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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA^ SAN DIEGO 
 
 3 1822 02686 0247 
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 HERBERT J. HALL
 
 
 »«•
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 
 
 3 1822 02686 0247 
 
 3 '/B 
 
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 ^oaU 6p 5)cri)crt 3f . |)aH, fH, 2?. 
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 
 
 MOONRISE — A BOOK OF POEMS
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 BY 
 
 HERBERT J. HALL, M.D. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 QTbt 3Riber0itie l^vtae CambriDgf 
 1918
 
 COPYRIGHT, I91S, BY HERBERT J. HALL 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published September iqi8
 
 Master of Masters, 
 O maker of heroes, 
 Thunder the brave, 
 Irresistible message :- 
 'Life is worth Living 
 Through every grain of it. 
 From the foundations 
 To the last edge 
 Of the cornerstone, death.'' 
 
 W. E. HENLEY
 
 NOTE 
 
 These papers made their first appearance in the "Bdlman 
 and are now published in book form with the permission 
 of the editor.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. War-Time Nerves . . . . i 
 
 II. A Change OF System ... 9 
 
 III. Moods AND Obsessions ... 18 
 
 IV. Practical Patience . . . .27 
 V. Recalled to Life .... 34 
 
 VI. Waiting 4' 
 
 VII. Justification 48 
 
 VIII. The Middle Course. ... 56 
 
 IX. Medical Partnership ... 64 
 
 X. Truth-Telling in Medicine . 72 
 
 XI. A Way Out 80 
 
 XII. The Medicine of THE Spirit . 92 
 
 XIII. Symbols 103 
 
 XIV. Sleep 112
 
 I 
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of doubting. 
 For mist and the blowing of winds and the mouthing of words he 
 
 scorns; 
 Not the sinuous speech of schools he hears, but a knightly 
 
 shouting, 
 And never comes darkness down, yet he greeteth a million 
 
 morns. 
 
 He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of roaming; 
 All roads and the flowing of waves and the speediest flight he 
 
 knows, 
 But wherever his feet are set, his soul is forever homing, 
 And going, he comes, and coming, he heareth a call and goes. 
 
 Shaemas O Sheel 
 
 What is the war doing to the mind and heart; 
 to the nerves of the Nation? I can answer 
 only as one obliged to stay at home and who 
 looks out from an obscure corner upon the 
 great world conflict. It is possible that such a 
 viewpoint may have its own special value and 
 interest. 
 
 A boy of nineteen goes into aviation because 
 he likes it and "because it does not matter if 
 a few boys are killed off in practice — that will
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 leave the older men for their larger work." 
 This is not fatalism, it is not the discouraged 
 cry of a man tired of life, neither is it patriot- 
 ism in the narrow sense. It is good-will, good 
 sportsmanship, the new nerve of the Nation. 
 It is more still. These boys, many of them sons 
 of rich men, are accustomed to luxury and 
 comfort — too much accustomed. They are 
 deliberately and in great numbers choosing 
 danger, privation, and death as something 
 better than what they were having. Why? 
 Not entirely from love of the game, we may be 
 sure, although that element is strong. 
 
 The individual and the war, or in relation 
 to the war, offers a most absorbing study. 
 How do men go into it and why, and what is 
 the reaction upon those who stay at home? 
 This much is sure: those who go and all of us 
 who are affected are simplifying life, not com- 
 plicating it any more. We shall all know our- 
 selves better, we shall understand better why 
 we do anything, and we are more likely to be 
 direct and effective in every way.
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 When a man denies himself all he has held 
 valuable and presents himself naked, so to 
 speak, before the great god of war, more than 
 he probably knows has happened. I am not 
 going to idealize and imagine character changes 
 which are not true. Every man will approach 
 his service from a different angle and the per- 
 sonal result will be different in each individual. 
 But with the eyes of the physician I have seen 
 into the lives of a number of men who have 
 enlisted or who have been drafted, who have 
 come back from service or who are waiting 
 to go. 1 have also studied somewhat the lives 
 of people who stay at home. It is all, or mostly 
 all, good; and the greatest change is in simpli- 
 fication and a new idealism. We no longer need 
 so many things to make us happy. There is 
 in the air a sense of relief even in the face of 
 dread and danger. But simplification in itself 
 would not be so valuable if it did not leave 
 room for and make possible certain great 
 positive virtues. 
 
 War, even to those at home, is such an all-
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 pervading, penetrating matter. It gets into 
 the most sluggish blood, it activates the most 
 torpid brain, it makes men alive, it makes 
 them think. They think not in petty detail 
 any more, but in large directness. They think 
 of war, yes, and how to win it ; but they think 
 also of life. When life is so cheap it somehow 
 becomes more interesting, demands explana- 
 tions and understandings which we have been 
 too indolent or too confused to make. 
 
 I am not forgetting my medical viewpoint, 
 but medicine is enlarging its borders. Medical 
 men are permitted to think of vital things now- 
 adays, for it has become evident that matters 
 of philosophy and of religion have their direct 
 influence upon the body. It has also become 
 evident that there is a hygiene of the spirit 
 quite as important as that of the body. 
 
 We do not talk about it much at home, the 
 men who are going into service do not talk 
 about it; but out of this great simplification 
 is coming a new strength and directness of 
 religious belief — a new vision. The boy who
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 5 
 
 sails on a collier or a destroyer, who sees the 
 world and its distant ports, who stands his 
 watch in the early morning when the sea 
 changes from black to gray and from gray to 
 blue, is seeing and learning something besides 
 navigation and geography, is spying for some- 
 thing bigger than the periscope of the lurking 
 submarine. He is accepting cold and danger, 
 he is leaving behind all the absorbing diversity 
 of city life for a purpose greater even than war. 
 He is coming face to face with himself, and he 
 finds that self alone and unsupported before 
 the great mystery, the mystery of life and 
 death. Shall we not call it the mystery of 
 God? The boy has his duties to perform, but 
 they are simple, straightforward; drill and 
 routine have made them almost mechanical. 
 The one thing that is real is the great mystery. 
 "Why am 1 here?" he asks himself; "what 
 about the morning and the evening with their 
 wonder of sky and sea? What does it mean?" 
 We cannot answer these age-old questions. The 
 boy alone with the sea cannot answer them;
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 but by the very simplification of his Hfe, by 
 the ehmination of all else, he will be nearer 
 to an adequate answer. He will answer par- 
 tially and in his own way by his life, which 
 will be broader and bigger, by his spirit, which 
 will be richer and more generous. 
 
 Perhaps the boy will realize that the creeds 
 and philosophies are far from sufficient to 
 meet the growing needs of his spirit. The 
 greatness of the questions will bring to him a 
 sense of their importance. He may see that 
 he must make some tentative answer; that 
 he must say in effect, " I do not know. But 
 by the very wonder and beauty of life I know 
 that there is something behind it, some vital 
 being into whose hands I commend my spirit." 
 And then there may come a sense of nearness 
 to the God of the sea, the God so much greater 
 than battles, so much greater than human life, 
 so much greater than the roar of guns and the 
 clash of angry steel. Nearness and glad de- 
 pendence, that is enough — that is religion — 
 that is the great simplification, the great good
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 experience that the war may bring to the indi- 
 vidual, to the boy alone under the stars. 
 
 If something like this conception comes to 
 the soldier and the stay-at-home, we shall leave 
 behind us much that has made life cheap and 
 mean and purposeless. There will be a new 
 nervous health, a new quality of manhood that 
 will be the source of finer and more beautiful 
 life upon the earth. 
 
 I am going to borrow now part of Lord 
 Dunsany's preface to "The Last Book of 
 Wonder" — these are the words of a man who 
 has seen actual warfare and who finds some- 
 thing good in it: — 
 
 " I do not know where 1 may be when this 
 preface is read. As I write it in August, 1916, 
 I am at Ebrington Barracks, Londonderry, 
 recovering from a slight wound. But it does 
 not matter greatly where 1 am; my dreams are 
 here before you amongst the following pages; 
 and writing in a day when life is cheap, dreams 
 seem to me all the dearer, the only things that 
 survive.
 
 8 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 "Just now the civilization of Europe seems 
 almost to have ceased, and nothing seems to 
 grow in her torn fields but death, yet this is 
 only for a while and dreams will come back 
 again and bloom as of old, all the more ra- 
 diantly for this terrible ploughing, as the 
 flowers will bloom again where the trenches 
 are and the primroses shelter in shell holes for 
 many seasons, when weeping Liberty has come 
 home to Flanders. 
 
 "And now I will write nothing further about 
 war, but offer you these books of dreams from 
 Europe as one throws things of value, if only 
 to one's self, at the last moment out of a 
 burning house."
 
 II 
 
 A CHANGE OF SYSTEM 
 
 "Sir," I said one evening to Doctor Sangrado, "I call Heaven 
 to witness on the spot, that I have never saved a patient, one 
 would think they died out of spite." . . . "If you will take a 
 hint, sir," replied I, "we had better change our system." 
 
 Gil Bias 
 
 The war holds tremendous possibilities for 
 the men and women who are available for serv- 
 ice or who can work at home in some useful 
 capacity. I want to say a word, not so much 
 for those who are actually sick and disabled, 
 as for those who for some more or less obscure 
 reason cannot keep up with the procession of 
 life. In these days of accomplishment there 
 is a sharpened and painful contrast between 
 the active and the passive, the effective and 
 the ineffective. The so-called nervous invalid 
 or the constitutionally feeble find that the war, 
 far from simplifying, actually complicates ex- 
 istence. They cannot understand why they 
 are unequal to the emergency.
 
 10 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 The medical department is weeding out of 
 the service man after man who is apparently 
 well, but who, according to test and in the 
 light of previous personal history, does not 
 measure quite up to the physical or nervous 
 standard. I know a young woman who wants 
 to go abroad to work among the poor and the 
 refugees. She has spirit enough, a wise head 
 and a warm heart, but she lacks physical and 
 nervous stamina. She ought rather to stay at 
 home under medical treatment until her body 
 is the best that it can be. She will surely find 
 some smaller but useful work to do here. Shall 
 we call her a failure; shall she call herself a fail- 
 ure? Her situation is typical of hundreds who 
 are failing in the ordinary sense of large ac- 
 complishment. 
 
 Unquestionably it is the business of such 
 people to use every known means for full recov- 
 ery. They will find the medical profession 
 ready and eager to help them. But medicine 
 has its great limitations; often enough it is 
 impossible to restore full power. Then we
 
 A CHANGE OF SYSTEM ii 
 
 must not depend upon medical treatment of 
 the usual sort. When drugs and surgery, rest 
 and hygiene, have done their utmost and have 
 failed, it is time for a change of system, it is 
 time for the cure of readjustment and of new 
 understanding. 
 
 As a physician I have had my share of diflfi- 
 culty with physical defects and deficiencies, 
 and with those nameless conditions of the 
 body which defy medical aid for years. But 
 I am optimistic because I know that a very 
 real cure is almost always possible even though 
 some of the physical limitations remain. By 
 this cure I mean a readjustment of life; an 
 adaptation to limitations which brings balance 
 and the greatest possible degree of physical 
 efficiency. I say to my discouraged and doubt- 
 ful patient, " Success is not measured by what 
 you accomplish, but by what you are." If 
 you are the brave, generous soul you ought 
 to be, accomplishment is a secondary matter; 
 it may be expressed in terms of character and 
 of social relationship as well as in terms of
 
 12 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 work. Without character behind it, even work 
 is barren and will ultimately fail. With char- 
 acter, material accomplishment will inevitably 
 follow as far as strength will allow. In any 
 event, the value will be there; you yourself 
 are part of the world's treasure. The success- 
 ful man, the essentially well man, is the one who 
 has done the best he can with his equipment. 
 It is never wise or fair to compare the work 
 of individuals, for we can rarely, if ever, know 
 just what material there was to start with — 
 to work with. Yet a great deal of discontent 
 and unhappiness come from such comparisons. 
 The girl who cannot go to France is likely to be 
 unhappy, and so, nervously as well as physi- 
 cally ill, if she does not see that here in America 
 the loyalty and patience and courage for which 
 she stands may have their immense value, may 
 help win the war really — for there are plenty 
 of people to accomplish the actual service if 
 they are backed by the character and the en- 
 thusiasm, the whole-hearted support, of those 
 who stay at home.
 
 A CHANGE OF SYSTEM 13 
 
 Such a cure is, of course, not so easy as it 
 sounds. The sense of failure is a heavy weight 
 not to be shaken off and disposed of with a few 
 fine phrases. Yet there is a cure for apparent 
 failure. It is the realization of the fact that 
 many, many times there has really been no 
 actual failure, but only an inability to reach 
 preconceived ideals. There is no comfort here 
 for the insincere, for the essentially ineffective. 
 To do their best with what they have to work 
 with is the business of brave souls struggling 
 against odds in a stern and darkened world. 
 But since there is no absolute standard of 
 accomplishment, but only a requirement of 
 quality, there need be no despair in the hearts 
 of those who are ill or poorly endowed. 
 
 Here, then, is a kind of medicine, a new sys- 
 tem, that does not pretend to cure what can- 
 not be cured, but which turns failure into suc- 
 cess and apparent defeat into victory. We 
 must not neglect the body; there are reme- 
 dies to cure many of its ills. But when these 
 remedies fail there is a medicine of the spirit —
 
 14 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 more potent, more desperately needed than 
 any salt or tincture known to man. 
 
