CHAPTER I

Mental Efficiency Series

POISE: HOW TO ATTAIN IT

by

D. STARKE

Translated by Francis Medhurst, D.Litt.

1916

"POISE IS A POWER DERIVED FROM THE MASTERY OF SELF"

PREFACE

All efforts directed toward the correcting of temperamental or mental

blemishes or defects and nervous conditions are of benefit to humanity.

In producing this book the Author's purpose was to help mankind to

overcome these weaknesses, which are a serious impediment to mental

development, and hinder personal advancement and general progress. The

aim of the Publishers in issuing this translation is to put into the

hands of those who wish to overcome their failings, become masters of

themselves, and command the attention and respect of others, a work that

has been thoroughly tested abroad and one that will be found of

exceptional service in attaining the end in view--the securing of a

perfect balance.

This book is written in two parts. The first points to the need of Poise

in daily life, indicates the obstacles to be overcome, and discusses the

effects of Poise on personal efficiency. The second instructs the reader

how to secure that evenness of temperament which is the chief

characteristic of Poise. It includes, in addition, a series of practical

physical exercises to be used in acquiring Poise.

If such a work as this is to do good, if the reader really wishes to

benefit by the advice that it gives him, it must be read thoughtfully

and diligently, not fitfully and forgetfully, and the reader most

steadfastly keep before him the maxim of the Author--"Poise is a power

derived from the Mastery of Self."

THE PUBLISHERS.

CONTENTS

Preface

PART ONE

POISE: ITS NEED, ITS ENEMIES, ITS EFFECT

I. The Need of Poise in Life

II. The Enemies of Poise

III. War on Timidity

PART TWO

HOW TO ACQUIRE POISE

I. Modesty and Effrontery Contrasted

II. Physical Exercises to Acquire Poise

III. Four Series of Physical Exercises

IV. Practical Exercises for Obtaining Poise

V. The Supreme Achievement

PART I

POISE: ITS NEED, ITS ENEMIES, ITS EFFECT

CHAPTER I

THE NEED OF POISE IN LIFE

Lack of poise has always been an obstacle to those who are imbued with

the desire to succeed.

In every age the awkwardness born of timidity has served to keep back

those who suffered from it, but this defect has never been so great a

drawback as in the life of to-day.

The celebrated phrase of the ancient Roman writer who said, "Fortune

smiles on the brave," could very well serve as our motto nowadays, with

this slight alteration: "Fortune smiles on those who are possest of

poise."

At this point let us attempt an exact definition of poise.

It is a quality which enables us to judge of our own value, and which,

in revealing to us the knowledge of the things of which we are really

capable, gives us at the same time the desire to accomplish them.

It is not a quality wholly simple. On the contrary, it is a composite of

many others all of which take part in the molding of that totality which

bears the name of poise.

It may be well to pass in review the principal qualities of which it is

composed, that one may characterize as follows:

Will.

Reason.

Knowledge of one's own value.

Correctness of judgment.

Sincerity toward oneself.

The power of resisting the appeals of self-love.

Contempt of adverse criticism.

Pride that is free from vanity.

A definite and clearly conceived ambition.

Will, as is well known, is the pivot of all our resolutions, whether the

question for the moment be how to form them or how to keep them when

formed.

A man without will-power is a straw, blown about by every wind and

carried, whether he will or no, into situations in which he has no valid

reason for finding himself.

Without the will-power which enables us to take a firm hold of ourselves

and to get a grip upon our impressions, they will remain vague and

nebulous without presenting to us characters of sufficient definiteness

to enable us to direct them readily into the proper channels.

It is will-power which gives us the force to maintain a resolution which

will lead us to the hoped-for goal of success.

It is will-power also which enables us to correct the faults which stand

in the way of the acquiring of poise.

We are not now speaking of those idle fancies which are no more than

manifestations of nervousness. We have in mind rather that controlled

and enduring purpose which arms the heart against the assaults of the

emotions by giving it the strength to overcome them.

There are many cases even in which will-power has led to their entire

suppression.

This happens more particularly in the case of those artificial emotions

that the man of resolution ignores completely, but which cause agony to

the timid who do not know how to escape them, and exaggerate them to

excess.

This abnormal development of their personalities is the peculiarity of

the timid, which their fitful efforts of will only heighten, alienating

from them the sympathy which might be of assistance to them.

They take refuge in a species of mischievous and fruitless activity,

leaving the field open to the development of all sorts of imaginary ills

that argument does not serve to combat.

Their ego, whose importance is in no way counterbalanced by their

appreciation of the friends they keep at a distance, fills their entire

existence to such an extent that they have no doubt whatever that, when

they are in public, every eye is, of necessity, fixt upon them.

Their negative will leaves them at the mercy of every sort of emotion,

which, in arousing in them the necessity of a reaction they feel

themselves powerless to realize, reduces them to a state of inferiority

that, when it becomes known, is the source of grave embarrassment to

them.

The power of will which sustains those who wish to acquire the habit of

poise is, then, the capacity to accomplish acts solely because one has

the ardent desire to achieve them.

We are now speaking, understand, neither of extreme heroism or of

impossibilities.

Another point presents itself here. Willpower, in order to preserve its

energy, must be sustained and fixt. At this price alone can we achieve

poise. We must, therefore, thoroughly saturate ourselves with this

principle: Reasoning-power is an essential element in the upbuilding of

poise.

It is reasoning-power which teaches us to distinguish between those

things that we must be careful to avoid and those which are part and

parcel of the domain of exaggeration and fantasy.

It is also by means of reasoning that we arrive at the proper

appreciation of the just mean that we must observe. It is by its aid

that we are enabled to disentangle those impulses that will prove

profitable from a chaos of useless risks.

It is always by virtue of deductions depending upon reason that we are

able to adopt a resolution or to maintain an attitude that we believe to

be correct, while preserving our self-possession under circumstances in

which persons of a timorous disposition would certainly lose their

heads.

Those who know how to reason never expose themselves to the possibility

of being unhorsed by fate for lack of good reasons for strengthening

themselves in their chosen course.

They adhere, in the very heat of discussion and in spite of the

onslaughts of destiny, to the line of conduct that sage reflection has

taught them to adopt and are more than careful never to abandon it

except for the most valid reasons.

They never stray into the byways in which the timid and the shrinking

constantly wander without sufficient thought of the goal toward which

they are journeying.

They know where they are going, and if, now and again, they ask for

information about the road that remains to be traveled, it is with no

intention of changing their course, but simply so as not to miss the

short cuts and to lose nothing of the pleasures of the scenes through

which they may pass.

Reasoning-power is the trade-mark of superior minds. Mediocre natures

take no interest in it and, as we have seen, the timid are incapable of

it, except in so far as it follows the beaten path.

True poise never is guided by anything but reason. Certain risks can

never be undertaken save after ripe deliberation.

Confusion is never the fate of those who are resolved on a definite line

of conduct.

Such people are careful to plumb the questions with which they have to

grapple and to weigh the inconveniences and the advantages of the acts

they have the desire to accomplish.

When their decision is once made, however, nothing will prevent the

completion of the work they have begun. Such people are ripe for

success.

The knowledge of one's real worth is a quality doubly precious when

contrasted with the fact that the majority of people are more than

indulgent to their own failings. Of many of them it may be said, in the

words of the Arab proverb, couched in the language of imagery: "This man

has no money, but in his pocket everything turns to gold."

This saying, divested of the language of hyperbole, means simply that

the man in question is so obsessed with the greatness of his own

personal value that he exaggerates the importance of everything that

concerns him.

This condition is a much more common one than one might at first

believe. Many an occurrence which, when it happens to some one else,

seems to us quite devoid of interest, becomes, when it directly affects

us, a matter to compel the attention of others, to the extent that we

find ourselves chilled and disappointed when we discover that we are the

victims of that indifference which we were prepared to exhibit toward

other people under similar circumstances.

