Wednesday, 14 June 2017

hallucination as unrelinquished anticipation

notes for talk this week: a phenomenological theory of hallucination 

Posted here to supersede and collate previous musings on hallucination.

1. ontological question of hallucination

What is it to hallucinate? What is the being of hallucination? This not an empirical question about psychological precipitants or associated neurological events.

2. against dualistic answers to the ontological question

If you espouse dualism of inner (mind/brain) and outer (world/body), then you hardly need a theory of the being of hallucination. Your conception of perception will likely already reference an inner mental item of some sort ('inner representation'/'percept'/'sense datum'/'idea'), so: hallucination becomes simply the inner item in absence of outer stimulus. (You'll also be likely to: take seriously the problem of constancy, be drawn to Helmholtzian theorising, talk of unconscious inferences etc; Gibson won't speak to you.)

But perception and experience are not just caused by their worldly objects; they take them in. Not hybrids of i) non-mental causal outer interactions with a world (the mechanics of vision and audition etc) plus ii) mental upshots of 'loud and glowing sense data' in an internal world. Instead perceptual experience is our openness to the world; it is originary transcendence. In this sense of 'perceptual experience' a hallucination is precisely not a perception or experience; paradoxical to talk of 'an experience of a horse in the absence of a horse'.

'Inner representation', 'sense datum', 'inner image' etc are simply philosophical inventions which themselves cry out for explication before they themselves can feature in explanations. What use is a visual representation if one can't see it? Doesn't the concept of a 'representation' - e.g. of a picture - presuppose rather than explain the capacity to see what is thereby pictured? Such notions need explaining before being put to use to 'explain' perception. But why do we even need an explanation? The felt need had better not be a result of a theoretically contrived dualism between mind and world (the unnecessary explanation being of how it is possible for such an alienated subject to reach the world; ... dude, we're not world-alienated subjects, it's ok).


Non-disjunctivism says: the visual perception of a horse, and a hallucination of a horse, have something psychological/inner in common. 'Psychological': not just that they have in common the atemporal fact that the right way to describe their content is 'a horse'. Instead: they (allegedly) have in common something experiential and episodic. They are not just both experiences of horses; they are both - some or other allegedly illuminating sense - experiences of horses. 


Disjunctivism: it is no more illuminating to say this than to say that a real horse and a plastic horse are both horses, or that a standing bridge and a bombed out bridge are both bridges. We can say that a hallucination is a perceptual experience, just as we can also say that a bombed-out bridge is yet a bridge. But in both cases what is essential to the being of the perceptual experience (openness to the world) and the bridge (forging a connection between two sides of a river) has been lost. The reason why we identify the broken bridge as a bridge, the plastic horse as a horse, the hallucination as an experience, has to do with their ontological dependence on real bridges, horses, perceptions. We can call both veridical perceptions and hallucinations 'experiences', but this is not because they share something episodic in common, but instead because additive mention of all such phenomena gives us the extension of one concept of 'experience'. 

3. differences to hallucinators of hallucinations and perceptions

Not elucidatory to say that in both real and hallucinatory cases it seems to us that there is a horse in front of us. For it may not seem to the hallucinator that there's a horse in front of her. Perhaps it seems to her that she's hallucinating a horse. 

Merleau-Ponty: examples of hallucinators being able to tell the difference between hallucinations and his perceptions. Early 20thC French and German psychiatrists playing tricks on psychotic patients with mock-ups of hallucinations, and reporting how taken aback the patients were, and how differently they related to their real and hallucinatory experiences with the same object.


Also: unclear what it means to say of someone who clearly sees a horse that it seems to him that he sees a horse. This because part of the work that the concept of 'seeming' does is to distinguish between, for example, when something 'really is' the case and when something 'just seems' to be the case. To say that there is a 'seeming' alive in both cases sublimes the logic of 'seems'.


