The general fact thus brought to light--that the mode in which a
brain-centre will function depends so largely upon its initial
education, but that, this education once completed, the centre can
maintain its function, though deprived of sense-stimulation--is
sufficiently important to merit further illustration.[17] This
fact, though very clear and evident when stated from a modern point
of view, has not always been recognized. So ingenious a thinker as
Erasmus Darwin inferred from two cases (the one of a blind man, the
other of a deaf-mute) in which the wanting senses were also absent
in dreams, that the peripheral sense-organ was necessary for all
perception, subjective as well as objective; and entirely neglected
the age at which the sense was lost. Such noted physiologists as
Reil, Rudolphi, Hartman, Wardrop (who says, "when an organ of sense
is totally destroyed, the ideas which were received by that organ
seem to perish along with it as well as the power of perception"),
more or less distinctly favored this view; while some teachers of
the blind and the physiologists Nasse and Autentreith rightly drew
the distinction between those born, and those who became, blind.
An experimental demonstration of the original dependence of the
perceptive and emotional powers upon sense-impressions was furnished
by Boffi and Schiff, who found that young dogs whose olfactory bulbs
had been removed failed to develop any affection for man.
What is true of the visual, is doubtless equally true of the other
perceptive centres. The dreams of the deaf-mute offer an attractive
and untouched field for such study.[18] The few accounts of such
dreams that I have met with, fail to give the age at which deafness
set in; in one case, however, in which deafness occurred at thirty
years, the pantomimic had replaced the spoken language in the dreams
of thirty years later. Similarly, cripples dream of their lost limbs
for many years after their loss; in such cases, however, stimulation
of the cut nerves may be the suggestive cause of such dreams. A man
of forty, who lost his right arm seventeen years before, still dreams
of having the arm. The earliest age of losing and dreaming about a
lost limb, of which I find a record, is of a boy of thirteen years
who lost a leg at the age of ten; this boy still dreams of walking
on his feet. Those who are born cripples must necessarily have their
defects represented in their dream consciousness. Heermann cites the
case of a man born without hands, forearms, feet, or lower legs. He
always dreamt of walking on his knees; and all the peculiarities of
his movements were present in his dream-life.
The dreams of those both blind and deaf are especially instructive.
Many of Laura Bridgman's dreams have been recorded; and an
unpublished manuscript by Dr. G. Stanley Hall places at my service
a valuable account of her sleep and dreams. Sight and hearing were
as absent from her dreams as they were from the dark and silent
world which alone she knew. The tactual-motor sensations, by which
she communicated with her fellow-beings, and through which almost
all her intellectual food reached her, also formed her mainstay in
dreams. This accounts for the suddenness and fright with which she
often waked from her dreams; she is perchance dreaming of an animal,
which to us would first make itself seen or heard, but to her is
present only when it touches and startles her--for she lacks any
anticipatory sense. Language has become so all-important a factor
in civilized life, that it naturally is frequently represented in
dreams. We not only dream of speaking and being spoken to, but we
actually innervate the appropriate muscles and talk in our sleep;
this Laura Bridgman also did. "Her sleep seemed almost never
undisturbed by dreams. Again and again she would suddenly talk a few
words or letters with her fingers, too rapidly and too imperfectly
to be intelligible (just as other people utter incoherent words
and inarticulate sounds in sleep), but apparently never making a
sentence."[19] So, too, all the people who enter into her dreams
talk with their fingers. This habit had already presented itself at
the age of twelve, four years after her first lesson in the alphabet.
"I do not dream to talk with mouth; I dream to talk with fingers." No
prettier illustration could be given of the way in which her fancy
built upon her real experiences, than the fact recorded by Charles
Dickens, that on picking up her doll he found across its eyes a green
band such as she herself wore. The organic sensations originating
in the viscera, though often prominently represented in dreams of
normal persons, seemed especially prominent in her dreams. She tells
of feeling her blood rush about, and of her heart beating fast when
suddenly waking, much frightened, from a distressing dream. One
such dream she describes as "hard, heavy, and thick;" terms which,
though to us glaringly inappropriate in reference to so fairy-like a
structure as a dream, form an accurate description in the language of
her own realistic senses. In short, her dreams are accurately modeled
upon the experiences of her waking life, reproducing in detail
all the peculiarities of thought and action which a very special
education had impressed upon her curious mind.
I have had the opportunity of questioning a blind and deaf young
man whose life-history offers a striking contrast to that of Laura
Bridgman, and illustrates with all the force of an experimental
demonstration the critical educational importance of the early years
of life. He was, at the time of my questioning him, twenty-three
years of age, and was earning a comfortable living as a broom-maker.
He had an active interest in the affairs of the world, and disliked
to be considered in any way peculiar. His eyesight began to fail him
in early childhood; and in his fifth year the sight of one eye was
entirely lost, while that of the other was very poor. After a less
gradual loss of hearing, he became completely deaf in his ninth
year. At the age of twelve he was (practically) totally blind, deaf,
and nearly mute. The small remnant of articulating power has been
cultivated; and those who are accustomed to it can understand his
spoken language. He also communicates as Laura Bridgman did, and has
a further advantage over her in possessing a very acute sense of
smell. He remembers the world of sight and hearing perfectly, and in
a little sketch of his life which he wrote for me vividly describes
the sights and sounds of his play-days. He usually dreams of seeing
and hearing, though the experiences of his present existence also
enter into his dreams. Some of his dreams relate to flowers which he
smelled and saw; he dreamt of being upset in a boat; shortly after
his confirmation he dreamt of seeing God. When he dreams of making
brooms, his dream is entirely in terms of motion and feeling, not
of sight. His history thus strongly emphasizes the importance which
a variety of evidence attributes to the period of childhood, and
perhaps especially to that from the third to the seventh year.
The remarkable powers which Helen Keller has exhibited throughout her
phenomenal education give to an account of her dream life an especial
interest. I am fortunate in being able to present her own account
as she prepared it at my solicitation. The wealth and brilliancy of
her imagination frequently lead to modes of expression which seem to
brusquely contradict her sightless and soundless condition. But a
careful observation of her mental activities brings out the verbal or
literary character of such allusions, in certain cases essentially
aided by associations with impressions of the senses that remain to
her. In such cases her familiarity, through literature and through
intercourse, with the experiences of the hearing and seeing and with
the emotional and intellectual associations that ordinary persons
might have with definite scenes or occasions, enables her to realize,
and her vivid imagination to construct, a somewhat idealized account
of her vicarious experiences, though perhaps real emotions. Her dream
life seems in complete concordance with her waking condition; but
this imaginative factor must be constantly borne in mind in reading
her report of her dream life. The intrinsic interest of this human
document, and the charm of the narrative, present so lifelike and
almost confidential a portrayal of her world of dreams, that any
elaborate comment would be unnecessary. It should be remembered that
Helen Keller became totally blind and deaf at nineteen months; that
her instruction began at the age of seven years; that she learned
to speak orally from her eleventh year; that at present she speaks
orally almost exclusively, although very proficient in the use of
the finger alphabet; that she is able to understand what is said to
her by placing her fingers upon the lips and throat of the speaker,
but that the more expeditious and certain mode of communicating with
her is by making the letters of the finger-alphabet in the palm of
her hand. This latter method she uses entirely with her teacher and
with all who are conversant with it. This account of her dreams was
prepared in August, 1900, when she was twenty years of age; it was
written off-hand by her on a type-writer, and is presented in its
original form.