Recreation Through the Senses
THE tale of Bruce and the spider has lost through repetition the force of its moral appeal; but it may still serve as the text of a physiological discourse. The physiologist may well say that the spider’s affairs diverted the hero’s attention from his own misfortunes, supplemented the physical rest in the little hut by checking the surge of his thoughts, and brought recreation by the exercise of a new corner of his mind. It was as if the wind had shifted.
We all know what recreation and play mean in general. It is familiar to all of us that we recreate body and mind by athletic amusements, changes of reading, travel, the theatre, and by a hundred other means. But it is very important that we should understand the wide range of the uses and functions of our separate senses which will enable us to influence the very source of our conscious life and activities. To understand these senses aright is to learn to develop, use, and direct the movements and activities of our whole bodies.
We all know that we are influenced by our surroundings, but the manner in which they react on our minds and bodies, through the medium of our sense-organs, is not generally understood; the varying offices of the purely sense-organs — sight, hearing, touch, and the rest — are to a considerable degree ignored. Just as physical training ministers to many specific bodily ailments, so sense-education may contribute in a variety of ways, not only towards the maintenance of general health, but even to the relief of particular affections; and takes its place with massage, drugs, and electricity as an ally in the art of healing. We may go further, and say that if we will but yield to the little impulses of diversion which come to us through the avenues of the special senses, we may lessen or avert fatigue more effectually than through thhe medium of electricity or drugs
I
Fatigue, following long-continued exercise, is really a mild form of illness, which arises from over-exerting some one part of the body. Every strain, mental or physical, requires a certain amount of time for recovery; and if a sufficient period is not allowed between repeated efforts, there results a certain clogging or congestion of the tissues about the points of tension. In writing, for instance, the fingers move up and down hardly more than a quarter of an inch as they travel across the page. Yet this is hard work for their little muscles, and burns up tissue in the fingers very fast. If rest-intervals are too short and infrequent, there is not time for the removal of the waste products of this destruction through the normal channels of the body, and congestion results. This waste material is in effect somewhat poisonous, as it tends to decompose, that is, break up into several simple chemical elements and gases. The feeling of fatigue or pain that follows long-continued use of any of the muscles is due to the influence of such poisonous material, as well as to the stretching of the tissues caused by the pressure of the blood which settles there.
It is said that for horses the hardest road out of London is the most level one. There are no hills to climb and descend, and the tired horse has no chance to rest one set of muscles while another works. Monotony produces fatigue; and because this particular road is one dead, monotonous level, more horses die on it than on any other leading out of London.
The healthy child instinctively anticipates fatigue. He avoids tiring himself by taking a new tack; that is, by turning from one play to another. Watch a baby open his eyes when he hears a strange sound; or observe him when he notices a new toy. As soon as he sees it he reaches out for it. If he gets it he pats it, shakes it, listens gleefully if it makes a noise, possibly smells it, and inevitably ends by trying to get it into his mouth. Then he throws it away and reaches out for something new. He has exercised all his senses, one after another; and through this rotative process of senseplay and training his healthy normal development goes forward. A larger child follows much the same plan in his play, modifying it by what he has gained through experience.
The adult is not so wise as the child. Sooner or later he is trained to disregard fatigue, and to keep at one task long after it begins to tire him. Take the stenographer who sits for hours at her machine. Her arms, shoulders, back, and head are kept in the same position, accommodated to the restricted field of her work. Her fingers are raised just so far, and strike just so hard. The interruptions in the use of her machine are mechanical. If a child of seven were confined to such a task it would not be long before every muscle in his little body would begin to clamor for exercise and change, and he would twist and turn in every direction. Unless we had given the matter special study we might call him restless; but the better we understood the various demands of his body, the more we should know of the kind of movements best designed to develop his muscles by diverting the circulation here and there over his entire body. Every part of him is clamoring for its natural development by exercise, just as at feeding-time every chicken in a flock joins in the cry for food. Every chick needs food; every muscle needs exercise.
The trouble with older people is that their muscles are over-disciplined. Nowadays every man is supposed to have his own task, and the notion is too prevalent that it does him no harm to keep at it mechanically for a long time. We may take exception to the belief that hard work hurts nobody. Education has trained the brain to prod the muscles to work so continuously that the muscles become stale. Just as in a musical composition there are all sorts of intervals and rests, and little variations and excursions from the main theme, so in every man’s work there should be a complementary amount of diversion to keep him in balance and tone.
