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 Self-control and how to secure it 
 
 3 1924 031 250 032 
 olin.anx 
 
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SELF-CONTROL AND HOW 
 TO SECURE IT 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND 
 HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 (L'feDUCATION DE S0I-M£ME) 
 
 BY 
 
 Dr. PAUL DUBOIS 
 
 Profeisor of NeuropalhoUgf in the University of Berne f Author of "The 
 Psychic Treatment of Nervous Disorders^^* ^^The Influence 
 
 of the Mind on the Body,^' Etc. 
 t 
 
 Authorized "translation by Harry Hutcheson Boyd 
 
 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 1909 
 
 1> 
 
COPTBIOHT 1909 BY 
 
 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 
 
 IPrinted in the United States of America] 
 
 Published March, 1909 
 
CrO forth, little book, 
 
 arid choose thy company. 
 To adversaries, Bespect; 
 To the indifferent, Pity; 
 To comrades. Greeting. 
 
 —(After da Topffer.) 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FACE 
 
 Intboduction 3 
 
 I. The Conquest of Happiness . . 17 
 
 II. Thought 29 
 
 III. The Act 49 
 
 rv. Conscience 69 
 
 V. Education 87 
 
 VI. MoBAii Clbak-sightedness . . . Ill 
 
 VII. Egoism and Altbuism .... 129 
 
 VIII. Meditation 147 
 
 IX. TOLEBANCE 163 
 
 X. Indulgence 179 
 
 XI. Humility 199 
 
 XII. Modebation 217 
 
 XIII. Patience 233 
 
 XrV. Coubage 249 
 
 XV. Chastity 265 
 
 XVI. SiNCEBITY 287 
 
 XVII. Kindness 301 
 
 XVIII. Idealism 317 
 
 [vii] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 "Man is the only animal who does not know 
 how to live," I said one day after listening 
 to the grievances of my patients. It was not 
 their suffering that called forth this irrev- 
 erent dictum — ^irony would have been hateful 
 ■ — it was the frequent assurance that they 
 were the authors of their own misfortunes; 
 and not always they alone, but their relatives 
 and their fellow men. 
 
 Far be it from me to reproach those who 
 suffer ; by what right shall we judge others ? 
 But, on examining the circumstances sur- 
 rounding these unfortunates, I have often 
 said to myself: "All this need not have been 
 and should no longer be possible," A col- 
 league to whom I submitted these reflections 
 — commonplace by reason of being old and 
 true — subscribed to my opinion, but immedi- 
 ately hinted that my ideas applied only to 
 those nervous patients who since the discov- 
 ery of neurasthenia crowd the physician's 
 office. There was a shade of disdain in the 
 smile of my interlocutor, himself in fine phys- 
 
 [3] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 ical condition, and perhaps too confident of 
 his own mental balance. 
 
 But, after all, my dictum does not refer to 
 invalids alone ; it applies to everybody ; to us 
 physicians equally as to our patients, to edu- 
 cators of all kinds as well as to their pupUs. 
 
 When one considers the life of the mind, it 
 becomes no longer possible to divide human- 
 ity into two classes, the sick and the well. 
 Neurasthenia, of which one hears so much 
 nowadays, is not a disease that attacks us like 
 rheumatism or tuberculosis ; it is the psychic 
 form of human weakness that we owe to our 
 natural and hereditary defects, to our badly 
 directed education, to the vicious influences 
 which act upon us during our entire physical 
 and mental development. It is not a weak- 
 ness of nerves such as the word "neuras- 
 thenia" implies; it is, above all, mental de- 
 bility, and "psychasthenia" is the word to 
 express it. 
 
 When hereditary and constitutional in- 
 fluences seem to predominate, the debility is 
 accounted ilbiess ; it appears essentially phys- 
 ical because it manifests itself by functional 
 troubles, by intellectual blemishes — ^the fore- 
 [4] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 runner of moral decay. It is to the physician 
 that these disinherited, these degenerates 
 apply ; for them the world has sympathy only 
 when their suffering is at its height. 
 
 They are closer to us than you imagine, you 
 who judge others severely and take pride in 
 your own mental poise; remember that no 
 man is a hero either to his physician or to 
 his valet, or to those who know his private 
 life. Each one of us has some defect due to 
 heredity. Education itself plays an immense 
 part in forming these pathological mental 
 conditions; it spoils the judgment of those 
 who call themselves normal and who imagine 
 themselves in a position to cast a look of 
 contemptuous pity upon their less fortunate 
 brethren. 
 
 In the Carnavalet Museum in Paris is an 
 autograph of Alexandre Dumas the Younger 
 that is worth a whole treatise on philosophy. 
 It says : "How does it happen that while chil- 
 dren are so intelligent, men are so stupid." 
 The witty author adds: "Education must be 
 responsible for it." Yes, education is chiefly 
 to blame ; no other hypothesis is possible. It 
 is indeed to various educational influences, in 
 
 [5] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 the broadest sense of the word, to the in- 
 fluence of environment, that we must ascribe 
 this gradual decadence we so often encounter. 
 It is not occasioned by a natural growth of 
 brutality, like that which renders adult ani- 
 mals less tame and more rebellious against 
 education — although we cannot escape these 
 secret promptings of the flesh — but is a de- 
 pendent brutality, changeable, due to moral 
 and intellectual contagion acting on cases 
 variously predisposed by heredity and pre- 
 vious training. 
 
 The fact is, we do not learn how to think. 
 Schools impart to us, ever more zealously, 
 knowledge of which we can only use the 
 smallest part; it burdens our memory, and 
 only tempers our intelligence with a common- 
 place logic, which one would think ought to 
 equip us for the struggle of life. This hot- 
 house culture does not form our judgment; 
 on the contrary, it troubles it by giving us 
 ready-made opinions to digest, without teach- 
 ing us to appreciate their accuracy. 
 
 If one considers the work of logical reflec- 
 tion in its apparent spontaneity, one might 
 compare it to a game that consists in forming 
 
 [6] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 a complete and regular circle by putting 
 dominoes with the same numbers end to end. 
 This work is possible only when the table 
 is clear or when those already placed by the 
 hands of others are in position. Now, from 
 the first years of our existence, appointed 
 dominoes are put into our game in an appar- 
 ent order which is often nothing but disorder. 
 Is it surprising that we do not succeed in com- 
 pleting our circle, in thinking logically? 
 
 These fixed counters, which make the work 
 of thinking so difficult, are preconceived 
 ideas, dogmas of all sorts, settled convictions, 
 solidified, in a word, and obtruded upon us 
 by those with whom we live — our relatives, 
 so well-meaning but often so clumsy, friends 
 whom we have chosen unwisely, the class in 
 which we live, and socially all the world, to 
 whose contagion we unwittingly lay ourselves 
 open. 
 
 As sheep of Panurge, we copy our neigh- 
 bours when it is futile or even bad to do so ; we 
 respect traditions in all departments without 
 submitting them, for an instant, to criticism 
 and reason. Thinking appears to be very 
 tiresome. 
 
 [7] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 He who every day is called upon to inter- 
 view the mentally diseased who have so-called 
 healthy relatives experiences painful sur- 
 prises in finding how warped are the minds 
 of individuals who are proud of their intelli- 
 gence, and belong to recognised social and 
 what are called governing classes ! I have no 
 intention whatever to speak here of present- 
 day difficulties, of those political, religious, 
 and social crises of which each generation ex- 
 aggerates the importance, as if the world had 
 just begun to go wrong. No; weakness of 
 judgment has always existed since the world 
 began — and this fact justifies the epigram of 
 George Eliot, "We are bom in a state of 
 moral stupidity." 
 
 Now, judgment is just what we need in life 
 — a clear view of things, enabling us to fore- 
 see the immediate and the future conse- 
 quences of our acts. 
 
 We have this foresight when it is a ques- 
 tion of protecting our material interests. 
 What ingenuity do we not display in the pur- 
 suit of these benefits in reaching our goal! 
 But when it is a question of our moral life, 
 our conduct, we lose our power of judgment. 
 
 [8] 
 
INTEODUCTION 
 
 Two jolly scholars, whom I like to see at 
 my house, returned from the country one day, 
 and described with youthful enthusiasm the 
 pleasure they had had. One of them smiled 
 as if he had a good joke up his sleeve, and 
 told in these words the day's adventure: 
 
 "In the forest we came to a pond, in the 
 middle of which was a small island. 'I bet 
 you can't jump that ditch,' said one of my 
 sly companions, and the others urged me on 
 with an eagerness I ought to have suspected. 
 Sure of my ability, I accepted the challenge. 
 I jumped boldly and landed in the middle of 
 the island and turned triimaphantly to my 
 companions. To my surprise I saw them 
 doubled up with laughter, and when I asked 
 the cause they shouted in chorus, 'Now come 
 back!' I hadn't noticed that the island was 
 too small to allow me to get a start, and so 
 I was obliged to wade ashore!" 
 
 Is not that a picture of life, of the thought- 
 less conduct we so often see? "We throw our- 
 selves into adventures, carried away by pleas- 
 ure, by pride — in a word, by our passions — 
 and we do not realize that if we get out at 
 all it wiQ only be with a splashing. 
 
 [9] 
 
SELF-CQNTBOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 And while our scholar and his companions, 
 and all who may have heard this tale, may 
 look twice before jumping a ditch, we, on the 
 contrary, seldom profit morally by our own 
 experience, or by that of others ; it seems as 
 if we took pleasure in rolling in the mud. 
 
 "A scalded cat dreads cold water," ^ we 
 quote sententiously. Man does not seem to 
 be as logical as the cat, or, if he is in theory, 
 he rarely puts logic into practise. He alone, 
 in spite of evident superiority, loses his way, 
 falls into the same mistakes after having been 
 punished a himdred times, and, when he suf- 
 fers for his fault, accuses events, or his un- 
 lucky star, or reproaches others with having 
 destroyed his happiness. 
 
 The physician — the most intimate of con- 
 fessors — daily verifies this incredible blind- 
 ness. Whatever may be his capacity for 
 understanding evil, whatever his knowledge 
 of the world, and what his accompanying 
 scepticism in regard to virtue, he goes from 
 wonder to amazement in hearing these confi- 
 dences, and asks himself if he is dreaming. 
 
 1 The English equivalent proverb would be "A burnt child 
 dreads the fire. ' ' 
 
 [10] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 If he were to betray professional secrets he 
 would not be believed, or at any rate he 
 would be accused of exaggeration. 
 
 When it is not a question of crime or crim- 
 inals, but of every-day faults to which we all 
 are accustomed, the physician is struck with 
 the moral short-sightedness that determines 
 most people's conduct and might well say, 
 "Man does not see beyond his nose." 
 
 But the uneasiness left by these sad facts is 
 soon softened for the physician, when, anx- 
 ious in his role of educator, he tries to bring 
 deluded unfortunates back into the right path. 
 It is, this time, with a delighted surprise that 
 he finds that all is not lost, and that the task 
 of deeply influencing a person's mind is not 
 impossible. Men are stupid, that is under- 
 stood ; everybody says it, and likes to repeat 
 it, if it be only to emphasize an exception in 
 one's favor. Yes, men are blind, and in this 
 kingdom to be one-eyed confers but a sorry 
 royalty. However, when on^ turns to the iso- 
 lated individual, suffering and unhappy; 
 when one surrounds him with a frank sympa- 
 thy, and when, in order to lead him out of 
 his wretchedness, one makes bim think and 
 
 [11] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 reason, one reverses this pessimistic sentence 
 pronounced on the human mind. We find 
 among the simplest people, poorly brought 
 up, even among the deranged, a fund of logic 
 and intelligence about things moral. 
 
 One then perceives that in the witty but 
 disdainful judgments of so many writers 
 there is an aristocratic presumption, and 
 when one sees how few of these great think- 
 ers know how to make their principles and 
 their conduct agree, one is smitten mth re- 
 spect for the simple-minded as being near the 
 truth. After saying that man is stupid and 
 foolish, after having almost felt in one's soul 
 the beginning of a decided aversion towards 
 this being, so badly made, one comes to like 
 him better all the time, and one ends by say- 
 ing: "How intelligent and good we find him 
 when we scratch the surface, when we bring 
 to light his inner personality, and when we 
 help to free his logic from the fetters which 
 bind him!" 
 
 It has often been observed that the psychol- 
 ogy of crowds is not simply the sum of indi- 
 vidual psychologies— that the mind of man is 
 no longer the same when he is alone as when 
 
 [12] 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he is drawn into a whirlwind of surrounding 
 impulses and ideas. This is a fact, and it is 
 in great catastrophes, during strikes, revo- 
 lutions, and warfare, that this moral stupidity- 
 is apparent. Egoism is displayed in its most 
 hideous form, sometimes strangely mixed 
 with the spirit of sacrifice, and one begins to 
 doubt the possibility of social progress. But 
 if man is thus influenced and suffers the con- 
 tagion of example, it is by virtue of his sug- 
 gestibility, of his credulity; therein is re- 
 vealed his unfitness to judge for himself, to 
 see his path clearly, and to point it out to 
 others. He is lacking in moral education. 
 
 If the action exerted upon the mind of a 
 person, treated separately, by the spoken 
 vord, were limited to a single man, the benefit 
 derived would be great enough to warrant one 
 in pursuing the investigation; but it is en- 
 couraging to think, much more so to affirm, 
 that this influence does not stop there, that it 
 spreads, and that by enlightening individ- 
 uals, isolated or collected in small groups, one 
 may hope to influence the mentality of 
 crowds. 
 
 Like the grain of wheat planted in the 
 
 [13] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 earth, the moral idea planted in the soul 
 springs up; it develops and spreads like the 
 ear that scatters its seeds broadcast, multi- 
 plying them indefinitely. When one has ascer- 
 tained this increase of good grain carefully 
 sown in well-prepared ground, one is no more 
 discouraged than the farmer by the difiS- 
 culties of the task ; he unflaggingly tears out 
 the deep-rooted furrow weed and knows how 
 to increase the yield of his ground. Let us 
 do like him. We all feel more or less strongly 
 the necessity for getting rid of our faults, of 
 cultivating our good qualities; above all, we 
 like to lay upon others the arduous task of 
 getting rid of their faults rather than of ours. 
 Everyone would welcome with joy the moral 
 progress of all humanity, but we all become 
 discouraged in advance in thinking of the 
 slowness of this culture, and the majority of 
 men welcome with ^a sceptical smile every 
 proposition of moral orthopsedia applied to 
 individuals or to crowds. 
 
 One cannot work in this state of mind for 
 the common weal. On the contrary, one must, 
 above all, believe in the possibility of im- 
 provement in the human soul, and cultivate 
 
 [14] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 each plant with untiring patience, contempla- 
 ting in advance the precious harvest. Then 
 one does not stop in one's labour; it becomes 
 not drudgery but a delight, and one finds in 
 this work present happiness and hope for the 
 future. 
 
 [15] 
 
THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS 
 
 [17] 
 
THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS 
 
 And why this great zeal, this continual 
 anxiety to improve one's own mind, to in- 
 fluence that of others ? It is simply to procure 
 the greatest possible amount of happiness in 
 this world. 
 
 The sole motive for every action of man is 
 the desire for happiness. 
 
 We have affirmed self-preservation to be 
 the primitive instinct of every creature en- 
 dowed with instincts. This is not always true. 
 Animals are dominated by the sexual instinct, 
 by the desire for instant possession, which is 
 stronger than hunger or thirst; it is during 
 the rutting season '^ that animals show the 
 most stubborn indifference to Ul treatment. 
 In man the desire for happiness is so much to 
 the fore that he often prefers death to the 
 loss of what he considers his happiness. To 
 
 1 The original is "Jo pours^tite amourense," which is dif- 
 ficult to translate at all literally in reference to animals 
 without appearing absurd. 
 
 [19] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 be fit physically, intellectually, or morally is 
 the sole aim of every human creature, and 
 whatever may be the mind, conduct, opinions, 
 or aspirations of the individual, at the bottom 
 of his soul will always be found this primitive 
 desire for happiness. The question is to 
 know where to look for this joy for which 
 humanity is athirst. 
 
 Philosophers are ready to answer us, to in- 
 struct us on the meaning of life, to show us 
 the goal, the prize, sometimes by depending 
 upon the dogmas of a revealed religion, some- 
 times by building a theory of life upon a 
 scientific basis. Further, the metaphysicians 
 dare to raise the veil of the beyond and tell 
 us their most fantastic dreams about immor- 
 tality. 
 
 I scarcely care for these attempts to unveil 
 the unknowable, as long as no one is qualified 
 to know more than another. How much bet- 
 ter I like this Dominican of Freiburg, Swit- 
 zerland, Weiss, who devotes an excellent vol- 
 ume to "The Art of Living." ^ This is the 
 
 i"Die Kunst zu leben," von Ft. Albert Maria Weiss. 
 O. Pr., Freibnrg-im-Breisgau, Herdersohe Verlagshandluns 
 1901. 
 
 [20] 
 
THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS 
 
 kind of book we need. Life has only one aim, 
 he says — to be lived, and it is an art to live 
 it well, to draw from it that sum of happiness 
 for which the world desperately strives, from 
 the voluptuary who so easily loses his way, to 
 the religious or philosophical idealist who, in 
 a radiance of light, sees love in his path. 
 
 With an almost worldly enthusiasm that 
 one would not look for under a cassock, our 
 author-monk acknowledges all that we owe 
 to the scientific work of the nineteenth 
 century, but he immediately sobers us 
 by remarking that all this progress has in no 
 wise brought peace and happiness to the poor 
 world. Who will dare to contradict him? 
 
 The fact is, man does not see clearly 
 enough before him the road that leads to hap- 
 piness. He almost entirely seeks it in the 
 immediate and complete satisfaction of his 
 desires, in material and intellectual pleas- 
 ures, in ease, in comfort, and in fortune ; and 
 we have so closely identified these two ideas 
 of pleasure and happiness that we commonly 
 speak of fortune's favourites as the privileged 
 class. Go into the homes where luxury 
 reigns, or even culture of mind, where every- 
 
 [21] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 thing seems made to add charm to life, and 
 you will often find unhappiness ; perhaps even 
 greater than in the huts of the poor. As the 
 good Abbe Gaime said to the youthful J. J. 
 Eousseau: "If each man could read the 
 hearts of others, more people would prefer to 
 come down than to rise in the world." In a 
 clever lecture the Italian socialist leader, En- 
 rico Ferri, explained, in very moderate lan- 
 guage, the claims of the fourth estate, and re- 
 marked that the desired progress would be 
 brought about by evolution, if the governing 
 classes favored the movement, but, if they per- 
 sisted in their resistance, by revolution. He 
 added: "Ladies and gentlemen, when I speak 
 of the improvement of the lot of the working 
 classes, I do not mean individual happiness — 
 that is a matter of temperament. There are 
 fellows in rags who don't know where they 
 will dine to-night, but who are happier than 
 kings, if kings can be happy; there are, on 
 the contrary, those who have everything they 
 can wish for, but who are profoundly un- 
 happy." 
 
 Eeal happiness is not in the realization 
 of desires, however legitimate they may be. 
 
 [22] 
 
THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS 
 
 Doubtless all the privileges we owe either to 
 the chance of birth, to luck in life, or to 
 personal efforts bring us great satisfaction, 
 fleeting happiness, and there is no man un- 
 able to say some time : "I am content, happy ; 
 my business is good, my position suits me, I 
 have health, family joys," etc. But these 
 blessings are partial, dependent, and pass- 
 ing ; we have not yet reached happiness. 
 
 It is lawful to seek after all these advan- 
 tages, and this ambition is the primal condi- 
 tion of progress; it is this wish to arrive 
 which loosens our energies. Success gives 
 power for good as well as for evil, and this 
 idea suggested to a French Dominican a ser- 
 mon on the strange subject "Become Rich." 
 
 But if there is one obvious fact, it is the 
 frailty of these partial blessings: one's for- 
 tune is lost; scientific, literary, and artistic 
 notoriety fades with time, even when it re- 
 sists the disparagement of envious competi- 
 tors ; in politics the Tarpeian rock is always 
 by the side of the capitol; health declines, 
 and happiness, friendly, conjugal, or pater- 
 nal, becomes frail like the rest; we either 
 lose those we love, or, more sorrowful still, 
 
 [23] 
 
SELF-CONTBOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 we see them, either by their own fault or by 
 the cruel necessity of existence, attacked 
 by physical, intellectual, or moral disease- 
 Follow families and individuals in their life, 
 in the main so short, and you will see time 
 and misfortune go in and out of their homes 
 and prevent the establishment of lasting joy 
 among the majority of men. Does happiness, 
 then, not belong to this world ? Must one give 
 up at the first onset, soothing one's self with 
 the hope of eternal bliss, which will at last 
 compensate for the injustice of destiny from 
 which we all suffer? It would seem so, and 
 yet I cannot believe in this terrestrial dis- 
 couragement. 
 
 Among the vicissitudes of our life too many 
 are avoidable — those for which we are re- 
 sponsible — for us to have the right to fold 
 our hands and reserve our hopes for celestial 
 joys. There are without doubt calamities 
 that reach us, that trouble our life and which 
 we are powerless to exorcise; but they wUl 
 always befall poor humanity. Shall they nec- 
 essarily destroy our inner happiness ? No. 
 
 While one sees many people who are afraid 
 to live, who despair at the smallest failure, 
 
 [24] 
 
THE CONQUEST OP HAPPINESS 
 
 and who are unhappy, there are souls who 
 bravely endure many ills, including poverty, 
 the death of those who belong to them, and 
 the ruin of all their hopes. Multiplied mis- 
 fortunes fall upon their shoulders, but their 
 inner happiness remains unshaken; they do 
 not take refuge in a disdainful stoicism which 
 would be a loss of feeling, but in a hidden 
 content, which is their greatest possession. 
 
 It is possible, and even probable, that peo- 
 ple who live an intensely religious life are 
 often able to acquire this supporting spirit. 
 Have they not to sustain them — and that may 
 lessen the value of this virtue — the hope of 
 unutterable rewards'? But gifted souls are 
 not so carried away by their dreams, and do 
 not particularize the aim they pursue; they 
 act spontaneously, by an intuition which en- 
 ables them to discover happiness where 
 others cannot see it — it is the way they feel ; 
 that is all. 
 
 One may recognise the same disposition, 
 the same power of moral existence in people 
 who have never dreamed of accepting a be- 
 lief, or even in those whose reflections and 
 experiences in life have led to agnosticism; 
 
 [25] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 that is to say, to that rational scepticism that 
 forbids us to give to suppositions the char- 
 acter of certainties, however agreeable they 
 may be. Yes, we have the right to pursue, 
 without useless scruples, everything that can 
 satisfy our desire for material and spiritual 
 well-being; we ought to work in our own in- 
 terest, and in that of others, to improve the 
 lot of humanity, and the progress due to 
 science can contribute to it in large measure. 
 Well-being is not an evil in itself, and it is 
 not by keeping humanity in a state of medi- 
 ocrity that one may contribute to its happi- 
 ness; it is, on the contrary, by a constant 
 economical development — I do not say on ac- 
 count of this development — that moral and 
 intellectual progress is made. 
 
 But let us beware of placing all our happi- 
 ness on cards liable to be shuffled at any 
 moment by others' hands or blown away by 
 the least wind. It is this point of view that 
 gives me only a very moderate confidence in 
 the benefits of civilization, so long as it only 
 brings us material advantage, greater com- 
 fort in our homes, better food, and more 
 cheerfulness of spirit, however noble they 
 
 [26] 
 
THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS 
 
 may be. Happiness is not there; it dwells 
 in the deepest part of us, in our inmost ego ; 
 it can only have its existence in the most com- 
 plete of our ideal aspirations, in the worship 
 of the True, the Beautiful, and the Good. 
 
 This state of soul can be created only by a 
 constant training of our moral ego. We never 
 reach this perfection, but at least we travel 
 the road that leads towards it; and our hap- 
 piness, the only true, the unattackable, is in 
 direct proportion to our moral development. 
 
 However great may be the tremendous 
 work of man, which, thanks to his intelligence 
 and his unwearying labour, has surprised 
 many secrets of nature, has subdued the nat- 
 ural forces to make them serve his ends, he 
 remains in that unhappiness he himself has 
 created; his misery seems even more cruel 
 when contrasted with the riches accumulated 
 by science and human industry. 
 
 For those who think, there is no possible 
 happiness apart from the ethical develop- 
 ment of human personality. Now, it is evi- 
 dent that the virtues, the observance of which, 
 according to religious doctrines, ought to as- 
 sure us felicity in a future life, are precisely 
 
 [27] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 those which will give us the most happiness 
 on this earth. It is a curious thing that man 
 disregards this evident truth, or, a still 
 greater mistake, from the start declares him- 
 self incapable of realizing this aspiration. 
 This development of moral personality is 
 only possible by the education of self. Every 
 step we take along this road contributes to 
 our happiness and involves those who, will- 
 ingly or unknown to themselves, come under 
 our influence. Thus are multitudes educated, 
 and individual progress alone is able to lessen 
 the signal antinomy between the mentality of 
 collected human beings and that of the isola- 
 ted individual. To arrive at this necessary 
 development we have no other means than 
 thought. It is the only light that enables us 
 to illumine the way. 
 
 [28] 
 
II 
 
 THOUGHT 
 
 [29] 
 
II 
 
 THOUGHT 
 
 Then, one will say, we need will and 
 energy, and we require to use these forces 
 in that moral liberty which makes man su- 
 perior to animals. I should like to content 
 myself with these established expressions, 
 and speak as the world speaks. I believe I 
 have no tendency to oddity, and the spirit of 
 contradiction which everybody has does not 
 seem to be abnormal in me. 
 
 But words are only the labels of thoughts, 
 and it is dangerous to use them without 
 thoroughly knowing what they represent. In 
 applying one's self to their analysis one finds 
 that the label does not always correspond to 
 the contents. There are words that have pre- 
 served throughout the ages the meanings 
 they had at their beginning ; they then served 
 only to designate a fact without explaining 
 causes. On the contrary, there are expres- 
 sions that have been corrupted from their 
 origiaal meaning. Frequent overhauling was 
 
 [31] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 necessary for these words. Besides, words are 
 elastic, and become distorted in the mind of 
 each person under the pressure of word- 
 ideas which pre-exist in the understanding of 
 the thinker. 
 
 We use our legs without knowing anything 
 of anatomy or of the physiology of the organs 
 of locomotion; we use our eyes very well 
 without understanding the laws of optical 
 physiology, yet this science is of great help 
 to us in correcting the faults of our eyesight. 
 On many subjects man also thinks very 
 wisely without having any notion of psychol- 
 ogy; but the mechanism of thought is much 
 more complicated than that of the eye. If 
 one ventures on the ground of moral analysis, 
 it becomes necessary to understand the in- 
 strument one uses — reason — and to have pre- 
 vious knowledge of the words one uses. From 
 this point of view let us examine the word 
 "thought." 
 
 Man is strangely deluded when he imag- 
 ines himself able to think of what he wishes. 
 No man, however accomplished he may 
 be, in my opinion, has ever had a personal 
 thought or has origiuated an idea from his 
 
 [32] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 noble brow. Thought, however complicated, 
 it may be, only results from an association of 
 ideas that in no wise comes under the yoke 
 of a sovereign will. Our thoughts force them- 
 selves upon us, succeed one another in our 
 mind, without our being able to change their or- 
 der ; we drive out those that are importunate 
 or retain those which give us pleasure. They 
 all come from chance excitement, physical or 
 psychical; from the outside, intrinsic by 
 reason of their relation to our inmost ego, 
 even when this excitement is organic. We 
 do not direct our thought, excitement is what 
 brings it to life. The ideas which come to us 
 are the fruits of personal experience, of that 
 which others transmit to us by word or let- 
 ter, by all the means of expression which our 
 five senses give us. Nihil est in intellectu 
 quod non erat in sensu remains the funda- 
 mental proposition of psychology. 
 
 We do not, then, think by ourselves in the 
 strict meaning of the word ; we assist, I dare 
 to say, passively, in the working of our mental 
 kaleidoscope, in which the pictures succeed 
 one another imder the influence received from 
 outside shocks. The movement started con- 
 
 [33] 
 
SELF-CONTBOL 'AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 tinues during wakefulness, follows us into 
 sleep in the form of dreams, and we are no 
 better able to check this continual flow of 
 thoughts during the day than during the 
 night. The direction and force of this current 
 only depend upon the obstacles it finds in 
 its way, by the condition of previous ideas 
 stored in our memories, and which are born 
 haphazard of actual experience. Whether it 
 be a question of a common pun or of an idea 
 of genius, we recognise for every thought this 
 concatenation, necessary and independent 
 of us. 
 
 The idea I am expressing is so foreign to 
 the ordinary mind that I am obliged to ex- 
 plain it, although I consider it to be a truth 
 of La Palisse.^ For example: Two young 
 men are obliged, by the necessities of exist- 
 ence, to rise at seven o'clock to go to work. 
 Both awake by reason of little-known in- 
 fluences (sufficient rest for the body, habit, 
 previous autosuggestions, excitement caused 
 
 1 Monsieur de la Palisse est mort, 
 II est mort de maladie, 
 TJn grand quart d'heure avant sa mort 
 II fitait encore en vie. 
 
 [34] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 by daylight, the noise made by others rising, 
 etc.), which register the state of sleep or of 
 wakefulness. On opening their eyes, they are 
 by no means free to think of anything in par- 
 ticular — about the Grand Turk, for instance. 
 Their thoughts are directed, without the in- 
 terference of a wish, upon the objects of their 
 previous preoccupations and are governed 
 by haphazard circumstances. One of them 
 observes that it is already daylight; imme- 
 diately the idea is created, Have I slept too 
 long? This troublesome idea is not wanted; 
 it obtrudes itself. By association of ideas 
 the person is obliged to look at his watch, and 
 as soon as he finds he is late, he jumps out 
 of bed as if moved by springs. The young 
 man would perhaps rather not obey this 
 psychical reflex, but it is created by reason of 
 previous education, from the fixed idea that 
 he must go to his work; we explain this by 
 saying that he obeys the consciousness of 
 duty. The other young man has also looked 
 at his watch, but he has not reacted; he has 
 gone back to bed; the feeble sense of duty, 
 the lack of interest in his work have pre- 
 vented reaction. He will sleep peacefully 
 
 [35] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 wliile tlie otter would have been unable to 
 stay another minute in bed. In both of them 
 the action of thought will continue without 
 their being able to check its course. The 
 path these associations of ideas will follow 
 is impossible to foresee ; it will depend at the 
 same time upon chance events, preconceived 
 ideas which existed in the mind of the per- 
 son, and the feelings which disturb him at 
 the very moment of contingent excitement. 
 
 These ideas link themselves together, de- 
 termine acts, and these associations are 
 brought about so involuntarily that we are 
 often surprised at the path they have fol- 
 lowed, and so in conversation we often ask 
 the question, "How did we come to speak of 
 that?" 
 
 Another example: At some time or other 
 our pride has been hurt; we believe we are 
 resigned to it, we affirm this in all sincerity, 
 and then the meeting with somebody or other, 
 a name spoken, calls forth remembrance. We 
 experience a sharp moral pain, and perhaps 
 for hours we are pursued by sad, insistent 
 thoughts, even while recognising that our pre- 
 occupation is useless and exaggerated, and 
 
 [36] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 that we would rather think of something else. 
 We can no more stop the idea than the feel- 
 ing which follows it; it is not wUl that we 
 can oppose to this constant movement, to this 
 interminable succession of mental pictures, 
 always born of outside excitement; it is 
 another mental attitude which steps in, and 
 interposes itself, without our having the 
 power to evoke it. Daily, when our thought 
 is brought back to one of our actions, we are 
 obliged to say to ourselves, "I ought not to 
 have done that. ' ' And when some one blames 
 us for not having obeyed this or that consid- 
 eration, we reply: "What do you expect? I 
 did not think of it; the idea did not come to 
 me." Sometimes we are answered harshly 
 enough: "That is just it, you should have 
 thought of it." It is easy enough to say 
 this afterwards, but at the time it was abso- 
 lutely impossible, since at the moment of 
 action the idea had not come to us. The only 
 thing to do is to take notice, now that our 
 attention has been called to the point, of the 
 thing we ought to have done — not to torment 
 ourselves with useless reproaches, but to do 
 better the next time. In conversation we 
 
 [37] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 often have what is called "hall-door wit"; 
 that is to say, we only find in going out of 
 a house the witty reply we should have made 
 to some joke or other ; the idea did not come 
 to us sooner. 
 
 The same thing happens to us in our 
 psychic life ; either the moral ideas that slum- 
 ber in us have not been sufficiently fixed by 
 education, or the chance event, depending 
 upon others, did not happen in time to change 
 the course of our association of ideas. We 
 would often have acted otherwise if the let- 
 ter of a friend had not been kept back by 
 circumstances absolutely independent of our 
 will. The papers gave an account of the 
 suicide of a Russian consul in London. In 
 his last throes a letter was read to him that 
 removed the anxieties which had occasioned 
 his act of despair. "Too late," he murmured, 
 and died. A woman suffering from melan- 
 cholia, haunted with the desire of suicide, 
 climbs upon the tower of a cathedral, steps 
 over the balcony, and is about to throw her- 
 self into space. She sees some children play- 
 ing at the foot of the tower; fearing to hurt 
 or to frighten them, she gives up this method 
 
 [38] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 of suicide, and a few minutes later throws 
 herself into the river. Does this mean that 
 our conduct depends only upon quite fortui- 
 tous circumstances? No, it depends both 
 upon events and ideas, mental pictures which 
 pre-existed in our understanding and which 
 will be revealed by the involuntary action of 
 thought. But these ideas, these moral prin- 
 ciples have been inculcated by other persons, 
 and we here recognise the chances of life, of 
 our education. 
 
 It has been said very truly that there is no 
 such thing as chance; this is evident in the 
 sense that everything which happens has its 
 motive. The workman who carelessly throws 
 a tUe from the roof acts by reason of his asso- 
 ciation of ideas, and I, passing in the street, 
 am impelled by some other motive, but there 
 is chance in the coincidence of the two facts, 
 which were not associated by any necessary 
 relation of cause to effect and might have 
 happened a thousand times without coinci- 
 ding. 
 
 Thought, then, is not spontaneous, does not 
 result from an interior effort of the man who 
 thinks ; it is involuntary, automatic ; ideas fall 
 
 [39] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 like tiles on our head; but experience can 
 teach us to avoid walking below roofs under 
 repair. It is not that we shall not wish to 
 pass by; it is that association of ideas has 
 created a salutary fear, and you would be 
 obliged to use force to make a person take a 
 path he has found to be dangerous. We must, 
 then, understand the danger, and here again 
 we have only one teacher, experience. 
 
 An example will make this automatism of 
 thought easily understood. Imagine a flat 
 surface on to which the passers-by continu- 
 ally throw little balls. They are arranged 
 by chance — that is to say, without order — ^by 
 reason of the very impetus they have been 
 given ; they will follow the straight path and 
 will stop only when their force is spent. 
 These little balls are mental representations 
 created by fortuitous stimulus. The surface 
 without borders represents the understand- 
 ing of a person without any preconceived 
 idea, an absolutely impossible phenomenon. 
 There are, however, many people who have 
 very few ideas planted in the field of their 
 conscience; these are the impulsive people 
 who follow every impression like a weather- 
 
 [40] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 cock every breeze. . It is tlie anarchy of 
 thought. Border this flat surface with four 
 elastic walls like the cushions of a billiard- 
 table, and the disorder will grow less. Balls 
 thrown upon it wUl no longer be placed by 
 chance ; there will be fewer near the borders, 
 for those thrown without force will stop be- 
 fore reaching the cushion and those that 
 touch it will rebound towards the centre. 
 Add to this surface some cushions running 
 obliquely, like the dams of a river ; order will 
 succeed disorder; the balls thrown by the 
 passers-by from no matter where, and with 
 no matter what force, will be caught in the 
 canals, and will follow the same path as if 
 they had been poured into a funnel. The 
 mind of man who has only cultivated his 
 thought a little — that is to say, who has not 
 been br6ught up by experience — resembles 
 the bUliard-table with four cushions. There 
 is a certain logic in his association of ideas ; 
 there are even supernumerary cushions, but 
 badly placed, which are his prejudices, his 
 ready-made opinions, mechanically stored by 
 the pressure of environment, by bad educa- 
 tion. 
 
 [41] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Finally he who, by reason of his native in- 
 telligence, the wise advice he has received 
 from his relatives and friends, by reason of 
 those contingencies of life to which we are 
 all subject, has properly distributed his cush- 
 ions — that is to say, his moral principles — 
 will find his mental life well ordered. His 
 association of ideas will follow one another 
 in logical order, will produce normal actions, 
 adapted to the only goal of man, happiness, 
 in its broadest meaning, on this earth or in 
 another existence. This means that we must 
 have cushions in our field of thought, govern- 
 ing principles, against which casual thoughts 
 will collide, thrown into our understanding by 
 chance; these last must be deflected when 
 they have been badly thrown, must be nar- 
 rowed into a single direction, in the sense of 
 propitious ethics, not only towards ourselves 
 and our neighbours, but humanity as a whple. 
 
 We do not make these cushions; they are 
 given us by universal experience, and if we 
 arrange them in our understanding, it is be- 
 cause these ideas have a powerful attraction 
 for us. The illusion of liberty, frequent in 
 the man who does not reflect upon the reason 
 
 [42] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 of things, is especially shown when he ap- 
 plies his thought to a continuous work which 
 exacts effort. Even those who have under- 
 stood determinism in a certain measure, who 
 have seized the fortuitous character of our 
 successive thoughts, answer, "Your affirma- 
 tion is too absolute ; we can put a certain or- 
 der into our thoughts; thus, when we give 
 up an hour to work out an algebraical prob- 
 lem, we direct our thought in a determinate 
 manner; we put aside all other ideas which 
 come to trouble the chain of our reasoning." 
 Apparently this is true, in the case of con- 
 tinued work as in that of fleeting thought, if 
 one does not think of the inner bondage. We 
 do not voluntarily fix our attention; it is 
 directed by the very attraction of work which 
 we say we control and which, on the con- 
 trary, controls us. 
 
 It is necessary, for a clear imderstanding 
 of determinism, to thoroughly grasp the dom- 
 ineering character of the motive that deter- 
 mines our action. Let us stop for a concrete 
 example. One evening I began to read a lit- 
 erary work that interested me. The next 
 morning, on waking, associations of for- 
 
 [43] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 tuitous ideas brought this subject to my mem- 
 ory. The attraction was renewed, and I 
 wished very much to give some further time 
 to reading. However, scruples took posses- 
 sion of me; occupied with other work, it 
 seemed to me better to read something more 
 directly useful, and then I becanie unsettled. 
 Suddenly I saw a large envelope on my table ; 
 it contained a medico-legal report that I ought 
 already to have delivered. This sight awoke re- 
 morse, for the delay to this work might have 
 a disastrous effect on the person who was 
 the object of my report. This feeling became 
 so strong that it cut short my desire for liter- 
 ature. I had to become busy, and for hours 
 to concentrate my thought on this work. This 
 work was not itself the determining attrac- 
 tion ; it was possibly wearisome, and occasion- 
 ally the vision of pleasure I should have had 
 in reading the novel fluttered like a butter- 
 fly round my head and troubled me. But im- 
 mediately this picture was replaced by an- 
 other, by that of necessity, of duty, even by 
 the idea that I could only enjoy this reading 
 after having set in order this important busi- 
 ness. The attraction exists precisely in obe- 
 
 [44] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 dience to the various motives of moral order. 
 My concentration, provided it were not pre- 
 vented by intellectual fatigue, would be in 
 proportion, not to free thought, but to the 
 dominant character that I recognise in these 
 motives. One day I am able to appreciate 
 them at their proper value, and I endure my 
 task; another day I find a thousand excuses 
 for putting it off until the morrow. 
 
