Chapter X: Part II: note on Silene (5)

7. A curious question demands our attention in this place; as we do not distinguish in our dreams and reveries between our perceptions of external objects, and our ideas of them in their absence, how do we distinguish them at any time? In a dream, if the sweetness of sugar occurs to my imagination, the whiteness and hardness of it, which were ideas usually connected with the sweetness, immediately follow in the train; and I believe a material lump of sugar present before my senses: but in my waking hours, if the sweetness occurs to my imagination, the stimulus of the table to my hand, or of the window to my eye, prevents the other ideas of the hardness and whiteness of the sugar from succeeding; and hence I perceive the fallacy, and disbelieve the existence of objects correspondent to those ideas, whose tribes or trains are broken by the stimulus of other objects. And further in our waking hours, we frequently exert our volition in comparing present appearances with such, as we have usually observed; and thus correct the errors of one sense by our general knowledge of nature by intuitive analogy. See Sect. XVII. 3. 7. Whereas in dreams the power of volition is suspended, we can recollect and compare our present ideas with none of our acquired knowledge, and are hence incapable of observing any absurdities in them.

By this criterion we distinguish our waking from our sleeping hours, we can voluntarily recollect our sleeping ideas, when we are awake, and compare them with our waking ones; but we cannot in our sleep _voluntarily_ recollect our waking ideas at all.

8. The vast variety of scenery, novelty of combination, and distinctness of imagery, are other curious circumstances of our sleeping imaginations. The variety of scenery seems to arise from the superior activity and excellence of our sense of vision; which in an instant unfolds to the mind extensive fields of pleasurable ideas; while the other senses collect their objects slowly, and with little combination; add to this, that the ideas, which this organ presents us with, are more frequently connected with our sensation than those of any other.

9. The great novelty of combination is owing to another circumstance; the trains of ideas, which are carried on in our waking thoughts, are in our dreams dissevered in a thousand places by the suspension of volition, and the absence of irritative ideas, and are hence perpetually falling into new catenations. As explained in Sect. XVII. 1. 9. For the power of volition is perpetually exerted during our waking hours in comparing our passing trains of ideas with our acquired knowledge of nature, and thus forms many intermediate links in their catenation. And the irritative ideas excited by the stimulus of the objects, with which we are surrounded, are every moment intruded upon us, and form other links of our unceasing catenations of ideas.

10. The absence of the stimuli of external bodies, and of volition, in our dreams renders the organs of sense liable to be more strongly affected by the powers of sensation, and of association. For our desires or aversions, or the obtrusions of surrounding bodies, dissever the sensitive and associate tribes of ideas in our waking hours by introducing those of irritation and volition amongst them. Hence proceeds the superior distinctness of pleasurable or painful imagery in our sleep; for we recal the figure and the features of a long lost friend, whom we loved, in our dreams with much more accuracy and vivacity than in our waking thoughts. This circumstance contributes to prove, that our ideas of imagination are reiterations of those motions of our organs of sense, which were excited by external objects; because while we are exposed to the stimuli of present objects, our ideas of absent objects cannot be so distinctly formed.

11. The rapidity of the succession of transactions in our dreams is almost inconceivable; insomuch that, when we are accidentally awakened by the jarring of a door, which is opened into our bed-chamber, we sometimes dream a whole history of thieves or fire in the very instant of awaking.

During the suspension of volition we cannot compare our other ideas with those of the parts of time in which they exist; that is, we cannot compare the imaginary scene, which is before us, with those changes of it, which precede or follow it: because this act of comparing requires recollection or voluntary exertion. Whereas in our waking hours, we are perpetually making this comparison, and by that means our waking ideas are kept confident with each other by intuitive analogy; but this companion retards the succession of them, by occasioning their repetition. Add to this, that the transactions of our dreams consist chiefly of visible ideas, and that a whole history of thieves and fire may be _beheld_ in an instant of time like the figures in a picture.

12. From this incapacity of attending to the parts of time in our dreams, arises our ignorance of the length of the night; which, but from our constant experience to the contrary, we should conclude was but a few minutes, when our sleep is perfect. The same happens in our reveries; thus when we are possessed with vehement joy, grief, or anger, time appears short, for we exert no volition to compare the present scenery with the past or future; but when we are compelled to perform those exercises of mind or body, which, are unmixed with passion, as in travelling over a dreary country, time appears long; for our desire to finish our journey occasions us more frequently to compare our present situation with the parts of time or place, which are before and behind us.

So when we are enveloped in deep contemplation of any kind, or in reverie, as in reading a very interesting play or romance, we measure time very inaccurately; and hence, if a play greatly affects our passions, the absurdities of passing over many days or years, and or perpetual changes of place, are not perceived by the audience; as is experienced by every one, who reads or sees some plays of the immortal Shakespear; but it is necessary for inferior authors to observe those rules of the [Greek: pithanon] and [Greek: prepon] inculcated by Aristotle, because their works do not interest the passions sufficiently to produce complete reverie.

