Part 8
What, in particular, they have found is that it is usually associated with a peculiarly debilitated condition of the nervous system—an “asthenia” marked by a slow heart-beat, low arterial pressure, and poor circulation. The consequence of this is, to quote Théodule Ribot, one of the leaders in the scientific study of laziness, that “the brain shows not so much an indisposition as a real incapacity for concentrating attention, and soon, owing to the fact that its nourishment is at the vanishing-point, becomes exhausted.” A whole series of idlers, tested scientifically, were shown to be suffering from this asthenic condition, which led them instinctively to husband their feeble resources by the simple expedient of exerting themselves no more than was absolutely necessary. Yet not a few of them were to all appearance healthy enough, and, until the medical examination had been made, it was difficult to credit their well-grounded complaint that they really felt “too tired to work,” and at best could do so “only by fits and starts.”
This is not to say that they were all of them “born tired.” Congenitally weak many of them may have been; but the more the investigators familiarised themselves with the asthenia of the lazy, the more they found reason for the belief that, as a rule, it was an acquired and functional rather than an inborn and organic weakness, although often initiated by local troubles organic in nature. Thus, studying laziness in children attending school, it was discovered that quite frequently their inertia is connected with the presence of adenoid, or abnormal tissue, growths, in the cavity back of the nose. These growths, by making it extremely hard for the child to breathe properly, deplete his vitality so that he remains undersized and is quickly fatigued by intellectual or muscular effort. The natural consequence is that he becomes more or less of an idler, bringing upon himself the reproaches and punishments of parents and teachers. What he actually needs is not scoldings or whippings but a slight surgical operation.
Often a surprising development of both mental and physical power follows the removal of the adenoids. In one case, reported by Professor Swift, a girl of fourteen grew three inches taller within six months after an operation for adenoids, and at the same time showed an improvement in her school-work that contrasted strikingly with the apathy and dulness that had preceded it. Another, three years younger, grew six inches in about four months, and from being a sad idler was transformed into an unexpectedly attractive and bright pupil. A boy of twelve, backward both mentally and physically, likewise lost his dulness and laziness within an astonishingly short time after the impediment to his breathing had been removed.
Dental defects also contribute materially to the development of laziness and mental retardation. This has been repeatedly demonstrated in individual cases, and at least one psychologist—Professor J. E. Wallace Wallin, of St. Louis—has demonstrated it in the case of a group of children.
These children, twenty-seven in number, were pupils in a Cleveland public school; they were afflicted with tooth-decay to a varying extent, and they were mentally backward, being from one to four years retarded in their school-work. At Professor Wallin’s direction their teeth and gums were treated, they were taught to use a tooth-brush properly, and to chew their food thoroughly. Before the dental treatment began they were twice given five psychological tests, to ascertain their memory-power, attention-power, etc.; the same tests were twice given to them while the treatment was under way; and, six months after its termination, or just before the close of the school-year 1910-1911, the tests were again given twice.
Comparing the results of the different testings, a progressive and remarkable improvement was found. In ability to memorise, the average improvement for the group was 19 per cent.; in attention power, 60 per cent.; in adding, 35 per cent.; in ability to associate words having an opposite meaning, 129 per cent.; and in general association ability, 42 per cent. More than this, and testifying incontrovertibly to the direct influence of the dental treatment in promoting vigour of thought, only one of the children failed of promotion, six completed thirty-eight weeks of school-work in twenty-four weeks, and one boy did two years’ work in one year. Yet all of these children, remember, had formerly been quite unable to keep up with the work of their grades.
How explain this great improvement? Only on the theory that, by repairing their teeth and drilling them in the rudiments of mouth hygiene, a stop had been put to a disease-process which involved both nervous strain and—through the swallowing of the toxic products of tooth-decay—a poisoning of the supply of blood to the brain, with consequent lessening of the brain’s ability to function properly.
Eye trouble, particularly in the way of hypermetropia, or far-sightedness, is another frequent cause of laziness in school-children, and the correction of the defective vision often is followed by a marked access of vigour and alertness. In such cases, however, the laziness is usually manifest only in the school-room, the child being active enough at play, when no strain is put on the eyes comparable with that occasioned by reading.
To cite a single instance, a little boy of ten was reported as being so inattentive at school and so uninterested in his work as to yawn and become sleepy when required to read. As no amount of scolding sufficed to turn him from his idle ways, and as he began to complain of headaches and nervousness, he was finally taken to an oculist. To the surprise of his parents, who had always believed his vision normal, he was found to be suffering from latent hypermetropia; and, on being provided with the proper eye-glasses, he soon demonstrated, by the rapidity with which he improved in his studies and the interest he now showed in them, that his laziness had been determined by the condition of his eyesight.
