No More Learning

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 conception has also been assigned to the inner organic sensations
which are wont to be taken as the cardinal 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 is a rapid and momentary one seems to be true for
the perception through consciousness 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 compressed 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 disfigurement which has been active
from the beginning of the dream-work. In the bitter and seemingly
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 is a 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 connections 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 dream. That we should reject the
voluntary guidance of the presentation course is uncontestable; but the
psychic 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 senseful one. To
be sure we, too, have called the dream absurd; but we have been able to
learn from examples how wise the dream really is when it simulates
absurdity. We do not deny any of the functions 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 harmful material are
rendered harmless through representation 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 foreconscious activity. The "return to the
embryonal state of psychic life in the dream" and the observation 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 the day
participate in the formation of the dream; and with us, as with Delage,
the _suppressed_ material becomes the mainspring of the dreaming.

We have fully recognized the role which Scherner ascribes to the dream
phantasy, and even his interpretation; but we have been obliged, so to
speak, to conduct them to another department in the problem. It is not
the dream that produces the phantasy but the unconscious phantasy that
takes the greatest part in the formation of the dream thoughts. We are
indebted to Scherner 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 the day, and
which supplies incitements not only for dreams but for neurotic symptoms
as well. We have had to separate the dream-work from this activity as
being something entirely different and far more restricted. Finally, we
have by no means abandoned the relation of the dream to mental
disturbances, but, on the contrary, we have given it a more solid
foundation 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 obscurities
which we have necessarily encountered in our advance into the darkness
of psychology, we are now apparently embarrassed by a new contradiction.
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 contents. These,
consequently, we 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 number of thoughts derived
from daily life which are perfectly formed logically. We cannot
therefore doubt that these thoughts originate from our normal 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, unnoticed 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 conclude anything from this state of
affairs, it will at most prove _that the most complex mental operations
are possible without the cooperation of consciousness_, which we have
already learned independently from every psychoanalysis of persons
suffering 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 exercise of a certain
psychic function, viz. attention, which seems to be extended only in a
definite quantity, and which may have been withdrawn from the stream of
thought in Question by other aims. Another 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 especially marked intensity which forces the return of
attention. An initial rejection, perhaps consciously 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
foreconscious one, that we believe it to be perfectly correct, and that
it may just as well be a more 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 its energy through all the association paths emanating 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 energy. [1] If this first
issue is brought about the process has no further significance for the
dream formation. But other end-presentations are lurking in our
foreconscious that originate from the sources of our unconscious and
from the ever active wishes. These may take possession of the
excitations in the circle of thought thus left to itself, establish a
connection between it and the unconscious wish, and transfer to it the
energy inherent in the unconscious wish. Henceforth the neglected or
suppressed train of thought is in a position to maintain itself,
although this reinforcement does not help it to gain access to
consciousness. We may say that the 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 rejection by the
dominating end-occupation; or if an unconscious wish were made active
for other--possibly 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 foreconscious a stream of thought which, having been abandoned by
the foreconscious occupation, receives occupation 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, proceeding from one conception to the other,
they thus form single presentations endowed with marked intensity.
Through the repeated recurrence of this process the intensity of an
entire train of ideas may ultimately be gathered in a single
presentation element. This is the principle of _compression or
condensation_. It is condensation that is mainly responsible for the
strange impression of the dream, for we know of nothing analogous to it
in the normal 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 itself in any character conspicuous 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 as in a book where we space or
print in heavy 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 deliberately and with emphasis. The first
comparison 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 ancient
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 accomplish 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 is no longer represented a giant among 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,
an the other hand by the attraction of the visual reminiscences 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 intensities, moreover, and
in the service of condensation, _intermediary
presentations_--compromises, as it were--are formed (_cf. _ the numerous
examples). This, likewise, is something unheard of in the normal
presentation course, where it is above all a question of selection and
retention of the "proper" presentation element. On the other hand,
composite and compromise formations occur with extraordinary 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 intensities to one 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 eliminate one another, but
remain side by side. They often unite to produce condensation _as if no
contradiction_ 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 abnormal 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 occasion 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--Conversation 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 incorrect 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 psychology 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, however, 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
subjected to abnormal treatment and _have been transformed into the
symptom by means of condensation 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 peculiarities of the dream-work and of the psychic activity
forming the psychoneurotic symptoms, we shall feel justified in
transferring to the dream the conclusions urged upon us by hysteria.

