CHAPTER VIII.
_IMPERFECTIONS OF OUR SOCIAL SYSTEM._
To treat such a subject adequately in so small a space is obviously an impossibility. It must suffice to point out some of the chief causes of nerve-deterioration in present conditions, and the directions in which some improvement may gradually be wrought. The notion that evils can be remedied merely by passing laws is happily exploded. The law is now seen to be evidence and ratification of public opinion, and also a means of putting public opinion into action. Without this agreement on the part of the majority, the law becomes a dead letter, or is enforced only at the expense of dire catastrophe.
There is, however, one justification of the efforts of those who wish to pass laws condemning certain abuses: they actually influence the public mind by means of the agitation raised for the purpose of attaining their ends; and so they create the opinion they would ratify. It also frequently happens that the agitators arouse disgust at their bigotry and fixity of idea, and so produce an opposite effect to that which they intended. Indeed, though devotion to a Cause is generally supposed to be an ennobling thing, it sometimes happens that it is a debasing and demoralising thing. For, instead of Self being sunk in the Cause, the Cause becomes with many a very excuse for selfishness. Persons considered high-principled, who would on no account misrepresent or defraud for their own confessed advantage, will nevertheless think almost any expedient justifiable in what they are pleased to term the public good.
In this loss of moral sense and judgment we find the secret of much of the nerve-trouble of our day. The Self, having found a plausible excuse for its assertion, loses no time in becoming as suicidal in its tendencies as the uncontrolled Self usually is. Once committed to a course of action, that course of action must be adhered to throughout all opposition. Public support having in a weak moment been enlisted on some false pretext, our utmost efforts must thenceforth be used to prove this pretext true. Having gained a certain height, we dread to be cast from our elevation. Then come harassing worries, overwork, disappointment, and harmful excitement--all the sorrows, in fact, that tend to lower vitality and injure the nervous system.
This new evil seems no less deadly in its effects than an exaggerated personal ambition. Our complex social conditions render us in many respects more dependent on one another than formerly. We have associations and co-operations for everything. Increase of population and means of communication bring us more into contact with our fellows. Division of labour makes us indispensable to one another. We all govern one another. We all have, in some form, a voice in public concerns. Under the guise of advancing the common good, we have special opportunities for advancing Self; and it is the element of self-deception introduced into our striving after self-advancement, and our consequent habit of deceiving others, which are specially injurious to our moral sense. Marcus Aurelius tells us that that which is not for the interest of the whole hive is not for the interest of a single bee. He might with equal truth have said that that which is not for the higher interests of a single bee cannot in the long-run benefit the hive.
It may be questioned whether our exceeding unrest, our yearning for notoriety, our eagerness to overwork ourselves, _i.e._, to draw on our nerve-capital at the risk of breaking the bank, are not symptoms of widespread nervous disease in the community rather than its causes; just as, in the individual, the restless excitement regarded often as the cause of the after-malady is in reality but a symptom of the disintegration which has already begun. We may console ourselves with the reflection that, neurasthenia in the individual being curable, neurasthenia in the community is curable also; the community being but a collection of individuals.
To go still deeper into the matter, we find that we are living in an age of exceptionally rapid change, and all rapid changes have great dangers because of the difficulty we find in adapting ourselves to altered conditions. And the result of partial failure is seen not merely in complete break-downs, but also in a general lowering of the vitality of the nation. We are nearly all more or less nervous in the more usual signification of the misused word. We have less of the calm confidence that our fathers had; we indulge in alternate and spasmodic conceit and cowardice; self-doubt one moment, self-assertion the next. The way in which we skulk through life in terror of one another is truly ridiculous. Our sensitiveness to the opinion of others is extreme. Can we not realise that the opinion of others is of little moment? It matters, indeed to themselves, though not to us; for the mode in which people accustom themselves to think inevitably alters their nervous structure. It is for them we should be concerned if they think wrongly; not for ourselves. And while we spend our precious time in doubting and fearing, in disputing as to whether men have wills or women have minds, the great force-current flows tranquilly onwards, men and women alike being but fleeting forms, capable of infinite development or of utter degeneration.
