III. THE DREAM AS WISH-FULFILLMENT
WHEN, after passing through a narrow defile, one
suddenly reaches a height beyond which the ways part and a rich prospect
lies outspread in different directions, it is well to stop for a moment
and consider whither one shall turn next. We are in somewhat the same
position after we have mastered this first interpretation of a dream. We
find ourselves standing in the light of a sudden discovery. The dream is
not comparable to the irregular sounds of a musical instrument, which,
instead of being played by the hand of a musician, is struck by some
external force; the dream is not meaningless, not absurd, does not
presuppose that one part of our store of ideas is dormant while another
part begins to awake. It is a perfectly valid psychic phenomenon, actually
a wish-fulfillment; it may be enrolled in the continuity of the
intelligible psychic activities of the waking state; it is built up by a
highly complicated intellectual activity. But at the very moment when we
are about to rejoice in this discovery a host of problems besets us. If
the dream, as this theory defines it, represents a fulfilled wish, what is
the cause of the striking and unfamiliar manner in which this fulfillment
is expressed? What transformation has occurred in our dream-thoughts
before the manifest dream, as we remember it on waking, shapes itself out
of them? How has this transformation taken place? Whence comes the
material that is worked up into the dream? What causes many of the
peculiarities which are to be observed in our dream-thoughts; for example,
how is it that they are able to contradict one another? Is the dream
capable of teaching us something new concerning our internal psychic
processes and can its content correct opinions which we have held during
the day? I suggest that for the present all these problems be laid aside,
and that a single path be pursued. We have found that the dream represents
a wish as fulfilled. Our next purpose should be to ascertain whether this
is a general characteristic of dreams, or whether it is only the
accidental content of the particular dream (the dream about Irma's
injection) with which we have begun our analysis; for even if we conclude
that every dream has a meaning and psychic value, we must nevertheless
allow for the possibility that this meaning may not be the same in every
dream. The first dream which we have considered was the fulfillment of a
wish; another may turn out to be the realization of an apprehension; a
third may have a reflection as its content; a fourth may simply reproduce
a reminiscence. Are there, then dreams other than wish-dreams; or are
there none but wish-dreams? -
It is easy to show that the wish-fulfillment in dreams
is often undisguised and easy to recognize, so that one may wonder why the
language of dreams has not long since been understood. There is, for
example, a dream which I can evoke as often as I please, experimentally,
as it were. If, in the evening, I eat anchovies, olives, or other strongly
salted foods, I am thirsty at night, and therefore I wake. The waking,
however, is preceded by a dream, which has always the same content,
namely, that I am drinking. I am drinking long draughts of water; it
tastes as delicious as only a cool drink can taste when one's throat is
parched; and then I wake, and find that I have an actual desire to drink.
The cause of this dream is thirst, which I perceive when I wake. From this
sensation arises the wish to drink, and the dream shows me this wish as
fulfilled. It thereby serves a function, the nature of which I soon
surmise. I sleep well, and am not accustomed to being waked by a bodily
need. If I succeed in appeasing my thirst by means of the dream that I am
drinking, I need not wake up in order to satisfy that thirst. It is thus a
dream of convenience. The dream takes the place of action, as elsewhere in
life. Unfortunately, the need of water to quench the thirst cannot be
satisfied by a dream, as can my thirst for revenge upon Otto and Dr. M,
but the intention is the same. Not long ago I had the same dream in a
somewhat modified form. On this occasion I felt thirsty before going to
bed, and emptied the glass of water which stood on the little chest beside
my bed. Some hours later, during the night, my thirst returned, with the
consequent discomfort. In order to obtain water, I should have had to get
up and fetch the glass which stood on my wife's bed- table. I thus quite
appropriately dreamt that my wife was giving me a drink from a vase; this
vase was an Etruscan cinerary urn, which I had brought home from Italy and
had since given away. But the water in it tasted so salt (apparently on
account of the ashes) that I was forced to wake. It may be observed how
conveniently the dream is capable of arranging matters. Since the
fulfillment of a wish is its only purpose, it may be perfectly egoistic.
Love of comfort is really not compatible with consideration for others.
