Was He Drunk?

Welcome to Celebrate Creativity - Episode 442  Was He Drunk? 

I should hope that after you have listened to the preceding episode, the name of Dr. John Robertson should be familiar to you.  In case it is not, Dr. John Robertson was a neurologist and an avid collector of Poe's works who, in his 1921 study "Edgar A. Poe: A Study," argued that Poe suffered from a form of epilepsy, specifically complex partial seizures. He contended that these seizures, rather than just substance abuse, were the underlying cause of Poe's erratic behavior and many of the "spells" or "fits" documented by his contemporaries.

Robertson's Main Points
Poe's "Spells" as Complex Partial Seizures: Robertson, writing from a 20th-century neurological perspective, reinterpreted the anecdotal descriptions of Poe's "spells" or "brain fever" as symptoms of complex partial seizures. These seizures, often originating in the temporal lobe, were not well understood in the 19th century and could be mistaken for insanity or drunkenness. Robertson argued that symptoms like staring, personality changes, mutism, and amnesia, which were described by Poe's acquaintances, were highly consistent with this diagnosis.

Transcript

Welcome to Celebrate Creativity - Episode 442  Was He Drunk? 

I should hope that after you have listened to the preceding episode, the name of Dr. John Robertson should be familiar to you.  In case it is not, Dr. John Robertson was a neurologist and an avid collector of Poe's works who, in his 1921 study "Edgar A. Poe: A Study," argued that Poe suffered from a form of epilepsy, specifically complex partial seizures. He contended that these seizures, rather than just substance abuse, were the underlying cause of Poe's erratic behavior and many of the "spells" or "fits" documented by his contemporaries.

Robertson's Main Points
Poe's "Spells" as Complex Partial Seizures: Robertson, writing from a 20th-century neurological perspective, reinterpreted the anecdotal descriptions of Poe's "spells" or "brain fever" as symptoms of complex partial seizures. These seizures, often originating in the temporal lobe, were not well understood in the 19th century and could be mistaken for insanity or drunkenness. Robertson argued that symptoms like staring, personality changes, mutism, and amnesia, which were described by Poe's acquaintances, were highly consistent with this diagnosis.

Rejection of Grand Mal Seizures: Robertson acknowledged that Poe didn't seem to experience the dramatic, full-body convulsions of a grand mal seizure. However, he correctly pointed out that not all forms of epilepsy involve a complete loss of consciousness and tonic-clonic convulsions. This was a significant advancement in understanding epilepsy at the time.

Epilepsy and Substance Abuse: Robertson did not dismiss Poe's substance abuse but instead viewed it as a complication or a form of self-medication. He suggested that Poe's episodes could have been triggered by alcohol or opium, but the underlying neurological condition of epilepsy was the root cause. This provided a more sympathetic and medical explanation for Poe's behavior, moving beyond the simple moralistic judgments of his era.

Influence on Poe's Work: Robertson's study also linked Poe's neurological condition to his creative output. He argued that Poe's personal experience with altered states of consciousness, disorientation, and psychic horror directly influenced the vivid descriptions of madness and psychological torment found throughout his writings. This helped to explain the recurring themes of "catalepsy" and "fits" in stories like "The Premature Burial" and "Berenice."

Robertson's work was a foundational text in the psychobiographical analysis of Poe, offering a new, medically informed perspective that sought to explain Poe's life through the lens of a neurological disorder. While it remains a hypothesis, it provided a compelling alternative to the purely moralistic or psychological explanations of Poe's struggles.

Dr. John Robertson, a neurologist and prominent Poe scholar, approached Poe's life from a unique, medically-informed perspective in his 1921 work "Edgar A. Poe: A Study." His interest stemmed from his belief that Poe's biographers, who were not medically trained, had failed to grasp the true nature of his struggles, often misattributing his behavior to moral failings or simple substance abuse.

Robertson was also a dedicated collector of Poe's original works and manuscripts, which gave him an in-depth understanding of the author's life and a unique ability to corroborate or question existing biographical accounts. He used this passion for collecting to inform his medical analysis, reinterpreting Poe's documented "spells" and "fits" as manifestations of a neurological disorder rather than a character flaw. Robertson's work was pioneering in its attempt to apply a modern, psychobiographical approach to a literary figure.

