Part 4

I there state, “that two establishments on the same grounds should be allowed and encouraged for the purpose of Classification. My reason for this alteration, in the Act relative to such places, is, that large and crowded houses are decidedly objectionable, from the greater chance of noise and disturbance, from their being less healthy, and from their assuming more of a prison-like appearance, than of a family mansion. With two, we can adopt a better and more complete method of classification; and it is a consideration of very great importance, that in one of them the proprietor and his family should reside, and devote themselves to recent, partial, slight, or convalescent cases.”

As I conceive this plan of two establishments for the purposes of classification, to be of the highest importance, and essential to the moral regulation, as well as to the cure of the insane, so far from avoiding any investigation of either the principle of their adoption, or their mode of management, I wish the most exact knowledge to be obtained of the one, and invite the fullest scrutiny of the other.

I would have not only two establishments in the same grounds, but these sufficiently separated so as to prevent annoyance; and, not only this separation, but I would have one to consist of a male and female part, sufficiently separated from each other. This arrangement I have at my own establishments, which consist of Fair Mead House, and of Leopard’s Hill Lodge, for males, and Springfield for females, with appendages, and separate cottages; and more especially, I would have each house divided into a front and back part, and this front part so contrived, that in appearance it should be sufficiently distinct from the other, so that patients might feel, on recovery, that removal to this part withdrew them from the more painful associations of their past state, and afforded them solace and encouragement; thus might their recovery be expedited, and the chances of relapse lessened. In the domestic part of the establishment, the proprietor and his family should reside.

In many cases, an entirely separate house is required. I have known cases, the cure of which would have been apparently blighted and blasted for ever, if they could not have been wholly removed from, not merely the real, but the apparent, association of former scenes and circumstances, and this without any change in their servants and medical treatment and attendance, which is also essential. Yet it is perfectly true, that in other cases this association is not so injurious as most people would imagine; the dawnings of the light of the understanding are, for the most part, so gradual, and the mists of delusion so gently steal away, that there would be a greater shock given by a sudden transfer to rational scenes and real life, than by their continuance in the place where they might be at the time.

I have often, with feelings of wonder and admiration, had occasion to observe these occurrences. I have seen a convalescent patient very much attracted by, and perfectly delighted with, the strange remarks, speeches, and conduct of another inmate, sometimes fancying it was meant purposely for his amusement and diversion; and on whom, refined wit would have been lost, while the incongruous combinations of unguided thought, which no wit or ingenuity can equal, appears, and is the very essence of wit to him. Notwithstanding the truth of all this, there are other cases,—cases of more sudden convalescence, where all this would shock and horrify, and produce a revulsion of feeling, most dangerous to them in their delicate and fragile state, and perhaps permanently fatal to their recovery. This is more particularly the danger in the incipient stage of convalescence in some violent cases of mania, {5} and where I am quite certain delicate and judicious attention have been essential; and where first, perhaps, removal to the family part of the house, then removal altogether to our own house, was apparently their salvation.

No. 106, admitted April 11th, 1820, aged 65.

This was one of the cases apparently saved by such timely attention, and which I intend hereafter to describe more particularly, for the purpose of illustrating both the medical and moral treatment of many similar cases of insanity. I shall, however, state so much of the case now, as will be sufficient to show, that there is not only a critical period of the disease, when judicious medical and intellectual attention arrests and prevents its transition into another and equally dangerous form of over-excitation, so dangerous, that if allowed to take its course, it not unfrequently ends in dementia, but also, and more especially to show, that in all cases our moral treatment must have in view the nature of the existing causes, in order that we may be able to adopt the most suitable methods of counteracting their effects,—a part of treatment which has hitherto been either wholly overlooked, or else exercised without much knowledge and discretion; although I am certain it is of great importance in the treatment of all curable cases of insanity, and in many cases so important, that by such methods we may ultimately succeed in removing these causes altogether; and removing them, remove also the fear of their again (at any future time) being allowed to have any baneful operation.

This person, who was a dissenting minister, had always been reckoned by all parties, one who entertained gloomy views in religion, and pushed these into extremes; his zeal was equally violent and vindictive, and he besides possessed a mind with every opposite quality in excess, and which had always, as far as I could ascertain, been in a state of irregular and discordant excitation; it is quite certain that during many years past, it had been habitually kept in a very painful and irritable state, by several causes, and one more especially deserving notice. He lived unhappily with his wife and her friends,—instead of union and harmony, all was dislike and contradiction, perpetual storms and altercations, which had just before terminated in a separation between himself and them.

Thus, from the condition of his own unsettled and ill-constituted mind, his gloomy and vindictive views in religion, his variable and irritable temper, and from the nature of the domestic excitement under which he had suffered most severely, it was easy to trace the distressing and awful form of his derangement to the causes which had produced it.

