PART I

MAN’S SUPREME INHERITANCE

Conscious Guidance and Control in Relation to Human Evolution in

Civilization

BY

F. MATTHIAS ALEXANDER

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY WORD BY

PROFESSOR JOHN DEWEY

NEW YORK

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 FIFTH AVENUE

COPYRIGHT, 1918,

BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

_First printing_ _January 1918_

_Second_ „ _May 1918_

Printed in the United States of America

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION

(London, 1910)

Among my intimates I once numbered a boatman known as Old Sol, or to his

familiars just Sol, without the courtesy title, for he was not notably

old. I could not say whether his name was an abbreviated form of Solomon

or not, nor if it were, whether the longer name was baptismal or

conferred in later years as a tribute to his undoubted wisdom. I have

thought it possible that the name was not an abbreviation at all, but it

was certainly descriptive of my friend’s habit of optimism in regard to

the weather. For the cockney oarsman who doubtfully contemplated the

weather conditions on the upper Thames, Sol was unwavering in his

encouragement. His certainty that the weather would clear and the sun

come out was so inspiring that the pale-faced Londoner cheerfully faced

the most unpromising outlook, and started out on his uncertain course

upstream, buoyed with a beautiful confidence in Old Sol’s infallibility.

But for me and for his other intimates, regular clients whose custom was

not dependent on the chances of a fine week-end, Sol had another method.

In answer to the usual question, “Well, Sol, what’s it going to do?” he

would first look up into the sky, then step to the edge of the

landing-stage and study as much of the horizon as was within his limit

of vision. After this careful survey he would deliver his opinion

judicially, and I rarely found him at fault in his prophecy.

Facing my critics, lay and professional, I wish at the outset to

disclaim the methods by which Sol invigorated the casual amateur. I am

not prophesying unlimited sunshine for every one, without regard to

conditions. In this book no mention will be found of royal roads,

panaceas, or grand specifics. I have attempted rather to treat every

reader as Sol treated his intimates. I have looked into the sky and made

a careful survey of the horizon. It is true that I have seen an ideal

and the promise of its fulfilment, but my deductions have been drawn

with patient care from signs which I have studied with diligence; if I

am an optimist, it is because I see the promise of fair weather, and not

because I wish to delude the unwary. And with this I will lay down my

metaphor and come to a practical statement.

I know that I shall be regarded in many quarters as a revolutionary and

a heretic, for my theory and practice, though founded on a principle as

old as the life of man, are not in accord with, nor even a development

of, the tradition which still obtains. But in thus rejecting tradition I

am, happily, sustained by something more than an unproved theory.

Moreover, on this firm ground I do not stand alone. Though my theory may

appear revolutionary and heretical, it is shared by men of attainment in

science and medicine. On a small scale I have made many converts, and in

now making appeal to a wider circle I am upheld by the knowledge that

what I have to say can no longer be classed as an isolated opinion.

Not that I should have hesitated to come forward now, even if I had been

without support. During the past thirteen years I have built up a

practice in London which has reached the bounds of my capacity. This

work has not been done by any advancement of a wavering hypothesis. I

have had cases brought to me as the result of the failure of many kinds

of treatment, of rest cures, relaxation cures, hypnotism, faith cures,

physical culture, and the ordinary medical prescriptions, and in the

treatment of these cases, in my own observations, and in the

appreciation of the patients themselves, I have had abundant opportunity

to prove to my own satisfaction that in its application to present needs

my theory has stood the test of practice in every circumstance and

condition.

That the limits imposed by the present work render it wofully inadequate

I am quite willing to admit, but the necessity for a certain urgency has

been forced upon me, and I have deemed it wiser to outline my subject at

once rather than wait for the time when I shall be ready to publish my

larger work. Indeed, when I think of the material even now at my

command, of the wonderful and ever-increasing list of illustrative cases

that have passed and are still passing through my hands, it seems to me

that this preliminary treatise might well grow, like Frazer’s _Golden

Bough_, from one volume to twelve. In the present volume, however, I

must confine myself to the primary argument and to indicating the

direction in which we may find physical completeness. In the work which

will follow I shall deal with the detailed evidence of the application

of my theory to life, of cases and cures, and all the substance of

experience.

And there are many reasons why I should hesitate no longer in making my

preliminary appeal, chief among them being the appalling physical

deterioration that can be seen by any intelligent observer who will walk

the streets of London or New York, for example, and note the form and

aspect of the average individuals who make up the crowd. So much for the

surface signs. What inferences can we not draw from the statistics? To

take three instances only: What of the disproportionate and apparently

undeniable increase in the cases of cancer, appendicitis, and insanity?

For that increase goes on despite the fact that we have taken the

subject seriously to heart. Now I would not fall into the common fallacy

of _post hoc ergo propter hoc_, and say that because the increase of

these evils has gone hand in hand with our endeavours to raise the

standard by physical culture theories, relaxation exercises, rest cures,

and _hoc genus omne_, therefore the one is the result of the other; but,

lacking more definite proof on the first point, I do maintain that if

physical culture exercises, etc., had done all that was expected of them

they must be considered a complete failure in the checking of the three

evils I have instanced.

Are these troubles, then, still to increase? Are we to wait while the

bacteriologist patiently investigates the nature of these diseases,

until he triumphantly isolates some characteristic germ and announces

that here, at last, is the dread bacillus of cancer?[1] Should we even

then be any nearer a cure? Could we rely on inoculation, and even if we

could, what is to be the end? Are we to be inoculated against every

known disease till our bodies become depressed and enervated

sterilities, incapable of action on their own account? I pray not, for

such a physical condition would imply a mental condition even more

pitiable. The science of bacteriology has its uses, but they are the

uses of research rather than of application. Bacteriology reveals a few

of the agents active in disease, but it says nothing about the

conditions which permit these agents to become active. Therefore I look

to that wonderful instrument, the human body, for the true solution of

our difficulty, an instrument so inimitably adaptable, so full of

marvellous potentialities of resistance and recuperation, that it is

able, when properly used, to overcome all the forces of disease which

may be arrayed against it.

In this thing I do not address myself to any one class or section of the

community. I have tried in what follows to avoid, so far as may be, any

terminology, any medical or scientific phrases and technicalities, and

to speak to the entire intelligent public. I wish the scheme I have here

adumbrated to be taken up universally, and not to be restricted to the

advantage of any one body, medical or otherwise. I wish to do away with

such teachers as I am myself. My place in the present economy is due to

a misunderstanding of the causes of our present physical disability, and

when this disability is finally eliminated the specialised practitioner

will have no place, no uses. This may be a dream of the future, but in

its beginnings it is now capable of realisation. Every man, woman, and

child holds the possibility of physical perfection; it rests with each

of us to attain it by personal understanding and effort.

F. MATTHIAS ALEXANDER.

16 Ashley Place,

Westminster,

London.

CONTENTS

PART I.

MAN’S SUPREME INHERITANCE

PAGE

I. FROM PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS TO PRESENT NEEDS 3

II. PRIMITIVE REMEDIES AND THEIR DEFECTS 13

III. SUBCONSCIOUSNESS AND INHIBITION 29

IV. CONSCIOUS CONTROL 44

V. APPLIED CONSCIOUS CONTROL 57

VI. HABITS OF THOUGHT AND OF BODY 73

VII. RACE CULTURE AND THE TRAINING OF CHILDREN 108

VIII. EVOLUTIONARY STANDARDS AND THEIR INFLUENCE IN THE CRISIS OF

1914 157

PART II.

CONSCIOUS GUIDANCE AND CONTROL

I. SYNOPSIS OF CLAIM 181

II. THE ARGUMENT 193

III. THE PROCESSES OF CONSCIOUS GUIDANCE AND CONTROL 199

IV. CONSCIOUS GUIDANCE AND CONTROL IN PRACTICE 237

V. APPREHENSION AND RE-EDUCATION 249

VI. INDIVIDUAL ERRORS AND DELUSIONS 260

VII. NOTES AND INSTANCES 273

PART III.

THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF A NEW METHOD OF RESPIRATORY RE-EDUCATION

I. THE THEORY OF RESPIRATORY RE-EDUCATION 317

II. ERRORS TO BE AVOIDED AND FACTS TO BE REMEMBERED IN THE

THEORY AND PRACTICE OF RESPIRATORY RE-EDUCATION 323

III. THE PRACTICE OF RESPIRATORY RE-EDUCATION 332

INTRODUCTORY WORD

Many persons have pointed out the strain which has come upon human

nature in the change from a state of animal savagery to present

civilisation. No one, it seems to me, has grasped the meaning, dangers

and possibilities of this change more lucidly and completely than Mr.

Alexander. His account of the crises which have ensued upon this

evolution is a contribution to a better understanding of every phase of

contemporary life. His interpretation centres primarily about the crisis

in the physical and moral health of the individual produced by the

conflict between the functions of the brain and the nervous system on

one side and the functions of digestion, circulation, respiration and

the muscular system on the other; but there is no aspect of the

maladjustments of modern life which does not receive illumination.

Frank acknowledgment of this internecine warfare in the very heart of

our civilisation is not agreeable. For this reason it is rarely faced in

its entirety. We prefer to deal with its incidents and episodes as if

they were isolated accidents and could be overcome one by one in

isolation. Those who have seen the conflict have almost always proposed

as a remedy either a return to nature, a relapse to the simple life, or

else flight to some mystic obscurity. Mr. Alexander exposes the

fundamental error in the empirical and palliative methods. When the

organs through which any structure, be it physiological, mental or

social, are out of balance, when they are unco-ordinated, specific and

limited attempts at a cure only exercise the already disordered

mechanism. In “improving” one organic structure, they produce a

compensatory maladjustment, usually more subtle and more difficult to

deal with, somewhere else. The ingeniously inclined will have little

difficulty in paralleling Mr. Alexander’s criticism of “physical culture

methods” within any field of our economic and political life.

In his criticism of return or relapse to the simpler conditions from

which civilised man has departed Mr. Alexander’s philosophy appears in

its essential features. All such attempts represent an attempt at

solution through abdication of intelligence. They all argue, in effect,

that since the varied evils have come through development of conscious

intelligence, the remedy is to let intelligence sleep, while the

pre-intelligent forces, out of which it developed, do their work. The

pitfalls into which references to the unconscious and subconscious

usually fall have no existence in Mr. Alexander’s treatment. He gives

these terms a definite and real meaning. They express reliance upon the

primitive mind of sense, of unreflection, as against reliance upon

_reflective_ mind. Mr. Alexander sees the remedy not in a futile

abdication of intelligence in order that lower forces may work, but in

carrying the power of intelligence further, in making its function one

of positive and constructive control. As a layman, I am incompetent to

pass judgment upon the particular technique through which he would bring

about a control of intelligence over the bodily organism so as not

merely to cure but to prevent the present multitudinous maladies of

adjustment. But he does not stop with a pious recommendation of such

conscious control; he possesses and offers a definite method for its

realisation, and even a layman can testify, as I am glad to do, to the

efficacy of its working in concrete cases.

It did not remain for the author of these pages to eulogise self-mastery

or self-control. But these eulogies have too frequently remained in the

hortatory and moralistic state. Mr. Alexander has developed a definite

procedure, based upon a scientific knowledge of the organism. Popular

fear of anything sounding like materialism has put a heavy burden upon

humanity. Men are afraid, without even being aware of their fear, to

recognise the most wonderful of all the structures of the vast

universe—the human body. They have been led to think that a serious

notice and regard would somehow involve disloyalty to man’s higher life.

The discussions of Mr. Alexander breathe reverence for this wonderful

instrument of our life, life mental and moral as well as that life which

somewhat meaninglessly we call bodily. When such a religious attitude

toward the body becomes more general, we shall have an atmosphere

favourable to securing the conscious control which is urged.

In the larger sense of education, this whole book is concerned with

education. But the writer of these lines was naturally especially

attracted to the passages in which Mr. Alexander touches on the problems

of education in the narrower sense. The meaning of his principles comes

out nowhere better than in his criticisms of repressive schools on one

hand and schools of “free expression” on the other. He is aware of the

perversions and distortions that spring from that unnatural suppression

of childhood which too frequently passes for school training. But he is

equally aware that the remedy is not to be sought through a blind

reaction in abolition of all control except such as the moment’s whim or

the accident of environment may provide. One gathers that in this

country, Mr. Alexander has made the acquaintance of an extremely rare

type of “self-expressive” school, but all interested in educational

reform may well remember that freedom of physical action and free

expression of emotion are means, not ends, and that as means they are

justified only in so far as they are used as conditions for developing

power of intelligence. The substitution of control by intelligence for

control by external authority, not the negative principle of no control

or the spasmodic principle of control by emotional gusts, is the only

basis upon which reformed education can build. To come into possession

of intelligence is the sole human title to freedom. The spontaneity of

childhood is a delightful and precious thing, but in its original naïve

form it is bound to disappear. Emotions become sophisticated unless they

become enlightened, and the manifestation of sophisticated emotion is in

no sense genuine self-expression. True spontaneity is henceforth not a

birthright but the last term, the consummated conquest, of an art—the

art of conscious control to the mastery of which Mr. Alexander’s book so

convincingly invites us.

