"The Inner Voice" Chapter 4 A Serenade

Chapter Four: A Serenade

The great German writer Gsthold Ephraim Lessing said two hundred years ago that if a man has not "lost" his mind ("madness" in some cases), he has no "heart" to lose. If we don't think and act like crazy people occasionally, then we really don't dare to say whether we are "normal people" or not, whether we will think and act like rational people. In the dream, we go back to the way of thinking that we have given up a long time ago, to the emotions that we no longer feel when we are awake. From the dream, we reveal the news of the events that are happening within us, and these events are happening that we are not aware of. While life goes on as usual during the day, but as we sleep we experience exciting things, the "second cycle of nature"—as the psalmist called sleep—is more than comforting us and helping us forget our worries. More than twenty years ago, the Viennese physician may have been right: he proved that the poet we call Shakespeare suffered from insomnia; no one admired sleep as much as he did, saying that sleep was "an analgesic for a wounded heart." ”

Freud repeatedly said that his analysis of his dreams gave him the deepest insight into his emotional life. Psychoanalysts had to follow the guru. When he examines his dreams, he discovers his secrets, which were hidden. He would also discover how thin the distinction between him, the reasonable, law-abiding citizen of the modern cultural model, and the madman, the criminal, and the barbarian, was merely a thin sheet of teak wood set on the outside of rough furniture. In the mirror of "dream", he can see his face and his characteristics more than in any mirror. Under this magnifying glass, he sees a part of himself, and "Dream Analysis" is a magnifying glass that allows him to see hidden thoughts and emotions. Dreams are part of his life, just as daytime experiences and events are part of his life—and sometimes even his real life.

Freud repeatedly emphasized that the interpretation of dreams was a turning point that transformed psychoanalysis from a method of psychotherapeutics into a psychology of depth. He also believes that the study of dreams is the best way to understand the mental program of neurosis. Dreams are pathological phenomena of normal people, "the first chain link of the system that leads to hysteria, the idea of expulsion and madness". In 1932 Freud wrote, "Psychoanalysts seem to feel that they have nothing to add to dreams, as if the doctrine of dreams is over." This statement, which Freud emphasized, is rather surprising. Yet there is something true about this statement. But ever since Freud discovered the greatest secret of dreams, has there been nothing new for us to discover? I don't believe there isn't. There are many things that remain unanswered about dreams: for example, how does it relate to the dreamer's true purpose? What does the thought before going to bed have to do with the underlying content in the dream? What is the similarity between dreams and artistic imaginations? How does vision in dreams relate to the mental system of a psychopath? There are also many problems.

I really think that the psychology of dreams has been so unfulfilled in the last twenty-five years because psychoanalysts are reluctant to explain and publish their own dreams. It seems that we are too reserved to talk about what we have dreamed of ourselves, nor to explain the meaning of our dreams. Ever since Freud published his interpretation of his dreams, analysts have published no more than ten fingers of this type. We ask our patients to be morally courageous and sincere, but why don't we set a good example ourselves? There should be no double standards here. If our self-disclosure causes us to lose their trust, then the trust we originally received from them is a fraud, something they do not want to give. If we lose their respect by talking about our subconscious minds, then they respect us only because they misread us.

Things are always bad before they improve, but here are two of my own dreams, analyzed, and perhaps used as a pioneer in improvement. There is nothing surprising about the content and interpretation of this dream. But some of their qualities give me enough reason to make them public, and that is, from a psychoanalytic point of view, there is nothing peculiar about their content. Other characteristics relate to the emotional composition of dreams, the particular way in which they are interpreted, and the psychological conclusions that come from this interpretation. Another special place is the time between the two dreams — about twenty years. As far as I know, it is the first example of two dreams that are so long apart by the same person. Perhaps they contribute a little to the small question of how personality, after so long of change, affects the subconscious level of the dreamer. Due to the length of the article, I can only limit the explanation to the central part.

The time of the first dream was in September 1926. The content is as follows: I saw myself standing in front of the judge and I made a remarkable reply. I was charged with murder; I did commit the crime.