Those works, however, whether a romance or a sermon, which do not interest us so much as to induce reverie, may nevertheless incline us to sleep. For those pleasurable ideas, which are presented to us, and are too gentle to excite laughter, (which is attended with interrupted voluntary exertions, as explained Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.) and which are not accompanied with any other emotion, which usually excites some voluntary exertion, as anger, or fear, are liable to produce sleep; which consists in a suspension of all voluntary power. But if the ideas thus presented to us, and interest our attention, are accompanied with so much pleasurable or painful sensation as to excite our voluntary exertion at the same time, reverie is the consequence. Hence an interesting play produces reverie, a tedious one produces sleep: in the latter we become exhausted by attention, and are not excited to any voluntary exertion, and therefore sleep; in the former we are excited by some emotion, which prevents by its pain the suspension of volition, and in as much as it interests us, induces reverie, as explained in the next Section.

But when our sleep is imperfect, as when we have determined to rise in half an hour, time appears longer to us than in most other situations. Here our solicitude not to oversleep the determined time induces us in this imperfect sleep to compare the quick changes of imagined scenery with the parts of time or place, they would have taken up, had they real exigence; and that more frequently than in our waking hours; and hence the time appears longer to us: and I make no doubt, but the permitted time appears long to a man going to the gallows, as the fear of its quick lapse will make him think frequently about it.

13. As we gain our knowledge of time by comparing the present scenery with the past and future, and of place by comparing the situations of objects with each other; so we gain our idea of consciousness by comparing ourselves with the scenery around us; and of identity by comparing our present consciousness with our past consciousness: as we never think of time or place, but when we make the companions above mentioned, so we never think of consciousness, but when we compare our own existence with that of other objects; nor of identity, but when we compare our present and our past consciousness. Hence the consciousness of our own existence, and of our identity, is owing to a voluntary exertion of our minds: and on that account in our complete dreams we neither measure time, are surprised at the sudden changes of place, nor attend to our own existence, or identity; because our power of volition is suspended. But all these circumstances are more or less observable in our incomplete ones; for then we attend a little to the lapse of time, and the changes of place, and to our own existence; and even to our identity of person; for a lady seldom dreams, that she is a soldier; nor a man, that he is brought to bed.

14. As long as our sensations only excite their sensual motions, or ideas, our sleep continues sound; but as soon as they excite desires or aversions, our sleep becomes imperfect; and when that desire or aversion is so strong, as to produce voluntary motions, we begin to awake; the larger muscles of the body are brought into action to remove that irritation or sensation, which a continued posture has caused; we stretch our limbs, and yawn, and our sleep is thus broken by the accumulation of voluntary power.

Sometimes it happens, that the act of waking is suddenly produced, and this soon after the commencement of sleep; which is occasioned by some sensation so disagreeable, as instantaneously to excite the power of volition; and a temporary action of all the voluntary motions suddenly succeeds, and we start awake. This is sometimes accompanied with loud noise in the ears, and with some degree of fear; and when it is in great excess, so as to produce continued convulsive motions of those muscles, which are generally subservient to volition, it becomes epilepsy: the fits of which in some patients generally commence during sleep. This differs from the night-mare described in No. 3. of this Section, because in that the disagreeable sensation is not so great as to excite the power of volition into action; for as soon as that happens, the disease ceases.

Another circumstance, which sometimes awakes people soon after the commencement of their sleep, is where the voluntary power is already so great in quantity as almost to prevent them from falling asleep, and then a little accumulation of it soon again awakens them; this happens in cases of insanity, or where the mind has been lately much agitated by fear or anger. There is another circumstance in which sleep is likewise of short duration, which arises from great debility, as after great over-fatigue, and in some fevers, where the strength of the patient is greatly diminished, as in these cases the pulse intermits or flutters, and the respiration is previously affected, it seems to originate from the want of some voluntary efforts to facilitate respiration, as when we are awake. And is further treated of in Vol. II. Class I. 2. 1. 2. on the Diseases of the Voluntary Power. Art. Somnus interruptus.

15. We come now to those motions which depend on irritation. The motions of the arterial and glandular systems continue in our sleep, proceeding slower indeed, but stronger and more uniformly, than in our waking hours, when they are incommoded by external stimuli, or by the movements of volition; the motions of the muscles subservient to respiration continue to be stimulated into action, and the other internal senses of hunger, thirst, and lust, are not only occasionally excited in our sleep, but their irritative motions are succeeded by their usual sensations, and make a part of the farrago of our dreams. These sensations of the want of air, of hunger, thirst, and lust, in our dreams, contribute to prove, that the nerves of the external senses are also alive and excitable in our sleep; but as the stimuli of external objects are either excluded from them by the darkness and silence of the night, or their access to them is prevented by the suspension of volition, these nerves of sense fall more readily into their connexions with sensation and with association; because much sensorial power, which during the day was expended in moving the external organs of sense in consequence of irritation from external stimuli, or in consequence of volition, becomes now in some degree accumulated, and renders the internal or immediate organs of sense more easily excitable by the other sensorial powers. Thus in respect to the eye, the irritation from external stimuli, and the power of volition during our waking hours, elevate the eye-lids, adapt the aperture of the iris to the quantity of light, the focus of the crystalline humour, and the angle of the optic axises to the distance of the object, all which perpetual activity during the day expends much sensorial power, which is saved during our sleep.

