Produced by Steve Solomon
POWER THROUGH REPOSE
BY
ANNIE PAYSON CALL
New Edition with Additions
_Personality binds--universality expands._
FRANCOISE DELSARTE.
When the body is perfectly adjusted, perfectly supplied with force,
perfectly free and works with the greatest economy of expenditure,
it is fitted to be a perfect instrument alike of impression,
experience, and expression.
W. R. ALGER.
I.
THE GUIDANCE OF THE BODY
THE literature relating to the care of the human body is already
very extensive. Much has been written about the body's proper food,
the air it should breathe, the clothing by which it should be
protected, the best methods of its development. That literature
needs but little added to it, until we, as rational beings, come
nearer to obeying the laws which it discloses, and to feeling daily
the help which comes from that obedience.
It is of the better use, the truer guidance of this machine, that I
wish especially to write. Although attention is constantly called to
the fact of its misuse,--as in neglected rest and in
over-strain,--in all the unlimited variety which the perverted
ingenuity of a clever people has devised, it seems never to have
come to any one's mind that this strain in all things, small and
great, is something that can be and should be studiously abandoned,
with as regular a process of training, from the first simple steps
to those more complex, as is required in the work for the
development of muscular strength. When a perversion of Nature's laws
has continued from generation to generation, we, of the ninth or
tenth generation, can by no possibility jump back into the place
where the laws can work normally through us, even though our eyes
have been opened to a full recognition of such perversion. We must
climb back to an orderly life, step by step, and the compensation is
large in the constantly growing realization of the greatness of the
laws we have been disobeying. The appreciation of the power of a
natural law, as it works through us, is one of the keenest pleasures
that can come to man in this life.
The general impression seems to be that common-sense should lead us
to a better use of our machines at once. Whereas, common-sense will
not bring a true power of guiding the muscles, any more than it will
cause the muscles' development, unless having the common-sense to
see the need, we realize with it the necessity for cutting a path
and walking in it. For the muscles' development, several paths have
been cut, and many who are in need are walking in them, but, to the
average man, the road to the best kind of muscular development still
remains closed. The only training now in use is followed by
sleight-of-hand performers, acrobats, or other jugglers, and that is
limited to the professional needs of its followers.
Again, as the muscles are guided by means of the nerves, a training
for the guidance of the muscles means, so far as the physique is
concerned, first, a training for the better use of the nervous
force. The nervous system is so wonderful in its present power for
good or ill, so wonderful in its possible power either way, and so
much more wonderful as we realize what we do not know about it, that
it is not surprising that it is looked upon with awe. Neither is it
strange that it seems to many, especially the ignorant, a subject to
be shunned. It is not uncommon for a mother, whose daughter is
suffering, and may be on the verge of nervous prostration because of
her misused nerves, to say, "I do not want my daughter to know that
she has nerves." The poor child knows it already in the wrong way.
It is certainly better that she should know her nerves by learning a
wholesome, natural use of them. The mother's remark is common with
many men and women when speaking of themselves,--common with
teachers when talking to or of their pupils. It is of course quite
natural that it should be a prevailing idea, because hitherto the
mention of nerves by man or woman has generally meant perverted
nerves, and to dwell on our perversions, except long enough to shun
them, is certainly unwholesome in the extreme.
II.
PERVERSIONS IN THE GUIDANCE OF THE BODY
SO evident are the various, the numberless perversions of our powers
in the misuse of the machine, that it seems almost unnecessary to
write of them. And yet, from another point of view, it is very
necessary; for superabundant as they are, thrusting their evil
results upon us every day in painful ways, still we have eyes and
see not, ears and hear not, and for want of a fuller realization of
these most grievous mistakes, we are in danger of plunging more and
more deeply into the snarls to which they bring us. From nervous
prostration to melancholia, or other forms of insanity, is not so
long a step.
It is of course a natural sequence that the decadence of an entire
country must follow the waning powers of the individual citizens.
Although that seems very much to hint, it cannot be too much when we
consider even briefly the results that have already come to us
through this very misuse of our own voluntary powers. The
advertisements of nerve medicines alone speak loudly to one who
studies in the least degree the physical tendencies of the nation.
Nothing proves better the artificial state of man, than the
artificial means he uses to try to adjust himself to Nature's
laws,--means which, in most cases, serve to assist him to keep up a
little longer the appearance of natural life. For any simulation of
that which is natural must sooner or later lead to nothing, or worse
than nothing. Even the rest-cures, the most simple and harmless of
the nerve restorers, serve a mistaken end. Patients go with nerves
tired and worn out with misuse,--commonly called over-work. Through
rest, Nature, with the warm, motherly help she is ever ready to
bring us, restores the worn body to a normal state; but its owner
has not learned to work the machine any better,--to drive his horses
more naturally, or with a gentler hand. He knows he must take life
more easily, but even with a passably good realization of that
necessity, he can practise it only to a certain extent; and most
occupants of rest-cures find themselves driven back more than once
for another "rest."
