with those who have the constant habit of dwelling on them without
feeling the discomfort that a return to freedom seems impossible.
As one comes to realize, even in a slight degree, the triviality of
trivialities, and then forget them entirely in a better idea of true
proportion, the sense of freedom gained is well worth working for.
It certainly brings the possibility of a normal nervous system much
nearer.
VI.
MOODS.
RELIEF from the mastery of an evil mood is like fresh air after
having been several hours in a close room.
If one should go to work deliberately to break up another's nervous
system, and if one were perfectly free in methods of procedure, the
best way would be to throw upon the victim in rapid sequence a long
series of the most extreme moods. The disastrous result could be
hastened by insisting that each mood should be resisted as it
manifested itself, for then there would be the double strain,--the
strain of the mood, and the strain of resistance. It is better to
let a mood have its way than to suppress it. The story of the man
who suffered from varicose veins and was cured by the waters of
Lourdes, only to die a little later from an affection of the heart
which arose from the suppression of the former disease, is a good
illustration of the effect of mood-suppression. In the case cited,
death followed at once; but death from repeated impressions of moods
resisted is long drawn out, and the suffering intense, both for the
patient and for his friends.
The only way to drop a mood is to look it in the face and call it by
its right name; then by persistent ignoring, sometimes in one way,
sometimes in another, finally drop it altogether. It takes a looser
hold next time, and eventually slides off entirely. To be sure,
over-fatigue, an attack of indigestion, or some unexpected contact
with the same phase in another, may bring back the ghost of former
moods. These ghosts may even materialize, unless the practice of
ignoring is at once referred to; but they can ultimately be routed
completely.
A great help in gaining freedom from moods is to realize clearly
their superficiality. Moods are deadly, desperately serious things
when taken seriously and indulged in to the full extent of their
power. They are like a tiny spot directly in front of the eye. We
see that, and that only. It blurs and shuts out everything else. We
groan and suffer and are unhappy and wretched, still persistently
keeping our eye on the spot, until finally we forget that there is
anything else in the world. In mind and body we are impressed by
that and that alone. Thus the difficulty of moving off a little
distance is greatly increased, and liberation is impossible until we
do move away, and, by a change of perspective, see the spot for what
it really is.
Let any one who is ruled by moods, in a moment when he is absolutely
free from them, take a good look at all past moody states, and he
will see that they come from nothing, go to nothing, and, are
nothing. Indeed, that has been and is often done by the moody
person, with at the same time an unhappy realization that when the
moods are on him, they are as real as they are unreal when he is
free. To treat a mood as a good joke when you are in its clutches,
is simply out of the question. But to say, "This now is a mood. Come
on, do your worst; I can stand it as long as you can," takes away
all nerve-resistance, until the thing has nothing to clutch, and
dissolves for want of nourishment. If it proves too much for one at
times, and breaks out in a bad expression of some sort, a quick
acknowledgment that you are under the spell of a bad mood, and a
further invitation to come on if it wants to, will loosen the hold
again.
If the mood is a melancholy one, speak as little as possible under
its influence; go on and do whatever there is to be done, not
resisting it in any way, but keep busy.
This non-resistance can, perhaps, be better illustrated by taking,
instead of a mood, a person who teases. It is well known that the
more we are annoyed, the more our opponent teases; and that the
surest and quickest way of freeing ourselves is not to be teased. We
can ignore the teaser externally with an internal irritation which
he sees as clearly as if we expressed it. We can laugh in such a way
that every sound of our own voice proclaims the annoyance we are
trying to hide. It is when we take his words for what they are
worth, and go with him, that the wind is taken out of his sails, and
he stops because there is no fun in it. The experience with a mood
is quite parallel, though rather more difficult at first, for there
is no enemy like the enemies in one's self, no teasing like the
teasing from one's self. It takes a little longer, a little heartier
and more persistent process of non-resistance to cure the teasing
from one's own nature. But the process is just as certain, and the
freedom greater in result.
