O.M. Praise? No. How often must I tell you that? _He _is not the
architect of his honesty.
Y.M. Now then, I will ask you where there is any sense in training
people to lead virtuous lives. What is gained by it?
O.M. The man himself gets large advantages out of it, and that is the
main thing—to _him_. He is not a peril to his neighbors, he is not a
damage to them—and so _they _get an advantage out of his virtues. That
is the main thing to _them_. It can make this life comparatively
comfortable to the parties concerned; the _neglect _of this training
can make this life a constant peril and distress to the parties
concerned.
Y.M. You have said that training is everything; that training is the
man _himself_, for it makes him what he is.
O.M. I said training and _another _thing. Let that other thing pass,
for the moment. What were you going to say?
Y.M. We have an old servant. She has been with us twenty—two years. Her
service used to be faultless, but now she has become very forgetful. We
are all fond of her; we all recognize that she cannot help the
infirmity which age has brought her; the rest of the family do not
scold her for her remissnesses, but at times I do—I can’t seem to
control myself. Don’t I try? I do try. Now, then, when I was ready to
dress, this morning, no clean clothes had been put out. I lost my
temper; I lose it easiest and quickest in the early morning. I rang;
and immediately began to warn myself not to show temper, and to be
careful and speak gently. I safe-guarded myself most carefully. I even
chose the very word I would use: “You’ve forgotten the clean clothes,
Jane.” When she appeared in the door I opened my mouth to say that
phrase—and out of it, moved by an instant surge of passion which I was
not expecting and hadn’t time to put under control, came the hot
rebuke, “You’ve forgotten them again!” You say a man always does the
thing which will best please his Interior Master. Whence came the
impulse to make careful preparation to save the girl the humiliation of
a rebuke? Did that come from the Master, who is always primarily
concerned about _himself_?
O.M. Unquestionably. There is no other source for any impulse.
_Secondarily _you made preparation to save the girl, but _primarily
_its object was to save yourself, by contenting the Master.
Y.M. How do you mean?
O.M. Has any member of the family ever implored you to watch your
temper and not fly out at the girl?
Y.M. Yes. My mother.
O.M. You love her?
Y.M. Oh, more than that!
O.M. You would always do anything in your power to please her?
Y.M. It is a delight to me to do anything to please her!
O.M. Why? _You would do it for pay, solely _—for _profit_. What profit
would you expect and certainly receive from the investment?
Y.M. Personally? None. To please _her _is enough.
O.M. It appears, then, that your object, primarily, _wasn’t _to save
the girl a humiliation, but to _please your mother. _It also appears
that to please your mother gives _you _a strong pleasure. Is not that
the profit which you get out of the investment? Isn’t that the _real
_profits and _first _profit?
Y.M. Oh, well? Go on.
O.M. In _all _transactions, the Interior Master looks to it that _you
get the first profit. _Otherwise there is no transaction.
Y.M. Well, then, if I was so anxious to get that profit and so intent
upon it, why did I throw it away by losing my temper?
O.M. In order to get _another _profit which suddenly superseded it in
value.
Y.M. Where was it?
O.M. Ambushed behind your born temperament, and waiting for a chance.
Your native warm temper suddenly jumped to the front, and _for the
moment its influence _was more powerful than your mother’s, and
abolished it. In that instance you were eager to flash out a hot rebuke
and enjoy it. You did enjoy it, didn’t you?
Y.M. For—for a quarter of a second. Yes—I did.
O.M. Very well, it is as I have said: the thing which will give you the
_most _pleasure, the most satisfaction, in any moment or _fraction _of
a moment, is the thing you will always do. You must content the
Master’s _latest _whim, whatever it may be.
Y.M. But when the tears came into the old servant’s eyes I could have
cut my hand off for what I had done.
O.M. Right. You had humiliated _yourself_, you see, you had given
yourself _pain_. Nothing is of _first _importance to a man except
results which damage _him _or profit him—all the rest is _secondary_.
