HOME SPIRITUAL FREEDOM LIBRARY CATALOG

AS A MATTEROF COURSE

BY

ANNIE PAYSON CALL

Author of "Power Through Repose," "The Freedom of Life,"

"Nerves and Common Sense," Etc.

BOSTONLITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

1920

Copyright, 1894, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.

PREFACE. THE aim of this book is to assist towards theremoval of nervous irritants, which are notonly the cause of much physical disease, butmaterially interfere with the best possibilitiesof usefulness and pleasure in everyday life.

CONTENTS.I. INTRODUCTIONII. PHYSICAL CAREIII. AMUSEMENTSIV. BRAIN IMPRESSIONSV. THE TRIVIALITY OF TRIVIALITIESVI. MOODSVII. TOLERANCEVIII. SYMPATHYIX. OTHERSX. ONE'S SELFXI. CHILDRENXII. ILLNESSXIII. SENTIMENT VERSUS SENTIMENTALITYXIV. PROBLEMSXV. SUMMARY

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AS A MATTER OFCOURSE.

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I.

INTRODUCTION.

IN climbing a mountain, if we know the pathand take it as a matter of course, we are free toenjoy the beauties of the surrounding country.If in the same journey we set a stone in theway and recognize our ability to step over it,we do so at once, and save ourselves fromtripping or from useless waste of time andthought as to how we might best go round it.

There are stones upon stones in every-daylife which might be stepped over with perfectease, but which, curiously enough, areconsidered from all sides and then trippedupon; and the result is a stubbing of the moraltoes, and a consequent irritation of the nervoussystem. Or, if semi-occasionally one of thesestones is stepped over as a matter of course,the danger is that attention is immediatelycalled to the action by admiring friends, or bythe person himself, in a way so to tickle thenervous system that it amounts to an irritation,and causes him to trip over the next stone, andfinally tumble on his nose. Then, if he is notwise enough to pick himself up and walk onwith the renewed ability of stepping overfuture stones, he remains on his nose farlonger than is either necessary or advisable.

These various stones in the way do moretowards keeping a nervous system in a chronicstate of irritation than is imagined. They arewhat might perhaps be called the outsideelements of life. These once normally faced,cease to exist as impediments, dwindle away,and finally disappear altogether.

Thus we are enabled to get nearer thekernel, and have a growing realization of lifeitself.

Civilization may give a man new freedom, a

freedom beyond any power of description orconception, except to those who achieve it, orit may so bind him body and soul that inmoments when he recognizes his nervouscontractions he would willingly sell his hopeof immortality to be a wild horse or tiger forthe rest of his days.

These stones in the way are the result of aperversion of civilization, and the cause ofmuch contraction and unnecessary suffering.

There is the physical stone. If the health ofthe body were attended to as a matter ofcourse, as its cleanliness is attended to bythose of us who are more civilized, how mucheasier life might be! Indeed, the varioustrippings on, and endeavors to encircle, thisphysical stone, raise many phantom stones,and the severity of the fall is just as greatwhen one trips over a stone that is not there.Don Quixote was quite exhausted when hehad been fighting the windmills. Onerecognizes over and over the truth spoken bythe little girl who, when reprimanded by herfather for being fretful, said: "It isn't me, papa,it's that banana."

There is also the over-serious stone; andthis, so far from being stepped over or anyeffort made to encircle it, is often raised to theundue dignity of a throne, and not rested upon.It seems to produce an inability for any sort ofrecreation, and a scorn of the necessity or thepleasure of being amused. Every one willadmit that recreation is one swing of life'spendulum; and in proportion to the swing inthat direction will be the strength of the swingin the other direction, and vice versa.

One kind of stone which is not the leastamong the self-made impediments is themicroscopic faculty which most of us possessfor increasing small, inoffensive pebbles togood-sized rocks. A quiet insistence on seeingthese pebbles in their natural size wouldreduce them shortly to a pile of sand whichmight be easily smoothed to a level, and add tothe comfort of the path. Moods are stoneswhich not only may be stepped over, butkicked right out of the path with a good boldstroke. And the stones of intolerance may bereplaced by an open sympathy,--an ability totake the other's point of view,--which willbring flowers in the path instead.

In dealing with ourselves and others there

are stones innumerable, if one chooses toregard them, and a steadily decreasing numberas one steps over and ignores. In our relationswith illness and poverty, so-called, the ghostsof stones multiply themselves as the illness orthe poverty is allowed to be a limit rather thana guide. And there is nothing that exorcises allsuch ghosts more truly than a free and openintercourse with little children.

If we take this business of slipping over ourvarious nerve-stones as a matter of course, andnot as a matter of sentiment, we get a powerfulresult just as surely as we get powerful resultsin obedience to any other practical laws.

In bygone generations men used to fight andkill one another for the most trivial cause. Ascivilization increased, self-control wasmagnified into a virtue, and the man whogoverned himself and allowed his neighbor toescape unslain was regarded as a hero.Subsequently, general slashing was found tobe incompatible with a well-orderedcommunity, and forbearance in killing orscratching or any other unseemly manner ofattacking an enemy was taken as a matter ofcourse.

Nowadays we do not know how often thisold desire to kill is repressed, a brain-impression of hatred thereby intensified, and anervous irritation caused which has its effectupon the entire disposition. It would hardly befeasible to return to the killing to save theirritation that follows repression; civilizationhas taken us too far for that. But civilizationdoes not necessarily mean repression. Thereare many refinements of barbarity in ourcivilization which might be dropped now, asthe coarser expressions of such states weredropped by our ancestors to enable them toreach the present stage of knives and forks andnapkins. And inasmuch as we are farther onthe way towards a true civilization, ourprogress should be more rapid than that of ourbarbaric grandfathers. An increasinglyaccelerated progress has proved possible inscientific research and discovery; why not,then, in our practical dealings with ourselvesand one another?

Does it not seem likely that the variousforms of nervous irritation, excitement, ordisease may result as much from the repressedsavage within us as from the complexity ofcivilization? The remedy is, not to let the

savage have his own way; with many of us,indeed, this would be difficult, because of thegenerations of repression behind us. It is tocast his skin, so to speak, and rise to anotherorder of living.

Certainly repression is only apparentprogress. No good physician would allow it inbodily disease, and, on careful observation,the law seems to hold good in other phases oflife.

There must be a practical way by whichthese stones, these survivals of barbaric times,may be stepped over and made finally todisappear.

The first necessity is to take the practicalway, and not the sentimental. Thus truesentiment is found, not lost.

The second is to follow daily, even hourly,the process of stepping over until it comes tobe indeed a matter of course. So, little by little,shall we emerge from this mass of abnormalnervous irritation into what is more truly lifeitself.

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II.

PHYSICAL CARE.

REST, fresh air, exercise, and nourishment,enough of each in proportion to the workdone, are the material essentials to a healthyphysique. Indeed, so simple is the wholeprocess of physical care, it would seem absurdto write about it at all. The only excuse forsuch writing is the constant disobedience tonatural laws which has resulted from theuseless complexity of our civilization.

There is a current of physical order which, ifone once gets into it, gives an instinct as towhat to do and what to leave undone, as trueas the instinct which leads a man to wash hishands when they need it, and to wash themoften enough so that they never remain soiledfor any length of time, simply because thatstate is uncomfortable to their owner. Soapand water are not unpleasant to most of us intheir process of cleansing; we have to denyourselves nothing through their use. To keepthe digestion in order, it is often necessary todeny ourselves certain sensations of the palatewhich are pleasant at the time. So by a gradualprocess of not denying we are swung out ofthe instinctive nourishment-current, and life iscomplicated for us either by an amount ofthought as to what we should or should noteat, or by irritations which arise from havingeaten the wrong food. It is not uncommon tofind a mind taken up for some hours inwondering whether that last piece of cake willdigest. We can easily see how from this theremight be developed a nervous sensitivenessabout eating which would prevent theindividual from eating even the food that isnourishing. This last is a not unusual form ofdyspepsia,--a dyspepsia which keeps itselfalive on the patient's want of nourishment.

Fortunately the process of getting back intothe true food-current is not difficult if one willadopt it The trouble is in making the boldplunge. If anything is eaten that is afterwardsdeemed to have been imprudent, let itdisagree. Take the full consequences and bearthem like a man, with whatever remedies are

found to lighten the painful result. Havingmade sure through bitter experience that aparticular food disagrees, simply do not take itagain, and think nothing about it. It does notexist for you. A nervous resistance to any sortof indigestion prolongs the attack and leaves, abrain-impression which not only makes thesame trouble more liable to recur, butincreases the temptation to eat forbidden fruit.Of course this is always preceded by a fullpersuasion that the food is not likely todisagree with us now simply because it didbefore. And to some extent, this is true. Foodthat will bring pain and suffering when takenby a tired stomach, may prove entirelynourishing when the stomach is rested andready for it. In that case, the owner of thestomach has learned once for all never to givehis digestive apparatus work to do when it istired. Send a warm drink as a messenger to saythat food is coming later, give yourself a littlerest, and then eat your dinner. Thefundamental laws of health in eating are verysimple; their variations for individual needsmust be discovered by each for himself.

"But," it may be objected, "why make allthis fuss, why take so much thought aboutwhat I eat or what I do not eat?" The specialthought is simply to be taken at first to getinto the normal habit, and as a means offorgetting our digestion just as we forget thewashing of our hands until we are reminded bysome discomfort; whereupon we wash themand forget again. Nature will not allow us toforget. When we are not obeying her laws, sheis constantly irritating us in one way oranother. It is when we obey, and obey as amatter of course, that she shows herself to be atender mother, and helps us to a realcompanionship with her.

Nothing is more amusing, nothing couldappeal more to Mother Nature's sense ofhumor, than the various devices for exercisewhich give us a complicated self-consciousness rather than a naturaldevelopment of our physical powers. Certainsimple exercises are most useful, and if theweather is so inclement that they cannot betaken in the open air, it is good to have a well-ventilated hall. Exercise with others, too, isstimulating, and more invigorating when thereis air enough and to spare. But there is nothingthat shows the subjective, self-conscious stateof this generation more than the subjectiveform which exercise takes. Instead of games

and play or a good vigorous walk in thecountry, there are endless varieties of physicalculture, most of it good and helpful if taken asa means to an end, but almost useless as it istaken as an end in itself; for it draws theattention to one's self and one's own musclesin a way to make the owner serve the muscleinstead of the muscle being made to serve theowner. The more physical exercise can besimplified and made objective, the more itserves its end. To climb a high mountain isadmirable exercise, for we have the summit asan end, and the work of climbing is steadilyobjective, while we get the delicious effect ofa freer circulation and all that it means. Theremight be similar exercises in gymnasiums, andthere are, indeed, many exercises where someobjective achievement is the end, and thetraining of a muscle follows as a matter ofcourse. There is the exercise-instinct; we allhave it the more perfectly as we obey it. If wehave suffered from a series of disobediences, itis a comparatively easy process to work backinto obedience.

The fresh-air-instinct is abnormallydeveloped with some of us, but only withsome. The popular fear of draughts is onecause of its loss. The fear of a draught willcause a contraction, the contraction willinterfere with the circulation, and a cold is thenatural result.

The effect of vitiated air is well known. Thenecessity, not only for breathing fresh airwhen we are quiet, but for exercising in theopen, grows upon us as we see the result. Tofeel the need is to take the remedy, as a matterof course.

The rest-instinct is most generallydisobeyed, most widely needed, andobedience to it would bring the most effectiveresults. A restful state of mind and bodyprepares one for the best effects from exercise,fresh air, and nourishment. This instinct is themore disobeyed because with the need for restthere seems to come an inability to take it, sothat not only is every impediment magnified,but imaginary impediments are erected, andonly a decided and insistent use of the will indropping everything that interferes, whetherreal or imaginary, will bring a whiff of abreeze from the true rest-current. Rest is notalways silence, but silence is always rest; anda real silence of the mind is known by veryfew. Having gained that, or even approached

it, we are taken by the rest-wind itself, and itis strong enough to bear our full weight as itswings us along to renewed life and newstrength for work to come.

The secret is to turn to silence at the firsthint from nature; and sleep should be the veryessence of silence itself.

All this would be very well if we were freeto take the right amount of rest, fresh air,exercise, and nourishment; but many of us arenot. It will not be difficult for any one to callto mind half a dozen persons who impede thegood which might result from the use of thesefour necessities simply by complaining thatthey cannot have their full share of either.Indeed, some of us may find in ourselvesvarious stones of this sort stopping the way.To take what we can and be thankful, not onlyenables us to gain more from every source ofhealth, but opens the way for us to see clearlyhow to get more. This complaint, however, isless of an impediment than the whining andfussing which come from those who are freeto take all four in abundance, and who havethe necessity of their own especial physicalhealth so much at heart that there is room tothink of little else. These people crowd intothe various schools of physical culture by thehundred, pervade the rest-cures, and are readyfor any new physiological fad which mayarise, with no result but more physical culture,more rest-cure, and more fads. Nay, there issometimes one other result,--disease. Thatgives them something tangible to work for orto work about. But all their eating andbreathing and exercising and resting does notbring lasting vigorous health, simply becausethey work at it as an end, of which self is thecentre and circumference.