4. existential phenomenology - thinking form and content together

Value of existential-phenomenological theory is that it thinks hallucinatory form and content together. Dualistic theories, by contrast, typically chalk up form to neurological factors alone, and view content as epiphenomenal or to do with psychologically intelligible preoccupations, traumas, complexes, self-esteem, etc.

In thinking form and content together we also aid rapprochement of psychiatric understanding of form with psychoanalytic understanding of content.  (Thinking them together: we can ask: why would that be the content of a hallucination? The form of our embodiment is central to answering this.)

I will call hallucination: an embodied expectation of hearing (or seeing, being touched, etc.) uncancelled by (unrelinquished despite) the absence of a stimulus; a 'negative' (quasi-photographic) or 'anti-'experience, an ungraspable absence registered as a presence. This an existential-phenomenological characterisation, not a reductive explanation. Merleau-Ponty: We need to understand - to 'live' - hallucination without reductively 'explaining' or psychologically reducing it. 

Talk of 'embodied and cancelled expectations' is not straightforwardly perspicuous. We instead arrive at sense through analogies, disanalogies and examples. (Similarly for perception - to say it is our 'originary openness to the world', that it 'takes us out to the objects', that it involves an 'originary transcendence', hardly conveys positive information. Instead: reminders not to make a travesty of our concept of perception by espousing dualism of inner mental domain enjoying merely external relation to an external world.) Of course one can have unrelinquished anticipations which do not constitute or coincide with hallucinations! I am truly aiming at an identity claim, but the particular meaning of 'unrelinquished' and 'anticipation' will emerge as we proceed.

5. hallucination as uncancelled anticipation

Hallucination: an embodied expectation of hearing, seeing, being touched, etc., uncancelled by the absence of a stimulus; a (quasi-photographic) 'negative' or 'anti-' experience; an ungraspable absence registered as a presence.

Anticipation: Merleau-Ponty follows Husserl in describing how perception has built into its structure a large array of 'promises' - if I move over there, and my vantage changes, or if I pick this up and turn it over, that I will encounter this or that. An interconnected protentive structure of experience constituting our normal perceptual world. Objects offer what Gibson calls sensori-motor affordances. M-P: 'I can feel swarming beneath my gaze, the countless mass of more detailed perceptions that I anticipate, and upon which I already have a hold'.

Merleau-Ponty on hallucination: 'The illusion of seeing is ... much less the presentation of an illusory object than the spread and, so to speak, running wild of a visual power which has lost any sensory counterpart. There are hallucinations because through the phenomenal body we are in constant relationship with an environment into which that body is projected, and because, when divorced from its actual environment, the body remains able to summon up, by means of its own settings, the pseudo-presence of that environment.'

Walk along - expect the floor to stay still. Get onto an escalator, expect it to move thus and so. Turn an object over in your hand: expect it to appear thus and so. Self usually rapidly and automatically adjust to various environmental changes. 

Selfhood and perceived object are two correlative moments in perception. What belongs to whom - this is what must be divvied up by the intentional arc which subtends and (at the 'chiasm') divides the two subject and object poles: I've moved further away? Or: it's got smaller / moved away?

Spinning: spin around a lot - then stop - the world appears to spin. You've set up certain expectations of self/world movement in your lived body. These expectations are not visually met with (because you stopped spinning). They're not immediately relinquished/cancelled. So then, instead, the world appears to move. In intoxication we have the same difficulty. Expectation and world are not so tightly coupled. Maximal grip is degraded.

Broken escalator: your body carries expectations of movement even if you can see escalator is static. Get on the escalator - it appears to lurch in the opposite direction. Your body stumbles. Why isn't it like getting on a normal staircase?

Jewellery removed: take off a watch or bracelet before swimming or before doing the washing up. Normally you don't feel it. But now you feel an anti-bracelet around your wrist!

Sensory deprivation: nothing to entrain the web of anticipations; nothing to cancel them (no staircase fully visible where a person would otherwise occlude it). Hallucinations spring up from fleeting unrelinquished sensory anticipations.

