S — Songes

*The dreams that mock our minds with flitting shadows—No shrines of gods, no powers from heaven send them;Each makes his own.*

But how, when all the senses are dead in sleep, is there an inward one still alive? How, when your eyes no longer see and your ears hear nothing, do you nevertheless see and hear in your dreams? A dog hunts in its sleep: it barks, pursues its prey, feeds on the kill. A poet makes verses while sleeping. A mathematician sees figures; a metaphysician reasons well or badly. We have striking examples.

Are only the machine’s organs acting? Is it the pure soul, withdrawn from the rule of the senses, freely enjoying its rights?

If the organs alone produce the dreams of night, why would they not alone produce the ideas of day? If the pure soul, tranquil while the senses rest and acting by itself, is the sole cause, the sole subject of all the ideas you have while sleeping, why are all these ideas almost always irregular, unreasonable, incoherent? What! It is when this soul is least disturbed that all its imaginings are most disturbed! It is free, and it is mad! If it were born with metaphysical ideas, as so many writers dreaming with their eyes open have said, its pure and luminous ideas of being, infinity, and all first principles should awaken in it with the greatest force when its body is asleep. We would be good philosophers only in dreams.

Whatever system you embrace, whatever vain efforts you make to prove to yourself that memory stirs your brain and your brain stirs your soul, you must admit that all your ideas come to you in sleep without your aid and against your will: your will has no part in them. It is therefore certain that you can think for seven or eight hours at a stretch without the slightest wish to think, and without even being sure that you are thinking. Weigh that, and try to guess what an animal is composed of.

Dreams have always been a great object of superstition; nothing was more natural. A man deeply affected by his mistress’s illness dreams that he sees her dying. She dies the next day; therefore the gods foretold her death to him.

An army general dreams that he wins a battle. He does indeed win it: the gods warned him that he would be victorious.

Only dreams that have been fulfilled are taken into account; the others are forgotten. Dreams, like oracles, make up a great part of ancient history.

The Vulgate translates the end of verse 26 of chap. 19 of Leviticus thus: “You will not observe dreams.” But the word dream is not in the Hebrew; and it would be rather strange for the observation of dreams to be condemned in the very book that says Joseph became the benefactor of Egypt and his family for having explained three dreams.

The interpretation of dreams was so common a thing that people did not stop at understanding them; sometimes they also had to guess what another man had dreamed. Nebuchadnezzar, having forgotten a dream he had dreamed, ordered his Magi to guess it and threatened them with death if they failed. But the Jew Daniel, who belonged to the school of the Magi, saved their lives by guessing the king’s dream and interpreting it. This story and many others might serve to prove that Jewish law did not forbid oneiromancy—that is, the science of dreams.

Dreams that toy with our minds through darting shadowsAren’t sent by gods’ temples or divine powers from the sky;Instead, we each make our own.

But all our senses are dead in sleep. Is some inner sense still alive? Your eyes no longer see, and your ears hear nothing. How can you still see and hear in dreams? A dog dreams of hunting: it barks, tracks its prey, and eats the kill. A poet writes poems in his sleep. A mathematician sees shapes, and a metaphysician reasons, well or badly. There are striking examples of all this.

Is this just the work of the body’s organs? Or does the pure soul escape the senses’ control and freely exercise its powers?

If the organs alone make our dreams at night, why can’t they make our daytime ideas too? Suppose instead that the pure soul acts alone while the senses rest. It’s at peace, and it alone produces and experiences your sleeping ideas. Why are those ideas nearly always disordered, unreasonable, and disconnected? What! At the very moment the soul is least disturbed, its imaginings are most disturbed! It’s free, yet it’s mad! Suppose it had metaphysical ideas from birth, as so many writers have said—writers dreaming with their eyes open. Then its pure, clear ideas of being, infinity, and all the first principles should awaken most powerfully while its body sleeps. We’d only ever be good philosophers in our dreams.

Whatever system you choose, you may try in vain to prove this to yourself: memory moves your brain, and your brain moves your soul. You still have to admit that your sleeping ideas come without your help and against your will. Your will has nothing to do with them. You can certainly think for seven or eight hours straight without wanting to think at all. You can do it without even being sure you’re thinking. Think that over, and try to work out what an animal is made of.

Dreams have always attracted a great deal of superstition. Nothing could be more natural. A man is deeply troubled by his mistress’s illness and dreams of seeing her dying. She dies the next day: so the gods predicted her death to him.

An army commander dreams of winning a battle, and then really wins it. So the gods told him beforehand that he’d win.

We count only the dreams that came true and forget the rest. Dreams account for much of ancient history, along with oracles.

Here’s how the Vulgate translates the end of verse 26, chapter 19, of Leviticus: Don’t pay attention to dreams. But the Hebrew doesn’t contain the word dream. It would be rather strange for that book to condemn paying attention to dreams. It says Joseph became a benefactor to Egypt and his family by explaining three dreams.

Interpreting dreams was so common that people didn’t stop at understanding them. Sometimes you even had to guess what someone else had dreamed. Nebuchadnezzar forgot a dream he’d had, and ordered his magi to guess it. He threatened them with death if they couldn’t. But Daniel, a Jew who belonged to the magi’s school, saved their lives. He guessed the king’s dream and explained it. This story, and many others, could help prove that Jewish law didn’t ban oneiromancy—the science of dreams.