 When a man is sick, unable to meet the 
 ordinary requirements of life, and yet has no 
 evident or organic physical illness, we say he 
 has nervous prostration. We are apt to shrug 
 our shoulders when we speak of this affliction 
 because we associate it with certain feeble and 
 fussy women who have been known on occa- 
 sion to pick up their skirts and run as fast as 
 any one. More often than not, such a judg- 
 ment is unjust, wholly unfair to the idler who 
 might perhaps for a short spurt do a lot of hard 
 work, but who would soon enough give out and 
 go down in a heap. 
 
 There are diseases the doctors do not or 
 cannot name; not dangerous to life, perhaps, 
 but interfering with the proper working of the 
 body. There are partly understood unbalances 
 and disturbances which were once called fanci- 
 ful or imaginative, but which now are known 
 to be real and out of the patient's control. We 
 have literally no right to say that a man is
 
 A CHANGE OF SYSTEM 15 
 
 making or pretending feebleness until every 
 possible means of restoration has been tried, 
 until every investigation has been made; and 
 then, half the time, we shall be wrong if we 
 blame him for his illness. 
 
 As the years go by, medical men are learn- 
 ing better how to deal with these poorly de- 
 fined illnesses. They are learning that one 
 weak organ affects all the others and may 
 interfere even with the proper working of 
 the mind itself. They are learning that poor 
 nourishment, with feeble muscles and badly 
 poised body, may affect the proper action of 
 even normal organs. They are learning that 
 fear and misconception, the effort of the mind 
 to protect itself against real or fancied harm, 
 may produce states of great exhaustion. And 
 they are finding ways to remedy these defects. 
 
 Of course, there are a few nervous individ- 
 uals who "enjoy poor health." They should 
 be criticized and ridiculed, urged and com- 
 manded, re-educated, until they reform. There 
 is no excuse for the real idler. In my observa-
 
 i6 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 tion, however, the professional invalids are 
 very few — an almost negligible number, es- 
 pecially in these war-times when the spirit of 
 work and service is in the air. We must be 
 very slow and careful in our judgment lest 
 we do a serious harm. 
 
 Perhaps the hardest part of a nervous illness 
 is the almost inevitable misunderstanding. 
 Not only is the patient looked upon with 
 suspicion, but he suspects himself of being a 
 shirker. If he is not considered a fraud and 
 made the subject of ridicule, he is too much 
 pitied; too much pampered, and so, spoiled. 
 Perhaps somewhere there is a nervous invalid 
 who is fully understood and fairly managed. 
 It would be a pleasure to find him. 
 
 The reason for these unhappy misunder- 
 standings is not far to seek. What we call 
 nervous prostration seems to involve the per- 
 sonality. The patient is depressed; there are 
 times when he sees no light in the sun and 
 no beauty in the moon. He is querulous and 
 fault-finding, so gains a bad reputation. Per-
 
 A CHANGE OF SYSTEM 17 
 
 haps he becomes erratic and irresponsible, 
 impulsive and thoughtless. All this list of 
 bad qualities, and much more, may be the 
 unhappy burden of the neurasthenic. Some- 
 times we find a nervous patient who is perfectly 
 even and sweet-tempered. I generally suspect 
 such a patient of duplicity, and I am not sur- 
 prised when he says something behind my 
 back that he would not say openly. Safety 
 and sanity lie somewhere between these ex- 
 tremes. 
 
 I shall try in the next chapters to suggest 
 some practical ways and means whereby the 
 unfortunate victim of lowered vitality may 
 find his way back to a tolerable, if not a happy, 
 life.
 
 Ill 
 
 MOODS AND OBSESSIONS 
 
 For what has he whose will sees clear 
 To do with doubt and faith and fear, 
 
 Swift hopes and slow despondencies? 
 
 His heart is equal with the sea's 
 And with the sea-wind's, and his ear 
 
 Is level to the speech of these, 
 And his soul communes and takes cheer 
 
 With the actual earth's equalities, 
 Air, light, and night, hills, winds, and streams, 
 And seeks not strength from strengthless dreams. 
 
 Swinburne 
 
 We criticize the slothfulness of the nervous 
 invalid and have small patience with his whims 
 and his erratic habits. Is there any excuse for 
 a grown man who is afraid to go into a room 
 full of people, or who is afraid to go out in the 
 good sunlight lest he have a stroke of apoplexy? 
 Does any one suppose that such painful obses- 
 sions are agreeable? It is true that after a 
 while the observance of unnecessary caution 
 and the assumption of absurd protective meas- 
 ures do give a strange relief to suffering, and 
 so may be carried out selfishly without regard 
 for the comfort of others.
 
 MOODS AND OBSESSIONS 19 
 
 We must not proceed to call these people 
 cranks and punish them with ridicule, or 
 attempt to break their wills and make them 
 conform to the comfortable social traditions. 
 Sometimes, perhaps, we can and should do just 
 this; but more often the result is suffering and 
 rebellion with the substitution of worse habits 
 or the intensification of the old conditions. 
 
 I am not referring now to the testiness of the 
 selfish and the habit-bound who must manage 
 everything or make some one pay the penalty; 
 but rather to those unhappy souls who, with- 
 out wish to cause trouble to themselves or any 
 one else, have become the victims of obses- 
 sions and superstitions which threaten to 
 wreck all happiness. 
 
 We are beginning to realize that such con- 
 ditions as I have mentioned, and worse, may 
 come about in perfectly natural and inevitable 
 ways. Certainly it is rare to find a person who 
 does not possess in some degree the possibili- 
 ties of nervous trouble, or who can claim to 
 be wholly free from the fads and foibles that
 
 20 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 we associate with the nervous invalid. We 
 have only to examine our own experiences to 
 understand how morbid fears and suggestions 
 may arise and dominate. With a little self- 
 study we shall realize that we are all of us full 
 of the suggestions and superstitions that are 
 the beginnings of fear. 
 
 Now, fear has a way of growing in some 
 minds. It is like fire that gets in between par- 
 titions in a house and smoulders away until 
 finally it breaks out and is hard to control. 
 There are a few people who may be subject to 
 all sorts of nervous shocks, but who never 
 suffer fear in any great degree. There are 
 others, suggestible or temporarily sensitive, 
 who become easy prey to fear — fear which 
 may smoulder from childhood only to break 
 out at some remote, unexpected time. Some- 
 times we can trace nervousness and unfortu- 
 nate habits to old or new fear and the conscious 
 or unconscious effort of the victim to protect 
 himself from evil. Often no such connection 
 is evident, though we suspect its existence.
 
 MOODS AND OBSESSIONS 21 
 
 Many complex and mysterious cases of hys- 
 teria and nervous disease are apparently due 
 to hidden fear. Serious nervous illness has 
 been cured by the removal of fear — by a 
 reasonable explanation and reassurance — 
 even after the original misconception has been 
 buried under a host of irrelevant symptoms. 
 
 We must not assume at once that the dis- 
 covery of the cause of unreasonable apprehen- 
 sion will make relief easy. Often enough there 
 are accompanying states of mind which must 
 be overcome by complete re-education, and 
 conditions of the body itself which must first 
 be righted. 
 
 It has always seemed to me that the attempt 
 to cure a nervous illness by elimination of a 
 single fear is a futile business — something 
 like catching a few rats in a trap while the 
 breeding-place in the cellar goes without 
 attention. Great relief comes, of course, when 
 a dominant fear or anxiety is conquered; but 
 there will always be cause for fear in the world. 
 The fearful and timid attitude of mind must
 
 22 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 be changed for one of steadiness and courage 
 — a lifelong task for most of us, but one which 
 will amply repay all effort. Once beyond a 
 certain point and we shall be affected only by 
 necessary and legitimate anxieties. But until 
 that point is reached we shall be unhappy and 
 perhaps ill with fear. 
 
 In the average case of nervous exhaustion, 
 accompanied by moods and obsessions, we 
 may rarely hope for permanent and complete 
 relief from physical or medical measures alone. 
 I am apt to say to my patients who ask relief 
 from obsessive thoughts and from sleepless 
 nights of trouble: " 1 can do nothing until you 
 give me a cleaner, simpler background for my 
 work. Now everything is confusion and prej- 
 udice; moreover, you are still too near to your 
 moods to see them clearly and to meet them 
 fairly, or to ignore them successfully." 
 
 Before there can be anything beyond a 
 transient and unreliable calmness and happi- 
 ness, there must be a purpose in life and a 
 striving for fulfillment that carries all before
 
 MOODS AND OBSESSIONS 23 
 
 it, that dominates to the virtual exclusion of 
 fear. Primal purpose is a vague thing to talk 
 about or to understand. Doubtless it varies 
 from time to time in form and in evidence. It is 
 almost sure to be confused with some lesser 
 purpose. Perhaps we may find an understand- 
 ing of the greater through the less. The fine, 
 strong purpose and inspiration which we see in 
 the loves of men and of women will serve well 
 for example. In true love we have a purpose 
 sufficient, to overcome obstacles for the attain- 
 ment of its desire. The obstacles are heart- 
 rending enough at times, but they do not de- 
 stroy the affection; rather do they heighten it. 
 Finally, the lover, if he is of the right sort, 
 loves on even if he fails of his object and is 
 denied forever the surrender and embrace of 
 his love. Deep as it is beyond most other im- 
 pulses and desires, love itself springs from a 
 deeper source, and that source is wrapped up 
 in the final significance, the final justification 
 of life. 
 We know a primal purpose best by its work-
 
 24 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 ing, by the sense of obligation in us which will 
 not be satisfied, but which urges us on and on 
 toward achievement that is worthy and fine. 
 We know it when we realize that the demand 
 for achievement is pure and unselfish, seeking 
 no reward. AH through life this instinct finds 
 its way and will not be wholly denied, though 
 we choke it and stifle it and constantly sub- 
 stitute lesser and meaner motives. When the 
 lesser and meaner motives have predominated, 
 then come confusion and despair. With the 
 confusion come, as a matter of course, varying 
 moods of unhappiness and dissatisfaction with 
 life. 
 
 "Yet still from time to time, vague and forlorn, 
 From the soul's subterranean depths upborne 
 As from an infinitely distant land, 
 Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey 
 A melancholy into all our day." 
 
 Because we do not or will not uncover and 
 know that "buried life"; because we do not 
 recognize its manifestation in the confusion 
 and complexity of our experience, we are un- 
 happy and melancholy "in all our day."
 
 MOODS AND OBSESSIONS 25 
 
 It is a long way back to the primitive sources 
 of strength and understanding, and the jour- 
 ney must often be accompanied with pain and 
 disappointment. The way is blocked by sel- 
 fishness, by fear, by mental and physical 
 weakness; by material obstacles of a thousand 
 sorts. Only rarely may we know the "true, 
 original course." When we do, we shall have 
 vision that sees through all the complexities 
 of life. We shall return to every-day matters 
 with a courage and faith which are more than 
 equal to the difficulties. In such an opening 
 of the eyes man sees more than himself, more 
 than life and its meaning — he comes face to 
 face with the Creator of life, he is born again. 
 Sickness and death he will have, no doubt, 
 but they will be properly placed and under- 
 stood; they will be part of the divine plan. 
 
 The reader will understand now why I am 
 impatient of moods; why I will not treat them 
 as such. It is necessary to clear life of tangling 
 details as far as possible, that the real, the true 
 instincts may have their way. This simplifi-
 
 26 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 cation and purification of life can always be 
 accomplished to some extent if we are patient 
 and desire it. When we have known it even 
 in a small degree, there will be a transforma- 
 tion in our moods and even in the fatigue and 
 nervous exhaustion which are born of worry 
 and fear. Individuals will differ widely in their 
 interpretation and expression of life, but there 
 will be a common seriousness and purpose 
 which will be of the utmost service both to the 
 physician and his patient in their task of re- 
 storing health and happiness.
 
 IV 
 
 PRACTICAL PATIENCE 
 
 Teach me your mood, Oh patient stars 
 That chmb each niglit the ancient sky. 
 
 Emerson 
 
 Suppose you are physically or nervously dis- 
 abled; that you tire easily; that you are full of 
 doubts and fears. You are irritable, depressed, 
 generally ineffective and unhappy. What can 
 be done about it? Leaving out of the question 
 for the time being any idea of immediate re- 
 covery, what course can you pursue? 
 
 My first word of advice is this: pitch your 
 life to a low key. There is nothing more painful 
 and futile than the attempt of a singer to sing 
 higher or lower than his compass. Keep down 
 within your own limitations however humiliat- 
 ing they may be. Make the few notes of your 
 life ring true; give them the best quality that 
 is in you and you have half solved the problem 
 of a limited life. 
 
 As a rule it does little good to say to the
 
 28 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 nervous patient, "You must save your 
 strength, you must be moderate in all things." 
 Neither is it good advice to say, " Do a little 
 more each day until you reach your limit." 
 In this way the limit is reached too soon and 
 with the limit comes collapse. Progress for 
 the constitutionally weak or for the nervously 
 unstrung must be very gradual and often along 
 a series of planes rather than up a continuous 
 incline. If the nervous invalid would be con- 
 tent to do the same thing day after day for a 
 considerable time without increasing; then 
 increase a little, only to continue without a 
 further advance for days or weeks, there would 
 be fewer discouraged and dejected people in 
 the world. The ambitious neurasthenic com- 
 monly begins his day with all the force he can 
 command. He commonly finds himself ex- 
 hausted long before the day is done. I believe 
 it is usually best to begin the effort of each 
 morning very gradually, slowly mounting to 
 a maximum and slowly declining to a close. 
 There are, no doubt, many exceptions to this
 
 PRACTICAL PATIENCE 29 
 
 rule; but breakfast in bed is sometimes good 
 strategy, not in the least deserving the odium 
 it usually receives in this hustling generation. 
 There is much also to be said for frequent 
 short periods of rest. The fighting giant of 
 mythological fame who gained strength from 
 Mother Earth every time he was knocked 
 down, who rose refreshed whenever he came 
 in contact with the ground, may perhaps find 
 his modern counterpart in the man or woman 
 of limited strength who is wise enough to break 
 into sustained effort with frequent short 
 rests. 
 
 it is a fact, verified by many experiences, 
 that, other things being equal, the nervously 
 sick and the slowly convalescent may increase 
 the range of effectiveness in this gradual way 
 to a point often far beyond expectations. 
 