Hence it appears, that not only those parts of the system, which are always excited by internal stimuli, as the stomach, intestinal canal, bile-ducts, and the various glands, but the organs of sense also may be more violently excited into action by the irritation from internal stimuli, or by sensation, during our sleep than in our waking hours; because during the suspension of volition, there is a greater quantity of the spirit of animation to be expended by the other sensorial powers. On this account our irritability to internal stimuli, and our sensibility to pain or pleasure, is not only greater in sleep, but increases as our sleep is prolonged. Whence digestion and secretion are performed better in sleep, than in our waking hours, and our dreams in the morning have greater variety and vivacity, as our sensibility increases, than at night when we first lie down. And hence epileptic fits, which are always occasioned by some disagreeable sensation, so frequently attack those, who are subject to them, in their sleep; because at this time the system is more excitable by painful sensation in consequence of internal stimuli; and the power of volition is then suddenly exerted to relieve this pain, as explained Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

There is a disease, which frequently affects children in the cradle, which is termed ecstasy, and seems to consist in certain exertions to relieve painful sensation, in which the voluntary power is not so far excited as totally to awaken them, and yet is sufficient to remove the disagreeable sensation, which excites it; in this case changing the posture of the child frequently relieves it.

I have at this time under my care an elegant young man about twenty-two years of age, who seldom sleeps more than an hour without experiencing a convulsion fit; which ceases in about half a minute without any subsequent stupor. Large doses of opium only prevented the paroxysms, so long as they prevented him from sleeping by the intoxication, which they induced. Other medicines had no effect on him. He was gently awakened every half hour for one night, but without good effect, as he soon slept again, and the fit returned at about the same periods of time, for the accumulated sensorial power, which occasioned the increased sensibility to pain, was not thus exhausted. This case evinces, that the sensibility of the system to internal excitation increases, as our sleep is prolonged; till the pain thus occasioned produces voluntary exertion; which, when it is in its usual degree, only awakens us; but when it is more violent, it occasions convulsions.

The cramp in the calf of the leg is another kind of convulsion, which generally commences in sleep, occasioned by the continual increase of irritability from internal stimuli, or of sensibility, during that state of our existence. The cramp is a violent exertion to relieve pain, generally either of the skin from cold, or of the bowels, as in some diarrhoeas, or from the muscles having been previously overstretched, as in walking up or down steep hills. But in these convulsions of the muscles, which form the calf of the leg, the contraction is so violent as to occasion another pain in consequence of their own too violent contraction; as soon as the original pain, which caused the contraction, is removed. And hence the cramp, or spasm, of these muscles is continued without intermission by this new pain, unlike the alternate convulsions and remissions in epileptic fits. The reason, that the contraction of these muscles of the calf of the leg is more violent during their convulsion than that of others, depends on the weakness of their antagonist muscles; for after these have been contracted in their usual action, as at every step in walking, they are again extended, not, as most other muscles are, by their antagonists, but by the weight of the whole body on the balls of the toes; and that weight applied to great mechanical advantage on the heel, that is, on the other end of the bone of the foot, which thus acts as a lever.

Another disease, the periods of which generally commence during our sleep, is the asthma. Whatever may be the remote cause of paroxysms of asthma, the immediate cause of the convulsive respiration, whether in the common asthma, or in what is termed the convulsive asthma, which are perhaps only different degrees of the same disease, must be owing to violent voluntary exertions to relieve pain, as in other convulsions; and the increase of irritability to internal stimuli, or of sensibility, during sleep must occasion them to commence at this time.

Debilitated people, who have been unfortunately accustomed to great ingurgitation of spirituous potation, frequently part with a great quantity of water during the night, but with not more than usual in the day-time. This is owing to a beginning torpor of the absorbent system, and precedes anasarca, which commences in the day, but is cured in the night by the increase of the irritability of the absorbent system during sleep, which thus imbibes from the cellular membrane the fluids, which had been accumulated there during the day; though it is possible the horizontal position of the body may contribute something to this purpose, and also the greater irritability of some branches of the absorbent vessels, which open their mouths in the cells of the cellular membrane, than that of other branches.

As soon as a person begins to sleep, the irritability and sensibility of the system begins to increase, owing to the suspension of volition and the exclusion of external stimuli. Hence the actions of the vessels in obedience to internal stimulation become stronger and more energetic, though less frequent in respect to number. And as many of the secretions are increased, so the heat of the system is gradually increased, and the extremities of feeble people, which had been cold during the day, become warm. Till towards morning many people become so warm, as to find it necessary to throw off some of their bed-clothes, as soon as they awake; and in others sweats are so liable to occur towards morning during their sleep.

