THE SOMATIC SOURCES OF DREAMS

If we attempt to interest a cultured layman in the problems of dreams, and if, with this
end in view, we ask him what he believes to be the source of dreams, we shall generally
find that he feels quite sure he knows at least this part of the solution. He thinks
immediately of the influence exercised on the formation of dreams by a disturbed or
impeded digestion (`Dreams come from the stomach'), an accidental position of the body,
a trifling occurrence during sleep. He does not seem to suspect that even after all these
factors have been duly considered something still remains to be explained.
In the introductory chapter1 we examined at length the opinion of scientific writers on the
role of somatic stimuli in the formation of dreams, so that here we need only recall the
results of this inquiry. We have seen that three kinds of somatic stimuli will be
distinguished: the objective sensory stimuli which proceed from external objects, the
inner states of excitation of the sensory organs, having only a subjective reality, and the
bodily stimuli arising within the body; and we have also noticed that the writers on
dreams are inclined to thrust into the background any psychic sources of dreams which
may operate simultaneously with the somatic stimuli, or to exclude them altogether. In
testing the claims made on behalf of these somatic stimuli we have learned that the
significance of the objective excitation of the sensory organs -- whether accidental stimuli
operating during sleep, or such as cannot be excluded from the dormant relation of these
dream-images and ideas to the internal bodily stimuli -- has been observed and confirmed
by experiment; that the part played by the subjective sensory stimuli appears to be
demonstrated by the recurrence of hypnagogic sensory images in dreams; and that,
although the broadly accepted relation of these dream-images and ideas to the internal
bodily stimuli cannot be exhaustively demonstrated, it is at all events confirmed by the
well-known influence which an excited state of the digestive, urinary and sexual organs
exercises upon the content of our dreams.
`Nerve stimulus' and `bodily stimulus' would thus be the anatomical sources of dreams;
that is, according to many writers, the sole and exclusive sources of dreams.
But we have already considered a number of doubtful points, which seem to question not
so much the correctness of the somatic theory as its adequacy.
However confident the representatives of this theory may be of its factual basis --
especially in respect of the accidental and external nerve-stimuli, which may without
difficulty be recognised in the dream-content -- nevertheless they have all come near to
admitting that the rich content of ideas found in dreams cannot be derived from the
external nerve-stimuli alone. In this connection Miss Mary Whiton Calkins tested her
own dreams, and those of a second person, for a period of six weeks, and found that the
element of external sensory perception was demonstrable in only 13.2 per cent and 6.7
per cent of these dreams respectively. Only two dreams in the whole collection could be
referred to organic sensations. These statistics confirm what a cursory survey of our own
experience would already have led us to suspect.
A distinction has often been made between `nerve-stimulus dreams' which have already
been thoroughly investigated, and other forms of dreams. Spitta, for example, divided
dreams into nerve-stimulus dreams and association-dreams. But it was obvious that this
solution remained unsatisfactory unless the link between the somatic sources of dreams
and their ideational content could be indicated.
In addition to the first objection, that of the insufficient frequency of the external sources
of stimulus, a second objection presents itself, namely, the inadequacy of the
explanations of dreams afforded by this category of dream-sources. There are two things
which the representatives of this theory have failed to explain: firstly, why the true nature
of the external stimulus is not recognised in the dream, but is constantly mistaken for
something else; and secondly, why the result of the reaction of the perceiving mind to this
misconceived stimulus should be so indeterminate and variable. We have seen that
Strümpell, in answer to these questions, asserts that the mind, since it turns away from the
outer world during sleep, is not in a position to give the correct interpretation of the
objective sensory stimulus, but is forced to construct illusions on the basis of the
indefinite stimulation arriving from many directions. In his own words (Die Natur und
Entstehung der Träume, p. 108):
When by an external or internal nerve-stimulus during sleep a feeling, or a
complex of feelings, or any sort of psychic process arises in the mind, and
is perceived by the mind, this process calls up from the mind perceptual
images belonging to the sphere of the waking experiences, that is to say,
earlier perceptions, either unembellished, or with the psychic values
appertaining to them. It collects about itself, as it were, a greater or lesser
number of such images, from which the impression resulting from the
nerve-stimulus receives its psychic value. In this connection it is
commonly said, as in ordinary language we say of the waking procedure,
that the mind interprets in sleep the impressions of nervous stimuli. The
result of this interpretation is the so-called nerve-stimulus dream -- that is,
a dream the components of which are conditioned by the fact that a nervestimulus
produces its psychical effect in the life of the mind in accordance
with the laws of reproduction.
