Part 14
LXXVIII. I see this matter in quite a different light, and look upon all this aggravated degree of pain to be imaginary, and consider the reasoning by which the existence of it is attempted to be proved, as fallacious and delusive. It is confounding our ideas of objects, to suppose that the division of integral parts, is analogous to the separation of the soul from the body. The pain in the first instance, consists in the forcibly breaking their connexions, or in the first shocks of the violence, which disposes to their disunion. In the separation of the soul from the body, there is no insertion of material fibres to be torn out by the roots, nor any division to be made of connected substantial parts. From whence then can bodily pain be derived?
LXXIX. The using the same words promiscuously, causes mankind to run into infinite errors, and especially if the application of them is made to things that are fundamentally very different. The expression _tearing the soul from the body_, fascinates or misleads many people in the business we are now treating of; the phrase should be understood in a figurative sense, and we are apt to construe it in a strict or literal one. In consequence of which, as we know we can’t tear from our bodies, the most minute shred, without feeling great pain, or even extract any foreign substance, that has been violently introduced into, and sticks in any part of our frame, without being liable to the same sensation; led away then and betrayed by the sound of the expression, we are apt to imagine, that something similar happens in the separation of the soul from the body; but the soul is a pure spirit, that can neither adhere, or be made to adhere to any body whatever, nor can it be bound to it by ligatures, nor united with it by fibres, nor fixed to it by any kind of fastening, nor intangled with it by any kind of roots or insertions; and finally, the mode of its union to the body, is incomprehensible to all our philosophy or understanding; and consequently, a description of its disunion cannot be given in the words of any language. There is no doubt, but the term _tearing from_ is metaphorical; and that we might with less impropriety, although we never can with propriety, in describing the separation of the soul from the body, say, that it evaporated off, it was dissipated, or that it had been exhaled, than that it had been torn away; for its disunion from the body, is performed by a movement that is supremely insensible, because on the part of the corporeal substance, there is not the least resistance made to its flying off. Vapours are continually exhaling from every part of our bodies, without giving us the least pain. And why is this? Why it is, because that on account of their thinness and delicacy, they find no opposition in their passage, either from the solids, or the pores of the skin. What obstruction then can you suppose the soul meets with, in its exit from the body, which is infinitely more subtil and thin, than the finest vapours?
LXXX. Let us contemplate the thing in another point of view; and admit that the soul at the time of its being snatched away from the body, caused a violent shock, like that of tearing to pieces all the entrails, and inverting the whole interior organization. I say that even supposing this, the pain that it would occasion would be very slight, or next to nothing; and the reason is, because that in those ultimate stages of life, all the faculties are so extremely languid, and the operations of nature so feeble and remiss, as hardly to be perceived; and the sensation of pain, which is one of those faculties, being in the same state with the others, and the agent which is to stimulate them being equally feeble with the rest; although in the time of vigour, it was capable of exerting a force that had the power of producing great pain, in the present state of things, it is not capable of giving a shock that can excite any very acute sensation, nor if it was, is the subject it is exercised upon capable of perceiving, or being violently affected by it.
LXXXI. I am inclined to think, that a few moments before death, there comes on a kind of half death, or stupor, that is something like a lethargy or swooning, and that in this interval, there remains no kind of recollection or reflexion; and it is probable, that the morning of our life, and the evening of our death, are preceded by a sort of crepuscules or twilight, which brighten and grow clearer as the day of our life comes on, and which darken and grow more obscure, as the total night of our death draws near.
LXXXII. Hitherto we have been treating of natural deaths; but violent deaths, which do not happen till three or four days after receiving the injury that occasions them, may be considered to come under the description of natural ones; as we may suppose those people die in the same way, that those do who are carried off by an acute disease.