In fact, any bodily defect that is of such a character as to impose an excessive strain on the nervous system tends to produce an asthenic condition, with accompanying apathy and indolence. And, even when the local trouble is only temporary, its disappearance is not necessarily followed, as it was in the instances just narrated, by a return to energetic, effective activity. For, in the meantime, the idler may have acquired an unconscious—or, to be more precise, a subconscious—belief that sustained exertion is and always must be beyond his powers. Thus a vicious circle is established, the belief in his incapacity causing him to act in such a way as to intensify the asthenic state, and the resultant increased feeling of debility operating, in its turn, to confirm and strengthen his erroneous belief. In other words, he is now suffering chiefly from a “fixed idea,” and his condition is that of any psycho-neurotic patient.
On this point all who have made a scientific study of laziness are in substantial agreement. We must, flatly affirms the pioneer investigator Doctor Maurice de Fleury, “take the indolent for what they nearly always are—neuropaths; and neurosis for what it always is—bad habits of cerebral activity.” The longer a man has been an idler, the more deeply rooted, of course, will be his subconscious conviction that exertion is impossible to him; but, according to de Fleury and other investigators, once this conviction is broken down, he will find that he can work, and work to good purpose.
The effecting of a cure, needless to say, is not always easy. It requires co-operation on the part of the patient, and on the physician’s part intelligent and sympathetic use of both physiological and psychological methods of treatment. Hygienic measures must be adopted to tone up the nervous system, to improve the circulation, the digestion, the nutrition—to develop, as far as possible, a general feeling of well-being. The idler must gradually be trained to occupy himself usefully—not, perhaps, for many hours at a time, but for regular stated periods, however short. And to this end, the effort has to be made, from the outset, to awaken in him an absorbing interest in the attainment of some one specific aim in life, thereby replacing his baneful fixed idea of incapacity for work with the opposed and beneficial obsession of something that he must and can accomplish.
Here we come to what is by far the most important factor in the cure of laziness—the dynamic, regenerative power of some special interest.[2] Even your idler, enfeebled by positive organic weakness, may rise superior to himself and achieve marvels, if only his enthusiasm be sufficiently aroused to a definite end. It was thus, for example, with Charles Darwin.
When he was a boy, as was said above, Darwin was colossally lazy. He neglected his books, and spent his days roaming through the fields, gun in hand. “You care for nothing but shooting, dogs, and rat-catching, and you will be a disgrace to yourself and all your family,” was his father’s bitter reproof. As he grew older, his propensity for idling seemed only to increase. In spite of this, hoping against hope that he would yet settle down to serious things, his father entered him at the University of Glasgow, with the idea of fitting him for the practice of medicine. “It is no use,” the boy frankly avowed, after a few months at Glasgow; “I hate the work here, and I cannot possibly be a physician.” So earnest were his protests that he was transferred to Cambridge University, on the understanding that he would study to be a clergyman.
At Cambridge, as good fortune would have it, he entered the natural history class of an eminent and enlightened scholar, Professor Henslow, who sent him into the woods and fields to make collections of plants and insects. Free again to roam under the clear blue skies, but this time with a lofty purpose set before his mind, a passion for achievement took possession of him. The boy whom other teachers had found dull and lazy proved himself, under Professor Henslow’s inspiring guidance, a marvel of industry and mental vigour. There was no longer any thought of the “last resort” plan of putting him into the ministry. He would, he told his delighted father, become a naturalist, and he would work hard.
And he did work hard. Though his health was permanently impaired by the hardships of a voyage of exploration, so that “for nearly forty years he never knew one day of the health of ordinary men,” and “every day succumbed to the exhaustion brought on by the slightest effort,” he nevertheless found a way to work with an effectiveness few men of normal health have equalled.
The establishment of regular hours for work—thus gradually forming a work habit which itself constituted a sort of fixed idea contrary to the idea of indolence, and the reinforcement of this work habit by enthusiastic pre-occupation with an inspiring theme—such was the secret of Charles Darwin’s mastery over ills more serious than those which have made countless men lifelong idlers. What he did is precisely what the medical psychologist of to-day prescribes as fundamental in the successful treatment of laziness. Listen to the wise Doctor de Fleury:
“Let it be known that it is often possible in the practice of life to replace an absurd idea by a good fixed one, and to form excellent habits in the place of deplorable manias. It is precisely in doing this that the psychological treatment of indolence consists; it is this patient work that the doctor of misguided minds ought to undertake.