In all essential points identical with this doctrine is Wundt's statement that the concepts
of dreams proceed, at all events for the most part, from sensory stimuli, and especially
from the stimuli of general sensation, and are therefore mostly fantastic illusions --
probably only to a small extent pure memory-conceptions raised to the condition of
hallucinations. To illustrate the relation between dream-content and dream-stimuli which
follows from this theory, Strümpell makes use of an excellent simile. It is `as though the
ten fingers of a person ignorant of music were to stray over the keyboard of an
instrument.' The implication is that the dream is not a psychic phenomenon, originating
from psychic motives, but the result of a physiological stimulus, which expresses itself in
psychic symptomatology because the apparatus affected by the stimulus is not capable of
any other mode of expression. Upon a similar assumption is based the explanation of
obsessions which Meynert attempted in his famous simile of the dial on which individual
figures are most deeply embossed.
Popular though this theory of the somatic dream-stimuli has become, and seductive
though it may seem, it is none the less easy to detect its weak point. Every somatic
dream-stimulus which provokes the psychic apparatus in sleep to interpretation by the
formation of illusions may evoke an incalculable number of such attempts at
interpretation. It may consequently be represented in the dream-content by an
extraordinary number of different concepts.2 But the theory of Strümpell and Wundt
cannot point to any sort of motive which controls the relation between the external
stimulus and the dream-concept chosen to interpret it, and therefore it cannot explain the
`peculiar choice' which the stimuli `often enough make in the course of their productive
activity' (Lipps, Grundtatsachen des Seelenlebens, p. 170). Other objections may be
raised against the fundamental assumption behind the theory of illusions -- the
assumption that during sleep the mind is not in a condition to recognise the real nature of
the objective sensory stimuli. The old physiologist Burdach shows us that the mind is
quite capable even during sleep of a correct interpretation of the sensory impressions
which reach it, and of reacting in accordance with this correct interpretation, inasmuch as
he demonstrates that certain sensory impressions which seem important to the individual
may be excepted from the general neglect of the sleeping mind (as in the example of
nurse and child), and that one is more surely awakened by one's own name than by an
indifferent auditory impression; all of which presupposes, of course, that the mind
discriminates between sensations, even in sleep. Burdach infers from these observations
that we must not assume that the mind is incapable of interpreting sensory stimuli in the
sleeping state, but rather that it is not sufficiently interested in them. The arguments
which Burdach employed in 1830 reappear unchanged in the works of Lipps (in the year
1883), where they are employed for the purpose of attacking the theory of somatic
stimuli. According to these arguments the mind seems to be like the sleeper in the
anecdote, who, on being asked; `Are you asleep?' answers `No', and on being again
addressed with the words: `Then lend me ten florins', takes refuge in the excuse: `I am
asleep.'
The inadequacy of the theory of somatic dream-stimuli may be further demonstrated in
another way. Observation shows that external stimuli do not oblige me to dream, even
though these stimuli appear in the dream-content as soon as I begin to dream -- supposing
that I do dream. In response to a touch- or pressure-stimulus experienced while I am
asleep, a variety of reactions are at my disposal. I may overlook it, and find on waking
that my leg has become uncovered, or that I have been lying on an arm; indeed,
pathology offers me a host of examples of powerfully exciting sensory and motor stimuli
of different kinds which remain ineffective during sleep. I may perceive the sensation
during sleep, and through my sleep, as it were, as constantly happens in the case of pain
stimuli, but without weaving the pain into the texture of a dream. And thirdly, I may
wake up in response to the stimulus, simply in order to avoid it. Still another, fourth,
reaction is possible: namely, that the nerve-stimulus may cause me to dream; but the
other possible reactions occur quite as frequently as the reaction of dream-formation.
This, however, would not be the case if the incentive to dreaming did not lie outside the
somatic dream-sources.
Appreciating the importance of the above-mentioned lacunae in the explanation of
dreams by somatic stimuli, other writers -- Scherner, for example, and, following him, the
philosopher Volkelt -- endeavoured to determine more precisely the nature of the psychic
activities which cause the many-coloured images of our dreams to proceed from the
somatic stimuli, and in so doing they approached the problem of the essential nature of
dreams as a problem of psychology, and regarded dreaming as a psychic activity.
