Grieving would seem at first glance to be one of the conditions for which the physician, especially if the etymology of the name of his profession be taken strictly, should not be called upon to minister, nor his remedies be expected to relieve. Grief is usually supposed to be due to moral ills and, therefore, at most to come under the care of the alienist, with the feeling that even he can accomplish very little for what is an affective rather than a true mental disorder. There is no doubt at all, however, that grieving, especially in the excess that shows it to be pathological, is always associated with certain physical and mental conditions for which the physician can accomplish much. Indeed more often than not the physical condition of the grief-stricken person is a prominent factor in the production of the state of feeling which causes grief to be exaggerated, while, on the other hand, this state of mind {727} itself reacts upon the physical being so as to make it more sluggish in all its functions, and as a consequence a vicious circle of cause and effect is formed affecting unfavorably both the mental and physical conditions. It is when patients are run down in health that grief becomes extremely difficult or apparently impossible to bear and grief itself still further brings about a deterioration of health that makes the mind's reactionary power against its gloomy feelings still weaker than they were.

Viewed in this way, grief is an ailment that should properly come to the physician for treatment and with regard to which that important principle is eminently true that the physician cannot always cure, but he can nearly always relieve, and he can always console his patients. On the one hand, an improvement in the general health always make grief easier to bear because it increases the resistive vitality of both mind and body. On the other, any diversion of mind that lifts the burden of grief even to some degree, releases new stimuli and physical powers for the restoration of bodily function to the normal and this brings about an immediate lessening of the depressive condition. In a word, for the vicious circle of unfavorable influences ever pushing the victim farther into depression, a virtuous circle, in the Latin sense of the word virtue, meaning courage, favoring strength, must be formed, that brings about an immediate improvement in the patient's mental and physical well-being. This is not a pretty bit of theory but is the result of the experience of every physician who has ever taken seriously the problems of caring for the grief-stricken.

Natural and Pathological Grief.—It is, of course, not easy to distinguish between grief that may be called morbid in the sense of a melancholy, that is, more than natural—a true mental disease—and that which represents only an affective state accompanied by depression from which there will be complete reaction. A mother loses a favorite, it may be an only son, and is plunged into grief. For days, even weeks, she refuses to take any interest in life, she thinks moodily about the awful affliction that has come to her and how blank the future is, and she cannot be aroused to attend either to her own affairs or to the duties of life around her. Such a grief is, in many cases, not more than the normal depression incident to such a loss. If after months, however, the mother still continues to refuse to take interest in life and the things around her, especially if, besides, she now talks of having been visited with this punishment because of some unpardonable sin in her own life, or because the Deity has been offended beyond all hope of propitiation, then the case verges over into one of true melancholy in which the mental depression is not merely a symptom of a passing condition, but partakes of the nature of a mental disease, or is the consequence of a profound neurotic condition.

It must not be forgotten that there is always the danger that exaggerated grief, as it seems for the moment to be, may be only the first symptom of a true melancholic condition. Only too often friends and physicians have been deceived by this. Some of the sad cases of self-destruction and a few cases of homicide and suicide have followed a condition that seemed to be only abnormal grief for the loss of a relative.

Etiology.—The cause of exaggerated, prolonged grief is, in a considerable proportion of the cases, a melancholic tendency, that is, a failure on the {728} part of the mind to react against depression. The weakness of mind that predisposes to this may be inherent or acquired. Sometimes no special loss is needed to produce melancholia in susceptible individuals, while occasionally it is precipitated by some misfortune, inasmuch as this is a mental disease, very little can be done directly, and yet the patient can be helped and diversion of mind may bring a good measure of relief. More often, however, the reason for persistent grieving is that before the disturbing loss came into the life of the individual there had been a serious deterioration in health. This was due to the conditions preceding the unfortunate event. Wives sometimes have worn themselves out physically and mentally while nursing husbands, or mothers their children, and this has produced a lack of physical force which prevents them from reacting with healthy mentality against the subsequent shock of loss.

Prophylaxis.—For the melancholic tendency prophylaxis cannot be special, but must be general. We cannot prevent people from suffering serious losses, but we can foresee the possibility of a loss proving very depressing, and can, therefore, try to keep the individual in reasonably good physical condition. If this is done the subsequent depression will be much less than it otherwise would be. Very often there is little or no recognition of the fact that there is a definite tendency in some patients to too great an inclination toward melancholic thoughts, and it is not until an exaggerated manifestation of it comes that the danger is realized. It is not easy to make patients realize the dangers, but where the physician talks with assurance and points out definite things to do in order to prevent serious developments, patients, or at least their friends, can be made to appreciate the dangers.