Phantom limb: the expectations that constitute the body schema can't be readily relinquished. 'Knowing that your limb is gone' is not a neurological unity - various disjunctive criteria for that, some of them verbal and some motor-habitual. (Harder to adjust if unconscious when amputation happened.) 

Rubber hand illusion: disturbance of sensory integration. Tickling of feather is not where body expects it when body takes rubber hand for own hand. So position of hand in body schema is adjusted. (Can cause OBEs in schizophrenics.)

Ghosts: my beloved has died but this understanding has not propagated through my set of reactive dispositions. That is: I still expect her to come through the door. She does not. Yet the expectation does not immediately relinquish: instead I 'see' a 'negative' of her.

Succubi, incubi, old hags, alien visitors: sleep paralysis undermines ability to update the body schema. Corollary discharge of the motor intention plus no change of retinal stimulation due to paralysis naturally gives rise to hallucinatory experience - projection of body image. Sense of evil - self-disintegration (terror - see below) and hallucinated body shape combine in the night terror. 

AVHs: perhaps not so easy to generalise to 'hearing voices'? The model would be: I have a latent anticipation of hearing my name being called. And in cases of mental illness, a latent anticipation (in the complexes) of receiving hostile criticism, of being talked about, etc. I do not manage to experience silence - in other words my latent anticipation is not relinquished. I then 'hear' an 'anti-voice' saying what I expect to hear. AVHs are auditory ghosts. Why expect criticism? This is the 'introjection of the bad object' to form persecutory superego.

Addendum: Charles Bonnet Syndrome visual hallucinations - in some of those with significant retinal damage - i.e. with partial blindness. Standard theory: impairment of normal visual stimulation unconstrains the brain from producing 'images' (of little people, of objects, landscapes, and repeating visual patterns). Alternative: hallucination here too is result of 'anticipations' uncancelled by normal sensory input. Question remains: why does person have such anticipations - of encountering people etc.? Well: of course we have expectations of encountering people, objects, landscapes, etc. And if we experience a little bit of a pattern it may be natural to expect this to continue as well (in the absence of the cancelling effect of regular visual input). Elaboration of a partial visual stimulus into a face, person, object, pattern ought to happen, and is what subtends normal protentive dimension of visual experience.

6. hallucination as failed grieving 

Failing to smoothly update body schema: caused by identificatory failures of mourning, by intoxication, by tricking the body (psychologist's rubber hand illusion etc), by schizophrenic fragility.

Easy to update, to 'grieve', when the lost phenomenon not really a part of who one is. 

Grieving: not an emotional experience that sits on top of the letting go of reactive dispositions to encounter the departed other / the amputated limb. Grieving is the embodied relinquishing of these expectations. Grieving tears at the fabric of our self, allowing it to adjust to new situation without the lost object. (You can't ask: 'why does mourning (letting go) involve feelings like that (grief)?' because the feeling is the experience of the adjustments within the mourning process.) 

Ghosts: intrinsically mournful phenomena. Beckon to the living from 'another world'. They still have something they want to say. They can 'haunt' - won't leave you or this world alone, trapped between the worlds. All of these properties in fact belong to the bereaved: it is we who can't let go of the beloved, we who want to say something to her, we who can't relinquish our expectations. The ghost is the reverse of these - rather than grieve we hallucinate. Ghosts - so-called presences - are, in fact, unmanageable absences.

This is not wish-fulfilment. It is a direct product of the non-relinquishment of the anticipations. It is no more wish-fulfilment than our lurch on the static escalator. 'Ghosts' are lurches on the static escalators of our animal souls.

7. hallucination, terror and self-dissolution in schizophrenia

Self and perceptual object are correlatively enacted structures.

If we can't achieve self-world stability - grip (as in maximal grip) - then disintegrative terror looms. Not being able to attain object-stability is also disturbing. Because of their correlative enactment, not two alternative scenarios.