Scherner not only gave a poetical, vivid and glowing description of the psychic
peculiarities which unfold themselves in the course of dream-formation, but he also
believed that he had hit upon the principle of the method the mind employs in dealing
with the stimuli which are offered to it. The dream, according to Scherner, in the free
activity of the fantasy, which has been released from the shackles imposed upon it during
the day, strives to represent symbolically the nature of the organ from which the stimulus
proceeds. Thus there exists a sort of dream-book, a guide to the interpretation of dreams,
by means of which bodily sensations, the conditions of the organs, and states of
stimulation, may be inferred from the dream-images. `Thus the image of a cat expressed
extreme ill-temper, the image of pale, smooth pastry the nudity of the body. The human
body as a whole is pictured by the fantasy of the dream as a house, and the individual
organs of the body as parts of the house. In ``toothache-dreams'' a vaulted vestibule
corresponds to the mouth, and a staircase to the descent from the pharynx to the
oesophagus; in the ``headache-dream'' a ceiling covered with disgusting toad-like spiders
is chosen to denote the upper part of the head.' `Many different symbols are employed by
our dreams for the same organ: thus the breathing lung finds its symbol in a roaring
stove, filled with flames, the heart in empty boxes and baskets, and the bladder in round,
bag-shaped or merely hollow objects. It is of particular significance that at the close of
the dream the stimulating organ or its function is often represented without disguise, and
usually on the dreamer`s own body. Thus the ``toothache-dream'' commonly ends by the
dreamer drawing a tooth out of his mouth.' It cannot be said that this theory of dreaminterpretation
has found much favour with other writers. It seems, above all, extravagant;
and so Scherner`s readers have hesistated to give it even the small amount of credit to
which it is, in my opinion, entitled. As will be seen, it tends to a revival of dreaminterpretation
by means of symbolism, a method employed by the ancients; only the
province from which the interpretation is to be derived is restricted to the human body.
The lack of a scientifically comprehensible technique of interpretation must seriously
limit the applicability of Scherner's theory. Arbitrariness in the interpretation of dreams
would appear to be by no means excluded, especially since in this case also a stimulus
may be expressed in the dream-content by several representative symbols; thus even
Scherner's follower Volkelt was unable to confirm the representation of the body as a
house. Another objection is that here again the dream-activity is regarded as a useless and
aimless activity of the mind, since, according to this theory, the mind is content with
merely forming fantasies around the stimulus with which it is dealing, without even
remotely attempting to abolish the stimulus.
Scherner's theory of the symbolisation of bodily stimuli by the dream is seriously
damaged by yet another objection. These bodily stimuli are present at all times, and it is
generally assumed that the mind is more accessible to them during sleep than in the
waking state. It is therefore impossible to understand why the mind does not dream
continuously all night long, and why it does not dream every night about all the organs. If
one attempts to evade this objection by positing the condition that special excitations
must proceed from the eye, the ear, the teeth, the bowels, etc., in order to arouse the
dream-activity, one is confronted with the difficulty of proving that this increase of
stimulation is objective; and proof is possible only in a very few cases. If the dream of
flying is a symbolisation of the upward and downward motion of the pulmonary lobes,
either this dream, as has already been remarked by Strümpell, should be dreamt much
oftener, or it should be possible to show that respiration is more active during this dream.
Yet a third alternative is possible -- and it is the most probable of all -- namely, that now
and again special motives are operative to direct the attention to the visceral sensations
which are constantly present. But this would take us far beyond the scope of Scherner's
theory.
The value of Scherner's and Volkelt's disquisitions resides in their calling our attention to
a number of characteristics of the dream-content which are in need of explanation, and
which seem to promise fresh discoveries. It is quite true that symbolisations of the bodily
organs and functions do occur in dreams: for example, that water in a dream often
signifies a desire to urinate, that the male genital organ may be represented by an upright
staff, or a pillar, etc. With dreams which exhibit a very animated field of vision and
brilliant colours, in contrast to the dimness of other dreams, the interpretation that they
are `dreams due to visual stimulation' can hardly be dismissed, nor can we dispute the
participation of illusion-formation in dreams which contain noise and a medley of voices.
A dream like that of Scherner's, that two rows of fair handsome boys stood facing one
another on a bridge, attacking one another, and then resuming their positions, until finally
the dreamer himself sat down on a bridge and drew a long tooth from his jaw; or a similar
dream of Volkelt's, in which two rows of drawers played a part, and which again ended in
the extraction of a tooth; dream-formations of this kind, of which both writers relate a
great number, forbid our dismissing Scherner's theory as an idle invention without
seeking the kernel of truth which may be contained in it. We are therefore confronted
with the task of finding a different explanation of the supposed symbolisation of the
alleged dental stimulus.