 We find ourselves always active and not 
 passive, in any kind of work, whether it be in 
 a fleeting thought, betrayed by a movement, 
 or in continued and persistent work. We are 
 free, in the corrupted meaning given by the 
 public to this word ; philosophically speaking, 
 we are slaves of the motives forced upon us 
 by reason of our character. 
 
 So there are many people from whom one 
 never can get the promised work, and who 
 render their own existence unfortunate by 
 unfitness. The "Fragments d'un journal 
 intime" of Henri Frederic Amiel throws a 
 tragic light upon these undecided minds, in 
 whom motives never reach the maturity that 
 would render them efficient. If we wish to 
 be exact in determinist speech, we should say 
 
 [45] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 that there are people whose existence is made 
 unhappy by their faults. But it is useless 
 to suppress reflexive verbs and replace them 
 by passive ones. If one puts a finger in one's 
 eye, one alone is the cause of the tears that 
 follow, however involuntary the movement 
 may have been. That is why we do not think 
 of avoiding in these pages all expressions 
 which might create an idea of liberty, of per- 
 sonal blame ; it is sufficient to understand the 
 nature of these thought phenomena. Man 
 judges by his feelings, even in the making of 
 religious conceptions; he has always given 
 some human defects to his gods, has made 
 them act under the spur of jealousy, venge- 
 ance, anger ; he has made them slaves of their 
 mental representations, of the feelings they 
 produce. From an anthropomorphic point of 
 view, from which the human soul has never 
 been able to rid itself, man has made his gods 
 in his own image. Christianity, it is true, 
 delivers its one God from human weakness; 
 it no longer endows Him with the bursts of 
 passion of the Olympian gods, but it leaves 
 Him, in certain conceptions, still held together 
 with the ugly feeling of anger, not only the 
 
 [46] 
 
THOUGHT 
 
 legitimate dealing with, wrong, but the allot- 
 ment of eternal punishment. 
 
 The moral principles that we have estab- 
 lished in our mind do not always represent 
 very solid cushions; they often yield under 
 the pressure of too large balls thrown with 
 too much force, which are our own impulses 
 of passion. It only remains for us to take 
 note of the disorder, repair our cushions, fit 
 them more firmly, not by free will, which I 
 maintain cannot exist, but by a clear view of 
 things, gained by our own experience, helped 
 by that of others. 
 
 These facts, easy to prove and to analyze, 
 show the determinism that rules the mechan- 
 ism of our thought ; they explain the cause of 
 tilings, without this explanation changing at 
 all the fact of our mental life. The day that 
 Galileo announced that the earth turned 
 round the sun, nothing had changed in the 
 reciprocal displacement of the two heavenly 
 bodies, the earth did not wait for the decision 
 of the tribunal of the Inquisition. Equally, 
 from the beginnings of human thought, phil- 
 osophers like Socrates have understood the 
 idea of moral determinism; man has con- 
 
 [47] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 tinued to think and to do good or evil. He 
 has thought worse for being ignorant of the 
 mechanism of thought; the neglect of these 
 principles of psychology renders him less in- 
 dulgent to the faults of others, without ma- 
 king him severe enough towards himself. 
 
 [48] 
 
Ill 
 
 THE ACT 
 
 [49] 
 
Ill 
 
 THE ACT 
 
 Most of my interlocutors have replied that 
 it is evident that our thoughts are oftenest 
 awakened by quite fortuitous impressions, by 
 events independent of us, by reminiscences; 
 it is clear we cannot of ourselves evoke an 
 idea; it forces itself upon us; it is created 
 by being linked to the idea that preceded it; 
 it clashes with pre-existent ideas that it has 
 awakened from their sleep. It is easy to sup- 
 pose that automatic mechanism establishes 
 the necessary succession of our thoughts. 
 But is it the same with all our thoughts ? Are 
 there not some still more primitive, which 
 are in us and which we would be able to 
 throw into the involuntary current of ideas, 
 like a master who, after having let his pu- 
 pils wander off into dreams, would recall 
 them to the way they should go. We cannot 
 deny a priori the possibility of the fact; 
 that is to say, the existence of will. But to 
 me it seems to play a very small part; and 
 
 [51] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 the simple and every-day fact that our ideas 
 are created in an involuntary succession at 
 least authorizes the presumption that there 
 is a general rule for it. It is for those who 
 contend that there are exceptions, that there 
 are voluntary ideas, to prove the fact. Now 
 I defy any one to point out this exception to 
 me. Examine each of your present ideas, of 
 your actual mental representations, and you 
 will always recognise either the fillip that 
 set them loose, such as fortuitous events, or 
 the old idea that has swerved the first im- 
 pulse, the moral principle that springs up in 
 us because it is quite naturally associated 
 with the preceding idea. The last objection 
 which is opposed to the determinism of 
 thought is that anyhow we all have the power 
 of choice, of decision, to yield to a motive or 
 to resist it — that we have, in a word, free will. 
 Yes, certainly, we appreciate the value of mo- 
 tives, and when we act we have so decided 
 from the first ; and we consider ourselves free 
 when we find no outside opposition to the 
 realization of our resolutions. If these ex- 
 pressions, liberty and free will, are only to 
 show the possibility of judging without hin- 
 
 [52] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 drance from others, there is no objection to 
 using them. 
 
 But let us analyze more deeply what passes 
 in our minds. Are we masters because we 
 hold a certain opinion on a subject, because 
 we modify it by the interference of free 
 will? No. 
 
 We all feel how much we preserve the 
 moral imprint of our education, what trouble 
 we have to avoid preconceived opinions, how 
 much we let ourselves be influenced by feel- 
 ings in judgments which would gain by being 
 treated more rationally. Nothing is rarer 
 than independence in regard to outside sug- 
 gestions; and we do not know how to save 
 ourselves from them even when we perceive 
 that we come under their influence. We do 
 not think enough about the yoke inside, the 
 result of ideas so thoroughly adopted that 
 they seem like our own. That is what Spi- 
 noza meant when he said, "Men think them- 
 selves free only because they get a clear view 
 of their actions, they do not think of the 
 motives that determined them." 
 
 As soon as desire wakes in us, it strains 
 towards its immediate realization; and the 
 
 [53] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 action, thouglit of necessarily and unavoida- 
 bly, is accomplished if nothing happens to 
 hinder the movement. What stops it or 
 changes its direction is not a force put in 
 motion by us, a wish, but the apparition in the 
 field of consciousness, due to an association 
 of ideas, of a contrary mental representation. 
 A struggle takes place between the two ad- 
 versaries under our eyes. "We have distinct- 
 ly the feeling that it is our place to award 
 the prize, but we forget that to this judgment 
 we bring our character, our prejudices ; that, 
 in a word, we judge with our head, and that 
 it is not we ourselves who have done it. 
 
 We make our choice among ideas as we 
 choose a hat; that is to say, without being 
 compelled by others, but guided by our own 
 taste. There are people who have bad taste, 
 and I am of the opinion that they cannot 
 help it. 
 
 Between the desire and the action it en- 
 tails the way may be free, and then the trans- 
 formation from the idea into act is achieved 
 immediately and inevitably. But obstacles 
 often arise, ideas which break in upon the 
 circle of our associations, either from having 
 
 [54] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 already been present in our memory by rea- 
 son of previous education, or having been 
 forced upon us by tbe advice of our fellow 
 men. 
 
 Man has often been compared to scales that 
 tip towards the side containing the greater 
 weight. The illustration is not quite correct. 
 The material balance is always towards that 
 side where weight is greater; this weight is 
 reckoned by kilograms, a measure invariable 
 and obligatory for every one. The balance 
 of human intelligence is towards that side 
 where the weight appears to be greater. It 
 is as though the scale at the point of its 
 indicator had a little head conscious of its 
 movements, which would say at each oscilla- 
 tion: "I dip to the right because the weight 
 in the right scale seems to me to be the 
 heavier." Now each little head of these hu- 
 man scales is made differently from the 
 others, by reason of hereditary disposition 
 and the education received ; it can only judge 
 with what it has; if it is a Chinese head it 
 might dip to the left, while one of ours would 
 dip to the right. 
 
 Starting from the conception of will power, 
 
 [55] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 we often speak of moral effort. In determin- 
 ist speech this effort is only the painful inde- 
 cision that seizes our thinking ego when 
 heavy weights load the scales to the point of 
 bending the beam. 
 
 Apply these data to an imaginary case : On 
 a hot day three persons are walking along 
 a dusty road, bordered with vines; they are 
 thirsty and wish to eat some grapes. The 
 first person has been well brought up, and 
 respect for the property of others is so well 
 rooted in him that it acts automatically. He 
 would be careful not to touch this tempting 
 fruit and would look for the wine-grower to 
 buy his grapes from him; if he did not find 
 him he would endure his thirst ; that is, in him 
 the sense of right appears stronger than his 
 feelings. The second person is less particu- 
 lar, always by reason of his education in the 
 broadest sense of the word. He has already 
 picked the grapes and is about to eat them 
 without scruple; the sense of right appears 
 that moment to weigh less than the attrac- 
 tion of pleasure. But he has seen his more 
 scrupulous companion ; the idea of respect for 
 the property of others is awakened in time, 
 
 [56] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 and we see the second man following the ex- 
 ample of the first. The third pedestrian is 
 a youth ; he understands nothing of the state 
 of mind of the two others ; he shrugs his shoul- 
 ders at their honesty; he pockets the picked 
 grapes and will eat them on the spot with the 
 utmost tranquillity of mind. In him the path 
 between the desire and the act was smooth 
 and free from obstacles. In the second pe- 
 destrian, the moral bar was only raised by 
 the contagion of fortuitous example, for 
 these persons were walking along the same 
 road by chance. In the case of the first 
 pedestrian, the sight of the fruit awakened 
 an old idea, the moral sense of right, which 
 slumbered deep within him. Can one say that 
 all three were right? Not at all; the first 
 alone was right. Can one say that they will 
 all act similarly on subsequent occasions? 
 Not at all; the second, who recognised his 
 fault, may have had the idea of honesty 
 strengthened in him ; it may also happen that 
 the idea becomes weakened, and that he will 
 act badly at another time ; everything depends 
 upon the influences that determine him. No 
 one can foresee by what motive he will be- 
 
 [57] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 come involved — the motive of feeling or that 
 of moral right. Our youth may also retain 
 the idea that he is "smart," and from a ma- 
 rauder become a thief and a criminal. He 
 may have the luck to meet a man of sense 
 who will say to him, "Would you like us to 
 take something belonging to you ? " " Oh, no, 
 I should be very angry at it," "Well, why 
 do you do to others what you would not like 
 them to do to you?" I am quite aware that 
 this attempt at moral orthopaedia might have 
 no good result, and that the youth might even 
 joke about it among his friends. But are you 
 sure that he will always be like this ? In any 
 case, it is worth while to try this work of 
 conversion. Oh, you will say, but this is an 
 appeal to his will; I call it an appeal to his 
 shrewdness, which is not the same thing at all. 
 Apply this analysis to all the acts of your life 
 or to those of others, to the small decisions 
 of daily life as well as to the moral events 
 of criminality, and everywhere you will find 
 the same mechanism — an uninterrupted suc- 
 cession of thoughts associated by some bond 
 or other^ the appearance of an idea creating 
 a desire, quick transformation of this impulse 
 
 [58] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 into action if a contrary mental presentation 
 does not occur ; that is to say, if another mo- 
 tive for feeling or of reason does not oppose 
 the first impulse. It is indeed the individual 
 who weighs the motives and finally deter- 
 mines their decisive value, but to do so he 
 uses his own weights; his valuation will de- 
 pend upon his previous mentality, which he 
 cannot create and which he has received from 
 heredity and education. 
 
 Let us take an example of the criminal sort. 
 An Italian workman settles in our country. 
 He has the qualities of his race; he is a 
 worker, economical, sober, and sends regu- 
 larly to his family the product of his rough 
 labour. But he has warm blood ; the knife is 
 quickly unsheathed in his country ; he is with- 
 out education, and his religion, if he has one, 
 only shows itself in superstitious practices, 
 it has no influence on his moral life. One day 
 a comrade makes a joke that wounds his per- 
 sonal or national pride, and our friend fatally 
 stabs his adversary. In this individual there 
 was no moral obstacle between the keen de- 
 sire for vengeance and the criminal act; the 
 latter was accomplished as a reflex action. 
 
 [59] 
 
SBLF-CONTEOL "AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 Inunediately afterwards the murderer will re- 
 gret his act, either because a moral sentiment 
 slowly enters his mind and creates remorse 
 — that has happened — or, because on being put 
 into prison, he will have a commonplace fear 
 of the punishment awaiting him. The crime 
 committed is the necessary result of a meet- 
 ing of fortuitous circumstances — life in an- 
 other country, the meeting with a joking com- 
 rade, perhaps the momentary influence of 
 drunkenness — and more lasting causes — in- 
 sufficient education and moral development. 
 
 The celebrated Charcot said that to create 
 nervousness two factors were necessary : one 
 permanent, the neuropathic predisposition, 
 and the other contingent, the instigating 
 agents. One may say the same of crime, 
 great and little; it is due to a permanent 
 cause, primitive mentality, and to contingent 
 causes, which are the various events of life. 
 
 We, who are endowed with another sort of 
 mind than this Italian workman, do not re- 
 act in the same way. However deeply our 
 pride may be hurt by a joke, the idea of de- 
 fense would not reach homicidal intention, 
 and were it born in a passionate soul it would 
 
 [60] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 be checked rather by moral considerations 
 than by fear of the police. 
 
 Does this mean that the man ought to re- 
 main unpunished under the pretext that, hav- 
 ing reacted in the way he was able to do at 
 the moment his anger was awakened, he is 
 beyond reproach? Not at all; his act is con- 
 trary to the welfare of society, which has the 
 right to repress him, even to punish him, as 
 much to waken in the guilty person moral 
 clear-sightedness which was lacking as to 
 give a salutary warning to those who would 
 be tempted like him to obey the simple mo- 
 tives of feeling. 
 
 We cannot recall the past; it has been 
 what it has been. We know it could have 
 been different if the criminal had had moral 
 principles, if he had cared for moral beauty 
 or, simpler still, if he had seen at a glance 
 the remote consequences of his act; his im- 
 prisonment, the grief and destitution of those 
 belonging to him ; the wrong done to others ; 
 in fact, it is scarcely credible that a man 
 should never think it wrong to do to others 
 what he does not wish them to do to him. 
 But, alas, all this did not come into the mind 
 
 [61] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 of this murderer ! After an offense, after a 
 mistake, the future alone interests us; and 
 that is why, for the repression necessary, we 
 must consider at the outset the educative task 
 incumbent upon society. 
 
 There is a strange misapprehension in the 
 mind of the intelligent public upon this ques- 
 tion of criminality, and an unjustifiable dis- 
 trust is shown towards modern theories. The 
 exaggerations of Lombroso have contributed 
 to this, and many people watch with anxiety 
 the recurrence of criminal conventions. We 
 joke about them, saying that they are "truly 
 criminal. ' ' Why ? Because they aim at prov- 
 ing that the bodUy, intellectual, and moral de- 
 fects in a great number of criminals indicate 
 a predisposition to crime, that the term "born 
 criminal" is too positive an expression. 
 There is no born criminal, predestined from 
 the first to crime, but there are undoubtedly 
 individuals who owe to atavism, to heredity, 
 to degeneracy caused by alcoholism and pov- 
 erty, a special mentality, a more or less com- 
 plete absence of moral sentiments. This 
 amorality is so closely bound to the constitu- 
 tion that it shows itself physically in the bru- 
 
 [62] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 tality of expression, in the prognathism of 
 the face, by the low or sloping forehead, by 
 innumerable malformations of the bony sys- 
 tem and of various organs that have been 
 styled "marks of degeneracy." Long before 
 the anthropologist savants, the general pub- 
 lic had seen these "criminal heads" in the 
 court-rooms without catching the determinist 
 idea that emphasized this observation. 
 
 These beings are wild beasts ; they may re- 
 main inoffensive if circumstances do not hap- 
 pen to awaken their instincts; one sees 
 worthy people having the heads of criminals. 
 But when the contingencies of life, the ab- 
 sence of moral education, favor the budding 
 of bad instincts, the human brute is let loose, 
 and we witness those horrible crimes of which 
 the determining cause seems to escape the 
 moral mind. 
 
 These criminals ought to be shut up — put 
 where they cannot do harm. Under emotional 
 influence, the general public pronounces the 
 death-sentence against them and protests 
 loudly against the right of pity. Still more, 
 cultivated men, savants, who have vague no- 
 tions of determinism dare to encourage this 
 
 [63] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 spirit of vengeance; I have seen the use of 
 this summary means urged on the score of 
 economy, evidently less expensive for the 
 state than the penitentiary. 
 
 I reject this solution: (1) because we have 
 no right to carry to this point our necessary 
 but uncertain role of judges ; (2) because cap- 
 ital punishment suppresses all possibility of 
 revision if there should be an error of judg- 
 ment; (3) because it does not fulfil its pre- 
 ventive aim, the criminal acting on the spur 
 of the moment, even in crime long premedi- 
 tated, in a state of mind in which pas- 
 sion is such that the question of incurring 
 punishment rarely intervenes and in a very 
 secondary manner; (4) because, whether per- 
 formed in public or in the courtyard of a 
 prison, this execution develops in the low na- 
 tures that make up crowds the bloodthirsty 
 instinct, the desire for cruel vengeance. The 
 very idea of this cold-blooded murder wafts a 
 breath of savagery over minds that is more 
 demoralizing than the example of a crime. 
 "Who among us would like to play the part of 
 executioner! 
 
 Officers of the law think they have recog- 
 
 [64] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 nised a moralizing influence in the death-sen- 
 tence, from the fact that certain prisoners 
 condemned to death and pardoned have mani- 
 fested their joy at finding their heads still 
 on their shoulders. It would be truly exact- 
 ing much of criminals to expect them to show 
 a contempt of death; in the face of capital 
 punishment, it is still reasonable to prefer 
 prison. But the criminal does not give him- 
 self up to these reflections at the moment of 
 committing the crime. Then he acts from im- 
 pulse, and fears only one thing — to be discov- 
 ered and punished. It is only later that he 
 shows a preference for some modes of pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 In persons who are less defective and who 
 seem to enjoy a normal physical and mental 
 constitution, the circumstances of life take the 
 part of determining causes and create the 
 "casual criminal." These ought also to be 
 put where they can do no harm. They are 
 liable to suffer not only because society, like 
 the individual, has the right to lawful defence, 
 but because this penalty will show the guUty 
 the offensive character of their acts and wUl 
 strengthen the motives for right, which, insuf- 
 
 [65] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 ficient at the time when the crime was per- 
 petrated, may be able to exercise a more pow- 
 erful influence over them. 
 
 We must, then, in no way consider the de- 
 linquent as not to blame — see in him an 
 invalid, an idiot, and suggest the asylum in- 
 stead of the prison for him. Crime must be 
 prevented ; it must be stopped in the path of 
 its performance, and repetition of it be pre- 
 vented. We must punish in order precisely 
 to restore those moral barriers that have 
 yielded too easily under the pressure of pas- 
 sionate impulses. That is a work of correc- 
 tion which society undertakes, and this duty 
 is all the more sacred because society is itself 
 the cause of the physical, intellectual, and 
 moral destitution into which it allows so many 
 individuals to degenerate. 
 
 The prisons will remain. They will not be- 
 come pleasant places of rest for the "crazy," 
 but in the midst of them, where the loss of 
 liberty always constitutes the greatest punish- 
 ment for the criminal, the moralizing in- 
 fluence of the director of the penitentiary, the 
 chaplain, and the doctor ought to be abun- 
 dantly exercised with full measure of that 
 
 [66] 
 
THE ACT 
 
 alloy which the idea of determinism directly 
 creates. Plato said, ' ' The wise man punishes, 
 not because some one has sinned, but that 
 he shall sin no more." Every completed 
 action is irrevocable; we only anticipate the 
 future. 
 
 Yes, we say, doubtless there are fortuitous 
 events in the life of a criminal, independent 
 of him, which should not have been coinci- 
 dent; there was a fatal chain of circum- 
 stances. Doubtless the amorality of this man 
 has its principal cause in the lack of moral 
 culture. But there is an element of liberty 
 which would have allowed the individual to 
 oppose his will to those successive impulses. 
 
 I make the same reply as to thought. The 
 unvarying fact, easUy proved, is that our acts 
 are determined by motives of feeling or by 
 motives of intelligence. It is those who admit 
 that something else exists in man who must 
 prove that moral ideas springing from 
 neither heredity nor education are hidden in 
 the mind. This has never been demonstrated ; 
 we are content to assert that an idea, more or 
 less clear, of good or bad, pre-exists in the 
 human mind; a morsel of moral conscience, 
 
 [67] 
 
SELP-CONTEOL 'AND HOW TO SECUEB IT 
 
 but this morsel would be insufficient, inde- 
 pendent of circumstances ; it is upon the hy- 
 pothetical existence of this primordial con- 
 science that the vague idea of responsibility 
 and the severity shown ia regard to others 
 are based. 
 
 [68] 
 
IV 
 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 [69] 
 
IV 
 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 What is conscience? It is a collection of 
 moral conceptions which, at a given moment, 
 exist in the understanding of man and serve 
 him as a guide for the conduct of life. 
 
 We say of some one that he has no con- 
 science, of another that he has a tender con- 
 science. While it often becomes atrophied, 
 it is also cultivated and refined by individual 
 and collective education. It varies, like char- 
 acter, in different persons; it varies in dif- 
 ferent peoples according to their mentality. 
 Commercial honesty is not the same every- 
 where; there are communities in many ways 
 uneducated, among which it is scrupulously 
 practised ; others where, in spite of scientific, 
 artistic, and literary development, the moral 
 conscience seems to be atrophied ; still others 
 where commercial honesty is proverbial, but 
 where there is a very elastic conscience in 
 everything concerning sexual morality. 
 
 These individual and national conditions of 
 
 [71] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 mind are often so stable that one might at- 
 tribute them uniquely to heredity or consider 
 them as indelible peculiarities of the race. 
 Still we see minds change, amongst individ- 
 uals, by judicious advice and under the in- 
 fluence of a current of new religious and 
 moral ideas. 
 
 Verification of these facts leads us to con- 
 sider moral conscience as a product of edu- 
 cation, with this reservation, that we must 
 admit the influence of native predisposition 
 due to heredity and to atavism. 
 
 Now, we do not choose either our native 
 mentality or our education, and we take as 
 a joke the popular advice that one should be 
 careful in the choice of one's parents. 
 
 Are there some primordial ideas among 
 the innumerable mental representations 
 which form the baggage of our conscience 
 and which we evidently owe to education, an 
 indestructible nucleus of good or bad intui- 
 tion? Must we recognise a voice of con- 
 science, a thirst for unison, a need of justice 
 that a general and absolute law imposes upon 
 all men capable of thinking — to use the terms 
 employed by a Genevese journalist who lately 
 
 [72] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 criticised the antireligious lucubrations of Vi- 
 viana in the French Chamber of Deputies? 
 I should be delighted to think so, for if we 
 possess the jewel of virtue in the very depth 
 of ourselves we shall commit only mild sins. 
 
 First of all, it would be necessary for every 
 one to be able to think, and to think philo- 
 sophically; now many people are quite inca- 
 pable of this sort of work, and so are already 
 deprived of ideas considered primordial and 
 indispensable. 
 
 Let us observe that this conscience imposed 
 upon those who are able to think, this Kan- 
 tian categoric imperative, would in no way 
 give us liberty. Philosophically speaking, it 
 is the height of slavery to obey a law not 
 chosen by ourselves, however fortunate may 
 be the practical results of this passivity. 
 Nothing better corroborates the idea of deter- 
 minism than this moral constraint from which 
 we cannot escape. But the question does not 
 affect us, who from the start admit this sla- 
 very, which, in regard to motives, is neces- 
 sary and good ; it matters little to us that we 
 obey an idea acquired in the course of our 
 life, or aa idea rooted in us from the begia- 
 
 [73] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 ning of our existence; we receive everything 
 when we procure nothing for ourselves. 
 
 What is theoretically interesting is to know 
 whether such and such an idea is ours a 
 priori, as a gift of Providence or of good 
 mother Nature, or if all our ideas are the 
 fruit of experience. A warrior-prince of 
 feudal Germany — I have forgotten his name 
 — said, "Man has only two masters — nature 
 and experience. ' ' He might simply have said 
 experience, for nature is the brutal fact, and 
 experience is our way of looking at and inter- 
 preting it. 
 
 Following the example of Kant, who strove 
 to demonstrate a priori the character of the 
 ideas of time and of space, we seem to admit 
 that there is an innate morality in the human 
 mind, germs of ideas persisting in spite of 
 even unfavorable influences. 
 
 I do not well see what could exist in the 
 mind of an infant at its birth. It seems only 
 to have, at its entrance into the world, in- 
 stincts, senses, and material needs. It would 
 indeed be daring to say that it already had 
 ideas, and above all such complex ideas as 
 the thirst for unison or the need of justice; in 
 
 [74] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 any case, it could but have a- need of organic 
 unison, the need of feeling comfortable. 
 
 But from the first days of existence educa- 
 tion begins, education by the experience of 
 feeling, by sensations of comfort or discom- 
 fort due to physical influences, such as heat, 
 cold, sensorial impressions, moderated or 
 made too acute by the sensibility of the 
 nervous system. From the first wail, these 
 sensations have an influence over the growing 
 mind, and we see that a succession of painful 
 impressions might modify the character of 
 the infant, create the unhappy disposition one 
 so often finds among children that have suf- 
 fered from sickness or ill treatment. This 
 stain is sometimes indelible. How do we 
 know that this education by the senses does 
 not begin before birth, in the maternal womb, 
 where the foetus may already find conditions 
 unfavorable to its well-being owing to painful 
 impressions ? Little by little, by personal ex- 
 perience, and later, when it is able to under- 
 stand from the experience of others, the child 
 arrives at new ideas ; it comes out of its ani- 
 mal mentality to fashion its human soul, ac- 
 cessible to abstract conceptions, to the moral 
 
 [75] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 idea. It acquires the idea of space by seeing 
 objects before it, the room they take up; it 
 evolves that of time by observing a succes- 
 sion of deeds, and learns to understand the 
 world ; it seeks, a,bove all, everything pleasing 
 to itself and avoids whatever is displeasing. 
 Enjoying the kindness of others, of a mother, 
 of a nurse, it arrives at the idea of kindness, 
 which it justly appreciates, in a quite egotis- 
 tical manner. The idea of justice comes later, 
 always from the personal point of view, when 
 the wrong done by injustice is resented. 
 
 Even in his too narrow conception of the 
 "ethics of personal interest," Epicurus was 
 able without trouble to evolve the notion of 
 justice. "Natural right," said he, "is noth- 
 ing but a profitable compact, of which the 
 object is reciprocal, that we shall not injure 
 one another, nor be injured ourselves. Each 
 one, in protecting himself against others, pro- 
 tects others against himself." That is a kind 
 of tacit "social contract." This idea is able 
 to reach the simplest minds — a fact that 
 Eousseau gave himself much trouble to de- 
 monstrate in scientific terms. 
 
 The child has no need of philosophical 
 
 [76] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 analysis impossible at its age in order to 
 prove this fact by unimpeacliable reasoning. 
 Logic creates repulsion against injustice by 
 the single fact that one has experienced it, 
 and understands the suffering it entails. No 
 association of ideas is simpler than that of 
 contrast; the idea of justice suggests that 
 of injustice. As Eousseau said in "EmUe," 
 the first sentiment of justice does not arise 
 from what we owe, but from what others 
 owe us. 
 
 We thus create, without the help of psy- 
 chology, moral conceptions that it would be 
 difficult to explain by syllogisms. Some 
 things are so simple that they lose by analy- 
 sis — ^not because they are a priori ideas, but 
 because they are the fruit of proximate 
 proofs and because the law springs naturally 
 from them. It is the same with some scien- 
 tific ideas. Our mathematicians begin alge- 
 bra with the proposition: Every quantity is 
 equal to itself. The mind of the child is 
 often dumbfounded by this learned affirma- 
 tion ; for it has already proved the fact ; this 
 seems so commonplace to it that it does not 
 see the use of expressing it ; besides, the prop- 
 
 [77] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SBCUEE IT 
 
 osition is easier to admit than to prove. The 
 ideas of justice, of unison, are just as simple ; 
 they spring from the desire for welfare, and 
 one must be quite denuded of all spirit of 
 generalization not to be able to understand 
 that the happiness we wish for ourselves is 
 equally desirable for everybody else. In life, 
 we forget this responsibility because we are 
 too occupied with ourselves, but it is easy 
 for us to recognise the justifiableness of al- 
 truistic sentiments which engender the idea 
 of justice. 
 
 In the same way, there is no voluntary 
 thought escaping from what I have called 
 determinism of thought; there is no act 
 not determined by motives; there is no way 
 of admitting inborn ideas, constituting 
 an element of primordial moral con- 
 science. Conscience is more or less de- 
 veloped in each of us; it would be, I have 
 said, quite insufficient if it were only formed 
 by this hypothetical foundation which we per- 
 sist in claiming. Our conscience is made up 
 of all the moral ideas that we owe to expe- 
 rience. Some develop very quickly and very 
 early; they come directly from the life of the 
 
 [78] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 senses. Others are more complicated and can 
 only be seized by the slow development of 
 the human mind, vmder the influence of more 
 mature, more refined experience, transmitted 
 by religious or philosophical educators of 
 every soft. It is attraction which has pushed 
 these last to profounder reflection and has 
 led them to a clearer view of things; untir- 
 ing seekers, they place the nuggets that they 
 find by the way at our disposition. 
 
 This moral conscience is rounded out dur- 
 ing life by a deposit of new ideas, and by the 
 correction of old ones. Our ethical views be- 
 come exact or change, and at a certain age we 
 are often amazed at what we formerly were 
 able to do with a tranquil mind. Our ego 
 is transformed little by little in the course of 
 our existence. The moral conceptions ac- 
 quired from the first years of life, completed 
 or modified by subsequent experience, consti- 
 tute what I have called the directing cushions. 
 It is against them that mental representations 
 strike; they are precipitated upon us by the 
 paths of the five senses or by the memory 
 of anterior excitations. I have shown the 
 character, necessarily contingent and inde- 
 
 [79] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 pendent of us, of these primary shocks which 
 determine the continued movement of our 
 thought. 
 
 It has been said that the idea of determin- 
 ism is forced upon our mind when we examine 
 objectively the actions of man; but to this 
 reasonable view is opposed the inner expe- 
 rience which, on the contrary, gives us the 
 sensation of liberty. This illusion is inherent 
 to a purely subjective analysis of ourselves. 
 Man evidently feels free when he is able to 
 follow, without hindrance from others or re- 
 sulting from an acknowledged disease, the 
 inclination of his wishes, whether he obeys 
 through taste — I can scarcely call it will — the 
 motives of sensation or whether he prefers to 
 submit himself to the dictates of reason. He 
 disregards the inner slavery resulting from 
 the continual variations of our mental and 
 physical well-being, and, above all, he does 
 not consider the pressure of motives as con- 
 straint, because they belong to him and de- 
 termine his wish. He defines precisely this 
 obedience as liberty, and forgets that one does 
 not think as one likes, but as one can. 
 
 I have said that thought is not spontane- 
 
 [80] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 ous; it follows excitation, always fortuitous. 
 Determinism of thought implies that of 
 acts, for the latter are the necessary sequence 
 of mental representations. Man accomplishes 
 acts, or has at least the intention of fulfill- 
 ing them. These intentions to act are what 
 philosophers in their own language have 
 called volitions. We have concluded from 
 these that there is a force in us, a freedom, 
 and we have made wiU, like memory, a fac- 
 ulty of the mind. 
 
 The comparison is not exact. Memory is a 
 biological fact; it is the faculty of retaining 
 an impression, a residuum of anterior exci- 
 tation. The cerebral cell is able to seal up 
 a picture like the photographic plate im- 
 pressed by the light. Memory so thoroughly 
 depends upon the very constitution of the 
 brain that it is scarcely possible to develop 
 it. Whoever has a bad memory in childhood 
 will never have a good one; he may learn 
 many things, even go ahead of those better 
 gifted, but he wUl be obliged to devote more 
 time and attention to study. Will itself is 
 not a faculty. In the long arc which begins 
 by a fortuitous mental representation and, 
 
 [81] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 after a thousand hesitations, after quite a 
 toil of deliberation ends in the act, wUl is 
 only a mathematical point that indicates the 
 passage to a final volition, to the resulting 
 act. It is our final wish that we decorate with 
 the name of will. Everybody catches the 
 idea of determinism without trouble. It is 
 not antagonistic to any metaphysical convic- 
 tion, to any religious faith. It is a simple 
 question of psychology, which does not in any 
 way pretend to solve the problems of the be- 
 yond. Thus it is never opposed by syllogism, 
 that would truly be waste of time. But we 
 claim liberty as being considered a primor- 
 dial condition of responsibility ; we postulate 
 it as being the basis of morality. Obliged to 
 recognise determinism in the great number 
 of circumstances in life, the upholders of free 
 wUl come to qualify human liberty as relative. 
 They continually contract the pedestal upon 
 which the august statue of liberty rests ; for 
 some time it has seemed to perch upon the 
 point of a needle. 
 
 Liberty is not possible in a finite being, 
 called into existence without his vish, limited 
 in the length of his days, unable tc arrive at 
 
 [82] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 perfection, always dependent upon his sur- 
 roundings, upon the numerous influences 
 which act upon his body and on his spirit 
 and which one might call educatives. 
 
 Doubtless the adoption of such a rational 
 idea as determinism carries with it modifica- 
 tions in the conception of responsibility. This 
 is fortunate, because the word is used at ran- 
 dom, without our seeing what this common- 
 place label conceals. We must make a dis- 
 tinction. All responsibility should have its 
 sanction. What are the different kinds of 
 responsibility we are able to conceive? The 
 first, which is obvious, is penal responsibility, 
 that imposed upon society as a measure of 
 personal defence, whether it be just or not 
 so long as penal codes are law we must sub- 
 mit to them. At first sight, it seems strange 
 to punish the man who commits a bad deed, 
 since by determinism one merely sees in this 
 act the result of a succession of events, some 
 outer, others inner ones; indeed, it seems as 
 if there were nothing to do but to fold one's 
 arms whUe deploring such cruel fatalities. 
 One forgets that the punishment is a new mo- 
 tive for right, introduced into the mind of the 
 
 [83] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 person to guide his mental life, and to prevent 
 other minds from straying after him. I re- 
 peat, it is not a work of vengeance; it is an 
 educative influence that society should uphold. 
 These ideas have already penetrated every- 
 where, even where people refuse, by a false 
 conception of things, to admit the determinist 
 conception. We are indebted to these ideas 
 for the support of liberated prisoners, for 
 efforts made for the education of young de- 
 linquents, and laws for conditional liberation 
 and pardon, which should crown this chari- 
 table thought. The practical difficulties of ap- 
 plication should not discourage when the 
 basic idea is well understood — determinism of 
 thought and act. 
 
 In the theistic conception we may recognise 
 a second responsibility, that which brings us 
 into the presence of a sovereign judge. Thus 
 being the sole judge, it is presumption on 
 our part to attempt to divine his decrees and 
 to make the guilty, still unjudged, suffer our 
 contempt. There is finally a third quite per- 
 sonal responsibility, and its only sanction is 
 the evil we do to ourselves. In seeing the im- 
 mediate results of guUty acts, we may some- 
 
 [84] 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 times find that the delinquents enjoy them, or 
 that their punishment is not sufficient. This 
 consideration should disquiet atheists only, 
 for believers as a last resort appeal to a high 
 court of immutable justice. Besides I think 
 that the enjoyment of the guilty is never en- 
 viable. Should we like to be in their place? 
 Enough about these three responsibilities, 
 sanctioned though they are ; they are as good 
 as the responsibility of which we hear so 
 much without an explanation of what is meant 
 by it. 
 
 [85] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 [87] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 Education is entirely founded upon the 
 idea of determinism. In fact, its aim always 
 is to make the individual accept ideas that 
 will determine his future conduct. Badly di- 
 rected, it strengthens the motives of the 
 senses and renders the individual a slave to 
 his passions. Ethically directed, it raises 
 those moral barriers which, coming between 
 the unheal thful idea and the act, prevent the 
 accomplishment of evil. It develops con- 
 science. It is still from the psychological 
 point of view slavery, but a useful slavery, 
 because it contributes to our own happiness 
 and to that of others. 
 
 We feel the chain that holds us when those 
 who guide us make us take a direction oppo- 
 site to that of our inmost wish, and we com- 
 plain of this violence done to our feelings. 
 We think ourselves free as soon as we are 
 led in the direction we wish to go. Gruyau ex- 
 presses this very well when he says, "A dog 
 
 [89] 
 
SEL F-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 held in leash by his master would consider 
 himself perfectly free if the master wanted 
 to go just where the dog wished and at the 
 same pace. ' ' The young man who has not yet 
 felt the attraction of virtue resists the coun- 
 sels of a mentor ; he is indignant at constraint 
 and does not see that the advice given him 
 is good for him even if it restricts his lib- 
 erty. But when he gets moral clairvoyance, 
 another desire — a good one — will waken in 
 him; he will then pursue it, and although 
 always held in leash by the idea that has 
 taken possession of him, he will have the feel- 
 ing that the chain is loosened; he will get 
 the illusion of liberty, like the dog, which, 
 guided by attraction, closely follows his mas- 
 ter. If, in his enthusiasm, the dog goes ahead, 
 he will think that he is pulling his master, 
 and has become his conductor. At first slave 
 of his passions, the individual becomes slave 
 of the moral idea. 
 
 It is consideration of the ethical goal to 
 be reached, for the good of the individual and 
 of humanity, that establishes the distinction 
 between the two forms of slavery : that of evil 
 g,nd that of good ; we too often forget the la,t- 
 
 [90] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 ter in psychological analysis. That is the rea- 
 son why, in ordinary speech, we declare him 
 a slave who obeys his impulses of passion, of 
 egoism, and why absolute obedience to moral 
 principles is considered liberty. "Become a 
 slave to philosophy, and you will enjoy real 
 liberty," said Epicurus; and SchUler re- 
 peated, "The moral man is the only free 
 man. ' ' And to think that the majority of men 
 imagine themselves free ! 
 
 It is not a question of our freedom, but 
 of finding the straight path, like the traveller 
 who seeks to climb the longed-for height. 
 He will profit by his personal experience in 
 looking for the road, he will ask his way from 
 those who have gone before him, and when he 
 has found it he will not say, "I should like 
 to take it," but will take it. This was well 
 put by an intelligent invalid who said, "Will 
 passively falls into the rut dug for it by 
 right." 
 
 Man does not willingly do evil. He rather 
 goes astray, as Socrates so justly thought, 
 and all education has for its aim showing him 
 the right road. If he does not take it, it is 
 because he is not yet sure of the correctness 
 
 [91] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 of your directions; it may appear to him 
 shorter, but not so pleasant; much becomes 
 a matter of taste. 
 
