Dream Psychology - Psychoanalysis For Beginners

FROM-THE- LIBRARY OF
TRINITYCOLLEGE TORONTO
Gift of the Friends of the

Library, Trinity College
DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
PSYCHOANALYSIS FOR BEGINNERS
BY
PROF. DR. SIGMUND FREUD
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
ANDRE TRIDON
Author of "Easy Lesson in Psychoanalysis
"Psychoanalysis, its History, Theory and
Practice," "Psychoanalysis and
Behavior" and "Psycho
analysis, Sleep and

Dreams"
NEW YORK
THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY
1921
Copyright Introduction, 1921, by
THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A
I O
INTRODUCTION
THE medical profession is justly conservative.
Human life should not be considered as the proper
material for wild experiments.
Conservatism, however, is too often a welcome

excuse for lazy minds, loath to adapt themselves to
fast changing conditions.
Remember the scornful reception which first was
accorded to Freud s discoveries in the domain of the
unconscious.
When after years of patient observations, he
finally decided to appear before medical bodies to

tell them modestly of some facts which always re
curred in his dream and his patients dreams, he
was first laughed at and then avoided as a crank.
The words "dream interpretation" were and still
are indeed fraught with unpleasant, unscientific

associations. They remind one of all sorts of child
ish, superstitious notions, which make up the thread

and woof of dream books, read by none but the
ignorant and the primtive.
The wealth of detail, the infinite care never to let
anything pass unexplaned, with which he presented

iil
iv INTRODUCTION
to the public the result of his investigations, are
impressing more and more serious-minded scientists,

but the examination of his evidential data demands
arduous work and presupposes an absolutely open
mind.
This is why we still encounter men, totally un
familiar with Freud s writings, men who were not
even interested enough in the subject to attempt an
interpretation of their dreams or their patients
dreams, deriding Freud s theories and combatting
them with the help of statements which he never
made.
Some of them, like Professor Boris Sidis, reach at
times conclusions which are strangely similar to
Freud s, but in their ignorance of psychoanalytic
literature, they fail to credit Freud for observations
antedating theirs.
Besides those who sneer at dream study, because
they have never looked into the subject, there are

thosewho do not dare to face the facts revealed by
dream study. Dreams tell us many an unpleasant
biological truth about ourselves and only very free
minds can thrive on such a diet. Self-deception is
a plant which withers fast in the pellucid atmosphere

of dream investigation.
The weakling and the neurotic attached to his
neurosis are not anxious to turn such a powerful
INTRODUCTION v
searchlight upon the dark corners of their psy
chology.
Freud s theories are anything but theoretical.
He was moved by the fact that there always
seemed to be a close connection between his patients
dreams and their mental abnormalities, to collect
thousands of dreams and to compare them with the

case histories in his possession.
He did not start out with a preconceived bias,
hoping to find evidence which might support his

views. He looked at facts a thousand times "until
they began to tell him something."
His attitude toward dream study was, in other

words, that of a statistician who does not know,. and
has no means of foreseeing, what conclusions will be

forced on him by the information he is gathering,
but who is fully prepared to accept those unavoid
able conclusions.
This was indeed a novel way in psychology.
Psychologists had always been wont to build, in
what Bleuler calls "autistic ways," that is through
methods no wise supported by evidence, some at
in
tractive hypothesis, which sprung from their brain,
like Minerva from Jove s brain, fully armed.
After which, they would stretch upon that un
yielding frame the hide of a reality which they had
previously killed.
vi INTRODUCTION
It is only to minds suffering from the same dis
tortions, to minds also autistically inclined, that
those empty, artificial structures appear acceptable

molds for philosophic thinking.
The pragmatic view that "truth is what works"
had not been as yet expressed when Freud published

his revolutionary views on the psychology of dreams.
Five facts of first magnitude were made obvious

to the world by his interpretation of dreams.
First of Freud pointed out a constant con
all,
nection between some part of every dream and some

detail of the dreamer during the previous wak
s life
ing state. This positively establishes a relation be

tween sleeping states and waking states and dis
poses of the widely prevalent view that dreams are

purely nonsensical phenomena coming from no
where and leading nowhere.
Secondly, Freud, after studying the dreamer s
life and modes of thought, after noting down all
his mannerisms and the apparently insignificant

details of his conduct which reveal his secret
thoughts, came to the conclusion that there .was. .in.
.every dream the attempted or successful gratifica

tion of some wish, conscious or unconscious.
Thirdly, he proved that many of our dream

visions are .symbolical, which causes us to consider
them as absurd and unintelligible; the universality

INTRODUCTION vii
of those symbols, however, makes them very; trans
parent to the trained observer.

Fourthly, Freud showed that sexual desires play
an enormous part in our unconscious, a part which
puritanical hypocrisy has always tried to minimize,
if not to ignore entirely.
Finally, Freud established a direct connection be

tween dreams and insanity, between the symbolic
visions of our sleep and the symbolic actions of the
mentally deranged.
There were, of course, many other observations
which Freud made while dissecting the dreams of his
patients, but not all of them present as much inter
est as theforegoing nor were they as revolutionary

or likely to wield as much influence on modern
psychiatry.
Other explorers have struck the path blazed by
Freud and leading into man s unconscious. Jung
of Zurich, Adler of Vienna and Kempf of Wash
ington, D. have made to the study of the un
C.,
conscious, contributions which have brought that
study into fields which Freud himself never dreamt

of invading.
One fact which cannot be too emphatically stated,
however, is that but for Freud s wishfulfillment
theory of dreams, neither Jung s "energic theory,"
nor Adler s theory of "organ inferiority and com-

viii INTRODUCTION
pensation," nor Kempf s "dynamic mechanism"
might have been formulated.

Freud is the father of modern abnormal psychol
ogy and he established the psychoanalytical point of ^
view. No one who is not well grounded in Freud

ian lore can hope to achieve any work of value in
the field of psychoanalysis.

On the other hand, let no one repeat the absurd
assertion that Freudism is a sort of religion bounded
with dogmas and requiring an act of faith. Freud-
ism as such was merely a stage in the development
of psychoanalysis, a stage out of which all but a
few bigoted camp followers, totally lacking in orig
inality, have evolved. Thousands of stones have
been added to the structure erected by the Viennese
physician and many more will be added in the course
of time.
But the new additions to that structure would col
lapse like a house of cards but for the original foun
dations which are as indestructible as Harvey s
statement as to the circulation of the blood.
Regardless of whatever additions or changes have

been made to the original structure, the analytic
point of view remains unchanged.
That point of view is not only .revolutionising all
the methods of diagnosis and treatment of mental

derangements, but compelling the intelligent, up-to-
INTRODUCTION ix
date physician to revise entirely his attitude to al

most every kind of disease.
The insane are no longer absurd and pitiable peo
ple, to be herded in asylums till nature either cures
them or through death, of their mis
relieves them,
ery. The insane who have not been made so by

actual injury to their brain or nervous system, are
the victims of unconscious forces which cause them
to do abnormally things which they might be helped
to do normally.
Insight into one s psychology is replacing victo

riously sedatives and rest cures.
Physicians dealing with "purely" physical cases

have begun to take into serious consideration the
"mental" factors which have predisposed a patient
to certain ailments.
Freud s views have also made a revision of all
ethical and social values unavoidable and have

thrown an unexpected flood of light upon literary
and artistic accomplishment.
But the Freudian point of view, or more broadly
speaking, the psychoanalytic point of view, shall
ever remain a puzzle to those who, from laziness or
indifference, refuse to survey with the great Vien

nese the field over which he carefully groped his
way. We
shall never be convinced until we repeat
under his guidance all his laboratory experiments.

x INTRODUCTION
We must follow him through the thickets of the
unconscious, through the land which had never been

charted because academic philosophers, following
the line of least effort, had decided a priori that it
could not be charted.

Ancient geographers, when exhausting their store
of information about distant lands, yielded to an
unscientific craving for romance and, without any
evidence to support their day dreams, filled the
blank spaces left on their maps by unexplored tracts
with amusing inserts such as "Here there are lions."
Thanks to Freud s interpretation of dreams the
"royal road" into the unconscious is now open to all
explorers. They shall not find lions, they shall find
man himself, and the record of all his life and of his
struggle with reality.

And it is only after seeing man as his unconscious,
revealed Jb.y his dreams, presents him to us that we
shall understand him fully. For
Freud said to
as
Putnam: "We are what we are because we have

been what we have been."
Not a few serious-minded students, however, have

been discouraged from attempting a study of
Freud s dream psychology.
The book in which he originally offered to the
world his interpretation of dreams was as circum

stantial as a legal record to be pondered over by
INTRODUCTION xi
scientists at their leisure, not to be assimilated in a

few hours by the average alert reader. In those
days, Freud could not leave out any detail likely
to make his extremely novel thesis evidentially ac

ceptable to those willing to sift data.
Freud himself, however, realized the magnitude
of the task which the reading of his magnum
opus imposed upon those who have not been
prepared for it by long psychological and scientific
training and he abstracted from that gigantic work
the parts which constitute the essential of his dis
coveries.
The publishers of the present book deserve credit

for presenting to the reading pubic the gist of
Freud psychology in the master s own words, and
s
in a form which shall neither discourage beginners,
nor appear too elementary to those who are more

advanced in psychoanalytic study.
Dream psychology is the key to Freud s works
#nd modern psychology.
to all simple, With a
compact manual such as Dream Psychology there
shall be no longer any excuse for ignorance of the
most revolutionary psychological system of modern
times.
ANDRE TRIDON.
121 Madison Avenue, New York.
November, 1920.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I DREAMS HAVE A MEANING 1
II THE DREAM MECHANISM 24

III WHY THE DREAM DISGUISES THE DESIRES ... 57
IV DREAM ANALYSIS 78
V SEX IN DREAMS 104
VI THE WISH IN DREAMS 135
VII THE FUNCTION OF THE DREAM 164
VIII THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY PROCESS RE^
GRESSION 186
IX THE UNCONSCIOUS AND CONSCIOUSNESS REALITY 220
DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
DREAMS HAVE A MEANING
IN what we may term "prescientific days" people

were no uncertainty about the interpretation of
in
dreams. When they were recalled after awaken
ing they were regarded as either the friendly or

hostile manifestation of some higher powers, de
moniacal and Divine. With the rise of scientific
thought the whole of this expressive mythology was

transferred to psychology; to-day there is but a
small minority among educated persons who doubt
that the dream is the dreamer s own psychical act.
But since the downfall of the mythologicalhypo
thesis an interpretation of the dream has been want
ing. The conditions of its origin; its relationship
to our psychical life when we are awake; its inde
pendence of disturbances which, during the state

of sleep, seem to compel notice; its many pecul
repugnant to our waking thought; the in-

iarities
congruence between its images and the feelings they

engender then the dream
; s evanescence, the way in
2 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
which, on awakening, our thoughts thrust it aside
as something bizarre, and our reminiscences muti
lating or rejecting and many other
it all these
problems have for many hundred years demanded

answers which up till now could never have been
satisfactory. Before all there is the question as to
the meaning of the dream, a question which is in
itself double-sided. There is, firstly, the psychical
significance of the dream, its position with regard
to the psychical processes, as to a possible biological
dream a meaning can
function; secondly, has the
sense be made of each single dream as of other
mental syntheses?
Three tendencies can be observed in the estima
tion of dreams. Many philosophers have given
currency to one of these tendencies, one which at
the same time preserves something of the dream s
former over-valuation. The foundation of dream
life is for them a peculiar state of psychical activity,
which they even celebrate ais elevation to some
Jiigher state. Schubert, for instance, claims:
"The dream is the liberation of the spirit from the
pressure of external nature, a detachment of the
soul from the fetters of go so
matter." Not all
far as this, but many maintain that dreams have

their origin in real spiritual excitations, and are the
outward manifestations of spiritual powers whose

DREAMS HAVE A MEANING 3
free movements have been hampered during the day

("Dream Phantasies," Schemer, Volkelt). A
large number of observers acknowledge that dream
life is capable of extraordinary achievements at
any rate, in certain fields ("Memory").

In striking contradiction with this the majority
of medical writers hardly admit that the dream is a
psychical phenomenon at all. According to them

dreams are provoked and initiated exclusively by
stimuli proceeding from the._sensejs_Qr..the-..bQdy >
which either reach the sleeper from without or are,

accidental disturbances of his internal organs. The
dream has no greater claim to meaning and im
portance than the sound called forth by the ten
fingers of a person quite unacquainted with music
running his fingers over the keys of an instrument.
The dream is to be regarded, says Binz, "as a phy
sical process always useless, frequently morbid."
All the peculiarities of dream life are jexplicable as

the incoherent effort, due to some physiological
stimulus, of certain organs, or of the cortical ele
ments of a brain otherwise asleep.
But slightly affected opinion and
by scientific
untroubled as to the origin of dreams, the popular

view holds firmly to the belief that dreams really
have got a meaning, in some way they do foretell
the future, whilst the meaning can be unravelled
4 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
in some way or other from its oft bizarre and en
igmatical content. The reading of dreams consists
in replacing the events of the dream, so far as re
membered, by other events. This is done either
scene by scene, according to some rigid key, or the

dream as a whole replaced by something else of
is
which it was a symbol, Serious-minded persons

laugh at these efforts "Dreams are but sea-
foam!"
One day I discovered to my amazement that the

popular view grounded in superstition, and not the
medical one, comes nearer to the, truth about dreams.
I arrived at new conclusions about dreams by the
use of a new method of psychological investigation,
one which had rendered me good service in the in
vestigation of phobias, obsessions, illusions, and the

and which, under the name "psycho-analysis,"
like,
had found acceptance by a whole school of investi

gators. The manifold analogies of dream lifejwitlL
the most diverse conditions of psychical disease in
thewaking state have been rjghtly insisted upon by
a number of medical observers. It seemed, there
apply to the interpretation

fore, a priori, hopeful to
of dreams methods of investigation which had been
tested in psychopathological processes. Obsessions
and those peculiar sensations of haunting dread re
main as strange to normal consciousness as do
dreams to our waking consciousness ; their origin is
as unknown to consciousness as is that of dreams.

It was practical ends that impelled us, in these dis
eases, to fathom their origin and formation. Ex
perience had shown us that a cure and a consequent
mastery of the obsessing ideas did result when once
those thoughts, the connecting links between the
morbid ideas and the rest of the psychical content,
were revealed which were heretofore veiled from
consciousness. The procedure I employed for the
interpretation of dreams thus arose from psycho
therapy.
This procedure is readily described, although its
practice demands instruction and experience.

Suppose the patient is suffering from intense mor
bid dread. He is requested to direct his attention
to the idea in question, without, however, as he has
so frequently done, meditating upon it.
Every im
pression about without any exception, which oc
it,
curs to him should be imparted to the doctor. The

statement which will be perhaps then made, that
he cannot concentrate his attention upon anything
at all, is by assuring him most posi
to be countered
tively that such a blank state of mind is utterly im
possible. As a matter of fact, a great number of

impressions will soon occur, with which others will
associate themselves. These will be invariably ac-
6 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
companied by the expression of the observer s opin
ion that they have no meaning or are unimportant.
It will be at once noticed that it is this self-criticism^
which prevented the patient from imparting the

ideas, which had indeed already excluded them from
consciousness. If the patient can be induced to
abandon this self-criticism and to pursue the trains
of thought which are yielded by concentrating the
attention, most significant matter will be obtained,
matter which will be presently seen to be clearly
linked to the morbid idea in question. Its connec
tion with other ideas will be manifest, and later on
will permit the replacement of the morbid idea by
a fresh one, which is perfectly adapted to psychical
continuity.
This not the place to examine thoroughly the
is
hypothesis upon which this experiment rests, or the

deductions which follow from its invariable success.
It must suffice to state that we obtain matter enough
for the resolution of every morbid idea if _W_~es.7
pecially direct our attention to the unbidden as

sociations which disturb our thoughts those which
are otherwise put aside by the critic as worthless
refuse. If the procedure is exercised on oneself,
the best plan of helping the experiment is to write
down at once all one s first indistinct fancies.
I will now point out where this method leads when
I apply it to the examination of dreams. Any

dream could be made use of in this way. From
certain motives I, however, choose a dream of my
own, which appears confused and meaningless to
my memory, and one which has the advantage of
brevity. Probably my dream of last night satisfies
the requirements. Its content, fixed immediately
after awakening, runs as follows:
"Company; at table or table d hote. . . .

Spin
ach is served. Mrs. E. L.,, next to me, gives
sitting
me her undivided attention,, and places her hand
upon my knee. In defence I remove her
familiarly
hand. Then she says: But you have always had
such beautiful eyes ... I then distinctly see
something like two eyes as a sketch or as the con

tour of a spectacle lens. ..."
This is the whole dream, or, at all events, all that
I can remember. not only ob
It appears to me
scure and meaningless, but more especially odd.
Mrs. E. L. is a person with whom I am scarcely on
visiting terms, knowledge have I ever
nor to my
desired any more cordial relationship. I have not
seen her for a long time, and do not think there was
any mention of her recently. No emotion what

ever accompanied the dream process.
Reflecting upon this dream does not make it a
bit clearer to my mind. I will now, however, pre-
8 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY;
sent the ideas, without premeditation and without
criticism, which introspection yielded. I soon no
tice that it is an advantage to break up the dream
into its elements, and to search out the ideas which
link themselves to each fragment,
Company; at table or table d hote. The recol

lection of the slight event with which the evening
of yesterday ended is at once called up. I left a
small party in the company of a friend, who offered
to drive me home in his cab. "I
prefer a taxi," he
said; "that
gives one such a pleasant occupation;
there is always something to look at." When we
were in the cab, and the cab-driver turned the disc
so that the first sixty hellers were visible, I con

tinued the jest. "We have hardly got in and we
already owe sixty hellers. The taxi always re
minds me of the table d hote. It makes me avari
cious and selfish by continuously reminding me of
my debt. It seems to me to mount up too quickly,
and I am ah/ays afraid that I shall be at a disadvan
tage, just as I cannot resist at table d hote the com

ical fear that I am getting too little, that I must
look after myself." In far-fetched connection with
this I quote :
"To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,

To guilt ye let us heedless go."
Another idea about the table d hote. A few

weeks ago I was very cross with my dear wife at
the dinner-table at a Tyrolese health resort, be
cause she was not sufficiently reserved with some
neighbors with whom I wished to have absolutely
nothing to do. I begged her to occupy herself

rather with me than with the strangers. That is
just as ifI had been at a disadvantage at the table
d hote. The contrast between the behavior of my
wife at the table and that of Mrs. E. L. in the
dream now strikes me :
f<
Addresses herself entirely

9
to me!
Further, I now notice that the dream is the re
production of a little scene which transpired be

tween my wife and myself when I was scretly court
ing her. The caressing under cover of the table
cloth was an answer to a wooer s passionate letter.
In the dream, however, my wife is
replaced by the
unfamiliar E. L.
Mrs. E. L. is the daughter of a man to whom I
owed money! I cann ot help noticing that here
f 1
there revealed an unsuspected connection between

is
the dream content and my thoughts. If the chain

of associations be followed up which proceeds from
one element of the dream one is soon led back to
another of its elements. The thoughts evoked by
10 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
the dream stir up associations which were not no
ticeable in the dream itself.
Is it not customary, when some one expects

others to look after his interests without any ad
vantage to themselves, to ask the innocent question
satirically: "Do
you think this will be done for
the sake of your beautiful eyes?"
Hence Mrs. E.
L. s speech in the dream. have always had
"You
such beautiful eyes,"

means nothing but "people
always do everything to you for love of you: you
have had everything for nothing The contrary
is, of course, the truth; I have always paid dearly
for whatever kindness others have shown me. Still,
the fact that I had a ride for nothing yesterday

when my friend drove me home in his cab must have
made an impression upon me.
In any case, the friend whose guests we were
yesterday has often made me his debtor. Recently
I allowed an opportunity of requiting him to go
by. He has had

only one present from me, an an
tique shawl, upon which eyes are painted all round,
a so-called Occhiale, as a charm against the Maloc-
chio. Moreover, he is an eye specialist. That
same evening I had asked him after a patient whom
I had sent to him for glasses.
As I remarked, nearly all parts of the dream have
been brought into this new connection. I still
might ask why in the dream it was spinach that was

served up. Because spinach called up a little scene
which recently occurred at our table. child, A
whose beautiful eyes are really deserving of praise,
refused to eat spinach. As a child I was just the
same; for a long time I loathed spinach, until in
later life my tastes altered, and it became one of my
favorite dishes. The mention of this dish brings
my own childhood and that of my child s near to
gether. "You should be glad that you have some
spinach," his mother had said to the little gourmet.

"Some children would be very glad to get spinach."
Thus I am reminded of the parents duties towards
their children. Goethe s words
"To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,

To guilt ye let us heedless go"
take on another meaning in this connection.

Here I will stop in order that I may recapitulate
the results of the analysis of the dream. By fol
lowing the associations which were linked to the

single elements of the dream torn from their con
text, I have been led to a series of thoughts and
reminiscences where I am bound to recognize inter
esting expressions of my psychical life. The mat
ter yielded by an analysis of the dream stands in
intimate relationship with the dream content, but
12 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
this relationship is so special that I should never
have been able to have inferred the new discoveries
directly from the dream itself. The dream was
passionless, disconnected, and unintelligible. Dur
ing the time that I am unfolding the thoughts at
the back of the dream I feel intense and well-
grounded emotions. The thoughts themselves fit

beautifully together into chains logically bound to
gether with certain central ideas which ever repeat
themselves. Such ideas not represented in the
dream itself are in this instance the antitheses self
be indebted, to work for nothing.
ish, unselfish, to
I could draw closer the threads of the web which
analysis has disclosed, and would then be able to

show how they run together into a single knot;
all
I am debarred from making this work public by

considerations of a private, not of a scientific, na
ture. After having cleared up many things which
I do not willingly acknowledge as mine, I should
have much to reveal which had better remain my
secret. Why, then, do not I choose another dream
whose analysis would be more suitable for publica
tion, so that I could awaken a fairer conviction of
the sense and cohesion of the results disclosed
by
analysis? The answer is, because every dream
which I investigate leads to the same difficulties
and places me under the same need of discretion;
DREAMS Ek ^E A MEANING 13
nor should I forgo any the more were

this \
fficulty
1
I to analyze the dream vf some one else. That
could only be done when opportunity allowed all
concealment to be dropped without injury to those
who trusted me.
The conclusion which is now forced upon me is
that the dream is a sort of substitution for ihose.-

emotional and intellectual trains of thought which
I attained after complete analysis, I do not yet
know the process by which the dream arose from
those thoughts, but I perceive that it is wrong to
regard the dream as psychically unimportant, a

purely physical process which has arisen from the
activity of isolated cortical elements awakened out
of sleep.
I must further remark that the dream is far
shorter than the thoughts which I hold it replaces ;
whilst analysis discovered that the dream was pro

voked by an unimportant occurrence the evening be
fore the dream.
Naturally, I would not draw such far-reaching

conclusions if only one analysis were known to me.
Experience has shown me that when the associations

of any dream are honestly followed such a chain of
thought is revealed, the constituent parts of the
dream reappear correctly and sensibly linked to
gether; the slight suspicion that this concatenation.
14 DREAM PSYC OLOGY
was merely an accident of a single first observation
must, therefore, be absolu dy relinquished. I re
gard it, therefore, as my right to establish this new

view by a proper nomenclature. I contrast the
dream which my memory evokes with the dream
and other added matter revealed by analysis: the
former I call the dream s manifest content; the lat
ter, without at first further subdivision, its latent
.content, I arrive at two new problems hitherto
unf ormulated :
( 1 )
What is the psychical process
which has transformed the latent content of the
dream into its manifest content? (2) What is the
motive or the motives which have made such trans
formation exigent? The process by which the
change from latent to manifest content is executed
I name the dream-wjorfa In contrast with this is
the work of analysis, which produces the reverse
transformation. The other problems of the dream
the inquiry as to its stimuli, as to the source of its
materials, as to its possible purpose, the function of

dreaming, the forgetting of dreams these I will
discuss in connection with the latent dream-con
tent.
I shall take every car 3 to avoid a confusion be

tween the manifest and the latent content, for I
ascribe all the contradictory as well as the incor
rect accounts of dream-life to the ignorance of this
latent content, now first laid bare through analysis.

The conversion of the latent dream thoughts into
those manifest deserves our close study as the first
known example of the transformation of psychical

stuff from one mode of expression into another.
From a mode of expression which, moreover, is
readily intelligible into another which we can only

penetrate by effort and with guidance, although this
new mode must be equally reckoned as an effort of
our own psychical activity From the standpoint
of the relationship of latent to manifest dream-con
tent, dreams can be divided into three classes. We

can, in the .first place, distinguish those dreams
which haveVa meaning and are, at the. same time,
intelligible, which allow us to penetrate into our
psychical life without further ado. Such dreams

are numerous; they are usually short, and, as a gen
eral rule, do not seem very noticeable, because
everything remarkable or exciting surprise is ab-
jsent. Their occurrence is, moreover, a strong argu
ment against the doctrine which derives the dream
from the isolated activity of certain cortical ele
ments. All signs of a lowered or subdivided psy
chical activity are wanting. Yet we never raise
any objection to characterizing them as dreams, nor
do we confound them with the products of our wak
ing life.
16 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
A second group formed by those dreams which
is
are indeed self -coherent and have a distinct mean
ing, but appear strange because we are unable to

reconcile their meaning with our mental life. That
is the case when we dream, for instance, that some
dear relative has died of plague when we know of
no ground for expecting, apprehending, or assum
ing anything of the sort; we can only ask ourself
wonderingly :
brought that into my head
"What ?"
To the third group those dreams belong which are

void of both meaning and intelligibility; they are
incoherent,, and meaningless. The
complicated,
overwhelming number of our dreams partake of
this character, and this has given rise to the con
temptuous attitude towards dreams and the medical

theory of their limited psychical activity. ItJs.es?
pecially in the longer and more complicated dream-

plots that signs of incoherence are seldom missing.
The contrast between manifest and latent dream-:
content is clearly only of value for the dreams of
the second and more especially for those of the third
class. Here are problems which are only solved
when the manifest dream is replaced by its latent
content; it was an example of this kind, a compli

cated and unintelligible dream, that we subjected to
analysis. Against our expectation we, however,

struck upon reasons which prevented a complete
cognizance of the latent dream thought. On the

repetition of this same experience we were forced
to the supposition that there an intimate bond,
is
with laws of its own, between the unintelligible and

complicated nature of the dream and the difficulties
attending communication of the thoughts connected
with the dream* Before investigating the nature
of this bond, it advantageous to turn our
will be
attention to the more readily intelligible dreams of

the first class where, the manifest and latent con
tent being identical, the dream work seems to be
.omitted.
The investigation of these dreams is also advisa
ble from another standpoint. The dreams of chilr

dren are of nature; they have a meaning, and
this
are not bizarre. This, by the way, is a further ob

jection to reducing dreams to a dissociation of cere
bral activity in sleep, for why should such a lower
ing of psychical functions belong to the nature of

sleep in adults, but not in children? We
are, how
ever, fully justified in expecting that the explana

tion of psychical processes in children, essentially
simplified as they may be, should serve as an indis
pensable preparation towards the psychology of the

adult.
I shall therefore some examples of dreams

cite
which I have gathered from children. girl of A

18 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
nineteen months was made to go without food for
a day because she had been sick in the morning,
and, according to nurse, had made herself ill
through eating strawberries. During the night,

after her day of fasting, she was heard calling out
her name during sleep, and adding: "Tcwoberry,
eggs., pap" She dreaming that she is eating,

is
and selects out of her menu exactly what she sup
poses she will not get much of just now.

The same kind of dream about a forbidden dish
was that of a little boy of twenty-two months. The
day before he was told to offer his uncle a present
of a small basket of cherries, of which the child
was, of course, only allowed one to taste. He

woke up with the joyful news: "Hermann eaten
up all the cherries."
A girl of three and a half years had made during
the day a sea trip which was too short for her, and
she cried when she had to get out of the boat. The
next morning her story was that during the night
she had been on the sea, thus continuing the inter
rupted trip.
A boy of five and a half years was not at all
pleased with his party during a walk in the Dach-
stein region. Whenever a new peak came into
sight he asked if that were the Dachstein, and, fi
nally, refused to accompany the party to the water-

fall. His behavior was ascribed to fatigue; but a
better explanationwas forthcoming when the next

morning he told his dream: he had ascended the
Dachstein. Obviously he expected the ascent of
the Dachstein to be the object of the excursion, and
was vexed by not getting a glimpse of the moun
tain. The dream gave him what the day had with
held. The dream of a girl of six was similar; her
father had cut short the walk before reaching the
promised objective on account of the lateness of the

hour. On the way back she noticed a signpost giv
ing the name of another place for excursions ; her
father promised to take her there also some other
day. She greeted her father next day with the
news that she had dreamt that her father had been
with her to both places.
What is common in all these dreams is obvious.
They completely satisfy wishes excited during the

day which remain unrealized. They are simply
and undisguisedly realizations of wishes.
The following child-dream, not quite understand
able at first sight, isnothing else than a wish re
alized. On account of poliomyelitis a girl, not
quite four years of age, was brought from the coun
try into town, and remained over night with a child
aunt in a big for her, naturally, huge bed.
less
The next morning she stated that she had dreamt

20 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
that the bed was much too small for her, so that she
could find no place in it. To explain this dream as
a wish is easy when we remember that to be "big"
isa frequently expressed wish of all children. The
bigness of the bed reminded Miss Little-Would-

be-Big only too forcibly of her smallness. This
nasty situation became righted in her dream, and

she grew so big that the bed now became too small
for her.
Even when children s dreams are complicated

and polished, their comprehension as a realization
of desire is fairly evident. A boy of eight dreamt
that he was being driven with Achilles in a war-
chariot, guided by Diomedes. The day before he
was assiduously reading about great heroes. It is
easy to show that he took these heroes as his models,
and regretted that he was not living in those days.
From this short collection of further character
istic of the dreams of children is manifest th eir
.connection with the life of the day. The desires
which are realized in these dreams are left over

from the day or, as a rule, the day previous, and
the feeling has become intently emphasized and
fixed during the day thoughts. Accidental and in
different matters, or what must appear so to the
child, find no acceptance in the contents of the
dream.
Innumerable instances of such dreams of the in

fantile type can be found among adults also, but,
as mentioned, these are mostly exactly like the man

ifest content. Thus, a random selection of per
sons will generally respond to thirst at night-time
with a dream about drinking, thus striving to get
rid of the sensation and to let sleep continue.
Many persons frequently have these comforting

dreams before waking, just when they are called.
They then dream that they are already up, that they
are washing, or already in school, at the office, etc.,
where they ought to be at a given time. The night

before an intended journey one not infrequently
dreams that one has already arrived at the destina
tion ; before going to a play or to a party the dream
not infrequently anticipates, in impatience, as it
were, the expected pleasure. At other times the
dream expresses the realization of the desire some
what indirectly some connection, some sequel must
;
be known the first step towards recognizing the

desire. Thus, when a husband related to me the
dream young wife, that her monthly period
of his
had begun, I had to bethink myself that the young
wife would have expected a pregnancy if the period
had been absent. The dream is then a sign of
pregnancy. Its meaning is that it shows the wish

realized that pregnancy should not occur just yet.
22 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
Under unusual and extreme circumstances, these
dreams of the infantile type become very frequent.
The leader of a polar expedition tells us, for in
stance, that during the wintering amid the ice the

crew, with their monotonous diet and slight rations,
dreamt regularly, like children, of fine meals, of
mountains of tobacco, and of home.