Nervous disorders, resulting from overwork are all about us. Extreme
nervous prostration is most prevalent. A thoughtful study of the
faces around us, and a better understanding of their lives, brings
to light many who are living, one might almost say, in a chronic
state of nervous prostration, which lasts for years before the break
comes. And because of the want of thought, the want of study for a
better, more natural use of the machine, few of us appreciate our
own possible powers. When with study the appreciation grows, it is a
daily surprise, a constantly increasing delight.
Extreme nervous tension seems to be so peculiarly American, that a
German physician coming to this country to practise became puzzled
by the variety of nervous disorders he was called upon to help, and
finally announced his discovery of a new disease which he chose to
call "Americanitis." And now we suffer from "Americanitis" in all
its unlimited varieties. Doctors study it; nerve medicines arise on
every side; nervine hospitals establish themselves; and rest-cures
innumerable spring up in all directions,--but the root of the matter
is so comparatively simple that in general it is overlooked
entirely.
When illnesses are caused by disobedience to the perfect laws of
Nature, a steady, careful obedience to these laws will bring us to a
healthful state again.
Nature is so wonderfully kind that if we go one-tenth of the way,
she will help us the other nine-tenths. Indeed she seems to be
watching and hoping for a place to get in, so quickly does she take
possession of us, if we do but turn toward her ever so little. But
instead of adopting her simple laws and following quietly her
perfect way, we try by every artificial means to gain a rapid
transit back to her dominion, and succeed only in getting farther
away from her. Where is the use of taking medicines to give us new
strength, while at the same time we are steadily disobeying the very
laws from the observance of which alone the strength can come? No
medicine can work in a man's-body while the man's habits are
constantly counteracting it. More harm than good is done in the end.
Where is the use of all the quieting medicines, if we only quiet our
nerves in order that we may continue to misuse them without their
crying out? They will cry out sooner or later; for Nature, who is so
quick to help us to the true way of living, loses patience at last,
and her punishments are justly severe. Or, we might better say, a
law is fixed and immovable, and if we disobey and continue to
disobey it, we suffer the consequences.
III.
REST IN SLEEP
HOW do we misuse our nervous force? First, let us consider, When
should the body be completely at rest? The longest and most perfect
rest should be during sleep at night. In sleep we can accomplish
nothing in the way of voluntary activity either of mind or body. Any
nervous or muscular effort during sleep is not only useless but
worse,--it is pure waste of fuel, and results in direct and
irreparable harm. Realizing fully that sleep is meant for rest, that
the only gain is rest, and that new power for use comes as a
consequence,--how absurd it seems that we do not abandon ourselves
completely to gaining all that Nature would give us through sleep.
Suppose, instead of eating our dinner, we should throw the food out
of the window, give it to the dogs, do anything with it but what
Nature meant we should, and then wonder why we were not nourished,
and why we suffered from faintness and want of strength. It would be
no more senseless than the way in which most of us try to sleep now,
and then wonder why we are not better rested from eight hours in
bed. Only this matter of fatiguing sleep has crept upon us so slowly
that we are blind to it. We disobey mechanically all the laws of
Nature in sleep, simple as they are, and are so blinded by our own
immediate and personal interests, that the habit of not resting when
we sleep has grown to such an extent that to return to natural
sleep, we must think, study, and practise.
Few who pretend to rest give up entirely to the bed, a dead
weight,--letting the bed hold them, instead of trying to hold
themselves on the bed. Watch, and unless you are an exceptional case
(of which happily there are a few), you will be surprised to see how
you are holding yourself on the bed, with tense muscles, if not all
over, so nearly all over that a little more tension would hardly
increase the fatigue with which you are working yourself to sleep.
The spine seems to be the central point of tension--it does not
_give_ to the bed and rest there easily from end to end; it touches
at each end and just so far along from each end as the man or woman
who is holding it will permit. The knees are drawn up, the muscles
of the legs tense, the hands and arms contracted, and the fingers
clinched, either holding the pillow or themselves.
The head, instead of letting the pillow have its full weight, holds
itself onto the pillow. The tongue cleaves to the roof of the mouth,
the throat muscles are contracted, and the muscles of the face drawn
up in one way or another.
This seems like a list of horrors, somewhat exaggerated when we
realize that it is of sleep, "Tired Nature's sweet restorer," that
we are speaking; but indeed it is only too true.
Of course cases are not in the majority where the being supposed to
enjoy repose is using _all_ these numerous possibilities of
contraction. But there are very few who have not, unconsciously,
some one or two or half-dozen nervous and muscular strains; and even
after they become conscious of the useless contractions, it takes
time and watchfulness and patience to relax out of them, the habit
so grows upon us. One would think that even though we go to sleep in
a tense way, after being once soundly off Nature could gain the
advantage over us, and relax the muscles in spite of ourselves; but
the habits of inheritance and of years are too much for her.
