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- The Common Sense of Drinking (1930)
The Common Sense of Drinking (1930)
- By Misc Author
- Published 01/2/2007
- Alcohol
-
Rating:
It is often helpful in influencing the trend of thinking to read books of a constructive nature whether they bear directly on the problem, as would be the case with those of a philosophical or psychological nature, or whether the appeal is through inference.
Books which would influence in this manner are biographies or autobiographies of men who have become successful.
Lives of such men as Napoleon, Lincoln, Lee, Washington, Pasteur, and Disraeli cannot fail to act as an inspiration to a man who is endeavoring to get rid of an undesirable habit.
Conversely, literature which deals with the charms of hedonism, which expounds a philosophy of "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die," or which glowingly describes dissipation, should be carefully avoided until the patient is definitely cured.
Of those books which deal directly with the problem of character integration in a popular manner I know of none better than The Human Machine, by Arnold Bennett. There are, of course, others written in a similar vein, and if the alcoholic will give a little attention to the bookstores and libraries he will be able to find sufficient reading material to keep his mind constructively occupied throughout the period of treatment.
How much, if any, investigation of abnormal psychology should be made depends upon the individual reaction to the subject, For instance, some men are quite interested in the theories of psychoanalysis and can read its more simplified expositions with considerable benefit, while others are disturbed by it, or merely disinterested.
Such books as interest the patient must be read in a careful manner, and the ideas which particularly appeal to him should be marked. This does not mean that an abstract is to be made as proof that the book has been read with understanding, but rather that the patient is to gather together a group of ideas which will contribute to the construction of a new philosophy of life.
If a few helpful suggestions can be culled from pages of platitudes, then reading the book has been worth while. For this reason a person should show some degree of perseverance in searching through a book which may not stimulate him in the beginning.
On the other hand, if he has a definitely unpleasant reaction to it, he should drop it instantly.
Writing as well as reading is of benefit to the patient. It helps to crystallize in his mind the ideas that he has received. He may write an exposition of his personal reaction to the treatment so far as he has progressed in it, or he may write a letter to an imaginary friend describing how the alcoholic habit can be eliminated.
If this latter way is employed, the patient is for the moment playing the role of teacher, and there is no way of learning that is half as effective as teaching.
Writing incidentally will disclose how many of the ideas have been thoroughly understood and retained in the patient's mind, how many have gone in one ear and out the other, and how many have been twisted so that they are more in line with emotional wish fulfillment than with an intellectual disposition of the problem under consideration.
Many people who are apparently listening with the closest attention are in reality only considering what they themselves are going to say when it comes their turn to do the talking. Whatever the method of approach to the composition, the cure will be clarified, objectified, and in a sense intensified by an occasional thesis of not less than two pages.
If an individual is willing to write more often and at length, so much the better.
The following is a sample theme of the autobiographical type, written by a man for whom alcohol had become a serious problem because of his occasional antisocial reaction to a normal amount, rather than because of prolonged debauches. He felt with some reason that this latter manifestation was latent.
The cure for alcoholism, as given me during the last nine months, has left me with the following impressions.
When I began the cure, I had just reached the point when alcohol had become a narcotic. The periods during which I was "on the wagon" were becoming shorter and shorter, and in the ensuing "hangovers" I had already reached the point when I felt that I needed rather than wanted a drink the next day. My shame and depression from the periodic outbreaks was becoming a dull and ever present misery.
I had for some time known that Peabody was making a business of successfully curing alcoholics, and after an especially severe debauch I called him in on the theory that it was at least worth while for me to hear about how other people had been cured. The first, and one of the most important things that I got out of his explanation was a brand new thought to me -- namely, that habit of thought is more powerful than will.
This thought immediately reduced the cure from an intangible exercise of will power to a definite course of mental training, and made the cure seem to me not conceivable but probable. It made the cure seem more like learning algebra than learning to love art.
Starting from the basic idea that, although it involved a great deal of effort, it was possible, I then considered the question of whether it was worth while to make the effort. The answer was obvious.
The answer to the next necessary decision to be made by me was equally obvious. If I was to change my habit of thought, learn to want not to drink, I must give up alcohol for all time, as only by doing so could I eliminate any conflict of thought on the subject.