LXXXIII. Sudden violent deaths, which are so much dreaded, are the least painful of all; and indeed I was about to say, that people in such cases, hardly feel any pain at all, or at most but an instantaneous one; because the operation of the cause which induces them, takes away in a moment, all sense of feeling. It is well known, that those who have fallen from a great height, and have lain a considerable time afterwards as if they were dead, have, when they came to themselves, affirmed, they did not feel the blow they received upon coming to the ground. The great Chancellor Bacon, tells a story of a gentleman who was very desirous of knowing what people felt who were hanged, and in order to be satisfied about it, determined to make an experiment of the thing on himself. For this purpose, he fastened a rope to the cieling of a room, in which rope he made a noose, and after adjusting it to a proper length, he stood upon a stool, and fixed the nooze round his neck, in the expectation, that after suffering himself to be suspended, he should be able to recover the stool again; but the good gentleman was a little out in his calculation; for if it had not been for a friend who was present, to whom he had communicated what he intended to do, and who cut the rope in time, the experimental philosopher had been as dead as if he had been executed by the hands of the hangman. The account he gave of this matter was, that from the moment his body became suspended by the rope, he lost all sense and recollection; that he had not the least remembrance of the stool, or apprehension of the danger he was in, nor even any sensation of pain, arising from the suffocation that was brought on.
LXXXIV. This, I firmly believe, is what happens to all those who are executed by the hands of justice, whether they are hanged, strangled by the bow-string, or beheaded; and in general, to all those who suffer violent deaths that are as sudden as these are; for they can only feel a momentary or instantaneous pain, and the instant they receive the fatal blow, they are from that time, to the separation of the soul from the body, mere effigies of men, and have no more sensation of pain, than stocks or stones; and notwithstanding, that between the intermediate space of their receiving the blow, or in case they are hanged, of being turned off, they are seen to make some convulsive motions, these motions are merely mechanical, and are by no means governed by the will, or directed by reason.
LXXXV. We will not exempt, as coming under this general rule, even those who are burnt alive. This is a sort of punishment, which strikes all the world with extreme horror, because they generally conceive, that from the instant a person who is executed in this way, is thrown into the fire, to the time of his resigning his last breath, he feels the excruciating torments of the fire. But I am of opinion, that he feels nothing after the first minute that he is committed to the flames; nor can I conceive, that his perception of pain can endure even so long as that.
LXXXVI. I think I have tolerably well proved, what I at first asserted; but as the reader may object, that this paradox ought to have been classed among physical matters, instead of among moral and political ones, I will endeavour now, to remove this objection; which I hope I shall be able to do, notwithstanding the decadence of the faculties, and the want of sensation at the moment of death, are properer objects for philosophical, than moral speculations. I shall begin with observing, that we ought to distinguish between the matter of the proof, and the essence of the subject we are handling. The subject in the present case, consists in a theoretical proposition, that death with respect to what there is simply and merely in the thing itself, ought not to be feared, or that the fear of death, considered in this manner, is not reasonable or well-founded; now thus considered, the question is purely a moral one, because it directly combats an inordinate passion of the soul. The proofs of the truth of the proposition, appertain to philosophy; but this is what we see happen every day with regard to other moral questions. When the question is, whether a marriage should be dissolved on account of imbecility, all the proofs in the trial are purely physical, &c.
LXXXVII. But the question more immediately appertains to morality, on account of the end for which I proposed it, than it does with respect to its own proper matter; for this end is a point of morality of the most serious importance. There is great necessity for banishing this panic terror, and this dismal apprehension of the tormenting pains of death. It is very common to see dying people (and I speak of what I have known and experienced myself) extremely distressed by this idea, not so much on account of the dread of the exquisite pain itself, as on account of the consequences that may result from it. They figure to themselves, that the pains which terminate this mortal life, are so extremely intense, that they will occasion them to lose all patience, and prevent their submitting themselves to the will of Providence with the christian resignation they ought; and are also apprehensive, that it would cause them to break out into furious acts of desperation. This anxiety has such an effect on them, that it prevents the operation of those christian dispositions, that should accompany a man in his last moments, and which are so necessary to promote his dying a good death; and besides this, they even put him in danger of distrusting the Divine Goodness at so critical a period. I have seen many who were in their perfect senses, and who had been people of good and exemplary lives, who have been greatly distressed by this idea;
_O genus attonitum gelidæ formidine mortis!_
LXXXVIII. I suppose that sentence of St. Paul’s, _Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos tentari supra id quod potestis_, in English, _God is good and just, and will not suffer you to be tried or tempted beyond your strength_, would be an excellent antidote for this malady. The thinking otherwise of the Deity, would not be contemplating him, as a most merciful father, nor as a just God, but considering him as a cruel tyrant, who at the moment on which your eternal happiness depends, should afflict you so severely, as to cause you to commit acts of desperation. What faith, and the light of natural reason teaches us, is, that his goodness never permits the rigour of the trial, to exceed the power of the soul to contend with and resist it; and as I observed before, this reflexion is an excellent antidote against the malady we have been speaking of; but with all this, if it is not assisted and enforced by the persuasive eloquence of an able friend, or a good pastoral director, it is apt to lose some of its efficacy, and not to quiet the fluctuations of the mind so thoroughly as could be wished, and especially if not attended to in time; and I therefore think that it would be necessary, whether sick or well, for all people to remain in a firm persuasion, that these excruciating pains in the article of death are imaginary.
