Dreams: Night School
A hundred years after Freud, one man may have figured out why we dream. You'll 
never think the same way about nightmares again. 

  By: Jay Dixit
  The Dream Robbers
   
  What happens when a rat stops dreaming? In 2004, researchers at the 
University of Wisconsin at Madison decided to find out. Their method was 
simple, if a bit devilish. Step 1: Strand a rat in a tub of water. In the 
center of this tiny sea, allot the creature its own little desert island in the 
form of an inverted flowerpot. The rat can swim around as much as it pleases, 
but come nightfall, if it wants any sleep, it has to clamber up and stretch 
itself across the flowerpot, its belly sagging over the drainage hole. 
  In this uncomfortable position, the rat is able to rest and eventually fall 
asleep. But as soon as the animal hits REM sleep, the muscular paralysis that 
accompanies this stage of vivid dreaming causes its body to slacken. The rat 
slips through the hole and gets dunked in the water. The surprised rat is then 
free to crawl back onto the pot, lick the drops off its paws, and go back to 
sleep—but it won't get any REM sleep.
  Step 2: After several mostly dreamless nights, the creature is subjected to a 
virtual decathlon of physical ordeals designed to test its survival behaviors. 
Every rat is born with a set of instinctive reactions to threatening 
situations. These behaviors don't have to be learned; they're natural 
defenses—useful responses accrued over millennia of rat society. 
  The dream-deprived rats flubbed each of the tasks. When plopped down in a 
wide-open field, they did not scurry to the safety of a more sheltered area; 
instead, they recklessly wandered around exposed areas. When shocked, they 
paused briefly and then went about their business, rather than freezing in 
their tracks the way normal rats do. When confronted with a foreign object in 
their burrow, they did not bury it; instead, they groomed themselves. Had the 
animals been out in the wild, they would have made easy prey.
  The surprise came during Step 3. Each rat was given amphetamines and tested 
again; nothing changed. If failure to be an effective rat were due to mere 
sleep deprivation, amphetamines would have reversed the effect. But that didn't 
happen. These rats weren't floundering because they were sleepy. Something else 
was going on—but what?
  
 
  What Dreams Are Made Of   Dreaming is so basic to human existence, it's 
astonishing we don't understand it better. It consumes years of our lives, and 
no other single activity exerts such a powerful pull on our imaginations. Yet 
central as dreaming is, we still have no idea why we dream. Freud saw dreams as 
convoluted pathways toward fulfilling forbidden aggressive and sexual wishes; 
frightening dreams were wishes in disguise—wishes so scary, he believed, they 
had to transmute themselves into fear and masquerade as nightmares.
  Later came the idea that dreams are the cognitive echoes of our efforts to 
work out conflicting emotions. More recently, dreams have been viewed as mere 
"epiphenomena"—excrescences of the brain with no function at all, the mind's 
attempt to make sense of random neural firing while the body restores itself 
during sleep. As Harvard sleep researcher Allan Hobson puts it, dreams are "the 
noise the brain makes while it's doing its homework."
  "There's nothing closer to a consensus on the purpose and function of 
dreaming than there's ever been," says Deirdre Barrett, a Harvard psychologist 
and editor of the forthcoming The New Science of Dreaming. Indeed, no theory 
has been able to reconcile the findings of various subdisciplines of dream 
science. Until now. 
   
  Finnish psychologist Antti Revonsuo believes the marooned rats lost their 
ability to defend themselves not because they were exhausted but because they 
were robbed of their dreams. Dreams, he contends, are a training ground in 
which animals and people alike go over the behaviors that are key to their 
survival. Prevented from dreaming, the rats were unable to rehearse their 
survival behaviors. In other words, they were defenseless because they were out 
of practice.

