The anatomy of drunkenness

by Robert Macnish

The habit will sometimes be checked by operating skilfully upon the mind. If the person has a feeling heart, much may be done by representing to him the state of misery into which he will plunge himself, his family, and his friends. Some men, by a strong effort, have given up liquors at once, in consequence of such representations.

Some drunkards have attempted to cure themselves by the assumption of voluntary oaths. They go before a magistrate, and swear that, for a certain period, they shall not taste liquors of any kind; and it is but just to state, that these oaths are sometimes strictly enough kept. They are, however, much oftener broken—the physical cravings for the bottle prevailing over whatever religious obligation may have been entered into. Such a proceeding is as absurd as it is immoral, and never answers the purpose of effecting any thing like a radical cure; for, although the person abides by his solemn engagement, it is only to resume his old habits more inveterately than ever, the moment it expires.

Many men become drunkards from family broils. They find no comfort at home, and gladly seek for it out of doors. In such cases, it will be almost impossible to break the habit. The domestic sympathies and affections, which oppose a barrier to dissipation, and wean away the mind from the bottle, have here no room to act. When the mother of a family becomes addicted to liquor, the case is very afflicting. Home, instead of being the seat of comfort and order, becomes a species of Pandemonium: the social circle is broken up, and all its happiness destroyed. In this case, there is no remedy but the removal of the drunkard. A feeling of perversity has been known to effect a cure among the fair sex. A man of Philadelphia, who was afflicted with a drunken wife, put a cask of rum in her way, in the charitable hope that she would drink herself to death. She suspected the scheme, and, from a mere principle of contradiction, abstained in all time coming, from any sort of indulgence in the bottle. I may mention another American anecdote of a person reclaimed from drunkenness, by means not less singular. A man in Maryland, notoriously addicted to this vice, hearing an uproar in his kitchen one evening, felt a curiosity to step without noise to the door, to know what was the matter, when he beheld his servants indulging in the most unbounded roar of laughter at a couple of his negro boys, who were mimicking himself in his drunken fits, showing how he reeled and staggered—how he looked and nodded, and hiccupped and tumbled. The picture which these children of nature drew of him, and which had filled the rest with so much merriment, struck him so forcibly, that he became a perfectly sober man, to the unspeakable joy of his wife and children.

Man is very much the creature of habit. By drinking regularly at certain times, he feels the longing for liquor at the stated return of those periods—as after dinner, or immediately before going to bed, or whatever the period may be. He even feels it in certain companies, or in a particular tavern at which he is in the habit of taking his libations. We have all heard the story of the man who could never pass an inn on the road-side without entering it and taking a glass, and who, when, after a violent effort, he succeeded in getting beyond the spot, straightway returned to reward himself with a bumper for his resolution. It is a good rule for drunkards to break all such habits. Let the frequenter of drinking clubs, masonic lodges, and other Bacchanalian assemblages, leave off attending these places; and if he must drink, let him do so at home, where there is every likelihood his potations will be less liberal. Let him also forswear the society of boon companions, either in his own habitation or in theirs. Let him, if he can manage it, remove from the place of his usual residence, and go somewhere else. Let him also take abundance of exercise, court the society of intellectual and sober persons, and turn his attention to reading, or gardening, or sailing, or whatever other amusement he has a fancy for. By following this advice rigidly, he will get rid of that baleful habit which haunts him like his shadow, and intrudes itself by day and by night into the sanctuary of his thoughts. And if he refuses to lay aside the Circean cup, let him reflect that Disease waits upon his steps—that Dropsy, Palsy, Emaciation, Poverty, and Idiotism, followed by the pale phantom, Death, pursue him like attendant spirits, and claim him as their prey.

Sometimes an attack of disease has the effect of sobering drunkards for the rest of their lives. I knew a gentleman who had apoplexy in consequence of dissipation. He fortunately recovered, but the danger which he had escaped made such an impression upon his mind, that he never, till his dying day, tasted any liquor stronger than simple water. Many persons, after such changes, become remarkably lean; but this is not an unhealthy emaciation. Their mental powers also suffer a very material improvement—the intellect becoming more powerful, and the moral feelings more soft and refined.

In a small treatise on Naval Discipline, lately published, the following whimsical and ingenious mode of punishing drunken seamen is recommended:—“Separate for one month every man who was found drunk, from the rest of the crew: mark his clothes ‘drunkard;’ give him six-water grog, or, if beer, mixed one-half water; let them dine when the crew had finished; employ them in every dirty and disgraceful work, &c. This had such a salutary effect, that in less than six months not a drunken man was to be found in the ship. The same system was introduced by the writer into every ship on board which he subsequently served. When first lieutenant of the Victory and Diomede, the beneficial consequences were acknowledged—the culprits were heard to say, that they would rather receive six dozen lashes at the gangway, and be done with it, than be put into the ‘drunken mess’ (for so it was named) for a month.”

Those persons who have been for many years in the habit of indulging largely in drink, and to whom it has become an elixir vitæ indispensable to their happiness, cannot be suddenly deprived of it. This should be done by slow degrees, and must be the result of conviction. If the quantity be forcibly diminished against the person’s will, no good can be done; he will only seize the first opportunity to remunerate himself for what he has been deprived of, and proceed to greater excesses than before. If his mind can be brought, by calm reflection, to submit to the decrease, much may be accomplished in the way of reformation. Many difficulties undoubtedly attend this gradual process, and no ordinary strength of mind is required for its completion. It is, however, less dangerous than the method recommended by Dr. Trotter, and ultimately much more effectual. Even although his plan were free of hazard, its effects are not likely to be lasting. The unnatural action, to which long intemperance had given rise, clings to the system with pertinacious adherence. The remembrance of liquor, like a delightful vision, still attaches itself to the drunkard’s mind; and he longs with insufferable ardour, to feel once more the ecstasies to which it gave birth. This is the consequence of a too rapid separation. Had the sympathies of nature been gradually operated upon, there would have been less violence, and the longings had a better chance of wearing insensibly away.

Among the great authorities for acting in this manner, may be mentioned the celebrated Dr. Pitcairn. In attempting to break the habit in a Highland chieftain, one of his patients, he exacted a promise that the latter would every day drop as much sealing-wax into his glass as would receive the impression of his seal. He did so, and as the wax accumulated, the capacity of the glass diminished, and, consequently, the quantity of whisky it was capable of containing. By this plan he was cured of his bad habit altogether. In mentioning such a whimsical proceeding, I do not mean particularly to recommend it for adoption; although I am satisfied that the principle on which its eccentric contriver proceeded was substantially correct.

A strong argument against too sudden a change is afforded in the case of food. I have remarked that persons who are in the daily habit of eating animal food feel a sense of weakness about the stomach if they suddenly discontinue it, and live for a few days entirely upon vegetables. This I have experienced personally, in various trials made for the purpose; and every person in health, and accustomed to good living, will, I am persuaded, feel the same thing. The stomach, from want of stimulus loses its tone; the craving for animal food is strong and incessant; and, if it be resisted, heartburn, water-brash, and other forms of indigestion, are sure to ensue. In such a case vegetables are loathed as intolerably insipid, and even bread is looked upon with disrelish and aversion. It is precisely the same with liquors. Their sudden discontinuance, where they have been long made use of, is almost sure to produce the same, and even worse consequences to the individual.