THE PERSONAL USE OF MYTH IN DREAMS

BY DOROTHY EGGAN

THROUGHOUT their development folklore and ethnology have used reciprocal kinship terms in addressing one another, but for the most part each, absorbed in the task of becoming a science, has used similar data for different goals, and the relationship has not been sufficiently exploited. Recently, however, Stith Thompson has asked some significant questions regarding the relations between an individual and his folklore,¹ a subject in which anthropologists, too, have become increasingly interested. This paper is an attempt to illustrate some of these interactions. The first section sketches some anthropological thinking pertinent to the problem; the second uses data from a collection of Hopi Indian dreams² to illustrate how one individual, caught in a conflict—both internal and external—between his ambivalent desire to be bahana (White) and to be a good Hopi, resenting his inadequacy as a hunter and runner, concerned with the quality of his courage and with problems in his sexual life, uses Hopi myths³ to fuse his personal problems with those of his culture’s heroes, thus reducing his own anxiety about them. We are fortunate in having at our disposal for this purpose a comprehensive body of Hopi myths and folktales, including a volume of lore collected by Voth during the informant’s childhood and in his village.⁴

The anthropologist has frequently employed folklorists’ techniques to deepen his understanding of culture, and in so doing has called attention to the individual as a third dimension of the triangle.⁵ Boas, pioneering in this experiment, used mythology to analyze the historic determination and diffusion of certain culture traits. But he also found, as psychological by-products of his examination of Tsimshian mythology, the characteristic way in which imagination gives reality to wishes, exaggerates experiences and materializes fears, or creates situations contrary to daily experience; and he suggested that imagination being limited, people prefer to operate with the old stock of imaginative happenings rather than to invent new ones.⁶

More recently Lantis discusses the universal desire to transcend human limitations, the common subjective experience derived from the sharing by a people of a body of folklore, and cites among other positive functions of mythology the relief from anxiety which it affords. Thus she, too, from a detailed examination of Nunivak Eskimo mythology, sees in the analysis of folklore, not only clues to the origin and delineation of aspects of culture, but she also raises specific questions about what this cultural heritage says to the individual who uses it in his daily life.⁷

Kluckhohn lists ways in which myths and rituals protect “cultural continuity” and “stabilize society,” but also asks “how are myths and rituals rewarding enough in the daily lives of individuals” so that they “continue to prevail at the expense of more rational responses?” In sketching a tentative series of working hypotheses with which to approach this question he points out the way in which emotions, seeking discharge, seize upon culturally supplied sanctions which are emotionally charged, to—among other things—reduce the individual’s “anticipation of disaster;” how, in short, these cultural manifestations are used by the ego as “‘mechanisms of defense” in accordance with “psychoanalytic principles.” ⁸

Important for an understanding of this interaction between an individual and his social heritage is a consideration of the learning process as such, and the affects involved in specific learning experiences. Among the Hopi, children were seldom expected to learn by rote. Rather they learned in associated patterns⁹ from teachers who saw all aspects of existence woven together in meaningful form. Elsewhere I have discussed the affects concomitant with the learning situation among the Hopi.¹⁰Summarizing briefly for the purposes of this paper we find that in addition to careful, deliberate instruction in every phase of Hopi life, myths, dreams and actual experiences were told and retold, for both fantasy and story-telling had a vital role in the Hopi world. Around the communal bowl, in the kiva—everywhere this form of teaching went on, and on such occasions the feeling of solidarity within the group was normally very strong, for in reaffirmation, faith in all things Hopi was renewed. Surrounded by the affection and security of an intimate group, with few outside experiences to modify the impact until they were sent to an alien school, children learned Hopi tradition from people who believed implicitly in what they taught and thus conveyed conviction through their teaching. And they learned it in the Hopi language which has, as Whorf has said, its own characteristic “ways of analyzing and reporting experience.”¹¹

