Miracles and Healing Through Imagination

Next Morning, so soon as I awoke, I went to call up my Antagonist. "It is," said I, accosting him, "as great a Miracle to find a great Wit, like yours, buried in Sleep, as to see Fire without Heat and Action:" He bore with this ugly Compliment; "but," (cryed he, with a Cholerick kind of Love) "will you never leave these Fabulous Terms? Know, that these Names defame the Name of a Philosopher; and that seeing the wise Man sees nothing in the World, but what he conceives, and judges may be conceived, he ought to abhor all those Expressions of Prodigies, and extraordinary Events of Nature, which Block heads have invented to excuse the Weakness of their Understanding."

The next morning, as soon as I woke, I went to wake my opponent. When I approached him, I said, "Finding a great mind like yours buried in sleep is as great a miracle as seeing fire without heat or motion." He put up with this awkward compliment. "But," he cried with a kind of angry affection, "will you never stop using such fanciful language? You should know that such words disgrace the name of a philosopher. A wise man sees nothing in the world that he cannot understand or judge to be understandable. So he should hate all those expressions about wonders and extraordinary events in nature. Fools invented them to excuse their own lack of understanding."

I thought my self then obliged in Conscience, to endeavour to undeceive him; and therefore, said I, "Though you be very stiff and obstinate in your Opinions, yet I have plainly seen supernatural Things happen:" "Say you so," continued he; "you little know, that the force of Imagination is able to cure all the Diseases which you attribute to supernatural Causes, by reason of a certain natural Balsam, that contains Qualities quite contrary to the qualities of the Diseases that attack us; which happens, when our Imagination informed by Pain searches in that place for the specifick Remedy, which it applies to the Poison. That's the reason, why an able Physician of your World advises the Patient to make use of an Ignorant Doctor whom he esteems to be very knowing, rather than of a very Skilful Physician whom he may imagine to be Ignorant; because he fancies, that our Imagination labouring to recover our Health, provided it be assisted by Remedies, is able to cure us; but that the strongest Medicines are too weak, when not applied by Imagination. Do you think it strange, that the first Men of your World lived so many Ages without the least Knowledge of Physick? No. And what might have been the Cause of that, in your judgement; unless their Nature was as yet in its force, and that natural Balsam in vigour, before they were spoilt by the Drugs wherewith Physicians consume you; it being enough then for the recovery of ones Health, earnestly to wish for it, and to imagine himself cured: So that their vigorous Fancies, plunging into that vital Oyl, extracted the Elixir of it, and applying Actives to Passives, in almost the twinkling of an Eye they found themselves as sound as before: Which, notwithstanding the Depravation of Nature, happens even at this day, though somewhat rarely; and is by the Multitude called a Miracle: For my part, I believe not a jot on't, and have this to say for my self, that it is easier for all these Doctors to be mistaken, than that the other may not easily come to pass: For I put the Question to them; A Patient recovered out of a Feaver, heartily desired, during his sickness, as it is like, that he might be cured, and, may be, made Vows for that effect; so that of necessity he must either have dyed, continued sick, or recovered: Had he died, then would it have been said, kind Heaven hath put an end to his Pains; Nay, and that according to his Prayers, he was now cured of all Diseases, praised be the Lord: Had his Sickness continued, one would have said, he wanted Faith; but because he is cured, it's a Miracle forsooth. Is it not far more likely, that his Fancy, being excited by violent Desires, hath done its Duty and wrought the Cure? For grant he hath escaped, what then? must it needs be a Miracle? How many have we seen, pray, and after many solemn Vows and Protestations, go to pot with all their fair Promises and Resolutions."

I felt obliged in conscience to try to correct his mistaken belief. So I said, "Though you are very stubborn in your opinions, I have plainly seen supernatural things happen." "Is that so?" he continued. "You have little idea what the power of imagination can do. It can cure all the diseases you attribute to supernatural causes. This is possible because of a natural balm whose qualities are directly opposed to those of the diseases that attack us. When pain alerts our imagination, it searches there for the particular remedy and applies it to the poison. "That is why a skilled physician in your world offers patients this advice. Choose an ignorant doctor you believe to be very knowledgeable over a highly skilled physician you believe to be ignorant. For he believes that our imagination can restore our health, provided remedies assist it. But even the strongest medicines are too weak when the imagination does not apply them. "Do you find it strange that the first people in your world lived for so many ages without knowing anything about medicine? No. And what do you think was the reason? Was it not that their nature was still strong and their natural balm vigorous? These had not yet been spoiled by the drugs with which physicians wear you down. Back then, to recover your health, you only had to wish for it earnestly and imagine yourself cured. Their vigorous imaginations plunged into that vital oil and drew out its elixir. They applied its active properties to the passive ones, and almost in the blink of an eye, they were well again. "Despite the corruption of nature, this still happens today, though rather rarely. The crowd calls it a miracle. For my part, I don't believe a bit of it. In my defense, I say that all these learned men are more likely to be mistaken than that the other explanation is unlikely. Consider this: a patient has recovered from a fever. During his illness, he probably wished with all his heart to be cured. Perhaps he even made vows to that end. He had to die, remain sick, or recover. "If he had died, people would have said that kind Heaven had ended his suffering. Indeed, they would have said that, in answer to his prayers, he was now cured of all diseases, praised be the Lord. If he had remained sick, someone would have said he lacked faith. But because he recovered, it is a miracle, forsooth. "Isn't it far more likely that his imagination, stirred by his intense desires, did its work and cured him? Suppose he survived. What then? Must it be a miracle? How many have we seen pray and, after many solemn vows and declarations, die despite all their fine promises and resolutions?"

