Dream-Analysis in Its Practical Application, Carl G. Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul, p. 1–5, [Commentaries]
The use of dream-analysis in psychotherapy is still a much-debated question. Many practicioners find it indispensable in the treatment of neuroses, and ascribe as much importance to the psychic activity manifested in dreams as to counsciousness itself. Others, on the contrary, dispute the value of dream-analysis, and regard dreams as a negligible by-product of the psyche.
Obviously, if a person holds the view that the unconscious plays a leading role in the formation of neuroses, he will attribute practical significance to dreams as direct expressions of the unconscious. If, on the other hand, he denies the unconscious or thinks that it has no part in the development of neuroses, he will minimize the importance of dream-analysis. It is regrettable that in this year of grace 1931, more than half a century since Carus formulated the concept of the unconscious, over a century since Kant spoke of the “immeasurable… field of obscure ideas,” and nearly two hundred years since Leibniz postulated an unconscious psychic activity, not to mention the achievements of Janet, Flournoy and Freud — that after all this, the actuality of the unconscious should still be a matter for controversy. Since it is my intention to deal exclusively with questions of practical treatment, I will not attempt in this place a defence of the hypothesis. Without it the dream appears to be merely a freak of nature, a meaningless conglomerate of memory-fragments left over from the happenings of the day. Were the dream nothing more than this, there would be no excuse for the present discussion. We must recognize the unconscious if we are to treat of dream-analysis at all, for we do not resort to it as a mere exercise of the wits, but as a method for uncovering hitherto unconscious psychic contents which are causally related to the neurosis and therefore of importance in its treatment. Anyone who deems this hypothesis unacceptable must simply rule out the question of the practicability of dream-analisys.
But since, according to our hypothesis, the unconscious plays a causal part in the neurosis, and since dreams are the direct expression of unconscious psychic activity, the attempt to analyse and interpret dreams is entirely justified from a scientific standpoint. Quite apart from therapeutic results, we may expect this line of endeavour to give us scientific insight into psychic causality. For the practitioner, however, scientific discoveries can at most be a gratifying by-product of his efforts in the field of therapy. He will not feel called upon to apply dream-analysis to his patients on the chance that it may throw light upon the problem of psychic causality. He may believe, of course, that the insight so gained is of therapeutic value — in which case he will regard dream-analysis as one of his professional duties. It is well known that the Freudian school is of the opinion that important therapeutic effects are achieved by throwing light upon the unconscious causal factors — that is, by explaining them to the patient and thus making him conscious of the sources of his trouble.
If we assume, for the time being, that this expectation is borne out by the facts, we can restrict ourselves to the questions whether or not dream-analysis enables us to discover the unconscious causes of the neurosis, and whether it can do this unaided, or must be used in conjunction with other methods. The Freudian answer, I may assume, is common knowledge. My own experience confirms this view inasmuch as I have found that dreams not infrequently bring to light in a unmistakable way the unconscious contents that are causal factors in a neurosis. Most often it is the inital dreams that do this — I mean, those dreams that a patient reports as the very outset of a treatment. [As we may clearly observe in “The Sopranos”]. An illustration will perhaps be helpful.
I was consulted by a man who held a prominent position in the world. He was afflicted with a sense of anixety and insecutiry, and complained of dizziness sometimes resulting in nausea, of a heavy head and difficulty in breathing — this being an exact description of the symptoms of mountain-sickness. He had had an unsually successful career, and had risen, with the help of ambition, industry and native talent, from a humble origin as the son of a poor peasant. Step by step he had climbed, attaining at last an important post that offered him every opportunity for further social advancement. He had actually reached a place in life from which he could have begun his ascent into the upper regions, when suddenly his neurosis intervened. At this point of his story the patient could not refrain from that stereotyped exclamation which begins with the familiar words: “And just now, when I…” The fact that he had all the symptoms of mountain-sickness was highly appropriate to the pecualiar situation in which he found himself. He had brought with him to the consultation two dreams of the preceding night.
The first dream was as follows: “I am once more in the small village where I was born. Some peasant boys who went to school with me are standing together in the street. I walk past them, pretending not to know them. I hear one of them, who is pointing at me, say: ‘He doesn’t often come back to our village.’” No tricks of interpretation are needed to recognize and to understand the allusion to the humble beginnings of the dreamer’s career. The dream says quite clearly: “You forget how far down you began.”
Here is the second dream: “I am in a great hurry because I am going on a journey. I hunt up my baggage, but cannot find it. Time flies, and the train will soon be leaving. Finally I succeed in getting all my things together. I hurry along the street, discover that I have forgotten a brief-case containg important papers, dash breathlessly back gain, find it at last, and then run towards the station, but make hardly any headway. With a final effort I rush on the platform only to find the train steaming out into the yards. It is very long, and runs in a curious S-shaped curve. It occurs to me that if the driver is not careful, and puts on full steam when he come to the straight stretch, the rear coaches will still be on the curve and will be thrown over by the speed of the train. As a matter of fact the driver opens the throttle as I try to shout. The rear coaches rock frightfully, and are actually thrown off the rails. There is a terrible catastrophe. I awake in terror.”
Here, too, we can understand without much diffulty the situation represented by the dream. It pictures the patient’s frantic haste to advance hilsemf still further. [Is it? Don’t know. Didn’t analyze him.] Since the driver at the front of the train goes thoughtlessly ahead, the coaches behind him rock and finally overturn — that is, a neurosis is developed. It is clear that, at this period of life, the patient had reached the highest point of his career — that the effort of the long ascent from his lowly origin had exhausted his strenght. He should have contented himself with his achievements, but instead he is driven by his ambition to attempt to scale heights of success for which he is not fitted. The neurosis came upon him as a warning. Circumstances prevented my treating the patient, and my view of his case did not satisfy him. The upshot was that events ran their course in the way indicated by the dream. He tried to exploit the professional openings that tempted his ambition and ran so violently off the track that the train-wreck was realized in actual life. The patient’s anamnesis permitted the inference that the mountain-sickness pointed to his inability to climb any further. The inference is confirmed by his dreams which present this inability as a fact. [Do they? Confirm?].
We here come upon a characteristic of dreams that must take first place in any discussion of the applicability of dream-analysis to the treatment of neuroses. The dream gives a true picture of the subjective state, while the conscious mind denies that this state exists, or recognizes it only grudgingly. The patient’s conscious ego could see no reason why he should not go steadily forward; he continued his struggle for advancement, refusing to admit the fact which subsequent events made all too plain — that he was actually at the end of his tether.
When, in such cases, we listen to the dictates of the conscious mind, we are always in doubt.
We can draw opposite conclusions from the patient’s anamnesis. After all, the private soldier may carry a marshal’s baton in his knapsack, and many a son of poor parents has achieved the highest success.
Why should it not be so in my patient’s case?
Since my judgement is fallible, why should my own conjecture be more dependable than his?
At this point the dream comes in as the expression of an involutary psychic process not controlled by the conscious outlook. It presents the subjective state as it really is. It has no respect for my conjectures or for the patient’s views as to how things should be, but simply tells how the matter stands. I have therefore made it a rule to put dreams on a plane with psysiological fact.
If sugar appears in the urine, then the urine contains sugar, and not albumen or urobilin or something else that I may have been led to expect. This is to say that I take dreams as facts that are invaluable for diagnosis. [I get it, but still… There’s something left out. But, I get, I see it. I don’t know what it is but… I see it].