It is not our muscles only, but our senses as well that are trained to overendurance. The characteristic quality of a muscle is its power to put forth definite action; of a nerve, the capacity to receive and convey more or less intangible impressions. The movements of a muscle are visible, and can be easily demonstrated, while those of nerves or nerve-organs are not so apparent. The senses are specialized nerves, which, in the slow process of evolution, have been set aside to interpret the outside world to us. They are, in fact, our receiving apparatus, which admit stimulus under the five general heads of sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste. Each sense is adapted to register impressions varying in quality and intensity. Whether we are conscious of it or not, they are always at work; and the whole body often suffers from the over-strain which we carelessly allow our surroundings to impose upon these special organs. The decorator and the architect appreciate this fact, and by relieving sharp contrasts and promoting beautiful effects in color and design, avoid tiring the eye. Note, for example, the relief that pervades the entire body when, after resting on the dingy colors and ugly outlines of an ordinary city street, the eye is met by some bit of beautiful architecture.
After a day in the city, where all sorts of crude and contrasting colors have been forced upon the eye, exhaustion may seem general; but immediate relief is experienced in getting aboard a boat and letting the eye rest upon the soothing blue-green of the ocean, which, by counteracting the over-stimulation caused by a medley of glaring lights and colors, rests the eye, and thereby relieves the entire body.
II
In all these ways we suffer most, perhaps, through the abuse of the sense of sight. Touch, taste, smell, and hearing have narrower physical limitations; but the sweep of vision is wide, and necessarily includes a great variety of objects, both helpful and harmful. The eye is constituted to play over a wide range, and needs the exercise of gazing on distant and varied objects. Restricted to the limited focus of small rooms and narrow streets, it soon tires, just as the fingers tire from the short movements of the hand in writing, if not interrupted by larger swings and different plays. It is easy to imagine why the clerk who sleeps in a hall bedroom at night, and is penned in a small office during the day, finds refreshment in spending his evenings in spacious club-rooms, or at the theatre, with all its diverting lights and colors.
All print fatigues the eye after a short time, though this may not be consciously felt, because the eye is so accustomed to it; and though a headache may follow excessive reading, the reader may be quite unconscious of the cause. People often suffer fatigue from such over-application, while not aware of its source. The eye is tired by being restricted to black and white, and needs the stimulus afforded by a variety of colors. Harmony of color, design, and form, ministers to health.
Long-suffering as the eye is, it has a means of defense which the ear lacks; for while the eye can protect itself by dropping a quick curtain, the ear can place no effective barrier except distance between itself and its enemies. The ear of the city-dweller is subject to constant attacks from all sides; it is in a state of siege. The noise of the trolley-car may become a form of torture to a sensitive ear. The clatter of hoofs and wheels on the hard pavements tires it quickly by its sharp insistence; and the high-pitched screech and hiss of the locomotive letting off steam strain it. The lower-pitched rumble of steam and elevated trains wearies it more slowly, but just as surely. Every one recalls the clatter of the early milk-wagons and the rattling through the alley of the twowheeled ash-cart which seems to take special delight in naming every cobble of the pavement. The whir of machinery, the chug of the automobile, the monotonous click-clack of the typewriter, all produce a form of fatigue, even when custom has rendered the hearer practically deaf to their noises.
We are all familiar with the fatigue caused by listening to a scientific talk, sermon, or lecture given in a monotonous, high-pitched voice. The ear is wearied by the lack of modulation, and by the struggle to catch and interpret unfamiliar words and phrases. Listen, however, to a speaker who modulates his voice according to harmonic gradations; who lets it range over the third, the fifth, and even the octave. Let him further relieve the ear by the choice of familiar words, homely allusions, and phrases full of happy meaning. His listeners will feel less drowsy.
People rarely note the harmonic intervals of a good speaking voice. If the same note of a piano were struck fifty or a hundred times at regular intervals, if even the same melodious phrase were repeated incessantly, the effect on a sensitive ear would be almost maddening. The organ of hearing, like the other sense-organs, naturally craves variety. It is a necessity to mental and physical well-being. Just as constant dropping will wear away a stone, so constant repetition of even a pleasant impression wears away the vitality of the strongest. Breathing-spells are a necessity.
