I found an incredibly entertaining read on sleep today by A. Roger Ekirch and thought I’d share it with you all.
During the first days of autumn in 1878, Robert Louis Stevenson, at age twenty-seven, spent twelve days trudging through the Cévennes, France’s southern highlands, despite having suffered from frail health during much of his youth. His sole companion was a donkey named Modestine. With Treasure Island and literary fame five years off, Stevenson’s trek bore scant resemblance to the grand tours of young Victorian gentlemen. Midway through the journey, having scaled one of the highest ranges, he encamped at a small clearing shrouded by pine trees. Fortified for a night’s hibernation by a supper of bread and sausage, chocolate, water, and brandy, he reclined within his “sleeping sack,” with a cap over his eyes, just as the sun had run its course. But rather than resting until dawn, Stevenson awoke shortly past midnight. Only after lazily smoking a cigarette and enjoying an hour’s contemplation did he fall back to sleep. “There is one stirring hour,” he later recorded in his journal, “unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on their feet,” men and beasts alike. Never before had Stevenson savored a “more perfect hour”—free, he delighted, from the “bastille of civilization.” “It seemed to me as if life had begun again afresh, and I knew no one in all the universe but the almighty maker.”
Aside from spending the night outdoors, no explanation sufficed for the wistful hour of consciousness that Stevenson experienced in the early morning darkness. “At what inaudible summons,” he wondered, “are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to life?” Were the stars responsible or some “thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies? Even shepherds and old country-folk, who are the deepest read in these arcana,” he marveled, “have not a guess as to the means or purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the morning they declare the thing takes place; and neither know or inquire further.” Unknown to Stevenson, his experience that fall evening was remarkably reminiscent of a form of sleep that was once commonplace. Until the modern era, up to an hour or more of quiet wakefulness midway through the night interrupted the rest of most Western Europeans, not just napping shepherds and slumbering woodsmen. Families rose from their beds to urinate, smoke tobacco, and even visit close neighbors. Remaining abed, many persons also made love, prayed, and, most important, reflected on the dreams that typically preceded waking from their “first sleep.” Not only were these visions unusually vivid, but their images would have intruded far less on conscious thought had sleepers not stirred until dawn. The historical implications of this traditional mode of repose are enormous, especially in light of the significance European households once attached to dreams for their explanatory and predictive powers. In addition to suggesting that consolidated sleep, such as we today experience, is unnatural, segmented slumber afforded the unconscious an expanded avenue to the waking world that has remained closed for most of the Industrial Age.
Read the rest of this article here!