The consciousness of our own worth must not be confounded with that

adoration of self which transforms poise into egotism.

It is a good thing to know one's own powers sufficiently well to

undertake only such tasks as are certainly within the scope of one's

abilities.

To believe oneself more capable than one really is, is a fault that is

far too common. It is, nevertheless, less harmful in the long run than

the failing which is its exact antithesis. Lack of confidence in one's

own powers is the source of every kind of feebleness and of all

unsuccess.

It is for this reason that poise never can exist without another

quality, that correctness of judgment which, in giving us the breadth of

mind to know exactly how much we are capable of, permits us to undertake

our tasks without boasting and without hesitation.

Soundness of judgment is the faculty of being able to appreciate the

merits of our neighbors without cherishing any illusions as to our own,

and of being able to do this so exactly that we can with assurance carry

out to its end any undertaking, knowing that the result must be, barring

accidents, precisely what we have foreseen.

This being the case, what possible reason can we have for depreciating

ourselves or for lacking poise?

Timid people suffer without recognizing their own defects in the matter

of insight.

They torture themselves by building their judgments upon indications and

not upon facts.

If the perception of a man of resolution causes him to understand at

once the emptiness of criticisms based on envy or spleen, the timid man,

always ready to seize upon anything that can be possibly construed into

an appearance of ridicule directed against himself, will give up a

project that he hears criticized without stopping to weigh the value of

the arguments advanced.

Far from arguing the question out, or attempting a rebuttal, he never

even dreams of it. The very thought of a contest, however courteously it

may be conducted, frightening him to such an extent that he loses all

his ideas.

The unfortunate shrinking which characterizes him makes him an easy prey

for people of exaggerated enthusiasms as well as to quick

disillusionment.

A token of apparent sympathy touches him so profoundly that he does not

wait to estimate its value and to decide whether it be sincere or not.

He passes in a moment from careless gaiety to the blackest despair if he

imagines that he has observed even the appearance of an unsympathetic

gesture.

He does not need to be sure, to be miserable. It is enough for him if

the circumstances that he thought favorable become seemingly hostile and

antagonistic.

How utterly different is the attitude of the man who is endowed with

poise!

His firmness of soul saves him from unconsidered enthusiasms and he

jealously preserves his control in the presence of excessive

protestations as well as when confronting indications of aimless

antagonism.

How can such a man as this possibly fail to form a correct judgment and

to benefit by all the qualities that depend upon it?

Absolute sincerity toward oneself is one of the forms of sound judgment.

Without indulging in excessive modesty, it is a good thing to endeavor

to become intimately acquainted with one's aptitudes and one's failings,

and to admit the latter with the utmost frankness in order to set about

the work of correcting them.

It is also necessary to know exactly what sort of territory it is in

which one is taking one's risks.

The world of affairs, whatever these last may happen to be, may be

likened to a vast preserve containing traps for wild beasts.

The man who wishes to walk in such a place without coming to harm will,

first of all, make a careful study of the ground for the purpose of

avoiding the traps and pitfalls that may engulf him or wound him as he

passes.

Just as soon as he has located these dangers his step becomes firm and

he can advance with a tranquil gait and head upraised along the paths

which he knows do not conceal any dangerous surprizes.

These are the pitfalls that most frequently threaten that daring that we

sometimes find in the timid.

Their very defects preventing them from making proper comparisons, they

are altogether too prone to ignore their faults and to magnify their

virtues and so fall an easy prey to the designer and the sharper.

Their very carelessness in estimating other people becomes the

foundation of an involuntary partiality the moment they are called upon

to judge their own actions.

It is not deliberate self-indulgence that drives them to act in this

way, but their inexperience, which gives rise in them to the desire for

perfection, and this necessarily provokes, simultaneously with the

despair caused by their failure to attain it, a fear of having this

failure remarked or commented upon.

The man who possesses poise is too familiar with the realities of life

not to be aware that the search for such an ideal is a Utopian dream.

But he is also aware that, if actual perfection does not exist, it is

the bounden duty of man to struggle always in pursuit of good and to

show appreciation of it in whatsoever form it may manifest itself.

Sincerity toward himself thus becomes for him an easy matter indeed, and

for the very reason that his poise leaves him absolutely free to form a

correct estimate of others.

Serious self-examination throws a clear light for him upon those merits

of which he has a right to be proud, while revealing to him at the same

time the faults to which he is most likely to yield.

The habit of estimating himself and his own qualities without fear or

favor gives him great facility for gaging the motives of other people.

He thus avoids the pitfalls that a biased viewpoint spreads before the

feet of the foolish, and at the same time represses that feeling of

vanity which might lead him to believe that he is altogether too clever

to fall into them.

He watches himself constantly to avoid getting into the bypaths which he

sees with sorrow that others are following, and does not fail to

estimate accurately the value of the victories he achieves over himself

as well as over the duplicity of most of the people who surround him.

And this superiority is what makes certain his poise. More difficult

perhaps than anything else to acquire is the power to resist the appeals

of one's own self-love.

We will explain this later at greater length. Lack of poise is often due

to nothing so much as an excess of vanity which throws one back upon

oneself from the fear of not being able to shine in the front rank.

Such a person does not say to himself: "I will conquer this place by

sheer merit." He contents himself with envying those who occupy it,

quite neglecting to put forth the efforts which would place him there

beside them.

There is nothing worse than yielding to an exaggerated tenderness toward

ourselves, which, by magnifying our merits in our own eyes, frequently

leads us to make attempts which result in failure and expose us to

ridicule.

This is a most frequent cause of making an inveterate coward of one who

is subject to occasional attacks of timidity.

To know one's limitations exactly and never to allow oneself to exceed

them--this is the part of wisdom, the act of a man who, as the saying

goes, knows what he is about.

There is in every effort a necessary limit that it is not wise to

exceed.

"Never force your talents," says a very pithy proverb. Never undertake

to do a thing that is beyond your powers.

Never allow yourself to be drawn into a discussion on a subject which is

beyond your intellectual depth. To do so is to take the risk of making

mistakes that will render you ridiculous.

But if you are quite convinced that you can come out victorious, never

hesitate to enter a trial of wits that may serve as an occasion for

demonstrating the fact that you are sure of your subject.

The man who cultivates poise will never let pass such opportunities as

this for exhibiting himself in a favorable light.

Conscious of the soundness of his own judgment, and filled with a real

sincerity toward himself, he will not allow himself to be carried away

by a possible chance of success. Rather will he gather himself together,

collect his forces, and wait until he can achieve a real effect upon the

minds of those whom he wishes to impress.

Similarly the result of unsuccess in such a venture is obvious. It has

the effect of developing a distrust of oneself and of destroying the

superb assurance of those people of whom it is often said: "Oh, he! He

is sailing with the wind at his back!"

People generally fail to add in these cases that such persons have left

nothing undone to accomplish this result and are more than careful not

to weigh anchor when the wind is not favorable.

It is true enough that there can be no actual shelter from a storm, but

the mariner who is prepared is able to ride it out without appreciable

damage, while those who are not prepared generally founder on account of

their poor seamanship.

Disregard of calumny is always the index of a noble spirit.

The man who wastes time over such indignities and who allows himself to

be affected by them is not of the stature that insures victory in the

struggle.

Minds of large caliber disdain these manifestations of futile jealousy.

People of obscurity are never vilified. Only those whose merits have

placed them in the limelight are the targets for the attacks of envy and

for the slanders of falsehood.

A precept that has often been enunciated, and can not be too often

repeated, which should, indeed, be inscribed in letters of gold over the

doors of every institution where men meet together, runs as follows:

"Envy and malice are nothing more than homage rendered to superiority."

Only those who occupy an enviable position can become objects of

calumny.

Such calumny is always the work of the unworthy, who think to advertise

their own merits by denying those of better men.

Men of resolution under such circumstances simply shrug their shoulders

and pass by.

The rest, those who are enslaved by timidity, become confused.