Thus those, who are not accustomed to sleep in the open air, are very liable to take cold, if they happen to fall asleep on a garden bench, or in a carriage with the window open. For as the system is warmer during sleep, as above explained, if a current of cold air affects any part of the body, a torpor of that part is more effectually produced, as when a cold blast of air through a key-hole or casement falls upon a person in a warm room. In those cases the affected part possesses less irritability in respect to heat, from its having previously been exposed to a greater stimulus of heat, as in the warm room, or during sleep; and hence, when the stimulus of heat is diminished, a torpor is liable to ensue; that is, we take cold. Hence people who sleep in the open air, generally feel chilly both at the approach of sleep, and on their awaking; and hence many people are perpetually subject to catarrhs if they sleep in a less warm head-dress, than that which they wear in the day.

16. Not only the sensorial powers of irritation and of sensation, but that of association also appear to act with greater vigour during the suspension of volition in sleep. It will be shewn in another place, that the gout generally first attacks the liver, and that afterwards an inflammation of the ball of the great toe commences by association, and that of the liver ceases. Now as this change or metastasis of the activity of the system generally commences in sleep, it follows, that these associations of motion exist with greater energy at that time; that is, that the sensorial faculty of association, like those of irritation and of sensation, becomes in some measure accumulated during the suspension of volition.

Other associate tribes and trains of motions, as well as the irritative and sensitive ones, appear to be increased in their activity during the suspension of volition in sleep. As those which contribute to circulate the blood, and to perform the various secretions; as well as the associate tribes and trains of ideas, which contribute to furnish the perpetual dreams of our dreaming imaginations.

In sleep the secretions have generally been supposed to be diminished, as the expectorated mucus in coughs, the fluids discharged in diarrhoeas, and in salivation, except indeed the secretion of sweat, which is often visibly increased. This error seems to have arisen from attention to the excretions rather than to the secretions. For the secretions, except that of sweat, are generally received into reservoirs, as the urine into the bladder, and the mucus of the intestines and lungs into their respective cavities; but these reservoirs do not exclude these fluids immediately by their stimulus, but require at the same time some voluntary efforts, and therefore permit them to remain during sleep. And as they thus continue longer in those receptacles in our sleeping hours, a greater part is absorbed from them, and the remainder becomes thicker, and sometimes in less quantity, though at the time it was secreted the fluid was in greater quantity than in our waking hours. Thus the urine is higher coloured after long sleep; which shews that a greater quantity has been secreted, and that more of the aqueous and saline part has been reabsorbed, and the earthy part left in the bladder; hence thick urine in fevers shews only a greater action of the vessels which secrete it in the kidneys, and of those which absorb it from the bladder.

The same happens to the mucus expectorated in coughs, which is thus thickened by absorption of its aqueous and saline parts; and the same of the feces of the intestines. From hence it appears, and from what has been said in No. 15. of this Section concerning the increase of irritability and of sensibility during sleep, that the secretions are in general rather increased than diminished during these hours of our existence; and it is probable that nutrition is almost entirely performed in sleep; and that young animals grow more at this time than in their waking hours, as young plants have long since been observed to grow more in the night, which is their time of sleep.

17. Two other remarkable circumstances of our dreaming ideas are their inconsistency, and the total absence of surprise. Thus we seem to be present at more extraordinary metamorphoses of animals or trees, than are to be met with in the fables of antiquity; and appear to be transported from place to place, which seas divide, as quickly as the changes of scenery are performed in a play-house; and yet are not sensible of their inconsistency, nor in the least degree affected with surprise.

We must consider this circumstance more minutely. In our waking trains of ideas, those that are inconsistent with the usual order of nature, so rarely have occurred to us, that their connexion is the slightest of all others: hence, when a consistent train of ideas is exhausted, we attend to the external stimuli, that usually surround us, rather than to any inconsistent idea, which might otherwise present itself; and if an inconsistent idea should intrude itself, we immediately compare it with the preceding one, and voluntarily reject the train it would introduce; this appears further in the Section on Reverie, in which state of the mind external stimuli are not attended to, and yet the streams of ideas are kept consistent by the efforts of volition. But as our faculty of volition is suspended, and all external stimuli are excluded in sleep, this slighter connexion of ideas takes place; and the train is said to be inconsistent; that is, dissimilar to the usual order of nature.

But, when any consistent train of sensitive or voluntary ideas is flowing along, if any external stimulus affects us so violently, as to intrude irritative ideas forcibly into the mind, it disunites the former train of ideas, and we are affected with surprise. These stimuli of unusual energy or novelty not only disunite our common trains of ideas, but the trains of muscular motions also, which have not been long established by habit, and disturb those that have. Some people become motionless by great surprise, the fits of hiccup and or ague have been often removed by it, and it even affects the movements of the heart, and arteries; but in our sleep, all external stimuli are excluded, and in consequence no surprise can exist. See Section XVII. 3. 7.

18. We frequently awake with pleasure from a dream, which has delighted us, without being able to recollect the transactions of it; unless perhaps at a distance of time, some analogous idea may introduce afresh this forgotten train: and in our waking reveries we sometimes in a moment lose the train of thought, but continue to feel the glow of pleasure, or the depression of spirits, it occasioned: whilst at other times we can retrace with ease these histories of our reveries and dreams.