 The determinist character of education is 
 clearly shown when this education is ap- 
 plied to authority in all its forms; it would 
 be absurd to speak of the liberty of the child 
 that is brought up on beatings, of liberty of 
 thought when an opinion is imposed upon a 
 person. There are methods of moral orthopae- 
 dia which are still often used in communities 
 where free will is claimed and the antinomy 
 between the two ideas, authority and liberty, 
 is not apparently noticed. 
 
 Liberty does not become greater, psycho- 
 logically speaking, when we yield to any sug- 
 gestions whatever. It is enough to have been 
 present at hypnotic or suggestive seances in 
 order to know that ninety-seven per cent, of 
 people are apt to come under these influences 
 by reason of their credulity, to appre- 
 ciate the extent of liberty of judgments in 
 man. Persuasion by more logical arguments 
 does not leave greater liberty to the individ- 
 ual. It imposes nothing, it is true, and even 
 expressly says, "You are free, listen to me, 
 
 [92] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 follow the arguments." But if the idea pre- 
 sented to a person is accepted by Mm, and this 
 acceptation does not depend upon his will but 
 upon his faculty of comprehension, it becomes 
 imperious, tyrannical, and carries away the 
 person by so much the greater force as he is 
 the more convinced. If, on the contrary, he 
 resists the dialectics of the master, it is be- 
 cause he does not thoroughly understand the 
 idea submitted to him; there is no room for 
 it in the pigeon-holes which are already full ; 
 he remains the slave of his previous opinion. 
 We all know how painful it is to come across 
 this resistance in others ' minds when we wish 
 to do them a service by making them share 
 our views. 
 
 Education by means of persuasion is the 
 only kind that the apparent liberty of the 
 individual respects, the kind that submits mo- 
 tives to him and allows him to value them 
 according to his intellectual powers. 
 
 Every method that resorts to authority is 
 essentially bad, although it may have the ad- 
 vantage of producing a quick and useful re- 
 sult. The end never justifies the means. A 
 real idea which may take us by the collar 
 
 [93] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 and make us obey in the manner of a whip 
 may be more agreeable. It is not because the 
 constraint of authority comes from others 
 that we detest it, for the ideas that govern us 
 also come from others, from our parents, 
 from our masters, like the spankings they 
 have probably given us. What is bad in au- 
 thority is that it does not develop our clair- 
 voyance and our perspicacity. 
 
 What we need in life is not will, which so 
 many people pride themselves on having 
 while they are only voluntaries; that is to 
 say, slaves of their impulses. Intelligence is 
 what we want. Spinoza expressed this idea 
 in these words, "Intelligence and wUl are one 
 and the same thing." Whoever has grasped 
 this formula understands the entire question 
 of determinism; for intelligence is a gift 
 either of God or of nature, as you will ; mere 
 wishing does not make one intelligent. That 
 is why it is as absurd to reproach a person 
 for moral ugliness as it would be to consider 
 his physical infirmities a crime. 
 
 We give a too restricted meaning to the 
 word "intelligence" when we speak of those 
 who have shown certain intellectual aptitudes 
 
 [94] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 as intelligent persons ; it is necessary to spec- 
 ify in what branch of human understanding 
 they have merited this distinction as common- 
 place as decorations. 
 
 The Latin word intelligere means "to un- 
 derstand." Now, every day one sees people 
 who, though masters in the field of science, 
 arts, and politics, do not understand and are 
 from an ethical point of view idiots or weak- 
 minded. Alas, they lack exactly the most 
 necessary intelligence — that which makes 
 men; they have only the kiad, more brilliant 
 in the eyes of the world, which makes sa- 
 vants, artists, statesmen, and often blacklegs 
 of genius! The aim of the education that 
 we give to others, or receive from them, 
 should be, above all, to form that moral intel- 
 ligence which enables us to distinguish good 
 from evil and to lighten through life our path- 
 way, which is surrounded by pitfalls. All 
 other kinds of intelligence are inferior to this. 
 For those who possess them other kinds of 
 intelligence may procure personal advan- 
 tages, enjoyed by others, and thus contribute 
 to the establishment of that contingent and 
 always precarious happiness which comes 
 
 [95] 
 
SELF-CONTBOL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 from the benefits of civilization. One need 
 scarcely be a wizard to prove that this is not 
 real happiness. Brilliant but fragmentary- 
 minds often do so much moral harm that the 
 gifts they bring do not pay for it. 
 
 We have schools enough of this kind, which 
 give us general and special knowledge, and 
 can turn us into excellent technicians in all 
 branches of human activity; what we need is 
 a school to make men. In writing these 
 words, I see myself assaUed, in thought, by 
 a crowd of experts of existing religions, who 
 cry, "But this school exists; it is the 
 Church." I find myself a little embarrassed 
 in the presence of good people who see salva- 
 tion only in a religion of authority. I in no 
 way refuse their help and do not doubt their 
 excellent intentions. I am even convinced 
 that actual practice of Christ's morality 
 would have brought this sought-for happi- 
 ness to the earth. This is what M. Jean Omer 
 Joly de Fleury said in his thundering speech 
 against the book "De 1 'Esprit," "What men 
 would be happier than Christians if they only 
 regulated their conduct in everything by the 
 moral teaching of the Evangelist; what gen- 
 
 [96] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 tleness of customs, what cordiality in the rela- 
 tions of society, what regulations, what hon- 
 esty, what justice in all our actions I ' ' 
 
 Ah, yes, it would be very fine, but I humbly 
 confess that I am not surprised at the result 
 obtained at the end of nineteen hundred 
 years. I have a deep feeling that if Jesus 
 Christ revisited this earth, He would cover 
 His face at the sight of the Christianity that 
 claims to be His ; perhaps His grief would not 
 be greatly increased by visiting those who 
 were called in his time Gentiles. Eespect for 
 authority is passing. I observed to an excel- 
 lent Jesuit father, "You have the name of 
 being the cleverest of all religious orders ; you 
 even tell me you do not fear law for your 
 congregations, because this little business 
 was settled in advance. " " It is true, ' ' he re- 
 plied, with a satisfied expression, not dissimu- 
 lated, "we have this reputation for savoir 
 faire." "Well, do you know, I find you very 
 clumsy." "How so'"? "Because your part 
 should be to keep your flock intact, together, 
 and although you take all the care of sheep- 
 dogs, I see your sheep escape you and scatter 
 afar." "It is true," he replied with a 
 
 [97] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 slightly bitter smile, "people do not love us, 
 and in my own family, although very devout, 
 I had to beg forgiveness for joining the 
 order." 
 
 The good village priest has certainly a bet- 
 ter influence over his sheep. I find many, 
 nevertheless, who complain of preaching in 
 the wilderness ; there are still too many who 
 have recourse to authority, threatening eter- 
 nal punishment, without adding the wit of, 
 the cure of Cucugnan. 
 
 This impotency of the Church over certain 
 souls has been clearly recognised by a nun, 
 a sister of the Sacred Heart, who said: "A 
 great number of persons whom we bring up 
 with the religious idea turn away from us in 
 the course of life, under the influence of 
 social contagion, and with dogmas, they aban- 
 don the morality attached to them. If then 
 we want to influence these souls, we must in- 
 stitute a path of rational morality. ' ' Indeed, 
 it is to those who cannot accept religious dog- 
 mas that rational moral education will most 
 appeal, founded upon the experience of all 
 and transmitted to all. This does not mean 
 that Christians can do without it. Even 
 
 [98] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 while accepting a moral code divinely given, 
 and revealed, and upon which their faith is 
 founded, in order to apply it they must un- 
 derstand the utility of its precepts, either 
 for their relative happiness on this earth or 
 to achieve eternal bliss. Thus they also are 
 obliged to understand ; they must have ethical 
 intelligence. 
 
 This necessity for the control of reason 
 is what Channing, and with him the American 
 Unitarians generally, clearly saw. While re- 
 maining a Christian, he admits that revela- 
 tion and reason, both given to man for his 
 guidance, are necessarily in agreement and 
 can never be in opposition. Following his 
 comparison, both are seen to be the same light 
 differing as dawn and midday; one is the 
 perfection and not the opposite of the other, 
 completing and not overthrowing it. He 
 accepts dogmas on condition that they re- 
 ceive the assent of reason. 
 
 Even for those unable to reach the point of 
 this Christian rationalism, it remains evident 
 that morality may be founded upon reason, 
 and that a perfect harmony may be estab- 
 lished, from the point of view of the conduct 
 
 [99] 
 
SELP-CONTEOL :AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 of life, between those who believe in religion 
 and those who seek support in philosophy. 
 As a sign of the times, a society of freethink- 
 ers and free believers has been recently 
 founded. 
 
 I say that for the flight into life we must 
 start from a platform able to support our 
 spring. Christians suspend it from the 
 heavens by chains of dogmatism; I do not 
 deny that this can be used by those rare per- 
 sons sufficiently gifted morally to truly live 
 the Christian life. Those who do not believe 
 construct this platform upon a broad base, 
 upon firm layers of reason. I have no right 
 to admit, a priori, that this edifice is the 
 weaker. Besides, there have been enough vir- 
 tuous rationalists to have justified the dar- 
 ing expression of "lay saints." It is then 
 entirely by the influence of persuasion, and 
 by showing the path of the True, the Beau- 
 tiful, and the Good, that we can influence 
 others ; and they should have recourse to the 
 same means to educate us. Unfortunately, 
 the result of this desired education is not 
 always what we expect — ^indeed, it stumbles 
 against many obstacles. 
 
 [100] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 Like seed sown in badly prepared ground, 
 the moral idea is also abortive in minds 
 warped by heredity and atavism. In a 
 greater degree, fortuitous educative in- 
 fluences act surreptitiously, as unforeseen 
 meteorological conditions act upon a plant 
 and disconcert the sower. The word "edu- 
 cation" is used in a much too restricted sense 
 when, always with the idea of liberty, one 
 makes the objection, "Look at this; here are 
 two young persons, both gifted, who have re- 
 ceived at home, at school, and from the 
 Church the same education, and yet one is 
 a delightful fellow and the other a good-for- 
 nothing." The latter is blamed, as if he vol- 
 imtarily shut the ears of his understanding to 
 the excellent counsels given to him. 
 
 We commit the same mistake as the gar- 
 dener who would say, "Here are two plants 
 that I sowed in the same bed, that I have cul- 
 tivated with the same care; one is well de- 
 veloped and the other is a disobedient weed." 
 Between two brothers, apparently so dissim- 
 ilar, there may be less moral difference than 
 we imagiae, and some fortuitous circumstance 
 might have been enough to invert the roles. 
 
 [101] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 By the side of directed and desired edu- 
 cation there are many secret influences which 
 are acting from the first day of life and which 
 may lead the individual into a wrong path. 
 We feel these influences every day, however 
 absorbed we are in our surroundings, ex- 
 posed to the contagion of all these germs of 
 vice which breed in the moral air that we 
 breathe, and we become inoculated by speech, 
 by reading, and above all by example. It is 
 the same with education as with the precau- 
 tions we take to prevent our children catch- 
 ing contagious diseases such as scarlatina or 
 measles. Sometimes we think we have suc- 
 ceeded — untU the day when one of them comes 
 home with measles, while his brother, sitting 
 by his side at school, escapes. 
 
 Doubtless the intentional education we re- 
 ceive does a great deal for our subsequent 
 development, but we must not forget the ma- 
 terial and moral influences working unknown 
 to us. I have said that they may, from fcetal 
 life, influence the character of the child, and 
 lead it into the path of sadness or of suUen- 
 ness. At the moment of writing these words 
 I have received from a French practitioner 
 
 [102] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 the following communication: "Two children 
 that I know were born eleven or twelve 
 months apart. At the birth of the first, an 
 excellent wet-nurse was chosen, the child 
 flourished, was raised without trouble, and 
 the parents wondered at this big, fresh, rosy- 
 boy, always laughing, and who was never 
 heard to cry. The second arrived; the nurse 
 had been so good that the parents decided 
 they could not do better than confide the sec- 
 ond child to her; but the exhausted breasts 
 were not sufficient; the chUd made vain ef- 
 forts and, often famished, cried with all his 
 might, diarrhoea resulted, and the cries of the 
 child were still shriller. 'You see,' said the 
 parents, 'what a bad disposition this one has ! 
 He is brought up like his brother, he has the 
 same nurse, and as the first was well behaved 
 and gave us no trouble the second is just 
 the opposite, fretful and sulky'; the conclu- 
 sion being, what a wretched disposition!" 
 
 Do not let it be thought that this is a rare 
 case, in which the parents were not intelligent ; 
 it is a typical example of that which goes on 
 in different ways in families, in creches, in 
 the best-organized charity institutions. 
 
 [103] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 Doubtless if a child has a case of well-defined 
 sickness, kind persons will be found to take 
 care of it, but if it be sulky without the cause 
 being discovered, let it beware. Children 
 who cry are not loved, nor are those who look 
 sad or refuse to be petted. Affection is nat- 
 urally given to those who are chubby and, 
 above all, smiling. It is hard for a mother 
 to avoid preferences, even at the very time 
 when a keener sympathy should particularly 
 surround the one more poorly endowed. 
 These preferences aggravate the state of 
 mind of the little sufferers. Soon they wake 
 to feelings of jealousy, and moral deforma- 
 tion increases. We are unjust towards those 
 we should protect because we forget that they 
 are what they are able to be. "We flatter our- 
 selves on being charitable towards them when 
 we have only thought egotistically of the an- 
 noyance they cause us. How much harder 
 are we upon adults who no longer exercise 
 upon us the charm of childhood ! 
 
 In other ways, there are contagions work- 
 ing surreptitiously. A word spoken before 
 a child at a time of psychological receptivity 
 may destroy all our moral orthopaedia. Let 
 
 [104] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 us always bear in mind these many and pow- 
 erful causes of deformation, and never throw 
 a stone at him who has strayed from the right 
 way. A delicate tact is needed in this recip- 
 rocal education ; its base is in the plenary in- 
 dulgence that the determinist idea admits of 
 and in the constant worship of the moral ideal. 
 The education we receive from others is the 
 first degree, the kindergarten. During the 
 years when the intelligence is insufficiently 
 developed, logical persuasion must not be 
 rigorous, but a grain of authority will of ne- 
 cessity be mixed with teaching. We must add 
 the least possible amount of authority; it be- 
 comes efficient only when later it is completed 
 by advice that shows the pupil where to find 
 the good. As soon as he feels its attraction 
 he will look for it alone. At the advent of the 
 age of reason the most efficacious education 
 begins, the education of self. 
 
 But here let us understand each other. In 
 the same way that there is no free thought, 
 so there cannot be a really free education of 
 self. It is impossible for us to will to think, 
 to invent ourselves a new idea. We can de- 
 velop only what has been acquired and en- 
 
 [105] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 large the ideas with which we have been im- 
 bued. Education by others is the master's 
 lesson ; education of self is the personal work 
 in the individual ; it works by the data of pre- 
 vious teaching. It is only a repetition, and 
 if occasionally we add something not in the 
 lesson, we use ideas taken from others or 
 drawn from the master of us all, experience. 
 The pupil does not voluntarily perform this 
 work of development by the decision of a 
 sovereign will; he can only give himself up 
 to this increasingly serious study by reason 
 of its attraction for him — attraction not given 
 to him, but one he submits to from the very 
 fact of previous cultivation. To study the 
 piano with enthusiasm, to practise out of 
 lessons, one must have felt attraction for it, 
 and be fond of the work ; thus can one calcu- 
 late the advantages derived from it. Then 
 and only then is our attention fixed upon the 
 advice of our teacher, and we take pleasure 
 in following it. But how many are never able 
 to recognise the attraction and. abandon the 
 s tudy ! It is the same with moral culture. We 
 are given the basis, as in music. But where 
 are the zealous pupils who continue their edu- 
 
 [106] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 cation? Alas, the deserters are numerous! 
 It is because they have not tasted its attrac- 
 tion. They are like the youngster who would 
 rather play in the woods and who yawns 
 when put at the piano, which he hates. Isn't 
 this often due to the fact that the teacher has 
 disgusted the pupil? 
 
 The education of self is then not voluntary 
 or spontaneous. We give ourselves up to it 
 only when we have discovered the attraction 
 attached to this work of inner perfecting. It 
 only differs from education received from 
 others in the fact that we teach the lesson to 
 ourselves. Attracted by its charm, our at- 
 tention becomes fixed ; thought received from 
 others becomes clear, and is developed. Our 
 fortune is increased by accumulated interest, 
 like capital in a savings-bank, yet there are 
 people who prefer to keep their money in a 
 stocking. 
 
 It is still another illusion to consider the 
 education of self as the result of a wish. Such 
 education is passive in the sense that it is 
 created from a received impulse, which we 
 follow only when it gives us pleasure. When 
 an idea means nothing to it, it loses its 
 
 [107] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 character as a force-idea and the movement 
 stops. 
 
 Moral ideas are so naturally the result of 
 experience that they have been in existence 
 ever since the beginning of human thought; 
 that is why we add nothing absolutely new to 
 the ethical capital we have inherited from 
 past centuries. Obedient to modern associa- 
 tion of ideas, we express the same old 
 thoughts under different names; we choose 
 pictures from real life that ought to illustrate 
 the idea, but on close inspection it proves to 
 be just the same old doll dressed in new fur- 
 belows. New ideas, with a particular nomen- 
 clature, spring up only when there is a fact 
 that was unknown to our predecessors. This 
 is what happens in the field of science, or 
 when experience, most often fortuitous, opens 
 new horizons to us. Thus the discoveries in 
 electricity, the Eoentgen rays, and radium 
 have created new words, labelling new con- 
 ceptions; only a few years are needed to 
 make a treatise on natural philosophy old- 
 fashioned. Moral ideas, on the contrary, re- 
 main the same throughout civilization. If we 
 eliminate from ancient writings a few allu- 
 
 [108] 
 
EDUCATION 
 
 sions that gave them local color, we shall find 
 the ideas of Socrates, Epictetus, Seneca, and 
 Marcus Aurelius absolutely modern and ap- 
 plicable to our times. In this field of ethical 
 thought, men remain the same. The everlast- 
 ing struggle between the priests of dogma and 
 the rationalists was long ago summed up in 
 this speech of the Stoic slave, "Why don't 
 we do from reason what the Galileans do 
 from habit?" He added a criticism that 
 would be as pertinent to-day as it was in the 
 first century of the Christian era when he 
 accused the Christians of not leading a life in 
 conformity with their doctrines. I believe that 
 Epictetus, travelling now over our civilized 
 world, would retract nothing from that just 
 remark. 
 
 It is precisely because man does not think 
 as he wishes, but as he can, that education 
 should try to enlighten him, to show him the 
 road to that inner happiness which lives in 
 the satisfaction of an enlightened conscience. 
 
 Whoever has been touched in his moral 
 feelings by the lessons of his childhood will 
 feel the powerful attraction of such a state of 
 soul; his association of ideas will faU natu- 
 
 [109] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 rally into the circle, his thought will be fixed, 
 beset upon this task of ethical perfecting. He 
 will live with enthusiasm for what is good, 
 whether he depends upon a religious belief 
 that satisfies his aspirations towards another 
 world or whether he tries to find his road by 
 the light of reason. Eationalists have always 
 been accused of pride. The reproach would 
 be justified if they pretended to have found 
 or invented the only truth for themselves. 
 Their role is more modest; they have only 
 gathered the heritage of previous generations 
 and have taken from it what they could im- 
 derstand and love. We cannot ask of a man 
 more than the consideration of ideas sub- 
 mitted to him; he has the right to examine 
 them by the light of reason, even if it be de- 
 fective, for it is the only lantern that he has 
 in his search for truth. 
 
 [110] 
 
VI 
 
 MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 [111] 
 
yi 
 
 MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 The sole liberty that man enjoys is the 
 power to react under the influence of an idea, 
 the ability to obey either the motives of 
 feeling — that is to say, of his passions — or 
 the motives of reason. This obedience is 
 willing, and that is why we call it free, but 
 this willingness depends upon our innate and 
 acquired mentality. To struggle against the 
 temptation of the passions, we require not 
 liberty but a uniformity of moral views that 
 would make the mental balance lean to the 
 right side. It would be necessary for the 
 little head that we suppose at the end of the 
 indicator to have a clear view, a distinct 
 vision of what is good and of what is bad. 
 
 Education alone, in its broadest sense, is 
 able to give us this moral clear-sightedness 
 which in the determinist conception replaces 
 the idea of will. We must see the road be- 
 fore taking it. This education of moral con- 
 science is made either by our own experience 
 
 [113] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 of feeling and morals or by that of others. 
 It begins by being receptive to the teachings 
 of our educators, untU our culture is suffi- 
 cient to permit us the labor called personal. 
 This continued culture leads us not to liberty 
 but to the control of ourselves ; that is to say, 
 to a beneficent slavery in face of moral feel- 
 ings imposed upon the spirit. One may here 
 speak of the categorical imperative, not na- 
 tive and reduced to an imperceptible core of 
 conscience, but acquired and firmly based 
 upon our understanding. Of this noble idea 
 of moral determinism the wise Guyau was 
 able to say, "Who does not act according to 
 his thought acts imperfectly." 
 
 In analyzing the determinism of thought, 
 I have remarked that every mental repre- 
 sentation of an act produces the immediate 
 accomplishment of that act if it be not pre- 
 vented by a contrary mental representation. 
 This is a fact capable of verification, but re- 
 quiring its expression to be perfected. That 
 the idea may culminate in action, the mental 
 representation must kindle a desire. The 
 pure and intellectual idea has no motive 
 power ; it acquires this only by the addition of 
 
 [114] 
 
MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 an emotional and passionate element. Then 
 only does it become a force-idea, following 
 the correct description given by Fouillee — 
 according to common speech, sentiment, and 
 passion. This is what so many great minds 
 have not seen, accustomed as we are to admit 
 a fundamental difference between reason and 
 feeling, to disregard the tie that binds them. 
 Hear what Pascal says, that mystical and 
 neurasthenic genius who wrote so well, and 
 who so often thought imperfectly : 
 
 Man's conversion is prevented by his idleness, his pas- 
 sions, his pride — ^in a word, by his self-love. We cannot 
 expect to conquer this sentiment with an idea; a passion 
 only yields to a passion. 
 
 Truly, a passion only yields to a passion, 
 a sentiment only yields to a sentiment; we 
 could not put it better. But why did not Pas- 
 cal see that all our passions, with the excep- 
 tion of the purely animal ones (hunger, 
 thirst, sexual desires, need of physical com- 
 fort), are ideas become sentiments from be- 
 ing forced upon our understanding? The 
 passion that Pascal wished to oppose to 
 human passions, to ever-recurring egotism, 
 was religious passion; that is to say, an idea 
 
 [115] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 that had become hot from having been ham- 
 mered into his head. 
 
 It is true that man does not act directly 
 under the influence of ideas ; he is ripened by 
 sentiments. The act must have an attraction 
 . for him, and if it is a question of a complex 
 idea, of a moral conception, he must become 
 enthusiastic before he can become its apostle. 
 Sometimes the ethical idea presents itself to us 
 as does classical feminine beauty; we remain 
 cold towards the body of a goddess, towards 
 the elegant poise, towards the Grecian nose ; 
 she does not awaken love in us. But let us 
 know her thoroughly, and we shall recognise 
 the qualities of grace, of mind and of heart. 
 Beware, lest she strikes like the lightning, 
 for she is more dangerous, and we may be- 
 come her slaves. Thus it is that an idea takes 
 possession of us, and holds us in its claws. 
 In an article upon Brunetiere, a writer has 
 shown the illustrious critic during his march 
 towards Christianity as "guided by his logic 
 as a prisoner by his chain." The expression 
 is correct ; it demonstrates the slavery we are 
 in concerning our own thought, and our per- 
 sonal logic, which is not always that of 
 
 [116] 
 
MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 others. That of Brunetiere, through author- 
 ity and tradition, brought him to Rome ; that 
 of many others keeps them away just as im- 
 periously. I used above, by force of habit, 
 the expression "qualities of heart." Here 
 we are again before an empty pod; one of 
 those labels that do not correspond with the 
 contents. From the beginning of psychic 
 life, man noticed that certain thoughts pro- 
 duced a particular emotion, the strange sen- 
 sation of a full heart, of precordial suffering. 
 He saw this inhaling and forcing pump in- 
 tended to keep up the circulation associate 
 itself with our joys as with our griefs, and 
 in his unthinking language he immediately 
 relegated feeling to the heart and ideas to the 
 head. The fancy is poetic and as such merits 
 preservation, but we must not take compari- 
 son for reason. Sentiments are not born in 
 our heart, which has quite other functions; 
 they are awakened in our minds, under the 
 cold form of mental representation or picture. 
 Isolated, this idea could not produce the 
 emotional storm, but immediately associa- 
 tions of ideas surge up, reawakening ideas 
 already stored in our memory, and physical 
 
 [117] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 preparations are set going, revealing psychic 
 emotion. An isolated string of an instru- 
 ment can vibrate alone and produce a little 
 sound ; vibrating between other strings, prop- 
 erly stretched, it transmits its movement and 
 we get harmony, which gives us more than 
 its single sound. It is the same with the life 
 of the mind. Innumerable ideas may follow 
 one another through our head; they are iso- 
 lated strings, vibrating in succession; they 
 produce no emotional movement. This is 
 what generally happens in scientific work, in 
 spite of the abundance of ideas busy in our 
 mind. We remain cold in spite of intense in- 
 tellectual work. We read a letter, and noth- 
 ing among this succession of ideas at first 
 disturbs us. Suddenly we think we detect a 
 reproach in an expression intended to be 
 good-natured; we blush and our hearts beat 
 faster. This is because the idea that sprang 
 up awakened new ones; the shaking of a 
 string transmitted itself to others, and the 
 sound gained in volume. 
 
 It is by this awakening of previous mental 
 representations, already become sentiments 
 because they are habitual, and touching our 
 
 [118] 
 
MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 pride, that the phenomenon of emotion is pro- 
 duced. It begins by an idea, to which others 
 link themselves ; it ends in physiological dis- 
 turbances — pallor, blushing, tears, heart- 
 beatings, catching of breath, stomach trou- 
 ble, insomnia, etc. 
 
 There is the same difference between the 
 cold intellectual idea and warm feeling as be- 
 tween the simple tangible sensation and the 
 sensation of grief, which is also accompanied 
 by analogous physiological phenomena. Ex- 
 citement of the peripheric nerves becomes 
 painful when it passes a certain limit, and this 
 physical feeling varies in different individuals^ 
 If there are intense pains which induce in all 
 people analogous reactions, there are others 
 confined to certain persons. It is the same 
 with emotion; an event to which our neigh- 
 bour is indifferent throws us into the height 
 of agitation, and we recognise it to be un- 
 timely and disproportionate to the cause 
 which produces it. It is because we not only 
 obey the actual mental representations, the 
 momentary logical arguments, but obey be- 
 fore everything else the yoke of our previous 
 feelings, the ideas ranged at the bottom of 
 
 [119] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 our personality. They also have been intel- 
 lectual in their time, and they have become 
 sentiments because they satisfied our most 
 secret aspiration. There is not between sen- 
 timent and reason that antinomy which poets, 
 moralists, even psychologists, and, above all, 
 those impressionable beings called "nerv- 
 ous, ' ' are pleased to point out. The heart has 
 no "reasons that reason does not under- 
 stand." What is true is that man does not 
 think perfectly; he allows emotional storms 
 to burst forth when juster and prompter re- 
 flection would have prevented it. It is by this 
 clear view of things that we check growing 
 emotion, as we stop the vibration of a glass 
 by touching it with our fingers. It would still 
 be better not to allow it to start. 
 
 Many of my patients whose chief trouble is 
 emotional come to me saying, "My feelings 
 form a group apart, and my reason exists be- 
 side them; between these two compartments 
 there are air-tight partitions which do not 
 allow my reason to introduce order into my 
 feelings." I answer them, "You deceive 
 yourselves; there are no primary feelings; 
 they are all bound to a mental representation 
 
 [120] 
 
MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 of intellectual order, accessible to the criti- 
 cism of reason. So also is there a logic of 
 feelings. They should only penetrate our 
 soul and remain there when they have re- 
 ceived the permission of our reason. Your 
 tendency to separate these two fields equals 
 the saying, so commonplace and so foolish, 
 'It is stronger than I.' This is not the spirit 
 that leads to victory." 
 
 To our passions we can only oppose ideas, 
 but they must be sufficiently clear for us to 
 seize and carry them off; they then will be- 
 come feelings, passions, and we wUl act auto- 
 matically under their imperious injunction. 
 
 These directing ideas which should serve 
 us as guide are not voluntarily chosen in 
 what has been called "willing indifference"; 
 our choice is determined by our sympathies ; 
 let us call it our moral taste. In the presence 
 of the train of ideas continually filing past 
 our eyes, we are like a prince that has to 
 marry and to whom a number of young girls 
 are presented. He is graciously told, "You 
 are free; now choose." It is forgotten that 
 only a certain number of the same social rank 
 have been presented to him and that his 
 
 [121] 
 
SELF-C ONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 choice is forcibly restricted. "Whom will he 
 choose? Why, she who best pleases him. 
 Will he let himself be led by a pretty face, 
 or by the money-bags of an ugly one? Will 
 he act under the moral constraint of his 
 father, who gives him liberty in words only? 
 Well, that depends upon his mind, and prince 
 though he be, he has neither escaped the 
 effects of heredity nor the suggestions of his 
 education. 
 
 There are people who are really lucky in 
 this world. They are born among moral sur- 
 roundings, have been brought up kindly, 
 gently, by the affection of their parents, by 
 teaching and by example; more important 
 still, they have learned to understand these 
 moral ideas and have grasped the advantages 
 of beauty. Their education has been carried 
 on with that ability which makes for sincer- 
 ity, without forcing a choice upon them. Ex- 
 terior constraints have disappeared, and the 
 individual yields only to his personal sympa- 
 thies ; he feels himself free. Is it to be won- 
 dered at if he becomes wedded to these pet 
 ideas, if he be guided through life by them? 
 Other people have had the same advantages 
 
 [122] 
 
MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 and have chosen badly ; and like a dissipated 
 elder son upon whom honourable marriage is 
 urged and who prefers loose women, they dis- 
 dain virtue. Perhaps they have been treated 
 with greater severity ; perhaps they are incor- 
 rigible, abnormal, incapable of appreciating 
 real charm. Finally, others are not brought 
 up with this care, but like those young men 
 who, without knowing many women, still find 
 charming wives, they become enamoured of 
 virtue without being pushed towards it. Thus, 
 one may go astray in spite of all the favour- 
 able educative influences which seem to act 
 upon him, while another finds the right path 
 alone. 
 
 Education should compel nothing, for con- 
 straint produces opposition; it may suggest, 
 present ideas, demonstrate the advantages of 
 them, and create a liking for them without 
 urging them with displeasing insistence. 
 
 In the education of ourselves, we are like 
 the marrying man who, arriving home, thinks 
 over the girls that have been suggested to him, 
 finding in one new charms, in another more 
 serious qualities. We also are smitten with 
 ideas submitted to our judgment. Alas, we 
 
 [123] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 are often unfaithful to them, but the choice 
 made, this love must increase and the bond 
 become unbreakable ! 
 
 Education of ourselves when it succeeds 
 unites us to an ideal of good. "We may bor- 
 row these governing ideas from a set of doc- 
 trines, obey a religion that we admit to be re- 
 vealed, those moral laws which Le Play called 
 an "eternal decalogue." There are also 
 many people who require authority, who like 
 to bend before it, as well as to use it over 
 others. Needless to say, I am not one of 
 them. 
 
 We may also construct this ideal by 
 thought, by an increasing attachment to con- 
 ceptions which to us seem good, useful for us, 
 for others, and for humanity. The ideal is 
 the idea carried to infinity ; we move towards 
 the establishment of this conception like the 
 mathematician who draws a finite line on the 
 board and asks us to consider it infinite, by 
 supposing that it continues forever. 
 
 There is nobody in the world, however dis- 
 inherited he may be, who has not experienced 
 the benefit of kindness from a mother, a 
 friend, or some person or other — ^perhaps 
 
 [124] 
 
MORAL CLEAR-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 only that of a faithful dog. From that 
 minute he has the conception of that virtue. 
 It is easy for him to imagine somebody better 
 than his benefactor, and beyond that other, 
 still a better one. This "always better" 
 leads us straight to infinity, to the ideal of 
 kindness. In the same way, we conceive the 
 ideal of other virtues, whose beauty we recog- 
 nise, and it is this gathered knowledge that 
 will make the beacon of our ideal. 
 
 Alas, we often allow this beacon to go 
 out, which we should so carefully preserve, 
 and render brighter by adding the ideal of 
 another virtue! There are virtues whose 
 beauty we do not immediately recognise; 
 thus humility is very little appreciated and 
 chastity is ridiculed. It needs a certain ma- 
 turity of mind to arrive at patience and in- 
 dulgence ; these are not the virtues of youth. 
 The greatest fault of man is to lower his ideal, 
 while it can never be placed too high. It is 
 not a goal within our reach ; it is a star in the 
 firmament that guides our feet. Doubtless we 
 often go astray, we forget to look at the star 
 that should guide us, but it is always there, 
 and so we should look up! Do not become 
 
 [125] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 discouraged, and, to make the task easier, 
 do not take an object nearer us as guide, a 
 will-o 'the- wisp wMch. is disappearing, the 
 light of a house about to be put out, a trav- 
 eller who does not know the way. 
 
 We cannot make terms with virtue, nor ar- 
 rangements with the heavens. This ideal 
 seems lacking in the present generation. 
 Faith disappears, stifled under a mass of su- 
 perstitions; it inflames only a few isolated 
 souls in whom education has developed tra- 
 dition; it is associated with the dogmas of 
 others, with faithful attachment to superan- 
 nuated political forms, to an unchanging so- 
 cial order; it is the ideal of natures deeply 
 conservative, lost in this troubled age where 
 everything is given up to motive, where doubt 
 corrodes all our ideas. The result is an in- 
 describable uneasiness from this transitory 
 state of mind, and for our happiness we must 
 return to a faith; that is to say, to an en- 
 thusiasm. A few thinkers retain a valiant 
 religious optimism and hope that after many 
 strayings the docile sheep will come under 
 the crook. Their watch seems to me to be 
 slow, like Brunetiere, that great but wrong- 
 
 [126] 
 
MOBAL CLEAB-SIGHTEDNESS 
 
 headed man of letters. We must not forget 
 the thousands of souls that reform has sepa- 
 rated from Eome, those prosperous nations 
 that have found in the education of them- 
 selves, in a religion of mind, their strongest 
 support. We must have no illusion about the 
 religious feeling of the masses ostensibly 
 remaining faithful; the authority of the 
 Church has only trained them to an apparent 
 obedience. It has developed in them, not re- 
 ligious needs, but cultivated habits, without 
 moral influence. It is easier to subscribe to 
 these rites, to go to mass or to a sermon, to 
 eat fish, or to fast than to change one's heart 
 and become better to-day than one was yes- 
 terday. 
 
 What man needs is faith in an ideal of 
 moral beauty, an attachment increasingly 
 greater to ethical views, contributing to give 
 him happiness upon this earth ; not that hap- 
 piness dependent upon circumstances, but 
 inner happiness entirely resulting from a 
 complete unison between conduct and the 
 ideal aspiration. 
 
 We speak disdainfully of this utilitarian 
 morality that consists of the search for hap- 
 
 [127] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 piness. Now, those who rail would be unable 
 to name an act of their lives that was not 
 performed under the influence of this inerad- 
 icable desire. A moral that was not utilita- 
 rian would run a great risk of being a moral 
 without utility and without force. Criticism 
 of this independent morality would be just if 
 personal interest were its guide. One must 
 be blind to found morality upon egoism, but 
 that is a word the sense of which we must 
 agree upon before we wrangle about it. 
 
 [128] 
 
VII 
 
 EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 [129] 
 
VII 
 
 EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 There is a form of egoism that cannot be 
 recommended too highly; it is altruism. 
 When this word, a little barbaric, came to 
 take the place of "charity," a Protestant 
 pastor, with scant charity for those who did 
 not think as he did, sought to overwhelm 
 rationalism by saying, "Altruism is only 
 egoism perfected." He did not know how 
 truly he spoke nor how well that definition 
 applied even to "charity." The fact is, we 
 caimot get away from ourselves, and in the 
 end everything comes back to our ego. There 
 is a prepossession of one's self, a veritable 
 delight, even in sacrifice ; thus one has never 
 seen religious painters give the commonplace 
 expression of suffering to their martyrs — 
 they illuminated them with joy, their eyes 
 being raised to heaven. 
 
 The saying "It is better to give than to 
 receive" shows how thoroughly the popular 
 
 [131] 
 
SELP-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SBCUEE IT 
 
 mind seized this idea of pleasure in the ac- 
 complishment of good. "It feels fine to be 
 honest," Hector Malot makes one of his 
 street Arabs say. It does indeed, and that is 
 why there are so many good people in every 
 social class; and above all, down in the 
 masses, who suffer and who love. 
 
 It was not entirely a joke that illustrated 
 this thought by attributing to a miser the 
 saying, "Charity is a pleasure one must do 
 without." Not at aU; we must not go with- 
 out it; we must enjoy it and drink to the 
 dregs this cup without lees. 
 
 In opposing egoism to altruism a strange 
 confusion has been brought about. La 
 Eochefoucauld justly flayed the egoism of 
 men, but he exaggerated by sharply looking 
 for it in quite disinterested acts. It is indeed 
 easy to recognise everywhere this supreme 
 self-possession, but it is a mistake to see in 
 it a wrong sort of pride. Egoism, in its in- 
 criminating, culpable meaning, consists of 
 thinking of one's self only. Altruism makes 
 us think of others, of all humanity, ourselves 
 included; we cannot seek after the good of 
 every one without creating our own happi- 
 
 [132] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 ness. It may be mixed with troubles, but it 
 will be the happiness of our imiermost ego. 
 
 There are in every-day life a number of 
 occasions when we can abandon ourselves 
 without scruple to the most complete egoism. 
 This happens when an act concerns one's self 
 only and has no bearing on the welfare of 
 others. But in this field of allowable egoism 
 we may be asked to give up a pleasure because 
 it hinders the liberty of our fellow men. 
 
 In the family we owe duties to others, and 
 the circle of our preoccupations widens; it 
 stretches to a certain number of loved beings. 
 There is altruism in this feeling, but marital 
 or family egoism is what dominates; it is 
 little better than personal egoism, because 
 the circle is still too small. By perfecting 
 our own thought, we reach the stage of think- 
 ing about distant relations, our friends, our 
 social class, the town in which we live, our 
 country. By concentric circles the altruistic 
 thought extends further and further and 
 creates the spirit of responsibility towards 
 humanity entire. The idea remains concrete 
 in spite of its extension; it applies to the 
 actual world that we know ; finally, it is raised 
 
 [133] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 to abstraction and culmiaates in the idea of 
 good and evU. 
 
 Good in being done by everybody contrib- 
 utes to the happiness of all; evU, if done by 
 every one, would destroy this happiness. 
 This explanation seems to me to preserve its 
 value, whatever be the individual conception 
 of good, whether sought for in this world or 
 in the next. In self-examination nothing is 
 harder than to recognise the nature of the 
 feelings that make us act — to know if we obey 
 our egoistic thought or if we enter the path 
 of that constant altruism so necessary to our 
 happiness. Our reflections, natural and le- 
 gitimate as they may be, are not always as 
 noble as they seem to be. Love as sung by 
 the poets is very far from being a moral 
 ideal; a German poet was able to say with 
 reason that "Love is the poetry of egoism." 
 Far be it from me to traduce that passion, 
 but do not let us be deceived about animal 
 origins, or the feline character of caresses; 
 do not let us make too much a virtue of 
 them. This is so small a virtue that, when 
 it becomes unhealthy it may lead directly to 
 crime, to the murder of the being loved. 
 
