http://wwwusers.imaginet.fr/~ghibelli/revue.html
Dreaming Realities
A personal account of lucid dream exploration
by
Alan Worsley
I have been deeply curious about the nature of reality for as long as
I can
remember. When I was a child, I discovered that dreams were not
necessarily
something that could be recognised as dreams only after one woke but
that
one could realise that one was dreaming during the dream. One could
then
act more appropriately in this strange alternative world.
Being lucid gives dreaming an added dimension. For me, paradoxically,
lucidity makes the dream world seem more like a real place even though
I
know more clearly that it is a dream. In my experience, increased
consciousness means having immediate access to more integrated
information.
This results in a richer experience whether one is in a dream world or
the
physical world of wakefulness. Lucidity during dreaming allows more
sophisticated development of expectations that can take a dream into
new
areas.
If lucid dreaming and similar experiential phenomena such as
out-of-body
experiences and so-called 'astral projection' were made more
accessible
they might be credited with a reality comparable in significance to
normal
objective reality. Perhaps what appears to be the one and only
objective
world need not be unique as we commonly believe and should not
dominate our
concept of what a 'real' world has to be. Alternative dimensions could
perhaps be developed into new stable worlds, for safe recreation,
clean,
private and at no cost? The current version of things, the way we
exist
now, is only how things have evolved so far. Our dividing of worlds
into
'real' and 'not real' is biased by survival needs. With increased
affluence
we can expand our existential horizons.
An example of how artificial sensory worlds might be received is
provided
by the enthusiasm shown for computer generated virtual reality which
is now
being taken very seriously as a valuable tool for research, education
and
play. It is now clear that there are other ways to be.
But if we are going to design a more tractable reality we might first
ask
'What characteristics should it have and which ones are possible?'
Both waking life and virtual worlds have real and fictional aspects.
Domestic drama, theatre, films, virtual reality, hallucinations,
myths,
dreams, rumours, merge into each other. Stories can be made up but
lack
sensory impact. Real life, though vivid, is hard to control. Could
lucid
dreams offer the best of both? We might yet 'mould it nearer to the
heart's
desire'. Or would the development of lucid dreaming techniques be more
likely to lead to the sort of disaster portrayed in the film
'Forbidden
Planet'?
When I first began to experience lucid dreams as a child I regarded my
attempts to control dreams as a natural extension of normal dream
activities where, according to the situation, one chooses to do one
thing
or another as seems appropriate. I still tend towards this view. I do
not
believe there is a sharp dividing line between making choices in
normal
dreams, with or without lucidity, and the kind of over-control which
some
critics of dream guidance regard as inappropriate and characteristic
of
'control freaks who live in the ego'. (Robert Moss writing in his book
'Conscious Dreaming'. 1996)
Optimum dream guidance would seem to lie between having tight control
and
having very little. For instance one could select the dream's general
subject with a few preferences pencilled in and leave it to the dream
generation processes to work something out. However since I have not
yet
experienced dreams guided by detailed programming I suspend judgement
for
the moment.
When I read 'Dreams and the means of guiding them' by Hervey de St
Denys
(Dr Morton Schatzman's English edition 1980) I was excited that here
was
the basis of an alternative kind of controlled virtual reality,
undeveloped
since its first publication in 1867. I have experimented with various
forms
of external stimulation during dreaming with mixed results. There does
seem
to be an effect but just how it will work out is somewhat
unpredictable.
Stimuli might be distorted during incorporation into the dream scene.
Associations evoked, such as dream characters, might not be the ones
intended such as a particular scene. A technique explored by Hervey de
St
Denys was to use perfume associated with certain places to evoke
dreams
about those places. This is a powerful technique because the sense of
smell
has a direct link to the brain. The chemical senses give us
information
that can generally be relied on. If you can smell it must be there.
His
experiments were simple compared to conceivable elaborations of his
technique. In the future, stimuli associated with various situations,
objects and people, could be arranged to occur in a sequence.
Physiological
changes associated with the intended psychological responses could
trigger
the next stimulus. One can even envisage a form of synchronised dream
sharing by this means and engaging in interaction simultaneously with
another dreamer remotely via the Internet.
