by J.R. Wikse, Ph.D.




          The point of view of practical anthropology is that we need to change the way we perceive ourselves as members of the human species. Anthropology becomes practical when it is a self-reflective “practice” in which our projections onto “others” and our assumptions about identity and authority are explicitly at the center of our study.  The very beginnings of cultural anthropology in the 20th Century suggest such self inclusivity.  For example, Ruth Benedict’s early concept of “culture consciousness” involved awareness of the socially conditioned images--our “bias in local forms and techniques”-- that we assume about others. (1)  

          Practical anthropology might also be called community psychiatry, since it presupposes psychoanalytic insights applied to the study of group and community interaction.  It could be called socioanalysis or sociotherapy since it’s goal is to recognize and heal our “social” (shared) selves. While our individual neuroses manifest in unique symptoms in each of us, practical anthropology wishes to study those behaviors we share in common but precisely for this reason consider to be normal--such as bias, hostility and war. Because it works to develop our capacity to think and communicate collaboratively, practical anthropology could simply be called genuine (deep) dialogue or mutual inquiry.  (2)      

          In this essay I will explore the work of three thinkers who have shaped the discipline of practical anthropology.  They are Trigant Burrow, a pioneering American psychiatrist who coined the terms “social neurosis” and “practical” (or “dynamic” and “applied”) anthropology;  David Bohm, a theoretical physicist who developed a process of group meditation in order to study collective patterns of thought; and Montague Ullman, a psychiatrist who has evolved a way of working with dreams as social information. 

          To begin with I want to locate practical anthropology in a brief history of social and political thought so as to express those questions in the philosophy and method of the social sciences that led me to the study of the social neurosis. 



          When I was studying political theory in graduate school in the late 1960‘s, there was intense discussion about whether a scientific study of politics was possible.  Much was made of the natural sciences as providing objective “empirical” models for the understanding of political behavior--offering the possibility of freeing the study of politics from values.  This idea of a “value-free” social science stems from the 19th Century positivism of Emile Durkheim who thought that “social facts” could be isolated from contamination by the metaphysical assumptions of human subjectivity to the extent that they were statistical constructs.  Influenced as I was by the historical, interpretive (or “hermeneutic”) sociology of Dilthy and Max Weber, (3) the behaviorist approach to social science seemed to be data collection in search of a theory, driven by the growing availability of computer data bases. If the study of politics was to follow the history of natural science method, I thought, it would at least have to be in some sense “experimental.” Quantification in itself was surely insufficient for understanding political interaction, involving as it does matters of motive, deliberation and judgment. And so I became interested in the emerging literature of social psychology, particularly the pioneering study by Stanley Milgram on obedience to authority.

           In order to study the “authoritarian personality,” Milgram constructed an experimental laboratory situation in which naive subjects in the role of teachers were instructed to administer what they thought were severe electric shocks to punish people who “failed” in their role as students.  Scientific colleagues, dressed in a lab coats, invested with the image of medical/scientific authority, gave the instructions to obey.  

          Now, it seemed to me that a science of politics would have to study the nature of authority, and so Milgram was on the right track.  But his experiment relied on common assumptions about authority.  While Milgram could measure behavior that was appropriate to the situation he created, his own authority and accountability for the experiment could not be questioned--though the ethical implications of such study were widely questioned thereafter. (4)

I was also interested in the implications of and Utopia about Heisenberg’s principle of indeterminacy--that in the development of the quantum theory in physics, it became apparent that the experimenter affected the experimental situation--that the measuring instrument influences what is measured.  If there were to be an experimental laboratory study of political authority, the experimenter would have to be included as subject to the study.  How could this be, I wondered?  In perusing Mannheim’s bibliography, I discovered Trigant Burrow’s first book, The Social Basis of Consciousness. (5)

          Also at this time Thomas Kuhn had introduced the idea of scientific paradigms in his study of The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. (6)  Kuhn  studied science from the perspective of the sociology of decision making of a community of scientists.  One could follow in his work the ways in which scientific authority developed as a controversial conversation, and changed over time.  Kuhn’s insight that “normal” science developed as a consensus within the scientific community until “anomalous” observations created cognitive dissonance raised the possibility that the authority of science was related to other historically evolving socio-economic norms. 

          This view seemed to parallel another philosopher of science at Berkeley, Paul Feyerabend, whose work was bringing philosophy of science into relation with political theory.  He was developing  John Stuart Mill’s ideas into a view of scientific pluralism, rejecting the assumption of “THE“ scientific method.  His critique of rationalism and positivism evolved into his idea of “epistemological anarchism”--which he expressed in  Against Method.  (7)  Feyerabend argued that there was no single principle of scientific authority that could be affirmed as true prior to experience. 

          There were other influences. In the early 1960’s English translations were first made of the early philosophical writings of Karl Marx. They gave access to Marx’s conception of alienation as the loss of being a social animal.  Marx argued that Thomas Hobbes, the 17th Century author of Leviathan, first expressed the modern idea that by nature human beings were not social animals. Marx thought that this assumption showed the alienation of the individual person from social or what Marx called (following Feuerbach) “species” being.  Hobbes claimed that nature “dissociates”--that by nature we are at war with one another.  In this Hobbes reversed the classical assumptions of Plato and Aristotle that defined human beings as political animals--animals by nature destined to live in association. (8)  In Marx’s view, Hobbes’ atomistic psychology evidenced our alienation from anthropological self-knowledge.

          Also in the 1960’s, accurate English translations of the writings of Frederich Nietzsche’s writings were first made widely available through the translations of Walter Kauffman.  Among other important insights, Nietzsche argued for a “ multi-perspectival” concept of objectivity--one that influenced Max Weber. Nietzsche also articulated a physiological conception of health and vitality, critical of what he called the puritanical “despisers of the body.” (9)  These works came into English contemporary with the revival of the work of the maverick Marxist psychiatrist Wilhelm Reich, whose research on character armor showed that the stress of alienation was written on the body, a view more recently expressed by the philosopher Michel Foucault. These thinkers opened to me the field of  “somatic” or body psychology, suggesting that one could study the “posture” of authoritarianism experientially within oneself--as an embodied felt sense.  (10)

           Also during these years three oddly interrelated practices offered new group standpoints on the study of political culture and authority   Firstly, Paulo Freire in The Pedagogy of the Oppressed shared the results of his work in Brazil--a form of social organizing and literacy education that he called the “culture circle.”  Friere argued that genuine dialogue was revolutionary when it spoke out of the pain of oppression, and named the culture of domination. Secondly, during the cultural revolution in China under Mao Tse Tung, groups developed in which class hostilities were expressed openly.  This was called “speaking bitterness.”  Thirdly, in the beginnings of the “human potential movement,“  Robert Tannenbaum and Abraham Maslow developed what were known as “T-groups” (sensitivity groups, encounter groups) in which leaderless and agendaless interaction generated intense emotion and potential confrontation with one’s own self-image. (11)  The women’s liberation movement of the ‘60’s partly emerged out of such groups, in which women’s complicity with assumptions of patriarchal authority were openly questioned. 

