but upon the phantasies built up on a basis
of memories. The frequent occurrence of conscious day-phantasies brings these
formations to our ken; but while some of these phantasies are conscious, there
is a super-abundance of unconscious phantasies, which must perforce remain
unconscious on account of their content and their origin in repressed material.
A more thorough examination of the character of these day- phantasies shows with
what good reason the same name has been given to these formations as to the
products of nocturnal thought- dreams. They have essential features in common
with nocturnal dreams; indeed, the investigation of day-dreams might really have
afforded the shortest and best approach to the understanding of nocturnal
dreams.
* Reve, petit roman = day-dream, story.
Like dreams, they are wish-fulfilments; like dreams, they are largely based upon
the impressions of childish experiences; like dreams, they obtain a certain
indulgence from the censorship in respect of their creations. If we trace their
formation, we become aware how the wish-motive which has been operative in their
production has taken the material of which they are built, mixed it together,
rearranged it, and fitted it together into a new whole. They bear very much the
same relation to the childish memories to which they refer as many of the
baroque palaces of Rome bear to the ancient ruins, whose hewn stones and columns
have furnished the material for the structures built in the modern style.
In the secondary elaboration of the dream-content which we have ascribed to our
fourth dream-forming factor, we find once more the very same activity which is
allowed to manifest itself, uninhibited by other influences, in the creation of
day-dreams. We may say, without further preliminaries, that this fourth factor
of ours seeks to construct something like a day-dream from the material which
offers itself. But where such a day-dream has already been constructed in the
context of the dream-thoughts, this factor of the dream-work will prefer to take
possession of it, and contrive that it gets into the dream-content. There are
dreams that consist merely of the repetition of a day-phantasy, which has
perhaps remained unconscious- as, for instance, the boy's dream that he is
riding in a war-chariot with the heroes of the Trojan war. In my Autodidasker
dream the second part of the dream at least is the faithful repetition of a
day-phantasy- harmless in itself- of my dealings with Professor N. The fact that
the exciting phantasy forms only a part of the dream, or that only a part of it
finds its way into the dream-content, is due to the complexity of the conditions
which the dream must satisfy at its genesis. On the whole, the phantasy is
treated like any other component of the latent material; but it is often still
recognizable as a whole in the dream. In my dreams there are often parts which
are brought into prominence by their producing a different impression from that
produced by the other parts. They seem to me to be in a state of flux, to be
more coherent and at the same time more transient than other portions of the
same dream. I know that these are unconscious phantasies which find their way
into the context of the dream, but I have never yet succeeded in registering
such a phantasy. For the rest, these phantasies, like all the other component
parts of the dream- thoughts, are jumbled together, condensed, superimposed, and
so on; but we find all the transitional stages, from the case in which they may
constitute the dream-content, or at least the dream-facade, unaltered, to the
most contrary case, in which they are represented in the dream-content by only
one of their elements, or by a remote allusion to such an element. The fate of
the phantasies in the dream-thoughts is obviously determined by the advantages
they can offer as against the claims of the censorship and the pressure of
condensation.
In my choice of examples for dream-interpretation I have, as far as possible,
avoided those dreams in which unconscious phantasies play a considerable part,
because the introduction of this psychic element would have necessitated an
extensive discussion of the psychology of unconscious thought. But even in this
connection I cannot entirely avoid the phantasy, because it often finds its way
into the dream complete, and still more often perceptibly glimmers through it. I
might mention yet one more dream, which seems to be composed of two distinct and
opposed phantasies, overlapping here and there, of which the first is
superficial, while the second becomes, as it were, the interpretation of the
first. *
* I have analysed an excellent example of a dream of this kind, having its
origin in the stratification of several phantasies, in the Fragment of an
Analysis of a Case of Hysteria (Collected Papers, vol. III). I undervalued the
significance of such phantasies for dream-formation as long as I was working
principally on my own dreams, which were rarely based upon day- dreams but most
frequently upon discussions and mental conflicts. With other persons it is often
much easier to prove the complete analogy between the nocturnal dream and the
day-dream. In hysterical patients an attack may often be replaced by a dream; it
is then obvious that the day-dream phantasy is the first step for both these
psychic formations.