H de St D does not seem to make it clear in his accounts of these
experiments whether he was lucid during his guided dreams. However,
since
he was so adept at achieving the knowledge of his state of
consciousness in
his dreams, one might guess that he was lucid during the dreams evoked
by
external stimulation. One would have liked to read in his accounts
more
about the satisfaction he derived from these dreams. It is clear that
he
enjoyed himself but was it by suspending disbelief as one does when
watching a film instead of thinking, 'it is just a film and therefore
not
worth watching', or did he simply delight in the sensations and
situations
knowing full well that it was all an illusion?
Although dream guidance is a promising field of study I believe there
is
much to be said for dreams with spontaneous content rather than to
dreams
tightly programmed in great detail. I find there is a genuine
unpredictable
quality about spontaneous dreams which provides endless surprises. To
discover more about what was possible I needed to carry out some
research.
Anecdotal evidence such as that reported in Celia Green's book 'Lucid
Dreams' in 1968 is a useful starting point but I felt the need to
carry out
more systematic studies of the dream world.
My first experiments began simply. One area of my own personal
internal
virtual reality that I explored was the 'physics' of dreams. How solid
is
dream 'furniture'?
I tried pushing my hand into various objects such as a tabletop.
Although
there might be a delay before anything happened I usually found that
my
hand would penetrate the table after a second or so. How would my hand
appear after it had penetrated a hard object? In waking life, pushing
one's
hand with sufficient force to penetrate wood causes injury. Since I
never
felt nor anticipated any pain during these matter penetration
experiments I
did not expect to see any damage to my hand. Knowing I was dreaming I
was
confident I would come to no harm. And in fact I never experienced any
pain. I was curious about what my hand looked like as it went through
an
object. It occurred to me that I would be able to see any damage
spontaneously portrayed by the dream imagery generating processes if I
pushed my hand through clear glass. I remembered to do this experiment
when
I had a dream in which a car windscreen was with in easy reach. I
pushed
the tips of my fingers onto the glass and after a delay of about a
second
my fingers started to go through. It was as if the glass made way for
them
so that at all times my hand was a perfect fit in the hole it was
making in
the glass. The resistance to penetration was characteristic of what
engineers call a 'push' fit, neither sliding nor requiring great force
but
offering steady resistance or 'drag'. After my hand had penetrated the
windscreen I could see it on the other side. It appeared unharmed. I
then
dragged my hand out and again I felt neither discomfort nor saw any
damage.
I was not surprised at this result. Before I did the experiment I felt
neutral about the outcome so I was neither fearful nor over confidant
about
a 'safe' outcome.
Changing physical laws and constants
Being able to alter the consistency of matter in dreams just by
imagining
that it is so is only one example of altering characteristic of dreams
that
are constant in waking life. Gravity is another. I now find it easy to
levitate or fly in dreams but it has not always been so easy. As a
child I
had spontaneous flying dreams but initiating flight deliberately from
a
standing start can be difficult. Powerful habitual assumptions come
into
play. Apart from the unfamiliarity of the idea that one might be able
to
just fly there is also the matter of what height it would be safe to
ascend
to. Anything over about 3 metres surely would probably feel unsafe
even if
one knew one was dreaming. The biggest problem was usually that of
getting
started. It occurred to me that the difficulty of leaving the ground
to fly
in dreams might occur because, as in waking life, knowing that one is
standing on the ground might be continually refreshing a physiological
reinforcement loop that maintains the idea that one is locked to the
ground
by gravity. Maybe one could break this loop by jumping in the air and
thereby lose the associated imagery of pressure on one's feet. I found
that
this technique works even if the jump is only a matter of centimetres.
This
is useful to know because sometimes, when one is not sure one is
dreaming,
as a reality test one can dare to make a discreet little jump because
it is
less likely to be noticed than a leap. In a decorous social setting
where
such eccentricities might be frowned upon a leap into the air might
generate reactions on the part of dream characters which, even though
one
is aware that one is dreaming, could be distracting.
