Part 18

And I maintain that my having supplanted you proves that this world was not designed for you; besides which, I am confirming my title to possession by showing that I have invented almost every thing that is esteemed valuable amongst men.

TRUTH.

Well, let me hear what other benefits the world owes you. It seems you have invented religion.

FALSEHOOD.

All the religions but one; I give you one.

TRUTH.

You are very generous to me.

FALSEHOOD.

That is more than some philosophers allow you. Let us next consider which of us benefits most the intercourse of private life. I affirm, that without me there could be no such virtue as friendship amongst men.

TRUTH.

I thought it had been allowed by all that friendship is founded upon truth.

FALSEHOOD.

Such is the common opinion, but altogether erroneous; for if any two friends were to act with perfect sincerity, and mutually divulge every thought that passes through their minds concerning each other, do you think that they could remain friends? Let any man consider the secret discoveries which he has made of his friend's infirmities, how he has censured certain qualities of his mind, and ridiculed those failings which could not endure to be mentioned or hinted at, and then let him judge whether a candid disclosure of all his thoughts would tend to confirm the friendship. He who would retain the kindness of any man must suppress more than half his observations on that man's character.

But without my arts there would be not only no friendship amongst men, but no amicable intercourse or society; for if all were disclosed that had ever been said or thought by each man against others with whom he is acquainted, the general indignation would be such that not one person would be found ready to converse with another. I may add, that if all courtesy were discontinued the world would not be much improved,--and what is courtesy but falsehood? If you were to prevail as you wish, men would tell each other of their faults with the greatest zeal and sincerity, and no two persons could meet without giving pain to each other. When people now assemble for conversation, the art is to expose the faults of absent friends, which is always pleasing, and those who can impart this knowledge most skilfully obtain the greatest praise; but if every man were as eager to apprise another of his own faults, as he now is to tell him of his friend's, the information would be very differently received. I think it easy to prove, that more than half the kindness of human life subsists by dissimulation, and must therefore be ascribed to me.

TRUTH.

Pray go on: what other good have you done? Having construed benevolence into deception, you can have no difficulty in proving every other virtue to be your own contrivance.

FALSEHOOD.

Next I affirm, that if I did not inspire and entertain the mind of man with innumerable fancies and visions the melancholy of life would be intolerable. What would man be without hope? and where he borrows one hope from you he receives a hundred from me. What would become of all the unhappy if they listened only to you for comfort?

TRUTH.

But if men are indebted to you for hope, to you also they owe disappointment.

FALSEHOOD.

No; for those who are truly under my government are always supplied with a new hope before the old one is lost. Pray why is it that none wish to live again that part of their lives which is gone, and yet all set a high value upon the remainder? Because they see you in the past and me in the future. Then what a perpetual recreation do I furnish by those visions of the future, in which many persons pass a great part of their lives, not really hoping that such things may happen, for they are usually impossible, but enjoying them in speculation, and as if actually taking place.

TRUTH.

I acknowledge that claim; and allow you to be the author of those idle fantastical dreams which divert men from true business and study.

FALSEHOOD.

My next assertion is, that I contrive all the complacency and satisfaction which a man has from his own character. Had I invented no other art for the welfare of mankind, the grand discovery of self-deception would entitle me to the gratitude of the whole human race. For if each man were to discern with severity every oblique motive in his own heart, every mean preference of himself to others, every artifice for undeserved praise, who is there that could endure himself? I taught men the skill to hide their infirmities from themselves, the only remedy against conscience. By this invention great numbers pass with themselves for excellent men, who after a lesson from you would regard themselves with hatred and contempt. Men commemorate with gratitude those whom they believe to have first taught agriculture, mechanics, and other arts of convenience or plenty, but my praise for this invention has been forgotten, though even the discovery of bread from the earth has not conferred on man half of that ease and contentment which I have given by teaching him not to know himself. I conclude you do not dispute my title to this invention.

TRUTH.

Certainly not; I allow you all the honour of this noble science, in which men have received your lessons with great alacrity.

FALSEHOOD.