In the past this method of socialization among the Hopi was a surprisingly effective substitute for theater, church, school, and jail; and for the teachers it was to a very real extent a substitute also for the psychoanalytic couch, since in reaffirmation, restatement, and reliving of beliefs and experiences, much doubt and bitterness was worked out. For the learners, related patterns of Hopi philosophy and behavior were absorbed in an emotionally charged atmosphere which tended to fuse reality and fantasy, and to make the resulting patterns more rewarding for “ego-synthesis”¹²than were the hard reality responses, which, when observed from our conceptions of logic, seem to us more rational. So insofar as an individual became adequately socialized from the viewpoint of his society—which the long history of cultural stability among the Hopi indicates that most individuals were—he tended to store in his memory related items which were representative of the group’s thought processes.¹³

Even in the realm of imagination then, including folklore and dreams, thinking processes are not only limited by one’s language and perception, but are also stimulated by them. Therefore culture and creativity cannot be examined separately for, as Herskovits expresses it, “The creative life does not lie outside the influence of the enculturative experience.” On the contrary, “in his experimentation” the artist is “unwittingly” guided by it.¹⁴

Since we here deal with one man’s manipulation of “socialized fantasy,” we shall now reverse Kluckhohn’s statement that when an individual fantasy becomes congenial to a group it becomes myth,¹⁵ and assert that when a myth is congenial enough to the individual he may use it as personal fantasy. For in the learning process discussed above an individual tends to remember most clearly, to adapt, and subsequently to restate or reflect most vividly for others, precisely those patterns, or fragments of them, which, as he developed, filled most completely his idiosyncratic ego needs. Thus the unconscious processes of identification or rejection, of secondary elaboration, of distortion, and of inversion are operative in cultural assimilation as well as in dreams, and these processes in themselves are factors in cultural change.¹⁶

The informant whose dreams are used here is far from an average Hopi,¹⁷ but neither is there justifiable evidence for the assumption that he is an unique one. Precisely because his needs were greater than average in some ways, he is an active dreamer who uses culturally provided sanctions in his dreams to reinforce his ego. But as one examines a cell under a powerful microscope in order to see its structure more clearly, so, too, is it frequently useful to examine configurations of behavior in exaggerated form so that similar processes in less vivid presentations are not overlooked. For sixteen years this man has recorded for me every dream which he could remember. These now total 292, plus eighteen others which were contributed to the project by Titiev and Simmons. We find that one third of these 310 dreams use specific folklore characters or themes, many combining several of these, and all applied effectively to Sam’s (pseudonym)¹⁸ personal problems.

Anticipating the inevitable question “are these really dreams?” we can only say that it is very difficult to make up a story which has the disconnected, illogical quality of a dream; in any case they are “projections” in response to his own mind’s images as he writes them down. And while Sam tends to give “order and coherency”¹⁹ in recording what he calls his “dream stories,” they still have the unmistakable quality of fantasy. Moreover, in this attempt to fashion the dream experiences into a “dream story,” he uses the process of association to the original core of the dream, which brings to the surface not only conflict situations, but further fantasy interpretations which are selected from the “cultural storehouse,” and modified or elaborated so that they can deal more effectively with ego-damaging reality.

To illustrate: in seventy-three of these dreams a highly personalized guardian spirit appears; in fifty-one of the seventy-three, this spirit is recognized definitely in face-to-face conversations as Sam’s personal guide, who once took him safely to the land of the dead;²⁰ and in the other twenty-two the guide appears as various creatures—all of which also appear in Hopi tales—usually changing into human form for the purpose of encouraging or helping the dreamer in fear-provoking situations. Benedict has pointed out that although the Pueblo area is surrounded by the concept of a power-giving or protecting Guardian Spirit, such a concept has not been standardized in the Pueblo groups because they are dominated by the “necessity of the group ceremonial approach, not that of individual experience.”²¹ But in Sam we find a man who, because of various personal problems, although believing firmly in the “group approach,” was frequently made to feel less a part of the community than he needed to feel. Consequently he has elaborated the concept of dumalaita\a (guide or guardian spirit), which is found among the Hopi, but which is generally rather vague and unstressed, into an ever present and active spirit who comes to him in dreams, takes him to witches’ meetings and on treasure hunts, gives him strength, wisdom, and advice, rescues him from dangerous situations, and always assures him that he is on the right road and that his enemies are wrong. His comments indicate that he normally feels encouraged and happier after these dreams, in spite of the fact that many of them are nightmares from which he awakes sweating and sometimes crying.²²

Titiev, puzzled by what he refers to as Sam’s “almost unique” allusions to this spirit—both in dreams and conversations—questioned others about it, but found that Sam was the only man among them who made “constant and important references to it.”²³ We have made a similar survey on both Second and Third Mesas with the same result.

