People
these days are likely to see dreams as material for psychotherapy, as an
adjunct to self awareness and self improvement.
Certainly this has been the case since the advent of psychoanalysis, and
was developed further by various traditions—really, denominations—in the field of psychology, especially in the groovy 1960s
and 1970s. The more creative among us
may use remembered dreams as source material for creative writing or visual arts. But this was not always so.
In
the distant past, the mysterious experience of dreaming was important in
prophecy and communion with the gods. That
dreams are integral to prophecy was seen in various cultures for thousands of
years. In Judeo-Christian writings
dreams are very prevalent. Recordings of
dreams are common in both the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, to name just
one source of ancient spiritual writings.
Tertullian, an early Christian writer who was active in the second
century A.D., once wrote that “almost the greater part of mankind derive their
knowledge of God from dreams.” Early
Church Fathers such as St. Augustine, Origen, Cyprian, and Athanasius all recorded
their own dreams or commented on the spiritual significance of dreams.
Often
described as visions or revelations, dreams in scripture typically contain
warnings or prophecies or both. Sometimes
they can be very specific and personal, as when Joseph interprets the dreams of
his fellow prisoners and determines their fate, (Genesis 40: 9-18). Or they can
be more general, as in the writings of the Old Testament prophets, who warn of
Jerusalem’s eventual destruction because of injustice and idolatry. Occasionally, a dream may yield information about
the dreamer’s psychological state, as when Daniel interprets a dream of
Nebuchadnezzar that foretells the monarch losing his mind, (Daniel 4: 24-26). (Something similar to the king's fate occurs in Lovecraft’s short
story, Celephaïs.)
In
earlier posts there was discussion of the importance of dreams and dream
imagery in Lovecraft’s work. Several of
his stories appear to be elaborations, or contain elaborations, of dreams he
may have had himself. Lovecraft does not
appear to ascribe to any particular theory of dream psychology. He dismisses the Freudian analysis that was
popular in his time as simplistic and vulgar.
He seems to acknowledge that dreams are experiences in and of themselves
and comprise an alternate and valid reality.
He says as much in the opening of Beyond
the Wall of Sleep, where he describes dream consciousness, “whose vaguely
exciting and disquieting effect suggest possible minute glimpses into a sphere
of mental existence no less important than physical life…”
Remarkably,
dreams often serve the same purpose in Lovecraft’s writing as they do in
scripture. In some of his stories they
have a prophetic role. For example, in The Call of Cthulhu, an artist named
Wilcox has horrific visions of “great Cyclopean cities of Titan blocks and
sky-flung monoliths” that drive him to fashion the facsimile of a small stone
idol. In Beyond the Wall of Sleep, an ignorant mountain man and the medical
intern who befriends him experience a shared revelation of a world where their dream
souls are freed of their earthly, mortal fetters. In The
Shadow Out of Time, strange nightmares
and archaeological evidence force the narrator to confront unconscious
repressed memories of a terrifying encounter with the Great Race.
In
some of Lovecraft’s stories, dreams create a psychic link with some powerful,
malevolent entity that gradually gains control over the character’s will and
drives him toward some terrible purpose.
This theme is found in The Dreams
in the Witch-House, and The Haunter
of the Dark. Somnambulism and
obsessive behaviors increase in the hapless characters, and suggest a form of demonic
possession.
But
dreams can serve a positive and instrumental function as well in some of Lovecraft’s
work. In particular, they provide access
to an alternate reality, a doorway. The most
obvious example of this is The Dream
Quest of Unknown Kadath, in which this approach to the dreaming consciousness
is highly developed. Finding his goal of
beginning a journey through his dreamland initially thwarted, Randolph Carter, Lovecraft’s
alter ego, “prayed long and earnestly to the hidden gods of dream that brood
capricious above the clouds on unknown Kadath, in the cold waste where no man
treads.”
In
Celephaïs, the dream personality of
Kuranes is shielded from the harsh reality of his adult existence by a vision
fashioned out of tales and dreams from his childhood. Of his character’s perspective, Lovecraft
writes: “Whilst they strove to strip from life its embroidered robes of myth,
and to shew in naked ugliness the foul thing that is reality, Kuranes sought
for beauty alone.” This sounds like autobiographical self-disclosure on the part of the author.
In
many places throughout Lovecraft’s works, dreams serve as sources of prophecy,
revelation, and psychological wholeness.
They also can serve as a plot device—either a psychic link with evil
that drives the character to destruction, or a useful, if challenging portal to
another world. Is it possible that references
to dreams in the Old and New Testament were at least partly the inspiration for
those that occur in Lovecraft’s stories?
It is interesting that he eschews the tepid self-help dream psychology so
prevalent today for the more terrifying yet essentially religious approach of prophecy and revelation.
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