The Foundations of Personality | Page 9

normal man. If the eunuch state be
imposed in infancy, the shape of the body, its hairiness, the quality of
the voice and the character are altered in characteristic manner. The
eunuch essentially is neither man nor woman, but a repelling
Something intermediate.
Enough has been said to show that mind and character are dependent
upon the health of the brain and the glands of the body; that somewhere
in the interaction of tissues, in the chemistry of life, arises thought,
purpose, emotion, conduct and deed. But we need not go so far afield
as pathology to show this, for common experience demonstrates it as
well.
If character is control of emotions, firmness of purpose, cheerfulness of
outlook and vigor of thought and memory, then the tired man, worn out
by work or a long vigil, is changed in character. Such a person in the
majority of cases is irritable, showing lack of control and emotion; he
slackens in his life's purposes, loses cheerfulness and outlook and finds
it difficult to concentrate his thoughts or to recall his memories.

Though this change is temporary and disappears with rest, the essential
fact is not altered, namely, fatigue alters character. It is also true that
not all persons show this vulnerability to fatigue in equal measure. For
that matter, neither do they show an equal liability to infectious
diseases, equal reaction to alcohol or injury. The feeling of vigor which
rest gives changes the expression of personality to a marked degree. It
is true that we are not apt to think of the tired man as changed in
character; yet we must admit on reflection that he has undergone
transformation.
Even a loaded bowel may, as is well known, alter the reaction to life.
Among men who are coarse in their language there is a salutation more
pertinent than elegant that inquires into the state of the bowels.[1] The
famous story of Voltaire and the Englishman, in which the sage agreed
to suicide because life was not worth living when his digestion was
disordered and who broke his agreement when he purged himself,
illustrates how closely mood is related to the intestinal tract. And mood
is the background of the psychic life, upon which depends the direction
of our thoughts, cheerful or otherwise, the vigor of our will and purpose.
Mood itself arises in part from the influences that stream into the
muscles, joints, heart, lungs, liver, spleen, kidneys, digestive tract and
all the organs and tissues by way of the afferent nerves (sympathetic
and cerebro-spinal). Mood is thus in part a reflection of the health and
proper working of the organism; it is the most important aspect of the
subconsciousness, and upon it rests the structure of character and
personality.
[1] What is called coarse is frequently crudely true. Thus, in the streets,
in the workshops, and where men untrammeled by niceties engage in
personalities the one who believes the other to be a "crank" informs
him in crude language that he has intestinal stasis (to put the diagnosis
in medical language) and advises him accordingly to "take a pill."
This does not mean that only the healthy are cheerful, or that the sick
are discouraged. To affirm the dependence of mind upon body is not to
deny that one may build up faith, hope, courage, through example and
precept, or that one may not inherit a cheerfulness and courage (or the

reverse). "There are men," says James, "who are born under a cloud."
But exceptional individuals aside, the mass of mankind generates its
mood either in the tissues of the body or in the circumstances of life.
Children, because they have not built up standards of thought, mood
and act, demonstrate in a remarkable manner the dependence of their
character upon health.
A child shows the onset of an illness by a complete change in character.
I remember one sociable, amiable lad of two, rich in the curiosity and
expanding friendliness of that time of life, who became sick with
diphtheria. All his basic moods became altered, and all his wholesome
reactions to life disappeared. He was cross and contrary, he had no
interest in people or in things, he acted very much as do those patients
in an insane hospital who suffer from Dementia Praecox. What is
character if it is not interest and curiosity, friendliness and love,
obedience and trust, cheerfulness and courage? Yet a sick child,
especially if very young, loses all these and takes on the reverse
characters. The little lad spoken of became "himself" again when the
fever and the pain lifted. Yet for a long time afterward he showed a
greater liability to fear than before, and it was not until six months or
more had repaired the more subtle damage to his organism that he