JOHN DEWEY.

PART I

MAN’S SUPREME INHERITANCE

I

FROM PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS TO PRESENT NEEDS

“Our contemporaries of this and the rising generation appear to be

hardly aware that we are witnessing the last act of a long drama, a

tragedy and comedy in one, which is being silently played, with no

fanfare of trumpets or roll of drums, before our eyes on the stage of

history. Whatever becomes of the savages, the curtain must soon

descend on savagery forever.”—J. G. FRAZER.

The long process of evolution still moves quietly to its unknown

accomplishment. Struggle and starvation, the hard fight for existence

working with fine impartiality, remorselessly eliminate the weak and

defective. New variations are developed and old types no further

adaptable become extinct, and thus life fighting for life improves

towards a sublimation we cannot foresee. But at some period of the

world’s history an offshoot of a dominant type began to develop new

powers that were destined to change the face of the world.

Speculations as to what first influenced that strange and wonderful

development do not come within the province of this treatise, but I

should like in passing to point out that the theory and practice of my

system are influenced by no particular religion nor school of

philosophy, but in one sense may be said to embrace them all. For

whatever name we give to the Great Origin of the Universe, in the words

of a friend of mine, “we can all of us agree ... that we mean the same

thing, namely, that high power within the soul of man which enables him

to will or to act or to speak, not loosely or wildly, but in subjection

to an all-wise and invisible Authority.” The name that we give to that

Authority will in no way affect the principles which I am about to

state. In subscribing to them the mechanist may still retain his belief

in a theory of chemical reactions no less than the Christian his faith

in a Great Redeemer. But through whatever influence these new powers in

man came into being I maintain that they held strange potentialities,

and, among others, that which now immediately concerns us, the

potentiality to counteract the force of evolution itself.

This is, indeed, at once the greatest triumph of our intellectual growth

and also the self-constituted danger which threatens us from within. Man

has arisen above nature, he has bent circumstance to his will, and

striven against the mighty force of evolution. He has pried into the

great workshop and interfered with the machinery, endeavouring to become

master of its action and to control the workings of its component parts.

But the machine has as yet proved too intricate for his complete

comprehension. He has learned gradually the uses of a few parts which he

is able to operate, but they are only a small fraction of the whole.

What then is man’s position to-day, and what is his danger? His position

is this. In emerging from the contest with nature he has ceased to be a

natural animal. He has evolved curious powers of discrimination, of

choice, and of construction. He has changed his environment, his food,

and his whole manner of living. He has enquired into the laws which

govern heredity and into the causes of disease. But his knowledge is

still limited and his emergence incomplete. The power of the force we

know as evolution still holds him in chains, though he has loosened his

bonds and may at last free himself entirely. Thus we come to man’s

danger.

Evolution—a term we use here and elsewhere in this connection as that

which is best understood to indicate the whole operation of natural

selection and all that it connotes—has two clearly defined functions; by

one of these it develops, by the other it destroys. By an infinitely

slow action it has developed such wonders as the human eye or hand; by a

process somewhat less tedious it allows any organ that has become

useless to perish, such as the pineal eye or (in process) the vermiform

appendix, and, if we can estimate the future course, the teeth and hair.

By the change he has effected in his mode of life, man is no longer

necessarily dependent upon his physical organism for the means of his

subsistence, and in cases where he is still so dependent, such as those

of the agriculturist, the artisan, and others who earn a living by

manual labour, he employs his muscles in new ways, in mechanical

repetitions of the same act, or in modes of labour which are far removed

from those called forth by primitive conditions. In some ways the

physical type which represents the rural labouring population is, in my

opinion, even more degenerate than the type we find in cities, and

mentally there can be no comparison between the two. The truth is that

man, whether living in town or country, has changed his habitat and with

it his habits, and in so doing has involved himself in a new danger, for

though evolution may be cruel in its methods, it is the cruelty of a

discipline without which our bodies become relaxed, our muscles

atrophied, and our functions put out of gear.

The antagonism of conscious as opposed to natural selection[2] has now

been in existence for many thousands of years, but it is only within the

last century or less that the effect upon man’s constitution has become

so marked that the danger of deterioration or decay has been thrust upon

the attention, not only of scientific observers, but of the average,

intelligent individual. No examination of history is necessary in this

place to set out a reason for this comparatively sudden realisation of

physical unfitness. Briefly, the civilisation of the past hundred years

has been unlike the many that have preceded it, in that it has not been

confined to any single nation or empire. In the past history of the

world an intellectual civilisation such as that of Egypt, of Persia, of

Greece, or of Rome, perished from internal causes, of which the chief

was a certain moral and physical deterioration which rendered the nation

unequal to a struggle with younger, more vigorous and—this is

important—wilder, more natural peoples. Thus we have good cause for

believing that the danger we have indicated, though as yet incipient

only, was a determining cause in the downfall of past civilisations. But

we must not overlook the fact that destructive wars and devastating

plagues held sway in the earlier history of mankind, and whilst the

latter acted as an instrument of evolution in destroying the unfit, the

former, by decreasing the population, threw a burden of initiative and

energy on the remnant, necessitating the use of active physical

qualities in the business of all kinds of production.

Now the conditions have altered. Greater scientific attainments in every

direction than have ever been known have combated, and will probably in

the future overcome the devastating diseases which have decimated the

populations of cities, whilst a higher ethical ideal constantly tends to

oppose the horrible and repugnant barbarism of war which, with the

spread of civilisation even to the peoples of the Orient, becomes to our

senses more and more fratricidal, a fight of brother against brother.

A hundred years ago Malthus, a prophet if not a seer, recognised our

danger and within the past quarter of a century a dozen theorists have

proposed remedies less stringent than those advocated by Malthus, but

almost equally futile. Among the theorists are those perhaps unconscious

reactionaries who advocate the simple life, by a return to natural food

and conditions, in endlessly varying ways. To them in their search for

natural foods and conditions we would point out that countless

generations separate us from primitive man, a lapse of time during which

our functions have become gradually adapted to new habits and

environment, and that if it were possible by universal agreement for the

peoples of Europe to return instantly to primitive methods of living,

the effect would be no less disastrous than the reversal of the process,

the sudden thrusting of our civilisation upon savage tribes whereby, to

quote one or two recent examples only, the aborigines of North America,

New Zealand, and Japan (the Ainu tribes) have become, or are rapidly

becoming, extinct.

When therefore we point out man’s power of adaptability in this

connexion, the emphasis is thrown on the slowness with which that

adaptability is passed on to our descendants and on the relative

permanence of the new powers acquired. For our purpose the argument

remains good whether we admit or deny the inheritability of acquired

characteristics, our point being that in either case the process is

necessarily a slow one, though it is plainly more rapid if the

hypothesis be true.[3]

From the savage to the civilised state, man passed, as I say, so slowly

that the passing in the early stages caused neither difficulties nor

changes sufficiently marked to force themselves on our recognition. In

other words, the subject of these changes was unconscious of them, and

the habit of depending upon these sensory appreciations

(“feeling-tones,” or “sense of feeling”) dominant by right in the savage

or subconsciously directed state, remained firmly established in the

civilised experiences, so that to-day man walks, talks, sits, stands,

performs in fact the innumerable mechanical acts of daily life without

giving a thought to the psychical and physical processes involved.

It is not surprising that the results have proved unsatisfactory. The

evils of a personal bad habit do not reveal themselves in a day or in a

week, perhaps not in a year, a remark that is also true of the benefits

of a good habit. The effects of the racial habits I am now describing

have gone on unnoticed for untold centuries. But in the last hundred

years the evil has become so marked that its effect has at last forced

itself upon our attention. The failure of subconscious guidance in

modern civilisation is now being widely admitted, and the consideration

of this fact has led a few to the logical conclusion that conscious

guidance and control is the one method of adapting ourselves not only to

present conditions but to any possible conditions that may arise. We

have passed beyond the animal stage in evolution and can never return to

it.

For these reasons it becomes necessary, if we would be consistent, to

reject at once all propositions for improving our future well-being

which can by any possibility be described as reactionary. Even in this

brief résumé of man’s history one tendency stands out clearly enough,

the tendency to advance. When that first offshoot from a dominant type

began to develop new powers of intellect, a form was initiated which

must either progress or perish. Atavism must be counteracted by the

powers of the mind, and reaction is a form of atavism. No return to

earlier conditions can increase our knowledge of the secret springs of

life, or aid our formulation of world-laws by the understanding of which

we may hope to control the future course of development.

The physical, mental, and spiritual potentialities of the human being

are greater than we have ever realised, greater, perhaps, than the human

mind in its present evolutionary stage is capable of realising. And the

present world crisis surely furnishes us with sufficient evidence that

the familiar processes we call civilisation and education are not,

alone, such as will enable us to come into that supreme inheritance

which is the complete control of our own potentialities. One of the most

startling fallacies of human thought has been the attempt to inaugurate

rapid and far-reaching reforms in the religious, moral, social,

political, educational, and industrial spheres of human activity, whilst

the individuals by whose aid these reforms can be made practical and

effective, have remained dependent upon subconscious guidance with all

that it connotes. Such attempts have always been made by men or women

who were almost completely ignorant of the one fundamental principle

which would so have raised the standard of evolution, that the people

upon whom they sought to impose these reforms might have passed from one

stage of development to another without risk of losing their mental,

spiritual, or physical balance.

For in the mind of man lies the secret of his ability to resist, to

conquer and finally to govern the circumstance of his life, and only by

the discovery of that secret will he ever be able to realise completely

the perfect condition of _mens sana in corpore sano_.

II

PRIMITIVE REMEDIES AND THEIR DEFECTS

“... Having heard that Henry Taylor was ill, Carlyle rushed off from

London to Sheen with a bottle of medicine, which had done Mrs. Carlyle

good, without in the least knowing what was ailing Henry Taylor, or

for what the medicine was useful.”—_Life of_ TENNYSON.

The danger of that mental, nervous, and muscular debility, which is the

outcome of the conditions resulting from the trend of our development,

has been widely recognised during the past fifty years, and we must turn

aside for a moment to consider certain phases of its treatment as

indicated by the well-known and widely applied terms “physical culture,”

“relaxation” and “deep breathing.”

With regard to “physical culture,” it must be clearly understood that I

do not allude to any one system or practice, but speak in the widest

terms; terms which are applicable alike to the most primitive forms of

dumb-bell exercise, or to the most elaborate series of evolutions

designed to counteract the effect of a particular malady. But lest my

application of the term be misunderstood, I will explain that where I

write “physical culture” thus, between inverted commas and with a

hyphen, I mean it to stand for “a series of _mechanical_ exercises,

simple or complicated, designed to strengthen a bodily function by the

development of a set of muscles or of the complete system of muscles”;

but where I use the words physical culture, currently and without a

hyphen, I denote a general system for the improvement of the entire

physical economy by a just co-ordination and control of all the parts of

the system, particularly excluding any method which tends to the

hypertrophy of any one energy without regard to the balance of the

whole.

In the first place it will be recognised from what I have already said,

that the whole theory upon which the present “physical culture” school

is based is but another aspect of that reversion to nature which we have

stigmatised as a form of atavism. It is an attempt to stiffen the new

garment of our intellectual development by lining it with the old fabric

of so-called “natural exercise.” “Physical culture” as defined, is what

one might term the obvious, uninspired method which naturally presents

itself as a remedy for the ills arising from an artificial condition.

The logic of it is of the simplest, and proceeds from the major premise

that bodily defects arise from the disuse and misuse of muscles and

energies in an artificial civilisation, which muscles and energies in a

natural state would be continually called upon to provide the means of

livelihood.

From this it seems obvious to argue that if we contrive an artificial

mechanical means of exercising these muscles for, let us say, one, two,

or three hours a day, they will resume their natural functions, and so——

The lacuna cannot be satisfactorily filled. If we carry on the argument

to its logical conclusion the fallacy is made evident. For the method

arising from this argument creates civil war within the body. There is

no co-ordination, and the outcome must be strife. This point will be at

once made clear by an instance which must be taken to represent a

broadly typical case, an allegory rather than a special example of

particular application.

Let us take for example the case of John Doe, whose work keeps him

indoors from 9 a. m. to 6 p. m., and makes a very urgent call upon his

mental and nervous powers. By the time he is thirty-five, possibly five

or ten years earlier, John Doe is suffering from anæmia, indigestion,

nervous debility, lassitude, insomnia, heart weakness, and heaven only

knows what other troubles. His bodily functions are irregular, his

muscular system partly atrophied and unresponsive, his nerves irritated,

and his general condition—there is really no better word—“jumpy.”

Incidentally I must add that his mind is inoperative in many directions.

He has a bad mental attitude towards the physical acts of everyday life.

For him his body is a mechanism, the intricate workings of which he

never pauses to examine, but which he drives or forces through a certain

series of evolutions similar in kind to those it has always performed

within his experience. When this mechanism fails, it has to be forced on

again by tonics and stimulants or given a “rest,” which is followed by a

return to the old methods of propulsion.

