[523] Psychoanalysis today is as much a science as a technique. From the results of the technique there has grown up, in the course of the years, a new psychological science which could be called “analytical psychology.” I would willingly use Bleuler’s expression “depth psychology” instead, if this kind of psychology were concerned only with the unconscious.
[524] Psychologists and doctors in general are by no means conversant with this particular branch of psychology, owing to the fact that its technical foundations are as yet comparatively unknown to them. The main reason for this is that the new method is of an essentially psychological nature, and therefore belongs neither to the realm of medicine nor to that of philosophy. The medical man has, as a rule, but little knowledge of psychology, and the philosopher has no medical knowledge. Consequently, there is a lack of suitable soil in which to plant the spirit of this new method. Furthermore, the method itself appears to many persons so arbitrary that they cannot reconcile its use with their scientific conscience. The formulations of Freud, the founder of the method, laid great stress on the sexual factors; this aroused strong prejudice and repelled many scientific men. I need hardly remark that such an antipathy is not a logical reason for rejecting a new method. In psychoanalysis, moreover, there is much discussion of case-histories, but little discussion of principle. This, too, has naturally led to the method being little understood and therefore to its being regarded as unscientific. For if we do not acknowledge the scientific character of the method, we cannot acknowledge the scientific character of its results.
[525] Before discussing the principles of the psychoanalytic method, I must mention two common prejudices against it. The first is that psychoanalysis is nothing but a rather deep and complicated form of anamnesis. Now it is well known that an anamnesis is based on the statements made by the patient’s family, and on his own conscious self-knowledge in reply to direct questions. The psychoanalyst naturally makes his anamnesis as carefully as any other specialist. But this is merely the patient’s history and must not be confused with analysis. Analysis is the reduction of actual contents of consciousness, ostensibly of a fortuitous nature, to their psychological determinants. This process has nothing to do with the anamnestic reconstruction of the history of the illness.
[526] The second prejudice, which is based, as a rule, on a superficial knowledge of psychoanalytic literature, is that psychoanalysis is a method of suggestion, by which some kind of systematic teaching is instilled into the patient, thereby effecting a cure in the manner of mental healing or Christian Science. Many analysts, especially those who have practised psychoanalysis for a long time, previously used suggestion therapy, and therefore know very well what suggestion is and what it is not. They know that the psychoanalyst’s method of working is diametrically opposed to that of the hypnotist. In direct contrast with suggestion therapy, the psychoanalyst does not attempt to force anything on his patient which the latter does not see for himself and find plausible with his own understanding. Faced with the constant demand of the neurotic for suggestions and advice, the analyst just as constantly endeavours to get him out of this passive attitude and make him use his common sense and powers of criticism in order to equip him for an independent life. We have often been accused of forcing interpretations upon patients, interpretations that are often quite arbitrary. I wish one of these critics would try forcing arbitrary interpretations on my patients, who are very often persons of great intelligence and highly cultured—indeed, not infrequently my own colleagues. The impossibility of such an undertaking would quickly be demonstrated. In psychoanalysis we are entirely dependent on the patient and on his powers of judgment, for the reason that the very nature of analysis consists in leading him to a knowledge of himself. The principles of psychoanalysis are so utterly different from those of suggestion therapy that on this point the two methods cannot be compared.
[527] An attempt has also been made to compare psychoanalysis with the ratiocinative method of Dubois,2 which is an essentially rational procedure. But this comparison does not hold good, for the psychoanalyst strictly avoids reasoning and arguing with his patients. Naturally he has to listen to their conscious problems and conflicts and take note of them, but not for the purpose of fulfilling their desire to obtain advice or instruction with regard to the conduct of their lives. The problems of a neurotic cannot be solved by advice and conscious reasoning. I do not doubt that good advice at the right time can produce good results, but I do not know how anyone can believe that the psychoanalyst can always give the right advice at the right moment. The neurotic conflict is frequently, indeed usually, of such a nature that advice cannot possibly be given. Furthermore, it is well known that the patient only wants authoritative advice in order to shuffle off the burden of responsibility, referring himself and others to the opinion of a higher authority. So far as reasoning and persuasion are concerned, their effect as a method of therapy is as little to be doubted as that of hypnosis. What I would like to stress here is simply its difference in principle from psychoanalysis.