The sooner our health-instinct is developed,and then taken as a matter of course, thesooner can the body become a perfect servant,to be treated with true courtesy, and thenforgotten. Here is an instinct of our barbarousancestry which may be kept and refinedthrough all future phases of civilization. Thisinstinct is natural, and the obedience to itenables us to gain more rapidly in other,higher instincts which, if our ancestors had atall, were so embryonic as not to have attainedexpression.

Nourishment, fresh air, exercise, rest,--so faras these are not taken simply and in obedience

to the natural instinct, there arise physicalstones in the way, stones that form themselvesinto an apparently insurmountable wall. Thereis a stile over that wall, however, if we willbut open our eyes to see it. This stile, carefullyclimbed, will enable us to step over the fewstones on the other side, and follow thephysical path quite clearly.

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III.

AMUSEMENTS.

THE ability to be easily and heartily amusedbrings a wholesome reaction from intensethought or hard work of any kind which doesmore towards keeping the nervous system in anormal state than almost anything else of anexternal kind.

As a Frenchman very aptly said: "This is allvery well, all this study and care to relieveone's nerves; but would it not be much simplerand more effective to go and amuse one's self?" The same Frenchman could not realize thatin many countries amusement is almost a lostart. Fortunately, it is not entirely lost; and thesooner it is regained, the nearer we shall be tohealth and happiness.

One of the chief impediments in the way ofhearty amusement is over-seriousness. Thereshould be two words for "serious," as there areliterally two meanings. There is a certainintense form of taking the care andresponsibility of one's own individualinterests, or the interests of others which areselfishly made one's own, which leads to asurface-seriousness that is not only a chronicirritation of the nervous system, but a constantdistress to those who come under this seriouscare. This is taking life au grand sérieux. Thesuperficiality of this attitude is striking, andwould be surprising could the sufferer fromsuch seriousness once see himself (or moreoften it is herself) in a clear light. It is quitecommon to call such a person over-serious,when in reality he is not serious enough. He orshe is laboring under a sham seriousness, as anactor might who had such a part to play andmerged himself in the character. These peopleare simply exaggerating their own importanceto life, instead of recognizing life's importanceto them. An example of this is the heroine ofMrs. Ward's "Robert Elsmere," who refused tomarry because the family could not get onwithout her; and when finally she consented,the family lived more happily and comfortablythan when she considered herself their leader.If this woman's seriousness, which blinded her

judgment, had been real instead of sham, thestate of the case would have been quite clearto her; but then, indeed, there would have beenno case at all.

When seriousness is real, it is neverintrusive and can never be overdone. It issimply a quiet, steady obedience to recognizedlaws followed as a matter of course, whichmust lead to a clearer appreciation of suchlaws, and of our own freedom in obeyingthem. Whereas with a sham seriousness wedwell upon the importance of our own relationto the law, and our own responsibility inforcing others to obey. With the real, it is thelaw first, and then my obedience. With thesham, it is myself first, and then the laws; andoften a strained obedience to laws of my ownmaking.

This sham seriousness, which is peculiarly aNew England trait, but may also be found inmany other parts of the world, is often theperversion of a strong, fine nature. It placesmany stones in the way, most of themphantoms, which, once stepped over and thenignored, brings to light a nature noblyexpansive, and a source of joy to all who comein contact with it. But so long as the"seriousness "lasts, it is quite incompatiblewith any form of real amusement.

For the very essence of amusement is thechild-spirit. The child throws himself heartilyand spontaneously into the game, or whateverit may be, and forgets that there is anythingelse in the world, for the time being. Childrenhave nothing else to remember. We have theadvantage of them there, in the pleasure offorgetting and in the renewed strength withwhich we can return to our work or care, inconsequence. Any one who cannot playchildren's games with children, and with thesame enjoyment that children have, does notknow the spirit of amusement. For this samespirit must be taken into all forms ofamusement, especially those that are beyondthe childish mind, to bring the deliciousreaction which nature is ever ready to bestow.This is almost a self-evident truth; and yet soconfirmed is man in his sham maturity that itis quite common to see one look withcontempt, and a sense of superiority which isludicrous, upon another who is enjoying achild's game like a child. The trouble is thatmany of us are so contracted in and oppressedby our own self-consciousness that open

spontaneity is out of the question and eveninconceivable. The sooner we shake it off, thebetter. When the great philosopher said,"Except ye become as little children," he musthave meant it all the way through in spirit, ifnot in the letter. It certainly is the common-sense view, whichever way we look at it, andproves as practical as walking upon one's feet.

With the spontaneity grows the ability to beamused, and with that ability comes newpower for better and really serious work.

To endeavor with all your might to win, andthen if you fail, not to care, relieves a game ofan immense amount of unnecessary nervousstrain. A spirit of rivalry has so taken hold ofus and become such a large stone in the way,that it takes wellnigh a reversal of all our ideasto realize that this same spirit is quitecompatible with a good healthy willingnessthat the other man should win--if he can. Notfrom the goody-goody motive of wishing yourneighbor to beat,--no neighbor would thankyou for playing with him in that spirit,--butfrom a feeling that you have gone in to beat,you have done your best, as far as you couldsee, and where you have not, you have learnedto do better. The fact of beating is not ofparamount importance. Every man shouldhave his chance, and, from your opponent'spoint of view, provided you were as severe onhim as you knew how to be at the time, it iswell that he won. You will see that it does nothappen again.

Curious it is that the very men or womenwho would scorn to play a child's game in achildlike spirit, will show the best knownform of childish fretfulness and sheernaughtiness in their way of taking a gamewhich is considered to be more on a level withthe adult mind, and so rasp their nerves andthe nerves of their opponents that recreation issimply out of the question.

Whilst one should certainly have the abilityto enjoy a child's game with a child and like achild, that not only does not exclude thepreference which many, perhaps most of usmay have for more mature games, it gives thepower to play those games with a freedom andease which help to preserve a healthy nervoussystem.

If, however, amusement is taken for the solepurpose of preserving a normal nervous

system, or for returning to health, it loses itszest just in proportion. If, as is often the case,one must force one's self to it at first, the loveof the fun will gradually come as one ignoresthe first necessity of forcing; and the interestwill come sooner if a form of amusement istaken quite opposite to the daily work, a formwhich will bring new faculties and musclesinto action.

There is, of course, nothing that results in amore unpleasant state of ennui than an excessof amusement. After a certain amount ofcareless enjoyment, life comes to a deadlystupid standstill, or the forms of amusementgrow lower. In either case the effect upon thenervous system is worse even than over-work.

The variety in sources of amusement isendless, and the ability to get amusement outof almost anything is delightful, as long as it iswell balanced.

After all, our amusement depends upon theway in which we take our work, and our work,again, depends upon the amusement; they playback and forth into one another's hands.

The man or the woman who cannot get theholiday spirit, who cannot enjoy pure fun forthe sake of fun, who cannot be at one with alittle child, not only is missing much in lifethat is clear happiness, but is draining hisnervous system, and losing his better powerfor work accordingly.

This anti-amusement stone once removed,the path before us is entirely new andrefreshing.

The power to be amused runs in nations. Buteach individual is in himself a nation, and cangovern himself as such; and if he has anydesire for the prosperity of his own kingdom,let him order a public holiday at regularintervals, and see that the people enjoy it.

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IV.

BRAIN IMPRESSIONS.

THE mere idea of a brain clear from falseimpressions gives a sense of freedom which isrefreshing.

In a comic journal, some years ago, therewas a picture of a man in a most self-importantattitude, with two common mortals in thebackground gazing at him. "What makes himstand like that?" said one. "Because,"answered the other, "that is his own idea ofhimself." The truth suggested in that picturestrikes one aghast; for in looking about us wesee constant examples of attitudinizing in one'sown idea of one's self. There is sometimes afeeling of fright as to whether I am not quite asabnormal in my idea of myself as are thoseabout me.

If one could only get the relief ofacknowledging ignorance of one's self, lightwould be welcome, however given. In seeingthe truth of an unkind criticism one couldforget to resent the spirit; and what an amountof nerve-friction might be saved! Imagine thesurprise of a man who, in return for a volley ofabuse, should receive thanks for light thrownupon a false attitude. Whatever we are enabledto see, relieves us of one mistaken brain-impression, which we can replace bysomething more agreeable. And if, in theexcitement of feeling, the mistake wasexaggerated, what is that to us? All we wantedwas to see it in quality. As to degree, thatlessens in proportion as the quality is bettered.Fortunately, in living our own idea ofourselves, it is only ourselves we deceive, withpossible exceptions in the case of friends whoare so used to us, or so over-fond of us, as tolose the perspective.

There is the idea of humility,--an obstinatebelief that we know we are nothing at all, anddeserve no credit; which, literally translated,means we know we are everything, anddeserve every credit. There is the idea, too, ofimmense dignity, of freedom from all self-seeking and from all vanity. But it is idle to

attempt to catalogue these various forms ofprivate theatricals ; they are constantly to beseen about us.

It is with surprise unbounded that one hearsanother calmly assert that he is so-and-so orso-and-so, and in his next action, or nexthundred actions, sees that same assertionentirely contradicted. Daily familiarity withthe manifestations of mistaken brain-impressions does not lessen one's surprise atthis curious personal contradiction; it givesone an increasing desire to look to one's self,and see how far these private theatricalsextend in one's own case, and to throw off thedisguise, as far as it is seen, with a fullacknowledgment that there may be--probablyis--an abundance more of which to rid one'sself in future. There are many ways in whichtrue openness in life, one with another, wouldbe of immense service; and not the least ofthese is the ability gained to erase false brain-impressions.

The self-condemnatory brain-impression isquite as pernicious as its opposite. Singularlyenough, it goes with it. One often findsinordinate self-esteem combined with the mostabject condemnation of self. One can beplayed against the other as a counter-irritant;but this only as a process of rousing, for theirritation of either brings equal misery. I amnot even sure that as a rousing process it isever really useful. To be clear of a mistakenbrain-impression, a man must recognize ithimself; and this recognition can never bebrought about by an unasked attempt of helpfrom another. It is often cleared by help askedand given; and perhaps more often by helpwhich is quite involuntary and unconscious.One of the greatest points in friendlydiplomacy is to be open and absolutely frankso far as we are asked, but never to go beyond.At least, in the experience of many, that leadsmore surely to the point where no diplomacyis needed, which is certainly the point to beaimed at in friendship. It is trying to see afriend living his own idea of himself, and to beobliged to wait until he has discovered that heis only playing a part. But this very waitingmay be of immense assistance in reducing ourown moral attitudinizing.

How often do we hear others or findourselves complaining of a fault over and overagain! "I know that is a fault of mine, and hasbeen for years. I wish I could get over it." "I

know that is a fault of mine,"--one brain-impression; "it has been for years,"--a dozenor more brain-impressions, according to thenumber of years; until we have drilled theimpression of that fault in, by emphasizing itover and over, to an extent which dailyincreases the difficulty of dropping it.

So, if we have the habit of unpunctuality,and emphasize it by deploring it, it keeps usalways behind time. If we are sharp-tongued,and dwell with remorse on something said inthe past, it increases the tendency in thefuture.

The slavery to nerve habit is a well-knownphysiological fact; but nerve habit may bestrengthened negatively as well as positively.When this is more widely recognized, and thenegative practice avoided, much will havebeen done towards freeing us from oursubservience to mistaken brain-impressions.

Let us take an instance: unpunctuality-forexample, as that is a common form ofrepetition. If we really want to rid ourselves ofthe habit, suppose every time we are late wecease to deplore it; make a vivid mentalpicture of ourselves as being on time at thenext appointment; then, with the how and thewhen clearly impressed upon our minds, thereshould be an absolute refusal to imagineourselves anything but early. Surely thatwould be quite as effective as a constantrepetition of the regret we feel at being late,whether this is repeated aloud to others, oronly in our own minds. As we place the twoprocesses side by side, the latter certainly hasthe advantage, and might be tried, until abetter is found.

Of course we must beware of getting animpression of promptness which has noground in reality. It is quite possible for anindividual to be habitually and exasperatinglylate, with all the air and innocence of unusualpunctuality.

It would strike us as absurd to see a manpainting a house the color he did not like, andgo on painting it the same color, to showothers and himself that which he detested. Is itnot equally absurd for any of us, through theconstant expression of regret for a fault, toimpress the tendency to it more and moreupon the brain? It is intensely sad when theconsciousness of evil once committed has so

impressed a man with a sense of guilt as tomake him steadily undervalue himself and hisown powers.

Here is a case where one's own idea of one'sself is seventy-five per cent below par; and agentle and consistent encouragement in raisingthat idea is most necessary before par isreached

And par, as I understand it, is simplefreedom from any fixed idea of one's self,either good or bad.

