fuss about giving a man a dose of medicine!' But the fact is, there are
many preliminaries to be gone through; the ground has to be prepared; the
body must first be made susceptible to treatment; the patient's whole
condition has to be studied; he must be purged, reduced, dieted, properly
exercised, enabled to sleep, coaxed into tranquillity. Now other invalids
will submit to all this; but mania robs its victims of self-control; they
are restive and jib; their physicians are in danger, and treatment at a
disadvantage. Constantly, when we are on the very point of success and
full of hope, some slight hitch occurs, and a relapse takes place which
undoes all in a moment, neutralizing our care and tripping up our art.
Now, after my going through all this, after my wrestle with this
formidable disease and my triumph over so elusive an ailment, is it still
your intention to support him in disinheriting me? Shall he interpret the
laws as he will against his benefactor? Will you look on while he makes
war upon nature? I obey nature, gentlemen of the jury, in saving my
father from death, and myself from the loss of him, unjust as he had
been. He on the contrary defers to law (he calls it law) in ruining and
cutting off from his kin the son who has obliged him. He is a cruel
father, I a loving son. I own the authority of nature: he spurns and
flings it from him. How misplaced is this paternal hate! How worse
misplaced this filial love! For I must reproach myself--my father will
have it so. And the reproach? That where I should hate (for I am hated),
I love, and where I should love little, I love much. Yet surely nature
requires of parents that they love their children more than of children
that they love their parents. But he deliberately disregards both the
law, which secures children their family rights during good behaviour,
and nature, which inspires parents with fervent love for their offspring.
Having greater incentives to affection, you might suppose that he would
confer the fruits of it upon me in larger measure, or at the least
reciprocate and emulate my love. Alas, far from it! he returns hate for
love, persecution for devotion, wrong for service, disinheritance for
respect; the laws which guard, he converts into means of assailing, the
rights of children. Ah, my father, how do you force law into your service
in this battle against nature!
The facts, believe me, are not as you would have them. You are a bad
exponent, sir, of good laws. In this matter of affection there is no war
between law and nature; they hunt in couples, they work together for the
remedying of wrongs. When you evil entreat your benefactor, you are
wronging nature; now I ask, do you wrong the laws as well as nature? You
do; it is their intention to be fair and just and give sons their rights;
but you will not allow it; you hound them on again and again upon one
child as though he were many; you keep them ever busy punishing, when
their own desire is peace and goodwill between father and son. I need
hardly add that, as against the innocent, they may be said to have no
existence. But let me tell you, ingratitude also is an offence known to
the law; an action will lie against a person who fails to recompense his
benefactor. If he adds to such failure an attempt to punish, he has
surely reached the uttermost limits of wrong in this sort. And now I
think I have sufficiently established two points: first, my father has
not the right, after once exerting his parental privilege and availing
himself of the law, to disinherit me again; and secondly, it is on
general grounds inadmissible to cast off and expel from his family one
who has rendered service so invaluable.
Let us next proceed to the actual reasons given for the disinheritance;
let us inquire into the nature of the charge. We must first go back for a
moment to the intention of the legislator. We will grant you for the sake
of argument, sir, that it is open to you to disinherit as often as you
please; we will further concede you this right against your benefactor;
but I presume that disinheritance is not to be the beginning and the
ending in itself; you will not resort to it, that is, without sufficient
cause. The legislator's meaning is not that the father can disinherit,
whatever his grievance may be, that nothing is required beyond the wish
and a complaint; in that case, what is the court's function? No,
gentlemen, it is your business to inquire whether the parental anger
rests upon good and sufficient grounds. That is the question which I am
now to put before you; and I will take up the story from the moment when
sanity was restored.
The first-fruits of this was the withdrawal of the disinheritance; I was
preserver, benefactor, everything. So far my conduct is not open to
exception, I take it. Well, and later on what fault has my father to
find? What attention or filial duty did I omit? Did I stay out o' nights,
sir? Do you charge me with untimely drinkings and revellings? Was I
extravagant? Did I get into some disreputable brawl? Did any such
complaint reach you? None whatever. Yet these are just the offences for
which the law contemplates disherison. Ah, but my step-mother fell ill.
Indeed, and do you make that a charge against me? Do you prefer a suit
for ill health? I understand you to say no.
What _is_ the grievance, then?-_That you refuse to treat her at my
bidding, and for such disobedience to your father deserve to be
disinherited_.--Gentlemen, I will explain presently how the nature of
this demand results in a seeming disobedience, but a real inability.
Meanwhile, I simply remark that neither the authority which the law
confers on him, nor the obedience to which I am bound, is indiscriminate.
Among orders, some have no sanction, while the disregard of others
justifies anger and punishment. My father may be ill, and I neglect him;
he may charge me with the management of his house, and I take no notice;
he may tell me to look after his country estate, and I evade the task. In
all these and similar cases, the parental censure will be well deserved.