Your Master was displeased with you, although you had obeyed him. He
required a prompt _repentance_; you obeyed again; you_ had _to—there is
never any escape from his commands. He is a hard master and fickle; he
changes his mind in the fraction of a second, but you must be ready to
obey, and you will obey, _always_. If he requires repentance, you
content him, you will always furnish it. He must be nursed, petted,
coddled, and kept contented, let the terms be what they may.
Y.M. Training! Oh, what’s the use of it? Didn’t I, and didn’t my mother
try to train me up to where I would no longer fly out at that girl?
O.M. Have you never managed to keep back a scolding?
Y.M. Oh, certainly—many times.
O.M. More times this year than last?
Y.M. Yes, a good many more.
O.M. More times last year than the year before?
Y.M. Yes.
O.M. There is a large improvement, then, in the two years?
Y.M. Yes, undoubtedly.
O.M. Then your question is answered. You see there _is _use in
training. Keep on. Keeping faithfully on. You are doing well.
Y.M. Will my reform reach perfection?
O.M. It will. Up to _your _limit.
Y.M. My limit? What do you mean by that?
O.M. You remember that you said that I said training was _everything_.
I corrected you, and said “training and _another _thing.” That other
thing is _temperament _—that is, the disposition you were born with.
_You can’t eradicate your disposition nor any rag of it _—you can only
put a pressure on it and keep it down and quiet. You have a warm
temper?
Y.M. Yes.
O.M. You will never get rid of it; but by watching it you can keep it
down nearly all the time. _Its presence is your limit. _Your reform
will never quite reach perfection, for your temper will beat you now
and then, but you come near enough. You have made valuable progress and
can make more. There _is _use in training. Immense use. Presently you
will reach a new stage of development, then your progress will be
easier; will proceed on a simpler basis, anyway.
Y.M. Explain.
O.M. You keep back your scoldings now, to please _yourself _by pleasing
your _mother_; presently the mere triumphing over your temper will
delight your vanity and confer a more delicious pleasure and
satisfaction upon you than even the approbation of your _mother
_confers upon you now. You will then labor for yourself directly and at
_first hand, _not by the roundabout way through your mother. It
simplifies the matter, and it also strengthens the impulse.
Y.M. Ah, dear! But I sha’n’t ever reach the point where I will spare
the girl for _her _sake _primarily_, not mine?
O.M. Why—yes. In heaven.
Y.M. (_After a reflective pause) _Temperament. Well, I see one must
allow for temperament. It is a large factor, sure enough. My mother is
thoughtful, and not hot-tempered. When I was dressed I went to her
room; she was not there; I called, she answered from the bathroom. I
heard the water running. I inquired. She answered, without temper, that
Jane had forgotten her bath, and she was preparing it herself. I
offered to ring, but she said, “No, don’t do that; it would only
distress her to be confronted with her lapse, and would be a rebuke;
she doesn’t deserve that—she is not to blame for the tricks her memory
serves her.” I say—has my mother an Interior Master?—and where was he?
O.M. He was there. There, and looking out for his own peace and
pleasure and contentment. The girl’s distress would have pained _your
mother. _Otherwise the girl would have been rung up, distress and all.
I know women who would have gotten a No. 1 _pleasure _out of ringing
Jane up—and so they would infallibly have pushed the button and obeyed
the law of their make and training, which are the servants of their
Interior Masters. It is quite likely that a part of your mother’s
forbearance came from training. The _good _kind of training—whose best
and highest function is to see to it that every time it confers a
satisfaction upon its pupil a benefit shall fall at second hand upon
others.
Y.M. If you were going to condense into an admonition your plan for the
general betterment of the race’s condition, how would you word it?
_Admonition_
O.M. Diligently train your ideals _upward _and _still upward _toward a
summit where you will find your chiefest pleasure in conduct which,
while contenting you, will be sure to confer benefits upon your
neighbor and the community.