[528] In contradistinction to all previous methods, psychoanalysis endeavours to overcome the disorders of the neurotic psyche through the unconscious, and not from the conscious side. In this work we naturally have need of the patient’s conscious contents, for only in this way can we reach the unconscious. The conscious content from which our work starts is the material supplied by the anamnesis. In many cases the anamnesis provides useful clues which make the psychic origin of his symptoms clear to the patient. This, of course, is necessary only when he is convinced that his neurosis is organic in origin. But even in those cases where the patient is convinced from the start of the psychic nature of his illness, a critical survey of the anamnesis can be of advantage, for it discloses a psychological context of which he was unaware before. In this way problems that need special discussion are frequently brought to the surface. This work may occupy many sittings. Finally, the elucidation of the conscious material comes to an end when neither the analyst nor the patient can contribute anything further of decisive importance. In the most favourable cases the end comes with the formulation of the problem which, very often, proves insoluble.
[529] Let us take the case of a man who was once healthy but developed a neurosis between the ages of thirty-five and forty. His position in life was secure, and he had a wife and children. Parallel with his neurosis he developed an intense resistance to his professional work. He observed that the first symptoms of neurosis became noticeable when he had to overcome a particular difficulty in his career. Later they got worse with each successive difficulty that arose. Passing ameliorations occurred whenever fortune favoured him in his work. The problem that presented itself after a critical discussion of the anamnesis was as follows: the patient knew that he could improve his work and that the satisfaction resulting from this would bring about the much-desired improvement in his neurotic condition. But he was unable to do his work more efficiently because of his great resistance to it. This problem is rationally insoluble. Psychoanalytic treatment must therefore start at the critical point, his resistance to his work.
[530] Let us take another case. A woman of forty, mother of four children, became neurotic four years ago after the death of one of them. A new pregnancy, followed by the birth of another child, brought a great improvement in her condition. She now thought that if she could have yet another child she would be helped still further. She knew, however, that she could not have any more children, so she tried to devote her energies to philanthropic interests. But she failed to obtain the least satisfaction from this work. She noticed a distinct alleviation whenever she succeeded in giving real interest to something, however fleetingly, but she felt quite incapable of discovering anything that would bring her lasting interest and satisfaction. The rational insolubility of the problem is clear. Psychoanalytic work must begin with the question of what prevented the patient from developing any interest beyond her longing for a child.
[531] Since we cannot pretend that we know from the outset what the solution of such problems is, we have to rely on the clues furnished by the individuality of the patient. Neither conscious questioning nor rational advice can aid us in the discovery of these clues, for the obstacles which prevent us from finding them are hidden from the patient’s consciousness. There is, therefore, no clearly prescribed way of getting at the unconscious obstacles. The only rule that psychoanalysis lays down in this respect is: let the patient talk about anything that comes into his head. The analyst must observe carefully what the patient says and, to begin with, simply take note of it without attempting to force his own opinions upon him. We notice, for instance, that the first-named patient began by talking about his marriage, which we had been told was normal. We now learn that he has difficulties with his wife and does not understand her in the least. This prompts the analyst to remark that evidently the patient’s professional work is not his only problem, and that his relation to his wife also needs reviewing. This starts a train of associations all relating to the marriage. Then follow associations about the love-affairs he had before he was married. These experiences, recounted in detail, show that the patient was always rather peculiar in his more intimate relations with women, and that his peculiarity took the form of a childish egoism. This is a new and surprising point of view for him, and explains to him many of his misfortunes with women.
