gesture, a look of the eye, a smile affrightens him and causes him
painful and trembling calculations what that sinister sign of his
master may presage.
Look at the opulent merchant whose hopes are the sport of the
winds, seas, robbers, changes of trade, municipal regulations, and
a crowd of agents who seem subordinate, but who really command him.
Whatever kind of liberty we aim to possess, we may certainly
conclude that the surest means to enjoy it is to have few wants.
But how restrain our wants? The greater portion are happily placed
by their condition where they are ignorant of the objects which
most powerfully excite and seduce desire. The golden mean secludes
them from many temptations full of the bitterest regret, and exacts
of them little effort of wisdom. In the class of men of leisure and
elevated mind there are two means of rising above many wants.
The more austere philosophers have altogether disdained those
pleasures which they could never hope to obtain. Reducing
themselves to the limits of the strictest necessity, they indemnify
themselves for some privations by the certainty of being secured
from many pains, and by the sentiment of conscious independence.
This is, doubtless, one of the surest means of obtaining
independence; and they who attempt to employ any other, differ from
the vulgar by their principles rather than their conduct.
How many objects, of which the contemplation awakens the desires,
would have nothing dangerous if we could always exercise a stern
self-control over our minds! The surest means of exercising this
self-control is to reduce the number of our wants. To do it, I
admit, demands a rare elevation of mind and the exercise of a high
degree of philosophy. But since its value is beyond its cost, let
us dare to acquire it.
While the fleeting dreams of pleasure hover around us, let reason
still say to us, ‘an instant may dissipate them.’ Let us, then, be
ready to find a new pleasure in the consciousness of our firmness
and our masculine and vigorous independence. An enlightened mind
reigns over pleasures; and while they glitter around, enjoys all
that are innocent; but disdains a sigh or a regret when they have
taken wings and disappeared.
I commend the example of Alcibiades, the disciple of the graces and
of wisdom, who astonished in turn the proud Persian by his dignity,
and the Lacedemonian by his austerity. His enemies may charge him
with incessant change of principle. To me he seems always the
same, always superior to the men and circumstances that surround
him. Such strong mental stamina resemble those robust plants that
sustain, without annoyance, the extremes of heat and cold.
LETTER IX.
OF HEALTH.
Health results from moderation, gayety and the absence of care.
Eternal wisdom has ordained, that the emotions which disturb our
days, are those which have a natural tendency to shorten them.[16]
If there were ground for a single charge against the justice of
nature, it would be, that the errors of inexperience seem punished
with too great severity. We prodigally waste the material of life
and enjoyment, as we do our other possessions, as if we thought it
inexhaustible.
To the errors of youth succeed the vices of mature age. Ambition
and cupidity, envy and hatred concur to devour the very aliment of
life. The storms which prostrate the moral faculties, equally sap
the physical energy. Every debasing passion is a consuming poison.
To what other source of evil can we assign those inquietudes and
puerile anxieties, which disturb the days of the greater portion
of mankind? They are occupied by trifling interests, and agitated
by vain debates. They watch for futile excitements, and are in
desolation from chimerical troubles. Pleasant emotions sustain
life, and produce upon it the effect of a gentle current of air
upon flame. Trains of thought habitually elevated, and sometimes
inclined to revery, impart pure and true gayety to the soul. To
be able to command this train is one of the rarest felicities of
endowment. A distinguished physician recorded in his tablets the
apparent paradox, that three quarters of men die of vexation or
grief.
Huffland has published a work, upon the art of prolonging life,
full of interesting observations. ‘Philosophers,’ says he, ‘enjoy a
delightful leisure. Their thoughts, generally estranged from vulgar
interests, have nothing in common with those afflicting ideas,
with which other men are continually agitated and corroded. Their
reflections are agreeable by their variety, their vague liberty,
and sometimes even by their frivolity. Devoted to the pursuits of
their choice, the occupations of their taste, they dispose freely
of their time. Oftentimes they surround themselves with young
people, that their natural vivacity may be communicated to them,
and, in some sort, produce a renewal of their youth.’ We may make a
distinction between the different kinds of philosophy, in relation
to their influence upon the duration of life. Those which direct
the mind towards sublime contemplations, even were they in some
degree superstitious, such as those of Pythagoras and Plato, are
the most salutary. Next to them, I place those, the study of which,
embracing nature, gives enlarged and elevated ideas upon infinity,
the stars, the wonders of the universe, the heroic virtues, and
other similar subjects. Such were those of Democritus, Philolaus,
Xenophanes, the Stoics, and the ancient astronomers.’
‘I may cite next those less profound thinkers, who instead of
exacting difficult researches, seemed destined only to amuse the
mind; the followers of which philosophy, deviating wide from vulgar
opinion, peaceably sustain the arguments for and against the
propositions advanced. Such was the philosophy of Carneades and the
Academicians, to whom we may add the Grammarians and Rhetoricians.’