If fixed impressions of one's self are stonesin the way, the same certainly holds good withfixed impressions of others. Unpleasant brain-impressions of others are great weights, andgreater impediments in the way of clearing ourown brains. Suppose So-and-so had such afault yesterday; it does not follow that he hasnot rid himself of at least part of it to-day.Why should we hold the brain-impression ofhis mistake, so that every time we look at himwe make it stronger? He is not the gainerthereby, and we certainly are the losers.Repeated brain-impressions of another's faultsprevent our discerning his virtues. We areconstantly attributing to him disagreeablemotives, which arise solely from our idea ofhim, and of which he is quite innocent. Notonly so, but our mistaken impressions increasehis difficulty in rising to the best of himself.For any one whose temperament is in the leastsensitive is oppressed by what he feels to beanother's idea of him, until he learns to clearhimself of that as well as of other brain-impressions.

It is not uncommon to hear one go over andover a supposed injury, or even smallannoyances from others, with the reiteratedassertion that he fervently desires to forgetsuch injury or annoyances. This fervent desireto forgive and forget expresses itself by arepeated brain-impression of that which is tobe forgiven; and if this is so often repeated inwords, how many times more must it berepeated mentally! Thus, the brain-impressionis increased until at last forgetting seems outof the question. And forgiving is impossibleunless one can at the same time so entirelyforget the ill-feeling roused as to place itbeyond recall.

Surely, if we realized the force andinfluence of unpleasant brain-impressions, it

would be a simple matter to relax and let themescape, to be replaced by others that are onlypleasant It cannot be that we enjoy thediscomfort of the disagreeable impressions.

And yet, so curiously perverted is humannature that we often hear a revolting story toldwith the preface, "Oh, I can't bear to think ofit! "And the whole story is given, with acareful attention to detail which is quiteunnecessary, even if there were any reason fortelling the story at all, and generallyconcluded with a repetition of the prefatoryexclamation. How many pathetic sights aretold of, to no end but the repetition of anunpleasant brain-impression. How many pastexperiences, past illnesses, are gone over andover, which serve the same worse than uselesspurpose,--that of repeating and emphasizingthe brain-impression.

A little pain is made a big one by persistentdwelling upon it; what might have been a shortpain is sometimes lengthened for a lifetime.Similarly, an old pain is brought back byrecalling a brain-impression.

The law of association is well known. Weall know how familiar places and happeningswill recall old feelings; we can realize this atany time by mentally reviving the association.By dwelling on the pain we had yesterday weare encouraging it to return to-morrow. Byemphasizing the impression of an annoyanceof to-day we are making it possible to sufferbeyond expression from annoyances to come;and the annoyances, the pains, thedisagreeable feelings will find their old brain-grooves with remarkable rapidity when giventhe ghost of a chance.

I have known more than one case where awoman kept herself ill by the constantrepetition, to others and to herself, of anervous shock. A woman who had once beenfrightened by burglars refused to sleep for fearof being awakened by more burglars, thusincreasing her impression of fear; and ofcourse, if she slept at all, she was liable at anytime to wake with a nervous start. The processof working herself into nervous prostrationthrough this constant, useless repetition wasnot slow.

The fixed impressions of preconceived ideasin any direction are strangely in the way ofreal freedom. It is difficult to catch new

harmonies with old ones ringing in our ears;still more difficult when we persist in listeningat the same time to discords.

The experience of arguing with anotherwhose preconceived idea is so firmly fixedthat the argument is nothing but a series ofcircles, might be funny if it were not sad; andit often is funny, in spite of the sadness.

Suppose we should insist upon retaining anunpleasant brain-impression, only when and solong as it seemed necessary in order to bring aremedy. That accomplished, suppose wedropped it on the instant. Suppose, further,that we should continue this process, andnever allow ourselves to repeat a disagreeablebrain-impression aloud or mentally. Imaginethe result. Nature abhors a vacuum; somethingmust come in place of the unpleasantness;therefore way is made for feelings morecomfortable to one's self and to others.

Bad feelings cause contraction, good onesexpansion. Relax the muscular contraction;take a long, free breath of fresh air, andexpansion follows as a matter of course. Dropthe brain-contraction, take a good inhalationof whatever pleasant feeling is nearest, and theexpansion is a necessary consequence.

As we expand mentally, disagreeable brain-impressions, that in former contracted stateswere eclipsed by greater ones, will be keenlyfelt, and dropped at once, for the mere reliefthus obtained.

The healthier the brain, the more sensitive itis to false impressions, and the more easily arethey dropped.

One word by way of warning. We never canrid ourselves of an uncomfortable brain-impression by saying, "I will try to thinksomething pleasant of that disagreeable man."The temptation, too, is very common to say toourselves clearly, "I will try to thinksomething pleasant," and then leave "of thatdisagreeable man" a subtle feeling in thebackground. The feeling in the background,however unconscious we may be of it, is astrong brain-impression,--all the strongerbecause we fail to recognize it,--and the resultof our "something pleasant" is an insidiouscomplacency at our own magnanimousdisposition. Thus we get the disagreeablebrain-impression of another, backed up by our

agreeable brain-impression of ourselves, bothmistaken. Unless we keep a sharp look-out,we may here get into a snarl from whichextrication is slow work. Neither is it possibleto counteract an unpleasant brain-impressionby something pleasant but false. We must calla spade a spade, but not consider it acomponent part of the man who handles it, noryet associate the man with the spade, or thespade with the man. When we drop it, so longas we drop it for what it is worth, which isnothing in the case of the spade in question,we have dropped it entirely. If we try toimprove our brain-impression by insisting thata spade is something better and pleasanter, weare transforming a disagreeable impression toa mongrel state which again brings anythingbut a happy result.

Simply to refuse all unpleasant brain-impressions, with no effort or desire to recastthem into something that they are not, seemsto be the only clear process to freedom. Notonly so, but whatever there might have beenpleasant in what seemed entirely unpleasantcan more truly return as we drop theunpleasantness completely. It is a good thingthat most of us can approach the freedom ofsuch a change in imagination before we reachit in reality. So we can learn more rapidly notto hamper ourselves or others by retainingdisagreeable brain-impressions of the present,or by recalling others of the past.

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V.

THE TRIVIALITY OF TRIVIALITIES.

LIFE is clearer, happier, and easier for us asthings assume their true proportions. I mightbetter say, as they come nearer in appearanceto their true proportions; for it seems doubtfulwhether any one ever reaches the place in thisworld where the sense of proportion isabsolutely normal. Some come much nearerthan others; and part of the interest of living isthe growing realization of better proportion,and the relief from the abnormal state in whichcircumstances seem quite out of proportion intheir relation to one another.

Imagine a landscape-painter who made hiscows as large as the houses, his blades ofgrass waving above the tops of the trees, andall things similarly disproportionate. Or,worse, imagine a disease of the retina whichcaused a like curious change in the landscapeitself wherein a mountain appeared to be amole-hill, and a mole-hill a mountain.

It seems absurd to think of. And, yet, is notthe want of a true sense of proportion in thecircumstances and relations of life quite asextreme with many of us ? It is well that ourphysical sense remains intact. If we lost thattoo, there would seem to be but little hopeindeed. Now, almost the only thing needed fora rapid approach to a more normal mentalsense of proportion is a keener recognition ofthe want. But this want must be found first inourselves, not in others. There is theinclination to regard our own life as bigger andmore important than the life of any one aboutus; or the reverse attitude of bewailing its lackof importance, which is quite the same. Ineither case our own life is dwelt upon first.Then there is the immediate family, after thatour own especial friends,--all assuming agigantic size which puts quite out of thequestion an occasional bird's-eye view of theworld in general. Even objects which might bein the middle distance of a less extended vieware quite screened by the exaggerated size ofthose which seem to concern us mostimmediately.

One's own life is important; one's ownfamily and friends are important, very, whentaken in their true proportion. One shouldsurely be able to look upon one's own brothersand sisters as if they were the brothers andsisters of another, and to regard the brothersand sisters of another as one's own. Singularly,too, real appreciation of and sympathy withone's own grows with this broader sense ofrelationship. In no way is this sense shownmore clearly than by a mother who has thebreadth and the strength to look upon her ownchildren as if they belonged to some one else,and upon the children of others as if theybelonged to her. But the triviality ofmagnifying one's own out of all proportion hasnot yet been recognized by many.

So every trivial happening in our own livesor the lives of those connected with us isexaggerated, and we keep ourselves and othersin a chronic state of contraction accordingly.

Think of the many trifles which, by beingmagnified and kept in the foreground, obstructthe way to all possible sight or appreciation ofthings that really hold a more important place.The cook, the waitress, various otherannoyances of housekeeping; a gown that doesnot suit, the annoyances of travel, whether wesaid the right thing to so-and-so, whether so-and-so likes us or does not like us,--indeed,there is an immense army of trivial imps, andthe breadth of capacity for entertaining theseimps is so large in some of us as to be trulyencouraging; for if the domain were oncedeserted by the imps, there remains thebreadth, which must have the same capacityfor holding something better. Unfortunately, along occupancy by these miserable littleoffenders means eventually the saddest sort ofcontraction. What a picture for a newGulliver!--a human being overwhelmed by theimps of triviality, and bound fast to the groundby manifold windings of their cobweb-sizedthread.

This exaggeration of trifles is one form ofnervous disease. It would be exceedinglyinteresting and profitable to study the variousphases of nervous disease as exaggeratedexpressions of perverted character. They canbe traced directly and easily in many cases. Ifa woman fusses about trivialities, she fussesmore when she is tired. The more fatigue, themore fussing; and with a persistent tendencyto fatigue and fussing it does not take long to

work up or down to nervous prostration. Fromthis form of nervous excitement one neverreally recovers, except by a heartyacknowledgment of the trivialities astrivialities, when, with growing health, there isa growing sense of true proportion.

I have seen a woman spend more attention,time, and nerve-power on emphasizing thefact that her hands were all stained from thedye on her dress than a normal woman wouldtake for a good hour's work. As she grewbetter, this emphasizing of trivialitiesdecreased, but, of course, might have returnedwith any over-fatigue, unless it had beenrecognized, taken at its worth, and simplydropped. Any one can think of example afterexample in his own individual experience,when he has suffered unnecessary torturesthrough the regarding of trifling things, eitherby himself or by some one near him. Withmany, the first instance will probably be toinsist, with emphasis and some feeling, thatthey are not trivialities.

Trivialities have their importance whengiven their true proportion. The size of atriviality is often exaggerated as much byneglect as by an undue amount of attention.When we do what we can to amend anannoyance, and then think no more about ituntil there appears something further to do,the saving of nervous force is very great. Yet,so successful have these imps of trivialitycome to be in their rule of human nature thatthe trivialities of the past are oftentimes dweltupon with as much earnestness as if theybelonged to the present.

The past itself is a triviality, except in itsresults. Yet what an immense screen it issometimes to any clear understanding orappreciation of the present! How many of ushave listened over and over to the same tale ofpast annoyances, until we wonder how it canbe possible that the constant repetition is notrecognized by the narrator! How many of ushave been over and over in our minds pasttroubles, little and big, so that we have noright whatever to feel impatient when listeningto such repetitions by others! Here again wehave, in nervous disease, the extreme of acommon trait in humanity. With increasednervous fatigue there is always an increase ofthe tendency to repetition. Best drop it beforeit gets to the fatigue stage, if possible.

Then again there are the common things oflife, such as dressing and undressing, and thenumberless every-day duties. It is possible todistort them to perfect monstrosities by themanner of dwelling upon them. Taken as amatter of course, they are the very triviality oftrivialities, and assume their place withoutsecond thought.

When life seems to get into such a snarl thatwe despair of disentangling it, a long journeyand change of human surroundings enable usto take a distant view, which not uncommonlyshows the tangle to be no tangle at all.Although we cannot always go upon amaterial journey, we can change the mentalperspective, and it is this adjustment of thefocus which brings our perspective into truerproportions. Having once found what appearsto be the true focus, let us be true to it. Thetemptations to lose one's focus are many, andsometimes severe. When temporarily thrownoff our balance, the best help is to return atonce, without dwelling on the fact that wehave lost the focus longer than is necessary tofind it again. After that, our focus is betteradjusted and the range steadily expanded. It isimpossible for us to widen the range bythinking about it; holding the best focus weknow in our daily experience does that Thusthe proportions arrange themselves; we cannotarrange the proportions. Or, what is morenearly the truth, the proportions are in realitytrue, to begin with. As with the imaginary eye-disease, which transformed the relative sizesof the component parts of a landscape, thefault is in the eye, not in the landscape; so,when the circumstances of life are quite in thewrong proportion to one another, in our ownminds, the trouble is in the mental sight, not inthe circumstances.

There are many ways of getting a betterfocus, and ridding one's self of trivialannoyances. One is, to be quiet; get at a goodmental distance. Be sure that you have a clearview, and then hold it. Always keep yourdistance; never return to the old stand-point ifyou can manage to keep away.

We may be thankful if trivialities annoy usas trivialities. It is with those who have theconstant habit of dwelling on them withoutfeeling the discomfort that a return to freedomseems impossible.

As one comes to realize, even in a slight

degree, the triviality of trivialities, and thenforget them entirely in a better idea of trueproportion, the sense of freedom gained iswell worth working for. It certainly brings thepossibility of a normal nervous system muchnearer.