The introduction of the cinerary urn is probably once again the
fulfillment
of a wish; I regret that I no longer possess this vase; it, like the glass
of water at my wife's side, is inaccessible to me. The cinerary urn is
appropriate also in connection with the sensation of an increasingly salty
taste, which I know will compel me to wake. * -
* The facts relating to dreams of thirst were known
also to Weygandt, who speaks of them as follows: "It is just this
sensation of thirst which is registered most accurately of all; it always
causes a representation of quenching the thirst. The manner in which the
dream represents the act of quenching the thirst is manifold, and is
specified in accordance with some recent recollection. A universal
phenomenon noticeable here is the fact that the representation of
quenching the thirst is immediately followed by disappointment in the
inefficacy of the imagined refreshment." But he overlooks the universal
character of the reaction of the dream to the stimulus. If other persons
who are troubled by thirst at night awake without dreaming beforehand,
this does not constitute an objection to my experiment, but characterizes
them as persons who sleep less soundly. Cf. Isaiah, 29. 8.
Such convenience-dreams came very frequently to me in
my youth. Accustomed as I had always been to working until late at night,
early waking was always a matter of difficulty. I used then to dream that
I was out of bed and standing at the wash-stand. After a while I could no
longer shut out the knowledge that I was not yet up; but in the meantime I
had continued to sleep. The same sort of lethargy-dream was dreamed by a
young colleague of mine, who appears to share my propensity for sleep.
With him it assumed a particularly amusing form. The landlady with whom he
was lodging in the neighborhood of the hospital had strict orders to wake
him every morning at a given hour, but she found it by no means easy to
carry out his orders. One morning sleep was especially sweet to him. The
woman called into his room: "Herr Pepi, get up; you've got to go to the
hospital." Whereupon the sleeper dreamt of a room in the hospital, of a
bed in which he was lying, and of a chart pinned over his head, which read
as follows: "Pepi M, medical student, 22 years of age." He told himself in
the dream: "If I am already at the hospital, I don't have to go there,"
turned over, and slept on. He had thus frankly admitted to himself his
motive for dreaming.
Here is yet another dream of which the stimulus was
active during sleep: One of my women patients, who had been obliged to
undergo an unsuccessful operation on the jaw, was instructed by her
physicians to wear by day and night a cooling apparatus on the affected
cheek; but she was in the habit of throwing it off as soon as she had
fallen asleep. One day I was asked to reprove her for doing so; she had
again thrown the apparatus on the floor. The patient defended herself as
follows: "This time I really couldn't help it; it was the result of a
dream which I had during the night. In the dream I was in a box at the
opera, and was taking a lively interest in the performance. But Herr Karl
Meyer was lying in the sanatorium and complaining pitifully on account of
pains in his jaw. I said to myself, 'Since I haven't the pains, I don't
need the apparatus either'; that's why I threw it away." The dream of this
poor sufferer reminds me of an expression which comes to our lips when we
are in a disagreeable situation: "Well, I can imagine more amusing
things!" The dream presents these "more amusing things!" Herr Karl Meyer,
to whom the dreamer attributed her pains, was the most casual acquaintance
of whom she could think.
It is quite as simple a matter to discover the
wish-fulfillment in several other dreams which I have collected from
healthy persons. A friend who was acquainted with my theory of dreams, and
had explained it to his wife, said to me one day: "My wife asked me to
tell you that she dreamt yesterday that she was having her menses. You
will know what that means." Of course I know: if the young wife dreams
that she is having her menses, the menses have stopped. I can well imagine
that she would have liked to enjoy her freedom a little longer, before the
discomforts of maternity began. It was a clever way of giving notice of
her first pregnancy. Another friend writes that his wife had dreamt not
long ago that she noticed milk-stains on the front of her blouse. This
also is an indication of pregnancy, but not of the first one; the young
mother hoped she would have more nourishment for the second child than she
had for the first.
A young woman who for weeks had been cut off from all
society because she was nursing a child who was suffering from an
infectious disease dreamt, after the child had recovered, of a company of
people in which Alphonse Daudet, Paul Bourget, Marcel Prevost and others
were present; they were all very pleasant to her and amused her
enormously. In her dream these different authors had the features which
their portraits give them. M. Prevost, with whose portrait she is not
familiar, looked like the man who had disinfected the sickroom the day
before, the first outsider to enter it for a long time. Obviously the
dream is to be translated thus: "It is about time now for something more
entertaining than this eternal nursing."
