‘Venerable Nāgasena, men and women in this world see dreams pleasant and evil, things they have seen before and things they have not, things they have done before and things they have not, dreams peaceful and terrible, dreams of matters near to them and distant from them, full of many shapes and innumerable colours. What is this that men call a dream, and who is it who dreams it?’

‘It is a suggestion, O king, coming across the path of the mind which is what is called a dream. And there are six kinds of people who see dreams—the man who is of a windy humour, or of a bilious one, or of a phlegmatic one, the man who dreams dreams by the influence of a god, the man who does so by the influence of his own habits, and the man who does so in the way of prognostication. And of these, O king, only the last kind of dreams is true; all the rest are false.’

‘Venerable Nāgasena, when a man dreams a dream that is a prognostication, how is it? Does his own mind set out itself to seek the omen, or does the prognostication come of its own accord into the path of his mind, or does some one else come and tell him of it?’

‘His own mind does not itself seek the omen, neither does any one else come and tell him of it. The prognostication comes of its own accord into his mind. It is like the case of a looking-glass, which does not go anywhere to seek for the reflection; neither does any one else come and put the reflection on to the looking-glass. But the object reflected comes from somewhere or other across the sphere over which the reflecting power of the looking-glass extends.’

‘Venerable Nāgasena, does the same mind which sees the dream also know: “Such and such a result, auspicious or terrible, will follow?”’

‘No, that is not so, O king. After the omen has occurred he tells others, and then they explain the meaning of it.’

‘Come, now, Nāgasena, give me a simile to explain this.’

‘It is like the marks, O king, and pimples, and cutaneous eruptions which arise on a man’s body to his profit or loss, to his fame or dishonour, to his praise or blame, to his happiness or woe. Do in that case the pimples come because they know: “Such and such is the event which we shall bring about?”’

‘Certainly not, Sir. But according to the place on which the pimples have arisen, the fortune-tellers, making their observations, give decision, saying: Such and such will be the result.”’

‘Well, in the same way, O king, it is not the same mind which dreams the dream which also knows: “Such and such a result, conspicuous or terrible, will follow.” But after the omen has occurred he tells others, and they then explain the meaning of it.’

‘Venerable Nāgasena, when a man dreams a dream, is he awake or asleep?’

‘Neither the one, O king; nor yet the other. But when his sleep has become light, and he is not yet fully conscious, in that interval it is that dreams are dreamt. When a man is in deep sleep, O king, his mind has returned home (has entered again into the Bhavaṅga), and a mind thus shut in does not act, and a mind hindered in its action knows not the evil and the good, and he who knows not has no dreams. It is when the mind is active that dreams are dreamt. just, O king, as in the darkness and gloom, where no light is, no shadow will fall even on the most burnished mirror, so when a man is in deep sleep his mind has returned into itself, and a mind shut in does not act, and a mind inactive knows not the evil and the good, and he who knows not does not dream. For it is when the mind is active that dreams are dreamt. As the mirror, O king, are you to regard the body, as the darkness sleep, as the light the mind. Or again, O king, just as the glory of a sun veiled in fog is imperceptible, as its rays, though they do exist, are unable to pierce through, and as when its rays act not there is no light, so when a man is in deep sleep his mind has returned into itself, and a mind shut in does not act, and a mind inactive knows not the evil and the good, and he who knows not does not dream. For it is when the mind is active that dreams are dreamt. As the sun, O king, are you to regard the body, as the veil of fog sleep, as the rays the mind.

‘Under two conditions, O king, is the mind inactive though the body is there—when a man being in deep sleep the mind has returned into itself, and when the man has fallen into a trance. The mind of a man who is awake, O king, is excited, open, clear, untrammelled, and no prognostication occurs to one whose mind is so. Just, O king, as men seeking concealment avoid the man who is open, candid, unoccupied, and unreserved—just so is it that the divine intention is not manifested to the wakeful man, and the man who is awake therefore sees no dream. Or again, O king, just as the qualities which lead to wisdom are found not in that brother whose mode of livelihood and conduct are wrong, who is the friend of sinners, wicked, insolent, devoid of zeal—just so is it that the divine intention is not manifested to the wakeful man, and the man who is awake, therefore, sees no dream.’

‘Venerable Nāgasena, is there a beginning, a middle, and an end in sleep?’

‘Yes, O king, there is.’

‘Which then is the beginning, which the middle, and which the end?’

‘The feeling of oppression and inability in the body, O king, of weakness, slackness, inertness—that is the beginning of sleep. The light “monkey’s sleep” in which a man still guards his scattered thoughts —that is the middle of sleep. When the mind has entered into itself—that is the end of sleep. And it is in the middle stage, O king, in the “monkey’s sleep” that dreams are dreamt. Just, O king, as when a man self-restrained with collected thoughts, stedfast in the faith, unshaken in wisdom, plunges deep into the woods far from the sound of strife, and thinks over some subtle matter, he there, tranquil and at peace, will master the meaning of it—just so a man still watchful, not fallen into sleep, but dozing in a “monkey’s sleep,” will dream a dream. As the sound of strife, so, O king, are you to regard wakefulness, and as the lonely wood the “monkey’s sleep.” And as that man avoiding the sound of strife, keeping out of sleep, remaining in the middle stage, will master the meaning of that subtle matter, so the still watchful man, not fallen into sleep, but dozing in a “monkey’s sleep,” will dream a dream.’

‘Very good, Nāgasena! That is so, and I accept it as you say.’

Here ends the dilemma as to dreams.