Their ego, which they cultivated in a fashion at once obscure and

absolute, becomes so profoundly affected that they lack all courage to

openly defend it.

Moreover, that instinctive need of sympathy, which is so marked a

characteristic of the timid, is deeply wounded, while their chronic fear

of disapprobation is strengthened by the criticisms spread abroad.

The illogicality of these sentiments is obvious. The man who is timid

shuns society, yet nevertheless the judgments of this same society are

for him a question of absorbing interest. Timidity is, in effect, a

disease of many forms, every one of which is founded upon illogicality.

It is always a mental weakness. It is sometimes vanity, but never pride,

that reasonable pride that a philosophy now abandoned once numbered as

one of the principal vices, and which, if rightly estimated, can be

considered as the motive power of every noble action.

Pride is a force. It is therefore a virtue which must of necessity be

one of the components of poise, so long as it contains within it no

seeds of vanity. Under such circumstances it is a primal condition of

success in the achievement of poise. Pride must, however, be free from

vanity, otherwise it ceases to be a force and becomes a cause of

deterioration.

As a matter of fact, those who are conceited are always the dupes of

their own desire to bulk largely in the minds of others, and at the mere

thought that they will not shine as they have hoped to do the majority

of them are put entirely out of countenance and are quite at a loss for

means of expression.

The inevitable result of this tendency is to drive them into association

with mediocrity. In such a society alone will the vain find themselves

at their ease. But the very moment that they find themselves in the

presence of those who are their superiors, the fear of not being able to

occupy the front rank throws them into such a state of mental disarray

that they entirely lose their assurance and that appearance of poise by

whose aid they are often able to deceive others.

Finally, one of the most solid elements of poise is, without doubt, a

well-defined ambition, that is to say, one that is divested of the

drawbacks of frivolity and directly winged toward the goal of one's

hopes.

The man who possesses ambition of this kind is certainly destined to

acquire, if he has not already acquired it, that poise which is

absolutely necessary to him in order to make his way in the world.

He will neither be pretentious nor timorous, exaggerated nor fearful. He

will go forward without hesitation toward the goal which he knows to be

before him, and will make, without any apologies, those detours which

seem to him necessary to the success of his undertaking, without paying

any attention to the fruitless distractions that make victims of the

rash.

He will not have to put up with the affront of being refused, for he

will ask aid only of those persons who, for various reasons, he is

practically sure will be of assistance to him. The knowledge of his own

deserts, while keeping him in the position he has attained, will prevent

him from being satisfied in commonplace surroundings, and his will-power

will always maintain him at the level he has reached, permitting him no

latitude save that of exceeding it.

Such is true poise, not that whose spirit one violates by merely

associating it with the incapable, the pretentious, or the extravagant,

but that which is at once the motive power and the inspiration of all

the actions of those who, in their determination to force their way

through the great modern struggle for existence, perseveringly follow a

line of conduct that they have worked out for themselves in advance.

Ignoring such enterprises as they know to be unworthy of their powers,

those who are possest of real poise (and not of that foolish temerity

colloquially known as _bluff_) will devote themselves solely to such

tasks as a well-ordered judgment and an accurate knowledge of their own

potentialities indicate to them to be fitting.

Does this mean that they will succeed in every case?

Unfortunately, no! But such of them as have met with temporary failure,

if they are able to assure themselves that their lack of success has

been due neither to a failure of will-power nor a fear of ridicule, will

return to the charge, once more prepared to make headway against

circumstances which they have the poise to foresee, and which they will

at least render incapable of harming them, even if they lack the

necessary force to dominate them completely to their own advantage.

CHAPTER II

THE ENEMIES OF POISE

The enemies of poise are many and of different origins, both of feeling

and of impulse.

They all tend, however, toward the same result, the cessation of effort

under pretexts more or less specious.

It is of no use deceiving ourselves. Lack of poise has its roots deep in

all the faults which are caused by apathy and purposeless variety.

We have learned in the previous chapter how greatly the vice of lack of

confidence in oneself can retard the development of the quality we are

considering.

Balanced between the desire to succeed and the fear of failure, the

timid man leads a miserable existence, tortured by unavailing regrets

and by no less useless aspirations, which torment him like the worm that

dieth not.

Little by little the habit of physical inaction engenders a moral

inertia and the victim learns to fly from every opportunity of escaping

from his bondage.

Very soon an habitual state of idleness takes possession of him and

causes him to avoid everything that tends to make action necessary.

The dread of responsibility that might devolve upon him turns him aside

from every sort of endeavor, and he passes his life in a hopeless and

sluggish inaction, from a fear of drawing down upon himself reproaches

to which he might have to make answer or of being compelled to take part

in discussions which would involve the disturbing of his indolent

repose.

Are we to suppose then that he finds real happiness in such a state of

things?

Certainly not, for this negative existence weighs upon him with all the

burden of a monotony that he feels powerless to throw off. His own

mediocrity enrages him while the success of others fills him with

dismay.

Nevertheless his weakness of character allows the hate of action to

speak more loudly to him than legitimate ambition, and keeps him in a

state of obvious inferiority that of itself gives birth to numberless

new enemies, who end by destroying him utterly.

He is first attacked by slowness of comprehension, the inevitable

consequence of that idleness that causes the cowardly to shun the

battle.

Rather than combat influences from without he allows them daily to

assume a more prominent and a more definite place in his thoughts.

His hatred of action says no to all initiative and he considers that he

has accomplished his whole duty toward society and toward himself when

he says: "What's the use of undertaking this or that? I haven't a chance

of succeeding and it is therefore idle to invite defeat!"

So quickly does the change work that his mind, from lack of proper

exercise, rapidly reaches the condition where it can not voluntarily

comprehend any but the most simple affairs and goes to pieces when

confronted with occasions that call for reflection or reasoning, which

he considers as the hardest kind of work.

It is hardly a matter for astonishment, therefore, that under these

conditions effeminacy should take possession of a soul that has become

the sport of all the weaknesses that are born of a desire to avoid

exertion.

We do not care to draw the picture of that case too often encountered in

which this moral defeat becomes changed into envy, the feeling of

bitterness against all men, the veritable hell of the man who has not

the power to make the effort that shall free him.

Mental instability is the inevitable consequence of this state of

affairs.

All brain-activity being regarded as a useless toil, the man of timidity

never understands the depth of the questions he has not the courage to

discuss. If he does talk of them, it is with a bias rendered all the

more prejudiced by the fact that, instead of expressing his ideas, he

takes refuge in fortifying his heresies with arguments of which the

smallest discussion would demonstrate the worthlessness.

This unwillingness to discuss conditions gives rise among people who are

deficient in poise to a special form of reasoning, which causes them to

summarize in the most hurried fashion even the gravest events, upon the

sole consideration that they are not asked to take part in them. If, by

any chance, they are forced to be actors in these events the least

little incident assumes for them the most formidable proportions.

It seems probable that this tendency to exaggerate everything with which

they come in contact is due solely to egoism. It is certain at any rate

that egoism plays a large part in it, but some portion of it is due to

the lack of observation that characterizes all people of timidity.

The mental idleness and the instability of mind that we have already

considered render such people less inclined to consider with any degree

of care those things which do not touch them directly.

At this stage, it is no longer possible for them to feign ignorance in

order to avoid the trouble of thinking, and they are only touched, even

by the most personal matters, to the extent that circumstances impose

upon them the necessity of thinking or of acting with reference to the

subject under consideration.

The idea that they can no longer avoid the resolutions which must be

made and their fear of the consequences which may result from these

affect them to such a profound extent that the most insignificant of

occurrences immediately assumes for them an altogether incommensurate

importance.

This state of mind is a notable foe of poise. It is practically

impossible for a person under such conditions to believe that any

considerable effort he has made can have passed unperceived.

This propensity to assign an exaggerated importance to personal affairs

develops egoism, the avowed enemy of poise. An egoist necessarily

assumes that the rest of the world attributes to his acts the importance

he himself assigns to them.