This brings us to the consideration of that organ which has so much to do with breathing — the organ of smell. The nose is fatigued by breathing a dusty atmosphere, as the particles of dust not only irritate its linings near the nerves of smell, and thus interfere with their work and function, but may also contain a medley of odors. Mere absence of dust, however, does not always mean relief. We have banished it from our boulevards by the use of oil; but we have substituted a tiresome odor. A park policeman noticed after its introduction that the visits of certain tubercular sufferers became less frequent. He questioned one of them, and learned that the disagreeable smell of the oil had driven them away. They had found that, even with the dust, the stimulating fragrance of trees and growing things was more invigorating to them than the dustless air, impregnated with oil. Suggestion, too, may have had something to do with the benefit they received. The pleasure that we get from the odor of new-mown hay is multiplied by the hundred happy associations that it may call up. Where are the happy memories that are waked by an oil-can?
All dominating odors, such as those from burning rubber, or from heavily scented flowers, are fatiguing to the nose. Even in the best ventilated rooms the walls become the host of a varied assortment of odors, and the sense of weariness in general is sometimes due to the fatigue of the organ of smell from being held to one particular odor, or to a medley of unpleasant odors. This may be relieved by going from such an environment to air that is saturated with fresh perfumes, such as those of growing plants. It is thus in part that we may account for the improvement of tuberculosis patients who go from life in a close room to life out of doors, where the air is filled with odors from the woods and fields. Think of a department store on a rainy day, with its mingled smells of different fabrics, dye-stuffs, and damp garments of shoppers; and then recall the fragrance of pine woods under a June sun.
The sense of taste is passed by quite as often as its fellows. It is often fatigued by unrelished food. Many people feel compelled to adhere to some article that is said to be good for them, whether they like it or not. The trouble with many of the manufactured foods, and those kept in cold storage, is that the original flavors are blunted. The present-day markets afford a great variety of staple foods, and the sense of taste will be less fatigued if it looks out for variety.
Finally, there is that hard-worked sense-organ, the skin. Sight, smell, and hearing are all sometimes in abeyance. There is no holiday for the sense of touch. Atmospheric conditions may change, but we cannot get away from them in some form. An even climate always becomes depressing. Continuous heat or cold, continued damp or dry weather, are all fatiguing to the skin. So is the weight of heavy clothing or the long-continued wearing of the same garment. Those Italian children whose mother refused to bathe them because she had just got them sewed into their winter underwear, must have been pretty tired before spring.
Feeling of any one thing for a long time fatigues the skin of the hand. Suppose one sorts a quantity of papers and letters. They are dry, thin, and hard, and may contain certain dyes and other ingredients, unknown except to experts, which are in effect irritating to the tips of the fingers. After handling them for some time, stop and pick up an orange, and you will experience a soothing sensation, due to the fact that the soft moist skin and rounded shape of the orange offer a contrast to the dry, flat surface and sharp edges of the paper. The average person could handle a hundred oranges with less fatigue than a hundred sheets of paper.
No one who studies the congested portions of a large city, and notes what the human organism has to fight against, can be surprised at the mortality in those districts. The individual house-space is so limited that fresh and fragrant, air is denied. Beauty of light and color is too expensive. Foul odors greet the nostrils; harsh cries and quarreling voices strike the ear; too often the roar and rumble of elevated trains add to the din. Food is stale and unpalatable; the body touches hard surfaces and coarse fabrics, and the eye sees dull, grimy colors, straight lines, and sharp angles. It is easy to understand the popularity of the hurdygurdy and the moving-picture show, and the relief sought in the saloon.
The high percentage of disease in a city slum cannot, of course, be laid entirely to adverse sensory conditions; but the nervous system does suffer from these conditions, and the body’s power of resistance is consequently lessened.
III
It is my purpose in this paper to indicate some of the ways in which stimulation from the outside world may be utilized for mental and physical refreshment and recreation. For any effective treatment, we must analyze our surroundings, and see how sensory relief may be affected by the use and variation of stimulus; just as the business man must know what his real stock-in-trade is, what assets he has, and how to turn them to account at the right time. In fact, the personal equation must be solved; for people vary in their individual response to a given stimulus as widely as the different keys of a piano vary to the same touch of the finger; and the response of any one person to a given stimulus also varies from day to day. Just as a violin is affected by moisture, or by long-continued pressure on its strings, so the human organism is affected by external conditions, such as intense heat, glaring lights, or the noises of the street .