One fertile source of danger to our stability has been the marvellous speed at which human thought has advanced in this century. Owing to recent scientific discoveries and mechanical inventions, the minds of our younger generations have, in some respects, become more enlightened than the less plastic minds of their elders. This inequality has produced a great strain in many relations of life. Old theories have been tested by the light of fresh information, and much misery and nerve-deterioration have been occasioned in families by the rejection by the younger members of tenets held sacred by their parents; real high principle having, on both sides, prevented the sacrifice of belief, which alone could effect a compromise. Each side seems to the other to be cruel and unreasonable; yet both are right, even if both are wrong. The elder, owing to their lack of faith, close their eyes to God’s ever-progressive revelation; the younger, in their determination to believe only what is demonstrable, lose sight of the value of much that they deem worthy of rejection.
The position may be illustrated by the following allegory.
THE STORY OF THE AMPHIBIANS.
_The streams of God flowed ever from the hills and watered the plain, and the waters of one of the streams gathered themselves together in a hollow place, and formed a lake where dwelt the great Amphibians. Now the Amphibians flourished in this lake and on its shores because its waters were brackish, and they believed it to be in this respect far superior to any other lakes of the plain._
_But the time came when, owing to successive geological and atmospheric changes, the waters from the hills changed their course, and the streams which had flowed into the Amphibian abode dried up, so that the lake grew stagnant. And the sun’s heat falling upon it, caused the water to evaporate, while there was now no friendly stream to supply the waste. The waters therefore dwindled rapidly._
_At first the Amphibians were unaware of any change in themselves consequent on the too brackish condition of the lake. But the fact was, that as the lake grew shallower and shallower, its inhabitants grew more and more torpid, and more and more inactive. Some of their children, however, who had inherited the former energetic disposition of their parents, and had not yet been reduced to a lethargic state by their surroundings, expressed great alarm at the stagnancy of the water, and consulted as to the means to be adopted to bring about a reform. They not only complained that the water was constantly evaporating, but that it was too salt._
_They complained with reason. The brackish water had once been a source of health and energy to the Amphibians, but it was evident that the salt carried down into the lake by the stream had no means of escape, so that, as the water diminished by evaporation, the proportion of salt in the lake became far too great._
_The children were convinced that the extreme saltness of the water was the chief cause of the torpidity of their parents and of the deterioration which they began to perceive in themselves, and this conviction caused them so much alarm, that they openly suggested emigration to one of the other lakes, which they believed to be fresh, as the only possible remedy for their ills. A few of them actually attempted the feat, but the distance to the nearest lake being great, and the Amphibians being unable to live long on land, some of them died by the way. Two or three of them gave up the toilsome journey in despair, and returned to the salt lake to report the unfortunate end of their friends. Their example was then held up as a warning to other aspiring spirits who had dreamed of fresh streams and waters new._
_One or two of the emigrants, however, succeeded in reaching the nearest lake. How they fared there was not at first known to the conservative Amphibians, but during this period of uncertainty all who endeavoured to leave their old home were persecuted by their timorous companions, and those who succeeded in making their escape did so only after a prolonged and exhausting struggle. In spite of all opposition, the number of malcontents increased daily, and at last a new mode of remedying the unsatisfactory state of affairs was resorted to. The younger Amphibians in the old home seriously set to work to cut a canal from their own lake to that in which some of them believed their companions to be living happily._
_The elder Amphibians, horrified at the work of destruction, continued their persecutions with renewed vigour. They refused to believe that the water of the lake was too salt; indeed, they even refused to believe that it was stagnant. They not only declared that a stream still flowed into it as of yore, but that no other stream flowed from the hills. Though ignorant of the fact that they themselves were degenerating, they were convinced that the restlessness and discontent of their children were due to a disease which should be discouraged. They urged that, even if they were to succeed in reaching the new lake, they would be unable to live in the fresh water, and that by cutting a canal between the two, they would flood the old lake, and thus diminish its saltness so considerably that the whole race would cease to thrive there._
_Notwithstanding these arguments, the children persevered in their labours. The canal was finished sooner than they had anticipated, for those who had emigrated had been similarly employed, and the workers from the two lakes met in the middle of the strip of land which had formerly divided them. The results of the undertaking gave universal satisfaction. The old lake was rendered healthier by the influx of fresh water; the water of the new lake was improved by the saline flavour now imparted to it. The parents swam contentedly from one lake to the other, and saw with their own eyes the stream which flowed down from the hills and replenished the new lake._
Who could they have been, these timid, sceptical creatures, who accused their children of the want of faith which was destroying themselves?