         These forms of group experimentation attempted to uncover and transform unconscious hostility or bias as manifested in authoritative assumptions about learning, or embedded in class or cultural values.  Of course, the projection of unconscious hostility and its relation to authority was first studied in the psychoanalytic tradition itself.  It is to these developments that I now will turn. 



          We live in a time in which we are told by our leaders that we are involved in a global war against terrorism.  The recent US national election (2004) was widely characterized by the phrase “bitter divisiveness.”  The black or white, for us or against us dichotomous  rhetoric of religious and political extremism dominates our public discourse, and is often characterized as “moral clarity.”  The Axis of Evil confronts the Great Satan. Such expressions of enmity are largely accepted as a normal state of human affairs,  not only on the grand stage of international warfare, but also in the more intimate hostilities of everyday life, in family, work and community affairs.

          This situation of the projection and counter-projection of hostility first came under systematic study when Sigmund Freud identified the problem of transference in the relationship between therapist and patient, in which unconscious ambivalent feelings are repressed by a “splitting of the pairs of opposites” and projected onto another. (12) 

          Freud’s colleague, Carl Jung wrote during World War 1:

       Just as we tend to assume that the world is as we see it, we...suppose that people are as we imagine them to be...projecting our own psychology into our fellow human beings.  In this way everyone creates for himself a series of more or less imaginary relationships based essentially on projection.... As events in wartime have clearly shown, our mentality is distinguished by the shameless naivete with which we judge our enemy, and in the judgment we pronounce upon him we unwittingly reveal our own defects: we simply accuse our enemy of our own unadmitted faults.  We see everything in the other, we criticize and condemn the other, we even want to improve and educate the other.  There is no need for me to adduce case material to prove this proposition; the most convincing proof can be found in every newspaper.  But...what happens on a large scale can happen on a small scale in the individual...[E]very attempt to bring...projections to consciousness is felt as irritating. Naturally, one would like to have better relations with one’s fellows, but only on the condition that they live up to our expectations.  Yet if we make ourselves conscious of these projections, it may easily act as an impediment to our relations with others, for there is then no bridge of illusion across which love and hate can stream off so relievingly, and no way of disposing so simply and satisfactorily of all those alleged virtues that are intended to edify and improve others...The individual [would then be] faced with the task of putting down to his own account, all the iniquity, deviltry, etc. which he has blandly attributed to others, and about which he has been indignant all his life. The irritating thing about this procedure [of withdrawing projections] is the conviction, on the one hand,  that if everybody acted in this way life would be so much more endurable, and a violent resistance, on the other hand, against applying this principle seriously to oneself.  If everybody else did it, how much better the world would be; but to do it oneself--how intolerable!  (13)


          This situation of the reciprocal projection of images relating and separating self from other was what Trigant Burrow, a pioneering American psychiatrist who took his training analysis with Jung in 1909, called the “social neurosis.“  He developed a group method of analysis (“social self inquiry”) to study this situation.  The discipline of this study he called “practical” anthropology. 



            I first encountered the idea of a social neurosis toward the end of Sigmund Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents (1929)  There Freud said:

If the development of civilization has such a far-reaching similarity to the development of the individual and if it employs the same methods, may we not be justified in reaching the diagnosis that, under the influence of cultural urges, some civilizations, or some epochs of civilization--possibly the whole of mankind--have become “neurotic”?  An analytic dissection of such neuroses might lead to therapeutic recommendations which could lay claim to great practical interest.  I would not say that an attempt of this kind to carry psychoanalysis over to the cultural community was absurd or doomed to be fruitless.

            However, Freud continued, such an analogy from individual to social neurosis would face a special difficulty with regard to authority:

In an individual neurosis we take as our starting-point the contrast that distinguishes the patient from his environment, which is assumed to be “normal.”  For a group all of whose members are affected by one and the same disorder no such background could exist;  it would have to be found

elsewhere.  And as regards the therapeutic application of our knowledge,   what would be the use of the most correct analysis of social neuroses, since no one possesses authority to impose such a therapy upon the group?  But in spite of these difficulties, we may expect that one day someone will venture upon a pathology of cultural communities. (14)

         Freud mentioned this possibility knowing (but not acknowledging) that Burrow, with whom he had been in correspondence for 20 years, was devoting himself precisely to such a study. Between 1912 and 1927, Burrow published 15 papers in which he developed the concept of the social neurosis, and sent these papers to Freud whom he considered to be his true mentor. 

          Burrow conceived of the social neurosis as a global phenomenon, independent of culture.  He quoted one of Raskolnikov’s dreams from Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment as an example of this world-wide plague. We might keep in mind that the name “Raskolnikov” carries the root “raskol,” meaning split or divided.

...The whole world was condemned to a terrible new strange plague that had come to Europe from the depths of Asia.  All were to be destroyed except a very few chosen. Some new sorts of microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but these microbes were endowed with intelligence and will.  Men attacked by them became mad and furious.  But never had men considered themselves so intellectual and completely in possession of the truth as these sufferers, never had they considered their decisions, their scientific conclusions, their moral convictions so infallible.  Whole villages, whole towns and peoples went mad from the infection.  All were excited and did not understand one another. Each thought he alone had the truth and was wretched looking at the others....They did not know how to judge and could not agree what to consider evil and what good;  they did not know whom to blame, whom to justify. Men killed each other in a sort of senseless spite.  They gathered together in armies against one another, but even on the march the armies would begin attacking one another, the ranks would be broken and the soldiers would fall on each other...The alarm bell was ringing all day long...Men rushed together, but why they were summoned and who was summoning them no one knew.  The most ordinary trades were abandoned, because everyone proposed his own ideas, his own improvements, and they could not agree.  Men met in groups, agreed on something , swore to keep together, but at once began on something quite different from what they had proposed.  They accused one another, fought and killed each other. There were conflagrations and famine.  All men and all things were involved in destruction.  The plague spread and moved further and further...