The above explanation of surprise throws light upon this subject. When we are suddenly awaked by any violent stimulus, the surprise totally disunites the trains of our sleeping ideas from these of our waking ones; but if we gradually awake, this does not happen; and we readily unravel the preceding trains of imagination.

19. There are various degrees of surprise; the more intent we are upon the train of ideas, which we are employed about, the more violent must be the stimulus that interrupts them, and the greater is the degree of surprise. I have observed dogs, who have slept by the fire, and by their obscure barking and struggling have appeared very intent on their prey, that shewed great surprise for a few seconds after their awaking by looking eagerly around them; which they did not do at other times of waking. And an intelligent friend of mine has remarked, that his lady, who frequently speaks much and articulately in her sleep, could never recollect her dreams in the morning, when this happened to her: but that when she did not speak in her sleep, she could always recollect them.

Hence, when our sensations act so strongly in sleep as to influence the larger muscles, as in those, who talk or struggle in their dreams; or in those, who are affected with complete reverie (as described in the next Section), great surprise is produced, when they awake; and these as well as those, who are completely drunk or delirious, totally forget afterwards their imaginations at those times.

20. As the immediate cause of sleep consists in the suspension of volition, it follows, that whatever diminishes the general quantity of sensorial power, or derives it from the faculty of volition, will constitute a remote cause of sleep; such as fatigue from muscular or mental exertion, which diminishes the general quantity of sensorial power; or an increase of the sensitive motions, as by attending to soft music, which diverts the sensorial power from the faculty of volition; or lastly, by increase of the irritative motions, as by wine, or food; or warmth; which not only by their expenditure of sensorial power diminish the quantity of volition; but also by their producing pleasureable sensations (which occasion other muscular or sensual motions in consequence), doubly decrease the voluntary power, and thus more forcibly produce sleep. See Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

Another method of inducing sleep is delivered in a very ingenious work lately published by Dr. Beddoes. Who, after lamenting that opium frequently occasions restlessness, thinks, "that in most cases it would be better to induce sleep by the abstraction of stimuli, than by exhausting the excitability;" and adds, "upon this principle we could not have a better soporific than an atmosphere with a diminished proportion of oxygene air, and that common air might be admitted after the patient was asleep." (Observ. on Calculus, &c. by Dr. Beddoes, Murray.) If it should be found to be true, that the excitability of the system depends on the quantity of oxygene absorbed by the lungs in respiration according to the theory of Dr. Beddoes, and of M. Girtanner, this idea of sleeping in an atmosphere with less oxygene in its composition might be of great service in epileptic cases, and in cramp, and even in fits of the asthma, where their periods commence from the increase of irritability during sleep.

Sleep is likewise said to be induced by mechanic pressure on the brain in the cases of spina bifida. Where there has been a defect of one of the vertebræ of the back, a tumour is protruded in consequence; and, whenever this tumour has been compressed by the hand, sleep is said to be induced, because the whole of the brain both within the head and spine becomes compressed by the retrocession of the fluid within the tumour. But by what means a compression of the brain induces sleep has not been explained, but probably by diminishing the secretion of sensorial power, and then the voluntary motions become suspended previously to the irritative ones, as occurs in most dying persons.

Another way of procuring sleep mechanically was related to me by Mr. Brindley, the famous canal engineer, who was brought up to the business of a mill-wright; he told me, that he had more than once seen the experiment of a man extending himself across the large stone of a corn-mill, and that by gradually letting the stone whirl, the man fell asleep, before the stone had gained its full velocity, and he supposed would have died without pain by the continuance or increase of the motion. In this case the centrifugal motion of the head and feet must accumulate the blood in both those extremities of the body, and thus compress the brain.

Lastly, we should mention the application of cold; which, when in a less degree, produces watchfulness by the pain it occasions, and the tremulous convulsions of the subcutaneous muscles; but when it is applied in great degree, is said to produce sleep. To explain this effect it has been said, that as the vessels of the skin and extremities become first torpid by the want of the stimulus of heat, and as thence less blood is circulated through them, as appears from their paleness, a greater quantity of blood poured upon the brain produces sleep by its compression of that organ. But I should rather imagine, that the sensorial power becomes exhausted by the convulsive actions in consequence of the pain of cold, and of the voluntary exercise previously used to prevent it, and that the sleep is only the beginning to die, as the suspension of voluntary power in lingering deaths precedes for many hours the extinction of the irritative motions.

21. The following are the characteristic circumstances attending perfect sleep.

1. The power of volition is totally suspended.

2. The trains of ideas caused by sensation proceed with greater facility and vivacity; but become inconsistent with the usual order of nature. The muscular motions caused by sensation continue; as those concerned in our evacuations during infancy, and afterwards in digestion, and in priapismus.

3. The irritative muscular motions continue, as those concerned in the circulation, in secretion, in respiration. But the irritative sensual motions, or ideas, are not excited; as the immediate organs of sense are not stimulated into action by external objects, which are excluded by the external organs of sense; which are not in sleep adapted to their reception by the power of volition, as in our waking hours.