It is not uncommon that out of some long, com
plicated and intricate dream one specially lucid part
stands out containing unmistakably the realization
.of a desire, but bound up with much unintelligible
matter. On more frequently analyzing the seem
ingly more transparent dreams of adults, it is as
tonishing to discover that these are rarely as simple

as the dreams of children, and that they cover an
other meaning beyond that of the realization of a
wish.
would certainly be a simple and convenient
It
solution of the riddle if the work of analysis made
it at all possible for us to trace the meaningless and
intricate dreams of adults back to the infantile type,
to the realization of some intensely experienced de

sire of the day. But there is no warrant for such
an expectation. Their dreams are generally full
of the most indifferent and bizarre matter, and no
trace of the realization of the wish is to be found in
.their content.
Before leaving these infantile dreams, which are

obviously unrealized desires, we must not fail to
mention another chief characteristic of dreams, one
that has been long noticed, and one which stands
out most clearly in this class. I can replace any of
these dreams by a phrase expressing a desire. If
the sea trip had only lasted longer if I were only ;
washed and dressed; if I had only been allowed to
keep the cherries instead of giving them to my uncle.

But the dream gives something more than the
.choice, for here the desire is already realized; its
realization is real and actual. The dream presenta

tions consist chiefly, if not wholly, .of scenes and
mainly of visual sense images. Hence a kind of

transformation not entirely absent in this class of
is
dreams, and this may be fairly designated as the

dream work. n idea merely existing in the region
of possibility is replaced by a vision of its accom
plishment.
II
THE DREAM MECHANISM
WE are compelled to assume that such transforma

tion of scene has taken place in intricate
also
.dreams, though we do not know whether it has en

countered any possible desire. The dream in
stanced at the commencement, which we analyzed
somewhat thoroughly, did give us occasion in two
places to suspect something of the kind. Analysis
brought out that my wife was occupied with others
at table, and that I did not like it in the dream it
;
self exactly the opposite occurs, for the person who

replaces wife gives me her undivided attention.
my
But can one wish for anything pleasanter after a
disagreeable incident than that the exact contrary
should have occurred, just as the dream has it?
The stinging thought in the analysis, that I have
never had anything for nothing, is similarly con
nected with the woman s remark in the dream:
have always had such beautiful eyes." Some
"You
portion of the opposition between the latent

and
manifest content of the dream must be therefore
derived from the realization of a wish.
24
THE DREAM MECHANISM 25
Another manifestation of the dream work which

all incoherent dreams have in common is still more
noticeable. Choose any instance, and compare the
number of separate elements in it, or the extent of
the dream, if written down, with the dream thoughts
yielded by analysis, and of which but a trace can
be refound in the dream itself. There can be no
doubt that the dream working has resulted in an
extraordinary compression or condensation. It is
not at first easy to form an opinion as to the extent
of the condensation; the more deeply you go into
the analysis, the more deeply you are impressed by

it. There will be found no factor in the dream
whence the chains of associations do not lead in two
or more directions, no scene which has not been
pieced together out of two or more impressions and
events. For instance, I once dreamt about a kind
of swimming-bath where the bathers suddenly sep
arated in all directions; at one place on the edge a
person stood bending towards one of the bathers as

if to drag him out. The scene was a composite one,
made up out of an event that occurred at the time
of puberty, and of two pictures, one of which I had
seen just shortly before the dream. The two pic
tures were The Surprise in the Bath, from
Schwind s Cycle -of the Melusine (note the bathers
suddenly separating), and. The Flood, by an

26 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
Italian master. The little incident was that I
once witnessed a lady, who had tarried in the swim
ming-bath until the men s hour, being helped out
of the water by the swimming-master. The scene
in the dream which was selected for analysis led to
a whole group of reminiscences, each one of which

had contributed to the dream content. First of all
came the little episode from the time of my court
ing, of which I have already spoken; the pressure

of a hand under the table gave rise in the dream to
the "under the table," which I had subsequently to
find a place for in my recollection. There was, of
course, at the time not a word about "undivided at
tention."
Analysis taught me that this factor is
the realization of a desire through contradictory its
and related to the behavior of my. wife at the table
d hote. An exactly similar and much more im

portant episode of our courtship, one which sepa
rated us for an entire day, lies hidden behind this
recent recollection. The intimacy, the hand rest
ing upon the knee, refers to a quite different con

nection arid to quite other persons. This element
in the dream becomes again the starting-point of
two distinct series of reminiscences, and so on.
The stuff of the dream thoughts which has been

accumulated for the formation of the dream scene
must be naturally fit for this application. There
must be one or more common factors. The dream

work proceeds like" Francis Galton with his family
photographs. The different elements _are_ put one
on top of the other; what is common ^ to the com

posite picture stands out clearly, the opposing de
tails cancel each other. This process of repro
duction partly explains the wavering statements,
of a peculiar vagueness, in so many elements of thje
dream. For the interpretation of dreams this rule
holds good: When analysis discloses uncertainty.

as to either or read and., taking each section of
the app arent alternatives as a separate outlet for a
series of impressions*
When there is nothing in common between the

dream thoughts, the dream work takes the trouble
to create a something, in order to make a common
presentation feasible in the dream. The simplest
way to approximate two dream thoughts, which
have as yet nothing in common, consists in making
such a change in the actual expression of one rdea
.as will meet a .slight responsive recasting in the form
of the other idea. The process is analogous to that

of rhyme, when- consonance supplies the desired
common factor. A good deal of the dreani work
consists in the creation of those frequently, very
witty, but often exaggerated, digressions. These
vary from the common presentation in the dream
28 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
content to dream thoughts which are as varied as
are* the causes in form and essence which give rise
to them. In the analysis of our. example of a

dream, I find a like case of the transformation of a
thought in order that might agree with another it
essentially foreign one. In following out the an

alysis I struck upon the thought : I should like to
have something for nothing. But this formula is

not serviceable to the dream. Hence it is replaced
by another one: should like to enjoy something
"I
l
free of cost." The word (taste) with its "kost" ,
double meaning, is appropriate to a table d hote ; it,
moreover, is in place through the special sense in the

dream. At home if there is a dish which the chil
dren decline, their mother first tries gentle persua
sion, with a "Just taste it." That the dream work
should unhesitatingly use the double meaning of
the word is certainly remarkable ; ample experience
has shown, however, tha/t the occurrence is quite
usual.
Through condensation of the dream certain con,-

i"Ich mochte gerne etwas geniessen ohne Kosten zu haben." A
a pun upon and
the word "kosten," which has two meanings "taste"
In "Die Traumdeutung," third edition, p. 71 footnote, Pro

"cost."
fessor Freud remarks that finest example of dream interpreta

"the
tion left us by the ancients is based upon a pun" (from "The Inter
pretation of Dreams," by Artemidorus Daldianus). "Moreover,
dreams are so intimately bound up with language that Ferenczi truly
points out that every tongue has its own language
of dreams. A
dream is as a rule untranslatable into other languages." TBANSLATOR.
^tituent parts of its content ar.e explicable which

are peculiar to the dream life alone, and which are
not found in the waking state. Such are the com
posite and mixed persons, the extraordinary mixed
figures, creations comparable with the fantastic
animal compositions of Orientals; a moment s
thought and these are reduced to unity, whilst the
fancies of the dream are ever formed anew in an
inexhaustible "profusion. Every one knows such
images in his own dreams; manifold are their or
igins. I can build up a person by borrowing one

feature from one person and one from another, or
by giving to the form of one the name of another in
my dream. I can also visualize one person, but
place him in a position which has occurred to an

other. There is -a meaning in all these cases when
different persons ar*e amalgamated into one substi
tute. Such cases denote an a "just

"and," like," a
comparison of the original person from a certain

point of view, a comparison which can be also re
alized in the dream itself. As a rule, however, the
identity of the blended persons only discoverable

is
by analysis, and is only indicated in the dream con

tent by the formation of the "combined" person.
The same diversity in their ways of formation
and the same rules for its solution hold good also
for the innumerable medley of dream contents-, ex-

30 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
amples -of which I need scarcely adduce. Their
strangeness quite disappears, when we resolve not
to place them on a level with the objects of percep
tion as known when awake, but to remember
to us
that they represent the_art_of dream condensation
by an exclusion of unnecessary detail. Promin

ence is given to the common character of the com
bination. Analysis must also generally supply the
common features. The dream says simply: All
these things have an in common.
f<
The decorti-
x"
position of these mixed images by analysis is often

the quickest an interpretation of the dream.
way to
Thus I once dreamt that I was sitting with one of
my former university tutors on a bench, which was
undergoing a rapid continuous movement amidst
other benches. This was a combination of lecture-
room and moving staircase. I will not pursue the
further result of the thought. Another time I was
sitting in a carriage, and on my lap an object in
shape like a top-hat, which, however, was made of
transparent glass. The scene at once brought to
my mind the proverb: "He who keeps his hat in
his hand through the land.

will travel safely By
a slight turn the glass hat reminded me of Auer s
light, and I knew that I was about to invent

some
thing which was to make me as rich and independent
as his invention had made my countryman, Dr.
Auer, of Welsbach; then I should be able to travel

instead of remaining in Vienna. In the dream I
was traveling with my invention, with the, it is true,
rather awkward glass top-hat. The dream work is
two contradictory
peculiarly adept at representing
conceptions by means of the same mixed image.
Thus, for instance, a woman dreamt of herself
carrying a tall flower-stalk, as in the picture of the
Annunciation (Chastity-Mary is her own name),
but the stalk was bedecked with thick white blos
soms resembling camellias (contrast with chastity:
La dame aux Camelias).
A great deal of what we have called "dream con
densation" can be thus formulated. Each one of
the elements of the dream content is ovefdet er
mine d by the matter of the dream thoughts it is not ;
derived from one element of these thoughts, but

from a whole series. These are not necessarily in
terconnected in any way, but may belong to the
most diverse spheres of thought. The dream ele
ment truly represents all this disparate matter in

the dream content. Analysis, moreover, discloses
another side of the relationship between dream con
tent and dream thoughts. Just as one element of
the dream leads to associations with several dream
thoughts, a rule, the one dream thought re pre.-
so, as
sents more than one dream element. The threads

32 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
of the association do not simply converge from the
dream thoughts to the dream content, but on the
way they overlap and interweave in every way.
Next to the transformation of one thought in the
scene (its "dramatization"), condensation is the
most important and mast characteristic feature of
the dream work. We
have as yet no clue as to
the motive calling for such compression of the con
tent.
In the complicated and intricate dreams with

which we are now concerned, condensation and
dramatization do not wholly account for the differ
ence between, dream contents and dream thoughts.
There is evidence of a third factor, which deserves
careful consideration.
When I have arrived at an understanding of the
dream thoughts by my analysis I notice, above all,
that the matter of the manifest is very different
.from that of the latent dream content. That is, I
admit, only an apparent difference which vanishes
on closer investigation, for in the end I find the
whole dream content carried out in the dream
thoughts, nearly all the dream thoughts again repre
sented in the dream content. Nevertheless, there
does remain a certain amount of difference.
The essential content which stood out clearly and
broadly in the dream must, after analysis, rest satis-
fied with a very subordinate role among the dreain

thoughts,, These very dream thoughts which, go
ing by my feelings, have a claim to the greatest
importance are either not present at all in the dream

content, or are represented by some remote allusion*
in some obscure region of the dream. I can thus
describe these phenomena: During the dream-
work the psychical intensity of those thoughts and
conceptions to which itproperly pertains flows to
others which, in my judgment, have no claim to
such emphasis. Thereno other process which
is
contributes so much to concealment of the dream s
meaning and to make the connection between the

dream content and dream ideas irrecognizable.
During this process, which I will call the dream,

displacement, I notice also the psychical intensity,
significance, or emotional nature of the thoughts
become transposed .in. ..sensory vividness. What
was clearest in the dream seems to me, without fur
ther consideration, the most important; but often
in some obscure element of the dream I can rec
ognize the most direct offspring of the principal
dream thought.
I could only designate this dream displacement
as the transvaluation of psychical values. The
phenomena will not have been considered in all its
bearings unless I add that this displacement or

3* DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
transvaluation is shared by different dreams in ex
tremely varying degrees. There are dreams which

take place almost without any displacement.
These have the same time, meaning, and intelligibil
ity as we found in the dreams which recorded a
desire. In other dreams not a bit of the dream
idea has retained its own psychical value, or every
thing essential in these dream ideas has been re
placed by unessentials, whilst every kind of transi
tion between these conditions can be found. The
more obscure and intricate a dream is, the greater
is the part to be ascribed to the impetus of displace
ment in its formation.
The example that we chose for analysis shows, at
least, this much of displacement that its content
has a different center of interest from that of the
dream ideas. In the forefront of the dream con
tent the main scene appears as if a woman wished
to make advances to me ; in the dream idea the chief
interest rests on the desire to enjoy disinterested

love which shall "cost
nothing" ; this idea lies at the
back of the talk about the beautiful eyes and the

far-fetched allusion to "spinach."
If we abolish the dream displacement, we attain
through analysis quite certain conclusions regard

ing two problems of the dream which are most dis
puted as to what provokes a dream at all, and as
to the connection of the dream with our waking life.
There are dreams which at once expose their links

with the events of the day; in others no trace of
such a connection can be found. By the aid of an
alysis can be shown that every dream, without
it
any exception, is linked up with our impression of

the day, or perhaps it would be more correct to say
of the day previous to the dream. The impressions
which have incited the dream may be so important
that we are not surprised at our being occupied
with them whilst awake in this case
; we are right in
saying that the dream carries on the chief interest

of our waking life. More usually, however, when
the dream contains anything relating to the impres
sions of the day, it is so trivial, unimportant, and so
deserving of oblivion, that we can only recall it with
an effort. The dream content appears, then, even
when coherent and intelligible, to be concerned with
those indifferent trifles of thought undeserving of
our waking interest. The depreciation of dreams
is largely due to the predominance of the indifferent
#nd the worthless in their content.
Analysis destroys the appearance upon which this

derogatory judgment is based. When
dream the
content discloses nothing but some indifferent im
pression as instigating the dream, analysis ever in
dicates some significant event, which has been re-
36 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
place d by something indifferent with which it has
entered into abundant associations. Where the
dream is concerned with uninteresting and unim
portant conceptions, analysis reveals the numerous
associative paths which connect the trivial with the
momentous in the psychical estimation of the indi
vidual. It is only the action of displacement if
what is indifferent obtains recognition in the dream

content instead of those impressions which are
really the stimulus, or instead of the things of real

interest. In answering the question as to what pro
vokes the dream, as to the connection of the dream,
in the daily troubles, we must say, in terms of the
insight given us by replacing the manifest latent
dream content: The dream does never trouble it-
$glfabout things which are not deserving of our
concern during the day, and trivialities which do not
trouble us during the day have no power to pursue,
us whilst asleep
What provoked the dream in the example which
we have analyzed? The really unimportant event,
that a friend invited me to a free ride in his cab.
The table d hote scene in the dream contains an

allusion to this indifferent motive, for in conversa
tion I had brought the taxi parallel with the table
d hote. But I can indicate the important event
which has as its substitute the trivial one. A few

days before I had disbursed a large sum of money

for a member of my family who is very dear to
me. Small wonder, says the dream thought, if this
person is grateful to me for this this love is not

cost-free. But love that shall cost nothing is one
of the prime thoughts of the dream. The fact that
shortly before this I had had several drives with

the relative in question puts the one drive with my
friend in a position to recall the connection with the
other person. The indifferent impression which,
by such ramifications, provokes the dream is sub

servient to another condition which is not true of
the real source of the dream the impression must
be a recent one, everything arising from the day of
the dream.
I cannot leave the question of dream displace
ment without the consideration of a remarkable
process in the formation of dreams in which con
densation and displacement work together towards
^ne end. In condensation we have already con
sidered the case where two conceptions in the dream
having something in common, some point of con
tact, are replaced in the dream content by a mixed
image, where the distinct germ corresponds to what
is common, and the indistinct
secondary modifica
tions to what is distinctive. If displacement is
added to condensation, there is no formation of a

38 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
mixed image, but a common mean which bears the
same relationship to the individual elements as does
the resultant in the parallelogram of forces to its
components. In one of my dreams, for instance,

there is talk of an injection with propyl. On first
analysis I discovered an indifferent but true inci

dent where amyl played a part as the excitant of
the dream. I cannot yet vindicate the exchange
of amyl for propyl. To the round of ideas of the
same dream, however, there belongs the recollection
of my first visit to Munich, when the Propylcea
struck me. The attendant circumstances of the
analysis render it admissible that the influence of
this second group of conceptions caused the dis
placement of amyl to propyl. Propyl is, so to say,

the mean idea between amyl and propylcea; it got
into the dream as a kind of compromise by simultan
eous condensation and displacement.
The need of discovering some motive for this be
wildering work of the dream is even more called for
in the case of displacement than in condensation.
Although the work of displacement must be held
mainly responsible if the dream thoughts are not
refound or recognized in the dream content (unless
the motive of the changes be guessed) it is another
,
and milder kind of transformation which will be
considered with the dream thoughts which leads to

the discovery of a new but readily understood act

of the dream work. The first dream thoughts
which are unravelled by analysis frequently strike
one by their unusual wording. They do not ap
pear to be expressed in the sober form which our
thinking prefers; rather are they expressed sym
bolically by allegories and metaphors like the fig
urative language of the poets. It is not difficult
to find the motives for this degree of constraint in

the expression of dream ideas. The dream- content
consists chiefly of visual scenes; hence the dream
ideas must, in the first place, be prepared to make
use of these forms of presentation. Conceive that
a political leader s or a barrister s address had to be
transposed into pantomime, and it will be easy to

understand the transformations to which the dream
work is constrained by regard for this dramatization
of tJie dream content.
Around the psychical stuff of dream thoughts
there are ever found reminiscences of impressions,
not infrequently of early childhood rscenes which,

as a rule, have been visually grasped. Whenever
possible, this portion of the dream ideas exercises
a definite influence upon the modelling of the dream
content it works like a center of crystallization, by
;
attractingand rearranging the stuff of the dream

thoughts. The scene of the dream is not infre-
40 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
quently nothing but a modified repetition, compli:
cated by interpolations of events that have left such
.animpression; the dream but very seldom repro
duces accurate and unmixed reproductions of real
scenes.
The dream content does not, however, consist
exclusively of scenes, but it also includes scattered
fragments of visual images, conversations, and even

bits of unchanged thoughts- It will be perhaps to
the point if we instance in the briefest way the
means of dramatization which are at the disposal
of the dream work for the repetition of the dream
thoughts in the peculiar language of the dream.
The dream thoughts which we learn from the
analysis exhibit themselves~^s~a -psychical complex,
of most complicated superstructure. Their
the
parts stand in the most diverse relationship to each

other; they form backgrounds and foregrounds,
stipulations, digressions, illustrations, demonstra

tions, and protestations. It may be said to be al
most the rule that one train of thought is followed
by its contradictory. No feature known to our

reason whilst awake is absent. If a dream is to
grow out of all this, the psychical matter is sub

mitted to a pressure which condenses it extremely,
to an inner shrinking and displacement, creating at
the same time fresh surfaces, to a selective inter-

weaving among the constituents best adapted for

the construction of these scenes. Having regard
to the origin of this stuff, the term regression can be
fairly applied to this process. The logical chains
\vhich hitherto held the psychical stuff together be
come lost in this transformation to the dream con

tent. The dream work takes on, as it were, only
the essential content of the dream thoughts for
elaboration. It is left to analysis to restore the
connection which the dream work has destroyed.

The dream s means of expression must therefore
be regarded as meager in comparison with those of
our imagination, though the dream does not re
nounce all claims to the restitution of logical re
lation to the dream thoughts. It rather succeeds
with tolerable frequency in replacing these by
formal characters of its own.
By reason of the undoubted connection existing
between all the parts of dream thoughts, the dream
is able to embody matter into a single scene. It
this
upholds a logical connection as approximation in

time and space,, just as the painter, who groups all
the poets for his picture of Parnassus who, though
they have never been all together on a mountain

peak, yet form ideally a community. The dream
continues this method of presentation in individual
dreams, and often when it displays two elements

42 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
close together in the dream content it warrants
some special inner connection between what they
represent in the dream thoughts. It should be,
moreover, observed that dreams of one night all the
prove on analysis to originate from the same sphere

of thought.
The causal connection between two ideas is either
leftwithout presentation, or replaced by two differ
ent long portions of dreams one after the other.
This presentation is frequently a reversed one, the
beginning of the dream being the deduction, and its
end the hypothesis. Tlie direct transformation of

one thing into another in the dream seems to serve
the relationship of cause and effect.
The dream never utters the alternating
" *
but accepts both as having equal rights
eiiher-or
in the same connection. When "either-or" is used
in the reproduction of dreams, it is, as I have al
ready mentioned, to be replaced by "and."
Conceptions which stand in opposition to one an

other are preferably expressed in dreams by the
1
same element. There seems no "not" in dreams.
i It is worthy of remark that eminent philologists maintain that

the oldest languages used the same word for expressing quite general
antitheses. In C. Abel s essay, "Ueber den Gegensinn der Urworter"
(1884, the following examples of such words in England are given:
"gleam gloom"; lock loch"; "down The Downs";
"to
step- "to
to stop." In his essay on "The Origin of Language" ("Linguistic
Essays," p. 240), Abel says: "When the Englishman says without, is

Opposition between two ideas, the relation of con

version, represented in dreams in a very remark
is
able way. It is expressed by the reversal of an

other part of the dream content just as if by way
of appendix. We shall later on deal with another
form of expressing disagreement. The common
dream sensation of movement checked serves the
purpose of representing disagreement of impulses
a conflict of the mil.
Only one of the logical relationships that of
agreement is found highly de

similarity , identity,
veloped in the mechanism of dream formation.

Dream work makes use of these cases as a starting-
point for condensation, drawing together every

thing which shows such agreement to .a fresh unity.
These short, crude observations naturally do not
suffice as an estimate of the abundance of the
dream s formal means of presenting the logical re
dream thoughts. In this respect,
lationships of the
individual dreams are worked up more nicely or
more carelessly, our text will have been followed
more or less closely, auxiliaries of the dream work
not his judgment based upon the comparative juxtaposition of two
opposites, with and out ; with itself originally meant without,
as may still be seen in withdraw. Bid includes the opposite sense
of giving and of proffering." Abel, "The
English Verbs of Com
mand," "Linguistic Essays," p. 104; see also Freud, "Ueber den
Gegensinn der Urworte"; Jahrbuch fur Psychoanatytische und Py-

chopatholoyische Forschungen, Band ii., part L, p. 179). TRANSLATOR.
44 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
will have been taken more or less into consideration.
In the latter case they appear obscure, intricate,

incoherent. When the dream appears openly ab
surd, when it contains an obvious paradox in its
content, it is so of purpose. Through its apparent

disregard of all logical claims, it expresses a part
of the intellectual content of the dream ideas. Ab
surdity in the dream denotes disagreement, scorn,
disdain in the dream thoughts. As this explanation
is in entire disagreement with the view that the
dream owes its origin to dissociated, uncritical cere
bral activity, I will emphasize my view by an ex
ample :
"One of my acquaintances, Mr. M- , has been

attacked by no a person tlwn Goethe in an essay
less
with, we all maintain, unwarrantable violence.

Mr. M -
has naturally been ruined by this at-
tack. He complains very bitterly of this at a din
ner-party, but his respect for Goethe has not dimin
ished through this personal experience. I now at
tempt to clear up the chronological relations which
strike me as improbable. Goethe died in 1832.

As his attack upon Mr. M- - must,
of course, have
taken place before, Mr. M - must have been then
a very young man. It seem$ to me plausible that

he was eighteen. I am not certain, however, what
year we are actually in, and the whole calculation

falls into obscurity. The attack was, moreover,

contained in Goethe s well-known essay on Na
"
ture.
The absurdity of the dream becomes the more

glaring when I state that Mr.
- is a
young M
business man without any poetical or literary in
terests. My analysis of the dream will show what
method there is in this madness. The dream has
derived its material from three sources:
1. Mr. M ,whom I was introduced at a
to
dinner-party, begged me one day to examine his

elder brother, who showed signs of mental trouble.
In conversation with the patient, an unpleasant
episode occurred. Without the slightest occasion
he disclosed one of his brother s youthful escapades.
I had asked the patient the year of his birth {year
of death in dream) , and led him to various calcula

tions which might show up his want of memory.
2. A medical journal which displayed my name
among others on the cover had published a ruinous

review of a book by my friend F- - of Berlin,
from the pen of a very juvenile reviewer. I com
municated with the editor, who, indeed, expressed
his but would not promise any redress.
regret,
Thereupon I broke off rny connection with the pa

per; in my letter of resignation I expressed the
hope that our personal relations would not suffer
46 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
from this. Here is the real source of the dream.
The derogatory reception of my friend s work had
made a deep impression upon me. In my judg
ment, it contained a fundamental biological discov
ery which only now, several years later, commences

to find favor among the professors.
3. A while before, a patient gave me the
little
medical history of her brother, who, exclaiming

ff 3
Nature, Nature! had gone out of his mind. The
doctors considered that the exclamation arose from
a study of Goethe s beautiful essay, and indicated
that the patient had been overworking. I ex
pressed the opinion that seemed more plausible

it
to me that the exclamation "Nature!" was to be

taken in that sexual meaning known also to the less
educated in our country. It seemed to me that this
view had something in it, because the unfortunate

youth afterwards mutilated his genital organs.
The patient was eighteen years old when the attack
occurred.
The first person dream-thoughts behind the
in the
ego was my friend who had been so scandalously

treated. "I now attempted to clear up the chrono
logical relation." My friend s book deals with the

chronological relations of life, and, amongst other
things, correlates Goethe s duration of life with a
number of days in many ways important to biology.
The ego however, represented as a general para

is,
lytic ("I
am not certain what year we are actually
in").
The dream exhibits my friend as behaving
like a general paralytic, and thus riots in absurdity.
But dream thoughts run ironically.

the course "Of
he is a madman, a fool, and you are the genius who

understands all about it. But shouldn t it be the
other way This inversion obviously took
round?"
place in the dream when Goethe attacked the young

man, which is absurd, whilst any one, however
young, can to-day easily attack the great Goethe.
I am prepared to maintain that no dream is in
spired by other than egoistic emotions. The ego in
the dream doesnot, indeed, represent only my

friend, but stands for myself also. I identify my
self with him because the fate of his discovery ap
pears to me typical of -the acceptance of my own.

If I were to publish my own theory, which gives
sexuality predominance in the setiology of psycho-

neurotic disorders (see the allusion to the eighteen-
year-old patient "Nature, Nature!"), the same

criticism would be leveled at me, and it would even
now meet with the same contempt.
When I follow out the dream thoughts closely, I
ever find only scorn and contempt as correlated with
the dreamfs absurdity. It is well known that the
discovery of a cracked sheep s skull on the Lido in

48 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
Venice gave Goethe the hint for the so-called ver
tebral theory of the skull. My friend plumes him
selfon having as a student raised a hubbub for the
resignation of an aged professor who had done good
work (including some in this very subject of com
parative anatomy), but who, on account of decrepi
tude, had become quite incapable of teaching. The
agitation my friend inspired was so successful be
cause in the German Universities an age limit is not
demanded for academic work. no protecAge is
tion against folly. In the hospital here I had for

years the honor to serve under a chief who, long
fossilized, was for decades notoriously feeble
minded, and was yet permitted to continue in his
responsible office. A trait, after the manner of the

find in the Lido, forces itself upon me here. It was
to this man that some youthful colleagues in the
h ospital adapted the then popular slang of that day :
"No Goethe has written that," "No Schiller com
posed that," etc.
We have not exhausted our valuation of the

dream work. In addition to condensation, dis
placement, and definite arrangement of the psychi

cal matter, we must ascribe to it yet another activity
one which is, indeed, not shared by every dream.

I shall not treat this position of the dream work ex
haustively; I will only point out that the readies**

way to arrive at a conception of it is to take for
granted, probably unfairly, that only subse it
quently influences the dream content which has al

ready been built up. Its mode of action thus con
sists in so coordinating the parts of the dream that
these coalesce to a coherent whole, to a dream com
position. The dream gets a kind of facade which,
it is true, does not conceal the whole of its content.
There is a sort of preliminary explanation to be
strengthened by interpolations and slight altera

tions. Such elaboration of the dream content must
not be too pronounced; the misconception of the
dream thoughts to which it gives rise is merely su
perficial, and our first piece of work in analyzing
a dream is to get rid of these early attempts at in
terpretation.
The motives for this part of the dream work are
easily gauged. This final elaboration of the dream

is due to a regard for intelligibility a fact at once
betraying the origin of an action which behaves to

wards the actual dream content just as our normal
psychical action behaves towards some proffered
perception that is to our liking. The dream con
tent is thus secured under the pretense of certain
expectations, is perceptually classified by the sup

position of its intelligibility, thereby risking its
falsification, whilst, in fact, the most extraordinary

50 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
misconceptions arise if the dream can be correlated
with nothing familiar. Every one is aware that we
are unable to look at any series of unfamiliar signs,
or to listen to a discussion of unknown words, with
out at once making perpetual changes through our
regard for intelligibility, through our falling back

upon what is familiar.
We can call those dreams properly made up

which are the result of an elaboration in every way
analogous to the psychical action of our waking life.
In other dreams there is no such action not even an
;
attempt is made to bring about order and meaning.

We regard the dream as "quite mad," because on
awaking it is with this last-named part of the dream

work, the dream elaboration, that we identify our
selves. So far, however, as our analysis is con
cerned, the dream, which resembles a medley of dis
connected fragments, is of as much value as the one
with a smooth and beautifully polished surface. In
the former case we
are spared, to some extent, the
trouble of breaking down the super-elaboration of
the dream content.
All the same, it would be an error to see in the
dream facade nothing but the misunderstood and

somewhat arbitrary elaboration of the dream car
ried out at the instance of our psychical life.
Wishes and phantasies are not infrequently em-
ployed in the erection of this facade, which were

already fashioned in the dream thoughts; they are
akin to those of our waking life "day-dreams," as
they are very properly called. These wishes and

phantasies, which analysis discloses in our dreams
at night, often present themselves as repetitions
and refashionings of the scenes of infancy. Thus
the dream facade may show us directly the true core
of the dream, distorted through admixture with
other matter.
Beyond these four activities there is nothing else
to be discovered in the dream work. If we keep

dream work denotes
closely to the definition that
the transference of dream thoughts to dream con
tent, we are compelled to say that the dream work

is not creative; it develops no fancies of its own, it
judges nothing, decides nothing. It does nothing

but prepare the matter for condensation and dis
placement, and refashions it for dramatization, to
which must be added the inconstant last-named
mechanism that of explanatory elaboration. It
is true that a good deal is found in the dream con
tent which might be understood as the result of an
other and more performance; but an
intellectual
alysis shows conclusively every time that these in

tellectual operations were already present in the
dream thoughts, and have only been taken over by

52 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
the dream content. A syllogism in the dream is
nothing other than the repetition of a syllogism in

the dream thoughts; it seems inoffensive if it has
been transferred to the dream without alteration; it
becomes a-bsurd if in the dream work it has been
transferred to other matter. A calculation in the
dream content simply means that there was a cal
culation in the dream thoughts whilst this is always ;
correct, the calculation in the dream can furnish the

silliest by the condensation of its factors and
results
the displacement of the same operations to other
things. Even
speeches which are found in the
dream content are not new compositions they prove ;
to be pieced together out of speeches which have

been made or heard or read; the words are faith
fully copied, but the occasion of their utterance is
quite overlooked, and their meaning is most vio

lently changed.
It is, perhaps, not superfluous to support these
assertions by examples :
1. A
seemingly inoffensive, well-made dream of
a patient. She was going to market with her cook,
who carried the basket. The butcher said to her
when she asked him for something: "That is all
gone and wished to give her something else, re
marking :
"
That s very good."

She declines, and
goes to the greengrocer, who wants to sell her a
peculiar vegetable which bound up in bundles and

is
of a black color. She says: don t know that; I

"I
won t take it!9

The remark "That is all gone" arose from the
treatment. A few days before I said myself to the
patient that the earliest reminiscences of childhood
are all gone as such, but are replaced by transfer
ences and dreams. Thus I am the butcher.
ff
The second remark, l don t know that" arose
in avery different connection. The day before she
had herself called out in rebuke to the cook (who,
Behave
(<
moreover, also appears in the dream) :
3*
yourself properly; I don t know that that is, "I
don t know this kind of behavior; I won t have it."
The more harmless portion of this speech was ar

rived at by a displacement of the dream content in ;
the dream thoughts only the other portion of the
speech played a part, because the dream work

changed an imaginary situation into utter irrecog-
nizability and complete inoffensiveness (while in
a certain sense I behave in an unseemly way to the
lady) . The situation resulting in this phantasy is,
however, nothing but a new edition of one that
actually took place.