The dream- it is the only one of which I possess no careful notes- is roughly to
this effect: The dreamer- a young unmarried man- is sitting in his favourite
inn, which is seen correctly; several persons come to fetch him, among them
someone who wants to arrest him. He says to his table companions, "I will pay
later, I am coming back." But they cry, smiling scornfully: "We know all about
that; that's what everybody says." One guest calls after him: "There goes
another one." He is then led to a small place where he finds a woman with a
child in her arms. One of his escorts says: "This is Herr Muller." A
commissioner or some other official is running through a bundle of tickets or
papers, repeating Muller, Muller, Muller. At last the commissioner asks him a
question, which he answers with a "Yes." He then takes a look at the woman, and
notices that she has grown a large beard.
The two component parts are here easily separable. What is superficial is the
phantasy of being arrested; this seems to be newly created by the dream-work.
But behind it the phantasy of marriage is visible, and this material, on the
other hand, has been slightly modified by the dream-work, and the features which
may be common to the two phantasies appear with special distinctness, as in
Galton's composite photographs. The promise of the young man, who is at present
a bachelor, to return to his place at his accustomed table- the scepticism of
his drinking companions, made wise by their many experiences- their calling
after him: "There goes (marries) another one"- are all features easily
susceptible of the other interpretation, as is the affirmative answer given to
the official. Running through a bundle of papers and repeating the same name
corresponds to a subordinate but easily recognized feature of the marriage
ceremony- the reading aloud of the congratulatory telegrams which have arrived
at irregular intervals, and which, of course, are all addressed to the same
name. In the personal appearance of the bride in this dream the marriage
phantasy has even got the better of the arrest phantasy which screens it. The
fact that this bride finally wears a beard I can explain from information
received- I had no opportunity of making an analysis. The dreamer had, on the
previous day, been crossing the street with a friend who was just as hostile to
marriage as himself, and had called his friend's attention to a beautiful
brunette who was coming towards them. The friend had remarked: "Yes, if only
these women wouldn't get beards as they grow older, like their fathers."
Of course, even in this dream there is no lack of elements with which the
dream-distortion has done deep work. Thus, the speech, "I will pay later," may
have reference to the behaviour feared on the part of the father-in-law in the
matter of a dowry. Obviously all sorts of misgivings are preventing the dreamer
from surrendering himself with pleasure to the phantasy of marriage. One of
these misgivings- at with marriage he might lose his freedom- has embodied
itself in the transformation of a scene of arrest.
If we once more return to the thesis that the dream-work prefers to make use of
a ready-made phantasy, instead of first creating one from the material of the
dream-thoughts, we shall perhaps be able to solve one of the most interesting
problems of the dream. I have related the dream of Maury, who is struck on the
back of the neck by a small board, and wakes after a long dream- a complete
romance of the period of the French Revolution. Since the dream is produced in a
coherent form, and completely fits the explanation of the waking stimulus, of
whose occurrence the sleeper could have had no forboding, only one assumption
seems possible, namely, that the whole richly elaborated dream must have been
composed and dreamed in the short interval of time between the falling of the
board on cervical vertebrae and the waking induced by the blow. We should not
venture to ascribe such rapidity to the mental operations of the waking state,
so that we have to admit that the dream-work has the privilege of a remarkable
acceleration of its issue.
To this conclusion, which rapidly became popular, more recent authors (Le
Lorrain, Egger, and others) have opposed emphatic objections; some of them doubt
the correctness of Maury's record of the dream, some seek to show that the
rapidity of our mental operations in waking life is by no means inferior to that
which we can, without reservation, ascribe to the mental operations in dreams.