It has already been shown that overstimulation of any part generates fatigue-poisons. Lack of exercise also produces these poisons just as effectually as over-work; and the excessive stimulation of some organs, together with the disuse of others will cause fatigue, with all its attendant bad results. By stimulating the unused parts we may relieve those that are fatigued, and so promote the health and comfort of the whole body. Indeed the body may wisely be taken as a family of many members, who share the responsibility of its maintenance. The vigor and activity of each is a matter of concern to all the others. If one breaks down or fails to perform its duties, added work and responsibility are thrown upon the others; whereas, if all the members work in harmony, keeping at the maximum of their powers by a right adjustment of rest and exercise, and relieving each other when necessary, the family will be an efficient and prosperous one.
The senses are important members of our corporal family, and much of its comfort is dependent on the careful adjustment of their use. Like the muscles, they must have a certain amount of exercise or stimulation to keep them in good working order. On the other hand, if any sense is overstimulated it suffers from fatigue, and must be relieved by a change in the kind of stimulation, or by the exercise of other senses. It is here that the intelligent coöperation of the individual comes in. The physician may direct and suggest, but the patient must learn for himself to see and use the many opportunities for sensory diversion which are within his reach. Each muscle has particular tasks, and is healthier with a certain amount of activity than without. This activity is dependent on the stimulus which comes through the nerves, and thus the tone of the muscle is dependent on the quality of that stimulus. Now, since nerves, sense-organs, and brain must have stimulation to keep them in order, we must study all kinds of stimulus, within and without the body, in order to see how they affect these delicate instruments which control its muscles.
To get the greatest benefit from any form of stimulus, the senses must be trained to keenness. They can all attain a high state of development. The artist rejoices in beauties of form and color to which the stock-broker may be blind. The ear of the musician detects harmonies unheard by the blacksmith, and the epicure gets a finer pleasure from his dinner than the hod-carrier. To be sure, while the highly-developed sense responds more fully to pleasant impressions, it also suffers more from disagreeable ones. But that is just where the will and intelligence of the individual must come forward to select from his surroundings the forms of stimulus which will produce a helpful reaction, and avoid or eliminate the harmful so far as is practicable.
IV
As the efficiency of the muscles can be increased by well-directed and systematic exercises, so the efficiency of the senses can be increased by careful training and attention. Humboldt, while exploring in South America, found that his native Indian guide could discern the movements of a man on a mountain twenty miles distant, which he himself made out with difficulty, even with the aid of a glass.
Many examples will occur to the reader, of the capacity of the ear to detect very slight differences in voices and sounds. Any one can appreciate its sensitiveness who has noted the power of a voice that has not been heard for years. The eye cannot recognize a person as readily by a study of features as does the ear by the sound of the voice.
‘The wind blowing through the leaves sounds like fall,’ said a friend to me one morning early in September. When I asked her to give a reason she said, ‘Why, they sound brittle, as though they were about ready to drop off.’ There was a distinct difference to her sensitive ear between the soft, low sound of leaves in the breezes of June, when they are fresh and full of sap, and their crisp rustle when they are dead and drying. The sound of whistles, or the creak of wheels and runners on the snow on a cold winter morning, form an accurate index to the temperature of the outside air.
In smell discriminations the countryman, whose sense is continually exercised by the innumerable perfumes of plant life, which vary from day to day as flowers and fruits grow to maturity, has a great advantage over the city dweller, whose nose is constantly subjected to a few monotonous and disagreeable odors. Sundry old salts along the coast will sniff the air as they go out of a morning, and tell you the exact quarter from which the wind comes, without taking the trouble to look at the weather-vane; and the nose of the accomplished chef tells him whether or not his roast is done to the right turn.
An ambassador to Russia, formerly a leather merchant in this country, discovered certain secret processes regarding a special kind of leather manufactured there. He would have been looked on with suspicion had it been suspected that he could learn anything of these methods. But during his sojourn he got near enough to certain factories to register, through his sense of smell, some impressions with which he was able to work out the formulas when he returned home.
