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96 Chapter 5 Psychoanalysis
picture-writing’ (1973a: 267), in which ‘the latent dream-thoughts . . . are dramatized
and illustrated’ (1973b: 47). Symbolization transforms ‘the latent [dream] thoughts
which are expressed in words into sensory images, mostly of a visual sort’ (1973a: 215).
But as Freud makes clear, not everything is transformed in this way: certain elements
exist in other forms. Nevertheless, symbols ‘comprise the essence of the formation of
dreams’ (2009: 249). Furthermore, ‘The very great majority of symbols in dreams’, as
Freud maintains, ‘are sexual symbols’ (1973a: 187). So, for example, male genitals are
represented in dreams by a range of ‘symbolic substitutes’ that are erect such as ‘sticks,
umbrellas, posts, trees’ and things that are able to penetrate such as ‘knives, daggers,
spears, sabres . . . rifles, pistols and revolvers’ (188). Female genitals are represented
by things that share the ‘characteristic of enclosing a hollow space which can take
something into itself’ such as ‘pits, cavities ...hollows ...vessels and bottles...
receptacles, boxes, trunks, cases, chests, pockets, and so on’ (189). These symbolic sub-
stitutes are drawn from an ever-changing repertoire of symbols. He makes this clear
in his discussion of the way in which objects that are able to defy the laws of gravity
are used to represent the male erection. Writing in 1917, he points to the fact that
the Zeppelin airship had recently joined the repertoire of such objects (1976: 188).
Although these symbols are drawn from myths, religion, fairy stories, jokes, and every-
day language use, objects are not consciously selected from the repertoire: ‘the know-
ledge of symbolism is unconscious to the dreamer . . . it belongs to his mental life’
(1973a: 200). Another example of the play of culture in psychoanalysis is language.
The associations a patient may bring to something will be enabled and constrained by
the language(s) he or she may speak. Moreover, the various examples that Freud
(1976) provides of words standing in for something other than their literal meaning,
is also limited to the language(s) the patient understands.
Freud is absolutely clear about ‘the impossibility of interpreting a dream unless one
has the dreamer’s associations to it at one’s disposal’ (1973b: 36). Symbols may pro-
vide a preliminary answer to the question ‘What does this dream mean?’ But it is only
a preliminary answer, to be confirmed, or otherwise, by an analysis of other aspects of
the dream-work in conjunction with analysis of the associations brought into play by
the person whose dream is being analysed. As he warns: ‘I should like to utter an
express warning against overestimating the importance of symbols in dream-interpre-
tation, against restricting the work of translating dreams merely to translating symbols
and against abandoning the technique of making use of the dreamer’s associations’
(477). Moreover, symbols ‘frequently have more than one or even several meanings,
and . . . the correct interpretation can only be arrived at on each occasion from the con-
text’ (1976: 470). Again, context will be something established by the dreamer.
The dream-work’s final process is secondary revision. This is the narrative placed by
the dreamer on the dream symbolism. It takes two forms. First, it is the verbal account
of the dream: the translation of symbols into language and narrative – ‘we fill in gaps
and introduce connections, and in doing so are often guilty of gross misunderstand-
ings’ (1973b: 50). Second, and more importantly, secondary revision is the final polic-
ing and channelling strategy of the ego, making meaning and coherence in an act of
(unconscious) censorship.