Dr. John Robertson's massive study on Poe was that 1921 work, "Edgar A. Poe: A Study," where he proposed a psychobiographical analysis of Poe's life, arguing that the author suffered from epilepsy. Robertson used his extensive knowledge of neurology and his personal collection of Poe's manuscripts to re-examine existing accounts of Poe's life, providing a groundbreaking medical interpretation of the writer's "spells" and erratic behavior.

Key Arguments and Influence
Robertson's study fundamentally changed the way many scholars viewed Poe. Instead of attributing Poe's struggles to alcoholism or moral degeneracy, Robertson argued that complex partial seizures were the root cause of many of his documented episodes. He contended that symptoms like altered states of consciousness, memory loss, and emotional outbursts, often described by Poe's contemporaries as fits of madness or drunkenness, were in fact consistent with this neurological condition, which was not well-understood in the 19th century. Robertson's work was one of the first to apply modern medical theory to a literary figure, offering a more sympathetic and clinical explanation for Poe's tormented life.

Poe's Creative Work
Robertson also connected Poe's neurological condition to his literary genius. He argued that Poe's personal experience with disorientation, fear, and psychological fragmentation—hallmarks of his proposed epileptic condition—directly influenced his writing. Robertson's study suggested that the themes of catalepsy, madness, and the blurring of reality and dreams, which are central to Poe's tales, were not simply products of a dark imagination but were, in part, a reflection of his lived experience.

The phrase "a reflection of his lived experience" suggests that Poe's literary work was not just a product of his imagination, but was deeply informed by the personal, physical, and psychological struggles he endured. This concept is central to the psychobiographical approach to literary analysis, which seeks to connect an author's life directly to their art.

In Poe's case, this is particularly resonant because his work is so focused on internal states of being. The recurring themes of madness, psychological torment, and altered states of consciousness can be seen as artistic interpretations of what he may have experienced. For instance, the feeling of losing control and the terrifying descent into a disoriented state, as depicted in "The Pit and the Pendulum," could be a literary representation of an aura and the subsequent loss of consciousness in a seizure. Similarly, the monomaniacal obsessions of characters in stories like "Berenice" and "The Tell-Tale Heart" could be seen as reflections of the fragmented and obsessive thought patterns that can accompany certain neurological conditions.

The idea that Poe’s work reflects his lived experience gives his writing a powerful, visceral quality. It’s no longer just a story about a madman; it’s a possible glimpse into the mind of someone grappling with a profound and terrifying neurological reality. This perspective provides a more empathetic and complex understanding of both the man and his work.

The perspective—that Poe's work is a reflection of his lived experience—provides a more empathetic and complex understanding of both the man and his work. It encourages us to see Poe not as a grotesque, morally corrupt figure, but as a human being struggling with a profound and terrifying neurological condition.

This view offers empathy by reframing his erratic behavior. Instead of viewing his "spells" as fits of madness or drunkenness, we can see them as symptoms of a genuine medical condition. This shifts the focus from moral judgment to medical understanding, allowing for a more compassionate view of his life.

The understanding becomes more complex because it adds another layer to our analysis of his work. Poe's stories of claustrophobia, premature burial, and mental anguish are no longer just products of a dark imagination. They become potential artistic translations of the physical and psychological torment he may have experienced. The terror in his tales takes on a new, more personal meaning, making his horror not just a literary device, but a window into a suffering mind. This connection deepens our appreciation for his genius, as it reveals an artist who could transform his own internal struggles into universal themes of fear and human fragility.

That phrase highlights how Edgar Allan Poe's personal struggles may have been the raw material for his literary genius. The idea is that he didn't just write about fear and fragility; he wrote from a place of intimate, lived experience with them.

This perspective elevates his work from mere Gothic sensationalism to a profound exploration of the human condition.

The Transformation
Poe's genius lay in his ability to universalize his private suffering. For example, a terrifying aura or the disorienting feeling after a seizure, could have been transformed into the narrator's fragmented consciousness in "The Pit and the Pendulum." The terror of the pendulum's descent isn't just about a physical threat; it's about the psychological horror of a mind on the brink of collapse.  Similarly, the claustrophobia of being buried alive in "The Premature Burial" can be seen as a metaphor for the feeling of being trapped within one's own body during a cataleptic state.

This transformation made his themes of fear and human fragility resonate deeply with readers. We may not have experienced a seizure, but we can all relate to feelings of dread, loss of control, and the vulnerability of the mind. Poe took a specific, personal struggle—possibly a neurological one—and made it accessible to everyone. He tapped into a universal human fear: the fear of losing our minds, our sense of self, and our control over our own bodies. His work becomes a kind of empathetic mirror, reflecting our own anxieties back at us.

