suspected of being engaged. You must know that, in the towns of my
dominions, those who are desirous of instructing their countrymen have a
custom of writing their thoughts upon the walls in large letters, and
liberally allowing them to be read by all who pass, so that in times of
commotion every wall abounds with political wisdom, expressed in a
brief, sententious style. The walls are attentively read by crowds of
students; and many have no other education. There is a great variety in
the style and subject of these works in the open air: religious sects
are exploded, taxes are condemned, public spirit is inculcated; and
there are satirical walls, which often concur to ruin some odious
statesman by wit and ridicule. Sometimes the remarks of a wall are
answered by that on the opposite side of the street, so that those who
pass between them may see the whole controversy together. There is
hardly a town in my dominions destitute of this literature. Such is
believed to be my zeal for composition, that I am often supposed the
author of these inscriptions. Many are the persons who receive every
thing that is said upon a wall as a manifestation of "the Present Age;"
and it is confidently believed that I wander about in disguise to cover
the walls with knowledge, or at least that my emissaries write up
sentiments by my order. Thus, when any idle boy may prescribe the
opinions of the age with a piece of chalk, you cannot wonder at the
extravagant doctrines which pass for mine.
I am made answerable for the outrages of innumerable books, which I have
never seen; for the common stratagem to obtain readers for a book is to
publish that I am the author of it. The most obscure writers endeavour
to give authority to their works by declaring that they write only what
I enjoin, although they have never been in my presence, nor obtained the
least authentic information of my thoughts. In this manner the wildest
fictions are imposed upon the country as maxims of "the Present Age."
My indignation is often roused by the insolent confidence with which my
name is assumed. The most ignorant scribbler, who is kept alive by
nonsense, will allege that he has a commission to divulge my sentiments;
and if any person thinks fit to call in question what he is teaching, he
exclaims against the audacity of those who presume to dispute with "the
Present Age."
You will now readily suppose, that the phrase, which you justly
ridicule, "the spirit of the age," was not invented by me, but by some
of these pretenders to my confidence, who seem to find it so useful,
forcible, and conclusive, that I think they will not soon let it fall
into disuse. It is one of those epidemic phrases, of which a few are
always in force to argue for those who cannot reason without them. There
are several such incontestible sayings now in great authority, besides
the one you have mentioned, though that I think is the most absolute.
These significant phrases, which usually are not extended beyond two or
three words, are abstracts of all knowledge and experience, and of vast
advantage in the principal business of life, which is dispute. For not
being burdensome to the mind, but easily carried about, and ready for
use on all occasions, they are far more exercised than any elaborate
reasoning, and they enable men of scanty education to be as ready, as
copious, and as positive as those of the greatest learning, so that they
have made all persons equal in argument; and thus abolished the unjust
advantage which has been enjoyed by men of ability. A treatise
plentifully supplied with these phrases is sure to have great success,
and a politician, who makes frequent use of them, cannot fail to
convince the world of his integrity.
You have been rightly informed of the exploits achieved by that
formidable phrase, "The spirit of the age." Such is the eloquence of
those words that there is no outrage against common sense which they
cannot justify. In all the strange propositions which they are employed
to maintain, it is impossible to discover any general principle or
uniformity. In truth, this "spirit of the age" is a mere sound, which by
universal consent is allowed to be full of argument, and may be used by
any man who can speak articulately or write legibly. All which can be
understood is, that those who make frequent use of this phrase ascribe
to me an unlimited power over law, morality, custom, and reason. They
empower me to invent a new right and wrong whenever I am tired of the
old. Thus, because a ridiculous phrase has by some ingenious artist
been constructed with my name, all the absurdities which this phrase may
commit are supposed to be my decrees.
After what I have said I hardly need tell you that in imputing to me a
corrupt taste in literature, and a neglect of every book not perfectly
new, you are still confounding me with a part of my subjects. I am
publicly reported to have read with delight innumerable works of which
not even the names have reached me; and frequently it is said, with as
much truth, that I have ordered a book to be carefully kept and
recommended to you after my death.