_Appendix to the foregoing._
LXXXIX. I have sometimes observed, that those who attend on dying people have been much dejected upon finding them in their last moments, make some very irregular and extraordinary motions, and have been afraid and believed that those agitations, had proceeded from some impatience that had seized them. But let them not be uneasy on this account; because it is most likely, that these motions are merely mechanical; and that in case they should not be so, there is no mischief to be apprehended from them; for in that proximate state to death, if people are not deprived of their senses, the use of their reason is so feeble, or so confused, that very little, if any, of that free will can be exercised by them which is necessary to constitute sin, or at least any serious sin; for no intoxicated man, nor any one at the instant he awakes from a profound sleep, can be in a more stunned or stupified state, than a dying person at such a crisis.
XC. Finally, both with respect to the matter of this appendix, as well as with regard to that of the subject of this Essay, I shall proceed to give a last, and most efficacious consolation, against the apprehension, that the extreme pains of death are likely to endanger the loss of people’s souls; for admitting that those pains were real, and as severe as they are represented to be, is there any danger that the dying person who is oppressed by them, should fall into the serious sin of impatience, or that he should incur the guilt of any other mortal crime? To this, I resolutely answer that he could not; for the same reasoning that states the pain to be so insufferably intense, removes all the hazard of sinning, because it must disturb the understanding to such a degree, as to deprive a man of all free will. This is a consequence resulting from all passions that are excessively violent, as is agreed by all philosophers and theologians. Virgil, who had great judgment and penetration in these matters, represents Chorœbus, who had been totally deprived of his senses by grief for the imprisonment of his beloved Cassandra, as divested of all free will or reflexion also, in the following lines:
_Non tulit hanc speciem furiatâ mente Chorœbus,_ _Et sese medium injecit moriturus in agmen._
PARADOX X.
_The desire of posthumous fame is vain and futile._
XCI. There is no appetite or craving of man can be more irrational, than that, which is directed to an object he can never taste of or enjoy; and such a one, is the desire of having his name become famous in the world after his death. When a man is dead, every thing here that respects himself dies also; and what advantage can it be of to him after his decease, that all the world burst forth in acclamations and applauses of his great deeds and talents? The smoke of all this incense vanishes in the air, nor can the least particle of it, touch or affect him to whom it is offered. He feels no more of the praises of his virtues, than a statue; nor is he any more sensible of the celebrations of his grandeur, than an edifice that is erected to perpetuate it. If his works were pleasing in the eye of God, and he is in the regions of rest, he may feel the satisfaction of having left a good example to the world; and all that passes out of that sphere, let the celebrations of the world be what they will, can be of no avail to him. He will either despise, or be totally ignorant of the eulogiums that are bestowed on him by mortals. What convenience or what satisfaction, do either Alexander and Cæsar now enjoy, from being applauded through the globe for the two most illustrious warriors of the world? Homer and Virgil, from being celebrated as the two most elegant poets? and Cicero and Demosthenes, from being admired as the two most eloquent orators? They are perhaps entirely ignorant of all that is said of them here; and if they are permitted to know it, it is most likely, that such knowledge tends more to torment than please them. Empedocles was certainly a great mad-man, if, according to what some have said of him, he precipitated himself into the flames of Mount Ætna, in order that the world upon not finding his body, should imagine he had ascended up to heaven, and would worship him as a deity. This philosopher however, as he was a follower of the Pythagorean system, and believed the transmigration of souls, might expect, that by his being placed successively in a variety of bodies, he should hereafter view with great pleasure, the worship and adoration that was paid to him in this world; but what enjoyment of this sort can a man hope for, who believes that when he leaves these regions, he shall never return to them again? And what can it be to such a man, whether he is worshiped or forgotten? Thus the emperor Adrian was much madder than Empedocles, who without believing in the doctrine of transmigration, erected temples and altars, and appointed priests, making provision at the same time for maintaining them, and providing victims to be sacrificed to his infamous little idol Antinous. Of what service could all this be to that disgraced and unfortunate boy? And we may make the same observation, on the apotheosis and ridiculous deification of the Roman Emperors. Vespasian, although he expected this farce after his death, would be played over with respect to him, treated the thing with the scorn it deserved, by saying to those who surrounded him when he was near his end, _I feel as if I was going to be converted from a man into a deity_.