From this point on the cure became an exercise of mental gymnastics, the overrunning of old habits of thought by new habits of thought. You cannot obliterate tracks in the mind any more than you can hoof prints in a muddy road, but you can overrun those old tricks in the mind until they are no longer important in the same way that you can overrun hoof prints in a muddy road by the tire tricks of an automobile.
One of the tasks I was set seems very important to me -- the making out of a daily schedule, which, once made out, had to be lived up to. This issuance of small commands to myself and my obedience to them rapidly restored my self-respect.
Incidentally my efficiency in my daily work enormously increased, which increased the respect for me of other people. This reacted favorably on my confidence in myself. In other words, by perfectly mechanical means I was enabled to turn what had been a vicious circle into a beneficent circle.
The more pride I was able to take in myself the less need I had of the rallying effect of alcohol when I went out.
Besides the schedule, another aid was available and equally important. Almost all impulses originate in the unconscious mind. It is necessary therefore to change the habit of thought in the unconscious mind.
This is perfectly possible, Peabody used to -- and still does -- relax me physically as well as mentally, and when I am in a relaxed condition, talks to me. What thoughts he expresses at that time are sowed in my unconscious mind. He has taught me to do the same thing for myself.
The result is that when I am offered a cocktail, instead of instinctively saying "Yes" I instinctively say "No." I have been able to put the application of this method to work in my daily life downtown.
All this sounds pretty easy. It is not easy for several reasons. First, that it takes a certain amount of courage to admit that you, yourself, cannot do what others can apparently successfully do, namely, drink.
Secondly, that it takes a long time to overrun with new habits of thought the old habits of thought in the mind, and a certain amount of will power is necessary to carry you through the long grind.
After my common sense told me that the cure was possible. -- in fact, if the work be done, inevitable, -- I went to Peabody on the same theory that I would have gone to in instructor of mathematics had I found it necessary to learn calculus.
Probably I could learn calculus by myself out of books, but it would take me a great deal longer than if I went to a competent teacher. I keep referring to mathematics because the whole cure seems to me similar to addition. If you add two and two you get four.
If you add one and two you don't get four, you only get three.
What you put into your mind you take out. If, over a long period of time, you have put things into your mind which are bad for you, those same things come out, and the reason that 1 am so much better off to-day than I was nine months ago is that the right things that I have been putting into my mind have largely nullified the wrong that I had put in in the past.
Books which would influence in this manner are biographies or autobiographies of men who have become successful.
Lives of such men as Napoleon, Lincoln, Lee, Washington, Pasteur, and Disraeli cannot fail to act as an inspiration to a man who is endeavoring to get rid of an undesirable habit.
Conversely, literature which deals with the charms of hedonism, which expounds a philosophy of "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die," or which glowingly describes dissipation, should be carefully avoided until the patient is definitely cured.
Of those books which deal directly with the problem of character integration in a popular manner I know of none better than The Human Machine, by Arnold Bennett. There are, of course, others written in a similar vein, and if the alcoholic will give a little attention to the bookstores and libraries he will be able to find sufficient reading material to keep his mind constructively occupied throughout the period of treatment.
How much, if any, investigation of abnormal psychology should be made depends upon the individual reaction to the subject, For instance, some men are quite interested in the theories of psychoanalysis and can read its more simplified expositions with considerable benefit, while others are disturbed by it, or merely disinterested.
Such books as interest the patient must be read in a careful manner, and the ideas which particularly appeal to him should be marked. This does not mean that an abstract is to be made as proof that the book has been read with understanding, but rather that the patient is to gather together a group of ideas which will contribute to the construction of a new philosophy of life.
If a few helpful suggestions can be culled from pages of platitudes, then reading the book has been worth while. For this reason a person should show some degree of perseverance in searching through a book which may not stimulate him in the beginning.
On the other hand, if he has a definitely unpleasant reaction to it, he should drop it instantly.
Writing as well as reading is of benefit to the patient. It helps to crystallize in his mind the ideas that he has received. He may write an exposition of his personal reaction to the treatment so far as he has progressed in it, or he may write a letter to an imaginary friend describing how the alcoholic habit can be eliminated.
If this latter way is employed, the patient is for the moment playing the role of teacher, and there is no way of learning that is half as effective as teaching.