 When headway has been lost and idleness 
 has become necessary, we may often choose a 
 very simple, elementary task or activity — 
 preferably some light manual work — and by 
 graded effort arrive at surprising attainments.
 
 30 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 It happens a good many times that improved 
 capacity for a given kind of physical exertion 
 means a gain in every way: improvement in 
 patience, power of sustained effort, and in 
 general ability. 
 
 For a good many years I have been using 
 hand-weaving in my practice, as a sort of scale 
 on which my patients may climb back to effi- 
 ciency when for almost any reason efficiency 
 has been lost. This old craft has surprising 
 possibilities. It requires, in a moderate degree, 
 the exercise of the faculties most apt to suffer 
 in nervous breakdown. Patience, steadiness, 
 smoothness of action, are all developed by 
 hand-weaving. The too impulsive, the irri- 
 table, find that they cannot do good work 
 if they indulge in their favorite weakness. 
 The slow, the fussy, and the inept discover 
 that they must learn facility and ease of ac- 
 tion. Insensibly the good, practical traits are 
 brought out and trained by this simple work. 
 If the weaving can be done in company with 
 other patients, each sees the others' faults and
 
 PRACTICAL PATIENCE 31 
 
 so corrects his own. Weaving is a kind of game 
 which almost any one will play with amuse- 
 ment and zest. But it is much more than a 
 game, it is an actual training for renewed life. 
 
 It is surprising how little a really tired 
 and nervously upset person can do at first 
 without exhaustion and harm; and still more 
 surprising, in many cases of great weakness, 
 how quickly the amount of work can be 
 increased with benefit. 
 
 Nervous exhaustion is usually a complex 
 condition involving physical defect and men- 
 tal difficulties as well. The patient, sometimes 
 through fear of failure, through shame of his 
 disability, has become unsocial — he dreads 
 to be with other people and he has become 
 sensitized so that noise and confusion are pain- 
 ful and disconcerting. If he attempts to go 
 back to life directly he fails. He may often 
 find his way to balance and poise through such 
 an occupation as weaving in a sanatorium 
 workshop where the social demands are only 
 incidental.
 
 32 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 Indirection — that is the key to many a 
 cure. The direct attempt to gain a foothold 
 often fails miserably. Argument repels; phil- 
 osophy and religion fail. So simple an expe- 
 dient as hand-weaving, guided, directed, con- 
 trolled by skilled teachers, will sometimes win 
 the day. The patient finds himself restored 
 to something like full efficiency. 
 
 The thoughtless observer will say this proves 
 that many nervous patients could acquire 
 strength and health if they would only use 
 will power in the ordinary affairs of life. As 
 a matter of fact, it is very often absolutely 
 necessary to resort to some such expedient 
 as I have mentioned. The usual paths of re- 
 covery are blocked by fear and obsession 
 and because they are so fully associated with 
 failure. 
 
 There is no magic, of course, in hand-weav- 
 ing; but like any other manual work it may be 
 made to stand for something larger. Neither 
 is this nor any other occupation likely to cure 
 an affliction which can be reached only by
 
 PRACTICAL PATIENCE 33 
 
 medicine or surgery of the usual sort. But if 
 the hfeless and listless, or the ambitious but 
 impotent patient can acquire a background of 
 carefully prescribed work, the chances of phys- 
 ical or nervous recovery will be greatly im- 
 proved. Incidentally, there may be a product 
 of real commercial value. In war-time, when 
 the world is so poor, productive industry even 
 of the most limited sort is not to be despised. 
 If every handicapped person were set to work 
 in some small productive way, the material 
 results might become an industrial asset of 
 inestimable material value, to say nothing 
 of the moral gain which always comes with 
 accomplishment.
 
 V 
 
 RECALLED TO LIFE 
 
 It had not yet occurred to the civilized world that it was 
 possible to do without beauty in the things which one handled 
 every day. And that strict, natural union of use and beauty 
 kept extravagance out of things made for a definite purpose. 
 The appropriate fulfilling of the purpose was what the craftsman 
 aimed at. 
 
 It is useless to show us feeble work merely because it is hand- 
 made. Virtue never was its own reward on such dubious condi- 
 tions. 
 
 Arthur Symons 
 
 For work is not the punishment of a Paradise long lost 
 But rather the only means of ever attaining to it. 
 
 Jose Santos Chocano 
 
 "Recalled to Life" is the title of an English 
 magazine which is published in the interest 
 of the crippled soldiers who are being restored 
 to efficiency through the agency of curative 
 workshops and special industries. It seems 
 that the war cripples are not to be left to degen- 
 erate in idleness, to become a dead weight upon 
 the Nation. Through the medium of curative 
 workshops and re-vocational schools the men
 
 RECALLED TO LIFE 35 
 
 are to be restored as far as is possible to self- 
 respect and self-support. They will be literally 
 recalled to life, for surely it is life to work and 
 to produce, if a man has a ray of productive 
 possibility in him, it is to be fostered and de- 
 veloped by these new schools. 
 
 At first thought it seems a little hard to re- 
 quire a poor disabled, discouraged man to be- 
 stir himself when he so well deserves the com- 
 fort of idleness. But experience teaches that 
 idleness is not happiness, and that work, how- 
 ever trivial, is almost essential to the health 
 and well-being of the human animal. 
 
 Toward the end of any illness that is likely 
 to leave some permanent disablement, there 
 comes a time when the full force of the mis- 
 fortune strikes home. This is the time when 
 idleness is most disastrous. This is the time 
 for depression and foreboding and for the hope- 
 lessness which unmans. The crippled soldier 
 is very apt to say to himself, "Well, 1 have 
 done my part. Now the Government can take 
 care of me." Even if there were no moral
 
 36 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 reason why the man should take care of himself 
 if he can, there is economic necessity back of 
 the new movement. It will be simply impos- 
 sible for any of the nations at war to support 
 the number of men who would require sup- 
 port if no effort were made at rehabilitation. 
 So the military authorities are training the 
 crippled soldiers back to usefulness, recalling 
 them to life, lifting them from the morass of 
 idleness and degeneration into which so many 
 of them would sink if no effort were made to 
 save them. 
 
 Of course, the problem of rehabilitation is 
 immense. It involves a literal re-education in 
 some instances; it means the establishment of 
 trade schools especially equipped, the creation 
 of a new factory system or the readjustment 
 of the old system to make room for the intel- 
 ligent but handicapped worker. A little read- 
 ing of the magazine "Recalled to Life," or of 
 similar war literature, will gladden the hearts 
 of those who care for the fate of the cripple. 
 The Lord Roberts Memorial Workshops in
 
 RECALLED TO LIFE 37 
 
 England are already on a self-supporting ba- 
 sis. These shops are manufactories in effect 
 — they study the trade and aim to supply the 
 market with salable products. 
 
 An attempt is being made to differentiate 
 rather sharply between curative workshops 
 and bedside occupations with their compara- 
 tively trivial products, and the re-vocational 
 system which aims to put the men back into 
 the regular ranks of industry. The lesser oc- 
 cupations are intended, first of all, to arouse 
 the interest of the discouraged patient, to 
 train his hand and eye back into coordinate 
 and useful lines. For this purpose all manner 
 of small occupations are in use — military 
 revivals of the ancient crafts. The making of 
 wooden toys, basket-weaving, and rug-making 
 are among the occupations recommended for 
 our own convalescent hospitals. These and 
 many other occupations are now employed in 
 many of the warring countries. 
 
 Work with the hands is a definitely medical 
 procedure. It has a restorative value almost
 
 38 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 on a par with medicine and surgery, since it 
 restores confidence, teaches patience and in- 
 genuity, and encourages the patient to further 
 effort. While any trivial occupation will serve 
 some purpose in this direction, it is exceedingly 
 important that the prescribed work should not 
 be too foolish or quite valueless in its product. 
 
 There are very few real craftsmen left in the 
 world. Machinery and haste and poor taste 
 have well-nigh destroyed the once dignified 
 and desirable creative field. The old-time care 
 and patience, the excellent design and color 
 work, are rarely found to-day. In their 
 places, for the most part, we see cheap imita- 
 tions, atrocious color and bad design. Now, 
 there is still a place in the world for good design 
 and careful workmanship. Is it too much to 
 ask that there should be some discrimination 
 in what we ask the crippled soldiers to do when 
 they are re-training for life and activity? 
 
 For the most part the men will make the 
 bedside occupations only a stepping-stone to 
 the larger and the standardized occupations.
 
 RECALLED TO LIFE 39 
 
 But here and there will be a man who cannot 
 hope to work in the larger way; here and there 
 a man in whom the making of wooden toys 
 will waken some old instinct which can be 
 developed into something like the true crafts 
 spirit. Perhaps there will grow out of the war 
 crippling a guild of craftsmen, silversmiths, 
 leather-workers, tapestry-weavers, designers. 
 
 This article is really a plea for good instuc- 
 tion while we are about it; for good models 
 and good designs in the curative work shops. 
 There are enough badly woven baskets and 
 poorly tooled bits of leather, lopsided pieces 
 of pottery and badly colored fabrics, in the 
 world. Let those who would assist the de- 
 spondent soldier back to usefulness find some- 
 thing really clever and good for him to do. 
 The field of wooden toy-making is one of the 
 largest and best opportunities. But the toys 
 should be designed by a Maxfield Parrish if 
 they are to be justified. The average Ameri- 
 can youth is clever enough with his hands to 
 produce excellent results if he is guided and
 
 40 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 directed by far-sighted teachers. The teacher 
 need not be a designer. She — for it will usu- 
 ally be a woman — can bring to the handi- 
 capped worker good designs, good materials, 
 and a contagious enthusiasm. The rest will 
 be comparatively easy. 
 
 It does not take much imagination to realize 
 that this principle of carefully directed handi- 
 capped labor may be applied to the vast field 
 of industrial accidents. Every year there are 
 thousands of workmen in our factories crip- 
 pled for life in the ordinary pursuit of their du- 
 ties. One of the good by-products of the great 
 war may be an awakening to the possibili- 
 ties of special workshops and special training 
 for those who are handicapped in peaceful in- 
 dustry. Thousands of crippled workmen who 
 are now discarded as useless may some day be 
 systematically rehabilitated, "recalled to life." 
 Some will go back into their trades and pro- 
 fessions and some, who are more seriously 
 crippled, may reestablish the beautiful old 
 crafts for which the world has need.
 
 VI 
 WAITING 
 
 From the Silence of Time, Time's Silence borrow. 
 In the heart of To-day is the word of To-morrow. 
 The Builders of Joy are the Children of Sorrow. 
 
 William Sharp 
 
 The power of money, the miraculous accom- 
 plishments of science, our wonderfully efficient 
 transportation service, make most of us un- 
 willing to wait for slow growth in anything. 
 We are even in too great a hurry to read. We 
 content our busy selves with reviews and 
 digests. The unrolling film in the darkened 
 theatre takes the place of the old-time ro- 
 mance. Gone forever are the days of the 
 three-volume novel, the "Three Decker" 
 that Kipling celebrates in beautiful verse: — 
 
 "Full thirty foot she towered from water line to rail, 
 It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail; 
 But, spite all modern notions, I found her first and best — 
 The only certain packet for the Island of the Blest." 
 
 Illness, which so often puts a check upon swift 
 accomplishments, may be cured hastily some-
 
 42 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 times by the use of powerful medicines or by 
 the skill of the surgeon, but there remains a 
 long list of disabilities which call for continued 
 patience and fortitude. If physicians are tired 
 and even disgusted with the impatience of their 
 patients, they are also surprised and cheered 
 by the courage and endurance which now and 
 then develop even among those who have been 
 closely identified with the hurry and bustle of 
 life. It has been my lot in later years to deal 
 almost exclusively with illness that cannot be 
 cured quickly — with "nervous" illness that 
 tests the body and soul. And I wish here to 
 record my profound admiration for the pa- 
 tience and steadiness which 1 have seen day 
 after day in those who have suffered, in those 
 who deplore the swift passing of time, and 
 who cannot afford to wait for relief and cure. 
 But 1 have seen impatience and discourage- 
 ment, too, and 1 have tried to understand 
 what makes the difference. 
 
 One great cause for impatience lies, of course, 
 in uncertainty. If we could only be sure that
 
 WAITING 43 
 
 we were doing the right thing, that we were 
 not making mistakes, we would be more wiUing 
 to wait for recovery. It is easier than it used 
 to be to get sound medical advice and treat- 
 ment. The days of the quack doctor are num- 
 bered. An intelHgent patient has little diffi- 
 culty in recognizing the real thing in medicine. 
 The good doctor does not veil his procedures 
 in mystery. These are days of consultations. 
 If the doctor in charge does not understand 
 the nature of an illness and the appropriate 
 treatment, he seeks information from special 
 and expert sources. The hospital and the 
 laboratory clear up many doubts. The doctor 
 who pretends to know all there is to know 
 about illness, or the specialist who is blind to 
 everything outside his own particular line, is, 
 or ought to be, avoided. 
 