Sam’s dreams and associations to them are long and detailed, and neither space nor the purpose of this paper permit the inclusion or discussion of an entire dream as he recorded it. However, the following summaries are representative of the seventy- three dreams in which he receives security reinforcement from his guide with regard to specific problems in his life.

A spirit wearing a hat like the War Twins runs ahead of the dreamer to Loloma Spring. His Guide appears, instructs him to catch the spirit, helps the dreamer (who frequently says that he is a poor runner) to run with great speed and thus to catch the spirit, who turns into the Water Serpent, goes into the spring, and promises plenty of rain and good crops. This, the dreamer says, is a very good dream.

The dreamer, also a poor hunter, dreams of hunting rabbits which change into naked, crying babies as he raises his gun to shoot. The Guide appears and gives him small pills with which to feed the babies. Later an old man at his home village tells him that he is a good man because he fed all of these babies, and that he will now have another baby of his own. [The informant had only five babies, a small number among the Hopi, and he had lost all of them. In addition to the insupportable personal loss, this fact among the Hopi brings accusations of a bad heart, even witchcraft.]

In despair over the death of his adopted son, the dreamer is told by his Guide that he must “confess”²⁴ his bad thoughts; they hold a long conversation in which the Guide both scolds and comforts the dreamer, but emphasizes the fact that he is never absent from him.

Impotence, an even more destructive experience among the Hopi than among ourselves, cursed this informant for a time. In a dream which describes a bahana house, three fair girls are ordered by an old man to bathe before they receive the dreamer—a reversal of an actual humiliating experience with a white prostitute some thirty years before this dream. Later the old man says to the hesitating dreamer, “Don’t be afraid—nothing will hinder you.” Still hesitating, the dreamer is commanded by his Guide, appearing suddenly, to obey the old man. Eventually the girls turn into ears of corn and the informant realizes that in obeying instructions he has had a magical experience which will bring good crops to his people.

Of equal interest in indicating how myth is utilized in this informant’s daily life are twenty-two dreams in which he has very personal experience with Palulukon, the Water Serpent, and eleven with Tuwapongwuhti, the Mother of all Wild Game. Summarizing from Parsons, the Water Serpent is, among other things, a punitive spirit among the Pueblos who sends earthquakes, landslides, and floods, particularly as punishment for sexual misconduct. She also notes that the Water Serpent Ceremony is a fertility ritual but says that curing is also indicated, possibly for venereal disease for men.²⁵ In Hopi myths²⁶ this serpent behaves generally as indicated above, objects to gossip and quarreling, and impregnates careless girls, but may be placated by the Hopi “Good Heart” and, if provided with a generous supply of prayer feathers, will give in turn—as fertilizing fluid²⁷—an ample supply of water for the crops. Although there is an elaborate Palulukon ceremony in which, as Titiev says, both paraphernalia and procedure suggest a relationship between these powerful deities and other Hopi beliefs and ceremonies,²⁸ such relationships are obscured on both the personal and ritual levels by Hopi reluctance to discuss such fearful creatures.

But in his fantasy life at least, our dreamer has tamed Palulukon, and there follows, part in summary and part in his exact words, one of the nine dream encounters Sam has had with a Water Serpent.

The dreamer becomes aware that a woman’s dance, Oaqol, is in progress in the plaza. He is disturbed because such a dance at this time of year can ruin the crops. Invited to join the people in the plaza, he refuses and wanders off to rest under a tree. People pass, stare curiously, and whisper to each other about him. At last an old man tells him to get up and look behind him, saying, “There is something that we are afraid of.” Sam replies, “There is nothing in this world that I fear of,” but he gets up.

