Anyone
who has taken a survey course in English literature is probably familiar with
Lilliputians and Brobdingnagians, the races of midgets and giants that Jonathan
Swift created in Gulliver’s Travels
almost three centuries ago. Both names have become adjectives, and it is easy
to discern, just by each word’s sound, which are the giants and which are the
midgets. But in his satire, Swift also invented less familiar beings, including
wise horses called Houyhnhnms and a race of immortals called Struldbruggs.
Gulliver extolls the virtues of the Struldbruggs, who, through a kind of
genetic lottery, are destined to live forever.
But Gulliver, whose name may have been intended to suggest
gullability, equates immortality with eternal bliss: “Happy nation, where every
child has at least a chance for being immortal! Happy people, who enjoy so many
living examples of ancient virtue, and have masters ready to instruct them in the
wisdom of all former ages! But happiest, beyond all comparison, are those
excellent Struldbruggs, who, being born exempt from that universal calamity of
human nature have their mind free and disengaged, without the weight and
depression of spirits caused by the continual apprehension of death!”
But immortality turns out to be something less than blissful,
as Gulliver is slow to grasp: “Only in this island of Luggnagg the appetite for
living was not so eager, from the continual example of the Struldbruggs before
their eyes.” The problem, as Swift explains, was not “whether a man would
choose to be always in the prime of youth, attended with prosperity and health;
but how he would pass a perpetual life, under all the usual disadvantages which
old age brings along with it.”
Gulliver goes on to report that the immortals actually act
much like their mortal counterparts, with an added burden: their immortality. “When
they came to fourscore years [eighty], which is reckoned the extremity of
living in this country, they had not only all the follies and infirmities of
other old men, but many more, which arose from the dreadful prospect of never
dying.”
This next passage may sound famililar: “They were not only
opinionative, peevish, covetous, morose, vain, talkative, but incapable of
friendship and dead to all natural affection, which never descended below their
grandchildren. Envy and impotent desires are their prevailing passions.” Worse
yet, “They have no remembrance of anything,
but what they learned and observed in their youth and middle age, and even that
is very imperfect [my italics].
Sound familiar? Here’s more: “The least miserable among
them appear to be those who turn to dotage, and entirely lose their
memories.…they never can amuse themselves with reading, because their memory
will not serve to carry them from the beginning of a sentence to the end.”
In The End of
Memory: A Natural History of Alzheimer’s, Jay Ingram speculates on the
likelihood that Swift himself had what now would probably have been diagnosed
as Alzheimer’s or Pick’s disease, a rare brain disorder that typically presents
itself in late middle age. The most telling detail is Swift’s blunt assertion
in 1738 when he was 71: “I have entirely lost my memory. I can hardly
understand one word I write.” An inquest quoted by Ingram stated that “His
understanding was so much impaired, and his memory so much failed, that he was
utterly incapable of conversation.”
And so ended the career of the most influential satirist
in the English language.
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