Although she is so constantly gracious and kind, she cannot go out
of her way, and we cannot ask her to do so.
How simple it seems to sleep in the right way; and how wholesome it
is even to think about it, in contrast to the wrong way into which
so many of us have fallen. If we once see clearly the great
compensation in getting back to the only way of gaining restful
sleep, the process is very simple, although because we were so far
out of the right path it often seems slow. But once gained, or even
partially gained, one great enemy to healthful, natural nerves is
conquered, and has no possibility of power.
Of course the mind and its rapid and misdirected working is a strong
preventive of free nerves, relaxed muscles, and natural sleep. "If I
could only stop myself from thinking" is a complaint often heard,
and reason or philosophy does not seem to touch it. Even the certain
knowledge that nothing is gained by this rapid thought at the wrong
time, that very much is lost, makes no impression on the overwrought
mind,--often even excites it more, which proves that the trouble, if
originally mental, has now gained such a hold upon the physique that
it must be attacked there first. The nerves should be trained to
enable the body to be an obedient servant to a healthy mind, and the
mind in giving its attention to such training gains in normal power
of direction.
If you cannot stop thinking, do not try; let your thoughts steam
ahead if they will. Only relax your muscles, and as the attention is
more and more fixed on the interesting process of letting-go of the
muscles (interesting, simply because the end is so well worth
gaining), the imps of thought find less and less to take hold of,
and the machinery in the head must stop its senseless working,
because the mind which allowed it to work has applied itself to
something worth accomplishing.
The body should also be at rest in necessary reclining in the day,
where of course all the laws of sleep apply. Five minutes of
complete rest in that way means greater gain than an hour or three
hours taken in the usual manner. I remember watching a woman
"resting" on a lounge, propped up with the downiest of pillows,
holding her head perfectly erect and in a strained position, when it
not only would have been easier to let it fall back on the pillow,
but it seemed impossible that she should not let it go; and yet
there it was, held erect with an evident strain. Hers is not an
unusual case, on the contrary quite a common one. Can we wonder that
the German doctor thought he had discovered a new disease? And must
he not be already surprised and shocked at the precocious growth of
the infant monster which he found and named? "So prone are mortals
to their own damnation, it seems as though a devil's use were gone."
There is no better way of learning to overcome these perversions in
sleep and similar forms of rest, than to study with careful thought
the sleep of a wholesome little child. Having gained the physical
freedom necessary to give perfect repose to the body, the quiet,
simple dropping of all thought and care can be made more easily
possible. So we can approach again the natural sleep and enjoy
consciously the refreshment which through our own babyhood was the
unconscious means of giving us daily strength and power for growth.
To take the regular process, first let go of the muscles,--that will
enable us more easily to drop disturbing thoughts; and as we refuse,
without resistance, admittance to the thoughts, the freedom from
care for the time will follow, and the rest gained will enable us to
awaken with new life for cares to come. This, however, is a habit to
be established and thoughtfully cultivated; it cannot be acquired at
once. More will be said in future chapters as to the process of
gaining the habit.
IV.
OTHER FORMS OF REST
DO you hold yourself on the chair, or does the chair hold you? When
you are subject to the laws of gravitation give up to them, and feel
their strength. Do not resist these laws, as a thousand and one of
us do when instead of yielding gently and letting ourselves sink
into a chair, we _put_ our bodies rigidly on and then hold them
there as if fearing the chair would break if we gave our full weight
to it. It is not only unnatural and unrestful, but most awkward. So
in a railroad car. Much, indeed most of the fatigue from a long
journey by rail is quite unnecessary, and comes from an unconscious
officious effort of trying to carry the train, instead of allowing
the train to carry us, or of resisting the motion, instead of
relaxing and yielding to it. There is a pleasant rhythm in the
motion of the rapidly moving cars which is often restful rather than
fatiguing, if we will only let go and abandon ourselves to it. This
was strikingly proved by a woman who, having just learned the first
principles of relaxation, started on a journey overstrained from
mental anxiety. The first effect of the motion was that most
disagreeable, faint feeling known as car-sickness. Understanding the
cause, she began at once to drop the unnecessary tension, and the
faintness left her. Then she commenced an interesting novel, and as
she became excited by the plot her muscles were contracted in
sympathy (so-called), and the faintness returned in full force, so
that she had to drop the book and relax again; and this process was
repeated half-a-dozen times before she could place her body so under
control of natural laws that it was possible to read without the
artificial tension asserting itself and the car-sickness returning
in consequence.