[532] We cannot in every case get as far as this on the principle of simply letting the patient talk; few patients have their psychic material so much on the surface. Furthermore, many patients have a real resistance against speaking freely about what occurs to them on the spur of the moment, some because it is too painful for them to tell it to an analyst whom they may not entirely trust, others because apparently nothing occurs to them and they force themselves to talk of things about which they are more or less indifferent. This trick of not talking to the point does not prove that the patient is consciously concealing certain painful contents; it can also occur quite unconsciously. In such cases it sometimes helps the patient to tell him that he need not force himself, but need only seize on the very first thoughts that come to him, no matter how unimportant or ridiculous they may seem. In certain cases even these instructions are of no use, and then the analyst has to resort to other measures. One of these is the association experiment, which usually gives apt information concerning the main tendencies of the patient at that moment.
[533] A second expedient is the analysis of dreams; this is the real instrument of psychoanalysis. We have already experienced so much opposition to dream analysis that a brief exposition of its principles may not be out of place. The interpretation of dreams, as well as the meaning given to them, is, as we know, in bad odour. It is not long since oneiromancy was practised and believed in; nor is the time long past when even the most enlightened persons were still under the spell of superstition. It is therefore comprehensible that our age should still entertain a lively fear of superstitions that have been only partially overcome. This nervousness in regard to superstition is largely responsible for the opposition to dream-interpretation, but psychoanalysis is in no way to blame for this. We select the dream as an object not because we pay it the homage of superstitious admiration, but because it is a psychic product that is independent of consciousness. We ask for the patient’s free associations, but he gives us little or nothing, or else something forced or irrelevant. A dream is a free association, a free fantasy, it is not forced, and is just as much a psychic phenomenon as an association.3
[534] I cannot disguise the fact that in practice, especially at the beginning of an analysis, we do not under all circumstances make complete and ideal analyses of the dreams. Usually we gather the dream-associations together until the problem which the patient is hiding from us becomes so clear that he can recognize it himself. This problem is then worked through consciously until it is cleared up as far as possible and we are once again confronted with an unanswerable question.
[535] You will now ask what is to be done when the patient does not dream at all. I can assure you that hitherto all patients, even those who claimed never to have dreamed before, began to dream when they went through analysis. On the other hand it frequently happens that patients who began by dreaming vividly are suddenly no longer able to remember their dreams. The empirical and practical rule which I have adopted is that the patient, if he does not dream, still has sufficient conscious material which he is keeping back for certain reasons. A common reason is: “I am in the analyst’s hands and am quite willing to be treated by him. But the analyst must do the work, I shall remain passive in the matter.” Sometimes there are resistances of a more serious nature. For instance, patients who cannot admit certain moral defects in themselves project them upon the analyst, calmly assuming that since he is more or less deficient morally they cannot communicate certain unpleasant things to him.
[536] If, then, a patient does not dream from the beginning or ceases to dream, he is keeping back material which would be capable of conscious elaboration. Here the relationship between analyst and patient may be considered one of the chief obstacles. It can prevent them both, the analyst as well as the patient, from seeing the situation clearly. We must not forget that as the analyst shows, and must show, a searching interest in the psychology of his patient, so the patient, if he has an active mind, feels his way into the psychology of the analyst and adopts a corresponding attitude towards him. The analyst is blind to the attitude of his patient to the exact extent that he does not see himself and his own unconscious problems. For this reason I maintain that a doctor must himself be analysed before he practises analysis. Otherwise analysis may easily be a great disappointment to him, because he can, under certain circumstances, get absolutely stuck and then lose his head. He is then readily inclined to assume that psychoanalysis is nonsense, so as to avoid having to admit that he has run his vessel aground. If you are sure of your own psychology you can confidently tell your patient that he does not dream because there is conscious material still to be dealt with. I say you must be sure of yourself at such moments, for the criticisms and unsparing judgments to which you sometimes have to submit can be excessively disturbing to one who is unprepared to meet them. The immediate consequence of the analyst’s losing his balance is that he begins to argue with his patient in order to maintain his influence over him. This, of course, renders all further analysis impossible.