 [134] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 Maternal love is the purest; this is shown 
 by sacrij&ee, by complete forgetfulness of 
 self. It does not in any way lessen its value 
 to call it instinctive or automatic, or to say 
 that its derivation is common to beasts and 
 men. It is seen to survive among persons 
 otherwise denuded of every altruistic feeling. 
 This feeling, so touching, is not enough, how- 
 ever, to secure reform in the human species ; 
 filial love, which is its converse, has continued 
 without creating a spirit of responsibility 
 which alone can diffuse happiness. 
 
 It is curious to notice how many persons 
 deceive themselves about the nature of their 
 feelings towards others, quite unmindful of 
 the egoism at the bottom. As an instance, a 
 young girl who during convalescence was 
 isolated and whose mother, worn out with long 
 months of nursing, hoped to enjoy a rest, 
 begged me to take her back to her mother 
 immediately. When I asked the girl why she 
 wanted her mother, she answered, "Oh, be- 
 cause I love her so much!" — a fine way in- 
 deed to show her love for her mother by dis- 
 turbing her much-needed rest. The patient 
 might have said, "I haven't the courage to do 
 
 [135] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 without my mother." I would have forgiven 
 this feeliag without approving it. She was 
 astonished that I would not recognise the 
 altruistic character of her prepossessions. 
 There are people who make a virtue of the 
 tears they shed, their laments, upon the death 
 of a person loved ; they make a show of their 
 mourning. While I do not expect them to 
 have dry eyes, they should recognise that this 
 grief has a purely egoistic origin. We do 
 not pity the dead, who can no longer suffer ; 
 we pity ourselves and our separation from 
 them. It is as natural as to cry out when we 
 are hurt, but we should not make a virtue of 
 this feeliag, in which there is neither cour- 
 ageous stoicism, altruism, nor goodness. 
 
 It is often the same with pity. To be 
 healthy, pity should be useful, should broaden 
 us, and suggest promptly the means to suc- 
 cour those who are in trouble. Pity which 
 softens us, plunges us into useless emotion, 
 and prevents us from acting, is weakness. It 
 is that lamentable pusillanimity which is so 
 often seen in nervous people who cannot read 
 of an accident without shaking with puerile 
 fears. Some pride themselves upon this sus- 
 
 [136] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 ceptibility, as if it were an expression of love 
 for others. A man who was afflicted with 
 diverse phobias, such as fear of microbes, of 
 certain other things, and of death, who always 
 had his eyes fixed upon his own dear body, 
 said to me : "I suffered greatly when I heard 
 of the catastrophe in Martinique. I am so 
 susceptible to the misfortune of others that 
 I ought to give up reading this sort of news." 
 "And," said I, "you think you are express- 
 ing an altruistic sentiment by it!" "Cer- 
 tainly, what else could it be?" "Pardon me, 
 but it was nothing but intense fear. You have 
 a constant dread of death, are alarmed at the 
 smallest indispositions. The tale of this mis- 
 fortune merely awakened your terror by re- 
 minding you of the frailty of human exist- 
 ence ; above all, of your own. I will bet that 
 you haven't given a cent to the victims of 
 this cataclysm!" "That's a fact," he re- 
 plied smiling; "I never thought of it." 
 
 Submit our pity to the criticism of reason 
 and we shall easUy recognise an ever-lively 
 egoism in the midst of apparently altruistic 
 grief. This does not mean that we can always 
 resist these feelings, that they are in them- 
 
 [137] 
 
SELF-CONTROL A^J) HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 selves culpable. We have the right to weep 
 over those we lose, to suffer with others ; we 
 cannot always prevent fear taking hold of 
 us; but we should admit also that there is 
 nothing edifying in emotions, and that, the 
 first moment of surprise past, we should busy 
 ourselves in the single aim of soothing those 
 who suffer, instead of giving them the spec- 
 tacle of our affection. 
 
 "What would we say of a doctor, or of a 
 sister of St. Vincent de Paul, who whUe the 
 wounded were coming in began to weep in 
 the ambulance instead of doing his or her 
 duty? Life to us is a field of battle ; we are 
 surroxmded by the suffering ; we gather in the 
 wounded by thousjmds. Let us dry useless 
 tears and bind up the wounds with a comfort- 
 ing snule for the sufferers. This is not a task 
 reserved for doctors alone; everyone should 
 take part in this charitable work ; it is recip- 
 rocal, and we aU have need of it. 
 
 The same confusion reigns in our mind in 
 our conception of duty. We often fulfil it in 
 a spirit of sullenness, like a child reluctantly 
 studying its lessons. 
 
 When the essence of supreme duty is un- 
 
 [138] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 derstood, duty is performed with joy; it 
 creates pleasure in our soul, and it is exactly 
 tMs that induces us to accomplish it in spite 
 of the sacrifices it may entail upon ourselves. 
 A lady, gifted with a fine intelligence and a 
 beautiful mind, said to me one day: "I have 
 a friend whose greatest wish has always been 
 to take the veil. Her father being dead and 
 her mother having to bring up a large f amUy 
 alone, she bravely gave up her vocation to 
 help her mother in her task." "What you 
 tell me is very fine ; there is a young girl who 
 has chosen the right road!" "Well, she suf- 
 fers cruelly from the sacrifice she made." 
 "Then I don't understand it at all. If you 
 had told me she suffered anguish the day she 
 made her resolutions, if you had told me of 
 moral struggles in making up her mind, I 
 could easily grasp her condition of mind. 
 But, once the sacrifice was made, there was 
 no room for suffering; your friend had an 
 erroneous idea of duty; she has not under- 
 stood its gentle delight." 
 
 The lady did not yet seem to be convinced 
 of the soundness of my criticism. She under- 
 stood me when I took a simple and more 
 
 [139] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 demonstrable example. "You are to go to a 
 ball to-night and you have been looking for- 
 ward to it for a long time. While you are 
 dressing, your mother is taken seriously ill. 
 Then you are obliged to stay with her, to 
 take care of her. It is doubtless unfortunate, 
 and no one expected you not to be for the 
 moment sorry. But you wiU admit that it 
 was also very natural that you should think 
 of your mother with tender feelings, with 
 sympathy. Knowing you as I do, I should 
 be very much surprised if that did not stifle 
 the other feeling. Upon this condition alone 
 could your mother accept the sacrifice and 
 give herself up to your care. If she saw that 
 you stUl suffered, that your thoughts were 
 at the ball, that you looked longingly at your 
 finery, she would herself suffer, and might 
 say to you, 'Go to the ball, I wUl get along 
 with a trained nurse.' Would you feel happy 
 then dancing with your partner ? ' ' 
 
 Duty, however painful it may be, however 
 hard the first renouncement, should be accom- 
 plished joyfully — from the time one's consent 
 is given, all suffering disappears. As with a 
 child, we replace by a greater and more last- 
 
 [140] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 ing pleasure one he has had to forego. 
 Doubtless in the course of a life consecrated 
 to duty, hesitations may arise and reaT^aken 
 the pain of renouncement when decision is 
 made again. "When we have succeeded in ma- 
 king our choice, tranquillity should again 
 result. 
 
 The idea of duty is not complete, not under- 
 stood so long as the least idea of drudgery is 
 mixed with it. "We cannot benefit by a sacri- 
 fice made for us while we feel that it is not 
 made willingly. It is really curious that the 
 conception of joy in duty has been so little 
 propagated. The majority of people only ac- 
 complish duty with visible effort, and so un- 
 graciously that the object of the sacrifice 
 would rather have done without the queer ex- 
 hibition of sympathy. "We recognise here the 
 short-sighted vision of man, who does not 
 know how to prolong his thought, to push it 
 to the very limit of the ideal. He stops to 
 consider his own person, sometimes stretches 
 his affections to those nearest him; he does 
 not know how to raise himself by a rational 
 thought that wiU engender right feeling, ma- 
 king a passion of altruism that embraces in a 
 
 [141] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 conunon love everything created. Like a child 
 that only grasps simple examples, we practise 
 altraism easily enoxigh ■when the resultant ad- 
 vantage is before our eyes. Thus, ia a re- 
 stricted society, pursuing a cooperative aim, 
 we know how to renounce personal advan- 
 tage, bring in our share, and thinTr of the 
 good of the society, for we clearly see that 
 we shall be caUed upon to reap the common 
 benefits. Would it not be possible to general- 
 ize this view, to apply it to moral well-being 
 as to material advantages, to draw continu- 
 ally greater circles around us, forgetting, so 
 to speak, that we are at the centre of them? 
 
 Eeligion and philosophy mutually reproach 
 each other with putting personal egoistic 
 reasons at the base of their efforts towards 
 good. Stoicism is, like epicurism, an egois- 
 tic manifestation. With a valour clothed in 
 pride, suffering is suppressed by disdaining 
 it ; it is a useful way for the strong to make 
 themselves easy in mind. 
 
 On the other hand, we reply to Christians : 
 Your prepossessions are equally egoistic. 
 First, you in no way disdain this world's hap- 
 piness, and in your pride of possessing the 
 
 [142] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 only truth you practise your religion in its 
 easiest forms, so as to secure a comfortable 
 place in heaven and avoid eternal punish- 
 ment. There is injustice in these judgments, 
 for we must discriminate. There may be vul- 
 gar egoism in both conceptions; both may 
 also be raised to the noblest altruism. 
 
 The egoist, whether Christian or philoso- 
 pher, thinks of himself only, whether he seeks 
 after worldly material or moral advantages, 
 or whether he expects them in another world ; 
 the motive power is personal interest, and if 
 it be moral, it is still earthly, for it is com- 
 mon both to man and to the animal that also 
 obeys the attraction of recompense and the 
 fear of punishment. 
 
 Persistent craving for happiness becomes 
 altruistic only when man recognises the real- 
 ization of his aspirations in an ardent love 
 for others, when he draws the circle around 
 humanity entire. He cannot be outside this 
 circle ; he is of necessity part of it, and there 
 is no egoism in this assertion. Agnostic 
 philosophy draws this circle of love around 
 humanity; it unites there its abstract ideal 
 of inJBnite goodness; it forgets itself in this 
 
 [143] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 altruistic preoccupation, knowing all the time 
 by its reason that it wiU never fail to be ben- 
 efited by it. 
 
 The real Christian thinks likewise, but this 
 is by clothing his fine ideal in a personal God, 
 whom he loves with all his might. 
 
 Without this constant spirit of responsibil- 
 ity, religion as well as philosophy would re- 
 main plainly egoistic whatever might be the 
 so-called sacrifice, the many renouncements 
 of this world's goods by which one hopes to 
 buy present or future happiness. Morality is 
 then only an appearance ; it only shows itself 
 in useless practices. This is what made me 
 tell an excellent lady who had not thought 
 deeply, "You are more bigoted than relig- 
 ious. ' ' She answered smiling, ' ' You speak in 
 the same words that my spiritual adviser, an 
 intelligent Jesuit father, recently used to 
 me. " " "Well, so much the better ; we agree on 
 this subject." 
 
 All morality is utilitarian — that is what 
 makes it so desirable — but it no longer ap- 
 plies to the isolated individual, to a little 
 group of egoists ; it embraces everything and 
 becomes the morality of responsibility. It is 
 
 [144] 
 
EGOISM AND ALTRUISM 
 
 summed up in these two rational principles 
 almost mathematically demonstrable, "Do 
 not do to others what you would not like 
 them to do to you," and its natural corollary, 
 "Do to others what you would like them to 
 do to you." It is admirably condensed in the 
 words of Christ, "Love your neighbour as 
 yourself," or as Marcus Aurelius said, "Love 
 men with all thy heart." 
 
 We know this ; we say it, we respect it, and 
 we add, " It is fine, but it is impossible. ' ' We 
 might just as well not recognise it. Doubtless 
 it is difficult, and it would be a strange illu- 
 sion to expect a prompt realization of this 
 moral ideal. We are so far from it in nine- 
 teen centuries of Christianity that we appear 
 to have gone away from it. But we cannot in- 
 fluence the minds of crowds except through 
 individuals, by awakening in them an altruis- 
 tic quality of human iutelligence ; we must 
 address ourselves to reason without being dis- 
 couraged by its weakness. Eeason grows, 
 and there is no obstacle that would prevent 
 forever the development of moral intelli- 
 gence. It is science — that is to say, knowl- 
 edge — in theory; it is art in practice like all 
 applied sciences. 
 
 [145] 
 
VIII 
 
 MEDITATION 
 
 [147] 
 
VIII 
 
 MEDITATION 
 
 It is not necessary to incite man to think. 
 Supposing tliat lae sleeps eight hours a day, 
 he thinks uninterruptedly during sixteen 
 hours ; in sleep he still dreams about what has 
 previously occupied his mind. We might 
 sometimes wish for a moment of rest for this 
 ever-active machine. The heart, that slave 
 condemned to strike regular blows day and 
 night during an entire lifetime, might inspire 
 pity, but at least it does not feel, like a tamed 
 animal ; it is not conscious of its misery. The 
 mind, alas, is able to think ! "When it is sad, 
 it laments its own lot ; when it is glad, it dulls 
 present joy by regret for the past and by fear 
 for the future. Our poor brain has not an 
 easy life, and what surprises me is not that 
 there should be so many crazy people, but that 
 our heads should be able to resist the con- 
 tinual procession of ideas and emotions which 
 they produce — that fevered and often dis- 
 ordered activity. 
 
 [149] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 We must live and earn our livelihood; 
 hence the thought of man is concentrated be- 
 fore all else upon his professional activity. 
 From the time when he wakes, the care of 
 existence takes possession of him and pushes 
 him to work. The streets are full of business 
 people ; many of them are anxious ones, who 
 seem to look upon their tasks as a nuisance ; 
 others better disposed go to work as to a 
 pleasure. This is because work is a pleas- 
 ure La itself; it satisfies ambitious aspira- 
 tions, artistic tastes, altruistic sentiments of 
 duty. Beneficent custom is mingled with it; 
 that always renders activity easier and di- 
 minishes fatigue. In moments of relaxation 
 when man escapes his daily drudgery, he be- 
 comes a child again and is amused with any- 
 thing. He runs breathlessly to see pass by 
 four men headed by a drum; joins a crowd 
 looking into the river without seeing anything 
 unusual; is partial to any kind of show, to 
 material amusements; he dines, intoxicates 
 himself, flirts, or gambles. His day is divided 
 between necessary work and recreation that 
 is often puerUe, and sometimes culpable. The 
 best gifted are aristocratic in their pleasures ; 
 
 [150] 
 
MEDITATION 
 
 they interest themselves in fine arts, in se- 
 rious things. They are able to find some roses 
 among the thorns, and for all that they are 
 often more bored than those who, stunted in 
 their development, enjoy life childishly ; they 
 suffer more from those inner contradictions 
 which are called the discordances of existence. 
 
 This prosaic thought which directs one's 
 professional activity, this tension of mind, this 
 assiduity that makes one a statesman, a sa- 
 vant, an artist, a business man, a tradesman, 
 an artisan, is not enough for one's happiness. 
 It is not enough to follow one's trade, to ac- 
 complish one's material task like a soldier 
 of the regiment of humanity, not enough to 
 find means for recreation without falling into 
 vice. There is something still more needful, 
 more useful for everybody's happiness; it is 
 to acquire the virtues that help human inter- 
 course, that bring us inner satisfaction, which 
 is superior to aU superficial and contingent 
 pleasures— in a word, to form character. 
 
 In a little book,' containing many sugges- 
 tions, the Abbe Guibert, head of the Seminary 
 
 i"Le Caraotlre." Librairie Veuve Ch. Foussielgnie] 
 Paris, 1905. 
 
 [151] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL 'AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 of the Catholic Institute of Paris, writes: 
 "We attain a definition of character, the 
 usual result of many tendencies that conflict 
 in the life of man. To give to tendencies 
 favorable to good preponderance over vicious 
 inclinations would be, consequently, the fun- 
 damental rule to lay down in the foundation 
 of character." Then he adds: "To worldly 
 people, ordinarily taken up with frivolity, or 
 absorbed by work, we do not know better ad- 
 vice to give than to impress upon them the 
 inviolable obligation of a quarter of an hour's 
 reflection in the morning and at least five 
 minutes at the end of the day." 
 
 For my part, I cannot recommend this 
 method, it recalls monastic rules. In our 
 agitated existence we might not always be 
 able to reserve these poor twenty minutes, 
 and this short meditation would be quite in- 
 sufficient for moral development. Hours, 
 rather than minutes, of reflection should be 
 given to it. We can easUy find them in the 
 twenty-four hours of the day without neglect- 
 ing our customary work. Let us concentrate 
 to meditation, not a given time, but the scraps 
 of time we use so badly during our waking 
 
 [152] 
 
MEDITATION 
 
 hours, those moments of vague thought when 
 our minds play truant and, like the street 
 urchin, do not always avoid foolishness. We 
 must reflect always, before, during, and after 
 action. 
 
 One day Franklin was asked how he hap- 
 pened to see clearly into problems of 
 physical science. "By always thinking of 
 them, ' ' he replied. It is the same with ethical 
 order; we only come near the ideal by 
 "always thinking of it," by examining every- 
 thing by its light. It illuminates our path, 
 prevents our making mistakes, and those that 
 we do make are not quite regrettable if, after 
 recognising the wrong road, we seek to return 
 to the right one. "The beginning of wisdom 
 is the knowledge of one's faults," said Epi- 
 curus. We need, then, a constant examina- 
 tion of conscience, and, if it is done in the 
 right spirit, it never leads to unhealthy 
 scruples, to that sulky Puritanism which 
 clothes virtue in so austere a dress that we 
 should feel tempted to throw ourselves in 
 the arms of amiable folly. When we have 
 created our moral ideal, after tasting the 
 charms of virtue, after experiencing the hap- 
 
 [153] 
 
SE LF-CONTBOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 piness it procures us, we no longer obey un- 
 willingly a severe rule, a pedantic authority; 
 we follow tlie natural bent of our desires, and 
 we abandon ourselves to its comfort. Before 
 acting in any capacity, we glance at the im- 
 mediate and distant consequences of our acts ; 
 we act, so to speak, automatically under the 
 single pressure of ethical sentiments collected 
 in the depth of our minds. In action, the 
 details of our deeds and gestures are in a 
 measure regulated in advance, without our 
 having to make an effort to conform our acts 
 to our customary thought. 
 
 A young woman who certainly had nothing 
 to reproach herself with, but who, it ap- 
 peared, found a certain charm in fancy, said 
 to me, "Well, then, we must always stick to 
 the rails." "Yes — unless you would rather 
 be derailed." Alas, we are derailed often 
 enough, and there is no fear that this educa- 
 tion of ourselves will become efficacious to the 
 point of making virtue commonplace and tire- 
 some ; good subjects will never fail the future 
 novelists. At least, let us avoid derailment — 
 from moral carelessness or love of the pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 [154] 
 
MEDITATION 
 
 After acting do not let us rest on the 
 laurels we award ourselves or that others too 
 easily bestow upon us. It is the time when 
 self-criticism becomes useful. 
 
 In the numberless moments of idleness that 
 we glean in the course of the day, when walk- 
 ing or dressing, when alone in the street, or 
 among occupations that do not take concen- 
 tration of mind, or at the end of the day, let 
 us take a look at what we have done. "We 
 should not be satisfied with a rapid "satis- 
 fecit" or accept without reserve the approba- 
 tion or recognition of others. Even praise 
 should not blind us, and we should bring to 
 light the secret motives that make us act and 
 which are not always as noble as they appear 
 at first sight. 
 
 Suppose, for instance, a doctor has de- 
 votedly cared for a patient — for the papers 
 speak of such cases every day, and doctors 
 are prodigal in their attentions. The patient 
 is satisfied and shows his gratitude by word 
 of mouth, or in a touching letter. Very well, 
 but is that everything? Is it enough to pocket 
 the compliments and become puffed up with 
 the feeling of one's value? No. Do not let 
 
 [155] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 this practitioner be afraid to criticise himself. 
 He will discover, perhaps, that the social posi- 
 tion of his patient was not without influence 
 upon his apparently altruistic solicitude. 
 Another day he will catch himself in the fact 
 of his vanity, his principal anxiety having 
 been to pronounce a clever diagnosis and to 
 show his superiority over his confreres. 
 
 But this is human, we say, it is excusable. 
 Certainly, but we excuse only that which is 
 not good. It is no less our task constantly to 
 purify our motives for action. Will this be 
 too difficult? Do we need a special aptitude 
 for psychological analysis that is accessible 
 only to certain minds ? Oh, no ; we all have 
 an amazing faculty when it is a question of 
 sifting, not our own conduct, but that of our 
 fellow men. We are all little La Eochefou- 
 caulds when it comes to depreciating others, 
 in revealing egotistical motives that we 
 attribute to their actions. 
 
 Is not this knowledge of the human heart 
 that we thus show a little suspicious ? Should 
 not we study these ugly faults in ourselves? 
 Is it very charitable to lend them to others 
 so easUy? We have to settle the same sort 
 
 [156] 
 
MEDITATION 
 
 of questions every day, after we have grasped 
 the value of this moralizing meditation. Do 
 not let us say that time is lacking, since we 
 find so much in which to belittle our neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 I am struck with the time taken daily to 
 acquire less important virtues, while so little 
 is thought of the necessary work called forma- 
 tion of character. Our young girls work at 
 the piano, give themselves up for hours to 
 exercises as tiresome for them as for their 
 neighbours. This would be all right if they 
 at least accomplished their purpose and suc- 
 ceeded in gi\Tng pleasure, but the majority 
 often give up very late this study, resulting 
 in pure waste of time. Others become enthu- 
 siastic over painting and succeed only in in- 
 creasing the number of "daubs." "Empty- 
 heads" of both sexes take up lawn tennis. I 
 have not found that they acquired by it the 
 grace and beauty of the young Athenians re- 
 turning from the palaestra. They affect an 
 ambition to be a virUe set — English training, 
 play football, take up boating and cycling, and 
 the newspapers report their "matches" with 
 home or foreign teams. Some fence, take 
 
 [157] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Swedish or other gymnastics, and goodness 
 knows what else. I understand that some 
 classes teach how to cut pigeons' wings. Far 
 be it from me to condemn the greater num- 
 ber of these amusements; they have their 
 uses. But we must admit that they do not 
 incite meditation, of which we have such 
 great Jieed. It is not possible in this sporting 
 activity, in this hurly-burly of fashionable 
 life. We need greater solitude, more inti- 
 mate and personal reflection, and less read- 
 ing. 
 
 Certainly it is good to learn the thoughts 
 of others, but in literary culture we must 
 turn less to the novelists who so often deck 
 out vices than to the moralists of all times, 
 and especially to the ancient philosophers, 
 who have portrayed the human soul as the 
 artists of their time fixed the ideal form of 
 the human body in marble. 
 
 The entire human mind is exposed in the 
 teachings of the two rival schools of the Stoics 
 and the Epicureans in the "Manuel" of the 
 slave Epictetus as in the "Thoughts" of the 
 emperor Marcus Aurelius. Seneca sums 
 them up in his admirable letters to Lucilius, 
 
 [158] 
 
MEDITATION 
 
 in his penetrating studies on anger and peace 
 of mind ; in the book on ' ' Benefits. ' ' In these 
 works of our predecessors there is an inex- 
 haustible treasure of accurate and fine 
 thought. 
 
 But, above all, let us explore again and 
 again to the depth of ourselves; during our 
 active life criticise ourselves without pity and 
 correct our faults. Let us learn to recognise 
 with absolute sincerity towards ourselves the 
 secret springs that induce our actions. Let 
 us give up the task, as useless as it is wicked, 
 of criticising others, and turn our scrutiny 
 upon ourselves. The discovery of our faults 
 will not discourage us if we look ahead, use 
 past teachings to improve the future, and live 
 in the constant thought of moral development. 
 
 When we have grasped the absolute neces- 
 sity of this ethical culture of our ego, medi- 
 tation becomes a necessity, a moral habit. 
 Reflection is associated so easUy with action 
 that it does not retard psychological reac- 
 tions. On the contrary, they are more rapid 
 as they become habitual ; constant anxiety for 
 inner moralization in no way diminishes this 
 apparent spontaneity; it is actually the result 
 
 [159] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 of the rapidity with which thought follows 
 thought and action thought. 
 
 We continue to obey our feelings ; to those 
 ideas that have become glowing by being 
 meditated upon we become fixed like a psy- 
 chological automaton of virtue. 
 
 This automatism is already shown in many 
 ways among the majority of persons who 
 have undergone only the most corrupting 
 moral influence. Many people are not held 
 back by fear of the police alone; the idea 
 of theft, for instance, does not even come to 
 them, so firmly fixed in their mind is the 
 feeling that it is not right. For the most 
 part, we are incapable of murder, of picking 
 our neighbour's pocket, of knowingly break- 
 ing our given word. We have need of no 
 effort to fight bad natural impulses, so power- 
 ful in the uncultivated man. 
 
 Might it not be the same, by a slow cul- 
 tivation of the moral ego, in the practice of 
 other virtues such as tolerance, diligence, 
 patience, chastity, kindness? Might they 
 not also take on this character of psy- 
 chological automatism? I cannot see what 
 should prevent absolutely and always this 
 
 [160] 
 
MEDITATION 
 
 ethical progress, for virtues spring, like re- 
 spect for the prosperity of others, from 
 rational bases. In this last century of civili- 
 zation, of material progress, morality has 
 been greatly neglected ; it seems to have been 
 forgotten. A Roman prelate, the incarnation 
 of clerical absolutism, in commenting on the 
 rupture of France with the Church, made this 
 avowal : ' ' We have to take stock of ourselves ; 
 we were wrong in putting dogmatic formulas 
 in the front rank and leaving too little room 
 for moral teaching. We are reaping what we 
 sowed." 
 
 For the good of humanity, we must repair 
 this error and cultivate the neglected ground. 
 Every co-operation is good in this field, and 
 the rationalists can shake hands with the 
 believers, provided the latter are sincere and 
 are able to see in ethics the jewel of religious 
 and philosophical thought. 
 
 "Let us endeavor to think rightly; that is 
 the principle of morality, ' ' said Pascal. 
 
 [161] 
 
IX 
 
 TOLERANCE 
 
 [163] 
 
IX 
 
 TOLERANCE 
 
 ToLEBANCE is a virtue that we energetically 
 demand from our opponents and one that we 
 refuse to practise towards them. 
 
 Nevertheless, its practise would greatly 
 facilitate dealings between men; it would be 
 better to practise it a little every day than 
 to save it for Christmas. "Peace on earth, 
 good will to men" — we have been repeating 
 that for nearly two thousand years without 
 changing the condition of the world. With- 
 out tolerance there is perpetual warfare 
 among individuals, among social groups, be- 
 tween peoples — that famous ' ' struggle for ex- 
 istence" which Darwin observed among ani- 
 mals, and which has been adopted as the line 
 of conduct for the human race. It seems as 
 if we found in that natural law, which never- 
 theless has many exceptions, a useful justifi- 
 cation for egoism. Tolerance would mean 
 peace and progress brought about by the con- 
 currence of all "harmony for existence" 
 
 [165] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 taking the place of the ' ' struggle, ' ' as Mme. J. 
 Hudry-Menos so well said. With people who 
 think differently from us, discussion would 
 become possible, and then light would shine 
 through. Not being irritated by the abuse of 
 others, we would submit their ideas to the 
 good-natured criticism of our reason. Some- 
 times we would keep our own opinions, finding 
 them well founded ; at others we would be per- 
 suaded ; we would weaken. We would under- 
 stand our opponents and we would show our 
 motives, without having recourse to "I 
 know," by which we cover our ignorance, or 
 "I believe," in reply to which our opponent 
 can only say, "Much good may it do you." 
 Imagine for an instant how changed the 
 aspect of things would be if this virtue, rec- 
 ognised as so desirable, had more than a 
 theoretical vogue. We should no longer find 
 intelligent persons surprised to learn that 
 there is something monstrous in the phrase 
 "religious wars," even as in the combina- 
 tion of the guillotine and worship of the 
 Goddess of Eeason. 
 
 People of quite opposite opinions — there 
 would necessarily be fewer of them, because 
 
 [166] 
 
TOLERANCE 
 
 people would of tener agree — would know how 
 to overcome their differences, find a point of 
 agreement, and mutually help in the pursuit 
 of a common ideal. There is a form of tol- 
 erance that is the endowment of well-brought- 
 up people; it consists in not buttonholing 
 those who think differently from them; but 
 this aristocratic tolerance is disdainful. 
 There is a way of showing people they are 
 idiots more hurtful than a blow. Sometimes 
 tolerance is only due to a sceptical eclecti- 
 cism; it is one method of believing nothing. 
 It makes clever people say, "All the same to 
 me anyway." This polite indulgence is not 
 steady; it disappears as soon as political, 
 religious, or philosophical passions arise to 
 trouble the judgment. 
 
 It is often the same with tolerance result- 
 ing from a life in common with persons of 
 different opinions, it does not always engen- 
 der real respect for the ideas of others ; force 
 of circumstances imposes it. An abbe lately 
 wrote me, with a cynical frankness, that he 
 approved of religious tolerance only in mixed 
 countries when nothing else was possible on 
 account of the opponents' strength. 
 
 [167] 
 
SBLF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SBCUEE IT 
 
 Political parties justify their compromises 
 by necessity for defence, for the country's 
 good. We hardly dare preach intolerance 
 any longer, but we always find means to jus- 
 tify, to excuse it, if only on the score of 
 retaliation. 
 
 Sincere, complete, and lasting toleration is 
 based upon quite different conceptions. It 
 springs naturally from knowledge of moral 
 determinism. As soon as I know that my 
 opponent is unable to hold another opinion 
 than the one expressed, resulting from his in- 
 nate or acquired mentality, I give htm up ; it 
 would be absurd of me to expect him forth- 
 with to think like me. 
 
 If Eousseau had better understood the 
 idea of determinism, he would not have dis- 
 figured his "Contrat Social" by such phrases 
 as this: "We must mercilessly banish from 
 the republic all sectarians who say 'there is 
 no salvation outside of our church,' " for 
 such intolerance in matters of dogma neces- 
 sarily invites intolerance, inequality, injus- 
 tice, and dissensions in civil affairs. Eous- 
 seau did not see that he was guilty of 
 precisely the very fault with which he accused 
 
 [168] 
 
TOLERANCE 
 
 his opponents, and dared to write a few lines 
 further on: "The state should then accept as 
 members only those who adhere to this moral 
 and social creed and should punish most 
 severely, even with death, whomsoever, after 
 having accepted it, denies it either by word or 
 deed." This is the limit of intolerance. We 
 constantly forget that the persons talking to 
 us think with the heads that are upon their 
 own shoulders and not with our heads, that 
 they see things from another angle, in other 
 colors; we forget that we should think as 
 they do if we had the same temperament, if 
 we had experienced the same educational, 
 physical, intellectual, and moral influences. 
 We may be astonished and pained to find 
 them so far from us, to see them reject opin- 
 ions that we consider established and indis- 
 putable. We have never the right to consider 
 them responsible for their ignorance, to show 
 them disdain ; if we believe ourselves to be in 
 a position to influence them, let us remember 
 that flies are caught with honey and not with 
 vinegar. Has not St. Francis de Sales said, 
 "Better silence a truth than give it ungently 
 and with bad grace?" Men often resemble 
 
 [169] 
 
SELP-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 two persons, each, having climbed on top of 
 different hillocks to see the country. One 
 says, "Look at that little steeple down there." 
 ' ' Steeple ? What are you talking about, fool ? 
 It is a fir-tree." "You are mad; you call 
 chalk cheese ; it is a steeple. " " You are mad 
 yourself; it is a fir-tree." They are on the 
 point of coming to blows when the idea of 
 changing hillocks comes to them, and then 
 they discover that both are right and might 
 have avoided their abuse. From one mound 
 a steeple is seen, from the other a fir-tree. 
 
 We should think of this little epilogue when 
 arguing with opponents. Even if they are 
 mentally unsound, they owe this defect to 
 faulty education, and we shall not improve 
 their minds by bad treatment. The idea of 
 moral determinism is alone sufficient to insure 
 tolerance, but this virtue bears upon another 
 idea — that there are no absolute truths exclu- 
 sive of facts. 
 
 We err in making will a faculty, since it is 
 only a moment of thought; we err again by 
 giving a concrete meaning to the word 
 "truth," which is only abstract and signifies 
 a relation. "Truth is the agreement of 
 
 [170] 
 
TOLBEANCE 
 
 thought with its object," say the philoso- 
 phers. Leibnitz says, with greater exactness, 
 "It is the agreement of the representations 
 in our minds with things." It is even a 
 license of speech to use the substantive here, 
 for it is the adjective that designates the rela- 
 tion of things. It would be better to say to 
 somebody who has appreciated a situation, 
 "You have spoken truly," than to say, "You 
 have spoken the truth." 
 
 Some persons taking a walk see a black 
 mass in the fog. One says, "It is a car- 
 riage"; another, "Those are mules," a third 
 thinks he sees a group of men. These are 
 nothing but opinions of which none is proved. 
 
 By degrees they come near the object in 
 question; they reach it and find it is a car- 
 riage. The first one was right ; he spoke truly. 
 Before that, a truth had not existed ; the pres- 
 ence of the carriage is a material fact, and 
 experience proved that the first person saw 
 correctly; agreement was duly verified be- 
 tween his opinion and the fact. 
 
 It is thus clear that we can say, "It is true, 
 you have spoken the truth," only when it is 
 possible to see and establish without ques- 
 
 [171] 
 
SELF-CONTROL :AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 tion the existence of tlie fact. Absolute truth 
 consequently can be conceived only in the 
 order of material facts directly provable, or 
 in the field of mathematical science, proceed- 
 ing to demonstration by the path of logic. 
 
 These are the only truths recognised by 
 all men in possession of common sense ; alge- 
 bra among the Japanese and Chinese is nec- 
 essarily the same as among Europeans. All 
 ideas whose agreement with their objects can- 
 not be proved by experience, calculation, or 
 by that logical intuition called common sense, 
 are opinions, personal ideas; to call them 
 truths is an abuse. We have no right to 
 thrust them upon others or to blame them 
 when they do not recognise these ideas. We 
 may for custom's sake consider them as 
 truths, base our convictions and our conduct 
 upon them, and find our happiness in apply- 
 ing such ideas. We have the right to spread 
 them abroad, to transmit what we think use- 
 ful and salutary to others, to make prose- 
 lytes ; it is the spirit of altruism that urges 
 us on if we are sincere. 
 
 It is not enough to be sceptical and to say 
 with Voltaire, "All of us are made up of 
 
 [172] 
 
TOLERANCE 
 
 weaknesses and faults ; the first law of nature 
 is to forgive one another our stupidity. ' ' We 
 cannot hold our opinions as stupidities, at the 
 moment when our reason dictates them. Let 
 us be ready to revise our opinions when we 
 recognise our mistake, but so long as we be- 
 lieve we are correct, we have the right to our 
 convictions and to defend them warmly with 
 the courteous and loyal arms of discussion. 
 
 In face of numberless unknown quantities 
 in social problems, we are not ready to come 
 to an understanding. When the intolerance 
 of our opponents forces us, we must resist, 
 and sometimes we must oppose force to force. 
 In conflicts between parties and between peo- 
 ples the struggle may become epic ; it creates 
 heroes. Unfortunately historical analysis 
 shows that very often people are instigated 
 and deluded by their governments, and that 
 motives of vulgar interest determine wars. 
 Certainly it was a swaggering answer that 
 the French soldier made to the question, 
 "What is the flag?" — "It is the reason why 
 we have our heads smashed." It is painful 
 to know how many brave lads have given 
 their lives for an ambitious prince, or for 
 
 [173] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 diplomatic intrigues, or for a case of per- 
 sonal interest to a few or to a social class. 
 And to crown all, the belligerents, disobey- 
 ing knowingly the most elementary precepts 
 of moral and rational Christianity, implore 
 the protection of the God of war upon their 
 arms; when Mars flirted with Venus, it was 
 logical ; to-day it is an anachronism. 
 
 Great social conflicts fortunately do not 
 occur every day ; they rarely trouble the snug 
 middle-class comfort we all hope for. There 
 are even plenty of people who take no interest 
 in politics, or the movement of ideas; they 
 take their indifference for stoicism. 
 
 But where war becomes disastrous is in dis- 
 turbing family relations, the sanctuary where 
 we like to find rest. Every day peace is dis- 
 turbed. In many families the gear creaks; 
 the machine works painfully. I have not in 
 view here those catastrophes, frequent never- 
 theless, which end in the rupture of family 
 ties and which indicate in one or the other 
 or both, wife and husband, parents and chil- 
 dren, brothers and sisters, real lack of moral 
 poise. I speak only of those lives relatively 
 happy in which everything proceeds in an 
 
 [174] 
 
TOLERANCE 
 
 orderly manner, according to middle-class 
 morality, households in which the greatest 
 harmony seems to reign. In looking closely 
 at them, we find in these peaceful circles not 
 only contrary opinions, which in themselves 
 would be a benefit, but the bad humour 
 created by reciprocal intolerance. 
 
 We are irritated when others do not share 
 our opinions or our taste, all the time repeat- 
 ing as a protection, "We must not dispute 
 about tastes and colours." We show others, 
 if only by the sulky expression on our faces, 
 the impatience their opposition causes us. 
 Temper spoils things for both sides and 
 dissensions increase. Weary of war, in- 
 difference is allowed to invade the hearth, the 
 widest family circle, the clan of friends. 
 Doubtless differences of opinion and ways of 
 feeling are sometimes such that rupture is 
 preferable. There are family and friendly 
 unions from which nothing good is derived, 
 either for one or the other, or for anybody 
 else; divorce would be preferable. In spite 
 of it all, they remain together ; it is necessary, 
 but then it becomes petty warfare, that is little 
 dangerous but enervating; there are pin- 
 
 [175] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 pricks every day. To avoid this torment, it 
 is not enough to see the merits of reciprocal 
 tolerance and to want to be patient. It is a 
 fine thing to wish to be virtuous, but it is 
 tiring, like continuous muscular effort, to un- 
 dertake it voluntarily. That it may lose the 
 character of muscular effort that is impossi- 
 ble to maintain, it must be automatic like that 
 which has been called involuntary muscu- 
 lar action, it must result from a fundamental 
 idea carrying tolerance naturally with it, and 
 making it all the whUe easier, always less 
 contingent. 
 
 The parent idea is that of the determinism 
 of thought; it makes us understand that the 
 state of mind of our interlocutor has its deep 
 causes, that he is non-arbitrary, in his phys- 
 iological and psychological past. To exas- 
 perate ourselves over others' mistakes is as 
 absurd as to be angry with a negro because 
 he is black. The only difference is that the 
 negro wUl not become white in spite of your 
 criticism, while he who thinks wrongly may 
 change his opinion. But do not forget that 
 you must then present yours to him in an 
 acceptable form. You will succeed only by 
 
 [176] 
 
TOLERANCE 
 
 respecting what lie calls, with childish pride, 
 his free thought; that is, if he is persuaded 
 by your arguments and falls in love with the 
 ideas you marshalled before the eyes of his 
 understanding. If he remains faithful to his 
 own, be sure he could not do otherwise. You 
 must make up your mind to the inevitable 
 difference, and live in peace with your oppo- 
 nent. 
 
