Psychotherapy / Including the History of the Use of Mental Influence, Directly and Indirectly, in Healing and the Principles for the Application of Energies Derived from the Mind to the Treatment of Disease

by James J. Walsh

Bishop, the so-called mind-reader, whose exhibitions attracted much attention in London and New York some years ago, confessed that his feats were accomplished mainly through muscle reading. He would permit a committee to select a book in a library in a certain house, and even a particular page of [{195}] that book, and then, blindfolded, sitting with the committee in a carriage with his hand on the forehead and the arm of one of the committee, he would direct just where the carriage should be driven and would, while always continuing his contact with the member of the committee, go to the particular house and room, select the special book, and eventually find the page. There was no opportunity for collusion in some of these feats. The most startling things were often accomplished by the system of forcing a choice which prestidigitateurs use in order to compel the taking of the particular card by suggestion (though all the time they seemed to be leaving absolute liberty of selection to the person), but there was much, besides this, required to accomplish what he did. He said that there were always involuntary muscle movements, little starts and tremors that guided him in his work. Other exhibitors have been able to use this to a considerable extent, though not with Bishop's success. That our thoughts can be read in our muscle system is interesting and valuable confirmation of the unconscious tendency of ideas to affect the body.

When a single idea occupies the consciousness it will, some psychologists insist, necessarily act itself out unless some distracting thought prevents it. We know how difficult it is to stand at the edge of a height, say at the brink of a waterfall or on the cornice of a high building, or to look down a mine or elevator shaft, because the thought comes to us, how dreadful it would be to plunge over. As a consequence of this insistent idea taking possession of our consciousness, we have the sense of falling, we become tremulous and have to withdraw, or we would actually fall, or find in ourselves a tendency to throw ourselves over. There are persons who cannot even sit in the front row of a balcony because of the constant effort required to neutralize the suggestion that they may fall or throw themselves over its railing. Curious sensations become associated with this idea—a feeling of numbness and tingling in the back, sometimes a girdle feeling, sometimes a sense of suffocation. All of these are due to the concentration of attention on a single idea and its suggestions.

Very few men, shaving themselves with an old-fashioned razor, have not, at moments of worry and nervousness, sometimes had the thought of how easy it would be to end existence by drawing the edge of the razor through the important structures in the neck. Some are so affected by this thought that they have to give up shaving themselves. It is a surprise usually to find how otherwise sensible, according to all our ordinary standards, are the individuals who confess to having had annoyance from such thoughts. This illustrates how strongly suggestive the concentration of attention may make an idea, and how much a single idea, when it alone occupies the center of consciousness, tends to work itself out in act, though there is no reason at all for willing in that direction. It is not improbable that in some inexplicable cases of suicide the tendency has actually worked itself out.

The expression, "he is a man of one idea," enshrines in popular language the conclusion of psychologists that if a single idea is present in the mind it will surely work itself out. We all know how much men of one idea accomplish. All their powers, physical and mental, are brought to bear on its development. Obstacles that deter other men, conditions that prevent others from daring even to think of doing the thing, seem as nothing to the man [{196}] of one idea, and in spite of discouragement, and even apparent failure, he often succeeds, notwithstanding obstacles that seemed insurmountable. What is thus true in the practical world is paralleled, for both good and ill, in the microcosm of the human body. A man who has one idea to urge him on is capable of accomplishing things in spite of pains and aches and all sorts of disturbances of function. On the other hand, if the one idea is unfavorable, then, in spite of a heritage of good physical and mental powers, his efficiency is inhibited. If a man gets an idea that there is something the matter with any organ, and concentrates attention on it, he will surely disturb the function of that organ. Just the opposite, however, will happen in case, even with physical defect, he believes that there is nothing the matter, or only something that can be overcome. This is the power of faith as illustrated in the various forms of faith healing, from mental science to Eddyism and the rest.

This is the power that the physician must learn to use. In The Lancet for November, 1905, Dr. J. W. Springthorpe, writing on the "Position, Use and Abuse of Mental Therapeutics," said:

Few indeed are the medical practitioners who daily prescribe suggestion as well as diet, hygiene and drugs. Yet the physician who makes even a minimum effort in this direction often does more for his patient than his more highly qualified confrère, who makes none. To some, and they naturally the most successful, this endeavor comes without conscious search, and improves with experience, but in some measure it may be acquired by all and no one who has become familiar with its powers will henceforward be content to remain without its constant aid.

This power is thoroughly exploited by the irregular practitioner, and the regular practitioner is bound in duty to learn to use it just as thoroughly.

What is true for the lesser faculties is eminently true for our most important faculty, the intellect. We all know how intellectual training enables us to accomplish without difficulty what at first seemed almost impossible. Not only that, but we acquire the power to devote ourselves to a subject that was at first irksome, if not actually forbidding. There are educators who insist that this discipline of mind, by which the power to devote ourselves to what we do not care for is gained, is the principal fruit of genuine education. It has been lost, or at least impaired to a great degree, by educational experiments, especially those related to the elective system which pushed interest, instead of discipline, into the foreground of education. In the same way the power of self-control, and the faculty of self-denial, so precious to the human race, have been lessened by the methods of training which omitted the consideration of these and emphasized the idea of personal comfort. Much can be done to make the unpleasant things that are inevitable in life not only tolerable, but actually to give a satisfaction surpassing selfish pleasure. It is this discipline that is needed in psychotherapy at the present time and the physician must endeavor to encourage it by every means in his power.

The one purpose of the use of suggestion in therapeutics, then, is to secure as far as possible concentration of mind on a single idea. This is what is done in hypnosis, but frequently in such a way as to leave the idea [{197}] to work out unfavorably associated suggestions. If there could, in the conscious state, be the same absolute concentration of mind on an idea, a great force for good, without accompaniment of ill, would be secured. Experience has shown that with patient effort and definite methods such concentration of attention on a single idea can be secured, at least to such an extent as to make it efficiently therapeutic.

Ordinarily, suggestion accompanies the material remedies that the doctor prescribes. He must emphasize just when and how the medicine is to be taken, and it is well to emphasize the effects that are expected and just about how they will come. If he is prescribing a tonic, he does not merely say before meals. He specifies from ten to twenty minutes before meals, according as he wishes it taken, with a definite amount of water, stating that the taste of it will excite appetite and that only food in reasonably liberal quantities will satisfy the craving produced by it. If he is prescribing a laxative, he states just when it should be taken and when its effects may be expected. The arousing of expectancy does much to relax inhibition and to permit the flow of nervous impulses that may be helpful. If a sleeping potion is given, the patient is directed to compose himself for sleep immediately after it is taken, or to take it just a definite time before he gets into bed, and then to expect its action in the course of twenty minutes or a half hour, designating rather definitely just when it shall have its climax of effect. Two or three things done together, as, for instance, a gentle rubbing with cool water over the body to produce a glow, a warm foot-bath, and then a sleeping potion, will combine to produce a climax of physical and psychical effect.