[537] I have told you that, in the first instance, dreams need be used only as a source of material for analysis. At the beginning of an analysis it is not only unnecessary, but at times unwise, to give a so-called complete interpretation of a dream. A complete and really exhaustive interpretation is very difficult indeed. The interpretations you sometimes come across in the psychoanalytic literature are very often one-sided and, not infrequently, contestable formulations. I include among these the one-sided sexual reductions of the Viennese school. In view of the myriad-sidedness of the dream-material one must beware of all one-sided formulations. The many-sided meaning of a dream, rather than its singleness of meaning, is of the utmost value especially at the beginning of the treatment. Thus, a patient had the following dream not long after her treatment had begun. She was in a hotel in a strange city. Suddenly a fire broke out. Her husband and her father, who were with her, helped her in the rescue work.
[538] The patient was intelligent, extraordinarily sceptical, and absolutely convinced that dream-analysis was nonsense. I had the greatest difficulty in inducing her to give it even one trial. I selected the fire, the most conspicuous event in the dream, as the starting-point for associations. The patient informed me that she had recently read in the newspapers that a certain hotel in Zurich had been burnt down; that she remembered the hotel because she had once stayed there. At the hotel she had made the acquaintance of a man, and from this a somewhat questionable love-affair developed. In connection with this story the fact came out that she had already had quite a number of similar adventures, all of them decidedly frivolous. This important bit of past history was brought out by the very first association. In her case it would have been pointless to make clear to her the very obvious meaning of the dream. With her frivolous attitude, of which her scepticism was only a special instance, she would have coldly repelled such an attempt. But after the frivolity of her attitude had been recognized and demonstrated to her from the material she herself had furnished, it was possible to analyse the dreams which followed much more thoroughly.
[539] It is, therefore, advisable in the beginning to use dreams for getting at the critical material through their associations. This is the best and most cautious procedure, especially for the beginner in psychoanalysis. An arbitrary translation of the dreams is exceedingly inadvisable. That would be a superstitious practice based on the assumption that dreams have well-established symbolic meanings. But there are no fixed symbolic meanings. There are certain symbols that recur frequently, but we are not in a position to get beyond very general statements. For instance, it is quite incorrect to assume that a snake, when it appears in dreams, always has a merely phallic meaning; just as incorrect as it is to deny that it may have a phallic meaning in some cases. Every symbol has at least two meanings. The very frequent sexual meaning of dream-symbols is at most one of them. I cannot, therefore, accept the exclusively sexual interpretations which appear in certain psychoanalytic publications, as little as I can accept the interpretation of dreams as wish-fulfilments, for my experience has led me to regard these formulations as one-sided and inadequate. As an example I will tell you a very simple dream of a young man, a patient of mine. It was as follows: I was going up a flight of stairs with my mother and sister. When we reached the top I was told that my sister was going to have a baby.
[540] First I will show how, in accordance with the hitherto prevailing point of view, this dream may be translated sexually. We know that incest fantasies play a prominent role in the life of a neurotic, hence the image “with my mother and sister” could be understood as a hint in this direction. “Stairs” are alleged to have a well-established sexual meaning: they represent the sexual act because of the rhythmic climbing. The baby the sister is expecting is nothing but the logical consequence of these premises. Thus translated, the dream would be a clear fulfilment of so-called infantile wishes, which, as you know, are an important part of Freud’s dream-theory.
[541] I have analysed this dream on the basis of the following reasoning. If I say that stairs are a symbol for the sexual act, by what right do I take the mother and sister and baby as real, that is, not symbolically? If, on the strength of the assertion that dream-images are symbolic, I assign a symbolic value to certain of these images, what right have I to exempt certain others? If I attach a symbolic value to the ascent of the stairs, I must also attach a symbolic value to the images called mother, sister, and baby. I therefore did not “translate” the dream but really analysed it. The result was surprising. I will give you the patient’s associations to the individual dream-images word for word, so that you can form your own opinion of the material. I should say in advance that the young man had finished his studies at the university a few months previously, that he had found the choice of a profession too difficult to make, and that he there upon became neurotic. In consequence of this he gave up his work. His neurosis took, among other things, a manifestly homosexual form.