2. A dream apparently meaningless relates to
figures. "She wants to pay something; her daugh

ter takes three florins sixty-five kreuzers out of her
54 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
purse; but she says: What are you doing? It
3
only cost twenty-one kreuzers

The dreamer was a stranger who had placed her
child at school in Vienna, and who was able to con
tinue under treatment so long as her daughter
my
remained at Vienna. The day before the dream
the directress of the school had recommended her
to keep the child another year at school. In this
case she would have been able to prolong her treat

ment by one year. The figures in the dream be
come important if it be remembered that time is
money. One year equals 365 days, or, expressed

in kreuzers, 3(>5
kreuzers, which is three florins
sixty-five kreuzers. The twenty-one kreuzers cor
respond with the three weeks which remained from

the day of the dream to the end of the school term,
and thus to the end of the treatment. It was ob
viously financial considerations which had moved
the lady to refuse the proposal of the directress,
and which were answerable for the triviality of the
amount in the dream.
3. A lady, young, but already ten years married,
heard that a friend of hers, Miss Elise L , of
about the same age, had become engaged. This
gave rise to the following dream:

She was sitting with her husband in the theater;
the one side of the stalls was quite empty. Her
husband tells her, Elise L -

and her fiance had
intended coming, but could only get some cheap
seats, three for one florin fifty kreuzers, and these
they would not take. In her opinion, that woulU

not have mattered very much.
The origin of the figures from the matter of the
dream thoughts and the changes the figures under
went are of interest. Whence came the one florin
fifty kreuzers? From a trifling occurrence of the
previous day. Her sister-in-law had received 150
florins as a present from her husband, and had
quickly got rid of it by buying some ornament.

Note that 150 florins is one hundred times one florin
fifty kreuzers. For the three concerned with the
tickets, the only link is that Elise L is exactly

three months younger than the dreamer. The
scene in the dream is the repetition of a little ad
venture for which she has often been teased by her
husband. She was once in a great hurry to get
tickets in time for a piece, and when she came to the
theater one side of the stalls was almost empty.

It was therefore quite unnecessary for her to have
been in such a hurry. Nor must we overlook the
absurdity of the dream that two persons should take
three tickets for the theater.
Now for the dream ideas. It was stupid to have
married so early I need not have been in so great a
;
56 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
hurry. Elise L - s example shows me that I
should have been able to get a husband later indeed,
;
one a hundred times better if I had but waited. I

could have bought three such men with the money
(dowry).
Ill
WHY THE DREAM DISGUISES THE DESIRES
IN the foregoing exposition we have now learnt

something of the dream work; we must regard it as
a quite special psychical process, which, so far as
we are aware, resembles nothing else. To the
dream work has been transferred that bewilderment
which its product, the dream, has aroused in us.
In truth, the dream work is only the first recogni
tion of a group of psychical processes to which must
be referred the origin of hysterical symptoms, the
ideas ofmorbid dread, obsession, and illusion.
Condensation, and especially displacement, are
never-failing features in these other processes.
The regard for appearance remains, on the other
hand, peculiar to the dream work. If this explana

tion brings the dream into line with the formation
of psychical disease, it becomes the more important
to fathom the essential conditions of processes like
dream building. It will be probably a surprise to

hear that neither the state of sleep nor illness is
among the indispensable conditions. whole A

number of phenomena of the everyday life of
57
58 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
healthy persons, forgetfulness, slips in speaking
and in holding things, together with a certain class
of mistakes, are due to a psychical mechanism an

alogous to that of the dream and the other mem
bers of this group.
Displacement is the core of the problem, and the

most striking of all the dream performances. A
thorough investigation of the subject shows that the
essential condition of displacement is purely psy
chological ; it is in the nature of a motive. We get
on the track by thrashing out experiences which one
cannot avoid in the analysis of dreams. I had to
break off the relations of my dream thoughts in the
analysis of my dream on p. 8 because I found some
experiences which I do not wish strangers to know,

and which I could not relate without serious damage
to important considerations. I added, it would be
no use were I to another instead of that par
select
ticular dream; in every dream where the content is
obscure or I should hit upon dream

intricate,
thoughts which call for secrecy. If, however, I con

tinue the analysis for myself, without regard to
those others, for whom, indeed, so personal an event
as my dream cannot matter, I arrive finally at ideas
which surprise me, which I have not known to be
mine, which not only appear foreign to me, but
which are unpleasant, and which I would like to
DREAM DISGUISES DESIRES 59
oppose vehemently, whilst the chain of ideas run

ning through the analysis intrudes upon me inex
orably. I can only take these circumstances into
account by admitting that these thoughts are actu
ally part of my psychical life, possessing a certain
psychical intensity or energy. However, by vir
tue of a particular psychological condition, the
thoughts could not become conscious to me. I call

this particular condition "Repression" It is there
fore impossible for me
not to recognize some casual
relationship between the obscurity of the dream con

tent and this state of repression this incapacity of
consciousness. Whence I conclude that the cause

of the obscurity is the desire to conceal these
thoughts. Thus I arrive at the conception of the

dream distortion as the deed of the dream work,
and of displacement serving to disguise this object.
I will test this in my owndream, and ask myself,

What is the thought which, quite innocuous in its
distorted form, provokes my opposition in
liveliest
its real form? I remember that the free drive re

minded me of the expensive drive with a mem
last
ber of my family, the interpretation of the dream
being: I should for once like to experience affec

tion for which I should not have to pay, and that
shortly before the dream I had to make a heavy

disbursement for this very person. In this connec-
60 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
tion, I cannot get away from the thought that I re
gret this disbursement. It is only when I acknowl
edge this feeling that there is any sense in my wish
ing in the dream for an affection that should entail
no outlay. And yet I can state on my honor that
I did not hesitate for a moment when it became nec
essary to expend that sum. The regret, the coun
ter-current, was unconscious to me. Why it was
unconscious is quite another question which would
lead us far away from the answer which, though
within my knowledge, belongs elsewhere.
If I subject the dream of another person instead
of one of my own to analysis, the result is the same ;
the motives for convincing others is, however,

changed. In the dream of a healthy person the
only way for me to enable him to accept this re
pressed idea is the coherence of the dream thoughts.
He is at liberty to reject this explanation. But if
we are dealing with a person suffering from any

neurosis say from hysteria the recognition of
these repressed ideas is compulsory by reason of
their connection with thesymptoms of his illness
and of the improvement resulting from exchanging
the symptoms for the repressed ideas. Take the
patient from whom I got the last dream about the
three tickets for one florin fifty kreuzers. Analysis
shows that she does not think highly of her husband,
that she regrets having married him, that she would

be glad to change him for some one else. It is true
that she maintains that she loves her husband y that
her emotional life knows nothing about this depre
ciation (a hundred times better!) but , all her symp
toms lead to the same conclusion as this dream.
When her repressed memories had rewakened a
certain period when she was conscious that she did
not love her husband, her symptoms disappeared,
and therewith disappeared her resistance to the in
terpretation of the dream.
This conception of repression once fixed, together
with the distortion of the dream in relation to re
pressed psychical matter, we are in a position to
give a general exposition of the principal results

which the analysis of dreams supplies. learnt We
that the most intelligible and meaningful dreams
are unrealized desires; the desires they pictured as
realized are known to consciousness, have been held
over from the daytime, and are of absorbing inter
est. The analysis of obscure and intricate dreams
disclosessomething very similar; the dream scene
again pictures as realized some desire which regu
larly proceeds from the dream ideas, but the pic
ture is unrecognizable, and is only cleared up in the
analysis. The desire itself is either one repressed,
foreign to consciousness, or it is closely bound up

62 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
with repressed ideas. The formula for these
dreams may be thus stated: They are concealed

realizations of repressed desires. It is interesting
to note that they are right who regard the dream as
foretelling the future. Although the future which

the dream shows us is not that which will occur, but
that which we would like to occur. Folk psychol
ogy proceeds here according to its wont it believes
;
what it wishes to believe.

Dreams can be divided into three classes accord
ing to their relation towards the realization of de

sire. Firstly come those which exhibit a non-re
pressed, non-concealed desire; these are dreams of
the infantile becoming ever rarer among
type,
adults. Secondly, dreams which express in veiled
form some repressed desire; these constitute by far
the larger number of our dreams, and they require
analysis for their understanding. Thirdly, these

dreams where repression exists, but without or with
but slight concealment. These dreams are invaria
bly accompanied by a feeling of dread which brings

the dream to an end. This feeling of dread here
replaces dream displacement I regarded the dream

;
work as having prevented this in the dream of the

second class. It is not very difficult to prove that
what is now present as intense dread in the dream
was once desire, and is now secondary to the repres

sion.
There are also definite dreams with a painful con

tent,without the presence of any anxiety in the
dream. These cannot be reckoned among dreams
of dread; they have, however, always been used to
prove the unimportance and the psychical futility

of dreams. An analysis of such an example will
show that belongs to our second class of dreams
it
a perfectly concealed realization of repressed de

sires. Analysis will demonstrate at the same time
how excellently adapted is the work of displacement
to the concealment of desires.
A girl dreamt that she saw lying dead before her
the only surviving child of her sister amid the same
surroundings as a few years before she saw the first
child lying dead. She was not sensible of any pain,
but naturally combatted the view that the scene rep
resented a desire of hers. Nor was that view nec
essary. Years ago.it was at the funeral of the child

that she had last seen and spoken to the man she
loved. Were the second child to die, she would be
sure to meet this man
again in her sister s house.
She is longing to meet him, but struggles against
this feeling. The day of the dream she had taken a
ticket for a lecture, which announced the presence
64 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
of the man she always loved. The dream
simply is
a dream of impatience common to those which hap
pen before a journey, theater, or simply anticipated

pleasures. The longing is concealed by the shifting
of the" scene to the occasion when any joyous feeling
were out of place, and yet where it did once exist.
Note, further, that the emotional behavior in the

dream adapted, not to the displaced, but to the
is
real but suppressed dream ideas. The scene an

ticipates the long-hoped-for meeting; there is here
no call for painful emotions.
There has hitherto been no occasion for philoso
phers to bestir themselves with a psychology of re
pression. We
must be allowed to construct some
clear conception as to the origin of dreams as the
first steps in this unknown territory. The scheme
which we have formulated not only from a study of
dreams is, it is true, already somewhat complicated,
but we cannot find any simpler one that will suffice.
We hold that our psychical apparatus contains two
procedures for the construction of thoughts. The

second one has the advantage that its products find
an open path to consciousness, whilst the activity
of the first procedure is unknown to itself, and can
only arrive at consciousness through the second one.
At the borderland of these two procedures, where
first passes over into the second, a censorship
is established which only passes what pleases it,
keeping back everything else. That which is re
jected by the censorship according to our defini

is,
tion, in a state of repression. Under certain con

ditions, one of which is the sleeping state, the bal
ance of power between the two procedures is so
changed that what is repressed can no longer be

kept back. In the sleeping state this may possibly
occur through the negligence of the censor; what
has been hitherto repressed will now succeed in
finding its way to consciousness. But as the cen
sorship never absent, but merely off guard, cer

is
tain alterations must be conceded so as to placate

it. It is a compromise which becomes conscious in
this case a compromise between what one pro
cedure has in view and the demands of the other.
Repression, laocity of the censor, compromise this
is the foundation for the origin of many another
psychological process, just as it is for the dream.

In such compromises we can observe the processes
of condensation, of displacement, the acceptance of
superficial associations, which we have found in the

dream work.
Itnot for us to deny the demonic element
is
which has played a part in constructing our ex

planation of dream work. The impression left is
that the formation of obscure dreams proceeds as
66 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
ifa person had something to say which must be dis
agreeable for another person upon whom he is de

pendent to hear. J[t_is bj the use of this image
that we figure to ourselves the conception of the
dream distortion and of the censorship, and ven
tured to crystallize our impression in a rather crude,
but at least definite, psychological theory. What
ever explanation the future may off er of these first
and second procedures, we shall expect a confirma
tion of our correlate that the second procedure com

mands the entrance to consciousness, and can ex
clude the first from consciousness.
Once the sleeping state overcome, the censorship
resumes complete sway, and is now able to revoke
that which was granted in a moment of weakness.
That the forgetting of dreams explains this in part,
at least, we are convinced by our experience, con

firmed again and again. During the relation of a
not infrequently
dream, or during analysis of one, it
happens that some fragment of the dream is sud

denly forgotten. This fragment so forgotten in
variably contains the best and readiest approach to
an understanding of the dream. Probably that is
why it sinks into oblivion i.e., into a renewed sup
pression.
Viewing the dream content as the representation
of a realized desire, and referring its vagueness to
the changes made by the censor in the repressed
matter, no longer difficult to grasp the func

it is
tion of dreams. In fundamental contrast with

those saws which assume chat sleep is disturbed by
dreams, we hold the dream as the guardian of sleep.

So far as children s dreams are concerned, our view
should find ready acceptance.
The sleeping state or the psychical change to
sleep, whatsoever it be, is brought about by the
child being sent to sleep or compelled thereto by
fatigue, only assisted by the removal of all stimuli
which might open other objects to the psychical ap
paratus. The means which serve to keep external
stimuli distant are known; but what are the means
we can employ to depress the internal psychical
stimuli which frustrate sleep? Look at a mother
getting her child to sleep. The child is full of be
seeching; he wants another kiss; he wants to play
yet awhile. His requirements are in part met, in
part drastically put off till the following day.
Clearly these desires and needs, which agitate him,

are hindrances to sleep. Every one knows the
charming story of the bad boy (Baldwin Groller s)

who awoke at night bellowing out, want the "I
rhinoceros." A really good boy, instead of bellow

ing, would have dreamt that he was playing with
the rhinoceros. Because the dream which realizes
68 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
his desire is believed during sleep, it removes the de
sire and makes sleep possible. It cannot be denied
that this belief accords with the dream image, be

cause arrayed in the psychical appearance of
it is
probability; the child is without the capacity which

it will acquire later to distinguish hallucinations or
phantasies from reality.

The adult has learnt this diff erentktion ; he has
also learnt the futility of desire, and by continuous
practice manages to postpone his aspirations,
untilthey can be granted in some roundabout
method by a change in the external world. For
this reason it is rare for him to have his wishes
realized during sleep in the short psychical way.

It even possible that this never happens, and that
is
everything which appears to us like a child s dream

demands a much more elaborate explanation.
Thus it is that for adults for every sane person
without exception a differentiation of the psy

chical matter has been fashioned which the child
knew not. A psychical procedure has been reached

which, informed by the experience of life, exercises
with jealous power a dominating and restraining

influence upon psychical emotions; by its relation
to consciousness, and by its spontaneous mobility,
it is endowed with the greatest means of psychical
power. A portion of the infantile emotions has

been withheld from procedure as useless to life,
this
and all the thoughts which flow from these are

found in the state of repression.
Whilst the procedure in which we recognize our

normal ego reposes upon the desire for ap sleep, it
pears compelled by the psycho-physiological con

ditions of sleep to abandon some of tire energy with
which it was wont during the day

to keep down
what was repressed. This neglect is really harm
less however much the emotions of the child s
;
spirit
may be stirred, they find the approach to conscious

ness rendered difficult, and that to movement
blocked in consequence of the state of sleep. The
danger of their disturbing sleep must, however, be
avoided. Moreover, we must admit that even in
deep sleep some amount of free attention is exerted
as a protection against sense-stimuli which might,
perchance, make an awakening seem wiser than the

continuance of sleep. Otherwise we could not ex
plain the fact of our being always awakened by

stimuli of certain quality. As the old physiologist
Burdach pointed out, the mother is awakened by
the whimpering of her child, the miller by the cessa
tion of his mill, most people by gently calling out
their names. This attention, thus on the alert,
makes use of the internal stimuli arising from re
pressed desires, and fuses them into the dream,

70 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
which as a compromise both procedures at
satisfies
the same time. The dream creates a form of psy

chical release for the wish which is either suppressed
or formed by the aid of repression, inasmuch as it
presents it as realized. The other procedure is also
satisfied, since the continuance of the sleep is as

sured. Our ego here gladly behaves like a child;
it makes the dream pictures believable, saying, as it
were, "Quite right, but let me sleep."

The con
tempt which, once awakened, we bear the dream,
and which rests upon the absurdity and apparent
illogicality of the dream, is probably nothing but
the reasoning of our sleeping ego on the feelings
about what was repressed; with greater right it
should rest upon the incompetency of this dis
turber of our sleep. In sleep we are now and then
aware of ]this contempt; the dream content trans
cends the censorship rather too much, we think,
"It s only a dream," and sleep on.
It isno objection to this view if there are border
lines for the dream where its function, to preserve
sleep from interruption, can no longer be main

tained as in the dreams of impending dread. It
is here changed for another function to suspend
the sleep at the proper time. It acts like a con
scientious night-watchman, who first does his duty
by quelling disturbances so as not to waken the

but equally does his duty quite properly

citizen,
when he awakens the street should the causes of
the trouble seem to him serious and himself un
able to cope with them alone.
This function of dreams becomes especially well
marked when there arises some incentive for the
sense perception. That the senses aroused during
sleep influence the dream is well known, and can
be experimentally verified; it is one of the certain
but much overestimated results of the medical in
vestigation of dreams. Hitherto there has been

an insoluble riddle connected with this discovery.
The stimulus to the sense by which the investigator

affects the sleeper isnot properly recognized in the
dream, but is intermingled with a number of in
definite interpretations, whose determination ap
pears left to psychical free-will. There is, of
course, no such psychical free-will. To an external
sense-stimulus the sleeper can react in many ways,
Either he awakens or he succeeds in sleeping on.
In the latter case he can make use of the dream to
dismiss the external stimulus, and this, again, in
more ways than one. For instance, he can stay
the stimulus by dreaming of a scene which is abso
lutely intolerable to him. This was the means used
by one who was troubled by a painful perineal ab

scess. He dreamt that he was on horseback, and
72 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
made use of the poultice, which was intended to
alleviate his pain, as a saddle, and thus got away
from the cause of the trouble. Or, as is more fre
quently the case, the external stimulus undergoes

a new rendering, which leads him to connect it
with a repressed desire seeking its realization, and
robs him of its reality, and is treated as if it were a
part of the psychical matter. Thus, some one

dreamt that he had written a comedy which em
bodied a definite motif; it was being performed;
the first act was over amid enthusiastic applause;
there was great clapping. At this moment the
dreamer must have succeeded in prolonging his
sleep despite the disturbance, for when he woke he
no longer heard the noise he concluded rightly that
;
some one must have been beating a carpet or bed.

The dreams which come with a loud noise just
before waking have all attempted to cover the stim
ulus to waking by some other explanation, and thus
to prolong the sleep for a little while.
Whosoever has firmly accepted this censorship as
the chief motive for the distortion of dreams will

not be surprised to learn as the result of dream in
terpretation that most of the dreams of adults are

traced by analysis to erotic desires. This assertion
is not drawn from dreams obviously of a sexual
nature, which are known to all dreamers from their

own experience, and are the only ones usually de

scribed as "sexual dreams." These dreams are ever
sufficiently mysterious by reason of the choice of
persons who are made the objects of sex, the re
moval of all the barriers which cry halt to the
dreamer s sexual needs in his waking state, the
many strange reminders as to details of what are

called perversions. But analysis discovers that, in
many other dreams in whose manifest content noth
ing erotic can be found, the work of interpretation

shows them up as, in reality, realization of sexual
desires ; whilst, on the other hand, that much of the
thought-making when awake, the thoughts saved
us as surplus from the day only, reaches presenta
tion in dreams with the help of repressed erotic de
sires.
Towards the explanation of this statement, which

is no theoretical postulate, it must be remembered
that no other class of instincts has required so vast
a suppression at the behest of civilization as the

sexual, whilst their mastery by the highest psych
ical processes are in most persons soonest of all
relinquished. Since we have learnt to understand
infantile sexuality, often so

vague in its expression,
so invariably overlooked and misunderstood, we are
justified in saying that nearly every civilized person

has retained at some point or other the infantile
74 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
type of sex life ; thus we understand that repressed
infantile sex desires furnish the most frequent and
most powerful impulses for the formation of
1
dreams.
If the dream, which is the expression of some
erotic desire, succeeds in making its manifest con
tent appear innocently asexual, it is
only possible
in one way. The matter of these sexual presenta
tions cannot be exhibited as such, but must be re
placed by allusions, suggestions, and similar indi

rect means; differing from other cases of indirect
presentation, those used in dreams must be deprived

of direct nnderstanding. The means of presenta
tion which answer these requirements are commonly
termed "symbols."
A special interest has been di
rected towards these, since it has been observed that
the dreamers of the same language use the like sym
bols indeed, that in certain cases community of
symbol is greater than community of speech.
Since the dreamers do not themselves know the
meaning of the symbols they use, it remains a puz

zle whence arises their relationship with what they
replace and denote. The fact itself is undoubted,

and becomes of importance for the technique of the
i Freud, "Three Contributions to Sexual Theory," translated by
A. A. Brill (Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease Publishing

Company, New York).
interpretation of dreams, since by the aid of a

knowledge of this symbolism it is possible to under
stand the meaning of the elements of a dream, or
parts of a dream, occasionally even the whole

dream itself, without having to question the
dreamer as to his own ideas. We thus come near
to the popular idea of an interpretation of dreams,
and, on the other hand, possess again the technique
of the ancients, among whom the interpretation of
dreams was identical with their explanation through
symbolism.
Though the study of dream symbolism is far re
moved from finality, we now possess a series of gen
eral and of particular observations
statements
which are quite certain. There are symbols which
practically always have the same meaning: Em
peror and Empress (King and Queen) always
mean the parents; room, a woman, 1 and so on.
The by a great variety of
sexes are represented
symbols, many of which would be at first quite in

comprehensible had not the clews to the meaning
been often obtained through other channels.
There are symbols of universal circulation, found
in all dreamers, of one range of speech and culture ;
i The words from "and" to "channels" in the next sentence is a

short summary of the passage in the original. As this book will be
read by other than professional people the passage has not been
translated, in deference to English opinion. TRANSLATOR.
76 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
there are others of the narrowest individual signifi
cance which an individual has built up out of his
own material. In the first class those can be differ
entiated whose claim can be at once recognized by
the replacement of sexual things in common speech
(those, for instance, arising from agriculture, as
reproduction, seed) from others whose sexual refer
ences appear to reach back to the earliest times
and to the obscurest depths of our image-building.
The power of building symbols in both these special

forms of symbols has not died out. Recently dis
covered things, like the airship, are at once brought
into universal use as sex symbols.
It would be quite an error to suppose that a pro-

founder knowledge of dream symbolism (the "Lan
guage of would make us independent of
Dreams")
questioning the dreamer regarding his impressions

about the dream, and would give us back the whole
technique of ancient dream interpreters. Apart
from individual symbols and the variations in the
use of what is general, one never knows whether
an element in the dream is to be understood sym
bolically or in its proper meaning; the whole con
tent of the dream is certainly not to be interpreted
symbolically. The knowledge of dream symbols
will only help us in
understanding portions of the
dream content, and does not render the use of the
technical rules previously given at all superfluous.

But must be of the greatest service in interpret
it
ing a dream just when the impressions of the

dreamer are withheld or are insufficient.
Dream symbolism proves also indispensable for
understanding the so-called "typical"
dreams and
the dreams that "repeat themselves." Dream sym
bolism leads us far beyond the dream; it does not
belong only to dreams, but is likewise dominant in

legend, myth, and saga, in wit and in folklore. It
compels us to pursue the inner meaning of the

dream in these productions. But we must ac
knowledge that symbolism is not a result of the

dream work, but is a peculiarity probably of our
unconscious thinking, which furnishes to the dream
work the matter for condensation, displacement,
and dramatization.
IV
DREAM ANALYSIS
PERHAPS we shall now begin to suspect that dream

interpretation is capable of giving us hints about
the structure of our psychic apparatus which we
have thus far expected in vain from philosophy.
We shall not, however, follow this track, but re
turn to our original problem as soon as we have

cleared up the subject of
dream-disfigurement.
The question has arisen how dreams with disagree
able content can be analyzed as the fulfillment of
wishes. We see now that this is possible in case
dream-disfigurement has taken place, in case the
disagreeable content serves only as a disguise for
what is wished. Keeping in mind our assumptions
inregard to the two psychic instances, we may now
proceed to say disagreeable dreams, as a matter of
:
fact, contain something which is disagreeable to the

second instance, but which at the same time fulfills
a wish of the first instance. They are wish dreams
in the sense that every dream originates in the first
instance, while the second instance acts towards the
dream only in repelling, not in a creative manner.
78
DREAM ANALYSIS 79
If we limit ourselves to a consideration of what the

second instance contributes to the dream, we can
never understand the dream. If we do so, all the
riddles which the authors have found in the dream
remain unsolved.
That the dream actually has a secret meaning,
which turns out to be the fulfillment of a wish, must
be proved afresh for every case by means of an
analysis. I therefore select several dreams which

have painful contents and attempt an analysis of
them. They are partly dreams of hysterical sub
which require long preliminary statements,
jects,
and now and then also an examination of the
psychic processes which occur in hysteria. I can
not, however, avoid this added difficulty in the ex
position.
WhenI give a psychoneurotic patient analytical
treatment, dreams are always, as I have said, the
subject of our discussion. It must, therefore, give
him all the psychological explanations through
whose aid I myself have come to an understanding

of his symptoms, and here I undergo an unsparing
criticism, which is perhaps not less keen than that I

must expect from my colleagues. Contradiction
of the thesis that all dreams are the fulfillments of
wishes is raised by my patients with perfect regu
larity. Here are several examples of the dream
80 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
material which is offered me to refute this position.
"You always tell me that the dream is a wish ful
filled,"begins a clever lady patient. "Now I shall

tell you a dream in which the content is quite the
opposite, in which a wish of mine is not fulfilled.
How do you reconcile that with your theory? The

dream is as follows :
ff
l want to give a supper, but having nothing at
hand except some smoked salmon, I think of going

marketing, but I remember that it is Sunday after
noon, when all the shops are closed. I next try to
telephone to some caterers, but the telephone is out

of order. Thus I must resign my wish to give a
. .
supper."
I answer, of course, that only the analysis can de

cide the meaning of this dream, although I admit
that at first sight it seems sensible and coherent,
and looks like the opposite of a wish-fulfillment.
"But what occurrence has given rise to this dream?"
I ask. "You know that the stimulus for a dream

always lies among the experiences of the preceding
day."
Analysis. The husbandan up of the patient,
right and conscientious wholesale butcher, had told

her the day before that he is growing too fat, and
that he must, therefore, begin treatment for obesity.
He was going to get up early, take exercise, keep
DREAM ANALYSIS 81
to a strict diet, and above all accept no more invita
tions to suppers. She proceeds laughingly to re

late how her husband at an inn table had made the
acquaintance of an artist, who insisted upon paint
ing his portrait because he, the painter, had never
found such an expressive head. But her husband
had answered in his rough way, that he was very
thankful for the honor, but that he was quite con
vinced that a portion of the backside of a pretty
young girl would please the artist better than his

1
whole face. She said that she was at the time very
much in love with her husband, and teased him a
good deal. She had also asked him not to send
her any caviare. What does that mean?
As a matter of fact, she had wanted for a long
time to eat a caviare sandwich every forenoon, but
had grudged herself the expense. Of course, she
would at once get the caviare from her husband, as
soon as she asked him for it. But she had begged
him, on the contrary, not to send her the caviare,
in order that she might tease him about it longer.
This explanation seems far-fetched to me. Un

admitted motives are in the habit of hiding behind
such unsatisfactory explanations. We are re
minded of subjects hypnotized by Bernheim, who

i To sit for the painter. Goethe : "And if he has no backside, how
can the nobleman sit?"
82 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
carried out a posthypnotic order, and who, upon
being asked for their motives, instead of answer
ing: do not know why I did that," had to in
"I
vent a reason that was obviously inadequate.

Something similar is probably the case with the
caviare of my patient. I see that she is compelled
to create an unfulfilled wish in life. Her dream
also shows the reproduction of the wish as accom
plished. But why does she need an unfulfilled
wish?
The ideas so far produced are insufficient for the
interpretation of the dream. I beg for more.

After a short pause, which corresponds to the over
coming of a resistance, she reports further that the
day before she had made a visit to a friend, of

whom she is really jealous, because her husband is
always praising this woman so much. Fortunately,

this friend isvery lean and thin, and her husband
likes well-rounded figures. Now of what did this
lean friend speak? Naturally of her wish to be
come somewhat stouter. She also asked my pa
tient: you going to invite us again?
"When are
You always have such a good table."
Now the meaning of the dream is clear. I may
say to the patient: is just as though you had
"It
thought at the time of the request: Of course,

I ll invite you, so you can eat yourself fat -at my
DREAM ANALYSIS 83
house and become more pleasing to my hus

still
band. I would rather give no more suppers.