The best demonstration that I know of the value of work as a remedy for grief is my experience with members of religious orders. For them, as a rule, there is no interruption in life no matter what the loss may be. Their work goes on the day after the funeral just as before. This is the most precious possible arrangement, time and occupation of mind are the two factors that will dull the edge of grief and while humanly we may resent the consolation that is thus brought by such conventional things as the passage of time and humdrum occupations, they represent nature's resources. Above all, patients must be given something to do and if that something concerns other suffering human beings, there is every reason to expect relief.

Treatment.—The most important element in the treatment of grief cases is to prevent physical running down as far as possible and to build up the physical condition. Depression that comes to patients who have lost considerable weight, even though it may show some of the signs of melancholia, is always hopeful. Where patients are twenty or thirty pounds under weight the recovery of weight up to the normal condition will often mean the relief of their depressed condition. The one hope lies in this physical improvement. Mental treatment by diversion of mind must, of course, be practiced. This does not mean getting the patients interested once more in trivial things, but to be successful it means arousing the deeper feelings of their nature. Above all, the solace of tears will often save depressed and grieving persons from themselves. An interest in the sufferings of other people that awaken their sympathy will do the most to end exaggerated grieving over their own loss. The self-centeredness of their grief is the principal reason for its exaggeration. {729} It is because of overestimation of their own importance and of the importance of their loss that these people suffer severely.

Motives of Consolation.—The main resource of the physician who would employ psychotherapy for the treatment of those who are grieving beyond the limit of what is normal, is to supply motives by which they can understand the real significance of their loss. Very often, especially in young folks, there is no proper estimation of values in life and no recognition of the fact that human life was evidently not meant for happiness since that comes to but few, while suffering and partings are inevitable. They come to all, and apparently will always continue to do so. It is the young or, at least, those under middle age, who are most likely to be affected by exaggerated depression over losses and disappointments. Older folks have grown more accustomed to such incidents. These patients must be made to see how many motives there are to take their grief philosophically and while permitting themselves the luxury of sorrow, not to let this interfere either with their physical condition or their mental state to such a degree as to prevent them from taking the proper interest in their duties in life.

The ethical motives that may be urged to keep people from grieving over-much are many, but there is sometimes the feeling in the physician's mind that it is scarcely his business to emphasize them in any way. It is supposed that to the clergyman must be committed the task of consoling people for losses in life. This has always seemed to me a serious mistake. As physicians we know how much the mind influences the body and since it is our duty to care for the body, we must, above all and first of all, care for the mind as far as we can. Mens sana in corpore sano is a very old motto and is usually taken only in the sense that to have a healthy mind one must have a healthy body. In its Latin form, however, it might very well also be taken to mean that to have a healthy body one must have a healthy mind. Since grief has an untoward influence on the body, physicians are bound to learn what to do for it in any and every possible way and to exercise every faculty they have for its relief. This is all the more true because in recent years many persons have no regular religious attendant who would come to offer them consolation or to whom they would go in their trouble. It is not at all with the idea of infringing on the rights of the clergy or invading his territory that I would insist not only on the right of the medical man, but even his duty, to afford consolation to the mind as well as relief for the body.

The Family Physician.—In older times the family physician was a friend of the family to whom people turned in all troubles where he might possibly be of aid, with just as much confidence and as promptly as they did to their religious attendant. Unfortunately, in the progress of medicine, though still more because of the social vicissitudes that have taken place in recent years, this relationship of the family physician has been largely diminished, but that constitutes only one more reason why every physician, to whose attention the grief of a patient for any loss is presented as a cause of ill-health, should know all the means and be ready to employ them for the amelioration of the condition. As a matter of fact, there is often a feeling on the part of patients that it is more or less the business of the clergyman to afford consolation and that the performance of his duty in this matter is somewhat conventional, not {730} as if he performed it less thoroughly because of this, but as if the feeling of the routine practice detracted from its effectiveness. Some of the motives for consolation advanced by the clergyman, then, lose in significance, in some persons' minds at least, because of this feeling, while motives presented by the physician rather gain in weight because of the impression that he is a thoroughly practical man, deeply interested in life's problems from a common-sense standpoint, and who knows the motives for consolation because he has realized that losses are inevitable, suffering unavoidable, and grief sure to come, though somehow we must learn to bear up bravely under life as we find it.

Physicians have always done this in the past, but in more recent years either they have lost the habit, or have considered it unworthy of their profession, or else, perhaps, only too often they themselves have had no motives to offer that might seem sources of consolation for those in suffering and especially those who are grieved for the loss of friends. If life were a mere chance, if there were not an evident purpose in it, if, as Lord Kelvin insisted, science did not demonstrate (not "suggest" but "demonstrate" is the word he used) the existence of a Creator and a Providence, Who, while caring for the huge concerns of the universe, can just as well employ Himself with the little details of human life, then there would be some reason for physicians thinking that their science kept them from seeking consolation from the ordinary motives. Even if they occupy an advanced agnostic position, however, they may still find sources of consolation that, if not so effective as those attached to the old beliefs, at least will provide something for the forlorn to take hold of, that will mitigate their grief and sense of loss and make the present and the future look not all too blank.