I am supposed to be as absolute over literature as over law and
government; and frequent edicts are published in my name declaring what
is to be wit and sublimity for the present time. It is imagined that I
have it in my power to deprive any former writers I please of all their
beauties, and leave them utterly worthless; which seems a singular
expedient for enriching the world; and yet I am sometimes believed to
practise it. Thus not long ago a few of my subjects who write conspired
together to prevent Pope from continuing to be a poet. In this design
they made use of my authority, and affirmed that I had dismissed his
works from my library as being poetry no longer. They said that in this
I had been determined by their persuasion; for that, in an interview
which I had granted, they had brought me to their opinion; and that from
that time Pope had been no poet by unanswerable arguments. The truth is,
no such interview was granted them; and I have never ceased to read Pope
with pleasure and advantage. But this confederacy against him had some
success: the discovery that we had one poet less than we had imagined
was received with great exultation; and many persons acknowledged that
the pleasure they had hitherto supposed themselves to find in his works
was a deception, and not real pleasure.
The greatest part of my subjects endeavour to regulate their studies by
mine; to read the books that I read, and be amused by the passages that
amuse me. A reader would be ashamed to laugh where he supposed me to
have read with gravity; and whatever entertainment a book might give
him, if he were told that I had not read it he would instantly lay it
aside. Yet this correspondence of our studies is altogether imaginary;
for these conforming readers are unable to obtain any true intelligence
of what I am doing. Thus, by my supposed example, the writings of Pope
could no longer please; for there being this emulation to follow me, and
this ready belief of whatever is reported of my studies, those who
design that former poets shall have no genius need do no more than
command in my name that the words which once were full of thought and
meaning shall henceforth mean nothing.
I now proceed to another of your complaints against me; which, however,
every former Age has equally incurred. You accuse me of distributing
honours unjustly, of neglecting true merit, and signalising the
unworthy. In vindication of myself I beg you to consider by whom this
charge against me is advanced. You will easily believe that it proceeds
only from those who have been disappointed in their pretensions to my
favour, since the men whom I have promoted cannot reasonably be expected
to complain of their own success. Now, if, when you occupy my place, you
shall make it your practice to consult the pretender himself about his
qualifications, and advance every man who can attest his own merit, you
will certainly be surrounded by a large crowd of illustrious persons. It
would be an admirable invention for providing against a scarcity of
great men during your reign. But your ingenuity in devising employments
and honours must be greater than mine if you can find preferment for all
who are men of merit by their own conviction.
It is known by experience that one great poet in every age is more than
nature supplies; for although certain favoured periods have had two or
three, there are long intervals of time without any. Yet I believe that
in the course of my reign there have not been fewer than twenty writers
of verse, who, in defiance of nature, have required of me that they may
be great poets; and so insatiable are they, that not one of them is
content to be less a poet than Milton. My rejection of these writers is
called a prejudice against living poets, which judgment is said to be
entirely mistaken: for Milton was once alive. Those who plead a right to
all other honours exceed equally the places to be occupied, whence you
can understand how it happens that I am so generally believed to have no
justice or sagacity in distributing rewards.
It is true that, through the multitude of undeserving persons who assail
me, a man of real merit, if he be unknown to those who are in my
confidence, is unable to gain access to my favour without patience and
delay. But ability, with perseverance, is sure to succeed at last.
Sometimes, however, an indignant man of genius, who has obtained my
notice after many attempts, can hardly forgive me his long obscurity,
and seeks revenge by satirical reflections on my sagacity. But men of
genius are often too arbitrary in their expectations. He who is
conscious of superior endowments, but has not yet been able to manifest
them, is incensed against the world because it has made no search for
him; and he thinks that all men of sense ought to have been engaged in
inquiring into his capacity. Though if he would consider how patiently
he himself suffers the obscurity of others, having no design of
undertaking such an examination into the faculties of all unknown men,
he would hardly expect this eager inquiry to be made after himself.