 Suppose we are satisfied that we are taking 
 the right course. Who of us is above impa- 
 tience with the long days and nights that must 
 pass in disability? I believe that one of our 
 greatest sources of relief is found when we real-
 
 44 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 ize that life is important and significant even in 
 illness. Too often the patient says to himself, 
 " I will begin to live when 1 am well." But what 
 if that recovery is delayed and delayed? Dis- 
 couragement settles into despair, still further 
 putting off recovery. The various organs of the 
 body do not thrive on despair. Neither do 
 they readily accept the " grin and bear it" atti- 
 tude which is the next step forward. 
 
 When I first tell a patient that illness and 
 the long days of enforced leisure may represent 
 a priceless opportunity, 1 expect to be laughed 
 at or scorned. I know that pain and bodily 
 discomfort will break into any such pro- 
 gramme. But chronic illness is not all pain. 
 The man who misses the opportunities of ill- 
 ness is just as remiss as, perhaps even more 
 wasteful than, one who lets business opportu- 
 nities slip by without using them. Moreover, 
 the physician who does not point out the possi- 
 bilities of leisure is as neglectful as one who fails 
 to use an efficient remedy. 
 
 It is better, perhaps, not to use as a remedy
 
 WAITING 45 
 
 the opportunities of leisure. These opportun- 
 ities are best used in a cultural and develop- 
 mental sense. If life is worth living at all, it 
 is worth living well. And it may be lived well 
 even in illness. 
 
 The call to right living is not the final urge. 
 The real call is the primal obligation that 
 makes every man do his best wherever he may 
 be placed. 
 
 We hear a great deal nowadays of national 
 and community obligations, but it all figures 
 down to the individual. It is in some deep 
 way supremely important that the individual 
 should reach his highest development. This 
 individual development is commonly served 
 in material accomplishment, in the perfecting 
 of human relationships, in our human loves 
 and friendships. But the relationships which 
 involve character and which develop character 
 are at their best only when they spring from 
 the deepest of all sources. The deeper source 
 is very subtle and hard to define. I do not 
 know how to describe it. Grossly, it lies in a
 
 46 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 development of the relationship of the indi- 
 vidual with the infinite spirit that lies back 
 of all life. 
 
 In illness, in the days and nights unoccupied 
 with the occupations and diversions of business 
 and social life, a man may draw very near to 
 the borders of life — he may look over into 
 the infinite with eyes of the spirit, he may feel 
 with his heart what his bodily eyes and his 
 brain do not understand. 
 
 The understanding of the heart may be clear- 
 est and best in illness. We may have to wait 
 long before we understand. Comprehension 
 does not come at once. Though illness makes 
 priceless experiences possible, it also clouds 
 and obscures. The growth of a closer relation- 
 ship between the individual and the being we 
 call God is undoubtedly the greatest of human 
 progressions. It overshadows all else, inter- 
 prets all else. If health and even human love 
 are taken from us, the divine relationship 
 stands and is greater than these. A man who 
 feels a personal relationship with God knows a
 
 WAITING 47 
 
 growing independence of the vicissitudes of life. 
 He needs life for expression, he needs the home 
 and the office and the shop where he can work 
 out his inspiration in terms of life. But fully 
 adequate expression may also be found in the 
 narrow confines of his room or the still nar- 
 rower limits of his heart.
 
 VII 
 JUSTIFICATION 
 
 Now the just shall live by faith. 
 
 Hebrews 10:38 
 
 Calm soul of all things, be it mine 
 To know, amid the city's jar, 
 That there remains a peace of Thine 
 Man did not make and cannot mar. 
 
 Matthew Arnold 
 
 In the course of long illness many a naturally 
 brave and patient soul questions the use of 
 further effort and says secretly if not openly: 
 "Why should I keep on trying, I shall always 
 be handicapped? I am a burden to myself 
 and to my family." This is a cry of suflFering 
 which we must in some way answer. But to 
 make answer we must touch upon questions 
 which are not usually approached by the 
 doctor in dealing with his patient — indeed, 
 they are commonly ignored or avoided by all 
 of us in our relationship to life. We must find 
 our way into deep, still places of the spirit if 
 we are to answer at all. We cannot always say
 
 JUSTIFICATION 49 
 
 to the tortured mind, "Just have courage, you 
 will soon be better." The honest patient soon 
 has enough of that. Such an answer does not 
 satisfy; it meets only the first requirements. 
 It is not bread but a stone to the man who 
 knows that he can never be wholly well. 
 
 Men commonly justify themselves by the 
 needs of the hour, of the day or the year. They 
 live and work because they wish to obtain 
 some material end; because they wish to gain 
 knowledge and power, wealth and position; 
 because they want to provide for their families. 
 Sometimes, and this is better, they work for 
 the joy of working, and for the relief and satis- 
 faction which come from good deeds well done. 
 
 The dear delights of youth, with human love 
 and the spur of splendid ambition — these are 
 enough while they last. But they do not last 
 forever. Disappointment and sorrow cloud the 
 scene; illness and dependence sap the courage, 
 and some day comes the old cry of suffering 
 and protest — "What is the use of trying 
 any more? " Even love may die or fail to meet
 
 50 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 the long strain of suffering. What is there to 
 live for; what is left? " Faith in God remains." 
 We say that perhaps a little hesitatingly and 
 we are sometimes laughed at for our pains. 
 It happens that faith in God may disappear 
 also. 
 
 I suppose the older generation, with a more 
 precise and a better religious schooling, may 
 have had less trouble in retaining a working 
 faith. There is something about the high 
 tension, stimulating life of to-day that makes 
 men lose sight of the eternal verities; that 
 makes them put their faith in material accom- 
 plishment, in sky-scrapers and bridges and 
 tunnels, in limited trains, in aeroplanes, in guns 
 and ammunition, in money and in power — 
 all good things in their place, and when they 
 are justified by an understanding and a vision 
 which puts them and keeps them in their place. 
 It is when they become all, and sufficient in 
 themselves, that our fine fabric of accomplish- 
 ment comes tumbling down about our heads 
 and earth becomes a desert place. How long
 
 JUSTIFICATION 51 
 
 shall we live this way — failing to see that ma- 
 terial accomplishment is nothing unless it is 
 the expression of a deep experience within us 
 which we call faith in God? Perhaps the great 
 war, with its devastation of cities, with its de- 
 pendence upon fire and steel, will open our eyes 
 and make us see our folly. 
 
 To the modern mind, untrammeled, inde- 
 pendent as it is, the phrase — faith in God — 
 is altogether too vague and impractical; it 
 is hardly more than a phrase. The invalid can- 
 not go to church and the well too often do 
 not go. We cannot all have the inspiration of 
 common worship. The old formulae — the old 
 beauty of form and ritual — are failing to hold 
 those who need most the comfort and hope 
 that the church can give. It seems that each 
 generation must have its conception of God 
 and that modern materialism, luxury, and 
 what we call education, have not yet found 
 their God. 
 
 Some day — soon, perhaps — there will come 
 shining through the smoke of the cities a new
 
 52 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 religious understanding which will be the old 
 understanding, the old faith made acceptable 
 to the modern mind. It may be that the 
 ghastliness of war, the crash and ruin of the 
 great guns, is the one experience that will 
 destroy complacence and hopelessness to- 
 gether. The sick and the well may realize sud- 
 denly the need of a faith which transcends 
 all suffering and all loss. 
 
 The sun still shines over the battle-fields 
 and the moon still throws her splendor upon 
 the treacherous sea. In the glory and loveli- 
 ness of these changeless things man may once 
 more have his vision of God — a vision that 
 will sustain him through all trials and all 
 vicissitudes. 
 
 As 1 have worked among my patients and 
 have understood the hopelessness that comes 
 when there is no vision, I have realized that 
 much misunderstanding comes from the failure 
 to see that each of us must create and main- 
 tain his own idea and vision of God. Suppose a 
 hundred people say over together the Apos-
 
 JUSTIFICATION 53 
 
 ties' Creed and that all believe it literally, or 
 think they do; does any one suppose that the 
 words mean the same thing to each of the hun- 
 dred worshipers? Some of the number really 
 do believe literally and are satisfied, content; 
 but there will be not a few who see only beau- 
 tiful symbols — whose real meaning, whose 
 reality, is far, far beyond the power of the mind 
 to grasp or to understand. For those who 
 cannot visualize God, who worship really only 
 the beauty of the sea and sky, and who are 
 affected only by these and by the yearning of 
 their own hearts, there must be suffering and 
 often a great darkness. They do not under- 
 stand; they are not satisfied. Yet they may be 
 nearer the truth than are those who are eas- 
 ily satisfied. Human words, human ideas, can 
 scarcely compass the infinite, and yet it is 
 through the medium of human words and ideas 
 that we all must interpret and use even the 
 divine teachings of Christ. 
 
 We must have the greatest sympathy for 
 those who are dissatisfied; who are struggling
 
 54 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 and groping to find hope and faith. It is fair, 
 I think, to comfort them and to assure them 
 that they may not be far from the kingdom 
 of heaven. Their faithlessness may really be 
 faith after all, and faith in the best sense. 
 
 When there is faith, or essential faith, there 
 is also obligation. I think we may almost say 
 that unless there is a sense of obligation there 
 is no faith. Somehow, the consciousness of 
 divinity, even that which is expressed only in 
 the infinite beauty of nature, brings a sense of 
 conscience and of obligation to live up to the 
 ideal. We know instinctively that what is low 
 and mean, what is hopeless and irresponsible, 
 is out of keeping, is unworthy of us if we are 
 parts of the great plan. And so we proceed, 
 intermittently and painfully and imperfectly, 
 to live up to the dignity and beauty of life. 
 No matter if we cannot quite explain why we 
 should do this, we feel the obligation and we 
 follow it. If such a course leads us, as well it 
 may, to a literal acceptance of the Christian 
 faith — well and good. If it leaves us, in our
 
 JUSTIFICATION 55 
 
 own estimation, or in the estimation of others, 
 outside the pale — still struggling, searching 
 for a faith which may never quite conform 
 with what we expect, or others expect for us — • 
 there need be no despair. If we are earnest 
 and true, we shall accept the obligation of pa- 
 tience and courage and right living; we shall 
 be justified in a sense. We shall know in our 
 hearts that there is use in living and in doing 
 the very best that we can in whatever circum- 
 stances we may be placed.
 
 VIII 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 
 
 Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl 
 chain of all virtues. 
 
 Bishop Hall (1574-1656) 
 
 Any physician will agree that much illness, 
 and especially nervous illness, comes from fail- 
 ure to follow a moderate middle course. It is 
 true that many of us have no choice. Necessity 
 demands overwork. The school-teacher must 
 concentrate on her work or fail. The laborer 
 must pursue his own line though it crushes 
 him. But we all overdo or overemphasize 
 when there is little or no excuse. The exces- 
 sive worrier ruins his chance of successful liv- 
 ing. The victim of an unhappy marriage makes 
 his plight the more serious by dwelling upon 
 his unhappiness. The girl enamoured of ex- 
 citement paves the way for nervous break- 
 down when she subordinates all else to the 
 pursuit of pleasure. The business or the pro- 
 fessional man kills himself by his failure to
 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 57 
 
 take exercise and to devote a considerable part 
 of his life to fun or to some hobby which would 
 change and relieve his tired faculties. The 
 housewife who is so fussy that she wastes her 
 energies daily in a vain attempt to attain per- 
 fection — why does she do it? She is rightly 
 scornful of her shiftless neighbor who spends 
 the forenoon in negligee and her afternoon at 
 whist; but she fails to see that there is a middle 
 course, or knowing a better way, a more rea- 
 sonable way, she will not follow it. 
 
 Let us suppose a young woman who has an 
 emotional nature. Her mother was a nervous 
 invalid — excitable, uneven, prone to extremes 
 of excitement or depression. The girl was 
 brought up in an atmosphere of unrest. She 
 was never taught to apply herself persistently 
 to any task. She admits that she is tired of life 
 since it will yield her no more pleasure. A 
 study of symptoms reveals the fact that certain 
 people excite her, any argument or strong emo- 
 tion leaves her trembling and weak. She does 
 not sleep well. Her bodily functions are out of
 
 58 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 order. She has had to leave school and now 
 spends her time in bed or in flying from one 
 extreme of feeling to the other. 
 
 It does no good to scold such a person and 
 to tell her she must calm down and acquire 
 an even middle course. Such an illness must 
 be attacked from all possible points. The girl 
 must, of course, be advised to tranquilize her 
 life and she must try to do this. We must do 
 what can be done by diet and medical treat- 
 ment. We must build up her physique by 
 exercises, walks, out-of-door living. We must 
 teach physical relaxation. Whenever possible, 
 the patient must be taken out of the old envi- 
 ronment which has become strongly associ- 
 ated with her illness. 
 
 Nothing is more unwise than to prescribe 
 some new form of excitement to stimulate 
 her already worn-out faculties. Rather should 
 we find and maintain a life of monotony. 
 Complete physical rest is a good enough start, 
 but it must not be allowed to continue too 
 long lest the patient become dependent upon
 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 39 
 
 protection. If there were no physical objec- 
 tion, I would, if I could, find and make prac- 
 tical some simple, monotonous work. Usually 
 it is impossible to force monotony and we 
 may ask only a gradual progression. Anything 
 which uses the faculties steadily and simply 
 will do. Reading, sewing, embroidering, will 
 serve for a beginning. The only requisite is 
 that there be no excitement. 
 