Throughout our consideration of the theory of the somatic sources of dreams, I have
refrained from urging the argument which arises from our analyses of dreams. If by a
procedure which has not been followed by other writers in their investigation of dreams
we can prove that the dream possesses intrinsic value as psychic action, that a wish
supplies the motive of its formation, and that the experiences of the previous day furnish
the most obvious material of its content, any other theory of dreams which neglects such
an important method of investigation -- and accordingly makes the dream appear a
useless and enigmatical psychic reaction to somatic stimuli -- may be dismissed without
special criticism. For in this case there would have to be -- and this is highly improbable -
- two entirely different kinds of dreams, of which only one kind has come under our
observation, while the other kind alone has been observed by the earlier investigators. It
only remains now to find a place in our theory of dreams for the facts on which the
current doctrine of somatic dream-stimuli is based.
We have already taken the first step in this direction in advancing the thesis that the
dream-work is under a compulsion to elaborate into a unified whole all the dream-stimuli
which are simultaneously present (p. 83). We have seen that when two or more
experiences capable of making an impression on the mind have been left over from the
previous day, the wishes that result from them are united into one dream; similarly, that
the impressions possessing psychic value and the indifferent experiences of the previous
day unite in the dream-material, provided that connecting ideas between the two can be
established. Thus the dream appears to be a reaction to everything which is
simultaneously present as actual in the sleeping mind. As far as we have hitherto
analysed the dream-material, we have discovered it to be a collection of psychic remnants
and memory-traces, which we were obliged to credit (on account of the preference shown
for recent and for infantile material) with a character of psychological actuality, though
the nature of this actuality was not at the time determinable. We shall now have little
difficulty in predicting what will happen when to these actualities of the memory fresh
material in the form of sensations is added during sleep. These stimuli, again, are of
importance to the dream because they are actual; they are united with the other psychic
actualities to provide the material for dream-formation. To express it in other words, the
stimuli which occur during sleep are elaborated into a wish-fulfilment, of which the other
components are the psychic remnants of daily experience with which we are already
familiar. This combination, however, is not inevitable; we have seen that more than one
kind of behaviour toward the physical stimuli received during sleep is possible. Where
this combination is effected, a conceptual material for the dream-content has been found
which will represent both kinds of dream-sources, the somatic as well as the psychic.
The nature of the dream is not altered when somatic material is added to the psychic
dream-sources; it still remains a wish-fulfilment, no matter how its expression is
determined by the actual material available.
I should like to find room here for a number of peculiarities which are able to modify the
significance of external stimuli for the dream. I imagine that a co-operation of individual,
physiological and accidental factors, which depend on the circumstances of the moment,
determines how one will behave in individual cases of more intensive objective
stimulation during sleep; habitual or accidental profundity of sleep, in conjunction with
the intensity of the stimulus, will in one case make it possible so to suppress the stimulus
that it will not disturb the sleeper, while in another case it will force the sleeper to wake,
or will assist the attempt to subdue the stimulus by weaving it into the texture of the
dream. In accordance with the multiplicity of these constellations, external objective
stimuli will be expressed more rarely or more frequently in the case of one person than in
that of another. In my own case, since I am an excellent sleeper, and obstinately refuse to
allow myself to be disturbed during sleep on any pretext whatever, this intrusion of
external causes of excitation into my dreams is very rare, whereas psychic motives
apparently cause me to dream very easily. Indeed, I have noted only a single dream in
which an objective, painful source of stimulation is demonstrable, and it will be highly
instructive to see what effect the external stimulus had in this particular dream.
I am riding a grey horse, at first timidly and awkwardly, as though I were merely carried
along. Then I meet a colleague, P., also on horseback, and dressed in rough frieze; he is
sitting erect in the saddle; he calls my attention to something (probably to the fact that I
have a very bad seat). Now I begin to feel more and more at ease on the back of my
highly intelligent horse; I sit more comfortably, and I find that I am quite at home up
here. My saddle is a sort of pad, which completely fills the space between the neck and
the rump of the horse. I ride between two vans, and just manage to clear them. After
riding up the street for some distance, I turn round and wish to dismount, at first in front
of a little open chapel which is built facing onto the street. Then I do really dismount in
front of a chapel which stands near the first one; the hotel is in the same street; I might
let the horse go there by itself, but I prefer to lead it thither. It seems as though I should
be ashamed to arrive there on horseback. In front of the hotel there stands a page-boy,
who shows me a note of mine which has been found, and ridicules me on account of it.
On the note is written, doubly underlined, `Eat nothing', and then a second sentence
(indistinct): something like `Do not work'; at the same time a hazy idea that I am in a
strange city, in which I do not work.
