[* Published from notes found among Colonel Ingersoll's
papers, evidently written soon after the discovery of the
"Keeley Cure."]
_Question_. Do you consider inebriety a disease, or the result of
diseased conditions?
_Answer_. I believe that by a long and continuous use of stimulants,
the system gets in such a condition that it imperatively demands
not only the usual, but an increased stimulant. After a time,
every nerve becomes hungry, and there is in the body of the man a
cry, coming from every nerve, for nourishment. There is a kind of
famine, and unless the want is supplied, insanity is the result.
This hunger of the nerves drowns the voice of reason--cares nothing
for argument--nothing for experience--nothing for the sufferings
of others--nothing for anything, except for the food it requires.
Words are wasted, advice is of no possible use, argument is like
reasoning with the dead. The man has lost the control of his will
--it has been won over to the side of the nerves. He imagines that
if the nerves are once satisfied he can then resume the control of
himself. Of course, this is a mistake, and the more the nerves
are satisfied, the more imperative is their demand. Arguments are
not of the slightest force. The knowledge--the conviction--that
the course pursued is wrong, has no effect. The man is in the
grasp of appetite. He is like a ship at the mercy of wind and wave
and tide. The fact that the needle of the compass points to the
north has no effect--the compass is not a force--it cannot battle
with the wind and tide--and so, in spite of the fact that the needle
points to the north, the ship is stranded on the rocks.
So the fact that the man knows that he should not drink has not
the slightest effect upon him. The sophistry of passion outweighs
all that reason can urge. In other words, the man is the victim
of disease, and until the disease is arrested, his will is not his
own. He may wish to reform, but wish is not will. He knows all
of the arguments in favor of temperance--he knows all about the
distress of wife and child--all about the loss of reputation and
character--all about the chasm toward which he is drifting--and
yet, not being the master of himself, he goes with the tide.
For thousands of years society has sought to do away with inebriety
by argument, by example, by law; and yet millions and millions have
been carried away and countless thousands have become victims of
alcohol. In this contest words have always been worthless, for
the reason that no argument can benefit a man who has lost control
of himself.
_Question_. As a lawyer, will you express an opinion as to the
moral and legal responsibility of a victim of alcoholism?
_Answer_. Personally, I regard the moral and legal responsibility
of all persons as being exactly the same. All persons do as they
must. If you wish to change the conduct of an individual you must
change his conditions--otherwise his actions will remain the same.
We are beginning to find that there is no effect without a cause,
and that the conduct of individuals is not an exception to this
law. Every hope, every fear, every dream, every virtue, every
crime, has behind it an efficient cause. Men do neither right nor
wrong by chance. In the world of fact and in the world of conduct,
as well as in the world of imagination, there is no room, no place,
for chance.
_Question_. In the case of an inebriate who has committed a crime,
what do you think of the common judicial opinion that such a criminal
is as deserving of punishment as a person not inebriated?
_Answer_. I see no difference. Believing as I do that all persons
act as they must, it makes not the slightest difference whether
the person so acting is what we call inebriated, or sane, or insane
--he acts as he must.
There should be no such thing as punishment. Society should protect
itself by such means as intelligence and humanity may suggest, but
the idea of punishment is barbarous. No man ever was, no man ever
will be, made better by punishment. Society should have two objects
in view: First, the defence of itself, and second, the reformation
of the so-called criminal.
The world has gone on fining, imprisoning, torturing and killing
the victims of condition and circumstance, and condition and
circumstance have gone on producing the same kind of men and women
year after year and century after century--and all this is so
completely within the control of cause and effect, within the scope
and jurisdiction of universal law, that we can prophesy the number
of criminals for the next year--the thieves and robbers and murderers
--with almost absolute certainty.
There are just so many mistakes committed every year--so many crimes
--so many heartless and foolish things done--and it does not seem
to be--at least by the present methods--possible to increase or
decrease the number.
We have thousands and thousands of pulpits, and thousands of
moralists, and countless talkers and advisers, but all these sermons,
and all the advice, and all the talk, seem utterly powerless in
the presence of cause and effect. Mothers may pray, wives may
weep, children may starve, but the great procession moves on.
For thousands of years the world endeavored to save itself from
disease by ceremonies, by genuflections, by prayers, by an appeal
to the charity and mercy of heaven--but the diseases flourished
and the graveyards became populous, and all the ceremonies and all
the prayers were without the slightest effect. We must at last
recognize the fact, that not only life, but conduct, has a physical
basis. We must at last recognize the fact that virtue and vice,
genius and stupidity, are born of certain conditions.