 We might with advantage teach such a 
 patient to think and act, even to talk, slowly 
 and without emotion. She will rebel at first, 
 perhaps, and will decide that such a dull life 
 cannot be tolerated. But after a while she 
 will experience the relief of monotony. 
 
 I suppose that people who work for a living 
 rarely understand the debt they owe to monot- 
 ony. It is of the greatest value — a steadying, 
 equalizing force. Many and many a flighty, 
 emotional person is saved by monotony from 
 burning out the precious nervous powers. 
 
 Beyond all this we may well attempt to 
 bring about a serious purpose in life. If there
 
 6o WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 is to be a real cure, the efforts must be directed 
 toward some useful end outside of self; not 
 perfunctory service, though that is better than 
 nothing, but service which is the expression of 
 a generous heart. We serve our own and our 
 families' needs — well and good ; but the serv- 
 ice which helps more than that goes outside 
 and finds ways of helping the world of men. 
 Can such service be commanded? I think so. 
 It may be necessary to command it literally 
 at first. But there is a warmth and a gracious- 
 ness in service which is its own reward. Even 
 here we must insist upon moderation, even- 
 ness, and persistence. If we cannot find con- 
 stant expression of the idea of service we can 
 at least keep alive the desire that waits pa- 
 tiently for opportunity. 
 
 It is true that self must be cultivated and 
 made good. We need not be feverishly anxious 
 for active service if the mind is being schooled 
 to self-control, to an even, reasonable course. 
 If illness is severe and disabling, there must 
 be no frantic effort to escape — only a calm.
 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 6i 
 
 reasonable acceptance which waits patiently 
 for strength and opportunity. We must un- 
 derstand the difference between this kind of 
 self-consideration and sheer selfishness. 
 
 After all, the best remedy for the ills of 
 emotion is self-forgetfulness. Never are we 
 more truly ourselves, more characteristic and 
 personal, than when we forget ourselves in the 
 service of others. Such self-forgetfulness can 
 hardly come until we have slowed life down to 
 a strong, even current of thought and action. 
 The sudden blaze of generous enthusiasm soon 
 dies and is gone, bringing back self and dark- 
 ness. 
 
 Is there such a thing as service for selfish 
 ends? I suppose so, but it must be rare. It 
 will never be found in us if we understand that 
 service is really the finest expression of self. 
 
 I have written all this in defense of monot- 
 ony, and yet I would not have life really 
 monotonous. I do not wish to advocate un- 
 emotionalism except as a remedy, but I do 
 urge it as a necessary balance for those who
 
 62 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 overdo emotion. I have said that many a man 
 owes his physical and nervous health to such 
 a preponderance of calm or to the voluntary 
 or involuntary acceptance of a middle course 
 in business or profession. Moderation must 
 become second nature if we are to be successful 
 in the larger sense. The moderate man may 
 earn fewer dollars and have a smaller business. 
 The moderate woman may have a lesser social 
 success. But there will probably be more real 
 happiness, longer life, and better health. 
 
 In emotion and deep feeling we shall have, 
 no doubt, the greatest joy of life; but only if 
 we are well enough to bear the stress, only if 
 there is a balance which keeps us from being 
 worn out. When that balance is attained we 
 may welcome intense feeling. The man who can 
 witness suffering without emotion is not to be 
 trusted. Give generously of tears and smiles and 
 hearty laughter, but do not forget the need 
 of steady, invincible purpose. Balance life; 
 steer the middle course; do not bear down 
 too hard on work or play; find opportunity
 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 63 
 
 for service, for self-forgetfulness, for serenity, 
 and you will be able to meet emotional de- 
 mands safely and well. 
 
 All this is truism. Not a word that I have 
 written in this chapter but is known and un- 
 derstood by every one who thinks at all. Why 
 write it, then? Because it needs to be said, 
 over and over again, until by sheer repetition 
 it makes an impression upon our own careless 
 and forgetful minds.
 
 IX 
 
 MEDICAL PARTNERSHIP 
 
 No man is so foolish, but may give another good counsel 
 sometimes; and no man is so wise, but may easily err, if he will 
 take no other counsel but his own. But very few men are wise 
 by their own counsel or learned by their own teaching. For 
 he that was only taught by himself, hath a fool for a master. 
 
 Ben Jonson 
 
 Occasionally we see a real partnership in 
 medicine. Too often, the men who might 
 be strengthened by cooperation are working 
 singly, even in competition and at cross- 
 purposes. 
 
 I know of one young man who had the good 
 fortune to acquire a large practice almost im- 
 mediately after leaving the hospital. Instead 
 of keeping it all to himself, instead of degener- 
 ating into a drudge, he invited a young medi- 
 cal man of his own age to come into partner- 
 ship. These two men together were able to 
 do a great deal more good medical work than 
 either could have done alone, and they gave 
 the community in which they lived a quality
 
 MEDICAL PARTNERSHIP 65 
 
 of service which would have been impossible 
 without cooperation. Naturally the second 
 man was not very busy at first. He attended 
 to the emergencies and saved his partner from 
 rushing about on these sudden calls to the 
 detriment of his daily routine. The second 
 man was able to do a lot of advanced labora- 
 tory work such as had never been done before 
 in the town where the two men lived. By 
 pooling their interests they could afford special 
 appliances, a progressive library, large and 
 well-equipped offices. 
 
 In the evenings the two men held little 
 conferences concerning their practice. They 
 worked independently, learning their own 
 lessons, making their own mistakes, but profit- 
 ing mutually by their experience. 
 
 I have no doubt their patients gained 
 greatly by the arrangement, and I am sure 
 the young men did, for among the advantages 
 they had leisure. Each was able to make occa- 
 sional trips to the neighboring city. They kept 
 up their hospital relationships and could relax
 
 66 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 at theater or club without the haunting fear 
 that something was going wrong at home or 
 that some rival was appropriating the prac- 
 tice. 
 
 Finally, after many years of cooperative 
 work, several partners having come and gone, 
 the first man was able to take up a specialty 
 — a specialty enriched and broadened by all 
 this cooperative work in the field of general 
 medicine. 
 
 It is common, though not common enough, 
 for older men to take young graduates into 
 partnership. But I wish the example of these 
 younger associates might be more generally 
 followed. We should then far less often see 
 the unfortunate spectacle of the general prac- 
 titioner doing inferior work because of over- 
 work. We should not see so many good men 
 wearing out before their time. And more im- 
 portant still, there would be less reason for 
 the modern tendency toward the substitution 
 of the hospital for the family doctor. 
 
 I realize that the hospital with its perfected
 
 MEDICAL PARTNERSHIP 67 
 
 equipment, with its association of highly 
 trained specialists, must occupy a position 
 of ever-increasing importance. The hospital 
 solves, and will continue to solve, many a 
 knotty medical problem which would never 
 be properly met by the general practitioner 
 working alone or even by such partnerships 
 as I have described. But we ought never to 
 lose the general practitioner. His varied ex- 
 perience, his intimate knowledge of the patient 
 and the patient's home conditions, supply a 
 point of view that the impersonal hospital 
 group can never attain.. If the men in general 
 medicine will only work together they will 
 never cease to justify themselves. 
 
 As a matter of fact, a large proportion of 
 the problems which are presented to the fam- 
 ily doctor are not medical problems at all in 
 the literal sense, but social and personal af- 
 fairs, which need the medical viewpoint, to be 
 sure, but which need more than that — the 
 calm judgment of one who knows the facts 
 from personal observation. It is quite possible
 
 "68 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 to study into the physical functions, the heart, 
 the liver, the kidneys, and all, using the most 
 intricate and perfect apparatus without once 
 approaching the real personal need of the 
 patient. 
 
 Undoubtedly there are a large number of 
 incompetent general practitioners who are not 
 serving well their communities; but there is and 
 always will be an immense field of usefulness 
 for the general practitioner, especially if he will 
 not depend wholly upon his own personal ex- 
 perience, but will use the hospitals and the 
 knowledge of his fellow-workers whenever it is 
 possible to do so. 
 
 All this leads up to the idea of another kind 
 of medical partnership even more important 
 — a partnership of physician and patient. 
 Too often the patient goes to the doctor com- 
 plaining of some symptom for which he de- 
 mands instant relief, but without being willing 
 to take the physician into his confidence at 
 all. No wonder there are failures. Not long ago 
 a young woman appeared in a doctor's office
 
 MEDICAL PARTNERSHIP 69 
 
 stating that she had consulted many other 
 physicians, all of first-class standing, and that 
 none of them had done her any good. She 
 complained of headache, indigestion, and sleep- 
 lessness. The doctor went over her history 
 carefully and made a complete physical ex- 
 amination without finding anything amiss. 
 "Now," said he, "I do not wish to pry un- 
 necessarily into your private life, but I must 
 know if you are happy with your husband, 
 I must know a lot of things about your rela- 
 tionship with him." Evidently there was 
 something wrong, for she angrily refused to 
 answer many of his questions. " Well, madam," 
 said the doctor, " I am sorry that you feel 
 that way. My interest is wholly professional 
 and impersonal, but I cannot help you at 
 all if you are not perfectly frank with me." 
 So she left him and he did not expect to see 
 her again. But she came back in a few days 
 glad to confess to certain personal failures 
 which had brought about misunderstanding 
 and unhappiness. Her unwillingness to give
 
 70 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 up a selfish indulgence had brought about a 
 struggle in her own mind which resulted in 
 serious nervous strain. This woman became 
 a firm friend of the impertinently inquisitive 
 doctor and did much to increase his already 
 good practice. She told him that every other 
 doctor she had consulted gave her a few pills 
 and a little smiling advice about overdoing, 
 pocketed the fee, and bowed her politely out. 
 
 It is possible to establish a real partnership 
 between doctor and patient — a partnership 
 founded on cooperation, mutual confidence, 
 and helpfulness. Such a partnership will clear 
 up many a puzzling situation and incidentally 
 relieve much suffering. 
 
 Choose your medical partner carefully. He 
 must be a man whom you can trust. Then 
 give him your whole confidence, otherwise 
 there can be no true cooperation and the re- 
 sults of medical treatment will be unsatis- 
 factory. 
 
 There is no excuse for the doctor who is 
 superficial, who is afraid to ask questions for
 
 MEDICAL PARTNERSHIP 71 
 
 fear of being misunderstood; and there is no 
 excuse for the patient who refuses to answer. 
 It is true that many human problems are too 
 subtle and complex to allow of easy solution 
 even when all the facts are known. But surely 
 no progress will be made until the facts are 
 known. Tell what you know of yourself. 
 Frequently you will be in the dark as to the 
 true reasons for trouble, but you can at least 
 state all the facts, leaving the doctor to inter- 
 pret and explain. Do not fall into the error of 
 supposing that unhappiness can have no effect 
 upon the body. There are plenty of purely 
 physical ills, but they are nearly all modified 
 by what you think about them and what you 
 think about life. Sometimes an illness is 
 wholly due to some maladjustment with life, a 
 fault which can be easily corrected. If it can- 
 not be easily corrected, the physician, if he 
 is a wise man, can help immensely, for he is 
 looking at the matter objectively and is not 
 confused and blinded by your too close rela- 
 tionship with the problem.
 
 X 
 
 TRUTH-TELLING IN MEDICINE 
 
 One who never turned his back but marched breast forward. 
 
 Never doubted clouds would break. 
 Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would 
 
 triumph: 
 Held we fall to rise, are baffled to 5ght better. 
 Sleep to wake. 
 
 Robert Browning 
 
 It makes all the diflFerence in the world how 
 the truth is told. The expression of the face, 
 the tone of the voice, the choice of words, all 
 count. The patient watches eagerly to learn 
 his fate and too often he imagines a fate which 
 he does not deserve and which will never come 
 to him. On the other hand, it is quite possi- 
 ble for the doctor to be so over-discreet that 
 the essential truth is not understood at all. It 
 is certainly not good practice to encourage a 
 mortally sick man, week after week, with a 
 false hope of recovery. A surgeon once told 
 me of an illuminating experience. The patient 
 was sent to him for operation as a last resort.
 
 TRUTH-TELLING IN MEDICINE 73 
 
 It was evident to the doctor that operation 
 would do no good; that it was, in fact, impos- 
 sible. Without hesitation he told the patient 
 this and added that he probably had about 
 two months to live. The man was profoundly, 
 pathetically grateful for such a straight opin- 
 ion. "Well," said he, "if I fight for it I can 
 finish my book." He had been engaged in im- 
 portant research work, much of which would 
 have been rendered useless if he had not re- 
 ceived timely warning. For months he might 
 have been at work collecting his scattered data 
 if the doctors in charge had, not been afraid to 
 tell him the truth. 
 
 He is a wise physician who can tell the truth 
 without spoiling it and his patient. In the 
 long-continued diseases where there are many 
 chances of improvement if not of cure, we must 
 think twice before we state our opinion. Man 
 is mortal, he will die sometime undoubtedly, 
 but it is not necessary to scare him to death 
 by bald and unmodified medical statements. 
 Sometimes the physician himself is honestly
 
 74 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 mistaken and tells for truth what afterward 
 proves to be false, greatly to the patient's dis- 
 tress and to his own discredit. In the field of 
 heart and kidney affections especially, there 
 is a great opportunity for faulty truth-telling. 
 The physician discovers undeniable evidence 
 of organic disease. He so informs his patient. 
 When asked for a prognosis he tells what he 
 believes to be the truth, — that his patient can- 
 not live out the year. Foolish truth-teller, un- 
 happy patient. The doctor may have been too 
 liberal; the patient may be dead in a month, 
 but he may outlive his physician by many 
 years. 
 