However, John Doe, who has already postponed far too long his search for

a remedy, at last takes a course of “physical culture,” although his

time is severely limited, and his exercises are confined to an hour or

two morning and evening. At first he may say that he feels a wonderful

benefit and probably advises every friend he meets in the city to follow

his example. I am quite willing to grant that Doe may be benefited, I

will even admit that if he continues his exercises it is possible he may

not fall back into the same state of nervous prostration into which he

fell originally, but the point I wish to make quite clear is that his

cure did not in itself possess the elements of permanence. It was merely

a tinkering or botching-up of the fabric of his body. For if we consider

his case from a purely detached standpoint, we must see that Doe

attempted to develop two systems or modes of life which could not in the

nature of things work harmoniously together. On the one hand, for two,

three, or four hours a day, he was occupied in mechanically developing

his muscular system without any reference to the _manner_ in which he

drove his machine, stimulating and accelerating the supply of blood

which therefore required increased oxygenation or reinforced lung power;

in brief, he was exercising those functions and energies which in a

primitive state would have been called upon during the greater part of

his waking life to supply him with food. On the other hand, for the

remaining twelve hours or so during which he was engaged in his

profession, in the eating of meals or in reading, in playing indoor

games or in similar sedentary occupations, the newly developed powers

were being neglected and a call was being made upon the old nervous

energies and centres of control. John Doe’s physical body thus had two

existences, excluding the natural condition of sleep, one fiercely

active, muscular, dynamic, the other sedentary, nervous, static.

These two existences are not correlated, they are antagonistic; they do

not mutually support each other, they conflict. John Doe’s body becomes

the scene of a civil war, and the heart, lungs, and other semi-automatic

organs are in a state of perpetual re-adjustment to opposing conditions,

as they are called upon to support one side or the other in the

perpetual combat. Such a condition cannot tend in the long run to the

improvement of mankind as a whole.

For, as I shall show later,[4] in the case of John Doe and in all

parallel cases, the consciousness of the person concerned is not changed

in regard to the use of the muscular mechanism. Even if he exercise for

six hours daily, on taking up his ordinary occupations once more he will

immediately revert to the same muscular habits he has already acquired

in connexion with such occupations. For it is clear that John Doe has a

wrong mental attitude towards the uses of his muscular mechanism in the

acts of everyday life. He has been using muscles to do work for which

they were never intended, whilst others, which should have been

continuously employed, have remained undeveloped, inert, and imperfectly

controlled. We may say in truth that he is suffering from mental and

physical delusions with regard to the uses of his body. To mention but

one of many instances of his lack of recognition of the true uses and

functions of his muscular system, we shall notice that whenever he

thrusts his head forward or throws it back his shoulders always

accompany the movement in either direction, this movement of the

shoulders being entirely unconscious and made without any recognition of

the fact that they are being moved. Now in this condition of mental and

physical delusion, the unfortunate man tries to do something with these

mechanisms which he is unable to control, hoping that by the mere

performance of certain physical exercises he can restore his body to a

condition of perfect physical health.

It may be well at this point, seeing that I have admitted the

possibility of some preliminary benefit to John Doe from his first

experience of the “physical culture” exercises, to show more in detail

why that benefit was not maintained. The fact is that when this man

realised the seriousness of his digestive troubles he was simply

recognising a symptom and not a primary cause or causes of his

increasing disorders. A proper psycho-physical examination would have

revealed bad habits in his waking and sleeping moments which tended more

or less to reduce his intra-thoracic capacity to a minimum; such a

minimum is not only harmfully inadequate but also renders due

functioning of the vital organs practically impossible.

Incidentally it may be of value to consider what this condition of

minimum intra-thoracic capacity really means and to note some of the

influences upon the whole organism. For as this thoracic cavity contains

many of the vital organs, the whole abdominal viscera is directly or

indirectly influenced by its capacity. Minimum thoracic capacity means

that the organs within the thorax are harmfully compressed and that the

heart and lungs do not get a proper chance to function adequately. A

harmful strain is thrown upon the heart, the lungs are not adequately

employed or sufficiently aerated, and the lung tissue deteriorates. The

proper distribution of the blood is interfered with because of the undue

accumulation in the splanchnic area, to the detriment of the lung

supply. As the lungs are the chief distributors of blood it will be

understood that this condition of minimum thoracic capacity interferes

with the circulation and general nutrition. The respiratory processes

are employed in sucking in air instead of creating a partial vacuum in

the lungs by a co-ordinated thoracic expansion which will give

atmospheric pressure its opportunity.[5] There is an undue

intra-abdominal pressure and harmful flaccidity of the abdominal

muscles, which means dropping of the viscera, imperfect functioning of

the liver, kidneys, bladder, etc., stagnation in the bowels and

irritation and distention of the colon, intestines, etc.; in other

words, indigestion, constipation and all the concomitant disorders and

general impairment of the vital functioning. Let us, for a moment, think

of the thoracic and abdominal cavities as one fairly stiff oblong rubber

bag filled with different parts of a working machine which are

interrelated and interdependent, and which are held in position by their

attachment to the different parts of the inner surface of this bag. We

will then suppose, for the sake of our illustration, that the

circumference of the inner upper half of this bag is three inches more

than that of the lower half. As long as this general capacity of the bag

is maintained the working standard of efficiency of the machinery is

indicated as the maximum. Let us then, in our mind’s eye, decrease the

capacity of the upper part of the bag and increase that of the lower

half until the inner circumference of the latter is three inches more

than the former. We can at once picture the effect upon the whole of the

vital organs therein contained, their general disorganisation, the

harmful irritation caused by undue compression, the interference with

the natural movement of the blood, of the lymph and of the fluids

contained in the organs of digestion and elimination. In fact we find a

condition of stagnation, fermentation, etc., causing the manufacture of

poisons which more or less clog the mental and physical organism, and

which constitutes a process of slow poisoning.

Now to revert to the experiences of John Doe. I have already stated that

when he first tried physical exercises at home or in the gymnasium as a

remedy for his digestive disorders, he experienced a sense of relief.

This was only natural, seeing that he was leading a more or less

sedentary life. Why, then, was the effect of these exercises gradually

diminished until he considered the physical treatment a comparative

failure? This brings us to the point of real interest. The fact is that

any increased amount of exercise does give a sense of relief to those

who lead sedentary lives, but unfortunately this sense of relief is too

often a delusive mental exaggeration of the real changes in the right

direction. It is not often a reliable register of benefits derived which

make for permanent relief. Students of these questions know that the man

whose conditions we are analysing has already developed debauched

_kinæsthetic_ systems which permit defective registrations of different

sensations or feeling-tones, and hence it is very difficult for the

person so constituted to arrive at a reliable estimate of the extent of

his improvement through such faulty senses. We know, too, that, so far

as he is concerned, the improvement is not permanent, a fact which he

readily admits. There are scientific reasons for accepting the accuracy

of this conclusion, and I will endeavour to explain the position. Let us

admit, for the sake of our explanation, that benefits actually accrued

in various directions in the early stages of his physical exercises.

Whatever these benefits may have been, and however great they were, I

contend that it was always certain that sooner or later if he persisted

in the physical exercises, he would gradually develop defects which

would counterbalance and finally outweigh the benefits we have admitted.

The following are some of the reasons which support these contentions. I

shall deal more fully with them in later chapters.

1. _A Defective Kinæsthetic System._ Experience has proved to us that

the conditions present, when he took up the exercises, go hand in hand

with an incorrect and defective kinæsthetic system.

The mere performance of physical exercises could not give him a new and

correct kinæsthetic sense in connexion with the use of the mental and

physical organism in his acts of everyday life.

2. _Erroneous Preconceived Ideas._ It is impossible for me to set down

the myriad dangers with which he is beset in consequence of erroneous

preconceptions during his daily practice on “physical culture” lines.

The pages of a fairly large book will be necessary to do even meagre

justice to this subject. But I can assure my readers that this is

demonstrably true and I am daily convincing the most sceptical by

practical procedures.

3. _Defective Sense-Registration and Delusions._ This serious defect is

in practice linked up with erroneous preconceptions resulting in mental

and physical delusions which are far-reaching and dangerous.

_An Example._ Take a person who, prior to re-education, has the habit of

putting the head back whenever an attempt is made to put the shoulders

back. Ask this person to put the head forward and keep the shoulders

still and it will be found that as a rule he fails to carry out the

order, and moves his shoulders also. Ask him to put the head forward

whilst the teacher holds the shoulders still, and the pupil will put the

head back instead of forward.

4. _Defective Mental and Physical Control._ The most common form of this

defective control encountered in teaching work is when the teacher

wishes to move the head, or hand, or arm, or leg for the pupil, in order

to give the new and correct sensation in the proper use of the parts.

Experience proves that the great majority are utterly wanting in the

controls necessary to enable the person to gain this experience quickly.

The teacher asks the pupil to lift his arm. He does so but exercises an

undue amount of tension. In order to give the pupil the new kinæsthetic

register of the correct amount of tension necessary, the teacher asks to

be permitted to lift the arm for him, but as a rule the pupil acts

exactly as he did when he was requested to perform the act himself.

5. _Defective Inhibition._ The practical teacher finds all pupils more

or less hampered by lack of inhibitory control, the possession of which

would make re-education and co-ordination from the pupil’s standpoint

comparatively easy. Consideration will show that our ordinary mode of

life and the generally accepted teaching methods do not make for the

development of the inhibitory powers. On the contrary, our powers in

this direction rather tend to diminish, and the outward and visible

signs of the serious results are everywhere for him who runs to read.

6. _Self-Hypnotism._ This very serious and all too common evil has not

been attacked on a practical basis. People have spoken of it and written

about it in a general theoretical way, much as they have done about

relaxation, but with no better results on the practical side, when

applied to everyday life. The self-hypnotism I am referring to is a

specific self-hypnotism indulged in at a given and particular time, and

is cultivated unknowingly by teachers and pupils during lessons, and

frequently by both in everyday life.

People will tell you they can think better by closing their eyes. This

is a prevalent form of self-hypnotism, self-deception, and produces a

state of dreaming which is particularly serious because it is a harmful

condition assumed consciously. The ordinary dreamer falls into this

condition unconsciously.

7. _Cultivated Apprehension._ This is probably the most serious

condition which we cultivate and which has been dealt with at length on

pages 249–259.

8. _Prejudiced Arguments and Attempted Self-Defence._ The real weakness

and shallowness of human nature is shown in this connexion in a way

which is uncomplimentary to our intellectual pride. The saddest fact is,

that it is always intensified in the person who would be counted above

the average in intellectuality by a consensus of opinion. We are all

well aware that such an one to win an argument will strain his statement

of his facts in the direction he desires them. His reason is so

dominated by his emotions and his sense appreciation (feeling-tones)

that an appeal to the former is at first in vain. The majority of

mankind has overcompensated in these directions, and it is for this

reason that in the education and development of the child of to-day and

the future, we must see to it that we relinquish all educational methods

which tend to cultivate guidance and control through the emotions and

the sensory appreciations (feeling-tones).

Some perception of the evils that we have thus briefly summarised has

been awakened in the minds of the more earnest thinkers during the last

few years, and, as a result, the systems of exercises display a clearly

marked tendency towards modification. They have lessened their

muscle-tensing violence, and have become, and are becoming, ever less

and less strenuous physical acts. Thus we find “physical culture”

advocates who a few years ago insisted upon the use of dumb-bells, and

in some cases dumb-bells increasing in weight over a graduated series of

exercises, now emphasising the necessity for _gentle_ exercises without

even mentioning the dumb-bell, which is perhaps as good a proof as any

of the truth of my contentions.

My next instance, namely, “relaxation,” is even less efficient. The

usual procedure is to instruct the pupil, who is either sitting or lying

on the floor, to relax, or to do what he or she understands by relaxing.

The result is invariably collapse. For relaxation really means a due

tension of the parts of the muscular system intended by nature to be

constantly more or less tensed, together with a relaxation of those

parts intended by nature to be more or less relaxed, a condition which

is readily secured in practice by adopting what I have called in my

other writings the position of mechanical advantage.[6] But apart from

an incorrect understanding of the proper condition natural to the

various muscles, the theory of relaxation, like that of the rest cure,

makes a wrong assumption, and if either system is persisted in, there

must inevitably follow a general lowering of vitality which will be felt

the moment regular duties are taken up again, and which will soon bring

about the return of the old troubles in an exaggerated form.

The last remedy mentioned at the opening of this chapter was “deep

breathing.” This is a later form of “physical culture” development, and

is, in effect, a modification in the right direction. It is the logical

outcome of the perception that strenuous, forcing, muscular exercises

were resulting in new and possibly greater evils than those they

professed to cure. “Deep breathing” is indeed a step in the right

direction, but only a step, because, while it does not always do serious

harm and in some instances, perhaps, a certain amount of good, it does

not go to the root of the matter, the eradication of defects, nor does

it take cognisance of the most important factor in the scheme of

physical co-ordination. What that radical factor is I shall explain in

detail in my next chapter, but I will first briefly review the chief

points of the argument as far as it has been unfolded.