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VI.

MOODS.

RELIEF from the mastery of an evil mood islike fresh air after having been several hoursin a close room.

If one should go to work deliberately tobreak up another's nervous system, and if onewere perfectly free in methods of procedure,the best way would be to throw upon thevictim in rapid sequence a long series of themost extreme moods. The disastrous resultcould be hastened by insisting that each moodshould be resisted as it manifested itself, forthen there would be the double strain,--thestrain of the mood, and the strain of resistance.It is better to let a mood have its way than tosuppress it. The story of the man who sufferedfrom varicose veins and was cured by thewaters of Lourdes, only to die a little laterfrom an affection of the heart which arosefrom the suppression of the former disease, isa good illustration of the effect of mood-suppression. In the case cited, death followedat once; but death from repeated impressionsof moods resisted is long drawn out, and thesuffering intense, both for the patient and forhis friends.

The only way to drop a mood is to look it inthe face and call it by its right name; then bypersistent ignoring, sometimes in one way,sometimes in another, finally drop italtogether. It takes a looser hold next time, andeventually slides off entirely. To be sure,over-fatigue, an attack of indigestion, or someunexpected contact with the same phase inanother, may bring back the ghost of formermoods. These ghosts may even materialize,unless the practice of ignoring is at oncereferred to; but they can ultimately be routedcompletely.

A great help in gaining freedom from moodsis to realize clearly their superficiality. Moodsare deadly, desperately serious things whentaken seriously and indulged in to the fullextent of their power. They are like a tiny spotdirectly in front of the eye. We see that, and

that only. It blurs and shuts out everythingelse. We groan and suffer and are unhappy andwretched, still persistently keeping our eye onthe spot, until finally we forget that there isanything else in the world. In mind and bodywe are impressed by that and that alone. Thusthe difficulty of moving off a little distance isgreatly increased, and liberation is impossibleuntil we do move away, and, by a change ofperspective, see the spot for what it really is.

Let any one who is ruled by moods, in amoment when he is absolutely free from them,take a good look at all past moody states, andhe will see that they come from nothing, go tonothing, and, are nothing. Indeed, that hasbeen and is often done by the moody person,with at the same time an unhappy realizationthat when the moods are on him, they are asreal as they are unreal when he is free. Totreat a mood as a good joke when you are inits clutches, is simply out of the question. Butto say, "This now is a mood. Come on, doyour worst; I can stand it as long as you can,"takes away all nerve-resistance, until the thinghas nothing to clutch, and dissolves for wantof nourishment. If it proves too much for oneat times, and breaks out in a bad expression ofsome sort, a quick acknowledgment that youare under the spell of a bad mood, and afurther invitation to come on if it wants to,will loosen the hold again.

If the mood is a melancholy one, speak aslittle as possible under its influence; go on anddo whatever there is to be done, not resisting itin any way, but keep busy.

This non-resistance can, perhaps, be betterillustrated by taking, instead of a mood, aperson who teases. It is well known that themore we are annoyed, the more our opponentteases; and that the surest and quickest way offreeing ourselves is not to be teased. We canignore the teaser externally with an internalirritation which he sees as clearly as if weexpressed it. We can laugh in such a way thatevery sound of our own voice proclaims theannoyance we are trying to hide. It is when wetake his words for what they are worth, and gowith him, that the wind is taken out of hissails, and he stops because there is no fun in it.The experience with a mood is quite parallel,though rather more difficult at first, for thereis no enemy like the enemies in one's self, noteasing like the teasing from one's self. It takesa little longer, a little heartier and more

persistent process of non-resistance to cure theteasing from one's own nature. But the processis just as certain, and the freedom greater inresult.

Why is it not clear to us that to set our teeth,clench our hands, or hold any form of extremetension and mistaken control, doubles, trebles,quadruples the impression of the feelingcontrolled, and increases by many degrees itspower for attacking us another time?Persistent control of this kind gives a certainsort of strength. It might be called shamstrength, for it takes it out of one in otherways. But the control that comes from non-resistance brings a natural strength, which notonly steadily increases, but spreads on allsides, as the growth of a tree is even in itsdevelopment.

"If a man takes your cloak, give him yourcoat also; if one compel you to go a mile, gowith him twain." "Love your enemies, do goodto them that hurt you, and pray for them thatdespitefully use you." Why have we been solong in realizing the practical, I might say thephysiological, truth of this great philosophy?Possibly because in forgiving our enemies wehave been so impressed with the idea that itwas our enemies we were forgiving. If werealized that following this philosophy wouldbring us real freedom, it would be followedsteadily as a matter of course, and with nomore sense that we deserved credit for doing agood thing than a man might have in walkingout of prison when his jailer opened the door.So it is with our enemies the moods.

I have written heretofore of bad moods only.But there are moods and moods. In a degree,certainly, one should respect one's moods.Those who are subject to bad moods areequally subject to good ones, and thesuperficiality of the happier modes is just asmuch to be recognized as that of the wretchedones. In fact, in recognizing the shallowness ofour happy moods, we are storing ammunitionfor a healthy openness and freedom from theopposite forms. With the full realization that amood is a mood, we can respect it, and sogradually reach a truer evenness of life. Moodsare phases that we are all subject to whilst inthe process of finding our balance; the moresensitive and finer the temperament, the moremoods. The rhythm of moods is mostinteresting, and there is a spice about thechange which we need to give relish to these

first steps towards the art of living.

It is when their seriousness is exaggeratedthat they lose their power for good and makeslaves of us. The seriousness may be equallyexaggerated in succumbing to them and inresisting them. In either case they are ourmasters, and not our slaves. They are steadyconsumers of the nervous system in their upsand downs when they master us; and of courseretain no jot of that fascination which is agood part of their very shallowness, and bringsnew life as we take them as a matter of course.Then we are swung in their rhythm, neveronce losing sight of the point that it is themood that is to serve us, and not we the mood.

As we gain freedom from our own moods,we are enabled to respect those of others andgive up any endeavor to force a friend out ofhis moods, or even to lead him out, unless heshows a desire to be led. Nor do we rejoicefully in the extreme of his happy moods,knowing the certain reaction.

Respect for the moods of others is necessaryto a perfect freedom from our own. In onesense no man is alone in the world; in anothersense every man is alone; and with moodsespecially, a man must be left to work out hisown salvation, unless he asks for help. So, ashe understands his moods, and frees himselffrom their mastery, he will find that moods arein reality one of Nature's gifts, a sort ofmelody which strengthens the harmony of lifeand gives it fuller tone.

Freedom from moods does not mean the lossof them, any more than non-resistance meansallowing them to master you. It is non-resistance, with the full recognition of whatthey are, that clears the way.

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VII.

TOLERANCE.

WHEN we are tolerant as a matter ofcourse, the nervous system is relieved ofalmost the worst form of persistent irritation itcould have.

The freedom of tolerance can only beappreciated by those who have known thesuffering of intolerance and gained relief.

A certain perspective is necessary to arecognition of the full absurdity of intolerance.One of the greatest absurdities of it is evidentwhen we are annoyed and caused intensesuffering by our intolerance of others, and, asa consequence, blame others for the fatigue orillness which follows. However mistaken orblind other people may be in their habits ortheir ideas, it is entirely our fault if we areannoyed by them. The slightest blame given toanother in such a case, on account of oursuffering, is quite out of place.

Our intolerance is often unconscious. It isdisguised under one form of annoyance oranother, but when looked full in the face, itcan only be recognized as intolerance.

Of course, the most severe form is when thebelief, the action, or habit of another interferesdirectly with our own selfish aims. That bringsthe double annoyance of being thwarted andof rousing more selfish antagonism.

Where our selfish desires are directlyinterfered with, or even where an action whichwe know to be entirely right is prevented,intolerance only makes matters worse. Ifexpressed, it probably rouses bitter feelings inanother. Whether we express it openly or not,it keeps us in a state of nervous irritationwhich is often most painful in its results. Suchirritation, if not extreme in its effect, is strongenough to keep any amount of pure enjoymentout of life.

There may be some one who rouses ourintolerant feelings, and who may have many

good points which might give us real pleasureand profit; but they all go for nothing beforeour blind, restless intolerance.

It is often the case that this imaginaryenemy is found to be a friend and ally inreality, if we once drop the wretched state ofintolerance long enough to see him clearly.

Yet the promptest answer to such anassertion will probably be, "That may be so insome cases, but not with the man or womanwho rouses my intolerance."

It is a powerful temptation, this one ofintolerance, and takes hold of strong natures; itfrequently rouses tremendous tempests beforeit can be recognized and ignored. And with thetempest comes an obstinate refusal to call it byits right name, and a resentment towardsothers for rousing in us what should not havebeen there to be roused.

So long as a tendency to anything evil is inus, it is a good thing to have it roused,recognized, and shaken off; and we might asreasonably blame a rock, over which westumble, for the bruises received, as blame theperson who rouses our intolerance for thesuffering we endure.

This intolerance, which is so useless, seemsstrangely absurd when it is roused throughsome interference with our own plans; but it isstranger when we are rampant against a beliefwhich does not in any way interfere with us.

This last form is more prevalent inantagonistic religious beliefs than in anythingelse. The excuse given would be an earnestdesire for the salvation of our opponent. Butwho ever saved a soul through an ungraciousintolerance of that soul's chosen way ofbelieving or living? The danger of loss wouldseem to be all on the other side.

One's sense of humor is touched, in spite ofone's self, to hear a war of words and feelingbetween two Christians whose belief issupposed to be founded on the axiom, "Judgenot, that ye be not judged."

Without this intolerance, argument isinteresting, and often profitable. With it, thedisputants gain each a more obstinate belief inhis own doctrines; and the excitement issteadily destructive to the best health of the

nervous system.

Again, there is the intolerance felt fromvarious little ways and habits of others,--habitswhich are comparatively nothing inthemselves, but which are monstrous in theireffect upon a person who is intolerant of them.

One might almost think we enjoyed irritatednerves, so persistently do we dwell upon thepersonal peculiarities of others. Indeed, thereis no better example of biting off one's ownnose than the habit of intolerance. It mightmore truly be called the habit of irritatingone's own nervous system.

Having recognized intolerance asintolerance, having estimated it at its trueworth, the next question is, how to get rid ofit. The habit has, not infrequently, made such astrong brain-impression that, in spite of anearnest desire to shake it off, it persistentlyclings.

Of course, the soil about the obnoxiousgrowth is loosened the moment we recognizeits true quality. That is a beginning, and therest is easier than might be imagined by thosewho have not tried it.

Intolerance is an unwillingness that othersshould live in their own way, believe as theyprefer to, hold personal habits which theyenjoy or are unconscious of, or interfere in anydegree with our ways, beliefs, or habits.

That very sense of unwillingness causes acontraction of the nerves which is wastefuland disagreeable. The feeling rouses thecontraction, the contraction more feeling; andso the Intolerance is increased in cause and ineffect. The immediate effect of being willing,on the contrary, is, of course, the relaxation ofsuch contraction, and a healthy expansion ofthe nerves.

Try the experiment on some small pet formof intolerance. Try to realize what it is to feelquite willing. Say over and over to yourselfthat you are quite willing So-and-so shouldmake that curious noise with his mouth. Donot hesitate at the simplicity of saying thewords to yourself; that brings a much quickereffect at first. By and by we get accustomed tothe sensation of willingness, and can recall itwith less repetition of words, or without wordsat all. When the feeling of nervous annoyance

is roused by the other, counteract it on theinstant by repeating silently: "I am quitewilling you should do that,--do it again." Theman or woman, whoever he or she may be, isquite certain to oblige you! There will be anynumber of opportunities to be willing, until byand by the willingness is a matter of course,and it would not be surprising if the habitpassed entirely unnoticed, as far as you areconcerned.

This experiment tried successfully on smallthings can be carried to greater. If steadilypersisted in, a good fifty per cent of wastednervous force can be saved for better things;and this saving of nervous force is the leastgain which comes from a thorough riddance ofevery form of intolerance.

"But," it will be objected, "how can I say Iam willing when I am not?"

Surely you can see no good from theirritation of unwillingness; there can be no realgain from it, and there is every reason forgiving it up. A clear realization of thenecessity for willingness, both for our owncomfort and for that of others, helps us to itsrepetition in words. The words said withsincere purpose, help us to the feeling, and sowe come steadily into clearer light.

Our very willingness that a friend should gothe wrong way, if he chooses, gives us newpower to help him towards the right. If we aremoved by intolerance, that is selfishness; withit will come the desire to force our friend intothe way which we consider right. Suchforcing, if even apparently successful,invariably produces a reaction on the friend'spart, and disappointment and chagrin on ourown.

The fact that most great reformers were andare actuated by the very spirit of intolerance,makes that scorning of the ways of othersseem to us essential as the root of all greatreform. Amidst the necessity for and strengthin the reform, the petty spirit of intoleranceintrudes unnoticed. But if any one wants to seeit in full-fledged power, let him study thefamily of a reformer who have inherited theintolerance of his nature without the work towhich it was applied.