  A Theater of Threats   Say you're in a fight and somebody wraps his arms 
around you from the front, pinning your arms to your sides—a bear hug. Most 
people reflexively stiffen their body. But this is actually the worst thing to 
do; making your body rigid makes you easier to lift—and lets your assailant 
pick you up and drop you on your head, or worse, haul you off somewhere. 
  Better to bend your knees and lower your center of gravity so you're harder 
to lift. You're then free to punch your aggressor's testicles, claw the skin on 
his back, kick out his knee, stomp his foot, even bite his neck—unappetizing 
options, but effective against even the biggest thug. 
  The difference between the typical and optimal response could save your life. 
But making such a reaction swift and automatic takes practice. It's the reason 
martial arts students drill their movements over and over. Frequent rehearsal 
prepares them for that one decisive moment, ensuring that their response in an 
actual life-or-death situation is the one they practiced. 
  Dreams may do the same thing. A dream researcher at the University of Turku, 
in Finland, Revonsuo believes that dreams are a sort of nighttime theater in 
which our brains screen realistic scenarios. This virtual reality simulates 
emergency situations and provides an arena for safe training. As Revonsuo puts 
it, "The primary function of negative dreams is rehearsal for similar real 
events, so that threat recognition and avoidance happens faster and more 
automatically in comparable real situations." 
  Faced with actual life-or-death situations—traffic accidents, terrorist 
attacks, street assaults—some people report entering a mode of calm, rapid 
response, reacting automatically, almost without thinking. Afterward, they 
often say the episode felt unreal, as if it were all a dream. Threat 
simulation, Revonsuo believes, is why. 

  
 
  A Season in Hell   As a grad student in psychology in the early 1990s, 
Revonsuo often had bad dreams. What struck him the most was how lifelike they 
were. "I would say to myself, in my dream, 'Oh shit! I've dreamt of this 
before, but now this is really happening!' " he recalls. 
  "Credible world analogs" are what cognitive psychologist David Foulkes calls 
dreams. Although we tend to dwell on the bizarreness of dreams, most dreams are 
quite mundane, Foulkes notes. You move around, talk, run, interact with others, 
experience emotions, and feel the passage of time, just as in everyday life.
  When Revonsuo began studying dreams, he asked his students to start keeping 
logs of their own nocturnal escapades. He noticed something striking. The 
dreams were filled with dangerous events, negative emotions, monsters, chases, 
escapes, fights, and near-death experiences. The dream world was a hellscape of 
danger, teeming with threatening events far more sinister than in waking life. 
  These weren't the misfirings of diseased brains. Threat dreams were the norm, 
accounting for a staggering two-thirds of all dreams. Revonsuo discovered that 
we grossly underestimate the number of nightmares we have. As it turns out, we 
have 300 to 1,000 threat dreams per year—one to four per night. Just under half 
are aggressive encounters: physical aggression such as fistfights, and 
nonphysical aggression such as verbal arguments. The rest are about car 
crashes, falling and drowning, missing a meeting or a test, being lost or 
trapped, and being naked in public. The whole dream world seemed to have a 
negative bias: more negative emotions than positive ones, more misfortune than 
good fortune, more nightmares than fantasy. 
   
