REFERENCE has already been made more than once, though only in an incidental way, to the childhood malady of pavor nocturnus, or "night terrors." In any book like the present one the subject of night terrors is deserving of detailed discussion. Not only do night terrors constitute a real handicap of childhood, but also they constitute a handicap, the seriousness of which is not yet appreciated by many people, and the true nature of which is as yet known to exceedingly few. In some quarters, indeed, there has been a disposition to minimise this malady, because it usually is "outgrown" by the eighth or ninth year. But, in reality, its effects—or, rather, the effects of the condition of which it is a sign—may, and often do, continue through life. Fortunately, the new knowledge that psychology has gained concerning it enables parents to frustrate its evil consequences and, in most cases, to prevent its occurrence.

At bottom, night terrors are almost identical with the nightmares of adult years. They are, to put it precisely, juvenile nightmares, with the added feature of profound disturbance in the waking state. The one real point of difference between night terrors and nightmares is that the former indicate a greater degree of nervous strain. The child who is a victim of night terrors generally has an hour or so of quiet sleep after going to bed. Then he wakes, shrieking for his mother. When the parents, alarmed, rush to his room, they are likely to find him out of bed, crouching behind a chair, or in the corner. His eyes are staring and full of horror. He seems not to recognise his parents, though he will eagerly clutch at them for protection. After a few minutes the attack passes off, he quiets down, returns to bed, and sleeps soundly until morning, when, as a rule, he has no conscious remembrance of his fears of the night before.

While the night terror is at its height the child may have ghastly hallucinations, representing a continuance in the waking state of the dream-images that have distressed him. Also, instead of leaping out of bed, he may merely sit up, or may find it impossible to move at all, as is the case with many adults when coming out of a nightmare. A Chicago physician, describing his experiences as a child, relates:

"When I was five years of age, and during the sixth year, I suffered from nightmare. I sat up in bed and fancied I saw a monkey come down the chimney and fasten itself to my shoulder and bite me, and terrify me so that I would scream out. My older sister would then come, wake me up thoroughly, and satisfy me that it was but a vision.

"Other nights I would feel a sense of oppression, ringing in ears, a sensation of perceiving something very small, which, gradually at first, and then rapidly, assumed enormous proportions and vast whirling speed, and which, I imagined, whirled me off with it—a buzzing in my ears, probably. Then would I feel that animals—rats—would creep over me and press heavily upon me, and I could neither move hand nor foot, nor speak."

The reference to the buzzing in the ears is typical of the attitude that until lately has been taken by almost all physicians in respect both to adult and to juvenile nightmares. For that matter, it still is the attitude of those physicians who are not familiar with the findings of medical psychology. Nightmare to them, whether in the old or in the young, is altogether a question of physical causation. As they see it, one need not look beyond bodily conditions of some sort to understand the nightmares of adults and the night terrors of children. Accordingly, treatment by sedatives, dieting, and hygienic measures has been the rule. Unfortunately, this by no means always succeeds in bringing about the desired result, although such measures undoubtedly do benefit the general health.

Seemingly, to be sure, they are especially successful in the case of night terrors. But it is significant that, even if left untreated, night terrors seldom persist beyond the period of childhood. Then, however, those who have had them show a tendency, in many cases, to be troubled by unpleasant dreams, often taking on the character of most distressing nightmares. The frequency of these may, or may not, be diminished by the usual treatment of a dietetic sort. On the other hand, observation has shown that many persons afflicted with the indigestion and other physical conditions commonly held responsible for nightmares are not troubled by nightmare at all. As one observer puts it, even a person whose stomach is half destroyed by cancer may commit all sorts of dietary indiscretions and not suffer from nightmare in the slightest.

Evidently, then, physical conditions do not of themselves account for nightmares and night terrors. One must look elsewhere for their ultimate cause. This is what the medical psychologists have done, and, doing this, they have discovered that the children who are troubled by night terrors are always children of a sensitive nervous organisation who have been subjected to emotional stress. A child may be nervously highstrung, yet entirely escape night terrors, provided his mind be kept free from emotional upheavals. But let anything occur to disturb him emotionally in an excessive degree and he at once becomes likely to suffer, not only from night terrors, but also—as it has been a prime purpose of this book to impress convincingly on every reader—from nervous affections of a more serious kind. He may even have "day terrors," seeing imaginary and terrifying objects as vividly as the child who wakes in panic from a distressing dream.

