That First Night Away from Home

That First Night Away from Home

That first night away from home you don’t sleep so well. The second night, and all nights thereafter, you do. It’s a carryover from the caveman “eat or be eaten days,” say people who believe in such things. Half your brain is sound asleep. But it has charged the other half, also asleep, to sleep not so soundly, to keep an eye out, in case predators may lurk in this new unfamiliar environment—sort of an evolutionary ‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.’

There are animals that have the half-brain-vigilance down much better than do humans. Many birds, for example sleep soundly with one half of the brain while the other half is awake. One eye is shut The other eye is open. Scientists intrude with their measurements to find, sure enough, the closed-eye brain side is asleep, the other still able to respond to predators sneaking up, even if not so wide awake to take the bird SATs. Then, when that side of the brain has had its fill of sleep, it swaps with its drowsy other half. The trick also comes in handy for long migration flights. Were both halves to sleep at the same time, the bird would lose locomotive control and fall from the sky. Aquatic mammals such as whales, dolphins, manatees, and so forth, will pull this stunt as well. If they didn’t—if both halves slept at once, they would neglect to surface for air and drown.

Animals that don’t have to surface for a breath of air, or flap wings to stay aloft, can just lie on their beds, whereever those may be, and snooze. They don’t have to worry about the paralysis that sets in with sleep—a paralysis that must set in lest one act out dreams and actually throw a punch should a dream call for one. But what about predators? How do they deal with that nuisance? That’s where altering circadian rhythms come from, biologists think. Everyone has a circadian rhythm, but they’re not parallel. One fellow is a night owl. His neighbor is up bright and early. That way the tribe of old always had someone to sit at the campfire to thwart intruders.

It really wasn’t fair, then, to shoot night sentries who fell asleep during their shift, the way militaries used to do. The guy assigned the night shift might be a morning lark. The guy assigned the early morning shift might be a night owl, with circadian rhythms out of whack, preset genetically through evolution and no fault of their own. Of course, outright execution was rare—though it did happen. More typical was imprisonment or hard labor as a punishment, or even just demotion in rank.

Private William Scott, “the Sleeping Sentinel” from Vermont, was sentenced to the firing squad during the Civil War. He had volunteered to relieve an exhausted comrade, then fallen asleep himself! President Lincoln pardoned him. His wife and son brought it to his attention—‘How would YOU feel “if it was your own little boy,”’ the president’s own little boy Tad said, “who was just tired after fighting and marching all day that he could not keep awake much as he tried to?” The kid had a point, Lincoln conceded. Much as he didn’t want to undermine military discipline—always a huge factor in wartime—he interceded with the application of a tale of “a small head, but it was valuable to him, poor fellow, for it was the only one he had.”

You can never get the attention of the top guy Someone else, in this case Tad, has to bring it to him. Even so, to impress upon the troops that you ought not sleep during guard duty—circadian rhythms or not—Scott’s pardon was only revealed after the firing squad was assembled and the death penalty was pronounced.

Jesus, of course, knew all about this insight from science. Probably that’s why he refrained from shooting his disciples who fell asleep prior to his own moment of trial. He just gave them loving reproof, after which they fell asleep again. He would have known even back then that sleep comes in cycles, having been present at humankind’s creation, assuming he really is the wisdom personified at Proverbs 8:23-31):

“From ancient times I was installed, From the start, from times earlier than the earth. When there were no deep waters, I was brought forth, When there were no springs overflowing with water. Before the mountains were set in place, Before the hills, I was brought forth, When he had not yet made the earth and its fields Or the first clods of earth’s soil. When he prepared the heavens, I was there; When he marked out the horizon on the surface of the waters, When he established the clouds above, When he founded the fountains of the deep, When he set a decree for the sea That its waters should not pass beyond his order, When he established the foundations of the earth, Then I was beside him as a master worker. I was the one he was especially fond of day by day; I rejoiced before him all the time; I rejoiced over his habitable earth, And I was especially fond of the sons of men.”

“Let’s give them overlapping circadian rhythms,” he might say. “That way, should anyone sneak up on a clan of them, there will be someone vigilant up late who can take him out like Chuck Norris.”

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