I have also experimented with changing the constancy of my body image
in
dreams. A surprising degree of over-ride is possible. I have managed
to
change the length of my limbs and even to add extra limbs, tentacles,
horns, flowers and flames growing from my fingers. Again, as with the
matter penetration experiments, I found there is usually a slight
pause,
almost as if the imagery generator was saying, 'are you sure?' before
the
effect begins.
I have noticed a similar delay between operating a dream light switch
and
the light coming on. The reason other dream observers find that dream
lights don't work, I have suggested (in 'Conscious Brain, Sleeping
Body'
edited by S LaBerge and Jayne Gackenbach, Plenum 1988), is that the
imagery
is slow to respond, not that dream 'lights' don't work. There is a
delay
before the expected effect begins. Waking world electric lights
usually
come on instantly. If this does not happen we are quick to assume
there is
a fault. In dreams this same habitual assumption presumably changes
our
expectations which then affect the generation of visual imagery. From
expecting the light to come on we naturally think, during the delay,
that
it must be broken and so, since dream imagery is very much influenced
by
expectations, the brighter imagery is no longer expected and the
'light'
never comes on.
If, instead of taking this pessimistic view so precipitately and
rigidly
adhering to the normal sequence of waking expectations, the dreamer is
prepared to wait a moment then the intended effect might appear. I
have
found that if I regard dream lights as naturally slow to change, like
the
dawn, they will often come on, even from complete darkness (or, more
correctly, from complete absence of visual imagery), and grow steadily
brighter over a few seconds.
Similarly other dream management difficulties might be avoided by
adopting
a more appropriate way of thinking about the way things work in
dreams. If
dream light switches are imagined to be dimmer switches or oil lamps
with
wicks that can be turned up the expected effect will be gradual. There
would then be less incompatibility in dreams between the limits of
dream
imagery generation and habitual responses to the most common
technologies
of waking life. Progress in acquiring useful dream techniques might
then be
smoother.
Moving on from developing basic techniques to using them for some
purpose,
I explored how to travel to somewhere specific to find what I wanted.
I
found that trying to travel by means normal in the waking world, such
as by
car, tended to be difficult. It might be difficult to find a usable
car
quickly and hitchhiking was unreliable. Even flying had its problems.
I
suspect that, from above, as a result of lacking the stability of the
familiar view, places would change. It was easy to get lost.
I also tried a technique directly imported from computer controlled
virtual
reality called 'Point and Go'. You point your finger, real or virtual,
in
the direction you want to go, and then confidently say, 'Go!' This
worked
well, even when I pointed upwards.
Then I discovered techniques for direct travel avoiding intervening
places.
This was simple. I would close my eyes and imagine where I wanted to
be
and, if I had imagined clearly, I would be there.
Many times the purpose of travel was to go to somewhere where I
expected to
find a friend, usually female. Or, having found her, to take her
somewhere
quiet away from distractions. Even in lucid dreams where one could
tell
oneself it didn't matter, the presence of others on these occasions
did
sometimes spoil my concentration.
On many of these occasions I was not very lucid and did not realise
that I
was, in a sense, wasting my time. Romantic encounters often excited me
so
that I woke and thus lost the dream. Any practice in making decisions
and
taking action while knowing one is dreaming is valuable but when I was
properly lucid I usually remembered I would be better employed doing
an
experiment in dream psychology. But there were other problems.
I began to consider the whole question of the status and value of
these
experiences in which I related to a dream character. What was I doing?
What
sort of validity did these creatures have? What respect should I show
them?
When they arrived spontaneously without my conscious invitation, I was
still presumably creating them somewhere in my mind. A misty daydream
is
one thing but interacting with a multi-sensory 'replicant' in the
virtual
world of dreaming could be compared to consorting with a robot
sex-doll.