Let it not be supposed that because men now misunderstand their own characters with great facility it must be a thing of no art or study. The ease with which it is done proves how well my instruction has been imparted. Many books have been written to teach the deceiving of mankind, and many statesmen have practised with renown the rules they assign, but no artifice of these books or statesmen can equal the skill of men, even the most ignorant, in cheating themselves. It is impossible, without admiration, to observe a man diligently keeping his failings out of his own sight, and enjoying them under fictitious names, inventing motives for his own use, and faithfully believing whatever he chooses to tell himself, providing for his own advantage, and still persuaded that he is labouring for others. With what genius have I contrived that all these stratagems shall be conducted within one head where there is no partition, so that it might have been supposed all the thoughts must be known to each other! By this art I am the great author of all serenity of mind, for the chief part of mankind can neither bear to practise virtue nor to live without it; but by this excellent contrivance they are enabled to believe themselves good without the inconvenience of really being so.

TRUTH.

An excellent device for improving mankind! I had supposed that before a man reforms his faults he ought to know them.

FALSEHOOD.

Your remark shows how much I excel you in the management of men. You can think of no expedient to free men from the evil of their vices except the leaving them off, which if you knew this world you would know to be a visionary undertaking. I attempt nothing impossible, but teach men to avoid the reproach of their faults by not knowing that they have any. This art supplies most men with peace of mind; but some, it is true, are troubled with a curiosity about what they are doing, and in all their culpable actions take care to inform themselves what the employment really is, so that they seldom can do wrong without knowing it. The consequence of which is, that they pass their lives in great uneasiness and ineffectual endeavours to relinquish their bad habits. But I have found a remedy even for these people; for after every commission of a fault I teach them to be convinced that they shall never be guilty of it again, by which confidence they are restored to their tranquillity.

TRUTH.

You have stated very justly the share you have in men's opinion of themselves.

FALSEHOOD.

To proceed, then, with my benefits: amongst the valuable entertainments of life, literature and philosophy are most eminent. Let us consider what part of them must be assigned to me. First, I think you will hardly contest my right to poetry; or, if you please, you shall correct the works of Homer, and expunge from them all the incidents that you disallow. Your genius for poetry will be proved by what remains, if, indeed, any thing is left; and it will be seen whether you have increased the glory of Greece by inspiring its poets. But I shall presume myself beyond dispute the author of poetry and other fiction; and amongst the arts of fiction I think oratory may be ranked.

TRUTH.

I confess you are a more successful orator than I am.

FALSEHOOD.

I go on to philosophy, moral and physical, in which many things are instituted as certainties, but I must observe that I can be as positive as you. When there are two contending certainties, I must be entitled to one of them, very frequently to both; and since there is not any opinion to be found in philosophy without an adverse opinion equally resolute, I must at least own half of that which is taught. But perhaps the most equitable division will be that which I proposed in the case of religion: you shall choose any one philosophical sect of which you like to have been the author, and I will resign to you all that has been written and said in defence of it, taking all the remaining controversy for my share. Or, if you hesitate to undertake any entire sect with all the belief that it exacts, I permit you from all the schools to select what opinions you please, and be the author of them, while I keep what you reject. I believe all that you have dictated would be comprised in a very small volume, and leave me a splendid library of philosophical writings.

TRUTH.

I grant you have been more copious than myself in works of this kind. But go on, let me next hear of your exploits in mathematics.

FALSEHOOD.

No; you have named the only kind of learning in which I have not excelled.

TRUTH.

Is there, indeed, any thing in which I surpass you?

FALSEHOOD.

Since, then, mathematics are the only kind of human learning which you can ascribe to yourself alone, what would the world be without my inventions? Very few men have a capacity for pure mathematics: to the generality of those who study them they are no more than a help to contemplations in which I have a share.

But now, since I have reduced you to a mere mathematician, and proved myself the author of all that is chiefly esteemed by the world, I think that, instead of acknowledging my own usurpations, I have a right to complain of yours.

TRUTH.

But, since you hardly allow me any possession upon the earth, what have I usurped?

FALSEHOOD.

The honour and applause which justly belongs to me. I am the great benefactor of mankind, yet am universally hated and despised.

TRUTH.

As you deserve to be.

FALSEHOOD.

You are revered and extolled though you have done nothing for the improvement of human life. Men entreat you to show yourself to them and you refuse; still, without having seen you, they are convinced of your vast perfections and benefits. The only real cause which they have for gratitude towards you is, that you are deaf to their prayers; for were you to live amongst them, as they desire, all human happiness would be at an end.

TRUTH.

Pray how should I interfere with human happiness?

FALSEHOOD.

