The Four Steps Down

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Aug 17, 1905

The Four Steps Down

The late William Blaikie, lawyer and athlete, was a strong advocate of temperance as a preserver of health, as this passage from his fine temperance tract will show. The whole should be circulated wherever there are men and boys to be helped. Again let the doctor tell—a specialist in this field. He thus describes the victim of drink:—

“When a small quantity of alcohol is taken, the person feels exhilarated and freshened. He says he is brightened or cheered, that he feels in a kind of glow, that his thoughts seem to flow more quickly, and that he is warmed from head to foot. If you look at the man, you see that his face is red and flushed, that his eyes look bright, that he is a little excited, and that he talks more quickly or freely. In this stage the man is often said to be ‘jolly,’ and what is commonly called the jollity of drink is felt by him.

“If the quantity of alcohol taken be comparatively moderate, if it be but sufficient to excite, without actually causing intoxication or drunkenness, there comes on a second condition, or stage (assuming even that no more alcohol has been taken), during which the flush of the face and skin dies away, and there is felt a slight chilliness of the body. Should he go out into cold air, especially while he is badly supplied with food, he is depressed and chilled. He easily takes cold, and in frosty weather readily contracts congestion of the lungs. Nothing is more common in winter time than the production of disease from this cause.

“If, however, he should imbibe sufficient to affect him to intoxication, a third stage of action is reached, and is very serious. In this stage the great vital organs of the body—the brain, the lungs, the liver, the kidneys—are all too full of blood, and in the most unfit condition for the performance of their work. The nervous system, through which all the acts of the body are directed,—the movements of the body, the thinking, and, in fact, all the working powers,—is especially deranged. The brain is obscured, and the mere animal or passionate nature of the man is allowed full play, uncontrolled by the reason and judgment.

“Men, therefore, in this stage are seen in their most ridiculous tempers. Some men are horribly passionate, violent, and cruel; others are silly and talkative, telling sometimes things about themselves they ought to be ashamed to hear, and of which it would be prudent for them not to speak; or laughing insanely at sayings which are not clever; or boasting or uttering untruths; or crying and bewailing, as trials too hard to be borne, commonplace griefs, which sober men would think it a waste of time to name. During this third stage of alcoholic influence the man is unsteady in his movements; he can not direct his muscles as he would; he can not put his hand steadily on the thing he wishes to reach; and when he tries to walk, his gait is unfirm or reeling.

“At this moment he is, indeed, a mere wreck of a man, in mind and body—an object of pity, and often ridicule. The motion of the heart begins to get feeble, and the heat of the body soon becomes greatly reduced.

“When a man has arrived at the fourth stage, it is said of him in rude but expressive words, that he is ‘dead drunk.’

“The near approach to actual death, in which the victim of drink now lies, is completely expressed by this phrase. He is not dead, but he is dead drunk. He is next door to dead. He is dead to the world, for he can neither hear nor see nor feel. His limbs, like the limbs of a dead man, drop down helpless when you raise them. He is not quite so cold as a corpse, but he is so cold the touching of him reminds you, with a shudder, of a something that is corpse-like. He is, indeed, at the gate of death, and but for the gasping, rattling, heavy breathing, with now and then a deep snore, the unskilled

looker-on would think he was dead. There is no more awful spectacle for any one to see than that of an unfortunate man or woman brought in this manner to the edge of the grave by his or her own act and deed.”

But is every man who drinks in any such danger?

A young lady, intelligent, accomplished, witty, fascinating, radiant with beauty, of lovely character, surrounded by comfort and luxury, is receiving most engaging attentions from a youth, handsome as Hermes, of excellent prospects, of charming personality. To be sure he does drink. At such and such a function or occasion he did go over the line. But he will never go any further.

How do you know?

Is he any stronger than the many the doctor describes? How do you know that he is? And if he isn’t—and you marry him—then what?

If you think the picture overdrawn, go into Jefferson Market Police Court or Yorkville Police Court, or into the nearest one to where you live, to-morrow morning at eight o’clock, and see the human wrecks—of your own sex as well as of his. Scan them closely. Often and often you will see their features, once as fine as yours or his, scarred and seamed, to be sure, from a long chapter of down grade, but the gentle birth and former station too deeply ingrained to wholly depart, even with such a terrible experience behind.

That the drink habit sends all men to such lengths, it would be idle to aver; that many remain moderate drinkers only, through a long life, is true; that many fall by the wayside is also true.

What proof has he who has begun as to the class in which he will end? All were but moderate drinkers at the start.—The Christian Advocate.