Schizophrenia - especially coenaesthopathic schizophrenia - involves a fragility to slippage of body schema - and by implication a vulnerability to disturbed self-world enactments (hallucinations, autoscopies, passivity experiences, coenaesthopathies, OBEs).

Parts of body schema become sheared off. Transitivism, appersonation, passivity experiences, alien hand, coenaesthopathies develop as body is no longer 'lived', alien invasions, electrical experiences, kundalini, etc.  Or displacement of point of perception - autoscopies, OBEs.

Terror is the experience (the undergoing - i.e. non-transitive experience) of self-dissolution. (The identity claim matters - now you can't say 'but Richard why is that so scary?') 

Delusionality: the relinquishing of the attempt to solve for self-world discrepancies, the retreat into autism / detachment from reality / disconnection of sensori-motor feedback cycles / diminished fonction du reél. Delusion is a way to not experience terror of self-dissolution (persecution is better than disintegration).

8. hallucination and therapy: between identification and grief

Compared to perception (reality contact) and self-world adjustment, hallucination is failure.

Compared to introjective identification with bad object, hallucination is a success!

That is: the hallucinator who 'hears' a persecutory voice is at least now not completely identified with it.

Hallucination can be seen like psychoanalytic symbolism (in dreams, images, preoccupations, obsessions, delusion-like ideas, etc): as a stage between illness and health. Both regressive and progressive moments possible. Recognition and encouragement of it's progressive dimension is the therapeutic task.

Therapeutic task is: relinquishing the anticipation! This may be updating the body schema with mirror boxes etc for phantom limb sufferer. It may be grieving the beloved, realising what one oneself wants to say to him or her, in those who see ghosts. It may be taking care to stabilise body schema, and sharing understanding about this, in schizophrenia.  

This contrasts with a conception of hallucinations as 'inner images'. On that conception we're likely to see them as psychologically unmotivated brain events, or as wishfully motivated (since imagination is often under control of the will). By contrast the anticipation account provides a clearer therapeutic direction.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

a ghost is a failed goodbye

Ghosts, I want to say, are intrinsically mournful phenomena. Their very form speaks essentially of loss. They seem to beckon to us from another world. They might reach out to touch us, but are yet pulled back into their spirit realm. A realm that is out of the reach of the quick. (They always come to us.)

I offer such thoughts not because I or you 'believe in' ghosts. Of course we don't. Instead I'm trying to find some words which attach themselves naturally to the very idea of the ghost. I go on below to ask into the significance of such natural attachments.

Another important concept here is that of 'haunting'. The ghost is a departed spirit who won't leave the living alone.

I wrote before that a ghost is a failed goodbye. A phantom limb is another example of this: this leg or arm that the brain can't mourn, this body schema that can't be updated despite the patient's best conscious efforts. (Two other examples already given: the habitually worn bracelet taken off, or the broken escalator mounted: we feel a phantom bracelet on our arm; we feel a disconcerting lurch on embarking the static escalator.)

In certain conditions absence is experienced as haunting presence. Which conditions? Conditions when the expectations which structured our relationship with the departed are not extinguished, not worked through. Conditions of failed mourning. These expectations are scattered across the gamut of our bodily anticipations, and do not belong properly simply to what we can verbally express. The criteria for mourning are diverse and dissociable.

So a ghost is generated by the clash between latent expectation and the reality of absence. They speak essentially of loss because of this. We have a folklore and the folklore has ontological significance. The folklore is that ghosts aren't, say, simply beings from 'another realm', nor gaseous beings from this 'realm'. Instead they are most definitely the spirits of the departed. The spirits have not managed to let go of this world. Perhaps they still have something to tell us. Perhaps they still have a grievance against us. Perhaps they beckon to us from beyond the grave.

The question is what all this means. Freud had a thought about melancholia which we can adapt here. The thought was that the depressed bereaved may find it hard to mourn when they had unresolved (unconscious) ambivalent feelings toward the departed. There is something that we have or need to say to the departed, something which our relationship (in its positive elements, say) and their demise have thwarted. We want to call out to them. We want to summon them.