The same law is illustrated in driving. "I cannot drive, it tires me
so," is a common complaint. Why does it tire you? Because instead of
yielding entirely and freely to the seat of the carriage first, and
then to its motion, you try to help the horses, or to hold yourself
still while the carriage is moving. A man should become one with a
carriage in driving, as much as one with his horse in riding. Notice
the condition in any place where there is excuse for some
anxiety,--while going rather sharply round a corner, or nearing a
railroad track. If your feet are not pressed forcibly against the
floor of the carriage, the tension will be somewhere else. You are
using nervous force to no earthly purpose, and to great earthly
loss. Where any tension is necessary to make things better, it will
assert itself naturally and more truly as we learn to drop all
useless and harmful tension. Take a patient suffering from nervous
prostration for a long drive, and you will bring him back more
nervously prostrated; even the fresh air will not counteract the
strain that comes from not knowing how to relax to the motion of the
carriage.
A large amount of nervous energy is expended unnecessarily while
waiting. If we are obliged to wait for any length of time, it does
not hurry the minutes or bring that for which we wait to keep
nervously strained with impatience; and it does use vital force, and
so helps greatly toward "Americanitis." The strain which comes from
an hour's nervous waiting, when simply to let yourself alone and
keep still would answer much better, is often equal to a day's
labor. It must be left to individuals to discover how this applies
in their own especial cases, and it will be surprising to see not
only how great and how common such strain is, but how comparatively
easy it is to drop it. There are of course exceptional times and
states when only constant trying and thoughtful watchfulness will
bring any marked result.
We have taken a few examples where there is nothing to do but keep
quiet, body and brain, from what should be the absolute rest of
sleep to the enforced rest of waiting. Just one word more in
connection with waiting and driving. You must catch a certain train.
Not having time to trust to your legs or the cars, you hastily take
a cab. You will in your anxiety keep up exactly the same strain that
you would have had in walking,--as if you could help the carriage
along, or as if reaching the station in time depended upon your
keeping a rigid spine and tense muscles. You have hired the carriage
to take you, and any activity on your part is quite unnecessary
until you reach the station; why not keep quiet and let the horses
do the work, and the driver attend to his business?
It would be easy to fill a small volume with examples of the way in
which we are walking directly into nervous prostration; examples
only of this one variety of disobedience,--namely, of the laws of_
rest._ And to give illustrations of all the varieties of
disobedience to Nature's laws in _activity_ would fill not one small
book, but several large ones; and then, unless we improve, a
year-book of new examples of nervous strain could be published. But
fortunately, if we are nervous and short-sighted, we have a good
share of brain and commonsense when it is once appealed to, and a
few examples will open our eyes and set us thinking, to real and
practical results.
V.
THE USE OF THE BRAIN
LET us now consider instances where the brain alone is used, and the
other parts of the body have nothing to do but keep quiet and let
the brain do its work. Take thinking, for instance. Most of us think
with the throat so contracted that it is surprising there is room
enough to let the breath through, the tongue held firmly, and the
jaw muscles set as if suffering from an acute attack of lockjaw.
Each has his own favorite tension in the act of meditation, although
we are most generous in the force given to the jaw and throat. The
same superfluous tension may be observed in one engaged in silent
reading; and the force of the strain increases in proportion to the
interest or profundity of the matter read. It is certainly clear,
without a knowledge of anatomy or physiology, that for pure,
unadulterated thinking, only the brain is needed; and if vital force
is given to other parts of the body to hold them in unnatural
contraction; we not only expend it extravagantly, but we rob the
brain of its own. When, for purely mental work, all the activity is
given to the brain, and the body left free and passive, the
concentration is better, conclusions are reached with more
satisfaction, and the reaction, after the work is over, is healthy
and refreshing.
This whole machine can be understood perhaps more clearly by
comparing it to a community of people. In any community,--Church,
State, institution, or household,--just so far as each member minds
his own business, does his own individual work for himself and for
those about him, and does not officiously interfere with the
business of others, the community is quiet, orderly, and successful.
Imagine the state of a deliberative assembly during the delivery of
a speech, if half-a-dozen of the listeners were to attempt to help
the speaker by rising and talking at the same time; and yet this is
the absurd action of the human body when a dozen or more parts, that
are not needed, contract "in sympathy" with those that have the work
to do. It is an unnecessary brace that means loss of power and
useless fatigue. One would think that the human machine having only
one mind, and the community many thousands, the former would be in a
more orderly state than the latter.