In imagination we have seen man through the darkness which covers his

first appearance on the earth, the early Miocene man. As we have

pictured him, he was a creature of simple needs and of a vigorous bodily

habit, an animal in all save that spark of self-consciousness which

burned feebly in his primitive, but increasing and differentiating

brain. Again we have a somewhat clearer vision of him with wider powers

of courage and cunning, adapting weapons to his use, and so specialising

the functions of his mind through a long two million years, through

palæolithic and neolithic periods into the age of bronze, where he has

become a reasoning, designing creature, with powers of imagination and

idealisation, powers still turned, however, to physical uses.

And at last we reach the differentiation of man from man and class from

class which marks the historical period of civilisation, the period of

dwelling in cities, of adaptability to new and specialised habits, of

labour that makes little or no call upon the physical capacities, of

food procured without energy, the period when the slow process of

evolution, which has resulted in the product of a new and marvellous

instrument of self-conscious, directive powers, was becoming gradually

superseded by that which it had brought forth.

III

SUBCONSCIOUSNESS AND INHIBITION

“You can have neither a greater nor a less dominion than that over

yourself.”—LEONARDO DA VINCI.

Within the last thirty years we have evolved a new science, the science

of psychology. A generation ago psychology was subject-matter only for

the philosopher, the metaphysician, the poet, or the ecclesiastic; now

it is being investigated in the laboratory by tests of sensibility,

reaction-times, and other responses to stimulation too technical to be

explained here, tests carried out by means of elaborate and intricate

instruments and machinery designed to weigh the _hidden springs of life_

in the balance. The phrase I have italicised is purposely vague, for I

have no wish to fall foul of a terminology or to make any _a priori_

assumption which might involve me in controversial matters completely

outside my province. At the same time I see clearly that some convenient

phrase will become necessary, and I will therefore adopt one which is at

least familiar and within certain limits descriptive enough, namely, the

“subconscious self.”

It may seem strange that one should look to any such formally organised

science as modern psychology, to a science that is working in a

laboratory with mechanical appliances, for any elucidation of a question

which has for so long been regarded as strictly within the domain of the

priest. But science, as Tyndall said, is only another name for

common-sense, and a little consideration will show that the postulate I

have insisted upon, namely, the growth and progress of intellectual

control, demands that this admirable quality of common-sense or reason,

should be applied to the elucidation of this all-important problem.

Unhappily, psychology, from which we hope so much, is as yet in its

infancy, and the few attempts that have been made, such as those of the

late Professor Münsterberg, to apply the theories of the laboratory and

the class room to the practical work of the world, cannot be said to

have produced any results worth considering. In any case I must

transcend the present limits of academic psychology in this

consideration of the subconscious.

The concepts which have grown up round this term, the “subconscious

self,” are in many cases curiously concrete in form. Much error has

sprung from that earnest and well-intentioned work of the late F. W. H.

Myers, _Human Personality and Its Survival After Bodily Death_. Mr.

Myers pictured an entity within an entity, and his work, though

inductive in form, was _a priori_ in method, for he had formed the

conception of a subjective personality taking shape within an objective,

material shell, and had controlled his evidence to a definite,

preconceived end.

The fallacies of Myers have been exposed again and again. His argument

is intrinsically unsound, and when put to the test of newer knowledge

his hypothesis fails to explain the fact. But because Myers’ conception

was so graphic and credible it took a strong hold upon the popular

imagination, a hold which in the eight years following the publication

of _Human Personality_ has not become weakened in the minds of a great

number of people, full though these years have been of discovery and new

knowledge. It is for this reason that I have reverted to Myers’

conception of the subconscious, or as he called it, the “subliminal

self,” inasmuch as I wish it to be clearly understood from the outset

that I use the term “subconscious self” to denote an entirely different

concept. Indeed, any one who has followed my argument to this point must

have inferred the trend of my purpose, namely, that as the intellectual

powers of man extend, we progress in the direction of _conscious

control_. The gradual control of evolution by the child of its

production has pointed always to this end, and by this means, and by

this alone, can the human race continue in the full enjoyment of its

physical powers without forfeiting a fraction of its progressive

intellectual ideal.

It will inevitably be asked at this stage what I mean when I speak of

the “subconscious self,” and I must therefore answer that question to

the best of my ability, even though I have to leave for a moment the

limits of proved fact to tread on the wider ground of hypothesis. I do

not propose, however, to overburden my theory with the detail of

evidence, and what follows must therefore be taken as an inclusive

statement, much of which I could prove conclusively in a larger work,

whilst the unproved remnant must necessarily await confirmation from the

researches of future investigators in the domains of psychology. In the

first place then we must see not only that the subconscious self is not

a possession peculiar to man, but that it is in fact more active, in

many ways more finely developed, in the animal world. Among some animals

the consciousness of danger is so keen that we have attributed it to

prescience. The fear of fire in the prairies, of flood, or of the

advance of some natural danger threatening the existence of the animal,

is evidenced far ahead of any signs perceptible by human senses, and as

we cannot, except sentimentally, attribute powers of conscious reasoning

to the animal world, it is evident that this “foreknowledge” is due to a

delicate co-ordination of animal senses. Again, we see that animals

which have not had their powers dulled by many generations of

domestication make the majority of their movements, as we say,

“instinctively.” They can judge the length of a leap with astonishing

accuracy, or take the one certain chance of escape among the many

apparent possibilities open to them without an instant’s hesitation, and

as these powers are evidenced in some cases within a few hours or

minutes after the birth of the animal, they are admittedly not the

outcome of experience.

The whole argument for the evidence of the possession of a subconscious

self by animals can be elaborated to any length, and depends upon facts

of observation made over a long period of time. The few examples I have

here cited merely illustrate that side of the question which throws into

prominence the point of what we may call abnormal powers, or powers

which seem to transcend those of human reason so far as it has been

developed. It is this appearance of transcendent qualities in the human

subconsciousness which misled Myers, who did not pause to apply his

allegory of the subconscious entity to the animal world. Such an

application would have tended to prove that the “soul” (for that is what

Myers really intended, however carefully he may have avoided the actual

word) of the animal was more highly developed than that of man.

In the second place, however, we are confronted with the unquestionable

fact that the subconsciousness can be “educated” below the plane of

reason. Acts very frequently performed become so mechanical that they

can be repeated without any sense of conscious awareness by the

operator. The pianist, after constant rehearsals, will perform the most

intricate passage while his attention is engaged with an entirely

unrelated subject,—although it is particularly worthy of remark in this

connexion, that when such an art as the performance of music falls

temporarily into such an automatic repetition, the connoisseur will

instantly recognise the loss of some quality,—generally spoken of as

“feeling,”—in the rendering. Again, it appears that in some cases a more

or less permanent impression may be made upon the subconsciousness by

casual suggestions, often related to fear, even though such suggestions

be, in some cases, the result of a single experience. A nervous

hysterical subject, already far too willing to submit to the guidance of

emotion and what he or she fondly believes to be “instinct” or

“intuition” may be so harmfully impressed in this way as to develop any

of the many forms of “phobia,” which are, as the suffix correctly

implies, forms of morbid terror. These are but two instances of the

“education” of the subconsciousness below the reasoning plane, but a

dozen others will suggest themselves to the reader out of his own

experience. The important point is the fact that the phase of being with

which we are dealing becomes, as we progress through life, a composite

of animal instincts and habits acquired below the plane of reason either

by repetition or by suggestion. But before I leave this general

conception of the subconsciousness, I must emphasise the fact that up to

this point we share the qualities of the subconscious mind with the

animal kingdom. For in the lower organisms no less than in that of

humanity, this subconsciousness can be educated. The observations of

naturalists now confirm the belief that the young of certain birds—the

swallow has been particularly instanced—are _taught_ to fly by the

parent birds; whilst any one who has trained a dog will know how such a

trick as “begging” for food may become so habitual as to appear

instinctive.

So much for general definition; I come now to the point which marks the

differentiation of man from the animal world, and which is first clearly

evidenced in the use of the reasoning, intellectual powers of

inhibition.

Now it is evident that in the earlier stages of man’s development, the

inhibition of the subconscious animal powers was frequently a source of

danger and of death. Reason, not as yet sufficiently instructed and

far-seeing, was an inefficient pilot, and sometimes laid the ship aback

when she would have kept before the wind if left to herself. To abandon

the metaphor, the control was imperfect, it wavered between two

alternatives, and by rejecting the guidance of instinct it suffered, it

may be, destruction. But the necessity for conscious control grew as the

conditions of life came to differ ever more and more from those of the

wild state. This, plainly, was due to many causes, but chiefly to the

limitations enforced by the social habit which grew out of the need for

co-operation.

This point must be briefly elaborated, for it marks the birth of

inhibition in its application to everyday life, and in so doing it

demonstrates the growth of the principle of conscious control which,

after countless thousands of years, we are but now beginning to

appreciate and understand.

It is true that we have evidence of conscious inhibition in a pure state

of nature. The wild cat stalking its quarry inhibits the desire to

spring prematurely, and controls to a deliberate end its eagerness for

the instant gratification of a natural appetite. But in this, and in the

many other similar instances, such instinctive acts of inhibition have

been developed through long ages of necessity. The domestic kitten of a

few weeks old, which has never been dependent on its own efforts for a

single meal, will exhibit the same instinct. In animals the inherited

power is there; in man also the power is there as a matter of physical

inheritance, but with what added possibilities due to the accumulated

experience gained from the conscious use of this wonderful force.

The first experience must have come to man very early in his

development. As soon as any act was proscribed and punishment meted out

for its performance, or as soon as a reward was consciously

sought—though its attainment necessitated realised, personal

danger—there must have been a deliberate, conscious inhibition of

natural desires, which in its turn enforced a similar restraint of

muscular, physical functioning. As the needs of society widened, this

necessity for the daily, hourly inhibition of natural desires increased

to a bewildering extent on the prohibitive side. There grew up first

“taboos,” then the rough formulation of moral and social law, and on the

other hand a desire for larger powers which encouraged qualities of

emulation and ambition.

Among the infinite diversity of these influences, natural appetites and

the modes of gratifying them were ever more and more held in subjection,

and the subconscious self or instinct which initiated every action in

the lower animal world fell under the subjection of the conscious,

dominating intellect or will. And in this process we must not overlook

one fact of supreme importance, viz., man still progressed physically

and mentally. It is therefore clear that this control acquired by the

conscious mind broke no great law of nature, known or unknown, for, if

this acquired control had been in conflict with any of those great, and

to us as yet incomprehensible forces which have ruled the evolution of

species, the animal we call man would have become extinct, as did those

early saurian types which failed to fulfil the purpose of development

and perished before man’s first appearance on this earth.

Before we attempt, then, any exact definition of the subconscious self

we must have a clearer comprehension of the terms “will,” “mind,” and

“matter,” which may or may not be different aspects of one and the same

force. More than two thousand years of philosophy have left the

metaphysicians still vaguely speculating as to the relations of these

three essentials, and personally, I am not very hopeful of any solution

from this source. The investigation, though still in its infancy in this

form, has taken the shape of an exact science, and it is to that science

of psychology as now understood that I look to the elucidation of many

difficult problems in the future. Without touching on the uncertain

ground of speculative philosophy, I will try, however, to be as definite

as may be with regard to my conception of the subconscious self.

In the first place, great prominence has been given to the conception of

the subconscious self as an entity within an entity, by the claim made

for it that it has absolute control of the bodily functions. This claim

depends for its support upon the evidence of hypnotism and of the

various forms of auto-suggestion and faith-healing. Under the first

heading, we have been told that under the direction of the hypnotist the

ordinary functions of the body may be controlled or superseded, as for

instance, that a wound may be formed and bleed without mechanically

breaking the skin,[7] or that a wound may be healed more rapidly than is

consistent with the ordinary course of nature. Under the second heading,

which includes all forms of self-suggestion, we have had examples of

what is known as stigmatisation,[8] or the appearance on the bodies of

hysterical and obsessed subjects of some imitation of the five sacred

wounds. Indeed the instances of cures which seem to our uninstructed

minds miraculous, and due by inference to the power of faith, are so

numerous that no special example need be cited. These and many kindred

phenomena have been explained on the hypothesis that the hidden entity

when commanded by the will is able to exert an all-powerful influence

either beneficent or malignant, the obscure means by which the command

may be enforced being variously described. We see at once that the

conception of a hidden entity is the primitive explanation which first

occurs to the puzzled mind. We find the same tendency in the many

curious superstitions of the savage who turns every bird, beast, stone,

and tree into a Totem, and endows them with powers of evil or of good,

and discovers a “hidden entity” all of a piece with this conception of

the subconscious self, in a piece of wood that he has cut from a tree,

or a lump of clay that he has modelled into the rude shape of man, bird,

or beast.

My own conception is rather of the unity than the diversity of life.

And since any attempt to define the term Life would be presumptuous,

the definition being beyond the scope of man’s present ability, I

will merely say that life in this connexion must be read in the

widest application conceivable. And it appears to me that all we

know of the evolution or development of life goes to show that it

has progressed, and will continue to progress, in the direction of

self-consciousness.[9] If we grant the unity of life and the

tendency of its evolution, it follows that all the manifestations of

what we have called the “subconscious self” are functions of the

vital essence or life-force, and that these functions are passing

from automatic or unconscious to reasoning or conscious control.