This intolerant spirit is not indispensable togreat reforms; but it sometimes goes with

them, and is made use of, as intenseselfishness may often be used, for higher ends.The ends might have been accomplished morerapidly and more effectually with less selfishinstruments. But man must be left free, and ifhe will not offer himself as an open channel tohis highest impulses, he is used to the bestadvantage possible without them.

There is no finer type of a great reformerthan Jesus Christ; in his life there was noshadow of intolerance. From first to last, heshowed willingness in spirit and in action. Inupbraiding the Scribes and Pharisees heevinced no feeling of antagonism; he merelystated the facts. The same firm calm truth ofassertion, carried out in action, characterizedhis expulsion of the money-changers from thetemple. When he was arrested, and throughouthis trial and execution, it was his accuserswho showed the intolerance; they sent outwith swords and staves to take him, with ashow of antagonism which failed to affect himin the slightest degree.

Who cannot see that, with the irritatedfeeling of intolerance, we put ourselves on theplane of the very habit or action we are sovigorously condemning? We are invitinggreater mistakes on our part. For often therouser of our selfish antagonism is quite blindto his deficiencies, and unless he is broader inhis way than we are in ours, any show ofintolerance simply blinds him the more.Intolerance, through its indulgence, has cometo assume a monstrous form. It interferes withall pleasure in life; it makes clear, openintercourse with others impossible; itinterferes with any form of use into which it ispermitted to intrude. In its indulgence it is amonstrosity,--in itself it is mean, petty, andabsurd.

Let us then work with all possible rapidity torelax from contractions of unwillingness, andbecome tolerant as a matter of course.

Whatever is the plan of creation, we cannotimprove it through any antagonistic feeling ofour own against creatures or circumstances.Through a quiet, gentle tolerance we leaveourselves free to be carried by the laws. Truthis greater than we are, and if we can be themeans of righting any wrong, it is by givingup the presumption that we can carry truth,and by standing free and ready to let truthcarry us.

The same willingness that is practised inrelation to persons will be found equallyeffective in relation to the circumstances oflife, from the losing of a train to matters fargreater and more important. There is as muchintolerance to be dropped in our relations tovarious happenings as in our relations topersons ; and the relief to our nerves is just asgreat, perhaps even greater.

It seems to be clear that heretofore we havenot realized either the relief or the strength ofan entire willingness that people and thingsshould progress in their own way. How canwe ever gain freedom whilst we are entangledin the contractions of intolerance?

Freedom and a healthy nervous system aresynonymous; we cannot have one without theother.

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VIII.

SYMPATHY.

SYMPATHY, in its best sense, is the abilityto take another's point of view. Not to mournbecause he mourns; not to feel injured becausehe feels injured. There are times when wecannot agree with a friend in the necessity formourning or feeling injured; but we canunderstand the cause of his disturbance, andsee clearly that his suffering is quitereasonable, from his own point of view. Onecannot blame a man for being color-blind; butby thoroughly understanding andsympathizing with the fact that red must begreen as he sees it, one can help him to bringhis mental retina to a more normal state, untilevery color is taken at its proper value.

This broader sort of sympathy enables us toserve others much more truly.

If we feel at one with a man who issuffering from a supposed injury which maybe entirely his own fault, we are doing all inour power to confirm him in his mistake, andhis impression of martyrdom is increased andprotracted in proportion. But if, with a genuinecomprehension of his point of view, howeverunreal it may be in itself, we do our best to seehis trouble in an unprejudiced light, that issympathy indeed; for our real sympathy iswith the man himself, cleared from his selfishfog. What is called our sympathy with hispoint of view is more a matter ofunderstanding. The sympathy which takes theman for all in all, and includes thecomprehension of his prejudices, will enableus to hold our tongues with regard to hisprejudiced view until he sees for himself orcomes to us for advice.

It is interesting to notice how this sympathywith another enables us to understand andforgive one from whom we have received aninjury. His point of view taken, his animosityagainst us seems to follow as a matter ofcourse; then no time or force need be wastedon resentment.

Again, you cannot blame a man for beingblind, even though his blindness may beabsolutely and entirely selfish, and you thesufferer in consequence.

It often follows that the endeavor to get aclear understanding of another's view brings tonotice many mistaken ideas of our own, andthus enables us to gain a better standpoint Itcertainly helps us to enduring patience;whereas a positive refusal to regard theprejudices of another is rasping to our ownnerves, and helps to fix him in whatevercontraction may have possessed him.

There can be no doubt that this opensympathy is one of the better phases of ourhuman intercourse most to be desired. Itrequires a clear head and a warm heart tounderstand the prejudices of a friend or anenemy, and to sympathize with his capabilitiesenough to help him to clearer mental vision.

Often, to be sure, there are two points ofview, both equally true. But they generallyconverge into one, and that one is more easilyfound through not disputing our own withanother's. Through sympathy with him we areenabled to see the right on both sides, andreach the central point.

It is singular that it takes us so long torecognize this breadth of sympathy andpractise it. Its practice would relieve us of animmense amount of unnecessary nerve-strain.But the nerve-relief is the mere beginning ofgain to come. It steadily opens a clearerknowledge and a heartier appreciation ofhuman nature. We see in individuals traits ofcharacter, good and bad, that we never couldhave recognized whilst blinded by our ownpersonal prejudices. By becoming alive tovarious little sensitive spots in others, we areenabled to avoid them, and save an endlessamount of petty suffering which mightincrease to suffering that was really severe.

One good illustration of this want ofsympathy, in a small way, is the waiting-roomof a well-known nerve-doctor. The room is insuch a state of confusion, it is such a mixtureof colors and forms, that it would be fatiguingeven for a person in tolerable health to staythere for an hour. Yet the doctor keeps hissensitive, nervously excited patients sitting inthis heterogeneous mass of discordant objectshour after hour. Surely it is no psychological

subtlety of insight that gives a man of thistype his name and fame: it must be the feedingand resting process alone; for a man ofsensitive sympathy would study to save hispatients by taking their point of view, as wellas to bring them to a better physical statethrough nourishment and rest

The ability to take a nervous sufferer's pointof view is greatly needed. There can be nodoubt that with that effort on the part offriends and relatives, many cases of severenervous prostration might be saved, certainlymuch nervous suffering could be prevented.

A woman who is suffering from a nervousconscience writes a note which shows that sheis worrying over this or that supposed mistake,or as to what your attitude is towards her. Aprompt, kind, and direct answer will save herat once from further nervous suffering of thatsort. To keep an anxious person, whether hebe sick or well, watching the mails, is a wantof sympathy which is also shown in manyother ways, unimportant, perhaps, to us, butimportant if we are broad enough to take theother's point of view.

There are many foolish little troubles fromwhich men and women suffer that come onlyfrom tired nerves. A wise patience with suchanxieties will help greatly towards removingtheir cause. A wise patience is not indulgence.An elaborate nervous letter of great length isbetter answered by a short but very kind note.

The sympathy which enables us tounderstand the point of view of tired nervesgives us the power to be lovingly brief in ourresponse to them, and at the same time moresatisfying than if we responded at length.

Most of us take human nature as a greatwhole, and judge individuals from our idea ingeneral. Or, worse, we judge it all from ourown personal prejudices. There is a grossnessabout this which we wonder at not havingseen before, when we compare the finersensitiveness which is surely developed by thesteady effort to understand another's point ofview. We know a whole more perfectly as awhole if we have a distinct knowledge of thecomponent parts. We can only understandhuman nature en masse through a daily clearerknowledge of and sympathy with itsindividuals. Every one of us knows thehappiness of having at least one friend whom

he is perfectly sure will neither undervaluehim nor give him undeserved praise, andwhose friendship and help he can count upon,no matter how great a wrong he has done, assecurely as he could count upon his lovingthought and attention in physical illness.Surely it is possible for each of us to approachsuch friendship in our feeling and attitudetowards every one who comes in touch withus.

It is comparatively easy to think of this opensympathy, or even practise it in big ways; it isin the little matters of everyday life that thedifficulty arises. Of course the big ways countfor less if they come through a brain cloggedwith little prejudices, although to some extentone must help the other.

It cannot be that a man has a real opensympathy who limits it to his own family andfriends; indeed, the very limit would make theopen sympathy impossible. One is just as farfrom a clear comprehension of human naturewhen he limits himself by his prejudices forhis immediate relatives as when he makeshimself alone the boundary.

Once having gained even the beginning ofthis broader sympathy with others, therefollows the pleasure of freedom fromantagonisms, keener delight in understandingothers, individally and collectively, andgreater ability to serve others; and all thesemust give an impetus which takes us steadilyon to greater freedom, to clearerunderstanding, and to more power to serve andto be served.

Others have many experiences which wehave never even touched upon. In that case,our ability to understand is necessarily limited.The only thing to do is to acknowledge that wecannot see the point of view, that we have noexperience to start from, and to wait with anopen mind until we are able to understand.

Curiously enough, it is precisely thesepersons of limited experience who are mostprone to prejudice. I have heard a man assertwith emphasis that it was every one's duty tobe happy, who had apparently not a singlething in life to interfere with his ownhappiness. The duty may be clear enough, buthe certainly was not in a position to recognizeits difficulty. And just in proportion with hisinability to take another's point of view in such

difficulty did he miss his power to lead othersto this agreeable duty.

There are, of course, innumerable things,little and big, which we shall be enabled togive to others and to receive from others as thetrue sympathy grows.

The common-sense of it all appeals to usforcibly.

Who wants to carry about a mass of personalprejudices when he can replace them by thewarm, healthy feeling of sympatheticfriendship? Who wants his nerves to besteadily irritated by various forms ofintolerance when, by understanding the other'spoint of view, he can replace these by betterforms of patience?

This lower relief is little compared with thehigher power gained, but it is the first step up,and the steps beyond go ever upward. Humannature is worth knowing and worth loving, andit can never be known or loved without opensympathy.

Why, we ourselves are human nature!

Many of us would be glad to give sympathyto others, especially in little ways, but we donot know how to go to work about it; we seemalways to be doing the wrong thing, when ourdesire is to do the right. This comes, of course,from the same inability to take the other'spoint of view; and the ability is gained as weare quiet and watch for it.

Practice, here as in everything else, is whathelps. And the object is well worth workingfor.

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IX.

OTHERS.

HOW to live at peace with others is aproblem which, if practically solved, wouldrelieve the nervous system of a great weight,and give to living a lightness and ease thatmight for a time seem weirdly unnatural. Itwould certainly decrease the income of thenerve-specialists to the extent of deprivingthose gentlemen of many luxuries they nowenjoy.

Peace does not mean an outside civility withan inside dislike or annoyance. In that case,the repressed antagonism not only increasesthe brain-impression and wears upon thenervous system, but it is sure to manifest itselfsome time, in one form or another; and thelonger it is repressed, the worse will be theeffect. It may be a volcanic eruption that isproduced after long repression, which simmersdown to a chronic interior grumble; or it maybe that the repression has caused such steadilyincreasing contraction that an eruption isimpossible. In this case, life grows heavier andheavier, burdened with the shackles of one'sown dislikes.

If we can only recognize two truths in ourrelations with others, and let these truthsbecome to us a matter of course, the worstdifficulties are removed. Indeed, with thesetwo simple bits of rationality well in hand, wemay safely expect to walk amicably side byside with our dearest foe.

The first is, that dislike, nine times outoften, is simply a "cutaneous disorder." Thatis, it is merely an irritation excited by thefriction of one nervous system upon another.The tiny tempests in the tiny teapots which arecaused by this nervous friction, the greatweight attached to the most trivial matters ofdispute, would touch one's sense of humorkeenly if it were not that in so many casesthese tiny tempests develop into realhurricanes. Take, for example, two dear andintimate friends who have lived happilytogether for years. Neither has a disposition

which is perfect; but that fact has neverinterfered with their friendship. Both get over-tired. Words are spoken which sound intenselydisagreeable, even cruel. They really expressnothing in the world but tired nerves. They arereceived and misinterpreted by tired nerves onthe other side. So these two sets of nerves actand react upon one another, and from nothingat all is evolved an ill-feeling which, ifallowed to grow, separates the friends. Each isfully persuaded that his cutaneous trouble hasprofound depth. By a persistent refusal of allhealing salves it sometimes sinks in until thedisease becomes really deep seated. All this isso unnecessary. Through the same mistakemany of us carry minor dislikes which, onaccount of their number and their verypettiness, are wearing upon the nerves, andkeep us from our best in whatever directionwe may be working.

The remedy for all these seems very clearwhen once we find it. Recognize theshallowness of the disorder, acknowledge thatit is a mere matter of nerves, and avoid thefriction. Keep your distance. It is perfectlypossible and very comfortable to keep yourdistance from the irritating peculiarities ofanother, while having daily and familiarrelations with him or her. The difficulty is ingetting to a distance when we have allowedourselves to be over-near; but that, too, can beaccomplished with patience. And by keeping anervous distance, so to speak, we are not onlyrelieved from irritation, but we find a muchmore delightful friendship; we see and enjoythe qualities in another which the pettyirritations had entirely obscured from ourview. If we do not allow ourselves to betouched by the personal peculiarities, we getnearer the individual himself.

