uses; but I see they are inscribed with the names of the calamities
which they represent; one is poverty, another sickness. You have
relieved the world from many inconveniences, but I hope you will keep
them safe in this box, and not let them out again to plague mankind.
SPIRIT.
I keep them to bestow upon those whose misfortunes are too light.
Sometimes I rectify the scales by taking away good, and sometimes by
adding evil, as may best suit the particular case. But come, I am
wasting time, follow me, and you shall see this weighing performed. We
will walk through this wall into the next house.
SLEEPER.
How wonderful! We have indeed passed through the wall, and I felt not
the least obstruction.
SPIRIT.
Walls are built against the body only, and cannot confine the mind. Here
is a young woman who has just attained to widowhood. Look at her head,
and you find your sight is so much altered that you can now see through
her skull into the brain. You may observe in the brain two cells, one of
which contains the weights that represent blessings, and the other those
that stand for calamities. These things are invisible to anatomists. I
can take her weights out of these cells without her perceiving it. I put
them into their respective scales.
SLEEPER.
The scale of misery descends.
SPIRIT.
Yet there are only two weights in it, and the other scale is supplied
with many blessings. The two misfortunes are the death of her husband
and the tooth-ache. She must be relieved from one of these vexations.
SLEEPER.
Surely the death of her husband is past remedy: I conclude you cannot
restore him to life.
SPIRIT.
No; but I can provide another. I have taken the dead husband out of the
scale, and you observe it is very little raised; the tooth-ache
preponderates against all these advantages. Now, I will put back the
death, and take away the tooth-ache; the scale rises, and the two are
now exactly adjusted. The tooth-ache was the heaviest calamity of the
two, and almost prevented the husband's death from being felt; but now
it is taken away, he is properly lamented. I will put this tooth-ache
into my box: it seems a victorious one, and will serve to bring some
very fortunate person to a reasonable state of uneasiness.
SLEEPER.
But the death of this lady's husband will every day become a less
grievance, and the balance will soon be disturbed.
SPIRIT.
Yes; but I shall visit her again soon, and if I find her a very happy
widow, may perhaps restore her tooth-ache. We will proceed to another
house.
SLEEPER.
Here is a beautiful young woman, and her countenance is so happy that I
think she must need a large supply of affliction.
SPIRIT.
The scales will soon decide that.
SLEEPER.
I was right; see how happy she is!
SPIRIT.
The chief weight, I think, is her beauty. I take that out of the scale,
and see how it rises! and now her misfortunes are far too heavy, though
no more than a few common troubles: her beauty is her happiness. I could
easily deprive her of that, for in my box is a bad small-pox, but that
is not my usual management. When I find one great predominant advantage,
my delight is not to take that away, but to prevent the enjoyment of it
by some importunate vexation. Now I think I cannot by any artifice more
ingeniously divert this lady from the contemplation and joy of her
beauty than by inserting in her the tooth-ache which I gained from the
widow. I therefore restore her beauty to the scale, and commit to the
other scale the pain out of the widow's jaw. The balance is exact; now
it will be a doubt whether this girl is more happy by her beauty or
miserable by her tooth-ache. That is just what human life is intended to
be.
SLEEPER.
I have often thought there was a law against happiness, and admired the
art with which men are prevented from being quite fortunate, but I never
had the sagacity to discover the means by which this is effected. I
cannot forbear thinking it would be more suitable to the greatness of
the Deity that this distribution of good and evil should be by a
command, and not by a pair of scales.
SPIRIT.
Providence is pleased to employ subordinate agents. Besides, it is only
a weakness of the human mind that makes you admire most what is done
without visible means. But I must proceed to another house. Here is a
man whose weights I lately adjusted with great difficulty, and I do not
doubt they require new regulation.
SLEEPER.
His cell of misfortunes is amply supplied, and his stock of blessings
consists of one: you must open your box of good in his favour.
SPIRIT.