‘But those which turn only upon painful subtilties, which are
affirmative, dogmatic and positive, which bend all facts and
opinions to form and adjust them to certain preconceived principles
and invariable measures; in fine, such as are thorny, arid,
narrow and contentious, these are fatal in tendency, and cannot
but abridge the life of those, who cultivate them. Of this class
was the philosophy of the Peripatetics, and that also of the
Scholastics.’
Tumultuous passions and corroding cares are two sources of evil
influences, which philosophy avoids. Another influence, adverse to
life, is that mental feebleness, which renders persons perpetually
solicitous about their health, effeminate and unhappy. Fixing their
thoughts intensely on the functions of life, those functions,
that are subjects of this anxious inspection, labor. Imagining
themselves sick, they soon become so. The undoubting confidence
that we shall not be sick, is perhaps the best prophylactic for
preserving health.
I am ignorant of the exact influence of moral upon physical action,
in relation to health. But of this I am confident, that it is
prodigious; that physicians have not made it a sufficient element
in their calculations, or employed it as they should; and that in
future, under a wise and more philosophic direction, it may operate
an immense result, both in restoring and preserving health.
A man reads a letter, which announces misfortunes, or sinister
events. His head turns. His appetite ceases. He becomes faint, and
oppressed; and his life is in danger. No contagion, however, no
physical blow has touched him. A thought has palsied his forces
in a moment; and has successively deranged every spring of life.
We have read of persons of feeble and uninformed mind, who have
fallen sick, in consequence of the cruel sport of those, who have
ingeniously alarmed their imagination, and cautiously indicated
to them a train of fatal symptoms. Since imagination can thus
certainly overturn our physical powers, why may it not, under
certain regulations, restore them? Among the numberless recorded
cases of cures, reputed miraculous, it is probable, that a great
part may be accounted for on this principle.[17]
Suppose a paralytic disciple of the school of miracles, whose head
is exalted with ideas of the mystic power of certain holy men, and
who is meditating on the succor which he expects from a divine
interposition manifested in his favor. In an ecstasy of faith, he
sees a minister of heaven descend enveloped in light, who bids him
‘arise, and walk.’ In a moment the unknown nervous energy, excited
by the mysterious power of faith, touches the countless inert and
relaxed movements. The man arises and walks. During the siege of
Lyons, when bombs fell on the hospital, the terrified paralytics
arose and fled.
I am not disposed to question all the cures, which in France have
been attributed to magnetism. We know, what a salutary effect the
sight of his physician produces on the patient, who has confidence
in him. His cheerful and encouraging conversations are among the
most efficient remedies. If we entertained a long cherished and
intimate persuasion, that by certain signs, or touches, he could
dispel our complaints, his gestures would have a high moral and
physical influence. Magnetism was in this sense, as Bailly justly
remarked, a true experiment upon the power of the imagination.
At the moment of its greatest sway, while some regarded it an
infallible specific, and others deemed it entirely inefficient,
another class held it in just estimation. I cite an extract from
the report of the Academy of Science.
‘We have sought,’ say they, ‘to recognise the presence of the
magnetic fluid. But it escaped our senses. It was said, that its
action upon animated bodies was the sole proof of its existence.
The experiments, which we made upon ourselves, convinced us, that,
as soon as we diverted our attention, it was powerless. Trials
made upon the sick taught us, that infancy, which is unsusceptible
of prejudice experienced nothing from it; that mental alienation
resisted the action of magnetism, even in an habitual condition of
excitability of the nerves, where the action ought to have been
most sensible. The effects which are attributed to this fluid, are
not visible, except when the imagination is forewarned, and capable
of being struck. Imagination, then, seems to be the principle of
the action.
‘It remained to be seen, whether we could reproduce these effects
by the influence of imagination alone. We attempted it, and fully
succeeded. Without touching the subjects, who believed themselves
magnetised, and without employing any sign, they complained of pain
and a great sensation of heat. On subjects, endowed with more
excitable nerves, we produced convulsions, and what they called
_crises_. We have seen an exalted imagination become sufficiently
energetic to take away the power of speech in a moment. At the same
time, we proved the nullity of magnetism, put in opposition with
the imagination. Magnetism alone, employed for thirty minutes,
produced no effect. Imagination put in action produced upon the
same person, with the same means, in circumstances absolutely
similar, a strong, and well defined convulsion.
‘In fine, to complete the demonstration, and to finish the
painting of the effect of the imagination, a power equally capable
of agitating, and calming, we have caused those convulsions to
cease by the same power, which produced them--the power of the
imagination.