With vision there is some degree of detachment. In my experience
dreams
with tactile content seem ultra real. This is perhaps because the
sense of
touch is so rarely simulated in waking experience. Sometimes, in
'dark'
dreams there are haptic body sensations only. Consequently there is a
sense
of immediate close contact with one's material environment which is
less
evident dreams where the scene is viewed from a distance. But is there
some
important difference between a convincing physical replica and one
that is
purely virtual? Was my simple enthusiasm for mere phantoms perhaps
rather
naÔve? In the waking world, at one extreme, blow-up dolls are
understandably regarded as perhaps rather a sad joke but suppose their
realism was very good, indistinguishable from the real thing, complete
with
intriguing behavioural nuances. (As portrayed, for instance, on the
holodeck in 'Star Trek'.) Does accurate animated portrayal justify
their
role?
Aspects of Authenticity: Provenance
In Tarkovsky's film, 'Solaris', the 'guests', as the android
replicants
were called, were portrayed as being totally realistic. But they did
not
have provenance. There was no conventional explanation of where they
came
from. The guest simulating the psychologist's intelligent girlfriend,
Hari,
the original of whom, back on Earth, had committed suicide, realised
she
was not who she first thought she was. Despite being identical to the
real
Hari there was no satisfactory explanation of her presence on the
space
station. She realises she must be a replica. A harrowing scene
follows. In
despair she tries to kill herself with liquid oxygen. But these
guests,
like dream bodies, recover miraculously from any damage. She thaws out
and,
resurrected, once again realises that she does not have the
authenticity
which she realises might be required in order for her lover to accept
her
as the real person. She wants to be the real Hari. As she is coming
round
she says, 'Is it me?' and then, anguished, 'It's not me!' The
psychologist
nevertheless declares his love for her saying that he cares for her
more
than all the scientific truths in the universe. A more cynical member
of
the crew advised that he should not turn a scientific experiment into
a
bedroom story.
I reflected upon the events portrayed in 'Solaris'. Was a miraculous
simulation, whether in a dream world or some other virtual reality,
not so
good after all? How would I relate to a copy of a loved one the
original of
whom was dead? Would I welcome it or feel that nothing, even a perfect
copy, would ever replace the one who had died? Is there something
improper,
indelicate, or disrespectful about resurrecting the dead in the form
ofreplicas? Is it deplorably insensitive to watch a video of a dead
person,
or even of someone who had merely changed their attitude from how they
were
when the video was made and who would prefer one not to watch it
anymore.
If the necessary technology existed it might seem acceptable to
arrange to
enjoy the company of a late friend on a sunny day, sit in the garden
together, drink a glass of wine, and listen to his funny stories. But
it
does seem a bit high-handed to do this, however good naturedly, on a
whim,
imagining perhaps that he would enjoy being alive again for a few
hours
until one decided it was time to do something else, press 'cancel' and
have
him walk back, like an obedient slave, into the de-materialisation
booth.
In relation to dreams these strange concerns can be dismissed if one
is
persuaded that lucid dreaming is 'just a bit of fun', a phrase
sometimes
used to gloss over questionable behaviour. But one might still ask,
'what
is the status of dream characters called up for recreational purposes,
conversation, a game of tennis, or as a dancing partner?' Is it
acceptable
to regard them rather as if they were dolls, which could be turned off
and
put back in the box when one tired of them? Is this the way to
cultivate an
appropriate sense of reality? In the interest of good mental hygiene
should
dreamers maintain the good manners that, out of consideration for
others,
they would apply when awake? If they did not this casual presumption
might
become a habit that could spread to waking life.
Technology has not developed so far that we are obliged to deal with
these
questions except hypothetically. So far, the scenario is fantasy but
closer
approximations are being made. Virtual reality technology, computer
animation, data suits, are already coming together so that it will
soon be
possible, for example, to interact with a realistic visual
representation
one's favourite person, real or fictional, in a virtual reality
environment
and have them behave as one would wish.
Meanwhile what are we doing in dreams? Does the knowledge that dreams
can
be subject to human will alter the degree to which they are perceived
as
real? This question becomes acute when it relates to dream characters.