4. The associate motions continue; but their first link is not excited into action by volition, or by external stimuli. In all respects, except those above mentioned, the three last sensorial powers are somewhat increased in energy during the suspension of volition, owing to the consequent accumulation of the spirit of animation.

* * * * *

SECT. XIX.

OF REVERIE.

1. _Various degrees of reverie._ 2. _Sleep-walkers. Case of a young
lady. Great surprise at awaking. And total forgetfulness of what passed
in reverie._ 3. _No suspension of volition in reverie._ 4. _Sensitive
motions continue, and are consistent._ 5. _Irritative motions continue,
but are not succeeded by sensation._ 6. _Volition necessary for the
perception of feeble impressions._ 7. _Associated motions continue._ 8.
_Nerves of sense are irritable in sleep, but not in reverie._ 9.
_Somnambuli are not asleep. Contagion received but once._ 10.
_Definition of reverie._

1. When we are employed with great sensation of pleasure, or with great efforts of volition, in the pursuit of some interesting train of ideas, we cease to be conscious of our existence, are inattentive to time and place, and do not distinguish this train of sensitive and voluntary ideas from the irritative ones excited by the presence of external objects, though our organs of sense are furnished with their accustomed stimuli, till at length this interesting train of ideas becomes exhausted, or the appulses of external objects are applied with unusual violence, and we return with surprise, or with regret, into the common track of life. This is termed reverie or studium.

In some constitutions these reveries continue a considerable time, and are not to be removed without greater difficulty, but are experienced in a less degree by us all; when we attend earnestly to the ideas excited by volition or sensation, with their associated connexions, but are at the same time conscious at intervals of the stimuli of surrounding bodies. Thus in being present at a play, or in reading a romance, some persons are so totally absorbed as to forget their usual time of sleep, and to neglect their meals; while others are said to have been so involved in voluntary study as not to have heard the discharge of artillery; and there is a story of an Italian politician, who could think so intensely on other subjects, as to be insensible to the torture of the rack.

From hence it appears, that these catenations of ideas and muscular motions, which form the trains of reverie, are composed both of voluntary and sensitive associations of them; and that these ideas differ from those of delirium or of sleep, as they are kept consistent by the power of volition; and they differ also from the trains of ideas belonging to insanity, as they are as frequently excited by sensation as by volition. But lastly, that the whole sensorial power is so employed on these trains of complete reverie, that like the violent efforts of volition, as in convulsions or insanity; or like the great activity of the irritative motions in drunkenness; or of the sensitive motions in delirium; they preclude all sensation consequent to external stimulus.

2. Those persons, who are said to walk in their sleep, are affected with reverie to so great a degree, that it becomes a formidable disease; the essence of which consists in the inaptitude of the mind to attend to external stimuli. Many histories of this disease have been published by medical writers; of which there is a very curious one in the Lausanne Transactions. I shall here subjoin an account of such a case, with its cure, for the better illustration of this subject.

A very ingenious and elegant young lady, with light eyes and hair, about the age of seventeen, in other respects well, was suddenly seized soon after her usual menstruation with this very wonderful malady. The disease began with vehement convulsions of almost every muscle of her body, with great but vain efforts to vomit, and the most violent hiccoughs, that can be conceived: these were succeeded in about an hour with a fixed spasm; in which one hand was applied to her head, and the other to support it: in about half an hour these ceased, and the reverie began suddenly, and was at first manifest by the look of her eyes and countenance, which seemed to express attention. Then she conversed aloud with imaginary persons with her eyes open, and could not for about an hour be brought to attend to the stimulus of external objects by any kind of violence, which it was proper to use; these symptoms returned in this order every day for five or six weeks.

These conversations were quite consistent, and we could understand, what she supposed her imaginary companions to answer, by the continuation of her part of the discourse. Sometimes she was angry, at other times shewed much wit and vivacity, but was most frequently inclined to melancholy. In these reveries she sometimes sung over some music with accuracy, and repeated whole pages from the English poets. In repeating some lines from Mr. Pope's works she had forgot one word, and began again, endeavouring to recollect it; when she came to the forgotten word, it was shouted aloud in her ear, and this repeatedly, to no purpose; but by many trials she at length regained it herself.

These paroxysms were terminated with the appearance of inexpressible surprise, and great fear, from which she was some minutes in recovering herself, calling on her sister with great agitation, and very frequently underwent a repetition of convulsions, apparently from the pain of fear. See Sect. XVII. 3. 7.

