brightly. “That’s what I dream about.”
“Have you seen who’s here?” asked Mendel, his gaze flicking across the room.
“Rothenstein? Yes, of course. I might try to have a word with him later. You never know, eh?” Blomberg tapped the side of his nose.
Mendel pulled a face.
“Ach! Always the pessimist!” Blomberg raised his hands.
“Pessimist?” said Mendel. “A pessimist is just a well-informed optimist!”
People were still streaming out of the lecture hall and dispersing around the room. They were joined by two more of Mendel’s friends, and the conversation turned from business to politics. Liebermann was expecting these men to express views similar to those held by his father. He expected to hear them criticize the mayor and lambast the traditional enemies of Austrian Jewry: the clerics, the aristocracy, and conservative Slavs. They were, however, far less preoccupied and troubled than Mendel. In fact, they were-on the whole-extremely positive about the condition of Jews in Vienna.
Liebermann had declined previous invitations to B’nai B’rith because he had assumed that everyone there would be much the same as his father. Even though he knew that Professor Freud was an active member-and Freud was certainly very different from his father-this did little to change his mind. Indeed, he was only attending that evening because his mentor had promised him a particularly lucid account of the dream theory. Now that he was there, standing in the lodge house, he had to admit that B’nai B’rith-which translated solemnly from the Hebrew as Sons of the Covenant-was nothing like the organization he had imagined. It was much more like a club for progressive thinkers than a “Jewish society,” which made Liebermann wonder why his father was such a regular attendee. He could only conclude-as he frequently did when trying to understand aspects of his father’s behavior- that it was good for business.
Professor Freud finally emerged from the lecture hall and was now standing on the other side of the room. He was engaged in conversation with a short, spindly youth with closely cropped black hair. Liebermann immediately excused himself from his father’s group.
“Professor.”
Freud shook Liebermann’s hand.
“Delighted you could come.” He gestured toward his companion. “Are you acquainted? No. Then allow me to introduce Dr. Gabriel Kusevitsky, a recent convert to our cause. Dr. Kusevitsky-Dr. Max Liebermann.”
The youth smiled and inclined his head. He looked far too young to be a doctor.
Liebermann congratulated Freud on his talk, but the professor was dissatisfied. “I should have said more about infant sexuality-but to do so invariably arouses resistances, hostility. Even the scant allusions I made this evening managed to offend some of our little congregation. Had I been addressing a professional body, I would have been more courageous. Still, the audience may yet have derived some benefit.”
Liebermann and Kusevitsky were quick to protest.
“The audience will almost certainly have benefited!”
“The dream theory could not have been explained more clearly!”
“Nobody in the audience-at least no thinking person-will ever be able to wake from a dream again without pondering its significance!”
Yes, he might have said more about infant sexuality, but he had surely said enough-given that the audience was mostly laymen.
Freud was gratified by their response but maintained a show of glum indifference. The imposture, however, could not be sustained, and his sober attitude was subverted by the appearance of a sly, almost coy smile.
Their subsequent conversation did not last long. Almost immediately, a plump gentleman with an officious manner approached and said that Freud was needed elsewhere. The second lodge committee (of which Freud was an important member) was having an impromptu meeting by the punch bowl. Freud apologized to his acolytes and allowed the official to whisk him away.
Liebermann and Kusevitsky exchanged pleasantries, praised Freud’s genius, and in due course spoke of their respective situations.
It transpired that Kusevitsky had only just completed his medical training and had been awarded a prestigious research scholarship at a private teaching hospital. The post was funded by the Rothenstein foundation.
Kusevitsky nodded discreetly toward the banker. “I have that gentleman to thank. It is a great opportunity.”
“And what area have you chosen to study?” asked Liebermann.
“Symbolism in dreams,” said Kusevitsky. “Professor Freud has suggested that, when interpreting dreams, we must discover what a certain object represents to the dreamer by examining where it stands with respect to his or her unique cluster of experiences and associations. Thus, a horse may represent different things to different people.” Kusevitsky had dark, intelligent eyes that floated behind thick spectacle lenses. A tapering wispy beard covered his receding chin. “At the same time,” Kusevitsky continued, “Professor Freud has also noted some intriguing regularities, elements that appear and reappear in the dreams of many of his patients and that psychoanalysis has shown us have the exact same meaning. For example, an emperor and empress are often found to represent the dreamer’s parents; a prince or princess, the dreamer him-or herself; and so on… I find these common symbols extremely interesting, and believe that they arise from a deeper level of mind.”
Liebermann tilted his head quizzically.
“Perhaps,” said Kusevitsky, “we possess not only a personal unconscious, in which all our idiosyncratic memories are stored, but in addition a cultural unconscious, in which we find the inherited distillations of ancestral experience. We encounter these distillations in the form of symbols, which sometimes emerge in our dreams; however, they can also be identified in other contexts-for example, in our storytelling. Emperors and empresses, princes and princesses frequently appear in myths, legends, and fairy tales.”
“You are already familiar, no doubt, with the work of the romantic philosophers,” said Liebermann. “Didn’t von Schubert propose something very similar almost a hundred years ago?”
“Indeed he did. But von Schubert could only speculate. We are in a different position today. We have psychoanalysis, which equips us with new tools. I believe that Professor Freud’s methods can be used to probe and explore the cultural unconscious.”
“That is very ambitious. In effect, you are aiming to analyze not just one man but all mankind.”
“Well, let us say one race to begin with. The psychiatric patients at the private hospital are mostly Jews. They will be my first subjects.”
“What does Professor Freud think of your proposal?”
“He is very enthusiastic. Apparently he was intrigued by what he called endopsychic myths many years ago, and I understand he discussed the possible existence of ancestral memories with a colleague…”
“Fleiss, probably.”
“He was writing The Interpretation of Dreams at the time and never gave the topic his full attention. He assures me, however, that one day he intends to revisit the area. Until then, he gave me his blessing and said that he was looking forward to reading the results of my investigation.”
“Yes, I can see how the idea of archaic remnants embedded deep in the psyche would appeal to Professor Freud. He has always loved archaeology. Have you been to his apartment yet?”
“No.”
“It’s full of ancient artifacts: little statues, stelae, amulets, and urns…”
The bald university professor who had been talking so passionately to Rothenstein earlier raised his hand, capturing Kusevitsky’s notice.
“I’m sorry,” said Kusevitsky. “You will have to excuse me. I am being summoned by Professor Priel. Until we will meet again…”
Kusevitsky bowed and joined the animated professor, who welcomed him into his group with an expansive embracing gesture.
Liebermann was not sure what he thought of Kusevitsky. He was a pleasant enough young man, but somewhat over earnest. Liebermann also wasn’t convinced of the value of his research-even if Freud did approve of it.
The cultural unconscious, endopsychic myths, archaic remnants.