          Dostoevsky wrote in a letter while he was planning Crime and Punishment that Raskolnikov denounces himself because of his “feeling of isolation and separation from mankind.” (15)

          Expressing the standpoint that the development of the individual organism carries within it the logic of the human phylum (Freud’s view that “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny”)  Burrow wrote :

After all we are of one tissue.  We have but to look about us at the so-called normal persons composing the community to see that life masquerades no less under the disguise of social make-believes than under the...subterfuges of the neurotic individual.  The difference is that the artifices of the social community, being collective, unite its a common language, while the neurotic isolates himself through the extravagance of his metaphors...Society, too, has its elaborate system of defense-mechanisms, its equivocations...its infantile make-shifts and illusions. (16)

          Such observations might have remained theoretical for Burrow had it not been for one of Burrow’s patients. His psychiatric practice was transformed in 1918 when, during an analytic session Clarence Shields challenged the authority and honesty of Burrow’s interpretation of one of Shield’s dreams, insisting that the test of Burrow’s sincerity would be met if he were willing to accept from Shields the same analytic stance Burrow was imposing on others.  Though he judged this proposition to be absurd, Burrow accepted this challenge and reversed the roles of patient and analyst in the interest of an experimental study of authority.  Not long afterwards Burrow discovered that his resistances to his new analyst were insuperable. 

          Burrow wrote:

Whatever empirical interest the situation may have held for me at the outset was now wholly subordinated to the indignation and pain of the position to which I had been brought...There came gradually to me the realization that my analyst, in changing places with me, had merely shifted to the authoritarian vantage ground I had myself relinquished and that the situation had remained essentially unaltered...With the consciousness of this condition I saw...that in its individualistic application, the attitude of the psychoanalyst and the attitude of the authoritarian are inseparable.”  (17)

          From this point onward, Burrow embarked on a project to study the situation he and Shields encountered.  Burrow gave up his psychiatric practice. He and Shields began an unprecedented experiment to deconstruct psychiatric authority.  This entailed a mutual examination of their motives and habitual social expressions.  This led often to the kind of impasse that occurs where the conflicting sense of being “right” forces either a complete break or a superficial compromise.  Around them in 1923 there developed a small community of interested participants--some psychiatric professionals, other former patients--who were invited in to relieve the intensity and conflict Burrow and Shields experienced. Juan Campos, a Spanish group analyst, commented on this innovation:

The first psychoanalytic investigation of the authority principle that included the analytic function of a group process carried out by a group was presented at the Congress of Bad Homburg in 1925 by the then President of the American Association of Psychoanalysis, Trigant Burrow....The group analysis that Burrow defended was different from the group psychotherapies that were beginning to develop at that time...[T]he aim of group analysis is to investigate the obstacles for  coordinated group functioning;  it is a group method of analysis that implies the subjective participation of all members of a social group, where every investigator is both an observing subject and an object of observation.  (18)           

         Looking back at this period later in his life Burrow wrote:

...My only serious loss was a quite voluntary one...I refer to my enforced recognition of the existence of a social neurosis and of my own personal share in it.  This, I cannot deny, was a serious wrench for me...As will be readily understood, the necessity of reckoning with man’s ineptitudes in feeling and thinking and doing, as these ineptitudes were daily registered within myself, entailed an acutely painful process.  (19)

          Until his death in 1950, Burrow devoted himself to the task of unconditioning what he called the “I-persona”-- the symbolic, projective authoritarian orientation he felt in his own behavior.  He considered this cluster of motives to be at the core of generally accepted forms of normal interaction. (20) Burrow’s goal was to arrest and recognize our orientation toward violence, self-deception and ulterior motives--which he summed up in the term “affect”-- the bias and prejudice we project or transfer onto others.  He saw group (or “phylo-”) analysis as a laboratory method through which to frustrate the projection of bias and observe the symptoms of the social neurosis.

          Bias might be depicted by a figure from Roman myth, the “Janus face” that looks in opposite directions simultaneously, from which we derive “January”--the month that touches the past and future simultaneously.  Our word “bias” comes from the Latin bifax, meaning “looking two ways.”  Literally it means “two faced.”  To study bias means to bring the observer’s projections and prejudgments from past thought into awareness with the characteristics of the observed. In the group setting, it involves the challenge and potential falsification of projection.

          As the Lifwynn research community developed, Burrow studied the process of decision making itself.  Bylaws for the foundation created shared responsibilities that demanded cooperation and consensus.  Collaborative writing and editing offered opportunities for the group to reflect on and suspend their tendencies to conflicting interpretation over ever recurring dualisms.  The need for decisiveness manifested the principle of authority between and within the members experienced as divisiveness and righteous indignation.  Decision making was itself the laboratory for the study of the authoritarian attitude, and its preoccupation with being “right.”

          Burrow and others published numerous books and articles. Artists and writers were drawn to Burrow’s work because it reflected the artist’s struggle for authentic feeling and expression.   D.H. Lawrence, W. H. Auden, Sir Herbert Read and the American novelist Sherwood Anderson were early Burrovians.  Lawrence reviewed Burrow’s first book, The Social Basis of Consciousness (1927).  He said:

...Dr. Burrow realized that to fit life every time to a theory is in itself a mechanistic process...As soon as man became aware of himself, he made a picture of himself.  Then he began to live according to this picture...This is the great image or idol which dominates our civilization, and which we worship with mad blindness.  The idolatry of self.  (21)

 Lawrence wrote to Burrow:

What ails me is the absolute repression of my primeval societal instinct...I think societal instinct much deeper than sex instinct--and societal repression much more devastating.  There is no repression of the sexual individual comparable to the repression of the societal man in me, by the individual ego, my own and everybody else’s....Myself, I suffer badly from being so cut off...At times one is forced to be essentially a hermit.  I don’t want to be.  But anything else is either a personal tussle or a money tussle, sickening: except, of course, for ordinary acquaintance,           which remains acquaintance.  One has no real human relations--that is so devastating. (22)

          Here Lawrence expressed the shift to an altered frame of reference that Burrow established.  It was not, as Hobbes and Freud believed, that human beings were by nature “dissociated,” needing to be held together by a symbolic artificial agreement, contract or authority.  Rather, Burrow held that society itself had evolved in such a way as to repress the innate sociality of being human.  Nor for Burrow was there an ideal, Rousseauan state of nature, where individual liberty was greater prior to association.  Rather, the evolution of the social self, preoccupied with images of propriety and possessive individualism had come to represses human sociality and obscure genuine individuality. (23) 