In his own words again, “There I saw a huge snake coil up. His head must be the size of the mountain lion and around the neck I saw four pahos (prayer feathers) hanging down. It seems to me that [it] is a sacred snake. ‘Lay down,’ said a voice. ‘Sir, is that you speaking, Snake?’ ‘Yes, I am not going to harm you. You must obey me.’ I lay down again in the shade and didn’t pay any attention to that snake. Well the snake stuck his tongue out and began licking my face and hands. At first I [was] kind of scared, but remember that the snake would not harm me.

“Soon the snake put his body over my belly button and was very still. The snake must be around four hundred pounds. Well the snake began to move up to my head and put his nose close to my mouth, but I have to stand it. I remember he is not going to harm me. Well by and by X— came along, and he must have seen that huge snake over my body. He ran to me and took a stick and try to chase that snake away, but the snake is too quick for him. He bound X— round and round and was ready to crush him, but instead of kill X—, he sank down into the earth. I get up quickly and look down in the hole where the snake sank down into. I can see the movement of the water, a wave, like a boiling water. I notice the ground is shaking and the wind coming up. Everybody who have seen the snake take X down into the hole, they get after me. Some are crying. Then the people are running away in order to get away from me.” [Among the associations to this dream we find the statement that X— is the son of an important Oaqol woman and: “she must love X—, so the snake show her how I feel when she accuse me of killing my babies (by witchcraft); she must be in that dance and the snake show her (that) her prayers are all wrong.”]

“Well I left that hole and went into my house for I wanted to be with my wife and see if the world has come to end. I woke up and find that it is windy.”

The above dream illustrates how in the Palulukon series also, personal themes of importance in the dreamer’s life—this time of bravery, moral superiority, revenge, and strongly implied sexual complications, among others—combine in dreams built around Hopi myth.

Tuwapongwuhti, whom he has sometimes actually “seen” far away in lonely spots, has also visited Sam in his dreams eleven times. She is the mother of all living things,²⁹ but is associated particularly with the wild game. There is a wide-spread belief that she may grant babies, that she gives game to hunters, and that she sometimes comes to men in dreams, occasionally desiring sexual favors. However, as with the Guardian Spirit and Palulukon, our survey failed to establish her as an important figure in individual psychology, although she more nearly approximates it than do these others. In her visits to Sam she sometimes comes as a “fierce ghost” eventually changing into a “beautiful maiden,” or else reverses the procedure. In either case he resists her, becomes paralyzed with fear, and is eventually released, but she usually promises him the reward of game in exchange for pahos in spite of the fact that she has been denied his favors.

In considering this series of dreams, of which the following summary is typical, we must remember that our dreamer lost all of his children, and that he is a poor hunter. These are serious handicaps in Hopi society, in addition to the personal grief over losing one’s children, and the personal inconvenience of being deprived of game food in a country where meat is a luxury.

The dreamer is hunting with bahanas and Hopis, but suddenly finds himself with just one spirit companion who eventually proves himself to be a witch. However, practicing the Hopi doctrine of being polite to witches, Sam continues with his partner. They talk all night, make pahos for Tuwapongwuhti and the game. The next day Sam is afraid of being shot by other hunters, is unlucky all day, but finally shoots a large deer. He calls for his companion to help him lift it.

Later, leaving camp he says, “I don’t know why I go out there. But I was standing right by the tree and saw a fire coming up. It disappear into a valley and then come up again and change. It was a human shape coming at me. His light come out very bright and when he come near me he stopped and I watch him. It was that lady who owned the deer and rabbit, Tuwapongwuhti. She said, ‘Now I’m looking for you. These twin fawns³⁰ that were born to me are your sons.’“ Sam, astonished, asks how that can be, and is told that he made her pregnant by urinating on a certain spot of grass the night before. Quoting again, “This frighten me for I never think I do that, but anyway the two fawns are given to me and I took them, making my few steps back to camp, but she call me back. I turn back and saw that the Mother of these fawns change herself into a most beautiful young woman. She said, ‘My husband, do not fear me. I’m your lovely wife.’ With that she pull me close to her and she hold me tight. I woke up and found my wife putting her arm over my chest.”