But other things again are for the sons to decide, as questions of
professional skill or policy--especially if the father's interests are
not touched. If a painter's father says to him, 'Paint this, my boy, and
do not paint that'; or a musician's, 'Strike this note, and not the
other'; or a bronze-founder's, 'Cast so-and-so'; would it be tolerable
that the son should be disinherited for not taking such advice? Of course
not.
But the medical profession should be left still more to their own
discretion than other artists, in proportion to the greater nobility of
their aims and usefulness of their work; this art should have a special
right of choosing its objects; this sacred occupation, taught straight
from Heaven, and pursued by the wisest of men, should be secured against
all compulsion, enslaved to no law, intimidated and penalized by no
court, exposed to no votes or paternal threats or uninstructed passions.
If I had told my father directly and expressly, 'I will not do it, I
refuse the case, though I could treat it, I hold my art at no man's
service but my own and yours, as far as others are concerned I am a
layman'--if I had taken that position, where is the masterful despot who
would have applied force and compelled me to practise against my will?
The appropriate inducements are request and entreaty, not laws and
browbeating and tribunals; the physician is to be persuaded, not
commanded; he is to choose, not be terrorized; he is not to be haled to
his patient, but to come with his consent and at his pleasure.
Governments are wont to give physicians the public recognition of
honours, precedence, immunities and privileges; and shall the art which
has State immunities not be exempt from the _patria fotestas_?
All this I was entitled to say simply as a professional man, even on the
assumption that you had had me taught, and devoted much care and expense
to my training, that this particular case had been within my competence,
and I had yet declined it. But in fact you have to consider also how
utterly unreasonable it is that you should not let me use at my own
discretion my own acquisition. It was not as your son nor under your
authority that I acquired this art; and yet it was for your advantage
that I acquired it--you were the first to profit by it--, though you had
contributed nothing to my training. Will you mention the fees you paid?
How much did the stock of my surgery cost you? Not one penny. I was a
pauper, I knew not where to turn for necessaries, and I owed my
instruction to my teachers' charity. The provision my father made for my
education was sorrow, desolation, distress, estrangement from my friends
and banishment from my family. And do you then claim to have the use of
my skill, the absolute control of what was acquired independently? You
should be content with the previous service rendered to yourself, not
under obligation, but of free will; for even on that occasion nothing
could have been demanded of me on the score of gratitude.
My kindness of the past is not to be my duty of the future; a voluntary
favour is not to be turned into an obligation to take unwelcome orders;
the principle is not to be established that he who once cures a man is
bound to cure any number of others at his bidding ever after. That would
be to appoint the patients we cure our absolute masters; _we_ should
be paying _them_, and the fee would be slavish submission to their
commands. Could anything be more absurd? Because you were ill, and I was
at such pains to restore you, does that make you the owner of my art?
All this I could have said, if the tasks he imposed upon me had been
within my powers, and I had declined to accept all of them, or, on
compulsion, any of them. But I now wish you to look further into their
nature. 'You cured me of madness (says he); my wife is now mad and in the
condition I was in (that of course is his idea); she has been given up as
I was by the other doctors, but you have shown that nothing is too hard
for you; very well, then, cure her too, and make an end of her illness.'
Now, put like that, it sounds very reasonable, especially in the ears of
a layman innocent of medical knowledge. But if you will listen to what I
have to say for my art, you will find that there _are_ things too
hard for us, that all ailments are not alike, that the same treatment and
the same drugs will not always answer; and then you will understand what
a difference there is between refusing and being unable. Pray bear with
me while I generalize a little, without condemning my disquisition as
pedantic, irrelevant, or ill-timed.
To begin with, human bodies differ in nature and temperament; compounded
as they admittedly are of the same elements, they are yet compounded in
different proportions. I am not referring at present to sexual
differences; the _male_ body is not the same or alike in different
individuals; it differs in temperament and constitution; and from this it
results that in different men diseases also differ both in character and
in intensity; one man's body has recuperative power and is susceptible to
treatment; another's is utterly crazy, open to every infection, and
without vigour to resist disease. To suppose, then, that all fever, all
consumption, lung-disease, or mania, being generically the same, will
affect every subject in the same way, is what no sensible, thoughtful, or
well-informed person would do; the same disease is easily curable in one
man, and not in another. Why, sow the same wheat in various soils, and
the results will vary. Let the soil be level, deep, well watered, well
sunned, well aired, well ploughed, and the crop will be rich, fat,
plentiful. Elevated stony ground will make a difference, no sun another
difference, foothills another, and so on. Just so with disease; its soil
makes it thrive and spread, or starves it. Now all this quite escapes my
father; he makes no inquiries of this sort, but assumes that all mania in
every body is the same, and to be treated accordingly.