          But if the norm--the “societal reaction average” as Burrow called it was not a sure guide to health and sanity, what (as Freud asked) could replace its authority?  Burrow didn’t know.  And for many years, his inquiry into the social self was a negative dialectic--a stripping away of defenses to the point at which he finally reached a personal crisis--“a state approaching interrelational nihilism.” Burrow wrote:

                      It seemed to me that in these moments, the sense of frustration had reached the   saturation point....all affective response as ordinarily experienced, appeared to have become non-existent.  It was in this setting that there occurred the most    unexpected phenomenon.  It consisted in a reaction which at the time I could only describe as a sensation of pressure or tension in the head...In the unmitigated    frustration of mood coincident with the rigid routine of hourly-imposed affect negation, and in the complete withdrawal of the customary supports of convivial social activity, with their quickening tone and impact, there was a total void of affective interest and incitement.  (24)          

          From this time onward, Burrow’s research attempted to integrate this stillness and freedom from affect-drivenness into the group process.  A self-taught meditator, working within a bio-physiological tradition, he coined a name for this state-- “cotention,” by which he meant to express a mode of attention “with or within, not out or toward” (25).  In the inner sensation of somatic or organismic integration free from mental distraction Burrow considered that he had found the basis for a principle of authority of genuine societal health that could be observed consensually within a laboratory setting uncontaminated by social images and conceits.

           Thereafter the group analytic sessions were interspersed with what he called the cotentive practice, so as to bring this inner awareness to bear on the emotional intensity of social-self inquiry.  Burrow thought of this altered standpoint as “proprioceptive,” the biological term for stimuli produced and perceived within an organism.  The “normal” pattern of attention of the social neurosis Burrow termed “ditention” or divided attention.  As this research developed, Burrow discovered that bringing the subtle movements around and behind the eyes to a kinesthetic balance also slowed the breathing.  When no longer “distracted from distraction by distraction” as T.S. Eliot put it, it was possible, as Burrow said, to “interrupt the mechanism of projection and instead, observe the mechanism that projects” (26)

          Because of our proprioceptive nervous system, if we move any part of our body, we are aware immediately that we’ve moved, “without time, without an observer, without having to think.” (27)  But it is possible for the proprioceptive nervous system to malfunction.  Oliver Sachs writes of one such example (in The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat) of a woman who woke up in the dark with a hand on her throat.  She was terrified and struggled against it, finally managing to get it off of her and turned on the light, only to discover that it was her own hand.

          Similarly, the division between what we think we are doing and what is actually happening to our bodies and our environment indicated to Burrow that we had lost the sense of what he called our “eco-somatic” (environment-organism) reality.  (28)  For example, I recall once walking along a beautiful beach in a foul mood.  Someone threw a frisbee toward me, and I watched--totally preoccupied with my thoughts--until it hit me in the chest.  He called out to me:  “That’s the Freudian unconscious.”  Burrow might have said: “That’s the lack of eco-somatic integration.”

          In Of Water and the Spirit, Malidoma Some describes his initiation into an African tribe.  He is asked to gaze uninterruptedly at a tree until he notices something.  After five hours he is in torment.  An elder tells him:  “You will not get anywhere if your thoughts are watching one thing and your eyes another.”  (29)   In such divided attention (what Burrow meant by “di-tention”) thought mediates and disrupts eco-somatic integration. Meditative practices that quiet one’s eyes, breathing and thoughts are conducive to proprioceptive integration--to thinking proprioceptively.

          Burrow considered this new somatic framework developed in the 1930’s to be a form of socio-biology.  Whatever we mean by human consciousness, he thought, it is a social, a shared phenomenon.  Thought is a collective, associated phenomenon.  This is implicit in Aristotle’s definition of the human animal by speech, and is reflected in Martin Heidegger’s view that language is “the house of being” within which we dwell. Language, like consciousness is both in between and within us.  If our consciousness is social and yet embodied within our individual organisms, then the social neurosis is in our tissues.  We are parts of one another.  In this Burrow returned to the Aristotelean view that human association is prior to individuality as the whole is prior to its parts, because the individual is not self-sufficing. 

           Burrow’s socio-biological standpoint meant that it became possible to study the social neurosis experientially as it was manifested somatically.  Here Burrow’s somatic psychology in some ways paralleled the view of Wilhelm Reich, for whom to touch the body meant to touch the unconscious.  It anticipated the insights of Michel Foucault that political repression is coded in the body. Though, as Wittgenstein argued, there is no private language, yet we have come to think of the prejudicial righteousness of our own private, separate selves as the locus of meaning and authority.  But this is idiotic, in the root sense of the word (Gr. idiotes, private, separate person).  Such idiocy is the social neurosis.  “To get square with” our prejudices, Burrow wrote, we “must learn to suspect ourselves.” (30)


          David Bohm came to his interest in mutual inquiry from a path quite different from that of Burrow.  A theoretical physicist and an original contributor to quantum theory, Bohm argued that when the atomic theory in physics thought of reality as fragmented, physicists were in reality “contributing to and extending a common fragmentary view of the whole of personal and social experience.”(31)  This might also be said about the assumptions of Hobbesean and Freudian psychological atomism and dissociation that shaped the modern Western reversal of classical Aristotelean thought.

          Bohm was influenced by another tradition of group analysis, started in England by members of the Frankfurt School (the “critical theorists”) from Germany who settled in London after the second world war, and attempted to integrate Freudian psychology with social theory.  One of these analysts, Patrick deMare, developed a “median group” process ( 20 people and above) in which open dialogue stimulated expressions of hate and panic, which if contained by the group could potentially transform into an “impersonal friendship.” (32)

          Bohm was also influenced by his collaboration with J. Krishnamurti, one of the first of the great Eastern teachers to come to the US.  Bohm saw relationships between the theory of knowledge of quantum physics and Krishnamurt’s view that the observer is the observed.  What Burrow discovered about slowing down thought by focusing on the area behind the eyes was consistent with the mindful, choiceless awareness of the great traditions of meditation. Beginning in the 1950’s, yoga and Zen practitioners related Burrow’s cotentive practice to these traditions. (33) 

          Bohm considered fragmentation as but one case of rigidly held patterns of

thought that created divisiveness and disharmony and were at the root of dominance, aggression and violence.  As someone who was closely involved with the exchange between Albert Einstein and Neils Bohr over the interpretation of the quantum theory, Bohm concluded that their different ways of determining value were irreconcilable, and that despite their good intentions, they were led to an impasse that became acrimonious through aggressive attempts to establish the authority of their points of view.

