  It so happens that your question belongs to a class of topics in which I have taken much theoretical interest. For my general views, I cannot do better than refer you to a paper of mine in the Gentleman's Magazine of March, 1875, called "The Physiology of Authorship;" but I fully agree with you that the settlement of the question can only depend upon the collection of individual experience. I have consciously studied my own, and can state it shortly and plainly. I am a very hard, very regular, and not seldom an excessive worker; and I find that my consumption of tobacco, and my production of work are in 'almost exact pro-portion, I cannot pretend to guess whether the work demands the tobacco or whether the tobacco stimulates the work; but in my case they are inextricably and, I believe, necessarily combined. When I take a holiday, especially if I spend it in the open air, I scarcely smoke at all; indeed, I find that bodily exercise requires no stimulant of any kind whatever. If I read, I smoke little; but if I produce, tobacco takes the form of a necessity, I believe—for I am indolent by nature, and tobacco seems to me to be the best machine for making work go with the grain that I can find. [Footnote: The wisdom of occasionally using these various stimulants for intellectual purposes is proved by a single consideration. Each of us has a little cleverness and a great deal of sluggish stupidity. There are certain occasions when we absolutely need the little cleverness that we possess. The orator needs it when he speaks, the poet when he Versifies, but neither cares how stupid he may become when the oration is delivered and the lyric set down on paper. The stimulant serves to bring out the talent when it is wanted, like the wind in the pipes of an organ. "What will it matter if I am even a little duller afterwards?" says the genius; "I can afford to be dull when I have done." But the truth still remains that there are stimulants and stimulants. Not the nectar of the gods themselves were worth the dash of a wave upon the beach, and the pure cool air of the morning.— Philip G. Hamerton, in Intellectual Life, p. 21.] I have a very strong suspicion that if I did not smoke (which I find harmless) I should have to conquer really dangerous temptations. As things are, though I am a very moderate wine-drinker (spirits I never touch, and abhor), alcohol, practically speaking, bears no appreciable part in my life's economy. I believe that to some people tobacco is downright poison; to some, life and health; to the vast majority, including myself, neither one thing nor the other, but simply a comfort or an instrument, or a mere nothing, according to idiosyncrasy. My general theory is, that bodily labour and exercise need no stimulant at all, or at most very little; but that intellectual, and especially creative, work, when it draws upon the mind beyond a quickly reached point, requires being a non-natural condition non-natural means to keep it going. I cannot call to mind a single case, except that of Goethe, where great mental labour has been carried on without external support of some sort; which seems to imply an instinctive knowledge of how to get more out of the brain machine than is possible under normal conditions. Of course the means must differ more or less in each individual case; and sometimes the owner of a creative brain must decide whether he will let it lie fallow for health's sake, or whether for work's sake he will let life and health go. I always insist very strongly upon brain work-beyond an uncertain point-being non-natural, and, therefore, requiring non-natural conditions for its exercise. I can quite believe the feat of the Hungarian officer [Footnote: The surprising endurance of the Hungarian officer, who lately swam a lake in Hungary, a distance of eleven miles, is ascribed to his abstinence from alcohol and tobacco.— Thrift, for February, 1882.] would be impossible to a man who smoked or drank. But I cannot at all believe in that officer's powers of writing, instead of swimming, with a mind at full stretch, for the half of eleven hours. As to economy, tobacco costs me a good deal; but I look upon it as the investment of so much capital, bearing better interest than any other investment could bear. R. E. FRANCILLON. |
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