“To induce [a lazy person] to become possessed of a good fixed idea, is not a superhuman work for those who know how to set about it. In fact, the means to be employed remind one of a woman who wishes to make herself loved.
“Let us consider for a moment the means dictated to her by her infallible instinct concerning love affairs. First of all, she dresses herself with care, so as to show off her charms to the full; then she finds opportunities for constantly being seen, increases the number of meetings; her presence must become habitual—in fact, necessary; he must suffer when she is no longer near. She kindles the flame of jealousy, to make it understood that she is an incomparable treasure, and that another will grasp her if he does not stretch forth his arm in time.
“Imitate her, you who wish to learn the marvellous art of reclaiming the indolent. Help your patient to choose a work really suited to his abilities; embellish the idea [of it] with all the hope that it is possible to raise—self-content, worldly importance, glory, and fortune to be conquered. Talk about it without ceasing; like a Wagnerian motive, repeat it again and again, and soon you will find that the brain seizes the idea, and can no longer exist without this good obsession. Finally, when the idea becomes cherished, when the brain loves it as one loves and desires a woman, make it to be understood that it belongs to all, that it is in the air, that another, braver and more manly, may step in and carry it off....
“Naturally, it is necessary to vary one’s advice according to the character and profession of each patient. I have had the opportunity of treating—for nervous affections and at the same time for indolence—men occupying the most varied social positions: students, composers, military officers, men of letters, lawyers, financiers, politicians, poor workmen, and idle, rich people. For each one of them it was necessary to choose a ruling idea, suited to his occupation and in proportion to his strength.”
Treatment by suggestion, then, plus careful preliminary physiological, and if necessary medical, treatment to ameliorate the asthenic condition common to idlers—that is the proper course to pursue in dealing with all cases of laziness. And it is also the course to pursue in the more important matter of prevention, a matter which, as the case of Charles Darwin strikingly suggests, rests chiefly with fathers and mothers.
Everybody knows that, as things now stand, young men and women choose vocations in a haphazard way, and too often choose vocations for which Nature has not intended them. What it is equally important to recognise is that even when they do happen to hit on a vocation fitted to them, it is only the exceptional man or woman who works anywhere near the limit of his or her capacity. The great majority fritter away much of their time, and may justly be accused of idleness.
The surprising thing about this is that, as has already been pointed out, it is seldom one sees anything like real laziness in early childhood. What causes the sharp contrast between the activity of childhood and the frequent apathy of later years? Unfavourable physical conditions cannot be held wholly responsible, especially when it is observed that there always are some people who, like Darwin, contrive to work effectively despite serious physical shortcomings. One must look a little deeper, and, looking deeper, one finds, as medical psychologists have lately found, that the trouble lies mostly with the parental attitude in childhood and youth.
Too many parents discourage the ceaseless questioning of their children, and thereby deaden that great stimulus to effort—curiosity. Too many fail to direct their children’s thoughts into really worth while channels. Too many daily give them an example, not of industrious activity, but of half-hearted endeavour. All this goes to create in the child habits inimical to real work; and in proportion as he is afterward, by parent or teacher, forced to work, he finds work burdensome and exhausting. Under this condition, whether or no he is suffering from adenoids, eye trouble, or any other physical cause of nervous strain, he is likely to develop the asthenic state of the true idler, with the result of soon or late feeling that sustained effort is beyond him.
On parents, therefore, ultimately rests the blame for the prevalence of laziness; and for its prevention we must likewise look to parents. As a friend, a prominent American medical psychologist, once said to me emphatically:
“There would be far fewer lazy men in the world if parents only appreciated the possibility of so influencing their children in early youth as to confirm them in the tendencies to energetic action and fruitful thinking which they usually display in the first years of life. Instead of neglecting or repressing these tendencies, as so many parents unfortunately do, they should encourage their children in the active use of their minds, should train them in habits of systematic and effective thinking, and especially, by observing just what aptitudes they most clearly show, should take pains to cultivate in them an abiding interest in the subjects for which they seem to have greatest talent.
“If they would only do this, and would at the same time keep a close watch for any symptoms of nerve-strain due to organic or functional disturbances, correcting these at the earliest possible moment, we should hear much less than we do now of the indolence of the average child of school age; and we certainly should be taking a great forward step in the lessening of laziness among grown men and women. For, obviously, a child habituated from infancy to the fullest and freest use of his natural powers, will be likely to continue thinking and acting energetically in later life. In this, as in everything else, the law is the same—as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclined.”