This conception does not necessarily imply any distinction between

the thing controlled and the control itself. This may be inferred

from the use of the word “self-conscious,” but the further

elucidation of this side of the theory is not germane to the present

argument.

Now I am quite prepared to accept as facts phenomena of the kind I have

instanced, such as unusual cures effected by hypnotism, and by the

somewhat allied methods of the various forms of faith healing, but I do

deny, and most emphatically deny, that either procedure is in any way

necessary to produce the same or even more unusual phenomena.[10] In

other words, I maintain that man may in time obtain complete conscious

control of every function of the body without, as is implied by the word

“conscious,” going into any trance induced by hypnotic means, and

without any paraphernalia of making reiterated assertions or statements

of belief.

Apart from my practical experience of the harm that so often results

from hypnotic and suggestive treatment, an experience sufficient to

demonstrate the dangers of applying these methods to a large majority of

cases, I found my objection to these practices on a broad and, I

believe, incontrovertible basis. This is that the obtaining of trance is

a prostitution and degradation of the objective mind, that it ignores

and debases the chief curative agent, the apprehension of the patient’s

conscious mind, and that it is in direct contradiction to the governing

principle of evolution, the great law of self-preservation by which the

instinct of animals has been trained, as it were, to meet and overcome

the imminent dangers of everyday existence. In man this desire for life

is an influence in therapeutics so strong that I can hardly exaggerate

its potentiality, and it is, moreover, an influence that can be readily

awakened and developed. The will to live has in one experience of mine

lifted a woman almost from the grave, a woman who had been operated upon

and practically abandoned as dead by her surgeons. A passing thought

flashing across a brain that had all but abandoned the struggle for

existence, a sudden consciousness that her children might not be well

cared for if she died, was sufficient to reawaken the desire for life,

and to revivify a body which no medical skill could have saved.[11] But

there is no need to quote instances. The fact is recognised, yet how

small is the attempt made to use and control so potent a force! The same

argument may be also applied to the prostration of the mind as a factor

in the popular rest cures which really seek to put the mind, the great

regenerating force, out of action.

Returning to my definition of the subconscious self, it will be seen

that I regard it as a manifestation of the partly-conscious vital

essence, functioning at times very vividly but on the whole

incompletely, and from this it follows that our endeavours should be

directed to perfecting the self-consciousness of this vital essence. The

perfect attainment of this object in every individual would imply a

mental and physical ability and a complete immunity from disease that is

still a dream of the future. But once the road is pointed, we must

forsake the many bypaths, however fascinating, bypaths which lead at

last to an _impasse_ and necessitate a return in our own footsteps.

Instead of this, we must devote our energies along the indicated road, a

road that presents, it is true, many difficulties, and is not straight

and easy to traverse, but a road that nevertheless leads to an ideal of

mental and physical completeness almost beyond our imaginings.

IV

CONSCIOUS CONTROL

“Man one harmonious soul of many a soul

Whose nature is its own divine control.”

—SHELLEY.

One of the most recent phases of popular, as opposed to scientific,

thought has been that which has endeavoured to teach the control of the

mind. This teaching has been spoken of in general as the “New Thought”

movement, though certain of its precepts may be found in Marcus

Aurelius. This movement has had, and is still having, a considerable

vogue in America, and the influence of it has been felt in England, many

of the writings of its exponents having been published here within the

last fifteen or twenty years. The object of the teaching is to promote

the habit of “right thinking” which is to be obtained by the control of

the mind. The “New Thought” teaches that certain ideas such as fear,

worry, and anger, are to be rigidly excluded from the mind and the

attention fixed upon their opposites, such as courage, complacency,

calm. With certain of the tendencies expressed in this movement I am in

sympathy, but following the usual course of such movements, the “New

Thought” is losing sight of its principle, which was, indeed, never

fully grasped, and is becoming involved in a species of dogma, the

rigidity of which is in my opinion directly opposed to its primary

object. One of its earlier and most capable exponents, however, Ralph

Waldo Trine, marked the principle with a phrase, and by naming one of

his works _In Tune with the Infinite_, gave permanence to the central

idea, though more recent writers in embroidering the theme have lost

sight of the original thesis. Moreover, I have not found in the “New

Thought” a proper consideration of cause and effect in treating the

mental and physical in combination. These writings exhibit, and have

always exhibited, the fallacy of considering the mental and physical as

in some sense antitheses which are opposed to each other and make war,

whereas, in my opinion, the two must be considered entirely

interdependent, and even more closely knit than is implied by such a

phrase.

Again in all these writings we are confronted with one word which is

dominant, and by its iteration must produce an effect on the mind of all

readers. That word is “faith,” and because it is so prominent and so

little understood, I feel that it is essential I should give some

explanation of it in the light of my own principles.

In the first place, it is perhaps hardly necessary for me to point out

that faith in this connexion need not be allied with any conception of

creed or religion. It is true that this is the form in which we are most

familiar with it in mental healing, and the associations which are

grouped round the word itself very commonly induce us to connect it with

the conceptions that have had such a wide and general influence on the

thoughts of mankind in all stages of civilisation. But we have abundant

evidence now before us that in healing it is the patient’s attitude of

mind that is of the first importance, and that faith is every whit as

effective when directed towards the person of the healer, a drug, or the

medicinal qualities supposed to be possessed by a glass of pure water,

as when it is directed to a belief in some supernal agency. This fact is

indisputable, and it is only because the latter form of faith is so much

more widespread, inasmuch as it lies at the very foundation of all

religions, that this agency has effected a number of cures out of all

proportion to those brought about by faith in some purely material

object. What I here intend by faith, therefore, is its exercise in the

widest sense and without any restriction of creed.

So far as we can analyse the effect of what we call an act of faith on

the mental processes, it would seem that it is operative in two

directions. The first is purely emotional. The patient having conceived

a whole-hearted belief that he is going to be delivered from his pain or

disease by the means of some agency supernal or material, experiences a

sensation of profound relief and joy. He understands and believes that

without effort on his part he is to be cured by an apparent miracle, and

the effect upon him is to produce a strong, if evanescent, emotional

happiness. In this we have an exact parallelism between the patient

whose cure is physical and material, and the convert whose cure is

spiritual. Now it is widely acknowledged by scientists and the medical

profession generally that this condition of happiness is an ideal

condition for the sufferer, that it is not only the most helpful

condition of mind, but that it actually produces chemical changes in the

physical constitution, changes which are the most salutary in producing

a vital condition of the blood, and hence of the organisms.

The second way in which this act of faith operates is in the breaking

down of a whole set of mental habits, and in the substitution for them

of a new set. The new habits may or may not be beneficial from the

outset apart from the effect produced by the emotional state which is

hardly ever maintained for a long period, but even so the breaking down

of the old habits of thought does produce such an effect as will in some

cases influence the whole arrangement of the cells forming the tissues,

and dissipate a morbid condition such as cancer.

Thus we see that this so-called act of faith is in reality purely

material in its action, and there is no reason why we should have

recourse to it to produce the same and greater effects. It may perhaps

be asked by some objectors why we should seek to dismiss the act of

faith, since it undoubtedly produces these ideal conditions in some

cases. The answer is obvious. Faith-healing is dangerous in its practice

and uncertain in its results. It is dangerous, because in the majority

of cases its professors seek in the first place to alleviate pain. They

may do this, leaving the disease itself untouched, but, as I shall point

out later on, in such cases the disease will continue and eventually

kill the patient, even though he may be able successfully to fight the

pain. Faith-healing is also uncertain in its results, because, in

addition to the danger I have mentioned, it merely substitutes one

uncontrolled habit of thought for another. At first the new habit,

because it is new, may bring about a change to a better condition, but

if it remains, it will in its turn become stereotyped, and may very well

lead at last to just as morbid a condition as was induced by the old

mental habit it superseded. For these reasons, which are, I think,

trenchant enough, I desire most earnestly to see all the present

conceptions that surround this profession of faith-healing thrown aside

in order that we may arrive at a sane and reasoned process of mental

therapeutics. I have touched briefly on the movement here because it

emphasises the fact that we are dimly grasping at a truth but paralysing

our attempts to hold it by the premature assumption that we have it safe

at last. At the same time I believe that underlying the teachings of

these recent movements, “New Thought” and “Faith-healing” in general

(and in these two closely allied influences I include all the offshoots

and subdivisions), there is some apprehension of an essential, an

apprehension which is liable to lose its grip by reason of the dogma and

ritual that has grown up and tends to obscure the one fundamental.

All these sects, parties, societies, creeds—call them what you will—have

a common inspiration; we need no further proof than this that no one of

the many developments from the common source is in itself complete and

perfect. There is good evidence that each new development as soon as it

becomes specialised is separated from its true source, becomes

overelaborated, and so works its own downfall, the principle becoming

absorbed and dominated by the bias of some individual mind. This is my

analysis of the phenomena. It follows that what we seek is the noumenon,

the reality, the true idea that underlies all these various

manifestations.

Before I attempt, however, to trace out this common principle, I wish to

make three statements.

(1) I do not profess to offer a finally perfected theory, for by so

doing I should lay myself open to the same arguments I have advanced

against other theories of the same nature. I say frankly that we are

only at the beginnings of understanding, and my own wish is to keep my

theory as simple as possible, to avoid any dogma.

(2) I do not propose for many reasons to consider in this place my own

methods in any other connexion but that of their application to

physical defects, to the eradication of diseases, distortions, and

lack of control, and, progressively, to the science of race culture

and the improvement of the physique of the generations to come.

(3) I wish it to be clearly understood that this treatise is not

finally definitive. I hope in the future to have many opportunities of

elaborating my general thesis, and of stating my experience of

particular applications of my methods to peculiar cases, but I should

not be true to my own principles if I were not willing to accept

amendments, even perhaps to alter one or other of my premises, should

new facts tend to show that I have made a false assumption in any

particular.

Now that I have thus cleared the ground, I will examine what I believe

to be the first and greatest stumbling-block to conscious self-control,

namely, “rigidity of mind.” This rigidity results in a fixed habit of

thought and its concomitant evils, among which is the subjection of

functional and muscular habits to subconscious control.

In defining rigidity of mind, I must hark back for a moment to that

suggestive phrase of Mr. Trine’s, _In Tune with the Infinite_, although

in the present application the rigidity I am concerned with is

considered in a physical connexion and does not involve interference

with any non-spatial conceptions. It is rather the first half of the

phrase that is here of importance, for to be “In Tune” conveys to my

mind, and I wish it to convey the same meaning to others, the idea of

sensitiveness to impressions and responsiveness to the touch, when “all

the functions of life are becoming an intelligent harmony.” In a word, I

want by this phrase to suggest the idea of being open-minded. For even

in reading this, if the individual deliberately puts himself in

opposition to my point of view, he can by no possibility hope to

benefit. Wherefore I desire above all things that he or she will read at

least with an open mind, form no conclusion until I have finished, and

will perhaps, more particularly, subdue the interference of that great

and ruling predisposition which has in the past so long impeded the

advance of science, and with which I will deal in my next chapter.

Let us consider for a moment the application of rigidity of mind to

physical functions. A person comes to me with some crippling defect due

to the improper use of some organ or set of muscles. When I have

diagnosed the defect and shown the patient _how_ to use the organ or

muscles in the proper way, I am always met at once with the reply, “But

I can’t.” Let me ask any one who is reading this and who suffers in any

way, whether his or her attitude to the defect they suffer from is not

precisely the same? This reply indicates directly that the control of

the part affected is entirely subconscious; if it were not, we should

merely have to substitute the hopeful “I can” for that despondent “I

can’t,” to remove the trouble. By (a) hypnotic treatment, by (b)

faith-healing, or by (c) the application of the principles of the “New

Thought,” the patient in such a case would have the subconscious control

influenced, either (a) by the mechanical means of trance and suggestion

by the hypnotist, which leaves the conscious mind in exactly the

original condition and merely changes, and it may be only temporarily,

the habit of the subconscious control, or (b) and (c) by reiterated

commands of the objective mind. Even if these commands have been

reinforced by the influencing suggestion of the healer, they either

substitute by repetition one habit for another without any apprehension

by the intelligence of the true method of the exchange, or, what is

quite as frequent and far more harmful, they shut out the sensitiveness

to pain from the cerebral centres, and so leave the radical evil, no

longer labelled by nature’s warning, to work the patient’s destruction

in secret. Briefly, all three methods seek to reach the subjective mind

by deadening the objective or conscious mind, and the centre and

backbone of my theory and practice, upon which I feel that I cannot

insist too strongly, is that THE CONSCIOUS MIND MUST BE QUICKENED.

It will be seen from this statement that my theory is in some ways a

revolutionary one, since all earlier methods have in some form or

another sought to put the flexible working of the true consciousness out

of action in order to reach the subconsciousness. The result of these

methods is, logically and inevitably, an endeavour to alter a bad

subjective habit whilst the objective habit of thought is left

unchanged. The teachings of the “New Thought” and of many sects of

faith-healers set out clearly enough that the patient must think rightly

before he can be cured, but they then set out, automatically, to carry

out their teaching by prescribing “affirmatives” or some sort of

“auto-suggestion,” both of which are in effect no more than a kind of

self-hypnotism, and, as such, are debasing to the primary functions of

the intelligence.