The discussion raises fundamental questions, which I do not think are at all
near solution. But I must confess that Egger's objections, for example, to
Maury's dream of the guillotine, do not impress me as convincing. I would
suggest the following explanation of this dream: Is it so very improbable that
Maury's dream may have represented a phantasy which had been preserved for years
in his memory, in a completed state, and which was awakened- I should like to
say, alluded to- at the moment when he became aware of the waking stimulus? The
whole difficulty of composing so long a story, with all its details, in the
exceedingly short space of time which is here at the dreamer's disposal then
disappears; the story was already composed. If the board had struck Maury's neck
when he was awake, there would perhaps have been time for the thought: "Why,
that's just like being guillotined." But as he is struck by the board while
asleep, the dream-work quickly utilizes the incoming stimulus for the
construction of a wish-fulfilment, as if it thought (this is to be taken quite
figuratively): "Here is a good opportunity to realize the wish-phantasy which I
formed at such and such a time while I was reading." It seems to me undeniable
that this dream-romance is just such a one as a young man is wont to construct
under the influence of exciting impressions. Who has not been fascinated- above
all, a Frenchman and a student of the history of civilization- by descriptions
of the Reign of Terror, in which the aristocracy, men and women, the flower of
the nation, showed that it was possible to die with a light heart, and preserved
their ready wit and the refinement of their manners up to the moment of the last
fateful summons? How tempting to fancy oneself in the midst of all this, as one
of these young men who take leave of their ladies with a kiss of the hand, and
fearlessly ascend the scaffold! Or perhaps ambition was the ruling motive of the
phantasy- the ambition to put oneself in the place of one of those powerful
personalities who, by their sheer force of intellect and their fiery eloquence,
ruled the city in which the heart of mankind was then beating so convulsively;
who were impelled by their convictions to send thousands of human beings to
their death, and were paving the way for the transformation of Europe; who, in
the meantime, were not sure of their own heads, and might one day lay them under
the knife of the guillotine, perhaps in the role of a Girondist or the hero
Danton? The detail preserved in the memory of the dream, accompanied by an
enormous crowd, seems to show that Maury's phantasy was an ambitious one of just
this character.
But the phantasy prepared so long ago need not be experienced again in sleep; it
is enough that it should be, so to speak, "touched off." What I mean is this: If
a few notes are struck, and someone says, as in Don Juan: "That is from The
Marriage of Figaro by Mozart," memories suddenly surge up within me, none of
which I can recall to consciousness a moment later. The phrase serves as a point
of irruption from which a complete whole is simultaneously put into a condition
of stimulation. It may well be the same in unconscious thinking. Through the
waking stimulus the psychic station is excited which gives access to the whole
guillotine phantasy. This phantasy, however, is not run through in sleep, but
only in the memory of the awakened sleeper. Upon waking, the sleeper remembers
in detail the phantasy which was transferred as a whole into the dream. At the
same time, he has no means of assuring himself that he is really remembering
something which was dreamed. The same explanation- namely, that one is dealing
with finished phantasies which have been evoked as wholes by the waking
stimulus- may be applied to other dreams which are adapted to the waking
stimulus- for example, to Napoleon's dream of a battle before the explosion of a
bomb. Among the dreams collected by Justine Tobowolska in her dissertation on
the apparent duration of time in dreams, * I think the most corroborative is
that related by Macario (1857) as having been dreamed by a playwright, Casimir
Bonjour. Bonjour intended one evening to witness the first performance of one of
his own plays, but he was so tired that he dozed off in his chair behind the
scenes just as the curtain was rising. In his sleep he went through all the five
acts of his play, and observed all the various signs of emotion which were
manifested by the audience during each individual scene. At the close of the
performance, to his great satisfaction, he heard his name called out amidst the
most lively manifestations of applause. Suddenly he woke. He could hardly
believe his eyes or his ears; the performance had not gone beyond the first
lines of the first scene; he could not have been asleep for more than two
minutes. As for the dream, the running through the five acts of the play and the
observing the attitude of the public towards each individual scene need not, we
may venture to assert, have been something new, produced while the dreamer was
asleep; it may have been a repetition of an already completed work of the
phantasy. Tobowolska and other authors have emphasized a common characteristic
of dreams that show an accelerated flow of ideas: namely, that they seem to be
especially coherent, and not at all like other dreams, and that the dreamer's
memory of them is summary rather than detailed. But these are precisely the
characteristics which would necessarily be exhibited by ready-made phantasies
touched off by the dream- work- a conclusion which is not, of course, drawn by
these authors. I do not mean to assert that all dreams due to a waking stimulus
admit of this explanation, or that the problem of the accelerated flux of ideas
in dreams is entirely disposed of in this manner.
* Justine Tobowolska, Etude sur les illusions de temps dans les reves du sommeil
normal (1900) p. 53.