In listening attentively, only the brain and ears are needed; but
watch the individuals at an entertaining lecture, or in church with
a stirring preacher. They are listening with their spines, their
shoulders, the muscles of their faces. I do not refer to the look of
interest and attention, or to any of the various expressions which
are the natural and true reflection of the state of the mind, but to
the strained attention which draws the facial muscles, not at all in
sympathy with the speaker, but as a consequence of the tense nerves
and contracted muscles of the listener. "I do not understand why I
have this peculiar sort of asthma every Sunday afternoon," a lady
said to me. She was in the habit of hearing, Sunday morning, a
preacher, exceedingly interesting, but with a very rapid utterance,
and whose mind travelled so fast that the words embodying his
thoughts often tumbled over one another. She listened with all her
nerves, as well as with those needed, held her breath when he
stumbled, to assist him in finding his verbal legs, reflected every
action with twice the force the preacher himself gave,--and then
wondered why on Sunday afternoon, and at no other time, she had this
nervous catching of the breath. She saw as soon as her attention was
drawn to the general principles of Nature, how she had disobeyed
this one, and why she had trouble on Sunday afternoon. This case is
very amusing, even laughable, but it is a fair example of many
similar nervous attacks, greater or less; and how easy it is to see
that a whole series of these, day after day, doing their work
unconsciously to the victim, will sooner or later bring some form of
nervous prostration.
The same attitudes and the same effects often attend listening to
music. It is a common experience to be completely fagged after two
hours of delightful music. There is no exaggeration in saying that
we should be _rested_ after a good concert, if it is not too long.
And yet so upside-down are we in our ways of living, and, through
the mistakes of our ancestors, so accustomed have we become to
disobeying Nature's laws, that the general impression seems to be
that music cannot be fully enjoyed without a strained attitude of
mind and body; whereas, in reality, it is much more exquisitely
appreciated and enjoyed in Nature's way. If the nerves are perfectly
free, they will catch the rhythm of the music, and so be helped back
to the true rhythm of Nature, they will respond to the harmony and
melody with all the vibratory power that God gave them, and how can
the result be anything else than rest and refreshment,--unless
having allowed them to vibrate in one direction too long, we have
disobeyed a law in another way.
Our bodies cannot by any possibility be _free,_ so long as they are
strained by our own personal effort. So long as our nervous force is
misdirected in personal strain, we can no more give full and
responsive attention to the music, than a piano can sound the
harmonies of a sonata if some one is drawing his hands at the same
time backwards and forwards over the strings. But, alas! a
contracted personality is so much the order of the day that many of
us carry the chronic contractions of years constantly with us, and
can no more free ourselves for a concert at a day's or a week's
notice, than we can gain freedom to receive all the grand universal
truths that are so steadily helpful. It is only by daily patience
and thought and care that we can cease to be an obstruction to the
best power for giving and receiving.
There are, scattered here and there, people who have not lost the
natural way of listening to music,--people who are musicians through
and through so that the moment they hear a fine strain they are one
with it. Singularly enough the majority of these are fine animals,
most perfectly and normally developed in their senses. When the
intellect begins to assert itself to any extent, then the nervous
strain comes. So noticeable is this, in many cases, that nervous
excitement seems often to be from misdirected intellect; and people
under the control of their misdirected nervous force often appear
wanting in quick intellectual power,--illustrating the law that a
stream spreading in all directions over a meadow loses the force
that the same amount of water would have if concentrated and flowing
in one channel. There are also many cases where the strained nerves
bring an abnormal intellectual action. Fortunately for the saving of
the nation, there are people who from a physical standpoint live
naturally. These are refreshing to see; but they are apt to take
life too easily, to have no right care or thought, and to be
sublimely selfish.
Another way in which the brain is constantly used is through the
eyes. What deadly fatigue comes from time spent in picture
galleries! There the strain is necessarily greater than in
listening, because all the pictures and all the colors are before us
at once, with no appreciable interval between forms and subjects
that differ widely. But as the strain is greater, so should the care
to relieve it increase. We should not go out too far to meet the
pictures, but be quiet, and let the pictures come to us. The fatigue
can be prevented if we know when to stop, and pleasure at the time
and in the memory afterwards will be surprisingly increased. So is
it in watching a landscape from the car window, and in all interests
which come from looking. I am not for one instant condemning the
_natural_ expression of pleasure, neither do I mean that there
should be any apparent nonchalance or want of interest; on the
contrary, the real interest and its true expression increase as we
learn to shun the shams.
But will not the discovery of all this superfluous tension make one
self-conscious? Certainly it will for a time, and it must do so. You
must be conscious of a smooch on your face in order to wash it off,
and when the face is clean you think no more of it. So you must see
an evil before you can shun it. All these physical evils you must be
vividly conscious of, and when you are so annoyed as to feel the
necessity of moving from under them self-consciousness decreases in
equal ratio with the success of your efforts.
Whenever the brain alone is used in thinking, or in receiving and
taking note of impressions through either of the senses, new power
comes as we gain freedom from all misdirected force, and with
muscles in repose leave the brain to quietly do its work without
useless strain of any kind. It is of course evident that this
freedom cannot be gained without, first, a consciousness of its
necessity. The perfect freedom, however, when reached, means freedom
from self-consciousness as well as from the strain which made
self-consciousness for a time essential.
VI.
THE BRAIN IN ITS DIRECTION OF THE BODY
WE come now to the brain and its direction of other parts of the
body.
