AN INQUIRY INTO THE IMPORTANCE OF PHYSICAL
CULTURE, AS A BRANCH OF THE SCIENCE
OF PREVENTION.

GENTLEMEN-The consent to address you to-day was given by me with much hesitation. Not presuming that I might be able to present anything new to such an audience, the hope was cherished that, informally, something might be said to arouse an interest in a subject of growing importance, and prompt further inquiry.

Medical education has, within recent years, steadily progressed; and the faculty and alumni here to-day have just cause for congratulation upon the standard this college has taken in promoting such progress.

But there is another step in advance the future must bring: We have yet to learn more fully the truth, that the first and grandest obligation the physician owes society and the state is to prevent disease.

We are almost compelled to recognize this advancement, on account of the wondrous progress made in every branch of the

medical art. As a result of etiological research, many causes of disease have been discovered that are now known to be of a preventable nature. And we are beginning to believe, so limitless has been this progress, that, as was recently asserted, there is no physiological reason why life may not be extended indefinitely, provided it were possible for us to comprehend fully and obey implicitly all of nature's laws. Understanding preventive measures to be those which are employed to anticipate disease, and the science of prevention (I do not like that term preventive medicine), as that which concerns the health of the people, it must be conceded that a most essential requisite to perfect health is a well-developed mind and body.

The fact that the tendency of the present age has been almost exclusively to encourage and popularize mental culture, the body only valued as a necessary support of the mind, is sufficient reason to present a subject of this character for your consideration.

The sensibilities of the mind and body are so acute, the fact that the one, either in health or disease, is continually modifying the condition of the other, hardly needs demonstration.

If this be true, it follows that "the highest permanent perfection of the mind may only be found with the most healthful state of the body."

The question then naturally suggests itself: What are the best means to be employed in producing such development?

But before answering, it is indispensable that we comprehend somewhat the nature of this mental and physical co-relationship.

This leads us into metaphysical fields; and the further we extend our studies, the more intricate seems to be the connection, until finally, we are led to exclaim, "Where is the chasm that separates them?"

Does that which we term mind extend to and include the nerve ganglia in remote parts of the body; or are its limits confined within the boundary of the gray matter of the brain and spinal cord; or is it held within that mass that fills the bony vault; or even here may it only embrace those portions that are

the seat of the highest attributes, as ideation, perception, volition? Self's communication with things external is by means of various movements. These are indicative of what is termed life, and signify a higher or lower degree of intelligence.

In their simplest form, these movements may be represented by two nerve fibers, connecting with each other through or by a nerve cell or set of cells. One of these fibers conducts an external impression to the nerve center. This is instantly transmitted to the other fiber, and motion is produced by contraction or relaxation of the appropriate muscular tissue. For example, in passing through a gallery of paintings, we are suddenly attracted toward a special work of art. The impression received, conveyed to the proper nerve centers, causes us to cease our walking and gaze intently upon the picture. Our own knowledge of this impression is by the movements resulting therefrom-our attitude of silence, our fixed attention. This is a conscious deed, and betokens more or less intelligence.

There are numberless other acts, seemingly performed without our knowledge. In fact, one upon reflection is surprised to learn how large a part of his existence consists of acts requiring scarcely an effort of perception or volition.

The merchant goes to his place of business. His mind is absorbed with anticipated cares. He, however, avoids running into trees or posts, salutes a passing friend, and turns the proper corners on the way. He does not appear to be conscious of these acts; but let him close his eyes, and his steps would occasion confusion, and doubtless injury.

Now, these varied movements may result from heredity, as is ¡nstanced in the characters portrayed in the writings of Alexander Dumas; from instinct, all animals displaying beautiful illustrations of this, but, notably, the bee and the ant; from acquired habit, an automatic-like impression (if I may use that term), produced upon certain nerve centers, as the result of frequent repetition of the same act, until finally it becomes inherent, "and it is the desire of the organism to display that function which is embodied in its nature;" and, finally, from an intuition

or cognition implanted within us. This is not wholly instinct, for unlike the latter, there may be improvement in its method. For instance, we intuitively avoid that which, from experience and not from instinct, we know to be injurious.

We have been considering movements resultant from impulses received from things about us.

There are certain indications of the inner processes of the body and mind; and these are made manifest by what is termed expression.

The body exists under certain conditions. Expression is the outward indication of these conditions.

The eager manner in which a child may grasp a glass of cold water, expresses a certain condition of the body we denominate thirst.

Like the movements that concern external stimuli, the variety of expressions is great: the motions of the body, the movements of the hands, the poise of the head, the pitch or tone of the voice, the muscles of the face in their varied attitudes, the color of the cheeks.

Most of these movements and expressions are subject to development, and may be improved by education. In truth, it is in the undeveloped being we find the most expressionless manifestations; and it is in the perfected manhood we easiest detect character. Here every line seems to display some emotion or feeling. It is thus we read thought. It is the mind visible. This the poet must have had in view when he wrote:

"Her pure and eloquent blood

"Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,
"That one might almost say her body thought."

The greater the development of these inner conditions by expression, then, the greater the intelligence. The paralytic, or the imbecile, may present an almost entire want of this beautiful and useful provision of nature.

Now, may we not ask, "Where is the seat of responsibility of these movements and expressions ?