And here we are forced to consider the relation of this secondary elaboration of
the dream-content to the other factors of the dream-work. May not the procedure
perhaps be as follows? The dream-forming factors, the efforts at condensation,
the necessity of evading the censorship, and the regard for representability by
the psychic means of the dream first of all create from the dream- material a
provisional dream-content, which is subsequently modified until it satisfies as
far as possible the exactions of a secondary agency. No, this is hardly
probable. We must rather assume that the requirements of this agency constitute
from the very first one of the conditions which the dream must satisfy, and that
this condition, as well as the conditions of condensation, the opposing
censorship, and representability, simultaneously influence, in an inductive and
selective manner, the whole mass of material in the dream-thoughts. But of the
four conditions necessary for dream-formation, the last recognized is that whose
exactions appear to be least binding upon the dream. The following consideration
makes it seem very probable that this psychic function, which undertakes the
so-called secondary elaboration of the dream-content, is identical with the work
of our waking thought: Our waking (preconscious) thought behaves towards any
given perceptual material precisely as the function in question behaves towards
the dream-content. It is natural to our waking thought to create order in such
material, to construct relations, and to subject it to the requirements of an
intelligible coherence. Indeed, we go rather too far in this respect; the tricks
of conjurers befool us by taking advantage of this intellectual habit of ours.
In the effort to combine in an intelligible manner the sensory impressions which
present themselves we often commit the most curious mistakes, and even distort
the truth of the material before us. The proofs of this fact are so familiar
that we need not give them further consideration here. We overlook errors which
make nonsense of a printed page because we imagine the proper words. The editor
of a widely read French journal is said to have made a bet that he could print
the words from in front or from behind in every sentence of a long article
without any of his readers noticing it. He won his bet. Years ago I came across
a comical example of false association in a newspaper. After the session of the
French Chamber in which Dupuy quelled the panic, caused by the explosion of a
bomb thrown by an anarchist, with the courageous words, "La seance continue," *
the visitors in the gallery were asked to testify as to their impressions of the
outrage. Among them were two provincials. One of these said that immediately
after the end of a speech he had heard a detonation, but that he had thought
that it was the parliamentary custom to fire a shot whenever a speaker had
finished. The other, who had apparently already listened to several speakers,
had got hold of the same idea, but with this variation, that he supposed the
shooting to be a sign of appreciation following a specially successful speech.
* The meeting will continue.
Thus, the psychic agency which approaches the dream-content with the demand that
it must be intelligible, which subjects it to a first interpretation, and in
doing so leads to the complete misunderstanding of it, is none other than our
normal thought. In our interpretation the rule will be, in every case, to
disregard the apparent coherence of the dream as being of suspicious origin and,
whether the elements are confused or clear, to follow the same regressive path
to the dream-material.
At the same time, we note those factors upon which the above- mentioned (chapter
VI., C) scale of quality in dreams- from confusion to clearness- is essentially
independent. Those parts of the dream seem to us clear in which the secondary
elaboration has been able to accomplish something; those seem confused where the
powers of this performance have failed. Since the confused parts of the dream
are often likewise those which are less vividly presented, we may conclude that
the secondary dream-work is responsible also for a contribution to the plastic
intensity of the individual dream-structures.
If I seek an object of comparison for the definitive formation of the dream, as
it manifests itself with the assistance of normal thinking, I can think of none
better than those mysterious inscriptions with which Die Fliegende Blatter has
so long amused its readers. In a certain sentence which, for the sake of
contrast, is in dialect, and whose significance is as scurrilous as possible,
the reader is led to expect a Latin inscription. For this purpose the letters of
the words are taken out of their syllabic groupings, and are rearranged. Here
and there a genuine Latin word results; at other points, on the assumption that
letters have been obliterated by weathering, or omitted, we allow ourselves to
be deluded about the significance of certain isolated and meaningless letters.
If we do not wish to be fooled we must give up looking for an inscription, must
take the letters as they stand, and combine them, disregarding their
arrangement, into words of our mother tongue.
The secondary elaboration is that factor of the dream-work which has been
observed by most of the writers on dreams, and whose importance has been duly
appreciated. Havelock Ellis gives an amusing allegorical description of its
performances: "As a matter of fact, we might even imagine the sleeping
consciousness as saying to itself: 'Here comes our master, Waking Consciousness,
who attaches such mighty importance to reason and logic and so forth. Quick!
gather things up, put them in order- any order will do- before he enters to take
possession.'" *
* The World of Dreams, pp. 10, 11 (London, 1911).
The identity of this mode of operation with that of waking thought is very
clearly stated by Delacroix in his Sur la structure logique du reve (p. 526):
"Cette fonction d'interpretation n'est pas particuliere au reve; c'est le meme
travail de coordination logique que nous faisons sur nos sensations pendant la
veille." *
* This function of interpretation is not particular to the dream; it is the same
work of logical coordination that we use on our sensations when awake.
