Part 13

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.

Since you and I first became associates, you have never ceased to revile me. I have, till now, borne your injurious language in silence, but at length venture to inquire what offence you can charge me with, for I have not hitherto been able to guess from your invectives what it is that you complain of.

MIND.

I complain of being united to a thing so base as you are, and so unsuitable to me.

BODY.

This is your usual language, and I wish to represent to you, that since we were born, and have grown up together, I am entitled to a kinder treatment, and I may add that the care, with which I have provided for your ease and enjoyment might claim some gratitude from you. I have made over to you my skull as a residence, which was prepared with great art for your reception, and fitted up with every thing that it was thought you could want.

MIND.

I admire the confidence with which you speak of having conferred an obligation on me by receiving me into your skull, instead of which you ought to be grateful to me for condescending to settle myself in such a paltry dwelling. But if you desire to know the cause of my displeasure, let me ask you, when our confederacy was first agreed upon, was it not a condition that you should be subject to my authority?

BODY.

I confess that such was the treaty.

MIND.

Then have I not reason to complain of a vassal so turbulent and seditious as I have always found you?

BODY.

I am astonished at the charge, for I cannot remember any revolt that I have been guilty of. The five senses have been appointed to transmit intelligence to you, and I believe that each of them has, with perfect regularity and despatch, given you the information that it is charged with. Besides this, all my limbs are subject to your command; every muscle waits to execute your will, and moves only when you order it. Such is the subordination that has been established, and I thought it had always been observed. But has there lately been any disaffection amongst my limbs? Has a leg or an arm refused to obey you, or have any of my fingers declared themselves independent?

MIND.

No; I do not accuse them of disobedience.

BODY.

Have any of the senses then been remiss in their duties? Perhaps the ear has failed to communicate to you a sound, of which it had received notice, or the nose may have neglected to impart a perfume that had come to it. If these senses have been guilty of suppressing any sounds or smells, which were due to you, I will enforce a greater vigilance, and take care that in future smelling and hearing shall be honestly executed.

MIND.

I do not say that either the ear or the nose has been refractory. In all such duties as these you maintain a great parade of obedience. My accusation against you is, that you are full of vices and sensual passions, which I highly disapprove of, and which you gratify in defiance of me. In vain I prohibit your luxury; my commands are broken as soon as they are pronounced; you commit follies in my presence without the least restraint; and when you have a pleasure in view, I seem not to have the least power to deter you from it. The truth is, that from head to foot you are in a state of insurrection, and yet presume to value yourself on your obedience, affirming in proof of it that you furnish a nose to smell for me whenever I desire.

I was born for virtue and contemplation, and if you had no share in mankind crime would be unknown. Your intemperate passions cover the world with vice, the punishment of which falls upon me. You commit sins, and I am involved in the consequences of them.

BODY.

You are very indulgent in excusing yourself, and very liberal in assigning to me all the wrong that is done; but it would not be difficult to prove that you concur with me in every transgression, and are very often the first instigator. Let us take as an example the vices of luxury, in which I seem to be the most active; I have no doubt you will deny that you are instrumental in my debaucheries.

MIND.

Certainly I do; you alone are guilty of every kind of intemperance, thus inflicting upon me innumerable disorders and miseries, which I have never deserved, and undermining all my vigour and enjoyment. For such is the unjust alliance which I have been forced into, that when you practise a vice the pains of it fall equally upon me. You drink to intoxication, and the next morning require me to sustain the head-ache. You by a long course of intemperance bring on the gout, and I must partake of it. You eat and drink alone, but we must ache in conjunction; and I, who do nothing towards the acquisition of gout, am involved in every pang that you have caused. My share, too, is much the most severe, since all the requisite patience is exacted from me, and whatever may be the pain, I am expected to supply fortitude. Have you the confidence to deny that you ought to bear your own gout?

BODY.

So far from owning myself only in fault, I maintain that the guilt of our luxury is to be imputed entirely to you.

MIND.

According to you, then, it is the immortal soul which dines sumptuously, while the body remains perfectly abstemious; the reasoning faculty drinks, and the mouth is not concerned in the debauch.

BODY.

This you represent with your usual want of candour; but I can easily prove that you only are to blame for every vicious banquet.

