A RECENT article by Brill, entitled "Artificial Dreams and Lying,"[1] recalled to me a little work I did two years ago while engaged in making an introductory study of dreams as a thesis at Clark University. The part which is hereby submitted is a fragment of a larger work and, being only a sort of side issue, was never included in the thesis proper. I have made only such changes as were made necessary by the fact that this is a fragment and needed one or two minor changes to make it complete.
[1] Journal Abnormal Psychology, Vol. 9, No. 5.
Let me say at the beginning that I have the greatest and most profound respect for Freudian theories as interpreted by G. Stanley Hall and other men of like scholarly ability, but I have never been able to accept the more extreme form of Freudianism as interpreted by some of the most prolific writers in this field. I have found that the charges made by Habermann[2] are substantially true. I find it very helpful indeed, to try to interpret my own dreams and to assist some of my students to do so according to the Freudian formula, and to a certain point I believe these interpretations are undoubtedly true. The question is to find the point beyond which the interpretation becomes artificial. Personally, I believe that this will always have to be decided finally by the individual himself rather than by some outsider who insists on reading in a certain interpretation. I have come to believe that it is possible for one to become trained to the point at which he is able to decide just how far the interpretation goes, or, at least, to approximate it.
[2] Journal Abnormal Psychology, Vol. 9, No. 4.
With these few introductory remarks I shall submit the paper, which was written in 1912. I have not appended the rather long and cumbersome bibliography from which I drew these references, but I can supply any reference that is wanted.
If we examine the Freudian system, we find that it is impossible to disprove this theory of dreams. If we demonstrate that a dream has no sexual connection whatever, they have only to say that it is the censor that blinds, and, by resorting to symbolism and other such very present helps in time of trouble, they show plainly that we were mistaken. The situation is the same as it would be if I declared that what I saw as blue appeared yellow to the rest of the world. The disproof of this and of Freudianism are equally impossible. But, on the other hand, have the Freudians presented any proof or argument on the affirmative side of this question? They are over fond of saying, "Freud has proven thus and so," but in what did the proof consist? The great answer to all objections has been to analyze dreams and, so far as I know, the attempt has never failed to show that the dream in question conformed to the prescribed requirements. And in truth, it is not a difficult matter to analyze a dream a la Freud. After a little practice, especially if one has a vivid imagination and is somewhat suggestible, It is possible to find the repressed sexual wish in every dream. But if we use such flexible and wonderful factors as the four mechanisms, and, above all, symbolism, we can find the same things in any other experience. By this I mean that if we take a bit out of our daily life, a dream of some one else, a fictitious story, an historical incident, or any other pictured situation and PRETEND THAT IT IS ONE OF OUR OWN DREAMS and apply the Freudian analysis, we find that it serves for this purpose as well as a real dream. When this is the case, it is absurd to put any faith in the analysis of real dreams, when carried to extremes.
As an illustration of the above statement, the following is a fairly typical example. The supposed "dream" is a commonplace bit out of my daily life. This is chosen at random (although Jones would say such a thing is impossible) and subjected to a dream analysis.
ANALYSIS OF FALSE DREAM
Dream. I was walking along a street on a cold winter night. I looked down at the cement walk and in this was set a piece of granite on which the letters "W. H." were cut. Coming to the corner, I looked up and saw on a short board which was nailed to a post, the name of the street, "Queen Street," The street running at right angles to this was King Street, and I turned and went down this. After walking a short distance, I came to a house from a window of which a light was shining. The house number was "23." I took a key from my pocket, unlocked the door and entered.
Analysis. In attempting to analyze this (so-called) dream, I was amazed to find with how many past longings and emotionally-colored experiences it was associated. I first took up the letters on the sidewalk, and as I repeated them, letting my mind be as blank as possible in order that the associations might be free, I gained an immediate response. "W. H."—"Which House"—came out as in answer to a question. With these words there was a definite visual image of a young country farm youth standing talking to two persons in a buggy. I remembered the incident in all its details. I was the young man and these people were asking the way to a certain place, or at WHICH HOUSE they should stop. As it so happened, I was at that time keeping company with a young lady who lived at the very house concerning which they asked. I will not go into detail any further at this point, for this is a real case and I should be trespassing on personal ground. But any one who yet remembers his boyhood courtship, with all its agonies and fears, its hopes and joys, its disappointments and its pleasures, can see at a glance how important this occasion is in throwing light on the meaning of the dream. Of course "W. H." stood for "Which House."