For example, a boy of eight was sent to the Washington neurologist, Doctor T. A. Williams, to be treated for general nervousness, and, in particular, for a tendency "to see things where there is really nothing to be seen." Doctor Williams found the boy to be so nervous that it was hard for him to sit still and to keep from wriggling excitedly about in his chair. Questioned as to his hallucinations, he said that these were mostly of a snake. He could not describe the imaginary snake, except to say that its head was like an eel's. It seemed to come from nowhere, and presented itself to his astonished gaze with a suddenness that caused him to scream and run. His father gave Doctor Williams the additional information that these hallucinations were experienced only when the boy was alone, and that, though his day terrors were not followed by night terrors, he would not go to bed unless some one were in the room with him.

Questioning his little patient more closely, Doctor Williams next learned that he had a veritable horror of being alone at any time. As long as somebody was in sight, he could enjoy his games, and would readily run errands. Left alone, the imaginary snake, or some hallucinatory wild beast, was almost at once seen by him. Further inquiry brought out the significant fact that this fear of solitude had actually been implanted in the boy by over-anxiety on his mother's part.

His horror of being alone was paralleled by her dread of having him out of her sight. She was continually thinking, and talking, of risks he would incur if he were allowed to be by himself. In this way she had unconsciously infected him with a "fixed idea" that something dreadful was sure to happen to him unless older persons were at hand to protect him. This fixed idea preying on his unusually impressionable mind, and keeping him in a constant state of emotional strain, was the decisive factor in the production of his day terrors. In proof whereof it need only be added that his hallucinations and general nervousness ceased to trouble him soon after corrective training was begun, supplemented by treatment by "suggestion" to rid him of the abnormal fear of being alone.

Fortunately, though I might detail a number of other cases of day terrors, this affliction is of rare occurrence, compared with night terrors. And, from the point of view of the medical psychologist, it is only to be expected that such should be the case. As explained by Doctor Williams, in a passage which gives a clear idea of the mechanism of night terrors:

"If I say to a small boy that a bear will eat him up, the effect upon his emotions entirely differs, whether I make the remark with portentous gravity and horror, or whether I say it with bubbling joviality as, evidently, a huge joke. In the first eventuality, the boy will rush to my side in terror and try to be saved from the bear, and a phobia is in course of construction; with the latter proceeding, the boy will laugh consumedly, and it would not take much to make him enter the cage and strike the bear. But, even when terrified, a child feels a refuge in the protection of his elders during the day, when they are rarely absent....

"At night, however, the child is alone, and his little consciousness cannot find the support of others. Before the kaleidoscope of his dreams pass the various images and accompanying emotions of his waking life, so that if any of these images has become linked with fear it is certain to bring with it terror, as it surges into dream in the night, and the child jumps up, awakened, in panic, finding no one near, upon whom to lean."[17]

In many a case of night terrors, no great psychological skill is required to detect the influence of emotional stress as the prime factor in causing the alarming attacks. In one instance that has come to my knowledge, a seven-year-old girl was brought to a physician, with a history of both night and day terrors. She was subject, her mother said, to attacks of loud screaming, during which she seemed dazed and in an agony of fear. The attacks sometimes lasted ten minutes, and immediately afterwards the girl generally fell into a heavy sleep. Her night terrors were of the usual sort, except that on the occasion of the first attack she was in such a panic that she opened her bedroom window and threw herself out of it. Luckily, it was early evening, and her mother, walking in the garden beneath her window, was able to catch her and save her from harm.

"She had gone to bed as usual," the mother said, in detailing this episode, "and seemed to be quite well, though I remember I thought she looked a little wild about the eyes. For an hour she slept quietly. Then, as I later learned, she woke up moaning, jumped out of bed, and made for the window."

"And," asked the physician to whom the child had been taken, "had anything out of the way occurred to her that day?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Well, nothing of real account, at all events. I have been told that somebody jokingly said to her that if she were not a good girl a black man would come to her room and carry her off. But this did not seem to disturb her much at the time."

Hereupon, the situation became clear to the physician. It was evident that, subconsciously if not consciously, the thought of the supposed danger, acting on a mind none too well organised by inheritance—there was epilepsy in the family—had acquired sufficient force to bring on the attack of nocturnal panic and the subsequent attacks of day and night terrors. Probably, moreover, this was not the first time that statements of a fear-inspiring character had been made to the child, so that this last "joke" might well serve to agitate her excessively.