_Question_. In which way do you think the reformation or reconstruction
of the inebriate is to be effected--by punishment, by moral suasion,
by seclusion, or by medical treatment?
_Answer_. In the first place, punishment simply increases the
disease. The victim, without being able to give the reasons, feels
that punishment is unjust, and thus feeling, the effect of the
punishment cannot be good.
You might as well punish a man for having the consumption which he
inherited from his parents, or for having a contagious disease
which was given to him without his fault, as to punish him for
drunkenness. No one wishes to be unhappy--no one wishes to destroy
his own well-being. All persons prefer happiness to unhappiness,
and success to failure, Consequently, you might as well punish a
man for being unhappy, and thus increase his unhappiness, as to
punish him for drunkenness. In neither case is he responsible for
what he suffers.
Neither can you cure this man by what is called moral suasion.
Moral suasion, if it amounts to anything, is the force of argument
--that is to say, the result of presenting the facts to the victim.
Now, of all persons in the world, the victim knows the facts. He
knows not only the effect upon those who love him, but the effect
upon himself. There are no words that can add to his vivid
appreciation of the situation. There is no language so eloquent
as the sufferings of his wife and children. All these things the
drunkard knows, and knows perfectly, and knows as well as any other
human being can know. At the same time, he feels that the tide
and current of passion are beyond his power. He feels that he
cannot row against the stream.
There is but one way, and that is, to treat the drunkard as the
victim of a disease--treat him precisely as you would a man with
a fever, as a man suffering from smallpox, or with some form of
indigestion. It is impossible to talk a man out of consumption,
or to reason him out of typhoid fever. You may tell him that he
ought not to die, that he ought to take into consideration the
condition in which he would leave his wife. You may talk to him
about his children--the necessity of their being fed and educated
--but all this will have nothing to do with the progress of the
disease. The man does not wish to die--he wishes to live--and yet,
there will come a time in his disease when even that wish to live
loses its power to will, and the man drifts away on the tide,
careless of life or death.
So it is with drink. Every nerve asks for a stimulant. Every drop
of blood cries out for assistance, and in spite of all argument,
in spite of all knowledge, in this famine of the nerves, a man
loses the power of will. Reason abdicates the throne, and hunger
takes its place.
_Question_. Will you state your reasons for your belief?
_Answer_. In the first place, I will give a reason for my unbelief
in what is called moral suasion and in legislation.
As I said before, for thousands and thousands of years, fathers
and mothers and daughters and sisters and brothers have been
endeavoring to prevent the ones they love from drink, and yet, in
spite of everything, millions have gone on and filled at last a
drunkard's grave. So, societies have been formed all over the
world. But the consumption of ardent spirits has steadily increased.
Laws have been passed in nearly all the nations of the world upon
the subject, and these laws, so far as I can see, have done but
little, if any, good.
And the same old question is upon us now: What shall be done with
the victims of drink? There have been probably many instances in
which men have signed the pledge and have reformed. I do not say
that it is not possible to reform many men, in certain stages, by
moral suasion. Possibly, many men can be reformed in certain
stages, by law; but the per cent. is so small that, in spite of
that per cent., the average increases. For these reasons, I have
lost confidence in legislation and in moral suasion. I do not say
what legislation may do by way of prevention, or what moral suasion
may do in the same direction, but I do say that after man have
become the victims of alcohol, advice and law seem to have lost
their force.
I believe that science is to become the savior of mankind. In
other words, every appetite, every excess, has a physical basis,
and if we only knew enough of the human system--of the tides and
currents of thought and will and wish--enough of the storms of
passion--if we only knew how the brain acts and operates--if we
only knew the relation between blood and thought, between thought
and act--if we only knew the conditions of conduct, then we could,
through science, control the passions of the human race.
When I first heard of the cure of inebriety through scientific
means, I felt that the morning star had risen in the east--I felt
that at last we were finding solid ground. I did not accept--being
of a skeptical turn of mind--all that I heard as true. I preferred
to hope, and wait. I have waited, until I have seen men, the
victims of alcohol, in the very gutter of disgrace and despair,
lifted from the mire, rescued from the famine of desire, from the
grasp of appetite. I have seen them suddenly become men--masters
and monarchs of themselves.