We have seen in the above story that some of those who valiantly endeavoured to gain the new lake perished by the way, and so we find that our recent scientific advances have been a cause of nerve-trouble, apart from the persecutions they have entailed. The mental strife we have gone through in our attempt to reconcile the ideas stored in our minds, by no will of our own, with God’s ever-progressive revelation, should teach us not to instil into the minds of our children as absolute truth that which must necessarily be but approximate truth, changing always with our own development. Seeming scientific facts themselves assume a different complexion so soon as scientific discovery goes still further. Even the axiom that two straight lines continued to infinity cannot meet, ceases to be a fact to us, and is relegated to the region of rational hypothesis, when we realise that we have never so much as seen a straight line, all seeming straight lines being but parts of curves; and that the mental picture we have been accustomed to form of a straight line is but a picture of one of these curving lines. Almost the hardest thing we have to learn is the impiety of putting cherished beliefs in the place of the great God of the universe. Like Abraham, we are called upon to sacrifice our Isaac. Like Abraham, we no sooner freely consent to do so, than we find the ram ready for the sacrifice. Directly we close our eyes to God’s progressive revelation and accustom ourselves to inconsistency and to fallacious reasoning, we unconsciously deteriorate.
Another outcome of recent rapid changes has been a great increase of wealth, together with its unequal distribution. Whether this unequal distribution might have been prevented, and whether it may or may not now be remedied, cannot here be discussed. We have but to inquire whether it has anything to do with the prevalent nerve-trouble; and I think we must admit that excessive luxury on the one hand, and excessive poverty on the other, are largely productive both of monotony and overwork. At all events, it is principally amongst the well-to-do classes that _ennui_ is complained of.
It cannot be doubted that monotony is a fertile source of nervous disease. The fact is not always received, because the nature of the evil is not understood. We fail to realise that monotony is an actual strain upon the nerves, often an even greater strain than extreme fatigue; for those who are overworked are supposed to require a holiday or change of occupation, while those who are suffering from monotony often get no relief until so much harm is done that mere change of scene or of occupation is inadequate to repair the damage done to the ill-treated nerves. In such cases the mischief wrought in the individual is similar to the mischief now being wrought in the community--in each there is excessive use of one part and disuse of another.
If we doubt that monotony is really a mode of overstrain, let us consider the very meaning of the word. Why do we speak of a preacher’s voice as monotonous, and why do we find the monotony of it tiring? Is it not because a strain is thrown upon one part? If his preaching were more varied, a number of smaller impressions would be made upon other parts. If all the light which falls upon our eyes in the course of the day were concentrated into one single flash, we should be blinded. And supposing that all the impressions we receive throughout the day by means of hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling, were to be concentrated into stimulus of the brain passing through our eyes, we should probably still be blinded, even though the process occupied the whole twelve hours. But we fondly imagine that, though we have faculties to develop and sympathies to enlarge by means of active life in the world and contact with our fellows, we can shut ourselves off from the duties and occupations which are as essential to our health as our daily food, and yet escape the deterioration and suffering which must naturally follow our over-use of one part and our disuse of another. We forget that we can never cease to receive impressions unless we actually close our senses, as when we shut our eyes and stop our ears. All we can do is to determine what set of impressions we will receive. And if we are always attracting nutriment to one particular part of our nervous system to the exclusion of others, we are going the right way to become ill-balanced. Not only are we rendering ourselves liable to mental disease by choosing bad mental surroundings, but to physical disease also, since no bodily function can be performed without the co-operation of the nervous system. Highly organised persons suffer more from monotony than others, because they have more faculties demanding healthy exercise, and also because the greater the sensitiveness of our nerve-structure, the less can we bear constant fatigue of one part.
The greatest sufferers from this species of folly and ignorance are, and always have been, women. That curious form of neurasthenia which passes under the singularly inappropriate name of “hysteria” is largely the outcome of our modern ill-usage of the nervous system--the overstrain of one part and the starvation of another. And owing to a marvellous tendency of the human mind to add insult to injury, this very affliction, which should most command our sympathy and aid because it originates in cruel and idiotic injustice, is commonly regarded as fair game for our sneers and reproaches. More than that, the female sex, having been especially subjected to this kind of injustice, is often reproached with inferiority because of the liability of women to fall victims to the malady. It is as though we were to cut off a man’s arm, and then laugh at him for having only one. Even women themselves, galled by the contempt shown to their sex on account of its supposed “hysterical” tendencies, display a lamentable want of feeling when dealing with cases of nerve-trouble. They should bear in mind that if their attempts at putting themselves on an equality with men seem to destroy their womanly sympathies, they are not likely to attain their end.