[542] His associations to mother were as follows: “I have not seen her for a long time, a very long time. I must really reproach myself for this, it is wrong of me to neglect her so.”
[543] Mother, then, stands for something that is neglected in an irresponsible manner. I asked the patient: “What is that?” and he replied, with considerable embarrassment: “My work.”
[544] Associations to sister: “It is years since I have seen her. I long to see her again. Whenever I think of her I always remember the moment I said good-bye. I kissed her with real affection, and at that moment I understood for the first time what love for a woman can mean.” It was at once clear to the patient that “sister” stood for “love for a woman.”
[545] Associations to stairs: “Climbing up—getting to the top—making a career—growing up, becoming great.”
[546] Associations to baby: “Newborn—renewal—rebirth—becoming a new man.”
[547] One has only to hear this material to understand at once that the dream represents not so much the fulfilment of infantile wishes as the fulfilment of biological duties which the patient has neglected because of his neurotic infantilism. Biological justice, which is inexorable, often compels us to make up in dreams for the duties we have neglected in real life.
[548] This dream is a typical example of the prospective and finally-oriented function of dreams in general, especially stressed by my colleague Maeder. If we adhered to a one-sided sexual interpretation the real meaning of the dream would escape us. Sexuality in dreams is, in the first instance, a means of expression and by no means always the meaning and aim of the dream. The discovery of its prospective or final meaning is particularly important when the analysis is so far advanced that the eyes of the patient are turned more readily to the future than to his inner world and the past.
[549] As regards the handling of the symbolism, we learn from this example that there can be no dream-symbols whose meanings are fixed in every detail, but, at most, a frequent occurrence of symbols with fairly general meanings. So far as the specifically sexual meaning of dreams is concerned, experience has led me to lay down the following practical rules:
[550] If dream-analysis at the beginning of the treatment shows that the dreams have an undoubtedly sexual meaning, this meaning is to be taken realistically; that is, it proves that the sexual problems of the patient need to be subjected to a careful review. For instance, if an incest fantasy is clearly shown to be a latent content of the dream, one must subject the patient’s infantile relations with his parents and brothers and sisters, as well as his relations with other persons who are fitted to play the role of father or mother, to a thorough investigation. But if a dream that comes at a later stage of the analysis has, let us say, an incest fantasy as its essential content—a fantasy that we have reason to consider disposed of—concrete value should not under all circumstances be attached to it; it should be regarded as symbolic. The formula for interpretation is: the unknown meaning of the dream is expressed, by analogy, through a fantasy of incest. In this case symbolic and not real value must be attached to the sexual fantasy. If we did not get beyond the real value we should keep reducing the patient to sexuality, and this would arrest the progress of the development of his personality. The patient’s salvation does not lie in thrusting him back again and again into primitive sexuality; this would leave him on a low cultural level whence he could never obtain freedom and complete restoration to health. Retrogression to a state of barbarism is no advantage at all for a civilized human being.
[551] The above-mentioned formula, according to which the sexuality of a dream is a symbolic or analogical expression of its meaning, naturally applies also to dreams occurring at the beginning of an analysis. But the practical reasons that have impelled us not to take the symbolic value of these sexual fantasies into consideration arise from the fact that a genuine realistic value must be attached to the abnormal sexual fantasies of a neurotic in so far as he allows his actions to be influenced by them. The fantasies not only hinder him in adapting better to his situation, they also lead him to all manner of real sexual acts, and occasionally even to incest, as experience shows. Under these circumstances, it would be of little use to consider the symbolic content only; the concrete aspect must be first dealt with.
[552] These statements are based, as you will have observed, on a different conception of the dream from that put forward by Freud. Indeed, experience has forced a different conception upon me. For Freud, the dream is essentially a symbolic disguise for repressed wishes which would come into conflict with the aims of the personality. I am obliged to regard the structure of a dream from a different point of view. For me the dream is, in the first instance, a subliminal picture of the actual psychological situation of the individual in his waking state. It gives us a résumé of the subliminal associative material constellated by the psychological situation of the moment. The volitional content of the dream, which Freud calls the repressed wish, is for me essentially a means of expression.