I will take a simple instance from my own experience to illustrate a

case in point. A patient, whom I will call X, came to me with an

obstinate stammer arising from a congenital defect in the co-ordination

of the face, tongue, and throat muscles. Whenever X attempted to speak

he drew down his upper lip. This was the outward sign of a series of

vicious acts connected with a train of muscular movements, a sign that

the ideo-motor centres were working to convey a wrong guiding influence

to the specific parts concerned in the act of speech. These guiding

influences rendered X quite incapable of speech, and would, indeed, have

had the same effect upon any other individual who produced the same

working of the parts concerned. To insist in such a case that X should

repeat, “I can speak” or “I won’t stutter,” would be merely to endeavour

to reach a supposed omniscient subconscious self which would counteract

the evil by the exercise of some assumed and separate intelligence

possessed by it. I undertook the case by appealing to X’s intelligence.

Now, strange as it may seem (and I intend to treat this curious

perversion in my next chapter), X’s objective intelligence is not so

easily reached and influenced as might appear. He has formed a muscular

habit of drawing down his lip independently of his conscious control,

and the line of suggestion set up by the wish to speak induces at once a

reflex action of a complicated set of muscles. X has learned to do this

automatically, and at first seems incapable of controlling those lip

muscles when the wish to speak is initiated.

In this case my first endeavour must be directed to keeping in abeyance,

by the power of inhibition, all the mental associations connected with

the ideas of speaking, and to eradicating all erroneous, preconceived

ideas concerning the things X imagines he can or cannot do, or what is

or is not possible. My next effort must be to give X a correct and

conscious guidance and control of all the parts concerned, including, of

course, the lip and face muscles, and in order to obtain this control,

he must have a complete and accurate apprehension of all the movements

concerned. And this apprehension must precede and be preparatory to any

conception of “speaking,” during the application of all the guiding

orders involved. In originating some new idea which is to take the place

of the old idea of drawing down the upper lip, it may be necessary at

first to break the old association by means of some new order, such as

deliberately to draw the lip up, to open the mouth, or to make some

similar muscular act previously unfamiliar in its application to the act

of speaking. This new order is then substituted for the command to

speak. X is told not to speak but to draw up his lip, open his mouth,

etc. It will be understood that I have omitted much detail touching the

interdependence of the parts concerned, but I wish here to convey the

essentials of method rather than the physiological explanation of their

working. It must always be remembered that Nature works as a whole and

not in parts, and once the true cause of the evil is discovered and

eradicated all the affected mechanisms can soon be restored to their

full capacity. I may note here that X was completely cured of his

stammer, and that his was a particularly obstinate case, a fact chiefly

due to the confirmation of a wrong habit in early childhood.

This is an example, chosen for its simplicity, to illustrate the prime

essentials of my theory, but it is capable of a very wide application,

so wide that it may be applied to the working not only of the ordinary

controlled muscles, but of the semi-automatic muscles which actuate the

vital organs. Not many years ago an Indian Yogi was examined by

Professor Max Müller at Cambridge, and we have it on the authority of

the latter that this Yogi was able to stop the beating of his own heart

at will and suffer no harmful consequences.

Let it be clearly understood, however, that I have no sympathy with

these abnormal manifestations which I regard as a dangerous trickery

practised on the body, a trickery in no way admirable or to be sought

after. The performances of the Yogis certainly do not command my

admiration, and the well-known system of breathing practised and taught

by them is, in my opinion, not only wrong and essentially crude, but I

consider that it tends also to exaggerate those very defects from which

we suffer in this twentieth century. I have merely quoted this case of

the Yogi in support of my assertion that there is no function of the

body that cannot be brought under the control of the conscious will.

That this is indeed a fact and not a theory, I do claim without

hesitation, and I claim further that by the application of this

principle of conscious control there may in time be evolved a complete

mastery over the body, which will result in the elimination of all

physical defects. Certain aspects of this control and the reasons why it

has not been acquired I will treat under the next heading.

V

APPLIED CONSCIOUS CONTROL

A CONCEPTION OF THE PRINCIPLES INVOLVED

The term “conscious control” is one which is employed by different

people to convey different conceptions. The usual conception is one

which indicates specific control, such as the moving of a muscle

consciously, and is practised by athletes who give performances of

physical feats in public. Again, there is the conscious movement of a

finger, toe, ear, or some other specific muscle or limb.

The phrase “Conscious Control” when used in this work is intended to

indicate the value and use of conscious guidance and control, primarily

as a _universal_, and secondly as a _specific_, the latter always being

dependent upon the former in practical procedure.

Furthermore, it is not used merely to indicate a guidance and control

which we may apply in the activities of life with but doubtful precision

in one or two directions only, but one which may be applied universally,

and with precision in all directions, and in all spheres where the

mental and physical manifestations of mankind are concerned.

Since the publication of my book, _Conscious Control_, I have received

and continue to receive letters from interested readers concerning the

practical application of conscious control, and also regarding my

conception of the principles involved.

“It is all very well to talk of conscious control, but how are we to

acquire it?” wrote one enquirer. “How far-reaching is its application?”

wrote another, whilst a third remarked, “If your experience has proved

that such far-reaching beneficial effects result from conscious guidance

and control, your concept must be much more comprehensive than that

usually accepted.” “I have a friend who is cursed with a bad temper,”

wrote another enquirer, “and he realises the fact. He has applied to his

medical and spiritual advisers for help. They have given him a certain

amount of valuable advice, but the result is far from satisfactory.”

We all know of cases of men and women who eat or drink more than is good

for them, and we also know that only a small minority are able to master

their unhealthy desires in these directions. Examination of the

misguided majority would reveal the fact that they were badly

co-ordinated, and that psycho-physical conditions were present which

would lead an expert to expect an overbalanced state in one direction or

another, a domination of conscious reasoned control by subconscious

unreasoned desire.

Such cases may be readily and successfully dealt with on a basis of

conscious guidance and control in the spheres of re-education,

re-adjustment, and co-ordination.

To gain control where there is a tendency to overindulgence in alcohol

or food is a very difficult problem for the ordinary human being while

he remains in his badly co-ordinated condition. This is shown by the

failure which succeeds failure until the unfortunate person arrives at

the conclusion that it is impossible to break the habit.

He or she then drifts into the advanced stages of a condition which

becomes as akin to disease as neuritis, neurasthenia, indigestion, or

rheumatism. As a matter of fact these malconditions may be the immediate

outcome of the indulgences before referred to.

The unfortunate fact which we must face is that such people are

practically without control where these failings are concerned, and the

general opinion is that these people lack will-power. In my opinion this

is not really true.

Say that a man is a thief and is caught and punished. He tells his

friends and relatives that he intends to reform. But does he really

intend to do so? In the first instance does not the answer to this

question depend upon the point of view of the person concerned? Let us

take as an example two brothers. The one is a thief but the other is

not, inasmuch as he has never stolen anything in his life. He would

scorn such an act, but he has no hesitation in taking advantage of a

friend with whom he makes an agreement. He may even fail to realise that

he is acting unjustly towards his friend. The fact is, he is well

acquainted with the details and possibilities of the business concern

which this agreement represents. He is aware of his superior knowledge

and he deliberately uses it in framing the clauses of the agreement so

that he is certain to derive more benefit from the transaction than his

less experienced friend, though at the same time he may thoroughly

understand that the contract should be drawn upon lines which would

ensure that equal benefits would be derived. This he calls business, not

theft.

It is quite possible that the thief would scorn to take such advantage

of a friend. I have known of such cases; hence the phrase, “Honour among

thieves.”

Now we do not speak of the other brother as lacking in will-power, but

wherein lies the difference in this connexion between him and his thief

brother?

In the case of the thief, the promise to reform was made. He steals

again and again, so that people say in the ordinary way, “He is

hopeless, he hasn’t the will-power to enable him to reform.” As I have

before indicated, I fear this is not a correct solution.

For if we admit that in both instances all depends upon the point of

view, we cannot be surprised that the mere promise to reform is usually

futile, and we must furthermore realise that a changed point of view is

the royal road to reformation. At the same time, experience of human

idiosyncrasies has taught us that the most difficult thing to change is

the point of view of subconsciously controlled mankind. The lack of

power to reform is the result of the usually partial failure of the

subconscious mental mechanisms in a sphere demanding reasoned judgment.

As a matter of fact this man possesses a great amount of will-power and

energy in certain directions, just as he probably lacks it in others.

This applies equally to his brother and, in a greater or less degree, to

every human being. At the same time I think we are justified in

concluding that the thief, as compared with his brother, exercises his

energy, will-power and resourcefulness in but limited directions. This

applies to all people cursed with what we call criminal tendencies in

contrast to their more fortunate fellow beings. Here we arrive at the

point where we are once more confronted with misdirected energies

concentrated into narrow channels through abnormal tendencies; hence the

overcompensation which inevitably follows.

A thief, unfortunately, too often confines his energies to what to his

perverted outlook—the result of a wrong point of view—is a legitimate

means of gaining the necessaries of life. From his perverted point of

view he merely takes something from another person which he considers he

has as much right to possess as any one else, if he is clever enough to

get it by any means at his command. I have heard a certain type of

Socialist express views which justify this mode of reasoning. His point

of view is practically that of the thief, and he needs the same help if

he is to come into communication with his reason. We know that men and

women have continued to steal for years without being even suspected,

and there cannot be any doubt that in thus escaping detection, they

prove that they possess forms of exceptional will-power, energy,

resourcefulness, courage, determination, and initiative, which, if

directed into the right channels, would have made them highly successful

and valuable members of society.

It must not be forgotten that if the thief is detected, his punishments

are so formidable, not only because of the legal penalties he incurs,

but also because of the scorn and derision with which he meets in the

social sphere, even amongst his blood relations, that they would act as

a deterrent upon the ordinary person.

Obviously, then, the problem to be solved in connexion with the thief or

any other criminal, is concerned with the psycho-physical conditions

which influence him in the direction of crime, and also with the failure

of punishment either to change his point of view or to direct his

excellent mental and physical gifts into honest and valuable spheres of

expression.

We are all aware that a conservative is rarely converted to the liberal

viewpoint or vice versa in a day, or a month, or even a year. Such

mental changes, in the subconsciously controlled person should, with

rare exceptions, be made gradually and slowly; for the demands of

re-adjustment in the psycho-physical self are great, and depend upon the

conditions present in the particular person. It is conceivable that with

certain conditions present, the process of re-adjustment may bring about

such disorganisation as may cause a serious crisis. During an experience

of this kind the person would for a period be in greater danger than

ever,[12] and the length of this period would vary in different people.

The process of re-adjustment in all spheres means immediate interference

with the forces of strength and weakness, and in the case of the thief

under consideration the force of strength was associated with mental and

physical peculiarities in him as evil factors which had more or less

controlled him; in fact, they constituted guidance and direction in his

case. In all his physical and mental activities, which these evil

factors stimulated, he experienced his maximum of confidence and

directive power.

Now where his weaknesses were concerned, he had little to depend upon.

His attempt to reform was a demand for re-adjustment, which, in turn,

meant a period of comparative loss of confidence and directive power.

His new efforts needed to be directed into channels where he not only

lacked confidence, but where he suffered most from the overcompensation

experienced in the past. In reality, his supports were suddenly wrenched

from him, and replaced by those which his well-meaning friends and

relatives considered infinitely superior and absolutely reliable. Their

experiences of life had, to their satisfaction, proved them to be so;

but their experiences were not his experiences, their strength was not

his strength, their weaknesses were not his weaknesses; and it is in

consequence of such facts as these that subconscious control fails, and

reasoned conscious control is needed.

If I have succeeded in making my point clear to the reader he will

recognise and admit this unfortunate thief’s danger. He must, in a way,

sympathise with this man who, through no fault of his own, is being

directed during the period of comparative helplessness, in a round of

unfamiliar and complex experiences by a delusive and debauched

subconsciousness. If, on the other hand, conscious reasoned control had

been substituted and employed in re-education and co-ordination, the

process of re-adjustment would have presented the minimum of the

difficulties and dangers we have enumerated.

In view of the foregoing, are we justified, except in rare instances, in

expecting to change the thief any more than the liberal or conservative

by ordinary methods on a subconscious basis? The evidence in the light

of experience is against the proposition.

The conservative and the liberal of our example, no less than the thief,

are equally dependent upon subconscious guidance and control, and are

the victims of the particular tendencies, harmful and otherwise, which

have developed and become established, as a rule, without recognition,

and without any primary appeal to their reasoning faculties.

Therefore, we must turn our attention once more to that psycho-physical

process which we call habit, including developments which have their

origin in consciousness as well as those which spring from the

subconsciousness.

For instance, a man may be, as we say, born a thief. In other words, he

is cursed with the subconscious abnormal craving or habit which makes a

man a thief by nature.