Y.M. Is that a new gospel?
O.M. No.
Y.M. It has been taught before?
O.M. For ten thousand years.
Y.M. By whom?
O.M. All the great religions—all the great gospels.
Y.M. Then there is nothing new about it?
O.M. Oh yes, there is. It is candidly stated, this time. That has not
been done before.
Y.M. How do you mean?
O.M. Haven’t I put _you first, _and your neighbor and the community
afterward?
Y.M. Well, yes, that is a difference, it is true.
O.M. The difference between straight speaking and crooked; the
difference between frankness and shuffling.
Y.M. Explain.
O.M. The others offer you a hundred bribes to be good, thus conceding
that the Master inside of you must be conciliated and contented first,
and that you will do nothing at _first hand _but for his sake; then
they turn square around and require you to do good for _other’s _sake
_chiefly_; and to do your duty for duty’s _sake_, chiefly; and to do
acts of _self_-_sacrifice_. Thus at the outset we all stand upon the
same ground—recognition of the supreme and absolute Monarch that
resides in man, and we all grovel before him and appeal to him; then
those others dodge and shuffle, and face around and unfrankly and
inconsistently and illogically change the form of their appeal and
direct its persuasions to man’s _second-place _powers and to powers
which have _no existence _in him, thus advancing them to _first _place;
whereas in my Admonition I stick logically and consistently to the
original position: I place the Interior Master’s requirements _first_,
and keep them there.
Y.M. If we grant, for the sake of argument, that your scheme and the
other schemes aim at and produce the same result—_right living—_has
yours an advantage over the others?
O.M. One, yes—a large one. It has no concealments, no deceptions. When
a man leads a right and valuable life under it he is not deceived as to
the _real _chief motive which impels him to it—in those other cases he
is.
Y.M. Is that an advantage? Is it an advantage to live a lofty life for
a mean reason? In the other cases he lives the lofty life under the
_impression _that he is living for a lofty reason. Is not that an
advantage?
O.M. Perhaps so. The same advantage he might get out of thinking
himself a duke, and living a duke’s life and parading in ducal fuss and
feathers, when he wasn’t a duke at all, and could find it out if he
would only examine the herald’s records.
Y.M. But anyway, he is obliged to do a duke’s part; he puts his hand in
his pocket and does his benevolences on as big a scale as he can stand,
and that benefits the community.
O.M. He could do that without being a duke.
Y.M. But would he?
O.M. Don’t you see where you are arriving?
Y.M. Where?
O.M. At the standpoint of the other schemes: That it is good morals to
let an ignorant duke do showy benevolences for his pride’s sake, a
pretty low motive, and go on doing them unwarned, lest if he were made
acquainted with the actual motive which prompted them he might shut up
his purse and cease to be good?
Y.M. But isn’t it best to leave him in ignorance, as long as he _thinks
_he is doing good for others’ sake?
O.M. Perhaps so. It is the position of the other schemes. They think
humbug is good enough morals when the dividend on it is good deeds and
handsome conduct.
Y.M. It is my opinion that under your scheme of a man’s doing a good
deed for his _own _sake first-off, instead of first for the _good
deed’s _sake, no man would ever do one.
O.M. Have you committed a benevolence lately?
Y.M. Yes. This morning.
O.M. Give the particulars.
Y.M. The cabin of the old negro woman who used to nurse me when I was a
child and who saved my life once at the risk of her own, was burned
last night, and she came mourning this morning, and pleading for money
to build another one.
O.M. You furnished it?
Y.M. Certainly.
O.M. You were glad you had the money?
Y.M. Money? I hadn’t. I sold my horse.
O.M. You were glad you had the horse?
Y.M. Of course I was; for if I hadn’t had the horse I should have been
incapable, and my _mother _would have captured the chance to set old
Sally up.
O.M. You were cordially glad you were not caught out and incapable?
Y.M. Oh, I just was!