Few men have been so thoroughly agnostic as Prof. Huxley, yet on the death of his wife he found that some of the thoughts of the old beliefs might prove a source of consolation. Huxley had loved his wife very dearly and their separation by death meant very much. The epitaph that he wrote for her sums up his doubts yet plucks out of them something to console, expressed in old Scriptural language:

Attitude Toward Death.—The ordinary attitude of people toward death is a very curious one. Death is the one absolutely certain thing in life after birth, yet most of us live our lives without much regard to it, and whenever it comes and under whatever circumstances, at whatever age, it is always a shock to us. No matter how old people are it always comes a little before it is expected. When death comes it is always a shock and all that can be said of it is what Hamlet resents when the commonplace consolations for the loss of his father, who also lost a father and so on all down the course of history, are offered to him. Perhaps, however, as much the reason for his resentment was the person who offered the consolation as the form of the consolation itself, which, after all, exhausts nearly all that we can say in this matter for grief for near and dear ones:{731}

Death and Pain.—One of the most effective consolations in our day for all classes of people, quite apart from religious affiliations or beliefs, is the sociological import of death and suffering in the world. Life, without suffering and death in it, would be a riot of selfishness. Men, as a rule, would not care for others at all, the weak would go to the wall, the individuals who possess less efficiency than others would simply have to make out as best they could, and bad as social conditions are now, they would be intolerably worse. As it is the young and strong and vigorous have very little of true sympathy. Nothing makes a man feel for others like having gone through some suffering himself. On the other hand, nothing makes him feel the impotence of struggling ceaselessly for vain success and the futile rewards of life than to lose near and dear friends whose share in that success and joy over the rewards would constitute their only real value and justification. As a man grows older and has gone through some of the sufferings and has had to bear the losses of life, he learns more and more to feel for others, he is ready even to make sacrifices that others may not have to suffer as he has suffered, he has charity for them for the sake of his own suffering and that of near and dear ones, and things are much better than they could possibly be without suffering and death.

Therapy by Example.—Many men have taken losses so seriously as to think that life held no more for them, and have foolishly given up their occupations, yet have found that Time, the great healer, could work his marvels in their case as well as in most others and that new interests and, above all, their life work, could arouse them to a sense of duty and bring them back to the old routine of life. Dr. Mumford, in his "Sketch of Sir Astley Cooper," tells the story of how even that veteran surgeon gave up everything at the death of his wife and yet found, after a year of idleness, that he had to come back to the old life again. Dr. Mumford says: "Sir Astley Cooper was an emotional man. In 1827 his wife died, and the event prostrated him with grief. He felt that all the interests of life were over for him. He fell into an acute physical decline, sold his town house, threw up his practice and other professional employments, and retired to his country place to pass his last days. Within a year of the sad event he had returned to town, taken another house, resumed practice with increased vigor, and married again. He was then sixty years old, he lived on until 1841, and died in his seventy-fourth year."{732}

A typical example of how much a strong man whose diplomatic ability had stamped him as one of the large men of his generation may yet be afflicted beyond measure by a loss of this kind is to be found in the life of the second Lord Lytton. I have told it somewhat in detail in the chapter on Periodic Depression. After the death of his boy Lord Lytton, who for more than a week of anguish had watched unceasingly at the death-bed of his dying son, came to the conclusion that God was not in His world or, at least, that the arm of Providence was shortened if such (as it seemed to him) needless suffering was permitted. The boy had probably suffered much less than the bystanders thought and much less than he seemed to, for in these cases nearly always there is a merciful deadening of the senses that to a great extent eliminates suffering, but Lord Lytton could not understand and refused ever to look at life from the same standpoint afterwards. This is, of course, only what happens in many cases, but it represents an exaggeration of grief since death and suffering have always been in the world and sometimes they will come to those near and dear to us, much as we may resent it.

Neither profound intelligence nor the sympathetic genius of the poet or artist is sufficient to safeguard men against the severer forms of griefs for loss. Louis, the distinguished French physician (to whom we in America are indebted so much as the Master of the Boston and Philadelphia schools of diagnosis, and, above all, for his teaching of the differentiation between typhoid and typhus fever), suffered so much from the loss of his son that he could scarcely be consoled. Dante Gabriel Rossetti was so much affected by the death of his wife that he put into her coffin the only manuscript copy of his poems that he possessed. It is interesting to learn that some years later he had the coffin exhumed and took out his manuscript at the urging of friends, and published the poems. Many other examples of this kind might be given, for exaggeration of grief affects all classes and conditions in life. They are practically always pathological, usually on a basis of somewhat disturbed mentality, though often the real underlying and predisposing condition is the physical exhaustion that has preceded the loss and which makes patients unable to bear the strain of it after weeks of care, solicitude, anxiety and neglect of eating and sleep.