I believed I had said enough to explain the advantages of your absence, since at your appearance all my useful inventions must vanish. But consider, if there were no error in the world there would be no diversity of opinion; and although every philosopher thinks that the world cannot prosper till all men think as he does, the truth is, that a greater injury could not be inflicted upon man than the banishment of all variety in belief. It is doubt and conjecture that keep the minds of men in activity: if all were certainty, there would be no conversation, for nothing could be imparted: there would be no literature or philosophy of any kind; for nothing would remain to be done by argument, eloquence, explanation, or research. If men were incapable of being deceived they would not need to be informed. Hope and surprise would be no more; and the minds of all would be possessed by a perpetual calm and dejection. The search after Truth is caused by Falsehood; and I acknowledge that the pursuit of you is useful, though the finding you would be a great misfortune. I repeat, therefore, your only benefit to man is the having taught him nothing. The bottom of a well is the most useful situation of which you are capable. Being known by name, and fancied something excellent, you may provoke a visionary hope and pursuit of you which busies and employs men much to their advantage. You ought, therefore, to be satisfied with being heard of, since your name is here the only part of you that can be of use; but if you have an ambition to be better known, I advise you to wander amongst the stars, and seek for a race of beings fit to receive you in person. Whatever dreams some philosophers may entertain of establishing you here at a future time, as long as the faculties of men remain what they now are you will be honoured and praised, but the world will really be governed by me.

TRUTH.

You are mistaken; your reign is at an end: by these new weapons I shall soon defeat all your arts. You cannot look at this torch without knowing its power against you.

FALSEHOOD.

I know not what new authority may have been given you; but if in these weapons, as you call them, there is really a power to undeceive the world, I think I have proved to you the folly and calamity of using them. I warn you of the universal despair that you are going to cause. Remember that a man once undeceived cannot be restored to error. The mischief you are preparing is irreparable, and I therefore give you my opinion, that the best use you can make of your liberty is to leap back into your well, as the only effort by which you can benefit mankind.

* * * * *

Thus speaking, Falsehood walked away: her sister had heard her with a scornful look, and allowed her to argue without much contradiction. We now entered the town, where I conducted the goddess to my house, and going immediately to the prætor, who was then at Miletus, informed him that Truth was arrived there to free the people of Miletus from all their errors, and I asked his permission and concurrence, which he readily granted, and wrote to the emperor an account of the extraordinary event. I then returned to the goddess, and by her instruction made preparations in my house for her discoveries. I published that those who liked it might come and be undeceived with regard to various fallacies. The goddess kept herself concealed, and I was empowered to command the torch and mirror.

The first day was assigned to the satisfying of suspicious husbands. It had been made known that an invention was ready, by which all married men who doubted the fidelity of their wives might discover either their guilt or innocence. The first who offered himself to this hazard was a rich citizen of Miletus. He came to me accompanied by a friend, who earnestly endeavoured to dissuade him from the experiment.

"What advantage," said he, "do you hope from the trial? If your wife's frailty be detected, you will have gained a certain evil, which is now only possible, and if her innocence appear, you are in the same condition as now."

"No," answered the husband; "I shall then be easy, and I am now perpetually disquieted."

"And why all this anxiety?" inquired his friend: "what cause have you for suspicion?"

"My chief cause," said he, "is that my wife loves me more than she can give a reason for; I am sure there is nothing in me to justify all the kindness she professes."

"So," replied the other, "her love is hypocrisy, and her neglect would be the love of another. With such a temper you can never be satisfied."

"Yes," said the husband, "I am going to be satisfied now."

"But only for the past," rejoined his friend; "you must still be in trouble for the future."

Thus this faithful adviser continued to argue against the enterprise; but in spite of his reasons the husband persisted in demanding the inquiry. I desired him to go home and return to me attended by his wife, to which he said that he would bring her on some pretence, and not explain the true design. I then made preparations for the trial, which was thus conducted. At the torch of Truth I lit a small taper of peculiar materials, and placed it in a room, from which I excluded the light of day. Such was the sagacity of this light from the torch of Truth, that when a married woman, secretly corrupt, entered the room, it was to be extinguished, but to burn on at the presence of a wife without blemish. I shut out the daylight to make the sudden darkness and conviction more solemn.

The inquisitive husband soon appeared with his wife, who believed she had come to see some splendid show. I took the husband aside, and told him the nature of the trial. He then entered the room, and desired his wife to follow him, fixing his eyes on the taper. She was no sooner in the room than all was dark. I then let in the light upon the detected wife, while her husband assailed her with reproaches. She was much surprised to hear him so violently upbraid her with the taper's going out, which she declared was not by her contrivance, and was besides, she thought, no great calamity. When the magic was explained to her, she protested against the injustice of her reputation being forfeited because a taper had gone out; perhaps it had mistaken her for another woman; she would maintain her honour against any torch or taper in the world; and then she appealed to her husband, whether he would believe a candle rather than his wife.

