SENTIMENTALITY AND THE MALE
It is a long time now that the belief has been generally accepted that
God made man, and, contemplating his work, realized that it was a
failure for the purpose for which man was created. He then made woman.
The way in which this was accomplished is full of interest to the
artificer, but it does not concern me, whose lifelong study has been of
the finished species; nor does the object of the creation of man,
alluring as it is, tempt me to digress from the subject of his
sentimental endowment. Soon after his organism was endowed with sentient
possession, man was made aware that he had imperious desires which not
only demanded satisfaction but which insisted upon being satisfied. It
pleased the Christian church to enshroud the most vital of these
God-given desires in the mantle of sin, save when its appeasement was
done in conformity with the restrictions laid upon it by the church. It
may quite well be that such restrictions were founded in wisdom. For a
long time England maintained that it was right to restrict the franchise
to owners of property of a certain value, and for many centuries the
world accepted slavery without a thought that it was wrong. Ruskin spoke
truly when he said: "The basest thought about man is that he has no
spiritual nature, and the foolishest that he has no animal nature."
The facts around which these remarks are spun are first: God reproduced
his image, and, finding that the image was incomplete and useless for
the purposes for which he was created, he made him whole, as it were, by
creating the female; and second: that he endowed man and woman with
mental and emotional qualities which were to aid them in living their
lives happily for themselves, usefully for others, and acceptably to
him. The moment this endowment was made known to them the fat was in the
fire. "She tempted me and I fell" has been the subject of picture and
poem, story and sermon, excuse or extenuation, since time immemorial.
Learned tomes and ponderous volumes have set forth specifically the
difference of the sexes, more or less uselessly too, for no one needs to
be convinced that there are anatomical and physiological differences.
The obvious is never interesting; the pleasurable quest is pursuit of
the elusive, the intangible. There are differences between the sexes
that defy specific designation, for I do not admit that specificity is
given to these distinctions by saying that men differ from women
emotionally, morally, spiritually, ethically, or that they react
differently to the same stimulus under the same circumstances, or that
there are soul differences of kind and degree. We do not have to decide
whether these distinctions are inherent or acquired. We have only to
admit that they exist. The plain fact is that tradition and experience
teach us that both the male and the female of the _genus homo_ have
certain spiritual endowments, both on the emotional and the intellectual
side, which have come to be looked upon as characteristic. Courage,
valor, secrecy are universally considered to be characteristics of the
male. On the other hand, patience, sentiment, vanity, and fickleness
have become traditionally linked up with the opposite sex. Women are
often braver than men, more continent, less vain, but to admit this does
not diminish the acceptability of the general proposition. No one is
likely to contend that either sex has a monopoly of any of these
qualities, but I fancy it will readily be admitted that sentimentality,
in its most flagrant display, is a more characteristic ancilla of woman
than of man. Bulwer Lytton was a shrewd observer when he wrote: "There
is sentiment in all women and sentiment gives delicacy to thought and
tact to manner." But sentiment with men is generally acquired, an
offspring of the intellectual quality, not as with the other sex, of the
moral. A man considers it a term of reproach to be called sentimental;
on the other hand, such designation in no way detracts from a woman's
estimate of herself, nor does it derogate her in the esteem of others so
long as she confines it within certain limits and so long as it does not
condition her conduct. Many a man on reviewing his past recognizes that
his ship of celibacy foundered upon the sandy shoals called
"tender-minded." The tender-minded girl is one with a mind somewhat
underdeveloped, saturated in sentimentality usually associated with a
streak of obstinacy which is beyond parental influence.
With nubility there comes to every girl a wealth of emotional endowment
which is often most bewildering--indeed, it upsets some unstable
organizations, while to others it is merely an intoxication. It disturbs
their equilibrium, it tends to break down their inhibitions and to befog
the perspectives that have been so carefully developed for them, and it
not infrequently roils the water of life in which they have been
floating and swimming without effort to such a degree that they
constitute a problem for parent and teacher. The average girl gradually
throws off these disequilibrilizing effects; and the moonlight walks in
the garden, or the romantic plans to spend an idyllic life in a tiny
cottage covered by a rambler rose-bush far from the madding crowd,
companioned by an Adonis and the poetry of Tennyson, her extravagant
protestations of love for another girl, her exuberant interest in some
mystic or fantastic cult, and other concomitants of this period, are
given proper valuation.
She emerges into womanhood with a "head" for the intoxicating libation
that wells up in her tissues, and is poured through her soul as sap
wells up in a tree, even to the smallest branches preparatory to its
bloom and fructification. The knowledge is borne in upon her that she
can manage the new possession conformably to the canons of church,
state, and society, and that the total of what has come to her at this
period may be split up into qualities or possessions to which are given
specific names, such as sentiment. Soon she realizes that these
qualities become important assets in her display of the _ars amoris_ and
they prepare the road that leads pleasantly and propitiously to the goal
which shall be the fulfilment of her physiological destiny, namely,
maternity via matrimony. When that gratifying stage has been reached and
fulfilled she understands that sentimentality, modestly displayed,
contributes largely to her success, not only in her family but in the
world.