 But tolerance does not stop there; it not 
 only criticises the views of others good- 
 naturedly ; it leads to the examination of our 
 own mentality. We then find, often with sur- 
 prise, that we are just as obstinate as our 
 opponent, and that, in discussion, we exact 
 an effort at conversion from him that we 
 should probably be incapable of ourselves. 
 We conclude from this not that we should 
 always yield, but that we have at least to 
 watch over our minds and recommence always 
 and ever the work of logical reflection; by 
 helping ourselves particularly by others' 
 opinions, however different they may be from 
 our own. He who, through whatever excuse, 
 neglects this constant revision of his thought, 
 and at the outset is disdainful of others ' opin- 
 
 [177] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 ions, is intolerant. He hinders not only in- 
 tellectual progress, which will get along with- 
 out him, but moral progress, which results 
 especially from the increasingly closer agree- 
 ment among men. 
 
 Eeal tolerance makes us severer towards 
 ourselves than towards others, for it is easier 
 for us to influence our own minds than those 
 of our fellow men. We dare to criticise our- 
 selves without circumspection, without risk of 
 wounding our susceptibility. 
 
 Let us use irony, that harsh speech which 
 we so well know how to use against our op- 
 ponents, to correct our own mentality, to 
 repair our ideas, and to secure continual ad- 
 vances along the path of moral perfection ! 
 
 [178] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 [179] 
 
X 
 
 INDULGENCE 
 
 Indulgence towards the conduct of others 
 is what tolerance is towards their opinions. 
 It is derived from the same principle, de- 
 terminism of thought necessarily" implying 
 that of acts. 
 
 Intolerance is the cause of continual fric- 
 tion, which, for the benefit of every one, we 
 ought to avoid. But these inconveniences are 
 often supportable ; when we have to reproach 
 others only with delinquent opinions, we 
 should forgive them as much for our peace 
 of mind as for theirs. The absence of indul- 
 gence more deeply troubles social relations ; it 
 leads to the gravest injustice and creates sit- 
 uations often tragic. The instructor who re- 
 mains fast to an inexact idea of responsibility 
 all by itself, can reach only a variable kind 
 of indulgence, that is contingent and conse- 
 quently unjust. He showers reproaches upon 
 the guilty person and makes him feel his full 
 ignominy. Sometimes, when finduig that, so 
 
 [181] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 to speak, lie has gone too far, he makes a kind 
 effort, softens his tone, and seems to forgive 
 on condition that the offence is not repeated. 
 He still exacts obedience to moral rules of 
 which he asserts the indisputable character, 
 without showing reasons for making us love 
 his moral ideal. 
 
 The guilty person feels these harsh re- 
 proaches and falls easily into a rebellious 
 state that is unfavorable to every effort at 
 self-correction. Nothing is sadder in this 
 world than the existence of unfortunates 
 whom we cannot reach and direct into the 
 right path; instead of applying kindly per- 
 suasion, we have recourse to authority, which 
 is always bad, in spite of any momentary suc- 
 cess. Often after having lost years of pre- 
 cious time, we are obliged to realize that we 
 have taken the wrong road; we give up the 
 idea of defects in character and recognise a 
 sickly condition, neurasthenia, or lack of bal- 
 ance; we do not see that we are establishing 
 an absolutely artificial distinction. 
 
 The aspect of everything changes and be- 
 comes clear without the least suppression of 
 thought, when determinism once is under- 
 
 [182] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 stood, when we recognise the act as only the 
 outcome of the idea, and that at the moment 
 of action the man cannot obey another idea 
 than that which is in his mind, however evil 
 it may be. 
 
 "Yes," writes a friend, "the idea of de- 
 terminism is a reason for indulgence towards 
 others, and therefore a source of kindness. 
 Do we not risk becoming too indulgent to- 
 wards ourselves?" We are, indeed, so im- 
 bued with the vain idea of responsibility, and 
 with the equally inexact idea of wrong, that 
 we have some trouble in always thinking ac- 
 cording to the data of determinism. We must 
 break with old customs in order to familiarize 
 ourselves with the idea; it seems as if lan- 
 guage would have to be modified. This would 
 be both very difficult and very useless. 
 
 I repeat, we may keep the term liberty, if 
 by it we mean only that our activity is not 
 hindered by any obstacle foreign to our think- 
 ing ego ; that is to say, by material impossi- 
 bilities, by bodily sickness, even by confirmed 
 mental disorders disturbing the mechanism of 
 our thought for a greater or lesser time. 
 
 I fully accept the word "responsibility" on 
 
 [183] 
 
SELF- CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 condition that we distinguish and define the 
 sanction without which it does not exist. I 
 do not ask to have the word will taken out of 
 the dictionary, but its meaning must be ex- 
 plained. It is easy to see that a motive not 
 created by us precedes the wUl, and that the 
 latter is determined by the motive. 
 
 The word "wrong" is entitled to its full 
 value, but we must define its signification. 
 Epictetus said, "To deceive ourselves is a 
 fault. To avoid all faults of this sort the 
 Stoic applied himself to the study of syllo- 
 gisms, to the solution of captious reasonings, 
 to the subtlest dialectics." ^ This means that 
 moral intelligence is needed. We acquire it 
 by education, not through the wiU. Eational 
 indulgence in no way applies to the act itself 
 considered as bad; it does not mean indiffer- 
 ence in regard to evil, such as that of sceptics 
 who care for no moralizing as to desires and 
 who, discouraging all initiatives, go away re- 
 peating, "Youth must have its fling; we must 
 howl with the wolves, or Homo homini 
 lupus." I like better the saying, "For every 
 
 1" Manuel d'Epict6te," translated by Guyau. Paris, Ch. 
 Delagrave, p. xxiii. 
 
 [184] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 sin, forgiveness, so long as it is not used as 
 an anticipated excuse for vice." The deter- 
 minist preserves intact a horror of evil, and 
 the ideal notion of good; he imperturbably 
 seeks a realization for himself and for others ; 
 with all his power and in spite of failures, he 
 wishes to add to this ethical perfecting of hu- 
 man personality. The beacon-light of the 
 moral ideal shines in his eyes with an increas- 
 ing brilliancy as his conscience is enriched 
 by the facts of experiences. 
 
 It is in the presence of the culprit, of the 
 fallen man, that the determinist recovers all his 
 indulgence, forgetting the past, however hor- 
 rible it may be, in order to think of the future. 
 In a flash he sees physical, intellectual, and 
 moral influences, and the hazard of environ- 
 ment, which have made the individual what he 
 is up to now, but without concluding that these 
 influences will continue to act in the future. 
 Carried away by this clear and healthy view 
 of determinism, he uses a sweeping stroke to 
 erase the past of others with plenary indul- 
 gence. ' ' To understand everything is to for- 
 give everything," said Lacordaire. 
 
 The guilty person already is or wUl be pun- 
 
 [185] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 islied; he will feel the effects of responsi- 
 bility to society, which must punish both from 
 the necessity of personal defence and in order 
 to secure, by means still summary it is true, 
 obedience to its necessary laws. According 
 to his mentality, the guilty person will feel 
 these penalties in his soul, or he will accept 
 them, recognising the value of the moral ideas 
 that dictated them. The delinquent himself 
 suffers physically or morally from this situa- 
 tion, either from the natural consequences of 
 guUty acts, or from remorse, which oftener 
 than one may think attacks the guilty man 
 who braves it out with a cynical indifference. 
 According to the idea of believers in a 
 future life, the culprit wUl undergo unknown 
 penalties in another world such as his act 
 merits — a question we cannot even touch 
 upon, seeing how daring it would be to pre- 
 judge the intentions of divinity : why add use- 
 less contempt to the sufferings that sooner or 
 later will fall on the guilty, or that have 
 already tormented him? Would this not be the 
 donkey's kick? Knowingly or unknowingly, 
 we all in life play the part of instructor. 
 Parents exercise it over their children, mas- 
 
 [1861| 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 ters over pupils, priests over their flocks. 
 This educational influence less admittedly ex- 
 ists between husband and wife, brother and 
 sister, between friends; sometimes surrepti- 
 tiously it acts backwards, children influencing 
 parents. Mentor without knowing it felt the 
 yoke of Telemachus. 
 
 The physician enjoys a privileged position, 
 from which to judge the difficulties of educa- 
 tion, to discover hidden threads that move the 
 human marionette and to pull the good ones, 
 those which are adapted to the role to be 
 played. When he is not intrenched in sur- 
 gery, which is a manual art, and does not de- 
 light in an artificial medicine which has re- 
 course only to physical agents or drugs, he 
 sees the enormous part that mentality plays, 
 not only in moral conduct, but in the patho- 
 logical conditions that are its consequences. 
 He soon finds that not always are real pa- 
 tients brought to him, but healthy people who 
 think badly — not only the recognised mad- 
 men, but those who to-day are called half 
 mad. His logic compels him to say that while 
 speaking of the half mad, we must think of 
 fractions of madness smaller and smaller, 
 
 [187] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 and lie comes to the conclusion that there are 
 only degrees between defect of character 
 and sickness of mind. 
 
 In every case in which man thinks and acts 
 badly, and leaves the ideal path of good, the 
 determinist sees the causes that brought 
 about the deviation. He knows that one can- 
 not suppress past mistakes ; it is only for the 
 future that one can introduce new determin- 
 ing motives. Theoretically, and as an abstract 
 of physical means adapted to second moral 
 work, they may be as useful in regard to de- 
 fects as to sickness ; the treatment will remain 
 the same. Its goal is the reparation of false 
 ideas, moral orthopaedia ; to pursue this goal, 
 we have no other aid than our reason, always 
 made finer by self -culture. 
 
 We shall not succeed, or shall succeed only 
 with difficulty, when the mental deformation 
 results from physical or psychic causes that 
 are too powerful, and before all are due to 
 heredity, or to cerebral disorder; we shall 
 succeed better if the evil results from fatigue, 
 during a state of passing sickness, or from 
 psychasthenia induced by regrettable condi- 
 tions of education and moral contagion. 
 
 [188] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 By withdrawing the subject from his en- 
 vironment, by procuring him the rest that 
 favors the work of thought, we can make him 
 care for ideas new to him — not by dictating 
 them as absolute truths, but by submitting 
 them to him as accepted by us, as recognised 
 to be good by people whom he loves or re- 
 spects, by displaying to his eyes the advan- 
 tages, often material — such as a successful 
 career or social position, but above all moral, 
 inner, and permanent happiness — that will 
 result from his conversion to good. It is 
 his place to take up these directing ideas if 
 he can. 
 
 To use a word which nowadays is abused, 
 we obey alien suggestions only when they be- 
 come autosuggestions. It is not enough for 
 us to find opinions submitted to us to be cor- 
 rect; there are steps leading from compre- 
 hension to profound conviction; our feelings 
 must enter in, and we must be carried away 
 by them. 
 
 In comparing a man confronted with ideas 
 to a prince in the presence of prospective 
 brides, I said he would marry the one 
 who pleased him best; but love, they say, 
 
 [189] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUEB IT 
 
 cannot be commanded. We may use efforts 
 to awaken love in him whom we wish to see 
 married, we may praise the charms of the 
 young girl, or whisper to him the amount of 
 her dot ; but the rest is his affair ; he escapes 
 from our yoke to fall under that of his own 
 mentality — and the man calls that his liberty. 
 We lack indulgence and patience towards 
 our feUow beings when, without being really 
 ill, they exhibit those variations of humour 
 to which we are all more or less subject. 
 Under the influence of fatigue that apparently 
 is not justified by the work done, when in 
 states of organic disturbance caused by cer- 
 tain physiological and psychological phenom- 
 ena peculiar to our being, we feel influenced 
 in our mental life ; we become sullen and dis- 
 couraged, without serious reasons ; we appear 
 rebellious, wicked, and we are sorry, but our 
 nerves govern us, and we are unable to expel 
 the enemy that is within us. We should 
 more easily escape if those who surround us 
 had determinist indulgence in their hearts; 
 if they could recognise our weaknesses as 
 their own. They forget that they are not 
 always what they would like to be, and they 
 
 [190] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 nag us harshly. Impressionable people often 
 suffer real martyrdom in their families; 
 subject to constant variations in their state 
 of mind, they are misunderstood, and the 
 reproaches they receive, in an evident inten- 
 tion of moral orthopasdia, take away their last 
 vestige of self-control. Doubtless a word may 
 often do them good, on occasions even a 
 reproach, provided it be friendly. The per- 
 son who is impatient and fretful suffers ; he 
 does not feel well without being able to say 
 what is the matter. We should regard him 
 as a patient who needs repose or encourage- 
 ment, and not as a culprit who is willingly 
 sullen. Let us act towards our fellow beings 
 like those clear-sighted mothers who, far from 
 being severe with the irritable child, explain 
 its humour by saying it has not had enough 
 sleep and then puts it gently in its cradle. 
 That is a practical determinism of which we 
 have great need in our relations with adults. 
 
 In this work of education, every feeling of 
 irritation, of contempt, or disgust towards the 
 culprit is a hinderance; no crime is great 
 enough to aUow us to cover the individual 
 with the legitimate moral repulsion which his 
 
 [ 191 ] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 act inspires. By acting thus, we commit not 
 only a grave mistake in educational tactics, 
 bnt also flagrant injustice. 
 
 Some friends, unable to deny the fact of de- 
 terminism, feared that this conception might 
 create moral nonchalance, laxity founded on 
 the idea that we caimot help ourselves. This 
 danger does not exist when the idea of de- 
 terminism has been properly grasped. Deter- 
 minism is not predestiaation ; it establishes 
 only past facts and the material and moral 
 circumstances that determined them. The 
 future is still unknown, and man is therefore 
 free, not in the philosophical meaning of the 
 word, but ia the sense that he can henceforth 
 obey the new ideas that attract him, having 
 been taught by his own experience or by 
 advice. 
 
 On reflection, we shall recognise that there 
 is no present for the dying, nor consequently 
 for the living. Present applies only to what 
 is ia a static condition or in repose. A train 
 which has stopped at a station is present. 
 Taking an imaginary line of division, the cars 
 to the right of the observer have passed, 
 those to the left are yet to come. Neither is 
 
 [192] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 there any present in our existence ; there are 
 only past and future periods ; what we com- 
 monly call the present is the immediate fu- 
 ture. The future is ever unknown, and actual 
 indulgence can apply only to the past. 
 
 Let us take an example : A young man came 
 to me because he drank ; he himself sought the 
 consultation in the hope of being cured. With 
 the plenary indulgence we owe to strayed 
 sheep, I pointed out to him the various rea- 
 sons why he should wish to give up the habit, 
 such as the care of his physical health, of his 
 material and moral future, and the remorse 
 that caused him unhappiness. I induced him 
 to regain courage, to appreciate a worthier 
 life, as it would restore the happiness of his 
 family. He listened and answered sadly, 
 "What can you expect? It is stronger than 
 I." "My dear sir," said I, "it is needless to 
 tell me that ; you speak of the past and it is, 
 in fact, passed ; we can change nothing there. 
 Your passions have been stronger than the 
 motives of reason. Let us speak no more of 
 the past. It is the future that I talk of." 
 
 "I have so often tried to correct myself," 
 said he, "without succeeding, and for aU that 
 
 [193] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 I have quite recognised the value of the moral 
 reasons you have set before me. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I see, you judge the future from the 
 past. As we say, who has drunk, will drink. 
 Do you not know that the abstinence and tem- 
 perance societies have given the lie to this 
 discouraging proverb? Besides, in the name 
 of logic, I don't allow you to speak of the 
 future. One has always the right to say, 'It 
 has been stronger than I, ' but one cannot say, 
 'It will be stronger than I.' Doubtless the 
 past can make us fear the future, but do not 
 forget that the latter does not belong to us. 
 Between now and to-morrow, or later, events 
 in your material, intellectual, or moral life 
 may happen that will determine you upon an- 
 other line of conduct. Even suppose that you 
 relapse this evening, to-morrow, the day after 
 or many times again ; every time you confide 
 your fault to me, I will maintain the same 
 plenary indulgence for a past that nobody can 
 change. Each relapse belongs to past 
 periods of life. Of the future neither of us 
 knows anything yet. It is the same with the 
 mistakes in our life as with railroad acci- 
 dents ; a train is derailed ; it is past, but this 
 
 [194] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 is no reason that the next one also should be 
 derailed. Is it not probable that the switch- 
 man detected in fault will watch more effi- 
 ciently in the future ? 
 
 "Eeflect, observe always more clearly how 
 your conduct leads you into a quagmire; the 
 more you see the danger, the more you will 
 shrink appalled from it. There has never 
 been more than one way to correct a vice ; it 
 is to see clearly the dangers it entails for us. 
 There is only one way of acquiring a quality ; 
 it is to see plainly the advantages it brings 
 us. Outside of that is no wisdom. Continue, 
 not to make vain efforts of will, like a man 
 uselessly waving his arms, but to acquire by 
 reflection, by my counsels which are drawn 
 from experience, that moral clear-sightedness 
 which will preserve our always difficult jour- 
 ney along the pathway of life. Man penetrates 
 this moral world like an explorer in an un- 
 known country. He often loses his way and 
 for guide has only his instinct, this experi- 
 ence and that of travellers who have gone 
 before. "When he perceives that he is astray, 
 he should retrace his steps and seek the right 
 road. What would you say of the person 
 
 [195] 
 
SELF-CONT ROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 who, instead of asking for information, 
 should lie down by the side of the road and 
 cry over his past mistakes ? 
 
 ' ' Go home and come back to me in several 
 days. You will always find the same wel- 
 come, the same patience, but also, understand, 
 the same arguments, because there are no 
 others. ' ' 
 
 These principles apply to all. Far from 
 weakening the moral idea, they render it 
 always clearer, more authoritative. They 
 give to the iastructor the indulgence and un- 
 tiring patience necessary to his work. They 
 kindle in him as in his pupil desire for good, 
 and it is for this community of moral aspira- 
 tions that the mental understanding exists; 
 they walk hand in hand towards the ideal that 
 they pursue. It is easier to put the erring on 
 the right path by going with them than by 
 pointing out with a sullen gesture the road to 
 follow. 
 
 It is an error to consider determinism as 
 an obstacle to morality. The pUlow of sloth 
 would be more likely to be found in a concep- 
 tion of original sin, which would forever pre- 
 vent us from following the right road except 
 
 [196] 
 
INDULGENCE 
 
 by profiting from a forgiveness that we can- 
 not lay claim to. One day, in expressing to 
 a brave sister of charity my surprise at see- 
 ing one of our patients, an abbe, a slave to 
 the commonest childishness, she answered: 
 "What do you expect? He is a man like 
 others." Without doubt, thought I; I know 
 it only too well. I am past being astonished 
 at human weakness. But what surprised me 
 was to see a sincere piety serve only ulterior 
 ends and become useless in practical life. 
 
 Another day while encouraging an intelli- 
 gent priest I caught myself blushing. It 
 seemed to me that what I had told him was 
 altogether too simple ; to lay these ethics be- 
 fore a theologian was like taking water to 
 the sea. I made excuses for having spoken 
 words that seemed to me so superfluous. 
 "Yes, doctor," he answered, "I know all that 
 quite as well as you; I have taught these 
 truths, but I did not see that they might have 
 such practical application." 
 
 The devout Christian's look, which is 
 always fixed upon the beyond, sometimes 
 makes him forget life in this world. He often 
 has little esteem for human wisdom. Does 
 
 [197] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 he not run a risk in excusing his own weak- 
 nesses by discounting the chances of redemp- 
 tion? Determtaism, which can apply only to 
 the past, authorizes no future weakness; on 
 the contrary, it expects new determining in- 
 fluences in the future. It is an element of 
 progress, because it allows every culprit to 
 turn over a new leaf with new zeal, holding 
 clearly, but free from bitterness, the memory 
 of past mistakes. 
 
 [198] 
 
XI 
 HUMILITY 
 
 [199] 
 
XI 
 
 HUMILITY 
 
 Humility is a decried virtue ; one thinks it 
 necessary to bow down to it only when accom- 
 panied by the adjective "Christian"; even 
 then it is not understood. Since it is so rare 
 in this world, where vanity plays such a great 
 part, we must conclude that it is a virtue for- 
 eign to natural mentality. Nevertheless it is 
 the most rational virtue, and the easiest to 
 deduce from the simplest facts. 
 
 It is contrary to pride, but what should we 
 be proud about in this world, where we have 
 received everything. If life is often tragic, 
 it has also its farcical side; nothing is more 
 grotesque than human vanity, which, like a 
 common coquette, decks itself out in all sorts 
 of gewgaws. 
 
 One man is proud of the name he bears, or 
 the title that precedes it. He has done noth- 
 ing to acquire it, nor to preserve it intact; 
 he has often tarnished its worldly lustre, still 
 
 [201] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 he feels the blue blood course in his veins. Even 
 when an elaborate education, acting upon a 
 shrewd iatelligence, has freed him from vul- 
 gar arrogance, he nearly always allows a feel- 
 ing of his superiority to break through. Sup- 
 posing that his ancestors distinguished 
 themselves in the crusades, in my opinion 
 that was not due to him. 
 
 In the little world of people well born, dis- 
 tinctions are still made between the great and 
 the small nobility. This aristocracy struts 
 when a great name is allied to fortune; it 
 becomes more unobtrusive when money is 
 lacking, but it does not fear to regUd its coat 
 of arms by an alliance with a family of par- 
 venus. 
 
 He who finds a million in his cradle looks 
 contemptuously upon the man who has raked it 
 up out of common business, and the latter re- 
 turns the compliment through pride in his in- 
 tellectual superiority. The successful painter, 
 sculptor, man of letters, or musician snules 
 with pity at the sight of these geese; is not 
 he himself possessed of the seal of genius'? 
 The good Beethoven reproached Goethe with 
 obsequiousness towards court people, al- 
 
 [202] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 though he was conscious of his own personal 
 value, saying, "Are we not superior to all 
 that crowd?" He did not stop to think that he 
 had received from nature that genius of which 
 he was so proud; he was giving vanity for 
 vanity. The savant makes the same mistake 
 when, with apparent modesty, he smiles at 
 human stupidity, at the void he discovers in 
 worldly intelligence. But that does not pre- 
 vent him from seeking favours of the great 
 and ardently coveting honorary distinctions 
 which will place him above his colleagues. 
 
 Everywhere in the most intellectual circles 
 one meets with this base emulation instead of 
 disinterested work, performed in a spirit of 
 human responsibility. 
 
 Yes, one will say, it is truly absurd to be 
 proud of a superiority that we owe to the 
 chance of birth or to the munificence of Provi- 
 dence, and for a long time satire has lashed 
 these eternal vanities with its whip ; but there 
 is a legitimate pride, that of the "self-made 
 man" who, starting from below, has con- 
 quered everything by his energy. There is 
 something personal and self-willed in that, an 
 effort we must admire and praise. We should 
 
 [203] 
 
SELP-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 encourage this power of energy by bowing 
 down to it, whenever it is met, in all social 
 classes. 
 
 This judgment seems to me unjust. We 
 are no more deserving of credit for having 
 what is called energy than for being born 
 capitalists. Our moral qualities also suffer 
 the yoke of heredity ; they grow by education 
 as our capital at the savings-bank increases 
 from interest and by benevolent gifts. Have 
 we all a substantial bank-book or generous 
 benefactors ? I never grasped the meaning of 
 those ideas, so commonly used, merit and de- 
 merit, or rather I believe that one is deceived 
 in applying them to the individual instead of 
 reserving them for the ideal of virtue that 
 an individual realizes. 
 
 It is ridiculous for a woman to be proud of 
 her beauty; did she make herself beautiful? 
 How can we accord her credit for it? Let her 
 enjoy it ; let her spread around her the charm 
 of her grace, dividing with it the charm of 
 kindness. To be a coquette would be to reveal 
 an intellectual deficiency, a shallow mind she 
 cannot help possessing, and her beauty would 
 decrease in our eyes. The public shows wis- 
 
 [204] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 dom when it says of a woman, * ' She is pretty, 
 but she knows it. ' ' 
 
 An intelligent man is no longer allowed 
 to be proud of his superiority; he did not 
 make that intelligence; he received it. Let 
 him use his capital and make it increase for 
 the good of all; let him sympathize with 
 others' misery, or, so to speak, share with 
 them the good he has received. 
 
 Among my friends is a doctor who has a 
 fine career of professional devotion behind 
 him. He said one day to me : "An event hap- 
 pened in my life that decided my career, as a 
 man, and had a greater influence on my life 
 than aU previous teaching. I spent several 
 holiday weeks with an old English pastor. He 
 • by no means bored me to death with moral 
 lessons, but on leaving him, gave me a 
 friendly slap on the shoulder and said, 
 'Young man, remember there are only two 
 duties to be performed in this world ; the first 
 is, give every value to your personality that 
 it can stand; and the second, put it at the 
 service of others.' " We could not express in 
 better terms the idea of responsibility for 
 service to which we must all devote our gifts, 
 
 [205] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 whether they be the result of heredity or of 
 education, the sole two factors to which we 
 owe all that we possess. 
 
 There is no place anywhere for pride, for 
 a contemplative admiration of our physical, 
 intellectual, or moral ego. All aristocracies 
 are destined to disappear because of a con- 
 stantly growing apprehension that they are 
 only privilege. They are always exposed to 
 envy, because, even when they do not denote 
 the vulgar superiority created by fortune, and 
 even when they are the result of the gift of 
 intelligence, they create material advantages 
 and accentuate social inequalities which are 
 painful to him who feels himself inferior. 
 
 The Greeks had three words to express 
 "the best": aptSros, the superlative of good, 
 which applied to people who were "good" 
 without reference to precisely what that su- 
 periority was due, the same being admitted 
 without dispute by those who claimed it; 
 xpdriSvoi, which signified "the most power- 
 ful" and characterized a certain domination 
 by brute force, or by energy of action; and 
 /SdXrtSroi, which indicated truly moral supe- 
 riority, which was that of honesty and virtue. 
 
 [206] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 We need a ' ' beltistocracy, " an " aristocracy 
 of tlie heart," whicli, conscious of the deter- 
 minism of human things, as well in Christian 
 conception as in rationalist philosophy, 
 shall only keep before it this precept of the 
 English pastor: Develop our capital of vir- 
 tues, the aptitudes we have received, advan- 
 cing always towards the perfecting of our 
 personality, not for the sake of personal ad- 
 vantages, but in order that humanity entire 
 may profit by them. This aristocracy would 
 not be exposed to envy ; it would have no fear 
 of revolutions, but would be precious to those 
 who would possess it, in that it would give 
 them happiness while they sent it broadcast. 
 While material fortunes if divided would 
 probably put each one in a mediocrity bor- 
 deriag on poverty, moral wealth will increase 
 in proportion to its distributions; for it is 
 inexhaustible. The so-called cultivated classes 
 have only one way in which to dam the rev- 
 olutionary torrent; that is to teach virtue 
 by practising it. Is there not still time? 
 
 True humility has its source in this senti- 
 ment, so easy to grasp, that we owe nothing 
 to ourselves, that we have received every- 
 
 [207] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 thing, whatever may be our ideas of the per- 
 son of the giver. There is no place for dis- 
 tinctions; the principle applies to moral 
 riches as to material wealth, to the gifts of 
 heart and head as to money and honors. 
 
 We must attack these ideas of merit and 
 demerit, not in a spirit of disparagement, but 
 in a f eeliag of social equity nobler than sanc- 
 timonious admiration, often accompanied by 
 the envy that is shown towards success. We 
 should feel the charm of virtue. We can and 
 we ought to love him who practises it, but he 
 has no right to be proud of it. People are 
 able to recognise the virtue of the man who, 
 having performed a courageous act, shrinks 
 from recompense in the feeling that he has 
 merely done his duty. 
 
 We can recognise a fine soul and love it, 
 as we admire a beautiful woman or a work of 
 art. Our homage should be given to beauty 
 and not to the person who, without being able 
 to count it a merit, happens to represent it 
 to our eyes. Even for children in schools we 
 should suppress distinctions and recompenses 
 that encourage precocious vanity, and main- 
 tain only those that are able to develop true 
 
 [208] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 emulation, which, consists not in leaving 
 others behind, but in advancing with them, 
 hand in hand, along the road to perfection. 
 
 The idea of responsibility should take an 
 increasingly largfer place in young hearts, less 
 shrivelled than older ones. Man has no 
 greater enemy than his egoism; that is the 
 idea which must be planted in the deepest 
 part of the human soul. It is the only condi- 
 tion of moral progress. 
 
 Humility, properly understood, suppresses 
 in one blow not only pride and irritability, 
 but also timidity, which is more directly de- 
 rived from it than one might think. It has 
 been said, with reason, "Timidity is pride." 
 All timidity has its source in self-love, in the 
 fear of being ill judged, in the sensitiveness 
 which recoils before a danger. There is also 
 the irritability of the violent, which is more 
 disagreeable for others than for him who 
 feels it. This defect, so wide-spread, greatly 
 hinders social relations by rendering people 
 inaccessible to the most benevolent advice 
 and consequently screens them from that 
 educational influence of which we all have 
 need. 
 
 [209] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 One requires humility to accept reproach, 
 above all when it is merited. On the other 
 hand, one needs indulgence and tact to know 
 how to tender it without wounding others. 
 
 This extreme irritability is frequent in un- 
 balanced mental conditions that we file away 
 under the label neurasthenia; it is a cause of 
 tragedy in families. Thus a natural defect, 
 often a family one, is always difficult to fight. 
 Still one sees persons who, having made their 
 lives hard by their impatience, succeed under 
 reproach in losing this irritability precisely 
 because they recognised its inconvenience. 
 One of my patients told me he had got rid of 
 this irritability, and when I asked him how 
 he had done it, he answered: "Oh, by reflect- 
 ing that it was always myself who 'paid the 
 piper.' " That is a precious reflection we 
 should never forget when we yield to our 
 passions ; it is always ourselves who "pay the 
 piper," and it is not even for a temporary 
 gratification, because the feeling to which we 
 give ourselves up is as disagreeable as its 
 sequel. 
 
 To recognise that we are always punished 
 according to our sins is practically the best 
 
 [210] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 method of correcting our faults. Prudence 
 ought first of all to be taught to those who 
 complain about situations which they them- 
 selves have created. Still there is some 
 egoism in avoiding evil solely because of its 
 unpleasant consequences to us. The thinker, 
 without neglecting this reasonable prudence, 
 will know how to raise himself to higher con- 
 ceptions and create an ideal of good, of which 
 the neglect will produce a more bitter re- 
 morse than simple regret. 
 
 It is curious how few people have realized 
 the close bond uniting timidity to self-love. 
 I have the habit of giving a concrete example 
 to people not very clear-sighted. A girl plays 
 the piano. One day an old friend comes to 
 spend the evening with the family. Prevented 
 by infirmity from going to concerts, she first 
 complains of being deprived of all musical 
 pleasure and begs the young girl to play for 
 her. If the girl at this moment had only one 
 idea in her mind, the wholly altruistic one of 
 giving pleasure, she would seat herself at the 
 piano without embarrassment ; she would play 
 just as she was able, and everybody would be 
 satisfied. But charity is the least of her 
 
 [211] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 cares; invited to play, she wishes to have at 
 least a little success. The request, it appears, 
 is unfortunate ; she has not studied recently ; 
 she has not the necessary music ; she does not 
 play by heart and cannot read at first sight. 
 She is very embarrassed, torn by two con- 
 trary feelings, on the one side the wish to 
 be appreciated, on the other the fear of not 
 succeeding. From this inner contradiction 
 timidity is exactly the result. Then she 
 blushes like a peony, stutters, and leaves the 
 piano, very sorry to have been placed in such 
 an unpleasant position. Examine your timid- 
 ities by the light of this example ; we all have 
 them, and you will always recognise self-love 
 at the bottom of this defect, which sometimes 
 dares to cover itself with the robe of humility. 
 We must not confound timidity with fear, 
 with apprehension. We may experience fear 
 in face of a difficult task, be tempted to re- 
 treat before an obstacle ; often we have appre- 
 hensions about the future and only approach 
 it tremblingly. From this, we feel emotions 
 that may hinder our activity, but this is fear, 
 not yet timidity. This special form of feaV 
 awakens only when we think of ourselves, 
 
 [212] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 when we think of the effect we are going to 
 produce. This painful feeling is not in itself 
 blamable ; it comes from the need of approval, 
 from that "organ of approbation which 
 phrenologists place at the top of the head, 
 next to self-love." George Combe, in his 
 "Manuel de Phrenologie, " says apropos of 
 this : " A reasonable development of approba- 
 tiveness is indispensable to an amiable char- 
 acter. It induces an individual to make every 
 effort to please, to suppress a thousand little 
 signs of personal interest, and to subdue the 
 numerous inequalities of character for fear of 
 incurring blame." Indeed, the desire to 
 please has its moral advantages; a certain 
 timidity is a charm, but it becomes a hin- 
 derance when this thirst for approbation is 
 too intense; it develops too great care about 
 others' opinions, the fear of "what will they 
 say about it, ' ' of ridicule, and is thus harmful 
 to independence of spirit, because inducing 
 fear of failure. This amiable form of vanity 
 engenders timidity. 
 
 What shows clearly that timidity begins 
 only with self-contemplation is that it takes 
 hold of us when we are alone. We may be 
 
 [213] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 fearful and anxious in the face of some work 
 we have undertaken, but we blush only when 
 some one looks over our shoulder and sur- 
 prises us in our awkwardness. Amateur 
 actors will play with the greatest assurance 
 during rehearsals; but they will often lose 
 their heads at a public performance. 
 
 Timidity can also become collective, and 
 thus seize an entire company which is hoping 
 for success. It may even take the form of 
 altruism, when we tremble for a speaker, or 
 for an actress at her debut. But do not let 
 us misapprehend matters; often interest for 
 the person is very slight, and it is because 
 we put ourselves in his place that we suffer 
 the torture of timidity. Indeed, on certain 
 occasions, we can feel the blush of timidity 
 mount to our cheeks even while alone ; a mere 
 reminiscence is enough, a mental representa- 
 tion that calls up a situation wounding to our 
 self-love. 
 
 There are professions in which it is hard 
 to suppress self-love ; they live by it ; this is 
 the case with creative artists, musicians, 
 speakers, all those who come before the pub- 
 lic with the hope of gaining not only its 
 
 [214] 
 
HUMILITY 
 
 bounty, but also its suffrage. There is only 
 one method for these seekers by which to 
 preserve their assurance ; this is to raise their 
 power to the height of their ambitions ; they 
 must become so talented that their success 
 is certain in the eyes of a public whose ability 
 is often limited. I think that great artists, 
 such as a Beethoven or a Mozart, would not 
 experience any fears, because they live too 
 thoroughly in their music to seek applause. 
 For all those who have not to strive for 
 worldly success, there is a better means of 
 lessening timidity ; it is to suppress self-love, 
 the wish to be appreciated for one's self. One 
 then disappears behind the task one under- 
 takes. We may still have qualms on the pos- 
 sibility of accomplishing it, but our person 
 is not in question ; we no longer bring up the 
 idle and always dangerous question. How 
 shall I look? 
 
 We only arrive at this impersonal view 
 which shields us from timidity through true 
 humility. Forgetfulness of ourselves enables 
 us to kindle enthusiasm for a cause, to become 
 the apostle of it. The political man carries 
 a crowd when he defends a cause dear to 
 
 [215] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUBE IT 
 
 him; the speaker remains calm when he has 
 something to say and only seeks success for 
 the idea which he lays before his audience. 
 The more convinced he is, the more wrapped 
 up in his subject, the less will he think of 
 his own person, of his entrance, the bow he 
 is about to make to the audience, of the ele- 
 gant preparation that he has prepared. One 
 even sees the blush of timidity upon the cheek 
 of seasoned speakers, but that will pass; 
 either they will become inured by growing 
 consciousness of their talent; or, better still, 
 their conviction will increase. 
 
 It seems to me that it would be well to rec- 
 ognise the vanity of self-love, to see the traps 
 it sets for us. In the tragic comedy that rep- 
 resents human life, we are only actors, 
 figures ; it is conduct that clothes us all, some 
 in rich doublet and feathered hat, others in 
 peasants' drugget. Let us play our parts, 
 but do not let us think ourselves great lords. 
 Stripped in the greenroom, of the ornaments 
 that have been furnished us, we should all be 
 found needy, dependent the one upon the 
 other. Is not that a reason for humility? 
 
 [216] 
 
XII 
 MODERATION 
 
 [217] 
 
XII 
 
 MODERATION 
 
 "Do YOtr wisli to enrich Pythocles? Then do 
 not add to his riches; subtract from his de- 
 sires." How happUy expressed is this coun- 
 sel of Epicurus to Idomene. In every period 
 the advantages of a simple life, exempt from 
 ambitions, have been preached — the charms 
 of the aurea mediocritas ; but one is always 
 tempted to suspect this renouncement of the 
 world's goods when those who recommend it 
 have no need of pity; one jokes about the 
 golden mediocrity, insinuating that it ought 
 to be gilded. Seneca was reproached with 
 having vaunted the advantages of poverty 
 while accumulating riches, and one might be 
 tempted to reply to such extoUers of virtue : 
 "You are right; one ought to be contented 
 with one's lot, when it is good." 
 
 Indeed, there is a limit to everything, and 
 to-day we would have no desire to imitate 
 Diogenes and live in a tub, even while that 
 
 [219] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 might spare us many of a houseliolder's wor- 
 ries. It would not be good to simplify life 
 to that extent, which would bring us to the 
 irresponsibility of the Neapolitan lazzaroni. 
 
 Desire under various forms is the only 
 spring of human activity. I would say stretch 
 it to the topmost notch in order that it may 
 loosen life's energy. But something must 
 direct this force without diminishing it, and 
 this something, too often forgotten, is the 
 spirit of responsibility. Let us see in every 
 act the probable consequences not only to our- 
 selves, but to others, to humanity entire. 
 Only then will our activity become fruitful 
 to all, like that of pioneers who have been 
 able to make fortunes by opening immense 
 fields of activity to their fellow men. Even 
 then egoism must not lift up its head and be- 
 come dominant ; that would deprive the result 
 of much of its value. Egoism posing as altru- 
 ism is to be blamed ; it is rare that the shop- 
 keeper or merchant who becomes rich receives 
 the gratitude of those whose daily bread he 
 provides. Everything in the ingratitude of 
 the working class is not base envy. I do not 
 remember who it was that said: "A man of 
 
 [220] 
 
MODERATION 
 
 mind and heart only makes a fortune unwit- 
 tingly." 
 
 Every one is permitted to seek the good 
 things he wants and in this pursuit to use 
 every energy at his disposal, but let him be- 
 ware of abandoning ethical principles. Ad- 
 vantages acquired give him power for good, 
 ability to help others less gifted with fortune. 
 Intelligence and moral clear-sightedness, 
 which can not be bought with money, are 
 none the less hard to acquire. Let us remem- 
 ber that we belong to the privileged ones 
 equally whether we have the luck not to suffer 
 too greatly from moral short-sightedness or 
 whether we have intelligence, physical health, 
 and money. Let pity spring up forthwith for 
 the innumerable ill-starred people whom we 
 cruelly reproach, if not for their poverty, at 
 least for their stupidity and, above all, for 
 their immorality. 
 
 It is said the prettiest girl can give only 
 what she has. In the same way a man can 
 use only such gifts as he has received. We 
 should enrich our fellow-beings with moral 
 views at the same time that we help them 
 materially; we should give a hand to help 
 
 [221] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 •them on board the vessel, often luxurious, in 
 which we undertake life's voyage, instead of 
 hitting on the head with an oar others who 
 are drowning. 
 