          So Bohm started to study thought as a system.  He considered genuine thinking an exceptional experience--because we are so preoccupied and identified with “thought.”  Bohm emphasized that thought is the past tense of the verb to think.  Thought runs through our minds habitually, and we follow and enact its patterns.  We also feel thought. The feelings and moods that accompany thoughts Bohm called “felts.”  He coined this word to describe the habitual emotional tone (Burrow’s “affect”) that accompanies our thought.

          We dwell and identify ourselves in bodies of thought.  We are postmodernists or capitalists or evangelicals.  As such the words reason, liberty, prayer have specific uses and meanings in the bodies of thought that define these identifications, and locate us within different, often warring, camps.  We are used to thought telling us that we are at war.  Thought also projects past into future in anticipation and worry. Thought creates what Bohm called the “self-world image.”  Analogous to what Burrow meant by the I-persona, Bohm considered this image to be “so pervasive and powerful that it tends to be confused with a reality independent of thought.” (34)  For Bohm, like Burrow, we have come to be as Larry Spence expressed it “the image-conditioned animal.” (35)

           Bohm observed that a fundamental factor in the self-world image was a tendency to maintain a disharmony between intellect and emotion.  This leads to self-deception in thought and the projection and proliferation of destructive emotions, and to an escalating feedback cycle of dominance, aggression and violence.  Like Burrow, Bohm argued that legal, political, religious and moral ideals cannot alter this cycle because they are constituted by it.

          Thought usually moves so quickly, that even within us when we sit still and listen to our inner conversation with ourselves, it is difficult to catch our first thought.  Thought is a “know it all” that conveys a sense of security, a sense of our being “right.” Thus “mind is caught up in what appears to be a rather mechanical process in which there is little intelligence or real insight” because this protects us from uncertainty. (36)  Normally, we do not know what we’re thinking.  If we are honest with ourselves, we must acknowledge that in everyday conversation, even with intimate friends, we are often aware that we are not being understood and do not really follow what is being said to us. 

          This led Bohm to think that neurophysical processes of a relatively subtle nature may be playing a part in this.  It was at this point (1988) that he became interested in Burrow’s work.  Because he considered that there is an addiction in the thought process itself, he was receptive to participating in an experiential research project on addiction as a socio-cultural phenomenon organized by the Lifwynn Foundation. (37)

          Bohm wrote:

A key point that in the suspension of the outward activity of anger, for example, a whole pattern of tensions and sensations arises all over the body which is intimately connected with the arousal of the neurophysical system as a whole.   It is crucial to pay attention to how this pattern moves and to how it is related to other factors, such as thought, which at first sight seem to have no connection to it.  All this is in fact a display of the overall process in awareness (38)

          Bohm sought out groups with intense disagreements--such as Palestinians and Jews discussing Zionism.  He thought that if a group could become a container for the display of collective thought, could maintain the tensions of antagonism and ambivalence long enough for underlying assumptions to be expressed, then it might be possible (on the analogy with cold temperature physics) for a sort of “super conductivity” to develop through which insight might develop.

         Like Burrow, Bohm concluded that the main problem with thought is that it lacks proprioception.  Thought cannot perceive its own movement.  We may say we are concerned about global warming, but thought tells us that prosperity and pollution belong necessarily together.  If we can maintain the tension of such contradictory assumption within a situation in which we can feel the movement of thought neurophysiologically, then might we be able to recognize that being unwilling to restrict our carbon dioxide production is like our own hand choking ourselves in the dark?



          I first met the psychiatrist Montague Ullman at Lifwynn Camp in 1976 when I participated in a week long experiential workshop he gave there on dreams as social information.  I had read several of his publications and corresponded with him about a concept I was developing regarding what I called the “political unconscious.”  In a book I was writing (see note 23) I had used dreams of mine to illustrate certain aspects of political identity and culture.  Ullman was conversant with the work of both Bohm and Burrow, and had evolved a way of working with dreams in groups that he called “dream appreciation.”  In this he was influenced by Carl Jung’s approach to dreams.  In his autobiography, Jung wrote:

I was never able to agree with Freud that the dream is a “facade” behind which its meaning lies hidden--a meaning already known, but maliciously, so to speak, withheld from consciousness.  To me dreams are a part of nature, which harbors no intention to deceive, but expresses something as best it can, just as a plant grows or an animal seeks its food as best it can.  These forms of life, too, have no wish to deceive our eyes, but we may deceive ourselves because our eyes are shortsighted.  (39)

        Ullman developed what he termed a “social vigilance” theory of dreaming.  (40) Dreams are like a sort of night watchman, watching over the sleeping city.  Since humans had developed a social brain (about the last 50,000 years of evolution), our dangers were increasingly of our own creation, embedded in our shared relationships, associations and collective decisions.  Just as the dream can survey and incorporate sounds and occurrences within the dreamer’s immediate environment and internal physiological states, so it surveys the larger social environment of the dreamer as well.

          Goethe expressed this view of dreams in a fanciful way in Faust:

          Ye who surround his head with aerial wheeling

          Here prove the noble elfin way of healing,

          Soothe now the wearied heart’s contention dire

          Withdraw the searing arrows of remorse,

          Of horrors suffered cleanse his soul entire

          Four are the vigils of the night’s dim course...


          In dream-sharing groups, Ullman came to recognize that there was a natural, healing potential in dreams when they were approached not with an a priori theory of dream interpretation, but rather when they were at the center of a dialogue in which their manifest content was appreciated--much as one would a piece of poetry in a writer’s workshop.  He was aware that even though most people feel their own dreams are weird and incoherent, we find it somehow easy to feel that we immediately understand the meaning of someone else’s dream.  Of course, this has to do with projection.  So Ullman incorporated explicit space for and recognition of projection into his method.  After a dream is shared in the group, the dreamer sits back and passively attends the rest of the group process.  Individuals take the dream as if it were their own, and project first into what they would be feeling if it were their dream.  Then the second stage begins with the group members working together to appreciate the metaphors in the dream.  Ullman argues that metaphor, not symbol is the language of dreams, and that metaphor is social, that is, drawn from the collective pool of language--the social medium in which we exist.  The dreamer contemplates and integrates this group play with metaphor--feels with and appreciates these multi-perspectival projections.

