"I dream, therefore I exist"
About this Quote
Strindberg’s twist on Descartes is a small act of sabotage: “I think” becomes “I dream,” and the whole Enlightenment project starts to wobble. For a dramatist who made inner weather - jealousy, paranoia, erotic obsession, spiritual dread - into plot engine, existence isn’t proven by clean logic but by unruly imagery. Dreaming is not the mind at its most reliable; it’s the mind when it’s leaking. That’s the point.
The line reads like a manifesto for modern consciousness at the turn of the century, when certainty was losing its monopoly. Strindberg wrote in an era of nervous systems: new psychology, fractured faith, industrial pressure, the rise of naturalism and then its backlash into expressionistic nightmare. In his plays, reality doesn’t sit still long enough to be “thought” into place; it morphs, accuses, seduces. Dream becomes the evidence of being because it’s where the self confesses what it can’t rationally defend.
There’s also a grim, Strindbergian bite: if dreaming is the proof, then waking life is suspect. The self is most “real” when it’s least in control. That’s not comforting; it’s an indictment of the tidy bourgeois subject who wants to believe he governs himself. Strindberg suggests we’re authored from below, by impulses and visions that don’t ask permission. Existence, in this view, is not a conclusion. It’s a disturbance.
The line reads like a manifesto for modern consciousness at the turn of the century, when certainty was losing its monopoly. Strindberg wrote in an era of nervous systems: new psychology, fractured faith, industrial pressure, the rise of naturalism and then its backlash into expressionistic nightmare. In his plays, reality doesn’t sit still long enough to be “thought” into place; it morphs, accuses, seduces. Dream becomes the evidence of being because it’s where the self confesses what it can’t rationally defend.
There’s also a grim, Strindbergian bite: if dreaming is the proof, then waking life is suspect. The self is most “real” when it’s least in control. That’s not comforting; it’s an indictment of the tidy bourgeois subject who wants to believe he governs himself. Strindberg suggests we’re authored from below, by impulses and visions that don’t ask permission. Existence, in this view, is not a conclusion. It’s a disturbance.
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| Topic | Deep |
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