The emotions in the dream are not all anxiety, remorse, or frustration. When I woke up, I remember getting up from my chair in a dream, and there was a great sense of salvation and relief the moment I began to speak. This emotion made me feel strange, this emotion was so incompatible with the situation at that time. After the dream was over, I stayed in bed half asleep and half awake for a few minutes. (As I wrote these lines, a few strange words burst into my mind: "in after-enjoyment") as if I were going to recapture the dream, but I didn't consciously want to do so. In my half-sleep state, two sentences of my dream speech penetrated into the level of consciousness. The first sentence is the salutation: "Your Excellency, The Judge!" Jury ladies! The second sentence—apparently detached from an unknown speech—is a perfectly clear sentence which I like in my recollection: "In my life I have done many things that I am ashamed of—and I consider myself the same of every gentleman—but none of which is necessary to be ashamed." In my recollection, I seem to be playing with the dramatic effects of these two passages: "Ashamed" and "Despicable," as if an actor were reciting a line.

As I have already said, this dream is not peculiar in mental analysis. I bring it up because the process of interpretation is quite interesting. I never consciously tried to explain the dream; it could be said that it was explained by itself. This happened like this: A year after this dream happened, I often think of it. There seems to be no reason why I think of it at some point, it seems that there is only a memory to remind me of something. Superstitious people, or dream interpreters who pretend to be scientific but actually superstitious, will say that such dreams have a prophetic nature. But after analyzing it, it can be seen that it does not have such propheticity at all.

Fragmentary analyses of this dream came out of nowhere. In the months that followed, whenever the dream was recalled, an idea was followed by an idea, and the idea always brought a certain part of the meaning of the dream to the surface. It's like an object that has been sinking in a lake for a long time floats to the surface of the water and can be caught. I would like to add a few additional words about this intermittent dream memory. The generation of these memories does not seem to have anything to do with my thoughts and situation before they were produced. So why did they appear unexpectedly at that time? They appear when the meaning of a certain part suddenly becomes apparent, as if a curtain had been drawn. Sometimes, dreams are remembered in their entirety. At this time, there is no insight into the meaning of the dream, but it is only like meeting an acquaintance. By the last few months of the second year, when the dream came back to the mind, there was very little element of vision, and the accompanying emotions met the deceased: "Ah, the dream of the impulse to repent." (I gave it that name in my mind.) When I see this dream rise to the level of consciousness, I always feel like stealing it, as if I were reliving a daydream that I had previously indulged in. The content of the dream is very incompatible with the accompanying emotions, this is true when dreaming, and it is also true when recalling.

The recollection of this dream is not of a compulsive nature. These memories never drove me, but just followed me. Every time I remember, it was only a few minutes away. In these few short minutes, some ideas will arise, and when they accumulate later, they will be like a jigsaw puzzle, piecing together the interpretation of the dream. This kind of memory is different from another kind of dream memory that everyone knows, and the latter one is the dream that penetrates into the life after waking up from the dream, sometimes for hours, sometimes even for a few days, and seems to become a part of daytime life. This thought of the dream has similarities to everyday thought. In my intermittent recollections of this dream, the situation was different. It was meant to remind me of something that was important to me.

I never wanted to explain this dream, nor did I consciously turn my attention to it. Therefore, my interest in it is self-conscious and "involuntary".

A few days before the dream, something related to it was this: At dusk I read an article, "Psychoanalysis and Criminal Law," which a law lecturer at the university had written to review one of my books, "The Call for Repentance and the Need for Punishment," which had been published in the first year. The critic praised the book, but his admiration did not impress me, because he misunderstood me and denounced the most important parts of the book. In the book, I propose the "unconscious compulsion to confess"; I propose that the unconscious feels a force to repent, to confess, to confess, to reveal oneself, and the implications of this theory are not clear; I argue that certain crimes are committed by unconscious guilt before (rather than after); commentators deny this. When I came back from reading this article from the university library that night, I was so angry that I became at war with this teaching, and I resented that he had underestimated the importance of my book. I don't think there's any value in arguing scientifically, but I have a bad habit of arguing with my opponents in my heart. In this imaginary argument, I claim to be very wise, quick, and resourceful; in short, I have the characteristics that I do not have at all in real life. When I saw my enemies in my imagination, I also displayed eloquent genius, rich in rhetoric, sharp, and logically rigorous. I knocked him all out with irresistible arguments; I overthrew him with sharp sarcasm, and I hurt him the most vulnerable places with extremely delicate cruel words—all things I would never do in a real discussion. When I am attacked by him, when my self-esteem is hurt, I especially have the wisdom of the aftermath, which is the wonderful thought that comes to mind only when I leave a banquet or seminar, which is what French aptly described as "cleverness down the stairs". Whenever I'm attacked, I almost always can't immediately prompt a counterattack, but it's hard to forget. So I developed such a reaction of making amends, and I found great satisfaction in the imaginary act of revenge.