It will not at once be apparent that this dream originated under the influence, or rather
under the compulsion, of a pain-stimulus. The day before, however, I had suffered from
boils, which made every movement a torture, and at last a boil had grown to the size of an
apple at the root of the scrotum, and had caused me the most intolerable pains at every
step; a feverish lassitude, lack of appetite, and the hard work which I had nevertheless
done during the day, had conspired with the pain to upset me. I was not altogether in a
condition to discharge my duties as a physician, but in view of the nature and the location
of the malady, it was possible to imagine something else for which I was most of all
unfit, namely riding. Now it is this very activity of riding into which I am plunged by the
dream; it is the most energetic denial of the pain which imagination could conceive. As a
matter of fact, I cannot ride; I do not dream of doing so; I never sat on a horse but once
and then without a saddle -- and I did not like it. But in this dream I ride as though I had
no boil on the perineum; or rather, I ride, just because I want to have none. To judge
from the description, my saddle is the poultice which has enabled me to fall asleep.
Probably, being thus comforted, I did not feel anything of my pain during the first few
hours of my sleep. Then the painful sensations made themselves felt, and tried to wake
me; whereupon the dream came and said to me, soothingly: `Go on sleeping, you are not
going to wake! You have no boil, for you are riding on horseback, and with a boil just
there no one could ride!' And the dream was successful; the pain was stifled, and I went
on sleeping.
But the dream was not satisfied with `suggesting away' the boil by tenaciously holding
fast to an idea incompatible with the malady (thus behaving like the hallucinatory
insanity of a mother who has lost her child, or of a merchant who has lost his fortune). In
addition, the details of the sensation denied and of the image used to suppress it serve the
dream also as a means to connect other material actually present in the mind with the
situation in the dream, and to give this material representation. I am riding on a grey
horse -- the colour of the horse exactly corresponds with the pepper-and-salt suit in
which I last saw my colleague P. in the country. I have been warned that highly seasoned
food is the cause of boils, and in any case it is preferable as an etiological explanation to
sugar, which might be thought of in connection with furunculosis. My friend P. likes to
`ride the high horse' with me ever since he took my place in the treatment of a female
patient, in whose case I had performed great feats (Kunststücke: in the dream I sit the
horse at first sideways, like a trick-rider, Kunstreiter), but who really, like the horse in the
story of the Sunday equestrian, led me wherever she wished. Thus the horse comes to be
a symbolic representation of a lady patient (in the dream it is highly intelligent). `I feel
quite at home' refers to the position which I occupied in the patient's household until I
was replaced by my colleague P. `I thought you were safe in the saddle up there,' one of
my few well-wishers among the eminent physicians of the city recently said to me, with
reference to the same household. And it was a feat to practise psychotherapy for eight to
ten hours a day, while suffering such pain, but I know that I cannot continue my
peculiarly strenuous work for any length of time without perfect physical health, and the
dream is full of dismal allusions to the situation which would result if my illness
continued (the note, such as neurasthenics carry and show to their doctors). Do not work,
do not eat. On further interpretation I see that the dream-activity has succeeded in finding
its way from the wish-situation of riding to some very early childish quarrels which must
have occurred between myself and a nephew, who is a year older than I, and is now
living in England. It has also taken up elements from my journeys in Italy; the street in
the dream is built up out of impressions of Verona and Siena. A still deeper interpretation
leads to sexual dream-thoughts, and I recall what the dream-allusions to that beautiful
country were supposed to mean in the dream of a female patient who had never been to
Italy (to Italy, German: gen Italien = Genitalien = genitals); at the same time there are
references to the house in which I preceded my friend P. as physician, and to the place
where the boil is located.
In another dream I was similarly successful in warding off a threatened disturbance of my
sleep; this time the threat came from a sensory stimulus. It was only chance, however,
that enabled me to discover the connection between the dream and the accidental dreamstimulus,
and in this way to understand the dream. One midsummer morning in a
Tyrolese mountain resort I woke with the knowledge that I had dreamed: The Pope is
dead. I was not able to interpret this short, non-visual dream. I could remember only one
possible basis of the dream, namely, that shortly before this the newspapers had reported
that His Holiness was slightly indisposed. But in the course of the morning my wife
asked me: `Did you hear the dreadful tolling of the church bells this morning?' I had no
idea that I had heard it, but now I understood my dream. It was the reaction of my need
for sleep to the noise by which the pious Tyroleans were trying to wake me. I avenged
myself on them by the conclusion which formed the content of my dream, and continued
to sleep, without any further interest in the tolling of the bells.
