Returning to the general data regarding the dreams of the blind, the
question that next suggests itself is whether and how, in cases
where blindness ensued after a remembered period of vision, the
pre-blindness period is distinguished from the post-blindness period
in dream-imagery. It was noticed, for instance, that the blind and
deaf young man mentioned above, though seeing in his dreams, never
thus saw the shop in which he worked. It is easy to imagine that the
more or less sudden loss of sight, the immersion into a strange and
dark world, would for a time leave the individual living entirely
upon the past. His remembered experiences are richer and more vivid
(we are supposing his blindness to occur after childhood) than those
he now has; he is learning a new language and translates everything
back into the old. His dreams will naturally continue to be those of
his seeing life. As his experiences in his new surroundings increase,
and the memory of the old begins to fade, the tendency of recent
impressions to arise in the automatism of dreaming will bring the
events of the post-blindness period as factors into his dreams. I
find in my list only seven who do not have such dreams; and in these
the blindness has been on the average of only 2.8 years standing.
The average age of "blinding" of the seven is fifteen years, making
it probable that the adaptation to the new environment has here been
a slow one, and that such dreams will occur later on. On the other
hand, cases occur in which, after three, two, or even one year's
blindness, when the persons so afflicted were young, events happening
within that period have been dreamed of. Heermann cites a case of a
man of seventy who never dreamed of the hospital in which he had been
living for eighteen years, and to which he was brought shortly after
his blindness. This and other cases suggest that the more mature and
settled the brain-tissue, the more difficult is it to impress upon
it new conditions sufficiently deeply to have them appear in the
automatic life of dreams.
Whether there is a difference in the vividness, or any other
characteristic which sight would lend, in the dreams of events before
and after blindness, is a question to which I could obtain few
intelligent and satisfactory answers; but, as far as they go, the
tendency of these replies is to show that when blindness ensues close
upon the critical period of five to seven years of age, the power
of vivid dream-vision is more exclusively limited to the events of
the years of full sight; and, as Heermann pointed out, this power is
often subject to a comparatively early decay. Similarly, I find that
those who lose their sight near the critical age are not nearly so
apt to retain color in their dream-vision as those who become blind
later on. The average age of "blinding" of twenty-four persons who
have colored dream-vision, is 16.6 years, including one case in which
blindness set in as early as the seventh year. All who see enough to
see color, have colored dream-vision.
I also asked those who became blind in youth, or later, whether they
were in the habit of giving imaginary faces to the persons they
met after their blindness, and whether they ever saw such in their
dreams. Some answered in very vague terms, but several undoubtedly
make good use of this power, probably somewhat on the same basis as
we imagine the appearance of eminent men of whom we have read or
heard, but whose features we have never seen. When we remember how
erroneous such impressions often are, we can understand how easily
it may mislead the blind. Such imaginary faces and scenes also
enter into their dreams, but to a less extent than into those of
the sighted. Dr. Kitto[20] quotes a letter from a musician who lost
his sight when eighteen years old, but who retains a very strong
visualizing power both in waking life and in dreams. The mention of
a famous man, of a friend, or of a scene, always carries with it a
visual picture, complete and vivid. Moreover, these images of his
friends are reported to change as the friends grow old; and he feels
himself intellectually in no way different from the seeing.
This leads naturally to the consideration of the power of the
imagination in the blind. It is not difficult to understand that
they are deprived of one powerful means of cultivating this faculty,
that the eye is in one sense the organ of the ideal. Their knowledge
is more realistic and tangible, and so their dreams often, though
by no means always, lack all poetical characteristics, and are very
commonplace. Ghosts, elves, fairies, monsters, and all the host of
strange romance that commonly people dreams, are not nearly so well
represented as in the dreams of the sighted. What is almost typical
in the dreams of the latter is unusual in the dreams of the blind,
especially of those early blind. Many observe that such dreams grow
rare as they outgrow their youth,[21] which is probably true of the
sighted. When the blind dream of ghosts they either hear them, and
that usually not until they are close at hand, or they are actually
touched by them. A blind man, describing a dream in which his friend
appeared to him, said: "Then I dreamt that he tried to frighten me,
and make believe he was a ghost, by _pushing me down sideways_," etc.