 All this brings us naturally enough to the 
 subject of the so-called imaginary ailments. 
 The modern physician — especially if he has 
 a reputation for skill in nervous troubles — 
 is besieged by people who recount long lists 
 of unhappy symptoms, but who have, by 
 every reliable test, no disease at all. How easy 
 it is to tell the apparent truth and to say, 
 "there is nothing the matter with you"; but
 
 TRUTH-TELLING IN MEDICINE 75 
 
 the results of such a dictum may be very far- 
 reaching and very bad. It is true, of course, 
 that there are imaginary illnesses that can be 
 dispelled by such cheerful information. But 
 very, very often the illness is real enough, 
 though the symptoms do not fit into any rec- 
 ognized category. There is usually something 
 the matter when man, woman, or child gives 
 up work or play and seeks medical aid. It 
 should be the serious business of the physician 
 to find out all there is to know. 
 
 Functional disease of the organs has been 
 recognized for a long time. Stomach, heart, 
 any of the vital organs become painful and 
 cease to perform their functions properly 
 without being really diseased. Very lately 
 physicians have begun to understand subtle 
 unbalances of such glands as the thyroid, the 
 supra-renals, and the pituitary body. The 
 symptoms of these disorders may be simple 
 nervousness and lack of strength. Only rest 
 and careful observation will make clear these 
 conditions and permit of their relief. Much
 
 76 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 distress might be avoided if the physician were 
 less inclined to make light of the symptoms; 
 if he were to gain time, if he needs it, by the 
 giving of some simple tonic which could do no 
 harm, but which would improve the general 
 vigor and bring the patient back for further 
 observation and treatment. A man who has 
 some real trouble, even though it is a slight 
 one, may be put into a very embarrassing posi- 
 tion by a premature statement of the "truth." 
 In these days we see a good many appar- 
 ently miraculous cures by Christian Science, 
 by New Thought, by prayer, and by other 
 unmedical means. There is no doubt at all 
 that many painful illnesses are relieved in such 
 ways. Physicians would be wiser to acknowl- 
 edge this and to admit the truth. And would 
 it not be better still if the Christian Scientists 
 would also tell the truth, admitting that they 
 cannot cure organic disease? They would lose 
 nothing by such admission. They can relieve, 
 often do relieve, the troubled, hopeless mind, 
 and in this way greatly improve even badly
 
 TRUTH-TELLING IN MEDICINE 77 
 
 diseased bodies. But they also do irreparable 
 harm when they claim to cure such diseases 
 as cancer or diphtheria, thereby deceiving the 
 patient and letting pass the precious time 
 when an operation or a serum injection might 
 save life. 
 
 There is a very subtle and unfortunate kind 
 of deception frequently indulged in by patient 
 and doctor alike — self-deception; alas, it is 
 too common. A man wants to believe this or 
 that and makes himself do so. I have known a 
 doctor who knew that a patient had tubercu- 
 losis, but who was so anxious to have it other- 
 wise that he failed until too late to take the 
 necessary steps for cure. Nearly all of us con- 
 done in our patients habits of selfishness which 
 would be much better frankly condemned. 
 Illness is a little world in itself. There is, per- 
 haps, as much dishonesty and insincerity 
 among invalids as among business men. Once 
 below a certain level of nervous tone, the tend- 
 ency is for a man to excuse in himself all kinds 
 of weaknesses. It is easy for the physician to
 
 78 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 forgive this in a patient and so to lay the 
 foundation of continued self-indulgence. Great 
 wisdom and experience are necessary to dis- 
 tinguish between culpable weakness and weak- 
 ness which cannot be helped. 
 
 Physicians must learn to face their medical 
 problems squarely and yet with an under- 
 standing which is human and kindly. They 
 must learn that no absolute standard of be- 
 havior can be set for the individual; that 
 everything depends upon circumstances. The 
 questions must be: Is this patient doing the 
 best he can with his life? Am I doing the best 
 I can for my patient? 
 
 Perhaps we shall come nearer to the truth 
 when patients and doctors revise their ideals 
 a little. The best results are not alvv'ays those 
 that are nearest to physical perfection. The 
 man who finished his book bravely and thank- 
 fully in the short time he had to live came 
 nearer to success and so to virtual cure than 
 many a one who idles along through a long 
 but comparatively useless life. He did not fail,
 
 TRUTH-TELLING IN MEDICINE 79 
 
 though he died at the time predicted. The 
 doctor who inspires his patients to brave and 
 eflFective living in spite of unavoidable limita- 
 tions may safely tell the truth as he sees it. 
 
 There is too much of cowardice in us; that 
 is really the reason why we cannot bear the 
 truth. Every one must face death. There is 
 nothing to be afraid of in that. What we 
 should fear is moral failure. No one need con- 
 fess to that if he has done, or if he will finally 
 do, the best he can with his life.
 
 XI 
 • A WAY OUT 
 
 Soon the large mild stars of springtime 
 
 Will resume the ancient twilight 
 
 And restore the heart of earth 
 
 To unvexed eternal poise; 
 
 For the great Will, calm and lonely, 
 
 Can no mortal grief derange, 
 
 No lost memories perturb; 
 
 And the sluices of the morning 
 
 Will be ofjened, and the daybreak 
 
 Well with bird-calls and with brook-notes, 
 
 Till there be no more despair 
 
 In the gold dream of the world. 
 
 Buss Carman 
 
 A SANATORIUM is a place where people, who, 
 for any reason, are not able to live success- 
 fully at home, may find special conditions 
 which make health and happiness possible. 
 There is great and increasing need of such in- 
 stitutions. If they are what they ought to be, 
 they will do much more than provide the con- 
 ditions of protected living. 
 
 Too many people fail in life who might be 
 happy and effective under special conditions, 
 or who might, with a little judicious training
 
 A WAY OUT 8i 
 
 and reconstruction of mind and body, be 
 made equal to the most trying conditions any- 
 where. A great improvement in sanatorium 
 aim and management has taken place within 
 the past twenty years. The sanatorium was 
 too often a sort of dumping-ground for the 
 unfit; a place where poor souls, unwelcome or 
 impossible at home, were literally incarcerated, 
 and where the principal occupation was the 
 exchange of doleful life histories. All that has 
 passed or is passing. The modern sanatorium 
 is more like a school than a hospital. It does 
 sometimes accommodate helpless patients who 
 can never be active again; but it is more often 
 a lively, busy center of reconstructive activity. 
 
 There should be no prejudice against the 
 sanatorium, and no hesitation about securing 
 its advantages for those who need its care. 
 
 A young woman has broken down, as we 
 say, nervously. She has a naturally frail and 
 poorly functioning body. She has been put 
 through the usual mill of education without 
 any particular regard to her limitations. Being
 
 82 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 a young person of spirit, she has kept up and 
 met the requirements of school, social, and 
 family life until she can do so no longer. Her 
 complaints are manifold. She gives out with 
 indigestion, irritability, headache, backache, 
 and an unreasonable fatigue on the slightest 
 exertion — the typical nervous wreck. She is 
 sent to the best physicians, who go over her 
 with care. They find no organic disease. They 
 advise a change of air, diet, a companion. 
 They assure the parents and the girl that there 
 is nothing the matter because they cannot find 
 any of the usual signs of heart, kidney, liver, 
 or brain disease. The patient is game; she un- 
 dertakes to shake off her nervousness. Per- 
 haps she succeeds for a while, but all the 
 symptoms return with increased force because 
 she naturally enough pushes beyond the lim- 
 its of her strength. 
 
 The girl accuses herself; her friends and her 
 family openly or covertly accuse her of being 
 queer or a quitter. After a series of plunges 
 and a like number of collapses she settles
 
 A WAY OUT 83 
 
 into chronic invalidism. Moral and physical 
 strength are likely to go by the board together 
 because there is nothing more discouraging 
 than honest effort which is rewarded with con- 
 tinued failure. Such a person needs desperately 
 to go to a sanatorium, not for the continued 
 pushing of an inadequate human machine, 
 probably not for a further attempt to make her 
 fit the conventional requirements; but for a 
 careful and leisurely study of her limitations, 
 for a considerable time of real rest with mini- 
 mum effort of any kind, and, finally, for a build- 
 ing-up of force and initiative within the natural 
 and inevitable limitations. 
 
 In the sanatorium it should be possible to 
 discover just what her failure means and what 
 check she must put upon her future activities. 
 More often than not there will be discovered 
 definite physical defects — a flabby muscular 
 system with a drooping body that cannot 
 function properly without a great deal of 
 muscle-building and nourishing, a long proc- 
 ess of rcposturing and setting-up of the droop-
 
 84 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 ing spine and prolapsed internal organs. More 
 often than not it will be found that as a result 
 of continued failure a naturally good nervous 
 apparatus has lost the art of efficient action. 
 Often enough also such a patient is adrift in 
 her philosophy of life. The simple faith of child- 
 hood has gone and nothing really adequate 
 has taken its place. Here, then, is a situation 
 which cannot be quickly helped, but which is 
 very far from being beyond help. 
 
 It will not be unprofitable to follow this 
 typical nervous invalid through a modern 
 sanatorium experience. She arrives, we will 
 say, on a gloomy day. The institution, beauti- 
 fully situated as it is likely to be, has no charm 
 for her. Her heart sinks at the sight of her 
 little room, but she goes to bed obediently. 
 There is a sleepless night filled with foreboding. 
 In the morning comes the doctor, but he has 
 not the professional air and the usual long 
 string of questions. He has provided himself, 
 whenever that is possible, with full informa- 
 tion about the patient, so that he will not be
 
 A WAY OUT 85 
 
 obliged at once to go over the ground trav- 
 ersed so painfully by all the other physicians. 
 He does ask her some questions, but they are 
 very different from what she expected. They 
 are friendly, reassuring questions. He does 
 not attempt to make his diagnosis on the first 
 visit, he may not even sound her heart and 
 lungs; all that is likely to be reserved for a 
 later date. He finds out how badly she sleeps, 
 how discouraged she is; but he refuses to be 
 drawn too far into the net of symptoms. Yet 
 somehow he impresses her as knowing what he 
 is about. There will probably be a few days, 
 even a few weeks, in bed if the exhaustion is 
 profound. She will be treated medically and 
 relieved of some of her symptoms. Slowly the 
 antagonism, the resentment, diminishes under 
 the friendly ministrations of nurses and per- 
 haps because of the silent influence of certain 
 great trees that stand sturdily yet placidly 
 between her window and the sky. After a 
 while come the physical questions and the 
 physical tests. She discovers that her body is
 
 86 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 not unhealthy, but is badly hung and poised; 
 that the feeble muscles could not, in the nature 
 of things, hold her up to the physical require- 
 ments; that it is no wonder she is tired. These 
 muscles and relaxed ligaments, she is told, can 
 be restored to usefulness if she will be patient 
 and obedient. 
 
 By good fortune she is not pushed and tried 
 out to the utmost — to the breaking point. 
 She is held back and given a little, only a very 
 little, in the way of exercise, or even of treat- 
 ment. Ah, if they had only known at home 
 that weak muscles and nerves are not restored 
 by overuse and that in such an illness very 
 little use may be overuse. But they could 
 not know. There were too many advisers. 
 One would say, "exercise"; another, "rest"; 
 and there was no one to prevent the harm of 
 violent extremes. 
 
 After a while the patient learns to know the 
 doctor not as a casual friend, but as a real and 
 sound adviser; a friend surely, though of a new 
 sort. Continued acquaintance makes possible
 
 A WAY OUT 87 
 
 confidences and revelations which the special- 
 ist in his office could not gain. Even the family 
 doctor, if she has been fortunate to know a man 
 of that disappearing type, could not separate 
 and disassociate the patient from the confus- 
 ing elements of the home life and so could not 
 judge quite clearly. 
 
 There is need of clear vision now and of wise 
 counsel. It appears that there have been other 
 nerve strains than those on the surface. Mis- 
 understandings at home, misunderstandings in 
 connection with the awaking of sexual life, 
 a hopeless love — God knows what tangles of 
 heart and mind. A wreckage made possible 
 by the weak body and by a natural repression 
 which could not speak and be understood. 
 What wonder that faith has died and despair 
 has supervened? A hard tangle, but not an 
 uncommon one. 
 
 Fortunate for the girl if the physician does 
 not attempt in a perfectly obvious way to set 
 her right; if he does not assume that all she 
 wants or needs is a little physical improve-
 
 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 ment, the relief of symptoms. Probably he 
 will listen patiently to the story and under- 
 stand it. Then he will say, "We must not go 
 into it too deeply now; when you are a little 
 farther on the road to health we will come 
 back to it." 
 