Besides such differences between males, it is obvious that the female
body differs widely from the male both in the diseases it is subject to
and in its capacity or non-capacity of recovery. The bracing effect of
toil, exercise, and open air gives firmness and tone to the male; the
female is soft and unstrung from its sheltered existence, and pale with
anaemia, deficient caloric and excess of moisture. It is consequently, as
compared with the male, open to infection, exposed to disease, unequal to
vigorous treatment, and, in particular, liable to mania. With their
emotional, mobile, excitable tendencies on the one hand, and their
defective bodily strength on the other, women fall an easy prey to this
affliction.
It is quite unfair, then, to expect the physician to cure both sexes
indifferently; we must recognize how far apart they are, their whole
lives, pursuits, and habits, having been distinct from infancy. Do not
talk of a mad person, then, but specify the sex; do not confound
distinctions and force all cases under the supposed identical title of
madness; keep separate what nature separates, and then examine the
respective possibilities. I began this exposition with stating that the
first thing we doctors look to is the nature and temperament of our
patient's body: which of the humours predominates in it; is it full-
blooded or the reverse; at, or past, its prime; big or little; fat or
lean? When a man has satisfied himself upon these and other such points,
his opinion, favourable or adverse, upon the prospects of recovery may be
implicitly relied upon.
It must be remembered too that madness itself has a thousand forms,
numberless causes, and even some distinct names. Delusion, infatuation,
frenzy, lunacy--these are not the same; they all express different
degrees of the affection. Again, the causes are not only different in men
and women, but, in men, they are different for the old and for the young;
for instance, in young men some redundant humour is the usual cause;
whereas with the old a shrewdly timed slander, or very likely a fancied
domestic slight, will get hold of them, first cloud their understanding,
and finally drive them distracted. As for women, all sorts of things
effect a lodgement and make easy prey of them, especially bitter dislike,
envy of a prosperous rival, pain or anger. These feelings smoulder on,
gaining strength with time, till at last they burst out in madness.
Such, sir, has been your wife's case, perhaps with the addition of some
recent trouble; for she used to have no strong dislikes, yet she is now
in the grasp of the malady--and that beyond hope of medical relief. For
if any physician undertakes and cures the case, you have my permission to
hate me for the wrong I have done you. Yet I must go so far as to say
that, even had the case not been so desperate--had there been a glimmer
of hope--even then I should not have lightly intervened, nor been very
ready to administer drugs; I should have been afraid of what might
happen, and of the sort of stories that might get about. You know the
universal belief that every step-mother, whatever her general merits,
hates her step-sons; it is supposed to be a feminine mania from which
none of them is exempt. If the disease had taken a wrong turn, and the
medicine failed of its effect, there would very likely have been
suspicions of intentional malpractice.
Your wife's condition, sir--and I describe it to you after close
observation--, is this: she will never mend, though she take ten thousand
doses of medicine. It is therefore undesirable to make the experiment,
unless your object is merely to compel me to fail and cover me with
disgrace. Pray do not enable my professional brethren to triumph over me;
their jealousy is enough. If you disinherit me again, I shall be left
desolate, but I shall pray for no evil upon your head. But suppose--
though God forbid!--suppose your malady should return; relapses are
common enough in such cases, under irritation; what is my course then to
be? Doubt not, I shall restore you once more; I shall not desert the post
which nature assigns to children; I for my part shall not forget my
descent. And then if you recover, must I look for another restitution?
You understand me? your present proceedings are calculated to awake your
disease and stir it to renewed malignancy. It is but the other day that
you emerged from your sad condition, and you are vehement and loud--worst
of all, you are full of anger, indulging your hatred and appealing once
more to the law. Alas, father, even such was the prelude to your first
madness.
PHALARIS, I
We are sent to you, Priests of Delphi, by Phalaris our master, with
instructions to present this bull to the God, and to speak the necessary
words on behalf of the offering and its donor. Such being our errand, it
remains for us to deliver his message, which is as follows:
'It is my desire above all things, men of Delphi, to appear to the Greeks
as I really am, and not in that character in which Envy and Malice,
availing themselves of the ignorance of their hearers, have represented
me: and if to the Greeks in general, then most of all to you, who are
holy men, associates of the God, sharers (I had almost said) of his
hearth and home. If I can clear myself before you, if I can convince you
that I am not the cruel tyrant I am supposed to be, then I may consider
myself cleared in the eyes of all the world. For the truth of my
statements, I appeal to the testimony of the God himself. Methinks
_he_ is not likely to be deceived by lying words. It may be an easy
matter to mislead men: but to escape the penetration of a God--and that
God Apollo--is impossible.