After having thus returned for about an hour every day for two or three weeks, the reveries seemed to become less complete, and some of their circumstances varied; so that she could walk about the room in them without running against any of the furniture; though these motions were at first very unsteady and tottering. And afterwards she once drank a dish of tea, when the whole apparatus of the tea-table was set before her; and expressed some suspicion, that a medicine was put into it, and once seemed to smell of a tuberose, which was in flower in her chamber, and deliberated aloud about breaking it from the stem, saying, "it would make her sister so charmingly angry." At another time in her melancholy moments she heard the sound of a passing bell, "I wish I was dead," she cried, listening to the bell, and then taking off one of her shoes, as she sat upon the bed, "I love the colour black," says she, "a little wider, and a little longer, even this might make me a coffin!"--Yet it is evident, she was not sensible at this time, any more than formerly, of seeing or hearing any person about her; indeed when great light was thrown upon her by opening the shutters of the window, her trains of ideas seemed less melancholy; and when I have forcibly held her hands, or covered her eyes, she appeared to grow impatient, and would say, she could not tell what to do, for she could neither see nor move. In all these circumstances her pulse continued unaffected as in health. And when the paroxysm was over, she could never recollect a single idea of what had passed in it.

This astonishing disease, after the use of many other medicines and applications in vain, was cured by very large doses of opium given about an hour before the expected returns of the paroxysms; and after a few relapses, at the intervals of three or four months, entirely disappeared. But she continued at times to have other symptoms of epilepsy.

3. We shall only here consider, what happened during the time of her reveries, as that is our present subject; the fits of convulsion belong to another part of this treatise. Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

There seems to have been no suspension of volition during the fits of reverie, because she endeavoured to regain the lost idea in repeating the lines of poetry, and deliberated about breaking the tuberose, and suspected the tea to have been medicated.

4. The ideas and muscular movements depending on sensation were exerted with their usual vivacity, and were kept from being inconsistent by the power of volition, as appeared from her whole conversation, and was explained in Sect. XVII. 3. 7. and XVIII. 16.

5. The ideas and motions dependant on irritation during the first weeks of her disease, whilst the reverie was complete, were never succeeded by the sensation of pleasure or pain; as she neither saw, heard, nor felt any of the surrounding objects. Nor was it certain that any irritative motions succeeded the stimulus of external objects, till the reverie became less complete, and then she could walk about the room without running against the furniture of it. Afterwards, when the reverie became still less complete from the use of opium, some few irritations were at times succeeded by her attention to them. As when she smelt at a tuberose, and drank a dish of tea, but this only when she seemed voluntarily to attend to them.

6. In common life when we listen to distant sounds, or wish to distinguish objects in the night, we are obliged strongly to exert our volition to dispose the organs of sense to perceive them, and to suppress the other trains of ideas, which might interrupt these feeble sensations. Hence in the present history the strongest stimuli were not perceived, except when the faculty of volition was exerted on the organ of sense; and then even common stimuli were sometimes perceived: for her mind was so strenuously employed in pursuing its own trains of voluntary or sensitive ideas, that no common stimuli could so far excite her attention as to disunite them; that is, the quantity of volition or of sensation already existing was greater than any, which could be produced in consequence of common degrees of stimulation. But the few stimuli of the tuberose, and of the tea, which she did perceive, were such, as accidentally coincided with the trains of thought, which were passing in her mind; and hence did not disunite those trains, and create surprise. And their being perceived at all was owing to the power of volition preceding or coinciding with that of irritation.

This explication is countenanced by a fact mentioned concerning a somnambulist in the Lausanne Transactions, who sometimes opened his eyes for a short time to examine, where he was, or where his ink-pot stood, and then shut them again, dipping his pen into the pot every now and then, and writing on, but never opening his eyes afterwards, although he wrote on from line to line regularly, and corrected some errors of the pen, or in spelling: so much easier was it to him to refer to his ideas of the positions of things, than to his perceptions of them.

7. The associated motions persisted in their usual channel, as appeared by the combinations of her ideas, and the use of her muscles, and the equality of her pulse; for the natural motions of the arterial system, though originally excited like other motions by stimulus, seem in part to continue by their association with each other. As the heart of a viper pulsates long after it is cut out of the body, and removed from the stimulus of the blood.

8. In the section on sleep, it was observed that the nerves of sense are equally alive and susceptible to irritation in that state, as when we are awake; but that they are secluded from stimulating objects, or rendered unfit to receive them: but in complete reverie the reverse happens, the immediate organs of sense are exposed to their usual stimuli; but are either not excited into action at all, or not into so great action, as to produce attention or sensation.

The total forgetfulness of what passes in reveries; and the surprise on recovering from them, are explained in Section XVIII. 19. and in Section XVII. 3. 7.

9. It appears from hence, that reverie is a disease of the epileptic or cataleptic kind, since the paroxysms of this young lady always began and frequently terminated with convulsions; and though in its greatest degree it has been called somnambulation, or sleep-walking, it is totally different from sleep; because the essential character of sleep consists in the total suspension of volition, which in reverie is not affected; and the essential character of reverie consists not in the absence of those irritative motions of our senses, which are occasioned by the stimulus of external objects, but in their never being productive of sensation. So that during a fit of reverie that strange event happens to the whole system of nerves, which occurs only to some particular branches of them in those, who are a second time exposed to the action of contagious matter. If the matter of the small-pox be inserted into the arm of one, who has previously had that disease, it will stimulate the wound, but the general sensation or inflammation of the system does not follow, which constitutes the disease. See Sect. XII. 3. 6. XXXIII. 2. 8.