Hunger and thirst are my natural appetites, which would rest satisfied with the most simple food, were it not for the elaborate flavours, the sauces, and other sophistries, with which you mislead me. My uneducated hunger would never have attempted a discovery beyond plain meats, so that, without your fertility of invention, and your research into flavours, the gout would never have been found. Pray answer me, was it the body that invented wine? To which of my limbs did it first occur that the grape might become a delicious liquor? Was it the foot, the hand, or the shoulder, that conceived the happy thought? Look at the drunkard in his disgrace, and remember that it was the reason, the immortal mind, which devised a liquor to debase him. Such is your justice to me: you invent a pernicious liquor, pour it down my throat, till I can no longer walk or stand, and then accuse me of debauchery. My natural moderation is proved by those animals which have no mind, or at least one of so little sagacity, that it can make no discoveries in vice. The horse has the same sensations as man: like you, it has to contend with a conspiracy of the five senses, but not having an immortal reason to invent new tastes, it remains satisfied with its original enjoyments. You say it is unjust that you should feel the pains from my festivities, by which you would make it appear that I associate you with me only in gout and head-ache, and refuse to admit you as an accomplice in the delight of eating and drinking, while the truth is, that you share with me all the pleasures of a banquet, and cannot deny that I impart to you the flavour of wine as frankly as I communicate a pang of gout. You are never excluded from my palate, nor is there a taste or sensation in it which is kept a secret from you. I am not therefore to be persuaded that you have less pleasure from our enjoyments than I have; but so unreasonable are you, that while you never fail to demand from me your full share of enjoyment, you wish me to keep all the pain for myself. If you had not your part of the delight, I think you would not so easily acquiesce in our pleasures; for when any pernicious food is to be devoured, or a few supernumerary goblets are to be drained, I always find you a willing associate.

MIND.

That I deny; I never fail to remonstrate against your vices.

BODY.

Yes; when there is no banquet ready, you pass the time in admiring temperance, and sometimes you tell me that we will certainly begin to practise it; but when the opportunity arrives,--when the table is before us, and we sit down to be temperate,--you forget all our plans, and suffer us to be undone without the least expostulation.

That you may not seem to authorise our irregularities, you pretend to be careless and forgetful, while in truth you heartily enjoy what we are doing. When I stretch out my hand to the goblet, you seem to be thinking of something else; when I help myself to a luxurious dish, though you know how perniciously it is composed, you wink at the ingredients, and give me no warning against it. Nor is this all, but you frequently labour even to corroborate my imprudence; and when, from a regard to health, we hesitate to partake of something that we both love, you can instantly find some casuistry to justify the dish, affirming that it has not all the malice imputed to it, or we have tried it before, and survived, or perhaps, this once it may do no harm, with many such evasions, which I never should have had genius to invent. But if you really disapprove of intemperance, why do not you positively forbid it?

MIND.

If I sometimes want the firmness to control you, I ought not to be reproached with it by you, who betray me into every frailty. All my base appetites I receive from you; the immortal soul has no love of wine or rich viands. It is by your means only that plausible dishes ever prevail against me. Without your persuasion, the most urgent meats would fail to move me; but you give them a specious flavour, and misrepresent them to me in such a variety of tastes that I am deceived.

You are always contriving to mislead me, and it is impossible that I should defend myself against a perpetual intrigue of the five senses. You incessantly instigate me to evil, and molest me with a thousand vile desires, which never permit me to enjoy that state of reason and tranquillity which is natural to me. By your arts I am enfeebled and debased, so that even the blandishments of a goblet of wine overcome me, and then you upbraid me with my compliance.

BODY.

Nothing can be more unjust than to charge me with these evil suggestions. My voluptuousness takes place only while a meal lasts: you have enjoyment also in recollecting past pleasures, and looking forward to new. It is your own fancies that solicit you, and not my entreaties. I have no pleasure in a goblet of wine, except at the moment of commission; you expect it for hours before, revolve it in your thoughts, consider the flavour of it, and then when the peril arrives, you accuse me of your not being able to refuse the draught.

I have certainly given you the first hint of our pleasures, but you have improved upon my suggestions, and pursued them till they became luxury.

Real appetite is too dilatory for you, and you therefore practise a thousand artifices to be hungry. Often, too, when I have been quite disabled by excess, you make use of variety and persuasive dishes to give me new resolution for a debauch; and in all our other pleasures you endeavour to revive me in the same manner. My inclinations are slow to be provoked, and soon satisfied. You are indefatigably voluptuous. But you say that if I were out of the world crime would be unknown.

MIND.

Certainly: in my own nature I am pure and heavenly, but lose my best faculties by being entangled amongst your nerves, in which are seated all the passions that trouble mankind.

BODY.

I think I could enumerate a few passions which frequently disturb the world, and yet can hardly be imputed to me. Ambition is the cause of great calamities; perhaps, then, you can inform me in which of my limbs a love of sovereignty is fixed, since I know not of any aspiring muscle which entertains such designs. It seems to me that my arms and legs, with all my other limbs, are entirely free from avarice, envy, revenge, and many such passions, which certainly prevail amongst men; and therefore, if I am incapable of them, it is to be presumed that they are endowments of the immortal mind. Is it I who plot and deceive? are all schemes of fraud contrived by my muscles?

MIND.