But we are now realising that the sons of “hysterical” women are apt to suffer from neurasthenia, or even from epilepsy or insanity; so there is hope that their sufferings may at last receive adequate attention and consideration.
It is sometimes argued that in these enlightened days women are no longer compelled to endure the miseries of monotony that have so recently been their portion. This is, I think, a mistake. In large towns, doubtless, outlet is usually found for their activities, but numbers of women of the educated classes reside in the country and undergo a sad process of deterioration, owing to the prejudices entertained by those about them against their leaving home or seeking congenial employment. The complaints I have to listen to from ladies who have nothing to do are heart-rending. Tell them to cook their dinners, and you find that some foolish convention stands in the way; urge their entering some useful calling, and you are informed that their family will cut them if they do anything of the sort. Possibly the only occupation open to them is one for which training is necessary; and they have not been trained. And then, because an evil naturally generates its opposite, we find that when these women do succeed in finding employment, they rush to a pernicious extreme and overdo themselves.
When mischief is once set up, and an unhappy sufferer falls into the hands of unsympathetic doctors and nurses, her trials increase and multiply. If she be suffering from seeming inactivity, she is reproved, “roused,” and ordered to exert herself; the actual strain on the nerves of monotony, and the need in many cases of absolute repose, being wholly ignored. On the other hand, total inactivity is sometimes prescribed as a remedy for overwork, when restlessness is so great that enforced idleness maddens. The patience to gain the confidence of the sufferer, and the sympathy to understand her ills and their causes, are attributes of the higher order of mind that our sieves so often weed out.
The evils of overwork are too well known to need much comment. Those who have to earn their living cannot always avoid excessive fatigue, and they are specially liable to suffer from it if cursed by congenitally feeble organisations. But the strange thing is, that persons not obliged to work hard, and not rendered restless by previous enforced inactivity, should nevertheless deliberately make themselves ill. Nervous exhaustion, however, is extremely insidious. We can draw on our capital for a length of time without being made unpleasantly aware of growing weakness; and though self-destructive tendencies do not usually originate in a healthy, well-organised mind, people of good constitution do sometimes break down in consequence of the physiological ignorance in which they have been reared, or under the stress of a combination of exceptionally untoward circumstances.
Sometimes the true cause of the evil is to be found in an exaggerated personal ambition, showing none the less an ill-balanced mind; for, what truly sane person would sacrifice health to such chimeras as wealth and fame? All who have experienced wealth know perfectly well that it means simply an accumulation of bothers and a sense of responsibility; that we cannot, with our best endeavour, spend more than a certain amount upon ourselves, and that the possession of great wealth really means our acceptance of the arduous and thankless task of distributor to other people. The only remaining reward possible to us is the answer of a quiet conscience, and even that, we are aware, depends largely upon the liver, which organ luxury is apt to upset. It is chiefly from the wealthy that the ranks of the pessimists are recruited; and naturally so. For just as perfect health cannot long exist without self-forgetfulness, so all genuine happiness is to be found in working for a worthy object. Happiness of this kind and health of the nervous system go hand in hand;--at least, I have never found a prolonged divorce between the two possible.
As to the other chimera, fame, those who trouble about it must surely have a twist in their brains somewhere. The thing is a mere delusion of our own. Let us consider how far our greatest English writer, William Shakespeare, is known to the world. Of the vast populations of Africa, Arabia, India, China, Japan, and Polynesia, to say nothing of the inhabitants of Northern Asia, the native races of Australia and the Americas, and the peasantry of the Continent, few have so much as heard his name. And out of the small minority who have heard of it, how many have read a line of him? Even to the mass of our own population he is little known. Yet he lived but a couple of centuries ago and wrote as few men have written.
The earliest historical record takes us back only four thousand years or so--about a hundred generations--a mere flash of time compared to the ages during which our planet must have endured; and of all who lived before this brief period we know absolutely nothing.
For what, then, are we sacrificing our health, strength, and happiness?