DR. STEWART
The emotions that attend the birthday celebrations of an individual are often a mixture of joy and sadness, of laughter and of tears. In warm and imaginative youth there is no sadness and there are no tears, because that cognizance of the common end which is woven into the very warp and woof of existence is then buried deep in our subconscious natures, or if it impresses itself at all, is too volatile and fleeting to be remembered. But as the years fall away and there is one less spring to flower and green, the serious man "tangled for the present in some parcels of fibrin, albumin, and phosphates" looks forward and backward and takes in both this world and the next. In the case of institutions, however, the sadness and the tears do not obtain—for a century of anniversaries may merely mean dignified maturity, as in the case of Bloomingdale, with no hint of the senility and decay that must come to the individual who has lived so long. This institution was founded one hundred years ago to-day; the parent, the New York Hospital, has a longer history. Bloomingdale, as a separate and independent concern, had its birthday a century ago.
It is curious to let the mind travel back, and consider what was happening about that time. Just two years before the news had flashed on the philosophical and scientific world that Oersted, a Danish philosopher, had caused a deflection of the magnetic needle by the passage near it of an electric current. The relation between the two forces was then and there confirmed by separate observations all over the civilized world. This discovery probably created more interest at that time than Professor Einstein's recent announcement which, if accepted, may be so disturbing to the principia of Newton and to our ideas of time and space. There can be no doubt that the practical significance of Oersted's experiment was much more widely appreciated than the theory of Einstein, for an understanding of the latter is confined, we are told, to not many more men than was necessary to save Sodom and Gomorrah. Its immense practical significance, however, could have been foreseen by no man, no matter with what vision endowed. Just two years prior to the founding of this institution the first steamboat had crossed the Atlantic and in the same year that great conqueror, who had so disturbed the peace of the world which was even then as now slowly recovering from the ravages of war, breathed his last in Saint Helena, yielding to death as utterly as the poorest hind.
In 1815, Bedlam Hospital in South London was converted into an asylum for the insane who were at the time called "lunatics." The name Bedlam is a corruption of the Hebrew "Bethlehem"—meaning the House of Bread—and while the name popularly came to signify a noisy place it was the beginning of really scientific treatment for the tragically afflicted insane. While the treatment of the insane in Europe was being steadily raised to a higher plane of efficiency, America has also reason to be proud of her record in this respect. During all the years that have followed, Bloomingdale has been an important factor in the medical world of New York.
There are two phases of its existence which might be emphasized—first, it was founded by physicians; even then and, of course, long before doctors had proven that they were in the forefront in the promotion of humanitarian activities. Medicine has always carried on its banners an inscription to the Brotherhood of Man. It is worthy of note that when Pinel and Tuke had begun to regard mental aberration as a disease and to provide scientific hospital treatment therefor, American physicians, prepared by study and experimentation, were ready to accept and apply the new teachings.
A second phase of great importance is that institutions like Bloomingdale have promoted the study of psychology far more than any other factor, particularly because in them the personality stripped of some of its intricacies, the diseased personality, permits analysis, which the normal complex has so long defied. That it is high time that mankind was undertaking this knowledge of himself is particularly emphasized by the unrest and aberrance of human behavior now startling and disturbing the whole world. If mankind does not take up this self study as Trotter has said, Nature may tire of her experiment man, that complex multicellular gregarious animal who is unable to protect himself even from a simple unicellular organism, and may sweep him from her work-table to make room for one more effort of her tireless and patient curiosity. Psychology should be taught to every doctor and to every lettered man.
Digressing for a moment, to every one capable of understanding it, there should be imparted a knowledge of that simple economic law announced from the Garden of Eden after the grounds had been cleared and the gates closed: "By the sweat of thy brow thou shalt earn thy bread." The economic phase indeed constitutes a highly important aspect of modern psychology, for abnormal elements are antisocial, and from pickpockets to anarchists flourish on the soil of pauperism. The key-note of the future is responsibility. To the educated and enlightened man who still asks, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Cain has bequeathed a drop of his fratricidal blood; and he who spurns to do his share of the world's work, electing instead to fall a burden upon the community, deserves the fate of the barren fig-tree.
However, amidst the social unrest, buffeted and perplexed by the cross currents of our time, we should not be pessimistic but should look forward with courage, parting reluctantly with whatever of good the past contained and living hopefully in the present. As Ellis says: "The present is in every age merely the shifting point at which past and future meet, and we can have no quarrel with either. There can be no world without traditions; neither can there be any life without movement. As Heraclitus knew at the outset of modern philosophy, we cannot bathe twice in the same stream, though as we know to-day, the stream still flows in an unending circle. There is never a moment when the new dawn is not breaking over the earth, and never a moment when the sunset ceases to die. It is well to greet serenely even the first glimmer of the dawn when we see it, not hastening toward it with undue speed, nor leaving the sunset without gratitude for the dying light that once was dawn."
So to-day I bring to you from the New York Academy of Medicine felicitations on your one hundredth anniversary and greetings to your guests who have come from all over the world to join in your birthday celebration.
ADDRESS BY
DR. RICHARD G. ROWS
The Chairman: Besides the Royal Charter, the New York Hospital is indebted to Great Britain for invaluable encouragement and financial aid in our natal struggle in Colonial days. Dr. Rows has added charmingly to that debt by journeying from London to take part in these exercises. His subject will be, "The Biological Significance of Mental Illness."
As Director of the British Neurological Hospital for Disabled Soldiers and Sailors, at Tooting, he is giving the community and the medical world the benefit of his rich professional experience in the trying years of war as well as in peace, and gaining fresh laurels as he marches, like Wordsworth's warrior, "from well to better, daily self-surpast."