J. Sully is of the same opinion; and so is Tobowolska: "Sur ces successions
incoherentes d'hallucinations, l'esprit s'efforce de faire le meme travail de
coordination logique qu'il fait pendant le veille sur les sensations. Il relie
entre elles par un lien imaginaire toutes ces images decousues et bouche les
ecarts trop grands qui se trouvaient entre elles" * (p. 93).
* With these series of incoherent halucinations, the mind must do the same work
of logical coordination that it does with the sensations when awake. With a bon
of imagination, it reunites all the disconnected images, and fills in the gaps
found which are too great.
Some authors maintain that this ordering and interpreting activity begins even
in the dream and is continued in the waking state. Thus Paulhan (p. 547):
"Cependant j'ai souvent pense qu'il pouvait y avoir une certain deformation, ou
plutot reformation du reve dans le souvenir.... La tendence systematisante de
l'imagination pourrait fort bien achever apres le reveil ce qu'elle a ebauche
pendant le sommeil. De la sorte, la rapidite reelle de la pensee serait
augmentee en apparence par les perfectionnements dus a l'imagination eveillee."
*
* However, I have often thought that there might be a certain deformation, or
rather reformation, of the dream when it is recalled.... The systematizing
tendency of the imagination can well finish, after waking, the sketch begun in
sleep. In that way, the real speed of thought will be augmented in appearance by
improvements due to the wakened imagination.
Leroy and Tobowolska (p. 502): "Dans le reve, au contraire, l'interpretation et
la coordination se font non seulement a l'aide des donnees du reve, mais encore
a l'aide de celles de la veille...." *
* In the dream, on the contrary, the interpretation and coordination are made
not only with the aid of what is given by the dream, but also with what is given
by the wakened mind.
It was therefore inevitable that this one recognized factor of dream-formation
should be over-estimated, so that the whole process of creating the dream was
attributed to it. This creative work was supposed to be accomplished at the
moment of waking, as was assumed by Goblot, and with deeper conviction by
Foucault, who attributed to waking thought the faculty of creating the dream out
of the thoughts which emerged in sleep.
In respect to this conception, Leroy and Tobowolska express themselves as
follows: "On a cru pouvoir placer le reve au moment du reveil et ils ont
attribue a la pensee de la veille la fonction de construire le reve avec les
images presentes dans la pensee du sommeil." *
* It was thought that the dream could be placed at the moment of waking, and
they attributed to the waking thoughts the function of constructing the dream
from the images present in the sleeping thoughts.
To this estimate of the secondary elaboration I will add the one fresh
contribution to the dream-work which has been indicated by the sensitive
observations of H. Silberer. Silberer has caught the transformation of thoughts
into images in flagranti, by forcing himself to accomplish intellectual work
while in a state of fatigue and somnolence. The elaborated thought vanished, and
in its place there appeared a vision which proved to be a substitute for-
usually abstract- thoughts. In these experiments it so happened that the
emerging image, which may be regarded as a dream-element, represented something
other than the thoughts which were waiting for elaboration: namely, the
exhaustion itself, the difficulty or distress involved in this work; that is,
the subjective state and the manner of functioning of the person exerting
himself rather than the object of his exertions. Silberer called this case,
which in him occurred quite often, the functional phenomenon, in
contradistinction to the material phenomenon which he expected.
"For example: one afternoon I am lying, extremely sleepy, on my sofa, but I
nevertheless force myself to consider a philosophical problem. I endeavour to
compare the views of Kant and Schopenhauer concerning time. Owing to my
somnolence I do not succeed in holding on to both trains of thought, which would
have been necessary for the purposes of comparison. After several vain efforts,
I once more exert all my will-power to formulate for myself the Kantian
deduction in order to apply it to Schopenhauer's statement of the problem.
Thereupon, I directed my attention to the latter, but when I tried to return to
Kant, I found that he had again escaped me, and I tried in vain to fetch him
back. And now this fruitless endeavour to rediscover the Kantian documents
mislaid somewhere in my head suddenly presented itself, my eyes being closed, as
in a dream-image, in the form of a visible, plastic symbol: I demand information
of a grumpy secretary, who, bent over a desk, does not allow my urgency to
disturb him; half straightening himself, he gives me a look of angry refusal." *
* Jahrb., i, p. 514.