In addition to the ninety-three dreams mentioned above, folklore themes, such as visits to the home of the Parrots—who turn into human beings and back again—single dreams in which Spider Woman or Masau’u or others appear, make up a total of 117 out of the 310 dreams recorded by this man which are directly related to folklore. And this does not include many which quite probably relate to it, but which are not yet identifiable with any specific characters or tales examined by the writer to date.

Clearly, then, there is an interaction between Sam’s dreams and Hopi folklore. He not only uses folklore in dreams but his dreams in turn modify the way in which he interprets folklore situations. By manipulating the problem solving³¹ quality both of myths and his dreams, his fantasies not only give a sense of reality to his desire to be wise, strong, courageous, a good runner, and a good hunter who is honored by his people, and pleasing to and protected by supernaturals; but he is also frequently able through fantasy to operate within the cultural stock of imaginative happenings— elaborated or distorted to be sure—but still familiar enough to give him a reassuring sense of identity with his people, even when rejected by them. (In fact, it seems probable that a universal human need for “collective identity” rather than “limited imagination” is at work in the repetitive tendency noted in folklore.) We find, for instance, that in a tale reported by Titiev, Sitiyo, also, was a poor hunter, scorned by his kiva mates and afraid, but in exchange for his favors Tuwapongwuhti, aided by Hawk, a mighty hunter, gave him many rabbits, and thus he won the respect of his fellows.³²

This Hopi tale, like most of Sam’s dream adventures, is contrary to daily experience, but in a culture where dreams are held to be important, and tales told by the old people as tribal history—usually in intimate situations of maximal group harmony—are the most satisfying part of one’s education, both dreams and tales can be more rewarding than rational responses. After all life is hard, and among the Hopi, if one’s heart is right, what has happened in the dim past can happen again! This illogical quality of wish fulfillment is evident at the manifest level in most of Sam’s dreams, but his associations to specific dream statements (as to the hunting dream given above) reveal the repeated reassurance: “You may be like Sitiyo [or you may need help] but you are a good Hopi.”

The materialization of fears in Sam’s dreams was unfortunately real, but again, by fusing personal fears with similar ones which had plagued his culture’s heroes, he was able to deal with anxiety in a somewhat impersonal manner so that it temporarily became less damaging to his ego and was partially eliminated. These heroes, too, needed—and received—supernatural support. Hallowell has shown how anxiety, socially directed, may have a positive social function.³³ Similarly, anxiety dreams, calling attention to one’s infringement of the moral code, direct an individual toward conformity. But in addition, to the extent that they may be manipulated by the processes of identification, distortion or inversion to give the dreamer a sense of unity with his culture, or freedom from group derogation, they likewise play a positive role in individual psychology. In this connection we must remember that oral confession of the “bad thoughts” in a dream, which is Hopi custom—in itself an oblique admission of error—frequently leads in turn to the confession of questionable behavior and thus to the partial working out of tension-provoking guilt.

Moreover, both familiar tales and dreams elaborated into interesting stories attract an audience, one of the few socially approved ways of becoming the center of attention among the Hopi. Although it is a device which sometimes has unpleasant consequences, it is widely used by them, and is of particular importance to this dreamer, for while competitive creativity is frowned upon, one may relate—with questionable accuracy but usually with impunity—what the old uncles said, or may thoroughly exploit one’s dream adventures. Here, as has been suggested above, an interaction between mythology and dreams becomes apparent, for the dreamer not only uses myths modified by his own psychology in his dreams, but to the extent that he relates his dreams convincingly, he introduces new emphases and directions into Hopi lore. In the dreamer’s village, for instance, we have noted a gradually increasing interest in the possibility of a more active personal guide than the rather vague dumalaita\a whom they discussed with us a decade ago. The name remains the same, but in this village the spirit has become somewhat more real.