Let us first weigh his present condition. Here is a ruined fortune, loss
of friends, infirm health, a faithless wife, with many other smaller
calamities. I load the scale with them, and now we shall see what
struggle the single blessing will make against them in the other scale.
It outweighs them all.
SLEEPER.
It must be something of extraordinary value: is it philosophy, or
religion?
SPIRIT.
No; this little weight is inscribed with the word "Vanity;" that is the
possession which makes him a happy man in spite of so many evils.
Whoever is sufficiently vain has no need of any other advantages.
SLEEPER.
But upon what grounds is he vain? He has neither fortune, friends, nor
health, and I cannot discover that he has any beauty. Is he a man of
genius, or what endowments has he to justify this pretence?
SPIRIT.
None at all: but you must have observed that men are not vain by force
of reasoning; a man of true authentic vanity wants no argument to
support it. And there is no happiness comparable to this: the peace of
mind from vanity far excels that from benevolence, from a clear
conscience, or any other such possession.
SLEEPER.
Do you mean to take part of this man's vanity away, since it is too
heavy for his present disadvantages?
SPIRIT.
No; we are not permitted to alter the disposition of any person, but
only to interfere with circumstances and events. I must leave this man a
preponderance of good; for if I were to empty my box of evils they would
not overcome his complacency.
SLEEPER.
Yet notwithstanding the happiness of this man, I do not envy him; his
enjoyment is a mere fiction.
SPIRIT.
So is all the happiness of man. You never can assign any reason for your
joy except that certain things affect you with certain emotions. Who is
to decide what kind of happiness is pretended, and what real? If you
resolve not to be imposed upon, and to accept of no happiness till you
are satisfied it is not a fallacy, you will pass a melancholy life.
Vanity is as valid a good as any other. But come, we must proceed. Here
is a poor clergyman who has become the father of ten children on no
better grounds than a small curacy.
SLEEPER.
And in addition to these troubles he is advanced in life. I hope if you
have any preferment in your box you will bestow it upon him.
SPIRIT.
Let us first consult the scales whether he is sufficiently provided for
already. Here are several calamities,--poverty, a wife with bad health,
the neglect of former friends, with some others. But you see he has also
a stock of blessings; I will put both into the scales: the blessings are
much the heaviest.
SLEEPER.
What can they be? This curate must have great sagacity in the discovery
of blessings, if he can detect any in his own condition.
SPIRIT.
These blessings are all of the same kind; they are all hopes.
SLEEPER.
Do hopes pass for real blessings?
SPIRIT.
Why not? You see by the scales that the happiness they impart is greater
than the misery from all these calamities. We will try the hopes singly
against the evils. I empty the scales, then I put into one the
clergyman's poverty, his heaviest grievance, and in the other scale I
place a hope of future wealth. You see the hope prevails over the
affliction: he has more pleasure in hoping to be rich than grief in
being poor. Then here is the bad health of his wife, and here a hope
that she may speedily have new strength; the hope, again, is the
heaviest. But besides these hopes of relief from particular calamities,
here are many other fictions which he is accustomed to enjoy in his
hours of leisure. Here is a hope that his third son, now a school-boy,
and designed for the bar, may be a Judge at the age of forty-two; and
this weight hopes that a certain nobleman may accidentally hear him
preach, and may be charmed by his doctrine, language, and manner, so as
to bestow upon him a rich living with an excellent house.
SLEEPER.
The old clergyman seems able to hope in contempt of probability.
SPIRIT.
That which cannot possibly happen may serve very well to hope for; a
man has no invention who must be satisfied that an event may take place
before he can hope for it. This clergyman, through his skill in hoping,
has a store of blessings in his own imagination; and whatever misfortune
occurs he can find an equivalent advantage. I have a painful disorder in
my box which I think will be urgent enough to interrupt his visions. I
will bestow it upon him: his contrivance will be to hope for a cure, but
it will give him some real substantial pangs that cannot be so reasoned
away. We will now pass on.
SLEEPER.
Here is a young man who looks happy.
SPIRIT.