The dream then tells you that you cannot give a
supper, thereby fulfilling your wish not to con
tribute anything to the rounding out of your
friend s figure. The resolution of your husband to
refuse invitations to supper for the sake of getting
thin teaches on the things
you that one grows fat
served in company." Now only some conversation

is necessary to confirm the solution. The smoked
salmon in the dream has not yet been traced.
"How did the salmon mentioned in the dream occur
to you?"
"Smoked salmon is the favorite dish of
this friend," she answered. I happen to know the
lady,and may corroborate this by saying that she

grudges herself the salmon just as much as my pa
tient grudge s herself the caviare.
The dream admits of still another and more exact
interpretation, which is necessitated only by a sub
ordinate circumstance. The two interpretations do
not contradict one another, but rather cover each
other and furnish a neat example of the usual am
biguity of dreams as well as of all other psycho-
pathological formations. We have seen that at the

same time that she dreams of the denial of the wish,
the patient is in reality occupied in securing an un
fulfilled wish (the caviare sandwiches). Her
84 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
friend, too, had expressed a wish, namely, to get
fatter, and it would not surprise us if our lady had
dreamt that the wish of the friend was not being
fulfilled. For it is her own wish that a wish of her
friend s for increase in weight should not be ful
filled. Instead of this, however, she dreams that
one of her own wishes is not fulfilled. The dream
becomes capable of a new interpretation, if in the
dream she does not intend herself, but her friend,

if she has put herself in the place of her friend,
or, as we may say, has identified herself with her

friend.
I think she has actually done and as a sign
this,
of this identification she has created an unfulfilled

wish in reality. But what is the meaning of this
hysterical identification? To clear this up a
thorough exposition is necessary. Identification is
a highly important factor in the mechanism of hys

terical symptoms; by this means patients are en
abled in their symptoms to represent not merely
their own experiences, but the experiences of a
great number of other persons, and can suffer, as it

were, for a whole mass of people, and fill all the
parts of a drama by means of their own personali
ties alone. It will here be objected that this is
well-known hysterical imitation, the ability of

hys
teric subjects to copy all the symptoms which im-
DREAM ANALYSIS 85
press them when they occur in others, as though

their pity were stimulated to the point of repro
duction. But this only indicates the way in which
the psychic process is discharged in hysterical imi
tation; the way in which a psychic act proceeds and
the act itself are two different things. The latter
is slightly more complicated than one is apt to im

agine the imitation of hysterical subjects to be: it
corresponds to an unconscious concluded process, as
an example will show. The physician who has a
female patient with a particular kind of twitching,
lodged in the company of other patients in the same
room of the hospital, is not surprised when some
morning he learns that this peculiar hysterical at
tack has found imitations. He simply says to him
self : The others have seen her and have done like
wise: that is psychic infection. Yes, but psychic

infection proceeds in somewhat the following man
ner: As a rule, patients know more about one
another than the physician knows about each of
them, and they are concerned about each other when
the visit of the doctor is over. Some of them have
an attack to-day: soon it is known among the rest
that a letter from home, a return of lovesickness or
the like, is Their sympathy is
the cause of it.
aroused, and the following syllogism, which does

not reach consciousness, is completed in them: "If
86 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
it is possible to have this kind of an attack from
such causes, I too may have this kind of an attack,
for I have the same reasons." If this were a cycle
capable of becoming conscious, would perhaps

it
express itself in fear of getting the same attack;

but it takes place in another psychic sphere, and,
therefore, ends in the realization of the dreaded
symptom. Identification is therefore not a simple
imitation, but a sympathy based upon the same

etiological claim; it expresses an though," and
"as
refers to some common quality which has remained

in the unconscious.
Identification is most often used in hysteria to
express sexual community. An hysterical woman

identifies herself most readily
although not exclu
sively with persons with whom she has had sexual
relations, or who have sexual intercourse with the
same persons as herself. Language takes such a
conception into consideration: two lovers are "one."
In the hysterical phantasy, as well as in the dream,

it is sufficient for the identification if one thinks of
sexual relations, whether or not they become real.
The patient, then, only follows the rules of the hys
terical thought processes when she gives expression
to her jealousy of her friend (which, moreover, she
herself admits to be unjustified, in that she puts
herself in her place and identifies herself with her
DREAM ANALYSIS 87
by creating a symptom the denied wish). I
might further clarify the process specifically as fol

lows She puts herself in the place of her friend in
:
the dream, because her friend has taken her own

place relation to her husband, and because she
would like to take her friend s place in the esteem
1
of her husband.
The contradiction to my theory of dreams in the
case of another female patient, the most witty
among dreamers, was solved in a simpler
all my
manner, although according to the scheme that the
non-fulfillment of one wish signifies the fulfill
ment of another. I had one day explained to

her that the dream is a wish of fulfillment. The
next day she brought me a dream to the ef
fect that she was traveling with her mother-in-
law to their common summer resort. Now I
knew that she had struggled violently against
spending the summer in the neighborhood of her
mother-in-law. I also knew that she had luckily
avoided her mother-in-law by renting an es
tate in a far-distant country resort. Now the

1 1
myself regret the introduction of such passages from the psycho-
pathology of hysteria, which, because of their fragmentary repre
sentation and of being torn from all connection with the subject, can
not have a very enlightening influence. If these passages are capable
of throwing light upon the intimate relations between the dream and
the psychoneuroses, they have served the purpose for which I have
taken them up.
88 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
dream reversed this wished- for solution; was not
this in the flattest contradiction to my theory of
wish- fulfillment in the dream? Certainly, it was
only necessary to draw the inferences from this
dream in order to get at its interpretation. Ac
cording to this dream, I was in the wrong. It was
thus her wish that I should be in the wrong, and
this wish the dream showed her as fulfilled. But
the wish that I should be in the wrong, which was
theme of the country home, referred
fulfilled in the
to a more serious matter. At that time I had made

up my mind, from the material furnished by her
analysis, thatsomething of significance for her ill
ness must have occurred at a certain time in her life.
She had denied it was not present
because it in her
memory. We soon came to see that I was in the
right. Her wish that I should be in the wrong,

which is transformed into the dream, thus corre
sponded to the justifiable wish that those things,
which at the time had only been suspected, had never
occurred at all.
Without an analysis, and merely by means of an

assumption, I took the liberty of interpreting a
little occurrence in the case of a friend, who had
been colleague through the eight classes of the

my
Gymnasium. He once heard a lecture of mine de-
DREAM ANALYSIS 89
livered to a small assemblage, on the novel subject

of the dream as the fulfillment of a wish. He went
home, dreamt that he had lost all his suits he was
a lawyer and then complained to me about it. I
took refuge in the evasion: "One can t win all
one s suits," but I thought to myself: for eight "If
years I sat as Primus on the first bench, while he

moved around somewhere in the middle of the class,
may he not naturally have had a wish from his boy

hood days that I, too, might for once completely
disgrace myself?"
In the same way another dream of a more gloomy

character was offered me by a female patient as a
contradiction to my theory of the wish-dream. The
patient, a young girl, began as follows: "You re
member that my sister has now
only one boy,
Charles: she lost the elder one, Otto, while I was
still at her house. Otto was my favorite; it was I
who really brought him up. I like the other little
fellow, too, but of course not nearly as much as the
dead one. NowI dreamt last night that / saw

Charles lying dead before me. He was lying in his
little coffin, his hands folded: there were candles all
about, and, in short, it was just like the time of little
Otto s death, which shocked me so profoundly.

Now tell me, what does this mean? You know me :
90 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
am I really bad enough to wish my sister to lose the
only child she has left? Or does the dream mean

that I wish Charles to be dead rather than Otto,
whom I like so much better?"
I assured her that this interpretation was impos

sible. After some reflection I was able to give her
the interpretation of the dream, w hich
r
I subse
quently made her confirm.
Having become an orphan at an early age, the

girl had been brought up in the house of a much
older sister, and had met among the friends and
visitors who came to the house, a man who made a
lasting impression upon her heart. It looked forla
time as though these barely expressed relations

were to end in marriage, hut this happy culmination
was frustrated by the sister, whose motives have
never found a complete explanation. After the
break, the man who was loved by our patient
avoided the house: she herself became independent
some time after little Otto s death, to whom her
affection had now turned. But she did not succeed
in freeing herself from the inclination for her sister s
friend in which she had become involved. Her

pride commanded her to avoid him; but it was im
possible for her to transfer her love to the other
suitors who presented themselves in order. When
ever the man whom she loved, who was a member
DREAM ANALYSIS 91
of the literary profession, announced a lecture any

where, she was sure to be found in the audience she ;
also seized every other opportunity to see him from

a distance unobserved by him. I remembered that
on the day before she had told me that the Professor
was going to a certain concert, and that she was also
going there, in order to enjoy the sight of him.
This was on the day of the dream; and the concert
was to take place on the day on which she told me
the dream. I could now easily see the correct in
terpretation, and I asked her whether she could

think of any event which had happened after the
death of little Otto. She answered immediately:
"Certainly; at that time the Professor returned
after a long absence, and I saw him once more be

side the coffin of little was exactly as I
Otto." It
had expected. I interpreted the dream in the fol
lowing manner: If now the other boy were to die,

the same thing would be repeated. You would
spend the day with your sister, the Professor would

surely come in order to offer condolence, and you
would see him again under the same circumstances
as at that time. The dream signifies nothing but
this wish of yours to see him again, against which
you are fighting inwardly. I know that you are

carrying the ticket for to-day s concert in your bag.
Your dream is a dream of impatience ;
it has antici-
92 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
pated the meeting which is to take place to-day by
several hours."
In order to disguise her wish she had obviously

selected a situation in which wishes of that sort are
commonly suppressed a situation which is so filled

with sorrow that love is not thought of. And yet,
it is very easily probable that even in the actual
more dearly loved
situation at the bier of the second,
boy, which the dream copied faithfully, she had not

been able to suppress her feelings of affection for
the visitor whom she had missed for so long a time.
A different explanation was found in the case of
a similar dream of another female patient, who was
distinguished in her earlier years by her quick wit
and her cheerful demeanors and who still showed
these qualities at least in the notion, which occurred
to her in the course of treatment. In connection
with a longer dream, it seemed to this lady that she
saw her fifteen-year-old daughter lying dead be
fore her in a box. She was strongly inclined to
convert this dream-image into an objection to the
theory of wish-fulfillment, but herself suspected
that the detail of the box must lead to a different
1
conception of the dream. In the course of the
analysis it occurred to her that on the evening be-
i
Something like the smoked salmon in the dream of the deferred
supper.
DREAM ANALYSIS 93
fore, the conversation of the company had turned

upon the English word and upon the numer
"box,"
ous translations of it into German, such as box,

theater box, chest, box on the ear, &c. From other
components of the same dream it is now possible
to add that the lady had guessed the relationship
between the English word and the German
"box"
Buchse, and had then been haunted by the memory

that Biichse (as well as is used in vulgar
"box")
speech to designate the female genital organ. It

was therefore possible, making a certain allowance
for her notions on the subject of topographical an
atomy, to assume that the child in the box signified
a child in the womb of the mother. At this stage
of the explanation she no longer denied that the
picture of the dream really corresponded to one of

her wishes. Like so many other young women,
she was by no means happy when she became preg
nant, and admitted to me more than once the wish

that her child might die before its birth ; in a fit of
anger following a violent scene with her husband

she had even struck her abdomen with her fists in
order to hit the child within. The dead child was,
therefore, really the fulfillment of a wish, but a

wish which had been put aside for fifteen years, and
it is not surprising that the fulfillment of the wish
was no longer recognized after so long an interval.

94 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
For there had been many changes meanwhile.
The group of dreams to which the two last men
tioned belong, having as content the death of be
loved relatives, will be considered again under the
head of "Typical Dreams." I shall there be able
to show by new examples that in spite of their un
desirable content, all these dreams must be inter
preted as wish-fulfillments. For the following

dream, w hich again was told me
r
in order to deter
me from a hasty generalization of the theory of
wishing in dreams, I am indebted, not to a patient,

ff
but to an intelligent jurist of my acquaintance. l
dream/ my informant tells me, "that I am walking
in front of my house with a lady on my arm. Here
a closed wagon is waiting, a gentleman steps up to
me, gives his authority as an agent of the police,

and demands that I should follow him. I only ask
for time in which to arrange my affairs. Can you
possibly suppose this is a wish of mine to be ar
rested?" "Of course not," I must admit. "Do
you happen to know upon what charge you were

arrested?" "Yes; I believe for infanticide." "In
fanticide? But you know that only a mother can

commit this crime upon her newly born child?"
l
"That is true." "And under what circumstances
i It often happens that a dream is told incompletely, and that a
recollection of the omitted portions appear only in the course of the

DREAM ANALYSIS 95
did you dream; what happened on the evening be

fore?" would rather not tell you that; it is a
"I
delicate matter." "But I must have it, otherwise

we must forgo the interpretation of the dream."
"Well, then, I will tell you. I spent the night, not

athome, but at the house of a lady who means very
much to me. When we awoke in the morning,
something again passed between us. Then I went
to sleep again, and dreamt what I have told you."
"The woman is married?" "Yes." "And

you do
not wish her to conceive a child?" "No; that might
betray us."
you do not practice normal
"Then
coitus? "I take the precaution to withdraw before
ej aculation." I permitted to assume that you

"Am
did this trick several times during the night, and

that in the morning you were not quite sure whether
you had succeeded?" "That
might be the case."
"Then
your dream is the fulfillment of a wish. By
means of you secure the assurance that you have
it
not begotten a child, or, what amounts to the same
thing, that you have killed a child. I can easily

demonstrate the connecting links. Do you remem
ber, a few days ago we were talking about the dis
tress of matrimony (Ehenot) and about the incon ,
sistency of permitting the practice of coitus as long
analysis. These portions subsequently fitted in, regularly furnish

the key to the interpretation. Cf. below, about forgetting in dreams,
96 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
as no impregnation takes place, while every de
linquency after the ovum and the semen meet and
a foetus is formed is punished as a crime? In con
nection with we also recalled the mediaeval con
this,
troversy about the moment of time at which the soul

is really lodged in the foetus, since the concept of
murder becomes admissible only from that point
on. Doubtless you also know the gruesome poem
by Lenau, which puts infanticide and the preven

tion of children on the same plane." "Strangely
enough, I had happened to think of Lenau during

the afternoon." "Another echo of your dream.
And now I shall demonstrate to you another sub

ordinate wish- fulfillment in your dream. You
walk in front of your house with the lady on your
arm. So you take her home, instead of spending
the night at her house, as you do in actuality. The
fact that the wish-fulfillment, which is the essence
an unpleasant
of the dream, disguises itself in such
form, has perhaps more than one reason. From

my essay on the etiology of anxiety neuroses, you
will see that I note interrupted coitus as one of the
factors which cause the development of neurotic
fear. It would be consistent with this that if after
repeated cohabitation of the kind mentioned you

should be left in an uncomfortable mood, which now
becomes an element in the composition of your
DREAM ANALYSIS 97
dream. You also make use of this unpleasant state

of mind to conceal the wish-fulfillment.. Further
more, the mention of infanticide has not yet been
explained. Why does this crime, which is peculiar
to females, occur to you?"
"I shall confess to you
that I was involved in such an affair years ago.
Through my fault a girl tried to protect herself
from the consequences of a liaison with me by secur
ing an abortion. I had nothing to do with carry

ing out the plan, but I was naturally for a long
time worried lest the affair might be discovered."
"I
understand; this recollection furnished a second
reason why the supposition that you had done your
*
trick badly must have been painful to you.
A young physician, who had heard this dream of
my colleague when it was told, must have felt im
plicated by it, for he hastened to imitate it in a
dream of his own, applying its mode of thinking to

another subject. The day before he had handed
in a declaration of his income, which was perfectly
honest, because he had little to declare. He dreamt

that an acquaintance of his came from a meeting
of the tax commission and informed him that all
the other declarations of income had passed uncon-
tested, but that his own had awakened

general sus
picion, and that he would be punished with a heavy
fine. The dream is a poorly-concealed fulfillment
98 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
of the wish to be known as a physician with a large
income. It likewise recalls the story of the young
girl who was
advised against accepting her suitor
because he was a man of quick temper who would
surely treat her to blows after they were mar

ried.
The answer of the girl was: "I wish he would

strike me!" Her wish to be married is so strong
that she takes into the bargain the discomfort which
is matrimony, and which
said to be connected with
is predicted for her, and even raises it to a wish.
If I group the very frequently occurring dreams
of this sort, which seem flatly to contradict my
theory, in that they contain the denial of a Mash or
some occurrence decidedly unwished for, under the
head of "counter wish-dreams," I observe that they
may be referred to two principles, of which one
all
has not yet been mentioned, although it plays a
large part in the dreams of human beings. One of

the motives inspiring these dreams is the wish that
I should appear in the wrong. These dreams regu
larly occur in the course of my treatment if the pa
tient shows a resistance against me, and I can count
with a large degree of certainty upon causing such
a dream after I have once explained to the patient
1
my theory that the dream is a wish-fulfillment. I
i Similar "counter wish-dreams" have been repeatedly reported to
me within the last few years by rny pupils who thus reacted to their
first encounter with the wish theory of the dream."
"
DREAM ANALYSIS 99
may even expect this to be the case in a dream
merely in order to fulfill the wish that I may appear

in the wrong. The last dream which I shall tell
from those occurring in the course of treatment
again shows this very thing. young girl who A

has struggled hard to continue my treatment,
against the will of her relatives and the authorities

whom she had consulted, dreams as follows: She
is forbidden at home to come to me any more. She
then reminds me of the promise I made her to treat
her for nothing if necessary, and I say to her: "I
can show no consideration in money matters."
It is not at all easy in this case to demonstrate

the fulfillment of a wish, but in all cases of this kind
there is a second problem, the solution of which
helps also to solve the first. Where does she get

the words which she puts into my mouth? Of
course I have never told her anything like that, but
one of her brothers, the very one who has the great
est influence over her, has been kind enough to make
this remark about me. then the purpose of
It is
the dream that this brother should remain in the
right;and she does not try to justify this brother

merely in the dream; it is her purpose in life and
the motive for her being ill.
The other motive for counter wish-dreams is so

100 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
clear that there danger of overlooking it, as for
is
some time happened in my own case. In the sexual

make-up of many people there is a masochistic com
ponent, which has arisen through the conversion of
the aggressive, sadistic component into its opposite.
Such people are called they
"ideal" masochists, if
seek pleasure not in the bodily pain which may be

inflicted upon them, but in humiliation and in
chastisement of the soul. It is obvious that such
persons can have counter wish-dreams and disagree

able dreams, which, however, for them are nothing
but wish-fulfillment, affording satisfaction for their
masochistic inclinations. Here is such a dream.
A young man, who has in earlier years tormented
his elder brother, towards whom he was homosexu-
ally inclined,but who had undergone a complete

change of character, has the following dream, which
consists of three parts: (1) He is "insulted"
by
his brother. (2) Two adults are caressing each
other with homosexual intentions. (3) His
brother has sold the enterprise whose management
the young man reserved for his own future. He
awakens from the last-mentioned dream with the
most unpleasant feelings, and yet it is a masochis
tic wish-dream, which might be translated: It
would serve me quite right if my brother were to

make that sale against my interest, as a punishment
DREAM ANALYSIS 101
for all the torments which he has suffered at my

hands.
I hope that the above discussion and examples
will suffice until further objection can be raised
to make it seem credible that even dreams with a
painful content are to be analyzed as the fulfill

ments of wishes. Nor will it seem a matter of
chance that in the course of interpretation one al
ways happens upon subjects of which one does not

speak or think. The disagreeable sensation
like to
which such dreams arouse is simply identical with

the antipathy which endeavors usually with suc
cess to restrain us from the treatment or discus
sion of such subjects, and which must be overcome
by all of us, if, in spite of its unpleasantness, we
find necessary to take the matter in hand.
it But
this disagreeable sensation, which occurs also in
dreams, does not preclude the existence of a wish;

every one has wishes which he would not like to tell
to others, which he does not want to admit even to
himself. We are, on other grounds, justified in
connecting the disagreeable character of all these

dreams with the fact of dream disfigurement, and
in concluding that these dreams are distorted, and
that the wish-fulfillment in them is disguised until
recognition is impossible for no other reason than

that a repugnance, a will to suppress, exists in rela-
tion to the subject-matter..of the dream_r_in rela
tion to the wish which the dream creates. Dream
disfigurement, then, turns out in reality to be an act
of _the censor. We shall take into consideration
everything which the analysis of disagreeable

dreams has brought to light if we reword our
formula as follows: The .dream is. the (disguised)
fulfillment of a (suppressed, repressed) wish.
Now remain as a particular species of
there still
dreams with painful content, dreams of anxiety,

the inclusion of which under dreams of wishing will
find least acceptance with the uninitiated. But I
can settle the
problem of anxiety..dreams in very
short order for what they may reveal is not a new
;
aspect of the dream problem; it is a question in

their case of understanding neurotic anxiety in geix-
.eral. The fear which we experience in the dream
isonly seemingly explained by the dream content.
If we subject the content of the dream to analysis,
we become aware that the dream fear is no more
justified by the dream content than the fear in a
phobia is justified by the idea upon which the phobia

depends. For example, it is true that it is possible
to fall out of a window, and that some care must be
exercised when one is near a window, but it is inex
plicable why the anxiety in the corresponding

phobia is so great, and why it follows its victims to
DREAM ANALYSIS 103
an extent so much greater than is warranted by its

origin. The same explanation, then, which ap
plies to the phobia applies also to the dream of
anxiety. In both cases the anxiety is only super.-
!1 (_^1L1 JL\ cl L LclCJllCC 1 vO "C11C JdCcX vvXllOXl cvC-C/OiHT3t*iAlCiS 1L
and comes from ano hcr source.

On account of the intimate relation of dream fear
to neurotic fear, discussion of the former obliges
me to refer to the latter. In a little essay on "The
l
Anxiety Neurosis," I maintained that neurotic
.fear has its origin in the sexual life, and corresponds
to. a libido which has been turned away from its
object and has not succeeded in being applied.
From this formula, which has since proved its valid
ity more and more clearly, we may deduce the con

clusion that the content of anxiety dreams is of- a
sexual nature, the libido belonging to which content
has been transformed into fear.
i See Selected Papers on Hysteria and other Psychoneuroses, p. 133,
translated by A. A. Brill, Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases,
Monograph Series.
SEX IN DREAMS
THE more one

occupied with the solution of
is
dreams, the more willing one must become to ac

knowledge that the majority of the dreams of adults
treat of sexual material and give expression to ero
tic wishes. Only one who really analyzes dreams,

that is to say, who pushes forward from their mani
fest content to the latent dream thoughts, can form
an opinion on never the person who is
this subject
.satisfied with registering the manifest content (as,
for example, Nacke in his works on sexual dreams) .
Let us recognize at once that this fact is not to be

wondered at, but that it is in complete harmony
with the fundamental assumptions of dream expla
nation. No
other impulse has had to undergo so
much suppression from the time of childhood as the
sex impulse in numerous components, from no
its
other impulse have survived so many and such in

tense unconscious wishes, which now act in the
sleeping state in such a manner as to produce
dreams. In dream interpretation, this significance

of sexual complexes must never be forgotten, nor
104
SEX IN DREAMS 105
must they, of course, be exaggerated to the point

jofbeing considered exclusive.
Of many dreams it can be ascertained by a care
ful interpretation that they are even to be taken
bisexually,inasmuch as they result in an irrefutable

secondary interpretation in which they realize Jhom-
osexiiaL-feelings that is, feelings that are common
to the normal sexual activity of the dreaming per
son. But that all dreams are to be interpreted
bisexually, seems to me to be a generalization as in

demonstrable as it is improbable, which J[ should
not like to support. Above all I should not know
how to dispose of the apparent fact that there are
many dreams satisfying other than in the widest

sense erotic needs, as dreams of hunger, thirst,
convenience, &c. Likewise the similar assertions
"that behind every dream one finds the death sen
tence"
(Stekel), and that every dream shows "a
continuation from the feminine to the masculine

line"
(Adler), seem to me to proceed far beyond
what is admissible in the interpretation of dreams.
We have already asserted elsewhere that dreams
which are conspicuously innocent invariably em
body coarse erotic wishes, and we might confirm
this by means of numerous fresh examples. But
many dreams, which appear indifferent, and which
would never be suspected of any particular signifi-
cance, can be traeecLback, after analysis, t0.-iiDinis-
takably sexual wish-feelings, which are often of an

unexpected nature. For example, who would sus
pect a sexual wish in the following dream until the
interpretation had been worked out? The dreamer
relates : Between two stately palaces stands a lit
tle house., receding somewhat, whose doors are

closed. My wife leads me a little way along the
street up to the little house, and pushes in the door,
and then I slip quicldy and easily into the interior
of a courtyard that slants obliquely upwards.
Any one who has had experience in the translat
ing of dreams will, of course, immediately perceive
that penetrating into narrow spaces, and opening
locked doors, belong to the commonest sexual sym
bolism, and will easily find in this dream a represen
tation of attempted coition from behind (between
the two stately buttocks of the female body) . The
narrow slanting passage is of course the vagina; the
assistance attributed to the wife of the dreamer re
quires the interpretation that in reality it is only
consideration for the wife which is responsible for
the detention from such an attempt. Moreover,
inquiry shows that on the previous day a young girl
had entered the household of the dreamer who had
pleased him, and who had given him the impression
that she would not be altogether opposed to an ap-
SEX IN DREAMS 107
proacfa of this sort. The little house between the

two palaces is taken from a reminiscence of the
Hradschin in Prague, and thus points again to the
girl who is a native of that city.
If with my patients I emphasize the frequency
of the Qedipus dream of having sexual intercourse
with. one^.m.Qthr I get the answer: "I cannot,
rernembcr snob g. dream. "
Immediately after
wards, however, there arises the recollection of an

other disguised and indifferent dream, which has
been dreamed repeatedly by the patient, and the an
alysis shows it to be a dream of this same content-

that is, another Oedipus dream. I can assure the
reader that veiled dreams of sexual intercourse with
the mother are a great deal more frequent than open
ones, to the same ..effect*
There are dreams about landscapes and localities
in which emphasis is always laid upon the assurance:
1
1 _lia.ve_ Jheen there before. In ihis_jcase the local
always the genital organ othe-niatlier;lt can

ity, is
indeed be asserted with such certainty jodLna other

locality thaL-one. "has been there before,"
A large number of dreams, often full of fear,

which are concerned with passing through narrow
spaces or with staying in the water, are_hased upon
fancies about the embryonic life, about the sojourn
in the mother s womb^ and about the net of birth.
The following is the dream of a young man who in
hisfancy has already while in embryo taken ad

vantage of his opportunity to spy upon an act of
coition between his parents.
f(
He is in a deep shaft, in which there is a window,
as in the Semmering Tunnel. At first he sees an
empty landscape through thiswindow, and then he
composes a picture into it, which is immediately at
hand and which fills out the empty space. The
picture represents a field which is being thoroughly
harrowed by an implement, and the delightful air,
the accompanying idea of hard work, and the bluish-
black clods of earth make a pleasant impression.
He then goes on and sees a primary school opened
. . . and he is surprised that so much attention is
devoted in it to the sexual feelings of the child,
which makes him think of me"
Here is a pretty water-dream of a female patient,
which was turned to extraordinary account in the
course of treatment.
At her summer resort at the
Lake, she hurls. . .
herself into the dark water at a place where the pale

moon is reflected in the water.
Dreams of this sort are parturition dreams ; their
interpretation accomplished by reversing the fact

is
reported in the manifest dream content; thus, in

stead of "throwing one s self into the water," read
SEX IN DREAMS 109
"coming out of the water," that is, "being

born."
The place from which one is born is recognized if

one thinks of the bad sense of the French lune." "la
The pale moon thus becomes the white "bottom"
(Popo) which the child soon recognizes as the place

,
from which it came. Now what can be the mean

ing of the patient s wishing to be born at her sum
mer resort? I asked the dreamer this, and she an
swered without hesitation: "Hasn t the treatment
made me as though I were born again?" Thus the
dream becomes an invitation to continue the cure
at this summer resort, that is, to visit her there;
perhaps it also contains a very bashful allusion to

1
the wish to become a mother herself.
Another dream of parturition, with its interpre
tation, I take from the work of E. Jones. "She
stood at the seashore watching a small boy, who

seemed to be hers, wading into the water. This he
did till the water covered him, and she could only
see his head bobbing up and down near the surface.
The scene then changed to the crowded hall of a
i It is only of late that I have learned to value the significance of

fancies and unconscious thoughts about life in the womb. They
contain the explanation of the curious fear felt by so many people
of being buried alive, as well as the profoundest unconscious reason
for the belief in a life after death which represents nothing but a
projection into the future of this mysterious life before birth. The
act of birth, moreover, is the first experience with fear, and is thus
the sowrce and model of the emotion of fear.
hotel. Her husband left her, and she entered into
conversation with a stranger" The second half
of the dream was discovered in the analysis to repre
sent a flight from her husband, and the entering
into intimate relations with a third person, behind
whom was Mr. X. s brother men
plainly indicated
tioned in a former dream. The first part of the
dream was a fairly evident birth phantasy. In
dreams as mythology, the delivery of a child from
in
the uterine waters is commonly presented by dis

tortion as the entry of the child into water; among
many others, the births of Adonis, Osiris, Moses,
and Bacchus are well-known illustrations of this.
The bobbing up and down of the head in the water

at once recalled to the patient the sensation of quick
ening she had experienced in her only pregnancy.

Thinking of the boy going into the water induced
a reverie in which she saw herself taking him out of
the water, carrying him into the nursery, washing
him and dressing him, and installing him in her
household.
The second half of the dream, therefore, repre
sents thoughts concerning the elopement, which be
longed to the first half of the underlying latent con
tent; the first half of the dream corresponded with

the second half of the latent content, the birth
phantasy. Besides this inversion in order, further

SEX IN DREAMS ill
inversioi*stook place in each half of the dream.

In the first half the child entered the water, and
then his head bobbed; in the underlying dream
thoughts first the quickening occurred, and then the

child left the water (a double inversion). In the
second half her husband left her; in the dream
thoughts she left her husband.
Another parturition dream is related by Abra
ham of a young woman looking forward to her
first confinement. From a place in the floor
of the house a subterranean canal leads di
rectly into the water (parturition path, amniotic

liquor) . She lifts up a trap in the floor, and there
immediately appears a creature dressed in a brown
ish fur, which almost resembles a seal. This crea
ture changes into the younger brother of the
dreamer, to whom she has always stood in maternal
relationship.
Dreams of "saving"
are connected with parturi
tion dreams. To save, especially to save from the
water, is equivalent to giving birth when dreamed
by a woman; this sense is, however, modified when
the dreamer is a man.
Robbers, burglars at night, and ghosts, of which

we are afraid before going to bed, and which oc
casionally even disturb our sleep, originate in one
and the same childish reminiscence. They are the
nightly visitors who have awakened the child to set
it on the chamber so that it may not wet the bed, or
have lifted the cover in order to see clearly how the
child holding its hands while sleeping. I have
is
been able to induce an exact recollection of the

nocturnal visitor in the analysis of some of these
anxiety dreams. The robbers were always the fa

ther, the ghosts more probably corresponded to
feminine persons with white night-gowns.
When one has become familiar with the abun
dant use of symbolism for the representation of
sexual material in dreams, one naturally raises the
question whether there are not many of these sym

bols which appear once and for all with a firmly es
tablished significance like the signs in stenography ;
and one tempted to compile a new dream-book

is
according to the cipher method. In this connection

it may be remarked that this symbolism does not
belong peculiarly to the dream, but rather to. un

conscious thinking, particularly that of the masses,
and it is to be found in greater perfection in
the .folklore, in the myths, legends, and man
ners of speech, in the proverbial sayings, and in
the current witticisms of a nation than in its
dreams.
The dream takes advantage of this symbolism in
order to give a disguised representation to its latent^
SEX IN DREAMS 118
thoughts. Among the symbols which are used in

this manner there are of course many which regu
larly, or almost regularly, mean tne
Only it necessary to keep in
is mind the curious
plasticity of psychic material. Now and then a

symbol in the dream content may have to be in
terpreted not symbolically, but according to its real
meaning; at another time the dreamer, owing to a
peculiar set of recollections, may create for himself

the right to use anything whatever as a sexual sym
bol, though not ordinarily used in that way.
it is
Nor are the most frequently used sexual symbols

unambiguous every time.
After these limitations and reservations I may
call attention to the following: .Emperor and Em
press (King and Queen) in most cases really repre
sent the parents of the dreamer; the dreamer him
self or herself is the prince or princess. All elon
gated objects, sticks, tree-trunks, and umbrellas

(on account of the stretching-up which might be
compared to an erection! all elongated and sharp
weapons, knives, daggers, and pikes, are intended
to represent the male member. A frequent, not
very symbol for the same is a nail-file
intelligible,
(on account of the rubbing and scraping?) Little.
cases, boxes, caskets, closets, and stoves correspond

to the female part. The symbolism of lock and
key has been very gracefully employed by Uhland
in his song about the "Grafen Eberstein," to make
a common smutty joke. The dream of walking
through a row of rooms is a brothel or harem dream.
Staircases, ladders, and flights of stairs, or climbing
on these, either upwards or downwards, are sym
bolic representations of the sexual act. Smooth
walls over which one is climbing, fa9ades of houses
upon which one is letting oneself
down, frequently
under great anxiety, correspond to the erect hu
man body, and probably repeat in the dream remi
niscences of the upward climbing of little children
on their parents or foster parents. "Smooth"
walls are men. Often in a dream of anxiety one
is holding on firmly to some projection from a
house. Tables, set tables, and boards are women,

perhaps on account of the opposition which does
away with the bodily contours. Since "bed and
board" (mensa et thorns) constitute marriage, the
former are often put for the latter in the dream,

and as far as practicable the sexual presentation
complex transposed to the eating complex. Of

is
articles of dress the woman s hat may frequently be
definitely interpreted as the male genital. In

dreams of men one often finds the cravat as a sym
bol for the penis; this indeed is not only because
cravats hang down long, and are characteristic of
SEX IN DREAMS 115
the man, but also because one can select them at
pleasure, a freedom which is prohibited by nature

in the original of the symbol. Persons who make
use of this symbol in the dream are very extrava
gant with cravats, and possess regular collections

of them. All complicated machines and apparatus
in dream are very probably genitals, in the descrip
tion of which dream symbolism shows itself to be as
tireless as the activity of wit. Likewise many land
scapes in dreams, especially with bridges or with
wooded mountains, can be readily recognized as
descriptions of the genitals. Finally where one
finds incomprehensible neologisms one may think
of combinations made up of components having a

sexual significance. Children also in the dream
often signify the genitals, as men and women are
in the habit of fondly referring to their genital
organ as their "little one." As a very recent sym

bol of the male genital may be mentioned the flying
machine, utilization of which is justified by its re

lation to flying as well as occasionally by its form.
To play with a little child or to beat a little one is
often the dream s representation of onanism. A

number of other symbols, in part not sufficiently
verified are given by Stekel, who illustrates them
with examples. Right and left, according to him,
are to be conceived in the dream in an ethical sense.
"The
right way always signifies the road to right
eousness, the left the one to crime. Thus the left
may signify homosexuality, incest, and perversion,
while the right signifies marriage, relations with a
prostitute, &c. The meaning is always determined

by the individual moral view-point of the dreamer."
Relatives in the dream generally play the role of
genitals. Not to be able to catch up with a wagon

is interpreted by Stekel as regret not to be able to
come up to a difference in age. Baggage with
which one travels is the burden of sin by which one
is oppressed. Also numbers, which frequently
occur in the dream, are assigned by Stekel a fixed
symbolical meaning, but these interpretations seem

neither sufficiently verified nor of general validity,
although the interpretation in individual cases can

generally be recognized as probable. In a recently
published book by W. Stekel, Die Sprache des
Traumes, which I was unable to utilize, there is a list
of the most common
sexual symbols, the object of
which is to prove that all sexual symbols can be
bisexually used. He states: there a symbol
"Is
which (if in any way permitted by the phantasy)

may not be used simultaneously in the masculine
and the feminine sense!" To be sure the clause in
parentheses takes away much of the absoluteness
of this assertion, for this is not at all permitted by
SEX IN DREAMS 117
the phantasy. I do not, however, think it

super
fluous to state that in my experience StekeFs gen
eral statement has to give way to the recognition of
a greater manifoldness. Besides those symbols,

which are just as frequent for the male as for the
female genitals, there are others which preponder-
ately, or almost exclusively, designate one of the

sexes, and there are still others of which only the
male or only the female signification is known. To
use long, firm objects and weapons as symbols of
the female genitals, or hollow objects (chests,
pouches, &c.), as symbols of the male genitals, is
indeed not allowed by the fancy.