10. The following is the definition or character of complete reverie. 1. The irritative motions occasioned by internal stimuli continue, those from the stimuli of external objects are either not produced at all, or are never succeeded by sensation or attention, unless they are at the same time excited by volition. 2. The sensitive motions continue, and are kept consistent by the power of volition. 3. The voluntary motions continue undisturbed. 4. The associate motions continue undisturbed.

Two other cases of reverie are related in Section XXXIV. 3. which further evince, that reverie is an effort of the mind to relieve some painful sensation, and is hence allied to convulsion, and to insanity. Another case is related in Class III. 1. 2. 2.

* * * * *

SECT. XX.

OF VERTIGO.

1. _We determine our perpendicularity by the apparent motions of
objects. A person hood-winked cannot walk in a straight line. Dizziness
in looking from a tower, in a room stained with uniform lozenges, on
riding over snow._ 2. _Dizziness from moving objects. A whirling-wheel.
Fluctuations of a river. Experiment with a child._ 3. _Dizziness from
our own motions and those of other objects._ 4. _Riding over a broad
stream. Sea-sickness._ 5. _Of turning round on one foot. Dervises in
Turkey. Attention of the mind prevents slight sea-sickness. After a
voyage ideas of vibratory motions are still perceived on shore._ 6.
_Ideas continue some time after they are excited. Circumstances of
turning on one foot, standing on a tower, and walking in the dark,
explained._ 7. _Irritative ideas of apparent motions. Irritative ideas
of sounds. Battèment of the sound of bells and organ-pipes. Vertiginous
noise in the head. Irritative motions of the stomach, intestines, and
glands._ 8. _Symptoms that accompany vertigo. Why vomiting comes on in
strokes of the palsy. By the motion of a ship. By injuries on the head.
Why motion makes sick people vomit._ 9. _Why drunken people are
vertiginous. Why a stone in the ureter, or bile-duct, produces
vomiting._ 10. _Why after a voyage ideas of vibratory motions are
perceived on shore._ 11. _Kinds of vertigo and their cure._ 12.
_Definition of vertigo._

1. In learning to walk we judge of the distances of the objects, which we approach, by the eye; and by observing their perpendicularity determine our own. This circumstance not having been attended to by the writers on vision, the disease called vertigo or dizziness has been little understood.

When any person loses the power of muscular action, whether he is erect or in a sitting posture, he sinks down upon the ground; as is seen in fainting fits, and other instances of great debility. Hence it follows, that some exertion of muscular power is necessary to preserve our perpendicular attitude. This is performed by proportionally exerting the antagonist muscles of the trunk, neck, and limbs; and if at any time in our locomotions we find ourselves inclining to one side, we either restore our equilibrium by the efforts of the muscles on the other side, or by moving one of our feet extend the base, which we rest upon, to the new center of gravity.

But the most easy and habitual manner of determining our want of perpendicularity, is by attending to the apparent motion of the objects within the sphere of distinct vision; for this apparent motion of objects, when we incline from our perpendicularity, or begin to fall, is as much greater than the real motion of the eye, as the diameter of the sphere of distinct vision is to our perpendicular height.

Hence no one, who is hood-winked, can walk in a straight line for a hundred steps together; for he inclines so greatly, before he is warned of his want of perpendicularity by the sense of touch, not having the apparent motions of ambient objects to measure this inclination by, that he is necessitated to move one of his feet outwards, to the right or to the left, to support the new centre of gravity, and thus errs from the line he endeavours to proceed in.

For the same reason many people become dizzy, when they look from the summit of a tower, which is raised much above all other objects, as these objects are out of the sphere of distinct vision, and they are obliged to balance their bodies by the less accurate feelings of their muscles.

There is another curious phenomenon belonging to this place, if the circumjacent visible objects are so small, that we do not distinguish their minute parts; or so similar, that we do not know them from each other; we cannot determine our perpendicularity by them. Thus in a room hung with a paper, which is coloured over with similar small black lozenges or rhomboids, many people become dizzy; for when they begin to fall, the next and the next lozenge succeeds upon the eye; which they mistake for the first, and are not aware, that they have any apparent motion. But if you fix a sheet of paper, or draw any other figure, in the midst of these lozenges, the charm ceases, and no dizziness is perceptible.--The same occurs, when we ride over a plain covered with snow without trees or other eminent objects.

2. But after having compared visible objects at rest with the sense of touch, and learnt to distinguish their shapes and shades, and to measure our want of perpendicularity by their apparent motions, we come to consider them in real motion. Here a new difficulty occurs, and we require some experience to learn the peculiar mode of motion of any moving objects, before we can make use of them for the purposes of determining our perpendicularity. Thus some people become dizzy at the sight of a whirling wheel, or by gazing on the fluctuations of a river, if no steady objects are at the same time within the sphere of their distinct vision; and when a child first can stand erect upon his legs, if you gain his attention to a white handkerchief steadily extended like a sail, and afterwards make it undulate, he instantly loses his perpendicularity, and tumbles on the ground.