 However legitimate are the desires for wel- 
 fare that civilization has created, let us be- 
 ware of being dominated by them. Our duty 
 towards others is to repress such personal 
 ambition; it is even in the interests of our 
 own peace to suppress it. The pain of failure 
 becomes so much the greater as the desire to 
 succeed becomes stronger. * ' Stop hoping and 
 you will stop fearing," said Hecaton. In- 
 deed, fear, that feeling so contrary to our 
 happiness, is always mingled with our hopes ; 
 it is bom of irresolution, of trouble for the 
 future. We poison the present by these ap- 
 prehensions no less than by the useless mem- 
 ory of past misfortunes. 
 
 In his "Art de Vivre," ^ Dr. Toulouse tells 
 that in China, in painful situations, a current 
 dictum is "make the heart small." If this 
 picturesque expression were to encourage 
 egoistical indifference, drying up of the 
 heart, I should scarcely admire this piece of 
 
 1 Paris BibliothSque Charpentier, 1906. 
 [222] 
 
MODERATION 
 
 Chinese wisdom. But it may mean also that, 
 in passing through the dangers of life, one 
 should not swell one's heart with ambitions, 
 and mate it too full ; in that sense the coun- 
 sel is worthy that of Epicurus. Charles 
 Wagner, in admirable moral sermons,^ has 
 clearly shown the necessity for returning to 
 a simple life, to that moderation of desire 
 which not only assures its realization, but 
 enables us to avoid the rock of unhealthful 
 pleasures hidden beneath the flower of ele- 
 gant luxury. Above all, let us never forget 
 others. "There is no pleasant possession if 
 it is not shared," said the ancient philoso- 
 phers in the precision of their Grseco-Latin 
 thought; the letters from Seneca to Lucilius 
 scintillate with pearls of moral teaching. 
 
 Ambition becomes stUl more harmful when 
 it seeks after honours, notoriety, domination 
 over others. This thirst for spurious popu- 
 larity is associated with the hope of easy 
 gain, and warps the mentality of those who 
 appear the best-gifted men. It creates scep- 
 ticism towards every quality, it ruins the 
 
 iC. Wagner, "La Vie Simple." Annand Colin & Cie, 
 Paris. 
 
 [223] 
 
SELF-CONTBOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 spirit of truth and spreads among the masses, 
 so stupidly subject to suggestion, a greedy 
 tendency towards the "get-there" spirit. 
 
 Entire countries are infected by this cor- 
 ruption, and one asks how people will ever 
 get out of the condition. The increasing 
 agglomerations of great towns favor the ex- 
 tension of the evil; it infects small country 
 towns, without in return bringing the richness 
 of the artistic and literary life, that fine cul- 
 ture which, in spite of its faults, keeps its 
 moralizing value. 
 
 The liberal, scientific, or artistic profes- 
 sions are not shielded from these worldly 
 ambitions, from the egoistical search after 
 success. A shameless mercantile spirit has 
 invaded these careers that should appear to 
 develop altruism. Sincerity is lost in an 
 anxiety to succeed, to get ahead of others, 
 although the talents we have the luck to own 
 should be shared and exploited for the good 
 of all. * ' Noblesse oblige ' ' should be the adage 
 of privileged ones. 
 
 There is a point upon which attention has 
 been too seldom fixed when recommending 
 moderation in our desires ; this is health. We 
 
 [224] 
 
MODERATION 
 
 must turn here to the ancients in order to 
 recover the idea of patience towards disease, 
 that stoical philosophy which not only helps 
 to support ns in evils, but diminishes or 
 cures them. Listen to this letter of Seneca 
 addressed to a slightly neurasthenic friend : 
 
 "I am going to tell you how consoled I 
 am after having always insisted that the prin- 
 ciples upon which I leaned would act upon 
 me like medicine. Honest consolation be- 
 comes in itself a remedy, and everything that 
 lifts up the soul strengthens the body. My 
 studies have saved me; I attribute my re- 
 covery, my return to health, to philosophy; 
 I owe my life to it, but that is the least of my 
 obligations. My friends also have greatly con- 
 tributed to my cure ; their exhortations, their 
 cares, and their conversation have relieved 
 me. You must know, my dear Lucilius, that 
 nothing aids and sustains a sick person like 
 marks of affection from his friends ; nothing 
 is better fitted to divert his thoughts from 
 the expectation and fear of death. It seemed 
 to me that I should never die, since they 
 would survive me; it seemed that I lived, if 
 not with them, at least by them. I did not 
 
 [225] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 expect to render up my soul, but to transmit 
 it to them. That is what decided me to take 
 care of myself and to endure all my pain; 
 otherwise, it would have been a wretched 
 thing, after having had the courage to die, 
 not to have enough to live." 
 
 Seneca wrote these beautiful words after 
 recovering from a severe illness, during 
 which he had thought of freedom by suicide. 
 He finishes his letter with a fine satire on the 
 medical customs of former times; men have 
 changed their evUs since they have been com- 
 plicated by a crowd of therapeutic methods 
 and innumerable medicines. 
 
 "Adopt then this form of treatment. The 
 doctor will advise your walking and taking 
 other exercise ; will forbid inactivity, to which 
 bad health is only too closely allied; wUl 
 prescribe reading aloud and breathing exer- 
 cises; will point out what food you must 
 take, when you are to take wine to give you 
 strength, when to stop it so as not to provoke 
 your cough. But I not only give you a rem- 
 edy for this Ulness, but a remedy for all your 
 life: despise death. Nothiag distresses us 
 when we have ceased to fear it." 
 
 [226] 
 
MODERATION 
 
 How far we are from this mentality! To- 
 day there is need of physical health that leads 
 us straight away from coddling and hypo- 
 chondria. The world is full of worrying peo- 
 ple who anxiously watch their weakest or- 
 ganic functions, and at the least sign of dis- 
 turbance conjure up the horrible spectre of 
 death. The moment their health declines 
 from accidental and passing causes, they 
 think themselves lost; they are not satisfied 
 with a confidential physician who, as a friend, 
 would know how to calm them and add to 
 his therapeutics, always judicious, some 
 moral-bearing advice; they go from doctor 
 to doctor, trying every system, swallowing 
 drug after drug, seeking something new 
 among the specialties that pharmacy and 
 modern chemistry have put on the market. 
 
 To-day we understand, perhaps even bet- 
 ter than in the eighteenth century, the some- 
 what disconcerting letter that Dr. Tronchin 
 wrote to a compeer of Montpellier, the physi- 
 cian of Voltaire and Eousseau, in which he 
 asked if the existence of medical art was a 
 blessing to humanity. Tronchin here agrees 
 with Eousseau, who carefully shelters his 
 
 [227] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 fimile from doctors, and writes: "A feeble 
 body weakens the mind. Hence the reign of 
 medicine, an art more pernicious to men than 
 all the evils it pretends to cure. For myself, 
 I do not know of what diseases we cure the 
 doctors, but I know that they give us many 
 fatal ones — cowardice, pusillanimity, credu- 
 lity, terror of death; if they cure the body, 
 they kill courage." 
 
 What a hue and cry this scepticism would 
 raise among our modern Esculapiuses ! Is it 
 because the situation has changed and that, 
 by desperate work, we shall soon find a rem- 
 edy for all ills? Alas, no! 
 
 Doubtless medical art has made progress. 
 Surgery, in particular, assumes a high place ; 
 it attacks every organ, the brain, the spinal 
 marrow, even the heart — this it lays bare and 
 repairs. We have only to close the window 
 which we open in the breast; which has no 
 longer any more right to respect than the 
 stomach, which we can almost empty of its 
 contents. 
 
 I have no idea of slighting this brilliant 
 flight of surgery; I believe that, when our 
 operators are able to deliver us from an in- 
 
 [228] 
 
MODERATION 
 
 jury or improve our situation, we should be 
 very wrong to let faiut-heartedness, fear of 
 pain, or that vague, unreasoning fright that 
 the word "operation" awakens, stand in the 
 way. We owe brilliant conquests to these 
 illustrious successors of former barbers. To- 
 day we can give ourselves up to their expert 
 and conscientious hands. 
 
 But there are a number of diseases in 
 which there is nothing to operate upon, even 
 with a mania for the bistoury. This is where 
 medicine steps in. Now if its methods are nu- 
 merous, they are not often efficacious. Multa 
 sed non multum. After losing itself among 
 the paths of an absurd polypharmacy, which 
 would justify the scepticism of the great 
 Tronchiu, it expects to succeed by returning 
 to physical methods, balneotherapy, diet, 
 hygienic measures. Unfortunately, in the 
 evident desire to do right it has not been 
 able to retain the phUosophical doubt; it 
 draws conclusions too quickly from a few ex- 
 periences, theoretical views based upon a 
 knowledge necessarily incomplete, of organic 
 chemistry. Setting up minor truths as dog- 
 mas, generalizing too soon, it has created a 
 
 [229] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 code of doctrines wMch appear as imposing 
 as the front of a fine building. But go inside, 
 start up all this apparatus that ought to make 
 us healthy, and you will see how badly it all 
 works. 
 
 Far more ; these hopes, often announced to 
 the public to the sound of a trumpet, have 
 developed that continual preoccupation about 
 health which is the disease of the present gen- 
 eration. Prescriptions for diet have espe- 
 cially developed this tendency, and one might 
 say that, for every patient cured by these 
 fanatic practices of diet, there are a hundred 
 driven straight to lesser hypochondria, or 
 perhaps even to greater, which is only a de- 
 velopment of the former. 
 
 If we except some questions still under dis- 
 cussion, such as abstinence from alcoholic 
 drinks, or a more vegetarian regimen, the 
 question of diet has been about determined 
 upon. Man finds in the most varied food the 
 necessary ration. If it be useful to prescribe 
 a diet for patients suffering from real 
 stomach or intestinal troubles, it is a mis- 
 take to make all these nervous, impression- 
 able people lead the life of a valetudinarian, 
 
 [230] 
 
MODERATION 
 
 while their gastro-intestinal troubles are but 
 the consequence of their emotional disturb- 
 ances. Excessively subject to suggestion, 
 these unfortunates suffer for years, with |n 
 angelic patience, the severest restrictions of 
 diet. There are many who become so accus- 
 tomed to the role of everlasting invalids that 
 they scarcely seem to wish to get well. And 
 for all that, it is so easy to bring them back 
 to a normal life, as soon as one shall be able 
 to reveal the pusillanimity towards suffering 
 manifested under what apparently are phys- 
 ical ills, and the absence of judgment that 
 hasty conclusions entail. 
 
 Let us avoid falling into this state of 
 hypochondria and let us live in a strength- 
 giving conviction of health. Let us learn, 
 like a cat on broken glass on a wall, to pass 
 through daily worries which will soon cease 
 if we do not prolong them, or which will be- 
 come light if we do not aggravate them by 
 fear. It is this common "scare" discovered 
 in the greater part of so-called neuropathic 
 states which creates these false gastropath- 
 ies, so numerous to-day, these invalids suf- 
 fering from the most diverse phobies, these 
 
 [ 231 ] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 beings without temperament who shrink from 
 every task, haunted as they are by the antici- 
 pated conviction of their incapacity. 
 
 We must make up our minds to be invalids 
 and go to hospitals only in cases of necessity. 
 Talleyrand found the right word when he said 
 one should "fancy one's self well." 
 
 [232] 
 
XIII 
 
 PATIENCE 
 
 [233] 
 
XIII 
 
 PATIENCE 
 
 The word "patient" applies to him who 
 actually suffers as well as to him who can 
 bear up under suffering. Now, these two are 
 very different, even opposite persons. He 
 really suffers who is plunged into his suffer- 
 ing, who increases it by avowed grief, who 
 increases it tenfold by apprehensions. 
 
 A young man into whom I tried to instU 
 a few principles of stoicism towards ailments 
 stopped me at the first words, saying, "I un- 
 derstand, doctor; let me show you." And 
 taking a pencil he drew a large black spot on 
 a piece of paper. "This," said he, "is the 
 disease, in its most general sense, the physical 
 trouble — rheumatism, toothache, what you 
 wUl — moral trouble, sadness, discouragement, 
 melancholy. If I acknowledge it by fixing 
 my attention upon it, I already trace a circle 
 to the periphery of the black spot, and it 
 has become larger. If I affirm it with 
 acerbity the spot is increased by a new circle. 
 
 [235] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 There I am, busied with my pain, hunting for 
 means to get rid of it, and the spot only be- 
 comes larger. If I preoccupy myself with 
 it, if I fear the consequences, if I see the 
 future gloomily, I have doubled or trebled the 
 original spot." And, showing me the central 
 point of the circle, the trouble reduced to its 
 simplest expression, he said with a smile, 
 ' ' Should I not have done better to leave it as 
 it was?" 
 
 "One exaggerates, imagines, anticipates 
 aflliction," wrote Seneca. For a long time, 
 I have told my discouraged patients and have 
 repeated to myself, "Do not let us build a 
 second story to our sorrow by being sorry 
 for our sorrow." And one of my patients 
 agreed with me, citing the words of Saint 
 Francis de Sales: "I have seen several per- 
 sons who, being angry, are afterwards angry 
 for having been angry; resembling circles 
 made by a stone in water, for a little circle 
 makes a larger one and that makes another." 
 We recognise here the example of concentric 
 circles as showing increase in our physical 
 and moral suffering. He who knows how to 
 suffer suffers less. He accepts the trouble 
 
 [236] 
 
PATIENCE 
 
 such as it is, without adding to it the terrors 
 that preoccupation and apprehensions pro- 
 duce. Like the animal, he reduces suffering 
 to its simplest expression; he even goes fur- 
 ther; he lessens the trouble by thought, he 
 succeeds in forgetting, in no longer feeling it. 
 
 What fine color Seneca gave to this thought 
 in his letter LXVIII to LucUius : "Beware of 
 aggravating your troubles yourself, and of ma- 
 king your position worse by your complaints. 
 Grief is light when not exaggerated by the 
 idea, and if we encourage ourselves, saying, 
 'it is nothing,' or at least, 'it is of small mo- 
 ment ; let us endure it, it is about to stop, ' we 
 render pain light by thinking it so." Yes; 
 pain becomes light when we are able so to 
 look at it, when we do not draw concentric 
 circles around it, such as my patient inge- 
 niously described ; when we do not multiply it 
 by fear. 
 
 That fine stoicism does not reign to-day. 
 We abhor suffering and wish to get rid of 
 it at any price. Modern medicine, with its 
 anaesthetics has spoiled us, and we have re- 
 course to these poisons for the smallest 
 operation, as for the drawing of a tooth which 
 
 [237] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AISTD HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 lasts only an instant. We are often punished 
 for it by a disagreeable sequel ; some people 
 even pay for their fear with their lives. It 
 would be well to return to a little more rough- 
 ness towards ourselves, and to reserve these 
 means of lessening suffering for only very 
 painful operations of great length, also for 
 those in which the immobility of the patient 
 is necessary to success. Fear of pain, as 
 much moral as physical, leads many invalids 
 to alcoholism, to morphinomania ; but their 
 sensibilities are still more increased under 
 the influence of the poison and end, physi- 
 cally, in an unbelievable hyperaesthesia to- 
 wards the least disagreeable sensations, as 
 the contact of a cold hand on the skin, and 
 morally, to sensibility to the least vexation, 
 so that the patient seems morally and physi- 
 cally "flayed alive." 
 
 It is especially against moral suffering that 
 man rebels, shows himself timid and impa- 
 tient. This trouble is, in fact, more central ; 
 it directly reaches the ego. We endure a 
 state of mental lassitude, of sadness, the siege 
 of melancholy thoughts, with greater diffi- 
 culty than rheumatic pain. When the very 
 
 [238] 
 
PATIENCE 
 
 mind is attacked, the enemy is in the citadel ; 
 we find it harder to defend ourselves. Is it 
 impossible? No. Our ego is not single; 
 there is in us a normal division, as it were, 
 of personality. During the course of our 
 whole lives we confer, and are in a continual 
 conversation, with ourselves ; people who talk 
 to themselves, asking questions and answer- 
 ing them, are impulsive ones who thus betray 
 their private conversation. 
 
 I should say that the power to resist, to 
 lessen pain, so well taught and practised by 
 the Stoics, lies in the isolation of an "inner 
 ego," inaccessible to the suggestions of the 
 outer ego. There is found the method of not 
 allowing suffering to penetrate to the inner 
 ego; it remains untouched like the core of a 
 piece of wood that one might throw into a 
 basin of colouring matter, and of which only 
 the outer layer takes the dye. I have seen 
 many invalids, subject to fits of depression, 
 of moral anguish, able to lessen their suffer- 
 ing by calm reflection and to view with tender 
 melancholy their mental disorders. 
 
 It is not a question of escaping pain by 
 making ourselves indifferent to it. The fault 
 
 [239] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 of the Epicureans was to make happiness con- 
 sist in "the absence of trouble," in "ata- 
 raxia." We are wrong to attribute loose 
 habits to the hedonist philosophers, but they 
 were unable to escape a certain egoism. 
 Epicurus renounced marriage so as not to 
 complicate his existence; he found he had 
 enough to do to look after his own peace of 
 mind without becoming responsible for that 
 of others. He forgot that the softening in- 
 fluence of pain, the altruistic tenderness, the 
 feelings of pity and manly valour his educa- 
 tional influence introduced into human rela- 
 tionship, would disappear if stoicism acted 
 upon us like chloroform. In all Christian or 
 philosophical stoicism there is a rock to avoid ; 
 it is that of egoistical quietism. We avoid it 
 by substituting for the idea of enervating 
 rest the idea of active life, which exalts cour- 
 age and makes us find pleasure in the 
 struggle. 
 
 Patience towards unavoidable events, de- 
 pending neither upon us nor upon others, is 
 synonymous with fatalism; it is a virtue, and 
 it is the only stand to take in face of the 
 inevitable. Mussulmans have known how to 
 
 [240] 
 
PATIENCE 
 
 anchor this beneficent sentiment in their souls 
 better than Christians; they fear death less 
 and accept with gentle resignation the mis- 
 fortunes they cannot avoid. Sincere Chris- 
 tians should also be able joyously to submit 
 to the decrees of Providence. The idea of 
 necessity is enough for the philosopher. We 
 are all iu the same situation towards things 
 as they are, and towards thiags that we can- 
 not change. The advantage wUl always lie 
 with him who, for some reason or other, 
 knows how to resign himself tranquilly. 
 
 Our impatience is especially shown in our 
 dealings with our fellow men ; then we notice 
 absence of the spirit of rest, lack of adapta- 
 tion to a common life. "We suffer daily from 
 the conduct of others, and immediately their 
 acts thwart our needed welfare, they are 
 contrary to our interests and we are ready to 
 attribute malevolent intentions to them and 
 we reciprocate in kind. We give ourselves up 
 to anger, that passion so contrary to the 
 spirit of responsibility, even more disastrous 
 to him who abandons himself to it than to 
 him who is the object of it. Here again the 
 idea of moral determinism is the one to set 
 
 [241] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 us right. Our fellow men act only according 
 to their actual mental representations ; most 
 frequently they think they are doing right, 
 and are animated by good intentions. Even 
 when they recognise an immoral character in 
 their acts, when they revenge themselves, and 
 intentionally wish to make trouble, it is be- 
 cause they consider they have reasons for so 
 doing. For example, a man writes an 
 anonymous letter ; a friend points out that it 
 is an unworthy act. "Yes," replies the cul- 
 prit, "I know it; I have not done right, but 
 my enemy has made me suffer so much ! ' ' His 
 troubled reason obeys the odious adage: "an 
 eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" ; he is like 
 the child who knows that he must not hurt 
 or strike, and who excuses himself by saying 
 that his adversary began it. How many 
 adults hold this childish point of view all 
 their life ! In the presence of people who do 
 harm to us, let us learn to see in their acts the 
 fruit of only the thoughts that their condi- 
 tion of mind permits ; and let us avoid being 
 infected by the state of mind which we blame 
 in them ; let us stay calm and indulgent — this 
 is not the same as cowardice; it requires 
 
 [242] 
 
PATIENCE 
 
 more courage to keep calm than to give one's 
 self up to anger. 
 
 Let us turn aside if our adversary rebels 
 at our counsel. If, on the other hand, we 
 believe ourselves able to influence his condi- 
 tion of mind, let us do it gently, by a clear 
 and definite statement of the mutual situa- 
 tion. Above all, let us understand how to 
 recognise our own faults, or, in default of 
 them, understand that acts, legitimate to our 
 eyes, might be interpreted by our adversary 
 in an unfavorable sense; let us not take him 
 strictly to account for this lack of clear- 
 sightedness. We not only irritate ourselves 
 in the face of malevolence, but we also allow 
 ourselves to become impatient, enervated, by 
 others' manner, by their most innocent hob- 
 bies, without thiuking that we also have some 
 that might give umbrage. We lack patience 
 towards others, even when they are ill; we 
 quickly find their exactions excessive and, 
 when we are sick, we demand minute care 
 without bothering ourselves about the trou- 
 ble we give. 
 
 When somebody wishes to lecture us, ia 
 order to induce in us better feelings, we 
 
 [243] 
 
SBLF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 endure badly this meddling; one must use 
 gloves in order to handle us. On the other 
 hand, when we think it necessary to play the 
 role of instructor, we desire to be immediate- 
 ly understood and obeyed; we use a sharp 
 tone in making observations the absolute jus- 
 tice of which we take for granted. We ought 
 to doubt our infallibility a little more, to have 
 more patience in correcting others' minds. 
 Above all, we must prove our aptitude as in- 
 structors by trying criticisms on ourselves; 
 we should acquire that command of self, the 
 absence of which we affirm so impatiently in 
 others. We irritate ourselves not only 
 against others, but against ourselves. It 
 would be well if we were satisfied frankly to 
 make the avowal : ' ' What a fool I am ! ' ' But 
 we become acrimonious, we faU under scru- 
 ples, and we thus create a sullen condition 
 of mind, which is a further obstacle to im- 
 provement. Like children, we become impa- 
 tient at not instantly succeeding in our work, 
 instead after failure of beginning anew with 
 more calmness and patience. We not only 
 suffer from the present, but we also revive the 
 past, evoking every sad remembrance in our 
 
 [244] 
 
PATIENCE 
 
 minds ; we drag the shackles of memory be- 
 hind us, no matter whether they treat of 
 events independent of our will, over which 
 we ought to have quickly drawn the sponge of 
 forgetfulness, or whether we entertain eternal 
 and vain regret for faults committed. 
 
 Eegret is the memory of past pain, with the 
 feeling that it might have been avoided if 
 we had been more careful. But of what use 
 is this paralyzing regret when we evoke the 
 past? There is only one point to retain in 
 that memory — a presentment of the mistake 
 made in such a way as to avoid it in future. 
 
 Eegret seizes us when we have neglected to 
 take precautions, and so have acted precipi- 
 tately or in an inconsiderate fashion. It be- 
 comes remorse when we have transgressed the 
 ethical laws, of which we made an ideal. It 
 is then a question rather of greater interests 
 than of simple forgetfulness or clumsiness. 
 The intensity of remorse depends upon our 
 morality — that is to say, our attachment to 
 virtue — there is treason in want of fidelity to 
 our ideal; we blame ourselves for it as for 
 evil feelings towards those whom we love. 
 We should dare to say that he who has no 
 
 [245] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 remorse is more excusable, the moral bar- 
 riers not existing in him; lie is unconscious 
 of the harm he does. Moral culture, on the 
 contrary, renders the soul ever more sensi- 
 tive, and each infraction is punished by inner 
 suffering; it is the penalty of our personal 
 responsibility to acknowledge our faults in 
 salutary contrition. But this should not lead 
 us to remain in an unhappy state of mind 
 which is as painful to those near us as to our- 
 selves. Eemorse is the sheep-dog biting the 
 strayed sheep; he must not continue to bite 
 when the sheep has returned to the flock and 
 only wishes to do right. 
 
 We conceive eternal remorse in crime; the 
 culprit will suffer more severely as he recog- 
 nises the extent of his fault — a strange con- 
 tradiction at first sight, but the punishment is 
 as much the greater as the soul is more deli- 
 cate ; it spares the immoral person, however. 
 On the other hand, repentance has its sweet- 
 ness and pushes us more urgently towards the 
 dreamed-of ideal. 
 
 In our lives, in which regret is more fre- 
 quent than remorse, let us avoid prolonging 
 moral suffering when it paralyzes our efforts 
 
 [246] 
 
PATIENCE 
 
 towards the good. It is well to feel the full 
 measure of the blame we receive, to lessen in 
 no way contrition; let it have its full force 
 and quickly, even if it bow us to the ground ; 
 but let us immediately think of rising again, 
 which is only possible in a courageous dispo- 
 sition. Like the rubber ball that has touched 
 ground, we should rebound. From the mo- 
 ment we recognise our fault, we enter a rapid- 
 ly descending arc of discouragement. Ar- 
 rived at the bottom, we rise in an ascending 
 arc of brave resolution, and we set ourselves 
 to repair our work with growing joy. 
 
 The necessity of cutting short vain re- 
 morse, or, rather, of using it to raise one's self, 
 is not present in the minds of most people, 
 and we see unfortunates — ^we also class them 
 in the already overfull category of neuras- 
 thenics — ^who pass their lives bent beneath re- 
 gret for the past. But how quickly they un- 
 derstand when their noble contrition has been 
 approved of as a means for bringing them 
 back to the right road! They immediately 
 see they can only enter it by raising the head, 
 by joyfully walking towards the goal, by per- 
 fecting their minds. 
 
 [247] 
 
SELF-CONTROL [AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 It is patience, untiring patience, that is 
 needed to endure from day to day everything 
 that life brings us — the vexations, the misfor- 
 tunes, the sickness, the moral suffering. The 
 last named is so much the more bitter as it 
 is created by our own mistakes. Like a pilot 
 amid reefs and storm, we must preserve the 
 coolness that alone can save us — ourselves 
 and those in our charge. To know how to 
 suffer is the first condition of courageous 
 patience. 
 
 [248] 
 
XIV 
 
 COURAGE 
 
 [249] 
 
XIV 
 
 COURAGE 
 
 Alphonse Daudet, it is said, once gave a 
 ring to one of his sons with this inscription 
 on it, "Memento Vivere." That is the motto 
 of a valiant optimism. Pessimists wUl think 
 it is unnecessary to remind us that we must 
 live, since the burden of existence already ap- 
 pears only too present and heavy to them. 
 
 To submit to life whiningly is not living. 
 Life should be made active and joyous. It is 
 so short that it is a pity to lose even a few 
 moments of it in sadness, that is painful to 
 ourselves and disagreeable to others. By 
 thus giving ourselves up to depression we 
 squander the little capital of happiness which 
 we might retain in this world. Of melan- 
 choly it would be better to say with Mon- 
 taigne, "Of all men I am the most exempt 
 from this passion, neither liking nor esteem- 
 ing it. ' ' 
 
 That everybody has not a well-balanced 
 mind is true, and many persons whose life is 
 
 [251] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 hard would find cruel irony in any encourage- 
 ment to take life gaily. The joy of living is, 
 in truth, not to be found if we seek it in 
 events. The most privileged wUl find in their 
 existence only a few brief periods of easy 
 happiness that were brought about by cir- 
 cumstances, a kind of happiness that is acces- 
 sible only to the young, at an age when 
 strength, health, and youthful recklessness 
 united are helped onward by success in a 
 chosen career. How many unfortunate ones 
 have been obliged from the start to renounce 
 all this satisfaction! 
 
 From hereditary influence, atavism, and 
 often through the parents' faults, by unfa- 
 vourable hygienic conditions, many children 
 acquire disease in their cradles and will never 
 enjoy that precious blessing, physical health. 
 More ill-favoured still are those to whom na- 
 ture has given a sorrowful disposition, "af- 
 flicted souls" who can react only the wrong 
 way: in the sense of sadness, their nerves 
 relaxing under the pressure of the brutalities 
 of existence. 
 
 A visit to a children's hospital displays 
 to the eyes a horrible physiological misery, 
 
 [252] 
 
COURAGE 
 
 which is the more revolting because the suf- 
 ferers are innocent; one foresees all the se- 
 verity of their future, although they them- 
 selves often do not seem to think about it. 
 Still, even there, in this place of suffering, 
 we feel the angel of courage hovering near, 
 of joyous resignation, as evoked by those who 
 bind up wounds and give new ardour to 
 bruised hearts. There is more sweetness in 
 this atmosphere than in the noisy gaiety of a 
 crowd of happy school children. There is fine 
 endurance in the midst of this misery; but 
 there is the hope of lessening it by public and 
 private hygiene, by all the works of human 
 responsibility that should always hold a large 
 place in our preoccupations. 
 
 Disease of the mind is more rarely 
 observed at an age naturally given to gaiety 
 and upon which responsibilities do not yet 
 fall. But from adolescence we see psychical 
 suffering appear, that state of mind to-day 
 called neurasthenic and in which indecision, 
 scruples, lack of self-confidence dominate, that 
 fear of life which induces a lamentable inapti- 
 tude to enjoy a little happiness and causes 
 the desire for suicide, even among children. 
 
 [253] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 One sees little girls who, already haunted by 
 fear of disease and death, are unable to aban- 
 don themselves for an instant to innocent 
 childish joys. These martyrs to heredity and 
 improper education are innumerable. The 
 world does not understand them ; it ill treats 
 them. There is no white and clean hospital 
 cot, no tender nurse's face, no physician with 
 firm kindness, for these unfortunates whose 
 souls are suffering and who have need both 
 of sympathy and help. We do not know 
 where to put them. The insane asylum, which 
 would seem to be the place, would be a jail 
 to them; the family, which should be the 
 refuge, is the very place where the evil was 
 created, not only by way of psychopathic 
 heredity, but further by education and mental 
 contagion. Most frequently parents do not 
 recognise the mental likeness and, equally 
 diseased in mind with their offspring, they 
 accuse them of their own shame. 
 
 In this subject of man "marvellously vain, 
 diverse, and undulating," we discover sur- 
 prising contradictions. He who is intelligent 
 in his studies totally lacks that moral clear- 
 sightedness which determines conduct, and 
 
 [254] 
 
COURAGE 
 
 so ruins his life by his vagaries. Some young 
 girl who gives herself to altruistic work and 
 lives in the spirit of sincere religion strug- 
 gles unsuccessfully against a native egoism, 
 so contradictory to her devotion that we 
 have been obliged to invent a word for "ego- 
 tism" and speak of "egocentric" disposi- 
 tions, so as not to wound the patient's sus- 
 ceptibilities. 
 
 The disease is not incurable. One should 
 see these anxious faces brighten from the re- 
 sult of patient, indulgent, and encouraging 
 orthopaedia in order to realize the beauty of 
 a "medicine of the mind" directly emanating 
 from rational ethics. 
 
 The doctor's oflSce should become a psycho- 
 pathic dispensary, where prescriptions are 
 not distributed, but where, without taking 
 into account the patient's condition of mind, 
 one sows all those seeds of stoic courage, mo- 
 tives of reason, not cold but calm, which alone 
 can correct the defects of our innate and 
 acquired mentality. 
 
 What can we say to those still more nu- 
 merous unfortunates who have physical 
 health, intellectual gifts, and especially happy 
 
 [255] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 circumstances, who go astray because they 
 have not been brought up to develop the 
 moral life? They must see that they have 
 not the same right to complain as the 
 disinherited; they. must find in themselves 
 strength against evil tendencies, not as a 
 visionary wish, but by that sharp moral view 
 which meditative thought develops. I do not 
 blame them for their ethical deficiencies; 
 these force-ideas have not been inculcated in 
 them by others ; they have not felt the strong 
 charm of self -education ; they have not seen 
 "the meaning of it"; we must teach it to 
 them. When they suffer and perceive that 
 they are going wrong, the time has come to 
 raise them up, to show them the absolute 
 necessity of courage, to incite this courage 
 by showing them the precious harvest they 
 will gather ; that is to say, happiness. 
 
 Discouragement is always bad; it aggra- 
 vates every situation; we can excuse it, but 
 we cannot approve it. It is not enough to 
 recognise this logical truth ; we must hammer 
 it into our heads in order that it may become 
 a feeling to which we can give life-like expres- 
 sion. 
 
 [256] 
 
COURAGE 
 
 I have the habit of telling patients: ",Dis- 
 couragement is a beverage both poisoned and 
 bitter — two powerful reasons for not touch- 
 ing it." Does this mean that we succeed in 
 always being sustained by this fact? No ; not 
 a day passes that we do not suffer discourage- 
 ment, a lowering of the moral barometer ; but 
 it should not be allowed to last. As soon as 
 we give ourselves up to it, we perceive the 
 bitterness, and immediately we think of its 
 toxic qualities. 
 
 The idea that discouragement is a poison 
 should play the part of a directing cushion in 
 the game of our understanding. Like the bil- 
 liard-ball thrown on to a plane surface and 
 which has not yet reached the elastic cushion, 
 discouragement breaks in upon our mind and 
 continues its course; but immediately it 
 strikes the obstacle, which is the moral idea, 
 it deviates and our mental representations 
 become orderly. 
 
 We should ever and always awaken the 
 idea of courage in our minds, light up the 
 torch that guides us. The force-idea must 
 settle in the depths of our soul, and be ready 
 at the given moment to let loose our energies. 
 
 [257] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 That is what the ancient philosophers so well 
 understood ; they saw in reason, in a prudent 
 dialectic addressed to one's self, the remedy 
 for moral decay. 
 
 According to the mind, this settlement of 
 ethical principles requires more or less time. 
 Ideas transmitted to us resemble fine sand 
 thrown upon the surface of the water ; it floats 
 a few moments, then sinks more or less 
 slowly according to whether salt or fresh 
 water and forms a bed at the bottom. Ideas 
 are like it. However simple they may be — and 
 could one imagine a clearer one than the use- 
 lessness, the harmfulness of discouragement? 
 — they remain a long time at the surface of 
 our understanding. It is only with time that 
 they sink and form that thick deposit which 
 constitutes our conscience, our moral person- 
 ality. Then only does the idea-feeling act 
 upon us and give us a force we did not sup- 
 pose we possessed. It is the same with the 
 growth of religious ideas; many people 
 acknowledge and defend them with a violence 
 hardly Christian; such ideas often have not 
 lived long enough, have not been completely 
 enough thought out, to produce virtuous acts, 
 
 [258] 
 
COURAGE 
 
 It is not enough to fight discouragement; 
 we must have that kind of courage which dif- 
 ficulties stir up; like a race-horse before a 
 hurdle, the higher the obstacle the more 
 eagerness we must show in leaping it. 
 
 One day a neurasthenic young countryman 
 was telling me his troubles, pointing out new 
 vexations, and playing the part of the last 
 drop that overflows the vase. To settle his 
 ideas, I made a comparison, saying, "You are 
 in the gymnasium class; the master makes 
 you jump a rope two feet from the ground. 
 You have some difficulty in jumping over it ; 
 he now raises it to two feet five inches. 
 ' ' What is to be done V " Take more spring, ' ' 
 he answered without hesitation. 
 
 Exactly, as difficulties increase, we must 
 take more spring, otherwise if the bar is 
 raised and courage lowered, failure is cer- 
 tain. It is not easy always to preserve this 
 imperturbable courage. With deep compas- 
 sion we should forgive those hours of moral 
 lassitude suffered by unfortunates who lack 
 health, and a certain freedom, who have 
 found on this road neither encouraging sym- 
 pathy nor persistent help, and who fight 
 
 [259] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 against their lot with a constancy that ap- 
 pears unattainable by the strong. When rep- 
 rimanding them we must not shake them 
 roughly; that would be cruelty. Complete 
 sympathy alone, born of the feeling that we 
 might not have done better ourselves, wiU be 
 the means by which we can infuse into them 
 a little of that warm blood which creates 
 buoyancy. 
 
 Eeflections of this nature always produce 
 some courage and end by influencing dis- 
 eased minds. I have seen months pass with- 
 out this philosophy being able to influence the 
 patient's mind, and yet the day arrives when 
 the spring, slowly stretched, has acquired suf- 
 ficient force. 
 
 Courage is often born from excess of dis- 
 couragement — from the very suffering, per- 
 sistent and growing, that it creates. Like the 
 naturally timid animal which finds itself cor- 
 nered, we turn about and face the difficulties. 
 It is partly owing to the urgent character of 
 necessity that we are able to retain courage 
 in the great events of life, but we let it crum- 
 ble away in the midst of numerous small 
 annoyances each day. 
 
 [260] 
 
COUEAGE 
 
 "I recognise," said an intelligent woman 
 to me, "the entire wisdom of your views; I 
 see clearly the necessity for repressing my 
 emotions, for suppressing fear; but when 
 something happens to upset me, reason, that 
 ought to save one, only comes five minutes 
 after, which is too late." That happens to 
 us all. It is the same with sentimental dia- 
 lectics as with fencing; for a long time our 
 parry comes only after our adversary's but- 
 ton has touched us. Little by little, by exer- 
 cise, our defence becomes smarter, and one 
 day we succeed in turning the point before 
 it touches us. Let us exercise ourselves in 
 moral defence, and we shall avoid defeat. 
 
 Many people experience another form of 
 contradiction in themselves ; they know very 
 well how to advise others on how to raise 
 their courage, but are unable to overcome 
 their own weaknesses. Is not this because, 
 in the struggle for our own interests, there 
 is an emotional element which somewhat 
 troubles our judgment and makes us unde- 
 cided? The man who might give his neigh- 
 bour good advice about investments might 
 not always experience the same ease of 
 
 [ 261 ] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 prompt and sure judgment when it became a 
 question of his own business. This is because 
 it affects his own welfare. 
 
 On the contrary, others, perhaps more 
 altruistic in emergency, fear rather to counsel 
 their fellow men than to act for themselves, 
 and courageous almost without effort, they 
 dare not incite this virtue in others. What a 
 disconcerting being is a man in his continual 
 changes of mind, which seem to result as 
 much from internal physical causes, or from 
 relaxation of mental nerves, as from moral 
 causes, or associations of discouraging ideas ! 
 
 The individual who without anxiety under- 
 stands and observes the hypochondriac, dis- 
 tinguishes continual squalls in the inner per- 
 sonality, inequalities of humour, which persist 
 even if he is able to hide them from the 
 eyes of others and does not let them appear 
 in acts. Clouds obscure our moral sky, with- 
 out our being able to recognise the reason for 
 the change of weather. Many people, espe- 
 cially when they are tired, feel their miads 
 vacillate like a barometer during changeable 
 weather. The slightest annoying event, fail- 
 ure in things of the least importance, imme- 
 
 [262] 
 
COURAGE 
 
 diately unrolls a veil of sadness, which is 
 sufficient to make them say apropos of some 
 trifle that life is not worth living. Fortu- 
 nately these impressionable natures are as 
 easy to reanimate as to depress, a ray of sun- 
 shine is enough ; a good word or a joke, some- 
 times a cup of coffee, or a cigar in the smoke 
 of which the sufferer evokes the image of that 
 careless flexibility which helps us to pass 
 through the difficulties of life. 
 
 Let us always keep up this smiling cour- 
 age; it should not be a fierce and bitter 
 stoicism, but a simple valour like that of gen- 
 tlemen of the old time who skilfully handled 
 the light sword. This warlike disposition 
 must begin in the morning; we must make 
 our moral toilet and clothe ourselves in its 
 coat of mail. We can then say: "Whatever 
 the day may bring, of physical fatigue, intel- 
 lectual work, or moral emotions, I am ready ; 
 my method enables me to be so, and there is 
 still something left over." 
 