"But at least," replied I to him, "if what you say of that Balsam be true, it is a mark of the Rationality of our Soul; seeing without the help of our Reason, or the Concurrence of our Will, she Acts of her self; as if being without us, she applied the Active to the Passive. Now if being separated from us she is Rational, it necessarily follows that she is Spiritual; and if you acknowledge her to be Spiritual, I conclude she is immortal; seeing Death happens to Animals, only by the changing of Forms, of which Matter alone is capable."

“But at least,” I replied, “if what you say about that balsam is true, it shows that our soul is rational. For it acts on its own, without the help of our reason or the consent of our will. It is as if the soul were outside us, applying the active to the passive. Now, if the soul is rational when separated from us, it must be spiritual. And if you acknowledge that it is spiritual, I conclude that it is immortal. For animals die only through changes of form, and only matter can undergo such changes.”

The Young Man at that, decently sitting down upon his Bed, and making me also to sit, discoursed, as I remember, in this manner: "As for the Soul of Beasts, which is Corporeal, I do not wonder they Die; seeing the best Harmony of the four Qualities may be dissolved, the greatest force of Blood quelled, and the loveliest Proportion of Organs disconcerted; but I wonder very much, that our intellectual, incorporeal, and immortal Soul should be constrained to dislodge and leave us, by the same Cause that makes an Ox to perish. Hath she covenanted with our Body, that as soon as he should receive a prick with a Sword in the Heart, a Bullet in the Brain, or a Musket-shot through the Chest, she should pack up and be gone? And if that Soul were Spiritual, and of her self so Rational that being separated from our Mass she understood as well as when Clothed with a Body; why cannot Blind Men, born with all the fair advantages of that intellectual Soul, imagine what it is to see? Is it because they are not as yet deprived of Sight, by the Death of all their Senses? How! I cannot then make use of my Right Hand, because I have a Left!

At that, the young man sat down properly on his bed and invited me to sit too. As I remember, he spoke something like this: "I am not surprised that beasts die, since their souls are bodily. Even the best harmony of the four qualities can be broken. The greatest force of blood can be subdued, and the finest arrangement of organs disrupted. But I am amazed that our intellectual, incorporeal, and immortal souls must leave us for the same reason an ox dies. Has the soul made a bargain with the body? Has it agreed to pack up and leave as soon as the body receives a sword thrust in the heart, a bullet in the brain, or a musket shot through the chest? And suppose the soul were spiritual and rational in itself. Suppose it understood as well apart from our physical mass as it did when clothed in a body. Why, then, can people born blind not imagine what it is to see, despite having all the fine advantages of that intellectual soul? Is it because they have not yet been deprived of sight by the death of all their senses? What! Then I cannot use my right hand because I have a left one!

"And in fine, to make a just comparison which will overthrow all that you have said; I shall only alledge to you a Painter, who cannot work without his pencil: And I'll tell you, that it is just so with the Soul, when she wants the use of the Senses. Yet they have the Soul, which can only act imperfectly, because of the loss of one of her Tools, in the course of Life, to be able then to work to Perfection, when after our death she hath lost them all. If they tell me, over and over again, that she needeth not these Instruments for performing her Functions, I'll tell them e'en so, That then all the Blind about the Streets ought to be Whipt at a Carts-Arse, for playing the Counterfeits in pretending not to See a bit."

"Finally, let me make a fair comparison that will overturn everything you have said. Consider a painter who cannot work without a brush. I tell you, it is just the same with the soul when it cannot use the senses. Yet they claim that the soul can work perfectly after death, when it has lost all its tools. During life, it can act only imperfectly because it has lost one of them. If they keep telling me that the soul does not need these instruments to perform its functions, I will tell them this: all the blind people in the streets should be whipped at the back of a cart for pretending they cannot see a thing."

He would have gone on in such impertinent Arguments, had not I stopt his Mouth, by desiring him to forbear, as he did for fear of a quarrel; for he perceived I began to be in a heat: So that he departed, and left me admiring the People of that World, amongst whom even the meanest have Naturally so much Wit; whereas those of ours have so little, and yet so dearly bought.

He would have continued with such absurd arguments if I had not stopped him by asking him to refrain. He did so for fear of a quarrel, because he saw that I was becoming angry. So he left me admiring the people of that world, where even the lowliest are naturally so clever. In our world, people have so little wit, and yet they pay so dearly for it.