Happiness as Found in Forethought Minus Fearthought

THOU SHALT NOT STRIKE A WOMAN

If a queer sort of human being, dressed in a costume we had never seen before, and hailing from some island we had never heard of, were to land on our shores and ask our protection and the privilege of teaching the religion of his people; if he were to learn our language sufficiently to convey his ideas to us; if he were to have printed the formulas of his religion, and, among them, his deity's commandments to men; if the first of these commandments were to read, "Thou shalt not strike a woman," what would we say to such a commandment? and what would we think of a people who found it necessary to have such a formula?

Our question would naturally be, "Do the people of your country ever strike women?"

In our particular state of chivalric civilization, striking women is one of the things so entirely out of the question that we do not consider it even a possibility, except in cases of insanity or of drunkenness, where the brute of the moment is not responsible for his action.

The very fact of its being an impossible, and therefore unmentionable, crime is the strongest suggestion against it.

If "Thou shalt not strike a woman" were listed in the category of commandments, and were constantly repeated as something hard to resist, and hence commanded against, I believe the crime would become common in circles where it is not thought of as possible now.

The best thing to do with a condemned thing is to cover it up, seal it up, and relegate it to the custody of the awful, unwritten law of unanimous disapproval.

It is said that when the Jesuit fathers went to Japan at the end of the sixteenth century they were warmly welcomed, and not only were permitted but invited to teach their religion.

One of the first things they did was to have the ten commandments of the old Mosaic law printed in Japanese, in the form of what we call a tract, and distributed among the people.

Reading was then, as now, a common accomplishment with the Japanese, and they were interested in the tract. They did not quite understand its purport, however, and one of their number was delegated to ask for an explanation.

Japan is the land, above all others, where poetry and flowers and idealism and art and other refinements are cherished and appreciated. Poetry, in Japan, is sometimes so idealistic that it is somewhat vague to any but the poet. It is the custom, therefore, to consider that anything not quite comprehensible must be poetry; and not understanding the tract of the fathers, the Japanese naturally thought it to be a specimen of Portuguese poetry.

Approaching one of the fathers, the spokesman of the people bowed with accustomed politeness and said: "I trust you will pardon the wretched ignorance and dullness of my humble self, but the great interest of my companions, as well of myself, in your poem, impels us to ask you to interpret to us the great depth of its beauteous crystalline sweetness, in order that we may enjoy it as it is worthy of being enjoyed."

The father was shocked to hear his sacred commandments classed as worldly poetry, and, drawing himself up to the full impressiveness of holy indignation, replied, "That is not poetry; that is what our God commands that we must not do."

"Sayo de go zarimasu, gomen na sai," answered the spokesman in the polite idiom of his country; "but —do the people of your country ever do these things?"

Whether the Japanese are, or were three hundred years ago, as exempt from evil as the enquiry about the ten commandments would imply, matters not. The rebuke was well merited and taught a great, good lesson. We are the sum of our impressions, and the suggestions we receive from experience are the source of our impressions. Some suggestions are so respected that they make deep impressions, notably the suggestions given us by our parents at our most impressionable age; but all suggestions have some weight, and to such purpose that a thing we know to be untrue becomes a reality to us by constant repetition, as attested by the common expression, "He has told that story so many times that he has come to believe it himself."

There is scarcely any difference of opinion about the justice of the ten commandments; but the constant repetition of "you must not" is like shaking a red rag before a wild bull, to many self-assertive children; whereas, if the things to be commanded against were understood to be impossible, and therefore unmentionable, the commandments would come to fit crimes that had become as much out of date to us now as is the crime of striking women.

We have constant evidence of the fact that beliefs, or, rather, habits-of-belief, follow persistent assertion, and that character is largely molded by existing formulas as well as other influences of our environment.

Without desire to criticise the formulas of any creeds, except in the way of counter-suggestion, I would ask, "What would be the probable effect of teaching the constant repetition of the eleventh commandment in place of the older ten? – 'A new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another.'" It is impossible to love and to hate at the same time. It is impossible to obey the eleventh commandment and disobey any of the ten at the same time. Is it not better practice of suggestion, in order to form habit-of-thought, to repeat the eleventh commandment eleven times, than to repeat each of the ten once and the eleventh only once?

It is true that the easy way to attain good is to cease to have evil, but, it is a poor way to cease to have evil to nurse it in the memory as a thing difficult not to have.

If there is to be repetition of anything, it is better that it should be of such suggestions as "Appreciation" and "Love."