          From Burrow’s perspective, like most things of value, in our preoccupation with the I-persona, we have privatized our dreams.  We think of dreams as one of the most intimate, private, subjective of our experiences. We can share dreams with professional therapists or perhaps with close friends. But surely not in public, not with strangers. However, if dreams are natural expressions of what concerns us, and if our consciousness is social, then our usual incomprehension of our dreams reflects the fact that we have “de-socialized” them, and therefore cannot appreciate them.  It is as if we need to learn another language, more poetic and metaphorical--more social--in order to comprehend what dreams are saying to us.

           But in order to do this we must reverse our normal assumptions about social interaction.  We must enable projections to emerge freely in dialogue, and to be recognized and appreciated.  Here, the logic of social-self inquiry moves beyond the negative dialectic of Burrow.  It is not necessary to challenge and attempt to falsify projections.  Challenging assumptions and projections while exposing habits of self-reference, maintains the debating posture that  forms the dichotomous logic of divided attention. Neither Burrow nor Bohm fully moved beyond this limit.

         In the dream appreciation group, after the projections into feeling and metaphor have unfolded, the dreamer is invited back into the dialogue.  The dreamer is considered to be the ultimate authority regarding the meaning of the dream.  Whatever we might say about idiocy and privatization, it is clear that meaning must reflect insight into an integral reality that the dream manifests within us. After swimming in the projections of others, the dreamer can feel resonance with some and also lack of contact with others.  Projections can be falsified.

          But the situation is not designed to falsify or reject projections.  Whatever can be incorporated into revealed meaning is accepted by the dreamer.  This process is based on the observation that the dream has what Ullman calls a “bi-directionality.”  A dream is oriented toward the personal concerns of the dreamer, but it does so in relation to and through the language of social metaphor. Ullman writes:

Social in origin, our dream imagery has an intrinsic bidirectionality that points inwardly to the innermost and often hidden aspects of our personal being and outwardly to the source of their origin and to their possible connection to prevailing social realities that otherwise tend to be obscured from view.  (42)

Just as we have forgotten the ancient awareness that we are social beings, so we forget that we need others in order to gain insight into our dreams.  Ullman puts it this way:

If the dream experience is a private articulation of a social issue, the substantive content of the dream is discovered through a social transformation, a process in which others have an essential function...[I]nsight into the significance of the dream generally eludes the dreamer in the absence of a suitable facilitating social setting.  It is the dreamer’s task to read the metaphorical image that embeds the dream’s message.  To do that requires that the dream be       socialized, i.e., that it’s content be shared and explored with others.  It is only natural that if the dream speaks to social issues, to relationships with others, the discovery of the particulars requires the presence of others in a supportive context in order to unfold. (43)

         In fact it could be said that our dreams must be “re-socialized.”  Dreams are images of our social being that are unintelligible and mysterious to us precisely because we do not recognize or organize ourselves as if we were social beings.  Thus dialogue in which we open shared meaning to one another is an important aspect of sociotherapy--our reintegration as socio-cultural beings.

          When the purpose of dream appreciation is explicitly directed at social meaning, then there is a dialogue that completely reverses our normal patterns of discourse.  In such a dialogue, the focus is not simply on personal meaning.  Rather, it is a matter of what can be learned about our social condition and shared experience from the structure and development of the dream images.

          As an example of this sort of integration, I want to close now by sharing a dream I had when I was working at the Lifwynn Foundation (1989-92).  In taking on the job of starting a new stage of social self-inquiry there, I entered into a research relationship with an 82 year old woman, Alfreda Galt, who was then President of the Foundation.  We attempted to recreate the sort of mutual inquiry that Burrow and Shields experienced at the beginning of their study of the social neurosis.  How often I felt I wanted to jump out of my skin!  How often we found ourselves at points of impasse.  During one of those times I dreamt that I was in a row boat with Alfreda, rowing across “Clear Lake“--a lake where I had vacationed as a young boy. I was rowing toward a “pier,” but the “oar locks” that held the oars in place were rotten, and I had great difficulty getting there.

          Working with the dream, I came to appreciate that Alfreda and I were trying to get to a “peer” relation, but the divided attention of our dichotomous “Or locks” (as in either/or) were making that quite difficult.  “Or Locks” is an apt metaphor for the problem social self-inquiry faces. This dream also expresses a metaphoric dichotomy having to do with direction and intent in the double meaning of “row.”  How often when we feel we are of good will, merrily rowing our boat, are we also starting a “row” (disturbance, commotion) ?  With regard to the phenomena of our social neurosis, we’re all in the same boat.


         It might seem that practical anthropology as I have characterized it is profoundly impractical.  Why would anybody want to transcend bias?  Who wants to be told that our thoughts and actions are incoherent?  Still, is it possible that we might by means of meditative, self-reflective group practices shift the balance of insight toward a more collaborative social order?  I do not know.  When I look at a random sample of the defining “issues” that orient our social dynamics today, the malaise of our shared neurosis appears to be deepening. As evidence of its contemporary characteristics--of the normal, everyday contradictions in our self-world images--we might contemplate the following news stories--all from one day in the news, April 14th, 2005:

A California jury awards $2 million in a priest abuse case.  Though the plaintiffs consider the sum minimal, they are pleased that the Catholic Church is called “despicable” on the record.... In Iraq, a U.S. “contractor,” (he has been there selling water) is being held hostage.  He begs for his life, urges a troop pullout.  The President’s spokesman says there will be no negotiating with terrorists....  After being teased, a 13-year-old baseball player clubs a boy to death with a baseball bat at a game:  A father says:  “I don’t think his intention was to start a fight, but when you know other baseball players, you give them a hard time.  It’s called ‘razzing.’  What happened? What did we miss as a community?”...  U.S. House majority leader Tom DeLay apologizes for “barbs“ directed against the Federal Judiciary.  He has denounced Federal judges as “arrogant, out-of-control and unaccountable.”  DeLay himself has been rebuked three times by the House Ethics Committee for violations of their rules....  Eric Rudolf issued an eleven page public statement to the effect that he was “bloodied but emphatically unbowed” after admitting to a series of abortion clinic bombings, an attack at the 1996 Olympic Games and on a gay club in Atlanta, GA.  He has killed two and wounded 150 people.  He wrote: “Because I believe that abortion is murder, I also believe that force is an attempt to stop it.”