Compare with this the case of a four-year-old boy, whose night terrors were accompanied by a strange hallucination that he saw the devil, and that the devil was trying to catch him. Every night for several weeks he would wake after one or two hours of sleep, would leap from bed with a shriek, and run wildly around the room, calling on his mother to save him and to drive the devil out of the house.

Impressed by the recurrence of this hallucination, the physician in charge of the case questioned the boy's mother as to a possible explanation for his believing the devil was chasing him. Reluctantly, the mother confessed that one day when her little son had been unruly she had warned him that if he did not behave the devil would come for him. It was the night after she had thus foolishly threatened him that he had his first attack of pavor nocturnus. Armed with this knowledge, the physician began a course of treatment which effected a cure in a week. It properly included tonics and dieting to overcome the indigestion and other physical ailments caused by the strain of nervous excitement. But its principal feature was treatment by suggestion, to dislodge from the boy's mind his morbid fear of the devil.

Anything which causes the instinct of fear to function abnormally may act with decisive force in bringing on night terrors. The telling of ghost stories and other gruesome tales of the supernatural has been productive of much harm in this respect. And, as brought out in the preceding chapter, cases of night terrors have similarly been traced to the hearing or reading by children of fairy tales containing elements of the horrible. The child that is supersensitive may be so impressed by these elements as to brood over them and, in waking reverie, apply them to himself. Thus they get fixed in the mind, to disturb and alarm it, and, eventually, to find expression in dreams of so unpleasant a character that night terrors may be a result.

With the night terrors left untreated psychologically, subsequent nervous ailments, perhaps lifelong invalidism, may further penalise the hapless victim of parental thoughtlessness. I am reminded of a certain patient of Doctor Sidis's, a woman afflicted with neurotic ills up to the age of sixty, and, when she first consulted the New England specialist, displaying a most complicated set of disease symptoms. She had kidney trouble, stomach trouble, frequent headaches, insomnia, and general nervousness. In especial, she suffered from an obsessive fear of becoming insane. This fear, at times, was so extreme that she would walk up and down her room night after night, "like an animal in a cage," to use Doctor Sidis's expressive phrase. Repeated examinations by different physicians had failed to bring to light any evidences of organic disease of stomach, kidneys, or brain, and a diagnosis of hysteria had finally been made. Consequently, it became Doctor Sidis's special task to endeavour to get at these latent memory-images that had acted with disintegrative power on the mental and bodily processes, recall them to conscious remembrance, and, by suggestive treatment, rob them of their disease-producing potency.

Step by step, by a method of psychological analysis of his own invention, he took his patient back through her life history. He found that, in middle life, she had had several distressing experiences, but none of them adequate to account for her hysteria. Always, there remained an obscure element which did not become clearly outlined until, in the course of the analysis, childhood memories began to emerge. Then it appeared that there had been a period of night terrors, the source of which was definitely traced to a shock experienced at the age of five. At that age, through some mischance, the patient had been allowed to spend some time with an insane woman who was in a maniacal state.

Of a sensitive nervous organisation to begin with, she was overwhelmed by this experience. She could not get the image of the insane woman out of her mind, and the fearful thought kept coming again and again to her, "Do little girls ever go insane?" Then followed the night terrors, to be "outgrown" in due course. But the analysis revealed that, though the memory of her experience with the insane woman had gradually faded from conscious recollection, it had never been subconsciously forgotten. Even now, fifty-five years later, she still saw this woman in her dreams. It was the baneful influence of this shock that had given rise to her obsessive fear of insanity and had prepared the ground for the condition of abnormal suggestibility making possible the hysterical imitation of organic kidney and stomach disease. As was proved by the outcome of Doctor Sidis's psychotherapeutic treatment.

Now the question comes: If night terrors are so portentous a danger-signal, how prevent the development of the mentally disturbed and nervously strained condition which they indicate? This question has, perhaps, been sufficiently answered in previous chapters. Here I would simply reaffirm that emotional control is the great object to be kept steadily in view. It is, indeed, significant that night terrors are most likely to appear in children having a nervous, excitable father or mother. The emotionality, the chronic worrying and anxiety of the parent infect the child by the power of psychic contagion and make him fall an easy prey to any disquieting experience.

And if, despite well-ordered moral training and the benign influence of a good parental example, the child shows a tendency to develop night terrors—what then? Well, here is how one psychologically enlightened parent nipped in the bud a fear-bred condition that might have resulted in night terrors or in some specific nervous ailment of the waking life:

"For several weeks my boy, three and a half years old, had been visiting the zoÖlogical garden every afternoon, in the company of a French maid of exceptionally forceful character, and apparently free from the superstitiousness of the average nurse. For a long time all went well, until one evening the boy began to cry soon after he was left for the night. At this unusual occurrence, I mounted the stairs and inquired the cause of the boy's trouble.