But the detection was to be completed by discovery of her accomplice, for which another proceeding was necessary. I lit the taper again, and giving it to the wife, desired her to pass with it in her hand before the mirror of Truth, when instead of her own image the assistant in her guilt was to appear in the mirror with the taper in his hand. She complied, though unwillingly, while the husband looked eagerly into the mirror for his enemy; and as his wife passed he saw a perfect resemblance of that friend who had endeavoured to deter him from this inquiry by so urgent a remonstrance. His wife was so overcome and guilty at the sight that she no longer accused the taper of detraction, but fell on her knees for pardon. Her husband wept; and as the negotiation seemed likely to be prolonged, I told him, since he was now cleared from suspicion, it would be convenient that he should give audience to his wife at home, in order that other husbands might come and enjoy the same satisfaction.

Another wife was soon brought to trial: she was possessed of great beauty, and instantly extinguished the taper. At the second trial for detection of her partner, as she passed like the preceding lady in front of the mirror, with the taper in her hand, three young men appeared holding the taper in concert. The husband was much distressed by the number: one, I believe, he could have forgiven, but the plurality seemed greatly to discompose him. He desired his wife to remain before the mirror, till he had recognised all their faces, which filled him with surprise; for he had regarded all these culprits as excellent young men, having estimated their merit by the deference with which they had treated himself.

The next lady came to the information of the taper with evident reluctance; but when she had entered the room, the light continued steady, upon which her husband, who had shared her apprehension, embraced her with great joy; but in the midst of their triumph the fatal light went out. The husband, in consternation, inquired why the taper had retracted its first acquittal, to which I answered that it distinguished the time of transgression: its going out was instantaneous, when the fault was recent, and there was a delay in proportion to the length of innocence that had intervened before the experiment. He comforted himself that the delay had now been considerable: his wife protested that the interval had not been less than ten years, and she thought the taper might have said nothing about such an obsolete adventure. In this her husband agreed: he called it a censorious candle; and dispensing with the intelligence of the mirror, led his wife out of the house.

In the trial of some ladies, the taper faded gradually, grew more and more dim, and required several minutes from its first decay, to be quite extinguished. By this it denoted a reluctant and tenacious sacrifice of virtue; in going out suddenly it signified a speedy resolution. A lady came to trial with great alacrity, and seeming quite convinced of her own innocence, but as soon as she was within the knowledge of the taper its light began to waste away. The husband was in despair, while the wife protested vehemently against the extinction, which she called a vile slander; but the taper, after being gradually almost reduced to darkness, suddenly recovered itself into a blaze.

"What!" exclaimed the husband, "has the taper been convinced by my wife's declaration, and recalled its verdict!"

"No," I answered, "it had no intention of going out; but from its approach to darkness, you are to conclude that your wife's virtue has been brought to the same extremity, the taper having been almost extinguished, she must have been almost frail. In every instance the taper follows accurately the example of the lady." The wife was so overcome by the unforeseen exposure of the fault, which she had not quite committed, that by shame and silence she confessed herself to have been nearly faithless. She was conducted to the mirror, into which the husband looking anxiously for the tempter, that he might provide against a return of the danger, saw one of his dearest friends, according to the plan of human affairs. In the case of another wife, the taper gave the same verdict of an approach to error, and when she was brought before the mirror it presented a singular spectacle. The form of a certain young man appeared in it for an instant and vanished, and it was followed by twenty others in succession, only a glimpse being given of each. Being desired to interpret this, I informed the husband, that the fault of his wife had been only thought of, and no choice had been made of an associate; but in her imagination all these young men had been competitors for the office.

It often happened that when a lady was presented to the taper it would decay and revive many times, and some appeared to have been constantly preparing for frailty, yet still without attainment. When the fading of the taper was gradual, its restoration was always by a sudden effort. In several cases, after growing dim, and blazing forth again many times, it went out at last, showing that much endeavour and resolution had been wasted. In the decays of light the flame was more or less reduced in proportion as the danger had been urgent. Sometimes when the alteration was not very palpable there was a dispute about it, the wife urging the husband not to see any diminution of the light.

The fame of these discoveries being spread through the city, every married man was seized with a desire of being set at rest, and those wives who refused the experiment fell under a reproach little less than conviction. For many days the taper continued its information, to the great disturbance of numberless families.