This preoccupation does not fail to upset him. It increases his

embarrassment and the fear of not appearing in the light in which he

wishes to be seen paralyzes him, while the dread of what other people

may think prevents him from being himself.

To this cause many otherwise inexplicable defeats must be assigned, the

result of which is a renewed resentment against the world at large and

an ardent desire to avoid any further exposure to the chance of failure.

A case in point is the man who becomes nervous while making a speech,

starts to stammer, and makes a lamentable failure of what began well

enough, because he imagines that persons in the audience are making fun

of him.

He has overheard a word, or surprized a look, neither of which had any

relation to him, but so great is his egoism that he does not dream that

any one in the audience can be so lacking in taste as to be concerned

with anything but himself.

Had this man, in spite of his egoism, been endowed with poise, he would

have gone along calmly, simply forcing himself to ignore all criticism

and to impress his very critics by his attitude and his eloquence. But

his distrust of himself, his mental instability, his habitual weakness

of reasoning, all these enemies of poise league themselves together to

inflict upon him a defeat, of which the memory will only aggravate his

nervousness and his desire never to repeat such an unpleasant

experience.

For the man who has no poise there is no snatching victory from defeat.

His feeble will-power is completely routed, and the effort involved in

stemming the tide of adverse opinion is to him an impossibility.

From dread of being carried away by the current, and feeling himself

incapable of struggling against it, he prefers to hide himself in the

caves along the shore, rather than to make one desperate effort to cross

the stream.

But the very isolation he seeks, in depriving him of moral support,

increases his embarrassment.

"It is not good for man to be alone," says Holy Writ. It is certainly

deplorable, for one who desires to make his way, to find himself without

a prop, without a counselor, and without a guide.

This is the case of those timid persons who do not understand how to

make friends for themselves.

Poise, on the other hand, invites sympathy. It aids men to expand. It

creates friends when needed, and weaves the bonds of comradeship and of

protection without which our social fabric could not hold together.

Educators should seek for inspiration in the lessons that the exigencies

of modern life offer to the view of the observer. Excessive modesty,

sworn enemy of poise, is, socially speaking, a fault from which young

minds should be carefully guarded.

It is the open door to all the feeblenesses which interfere with the

development of poise.

It is a mistake that it has so long been considered as a virtue.

In any case, the day of extreme humility is past. This detachment from

oneself is contrary to all the laws of progress.

It is opposed to all the principles of evolution and of growth which

should be the study of all our contemporaries, whatever their station or

the class to which they may happen to belong.

No man has the right to withdraw himself from the battle and to shirk

his duties, while watching other people fighting to maintain the social

equilibrium and seeking to achieve the position to which their talents

and their attainments render them worthy to aspire.

That which is too easily honored with the title of modesty is generally

nothing more than a screen behind which conscious ineptitude conceals

itself.

It is a very easy thing to strike a disdainful attitude and to exclaim:

"I didn't care to compete!"

Do not forget that a defeat after a sanguinary combat is infinitely more

honorable than a retreat in which not a blow is struck.

Moreover, the combats of the mind temper the soul, just as those of the

body fortify the flesh, by making both fit for the victory that is to

be.

It is then against the enemies of poise that we must go forth to war.

Cowardice must be hunted down, wherever we encounter it, because its

victims are thrown into the struggle of life burdened with an undeniable

inferiority.

Even if they are worth while no one will be found to observe it, since

their lack of poise always turns them back upon themselves, and very few

people have the wit to discover what is so sedulously concealed.

Deception is the necessary corollary of this, and one that very soon

becomes changed into spite. The disappointment of being misunderstood

must inevitably lead us to condemn those who do not comprehend us. Our

shyness will be increased at this and we shall end by disbelieving

ourselves in the qualities that we find other people ignoring in us.

From this condition of discouragement to that of mental inertia it is

but a step, and many worthy people who lack poise have rapidly traveled

this road to plunge themselves into the obscurity of renunciation.

They are like paralytics. Like these poor creatures they have limbs

which are of no service to them and which from habitual lack of

functioning end by becoming permanently useless.

If their nature is a bad one they will have still more reason to

complain of this lack of poise, with its train of inconveniences of

which we have been treating, that will leave them weakened and a prey to

all sorts of mental excesses which will be the more serious in their

effects for the fact that their existence is known to no one but the

victims.

Instead of admitting that their lack of poise-due to the various faults

of character we have been discussing--is the sole cause of the apparent

ostracism from which they suffer, they indulge in accusations against

fate, against the world, against circumstances, and grow to hate all

those who have succeeded, without being willing to acknowledge that they

have never seriously made the attempt themselves.

Only those return home with the spoils who have taken part in the

battle, have paid with their blood and risked their lives.

The man who remains in hiding behind the walls of his house can hardly

be astonished that such honors do not come his way.

Life is a battle, and victory is always to the strong. The timid are

never called upon to take their share of the booty. It becomes the

property of those who have had the force to win it, either by sheer

courage or by cautious strategy, for real bravery is not always that

which calls for the easy applause of the crowd.

It is found just as much among those who have the will-power to keep

silent as to their plans and to resist the temptation to actions which,

while satisfying their desire for energetic measures may destroy the

edifice that they have so carefully constructed.

It is for this reason that enthusiasm may be considered with justice as

an enemy of poise.

Those who act under the domination of an impulse born of a too-vivid

impression are rarely in a state of mind that can be depended upon to

judge sanely and impartially. They nearly always overshoot the mark at

which they aim. They are like runners dashing forward at such a high

speed that they can not bring themselves to a sudden stop. Habitual

enthusiasm is also the enemy of reflection. It is an obstacle to that

reason from which proceed strong resolves, and one is often impelled, in

observing people who are fired with too great an ardor, to thoughts of

the fable of the burning straw.

A teacher, who inclined to the methods that consist of object lessons,

one day asked two children to make a choice between two piles, one of

straw, the other of wood. It is hardly necessary to add that while the

size of the pile of straw was great that of the wood was hardly

one-tenth of the volume.

The first child, when told to make his choice, took the mass of straw,

which he set on fire easily enough, warming himself first from a

respectful distance and then at close range, in proportion as the heat

of the fire grew less.

In so doing he made great sport of his companion, who struggled

meanwhile to set alight the pile of wood. But what was the outcome?

The huge mass of straw was soon burned out, while the wood, once lit,

furnished a tranquil and steady flame, which the first child watched

with envy while seated by the mass of cinders that alone remained of the

vanished pile that he had chosen.

The man of real poise is like the child who, disclaiming the transitory

blaze of the straw, prefers to work patiently at building a fire whose

moderate heat will afford him a durable and useful warmth.

Let us then beware of sudden unreasoning enthusiasms. After the

ephemeral flame of their first ardor has burned itself out we shall but

find ourselves seated by the mass of ashes formed of our mistakes and

our dead energies.

The rock on which so many abortive attempts are wrecked in the effort to

achieve poise is a type of sentimentality peculiar to certain natures.

This state of mind is characterized by a craving for expansion, which is

all the more irritating since the timidity of the person concerned

prevents it from being satisfied.

In place of relying upon themselves, feeling their disabilities and the

lack of poise which prevents them from proper expression, such people

try to make themselves understood by those who do not appreciate their

feelings, without stopping to think that they have done nothing to make

clear what they really need.

Such a chaotic state of mind, based on errors of judgment, is a very

serious obstacle to the acquisition of poise.

This anxiety to communicate their feelings, always rendered ineffective

by the difficulty of making the effort involved, gives rise in the long

run to a species of misanthropy.

It is a matter of common knowledge that misanthropy urges those who

suffer from it to fall back upon themselves, and from this state to that

of active hostility toward others the road is short, and timid people

are rarely able to pull up before they have traversed it.

There comes to them from this intellectual solitude an unhappiness so

profound that they are glad to be able to attribute to the mental

inferiority of others the condition of moral isolation in which they

live.