Why is it not clear to us that to set our teeth, clench our hands,
or hold any form of extreme tension and mistaken control, doubles,
trebles, quadruples the impression of the feeling controlled, and
increases by many degrees its power for attacking us another time?
Persistent control of this kind gives a certain sort of strength. It
might be called sham strength, for it takes it out of one in other
ways. But the control that comes from non-resistance brings a
natural strength, which not only steadily increases, but spreads on
all sides, as the growth of a tree is even in its development.
"If a man takes your cloak, give him your coat also; if one compel
you to go a mile, go with him twain." "Love your enemies, do good to
them that hurt you, and pray for them that despitefully use you."
Why have we been so long in realizing the practical, I might say the
physiological, truth of this great philosophy? Possibly because in
forgiving our enemies we have been so impressed with the idea that
it was our enemies we were forgiving. If we realized that following
this philosophy would bring us real freedom, it would be followed
steadily as a matter of course, and with no more sense that we
deserved credit for doing a good thing than a man might have in
walking out of prison when his jailer opened the door. So it is with
our enemies the moods.
I have written heretofore of bad moods only. But there are moods and
moods. In a degree, certainly, one should respect one's moods. Those
who are subject to bad moods are equally subject to good ones, and
the superficiality of the happier modes is just as much to be
recognized as that of the wretched ones. In fact, in recognizing the
shallowness of our happy moods, we are storing ammunition for a
healthy openness and freedom from the opposite forms. With the full
realization that a mood is a mood, we can respect it, and so
gradually reach a truer evenness of life. Moods are phases that we
are all subject to whilst in the process of finding our balance; the
more sensitive and finer the temperament, the more moods. The rhythm
of moods is most interesting, and there is a spice about the change
which we need to give relish to these first steps towards the art of
living.
It is when their seriousness is exaggerated that they lose their
power for good and make slaves of us. The seriousness may be equally
exaggerated in succumbing to them and in resisting them. In either
case they are our masters, and not our slaves. They are steady
consumers of the nervous system in their ups and downs when they
master us; and of course retain no jot of that fascination which is
a good part of their very shallowness, and brings new life as we
take them as a matter of course. Then we are swung in their rhythm,
never once losing sight of the point that it is the mood that is to
serve us, and not we the mood.
As we gain freedom from our own moods, we are enabled to respect
those of others and give up any endeavor to force a friend out of
his moods, or even to lead him out, unless he shows a desire to be
led. Nor do we rejoice fully in the extreme of his happy moods,
knowing the certain reaction.
Respect for the moods of others is necessary to a perfect freedom
from our own. In one sense no man is alone in the world; in another
sense every man is alone; and with moods especially, a man must be
left to work out his own salvation, unless he asks for help. So, as
he understands his moods, and frees himself from their mastery, he
will find that moods are in reality one of Nature's gifts, a sort of
melody which strengthens the harmony of life and gives it fuller
tone.
Freedom from moods does not mean the loss of them, any more than
non-resistance means allowing them to master you. It is
non-resistance, with the full recognition of what they are, that
clears the way.
VII.
TOLERANCE.
WHEN we are tolerant as a matter of course, the nervous system is
relieved of almost the worst form of persistent irritation it could
have.
The freedom of tolerance can only be appreciated by those who have
known the suffering of intolerance and gained relief.
A certain perspective is necessary to a recognition of the full
absurdity of intolerance. One of the greatest absurdities of it is
evident when we are annoyed and caused intense suffering by our
intolerance of others, and, as a consequence, blame others for the
fatigue or illness which follows. However mistaken or blind other
people may be in their habits or their ideas, it is entirely our
fault if we are annoyed by them. The slightest blame given to
another in such a case, on account of our suffering, is quite out of
place.
Our intolerance is often unconscious. It is disguised under one form
of annoyance or another, but when looked full in the face, it can
only be recognized as intolerance.