The results of the survey sketched above suggest that as anthropologists have often found it simpler to study cultural content and social organization in small and relatively homogeneous groups, rather than in large and diffuse ones, so, too, is it sometimes possible to examine the dynamics of segments of them—a kinship structure or a body of folklore—by studying intensively the way in which these shape individual lives. And in summary we again assert that while this dreamer is not a typical Hopi, neither can he be considered unique; we have reason to assume that both the individual and the cultural mechanisms which shape his dreams were at work in varying degrees and over various personal problems, among all Hopi, since these people share—in addition to the extra-cultural qualities which are innate in human- ness—a remarkably integrated body of culture, in spite of factions and village splits. And while it is true that the relation between dreams and folklore is not so apparent in the three hundred dreams collected from other Hopi, it can be demonstrated to exist, particularly in those of the older and less acculturated people. For we find, as Herskovits has said, “In terms of a kind of socialized fantasy . . . folklore . . . shows itself a many-faceted vehicle of self-expression on both the conscious and unconscious level.”³⁴

Chicago, Illinois

¹ Stith Thompson, “Advances in Folklore Studies,” Anthropology Today, ed. A. L. Kroeber (Chicago, 1953), p. 592.

² Dreams cited in this paper are taken from a collection of Hopi dreams which was begun by the writer in 1939 in connection with an investigation of social and cultural change by F. Eggan.

³ See Werner Wolf, The Dream—Mirror of Conscience (New York, 1952), for a discussion of mythology and dreams. Also see William Morgan, “Navajo Dreams,” American Anthropologist, XXXIV (1932), 390-406; and Jackson Steward Lincoln, The Dream in “Primitive Cultures (Baltimore, 1934).

⁴ H. R. Voth, The Traditions of the Hopi, Field Columbian Museum, Anthropological Ser., VIII (Chicago, 1905).

⁵ Esther Goldfrank, “The Impact of Situation and Personality on Four Hopi Emergence Myths,” Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, IV (1948).

⁶ See Leslie Spier, “Historical Interrelations of Culture Traits, Franz Boas’ -Study of Tsimshian Mythology,” Methods in the Social Sciences, ed. Stuart Rice (Chicago, 1931).

⁷ Margaret Lantis, “Nunivak Eskimo Personality as Revealed in the Mythology,” Anthropological Papers of the Univ. of Alaska, II, No. i (Fairbanks, 1953), 165-168.

⁸ Clyde Kluckhohn, “Myths and Rituals: a General Theory,” Harvard Theological Review, XXXV, No. 2 (1942), especially 55-71. See also Dorothy Eggan, “The Manifest Content of Dreams: a Challenge to Social Science,” American Anthropologist, LIV, No. 4 (1952), 471.

⁹ Jules Henry, “Culture, Education, and Communications Theory,” Education and Anthropology, ed. George D. Spindler (Stanford, 1955).

¹⁰ Dorothy Eggan, “Instruction and Affect in Hopi Cultural Continuity” (MS., 1954).

¹¹ B. L. Whorf, “The Relation of Habitual Thought and Behavior to Language,” Language, Culture, and Personality, eds. L. Spier, A. I. Hallowell, S. Newman (Menasha, Wis., 1941), p. 92.

¹² “The sense of collective identity is based on the convincing experience that the group’s ways of synthesizing its existence at least at one time successfully integrated the economy of the individual life cycles and that of geographic-historical organization. The growing child derives a vitalizing sense of reality from the awareness that his individual way of mastering experience (his ego-synthesis) is a successful variant of a group identity and is in accord with its space-time and life-span.” Erik H. Erickson, “Childhood and Tradition in Two American Indian Tribes,” Personality in Nature, Society, and Culture, eds. Clyde Kluckhohn and Henry A. Murray (New York, 1948), p. I98n.

¹³ In this connection Hallowell also calls attention to the way in which the belief system among the Saulteaux Indians compels an individual to see or interpret situations. A. I. Hallowell, “Aggression in Saulteaux Society,” Kluckhohn and Murray, Personality in Nature, Society, and Culture, pp. 204-218.