To insist that they are misunderstood, and to pride themselves upon the

fact, is the inevitable fate of those who never can summon up courage to

undertake a battle against themselves.

It seems to them a thousand times easier to say: "These minds are too

gross to comprehend mine," than to seek for a means of establishing an

understanding with those whom they tax with ignorance and insensibility.

They might, perhaps, be convinced of the utility to them of divulging

their feelings, could they be forced into a position where they had to

defend their ideas or were compelled to put up a fight on behalf of

their convictions.

In the ranks of the enemies of poise sullenness most certainly finds a

place.

It is the fault of the feeble-spirited who have not the energy to affirm

their sentiments or to make a plain statement of their convictions that

they become incensed with those who oppose them.

In their case a good deal of false pride is present. They know

themselves to be beaten and to be incapable of fighting, yet they are

too vain to accept defeat. They refuse the sympathy that wounds them,

and suffer the more from their inability to yield themselves to that

good-will which would aid and comfort them.

From this mental conflict is born an irritation that manifests itself in

the form of obstinate sullenness.

In other cases the same state of mind may produce radically different

results.

Always obsessed by the fear of appearing ridiculous and by the no less

vivid dread of seeming to be an object of sympathy, such people are

often driven through lack of poise into extreme boastfulness.

No man who has poise will ever fall a victim to this misfortune.

He knows exactly what his capabilities are and he has no need to

exaggerate his own abilities to impress his friends.

Poise calls for action, when this becomes necessary; but the man of

resolve, being always prepared to do what is needful, considers mere

boasting and bravado as something quite unworthy of him.

There are, however, certain extenuating circumstances in the cases of

those timid people who take refuge in boasting. They are almost

invariably the dupes of their own fancies, and for the moment really

believe themselves to be capable of endeavors beset by difficulties, of

the surmounting of which they understand nothing.

Nothing looks easier to duplicate than certain movements which are

performed with apparent ease by experts.

Which of us has not been profoundly astonished at the enormous

difficulty experienced in accomplishing some simple act of manual toil

that we see performed without the least effort by a workman trained to

this particular task?

What looks easier, for instance, than to plane a piece of wood or to dig

up the ground?

Is it possible that the laborer, wheeling a barrow, really has to be

possest of skill or strength?

It hardly seems so. And yet the man who takes a plane in his hands for

the first time will be astounded at the difficulty he experiences in

approximating to the regularity and lightness of stroke that comes

naturally to the carpenter.

The man who essays to dig a piece of ground or to wheel a barrow, will

find himself making irregular ditches and traveling in zigzags, and all

this at the expense of a hundred times the energy put forth by the

workman who is accustomed to these particular forms of labor.

The person of timidity who boasts of his remarkable exploits is

actuated, as a general rule, by sheer lack of experience.

His peculiar fault keeps him always in the background and prevents him

from accomplishing any public action, and for this reason those efforts

appear easy to him that he has never thought of attempting.

Further than this, aided by his false pride, he considers that his

merits are easily greater than those of the people who are not able to

understand him, and he is acting in perfect good faith when he professes

to be able to accomplish what they can not.

Is it necessary to add that the ironical reception given to such

exhibitions of boastfulness rouse in him a feeling of irritation which

is all the greater for the fact that he does not openly show it?

The man of resolve will never experience these unpleasant emotions.

He knows exactly what he wants and what he can do. So we see him

marching ahead steadily, his eyes fixt upon the goal he has worked out

for himself, paying no heed whatever to misleading suggestions, which

cripple his breadth of soul and would in the end deprive him of that

essential energy which is vital to him if he would preserve his even

poise, the foundation of mental balance and the source of every real

success in life.

CHAPTER III

WAR ON TIMIDITY

One can not be too insistent in asserting how harmful the lack of poise

can be, and when once this weakness has reached the stage of timidity it

may produce the most tragic consequences not only so far as the daily

routine of our lives is concerned, but also with reference to our moral

and physical equilibrium.

So, when the nervous system is constantly set on edge by the emotions to

which this fault gives rise, it necessarily follows that all the

faculties suffer in their turn.

This is particularly true of those who are constantly haunted by the

fear of finding themselves in a condition of mental unpreparedness, to

the extent that they prefer to remain in solitude and silence rather

than to mingle in a world which really has too many other things to

think of to concern itself with their acts or their opinions.

This morbid dread of becoming the subject of ridicule ends by creating a

peculiar condition of mind of which, as we have already pointed out,

egoism is the pivot.

In this way it is a common occurrence to see people of timidity paying

exaggerated attention to the slightest changes in the condition of their

health.

Such people by shutting themselves out from the world have reduced it to

the circumference of their own personalities and everything which

touches them necessarily assumes gigantic importance in their eyes.

The slightest opposition becomes for them a catastrophe. The smallest

unpleasantness presents itself to them in the light of a tragic

misfortune.

For this reason the lives of the timid become a succession of boredoms

and of pains.

Even in those cases where no really unfortunate incident occurs, these

people so exaggerate what actually does happen to them that the least

little emotion causes them the most profound unhappiness.

On those days when nothing in particular happens they spend their time

anticipating all sorts of disasters, including those which are not the

least likely to happen. To them the tiniest cloud is an omen of a

devastating storm.

When the sun is shining their timidity prevents them from exposing

themselves to the heat of its rays.

The timid man, in his moral isolation, is like the hare, who, crouched

in its form, sleeps with one eye open in constant terror of the

passer-by or of the hunter.

It may be well to add that worry about oneself is invariably an

accompaniment of all these troubles. People without poise are, with very

few exceptions, egotists who exaggerate their own importance.

Moreover, they suffer keenly from the obscurity into which their defects

have forced them as well as from dread of the alternatives presented to

them, the making of an effort to escape this fate, an idea that fills

them with horror, or the continuing to live in the unhappy condition

that has spoiled existence for them through their own faults.

It is hardly then a matter for surprize that so many people who are thus

mentally out of balance end by becoming neurotics or become a prey to

those cerebral disorders that are, unfortunately, all too frequent.

This condition of solitude, at once deplored and self-imposed, has the

still more serious disadvantage of leaving the mind, for lack of proper

control, to the domination of the most false and exaggerated ideas.

It is a well-known fact that any force of exaggeration, however obvious,

becomes less noticeable to us in proportion as it becomes more familiar.

It exists, in the last analysis, only by its comparative relation to

other things.

It is certain that a child ten years old would seem very large if he

were five feet high, whereas a man of that stature is considered a

dwarf.

Among Oriental races a woman is generally classed as a blonde whose hair

is not absolutely black.

Things only take their real appearance from a comparison with others of

the same kind.

For all his science, an ethnologist, placed in front of a man of an

unknown tribe, would be unable to say whether this man's stature were

normal or below the average in relation to others of his race, since no

information would be forthcoming as to this people's height or

characteristics. It is, therefore, no matter for surprize that the timid

man, shut in upon himself and having no other horizon than the limited

field of his own observations, is disposed to picture them in colors

whose truth he can not verify, since the terms of comparison, vital to

the accomplishment of his end, are not available to him.

It is, therefore, impossible for such a man not to become accustomed to

the idea as it presents itself to him, to such an extent that he is

quite unconscious of its successive changes in character.

Do we notice the growth of a child who is constantly with us until he

reaches man's estate?

Can we measure the development of a blossom into the perfect flower?

Assuredly not, if we have lived daily in the company of the child and

have glanced several times an hour at the blossom.

Both the one and the other will reach maturity without being sensibly

conscious of the fact that they are changing.

But if we go away from the child for a few months, if, in the interval,

we see other children, we can form an estimate of his growth and can

compare him mentally with the other children we have met.

The same is true of the flower. If other duties call us away for the

moment from contemplating it, we will notice the progress of its

unfolding and we will also be able to tell whether, in relation to that

of other plants, it is quick, slow, or merely normal.