  A Theory Is Born   
In the ancestral environment, Revonsuo reasoned, our dreams served to protect 
us, teaching us how to respond when a wild animal was chasing us or when we got 
lost in the forest. That was why the dream world was so filled with peril: to 
simulate the potential threats and prepare us to react quickly. But how could 
dreams help us select the optimal response, given that dream recall is so 
fragile? After all, we remember only a few of our dreams, and even those fade 
fast in the tumult of the day. 
  Revonsuo believes that by providing rehearsal, dreaming helps us recognize 
dangers more quickly and respond more efficiently. We don't need to be aware of 
this rehearsal, just as you don't have to recall exactly where you practiced 
your tennis serve in order to reap the rewards. 
  The idea that dreams are a dojo for perfecting waking activities fits well 
with what is already known about practice. Mental rehearsal through 
visualization improves skills, enhances learning, and changes the brain, 
polishing performance in almost any domain, from sports to piano playing. 
  The single most pervasive theme in dreaming is that of being chased or 
attacked. Just as athletes in training repeat parts of their performance, we 
may, in our nightmares, be attacked and chased over and over again, not to 
solve a particular problem but to actually practice efficient escape behavior. 
  Saber-toothed tigers no longer stalk our villages, but Stone Age themes still 
rule our dreams. "Nowadays, the evolutionary footprint is clearest in the 
dreams of children, who often dream about being chased by monsters, much the 
same way we were once chased by predators," says Revonsuo. As life has evolved, 
so have the threats we rehearse. "You insert a modern danger into that 
ancestral key and get a bizarre combination," says Revonsuo. "We dream of being 
chased, shot, or robbed, getting into traffic accidents, a burglar in our 
house, or perhaps smaller mishaps such as losing our wallets—and that prepares 
us for our waking life." 
  The dreaming brain, explains Revonsuo, scans emotional memories. When it 
detects a memory trace with a strong negative emotion, it constructs a 
nightmare around that theme. The more traumatic the event, the more intense the 
nightmare. The brain's system for detecting threats is sensitive and flexible: 
Anything the brain tags with a strong negative charge gets thrown into the 
threat bin and dredged up at night. 
  Sometimes this system works well: Dreaming about a boy running in front of 
our car better prepares us should that danger crop up in real life. But 
sometimes the modern world throws the threat-detection mechanism out of whack: 
Watching horror movies can trigger nightmares about vampires, ghosts, aliens, 
or zombies. Such "nonsense nightmares" don't rehearse any useful threats; 
they're like an allergic reaction, says Revonsuo. Just as our immune system can 
mistake pollen for a pathogen and mount a defensive campaign, the 
threat-detection system misperceives horror movies and deploys its defenses by 
generating a nightmare. 

  
 
  Heroes of Our Own Dreams   In the jungles of the amazon lives a tribe called 
the Mehinaku. The Mehinaku lead the traditional life of hunter-gatherers. They 
spend their days fishing and gathering roots. Since they believe that dreams 
predict the future, they are scrupulous about remembering them and sharing them 
with others. That makes them perfect for an ethnographic study of dreams. In 
1981, anthropologist Thomas Gregor surveyed their dreams and analyzed the 
content.
   
  As it turns out, the Mehinaku dream profusely about the dangers in their 
everyday lives: being attacked by wild pigs; chased by jaguars; bitten by 
snakes; stung by wasps, ants, or bees—all potentially lethal. "Their dreams 
simulate over and over again what to do and how to do it quickly when they spot 
these animals in the wild," reports Revonsuo. Across a tribesman's lifespan, a 
single failure to react efficiently could be fatal. If threat simulation even 
marginally increases the likelihood that such fatal failures won't occur, it 
would prove adaptive. 
  If the threat-simulation theory is correct, dreams should focus on the self, 
and when confronted with a threat, the dream self should react realistically to 
ensure its own survival and that of its loved ones. And so it is. We are the 
heroes of our own dreams. We don't dream about other people's adventures or 
about fictional superheroes battling monsters. We dream about ourselves. 
  If dreams evolved to simulate the threats in our environment, then being 
exposed to more dangers in real life should activate the nightmare function, 
overstuffing our dreams with threats. This is precisely what happens. Even a 
single exposure to a life-threatening situation can plunge a person into an 
inferno of post-traumatic nightmares, dreams in which the threatening event—the 
attack, the rape, the war—is repeated over and over in every possible 
variation. 
  Studies of traumatized Iraqi and Palestinian children who grew up in 
extremely violent environments, some of whom witnessed their parents' deaths, 
show that their dreams are phantasmagoric carnivals of threatening events. 
People who watched more television on September 11, 2001, and saw threatening 
images were more likely to dream about the events of that day; people who 
merely talked about it with others were less likely to dream about it.
  Traumatic dreams do seem to rehearse relevant threats. Just four weeks into 
the first Gulf War, as Scud missiles were raining down on Tel Aviv and Haifa, 
the war was already encroaching on the dreams of Israeli college students, 
according to a study. The most prominent topic: gas masks. 
  But not all our dreams contain threats. That's not surprising, says Revonuso. 
There's no reason a biological system has to express its function at all times. 
Many bodily systems spring into action only in critical situations. Take sperm 
cells. The average man ejaculates over 100 million sperm at a time, yet over 
the course of his life, only a few will ever accomplish their biological 
mission of fertilizing an egg. Every day, millions of sperm are wasted—and 
while this may, as Monty Python sings, make God quite irate, it doesn't mean 
that sperm cells have some function other than fertilizing eggs and competing 
with other sperm.
  
