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explain the lightning flash and the sweep of a et through the
heavens。 My mental sky opens to me the vast celestial spaces； and I
proceed to fill them with the images of my spiritual stars。 I recognize
truth by the clearness and guidance that it gives my thought； and；
knowing what that clearness is； I can imagine what light is to the eye。
It is not a convention of language； but a forcible feeling of the
reality； that at times makes me start when I say； 〃Oh； I see my
mistake！〃 or 〃How dark； cheerless is his life！〃 I know these are
metaphors。 Still； I must prove with them； since there is nothing in our
language to replace them。 Deaf…blind metaphors to correspond do not
exist and are not necessary。 Because I can understand the word 〃reflect〃
figuratively； a mirror has never perplexed me。 The manner in which my
imagination perceives absent things enables me to see how glasses can
magnify things； bring them nearer； or remove them farther。
Deny me this correspondence； this internal sense； confine me to the
fragmentary； incoherent touch…world； and lo； I bee as a bat which
wanders about on the wing。 Suppose I omitted all words of seeing；
hearing； colour； light； landscape； the thousand phenomena； instruments
and beauties connected with them。 I should suffer a great diminution of
the wonder and delight in attaining knowledge； also……more dreadful
loss……my emotions would be blunted； so that I could not be touched by
things unseen。
Has anything arisen to disprove the adequacy of correspondence？ Has any
chamber of the blind man's brain been opened and found empty？ Has any
psychologist explored the mind of the sightless and been able to say；
〃There is no sensation here〃？
I tread the solid earth； I breathe the scented air。 Out of these two
experiences I form numberless associations and correspondences。 I
observe； I feel； I think； I imagine。 I associate the countless varied
impressions； experiences； concepts。 Out of these materials Fancy； the
cunning artisan of the brain； welds an image which the sceptic would
deny me； because I cannot see with my physical eyes the changeful；
lovely face of my thought…child。 He would break the mind's mirror。 This
spirit…vandal would humble my soul and force me to bite the dust of
material things。 While I champ the bit of circumstance； he scourges and
goads me with the spur of fact。 If I heeded him； the sweet…visaged earth
would vanish into nothing； and I should hold in my hand nought but an
aimless； soulless lump of dead matter。 But although the body physical is
rooted alive to the Promethean rock； the spirit…proud huntress of the
air will still pursue the shining； open highways of the universe。
Blindness has no limiting effect upon mental vision。 My intellectual
horizon is infinitely wide。 The universe it encircles is immeasurable。
Would they who bid me keep within the narrow bound of my meagre senses
demand of Herschel that he roof his stellar universe and give us back
Plato's solid firmament of glassy spheres？ Would they mand Darwin
from the grave and bid him blot out his geological time； give us back a
paltry few thousand years？ Oh； the supercilious doubters！ They ever
strive to clip the upward daring wings of the spirit。
A person deprived of one or more senses is not； as many seem to think；
turned out into a trackless wilderness without landmark or guide。 The
blind man carries with him into his dark environment all the faculties
essential to the apprehension of the visible world whose door is closed
behind him。 He finds his surroundings everywhere homogeneous with those
of the sunlit world； for there is an inexhaustible ocean of likenesses
between the world within； and the world without； and these likenesses；
these correspondences； he finds equal to every exigency his life offers。
The necessity of some such thing as correspondence or symbolism appears
more and more urgent as we consider the duties that religion and
philosophy enjoin upon us。
The blind are expected to read the Bible as a means of attaining
spiritual happiness。 Now； the Bible is filled throughout with references
to clouds； stars； colours； and beauty； and often the mention of these is
essential to the meaning of the parable or the message in which they
occur。 Here one must needs see the inconsistency of people who believe
in the Bible； and yet deny us a right to talk about what we do not see；
and for that matter what _they_ do not see； either。 Who shall forbid my
heart to sing： 〃Yea； he did fly upon the wings of the wind。 He made
darkness his secret place； his pavilion round about him were dark waters
and thick clouds of the skies〃？
Philosophy constantly points out the untrustworthiness of the five
senses and the important work of reason which corrects the errors of
sight and reveals its illusions。 If we cannot depend on five senses； how
much less may we rely on three！ What ground have we for discarding
light； sound； and colour as an integral part of our world？ How are we to
know that they have ceased to exist for us？ We must take their reality
for granted； even as the philosopher assumes the reality of the world
without being able to see it physically as a whole。
Ancient philosophy offers an argument which seems still valid。 There is
in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute which gives truth to what we
know to be true； order to what is orderly； beauty to the beautiful；
touchableness to what is tangible。 If this is granted； it follows that
this Absolute is not imperfect； inplete； partial。 It must needs go
beyond the limited evidence of our sensations； and also give light to
what is invisible； music to the musical that silence dulls。 Thus mind
itself pels us to acknowledge that we are in a world of intellectual
order； beauty； and harmony。 The essences； or absolutes of these ideas；
necessarily dispel their opposites which belong with evil； disorder and
discord。 Thus deafness and blindness do not exist in the immaterial
mind； which is philosophically the real world； but are banished with the
perishable material senses。 Reality； of which visible things are the