Sometimes it's not just imaginary. I have never understood why the Jewish, Christian God said that revenge is a matter of his management. When a person is hurt intentionally and maliciously, the feeling of revenge is almost irrepressible, unless it is Superman. If we understand why we are hurting others, we sometimes feel easier to forgive, but it is easier to forgive ourselves for the harm we have caused to others. Madame de Stas famously said, "To know everything is to forgive everything"; it seems to me that this is a feminine saying, and it is untrue. In 1893, when the German explorer Karl von der Steinen was studying indigenous languages in Central Brazil, he found that they did not have the equivalent of "forgiveness." He put a lot of effort into explaining to them. Finally, the oldest man in the clan, after much thought, thought that the best translation of "I forgive" was "I fight back."

I didn't know at the time that my dream was caused by reading this article on Law Award B. A few months after reading this article, another seminar was held at the Vienna Psychoanalytic Association to discuss my book. In the middle of the seminar, I remembered the dream again, and I suddenly understood the meaning of the dream- it represented the fulfillment of wishes. As for the other components of this dream, they have been analyzed earlier.

Penal and Legal Psychology, B, once said in his comments that he doubted whether unconscious guilt would have such a compulsive nature, and whether this increase in guilt would be enough to lead to the commission of murder (these theories I proposed in the book). On this point, other people in Vienna were also debating it at the time – some of my peers criticized me for not making this point correct, and their attitude made me feel incorrect. It was 1926, and the idea that unconscious guilt could lead to criminal motives and actions was still new.

From this, I learned the hidden meaning of dreams. I stood before the judge; I myself had committed murder; I defended myself. This means that I must know what the emotional process of the murderer looks like, because I killed people myself, and I myself became the object of my psychological research. I can therefore make a well-founded report to those who criticize me, the veracity of which is not suspicious, because it comes from my own heart. I am now a criminal, and I can prove to them that the emotional processes described in my book are all real—the anxiety and suspense that preceded the crime, the sense of guilt that drives the crime, the sense of relief in the crime—all as depicted in my book. I know better than you all, for I am the murderer; the theory in my book is correct, and my opponent is wrong.

I was not surprised to find in the depths of my soul the possibility of killing. Didn't John Bradford say this when he saw a murderer being taken to execution? " Bradford didn't go down this path just a matter of good faith. "Most psychologists, judges and prosecutors think they don't have this tendency, but they're just God forbid.

From this point of view, this dream was formed out of an attempt to prove to the critics that I was right and that they were wrong. On a conscious level, I didn't feel like I wanted to kill anyone. The psychology center of this dream is not murder, but the hope of proving that my psychological theory is correct, that it is in line with the real emotions at the time of the crime. It is also for this reason that I do not feel fear and remorse in my dreams, that I do not fear conviction. It was as if I was determined to be free from homicide. What's more, this murder I committed was not only not my punishment, but brought me victory. But is there really nothing hidden in this corner?

In my recollection, the emotion in the dream was the eagerness to give my great speech in front of the jury. I am finally going to defend myself before a judge, to prove that I am right, to express my resentment toward my critics. This is, of course, the main reason, but beyond this scholarly concern there is something hidden—when we trace these impulses deep into the unconscious, we find a desire to kill, to kill those who criticize me, including the kind teacher B and the lesser-than-kind colleagues of the Vienna Psychoanalytic Association. I ignored—at least subconsciously—their admiration for my book; they only adopted a critical attitude toward a certain part of my book, and I reacted with the desire to kill. When I was awake, I felt only slight chagrin. I was taken aback when I learned that the resentment shown in my dreams was so intense.