Suspend your judgment till we have weighed his condition. He has both
calamities and blessings: I have put both into the scales.
SLEEPER.
His happiness descends: I was right.
SPIRIT.
Nevertheless I shall leave him without correction; for I think his
present joy will soon rectify itself by causing a speedy vexation. Here
is the weight which now carries down his scale: it is a novel which he
has lately published with general admiration. After a time he will send
forth another book; but the truth is, that he has lavished on the first
work all the thoughts that he had amassed during his life, and,
therefore, his second production will repeat the same incidents and
observations awkwardly disguised, by being expressed worse than before.
This book he will publish with great confidence; but will soon discover
that one work of an author is not admired for the merit of another, and
his happiness will be at an end. His present delight will be
sufficiently corrected by his future mortification, without any
assistance from my box. Let us go on.
SLEEPER.
Here is a man in a crisis of the gout; so I judge from the ornaments on
his foot, and the efforts of his face. By the twisting of his person,
and other contrivances, he seems hardly able to support the attack.
Surely you will give him some mitigation.
SPIRIT.
If the scales determine so. Yes, you see his troubles descend without
delay. I will take out his gout.
SLEEPER.
Still the scale is too low; then that is not his principal grievance,
notwithstanding all these endeavours.
SPIRIT.
This is the chief weight--jealousy of his wife: I have relieved the
scale from that and replaced the gout, and now you see the scales are
brought to that balance and hesitation by which human life is
represented. This man is married to a handsome woman, whose fidelity he
has perpetually been doubting from no cause except his own sagacity. His
fits of gout have been urgent, but his fits of suspicion have given him
still more pain. I have put his jealousy into my box, and being free
from that disease, he will be sufficiently cheerful under his gout. Now
come into another house.
SLEEPER.
Here is a young man, and if he is not a fortunate person, the eye is not
a judge of happiness; I never saw a countenance more overjoyed. And now
a beautiful woman has entered the room with a face equally happy. They
seem to be married. I fear their enjoyment requires disturbance out of
the box.
SPIRIT.
Yes; you see how the happy scale goes down with the husband's weights: I
will now question the wife; her transgression is as great. I believe the
suspicion, which I have just acquired from the gouty man will exactly
rectify this excess. I bestow on the husband this endowment of
jealousy, and now the scales are perfectly even; and there is this
advantage, that the husband's jealousy will disturb the wife as much as
himself, and so correct the weights of both at the same time. We may now
leave them, and advance.
SLEEPER.
Here is a man of my acquaintance, who has been very unfortunate in the
loss of wealth, and the death of his children, yet he has always been
cheerful. I should like to know by what art?
SPIRIT.
We can soon discover that. I have put the troubles you mention, with
some others, into the scale, and against them here is only one
advantage, yet it outweighs them easily. It is inscribed, "A contented
Temper." I never have so much difficulty in adjusting the balance as
when this blessing occurs. No misfortune can prevail against it. If I
deprive this man of every pretext for being cheerful, he will remain a
happy person. He has one child left; I take away the weight representing
it, and the child will soon die, but it has little effect on the scales:
almost immediately after the death he will be as much delighted as ever,
under pretence of resignation to the will of God, but in truth because
he knows not how to grieve. But I will try again to obtain redress
against him. In my box is that complaint which you call tic douleureux:
I obtained it from an old man in whose possession it had been for thirty
years; but at last, several additional calamities accruing to him, he
was able to part with this. It is a specimen of great vigour, and will
have recourse to its victim so frequently as to disturb the most
resolute cheerfulness. You see by the scales that it will contend with
this man's happy temper, though not overcome it. We must leave him some
advantage, for his disposition is incurable.
SLEEPER.
I have observed something that I must ask you to explain. I fancy I can
see a thread ascending from the head of this man, and going I know not
where; but it is so fine and delicate that I hardly can be sure of it.
SPIRIT.