What tremendous and unnecessary force is used in talking,--from the
aimless motion of the hands, the shoulders, the feet, the entire
body, to a certain rigidity of carriage, which tells as powerfully
in the wear and tear of the nervous system as superfluous motion. It
is a curious discovery when we find often how we are holding our
shoulders in place, and in the wrong place. A woman receiving a
visitor not only talks all over herself, but reflects the visitor's
talking all over, and so at the end of the visit is doubly fatigued.
"It tires me so to see people" is heard often, not only from those
who are under the full influence of "Americanitis," but from many
who are simply hovering about its borders. "Of course it tires you
to see people, you see them with, so much superfluous effort," can
almost without exception be a true answer. A very little simple
teaching will free a woman from that unnecessary fatigue. If she is
sensible, once having had her attention brought and made keenly
alive to the fact that she talks all over, she will through
constant correction gain the power of talking as Nature meant she
should, with her vocal apparatus only, and with such easy motions as
may be needed to illustrate her words. In this change, so far from
losing animation, she gains it, and gains true expressive power; for
all unnecessary motion of the body in talking simply raises a dust,
so to speak, and really blurs the true thought of the mind and
feeling of the heart.
The American voice--especially the female voice--is a target which
has been hit hard many times, and very justly. A ladies' luncheon
can often be truly and aptly compared to a poultry-yard, the shrill
cackle being even more unpleasant than that of a large concourse of
hens. If we had once become truly appreciative of the natural mellow
tones possible to every woman, these shrill voices would no more be
tolerated than a fashionable luncheon would be served in the
kitchen.
A beautiful voice has been compared to corn, oil, and wine. We lack
almost entirely the corn and the oil; and the wine in our voices is
far more inclined to the sharp, unpleasant taste of very poor
currant wine, than to the rich, spicy flavor of fine wine from the
grape. It is not in the province of this book to consider the
physiology of the voice, which would be necessary in order to show
clearly how its natural laws are constantly disobeyed. We can now
speak of it only with regard to the tension which is the immediate
cause of the trouble. The effort to propel the voice from the
throat, and use force in those most delicate muscles when it should
come from the stronger muscles of the diaphragm, is like trying to
make one man do the work of ten; the result must eventually be the
utter collapse of the one man from over-activity, and loss of power
in the ten men because of muscles unused. Clergyman's sore throat is
almost always explainable in this way; and there are many laymen
with constant trouble in the throat from no cause except the misuse
of its muscles in talking. "The old philosopher said the seat of the
soul was in the diaphragm. However that may be, the word begins
there, soul and body; but you squeeze the life out of it in your
throat, and so your words are born dead!" was the most expressive
exclamation of an able trainer of the voice.
Few of us feel that we can take the time or exercise the care for
the proper training of our voices; and such training is not made a
prominent feature, as it should be, in all American schools. Indeed,
if it were, we would have to begin with the teachers; for the
typical teacher's voice, especially in our public schools, coming
from unnecessary nervous strain is something frightful. In a large
school-room a teacher can be heard, and more impressively heard, in
common conversational tones; for then it is her mind that is felt
more than her body. But the teacher's voice mounts the scale of
shrillness and force just in proportion as her nervous fatigue
increases; and often a true enthusiasm expresses itself--or, more
correctly, hides itself--in a sharp, loud voice, when it would be
far more effective in its power with the pupils if the voice were
kept quiet. If we cannot give time or money to the best development
of our voices, we can grow sensitive to the shrill, unpleasant
tones, and by a constant preaching of "lower your voices," "speak
more quietly," from the teacher to herself, and then to her pupils,
from mother to child, and from every woman to her own voice, the
standard American voice would change, greatly to the national
advantage.
I never shall forget the restful pleasure of hearing a teacher call
the roll in a large schoolroom as quietly as she would speak to a
child in a closet, and every girl answering in the same soft and
pleasant way. The effect even of that daily roll-call could not have
been small in its counteracting influence on the shrill American
tone.
Watch two people in an argument, as the excitement increases the
voice rises. In such a case one of the best and surest ways to
govern your temper is to lower your voice. Indeed the nervous system
and the voice are in such exquisite sympathy that they constantly
act and react on each other. It is always easier to relax
superfluous tension after lowering the voice.
"Take the bone and flesh sound from your voice" is a simple and
interesting direction. It means do not push so hard with your body
and so interfere with the expression of your soul. Thumping on a
piano, or hard scraping on a violin, will keep all possible
expression from the music, and in just the same proportion will
unnecessary physical force hide the soul in a voice. Indeed with the
voice--because the instrument is finer--the contrast between
Nature's way and man's perversion is far greater.
