exercise their virtue by which they are visible in the day than in the
night. But because amongst many strokes which our eyes, ears, and
other organs receive from external bodies, the predominant only is
sensible; therefore the light of the sun being predominant, we are not
affected with the action of the stars. And any object being removed
from our eyes, though the impression it made in us remain, yet other
objects more present succeeding, and working on us, the imagination of
the past is obscured and made weak, as the voice of a man is in the
noise of the day. From whence it followeth that the longer the time
is, after the sight or sense of any object, the weaker is the
imagination. For the continual change of man's body destroys in time
the parts which in sense were moved: so that distance of time, and
of place, hath one and the same effect in us. For as at a great
distance of place that which we look at appears dim, and without
distinction of the smaller parts, and as voices grow weak and
inarticulate: so also after great distance of time our imagination
of the past is weak; and we lose, for example, of cities we have seen,
many particular streets; and of actions, many particular
circumstances. This decaying sense, when we would express the thing
itself (I mean fancy itself), we call imagination, as I said before.
But when we would express the decay, and signify that the sense is
fading, old, and past, it is called memory. So that imagination and
memory are but one thing, which for diverse considerations hath
diverse names.

  Much memory, or memory of many things, is called experience.
Again, imagination being only of those things which have been formerly
perceived by sense, either all at once, or by parts at several
times; the former (which is the imagining the whole object, as it
was presented to the sense) is simple imagination, as when one
imagineth a man, or horse, which he hath seen before. The other is
compounded, when from the sight of a man at one time, and of a horse
at another, we conceive in our mind a centaur. So when a man
compoundeth the image of his own person with the image of the
actions of another man, as when a man imagines himself a Hercules or
an Alexander (which happeneth often to them that are much taken with
reading of romances), it is a compound imagination, and properly but a
fiction of the mind. There be also other imaginations that rise in
men, though waking, from the great impression made in sense: as from
gazing upon the sun, the impression leaves an image of the sun
before our eyes a long time after; and from being long and
vehemently attent upon geometrical figures, a man shall in the dark,
though awake, have the images of lines and angles before his eyes;
which kind of fancy hath no particular name, as being a thing that
doth not commonly fall into men's discourse.

  The imaginations of them that sleep are those we call dreams. And
these also (as all other imaginations) have been before, either
totally or by parcels, in the sense. And because in sense, the brain
and nerves, which are the necessary organs of sense, are so benumbed
in sleep as not easily to be moved by the action of external
objects, there can happen in sleep no imagination, and therefore no
dream, but what proceeds from the agitation of the inward parts of
man's body; which inward parts, for the connexion they have with the
brain and other organs, when they be distempered do keep the same in
motion; whereby the imaginations there formerly made, appear as if a
man were waking; saving that the organs of sense being now benumbed,
so as there is no new object which can master and obscure them with
a more vigorous impression, a dream must needs be more clear, in
this silence of sense, than are our waking thoughts. And hence it
cometh to pass that it is a hard matter, and by many thought
impossible, to distinguish exactly between sense and dreaming. For
my part, when I consider that in dreams I do not often nor
constantly think of the same persons, places, objects, and actions
that I do waking, nor remember so long a train of coherent thoughts
dreaming as at other times; and because waking I often observe the
absurdity of dreams, but never dream of the absurdities of my waking
thoughts, I am well satisfied that, being awake, I know I dream not;
though when I dream, I think myself awake.

  And seeing dreams are caused by the distemper of some of the
inward parts of the body, diverse distempers must needs cause
different dreams. And hence it is that lying cold breedeth dreams of
fear, and raiseth the thought and image of some fearful object, the
motion from the brain to the inner parts, and from the inner parts
to the brain being reciprocal; and that as anger causeth heat in
some parts of the body when we are awake, so when we sleep the
overheating of the same parts causeth anger, and raiseth up in the
brain the imagination of an enemy. In the same manner, as natural
kindness when we are awake causeth desire, and desire makes heat in
certain other parts of the body; so also too much heat in those parts,
while we sleep, raiseth in the brain an imagination of some kindness
shown. In sum, our dreams are the reverse of our waking
imaginations; the motion when we are awake beginning at one end, and
when we dream, at another.

  The most difficult discerning of a man's dream from his waking
thoughts is, then, when by some accident we observe not that we have
slept: which is easy to happen to a man full of fearful thoughts;
and whose conscience is much troubled; and that sleepeth without the
circumstances of going to bed, or putting off his clothes, as one that
noddeth in a chair. For he that taketh pains, and industriously lays
himself to sleep, in case any uncouth and exorbitant fancy come unto
him, cannot easily think it other than a dream. We read of Marcus
Brutus (one that had his life given him by Julius Caesar, and was also
his favorite, and notwithstanding murdered him), how at Philippi,
the night before he gave battle to Augustus Caesar, he saw a fearful
apparition, which is commonly related by historians as a vision,
but, considering the circumstances, one may easily judge to have
been but a short dream. For sitting in his tent, pensive and