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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77894-0.txt b/77894-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1744682 --- /dev/null +++ b/77894-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5806 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77894 *** + + + + + THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS + + + + + _Other Books by the same Author_ + + +PHILOSOPHY + + THE ANALYSIS OF MIND + INTRODUCTION TO MATHEMATICAL PHILOSOPHY + OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXTERNAL WORLD + AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY + SCEPTICAL ESSAYS + + +SOCIAL SCIENCE + + PRINCIPLES OF SOCIAL RECONSTRUCTION + ROADS TO FREEDOM + JUSTICE IN WAR-TIME + FREE THOUGHT AND OFFICIAL PROPAGANDA + MARRIAGE AND MORALS + + +EDUCATIONAL + + ON EDUCATION: ESPECIALLY IN EARLY CHILDHOOD + + +INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS + + THE PROBLEM OF CHINA + + WITH DORA RUSSELL: + THE PROSPECTS OF INDUSTRIAL CIVILIZATION + + WITH SCOTT NEARING: + BOLSHEVISM AND THE WEST + + + + + BERTRAND RUSSELL + + THE CONQUEST + OF + HAPPINESS + + LONDON + GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD + MUSEUM STREET + + + + + FIRST PUBLISHED OCTOBER 1930 + SECOND IMPRESSION NOVEMBER 1930 + THIRD IMPRESSION DECEMBER 1930 + + _All rights reserved_ + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + UNWIN BROTHERS LTD., WOKING + + I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and + self-contained, + I stand and look at them long and long. + They do not sweat and whine about their condition, + They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, + They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, + Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of + owning things, + Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands + of years ago, + Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. + WALT WHITMAN + + + + + PREFACE + + +This book is not addressed to the learned, or to those who regard a +practical problem merely as something to be talked about. No profound +philosophy or deep erudition will be found in the following pages. I +have aimed only at putting together some remarks which are inspired +by what I hope is common sense. All that I claim for the recipes +offered to the reader is that they are such as are confirmed by my +own experience and observation, and that they have increased my own +happiness whenever I have acted in accordance with them. On this ground +I venture to hope that some among those multitudes of men and women +who suffer unhappiness without enjoying it, may find their situation +diagnosed and a method of escape suggested. It is in the belief that +many people who are unhappy could become happy by well-directed effort +that I have written this book. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + PREFACE 9 + + + PART I.--CAUSES OF UNHAPPINESS + + I. WHAT MAKES PEOPLE UNHAPPY? 15 + + II. BYRONIC UNHAPPINESS 27 + + III. COMPETITION 45 + + IV. BOREDOM AND EXCITEMENT 57 + + V. FATIGUE 69 + + VI. ENVY 83 + + VII. THE SENSE OF SIN 96 + + VIII. PERSECUTION MANIA 111 + + IX. FEAR OF PUBLIC OPINION 126 + + + PART II.--CAUSES OF HAPPINESS + + X. IS HAPPINESS STILL POSSIBLE? 143 + + XI. ZEST 158 + + XII. AFFECTION 175 + + XIII. THE FAMILY 186 + + XIV. WORK 208 + + XV. IMPERSONAL INTERESTS 219 + + XVI. EFFORT AND RESIGNATION 230 + + XVII. THE HAPPY MAN 241 + + INDEX 249 + + + + + PART I + + CAUSES OF UNHAPPINESS + + + + + CHAPTER I + + WHAT MAKES PEOPLE UNHAPPY? + + +Animals are happy so long as they have health and enough to eat. Human +beings, one feels, ought to be, but in the modern world they are not, +at least in a great majority of cases. If you are unhappy yourself, +you will probably be prepared to admit that you are not exceptional +in this. If you are happy, ask yourself how many of your friends are +so. And when you have reviewed your friends, teach yourself the art of +reading faces; make yourself receptive to the moods of those whom you +meet in the course of an ordinary day. + + A mark in every face I meet, + Marks of weakness, marks of woe + +says Blake. Though the kinds are different, you will find that +unhappiness meets you everywhere. Let us suppose that you are in New +York, the most typically modern of great cities. Stand in a busy +street during working hours, or on a main thoroughfare at a week-end, +or at a dance of an evening; empty your mind of your own ego, and let +the personalities of the strangers about you take possession of you +one after another. You will find that each of these different crowds +has its own trouble. In the work-hour crowd you will see anxiety, +excessive concentration, dyspepsia, lack of interest in anything but +the struggle, incapacity for play, unconsciousness of their fellow +creatures. On a main road at the week-end you will see men and women, +all comfortably off, and some very rich, engaged in the pursuit of +pleasure. This pursuit is conducted by all at a uniform pace, that of +the slowest car in the procession; it is impossible to see the road for +the cars, or the scenery since looking aside would cause an accident; +all the occupants of all the cars are absorbed in the desire to pass +other cars, which they cannot do on account of the crowd; if their +minds wander from this preoccupation, as will happen occasionally to +those who are not themselves driving, unutterable boredom seizes upon +them and stamps their features with trivial discontent. Once in a way a +car-load of coloured people will show genuine enjoyment, but will cause +indignation by erratic behaviour, and ultimately get into the hands of +the police owing to an accident: enjoyment in holiday time is illegal. + +Or, again, watch people at a gay evening. All come determined to be +happy, with the kind of grim resolve with which one determines not to +make a fuss at the dentist’s. It is held that drink and petting are the +gateways to joy, so people get drunk quickly, and try not to notice how +much their partners disgust them. After a sufficient amount of drink, +men begin to weep, and to lament how unworthy they are, morally, of +the devotion of their mothers. All that alcohol does for them is to +liberate the sense of sin, which reason suppresses in saner moments. + +The causes of these various kinds of unhappiness lie partly in the +social system, partly in individual psychology--which, of course, is +itself to a considerable extent a product of the social system. I +have written before about the changes in the social system required +to promote happiness. Concerning the abolition of war, of economic +exploitation, of education in cruelty and fear, it is not my intention +to speak in this volume. To discover a system for the avoidance of war +is a vital need of our civilization; but no such system has a chance +while men are so unhappy that mutual extermination seems to them less +dreadful than continued endurance of the light of day. To prevent +the perpetuation of poverty is necessary if the benefits of machine +production are to accrue in any degree to those most in need of them; +but what is the use of making everybody rich if the rich themselves +are miserable? Education in cruelty and fear is bad, but no other kind +can be given by those who are themselves the slaves of these passions. +These considerations lead us to the problem of the individual: what can +a man or woman, here and now, in the midst of our nostalgic society, +do to achieve happiness for himself or herself? In discussing this +problem, I shall confine my attention to those who are not subject to +any extreme cause of outward misery. I shall assume a sufficient income +to secure food and shelter, sufficient health to make ordinary bodily +activities possible. I shall not consider the great catastrophes, such +as loss of all one’s children, or public disgrace. There are things to +be said about such matters, and they are important things, but they +belong to a different order from the things that I wish to say. My +purpose is to suggest a cure for the ordinary day-to-day unhappiness +from which most people in civilized countries suffer, and which is +all the more unbearable because, having no obvious external cause, it +appears inescapable. I believe this unhappiness to be very largely +due to mistaken views of the world, mistaken ethics, mistaken habits +of life, leading to destruction of that natural zest and appetite for +possible things upon which all happiness, whether of men or animals, +ultimately depends. These are matters which lie within the power of +the individual, and I propose to suggest the changes by which his +happiness, given average good fortune, may be achieved. + +Perhaps the best introduction to the philosophy which I wish to +advocate will be a few words of autobiography. I was not born happy. As +a child, my favourite hymn was: “Weary of earth and laden with my sin.” +At the age of five, I reflected that, if I should live to be seventy, +I had only endured, so far, a fourteenth part of my whole life, and I +felt the long-spread-out boredom ahead of me to be almost unendurable. +In adolescence, I hated life and was continually on the verge of +suicide, from which, however, I was restrained by the desire to know +more mathematics. Now, on the contrary, I enjoy life; I might almost +say that with every year that passes I enjoy it more. This is due +partly to having discovered what were the things that I most desired, +and having gradually acquired many of these things. Partly it is due +to having successfully dismissed certain objects of desire--such as +the acquisition of indubitable knowledge about something or other--as +essentially unattainable. But very largely it is due to a diminishing +preoccupation with myself. Like others who had a Puritan education, +I had the habit of meditating on my sins, follies, and shortcomings. +I seemed to myself--no doubt justly--a miserable specimen. Gradually +I learned to be indifferent to myself and my deficiencies; I came to +centre my attention increasingly upon external objects: the state +of the world, various branches of knowledge, individuals for whom I +felt affection. External interests, it is true, bring each its own +possibility of pain: the world may be plunged in war, knowledge in +some direction may be hard to achieve, friends may die. But pains +of these kinds do not destroy the essential quality of life, as do +those that spring from disgust with self. And every external interest +inspires some activity which, so long as the interest remains alive, +is a complete preventive of _ennui_. Interest in oneself, on the +contrary, leads to no activity of a progressive kind. It may lead to +the keeping of a diary, to getting psycho-analysed, or perhaps to +becoming a monk. But the monk will not be happy until the routine of +the monastery has made him forget his own soul. The happiness which +he attributes to religion he could have obtained from becoming a +crossing-sweeper, provided he were compelled to remain one. External +discipline is the only road to happiness for those unfortunates whose +self-absorption is too profound to be cured in any other way. + +Self-absorption is of various kinds. We may take the sinner, the +narcissist, and the megalomaniac as three very common types. + +When I speak of “the sinner”, I do not mean the man who commits sins: +sins are committed by everyone or no one, according to our definition +of the word. I mean the man who is absorbed in the consciousness of +sin. This man is perpetually incurring his own disapproval, which, if +he is religious, he interprets as the disapproval of God. He has an +image of himself as he thinks he ought to be, which is in continual +conflict with his knowledge of himself as he is. If, in his conscious +thought, he has long since discarded the maxims that he was taught +at his mother’s knee, his sense of sin may be buried deep in his +unconscious, and only emerge when he is drunk or asleep. Nevertheless, +it may suffice to take the savour out of everything. At bottom he still +accepts all the prohibitions he was taught in infancy. Swearing is +wicked; drinking is wicked; ordinary business shrewdness is wicked; +above all, sex is wicked. He does not, of course, abstain from any +of these pleasures, but they are all poisoned for him by the feeling +that they degrade him. The one pleasure that he desires with his whole +soul is that of being approvingly caressed by his mother, which he can +remember having experienced in childhood. This pleasure being no longer +open to him, he feels that nothing matters; since he _must_ sin, +he decides to sin deeply. When he falls in love he looks for maternal +tenderness, but cannot accept it, because, owing to the mother-image, +he feels no respect for any woman with whom he has sexual relations. +Then, in his disappointment, he becomes cruel, repents of his cruelty, +and starts afresh on the dreary round of imagined sin and real remorse. +This is the psychology of very many apparently hard-boiled reprobates. +What drives them astray is devotion to an unattainable object (mother +or mother-substitute) together with the inculcation, in early years, of +a ridiculous ethical code. Liberation from the tyranny of early beliefs +and affections is the first step towards happiness for these victims of +maternal “virtue”. + +Narcissism is, in a sense, the converse of an habitual sense of sin; it +consists in the habit of admiring oneself and wishing to be admired. +Up to a point it is, of course, normal, and not to be deplored; it +is only in its excesses that it becomes a grave evil. In many women, +especially rich Society women, the capacity for feeling love is +completely dried up, and is replaced by a powerful desire that all +men should love them. When a woman of this kind is sure that a man +loves her, she has no further use for him. The same thing occurs, +though less frequently, with men; the classic example is the hero of +_Liaisons Dangereuses_. When vanity is carried to this height, +there is no genuine interest in any other person, and therefore no real +satisfaction to be obtained from love. Other interests fail even more +disastrously. A narcissist, for example, inspired by the homage paid +to great painters, may become an art student; but, as painting is for +him a mere means to an end, the technique never becomes interesting, +and no subject can be seen except in relation to self. The result is +failure and disappointment, with ridicule instead of the expected +adulation. The same thing applies to those novelists whose novels +always have themselves idealized as heroines. All serious success in +work depends upon some genuine interest in the material with which +the work is concerned. The tragedy of one successful politician after +another is the gradual substitution of narcissism for an interest in +the community and the measures for which he stands. The man who is +only interested in himself is not admirable, and is not felt to be so. +Consequently the man whose sole concern with the world is that it shall +admire him is not likely to achieve his object. But even if he does, he +will not be completely happy, since human instinct is never completely +self-centred, and the narcissist is limiting himself artificially just +as truly as is the man dominated by a sense of sin. The primitive man +might be proud of being a good hunter, but he also enjoyed the activity +of the chase. Vanity, when it passes beyond a point, kills pleasure +in every activity for its own sake, and thus leads inevitably to +listlessness and boredom. Often its source is diffidence, and its cure +lies in the growth of self-respect. But this is only to be gained by +successful activity inspired by objective interests. + +The megalomaniac differs from the narcissist by the fact that he wishes +to be powerful rather than charming, and seeks to be feared rather than +loved. To this type belong many lunatics and most of the great men in +history. Love of power, like vanity, is a strong element in normal +human nature, and as such is to be accepted; it becomes deplorable +only when it is excessive or associated with an insufficient sense of +reality. Where this occurs it makes a man unhappy or foolish, if not +both. The lunatic who thinks he is a crowned head may be, in a sense, +happy, but his happiness is not of a kind that any sane person would +envy. Alexander the Great was psychologically of the same type as +the lunatic, though he possessed the talent to achieve the lunatic’s +dream. He could not, however, achieve his own dream, which enlarged its +scope as his achievement grew. When it became clear that he was the +greatest conqueror known to fame, he decided that he was a God. Was he +a happy man? His drunkenness, his furious rages, his indifference to +women, and his claim to divinity, suggest that he was not. There is +no ultimate satisfaction in the cultivation of one element of human +nature at the expense of all the others, nor in viewing all the world +as raw material for the magnificence of one’s own ego. Usually the +megalomaniac, whether insane or nominally sane, is the product of some +excessive humiliation. Napoleon suffered at school from inferiority to +his schoolfellows, who were rich aristocrats, while he was a penurious +scholarship boy. When he allowed the return of the _émigrés_, he +had the satisfaction of seeing his former schoolfellows bowing down +before him. What bliss! Yet it led to the wish to obtain a similar +satisfaction at the expense of the Czar, and this led to Saint Helena. +Since no man can be omnipotent, a life dominated wholly by love of +power can hardly fail, sooner or later, to meet with obstacles that +cannot be overcome. The knowledge that this is so can only be prevented +from obtruding on consciousness by some form of lunacy, though if a man +is sufficiently great he can imprison or execute those who point this +out to him. Repressions in the political and in the psycho-analytic +senses thus go hand in hand. And wherever psycho-analytic repression in +any marked form takes place, there is no genuine happiness. Power kept +within its proper bounds may add greatly to happiness, but as the sole +end of life it leads to disaster, inwardly if not outwardly. + +The psychological causes of unhappiness, it is clear, are many and +various. But all have something in common. The typical unhappy man is +one who, having been deprived in youth of some normal satisfaction, +has come to value this one kind of satisfaction more than any other, +and has therefore given to his life a one-sided direction, together +with a quite undue emphasis upon the achievement as opposed to the +activities connected with it. There is, however, a further development +which is very common in the present day. A man may feel so completely +thwarted that he seeks no form of satisfaction, but only distraction +and oblivion. He then becomes a devotee of “pleasure”. That is to say, +he seeks to make life bearable by becoming less alive. Drunkenness, for +example, is temporary suicide; the happiness that it brings is merely +negative, a momentary cessation of unhappiness. The narcissist and the +megalomaniac believe that happiness is possible, though they may adopt +mistaken means of achieving it; but the man who seeks intoxication, in +whatever form, has given up hope except in oblivion. In his case, the +first thing to be done is to persuade him that happiness is desirable. +Men who are unhappy, like men who sleep badly, are always proud of the +fact. Perhaps their pride is like that of the fox who had lost his +tail; if so, the way to cure it is to point out to them how they can +grow a new tail. Very few men, I believe, will deliberately choose +unhappiness if they see a way of being happy. I do not deny that such +men exist, but they are not sufficiently numerous to be important. +I shall therefore assume that the reader would rather be happy than +unhappy. Whether I can help him to realize this wish, I do not know; +but at any rate the attempt can do no harm. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + BYRONIC UNHAPPINESS + + +It is common in our day, as it has been in many other periods of the +world’s history, to suppose that those among us who are wise have +seen through all the enthusiasms of earlier times and have become +aware that there is nothing left to live for. The men who hold this +view are genuinely unhappy, but they are proud of their unhappiness, +which they attribute to the nature of the universe and consider to +be the only rational attitude for an enlightened man. Their pride in +their unhappiness makes less sophisticated people suspicious of its +genuineness; they think that the man who enjoys being miserable is +not miserable. This view is too simple; undoubtedly there is some +slight compensation in the feeling of superiority and insight which +these sufferers have, but it is not sufficient to make up for the +loss of simpler pleasures. I do not myself think that there is any +superior rationality in being unhappy. The wise man will be as happy +as circumstances permit, and if he finds the contemplation of the +universe painful beyond a point, he will contemplate something else +instead. This is what I wish to prove in the present chapter. I wish +to persuade the reader that, whatever the arguments may be, reason +lays no embargo upon happiness; nay, more, I am persuaded that those +who quite sincerely attribute their sorrows to their views about the +universe are putting the cart before the horse: the truth is that they +are unhappy for some reason of which they are not aware, and this +unhappiness leads them to dwell upon the less agreeable characteristics +of the world in which they live. + +For modern Americans the point of view that I wish to consider has been +set forth by Mr. Joseph Wood Krutch in a book called _The Modern +Temper_; for our grandfathers’ generation it was set forth by Byron; +for all time it was set forth by the writer of Ecclesiastes. Mr. Krutch +says: “Ours is a lost cause and there is no place for us in the natural +universe, but we are not, for all that, sorry to be human. We should +rather die as men than live as animals.” Byron says: + + There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, + When the glow of early thought declines in feeling’s dull decay. + +The author of Ecclesiastes says: + + Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than + the living which are yet alive. + + Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who + hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun. + +All these three pessimists arrived at these gloomy conclusions after +reviewing the pleasures of life. Mr. Krutch has lived in the most +intellectual circles of New York; Byron swam the Hellespont and had +innumerable love affairs; the author of Ecclesiastes was even more +varied in his pursuit of pleasure: he tried wine, he tried music, +“and that of all sorts”, he built pools of water, he had men-servants +and maid-servants, and servants born in his house. Even in these +circumstances his wisdom departed not from him. Nevertheless he saw +that all is vanity, even wisdom. + + And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and + folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. + + For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth + knowledge increaseth sorrow. + +His wisdom seems to have annoyed him; he made unsuccessful efforts to +get rid of it. + + I said in mine heart, Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth, + therefore enjoy pleasure: and, behold, this also is vanity. + +But his wisdom remained with him. + + Then I said in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it + happeneth even to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said + in my heart, that this also is vanity. + + Therefore I hated life; because the work that is wrought under + the sun is grievous unto me: for all is vanity and vexation of + spirit. + +It is fortunate for literary men that people no longer read anything +written long ago, for if they did they would come to the conclusion +that, whatever may be said about pools of water, the making of new +books is certainly vanity. If we can show that the doctrine of +Ecclesiastes is not the only one open to a wise man, we need not +trouble ourselves much with the later expressions of the same mood. +In an argument of this sort we must distinguish between a mood and +its intellectual expression. There is no arguing with a mood; it can +be changed by some fortunate event, or by a change in our bodily +condition, but it cannot be changed by argument. I have frequently +experienced myself the mood in which I felt that all is vanity; I +have emerged from it not by means of any philosophy, but owing to +some imperative necessity of action. If your child is ill, you may be +unhappy, but you will not feel that all is vanity; you will feel that +the restoring of the child to health is a matter to be attended to +regardless of the question whether there is ultimate value in human +life or not. A rich man may, and often does, feel that all is vanity, +but if he should happen to lose his money, he would feel that his +next meal was by no means vanity. The feeling is one born of a too +easy satisfaction of natural needs. The human animal, like others, is +adapted to a certain amount of struggle for life, and when by means +of great wealth _homo sapiens_ can gratify all his whims without +effort, the mere absence of effort from his life removes an essential +ingredient of happiness. The man who acquires easily things for which +he feels only a very moderate desire concludes that the attainment of +desire does not bring happiness. If he is of a philosophic disposition, +he concludes that human life is essentially wretched, since the man who +has all he wants is still unhappy. He forgets that to be without some +of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness. + +So much for the mood. There are, however, also intellectual arguments +in Ecclesiastes. + + The rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full. + + There is no new thing under the sun. + + There is no remembrance of former things. + + I hated all my labour which I had taken under the sun: because I + should leave it unto the man that shall be after me. + +If one were to attempt to set up these arguments in the style of a +modern philosopher they would come to something like this: Man is +perpetually toiling, and matter is perpetually in motion, yet nothing +abides, although the new thing that comes after it is in no way +different from what has gone before. A man dies, and his heir reaps the +benefits of his labours; the rivers run into the sea, but their waters +are not permitted to stay there. Over and over again in an endless +purposeless cycle men and things are born and die without improvement, +without permanent achievement, day after day, year after year. The +rivers, if they were wise, would stay where they are. Solomon, if he +were wise, would not plant fruit trees of which his son is to enjoy the +fruit. + +But in another mood how different all this looks. No new thing under +the sun? What about skyscrapers, aeroplanes, and the broadcast speeches +of politicians? What did Solomon[1] know about such things? If he +could have heard on the wireless the speech of the Queen of Sheba +to her subjects on her return from his dominions, would it not have +consoled him among his futile trees and pools? If he could have had a +press-cutting agency to let him know what the newspapers said about +the beauty of his architecture, the comforts of his harem, and the +discomfitures of rival sages in argument with him, could he have gone +on saying that there is no new thing under the sun? It may be that +these things would not have wholly cured his pessimism, but he would +have had to give it a new expression. Indeed, one of Mr. Krutch’s +complaints of our time is that there are so many new things under +the sun. If either the absence or the presence of novelty is equally +annoying, it would hardly seem that either could be the true cause of +despair. Again, take the fact that “all the rivers run into the sea, +yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, +thither they return again”. Regarded as ground for pessimism, this +assumes that travel is unpleasant. People go to health resorts in the +summer, yet return again unto the place whence they came. This does +not prove that it is futile to go to health resorts in the summer. If +the waters were endowed with feeling, they would probably enjoy the +adventurous cycle after the manner of Shelley’s _Cloud_. As for +the painfulness of leaving things to one’s heir, that is a matter that +may be looked at from two points of view: from the point of view of +the heir it is distinctly less disastrous. Nor is the fact that all +things pass in itself any ground for pessimism. If they were succeeded +by worse things, that would be a ground, but if they are succeeded by +better things, that is a reason for optimism. What are we to think +if, as Solomon maintains, they are succeeded by things exactly like +themselves? Does not this make the whole process futile? Emphatically +not, unless the various stages of the cycle are themselves painful. +The habit of looking to the future and thinking that the whole meaning +of the present lies in what it will bring forth is a pernicious one. +There can be no value in the whole unless there is value in the parts. +Life is not to be conceived on the analogy of a melodrama in which the +hero and heroine go through incredible misfortunes for which they are +compensated by a happy ending. I live and have my day, my son succeeds +me and has his day, his son in turn succeeds him. What is there in all +this to make a tragedy about? On the contrary, if I lived for ever the +joys of life would inevitably in the end lose their savour. As it is, +they remain perennially fresh. + + I warmed both hands before the fire of life; + It sinks, and I am ready to depart. + +This attitude is quite as rational as that of indignation with death. +If, therefore, moods were to be decided by reason, there would be quite +as much reason for cheerfulness as for despair. + +“Ecclesiastes” is tragic; Mr. Krutch’s _Modern Temper_ is pathetic. +Mr. Krutch, at bottom, is sad because the old mediæval certainties +have crumbled, and also some that are of more recent origin. “As for +this present unhappy time,” he says, “haunted by ghosts from a dead +world and not yet at home in its own, its predicament is not unlike +the predicament of the adolescent who has not yet learned to orient +himself without reference to the mythology amid which his childhood was +passed.” This statement is entirely correct as applied to a certain +section of intellectuals, those, namely, who, having had a literary +education, can know nothing of the modern world, and, having throughout +their youth been taught to base belief upon emotion, cannot divest +themselves of that infantile desire for safety and protection which the +world of science cannot gratify. Mr. Krutch, like most other literary +men, is obsessed with the idea that science has not fulfilled its +promises. He does not, of course, tell us what these promises were, +but he seems to think that sixty years ago men like Darwin and Huxley +expected something of science which it has not given. I think this is +an entire delusion, fostered by those writers and clergymen who do +not wish their specialties to be thought of little value. That the +world contains many pessimists at the present moment is true. There +have always been many pessimists whenever there have been many people +whose income has diminished. Mr. Krutch, it is true, is an American, +and American incomes, on the whole, have been increased by the War, +but throughout the Continent of Europe the intellectual classes have +suffered terribly, while the War itself gave everyone a sense of +instability. Such social causes have a great deal more to do with the +mood of an epoch than has its theory as to the nature of the world. Few +ages have been more despairing than the thirteenth century, although +that faith which Mr. Krutch so regrets was then firmly entertained by +everyone except the Emperor and a few great Italian nobles. Thus Roger +Bacon says: “For more sins reign in these days of ours than in any past +age, and sin is incompatible with wisdom. Let us see all conditions +in the world, and consider them diligently everywhere: we shall +find boundless corruption, and first of all in the Head.... Lechery +dishonours the whole court, and gluttony is lord of all.... If then +this is done in the Head, how is it in the members? See the prelates: +how they hunt after money and neglect the cure of souls.... Let us +consider the Religious Orders: I exclude none from what I say. See +how far they are fallen, one and all, from their right state; and the +new Orders (of Friars) are already horribly decayed from their first +dignity. The whole clergy is intent upon pride, lechery, and avarice: +and wheresoever clerks are gathered together, as at Paris and Oxford, +they scandalize the whole laity with their wars and quarrels and other +vices.... None care what is done, or how, by hook or by crook, provided +only that each can fulfil his lust.” Concerning the pagan sages of +antiquity, he says: “Their lives were beyond all comparison better +than ours, both in all decency and in contempt of the world, with all +its delights and riches and honours; as all men may read in the works +of Aristotle, Seneca, Tully, Avicenna, Alfarabius, Plato, Socrates, +and others; and so it was that they attained to the secrets of wisdom +and found out all knowledge.”[2] Roger Bacon’s opinion was that of all +his literary contemporaries, not one of whom liked the age in which he +found himself. I do not for a moment believe that this pessimism had +any metaphysical cause. Its causes were war, poverty, and violence. + +One of Mr. Krutch’s most pathetic chapters deals with the subject +of love. It appears that the Victorians thought very highly of it, +but that we with our modern sophistication have come to see through +it. “For the more skeptical of the Victorians, love performed some +of the functions of the God whom they had lost. Faced with it, many +of even the most hard-headed turned, for the moment, mystical. They +found themselves in the presence of something which awoke in them +that sense of reverence which nothing else claimed, and something +to which they felt, even in the very depth of their being, that an +unquestioning loyalty was due. For them love, like God, demanded all +sacrifices; but like Him, also, it rewarded the believer by investing +all the phenomena of life with a meaning not yet analysed away. We +have grown used--more than they--to a Godless universe, but we are not +yet accustomed to one which is loveless as well, and only when we have +so become shall we realize what atheism really means.” It is curious +how different the Victorian age looks to the young of our time from +what it seemed when one was living in it. I remember two old ladies, +both typical of certain aspects of the period, whom I knew well in +my youth. One was a Puritan, and the other a Voltairean. The former +regretted that so much poetry deals with love, which, she maintained, +is an uninteresting subject. The latter remarked: “Nobody can say +anything against me, but I always say that it is not so bad to break +the seventh commandment as the sixth, because at any rate it requires +the consent of the other party.” Neither of these views was quite like +what Mr. Krutch presents as typically Victorian. His ideas are derived +evidently from certain writers who were by no means in harmony with +their environment. The best example, I suppose, is Robert Browning. I +cannot, however, resist the conviction that there is something stuffy +about love as he conceived it. + + God be thanked, the meanest of His creatures + Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, + One to show a woman when he loves her! + +This assumes that combativeness is the only possible attitude towards +the world at large. Why? Because the world is cruel, Browning would +say. Because it will not accept you at your own valuation, we should +say. A couple may form, as the Brownings did, a mutual admiration +society. It is very pleasant to have someone at hand who is sure +to praise your work, whether it deserves it or not. And Browning +undoubtedly felt that he was a fine, manly fellow when he denounced +Fitzgerald in no measured terms for having dared not to admire Aurora +Leigh. I cannot feel that this complete suspension of the critical +faculty on both sides is really admirable. It is bound up with fear +and with the desire to find a refuge from the cold blasts of impartial +criticism. Many old bachelors learn to derive the same satisfaction +from their own fireside. I lived too long myself in the Victorian +age to be a modern according to Mr. Krutch’s standards. I have by no +means lost my belief in love, but the kind of love that I can believe +in is not the kind that the Victorians admired; it is adventurous and +open-eyed, and, while it gives knowledge of good, it does not involve +forgetfulness of evil, nor does it pretend to be sanctified or holy. +The attribution of these qualities to the kind of love that was admired +was an outcome of the sex taboo. The Victorian was profoundly convinced +that most sex is evil, and had to attach exaggerated adjectives to the +kind of which he could approve. There was more sex hunger than there +is now, and this no doubt caused people to exaggerate the importance +of sex just as the ascetics have always done. We are at the present +day passing through a somewhat confused period, when many people +have thrown over the old standards without acquiring new ones. This +leads them into various troubles, and as their unconscious usually +still believes in the old standards, the troubles, when they come, +produce despair, remorse, and cynicism. I do not think the number of +people to whom this happens is very large, but they are among the most +vocal people of our time. I believe that if one took the average of +well-to-do young people in our day and in the Victorian epoch, one +would find that there is now a great deal more happiness in connection +with love, and a great deal more genuine belief in the value of love, +than there was sixty years ago. The reasons which lead certain persons +to cynicism are connected with the tyranny of the old ideals over +the unconscious, and with the absence of a rational ethic by which +present-day people can regulate their conduct. The cure lies not in +lamentation and nostalgia for the past, but in a more courageous +acceptance of the modern outlook and a determination to root out +nominally discarded superstitions from all their obscure hiding-places. + +To say shortly why one values love is not easy; nevertheless, I will +make the attempt. Love is to be valued in the first instance--and this, +though not its greatest value, is essential to all the rest--as in +itself a source of delight. + + Oh Love! they wrong thee much + That say thy sweet is bitter, + When thy rich fruit is such + As nothing can be sweeter. + +The anonymous author of these lines was not seeking a solution for +atheism, or a key to the universe; he was merely enjoying himself. And +not only is love a source of delight, but its absence is a source of +pain. In the second place, love is to be valued because it enhances +all the best pleasures, such as music, and sunrise in mountains, and +the sea under the full moon. A man who has never enjoyed beautiful +things in the company of a woman whom he loved has not experienced to +the full the magic power of which such things are capable. Again, love +is able to break down the hard shell of the ego, since it is a form of +biological co-operation in which the emotions of each are necessary to +the fulfilment of the other’s instinctive purposes. There have been in +the world at various times various solitary philosophies, some very +noble, some less so. The Stoics and the early Christians believed that +a man could realize the highest good of which human life is capable by +means of his own will alone, or at any rate without _human_ aid; +others again have regarded power as the end of life, and yet others +mere personal pleasure. All these are solitary philosophies in the +sense that the good is supposed to be something realizable in each +separate person, not only in a larger or smaller society of persons. +All such views, to my mind, are false, and not only in ethical +theory, but as expressions of the better part of our instincts. Man +depends upon co-operation, and has been provided by nature, somewhat +inadequately, it is true, with the instinctive apparatus out of which +the friendliness required for co-operation can spring. Love is the +first and commonest form of emotion leading to co-operation, and those +who have experienced love with any intensity will not be content with +a philosophy that supposes their highest good to be independent of +that of the person loved. In this respect parental feeling is even +more powerful, but parental feeling at its best is the result of love +between the parents. I do not pretend that love in its highest form is +common, but I do maintain that in its highest form it reveals values +which must otherwise remain unknown, and has itself a value which is +untouched by scepticism, although sceptics who are incapable of it may +falsely attribute their incapacity to their scepticism. + + True love is a durable fire, + In the mind ever burning, + Never sick, never dead, never cold, + From itself never turning. + +I come next to what Mr. Krutch has to say about tragedy. He contends, +and in this I cannot but agree with him, that Ibsen’s _Ghosts_ is +inferior to _King Lear_. “No increased powers of expression, no +greater gift for words, could have transformed Ibsen into Shakespeare. +The materials out of which the latter created his works--his +conception of human dignity, his sense of the importance of human +passions, his vision of the amplitude of human life--simply did not +and could not exist for Ibsen, as they did not and could not exist for +his contemporaries. God and Man and Nature had all somehow dwindled +in the course of the intervening centuries, not because the realistic +creed of modern art led us to seek out mean people, but because this +meanness of human life was somehow thrust upon us by the operation of +that same process which led to the development of realistic theories +of art by which our vision could be justified.” It is undoubtedly the +case that the old-fashioned kind of tragedy which dealt with princes +and their sorrows is not suitable to our age, and when we try to treat +in the same manner the sorrows of an obscure individual the effect is +not the same. The reason of this is not, however, any deterioration +in our outlook on life, but quite the reverse. It is due to the fact +that we can no longer regard certain individuals as the great ones of +the earth, who have a right to tragic passions, while all the rest +must merely drudge and toil to produce the magnificence of those few. +Shakespeare says: + + When beggars die, there are no comets seen; + The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. + +In Shakespeare’s day this sentiment, if not literally believed, at +least expressed an outlook which was practically universal and most +profoundly accepted by Shakespeare himself. Consequently the death +of Cinna the poet is comic, whereas the deaths of Cæsar, Brutus and +Cassius are tragic. The cosmic significance of an individual death +is lost to us because we have become democratic, not only in outward +forms, but in our inmost convictions. High tragedy in the present +day, therefore, has to concern itself rather with the community than +with the individual. I would give as an example of what I mean Ernst +Toller’s _Massenmench_.[3] I do not maintain that this work is as +good as the best that has been done in the best ages in the past, but +I do maintain that it is justly comparable; it is noble, profound and +actual, concerned with heroic action, and “purging the reader through +pity and terror”, as Aristotle said it should. There are as yet few +examples of this modern kind of tragedy, since the old technique and +the old traditions have to be abandoned without being replaced by mere +educated commonplace. To write tragedy, a man must feel tragedy. To +feel tragedy, a man must be aware of the world in which he lives, not +only with his mind, but with his blood and sinews. Mr. Krutch talks +throughout his book at intervals about despair, and one is touched by +his heroic acceptance of a bleak world, but the bleakness is due to +the fact that he and most literary men have not yet learnt to feel the +old emotions in response to new stimuli. The stimuli exist, but not +in literary coteries. Literary coteries have no vital contact with the +life of the community, and such contact is necessary if men’s feelings +are to have the seriousness and depth within which both tragedy and +true happiness proceed. To all the talented young men who wander about +feeling that there is nothing in the world for them to do, I should +say: “Give up trying to write, and, instead, try not to write. Go +out into the world; become a pirate, a king in Borneo, a labourer in +Soviet Russia; give yourself an existence in which the satisfaction of +elementary physical needs will occupy almost all your energies.” I do +not recommend this course of action to everyone, but only to those who +suffer from the disease which Mr. Krutch diagnoses. I believe that, +after some years of such an existence, the ex-intellectual will find +that in spite of his efforts he can no longer refrain from writing, and +when this time comes his writing will not seem to him futile. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + COMPETITION + + +If you ask any man in America, or any man in business in England, what +it is that most interferes with his enjoyment of existence, he will +say: “The struggle for life.” He will say this in all sincerity; he +will believe it. In a certain sense it is true; yet in another, and +that a very important sense, it is profoundly false. The struggle for +life is a thing which does, of course, occur. It may occur to any of us +if we are unfortunate. It occurred, for example, to Conrad’s hero Falk, +who found himself on a derelict ship, one of the two men among the crew +who were possessed of fire-arms, with nothing to eat but the other +men. When the two men had finished the meals upon which they could +agree, a true struggle for life began. Falk won, but was ever after a +vegetarian. Now that is not what the business man means when he speaks +of the “struggle for life”. It is an inaccurate phrase which he has +picked up in order to give dignity to something essentially trivial. +Ask him how many men he has known in his class of life who have died +of hunger. Ask him what happened to his friends after they had been +ruined. Everybody knows that a business man who has been ruined is +better off so far as material comforts are concerned than a man who has +never been rich enough to have the chance of being ruined. What people +mean, therefore, by the struggle for life is really the struggle for +success. What people fear when they engage in the struggle is not that +they will fail to get their breakfast next morning, but that they will +fail to outshine their neighbours. + +It is very singular how little men seem to realize that they are not +caught in the grip of a mechanism from which there is no escape, but +that the treadmill is one upon which they remain merely because they +have not noticed that it fails to take them up to a higher level. I +am thinking, of course, of men in higher walks of business, men who +already have a good income and could, if they chose, live on what +they have. To do so would seem to them shameful, like deserting from +the army in the face of the enemy, though if you ask them what public +cause they are serving by their work, they will be at a loss to reply +as soon as they have run through the platitudes to be found in the +advertisements of the strenuous life. + +Consider the life of such a man. He has, we may suppose, a charming +house, a charming wife, and charming children. He wakes up early in +the morning while they are still asleep and hurries off to his office. +There it is his duty to display the qualities of a great executive; +he cultivates a firm jaw, a decisive manner of speech, and an air of +sagacious reserve calculated to impress everybody except the office +boy. He dictates letters, converses with various important persons +on the ’phone, studies the market, and presently has lunch with some +person with whom he is conducting or hoping to conduct a deal. The same +sort of thing goes on all the afternoon. He arrives home, tired, just +in time to dress for dinner. At dinner he and a number of other tired +men have to pretend to enjoy the company of ladies who have no occasion +to feel tired yet. How many hours it may take the poor man to escape it +is impossible to foresee. At last he sleeps, and for a few hours the +tension is relaxed. + +The working life of this man has the psychology of a hundred-yards +race, but as the race upon which he is engaged is one whose only goal +is the grave, the concentration, which is appropriate enough for a +hundred yards, becomes in the end somewhat excessive. What does he +know about his children? On week-days he is at the office; on Sundays +he is at the golf links. What does he know of his wife? When he leaves +her in the morning, she is asleep. Throughout the evening he and she +are engaged in social duties which prevent intimate conversation. He +has probably no men friends who are important to him, although he has +a number with whom he affects a geniality that he wishes he felt. Of +springtime and harvest he knows only as they affect the market; foreign +countries he has probably seen, but with eyes of utter boredom. Books +seem to him futile, and music highbrow. Year by year he grows more +lonely; his attention grows more concentrated, and his life outside +business more desiccated. I have seen the American of this type in +later middle life, in Europe, with his wife and daughters. Evidently +they had persuaded the poor fellow that it was time he took a holiday, +and gave his girls a chance to do the Old World. The mother and +daughters in ecstasy surround him and call his attention to each new +item that strikes them as characteristic. Paterfamilias, utterly weary, +utterly bored, is wondering what they are doing in the office at this +moment, or what is happening in the baseball world. His womenkind, in +the end, give him up, and conclude that males are Philistines. It never +dawns upon them that he is a victim to their greed; nor, indeed, is +this quite the truth, any more than suttee is quite what it appeared to +a European onlooker. Probably in nine cases out of ten the widow was a +willing victim, prepared to be burnt for the sake of glory and because +religion so ordained. The business man’s religion and glory demand that +he should make much money; therefore, like the Hindu widow, he suffers +the torment gladly. If the American business man is to be made happier, +he must first change his religion. So long as he not only desires +success, but is whole-heartedly persuaded that it is a man’s duty to +pursue success, and that a man who does not do so is a poor creature, +so long his life will remain too concentrated and too anxious to be +happy. Take a simple matter, such as investments. Almost every American +would sooner get 8 per cent. from a risky investment than 4 per cent. +from a safe one. The consequence is that there are frequent losses +of money and continual worry and fret. For my part, the thing that I +should wish to obtain from money would be leisure with security. But +what the typical modern man desires to get with it is more money, with +a view to ostentation, splendour, and the outshining of those who have +hitherto been his equals. The social scale in America is indefinite +and continually fluctuating. Consequently all the snobbish emotions +become more restless than they are where the social order is fixed, +and although money in itself may not suffice to make people grand, it +is difficult to be grand without money. Moreover, money made is the +accepted measure of brains. A man who makes a lot of money is a clever +fellow; a man who does not, is not. Nobody likes to be thought a fool. +Therefore, when the market is in ticklish condition, a man feels the +way young people feel during an examination. + +I think it should be admitted that an element of genuine though +irrational fear as to the consequences of ruin frequently enters into +a business man’s anxieties. Arnold Bennett’s Clayhanger, however rich +he became, continued to be afraid of dying in the workhouse. I have no +doubt that those who have suffered greatly through poverty in their +childhood are haunted by terrors lest their children should suffer +similarly, and feel that it is hardly possible to build up enough +millions as a bulwark against this disaster. Such fears are probably +inevitable in the first generation, but they are less likely to afflict +those who have never known great poverty. They are in any case a minor +and somewhat exceptional factor in the problem. + +The root of the trouble springs from too much emphasis upon competitive +success as the main source of happiness. I do not deny that the feeling +of success makes it easier to enjoy life. A painter, let us say, who +has been obscure throughout his youth, is likely to become happier if +his talent wins recognition. Nor do I deny that money, up to a certain +point, is very capable of increasing happiness; beyond that point, I +do not think it does so. What I do maintain is that success can only +be one ingredient in happiness, and is too dearly purchased if all the +other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it. + +The source of this trouble is the prevalent philosophy of life in +business circles. In Europe, it is true, there are still other circles +that have prestige. In some countries there is an aristocracy; in all +there are the learned professions, and in all but a few of the smaller +countries the army and the navy enjoy great respect. Now while it is +true that there is a competitive element in success no matter what a +man’s profession may be, yet at the same time the kind of thing that +is respected is not just success, but that excellence, whatever that +may be, to which success has been due. A man of science may or may +not make money; he is certainly not more respected if he does than if +he does not. No one is surprised to find an eminent general or admiral +poor; indeed, poverty in such circumstances is, in a sense, itself an +honour. For these reasons, in Europe, the purely monetary competitive +struggle is confined to certain circles, and those perhaps not the +most influential or the most respected. In America the matter is +otherwise. The Services play too small a part in the national life for +their standards to have any influence. As for the learned professions, +no outsider can tell whether a doctor really knows much medicine, or +whether a lawyer really knows much law, and it is therefore easier +to judge of their merit by the income to be inferred from their +standard of life. As for professors, they are the hired servants of +business men, and as such win less respect than is accorded to them in +older countries. The consequence of all this is that in America the +professional man imitates the business man, and does not constitute a +separate type as he does in Europe. Throughout the well-to-do classes, +therefore, there is nothing to mitigate the bare undiluted fight for +financial success. + +From quite early years American boys feel that this is the only thing +that matters, and do not wish to be bothered with any kind of education +that is devoid of pecuniary value. Education used to be conceived very +largely as a training in the capacity for enjoyment--enjoyment, I mean, +of those more delicate kinds that are not open to wholly uncultivated +people. In the eighteenth century it was one of the marks of a +“gentleman” to take a discriminating pleasure in literature, pictures, +and music. We nowadays may disagree with his taste, but it was at +least genuine. The rich man of the present day tends to be of quite a +different type. He never reads. If he is creating a picture gallery +with a view to enhancing his fame, he relies upon experts to choose his +pictures; the pleasure that he derives from them is not the pleasure +of looking at them, but the pleasure of preventing some other rich man +from having them. In regard to music, if he happens to be a Jew, he may +have genuine appreciation; if not, he will be as uncultivated as he is +in regard to the other arts. The result of all this is that he does not +know what to do with leisure. As he gets richer and richer it becomes +easier and easier to make money, until at last five minutes a day will +bring him more than he knows how to spend. The poor man is thus left +at a loose end as a result of his success. This must inevitably be the +case so long as success itself is represented as the purpose of life. +Unless a man has been taught what to do with success after getting it, +the achievement of it must inevitably leave him a prey to boredom. + +The competitive habit of mind easily invades regions to which it does +not belong. Take, for example, the question of reading. There are two +motives for reading a book: one, that you enjoy it; the other, that +you can boast about it. It has become the thing in America for ladies +to read (or seem to read) certain books every month; some read them, +some read the first chapter, some read the reviews, but all have these +books on their tables. They do not, however, read any masterpieces. +There has never been a month when _Hamlet_ or _King Lear_ has +been selected by the Book Clubs; there has never been a month when it +has been necessary to know about Dante. Consequently the reading that +is done is entirely of mediocre modern books and never of masterpieces. +This also is an effect of competition, not perhaps wholly bad, since +most of the ladies in question, if left to themselves, so far from +reading masterpieces, would read books even worse than those selected +for them by their literary pastors and masters. + +The emphasis upon competition in modern life is connected with a +general decay of civilized standards such as must have occurred in Rome +after the Augustan age. Men and women appear to have become incapable +of enjoying the more intellectual pleasures. The art of general +conversation, for example, brought to perfection in the French salons +of the eighteenth century, was still a living tradition forty years +ago. It was a very exquisite art, bringing the highest faculties into +play for the sake of something completely evanescent. But who in our +age cares for anything so leisurely? In China the art still flourished +in perfection ten years ago, but I imagine that the missionary ardour +of the Nationalists has since then swept it completely out of +existence. The knowledge of good literature, which was universal among +educated people fifty or a hundred years ago, is now confined to a +few professors. All the quieter pleasures have been abandoned. Some +American students took me walking in the spring through a wood on the +borders of their campus; it was filled with exquisite wild flowers, but +not one of my guides knew the name of even one of them. What use would +such knowledge be? It could not add to anybody’s income. + +The trouble does not lie simply with the individual, nor can a single +individual prevent it in his own isolated case. The trouble arises from +the generally received philosophy of life, according to which life is +a contest, a competition, in which respect is to be accorded to the +victor. This view leads to an undue cultivation of the will at the +expense of the senses and the intellect. Or possibly, in saying this, +we may be putting the cart before the horse. Puritan moralists have +always emphasized the will in modern times, although originally it was +faith upon which they laid stress. It may be that ages of Puritanism +produced a race in which will had been overdeveloped, while the senses +and the intellect had been starved, and that such a race adopted a +philosophy of competition as the one best suited to its nature. However +that may be, the prodigious success of these modern dinosaurs, who, +like their prehistoric prototypes, prefer power to intelligence, is +causing them to be universally imitated: they have become the pattern +for the white man everywhere, and this is likely to be increasingly +the case for the next hundred years. Those, however, who are not in +the fashion may take comfort from the thought that the dinosaurs did +not ultimately triumph; they killed each other out, and intelligent +bystanders inherited their kingdom. Our modern dinosaurs are killing +themselves out. They do not, on the average, have so much as two +children per marriage; they do not enjoy life enough to wish to beget +children. At this point the unduly strenuous philosophy which they have +carried over from their Puritan forefathers shows itself unadapted to +the world. Those whose outlook on life causes them to feel so little +happiness that they do not care to beget children are biologically +doomed. Before very long they must be succeeded by something gayer and +jollier. + +Competition considered as the main thing in life is too grim, too +tenacious, too much a matter of taut muscles and intent will, to make +a possible basis of life for more than one or two generations at most. +After that length of time it must produce nervous fatigue, various +phenomena of escape, a pursuit of pleasures as tense and as difficult +as work (since relaxing has become impossible), and in the end a +disappearance of the stock through sterility. It is not only work that +is poisoned by the philosophy of competition; leisure is poisoned just +as much. The kind of leisure which is quiet and restoring to the nerves +comes to be felt boring. There is bound to be a continual acceleration +of which the natural termination would be drugs and collapse. The cure +for this lies in admitting the part of sane and quiet enjoyment in a +balanced ideal of life. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + BOREDOM AND EXCITEMENT + + +Boredom as a factor in human behaviour has received, in my opinion, far +less attention than it deserves. It has been, I believe, one of the +great motive powers throughout the historical epoch, and is so at the +present day more than ever. Boredom would seem to be a distinctively +human emotion. Animals in captivity, it is true, become listless, pace +up and down, and yawn, but in a state of nature I do not believe that +they experience anything analogous to boredom. Most of the time they +are on the look-out for enemies, or food, or both; sometimes they +are mating, sometimes they are trying to keep warm. But even when +they are unhappy, I do not think that they are bored. Possibly the +anthropoid apes may resemble us in this respect, as in so many others, +but having never lived with them I have not had the opportunity to +make the experiment. One of the essentials of boredom consist in the +contrast between present circumstances and some other more agreeable +circumstances which force themselves irresistibly upon the imagination. +It is also one of the essentials of boredom that one’s faculties must +not be fully occupied. Running away from enemies who are trying to +take one’s life is, I imagine, unpleasant, but certainly not boring. +A man would not feel bored while he was being executed, unless he +had almost superhuman courage. In like manner no one has ever yawned +during his maiden speech in the House of Lords, with the exception of +the late Duke of Devonshire, who was reverenced by their Lordships in +consequence. Boredom is essentially a thwarted desire for events, not +necessarily pleasant ones, but just occurrences such as will enable the +victim of _ennui_ to know one day from another. The opposite of +boredom, in a word, is not pleasure, but excitement. + +The desire for excitement is very deep-seated in human beings, +especially in males. I suppose that in the hunting stage it was more +easily gratified than it has been since. The chase was exciting, +war was exciting, courtship was exciting. A savage will manage to +commit adultery with a woman while her husband is asleep beside her, +knowing that it is instant death if the husband wakes. This situation, +I imagine, is not boring. But with the coming of agriculture life +began to grow dull, except, of course, for the aristocrats, who +remained, and still remain, in the hunting stage. We hear a great +deal about the tedium of machine-minding, but I think the tedium of +agriculture by old-fashioned methods is at least as great. Indeed, +contrary to what most philanthropists maintain, I should say that +the machine age has enormously diminished the sum of boredom in the +world. Among wage-earners the working hours are not solitary, while +the evening hours can be given over to a variety of amusements that +were impossible in an old-fashioned country village. Consider again +the change in lower middle-class life. In old days, after supper, when +the wife and daughters had cleared away the things, everybody sat +round and had what was called “a happy family time”. This meant that +paterfamilias went to sleep, his wife knitted, and the daughters wished +they were dead or at Timbuktu. They were not allowed to read, or to +leave the room, because the theory was that at that period their father +conversed with them, which must be a pleasure to all concerned. With +luck they ultimately married and had a chance to inflict upon their +children a youth as dismal as their own had been. If they did not have +luck, they developed into old maids, perhaps ultimately into decayed +gentlewomen--a fate as horrible as any that savages have bestowed upon +their victims. All this weight of boredom should be borne in mind in +estimating the world of a hundred years ago, and when one goes further +into the past the boredom becomes still worse. Imagine the monotony of +winter in a mediæval village. People could not read or write, they had +only candles to give them light after dark, the smoke of their one fire +filled the only room that was not bitterly cold. Roads were practically +impassable, so that one hardly ever saw anybody from another village. +It must have been boredom as much as anything that led to the practice +of witch hunts as the sole sport by which winter evenings could be +enlivened. + +We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of +boredom. We have come to know, or rather to believe, that boredom +is not part of the natural lot of man, but can be avoided by a +sufficiently vigorous pursuit of excitement. Girls nowadays earn +their own living, very largely because this enables them to seek +excitement in the evening and to escape “the happy family time” +that their grandmothers had to endure. Everybody who can lives in a +town; in America, those who cannot, have a car, or at the least a +motor-bicycle, to take them to the movies. And of course they have the +radio in their houses. Young men and young women meet each other with +much less difficulty than was formerly the case, and every housemaid +expects at least once a week as much excitement as would have lasted a +Jane Austen heroine throughout a whole novel. As we rise in the social +scale the pursuit of excitement becomes more and more intense. Those +who can afford it are perpetually moving from place to place, carrying +with them as they go gaiety, dancing and drinking, but for some reason +always expecting to enjoy these more in a new place. Those who have +to earn a living get their share of boredom, of necessity, in working +hours, but those who have enough money to be freed from the need of +work have as their ideal a life completely freed from boredom. It is +a noble ideal, and far be it from me to decry it, but I am afraid +that like other ideals it is more difficult of achievement than the +idealists suppose. After all, the mornings are boring in proportion +as the previous evenings were amusing. There will be middle age, +possibly even old age. At twenty men think that life will be over at +thirty. I, at the age of fifty-eight, can no longer take that view. +Perhaps it is as unwise to spend one’s vital capital as one’s financial +capital. Perhaps some element of boredom is a necessary ingredient in +life. A wish to escape from boredom is natural; indeed, all races of +mankind have displayed it as opportunity occurred. When savages have +first tasted liquor at the hands of the white men, they have found at +last an escape from age-old tedium, and, except when the Government +has interfered, they have drunk themselves into a riotous death. +Wars, pogroms, and persecutions have all been part of the flight from +boredom; even quarrels with neighbours have been found better than +nothing. Boredom is therefore a vital problem for the moralist, since +at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it. + +Boredom, however, is not to be regarded as wholly evil. There are two +sorts, of which one is fructifying, while the other is stultifying. The +fructifying kind arises from the absence of drugs, and the stultifying +kind from the absence of vital activities. I am not prepared to say +that drugs can play no good part in life whatsoever. There are moments, +for example, when an opiate will be prescribed by a wise physician, +and I think these moments more frequent than prohibitionists suppose. +But the craving for drugs is certainly something which cannot be +left to the unfettered operation of natural impulse. And the kind of +boredom which the person accustomed to drugs experiences when deprived +of them is something for which I can suggest no remedy except time. +Now what applies to drugs applies also, within limits, to every kind +of excitement. A life too full of excitement is an exhausting life, +in which continually stronger stimuli are needed to give the thrill +that has come to be thought an essential part of pleasure. A person +accustomed to too much excitement is like a person with a morbid +craving for pepper, who comes at last to be unable even to taste a +quantity of pepper which would cause anyone else to choke. There is an +element of boredom which is inseparable from the avoidance of too much +excitement, and too much excitement not only undermines the health, but +dulls the palate for every kind of pleasure, substituting titillations +for profound organic satisfactions, cleverness for wisdom, and jagged +surprises for beauty. I do not want to push to extremes the objection +to excitement. A certain amount of it is wholesome, but, like almost +everything else, the matter is quantitative. Too little may produce +morbid cravings, too much will produce exhaustion. A certain power of +enduring boredom is therefore essential to a happy life, and is one of +the things that ought to be taught to the young. + +All great books contain boring portions, and all great lives have +contained uninteresting stretches. Imagine a modern American publisher +confronted with the Old Testament as a new manuscript submitted to him +for the first time. It is not difficult to think what his comments +would be, for example, on the genealogies. “My dear sir,” he would say, +“this chapter lacks pep; you can’t expect your reader to be interested +in a mere string of proper names of persons about whom you tell him so +little. You have begun your story, I will admit, in fine style, and at +first I was very favourably impressed, but you have altogether too much +wish to tell it all. Pick out the high lights, take out the superfluous +matter, and bring me back your manuscript when you have reduced it to +a reasonable length.” So the modern publisher would speak, knowing the +modern reader’s fear of boredom. He would say the same sort of thing +about the Confucian classics, the Koran, Marx’s _Capital_, and all +the other sacred books which have proved to be best sellers. Nor does +this apply only to sacred books. All the best novels contain boring +passages. A novel which sparkles from the first page to the last is +pretty sure not to be a great book. Nor have the lives of great men +been exciting except at a few great moments. Socrates could enjoy a +banquet now and again, and must have derived considerable satisfaction +from his conversations while the hemlock was taking effect, but most +of his life he lived quietly with Xanthippe, taking a constitutional +in the afternoon, and perhaps meeting a few friends by the way. Kant +is said never to have been more than ten miles from Königsberg in all +his life. Darwin, after going round the world, spent the whole of +the rest of his life in his own house. Marx, after stirring up a few +revolutions, decided to spend the remainder of his days in the British +Museum. Altogether it will be found that a quiet life is characteristic +of great men, and that their pleasures have not been of the sort +that would look exciting to the outward eye. No great achievement is +possible without persistent work, so absorbing and so difficult that +little energy is left over for the more strenuous kinds of amusement, +except such as serve to recuperate physical energy during holidays, of +which Alpine climbing may serve as the best example. + +The capacity to endure a more or less monotonous life is one which +should be acquired in childhood. Modern parents are greatly to blame +in this respect; they provide their children with far too many passive +amusements, such as shows and good things to eat, and they do not +realize the importance to a child of having one day like another, +except, of course, for somewhat rare occasions. The pleasures of +childhood should in the main be such as the child extracts himself from +his environment by means of some effort and inventiveness. Pleasures +which are exciting and at the same time involve no physical exertion, +such, for example, as the theatre, should occur very rarely. The +excitement is in the nature of a drug, of which more and more will come +to be required, and the physical passivity during the excitement is +contrary to instinct. A child develops best when, like a young plant, +he is left undisturbed in the same soil. Too much travel, too much +variety of impressions, are not good for the young, and cause them +as they grow up to become incapable of enduring fruitful monotony. +I do not mean that monotony has any merits of its own; I mean only +that certain good things are not possible except where there is a +certain degree of monotony. Take, say, Wordsworth’s _Prelude_. +It will be obvious to every reader that whatever had any value in +Wordsworth’s thoughts and feelings would have been impossible to a +sophisticated urban youth. A boy or young man who has some serious +constructive purpose will endure voluntarily a great deal of boredom +if he finds that it is necessary by the way. But constructive purposes +do not easily form themselves in a boy’s mind if he is living a life +of distractions and dissipations, for in that case his thoughts will +always be directed towards the next pleasure rather than towards the +distant achievement. For all these reasons a generation that cannot +endure boredom will be a generation of little men, of men unduly +divorced from the slow processes of nature, of men in whom every vital +impulse slowly withers, as though they were cut flowers in a vase. + +I do not like mystical language, and yet I hardly know how to express +what I mean without employing phrases that sound poetic rather than +scientific. Whatever we may wish to think, we are creatures of Earth; +our life is part of the life of the Earth, and we draw our nourishment +from it just as the plants and animals do. The rhythm of Earth life is +slow; autumn and winter are as essential to it as spring and summer, +and rest is as essential as motion. To the child, even more than to +the man, it is necessary to preserve some contact with the ebb and +flow of terrestrial life. The human body has been adapted through the +ages to this rhythm, and religion has embodied something of it in the +festival of Easter. I have seen a boy of two years old, who had been +kept in London, taken out for the first time to walk in green country. +The season was winter, and everything was wet and muddy. To the adult +eye there was nothing to cause delight, but in the boy there sprang +up a strange ecstasy; he kneeled in the wet ground and put his face +in the grass, and gave utterance to half-articulate cries of delight. +The joy that he was experiencing was primitive, simple and massive. +The organic need that was being satisfied is so profound that those +in whom it is starved are seldom completely sane. Many pleasures, of +which we may take gambling as a good example, have in them no element +of this contact with Earth. Such pleasures, in the instant when they +cease, leave a man feeling dusty and dissatisfied, hungry for he +knows not what. Such pleasures bring nothing that can be called joy. +Those, on the other hand, that bring us into contact with the life +of the Earth have something in them profoundly satisfying; when they +cease, the happiness that they have brought remains, although their +intensity while they existed may have been less than that of more +exciting dissipations. The distinction that I have in mind runs through +the whole gamut from the simplest to the most civilized occupations. +The two-year-old boy whom I spoke of a moment ago displayed the most +primitive possible form of union with the life of Earth. But in a +higher form the same thing is to be found in poetry. What makes +Shakespeare’s lyrics supreme is that they are filled with this same joy +that made the two-year-old embrace the grass. Consider “Hark, hark, the +lark”, or “Come unto these yellow sands”; you will find in these poems +the civilized expression of the same emotion that in our two-year-old +could only find utterance in inarticulate cries. Or, again, consider +the difference between love and mere sex attraction. Love is an +experience in which our whole being is renewed and refreshed as is that +of plants by rain after drought. In sex intercourse without love there +is nothing of this. When the momentary pleasure is ended, there is +fatigue, disgust, and a sense that life is hollow. Love is part of the +life of Earth; sex without love is not. + +The special kind of boredom from which modern urban populations suffer +is intimately bound up with their separation from the life of Earth. +It makes life hot and dusty and thirsty, like a pilgrimage in the +desert. Among those who are rich enough to choose their way of life, +the particular brand of unendurable boredom from which they suffer is +due, paradoxical as this may seem, to their fear of boredom. In flying +from the fructifying kind of boredom, they fall a prey to the other far +worse kind. A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it +is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + FATIGUE + + +Fatigue is of many sorts, some of which are a much graver obstacle to +happiness than others. Purely physical fatigue, provided it is not +excessive, tends if anything to be a cause of happiness; it leads to +sound sleep and a good appetite, and gives zest to the pleasures that +are possible on holidays. But when it is excessive it becomes a very +grave evil. Peasant women in all but the most advanced communities are +old at thirty, worn out with excessive toil. Children in the early days +of industrialism were stunted in their growth and frequently killed +by overwork in early years. The same thing still happens in China and +Japan, where industrialism is new; to some extent also in the Southern +States of America. Physical labour carried beyond a certain point is +atrocious torture, and it has very frequently been carried so far as to +make life all but unbearable. In the most advanced parts of the modern +world, however, physical fatigue has been much minimized through the +improvement of industrial conditions. The kind of fatigue that is most +serious in the present day in advanced communities is nervous fatigue. +This kind, oddly enough, is most pronounced among the well-to-do, and +tends to be much less among wage-earners than it is among business men +and brain-workers. + +To escape from nervous fatigue in modern life is a very difficult +thing. In the first place, all through working hours, and still more in +the time spent between work and home, the urban worker is exposed to +noise, most of which, it is true, he learns not to hear consciously, +but which none the less wears him out, all the more owing to the +subconscious effort involved in not hearing it. Another thing which +causes fatigue without our being aware of it is the constant presence +of strangers. The natural instinct of man, as of other animals, is to +investigate every stranger of his species, with a view to deciding +whether to behave to him in a friendly or hostile manner. This instinct +has to be inhibited by those who travel in the underground in the rush +hour, and the result of inhibiting it is that they feel a general +diffused rage against all the strangers with whom they are brought +into this involuntary contact. Then there is the hurry to catch the +morning train, with the resulting dyspepsia. Consequently, by the time +the office is reached and the day’s work begins, the black-coated +worker already has frayed nerves and a tendency to view the human race +as a nuisance. His employer, arriving in the same mood, does nothing +to dissipate it in the employee. Fear of the sack compels respectful +behaviour, but this unnatural conduct only adds to the nervous strain. +If once a week employees were allowed to pull the employer’s nose +and otherwise indicate what they thought of him, the nervous tension +for them would be relieved, but for the employer, who also has his +troubles, this would not mend matters. What the fear of dismissal is +to the employee, the fear of bankruptcy is to the employer. Some, +it is true, are big enough to be above this fear, but to reach a +great position of this kind they have generally had to pass through +years of strenuous struggle, during which they had to be actively +aware of events in all parts of the world and constantly foiling the +machinations of their competitors. The result of all this is that when +sound success comes a man is already a nervous wreck, so accustomed to +anxiety that he cannot shake off the habit of it when the need for it +is past. There are, it is true, rich men’s sons, but they generally +succeed in manufacturing for themselves anxieties as similar as +possible to those that they would have suffered if they had not been +born rich. By betting and gambling, they incur the displeasure of their +fathers; by cutting short their sleep for the sake of their amusements, +they debilitate their physique; and by the time they settle down, they +have become as incapable of happiness as their fathers were before +them. Voluntarily or involuntarily, of choice or of necessity, most +moderns lead a nerve-racking life, and are continually too tired to be +capable of enjoyment without the help of alcohol. + +Leaving on one side those rich men who are merely fools, let us +consider the commoner case of those whose fatigue is associated with +strenuous work for a living. To a great extent fatigue in such cases +is due to worry, and worry could be prevented by a better philosophy +of life and a little more mental discipline. Most men and women are +very deficient in control over their thoughts. I mean by this that they +cannot cease to think about worrying topics at times when no action +can be taken in regard to them. Men take their business worries to bed +with them, and in the hours of the night, when they should be gaining +fresh strength to cope with to-morrow’s troubles, they are going over +and over again in their minds problems about which at the moment +they can do nothing, thinking about them, not in a way to produce a +sound line of conduct on the morrow, but in that half-insane way that +characterizes the troubled meditations of insomnia. Something of the +midnight madness still clings about them in the morning, clouding their +judgment, spoiling their temper, and making every obstacle infuriating. +The wise man thinks about his troubles only when there is some purpose +in doing so; at other times he thinks about other things, or, if it is +night, about nothing at all. I do not mean to suggest that at a great +crisis, for example, when ruin is imminent, or when a man has reason +to suspect that his wife is deceiving him, it is possible, except to a +few exceptionally disciplined minds, to shut out the trouble at moments +when nothing can be done about it. But it is quite possible to shut out +the ordinary troubles of ordinary days, except while they have to be +dealt with. It is amazing how much both happiness and efficiency can +be increased by the cultivation of an orderly mind, which thinks about +a matter adequately at the right time rather than inadequately at all +times. When a difficult or worrying decision has to be reached, as soon +as all the data are available give the matter your best thought and +make your decision; having made the decision, do not revise it unless +some new fact comes to your knowledge. Nothing is so exhausting as +indecision, and nothing is so futile. + +A great many worries can be diminished by realizing the unimportance +of the matter which is causing the anxiety. I have done in my time +a considerable amount of public speaking; at first every audience +terrified me, and nervousness made me speak very badly; I dreaded the +ordeal so much that I always hoped I might break my leg before I had to +make a speech, and when it was over I was exhausted from the nervous +strain. Gradually I taught myself to feel that it did not matter +whether I spoke well or ill, the universe would remain much the same +in either case. I found that the less I cared whether I spoke well +or badly, the less badly I spoke, and gradually the nervous strain +diminished almost to vanishing point. A great deal of nervous fatigue +can be dealt with in this way. Our doings are not so important as we +naturally suppose; our successes and failures do not after all matter +very much. Even great sorrows can be survived; troubles which seem as +if they must put an end to happiness for life fade with the lapse of +time until it becomes almost impossible to remember their poignancy. +But over and above these self-centred considerations is the fact that +one’s ego is no very large part of the world. The man who can centre +his thoughts and hopes upon something transcending self can find a +certain peace in the ordinary troubles of life which is impossible to +the pure egoist. + +What might be called hygiene of the nerves has been much too little +studied. Industrial psychology, it is true, has made elaborate +investigations into fatigue, and has proved by careful statistics +that if you go on doing something for a sufficiently long time you +will ultimately get rather tired--a result which might have been +guessed without so much parade of science. The study of fatigue by +psychologists is mainly concerned with muscular fatigue, although there +are also a certain number of studies of fatigue in school children. +None of these, however, touch upon the important problem. The important +kind of fatigue is always emotional in modern life; purely intellectual +fatigue, like purely muscular fatigue, produces its own remedy in +sleep. Any person who has a great deal of intellectual work devoid of +emotion to do--say, for example, elaborate computations--will sleep off +at the end of each day the fatigue that that day has brought. The harm +that is attributed to overwork is hardly ever due to that cause, but to +some kind of worry or anxiety. The trouble with emotional fatigue is +that it interferes with rest. The more tired a man becomes, the more +impossible he finds it to stop. One of the symptoms of approaching +nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important, +and that to take a holiday would bring all kinds of disaster. If I +were a medical man, I should prescribe a holiday to any patient who +considered his work important. The nervous break-down which appears to +be produced by the work is, in fact, in every case that I have ever +known of personally, produced by some emotional trouble from which the +patient attempts to escape by means of his work. He is loath to give +up his work because, if he does so, he will no longer have anything +to distract him from the thoughts of his misfortune, whatever it may +be. Of course, the trouble may be fear of bankruptcy, and in that case +his work is directly connected with his worry, but even then worry is +likely to lead him to work so long that his judgment becomes clouded +and bankruptcy comes sooner than if he worked less. In every case it is +the emotional trouble, not the work, that causes the breakdown. + +The psychology of worry is by no means simple. I have spoken already of +mental discipline, namely the habit of thinking of things at the right +time. This has its importance, first because it makes it possible to +get through the day’s work with less expenditure of thought, secondly +because it affords a cure for insomnia, and thirdly because it +promotes efficiency and wisdom in decisions. But methods of this kind +do not touch the subconscious or the unconscious, and when a trouble is +grave no method is of much avail unless it penetrates below the level +of consciousness. There has been a great deal of study by psychologists +of the operation of the unconscious upon the conscious, but much less +of the operation of the conscious upon the unconscious. Yet the latter +is of vast importance in the subject of mental hygiene, and must be +understood if rational convictions are ever to operate in the realm of +the unconscious. This applies in particular in the matter of worry. It +is easy enough to tell oneself that such and such a misfortune would +not be so very terrible if it happened, but so long as this remains +merely a conscious conviction it will not operate in the watches of the +night, or prevent the occurrence of nightmares. My own belief is that a +conscious thought can be planted into the unconscious if a sufficient +amount of vigour and intensity is put into it. Most of the unconscious +consists of what were once highly emotional conscious thoughts, which +have now become buried. It is possible to do this process of burying +deliberately, and in this way the unconscious can be led to do a lot of +useful work. I have found, for example, that if I have to write upon +some rather difficult topic the best plan is to think about it with +very great intensity--the greatest intensity of which I am capable--for +a few hours or days, and at the end of that time give orders, so to +speak, that the work is to proceed underground. After some months I +return consciously to the topic and find that the work has been done. +Before I had discovered this technique, I used to spend the intervening +months worrying because I was making no progress; I arrived at the +solution none the sooner for this worry, and the intervening months +were wasted, whereas now I can devote them to other pursuits. A process +in many ways analogous can be adopted with regard to anxieties. When +some misfortune threatens, consider seriously and deliberately what is +the very worst that could possibly happen. Having looked this possible +misfortune in the face, give yourself sound reasons for thinking that +after all it would be no such very terrible disaster. Such reasons +always exist, since at the worst nothing that happens to oneself has +any cosmic importance. When you have looked for some time steadily at +the worst possibility and have said to yourself with real conviction, +“Well, after all, that would not matter so very much”, you will find +that your worry diminishes to a quite extraordinary extent. It may be +necessary to repeat the process a few times, but in the end, if you +have shirked nothing in facing the worst possible issue, you will find +that your worry disappears altogether, and is replaced by a kind of +exhilaration. + +This is part of a more general technique for the avoidance of fear. +Worry is a form of fear, and all forms of fear produce fatigue. A man +who has learnt not to feel fear will find the fatigue of daily life +enormously diminished. Now fear, in its most harmful form, arises where +there is some danger which we are unwilling to face. At odd moments +horrible thoughts dart into our minds; what they are depends upon +the person, but almost everybody has some kind of lurking fear. With +one man it is cancer, with another financial ruin, with a third the +discovery of some disgraceful secret, a fourth is tormented by jealous +suspicions, a fifth is haunted at night by the thought that perhaps the +tales of hell-fire told him when he was young may be true. Probably all +these people employ the wrong technique for dealing with their fear; +whenever it comes into their mind, they try to think of something else; +they distract their thoughts with amusement or work, or what not. Now +every kind of fear grows worse by not being looked at. The effort of +turning away one’s thoughts is a tribute to the horribleness of the +spectre from which one is averting one’s gaze; the proper course with +every kind of fear is to think about it rationally and calmly, but with +great concentration, until it has become completely familiar. In the +end familiarity will blunt its terrors; the whole subject will become +boring, and our thoughts will turn away from it, not, as formerly, by +an effort of will, but through mere lack of interest in the topic. When +you find yourself inclined to brood on anything, no matter what, the +best plan always is to think about it even more than you naturally +would, until at last its morbid fascination is worn off. + +One of the matters in which modern morality is most defective is this +question of fear. It is true that physical courage, especially in +war, is expected of men, but other forms of courage are not expected +of them, and no form of courage is expected of women. A woman who is +courageous has to conceal the fact if she wishes men to like her. +The man who is courageous in any matter except physical danger is +also thought ill of. Indifference to public opinion, for example, is +regarded as a challenge, and the public does what it can to punish +the man who dares to flout its authority. All this is quite opposite +to what it should be. Every form of courage, whether in men or women, +should be admired as much as physical courage is admired in a soldier. +The commonness of physical courage among young men is a proof that +courage can be produced in response to a public opinion that demands +it. Given more courage there would be less worry, and therefore less +fatigue; for a very large proportion of the nervous fatigues from +which men and women suffer at present are due to fears, conscious or +unconscious. + +A very frequent source of fatigue is love of excitement. If a man could +spend his leisure in sleep, he would keep fit, but his working hours +are dreary, and he feels the need of pleasure during his hours of +freedom. The trouble is that the pleasures which are easiest to obtain +and most superficially attractive are mostly of a sort to wear out the +nerves. Desire for excitement, when it goes beyond a point, is a sign +either of a twisted disposition or of some instinctive dissatisfaction. +In the early days of a happy marriage most men feel no need of +excitement, but in the modern world marriage often has to be postponed +for such a long time that when at last it becomes financially possible +excitement has become a habit which can only be kept at bay for a short +time. If public opinion allowed men to marry at twenty-one without +incurring the financial burdens at present involved in matrimony, many +men would never get into the way of demanding pleasures as fatiguing +as their work. To suggest that this should be made possible is, +however, immoral, as may be seen from the fate of Judge Lindsey, who +has suffered obloquy, in spite of a long and honourable career, for the +sole crime of wishing to save young people from the misfortunes that +they incur as a result of their elders’ bigotry. I shall not, however, +pursue this topic any further at present, since it comes under the +heading of Envy, with which we shall be concerned in a later chapter. + +For the private individual, who cannot alter the laws and institutions +under which he lives, it is difficult to cope with the situation that +oppressive moralists created and perpetuate. It is, however, worth +while to realize that exciting pleasures are not a road to happiness, +although so long as more satisfying joys remain unattainable a man +may find it hardly possible to endure life except by the help of +excitement. In such a situation the only thing that a prudent man +can do is to ration himself, and not to allow himself such an amount +of fatiguing pleasure as will undermine his health or interfere with +his work. The radical cure for the troubles of the young lies in a +change of public morals. In the meantime a young man does well to +reflect that he will ultimately be in a position to marry, and that he +will be unwise if he lives in such a way as to make a happy marriage +impossible, which may easily happen through frayed nerves and an +acquired incapacity for the gentler pleasures. + +One of the worst features of nervous fatigue is that it acts as a +sort of screen between a man and the outside world. Impressions reach +him, as it were, muffled and muted; he no longer notices people +except to be irritated by small tricks or mannerisms; he derives no +pleasure from his meals or from the sunshine, but tends to become +tensely concentrated upon a few objects and indifferent to all the +rest. This state of affairs makes it impossible to rest, so that +fatigue continually increases until it reaches a point where medical +treatment is required. All this is at bottom a penalty for having lost +that contact with Earth of which we spoke in the preceding chapter. +But how such contact is to be preserved in our great modern urban +agglomerations of population, it is by no means easy to see. However, +here again we find ourselves upon the fringe of large social questions +with which in this volume it is not my intention to deal. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + ENVY + + +Next to worry probably one of the most potent causes of unhappiness is +envy. Envy is, I should say, one of the most universal and deep-seated +of human passions. It is very noticeable in children before they are a +year old, and has to be treated with the most tender respect by every +educator. The very slightest appearance of favouring one child at the +expense of another is instantly observed and resented. Distributive +justice, absolute, rigid, and unvarying, must be observed by anyone who +has children to deal with. But children are only slightly more open in +their expressions of envy, and of jealousy (which is a special form of +envy), than are grown-up people. The emotion is just as prevalent among +adults as among children. Take, for example, maid-servants: I remember +when one of our maids, who was a married woman, became pregnant, and +we said that she was not to be expected to lift heavy weights, the +instant result was that none of the others would lift heavy weights, +and any work of that sort that needed doing we had to do ourselves. +Envy is the basis of democracy. Heraclitus asserts that the citizens +of Ephesus ought all to be hanged because they said, “There shall be +none first among us”. The democratic movement in Greek States must have +been almost wholly inspired by this passion. And the same is true of +modern democracy. There is, it is true, an idealistic theory according +to which democracy is the best form of government. I think myself that +this theory is true. But there is no department of practical politics +where idealistic theories are strong enough to cause great changes; +when great changes occur, the theories which justify them are always a +camouflage for passion. And the passion that has given driving force +to democratic theories is undoubtedly, the passion of envy. Read the +memoirs of Madame Roland, who is frequently represented as a noble +woman inspired by devotion to the people. You will find that what made +her such a vehement democrat was the experience of being shown into the +servants’ hall when she had occasion to visit an aristocratic château. + +Among average respectable women envy plays an extraordinarily large +part. If you are sitting in the Underground and a well-dressed woman +happens to walk along the car, watch the eyes of the other women. You +will see that every one of them, with the possible exception of those +who are even better dressed, will watch the woman with malevolent +glances, and will be struggling to draw inferences derogatory to her. +The love of scandal is an expression of this general malevolence: +any story against another woman is instantly believed, even on the +flimsiest evidence. A lofty morality serves the same purpose: those +who have a chance to sin against it are envied, and it is considered +virtuous to punish them for their sins. This particular form of virtue +is certainly its own reward. + +Exactly the same thing, however, is to be observed among men, except +that women regard all other women as their competitors, whereas +men as a rule only have this feeling towards other men in the same +profession. Have you, reader, ever been so imprudent as to praise an +artist to another artist? Have you ever praised a politician to another +politician of the same party? Have you ever praised an Egyptologist +to another Egyptologist? If you have, it is a hundred to one that you +will have produced an explosion of jealousy. In the correspondence +of Leibniz and Huyghens there are a number of letters lamenting the +supposed fact that Newton had become insane. “Is it not sad”, they +write to each other, “that the incomparable genius of Mr. Newton should +have become overclouded by the loss of reason?” And these two eminent +men, in one letter after another, wept crocodile tears with obvious +relish. As a matter of fact, the event which they were hypocritically +lamenting had not taken place, though a few examples of eccentric +behaviour had given rise to the rumour. + +Of all the characteristics of ordinary human nature envy is the +most unfortunate; not only does the envious person wish to inflict +misfortune and do so whenever he can with impunity, but he is also +himself rendered unhappy by envy. Instead of deriving pleasure from +what he has, he derives pain from what others have. If he can, he +deprives others of their advantages, which to him is as desirable as +it would be to secure the same advantages himself. If this passion is +allowed to run riot it becomes fatal to all excellence, and even to the +most useful exercise of exceptional skill. Why should a medical man go +to see his patients in a car when the labourer has to walk to his work? +Why should the scientific investigator be allowed to spend his time in +a warm room when others have to face the inclemency of the elements? +Why should a man who possesses some rare talent of great importance to +the world be saved from the drudgery of his own house-work? To such +questions envy finds no answer. Fortunately, however, there is in human +nature a compensating passion, namely that of admiration. Whoever +wishes to increase human happiness must wish to increase admiration and +to diminish envy. + +What cure is there for envy? For the saint there is the cure of +selflessness, though even in the case of saints envy of other saints +is by no means impossible. I doubt whether St. Simeon Stylites would +have been wholly pleased if he had learnt of some other saint who had +stood even longer on an even narrower pillar. But, leaving saints +out of account, the only cure for envy in the case of ordinary men +and women is happiness, and the difficulty is that envy is itself a +terrible obstacle to happiness. I think envy is immensely promoted +by misfortunes in childhood. The child who finds a brother or sister +preferred before himself acquires the habit of envy, and when he goes +out into the world looks for injustices of which he is the victim, +perceives them at once if they occur, and imagines them if they do +not. Such a man is inevitably unhappy, and becomes a nuisance to his +friends, who cannot be always remembering to avoid imaginary slights. +Having begun by believing that no one likes him, he at last by his +behaviour makes his belief true. Another misfortune in childhood which +has the same result is to have parents without much parental feeling. +Without having an unduly favoured brother or sister, a child may +perceive that the children in other families are more loved by their +mother and father than he is. This will cause him to hate the other +children and his own parents, and when he grows up he will feel himself +an Ishmael. Some kinds of happiness are everyone’s natural birthright, +and to be deprived of them is almost inevitably to become warped and +embittered. + +But the envious man may say: “What is the good of telling me that the +cure for envy is happiness? I cannot find happiness while I continue +to feel envy, and you tell me that I cannot cease to be envious until +I find happiness.” But real life is never so logical as this. Merely +to realize the causes of one’s own envious feelings is to take a long +step towards curing them. The habit of thinking in terms of comparisons +is a fatal one. When anything pleasant occurs it should be enjoyed +to the full, without stopping to think that it is not so pleasant as +something else that may possibly be happening to someone else. “Yes,” +says the envious man, “this is a sunny day, and it is springtime, and +the birds are singing, and the flowers are in bloom, but I understand +that the springtime in Sicily is a thousand times more beautiful, that +the birds sing more exquisitely in the groves of Helicon, and that +the rose of Sharon is more lovely than any in my garden.” And as he +thinks these thoughts the sun is dimmed, and the birds’ song becomes +a meaningless twitter, and the flowers seem not worth a moment’s +regard. All the other joys of life he treats in the same way. “Yes,” +he will say to himself, “the lady of my heart is lovely, I love her +and she loves me, but how much more exquisite must have been the Queen +of Sheba! Ah, if I had but had Solomon’s opportunities!” All such +comparisons are pointless and foolish; whether the Queen of Sheba or +our next-door neighbour be the cause of discontent, either is equally +futile. With the wise man, what he has does not cease to be enjoyable +because someone else has something else. Envy, in fact, is one form of +a vice, partly moral, partly intellectual, which consists in seeing +things never in themselves, but only in their relations. I am earning, +let us say, a salary sufficient for my needs. I should be content, but +I hear that someone else whom I believe to be in no way my superior +is earning a salary twice as great as mine. Instantly, if I am of an +envious disposition, the satisfactions to be derived from what I have +grow dim, and I begin to be eaten up with a sense of injustice. For all +this the proper cure is mental discipline, the habit of not thinking +profitless thoughts. After all, what is more enviable than happiness? +And if I can cure myself of envy I can acquire happiness and become +enviable. The man who has double my salary is doubtless tortured by the +thought that someone else in turn has twice as much as he has, and so +it goes on. If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon. But Napoleon +envied Cæsar, Cæsar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay, envied +Hercules, who never existed. You cannot, therefore, get away from envy +by means of success alone, for there will always be in history or +legend some person even more successful than you are. You can get away +from envy by enjoying the pleasures that come your way, by doing the +work that you have to do, and by avoiding comparisons with those whom +you imagine, perhaps quite falsely, to be more fortunate than yourself. + +Unnecessary modesty has a great deal to do with envy. Modesty is +considered a virtue, but for my part I am very doubtful whether, in +its more extreme forms, it deserves to be so regarded. Modest people +need a great deal of reassuring, and often do not dare to attempt tasks +which they are quite capable of performing. Modest people believe +themselves to be outshone by those with whom they habitually associate. +They are therefore particularly prone to envy, and, through envy, to +unhappiness and illwill. For my part, I think there is much to be +said for bringing up a boy to think himself a fine fellow. I do not +believe that any peacock envies another peacock his tail, because every +peacock is persuaded that his own tail is the finest in the world. The +consequence of this is that peacocks are peaceable birds. Imagine how +unhappy the life of a peacock would be if he had been taught that it +is wicked to have a good opinion of oneself. Whenever he saw another +peacock spreading out his tail, he would say to himself: “I must not +imagine that my tail is better than that, for that would be conceited, +but oh, how I wish it were! That odious bird is so convinced of his own +magnificence! Shall I pull out some of his feathers? And then perhaps +I need no longer fear comparison with him.” Or perhaps he would lay +a trap for him, and prove that he was a wicked peacock who had been +guilty of unpeacockly behaviour, and he would denounce him to the +assembly of the leaders. Gradually he would establish the principle +that peacocks with specially fine tails are almost always wicked, and +that the wise ruler in the peacock kingdom would seek out the humble +bird with only a few draggled tail feathers. Having got this principle +accepted, he would get all the finest birds put to death, and in the +end a really splendid tail will become only a dim memory of the past. +Such is the victory of envy masquerading as morality. But where every +peacock thinks himself more splendid than any of the others, there is +no need for all this repression. Each peacock expects to win the first +prize in the competition, and each, because he values his own peahen, +believes that he has done so. + +Envy is, of course, closely connected with competition. We do not envy +a good fortune which we conceive as quite hopelessly out of our reach. +In an age when the social hierarchy is fixed, the lowest classes do not +envy the upper classes so long as the division between rich and poor is +thought to be ordained by God. Beggars do not envy millionaires, though +of course they will envy other beggars who are more successful. The +instability of social status in the modern world, and the equalitarian +doctrines of democracy and socialism, have greatly extended the range +of envy. For the moment this is an evil, but it is an evil which must +be endured in order to arrive at a more just social system. As soon +as inequalities are thought about rationally they are seen to be +unjust unless they rest upon some superiority of merit. And as soon +as they are seen to be unjust, there is no remedy for the resulting +envy except the removal of the injustice. Our age is therefore one in +which envy plays a peculiarly large part. The poor envy the rich, the +poorer nations envy the richer nations, women envy men, virtuous women +envy those who, though not virtuous, remain unpunished. While it is +true that envy is the chief motive force leading to justice as between +different classes, different nations, and different sexes, it is at +the same time true that the kind of justice to be expected as a result +of envy is likely to be the worst possible kind, namely that which +consists rather in diminishing the pleasures of the fortunate than +in increasing those of the unfortunate. Passions which work havoc in +private life work havoc in public life also. It is not to be supposed +that out of something as evil as envy good results will flow. Those, +therefore, who from idealistic reasons desire profound changes in our +social system, and a great increase of social justice, must hope that +other forces than envy will be instrumental in bringing the changes +about. + +All bad things are interconnected, and any one of them is liable to be +the cause of any other; more particularly fatigue is a very frequent +cause of envy. When a man feels inadequate to the work he has to do, +he feels a general discontent which is exceedingly liable to take the +form of envy towards those whose work is less exacting. One of the ways +of diminishing envy, therefore, is to diminish fatigue. But by far +the most important thing is to secure a life which is satisfying to +instinct. Much envy that seems purely professional really has a sexual +source. A man who is happy in his marriage and his children is not +likely to feel much envy of other men because of their greater wealth +or success, so long as he has enough to bring up his children in what +he feels to be the right way. The essentials of human happiness are +simple, so simple that sophisticated people cannot bring themselves to +admit what it is they really lack. The women we spoke of earlier who +look with envy on every well-dressed woman are, one may be sure, not +happy in their instinctive life. Instinctive happiness is rare in the +English-speaking world, especially among women. Civilization in this +respect appears to have gone astray. If there is to be less envy, means +must be found for remedying this state of affairs, and if no such means +are found our civilization is in danger of going down to destruction +in an orgy of hatred. In old days people only envied their neighbours, +because they knew little about anyone else. Now through education +and the Press they know much in an abstract way about large classes +of mankind of whom no single individual is among their acquaintance. +Through the movies they think they know how the rich live, through +the newspapers they know much of the wickedness of foreign nations, +through propaganda they know of the nefarious practices of all whose +skin has a pigmentation different from their own. Yellows hate whites, +whites hate blacks, and so on. All this hatred, you may say, is stirred +up by propaganda, but this is a somewhat shallow explanation. Why is +propaganda so much more successful when it stirs up hatred than when it +tries to stir up friendly feeling? The reason is clearly that the human +heart as modern civilization has made it is more prone to hatred than +to friendship. And it is prone to hatred because it is dissatisfied, +because it feels deeply, perhaps even unconsciously, that it has +somehow missed the meaning of life, that perhaps others, but not we +ourselves, have secured the good things which nature offers for man’s +enjoyment. The positive sum of pleasures in a modern man’s life is +undoubtedly greater than was to be found in more primitive communities, +but the consciousness of what might be has increased even more. +Whenever you happen to take your children to the Zoo you may observe in +the eyes of the apes, when they are not performing gymnastic feats or +cracking nuts, a strange strained sadness. One can almost imagine that +they feel they ought to become men, but cannot discover the secret of +how to do it. On the road of evolution they have lost their way; their +cousins marched on and they were left behind. Something of the same +strain and anguish seems to have entered the soul of civilized man. He +knows there is something better than himself almost within his grasp, +yet he does not know where to seek it or how to find it. In despair he +rages against his fellow man, who is equally lost and equally unhappy. +We have reached a stage in evolution which is not the final stage. We +must pass through it quickly, for if we do not, most of us will perish +by the way, and the others will be lost in a forest of doubt and fear. +Envy therefore, evil as it is, and terrible as are its effects, is not +wholly of the devil. It is in part the expression of an heroic pain, +the pain of those who walk through the night blindly, perhaps to a +better resting-place, perhaps only to death and destruction. To find +the right road out of this despair civilized man must enlarge his heart +as he has enlarged his mind. He must learn to transcend self, and in so +doing to acquire the freedom of the Universe. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + THE SENSE OF SIN + + +Concerning the sense of sin we have already in Chapter I had occasion +to say something, but we must now go into it more fully, since it is +one of the most important of the underlying psychological causes of +unhappiness in adult life. + +There is a traditional religious psychology of sin which no modern +psychologist can accept. It was supposed, especially by Protestants, +that conscience reveals to every man when an act to which he is tempted +is sinful, and that after committing such an act he may experience +either of two painful feelings, one called remorse, in which there is +no merit, and the other called repentance, which is capable of wiping +out his guilt. In Protestant countries even many of those who lost +their faith continued for a time to accept with greater or smaller +modifications the orthodox view of sin. In our own day, partly owing to +psycho-analysis, we have the opposite state of affairs: not only do the +unorthodox reject the old doctrine of sin, but many of those who still +consider themselves orthodox do so likewise. Conscience has ceased to +be something mysterious which, because it was mysterious, could be +regarded as the voice of God. We know that conscience enjoins different +acts in different parts of the world, and that broadly speaking it +is everywhere in agreement with tribal custom. What, then, is really +happening when a man’s conscience pricks him? + +The word “conscience” covers, as a matter of fact, several different +feelings; the simplest of these is the fear of being found out. You, +reader, have, I am sure, lived a completely blameless life, but if +you will ask someone who has at some time acted in a manner for which +he would be punished if it became known, you will find that, when +discovery seemed imminent, the person in question repented of his +crime. I do not say that this would apply to the professional thief who +expects a certain amount of prison as a trade risk, but it applies to +what may be called the respectable offender, such as the Bank Manager +who has embezzled in a moment of stress, or the clergyman who has been +tempted by passion into some sensual irregularity. Such men can forget +their crime when there seems little chance of detection, but when they +are found out, or in grave danger of being so, they wish they had +been more virtuous, and this wish may give them a lively sense of the +enormity of their sin. Closely allied with this feeling is the fear +of becoming an outcast from the herd. A man who cheats at cards or +fails to pay his debts of honour has nothing within himself by which +to stand up against the disapproval of the herd when he is found out. +In this he is unlike the religious innovator, the anarchist, and the +revolutionary, who all feel that, whatever may be their fate in the +present, the future is with them and will honour them as much as they +are execrated in the present. These men, in spite of the hostility of +the herd, do not feel sinful, but the man who entirely accepts the +morality of the herd while acting against it suffers great unhappiness +when he loses caste, and the fear of this disaster, or the pain of +it when it has happened, may easily cause him to regard his acts +themselves as sinful. + +But the sense of sin in its most important forms is something which +goes deeper. It is something which has its roots in the unconscious, +and does not appear in consciousness as fear of other people’s +disapproval. In consciousness certain kinds of acts are labelled Sin +for no reason visible to introspection. When a man commits these acts +he feels uncomfortable without quite knowing why. He wishes he were the +kind of man who could abstain from what he believes to be sin. He gives +moral admiration only to those whom he believes to be pure in heart. +He recognizes with a greater or less degree of regret that it is not +for him to be a saint; indeed, his conception of saintship is probably +one which it is nearly impossible to carry out in an ordinary everyday +life. Consequently he goes through life with a sense of guilt, feeling +that the best is not for him, and that his highest moments are those of +maudlin penitence. + +The source of all this in practically every case is the moral teaching +which the man received before he was six years old at the hands of his +mother or his nurse. He learned before that age that it is wicked to +swear, and not quite nice to use any but the most ladylike language, +that only bad men drink, and that tobacco is incompatible with the +highest virtue. He learned that one should never tell a lie. And above +all he learned that any interest in the sexual parts is an abomination. +He knew these to be the view of his mother, and believed them to be +those of his Creator. To be affectionately treated by his mother, or, +if she was neglectful, by his nurse, was the greatest pleasure of his +life, and was only obtainable when he had not been known to sin against +the moral code. He therefore came to associate something vaguely +awful with any conduct of which his mother or nurse would disapprove. +Gradually as he grew older he forgot where his moral code had come from +and what had originally been the penalty for disobeying it, but he did +not throw off the moral code or cease to feel that something dreadful +was liable to happen to him if he infringed it. + +Now very large parts of this infantile moral teaching are devoid +of all rational foundation and such as cannot be applied to the +ordinary behaviour of ordinary men. A man who uses what is called +“bad language”, for example, is not from a rational point of view any +worse than a man who does not. Nevertheless, practically everybody in +trying to imagine a saint would consider abstinence from swearing as +essential. Considered in the light of reason this is simply silly. The +same applies to alcohol and tobacco. With regard to alcohol the feeling +does not exist in Southern countries, and indeed there is an element +of impiety about it, since it is known that Our Lord and the Apostles +drank wine. With regard to tobacco it is easier to maintain a negative +position, since all the greatest saints lived before its use was known. +But here also no rational argument is possible. The view that no saint +would smoke is based in the last analysis upon the view that no saint +would do anything solely because it gave him pleasure. This ascetic +element in ordinary morality has become almost unconscious, but it +operates in all kinds of ways that make our moral code irrational. +In a rational ethic it will be held laudable to give pleasure to +anyone, even to oneself, provided there is no counter-balancing pain +to oneself or to others. The ideally virtuous man, if we had got rid +of asceticism, would be the man who permits the enjoyment of all good +things whenever there is no evil consequence to outweigh the enjoyment. +Take again the question of lying. I do not deny that there is a great +deal too much lying in the world, and that we should all be the better +for an increase of truthfulness, but I do deny, as I think every +rational person must, that lying is in no circumstances justified. I +once in the course of a country walk saw a tired fox at the last stages +of exhaustion still forcing himself to run. A few minutes afterwards +I saw the hunt. They asked me if I had seen the fox, and I said I had. +They asked me which way he had gone, and I lied to them. I do not think +I should have been a better man if I had told the truth. + +But it is above all in the realm of sex that early moral teaching does +harm. If a child has been conventionally educated by somewhat stern +parents or nurses, the association between sin and the sex organs +is so firmly established by the time he is six years old that it is +unlikely ever to be completely undone throughout the rest of his +life. This feeling is, of course, reinforced by the Œdipus complex, +since the woman most loved in childhood is one with whom all sexual +freedoms are impossible. The result is that many adult men feel women +to be degraded by sex, and cannot respect their wives unless their +wives hate sexual intercourse. But the man whose wife is cold will be +driven by instinct to seek instinctive satisfaction elsewhere. His +instinctive satisfaction, however, even if he momentarily finds it, +will be poisoned by the sense of guilt, so that he cannot be happy +in any relation with a woman, whether in marriage or outside it. On +the woman’s side the same sort of thing happens if she has been very +emphatically taught to be what is called “pure”. She instinctively +holds herself back in her sexual relations with her husband, and +is afraid of deriving any pleasure from them. In the present day, +however, there is very much less of this on the part of women than +there was fifty years ago. I should say that at present among educated +people the sex life of men is more contorted and more poisoned by the +sense of sin than that of women. + +There is beginning to be widespread awareness, though not of course +on the part of public authorities, of the evils of traditional sex +education in regard to the very young. The right rule is simple: until +a child is nearing the age of puberty teach him or her no sexual +morality whatever, and carefully avoid instilling the idea that there +is anything disgusting in the natural bodily functions. As the time +approaches when it becomes necessary to give moral instruction, be sure +that it is rational, and that at every point you can give good grounds +for what you say. But it is not on education that I wish to speak in +this book. In this book I am concerned rather with what the adult can +do to minimize the evil effects of unwise education in causing an +irrational sense of sin. + +The problem here is the same as has confronted us in earlier +chapters, namely that of compelling the unconscious to take note of +the rational beliefs that govern our conscious thought. Men must not +allow themselves to be swayed by their moods, believing one thing at +one moment and another at another. The sense of sin is especially +prominent at moments when the conscious will is weakened by fatigue, +by illness, by drink, or by any other cause. What a man feels at these +moments (unless caused by drink) is supposed to be a revelation from +his higher self. “The devil was sick, the devil a saint would be.” But +it is absurd to suppose that moments of weakness give more insight +than moments of strength. In moments of weakness it is difficult to +resist infantile suggestions, but there is no reason whatsoever for +regarding such suggestions as preferable to the beliefs of the adult +man when in full possession of his faculties. On the contrary, what a +man deliberately believes with his whole reason when he is vigorous +ought to be to him the norm as to what he had better believe at all +times. It is quite possible to overcome infantile suggestions of the +unconscious, and even to change the contents of the unconscious, by +employing the right kind of technique. Whenever you begin to feel +remorse for an act which your reason tells you is not wicked, examine +the causes of your feeling of remorse, and convince yourself in +detail of their absurdity. Let your conscious beliefs be so vivid and +emphatic that they make an impression upon your unconscious strong +enough to cope with the impressions made by your nurse or your mother +when you were an infant. Do not be content with an alternation between +moments of rationality and moments of irrationality. Look into the +irrationality closely, with a determination not to respect it, and +not to let it dominate you. Whenever it thrusts foolish thoughts or +feelings into your consciousness, pull them up by the roots, examine +them, and reject them. Do not allow yourself to remain a vacillating +creature, swayed half by reason and half by infantile folly. Do not be +afraid of irreverence towards the memory of those who controlled your +childhood. They seemed to you then strong and wise because you were +weak and foolish; now that you are neither, it is your business to +examine their apparent strength and wisdom, to consider whether they +deserve that reverence that from force of habit you still bestow upon +them. Ask yourself seriously whether the world is the better for the +moral teaching traditionally given to the young. Consider how much of +unadulterated superstition goes into the make-up of the conventionally +virtuous man, and reflect that, while all kinds of imaginary moral +dangers were guarded against by incredibly foolish prohibitions, the +real moral dangers to which an adult is exposed were practically +unmentioned. What are the really harmful acts to which the average man +is tempted? Sharp practice in business of the sort not punished by +law, harshness towards employees, cruelty towards wife and children, +malevolence towards competitors, ferocity in political conflicts--these +are the really harmful sins that are common among respectable and +respected citizens. By means of these sins a man spreads misery in his +immediate circle and does his bit towards destroying civilization. Yet +these are not the things that make him, when he is ill, regard himself +as an outcast who has forfeited all claim to divine favour. These are +not the things that cause him in nightmares to see visions of his +mother bending reproachful glances upon him. Why is his subconscious +morality thus divorced from reason? Because the ethic believed in by +those who had charge of his infancy was silly; because it was not +derived from any study of the individual’s duty to the community; +because it was made up of old scraps of irrational taboos; and because +it contained within itself elements of morbidness derived from the +spiritual sickness that troubled the dying Roman Empire. Our nominal +morality has been formulated by priests and mentally enslaved women. It +is time that men who have to take a normal part in the normal life of +the world learned to rebel against this sickly nonsense. + +But if the rebellion is to be successful in bringing individual +happiness and in enabling a man to live consistently by one standard, +not to vacillate between two, it is necessary that he should think +and feel deeply about what his reason tells him. Most men, when they +have thrown off superficially the superstitions of their childhood, +think that there is no more to be done. They do not realize that +these superstitions are still lurking underground. When a rational +conviction has been arrived at, it is necessary to dwell upon it, to +follow out its consequences, to search out in oneself whatever beliefs +inconsistent with the new conviction might otherwise survive, and when +the sense of sin grows strong, as from time to time it will, to treat +it not as a revelation and a call to higher things, but as a disease +and a weakness, unless of course it is caused by some act which a +rational ethic would condemn. I am not suggesting that a man should be +destitute of morality, I am only suggesting that he should be destitute +of superstitious morality, which is a very different thing. + +But even when a man has offended against his own rational code, I doubt +whether a sense of sin is the best method of arriving at a better way +of life. There is in the sense of sin something abject, something +lacking in self-respect. No good was ever done to anyone by the loss +of self-respect. The rational man will regard his own undesirable +acts as he regards those of others, as acts produced by certain +circumstances, and to be avoided either by a fuller realization that +they are undesirable, or, where this is possible, by avoidance of the +circumstances that caused them. + +As a matter of fact the sense of sin, so far from being a cause of a +good life, is quite the reverse. It makes a man unhappy and it makes +him feel inferior. Being unhappy, he is likely to make claims upon +other people which are excessive and which prevent him from enjoying +happiness in personal relations. Feeling inferior, he will have a +grudge against those who seem superior. He will find admiration +difficult and envy easy. He will become a generally disagreeable +person, and will find himself more and more solitary. An expansive and +generous attitude towards other people not only gives happiness to +others, but is an immense source of happiness to its possessor, since +it causes him to be generally liked. But such an attitude is scarcely +possible to the man haunted by a sense of sin. It is an outcome +of poise and self-reliance; it demands what may be called mental +integration, by which I mean that the various layers of a man’s nature, +conscious, subconscious, and unconscious, work together harmoniously +and are not engaged in perpetual battle. To produce such harmony is +possible in most cases by wise education, but where education has been +unwise it is a more difficult process. It is the process which the +psycho-analysts attempt, but I believe that in a very great many cases +the patient can himself perform the work which in more extreme cases +requires the help of the expert. Do not say: “I have no time for such +psychological labours; my life is a busy one filled with affairs, and +I must leave my unconscious to its tricks.” Nothing so much diminishes +not only happiness but efficiency as a personality divided against +itself. The time spent in producing harmony between the different +parts of one’s personality is time usefully employed. I do not suggest +that a man should set apart, say, an hour a day for self-examination. +This is to my mind by no means the best method, since it increases +self-absorption, which is part of the disease to be cured, for a +harmonious personality is directed outward. What I suggest is that a +man should make up his mind with emphasis as to what he rationally +believes, and should never allow contrary irrational beliefs to pass +unchallenged or obtain a hold over him, however brief. This is a +question of reasoning with himself in those moments in which he is +tempted to become infantile, but the reasoning, if it is sufficiently +emphatic, may be very brief. The time involved, therefore, should be +negligible. + +There is in many people a dislike of rationality, and where this +exists the kind of thing that I have been saying will seem irrelevant +and unimportant. There is an idea that rationality, if allowed free +play, will kill all the deeper emotions. This belief appears to me +to be due to an entirely erroneous conception of the function of +reason in human life. It is not the business of reason to generate +emotions, though it may be part of its function to discover ways of +preventing such emotions as are an obstacle to well-being. To find ways +of minimizing hatred and envy is no doubt part of the function of a +rational psychology. But it is a mistake to suppose that in minimizing +these passions we shall at the same time diminish the strength of those +passions which reason does not condemn. In passionate love, in parental +affection, in friendship, in benevolence, in devotion to science or +art, there is nothing that reason should wish to diminish. The rational +man, when he feels any or all of these emotions, will be glad that he +feels them and will do nothing to lessen their strength, for all these +emotions are parts of the good life, the life, that is, that makes for +happiness both in oneself and in others. There is nothing irrational +in the passions as such, and many irrational people feel only the most +trivial passions. No man need fear that by making himself rational he +will make his life dull. On the contrary, since rationality consists in +the main of internal harmony, the man who achieves it is freer in his +contemplation of the world and in the use of his energies to achieve +external purposes than is the man who is perpetually hampered by inward +conflicts. Nothing is so dull as to be encased in self, nothing so +exhilarating as to have attention and energy directed outwards. + +Our traditional morality has been unduly self-centred, and the +conception of sin is part of this unwise focusing of attention upon +self. To those who have never passed through the subjective moods +induced by this faulty morality, reason may be unnecessary. But to +those who have once acquired the sickness, reason is necessary in +effecting a cure. And perhaps the sickness is a necessary stage in +mental development. I am inclined to think that the man who has passed +beyond it by the help of reason has reached a higher level than the man +who has never experienced either the sickness or the cure. The hatred +of reason which is common in our time is very largely due to the fact +that the operations of reason are not conceived in a sufficiently +fundamental way. The man divided against himself looks for excitement +and distraction; he loves strong passions, not for sound reasons, +but because for the moment they take him outside himself and prevent +the painful necessity of thought. Any passion is to him a form of +intoxication, and since he cannot conceive of fundamental happiness, +all relief from pain appears to him solely possible in the form of +intoxication. This, however, is the symptom of a deep-seated malady. +Where there is no such malady, the greatest happiness comes with the +most complete possession of one’s faculties. It is in the moments when +the mind is most active and the fewest things are forgotten that the +most intense joys are experienced. This, indeed, is one of the best +touchstones of happiness. The happiness that requires intoxication of +no matter what sort is a spurious and unsatisfying kind. The happiness +that is genuinely satisfying is accompanied by the fullest exercise of +our faculties, and the fullest realization of the world in which we +live. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + PERSECUTION MANIA + + +In its more extreme forms persecution mania is a recognized form +of insanity. Some people imagine that others wish to kill them, or +imprison them, or to do them some other grave injury. Often the wish +to protect themselves against imaginary persecutors leads them into +acts of violence which make it necessary to restrain their liberty. +This, like many other forms of insanity, is only an exaggeration of a +tendency not at all uncommon among people who count as normal. I do +not propose to discuss the extreme forms, which are a matter for a +psychiatrist. It is the milder forms that I wish to consider, because +they are a very frequent cause of unhappiness, and because, not having +gone so far as to produce definite insanity, they are still capable of +being dealt with by the patient himself, provided he can be induced to +diagnose his trouble rightly and to see that its origin lies within +himself and not in the supposed hostility or unkindness of others. + +We are all familiar with the type of person, man or woman, who, +according to his own account, is perpetually the victim of +ingratitude, unkindness, and treachery. People of this kind are often +extraordinarily plausible, and secure warm sympathy from those who have +not known them long. There is, as a rule, nothing inherently improbable +about each separate story that they relate. The kind of ill-treatment +of which they complain does undoubtedly sometimes occur. What in the +end rouses the hearer’s suspicions is the multiplicity of villains whom +it has been the sufferer’s ill-fortune to meet with. In accordance +with the doctrine of probability, different people living in a given +society are likely in the course of their lives to meet with about the +same amount of bad treatment. If one person in a given set receives, +according to his own account, universal ill-treatment, the likelihood +is that the cause lies in himself, and that he either imagines injuries +from which in fact he has not suffered, or unconsciously behaves +in such a way as to arouse uncontrollable irritation. Experienced +people therefore become suspicious of those who by their own account +are invariably ill-treated by the world; they tend, by their lack of +sympathy, to confirm these unfortunate people in the view that everyone +is against them. The trouble, in fact, is a difficult one to deal +with, since it is inflamed alike by sympathy and by lack of sympathy. +The person inclined to persecution mania, when he finds a hard-luck +story believed, will embellish it until he reaches the frontier of +credibility; when, on the other hand, he finds it disbelieved, he has +merely another example of the peculiar hard-heartedness of mankind +towards himself. The disease is one that can only be dealt with by +understanding, and this understanding must be conveyed to the patient +if it is to serve its purpose. My purpose in this chapter is to +suggest some general reflections by means of which each individual can +detect in himself the elements of persecution mania (from which almost +everybody suffers in a greater or less degree), and, having detected +them, can eliminate them. This is an important part of the conquest of +happiness, since it is quite impossible to be happy if we feel that +everybody ill-treats us. + +One of the most universal forms of irrationality is the attitude taken +by practically everybody towards malicious gossip. Very few people can +resist saying malicious things about their acquaintances, and even +on occasion about their friends; yet when people hear that anything +has been said against themselves, they are filled with indignant +amazement. It has apparently never occurred to them that, just as they +gossip about everyone else, so everyone else gossips about them. This +is a mild form of the attitude which, when exaggerated, leads on to +persecution mania. We expect everybody else to feel towards us that +tender love and that profound respect which we feel towards ourselves. +It does not occur to us that we cannot expect others to think better of +us than we think of them, and the reason this does not occur to us is +that our own merits are great and obvious, whereas those of others, if +they exist at all, are only visible to a very charitable eye. When you +hear that so-and-so has said something horrid about you, you remember +the ninety-nine times when you have refrained from uttering the most +just and well-deserved criticism of him, and forget the hundredth time +when in an unguarded moment you have declared what you believe to be +the truth about him. Is this the reward, you feel, for all your long +forbearance? Yet from his point of view your conduct appears exactly +what his appears to you; he knows nothing of the times when you have +not spoken, he knows only of the hundredth time when you did speak. If +we were all given by magic the power to read each other’s thoughts, I +suppose the first effect would be that almost all friendships would +be dissolved; the second effect, however, might be excellent, for a +world without any friends would be felt to be intolerable, and we +should learn to like each other without needing a veil of illusion to +conceal from ourselves that we did not think each other absolutely +perfect. We know that our friends have their faults, and yet are on the +whole agreeable people whom we like. We find it, however, intolerable +that they should have the same attitude towards us. We expect them to +think that, unlike the rest of mankind, we have no faults. When we +are compelled to admit that we have faults, we take this obvious fact +far too seriously. Nobody should expect to be perfect, or be unduly +troubled by the fact that he is not. + +Persecution mania is always rooted in a too exaggerated conception of +our own merits. I am, we will say, a playwright; to every unbiased +person it must be obvious that I am the most brilliant playwright of +the age. Nevertheless, for some reason, my plays are seldom performed, +and when they are, they are not successful. What is the explanation of +this strange state of affairs? Obviously that managers, actors, and +critics have combined against me for one reason or another. The reason, +of course, is highly creditable to myself: I have refused to kow-tow +to the great ones of the theatrical world; I have not flattered the +critics; my plays contain home truths which are unbearable to those +whom they hit. And so my transcendent merit languishes unrecognized. + +Then there is the inventor who has never been able to get anyone to +examine the merits of his invention; manufacturers are set in their +ways and will not consider any innovation, while the few who are +progressive keep inventors of their own, who succeed in warding off the +intrusions of unauthorized genius; the learned societies, strangely +enough, lose one’s manuscripts or return them unread; individuals to +whom one appeals are unaccountably unresponsive. How is such a state of +affairs to be explained? Obviously there is a close corporation of men +who wish to divide among themselves the plums to be obtained by means +of invention; the man who does not belong to this close corporation +will not be listened to. + +Then there is the man who has a genuine grievance founded upon actual +fact, but who generalizes in the light of his experience and arrives at +the conclusion that his own misfortune affords the key to the universe; +he discovers, let us say, some scandal about the Secret Service which +it is to the interest of the Government to keep dark. He can obtain +hardly any publicity for his discovery, and the most apparently +high-minded men refuse to lift a finger to remedy the evil which fills +him with indignation. So far the facts are as he says they are. But +his rebuffs have made such an impression upon him that he believes all +powerful men to be occupied wholly and solely in covering up the crimes +to which they owe their power. Cases of this kind are particularly +obstinate, owing to the partial truth of their outlook; the thing that +has touched them personally has made, as is natural, more impression +upon them than the much larger number of matters of which they have +had no direct experience. This gives them a wrong sense of proportion, +and causes them to attach undue importance to facts which are perhaps +exceptional rather than typical. + +Another not uncommon victim of persecution mania is a certain type of +philanthropist who is always doing good to people against their will, +and is amazed and horrified that they display no gratitude. Our motives +in doing good are seldom as pure as we imagine them to be. Love of +power is insidious; it has many disguises, and is often the source of +the pleasure we derive from doing what we believe to be good to other +people. Not infrequently, yet another element enters in. “Doing good” +to people generally consists in depriving them of some pleasure: drink, +or gambling, or idleness, or what not. In this case there is an element +which is typical of much social morality, namely envy of those who are +in a position to commit sins from which we have to abstain if we are to +retain the respect of our friends. Those who vote, let us say, for a +law against cigarette smoking (such laws exist, or existed, in several +American States) are obviously non-smokers to whom the pleasure which +others derive from tobacco is a source of pain. If they expect those +who were previously cigarette fiends to come in a deputation and thank +them for emancipation from this odious vice, it is possible that they +may be disappointed. They may then begin to reflect that they have +given their lives for the public good, and that those who have most +reason for thanking them for their beneficent activities appear to be +the least aware of any occasion for gratitude. + +One used to find the same kind of attitude on the part of mistresses +towards domestic servants whose morals they safeguarded. But in these +days the servant problem has become so acute that this form of kindness +to maids has become less common. + +In the higher walks of politics the same sort of thing occurs. The +statesman who has gradually concentrated all power within himself in +order that he may be able to carry out the high and noble aims which +have led him to eschew comfort and enter the arena of public life, is +amazed at the ingratitude of the people when they turn against him. It +never occurs to him that his work may have had anything but a public +motive, or that the pleasure of controlling affairs may have in any +degree inspired his activities. The phrases which are customary on the +platform and in the Party Press have gradually come to him to seem to +express truths, and he mistakes the rhetoric of partisanship for a +genuine analysis of motives. Disgusted and disillusioned, he retires +from the world after the world has retired from him, and regrets that +he ever attempted so thankless a task as the pursuit of the public +good. + +These illustrations suggest four general maxims, which will prove an +adequate preventive of persecution mania if their truth is sufficiently +realized. The first is: remember that your motives are not always as +altruistic as they seem to yourself. The second is: don’t over-estimate +your own merits. The third is: don’t expect others to take as much +interest in you as you do yourself. And the fourth is: don’t imagine +that most people give enough thought to you to have any special desire +to persecute you. I shall say a few words about each of these maxims in +turn. + +Suspicion of one’s own motives is especially necessary for the +philanthropist and the executive; such people have a vision of how +the world, or some part of it, should be, and they feel, sometimes +rightly, sometimes wrongly, that in realizing their vision they will +be conferring a boon upon mankind or some section of it. They do not, +however, adequately realize that the individuals affected by their +operations have each an equal right to his own view as to the sort of +world he wants. A man of the executive type is quite sure that his +vision is right, and that any contrary one is wrong. But his subjective +certainty affords no proof that he is objectively right. Moreover, +his belief is very often only a camouflage for the pleasure that he +derives from contemplating changes of which he is the cause. And in +addition to love of power there is another motive, namely vanity, which +operates strongly in such cases. The high-minded idealist who stands +for Parliament--on this matter I speak from experience--is astonished +by the cynicism of the electorate which assumes that he only desires +the glory of writing the letters “M.P.” after his name. When the +contest is over and he has time to think, it occurs to him that perhaps +after all the cynical electors were in the right. Idealism causes +simple motives to wear strange disguises, and therefore some dash of +realistic cynicism does not come amiss in our public men. Conventional +morality inculcates a degree of altruism of which human nature is +scarcely capable, and those who pride themselves upon their virtue +often imagine that they attain this unattainable ideal. The immense +majority of even the noblest persons’ actions have self-regarding +motives, nor is this to be regretted, since, if it were otherwise, the +human race could not survive. A man who spent his time seeing that +others were fed and forgot to feed himself would perish. He may, of +course, take nourishment solely in order to provide himself with the +necessary strength to plunge again into the battle against evil, but +it is doubtful whether food eaten with this motive could be adequately +digested, since the flow of saliva would be insufficiently stimulated. +It is better therefore that a man should eat because he enjoys his food +than that the time he spends at his meals should be solely inspired by +a desire for the public good. + +And what applies to eating applies to everything else. Whatever is to +be done can only be done adequately by the help of a certain zest, +and zest is difficult without some self-regarding motive. I should +include among self-regarding motives, from this point of view, those +that concern persons biologically connected with oneself, such as the +impulse to the defence of wife and children against enemies. This +degree of altruism is part of normal human nature, but the degree +inculcated in conventional ethics is not, and is very rarely attained +genuinely. People who wish to have a high opinion of their own moral +excellence have therefore to persuade themselves that they have +achieved a degree of unselfishness that it is very unlikely that +they have achieved, and hence the endeavour after saintliness comes +to be connected with self-deception of a kind that easily leads on to +persecution mania. + +The second of our four maxims, to the effect that it is unwise to +over-estimate your own merits, is covered, so far as morals are +concerned, by what we have already said. But merits other than moral +should equally not be over-estimated. The playwright whose plays never +succeed should consider calmly the hypothesis that they are bad plays; +he should not reject this out of hand as obviously untenable. If he +finds that it fits the facts, he should, as an inductive philosopher, +adopt it. It is true that there are in history cases of unrecognized +merit, but they are far less numerous than the cases of recognized +demerit. If a man is a genius whom the age will not recognize, he is +quite right to persist in his course in spite of lack of recognition. +If, on the other hand, he is an untalented person puffed up with +vanity, he will do well not to persist. There is no way of knowing to +which of these two categories one belongs if one is afflicted with the +impulse to produce unrecognized masterpieces. If you belong to the +one category, your persistence is heroic; if to the other, ludicrous. +When you have been dead a hundred years, it will be possible to guess +to which category you belonged. In the meantime, there is a test, not +perhaps infallible, but yet of considerable value, which you may apply +yourself if you suspect that you are a genius while your friends +suspect that you are not. The test is this: do you produce because you +feel an urgent compulsion to express certain ideas or feelings, or are +you actuated by the desire for applause? In the genuine artist the +desire for applause, while it usually exists strongly, is secondary, +in the sense that the artist wishes to produce a certain kind of work, +and hopes that that work may be applauded, but will not alter his +style even if no applause is forthcoming. The man, on the other hand, +to whom the desire for applause is the primary motive, has no force +within himself urging him to a particular kind of expression, and +could therefore just as well do work of some wholly different kind. +Such a man, if he fails to win applause by his art, had better give it +up. And, speaking more generally, whatever your line in life may be, +if you find that others do not rate your abilities as highly as you +do yourself, do not be too sure that it is they who are mistaken. If +you allow yourself to think this, you may easily fall into the belief +that there is a conspiracy to prevent the recognition of your merit, +and this belief is pretty sure to be the source of an unhappy life. To +recognize that your merit is not so great as you had hoped may be more +painful for a moment, but it is a pain which has an end, beyond which a +happy life again becomes possible. + +Our third maxim was not to expect too much of others. It used to be +customary for invalid ladies to expect at least one of their daughters +to sacrifice themselves completely in performing the duties of a nurse, +even to the extent of forgoing marriage. This is to expect of another a +degree of altruism which is contrary to reason, since the loss to the +altruist is greater than the gain to the egoist. In all your dealings +with other people, especially with those who are nearest and dearest, +it is important and not always easy to remember that they see life +from their own angle and as it touches their own ego, not from your +angle and as it touches yours. No person should be expected to distort +the main lines of his life for the sake of another individual. On +occasion there may exist such a strong affection that even the greatest +sacrifices become natural, but if they are not natural they should +not be made, and no person should be held blameworthy for not making +them. Very often the conduct that people complain of in others is not +more than the healthy reaction of natural egoism against the grasping +rapacity of a person whose ego extends beyond its proper limits. + +The fourth maxim that we mentioned consists of realizing that other +people spend less time in thinking about you than you do yourself. +The insane victim of persecution mania imagines that all sorts of +people, who, in fact, have their own avocations and interests, are +occupied morning, noon, and night in an endeavour to work a mischief +to the poor lunatic. In like manner, the comparatively sane victim of +persecution mania sees in all kinds of actions a reference to himself +which does not, in fact, exist. This idea, of course, is flattering +to his vanity. If he were a great enough man, it might be true. The +actions of the British Government for many years were mainly concerned +to thwart Napoleon. But when a person of no special importance +imagines that others are perpetually thinking about him, he is on the +road towards insanity. You make a speech, let us say, at some public +dinner. Photographs of some of the other speakers appear in the picture +papers, but there is no picture of you. How is this to be accounted +for? Obviously not because the other speakers were considered more +important; it must be because the editors of the papers had given +orders that you were to be ignored. And why should they have given such +orders? Obviously because they feared you on account of your great +importance. In this way the omission of your picture is transformed +from a slight into a subtle compliment. But self-deception of this +kind cannot lead to any solid happiness. In the back of your mind +you will know that the facts are otherwise, and in order to conceal +this from yourself as far as possible, you will have to invent more +and more fantastic hypotheses. The strain of trying to believe these +will, in the end, become very great. And since, moreover, they involve +the belief that you are the object of widespread hostility, they +will only safeguard your self-esteem by inflicting the very painful +feeling that you are at odds with the world. No satisfaction based upon +self-deception is solid, and, however unpleasant the truth may be, it +is better to face it once for all, to get used to it, and to proceed to +build your life in accordance with it. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + FEAR OF PUBLIC OPINION + + +Very few people can be happy unless on the whole their way of life and +their outlook on the world is approved by those with whom they have +social relations, and more especially by those with whom they live. +It is a peculiarity of modern communities that they are divided into +sets which differ profoundly in their morals and in their beliefs. This +state of affairs began with the Reformation, or perhaps one should say +with the Renaissance, and has grown more pronounced ever since. There +were Protestants and Catholics, who differed not only in theology but +on many more practical matters. There were aristocrats who permitted +various kinds of action that were not tolerated among the bourgeoisie. +Then there came to be latitudinarians and free-thinkers who did not +recognize the duties of religious observance. In our own day throughout +the Continent of Europe there is a profound division between socialists +and others, which covers not only politics but almost every department +of life. In English-speaking countries the divisions are very numerous. +In some sets art is admired, while in others it is thought to be of the +devil, at any rate if it is modern. In some sets devotion to the Empire +is the supreme virtue, in others it is considered a vice, and in yet +others a form of stupidity. Conventional people consider adultery one +of the worst of crimes, but large sections of the population regard it +as excusable if not positively laudable. Among Catholics divorce is +totally forbidden, while most non-Catholics accept it as a necessary +alleviation of matrimony. + +Owing to all these differences of outlook a person of given tastes +and convictions may find himself practically an outcast while he +lives in one set, although in another set he would be accepted as +an entirely ordinary human being. A very great deal of unhappiness, +especially among the young, arises in this way. A young man or young +woman somehow catches ideas that are in the air, but finds that these +ideas are anathema in the particular milieu in which he or she lives. +It easily seems to the young as if the only milieu with which they are +acquainted were representative of the whole world. They can scarcely +believe that in another place or another set the views which they dare +not avow for fear of being thought utterly perverse would be accepted +as the ordinary commonplaces of the age. Thus through ignorance of the +world a great deal of unnecessary misery is endured, sometimes only in +youth, but not infrequently throughout life. This isolation is not only +a source of pain, it also causes a great dissipation of energy in the +unnecessary task of maintaining mental independence against hostile +surroundings, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred produces a +certain timidity in following out ideas to their logical conclusions. +The Brontë sisters never met any congenial people until after their +books had been published. This did not affect Emily, who was heroic +and in the grand manner, but it certainly did affect Charlotte, whose +outlook, in spite of her talents, remained always to a large extent +that of a governess. Blake, like Emily Brontë, lived in extreme mental +isolation, but like her was great enough to overcome its bad effects, +since he never doubted that he was right and his critics wrong. His +attitude towards public opinion is expressed in the lines: + + The only man that e’er I knew + Who did not make me almost spew + Was Fuseli: he was both Turk and Jew. + And so, dear Christian friends, how do you do? + +But there are not many who have this degree of force in their inner +life. To almost everybody sympathetic surroundings are necessary to +happiness. To the majority, of course, the surroundings in which +they happen to find themselves are sympathetic. They imbibe current +prejudices in youth, and instinctively adapt themselves to the beliefs +and customs which they find in existence around them. But to a large +minority, which includes practically all who have any intellectual or +artistic merit, this attitude of acquiescence is impossible. A person +born, let us say, in some small country town finds himself from early +youth surrounded by hostility to everything that is necessary for +mental excellence. If he wishes to read serious books, other boys +despise him, and teachers tell him that such works are unsettling. If +he cares for art, his contemporaries think him unmanly, and his elders +think him immoral. If he desires any career, however respectable, which +has not been common in the circle to which he belongs, he is told that +he is setting himself up, and that what was good enough for his father +ought to be good enough for him. If he shows any tendency to criticize +his parents’ religious tenets or political affiliations, he is likely +to find himself in serious trouble. For all these reasons, to most +young men and young women of exceptional merit adolescence is a time of +great unhappiness. To their more ordinary companions it may be a time +of gaiety and enjoyment, but for themselves they want something more +serious, which they can find neither among their elders nor among their +contemporaries in the particular social setting in which chance has +caused them to be born. + +When such young people go to a University they probably discover +congenial souls and enjoy a few years of great happiness. If they are +fortunate, they may succeed, on leaving the University, in obtaining +some kind of work that gives them still the possibility of choosing +congenial companions; an intelligent man who lives in a city as large +as London or New York can generally find some congenial set in which +it is not necessary to practise any constraint or hypocrisy. But if his +work obliges him to live in some smaller place, and more particularly +if it necessitates retention of the respect of ordinary people, as is +the case, for example, with a doctor or a lawyer, he may find himself +throughout his whole life practically compelled to conceal his real +tastes and convictions from most of the people that he meets in the +course of his day. This is especially true in America because of the +vastness of the country. In the most unlikely places, north, south, +east, and west, one finds lonely individuals who know from books that +there are places where they would not be lonely, but who have no chance +to live in such places, and only the rarest opportunity of congenial +conversation. Real happiness in such circumstances is impossible to +those who are built on a less magnificent scale than Blake and Emily +Brontë. If it is to become possible, some way must be found by which +the tyranny of public opinion can be either lessened or evaded, and by +which members of the intelligent minority can come to know each other +and enjoy each other’s society. + +In a good many cases unnecessary timidity makes the trouble worse +than it need be. Public opinion is always more tyrannical towards +those who obviously fear it than towards those who feel indifferent +to it. A dog will bark more loudly and bite more readily when people +are afraid of him than when they treat him with contempt, and the +human herd has something of this same characteristic. If you show that +you are afraid of them, you give promise of good hunting, whereas +if you show indifference, they begin to doubt their own power and +therefore tend to let you alone. I am not, of course, thinking of +extreme forms of defiance. If you hold in Kensington the views that are +conventional in Russia, or in Russia the views that are conventional +in Kensington, you must accept the consequences. I am thinking, not +of such extremes, but of much milder lapses from conventionality, +such as failure to dress correctly or to belong to some Church or to +abstain from reading intelligent books. Such lapses, if they are done +with gaiety and insouciance, not defiantly but spontaneously, will +come to be tolerated even in the most conventional society. Gradually +it may become possible to acquire the position of licensed lunatic, +to whom things are permitted which in another man would be thought +unforgivable. This is largely a matter of a certain kind of good nature +and friendliness. Conventional people are roused to fury by departures +from convention, largely because they regard such departures as a +criticism of themselves. They will pardon much unconventionality in a +man who has enough jollity and friendliness to make it clear, even to +the stupidest, that he is not engaged in criticizing them. + +This method of escaping censure is, however, impossible to many of +those whose tastes or opinions cause them to be out of sympathy with +the herd. Their lack of sympathy makes them uncomfortable and causes +them to have a pugnacious attitude, even if outwardly they conform +or manage to avoid any sharp issue. People who are not in harmony +with the conventions of their own set tend therefore to be prickly +and uncomfortable and lacking in expansive good humour. These same +people, transported into another set where their outlook is not thought +strange, will seem to change their character entirely. From being +serious, shy and retiring they may become gay and self-confident; from +being angular they may become smooth and easy; from being self-centred +they may become sociable and extravert. + +Wherever possible, therefore, young people who find themselves out +of harmony with their surroundings should endeavour in the choice of +a profession to select some career which will give them a chance of +congenial companionship, even if this should entail a considerable loss +of income. Often they hardly know that this is possible, since their +knowledge of the world is very limited, and they may easily imagine +that the prejudices to which they have become accustomed at home are +world wide. This is a matter in which older men should be able to +give much assistance to the young, since a considerable experience of +mankind is essential. + +It is customary in these days of psycho-analysis to assume that, +when any young person is out of harmony with his environment, the +cause must lie in some psychological disorder. This is to my mind a +complete mistake. Suppose, for example, that a young person has parents +who believe the doctrine of evolution to be wicked. Nothing except +intelligence is required in such a case to cause him to be out of +sympathy with them. To be out of harmony with one’s surroundings is, of +course, a misfortune, but it is not always a misfortune to be avoided +at all costs. Where the environment is stupid or prejudiced or cruel, +it is a sign of merit to be out of harmony with it. And to some degree +these characteristics exist in almost every environment. Galileo and +Kepler had “dangerous thoughts” (as they are called in Japan), and so +have the most intelligent men of our own day. It is not desirable that +the social sense should be so strongly developed as to cause such men +to fear the social hostility which their opinions may provoke. What is +desirable is to find ways of making this hostility as slight and as +ineffective as possible. + +In the modern world the most important part of this problem arises +in youth. If a man is once launched upon the right career and in the +right surroundings, he can in most cases escape social persecution, but +while he is young and his merits are still untested, he is liable to +be at the mercy of ignorant people who consider themselves capable of +judging in matters about which they know nothing, and who are outraged +at the suggestion that so young a person may know better than they do +with all their experience of the world. Many people who have ultimately +escaped from the tyranny of ignorance have had so hard a fight and +so long a time of repression that in the end they are embittered and +their energy is impaired. There is a comfortable doctrine that genius +will always make its way, and on the strength of this doctrine many +people consider that the persecution of youthful talent cannot do much +harm. But there is no ground whatever for accepting this doctrine. It +is like the theory that murder will out. Obviously all the murders we +know of have been discovered, but who knows how many there may be which +have never been heard of? In like manner all the men of genius that +we have ever heard of have triumphed over adverse circumstances, but +that is no reason for supposing that there were not innumerable others +who succumbed in youth. Moreover, it is not a question only of genius, +but also of talent, which is just as necessary to the community. And +it is not only a question of emerging somehow, but also of emerging +unembittered and with unimpaired energy. For all these reasons the way +of youth should not be made too hard. + +While it is desirable that the old should treat with respect the +wishes of the young, it is not desirable that the young should treat +with respect the wishes of the old. The reason is simple, namely that +in either case it is the lives of the young that are concerned, not +the lives of the old. When the young attempt to regulate the lives +of the old, as, for example, by objecting to the remarriage of a +widowed parent, they are quite as much in the wrong as are the old who +attempt to regulate the lives of the young. Old and young alike, as +soon as years of discretion have been reached, have a right to their +own choices, and if necessary to their own mistakes. Young people are +ill-advised if they yield to the pressure of the old in any vital +matter. Suppose, for example, that you are a young person who wishes to +go on the stage, and that your parents oppose your wish, either on the +ground that the stage is immoral or on the ground that it is socially +inferior. They may bring every kind of pressure to bear; they may tell +you that they will cast you off if you ignore their commands; they +may say that you will certainly repent within a few years; they may +mention whole strings of horrid examples of young persons who have been +rash enough to do what you contemplate doing and came to a bad end in +consequence. They may of course be right in thinking that the stage is +not the career for you; it may be that you have no talent for acting, +or that you have a bad voice. If this is the case, however, you will +soon discover it from theatrical people, and there will still be plenty +of time to adopt a different career. The arguments of parents should +not be a sufficient reason for relinquishing the attempt. If, in spite +of all they say, you carry out your intention, they will soon come +round, much sooner in fact than either you or they suppose. If on the +other hand you find professional opinion discouraging, that is another +matter, for professional opinion must always be treated with respect by +beginners. + +I think that in general, apart from expert opinion, there is too much +respect paid to the opinions of others, both in great matters and in +small ones. One should as a rule respect public opinion in so far as is +necessary to avoid starvation and to keep out of prison, but anything +that goes beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary +tyranny, and is likely to interfere with happiness in all kinds of +ways. Take, for example, the matter of expenditure. Very many people +spend money in ways quite different from those that their natural +tastes would enjoin, merely because they feel that the respect of +their neighbours depends upon their possession of a good car and their +ability to give good dinners. As a matter of fact, any man who can +obviously afford a car but genuinely prefers travel or a good library +will in the end be much more respected than if he behaved exactly like +everyone else. There is, of course, no point in deliberately flouting +public opinion; this is still to be under its domination, though in +a topsy-turvy way. But to be genuinely indifferent to it is both a +strength and a source of happiness. And a society composed of men +and women who do not bow too much to the conventions is a far more +interesting society than one in which all behave alike. Where each +person’s character is developed individually, differences of type are +preserved, and it is worth while to meet new people, because they are +not mere replicas of those whom one has met already. This has been one +of the advantages of aristocracy, since where status depended upon +birth behaviour was allowed to be erratic. In the modern world we are +losing this source of social freedom, and therefore a more deliberate +realization of the dangers of uniformity has become desirable. I do not +mean that people should be intentionally eccentric, which is just as +uninteresting as being conventional. I mean only that people should be +natural, and should follow their spontaneous tastes in so far as these +are not definitely anti-social. + +In the modern world, owing to the swiftness of locomotion, people +are less dependent than they used to be upon their geographically +nearest neighbours. Those who have cars can regard as a neighbour any +person living within twenty miles. They have therefore a much greater +power than was formerly the case of choosing their companions. In any +populous neighbourhood a man must be very unfortunate if he cannot find +congenial souls within twenty miles. The idea that one should know +one’s immediate neighbours has died out in large centres of population, +but still lingers in small towns and in the country. It has become a +foolish idea, since there is no need to be dependent upon immediate +neighbours for society. More and more it becomes possible to choose +our companions on account of congeniality rather than on account of +mere propinquity. Happiness is promoted by associations of persons with +similar tastes and similar opinions. Social intercourse may be expected +to develop more and more along these lines, and it may be hoped that +by these means the loneliness that now afflicts so many unconventional +people will be gradually diminished almost to vanishing point. This +will undoubtedly increase their happiness, but it will of course +diminish the sadistic pleasure which the conventional at present derive +from having the unconventional at their mercy. I do not think, however, +that this is a pleasure which we need be greatly concerned to preserve. + +Fear of public opinion, like every other form of fear, is oppressive +and stunts growth. It is difficult to achieve any kind of greatness +while a fear of this kind remains strong, and it is impossible to +acquire that freedom of spirit in which true happiness consists, for +it is essential to happiness that our way of living should spring from +our own deep impulses and not from the accidental tastes and desires +of those who happen to be our neighbours, or even our relations. Fear +of immediate neighbours is no doubt less than it was, but there is a +new kind of fear, namely the fear of what newspapers may say. This is +quite as terrifying as anything connected with mediæval witch-hunts. +When the newspaper chooses to make a scapegoat of some perhaps quite +harmless person, the results may be very terrible. Fortunately, as yet +this is a fate which most people escape through their obscurity, but +as publicity gets more and more perfect in its methods, there will be +an increasing danger in this novel form of social persecution. This is +too grave a matter to be treated with disdain by the individual who +is its victim, and whatever may be thought of the great principle of +the freedom of the Press, I think the line will have to be drawn more +sharply than it is by the existing libel laws, and anything will have +to be forbidden that makes life intolerable for innocent individuals, +even if they should happen to have done or said things which, published +maliciously, can cause them to become unpopular. The only ultimate cure +for this evil is, however, an increase of toleration on the part of the +public. The best way to increase toleration is to multiply the number +of individuals who enjoy real happiness and do not therefore find their +chief pleasure in the infliction of pain upon their fellow-men. + + + + + PART II + + CAUSES OF HAPPINESS + + + + + CHAPTER X + + IS HAPPINESS STILL POSSIBLE? + + +So far we have been considering the unhappy man; we now have the +pleasanter task of considering the happy man. From the conversation +and the books of some of my friends I have been almost led to conclude +that happiness in the modern world has become an impossibility. I +find, however, that this view tends to be dissipated by introspection, +foreign travel, and the conversation of my gardener. The unhappiness +of my literary friends I have considered in an earlier chapter; in the +present chapter I wish to make a survey of the happy people that I have +come across in the course of my life. + +Happiness is of two sorts, though, of course, there are intermediate +degrees. The two sorts I mean might be distinguished as plain and +fancy, or animal and spiritual, or of the heart and of the head. The +designation to be chosen among these alternatives depends, of course, +upon the thesis to be proved. I am at the moment not concerned to +prove any thesis, but merely to describe. Perhaps the simplest way to +describe the difference between the two sorts of happiness is to say +that one sort is open to any human being, and the other only to those +who can read and write. When I was a boy I knew a man bursting with +happiness whose business was digging wells. He was of enormous height +and of incredible muscles; he could neither read nor write, and when +in the year 1885 he got a vote for Parliament, he learnt for the first +time that such an institution existed. His happiness did not depend +upon intellectual sources; it was not based upon belief in natural law, +or the perfectibility of the species, or the public ownership of public +utilities, or the ultimate triumph of the Seventh Day Adventists, or +any of the other creeds which intellectuals consider necessary to their +enjoyment of life. It was based upon physical vigour, a sufficiency +of work, and the overcoming of not insuperable obstacles in the shape +of rock. The happiness of my gardener is of the same species; he +wages a perennial war against rabbits, of which he speaks exactly as +Scotland Yard speaks of Bolsheviks; he considers them dark, designing +and ferocious, and is of opinion that they can only be met by means of +a cunning equal to their own. Like the heroes of Valhalla who spent +every day hunting a certain wild boar, which they killed every evening +but which miraculously came to life again in the morning, my gardener +can slay his enemy one day without any fear that the enemy will have +disappeared the next day. Although well over seventy, he works all day +and bicycles sixteen hilly miles to and from his work, but the fount of +joy is inexhaustible, and it is “they rabbits” that supply it. + +But, you will say, these simple delights are not open to superior +people like ourselves. What joy can we experience in waging war on +such puny creatures as rabbits? The argument, to my mind, is a poor +one. A rabbit is very much larger than a yellow-fever bacillus, and yet +a superior person can find happiness in making war upon the latter. +Pleasures exactly similar to those of my gardener so far as their +emotional content is concerned are open to the most highly educated +people. The difference made by education is only in regard to the +activities by which these pleasures are to be obtained. Pleasures of +achievement demand difficulties such that beforehand success seems +doubtful although in the end it is usually achieved. This is perhaps +the chief reason why a not excessive estimate of one’s own powers is a +source of happiness. The man who underestimates himself is perpetually +being surprised by success, whereas the man who overestimates himself +is just as often surprised by failure. The former kind of surprise is +pleasant, the latter unpleasant. It is therefore wise to be not unduly +conceited, though also not too modest to be enterprising. + +Of the more highly educated sections of the community, the happiest in +the present day are the men of science. Many of the most eminent of +them are emotionally simple, and obtain from their work a satisfaction +so profound that they can derive pleasure from eating and even +marrying. Artists and literary men consider it _de rigueur_ to +be unhappy in their marriages, but men of science quite frequently +remain capable of old-fashioned domestic bliss. The reason of this is +that the higher parts of their intelligence are wholly absorbed by +their work, and are not allowed to intrude into regions where they +have no functions to perform. In their work they are happy because in +the modern world science is progressive and powerful, and because its +importance is not doubted either by themselves or by laymen. They have +therefore no necessity for complex emotions, since the simpler emotions +meet with no obstacles. Complexity in emotions is like foam in a river. +It is produced by obstacles which break the smoothly flowing current. +But so long as the vital energies are unimpeded, they produce no ripple +on the surface, and their strength is not evident to the unobservant. + +All the conditions of happiness are realized in the life of the man of +science. He has an activity which utilizes his abilities to the full, +and he achieves results which appear important not only to himself +but to the general public, even when it cannot in the smallest degree +understand them. In this he is more fortunate than the artist. When +the public cannot understand a picture or a poem, they conclude that +it is a bad picture or a bad poem. When they cannot understand the +theory of relativity they conclude (rightly) that their education has +been insufficient. Consequently Einstein is honoured while the best +painters are left to starve in garrets, and Einstein is happy while +the painters are unhappy. Very few men can be genuinely happy in a +life involving continual self-assertion against the scepticism of +the mass of mankind, unless they can shut themselves up in a coterie +and forget the cold outer world. The man of science has no need +of a coterie, since he is thought well of by everybody except his +colleagues. The artist, on the contrary, is in the painful situation of +having to choose between being despised and being despicable. If his +powers are of the first order, he must incur one or the other of these +misfortunes--the former if he uses his powers, the latter if he does +not. This has not been the case always and everywhere. There have been +times when even good artists, even when they were young, were thought +well of. Julius II, though he might ill-treat Michael Angelo, never +supposed him incapable of painting pictures. The modern millionaire, +though he may shower wealth upon elderly artists after they have lost +their powers, never imagines that their work is as important as his +own. Perhaps these circumstances have something to do with the fact +that artists are on the average less happy than men of science. + +It must, I think, be admitted that the most intelligent young people in +Western countries tend to have that kind of unhappiness that comes of +finding no adequate employment for their best talents. This, however, +is not the case in Eastern countries. The intelligent young at the +present day are probably happier in Russia than anywhere else in the +world. They have there a new world to create, and an ardent faith +in accordance with which to create it. The old have been executed, +starved, exiled, or in some other way disinfected, so that they cannot, +as in every Western country, compel the young to choose between doing +harm and doing nothing. To the sophisticated Occidental the faith of +the young Russian may seem crude, but, after all, what is there to be +said against it? He _is_ creating a new world; the new world is +to his liking; the new world will almost certainly, when created, make +the average Russian happier than he was before the Revolution. It may +not be a world in which the sophisticated Western intellectual would be +happy, but the sophisticated Western intellectual does not have to live +in it. By any pragmatic test, therefore, the faith of young Russia is +justified, and to condemn it as crude can have no justification except +on a basis of theory. + +In India, China, and Japan, external circumstances of a political +sort interfere with the happiness of the young intelligentsia, but +there is no such internal obstacle as exists in the West. There are +activities which appear important to the young, and, in so far as these +activities succeed, the young are happy. They feel that they have +an important part to play in the national life, and aims to pursue +which, though difficult, are not impossible to realize. Cynicism such +as one finds very frequently among the most highly educated young +men and women of the West results from the combination of comfort +with powerlessness. Powerlessness makes people feel that nothing is +worth doing, and comfort makes the painfulness of this feeling just +endurable. Throughout the East the University student can hope for more +influence upon public opinion than he can have in the modern West, but +he has much less opportunity than in the West of securing a substantial +income. Being neither powerless nor comfortable, he becomes a reformer +or a revolutionary, not a cynic. The happiness of the reformer or +revolutionary depends upon the course of public affairs, but probably +even while he is being executed he enjoys more real happiness than +is possible for the comfortable cynic. I remember a young Chinese +visitor to my school who was going home to found a similar school in a +reactionary part of China. He expected the result to be that his head +would be cut off. Nevertheless he enjoyed a quiet happiness that I +could only envy. + +I do not wish to suggest, however, that these high-flown kinds of +happiness are the only possible ones. They are in fact open only to a +minority, since they require a kind of ability and a width of interest +which cannot be very common. It is not only eminent scientists who can +derive pleasure through work, nor is it only leading statesmen who +can derive pleasure through advocacy of a cause. The pleasure of work +is open to anyone who can develop some specialized skill, provided +that he can get satisfaction from the exercise of his skill without +demanding universal applause. I knew a man who had lost the use of both +legs in early youth, but he had remained serenely happy throughout a +long life; he had achieved this by writing a work in five volumes on +rose blight, on which I always understood he was the leading expert. I +have not had the pleasure of knowing any large number of conchologists, +but from those who have I have always understood that the study of +shells brings contentment to those who engage in it. I knew a man once +who was the best compositor in the world, and was sought out by all +those who devoted themselves to inventing artistic types; he derived +joy, not so much from the very genuine respect in which he was held +by persons whose respect was not lightly bestowed, as from the actual +delight in the exercise of his craft, a delight not wholly unlike that +which good dancers derive from dancing. I have known also compositors +who were experts in setting up mathematical type, or Nestorian script, +or cuneiform, or anything else that was out of the way and difficult. I +did not discover whether these men’s private lives were happy, but in +their working hours their constructive instincts were fully gratified. + +It is customary to say that in our machine age there is less room than +formerly for the craftsman’s joy in skilled work. I am not at all sure +that this is true: the skilled workman nowadays works, it is true, at +quite different things from those that occupied the attention of the +mediæval guilds, but he is still very important and quite essential in +the machine economy. There are those who make scientific instruments +and delicate machines, there are designers, there are aeroplane +mechanics, chauffeurs, and hosts of others who have a trade in which +skill can be developed to almost any extent. The agricultural labourer +and the peasant in comparatively primitive communities is not, so far +as I have been able to observe, nearly as happy as a chauffeur or an +engine-driver. It is true that the work of the peasant who cultivates +his own land is varied; he ploughs, he sows, he reaps. But he is at +the mercy of the elements, and is very conscious of his dependence, +whereas the man who works a modern mechanism is conscious of power, +and acquires the sense that man is the master, not the slave, of +natural forces. It is true, of course, that work is very uninteresting +to the large body of mere machine-minders who repeat some mechanical +operation over and over again with the minimum of variation, but the +more uninteresting the work becomes, the more possible it is to get it +performed by a machine. The ultimate goal of machine production--from +which, it is true, we are as yet far removed--is a system in which +everything uninteresting is done by machines, and human beings are +reserved for the work involving variety and initiative. In such a +world the work will be less boring and less depressing than it has +been at any time since the introduction of agriculture. In taking to +agriculture mankind decided that they would submit to monotony and +tedium in order to diminish the risk of starvation. When men obtained +their food by hunting, work was a joy, as one can see from the fact +that the rich still pursue these ancestral occupations for amusement. +But with the introduction of agriculture mankind entered upon a long +period of meanness, misery, and madness, from which they are only now +being freed by the beneficent operation of the machine. It is all very +well for sentimentalists to speak of contact with the soil and the ripe +wisdom of Hardy’s philosophic peasants, but the one desire of every +young man in the countryside is to find work in towns where he can +escape from the slavery of wind and weather and the solitude of dark +winter evenings into the reliable and human atmosphere of the factory +and the cinema. Companionship and co-operation are essential elements +in the happiness of the average man, and these are to be obtained in +industry far more fully than in agriculture. + +Belief in a cause is a source of happiness to large numbers of people. +I am not thinking only of revolutionaries, socialists, nationalists in +oppressed countries, and such; I am thinking also of many humbler kinds +of belief. The men I have known who believed that the English were the +lost ten tribes were almost invariably happy, while as for those who +believed that the English were only the tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh, +their bliss knew no bounds. I am not suggesting that the reader should +adopt this creed, since I cannot advocate any happiness based upon what +seem to me to be false beliefs. For the same reason I cannot urge the +reader to believe that men should live exclusively upon nuts, although, +so far as my observation goes, this belief invariably ensures perfect +happiness. But it is easy to find some cause which is in no degree +fantastic, and those whose interest in any such cause is genuine are +provided with an occupation for their leisure hours and a complete +antidote to the feeling that life is empty. + +Not so very far removed from the devotion to obscure causes is +absorption in a hobby. One of the most eminent of living mathematicians +divides his time equally between mathematics and stamp-collecting. +I imagine that the latter affords consolation at the moments when +he can make no progress with the former. The difficulty of proving +propositions in the theory of numbers is not the only sorrow that +stamp-collecting can cure, nor are stamps the only things that can +be collected. Consider what a vast field of ecstasy opens before the +imagination when one thinks of old china, snuff-boxes, Roman coins, +arrow-heads, and flint implements. It is true that many of us are +too “superior” for these simple pleasures. We have all experienced +them in boyhood, but have thought them, for some reason, unworthy of +a grown man. This is a complete mistake; any pleasure that does no +harm to other people is to be valued. For my part, I collect rivers: I +derive pleasure from having gone down the Volga and up the Yangtse, and +regret very much having never seen the Amazon or the Orinoco. Simple +as these emotions are, I am not ashamed of them. Or consider again the +passionate joy of the baseball fan: he turns to his newspaper with +avidity, and the radio affords him the keenest thrills. I remember +meeting for the first time one of the leading literary men of America, +a man whom I had supposed from his books to be filled with melancholy. +But it so happened that at that moment the most crucial baseball +results were coming through on the radio; he forgot me, literature, and +all the other sorrows of our sublunary life, and yelled with joy as his +favourites achieved victory. Ever since this incident I have been able +to read his books without feeling depressed by the misfortunes of his +characters. + +Fads and hobbies, however, are in many cases, perhaps most, not a +source of fundamental happiness, but a means of escape from reality, +of forgetting for the moment some pain too difficult to be faced. +Fundamental happiness depends more than anything else upon what may be +called a friendly interest in persons and things. + +A friendly interest in persons is a form of affectionateness, but +not the form which is grasping and possessive and seeking always an +emphatic response. This latter form is very frequently a source of +unhappiness. The kind that makes for happiness is the kind that likes +to observe people and finds pleasure in their individual traits, that +wishes to afford scope for the interests and pleasures of those with +whom it is brought into contact without desiring to acquire power over +them or to secure their enthusiastic admiration. The person whose +attitude towards others is genuinely of this kind will be a source of +happiness and a recipient of reciprocal kindness. His relations with +others, whether slight or serious, will satisfy both his interests +and his affections; he will not be soured by ingratitude, since he +will seldom suffer it and will not notice when he does. The same +idiosyncrasies which would get on another man’s nerves to the point +of exasperation will be to him a source of gentle amusement. He +will achieve without effort results which another man, after long +struggles, will find to be unattainable. Being happy in himself, he +will be a pleasant companion, and this in turn will increase his +happiness. But all this must be genuine; it must not spring from an +idea of self-sacrifice inspired by a sense of duty. A sense of duty +is useful in work, but offensive in personal relations. People wish +to be liked, not to be endured with patient resignation. To like many +people spontaneously and without effort is perhaps the greatest of all +sources of personal happiness. + +I spoke also in the last paragraph of what I call a friendly interest +in things. This phrase may perhaps seem forced; it may be said that +it is impossible to feel friendly to things. Nevertheless, there is +something analogous to friendliness in the kind of interest that +a geologist takes in rocks, or an archæologist in ruins, and this +interest ought to be an element in our attitude to individuals or +societies. It is possible to have an interest in things which is +hostile rather than friendly. A man might collect facts concerning +the habitats of spiders because he hated spiders and wished to live +where they were few. This kind of interest would not afford the same +satisfaction as the geologist derives from his rocks. An interest +in impersonal things, though perhaps less valuable as an ingredient +in everyday happiness than a friendly attitude towards our fellow +creatures, is nevertheless very important. The world is vast and our +own powers are limited. If all our happiness is bound up entirely +in our personal circumstances it is difficult not to demand of life +more than it has to give. And to demand too much is the surest way +of getting even less than is possible. The man who can forget his +worries by means of a genuine interest in, say, the Council of Trent, +or the life history of stars, will find that, when he returns from his +excursion into the impersonal world, he has acquired a poise and calm +which enable him to deal with his worries in the best way, and he will +in the meantime have experienced a genuine even if temporary happiness. + +The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as +possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that +interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile. + +This preliminary survey of the possibilities of happiness will be +expanded in subsequent chapters, together with suggestions as to ways +of escaping from psychological sources of misery. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + ZEST + + +In this chapter I propose to deal with what seems to me the most +universal and distinctive mark of happy men, namely zest. + +Perhaps the best way to understand what is meant by zest will be to +consider the different ways in which men behave when they sit down to +a meal. There are those to whom a meal is merely a bore; no matter how +excellent the food may be, they feel that it is uninteresting. They +have had excellent food before, probably at almost every meal they have +eaten. They have never known what it was to go without a meal until +hunger became a raging passion, but have come to regard meals as merely +conventional occurrences, dictated by the fashions of the society in +which they live. Like everything else, meals are tiresome, but it is +no use to make a fuss, because nothing else will be less tiresome. +Then there are the invalids who eat from a sense of duty, because the +doctor has told them that it is necessary to take a little nourishment +in order to keep up their strength. Then there are the epicures, who +start hopefully, but find that nothing has been quite so well cooked as +it ought to have been. Then there are the gormandizers, who fall upon +their food with eager rapacity, eat too much, and grow plethoric and +stertorous. Finally there are those who begin with a sound appetite, +are glad of their food, eat until they have had enough, and then stop. +Those who are set down before the feast of life have similar attitudes +towards the good things which it offers. The happy man corresponds to +the last of our eaters. What hunger is in relation to food, zest is in +relation to life. The man who is bored with his meals corresponds to +the victim of Byronic unhappiness. The invalid who eats from a sense +of duty corresponds to the ascetic, the gormandizer to the voluptuary. +The epicure corresponds to the fastidious person who condemns half the +pleasures of life as unæsthetic. Oddly enough, all these types, with +the possible exception of the gormandizer, feel contempt for the man of +healthy appetite and consider themselves his superior. It seems to them +vulgar to enjoy food because you are hungry or to enjoy life because it +offers a variety of interesting spectacles and surprising experiences. +From the height of their disillusionment they look down upon those +whom they despise as simple souls. For my part I have no sympathy with +this outlook. All disenchantment is to me a malady, which, it is true, +certain circumstances may render inevitable, but which none the less, +when it occurs, is to be cured as soon as possible, not to be regarded +as a higher form of wisdom. Suppose one man likes strawberries and +another does not; in what respect is the latter superior? There is no +abstract and impersonal proof either that strawberries are good or +that they are not good. To the man who likes them they are good; to +the man who dislikes them they are not. But the man who likes them +has a pleasure which the other does not have; to that extent his life +is more enjoyable and he is better adapted to the world in which both +must live. What is true in this trivial instance is equally true in +more important matters. The man who enjoys watching football is to that +extent superior to the man who does not. The man who enjoys reading is +still more superior to the man who does not, since opportunities for +reading are more frequent than opportunities for watching football. The +more things a man is interested in, the more opportunities of happiness +he has, and the less he is at the mercy of fate, since if he loses one +thing he can fall back upon another. Life is too short to be interested +in everything, but it is good to be interested in as many things as +are necessary to fill our days. We are all prone to the malady of the +introvert, who, with the manifold spectacle of the world spread out +before him, turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within. But +let us not imagine that there is anything grand about the introvert’s +unhappiness. + +There were once upon a time two sausage machines, exquisitely +constructed for the purpose of turning pig into the most delicious +sausages. One of these retained his zest for pig and produced sausages +innumerable; the other said: “What is pig to me? My own works are far +more interesting and wonderful than any pig.” He refused pig and set +to work to study his inside. When bereft of its natural food, his +inside ceased to function, and the more he studied it, the more empty +and foolish it seemed to him to be. All the exquisite apparatus by +which the delicious transformation had hitherto been made stood still, +and he was at a loss to guess what it was capable of doing. This second +sausage machine was like the man who has lost his zest, while the first +was like the man who has retained it. The mind is a strange machine +which can combine the materials offered to it in the most astonishing +ways, but without materials from the external world it is powerless, +and unlike the sausage machine it must seize its materials for itself, +since events only become experiences through the interest that we take +in them: if they do not interest us, we are making nothing of them. The +man, therefore, whose attention is turned within finds nothing worthy +of his notice, whereas the man whose attention is turned outward can +find within, in those rare moments when he examines his soul, the most +varied and interesting assortment of ingredients being dissected and +recombined into beautiful or instructive patterns. + +The forms of zest are innumerable. Sherlock Holmes, it may be +remembered, picked up a hat which he happened to find lying in the +street. After looking at it for a moment he remarked that its owner had +come down in the world as the result of drink, and that his wife was +no longer so fond of him as she used to be. Life could never be boring +to a man to whom casual objects offered such a wealth of interest. +Think of the different things that may be noticed in the course of a +country walk. One man may be interested in the birds, another in the +vegetation, another in the geology, yet another in the agriculture, and +so on. Any one of these things is interesting if it interests you, and, +other things being equal, the man who is interested in any one of them +is a man better adapted to the world than the man who is not interested. + +How extraordinarily different, again, are the attitudes of different +people to their fellow-men. One man, in the course of a long train +journey, will fail entirely to observe any of his fellow travellers, +while another will have summed them all up, analysed their characters, +made a shrewd guess at their circumstances, and perhaps even +ascertained the most secret histories of several of them. People differ +just as much in what they feel towards others as in what they ascertain +about them. Some men find almost everybody boring, others quickly and +easily develop a friendly feeling towards those with whom they are +brought in contact, unless there is some definite reason for feeling +otherwise. Take again such a matter as travel: some men will travel +through many countries, going always to the best hotels, eating exactly +the same food as they would eat at home, meeting the same idle rich +whom they would meet at home, conversing on the same topics upon which +they converse at their own dinner-table. When they return, their only +feeling is one of relief at having done with the boredom of expensive +locomotion. Other men wherever they go see what is characteristic, make +the acquaintance of people who typify the locality, observe whatever +is of interest either historically or socially, eat the food of the +country, learn its manners and its language, and come home with a new +stock of pleasant thoughts for winter evenings. + +In all these different situations the man who has the zest for life has +the advantage over the man who has none. Even unpleasant experiences +have their uses to him. I am glad to have smelt a Chinese crowd +and a Sicilian village, though I cannot pretend that my pleasure +was very great at the moment. Adventurous men enjoy shipwrecks, +mutinies, earthquakes, conflagrations, and all kinds of unpleasant +experiences, provided they do not go so far as to impair health. They +say to themselves in an earthquake, for example, “So that is what an +earthquake is like”, and it gives them pleasure to have their knowledge +of the world increased by this new item. It would not be true to say +that such men are not at the mercy of fate, for if they should lose +their health they would be very likely to lose their zest at the same +time, though this is by no means certain. I have known men die at +the end of years of slow torture, and yet retain their zest almost +till the last moment. Some forms of ill-health destroy zest, others +do not. I do not know whether the biochemists are able as yet to +distinguish between these kinds. Perhaps when biochemistry has made +further advances we shall all be able to take tablets that will ensure +our feeling an interest in everything, but until that day comes we are +compelled to depend upon common-sense observation of life to judge what +are the causes that enable some men to take an interest in everything, +while compelling others to take an interest in nothing. + +Zest is sometimes general, sometimes specialized. It may be very +specialized indeed. Readers of Borrow may remember a character who +occurs in _Lavengro_. He had lost his wife, to whom he was +devoted, and felt for a time that life had grown utterly barren. But by +profession he was a tea merchant, and in order to endure life he taught +himself unaided to read the Chinese inscriptions on the tea-chests +that passed through his hands. In the end this gave him a new interest +in life, and he began to study with avidity everything that concerned +China. I have known men who were entirely absorbed in the endeavour to +find out all about the Gnostic heresy, and other men whose principal +interest lay in collating the manuscripts and early editions of Hobbes. +It is quite impossible to guess in advance what will interest a man, +but most men are capable of a keen interest in something or other, +and when once such an interest has been aroused their life becomes +free from tedium. Very specialized interests are, however, a less +satisfactory source of happiness than a general zest for life, since +they can hardly fill the whole of a man’s time, and there is always +the danger that he may come to know all there is to know about the +particular matter that has become his hobby. + +It will be remembered that among our different types at the banquet +we included the gormandizer, whom we were not prepared to praise. The +reader may think that the man with zest whom we have been praising does +not differ in any definable way from the gormandizer. The time has come +when we must try to make the distinction between the two types more +definite. + +The ancients, as everyone knows, regarded moderation as one of +the essential virtues. Under the influence of romanticism and the +French Revolution this view was abandoned by many, and overmastering +passions were admired, even if, like those of Byron’s heroes, they +were of a destructive and anti-social kind. The ancients, however, +were clearly in the right. In the good life there must be a balance +between different activities, and no one of them must be carried so +far as to make the others impossible. The gormandizer sacrifices all +other pleasures to that of eating, and by so doing diminishes the +total happiness of his life. Many