One of the first cares with a nervous invalid, or with any one who
suffers at all from overstrained nerves, should be for a quiet,
mellow voice. It is not an invariable truth that women with poorly
balanced nerves have shrill, strained voices. There is also a rigid
tone in a nervously low voice, which, though not unpleasant to the
general ear, is expressive to one who is in the habit of noticing
nervous people, and is much more difficult to relax than the high
pitched voices. There is also a forced calm which is tremendous in
its nervous strain, the more so as its owner takes pride in what she
considers remarkable self-control.
Another common cause of fatigue with women is the useless strain in
sewing. "I get so tired in the back of my neck" is a frequent
complaint. "It is because you sew with the back of your neck" is
generally the correct explanation. And it is because you sew with
the muscles of your waist that they feel so strangely fatigued, and
the same with the muscles of your legs or your chest. Wherever the
tired feeling comes it is because of unnatural and officious
tension, which, as soon as the woman becomes sensible of it, can be
stopped entirely by taking two or three minutes now and then to let
go of these wrongly sympathetic muscles and so teach them to mind
their own business, and sew with only the muscles that are needed. A
very simple cause of over-fatigue in sewing is the cramped, strained
position of the lungs; this can be prevented without even stopping
in the work, by taking long, quiet, easy breaths. Here there must be
_no exertion whatever_ in the chest muscles. The lungs must seem to
expand from the pressure of the air alone, as independently as a
rubber ball will expand when external pressure is removed, and they
must be allowed to expel the air with the same independence. In this
way the growth of breathing power will be slow, but it will be sure
and delightfully restful. Frequent, full, quiet breaths might be the
means of relief to many sufferers, if only they would take the
trouble to practise them faithfully,--a very slight effort compared
with the result which will surely ensue. And so it is with the
fatigue from sewing. I fear I do not exaggerate, when I say that in
nine cases out of ten a woman would rather sew with a pain in her
neck than stop for the few moments it would take to relax it and
teach it truer habits, so that in the end the pain might be avoided
entirely. Then, when the inevitable nervous exhaustion follows, and
all the kindred troubles that grow out of it she pities herself and
is pitied by others, and wonders why God thought best to afflict her
with suffering and illness. "Thought best!" God never thought best
to give any one pain. He made His laws, and they are wholesome and
perfect and true, and if we disobey them we must suffer the
consequences! I knock my head hard against a stone and then wonder
why God thought best to give me the headache. There would be as much
sense in that as there is in much of the so-called Christian
resignation to be found in the world to-day. To be sure there are
inherited illnesses and pains, physical and mental, but the laws are
so made that the compensation of clear-sightedness and power for use
gained by working our way rightly out of all inheritances and
suffering brought by others, fully equalizes any apparent loss.
In writing there is much unnecessary nervous fatigue. The same
cramped attitude of the lungs that accompanies sewing can be
counteracted in the same way, although in neither case should a
cramped attitude be allowed at all Still the relief of a long breath
is always helpful and even necessary where one must sit in one
position for any length of time. Almost any even moderately nervous
man or woman will hold a pen as if some unseen force were trying to
pull it away, and will write with firmly set jaw, contracted throat,
and a powerful tension in the muscles of the tongue, or whatever
happens to be the most officious part of this especial individual
community. To swing the pendulum to another extreme seems not to
enter people's minds when trying to find a happy medium. Writer's
paralysis, or even the ache that comes from holding the hand so long
in a more or less cramped attitude, is easily obviated by stopping
once in an hour or half hour, stretching the fingers wide and
letting the muscles slowly relax of their own accord. Repeat this
half-a-dozen times, and after each exercise try to hold the pen or
pencil with natural lightness; it will not take many days to change
the habit of tension to one of ease, although if you are a steady
writer the stretching exercise will always be necessary, but much
less often than at first.
In lifting a heavyweight, as in nursing the sick, the relief is
immediate from all straining in the back, by pressing hard with the
feet on the floor and _thinking_ the power of lifting in the legs.
There is true economy of nervous force here, and a sensitive spine
is freed from a burden of strain which might undoubtedly be the
origin of nervous prostration. I have made nurses practise lifting,
while impressing the fact forcibly upon them by repetition before
they lift, and during the process of raising a body and lowering it,
that they must use entirely the muscles of the legs. When once their
minds have full comprehension of the new way, the surprise with
which they discover the comparative ease of lifting is very
pleasant. The whole secret in this and all similar efforts is to use
muscular instead of nervous force. Direct with the directing power;
work with the working power.
VII.
THE DIRECTION OF THE BODY IN LOCOMOTION
LIFTING brings us to the use of the entire body, which is considered
simply in the most common of all its movements,--that of walking.