          In such trauma we can perceive the social neurosis as a systemic form of self-justification. In The Embodied Mind (1991) Francisco Varela argued that the crisis of our time is related to the fact that “Western thought in general has no tradition that works with cognition and lived experience in a direct and pragmatic way.” The one possible exception, he suggests, may be psychoanalysis.  But in its “current manifestations,” he continues,

it has been unable to confront the basic contradictions in our experience of the self or to offer a transformative reembodiment...[W]ithout such a pragmatic approach to the transformation of experience in everyday life--especially within our developing scientific culture--human existence will remain confined to the undecidable choice between objectivism and nihilism. (44)

        The tradition of practical anthropology I have outlined above--evolving out of psychoanalysis--fits Varela’s requirements. Both Burrow and Bohm worked to shift the science of conflict management and public health from preoccupation with ideation or mental imagery toward an experiential neurophysiology of conflict, and to develop such awareness in the present moment in a public dialogue so that ulterior motives and unconscious assumptions could be honestly acknowledged and suspended and separated from thinking and feeling--so that a fuller, more balanced, collaborative decision making might be possible.

          Both Burrow and Bohm sought, in the context of an evolving Western scientific epistemology informed by the sociology of knowledge and the uncertainty principle, a resolution of the dualisms of subject and object, self and other, observer and observed.  Both wished to bridge the gap between past and future, by integrating present-centered, meditative experiential insight into the heart of socio-political opinion and decision making.  Both wished to heal the split between theory and practice through a focus on the “social-self” (the self-world image) as the field of both inquiry and transformation. 

          If it is true that we have increasingly lost an awareness of human interdependency and are densensitized to the ways in which thought and emotion are shared phenomena, if our alienation from our species being has developed to the point that ecological and military destructiveness, post-traumatic stress and triage are hidden from us, then forms of practice that will integrate our “anthropological” identity are most needful--most practical from the standpoint of human survival and quality of life.

          Suspending image projections and beliefs about others and opening bias to scrutiny and evaluation, can alter our “forward leaning” posture of divided attention and create the possibility for shared meaning and insight to develop between us. Burrow’s social self-inquiry and Bohm’s dialogue groups are ways of deconstructing the impediments to coordinated interaction.  These practices--like mediation or non-violence training--can be taught. 

          Still, such a species wide educational public health program would have an enormous amount of work to do in order to address our personal and socio/political forward leaningness.  Preemptive, first strike military preparedness is only the most ominous of its current manifestations.  And even if forward leaning can be suspended by cotentive practices, it continues to display ever anew at more sophistocated levels.  This is because the depth of analytical evaluation of mutual bias and divided attention is for all practical purposes infinite.  Therefore, the suspension and deconstruction of authoritarian self-righteousness is an on-going, self-reinforcing process:  cotention will always discover ditention. This is most valuable and necessary for the interests of truth in Heidegger’s sense as that which is revealed--aletheia. (45)  But it remains a “rational” process in that our recurrent either/ors are still experienced as some “ratio” or other.  Nonetheless, such a process offers great benefits to our social bodies if it is so that the truth will make us free.

          However, to move beyond the suspension of affect projection, we must experience the sociality of metaphor itself. We must, as Monte Ullman puts it, recognize that we swim in the same social sea.  To feel genuinely connected with others and our shared world, to recognize the interdependence and collectivity of thinking and feeling is a wonderful experience.  In doing so we can even sense the depth and meaning of our mutual biases as a shared structure and appreciate projections by allowing them to structure dialogue itself.  This reversal of our normal attitude developed through group dream work offers the possibility that we may reintegrate our social being.  Without appreciating the meaning of the  “Clear Lake” dream I had, I may have imagined I was working toward a peer relation with another, intentionally practicing and aspiring to a more “cotentive” relationship, but I would not have actually felt that we were in the same boat. 

          But even this promising transformation of our projective identifications and biases into an appreciation of our interconnectedness still faces the deep marks of our isolation from species being.  At the root of appreciation is the verb “appretiare,” to set a price upon.  This points to the unconscious, collective bias we share when we say that the dreamer is the “final authority” for “appreciating” the meaning of the dream.  The deconstruction of authoritarianism and the creation of more meaningful scientific and political authority involves an understanding of what is an “author,” what authorizes.  It was Hobbes who argued that the worth of a man is his price--whatever the market will pay for his power.  But who will pay to overcome the authority of individual bias? It is precisely such biases to which we are most deeply attached.

          In the field of apparent scarcity of our divisive and dichotomous values and meanings, we can search for ways in which to see through what Ullman calls our “disconnects” from others.  We are not the “authors” of our dreams.  They come to us. What they reveal we cannot know so long as we maintain the myth of a privileged, privatized subjectivity. We cannot know without others. Truth is in between us, is inter-subjective. To work toward increasing epistemological collaboration seems to me an obvious necessity if we wish to mitigate triage and evolve a more democratic, inclusive and humane world.  Ullman put it this way:

Our dreams are organized by a different principle...more concerned with the  nature of our connections with all others.  The history of the human race, while awake, is a history of fragmentation, of separating people and communities of people...nationally, religiously politically;  our dreams are connected with the basic truth that we are all members of a single species. (46)

  One day in the news, one day at a time, all in one boat. 




1. Benedict, Ruth. Patterns of Culture.  Boston, Houghton Mifflin. 1959, pp. 10; 48.

2. Of course, each of these fields have developed specialized meanings and methods different from what I’m calling “practical anthropology.”  I refer to these disciplines here to indicate that in the tradition I will outline below, anthropological “practice” implies building therapeutic community.  Socratic “dialectic” is surely the earliest philosophical model for “deep” dialogue.  Plato contrasted dialectic (friendly conversation directed toward agreement) with “eristic” (from “Eris,“ goddess of conflict).  See, Plato, The Republic, Bk. 5, 454a. But such a separation is academic.  In practice dialogue in the strong sense and the war of words or debate (desbattere, “of battle“) are interdependent. In the Socratic spirit, Bronson Alcott one of the 19th Century American transcendentalists, held  public dialogue groups which he termed “mutual inquiry.”  See Geraldine Brooks, “Orpheus at the Plough,” The New Yorker, January 10, 2005.  For reference to the contemporary “cointelligence” movement, see

  3.  See Durkheim, Emile, Suicide, (Free Press,1966), p. 36.  Following Dilthey and Nietzsche, Max Weber’s sociology emphasized that as cultural beings we confer meaning and “lend significance” to the meaningless world, and that all knowledge of cultural reality is always an interpretation “from particular points of view.”  For his conception of a multiperspectival “objectivity” see The Methodology of the Social Sciences (Free Press, 1949) p. 81.