The ghost is the inverse of our unconscious desires. It is easy to say something lazy like: 'it is the projection into the world of our unconscious desires (to see, to harangue, the person again)'. But it just isn't a 'projection' in any meaningful sense. (This is to think like the cognitivist who says that we 'project' the 'colourful visual image' into the world where we then 'see' it.) What it is, I claim, is the admixture of uncancelled anticipation with null sensory fulfilment. And the ghost's 'negative' character - in the sense of a photographic negative - is manifest in all these ways: the ghost is lighter than its surroundings whereas the quick would be darker; it calls to us when we want to call to it; it beckons when we wish to beckon; it won't leave us alone when we can't let it go; it can't leave the world of the quick when it is really we who can't let it depart; it beckons to us from its 'other world' when we impossibly want to beckon to it from within this world. It is an intrinsically mournful phenomenon - whilst we are struggling to mourn.

Sunday, 4 June 2017

ontology of hallucination

When thinking of hallucination I'm drawn to a set of questions which we might summarise with 'What is the being of hallucination?' The question itself naturally invites another question, which is: 'What is it to ask into the being of a thing?' And: how does this differ from an empirical-psychological inquiry?

An empirical theory of hallucination might have it that hallucinations are caused by stress, have a symbolic content related to the hallucinator's complexes, involve abnormal activity in the superior temporal gyrus, etc. Such theories are all well and good, but here I note them only to provide a contrast to the kind of enquiry I'm instead inclined to pursue. They are answers to a different question (to a question individuated differently at the level of sense if not at the level of surface expression). They tell us, one might say, what happens when you hallucinate, but not what it is to hallucinate.

An empiricist might show impatience with the question of the being of hallucination, and propose a definition, after which we can (it is suggested) move swiftly on to the more important empirical matters at hand. You know the kind of thing: 'A hallucination is a perception / sense datum / inner experience / inner representation - in the absence of / not caused by - an outer object'.

Yet our question has its place precisely because of the futility of those kinds of answers, because of how wedded they are to a bankrupt inner/outer picture which reifies the inner and correlatively constitutively divorces experience as such from our world-involvement. For perception and experience are not just caused by their worldly objects; they take them in. They are not hybrids of i) non-mental causal outer interactions with a world (the mechanics of vision and audition etc) plus ii) mental upshots of 'loud and glowing sense data' in an internal world. Instead perceptual experience is our openness to the world; it is the originary form of intentionality. In this sense a hallucination is precisely not a perception or an experience of anything. For there is, one could say, something simply paradoxical in talking of 'an experience of a horse in the absence of a horse'.

Furthermore the concepts of 'inner representation', 'sense datum' etc are simply philosophical inventions which themselves cry out for explication before they themselves can feature in explanations. After all, one could say, what use is a visual representation if we can't actually see it? Doesn't the concept of a 'visual representation' - e.g. of a picture - presuppose rather than explain the capacity to see what is thereby pictured? (Consider our ability to see the pictures hanging on the wall, and how derivative this ability is of our ability to first see, directly, the kinds of things the pictures picture.) So we can't just help ourselves to such notions to explain perception. We need first to explain them. It won't do to say that an inner representation is self-perceiving or self-interpreting, since to say such things is far less perspicuous than talk of perceptual experience itself.

Consider too the arguments for disjunctivism in the philosophy of perception. The non-disjunctivist, to rehearse, has it that the visual perception of a horse, and a hallucination of a horse, have something psychological in common. The term 'psychological' there is doing the work of: they don't just have in common the atemporal fact that the right way to describe their content is 'a horse'. It is saying: they have in common something experiential and episodic. They are not just both experiences of horses; they are both - some or other allegedly illuminating sense - experiences of horses. Yet the disjunctivist will demur that it is no more illuminating to say this than to say that a real horse and a plastic horse are both horses, or that a standing bridge and a bombed out bridge are both bridges. We can of course say that a hallucination is a perceptual experience, just as we can also say that a bombed out bridge is a bridge. Yet in both cases, the disjunctivist insists, what is essential to the being of the perceptual experience (openness to the world) and the bridge (forging a connection between two sides of a river) has been lost. The reason why we identify the broken bridge as a bridge, the plastic horse as a horse, the hallucination as an experience, has to do with their ontological dependence on real bridges, horses, perceptions.

