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 prodigally2 waste the material of life and enjoyment3, as we do our other possessions, as if we thought it inexhaustible.
To the errors of youth succeed the vices4 of mature age. Ambition and cupidity5, envy and hatred6 concur7 to devour8 the very aliment of life. The storms which prostrate9 the moral faculties10, equally sap the physical energy. Every debasing passion is a consuming poison. To what other source of evil can we assign those inquietudes and puerile11 anxieties, which disturb the days of the greater portion of mankind? They are occupied by trifling12 interests, and agitated13 by vain debates. They watch for futile14 excitements, and are in desolation from chimerical15 troubles. Pleasant emotions sustain life, and produce upon it the effect of a gentle current of air[74] upon flame. Trains of thought habitually17 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 distinguished18 physician recorded in his tablets the apparent paradox19, 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 delightful20 leisure. Their thoughts, generally estranged21 from vulgar interests, have nothing in common with those afflicting22 ideas, with which other men are continually agitated and corroded23. Their reflections are agreeable by their variety, their vague liberty, and sometimes even by their frivolity24. Devoted25 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 vivacity26 may be communicated to them, and, in some sort, produce a renewal27 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 sublime28 contemplations, even were they in some degree superstitious29, 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 infinity30, the stars, the wonders of the universe, the heroic virtues31, and other similar subjects. Such were those of Democritus, Philolaus, Xenophanes, the Stoics32, and the ancient astronomers33.’
‘I may cite next those less profound thinkers, who[75] instead of exacting34 difficult researches, seemed destined35 only to amuse the mind; the followers36 of which philosophy, deviating37 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 thorny39, arid40, narrow and contentious41, these are fatal in tendency, and cannot but abridge42 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 corroding43 cares are two sources of evil influences, which philosophy avoids. Another influence, adverse44 to life, is that mental feebleness, which renders persons perpetually solicitous45 about their health, effeminate and unhappy. Fixing their thoughts intensely on the functions of life, those functions, that are subjects of this anxious inspection46, labor47. Imagining themselves sick, they soon become so. The undoubting confidence that we shall not be sick, is perhaps the best prophylactic49 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 prodigious50; 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 philosophic51 direction, it may operate an immense result, both in restoring and preserving health.
[76]
A man reads a letter, which announces misfortunes, or sinister52 events. His head turns. His appetite ceases. He becomes faint, and oppressed; and his life is in danger. No contagion53, however, no physical blow has touched him. A thought has palsied his forces in a moment; and has successively deranged54 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 miraculous55, it is probable, that a great part may be accounted for on this principle.[17]
Suppose a paralytic56 disciple57 of the school of miracles, whose head is exalted58 with ideas of the mystic power of certain holy men, and who is meditating59 on the succor60 which he expects from a divine interposition manifested in his favor. In an ecstasy61 of faith, he sees a minister of heaven descend62 enveloped63 in light, who bids him ‘arise, and walk.’ In a moment the unknown nervous energy, excited by the mysterious power of faith, touches the countless64 inert65 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 magnetism66. We know, what a salutary effect the sight of his physician produces on the patient, who has confidence in him. His[77] cheerful and encouraging conversations are among the most efficient remedies. If we entertained a long cherished and intimate persuasion67, that by certain signs, or touches, he could dispel68 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 entirely69 inefficient70, 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 animated71 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 infancy73, which is unsusceptible of prejudice experienced nothing from it; that mental alienation74 resisted the action of magnetism, even in an habitual16 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 fully75 succeeded. Without touching76 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[78] more excitable nerves, we produced convulsions, and what they called crises. We have seen an exalted imagination become sufficiently77 energetic to take away the power of speech in a moment. At the same time, we proved the nullity of magnetism, put in opposition78 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 demonstration79, and to finish the painting of the effect of the imagination, a power equally capable of agitating80, 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 wrought81 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 procured82 abundant sweats for a patient, in making him believe that a perfectly83 inert substance given him, was a violent sudorific84.