Poe's work taps into a universal human fear that is both deeply personal and profoundly unsettling: the fear of losing control. This fear is a cornerstone of his horror and resonates with us because it strikes at the core of what it means to be human.

The Fear of Losing Our Minds 
This is perhaps the most fundamental fear Poe explores. We define ourselves by our consciousness, our rationality, and our memories. The thought of these faculties eroding—either through madness, disease, or an external force—is terrifying. Stories like "The Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" don't just depict madness; they put us inside the mind of someone losing their grip on reality. The narrator's obsession in "The Tell-Tale Heart" feels disturbingly real, as if a part of his mind has taken on a life of its own, forcing him to commit an act he cannot fully comprehend.

The Fear of Losing Our Sense of Self 
This fear goes beyond rationality and touches on our very identity. Who are we when our character, personality, and memories are no longer our own? This is the horror of the doppelgänger or the feeling of being a stranger to oneself. Poe’s characters often feel alienated from their own actions, as if some unknown force is controlling them. This loss of agency is a chilling prospect. It suggests that our sense of self is not as stable as we believe, and that we could, at any moment, become someone we don't recognize.

The Fear of Losing Control Over Our Bodies 
This is the most visceral and physically terrifying of the fears. Poe's work is full of physical helplessness, from being buried alive in a state of catalepsy to being paralyzed with fear. This taps into our most primal anxieties about our own mortality and physical vulnerability. The body, our most basic instrument for navigating the world, can betray us. A seizure, in this context, is the ultimate physical betrayal—an involuntary and violent act that strips away all control. Poe uses this to great effect, transforming the body from a vessel of our will into a source of horror.

A seizure is the ultimate physical betrayal because it represents a complete loss of control over one's own body, the very vessel through which we experience the world and enact our will. This is a profound and terrifying concept that Poe masterfully uses as a source of horror.

This idea of betrayal is three-fold:

1. The Betrayal of Our Will 
We rely on our bodies to act on our thoughts. A seizure shatters this fundamental link. The body moves, contorts, or freezes against our will, turning us into a helpless observer in our own physical drama. This isn't just a loss of control; it's an inversion of the natural order where the mind is meant to command the body. In Poe's work, this betrayal is seen in the characters who feel compelled to act in ways they find abhorrent, as if possessed by a "fiend" or a foreign entity, ultimately stripping them of their agency and free will.

2. The Betrayal of Our Autonomy 
Our autonomy—the ability to be self-governing—is deeply tied to our physical bodies. When a seizure occurs, we lose our ability to protect ourselves, to speak, or to communicate our needs. We are made utterly dependent and vulnerable. Poe's themes of helplessness, such as being buried alive, are powerful because they tap into this fear of total physical disempowerment. The body, which should be our most trusted ally, becomes a prison from which we cannot escape.
3. The Betrayal of Our Identity 
Our physical selves are so intertwined with our identity that their betrayal feels like a betrayal of who we are. During a seizure, a person may lose their sense of self, experience profound confusion, or exhibit behaviors that are completely out of character. This leads to the terrifying thought that the person we are—our personality, our memories, and our rationality—is not as stable as we believe. Poe expertly leverages this fear by creating characters who are fractured and alien to themselves, constantly grappling with the fear that they are losing their minds and, with it, their very identity. The body, in this context, is not just a source of pain, but a betrayer of the self.

The Premature Burial
The unnamed narrator of this story suffers from a condition explicitly identified as catalepsy. His fear of being buried alive stems directly from his experience with this disorder, which leaves him in a death-like state.

"To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes to which the mind of man can ever be subjected... My attacks were of the singular disorder which physicians have agreed to term catalepsy, in which the patient lies for a longer or shorter time in a state of death-like rigidity, and which has been mistaken, more than once, for death itself."

This quote directly links the character's profound terror to a specific neurological condition, using the medical term of the time. The description of "death-like rigidity" and the "death-like trance" perfectly mirrors the tonic-clonic phases of a grand mal seizure, or the less dramatic but equally terrifying stillness of a cataleptic state.

In conclusion, I would like to address one of the greatest beers of the 19th century - and that was the fear of premature burial.  This fear was the basis for one of Poe's most terrifying and resonant themes: premature burial. This wasn't just a work of fiction; in the 19th century, it was a very real and widespread fear that gripped the public imagination.