‘What we have learned, or, at least what has been confirmed to
us in a demonstrative and evident manner, by examination of the
processes of magnetism is, that man can act upon man at every
moment and almost at will, by striking his imagination; that signs
and gestures the most simple may have effects the most powerful;
and that the influence which may be exerted upon the imagination,
may be reduced to an art, and conducted by method.’
These truths had never before acquired so much evidence. We know,
that cures may be wrought by the single influence of imagination.
Ambrose Paré Boerhaave, and many other physicians, have cited
striking proofs of this fact. The first of these writers procured
abundant sweats for a patient, in making him believe that a
perfectly inert substance given him, was a violent sudorific.
It is worthy of the attention of moralists and physiologists,
as well as physicians, to examine, to what point we may obtain
salutary effects, by exciting the imagination. But perhaps, there
would soon be cause to dread the perilous influence of this art,
which can kill, as well as make alive. This excitable and vivid
faculty is never more easily put in operation, that when acted upon
by the presentiments of charlatanism and superstition.
We possess another means of operation, which may be exercised
without danger, and the power of which is, also, capable of
producing prodigies. Education rendering most men feeble and timid,
they are ignorant, how much an energetic will can accomplish. It
is able to shield us from many maladies; and to hasten the cure of
those under which we labor.
In mortal epidemics, the physicians, who are alarmed at their
danger, are ordinarily the first victims. Fear plunges the system
into that state of debility, which predisposes it to fatal
impressions, while the moral force of confidence, communicating its
aid to physical energy, enables it to repel contagion.
I could cite many distinguished names of men, who attributed their
cure, in desperate maladies, to the courage which never forsook
them, and to the efforts which they made to keep alive the vital
spark, when ready to become extinct. One of them pleasantly said,
‘I should have died like the rest, had I wished it.’[18]
Pecklin, Barthes and others think that extreme desire to see a
beloved person once more, has sometimes a power to retard death.
It is a delightful idea. I feel with what intense ardor one might
desire to live another day, another hour, to see a friend or a
child for the last time. The flame of love, replacing that of
life, blazes up for a moment before both are quenched in the final
darkness. The last prayer is accorded; and life terminates in
tasting that pleasure for which it was prolonged. If this be true,
the principle on which the most touching incident of romance is
founded, is not a fiction.
I have no need to say that an energetic will to recover from
sickness has no point of analogy with that fearful solicitude which
the greater part of the sick experience. The latter, produced by
mental feebleness, increases the inquietude and aggravates the
danger. Even indifference would be preferable. If education had
imparted to us the advantages of an energetic will and real force
of mind, if from infancy we had been convinced of the efficacy of
this moral power, we have no means to determine that it would not
have been, in union with the desire of life, an element in the
means of healing our maladies.
Medicine is still a science so conjectural that the most salutary
method of cure, in my view, is that which strives not to contradict
nature, but to second her efforts by moral means. I am ready to
believe that amidst the real or imagined triumphs of science,
those of medicine will, in the centuries to come, hold a rank
to which its past achievements will have borne no proportion.
But what an immense amount of experiment will be necessary! How
many unfortunate beings must contribute to the expense of these
experiments!
Contrary to the general opinion, I highly esteem physicians and
think but very little of medicine. In the profession of medicine
we find the greatest number of men of solid minds and various
erudition; and the best friends of humanity. But they are in the
habit of vaunting the progress of their science. To me it seems
incessantly changing its principles, without ever varying its
results. The systems of various great men have been successively
received and rejected. Do we, however, imagine that the great
physicians who have preceded us were more unfortunate in their
practice than those of our days? Among the most eminent physicians
of our cities, one practises by administering strong cathartics.
Another is resolute for copious bleeding. A third bids us watch
and wait the indications of nature. Each of these assumes that the
system of the rest is fatal--and so, it would seem, it should be.
At the end of the year, however, I doubt if any one of them all has
more reproaches to make, as regards want of success, than any other.
From these facts, there are those who hold that it is most prudent
to confide to nature, as the physician; forgetful that, if he could
bring no other remedy than hope, he unites moral to physical aid.
Yet, the very persons who, in health are readiest to maintain this
doctrine, like children who are heroes during the day but cowards
in the dark, when they are sick, are as prompt as others in sending
for the physician.
Even if agitation and fear had not fatal effects, in rendering us
more accessible to maladies, wisdom would strive to banish them, in
pursuit of the science of happiness. Fear, by anticipating agony,
doubles our sufferings. If there could exist a rational ground for
continual inquietude, it would be found in a frail constitution.
But how many men of the feeblest health survive those of the most
vigorous and robust frame! Calculations upon the duration of life
are so uncertain that we can always make them in our favor.