[553] The activity of consciousness represents, biologically speaking, the individual’s struggle for psychological adaptation. Consciousness tries to adjust itself to the necessities of the moment, or, to put it differently: there are tasks ahead which the individual must overcome. In many cases the solution is, in the nature of things, unknown, for which reason consciousness always tries to find the solution by way of analogous experiences. We try to grasp the unknown future on the model of our experience in the past. We have no reason to suppose that the subliminal psychic material obeys other laws than the “supraliminal” material. The unconscious, like the conscious, mobilizes itself round the biological tasks and seeks solutions on the analogy of what has gone before, just as consciousness does. Whenever we wish to assimilate something unknown, we do so by means of analogy. A simple example of this is the well-known fact that when America was discovered by the Spaniards the Indians took the horses of the conquerors, which were unknown to them, for large pigs, because only pigs were familiar in their experience. This is the way we always recognize things, and it is also the essential reason for the existence of symbolism: it is a process of comprehension by means of analogy. The dream is a subliminal process of comprehension by analogy. The apparently repressed wishes are volitional tendencies which supply the unconscious dream-thought with a verbal means of expression. On this particular point I find myself in entire agreement with the views of Adler, another pupil of Freud’s. As to the fact that the unconscious expresses itself by means of volitional elements or tendencies, this is due to the archaic nature of dream-thinking, a problem I have discussed elsewhere.4
[554] Owing to our different conception of the structure of dreams, the further course of analysis assumes a rather different aspect. The symbolic evaluation of sexual fantasies in the later stages necessarily leads, not to a reduction of the personality to primitive tendencies, but to a broadening and continuous development of the patient’s attitude; that is, it tends to make his thinking richer and deeper, thus giving him what has always been one of man’s most powerful weapons in the struggle for adaptation. By following this new course consistently, I have come to the realization that the religious and philosophical driving forces—what Schopenhauer calls the “metaphysical need” of man—must receive positive consideration during the analytical work. They must not be destroyed by reducing them to their primitive sexual roots, but made to serve biological ends as psychologically valuable factors. In this way these driving forces assume once more the function that has been theirs from time immemorial.
[555] Just as primitive man was able, with the help of religious and philosophical symbols, to free himself from his original condition, so too the neurotic can free himself from his illness. It is hardly necessary for me to remark that I do not mean inoculating him with belief in a religious or philosophical dogma; I mean simply that there must be built up in him that same psychological attitude which was characterized by the living belief in a religious or philosophical dogma on earlier levels of culture. A religious or philosophical attitude is not the same thing as belief in a dogma. A dogma is a temporary intellectual formulation, the outcome of a religious and philosophical attitude conditioned by time and circumstances. But the attitude itself is a cultural achievement; it is a function that is exceedingly valuable from a biological point of view, for it gives rise to incentives that drive human beings to do creative work for the benefit of a future age and, if necessary, to sacrifice themselves for the welfare of the species.
[556] Thus man attains the same sense of unity and wholeness, the same confidence, the same capacity for self-sacrifice in his conscious existence that belong unconsciously and instinctively to wild animals. Every reduction, every digression from the path that has been laid down for the development of civilization, does nothing more than turn the human being into a crippled animal; it never makes a so-called natural man of him. I have had numerous successes and failures in the course of my analytical practice which have convinced me of the inexorable rightness of this kind of psychological orientation. We do not help the neurotic by relieving him of the demands made by civilization; we can help him only by inducing him to take an active part in the strenuous work of carrying on its development. The suffering he undergoes in performing this service takes the place of his neurosis. But whereas the neurosis and the troubles that attend it are never followed by the pleasant feeling of good work well done, of duty fearlessly performed, the suffering that comes from useful work and from victory over real difficulties brings with it those moments of peace and satisfaction which give the human being the priceless feeling that he has really lived his life.