Should we treat them as human? Even if they are not human it might be
appropriate to treat them as if they are so that the purposes of
dreaming
are served. If we do not play the game, fulfil our roles and credit
the
simulated others with having their own authentic role then we should
not be
surprised if the reality of the dream collapses and the dream becomes
ineffective. I believe that the virtual characters in dreams have no
minds
of their own. There is no real person to feel affronted if his or her
'existence', such as it is, is, for instance, 'terminated' by the
dreamer.
But, if the dream is lucid and the dreamer deliberately evokes
characters
with whom he can do whatever he wishes, might it tend to make him
arrogant
and insensitive, revelling in his own power? How consistently should
we
practise considering the feelings of others? Maybe, to help preserve
our
own moral integrity, we should still be considerate, even when the
'people'
to whom we are relating are not real.
How do these issues relate to the sensation of reality in dreaming?
In general when we encounter animated images they might belong to
intelligent entities or just be dumb representations. Where do dream
characters fit into this multi-dimensional space? In my experience
they can
seem rather dumb but since I am creating them I can hardly blame them.
Yet
in the aid of realism perhaps it is legitimate to be solicitous or
irritated if they don't respond. Should they ever be credited with
intelligence as if they were independent autonomous entities? To serve
the
purposes of dreams, whatever they might be, it might be necessary for
us to
treat what might be mere dumb images as living people. When rehearsing
for
a play or an interview that is exactly what we might do. But when we
are
awake we know what we are doing. Doing it without thinking in dreams
might
give dream characters more credibility than is appropriate.
My impression of how dreamers treat dream characters is that they
usually
take them seriously. This might be part of the general credulousness
in
dreams but it might also be the prudent general approach.
In comparison with dream characters consider the case of an
intelligent
robot. If they are used simply as instructable domestic assistants
rather
than an entity with which or with whom one might have a relationship
there
is not so much of a problem. But if they are good enough to act as a
substitute for oneself, as in Ray Bradbury's science fiction story,
where
the man leaves his wife with a robot copy of himself and goes off to
start
a new life somewhere else, what then? In the story the wife does the
same
thing and the two robots are left together and nobody realises what
has
happened. But even if the provenance of simulated characters is
apparently
in order there is yet another problem.
Characters in the virtual world of lucid dreaming or in electronic
virtual
reality do not deliver the solid authenticity that comes with physical
presence. Wealthy hunters of big game would not go to a virtual
reality
centre to pursue their cruel sport however high the resolution of the
images. They go on safari, even if the convenient presence of game is
rigged. And I can't see English foxhunters accepting any kind of
simulation
as a replacement for the real thing. Galloping across the fields on a
bright frosty morning wouldn't be the same if you knew you weren't
really
doing it. To me there is something disconcertingly eerie about feeling
a
body that you know is not there even if one can temporarily forget its
virtual quality. But there are examples that suggest that, even
without a
real body, simulations can be very good. In his book 'The Story of
Ruth' Dr
Morton Schatzman describes how his patient, 'Ruth', experienced
involuntary
animated apparitions of her father in convincing multi-sensory detail
though she knew he was thousands of miles away.
Under Dr Schatzman's guidance Ruth learned to control her talent for
creating apparitions. She learned how to create them voluntarily. When
her
husband was away she was able to have satisfying interactions with an
apparition of him. One might ask whether interactions of this degree
of
sensory fidelity would raise issues of matrimonial fidelity. If she
had
evoked an apparition of a lover how would this be different from
relating
to some other form of animate entity whether it was physical or
virtual?
My point in giving these examples in relation to authenticity and
credibility of reality in dreams is this. In dreams I have experienced
many
such occasions in which I found I could do things such as pass through
walls without resistance or carve pieces from piano legs as if they
were
made of butter. I wonder if this unreality changed my general
appreciation
of the dream world so that I could no longer experience it as totally
real.
If dangerous situations can be escaped easily then they no longer have
the
same impact. And if the dream was of the type which some dream
authorities
would regard as performing an important psychic function then my
interference might disable such a function.