Perhaps this collection will suffice to prove that
frequently, and under the most complex conditions, dreams may be noted
which can be understood only as wish-fulfillments, and which present their
content without concealment. In most cases these are short and simple
dreams, and they stand in pleasant contrast to the confused and overloaded
dream-compositions which have almost exclusively attracted the attention
of the writers on the subject. But it will repay us if we give some time
to the examination of these simple dreams. The simplest dreams of all are,
I suppose, to be expected in the case of children whose psychic activities
are certainly less complicated than those of adults. Child psychology, in
my opinion, is destined to render the same services to the psychology of
adults as a study of the structure or development of the lower animals
renders to the investigation of the structure of the higher orders of
animals. Hitherto but few deliberate efforts have been made to make use of
the psychology of the child for such a purpose.
The dreams of little children are often simple
fulfillments of wishes, and for this reason are, as compared with the
dreams of adults, by no means interesting. They present no problem to be
solved, but they are invaluable as affording proof that the dream, in its
inmost essence, is the fulfillment of a wish. I have been able to collect
several examples of such dreams from the material furnished by my own
children.
For two dreams, one that of a daughter of mine, at that
time eight and a half years of age, and the other that of a boy of five
and a quarter, I am indebted to an excursion to Hallstatt, in the summer
of 1806. I must first explain that we were living that summer on a hill
near Aussee, from which, when the weather was fine, we enjoyed a splendid
view of the Dachstein. With a telescope we could easily distinguish the
Simony hut. The children often tried to see it through the telescope- I do
not know with what success. Before the excursion I had told the children
that Hallstatt lay at the foot of the Dachstein. They looked forward to
the outing with the greatest delight. From Hallstatt we entered the valley
of Eschern, which enchanted the children with its constantly changing
scenery. One of them, however, the boy of five, gradually became
discontented. As often as a mountain came into view, he would ask: "Is
that the Dachstein?" whereupon I had to reply: "No, only a foot-hill."
After this question had been repeated several times he fell quite silent,
and did not wish to accompany us up the steps leading to the waterfall. I
thought he was tired. But the next morning he came to me, perfectly happy,
and said: "Last night I dreamt that we went to the Simony hut." I
understood him now; he had expected, when I spoke of the Dachstein, that
on our excursion to Hallstatt he would climb the mountain, and would see
at close quarters the hut which had been so often mentioned when the
telescope was used. When he learned that he was expected to content
himself with foot-hills and a waterfall he was disappointed, and became
discontented. But the dream compensated him for all this. I tried to learn
some details of the dream; they were scanty. "You go up steps for six
hours," as he had been told.
On this excursion the girl of eight and a half had
likewise cherished wishes which had to be satisfied by a dream. We had
taken with us to Hallstatt our neighbor's twelve-year-old boy; quite a
polished little gentleman, who, it seemed to me, had already won the
little woman's sympathies. Next morning she related the following dream:
"Just think, I dreamt that Emil was one of the family, that he said 'papa'
and 'mamma' to you, and slept at our house, in the big room, like one of
the boys. Then mamma came into the room and threw a handful of big bars of
chocolate, wrapped in blue and green paper, under our beds." The girl's
brothers, who evidently had not inherited an understanding of
dream-interpretation, declared, just as the writers we have quoted would
have done: "That dream is nonsense." The girl defended at least one part
of the dream, and from the standpoint of the theory of the neuroses it is
interesting to learn which part it was that she defended: "That Emil was
one of the family was nonsense, but that about the bars of chocolate
wasn't." It was just this latter part that was obscure to me, until my
wife furnished the explanation. On the way home from the railway- station
the children had stopped in front of a slot-machine, and had wanted
exactly such bars of chocolate, wrapped in paper with a metallic luster,
such as the machine, in their experience, provided. But the mother
thought, and rightly so, that the day had brought them enough
wish-fulfilments, and therefore left this wish to be satisfied in the
dream. This little scene had escaped me. That portion of the dream which
had been condemned by my daughter I understood without any difficulty. I
myself had heard the well-behaved little guest enjoining the children, as
they were walking ahead of us, to wait until "papa" or "mamma" had come
up. For the little girl the dream turned this temporary relationship into
a permanent adoption. Her affection could not as yet conceive of any other
way of enjoying her friend's company permanently than the adoption
pictured in her dream, which was suggested by her brothers. Why the bars
of chocolate were thrown under the bed could not, of course, be explained
without questioning the child.