The sense of taste has also possibilities for higher development. The habit of eating only to satisfy hunger may be too common, and the emphasis put upon the healthful or strengthening qualities of various foods leads us to overlook the fact that the sense of taste should be the true index to the kind of food that is really needed. The short periods of time ordinarily allowed for meals may interfere with the reasonable exercise of this sense, the cultivation of which would add greatly to the benefit and enjoyment to be derived from any diet.
Every housewife knows that foods kept too close together in small refrigerators, pantries, or cold storage places, neutralize each other to some extent. Their flavors get mixed. People in the country seldom complain as city people do that things all taste alike, for country cellars and storerooms are large, and permit a wholesome and natural method of ventilation. The best of our city hotels try to attain a like excellence by a careful separation of foods during all stages of preparation for the table. Broiling, baking, and frying are done by different cooks, each with his special oven and utensils, and each becomes an expert in his own line.
Finally, of supreme importance is the sense of touch, from which all the other senses have been evolved. The nerves of touch cover the entire surface of the body. They take the place of eyes to the blind. The expert shopper develops an amazing keenness of their sense at the ends of the fingers. In paper mills ordinary workmen get such training by feeling the paper as it goes over the rollers that they are able to detect a variation of one tenthousandth of an inch in its thickness. It is claimed that by constant training a difference of a forty-thousandth of an inch can be noted.
These illustrations are meant to call attention to the capacity of each sense for higher development. Perhaps their citation will awaken a keener interest in what our senses may teach us.
V
When a tired clerk or business man hears a sudden alarm of fire, all his faculties are at once aroused. His eyes have been wearied by monotonous desk-work, and the clang-clang of the gongs, the clatter of hoofs, and the shrill whistle of the engines all strike the ear, and through its activity promote a counter-stimulation which lessens the fatigue of the eye. All this is a welcome diversion, and he goes back to his work rested and refreshed. His blood has been drawn from accustomed ruts into new channels.
At an afternoon tea a person of delicate organization may begin to tire after half an hour or so. The insistent tones of some of the guests, the highpitched voices of others, and the continual medley of sounds have proved trying to the nerve of hearing. The confusing designs and colors of the ladies’ gowns and ornaments have been forced upon the eye, and this also protests against its hard usage. In fact, a rapid and bewildering succession of light blows have been rained upon the eye and ear from all directions; and when refreshments are served we perceive that their name is truly chosen. The food produces a counter-stimulation by exciting the sense of taste, and through this the digestive organs; and the exercise of these helps to restore a normal balance.
The novelties of a circus parade excite and fatigue the eye; but the music of the bands, breaking in at frequent intervals, relieve it by stimulating the ear. Musical comedy of the present day offers an excellent example of the manner in which the tax imposed on the eye by lights and costumes is relieved by the interpolation of music and songs. Opera is, in fact, a complex harmony of song and color so adjusted as to balance admirably the strain of stimulation on the senses of sight and hearing.
This idea of counter-stimulation may serve to explain some of the benefits of the smelling-bottle, and the great variety of baths — salt, mineral, oxygen, Turkish, etc. — which are wisely used as subsidiary agencies of skin stimulation. The use of the bottle of aromatic salts brings into action the nerves connected with the sense of smell, thereby drawing the blood away from regions where there have been congestion and strain. The baths draw the blood to the skin, stimulating its activity, and relieving congested parts of the body. An interesting experiment illustrating this idea is to rub the face lightly about the nose, and then note the increased activity of the sense of smell. The excitation of the skin there helps to promote the circulation, just as a bath creates a general feeling of refreshment and capacity for work.
The soothing effect of tobacco on the nerves, of which we constantly hear smokers speak, is largely due to the stimulation of the nose by the odor of the cigar or pipe. The nerves, here and there throughout the body, may be somewhat congested from overwork or other causes; and the excitation of the nerves of smell, which are but little used, gives them a form of exercise which counteracts fatigue in some other parts of the body. The man whose digestive apparatus has been taxed by a hearty meal welcomes the diversion furnished bv smoking an after-dinner cigar.