It is true that the tendency of the dream and the
unconscious fancy to utilize the
symbol sexual
bisexually betrays an archaic trend, for in child
hood a difference in the genitals is unknown, and

the same genitals are attributed to both sexes.
These very incomplete suggestions may suffice
to stimulate others to make a more careful collec
tion.
I shall now add a few examples of the application

of such symbolisms in dreams, which will serve to
show r
how impossible it becomes to interpret a
dream without taking into account the symbolism
of dreams, and how imperatively it obtrudes itself
in many cases.
1. symbol of the man (of the male
The hat as a
genital) (a fragment from the dream of a young

:
woman who suffered from agoraphobia on account

of a fear of temptation) .
"I am walking in the street in summer, I wear a

straw hat of peculiar shape, the middle piece of
which is bent upwards and the side pieces of which
hang downwards (the description became here ob
structed), and in such a fashion that one is lower
than the other. I am cheerful and in a confidential
mood, and as I pass a troop of young officers I

think to myself: None of you can have any de
signs upon me."
As she could produce no associations to the hat,

I said to her: "The hat is really a male genital,
with its raised middle piece and the two downward
hanging side pieces." I intentionally refrained
from interpreting those details concerning the un
equal downward hanging of the two side pieces, al
though just such individualities in the determina
tions lead the way to the interpretation. I

continued by saying that if she only had a man with
such a virile genital she would not have to fear the
officers that is, she would have nothing to wish
from them, for she is mainly kept from going with
out protection and company by her fancies of temp
tation. This last explanation of her fear I had al-
SEX IN DREAMS 119
ready been able to give her repeatedly on the basis

of other material.
It is quite remarkable how the dreamer behaved
after this interpretation. She withdrew her de
scription of the hat, and claimed not to have said
that the two were hanging downwards.
side pieces
I was, however, too sure of what I had heard to

allow myself to be misled, and I persisted in it.
She was quiet for a while, and then found the cour
age to ask why it was that one of her husband s
testicles was lower than the other, and whether it
was the same in all men. With this the peculiar
detail of the hat was explained, and the whole in
terpretation was accepted by her. The hat symbol

was familiar tome long before the patient related
this dream. From other but less transparent cases
I believe that the hat may also be taken as a female
genital.
2. The little one as the genital to be run over
as a symbol of sexual intercourse (another dream
of the same agoraphobic patient).
mother sends away her little daughter so
"Her
that she must go alone. She rides with her mother

to the railroad and one walking di
sees her little
rectly upon the tracks, so that she cannot avoid
being run over. She hears the bones crackle.

(
From this she experiences a feeling of discomfort
but no real horror.) She then looks out through
the car window to see whether the parts cannot be
seen behind. She then reproaches her mother for
allowing the little one to go out alone." Analysis.
It is not an easy matter to give here a complete in
terpretation of the dream. It forms part of a cycle

of dreams, and can be fully understood only in con
nection with the others. For it is not easy to get
the necessary material sufficiently isolated to prove
the symbolism. The patient at first finds that the
railroad journey is to be interpreted historically as
an allusion to a departure from a sanatorium for
nervous diseases, with the superintendent of which
she naturally was in love. Her mother took her
away from and the physician came to the

this place,
railroad station and handed her a bouquet of flow

erson leaving; she felt uncomfortable because her
mother witnessed this homage. Here the mother,
therefore, appears as- a disturber of her love affairs,
which is the role actually played by this strict
woman during her daughter s girlhood. The next

thought referred to the sentence: "She then looks
to see whether the parts can be seen behind." In
the dream f aade one would naturally be compelled
to think of the parts of the little daughter run over
and ground up. The
thought, however, turns in
quite a different direction. She recalls that she
SEX IN DREAMS 121
once saw her father in the bath-room naked from

behind; she then begins to talk about the sex differ
entiation, and asserts that in the man the genitals
can be seen from behind, but in the woman they can
not. In this connection she now herself offers the
interpretation that the little one is the genital, her

little one (she has a four-year-old daughter) her
own genital. She reproaches her mother for want
ing her to live as though she had no genital, and
recognizes this reproach in the introductory sen
tence of the dream the mother sends away her lit
;
tle one so that she must go alone. In her phantasy

going alone on the street signifies to have no man
and no sexual relations (coire to go together), =
and this she does not
According to all her
like.
statements she really suffered as a girl on account

of the jealousy of her mother, because she showed
a preference for her father.
The has been noted as a symbol for
"little one"
the male or the female genitals by Stekel, who can

refer in this connection to a very widespread usage
of language.
The deeper interpretation of this dream depends
upon another dream of the same night in which the
dreamer identifies herself with her brother. She
was a "tomboy,"
and was always being told that she
should have been born a boy. This identification
with the brother shows with special clearness that
"the little one"
signifies the genital. The mother
threatened him (her) with castration, which could
only be understood as a punishment for playing

with the parts, and the identification, therefore,
shows that she herself had masturbated as a child,
though this fact she now retained only in memory

concerning her brother. An early knowledge of
the male genital which she later lost she must have
acquired at that time according to the assertions
of this second dream. Moreover the second dream
points to the infantile sexual theory that girls origi
nate from boys through castration. After I had
told her of this childish belief, she at once confirmed
it with an anecdote in which the boy asks the girl :
"Was it cut off?" to which the girl replied, "No, it s
always been so."
The sending away of the little one, of the genital,

in the first dream therefore also refers to the threat
ened castration. Finally she blames her mother

for not having been born a boy.
That "being run over" symbolizes sexual inter
course would not be evident from this dream if we
were not sure of it from many other sources.
Representation of the genital by structures,

3.
stairways, and shafts. (Dream of a young man in

hibited by a father complex.)
SEX IN DREAMS 123
"He is taking a walk with his father in a place

which is surely the Prater, for the Rotunda may
be seen in front of which there is a small front struc
ture to which is attached a captive balloon; the
balloon, however, seems quite collapsed. His fa
ther asks him what this is all for; he is surprised at
it,but he explains it to his father. They come into
a court in which lies a large sheet of tin. His fa
ther wants to pull off a big piece of this, but first
looks around to see if any one is watching. He
tells his father that all he needs to do is to speak
to thewatchman, and then he can take without any
further difficulty as much as he wants to. From
this court a stairway leads down into a shaft, the
walls of which are softly upholstered something like
a leather pocketbook. At the end of this shaft
there is a longer platform, and then a new shaft be
gins. . . ."
This dream belongs to a type of pa

Analysis.
tient which is not favorable from a therapeutic
point of view. They follow in the analysis with

out offering any resistances whateverup to a certain
point, but from that point on they reman almost in
accessible. This dream he almost analyzed him
self. "The Rotunda," he said, "is
my genital, the
captive balloon in front is my penis, about the weak
ness of which I have worried. We must, however,
interpret in greater detail; the Rotunda is the but
tock which is regularly associated by the child with
the genital, the smaller front structure is the
scrotum. In the dream his father asks him what
this is all for that is, he asks him about the pur
pose and arrangement of the genitals. It is quite
evident that this state of affairs should be turned
around, and that he should be the questioner. As
such a questioning on the side of the father has
never taken place in reality, we must conceive the
dream thought as a wish, or take it conditionally,
as follows: "If I had only asked my father for
sexual enlightenment." The continuation of this
thought we shall soon find in another place.

The court in which the tin sheet is spread out is
not to be conceived symbolically in the first instance,
but originates from his father s place of business.
For discretionary reasons I have inserted the tin
for another material in which the father deals, with
out, however, changing anything in the verbal ex

pression of the dream. The dreamer had entered
his father s business, and had taken a terrible dislike
to the questionable practices upon which profit

mainly depends. Hence the continuation of the
above dream thought I had only asked him")
("if
would be: would have deceived me just as

"He
he does his customers." For the pulling off, which

SEX IN DREAMS 125
serves to represent commercial dishonesty, the

dreamer himself gives a
explanation second
namely, onanism. This is not only entirely fa

miliar to us, but agrees very well with the fact
that the secrecy of onanism is expressed by its
opposite ("Why one can do it quite openly"). It,
moreover, agrees entirely with our expectations that

the onanistic activity is again put off on the father,
just as was the questioning in the first scene of
the dream. The shaft he at once interprets as the
vagina by referring to the soft upholstering of the
walls. That the act of coition in the vagina is de
scribed as a going down instead of in the usual way
as a going up, I have also found true in other in
1
stances.
The details that at the end of the first shaft there
is a longer platform and then a new shaft, he him
self explains biographically. He had for some
time consorted with women sexually, but had then
given it up because of inhibitions and now hopes

to be able to take it up again with the aid of the
treatment. The dream, however, becomes indis
tinct toward the end, and to the experienced in

terpreter it becomes evident that in the second scene
of the dream the influence of another subject has
begun to assert itself; in this his father s business

i Cf. Zentralblatt fiir psychoanalyse, I.
and his dishonest practices signify the first vagina
represented as a shaft so that one might think of
a reference to the mother.
4. The male
genital symbolized by persons and
the female by a landscape.
(Dream of a woman of the lower class, whose

husband is a policeman, reported by B. Dattner.)
. . . Then some one broke into the house and

anxiously called for a policeman. But he went
with two tramps by mutual consent into a church, 1
2
to which led a great many stairs ; behind the
3
church there was a mountain, on top of which a
4
dense forest. The policeman was furnished with
a helmet, a gorget, and a cloak. 5 The two vag
rants, who went along with the policeman quite
6
peaceably, had tied to their loins sack-like aprons.
A road led from the church to the mountain. This
road was overgrown on each side with grass and
brushwood, which became thicker and thicker as it
reached the height of the mountain, where it spread
out into quite a forest.
5. A stairway dream.
(Reported and interpreted by Otto Rank.)
1 Or chapel vagina*
2
Symbol of coitus. 3 Mons veneris. 4 Crines pubis.
s Demons in cloaks and capucines are, according to the explanation
of a man versed in the subject, of a phallic nature,
two halves of the scrotum.
SEX IN DREAMS 127
For the following transparent pollution dream,

I am indebted to the same colleague who furnished
us with the dental-irritation dream.
"I am running down the stairway in the stair-
house after a little girl, whom I wish to punish be

cause she has done something to me. At the bot
tom of the stairs some one held the child for me.
(A grown-up woman?) I grasp it, but do not
know whether I have hit it, for I suddenly find
myself in the middle of the stairway where I prac

tice coitus with the child (in the air as it were) It .
is really no coitus, I only rub my genital on her

external genital, and in doing this I see very dis it
tinctly, as distinctly as I see her head which is lying
sideways. During the sexual act I see hanging

to the left and above me (also as if in the air) two
small pictures, landscapes, representing a house on
a green. On the smaller one my surname stood in
the place where the painter s signature should be;
it seemed to be intended for birthday present. my
A small sign hung in front of the pictures to the
effect that cheaper pictures could also be obtained.
I then see myself very indistinctly lying in bed, just

as I had seen myself at the foot of the stairs, and
I am awakened by a feeling of dampness which
came from the pollution."
Interpretation. The dreamer had been in a

book-store on the evening of the day of the dream,
where, while he was waiting, he examined some pic
tures which were exhibited, which represented mo
tives similar to the dream stepped
pictures. He
nearer to a small picture which particularly took
his fancy in order to see the name of the artist,
which, however, was quite unknown to him.

Later in the same evening, in company, he heard
about a Bohemian servant-girl who boasted that
her illegitimate child "was made on the stairs."
The dreamer inquired about the details of this un

usual occurrence, and learned that the servant -girl
went with her lover to the home of her parents,
where there was no opportunity for sexual rela
tions, and that the excited man performed the act
on the stairs. In witty allusion to the mischievous
expression used about wine-adulterers, the dreamer

remarked, "The child really grew on the cellar
steps."
These experiences of the day, which are quite

prominent in the dream content, were readily re
produced by the dreamer. But he just as readily
reproduced an old fragment of infantile recollection
which was also utilized by the dream. The stair-
house was the house in which he had spent the
greatest part of his childhood, and in which

he had
first become acquainted with sexual problems. In

SEX IN DREAMS 129
this house he used, among other things, to slide

down the banister astride which caused him to be
come sexually excited. In the dream he also comes
down the stairs very rapidly so rapidly that, ac
cording to his own distinct assertions, he hardly

touched the individual stairs, but rather or "flew"
"slid down," as we used to say. Upon reference to

this infantile experience, the beginning of the dream
seems to represent the factor of sexual excitement.
In the same house and in the adjacent residence
the dreamer used to play pugnacious games with
the neighboring children, in which he satisfied him
self just as he did in the dream.
Freud s investigation of sex
If one recalls from
1
ual symbolism that in the dream stairs or climbing
stairs almost regularly symbolizes coitus, the dream
becomes clear. Its motive power as well as its ef
fect, as is shown by the pollution, is of a purely

libidinous nature. Sexual excitement became
aroused during the sleeping state (in the dream
this is represented by the rapid running or sliding
down the stairs) and the sadistic thread in this is,
on the basis of the pugnacious playing, indicated in
the pursuing and overcoming of the child. The
libidinous excitement becomes enhanced and urges
to sexual action (represented in the dream .by the
i See Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse, vol. i., p. 2.
grasping of the child and the conveyance of it to the
middle of the stairway). Up to this point the
dream would be one of pure, sexual symbolism, and
obscure for the unpracticed dream interpreter.
But this symbolic gratification, which would have
insured undisturbed sleep, was not sufficient for
the powerful libidinous excitement. The excite
ment an orgasm, and thus the whole stair
leads to
way symbolism is unmasked as a substitute for

coitus. Freud lays stress on the rhythmical char
acter of both actions as one of the reasons for the
sexual utilization of the stairway symbolism, and
this dream especially seems to corroborate this, for,
according to the express assertion of the dreamer,
the rhythm of a sexual act was- the most pronounced
feature in the whole dream.
Still another remark concerning the two pic
tures, which, aside from their- real significance, also
have the value of "Weibsbilder" (literally woman-

pictures , but idiomatically women) This is at
.
once shown by the fact that the dream deals with

a big and a little picture, just as the dream content
presents a big (grown up) and a little girl. That

cheap pictures could also be obtained points to the
prostitution complex, just as the dreamer s sur
name on the little picture and the thought that it
was intended for his birthday, point to the parent

SEX IN DREAMS 131
complex (to be born on the stairway to be con
ceived in coitus).
The indistinct final scene, in which the dreamer
sees himselfon the staircase landing lying in bed
and feeling wet, seems to go back into childhood
even beyond the infantile onanism, and manifestly
has its prototype in similarly pleasurable* scenes of
bed-wetting.
6. A modified stair-dream.
To one of my very nervous patients, who was an
abstainer,whose fancy was fixed on his mother,
and who repeatedly dreamed of climbing stairs ac
companied by his mother, I once remarked that
moderate masturbation would be less harmful to
him than enforced abstinence. This influence pro
voked the following dream :
piano teacher reproaches him for neglect

"His-
ing his piano-playing, and for not practicing the

Etudes of Moscheles and dementi s Gradus ad
Parnassum" In .relation to this he remarked that
the Gradus only a stairway, and that the piano
is
itself -is
only a stairway as it has a scale.
It is correct to say that there is no series of as
sociationswhich cannot be adapted to the repre
sentation of sexual facts. I conclude with the
dream of a chemist, a young man, who has been
trying to giv<e up masturbation by re
his habit of
placing it with intercourse with women.
Preliminary statement. On the day before the

dream he had given a student instruction concern
ing Grigriard s reaction, in which magnesium is to
be dissolved in absolutely pure ether under the cat
alytic influence of iodine. days before, there Two

had been an explosion in the course of the same re
action, in which the investigator had burned his
hand.
Dream I. He is to make phenylmagnesium-
bromid; he sees the apparatus with particular clear
ness,, but he has substituted himself for the mag
nesium. He is now in a curious swaying attitude.

He keeps repeating to himself, "This is the right
thing, working, my feet are beginning to dis

it is
solve and my knees are getting soft. Then he

reaches down and feels for his feet, and meanwhile
(he does not know how) he takes his legs out of the
crucible,and then again he says to himself, "That
cannot be. Yes, it must be so, it has been done
. . .
correctly/ Then he partially awakens, and re

peats the dream to himself, because he wants to tell
it to me. He is distinctly afraid of the analysis
of the dream. He is much excited during this
semi-sleeping state, and repeats continually,

f( 3
Phenyl, phenyl!
SEX IN DREAMS 133
II. He is in . . .
ing with his whole family; at
half-past eleven. He is to be at the Schottenthor
for a rendezvous with a certain lady, but he does not

wake up until half -past eleven. He says to him
self, "It is too late now; when you- get there it will
be half -past twelve" The next instant he sees the

whole family gathered about the table his mother
and the servant girl with the soup-tureen with par
ticular clearness. Then he says to himself, "Well,
if we are eating already, I certainly can t get

away."
Analysis: He feels sure that even the first
dream contains a reference to the lady whom he is
to meet at the rendezvous (the dream was dreamed

during the night before the expected meeting) .
The student to whom

he gave the instruction is a
particularly unpleasant fellow; he had said to the

chemist: "That isn t
right,"
because the magnes
ium was still unaffected, and the latter answered as
though he did not care anything about it: "It cer
tainly isn t right."

He himself must be this stu
dent; he is as indifferent towards his analysis as
the student is towards his synthesis; the He in the
dream, however, who accomplishes the operation,

is myself. How
unpleasant he must seem to me
with his indifference towards the success achieved!
Moreover, he is the material with which the an-
alysis (synthesis) is made. For it is a question of
the success of the treatment. The legs in the
dream recallan impression of the previous evening.
He met a lady at a dancing lesson whom he wished
to conquer; he pressed her to him so closely that
she once cried out. After he had stopped pressing
against her legs, he felt her firm responding pres
sure against his lower thighs as far as just above
his knees, at the place mentioned in the dream. In
this situation, then, the woman is the magnesium in
the retort, which is at last working. He is femi
nine towards me, as he is masculine towards the
woman. If it will work with
woman, the treat
the
ment will also work. Feeling and becoming aware
of himself in the region of his knees refers to mas
turbation, and corresponds to his fatigue of the
previous day. The rendezvous had actually

. . .
been set for half -past eleven. His wish to over

sleep and to remain with his usual sexual objects
(that is, with masturbation) corresponds with his

resistance.
VI
THE WISH IN DREAMS
THAT the dream should be nothing but a wish-ful

fillment surely seemed strange to us all and that
not alone because of the contradictions offered by
the anxiety dream.
After learning from the first analytical explana
tions that the dream conceals sense and psychic
validity, we
could hardly expect so simple a de
termination of this sense. According to the correct
but concise definition of Aristotle, the dream is a
continuation of thinking in sleep (in so far as one
sleeps) .
Considering that during the day our
thoughts produce such a diversity of psychic acts
judgments, conclusions, contradictions, expecta
tions, intentions, &c. why should our sleeping
thoughts be forced to confine themselves to the pro
duction of wishes? Are there not, on the contrary,
many dreams that present a different psychic act

in dream form, e.g., a solicitude, and is not the very
transparent father s dream mentioned above of

just such a nature? From
the gleam of light fall
ing into his eyes while asleep the father draws the
135
solicitous conclusion that a candle has been upset
and may have set fire to the corpse; he transforms
this conclusion into a dream by investing it with a
senseful situation enacted in the present tense.
What part is played in this dream by the wish-
fulfillment, and which are we to suspect the pre
dominance of the thought continued from, the wak
ing state or of the thought incited by the new sen
sory impression?
All these considerations are just, and force us to
enter more deeply into the part played by the wish-
fulfillment in the dream, and into the significance
of the waking thoughts continued in sleep.
It is in fact the wish-fulfillment that has already
induced us to separate dreams into two groups.

We have found some dreams that were plainly
wish-fulfillments; and others in which wish-fulfill
ment -could not be recognised, and was frequently
concealed by every available means. In this latter
class of dreamjs we recognized the influence of the
dream censor. The undisguised wish dreams were
found in children, yet fleeting open-hearted
chiefly
wish dreams seemed (I purposely emphasize this
word) to occur also in adults.

We may now ask whence the wish fulfilled in the
dream originates. But to what opposition or to
what diversitv do we refer this "whence"? I think

THE WISH IN DREAMS 137
it is between conscious daily life

to the opposition
and a psychic activity remaining unconscious which

can only make itself noticeable during the night.
I thus find a threefold possibility for the origin of
a wish. Firstly, it may have been incited during
the day, and owing to external circumstances failed
to find gratification, there is thus left for the night
an acknowledged but unfulfilled wish. Secondly,
it
may come to the surface during the day but be
rejected, leavingan unfulfilled but suppressed
wish. Or, thirdly, it may have no relation to daily
life, and belong to those wishes that originate dur
ing the night from the suppression. If we now

follow our scheme of the psychic apparatus, we can
localize a wish of the first order in the system Forec.
We may assume that a wish of the second order

has been forced back from the Forec. system into
the Unc. system, where alone, if anywhere, it can
maintain itself;while a wish-feeling of the third \
order we consider altogether incapable of leaving

the Unc. system. This brings up the question
whether wishes arising from these different sources
possess thesame value for the dream, and whether
they have the same power to incite a dream.
On reviewing the dreams which we have at our
disposal for answering this question, we are at once
moved to add as a fourth source of the dream-wish
the actual wish incitements arising during the night,
such as thirst and sexual desire. It then becomes
evident that the source of the dream- wish does not
affect its capacity to incite a dream. That a wish
suppressed during the day asserts itself in the
dream can be shown by a great many examples, I
shall mention a very simple example of this class.
A somewhat sarcastic young lady, whose younger

friend has become engaged to be married, is asked
throughout the day by her acquaintances whether
she knows and what she thinks of the fiance. She
answers with unqualified praise, thereby silencing
her own judgment, as she would prefer to tell the
truth, namely, that he an ordinary person. The
is
following night she dreams that the same question

is put to her, and that she
replies with the formula :
"In case of subsequent orders it will suffice to men

tion the number." Finally, we have learned from
numerous analyses that the wish in all dreams that
have been subject to distortion has been derived
from the unconscious, and has been unable to come
to perception in the waking state. Thus it would
appear that all wishes are of the same value and
force for the dream formation.
I am
at present unable to prove that the state
of affairs is really different, but I am strongly in

clined to assume a more stringent determination of
the dream- wish. Children s dreams leave no doubt

that an unfulfilled wish of the day may be the in
stigator of the dream. But we must not forget
that it is, after all, the wish of a child, that it is a
wish-feeling of infantile strength only. I have a
strong doubt whether an unfulfilled wish from the

day would suffice to create a dream in an adult.
It would rather seem that as we learn to control our
impulses by intellectual activity, we more and more

reject as vain the formation or retention of such
intense wishes as are natural to childhood. In this,
indeed, there may be individual variations some re

;
tain the infantile type of psychic processes longer
than others. The differences are here the same as

those found in the gradual decline of the originally
distinct visual imagination.
In general, however, I am of the opinion that

unfulfilled wishes of the day are insufficient to pro
duce a dream in adults. I readily admit that the
wish instigators originating in conscious like con
tribute towards the incitement of dreams, but that
is probably all. The dream would not originate
if the foreconscious wish were not reinforced from
another source.
That source is the unconscious. I believe that
the conscious wish a dream inciter only if it suc
is
ceeds in arousing a similar unconscious wish which

reinforces it. Following the suggestions obtained
through the psychoanalysis of the neuroses, I be
lieve that these unconscious wishes are always ac
tive and ready for expression whenever they find
an opportunity to unite themselves with an emo

tion from conscious life, and that they transfer their
greater intensity to the lesser intensity of the lat

1
ter. It may therefore seem that the conscious
wish alone has been realized in a dream but a slight ;
peculiarity in the formation of this dream will put

us on the track of the powerful helper from the un
conscious. These ever active and, as it were, im
mortal wishes from the unconscious recall the legend
ary Titans who from time immemorial have borne
the ponderous mountains which were once rolled
upon them by the victorious gods, and which even

now quiver from time to time from the convulsions
of their mighty limbs I say that these wishes found
;
in the repression are of themselves of an infantile
origin, as we have learned from the psychological
i
They share this character of indestructibility with all psychic acts
that are really unconscious that is, with psychic acts belonging to the
system of the unconscious only. These paths are constantly open and
never they conduct the discharge of the exciting proc
fall into disuse ;
ess as often as itbecomes endowed with unconscious excitement. To

speak metaphorically they suffer the same form of annihilation as the
shades of the lower region in the Odyssey, who awoke to new life the
moment they drank blood. The processes depending on the forecon-
scious system are destructible in a different way. The psychotherapy
of the neuroses is based on this difference.
THE WISH- IN DREAMS 141
investigation of the neuroses. I should like, there
fore, to withdraw the opinion previously expressed

that it is unimportant whence the dream- wish or
iginates, and replace

by another, as follows
it The :
wish manifested in the dream must be an infantile

one. In the adult it originates in the Unc., while
in the child, where no separation and cesor as yet
exist between Force, and Unc., or where these are
only in the process of formation, it is an unfulfilled
and unrepressed wish from the waking state. I
am aware that this conception cannot be generally
demonstrated, but I maintain nevertheless that it
can be frequently demonstrated, even when it was

not suspected, and that it cannot be generally re
futed.
The wish-feelings which remain from the con
scious waking state are, therefore, relegated to the
background in the dream formation. In the dream

content I shall attribute to them only the part -at
tributed to the material of actual sensations during
sleep. If I now take into account those other
psychic instigations remaining from the waking

state which are not wishes, I shall only ad
here to the line mapped out for me by this train of
thought. We may succeed in provisionally termi
nating the sum of energy of our waking thoughts
by deciding to go to sleep. He is a good sleeper

who can do this; Napoleon I. isreputed to have
been a model of this sort. But we do not always
succeed in accomplishing it, or in accomplishing it
perfectly. Unsolved problems, harassing cares,
overwhelming impressions continue the thinking ac

tivity even during sleep, maintaining psychic pro
cesses in the system which we have termed the fore-
conscious. These mental processes continuing into
sleep may be divided into the following groups:
1, That which has not been terminated during the
day owing to casual prevention; 2, that which has
been left unfinished by temporary paralysis of our
mental power, i.e. the unsolved; 3, that which has
been rejected and suppressed during the day. This
unites with a powerful group (4) formed by that
which has been excited in our Unc. during the day
by. the work of the foreconscious. Finally, w e may
r
add group, (5) consisting of the indifferent and

hence unsettled impressions of the day.
Weshould not underrate the psychic intensities
introduced into sleep by these remnants of waking
life, especially those emanating from the group of
the unsolved. These excitations surely continue

to strive for expression during the night, and we
may assume equal certainty that the sleeping

Avith
state renders impossible the usual continuation of
the excitement in the foreconscious and the termina-

t?on of the excitement becoming conscious.

by its.
As far as we can normally become conscious of our

mental processes, even during the night, in so far
we are not asleep. I shall not venture to state
what change produced in the Forec. system by
is
the sleeping state, but there is no doubt that the
psychological character of sleep is essentially due

to the change of energy in this very system, which
also dominates the approach to motility, which is
paralyzed during sleep. In contradistinction to

this, there seems to be nothing in the psychology of
the -dream to warrant the assumption that -sleep
produces any but secondary changes in the condi

tions of the Unc. system. Hence, for the noctur
nal excitation in the Forec. there remains no other
path than that followed by the wish excitements

from the Unc. This excitation must seek rein
forcement from the Unc., and follow the detours
of the unconscious excitations, But what is the
relation of the foreoonscious day remnants to the
dream? There is no doubt that they penetrate
abundantly into the dream, that they utilize the
dream content to obtrude themselves upon con
sciousness even during the night; indeed, they oc
casionally even dominate the dream content, and

impel it to continue the work of the day; it is also
certain that the day remnants may just as well

have any other character as that of wishes but it is
;
highly instructive and even decisive for the theory

of wish-fulfillment to see what conditions they must
comply with in order to be received into the dream.

Let us pick out one of the dreams cited above as
examples, e.g., the dream in which my friend Otto
seems to show, the symptoms of Basedow s disease.
My friend Otto s appearance occasioned me some

concern during the day, and this worry, like
everything else referring to this person, affected

me. I may also assume that these feelings fol
lowed me into sleep. I was probably bent on
finding out what was the matter with him.

