What Is Man? and Other Essays
Y.M. Will my reform reach perfection?
O.M. It will. Up to _your _limit.
Y.M. My limit? What do you mean by that?
O.M. You remember that you said that I said training was _everything_.
I corrected you, and said “training and _another _thing.” That other
thing is _temperament _—that is, the disposition you were born with.
_You can’t eradicate your disposition nor any rag of it _—you can only
put a pressure on it and keep it down and quiet. You have a warm
temper?
Y.M. Yes.
O.M. You will never get rid of it; but by watching it you can keep it
down nearly all the time. _Its presence is your limit. _Your reform
will never quite reach perfection, for your temper will beat you now
and then, but you come near enough. You have made valuable progress and
can make more. There _is _use in training. Immense use. Presently you
will reach a new stage of development, then your progress will be
easier; will proceed on a simpler basis, anyway.
Y.M. Explain.
O.M. You keep back your scoldings now, to please _yourself _by pleasing
your _mother_; presently the mere triumphing over your temper will
delight your vanity and confer a more delicious pleasure and
satisfaction upon you than even the approbation of your _mother
_confers upon you now. You will then labor for yourself directly and at
_first hand, _not by the roundabout way through your mother. It
simplifies the matter, and it also strengthens the impulse.
Y.M. Ah, dear! But I sha’n’t ever reach the point where I will spare
the girl for _her _sake _primarily_, not mine?
O.M. Why—yes. In heaven.
Y.M. (_After a reflective pause) _Temperament. Well, I see one must
allow for temperament. It is a large factor, sure enough. My mother is
thoughtful, and not hot-tempered. When I was dressed I went to her
room; she was not there; I called, she answered from the bathroom. I
heard the water running. I inquired. She answered, without temper, that
Jane had forgotten her bath, and she was preparing it herself. I
offered to ring, but she said, “No, don’t do that; it would only
distress her to be confronted with her lapse, and would be a rebuke;
she doesn’t deserve that—she is not to blame for the tricks her memory
serves her.” I say—has my mother an Interior Master?—and where was he?
O.M. He was there. There, and looking out for his own peace and
pleasure and contentment. The girl’s distress would have pained _your
mother. _Otherwise the girl would have been rung up, distress and all.
I know women who would have gotten a No. 1 _pleasure _out of ringing
Jane up—and so they would infallibly have pushed the button and obeyed
the law of their make and training, which are the servants of their
Interior Masters. It is quite likely that a part of your mother’s
forbearance came from training. The _good _kind of training—whose best
and highest function is to see to it that every time it confers a
satisfaction upon its pupil a benefit shall fall at second hand upon
others.
Y.M. If you were going to condense into an admonition your plan for the
general betterment of the race’s condition, how would you word it?
_Admonition_
O.M. Diligently train your ideals _upward _and _still upward _toward a
summit where you will find your chiefest pleasure in conduct which,
while contenting you, will be sure to confer benefits upon your
neighbor and the community.
Y.M. Is that a new gospel?
O.M. No.
Y.M. It has been taught before?
O.M. For ten thousand years.
Y.M. By whom?
O.M. All the great religions—all the great gospels.
Y.M. Then there is nothing new about it?
O.M. Oh yes, there is. It is candidly stated, this time. That has not
been done before.
Y.M. How do you mean?
O.M. Haven’t I put _you first, _and your neighbor and the community
afterward?
Y.M. Well, yes, that is a difference, it is true.
O.M. The difference between straight speaking and crooked; the
difference between frankness and shuffling.
Y.M. Explain.
O.M. The others offer you a hundred bribes to be good, thus conceding
that the Master inside of you must be conciliated and contented first,
and that you will do nothing at _first hand _but for his sake; then
they turn square around and require you to do good for _other’s _sake
_chiefly_; and to do your duty for duty’s _sake_, chiefly; and to do
acts of _self_-_sacrifice_. Thus at the outset we all stand upon the
same ground—recognition of the supreme and absolute Monarch that
resides in man, and we all grovel before him and appeal to him; then
those others dodge and shuffle, and face around and unfrankly and
inconsistently and illogically change the form of their appeal and
direct its persuasions to man’s _second-place _powers and to powers
which have _no existence _in him, thus advancing them to _first _place;
whereas in my Admonition I stick logically and consistently to the
original position: I place the Interior Master’s requirements _first_,
and keep them there.
Y.M. If we grant, for the sake of argument, that your scheme and the
other schemes aim at and produce the same result—_right living—_has
yours an advantage over the others?
O.M. One, yes—a large one. It has no concealments, no deceptions. When
a man leads a right and valuable life under it he is not deceived as to
the _real _chief motive which impels him to it—in those other cases he
is.
Y.M. Is that an advantage? Is it an advantage to live a lofty life for
a mean reason? In the other cases he lives the lofty life under the
_impression _that he is living for a lofty reason. Is not that an
advantage?
O.M. Perhaps so. The same advantage he might get out of thinking
himself a duke, and living a duke’s life and parading in ducal fuss and
feathers, when he wasn’t a duke at all, and could find it out if he
would only examine the herald’s records.
Y.M. But anyway, he is obliged to do a duke’s part; he puts his hand in
his pocket and does his benevolences on as big a scale as he can stand,
and that benefits the community.