How different with the opposite sex! He likewise feels the obscuring
mists of sex potency and of sentimentality settling over him as puberty
approaches. He is also bewildered, but it is early made clear to him by
his fellows who have gone through the experience that the slightest
manifestation of it will be the signal for loosing on him the floodgates
of their contempt and for opening for him the sluiceways of their scorn.
To be called a mollycoddle is worse than being called a sneak, a cad, or
a liar, and he is made to appreciate that if he merits such designation
his companions will give him the kind of reception the wedding guests
gave the ancient mariner. It is borne in upon him that display of
sentiment in any form whatsoever is not "manly"; so he not only
suppresses sentimentality, but in order to conceal it he goes much
farther and no longer treats his sisters with the same kindness and
consideration as before; he withdraws his intimacies and his confidences
from his mother, professes a contempt for the society of girls, and
embraces every opportunity to display a furious antagonism toward
sentimentality.
This period is oftentimes a trying one for the parent, and, as every one
knows, it is fraught with danger to the individual, particularly if he
is a weak character, because it is during these times that sinister
associations and injurious habits are formed which are prejudicial to
physical development and mental evolution. This is the period of life
which has furnished the fertile soil in which the modern English
novelist successfully sows his seed.
The average boy emerges from this period with a vision so adjusted to
his immediate environment and the world that he senses things as they
really are. He begins to get some idea of the purposes and value of
life, its obligations and its privileges, and as the result of intuition
or tuition, that happiness and usefulness, the chief aims and objects of
life, stand in direct and measurable relationship to the possession and
display of certain qualities which are commonly spoken of as virtues. As
his mind unfolds and he is able to give relativity to these qualities,
he becomes aware that sentiment in a man is not a deforming but a
meritorious possession, which, when used properly, is a great asset, but
that it is one of the qualities of his make-up that should not be
displayed to the vulgar gaze, and is a possession which he should rarely
use save to blend with other qualities to give them savor. He
appreciates that sentiment gives momentum to his designs and tone to his
accomplishments, while furnishing appropriate and fitting setting for
their display, and with discernment he is able to distinguish clearly
between sentiment and sentimentality and knows that the word sentiment
is used synonymously with feeling or conviction. Sentiment is a
composite of many of the virtues and is a subjective possession which,
when revealed in words, action, or conduct may become sentimentality,
providing the origin of these words, acts, and deeds is founded in
sentiment.
The possession of sentiment, that is, of feeling, is a most desirable
one so long as it does not warp the judgment, interfere with the
mission, or prevent a man from doing his duty. The man or woman who is
devoid of feeling is a species of monster, but the man or woman whose
plan of life is based upon sentiment and whose conduct conforms to
sentiment is mentally and morally unhealthy. As Lowell says: "Every man
feels instinctively that all the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh
less than a single lovely action." Decisions, plans of action, conduct
conditioned by or founded in sentiment can be followed safely only if
they are submitted to the acid test of reason before acceptation or
subscription. Sentiment as a possession may be compared to a ferocious
dog. He may be invaluable as a watch-dog, which adequately chained gives
you a feeling of security, and at appropriate times can be unleashed to
signal advantage, and accomplishes under guidance that which merits full
approval; but let loose at all times he is an intolerable nuisance and
may get you into one trouble after another.
The sentimentalist is a person who, in decisions, judgments, plans of
action, and conduct of them, point of view in dealing with persons
individually and collectively, has his conduct so colored by sentiment
that his plan of action and ability and methods of its execution seem
illogical and incapable of being subjected to the test of reason.
Carlyle put it tersely when he said: "The barrenest of mortals is the
sentimentalist."
The agonal struggle of the Great War was not necessary to convince us
that very little is to be accomplished in the world single-handed. The
individual can give birth to the idea, the plan, or possess the
initiative which may revolutionize some phase of the activities of the
world, but to carry out the idea he must have the co-operation of many.
It is in securing such co-operation that he has a great opportunity to
make a proper use of sentiment. There is nothing that an organizer or an
administrator finds out earlier or surer than that loyalty is the cement
that keeps his organization together, and the more it sets the more firm
and invulnerable becomes his organization.
How to engender such loyalty is a problem that each person confronted
with it must solve for himself. Some do it by meriting the respect and
admiration of their coworkers and subordinates by display of such
qualities as kindliness, justice, generosity, consideration of the
welfare of their fellows, while others encompass it by the whole-hearted
and unselfish way in which they give themselves to the work. Some do it
quite impersonally and may possibly not be on terms of intimacy with any
member of their organization. This does not necessarily mean that they
hold themselves aloof from those with whom they come in contact; on the
contrary, there may exist a genial comradeship from which mutual
respect, admiration, and possibly even affection are developed. Some few
develop loyalty from personal contact on the basis of sentimentality.