In the night my worry found expression in the
dream which I have reported, the content of which
was not .only senseless, but failed to show any wish-
fulfillment. But I began to investigate for the
source of this incongruous expression of the solici
tude felt during the day, and analysis revealed the
connection. I identified my friend Otto with a cer
tainBaron L. and myself with a Professor R.
There was only one explanation for my being im
pelled to select just this substitution for the day
thought. I must have always been prepared in the
Unc. to identify myself with Professor R., as it
meant the realization of one of the immortal in
fantile wishes, viz. that of becoming great. Re-
pulsive ideas respecting my friend, that would cer
tainly have been repudiated in a waking state, took
advantage of the opportunity to creep into the

dream, but the worry of the day likewise found
some form of expression through a substitution in
the dream content. The day thought, which was
no wish in itself but rather a worry, had in some
way to find a connection with the infantile now un
conscious and suppressed wish, which then allowed
it, though already properly prepared, to "origi
nate" for consciousness. The more dominating

this worry, the stronger must be the connection to
be established between the contents of the wish and
;
that of the worry there need be no connection, nor

was there one in any of our examples.
We can now
sharply define the significance of
the unconscious wish for the dream. It may be
admitted that there is a whole class of dreams in

which the incitement originates preponderatingly
or even exclusively from the remnants of daily life ;
and I believe that even my cherished desire to be

come at some future time a "professor extraordin-
arius" would have allowed me to slumber undis
turbed that night had not my worry about my
friend s health been still active. But this worry
alone would not have produced a dream the motive ;
power needed by the dream had .to be contributed

by a wish, and it was the affair of the worriment to
procure for itself such wish as a motive power of
the dream. To speak figuratively, it is
quite pos
sible that a day thought plays the part of the con
tractor (entrepreneur] in the dream. But it is
known that no matter what idea the contractor may

have in mind, and how desirous he may be of put
ting it into operation, he can do nothing without
capital ; he must depend upon a capitalist to defray
the necessary expenses, and this capitalist, who sup
plies the psychic expenditure for the dream is in
variably and indisputably a wish from the uncon

scious, no matter what the nature of the waking
thought may be.
In other cases the capitalist himself is the con

tractor for the dream; this, indeed, seems to be the
more usual case. An unconscious wish is
produced
by the day s work, which in turn creates the dream.
The dream processes, moreover, run parallel with
all the other possibilities of the economic relation
ship used here as an illustration. Thus, the entre

preneur may contribute some capital himself, or
several entrepreneurs may seek the aid of the same
capitalist, or several capitalists may jointly supply

the capital required by the entrepreneur. Thus
there are dreams produced by more than one dream-
wish, and many similar variations which may

readily be passed over and are of no further interest
to us. What we have left unfinished in this discus

sion of the dream-wish we shall be able to develop
later.
The "tertium comparationis" in the comparisons
just employed i.e. the sum placed at our free dis

posal in proper allotment admits of still finer ap
plication for the illustration of the dream structure.
We can recognize in most dreams a center especially
supplied with perceptible intensity. This is regu
larly the direct representation of the wish-fulfill
ment; for, if we undo the displacements of the
dream-work by a process of retrogression, we find
that the psychic intensity of the elements in the
dream thoughts isreplaced by the perceptible in
tensity of the elements in the dream content.
The elements adjoining the wish-fulfillment have
frequently nothing to do with its sense, but prove

to be descendants of painful thoughts which op
pose the wish. But, owing to their frequently

artificial connection with the central element,
they have acquired sufficient intensity to enable

them to come to expression. Thus, the force
of expression of the wish-fulfillment is dif
fused over a certain sphere of association, within
which it raises to expression all elements, including
those that are in themselves impotent. In dreams

having several strong wishes we can readily sepa
rate from one another the spheres of the individual
wish-f ulilments ; the gaps in the dream likewise
can often be explained as boundary zones.
Although the foregoing remarks have consider
ably limited the significance of the day remnants
for the dream, it will nevertheless be worth our
while to give them some attention. For they must
be a necessary ingredient in the formation of the
dream, inasmuch as experience reveals the surpris
ing fact that every dream shows in its content a
connection with some impression of a recent day,
often of the most indifferent kind. So far we have
failed to see any necessity for this addition to the
dream mixture. This necessity appears only when

we follow closely the part played by the uncon
scious wish, and then seek information in the
psychology of the neuroses. We thus learn that

the unconscious idea, as such, is altogether incapa
ble of entering into the foreconscious, and that it
can exert an influence there only by uniting with a

harmless idea already belonging to the forecon
scious, to which it transfers its intensity and under
which it allows itself to be concealed. This is the
fact of transference which furnishes an explana

tion for so many surprising occurrences in the
psychic life of neurotics.
The idea from the foreconseious which thus ob

tains an unmerited abundance of intensity may be
left unchanged by the transference, or it may have
forced upon it a modification from the content of
the transferring idea. I trust the reader will par
don my fondness for comparisons from daily life,
but I feel tempted to say that the relations existing

for the repressed idea are similar to the situations
existing in Austria for the American dentist, who

isforbidden to practise unless he gets permission
from a regular physician to use his name on the
public signboard and thus cover the legal require
ments. Moreover, just as it is naturally not the
busiest physicians who form such alliances with
dental practitioners, so in the psychic only such
life
foreconscious or conscious ideas are chosen to cover

a repressed idea as have not themselves attracted
much of the attention which operative in the fore-
is
conscious. The unconscious entangles with its con

nections preferentially either those impressions and
ideas of the foreconscious which have been left un
noticed as indifferent, or those that have soon been
deprived of this attention through rejection. It is

a familiar fact from the association studies con
firmed by every experience, that ideas which have
formed intimate connections in one direction as
sume an almost negative attitude to whole groups
of new connections. I once tried from this prin
ciple to develop a theory for hysterical paralysis.
If we assume that the same need for the transfer
ence of the repressed ideas which we have learned
to know from the analysis of the neuroses makes
its influence felt in the dream as well, we can at once
explain two riddles of the dream, viz. that every

dream analysis shows an interweaving of a recent
impression, and that this recent element is fre
quently of the most indifferent character. We

may add what we have already learned elsewhere,
that these recent and indifferent elements come so
frequently into the dream content as a substitute

for the most deep-lying of the dream thoughts, for
the further reason that they have least to fear from
the resisting censor. But while this freedom from
censorship explains only the preference for trivial
elements, the constant presence of recent elements
points to the fact that there is a need for transfer
ence. Both groups of impressions satisfy the de
mand of the repression for material still free from
associations, the indifferent ones because they have
offered no inducement for extensive associations,
and the recent ones because they have had insuffi
cient time to form such associations.

We thus see that the day remnants, among which
we may now include the indifferent impressions
when they participate in the dream formation, not

only borrow from the Unc. the motive power at the
disposal of the repressed wish, but also offer to the
unconscious something indispensable, namely, the
attachment necessary to the transference. If we
here attempted to penetrate more deeply into the
psychic processes, we should first have to throw

more light on the play of emotions between the
foreconscious and the unconscious, to which, in
deed, we are urged by the study of the psycho-

neuroses, whereas the dream itself offers no assist
ance in this respect.

Just one further remark about the day remnants.
There no doubt that they are the actual disturbers
is
of sleep, and not the dream, which, on the contrary,

strives to guard sleep. But we shall return to this
point later.
We have so far discussed the dream-wish, we
have traced it to the sphere of the Unc., and an
alyzed its relations to the day remnants, which in
turn may be either wishes, psychic emotions of any
other kind, or simply recent impressions. have We
thus made room for any claims that may be made
for the importance of conscious thought activity in
dream formations in all its variations. Relying
upon our thought series, it would not be at all im
possible for us to explain even those extreme cases
in which the dream as a continuer of the day work
brings to a happy conclusion and unsolved prob
lem of the waking state. We do not, however,
possess an example, the analysis of which might re
veal the infantile or repressed wish source furnish
ing such alliance and successful strengthening of

the efforts of the foreconscious activity. But we
have not come one step nearer a solution of the
riddle Why can the unconscious furnish the mo
:
tive power for the wish-fulfillment only during
sleep? The answer to this question must throw

light on the psychic nature of wishes; and it will
be given with the aid of the diagram of the psychic
apparatus.
We do not doubt that even this apparatus at
tained present perfection through a long course
its
of development. Let us attempt to restore it as

it existed in an early phase of its activity. From
assumptions, to be confirmed elsewhere, we know
that at first the apparatus strove to keep as free
from excitement as possible, and in its first forma
tion, therefore, the scheme took the form of a re
flex apparatus, which enabled it promptly to dis
charge through the motor tracts any sensible
stimulus reaching it from without. But this simple

function was disturbed by the wants of life, which
likewise furnish the impulse for the further de-
velopment of the apparatus. The wants of life

first manifested themselves to it in the form of the
great physical needs. The excitement aroused by
the inner want seeks an outlet in motility, which
may be designated as "inner

changes" or as an "ex
pression of the emotions." The hungry child cries
or fidgets helplessly, but its situation remains un

changed; for the excitation proceeding from an in
ner want requires, not a momentary outbreak, but
a force working continuously. change can oc A
cur only if in some way a feeling of gratification
is experienced which in the case of the child must
be through outside help in order to remove the
inner excitement. An essential constituent of this
experience is the appearance of a certain perception

(of food in our example), the memory picture of
which thereafter remains associated with the mem
ory trace of the excitation of want.
Thanks to the established connection, there re
next appearance of this want a psychic
sults at the
feeling which revives the memory picture of the

former perception, and thus recalls the former per
ception itself, i.e. it actually re-establishes the situa
tion of the first gratification. We call such a feel
ing a wish; the reappearance of the perception

constitutes the wish-fulfillment, and the full revival
of the perception by the want excitement consti-

tutes the shortest road to the wish-fulfillment. We
may assume a primitive condition of the psychic
apparatus in which this road is really followed, i.e.
where the wishing merges into an hallucination.
This first psychic activity therefore aims at an
identity of perception, i.e. it aims at a repetition of
that perception which is connected with the fulfill
ment of the want.
This primitive mental activity must have been
modified by bitter practical experience into a more
expedient secondary activity. The establishment

of the identity perception on the short regressive
road within the apparatus does not in another re
spect carry with it the result which inevitably fol

lows the revival of the same perception from with
out. The gratification does not take place, and the
want continues. In order to equalize the internal
with the external sum of energy, the former must
be continually maintained, just as actually hap
pens in the hallucinatory psychoses and in the de

liriums of hunger which exhaust their psychic ca
pacity in clinging to the object desired. In order

to make more appropriate use of the psychic force,
it becomes necessary to inhibit the full regression

so as to prevent it from extending beyond the im
age of memory, whence it can select other paths

leading ultimately to the establishment of the de-
sired identity from the outer world. This inhibi

tion and consequent deviation from the excitation
becomes the task of a second system which domi
nates the voluntary motility, i.e. through whose ac
tivity the expenditure of motility is now devoted

to previously recalled purposes. But this entire
complicated mental activity which works its way

from the memory picture to the establishment of
the perception identity from the outer world merely
represents a detour which has been forced upon the

1
wish-fulfillment by experience. Thinking is in
deed nothing but the equivalent of the hallucinatory

wish and if the dream be called a wish- fulfillment
;
thisbecomes self-evident, as nothing but a wish can

impel our psychic apparatus to activity. The
dream, which in fulfilling its wishes follows the
short regressive path, thereby preserves for us only
an example of the primary form of the psychic
apparatus which has been abandoned as inexpedi
ent. What
once ruled in the waking state when
the psychic life was still young and unfit seems to
have been banished into the sleeping state, just as
we see again in the nursery the bow and arrow, the
discarded primitive weapons of grown-up human
ity. The dream is a fragment of the abandoned

i Le Lorrain
justly extols the wish- fulfilment of the dream: "Sans
fatigue serieuse, sans etre oblige de recourir a cette lutte oplnatre et
longue qui use et corrode les jouissances poursuivies."
psychic life of the child. In the psychoses these
modes of operation of the psychic apparatus, which
are normally suppressed in the waking state, reas
sert themselves, and then betray their inability to
satisfy our wants in the outer world.
The unconscious wish-feelings evidently strive to
assert themselves during the day also, and the fact
of transference and the psychoses teach us that they
endeavor to penetrate to consciousness and domi
nate motility by the road leading through the sys
tem of the foreconscious. It is, therefore, the
censor lying between the Unc. and the Forec., the
assumption of which is forced upon us by the

dream, that we have to recognize and honor as the
guardian of our psychic health. But is it not care
lessness on the part of this guardian to diminish its
vigilance during the night and to allow the sup
pressed emotions of the Unc, to come to expression,

thus again making possible the hallucinatory re
gression? I think not, for when the critical guard
ian goes to rest and we have proof that his slumber
is not profound he takes care to close the gate to
motility. No matter what feelings from the other

wise inhibited Unc. may roam about on the scene,
they need not be interfered with they remain harm

;
less because they are unable to put in motion the
motor apparatus which alone can exert a modifying

influence upon the outer world. Sleep guarantees

the security of the fortress which is under guard.
Conditions are less harmless when a displacement
of forces is produced, not through a nocturnal
diminution in the operation of the critical censor,
but through pathological enfeeblement of the lat
ter or through pathological reinforcement of the
unconscious excitations, and this while the forecon-

scious charged with energy and the avenues to
is
motility are open. The guardian is then overpow

ered, the unconscious excitations subdue the Forec. ;
through it they dominate our speech and actions,

or they enforce the hallucinatory regression, thus
governing an apparatus not designed for them by

virtue of the attraction exerted by the perceptions
on the distribution of our psychic energy. We call
this condition a psychosis.
We are now in the best position to complete our
psychological construction, which has been inter

rupted by the introduction of the two systems, Unc.
and Forec. We
have still, however, ample reason
for giving further consideration to the wish as the
sole psychicmotive power in the dream. have We
explained that the reason why the dream is in every
case a wish realization is because it is a product of
the Unc., which knows no other aim in its activity
but the fulfillment of wishes, and which has no other

forces at disposal but wish-feelings.
its If we avail
ourselves for a moment longer of the right to elab
orate from the dream interpretation such far-reach
ing psychological speculations, we are in duty
bound to demonstrate that we are thereby bringing
the dream into a relationship which may also com
prise other psychic structures. If there exists a
system of the Unc. or something sufficiently an
alogous to it for the purpose of our discussion

the dream cannot be its sole manifestation; every
dream may be a wish-fulfillment, but there must
be other forms of abnormal wish-fulfillment be
side this of dreams.
Indeed, the theory of all
psychoneurotic symptoms culminates in the prop
osition that they too must be taken as wish-fulfill
ments of the unconscious. Our explanation makes

the dream only the first member of a group most
important for the psychiatrist, an understanding
of which means the solution of the purely psycho
logical part of the psychiatric problem. But other

members of this group of wish-fulfillments, e.g.,
the hysterical symptoms, evince one essential qual
ity which I have so far failed to find in the dream.

Thus, from the investigations frequently referred
to in this treatise, I know that the formation of an
hysterical symptom necessitates the combination of
both streams of our psychic life. The symptom is

not merely the expression of a realized unconscious

wish, but it must be joined by another wish from
the foreconscious which is fulfilled by the same
symptom; so that the symptom is at least doubly
determined, once by each one of the conflicting sys

tems. Just as in the dream, there is no limit to
further over-determination. The determination
not derived from the Unc. is, as far as I can
see, invariably a stream of thought in reaction

against the unconscious wish, e.g., a self-punish
ment. Hence I may say, in general, that an hys
terical symptom originates only where two con
trasting wish- fulfillments, having their source in
different psychic systems, are able to combine in
one expression. (Compare my latest formulation
of the origin of the hysterical symptoms in a treatise
published by the Zeitschrift filr Seocualwissen-

schaft, by Hirschfeld and others, 1908). Ex
amples on this point would prove of little value, as
nothing but a complete unveiling of the complica
tion in question would cany conviction. I there
fore content myself with the mere assertion, and
will cite an example, not for conviction but for ex
plication. The hysterical vomiting of a female
patient proved, on the one hand, to be the realiza

tion of an unconscious fancy from the time of pu
berty, that she might be continuously pregnant and
160 DREAM PSYCHOLOGY;
have a multitude of children, and this was subse
quently united with the wish that she might have
them from as many men as possible. Against this
immoderate wish there arose a powerful defensive

impulse. But as the vomiting
might spoil the pa
tient s figure and beauty, so that she would not find
favor in the eyes of mankind, the symptom was

therefore in keeping with her punitive trend of
thought, and, being thus admissible from both

sides, it was allowed to become a reality. This is
the same manner of consenting to a wish- fulfillment
which the queen of the Parthians chose for the
triumvir Crassus. Believing that he had under
taken the campaign out of greed for gold, she
caused molten gold to be poured into the throat of
the corpse. "Now hast thou what thou hast longed
for." As yet we know of the dream only that it
expresses a wish-fulfillment of the unconscious and ;
apparently the dominating foreconscious permits

this only after it has subjected the wish to some
distortions. We are really in no position to
demonstrate regularly a stream of thought antag
onistic to the dream-wish which is realized in the
dream as in its counterpart. Only now and then

have we found in the dream traces of reaction for
mations, as, for instance, the tenderness toward
friend R. in the "uncle dream." But the contribu-
tion from the foreconscious, which is missing here,

may be found in another place. While the domi
nating system has withdrawn on the wish to sleep,
the dream may bring to expression with manifold
distortions a wish from the Unc., and realize this
wish by producing the necessary changes of energy

in the psychic apparatus, and may finally retain
1
itthrough the entire duration of sleep.
This persistent wish to sleep on the part of the
foreconscious in general facilitates the formation
of the dream. Let us refer to the dream of the fa
ther who, by the gleam of light from the death
chamber, was brought to the conclusion that the
body has been set on fire. We have shown that
one of the psychic forces decisive in causing the fa
ther to form this conclusion, instead of being awak
ened by the gleam of light, was the wish to ^prolong
the life dream by one mo

of the child seen in the
ment. Other wishes proceeding from the repres
sion probably escape us, because we are unable to
analyze this dream. But as a second motive power

of the dream we may mention the father s desire to
sleep, for, like the life of the child, the sleep of the
father prolonged for a moment by the dream.
is
The underlying motive is: "Let the dream go on,

i This idea has been borrowed from Tke
( Theory of Sleep by
Liebault, who revived hypnotic investigation in our days. (Du Som-
meil provoque, etc.; Paris, 1889.)
otherwise I must wake up."
As in this dream so
also in all other dreams, the wish to sleep lends its
support to the unconscious wish. reported We

dreams which were apparently dreams of con
venience. But, properly speaking, all dreams
may claim this designation. The efficacy of the
wish to continue to sleep is the most easily rec
ognized in the waking dreams, which so transform

the objective sensory stimulus as to render it com
patible with the continuance of sleep; they inter

weave this stimulus with the dream in order to rob it
of any claims it might make as a warning to the

outer world. But
wish to continue to sleep
this
must also participate in the formation of all other

dreams which may disturb the sleeping state from
within only. "Now, then, sleep on; why, it s but
a dream"; this is in many cases the suggestion of
the Forec. to consciousness when the dream goes
too far ; and this also describes in a general way the
attitude of our dominating psychic activity toward
dreaming, though the thought remains tacit. I

must draw the conclusion that throughout our en
tire sleeping state we are just as certain that we are
dreaming as we are certain that we are sleeping.

We are compelled to disregard the objection urged
against this conclusion that our consciousness is
never directed to a knowledge of the former, and
that it is directed to a knowledge of the latter only

on special occasions when the censor is unexpectedly
surprised. Against this objection we may say that
there are persons who are entirely conscious of their
sleeping and dreaming, and who are apparently

endowed with the conscious faculty of guiding their
dream life. Such a dreamer, when dissatisfied with
the course taken by the dream, breaks it off without
awakening, and begins it anew in order to con

tinue it with a different turn, like the popular
author who, on request, gives a happier ending to
his play. Or, at another time,placed by the if
dream in a sexually exciting situation, he thinks in

his sleep: do not care to continue this dream
"I
and exhaust myself by a pollution; I prefer to de

fer it in favor of a real situation."
VII
THE FUNCTION OF THE DREAM
SINCE we know that the foreconscious is suspended

during the night by the wish to sleep, we can pro
ceed to an intelligent investigation of the dream
process. But let us first sum up the knowledge

of this process already gained. We have shown
that the waking activity leaves day remnants from
which the sum of energy cannot be entirely re
moved; or the waking during the
activity revives
day one of the unconscious wishes; or both condi
tions occur simultaneously; we have already dis
covered the many variations that may take place.
The unconscious wish has already made its way to
the day remnants, either during the day or at any

rate with the beginning of sleep, and has effected a
transference to it. This produces a wish trans
ferred to the recent material, or the suppressed re
cent wish comes to lifeagain through a reinforce
ment from the unconscious. This wish now
endeavors to make its way to consciousness on the
normal path of the mental processes through the
foreconscious, to which indeed it belongs through
164
FUNCTION OF THE DREAM 165
one of its constituent elements. It is confronted,

however, by the censor, which is still active, and to
the influence of which it now succumbs. It now
takes on the distortion for which the way has al
ready been paved by its transference to the recent

material. Thus far it is in the way of becoming
something resembling an obsession, delusion, or the

like, i.e. a thought reinforced by a transference and
distorted in expression by the censor. But its fur

ther progress is now checked through the dormant
state of the f oreconscious ; this system has appar
ently protected itself against invasion by diminish
ing its excitements. The dream process, therefore,
takes the regressive course,, which has just been
opened by the peculiarity of the sleeping state, and

thereby follows the attraction exerted on it by the
memory groups, which themselves exist in part only
as visual energy not yet translated into terms of
the later systems. On its way to regression the
dream takes on the form of dramatization. The
subject of compression will be discussed later.
The dream process has now terminated the second
part of its repeatedly impeded course. The first
part expended itself progressively from the uncon

scious scenes or phantasies to the foreconscious,
while the second part gravitates from the advent of
the censor back to the perceptions. But when the
dream process becomes a content of perception it
has, so to speak, eluded the obstacle set up in the

Force, by the censor and by the sleeping state. It
succeeds in drawing attention to itself and in being
noticed by consciousness. For consciousness, which
means to us a sensory organ for the reception of
psychic qualities, may receive stimuli from two

sources first, from the periphery of the entire ap
paratus, from the perception system, and, sec

viz.
ondly, from the pleasure and pain stimuli, which

constitute the sole psychic quality produced in the
transformation of energy within the apparatus.
All other processes in the system, even those in
the foreconscious, are devoid of any psychic quality,
and are therefore not objects of consciousness inas
much as they do not furnish pleasure or pain for
perception. We shall have to assume that those
liberations of pleasure and pain automatically regu
late the outlet of the occupation processes. But in
order to make possible more delicate functions, it
was later found necessary to render the course of

the presentations more independent of the mani
festations of pain. To
accomplish this the Force,
system needed some qualities of its own which
could attract consciousness, and most probably re
ceived them through the connection of the forecon
scious processes with the memory system of the
signs of speech, which is not devoid of qualities.
Through the qualities of this system, consciousness,

which had hitherto been a sensory organ only for
the perceptions, now becomes also a sensory organ
for a part of our mental processes. Thus we have
now, as it were, two sensory surfaces, one directed
to perceptions and the other to the foreconscious
mental processes.
I must assume that the sensory surface of con
sciousness devoted to the Forec. is rendered less ex
citable by sleep than that directed to the P-systems.
The giving up of interest for the nocturnal mental
processes indeed purposeful. Nothing is to dis

is
turb the mind; the Forec. wants to sleep. But

once the dream becomes a perception, it is then cap
able of exciting consciousness through the qualities
thus gained. The sensory
stimulus accomplishes
what it was really destined for, namely, it directs a
part of the energy at the disposal of the Forec. in
the form of attention upon the stimulant. We
must, therefore, admit that the dream invariably
awakens us, that is, it puts into activity a part of
the dormant force of the Forec. This force im
parts to the dream that influence which we have
designated as secondary elaboration for the sake
of connection and comprehensibility. This means
that the dream is treated by it like any other con-
tent of perception; it is subjected to the same ideas
of expectation, as far at least as the material admits.
As far as the direction is concerned in this third
part of the dream, it may be said that here again

the movement is progressive.
To avoid misunderstanding, it will not be amiss
to say afew words about the temporal peculiarities

of these dream processes. In a very interesting
discussion, apparently suggested by Maury s puz
zling guillotine dream, Goblet tries to demonstrate
that the dream requires no other time than the
transition period between sleeping and awakening.
The awakening requires time, as the dream takes
place during that period. One is inclined to be
lieve that the final picture of the dream is so strong
that it forces the dreamer to awaken ; but, as a mat
ter of fact, this picture strong only because the
is
dreamer is already very near awakening when it

appears. "Un reve c est un reveil qui commence."
It has already been emphasized by Dugas that

Goblet was forced to repudiate many facts in order
to generalize his theory. There are, moreover,
dreams from which we do not awaken, e.g., some
dreams in which we dream that we dream. From
our knowledge of the dream-work, we can by no
means admit that it extends only over the period of
awakening. On the contrary, we must consider it
probable that the first part of the dream-work be

gins during the day when we are still under the
domination of the foreconscious. The second
phase of the dream-work, viz. the modification
through the censor, the attraction by the uncon

scious scenes, and the penetration to perception
must continue throughout the night. And we are
probably always right when we assert that we feel

as though we had been dreaming the whole night,
although we cannot say what. I do not, however,

think it necessary to assume that, up to the time of
becoming conscious, the dream processes really fol

low the temp,Qxal sequence which we have described,
viz. that there is first the transferred dream-wish,
then the distortion of the censor, and consequently
the change of direction to regression, and so on.
We were forced to form such a succession for the
sake of description; in reality, however, it is much
rather a matter of simultaneously trying this path
and that, and of emotions fluctuating to and fro,
until finally, owing to the most expedient distribu
tion,one particular grouping is secured which re

mains. From certain personal experiences, I am
myself inclined to believe that the dream-work often

requires more than one day and one night to pro
duce its result if this be true, the extraordinary art
;
manifested in the construction of the dream loses

all its marvels. In my opinion, even the regard for
compreherisibility as an occurrence of perception

may take effect before the dream attracts conscious
ness to itself. To be sure, from now on the process
is accelerated, as the dream
henceforth subjected
is
to the same treatment as any other perception. It

is like fireworks, which require hours of preparation
and only a moment for ignition.

Through the dream- work the dream process now
gains either sufficient intensity to attract conscious
ness to itself and arouse the foreconscious, which is
quite independent of the time or profundity of

sleep, or, its intensity being insufficient it must wait
until it meets the attention which is set in motion
immediately before awakening. Most dreams
seem to operate with relatively slight psychic in
they wait for the awakening. This,
tensities, for
however, explains the fact that we regularly per

ceive something dreamt on being suddenly aroused
from a sound sleep. Here, as well as in spontane
ous awakening, the first glance strikes the precep-
tion content created by the dream-work, while the
next strikes the one produced from without.
But greater theoretical interest are those
of
dreams which are capable of waking us in the midst
of sleep. We must bear in mind the expediency
elsewhere universally demonstrated, and ask our-
selves why the dream or the unconscious wish has

the power to disturb sleep, i.e. the fulfillment of
the foreconscious wish. This is probably due to
certain relations of energy into which we have no in
sight. If we possessed such insight we should
probably find that thefreedom given to the dream
and the expenditure of a certain amount of de
tached attention represent for the dream an eco
nomy in energy, keeping in view the fact that the

unconscious must be held in check at night just as
during the day. We

know from experience that
the dream, even if it interrupts sleep, repeatedly
during the same night, still remains compatible with
sleep. We wake up for an instant, and immedi
ately resume our sleep. It is like driving off a fly
during sleep, we awake ad hoc, and when we re

sume our sleep we have removed the disturbance.
As demonstrated by familiar examples from the
sleep of wet nurses, &c., the fulfillment of the wish
to sleep is quite compatible with the retention of a
certain amount of attention in a given direction.
But we must here take cognizance an objection of
that is based on a better knowledge of the uncon
scious processes. Although we have ourselves de
scribed the unconscious wishes as always active, we
have, nevertheless, asserted that they are not suffi
ciently strong during the day to make themselves

perceptible. But when we sleep, and the uncon
scious wish has shown its power to form a dream,
and with it to awaken the foreconscious, why, then,
does this power become exhausted after the dream
has been taken cognizance of? Would it not seem
more probable that the dream should continually
renew itself, like the troublesome fly which, when
driven away, takes pleasure in returning again and
again? What justifies our assertion that the dream

removes the disturbance of sleep?
That the unconscious wishes always remain ac
tive is quite true. They represent paths which are
passable whenever a sum of excitement makes use
of them. Moreover, a remarkable peculiarity of
the unconscious processes is the fact that they re
main indestructible. Nothing can be brought to
an end in the unconscious; nothing can cease or be

forgotten. This impression is most strongly gained
in thestudy of the neuroses, especially of hysteria.
The unconscious stream of thought which leads to
the discharge through an attack becomes passable
again as soon as there is an accumulation of a suffi
cient amount of excitement. The mortification
brought on thirty years ago, after having gained ac

cess to the unconscious affective source, operates
during all these thirty years like a recent one.

Whenever its memory is touched, it is revived and
shows itself to be supplied with the excitement

which is discharged in a motor attack. It is just
here that the office of psychotherapy begins, its task
being to bring about adjustment and forgetfulness

for the unconscious processes. Indeed, the fading
of memories and the flagging of affects, which we
are apt to take as self-evident and to explain as a
primary influence of time on the psychic memories,

are in reality secondary changes brought about by
painstaking work. It is the foreconscious that ac
complishes this work; and the only course to be

pursued by psychotherapy is .the subjugate the
Unc, to the domination of the Forec.
There are, therefore, two exits for the individual
unconscious emotional process. It is either left to
itself, in which case it ultimately breaks through

somewhere and secures for once a discharge for its
excitation into motility; or it succumbs to the in
fluence of the foreconscious, and its excitation be
comes confined through this influence instead of
being discharged. It is the latter process that oc

curs in the dream. Owing to the fact that it is
directedby the conscious excitement, the energy
from the Forec., which confronts the dream when
grown to perception, restricts the unconscious ex
citement of the dream and renders it harmless as a
disturbing factor. When the dreamer wakes up

for a moment, he has actually chased away the fly
that has threatened to disturb his sleep. We can
now understand that it is really more expedient and
economical to give full sway to the unconscious
wish, and clear its way to regression so that it may
form a dream, and then restrict and adjust this
dream by means of a small expenditure of forecon-
scious labor, than to curb the unconscious through
out the entire period of sleep. We should, indeed,
expect that the dream, even if it was not originally

an expedient process, would have acquired some
function in the play of forces of the psychic life.
We now see what this function is. The dream has
taken it upon bring the liberated excitement
itself to
of the Unc. back under the domination of the fore-
conscious; it thus affords relief for the excitement

of the Unc. and acts as a safety-valve for the latter,
and at the same time it insures the sleep of the
foreconscious at a slight expenditure of the waking

state. Like the other psychic formations of its
group, the dream offers itself as a compromise serv
ing simultaneously both systems by fulfilling both
wishes in so far as they are compatible with each
other. A glance at Robert s "elimination theory,"
will show that we must agree with this author in

his main point, viz. in the determination of the func
tion of the dream, though we differ from him in

our hypotheses and in our treatment of the dream
process.
The above qualification in so far as the two
wishes are compatible with each other contains a
suggestion that there may be cases in which the

function of the dream suffers shipwreck. The
dream process is in the first instance admitted as a
wish-fulfillment of the unconscious, but if this tenta
tive wish-fulfillment disturbs the foreconscious to
such an extent that the latter can no longer main

tain its rest, the dream then breaks the compromise
and fails to perform the second part of its task.
It is then at once broken off, and replaced by com
plete wakefulness. Here, too, it is not really the
fault of the dream, if, while ordinarily the guardian
of sleep, here compelled to appear as the dis
it is
turber of sleep, nor should this cause us to entertain
any doubts as to its efficacy. This is not the only

case in the organism in which an otherwise effica
ciousarrangement became inefficacious and disturb

ing as soon as some element is changed in the con
ditions of its origin; the disturbance then serves at
least the new purpose of announcing the change,

and calling into play against it the means of ad
justment of the organism. In this connection, I
naturally bear in mind the case of the anxiety
dream, and in order not to have the appearance of

trying to exclude this testimony against the theory
of wish-fulfillment wherever I encounter it, I will
attempt an explanation of the anxiety dream, at

least offering some suggestions.
That a psychic process developing anxiety may
be a wish-fulfillment has long ceased to impress
still
us as a contradiction. We
may explain this oc
currence by the fact that the wish belongs to one
system (the Unc.), while by the other system (the

Forec.) , this wish has been rejected and suppressed.
The subjection of the Unc. by the Forec. is not
complete even in perfect psychic health; the amount

of this suppression shows the degree of our psychic
normality. Neurotic symptoms show that there is

a conflict between the two systems; the symptoms
are the results of a compromise of this conflict, and
they temporarily put an end to it. On the one
hand, they afford the Unc. an outlet for the dis

charge of its excitement, and serve it as a sally
port, while,on the other hand, they give the Forec.
the capability of dominating the Unc. to some ex
tent. It is highly instructive to consider, e.g., the
significance of any hysterical phobia or of an ago

raphobia. Suppose a neurotic incapable of cross
ing the street alone, which we would justly call a
"symptom."
We attempt to remove this symp
tom by urging him to the action which he deems
himself incapable of. The result will be an attack

of anxiety, just as an attack of anxiety in the street
has often been the cause of establishing an ago
raphobia. We
thus learn that the symptom has
been constituted in order to guard against the out
break of the anxiety. The phobia is thrown before
the anxiety like a fortress on the frontier.
Unless we enter into the part played by the af
fects in these processes, which can be done here only
imperfectly, we cannot continue our discussion.