  4.  Milgram. Stanley. Obedience to Authority. Perennial Press, 1983.  There is an enormous literature on Milgram.  See recently Sibicky, Mark, “Electrodes and Entertainment:  Stanley Milgram and the Dangers of Pop Psychology.” The Common Review, Fall 2004.

  5. Mannhein, Karl.  Ideology and Utopia, Harcourt Brace, 1936.  See his critique of “truth in itself” in the light of Heisenberg’s “unformulated relationalism,” p. 306;  Mannheim lists Trigant Burrow’s paper “Social Images vs. Reality” and The Social Basis of Consciousness (1927) in his bibliography under the heading “Symbols, Meaning, Communication and Language.”

  6.  Kuhn, Thomas, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, University of Chicago Press, 1986.

  7.  Feyerabend, Paul. Against Method, Verso Press, 1993.

8.  See Bottomore, T.B. (Ed.) Karl Marx:  Selected Writings in Sociology and Social Philosophy, McGraw-Hill, 1964;  Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, Pt. 1, CH. 13;  Plato’s argument for natural human association is that “each of us isn’t self-sufficient but is in need of much“ (Republic, Bk. 2, # 369a).  Aristotle argues from the character of human speech that association in the polis (city-state) is “by nature clearly prior to the family and to the individual” (Politics, Bk 1, CH. 2, 1253a).

  9.  See Nietzsche’s concept of “objectivity” in Kaufmann, W. (trans). On the Geneology of Morals, Third Essay, section 12.  For Nietzsche’s critique of the pietistic “despisers of the body,” see his Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Part 1, CH. 4.

  10.  See Reich, W.  Character Analysis. Orgone Institute Press, 1958;  Foucault, M. Discipline and Punish, Basic Books, 1974;  Gendlin, E.  Focusing.

  11.  See Black, K.  Beyond Words:  The Story of the Sensitivity Training and Encounter Movement. Russell Sage Foundation, 1972.  Friere, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed.  On “speaking bitterness” see Hinton, W. Fanshen. Vintage, 1968, Ch. 13.

  12.  Freud, S. The Dynamics of the Transference,” p. 320.  In Collected Papers.  Basic Books, New York, 1959, V. 2.

  13.  Jung, Carl.  “General Aspects of Dream Psychology,” pps. 50, 56-8 in Dreams, Princeton University Press, 1974.

  14.  Freud, S. Civilization and It’s Discontents, in Gay, P. (Ed), The Freud Reader, W.W. Norton, New York. 1995, p. 771.

  15.  Dostoevsky, F. Crime and Punishment.  Bantam Books, New York, 1987, pps. 583-9 and Introduction.

  16.  Burrow, T. “The Psychiatrist and the Community.” Journal of the American Medical Society, 1914.

  17.  Burrow, T. The Social Basis of the Unconscious, 1927.

  18.  Campos-Avillar, Juan.  “Grup d’Analisi Barcelona,” 1991.  In referring to “other group psychotherapies” Juan Campos is thinking of the tradition of H. S. Foulkes.  Foulkes’ “group analysis” influenced the work of David Bohm via Patrick deMare.  See note 32 below, and chart of influences, p. 24.

  19.  Burrow, T. The Neurosis of Man, p.324.

  20. Burrow, T. Science and Man’s Behavior, p. 528.

  21.  Lawrence, D. H. in The Bookman, November, 1927, pp. 314-17.

  22.  Lawrence, D. H. quoted in part in Burrow, T. A Search for Man’s Sanity. New York. Oxford University Press, 1958, p. 186. (Hereafter, cited as “Search”)

23.  For this argument see Wikse, John R.  About Possession:  the Self as Private Property.  Pennsylvania State University Press, University Park and London, 1977.

  24.  Burrow, T.  Science and Man’s Behavior, pp. 245-6. (Hereafter, cited as “Science.

  25.  Burrow, T.  Search, p. 435.

  26.  Burrow, T. Science, p. 390.

  27.  Bohm, David.  Thought as a System. David Bohm Seminars, Ojai, CA, 1992, p. 97. Hereafter cited as “Thought.”

  28.  Burrow, T. Science, note 1, p. 231.

  29.  Some, Malidona, Of Water and the Spirit, New York. Compass, Penguin, 1995, p. 207.

  30.  Burrow, T. Science, p. 171.

  31.  Bohm, D. “The Deeper Structure of Thought,”  Unpublished MS, 1988. p. 2. Hereafter cited as “Deeper Structure.”

  32.  See de mare, P., Piper and Thompson, Koinonia.  London and new York.  Karnac Books, 1991.

  33.  See Tomita, Tokyo Journal of Psychoanalysis, 1956 and Vinekar, Yoga Therapy, 1963.

  34.   Bohm, D. “Deeper Structure,” p. 6.

  35.  See Spence, Larry.  The Politics of Social Knowledge, The Pennsylvania State University, University park and London, 1978, CH. 8.

  36.  Bohm, D. Deeper Structure, p. 8.

  37.  Bohm, D.  Thought, p. 36. See also the report of this conference and Bohm’s views in Lifwynn Correspondence, V. 1, # 2, New York. The Lifwynn Foundation.

38.  Bohm, Deeper Structure, p. 14.

  39.  Jung, Carl.  Memories, Dreams, Reflections.  New York.  Vintage Books.  1965, pp. 161-2.

40.  cf., Ullman, Montague. “Vigilance Theory and Psi. Part II: Physiological, Psychological and Parapsychological Aspects,” J. Of the American Society for Psychical Research Vol. 80, October 1986 and “A Theory of Vigilance and Dreaming”...

41.  Goethe, Faust, Pt. 2, Act 1.

42.  Ullman, M., “Dreams and Society,” in Ullman, M. and Limmer, C., The Variety of Dream Experience.  Albany, 1999, State University of New York Press, p. 257.

See also my essay “Nightrule:  Dreams as Social Information” in this volume (pps. 141-159).

43.  Ullman, M. “Dreaming and the Dream:  Social and Personal Perspectives.”  The Journal of Mind and Behavior, V. 7, 1986, p. 301.

44.  Varela, F., Thompson, E. and Rosch, E.  The Embodied Mind:  Cognitive Science and Human Experience.  Cambridge, MA and London.  1991.  MIT Press, p 244.

45.  cf. Heidegger, Martin.  Being and Time.  (Translated by Macquarrie and Robinson) Harper San Francisco, 1962, p. 57. 

46.  Ullman, Montague, “Psi Communication through Dream Sharing,” in Parapsychology Review 12, No. 2, 1981.

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