Twenty-five years later, when I look back on this dream, I realize that this reaction to my critics is part of my personality, no matter how much I control it and hide it in my life. The meaning of that dream was tantamount to my fantasy of taking revenge on someone who wanted to humiliate me. In my opinion, this kind of fantasy has psychotherapeutic value. I think that, accompanied by the absence of guilt, such a violent fantasy protects me from mental illness. If it is possible to joke about such a serious matter, I will say that killing one person in the heart can avoid seeking a doctor (as opposed to the Boy Scouts' "daily good deeds"). )

On another occasion, I suddenly realized that in my dream I knew that I had committed murder, and at the same time I felt greatly relieved and satisfied because of my frank admission. From this I prove the deep validity of the unconscious impulse to repent, which I propose in the book. In the book I argue that repentance is repeating what you have done in words, as if you were repeating the act all over again. At the same time, confession unconsciously manifests all the emotions that lead to the crime, so that the person concerned can psychologically grasp this experience and overcome it. In the dream, my confession was also intended to prove the correctness of my doctrine. In this way, it seems that I am trying to theorize it as facts in order to prove the correctness of my theory; on the other hand, it seems that I want to prove that my doctrine is derived from my own experience and therefore cannot be wrong, and that my confession itself is sufficient to prove its correctness. In the aforementioned intermittent memories, there are sometimes associations that reveal who my murderous desires were for, and these people are closely related to me. Moreover, the words in my speech can be understood slowly. "Gentlemen of the jury", and "I am ashamed of ... This contrasting sentence pattern of "disdainful" also made it clear to whom it was being issued—it was addressed to those who opposed me in psychoanalytic peers, and the tone was sarcastic and aggressive (1). [1) When we consider that my malicious attack was caused by the fact that I felt hurt, I can be forgiven partially, but only partially. "Animals are vicious and attacked, so they do their best to protect themselves." 】

The "latent" content of this dream was the fulfillment of one of my wishes: to convince my opponents that my psychological views were right. This desire is so strong and urgent that I would rather commit murder in order to satisfy it. But there must be some very personal reason in this, otherwise it is impossible to be so eager for purely academic reasons. My great speech in the dream is in fact not related to my doctrine, but to my murderous impulse (in the dream), which is to justify and justify it. Here, what I personally care about is not an abstract psychological theory, but my underlying desire to kill. Therefore, in the dream I confess not only the facts of the dream ("I have committed this crime"), but also my desire to kill. In other words, the dream is sometimes presented as a confession. Thus, this dream has another motive: I hope to prove that the impulse to confess is one of the factors in the formation of dreams. Of course, this was a secondary factor, but no one had mentioned this before my book was published, so I was the first. Thus, this dream is not only meant to prove that I am right and that others are incorrect; it also fulfills another secret wish of mine: if my doctrine is correct, then I have also made some contribution to the psychology of dreams.

Here, another hidden mind floats to the level of consciousness. I had two early friends, Otto Ran and Hanssachs, and I often compared my accomplishments to them. They all contributed to the interpretation of dreams, and they represented my two older brothers. But I have contributed very little to the doctrine of dreams. Therefore, if I can prove that dreams have the effect of confession, I have fulfilled some of my wishes.

In summary, the emotions in this dream have several levels. The fulfillment of the desire to murder made me feel relieved and liberated. At the same time, they fulfilled another wish of mine: to persuade those who criticized me; they also proved the psychological effect of confession, which is to make people feel relieved. The point of connection between the personal factor and the doctrinal factor is this: the words of confession are the reproduction of actions (real or imaginary acts). In this dream, emotions are passed down from the deepest level (the fulfillment of the desire to murder) to the high level (the proof of doctrine).

The memories of dreams in the months after the dream are also worth mentioning. The memory of this dream is irregular, and the occasion of the memory has no commonality; but the memory is always followed by some association that makes a part of the dream understandable. The explanations for these parts are not something I have sought, they can be said to be sitting on my knees. This situation is interesting because it provides an example of how people sometimes find clues to the subconscious. Many psychoanalysts think we are chasing these clues; however, they also appear when we are completely unaware. From this, we can also understand why some dreams that have been made a long time ago reappear in associations.