other passions besides eating may +be carried to a like excess. The Empress Josephine was a gormandizer +in regard to clothes. At first Napoleon used to pay her dressmaker’s +bills, though with continually increasing protest. At last he told her +that she really must learn moderation, and that in future he would +only pay her bills when the amount seemed reasonable. When her next +dressmaker’s bill came in, she was for a moment at her wits’ end, +but presently she bethought herself of a scheme. She went to the War +Minister and demanded that he should pay her bill out of the funds +provided for the war. Since he knew that she had the power to get him +dismissed, he did so, and the French lost Genoa in consequence. So +at least some books say, though I am not prepared to vouch for the +exact truth of the story. For our purpose it is equally apt whether +true or an exaggeration, since it serves to show how far the passion +for clothes may carry a woman who has the opportunity to indulge +it. Dipsomaniacs and nymphomaniacs are obvious examples of the same +kind of thing. The principle in these matters is fairly obvious. +All our separate tastes and desires have to fit into the general +framework of life. If they are to be a source of happiness they must +be compatible with health, with the affection of those whom we love, +and with the respect of the society in which we live. Some passions +can be indulged to almost any extent without passing beyond these +limits, others cannot. The man, let us say, who loves chess, if he +happens to be a bachelor with independent means, need not restrict +his passion in any degree, whereas if he has a wife and children and +no independent means, he will have to restrict it very severely. The +dipsomaniac and the gormandizer, even if they have no social ties, are +unwise from a self-regarding point of view, since their indulgence +interferes with health, and gives them hours of misery, in return for +minutes of pleasure. Certain things form a framework within which any +separate passion must live if it is not to become a source of misery. +Such things are health, the general possession of one’s faculties, a +sufficient income to provide for necessaries, and the most essential +social duties, such as those towards wife and children. The man +who sacrifices these things for chess is essentially as bad as the +dipsomaniac. The only reason we do not condemn him so severely is that +he is much less common, and that only a man of somewhat rare abilities +is likely to be carried away by absorption in so intellectual a game. +The Greek formula of moderation practically covers these cases. The man +who likes chess sufficiently to look forward throughout his working +day to the game that he will play in the evening is fortunate, but +the man who gives up work in order to play chess all day has lost the +virtue of moderation. It is recorded that Tolstoy, in his younger and +unregenerate days, was awarded the military cross for valour in the +field, but when the time came for him to be presented with it, he was +so absorbed in a game of chess that he decided not to go. We can +hardly find fault with Tolstoy on this account, since to him it might +well be a matter of indifference whether he won military decorations or +not, but in a lesser man such an act would have been one of folly. + +As a limitation upon the doctrine that has just been set forth, +it ought to be admitted that some performances are considered so +essentially noble as to justify the sacrifice of everything else on +their behalf. The man who loses his life in the defence of his country +is not blamed if thereby his wife and children are left penniless. The +man who is engaged in experiments with a view to some great scientific +discovery or invention is not blamed afterwards for the poverty that +he has made his family endure, provided that his efforts are crowned +with ultimate success. If, however, he never succeeds in making the +discovery or the invention that he was attempting, public opinion +condemns him as a crank, which seems unfair, since no one in such +an enterprise can be sure of success in advance. During the first +millennium of the Christian era a man who abandoned his family for a +saintly life was praised, though nowadays it would be held that he +ought to make some provision for them. + +I think there is always some deep-seated psychological difference +between the gormandizer and the man of healthy appetite. The man in +whom one desire runs to excess at the expense of all others is usually +a man with some deep-seated trouble, who is seeking to escape from a +spectre. In the case of the dipsomaniac this is obvious: men drink in +order to forget. If they had no spectres in their lives, they would +not find drunkenness more agreeable than sobriety. As the legendary +Chinaman said: “Me no drinkee for drinkee, me drinkee for drunkee.” +This is typical of all excessive and one-sided passions. It is not +pleasure in the object itself that is sought, but oblivion. There is, +however, a very great difference according as oblivion is sought in a +sottish manner or by the exercise of faculties in themselves desirable. +Borrow’s friend who taught himself Chinese in order to be able to +endure the loss of his wife was seeking oblivion, but he sought it in +an activity that had no harmful effects, but on the contrary improved +his intelligence and his knowledge. Against such forms of escape there +is nothing to be said. It is otherwise with the man who seeks oblivion +in drinking or gambling or any other form of unprofitable excitement. +There are, it is true, border-line cases. What should we say of the man +who runs mad risks in aeroplanes or on mountain tops, because life has +become irksome to him? If his risks serve any public object, we may +admire him, but if not, we shall have to place him only slightly above +the gambler and drunkard. + +Genuine zest, not the sort that is really a search for oblivion, is +part of the natural make-up of human beings except in so far as it +has been destroyed by unfortunate circumstances. Young children are +interested in everything that they see and hear; the world is full of +surprises to them, and they are perpetually engaged with ardour in the +pursuit of knowledge, not, of course, of scholastic knowledge, but +of the sort that consists in acquiring familiarity with the objects +that attract their attention. Animals, even when adult, retain their +zest provided they are in health. A cat in an unfamiliar room will not +sit down until it has sniffed at every corner on the off-chance that +there may be a smell of mouse somewhere. The man who has never been +fundamentally thwarted will retain his natural interest in the external +world, and so long as he retains it he will find life pleasant unless +his liberty is unduly curtailed. Loss of zest in civilized society is +very largely due to the restrictions upon liberty which are essential +to our way of life. The savage hunts when he is hungry, and in so doing +is obeying a direct impulse. The man who goes to his work every morning +at a certain hour is actuated fundamentally by the same impulse, +namely the need to secure a living, but in his case the impulse does +not operate directly and at the moment when it is felt: it operates +indirectly through abstractions, beliefs and volitions. At the moment +when the man starts off to his work he is not feeling hungry, since he +has just had his breakfast. He merely knows that hunger will recur, +and that going to his work is a means of satisfying future hunger. +Impulses are irregular, whereas habits, in a civilized society, have to +be regular. Among savages, even collective enterprises, in so far as +they exist, are spontaneous and impulsive. When the tribe is going to +war the tom-tom rouses military ardour, and herd excitement inspires +each individual to the necessary activity. Modern enterprises cannot +be managed in this way. When a train has to be started at a given +moment it is impossible to inspire the porters, the engine-driver, and +the signalman by means of barbaric music. They must each do their job +merely because it has to be done; their motive, that is to say, is +indirect: they have no impulse towards the activity, but only towards +the ultimate reward of the activity. A great deal of social life has +the same defect. People converse with each other, not from any wish to +do so, but because of some ultimate benefit that they hope to derive +from co-operation. At every moment of life the civilized man is hedged +about by restrictions of impulse: if he happens to feel cheerful he +must not sing or dance in the street, while if he happens to feel sad +he must not sit on the pavement and weep, for fear of obstructing +pedestrian traffic. In youth his liberty is restricted at school, in +adult life it is restricted throughout his working hours. All this +makes zest more difficult to retain, for the continual restraint tends +to produce weariness and boredom. Nevertheless, a civilized society +is impossible without a very considerable degree of restraint upon +spontaneous impulse, since spontaneous impulse will only produce the +simplest forms of social co-operation, not those highly complex forms +which modern economic organization demands. In order to rise above +these obstacles to zest a man needs health and superabundant energy, +or else, if he has that good fortune, work that he finds interesting +on its own account. Health, so far as statistics can show, has been +steadily improving in all civilized countries during the last hundred +years, but energy is more difficult to measure, and I am doubtful +whether physical vigour in moments of health is as great as it was +formerly. The problem here is to a great extent a social problem, and +as such I do not propose to discuss it in the present volume. The +problem has, however, a personal and psychological aspect which we have +already discussed in connection with fatigue. Some men retain their +zest in spite of the handicaps of civilized life, and many men could do +so if they were free from the inner psychological conflicts upon which +a great part of their energy is expended. Zest demands energy more that +sufficient for the necessary work, and this in turn demands the smooth +working of the psychological machine. Of the causes promoting the +smooth working I shall have more to say in later chapters. + +In women, less nowadays than formerly, but still to a very large +extent, zest has been greatly diminished by a mistaken conception of +respectability. It was thought undesirable that women should take an +obvious interest in men, or that they should display too much vivacity +in public. In learning not to be interested in men they learned very +frequently to be interested in nothing, or at any rate in nothing +except a certain kind of correct behaviour. To teach an attitude of +inactivity and withdrawal towards life is clearly to teach something +very inimical to zest, and to encourage a certain kind of absorption in +self which is characteristic of highly respectable women, especially +when they are uneducated. They do not have the interest in sport that +average men have, they care nothing about politics, towards men their +attitude is one of prim aloofness, towards women their attitude is +one of veiled hostility based upon the conviction that other women +are less respectable than they are themselves. They boast that they +keep themselves to themselves; that is to say, their lack of interest +in their fellow creatures appears to them in the light of a virtue. +For this, of course, they are not to blame; they are only accepting +the moral teaching that has been current for thousands of years where +women are concerned. They are, however, victims, much to be pitied, of +a system of repression whose iniquity they have failed to perceive. To +such women all that is ungenerous appears good and all that is generous +appears evil. In their own social circle they do what they can to kill +joy, in politics they love repressive legislation. Fortunately the type +is growing less common, but it is still far more prevalent than is +supposed by those who live in emancipated circles. I recommend anyone +who doubts this statement to go the round of a number of lodging-houses +seeking a lodging, and to take note of the landladies that he will meet +during his search. He will find that they are living by a conception of +female excellence which involves as an essential part the destruction +of all zest for life, and that their minds and hearts are dwarfed +and stunted as a result. Between male and female excellence rightly +conceived there is no difference, or at any rate no difference such +as tradition inculcates. For women as for men zest is the secret of +happiness and well-being. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + AFFECTION + + +One of the chief causes of lack of zest is the feeling that one is +unloved, whereas conversely the feeling of being loved promotes +zest more than anything else does. A man may have the feeling of +being unloved for a variety of reasons. He may consider himself such +a dreadful person that no one could possibly love him; he may in +childhood have had to accustom himself to receiving less love than +fell to the share of other children; or he may in fact be a person +whom nobody loves. But in this latter event the cause probably lies +in a lack of self-confidence due to early misfortune. The man who +feels himself unloved may take various attitudes as a result. He +may make desperate efforts to win affection, probably by means of +exceptional acts of kindness. In this, however, he is very likely to be +unsuccessful, since the motive of the kindnesses is easily perceived +by their beneficiaries, and human nature is so constructed that it +gives affection most readily to those who seem least to demand it. The +man, therefore, who endeavours to purchase affection by benevolent +actions becomes disillusioned by experience of human ingratitude. It +never occurs to him that the affection which he is trying to buy is +of far more value than the material benefits which he offers as its +price, and yet the feeling that this is so is at the basis of his +actions. Another man, observing that he is unloved, may seek revenge +upon the world, either by stirring up wars and revolutions, or by a +pen dipped in gall, like Dean Swift. This is an heroic reaction to +misfortune, requiring a force of character sufficient to enable a +man to pit himself against the rest of the world. Few men are able +to reach such heights; the great majority, both of men and women, if +they feel themselves unloved, sink into a timid despair relieved only +by occasional gleams of envy and malice. As a rule, the lives of such +people become extremely self-centred, and the absence of affection +gives them a sense of insecurity from which they instinctively seek +to escape by allowing habit to dominate their lives utterly and +completely. For those who make themselves the slaves of unvarying +routine are generally actuated by fear of a cold outer world, and by +the feeling that they will not bump into it if they walk along the same +paths that they have walked along on previous days. + +Those who face life with a feeling of security are much happier than +those who face it with a feeling of insecurity, at any rate so long +as their sense of security does not lead them to disaster. And in a +very great many cases, though not in all, a sense of security will +itself help a man to escape dangers to which another would succumb. +If you are walking over a chasm on a narrow plank, you are much more +likely to fall if you feel fear than if you do not. And the same thing +applies to the conduct of life. The fearless man may, of course, meet +with sudden disaster, but it is likely that he will pass unscathed +through many difficult situations in which a timid man would come to +grief. This useful kind of self-confidence has, of course, innumerable +forms. One man is confident on mountains, another on the sea, and yet +another in the air. But general self-confidence towards life comes more +than anything else from being accustomed to receive as much of the +right sort of affection as one has need for. And it is this habit of +mind considered as a source of zest that I wish to speak about in the +present chapter. + +It is affection received, not affection given, that causes this +sense of security, though it arises most of all from affection +which is reciprocal. Strictly speaking, it is not only affection +but also admiration that has this effect. Persons whose trade is to +secure public admiration, such as actors, preachers, speakers, and +politicians, come to depend more and more upon applause. When they +receive their due meed of public approbation their life is full of +zest; when they do not, they become discontented and self-centred. +The diffused good will of a multitude does for them what is done +for others by the more concentrated affection of the few. The child +whose parents are fond of him accepts their affection as a law of +nature. He does not think very much about it, although it is of great +importance to his happiness. He thinks about the world, about the +adventures that come his way and the more marvellous adventures that +will come his way when he is grown up. But behind all these external +interests there is the feeling that he will be protected from disaster +by parental affection. The child from whom for any reason parental +affection is withdrawn is likely to become timid and unadventurous, +filled with fears and self-pity, and no longer able to meet the world +in a mood of gay exploration. Such a child may set to work at a +surprisingly early age to meditate on life and death and human destiny. +He becomes an introvert, melancholy at first, but seeking ultimately +the unreal consolations of some system of philosophy or theology. The +world is a higgledy-piggledy place, containing things pleasant and +things unpleasant in haphazard sequence. And the desire to make an +intelligible system or pattern out of it is at bottom an outcome of +fear, in fact a kind of agoraphobia or dread of open spaces. Within +the four walls of his library the timid student feels safe. If he can +persuade himself that the universe is equally tidy, he can feel almost +equally safe when he has to venture forth into the streets. Such a man, +if he had received more affection, would have feared the real world +less, and would not have had to invent an ideal world to take its place +in his beliefs. + +By no means all affection, however, has this effect in encouraging +adventurousness. The affection given must be itself robust rather than +timid, desiring excellence even more than safety on the part of its +object, though of course by no means indifferent to safety. The timid +mother or nurse, who is perpetually warning children against disasters +that may occur, who thinks that every dog will bite and that every cow +is a bull, may produce in them a timidity equal to her own, and may +cause them to feel that they are never safe except in her immediate +neighbourhood. To the unduly possessive mother this feeling on the +part of a child may be agreeable: she may desire his dependence upon +herself more than his capacity to cope with the world. In that case +her child is probably worse off in the long run than he would be if he +were not loved at all. The habits of mind formed in early years are +likely to persist through life. Many people when they fall in love look +for a little haven of refuge from the world, where they can be sure of +being admired when they are not admirable, and praised when they are +not praiseworthy. To many men home is a refuge from the truth: it is +their fears and their timidities that make them enjoy a companionship +in which these feelings are put to rest. They seek from their wives +what they obtained formerly from an unwise mother, and yet they are +surprised if their wives regard them as grown-up children. + +To define the best kind of affection is not altogether easy, since +clearly there will be _some_ protective element in it. We do +not feel indifferent to the hurts of people whom we love. I think, +however, that apprehension of misfortune, as opposed to sympathy +with a misfortune that has actually occurred, should play as small a +part as possible in affection. Fear for others is only a shade better +than fear for ourselves. Moreover, it is very often a camouflage for +possessiveness. It is hoped that by rousing their fears a more complete +empire over them can be obtained. This, of course, is one of the +reasons why men have liked timid women, since by protecting them they +came to own them. The amount of solicitude of which a person can be the +object without damage to himself depends upon his character: a person +who is hardy and adventurous can endure a great deal without damage, +whereas a timid person should be encouraged to expect little in this +way. + +Affection received has a two-fold function. We have spoken of it +hitherto in connection with security, but in adult life it has an even +more essential biological purpose, namely parenthood. To be unable +to inspire sex love is a grave misfortune to any man or woman, since +it deprives him or her of the greatest joys that life has to offer. +This deprivation is almost sure sooner or later to destroy zest and +produce introversion. Very frequently, however, previous misfortunes +in childhood have produced defects of character which are the cause of +failure to obtain love in later years. This is perhaps more true where +men are concerned than it is as regards women, for on the whole women +tend to love men for their character while men tend to love women for +their appearance. In this respect, it must be said, men show themselves +the inferiors of women, for the qualities that men find pleasing in +women are on the whole less desirable than those that women find +pleasing in men. I am not at all sure, however, that it is easier to +acquire a good character than a good appearance; at any rate, the steps +necessary for the latter are better understood and more readily pursued +by women than are the steps necessary for the former by men. + +We have been speaking hitherto of the affection of which a person is +the object. I wish now to speak of the affection that a person gives. +This also is of two different kinds, one of which is perhaps the +most important expression of a zest for life, while the other is an +expression of fear. The former seems to me wholly admirable, while the +latter is at best a consolation. If you are sailing in a ship on a fine +day along a beautiful coast, you admire the coast and feel pleasure in +it. This pleasure is one derived entirely from looking outward, and has +nothing to do with any desperate need of your own. If, on the other +hand, your ship is wrecked and you swim towards the coast, you acquire +for it a new kind of love: it represents security against the waves, +and its beauty or ugliness becomes an unimportant matter. The better +sort of affection corresponds to the feeling of the man whose ship is +secure, the less excellent sort corresponds to that of the shipwrecked +swimmer. The first of these kinds of affection is only possible in so +far as a man feels safe, or at any rate is indifferent to such dangers +as beset him; the latter kind, on the contrary, is caused by the +feeling of insecurity. The feeling caused by insecurity is much more +subjective and self-centred than the other, since the loved person is +valued for services rendered, not for intrinsic qualities. I do not, +however, wish to suggest that this kind of affection has no legitimate +part to play in life. In fact, almost all real affection contains +something of both kinds in combination, and in so far as affection +does really cure the sense of insecurity, it sets a man free to feel +again that interest in the world which in moments of danger and fear +is obscured. But while recognizing the part that such affection has +to play in life, we must still hold that it is less excellent than +the other kind, since it depends upon fear, and fear is an evil, and +also because it is more self-centred. In the best kind of affection +a man hopes for a new happiness rather than for escape from an old +unhappiness. + +The best type of affection is reciprocally life-giving; each receives +affection with joy and gives it without effort, and each finds the +whole world more interesting in consequence of the existence of this +reciprocal happiness. There is, however, another kind, by no means +uncommon, in which one person sucks the vitality of the other, one +receives what the other gives, but gives almost nothing in return. Some +very vital people belong to this bloodsucking type. They extract the +vitality from one victim after another, but while they prosper and grow +interesting, those upon whom they live grow pale and dim and dull. Such +people use others as means to their own ends, and never consider them +as ends in themselves. Fundamentally they are not interested in those +whom for the moment they think they love; they are interested only in +the stimulus to their own activities, perhaps of a quite impersonal +sort. Evidently this springs from some defect in their nature, but +it is one not altogether easy either to diagnose or to cure. It is +a characteristic frequently associated with great ambition, and is +rooted, I should say, in an unduly one-sided view of what makes human +happiness. Affection in the sense of a genuine reciprocal interest of +two persons in each other, not solely as means to each other’s good, +but rather as a combination having a common good, is one of the most +important elements of real happiness, and the man whose ego is so +enclosed within steel walls that this enlargement of it is impossible +misses the best that life has to offer, however successful he may be +in his career. Ambition which excludes affection from its purview is +generally the result of some kind of anger or hatred against the human +race, produced by unhappiness in youth, by injustices in later life, or +by any of the causes which lead to persecution mania. A too powerful +ego is a prison from which a man must escape if he is to enjoy the +world to the full. A capacity for genuine affection is one of the +marks of the man who has escaped from this prison of self. To receive +affection is by no means enough; affection which is received should +liberate the affection which is to be given, and only where both exist +in equal measure does affection achieve its best possibilities. + +Obstacles, psychological and social, to the blossoming of reciprocal +affection are a grave evil, from which the world has always suffered +and still suffers. People are slow to give admiration for fear it +should be misplaced; they are slow to bestow affection for fear +that they should be made to suffer either by the person upon whom +they bestow it or by a censorious world. Caution is enjoined both +in the name of morality and in the name of worldly wisdom, with the +result that generosity and adventurousness are discouraged where the +affections are concerned. All this tends to produce timidity and +anger against mankind, since many people miss throughout life what is +really a fundamental need, and to nine out of ten an indispensable +condition of a happy and expansive attitude towards the world. It is +not to be supposed that those who are what is called immoral are in +this respect superior to those who are not. In sex relations there +is very often almost nothing that can be called real affection; not +infrequently there is even a fundamental hostility. Each is trying +not to give himself or herself away, each is preserving fundamental +loneliness, each remains intact and therefore unfructified. In such +experiences there is no fundamental value. I do not say that they +should be carefully avoided, since the steps necessary to this end +would be likely to interfere also with the occasions where a more +valuable and profound affection could grow up. But I do say that the +only sex relations that have real value are those in which there is no +reticence and in which the whole personality of both becomes merged in +a new collective personality. Of all forms of caution, caution in love +is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + THE FAMILY + + +Of all the institutions that have come down to us from the past none +is in the present day so disorganized and derailed as the family. +Affection of parents for children and of children for parents is +capable of being one of the greatest sources of happiness, but in +fact at the present day the relations of parents and children are, in +nine cases out of ten, a source of unhappiness to both parties, and +in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a source of unhappiness to at +least one of the two parties. This failure of the family to provide +the fundamental satisfaction which in principle it is capable of +yielding is one of the most deep-seated causes of the discontent which +is prevalent in our age. The adult who wishes to have a happy relation +with his own children or to provide a happy life for them must reflect +deeply upon parenthood, and, having reflected, must act wisely. The +subject of the family is far too vast to be dealt with in this volume +except in relation to our own special problem, namely the conquest of +happiness. And even in relation to that problem we can deal with it +only in so far as amelioration lies within the power of each individual +without alterations in the social structure. + +This is, of course, a very grave limitation, for the causes of family +unhappiness in our day are of the most diverse sorts, psychological, +economic, social, educational, and political. Where the well-to-do +sections of the community are concerned, two causes have combined to +make women feel parenthood a burden far heavier than it was ever felt +to be in former times. These two causes are, on the one hand, the +opening of careers to single women; on the other hand, the decay of +domestic service. In old days women were driven into marriage by the +intolerable conditions of life for the spinster. The spinster had to +live at home in economic dependence, first upon her father, and then +upon some reluctant brother. She had no occupations to fill her days +and no liberty to enjoy herself outside the sheltered walls of the +family mansion. She had neither the opportunity nor the inclination +for sexual adventure, which she herself profoundly believed to be an +abomination except within marriage. If, in spite of all safeguards, +she lost her virtue through the wiles of some designing fascinator, +her situation was pitiable in the extreme. It is delineated quite +accurately in _The Vicar of Wakefield_: + + The only art her guilt to cover, + To hide her shame from ev’ry eye, + To give repentance to her lover + And wring his bosom is--to die. + +The modern spinster does not consider death necessary in these +circumstances. If she has had a good education, she has no difficulty +in making a comfortable living, and is therefore independent of +parental approval. Since parents have lost their economic power over +their daughters, they have become much more chary of expressing moral +disapproval of them; there is not much use in scolding a person who +won’t stay to be scolded. The unmarried young woman of the professional +classes is therefore able nowadays, provided she is not below the +average in intelligence and attractiveness, to enjoy a thoroughly +agreeable life so long as she can keep free from the desire for +children. But if this desire overwhelms her, she is compelled to +marry, and almost certainly to lose her job. She sinks to a much lower +level of comfort than that to which she has been accustomed, since +her husband’s income is very likely no larger than that which she was +previously earning, and has to provide for a family instead of only a +single woman. After having enjoyed independence, she finds it galling +to have to look to another for every penny of necessary expenditure. +For all these reasons such women hesitate to embark upon maternity. + +A woman who nevertheless does take the plunge finds herself, as +compared with the women of former generations, confronted with a new +and appalling problem, namely the paucity and bad quality of domestic +service. In consequence of this, she becomes tied to her house, +compelled to perform herself a thousand trivial tasks quite unworthy +of her ability and training, or, if she does not perform them herself, +to ruin her temper by scolding the maids who neglect them. In regard +to the physical care of her children, if she has taken pains to +become well-informed in this matter, she finds that it is impossible, +without grave risk of disaster, to entrust the children to nurses, or +even to leave to others the most elementary precautions in regard to +cleanliness and hygiene, unless she can afford a nurse who has had +an expensive training at some institute. Weighed down by a mass of +trivial detail, she is fortunate indeed if she does not soon lose all +her charm and three-quarters of her intelligence. Too often through +the mere performance of necessary duties such women become wearisome +to their husbands and a nuisance to their children. When the evening +comes and her husband returns from his work, the woman who talks +about her day-time troubles is a bore, and the woman who does not is +absent-minded. In relation to her children, the sacrifices that she +has made in order to have them are so present to her mind that she +is almost sure to demand more reward than it is desirable to expect, +while the constant habit of attending to trivial details will have made +her fussy and small-minded. This is the most pernicious of all the +injustices that she has to suffer: that in consequence of doing her +duty by her family she has lost their affection, whereas if she had +neglected them and remained gay and charming they would probably have +loved her.[4] + +These troubles are essentially economic, and so is another which is +almost equally grave. I mean the difficulties in regard to housing +which result from the concentration of populations in large cities. In +the Middle Ages cities were as rural as the country is now. Children +still sing the nursery rhyme: + + Upon Paul’s steeple stands a tree + As full of apples as may be, + The little boys of London town + They run with sticks to knock them down. + And then they run from hedge to hedge + Until they come to London Bridge. + +Paul’s steeple is gone, and I do not know at what date the hedges +disappeared between St. Paul’s and London Bridge. It is many centuries +since the little boys of London town could enjoy such pleasures as +this rhyme suggests, but until not so very long ago the bulk of the +population lived in the country. The towns were not very vast; it was +easy to get out of them, and by no means uncommon to find gardens +attached to many houses in them. Nowadays there is in England an +immense preponderance of the urban over the rural population. In +America this preponderance is as yet slight, but it is very rapidly +increasing. Cities like London and New York are so large that it takes +a very long time to get out of them. Those who live in the city usually +have to be content with a flat, to which, of course, not a square +inch of soil is attached, and in which people of moderate means have +to be content with the absolute minimum of space. If there are young +children, life in a flat is difficult. There is no room for them to +play, and there is no room for their parents to get away from their +noise. Consequently professional men tend more and more to live in the +suburbs. This is undoubtedly desirable from the point of view of the +children, but it adds considerably to the fatigue of the man’s life, +and greatly diminishes the part which he can play in the family. + +Such large economic problems, however, it is not my intention to +discuss, since they lie outside the problem with which we are +concerned, namely what the individual can here and now do to find +happiness. We come nearer to this problem when we pass to the +psychological difficulties which exist in the present age in the +relations of parents and children. These are really part of the +problems raised by democracy. In old days there were masters and +slaves: the masters decided what was to be done, and on the whole +liked their slaves, since their slaves ministered to their happiness. +The slaves may possibly have hated their masters, though this did +not happen nearly so universally as democratic theory would have +us suppose. But even if they did hate their masters, their masters +remained unaware of this fact, and the masters at any rate were +happy. With the general acceptance of democratic theory all this was +changed: slaves who had acquiesced before ceased to acquiesce; masters +who had formerly had no doubts as to their rights became hesitant +and uncertain. Friction arose and caused unhappiness on both sides. +I am not saying all this as an argument against democracy, for the +troubles in question are only such as are inevitable in any important +transition. But it is no use to blink the fact that, while this +transition is in progress, it makes the world uncomfortable. + +The change in the relation between parents and children is a particular +example of the general spread of democracy. Parents are no longer sure +of their rights as against their children; children no longer feel +that they owe respect to their parents. The virtue of obedience, which +was formerly exacted without question, has become unfashionable, and +rightly so. Psycho-analysis has terrified educated parents with the +fear of the harm they may unwittingly do their children. If they kiss +them, they may produce an Œdipus complex; if they do not they may +produce a fury of jealousy. If they order the children to do things +they may be producing a sense of sin; if they do not, the children +acquire habits which the parents think undesirable. When they see their +baby sucking his thumb, they draw all kinds of terrifying inferences, +but they are quite at a loss as to what to do to stop him. Parenthood, +which used to be a triumphant exercise of power, has become timid, +anxious, and filled with conscientious doubts. The old simple joys are +lost, and that at the very moment when, owing to the new freedom of +single women, the mother has had to sacrifice much more than formerly +in deciding upon maternity. In these circumstances conscientious +mothers ask too little of their children, and unconscientious mothers +ask too much. Conscientious mothers restrain their natural affection +and become shy; unconscientious mothers seek in their children a +compensation for the joys that they have had to forgo. In the one +case the child’s affections are starved, in the other they are +over-stimulated. In neither case is there any of that simple and +natural happiness that the family at its best can provide. + +In view of all these troubles, is it any wonder that the birth-rate +declines? The decline of the birth-rate in the population at large has +reached a point which shows that the population will soon begin to +dwindle, but among the well-to-do classes this point has long ago been +passed, not only in one country, but in practically all the most highly +civilized countries. There are not very many statistics available as +to the birth-rate among the well-to-do, but two facts may be quoted +from Jean Ayling’s book alluded to above. It appears that in Stockholm +in the years 1919 to 1922 the fertility of professional women was only +one-third of that of the population at large, and that among the four +thousand graduates of Wellesley College, U.S.A., in the period 1896 +to 1913 the total number of children is about three thousand, whereas +to prevent an actual dwindling of the stock there should have been +eight thousand children none of whom had died young. There can be +no doubt that the civilization produced by the white races has this +singular characteristic, that in proportion as men and women absorb +it, they become sterile. The most civilized are the most sterile; the +least civilized are the most fertile; and between the two there is a +continual gradation. At present the most intelligent sections of the +Western nations are dying out. Within a very few years the Western +nations as a whole will be diminishing in numbers except in so far +as their stocks are replenished by immigration from less civilized +regions. And as soon as the immigrants acquire the civilization of +the country of their adoption they in turn will become comparatively +sterile. It is clear that a civilization which has this characteristic +is unstable; unless it can be induced to reproduce its numbers, it +must sooner or later die out and give place to some other civilization +in which the urge towards parenthood has retained enough strength to +prevent the population from declining. + +Official moralists in every Western country have endeavoured to treat +this problem by means of exhortations and sentimentality. On the one +hand, they say that it is the duty of every married couple to have +as many children as God wills, regardless of any prospect that such +children may have of health and happiness. On the other hand, male +divines prate about the sacred joys of motherhood and pretend that a +large family of diseased and poverty-stricken infants is a source +of happiness. The State joins in with the argument that an adequate +crop of cannon fodder is necessary, for how can all these exquisite +and ingenious weapons of destruction function adequately unless there +are sufficient populations left for them to destroy? Strange to say, +the individual parent, even if he accepts these arguments as applied +to others, remains entirely deaf to them as applied to himself. The +psychology of the divines and the patriots is at fault. The divines +may succeed so long as they can successfully threaten hell-fire, but +it is only a minority of the population that now takes this threat +seriously. And no threat short of this is adequate to control behaviour +in a matter so essentially private. As for the State, its argument +is altogether too ferocious. People may agree that others ought to +provide cannon fodder, but they are not attracted by the prospect of +having their own children used in this way. All that the State can do, +therefore, is to endeavour to keep the poor in ignorance, an effort +which, as the statistics show, is singularly unsuccessful except in +the most backward of Western countries. Very few men or women will +have children from a sense of public duty, even if it were far clearer +than it is that any such public duty exists. When men and women have +children, they do so either because they believe that children will +add to their happiness, or because they do not know how to prevent +them. The latter reason still operates very powerfully, but it is +steadily diminishing in potency. And nothing that either the State +or the Churches can do will prevent this diminution from continuing. +It is necessary, therefore, if the white races are to survive, that +parenthood should again become capable of yielding happiness to parents. + +When one considers human nature apart from the circumstances of the +present day, it is clear, I think, that parenthood is psychologically +capable of providing the greatest and most enduring happiness that +life has to offer. This, no doubt, is more true of women than of men, +but it is more true of men than most moderns are inclined to suppose. +It is taken for granted in almost all literature before the present +age. Hecuba cares more for her children than for Priam; MacDuff cares +more for his children than for his wife. In the Old Testament both men +and women are passionately concerned to leave descendants; in China +and Japan this attitude has persisted down to our own day. It will be +said that this desire is due to ancestor worship. I think, however, +that the contrary is the truth, namely that ancestor worship is a +reflection of the interest people take in the persistence of their +family. Reverting to the professional women whom we were considering +a moment ago, it is clear that the urge to have children must be very +powerful, for otherwise none of them would make the sacrifices required +in order to satisfy it. For my own part, speaking personally, I have +found the happiness of parenthood greater than any other that I have +experienced. I believe that when circumstances lead men or women to +forgo this happiness, a very deep need remains ungratified, and that +this produces a dissatisfaction and listlessness of which the cause +may remain quite unknown. To be happy in this world, especially when +youth is past, it is necessary to feel oneself not merely an isolated +individual whose day will soon be over, but part of the stream of life +flowing on from the first germ to the remote and unknown future. As a +conscious sentiment, expressed in set terms, this involves no doubt +a hyper-civilized and intellectual outlook upon the world, but as a +vague instinctive emotion it is primitive and natural, and it is its +absence that is hyper-civilized. A man who is capable of some great +and remarkable achievement which sets its stamp upon future ages may +gratify this feeling through his work, but for men and women who have +no exceptional gifts, the only way to do so is through children. Those +who have allowed their procreative impulses to become atrophied have +separated themselves from the stream of life, and in so doing have +run a grave risk of becoming desiccated. For them, unless they are +exceptionally impersonal, death ends all. The world that shall come +after them does not concern them, and because of this their doings +appear to themselves trivial and unimportant. To the man or woman +who has children and grandchildren and loves them with a natural +affection, the future is important, at any rate to the limit of their +lives, not only through morality or through an effort of imagination, +but naturally and instinctively. And the man whose interests have +been stretched to this extent beyond his personal life is likely to +be able to stretch them still further. Like Abraham, he will derive +satisfaction from the thought that his seed are to inherit the promised +land even if this is not to happen for many generations. And through +such feelings he is saved from the sense of futility which otherwise +deadens all his emotions. + +The basis of the family is, of course, the fact that parents feel a +special kind of affection towards their own children, different from +that which they feel towards each other or towards other children. It +is true that some parents feel little or no parental affection, and +it is also true that some women are capable of feeling an affection +for children not their own almost as strong as that which they could +feel for their own. Nevertheless, the broad fact remains that parental +affection is a special kind of feeling which the normal human being +experiences towards his or her own children, but not towards any +other human being. This emotion is one which we inherit from our +animal ancestors. In this respect Freud seems to me not sufficiently +biological in his outlook, for anyone who will observe an animal mother +with her young can see that her behaviour towards them follows an +entirely different pattern from her behaviour towards the male with +whom she has sex relations. And this same different and instinctive +pattern, though in a modified and less definite form, exists among +human beings. If it were not for this special emotion there would be +almost nothing to be said for the family as an institution, since +children might equally well be left to the care of professionals. As +things are, however, the special affection which parents have for +children, provided their instincts are not atrophied, is of value both +to the parents themselves and to the children. The value of parental +affection to children lies largely in the fact that it is more reliable +than any other affection. One’s friends like one for one’s merits, +one’s lovers for one’s charms; if the merits or the charms diminish, +friends and lovers may vanish. But it is in times of misfortune that +parents are most to be relied upon, in illness, and even in disgrace +if the parents are of the right sort. We all feel pleasure when we are +admired for our merits, but most of us are sufficiently modest at heart +to feel that such admiration is precarious. Our parents love us because +we are their children, and this is an unalterable fact, so that we feel +more safe with them than with anyone else. In times of success this may +seem unimportant, but in times of failure it affords a consolation and +a security not to be found elsewhere. + +In all human relations it is fairly easy to secure happiness for one +party, but much more difficult to secure it for both. The gaoler may +enjoy guarding the prisoner; the employer may enjoy browbeating the +employee; the ruler may enjoy governing his subjects with a firm hand; +and the old-fashioned father no doubt enjoyed instilling virtue into +his son by means of the rod. These, however, are one-sided pleasures; +to the other party in the transaction the situation is less agreeable. +We have come to feel that there is something unsatisfactory about +these one-sided delights: we believe that a good human relation should +be satisfying to both parties. This applies more particularly to the +relations of parents and children, with the result that parents obtain +far less pleasure from children than they did formerly, while children +reciprocally suffer less at the hands of their parents than they did +in bygone generations. I do not think there is any real reason why +parents should derive less happiness from their children than they did +in former times, although undoubtedly this is the case at present. +Nor do I think that there is any reason why parents should fail to +increase the happiness of their children. But this requires, as do all +those equal relationships at which the modern world aims, a certain +delicacy and tenderness, a certain reverence for another personality, +which are by no means encouraged by the pugnacity of ordinary life. +Let us consider the happiness of parenthood, first in its biological +essence, and then as it may become in a parent inspired by that kind +of attitude towards other personalities which we have been suggesting +as essential to a world that believes in equality. + +The primitive root of the pleasure of parenthood is two-fold. On the +one hand there is the feeling of part of one’s own body externalized, +prolonging its life beyond the death of the rest of one’s body, and +possibly in its turn externalizing part of itself in the same fashion, +and so securing the immortality of the germ-plasm. On the other hand +there is an intimate blend of power and tenderness. The new creature +is helpless, and there is an impulse to supply its needs, an impulse +which gratifies not only the parent’s love towards the child, but +also the parent’s desire for power. So long as the infant is felt to +be helpless, the affection which is bestowed upon it does not feel +unselfish, since it is in the nature of protection to a vulnerable +portion of oneself. But from a very early age there comes to be a +conflict between love of parental power and desire for the child’s +good, for, while power over the child is to a certain extent decreed +by the nature of things, it is nevertheless desirable that the child +should as soon as possible learn to be independent in as many ways as +possible, which is unpleasant to the power impulse in a parent. Some +parents never become conscious of this conflict, and remain tyrants +until the children are in a position to rebel. Others, however, become +conscious of it, and thus find themselves a prey to conflicting +emotions. In this conflict their parental happiness is lost. After +all the care that they have bestowed on the child, they find to their +mortification that he turns out quite different from what they had +hoped. They wanted him to be a soldier, and they find him a pacifist, +or, like Tolstoy, they wanted him to be a pacifist, and he joins the +Black Hundreds. But it is not only in these later developments that +the difficulty is felt. If you feed an infant who is already capable +of feeding himself, you are putting love of power before the child’s +welfare, although it seems to you that you are only being kind in +saving him trouble. If you make him too vividly aware of dangers, you +are probably actuated by a desire to keep him dependent upon you. If +you give him demonstrative affection to which you expect a response, +you are probably endeavouring to grapple him to you by means of his +emotions. In a thousand ways, great and small, the possessive impulse +of parents will lead them astray, unless they are very watchful or very +pure in heart. Modern parents, aware of these dangers, sometimes lose +confidence in handling their children, and become therefore even less +able to be of use to them than if they permitted themselves spontaneous +mistakes, for nothing causes so much worry in a child’s mind as lack +of certainty and self-confidence on the part of an adult. Better than +being careful, therefore, is to be pure in heart. The parent who +genuinely desires the child’s welfare more than his or her power over +the child will not need textbooks on psycho-analysis to say what should +and what should not be done, but will be guided aright by impulse. +And in that case the relation of parent and child will be harmonious +from first to last, causing no rebellion in the child and no feeling +of frustration in the parent. But this demands on the part of the +parent from the first a respect for the personality of the child--a +respect which must be not merely a matter of principle, whether moral +or intellectual, but something deeply felt with almost mystical +conviction to such a degree that possessiveness and oppression become +utterly impossible. It is of course not only towards children that an +attitude of this sort is desirable: it is very necessary in marriage, +and in friendship also, though in friendship it is less difficult. In a +good world it would pervade the political relations between groups of +human beings, though this is so distant a hope that we need not linger +over it. But universal as is the need for this kind of gentleness, it +is needed most of all where children are concerned, because of their +helplessness, and because their small size and feeble strength cause +vulgar souls to despise them. + +But to return to the problems with which this book is concerned, the +full joy of parenthood in the modern world is only to be obtained by +those who can deeply feel this attitude of respect towards the child +of which I have been speaking. For to them there will be no irksome +restraint upon their love of power, and no need to dread the bitter +disillusionment which despotic parents experience when their children +acquire freedom. And to the parent who has this attitude there is more +joy in parenthood than ever was possible to the despot in the hey-day +of parental power. For the love that has been purged by gentleness +of all tendency towards tyranny can give a joy more exquisite, more +tender, more capable of transmuting the base metal of daily life into +the pure gold of mystic ecstasy, than any emotion that is possible to +the man still fighting and struggling to maintain his ascendancy in +this slippery world. + +While I attach a very high value to the parental emotion, I do not draw +the inference, which is too commonly drawn, that mothers should do as +much as possible themselves for their children. There is a convention +on this subject which was all very well in the days when nothing was +known about the care of children except the unscientific odds and ends +that old women handed on to younger ones. Nowadays there is a great +deal in the care of children which is best done by those who have +made a special study of some department of this subject. In relation +to that part of their education which is _called_ “education” +this is recognized. A mother is not expected to teach her son the +calculus, however much she may love him. So far as the acquisition of +book-learning is concerned, it is recognized that children can acquire +it better from those who have it than from a mother who does not have +it. But in regard to many other departments in the care of children +this is not recognized, because the experience required is not yet +recognized. Undoubtedly certain things are better done by the mother, +but as the child gets older, there will be an increasing number of +things better done by someone else. If this were generally recognized, +mothers would be saved a great deal of labour which is irksome to them, +because it is not that in which they have professional competence. A +woman who has acquired any kind of professional skill ought, both for +her own sake and for that of the community, to be free to continue to +exercise this skill in spite of motherhood. She may be unable to do +so during the later months of pregnancy and during lactation, but a +child over nine months old ought not to form an insuperable barrier +to its mother’s professional activities. Whenever society demands +of a mother sacrifices to her child which go beyond reason, the +mother, if she is not unusually saintly, will expect from her child +compensations exceeding those she has a right to expect. The mother +who is conventionally called self-sacrificing is, in a great majority +of cases, exceptionally selfish towards her children, for, important +as parenthood is as an element in life, it is not satisfying if it is +treated as the whole of life, and the unsatisfied parent is likely to +be an emotionally grasping parent. It is important, therefore, quite +as much in the interests of the children as in those of the mother, +that motherhood should not cut her off from all other interests and +pursuits. If she has a real vocation for the care of children and that +amount of knowledge which will enable her to care adequately for her +own children, her skill ought to be more widely used, and she ought to +be engaged professionally in the care of some group of children which +may be expected to include her own. It is right that parents, provided +they fulfil the minimum requirements insisted upon by the State, should +have a say as to how their children are cared for and by whom, so long +as they do not go outside the ranks of qualified persons. But there +should be no convention demanding that every mother should do herself +what some other woman can do better. Mothers who feel baffled and +incompetent when faced with their children, as many mothers do, should +have no hesitation in having their children cared for by women who have +an aptitude for this work and have undergone the necessary training. +There is no heaven-sent instinct which teaches women the right thing +to do by their children, and solicitude when it goes beyond a point +is a camouflage for possessiveness. Many a child is psychologically +ruined by ignorant and sentimental handling on the part of its mother. +It has always been recognized that fathers cannot be expected to do +very much for their children, and yet children are quite as apt to +love their fathers as to love their mothers. The relation of the +mother to the child will have in future to resemble more and more that +which at present the father has, if women’s lives are to be freed from +unnecessary slavery and children are to be allowed to profit by the +scientific knowledge which is accumulating as to the care of their +minds and bodies in early years. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + WORK + + +Whether work should be placed among the causes of happiness or among +the causes of unhappiness may perhaps be regarded as a doubtful +question. There is certainly much work which is exceedingly irksome, +and an excess of work is always very painful. I think, however, that, +provided work is not excessive in amount, even the dullest work is to +most people less painful than idleness. There are in work all grades, +from mere relief of tedium up to the profoundest delights, according +to the nature of the work and the abilities of the worker. Most of +the work that most people have to do is not in itself interesting, +but even such work has certain great advantages. To begin with, it +fills a good many hours of the day without the need of deciding what +one shall do. Most people, when they are left free to fill their own +time according to their own choice, are at a loss to think of anything +sufficiently pleasant to be worth doing. And whatever they decide +on, they are troubled by the feeling that something else would have +been pleasanter. To be able to fill leisure intelligently is the last +product of civilization, and at present very few people have reached +this level. Moreover, the exercise of choice is in itself tiresome. +Except to people with unusual initiative it is positively agreeable to +be told what to do at each hour of the day, provided the orders are +not too unpleasant. Most of the idle rich suffer unspeakable boredom as +the price of their freedom from drudgery. At times they may find relief +by hunting big game in Africa, or by flying round the world, but the +number of such sensations is limited, especially after youth is past. +Accordingly, the more intelligent rich men work nearly as hard as if +they were poor, while rich women for the most part keep themselves busy +with innumerable trifles of whose earth-shaking importance they are +firmly persuaded. + +Work, therefore, is desirable, first and foremost, as a preventive of +boredom, for the boredom that a man feels when he is doing necessary +though uninteresting work is as nothing in comparison with the boredom +that he feels when he has nothing to do with his days. With this +advantage of work another is associated, namely that it makes holidays +much more delicious when they come. Provided a man does not have to +work so hard as to impair his vigour, he is likely to find far more +zest in his free time than an idle man could possibly find. + +The second advantage of most paid work and of some unpaid work is +that it gives chances of success and opportunities for ambition. In +most work success is measured by income, and while our capitalistic +society continues, this is inevitable. It is only where the best work +is concerned that this measure ceases to be the natural one to apply. +The desire that men feel to increase their income is quite as much a +desire for success as for the extra comforts that a higher income can +procure. However dull work may be, it becomes bearable if it is a means +of building up a reputation, whether in the world at large or only in +one’s own circle. Continuity of purpose is one of the most essential +ingredients of happiness in the long run, and for most men this comes +chiefly through their work. In this respect those women whose lives +are occupied with house-work are much less fortunate than men, or than +women who work outside the home. The domesticated wife does not receive +wages, has no means of bettering herself, is taken for granted by her +husband (who sees practically nothing of what she does), and is valued +by him not for her house-work but for quite other qualities. Of course, +this does not apply to those women who are sufficiently well-to-do to +make beautiful houses and beautiful gardens and become the envy of +their neighbours; but such women are comparatively few, and for the +great majority house-work cannot bring as much satisfaction as work of +other kinds brings to men and to professional women. + +The satisfaction of killing time and of affording some outlet, however +modest, for ambition, belongs to most work, and is sufficient to make +even a man whose work is dull happier on the average than a man who has +no work at all. But when work is interesting, it is capable of giving +satisfaction of a far higher order than mere relief from tedium. The +kinds of work in which there is some interest may be arranged in a +hierarchy. I shall begin with those which are only mildly interesting +and end with those that are worthy to absorb the whole energies of a +great man. + +Two chief elements make work interesting: first, the exercise of skill, +and second, construction. + +Every man who has acquired some unusual skill enjoys exercising it +until it has become a matter of course, or until he can no longer +improve himself. This motive to activity begins in early childhood: a +boy who can stand on his head becomes reluctant to stand on his feet. +A great deal of work gives the same pleasure that is to be derived +from games of skill. The work of a lawyer or a politician must contain +in a more delectable form a great deal of the same pleasure that is +to be derived from playing bridge. Here, of course, there is not only +the exercise of skill but the outwitting of a skilled opponent. Even +where this competitive element is absent, however, the performance of +difficult feats is agreeable. A man who can do stunts in an aeroplane +finds the pleasure so great that for the sake of it he is willing to +risk his life. I imagine that an able surgeon, in spite of the painful +circumstances in which his work is done, derives satisfaction from +the exquisite precision of his operations. The same kind of pleasure, +though in a less intense form, is to be derived from a great deal of +work of a humbler kind. I have even heard of plumbers who enjoyed +their work, though I have never had the good fortune to meet one. All +skilled work can be pleasurable, provided the skill required is either +variable or capable of indefinite improvement. If these conditions +are absent, it will cease to be interesting when a man has acquired +his maximum skill. A man who runs three-mile races will cease to find +pleasure in this occupation when he passes the age at which he can +beat his own previous record. Fortunately there is a very considerable +amount of work in which new circumstances call for new skill and a man +can go on improving, at any rate until he has reached middle age. In +some kinds of skilled work, such as politics, for example, it seems +that men are at their best between sixty and seventy, the reason being +that in such occupations a wide experience of other men is essential. +For this reason successful politicians are apt to be happier at the age +of seventy than any other men of equal age. Their only competitors in +this respect are the men who are the heads of big businesses. + +There is, however, another element possessed by the best work, which +is even more important as a source of happiness than is the exercise +of skill. This is the element of constructiveness. In some work, +though by no means in most, something is built up which remains as a +monument when the work is completed. We may distinguish construction +from destruction by the following criterion. In construction the +initial state of affairs is comparatively haphazard, while the final +state of affairs embodies a purpose; in destruction the reverse is the +case: the initial state of affairs embodies a purpose, while the final +state of affairs is haphazard, that is to say, all that is intended by +the destroyer is to produce a state of affairs which does not embody +a certain purpose. This criterion applies in the most literal and +obvious case, namely the construction and destruction of buildings. In +constructing a building a previously made plan is carried out, whereas +in destroying it no one decides exactly how the materials are to lie +when the demolition is complete. Destruction is of course necessary +very often as a preliminary to subsequent construction; in that case it +is part of a whole which is constructive. But not infrequently a man +will engage in activities of which the purpose is destructive without +regard to any construction that may come after. Frequently he will +conceal this from himself by the belief that he is only sweeping away +in order to build afresh, but it is generally possible to unmask this +pretence, when it is a pretence, by asking him what the subsequent +construction is to be. On this subject it will be found that he will +speak vaguely and without enthusiasm, whereas on the preliminary +destruction he has spoken precisely and with zest. This applies to not +a few revolutionaries and militarists and other apostles of violence. +They are actuated, usually without their own knowledge, by hatred; the +destruction of what they hate is their real purpose, and they are +comparatively indifferent to the question what is to come after it. +Now I cannot deny that in the work of destruction as in the work of +construction there may be joy. It is a fiercer joy, perhaps at moments +more intense, but it is less profoundly satisfying, since the result is +one in which little satisfaction is to be found. You kill your enemy, +and when he is dead your occupation is gone, and the satisfaction that +you derive from victory quickly fades. The work of construction, on the +other hand, when completed, is delightful to contemplate, and moreover +is never so fully completed that there is nothing further to do about +it. The most satisfactory purposes are those that lead on indefinitely +from one success to another without ever coming to a dead end; and in +this respect it will be found that construction is a greater source of +happiness than destruction. Perhaps it would be more correct to say +that those who find satisfaction in construction find in it greater +satisfaction than the lovers of destruction can find in destruction, +for if once you have become filled with hate you will not easily derive +from construction the pleasure which another man would derive from it. + +At the same time few things are so likely to cure the habit of hatred +as the opportunity to do constructive work of an important kind. + +The satisfaction to be derived from success in a great constructive +enterprise is one of the most massive that life has to offer, +although unfortunately in its highest forms it is only open to men +of exceptional ability. Nothing can rob a man of the happiness of +successful achievement in an important piece of work, unless it be +the proof that after all his work was bad. There are many forms of +such satisfaction. The man who by a scheme of irrigation has caused +the wilderness to blossom like the rose enjoys it in one of its most +tangible forms. The creation of an organization may be a work of +supreme importance. So is the work of those few statesmen who have +devoted their lives to producing order out of chaos, of whom Lenin is +the supreme type in our day. The most obvious examples are artists +and men of science. Shakespeare says of his verse: “So long as men +can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this.” And it cannot be +doubted that the thought consoled him for misfortune. In his sonnets he +maintains that the thought of his friend reconciled him to life, but +I cannot help suspecting that the sonnets he wrote to his friend were +even more effective for this purpose than the friend himself. Great +artists and great men of science do work which is in itself delightful; +while they are doing it, it secures them the respect of those whose +respect is worth having, which gives them the most fundamental kind +of power, namely power over men’s thoughts and feelings. They have +also the most solid reasons for thinking well of themselves. This +combination of fortunate circumstances ought, one would think, to +be enough to make any man happy. Nevertheless it is not so. Michael +Angelo, for example, was a profoundly unhappy man and maintained (not, +I am sure, with truth) that he would not have troubled to produce works +of art if he had not had to pay the debts of his impecunious relations. +The power to produce great art is very often, though by no means +always, associated with a temperamental unhappiness, so great that but +for the joy which the artist derives from his work he would be driven +to suicide. We cannot therefore maintain that even the greatest work +must make a man happy; we can only maintain that it must make him less +unhappy. Men of science, however, are far less often temperamentally +unhappy than artists are, and in the main the men who do great work in +science are happy men, whose happiness is derived primarily from their +work. + +One of the causes of unhappiness among intellectuals in the present day +is that so many of them, especially those whose skill is literary, find +no opportunity for the independent exercise of their talents, but have +to hire themselves out to rich corporations directed by Philistines, +who insist upon their producing what they themselves regard as +pernicious nonsense. If you were to inquire among journalists either in +England or America whether they believed in the policy of the newspaper +for which they worked, you would find, I believe, that only a small +minority do so; the rest, for the sake of a livelihood, prostitute +their skill to purposes which they believe to be harmful. Such work +cannot bring any real satisfaction, and in the course of reconciling +himself to the doing of it a man has to make himself so cynical that he +can no longer derive whole-hearted satisfaction from anything whatever. +I cannot condemn men who undertake work of this sort, since starvation +is too serious an alternative, but I think that where it is possible to +do work that is satisfactory to a man’s constructive impulses without +entirely starving, he will be well advised from the point of view of +his own happiness if he chooses it in preference to work much more +highly paid but not seeming to him worth doing on its own account. +Without self-respect genuine happiness is scarcely possible. And the +man who is ashamed of his work can hardly achieve self-respect. + +The satisfaction of constructive work, though it may, as things are, +be the privilege of a minority, can nevertheless be the privilege of +a quite large minority. Any man who is his own master in his work can +feel it; so can any man whose work appears to him useful and requires +considerable skill. The production of satisfactory children is a +difficult constructive work capable of affording profound satisfaction. +Any woman who has achieved this can feel that as a result of her labour +the world contains something of value which it would not otherwise +contain. + +Human beings differ profoundly in regard to the tendency to regard +their lives as a whole. To some men it is natural to do so, and +essential to happiness to be able to do so with some satisfaction. To +others life is a series of detached incidents without directed movement +and without unity. I think the former sort are more likely to achieve +happiness than the latter, since they will gradually build up those +circumstances from which they can derive contentment and self-respect, +whereas the others will be blown about by the winds of circumstance +now this way, now that, without ever arriving at any haven. The habit +of viewing life as a whole is an essential part both of wisdom and of +true morality, and is one of the things which ought to be encouraged in +education. Consistent purpose is not enough to make life happy, but it +is an almost indispensable condition of a happy life. And consistent +purpose embodies itself mainly in work. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + IMPERSONAL INTERESTS + + +In this chapter I wish to consider not those major interests about +which a man’s life is built, but those minor interests which fill his +leisure and afford relaxation from the tenseness of his more serious +pre-occupations. In the life of the average man his wife and children, +his work and his financial position occupy the main part of his anxious +and serious thought. Even if he has extra-matrimonial love affairs, +they probably do not concern him as profoundly in themselves as in +their possible effects upon his home life. The interests which are +bound up with his work I am not for the present regarding as impersonal +interests. A man of science, for example, must keep abreast of research +in his own line. Towards such research his feelings have the warmth +and vividness belonging to something intimately concerned with his +career, but if he reads about research in some quite other science with +which he is not professionally concerned he reads in quite a different +spirit, not professionally, less critically, more disinterestedly. Even +if he has to use his mind in order to follow what is said, his reading +is nevertheless a relaxation, because it is not connected with his +responsibilities. If the book interests him, his interest is impersonal +in a sense which cannot be applied to the books upon his own subject. +It is such interests lying outside the main activities of a man’s life +that I wish to speak about in the present chapter. + +One of the sources of unhappiness, fatigue, and nervous strain is +inability to be interested in anything that is not of practical +importance in one’s own life. The result of this is that the conscious +mind gets no rest from a certain small number of matters, each of +which probably involves some anxiety and some element of worry. +Except in sleep the conscious mind is never allowed to lie fallow +while subconscious thought matures its gradual wisdom. The result is +excitability, lack of sagacity, irritability, and a loss of sense of +proportion. All these are both causes and effects of fatigue. As a man +gets more tired, his external interests fade, and as they fade he loses +the relief which they afford him and becomes still more tired. This +vicious circle is only too apt to end in a breakdown. What is restful +about external interests is the fact that they do not call for any +action. Making decisions and exercising volition are very fatiguing, +especially if they have to be done hurriedly and without the help of +the subconscious. Men who feel that they must “sleep on it” before +coming to an important decision are profoundly right. But it is not +only in sleep that the subconscious mental processes can work. They can +work also while a man’s conscious mind is occupied elsewhere. The man +who can forget his work when it is over and not remember it until it +begins again next day is likely to do his work far better than the man +who worries about it throughout the intervening hours. And it is very +much easier to forget work at the times when it ought to be forgotten +if a man has many interests other than his work than it is if he has +not. It is, however, essential that these interests should not exercise +those very faculties which have been exhausted by his day’s work. They +should not involve will and quick decision, they should not, like +gambling, involve any financial element, and they should as a rule +not be so exciting as to produce emotional fatigue and preoccupy the +subconscious as well as the conscious mind. + +A great many amusements fulfil all these conditions. Watching games, +going to the theatre, playing golf, are all irreproachable from this +point of view. For a man of a bookish turn of mind reading unconnected +with his professional activities is very satisfactory. However +important a worry may be, it should not be thought about throughout the +whole of the waking hours. + +In this respect there is a great difference between men and women. Men +on the whole find it very much easier to forget their work than women +do. In the case of women whose work is in the home this is natural, +since they do not have the change of place that a man has when he +leaves the office to help them to acquire a new mood. But if I am not +mistaken, women whose work is outside the home differ from men in +this respect almost as much as those who work at home. They find it, +that is to say, very difficult to be interested in anything that has +for them no practical importance. Their purposes govern their thoughts +and their activities, and they seldom become absorbed in some wholly +irresponsible interest. I do not of course deny that exceptions exist, +but I am speaking of what seems to me to be the usual rule. In a +woman’s college, for example, the women teachers, if no man is present, +talk shop in the evening, while in a man’s college the men do not. This +characteristic appears to women as a higher degree of conscientiousness +than that of men, but I do not think that in the long run it improves +the quality of their work. And it tends to produce a certain narrowness +of outlook leading not infrequently to a kind of fanaticism. + +All impersonal interests, apart from their importance as relaxation, +have various other uses. To begin with, they help a man to retain his +sense of proportion. It is very easy to become so absorbed in our +own pursuits, our own circle, our own type of work, that we forget +how small a part this is of the total of human activity and how many +things in the world are entirely unaffected by what we do. Why should +one remember this? you may ask. There are several answers. In the +first place, it is good to have as true a picture of the world as is +compatible with necessary activities. Each of us is in the world for no +very long time, and within the few years of his life has to acquire +whatever he is to know of this strange planet and its place in the +universe. To ignore our opportunities for knowledge, imperfect as they +are, is like going to the theatre and not listening to the play. The +world is full of things that are tragic or comic, heroic or bizarre or +surprising, and those who fail to be interested in the spectacle that +it offers are forgoing one of the privileges that life has to offer. + +Then again a sense of proportion is very valuable and at times very +consoling. We are all inclined to get unduly excited, unduly strained, +unduly impressed with the importance of the little corner of the world +in which we live, and of the little moment of time comprised between +our birth and death. In this excitement and over-estimation of our +own importance there is nothing desirable. True, it may make us work +harder, but it will not make us work better. A little work directed to +a good end is better than a great deal of work directed to a bad end, +though the apostles of the strenuous life seem to think otherwise. +Those who care much for their work are always in danger of falling +into fanaticism, which consists essentially in remembering one or two +desirable things while forgetting all the rest, and in supposing that +in the pursuit of these one or two any incidental harm of other sorts +is of little account. Against this fanatical temper there is no better +prophylactic than a large conception of the life of man and his place +in the universe. This may seem a very big thing to invoke in such a +connection, but apart from this particular use it is in itself a thing +of great value. + +It is one of the defects of modern higher education that it has become +too much a training in the acquisition of certain kinds of skill, and +too little an enlargement of the mind and heart by an impartial survey +of the world. You become absorbed, let us say, in a political contest, +and work hard for the victory of your own party. So far, so good. But +it may happen in the course of the contest that some opportunity of +victory presents itself which involves the use of methods calculated +to increase hatred, violence and suspicion in the world. For example, +you may find that the best road to victory is to insult some foreign +nation. If your mental purview is limited to the present, or if you +have imbibed the doctrine that what is called efficiency is the only +thing that matters, you will adopt such dubious means. Through them +you will be victorious in your immediate purpose, while the more +distant consequences may be disastrous. If, on the other hand, you +have as part of the habitual furniture of your mind the past ages of +man, his slow and partial emergence out of barbarism, and the brevity +of his total existence in comparison with astronomical epochs--if, +I say, such thoughts have moulded your habitual feelings, you will +realize that the momentary battle upon which you are engaged cannot be +of such importance as to risk a backward step towards the darkness +out of which we have been slowly emerging. Nay, more, if you suffer +defeat in your immediate objective, you will be sustained by the same +sense of its momentariness that made you unwilling to adopt degrading +weapons. You will have, beyond your immediate activities, purposes that +are distant and slowly unfolding, in which you are not an isolated +individual but one of the great army of those who have led mankind +towards a civilized existence. If you have attained to this outlook, +a certain deep happiness will never leave you, whatever your personal +fate may be. Life will become a communion with the great of all ages, +and personal death no more than a negligible incident. + +If I had the power to organize higher education as I should +wish it to be, I should seek to substitute for the old orthodox +religions--which appeal to few among the young, and those as a rule +the least intelligent and the most obscurantist--something which is +perhaps hardly to be called religion, since it is merely a focusing +of attention upon well-ascertained facts. I should seek to make young +people vividly aware of the past, vividly realizing that the future +of man will in all likelihood be immeasurably longer than his past, +profoundly conscious of the minuteness of the planet upon which we live +and of the fact that life on this planet is only a temporary incident; +and at the same time with these facts which tend to emphasize the +insignificance of the individual I should present quite another set +of facts designed to impress upon the mind of the young the greatness +of which the individual is capable, and the knowledge that throughout +all the depths of stellar space nothing of equal value is known to us. +Spinoza long ago wrote of human bondage and human freedom; his form and +his language make his thought difficult of access to all but students +of philosophy, but the essence of what I wish to convey differs little +from what he has said. + +A man who has once perceived, however temporarily and however briefly, +what makes greatness of soul, can no longer be happy if he allows +himself to be petty, self-seeking, troubled by trivial misfortunes, +dreading what fate may have in store for him. The man capable of +greatness of soul will open wide the windows of his mind, letting the +winds blow freely upon it from every portion of the universe. He will +see himself and life and the world as truly as our human limitations +will permit; realizing the brevity and minuteness of human life, he +will realize also that in individual minds is concentrated whatever of +value the known universe contains. And he will see that the man whose +mind mirrors the world becomes in a sense as great as the world. In +emancipation from the fears that beset the slave of circumstance he +will experience a profound joy, and through all the vicissitudes of his +outward life he will remain in the depths of his being a happy man. + +Leaving these large speculations and returning to our more immediate +subject, namely the value of impersonal interests, there is another +consideration which makes them a great help towards happiness. Even +in the most fortunate lives there are times when things go wrong. +Few men except bachelors have never quarrelled with their wives; few +parents have not endured grave anxiety owing to the illnesses of their +children; few business men have avoided times of financial stress; few +professional men have not known periods when failure stared them in +the face. At such times a capacity to become interested in something +outside the cause of anxiety is an immense boon. At such times, when +in spite of anxiety there is nothing to be done at the moment, one man +will play chess, another will read detective stories, a third will +become absorbed in popular astronomy, a fourth will console himself by +reading about the excavations at Ur of the Chaldees. Any one of these +four is acting wisely, whereas the man who does nothing to distract his +mind and allows his trouble to acquire a complete empire over him is +acting unwisely and making himself less fit to cope with his troubles +when the moment for action arrives. Very similar considerations apply +to irreparable sorrows such as the death of some person deeply loved. +No good is done to anyone by allowing oneself to become sunk in grief +on such an occasion. Grief is unavoidable and must be expected, but +everything that can be done should be done to minimize it. It is mere +sentimentality to aim, as some do, at extracting the very uttermost +drop of misery from misfortune. I do not of course deny that a man may +be broken by sorrow, but I do say that every man should do his utmost +to escape this fate, and should seek any distraction, however trivial, +provided it is not in itself harmful or degrading. Among those that I +regard as harmful and degrading I include such things as drunkenness +and drugs, of which the purpose is to destroy thought, at least for the +time being. The proper course is not to destroy thought but to turn +it into new channels, or at any rate into channels remote from the +present misfortune. It is difficult to do this if life has hitherto +been concentrated upon a very few interests and those few have now +become suffused with sorrow. To bear misfortune well when it comes, +it is wise to have cultivated in happier times a certain width of +interests, so that the mind may find prepared for it some undisturbed +place suggesting other associations and other emotions than those which +are making the present difficult to bear. + +A man of adequate vitality and zest will surmount all misfortunes by +the emergence after each blow of an interest in life and the world +which cannot be narrowed down so much as to make one loss fatal. To be +defeated by one loss or even by several is not something to be admired +as a proof of sensibility, but something to be deplored as a failure +in vitality. All our affections are at the mercy of death, which may +strike down those whom we love at any moment. It is therefore necessary +that our lives should not have that narrow intensity which puts the +whole meaning and purpose of our life at the mercy of accident. + +For all these reasons the man who pursues happiness wisely will aim at +the possession of a number of subsidiary interests in addition to those +central ones upon which his life is built. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + EFFORT AND RESIGNATION + + +The golden mean is an uninteresting doctrine, and I can remember when I +was young rejecting it with scorn and indignation, since in those days +it was heroic extremes that I admired. Truth, however, is not always +interesting, and many things are believed because they are interesting +although, in fact, there is little other evidence in their favour. The +golden mean is a case in point: it may be an uninteresting doctrine, +but in a very great many matters it is a true one. + +One respect in which it is necessary to preserve the golden mean is as +regards the balance between effort and resignation. Both doctrines have +had extreme advocates. The doctrine of resignation has been preached +by saints and mystics; the doctrine of effort has been preached by +efficiency experts and muscular Christians. Each of these opposing +schools has had a part of the truth, but not the whole. I want in this +chapter to try and strike the balance, and I shall begin with the case +in favour of effort. + +Happiness is not, except in very rare cases, something that drops +into the mouth, like a ripe fruit, by the mere operation of fortunate +circumstances. That is why I have called this book _The Conquest of +Happiness_. For in a world so full of avoidable and unavoidable +misfortunes, of illness and psychological tangles, of struggle and +poverty and ill will, the man or woman who is to be happy must find +ways of coping with the multitudinous causes of unhappiness by which +each individual is assailed. In some rare cases no great effort may +be required. A man of easy good nature, who inherits an ample fortune +and enjoys good health together with simple tastes, may slip through +life comfortably and wonder what all the fuss is about; a good-looking +woman of an indolent disposition, if she happens to marry a well-to-do +husband who demands no exertion from her, and if after marriage she +does not mind growing fat, may equally enjoy a certain lazy comfort, +provided she has good luck as regards her children. But such cases +are exceptional. Most people are not rich; many people are not born +good-natured; many people have uneasy passions which make a quiet and +well-regulated life seem intolerably boring; health is a blessing which +no one can be sure of preserving; marriage is not invariably a source +of bliss. For all these reasons, happiness must be, for most men and +women, an achievement rather than a gift of the gods, and in this +achievement effort, both inward and outward, must play a great part. +The inward effort may include the effort of necessary resignation; for +the present, therefore, let us consider only outward effort. + +In the case of any person, whether man or woman, who has to work for +a living, the need of effort in this respect is too obvious to need +emphasizing. The Indian fakir, it is true, can make a living without +effort by merely offering a bowl for the alms of the faithful, but in +Western countries the authorities do not view with a favourable eye +this method of obtaining an income. Moreover, the climate makes it less +pleasant than in hotter and dryer countries: in the winter-time, at any +rate, few people are so lazy as to prefer idleness out of doors to work +in heated rooms. Resignation alone, therefore, is not in the West one +of the roads to fortune. + +To a very large percentage of men in Western countries, more than a +bare living is necessary to happiness, since they desire the feeling of +being successful. In some occupations, such, for example, as scientific +research, this feeling can be obtained by men who do not earn a large +income, but in the majority of occupations income has become the +measure of success. At this point we touch upon a matter in regard to +which an element of resignation is desirable in most cases, since in a +competitive world conspicuous success is possible only for a minority. + +Marriage is a matter in regard to which effort may or may not be +necessary, according to circumstances. Where one sex is in the +minority, as men are in England and women are in Australia, members +of that sex require, as a rule, little effort in order to marry as +they wish. For members of the sex which is in the majority, however, +the opposite is the case. The amount of effort and thought expended +in this direction by women where they are in the majority is obvious +to anyone who will study the advertisements in women’s magazines. +Men, where they are in a majority, frequently adopt more expeditious +methods, such as skill with the revolver. This is natural, since +a majority of men occurs most frequently on the border-line of +civilization. I do not know what men would do if a discriminating +pestilence caused them to become a majority in England; they might have +to revert to the manners of gallants in a bygone age. + +The amount of effort involved in the successful rearing of children is +so evident that probably no one would deny it. Countries which believe +in resignation and what is mistakenly called a “spiritual” view of life +are countries with a high infant mortality. Medicine, hygiene, asepsis, +suitable diet, are things not achieved without mundane pre-occupations; +they require energy and intelligence directed to the material +environment. Those who think that matter is an illusion are apt to +think the same of dirt, and by so thinking to cause their children to +die. + +Speaking more generally, one may say that some kind of power forms the +normal and legitimate aim of every person whose natural desires are +not atrophied. The kind of power that a man desires depends upon his +predominant passions; one man desires power over the actions of men, +another desires power over their thoughts, a third power over their +emotions. One man desires to change the material environment, another +desires the sense of power that comes from intellectual mastery. +Every kind of public work involves desire for some kind of power, +unless it is undertaken solely with a view to the wealth obtainable +by corruption. The man who is actuated by purely altruistic suffering +caused by the spectacle of human misery will, if his suffering is +genuine, desire power to alleviate misery. The only man totally +indifferent to power is the man totally indifferent to his fellow-men. +Some form of desire for power is therefore to be accepted as part of +the equipment of the kind of men out of whom a good community can be +made. And every form of desire for power involves, so long as it is +not thwarted, a correlative form of effort. To the mentality of the +West this conclusion may seem a commonplace, but there are not a few +in Western countries who coquette with what is called “the wisdom of +the East” just at the moment when the East is abandoning it. To them +perhaps what we have been saying may appear questionable, and if so, it +has been worth saying. + +Resignation, however, has also its part to play in the conquest of +happiness, and it is a part no less essential than that played by +effort. The wise man, though he will not sit down under preventable +misfortunes, will not waste time and emotion upon such as are +unavoidable, and even such as are in themselves avoidable he will +submit to if the time and labour required to avoid them would interfere +with the pursuit of some more important object. Many people get into +a fret or a fury over every little thing that goes wrong, and in +this way waste a great deal of energy that might be more usefully +employed. Even in the pursuit of really important objects it is unwise +to become so deeply involved emotionally that the thought of possible +failure becomes a constant menace to peace of mind. Christianity +taught submission to the will of God, and even for those who cannot +accept this phraseology there should be something of the same kind +pervading all their activities. Efficiency in a practical task is not +proportional to the emotion that we put into it; indeed, emotion is +sometimes an obstacle to efficiency. The attitude required is that of +doing one’s best while leaving the issue to fate. Resignation is of +two sorts, one rooted in despair, the other in unconquerable hope. +The first is bad; the second is good. The man who has suffered such +fundamental defeat that he has given up hope of serious achievement may +learn the resignation of despair, and, if he does, he will abandon all +serious activity. He may camouflage his despair by religious phrases, +or by the doctrine that contemplation is the true end of man, but +whatever disguise he may adopt to conceal his inward defeat, he will +remain essentially useless and fundamentally unhappy. The man whose +resignation is based on unconquerable hope acts in quite a different +way. Hope which is to be unconquerable must be large and impersonal. +Whatever my personal activities, I may be defeated by death, or by +certain kinds of diseases; I may be overcome by my enemies; I may +find that I have embarked upon an unwise course which cannot lead to +success. In a thousand ways the failure of purely personal hopes may be +unavoidable, but if personal aims have been part of larger hopes for +humanity, there is not the same utter defeat when failure comes. The +man of science who desires to make great discoveries himself may fail +to do so, or may have to abandon his work owing to a blow on the head, +but if he desires profoundly the progress of science and not merely his +personal contribution to this object, he will not feel the same despair +as would be felt by a man whose research had purely egoistic motives. +The man who is working for some much needed reform may find all his +efforts side-tracked by a war, and may be forced to realize that what +he has worked for will not come about in his lifetime. But he need +not on that account sink into complete despair, provided that he is +interested in the future of mankind apart from his own participation in +it. + +The cases we have been considering are those in which resignation +is most difficult; there are a number of others in which it is much +easier. These are the cases in which only subsidiary purposes suffer a +check, while the major purposes of life continue to offer a prospect +of success. A man, for example, who is engaged in important work shows +a failure in the desirable kind of resignation if he is distracted by +matrimonial unhappiness; if his work is really absorbing, he should +regard such incidental troubles in the way in which one regards a wet +day, that is to say, as a nuisance about which it would be foolish to +make a fuss. + +Some people are unable to bear with patience even those minor troubles +which make up, if we permit them to do so, a very large part of life. +They are furious when they miss a train, transported with rage if their +dinner is badly cooked, sunk in despair if the chimney smokes, and +vowing vengeance against the whole industrial order when their clothes +fail to return from the sanitary steam laundry. The energy that such +people waste on trivial troubles would be sufficient, if more wisely +directed, to make and unmake empires. The wise man fails to observe the +dust that the housemaid has not dusted, the potato that the cook has +not cooked, and the soot that the sweep has not swept. I do not mean +that he takes no steps to remedy these matters, provided he has time +to do so; I mean only that he deals with them without emotion. Worry +and fret and irritation are emotions which serve no purpose. Those who +feel them strongly may say that they are incapable of overcoming them, +and I am not sure that they can be overcome by anything short of that +fundamental resignation of which we spoke earlier. The same kind of +concentration upon large impersonal hopes which enables a man to bear +personal failure in his work, or the troubles of an unhappy marriage, +will also make it possible for him to be patient when he misses a train +or drops his umbrella in the mud. If he is of a fretful disposition, I +am not sure that anything less than this will cure him. + +The man who has become emancipated from the empire of worry will find +life a much more cheerful affair than it used to be while he was +perpetually being irritated. Personal idiosyncrasies of acquaintances, +which formerly made him wish to scream, will now seem merely amusing. +When Mr. A. for the three hundred and forty-seventh time relates the +anecdote of the Bishop of Tierra del Fuego, he amuses himself by noting +the score, and feels no inclination to attempt a vain diversion by an +anecdote of his own. When his bootlace breaks just as he is in a hurry +to catch an early morning train, he reflects, after the appropriate +expletives, that in the history of the cosmos the event in question +has no very great importance. When he is interrupted in a proposal +of marriage by a visit of a tedious neighbour, he considers that all +mankind have been liable to this disaster, with the exception of Adam, +and that even he had his troubles. There is no limit to what can be +done in the way of finding consolation from minor misfortunes by +means of bizarre analogies and quaint parallels. Every civilized man +or woman has, I suppose, some picture of himself or herself, and is +annoyed when anything happens that seems to spoil this picture. The +best cure is to have not only one picture, but a whole gallery, and to +select the one appropriate to the incident in question. If some of the +portraits are a trifle laughable, so much the better; it is not wise to +see oneself all day long as a hero of high tragedy. I do not suggest +that one should see oneself always as a clown in comedy, for those who +do this are even more irritating; a little tact is required in choosing +a rôle appropriate to the situation. Of course, if you can forget +yourself and not play a part at all that is admirable. But if playing a +part has become second nature, consider that you act in repertory, and +so avoid monotony. + +Many active people are of opinion that the slightest grain of +resignation, the faintest gleam of humour, would destroy the energy +with which they do their work and the determination by which, as +they believe, they achieve success. These people, in my opinion, are +mistaken. Work that is worth doing can be done even by those who do +not deceive themselves either as to its importance or as to the ease +with which it can be done. Those who can only do their work when +upheld by self-deception had better first take a course in learning to +endure the truth before continuing their career, since sooner or later +the need of being sustained by myths will cause their work to become +harmful instead of beneficial. It is better to do nothing than to +do harm. Half the useful work in the world consists of combating the +harmful work. A little time spent in learning to appreciate facts is +not time wasted, and the work that will be done afterwards is far less +likely to be harmful than the work done by those who need a continual +inflation of their ego as a stimulant to their energy. A certain +kind of resignation is involved in willingness to face the truth +about ourselves; this kind, though it may involve pain in the first +moments, affords ultimately a protection--indeed the only possible +protection--against the disappointments and disillusionments to which +the self-deceiver is liable. Nothing is more fatiguing nor, in the +long run, more exasperating than the daily effort to believe things +which daily become more incredible. To be done with this effort is an +indispensable condition of secure and lasting happiness. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + THE HAPPY MAN + + +Happiness, as is evident, depends partly upon external circumstances +and partly upon oneself. We have been concerned in this volume with the +part which depends upon oneself, and we have been led to the view that +so far as this part is concerned the recipe for happiness is a very +simple one. It is thought by many, among whom I think we must include +Mr. Krutch, whom we considered in an earlier chapter, that happiness +is impossible without a creed of a more or less religious kind. It is +thought by many who are themselves unhappy that their sorrows have +complicated and highly intellectualized sources. I do not believe that +such things are genuine causes of either happiness or unhappiness; +I think they are only symptoms. The man who is unhappy will, as a +rule, adopt an unhappy creed, while the man who is happy will adopt a +happy creed; each may attribute his happiness or unhappiness to his +beliefs, while the real causation is the other way round. Certain +things are indispensable to the happiness of most men, but these are +simple things: food and shelter, health, love, successful work and +the respect of one’s own herd. To some people parenthood also is +essential. Where these things are lacking, only the exceptional man can +achieve happiness, but where they are enjoyed, or can be obtained by +well-directed effort, the man who is still unhappy is suffering from +some psychological maladjustment which, if it is very grave, may need +the services of a psychiatrist, but can in ordinary cases be cured by +the patient himself, provided he sets about the matter in the right +way. Where outward circumstances are not definitely unfortunate, a man +should be able to achieve happiness, provided that his passions and +interests are directed outward, not inward. It should be our endeavour +therefore, both in education and in attempts to adjust ourselves to the +world, to aim at avoiding self-centred passions and at acquiring those +affections and those interests which will prevent our thoughts from +dwelling perpetually upon ourselves. It is not the nature of most men +to be happy in a prison, and the passions which shut us up in ourselves +constitute one of the worst kinds of prisons. Among such passions +some of the commonest are fear, envy, the sense of sin, self-pity and +self-admiration. In all these our desires are centred upon ourselves: +there is no genuine interest in the outer world, but only a concern +lest it should in some way injure us or fail to feed our ego. Fear is +the principal reason why men are so unwilling to admit facts and so +anxious to wrap themselves round in a warm garment of myth. But the +thorns tear the warm garment and the cold blasts penetrate through the +rents, and the man who has become accustomed to its warmth suffers far +more from these blasts than a man who has hardened himself to them from +the first. Moreover, those who deceive themselves generally know at +bottom that they are doing so, and live in a state of apprehension lest +some untoward event should force unwelcome realizations upon them. + +One of the great drawbacks to self-centred passions is that they afford +so little variety in life. The man who loves only himself cannot, it +is true, be accused of promiscuity in his affections, but he is bound +in the end to suffer intolerable boredom from the invariable sameness +of the object of his devotion. The man who suffers from a sense of sin +is suffering from a particular kind of self-love. In all this vast +universe the thing that appears to him of most importance is that he +himself should be virtuous. It is a grave defect in certain forms of +traditional religion that they have encouraged this particular kind of +self-absorption. + +The happy man is the man who lives objectively, who has free affections +and wide interests, who secures his happiness through these interests +and affections and through the fact that they, in turn, make him an +object of interest and affection to many others. To be the recipient +of affection is a potent cause of happiness, but the man who demands +affection is not the man upon whom it is bestowed. The man who receives +affection is, speaking broadly, the man who gives it. But it is useless +to attempt to give it as a calculation, in the way in which one might +lend money at interest, for a calculated affection is not genuine and +is not felt to be so by the recipient. + +What then can a man do who is unhappy because he is encased in self? +So long as he continues to think about the causes of his unhappiness, +he continues to be self-centred and therefore does not get outside +the vicious circle; if he is to get outside it, it must be by genuine +interests, not by simulated interests adopted merely as a medicine. +Although this difficulty is real, there is nevertheless much that he +can do if he has rightly diagnosed his trouble. If, for example, his +trouble is due to a sense of sin, conscious or unconscious, he can +first persuade his conscious mind that he has no reason to feel sinful, +and then proceed, by the kind of technique that we have considered in +earlier chapters, to plant this rational conviction in his unconscious +mind, concerning himself meanwhile with some more or less neutral +activity. If he succeeds in dispelling the sense of sin, it is +probable that genuinely objective interests will arise spontaneously. +If his trouble is self-pity, he can deal with it in the same manner +after first persuading himself that there is nothing extraordinarily +unfortunate in his circumstances. If fear is his trouble, let him +practise exercises designed to give courage. Courage in war has +been recognized from time immemorial as an important virtue, and a +great part of the training of boys and young men has been devoted to +producing a type of character capable of fearlessness in battle. But +moral courage and intellectual courage have been much less studied; +they also, however, have their technique. Admit to yourself every +day at least one painful truth; you will find this quite as useful +as the Boy Scout’s daily kind action. Teach yourself to feel that +life would still be worth living even if you were not, as of course +you are, immeasurably superior to all your friends in virtue and in +intelligence. Exercises of this sort prolonged through several years +will at last enable you to admit facts without flinching, and will, in +so doing, free you from the empire of fear over a very large field. + +What the objective interests are to be that will arise in you when +you have overcome the disease of self-absorption must be left to the +spontaneous workings of your nature and of external circumstances. Do +not say to yourself in advance, “I should be happy if I could become +absorbed in stamp-collecting”, and thereupon set to work to collect +stamps, for it may well happen that you will fail altogether to find +stamp-collecting interesting. Only what genuinely interests you can be +of any use to you, but you may be pretty sure that genuine objective +interests will grow up as soon as you have learnt not to be immersed in +self. + +The happy life is to an extraordinary extent the same as the good life. +Professional moralists have made too much of self-denial, and in so +doing have put the emphasis in the wrong place. Conscious self-denial +leaves a man self-absorbed and vividly aware of what he has sacrificed; +in consequence it fails often of its immediate object and almost always +of its ultimate purpose. What is needed is not self-denial, but that +kind of direction of interest outward which will lead spontaneously and +naturally to the same acts that a person absorbed in the pursuit of +his own virtue could only perform by means of conscious self-denial. +I have written in this book as a hedonist, that is to say, as one who +regards happiness as the good, but the acts to be recommended from the +point of view of the hedonist are on the whole the same as those to be +recommended by the sane moralist. The moralist, however, is too apt, +though this is not, of course, universally true, to stress the act +rather than the state of mind. The effects of an act upon the agent +will be widely different, according to his state of mind at the moment. +If you see a child drowning and save it as the result of a direct +impulse to bring help, you will emerge none the worse morally. If, +on the other hand, you say to yourself, “It is the part of virtue to +succour the helpless, and I wish to be a virtuous man, therefore I must +save this child”, you will be an even worse man afterwards than you +were before. What applies in this extreme case applies in many other +instances that are less obvious. + +There is another difference, somewhat more subtle, between the +attitude towards life that I have been recommending and that which is +recommended by the traditional moralists. The traditional moralist, for +example, will say that love should be unselfish. In a certain sense +he is right, that is to say, it should not be selfish beyond a point, +but it should undoubtedly be of such a nature that one’s own happiness +is bound up in its success. If a man were to invite a lady to marry +him on the ground that he ardently desired her happiness and at the +same time considered that she would afford him ideal opportunities +of self-abnegation, I think it may be doubted whether she would be +altogether pleased. Undoubtedly we should desire the happiness of those +whom we love, but not as an alternative to our own. In fact the whole +antithesis between self and the rest of the world, which is implied in +the doctrine of self-denial, disappears as soon as we have any genuine +interest in persons or things outside ourselves. Through such interests +a man comes to feel himself part of the stream of life, not a hard +separate entity like a billiard-ball, which can have no relation with +other such entities except that of collision. All unhappiness depends +upon some kind of disintegration or lack of integration; there is +disintegration within the self through lack of co-ordination between +the conscious and the unconscious mind; there is lack of integration +between the self and society, where the two are not knit together by +the force of objective interests and affections. The happy man is the +man who does not suffer from either of these failures of unity, whose +personality is neither divided against itself nor pitted against the +world. Such a man feels himself a citizen of the universe, enjoying +freely the spectacle that it offers and the joys that it affords, +untroubled by the thought of death because he feels himself not really +separate from those who will come after him. It is in such profound +instinctive union with the stream of life that the greatest joy is to +be found. + + + + + INDEX + + + acquiescence, the attitude of, 128 + + admiration, 86, 106 + + adolescence often a time of great unhappiness, 129 + + affection, 175, 177–85, 243 + + alcohol, 16, 71, 100 + + altruism, 118–20, 123 + + America, 49, 51, 130 + + Angelo, Michael, 216 + + animals and boredom, 57, 94 + + anxieties, 77 + + applause, desire for, 122 + + aristocracy, one of the advantages of, 137 + + ascetic element in morality, 100 + + autobiography, the author’s 18–19 + + + Bacon, Roger, 35–6 + + belief in a cause, 152–3 + + birth-rate, decline of the, 193–4 + + Blake, William, 128 + + boredom, 18, 57–68, 209 + + Brontë, Emily and Charlotte, 128 + + Browning, Robert, 37–8 + + business man, the, 46–50 + + Byron, 28 + + + Caution in love, 185 + + child and envy, the, 83, 87 + + child and inventiveness, the, 64 + + China and Japan, 148–9 + + cities, 190 + + competition, 91 + + competitive success and happiness, 50, 52, 55 + + congenial companionship, 132, 138, 152 + + conscience, 96–7 + + conscious upon the unconscious, operation of the, 76, 102, 220–1 + + constructiveness, 212–14, 217 + + conventional people, 131 + + courage, 79, 244–5 + + craftsman’s joy, the, 150–1 + + creeds, 241 + + cure for envy, 86–9 + + + Democracy, 84, 91, 191 + + diversity of morals and beliefs, 126 + + drink, 16, 25, 169, 228 + + drugs, 61–2, 228 + + + Earth, contact with, 66–8, 81 + + _Ecclesiastes_, 28–31, 33 + + effort, 230–4 + + ego, unimportance of one’s, 74, 123, 222 + + emotional fatigue, 74–5 + + enjoyment, 16, 51 + + environment, 133 + + envy, 80–95 + + envy, fatigue as a cause of, 92 + + excitement, 58, 60, 62, 65, 79–81, 110 + + external interests, 220, 222 + + + Family, the, 186–207 + + fanaticism, 222–3 + + fatigue, 69–81, 92, 220 + + fear, 77–9, 242, 244 + + fear of public opinion, 126–39 + + flat, life in a, 190–1 + + freedom of the Press, 139 + + + Golden mean, the, 230 + + gormandizer, the, 158, 165–8 + + grief, 227–8 + + + Happiness an achievement, 231 + + happiness and competitive success, 50 + + happiness, sources of, 143–4, 148–9, 152–7, 166, 174, 197, 208, + 210, 217–18, 226, 228–9, 231, 234, 240–5 + + happiness, the best touchstone for, 110 + + happiness the only cure for envy, 86–7 + + hatred, the habit of, 213–14 + + hatred stirred by propaganda, 94 + + hedonism, 246 + + herd, fear of the, 97–8, 126, 131–3 + + hobbies, 153–4 + + hope must be impersonal, 236 + + housewife, the, 188–9, 210 + + + Ibsen, 41–2 + + idealistic theories, 84, 92, 119 + + ill-treatment, hallucinations of, 111–13 + + impersonal interests, 219, 227 + + individual, problem of the, 17 + + infantile moral teaching, 99, 101, 104–5 + + infantile suggestions, 103 + + insanity, 111, 124 + + instinctive happiness, rareness of, 93 + + intelligentsia, young, 148 + + interest in oneself, 19 + + interest in persons, 154–5 + + interest in things, 156 + + introvert, malady of the, 160, 180 + + + Justice and envy, 92 + + + Krutch, J. W., 28, 32–8, 41–4, 241 + + + Leisure, employment of, 52–3, 55–6 + + Lenin, 215 + + _Liaisons Dangereuses_, 22 + + love, 36–41, 67, 247 + + lunacy, 23–4, 111 + + + Malicious gossip, 113–14 + + marriage, 80–1, 232 + + _Massenmench_, Ernst Toller’s, 43 + + masters and slaves, 191 + + maternal element in love, the, 21 + + maxims to prevent persecution mania, 118–25 + + megalomania, 23–5 + + mental discipline, 72, 75, 89 + + minor interests, 219, 229 + + moderation, 165, 167 + + _Modern Temper, The_, Krutch’s, 28, 32–34 + + modesty, 89–90 + + monk, the, 19–20 + + monotony, 64–5 + + moralist, the traditional, 246–7 + + motherhood, 204–7 + + + Napoleon, 24 + + Narcissism, 20–3, 25 + + nervous breakdown, 75 + + nervous fatigue, 69–70, 73, 81, 220 + + + Objective interests, 243, 245 + + oblivion, 169 + + Œdipus complex, the, 101, 192 + + opinions of others, the, 136 + + overwork, 74 + + + Parental affection, 198–9 + + parental feeling, 41 + + parenthood, 200–4 + + parents and children, 192–3 + + passions and reason, the, 108–10, 166–7 + + peacocks, 90–1 + + persecution mania, 111–25 + + pessimism, 32–4 + + philosophy of competition, 54–5 + + physical fatigue, 69 + + pleasure of work, the, 149–52, 211–12, 216 + + pleasure, pursuit of, 16, 25, 80–1 + + pleasures of achievement, 145 + + pleasures of great men, the, 64 + + power, love of, 23–4, 119, 203, 233–4 + + preventatives of persecution mania, 118 + + propaganda and hatred, 93–4 + + proportion, sense of, 116, 221–3 + + Protestantism and sin, 96 + + Protestants and Catholics, 126–7 + + psycho-analytic repression, 24 + + public opinion, tyranny of, 130, 136, 138–9 + + Puritanism, 54–5 + + + Rationality, 108–9 + + reading, 52–3, 63 + + reason, hatred of, 109–10 + + religion, 225, 241 + + Religious Orders, 35 + + religious psychology of sin, 96 + + resignation, 230–40 + + _Retreat from Parenthood_, Jean Aylin’s, 189 + + Roland, Madame, 84 + + Russian, the young, 148 + + + Sages of antiquity, the, 36 + + scientists, happiness of, 145–7 + + secret of happiness, 157 + + security, sense of, 176–7 + + self-absorption, 20, 107, 243, 245 + + self-centred passions, 242–3 + + self-confidence, 177 + + self-deception, 124–5 + + self-denial, 245–7 + + self-regarding motives, 120 + + sense of sin, 20–1, 35, 96, 98, 102, 106, 244 + + sex and sin, 101–2 + + sex attraction, 67, 184 + + sex education, 102 + + sex majority, 232–3 + + sexual source of envy, 93 + + Shakespeare, 41–3, 67, 215 + + sin, consciousness of, 20–1, 35, 96, 98, 102, 106, 109, 243 + + skill, 211, 224 + + social freedom, 137 + + social inequalities, 91 + + social justice, 92 + + social persecution, 139 + + social system, the, 17 + + socialism, equalitarian doctrines of, 91 + + Solomon, 31–3, 88 + + Spinoza, 226 + + spinster, the, 187 + + sterility and civilization, 194 + + Stoics, the, 40 + + struggle for life, the, 45–6 + + superstitions of childhood, 105 + + + Test of genius, 122 + + toleration, 139 + + tragedy, 41–4 + + tyranny of public opinion, 130 + + + Unhappiness, Causes of, 17–18, 24–5, 27, 111, 127, 155, 185, 208, + 220, 231, 235, 242, 244, 247 + + unhappiness, kinds of, 15–16, 27 + + unloved, feeling of being, 175–6 + + unrecognized merit, 121 + + + Vanity, 23, 119 + + Victorians and love, the, 36–9 + + + Women and external interests, 222 + + women and zest, 172–4 + + Wordsworth, 65 + + work, 208–18, 223 + + worry, 72–3, 75–8, 237–8 + + + Youth and the tyranny of ignorance, 133–5 + + + Zest, 158–9, 161, 163–5, 169–75, 209, 228 + + [Illustration] + + GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD + LONDON: 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1 + CAPE TOWN: 73 ST. GEORGE’S STREET + SYDNEY, N.S.W.: WYNYARD SQUARE + AUCKLAND, N.Z.: 41 ALBERT STREET + TORONTO, 77 WELLINGTON STREET, WEST + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Ecclesiastes was not, of course, really written by Solomon, but it +is convenient to allude to the author by this name. + +[2] Quoted from Coulton’s _From St. Francis to Dante_, p. 57. + +[3] Mistranslated in English as _Masses and Men_, whereas the +correct translation is _The Mass-Man_. + +[4] This whole problem as it affects the professional classes is +treated with remarkable insight and constructive ability in _The +Retreat from Parenthood_, by Jean Aylin. + + +Transcriber’s Notes: + +1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been +corrected silently. + +2. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have +been retained as in the original. + +3. Italics are shown as _xxx_. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77894 *** diff --git a/77894-h/77894-h.htm b/77894-h/77894-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b04931 --- /dev/null +++ b/77894-h/77894-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6587 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Conquest of Happiness | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + font-weight: normal; +} + +h2 {font-size: 90%; } + +h2.big {font-size: 110%; } + +.subhed { display: block; margin-top: 1em; font-size: 110%; font-weight: normal; } + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1.2em; +} + +.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +.p-left {text-indent: 0em; } + +.p-min {margin-top: -.5em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; 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+vertical-align: bottom; +padding-left: 2em;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 90%; +} + +.hangingindent { + padding-left: 2em ; + text-indent: -2em ;} + +.left1 {text-align: left; + text-indent: 5em; } + +.xs { font-size: x-small;} + +.sm { font-size: small;} + +.lg { font-size: large;} + +.xl { font-size: x-large;} + +.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +#half-title { text-align: center; + font-size: 150%; } + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: 1px dashed;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container +{ +text-align: center; +font-size: 90%; +} + +.poetry +{ +display: inline-block; +text-align: left; +margin-left: 2.5em; +line-height: 100%; +} + +.poetry .stanza +{ +margin: .5em 0em .5em 1em; +} + +.poetry .ileft {margin-left: -.4em;} +.poetry .i1h {margin-left: .4em;} +.poetry .i1 {margin-left: 1em;} +.poetry .i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77894 ***</div> + + + +<p id="half-title" class="p6">THE CONQUEST OF HAPPINESS</p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center p2"><i>Other Books by the same Author</i></p> +</div> + + +<p class="p-left p1">PHILOSOPHY</p> + +<ul class="sm"> + <li>THE ANALYSIS OF MIND</li> + <li>INTRODUCTION TO MATHEMATICAL PHILOSOPHY</li> + <li>OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXTERNAL WORLD</li> + <li>AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY</li> + <li>SCEPTICAL ESSAYS</li> +</ul> + +<p class="p-left p1">SOCIAL SCIENCE</p> + +<ul class="sm"> + <li>PRINCIPLES OF SOCIAL RECONSTRUCTION</li> + <li>ROADS TO FREEDOM</li> + <li>JUSTICE IN WAR-TIME</li> + <li>FREE THOUGHT AND OFFICIAL PROPAGANDA</li> + <li>MARRIAGE AND MORALS</li> +</ul> + +<p class="p-left p1">EDUCATIONAL</p> + +<ul class="sm"> + <li>ON EDUCATION: ESPECIALLY IN EARLY CHILDHOOD</li> +</ul> + +<p class="p-left p1">INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS</p> + +<ul class="sm"> + <li>THE PROBLEM OF CHINA</li> +</ul> + +<p class="p1 left1"><span class="smcap">With</span> DORA RUSSELL:</p> + +<ul class="sm"> + <li>THE PROSPECTS OF INDUSTRIAL CIVILIZATION</li> +</ul> + +<p class="p1 left1"><span class="smcap">With</span> SCOTT NEARING:</p> + +<ul class="sm"> + <li>BOLSHEVISM AND THE WEST</li> +</ul> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center xl p2">BERTRAND RUSSELL</p></div> + +<h1>THE CONQUEST<br> +OF<br> +HAPPINESS</h1> + +<p class="center sm p4">LONDON<br> +GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD<br> +MUSEUM STREET</p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center p4 xs">FIRST PUBLISHED OCTOBER 1930<br> +SECOND IMPRESSION NOVEMBER 1930<br> +THIRD IMPRESSION DECEMBER 1930</p></div> + +<p class="center p4 xs"><i>All rights reserved</i><br> +PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY<br> +UNWIN BROTHERS LTD., WOKING</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="hangingindent">I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained,</div> + <div>I stand and look at them long and long.</div> + <div>They do not sweat and whine about their condition,</div> + <div>They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,</div> + <div>They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,</div> + <div class="hangingindent">Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,</div> + <div class="hangingindent">Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,</div> + <div>Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.</div> + <div class="right smcap">Walt Whitman</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p> + +<h2 class="big">PREFACE</h2> +</div> + + +<p>This book is not addressed to the learned, or to those who regard a +practical problem merely as something to be talked about. No profound +philosophy or deep erudition will be found in the following pages. I +have aimed only at putting together some remarks which are inspired +by what I hope is common sense. All that I claim for the recipes +offered to the reader is that they are such as are confirmed by my +own experience and observation, and that they have increased my own +happiness whenever I have acted in accordance with them. On this ground +I venture to hope that some among those multitudes of men and women +who suffer unhappiness without enjoying it, may find their situation +diagnosed and a method of escape suggested. It is in the belief that +many people who are unhappy could become happy by well-directed effort +that I have written this book.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="big">CONTENTS</h2></div> + +<table class="sm" style="max-width: 40em"> + <tr> + <th class="chap">CHAPTER</th> + <th></th> + <th class="pag">PAGE</th> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn"></td> + <td class="cht">PREFACE</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <th class="header" colspan="3">PART I.—CAUSES OF UNHAPPINESS</th> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">I.</td> + <td class="cht">WHAT MAKES PEOPLE UNHAPPY?</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">II.</td> + <td class="cht">BYRONIC UNHAPPINESS</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">III.</td> + <td class="cht">COMPETITION</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">IV.</td> + <td class="cht">BOREDOM AND EXCITEMENT</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">V.</td> + <td class="cht">FATIGUE</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">VI.</td> + <td class="cht">ENVY</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">VII.</td> + <td class="cht">THE SENSE OF SIN</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">VIII.</td> + <td class="cht">PERSECUTION MANIA</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">IX.</td> + <td class="cht">FEAR OF PUBLIC OPINION</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <th class="header" colspan="3">PART II.—CAUSES OF HAPPINESS</th> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">X.</td> + <td class="cht">IS HAPPINESS STILL POSSIBLE?</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XI.</td> + <td class="cht">ZEST</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XII.</td> + <td class="cht">AFFECTION</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XIII.</td> + <td class="cht">THE FAMILY</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XIV.</td> + <td class="cht">WORK</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XV.</td> + <td class="cht">IMPERSONAL INTERESTS</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XVI.</td> + <td class="cht">EFFORT AND RESIGNATION</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn">XVII.</td> + <td class="cht">THE HAPPY MAN</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="chn"></td> + <td class="cht">INDEX</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p> + +<p class="center"><b>PART I</b></p> +</div> + +<p class="center lg"><b>CAUSES OF UNHAPPINESS</b></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p> + +<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER I<br> +<span class="subhed">WHAT MAKES PEOPLE UNHAPPY?</span></h2> + +<p>Animals are happy so long as they have health and enough to eat. Human +beings, one feels, ought to be, but in the modern world they are not, +at least in a great majority of cases. If you are unhappy yourself, +you will probably be prepared to admit that you are not exceptional +in this. If you are happy, ask yourself how many of your friends are +so. And when you have reviewed your friends, teach yourself the art of +reading faces; make yourself receptive to the moods of those whom you +meet in the course of an ordinary day.</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>A mark in every face I meet,</div> + <div>Marks of weakness, marks of woe</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">says Blake. Though the kinds are different, you will find that +unhappiness meets you everywhere. Let us suppose that you are in New +York, the most typically modern of great cities. Stand in a busy +street during working hours, or on a main thoroughfare at a week-end, +or at a dance of an evening; empty your mind of your own ego, and let +the personalities of the strangers about you take possession of you +one after another. You will find that each of these different crowds +has its own trouble. In the work-hour crowd you will see anxiety, +excessive concentration, dyspepsia, lack of interest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> in anything but +the struggle, incapacity for play, unconsciousness of their fellow +creatures. On a main road at the week-end you will see men and women, +all comfortably off, and some very rich, engaged in the pursuit of +pleasure. This pursuit is conducted by all at a uniform pace, that of +the slowest car in the procession; it is impossible to see the road for +the cars, or the scenery since looking aside would cause an accident; +all the occupants of all the cars are absorbed in the desire to pass +other cars, which they cannot do on account of the crowd; if their +minds wander from this preoccupation, as will happen occasionally to +those who are not themselves driving, unutterable boredom seizes upon +them and stamps their features with trivial discontent. Once in a way a +car-load of coloured people will show genuine enjoyment, but will cause +indignation by erratic behaviour, and ultimately get into the hands of +the police owing to an accident: enjoyment in holiday time is illegal.</p> + +<p>Or, again, watch people at a gay evening. All come determined to be +happy, with the kind of grim resolve with which one determines not to +make a fuss at the dentist’s. It is held that drink and petting are the +gateways to joy, so people get drunk quickly, and try not to notice how +much their partners disgust them. After a sufficient amount of drink, +men begin to weep, and to lament how unworthy they are, morally, of +the devotion of their mothers. All that alcohol does for them is to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> +liberate the sense of sin, which reason suppresses in saner moments.</p> + +<p>The causes of these various kinds of unhappiness lie partly in the +social system, partly in individual psychology—which, of course, is +itself to a considerable extent a product of the social system. I +have written before about the changes in the social system required +to promote happiness. Concerning the abolition of war, of economic +exploitation, of education in cruelty and fear, it is not my intention +to speak in this volume. To discover a system for the avoidance of war +is a vital need of our civilization; but no such system has a chance +while men are so unhappy that mutual extermination seems to them less +dreadful than continued endurance of the light of day. To prevent +the perpetuation of poverty is necessary if the benefits of machine +production are to accrue in any degree to those most in need of them; +but what is the use of making everybody rich if the rich themselves +are miserable? Education in cruelty and fear is bad, but no other kind +can be given by those who are themselves the slaves of these passions. +These considerations lead us to the problem of the individual: what can +a man or woman, here and now, in the midst of our nostalgic society, +do to achieve happiness for himself or herself? In discussing this +problem, I shall confine my attention to those who are not subject to +any extreme cause of outward misery. I shall assume a sufficient income +to secure food and shelter, sufficient health to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> ordinary bodily +activities possible. I shall not consider the great catastrophes, such +as loss of all one’s children, or public disgrace. There are things to +be said about such matters, and they are important things, but they +belong to a different order from the things that I wish to say. My +purpose is to suggest a cure for the ordinary day-to-day unhappiness +from which most people in civilized countries suffer, and which is +all the more unbearable because, having no obvious external cause, it +appears inescapable. I believe this unhappiness to be very largely +due to mistaken views of the world, mistaken ethics, mistaken habits +of life, leading to destruction of that natural zest and appetite for +possible things upon which all happiness, whether of men or animals, +ultimately depends. These are matters which lie within the power of +the individual, and I propose to suggest the changes by which his +happiness, given average good fortune, may be achieved.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the best introduction to the philosophy which I wish to +advocate will be a few words of autobiography. I was not born happy. As +a child, my favourite hymn was: “Weary of earth and laden with my sin.” +At the age of five, I reflected that, if I should live to be seventy, +I had only endured, so far, a fourteenth part of my whole life, and I +felt the long-spread-out boredom ahead of me to be almost unendurable. +In adolescence, I hated life and was continually on the verge of +suicide, from which, however, I was restrained by the desire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> to know +more mathematics. Now, on the contrary, I enjoy life; I might almost +say that with every year that passes I enjoy it more. This is due +partly to having discovered what were the things that I most desired, +and having gradually acquired many of these things. Partly it is due +to having successfully dismissed certain objects of desire—such as +the acquisition of indubitable knowledge about something or other—as +essentially unattainable. But very largely it is due to a diminishing +preoccupation with myself. Like others who had a Puritan education, +I had the habit of meditating on my sins, follies, and shortcomings. +I seemed to myself—no doubt justly—a miserable specimen. Gradually +I learned to be indifferent to myself and my deficiencies; I came to +centre my attention increasingly upon external objects: the state +of the world, various branches of knowledge, individuals for whom I +felt affection. External interests, it is true, bring each its own +possibility of pain: the world may be plunged in war, knowledge in +some direction may be hard to achieve, friends may die. But pains +of these kinds do not destroy the essential quality of life, as do +those that spring from disgust with self. And every external interest +inspires some activity which, so long as the interest remains alive, +is a complete preventive of <i>ennui</i>. Interest in oneself, on the +contrary, leads to no activity of a progressive kind. It may lead to +the keeping of a diary, to getting psycho-analysed, or perhaps to +becoming a monk. But the monk will not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> be happy until the routine of +the monastery has made him forget his own soul. The happiness which +he attributes to religion he could have obtained from becoming a +crossing-sweeper, provided he were compelled to remain one. External +discipline is the only road to happiness for those unfortunates whose +self-absorption is too profound to be cured in any other way.</p> + +<p>Self-absorption is of various kinds. We may take the sinner, the +narcissist, and the megalomaniac as three very common types.</p> + +<p>When I speak of “the sinner”, I do not mean the man who commits sins: +sins are committed by everyone or no one, according to our definition +of the word. I mean the man who is absorbed in the consciousness of +sin. This man is perpetually incurring his own disapproval, which, if +he is religious, he interprets as the disapproval of God. He has an +image of himself as he thinks he ought to be, which is in continual +conflict with his knowledge of himself as he is. If, in his conscious +thought, he has long since discarded the maxims that he was taught +at his mother’s knee, his sense of sin may be buried deep in his +unconscious, and only emerge when he is drunk or asleep. Nevertheless, +it may suffice to take the savour out of everything. At bottom he still +accepts all the prohibitions he was taught in infancy. Swearing is +wicked; drinking is wicked; ordinary business shrewdness is wicked; +above all, sex is wicked. He does not, of course, abstain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> from any +of these pleasures, but they are all poisoned for him by the feeling +that they degrade him. The one pleasure that he desires with his whole +soul is that of being approvingly caressed by his mother, which he can +remember having experienced in childhood. This pleasure being no longer +open to him, he feels that nothing matters; since he <i>must</i> sin, +he decides to sin deeply. When he falls in love he looks for maternal +tenderness, but cannot accept it, because, owing to the mother-image, +he feels no respect for any woman with whom he has sexual relations. +Then, in his disappointment, he becomes cruel, repents of his cruelty, +and starts afresh on the dreary round of imagined sin and real remorse. +This is the psychology of very many apparently hard-boiled reprobates. +What drives them astray is devotion to an unattainable object (mother +or mother-substitute) together with the inculcation, in early years, of +a ridiculous ethical code. Liberation from the tyranny of early beliefs +and affections is the first step towards happiness for these victims of +maternal “virtue”.</p> + +<p>Narcissism is, in a sense, the converse of an habitual sense of sin; it +consists in the habit of admiring oneself and wishing to be admired. +Up to a point it is, of course, normal, and not to be deplored; it +is only in its excesses that it becomes a grave evil. In many women, +especially rich Society women, the capacity for feeling love is +completely dried up, and is replaced by a powerful desire that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> all +men should love them. When a woman of this kind is sure that a man +loves her, she has no further use for him. The same thing occurs, +though less frequently, with men; the classic example is the hero of +<i>Liaisons Dangereuses</i>. When vanity is carried to this height, +there is no genuine interest in any other person, and therefore no real +satisfaction to be obtained from love. Other interests fail even more +disastrously. A narcissist, for example, inspired by the homage paid +to great painters, may become an art student; but, as painting is for +him a mere means to an end, the technique never becomes interesting, +and no subject can be seen except in relation to self. The result is +failure and disappointment, with ridicule instead of the expected +adulation. The same thing applies to those novelists whose novels +always have themselves idealized as heroines. All serious success in +work depends upon some genuine interest in the material with which +the work is concerned. The tragedy of one successful politician after +another is the gradual substitution of narcissism for an interest in +the community and the measures for which he stands. The man who is +only interested in himself is not admirable, and is not felt to be so. +Consequently the man whose sole concern with the world is that it shall +admire him is not likely to achieve his object. But even if he does, he +will not be completely happy, since human instinct is never completely +self-centred, and the narcissist is limiting himself artificially just +as truly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> as is the man dominated by a sense of sin. The primitive man +might be proud of being a good hunter, but he also enjoyed the activity +of the chase. Vanity, when it passes beyond a point, kills pleasure +in every activity for its own sake, and thus leads inevitably to +listlessness and boredom. Often its source is diffidence, and its cure +lies in the growth of self-respect. But this is only to be gained by +successful activity inspired by objective interests.</p> + +<p>The megalomaniac differs from the narcissist by the fact that he wishes +to be powerful rather than charming, and seeks to be feared rather than +loved. To this type belong many lunatics and most of the great men in +history. Love of power, like vanity, is a strong element in normal +human nature, and as such is to be accepted; it becomes deplorable +only when it is excessive or associated with an insufficient sense of +reality. Where this occurs it makes a man unhappy or foolish, if not +both. The lunatic who thinks he is a crowned head may be, in a sense, +happy, but his happiness is not of a kind that any sane person would +envy. Alexander the Great was psychologically of the same type as +the lunatic, though he possessed the talent to achieve the lunatic’s +dream. He could not, however, achieve his own dream, which enlarged its +scope as his achievement grew. When it became clear that he was the +greatest conqueror known to fame, he decided that he was a God. Was he +a happy man? His drunkenness, his furious rages, his indifference<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> to +women, and his claim to divinity, suggest that he was not. There is +no ultimate satisfaction in the cultivation of one element of human +nature at the expense of all the others, nor in viewing all the world +as raw material for the magnificence of one’s own ego. Usually the +megalomaniac, whether insane or nominally sane, is the product of some +excessive humiliation. Napoleon suffered at school from inferiority to +his schoolfellows, who were rich aristocrats, while he was a penurious +scholarship boy. When he allowed the return of the <i>émigrés</i>, he +had the satisfaction of seeing his former schoolfellows bowing down +before him. What bliss! Yet it led to the wish to obtain a similar +satisfaction at the expense of the Czar, and this led to Saint Helena. +Since no man can be omnipotent, a life dominated wholly by love of +power can hardly fail, sooner or later, to meet with obstacles that +cannot be overcome. The knowledge that this is so can only be prevented +from obtruding on consciousness by some form of lunacy, though if a man +is sufficiently great he can imprison or execute those who point this +out to him. Repressions in the political and in the psycho-analytic +senses thus go hand in hand. And wherever psycho-analytic repression in +any marked form takes place, there is no genuine happiness. Power kept +within its proper bounds may add greatly to happiness, but as the sole +end of life it leads to disaster, inwardly if not outwardly.</p> + +<p>The psychological causes of unhappiness, it is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> clear, are many and +various. But all have something in common. The typical unhappy man is +one who, having been deprived in youth of some normal satisfaction, +has come to value this one kind of satisfaction more than any other, +and has therefore given to his life a one-sided direction, together +with a quite undue emphasis upon the achievement as opposed to the +activities connected with it. There is, however, a further development +which is very common in the present day. A man may feel so completely +thwarted that he seeks no form of satisfaction, but only distraction +and oblivion. He then becomes a devotee of “pleasure”. That is to say, +he seeks to make life bearable by becoming less alive. Drunkenness, for +example, is temporary suicide; the happiness that it brings is merely +negative, a momentary cessation of unhappiness. The narcissist and the +megalomaniac believe that happiness is possible, though they may adopt +mistaken means of achieving it; but the man who seeks intoxication, in +whatever form, has given up hope except in oblivion. In his case, the +first thing to be done is to persuade him that happiness is desirable. +Men who are unhappy, like men who sleep badly, are always proud of the +fact. Perhaps their pride is like that of the fox who had lost his +tail; if so, the way to cure it is to point out to them how they can +grow a new tail. Very few men, I believe, will deliberately choose +unhappiness if they see a way of being happy. I do not deny that such +men exist,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> but they are not sufficiently numerous to be important. +I shall therefore assume that the reader would rather be happy than +unhappy. Whether I can help him to realize this wish, I do not know; +but at any rate the attempt can do no harm.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II<br> +<span class="subhed">BYRONIC UNHAPPINESS</span></h2></div> + +<p>It is common in our day, as it has been in many other periods of the +world’s history, to suppose that those among us who are wise have +seen through all the enthusiasms of earlier times and have become +aware that there is nothing left to live for. The men who hold this +view are genuinely unhappy, but they are proud of their unhappiness, +which they attribute to the nature of the universe and consider to +be the only rational attitude for an enlightened man. Their pride in +their unhappiness makes less sophisticated people suspicious of its +genuineness; they think that the man who enjoys being miserable is +not miserable. This view is too simple; undoubtedly there is some +slight compensation in the feeling of superiority and insight which +these sufferers have, but it is not sufficient to make up for the +loss of simpler pleasures. I do not myself think that there is any +superior rationality in being unhappy. The wise man will be as happy +as circumstances permit, and if he finds the contemplation of the +universe painful beyond a point, he will contemplate something else +instead. This is what I wish to prove in the present chapter. I wish +to persuade the reader that, whatever the arguments may be, reason +lays no embargo upon happiness; nay, more, I am persuaded that those +who quite sincerely attribute their sorrows to their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> views about the +universe are putting the cart before the horse: the truth is that they +are unhappy for some reason of which they are not aware, and this +unhappiness leads them to dwell upon the less agreeable characteristics +of the world in which they live.</p> + +<p>For modern Americans the point of view that I wish to consider has been +set forth by Mr. Joseph Wood Krutch in a book called <i>The Modern +Temper</i>; for our grandfathers’ generation it was set forth by Byron; +for all time it was set forth by the writer of Ecclesiastes. Mr. Krutch +says: “Ours is a lost cause and there is no place for us in the natural +universe, but we are not, for all that, sorry to be human. We should +rather die as men than live as animals.” Byron says:</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="hangingindent">There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,</div> + <div class="hangingindent">When the glow of early thought declines in feeling’s dull decay.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">The author of Ecclesiastes says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than +the living which are yet alive.</p> + +<p>Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who +hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p-left">All these three pessimists arrived at these gloomy conclusions after +reviewing the pleasures of life. Mr. Krutch has lived in the most +intellectual circles of New York; Byron swam the Hellespont and had +innumerable love affairs; the author of Ecclesiastes was even more +varied in his pursuit of pleasure: he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> tried wine, he tried music, +“and that of all sorts”, he built pools of water, he had men-servants +and maid-servants, and servants born in his house. Even in these +circumstances his wisdom departed not from him. Nevertheless he saw +that all is vanity, even wisdom.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and +folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit.</p> + +<p>For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth +knowledge increaseth sorrow.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p-left">His wisdom seems to have annoyed him; he made unsuccessful efforts to +get rid of it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>I said in mine heart, Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth, +therefore enjoy pleasure: and, behold, this also is vanity.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p-left">But his wisdom remained with him.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Then I said in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it +happeneth even to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said +in my heart, that this also is vanity.</p> + +<p>Therefore I hated life; because the work that is wrought under +the sun is grievous unto me: for all is vanity and vexation of +spirit.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p-left">It is fortunate for literary men that people no longer read anything +written long ago, for if they did they would come to the conclusion +that, whatever may be said about pools of water, the making of new +books is certainly vanity. If we can show that the doctrine of +Ecclesiastes is not the only one open to a wise man, we need not +trouble ourselves much with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> the later expressions of the same mood. +In an argument of this sort we must distinguish between a mood and +its intellectual expression. There is no arguing with a mood; it can +be changed by some fortunate event, or by a change in our bodily +condition, but it cannot be changed by argument. I have frequently +experienced myself the mood in which I felt that all is vanity; I +have emerged from it not by means of any philosophy, but owing to +some imperative necessity of action. If your child is ill, you may be +unhappy, but you will not feel that all is vanity; you will feel that +the restoring of the child to health is a matter to be attended to +regardless of the question whether there is ultimate value in human +life or not. A rich man may, and often does, feel that all is vanity, +but if he should happen to lose his money, he would feel that his +next meal was by no means vanity. The feeling is one born of a too +easy satisfaction of natural needs. The human animal, like others, is +adapted to a certain amount of struggle for life, and when by means +of great wealth <i>homo sapiens</i> can gratify all his whims without +effort, the mere absence of effort from his life removes an essential +ingredient of happiness. The man who acquires easily things for which +he feels only a very moderate desire concludes that the attainment of +desire does not bring happiness. If he is of a philosophic disposition, +he concludes that human life is essentially wretched, since the man who +has all he wants is still unhappy. He forgets that to be without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> some +of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness.</p> + +<p>So much for the mood. There are, however, also intellectual arguments +in Ecclesiastes.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full.</p> + +<p class="p-min">There is no new thing under the sun.</p> + +<p class="p-min">There is no remembrance of former things.</p> + +<p class="p-min">I hated all my labour which I had taken under the sun: because I +should leave it unto the man that shall be after me.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p-left">If one were to attempt to set up these arguments in the style of a +modern philosopher they would come to something like this: Man is +perpetually toiling, and matter is perpetually in motion, yet nothing +abides, although the new thing that comes after it is in no way +different from what has gone before. A man dies, and his heir reaps the +benefits of his labours; the rivers run into the sea, but their waters +are not permitted to stay there. Over and over again in an endless +purposeless cycle men and things are born and die without improvement, +without permanent achievement, day after day, year after year. The +rivers, if they were wise, would stay where they are. Solomon, if he +were wise, would not plant fruit trees of which his son is to enjoy the +fruit.</p> + +<p>But in another mood how different all this looks. No new thing under +the sun? What about skyscrapers, aeroplanes, and the broadcast speeches +of politicians? What did Solomon<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> know about such things? If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> he +could have heard on the wireless the speech of the Queen of Sheba +to her subjects on her return from his dominions, would it not have +consoled him among his futile trees and pools? If he could have had a +press-cutting agency to let him know what the newspapers said about +the beauty of his architecture, the comforts of his harem, and the +discomfitures of rival sages in argument with him, could he have gone +on saying that there is no new thing under the sun? It may be that +these things would not have wholly cured his pessimism, but he would +have had to give it a new expression. Indeed, one of Mr. Krutch’s +complaints of our time is that there are so many new things under +the sun. If either the absence or the presence of novelty is equally +annoying, it would hardly seem that either could be the true cause of +despair. Again, take the fact that “all the rivers run into the sea, +yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, +thither they return again”. Regarded as ground for pessimism, this +assumes that travel is unpleasant. People go to health resorts in the +summer, yet return again unto the place whence they came. This does +not prove that it is futile to go to health resorts in the summer. If +the waters were endowed with feeling, they would probably enjoy the +adventurous cycle after the manner of Shelley’s <i>Cloud</i>. As for +the painfulness of leaving things to one’s heir, that is a matter that +may be looked at from two points of view: from the point of view of +the heir it is distinctly less disastrous.