He was in a state of the most furious mania;—his was one of the most violent and distressing cases I had ever seen. It is impossible to convey any adequate conception of its appalling nature. His language was obscene and vulgar, and his horrible oaths and blasphemous speeches were poured forth for some weeks without ceasing, and without sleep, with a volubility, rapidity, and a voice so loud, and so foaming with passion, and with such a frightful expression of countenance, that even those most accustomed to such scenes, and of the strongest nerves, trembled before him. He had a demoniac energy and eloquence, which was, indeed, of the most harrowing and awful kind. It was truly terrific! for even at a distance, his voice sounded like a river escaping from some narrowed part, and rushing with impetuosity over every thing that would impede its course.

Had a short-hand writer taken down his ravings, it would have proved that this picture is far from being an overcharged one. One principle subject of his furious raving, was his favourite doctrine of Election; or rather, perhaps, I ought to say, his blasphemous doctrine of Reprobation. He was constantly denouncing every one (and against myself he was peculiarly severe) as lost, whose belief on this point was not, even in phraseology, the same as his own;—calling on God to execute vengeance upon them;—then blaspheming God, that his prayers and commands were neither heard nor obeyed;—taunting and cursing Him with a contempt which no language can describe;—calling his clemency weakness, and his not executing his decrees a proof he did not possess the power he pretended to have. In fact no one could hear and see him without feeling shocked, and without having a conviction forced upon him that there must be something wrong—some perversion of truth in those doctrines, as well as in his own mental system, out of which all this dreadful spirit, and all these terrific extremes originated, and of which this case appeared a Satanic caricature. It is a truth, that there is no error or perversion of truth that we may not perceive in reviewing the history of mind caricatured, and perhaps in a still more striking manner among those who are in confinement from being directly denounced insane.

On the subsidence of his excitement, he was overwhelmed with the perfect recollection of all he had uttered during the utmost fury of his dreadful ravings, and his state was truly miserable and deplorable. In this state I took great pains with him, treated him with every possible kindness, and endeavoured to show him every possible mark of my confidence: one instance of which may be mentioned.—I gave him, at a very early period of his convalescence, a set of manuscript sermons, all in loose slips, and which he read with great pleasure, and preserved with great care. They were affectionate moral discourses, strictly, I believe, in agreement with the spirit of Christianity, though not on any peculiar doctrines; for in these I had purposely avoided all doctrinal points, although doctrinal views may, when properly presented, be the best preventives, and in some cases the best medicines, in the cure of insanity; but the circumstances in which I was at that time placed, appeared to forbid even their most cautious introduction, and were scarcely admissible to an audience consisting of some of almost all denominations. However, he said, the spirit of these discourses just suited his altered state of mind, for he himself felt horror-struck at the views which had led to such awful consequences.

Though no one can feel more than I do, the necessity of not busily trying to proselyte or unhinge unnecessarily any one’s settled opinions, yet this was an extreme case, and in such cases, where cure seems to depend on the proper administration of counteractive views, every other feeling should give way to this conviction; but at the same time, every thing depends on the judicious mode of stating these sounder views. This case was a remarkable instance of the necessity of such management; and where such views were apparently of the utmost importance to his comfort and peace. But it would require a separate Essay to defend what I conceive those sounder views; and even were I to give this striking case as a specimen of their happy influence, I still might lay myself open to cavils and objections. I shall, therefore, in a separate Essay, bring forth all the arguments, and exert all the power I possess in their defence.

Though his furious state was so unusually violent, yet it was of long duration, and after it had left him, it was some time before he was able to overcome the painful reflections which came over him; he however recovered, and returned home in the September following, since which period I have received many, and almost constant proofs of his great gratitude and attachment to me, one of which is worthy of being stated.

In the autumn of 1824, he walked about a hundred miles to see me, and not finding my place of residence, he called on a medical acquaintance, to whom his description of my kindness and attention, and their happy influence upon himself, were so powerful and eloquent, that this new and accidental medical acquaintance, became from that time to the present, my first and warmest medical friend in encouraging me to establish myself in my present residence, and to whom I have to attribute the origin of all my success; so that this recovered patient’s gratitude, who followed me unexpectedly, was the first step in my progress, and was the sole foundation of every thing which I have done or exists in this place. It was my only introduction. I may be permitted, therefore, to acknowledge my great obligations to the warm-heart friendship of the person, of whose melancholy state I have just given a general description, as well as, the medical friend to whom I have alluded.

No. 195, admitted October 27th, 1821.

This case, I shall hereafter show, was apparently saved by this separation from former associates, at this critical period of convalescence, and he was one who required very superior and intellectual attention.