 Another thought often comes to my mind, 
 when I feel the beginning of weakness in the 
 face of a task, to go forward cheerily, play 
 martial music and make the steps lively. 
 
 [263] 
 
XV 
 
 CHASTITY 
 
 [265] 
 
XV 
 
 CHASTITY 
 
 In writing this word chastity, so rarely 
 penned that it has an archaic air, I seem to 
 hear on every tongue the formidable hoots of 
 men, and mingled with them the rippling 
 laugh of coquettes; I see the discreet but 
 yet mocking smile of many honest women ; I 
 detect also the sobs of those who have seen 
 their dreams of happiness crumble away. 
 
 When recently at Paris some clever men — 
 Catholics, Protestants, and freethinkers — 
 united to work in common for the improve- 
 ment of morality, they were hissed and spat 
 upon — by the common people, should you 
 say? No; by the elite of the youth, by uni- 
 versity scholars, and scholars of the ficole des 
 Beaux- Arts ! 
 
 Why this quasi-unanimity of revolt when 
 one dares to recommend self-control in this 
 domain? Because, we are told, one must not 
 dare interfere with the right of man to love ! 
 Is it not a natural law, a primordial, inefface- 
 able instinct? 
 
 [267] 
 
SELP-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Far be it from me to condemn love, even 
 when it is reduced to the merest animal sen- 
 suality. I should not care to make man a 
 mental eunuch, avoiding by continual asceti- 
 cism the slavery of passion. I understand 
 chastity to mean, according to the dictionary : 
 "abstention from illicit pleasures, and rea- 
 sonable control in pleasures allowed." I do 
 not speak here of that complete and definite 
 abstinence which is unnatural, and which 
 made that unbalanced but witty queen, Chris- 
 tina of Sweden, say, "Too many men take 
 vows of chastity to keep them." This does 
 not mean that this supreme virtue should not 
 be accessible to spiritual souls, if circum- 
 stances demanded it. 
 
 Sexual love is neither pure nor impure; it 
 is natural; it is neither beautiful nor ugly; 
 it is instinct, and one of the mistakes of 
 Christian Puritanism is to have considered 
 the act to which we owe our birth as low and 
 even shameful. That horror of the nude that 
 would clothe such beautiful bodies as those 
 of Michelangelo in "The Last Judgment" is 
 puerile; and so is it to proscribe madonnas 
 who give the breast to the divine bambino, 
 
 [ 268 ] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 and stupidity to cover the antique nudes with 
 fig-leaves. 
 
 No, the healthy human body is beautiful; 
 its instincts are not "the terrible yoke of 
 animality," as theologians call it, but the blos- 
 soming of that joy of living, animal and 
 healthy, which is at the source of our energy. 
 By a false spiritualism we force ourselves 
 not to see the influence that amorous passion 
 has upon the mind; it seems as if we were 
 ashamed of it ; others realize very clearly the 
 slavery in which they live. The Pharisee 
 still constitutes the virtuous man in society. 
 Judging from appearances, one might think 
 humanity were all asexual. 
 
 From the natural point of view, it is free 
 love that has prior right to existence, that 
 love lighted by physical charms, coarse in 
 its Tmconscious egoism, even fickle — for uni- 
 formity is the enemy of pleasure — that love 
 which the brothers Margueritte paint so well 
 in the lascivious phrase "those delightful oc- 
 casions when the woman, bird of passage, 
 after the final billing and cooing, spreads her 
 wings and flies away." Yes — I see nothing 
 but what is pleasant and gracious in this pic- 
 
 [269] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 ture; but still it is animal love in all its 
 organic spontaneity. Is that the human 
 ideal? No. 
 
 Although, with slightly infantUe pride, 
 man puts himself on the border of the animal 
 world, where he consents to be for naturalists 
 nothing but the first animal above the gorilla, 
 in the order of primates, he has bestowed 
 upon himself the title of Homo Sapiens, and 
 he should live up to it. Love is no longer 
 the result of a simple organic impulsion to 
 him; he does not experience an authoritative 
 and periodical requirement, bringing male 
 and female together for the purpose of pro- 
 creation; he depends much more on imagina- 
 ition, on mental representations, always 
 accessible to education. 
 
 Man lowers himself beneath the brute when 
 he gives himself up to libidinous thoughts ; on 
 the contrary, he raises himself by ethical 
 thought to a more beautiful conception of 
 love when he puts feelings of real affection 
 first, and when the union of souls completes 
 the bodily union. 
 
 Life lived in common imposes upon us, not 
 constraint, but a precious gift for others and 
 
 [270] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 for ourselves, duties that restrict our im- 
 pulses of passion. Man assumes towards his 
 mate, and towards the beings born of their 
 union, responsibilities which increase only 
 according as physical and moral needs 
 develop. 
 
 In the savage, the care of offspring can be 
 reduced, as in the animal, to the instinct of 
 race preservation, to the protection of the 
 newly born, to their physical development 
 untU they are able to shift for themselves. 
 There is little difference between these primi- 
 tive societies and the rabbit-warren; the 
 woman is not yet the companion; she is only 
 an instrument of pleasure and a beast of 
 burden. 
 
 But this physical life does not satisfy us 
 who are civUized ; we live an intellectual and 
 moral life; we are quivering with feelings 
 foreign to the animal mind. Love does not 
 bind us by chains of capricious love alone, by 
 the attraction of reciprocal sexual rank; it 
 awakens sentiments of sympathy resulting 
 from the community of intellectual and moral 
 aspirations ; it tempers the impulse of passion 
 with respect. It is a complete union of intimate 
 
 [ 271 ] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 life that the engagement begins and which 
 marriage should continue, an entire work of 
 moral development, not only ia the narrow 
 path of famUy egoism, but in a wide spirit 
 of social responsibility. A family is created 
 and new duties spring up, tightening the con- 
 jugal bond and rendering the co-operation of 
 the parents still more necessary in the pursuit 
 of the general welfare. We not only owe our 
 children their daily bread, care that assures 
 their physical and intellectual development, 
 but we have to leave them an equally precious 
 heritage in that stock of moral ideas called 
 conscience, and those governing principles 
 that will direct them on the right way. To 
 consider the results of the act of love, that 
 chain of duties both serious and sweet which 
 we have to fulfil, is enough to make us feel 
 that human love can only find satisfaction in 
 monogamous marriage, following a chaste 
 youth exempt from a libertinism that would 
 compromise the ethical goal. 
 
 I know how the idea of chastity in youth 
 makes men smile — even those whom we call 
 serious. Are we not always saying that 
 woman is monogamous but that man is polyg- 
 
 [272] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 amous? We seem to admit a natural law in 
 this troubling discord. Marcel Prevost one 
 day asked the question if there were really 
 husbands who had never had "experience." 
 
 It is true there are reasons for this con- 
 trast. Love is a woman's life-work; she does 
 not offer herself, she gives herself with a 
 natural modesty which sentiments of recip- 
 rocal sympathy, the community of family 
 duties, alone can reclaim ; she is more mother 
 than wife and accepts with admirable 
 stoicism her heavy duties. 
 
 Man is naturally a greater egoist ; his part 
 is more fleeting. The sensual impulse that 
 urges him to indulgence is more absolute ; he 
 has not originally at heart that native mod- 
 esty which moderates the transport of the 
 senses. Busy elsewhere facing life, he de- 
 velops qualities of energy slightly militant, 
 which increases his natural egoism. 
 
 These temperamental differences between 
 masculine and feminine are found in animal 
 life, and it would be unjust to reproach man 
 with this roughness and impulsiveness which 
 make virtue more difficult for him. Let us 
 also take into consideration the ever-present 
 
 [273] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 contagion of vice found outside the family 
 circle, and we shall no longer attempt to put 
 boys and girls on the same footing, to de- 
 mand the same sweetness and modesty in 
 men that we love to see in women ; if men pos- 
 sessed these qualities they would have the 
 effeminate air of an Apollo Musagetes. 
 
 I know very well that it would be fallacious 
 to demand chastity among those who daily 
 experience the temptation to vice in the de- 
 leterious agglomeration of military life, and 
 in wanderers of every profession who must 
 so often renounce conjugal life. The state 
 of mind of this multitude is not favourable 
 to moral culture and so prostitution, as old 
 as the world, will remain like a staia, to 
 mark our powerlessness to create a healthy 
 and harmonious life for all. I am no more 
 astonished at this moral disorder than at the 
 existence of alcoholism, and do not lull my- 
 self to sleep with the hope of seeing these 
 scourges of humanity soon disappear. 
 
 What astounds me, what revolts me, is to 
 see the complacency with which the upper 
 classes, who should be protected by intellec- 
 tual culture, regard libertinism. 
 
 [274] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 That in the theatrical world and among our 
 popular writers it is the exception to find will- 
 ing chastity, which has resulted, not from 
 natural coldness but from ethical thought, 
 scarcely surprises me, remembering the sur- 
 rounding contagion. But what shall we say 
 of those literary and artistic critics who 
 charm us by the cleverness of their psycho- 
 logical observations, their keenness of moral 
 vision and of whose hidden amours and habits 
 of low sensuality we some day hear? And 
 those poets, who know so well how to sing 
 of love, and who impose upon us by covering 
 their vulgar eroticism with a veil of beautiful 
 verse! Often, however, they have suffered, 
 and their plaints should instruct us. But we 
 forget these trifles and remark that EoUa 
 did at twenty what his fathers before him 
 had done. 
 
 Why are works from the imagination of 
 our best writers, those incomparable sculp- 
 tors of phrases, spoiled by the heartrending 
 vulgarity of the subject as soon as love is in 
 question? Why that obscenity which during 
 dinners and over cigars makes men so often 
 resemble lascivious inonkeys ? 
 
 [275] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 There are moralist physicians who call 
 hygiene to their aid in the fight against vice ; 
 evidently this is better than to encourage de- 
 bauchery under the pretext of hygiene. Se- 
 cure in their science, they show young men 
 the risks they run, those various venereal 
 diseases that they complacently describe. 
 The Grermans call that "Nailing the devil to 
 the wall." 
 
 A poor moral indeed — that of fear, even if 
 it were efficacious. It is not, and in spite of 
 warnings the number of "damaged" does not 
 diminish. Men continue to expose themselves 
 to these dangers, to impair, often for life, 
 their physical and mental health; they do 
 not hesitate for a vulgar satisfaction of their 
 passions to run the risk of transmitting their 
 taint to the wife they have chosen, to the 
 children they beget. That is the sad spec- 
 tacle which not only the miserable and alco- 
 holic poor give us, but the aristocracy, the 
 good middle class — those governing classes 
 that feel called upon to defend social order. 
 
 Doubtless hygienic considerations may play 
 a part in the prevention of vice ; but rational 
 chastity should be founded upon higher and 
 
 [276] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 purer views, upon the sentiment of human 
 responsibility. We must avoid evil not only 
 because it is dangerous for us, but because 
 it is evil. And what harm is there in that 
 love of which I have just recognised so 
 frankly the natural, legitimate character? It 
 is that by seeking love outside of marriage 
 we despoU it in a blow of its ethical base, of 
 those sentiments of altruism which mitigate 
 its character as fundamentally egoistical. 
 Conjugal love rests, as on a tripod, upon 
 sexual attraction, intellectual union, and the 
 community of moral aspirations. If this 
 triple agreement cannot always exist at the 
 beginning, it should be created to assure the 
 welfare of husband and wife. Despoiled of 
 its spiritual elements, reduced to sexual appe- 
 tite, love debases us below the beasts ; it then 
 becomes so gross that a man of taste ought 
 to turn away from it, even when his senses 
 are already inflamed. 
 
 The life of gallantry is not without forfeit- 
 ure, without a weakening of the altruistic 
 sentiments that are at the base of all mo- 
 rality. One must have lost respect for human 
 personality and kindness to enjoy shame- 
 
 [2771 
 
SELF-COXTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 lessly facilities for regulated and clandestine 
 prostitution, to consider woman only as an 
 instrument of pleasure, to demand caresses 
 from her without giving her affection. "Love 
 nowhere and the spectre of love every- 
 where. ' ' 
 
 Mozart, when in the midst of the tempta- 
 tions of theatrical life, wrote that the fearful 
 thought that a man might turn a woman from 
 the straight road should be sufficient to pro- 
 tect her. That should be the condition of 
 mind of our morally cultivated young men, 
 the only one that can give the strength to 
 resist the temptations of passion. And do 
 not make the objection that this respect is 
 due only to the woman who is called immacu- 
 late, that Mozart only condemned by his fine 
 words that seduction which is disapproved of, 
 at least according to them, by numbers of 
 rakes. The commonest of prostitutes has a 
 right to our kindness ; her very misery espe- 
 cially recommends her to our benevolence. 
 Eesponsibility in vice is not divided; it is 
 entire for both principals. We should feel 
 intuitively that we ought not to outrage a 
 workman's daughter, or a girl belonging to 
 
 [278] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 the lower middle class, any more than we 
 should like the same thing to happen to our 
 sister or to our daughter. 
 
 Sincere religious feelings should suffice to 
 make this chastity possible, and even easy, 
 and to oppose an unshakable barrier to vice ; 
 but alas, it is in this domain that we observe 
 the superficial character of so much piety, 
 which is pasteboard religion, and wide- 
 spread; which often goes hand in hand with 
 libertinism. Profession of faith is not 
 enough, nor are cultivated habits due to sur- 
 roundings. Self-control is acquired only by 
 constant reflection ; it rests upon a clear view 
 of moral determinism, which, by making men 
 equal, creates true humility. This control de- 
 mands indulgence for others linked to se- 
 verity towards self, courage in the struggle 
 against the passions, and moderation even in 
 the legitimate pleasures to which we may 
 be led. 
 
 It is in the domain of sexual morality that 
 the most gifted man feels the necessity for 
 moral effort in the midst of what I have de- 
 fined as the painful indecision of weighted 
 scales. There is in one tray an enormous 
 
 [279] 
 
SELF-CONTROL 'AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 weight of native and legitimate sensuality ; in 
 the other, the weight, often variable, of moral 
 principles. While the impulse of passion 
 always remains powerful, rational motives 
 seem to constitute a volatUe substance. 
 Among most men it weighs so little that the 
 scales drop heavily to the bad side; among 
 others it oscillates, now to this side, now to 
 that. He alone who has founded his morality 
 upon an ideal cuts short these hesitations and 
 resists victoriously. 
 
 Nowadays marriage is again attacked. Ac- 
 cording to Paul Margueritte, a change is 
 about to be made; that is to say, we are on 
 the eve of a revolution in this domain. I 
 think rather that no change will come about 
 through many methods now extolled. Easy 
 divorce will not save us. Doubtless it may 
 break the yoke that many people have hung 
 about their necks, often from lack of clear 
 sight and self-control. This may be a bless- 
 ing; for there is no real power in the legal 
 consecration of a rupture that has already 
 been consummated. Frequency of separations 
 could at the best only encourage carelessness 
 in the formation of the marriage bond. Free 
 
 [280] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 love, even in tlie generous conception of an 
 Ellen Key, will not give greater strength and 
 consequent happiness. 
 
 Finally, the very modern Leon Blum, ob- 
 serving the continual infractions of morality, 
 ingeniously avoids the offence by abolishing 
 the law. Henceforth young men and young 
 girls — for the author is feminist — are to sow 
 their wild oats in early life for as long as 
 they like, and are only to marry when ripe — I 
 was going to say "mellow" — ^for conjugal 
 life. 
 
 These dreams will not facilitate virtue. 
 That is possible only in constant respect to- 
 wards an ideal influencing our minds by the 
 force of truth, which itself constitutes one 
 of the strongest moral barriers to sexual im- 
 morality. The youth who, in the veiled sug- 
 gestion of his surroundings, is about to lose 
 his chastity finds himself in a dilemma suf- 
 ficient to restrain a noble mind. He can, in a 
 commonplace cynicism, admit or let his faults 
 be supposed; most frequently he knows that 
 he will cause sorrow to his parents and will 
 destroy the ties of sympathy that unite him 
 to loved and respected persons. At an age 
 
 [281] 
 
SE LF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 when Ms reason should develop, his enthusi- 
 asm for the beautiful, and his superiority 
 as a man, he shows on the contrary a 
 most vulgar passivity towards the conta- 
 gion of vice. It becomes a wUling moral 
 downfall at the beginning of virility. On the 
 other side, he has — I cannot say to what ex- 
 tent — the resource of dissimulation. He 
 must be content to wear a mask — this proud 
 young man who holds his head so high and 
 affects frankness with other men! He de- 
 ceives women, those whom he makes use of 
 for pleasure, she whom he is going to marry ; 
 and whom he wants intact, but not too 
 chaste; that would upset old habits. He 
 falls from the clouds, this distinguished, intel- 
 ligent young man, when one dares to speak of 
 expected fidelity towards a future wife; he, 
 who claims to be spiritual, who, if you please, 
 declares himself to be profoundly religious, 
 intrenches himself behind material necessi- 
 ties. He is vicious only for hygienic reasons ; 
 physicians have pointed out to him from the 
 age of seventeen the dangers of continence ; it 
 appears to him that virtue produces neuras- 
 thenia. 
 
 [282] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 Are we not also told tliat one must have 
 sowed wild oats in order to make a model 
 husband; gaining the wisdom of experience, 
 we settle down in time, and we are able to 
 give our sons good advice, not to make fools 
 of themselves, and, above all, how to avoid the 
 consequences. One must know life. A Ger- 
 man woman wrote this cruel line : "There are 
 many men who do not know their wives, and 
 it is a pity; there are many women who do 
 not know their husbands, and it is not a pity. ' ' 
 She forgot that the fair sex has also its weak- 
 nesses and that husbands sometimes make 
 strange discoveries. 
 
 There is a continence — I do not call it chas- 
 tity — which has no moral value; it is in the 
 first place that of the impotent, those of cold 
 temperaments, the timid, the undecided, who 
 are bitten with desire and restrained, not by 
 moral feelings, but by fear, dread of conta- 
 gion, of scandal, of "what will they say," by 
 religious scruples without force because they 
 are the result of passive suggestions. A true 
 chastity can be founded only upon clear views, 
 upon moral notions thoroughly examined and 
 which one has learned to love. 
 
 [283] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Past morality is never a guarantee for fu- 
 ture morality. There are men who are chaste 
 tUl marriage and who cut up pranks after- 
 wards. Sometimes they have the excuse not 
 that their wives are chaste, but that they are 
 frigid; certain women do not distinguish be- 
 tween a virtue and an infirmity. The down- 
 falls of the chaste are carefully noted by 
 those who have not been so ; they confirm the 
 idea that chastity is impossible, and it is so 
 pleasant to catch one's neighbour tripping. 
 Mental deformations due to senility some- 
 times explain these errors ; they can make out 
 of a chaste adult an old satyr and out of a 
 fine matron, formerly frigid, a Messalina with 
 gray hair. The path of sexual morality is 
 bordered with slippery edges, and in order 
 not to fall over we have need for all the 
 moral strength that ethical reason can 
 give us. 
 
 We much need that virtue. Debauchery that 
 is painted in pleasant colours carries with 
 it many other vices — contempt for human 
 personality, disloyalty, and hardness. On the 
 contrary, chastity is founded on kindness it- 
 self. It creates altruistic sentiments, and its 
 
 [284] 
 
CHASTITY 
 
 practise strengthens more and more the ethi- 
 cal idea that engendered it; thus Bemardin 
 de Saint-Pierre was able to say, "Chastity is 
 the source of strength and of moral beauty in 
 both sexes." 
 
 [285] 
 
XVI 
 
 SINCERITY 
 
 [287] 
 
XVI 
 
 SINCERITY 
 
 How "tTGLT defects become when we see them 
 from the outside in others : There is one that 
 seems especially hateful; it is insincerity. 
 Nothing is so painful as to be deceived, be- 
 trayed; nothing troubles social relations like 
 a lie. We all know it, and yet how rare it is 
 to meet with sincerity ! It appears as a nudi- 
 ty, indecent to exhibit in society ; we consider 
 ourselves authorized to dissimulate our 
 thought as we hide our little deformities by 
 the art of the toilette; a natural complexion 
 offends a community in which every one 
 paints. Still a kiss would be sweeter on a 
 cheek from which the color did not come off. 
 Human relations would be quite different if 
 we showed sincerity by our actions. 
 
 This virtue should please men, because it 
 means courage, which they pride themselves 
 on possessing. One often needs it in order to 
 express frankly a thought that one has ma- 
 tured, to do it without fear of conflicting with 
 
 [289] 
 
SELF-CONTROL 'AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 that of others, to have, as we say, the courage 
 of our opinion. How cowardly men are upon 
 this point! One sees believers putting their 
 banners in their pockets when they are ex- 
 posed to the quibbles of non-thinkers; even 
 priest-haters are seen to go devotedly to mass 
 when they have some interest in doing so. 
 There are young debauchees who are careful 
 not to reform, but to preserve a saintly repu- 
 tation, and there are chaste persons who ape 
 the foUies of vice and satisfy imaginary in- 
 dulgences so as to appear like everybody 
 else. It is the fear of "what will they say" 
 that agitates these marionettes. 
 
 One day we surprise a politician in a fine 
 action; we say there is a man who has cour- 
 age, who says what he wishes. Alas, the 
 action did not correspond to the feeling; we 
 learn later that he acted from quite different 
 motives and that he considers those persons 
 simple who believed him sincere. It is so 
 well admitted that we must use cunning in 
 politics that a statesman once said: "We also 
 have sometimes our moments of sincerity." 
 We are very afraid, of appearing simple in 
 this world ; we wish to pass for clever, with- 
 
 [290] 
 
SINCERITY 
 
 out thinking that the habit is often nothing 
 but lying and malevolence. 
 
 It is pride, and the most vulgar sort, that 
 makes us suffer when we have been deceived. 
 We should then experience only one sorrow, 
 that of having seen another go morally astray 
 and show a low sentiment. Generally a man 
 feels only vexation in having been "caught" 
 and, following his infantile logic, he gets 
 ready to render evil for evil. 
 
 If we meet with so little sincerity in this 
 world, it is because it is put to flight as soon 
 as it tries to show itself. We approach others 
 with suspicion in mind, and we put ourselves 
 on guard as if we were going to battle; we 
 make our interlocutor an adversary; it is 
 natural that he should be on the defensive. 
 
 The best method of creating a quality in 
 a man is to suppose he possesses it ! By be- 
 lieving in his sincerity from the start, we 
 shall compel him to be sincere. I have often 
 noticed that people who are true themselves 
 have rarely to complain of others; they are 
 frank; they meet with frankness; with those 
 who can dissimulate, we go more carefuUy 
 — "to the cheat, a cheat and a half." 
 
 [291] 
 
SELF-CONTROL 'AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Education in sincerity and veracity is stUl 
 deficient. We do not have a sufficiently high 
 ideal of this virtue. There are many people 
 who are honest enough not to lie for vulgar 
 material ends, hut who abandon themselves 
 to lying for fear of being wrongly judged by 
 others and exposed to their mockery. When 
 we have once failed in sincerity, we run a 
 great risk of continuing in that path, so loath 
 are we to admit our first fault. Eousseau, 
 after having indignantly calumniated his 
 servant Marion, by accusing him of the theft 
 of a ribbon that he had intrusted to him, 
 would have liked to obey his impulse of peni- 
 tence, but he could not. "I feared little the 
 punishment," he wrote; "I feared only the 
 shame; that I fear more than death, more 
 than everything." Yes, this pride can lead 
 even to crime, this fear of being exposed to 
 criticism. 
 
 "Sincerity is the first of virtues," said 
 Victor Cherbuliez; and once a professor of 
 philosophy, M. Parodi, in an address at the 
 distribution of prizes of the Lycee CorneUle, 
 showed that sincerity might constitute the 
 sole basis of rational morality. ' ' The respect 
 
 [292] 
 
SINCERITY 
 
 of truth," said he, "is the virtue of adult 
 humanity. As it becomes conscious of itself, 
 sincerity acquires to our eyes growing im- 
 portance." 
 
 Sincerity is, in truth, an adult virtue. The 
 lie is the arm of the weak; the child uses it 
 spontaneously when he thinks he can avoid 
 trouble by it ; woman, who reasons less than 
 man, falls into the way of it more easily. 
 Men themselves, so presumptuous, do not 
 always understand all the strength and 
 beauty of frankness; in dispensing it to 
 others, they blend it with roughness and 
 carelessness. The child may be early trained 
 to this virtue, without the trouble of teach- 
 ing; it is by the contagion of example that 
 it is inculcated. We should therefore be 
 sincere with him, say nothing to him we do 
 not think, do nothing in his presence that 
 detracts from the principle of sincerity. 
 
 The sentiment that we should fix in our 
 hearts is a constant respect for truth. In 
 every circumstance, even of our most private 
 life; in our intentions even, we should act 
 and think as if others saw us, without having 
 to blush. 
 
 [293] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 I am surprised that a moralist like Jules 
 Payot ^ should not always see the beauty of 
 sincerity, and has dared to recommend the 
 use of the lie when it can benefit us without 
 hurting others. According to him, a student 
 who desires to work can invent a lie in order 
 to get rid of comrades who wish to carry him 
 off to a tavern or for a walk. Isn't it simpler 
 to say that one desires to work, and does it 
 need heroism to resist such allurements ? Such 
 a feeble character would inspire me with 
 slight confidence, and I ask myself if a man 
 who deforms truth so easily, when the most 
 trivial interests are involved, can suddenly 
 become sincere when more important interests 
 are at stake. One can imagine dramatic situa- 
 tions in which a lie might protect our lives 
 or those of others. Those are abnormal sit- 
 uations, analogous to a state of war; moral 
 laws already suffer a strain in the case of 
 legitimate defence, which authorizes recourse 
 to violence, that is immoral in itself. In great 
 captains, we make a virtue of their cunning as 
 
 i"L':fiducation de la Volontfi," par Jules Payot. Paris, 
 thirtieth edition, 1909. A translation of this work by 
 Smith Ely JeUifEe was published in 1909 by Funk & Wag- 
 nails Company. 
 
 [294] 
 
SINCERITY 
 
 we praise their valour. We can argue upon 
 opportunities for forced lies, and each one 
 has the right to act according to his con- 
 science if he finds himself placed in a situa- 
 tion he can get out of only by dissimulation. 
 But we rarely encounter such dilemmas in 
 life. We like sincerity in others, we suffer 
 from their disloyalty, but we do not preserve 
 sufficiently intact our aversion to the lie. 
 
 The life of society encourages this lack of 
 frankness; it authorizes a quantity of little 
 lies that often are very useless, since we guess 
 what is being kept from us, as when we hear 
 that monsieur is absent, instead of that mon- 
 sieur does not receive. And yet the latter 
 would be equally easy to say and to maintain 
 if one had really good reasons for it. Doubt- 
 less these stereotyped lies rarely harm any 
 one, but they already impair the spirit of 
 truth ; they create unfortunate mental habits, 
 which are hard to get rid of when more 
 serious circumstances render frankness de- 
 sirable. 
 
 Frankness is not a show quality, one of 
 those worldly half -virtues which, like polite- 
 ness, simply helps relations between men. On 
 
 [295] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 the contrary, it is a cardinal virtue engender- 
 ing many others. When one is frank, one 
 can no longer do evU except by mistake ; one 
 would be exposed to the justifiable reproaches 
 of others, and of one's self, as soon as the 
 wrong was recognised. 
 
 Frankness creates loyalty in business, com- 
 mercial probity. In countries where it is 
 lacking, we not only experience the annoy- 
 ance of being deceived, but we suffer morally 
 in observing such a want of morality. In 
 communities that consider themselves more 
 highly cultured, we see, if not the lie direct, 
 at least dissimulation, so much the easier as 
 the interests in question are more consider- 
 able. Absence of frankness is tolerated in 
 certain circles of high finance, and among 
 promoters of business; for a long time we 
 have admitted that little thieves are hanged 
 and big ones let go. 
 
 We meet with disloyal conduct in the in- 
 dustrial world, where adulteration and sub- 
 stitution exist, and benefits that should accrue 
 to inventors and pioneers are unscrupulously 
 appropriated. Quite a collection of laws are 
 needed to protect men against their kind, so 
 
 [296] 
 
SINCERITY 
 
 greatly ignored is the social compact that 
 binds them together. 
 
 The ideal purpose pursued by science 
 should aid savants in the practice of frank- 
 ness. Alas, vanity in them takes the place 
 of the appetite for gain ! Plagiarists are not 
 rare, and there is little sincerity in the quarrel 
 that questions of priority give birth to ; every- 
 where egoism raises its head and helps us to 
 forget the ideal of truth. 
 
 We are not always sincere even in the ex- 
 position of our opinions in discussions in 
 which no interest is in question, except that 
 ever-recurrent one of our vanity. To make a 
 good appeai'ance is our great preoccupation, 
 and it is enough to make us strain the truth. 
 
 As I have said, it is in questions of love that 
 the effects of disloyalty are most cruelly felt. 
 Man does not see how egotistical, in its 
 natural order, is his desire for the other sex. 
 He calls it by the same name as affection, 
 as altruism, and he does not perceive that to 
 justify this analogy he must introduce senti- 
 ments of benevolence and charity into his 
 passion. 
 
 In this domain especially, frankness would 
 
 [297] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 be a powerful element of morality. The 
 young man brought up to speak the truth 
 would not give himself up to vulgar de- 
 bauchery, to adventures of gallantry; he 
 would revolt at wearing the mask this fast 
 life requires. If he found himself carried 
 away by sensual impulses, he would retreat 
 in alarm at the thought of the state of mind 
 that would result from continual dissimula- 
 tion. It is not vulgar fear and timidity that 
 restrain him; it is the impossibility of re- 
 nouncing, when he becomes a man, the ideal 
 of frankness that he formed when a youth, 
 that education has inculcated. 
 
 Attracted by the charms of a young girl, 
 he will see at a glance the path that frank- 
 ness offers. He will not only shun seduction 
 — I hold him incapable of it — but also that 
 " flirting " which might awaken hopes in her 
 who pleases him, might compromise her, and 
 leave her the bitterness of disillusion. So 
 long as he is not in a position to support a 
 family, he is careful not to awaken passion 
 in another, and smothers his own. By work, 
 he will try to arrive at a settled position that 
 will allow him love, and when he thinks of 
 
 [298] 
 
SINCERITY 
 
 that future, it is not lasciviousness that 
 awakens in him; it is a dream of happiness 
 to which he gives himself up; he wishes to 
 be joined to her whom he loves, live with 
 her in a community of thought, of noble as- 
 pirations. 
 
 In marriage, he is shielded against infidel- 
 ity; not that he becomes insensible to the 
 attraction of other women — there is allure- 
 ment in sensuality that we can not repulse 
 at will — ^but because he truly loves and is 
 unable to cause unhappiness. He is incapable 
 of dissimulation in worldly relations; and 
 why shall he lose that frankness in the close 
 bond of marriage? 
 
 The young man who follows this straight 
 path gives no proof of heroic renouncement. 
 It is only a struggle at the beginning, at the 
 age when passion bursts forth. Soon moral 
 ideas, for the moment disturbed, will reassert 
 and strengthen themselves. They wiU ever 
 become clearer for those who think; they 
 will constitute solid dykes against which the 
 waves of passion will break themselves. 
 
 Frankness is also the best support in the 
 fight against secret vice, so common among 
 
 [299] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 children, above all among boys, and which 
 risks playing the part of derivative to amor- 
 ous passion. If there were not theorists 
 about this vice, and if we did not find to-day 
 apologists for a stiU more shameful vice, I 
 might have dispensed with this little digres- 
 sion. Immorality, it is true, has the most 
 grievous consequences when our acts com- 
 promise the material and moral ruterests of 
 others; in fact, for Eobinson Crusoe on his 
 island there was no social morality. But as 
 man raises himself by thought, he recognises 
 the necessity for continual self-control. 
 
 As is seen, sincerity is not a common vir- 
 tue ; it is not found in the streets. Still it is 
 the most necessary of all virtues because no 
 other can exist without it. 
 
 [300 J 
 
XVII 
 
 KINDNESS 
 
 [301] 
 
XVII 
 
 KINDNESS 
 
 The child is born predisposed to good-will 
 towards others ; he is prodigal of caresses to 
 men, to animals, and even to inanimate things. 
 But this kindness is only a form of sensuality ; 
 its exacts reciprocity, or at least submission. 
 The child becomes angry when toys or house- 
 hold pets, companions in his play, do not ap- 
 pear to obey his wishes. Then, as in purring 
 cats, the claw replaces the velvet paw. If he 
 is impulsive by heredity or education, he will 
 strike and exhibit cruelty. This germ of 
 native kindness is very frail ; it does not de- 
 velop naturally, as a healthy plant; social 
 warfare is after all established upon the basis 
 of this gentleness which is wholly egoistic, 
 and is found in the lower animal equally as 
 in the little boy. 
 
 Still the germ of altruistic feeling is really 
 there; from the good nature that we desire 
 or demand is born that which we show 
 towards others, but it will flow naturally only 
 
 [303] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECUEB IT 
 
 from constant reciprocity. We do not find it 
 everywhere on the road ; it is not returned to 
 us. To transform natural egoism into a 
 spirit of responsibility requires prolonged 
 and earnest cultivation. To-day that moral 
 education which should make a child a socia- 
 ble being, capable of finding his own satisfac- 
 tion in the good that he does to others, is 
 quite insufficient. The child often retains a 
 certain hardness ; one at that age is "without 
 pity"; the young, carried away by ardour 
 and presimaption, are not always fair in their 
 judgments, and we may say that the human 
 masses, insufficiently cultivated, morally pre- 
 serve something of infantile mentality ; noth- 
 ing is more cruel sometimes than what is 
 called a good boy. 
 
 Man knows how to be good as long as he 
 gets something in return, or receives at least 
 gratitude.; he is good no longer when it be- 
 comes a question of sacrificing momentarily 
 his own interests in order to obey an ideal of 
 kindness. I can not repeat often enough that 
 this is because he is near-sighted ; he is all for 
 the present and consequently imprudent. He 
 does not see all the good that would result 
 
 [304] 
 
KINDNESS 
 
 to himself and to others from a life domi- 
 nated by feelings of responsibility. If he is a 
 little gifted, he easily recognises the necessity 
 for mutual understanding in the small circle 
 of his relations. Those for whom no friend- 
 ship, no comradeship exist are rare ; we meet 
 with these conditions even among criminals. 
 But the majority of men have not this clear 
 vision, when it becomes a question of extend- 
 ing sympathy to humanity entire in order to 
 widen human groups. 
 
 Many people do not scruple to rob a 
 national treasury by stealing from the cus- 
 toms through false declarations. We recog- 
 nise, it is true, the bad effect upon public 
 fortune, and consequently upon our own in- 
 terests, if this dissimulation were to be prac- 
 tised by everybody, but we imagine ourselves 
 authorized to defraud the State by the ex- 
 ample of others. It is a further logical error 
 that makes us imitate evil instead of follow- 
 ing the straight path of a moral idea. True 
 kindness is more clear-sighted; it is only 
 established slowly in human understanding; 
 it grows with moral intelligence, with self- 
 control. It is the fruit of that meditative 
 
 [305] 
 
SELF-CONTRO L AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 thought which, by analyzing the elements of 
 happiness, induces us to seek it, not for the 
 material advantages offered to our appetites, 
 like bait to foolish fish, but in the pursuit of 
 a fine ideal useful to others and to ourselves. 
 
 The idea of necessary reciprocity in senti- 
 ments that we owe to one another is so 
 natural that it no longer appears as inter- 
 ested calculation; it has all the spontaneity 
 of an innate feeling, of an instinct, like that 
 which creates the social life of an ant-hiU, 
 That is why I consider as one of the simplest 
 dicta of reason the idea that we must not 
 do to others what we do not wish them to do 
 to us. Not only do we know it, and under- 
 stand it, but we feel it. This idea remains 
 clear, even while it is blurred by the inter- 
 vention of a crowd of mental representations 
 before which we halt, hesitating and troubled. 
 There is continual indecision in our conduct 
 when we have not sufficiently recognised the 
 necessity for an ideal, or when we have not 
 placed it high enough. 
 
 The best-gifted individual who looks into 
 himself finds unhappy contradictions; he 
 sees all the difficulties of the way, and that 
 
 [306] 
 
KINDNESS 
 
 is why lie is not surprised if others, less 
 favored by heredity and education, stumble 
 at these numerous obstacles. 
 
 The most absolute indulgence results from 
 a frank comparison of others' faults with 
 one's own. However hideous poor humanity 
 may sometimes appear, one does not forget 
 the brotherly tie that binds men together. He 
 sees his ego so small in the great mass and 
 feels himself exposed to the same mistakes 
 of thought, even while clearer ethical views 
 have preserved him from serious errors. He 
 settles more and more into the feeling of 
 social sympathy, into the need of harmony. 
 
 This state of mind of absolute kindliness 
 can be allied to every metaphysical concep- 
 tion. Eeligion in particular has always 
 preached this love, and it has been realized 
 in many superb works of charity. But men 
 have not sufficiently understood all the 
 healthy indulgence and pity that there are in 
 the work of the Nazarene. They have weighed 
 their passions in the balance of their justice ; 
 they have remained hard in their judgment 
 upon others, keeping all the while, like Phari- 
 sees, their good opinion of themselves. 
 
 [307] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Kind feeling is not simple; it is composed 
 of a number of innate and acquired sensi- 
 bilities which can to-day draw ns towards 
 tenderness, to-morrow towards harshness; 
 these various impulses are not pointed in 
 a given direction; even when they determine 
 altruistic conduct, egoism is not absent. 
 
 I have said, and I repeat that nothing 
 creates a rational kindness like the idea of 
 determinism, not alone physical, but moral. 
 It is not a question here of that natural ne- 
 cessity, which begins with the primitive 
 nebulae of savants and rules all movements 
 of matter; nor of the stUl mental slavery of 
 the animal which obeys only its instincts. 
 Man's reactions from every excitement that 
 attacks him are not simple physiological re- 
 flexes; they are psychological. Man thinks, 
 and makes mental representations, from 
 which the feeling that induces him to act is 
 created; he is capable of raising himself to 
 the abstract idea. I do not care whether these 
 phenomena are explained by imagining a soul 
 pinned to a body, or whether it be admitted 
 that thought is directly created from cerebral 
 effort. 
 
 [308] 
 
KINDNESS 
 
 Human thouglit is a fact; there is never a 
 man who has not conceived some moral idea, 
 however defective it may be ; not a man who 
 has never obeyed at one time or another a 
 force-idea; mental representations are de- 
 veloped from birth; they are creators of 
 desires and consequently of acts. There is a 
 fund of embryonic morality in us all, by the 
 very reason of ancestral influences; but it 
 does not develop to the point of utility except 
 under educational influences. 
 
 We notice here a social inequality more 
 bitter than that between the rich and the 
 poor, the healthy and the sick ; it is that which 
 creates what is called the good and the bad. 
 It is terrible, this injustice in the partition of 
 moral intelligence; it plunges into a gulf of 
 sorrow both those it leads to crime and those 
 who suffer for it ; it would be cruelty if it con- 
 demned these disinherited ones to eternal 
 pain. For my part, I can not conceive of hell, 
 especially when entertaining the idea of a God 
 of kindness. It touched me to hear the joke 
 of a good priest, whom a parishioner had 
 anxiously questioned about hell. "Hell," 
 said he, "yes, yes, there is one; but," he 
 
 [309] 
 
SELF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 added in a whisper, "there is never any one 
 there." 
 