From a friend I have learned of a dream very much like
that of my little boy. It was dreamed by a little girl of eight. Her
father, accompanied by several children, had started on a walk to
Dornbach, with the intention of visiting the Rohrer hut, but had turned
back, as it was growing late, promising the children to take them some
other time. On the way back they passed a signpost which pointed to the
Hameau. The children now asked him to take them to the Hameau, but once
more, and for the same reason, they had to be content with the promise
that they should go there some other day. Next morning the little girl
went to her father and told him, with a satisfied air: "Papa, I dreamed
last night that you were with us at the Rohrer hut, and on the Hameau."
Thus, in the dream her impatience had anticipated the fulfillment of the
promise made by her father.
Another dream, with which the picturesque beauty of the
Aussee inspired my daughter, at that time three and a quarter years of
age, is equally straightforward. The little girl had crossed the lake for
the first time, and the trip had passed too quickly for her. She did not
want to leave the boat at the landing, and cried bitterly. The next
morning she told us: "Last night I was sailing on the lake." Let us hope
that the duration of this dream-voyage was more satisfactory to her.
My eldest boy, at that time eight years of age, was
already dreaming of the realization of his fancies. He had ridden in a
chariot with Achilles, with Diomedes as charioteer. On the previous day he
had shown a lively interest in a book on the myths of Greece which had
been given to his elder sister.
If it can be admitted that the talking of children in
their sleep belongs to the sphere of dreams, I can relate the following as
one of the earliest dreams in my collection: My youngest daughter, at that
time nineteen months old, vomited one morning, and was therefore kept
without food all day. During the night she was heard to call excitedly in
her sleep: "Anna F(r)eud, St'awbewy, wild st'awbewy, om'lette, pap!" She
used her name in this way in order to express the act of appropriation;
the menu presumably included everything that would seem to her a desirable
meal; the fact that two varieties of strawberry appeared in it was
demonstration against the sanitary regulations of the household, and was
based on the circumstance, which she had by no means overlooked, that the
nurse had ascribed her indisposition to an over-plentiful consumption of
strawberries; so in her dream she avenged herself for this opinion which
met with her disapproval. *
* The dream afterwards accomplished the same purpose in
the case of the child's grandmother, who is older than the child by about
seventy years. After she had been forced to go hungry for a day on account
of the restlessness of her floating kidney, she dreamed, being apparently
translated into the happy years of her girlhood, that she had been asked
out, invited to lunch and dinner, and had at each meal been served with
the most delicious titbits.
When we call childhood happy because it does not yet
know sexual desire, we must not forget what a fruitful source of
disappointment and renunciation, and therefore of dream- stimulation, the
other great vital impulse may be for the child. * Here is a second
example. My nephew, twenty-two months of age, had been instructed to
congratulate me on my birthday, and to give me a present of a small basket
of cherries, which at that time of the year were scarce, being hardly in
season. He seemed to find the task a difficult one, for he repeated again
and again: "Cherries in it," and could not be induced to let the little
basket go out of his hands. But he knew how to indemnify himself. He had,
until then, been in the habit of telling his mother every morning that he
had dreamt of the "white soldier," an officer of the guard in a white
cloak, whom he had once admired in the street. On the day after the
sacrifice on my birthday he woke up joyfully with the announcement, which
could have referred only to a dream: "He [r] man eaten all the cherries!"
*(2)
* A more searching investigation into the psychic life
of the child teaches us, of course, that sexual motives, in infantile
forms, play a very considerable part, which has been too long overlooked,
in the psychic activity of the child. This permits us to doubt to some
extent the happiness of the child, as imagined later by adults. Cf. Three
Contributions to the Theory of Sex.
*(2) It should be mentioned that young children often
have more complex and obscure dreams, while, on the other hand, adults, in
certain circumstances, often have dreams of a simple and infantile
character. How rich in unsuspected content the dreams of children no more
than four or five years of age may be is shown by the examples in my
"Analysis of a Phobia in a five-year old Boy," Collected Papers, III, and
Jung's "Experiences Concerning the Psychic Life of the Child," translated
by Brill, American Journal of Psychology. April, 1910. For analytically
interpreted dreams of children, see also von Hug-Hellmuth, Putnam, Raalte,
Spielrein, and Tausk; others by Banchieri, Busemann, Doglia, and
especially Wigam, who emphasizes the wish- fulfilling tendency of such
dreams. On the other hand, it seems that dreams of an infantile type
reappear with especial frequency in adults who are transferred into the
midst of unfamiliar conditions. Thus Otto Nordenskjold, in his book,
Antarctic (1904, vol. i, p. 336), writes as follows of the crew who spent
the winter with him: "Very characteristic of the trend of our inmost
thoughts were our dreams, which were never more vivid and more numerous.