The mind is as amenable to the force of habit as are any of the physical members of the body. The soul is much more amenable to suggestion than either, for it is much more impressionable. If you were teaching a child to play the piano, would you have him run all the scales, or, rather, combinations of notes that do not form scales, that are to be avoided in music, in order to teach him the habit of not playing them? Would it be good teaching to have him habituate his fingers to the sequence of false scales as well as to the sequence of true scales? May not the constant repetition of the commandments that refer to lewd practices suggest thoughts about lewdness that never would come to young minds by other means, and therefore taint pure thought, in brutal fashion, by vile suggestion?

THE POINT-OF-VIEW

Suppose two men of equal physical strength were to start in a thousand-mile bicycle race. Suppose one of the men were to greet the passing of each mile-post in this wise: "Only nine hundred and ninety-nine miles more; only nine hundred and ninety miles more," or whatever the distance covered might be at the time. Suppose the other were to greet the same mile-posts otherwise, as "only one mile;" or, "hang it, only ten miles." Which racer would win?

In effect, one of the men would be going down hill and the other would be going up hill, and just that difference of approach would win the race for the person who was rolling down from one thousand miles to one mile, from the person who was struggling along the upward course from one mile to a thousand miles.

Suppose two men were to each feel a pain in the joint of his big toe. Suppose one of the attacked ones were to greet the pain as follows: "Well! I suppose that means the gout, and I am to be afflicted for the balance of my life with that horrible disease. What have I done to deserve such a fate? I suppose some of my ancestors are responsible for this, but I will have to suffer for it all the same." Suppose the other victim were to greet the same symptom in himself differently, as follows: "Hello, old fellow, what does all this mean? – too much rich food, too much rich wine, too much of everything that is good to the taste and bad for the stomach. Well, I might have expected it. Am ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Pain, for having warned me so promptly; I'll take the hint and correct the error before the trouble gets seated. Keep me well posted, Mr. Pain. If the disorder does not disappear, please keep on prodding me so that I will know if I am doing the right thing or the wrong thing towards it." Which of these men would recover more quickly, and which of them would suffer more discomfort?

There are always different points-of-view and different attitudes towards every problem of life. The different points-of-view are always in competition, and, other conditions being equal, winning or losing is a question of attitude. The attitude that is directed by appreciation, gratitude, hope, trust, or any of the attributes of Forethought, will always win, as against the attitude that is handicapped by any shade of Fearthought.

Life may be filled with disappointments or with successes merely by the choice of point-of-view, the pessimistic point-of-view leading from disappointment to disappointment, and the optimistic point of view leading to a succession of successes. As a man thinks, so does he act, and so does the world help him to act.

Evolution never places obstacles in the right road. A seeming obstacle may be but a hurdle, the clearing of which may win a prize in the life race. Some one has said that the supreme obstacle in life is surmounted by aid of the progressively difficult smaller obstacles that are overcome with increasing ease, and which, if their beneficent uses are known, become only hurdles instead of obstructions.

"Set 'em up again; they are all down but nine," said, in the spirit of hopeful determination, has won games for many contestants.

It is the point-of-view that determines whether an obstacle is a hurdle or an obstruction, or whether the obstruction, if it be such, is in the wrong road or not. If a traveler on life's road starts with an optimistic point-of-view he will enjoy obstacles as hurdles, or he will greet obstructions with pleasure, as being Providentially placed in the wrong road. In any case he will be happy about it, and his happiness will be the best possible stimulant in aiding him to clear hurdles or to seek new paths to pleasant places.

The optimistic and pessimistic points-of-view are the means by which the concordant and discordant notes in life are sounded. The merit or demerit of things lies less within the things themselves, as far as the observer is concerned, than in his ability to accept them complacently, if inevitable, and to mould or to shape them to profitable and agreeable uses, rather than to suffer them as unprofitable and disagreeable. For example, it is profitable to look upon all persons and upon all experiences as teachers, but to reserve the superiority of choosing to be guided by them or warned by them according as the quality of the teaching is good or bad.

There are proverbs in all languages that teach the preference of the optimistic point-of-view, but they will avail little as long as fearthought is tolerated as a necessary and respectable thing. Experience endorses the proverbs and discredits the necessity and respectability of fearthought.

The Japanese have a proverb, born of the optimistic point-of-view, that is very useful to them, inasmuch as the light wood-construction of their houses invites frequent fires and sweeping losses in consequence. After a fire it is fashionable in Japan for sufferers to greet each other in sympathy with the truism, always accompanied by a smile, "Not much trouble to move," and then they all pitch in to assist as much as possible to rehabilitate each other through kind attentions that really make the fires but hot-bed nurseries of altruistic sympathy, in which there is more joy than in the greatest accumulation of possessions.