"He said there were lions in the house and that he did not want to stay alone, as he was afraid they would eat him. The source of the idea had been that the lions had roared more loudly than usual on that particular afternoon, and he had been much impressed, standing for some time quite motionless before the cage, though terrified. I soon convinced the boy that the lions had to remain in their cages, and could not get out; hence, there were none in the house, so that there was no occasion to fear. Of course, it was first necessary to give him the feeling of security gained by embracing me; and, secondly, to begin the conversation by talking of something else—I have forgotten what.

"In this way the state of terror was dismissed, and the feeling of protection was induced before we returned to the subject of the lions. Then we made rather a joke of the funny roaring of the lions before we had finished, and he finally lay down, with the solemn purpose to go to sleep and think, as I suggested, of the tramcars and motors passing outside his open window. It was all very simple substitution, but it was the prevention of what might have become a serious fear-psychosis if injudiciously handled."[18]

It should be added that special need for training in emotional control is indicated if a child begins to be troubled, not by night terrors, but by another and more common childhood malady—somnambulism. The child who talks or walks in his sleep, like the child attacked by night terrors, is, for some reason, nervously unstrung; and, it may confidently be said, is usually unstrung because of the presence in his mind of disquieting ideas, conscious or subconscious. On this account, the parent should not be satisfied with the measures ordinarily employed in dealing with both night terrors and somnambulism—the prescribing of tonics and sedatives, outdoor exercise, abstinence from tea and coffee, reduction in meat in the diet, and so forth. Undeniably, these measures often result in a complete cessation of the nocturnal symptoms. But, even if, as a result of medication, exercise, and dieting, the disquieting ideas causing the symptoms no longer manifest their presence by the attacks that have alarmed the parents, these ideas still are left in the mind, perchance to cause still more alarming symptoms later. Accordingly, the really prudent parent, besides dieting his child, will endeavour to get at the mental source of trouble.

Sometimes he can do this by closely observing the behaviour of the child in his waking moments, and the trend of his waking thoughts. Or he can do it by gaining the child's confidence and questioning him as to any fears, worries, or griefs that may be disturbing him. If, as will often happen, the child insists, it may be in all sincerity, that nothing is troubling him, there is yet another avenue of information open to the parent—namely, by questioning the child about his dreams. Through studying his dreams, in fact, it is possible to gain clearer insight into his mental life than perhaps by any other means.

Again and again, as we have seen, the modern psychologist has made use of dream-analysis with illuminating results. Parents can and should similarly analyse their children's dreams. And I feel justified in predicting that parents of the future, alert to detect and correct any undesirable trends in their children's mental and moral development, will make frequent use of dream-analysis as an aid in successful child-rearing.

The helpfulness of dream-analysis to parents comes from the fact that the dreams of children usually relate either to things which the children dread, or things which they desire. This is also true of the dreams of adults, as shown by the analysis of thousands of dreams. In the case of adults, however, the fear or the desire mirrored by the dream is nearly always masked by the variety and seeming absurdity or incongruity of the dream-images. As when, for example, a complicated, fantastic dream of adventure in an out-of-the-way part of the world is found, on examination, to be connected with a secret longing for marriage. Accordingly, prolonged and tedious analysis is often needed to get at the true meaning of an adult's dreams. In the case of children's dreams, the opposite is the rule. There is little repression or distortion, the dream dealing directly with what is uppermost in the dreamer's waking mind, and emphasising the fears or fulfilling the wishes of his waking life.

This is what makes dream-analysis both easy and profitable to parents. Once aware of the wish-fulfilling rÔle of dreams, no parent need experience difficulty in interpretation if his small boy reports to him a series of dreams like the following:

"It was after school, and I went with other boys to a candy store, and the storekeeper told us we could have anything we wanted. We had a fine time. I filled my pockets with chocolates and caramels and peanut candy, besides what I ate while I was in the store.

"I was at a party, and there was plenty to eat and drink. We had sandwiches and lemonade, ice cream and cake. After it was over, they told us we could take away all the food that was not eaten.

"There was a fire in the next street, and I went to see the firemen at work. It was rainy and cold, and somebody brought out coffee and cake for the firemen. There was more than they could eat, so they gave me some."