They proceed upon the plan that if they cannot secure the personal
admiration and affection of those associated with them, impelling them
to do their best because of this relationship rather than for the good
of the cause, they have not been completely successful in their
accomplishment. To this end they not infrequently resort to a display of
sentimentality which is distressing to the impartial onlooker. That
great dissector of the morals and motives of men, Thackeray, said: "One
tires of a sentimentalist who is always pumping the tears from his eyes
or your own." They lavish praise upon those who have not merited it,
substituting adulation for admonition; they profess a confidence that is
not justified by results; they claim to see only virtues in every
individual who is drawn into the sacred circle of their employment or
association. Should they have suspicions that some in their circle are
not deserving of confidence or do not have the qualities from which
loyal, useful associates can be made, they delude themselves with the
belief that they can engender a sufficient desire in the inadequate one
to compel him to be loyal and efficient in order that the confidence and
admiration of the chief may be requited.
People who work together should respect each other, and by it employer
and employee should be linked together. If a more intimate relation
flows naturally from this respect, well and good, but there should not
be the slightest attempt made to engender it on a sentimental basis. The
rugged mind of Carlyle eschewed the sentimental. He stated: "The
sentimental by and by will have to give place to the practical."
Most men if they strive sufficiently to make others like them can
succeed in their endeavor, but a man should be liked for the inherent
virtues or laudable qualities that he possesses and not for the
semblance of them which he assumes for a special purpose. We like a man
because he is trustworthy, loyal, efficient, reliable, truthful,
co-operative, sympathetic, understanding, but we do not necessarily like
him because some one else tells us that we ought to like him,
particularly if we have found that he does not possess any of the
qualities we desire and which would have made him acceptable. The
sentimentalist is often guided in his decisions and in his conduct
relative to others by the fear that, if he apprises the individual of
the reason why he no longer wishes to keep up business or professional
relations with him, the individual thus treated will devote some time
afterward to tarnishing the lustre of his halo.
The sentimentalist fears especially the criticism, disparagement, and
possibly one might say the malignity of those from whom he chooses to
separate after they have been weighed and found wanting. It is not that
he fears that injury will be done him, because not infrequently his
career is so successful that it can withstand an enormous amount of
disparagement and criticism without detrimental impression. The
disparagement of such individuals can do him no harm save in the
humiliation to his pride when it is brought home to him that he has not
been able to make the leopard change his spots. Self-interest is the
subconscious motive that often leads to a display of sentimentality. The
sentimentalist realizes that allegations of merit and of capacity are
"things that are graceful in a friend's mouth but blushing in a man's
own," and as such praise is the breath of his nostrils he will go to
great lengths to achieve its accomplishment. But, though he may be
deceived by flattery, there are others who know that "on ne trouve
jamais l'expression d'un sentiment qui l'on n'a pas; l'esprit grimace et
le style aussi." He is the easy prey for those who appeal to his vanity
or to his susceptibility to flattery, to advance their own or others'
projects and interests, and he may be led into doing things which his
sober judgment tells him are not desirable, because he feels that he
must not run the risk of lowering himself in the estimate of the
individual from whom he has accepted adulation, reverence, or adoration.
When the male sentimentalist habituates himself to this worshipful
attitude from the other sex he becomes covered with points which
Achilles had only immediately above the heel. The sex which has long
been popularly known as the weaker has an inherited or acquired code of
morality which permits them to make demands of the sentimental man which
a mere man, unless base, would scorn, and now that the sex has been
emancipated we begin to feel that they should come out in the open and
play fair. If they want to rely for their successes upon the weapons
that have been vouchsafed them heretofore, they should not have the
privileges which they are asking for and receiving to-day. Heaven knows
no one is more desirous that they should have what they ask for in that
direction than I am, but they should not use their sex quality to take
an unfair advantage. Thus oftentimes one who merits the designation of
"pillar of strength and tower of fire" becomes a reed in the emotional
wind that blows from the designing woman. She may not be designing in a
malignant sense; she may merely enjoy the display of power. It is
remarkable what a sentimentalist will put up with in the shape of
indignity and inefficiency rather than run the risk of being impaired in
the esteem of one who has this kind of influence over him. Emerson, one
of our deepest thinkers, said: "Man is the will and woman is the
sentiment. In this ship of humanity will is the rudder and sentiment the
sail; when woman affects to steer, the rudder is only the masked sail."
There is nothing more Jove-like than virility and continency, but a man
saturated with sentimentality produces a sensation akin to that which
the child experiences when she finds her doll is stuffed with sawdust.
Sentiment in a man is like scent in a rose. It is the finishing touch to
perfection; when it is deficient it thrills one no more than the painted
flower; when it is excessive the heaviness of its enervating odor is
oppressive.