To him who cultivates a mild and pleasant philosophy, old age
itself should not be contemplated with alarm. It may seem a paradox
to say that all men are nearly of the same age, in reference to
their chances of another day. Men are as confident of seeing
tomorrow and the succeeding day, at eighty, as at sixteen. Such is
the beautiful veil with which nature conceals from us the darkness
of the future.
In general, men have less sympathy for the suffering than their
condition ought to inspire. We meet them with a sad face and are
more earnest to show them that we are afflicted ourselves, than
to seek to cheer their dejection. We multiply so many questions
touching their health that it would seem as if we feared to allow
them to forget that they were sick.
Of all subjects of conversation, my own pains and physical
infirmities have become the least interesting to me; as I know they
must be to others. I do not wish that those who surround my sick
bed should converse as though arranging the preparations for my
last dress, or determining the hour of my interment.
If we would live in peace, and die in tranquillity, let us, as
much as possible, avoid importunate cares. Our business is to
unite as many friends as we may; and to beguile pain and sorrow by
treasuring as many resources of innocent amusement as our means
will admit. If our sufferings become painful and incurable, we must
concentrate our mental energy and settle on our solitary powers
of endurance. We die, or we recover. Nature, though calm, moves
irresistibly to her point; and complaint is always worse than
useless.[19]
But in arming ourselves with courage to support our own evils, let
us preserve sensibility and sympathy for the sufferings of others.
It is among the dangerously sick that we find those unfortunate
beings who are most worthy to inspire our pity. Their only
expectation is death, preceded by cruel tortures; and yet they,
probably, suffer less for themselves than for weeping dependents
whom they are leaving, it may be, without a single prop. Ah! during
the few days of sorrow that remain to them on the earth, how
earnestly ought we to strive to mitigate their pains, to calm their
alarms and animate their feeble hopes! Blessed be that beneficent
being who shall call one smile more upon their dying lips![20]
LETTER X.
OF COMPETENCE.
Pretended sages announce to us, with sententious gravity, that
virtue ought to be the single object of our desires; that,
strengthened by it, we can support privations and misery without
suffering. Useless moralists! Shall I yield faith to precepts which
the experience of every day falsifies? It is only necessary, in
refutation, to present a man who has broken his limb, or whose
children suffer hunger.
His plan is wise, who examines, with a judgment free from ambition,
the amount of fortune necessary to competence in his case, viewed
in all its bearings; and commences the steady pursuit of it. Having
reached that measure, if his desires impel him beyond the limit
which, in a more reasonable hour, he prescribed for himself, he
henceforward strives to be happy by sacrificing enjoyment. He
barters it for a very uncertain means of purchasing even pleasures.
In this way competence becomes useless to the greater part of those
who obtain it. Victims of the common folly, and still wishing a
little more, they lose, in the effort to get rich, the time which
they ought to spend in enjoyment. We see grasping and adroit
speculators on every side; and, but rarely, men who know how to
employ the resources of a moderate fortune. It is not the art of
acquiring beyond competence, but of wisely spending, that we need
to learn.
Our business in life is to be happy; and yet, simple and obvious as
this truism is, the greater number disdain or forget it. To judge
from the passions and objects that we see exciting man to action,
we should suppose that he was placed on the earth, not to become
happy, but rich.
To what purpose so many cares and studies? ‘That man,’ we are
answered with a peculiar emphasis, ‘has an immense income.’ In his
rare, brilliant and envied condition, if he does not vegetate under
the weight of ennui, I recognise in him a man of astonishing merit.
The opulent may be divided into two classes. The employment of
the one is to watch over their expenditures. The other study the
mode of dissipating their revenue. Can I present, in detail, the
cares and vexations which an immense fortune brings? The possessor
leaves discussion with his tenants, to commence angry disputes
with his workmen. From these he departs to listen to the schemes
of projectors, or to the information of advocates. Is not such a
result dearly purchased at the expense of repose, independence
and time? Would it not be better to relinquish a part of these
possessions, in order to dispose, in peace, of the remainder? I
admit that a man who devotes himself to lucrative pursuits is not
overwhelmed with continual ennui. The banker respires again, after
having grown pale over his accounts. A speculation has succeeded,
and the enchantment of success banishes his alarms, fatigues and
slavery. But he whose purpose in life is to secure as many happy
moments as he can, and who sees how many innocent pleasures the
other allows to escape him, would refuse his fortune at the price
which he pays for it.
Another opulent class inherit fortunes acquired by the industry
and sacrifices of their fathers. Rendered effeminate in a school,
the reverse of that in which their fathers were trained, without
resources in themselves, accustomed from infancy to have their
least desires anticipated, under the influence of feeble parents,
pliant and servile instructers, greedy servants and a seducing
world, their appetite is early palled, and every pleasure in life
worn out.