Even those of our comrades with whom dreaming was formerly exceptional had
long stories to tell in the morning, when we exchanged our experiences in
the world of phantasy. They all had reference to that outside world which
was now so far removed from us, but they often fitted into our immediate
circumstances. An especially characteristic dream was that in which one of
our comrades believed himself back at school, where the task was assigned
to him of skinning miniature seals, which were manufactured especially for
purposes of instruction. Eating and drinking constituted the pivot around
which most of our dreams revolved. One of us, who was especially fond of
going to big dinner-parties, was delighted if he could report in the
morning 'that he had had a three-course dinner.' Another dreamed of
tobacco, whole mountains of tobacco; yet another dreamed of a ship
approaching on the open sea under full sail. Still another dream deserves
to be mentioned: The postman brought the post and gave a long explanation
of why it was so long delayed; he had delivered it at the wrong address,
and only with great trouble was he able to get it back. To be sure, we
were often occupied in our sleep with still more impossible things, but
the lack of phantasy in almost all the dreams which I myself dreamed, or
heard others relate, was quite striking. It would certainly have been of
great psychological interest if all these dreams could have been recorded.
But one can readily understand how we longed for sleep. That alone could
afford us everything that we all most ardently desired." I will continue
by a quotation from Du Prel (p. 231): "Mungo Park, nearly dying of thirst
on one of his African expeditions, dreamed constantly of the well-watered
valleys and meadows of his home. Similarly Trenck, tortured by hunger in
the fortress of Magdeburg, saw himself surrounded by copious meals. And
George Back, a member of Franklin's first expedition, when he was on the
point of death by starvation, dreamed continually and invariably of
plenteous meals."
What animals dream of I do not know. A proverb, for
which I am indebted to one of my pupils, professes to tell us, for it asks
the question: "What does the goose dream of?" and answers: "Of maize." *
The whole theory that the dream is the fulfilment of a wish is contained
in these two sentences. *(2)
* A Hungarian proverb cited by Ferenczi states more
explicitly that "the pig dreams of acorns, the goose of maize." A Jewish
proverb asks: "Of what does the hen dream?"- "Of millet" (Sammlung jud.
Sprichw. u. Redensarten., edit. by Bernstein, 2nd ed., p. 116).
*(2) I am far from wishing to assert that no previous
writer has ever thought of tracing a dream to a wish. (Cf. the first
passages of the next chapter.) Those interested in the subject will find
that even in antiquity the physician Herophilos, who lived under the First
Ptolemy, distinguished between three kinds of dreams: dreams sent by the
gods; natural dreams- those which come about whenever the soul creates for
itself an image of that which is beneficial to it, and will come to pass;
and mixed dreams- those which originate spontaneously from the
juxtaposition of images, when we see that which we desire. From the
examples collected by Scherner, J. Starcke cites a dream which was
described by the author himself as a wish-fulfilment (p. 239). Scherner
says: "The phantasy immediately fulfills the dreamer's wish, simply
because this existed vividly in the mind." This dream belongs to the
"emotional dreams." Akin to it are dreams due to "masculine and feminine
erotic longing," and to "irritable moods." As will readily be seen,
Scherner does not ascribe to the wish any further significance for the
dream than to any other psychic condition of the waking state; least of
all does he insist on the connection between the wish and the essential
nature of the dream.
We now perceive that we should have reached our theory
of the hidden meaning of dreams by the shortest route had we merely
consulted the vernacular. Proverbial wisdom, it is true, often speaks
contemptuously enough of dreams- it apparently seeks to justify the
scientists when it says that "dreams are bubbles"; but in colloquial
language the dream is predominantly the gracious fulfiller of wishes. "I
should never have imagined that in my wildest dreams," we exclaim in
delight if we find that the reality surpasses our expectations. |