You are right; most men have a thread of this kind annexed to their
heads: we call them party threads; they are much used in the government
of mankind. Follow me, and I will show you what becomes of the other
ends of these threads, for we are now near the place where they are
collected together. Here it is: you see a number of webs not unlike the
webs of a spider. Each of these webs is a party, political or
religious, for there is no difference between the two.
SLEEPER.
I cannot say I understand how these webs can have any thing to do with
politics or religion.
SPIRIT.
You may observe that innumerable threads branch off from each web, and
every one of those threads grows into a man's head, so that a multitude
of men are thus united and tied together in what is called a party. Men
are governed and controlled in a wonderful manner by these threads; for
an influence passes along them from the web like a current of
electricity. When a new party is wanted a web is woven, which
immediately darts out its threads on every side; and when any thread
approaches a man with whose understanding it has a certain affinity, it
grows into his brain and remains there, whence he becomes one of the
party. Sometimes a web decays, and the threads from it vanish, upon
which the party is at an end. No efforts of the ablest politicians can
keep men united when their web is gone, and they are no longer tied
together. Sometimes a part of the threads decay, while the web they
issue from remains entire; and when a man has thus lost his thread, and
is connected with none of the webs, he is commonly very uneasy. It
often happens, also, that two threads from different webs attach
themselves to the same man, which greatly distracts and perplexes him
till one of them is broken.
SLEEPER.
I see certain English words hanging in these webs, and other words
hovering in the air in a singular manner.
SPIRIT.
The words in the webs are all party words, and much used in controversy.
You know that every party must have a cause to contend for, but this
cause is commonly no more than a word: you must have observed that in
all countries there are certain venerable names which men defend with
great zeal. It is not long since in England the "Constitution" was the
word by which all were safe and happy, and in the cause of this word
every Englishman was bound to hazard both his fortune and his life. It
was as valuable to the poor as the rich, and he who had nothing else had
still the "Constitution."
SLEEPER.
But the "Constitution" was the name of a certain form of government: it
was the government, and not the name, that men defended so eagerly.
SPIRIT.
How could that be, when the word was applied to many different kinds of
government? For though all avowed that to the "Constitution" they owed
their whole prosperity, they never could agree what the "Constitution"
was. Some maintained it was that particular government then in being;
others denied that there was then any "Constitution," and chose some
time in history when they said it was in perfection; while others
affirmed that the true "Constitution" neither existed then nor ever had
existed, but that it was a certain state of things which had yet to take
place. Still all these politicians concurred in extolling the
"Constitution," though they differed so much as to what it was that they
were praising. Now, since they used this word to signify very different
things, much confusion in their reasoning would have been prevented had
each of them selected a different word to distinguish the kind of
government that he wished to promote, but each knew too well that the
measures he was endeavouring to advance would have had no value in the
country had they been called by any other sound than "Constitution."
The great power of these public words that prevail at different times is
apparent in the efforts of politicians to obtain their aid; and indeed
there is no art of government more important, or requiring more
address. A statesman is ruined if he pretends to ridicule or despise a
prevailing word that molests him: his true policy is to own its virtue
and efficacy, and endeavour to win it over to his own side. When
"Reform" is the irresistible sound, a prudent minister in every thing he
does will say he is reforming. Two parties often dispute the possession
of a popular word, each asserting a title to it, and deriding the claim
of the other; and sometimes it is well known that the country will be
governed by that side which remains proprietor of the word.
You may observe, that whenever a new party arises in a country its first
precaution is to provide itself with a word; and when the word, which
has been the head of an established party, is grown old and
unserviceable, with the greatest care and anxiety they appoint it a
successor. Many a word has covered the earth with troubles, and that
without having any force or merit, except the particular sound with
which it fills the ear. In politics and religion every man chooses a
word with which to associate himself; and many would be less
dissatisfied at losing their property or their children than at
relinquishing the word of which they are the adherents.
SLEEPER.
But it seems to me that these leading words have their authority only by
representing certain opinions: I think a word has no influence, except
by the good or evil that it signifies.