symbol； shines before my mind。 While I walk about my chamber with
unsteady steps； my spirit sweeps skyward on eagle wings and looks out
with unquenchable vision upon the world of eternal beauty。
THE DREAM WORLD
XIII
THE DREAM WORLD
EVERYBODY takes his own dreams seriously； but yawns at the
breakfast…table when somebody else begins to tell the adventures of the
night before。 I hesitate； therefore； to enter upon an account of my
dreams； for it is a literary sin to bore the reader； and a scientific
sin to report the facts of a far country with more regard to point and
brevity than to plete and literal truth。 The psychologists have
trained a pack of theories and facts which they keep in leash； like so
many bulldogs； and which they let loose upon us whenever we depart from
the straight and narrow path of dream probability。 One may not even tell
an entertaining dream without being suspected of having liberally edited
it；……as if editing were one of the seven deadly sins； instead of a
useful and honourable occupation！ Be it understood； then； that I am
discoursing at my own breakfast…table； and that no scientific man is
present to trip the autocrat。
I used to wonder why scientific men and others were always asking me
about my dreams。 But I am not surprised now； since I have discovered
what some of them believe to be the ordinary waking experience of one
who is both deaf and blind。 They think that I can know very little about
objects even a few feet beyond the reach of my arms。 Everything outside
of myself； according to them； is a hazy blur。 Trees； mountains； cities；
the ocean； even the house I live in are but fairy fabrications； misty
unrealities。 Therefore it is assumed that my dreams should have peculiar
interest for the man of science。 In some undefined way it is expected
that they should reveal the world I dwell in to be flat； formless；
colourless； without perspective； with little thickness and less
solidity……a vast solitude of soundless space。 But who shall put into
words limitless； visionless； silent void？ One should be a disembodied
spirit indeed to make anything out of such insubstantial experiences。 A
world； or a dream for that matter； to be prehensible to us； must； I
should think； have a warp of substance woven into the woof of fantasy。
We cannot imagine even in dreams an object which has no counterpart in
reality。 Ghosts always resemble somebody； and if they do not appear
themselves； their presence is indicated by circumstances with which we
are perfectly familiar。
During sleep we enter a strange； mysterious realm which science has thus
far not explored。 Beyond the border…line of slumber the investigator may
not pass with his mon…sense rule and test。 Sleep with softest touch
locks all the gates of our physical senses and lulls to rest the
conscious will……the disciplinarian of our waking thoughts。 Then the
spirit wrenches itself free from the sinewy arms of reason and like a
winged courser spurns the firm green earth and speeds away upon wind
and cloud； leaving neither trace nor footprint by which science may
track its flight and bring us knowledge of the distant； shadowy country
that we nightly visit。 When we e back from the dream…realm； we can
give no reasonable report of what we met there。 But once across the
border； we feel at home as if we had always lived there and had never
made any excursions into this rational daylight world。
My dreams do not seem to differ very much from the dreams of other
people。 Some of them are coherent and safely hitched to an event or a
conclusion。 Others are inconsequent and fantastic。 All attest that in
Dreamland there is no such thing as repose。 We are always up and doing
with a mind for any adventure。 We act； strive； think； suffer and are
glad to no purpose。 We leave outside the portals of Sleep all
troublesome incredulities and vexatious speculations as to probability。
I float wraith…like upon clouds in and out among the winds； without the
faintest notion that I am doing anything unusual。 In Dreamland I find
little that is altogether strange or wholly new to my experience。 No
matter what happens； I am not astonished； however extraordinary the
circumstances may be。 I visit a foreign land where I have not been in
reality； and I converse with peoples whose language I have never heard。
Yet we manage to understand each other perfectly。 Into whatsoever
situation or society my wanderings bring me； there is the same
homogeneity。 If I happen into Vagabondia； I make merry with the jolly
folk of the road or the tavern。
I do not remember ever to have met persons with whom I could not at once
municate； or to have been shocked or surprised at the doings of my
dream…panions。 In its strange wanderings in those dusky groves of
Slumberland my soul takes everything for granted and adapts itself to
the wildest phantoms。 I am seldom confused。 Everything is as clear as
day。 I know events the instant they take place； and wherever I turn my
steps； Mind is my faithful guide and interpreter。
I suppose every one has had in a dream the exasperating； profitless
experience of seeking something urgently desired at the moment； and the
aching； weary sensation that follows each failure to track the thing to
its hiding…place。 Sometimes with a singing dizziness in my head I climb
and climb； I know not where or why。 Yet I cannot quit the torturing；
passionate endeavour； though again and again I reach out blindly for an
object to hold to。 Of course according to the perversity of dreams there
is no object near。 I clutch empty air； and then I fall downward； and
still downward； and in the midst of the fall I dissolve into the
atmosphere upon which I have been floating so precariously。
Some of my dreams seem to be traced one within another like a series of
concentric circles。 In sleep I think I cannot sleep。 I toss about in the
toils of tasks unfinished。 I decide to get up and read for a while。 I
know the shelf in my library where I keep the book I want。 The book has
no name； but I find it without difficulty。 I settle myself fortably
in the morris…chair； the great book open on my knee。