Dreamed by a small boy living in a poor home, dreams like these would be of a pathetic, rather than sinister, import. For they would represent the imaginary fulfilment of wishes unrealisable in the waking life, and would thus be a subconscious protest against the cramping limitations of poverty. Even so, whether the youthful dreamer were the son of poor parents or the son of parents comfortably circumstanced, it would be an unescapable inference that, when awake, he was inclined to think overmuch of his stomach. Wherefore, dreams like these, if dreamed with any frequency, would unmistakably suggest the desirability of training to check a tendency to gluttony and greed.

The frequency with which dreams of a given type are dreamed has, indeed, much to do with their significance as indicators of character defects. An occasional dream of gorging one's self—or, say, of being the centre of attraction at an evening party—would not be valid ground for indicting a little boy of greed, or a little girl of vanity. But, if such dreams are habitual, or if, despite a seeming variety in the dreams reported by son or daughter, there is discernible an undercurrent of desires incompatible with strength and beauty of character, then the wise parent will not delay in supplementing dream study by educational measures to correct the indicated defects.

And, as emphasised by the experiences of many of the youthful nervous patients whose case-histories have been given in this book, dream-analysis should particularly be utilised to help children who—being free from adenoids, eye-strain, or other adverse physical conditions—show a sudden and unfavourable change in disposition. Some cause of emotional stress is undoubtedly present, and it may be taken for granted that the child will betray, through the content of his dreams, what is troubling his mind. Dream-analysis will thus give insight into secret jealousies, secret desires, secret fears, secret mental conflicts of many kinds, that are provocative both of unfavourable changes in character and of outright ill health.

One such conflict, to which I have already referred when discussing the handicap of sulkiness, is conflict over sex questions. Frequently, to the parents' astonishment, it will be found that the actual cause of timidity, reticence, moodiness, or depression of spirits in a formerly happy child, is a mental conflict due to the child's vain endeavours to work out fully satisfactory answers to delicate questions which the parents have not answered when put to them by the child, or have answered in an evasive fashion. Children are far more discerning than most parents give them credit for being. Also, they often are more interested than most parents suppose in some of the fundamental problems of existence—and especially the problem of their own nature and origin. The scientific study of dreams, indeed, has furnished an additional and powerful argument against the common practice among parents of veiling in mystery or concealing with well-intentioned falsehoods the facts of birth and of sex.

But let me quote, at this point, the findings of an English medical psychologist, Doctor Ernest Jones, of London, who has specially studied the reactions of children to the policy of silence and mystification regarding sex matters.

"The extent to which such matters occupy the mind of the young child," says Doctor Jones, "is always underestimated by adults, and is impossible to determine by a casual examination, for, on the one hand, the later memories for these years are always deficient and erroneous, and, on the other hand, this aspect of the child's mind is rarely accessible to direct inquiry, on account of the barrier always existing on the subject between child and adult. As the child grows older, the desires and tendencies in question meet with such obstacles as an increasing sense of shame, guilt, wrongness, remorse, and so on, and are fought against by the child, who now half-consciously strives to get away from them, to forget them, or, as it is technically termed, to "repress" them. The repressed mental processes are later thus forgotten, and, along with them, a major part of the mental experiences associated with them in time. This is the reason why so little of early childhood life can be recalled by the adult.

"The desires, thoughts, impulses, tendencies, and wishes thus repressed do not, however, die; they live on, but come to expression in other forms. Their energy is directed along more useful paths, a process known as "sublimation," and upon the extent and kind of this sublimation depends a great deal of the future interests and activities of the individual."[19]

Under certain conditions, instead of smooth, successful sublimation, there may be mental conflict, with nervous or mental maladies as a possible result. To this undesirable outcome the parental course sometimes contributes materially. Again, I quote Doctor Jones:

"It is almost a regular occurrence for children of the age of four or five to turn from their parents, to withdraw into themselves, and to pursue private speculations about the topics concerning which they have been denied information, whether by a direct refusal or by evasion. Phantasies of bitter resentment against the parent commonly occur at this time, and often form the basis not only of a later want of confidence, or even a more or less veiled hostility as regards the parents, but also of various subsequent disharmonies, neurotic disturbances, and so forth."

Of course, readers of these pages scarcely need to be reminded, conflict over questions of birth and sex is only one form of emotional stress that may occasion night terrors, somnambulism, changes in character, and unmistakable nervous ailments. Whatever the stress, it will be indicated by the child's dreams, either directly or symbolically. Which, of itself, is abundant reason for parents to gain knowledge of at least the chief principles of scientific dream-interpretation.