Let us therefore advance the proposition that the
reason why the suppression of the unconscious be
comes absolutely necessary is because, if the dis
charge of presentation should be left to itself, it
would develop an affect in the Unc. which originally

bore the character of pleasure, but which, since the
appearance of the repression, bears the character

of pain. The aim, as well as the result, of the sup
pression is to stop the development of this pain^
The suppression extends over the unconscious idea
tion, because the liberation of pain might emanate

from the ideation. The foundation is here laid for
a very definite assumption concerning the nature
of the affective development. It is regarded as a
motor or secondary activity, the key to the innerva-
tion of which is located in the presentations of the
Unc. Through the domination of the Force.

these presentations become, as it were, throttled
and inhibited at the exit of the emotion-developing
impulses. The danger, which is due to the fact

that the Force, ceases to occupy the energy, there
fore consists in the fact that the unconscious excita
tions liberate such an affect as in consequence of
the repression that has previously taken place can
only be perceived as pain or anxiety.
This danger is released through the full sway of
the dream process. The determinations for its re
alization consist in the fact that repressions have
taken place, and that the suppressed emotional
wishes shall become sufficiently strong. They thus
stand entirely without the psychological realm of
the dream structure. Were it not for the fact that
our subject connected through just one factor,
is
namely, the freeing of the Unc. during sleep, with

the subject of the development of anxiety, I could
dispense with discussion of the anxiety dream, and

thus avoid all obscurities connected with it.
As I have often repeated, the theory of the anx
iety belongs to the psychology of the neuroses. I

would say that the anxiety in the dream is an anx
iety problem and not a dream problem. We have
nothing further to do with it after having once
demonstrated its point of contact with the subject
of the dream process. There is only one thing left
for me to do. As I have asserted that the neurotic
anxiety originates from sexual sources, I can sub

ject anxiety dreams to analysis in order to demon
strate the sexual material in their dream thoughts.
For good reasons refrain from citing here any
I
of the numerous examples placed at my by
disposal
neurotic patients, but prefer to give anxiety dreams
from young persons.
Personally, I have had no real anxiety dream for
decades, but I recall one from my seventh or eighth
year which I subjected to interpretation about

thirty years later. The dream was very vivid, and
showed me my beloved mother, with peculiarly calm
sleeping countenance, carried into the room and
laid on the bed by two (or three ) persons with
birds beaks. I awoke crying and screaming, and*
disturbed my parents. The very tall figures
draped in a peculiar manner with beaks, I had
taken from the illustrations of Philippson s bible;
I believe they represented deities with heads of
sparrowhawks from an Egyptian tomb relief, The

analysis also introduced the reminiscence of a
naughty janitor s boy, who used to play with us

children on the meadow in front of the house; I
would add that his name was Philip. I feel that I
first heard from this boy the vulgar word signifying
sexual intercourse, which is replaced among the ed-
ucated by the Latin "coitus," but to which the
dream distinctly alludes by the selection of the
birds I must have suspected the sexual
heads.
significance of the word from the facial expression

of my worldly-wise teacher. My mother s fea
tures in thedream were copied from the counte
nance of my grandfather, whom I had seen a few
days before his death snoring in the state of coma.
The interpretation of the secondary elaboration in
the dream must therefore have been that my mother
was dying; the tomb relief, too, agrees with this.
In anxiety I awoke, and could not calm myself
this
until I had awakened my parents. I remember

that I suddenly became calm on coming face to
face with my mother, as if I needed the assurance
that my mother was not dead. But this secondary
interpretation of the dream had been effected only
under the influence of the developed anxiety. I
was not frightened because I dreamed that my
mother was dying, but I interpreted the dream -in
thismanner in the foreconscious elaboration because

I was already under the domination of the anxiety.
The latter, however, could be traced by means of
the repression to an obscure obviously sexual de
sire, which had found its satisfying expression in
the visual content of the dream.

A man twenty-seven years old who had been se-
verely ill had had many terrifying dreams

for a year
between the ages of eleven and thirteen. He
thought that a man with an ax was running after
him he wished
;
to run, but felt paralyzed and could
not move from the spot. This may be taken as a
good example of a very common, and apparently

sexually indifferent, anxiety dream. In the an
alysis the dreamerthought of a story told him
first
by his uncle, which chronologically was later than

the dream, viz. that he was attacked at night by a
suspicious-looking individual. This occurrence

led him to believe that he himself might have al
ready heard of a similar episode at the time of the

dream. In connection with the ax he recalled that
during that period of his life he once hurt his hand

with an ax while chopping wood. This immedi
ately led to his relations with his younger brother,

whom he used to maltreat and knock down. In
particular, he recalled an occasion when he struck
his brother on the head with his boot until he bled,
whereupon his mother remarked: fear he will

"I
kill him some day." While he was seemingly

thinking of the subject of violence, a reminiscence
from his ninth year suddenly occurred to him. His
parents came home late and went to bed while he
was feigning sleep. He
soon heard panting and
other noises that appeared strange to him, and he
could also make out the position of his parents in
bed. His further associations showed that he had
established an analogy between this relation be
tween his parents and his own relation toward his
younger brother. He subsumed what occurred be
tween his parents under the conception "violence
and wrestling," and thus reached a sadistic concep
tion of the coitus act, as often happens among chil
dren. The fact that he often noticed blood on his
mother s bed corroborated his conception.
That the sexual intercourse of adults appears

strange to children who observe it, and arouses fear
in them, I dare say a fact of daily experience. I
is
have explained this fear by the fact that sexual ex

citement is not mastered by their understanding,
and is probably also inacceptable to them because
their parents are involved in it. For the same rea
son this excitement is converted into fear. At a
still earlier period of life sexual emotion directed
toward the parent of opposite sex does not meet
with repression but finds free expression, as we
have seen before.
For the night terrors with hallucinations (pavor
nocturnus) frequently found in children, I would

unhesitatingly give the same explanation. Here,
too, we are certainly dealing with the incomprehen
sible and rejected sexual feelings, which, if noted,
would probably show a temporal periodicity, for an

enhancement of the sexual libido may just as well
be produced accidentally through emotional im
pressions as through the spontaneous and gradual

processes of development.
I lack the necessary material to sustain these ex
planations from observation. On the other hand,

the pediatrists seem to lack the point of view which
alone makes comprehensible the whole series of
phenomena, on the somatic as well as on the psychic

side. To illustrate by a comical example how one
wearing the blinders of medical mythology may
miss the understanding of such cases I will relate a
case which I found in a thesis on pavor nocturnus
by Debacker, 1881. A thirteen-year-old boy of
delicate health began to become anxious and
dreamy; his sleep became
restless, and about once
a week it was interrupted by an acute attack of
anxiety with hallucinations. The memory of these

dreams was invariably very distinct. Thus, he re
lated that the devil shouted at him: "Now we
have you, now we have you," and this was followed
by an odor of sulphur; the fire burned his skin.
This dream aroused him, terror-stricken. He was
unable to scream at first; then his voice returned,
and he was heard to say distinctly: "No, no, not
me; why, I have done nothing," or, "Please don t,
I shall never do it again." Occasionally, also, he
said: "Albert has not done that." Later he
avoided undressing, because, as he said, the fire at
tacked him only when he was undressed. From

amid these evil dreams, which menaced his health,
he was sent into the country, where he recovered
within a year and a half, but at the age of fifteen
he once confessed: "Je n osais pas 1 avouer, mais
j eprouvais continuellement des picotements et des
surexcitations aux parties; a la fin, cela enervait m
tant que plusieurs fois, j ai pense me Jeter par la
fenetre au dortoir."
It is certainly not difficult to suspect: 1, that

the boy had practiced masturbation in former
years, that he probably denied it, and was threat
ened with severe punishment for his wrongdoing
(his confession: Je ne le ferai plus; his denial: Al
bert n a jamais fait 9a). 2, That under the pres
sure of puberty the temptation to self-abuse
through the tickling of the genitals was reawak

ened. That now, however, a struggle of repres
3,
sion arose in him, suppressing the libido and chang
ing it into fear, which subsequently took the form

of the punishments with which he was then threat
ened.
Let however, quote the conclusions drawn by
us,
our author. This observation shows: 1, That

the influence of puberty produce in a boy

may
of delicate health a condition of extreme weakness,
and that it may lead to a very marked cerebral
anaemia.
2. This cerebral anaemia produces a transforma
tion of character, demonomaniacal hallucinations,
and very violent nocturnal, perhaps also diurnal,
states of anxiety.
3. Demonomania and the self-reproaches of the
day can be traced to the influences of religious ed

ucation which the subject underwent as a child.
4. All manifestations disappeared as a result of
a lengthy sojourn in the country, bodily exercise,
and the return of physical strength after the termi
nation of the period of puberty.
5. A predisposing influence for the origin of the
cerebral condition of the boy may be attributed to
heredity and to the father s chronic syphilitic state.

The concluding remarks of the author read:
"Nous avons fait entrer cette observation dans le
cadre des delires apyretiques d inanition, car c est

a rischemie cerebrale que nous rattachons cet etat
particulier."
VIII
THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY PROCESS REGRESSION
IN venturing to attempt to penetrate more deeply

into the psychology of the dream processes, I have
undertaken a difficult task, to which, indeed, my
power of description hardly equal. To repro
is
duce in description by a succession of words the

simultaneousness of so complex a chain of events,
and doing so to appear unbiassed throughout the
in
exposition, goes fairly beyond my powers. I have

now to atone for the fact that I have been unable
in my description of the dream psychology to fol
low the historic development of my views. The
view-points for my conception of the dream were
reached through earlier investigations in the psy
chology of the neuroses, to which I am not supposed

to refer here, but to which I am repeatedly forced
to refer, whereas I should prefer to proceed in the
opposite direction, and, starting from the dream, to

establish a connection with the psychology of the
neuroses. I am well aware of all the inconven
iences arising for the reader from this difficulty,
but I know of no way to avoid them.

186
THE PROCESS REGRESSION 187
As I am dissatisfied with this state of affairs, I

am glad to dwell upon another view-point which
seems to raise the value of my efforts. As has
been shown in the introduction to the first chaper,
I found myself confronted with a theme which had
been marked by the sharpest contradictions on the
part of the authorities. After our elaboration of
the dream problems we found room for most of
these contradictions. We have been forced, how
ever, to take decided exception to two of the views
pronounced, viz. thaJLJJie-JJi^ai^^
that it is a somatic process; apart from these cases
we have had to accept all the contradictory views
in one place or another of the complicated argu
ment, and we have been able to demonstrate that
they had discovered something that was correct.
That the dream continues the impulses and inter
ests of the waking state has been quite generally
confirmed through the discovery of the latent
thoughts of the dream. These thoughts concern
themselves only with things that seem important
and of momentous interest to us. The dream never
occupies itself with trifles. But we have also con
curred with the contrary view, viz., tj
gathers up the indifferent remnants from thejday,

and that not until it has in some measure withdrawn
itself from the waking activity can an important
event of the day be taken up by the dream. We
found this holding true for the dream content,
which gives the dream thought its changed expres
sion by means of disfigurement. We have said
that from the nature of the association mechanism
the dream process more easily takes possession of
recent or indifferent material which has not yet
been seized by the waking mental activity; and by
reason of the censor it transfers the psychic intens
ity from the important but also disagreeable to the
indifferent material. The hypermnesia of the

dream and the resort to infantile material have be
come main supports in our theory. In our theory
of the dream we have attributed to the wish origi
nating from the infantile the part of an indispensa

ble motor for the formation of the dream. We
naturally could not think of doubting the experi
mentally demonstrated significance of the objective
sensory stimuli during sleep; but we have brought
this material into the same relation to the dream-
wish as the thought remnants from the waking ac
tivity. There was no need of disputing the fact

that the dream interprets the objective sensory
stimuli after the manner of an illusion but
;
we have
supplied the motive for this interpretation which
has been left undecided by the authorities. The
interpretation follows in such a manner that the

perceived object is rendered harmless as a sleep dis

turber and becomes available for the wish-fulfill
ment. Though we do not admit as special sources
of the dream the subjective state of excitement of
the sensory organs during sleep, which seems to
have been demonstrated by Trumbull Ladd, we
are nevertheless able to explain this excitement
through the regressive revival of active memories

behind the dream. A
modest part in our concep
tion has also been assigned to the inner organic
sensations which are wont to be taken as the cardi
nal point in the explanation of the dream. These
the sensation of falling, flying, or inhibition-
stand as an ever ready material to be used by the
dream-work to express the dream thought as often
as need arises.
That the dream process a rapid and momentary
is
one seems to be true for the perception through con

sciousness of the already prepared dream content;
the preceding parts of the dream process probably
take a slow, fluctuating course. We have solved
the riddle of the superabundant dream content com
pressed within the briefest moment by explaining
that this is due to the appropriation of almost fully
formed structures from the psychic life. That the
dream is disfigured and distorted by memory we
found to be correct, but not troublesome, as this is
only the last manifest operation in the work of dis
figurement which has been active from the begin
ning of the dream-work. In the bitter and seem
ingly irreconcilable controversy as to whether the
psychic life sleeps at night or can make the same
use of all its capabilities as during the day, we have
been able to agree with both sides, though not fully
with either. We
have found proof that the dream
thoughts represent a most complicated intellectual
activity, employing almost every means furnished
by the psychic apparatus; still it cannot be denied

that these dream thoughts have originated during
the day, and it is indispensable to assume that there
isa sleeping state of the psychic life. Thus, even
the theory of partial sleep has come into play; but
the characteristics of the sleeping state have been
found not in the dilapidation of the psychic connec
tions but in the cessation of the psychic system
dominating the day, arising from its desire to sleep.

The withdrawal from the outer world retains its
significance also for our conception ; though not the
only factor, it nevertheless helps the regression to
make possible the representation of the dreanl.
That we should reject the voluntary guidance of the
presentation course is uncontestable ;
but the psy
chic life does not thereby become aimless, for we
have seen that after the abandonment of the desired
end-presentation undesired ones gain the mastery.

The loose associative connection in the dream we
have not only recognized, but we have placed under
its control a far greater territory than could have
been supposed; we have, however, found it

merely
the feigned substitute for another correct and sense-
ful one. To be sure we, too, have called the dream
absurd; but we have been able to learn from ex
amples how wise the dream really is when it simu
lates absurdity. Wedo not deny any of the func
tions that have been attributed to the dream. That
the dream relieves the mind like a valve, and that,
according to Robert s assertion, all kinds of harm

ful material are rendered harmless through repre
sentation in the dream, not only exactly coincides
with our theory of the twofold wish-fulfillment in
the dream, but, in his own wording, becomes even
more comprehensible for us than for Robert himself.
The free indulgence of the psychic in the play of
its faculties finds expression with us in the non
interference with the dream on the part of the fore-
conscious activity. The "return to the embryonal
state of psychic life in the dream" and the observa
tion of Havelock Ellis, "an archaic world of vast
emotions and imperfect thoughts," appear to us as
happy anticipations of our deductions to the effect
that primitive modes of work suppressed during
192 BREAM PSYCHOLOGY
the day participate in the formation of the dream;
and with us, as with Delage, the suppressed ma
becomes the mainspring of the dreaming.
terial
We have fully recognized the role which Schemer

ascribes to the dream phantasy, and even his inter
pretation but ; we have been obliged, so to speak, to

conduct them to another department in the prob
lem. It is not the dream that produces the phan
tasy but the unconscious phantasy that takes the

greatest part in the formation of the dream
thoughts. We are indebted to Schemer for his
clew to the source of the dream thoughts, but almost
everything that he ascribes to the dream-work is
attributable to the activity of the unconscious,
which is at work during and which sup
the day,
plies incitements not only for dreams but for neu

rotic symptoms as well. We have had to separate
the dream-work from this activity as being some
thing entirely different and far more restricted.

Finally, we have by no means abandoned the rela
tion of the dream to mental disturbances, but, on
the contrary, we have given it a more solid founda
tion on new ground.
Thus held together by the new material of our
theory as by a superior unity, we find the most
varied and most contradictory conclusions of the
Authorities fitting into our structure some of them ;
are differently disposed, only a few of them are

entirely rejected. But our own structure is still
unfinished. For, disregarding the many obscuri

ties which we have necessarily encountered in our
advance into the darkness of psychology, we are
now apparently embarrassed by a new contradic
tion. On the one hand, we have allowed the dream
thoughts to proceed from perfectly normal mental
operations, while, on the other hand, we have found
among the dream thoughts a number of entirely
abnormal mental processes which extend likewise
to the dream These, consequently, we
contents.
have repeated in the interpretation of the dream.
All that we have termed the "dream- work" seems
so remote from the psychic processes recognized by
us as correct, that the severest judgments of the
authors as to the low psychic activity of dreaming
seem to us well founded.
Perhaps only through still further advance can

enlightenment and improvement be brought about.
I shall pick out one of the constellations leading to
the formation of dreams.
We have learned that the dream replaces a num
ber of thoughts derived from daily life which are
perfectly formed logically. We cannot therefore
doubt that these thoughts originate from our nor
mal mental life. All the qualities which we esteem
in our mental operations, and which distinguish
these as complicated activities of a high order, we
find repeated in the dream thoughts. There is,
however, no need of assuming that this mental work

is performed during sleep, as this would materially
impair the conception of the psychic state of sleep
we have hitherto adhered to. These thoughts may
just as well have originated from the day, and, un
noticed by our consciousness from their inception,
they may have

continued to develop until they stood
complete at the onset of sleep. If we are to con

clude anything from this state of affairs, it will at
most prove that the most complex mental opera
tions are possible without the cooperation of con
sciousness, which we have already learned independ

entlyfrom every psychoanalysis of persons suffer
ing from hysteria or obsessions. These dream
thoughts are in themselves surely not incapable of
consciousness if they have not become conscious to
;
us during the day, this may have various reasons.

The state of becoming conscious depends on the ex
ercise of a certain psychic function, viz. attention,
which seems to be extended only in a definite quan

tity, and which may have been withdrawn from the
stream of thought in question by other aims. An
other way in which such mental streams are kept
from consciousness is the following: Our conscious
reflection teaches us that when exercising attention

we pursue a definite course. But if that course
leads us to an idea which does not hold its own with
the critic, we discontinue and cease to apply our
attention. Now, apparently, the stream of thought
thus started and abandoned may spin on without
regaining attention unless it reaches a spot of es
pecially marked intensity which forces the return

of attention. An initial rejection, perhaps con
sciously brought about by the judgment on the
ground of incorrectness or unfitness for the actual
purpose of the mental act, may therefore account
for the fact that a mental process continues until
the onset of sleep unnoticed by consciousness.
Let us recapitulate by saying that we call such
a stream of thought a f oreconscious one, that we be
lieve it and that it may just
to be perfectly correct,
as well be amore neglected one or an interrupted
and suppressed one. Let us also state frankly in
what manner we conceive this presentation course.
We believe that a certain sum of excitement, which

we call occupation energy, is displaced from an end-
presentation along the association paths selected by
that end-presentation. A "neglected"
stream of
thought has received no such occupation, and from
a "suppressed" or "rejected" one this occupation
has been withdrawn; both have thus been left to
their own emotions. The end-stream of thought
stocked with energy is under certain conditions able
to draw to itself the attention of consciousness,
through which means it then receives a "surplus of

energy."
We
shall be obliged somewhat later to
elucidate our assumption concerning the nature and

activity of consciousness.
A train of thought thus incited in the Forec. may
either disappear spontaneously or continue. The
former issue we conceive as follows: It diffuses
itsenergy through all the association paths emanat

ing from it, and throws the entire chain of ideas into
a state of excitement which, after lasting for a
while, subsides through the transformation of the
excitement requiring an outlet into dormant en
1
ergy. If this first issue is brought about the pro
cess has no further significance for the dream forma
tion. But
other end-presentations are lurking in
our foreconscious that originate from the sources
of our unconscious and from the ever active wishes.
These maytake possession of the excitations in the

circle of thought thus left to itself, establish a con
nection between it and the unconscious wish, and

transfer to it the energy inherent in the unconscious
wish. Henceforth the neglected or suppressed
K7/. the significant observations by J. Bueuer in our Studies on
Hysteria, 1895, and 2nd ed. 1909.
train of thought is in a position to maintain itself,
although this reinforcement does not help it to gain

access to consciousness. We
say that the
may
hitherto foreconscious train of thought has been
drawn into the unconscious.
Other constellations for the dream formation
would result if the foreconscious train of thought
had from the beginning been connected with the
unconscious wish, and for that reason met with re
jection by the dominating end-occupation; or if an

unconscious wish were made active for other pos
sibly somatic reasons and of its own accord sought

a transference to the psychic remnants not occupied
by the Forec. All three cases finally combine in

one issue, so that there is established in the forecon
scious a stream of thought which, having been aban
doned by the foreconscious occupation, receives oc
cupation from, the unconscious wish.
The stream of thought is henceforth subjected
to a series of transformations which we no longer
recognize as normal psychic processes and which

give us a surprising result, viz. a psychopathological
formation. Let us emphasize and group the same.
1. The intensities of the individual ideas become
capable of discharge in their entirety, and, proceed
ing from one conception to the other, they thus
form single presentations endowed with marked in-
tensity. Through the repeated recurrence of this
process the intensity of an e.ntire train of ideas may

ultimately be gathered in a single presentation ele
ment. This is the principle of compression or con
densation. It is condensation that is mainly re
sponsible for the strange impression of the dream,
for we know of nothing analogous to it in the nor
mal psychic life accessible to consciousness. We

find here, also, presentations which possess great
psychic significance as junctions or as end-results

of whole chains of thought; but this validity does
not manifest any character conspicuous
itself in
enough for internal perception; hence, what has

been presented in it does not become in any way
more intensive. In the process of condensation the
entire psychic connection becomes transformed into
the intensity of the presentation content. It is the
same book where we space or print in heavy
as in a
type any word upon which particular stress is laid

for the understanding of the text. In speech the
same word would be pronounced loudly and de
liberately and with emphasis. The first compari
son leads us at once to an example taken from the
chapter on "The Dream-Work" (trimethylamine

in the dream of Irma s injection) Historians of
.
art call our attention to the fact that the most an

cient historical sculptures follow a similar principle
in expressing the rank of the persons represented

by the size of the statue. The king is made two or
three times as large as his retinue or the vanquished
enemy. A piece of art, however, from the Roman

period makes use of more subtle means to accom
plish the same purpose. The figure of the emperor
is placed in- the center in a firmly erect posture;
special care is bestowed on the proper modelling of

his figure ; his enemies are seen cowering at his feet ;
but he no longer represented a giant among

is
dwarfs. However, the bowing of the subordinate

to his superior in our own days is only an echo of
that ancient principle of representation.

The direction taken
by the condensations of the
dream is prescribed on the one hand by the true
foreconscious relations of the dream thoughts, on
the other hand by the attraction of the visual remi
niscences in the unconscious. The success of the
condensation work produces those intensities which
are required for penetration into the perception
systems.
2. Through this free transferability of the in
tensities, moreover, and in the service of condensa

tion, intermediary presentations compromises, as
it were are formed (cf. the
numerous examples).
This, likewise, is something unheard of in the nor
mal presentation course, where it is above all a
question of selection and retention of the "proper"
presentation element. On the other hand, com

posite and compromise formations occur with ex
traordinary frequency when we are trying to find
the linguistic expression for foreconscious thoughts;
these are considered "slips
of the tongue."
3. The presentations which transfer their intensi

ties toone another are very loosely connected, and
are joined together by such forms of association as
are spurned in our serious thought and are utilized
in the production of the effect of wit only. Among
these we particularly find associations of the sound
and consonance types.
4. Contradictory thoughts do not strive to elimi
nate one another, but remain side by side. They
often unite to produce condensation as if no con
tradiction existed, or they form compromises for
which we should never forgive our thoughts, but
which we frequently approve of in our actions.
These are some of the most conspicuous abnor
mal processes to which the thoughts which have
previously been rationally formed are subjected in
the course of the dream-work. As the main feature
of these processes we
recognize the high importance
attached to the fact of rendering the occupation
energy mobile and capable of discharge; the content

and the actual significance of the psychic elements,
to which these energies adhere, become a matter of

secondary importance. One might possibly think
that the condensation and compromise formation is
effected only in the service of regression, when oc
casion arises for changing thoughts into pictures.
But the analysis and still more distinctly the
synthesis of dreams which lack regression toward

pictures, e.g. the dream "Autodidasker Conversa
tion with Court-Councilor N.," present the same
processes of displacement and condensation as the
others.
Hence we cannot refuse to acknowledge that the

two kinds of essentially different psychic processes
participate in the formation of the dream; one

forms perfectly correct dream thoughts which are
equivalent to normal thoughts, while the other
treats these ideas in a highly surprising and incor
rect manner. The latter process we have already
set apart as the dream-work proper. What have
we now to advance concerning this latter psychic
process ?
We should be unable to answer this question here
if we had
not penetrated considerably into the psy
chology of the neuroses and especially of hysteria.

From this we learn that the same incorrect psychic
processes as well as others that have not been
enumerated control the formation of hysterical
symptoms. In hysteria, too, we at once find a
series of perfectly correct thoughts equivalent to

our conscious thoughts, of whose existence, how
ever, in this form we can learn nothing and which
we can only subsequently reconstruct. If they
have forced their way anywhere to our perception,
we discover from the analysis of the symptom
formed that these normal thoughts have been sub
jected to abnormal treatment and have been trans
formed into the symptom by means of condensa
tion and compromise formation, through superficial
associations,under cover of contradictions, and

eventually over the road of regression. In view of
the complete identity found between the peculiari
ties of the dream-work and of the psychic activity
forming the psychoneurotic symptoms, we shall
feel justified in transferring to the dream the con

clusions urged upon us by hysteria.
From the theory of hysteria we borrow the prop
osition that such an abnormal psychic elaboration
of a normal train of thought takes place only when

the latter has been used for the transference of an
unconscious wish which dates from the infantile life
and is in a state of repression. In accordance with
this proposition we have
construed the theory of
the dream on the assumption that the actuating
dream -wish invariably originates in the unconscious,
which, as we ourselves have admitted, cannot be
universally demonstrated though it cannot be re

futed. But in order to explain the real meaning of
the term repression, which we have employed so
freely, we shall be obliged to make some further

addition to our psychological construction.
We have above elaborated the fiction of a primi
tive psychic apparatus, whose work is regulated by
the efforts to avoid accumulation of excitement and
as far as possible to maintain itself free from ex
citement. For this reason it was constructed after
the plan of a reflex apparatus ; the motility, origin
ally the path for the inner bodily change, formed a

discharging path standing at its disposal. We
subsequently discussed the psychic results of a feel
ing of gratification, and we might at the same time
have introduced the second assumption, viz. that
accumulation of excitement following certain
modalities that do not concern us is
perceived as
pain and sets the apparatus in motion in order to
reproduce a feeling of gratification in which the
diminution of the excitement is perceived as pleas
ure. Such a current in the apparatus which ema
nates from pain and strives for pleasure we call a
wish. We have said that nothing but a wish is
capable of setting the apparatus in motion, and

that the discharge of excitement in the apparatus
is regulated automatically by the perception of
pleasure and pain. The first wish must have been
an hallucinatory occupation of the memory for
gratification. But this hallucination, unless it were
maintained to the point of exhaustion, proved in
capable of bringing about a cessation of the desire
and consequently of securing the pleasure connected
with gratification.
Thus there was required a second activity in
our terminology the activity of a second system
which should not permit the memory occupation to
advance to perception and therefrom to restrict the
psychic forces, but should lead the excitement
emanating from the craving stimulus by a devious

path over the spontaneous motility which ultimately
should so change the outer world as to allow the
real perception of the object of gratification to
take place. Thus far we have elaborated the plan

of the psychic apparatus these two systems are the
;
germ of the Unc. and Forec. which we include in

the fully developed apparatus.
In order to be in a position successfully to change
the outer world through the motility, there is re
quired the accumulation of a large sum of experi

ences in the memory systems as well as a manifold
fixation of the relations which are evoked in this
memory material by different end-presentations.

We now proceed further with our assumption.

The manifold activity of the second system, tenta
tively sending forth and retracting energy, must
on the one hand have full command over all mem
ory material, but on the other hand it would be a
superfluous expenditure for it to send to the in
dividual mental paths large quantities of energy
which would thus flow off to no purpose, diminish
ing the quantity available for the transformation
of the outer world. In the interests of expediency
I therefore postulate that the second system suc
ceeds in maintaining the greater part of the occupa
tion energy in a dormant state and in using but a
small portion for the purposes of displacement.