The rhythm of a perfect walk is not only delightful, but restful; so
that having once gained a natural walk there is no pleasanter way to
rest from brain fatigue than by means of this muscle fatigue. And
yet we are constantly contradicting and interfering with Nature in
walking. Women--perhaps partly owing to their unfortunate style of
dress--seem to hold themselves together as if fearing that having
once given their muscles free play, they would fall to pieces
entirely. Rather than move easily forward, and for fear they might
tumble to pieces, they shake their shoulders and hips from side to
side, hold their arms perfectly rigid from the shoulders down, and
instead of the easy, natural swing that the motion of walking would
give the arms, they go forward and back with no regularity, but are
in a chronic state of jerk. The very force used in holding an arm as
stiff as the ordinary woman holds it, would be enough to give her an
extra mile in every five-mile walk. Then again, the muscles of the
throat must help, and more than anywhere else is force unnecessarily
expended in the waist muscles. They can be very soon felt, pushing
with all their might--and it is not a small might--officiously
trying to assist in the action of the legs; whereas if they would
only let go, mind their own business, and let the legs swing easily
as if from the shoulders, they might reflect the rhythmic motion,
and gain in a true freedom and power. Of course all this waste of
force comes from nervous strain and is nervous strain, and a long
walk in the open air, when so much of the new life gained is wrongly
expended, does not begin to do the good work that might be
accomplished. To walk with your muscles and not use superfluous
nervous force is the first thing to be learned, and after or at the
same time to direct your muscles as Nature meant they should be
directed,--indeed we might almost say to let Nature direct them
herself, without our interference. Hurry with your muscles and not
with your nerves. This tells especially in hurrying for a train,
where the nervous anxiety in the fear of losing it wakes all
possible unnecessary tension and often impedes the motion instead of
assisting it. The same law applies here that was mentioned before
with regard to the carriage,--only instead of being quiet and
letting the carriage take you, be quiet and let your walking machine
do its work. So in all hurrying, and the warning can hardly be given
too many times, we must use our nerves only as transmitters--calm,
well-balanced transmitters--that our muscles may be more efficient
and more able servants.
The same mistakes of unnecessary tension will be found in running,
and, indeed, in all bodily motion, where the machine is not trained
to do its work with only the nerves and muscles needed for the
purpose. We shall have opportunity to consider these motions in a
new light when we come to the directions for gaining a power of
natural motion; now we are dealing only with mistakes.
VIII.
NERVOUS STRAIN IN PAIN AND SICKNESS
THERE is no way in which superfluous and dangerous tension is so
rapidly increased as in the bearing of pain. The general impression
seems to be that one should brace up to a pain; and very great
strength of will is often shown in the effort made and the success
achieved in bearing severe pain by means of this bracing process.
But alas, the reaction after the pain is over--that alone would show
the very sad misuse which had been made of a strong will. Not that
there need be no reaction; but it follows naturally that the more
strain brought to bear upon the nervous system in endurance, the
greater must be the reaction when the load is lifted. Indeed, so
well is this known in the medical profession, that it is a surgical
axiom that the patient who most completely controls his expression
of pain will be the greatest sufferer from the subsequent reaction.
While there is so much pain to be endured in this world, a study of
how best to bear it certainly is not out of place, especially when
decided practical effects can be quickly shown as the result of such
study. So prevalent is the idea that a pain is better borne by
clinching the fists and tightening all other muscles in the body
correspondingly, that I know the possibility of a better or more
natural mode of endurance will be laughed at by many, and others
will say, "That is all very well for those who can relax to a
pain,--let them gain from it, I cannot; it is natural for me to set
my teeth and bear it." There is a distinct difference between what
is natural to us and natural to Nature, although the first term is
of course misused.
Pain comes from an abnormal state of some part of the nervous
system. The more the nerves are strained to bear pain, the more
sensitive they become; and of course those affected immediately feel
most keenly the increased sensitiveness, and so the pain grows
worse. Reverse that action, and through the force of our own
inhibitory power let a new pain be a reminder to us to _let go,_
instead of to hold on, and by decreasing the strain we decrease the
possibility of more pain. Whatever reaction may follow pain then,
will be reaction from the pain itself, not from the abnormal tension
which has been held for the purpose of bearing it.
But--it will be objected--is not the very effort of the brain to
relax the tension a nervous strain? Yes, it is,--not so great,
however, as the continued tension all over the body, and it grows
less and less as the habit is acquired of bearing the pain easily.
The strain decreases more rapidly with those who having undertaken
to relax, perceive the immediate effects; for, of course, as the
path clears and new light comes they are encouraged to walk more
steadily in the easier way.
I know there are pains that are better borne and even helped by a
certain amount of _bracing,_ but if the idea of bearing such pain
quietly, easily, naturally, takes a strong hold of the mind, all
bracing will be with a true equilibrium of the muscles, and will
have the required effect without superfluous tension.
One of the most simple instances of bearing pain more easily by
relaxing to it occurs while sitting in the dentist's chair. Most of
us clutch the arms, push with our feet, and hold ourselves off the
chair to the best of our ability. Every nerve is alive with the
expectation of being hurt.