CHAPTER XIV.
METHOD OF CURING THE HABIT OF DRUNKENNESS.
To remove the habit of drunkenness from any one in whom it has been long established, is a task of peculiar difficulty. We have not only to contend against the cravings of the body, but against those of the mind; and in struggling with both, we are, in reality, carrying on a combat with nature herself. The system no longer performs its functions in the usual manner; and to restore these functions to their previous tone of action, is more difficult than it would be to give the man action altogether the reverse of nature and of health.
The first step to be adopted, is the discontinuance of all liquors or substances which have the power of intoxicating. The only question is—should they be dropped at once, or by degrees? Dr. Trotter, in his Essay on Drunkenness, has entered into a long train of argument, to prove that, in all cases, they ought to be given up instanter. He contends, that, being in themselves injurious, their sudden discontinuance cannot possibly be attended with harm. But his reasonings on this point, though ingenious are not conclusive. A dark unwholesome dungeon is a bad thing, but it has been remarked, that those who have been long confined to such a place, have become sick if suddenly exposed to the light and pure air, on recovering their liberty: had this been done by degrees, no evil effects would have ensued. A removal from an unhealthy climate (to which years had habituated a man) to a healthy one, has sometimes been attended with similar consequences. Even old ulcers cannot always be quickly healed up with safety. Inebriation becomes, as it were, a second nature, and is not to be rapidly changed with impunity, more than other natures. Spurzheim[40] advances the same opinion. “Drunkards,” says he, “cannot leave off their bad habits suddenly, without injuring their health.” Dr. Darwin speaks in like terms of the injurious effects of too sudden a change; and for these, and other reasons about to be detailed, I am disposed, upon the whole, to coincide with them.
If we consider attentively the system of man, we will be satisfied that it accommodates itself to various states of action. It will perform a healthy action, of which there is only one state, or a diseased action, of which there are a hundred. The former is uniform, and homogeneous. It may be raised or lowered, according to the state of the circulation, but its nature is ever the same: when that changes—when it assumes new characters—it is no longer the action of health, but of disease. The latter may be multiplied to infinity, and varies with a thousand circumstances; such as the organ which is affected, and the substance which is taken. Now, drunkenness in the long run, is one of those diseased actions. The system no longer acts with its original purity: it is operated upon by a fictitious excitement, and, in the course of time, assumes a state quite foreign to its original constitution—an action which, however unhealthy, becomes, ultimately, in some measure, natural. When we use opium for a long time, we cannot immediately get rid of it, because it has given rise to a false action in the system—which would suffer a sudden disorder if deprived of its accustomed stimulus. To illustrate this, it may be mentioned, that when Abbas the Great published an edict to prohibit the use of coquenar, (the juice of boiled poppies,) on account of its dismal effects on the constitution, a great mortality followed, which was only stopped at last by restoring the use of the prohibited beverage. Disease, under such circumstances, triumphs over health, and has established so strong a hold upon the body, that it is dislodged with difficulty by its lawful possessor. When we wish to get rid of opium, or any other narcotic to which we are accustomed, we must do so by degrees, and let the healthy action gradually expel the diseased one. Place spirits or wine in the situation of opium, and the results will be the same. For these reasons, I am inclined to think, that, in many cases at least, it would be improper and dangerous to remove intoxicating liquors all at once from the drunkard. Such a proceeding seems at variance with the established actions of the human body, and as injudicious as unphilosophical.
I do not, however, mean to say, that there are no cases in which it would be necessary to drop liquors all at once. When much bodily vigour remains—when the morning cravings for the bottle are not irresistible, nor the appetite altogether broken, the person should give over his bad habits instantly. This is a state of incipient drunkenness. He has not yet acquired the constitution of a confirmed sot, and the sooner he ceases the better. The immediate abandonment of drinking may also, in general, take place when there is any organic disease, such as enlarged liver, dropsy, or scirrhus stomach. Under these circumstances, the sacrifice is much less than at a previous period, as the frame has, in a great measure, lost its power of withstanding liquors, and the relish for them is also considerably lessened. But even then, the sudden deprivation of the accustomed stimulus has been known to produce dangerous exhaustion; and it has been found necessary to give it again, though in more moderate quantities. Those drunkards who have no particular disease, unless a tremor and loss of appetite be so denominated, require to be deprived of the bottle by degrees. Their system would be apt to fall into a state of torpor if it were suddenly taken away, and various mental diseases, such as melancholy, madness, and delirium tremens, might even be the result. With such persons, however, it must be acknowledged that there is very great difficulty in getting their potations diminished. Few have fortitude to submit to any reduction. There is, as the period of the accustomed indulgence arrives, an oppression and faintness at the præcordia, which human nature can scarcely endure, together with a gnawing desire, infinitely more insatiable than the longings of a pregnant woman.