The mechanism of these processes is entirely un
known to me; any one who wishes to follow up
these ideas must try to find the physical analogies
and prepare the way for a demonstration of the
process of motion in the stimulation of the neuron.
I merely hold to the idea that the activity of the
first *- system is directed to the free outflow of the
quantities of excitement, and that the second sys

tem brings about an inhibition of this outflow
through the energies emanating from it, i.e. it pro

duces a transformation into dormant energy, prob
ably by raising the level. I therefore assume that

under the control of the second system as compared
with the first, the course of the excitement is bound
to entirely different mechanical conditions. After
the second system has finished its tentative mental
work, it removes the inhibition and congestion of

the excitements and allows these excitements to flow
off to the motility.
An interesting train of thought now presents

itself if we consider the relations of this inhibition
of dischargeby the second system to the regulation
through the principle of pain. Let us now seek
the counterpart of the primary feeling of gratifica
tion, namely, the objective feeling of fear. A per

ceptive stimulus acts on the primitive apparatus,
becoming the source of a painful emotion. This
will then be followed by irregular motor manifesta
tions until one of these withdraws the apparatus

from perception and at the same time from pain,
but on the reappearance of the perception this mani
festation will immediately repeat itself (perhaps
as a movement of flight) until the perception has
again disappeared. But there will here remain no
tendency again to occupy the perception of the

source of pain in the form of an hallucination or in
any other form. On the contrary, there will be a
tendency in the primary apparatus to abandon the

painful memory picture as soon as it is in any way
awakened, as the overflow of its excitement would
surely produce (rnpre precisely, begin to produce)

pain. The deviation from memory, which is but
a repetition of the former flight from perception,
is facilitated also by the fact that, unlike
perception,
memory does not possess sufficient quality to excite
consciousness and thereby to attract to itself new
energy. This easy and regularly occurring devia
tion of the psychic process from the former painful
memory presents to us the model and the first ex

ample of psychic repression. As is generally
known, much of this deviation from the painful,
much of the behavior of the ostrich, can be readily
demonstrated even in the normal psychic life of
adults.
By virtue of the principle of pain the first system

is therefore of
introducing
altogether incapable
anything unpleasant into the mental associations.
The system cannot do anything but wish. If this
remained so the mental activity of the second sys
tem, which should have at its disposal all the mem
ories stored up by experiences, would be hindered.
But two ways are now opened the work of the sec
:
ond system either frees itself completely from the

principle of pain and continues its course, paying
no heed to the painful reminiscence, or it contrives
to occupy the painful memory in such a manner as
to preclude the liberation of pain. We may reject

the first possibility, as the principle of
pain also
manifests itself as a regulator for the emotional dis
charge of the second system; we are, therefore, di

rected to the second possibility, namely, that this
system occupies a reminiscence in such a manner as

to inhibit its discharge and hence, also, to inhibit
the discharge comparable to a motor innervation
for the development of pain. Thus from two start
ing points we are led to the hypothesis that occupa
tion through the second system is at the same time
an inhibition for the emotional discharge, viz. from
a consideration of the principle of pain and from
the principle of the smallest expenditure of inner
vation. Let us, however, keep to the fact this is
the key to the theory of repression that the second
system capable of occupying an idea only when

is
it. is in position to clieck the development of pain
emanating from it. Whatever withdraws itself

from this inhibition also remains inaccessible for the
second system and would soon be abandoned by
virtue of the principle of pain. The inhibition of
pain, however, need not be complete; it must be

permitted to begin, as it indicates to the second
system the nature of the memory and possibly its
defective adaptation for the purpose sought by the
mind.
The psychic process which is admitted by the
firstsystem only I shall now call the primary pro

cess; and the one resulting from the inhibition of
the second system I shall call the secondary pro
cess. I show by another point for what purpose
the second system is obliged to correct the primary
process. The primary

process strives for a dis
charge of the excitement in order to establish a
perception identity with the sum of excitement thus
gathered the secondary process has abandoned this
;
intention and undertaken instead the task of bring
ing about a thought identity. All thinking is only

a circuitous path from the memory of gratification
taken as an end-presentation to the identical oc
cupation of the same memory, which is again to be

attained on the track of the motor experiences.
The state of thinking must take an interest in the
connecting paths between the presentations without

allowing itself to be misled by their intensities.
But it is obvious that condensations and intermedi
ate or compromise formations occurring in the
presentations impede the attainment of this end-

identity by substituting one idea for the other they
;
deviate from the path which otherwise would have

been continued from the original idea. Such pro
cesses are therefore carefully avoided in the second
ary thinking. Nor is it difficult to understand that

the principle of pain also impedes the progress of
the mental stream in its pursuit of the thought
identity, though, indeed, it offers to the mental
stream the most important points of departure.
Hence the tendency of the thinking process must
be to free itself more and more from exclusive ad
justment by the principle of pain, and through the

working of the mind to restrict the affective de
velopment to that minimum which is necessary as

a signal. This refinement of the activity must have
been attained through a recent over-occupation of
energy brought about by consciousness. But we
are aware that this refinement is seldom completely
successful even in the most normal psychic life and
that our thoughts ever remain accessible to falsifica
tion through the interference of the principle of
pain.
This, however, is not the breach in the functional
efficiency of our psychic apparatus through which

the thoughts forming the material of the secondary
mental work are enabled to make their way into
the primary psychic process with which formula
we may now describe the work leading to the dream
and to the hysterical symptoms. This case of in
sufficiency results from the union of the two factors
from the history of our evolution; one of which be
longs solely to the psychic apparatus and has ex
erted a determining influence on the relation of the
two systems, while the other operates fluctuatingly

and introduces motive forces of organic origin into
the psychic life. Both originate in the infantile life
and result from the transformation which our psy

chic and somatic organism has undergone since the
infantile period.
When I termed one of the psychic processes in

the psychic apparatus the primary process, I did so
not only in consideration of the order of precedence
and capability, but also as admitting the temporal
relations to a share in the nomenclature. As far as
our knowledge goes there no psychic apparatus
is
possessing only the primary process, and in so far

it is a theoretic fiction; but so much is based on fact
that the primary processes are present in the ap
paratus from the beginning, while the secondary

processes develop gradually in the course of life,
inhibitingand covering the primary ones, and gain
ing complete mastery over them perhaps only at the
height of life. Owing to this retarded appearance
of the secondary processes, the essence of our be
ing, consisting in unconscious wish feelings, can

neither be seized nor inhibited by the f oreconscious,
whose part is once for all restricted to the indication

of the most suitable paths for the wish feelings or
iginating in the unconscious. These unconscious

wishes establish for all subsequent psychic efforts
a compulsion to which they have to submit and
which they must strive if possible to divert from its
course and direct to higher aims. In consequence

of this retardation of the foreconscious occupation
a large sphere of the memory material remains in
accessible.
Among these indestructible and unincumbered

wish feelings originating from the infantile life,
there are also some, the fulfillments of which have
entered into a relation of contradiction to the end-
presentation of the secondary thinking. The ful

fillment of these wishes would no longer produce an
affect of pleasure but one of pain; and it is just this
transformation of affect that constitutes the nature
of what we designate as "repression" in which we
recognize the infantile first step of passing adverse
sentence or of rejecting through reason. To in
vestigate in what way and through what motive

forces such a transformation can be produced con
stitutes theproblem of repression, which we need
here only skim over. It will suffice to remark that
such a transformation of affect occurs in the course
of development (one may think of the appearance
in infantile life of disgust which was originally ab
sent), and that it is connected with the activity of
the secondary system. The memories from which
the unconscious wish brings about the emotional dis-
charge have never been accessible to the Force., and

for that reason their emotional discharge cannot be
inhibited. It is just on account of this affective
development that these ideas are not even now ac
cessible to the foreconscious thoughts to which they
have transferred their wishing power. On the con

trary, the principle of pain comes into play, and
causes the Force, to deviate from these thoughts of
transference. The latter, left to themselves, are
"repressed,"
and thus the existence of a store of in
memories, from the very beginning with

fantile
drawn from the Force., becomes the preliminary

condition of repression.
In the most favorable case the development of
pain terminates as soon as the energy has been with
drawn from the thoughts of transference in the
Force., and this effect characterizes the intervention
of the principle of pain as expedient. It is differ
ent, however, if the repressed unconscious wish re

ceives an organic enforcement which it can lend to
its thoughts of transference and through which it
can enable them to make an effort towards pene
tration with their excitement, even after they have
been abandoned by the occupation of the Force.
A defensive struggle then ensues, inasmuch as the
Force, reinforces the antagonism against the re
pressed ideas, and subsequently this leads to a pen-

etration by the thoughts of transference (the car
riers of the unconscious wish) in some form of com
promise through symptom formation. But from

the moment that the suppressed thoughts are pow
erfully occupied by the unconscious wish-feeling
and abandoned by the foreconscious occupation,
they succumb to the primary psychic process and
strive only for motor discharge; or, if the path be
free, for hallucinatory revival of the desired percep
tion identity. We have previously found, empiri
cally, that the incorrect processes described are en
acted only with thoughts that exist in the repres
sion. Wenow grasp another part of the connec
tion. These incorrect processes are those that are
primary in the psychic apparatus; they appear
wherever thoughts abandoned by the foreconscious
occupation are left to themselves, and can fill them
selves with the uninhibited energy, striving for dis
charge from the unconscious. We may add a few

further observations to support the view that these
processes designated "incorrect" are really not

falsifications of the normal defective thinking, but
the modes of activity of the psychic apparatus when
freed from inhibition. Thus we see that the trans
ference of the f orecopscious excitement to the motil-
ity takes place according to the same processes, and

that the connection of the foreconscious presenta-
words readily manifest the same displace

tions with
ments and mixtures which are ascribed to inatten

tion. Finally, I should like to adduce proof that
an increase of work necessarily results from the in
hibition of these primary courses from the fact that
we gaina comical effect, a surplus to be discharged
through laughter, if we allow these streams of

thought to come to consciousness.
The theory of the psychoneuroses asserts with
complete certainty that only sexual wish-feelings

from the infantile life experience repression (emo
tional transformation) during the developmental
period of childhood. These are capable of return
ing to activity at a later period of development, and
then have the faculty of being revived, either as a
consequence of the sexual constitution, which is
really formed from the original bisexuality, or in

consequence of unfavorable influences of the sexual
life and they thus supply the motive power for all
;
psychoneurotic symptom formations. only It is
by the introduction of these sexual forces that the

gaps still demonstrable in the theory of repression
can be filled. I will leave it undecided whether the
postulate of the sexual and infantile may also be
asserted for the theory of the dream; I leave this
here unfinished because I have already passed a
step beyond the demonstrable in assuming that the

dream-wish invariably originates from the uncon
1
scious. Nor will I further investigate the differ
ence in the play of the psychic forces in the dream

formation and in the formation of the hysterical
symptoms, for to do this we ought to possess a more
explicit knowledge of one of the members to be
compared. But I regard another point as
impor
tant, and will here confess that it was on account
i
Here, as in other places, there are gaps in the treatment of the
subject, which I have left intentionally, because to fill them up would
require on the one hand too great effort, and on the other hand an
extensive reference to material that is foreign to the dream. Thus I
have avoided stating whether I connect with the word "suppressed"
another sense than with the word "repressed." It has been made
clear only that the latter emphasizes more than the former the relation
to the unconscious. I have not entered into the cognate problem why
the dream thoughts also experience distortion by the censor when

they abandon the progressive continuation to consciousness and choose
the path of regression. I have been above all anxious to awaken an
interest in the problems to which the further analysis of the dream-
work leads and to indicate the other themes whch meet these on the
way. It was not always easy to decide just where the pursuit should
be discontinued. That I have not treated exhaustively the part
played in the dream by the psychosexual life and have avoided the
interpretation of dreams of an obvious sexual content is due to a
special reason which may not come up to the reader s expectation.
To be sure, it is very far from my ideas and the principles expressed
by me in neuropathology to regard the sexual life as a "pudendum"
which should be left unconsidered by the physician and the scientific
investigator. I also consider ludicrous the moral indjgnation which
prompted the translator of Artemidoros of Daldis to keep from the
reader s knowledge the chapter on sexual dreams contained in the
Symbolism of the Dreams. As for myself, I have been actuated
solely by the conviction that in the explanation of sexual dreams
I should be bound to entangle myself deeply in the still unexplained
problems of perversion and bisexuality; and for that reason I hav

reserved this material for another connection.
of this very point that I have just undertaken this

entire discussion concerning the two .psychic sys
tems, their modes of operation, and the repression.
For it is now immaterial whether I have conceived
the psychological relations in question with ap
proximate correctness, or, as is easily possible in
such a difficult matter, in an erroneous and frag

mentary manner. Whatever changes may be made
in the interpretation of the psychic censor and of
the correct and of the abnormal elaboration of the
dream content, the fact nevertheless remains that
such processes are active in dream formation, and
that essentially they show the closest analogy to
the processes observed in the formation of the
hysterical symptoms. The dream not a patho
is
logicalphenomenon, and it does not leave behind

an enfeeblement of the mental faculties. The ob
jection that no deduction can be drawn regarding
the dreams of healthy persons from my own dreams
and from those of neurotic patients may be rejected
without comment. Hence, when we draw conclu
sions from the phenomena as to their motive forces,
we recognize that the psychic mechanism made use

of by the neuroses is not created by a morbid dis
turbance of the psychic life, but is found ready in
the normal structure of the psychic apparatus.
The two psychic systems, the censor crossing be-
tween them, the inhibition and the covering of the
one activity by the other, the relations of both to
consciousness or whatever may offer a more cor
rect interpretation of the actual conditions in their
stead all these belong to the normal structure of
our psychic instrument, and the dream points out
for us one of the roads leading to a knowledge of
this structure. If, in addition to our knowledge,
we wish to be contented with a minimum perfectly
established, we shall say that the dream gives us
proof that the suppressed, material continues to
exist even in the normal person and remains capable
of psychic activity. The dream itself is one of the

manifestations of this suppressed material; theor
etically, this is true in all cases; according to sub

stantial experience it is true in at least a great num
ber of such as most conspicuously display the
prominent characteristics of dream life. The sup

pressed psychic material, which in the waking state
has been prevented from expression and cut off
from internal perception by the antagonistic ad
justment of the contradictions, finds ways and
means of obtruding itself on consciousness during
the night under the domination of the compromise
formations.
*
"Fleet ere si nequeo super os 9 Acheronta movebo
At any rate the interpretation of dreams is the

via regia to a knowledge of the unconscious in the
psychic life.
In following the analysis of the dream we have

made some progress toward an understanding of
the composition of this most marvelous and most
mysterious of instruments; to he sure, we have not
gone very.far, but enough of a beginning has been

made to allow us to advance from other so-called
pathological formations further into the analysis
of the unconscious. Disease at least that which
is justly termed functional is not due to the de
struction of this apparatus, and the establishment
of new splittings in its interior; it is rather to be ex
plained dynamically through the strengthening and

weakening of the components in the play of forces
by which so many activities are concealed during
the normal function. We have been able to show
in another place how the composition of the ap
paratus from the two systems permits a subtiliza-

tion even of the normal activity which would be im
possible for a single system.

IX
THE UNCONSCIOUS AND CONSCIOUSNESS REALITY
ON closer inspection we find that it is not the ex

istence oftwo systems near the motor end of the
apparatus but of two kinds of processes or modes
of emotional discharge, the assumption of which
was explained in the psychological discussions of
the previous chapter. This can make no difference

for us, for we must always be ready to drop our
auxiliary ideas whenever we deem ourselves in posi
tion to replace them by something else approaching
more closely to the unknown reality. Let us now
try to correct some views which might be errone
ously formed as long as we regarded the two sys
tems in the crudest and most obvious sense as two
localitieswithin the psychic apparatus, views which
have left their traces in the terms "repression" and
"penetration." Thus, when we say that an uncon
scious idea strives for transference into the fore-
conscious in order later to penetrate consciousness,
we do not mean that a second idea is to be formed
situated in a new locality like an interlineation near
220
THE UNCONSCIOUS REALITY 221
which the original continues to remain; also, when

we speak of penetration into consciousness, we wish
carefully to avoid any idea of change of locality.
When we say that a f oreconscious idea is repressed
and subsequently taken up by the unconscious, we
might be tempted by these figures, borrowed from
the idea of a struggle over a territory, to assume
that an arrangement is really broken up in one
psychic locality and replaced by a new one in the

other locality. For these comparisons we substi
tute what would seem to correspond better with the
real state of affairs by saying that an energy occupa
tion is displaced to or withdrawn from a certain

arrangement so that the psychic formation falls
under the domination of a system or is withdrawn
from the same. Here again we replace a topical
mode of presentation by a dynamic; it is not the
psychic formation that appears to us as the moving

factor but the innervation of the same.
I deem appropriate and justifiable, however, to
it
apply ourselves still further to the illustrative con

ception of the two systems. We
shall avoid any
misapplication of this manner of representation if

we remember that presentations, thoughts, and psy
chic formations should generally not be localized
in the organic elements of the nervous system, but,
so to speak, between them, where resistances and

paths form the correlate corresponding to them.
Everything that can become an object of our in
ternal perception is virtual, like the image in the
telescope produced by the passage of the rays of

light. But we are justified in assuming the ex
istence of the systems,which have nothing psychic
in themselves and which never become accessible to
our psychic perception, corresponding to the lenses

of the telescope which design the image. If we
continue this comparison, we may say that the cen
sor between two systems corresponds to the refrac
tion of rays during their passage into a new me
dium.
Thus we have made psychology on our own
far
responsibility; it is now time to examine the the

oretical opinions governing present-day psychology
and to test their relation to our theories. The ques
tion of the unconscious in psychology is, according
to the authoritative words of Lipps, less a psycho
logical question than the question of psychology.

As long as psychology settled this question with the
verbal explanation that the "psychic"
is the "con
scious" and that "unconscious psychic occurrences"
are an obvious contradiction, a psychological esti

mate of the observations gained by the physician
from abnormal mental states was precluded. The
physician and the philosopher agree only when both
acknowledge that unconscious psychic processes are

appropriate and well- justified expression for
"the
an established fact." The physician cannot but re

ject with a shrug of his shoulders the assertion that
"consciousness is the indispensable quality of the
psychic";
he may assume, if his respect for the ut-
terings of the philosophers still be strong enough,
that he and they do not treat the same subject and
do not pursue the same science. For a single intel
ligent observation of the psychic life of a neurotic,
a single analysis of a dream must force upon him
the unalterable conviction that the most complicated
and correct mental operations, to which no one will
refuse the name of psychic occurrences, may take
place without exciting the consciousness of the per

son. It is true that the physician does not learn of
these unconscious processes until they have exerted
such an effect on consciousness as to admit com
munication or observation. But this effect of con
may show a psychic character widely dif
sciousness
fering from the unconscious process, so that the

internal perception cannot possibly recognize the
one as a substitute for the other. The physician
must reserve for himself the right to penetrate, by
a process of deduction, from the effect on conscious
ness to the unconscious psychic process; he learns
in this way that the effect on consciousness is only
a remote psychic product of the unconscious process
and that the latter has not become conscious as such ;
that it has been in existence and operative without
betraying itself in
any way to consciousness.
A reaction from the over-estimation of the qual
ity of consciousness becomes the indispensable pre
liminary condition for any correct insight into the

behavior of the psychic. In the words of Lipps,
the unconscious must be accepted as the general
basis of the psychic life. The unconscious is the
larger circle which includes within itself the smaller

everything conscious has its
circle of the conscious;
preliminary step in the unconscious, whereas the

unconscious may stop with this step and still claim
full value as a psychic activity. Properly speak
ing, the unconscious is the real psychic; its inner
nature is just as unknown to us as the reality of the
external world, and it is just as imperfectly re

ported to us through the data of consciousness as is
the external world through the indications of our
sensory organs.
A series of dream problems which have intensely
occupied older authors will be laid aside when the
old opposition between conscious life and dream life
is abandoned and the unconscious psychic assigned

to its Thus many of the activities
proper place.
whose performances in the dream have excited our
admiration are now no

longer to be attributed to the
dream but to unconscious thinking, which is also
active during the day. according to Schemer,
If,
the dream seems to play with a symboling represen
tation of the body, we know that this is the work of
certain unconscious phantasies which have probably
given in to sexual emotions, and that these phan

tasies come to expression not only in dreams but
also in hysterical phobias and in other symptoms.

If the dream continues and settles activities of the
day and even brings to light valuable inspirations,

we have only to subtract from it the dream disguise
as a feat of dream-work and a mark of assistance
from obscure forces in the depth of the mind (cf.
the devil in Tartini sonata dream).
s The intel
lectual task as such must be attributed to the same
psychic forces which perform all such tasks during

the day. Weare probably far too much inclined
to over-estimate the conscious character even of in
tellectual and artistic productions. From the com

munications of some of the most highly productive
persons, such as Goethe and Helmholtz, we learn,

indeed, that the most essential and original parts
in their creations came to them in the form of in
spirations and reached their perceptions almost fin
ished. There is
nothing strange about the assist
ance of the conscious activity in other cases where

there was a concerted effort of all the psychic forces.
But it is a much abused privilege of the conscious

activity that it is allowed to hide from us all other
activities wherever it participates.
It will hardly be worth while to take up the his
torical significance of dreams as a special subject.
Where, for instance, a chieftain has been urged

through a dream to engage in a bold undertaking
the success of which has had the effect of changing
history, a new problem results only so long as the

dream, regarded as a strange power, is contrasted
with other more familiar psychic forces; the prob
lem, however, disappears when we regard the dream
as aform of expression for feelings which are bur
dened with resistance during the day and which can
receive reinforcements at nightfrom deep emotional
sources. But the great respect shown by the an
cients for the dream is based on a correct psycho
logical surmise. It is a homage paid to the un

subdued and indestructible in the human mind, and
to the demoniacal which furnishes the dream-wish
and which we find again in our unconscious.
Not inadvisedly do I use the expression "in our

unconscious," for what we so designate does not
coincide with the unconscious of the philosophers,

nor with the unconscious of Lipps. In the latter
uses it is intended to designate only the opposite of

conscious. That there are also unconscious psy

chic processes beside the conscious ones is the hotly
contested and energetically defended issue. Lipps
gives us the more far-reaching theory that every

thing psychic exists as unconscious, but that some
of it may exist also as conscious. But it was not
to prove theory that we have adduced the
this
phenomena of the dream and of the hysterical

symptom formation; the observation of normal life
alone suffices to establish its correctness beyond any
.doubt. The new fact that we have learned from
the analysis of the psychopathological formations,
and indeed from their first member, viz. dreams, is
that the unconscious hence the psychic occurs as

a function of two separate systems and that it oc
curs as such even in normal psychic life. Conse
quently there are two kinds of unconscious, which
we do not as yet find distinguished by the psycho
logists. Both are unconscious in the psychological
sense but
;
iri our sense the first, which we call Unc.,
is likewise incapable of consciousness, whereas the
second we term "Force." because its emotions, after
the observance of certain rules, can reach conscious
ness,perhaps not before they have again undergone

censorship, but still regardless of the Unc. system.
The fact that in order to attain consciousness the
emotions must traverse an unalterable series of

events or succession of instances, as is
betrayed
through their alteration by the censor, has helped
us to draw a comparison from spatiality. de We
scribed the relations of the two systems to each
other and to consciousness by saying that the sys

tem Force, isa screen between the system Unc.
like
and consciousness. The system Force, not only

bars access to consciousness, but also controls the
entrance to voluntary motility and is capable of
sending out a sum of mobile energy, a portion of

which is familiar to us as attention.
We must also steer clear of the distinctions siiper-
conscious and subconscious which have found so
much favor in the more recent literature on the
psychoneuroses, for just such a distinction seems to

emphasize the equivalence of the psychic and the
conscious.
What part now remains in our description of the
once all-powerful and all-overshadowing conscious
ness ? None other than that of a sensory organ for
the perception of psychic qualities. According to
the fundamental idea of schematic undertaking we
can conceive the conscious perception only as the
particular activity of an independent system for
which the abbreviated designation "Cons." com
mends itself. This system we conceive to be similar
in its mechanical characteristics to the perception
system P, hence excitable by qualities and incapa

ble of retaining the trace of changes, i.e. it is devoid
of memory. The psychic apparatus which, with
the sensory organs of the P-system, is turned to
the outer world, is itself the outer world for the
sensory organ of Cons.; the teleological justifica

tion of which rests on this relationship. are We
here once more confronted with the principle of the
succession of instances which seems to dominate the
structure of the apparatus. The material under
excitement flows to the Cons, sensory organ from
two sides, firstly from the P-system whose excite
ment, qualitatively determined, probably experi

ences a new elaboration until it comes to, conscious
perception; and, secondly, from the interior of the

apparatus itself, the quantitative processes of which
are perceived as a qualitative series of pleasure and
pain as soon as they have undergone certain
changes.
The philosophers, who have learned that correct
and highly complicated thought structures are pos
sibleeven without the cooperation of consciousness,
have found it difficult to attribute any function to
consciousness ;
it has appeared to them a superfluous
mirroring of the perfected psychic process. The

analogy of our Cons, system with the systems of
perception relieves us of this embarrassment. We
see that perception through our sensory organs re
sults in directing the occupation of attention to
those paths on which the incoming sensory excite

ment is diffused; the qualitative excitement of the
P-system serves the mobile quantity of the psychic
apparatus as a regulator for its discharge. We
may claim the same function for the overlying
sensory organ of the Cons, system. By assuming
new qualities, it furnishes a new contribution to
ward the guidance and suitable distribution of the
mobile occupation quantities. By means of the
perceptions of pleasure and pain, it influences the

course of the occupations within the psychic ap
paratus, which normally operates unconsciously

and through the displacement of quantities. It is
probable that the principle of pain first

regulates
the displacements of occupation automatically, but
it is quite possible that the consciousness of these
adds a second and more subtle regulation

qualities
which may even oppose the first and perfect the
working capacity of the apparatus by placing it in
a position contrary to its original design for oc
cupying and developing even that which is con
nected with the liberation of pain. We learn from
neuropsychology that an important part in the
functional activity of the apparatus is attributed to
such regulations through the qualitative excitation
of the sensory organs. The automatic control of

the primary principle of pain and the restriction of
mental capacity connected with it are broken by the
sensible regulations, which in their turn are again
automatisms. We learn that the repression which,
though originally expedient, terminates neverthe

less in a harmful rejection of inhibition and of psy
chic domination, is so much more easily accom

plished with reminiscences than with perceptions,
because in the former there is no increase in occupa
tion through the excitement of the psychic sensory
organs. When an idea to be rejected has once

failed to become conscious because it has succumbed
to repression, it can be repressed on other occasions

only because it has been withdrawn from conscious
perception on other grounds. These are hints em

ployed by therapy in order to bring about a retro
gression of accomplished repressions.
The value of the over-occupation which pro is
duced by the regulating influence of the Cons, sen

sory organ on the mobile quantity, is demonstrated
in the teleological connection by nothing more
clearly than by the creation of a new series of quali
ties and consequently a new regulation which con

stitutes the precedence of man over the animals.
For the mental processes are in themselves devoid
of quality except for the excitements of pleasure
and pain accompanying them, which, as we know,
are to be held in check as possible disturbances of
thought. In order to endow them with a quality,

they are associated in man with verbal memories,
the qualitative remnants of which suffice to draw
upon them the attention of consciousness which in
turn endows thought with a new mobile energy.
The manifold problems of consciousness in their
entirety can be examined only through an analysis

of the hysterical mental process. From this an
alysis we receive the impression that the transition

from the foreconscious to the occupation of con
sciousness is also connected with a censorship similar
to the one between the Unc. and the Force. This
censorship, too, begins to act only with the reaching
of a certain quantitative degree, so that few intense
thought formations escape it. Every possible case

of detention from consciousness, as well as of pene
tration to consciousness, under restriction is found
included within the picture of the psychoneurotic
phenomena; every case points to the intimate and

twofold connection between the censor and con
sciousness. I shall conclude these psychological
discussions with the report of two such occurrences.
On the occasion of a consultation a few years ago
the subject was an intelligent and innocent-looking
girl. Her attire was strange; whereas a woman s

garb is usually groomed to the last fold, she had one

of her stockings hanging down and two of her waist
buttons opened. She complained of pains in one
of her legs, and exposed her leg unrequested. Her
chief complaint, however, was in her own words as
follows She had a feeling in her body as if some
:
thing was stuck into it which moved to and fro and

made her tremble through and through. This
sometimes made her whole body stiff. On hearing
this, my colleague in consultation looked at me; the
complaint was quite plain to him. To both of us
it seemed peculiar that the patient
mother thought
s
nothing of the matter; of course she herself must

have been repeatedly in the situation described by
her child. As for the girl, she had no idea of the
import of her words or she would never have al
lowed them to pass her lips. Here the censor had
been deceived so successfully that under the mask
of an innocent complaint a phantasy was admitted
to consciousness which otherwise would have re
mained in the foreconscious.
Another example: I began the psychoanalytic

treatment of a boy of fourteen years who was suffer
ing from tic convulsif, hysterical vomiting, head

ache, &c., by assuring him that, after closing his
eyes, he would see pictures or have ideas, which I
requested him to communicate to me. He an-

swered by describing pictures. The last impres
sion he had received before coming to me \*as visu
ally revived in hismemory. He had played a game

of checkers with his uncle, and now saw the checker
board before him. He commented on various posi
tions thatwere favorable or unfavorable, on moves
that were not safe to make. He then saw a dagger
lying on the checker-board, an object belonging to
but transferred to the checker-board by
his father,
his phantasy. Then a sickle was lying on the

board next a scythe was added and, finally, he be
; ;
held the likeness of an old peasant mowing the
grass in front of the boy s distant parental home.

A few days later I discovered the meaning of this
series of pictures. Disagreeable family relations

had made the boy nervous. It was the case of a
strict and crabbed father who lived unhappily with
his mother, and whose educational methods con

sisted in threats; of the separation of his father
from his tender and delicate mother, and the re

marrying of his father, who one day brought home
a young woman as his new mamma. The illness
of the fourteen-year-old boy broke out a few days
later. was the suppressed anger against his fa
It
ther that had composed these pictures into intel
ligible allusions. The material was furnished by a

reminiscence from mythology. The sickle was the
one with which Zeus castrated his father; the scythe
and the likeness of the peasant represented Kronos,

the violent old man who eats his children and upon
whom Zeus wreaks vengeance in so unfilial a man
ner. The marriage of the father gave the boy an
opportunity to return the reproaches and threats
of his father which had previously been made be
cause the child played with his genitals (the checker
board; the prohibitive moves; the dagger with
which a person may be killed) . We
have here long
repressed memories and their unconscious remnants
which, under the guise of senseless pictures have
slipped into consciousness by devious paths left
open to them.
I should then expect to find the theoretical value
of the study of dreams in its contribution to psy
chological knowledge and in its preparation for an

understanding of neuroses. Who can foresee the
importance of a thorough knowledge of the struc
ture and activities of the psychic apparatus when
even our present state of knowledge produces a
happy therapeutic influence in the curable forms of
the psychoneuroses? What about the practical
value of such study some one may ask, for psychic
knowledge and for the discovering of the secret
peculiarities of individual character ? Have not the

unconscious feelings revealed by the dream the
value of real forces in the psychic life? Should we
take lightly the ethical significance of the sup
pressed wishes which, as they now create dreams,
may some day create other things?

I do not feel justified in answering these ques
tions. I have not thought further upon this side of
the dream problem. I believe, however, that at all
events the Roman Emperor was in the wrong who
ordered one of his subjects executed because the
latter dreamt that he had killed the Emperor. He
should first have endeavored to discover the signifi
cance of the dream most probably it was not what
;
it seemed to be. And even if a dream of different

content had the significance of this offense against
majesty, it would still have been in place to remem

ber the words of Plato, that the virtuous man con
tents himself with dreaming that which the wicked
man does in actual life. I am therefore of the
opinion that it is best to accord freedom to dreams.

Whether any reality is to be attributed to the un
conscious wishes, and in what sense, I am
not pre
pared to say offhand. Reality must naturally be

denied to all transition and intermediate thoughts.
If we had before us the unconscious wishes, brought
to their last and truest expression, we should still
do well to remember that more than one single form
of existence must be ascribed to the psychic reality.
Action and the conscious expression of thought

mostly suffice for the practical need of judging a
man s character. Action, above all, merits to be
placed in the first rank; for many of the impulses

penetrating consciousness are neutralized by real
forces of the psychic life before they are converted
into action; indeed, the reason why they frequently
do not .encounter any psychic obstacle on their way
is because the unconscious is certain of their meet
ing with resistances later. In any case it is instruc

tive to become familiar with the much raked-up soil
from which our virtues proudly arise. For the
complication of human character moving dynami

cally in all directions very rarely accommodates
adjustment through a simple alternative, as
itself to
our antiquated moral philosophy would have it.

And how about the value of the dream for a
knowledge of the future? That, of course, we can

not consider. One feels inclined to substitute:
"for a knowledge of the past."
For the dream or
iginates from the past in every sense. To be sure
the ancient belief that the dream reveals the future
isnot entirely devoid of truth. By representing to
us a wish as fulfilled the dream certainly leads us
into the future; but this future, taken by the
dreamer as present, has been formed into the like
ness of that past by the indestructible wish.

15

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FROM-THE- LIBRARY OF

Gift of the Friends of the

analysis, Sleep and

THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY

Conservatism, however, is too often a welcome

finally decided to appear before medical bodies to

are indeed fraught with unpleasant, unscientific

ish, superstitious notions, which make up the thread

anything pass unexplaned, with which he presented

impressing more and more serious-minded scientists,

they have never looked into the subject, there are

minds can thrive on such a diet. Self-deception is

a plant which withers fast in the pellucid atmosphere

searchlight upon the dark corners of their psy

dreams and their mental abnormalities, to collect

thousands of dreams and to compare them with the

hoping to find evidence which might support his

His attitude toward dream study was, in other

has no means of foreseeing, what conclusions will be

those empty, artificial structures appear acceptable

had not been as yet expressed when Freud published

Five facts of first magnitude were made obvious

nection between some part of every dream and some

ing state. This positively establishes a relation be

poses of the widely prevalent view that dreams are

his mannerisms and the apparently insignificant

thoughts, came to the conclusion that there .was. .in.

.every dream the attempted or successful gratifica

Thirdly, he proved that many of our dream

them as absurd and unintelligible; the universality

of those symbols, however, makes them very; trans

parent to the trained observer.

Finally, Freud established a direct connection be

est as theforegoing nor were they as revolutionary

conscious, contributions which have brought that

study into fields which Freud himself never dreamt

theory of dreams, neither Jung s &quot;energic theory,&quot;

nor Adler s theory of &quot;organ inferiority and com-

might have been formulated.

view. No one who is not well grounded in Freud

the field of psychoanalysis.

statement as to the circulation of the blood.

Regardless of whatever additions or changes have

the methods of diagnosis and treatment of mental

date physician to revise entirely his attitude to al

ery. The insane who have not been made so by

Insight into one s psychology is replacing victo

Physicians dealing with &quot;purely&quot; physical cases

Freud s views have also made a revision of all

ethical and social values unavoidable and have

indifference, refuse to survey with the great Vien

under his guidance all his laboratory experiments.

unconscious, through the land which had never been

could not be charted.

explorers. They shall not find lions, they shall find

struggle with reality.

Putnam: &quot;We are what we are because we have

Not a few serious-minded students, however, have

world his interpretation of dreams was as circum

theory of dreams, neither Jung s "energic theory,"

nor Adler s theory of "organ inferiority and com-

Physicians dealing with "purely" physical cases

Putnam: "We are what we are because we have

IN what we may term "prescientific days" people

any rate, in certain fields ("Memory").

"Company; at table or table d hote. . . .

"To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,

such beautiful eyes,"

gether. "You should be glad that you have some

spinach," his mother had said to the little gourmet.

"To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,