interviewed Dr. Loope many times; and I have never known a man more unselfish or a
man who got more out of life."
How did this bed-ridden invalid get so much out of life? I'll give you two guesses. Did he
do it by complaining and criticising? No. ... By wallowing in self-pity and demanding that
he be the centre of attention and everyone cater to him? No. ... Still wrong. He did it by
adopting as his slogan the motto of the Prince of Wales: "Ich dien"-"I serve." He
accumulated the names and addresses of other invalids and cheered both them and
himself by writing happy, encouraging letters. In fact, he organised a letter-writing club
for invalids and got them writing letters to one another. Finally, he formed a national
organisation called the Shut-in Society.
As he lay in bed, he wrote an average of fourteen hundred letters a year and brought joy
to thousands of invalids by getting radios and books for shut-ins.
What was the chief difference between Dr. Loope and a lot of other people? Just this:
Dr. Loope had the inner glow of a man with a purpose, a mission. He had the joy of
knowing that he was being used by an idea far nobler and more significant than himself,
instead of being as Shaw put it: "a self-centred, little clod of ailments and grievances
complaining that the world would not devote itself to making him happy."
Here is the most astonishing statement that I ever read from the pen of a great
psychiatrist. This statement was made by Alfred Adler. He used to say to his
melancholia patients: "You can be cured in fourteen days if you follow this prescription.
Try to think every day how you can please someone."
That statement sounds so incredible that I feel I ought to try to explain it by quoting a
couple of pages from Dr. Adler's splendid book, What Life Should Mean to You. (*) (By
the way, there is a book you ought to read.)
[*] Allen & Unwin Ltd.
"Melancholia," says Adler in What Life Should Mean to You: "is like a long-continued
rage and reproach against others, though for the purpose of gaining care, sympathy and
support, the patient seems only to be dejected about his own guilt. A melancholiac's first
memory is generally something like this: 'I remember I wanted to lie on the couch, but
my brother was lying there. I cried so much that he had to leave.'
"Melancholiacs are often inclined to revenge themselves by committing suicide, and the
doctor's first care is to avoid giving them an excuse for suicide. I myself try to relieve the
whole tension by proposing to them, as the first rule in treatment, 'Never do anything
you don't like.' This seems to be very modest, but I believe that it goes to the root of the
whole trouble If a melancholiac is able to do anything he wants, whom can he accuse?
What has he got to revenge himself for? 'If you want to go to the theatre,' I tell him, 'or to
go on a holiday, do it. If you find on the way that you don't want to, stop it.' It is the best
situation anyone could be in. It gives a satisfaction to his striving for superiority. He is
like God and can do what he pleases. On the other hand, it does not fit very easily into
his style of life. He wants to dominate and accuse others and if they agree with him
there is no way of dominating them. This rule is a great relief and I have never had a
suicide among my patients.