 However that may be, we know nothiag 
 positive about the beyond, and believers may 
 let Providence act as it thinks best; it can- 
 not make a mistake. What is odious is our 
 severity in this world, that crying injustice 
 which consists in considering all men as en- 
 dowed equally with the same amount of con- 
 science and consequently as equally guUty 
 when they fail to arrive at the goal at the 
 same time as others. It is as if one classed 
 runners according to the time of their ar- 
 rival, although starting from different points 
 on the track. 
 
 Men are always, at the time we observe 
 them, what they are able to be ; let us forgive 
 them and provide them with the means to 
 reach the goal with greater chances of suc- 
 cess. 
 
 I have shown that this view from the start 
 engenders tolerance, kindly indulgence, and 
 respect for human personality. This charita- 
 ble judgment in regard to others in no wise 
 encourages slackness ; the pardon is only for 
 the irrevocable past. It prevents neither re- 
 
 [310] 
 
KINDNESS 
 
 gret nor remorse, since we recognise to our 
 cost the error committed; it does not push 
 us towards evil, since the very fault is pre- 
 cisely the occasion for moral elevation. 
 
 Kindness is not only the source of senti- 
 ments directly altruistic which should regu- 
 late our dealings with others, but with its 
 beams discloses hidden virtues, such as hu- 
 mility, moderation of desire, and courage. 
 In this spirit we do not regard them solely 
 from the point of view of personal usefulness ; 
 we see in a flash their value for the good 
 of all. 
 
 There is no virtue, to speak correctly, for 
 man as a solitary individual in the world; 
 virtue begins only with sociability. All our 
 qualities have their reverberations upon the 
 happiness of our fellow men; they enjoy 
 them, as we enjoy theirs. The idea of 
 responsibility is at the base of all our aspira- 
 tions towards good. The studies of psychia- 
 trists and neurologists have given the great- 
 est importance to heredity; they have 
 unveiled the mental defects resulting from de- 
 generation in families and races. We must 
 be blind not to recognise the influence of 
 
 [311 J 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 heredity upon our physical, intellectual, and 
 moral malformations. The physician, like the 
 priest and the teacher, like the poor parents 
 directly affected, daily witness family trag- 
 edies caused by the transmission by descent 
 of the mental defects of ancestors. 
 
 Here, it is epilepsy which often perma- 
 nently seizes a child who' hitherto has 
 appeared normal; it not only injures his 
 career as a man by a repetition of frightful 
 convulsive fits, but also diminishes his intel- 
 ligence; it stupefies him, often morally in a 
 pathological egoism, and makes of him a 
 beast with a human face. There it is preco- 
 cious insanity seizing a young girl in the 
 period of her development ; while her parents 
 see with joy the growth of that loving mind, 
 that awakened intelligence, she becomes the 
 prey of obsessions, delirious ideas, hallucina- 
 tions ; she is often obliged to pass her life far 
 from the family circle to which she may re- 
 main attached. 
 
 To-day it is a savant, a brave man, who 
 unites qualities of heart to intelligence, who 
 sees his son sink into a serious neurasthenic 
 condition, paralyzing activity and compro- 
 
 [312] 
 
KINDNESS 
 
 mising Ms material and moral future, the 
 youtli whom Ms father had joyfully hoped 
 would continue the race. To-morrow, it is 
 a young girl, brought up among moral and 
 cultured surroundings, who by reason of an- 
 cestral influences, perhaps difficult to dis- 
 cern, falls into a pathological state of imper- 
 fect morality, causing her to lose all sense 
 of modesty ; during her whole life it becomes 
 necessary to exercise constant supervision 
 over her; she being deprived of certain 
 moral conceptions. 
 
 And in families which, to the eyes of a su- 
 perficial observer, seem to be spared, we yet 
 notice the disastrous effects of heredity, of 
 atavism, physical malformation, creating real 
 inferiority, imperfect intellect and, what is 
 still more painful, moral blemishes, directing 
 these invalids, if we may so call them, in the 
 path of evil. There is no family in which we 
 cannot discover imperfections of some sort, 
 and we must be thankful if they do not lead 
 to the catastrophes we see daily around us. 
 
 Yes, heredity is a terrible yoke ; we cannot 
 even rebel against it, so natural and neces- 
 sary is it. Are we surprised to discover 
 
 [313] 
 
S ELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 heredity in the life of plants and animals! 
 Why should it happen that man alone trans- 
 mits qualities to his descendants! 
 
 The egoistical observer, especially when he 
 is exempt, coldly notes these imperfections; 
 he sneeringly watches this limping humanity 
 act. Sensitive and overemotional people suf- 
 fer cruelly from these inequalities, but re- 
 main passive. Kindness has neither this 
 cruelty nor this weakness. It creates cour- 
 ageous initiative and incites those who have 
 charge of souls to repair the perverted intel- 
 lects, as a skilful gardener knows how to 
 attach stubborn branches to the trellis. And 
 often this virtue, which does not know dis- 
 couragement, is victorious. 
 
 The influence of heredity has been exag- 
 gerated; it has too often been thought final, 
 and the fact that it has a powerful antidote 
 in education has not been seen clearly enough. 
 
 Doubtless it is not possible to change en- 
 tirely a personality; it cannot be remoulded. 
 We must be content with correction of the 
 most glaring defects, those which compromise 
 the future of the individual, and prevent him 
 from fulfilling his social duty. Physical de- 
 
 [314] 
 
KINDNESS 
 
 fects most frequently remain; one's frame 
 cannot be remade; after the adult age not 
 even one's system of muscles ; we must put up 
 with these little and big deformities and 
 physical unfitness. 
 
 On the contrary, intelligence is more plas- 
 tic. It constantly grows; even by the idiot 
 the influence of spiritual orthopsedia can be 
 felt. Doubtless, everybody cannot rise to the 
 high regions of thought, and there again we 
 must recognise our weakness without false 
 pride. But there is a domain where culture 
 finds a vast field of activity, in a ground 
 already prepared — that of moral intelli- 
 gence. This knowledge — Grreek intellectualism 
 with reason considered virtue as "knowl- 
 edge" — ^is not built upon a scaffold of scien- 
 tific attainments, upon a book culture accessi- 
 ble only to the privileged; it is based upon 
 common sense, and this common sense im- 
 proves and increases as it is used. It is found 
 among beings apparently the most ill-fa- 
 voured, but it must be sought out and, so to 
 speak, created, and it is always kindness that 
 can discover hidden qualities. It makes peo- 
 ple intelligent, because it considers them as 
 
 [315] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 such ; it makes them good ; it gives them self- 
 confidence and a conviction of power. 
 
 To arrive at this restoration, we must 
 quickly forget the defective past ; we repulse 
 the person we wish to help when we reproach 
 him harshly. On the contrary, we must credit 
 him with our confidence and point out that 
 he can do well, that he can obey reasonable 
 impulses when he will recognise their justice. 
 
 It is a work of love, which is only possible 
 through that sympathy which all other virtues 
 engenders, to such an extent that we might 
 say: "There is only one virtue, kindness." 
 
 [316] 
 
XVIII 
 
 IDEALISM 
 
 [317] 
 
XVIII 
 
 IDEALISM 
 
 When I was a youngster I overheard con- 
 versations between gentlemen, and learned 
 that there were two classes among men — con- 
 servatives, who monopolized riches and hon- 
 ours, egotistical in their pharisaical respect- 
 ability, enemies of all progress ; and radicals, 
 frank and loyal natures, fighting against all 
 tyrannies, pioneers of progress in every field. 
 I have revised this judgment, for I had no 
 trouble in seeing that these "reds" did not 
 monopolize all the civic and private virtues, 
 and the relations that I had with those ter- 
 rible conservatives showed me they were not 
 worse than others. I found among the latter 
 many noble souls, and liberal minds, accessi- 
 ble to every generous idea, and I concluded 
 that we must not attach much importance to 
 labels. 
 
 Later, when a young man, I heard of new 
 distinctions. The world appeared to me to 
 be divided into two camps — "spiritualists," 
 who were usually believers, guardians of the 
 
 [319] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 ideal, paladins of virtue, and "materialists," 
 who were coarse individuals, wlio thought 
 only of material pleasures. Men agreed, it is 
 true, to make a distinction between material- 
 ists of manners and positivist scholars, who, 
 they said, inconsistently allied a worthy life 
 with subversive theories. I heard the names 
 of August Comte, Littre, John Stuart Mill, 
 Biichner, Moleschott, and Karl Vogt cited 
 with terror mingled with respect. 
 
 Again I had quickly to erase the fallacious 
 labels and judge individuals without bother- 
 ing about distinctions. On the one side, I 
 quickly saw how inefficacious was this spiri- 
 tuality among its sponsors ; on the other side, 
 I noticed that positivist scholars, materialis- 
 tic monists, could raise aloft the banner of 
 the moral ideal and conform their lives to it. 
 
 There is no quarrel more useless than the 
 ever-recurrent one between "spiritualists" 
 and "materialists," the "dualists" and the 
 "monists." It has as little importance for 
 us as the battle of the Horatii and the 
 Curatii. 
 
 Let us explain ourselves. 
 
 If we study man without prejudice, and as 
 
 [320] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 mucli by objective examination of others as 
 by introspection, we notice that his body is 
 analogous to that of the animal, that it 
 is a material substance we can touch and sub- 
 mit to anatomical and chemical analysis. It 
 is composed of innumerable cells, always 
 more varied as we ascend the scale of the 
 animal series. Each of our cells lives; that 
 is to say, it reacts under the influence of nat- 
 ural stimuli, such as light, sound, sapid and 
 odoriferous substances, and mechanical exci- 
 tations; these natural excitations may be re- 
 placed by artificial ones, especially by 
 electricity, capable under various forms of 
 making active our several organs. The mus- 
 cle, which normally contracts under the in- 
 fluence of what is commonly called the wUl, 
 reacts equally from a shock, from elec- 
 trical or chemical excitation. 
 
 Nothing is more material than all these cel- 
 lular reactions, this transmission of vibra- 
 tions from organ to organ by the path of the 
 nerves; we can calculate the speed, as if a 
 simple electric current, or the current of a 
 river, were in question: it is about twenty 
 yards to the second. 
 
 [321] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 This physiology is common to all animated 
 beings, from the lowest protozoan to man ; it 
 is bound without transition to the phenomena 
 of feeling and the contractibility of plants. 
 Thus far the world is necessarily material- 
 istic and recognises in all these phenomena a 
 reaction of matter, although we do not yet 
 grasp all the conditions which give the cell 
 the faculty to react from various stimuli; 
 however, we regard them as being mechanical 
 in nature, like those forces which produce 
 chemical compositions and decompositions. 
 
 But in the middle of this material life, we 
 discover in man, and even in animals, a whole 
 series of phenomena less accessible to analy- 
 sis. So we are obliged to lay down the scal- 
 pel, abandon the physiological apparatus 
 destined to bring about reaction, in order to 
 measure the stimulus or the effect produced. 
 Although we can replace will, considered as 
 an instigating agent of muscular contraction, 
 by a current of electricity, we are incapable 
 of creating by artificial stimuli an idea, a sen- 
 timent. We are here in the domain of psy- 
 chology. 
 
 The science called "physiological psychol- 
 
 [322] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 ogy" has attempted to apply to the study of 
 these mental phenomena the results of re- 
 search in physiology; it has succeeded in ob- 
 taining certain dimensions, in establishing 
 some laws, still very uncertain; it has espe- 
 cially tried, by way of statistics, to establish 
 the laws of the association of ideas in simple 
 situations reproduced in experimental condi- 
 tions. But there is a gulf between this psy- 
 chology of laboratories and that exhibited in 
 the most trifling conversation. 
 
 However far this scientific and objective 
 psychology may lead us, we always return to 
 introspection, to self-analysis, which is evi- 
 dently subject to error, though necessary. 
 
 In his "Melanges Philosophiques," M. 
 d'Hulst writes: "I would call soul the think- 
 ing part of myself," and he adds: "Whether 
 he be a materialist, idealist, or positivist, no 
 philosopher could dispute this meaning." 
 Exactly, but this thought is still, as I hope 
 I have shown, only the reaction of stimuli out- 
 side the thinking and sentient ego. It is 
 true that it is a special reaction which escapes 
 our methods of physiological investigation. 
 From this we have concluded that there is a 
 
 [323] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 definite irreducibleness between phenomena 
 of conscience and the cerebral work which 
 always accompanies them; this is cutting 
 short all research by an affirmation without 
 proof. 
 
 Indeed, we have yet no clear views upon the 
 nexus which as defined by our philosopher- 
 prelate, unites the soul to the material body, 
 which we know better. But we go too far 
 when we call it "immaterial substance" and 
 claim this soul for man, and want it immortal, 
 while the body returns to dust. We consider 
 the soul noble and the body base; we cry 
 scandal when somebody dares to utter the 
 hypothesis that these psychical phenomena 
 may be only the especial reaction of certain 
 cells organized for mental life, the cells of 
 the brain. 
 
 We forget that the animal also has a mind 
 that in him passes through a whole series of 
 mental phenomena quite as irreducible to our 
 actual knowledge and to the laws of material 
 physiology. From this point of view, it would 
 seem also to claim for him, in a certain 
 measure, immortality for this thinking "im- 
 material substance." 
 
 [324] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 The animal thinks, loves, and suffers. I 
 know all the distance that separates the men- 
 tality of the brute from the spiritual life of 
 man. The animal reacts more simply, obeys 
 the impulses of his feelings, of his instincts ; 
 he lives according to nature and succeeds in 
 that better than we do. It is only in man that 
 we find conscience developed from what 
 passes within him, the faculty of reacting, not 
 on simple physiological excitations, but on 
 mental representations. He alone is capable 
 of analyzing, of inwardly observing, of rais- 
 ing himself to the abstract idea; he alone 
 obeys moral laws which he adopts when he 
 has learned the advantages that virtue and 
 happiness offer. 
 
 To my way of thinking, if we wish to be 
 spiritualistic, we must stretch this duality of 
 body and spirit to the whole animal series, or 
 at least to higher animals in which we see 
 signs of the elements of logic, a certain rea- 
 son, in which sentiments appear. However 
 defective, it is a psychical life that we notice 
 in them, and it is quite astonishing to see a 
 dog think like a man, thought being precisely 
 what we find irreducible. 
 
 [325] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Believers, who attribute creation to an all- 
 powerful personal God, seem to me a little 
 overweening in limiting that power. They 
 profess that this God could only construct the 
 human marvel by associating two heteroge- 
 neous elements, the soul and the body. They 
 therefore refuse Him another power, that of 
 producing what we call thought from the op- 
 erations of organs constructed for the pur- 
 pose; I should have more confidence in His 
 onmipotence. They also allow themselves a 
 criticism which appears to me out of place 
 towards Providence, by disdaining the body, 
 in considering it inferior, in giving complete 
 supremacy to that abstraction we call the 
 soul. 
 
 The biologist looks at things in another 
 way. For him, man is one, he is a material 
 organism. The cells of which he is composed 
 have their especial roles; some contract, 
 others secrete. The nerves transmit the vi- 
 brations, still unknown in its essence, called 
 the nervous wave. The brain is the organ of 
 thought. It receives numerous excitations 
 from without, and within the latter they are 
 transformed into mental pictures, without our 
 
 [326] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 knowing how. We join them together when 
 we perceive them by that insight which is our 
 conscience. This is a phenomenon still unex- 
 plained, though sure, and which differentiates 
 not man alone, but the animal, from a simple 
 machine. 
 
 Taine and Karl Vogt have used very coarse 
 and false examples, the one saying, ''The soul 
 is a product like sugar or vitriol" ; the other, 
 "The brain secretes thoughts as the liver, 
 secretes bUe." 
 
 As a result of chemical reactions, we get 
 the material products sugar and vitriol, 
 while thought is, so to speak, functioning 
 power made conscious ; a machine which was 
 conscious of the product that it distilled 
 would have a soul. The liver is not conscious 
 of its secretion; it is a work of pure chem- 
 istry. 
 
 Is the difficulty that we have in conceiv- 
 ing thought, in understanding its mechanism 
 or essence, a reason for admitting two sub- 
 stances thoroughly distinct — the one material 
 and perishable, the other immaterial and im- 
 mortal? I do not think so, and in any case it 
 would only be an hypothesis. 
 
 [327] 
 
SELF-CONTROL 'AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 Spiritualism and materialism, or, as we 
 say nowadays, dualism and monism, are 
 merely human attempts to express the fact 
 of thought. Before the unknown, all sup- 
 positions are allowable, and both sides 
 must renounce mutually convincing each 
 other of error. If the conception of ma- 
 terialistic monism is rejected by the official 
 church as contrary to its dogmas, it shares 
 this misfortune with many other ancient and 
 modern ideas which continue to live. Be- 
 sides, it is in no way incompatible with a 
 monotheistic belief. Certain apostles have 
 regarded man in his unity and have believed 
 in the resurrection of the body. 
 
 Between dualism and monism there is not 
 that radical antinomy which we persist in 
 claiming, and which makes enemies of their 
 respective partisans. These are not doctrines 
 on which we must take sides ; they are merely 
 attempts to interpret phenomena which we all 
 observe, without being able to unveil the 
 secret of their existence. 
 
 We all form opinions about the trouble- 
 some problems of life; these opinions vary 
 according to individuals, especially according 
 
 [328] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 to the education received in childhood and to 
 the studies that we have taken up. Let us 
 beware of decorating them with the name of 
 truths; it is only a question of hypothesis, 
 and we might end these discussions, which 
 man always finds interesting, by an admis- 
 sion : that after all neither we nor the others 
 know anything about it. 
 
 St. Paul said, "Circumcision is nothing; 
 uncircumcision is nothing: to keep the com- 
 mandments of God is everything." We 
 might equally say, "Spiritualism is nothing; 
 materialism is nothing : to live a worthy life, 
 working for the good of all, is everything." 
 During the periods of our existence in which 
 we are happy — when we have youth and 
 health — we are indifferent to these questions. 
 Opposition disappears, and we might say, 
 "Neither believers, nor freethinkers, every- 
 body happy," but everything changes before 
 adversity, suffering, and death. Man then 
 feels his weakness ; he trembles and, like the 
 shipwrecked, seeks a plank for safety. 
 
 Where does he find this saving help? Al- 
 ways in conceptions destined to raise his 
 courage, to push him towards the fight with 
 
 [329] 
 
SBLF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 a healthy confidence in success. Man is never 
 sustained in this wholly spiritual struggle ex- 
 cept by an idea. Where does he find it? In 
 his innate and acquired mentality. I have 
 shown that it is the product of education, in- 
 fluencing variously gifted individuals. 
 
 There are gentle and loving souls and, dare 
 I say, somewhat timorous ones, who are 
 frightened at the littleness of man in the 
 midst of the universe. They are like the child 
 who, in the thousand dangers of the forest, 
 anxiously seeks the hand of his father. 
 
 Brought up from the tenderest age in re- 
 ligious convictions, these believers put all 
 their hope in divine protection upon this 
 earth and in the promise of a future life. 
 Their conduct, inasmuch as they are siacere, 
 is a joyful obedience to the orders of a Father 
 who constantly watches over them. They feel 
 secure in His hands and console themselves 
 for present misfortune by the hope of eternal 
 compensation. 
 
 When this coal-hole faith takes possession 
 of the miads of persons little developed from 
 an intellectual point of view, it easily results 
 in superstition, in a surface religion only 
 
 [330] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 manifesting itself by practices of worship, 
 and creates intolerance. "Women, whose 
 minds are less apt to reason and less edu- 
 cated to logic, easily fall intc this defect. In 
 other minds — they are not legion — religion 
 creates a true Christian stoicism, which ena- 
 bles them to accept happiness and suffering 
 as the gift of God. This belief is then a force, 
 like a flag which awakens our enthusiasm. 
 We must also recognise that very great 
 minds, inured to scientific work, capable of 
 being raised to the height of philosophical 
 thought, have remained attached to religious 
 convictions, or have returned to them after 
 having abandoned them, and we delight in re- 
 peating the saying of one of them: "A little 
 science diverts us from religion ; much science 
 brings us back to it." It is rarely to oflficial 
 religion, with all its dogmas, that this mental 
 revival of scholars, having shed their eruption 
 of juvenile scepticism, returns; it is to a 
 deism more or less precise, varying from 
 monotheism to the vaguest pantheism. Among 
 the moralists of Emerson's school, the word 
 God recurs at each page, but it might be re- 
 placed by that of Nature. 
 
 [331] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 I understand that, in view of this marvel- 
 lous universe, we seek a cause, we admit an 
 Author of everything, let us bow down to Him 
 and before the ideal of virtue that He exacts 
 from His creatures. From that to rendering 
 Him worship is only a step, although this 
 need of manifestation appears to me a fetich. 
 The more man is able to live a life of the 
 spirit, the more he is raised to the pure idea 
 and feels himself guided by it without hav- 
 ing need of outward demonstrations. En- 
 lightened patriotism has no need of a material 
 flag, of noisy popular demonstrations ; it is at 
 the bottom of the soul, ready to let loose 
 every energy. Crowds, which think less, re- 
 main more subject to suggestion; we make 
 them march by music and the drum; they 
 yield to the sway of the tribune. The incon- 
 venience is not serious when the direction is 
 good ; but this mental passivity can also mis- 
 lead. 
 
 It is evident that a religion of spirit, indu- 
 cing a continual effort to live well, has im- 
 mense force, and we would like to see more 
 real effects among individuals who call them- 
 selves religious. It is impossible to bring 
 
 [332] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 convincing arguments against beliefs. There 
 is too much, unknown in life for us to be able 
 to say to these freethinkers, "You are 
 wrong." We must bow before a sincere and 
 determined conviction. But there are beings 
 who continually need logic, and who cannot 
 put the seal of reality upon what they con- 
 sider as hypothesis. They are struck above 
 all with the insolubility of the problem, with 
 the impossibility for man to grasp the first 
 causes in this universe, where he distin- 
 guishes only reactions. They cannot accept 
 from other men, however worthy of confi- 
 dence they may be, ready-made solutions, the 
 framework of revelations, the metaphysical 
 arguments of scholars. They preserve an in- 
 curable scepticism in regard to opinions lack- 
 ing in proof ; it would be very hard to prove 
 that they are wrong. 
 
 In this world we are deprived of certain 
 facts about the mystery of our existence. We 
 know rationally neither whence we came nor 
 where we are going. The only assured fact 
 is that we exist — in spite of philosophers who 
 are not very sure of it — that we humans in- 
 habit a planet always in movement in the 
 
 [333] 
 
SBLF-CONTEOL AND HOW TO SECUEE IT 
 
 midst of still larger worlds. Is not tlie situa- 
 tion analogous to that of soldiers campaign- 
 ing in a foreign country, neither knowing the 
 object of the expedition, nor how it will end! 
 The ships that brought them have gone away. 
 What must they do ? Nothing but watch over 
 the success of the campaign and get the best 
 possible out of it. At first, they wUl take care 
 of their material comfort, sheltering them- 
 selves from bad weather and assuring them- 
 selves of their food. Even in this existence, 
 which appears so commonplace, there is room 
 for altruistic sentiments; soldiers work for 
 their comrades, for the regiment. They know 
 very well that, by giving themselves up to 
 egoism, they will excite it in others, and that 
 would mean a rout in the face of the enemy. 
 
 A bond of responsibility is naturally estab- 
 lished between these men. It has been said 
 that war, in spite of its horrors, is desirable 
 because it is an occasion for sacrifice. Indeed, 
 the soldier, in the hours of battle, does not 
 obey common suggestions of material inter- 
 est; he thinks of others, of his companions, 
 of his country, towards which he recognises 
 his duty. He feels compassion for the suf- 
 
 [334] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 fering of others, spontaneously, without con- 
 sciously analyzing the idea that reciprocity 
 is necessarily at the bottom of charitable 
 feelings. Alas, it needs grief to create 
 them! Eousseau was right in not sparing 
 suffering to his son :fimile, saying: "The man 
 who does not know pain will neither know 
 the tenderness of humanity nor the sweet- 
 ness of commiseration; nothing will stir his 
 heart; he will not be sociable; he will be a 
 monster among his fellow men." In that al- 
 truism, founded upon logical facts, so sim- 
 ple that it appears spontaneous, the soldier 
 will do his duty as thoroughly as if he under- 
 stood the diplomatic reasons which induced 
 his government to undertake the campaign, 
 or as if he knew in advance the issue of it. 
 Little matters to him the knowledge of final 
 intentions; his task is more modest; he has 
 only to behave well. It is the same with the 
 thinker whose observation of the world leads 
 to agnosticism, and who gives up agitating 
 questions which from the start appear to him 
 insoluble. He neither worries about the be- 
 ginning nor the end. He has only to do his 
 duty ; that is, seek his and others ' happiness. 
 
 [335] 
 
SELF-CONTROL AND HOW TO SECURE IT 
 
 I have tried to show how altruistic feel- 
 ings are created by rational mental represen- 
 tations and lead us to find a guide in a moral 
 ideal. That is the efficacious spiritualism 
 we need; to avoid all confusion, I will call 
 it idealism. It matters little that our opin- 
 ions differ upon insoluble subjects of meta- 
 physics, that we explain by dualistic or mo- 
 nistic theories phenomena whose essence 
 escapes us; the important thing is to seek 
 happiness in the realization of our ideal. 
 
 That ideal remains the same, whether it be 
 granted as a guide to heaven, by a Provi- 
 dence who created us and watches over our 
 lot, or whether we buUd up this code by force 
 of pure thought ; the essential thing is to re- 
 main true to it. That is why I find vain 
 these eternal quarrels, as old as philosophy. 
 Let men become always less materialistic in 
 their customs, always more moral, idealistic; 
 let them believe in the soul, no longer as an 
 immaterial substance, but as a property of 
 our being, enabling us to conceive the Good, 
 the Beautiful, and the True ! 
 
 Those who, by reason of hereditary defects 
 and the conditions of their education, cannot 
 
 [336] 
 
IDEALISM 
 
 raise themselves to this morality, create un- 
 happiness for themselves, and, alas, sow it 
 around them! Others, who have the luck to 
 be better gifted, become increasingly enam- 
 oured of these governing ideas, and, accord- 
 ing as they are able to approach that ideal, 
 create happiness for others at the same time 
 as they create their own. 
 
 Let us think over those fine words of Dora 
 Melegari: "Ancient psychology had a dog- 
 matic way of dividing men into good and 
 bad, sages and fools, strong and weak, pure 
 and impure, atheists and believers ; it had too 
 many shades or too few! Would it not be 
 more practical and true henceforth to divide 
 them into two categories, corresponding to 
 the tendency to which the future points : ma- 
 kers of sorrow and makers of joy?" 
 
 Let us all work to increase the number of 
 the latter. There is only one way to do it — 
 by self -education. 
 
 [337] 
 
^iJ m >-I 
 
 S^ 
 
 NEW-THOUGHT BOOKS 
 
 "A WOBK OP VAST IMPORTANOK" 
 
 Psychic Treatment of Nervous 
 Disorders 
 
 By PAUL DUBOIS. M.D. 
 
 Ptx^issor <jf Nmropathdogy, University qf Seme, Switzerland. 
 
 Truulated by SMITH ELY JELUFFE, M.D., and 
 WILLIAM A. WHITE, M.D. 
 
 rpHIS work gives the experiences and principles of paycliic 
 treatment of nervous disorders, based upon twenty years of 
 Guccessfnl specialization and practise in this branch of medical 
 skill. Tlie work of the author is both that of psychologist and 
 physician. Besides many psychological considerations, the au- 
 thor provides a full description of the methods used in his prac- 
 tise of psychotherapy. 
 
 PAETliL OTTTLINB OF CONTENTS 
 Modem Medicine— Olawification of the Neuroses — Batlonal 
 Basis of Psychotherapy— The Problem of Liberty— Absolute 
 Besponslbility— Blfficulties of Moral Orthopedia— Monistic Con- 
 ception—Slavery of the Mind in the Presence of Certain Diseases 
 -Psychic Symptoms of Nervousness— Fatigability— Sensibility, 
 the Fh'st Condition of All Physiological Activity— The Emotions 
 —Psychasthenla— Hysteria— Melancholia— Idea of Degeneracy — 
 The Therapeutic of the Psychoneurosis— national Psychotherapy 
 Weir Mitchell's Treatment— Various Symptoms of Nervousness 
 —Treatment of Dyspeptics— Influence of Mental Representation 
 on the Intestine— Habitual Constipation— Disturbance of Circula- 
 tion—Disturbance of Urinary Functions— Troubles with Sleep — 
 Various Nervous Attacks— Disturbance of Motliity— Conditions 
 of Helplessness in Various Motor Domains— Etiology of the Psy- 
 choueurosis —Conclusions. 
 
 " I know of no single book so well adapted for the physician 
 who would seek to Imow the practical applications and methods 
 of psychology as that of DuBois."— J»yt M. Sleulen, of Zurich, 
 in the MunohTier Medizinlsche Woehemenr\ft. 
 
 Svo, Cloth, 471 Pagei. Copious Index. $3.00. net; 
 by mail, $3.15. 
 
NEW. THOUGHT BOOKS 
 
 THX LA.TSST WOZtK OS THE BEIATIONB OV HIND TO DI8BABB 
 
 The Force of Mind 
 
 By A. T. SCHOFIELD. M.D., M.R.C.S.E. 
 
 rriHE action of the mind in the canse and cnre of many 
 disorders is considered in this book from new and scientific 
 standpoints. 
 
 A FBW OF THE MAHT SUBJECTS TREATED 
 
 The Whole Body the Organ of 
 
 the Kind 
 Every-Day Effects of Mind on 
 
 Body 
 New Diseases of Mental Origin 
 Diseases Frodaced by Emotion 
 Diseasesof Sympathetic Origin 
 Pains Caased by Mental Action 
 Overwork Kills Mindand Body 
 Hysteria a Disease of the ITn- 
 
 conscions Mind 
 We Think as We Fed and We 
 
 Feel as We Tliink 
 
 Vitality of Qnackery Dne to 
 Force of Mind Over Body 
 Cliiistiau Science and Mrs. 
 
 Eddy 
 Chicago Faith Healera 
 Hynoptism 
 Lonrdes 
 
 Faith Healing at Home 
 Diseases " Cored " by Faith 
 Charms, Belies, and Idols 
 No Miracle in Faith Healing 
 Christian Science a System of 
 Metaphysics 
 
 " Dr. Schofield is a good example of the bigbest type of modem 
 physician, broad-minded, scientific, clear-headed, and equipped 
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 " Fitted to prove a stimnlus to thought npon a subject of much 
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 "Thoughtful, earnest, and fnlly isdormei."— The Scotsman, 
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 " Di this forcibly written work. Dr. Schofield emphasizes and 
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 — London Times. 
 
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 " The author has in this new and striking work greatly de- 
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 IZmo, Cloth, 347 Pages. $2.00, Ptutpaid 
 
NEW-THOUGHT BOOKS 
 
 w 
 
 HOW TO ATTAIK AND HAINTAd PBBI^CT HBAI^TH 
 FRAOTIOAI. HELP TOB ALL NERVE-SUFFBKBBS 
 
 Nerves in Order 
 
 The Zatest Contribution to Preventive Medicine, Companion 
 Volume to the Aulhjor'e Book, "Neroes in Sitorder." 
 
 By A. T. SCHOHELD, M.D., M.R.C.S.E. 
 
 A BOOK of Incolcalable importance and helpfulness to every 
 man and woman, giving, in popnlar form, the very latest 
 Bcientiflc Imowledge on the entire realm of physical uid mental 
 health. If yonr health is ont of order either slightly or ecrt- 
 onsly, this book will show yon how to pat it straight again; 
 or, better still, If yon are in perfect health and wish yonr 
 life machinery to rnn smoothly to a happy old age, this book 
 will show yon how it can be done. 
 
 SOME VITAL TOPICS DISCUST 
 
 Hascles and Exercise 
 Health and Ill-Health 
 The Mind in Order 
 The Pood We Bat 
 The Finance of Hygiene 
 
 The Nerves in Order 
 The Whole Man in Order 
 Eyes, Bars, Voice, Throat 
 The Heart In Order 
 The Longs in Order 
 
 " Dr. Schofield gives a great deal of sonnd, Incld, and practical 
 advice on the maintenance of health in the widest sense."— 7'A« 
 Times, London. 
 
 " The best way to work, the best way to play, the beat way to 
 eat, the best way to sleep — these and otaer mattera are dlscnst in 
 a thoronghly plain and helpful manner. The significant feature 
 of the book is that It is written by a man with an open ontlook 
 upon life, and not by an advocate of a theory or an ism."— ©tofts- 
 J)emoor(U, St. Louis. 
 
 On the subject of hygiene, digestion, exercise, and the ordering 
 of the mind, this is one of the sanest books imaginable. We 
 have felt considerably happier since reading It, and we wish the 
 same comfort to otliere."— Morning Poet, London. 
 
 " It is a practical handbook for believers in ' the ounce of pre- 
 vention.' "—World, New York. 
 
 12ino, Cloth, 30S Pages. $1.S0, Postpaid 
 
NEW-THOUGHT BOOKS 
 
 031 
 
 A UESSASIE OT TITAI. BSLP TO AUi KSBTE StrrFBREBS 
 
 Nerves in Disorder 
 
 And How to Get Them in Order 
 
 By A. T. SCHOFIELD. M.D., M.R.C.S.E. 
 
 Late Lecturer and Examiner fm- the National Health Society; 
 fice-President British CoUegeof Physical Education; Chair- 
 man qf The Parents" National Educaiumal tJrilon. 
 
 riuiiS book seeks to dispel ignorance regarding all functional 
 nerve diseaseB, and to set forth scientific principles for sac- 
 cessf ally treating these troubles. 
 
 SOME OP THE TOPICS TREATED 
 
 Fundamental Nerve Disease : 
 
 Little Understood 
 We Live Consciously and 
 
 Exist nnconsciously 
 
 Varieties of Neurasthenia 
 
 HowtheTeethAreSetonEdj e 
 
 Power of Emotiona 
 
 Worry 
 
 Nervous People the Salt of 
 the Earth 
 
 Nervousness Is Not Hysteria 
 
 Importance of Mental Thera- 
 peutics 
 
 The Inner Chamber of Mental 
 Therapeutics 
 
 Value of Faith, Hope 
 
 What the Patient Himself Can 
 
 Do 
 Dominant Ideas Determine 
 
 Conduct 
 Sickness and Death from 
 
 Mind Action 
 111 Health More Expensive 
 
 than Any Cure 
 Quality of Home Determines 
 
 the Success of Treatment 
 How to Build Up New Brain 
 Understanding tiie Uncon- 
 scious Mind 
 The Value of True 
 
 Christianity 
 
 " Dr. Schofleld has given to the public in this little work a 
 powerful suggestion for the good of sufferers. . . ."—New York 
 Commerdal. 
 
 " The reading of this book will do much to relieve the need- 
 less BuSerings of nervous people which are due to a lack of un- 
 derstanding of the diseaae."— Boston Evening Transeript. 
 
 " It is a work valuable alike to professional and non-profes- 
 sional readers, and, if carefully read, will be found of great help 
 in the prevention and cure of many forms of nervous troubles 
 common \o-Asj."— Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
 12ino, Cloth, 218 Pages. $1.50, Postpaid 
 
NEW. THOUGHT BOOKS 
 
 SB. sohofixld's IiAXEBt book 
 
 The Home Life in Order 
 
 By A. T. SCHOnELD, M.D., M.R.C.S.E. 
 
 Author C(f "Nerves in Order,'''' \'The Vhconsdoiud 
 Mnd," "The Force ofMnd," Etc. 
 
 T\B. Schofleld'B new Tolmue deals with subjects of presstag 
 and every-day Importance and interest to all. He writes not 
 alone of the bousehold and its hygiene, but of the baman body 
 as to its organization, functions and needs, In the matter of 
 care. His style, as readers already know, is charmingly nntechni- 
 cal, altho a scientiflc basis for all he says is kept constantly in 
 mind. Sr. Schoaeld's early yolames hare had a large sale in this 
 country, and this new one, because otltsmore comprehensive cliar- 
 acter, will prove still more popular. 
 
 PARTIAL LIST OB" CHAPTERS 
 
 Water in the Home 
 
 The Jonmey of Life 
 
 The Outer Man 
 
 The Inner Man 
 
 The Machinery of Life 
 
 The Food of Life 
 
 The Temperaments of Life 
 
 Air in the Room 
 
 Ventilation in the Home 
 
 Infancy In the Home 
 Childhood In the Home 
 Nursery in the Home 
 Accidents in the Home 
 Sanitation in the Home 
 Infection in the Home 
 Health in Poor Homes 
 
 " Dr. Schofleld is a good example of the highest type of modem 
 physician, broad-minded, scientiflc^ clear-headed, and equipped 
 with an enormons fund of information bearing upon the subjects 
 of which he writes."— fiiocKi Health, New York. 
 
 " Dr. Schofleld has a very clear way of putting tacts and theories 
 that are generally credited with a sort of inherent obtuseness." 
 — The Springfield BepiMican. 
 
 " The author Is fully conversant with his sabject, thoroughly 
 In earnest, graphic, and graceful. Vital facts are given with ad- 
 mirable force and simplicity." — Ghieago Secord-Herald. 
 
 " While based upon the soundest medical premises, it is vratteu 
 in popular form, easily understood."— Piifefturg' Dispatch. 
 
 " Dr. Schofleld is a very clear writer and a wide reader, and 
 particnlarl:^ adapted for such \)oo'kB.'"Sapiist Commonwealth, 
 Philadelpma. 
 
 12ino, Cloth, 345 Pages. $1.S0, Poitpaid 
 
NEW-THOUGHT BOOKS 
 
 "i KASTBBLT WOEK ON AH UtPOBTAST STrBJBOT" 
 
 The Unconscious Mind 
 
 By A. T. SCHOFIELD, M.D.. MSLC££. 
 
 A STtTDT into the mysterieB of the mind and their relations to 
 ■"■physical and psychical life, containing the latest scien- 
 tific research on this eahject. The relation of the nnconscions 
 mind to therapentica, edacation, disease, sex, character, is f nlly 
 described. 
 
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 "The work contains an immense amonnt of information con- 
 cerning^ the sabliminal life, mnch of which is, so far as 1 know, 
 unobtainable eisemliBK.'"— Health Culture, New York. 
 
 "We commend this volnme to every preacher, teacher, and 
 physician."— Tft* Church Times. 
 
 8vo. aoth, 4S1 Pagei. $2.00, Poitpaid 
 
 THE SECBET B0t]B0E OP HAPPINESS 
 
 The Knowledge of God 
 
 Its Meaning and Power 
 By A. T. SCHOFIELD. M.D., M.R.C.S.E. 
 
 "rriHE personal knowledge of Qod is the tme secret of happi- 
 ■*- nees; and a real tmst in and acquaintance with the Heav- 
 enly Father transforms both spirit and life for him who possesses 
 it." With this as his theme, the author concerns himself with 
 the subject of the life and character of the Christian rather tlian 
 with his work. 
 
 SOME TOPICS CONSIDEEED 
 
 God is the Great Heality 
 
 Three Eyes to See Qod 
 Careless Nedect To-day 
 How God is Dishonored 
 God's Two Detectives 
 The Christian's Home Life 
 Agnostics and Atheises 
 
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 his words are full of power. He writes from deep, personal, 
 spiritnal experience, and liis words come from his heart."— .Sos- 
 ion Transcript. 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, 208 Pases. $1.S0, Poitpaid 
 
 Best, Safety, and Enjoyment 
 Mental and Physical Sight 
 The Unknown God 
 How to Enow God 
 SnSerings for Our Own Good 
 
^li