Of course, the most severe form is when the belief, the action, or
habit of another interferes directly with our own selfish aims. That
brings the double annoyance of being thwarted and of rousing more
selfish antagonism.
Where our selfish desires are directly interfered with, or even
where an action which we know to be entirely right is prevented,
intolerance only makes matters worse. If expressed, it probably
rouses bitter feelings in another. Whether we express it openly or
not, it keeps us in a state of nervous irritation which is often
most painful in its results. Such irritation, if not extreme in its
effect, is strong enough to keep any amount of pure enjoyment out of
life.
There may be some one who rouses our intolerant feelings, and who
may have many good points which might give us real pleasure and
profit; but they all go for nothing before our blind, restless
intolerance.
It is often the case that this imaginary enemy is found to be a
friend and ally in reality, if we once drop the wretched state of
intolerance long enough to see him clearly.
Yet the promptest answer to such an assertion will probably be,
"That may be so in some cases, but not with the man or woman who
rouses my intolerance."
It is a powerful temptation, this one of intolerance, and takes hold
of strong natures; it frequently rouses tremendous tempests before
it can be recognized and ignored. And with the tempest comes an
obstinate refusal to call it by its right name, and a resentment
towards others for rousing in us what should not have been there to
be roused.
So long as a tendency to anything evil is in us, it is a good thing
to have it roused, recognized, and shaken off; and we might as
reasonably blame a rock, over which we stumble, for the bruises
received, as blame the person who rouses our intolerance for the
suffering we endure.
This intolerance, which is so useless, seems strangely absurd when
it is roused through some interference with our own plans; but it is
stranger when we are rampant against a belief which does not in any
way interfere with us.
This last form is more prevalent in antagonistic religious beliefs
than in anything else. The excuse given would be an earnest desire
for the salvation of our opponent. But who ever saved a soul through
an ungracious intolerance of that soul's chosen way of believing or
living? The danger of loss would seem to be all on the other side.
One's sense of humor is touched, in spite of one's self, to hear a
war of words and feeling between two Christians whose belief is
supposed to be founded on the axiom, "Judge not, that ye be not
judged."
Without this intolerance, argument is interesting, and often
profitable. With it, the disputants gain each a more obstinate
belief in his own doctrines; and the excitement is steadily
destructive to the best health of the nervous system.
Again, there is the intolerance felt from various little ways and
habits of others,--habits which are comparatively nothing in
themselves, but which are monstrous in their effect upon a person
who is intolerant of them.
One might almost think we enjoyed irritated nerves, so persistently
do we dwell upon the personal peculiarities of others. Indeed, there
is no better example of biting off one's own nose than the habit of
intolerance. It might more truly be called the habit of irritating
one's own nervous system.
Having recognized intolerance as intolerance, having estimated it at
its true worth, the next question is, how to get rid of it. The
habit has, not infrequently, made such a strong brain-impression
that, in spite of an earnest desire to shake it off, it persistently
clings.
Of course, the soil about the obnoxious growth is loosened the
moment we recognize its true quality. That is a beginning, and the
rest is easier than might be imagined by those who have not tried
it.
Intolerance is an unwillingness that others should live in their own
way, believe as they prefer to, hold personal habits which they
enjoy or are unconscious of, or interfere in any degree with our
ways, beliefs, or habits.
That very sense of unwillingness causes a contraction of the nerves
which is wasteful and disagreeable. The feeling rouses the
contraction, the contraction more feeling; and so the Intolerance is
increased in cause and in effect. The immediate effect of being
willing, on the contrary, is, of course, the relaxation of such
contraction, and a healthy expansion of the nerves.
Try the experiment on some small pet form of intolerance. Try to
realize what it is to feel quite willing. Say over and over to
yourself that you are quite willing So-and-so should make that
curious noise with his mouth. Do not hesitate at the simplicity of
saying the words to yourself; that brings a much quicker effect at
first. By and by we get accustomed to the sensation of willingness,
and can recall it with less repetition of words, or without words at
all. When the feeling of nervous annoyance is roused by the other,
counteract it on the instant by repeating silently: "I am quite
willing you should do that,--do it again." The man or woman,
whoever he or she may be, is quite certain to oblige you! There will
be any number of opportunities to be willing, until by and by the
willingness is a matter of course, and it would not be surprising if
the habit passed entirely unnoticed, as far as you are concerned.
