Dreams | Page 3

of the life of the mind. The
brain simply extracts from the life of the mind that which is capable of
representation in movement. The cerebral life is to the mental life what
the movements of the baton of a conductor are to the Symphony.
The brain, then, is that which allows the mind to adjust itself exactly to
circumstances. It is the organ of attention to life. Should it become
deranged, however slightly, the mind is no longer fitted to the
circumstances; it wanders, dreams. Many forms of mental alienation
are nothing else. But from this it results that one of the rôles of the
brain is to limit the vision of the mind, to render its action more
efficacious. This is what we observe in regard to the memory, where
the rôle of the brain is to mask the useless part of our past in order to
allow only the useful remembrances to appear. Certain useless
recollections, or dream remembrances, manage nevertheless to appear
also, and to form a vague fringe around the distinct recollections. It
would not be at all surprising if perceptions of the organs of our senses,

useful perceptions, were the result of a selection or of a canalization
worked by the organs of our senses in the interest of our action, but that
there should yet be around those perceptions a fringe of vague
perceptions, capable of becoming more distinct in extraordinary,
abnormal cases. Those would be precisely the cases with which
psychical research would deal.
This conception of mental action forms, as will be seen, the foundation
of the theory of dreams which Professor Bergson first presented in a
lecture before the Institut psychologique, March 26, 1901. It was
published in the Revue scientifique of June 8, 1901. An English
translation, revised by the author and printed in The Independent of
October 23 and 30, 1913, here appears for the first time in book form.
In this essay Professor Bergson made several contributions to our
knowledge of dreams. He showed, in the first place, that dreaming is
not so unlike the ordinary process of perception as had been hitherto
supposed. Both use sense impressions as crude material to be molded
and defined by the aid of memory images. Here, too, he set forth the
idea, which he, so far as I know, was the first to formulate, that sleep is
a state of disinterestedness, a theory which has since been adopted by
several psychologists. In this address, also, was brought into
consideration for the first time the idea that the self may go through
different degrees of tension--a theory referred to in his Matter and
Memory.
Its chief interest for the general reader will, however, lie in the
explanation it gives him of the cause of some of his familiar dreams.
He may by practice become the interpreter of his own visions and so
come to an understanding of the vagaries of that mysterious and
inseparable companion, his dream-self.
EDWIN E. SLOSSON.
NEW YORK CITY, FEBRUARY 10, 1914.

DREAMS
The subject which I have to discuss here is so complex, it raises so
many questions of all kinds, difficult, obscure, some psychological,
others physiological and metaphysical; in order to be treated in a
complete manner it requires such a long development--and we have so
little space, that I shall ask your permission to dispense with all
preamble, to set aside unessentials, and to go at once to the heart of the
question.
A dream is this. I perceive objects and there is nothing there. I see men;
I seem to speak to them and I hear what they answer; there is no one
there and I have not spoken. It is all as if real things and real persons
were there, then on waking all has disappeared, both persons and things.
How does this happen?
But, first, is it true that there is nothing there? I mean, is there not
presented a certain sense material to our eyes, to our ears, to our touch,
etc., during sleep as well as during waking?
Close the eyes and look attentively at what goes on in the field of our
vision. Many persons questioned on this point would say that nothing
goes on, that they see nothing. No wonder at this, for a certain amount
of practise is necessary to be able to observe oneself satisfactorily. But
just give the requisite effort of attention, and you will distinguish, little
by little, many things. First, in general, a black background. Upon this
black background occasionally brilliant points which come and go,
rising and descending, slowly and sedately. More often, spots of many
colors, sometimes very dull, sometimes, on the contrary, with certain
people, so brilliant that reality cannot compare with it. These spots
spread and shrink, changing form and