A hallucination, on this natural understanding, is a particular kind of disturbance in a perceptual modality. There is no more an experience left to it than there is a bridge left in the case of the bombed out bridge, or a horse in the plastic horse. We can call both veridical perceptions and hallucinations 'experiences', but this is not because they share something episodic in common, but instead because reference to all such phenomena gives us the extension of the concept of 'experience'. It wouldn't be elucidatory to say, for example, that in both real and hallucinatory cases it seems to us that there is a horse in front of us. For first of all it may not seem to the hallucinator that there is a horse in front of her. It may instead seem to her just that she is hallucinating a horse. (Merleau-Ponty is very clear on this.) And second it isn't clear what it means to say of someone who clearly sees a horse that it seems to him that he sees a horse. And this is because part of the work that the concept of 'seeming' does is to distinguish between, for example, when something 'really is' the case and when something 'just' seems to be the case. To say that there is a 'seeming' alive in both cases sublimes the logic of 'seems'.

It is for reasons such as these that I consider it important to ask 'what is being of hallucination?' In spelling this out it will naturally be fine to say things like 'It's kind of like seeing something but that something isn't actually seen'. In such cases we often talk about 'hearing things' and 'seeing things'; more specifically we talk of 'hearing voices' and 'seeing visions'. In doing this we indicate that other sensory modalities are not involved. That is the force of talk of 'hearing voices'. After all it could be said that in one sense we all hear voices everyday; or, at least, we listen to what people are saying. But the talk of hearing voices indicates that the talker is not visually or otherwise present to us. It is in the spirit of this question that I propose my answer: to hallucinate is to have an embodied expectation of hearing (or seeing, being touched, etc.) uncancelled by the absence of a stimulus. I do not offer that as an empirical theory but as a phenomenological characterisation. I do not imagine for a moment that such talk of 'embodied and cancelled expectations' is straightforwardly perspicuous. Instead I illustrate it with examples (such as the static escalator appearing to lurch when we embark it, or the world appearing to still spin around after you've stopped spinning around).

What I am not doing is providing necessary and/or sufficient conditions for 'hallucinate'. Such an analytic approach would, I believe, radically underestimate the fundamental nature of hallucination as a disturbance of experiential world engagement. As for perception itself, to take the question of the being of perception as a request for necessary and sufficient conditions for perception is to tacitly imagine that there are floating about some more fundamental concepts which we can independently grasp and then put to use in our characterisation of what it is to perceive. That, I submit, is self-evidently absurd. If one says that 'perception is our originary openness to the world', that it 'takes us out to the objects', that it involves an 'originary transcendence', I hope it is clear how these can hardly be taken as statements conveying positive information. Instead they are reminders not to make a travesty of our concept of perception by closing us in to an inner mental domain in a merely external relation with the world about us.

No, we mustn't here try to achieve an illuminating definition, but instead accommodate to, find our way about with, the concept of 'perception' in practice. The same goes for 'hallucination'.

risky dreams

Telling and listening to a dream is a curiously intimate business. On the one hand it's part even of our pre-Freudian understanding of dreams that they can reveal more about us than we realise. Still, as it were, dreaming the dream, still caught up within its interiority, we tell it to someone, only to realise that we might have well have just blurted out our most intimate wishful fantasies, might have well have called a current lover by the name of a lost but unrelinquished love. Caught up still within the dream we don't notice until too late the latent meaning which then bangs us on the forehead as we clothe it in words which are not under our omnipotent control, as we are forced now to mean - to acknowledge the previously unevident implications in - what we say. A meaning which bangs us on the forehead in the same way in which a fish finally comes to understand it has been swimming in water only when for a moment it jumps out of the pool. Here the intimacy is part function of the inherent riskiness of the dream.