After the war – the recent sectional dispute, whose theater of destruction was in the Southern States of America – many of the families of the ante-bellum slave aristocracy were mainly reduced in possessions, and deprived of some of the means of ostentation, and in rare instances, of the necessary means of comfort; but they had been defeated in their Cause, and many of them settled into a state of depression that was more cruel to them than all the reverses of the war. Nature continued to be as kind, the seasons smiled on the crops with unvarying regularity, and the physical scars of war were soon healed and overgrown, but the disappointed ones heeded not the return of material prosperity. They focused their point-of-view upon the past, and refused to see the smiles and the warmth of the present and the promise of the future.

Property aristocracy always creates a false pride, in which the point-of-view is distorted.

It will undoubtedly be the same with the name-proud Greeks as it was with the property-proud Southrons, and bespeaks little for the respectability of a pride that afflicts its victims more seriously than the destruction of property.

It is a meritorious pride that rises superior to defeat, and after saying "Thy Will Be Done" adds, "Teach Thou Me Appreciation," and begins the pursuit of peace anew with the point of view directed by optimism and not by pessimism.

I have seen whole families, suffering from self-imposed humiliation and depression, leap into new life, new growth, and new happiness at a change of the point-of-view. The Southerners are, above all other Americans, chivalrous and loyally American in their natures. They are also generally religious, and cling to the teachings of their parents. In focusing their point-of-view upon the past, and, nursing the sting of defeat, they have thought that they were conserving filial regard, chivalry and religion, and they have held to the distorted point-of-view with loyal purpose. A change of the point-of-view, rising superior to disappointment, more nearly satisfied filial pride, while Christian optimism and gratitude more nearly became the profession of religion than the fault-finding dictated by the antiquated point-of-view. Finding fault with the happenings of the past is as much blasphemy as any other disapproval of the Almighty, and yet blasphemy is regarded as the wickedest of sins in religious estimation; and, at the same time, loading up with a burden of depression and self-humiliation is the most unprofitable form of self-abuse known to economics.

It is better to have an intelligent and optimistic command of the point-of-view and hold title to nothing, than to have possessions valued at millions, and not count this as the richest possession of them all. If anything seem to be wrong with you, first examine the point-of-view. If you do this conscientiously, you will probably find the fault therein and seek a remedy by changing the point-of-view.

DON'T BE A SEWER

A sewer is a channel for the conveyance of disagreeable matter.

Any person who receives and carries mean report or suspicion of his neighbor is therefore a human sewer.

A good sewer is a good thing. It receives disagreeable matter and carries it along, hidden from sight and away from the other senses, to some remote place, and discharges it there.

A leaky sewer is an abomination.

Human sewers usually leak. They take delight in letting out the disagreeable matter they are carrying, at every street corner, in every parlor, and in the midst of the multitude, wherever they may chance to be. The characteristic of the human sewer is that it is a leaky sewer. By its leaks it is known.

Human sewers themselves generally create much of their sewage.

I once had a friend, an otherwise good fellow, who had acquired the habit of collecting and distributing social sewage. He was not amenable to logical suggestion against the habit. He held the idea that a spade should be called a spade, and that if disagreeable things existed, honesty required that they should be discussed. One day, when my friend was carrying an unusually heavy load of sewage, and was distributing it freely, this thought came into my mind, and I gave it utterance. "You remind me of a sewer," said I.

There might have been a serious impairment of our friendship as the result of my utterance, for my friend is full of so-called "spirit," had I not immediately followed my offensive remark by an apology, and a brotherly explanation somewhat in the vein as above.

The good effect of the comparison on my friend is my excuse for introducing it here. What logic and persuasion had not been able to accomplish, offensive comparison accomplished.

My friend is too self-respecting to allow himself to be in any way related to a leaky sewer, and has reformed beautifully. A short time since, in speaking of the incident, he acknowledged its effectiveness by saying, "Every time I think of anything mean I fancy I can smell it."

CALL SUSPICION A LIAR

It is an excellent rule to follow to call Suspicion a liar five times before basing judgment upon its testimony.

If you will take the trouble to investigate the average accuracy of your suspicions, you will note that they are wrong in so many cases that they are not a safe guide, and are generally unjust accusers.

While the person who harbors the suspicion is the worst sufferer in the end, when the accusations have been proved to be groundless, there is always a possibility of injustice, that, falling on servants or others holding inferior positions, is exceedingly cruel.