XCII. That mankind should be desirous of seeing themselves applauded, and their names honoured while living, seems very natural, because they may find a gratification in it; but that they should be anxious for posthumous honours, which they can neither taste or enjoy, seems to bespeak a disordered imagination, and a distempered brain. Ovid paints Sappho, as feeling great satisfaction, at seeing her muse celebrated by all the world.
_At mihi Pegasides blandissima carmina dictant;_ _Jam canitur toto nomen in orbe meum._
Thus far he expressed himself very properly, because he spoke in the name of Sappho while she was living, and might be supposed to be gratified by, and pleased with the aromatic fumes of those acclamations. But he reasoned very ill, when speaking of Hercules and Theseus, he reckoned as a balance for the loss of those heroes, the applauses the world would bestow on their memories:
_Occidit et Theseus, et qui tumulavit Orestem;_ _Sed tamen in laudes vivit uterque suas._
XCIII. The eulogiums of the dead, can only be enjoyed by the living. The relations, the friends, and the country of the deceased, divide among themselves the whole fragrancy of this grateful gale, nor can the least breath of it reach the region, which is inhabited by those who depart hence. There remains to the dead but one happy lot, and that is derived from, and depends on their having died well. _Beati mortui, qui in Domino moriuntur._
PARADOX XI.
_There is no man of a clear and good understanding who is not a good-intentioned one._
XCIV. I believe that all the mortals in every quarter of the Globe, will be struck with surprize, at hearing me broach this paradox, and will look upon it as one of the greatest chimeras in ethics, that ever entered the head of man; for there is scarce any one of the least observation, who cannot affirm and attest, he has seen and known people of very good capacities, who were very perverse and ill-disposed. But I, in opposition to all this, assert that I never met with such a one; and I not only make this declaration, but declare further, that I think it next to impossible that there should be such a man, and that if by chance such a one should be found, he ought to be considered as a monster.
XCV. But in order that we should not misunderstand or confound things, I think it necessary for me to explain, what I understand by an evil-intentioned man. By an evil-intentioned man, then, I mean such a one in whom those vices reign, which are most pernicious to society, that is to say, malignity of heart, unforgivingness, turbulence or restlessness, and a desire of usurping other peoples property; and in general, all sly and crafty persons should be enumerated in the catalogue of evil-intentioned men, such for example, as are attentive to nothing but their own gratifications and emoluments, and who have not the least concern for, or who are totally indifferent about the good of their neighbour, or the welfare of the public.
XCVI. The deformity, the baseness, and the dissonance from natural reason, there is in a person’s doing a voluntary injury to another, is so strikingly represented to a man of a clear and a sound understanding, that except in here and there an instance, where some violent passion intervenes to disturb and disorder the reason, it seems impossible, that a person should voluntarily commit acts that are directly injurious and offensive to his neighbour. And it may be from this principle, that we have seen some who have been reputed as atheists, who, notwithstanding their erroneous belief that there is no such thing as future rewards and punishments, and that they expect no recompence for their good actions, or chastisement for their bad ones hereafter; as members of human society, have behaved well, or at least have done no civil mischief to it; I mean that they have conducted themselves like quiet peaceable people, and have lived contentedly upon their own patrimonies, or on what they have lawfully acquired, and have shewn themselves averse to all violence and injustice. Such among the antients, was Pliny the elder; and such among those of more modern date, was the Englishman Thomas Hobbes.