 
  The Nighttime Edge   Intriguing as Revonsuo's theory is, not everyone is sold 
on the idea that dreams are primarily a theater of threat rehearsal. Dream 
researchers have known for centuries that dreaming helps problem solving, for 
example—but they still do not know why.
  Some researchers argue that dreams are designed specifically to help us come 
up with creative solutions. But if that's the case, it's infuriatingly 
inconsistent—and complicated by the fact that we rarely remember our dreams. 
  Those who awake with brilliant solutions to scientific or artistic problems 
are the exception. German chemist Friedrich August Kekulé struggled to find the 
molecular structure of benzene until he dreamed about a snake devouring its own 
tail and realized benzene was a closed circle—a ring. The self-taught Indian 
mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan came up with every one of his proofs in 
dreams. Paul McCartney dreamed "Yesterday," woke up, and wrote it down. 
   
  Problem solving may be a side effect of the simulation system. The mere fact 
of running scenarios over and over may inevitably generate new solutions. 
That's why when we have an important decision to make, we like to "sleep on it" 
first, why, according to a study by University of Maryland psychologist Clara 
Hill, couples who dream about their relationship are more likely to resolve 
their conflicts than couples who don't.
  It's also known that we get better at tasks just by dreaming about them. 
Robert Stickgold, a sleep researcher at Harvard Medical School, has found that 
if you time people as they tap out the sequence 4-1-3-2-4 with their fingers, 
then ask them to do it again later that day, they are no better. 
  But let them sleep in between and their performance improves—literally 
overnight. The implication seems obvious: Sleep provides practice. People given 
brainteasers before bed dream about the answers. Math students are all too 
familiar with dreams about algebra problems. Anyone who's ever played too much 
Tetris knows you can start having Tetris dreams. 
  Stickgold holds that dreaming is much more complex than rehearsal. He points, 
for example, to the ability of sleep to allow us to integrate and consolidate 
knowledge. During sleep, our brains are making sense of the world, discovering 
new associations among existing memories, looking for patterns, formulating 
rules. "That's how we create meaning," says Stickgold. "Our brain puts things 
together."
  Dreams do have a certain edge over conscious thought. Neuroimaging work has 
shown a distinct pattern of activation and inhibition in the dreaming brain. 
Visual and emotional centers are abnormally activated, while censoring 
mechanisms are deactivated. When we try to visualize during the day, imagery is 
thin and insubstantial, less real than the real world. But studies suggest that 
vivid hallucinations during dreaming rival the clarity and detail of vision 
itself.
  "Dreaming is a sensitive system that tries to pay much attention to the 
threatening cues in our environment," Revonsuo concludes. "Their function is to 
protect and prepare us."
  "Yes," says Harvard's Barrett, "dreams are worrying about disasters. But 
they're also planning for nice things and they're fantasizing and they're 
problem solving."
  She contends that the purpose of dreaming is "as broad as all waking thought. 
That's why I say dreams are really just thinking in a different biochemical 
state."
   
  Source: 
http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/index.php?term=20071029-000003&page=1
   






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