You attribute to me a perpetual pursuit of novelty: the changes you hear
of are not caused by me, but by a mischievous politician, who has great
influence in my dominions; and you will be surprised to learn that this
pernicious statesman is my prime minister, but he is far too powerful to
be dismissed. His name is Fashion: he is the author of innumerable
projects and chimeras; and such is his authority that whatever he
recommends is instantly received by my whole people. He was originally a
tailor, and renowned for the beauty and reception of his inventions in
that art; from which success he aspired to affairs of state, and was
attended still by the same greatness. In government, in literature, in
morals, he is now supreme; and, indeed, I believe there is nothing
exempt from his corruptions except mathematics.
Though he is remarkable for inconstancy, and for perpetually revoking
what he has just introduced, yet he always persuades my people that the
present scheme or custom will last for ever, and every fancy that he
promulgates is embraced as a wise and durable invention. By some
singular art he can make my subjects esteem or despise whatever he
pleases. In all his plots he makes use of my name, and seems to enforce
nothing by his own authority; indeed his skill consists in not passing
for the author of his own inventions. So far am I from being able to
dismiss him, that his aid is absolutely necessary to the accomplishment
of all my undertakings. I depend upon him for my popularity; and
whenever I design a new law, my first step is to obtain his concurrence.
At my death you will find your dominions in the power of this person;
and will soon have such experience of his art as to despair of
discarding him from your service; for notwithstanding his great age I do
not conceive it possible that I should survive him.
I disclaim the folly you impute to me of pretending to be the author of
every useful thing that will descend to you; and I shall now say in a
few words how far I think myself capable of really improving what was
left me by my predecessor. The most honourable of my employments is to
observe and encourage the studies of a few of my subjects, who with an
ardent patience are searching into the laws of matter, and unfolding the
universe by gradual discovery. From these labours you will obtain an
enlargement, both of arts and contemplation.
The true method of discovery, from facts and not from imagination, had
been pursued before I came to the throne, and it has been vigorously
prosecuted under my reign and countenance. The results from it in art
and knowledge will be far the most valuable gifts that you will receive
from me.
Experiment, having wonderfully divulged the ways of nature, was applied
to other studies--to the laws of the human understanding, and to
political speculations; and wherever it has come there has been new
light and certainty. I conclude that my chief glory must be from giving
it encouragement and progress; and its discoveries in any kind of
learning I shall transmit to you with full confidence of their utility.
It is true that from this sort of philosophy in politics I do not expect
that general peace and wisdom through my dominions which some people
foretell, though still I promote the study, and acknowledge the truths
from it. But some of my subjects imagine, that by their researches of
this kind all public factions, violences, and disasters, will speedily
cease. They think they are effecting this tranquillity, by observing
more accurately than before the rules according to which wealth is
distributed and society conducted, and also by explaining those rules to
all mankind. Through their instructions every man is to renounce his
present emulation with those above him, and his hope of improving his
own condition by disturbance. The people are no longer to strive through
party spirit for things not really beneficial to them; politicians are
not to make parties for themselves by inventing fallacious disputes for
the people. In the room of these troubles, in which the world has
hitherto been employed, all men are to occupy and delight themselves in
viewing the peaceful operation of these newly discovered rules. Such is
to be the prosperity from modern calculation; but I confess I have
little confidence in the judgment of those who are convinced that the
world is just going to be wise. I enter into no engagement, therefore,
to leave you my dominions in any such tranquillity; and, instead of
that, I can promise only one thing,--to make your government wiser;
which is, that for your instruction my reign shall contribute its just
share of follies to those already known, and preserved under the name of
history. I am sure your efforts will not be wanting to increase the
collection.