Among the dreams mentioned in the previous chapters there are several which might
serve as examples of the elaboration of so-called nerve-stimuli. The dream of drinking in
long draughts is such an example; here the somatic stimulus seems to be the sole source
of the dream, and the wish arising from the sensation -- thirst -- the only motive for
dreaming. We find much the same thing in other simple dreams, where the somatic
stimulus is able of itself to generate a wish. The dream of the sick woman who throws the
cooling apparatus from her cheek at night is an instance of an unusual manner of reacting
to a pain-stimulus with a wish-fulfilment; it seems as though the patient had temporarily
succeeded in making herself analgesic, and accompanied this by ascribing her pains to a
stranger.
My dream of the three Parcae is obviously a hunger-dream, but it has contrived to shift
the need for food right back to the child's longing for its mother's breast, and to use a
harmless desire as a mask for a more serious one that cannot venture to express itself so
openly. In the dream of Count Thun we were able to see by what paths an accidental
physical need was brought into relation with the strongest, but also the most rigorously
repressed impulses of the psychic life. And when, as in the case reported by Garnier, the
First Consul incorporates the sound of an exploding infernal machine into a dream of
battle before it causes him to wake, the true purpose for which alone psychic activity
concerns itself with sensations during sleep is revealed with unusual clarity. A young
lawyer, who is full of his first great bankruptcy case, and falls asleep in the afternoon,
behaves just as the great Napoleon did. He dreams of a certain G. Reich in Hussiatyn,
whose acquaintance he has made in connection with the bankruptcy case, but Hussiatyn
(German: husten, to cough) forces itself upon his attention still further; he is obliged to
wake, only to hear his wife -- who is suffering from bronchial catarrh -- violently
coughing.
Let us compare the dream of Napoleon I -- who, incidentally, was an excellent sleeper --
with that of the sleepy student, who was awakened by his landlady with the reminder that
he had to go to the hospital, and who thereupon dreamt himself into a bed in the hospital,
and then slept on, the underlying reasoning being as follows: If I am already in the
hospital, I needn't get up to go there. This is obviously a convenience-dream; the sleeper
frankly admits to himself his motive in dreaming; but he thereby reveals one of the
secrets of dreaming in general. In a certain sense, all dreams are convenience-dreams;
they serve the purpose of continuing to sleep instead of waking. The dream is the
guardian of sleep, not its disturber. In another place we shall have occasion to justify this
conception in respect to the psychic factors that make for waking; but we can already
demonstrate its applicability to the objective external stimuli. Either the mind does not
concern itself at all with the causes of sensations during sleep, if it is able to carry this
attitude through as against the intensity of the stimuli, and their significance, of which it
is well aware; or it employs the dream to deny these stimuli; or, thirdly, if it is obliged to
recognise the stimuli, it seeks that interpretation of them which will represent the actual
sensation as a component of a desired situation which is compatible with sleep. The
actual sensation is woven into the dream in order to deprive it of its reality. Napoleon is
permitted to go on sleeping; it is only a dream-memory of the thunder of the guns at
Arcole which is trying to disturb him.3
The wish to sleep, to which the conscious ego has adjusted itself, and which (together
with the dream-censorship and the `secondary elaboration' to be mentioned later)
represents the ego's contribution to the dream, must thus always be taken into account as
a motive of dream-formation, and every successful dream is a fulfilment of this wish. The
relation of this general, constantly present, and unvarying sleep-wish to the other wishes
of which now one and now another is fulfilled by the dream-content, will be the subject
of later consideration. In the wish to sleep we have discovered a motive capable of
supplying the deficiency in the theory of Strümpell and Wundt, and of explaining the
perversity and capriciousness of the interpretation of the external stimulus. The correct
interpretation, of which the sleeping mind is perfectly capable, would involve active
interest, and would require the sleeper to wake; hence, of those interpretations which are
possible at all only such are admitted as are acceptable to the dictatorial censorship of the
sleep-wish. The logic of dream situations would run, for example: `It is the nightingale,
and not the lark'. For if it is the lark, love's night is at an end. From among the
interpretations of the stimulus which are thus admissible, that one is selected which can
secure the best connection with the wish-impulses that are lying in wait in the mind. Thus
everything is definitely determined, and nothing is left to caprice. The misinterpretation is
not an illusion, but -- if you will -- an excuse. Here again, as in substitution by
displacement in the service of the dream-censorship, we have an act of deflection of the
normal psychic procedure.