From the theory of hysteria we borrow the proposition 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
refuted. 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 primitive psychic apparatus,
whose work is regulated by the efforts to avoid accumulation of
excitement and as far as possible to maintain itself free from
excitement. For this reason it was constructed after the plan of a
reflex apparatus; the motility, originally the path for the inner bodily
change, formed a discharging path standing at its disposal. We
subsequently discussed the psychic results of a feeling 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 pleasure. Such a
current in the apparatus which emanates 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 incapable
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 required the accumulation of a large sum
of experiences 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, tentatively sending forth and
retracting energy, must on the one hand have full command over all
memory material, but on the other hand it would be a superfluous
expenditure for it to send to the individual mental paths large
quantities of energy which would thus flow off to no purpose,
diminishing the quantity available for the transformation of the outer
world. In the interests of expediency I therefore postulate that the
second system succeeds in maintaining the greater part of the occupation
energy in a dormant state and in using but a small portion for the
purposes of displacement. The mechanism of these processes is entirely
unknown 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 [Greek: Psi]-system is directed
_to the free outflow of the quantities of excitement_, and that the
second system brings about an inhibition of this outflow through the
energies emanating from it, _i. e. _ it produces a _transformation into
dormant energy, probably 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 discharge by the second system to the
regulation through the principle of pain. Let us now seek the
counterpart of the primary feeling of gratification, namely, the
objective feeling of fear. A perceptive stimulus acts on the primitive
apparatus, becoming the source of a painful emotion. This will then be
followed by irregular motor manifestations until one of these withdraws
the apparatus from perception and at the same time from pain, but on the
reappearance of the perception this manifestation 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 (more 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 deviation of the psychic process from the former
painful memory presents to us the model and the first example 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
altogether incapable of introducing anything unpleasant into the mental
associations. The system cannot do anything but wish. If this remained
so the mental activity of the second system, which should have at its
disposal all the memories stored up by experiences, would be hindered.
But two ways are now opened: the work of the second 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 discharge of the
second system; we are, therefore, directed 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 starting points we are led to the hypothesis that occupation 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 innervation. Let us,
however, keep to the fact--this is the key to the theory of
repression--that the second system is capable of occupying an idea only
when it is in position to check 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 first system only I shall
now call the _primary_ process; and the one resulting from the
inhibition of the second system I shall call the _secondary_ process. I
show by another point for what purpose the second system is obliged to
correct the primary process. The primary process strives for a discharge
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 bringing about a
_thought identity_. All thinking is only a circuitous path from the
memory of gratification taken as an end-presentation to the identical
occupation 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 intermediate 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
processes are therefore carefully avoided in the secondary 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 adjustment
by the principle of pain, and through the working of the mind to
restrict the affective development 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 falsification 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 insufficiency
results from the union of the two factors from the history of our
evolution; one of which belongs solely to the psychic apparatus and has
exerted 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 psychic 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 is no
psychic apparatus 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 apparatus from the beginning, while the
secondary processes develop gradually in the course of life, inhibiting
and covering the primary ones, and gaining complete mastery over them
perhaps only at the height of life. Owing to this retarded appearance of
the secondary processes, the essence of our being, consisting in
unconscious wish feelings, can neither be seized nor inhibited by the
foreconscious, whose part is once for all restricted to the indication
of the most suitable paths for the wish feelings originating 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 inaccessible.

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 fulfillment 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
investigate in what way and through what motive forces such a
transformation can be produced constitutes the problem 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 absent), and that it is connected with the activity of the
secondary system. The memories from which the unconscious wish brings
about the emotional discharge have never been accessible to the Forec. ,
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 accessible to the foreconscious thoughts to which they have
transferred their wishing power. On the contrary, the principle of pain
comes into play, and causes the Forec. to deviate from these thoughts of
transference. The latter, left to themselves, are "repressed," and thus
the existence of a store of infantile memories, from the very beginning
withdrawn from the Forec. , becomes the preliminary condition of
repression.