To give a simple example which wouldperhaps seem absurd if it had not been provedtrue so many times: A man was so annoyed byhis friend's state of nervous excitability that intaking a regular morning walk with him,which he might have enjoyed heartily, healways returned fagged out He tried whilstwalking beside his friend to put himself inimagination on the other side of the street Thenervous irritation lessened, and finally ceased;the walk was delightful, and the friend--neversuspected!

A Japanese crowd is so well-bred that noone person touches another; one need never

jostle, but, with an occasional "I beg yourpardon," can circulate with perfect ease. Insuch a crowd there can be no irritation.

There is a certain good-breeding which leadsus to avoid friction with another's nervoussystem. It must, however, be an avoidanceinside as well as outside. The subterfuge ofholding one's tongue never works in the end.There is a subtle communication from onenervous system to another which is moreinsinuating than any verbal intercourse. Thosenearest us, and whom we really love best, areoften the very persons by whom we are mostannoyed. As we learn to keep a courteousdistance from their personal peculiarities ourlove grows stronger and more real; and anopen frankness in our relation is more nearlypossible. Strangely enough, too, the personalpeculiarities sometimes disappear. It ispossible, and quite as necessary, to treat one'sown nervous system with this distant courtesy.

This brings us to the second simple truth. Innine cases out of ten the cause of this nervousirritation is in ourselves. If a man loses histemper and rouses us to a return attack, howcan we blame him? Are we not quite as bad inhitting back? To be sure, he began it. But didhe? How do we know what roused him? Then,too, he might have poured volleys of abuseupon us, and not provoked an angry retort, ifthe temper had not been latent within us, tobegin with. So it is with minor matters. Indirect proportion to our freedom from others isour power for appreciating their good points;just in proportion to our slavery to their tricksand their habits are we blinded to their goodpoints and open to increased irritation fromtheir bad ones. It is curious that it should workthat way, but it does. If there is nothing in usto be roused, we are all free; if we are not free,it is because there is something in us akin tothat which rouses us. This is hard toacknowledge. But it puts our attitude to otherson a good clean basis, and brings us intoreality and out of private theatricals; not tomention a clearing of the nervous systemwhich gives us new power.

There is one trouble in dealing with peoplewhich does not affect all of us, but whichcauses enough pain and suffering to those whoare under its influence to make up for theimmunity of the rest. That is, the strongfeeling that many of us have that it is our dutyto reform those about us whose life and ways

are not according to our ideas of right.

No one ever forced another to reform,against that other's will. It may have appearedso; but there is sure to be a reaction sooner orlater. The number of nervous systems,however, that have been overwrought by thiseffort to turn others to better ways, is sadindeed. And in many instances the owners ofthese nervous systems will pose to themselvesas martyrs; and they are quite sincere in suchposing. They are living their own impressionsof themselves, and wearing themselves out inconsequence. If they really wanted right forthe sake of right, they would do all in theirpower without intruding, would recognize theother as a free agent, and wait. But they wantright because it is their way; consequentlythey are crushed by useless anxiety, and suffersuperfluously. This is true of those who feelthemselves under the necessity of reformingall who come in touch with them. It is moresadly true of those whose near friends seemsteadily to be working out their owndestruction. To stand aside and be patient inthis last case requires strength indeed. Butsuch patience clears one's mind to see, andgives power to act when action can proveeffective. Indeed, as the ability to leave othersfree grows in us, our power really to serveincreases.

The relief to the nervous system of droppingmistaken responsibility cannot be computed.For it is by means of the nervous system thatwe deal with others; it is the medium of ourexpression and of our impression. And as it iscleared of its false contractions, does it notseem probable that we might be opened to anexquisite delight in companionship that wenever knew before, and that our appreciationof human nature would increase indefinitely?

Suppose when we find another whose waysare quite different from ours, we immediatelycontract, and draw away with the feeling thatthere is nothing in him for us. Or suppose,instead, that we look into his ways with realinterest in having found a new phase of humannature. Which would be the more broadeningprocess on the whole, or the more delightful?Frequently the contraction takes more timeand attention than would an effort tounderstand the strange ways. We are almostalways sure to find something in others towhich we can respond, and which awakens anew power in us, if only a new power of

sympathy.

To sum it all up, the best way to deal withothers seems to be to avoid nervous friction ofany sort, inside or out; to harbor no ill-willtowards another for selfishness roused in one'sself; to be urged by no presumptive sense ofresponsibility; and to remember that we are allin the same world and under the same laws. Aloving sympathy with human nature ingeneral, leads us first to obey the lawsourselves, and gives us a fellow-feeling withindividuals which means new strength on bothsides.

To take this as a matter of course does notseem impossible. It is simply casting the skinof the savage and rising to another plane,where there will doubtless be new problemsbetter worth attention.

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X.

ONE'S SELF.

TO be truly at peace with one's self meansrest indeed.

There is a quiet complacency, though, whichpasses for peace, and is like the remarkablyclear red-and-white complexion whichindicates disease. It will be noticed that thesufferers from this complacent spirit of so-called peace shrink from openness of any sort,from others or to others. They will put adisagreeable feeling out of sight with arapidity which would seem to come fromsheer fright lest they should see andacknowledge themselves in their true guise. Orthey will acknowledge it to a certain extent,with a pleasure in their own humility whichincreases the complacency in proportion. Thispeace is not to be desired. With those whoenjoy it, a true knowledge of or friendshipwith others is as much out of the question as aknowledge of themselves. And when it isbroken or interfered with in any way, the painis as intense and real as the peace was false.

The first step towards amicable relationswith ourselves is to acknowledge that we areliving with a stranger. Then it sometimeshappens that through being annoyed by someone else we are enabled to recognize similardisagreeable tendencies in ourselves of whichwe were totally ignorant before.

As honest dealing with others always paysbest in the end, so it is in all relations withone's self. There are many times when to bequite open with a friend we must wait to beasked. With ourselves no such courtesy isneeded. We can speak out and done with it,and the franker we are, the sooner we are free.For, unlike other companions, we can enjoyourselves best when we are conspicuous onlyby our own absence!

It is this constant persistence in clinging toourselves that is most in the way; it increasesthat crown of nervous troubles, self-consciousness, and makes it quite impossible

that we should ever really know ourselves. Ifby all this, we are not ineffable bores toourselves, we certainly become so to otherpeople.

It is surprising, when once we come torecognize it, how we are in an almost chronicstate of posing to ourselves. Fortunately, aclear recognition of the fact is most effectualin stopping the poses. But they must berecognized, pose by pose, individually andseparately stopped, and then ignored, if wewant to free ourselves from ourselves entirely.

The interior posing-habit makes one a slaveto brain-impressions which puts all freedomout of the question. To cease from such posingopens one of the most interesting gates tonatural life. We wonder how we could haveobscured the outside view for so long.

To find that we cannot, or do not, letourselves alone for an hour in the day seemsthe more surprising when we remember thatthere is so much to enjoy outside. Egotism isimmensely magnified in nervous disorders;but that it is the positive cause of muchnervous trouble has not been generallyadmitted.

Let any one of us take a good look at theamount of attention given by ourselves toourselves. Then acknowledge, withoutflinching, what amount of that attention isunnecessary; and it will clear the airdelightfully, for a moment at any rate.

The tendency to refer everything, in someway or another, to one's self; the touchinessand suspicion aroused by nothing but pettyjealousy as to one's own place; the imaginedslights from others; the want of considerationgiven us,--all these and many more senselessirritations are in this over-attention to self. Theworries about our own moral state take up sogreat a place with many of us as to leave noroom for any other thought. Indeed, it is notuncommon to see a woman worrying so overher faults that she has no time to correct them.Self-condemnation is as great a vanity as itsopposite. Either in one way or another there isthe steady temptation to attend to one's self,and along with it an irritation of the nerveswhich keeps us from any sense of realfreedom.

With most of us there is no great depth to

the self-disease if it is only stopped in time.When once we are well started in thewholesome practice of getting rid of ourselves,the process is rapid. A thorough freedom fromself once gained, we find ourselves quitecompanionable, which, though paradoxical, iswithout doubt a truth.

"That freedom of the soul," writes Fénelon,"which looks straight onward in its path,losing no time to reason upon its steps, tostudy them, or to dwell upon those alreadytaken, is true simplicity." We recognize amistake, correct it, go on and forget. If itappears again, correct it again. Irritation at thesecond or at any number of reappearancesonly increases the brain-impression of themistake, and makes the tendency to futureerror greater.

If opportunity arises to do a good action,take advantage of it, and silently decline thedisadvantage of having your attention rivetedto it by the praise of others.

A man who is constantly analyzing hisphysical state is called a hypochondriac. Whatshall we call the man who is constantlyanalyzing his moral state? As thehypochondriac loses all sense of health inholding the impression of disease, so the othergradually loses the sense of wholesomerelation to himself and to others.

If a man obeyed the laws of health as amatter of course, and turned back every timeNature convicted him of disobedience, hewould never feel the need of self-analysis sofar as his physical state was concerned. Just sofar as a man obeys higher laws as a matter ofcourse, and uses every mistake to enable himto know the laws better, is morbidintrospection out of the question with him.

"Man, know thyself!" but, being sure of thedesire to know thyself, do not be impatient atslow progress; pay little attention to theprocess, and forget thyself, except whenremembering is necessary to a betterforgetting.

To live at real peace with ourselves, we mustsurely let every little evil imp of selfishnessshow himself, and not have any skulkingaround corners. Recognize him for his fullworthlessness, call him by his right name, andmove off. Having called him by his right

name, our severity with ourselves forharboring him is unnecessary. To be gentlewith ourselves is quite as important as to begentle with others. Great nervous suffering iscaused by this over-severity to one's self, andfreedom is never accomplished by that means.Many of us are not severe enough, but verymany are too severe. One mistake is quite asbad as the other, and as disastrous in itseffects.

If we would regard our own state less, orcareless whether we were happy or unhappy,our freedom from self would be gained morerapidly.

As a man intensely interested in somespecial work does not notice the weather, sowe, if we once get hold of the immenseinterest there may be in living, are not movedto any depth by changes in the clouds of ourpersonal state. We take our moods as a matterof course, and look beyond to interests that aregreater. Self may be a great burden if weallow it. It is only a clear window throughwhich we see and are seen, if we are free. Andthe repose of such freedom must be beyondour conception until we have found it. To beabsolutely certain that we know ourselves atany time is one great impediment to reachingsuch rest. Every bit of self-knowledge gainedmakes us more doubtful as to knowledge tocome. It would surprise most of us to see howreally unimportant we are. As a part of theuniverse, our importance increases just inproportion to the laws that work through us;but this self-importance is lost to us entirely inour greater recognition of the laws. As wegain in the sensitive recognition of universallaws, every petty bit of self-contractiondisappears as darkness before the rising of thesun.

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XI.

CHILDREN.

WORK for the better progress of the humanrace is most effective when it is done throughthe children; for children are futuregenerations. The freedom in mature life gainedby a training that would enable the child toavoid nervous irritants is, of course, greatly inadvance of most individual freedom to-day.This real freedom is the spirit of thekindergarten ; but Fröbel's method, aspractised to-day, does not attack and put torout all those various nervous irritants whichare the enemies of our civilization. To be sure,the teaching of his philosophy develops such anature that much pettiness is thrown offwithout even being noticed as a snare; andFröbel helps one to recognize all pettinessmore rapidly. There are, however, many formsof nervous irritation which one is not warnedagainst in the kindergarten, and the absence ofwhich, if the child is taught as a matter ofcourse to avoid them, will give him a freedomthat his elders and betters (?) lack. Theessential fact of this training is that it is onlytruly effectual when coming from examplerather than precept.

A child is exquisitely sensitive to theshortcomings of others, and very keen, as wellas correct, in his criticism, whether expressedor unexpressed. In so far as a man consents tobe taught by children, does he not only remainyoung, but he frees himself from the habit ofimpeding his own progress. This is a greatimpediment, this unwillingness to be taught bythose whom we consider more ignorant thanourselves because they have not been in theworld so long. Did no one ever take intoaccount the possibility of our eyes beingblinded just because they had been exposed tothe dust longer? Certainly one possible way ofclearing this dust and avoiding it is to learnfrom observing those who have had less of itto contend with. Indeed, one might go so far asto say that no training of any child could beeffectual to a lasting degree unless theeducation was mutual. When Fröbel says,"Come, let us live with our children," he does

not mean, Come, let us stoop to our children;he means, Let us be at one with them. Surely amore perfect harmony in these two greatphases of human nature--the child and theman--would be greatly to the advantage of thelatter.