The man who is timid, be he never so observant, will derive no benefit

from these observations, for he is quite unable to generalize and refers

them all to a point of view which cramps them hopelessly and gives them

a color that is, entirely false.

So, from the habit of thinking without any opposition, little by little

he allows his ideas to become changed and distorted without any one's

being able to advise him of the misconceptions which he keeps closely to

himself.

It is for this reason that all timid people have a marked tendency to

distort facts and to acquire false ideas.

It is often with perfect good faith that they affirm a thing which they

believe sincerely, not having had the opportunity to control the

successive changes which have transformed it absolutely from what it was

at the outset.

It is a lucky day for timid people of this class when fate prevents them

from entering into competition with those who are possest of poise.

Were these latter a hundred times weaker than they are they would still

end by triumphing over their feeble antagonists.

It is above all in the affairs of ordinary every-day life that poise

renders the most valuable service.

If it becomes a question of presenting or discussing a matter of

business, the timid man, embarrassed by his own personality, begins to

stammer, becomes confused, and can not recall a single argument. He

finally abandons all the gain that he dreamed of making in order to put

an end to the torments from which he suffers.

He is to be considered lucky if under the domination of the troubles in

which he finds himself, he does not lose all faculty of speech.

This failing, so common among the timid, is a further cause of confusion

to the victim.

At the bare idea that he may become the prey of such a calamity he

unconsciously closes his lips and lowers the tones of his voice.

The man of poise, on the other hand, feels himself the more impelled to

redouble his efforts in proportion to the need his cause has for being

well defended.

He knows how to arrange his arguments, and to foresee those of his

adversary, and, if he finds himself face to face with a statement which

he can not refute, he will seek some means of softening the defeat or of

changing the ground of the debate in such a way as to avoid confusion to

himself.

In any event, such an occurrence will have no profound effect upon him.

Vanquished on one point, he will find the presence of mind to at once

change the character of the discussion to questions which are at once

familiar and favorable to him.

He who goes forth into life armed with poise has also the marked

advantage over the timid that comes from superior health.

This phrase should not be the occasion for a smile. Timidity is a

chronic cause of poor health in those who suffer from it.

Pushed to extremes, it is the source of a thousand nervous defects.

We have already touched upon stammering.

Unreasonable blushing is another misfortune of the timid. In drawing the

attention of one's opponents it betrays at once one's ideas and one's

fears.

Fear of this uncomfortable blushing inhibits many people from making the

most of themselves or from properly protecting their own interests.

The shame they feel on account of this inferiority leads them, as we

have seen, to seek isolation in which hypochondria slowly grows upon

them, sure forerunner of that terrible neurasthenia of which the effects

are so diverse and so disconcerting.

The man who was at the outset no more than timid, easily becomes

transformed first into a misanthrope, then into a monomaniac tortured by

a thousand physical inhibitions, such as the inability to hold a pen, to

walk unaccompanied across an open space, to ride in a public conveyance,

etc., etc.

It must not be forgotten that these crises of embarrassments always

produce extreme emotion accompanied by palpitations whose frequent

recurrence may lead to actual heart trouble.

All these disadvantages increase the sullenness of the timid, who are

overcome by the sense of their own physical weakness, which they know

has its origin in a condition of mind that they lack the power either to

change or to abolish.

All these causes of physical inferiority are unknown to the man who

appreciates the value of poise and puts it into practise.

Such a man has no fear of embarrassment in speaking. He is a stranger to

the misery of aimless blushing. If he does not always emerge victorious

from the oratorical combats in which he engages he at least has the

satisfaction of acknowledging to himself that he has not been beaten

easily or without a struggle. In short, misanthropy, neurasthenia, and

all their attendant ills, are for him unknown ailments.

One can not be too watchful against the attacks of timidity, which, like

a contaminated spring, poisons the entire existence of those who are

unable to dam up its flow.

Among the martyrdoms which are caused by it must be counted indecision,

which is one of its most frequent and most unhappy results.

The timid man can not stop at any point.

He vacillates unceasingly and takes turn by turn the most opposing

viewpoints.

It is only fair to add that he rejects them all almost as soon as he has

formed them.

His state of mind being always one of distrust of his own powers, it is

impossible for him not to be afraid that he has made a mistake, if he is

left to do his own thinking.

We have seen how his craving for sympathy, never satisfied, since he

does not make it known, drives him ever into impotent rage, which throws

him back upon himself in scarcely concealed irritation, that alienates

him from all sympathy and precludes all confidences.

It is rarely, therefore, that the timid person does not find himself

isolated when facing the decisions of greater or less gravity that daily

life makes necessary.

In terror of making a mistake that may lead to some change of course or

give rise to the necessity of taking some definite action, he hesitates

everlastingly.

If, driven into a corner by circumstances, he ends by making some

decision, we may be sure that he will at once regret it and that, if the

time still remains to him, he will modify it in some way, only to revert

to it again a moment later.

His will is like a ball continually thrown to and fro by children. No

sooner is it tossed in one direction than it is suddenly sent flying in

another, to return finally to its starting-place at the moment when the

players' weariness causes it to fall to the ground.

This particular state of mind is primarily due to two causes:

The desire for perfection that haunts all timid people.

The fear of making a mistake that arises from the habit of continually

mistrusting one's own judgment.

There are many other causes, the analysis of which is far beyond the

scope of this work, but every one of these can be referred to the two

main issues we have defined. The desire for perfection is at once the

result and the cause of most timidity.

While the man of resolve, relying upon his experience, is able to

perform his part in those normal exigencies that he is able to conceive

of, the timid man, shut off by his defects from all practical knowledge

of life, comes to grief by discovering something amiss with every course

that he considers.

A familiar proverb tells us that everything has its good and its bad

side.

The timid see only the latter when making the decisions that fate

imposes upon them.

They fall into despair at their inability to see the other side of

things and their feeble will drives against solid obstacles like a car

colliding with a block of granite.

The man of resolution, instead of yielding to despair, seeks to surmount

such a difficulty by turning his car in another direction; but, if the

new road shows him nothing but dangerous pitfalls, he will choose to go

around the block and continue his journey, remembering it as a landmark

for his return.

For this reason we shall find him well on his way toward his journey's

end while the victim of timidity continues to exhaust himself by vain

efforts, thankful enough if he is not permanently mired in some of the

bogs into which he has imprudently ventured. This is a state of affairs

of much more frequent occurrence than one might suppose. Timidity, as we

have seen, often unites the boldest conceptions with complete

inexperience, which does not permit of accurate judgment as to

impossibilities.

This lack of knowledge of life is also the cause of a continual fear of

making mistakes.

The man of resolution never suffers from this complaint.

Having taught himself the value of a ripened judgment, he is quick to

recognize the advantage to be derived from any project. He weighs

alternatives carefully and only makes his decisions on well-thought-out

grounds, after sufficient reasoned reflection to make sure that he will

have no cause for future regret.

We have already remarked that such forms of irresolution constituted a

martyrdom. The word is by no means too strong. They are never-ending

occasions for physical and moral torture.

They are to be met with in the most trivial details of every-day life.

The mere crossing of a street becomes, for the nervous man, an

ever-recurring source of torment.

He is afraid to go forward at the proper moment, takes one step ahead

and another back, looks despairingly at the line of vehicles that bars

his way, and, when a momentary opening in this confronts him, takes so

long to make up his mind that the opportunity of crossing is past before

he has seized it.

Or again he may suddenly rush forward, without any regard for the danger

to which he is exposed, hesitating suddenly when in the way of the

vehicles that threaten him, and quite incapable of slipping past them,

or of any quick or dexterous movement by which he may avoid them.

This little picture, despite its commonplace nature, is nevertheless a

symbol.

In the crossings of life, as well as those of the streets, the man who

is timid is at an immense disadvantage when compared with the man of

poise.

The latter does not worry his head about the traffic that blocks his

progress.