Yet telling a dream is also intimate just because it truly does speak to our ownmost preoccupations. And the risk we take here in telling the dream is not the negative one of exposing our shameful fantasies, but the positive one of someone welcoming us, accepting us, in our anxieties and longings.  This, I think, is the most powerful dimension of psychoanalysis or person-centred psychotherapy: a therapist listens to the patient's productions without judgement, accepting them as moments in the evolution of their soul. This loving attitude then becomes internalised in the patient's mind's fabric. Then they can allow themselves to be at the developmental level, or to have the preoccupations, they really are at and do have. And so, because of that, sequestered regions of the psyche start to rejoin the gang, and become once more live components of its self-becoming.

fifty quid, pfff

Catching up with an old friend after a conference this week I was struck by the different ways we were disposed to understand dreams - and other phenomena which I naturally take to manifest the dynamic unconscious. Where I saw a domain of personal meaning he saw largely an epiphenomenon; where I saw self-evident truth he saw interesting but generally unlikely hypothesis. "If I were entering the pearly gates and about to hear the truth of the matter from the Almighty, I'd lay fifty quid on it", he said of the psychoanalytic theory of dream symbolism, "but nothing more".

I found myself trying to argue the case but quickly got trapped between two unappealing alternatives. On the one hand I wanted to offer evidence for the theory, but it became clear that this wasn't really going to help. For, in relation to the theory, it would always be natural - from within such an epistemological framework - to take the psychoanalytic explanation as something reaching beyond the facts in an hypothetical way. As positing a hidden mechanism behind them. Thus when I started talking about the primary processes which (as I see it) underlie the formation of what I see as dream symbols, the question quickly became "And what's the evidence for that being true?" "What's the evidence for that mechanism actually being instantiated". On the other hand I was honestly tempted to pull the Freudian fast one - of saying that my friend was unwilling to grasp the theory because he was defended against an acknowledgement of the dynamic unconscious itself. (I somewhat embarrassedly admit that I actually think there's often something right about this latter option, appalling as it is as a dialectical move!)

It strikes me now that when I normally think about dream symbolism, about the operation of defence mechanisms, about the transference, I don't for one moment think of these as consisting in posits or scientific claims. Sure, in individual cases we may have to do with hypotheses and guesses. For example I may not know you well enough to know that your tense relationship with your boss is a function of your expectation of him to act erratically or capriciously - as you tend to discern in your relationships more generally with the men in your life from your father onwards. I get some kind of a feel for that, but more observation is required! But in general I would tend to view my thinking in terms of the dynamic unconscious as on pretty much the same footing as (or, if you like, no more the kind of thing that requires footing than) my thinking about our conscious lives. I no more take it that my general thinking about the dynamic unconscious involves hypothesis than I do my conscious life. I no more take it that, on entering the pearly gates it would seem natural to me to ask if dreams really do manifest a range of defence mechanisms, psychoanalytic symbolisms, repressed emotions, etc, than it would to enter the pearly gates and ask God whether beliefs and thoughts really exist. The latter question is, I take it, simply a bad question. You'd have to subscribe to some kind of metaphysical Realism to get it off the ground, which is to say that you'd have to sublime the logic of the 'real' before you can generate the illusion that such an inquiry makes sense. It's a bad question because once you know how to ascribe beliefs then you know what the reality of believing amounts to, and there's no more question about whether believing itself is real than that.

This was the point I didn't appreciate at the time in what my friend was saying. For what the little celestial gambling parable was clearly designed to do was to indicate that the dynamic unconscious is here being taken as a posit. In effect it amounts to a kind of cognitive over-reach - a positing something which seems beyond our ken. Something which God can know about but not us.