O.M. He could do that without being a duke.
Y.M. But would he?
O.M. Don’t you see where you are arriving?
Y.M. Where?
O.M. At the standpoint of the other schemes: That it is good morals to
let an ignorant duke do showy benevolences for his pride’s sake, a
pretty low motive, and go on doing them unwarned, lest if he were made
acquainted with the actual motive which prompted them he might shut up
his purse and cease to be good?
Y.M. But isn’t it best to leave him in ignorance, as long as he _thinks
_he is doing good for others’ sake?
O.M. Perhaps so. It is the position of the other schemes. They think
humbug is good enough morals when the dividend on it is good deeds and
handsome conduct.
Y.M. It is my opinion that under your scheme of a man’s doing a good
deed for his _own _sake first-off, instead of first for the _good
deed’s _sake, no man would ever do one.
O.M. Have you committed a benevolence lately?
Y.M. Yes. This morning.
O.M. Give the particulars.
Y.M. The cabin of the old negro woman who used to nurse me when I was a
child and who saved my life once at the risk of her own, was burned
last night, and she came mourning this morning, and pleading for money
to build another one.
O.M. You furnished it?
Y.M. Certainly.
O.M. You were glad you had the money?
Y.M. Money? I hadn’t. I sold my horse.
O.M. You were glad you had the horse?
Y.M. Of course I was; for if I hadn’t had the horse I should have been
incapable, and my _mother _would have captured the chance to set old
Sally up.
O.M. You were cordially glad you were not caught out and incapable?
Y.M. Oh, I just was!
O.M. Now, then—
Y.M. Stop where you are! I know your whole catalog of questions, and I
could answer every one of them without your wasting the time to ask
them; but I will summarize the whole thing in a single remark: I did
the charity knowing it was because the act would give _me _a splendid
pleasure, and because old Sally’s moving gratitude and delight would
give _me _another one; and because the reflection that she would be
happy now and out of her trouble would fill _me _full of happiness. I
did the whole thing with my eyes open and recognizing and realizing
that I was looking out for _my _share of the profits _first_. Now then,
I have confessed. Go on.
O.M. I haven’t anything to offer; you have covered the whole ground.
Can you have been any _more _strongly moved to help Sally out of her
trouble—could you have done the deed any more eagerly—if you had been
under the delusion that you were doing it for _her _sake and profit
only?
Y.M. No! Nothing in the world could have made the impulse which moved
me more powerful, more masterful, more thoroughly irresistible. I
played the limit!
O.M. Very well. You begin to suspect—and I claim to _know _—that when a
man is a shade _more strongly moved _to do _one _of two things or of
two dozen things than he is to do any one of the _others_, he will
infallibly do that _one _thing, be it good or be it evil; and if it be
good, not all the beguilements of all the casuistries can increase the
strength of the impulse by a single shade or add a shade to the comfort
and contentment he will get out of the act.
Y.M. Then you believe that such tendency toward doing good as is in
men’s hearts would not be diminished by the removal of the delusion
that good deeds are done primarily for the sake of No. 2 instead of for
the sake of No. 1?
O.M. That is what I fully believe.
Y.M. Doesn’t it somehow seem to take from the dignity of the deed?
O.M. If there is dignity in falsity, it does. It removes that.
Y.M. What is left for the moralists to do?
O.M. Teach unreservedly what he already teaches with one side of his
mouth and takes back with the other: Do right _for your own sake, _and
be happy in knowing that your _neighbor _will certainly share in the
benefits resulting.
Y.M. Repeat your Admonition.
O.M. _Diligently train your ideals upward and still upward toward a
summit where you will find your chiefest pleasure in conduct which,
while contenting you, will be sure to confer benefits upon your
neighbor and the community._
Y.M. One’s _every _act proceeds from _exterior influences_, you think?
O.M. Yes.
Y.M. If I conclude to rob a person, I am not the _originator _of the
idea, but it comes in from the _outside_? I see him handling money—for
instance—and _that _moves me to the crime?
O.M. That, by itself? Oh, certainly not. It is merely the _latest
_outside influence of a procession of preparatory influences stretching
back over a period of years. No _single _outside influence can make a
man do a thing which is at war with his training. The most it can do is
to start his mind on a new tract and open it to the reception of _new
_influences—as in the case of Ignatius Loyola. In time these influences
can train him to a point where it will be consonant with his new
character to yield to the _final _influence and do that thing. I will
put the case in a form which will make my theory clear to you, I think.
Here are two ingots of virgin gold. They shall represent a couple of
characters which have been refined and perfected in the virtues by
years of diligent right training. Suppose you wanted to break down
these strong and well-compacted characters—what influence would you
bring to bear upon the ingots?
Y.M. Work it out yourself. Proceed.
O.M. Suppose I turn upon one of them a steam-jet during a long
succession of hours. Will there be a result?
Y.M. None that I know of.
O.M. Why?
Y.M. A steam-jet cannot break down such a substance.
O.M. Very well. The steam is an _outside influence, _but it is
ineffective because the gold _takes no interest in it. _The ingot
remains as it was. Suppose we add to the steam some quicksilver in a