Aided by his will-power and by confidence in his judgment, he stands

firmly awaiting the moment that affords him an opening. Then, with

muscles tense and wits collected, he starts, and whether he darts ahead

here, or glides adroitly there, he threads his way through the traffic

and reaches his goal without having suffered from accident.

The troubles upon which we have been dwelling are never his. His soul,

dominated by a well-ordered will, by reason, and all the other good

qualities we enumerated in the first chapter, is proof against all

attacks of weakness.

In the event of his not possessing all these virtues, he has the wit to

keep the thought of them always before him and to work hard to acquire

them, so that he may become what, in modern parlance, we call "a force,"

that is to say one whose soul is virile enough to influence not only his

mind, but even to liberate his body from the defects created in it by

distrust of self.

But, it will be claimed, there are people who are born timid and who are

quite unable to achieve the mastery of themselves.

Every human being can win the victory over himself. This we will prove

conclusively in the pages that are to follow, dedicated to those who are

desirous of arming themselves, in the great game of life, with that

master card which is named POISE.

PART II

HOW TO ACQUIRE POISE

CHAPTER I

MODESTY AND EFFRONTERY CONTRASTED

"Never force your talents" a well-known writer has said. One always

feels like crying this to those who, thinking to reach the goal of

poise, fall into excess and develop effrontery and exaggeratedness.

Poise can not exist without coolness. We have seen that this quality is

rarely met with in enthusiasts.

It is never found in those who have effrontery.

Poise does not consist in the species of ostentatious carelessness which

essays to travel through life as a child might wander among hives of

bees without taking any precautions against being stung.

Neither is it that false courage that drives one headlong into a

conflict without any thought as to the blows likely to fall upon the

foolhardy person who has ventured into it.

The principle upon which we must start is this: life is a battle in

which strategy always has the advantage over blind courage.

Unfortunate is he who, by his boasting or his lack of generalship,

decides upon an attack for which he is not really prepared. However

brave he may be he will infallibly find himself vanquished in a struggle

in which everything has combined in advance to defeat him.

Boasting is not courage. Still less is it poise.

Poise is a power derived from the mastery of self. It inhibits all

outward manifestations that are likely to result in giving information

to strangers with regard to our real feelings.

Braggarts can not avoid this stumbling-block. They know nothing of the

delights of contemplation, from which arise ripe resolutions that will

be steadfastly followed.

With the noise of their boastings, with the shouting of their own

braggart ineptitudes, they hypnotize themselves so thoroughly that they

are quite unable to hear the counsel that sane wisdom whispers in their

ears.

They are like the man in the eastern fable who was quite unable to

follow a beaten path and was constantly wandering across the fields of

his neighbors.

These detours were in general much longer than the direct road would

have been, and he received a constant stream of abuse, to say nothing of

blows, from the people whose crops he was ruining.

But he seemed quite insensible to assaults and insisted upon following,

across lots, a road which led nowhere.

It would be difficult to paint a more faithful portrait. Like the

peasant in the story, the man of effrontery is always wandering far from

the common road, the tranquil peace of which he despises.

He delights in crossing land that he knows to be forbidden to him, seeks

to force open gates that are closed at his approach, and, if he can not

overcome the opposition of the porter, watches for the moment when an

open window will permit him entrance into a house where he will be

coldly, if not angrily, received.

What is the result of this?

Nothing favorable to his plans, one may be sure. People point him out.

They fly from him, and were he the bearer of the most advantageous

proposition, refuse to put any faith in his assertions as soon as they

get to know him in the least.

Effrontery may sometimes impose upon the innocent. But it is only a

momentary deception, quickly dissipated the moment that time is given to

estimate the emptiness of its claims.

There is another variety of effrontery that is comparable to the form of

courage exhibited by the timorous who sing in a loud voice in order to

lessen their terror and imagine that by so doing they give the illusion

of bravery.

People of this sort talk very loudly, often contradicting themselves,

and pass judgment upon everything, dismissing the most difficult

questions with only a passing thought, but remain silent and are put

completely out of countenance as soon as one insists upon their

listening to reason, or when--in familiar language--they "meet their

match."

The man of effrontery is a passionate devotee of bluff, and not only of

that variety of which Jonathan Dick has said:

"It is a security discounted in advance."

A little further on he adds:

"Bluffers of the right sort are only so when the occasion demands it, in

order to give the impression that the wished-for result has already been

achieved.

"As soon as their credit is assured and appearances have become

realities that allow them to establish themselves in positions of

security they at once cease the effort to deceive."

Our author concludes:

"Bluff, to be successful, must never be founded upon puerility or brag."

Now these two qualities are always to be met with in the doings of the

man of effrontery, who only achieves by accident the goal he aims at,

and then only in the most insecure way.

Drawbacks differing as to their causes, but equally unlucky as to their

results, are born of the opposite fault--modesty.

It is high time to destroy the leniency shown toward this defect that

old-fashioned educators once decorated with the title of virtue.

Time has forged ahead, taking with it in its rapid course all forms of

progress, which, in its turn, has made giant strides.

Ideas have changed materially. Modern life has to face emergencies

formerly undreamed of, and those who still believe in the virtue of

modesty are their own enemies, as well as those of the people whom they

advise to cultivate it.

The case of this man is similar to that of many others, whose meaning

has been undergoing a gradual change due to the erroneous interpretation

that has deliberately been placed upon it.

Modesty is very frequently nothing more than an evidence of

incompetence.

It has rise in sentiments that the man who would be up to date must

avoid at all hazards--distrust of self and hatred of exertion.

One rarely finds it in the man who is active and who knows his own

worth. To revenge itself, it flourishes among the lazy, who try to save

their pride and to conceal their secret irritation at the successes of

others by assuming an humble attitude and exclaiming:

"Oh! I didn't care to do it!"

Or still more frequently:

"No, I haven't entered the lists. I am absolutely without ambition!"

Under similar circumstances people who are unknown cry out, and with

reason:

"Oh! I have a horror of publicity!"

This is simply a roundabout way of informing us that were it not for

their retiring modesty, the hundred mouths of rumor would be shouting

their praise.

Modesty is very rarely what it appears to be. As soon as it exhibits the

form of a wise reserve it must be called by another name: prudence and

self-justification.

The attitude of trying to keep one's actions from becoming known is not

a laudable one, and can only be adopted as the result of a philosophy of

inaction.

What treasures of knowledge would have remained unknown to us if all the

scientists and all the men of genius had made a practise of modesty!

If our forefathers had been modest, when it was the fashion to be proud

of this quality, our museums would be empty and only a few of the

initiated would know that men of exceptional merit, which they had

sedulously concealed, had written manuscripts which had never been

published. The humility of the writers in such cases could be made to

pay too severe a penalty.

No! Men who have merits are not modest! This false virtue is the

appanage of none but weak and irresolute hearts.

We should congratulate ourselves, while admitting these facts, that our

forefathers were not so constituted, and that their faith in themselves,

by giving them confidence in their own work, made it possible for them

to hand these on to their descendants.

Of what use to us would it be to know that a poem of finer quality and

more splendid fire than any we have ever read had once been written, if

the modesty of its author had led him to keep it always in his pocket

and it had finally vanished into the limbo of ignored and forgotten

things?

It is then actually wrong to sing the praises of modesty, which is no

more than distrust of oneself, egoism, and laziness.

The man who boasts of his modesty will feel no shame at producing

nothing. He hides his ineptitude behind this convenient veil whose

thickness allows him to hint of the existence of things which are

nothing but figments of his imagination.

We might add that the man who proclaims his modesty enters the struggle

with a decided handicap against him. The moment he begins to have doubts

about his own powers he will be sure to find himself the prey of an

unfortunate indecision, and that at the very moment when he is called

upon to perform some decisive action.

"One day," says an old writer, "three men, in the course of a climb up a

mountain, found themselves confronted by a crevasse that they must

cross.

"One of these was a timid man, another a boaster, and the third was

possest of a reasoned poise.

"The boaster made a jump without stopping to think and without taking

the trouble to measure the gap. He plunged into it.