VI
It is not always necessary, however, to set other senses to work to relieve the fatigue of one. Each sense has such a wide range of utility that counteradjustments are possible within its own province. The tired eye may be refreshed by a simple variation of lights and colors, or a change of focus. A person who has been a proof-reader for twenty years believes his good eyesight to be due to the fact that he early formed the habit of looking up from his work every two or three minutes to gaze at some distant object.
The eye is affected differently by different colors owing to the varying quality of light-vibration. Under ordinary conditions, yellow can be seen farther than other colors, and red tires the eye sooner than green or brown. In the summer, the change from the glare of the city, and red brick walls, to the green of the country, or the greenish blue of the ocean, is most welcome. In the same way, the first snow of winter is pleasant and invigorating after the brownness of the fall. Children are particularly responsive to the change, and shout with glee to see the ground covered with snow when they get up in the morning. A new world has been opened up to them.
Too few of us realize the pleasure to be gained from the varying beauty of color in an early spring landscape. Its soft browns and grays are soothing and beautiful; but how rarely we observe the misty flush of violet or crimson over distant woods, where the sap is flowing to the tips of the branches, the golden green of young willows by the roadside, or the sun-flecked brook that ripples over a sandy bottom. These things all give rest and exercise to the tired eye and mind, if the eye is only encouraged to see them. A muddy New England road is not considered a source of joy; yet I have heard a New Jersey girl, used to the red clay of her home town, exclaim with delight at the rich, deep brown of New Hampshire mud.
From much the same reason, the entire prohibition of conversation during working-hours in some factories is unreasonable and foolish. If the privilege is not abused, a little talk will not decrease the output of work. Such restrictions probably work real harm to the majority of operatives; thereby lessening their value to their employers.
A college student, who heard only men’s voices in the dormitory, at table, and in the class-room, used to find it a positive luxury to visit a classmate who lived in a private house, where his ear was refreshed and stimulated by listening to the higher voices of women. On the other hand, the girl whose ear has been subjected to the high-pitched conversation of women will find the lower tones of men soothing. Doubtless this forms part of the basis of sex-attraction.
VII
Even dressing for dinner has its physiological basis. A change of covering means a change of stimulation. The clothes worn through workinghours have wearied the nerves of the skin. What is worn nearest the body absorbs its poisonous waste products and secretions. When the garments are removed, a free movement of air is afforded to the surface of the body, and the clothes which replace them stimulate the skin in a different way, and so relieve it. Varying dyes and textures produce corresponding changes of feeling. Let any one who doubts this change his usual cotton night-apparel for flannel. His irritation after this experiment will lead him to discard the flannel with the alacrity of the boy who, for much the same reason, hustles out of his clothes at the swimming-pool in summer. Frequently in mental derangement there is such a desire of freeing the skin that it is almost impossible to keep clothing upon a patient. Nature is stronger than convention in such cases.
The lawyer who handles dry books all day long at his desk experiences a sense of actual relief when he strokes the soft, moist hair of his dog at night, although the action is prompted by his affection for the animal. We can even take a charitable view of the time taken daily by the typewriter-girl for the arrangement of her hair. Her fingers are congested by the work of writing, and tired by contact with the hard keys of her machine; and the different feeling of her hair, and the little plays and movements of her fingers in adjusting it, are a distinct stimulation and relief. Indeed, does not this explain the craving of many desk-workers to do a little gardening, and get their hands into contact with the damp, cool soil?
It may be difficult to see how the sense of smell gives benefit through the mere change of stimulus; but take the case of the man who goes South for a part of the winter. The feeling of relaxation which he experiences when he gets into the region of the palm and orange groves is largely due to the strong permeating fragrance exuded by the luxurious vegetation. The soft, moist air of these low latitudes, laden with pungent odors which almost swamp the sense of smell, furnishes a strong counter-stimulant to the foul and poisonous atmosphere of congested cities, by which this organ has been so long abused.
VIII
Most of our minor physical disorders arise from over-use or stimulation of some tissue, organ, or muscle. When over-stimulation and underexercise are combined, as when a man underworks his muscles and overworks his brains, such complications as insomnia or dyspepsia are sure to result. The method of relief consists in a judicious adjustment of rest on the one hand, and exercise on the other. Rest of the over-stimulated part is of course necessary in its place, but restoration may be hastened by particular lines of counter-stimulation, or by the exercise of different groups of muscles and nerves. A man who has been at a desk all day finds the swinging of a golf club refreshing to the muscles of the arm, which have been fatigued so long by restricted movements. We little realize, though, how many persons reach such a state of fatigue that they are unequal to amusing themselves by such recreative sports. They need to resort to the theatre or ball-game, to be played upon through the eye and ear.
