Was It Really a Success? by G. H. Heald, M. D.

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 26, 1914

Was It Really a Success?

By G. H. Heald, M. D.

G. H. HEALD, M. D.

ALL success is relative. Success is but the fruition of good characteristics. But good characteristics do not all bunch together in the same person. In the average of mankind the good and evil appear mingled in various proportions.

Joseph Pulitzer was a man with traits which destined him for a master position in the world's affairs. Coming to this country with nothing and without friends, his genius and intense energy enabled him to distinguish himself as the world's greatest journalist. He achieved fame and fortune far above the average even of gifted men; and yet he had at least one characteristic that made life a burden to himself and to all those around him; and were it not for his great genius and the power of his wealth, he might have been ostracized by others, as he ostracized himself.

Walton, in "Why Worry," beautifully describes the characteristic of which I speak, under the name "obsession:"—

"The passive obsessions are peculiarly provocative of worry. Such are extreme aversions to certain animals, foods, smells, sounds, and sights, or insistent discomfort if affairs are not ordered to our liking. A gentleman once told me that at the concert he did not mind if his neighbor followed the score, but when he consulted his program during the performance, it distressed him greatly.

"Such instances illustrate the fact that when our obsessions rule us, it is not the noise nor the sight, but our idea of the fitness of things, that determines the degree of our annoyance. A person who cannot endure the crackling of the steam pipe can listen with pleasure to the crackling of an open fire or the noise of a running brook."

Recently in the Metropolitan, Alleyne Ireland has been giving some reminiscences of Mr. Pulitzer. From these it would seem that the great man had allowed to develop in himself an obsession against noise.

"Like most people who suffer acutely from noise, Mr. Pulitzer was very differently affected by different kinds of noise. To

any noise which was necessary, such as that caused by letting go the anchor, he could make himself indifferent; but very few noises were included in this category.

"What caused him the most acute suffering was a noise which, while it inflicted pain upon him, neither gave pleasure to any one else nor achieved a useful purpose. Loud talking, whistling, slamming doors, carelessness in handling things, the barking of dogs, the 'kick' of motor boats,—these were the noises which made his existence miserable."

The extent to which this obsession dominated Mr. Pulitzer and made his own life and that of those around him unhappy, is well told by Mr. Ireland:—

"As an instance of the constant care which was taken to save Mr. Pulitzer from noise, I remember that for some days almonds were served with our dessert at dinner, but that they suddenly ceased to form part of our menu. Being fond of almonds, I asked the chief steward why they had stopped serving them. After a little hesitation he said that it had been done at the suggestion of the head butler, who had noticed that I broke the almonds in half before I ate them, and that the noise made by their snapping was very disagreeable to Mr. Pulitzer.

"With the best intentions in the world, our meals were now and then disturbed by noise. A knife suddenly slipped with a loud click against a plate, a waiter dropped a spoon on a silver tray, or some one knocked over a glass. We were all in such a state of nervous tension that whenever one of these little accidents occurred, we jumped in our chairs as if a pistol had been fired, and looked at J. P. with horrified expectancy.

"There could be no doubt whatever as to the effect these noises had upon him. He winced as a dog winces when you crack a whip over him; the only question was whether by a powerful effort he could regain his composure or whether his suffering would overcome his self-restraint to the extent of making him gloomy or querulous during the rest of the meal."

No doubt this distaste for noise, which may have been natural with him, was greatly intensified when his literary work was interrupted by noises; and by permitting the feeling of resentment and impatience to grow, it became an obsession which ruled his life, making misery for himself and for all who were fortunate enough—or unfortunate enough—to associate intimately with him.

This is not written to mar the beauty of a great life,—that were not possible,—but to call the attention of readers to the fact, demonstrated in many experiences, that obsessions, such as the one described, can be completely overcome—that is, in a sane person—if the individual will give himself over to a little self-discipline. Dr. Walton's "Why Worry" is an excellent textbook, but better than this even, is a real Christian experience. Worry and obsession are driven out completely by such an experience.