[79]
It is worthy85 of the attention of moralists and physiologists86, 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 dread87 the perilous88 influence of this art, which can kill, as well as make alive. This excitable and vivid faculty89 is never more easily put in operation, that when acted upon by the presentiments90 of charlatanism91 and superstition92.
We possess another means of operation, which may be exercised without danger, and the power of which is, also, capable of producing prodigies93. Education rendering94 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 epidemics95, the physicians, who are alarmed at their danger, are ordinarily the first victims. Fear plunges96 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 repel97 contagion.
I could cite many distinguished names of men, who attributed their cure, in desperate maladies, to the courage which never forsook98 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 retard99 death. It is a delightful idea. I feel with what intense ardor100 one might desire to live another day, another hour, to see a friend or a child for the last[80] time. The flame of love, replacing that of life, blazes up for a moment before both are quenched101 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 solicitude102 which the greater part of the sick experience. The latter, produced by mental feebleness, increases the inquietude and aggravates103 the danger. Even indifference104 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 conjectural105 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 esteem106 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[81] the progress of their science. To me it seems incessantly107 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 eminent108 physicians of our cities, one practises by administering strong cathartics. Another is resolute109 for copious110 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 prudent111 to confide48 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 doctrine112, 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 agitation113 and fear had not fatal effects, in rendering us more accessible to maladies, wisdom would strive to banish114 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 frail115 constitution. But how many men of the feeblest health survive those of the most vigorous and robust116 frame! Calculations upon the duration of life are so uncertain that we can always make them in our favor.
[82]
To him who cultivates a mild and pleasant philosophy, old age itself should not be contemplated117 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 conceals118 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 afflicted119 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 converse120 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 tranquillity121, let us, as much as possible, avoid importunate122 cares. Our business is to unite as many friends as we may; and to beguile123 pain and sorrow by treasuring as many resources of innocent amusement as our means will admit. If our sufferings become painful and incurable124, we must concentrate our mental energy and settle on our solitary125 powers of endurance. We die, or we recover. Nature, though calm, moves irresistibly126 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[83] 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 prop38. Ah! during the few days of sorrow that remain to them on the earth, how earnestly ought we to strive to mitigate127 their pains, to calm their alarms and animate72 their feeble hopes! Blessed be that beneficent being who shall call one smile more upon their dying lips!
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1
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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prodigally
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| adv.浪费地，丰饶地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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concur
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| v.同意，意见一致，互助，同时发生 | |
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devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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afflicting
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| 痛苦的 | |
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corroded
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| 已被腐蚀的 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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stoics
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| 禁欲主义者，恬淡寡欲的人，不以苦乐为意的人( stoic的名词复数 ) | |
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astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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deviating
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| v.偏离，越轨( deviate的现在分词 ) | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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contentious
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| adj.好辩的，善争吵的 | |
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abridge
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| v.删减，删节，节略，缩短 | |
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corroding
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| 使腐蚀，侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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48
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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49
prophylactic
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| adj.预防疾病的；n.预防疾病 | |
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50
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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53
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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55
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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56
paralytic
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| adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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58
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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59
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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succor
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| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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62
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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68
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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69
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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71
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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74
alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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75
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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76
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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77
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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78
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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79
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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80
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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81
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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82
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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83
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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84
sudorific
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| n.发汗剂；adj.发汗的 | |
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85
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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86
physiologists
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| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
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87
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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89
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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90
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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91
charlatanism
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| n.庸医术，庸医的行为 | |
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92
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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93
prodigies
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| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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94
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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95
epidemics
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| n．流行病 | |
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96
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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97
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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98
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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99
retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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100
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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101
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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102
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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103
aggravates
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| 使恶化( aggravate的第三人称单数 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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104
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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conjectural
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| adj.推测的 | |
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106
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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108
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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109
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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110
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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111
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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112
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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113
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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114
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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115
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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116
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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117
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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118
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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121
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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122
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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123
beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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124
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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125
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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126
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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127
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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