Through the progress of experiment, therefore, every age must now excel
that which preceded it, in all such knowledge as experiment can
discover. In that only I pretend to surpass my predecessor; but from my
undoubted superiority in such knowledge some of my subjects would assert
a pre-eminence in all other particulars. These persons seem to imagine,
that because they live in an age of experiment every fancy that enters
into their thoughts must infallibly be true, and they arrogate great
sagacity to themselves on account of discoveries made by others while
they are alive. These are the statesmen who urgently desire that every
thing should be destroyed, and made again on a different plan.
But having said thus much against the lovers of novelty, I must observe,
that I equally disapprove of another sect, who see ruin in every
alteration. You are to understand that, for some time past, my kingdom
has been divided by a great dispute concerning the efficacy of change.
One side maintain that there can be no peace, commerce, or fertility,
under a government which is the same for six months together, and they
recommend change to the people as something that they can feed upon;
while their adversaries contend that the only virtue and benefit of a
law consists in its never being altered, and they exclaim against the
cruelty of those who would deprive the people of any inconvenience that
their ancestors submitted to. These two parties are equally excluded
from my favour.
But, perhaps, I have now said enough to vindicate myself from your
accusations; if not, I must wait for justice till you succeed to my
place, and then your experience will soon acquit me.
* * * * *
THE SLEEPER AND THE SPIRIT.
A DIALOGUE.
SLEEPER.
Merciful Heaven! what has happened to me? Surely I must be dead, for I
am suddenly divided into two persons: here is my mind, which thinks, and
there lies my body on that couch. I slipped out of it without knowing
how; yet it cannot be dead, for it breathes, and looks like a sleeping
man. But how happens it that I am in two parts, and that one half of me
sleeps while the other half looks at it?
SPIRIT.
It is no more than has happened to you very often before.
SLEEPER.
Who is it that speaks? Ah! it is not a being of this world: then I am
dead; may God forgive my offences.
SPIRIT.
You may defer your repentance to another opportunity, for you are not
dead, but merely asleep.
SLEEPER.
Doubtless I listen to one whom I must believe; yet this sleep appears to
me very singular. I lay down on that couch from weariness, and felt the
approach and weakness of sleep, when suddenly I found myself two
persons; and here I am talking and reasoning apart from the other
portion of me, which is asleep. According to my past observation, this
is not a common way of going to sleep.
SPIRIT.
You have never slept in any other way; but I will explain the mystery.
The mind of man is from a divine origin, but subject to numberless
infirmities by confinement within the body; and were it never released
during life it would become altogether worthless. To prevent this, sleep
has been contrived, which is not, as mortals suppose, a suspension of
the mind, but a separation of it from the body, and by these continual
escapes it is cleared from some of the evils which it contracts. During
this freedom, which you call sleep, the mind converses with heavenly
beings as you now do with me, and sees many things that recall it to its
purity.
SLEEPER.
May I venture then to ask why I do not remember to have conversed with
any heavenly being before? I have great success in sleeping, but have
enjoyed no such interviews as you describe.
SPIRIT.
As soon as the mind has returned into its body, which you call waking,
it forgets all these adventures, and, therefore, every time of sleeping
it is surprised at its separation as something new. At night you may see
the minds of men rising out of their bodies as they fall asleep. All
their faults remain in the body; and the minds, being free from bad
inclinations, lament to each other the several imperfections of the
bodies to which they are joined, earnestly desiring death to set them at
liberty. The minds of rival statesmen avow to each other the plots which
they are preparing, and deplore their contemptible employments. In these
conversations they are apt suddenly to disappear, being summoned back
into the body by waking; and when the night is over they all vanish. In
the day there are a few wandering minds of those, who, like you, have
been surprised by sleep through fatigue or idleness.
SLEEPER.
But whence proceed our dreams, if the sleeping body has no mind in it?
SPIRIT.