This is where I should have demurred. For it seems to me that there are no less ascription conditions for unconscious beliefs, for condensation, for displacement, for phantasy, for psychoanalytic symbolism, than there are for conscious beliefs! "Look!", I should have said, "this is what is called displacement", "this is what it is for one thing to 'symbolise' another in the mind", etc. Psychoanalysis is phenomenology, not speculative psycho-mechanics. But here's the rub: you can't just do this phenomenological inspection by way of simple examples talked about over dinner. You certainly can't dispose of it through definition either ("an unconscious desire is a disposition with features xyz" etc). Grasping the ascription conditions for unconscious mentality involves a deepening immersion in a set of phenomena, a deepening development of a sensibility for the affective undertow of our lives. (This is why I think that Freud's "you're just defended against my theory!" canard is kinda right. Except it's not Freud or the theory that the sceptic here is defended against, but the unconscious itself. And, well: of course!) An enhanced memory for all one's: evasions, moments of humbling acknowledgement, collapses of defences into honesty, social anxieties that hardly show their face for all one's accomplished pseudo-maturity, yet which still show something of their coat tails. A live experience of the transference and countertransference - not, I hasten to add, some kind of over-familiarity with a psychological explanatory system which familiarity just churns out sentences concerning some putative background mechanism underlying the more straightforwardly observable phenomena of our lives; that kind of positing is religious cultishness (again, another reason, I suspect, for my friend's paltry celestial wager) - but instead noticing how one is pulled to believe and feel things of oneself and of the other in emotionally intense relationships (such as therapeutic relationships).

No, in fact if such ascription conditions were not available to us then they'd hardly be available to God either - for what we would have, instead of a genuine discourse regarding the dynamic unconscious, would simply be the illusion of such a discourse. All God could say, in such a circumstance, is not whether there really is or isn't a dynamic unconscious or a symbolic content to dreams, but rather "I'm sorry chum, we'll let you in, but you really gotta acknowledge that you don't even know what you're asking about when you put that wager down."

Now how about this idea that dreaming is an epiphenomenon? Surely, I want to say, we just know that this is largely correct! For what gives it its sense here is something which is evident to waking reflection on our dreaming alone: in our dreams we arrive at various predicaments, we can't think properly about them (because we're asleep!), yet we are to some degree anxious, so we anxiously try out various of the options that seem to present themselves, and the dream unfolds thereby out of our ongoing anxiously clumsy attempts to manage the dream predicament. There is a narrator function, a visual (and sometimes auditory) imagination function, and an anxiety response which are somewhat switched on in dreams, despite a shutdown of many other parts of brain function. In fact, unconstrained by reality contact, and utterly lost within the first-person narrator's perspective, the visual imagination function in dreaming can quite outstrip what it can achieve during the day, and this is surely one of the reasons that our dreams can seem wonderful and numinous to us.

Yet so far as I can tell none of this detracts from the psychoanalytic theory. Our personal anxieties and wishes have particular shapes, and the ongoing reactive dream landscape is a perfect one for them to automatically show themselves in. Some of these anxieties and wishes will be unconscious. Yet because of the dreaming state - because of the absence of imagination-constraining reality-contact - they still find some kind of expression in the dream (which is why the dream is the royal road to the unconscious). My wishes and counter-wishes are no longer simply blocked, but tend to play out, and the playing out may even contribute some of the creative energy of the dream itself.

Here, I believe, is a place where the epiphenomenal and the dynamic understandings don't clash: in the idea of dream genesis. You can imagine someone trying to stage a clash using the word 'just', as in: 'But what supplies the dream content is not my day residue plus longer-term unresolved issues - it is just a matter of random neurons firing off in your head.' This might look like competing hypotheses, but nobody wants to subscribe to dualism. Psychoanalysis is the name we give to one of the forms that the rejection of such dualism takes. 'Look', it says 'you really are all that too'. 'You are your id and not just your ego'. 'You are the dreamer of the dream. This is your mental life. These images and feelings and preoccupations are moments of your biography'.