 Next on the programme is work, simple but 
 eflFective work with the hands — handicrafts of 
 the better sort which as a rule do not include 
 a lot of doubtful productions in hammered 
 brass and bad basketry. Rather a careful 
 training in hand-weaving, for example. Work 
 under competent instruction on looms that 
 are properly set up, and with colors and tex- 
 tures to satisfy the artistic sense. Work, work, 
 what a blessing it is! The rhymthic beat of the 
 loom, the necessity for careful attention, drive 
 all complications out of the mind for the time 
 being. But the hard thoughts, the depression, 
 the physical and mental suffering, will come 
 back. Usually the day is split up into many 
 short periods of work and rest so that there 
 is not time for consecutive worry and not work
 
 A WAY OUT 89 
 
 enough to prove utterly exhausting. The pa- 
 tient is urged to neglect her problems and to 
 slip gradually into the condition of a machine 
 that works and rests alternately without con- 
 scious thought. She is told that no harm can 
 come from the neglect of her problems; that 
 later, when she is better, they will be more 
 easily solved. Days and days of this, with 
 overfeeding when that is needed, with special 
 medical treatment if that is necessary. After 
 a while the sheer monotony of it becomes a 
 joy, an inexpressible relief. The tired brain 
 and the too busy nerves quiet down and the 
 final stage of progress is reached. 
 
 Out under the trees in a hammock the tired 
 patient, who does not try to think, begins to 
 feel the sheer beauty of her surroundings. 
 She could not do this before; but the improve- 
 ment in her health, the absence of the home 
 strain and a growing belief in recovery finally 
 have their way and she begins to live simply, 
 primitively. That is the key to the situation 
 — effective living in a small and circumscribed
 
 90 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 field. It is only a question of time when that 
 field may be enlarged; how much enlarged it is 
 still too early to know. 
 
 If religious faith is to be a factor in recovery 
 there must be no officious attempt to supply 
 it. The doctor may not wisely preach, but he 
 will find out sooner or later whether there is 
 need of support and development for such 
 germs of faith as have not perished. The new 
 faith, if it is to make the cure complete, must 
 be one of natural growth. It must grow out of 
 the love of trees and sky, a faith that gradu- 
 ally recognizes the spirit of God in these great 
 evidences of His love. When that recognition 
 is complete, the heart will supply what the 
 brain could not compass, and gradually, per- 
 haps, the faith of childhood will become under- 
 standable and real. If this happens there need 
 be little anxiety for the future. 
 
 Much may remain to be done along practical 
 lines. The field of activity must be gradually 
 increased until the safe limits are recognized 
 and understood. The patient must be taught.
 
 A WAY OUT 91 
 
 if she has not already taught herself, that suc- 
 cessful living means living within the strength, 
 but that such limitations need not be irksome 
 or really limiting at all. When it has been 
 made clear that a limited life well lived is better 
 than a wider one badly lived, and when the 
 habit of small but successful living has been 
 established, the mission of the sanatorium is 
 accomplished.
 
 XII 
 THE MEDICINE OF THE SPIRIT 
 
 With futile hands we seek to gain 
 
 Our inaccessible desire, 
 
 Diviner summits to attain, 
 
 With faith that sinks and feet that tire; 
 
 But nought shall conquer or control 
 
 The heavenward hunger of the soul. 
 
 The end, elusive and afar, 
 
 Still lures us with its beckoning flight. 
 
 And all our mortal moments are 
 
 A session of the infinite. 
 
 How shall we reach the great unknown 
 
 Nirvana of thy Lotus-throne? 
 
 Sarojini Naidu 
 
 The successful doctor is a busy man; too busy. 
 He goes about among his patients spending ten 
 minutes here and a half-hour there, listening to 
 recitals of symptoms, feeling of pulses, looking 
 at tongues, listening to hearts, taking blood 
 pressures, making keen and experienced obser- 
 vations whereby he predicts the course of ill- 
 ness and prescribes to the patient's physical 
 and mental relief. He finishes his day's work, 
 blots out the memory of much that has been
 
 THE MEDICINE OF THE SPIRIT 93 
 
 said and done, and goes to bed tired and with 
 a vague dissatisfaction. He is glad that he has 
 prevented the spread of contagion by isolation 
 and insistence on cleanliness, or he may realize 
 that he has saved a life by engineering a timely 
 piece of surgery. Yet there is sure to be in his 
 mind, if he is a thoughtful man, a feeling of 
 superficiality and futility. There comes before 
 him the picture of the patients whom he ought 
 to have helped, not only physically but men- 
 tally and spiritually, but with whom he has 
 totally failed. Is it not the physician's busi- 
 ness to cure the deep unhappiness of life and 
 to substitute courage for the distress and gloom 
 that accompany the sense of failure? He has 
 been putting patients on their physical feet 
 whenever he could. He has used all the new 
 and better methods of diagnosis and treat- 
 ment, yet he may have left untouched an 
 immense field of human suffering which is, or 
 might be, within his power to relieve. 
 
 Following a natural and useful method of 
 procedure, medicine is attempting to analyze
 
 94 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 the human mind in the hope of detecting by 
 precise methods the failures and complications 
 of the mental life. The classified questions and 
 answers, the kindly probing into matters of 
 suppression, into secret feelings and interests 
 and designs, may and often do make possible 
 extraordinary reconstructions and improve- 
 ments and much-needed relief. 
 
 It has become more and more evident to me 
 that medical men must be moralists and teach- 
 ers if they are to meet successfully some of 
 the most distressing maladies. There are many 
 people who will not go to their clergyman for 
 advice. I am inclined to think that there is a 
 great field of mental illness which lies open to 
 the physician only, and which cannot, as a 
 rule, be handled effectively by any one else. 
 This may be because the disappointed and 
 discouraged patient usually conceives his 
 trouble to be partly or wholly physical, in 
 which case the clergyman would be out of his 
 element; and partly because the patient feels 
 that the clergyman has moral preconceptions
 
 THE MEDICINE OF THE SPIRIT 95 
 
 that will surely bias him. When satisfactory 
 moral teachings come from the medical camp, 
 the effect is the more striking because it is in a 
 sense unexpected and because it takes intel- 
 ligent cognizance of the physical situation. 
 We know we ought not to neglect our bodies. 
 We therefore feel safer when we take our 
 depressions and anxieties to the doctor, who 
 will first go carefully into all the physical con- 
 ditions and apply the appropriate remedies. 
 Alas, for the nervous patient if the physician 
 goes no further than the bodily symptoms, 
 finds nothing organically wrong, and prescribes 
 a change of air or diversion. It is perhaps 
 worse still if he goes a little further and de- 
 clares that the nervousness and depression are 
 simply a matter of temperament and may be 
 changed if the patient is only willing. Such 
 a course is fruitful of the most unfortunate 
 misunderstandings and discouragements. 
 
 What is success? Who may say that he 
 is successful and not be contradicted? The
 
 96 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 accumulation of money, the enjoyment of 
 comparative health, the accomplishment of 
 great and good deeds; all these, in face of the 
 ideal and in the light of our pitiful mortality, 
 seem small enough. My patient, who feels so 
 deeply a sense of failure, is really in no worse 
 plight than any man or woman who looks 
 fairly at the limitations of life. We must come 
 at last to the world-old conclusion that char- 
 acter is the important thing. We must make 
 our patients understand that with all their 
 physical limitations they may have the great- 
 est thing in the world. 
 
 We can make them feel that actual accom- 
 plishment counts hardly at all in the presence 
 of a spirit which is reborn; that such a spirit 
 will inevitably do its best in the way of ma- 
 terial progress, and that v/e must accept such 
 physical limitations as may not be cured with 
 a resignation which is not darkened by de- 
 spair. We may go a step further and make it 
 as plain as we can that in some way, beyond 
 our poor words to express, the development
 
 THE MEDICINE OF THE SPIRIT 97 
 
 of character is a wholly satisfying experience 
 because it touches upon matters of infinite 
 reach and because it connects in some indefin- 
 able way the human personality with the divine 
 personality. When that connection is surely 
 made, failure ceases to exist. The sunlight 
 glows with new brightness, and the little amen- 
 ities of life which we have so often considered 
 all-important are of real significance only as 
 they minister to our larger growth. 
 
 Such medicine as this is too seldom given 
 by the grave and conscientious medical men 
 who go about their daily tasks, serving every 
 need but the final great need, and often 
 enough making people physically better that 
 they may suffer spiritually more. What is there 
 about such advice which need be shunned by 
 the scientific mind? We do not hesitate to 
 use medicines and drugs about which we know 
 comparatively little. The modern serums and 
 vaccines are surely not wholly understood. 
 I believe that the medical adviser will be 
 absolutely lost if he attempts to preach any
 
 98 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 doctrine or religion beyond which the scienti- 
 fic mind may reasonably go; but such a mind 
 may go much further than it usually does, still 
 keeping within the bounds of reason and under- 
 standing if not of actually proved fact. When 
 it is understood that medical men may wisely 
 preach a new message which is but the old 
 message of the spirit shorn only of sentiment 
 and dogma, there will be a new era for the 
 healing art. The medical teacher will acquire 
 a spiritual power commensurate with his phys- 
 ical accomplishments. He need not usurp the 
 office of the Church, but may easily send his 
 patients to the pews with minds so clarified 
 and prepared that they can understand and 
 use the teachings of the pulpit. 
 
 I realize that in placing the life of the spirit 
 above that of the body I am implying a kind 
 of impersonality, a certain freedom from sel- 
 fishness and self-concern which is beyond every- 
 day experience and which may well seem vi- 
 sionary to men who are fully occupied with 
 material things. I realize the insistence of the
 
 THE MEDICINE OF THE SPIRIT 99 
 
 material and the actual. Human love, human 
 sorrow, physical beauty, the appeal of all that 
 is true to line and form, the world of material 
 accomplishment; all these are intensely real 
 and important. Their call is not to be denied, 
 nor is the happiness or the sorrow which they 
 bring unreal. But the more I study people and 
 things, the more convinced I become that we 
 had better make the material world less real, 
 and the spiritual world more real, if we are 
 to live in the largest sense and approach our 
 destiny untrammeled and unafraid. Out of the 
 suggestions of this material world with its in- 
 finite charm, out of its loves and enthusiasms, 
 we must construct a spiritual world which 
 is largely impersonal and which is therefore 
 unassailable and indestructible. From that 
 intangible world we call spiritual we may come 
 back to the demands of life with a freshness 
 and a courage which see in material things 
 hardly more than the reflections of a larger 
 life beyond. It is only by a kind of "other- 
 worldliness" that we may hope to give true
 
 100 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 values to the material world. Approaching 
 from the impersonal side we are saved some- 
 thing of the poignancy of grief, something of 
 the finality of loss — since these things cannot 
 too deeply hurt the spirit which reaches be- 
 yond them. We can bear injustice and every 
 injury since the spiritual mind cannot suffer 
 in the material sense. But we must make more 
 than an approach to the material life; we must 
 live in fullest measure. For it is in the fine, 
 brave way we live the material life that we 
 prove the value and truth of the spiritual. 
 
 To be impersonal in the sense 1 mean is not 
 to lose identity in a kind of refined ether, but 
 rather to rise above material sensations, how- 
 ever absorbing they may be, into an atmos- 
 phere where we are freed or partly freed from 
 the deadly insistence and finality of things. 
 So we may enter an interpretive state in which 
 we are freed from our personal relationships 
 and see the world as from a height. From this 
 height we shall inevitably descend to do battle 
 with evil, to meet our own personal responsi-
 
 THE MEDICINE OF THE SPIRIT loi 
 
 bilities, to live and love with a warmth and 
 fullness that would not have been possible had 
 we been wholly absorbed in the material — 
 submerged in the actual. Moreover, I believe 
 that because of such withdrawal we may be- 
 come, do become, more intensely personal in 
 a better sense. It is by emancipation from the 
 tyranny of facts that our interpretation of 
 facts becomes clearer and more individual. 
 
 We must not advise our patients to forget 
 nor to forego the comforts and pleasures of life, 
 but rather to have them and live them more 
 fully. We must ask them to go beyond these 
 fine material things into a gracious aloofness 
 which gives new proportions and values, which 
 makes them live more wisely and devotedly, 
 which will make them accept physical limita- 
 tions with good heart, knowing that loss and 
 sorrow are not final, that they can hardly reach 
 beyond the material world. 
 
 Such a conception is not wholly of the imagi- 
 nation — a dream that is pitiful because it offers 
 hopes which cannot be substantiated. I believe
 
 102 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 that we may live in such a spirit world and be 
 unassailably happy and well, no matter what 
 may happen to us materially, no matter what 
 losses we may have to meet, or what sad debts 
 we may have to pay, over the counters of 
 reality. I even go so far as to think that those 
 who are most happy and who really triumph 
 over inevitable loss are already living in the 
 spirit world, though they may know it not.
 
 XIII 
 SYMBOLS 
 
 But — a stirring thrills the air 
 Like to sounds of joyance there 
 That the rages 
 Of the ages 
 Shall be cancelled, and deliverance offered from the darts that 
 
 were, 
 Consciousness the Will informing, till It fashion all things fair! 
 
 Thomas Hardy 
 
 The material world is so big and so beautiful 
 with such an infinity of charm and delight we 
 need not be blamed if at times we consider it 
 final and act accordingly. But we have to be 
 very well and happy to do this. The sea grows 
 dull and the trees droop sadly, the waves of 
 burnished grass in the sunlight soon lose their 
 luster, when illness or disappointment come. 
 Love itself grows cold. The shadow of injus- 
 tice and wrong darkens the world. However 
 hard we may work to sustain what we call 
 human life, that spark dies down and goes out. 
 There is nothing fixed upon which we can 
 depend, since life itself must finally depart.
 