On the other hand, he may be quite normal at birth, but in early life he

may drift into simple and apparently harmless little ways which through

carelessness and lack of sound training, develop very slowly and remain

unobserved either by the person concerned or by his friends and

relatives.

We all know of men and women who became drug fiends merely through

wishing to experience the sensation or sensations produced by the drug.

In the most unsuspecting way it is repeated at some future time. This

innocent beginning has so often developed into the drug habit.

We know of apparently strong-minded scientific men who have taken drugs,

in the first instance, from a purely scientific standpoint and so in a

seemingly harmless way, but who, in spite of this, have rapidly fallen

victims to the drug habit. Exactly the same process has served to create

the majority of inebriates.

It is important to keep in mind that different men and different women

fall victims to some particular stimulant or drug, whilst they are in

absolute mastery of themselves where other seductive influences are

concerned.

For instance, A became addicted to a certain drug habit, but although he

had taken alcohol from an early age he never became an immoderate

drinker. It was not until he came into contact with this particular drug

that his latent abnormality or weakness or whatever one chooses to call

it, became fully manifested. Again, B had lived in China, and had

continually smoked opium with the Chinese. He did so for a year without

the habit gaining any hold upon him, but the tea habit on the contrary

became his danger. Despite the fact that his health was seriously

affected by overindulgence in tea, and that according to his medical

advisers’ opinion he had, by its immoderate use, developed certain

troubles which caused him considerable suffering, he continued his

excesses in tea drinking, as others do who come under the influence of

drugs, or of alcohol, in one or all of its forms.

When this point is reached these people are, in the words of Emerson,

“out of communication with their reason”; a subconscious tendency.

Herein lies the explanation of difficulties which they rarely surmount,

difficulties which could not remain as such if subconscious control were

supplanted by conscious guidance and control of the whole organism; for

in practical procedures in life this conscious guidance and control

connotes “bringing them once more into communication with their reason”

and supplying the “means whereby” of successful re-adjustment.

That they were out of communication with reason is indicated by the fact

that though they knew they were seriously ill, and were told by their

doctors that in order to regain health they must abstain from certain

foods and drinks, they did not so abstain. Their continuance in

indulgence merely satisfied some inward craving which can only become a

governing factor as against human reason, when men are controlled by the

subconscious instead of by the conscious powers; for subconscious

control (instinct) is the outcome of experiences in those spheres where

the animal senses exercised the great controlling and directing

influences in the early stages of man’s evolution; whereas conscious

control (reasoned experience) through re-education, co-ordination and

re-adjustment is the result of the use of the reasoning powers in the

conduct of life, by means of which man may fight his abnormal desires

for harmful sensory experiences.

The fact that civilised human beings will take wine or sugar or drugs,

when conscious that it is gradually undermining health and character, is

proof positive of the domination of the physical over the mental self,

exactly as in the Stone Age.

It shows that in the case of sugar, for instance, they have become

victims to the sense of taste. In other words, the sensations produced

by the sense of taste influence and finally govern their conduct in this

connexion, whereas instead they should be governed by the faculties of

reason. They have developed vicious complexes in which perverted

physical sensations must be satisfied, even at the cost of mental and

physical injury, and often of intense pain.

This psycho-physical state does not indicate satisfactory progress on

the evolutionary plane up to the present time, and, furthermore, it does

not give promise of greater progress in the future under this same

subconscious direction. The domination of certain perverted sensations

presents another interesting phase, inasmuch as these sensations are

very often associated with comparatively superficial complexes.

For instance, take the case of a person who is suffering from the ill

effects of taking sugar in harmful quantities. If he happens to decide

to abstain from satisfying his taste desires in regard to sugar, and

actually abstains, for, say, a week or ten days, it often happens that

he loses the seductive pleasing sensation formerly derived from sugar,

and frequently develops a positive dislike for it.

This also serves to reveal in the majority of people the unreliability

of the different senses, such as taste, etc. Of course, in all these

cases this unreliability is due to abnormality in one or more

directions, usually more, and this fact emphasises the absolute

necessity for the establishment of those normal conditions which demand

conscious guidance and control, for their maintenance in civilisation;

conditions which tend to eradicate and prevent abnormal cravings and

desires in any direction.

When discussing the foregoing phenomena with friends and pupils, I am

frequently asked questions like this: “To what are we to attribute the

particular manifestations of strength or weakness in different people,

where specific abnormal sensations are concerned?”

“Why is one person swayed unduly by some particular sensation which he

knows is ruining his health and causing daily suffering, whilst another,

equally abnormal and deluded though proof against this failing of his

fellow being, succumbs to some other type of sensory influence?”

It is simply a matter of the psycho-physical make-up of the individual,

of his inherent tendencies, and of his general experiences of life in

different environments. All people whose kinæsthetic systems are

debauched and delusive develop some form of perversion or abnormality in

sensation. The point of real importance is to eradicate and prevent this

kinæsthetic condition in order to make impossible in the human being

such domination by sensation.

There is another point which exercises the layman’s mind, and that is

that great suffering, in consequence of abnormal indulgence in some

direction, does not act as a deterrent.

Of course, if these unfortunates were in communication with their reason

and were thus consciously guided and controlled, such suffering would

serve to prevent them from repeating the experience which caused it.

To those who have studied this curious phase of mental and physical

phenomena, it would almost seem that they derived a form of satisfaction

or pleasure from such suffering; otherwise, one would conclude, they

would not continue to repeat the acts, which, in their experience, have

been followed by actual pain and discomfort.

And surely there is nothing very unreasonable in this suggestion, seeing

that there is little doubt that _ill health_ in some people is just as

natural as _health_ is in others.

It simply means an attempt on the part of nature to do her work where

the conditions are _abnormal_, in accordance with the same process as

where they are _normal_.

The person enjoying the latter condition abhors suffering and pain, and

will act reasonably in order to prevent both, and it is quite consistent

with our knowledge and experience of the abnormal in the human organism

to incline to the idea that those who are afflicted with abnormal

tendencies find a perverted form of pleasure in pain.

And all these suggestions serve to support the theory that the first

principle in all training, from the earliest years of child life, must

be on a conscious plane of co-ordination, re-education and

re-adjustment, which will establish a normal kinæsthesia.

The abnormal condition referred to is more or less governed by the

senses through the subconsciousness and we must remember that the great

controlling forces in the animal kingdom are chiefly _physical_. It is

also in keeping with the purely animal stage of evolution, and any

advance from this stage demands that the balance of powers must

gradually move in favour of the mental.

The controlling and guiding forces in savage four-footed animals and in

the savage black races are practically the same; and this serves to show

that from the evolutionary standpoint the mental progress of these races

has not kept pace with their physical evolution from the plane of the

savage animal to that of the savage human.

This brings us to the crux of my contentions regarding conscious

guidance and control in its widest meaning, that is, as a universal.

Wherever we find the domination of subconscious (instinctive) control,

it affords proof that in the lowly-evolved states of life the physical

is the great controlling force, and we are well aware that this

condition does not ensure progress to those higher planes of evolution

which should be the goal of civilised growth and development, the goal

for which mankind was undoubtedly destined.

The inadequate relative progress of the mental evolution of the black

races as compared with that of their physical evolution, when considered

in relation to their approximation to the savage animals, cannot be

considered other than a most disappointing result. It surely does not

furnish any convincing evidence that mankind is likely to advance

adequately on the evolutionary plane in civilisation by continuing to

rely upon the original subconscious guidance and control.

VI

HABITS OF THOUGHT AND OF BODY

“The man who has so far made up his mind about anything that he can no

longer reckon freely with that thing, is mad where that thing is

concerned.”—ALLEN UPWARD, _The New Word_.

When speaking of the case of stammering, cited in my last chapter, I had

occasion to note that it was not an easy task to influence X’s conscious

mind. The point is this: A patient who submits himself for treatment,

whether to a medical man or to any other practitioner, may DO what he is

told, but will not or cannot THINK as he is told. In ordinary practice

the man who has taken a medical degree disregards this mental attitude

in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Medicine, diet, or exercise is

prescribed, and if the patient obediently follows the mechanical

directions given with regard to the prescriptions, he is considered a

good patient. The doctor does not trouble as to the patient’s attitude

of mind, except in that one case out of a hundred, possibly a case of

flagrant hypochondria.

Indeed I am willing to maintain and prove in this connexion that a very

large percentage of cases which are now being treated in our public and

private lunatic asylums, have been allowed to develop insanity by reason

of this disregard of the mental attitude. I cannot stop now to consider

this interesting subject of insanity, but I must note in passing that

the very large percentage of the cases I have mentioned should never

have been allowed to arrive at the condition which made it necessary to

send them to an asylum in the first instance. Very many of them, so far

from lacking mental control, possess minds of quite exceptional ability.

Some are instances of subjects who in the first place have assumed a

deliberate attitude to subserve a private end, such as the avoidance of

uncongenial work, or the overindulgence of some desire or perverted

sense, the result being that the attitude which was first adopted

deliberately, became afterwards a fixed habit, and so uncontrollable.

When therefore we are seeking to give a patient conscious control, _the

consideration of mental attitude must precede the performance of the act

prescribed_. The act performed is of less consequence than the manner of

its performance. It is nevertheless a remarkable fact that although the

patient or enquirer into the system may apprehend this truth, he often

finds an enormous difficulty in altering some trifling habit of thought

which stands between him and the benefit he clearly expects. And the

simple explanation of this apparently strange enigma is that the

majority of people fall into a mechanical habit of thought quite as

easily as they fall into the mechanical habit of body which is the

immediate consequence.

I will take an instance from a subject outside my own province in order

to bring the matter home, but I will preface my illustration by pointing

out that I personally am not in the least concerned to alter the habit

of thought of either of the persons I bring forward as examples, and I

only cite well-known political propaganda in order to give vividness to

my picture.

Let us suppose then that A is a convinced Freetrader, and that Z is no

less certain of the glorious possibilities of Protection, and let us set

A and Z to argue the matter. We notice at once that when A is speaking

Z’s endeavours are confined to catching him in a misstatement or in a

fault of logic, and A’s attitude is precisely the same when Z holds the

stage. Neither partisan has the least intention from the outset of

altering his creed, nor could either be convinced by the facts and

arguments of the other, however sound. This is a fact within the

experience of every intelligent person. The disputants have so

influenced their own minds that they are incapable of receiving certain

impressions; a part of their intelligence normally susceptible of

receiving new ideas, even if such ideas are opposed to earlier

conceptions, is in a state of anæsthesia; it is shut off, put out of

action. The habit of mind which has been formed mechanically translates

all the arguments of an opponent into misconceptions or fallacies.

Neither disputant in our illustration has the least intention or desire

to approach the subject with an open mind. Unfortunately, the rigid

habit of mind does not only apply to political issues; it is evidenced

in all the thoughts and acts of our daily life, and is the cause of many

demonstrable evils.

And touching this question of mental rigidity, I may cite a very

valuable criticism from Mr. William Archer, the well-known London

dramatic critic, on the primary point of the “Desirability of the Open

Mind.” This criticism was published in _The Morning Leader_ for 17th

December, 1910. I replied in the same paper, and my answer was published

on 23rd December, 1910.

As this brief discussion illustrates very clearly the misconception

which most easily arises with regard to this question, I now reprint

these two letters, precisely as they originally appeared.

THE OPEN MIND

_By William Archer_

“In the fifth chapter of an able and interesting book by Mr. F. Matthias

Alexander, entitled _Man’s Supreme Inheritance_ (Methuen), there occurs

a passage which I propose to take as the text of this week’s discourse.

Treating of ‘mechanical habits of thought,’ Mr. Alexander says:

“‘Let us suppose that A is a convinced Free Trader, and that Z is no

less certain of the glorious possibilities of Protection, and let us

set A and Z to argue the matter. We notice at once that when A is

speaking, Z’s endeavours are confined to catching him in a

misstatement or in a fault of logic, and A’s attitude is precisely the

same when Z holds the stage. Neither partisan has the least intention

from the outset of altering his creed, nor could either be convinced

by the facts and arguments of the other, however sound.... The habit

of mind which has been formed mechanically translates all the

arguments of an opponent into misconceptions or fallacies. Neither

disputant has the least desire to approach the subject with an open

mind. Unfortunately this rigid habit of mind does not only apply to

the issues of government; it is evidenced in all the thoughts and acts

of our daily life, and is the cause of many demonstrable evils.’

“Very often, of course, the fact is as Mr. Alexander states it; but can

we, I wonder, accept the ideal of the ‘open mind’ implied in his

illustration? Is not a certain stability of conviction absolutely

necessary to the efficient conduct of the business of life? And are we

not almost as apt to err on the side of impressionability as on the side

of rigidity? I seem to remember a warning in Scripture against being

‘blown about by every wind of doctrine.’

“If we reflect for a moment, I think we shall see that the amount of

open-mindedness which reason demands must vary according to the nature

of the question at issue. On a question of fact, which is capable of

absolute demonstration, it is, of course, folly to let prejudice or bias

prevent us from perceiving the truth. But it is not on such questions

that disputes commonly arise. Theology, I fancy, is, in the modern

world, almost the only influence that frequently leads people to close

their minds against demonstrable facts or overwhelming probabilities.