This experiment tried successfully on small things can be carried to
greater. If steadily persisted in, a good fifty per cent of wasted
nervous force can be saved for better things; and this saving of
nervous force is the least gain which comes from a thorough riddance
of every form of intolerance.
"But," it will be objected, "how can I say I am willing when I am
not?"
Surely you can see no good from the irritation of unwillingness;
there can be no real gain from it, and there is every reason for
giving it up. A clear realization of the necessity for willingness,
both for our own comfort and for that of others, helps us to its
repetition in words. The words said with sincere purpose, help us to
the feeling, and so we come steadily into clearer light.
Our very willingness that a friend should go the wrong way, if he
chooses, gives us new power to help him towards the right. If we are
moved by intolerance, that is selfishness; with it will come the
desire to force our friend into the way which we consider right.
Such forcing, if even apparently successful, invariably produces a
reaction on the friend's part, and disappointment and chagrin on our
own.
The fact that most great reformers were and are actuated by the very
spirit of intolerance, makes that scorning of the ways of others
seem to us essential as the root of all great reform. Amidst the
necessity for and strength in the reform, the petty spirit of
intolerance intrudes unnoticed. But if any one wants to see it in
full-fledged power, let him study the family of a reformer who have
inherited the intolerance of his nature without the work to which it
was applied.
This intolerant spirit is not indispensable to great reforms; but it
sometimes goes with them, and is made use of, as intense selfishness
may often be used, for higher ends. The ends might have been
accomplished more rapidly and more effectually with less selfish
instruments. But man must be left free, and if he will not offer
himself as an open channel to his highest impulses, he is used to
the best advantage possible without them.
There is no finer type of a great reformer than Jesus Christ; in his
life there was no shadow of intolerance. From first to last, he
showed willingness in spirit and in action. In upbraiding the
Scribes and Pharisees he evinced no feeling of antagonism; he merely
stated the facts. The same firm calm truth of assertion, carried out
in action, characterized his expulsion of the money-changers from
the temple. When he was arrested, and throughout his trial and
execution, it was his accusers who showed the intolerance; they sent
out with swords and staves to take him, with a show of antagonism
which failed to affect him in the slightest degree.
Who cannot see that, with the irritated feeling of intolerance, we
put ourselves on the plane of the very habit or action we are so
vigorously condemning? We are inviting greater mistakes on our part.
For often the rouser of our selfish antagonism is quite blind to his
deficiencies, and unless he is broader in his way than we are in
ours, any show of intolerance simply blinds him the more.
Intolerance, through its indulgence, has come to assume a monstrous
form. It interferes with all pleasure in life; it makes clear, open
intercourse with others impossible; it interferes with any form of
use into which it is permitted to intrude. In its indulgence it is a
monstrosity,--in itself it is mean, petty, and absurd.
Let us then work with all possible rapidity to relax from
contractions of unwillingness, and become tolerant as a matter of
course.
Whatever is the plan of creation, we cannot improve it through any
antagonistic feeling of our own against creatures or circumstances.
Through a quiet, gentle tolerance we leave ourselves free to be
carried by the laws. Truth is greater than we are, and if we can be
the means of righting any wrong, it is by giving up the presumption
that we can carry truth, and by standing free and ready to let truth
carry us.
The same willingness that is practised in relation to persons will
be found equally effective in relation to the circumstances of life,
from the losing of a train to matters far greater and more
important. There is as much intolerance to be dropped in our
relations to various happenings as in our relations to persons; and
the relief to our nerves is just as great, perhaps even greater.