In the most favorable case the development of pain terminates as soon as
the energy has been withdrawn from the thoughts of transference in the
Forec. , and this effect characterizes the intervention of the principle
of pain as expedient. It is different, however, if the repressed
unconscious wish receives an organic enforcement which it can lend to
its thoughts of transference and through which it can enable them to
make an effort towards penetration with their excitement, even after
they have been abandoned by the occupation of the Forec. A defensive
struggle then ensues, inasmuch as the Forec. reinforces the antagonism
against the repressed ideas, and subsequently this leads to a
penetration by the thoughts of transference (the carriers of the
unconscious wish) in some form of compromise through symptom formation.
But from the moment that the suppressed thoughts are powerfully 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 perception identity. We have previously found,
empirically, that the incorrect processes described are enacted only
with thoughts that exist in the repression. We now grasp another part of
the connection. 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 themselves
with the uninhibited energy, striving for discharge 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 transference of the foreconscious excitement to the
motility takes place according to the same processes, and that the
connection of the foreconscious presentations with words readily
manifest the same displacements and mixtures which are ascribed to
inattention. Finally, I should like to adduce proof that an increase of
work necessarily results from the inhibition of these primary courses
from the fact that we gain a _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
(emotional transformation) during the developmental period of childhood.
These are capable of returning 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. It is only 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 unconscious. [2] Nor will I further
investigate the difference 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 important, and
will here confess that it was on account of this very point that I have
just undertaken this entire discussion concerning the two psychic
systems, their modes of operation, and the repression. For it is now
immaterial whether I have conceived the psychological relations in
question with approximate correctness, or, as is easily possible in such
a difficult matter, in an erroneous and fragmentary 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 is not a pathological phenomenon, and it does not leave behind an
enfeeblement of the mental faculties. The objection 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 conclusions 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 disturbance of the psychic life, but
is found ready in the normal structure of the psychic apparatus. The two
psychic systems, the censor crossing between 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 correct 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; theoretically, this is true
in _all_ cases; according to substantial experience it is true in at
least a great number of such as most conspicuously display the prominent
characteristics of dream life. The suppressed psychic material, which in
the waking state has been prevented from expression and cut off from
internal perception _by the antagonistic adjustment of the
contradictions_, finds ways and means of obtruding itself on
consciousness during the night under the domination of the compromise
formations.

_"Flectere si nequeo superos, 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 be 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 destruction of this apparatus, and the
establishment of new splittings in its interior; it is rather to be
explained 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 apparatus from the two systems
permits a subtilization even of the normal activity which would be
impossible for a single system.

[1] _Cf. _ the significant observations by J. Bueuer in our _Studies on
Hysteria_, 1895, and 2nd ed. 1909.

[2] 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 dreamwork leads and to
indicate the other themes which 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 indignation 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 have reserved this material for another connection.




IX

THE UNCONSCIOUS AND CONSCIOUSNESS--REALITY


On closer inspection we find that it is not the existence of two 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 position to replace them by
something else approaching more closely to the unknown reality. Let us
now try to correct some views which might be erroneously formed as long
as we regarded the two systems in the crudest and most obvious sense as
two localities within the psychic apparatus, views which have left their
traces in the terms "repression" and "penetration. " Thus, when we say
that an unconscious idea strives for transference into the foreconscious
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 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 foreconscious 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 substitute what would seem to correspond better with the real state
of affairs by saying that an energy occupation 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 it appropriate and justifiable, however, to apply ourselves still
further to the illustrative conception of the two systems. We shall
avoid any misapplication of this manner of representation if we remember
that presentations, thoughts, and psychic 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
internal 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 existence 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 censor between two
systems corresponds to the refraction of rays during their passage into
a new medium.