The following cases may serve to show to some degree the effectiveness of hygiene of the senses in the prevention and cure of disorders.
A woman who was suffering from a complication of physical ailments had been advised by some physicians to undergo an operation. Others had counseled her against it, and she was upset by conflicting advice. Her husband had become blind, and she and her children were reduced to dependence. Strained relations with her family added to her worries, and her immediate surroundings so aggravated her mental depression that it was difficult to determine the exact connection between her physical condition and her nervous state. She lived in a dark tenement, and the noise of passing trains and the foul odors from the street brought on hysterical spasms. It was evident that change of environment was necessary to improvement, and arrangements were made to move the family into the country. The escape from drab walls and smoky surroundings to wide prospects and green foliage; from the rattle of teams and clatter of shrieking trains to the peace of the country; from heavy disagreeable odors to the fragrance of the woods and fields, brought about, by means of the change in sensory stimulation, immediate relief from pain. The ‘ pressure around the heart,’ of which she had complained on rising, due probably to the dread of the daily round of irritation, soon entirely disappeared.
A floor-walker, who had been in the employ of a large department store for more than twenty years, had become thin and generally run down in health. His skin had become so sensitive that he could not even go out to cross the street on a cold day without throwing on an overcoat. His physician advised him to find an occupation that would not keep him indoors so constantly, and he undertook the management of a restaurant, which necessitated his going outdoors for provisions many times a day. In five months he had gained twenty pounds, and grown hardened to all ordinary changes of temperature. What was depressing to him affects to some degree every one who has to live indoors. The skin is kept constantly relaxed by the high, even temperature, and the humidity of the air is relatively much lower than that outside. Spending much time in the open, where there are daily and hourly variations, and where the air is relatively softer on account of the higher average of moisture, tones up the skin and promotes general well-being.
A woman who suffered from neuralgia was directed, in addition to the regular treatment advised, to take daily walks during the spring days, and not only to look for fresh colors, but to take advantage of different odors. She passed buildings in process of construction, and noted the varying scents of the lumber used, and the differing fragrances of the buds and blossoms in the fields. This stimulation of the nerves of sight and smell relieved the congestion of other nerves, gave her pleasant things to think of, and, with other general hygienic measures, contributed to a marked general and local improvement.
A young man who was troubled with catarrh, and waked every morning with a headache and a dryness in the throat, was advised to try sleeping out of doors. Two weeks later he reported that the headaches had entirely disappeared, and that the catarrh and dryness of the throat were practically cured. The fragrance of the outdoor air had helped him by stimulating the sense of smell, and its moisture had acted favorably upon the skin, and the delicate lining of the nose and throat.
Another instance I may give is that of a teacher who, after a hard year in a city kindergarten, found herself so tired that she feared she could not rest, even in the quiet country village where she usually spent her vacations. Acting upon medical advice, she went to the country for a week; then spent ten days in New York, and after that returned to the country for the remainder of the vacation. At the end of the summer her face gave the best evidence of the benefit of this plan. In this case the patient was too exhausted to respond immediately to counterstimulation, and a period of absolute inaction was necessary to prepare her for the strenuous experience of sightseeing, which, by contrast and variety, smoothed out the mental ruts which had been worn by the monotonous work of the year, and brought her nerves into a condition where rest was possible. Museums and art galleries effaced the impressions left by the narrow walls of her school-room; the many facial types of the great city printed new photographs on her brain; and the repetition of the high-pitched voices of women and children which she had endured day after day was pleasantly counteracted by the endless variety of tones heard on the street, in cars, cafés, and all public places.
It would be easy to multiply examples. A hundred times a day we smother our impulses because we feel that we lack time to indulge them; when, if we allowed them free play, we should find mind and body freshened and better fitted for effort. Often a little woolgathering, or timely imaginative fantasy, is a safety-valve.