Yet, to begin at the beginning, who everfeels the necessity of treating a baby withrespect? How quickly the baby would resentintrusive attentions, if it knew how. Indeed, Ihave seen a baby not a year old resent beingtransferred from one person to another, withan expression of the face that was mosteloquent. Women seem so full of their senseof possession of a baby that this eloquence isnot even observed, and the poor child'snervous irritants begin at a very early age.There is so much to be gained by keeping at arespectful nervous distance from a baby, thatone has only to be quiet enough to perceive thenew pleasure once, to lose the temptation tointerfere; and imagine the relief to the baby! Itis, after all, the sense of possession that makesthe trouble ; and this sense is so strong thatthere are babies, all the way from twenty toforty, whose individuality is intruded upon sogrossly that they have never known whatfreedom is ; and when they venture to strugglefor it, their suffering is intense. This is asteadily increasing nervous contraction, bothin the case of the possessed and the possessor,and perfect nervous health is not possible oneither side. To begin by respecting theindividuality of the baby would put this lastabnormal attitude of parent and child out ofthe question. Curiously enough, there is insome of the worst phases of this parent-childcontraction an external appearance of freedomwhich only enhances the internal slavery.When a man, who has never known what itwas in reality to give up a strong will, prideshimself upon the freedom he gives to hischild, he is entangling himself in the meshesof self-deception, and either depriving anotherof his own, or ripening him for a good heartyhatred which may at any time mean volcanoesand earthquakes to both.

This forcible resentment of and resistance tothe strong will of another is a cause of greatnervous suffering, the greater as theexpression of such feeling is repressed. Severeillness may easily be the result.

To train a child to gain freedom from thevarious nervous irritants, one must not only be

gaining the same freedom one's self, but mustpractise meeting the child in the way he iscounselled to meet others. One must refuse tobe in any way a nervous irritant to the child. Inthat case quite as much instruction is receivedas given. A child, too, is doubly sensitive; henot only feels the intrusion on his ownindividuality, but the irritable or self-willedattitude of another in expressing suchintrusion.

Similarly, in keeping a respectful distance, ateacher grows sensitive to the child, and againthe help is mutual, with sometimes a balancein favor of the child.

This mistaken, parent-child attitude is oftenthe cause of severe nervous suffering in thosewhose only relation is that of friendship, whenone mind is stronger than the other.Sometimes there is not any real superiorstrength on the one side; it is simply by thegreater grossness of the will that the other isovercome. This very grossness blinds onecompletely to the individuality of a finerstrength; the finer individual succumbsbecause he cannot compete with crowbars,and the parent-child contraction is thedisastrous result. To preserve for a child anormal nervous system, one must guide butnot limit him. It is a sad sight to see a motherimpressing upon a little brain that its owner isa naughty, naughty boy, especially when suchimpression is increased by the irritability ofthe mother. One hardly dares to think howmany more grooves are made in a child's brainwhich simply give him contractions to takeinto mature life with him; how many trivialhappenings are made to assume a monstrousform through being misrepresented. It is worthwhile to think of such dangers, such warpinginfluences, only long enough to avoid them.

A child's imagination is so exquisitely alive,his whole little being is so responsive, that theguidance which can be given him throughhappy brain-impressions is eminentlypracticable. To test this responsiveness, andfeel it more keenly, just tell a child a dramaticstory, and watch his face respond; or evenrecite a Mother-Goose rhyme with all theexpression at your command. The little facechanges in rapid succession, as one event afteranother is related, in a way to put a modernactor to shame. If the response is so quick onthe outside, it must be at least equally activewithin.

One might as well try to make a white rosered by rouging its petals as to mould a childaccording to one's own idea of what he shouldbe; and as the beauty and delicacy of the rosewould be spoiled by the application of thepigment, so is the baby's nervous systemtwisted and contracted by the limiting force ofa grosser will.

Water the rose, put it in the sun, keep theinsect enemies away, and then enjoy it foritself. Give the child everything that isconsistent with its best growth, but neitherforce the growth nor limit it; and stand farenough off to see the individuality, to enjoy itand profit by it. Use the child's imagination tocalm and strengthen it; give it happy channelsfor its activity; guide it physically to therhythm of fresh air, nourishment, and rest;then do not interfere.

If the man never turns to thank you for suchguidance, because it all came as a matter ofcourse, a wholesome, powerful nervoussystem will speak thanks daily with moreeloquence than any words could ever express.

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XII.

ILLNESS.

AS far as we make circumstances guidesand not limitations, they serve us. Otherwise,we serve them, and suffer accordingly. Just inproportion, too, to our allowing circumstancesto be limits do we resist them. Such resistanceis a nervous strain which disables usphysically, and of course puts us more in theclutches of what appears to be our misfortune.The moment we begin to regard everycircumstance as an opportunity, the tables areturned on Fate, and we have the upper hand ofher.

When we come to think of it, how muchcommon-sense there is in making the best ofevery "opportunity," and what a lack of sensein chafing at that which we choose to call ourlimitations ! The former way is sure to bring agood result of some sort, be it ever so small;the latter wears upon our nerves, blinds ourmental vision, and certainly does not cultivatethe spirit of freedom in us.

How absurd it would seem if a woundedman were to expose his wound to unnecessaryfriction, and then complain that it did not heal!Yet that is what many of us have done at onetime or another, when prevented by illnessfrom carrying out our plans in life just as wehad arranged. It matters not whether thoseplans were for ourselves or for others; chafingand fretting at their interruption is just asabsurd and quite as sure to delay our recovery."I know," with tears in our eyes, "I ought notto complain, but it is so hard," To whichcommon-sense may truly answer: "If it ishard, you want to get well, don't you? Thenwhy do you not take every means to get well,instead of indulging first in the very processthat will most tend to keep you ill?" Besidesthis, there is a dogged resistance whichremains silent, refuses to complain aloud, andyet holds a state of rigidity that is even worsethan the external expression. There are manyindividual ways of resisting. Each of us knowshis own, and knows, too, the futility of it; wedo not need to multiply examples.

The patients who resist recovery are quite asnumerous as those who keep themselves ill byresisting illness. A person of this sort seems tobe fascinated by his own body and itsdisorders. So far from resisting illness, he maybe said to be indulging in it He will talk abouthimself and his physical state for hours. Hewill locate each separate disease in a way tosurprise the listener by his knowledge of hisown anatomy. Not infrequently he will prefacea long account of himself by informing youthat he has a hearty detestation of talkingabout himself, and never could understandwhy people wanted to talk of their diseases.Then in minute detail he will reveal to you hisbrain-impression of his own case, and look forsympathetic response. These people mightrecover a hundred times over, and they wouldnever know it, so occupied are they in livingtheir own idea of themselves and in resistingNature.

When Nature has knocked us down becauseof disobedience to her laws, we resist her if weattempt at once to rise, or complain of thepunishment. When the dear lady would hastenour recovery to the best of her ability, weresist her if we delay progress by dwelling onthe punishment or chafing at its necessity.

Nature always tends towards health. It is toprevent further ill-health that she allows us tosuffer for our disobedience to her laws. It is tolead us back to health that she is giving thebest of her powers, having dealt the deservedpunishment. The truest help we can giveNature is not to think of our bodies, well or ill,more than is necessary for their best health.

I knew a woman who was, to allappearances, remarkably well; in fact, herhealth was her profession. She was supposedto be a Priestess of Health. She talked aboutand dwelt upon the health of her body untilone would have thought there was nothing inthe world worth thinking of but a body. Shedisplayed her fine points in the way of health,and enjoyed being questioned with regard tothem. This woman was taken ill. She exhibitedthe same interest, the same pleasure, in talkingover and dwelling upon her various forms ofillness; in fact, more. She counted herdiseases. I am not aware that she ever countedher strong points of health.

This illustration is perhaps clear enough togive a new sense of the necessity for

forgetting our bodies. When ill use everynecessary remedy; do all that is best to bringrenewed health. Having made sure you aredoing all you can, forget; don't follow theprocess. When, as is often the case, pain orother suffering puts forgetting out of thequestion, use no unnecessary resistance, andforget as soon as the pain is past Don'tstrengthen the impression by talking about itor telling it over to no purpose. Better forego alittle sympathy, and forget the pain sooner.

It is with our nerves that we resist whenNature has punished us. It is nervous strainthat we put into a useless attention to andrepetition of the details of our illness. Naturewants all this nerve-force to get us well thefaster; we can save it for her by not resistingand by a healthy forgetting. By taking anillness as comfortably as possible, and turningour attention to something pleasant outside ofourselves, recovery is made more rapidly.

Many illnesses are accompanied by more orless nervous strain, and its natural control willassist nature and enable medicines to workmore quickly. The slowest process ofrecovery, and that which most needs the reliefof a wholesome non-resistance, is when theillness is the result entirely of over-workednerves. Nature allows herself to be tried to theutmost before she permits nervous prostration.She insists upon being paid in full, principaland interest, before she heals such illness. Sosevere is she in this case that a patient mayappear in every way physically well andstrong weeks, nay, months, before he really isso. It was the nerves that broke down last, andthe nerves are the last to be restored. It is,however, wonderful to see how much morerapid and certain recovery is if the patient willonly separate himself from his nervoussystem, and refuse all useless strain.

Here are some simple directions which mayhelp nervous patients, if considered in regularorder. They can hardly be read too often if theman or woman is in for a long siege; and ifsimply and steadily obeyed, they will shortenthe siege by many days, nay, by many weeksor months, in some cases.

Remember that Nature tends towards health.All you want is nourishment, fresh air,exercise, rest, and patience.

All your worries and anxieties now are tired

nerves.

When a worry appears, drop it. If it appearsagain, drop it again. And so continue to drop itif it appears fifty or a hundred times a day ormore.

If you feel like crying, cry; but know that itis the tired nerves that are crying, and don'twonder why you are so foolish,--don't feelashamed of yourself.

If you cannot sleep, don't care. Get all therest you can without sleeping. That will bringsleep when it is ready to come, or you areready to have it.

Don't wonder whether you are going to sleepor not. Go to bed to rest, and let sleep comewhen it pleases.

Think about everything in Nature. Followthe growing of the trees and flowers.Remember all the beauties in Nature you haveever seen.

Say Mother-Goose rhymes over and over,trying how many you can remember.

Read bright stories for children, and quietnovels, especially Jane Austen's.

Sometimes it helps to work on arithmetic.

Keep aloof from emotions.

Think of other people.

Never think of yourself. Bear in mind thatnerves always get well in waves; and if youthought yourself so much better,--almost well,indeed,--and then have a bad time of suffering,don't wonder why it is, or what could havebrought it on. Know that it is part of therecovery-process; take it as easily as you can,and then ignore it.

Don't try to do any number of things to getyourself well; don't change doctors anynumber of times, or take countless medicines.Every doctor knows he cannot hurry yourrecovery, whatever he may say, and you onlyretard it by being over-anxious to get strong.Drop every bit of unnecessary musculartension.

When you walk, feel your feet heavy, as ifyour shoes were full of lead, and think in your

feet.

Be as much like a child as possible. Playwith children as one of them, and think withthem when you can.

As you begin to recover, find somethingevery day to do for others. Best let it be in theway of house-work, or gardening, orsomething to do with your hands.

Take care of yourself every day as a matterof course, as you would dress or undress; andbe sure that health is coming. Say over andover to yourself: Nourishment, fresh air,exercise, rest, PATIENCE.

When you are well, and resume your formerlife, if old associations recall the unhappynervous feelings, know that it is only theassociations; pay no attention to the suffering,and work right on. Only be careful to take lifevery quietly until you are quite used to beingwell again.

An illness that is merely nervous is animmense opportunity, if one will only realizeit as such. It not only makes one moregenuinely appreciative of the best health, andthe way to keep it, it opens the sympathies andgives a feeling for one's fellow-creatureswhich, having once found, we cannot prize toohighly.

It would seem hard to believe that all mustsuffer to find a delicate sympathy; it canhardly be so. To be always strong, and at thesame time full of warm sympathy, is possible,with more thought. When illness or adversecircumstances bring it, the gate has beenopened for us.

If illness is taken as an opportunity to betterhealth, not to more illness, our mental attitudewill put complaint out of the question; and asthe practice spreads it will as surely decreasethe tendency to illness in others as it willshorten its duration in ourselves.

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XIII.

SENTIMENT versusSENTIMENTALITY.

FREEDOM from sentimentality opens theway for true sentiment.

An immense amount of time, thought, andnervous force is wasted in sentimentalizingabout "being good." With many, the amountof talk about their evils and their desire toovercome them is a thermometer whichindicates about five times that amount ofthought Neither the talk nor the thought is ofassistance in leading to any greater strength orto a more useful life; because the talk is alltalk, and the essence of both talk and thoughtis a selfish, morbid pleasure in dwelling uponone's self. I remember the remark of a younggirl who had been several times to prayer-meeting where she heard the same woman sayevery time that she "longed for the true spiritof religion in her life." With all simplicity, thischild said: "If she longs for it, why doesn't shework and find it, instead of coming everyweek and telling us that she longs?" In allprobability the woman returned from everyprayer-meeting with the full conviction that,having told her aspirations, she had reachedthe height desired, and was worthy of allpraise.

Prayer-meetings in the old, orthodox senseare not so numerous as they were fifty yearsago; but the same morbid love of telling one'sown experiences and expressing in wordsone's own desires for a better life is ascommon as ever.