'I was a man of no mean family; in birth, in breeding, in education, the
equal of any man in Agrigentum. In my political conduct I was ever
public-spirited, in my private life mild and unassuming; no unseemly act,
no deed of violence, oppression, or headstrong insolence was ever laid to
my charge in those early days. But our city at that time was divided into
factions: I saw myself exposed to the plots of my political opponents,
who sought to destroy me by every means: if I would live in security, if
I would preserve the city from destruction, there was but one course open
to me--to seize upon the government, and thereby baffle my opponents, put
an end to their machinations, and bring my countrymen to their senses.
There were not a few who approved my design: patriots and men of cool
judgement, they understood my sentiments, and saw that I had no
alternative. With their help, I succeeded without difficulty in my
enterprise.
'From that moment, the disturbances ceased. My opponents, became my
subjects, I their ruler; and the city was freed from dissension. From
executions and banishments and confiscations I abstained, even in the
case of those who had plotted against my life. Such strong measures are
indeed never more necessary than at the commencement of a new rule: but I
was sanguine; I proposed to treat them as my equals, and to win their
allegiance by clemency, mildness, and humanity. My first act was to
reconcile myself with my enemies, most of whom I invited to my table and
took into my confidence.
'I found the city in a ruinous condition, owing to the neglect of the
magistrates, who had commonly been guilty of embezzlement, if not of
wholesale plunder. I repaired the evil by means of aqueducts, beautified
the city with noble buildings, and surrounded it with walls. The public
revenues were easily increased by proper attention on the part of the
fiscal authorities. I provided for the education of the young and the
maintenance of the old; and for the general public I had games and
spectacles, banquets and doles. As for rape and seduction, tyrannical
violence or intimidation, I abhorred the very name of such things.
'I now began to think of laying down my power; and how to do so with
safety was my only concern. The cares of government and public business
had begun to weigh upon me; I found my position as burdensome as it was
invidious. But it was still a question, how to render the city
independent of such assistance for the future. And whilst I--honest man!
--was busied with such thoughts, my enemies were even then combining
against me, and debating the ways and means of rebellion; conspiracies
were forming, arms and money were being collected, neighbour states were
invited to assist, embassies were on their way to Sparta and Athens. The
torments that were in store for me, had I fallen into their hands, I
afterwards learnt from their public confession under torture, from which
it appeared that they had vowed to tear me limb from limb with their own
hands. For my escape from such a fate, I have to thank the Gods, who
unmasked the conspiracy; and, in particular, the God of Delphi, who sent
dreams to warn me, and dispatched messengers with detailed information.
'And now, men of Delphi, I would ask your advice. Imagine yourselves to-
day in the perilous situation in which I then stood; and tell me what was
my proper course. I had almost fallen unawares into the hands of my
enemies, and was casting about for means of safety. Leave Delphi for a
while, and transport yourselves in spirit to Agrigentum: behold the
preparations of my enemies: listen to their threats; and say, what is
your counsel? Shall I sit quietly on the brink of destruction, exercising
clemency and long-suffering as heretofore? bare my throat to the sword?
see my nearest and dearest slaughtered before my eyes? What would this be
but sheer imbecility? Shall I not rather bear myself like a man of
spirit, give the rein to my rational indignation, avenge my injuries upon
the conspirators, and use my present power with a view to my future
security? This, I know, would have been your advice.
'Now observe my procedure. I sent for the guilty persons, heard their
defence, produced my evidence, established every point beyond a doubt;
and when they themselves admitted the truth of the accusation, I punished
them; for I took it ill, not that they had plotted against my life, but
that on their account I was compelled to abandon my original policy. From
that day to this, I have consulted my own safety by punishing conspiracy
as often as it has shown itself.
'And men call me cruel! They do not stop to ask who was the aggressor;
they condemn what they think the cruelty of my vengeance, but pass
lightly over the provocation, and the nature of the crime. It is as if a
man were to see a temple-robber hurled from the rock at Delphi, and,
without reflecting how the transgressor had stolen into your temple by
night, torn down the votive-offerings, and laid hands upon the graven
image of the God, were to exclaim against the inhumanity of persons who,
calling themselves Greeks and holy men, could yet find it in them to
inflict this awful punishment upon their fellow Greek, and that within
sight of the holy place;--for the rock, as I am told, is not far from the
city. Surely you would laugh to scorn such an accusation as this; and
your _cruel_ treatment of the impious would be universally applauded.
'But so it is: the public does not inquire into the character of a ruler,
into the justice or injustice of his conduct; the mere name of tyranny
ensures men's hatred; the tyrant might be an Aeacus, a Minos, a
Rhadamanthus,--they would be none the less eager for his destruction;
their thoughts ever run on those tyrants who have been bad rulers, and
the good, because they bear the same name, are held in the like
detestation. I have heard that many of your tyrants in Greece have been
wise men, who, labouring under that opprobrious title, have yet given
proofs of benevolence and humanity, and whose pithy maxims are even now
stored up in your temple among the treasures of the God.