IX
The opportunities for the practical application of these principles to everyday life are innumerable. The writer has a box of bits of wood tinted with different paint-stains. Desk-workers, whose eyes are much upon black ink and white paper, would find, upon shuffling over these chips two or three times a day, that the varied colors and grains of the wood afford a soothing and diverting exercise that will relieve eye-strain and prevent headaches. Flowers and growing plants, kept where the eye can occasionally rest on them, are ‘liked,’ of course, because they minister to and satisfy the natural demand of the eye for color. There are large fields of practical suggestion for the ear, and very definite prescriptions of music can be made which will keep the sense of hearing normal and efficient. Vocal, elocutionary, and dramatic studies, in addition to their general physical benefit, train the voice to produce richer tones, and make the ear more keenly sensitive to beauty of sound. The Negro’s plantation songs were the best antidote to the monotony of his long day under the hot sun of the cotton-fields.
As for smell, the writer has made use of a little case of four bottles of mild selected odors. Occasional sniffs from each of these in turn constitute a simple form of gymnastics for the olfactory tract, and relieve congestion quite as effectively as the usual strong smelling-bottle. Almost all druggists’ preparations have certain virtues in their appeal to smell, which account in some degree for their popularity. Mechanical contrivances for the stimulation and exercise of this sense are but poor substitutes, however, for the natural odors of the fresh country air.
A recent investigation of the conditions of the public schools of a Western city proved that a marked increase of the number of colds among the children followed the closing of the schoolroom windows and the resort to artificial means of ventilation during the winter months. This was due in a considerable measure to the greater dryness of the air. The body requires the moisture and fragrance of the free outside air. It would seem more important to remedy by improved sanitary construction the depressing conditions which so often contribute to adenoids and tonsillar troubles, than to experiment too elaborately in the attempt to kill germs.
I have tried to show how the nerves, the sense-organs, and the brain must, like the muscles, have a certain amount of exercise, stimulation, and variety to keep them in order, and how we can select and use for this purpose plenty of simple apparatus from our surroundings. Health is largely a matter of intelligence. The brain is constantly receiving various impressions through the senses, but the will can determine to admit only the impressions that the intelligence selects. To give too much attention, however, to the shutting out of all disagreeable sensations, would seem like setting ourselves away in a glass case. Man is naturally a fighting animal; but although he needs friction and opposition to develop a healthy power of endurance, over-endurance is to be avoided.
Out of the multitude of impressions that knock daily at the door of our senses, it is possible and wise to admit enough pleasant and helpful ones to counteract the effect of the harmful ones that force their way in, and so to contribute to a reasonable mental and physical balance. Hunger is given to incite us to furnish the body with its necessary fuel; pain, that we may keep it from contact with destructive agencies. We do not fast for a week, and then devote a day to eating; we eat at frequent intervals, when we feel the need of food. Is there any reason why the hunger of the eye and ear for the impressions which relieve and refresh the brain should not be heeded and satisfied with corresponding frequency? Although we cannot always get away from unhealthy sensory conditions, we can often modify them, and it is matter of common sense to do so. Some little thing in a shop-window may give more real pleasure, if there is a proper appetite for its absorption, than a couple of hours at the theatre; and the sound of pleasant voices on the street may be more refreshing to the ear than a symphony. The touch of a glove may call up the most delightful association; or a remembered melody may refresh a tired mind by filling it with happy recollections.
The brain has the power not only to receive, but to store up impressions which may be roused again by stimulus either from within or without the body. It seems wise, then, to have a pretty good supply on hand for use on either the actual or the figurative ' rainy day.’
Then, with the understanding that recreation through the special senses is an easy possibility, within the reach of every one, why not give it a chance? Why not take advantage of the little vacations and excursions that are practicable for eye and ear and mind, even when the body must keep on working under unhygienic conditions?
I do not mean to imply that work is to take a secondary place, or that adverse sensory conditions are to be wholly shunned. It is just for the sake of dealing wisely with such conditions, and of keeping mind and body in such trim that men may work, and work efficiently, that some attention to sensory recreation is to be urged. The sane and middle course of a proper adjustment of work and play is the course to be followed. Neither the ascetic nor the sybarite gets the greatest value out of life, nor gives the most in return. But the intelligent exercise of the special senses does minister to health and happiness, and the highest individual development. Recreation through the senses should have its place in both education and medicine.