If the external nerve-stimuli and the inner bodily stimuli are sufficiently intense to
compel psychic attention, they represent -- that is, if they result in dreaming at all, and
not in waking -- a fixed point for dream-formation, a nucleus in the dream-material, for
which an appropriate wish-fulfilment is sought, just as (see above) mediating ideas
between two psychical dream-stimuli are sought. To this extent it is true of a number of
dreams that the somatic element dictates the dream-content. In this extreme case even a
wish that is not actually present may be aroused for the purpose of dream-formation. But
the dream cannot do otherwise than represent a wish in some situation as fulfilled; it is, as
it were, confronted with the task of discovering what wish can be represented as fulfilled
by the given sensation. Even if this given material is of a painful or disagreeable
character, yet it is not unserviceable for the purposes of dream-formation. The psychic
life has at its disposal even wishes whose fulfilment evokes displeasure, which seems a
contradiction, but becomes perfectly intelligible if we take into account the presence of
two sorts of psychic instance and the censorship that subsists between them.
In the psychic life there exist, as we have seen, repressed wishes, which belong to the
first system, and to whose fulfilment the second system is opposed. We do not mean this
in a historic sense -- that such wishes have once existed and have subsequently been
destroyed. The doctrine of repression, which we need in the study of psychoneuroses,
asserts that such repressed wishes still exist, but simultaneously with an inhibition which
weighs them down. Language has hit upon the truth when it speaks of the `suppression'
(sub-pression, or pushing under) of such impulses. The psychic mechanism which
enables such suppressed wishes to force their way to realisation is retained in being and
in working order. But if it happens that such a suppressed wish is fulfilled, the
vanquished inhibition of the second system (which is capable of consciousness) is then
expressed as discomfort. And, in order to conclude this argument: If sensations of a
disagreeable character which originate from somatic sources are present during sleep, this
constellation is utilised by the dream-activity to procure the fulfilment -- with more or
less maintenance of the censorship -- of an otherwise suppressed wish.
This state of affairs makes possible a certain number of anxiety-dreams, while others of
these dream-formations which are unfavourable to the wish-theory exhibit a different
mechanism. For the anxiety in dreams may of course be of a psychoneurotic character,
originating in psychosexual excitation, in which case, the anxiety corresponds to
repressed libido. Then this anxiety, like the whole anxiety-dream, has the significance of
a neurotic symptom, and we stand at the dividing-line where the wish-fulfilling tendency
of dreams is frustrated. But in other anxiety-dreams the feeling of anxiety comes from
somatic sources (as in the case of persons suffering from pulmonary or cardiac trouble,
with occasional difficulty in breathing), and then it is used to help such strongly
suppressed wishes to attain fulfilment in a dream, the dreaming of which from psychic
motives would have resulted in the same release of anxiety. It is not difficult to reconcile
these two apparently contradictory cases. When two psychic formations, an affective
inclination and a conceptual content, are intimately connected, either one being actually
present will evoke the other, even in a dream; now the anxiety of somatic origin evokes
the suppressed conceptual content, now it is the released conceptual content,
accompanied by sexual excitement, which causes the release of anxiety. In the one case it
may be said that a somatically determined affect is psychically interpreted; in the other
case all is of psychic origin, but the content which has been suppressed is easily replaced
by a somatic interpretation which fits the anxiety. The difficulties which lie in the way of
understanding all this have little to do with dreams; they are due to the fact that in
discussing these points we are touching upon the problems of the development of anxiety
and of repression.
The general aggregate of bodily sensation must undoubtedly be included among the
dominant dream-stimuli of internal bodily origin. Not that it is capable of supplying the
dream-content; but it forces the dream-thoughts to make a choice from the material
destined to serve the purpose of representation in the dream-content, inasmuch as it
brings within easy reach that part of the material which is adapted to its own character,
and holds the rest at a distance. Moreover, this general feeling, which survives from the
preceding day, is of course connected with the psychic residues that are significant for the
dream. Moreover, this feeling itself may be either maintained or overcome in the dream,
so that it may, if it is painful, veer round into its opposite.
If the somatic sources of excitation during sleep -- that is, the sensations of sleep -- are
not of unusual intensity, the part which they play in dream-formation is, in my judgment,
similar to that of those impressions of the day which are still recent, but of no great
significance. I mean that they are utilised for the dream-formation if they are of such a
kind that they can be united with the conceptual content of the psychic dream-source, but
not otherwise. They are treated as a cheap ever-ready material, which can be used
whenever it is needed, and not as valuable material which itself prescribes the manner in
which it must be utilised. I might suggest the analogy of a connoisseur giving an artist a
rare stone, a piece of onyx, for example, in order that it may be fashioned into a work of
art. Here the size of the stone, its colour, and its markings help to decide what head or
what scene shall be represented; while if he is dealing with a uniform and abundant
material such as marble or sandstone, the artist is guided only by the idea which takes
shape in his mind. Only in this way, it seems to me, can we explain the fact that the
dream-content furnished by physical stimuli of somatic origin which are not unusually
accentuated does not make its appearance in all dreams and every night.4
Perhaps an example which takes us back to the interpretation of dreams will best
illustrate my meaning. One day I was trying to understand the significance of the
sensation of being inhibited, of not being able to move from the spot, of not being able to
get something done, etc., which occurs so frequently in dreams, and is so closely allied to
anxiety. That night I had the following dream: I am very incompletely dressed, and I go
from a flat on the ground-floor up a flight of stairs to an upper story. In doing this I jump
up three stairs at a time, and I am glad to find that I can mount the stairs so quickly.