It seems there might be a trade off between credibility, realism, and
authenticity, on one side, and understanding the medium and being able
to
guide not just one's own actions but those of others and of the scene
as it
happens, on the other. The more one understands how to guide the
imagery
the less dominantly autonomous it feels and therefore the greater
sense one
has that it is 'not real' but is under one's own control. Compare the
futility of self-tickling. Tickling is usually more effective if
someone
else does it.
In lucid dreams the knowledge that it is a dream immediately reduces
anxiety if, for instance, one was dreaming of falling or being
attacked by
a lion. On the other hand I am not sure I would choose not to know it
was a
dream in order to get the full effect because I'm not sure 'I' would
get
the full effect. If I am not fully there it might be more like trying
to
appreciate something while drugged. Being fully alert and knowing
one's
true situation are two separate things. One can be intelligent and
ignorant
simultaneously. And there seems something strange, unhealthy even,
about
wishing to increase one's credulity. It can help with the appreciation
of
films and plays but one might ask 'who is watching if the viewer is
lost in
fantasy?' Does being made to believe a film is really happening make a
person into more of a zombie, a compliant consumer? If one is not
lucid
one's dream management options can soon be lost and one may lapse into
befuddled incompetence. Whether the realism is good or bad the
question
arises, 'what value should we put upon these experiences?' It seems
fair
enough to have lucid dreams for recreational purposes and in order to
investigate the working of the brain and mind. But should we regard
dreams
as 'valid' in the same sense that many people regard waking life as
'where
it's at', 'what it's all about'. Art and music and other far more
recherchÈ
activities are regarded as valuable in waking life so why not dreams?
Perhaps the answer is that it is difficult to share dreams. But then
it can
be difficult to share appreciation of art or science.
My current answer to reservations concerning respect for dream
characters
is that dreams can be regarded as a form of play in which, provided we
respect dream characters after calling them up, there is no harm to us
in
treating them in a manner which suits our convenience. We might do
well to
adopt the same approach to life in general and treat all entities with
respect for the sake of our own spiritual health.
When I was a child I thought I knew a few things, Santa Claus, God,
Heaven,
and that it made sense that I could do things today which might yield
benefit or penalty, tomorrow. People I trusted told me specifically
about
Santa Claus. Details about God and Heaven followed. I was taught
deferred
gratification and 'Be sure your sins will find you out'. Gradually I
began
to question these things and by the age of five years had recognised
the
impossible logistic capabilities of Santa Claus. By my early teens I
developed doubts about God and Heaven. But now I have doubts about
other
concerns, which, though harder to grasp, could be more serious. I
doubt
that there is a tomorrow.
I was in my twenties before I began to articulate doubts about the
belief
system in which I had been trained which stated that I would be
essentially
the same person year after year. As I grew up, the fundamental precept
that
it makes sense for the current version of oneself to prepare for the
distant future was never stated explicitly. It was continually and
subtly
implied by many daily interactions involving notions of
responsibility,
reward and punishment, plans, and, most important, the ultimate reward
-
going to Heaven. The assumption I was led to make was, I now realise,
that
although one develops, changes and matures, the self, one's supposedly
unique and enduring identity, could be relied upon to persist from
childhood right through to achieving eternal life in Heaven. It was
not
difficult to make this assumption because 'I', whose status I now
question,
remembered and recognised where I was each day when I woke. 'I'
remembered
my body, the same one every day. I identified with the concerns 'I'
had had
the day before. Biology and culture worked together to assure me, had
I
ever thought to question it, that this way of thinking all made sense.
But
because it was not specifically stated I did not notice that I was
absorbing this idea. No claims had been made and so there was nothing
to
argue with. The idea, that the same me would still be around tomorrow
to be
rewarded for some thing I did today or punished for something I did
yesterday, became part of me. I feel now as if a clever trick has been
perpetrated where for instance, in connection with punishment, the
usual
rules of cause and effect have been reversed.
In physics, cause is normally regarded as preceding effect. But in
law,
when responsibility for some act is being determined, the person who
allegedly committed the act in the past, and who is surely a product,
an
effect, of the whole situation in which the act occurred, is,
strangely I
now feel, regarded as part of the cause of the effect. It seems even
stranger that I never noticed for so long that this was how
responsibility
was allocated. I presume I must have absorbed the idea of continuity
of
identity so deeply that, despite being capable of clear thinking, the
illogic of this convention about the attribution of responsibility had
to
be 'rationalised' in the interest of minimising cognitive dissonance.