¹⁴ M. J. Herskovits, Man and His Wor\s (New York, 1950), p. 403.

¹⁵ Kluckhohn, “Myths and Rituals: a General Theory,” 53.

¹⁶ Cf. Kluckhohn, “Myths and Rituals: a General Theory,” 52.

¹⁷ David Aberle, in “Psychosocial Analysis of a Hopi Life History,” Comparative Psychology Monographs, XXI, No. 1 (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1951), points out that while no one person is typical, many of each person’s problems are; see especially pp. 3 and 119.

¹⁸ Because of the very personal nature of the data discussed in this paper “Sam” has been substituted for the informant’s real name.

¹⁹ Cf. W. J. Wallace, “The Dream in Mohave Life,” JAF, LX (1947), 252-258. See also, Sig- mund Freud, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (New York, 1933), Ch. I.

²⁰ For descriptions of such a Hopi visit to the land of the dead, see M. Titiev, “A Hopi Visit to the After world,” Papers of the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts, and Letters, XXVI (1940), 495-504; and L. Simmons, Sun Chief, the Autobiography of a Hopi Indian (New Haven, 1942), pp. 119-127, and Appendix, p. 435.

²¹ Ruth Benedict, The Concept of the Guardian Spirit in North America, Memoirs of the American Anthropological Assn., No. 29 (1923), p. 36.

²² Eggan, “The Manifest Content of Dreams,” 482.

²³ Mischa Titiev, personal communication.

²⁴ Confession as a useful emotional purge is constantly recommended by the Hopi. They are instructed to wake someone, even in the middle of the night, to relate a bad dream, and they must then go outside and spit four times to rid themselves of evil thoughts. Cf. A. I.N Hallowell, “The Social Functions of Anxiety in a Primitive Society,” Personal Character and Cultural Milieu, ed. D. G. Haring (Syracuse, N. Y., 1948), pp. 375-389; and Weston LaBarre, “Primitive Psychotherapy: Peyotism and Confession,” Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, XLII, No. 3 (i947).

²⁵ If, as Parsons suggests, curing for venereal disease, as well as fertility, is one function of Palulukon rites, this fact also becomes important in considering Sam’s Water Serpent dreams. See Elsie Clews Parsons, Pueblo Indian Religion (Chicago, 1939), pp. 184-186, 508.

²⁶ Mischa Titiev, “Two Hopi Myths and Rites,” JAF, LXI (1948), 31-43; W. Wallis, “Folk Tales from Shungopavi,” JAF, XLIX (1936), 1-68; Walter Hough, The Hopi Indians (Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1915); Voth, The Traditions of the Hopi, pp. 48-63.

²⁷ H. K. Haeberlin, “The Idea of Fertilization in the Culture of the Pueblo Indians,” Memoirs of the American Anthropological Assn., Ill, No. 1 (1916); see especially p. 23.

²⁸ M. Titiev, Old Oraibi, Papers of the Peabody Museum of American Archaeology and Ethnology XXII, No. 1 (Cambridge, Mass., 1944), 121-124, 149.

²⁹ A. M. Stephen, Hopi Journal, Columbia Univ. Contributions to Anthropology, XXIII (New York, 1936), 1313; M. Titiev, “Two Hopi Tales from Oraibi,” Papers of the Michigan Acad., XXIX (1943), 431-437; Titiev, Old Oraibi, p. 137; Voth, The Traditions of the Hopi, 137-141; Simmons, Sun Chief, pp. 426-428.

³⁰ For reasons too complicated for the space permitted in this paper, the dreamer is particularly interested in antelope twins.

³¹ Thomas French, The Integration of Behavior, Vol. I: Basic Postulates (Chicago, 1952), pp. 71-72.

³² Titiev, “Two Hopi Tales from Oraibi,” pp. 431-437.

³³ Hallowell, “The Social Functions of Anxiety,” pp. 375-388.

³⁴ Herskovits, Man and His Works, p. 421.