He was a young man of some talents, and of various pursuits and acquirements, by far too many to be perfect in any one. Born with a large proportion of the family failing, his vanity had been fed by flattery and example, so much so, that it might be said he was bred in vanity’s hot-house; and ultimately, from over excitation, and too little collision with the world, he fancied himself a second Crichton. Of course with such an estimate of himself, it could not be otherwise but that he was constantly meeting with disappointments and mortifications, on his entrance into his profession, and the real business of life. From these causes, as well as from an increase at this time, of parental embarrassments and mortifications, (and home had always been an atmosphere of perpetual storms), from an hereditary scrofulous habit, and from his self-made morbid state, his mind was at last overwhelmed. But it is not my intention to enter into all the details of his history, further than to prove that the causes which produced his disease, and the form his insanity assumed, perfectly corresponded with each other.

On his arrival he was in a very exalted state of over-excitation; he was the greatest of men in every mental capacity and acquirement; all Philosophers, Poets, Painters, and Linguists, that had been, or were in existence, were nothing in comparison with himself, nor were their works to be compared with those he intended to execute, and the basis of which he had already formed in his own conception. Nothing could exceed the vain and pompous displays of his talents and acquirements; and it is impossible to conceive, from the difficulty he had to support his pretensions, with the defects under which he then laboured, what a very painful and ridiculous exhibition it produced. Still his vanity and exaggerated estimate of himself, combined with his ineffable contempt for others, remained unchecked. One feature was very striking; he possessed considerable powers of imitation, in the exercise of which he took great delight, and in pouring forth his contempt against others, he did it with the attitude and voice of Kemble; it was almost impossible not to feel the force of his manner, and against myself he was particularly severe, and his poignant expressions of contempt and indignity were most provoking and overwhelming. When, however, a change of state occurred, I felt so interested for his trembling and doubtful situation, that I had even a bed put up for him in my own room. I had always some case of this kind about me, and no one can conceive the sacrifice of health and comfort it cost me.

This case, as well as the last described, may perhaps be detailed more particularly in their proper place, to illustrate a general principle, of far more importance than even moral treatment. And even in moral treatment it will appear how important this general principle is, to enable us to perceive how we may best counteract the effects which may have arisen from the operation of baneful causes: for by it we shall be able to trace errors to their source, and without this, we can never counteract and cure them. And this we can only do with certainty, by possessing correct views of the origin, nature, and constitution of the human mind, and of the correspondence which exists between physical effects, and mental or spiritual causes: out of which views this general principle will be educed, and it will be found to be of universal application.

In this case it is evident, a system of moral and intellectual treatment was required, in order to counteract and cure the effects which had arisen out of the soil in which he had existed, very different from that which was necessary for the previous case; and it is equally evident, without such knowledge, it is more than probable that neither of these minds would ever have been restored to their balance, or right state.

He recovered, and his character appeared much improved by his severe visitation. He became very much attached to me, and wrote a great deal for me, as my amanuensis. It is worthy of remark, that he remained of choice for a considerable time after his health was re-established, on account of the dread he felt at returning to the place and circumstances where his disease had arisen.

It is remarkable also, that after he had been some weeks in private lodgings, assisting his father, in his profession at the Assizes, he, the very night previous to their intended return home, made his escape to America.

It is singular, that the first case I had, as an insane patient, after I left York, was his sister.

I might select a great number of cases, where I conceive such attention was apparently one principal cause of their recovery, and which I took under my more immediate care on this account, and to whom I devoted much of my time, and made many sacrifices of my comfort and convenience.

In order to show the importance of such attention, it will be necessary briefly to explain the description and character of the cases to which I more particularly allude, and that it may appear that these opinions are not new, I shall quote from the first part of this volume already published. I there say, “What is called mania and melancholia, are for the most part effects of the same power being overactive, but overactive in different directions.” If the distressing passions are overactive, we have melancholia,—if the animal propensities, we have furious mania,—and if the exhilirating passions, we have an exuberance of joyous activity.

“This is a view not before taken, and will account for much of the difference in the effect from the same cause. This melancholy, or state of depression, caused by the activity of the depressing passions, is to be distinguished from the state of exhaustion and debility, which succeeds some violent paroxysms, or which follows an exhausted state of body and mind from overexertion, and assumes either an apparent melancholy character, from torpor or partial suspension of mind, or is in reality a case of melancholia of the most miserable description, from the exclusive activity of these depressing passions, which are then more likely to become the sole masters of the field of action.” {16}

In the former mentioned cases, it appears, that the exciting and depressing passions alternately take on habitudes of action, so that it is still over excitement, but the effects, from its direction being different, are diametrically opposed to each other: in the one case, as I have already said, this nervous energy is employed in exciting into activity the passions which exhilirate: in the other, those which depress us.