Receiving rewards for the efforts of an earlier me was not such a
problem.
There was less reason to object. Rewards were welcome whether the
current
me deserved them or not.
It seems to me now that each day we wake as new distinct versions of
the
same person we were the day before. Like a candle being re-lit the
flame is
the same but the discontinuity means it is distinct in provenance from
the
previous flame.
Intellectually I can accept that the idea that we will survive falling
asleep and still be here tomorrow is a subtle illusion. Emotionally I
find
it hard to believe. My early training still has force. I am not
suggesting
that there will be no tomorrow at all for any one but that in an
important
sense there is no tomorrow for the conscious individuals we are at
this
moment. This might be obvious to the philosophically sophisticated or
to
those with an acute intuition about how things are. The chanson 'In St
Germain des Pres' has the line 'It won't be me and it won't be you'. I
take
this to mean that people change and what was once a beautiful
relationship
can end irrevocably. But perhaps that is more normal than we think. If
we
are in effect new people every day then perhaps we should not cling to
our
earlier selves but adopt the attitude expressed by 'The Incredible
String
Band' in 1970 in the song 'This Moment'. They first sing, 'Each moment
is
different from any before it, it's now, and if I don't kiss you, that
kiss
is untasted and I'll never get it back.' Then, 'But why should I want
to?
I'll be in the next moment.' It sounds like Christ's saying,
'Sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof'.
My reason for introducing the topic of continuity of identity here is
that
the issues it entails are so fundamental that they have implications
for
everything we do including dreaming.
It is normal to believe that one has an identity that continues
through
sleep. The evidence, put simply, seems to be that when you wake, there
you
are, apparently just the same person you were before. When others are
woken, there they are, asking 'what time is it?' and 'what do you
want?' as
if they had been there all the time. There is usually no obvious
adverse
practical consequence to believing this. In fact it is socially useful
giving coherence to what might otherwise be a series of disconnected
selves
none of whom are obliged to owe anything to the others. But the
supposed
evidence for it is similar to that often assumed to be sufficient for
believing one has a continuous self when one is awake: when you look
you
are always there.
Similarly flawed reasoning is often applied to dreams. An
understandable
but naÔve answer to the question of whether dream scenes extend behind
the
dreamer, where she cannot see it is that, 'she can look'. The question
apparently involves a testable and thus, so far, scientific
hypothesis. It
is understandable to assume that asking about what is out of sight in
dreams makes as much sense as asking the same question about the
waking
world. Surely all you have to do is look behind and you will see
whatever
is there. But there is a problem. In dreams, unlike waking life, it is
the
looking that generates the scene.
But if it is the 'looking' that creates the new dream scene rather
than
revealing a scene which is already there then the question has to be
re-examined. The reality of dreams and the reality of the continuity
of
personal identity both seem to have a transient quality. Like the
sound of
the tree falling in forest these things only exist if someone
perceives
them.
If the dreamer's expectation is that there is a 'behind' which already
exists then that thought acts as a means to trigger generation of the
expected imagery when the dreamer turns round to look. Depending on
what
she expects there are many possibilities as to what she might find
when she
turns round. There is no single thing and so it is not accurate to say
that
the rear view already exists in dreams in any normal sense except as a
range of possible scenes of varying degrees of ease of evocation. My
concern with continuity of identity, which originally derived partly
from
my experience of lucid dreaming, expanded to include not just 'how
should
we treat dream characters?' but 'how should we treat other beings in
waking
life including our future selves?' I had previously accepted that it
is in
the interest of our current selves that we prepare for the future. Now
I
tend towards believing that we should be considerate to our future
selves
because they too will be human beings, though perhaps no more special
than
any one else.
Note: Further discussion of issues relating to continuity of human
identity
can be found in 'Reasons and Persons' by Derek Parfit, published by
Oxford
University Press.
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