The anxieties were rooted in the limitations of medical science. Without modern diagnostic tools like stethoscopes or EKGs, it was incredibly difficult for doctors to definitively declare a person dead. Conditions like catalepsy, a trance-like state with a rigid body and no discernible heartbeat or breath, were often mistaken for death. Newspaper accounts, sometimes embellished, of people waking up in their coffins only fueled the panic. This fear had a name: taphophobia, from the Greek words taphos for "grave" and phobia for “fear."  It was not unusual for a person to believe that they had been buried alive as the result of an epileptic seizure - and those around him them had confused a loss of consciousness with death.

In response, a bizarre industry emerged, dedicated to preventing this ultimate horror. Inventors patented "safety coffins" with elaborate mechanisms: bells on ropes that could be rung from inside the casket, breathing tubes for air, and even escape hatches. People left instructions in their wills demanding their bodies be mutilated or decapitated before burial, just to be sure.

Poe, the master of psychological terror, understood this collective dread perfectly. His story, "The Premature Burial," is so powerful because it doesn't rely on the supernatural. It's a tale that taps into a very real, very human fear of being abandoned, trapped, and utterly alone, with no hope of escape. It’s a chilling reminder that the greatest horrors often lie not in the fantastical, but in the all-too-possible.

To illustrate that, here is a section from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Premature Burial" that effectively captures the narrator’s terror.

For several years I had been subject to attacks of the singular disorder which physicians have agreed to term catalepsy, in default of a more definitive title. Although both the immediate and the predisposing causes, and even the actual diagnosis, of this disease are still mysterious, its obvious and apparent character is sufficiently well understood. Its variations seem to be chiefly of degree. Sometimes the patient lies, for a day only, or even for a shorter period, in a species of exaggerated lethargy. He is senseless and externally motionless; but the pulsation of the heart is still faintly perceptible; some traces of warmth remain; a slight color lingers within the centre of the cheek; and, upon application of a mirror to the lips, we can detect a torpid, unequal, and vacillating action of the lungs. Then again the duration of the trance is for weeks -- even for months; while the closest scrutiny, and the most rigorous medical tests, fail to establish any material distinction between the state of the sufferer and what we conceive of absolute death. Very usually he is saved from premature interment solely by the knowledge of his friends that he has been previously subject to catalepsy, by the consequent suspicion excited, and, above all, by the non-appearance of decay. The advances of the malady are, luckily, gradual. The first manifestations, although marked, are unequivocal. The fits grow successively more and more distinctive, and endure each for a longer term than the preceding. In this lies the principal security from inhumation. The unfortunate whose first attack should be of the extreme character which is occasionally seen, would almost inevitably be consigned alive to the tomb.

"As you can hear, Poe masterfully takes this societal terror and transforms it into a personal, claustrophobic nightmare. He doesn't need a ghost or a monster; the horror comes from the narrator's overwhelming consciousness—his mind, his fears, and the terrifying knowledge that he is alive and buried. It's a perfect example of Poe's genius: taking a very real human anxiety and elevating it into a profound psychological horror, reminding us that the darkest corners of the human mind can be the most frightening tombs of all."

We've seen that the works of Edgar Allan Poe are not just a collection of macabre tales. They are the result of a mind that was as methodical as it was tormented. His creativity, born from a place of calculation and precision, was fueled by a deep well of personal and societal fears—the fear of a world without logic, the fear of losing love, and perhaps most terrifyingly, the fear of being buried alive. Poe showed us that the greatest art often emerges from our darkest anxieties, constructed with chilling detail, one word at a time.

I'd like to conclude with another section from the premature burial - 

To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. That it has frequently, very frequently, so fallen will scarcely be denied by those who think. The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? We know that there are diseases in which occur total cessations of all the apparent functions of vitality, and yet in which these cessations are merely suspensions, properly so called.  Could Edgar Allan Poe be referring to epilepsy? They are only temporary pauses in the incomprehensible mechanism. A certain period elapses, and some unseen mysterious principle again sets in motion the magic pinions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was not for ever loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably broken. But where, meantime, was the soul?

Sources include the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, Edgar A. Poe: A Study by John Robertson MD,

In episode the following episode, I'd like to begin what will probably be a series of episodes about Dostoyevsky - a Russian writer who suffered from epilepsy all his life, integrated the condition with his works, and wrote some of the greatest novels ever written.

Thank you for listening to celebrate creativity.