The singular state of man when asleep.
In order to know the omnipotence and wisdom of God, we need not have recourse to extraordinary events. The most common things, the daily changes which happen in nature, and in our own bodies, are alone sufficient to convince us, in the strongest manner, that it is a Being infinite in wisdom, goodness, and power, who has created the world, and who directs every event in it. Of the great number of wonders of which he is Author, I will now mention one only; and, though it happens daily, it does not the less deserve to be remarked, and to become the object of our admiration. How often have those been refreshed and recruited by sleep, who possibly have never reflected on that state; or at least have never considered it as one of the remarkable effects of divine goodness. They think that nothing extraordinary happens when balmy sleep comes upon them. They think the machine their body is formed for that situation; and that their inclination to sleep proceeds from causes purely natural.
But perhaps sleep may be considered in two different lights. On one side there is nothing in it which may not result necessarily from our nature. On the other, there is in this natural effect something so striking and wonderful, that it is well worth a closer examination. In the first instance it is a proof of the wisdom of our Creator, that we go to sleep imperceptibly. Let us try only to watch the moment in which we are falling asleep, and that very attention will prevent it. We shall not go to sleep till that idea is lost. Sleep comes uncalled. It is the only change in our manner of existence in which reflection has no share; and the more we endeavour to promote it, the less we succeed. Thus God has directed sleep, that it should become an agreeable necessity to man; and he has made it independent of our will and our reason. Let us pursue this meditation, and reflect on the wonderful state we are in during our sleep. We live without knowing it, without feeling it. The beating of the heart, the circulation of the blood, the digestion, the separation of the juices; in a word, all the animal functions continue and operate in the same order. The activity of the soul appears for a time in some degree suspended, and gradually loses all sensation, all distinct ideas. The senses deaden, and interrupt their usual operations. The muscles by degrees move more slowly, till all voluntary motion has ceased. First, this change begins by the forehead; then the muscles of the eye-lids, the neck, the arms, and the feet, lose their activity, to such a degree, that man seems to be metamorphosed into the state of a plant. The situation of the brain becomes such, that it cannot transmit to the soul the same notions as when awake. The soul sees no object, though the optic nerve is not altered; and it would see nothing, even if the eyes were not shut. The ears are open, and yet they do not hear. In a word, the state of a person asleep is wonderful in all respects. Perhaps there is but one other in the world so remarkable, and this is visibly the image of that state which death reduces us to. Sleep and death are so nearly alike, it is right to observe it. Who, in reality, can think of sleep, without recollecting death also. Perhaps, as imperceptibly as we now fall into the arms of sleep, shall we one day fall into those of death. It is true that death often gives warning of its approach several hours or days before: but the real moment in which death seizes us, happens suddenly, and when we shall seem to feel the first blow, it may be already our last. The senses which lose their functions in our sleep, are equally incapable of acting at the approach of death. In the same manner, the ideas are confused, and we forget the objects which surround us. Perhaps, also, the moment of death may resemble the moment of falling asleep: and the convulsions of dying people may possibly be as little disagreeable a sensation to them, as the snoring is to those that sleep.
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