Thus far we have made psychology on our own responsibility; it is now
time to examine the theoretical opinions governing present-day
psychology and to test their relation to our theories. The question of
the unconscious, in psychology is, according to the authoritative words
of Lipps, less a psychological question than the question of psychology.
As long as psychology settled this question with the verbal explanation
that the "psychic" is the "conscious" and that "unconscious psychic
occurrences" are an obvious contradiction, a psychological estimate 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 "the appropriate and
well-justified expression for an established fact. " The physician cannot
but reject 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 utterings 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 intelligent 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
person. 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 communication or observation. But this effect
of consciousness may show a psychic character widely differing 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 consciousness 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 quality of consciousness
becomes the indispensable preliminary 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 circle of the conscious; everything conscious has its
preliminary step in the unconscious, whereas the unconscious may stop
with this step and still claim full value as a psychic activity.
Properly speaking, 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 reported 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
proper place. Thus many of the activities 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. If, according to Scherner, the dream seems to play with a symboling
representation 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 phantasies 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's sonata dream). The
intellectual task as such must be attributed to the same psychic forces
which perform all such tasks during the day. We are probably far too
much inclined to over-estimate the conscious character even of
intellectual and artistic productions. From the communications 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 inspirations and reached their
perceptions almost finished. There is nothing strange about the
assistance 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 historical 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 problem, however, disappears
when we regard the dream as a form of expression for feelings which are
burdened with resistance during the day and which can receive
reinforcements at night from deep emotional sources. But the great
respect shown by the ancients for the dream is based on a correct
psychological surmise. It is a homage paid to the unsubdued 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 psychic processes beside the conscious ones is the
hotly contested and energetically defended issue. Lipps gives us the
more far-reaching theory that everything psychic exists as unconscious,
but that some of it may exist also as conscious. But it was not to prove
this theory that we have adduced the 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 occurs as such even in normal psychic life.
Consequently there are two kinds of unconscious, which we do not as yet
find distinguished by the psychologists. Both are unconscious in the
psychological sense; but in our sense the first, which we call Unc. , is
likewise incapable of consciousness, whereas the second we term "Forec. "
because its emotions, after the observance of certain rules, can reach
consciousness, 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. We described the relations of the two systems to each other
and to consciousness by saying that the system Forec. is like a screen
between the system Unc. and consciousness. The system Forec. 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 superconscious 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 consciousness? 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. " commends itself. This system we conceive
to be similar in its mechanical characteristics to the perception system
P, hence excitable by qualities and incapable 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 justification of which rests on this relationship. We are
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 excitement, qualitatively
determined, probably experiences 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 possible even 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 results in directing the
occupation of attention to those paths on which the incoming sensory
excitement 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 toward 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
apparatus, 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 qualities adds a second
and more subtle regulation 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 occupying and developing even that
which is connected 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 nevertheless in a harmful rejection of inhibition
and of psychic domination, is so much more easily accomplished with
reminiscences than with perceptions, because in the former there is no
increase in occupation 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 employed by therapy in order to bring
about a retrogression of accomplished repressions.

The value of the over-occupation which is produced by the regulating
influence of the Cons. sensory organ on the mobile quantity, is
demonstrated in the teleological connection by nothing more clearly than
by the creation of a new series of qualities and consequently a new
regulation which constitutes 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
analysis we receive the impression that the transition from the
foreconscious to the occupation of consciousness is also connected with
a censorship similar to the one between the Unc. and the Forec. 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
penetration 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 consciousness. 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 something 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's mother thought 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 allowed 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 remained in the foreconscious.

Another example: I began the psychoanalytic treatment of a boy of
fourteen years who was suffering from _tic convulsif_, hysterical
vomiting, headache, &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 answered by describing pictures. The last
impression he had received before coming to me was visually revived in
his memory. He had played a game of checkers with his uncle, and now saw
the checkerboard before him. He commented on various positions that were
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 his
father, but transferred to the checker-board by his phantasy. Then a
sickle was lying on the board; next a scythe was added; and, finally, he
beheld 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 consisted in
threats; of the separation of his father from his tender and delicate
mother, and the remarrying 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. It was the suppressed anger against his
father that had composed these pictures into intelligible 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
manner. The marriage of the father gave the boy an opportunity to return
the reproaches and threats of his father--which had previously been made
because the child played with his genitals (the checkerboard; 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 psychological knowledge and in its
preparation for an understanding of neuroses. Who can foresee the
importance of a thorough knowledge of the structure 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 suppressed wishes
which, as they now create dreams, may some day create other things?

I do not feel justified in answering these questions. 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 significance 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 remember the words of
Plato, that the virtuous man contents 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 unconscious wishes, and in what sense, I am not
prepared 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 meeting with resistances later. In any case it is instructive to
become familiar with the much raked-up soil from which our virtues
proudly arise. For the complication of human character moving
dynamically in all directions very rarely accommodates itself to
adjustment through a simple alternative, as 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 cannot consider. One feels inclined to substitute:
"for a knowledge of the past. " For the dream originates from the past in
every sense. To be sure the ancient belief that the dream reveals the
future is not 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 likeness of
that past by the indestructible wish.





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