By some the ghost is heard only; it has a rough voice, and its bones
rattle; or it pursues the victim, humming and groaning as it runs.
Contrary to the opinions of some writers, I find hearing, and not the
group of tactual-motor sensations, to be the chief sense with the
blind, both in waking and in dreams. That hearing owes very much of
this supremacy to its being the vehicle of conversation, goes without
saying. Many of the blind dream almost exclusively in this sense, and
it is quite generally spoken of as the most important. Even those
who see a little, often regard hearing as their most useful sense;
those who see well enough to see color, almost invariably claim for
their partial sight an importance exceeding that of hearing. Next in
importance to hearing is the group of sensations accompanying motion.
An important item in the dreams of the sighted is furnished by this
complex of sensations, and the same is true of the blind; almost
all remember such dreams, and some make this their most important
avenue of sensation. Yet such a purely artificial movement as reading
the raised type with the finger almost never occurs in dreams. The
boys dream of playing, running, jumping, and so on; the men of
broom-making, piano-tuning, teaching, and similar work; the girls of
sewing, fancy work, household work, and the like.
There is often ascribed to the blind a somewhat mystical sense, by
which they can tell the presence and even the nature of objects,
and can feel their way. As far as such a power exists, it depends
upon a complex group of sensations, and includes the cultivation
of the irradiation sense, which we all possess. It is not at all
difficult to tell whether a large object is within a few inches of
the hand, by the fact that it modifies the air currents and heat
radiations reaching the hand. This is especially the case if the
temperature of the object be somewhat different from that of the
room, or if it be an object like metal, which rapidly exchanges
its heat. In sunlight the shadows of stones and posts can be thus
detected; and the illumination of a room, both as to its source and
extent, can be judged. This sense the blind carefully, though often
unconsciously, cultivate, and I have heard it spoken of by them as
"facial perception," because the face seems to be most sensitive to
this kind of change. Many mention that the power fails them under the
influence of a headache or similar nervousness. The question whether
the position of a door, whether opened or closed, could be told at a
distance was variously answered; about half testified that they could
do so mainly by the aid of this facial perception. This enters in a
vague way into their dreams, but seldom plays an important rôle.
The stories attributing to the blind rather wonderful notions of
color have, on careful examination, been readily explained by natural
means; the use of words referring to color is often merely verbal
(of this both Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller furnish many excellent
examples), while the knowledge of the colors of special objects is
obtained by inference, based upon texture, appropriateness, and
similar characteristics. The analogies between color and sound
have been frequently described within recent years. Mr. Galton has
recorded many cases in which the sounds of the vowels, of words, of
musical notes, and the like, immediately summon to the mental eye an
appropriate color, often with a peculiar outline and shading. One
person could actually read sounds out of a wall-paper pattern, or
write the sounds in the name _Francis Galton_ in colors. It seemed
possible that the blind might obtain or receive some dim notions of
color by a similar process; and Dr. Kitto and the blind teacher,
Friedrich Scherer, mention that such is the case, though to a very
slight extent. The latter calls musical instruments the bridge across
which color comes to him. (He became blind when two years old.) The
flute is his symbol of green, the swelling organ tones of blue. The
trumpet is red, the hunter's horn dark green and violet, a general
confusion of tones is gray, while pink and crimson are associated
with the feeling of velvet. In my list occurs the record of a young
man twenty years old, and blind for three years. He saw colors on
hearing certain sounds soon after his blindness, and claims that he
is thus able to keep alive his notions of color. To him an alto voice
is gray; a soprano, white; a tenor, yellow; a bass, black. My own
voice suggested a dark background. A few words are also colored to
him; the sound of _Smith_ seems yellow. These analogies, however, are
fanciful and rare. They belong to a region of mental phenomena, of
great complexity, in which associations and idiosyncracies have free
play, and seem as little capable of definite explanation as much of
the stuff that dreams are made of.