"The modest man then advanced, looked down into the gulf, then decided

to make use of the irregularities in the surface of the chasm to reduce

the width of the jump.

"He made several attempts to carry this out, but could hardly touch the

edge before an instinctive movement of fear forced him back.

"He worked so hard and so long at this that he was quite tired out when

he at last chose the moment for the decisive attempt. He jumped, indeed,

but in such a half-hearted way that he merely touched the opposite face

of the crevasse and fell to the bottom of the precipice alongside of the

boaster.

"The third climber, who possest the advantage of poise, had meanwhile

been losing no time. He had mentally gaged the width of the crevasse,

had made a number of trial jumps to test his ability to clear it, and

when, with a firm resolution to succeed, he reached the edge from which

he must leap, his soul, fortified by the knowledge of his powers was

fired with a single idea, the consciousness of his own agility and

strength.

"By this means he, alone of the three, was able to cross the gulf in

which his two companions had perished."

Effrontery and boastfulness have often another source. The shyness of

those who suffer from timidity, by isolating them and denying them the

means of expansion, prevents them from obtaining a real control over

their feelings, which undergo a process of deterioration so slow that

they do not notice it.

There are very few things to which we can not easily become accustomed,

to the extent of a complete failure to notice their peculiarities, if

their strangeness is only unfolded to us gradually.

A thousand things which shock us at the first blush take on the guise of

every-day matters when once we have acquired the habit of familiarity

with them.

The timid man, who will not openly acknowledge his feelings, is

practically unable to take cognizance of their gradual transformation.

We may add that he is always prone to dream, and peoples his world

involuntarily with imaginary utopias, which he begins by considering as

desirable, then as possible, and finally as actually existing.

This is the starting-point of boastfulness. It partakes at once of

falsity and of sincerity. The timid man loves to feel himself important,

and he merely pities the people whom he considers incapable of

understanding him. He is, nevertheless, sincere in his bravado, as his

dreams entirely deceive him as to his real self.

In his solitary meditations he deliberately shakes off his own

personality, as a butterfly abandons the shelter of its chrysalis, and,

following the example of that gorgeous insect, he flies away on the

wings of his dreams in the guise of the being that he imagines himself

to have become.

This creature resembles him not at all. It is brave, courageous,

eloquent. It accomplishes the most brilliant feats of daring.

In this way, just so soon as the timid man becomes intermittently a

braggart, he commences to boast of exploits quite impossible of

performance. We must remember, however, that it is not he who speaks,

but merely the idealized ego which he invents because he is chagrined at

being misunderstood.

Moral isolation is the parent of other curious phenomena. It imparts the

gift of seeing things exactly as we would wish them to be, by clothing

them little by little with a character entirely foreign to that which

they really possess.

In "Timidity: How to Overcome It," we are told the following little

personal anecdote of the Japanese philosopher Yoritomo:

"It was my misfortune as a child," says this ancient sage, "to be the

victim of a serious illness which kept me confined to a bed and unable

to move.

"I was not allowed to read and my only distraction was the study of the

objects in my immediate neighborhood.

"The pattern of a screen made a particular impression upon me with its

clusters of flowers and its bouquets of roses.

"I passed hours in the contemplation of it.

"At first I merely followed the outlines with my eye, finding in them no

more than an artistic reproduction of nature. But, little by little, the

clusters of flowers were transformed into gardens, the rose-trees took

on the imposing aspect of forests. In these gardens my dreams created a

princess, and in the forest a company of warriors.

"Then the romance began.

"Every new line I observed became the pretext for creating a new

character. The princess was very soon taken captive by a giant--whom I

saw perfectly--and the warriors undertook the task of rescue.

"Every day a panorama moved before me of changing personalities, who

reenacted the events of the story. Finally the obsession took such a

strong hold of me that I began to talk about it in a manner that aroused

the fears of my parents.

"The screen was banished from my room and when, a few days later, it was

brought back for me to see, I was able to discover nothing more in it

than the designs with which it was adorned."

This example, taken directly from life, shows us better than the most

extended arguments the dangers of moral isolation.

By this we do not mean the isolation that is essential to concentration,

the practise of which always leads to the most fruitful results.

We are speaking solely of the aloofness born of timidity or of

exaggerated pride, which, in depriving us of contrary views, develops in

us the propensity to see things from only one angle, which is always

that which happens to flatter our vanity or please our tastes.

All those persons who suffer from this disease of the will, which

deprives them of the ability of discussing things, may be compared to

runners who have neglected to ascertain the limits of their race.

Like the latter, they keep running round the same track without any

means of discovering when they are nearing the goal.

Instead of stopping, when they have reached it, they keep running

forward and the monotony of their efforts, coupled with the fever-heat

engendered by their exertions, very soon causes them to view the objects

that they keep passing and passing under a deformed and distorted

aspect.

The man of reason, on the other hand, runs with the single purpose in

his mind of reaching the winning-post. He studiously avoids taking his

eyes off the goal, which he has carefully located in advance, and takes

pains to note the moment when he is nearing it, so as to run no risks of

making his spurt too soon.

It is a matter of frequent observation that timidity often voluntarily

assumes the rôle of effrontery, from very despair of successfully

accomplishing the task it is ambitious to perform.

Illustrious examples of this contention are not lacking. Rousseau, who

was a coward of the greatest hardihood, says in his _Confessions_:

"My foolish and unreasoning fear, that I was quite unable to overcome,

of perpetrating some breach of good manners led me to assume the

attitude of caring nothing for the niceties of life."

A little further on, he adds:

"I was made a cynic by shyness. I posed as a despiser of the politeness

I did not know how to practise."

This is a much more frequent cause than one might think of the

exhibition of an effrontery which is apparently deliberate and

intentional.

The timid man, feeling himself awkward and clownish when performing the

usual acts of courtesy, assumes the attitude of caring nothing for them

and of avoiding them deliberately, while all the while he is tortured by

the inability to perform them without seeming ridiculous.

But the onlooker is not deceived. The outward appearance of cynicism

often conceals an inward sensitiveness of soul that is quite obvious,

and the actor makes so poor a hand at identifying himself with the

character he would assume that it is clearly evident he is only playing

a part.

The conflict of diametrically opposing forces shows itself plainly in

his attitude which vacillates between the stiffest formality and the

easiest assurance.

The awkwardness that is the bugbear of the timid shows itself even

beneath their work of cynicism, and the very effort accuses them, no

less than their flighty and unreasoning conversation and their gestures,

now exaggerated and now represt, all of which make up a whole that

entirely fails to give an impression of harmony.

And what possible harmony can there be between a soul and a body that

are completely out of accord with each other?

Should it be asked what the difference is between presumption or

effrontery and the poise that we have in mind, this simple illustration

should be illuminating.

Effrontery, bravado, and exaggeration are qualities that are shown by

those who exceed their own capacity without giving the question a

thought.

Poise is the virtue which gives us the strength of mind to analyze the

possibilities that are dominant within us, to cultivate them, and to

strengthen them in every possible way before undertaking an enterprise

which is likely to call them into play.

Real poise has no bluster about it. It has a good deal in it of

self-possession, the discretion belonging to which is one of its marked

characteristics.

Repression of our outward movements enables us to achieve that control

over our emotions which makes a perfect cloak for our intentions, and

leaves our opponents in perplexity as to how to attack the fortress that

they wish to conquer.

It is, therefore, between modesty and effrontery, both equally

prejudicial to success, that poise must naturally be placed.

But, it will be objected, all the world does not possess this gift of

poise. Are those who do not share it to be forever denied all chance of

success?

Not so! It is open to all the world to acquire this gift, and if the

chapters following this are read with care it will be seen that it is

something that can be cultivated, so that it can be gradually perfected

and carried about with one as the germ of every sort of success, the

happy issue of which depends upon a thorough realization of one's own

merits and the honorable ambition to accomplish a task that has been

prudently planned and bravely carried to an end.