In the few words that I shall address to you, I wish particularly to avoid falling into the error common to many speakers—that of exaggerating the importance of the subject they are treating. Many a good cause has been damaged by the indiscretion of its own advocates, who, in their undue zeal, endeavour to impress their audiences with the notion that the particular charity for which they plead is the one above all others that has a paramount claim on the support of a philanthropic public. Now, I have no desire to produce a sensational effect, or to create an artificial interest in my subject by indulging in the language of hyperbole. I have a plain unvarnished tale to tell, that requires no meretricious adornment to arrest your attention, for I am here to plead the cause of an unfortunate branch of the human family, who, by the very nature of their infirmity, are unable to say a single word for themselves, and whose mute appeal must excite universal sympathy.
Happily, we live in an age when the spirit of philanthropy is abroad, and all that Christian sympathy can suggest is being done to relieve the sick and suffering poor. Amidst all the boasted culture of antiquity there existed no hospital; go to Athens and to Rome, those seats of early civilization, and you will find at the former the ruins of the Acropolis, and those of the Coliseum at the latter, but no trace of the remains of a hospital or asylum; whereas in the present day, hospitals and asylums are springing up in every locality, and East Anglia is certainly no exception to the rule, abounding, as it does, in charitable institutions of every description, the object of which is to improve the condition of the labouring class, and to lessen the ills that flesh is heir to; and it may truly be said, as far as this country is concerned, that—
"The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd: It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes."
Whilst admitting all this, I maintain that there is an unfortunate class—that of idiots—which has not hitherto received that share of attention to which it is entitled. Why is this? Is it due to a pampered selfishness which has chosen to draw a curtain of indifference around this unfortunate branch of the human race? Is the fountain of charity frozen up in East Anglia? Nothing of the kind, and I think this apparent neglect is mainly due to a misconception as to the nature of idiocy, and as to the amount of amelioration of which the subjects of this unfortunate infirmity are susceptible. It is with the view of removing this erroneous impression, that I have been requested to say a few words to you about idiocy, from a scientific point of view, my desire being to instruct the mind of the public as to the nature and character of the evil to be contended with, as to the probability of alleviating it, and as to the means best adapted to the attainment of this object.
In the few remarks that I shall make, I hope to show you that the study of idiocy is fraught with interest, not only to the man of science and the philanthropist, but to the political economist, the statesman, and the theologian. If it be asked what possible connection there can be between theology and idiocy, I would say, that if time permitted, I could show that the study of the nature and attributes of the idiot has a striking bearing on the much-disputed question of the connection between matter and mind, and also that it points to a conclusion directly opposed to the materialistic tendencies of the day.
DEFINITION OF IDIOCY.
Great confusion exists in the public mind as to the nature of idiocy. What is an idiot? Dr. Séguin, a celebrated writer on this subject, has described idiocy as a "specific infirmity of the cerebro-spinal centre," a definition which I need not say applies to a variety of infirmities to which flesh is heir, and such a definition only serves as a cloak for ignorance. Shakespeare, that wonderfully accurate observer of human nature, in several of his dramas has given a very good description of the acts of the idiot, who, he says, is "one who holds his bauble for his God;" and again, as "one who tells a tale full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." But neither he nor the psychologists of his day knew enough of the natural history of the idiot to attempt a logical definition.
As I have spent a great deal of time in the investigation of obscure points of cerebral pathology, of course the question of the idiot has not escaped my attention, and I submit the following definition:—
An idiot is a human being who possesses the tripartite nature of man—body, soul, and spirit, σωμα, ψυχη, πνευμα, but who is the subject of an infirmity consisting, anatomically, of a defective organisation and want of development of the brain, resulting in an inability, more or less complete, for the exercise of the intellectual, moral, and sensitive faculties. There are various shades and degrees of this want of development, from those whose mental and bodily deficiencies differ but slightly from the lowest of the so-called sound-minded, to those individuals who simply vegetate, and whose deficiencies are so decided as to isolate them, as it were, from the rest of nature.