Suddenly I notice that a servant-maid is coming down the stairs -- that is, towards me. I
am ashamed, and try to hurry away, and now comes this feeling of being inhibited; I am
glued to the stairs, and cannot move from the spot.
Analysis: The situation of the dream is taken from an everyday reality. In a house in
Vienna I have two apartments, which are connected only by the main staircase. My
consultation-rooms and my study are on the raised ground-floor, and my living-rooms are
on the first floor. Late at night, when I have finished my work downstairs, I go upstairs to
my bedroom. On the evening before the dream I had actually gone this short distance
with my garments in disarray -- that is, I had taken off my collar, tie and cuffs; but in the
dream this had changed into a more advanced, but, as usual, indefinite degree of undress.
It is a habit of mine to run up two or three steps at a time; moreover, there was a wishfulfilment
recognised even in the dream, for the ease with which I run upstairs reassures
me as to the condition of my heart. Further, the manner in which I run upstairs is an
effective contrast to the sensation of being inhibited, which occurs in the second half of
the dream. It shows me -- what needed no proof -- that dreams have no difficulty in
representing motor actions fully and completely carried out; think, for example, of flying
in dreams!
But the stairs up which I go are not those of my own house; at first I do not recognise
them; only the person coming towards me informs me of their whereabouts. This woman
is the maid of an old lady whom I visit twice daily in order to give her hypodermic
injections; the stairs, too, are precisely similar to those which I have to climb twice a day
in this old lady's house.
How do these stairs and this woman get into my dream? The shame of not being fully
dressed is undoubtedly of a sexual character; the servant of whom I dream is older than I,
surly, and by no means attractive. These questions remind me of the following incident:
When I pay my morning visit at this house I am usually seized with a desire to clear my
throat; the sputum falls on the stairs. There is no spittoon on either of the two floors, and I
consider that the stairs should be kept clean not at my expense, but rather by the
provision of a spittoon. The housekeeper, another elderly, curmudgeonly person, but, as I
willingly admit, a woman of cleanly instincts, takes a different view of the matter. She
lies in wait for me, to see whether I shall take the liberty referred to, and if she sees that I
do I can distinctly hear her growl. For days thereafter, when we meet, she refuses to greet
me with the customary signs of respect. On the day before the dream the housekeeper's
attitude was reinforced by that of the maid. I had just finished my usual hurried visit to
the patient when the servant confronted me in the ante-room, observing: `You might as
well have wiped your shoes today, doctor, before you came into the room. The red carpet
is all dirty again from your feet.' This is the only justification for the appearance of the
stairs and the maid in my dream.
Between my leaping upstairs and my spitting on the stairs there is an intimate connection.
Pharyngitis and cardiac troubles are both supposed to be punishments for the vice of
smoking, on account of which vice my own housekeeper does not credit me with
excessive tidiness, so that my reputation suffers in both the houses which my dream fuses
into one.
I must postpone the further interpretation of this dream until I can indicate the origin of
the typical dream of being incompletely clothed. In the meantime, as a provisional
deduction from the dream just related, I note that the dream-sensation of inhibited
movement is always aroused at a point where a certain connection requires it. A peculiar
condition of my motor system during sleep cannot be responsible for this dream-content,
since a moment earlier I found myself, as though in confirmation of this fact, skipping
lightly up the stairs.
1 This part has been omitted from this text. Those who have a special interest in the
subject may read the original translation published by Macmillan Co., New York, and
Allen & Unwin, London.
2 I would advise everyone to read the exact and detailed records (collected in two
volumes) of the dreams experimentally produced by Mourly Vold in order to convince
himself how little the conditions of the experiments help to explain the content of the
individual dream, and how little such experiments help us towards an understanding of
the problems of dreams.
3 The two sources from which I know of this dream do not entirely agree as to its content.
4 Rank has shown, in a number of studies, that certain awakening-dreams provoked by
organic stimuli (dreams of urination and ejaculation) are especially calculated to
demonstrate the conflict between the need for sleep and the demands of the organic need,
as well as the influence of the latter on the dream-content.