Dreams are the fancies of the mind at its first return to the body in
waking, when it has lost its separate being, and is not yet quite
settled in combination. These visions pass in a few seconds of time,
though appearing of long duration. In reality you dream only at the time
of waking.
SLEEPER.
Sleep must be the best part of human life; it is far better to be a pure
spirit, and converse with heavenly beings, than to be busy in the
miserable undertakings of men. Henceforth I shall obtain as much sleep
as possible.
SPIRIT.
But you are to forget what now passes as soon as you are in your body
again.
SLEEPER.
Ah! you told me so before. But now that I am free, I should wish to use
my time to advantage, and gain some knowledge, however soon I may lose
it again.
SPIRIT.
Your body seems effectually asleep, and not likely to want you very
soon: if you please, you can accompany me in my present employment,
which will give you some insight into the management of human life.
SLEEPER.
What is your employment, and what are you? For you have encouraged me to
ask questions by answering them.
SPIRIT.
Not long ago I was a man like yourself. Out of those who die, a few of
the most meritorious are selected to perform certain duties in the
management of mankind. I having lived virtuously was appointed, at my
death, to one of these offices; and my present employment is to prevent
men from being too happy.
SLEEPER.
Is that the vocation of heavenly beings? Surely they can distribute
nothing but good.
SPIRIT.
But there is evil in the world; whence does it come?
SLEEPER.
I know not; chiefly, I believe, from men themselves.
SPIRIT.
Thus it is that men reason. You suppose that no being higher than
yourselves can have a disposition to hurt you. Animals might use the
same argument: an ill used horse might say, "Man is a creature of divine
race, and far superior to me; he cannot, therefore, inflict pain and
mischief, and, doubtless, is not the author of the whipping and spurring
which I feel; this discipline must have another origin; perhaps I am in
some way the cause of it myself." You say, "God is the cause of all
things. There is much misery in the world, but God is not the cause of
misery."
SLEEPER.
Will you instruct me better in the origin of evil, and the cause of its
being inflicted on man.
SPIRIT.
When a misfortune befalls you, the best philosophy is to consider how it
may be removed, and not whence it came. But I have told you, that my
office here is to prevent men from being too happy. A certain number of
blessings and misfortunes is allotted to mankind, and if constant care
were not taken to enforce a just distribution, the lot of some mortals
would be composed altogether of blessings, and others would provide
themselves with nothing but miseries. Certain spirits are appointed to
correct the unequal possessions of men, and transfer happiness from
those who have too much to those who want it. This is now my
occupation.
SLEEPER.
I am glad to hear that you give happiness to some while you take it away
from others; that reconciles me to your office. But with all this care,
how happens it that the advantages of life are so unequally dispensed?
You do not appear to succeed very well in your endeavours to be just.
SPIRIT.
The inequality of happiness amongst men is not so great as you imagine.
Superiority is very short, for we speedily correct it. But you shall see
my operations. You observe that I carry a pair of scales, and two small
boxes: in the scales I weigh the lot of every person within my province,
placing his miseries in one scale, and his advantages in the other; then
if they are not evenly balanced, I take something from the heaviest
scale, or add something to the lightest. When the man has his due share
of good and bad fortune, the scales are exactly even.
SLEEPER.
By what contrivance can you weigh such things as blessings and
calamities? When the advantage to be weighed is ten thousand acres of
land, you must find it an unwieldy burden for so small a scale. I should
imagine, too, there would be equal difficulty in weighing a cheerful
temper, or any other quality of mind.
SPIRIT.
All the advantages and misfortunes of life have certain representatives,
which are easily weighed. I have a number of them in these two boxes:
one box contains the blessings which I have taken from those who had
more than their weight of happiness; the other holds the evils from
which I have eased the miserable. Open that box, which contains evil,
and examine the troubles you find in it.
SLEEPER.
Will they not take the opportunity to seize upon me?
SPIRIT.
Fear not; they are quite harmless.
SLEEPER.