It seems to be clear that heretofore we have not realized either the
relief or the strength of an entire willingness that people and
things should progress in their own way. How can we ever gain
freedom whilst we are entangled in the contractions of intolerance?
Freedom and a healthy nervous system are synonymous; we cannot have
one without the other.
VIII.
SYMPATHY.
SYMPATHY, in its best sense, is the ability to take another's point
of view. Not to mourn because he mourns; not to feel injured because
he feels injured. There are times when we cannot agree with a friend
in the necessity for mourning or feeling injured; but we can
understand the cause of his disturbance, and see clearly that his
suffering is quite reasonable, _from his own point of view_. One
cannot blame a man for being color-blind; but by thoroughly
understanding and sympathizing with the fact that red _must_ be green
as he sees it, one can help him to bring his mental retina to a more
normal state, until every color is taken at its proper value.
This broader sort of sympathy enables us to serve others much more
truly.
If we feel at one with a man who is suffering from a supposed injury
which may be entirely his own fault, we are doing all in our power
to confirm him in his mistake, and his impression of martyrdom is
increased and protracted in proportion. But if, with a genuine
comprehension of his point of view, however unreal it may be in
itself, we do our best to see his trouble in an unprejudiced light,
that is sympathy indeed; for our real sympathy is with the man
himself, cleared from his selfish fog. What is called our sympathy
with his point of view is more a matter of understanding. The
sympathy which takes the man for all in all, and includes the
comprehension of his prejudices, will enable us to hold our tongues
with regard to his prejudiced view until he sees for himself or
comes to us for advice.
It is interesting to notice how this sympathy with another enables
us to understand and forgive one from whom we have received an
injury. His point of view taken, his animosity against us seems to
follow as a matter of course; then no time or force need be wasted
on resentment.
Again, you cannot blame a man for being blind, even though his
blindness may be absolutely and entirely selfish, and you the
sufferer in consequence.
It often follows that the endeavor to get a clear understanding of
another's view brings to notice many mistaken ideas of our own, and
thus enables us to gain a better standpoint It certainly helps us to
enduring patience; whereas a positive refusal to regard the
prejudices of another is rasping to our own nerves, and helps to fix
him in whatever contraction may have possessed him.
There can be no doubt that this open sympathy is one of the better
phases of our human intercourse most to be desired. It requires a
clear head and a warm heart to understand the prejudices of a friend
or an enemy, and to sympathize with his capabilities enough to help
him to clearer mental vision.
Often, to be sure, there are two points of view, both equally true.
But they generally converge into one, and that one is more easily
found through not disputing our own with another's. Through sympathy
with him we are enabled to see the right on both sides, and reach
the central point.
It is singular that it takes us so long to recognize this breadth of
sympathy and practise it. Its practice would relieve us of an
immense amount of unnecessary nerve-strain. But the nerve-relief is
the mere beginning of gain to come. It steadily opens a clearer
knowledge and a heartier appreciation of human nature. We see in
individuals traits of character, good and bad, that we never could
have recognized whilst blinded by our own personal prejudices. By
becoming alive to various little sensitive spots in others, we are
enabled to avoid them, and save an endless amount of petty suffering
which might increase to suffering that was really severe.
One good illustration of this want of sympathy, in a small way, is
the waiting-room of a well-known nerve-doctor. The room is in such a
state of confusion, it is such a mixture of colors and forms, that
it would be fatiguing even for a person in tolerable health to stay
there for an hour. Yet the doctor keeps his sensitive, nervously
excited patients sitting in this heterogeneous mass of discordant
objects hour after hour. Surely it is no psychological subtlety of
insight that gives a man of this type his name and fame: it must be
the feeding and resting process alone; for a man of sensitive
sympathy would study to save his patients by taking their point of
view, as well as to bring them to a better physical state through
nourishment and rest.
The ability to take a nervous sufferer's point of view is greatly
needed. There can be no doubt that with that effort on the part of
friends and relatives, many cases of severe nervous prostration
might be saved, certainly much nervous suffering could be prevented.