Other examples, which relate to the fluctuation between sleep and waking:
"Example No. 2. Conditions: Morning, while awaking. While to a certain extent
asleep (crepuscular state), thinking over a previous dream, in a way repeating
and finishing it, I feel myself drawing nearer to the waking state, yet I wish
to remain in the crepuscular state. .."Scene: I am stepping with one foot over a
stream, but I at once pull it back again and resolve to remain on this side." *
* Jahrb., iii, p. 625.
"Example No. 6. Conditions the same as in Example No. 4 (he wishes to remain in
bed a little longer without oversleeping). I wish to indulge in a little longer
sleep. .."Scene: I am saying good-bye to somebody, and I agree to meet him (or
her) again before long."
I will now proceed to summarize this long disquisition on the dream-work. We
were confronted by the question whether in dream- formation the psyche exerts
all its faculties to their full extent, without inhibition, or only a fraction
of them, which are restricted in their action. Our investigations lead us to
reject such a statement of the problem as wholly inadequate in the
circumstances. But if, in our answer, we are to remain on the ground upon which
the question forces us, we must assent to two conceptions which are apparently
opposed and mutually exclusive. The psychic activity in dream-formation resolves
itself into two achievements: the production of the dream-thoughts and the
transformation of these into the dream-content. The dream- thoughts are
perfectly accurate, and are formed with all the psychic profusion of which we
are capable; they belong to the thoughts which have not become conscious, from
which our conscious thoughts also result by means of a certain transposition.
There is doubtless much in them that is worth knowing, and also mysterious, but
these problems have no particular relation to our dreams, and cannot claim to be
treated under the head of dream-problems. * On the other hand, we have the
process which changes the unconscious thoughts into the dream- content, which is
peculiar to the dream-life and characteristic of it. Now, this peculiar
dream-work is much farther removed from the pattern of waking thought than has
been supposed by even the most decided depreciators of the psychic activity in
dream- formation. It is not so much that it is more negligent, more incorrect,
more forgetful, more incomplete than waking thought; it is something altogether
different, qualitatively, from waking thought, and cannot therefore be compared
with it. It does not think, calculate, or judge at all, but limits itself to the
work of transformation. It may be exhaustively described if we do not lose sight
of the conditions which its product must satisfy. This product, the dream, has
above all to be withdrawn from the censorship, and to this end the dream-work
makes use of the displacement of psychic intensities, even to the transvaluation
of all psychic values; thoughts must be exclusively or predominantly reproduced
in the material of visual and acoustic memory-traces, and from this requirement
there proceeds the regard of the dream-work for representability, which it
satisfies by fresh displacements. Greater intensities have (probably) to be
produced than are at the disposal of the night dream-thoughts, and this purpose
is served by the extensive condensation to which the constituents of the
dream-thoughts are subjected. Little attention is paid to the logical relations
of the thought- material; they ultimately find a veiled representation in the
formal peculiarities of the dream. The affects of the dream- thoughts undergo
slighter alterations than their conceptual content. As a rule, they are
suppressed; where they are preserved, they are freed from the concepts and
combined in accordance with their similarity. Only one part of the dream-work-
the revision, variable in amount, which is effected by the partially wakened
conscious thought- is at all consistent with the conception which the writers on
the subject have endeavoured to extend to the whole performance of
dream-formation.
* Formerly I found it extraordinarily difficult to accustom my readers to the
distinction between the manifest dream-content and the latent dream-thoughts.
Over and over again arguments and objections were adduced from the uninterpreted
dream as it was retained in the memory, and the necessity of interpreting the
dream was ignored. But now, when the analysts have at least become reconciled to
substituting for the manifest dream its meaning as found by interpretation, many
of them are guilty of another mistake, to which they adhere just as stubbornly.
They look for the essence of the dream in this latent content, and thereby
overlook the distinction between latent dream-thoughts and the dream-work. The
dream is fundamentally nothing more than a special form of our thinking, which
is made possible by the conditions of the sleeping state. It is the dream-work
which produces this form, and it alone is the essence of dreaming- the only
explanation of its singularity. I say this in order to correct the reader's
judgment of the notorious prospective tendency of dreams. That the dream should
concern itself with efforts to perform the tasks with which our psychic life is
confronted is no more remarkable than that our conscious waking life should so
concern itself, and I will only add that this work may be done also in the
preconscious, a fact already familiar to us.
The Interpretation of Dreams Chapter 7 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE DREAM PROCESSES
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