VI
A CHAPTER ON LAUGHTER
Picture to yourself a familiar scene—the interior of a theatre crowded with people. On the stage the persons of the play move to and fro, speaking their lines. Presently a slight change is made in the current of the dialogue, and, presto! the spectators who have been so quietly listening and watching become weirdly agitated. Their features are distorted in strange grimaces, they throw back their heads, and give utterance to abrupt, explosive, unmelodious noises. Even their bodies take part in the amazing commotion.
Something “funny” has just been said by one of the actors, and those who have heard it are responding by an outburst of “laughter.”
Recall likewise the equally familiar picture of a huge circus tent with its bewildering array of equipment for the performance of feats of strength and daring, surrounded by tier upon tier of seats filled with expectant holiday-makers. The entertainment is about to begin; from an entrance come the blaring strains of a brass band, and a long, gaily bedecked procession circles slowly before the gaping throng. At the end of the procession are half a dozen men of uncouth gait and bizarre appearance, their faces whitened and spotted, queer conical caps on their heads, and wearing enormous, shapeless garments as white and spotted as their faces.
These men say nothing—they simply go through all sorts of foolish antics. But at the mere sight of them the same uproar of discordant sounds fills the air, the spectators, like those of the theatre and with even greater vehemence, uniting in a very bedlam of guffaws.
Pass, finally, to the open street, alive with men and women hurrying to their work. Some one has carelessly dropped on the sidewalk the slippery skin of a fruit. The first man to step on it feels his legs give way beneath him, strives frantically to keep his balance, waves his arms about, and ends by plumping to the ground with a heavy thud. At once he is beset by the “smiles” and “chuckles” of those who have witnessed his fall; and, hurt and annoyed, he scrambles to his feet, gives himself a hasty brush, and disappears as rapidly as possible.
Now, just what is this singular phenomenon of laughter, so readily induced and from such a variety of causes? What is there in the words of an actor, the antics of a clown, or the misfortune of another person, to provoke, under the circumstances mentioned, the peculiar reaction of bodily and facial contortion and inarticulate vocal utterance that, regarded dispassionately, seems almost repulsive? What useful purpose can be served by such behaviour, such an obvious departure from the well-ordered ways of the reasoning life? In a word, why do we laugh?
It is a question far more easily asked than answered, as every one has discovered who has really pondered it. The answer that immediately comes to mind—“We laugh because we are amused”—not only is hopelessly inadequate, but to a large extent is incorrect. It can readily be shown that people sometimes laugh in situations where their mental state is anything but that of amusement. In one well-authenticated instance a frontiersman, on returning to his home and finding it in ruins, with his wife and children mutilated corpses, began to laugh and continued laughing until he died from the rupture of a blood-vessel. In another case, cited among the responses to a questionnaire on laughter issued by that well-known American psychologist, President G. Stanley Hall of Clark University, a number of young people from nineteen to twenty-four years of age were sitting together when the death of a friend was announced. “They looked at each other for a second, and then all began to laugh, and it was some time before they could become serious.”
A young woman, replying to the same questionnaire, confessed that she often laughed when hearing people speak of the death of their friends, “not because it is funny or pleases her, but because she cannot help it.” Another young woman reported that on hearing of the death of a former school-mate she felt deeply grieved, yet “laughed as heartily as she had ever done in her life,” and, in spite of every effort to control herself, “had to break out into a laugh repeatedly.” A third “must always laugh when she hears of a death, and has had to leave the church at a funeral because she must giggle.”
Even the shock of a severe physical pain is known to provoke occasionally, not tears but laughter. “A young man,” says C. G. Lange, “whom I was treating with a powerful caustic for an ulceration of the tongue, invariably, at the moment when the pain was at its highest, was attacked by a violent outburst of laughter.”
One has only to think also of the laughter caused by tickling to realise that it is not always true to say that we laugh because we are amused. And when it is true, this answer, instead of solving the problem of laughter, merely raises it in another form, since it then becomes necessary to explain why we are amused by the sayings and happenings at which we laugh. Most students of laughter have indeed felt that the important thing to do is to determine the nature of the laughable, a task itself of considerable difficulty and leading to the most diverse conclusions in the numerous explanatory formulas which have been advanced from time to time, but which, when closely scrutinised, are chiefly noteworthy for their incompleteness.