To prove the intensity of the desire for the bottle, and the difficulty, often insurmountable, of overcoming it, I extract the following interesting and highly characteristic anecdote from a recent publication:—“A gentleman of very amiable dispositions, and justly popular, contracted habits of intemperance: his friends argued, implored, remonstrated; at last he put an end to all importunity in this manner:—To a friend who was addressing him in the following strain—‘Dear Sir George, your family are in the utmost distress on account of this unfortunate habit; they perceive that business is neglected; your moral influence is gone; your health is ruined; and, depend upon it, the coats of your stomach will soon give way, and then a change will come too late.’ The poor victim, deeply convinced of the hopelessness of his case, replied thus—‘My good friend, your remarks are just; they are, indeed, too true; but I can no longer resist temptation: if a bottle of brandy stood at one hand, and the pit of hell yawned at the other, and if I were convinced I would be pushed in as sure as I took one glass, I could not refrain. You are very kind. I ought to be grateful for so many kind good friends, but you may spare yourselves the trouble of trying to reform me: the thing is impossible.’”
The observation of almost every man must have furnished him with cases not less striking than the above. I could relate many such which have occurred in my own practice, but shall at present content myself with one.—I was lately consulted by a young gentleman of fortune from the north of England. He was aged twenty-six, and was one of the most lamentable instances of the resistless tyranny of this wretched habit that can possibly be imagined. Every morning, before breakfast, he drank a bottle of brandy: another he consumed between breakfast and dinner; and a third shortly before going to bed. Independently of this, he indulged in wine and whatever liquor came within his reach. Even during the hours usually appropriated to sleep, the same system was pursued—brandy being placed at the bed side for his use in the night-time. To this destructive vice he had been addicted since his sixteenth year; and it had gone on increasing from day to day, till it had acquired its then alarming and almost incredible magnitude. In vain did he try to resist the insidious poison. With the perfect consciousness that he was rapidly destroying himself, and with every desire to struggle against the insatiable cravings of his diseased appetite, he found it utterly impossible to offer the slightest opposition to them. Intolerable sickness, faintings, and tremors, followed every attempt to abandon his potations; and had they been taken suddenly away from him, it cannot be doubted that delirium tremens and death would have been the result.
There are many persons that cannot be called drunkards, who, nevertheless, indulge pretty freely in the bottle, though after reasonable intervals. Such persons usually possess abundance of health, and resist intoxication powerfully. Here the stomach and system in general lose their irritability, in the same way as in confirmed topers, but this is more from torpor than from weakness. The springs of life become less delicate; the pivots on which they move get, as it were, clogged, and, though existence goes on with vigour, it is not the bounding and elastic vigour of perfect health. This proceeds, not from debility, but from torpor; the muscular fibre becoming, like the hands of a labouring man, hardened and blunted in its sensibilities. Such are the effects brought on by a frequent use of inebriating agents, but an excessive use in every case gives rise to weakness. This the system can only escape by a proper interval being allowed to elapse between our indulgences. But if dose be heaped on dose, before it has time to rally from former exhaustion, it becomes more and more debilitated; the blood ceases to circulate with its wonted force; the secretions get defective, and the tone of the living fibre daily enfeebled. A debauch fevers the system, and no man can stand a perpetual succession of fevers without injuring himself, and at last destroying life.
Drunkenness, in the long run, changes its character. The sensations of the confirmed tippler, when intoxicated, are nothing, in point of pleasure, to those of the habitually temperate man, in the same condition. We drink at first for the serenity which is diffused over the mind, and not from any positive love we bear to the liquor. But, in the course of time, the influence of the latter, in producing gay images, is deadened. It is then chiefly a mere animal fondness for drink which actuates us. We like the taste of it, as a child likes sweetmeats; and the stomach, for a series of years, has been so accustomed to an unnatural stimulus, that it cannot perform its functions properly without it. In such a case, it may readily be believed that liquor could not be suddenly removed with safety.