A brief selection of instances from the collection of dreams and
parts of dreams which these blind people have put at my command,
may serve to reinforce the several factors of the dream-life of the
blind which have been commented upon. Many of the dreams present
no special differentiation from those of the seeing, but the most
carefully recorded ones usually reveal some traces of a defective or
peculiar apperception. A blind boy with more than usual imagination
dreamed that he was in a battle in which Alexander the Great put
the Gauls to flight; he heard the thunder of the cannon, but saw no
flash. A young man dreamed that his mother was dead; this he knew
by the cold touch of her body. He next heard the chanting of the
Mass at her funeral. This young man at times improvises airs in his
dreams. A partially-sighted girl dreams repeatedly of a wide river,
and is afraid of being dashed across it, while anxious to secure the
flowers on the opposite bank, which she dimly sees. A boy dreamed of
being picked up by some mysterious agency, and then suddenly allowed
to fall from a tremendous height. Here he awoke, and found his head
at the foot of the bed. Another dreamed of the Judgment Day, mainly
in terms of hearing. He was drawn to heaven by a rope, clinging to
a pole used for exercising; he heard the trumpets sounding, and the
voices singing, and so on. One dreamed that he was on a steamboat
which suddenly sank, whereupon he quietly walked ashore. Another,
that his father saw some wild people in the water, and swam out and
rescued them; another, of a large conflagration, of which he saw
nothing, but was constantly receiving reports from the bystanders.
A girl dreamed that she was sent by her aunt to get a loaf of bread
from the cellar, and was cautioned not to step too far down in the
cellar, because there was water there; upon arriving at the dangerous
place she stood still, and called for her aunt. Another dreamed of
chivalry, as the result of reading "Ivanhoe;" another of visiting
Lincoln and being much impressed with the strangeness of the place;
another of her examination in physics--she placed a piece of glass
on her finger, and showed its centre of gravity, when the glass fell
and broke with a crash; on another occasion she dreamed that she was
sick, went to the doctor, and recovered her full sight, and things
looked strange and unfamiliar when compared with the knowledge she
had derived from touch.
V
The study of the dreams of the blind thus emphasizes many points
of interest in the nature and development of the cortical centres
of the human brain; it graphically illustrates the explanatory
power of the modern view of their functions; and it presents in a
new aspect certain characteristics of their constitution. It shows
beyond a question that the power of apperceiving sight-images is
in no true sense innate, but is the product of slow development
and long training. That the same holds true of other centres is
proved by a mass of evidence gathered from many quarters; with
regard to the motor centres, it is even experimentally determined
by the observation that stimulation of the central convolutions of
the brains of puppies fails to excite the appropriate movements
of the legs, unless the puppies are already nine or ten days old.
These facts will be utilized in the formulation of an important
developmental law applicable alike to physiological and to
psychological processes.
The "critical period," revealed by the above research, must not be
understood as marking the point at which the visual centre begins its
life; this indeed occurs at a much earlier age, and this centre from
the outset and continuously increases in complexity and stability.
Nor was the statement made that there was no difference here
relevant, between the loss of vision at different ages before the
critical period. That a child who has seen up to the fourth, or the
third, or even the second year of life, probably retains some traces
of visualizing not attainable by those who attended the school of
vision for a shorter time or not at all, is believed on evidence of
a general, but not as yet of a specific nature. Among other facts it
is indicated by the influence of the age of blinding on the future
development of noted blind persons. Similarly, after the critical
period, the same processes of growth and assimilation continue, as
is evidenced by the vague character and comparatively early decay of
the dream-vision of those becoming blind close upon the end of the
seventh year. The more time spent in gathering in the provisions,
the longer do they hold out. The significance of the critical period
lies in its demonstrating a point in the growth of the higher
sense-centres, at which a divorce from sense-impression is no longer
followed by a loss of their psychical meaning; a point at which
imagination and abstraction find a sufficiently extended and firmly
knit collection of experiences to enable them to build up and keep
alive their important functions; a point where the scholar dispenses
with the object-lesson and lives off his capital; a point at which
the scaffolding may be torn down and the edifice will stand.
The indication of such a period in the development of the human
mind brings clearly into view the dependence of the higher mental
processes upon the basis furnished them by the experiences of
sensation; it strongly suggests a rational order and proportion
in the training of the several faculties of the child's mind; and
finally, it prevents the formation and survival of false notions, by
substituting certain definite though incomplete knowledge for much
indefinite though very systematic speculation.