 I04 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 There is only one remedy for this sense of 
 mutabihty. We must create a world above 
 the world, or rather out of it. As a matter of 
 fact, we are continually creating this unseen 
 world, continually preserving for final life 
 the charm and glory of material but chang- 
 ing things. The light upon the mountains, the 
 light upon the sea, have for us a significance 
 far beyond their material aspects. The ma- 
 terial world crumbles and disintegrates. But 
 if we really feel the beauty of nature, we shall 
 create for ourselves this upper world where 
 things do not change. Our sorrows and dis- 
 appointments, our lack of faith, our discour- 
 agements, make up, on the other hand, a con- 
 trasting world of shadow which 1 like to feel 
 has its significance and importance by way of 
 contrast, at least. All this is easy enough. We 
 are doing it all the time, laying up for ourselves 
 treasures in heaven. 
 
 It makes our material world even more real 
 to think that way about it, to feel that human 
 love, which seems so perfect, is but a poor
 
 SYMBOLS 105 
 
 shadow of the real thing which is struggling to 
 get through. Certain systems of religion, of 
 course, have it all planned, how we shall pass 
 from this world of material things to the spirit- 
 ual world, and a very beautiful planning it is, 
 perhaps nearer to the truth than we realize. 
 And yet here, more clearly than in most other 
 fields, we are dealing with symbols. 
 
 As a young surgeon I used at times to have 
 charge of the accident room in one of the great 
 metropolitan hospitals. Here were brought 
 a long, sad train of accidents; many of the 
 gravest sort. Most of the patients, of course, 
 were working-men. They came from the rail- 
 roads and the docks and they were almost all 
 of them Roman Catholics in their religion. It 
 was our custom, whenever a serious accident 
 was brought in, to send for a priest who lived 
 near by. I have often been privileged to stay 
 with the patient through the final ministra- 
 tions of the Church. Many times I have seen 
 men groaning in agony grow quiet and smile 
 with a kind of peace, which was then beyond
 
 io6 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 my understanding, when the little priest ap- 
 peared and held up his hand. I know now that 
 by the symbol of the cross he opened a door 
 into the upper world where things are perma- 
 nent, into the world which is bright with all 
 the brightness and beauty of this world, but 
 which does not fade, because it is of the 
 spirit. 
 
 Whatever kind of religion we may profess or 
 deny, such great things happen to us if we will 
 let the material experiences of life assume their 
 real value, their greatest value, which is sym- 
 bolic. Much of this symbolism comes to us 
 unconsciously or in spite of skepticism. It is, 
 after all, the thing which makes life really in- 
 teresting. The engineer who overcomes tre- 
 mendous odds, who builds his bridge where less 
 daring minds said it could not go, accomplishes 
 a great deal more for himself and for the world 
 than the literal spanning of the stream, and his 
 bridge is important for more purposes than 
 the passage of traffic. It is symbolic of some- 
 thing higher and finer than itself toward which
 
 SYMBOLS 107 
 
 men are constantly striving and constantly 
 attaining in part. Beautiful as is the world of 
 material things, it is the unattained, the half- 
 glimpsed charm that gives zest to life, which 
 gives to material things a value far beyond 
 our appraisal. I suppose it is this partly appre- 
 ciated value that keeps us going and sends 
 us over at last with good courage into the un- 
 seen world. 
 
 People of the present day, active, busy peo- 
 ple who have little time for thinking, seem to 
 reach discouragement and unhappiness by two 
 principal routes: they either fail in their ac- 
 complishments, or else, having attained their 
 object, find it inadequate and poor. Some- 
 times it seems as though real happiness could 
 be found only by indifference and thoughtless- 
 ness which will not recognize defeat and which 
 simply refuse to consider the final defeat of 
 death. 
 
 We may well ask these people to accept 
 some form of religious belief which will animate 
 their lives and give them hope and courage
 
 io8 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 in a difficult world. But very many will not, 
 cannot become religious in the usual sense. 
 It is usually the mind which is capable of 
 understanding and using symbolism that can 
 find in any religious conception the relief and 
 comfort which it needs. For this reason I plead 
 for symbolism in the common affairs of life 
 and in the common objects of life. Once we 
 begin to see a significance beyond the actual, 
 once we discern in the beauty of a tree or hill- 
 side something beyond the thing itself, inde- 
 finable, illusive, yet infinitely precious and 
 fine, we have begun to be religious in a very 
 real sense. We may not be able to accept one 
 doctrine or another, or any complete system of 
 salvation; but we shall be opening our minds 
 to the perception of the surrounding world of 
 spirit which interprets and glorifies the mate- 
 rial world and which may easily, without be- 
 coming illogical, make almost any religious con- 
 cept available for our use. There are plenty 
 of men, good men, too, who might become 
 deeply and consistently religious in the accept-
 
 SYMBOLS 109 
 
 ancc of some form of belief if they could ap- 
 proach from the side of logic, observation, and 
 simple feeling. 
 
 I feel the greater interest in encouraging this 
 method of approach among my patients be- 
 cause it has been my own method and has 
 brought me to a point of appreciation which 
 makes my religious life a very vital and com- 
 pelling thing. The time came with me, as I 
 suppose it does with half the world, when I 
 could no longer accept the teachings of my 
 childhood with any kind of comfort or com- 
 plaisance. I simply did not believe it. The 
 story of the Christ and the scheme of salvation 
 meant little to me because I had developed 
 what I supposed was a logical mind and was 
 dealing with facts. Yet there was always in 
 the back of my mind a deep longing for 
 some satisfying belief and a terrible sense of 
 finality in which the idea of death loomed 
 large. 
 
 I did not acquire a religious belief out of 
 hand, I did not say I believe this or 1 believe
 
 no WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 that. I could not and be true to what I con- 
 sidered logic and consistency. 1 got my reli- 
 gion by gazing long and earnestly at the sea 
 and the sky, and at all beautiful things that 
 came before me; by looking with open mind 
 and heart into the world of nature, into the 
 deep woods, and into the streams; by listening 
 with rapt spirit to the best of music; by coming 
 close to the more complex world of joy and 
 suffering in the world of men. This beauti- 
 ful world was utterly inexplicable, impossible, 
 unless it should be symbolic of some greater 
 life and some greater beauty beyond. I gazed 
 at the blue and white of the sea in the sunlight 
 and in the drifting mist until I felt the presence 
 of God. Then I could understand the God of 
 the Bible, the God of the Old Testament, and 
 the beautiful symbolism of the Christ in the 
 New. I lost once and for all the feeling of lone- 
 liness and despair that had been so terribly a 
 part of life before. I found in symbols a sense 
 of greater life and understanding beyond the 
 realm of the senses. It became possible for me
 
 SYMBOLS III 
 
 to worship and to trust a God I could neither 
 see, nor hear, nor imagine. There can be no 
 greater reUef for tired nerves, for the weariness 
 of mental suffering, than just such a conver- 
 sion.
 
 XIV 
 SLEEP 
 
 Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 
 
 May weep but never see, 
 
 A night of memories and sighs 
 
 I consecrate to thee. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor 
 
 And men grew afraid of sleep in Allathurion. And they grew 
 worn and pale; some through the want of rest, and others from 
 fear of the things they saw on the cindery plains of Hell. 
 
 Lord Dunsany 
 
 However busy and restless the days may be, 
 however driven and tormented the hours of 
 labor, the night for most of us is a time of 
 quiet, a time dedicated to restoration of body 
 and mind. It is a pity we do not always use 
 the night for this great purpose. How many 
 tired and distracted people carry to their beds 
 the "cares that infest the day"! How many 
 nights that should be calm and serene are torn 
 and distressed! 
 
 Sometimes in the stress of life we may not 
 hope for sleep. Some great anxiety, some
 
 SLEEP 113 
 
 great loss, pain, or sorrow, preclude sleep and 
 we must lie awake with our unhappy medi- 
 tations. 
 
 All medical men are besieged by patients 
 who beg for something to make them sleep; 
 and all medical men who are wise are very 
 cautious, very loath, to dispense the care- 
 dispelling drugs which excuse our faulty living 
 and give us sleep. For they know that except 
 where there is some great and special need it 
 is wrong, or positively harmful, to induce sleep 
 by artificial means. I think I may say truth- 
 fully that with rare exceptions sleep will come 
 to "bless the tired eyes" if we live our days 
 consistently and wisely; if we do not abuse the 
 privilege of life. 
 
 I find that many of those whom I am 
 tempted to drug to sleep are out of tune with 
 life; are so restless and turbulent, or so de- 
 pressed and unhappy, that sleep is impossible. 
 I am not thinking now of physical pain, that 
 is another matter; but of the mental and spir- 
 itual suffering which comes from maladjust-
 
 114 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 ment, from rebellion at the deep unhappiness 
 which is too often our human lot. 
 
 The sleepless patient must, first of all, be 
 studied physically. We must find, and correct 
 if we can, any cause of physical restlessness 
 or pain. We must correct bad physical habits 
 so that the night may be approached with the 
 best possible bodily conditions; then we must 
 attempt the more subtle readjustments of 
 mind and spirit. 
 
 It is easy enough to say to the overworked 
 and sleepless business man, "You must leave 
 your cares behind you when you go home." 
 But how can he when they are so insistent; 
 when fortune or wreck wait upon his judg- 
 ment; when the worry and uncertainty of busi- 
 ness call insistently for twenty-four hours of 
 thought and judgment? You may even make 
 him see that his judgment will be better if he 
 gives up to relaxation and diversion for a little 
 while. He can rarely follow your advice unless 
 he acquires a superiority, a grasp, which is 
 greater than business.
 
 SLEEP 115 
 
 There must be background and justification 
 in life if there is to be tranquillity and peace. 
 The tired men of affairs or the weary and dis- 
 tracted society women must get behind the 
 details of life — must see life whole and not in 
 restless parts — if they are to find restoration 
 in sleep. We are so much absorbed with the 
 material that we get quite out of touch with 
 the great serenity which surrounds us and of 
 which we were meant to be a part. We put 
 the affairs of life first and they overcome us. 
 We forget that life and work, at their best, are 
 but the expression of something deeper and 
 finer. If we could only get the proportion 
 right, if we could work for something besides 
 money and power, there would be less question 
 of sleep. 
 
 How many of us are aware of the night; 
 how many of us look out of our windows at 
 the moonlight and the trees with a sense of 
 their beauty, an appreciation which is worship? 
 How many of us feel, behind the loveliness 
 that thrills us, the staying, supporting spirit
 
 ii6 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 of God — of a God so great and so wise that 
 we may safely leave in His hands all the issues 
 of life? Ah, if we only could feel that faith 
 there would be fewer sleepless nights. 
 
 We sleep and dream, and the night is hideous 
 with phantoms and terrors. It is almost better 
 to lie awake. There are theories about dreams 
 — ingenious explanations. They express the 
 hidden desires and wishes — well — perhaps. I 
 do not believe much in that, but I know that 
 if we treat our bodies well, if we do not strain 
 and tax our minds with needless worries, if 
 our lives are clean and good, if they are sur- 
 rounded and inspired by something deeper 
 than life, we may dream, but the dreams will 
 not hurt us. 
 
 It seems that the mind is what we call sug- 
 gestible. We all know that the thoughts we 
 take to bed with us are very apt to recur in the 
 morning or in wakeful hours. Most of us have 
 had the experience of waking as though roused 
 by an alarm clock at some hour we had chosen 
 for the beginning of a journey. If it is so.
 
 SLEEP 117 
 
 that the sleeping mind is sensitive to sugges- 
 tion, that it is enriched or wearied by uncon- 
 scious thinking, what a field for education 
 and development is here. The poet or the 
 musician wakens in the night to find he has 
 elaborated some new and beautfiul idea. We 
 may not all do this, but we are badly off if we 
 cannot go to sleep with some large and inspir- 
 ing thought, some tender or loving feeling 
 which shall live on through the hours of sleep, 
 making us finer, better men and women, more 
 and more sensitive to the beauty and signifi- 
 cance of life. I know of nothing more charm- 
 ing in literature than the dream trysts of Peter 
 Ibbetson. True or not, they are symbolic 
 of what may happen in sleep to enrich and 
 develop our lives, and which may save them 
 from the dreariness and unhappiness that 
 must so often persist for years. 
 
 "Oh, now you are dreaming true. It's quite 
 easy — my father taught me. You have only 
 to sleep with your feet crossed and your hands 
 behind your head. You must never leave off
 
 ii8 WAR-TIME NERVES 
 
 thinking where you want to be in your dreams, 
 and when you fall asleep you will get there." 
 
 But those who lie awake must not wish too 
 much for sleep. Sleep will always elude us if 
 we seek too ardently. The wearying devices 
 which are recommended will usually fail to 
 produce sleep, and the man who reads until 
 dawn or who looks anxiously at his watch every 
 hour is sure to suffer more than one who takes 
 the night as it comes. If there is no actual 
 pain it should be possible to lie awake success- 
 fully, which is almost as good as sleep. 
 
 I do not believe that the mind need always 
 be active. It is quite possible to lie for hours 
 almost unthinking and so virtually sleeping. 
 If life has become bearable, if the tired mind 
 at last understands why it is living — that 
 some great purpose underlies the complexities 
 and distractions of the day; a purpose which 
 reaches back, far back beyond our sight and 
 understanding, into the heart and life of God; 
 if we can feel that our living is not in vain, that 
 our successes, our failures, our happiness, and
 
 SLEEP 1 19 
 
 our sorrow, are all known and understood in 
 some way far beyond our ken, there will be 
 no fear of the night, but only a great under- 
 standing which makes it almost a matter of 
 indifference whether we wake or sleep. 
 
 THE END
 
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