Many who would express horror at thesepublic forms of sentimentalizing do nothesitate to indulge in it privately to any extent.Nor do they realize for a moment that it is thesame morbid spirit that moves them. It mightnot be so pernicious a practice if it were not sosteadily weakening.

If one has a spark of real desire for betterways of living, sentimentalizing about it is asure extinguisher if practised for any length of

time.

A woman will sometimes pour forth anamount of gush about wishing to be better,broader, nobler, stronger, in a manner thatwould lead you, for a moment, perhaps, tobelieve in her sincerity. But when, in the nexthour, you see her neglecting little duties that awoman who was really broad, strong, andnoble would attend to as a matter of course,and not give a second thought to; when yousee that although she must realize thatattention to these smaller duties should comefirst, to open the way to her higher aspirations,she continues to neglect them and continues toaspire,--you are surely right in concluding thatshe is using up her nervous system insentimentalizing about a better life; and bythat means is doing all in her power to hinderthe achievement of it.

It is curious and very sad to see what mightbe a really strong nature weakening itselfsteadily with this philosophy and water. Ofcourse it reaches a maudlin state if itcontinues.

His Satanic Majesty must offer this dose,sweetened with the sugar of self-love, withintense satisfaction. And if we may personifythat gentleman for the sake of illustration,what a fine sarcastic smile must dwell uponhis countenance as he sees it swallowed andenjoyed, and knows that he did not even haveto waste spice as an ingredient! The sugarwould have drowned the taste of any spice hecould supply.

There is not even the appearance of strengthin sentimentalizing.

Besides the sentimentalizing about ourselvesin our desire to live a better life, there is thesame morbid practice in our love for others;and this is quite as weakening. It contains, ofcourse, no jot of real affection. Whatwholesome love there is lives in spite of thesentimentalizing, and fortunately is sometimesstrong enough on one side or the other tocrowd it out and finally exterminate it.

It is curious to notice how often this shamsentiment for others is merely a matter ofnerves. As an instance we can take anexample, which is quite true, of a woman whofancied herself desperately fond of another,when, much to her surprise, an acute attack of

toothache and dentist-fright put the "affection"quite out of her head. In this case the "love"was a nervous irritant, and the toothache acounter-irritant. Of course the sooner suchsuperficial feeling is recognized and shakenoff, the nearer we are to real sentiment.

"But," some one will say, "how are we toknow what is real and what is not? I wouldmuch rather live my life and get more or lessunreality than have this everlastinganalyzing." There need be no abnormalanalyzing; that is as morbid as the other state.Indulge to your heart's content in whateverseems to you real, in what you believe to bewholesome sentiment. But be ready torecognize it as sham at the first hint you get tothat effect, and to drop it accordingly.

A perfectly healthy body will shed germs ofdisease without ever feeling their presence. Soa perfectly healthy mind will shed the germsof sentimentality. Few of us are so healthy inmind but that we have to recognize a germ ortwo and apply a disinfectant before we canreach the freedom that will enable us to shedthe germs unconsciously. A good disinfectantis, to refuse to talk of our own feelings ordesires or affections, unless for some endwhich we know may help us to more light andbetter strength. Talking, however, is mild in itsweakening effect compared with thinking. It isbetter to dribble sham sentiment in words overand over than to think it, and repress the desireto talk. The only clear way is to drop it fromour minds the moment it appears; to let go of itas we would loosen our fingers and dropsomething disagreeable from our hands.

A good amount of exercise and fresh airhelps one out of sentimentalizing. This morbidmental habit is often the result of a body ill insome way or another. Frequently it is simplythe effect of tired nerves. We help others andourselves out of it more rapidly by notmentioning the sentimentalizing habit, but bytaking some immediate means towards rest,fresh air, vigorous exercise, and betternourishment.

Mistakes are often made and ourselves orothers kept an unnecessary length of time inmental suffering because we fail to attribute amorbid mental state to its physical cause. Weblame ourselves or others for behavior that wecall wicked or silly, and increase the suffering,when all that is required is a little thoughtful

care of the body to cause the silly wickednessto disappear entirely.

We are supposed to be indulging in sicklysentiment when we are really suffering fromsickly nerves. An open sympathy will detectthis mistake very soon, and save intensesuffering by an early remedy.

Sentiment is as strengthening assentimentality is weakening. It is as strong, asclear, and as fine in flavor as the other issickly sweet. No one who has tasted thewholesome vigor of the one could ever careagain for the weakening sweetness of theother, however much he might have to sufferin getting rid of it. True sentiment seeks us;we do not seek it. It not only seeks us, itpossesses us, and runs in our blood like thenew life which comes from fresh air on top ofa mountain. With that true sentiment we canfeel a desire to know better things and to livethem. We can feel a hearty love for others;and a love that is, in its essence, the strongestof all human loves. We can give and receive ahealthy sympathy which we could never haveknown otherwise. We can enjoy talking aboutourselves and about" being good," becauseevery word we say will be spontaneous anddirect, with more thought of law than of self.This true sentiment seeks and finds us as werecognize the sham and shake it off, and as werefuse to dwell upon our actions and thoughtsin the past or to look back at all except when itis a necessity to gain a better result.

We are like Orpheus, and true sentiment isour Eurydice with her touch on our shoulder;the spirits that follow are the sham-sentiments,the temptations to look back and pose. Themusic of our lyre is the love and thought webring to our every-day life. Let us keepsteadily on with the music, and lead ourEurydice right through Hades until we haveher safely over the Lethe, and we knowsentimentality only as a name.

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XIV.

PROBLEMS.

THERE are very few persons who have not Ihad the experience of giving up a problem inmathematics late in the evening, and wakingin the morning with the solution clear in theirminds. That has been the experience of many,too, in real-life problems. If it were morecommon, a great amount of nervous strainmight be saved.

There are big problems and little, real andimaginary; and some that are merely tirednerves. In problems, the useless nervouselement often plays a large part. If the"problems "were dropped out of mind withsufferers from nervous prostration, theirprogress towards renewed health might be justtwice as rapid. If they were met normally,many nervous men and women might beentirely saved from even a bowingacquaintance with nervous prostration. It is nota difficult matter, that of meeting a problemnormally,--simply let it solve itself. In ninecases out of ten, if we leave it alone and liveas if it were not, it will solve itself. It is at firsta matter of continual surprise to see howsurely this self-solution is the result of awholesome ignoring both of little problemsand big ones.

In the tenth case, where the problem must befaced at once, to face it and decide to the bestof our ability is, of course, the only thing todo. But having decided, be sure that it ceasesto be a problem. If we have made a mistake, itis simply a circumstance to guide us forsimilar problems to come.

All this is obvious; we know it, and haveprobably said it to ourselves dozens of times.If we are sufferers from nervous problems, wemay have said it dozens upon dozens of times.The trouble is that we have said it and notacted upon it. When a problem will persist inworrying us, in pulling and dragging upon ournerves, an invitation to continue the worryinguntil it has worked itself out is a great helptowards its solution or disappearance.

I remember once hearing a bright womansay that when there was anything difficult todecide in her life she stepped aside and let theopposing elements fight it out within her.Presumably she herself threw in a little helpon one side or the other which really decidedthe battle. But the help was given from a clearstandpoint, not from a brain entirely befoggedin the thick of the fight

Whatever form problems may take, howeverimportant they may seem, when they attacktired nerves they must be let alone. A goodway is to go out into the open air and soidentify one's self with Nature that one isdrawn away in spite of one's self. A big windwill sometimes blow a brain clear of nervousproblems in a very little while if we let it haveits will. Another way out is to interest one'sself in some game or other amusement, or toget a healthy interest in other people's affairs,and help where we can.

Each individual can find his own favoriteescape. Of course we should never shirk aproblem that must be decided, but let usalways wait a reasonable time for it to decideitself first. The solving that is done for us isinvariably better and clearer than any wecould do for ourselves.

It will be curious, too, to see how manyapparently serious problems, relieved of theimportance given them by a strained nervoussystem, are recognized to be nothing at all.They fairly dissolve themselves and disappear.

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XV.

SUMMARY.

THE line has not been clearly drawn, eitherin general or by individuals, between truecivilization and the various perversions of thecivilizing process. This is mainly because wedo not fairly face the fact that the process ofcivilization is entirely according to Nature,and that the perversions which purport to be adirect outcome of civilization are, in point offact, contradictions or artificialities which aresimply a going-over into barbarism, just as toofar east is west.

If you suggest "Nature "in habits andcustoms to most men nowadays, they at onceinterpret you to mean "beastly," although theywould never use the word.

It is natural to a beast to be beastly: he couldnot be anything else; and the true order of hislife as a beast is to be respected. It is natural toa man to govern himself, as he possesses thepower of distinguishing and choosing, Withall the senses and passions much keener, andin their possibilities many degrees finer, thanthe beasts, he has this governing power, whichmakes his whole nervous system his servantjust in so far as through this servant he loyallyobeys his own natural laws. A man in buildinga bridge could never complain when herecognized that it was his obedience to thelaws of mechanics which enabled him to buildthe bridge, and that he never could havearbitrarily arranged laws that would make thebridge stand. In the same way, one who hascome to even a slight recognition of the lawsthat enable him to be naturally civilized andnot barbarously so, steadily gains, not only arealization of the absolute futility of resistingthe laws, but a growing respect and affectionfor them.

It is this sham civilization, this selfishrefinement of barbarous propensities, thisclashing of nervous systems instead of theclashing of weapons, which has been largely,if not entirely, the cause of such a variety andextent of nervous trouble throughout the so-

called civilized world. It is not confined tonervous prostration; if there is a defective spotorganically, an inherited tendency toweakness, the nervous irritation is almostcertain to concentrate upon it instead ofdeveloping into a general nervous break-down.

With regard to a cure for all this, nosuperficial remedy, such as resting andfeeding, is going to prove of lasting benefit;any more than a healing salve will suffice todo away with a blood disease which manifestsitself by sores on the surface of the skin. Nophysician would for a moment inveiglehimself into the belief that the use of externalmeans alone would cure a skin disease thatwas caused by some internal disorder. Suchskin irritation may be easily cured by the rightremedy, whereas an external salve would onlybe a means of repression, and would result inmuch greater trouble subsequently.

Imagine a man superficially cured of anillness, and then exposed while yet barelyconvalescent to influences which produce arelapse. That is what is done in many caseswhen a patient is rested, and fattened like aprize pig, and then sent home into all the oldconditions, with nothing to help him to eludethem but a well-fed, well-rested body. That,undeniably, means a great deal for a shortperiod; but the old conditions discover thescars of old wounds, and the process ofreopening is merely a matter of time. From allsides complaints are heard of the disastrousresults of civilization; while with even a slightrecognition of the fact that the trouble wascaused by the rudiments of barbarism, and thatthe higher civilization is the life which is mosttruly natural, remedies for our nervousdisorders would be more easily found.

It is the perversions of the natural process ofcivilization that do the harm; just as with so-called domesticated flowers there arise coarseabnormal growths, and even diseases, whichthe wholesome, delicate organism of a wildflower makes impossible.

The trouble is that we do not know our ownbest powers at all; the way is stopped soeffectually by this persistent nervous irritation.With all its superficiality, it is enough toimpede the way to the clear, nervous strengthwhich is certainly our inheritance.

After all, what has been said in the foregoingchapters is simply illustrative of a prevalentmental skin-disorder.

If the whole world were suffering from aphysical cutaneous irritation, the minds ofindividuals would be so concentrated on theirsensations that no one could know of variouswonderful powers in his own body which arenow taken as a matter of course. There wouldbe self-consciousness in every physical action,because it must come through, and in spite of,external irritation. Just in so far as eachindividual one of us found and used the rightremedy for our skin-trouble should we be freeto discover physical powers that wereunknown to our fellow-sufferers, and free tohelp them to a similar remedy when they werewilling to be helped.

This mental skin-disorder is far moreirritating and more destructive, and not onlyleads to, but actually is, in all its forms, a sortof self-consciousness through which we workwith real difficulty.

To discover its shallowness and thesimplicity of its cure is a boon we can hardlyrealize until, by steady application, we havefound the relief. The discovery and cure donot lead to a millennium any more than thecure of any skin disease guarantees permanenthealth. For deeper personal troubles there areother remedies. Each will recognize and findhis own; but freedom, through and through,can never be found, or even looked for clearly,while the irritation from the skin disease iswithdrawing our attention.

"But, friends,Truth is within ourselves: it takes no riseFrom outward things; whatever you may believe,There is an inmost centre in us allWhere truth abides in fulness; and around,Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,This perfect clear perception which is truth.A baffling and perverting carnal meshBlinds it, and makes all error; and TO KNOWRather consists in opening out a wayWhence the imprisoned splendor may escape,Than in effecting entry for a lightSupposed to be without."

Browning's "baffling and perverting carnalmesh "might be truly interpreted as a nervoustangle which is nothing at all except as wemake it with our own perverted sight.

To help us to move a little distance from the

phantom tangle, that it may disappear beforeour eyes, has been the aim of this book. So bycuring our mental skin-disease as a matter ofcourse, and then forgetting that it ever existed,we may come to real life. This no one can findfor another, but each has within himself theway.

THE END.

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