The memories of my dreams sometimes have no apparent connection to my situation. I still remember most of these situations. Here are a few examples:

As I walked, I thought about a problem of sectarian psychology, the idea of resurrection in each sect. With this thought, the last movement of Mahler's Second Symphony must have appeared in my mind, for I heard myself humming a melody from this symphony. That piece of music depicts the great gathering of all the resurrectionists in all directions of the end of the world. My mind imagined rising scales and stormy chords that represented the heaviness of the heart of the resurrection before the Final Judgment, followed by the sound of drums, four trumpets responding. Then there is the great ensemble of various instruments, which is very loud, while the chorus of the resurrection slowly rises up with a low voice. What follows this voice of fear is the words of comfort: "Oh, believe in my heart, oh, believe that you have nothing to lose"; then from the minor key to the major key: "You are not born in vain, you will not be born in vain, you will suffer in vain!" That's what you aspire to, and you fight for it. My imagination echoed the final song of victory:

My ashes, after a short rest,

Will be resurrected, ignited...

Then the dream suddenly came to my heart again. I didn't know why. But in retrospect, the connection of ideas is obvious. First the fear of all life before the final judgment, then the overcoming of all anxiety, the feeling of relief, and finally the joy of victory. The memories of my dreams are aroused by the contrast between these two feelings, because my dreams also have the contrast of these two emotions, one is the fear of sin before the confession, and the other is the release after the confession. The contrast between Mahler's symphonies must have had an impact on me, because it reflected my own emotions.

Another time was when I was talking to my wife. I have an opinion that I often refer to, but my wife disagrees with this opinion, and she thinks that opinion is untenable, even nonsense... Later she asked someone she trusted, and that person agreed with me. So she finally admitted that I was right. When we talked, I was telling her about it, and I felt the satisfaction of "I told you a long time ago." It was probably for this reason (and for other related reasons) that dream flashed through my mind again—after all, I was right, and after enduring a long humiliation, I was recognized as right, and I rejoiced in my victory.

The third time was in a discussion with other psychoanalysts, when a peer sharply criticized one of my points. His criticism became more and more wrong with people, and as I listened to him, the dream suddenly appeared. It seemed to be a signal, as if it were a spark, indicating a familiar situation; the memory of the dream was soon gone. But this time was different from the last time I discussed my book at a psychoanalytic meeting. Now I know why the dream appeared at this time, because this time I actually overcame my usual hesitation and launched an attack, which is a rare phenomenon for me. This signal indicated what had happened in the next ten minutes; I launched a witty, sarcastic, brutal counteroffensive. I started with hints that everyone understood, and then progressed to a particularly malicious attack, which eventually left my opponent out of the way.

On the way home, the dream came to my heart again, and the connection immediately became clear. At the symposium, it appeared to give me a hint that it was my time, and the man who deliberately tried to embarrass me would tear him to pieces (symbolically, of course). From then on, when this dream came to my heart again, I always reaffirmed my understanding of it. The confrontation that actually took place seemed to have a great effect, replacing the satisfaction in my dream, which no longer appeared automatically.

In my subconscious, the desire to prove myself right is so strong that I am amazed; yet when I am awake, I do not quite care whether I am right or wrong (of course I understand that it is not accidental that I have proposed this dream and discussed it, but that I have expressed the same desire).

Our task is not to prove how useful or necessary self-analysis is, but to understand that we must analyze ourselves before we can analyze others; unfortunately, we have almost forgotten this meaning. Self-analysis and being analyzed by others are very different in feelings, and self-analysis is equivalent to looking at the house where you live. It is likely that because you live in this room every day, many things are not noticed. When the guest comes, he immediately sees what you haven't noticed, but his discovery is incomparable to what you've found. An outsider looks into your room, and there are things, corners and hidden places that can't be seen clearly. There are some things that you hide from yourself, and when you find it, you feel intimately, and that's something you don't feel when someone else points it out to you. One day I heard a little story about a little boy who spent the night at his aunt's house complaining that his aunt had turned off the lights. His aunt asked, "What's wrong with you, Tommy?" Don't you sleep in the dark in your own home? Tommy replied, "Yeah, but that's my own black." ”