A gentleman once asked me if I knew what Beau Brummell was then employed in doing in the other world. Much surprised at the question, I replied that I could not imagine.
“Eating raw onions with a steel knife,” he said solemnly. “By and bye, he will get to cabbage. For a long time he will be allowed no other food.”
On this principle, what will happen to that doctor who made a sick person swallow a whole bottle of water daily? But perhaps Beau Brummell is not suffering merely for having spoken contemptuously of the “creature” who ate cabbage, but for his indifference to the needs of others throughout his life. As to the doctor, let us hope he will be able to show a counterbalancing array of kind actions as a set-off against his misdemeanour, and so escape penance.
After all, it requires little skill to find fault. The thing is to do better. Unfortunately, it is just those medical men who have recognised nervous exhaustion and done their best to treat it who, in the nature of things, have made the most blunders and have been most blamed. This was inevitable. It is by failure that we learn. There is all the more need to draw attention to our failures and to point the moral. We have often tried hard to treat the person and not the disease; we have even tried to treat the disease and not the person. We must accustom ourselves to attacking the enemy on all sides at once. We must realise that not only the food that we eat and the air we breathe act upon the nervous system, but every impression conveyed to it through our senses. We may think it is of little consequence whether we say certain words to a patient or not. We think they will soon be forgotten, or the damage done by them be repaired. But no impression on anything in nature can be done away, not even the impression of the faintest particle of light. The whole universe throughout eternity is altered by our uttering one sentence or leaving it unsaid.
Supposing we put a photographic plate into the camera and expose it, then take it to the dark room and look at it. Can we see any change? None whatever. But immerse it in the developing solution, and the change it has undergone becomes apparent,—there is a picture on our plate. If we take it out into the light without first fixing it, the picture fades away. Is the plate therefore the same as it was before we took our picture? No, it is entirely different, and nothing in the world can ever restore the film on the plate precisely to its former condition.
In like manner outer impressions are every moment altering our nervous structure, and life’s clock cannot be put back.
CHAPTER V.
OBSERVATION.
WE must bear in mind the fact that all observation is difficult, not only because of our lack of perception, but because impressions already received project themselves, so to speak, on to the objects to be observed, and prevent our seeing these as they really are. Here lies the true interpretation of the “fixed idea,” and the “subjective” order of mind. The mind must not only be large enough and elastic enough to receive new impressions, but must also combine them with the old, so as to modify the former idea; for that which can only receive a new impression at the cost of casting out former and equally truthful impressions is deficient in retentiveness, and must always be wanting in thoroughness. We see examples of this order of mind in persons who eagerly take up one subject after another, but who permanently assimilate nothing. Mental growth is manifestly of little advantage to us if, while gaining on the one side, we are continually losing on the other. Again, if we cut ourselves off from outer impressions we lose mental power, for it is only by use of a part that nutriment can be attracted to it; and if our impressions are too exclusively of one particular order, our minds become ill-balanced.
Before we can be of special use as observers, therefore, education must have meant for us “the harmonious development of all the faculties.” We need to have our sense perceptions in good order that we may perceive quickly and accurately; we need the retentive power to enable us to store the impressions received; and we need the faculty of combining these impressions in our minds—the lower manifestation of which process we call imagination, and the higher, reasoning faculty.
Probably, in the cases where we generally attribute erroneous observations to excess of imagination, the fault really lies in the defective perceptive power. Either the nervous structure lacks sufficient sensitiveness to respond readily to the stimulus, or it lacks the strength to retain the impression. In these respects we commonly note improvement with the amelioration of the general health. It is a question, however, whether, if the stimulus were to make an adequate impression, the impression would not be more effectually retained. Be that as it may, we find persons who observe isolated facts readily enough, and who remember them well, but who learn little thereby, because they lack combining power. Isolated facts are facts to them and nothing more. The notion of law is a thing beyond them, and each fact has to be observed separately.