But of the most important questions in life, many are not questions of

fact at all, while as to others, the evidence is so complex or so

inaccessible that demonstration is not, as the saying goes, humanly

possible. It is proverbially futile to argue on questions of taste; for

enjoyment consists in a relation of the perceiver to the thing perceived

which cannot be produced by force of reason or of reasoning. No doubt,

in going to ‘Salome’ or to the Post-Impressionist Exhibition, we ought

to take with us an open mind; that is to say, we ought not to go in a

wilfully Philistine or frivolous mood. And in discussing them

afterwards, we ought to preserve an open mind, in so far that we ought

not to make a law of our own limitations, and accuse of folly or

insincerity those people who see more in post-Wagnerism and

post-Manetism than (perhaps) we do. Yet even here open-mindedness may be

carried to excess; for undoubtedly there exists a great deal of

affectation and charlatanism in matters of art, and it would be weak

credulity to take every Maudle and Postlewaite at his own valuation. ‘A

popgun remains a popgun,’ says Emerson, ‘though the ancient and

honourable of this world affirm it to be the crack of doom’; and there

are innumerable questions of quality and value on which no one who has

any mind at all can possibly keep his mind open.

“Let us turn now to political questions of the order suggested by Mr.

Alexander’s illustration. They are not, as a rule, questions of

ascertainable fact, but of speculation or conjecture as to the probable

results of a given course of action. They are generally very complex

questions; the present issue between the two Houses of Parliament is

almost unique in its simplicity. And not only is each question complex

in itself; it is inextricably interwoven with other questions of similar

complexity. Can we reasonably expect or desire, then, that either A or

Z, in a single discussion of such a topic and Tariff Reform, should have

his whole system of thought revolutionised? When such a conversion

occurs (and I suppose it does sometimes occur) ought we to praise the

convert’s open mind? Ought we not rather to pity his shallow mind, in

which the new conviction can scarcely be deeper rooted than the old? A

man’s political opinions, I take it, if they have any substance and

consistency, are, and ought to be, a sort of mosaic set in a cement of

fundamental principle. You may alter the pattern by laborious picking

and rearranging but not by a mere push at a single point. Does it follow

from this that political discussion is an idle waste of time? Not at

all. It forces us to rethink our thoughts, and to keep them consciously

and clearly related to fundamental principles. Also it sifts our

arguments; in looking out for our opponent’s fallacies we not

infrequently become aware of our own. Furthermore, a discussion may form

part of the long course of thought, or evolution of feeling, whereby a

really valid conversion may be ultimately brought about. Though we may

think ourselves wholly unmoved by our opponent’s reasoning, a

subconscious effect may remain, and may in due time manifest itself.

Without our realising it, one or two cubes in our mental mosaic may, in

fact, have been loosened. A greater result than this, from any single

discussion of a complex political question, is scarcely, I think, to be

desired. No doubt it is highly desirable that we should at one time or

another have brought a perfectly open mind to the study of such a

question as Tariff Reform; and this many of us have done. For my own

part, I can honestly say that when Mr. Chamberlain first threw the apple

of discord into our midst, I so clearly realised the merely traditional

and unreasoned character of my Free Trade ideas, that I was biassed, if

anything, against them, and fully prepared to find them fallacious. The

fact that I have not done so may be due to insufficient or unintelligent

study, but certainly not to any initial lack of openness of mind.

“Finally, I would note another limitation to the ideal of the open mind.

There are certain questions on which we cannot safely keep our minds

open, because we know that that way madness lies. I once spent a whole

day at Concord, Mass., arguing with a friend who had become a convert to

astrology, and was bent on drawing my horoscope. To that I had no

objection; but I cannot pretend that my mind was for a moment open to

his arguments. Somewhat more difficult is the case of the

Bacon-Shakespeare theory: ought we to keep an open mind on that? I am

inclined to answer, ‘No’; for if we once lose grip of the fact that the

whole thing is an insanity, we are in danger of being submerged in a

swirling torrent of ‘_folie lucide_.’ The origin and psychological

conditions of the illusion are perfectly plain. It is, indeed, one of

the oddest and most instructive incidents in the history of the human

error, and in that sense worthy of study. Poor Bacon has been forced, by

no fault of his own, into the position of the Tichborne Claimant of

literature, and one cannot but wonder what he would think of the

Onslows, Whalleys, and Kenealys, who are pleading what they believe to

be his cause. But a really ‘open mind’ on the question is, I conceive, a

symptom of an exorbitant love of the marvellous and an imperfect hold

upon the reality of things. There are subjects on which no mind can

remain open without in some degree losing its balance.”

THE OPEN MIND

_To the Editor of the “Morning Leader”_

“Sir—Although Mr. William Archer has rather misapprehended my point of

view in his very interesting article, I would not intrude a reply upon

you did I not believe that this question is one that lies at the root of

so many physical evils, and that it is a question, therefore, which must

not be hastily put on one side—as, no doubt, many of your readers will

be inclined to put it after their perusal of Mr. Archer’s temperate and,

apparently, logical reasoning. I say ‘apparently,’ because, though his

syllogism is sound enough, it is based on a faulty premise due to his

misapprehension of my statement; doubtless, I am to blame for not having

made myself fully comprehensible.

“In the first place, let me admit at once that the whole question is

relative. Mr. Archer’s implied example of the man ‘blown about by every

wind of doctrine,’ is an example, from my point of view, of rigidity

rather than plasticity, inasmuch as he is necessarily a hysterical

neurotic, and is almost entirely dependent on his subconscious

processes. Now, it is these very subconscious processes which restrict

the use of the conscious, reasoning centres; which form what we call

habits of mind, that, becoming fixed, are almost beyond the control of

reason; which, in extreme cases, take possession of what was once the

intelligence, and are manifested as the _idée fixe_, the obsession, the

monomaniacal tendency.

“But, disregarding these extremes, let me take an example from ordinary

life, and, perhaps, no better one could be offered than Mr. Archer’s own

of the Bacon-Shakespeare controversy, a subject, among others, which Mr.

Archer suggests is sufficient to upset our reason, should we attempt to

maintain an open mind with regard to it.

“As a matter of fact, what he conceives as an open mind here is a mind

with an inclination to be perverted (or converted) by specious

reasoning. The right attitude of the open mind in this case is, ‘I have

weighed the arguments in favour of Bacon’s authorship and have found

them insufficient, and until such a time as new and better evidence is

forthcoming, I shall continue to hold the view I have always held.’

“The rigid attitude which I condemn in this connexion is the one that

says, ‘You will never alter my opinion, whatever fresh evidence you may

adduce.’ In the first example we can come to a conclusion on the

evidence; the conscious reason has been exercised and remains in

command. It is not until the attitude becomes subconscious and fixed

that any danger arises. When that comes about, the man who has decided

for Shakespeare’s authorship would remain unconvinced in face of any

discovery of new evidence. Yet can any one doubt, any one who cares to

walk through the world with open eyes as well as an open mind, that the

vast majority of opinions given out by the average man and woman have

become subconscious habits of thought?

“My professional experience has shown me how great an obstacle to the

recovery of physical soundness this impeding habit of thought has

become. The whole purpose of my book (_Man’s Supreme Inheritance_), from

which Mr. Archer quotes, is to submit that the course of evolution had

tended in the direction of our obtaining conscious control of our own

bodies, and argues that this is the only means by which we can rise

above the artificial restrictions, often physically poisonous, imposed

by civilisation. And I assure you, sir, that this ideal of conscious

control is absolutely unrealisable by any person who is guided and

restrained by these subconscious habits of thought, and who is, in

consequence, quite unable to exercise the free use of his intelligence.

“So what I intend by the open mind, and in this, I think, Mr. Archer has

not fully understood me, is the just use and exercise of conscious

reason, a use which is the rare exception to a very delimiting rule.

Yours, etc.,

“F. MATTHIAS ALEXANDER.”

To this letter Mr. Archer did not reply, but this brief correspondence

covers very fairly, in my opinion, a statement of the popular objection

to the “open mind,” and my answer to that objection.

Returning now to my own province of therapeutics, I need hardly give any

special instance to carry my point. Of late years much attention has

been given to the consideration of mental attitude in relation to

disease, and although no clearly defined remedy has been advanced, the

condition has been diagnosed and defined. The “fixed idea,”

hallucination, obsession, are all terms used deliberately to denote a

morbid condition, but we have to apply these terms much more widely and

grasp the fact that they are applicable to small, disregarded mental

habits as well as to the well-defined evils which marked their

development. In the case of X, the mental habit which had grown up as

the result of postulating, “I can’t draw my lip up before speaking,” was

only another aspect of the attitude of A and Z towards the subject of

their discussion, and it was precisely similar in kind. The aggregate of

these habits is so characteristic in some cases that we see how easily

the fallacy arose of assuming an entity for the subconscious self, a

self which at the last analysis is made up of these acquired habits and

of certain other habits, some of them labelled instincts, the

predisposition to which is our birthright, a predisposition inherited

from that long chain of ancestors whose origin goes back to the first

dim emergence of active life. Fortunately for us there is not a single

one of these habits of mind, with their resultant habits of body, which

may not be altered by the inculcation of those principles concerning the

true poise of the body which I have called the principles of mechanical

advantage,[13] used in co-operation with an understanding of the

inhibitory and volitional powers of the objective mind, by which means

these deterrent habits can be raised to conscious control. The false

pose and carriage of the body, the incorrect and laboured habits of

breathing that are the cause of many troubles besides the obvious ill

effects on the lungs and heart, the degeneration of the muscular system,

the partial failure of many vital organs, the morbid fatty conditions

that destroy the semblance of men and women to human beings,—all these

things and many more that combine to cause debility, disease, and death,

are the result of incorrect habits of mind and body, all of which may be

changed into correct and beneficial habits if once we can clear away

that first impeding habit of thought which stands between us and

conscious control.

I believe I have at last laid myself quite open to the attack of the

habitual objector, a person I am really anxious to conciliate. I have

given him the opportunity of pointing a finger at my last paragraph and

saying, “But you only want to change one habit for another! If, as you

have implied, the habit of mind is bad, why encourage habits at all,

even if they are as you say, ‘correct and beneficial’?”

Now this is a point of the first importance. But in the first place it

is essential to understand the difference between the habit that is

recognised and understood and the habit that is not. The difference in

its application to the present case is that the first can be altered at

will and the second cannot. For when real conscious control has been

obtained a “habit” need never become fixed. It is not truly a habit at

all, but an order or series of orders given to the subordinate controls

of the body, which orders will be carried out until countermanded.

It will be understood, therefore, that the word “habit” as generally

understood, does not apply to the new discipline which it is my aim to

establish in the ordinary subconscious realms of our being. The reasons

for this are two:

(1) The conscious, intelligently realised, guiding orders are such as

may be continued for all time, becoming more effective year by year

until they are established as the real and fundamental guidance and

control necessary to that which we understand by the words growth and

evolution.

(2) The stimuli to apprehension, or excitement of the fear reflexes,

are eliminated by a procedure which teaches the pupil to take no

thought of whether what he calls “practice,” is _right or wrong_.

This second statement, however, requires further elucidation; and I feel

that a lay description by a pupil of mine may present the case more

clearly to the untrained reader than any technical account. The excerpt

is from a letter written by the Rev. W. Pennyman, M.A.

“One great feature of Mr. Alexander’s system as seen in practical use

is that the individual loses every suggestion of _strain_. He becomes

perfectly ‘lissom’ in body; all strains and tensions disappear, and

his body works like an oiled machine. Moreover, his system has a

reflex result upon the mind of the patient, and a general condition of

buoyancy and freedom, and indeed of gaiety of spirit takes the place

of the old jaded mental position. It is the pouring in of new wine,

but the bottles must also be new or they will burst, and this is

exactly what Mr. Alexander’s treatment does. It creates the new

bottles, and then the new wine can be poured in, freely and fully.”

This quotation, however, describes a result, and the means to its

achievement can only be attained under certain conditions. There must

be, in the first place, a clear realisation by the pupil that he suffers

from a defect or defects needing eradication. In the second place, the

teacher must make a lucid diagnosis of such defects and decide upon the

means of dealing with them. In the third place there must be a

satisfactory understanding between teacher and pupil of the present

conditions and the means proposed to remedy them.

These three preparatory realisations indicate the real psycho-physical

significance of the pupil’s mental position. He begins by a definite

admission that the subconscious factors by which his psycho-physical

organism is being guided are limited and unreliable. He acknowledges in

fact that he suffers from mental delusions regarding his physical acts

and that his sensory appreciation, or kinæsthesis, is defective and

misleading; in other words, he realises that his sense register of the

amount of muscular tension needed to accomplish even a simple act of

everyday life is faulty and harmful, and his mental conception of such

conditions as relaxation and concentration, impossible in practical

application.

For there can be no doubt that man on the subconscious plane, now relies

too much upon a debauched sense of feeling or of sense appreciation for

the guidance of his psycho-physical mechanism, and that he is gradually

becoming more and more overbalanced emotionally with very harmful and

far-reaching results.