SPIRIT.
Then you are mistaken: a word may signify nothing, and yet be more
powerful than the greatest monarch upon earth. Undoubtedly, there are
men so inquisitive as to satisfy themselves whether a word means any
thing before they will be zealous in its behalf, but the generality are
capable of no such research; and I think it clear, that if none were
eager party men except those who know why they are so, the heads of a
party would find their followers reduced to a small number. During a
century and a half, the two words Whig and Tory divided England into two
sets of angry men. Now many a zealous Whig or Tory, had he been asked
whether he could explain the difference between himself and his
neighbour on the contrary side, would have thought it a very ridiculous
question, well knowing how different a sound the two words make to the
ear, and how different a figure they present to the eye, and therefore
conceiving that the distinction between Whig and Tory must be obvious to
every man who had an eye or an ear. Yet such a reasoner as this will
frequently adhere to his own word with more resolution and anger than
most of those who must know what is signified by a sound before they
will risk their fortune in its defence.
Now, when you consider the strange authority that particular words
obtain, you must have a curiosity to know what it is that makes a sound
so powerful. For manifestly a party cannot select a word at pleasure,
and make it popular. Many attempts are made to that purpose in vain;
some ambitious word is perpetually assuming importance, but fails to
attract notice, and is forgotten. Words resemble men in this particular,
that out of all the pretenders to renown very few succeed. And,
certainly, in the words of most authority, it is impossible to discover
any intrinsic excellence. The word Whig has neither music nor dignity,
and yet numbers would have hazarded their lives and fortunes in defence
of this sound, which is as harsh as any that could have been made out of
the alphabet.
Of those words which have attained to great eminence, many before their
advancement had served in the language as common words; some had never
engaged themselves in politics, but been altogether without importance,
when suddenly they have been promoted to be the leaders of a party. When
a word obtains this mysterious influence it seems to prevail in the air,
like a distemper, seizing men one after another, and involving them in
the same anxiety. An industrious tradesman, who has laboured hard to
keep his children alive, if he be suddenly possessed by a prevalent
word, abandons his shop, and from that moment neglects his business for
the sake of a word which he can neither roast nor boil.
These words cause different troubles of mind: the office of some is to
provoke discontent; and when one of these takes possession of a man,
while he is enjoying every comfort of life, he instantly imagines
himself the most miserable of human beings. In this emergency, he has
first to find out what is his distress,--a discovery, which he is
commonly unable to make by his own genius; and he is, therefore, very
grateful to any person who has invention enough to supply him with
something to complain of. Other words excite hope, and a man believes
that by often using and insisting upon them he shall soon arrive at
unusual prosperity. By one powerful word of this species, a whole
country is sometimes triumphant for several months together. There are
words that cause alarm; and he who is seized by one of them is in
perpetual terror lest it should bring upon him some mischief of which he
cannot conceive the nature.
Now you here see how all this is effected. A number of words are always
hovering about these webs, and when one of them touches a web, with
which it has an affinity, it is retained there like a fly in a cob-web.
As soon, then, as it is fixed in the web, it transmits its efficacy down
all the threads, and so takes possession of all the men annexed to that
web, with different violence, according to their several tempers.
SLEEPER.
I cannot forbear saying that I think the world would be much happier
without these party webs, and these deceitful words.
SPIRIT.
You are wrong; this power in words is not pernicious: life without its
illusions would be full of melancholy; and you cannot give them up
without some new gifts to supply their place. Besides which, if the
charm and deception of words were taken away, there would be nothing
left in the minds of the generality of men by which they could be
guided. Words cause faction and tumult, but they also effect order and
government. The webs, too, are absolutely necessary; but I have not time
to explain all the reasons why men must be divided into parties.
I will now show you something far more wonderful than what you have seen
yet. But I see you are going to leave me; your body requires you.
Farewell.
* * * * *
A DISPUTE BETWEEN THE MIND AND THE BODY.
_Translated from a Greek Manuscript lately discovered._
BODY.