How often, in the household or in the hotel apartment, is a carelessly mislaid ring the cause of great unhappiness to both mistress and maid, because of the ready mischief of Fearthought and its attendant imp, Suspicion.

It is an axiom of the detective service, that untrained suspicion generally takes the wrong scent, and that it usually saves time to look in some other direction for the culprit, than in that pointed out by the accuser.

The elimination of the seeds of Fearthought from the mind, the possibility of which is the contention of my theory, will carry with it suspicion, and relieve one of endless chance of doing and suffering injustice, but if emancipation should, unfortunately, not have been accomplished, it is an excellent rule to follow, to meet Suspicion with suspicion, and call it "liar"! five times, before making accusation on its testimony.

I CAN'T NOT DO IT

A person more frequently lies when he says "I can't" than when he says "I can." There are, to be sure, more things that one cannot do than there are that he can do, because the ability of the strongest and most skillful is comparatively limited; but the person who is in the habit of saying "I can't" usually says it about the wrong thing or at the wrong time.

Whenever a person says that he cannot do a thing that God has made it possible for him to do, and which he knows to be possible, he is not only a liar, but also a blasphemer.

If one is asked to climb a tree or lift a very heavy weight, there may be reason for saying "I can't," because of lack of ability, strength or practice. For the same reason, difficult "runs" on a piano, perilous feats of balancing or turning in gymnastics, and even a great many simple things that are easy to the accustomed, may be impossible to the unaccustomed without certain practice, and with reference to them it is reasonable to say, "I can't."

If, however, one is asked not to climb a tree, or not to lift a weight, or not to perform a "run" on a piano, there is no excuse for saying, "I cannot not do it," for it is as illogical as it is ungrammatical, and as false as any other lie.

Applied to mental accomplishment, it is even more illogical and false, because thought is more pliable than muscle.

Not being evil is simply not being evil, and whoever says, "I cannot not be bad," is a liar. When he is asleep he proves the lie.

There are habits-of-desire which seem attractive to perverted taste, that may need a strong counter-suggestion to correct, but there is no habit-of-desire but what can easily be corrected by the right counter-suggestion. For instance, drinking whisky habitually is recognized to be a bad habit of perverted desire, but one habitual drunkard I know of abjured whisky for life on account of having discovered a dead fly in his glass.

Sometimes it requires a mania to cure a mania. Dr. H. Holbrook Curtis, the eminent throat-specialist of New York, who has in his care, during grand opera season, millions of dollars' worth of voices, and who makes special study of the mental condition of his patients, once said to me, "The only cure that I know of for dipsomania is religio-mania." This same assertion is frequently made in quite a different way, but to the same effect. Dr. Curtis did not mean by religio-mania religious appreciation; neither did he mean by dipsomania, temperate use of stimulants. He referred to the intemperate emotion and the morbid taste. The practice of drinking unduly because of the social temptation of it may be cured by logical suggestion, but a mania may be amenable only to a mania. There is, however, no bad habit but that can be corrected by some means, and as there is some remedy for every separate phase of evil, it should be considered not respectable to say, "I cannot not do"; and, as measure of respectability is the highest social desideratum in the present age, the best weapon to be used against the toleration of evil in one's self or in others is a general protest against it on the score of its being unnecessary and not-respectable.

In my experiments I have used all sorts of means of suggestion with which to reach perverse habits of evil thought. As stated elsewhere, offensive comparisons and ridicule are more frequently effective than reason or logic, and, as such, are often necessary, in the same way that offensive medicines are sometimes effective in removing indigestible matter from the stomach, – for example, ipecac.

I had a friend who was in the habit of saying "I can't" to almost everything. The habit-of-opposition was so strong that it was the first to assert itself on every occasion. The attitude of opposition was strengthened by the perverse idea that brutal frankness is an expression of honesty, and hence reference to his honesty or dishonesty was a tender point of etiquette with my friend. To touch this tender spot, and administer the strong suggestion – medicine – necessary in the case, I hit upon this expedient:

Whenever my friend said "I can't" to a proposition which it did not fit, I immediately ejaculated "Liar!" At first there was some danger attending my experiment, but I took the precaution to be out of reach, and the fact that my intention was good assured me ultimate pardon.

At first my offensive criticism was frequently necessary, but it became less and less so, till at last the cure is so complete that the once favorite expression, "I can't," is as disagreeable to my friend, as must have been the dead fly in the glass of the drunkard previously mentioned, that was the means of curing him of a deeply rooted habit.