Writing incidentally will disclose how many of the ideas have been thoroughly understood and retained in the patient's mind, how many have gone in one ear and out the other, and how many have been twisted so that they are more in line with emotional wish fulfillment than with an intellectual disposition of the problem under consideration.
Many people who are apparently listening with the closest attention are in reality only considering what they themselves are going to say when it comes their turn to do the talking. Whatever the method of approach to the composition, the cure will be clarified, objectified, and in a sense intensified by an occasional thesis of not less than two pages.
If an individual is willing to write more often and at length, so much the better.
The following is a sample theme of the autobiographical type, written by a man for whom alcohol had become a serious problem because of his occasional antisocial reaction to a normal amount, rather than because of prolonged debauches. He felt with some reason that this latter manifestation was latent.
The cure for alcoholism, as given me during the last nine months, has left me with the following impressions.
When I began the cure, I had just reached the point when alcohol had become a narcotic. The periods during which I was "on the wagon" were becoming shorter and shorter, and in the ensuing "hangovers" I had already reached the point when I felt that I needed rather than wanted a drink the next day. My shame and depression from the periodic outbreaks was becoming a dull and ever present misery.
I had for some time known that Peabody was making a business of successfully curing alcoholics, and after an especially severe debauch I called him in on the theory that it was at least worth while for me to hear about how other people had been cured. The first, and one of the most important things that I got out of his explanation was a brand new thought to me -- namely, that habit of thought is more powerful than will.
This thought immediately reduced the cure from an intangible exercise of will power to a definite course of mental training, and made the cure seem to me not conceivable but probable. It made the cure seem more like learning algebra than learning to love art.
Starting from the basic idea that, although it involved a great deal of effort, it was possible, I then considered the question of whether it was worth while to make the effort. The answer was obvious.
The answer to the next necessary decision to be made by me was equally obvious. If I was to change my habit of thought, learn to want not to drink, I must give up alcohol for all time, as only by doing so could I eliminate any conflict of thought on the subject.
From this point on the cure became an exercise of mental gymnastics, the overrunning of old habits of thought by new habits of thought. You cannot obliterate tracks in the mind any more than you can hoof prints in a muddy road, but you can overrun those old tricks in the mind until they are no longer important in the same way that you can overrun hoof prints in a muddy road by the tire tricks of an automobile.
One of the tasks I was set seems very important to me -- the making out of a daily schedule, which, once made out, had to be lived up to. This issuance of small commands to myself and my obedience to them rapidly restored my self-respect.
Incidentally my efficiency in my daily work enormously increased, which increased the respect for me of other people. This reacted favorably on my confidence in myself. In other words, by perfectly mechanical means I was enabled to turn what had been a vicious circle into a beneficent circle.
The more pride I was able to take in myself the less need I had of the rallying effect of alcohol when I went out.
Besides the schedule, another aid was available and equally important. Almost all impulses originate in the unconscious mind. It is necessary therefore to change the habit of thought in the unconscious mind.
This is perfectly possible, Peabody used to -- and still does -- relax me physically as well as mentally, and when I am in a relaxed condition, talks to me. What thoughts he expresses at that time are sowed in my unconscious mind. He has taught me to do the same thing for myself.
The result is that when I am offered a cocktail, instead of instinctively saying "Yes" I instinctively say "No." I have been able to put the application of this method to work in my daily life downtown.
All this sounds pretty easy. It is not easy for several reasons. First, that it takes a certain amount of courage to admit that you, yourself, cannot do what others can apparently successfully do, namely, drink.
Secondly, that it takes a long time to overrun with new habits of thought the old habits of thought in the mind, and a certain amount of will power is necessary to carry you through the long grind.
After my common sense told me that the cure was possible. -- in fact, if the work be done, inevitable, -- I went to Peabody on the same theory that I would have gone to in instructor of mathematics had I found it necessary to learn calculus.
Probably I could learn calculus by myself out of books, but it would take me a great deal longer than if I went to a competent teacher. I keep referring to mathematics because the whole cure seems to me similar to addition. If you add two and two you get four.
If you add one and two you don't get four, you only get three.
What you put into your mind you take out. If, over a long period of time, you have put things into your mind which are bad for you, those same things come out, and the reason that 1 am so much better off to-day than I was nine months ago is that the right things that I have been putting into my mind have largely nullified the wrong that I had put in in the past.