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> Nor is the fact that all +things pass in itself any ground for pessimism. If they were succeeded +by worse things, that would be a ground, but if they are succeeded by +better things, that is a reason for optimism. What are we to think +if, as Solomon maintains, they are succeeded by things exactly like +themselves? Does not this make the whole process futile? Emphatically +not, unless the various stages of the cycle are themselves painful. +The habit of looking to the future and thinking that the whole meaning +of the present lies in what it will bring forth is a pernicious one. +There can be no value in the whole unless there is value in the parts. +Life is not to be conceived on the analogy of a melodrama in which the +hero and heroine go through incredible misfortunes for which they are +compensated by a happy ending. I live and have my day, my son succeeds +me and has his day, his son in turn succeeds him. What is there in all +this to make a tragedy about? On the contrary, if I lived for ever the +joys of life would inevitably in the end lose their savour. As it is, +they remain perennially fresh.</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>I warmed both hands before the fire of life;</div> + <div>It sinks, and I am ready to depart.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">This attitude is quite as rational as that of indignation with death. +If, therefore, moods were to be decided by reason, there would be quite +as much reason for cheerfulness as for despair.</p> + +<p>“Ecclesiastes” is tragic; Mr. Krutch’s <i>Modern<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> Temper</i> is +pathetic. Mr. Krutch, at bottom, is sad because the old mediæval +certainties have crumbled, and also some that are of more recent +origin. “As for this present unhappy time,” he says, “haunted by ghosts +from a dead world and not yet at home in its own, its predicament is +not unlike the predicament of the adolescent who has not yet learned +to orient himself without reference to the mythology amid which his +childhood was passed.” This statement is entirely correct as applied to +a certain section of intellectuals, those, namely, who, having had a +literary education, can know nothing of the modern world, and, having +throughout their youth been taught to base belief upon emotion, cannot +divest themselves of that infantile desire for safety and protection +which the world of science cannot gratify. Mr. Krutch, like most other +literary men, is obsessed with the idea that science has not fulfilled +its promises. He does not, of course, tell us what these promises were, +but he seems to think that sixty years ago men like Darwin and Huxley +expected something of science which it has not given. I think this is +an entire delusion, fostered by those writers and clergymen who do +not wish their specialties to be thought of little value. That the +world contains many pessimists at the present moment is true. There +have always been many pessimists whenever there have been many people +whose income has diminished. Mr. Krutch, it is true, is an American, +and American incomes, on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> whole, have been increased by the War, +but throughout the Continent of Europe the intellectual classes have +suffered terribly, while the War itself gave everyone a sense of +instability. Such social causes have a great deal more to do with the +mood of an epoch than has its theory as to the nature of the world. Few +ages have been more despairing than the thirteenth century, although +that faith which Mr. Krutch so regrets was then firmly entertained by +everyone except the Emperor and a few great Italian nobles. Thus Roger +Bacon says: “For more sins reign in these days of ours than in any past +age, and sin is incompatible with wisdom. Let us see all conditions +in the world, and consider them diligently everywhere: we shall +find boundless corruption, and first of all in the Head.... Lechery +dishonours the whole court, and gluttony is lord of all.... If then +this is done in the Head, how is it in the members? See the prelates: +how they hunt after money and neglect the cure of souls.... Let us +consider the Religious Orders: I exclude none from what I say. See +how far they are fallen, one and all, from their right state; and the +new Orders (of Friars) are already horribly decayed from their first +dignity. The whole clergy is intent upon pride, lechery, and avarice: +and wheresoever clerks are gathered together, as at Paris and Oxford, +they scandalize the whole laity with their wars and quarrels and other +vices.... None care what is done, or how, by hook or by crook, provided +only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> that each can fulfil his lust.” Concerning the pagan sages of +antiquity, he says: “Their lives were beyond all comparison better +than ours, both in all decency and in contempt of the world, with all +its delights and riches and honours; as all men may read in the works +of Aristotle, Seneca, Tully, Avicenna, Alfarabius, Plato, Socrates, +and others; and so it was that they attained to the secrets of wisdom +and found out all knowledge.”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Roger Bacon’s opinion was that of all +his literary contemporaries, not one of whom liked the age in which he +found himself. I do not for a moment believe that this pessimism had +any metaphysical cause. Its causes were war, poverty, and violence.</p> + +<p>One of Mr. Krutch’s most pathetic chapters deals with the subject +of love. It appears that the Victorians thought very highly of it, +but that we with our modern sophistication have come to see through +it. “For the more skeptical of the Victorians, love performed some +of the functions of the God whom they had lost. Faced with it, many +of even the most hard-headed turned, for the moment, mystical. They +found themselves in the presence of something which awoke in them +that sense of reverence which nothing else claimed, and something +to which they felt, even in the very depth of their being, that an +unquestioning loyalty was due. For them love, like God, demanded all +sacrifices; but like Him, also, it rewarded the believer by investing +all the phenomena<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> of life with a meaning not yet analysed away. We +have grown used—more than they—to a Godless universe, but we are not +yet accustomed to one which is loveless as well, and only when we have +so become shall we realize what atheism really means.” It is curious +how different the Victorian age looks to the young of our time from +what it seemed when one was living in it. I remember two old ladies, +both typical of certain aspects of the period, whom I knew well in +my youth. One was a Puritan, and the other a Voltairean. The former +regretted that so much poetry deals with love, which, she maintained, +is an uninteresting subject. The latter remarked: “Nobody can say +anything against me, but I always say that it is not so bad to break +the seventh commandment as the sixth, because at any rate it requires +the consent of the other party.” Neither of these views was quite like +what Mr. Krutch presents as typically Victorian. His ideas are derived +evidently from certain writers who were by no means in harmony with +their environment. The best example, I suppose, is Robert Browning. I +cannot, however, resist the conviction that there is something stuffy +about love as he conceived it.</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>God be thanked, the meanest of His creatures</div> + <div>Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with,</div> + <div>One to show a woman when he loves her!</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">This assumes that combativeness is the only possible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> attitude towards +the world at large. Why? Because the world is cruel, Browning would +say. Because it will not accept you at your own valuation, we should +say. A couple may form, as the Brownings did, a mutual admiration +society. It is very pleasant to have someone at hand who is sure +to praise your work, whether it deserves it or not. And Browning +undoubtedly felt that he was a fine, manly fellow when he denounced +Fitzgerald in no measured terms for having dared not to admire Aurora +Leigh. I cannot feel that this complete suspension of the critical +faculty on both sides is really admirable. It is bound up with fear +and with the desire to find a refuge from the cold blasts of impartial +criticism. Many old bachelors learn to derive the same satisfaction +from their own fireside. I lived too long myself in the Victorian +age to be a modern according to Mr. Krutch’s standards. I have by no +means lost my belief in love, but the kind of love that I can believe +in is not the kind that the Victorians admired; it is adventurous and +open-eyed, and, while it gives knowledge of good, it does not involve +forgetfulness of evil, nor does it pretend to be sanctified or holy. +The attribution of these qualities to the kind of love that was admired +was an outcome of the sex taboo. The Victorian was profoundly convinced +that most sex is evil, and had to attach exaggerated adjectives to the +kind of which he could approve. There was more sex hunger than there +is now, and this no doubt caused people to exaggerate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> the importance +of sex just as the ascetics have always done. We are at the present +day passing through a somewhat confused period, when many people +have thrown over the old standards without acquiring new ones. This +leads them into various troubles, and as their unconscious usually +still believes in the old standards, the troubles, when they come, +produce despair, remorse, and cynicism. I do not think the number of +people to whom this happens is very large, but they are among the most +vocal people of our time. I believe that if one took the average of +well-to-do young people in our day and in the Victorian epoch, one +would find that there is now a great deal more happiness in connection +with love, and a great deal more genuine belief in the value of love, +than there was sixty years ago. The reasons which lead certain persons +to cynicism are connected with the tyranny of the old ideals over +the unconscious, and with the absence of a rational ethic by which +present-day people can regulate their conduct. The cure lies not in +lamentation and nostalgia for the past, but in a more courageous +acceptance of the modern outlook and a determination to root out +nominally discarded superstitions from all their obscure hiding-places.</p> + +<p>To say shortly why one values love is not easy; nevertheless, I will +make the attempt. Love is to be valued in the first instance—and this, +though not its greatest value, is essential to all the rest—as in +itself a source of delight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>Oh Love! they wrong thee much</div> + <div>That say thy sweet is bitter,</div> + <div>When thy rich fruit is such</div> + <div>As nothing can be sweeter.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">The anonymous author of these lines was not seeking a solution for +atheism, or a key to the universe; he was merely enjoying himself. And +not only is love a source of delight, but its absence is a source of +pain. In the second place, love is to be valued because it enhances +all the best pleasures, such as music, and sunrise in mountains, and +the sea under the full moon. A man who has never enjoyed beautiful +things in the company of a woman whom he loved has not experienced to +the full the magic power of which such things are capable. Again, love +is able to break down the hard shell of the ego, since it is a form of +biological co-operation in which the emotions of each are necessary to +the fulfilment of the other’s instinctive purposes. There have been in +the world at various times various solitary philosophies, some very +noble, some less so. The Stoics and the early Christians believed that +a man could realize the highest good of which human life is capable by +means of his own will alone, or at any rate without <i>human</i> aid; +others again have regarded power as the end of life, and yet others +mere personal pleasure. All these are solitary philosophies in the +sense that the good is supposed to be something realizable in each +separate person, not only in a larger or smaller society of persons. +All<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> such views, to my mind, are false, and not only in ethical +theory, but as expressions of the better part of our instincts. Man +depends upon co-operation, and has been provided by nature, somewhat +inadequately, it is true, with the instinctive apparatus out of which +the friendliness required for co-operation can spring. Love is the +first and commonest form of emotion leading to co-operation, and those +who have experienced love with any intensity will not be content with +a philosophy that supposes their highest good to be independent of +that of the person loved. In this respect parental feeling is even +more powerful, but parental feeling at its best is the result of love +between the parents. I do not pretend that love in its highest form is +common, but I do maintain that in its highest form it reveals values +which must otherwise remain unknown, and has itself a value which is +untouched by scepticism, although sceptics who are incapable of it may +falsely attribute their incapacity to their scepticism.</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>True love is a durable fire,</div> + <div>In the mind ever burning,</div> + <div>Never sick, never dead, never cold,</div> + <div>From itself never turning.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">I come next to what Mr. Krutch has to say about tragedy. He contends, +and in this I cannot but agree with him, that Ibsen’s <i>Ghosts</i> is +inferior to <i>King Lear</i>. “No increased powers of expression, no +greater gift for words, could have transformed Ibsen into Shakespeare. +The materials out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> which the latter created his works—his +conception of human dignity, his sense of the importance of human +passions, his vision of the amplitude of human life—simply did not +and could not exist for Ibsen, as they did not and could not exist for +his contemporaries. God and Man and Nature had all somehow dwindled +in the course of the intervening centuries, not because the realistic +creed of modern art led us to seek out mean people, but because this +meanness of human life was somehow thrust upon us by the operation of +that same process which led to the development of realistic theories +of art by which our vision could be justified.” It is undoubtedly the +case that the old-fashioned kind of tragedy which dealt with princes +and their sorrows is not suitable to our age, and when we try to treat +in the same manner the sorrows of an obscure individual the effect is +not the same. The reason of this is not, however, any deterioration +in our outlook on life, but quite the reverse. It is due to the fact +that we can no longer regard certain individuals as the great ones of +the earth, who have a right to tragic passions, while all the rest +must merely drudge and toil to produce the magnificence of those few. +Shakespeare says:</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>When beggars die, there are no comets seen;</div> + <div>The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">In Shakespeare’s day this sentiment, if not literally believed, at +least expressed an outlook which was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> practically universal and most +profoundly accepted by Shakespeare himself. Consequently the death +of Cinna the poet is comic, whereas the deaths of Cæsar, Brutus and +Cassius are tragic. The cosmic significance of an individual death +is lost to us because we have become democratic, not only in outward +forms, but in our inmost convictions. High tragedy in the present +day, therefore, has to concern itself rather with the community than +with the individual. I would give as an example of what I mean Ernst +Toller’s <i>Massenmench</i>.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> I do not maintain that this work is as +good as the best that has been done in the best ages in the past, but +I do maintain that it is justly comparable; it is noble, profound and +actual, concerned with heroic action, and “purging the reader through +pity and terror”, as Aristotle said it should. There are as yet few +examples of this modern kind of tragedy, since the old technique and +the old traditions have to be abandoned without being replaced by mere +educated commonplace. To write tragedy, a man must feel tragedy. To +feel tragedy, a man must be aware of the world in which he lives, not +only with his mind, but with his blood and sinews. Mr. Krutch talks +throughout his book at intervals about despair, and one is touched by +his heroic acceptance of a bleak world, but the bleakness is due to +the fact that he and most literary men have not yet learnt to feel the +old emotions in response<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> to new stimuli. The stimuli exist, but not +in literary coteries. Literary coteries have no vital contact with the +life of the community, and such contact is necessary if men’s feelings +are to have the seriousness and depth within which both tragedy and +true happiness proceed. To all the talented young men who wander about +feeling that there is nothing in the world for them to do, I should +say: “Give up trying to write, and, instead, try not to write. Go +out into the world; become a pirate, a king in Borneo, a labourer in +Soviet Russia; give yourself an existence in which the satisfaction of +elementary physical needs will occupy almost all your energies.” I do +not recommend this course of action to everyone, but only to those who +suffer from the disease which Mr. Krutch diagnoses. I believe that, +after some years of such an existence, the ex-intellectual will find +that in spite of his efforts he can no longer refrain from writing, and +when this time comes his writing will not seem to him futile.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III<br> +<span class="subhed">COMPETITION</span></h2></div> + +<p>If you ask any man in America, or any man in business in England, what +it is that most interferes with his enjoyment of existence, he will +say: “The struggle for life.” He will say this in all sincerity; he +will believe it. In a certain sense it is true; yet in another, and +that a very important sense, it is profoundly false. The struggle for +life is a thing which does, of course, occur. It may occur to any of us +if we are unfortunate. It occurred, for example, to Conrad’s hero Falk, +who found himself on a derelict ship, one of the two men among the crew +who were possessed of fire-arms, with nothing to eat but the other +men. When the two men had finished the meals upon which they could +agree, a true struggle for life began. Falk won, but was ever after a +vegetarian. Now that is not what the business man means when he speaks +of the “struggle for life”. It is an inaccurate phrase which he has +picked up in order to give dignity to something essentially trivial. +Ask him how many men he has known in his class of life who have died +of hunger. Ask him what happened to his friends after they had been +ruined. Everybody knows that a business man who has been ruined is +better off so far as material comforts are concerned than a man who has +never been rich enough to have the chance of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> being ruined. What people +mean, therefore, by the struggle for life is really the struggle for +success. What people fear when they engage in the struggle is not that +they will fail to get their breakfast next morning, but that they will +fail to outshine their neighbours.</p> + +<p>It is very singular how little men seem to realize that they are not +caught in the grip of a mechanism from which there is no escape, but +that the treadmill is one upon which they remain merely because they +have not noticed that it fails to take them up to a higher level. I +am thinking, of course, of men in higher walks of business, men who +already have a good income and could, if they chose, live on what +they have. To do so would seem to them shameful, like deserting from +the army in the face of the enemy, though if you ask them what public +cause they are serving by their work, they will be at a loss to reply +as soon as they have run through the platitudes to be found in the +advertisements of the strenuous life.</p> + +<p>Consider the life of such a man. He has, we may suppose, a charming +house, a charming wife, and charming children. He wakes up early in +the morning while they are still asleep and hurries off to his office. +There it is his duty to display the qualities of a great executive; +he cultivates a firm jaw, a decisive manner of speech, and an air of +sagacious reserve calculated to impress everybody except the office +boy. He dictates letters, converses with various<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> important persons +on the ’phone, studies the market, and presently has lunch with some +person with whom he is conducting or hoping to conduct a deal. The same +sort of thing goes on all the afternoon. He arrives home, tired, just +in time to dress for dinner. At dinner he and a number of other tired +men have to pretend to enjoy the company of ladies who have no occasion +to feel tired yet. How many hours it may take the poor man to escape it +is impossible to foresee. At last he sleeps, and for a few hours the +tension is relaxed.</p> + +<p>The working life of this man has the psychology of a hundred-yards +race, but as the race upon which he is engaged is one whose only goal +is the grave, the concentration, which is appropriate enough for a +hundred yards, becomes in the end somewhat excessive. What does he +know about his children? On week-days he is at the office; on Sundays +he is at the golf links. What does he know of his wife? When he leaves +her in the morning, she is asleep. Throughout the evening he and she +are engaged in social duties which prevent intimate conversation. He +has probably no men friends who are important to him, although he has +a number with whom he affects a geniality that he wishes he felt. Of +springtime and harvest he knows only as they affect the market; foreign +countries he has probably seen, but with eyes of utter boredom. Books +seem to him futile, and music highbrow. Year by year he grows more +lonely; his attention grows more concentrated, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> his life outside +business more desiccated. I have seen the American of this type in +later middle life, in Europe, with his wife and daughters. Evidently +they had persuaded the poor fellow that it was time he took a holiday, +and gave his girls a chance to do the Old World. The mother and +daughters in ecstasy surround him and call his attention to each new +item that strikes them as characteristic. Paterfamilias, utterly weary, +utterly bored, is wondering what they are doing in the office at this +moment, or what is happening in the baseball world. His womenkind, in +the end, give him up, and conclude that males are Philistines. It never +dawns upon them that he is a victim to their greed; nor, indeed, is +this quite the truth, any more than suttee is quite what it appeared to +a European onlooker. Probably in nine cases out of ten the widow was a +willing victim, prepared to be burnt for the sake of glory and because +religion so ordained. The business man’s religion and glory demand that +he should make much money; therefore, like the Hindu widow, he suffers +the torment gladly. If the American business man is to be made happier, +he must first change his religion. So long as he not only desires +success, but is whole-heartedly persuaded that it is a man’s duty to +pursue success, and that a man who does not do so is a poor creature, +so long his life will remain too concentrated and too anxious to be +happy. Take a simple matter, such as investments. Almost every American +would sooner get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> 8 per cent. from a risky investment than 4 per cent. +from a safe one. The consequence is that there are frequent losses +of money and continual worry and fret. For my part, the thing that I +should wish to obtain from money would be leisure with security. But +what the typical modern man desires to get with it is more money, with +a view to ostentation, splendour, and the outshining of those who have +hitherto been his equals. The social scale in America is indefinite +and continually fluctuating. Consequently all the snobbish emotions +become more restless than they are where the social order is fixed, +and although money in itself may not suffice to make people grand, it +is difficult to be grand without money. Moreover, money made is the +accepted measure of brains. A man who makes a lot of money is a clever +fellow; a man who does not, is not. Nobody likes to be thought a fool. +Therefore, when the market is in ticklish condition, a man feels the +way young people feel during an examination.</p> + +<p>I think it should be admitted that an element of genuine though +irrational fear as to the consequences of ruin frequently enters into +a business man’s anxieties. Arnold Bennett’s Clayhanger, however rich +he became, continued to be afraid of dying in the workhouse. I have no +doubt that those who have suffered greatly through poverty in their +childhood are haunted by terrors lest their children should suffer +similarly, and feel that it is hardly possible to build up enough +millions as a bulwark against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> this disaster. Such fears are probably +inevitable in the first generation, but they are less likely to afflict +those who have never known great poverty. They are in any case a minor +and somewhat exceptional factor in the problem.</p> + +<p>The root of the trouble springs from too much emphasis upon competitive +success as the main source of happiness. I do not deny that the feeling +of success makes it easier to enjoy life. A painter, let us say, who +has been obscure throughout his youth, is likely to become happier if +his talent wins recognition. Nor do I deny that money, up to a certain +point, is very capable of increasing happiness; beyond that point, I +do not think it does so. What I do maintain is that success can only +be one ingredient in happiness, and is too dearly purchased if all the +other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it.</p> + +<p>The source of this trouble is the prevalent philosophy of life in +business circles. In Europe, it is true, there are still other circles +that have prestige. In some countries there is an aristocracy; in all +there are the learned professions, and in all but a few of the smaller +countries the army and the navy enjoy great respect. Now while it is +true that there is a competitive element in success no matter what a +man’s profession may be, yet at the same time the kind of thing that +is respected is not just success, but that excellence, whatever that +may be, to which success has been due. A man of science<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> may or may +not make money; he is certainly not more respected if he does than if +he does not. No one is surprised to find an eminent general or admiral +poor; indeed, poverty in such circumstances is, in a sense, itself an +honour. For these reasons, in Europe, the purely monetary competitive +struggle is confined to certain circles, and those perhaps not the +most influential or the most respected. In America the matter is +otherwise. The Services play too small a part in the national life for +their standards to have any influence. As for the learned professions, +no outsider can tell whether a doctor really knows much medicine, or +whether a lawyer really knows much law, and it is therefore easier +to judge of their merit by the income to be inferred from their +standard of life. As for professors, they are the hired servants of +business men, and as such win less respect than is accorded to them in +older countries. The consequence of all this is that in America the +professional man imitates the business man, and does not constitute a +separate type as he does in Europe. Throughout the well-to-do classes, +therefore, there is nothing to mitigate the bare undiluted fight for +financial success.</p> + +<p>From quite early years American boys feel that this is the only thing +that matters, and do not wish to be bothered with any kind of education +that is devoid of pecuniary value. Education used to be conceived very +largely as a training in the capacity for enjoyment—enjoyment, I mean, +of those more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> delicate kinds that are not open to wholly uncultivated +people. In the eighteenth century it was one of the marks of a +“gentleman” to take a discriminating pleasure in literature, pictures, +and music. We nowadays may disagree with his taste, but it was at +least genuine. The rich man of the present day tends to be of quite a +different type. He never reads. If he is creating a picture gallery +with a view to enhancing his fame, he relies upon experts to choose his +pictures; the pleasure that he derives from them is not the pleasure +of looking at them, but the pleasure of preventing some other rich man +from having them. In regard to music, if he happens to be a Jew, he may +have genuine appreciation; if not, he will be as uncultivated as he is +in regard to the other arts. The result of all this is that he does not +know what to do with leisure. As he gets richer and richer it becomes +easier and easier to make money, until at last five minutes a day will +bring him more than he knows how to spend. The poor man is thus left +at a loose end as a result of his success. This must inevitably be the +case so long as success itself is represented as the purpose of life. +Unless a man has been taught what to do with success after getting it, +the achievement of it must inevitably leave him a prey to boredom.</p> + +<p>The competitive habit of mind easily invades regions to which it does +not belong. Take, for example, the question of reading. There are two +motives for reading a book: one, that you enjoy it; the other,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> that +you can boast about it. It has become the thing in America for ladies +to read (or seem to read) certain books every month; some read them, +some read the first chapter, some read the reviews, but all have these +books on their tables. They do not, however, read any masterpieces. +There has never been a month when <i>Hamlet</i> or <i>King Lear</i> has +been selected by the Book Clubs; there has never been a month when it +has been necessary to know about Dante. Consequently the reading that +is done is entirely of mediocre modern books and never of masterpieces. +This also is an effect of competition, not perhaps wholly bad, since +most of the ladies in question, if left to themselves, so far from +reading masterpieces, would read books even worse than those selected +for them by their literary pastors and masters.</p> + +<p>The emphasis upon competition in modern life is connected with a +general decay of civilized standards such as must have occurred in Rome +after the Augustan age. Men and women appear to have become incapable +of enjoying the more intellectual pleasures. The art of general +conversation, for example, brought to perfection in the French salons +of the eighteenth century, was still a living tradition forty years +ago. It was a very exquisite art, bringing the highest faculties into +play for the sake of something completely evanescent. But who in our +age cares for anything so leisurely? In China the art still flourished +in perfection ten years ago, but I imagine that the missionary ardour +of the Nationalists<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> has since then swept it completely out of +existence. The knowledge of good literature, which was universal among +educated people fifty or a hundred years ago, is now confined to a +few professors. All the quieter pleasures have been abandoned. Some +American students took me walking in the spring through a wood on the +borders of their campus; it was filled with exquisite wild flowers, but +not one of my guides knew the name of even one of them. What use would +such knowledge be? It could not add to anybody’s income.</p> + +<p>The trouble does not lie simply with the individual, nor can a single +individual prevent it in his own isolated case. The trouble arises from +the generally received philosophy of life, according to which life is +a contest, a competition, in which respect is to be accorded to the +victor. This view leads to an undue cultivation of the will at the +expense of the senses and the intellect. Or possibly, in saying this, +we may be putting the cart before the horse. Puritan moralists have +always emphasized the will in modern times, although originally it was +faith upon which they laid stress. It may be that ages of Puritanism +produced a race in which will had been overdeveloped, while the senses +and the intellect had been starved, and that such a race adopted a +philosophy of competition as the one best suited to its nature. However +that may be, the prodigious success of these modern dinosaurs, who, +like their prehistoric prototypes, prefer power to intelligence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> is +causing them to be universally imitated: they have become the pattern +for the white man everywhere, and this is likely to be increasingly +the case for the next hundred years. Those, however, who are not in +the fashion may take comfort from the thought that the dinosaurs did +not ultimately triumph; they killed each other out, and intelligent +bystanders inherited their kingdom. Our modern dinosaurs are killing +themselves out. They do not, on the average, have so much as two +children per marriage; they do not enjoy life enough to wish to beget +children. At this point the unduly strenuous philosophy which they have +carried over from their Puritan forefathers shows itself unadapted to +the world. Those whose outlook on life causes them to feel so little +happiness that they do not care to beget children are biologically +doomed. Before very long they must be succeeded by something gayer and +jollier.</p> + +<p>Competition considered as the main thing in life is too grim, too +tenacious, too much a matter of taut muscles and intent will, to make +a possible basis of life for more than one or two generations at most. +After that length of time it must produce nervous fatigue, various +phenomena of escape, a pursuit of pleasures as tense and as difficult +as work (since relaxing has become impossible), and in the end a +disappearance of the stock through sterility. It is not only work that +is poisoned by the philosophy of competition; leisure is poisoned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> just +as much. The kind of leisure which is quiet and restoring to the nerves +comes to be felt boring. There is bound to be a continual acceleration +of which the natural termination would be drugs and collapse. The cure +for this lies in admitting the part of sane and quiet enjoyment in a +balanced ideal of life.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br> +<span class="subhed">BOREDOM AND EXCITEMENT</span></h2></div> + +<p>Boredom as a factor in human behaviour has received, in my opinion, far +less attention than it deserves. It has been, I believe, one of the +great motive powers throughout the historical epoch, and is so at the +present day more than ever. Boredom would seem to be a distinctively +human emotion. Animals in captivity, it is true, become listless, pace +up and down, and yawn, but in a state of nature I do not believe that +they experience anything analogous to boredom. Most of the time they +are on the look-out for enemies, or food, or both; sometimes they +are mating, sometimes they are trying to keep warm. But even when +they are unhappy, I do not think that they are bored. Possibly the +anthropoid apes may resemble us in this respect, as in so many others, +but having never lived with them I have not had the opportunity to +make the experiment. One of the essentials of boredom consist in the +contrast between present circumstances and some other more agreeable +circumstances which force themselves irresistibly upon the imagination. +It is also one of the essentials of boredom that one’s faculties must +not be fully occupied. Running away from enemies who are trying to +take one’s life is, I imagine, unpleasant, but certainly not boring. +A man would not feel bored while he was being executed, unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> he +had almost superhuman courage. In like manner no one has ever yawned +during his maiden speech in the House of Lords, with the exception of +the late Duke of Devonshire, who was reverenced by their Lordships in +consequence. Boredom is essentially a thwarted desire for events, not +necessarily pleasant ones, but just occurrences such as will enable the +victim of <i>ennui</i> to know one day from another. The opposite of +boredom, in a word, is not pleasure, but excitement.</p> + +<p>The desire for excitement is very deep-seated in human beings, +especially in males. I suppose that in the hunting stage it was more +easily gratified than it has been since. The chase was exciting, +war was exciting, courtship was exciting. A savage will manage to +commit adultery with a woman while her husband is asleep beside her, +knowing that it is instant death if the husband wakes. This situation, +I imagine, is not boring. But with the coming of agriculture life +began to grow dull, except, of course, for the aristocrats, who +remained, and still remain, in the hunting stage. We hear a great +deal about the tedium of machine-minding, but I think the tedium of +agriculture by old-fashioned methods is at least as great. Indeed, +contrary to what most philanthropists maintain, I should say that +the machine age has enormously diminished the sum of boredom in the +world. Among wage-earners the working hours are not solitary, while +the evening hours can be given over to a variety of amusements<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> that +were impossible in an old-fashioned country village. Consider again +the change in lower middle-class life. In old days, after supper, when +the wife and daughters had cleared away the things, everybody sat +round and had what was called “a happy family time”. This meant that +paterfamilias went to sleep, his wife knitted, and the daughters wished +they were dead or at Timbuktu. They were not allowed to read, or to +leave the room, because the theory was that at that period their father +conversed with them, which must be a pleasure to all concerned. With +luck they ultimately married and had a chance to inflict upon their +children a youth as dismal as their own had been. If they did not have +luck, they developed into old maids, perhaps ultimately into decayed +gentlewomen—a fate as horrible as any that savages have bestowed upon +their victims. All this weight of boredom should be borne in mind in +estimating the world of a hundred years ago, and when one goes further +into the past the boredom becomes still worse. Imagine the monotony of +winter in a mediæval village. People could not read or write, they had +only candles to give them light after dark, the smoke of their one fire +filled the only room that was not bitterly cold. Roads were practically +impassable, so that one hardly ever saw anybody from another village. +It must have been boredom as much as anything that led to the practice +of witch hunts as the sole sport by which winter evenings could be +enlivened.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span></p> + +<p>We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of +boredom. We have come to know, or rather to believe, that boredom +is not part of the natural lot of man, but can be avoided by a +sufficiently vigorous pursuit of excitement. Girls nowadays earn +their own living, very largely because this enables them to seek +excitement in the evening and to escape “the happy family time” +that their grandmothers had to endure. Everybody who can lives in a +town; in America, those who cannot, have a car, or at the least a +motor-bicycle, to take them to the movies. And of course they have the +radio in their houses. Young men and young women meet each other with +much less difficulty than was formerly the case, and every housemaid +expects at least once a week as much excitement as would have lasted a +Jane Austen heroine throughout a whole novel. As we rise in the social +scale the pursuit of excitement becomes more and more intense. Those +who can afford it are perpetually moving from place to place, carrying +with them as they go gaiety, dancing and drinking, but for some reason +always expecting to enjoy these more in a new place. Those who have +to earn a living get their share of boredom, of necessity, in working +hours, but those who have enough money to be freed from the need of +work have as their ideal a life completely freed from boredom. It is +a noble ideal, and far be it from me to decry it, but I am afraid +that like other ideals it is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> more difficult of achievement than the +idealists suppose. After all, the mornings are boring in proportion +as the previous evenings were amusing. There will be middle age, +possibly even old age. At twenty men think that life will be over at +thirty. I, at the age of fifty-eight, can no longer take that view. +Perhaps it is as unwise to spend one’s vital capital as one’s financial +capital. Perhaps some element of boredom is a necessary ingredient in +life. A wish to escape from boredom is natural; indeed, all races of +mankind have displayed it as opportunity occurred. When savages have +first tasted liquor at the hands of the white men, they have found at +last an escape from age-old tedium, and, except when the Government +has interfered, they have drunk themselves into a riotous death. +Wars, pogroms, and persecutions have all been part of the flight from +boredom; even quarrels with neighbours have been found better than +nothing. Boredom is therefore a vital problem for the moralist, since +at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it.</p> + +<p>Boredom, however, is not to be regarded as wholly evil. There are two +sorts, of which one is fructifying, while the other is stultifying. The +fructifying kind arises from the absence of drugs, and the stultifying +kind from the absence of vital activities. I am not prepared to say +that drugs can play no good part in life whatsoever. There are moments, +for example, when an opiate will be prescribed by a wise physician,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> +and I think these moments more frequent than prohibitionists suppose. +But the craving for drugs is certainly something which cannot be +left to the unfettered operation of natural impulse. And the kind of +boredom which the person accustomed to drugs experiences when deprived +of them is something for which I can suggest no remedy except time. +Now what applies to drugs applies also, within limits, to every kind +of excitement. A life too full of excitement is an exhausting life, +in which continually stronger stimuli are needed to give the thrill +that has come to be thought an essential part of pleasure. A person +accustomed to too much excitement is like a person with a morbid +craving for pepper, who comes at last to be unable even to taste a +quantity of pepper which would cause anyone else to choke. There is an +element of boredom which is inseparable from the avoidance of too much +excitement, and too much excitement not only undermines the health, but +dulls the palate for every kind of pleasure, substituting titillations +for profound organic satisfactions, cleverness for wisdom, and jagged +surprises for beauty. I do not want to push to extremes the objection +to excitement. A certain amount of it is wholesome, but, like almost +everything else, the matter is quantitative. Too little may produce +morbid cravings, too much will produce exhaustion. A certain power of +enduring boredom is therefore essential to a happy life, and is one of +the things that ought to be taught to the young.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p> + +<p>All great books contain boring portions, and all great lives have +contained uninteresting stretches. Imagine a modern American publisher +confronted with the Old Testament as a new manuscript submitted to him +for the first time. It is not difficult to think what his comments +would be, for example, on the genealogies. “My dear sir,” he would say, +“this chapter lacks pep; you can’t expect your reader to be interested +in a mere string of proper names of persons about whom you tell him so +little. You have begun your story, I will admit, in fine style, and at +first I was very favourably impressed, but you have altogether too much +wish to tell it all. Pick out the high lights, take out the superfluous +matter, and bring me back your manuscript when you have reduced it to +a reasonable length.” So the modern publisher would speak, knowing the +modern reader’s fear of boredom. He would say the same sort of thing +about the Confucian classics, the Koran, Marx’s <i>Capital</i>, and all +the other sacred books which have proved to be best sellers. Nor does +this apply only to sacred books. All the best novels contain boring +passages. A novel which sparkles from the first page to the last is +pretty sure not to be a great book. Nor have the lives of great men +been exciting except at a few great moments. Socrates could enjoy a +banquet now and again, and must have derived considerable satisfaction +from his conversations while the hemlock was taking effect, but most +of his life he lived quietly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> with Xanthippe, taking a constitutional +in the afternoon, and perhaps meeting a few friends by the way. Kant +is said never to have been more than ten miles from Königsberg in all +his life. Darwin, after going round the world, spent the whole of +the rest of his life in his own house. Marx, after stirring up a few +revolutions, decided to spend the remainder of his days in the British +Museum. Altogether it will be found that a quiet life is characteristic +of great men, and that their pleasures have not been of the sort +that would look exciting to the outward eye. No great achievement is +possible without persistent work, so absorbing and so difficult that +little energy is left over for the more strenuous kinds of amusement, +except such as serve to recuperate physical energy during holidays, of +which Alpine climbing may serve as the best example.</p> + +<p>The capacity to endure a more or less monotonous life is one which +should be acquired in childhood. Modern parents are greatly to blame +in this respect; they provide their children with far too many passive +amusements, such as shows and good things to eat, and they do not +realize the importance to a child of having one day like another, +except, of course, for somewhat rare occasions. The pleasures of +childhood should in the main be such as the child extracts himself from +his environment by means of some effort and inventiveness. Pleasures +which are exciting and at the same time involve no physical exertion, +such, for example, as the theatre, should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> occur very rarely. The +excitement is in the nature of a drug, of which more and more will come +to be required, and the physical passivity during the excitement is +contrary to instinct. A child develops best when, like a young plant, +he is left undisturbed in the same soil. Too much travel, too much +variety of impressions, are not good for the young, and cause them +as they grow up to become incapable of enduring fruitful monotony. +I do not mean that monotony has any merits of its own; I mean only +that certain good things are not possible except where there is a +certain degree of monotony. Take, say, Wordsworth’s <i>Prelude</i>. +It will be obvious to every reader that whatever had any value in +Wordsworth’s thoughts and feelings would have been impossible to a +sophisticated urban youth. A boy or young man who has some serious +constructive purpose will endure voluntarily a great deal of boredom +if he finds that it is necessary by the way. But constructive purposes +do not easily form themselves in a boy’s mind if he is living a life +of distractions and dissipations, for in that case his thoughts will +always be directed towards the next pleasure rather than towards the +distant achievement. For all these reasons a generation that cannot +endure boredom will be a generation of little men, of men unduly +divorced from the slow processes of nature, of men in whom every vital +impulse slowly withers, as though they were cut flowers in a vase.</p> + +<p>I do not like mystical language, and yet I hardly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> know how to express +what I mean without employing phrases that sound poetic rather than +scientific. Whatever we may wish to think, we are creatures of Earth; +our life is part of the life of the Earth, and we draw our nourishment +from it just as the plants and animals do. The rhythm of Earth life is +slow; autumn and winter are as essential to it as spring and summer, +and rest is as essential as motion. To the child, even more than to +the man, it is necessary to preserve some contact with the ebb and +flow of terrestrial life. The human body has been adapted through the +ages to this rhythm, and religion has embodied something of it in the +festival of Easter. I have seen a boy of two years old, who had been +kept in London, taken out for the first time to walk in green country. +The season was winter, and everything was wet and muddy. To the adult +eye there was nothing to cause delight, but in the boy there sprang +up a strange ecstasy; he kneeled in the wet ground and put his face +in the grass, and gave utterance to half-articulate cries of delight. +The joy that he was experiencing was primitive, simple and massive. +The organic need that was being satisfied is so profound that those +in whom it is starved are seldom completely sane. Many pleasures, of +which we may take gambling as a good example, have in them no element +of this contact with Earth. Such pleasures, in the instant when they +cease, leave a man feeling dusty and dissatisfied, hungry for he +knows not what. Such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> pleasures bring nothing that can be called joy. +Those, on the other hand, that bring us into contact with the life +of the Earth have something in them profoundly satisfying; when they +cease, the happiness that they have brought remains, although their +intensity while they existed may have been less than that of more +exciting dissipations. The distinction that I have in mind runs through +the whole gamut from the simplest to the most civilized occupations. +The two-year-old boy whom I spoke of a moment ago displayed the most +primitive possible form of union with the life of Earth. But in a +higher form the same thing is to be found in poetry. What makes +Shakespeare’s lyrics supreme is that they are filled with this same joy +that made the two-year-old embrace the grass. Consider “Hark, hark, the +lark”, or “Come unto these yellow sands”; you will find in these poems +the civilized expression of the same emotion that in our two-year-old +could only find utterance in inarticulate cries. Or, again, consider +the difference between love and mere sex attraction. Love is an +experience in which our whole being is renewed and refreshed as is that +of plants by rain after drought. In sex intercourse without love there +is nothing of this. When the momentary pleasure is ended, there is +fatigue, disgust, and a sense that life is hollow. Love is part of the +life of Earth; sex without love is not.</p> + +<p>The special kind of boredom from which modern urban populations suffer +is intimately bound up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> with their separation from the life of Earth. +It makes life hot and dusty and thirsty, like a pilgrimage in the +desert. Among those who are rich enough to choose their way of life, +the particular brand of unendurable boredom from which they suffer is +due, paradoxical as this may seem, to their fear of boredom. In flying +from the fructifying kind of boredom, they fall a prey to the other far +worse kind. A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it +is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V<br> +<span class="subhed">FATIGUE</span></h2></div> + +<p>Fatigue is of many sorts, some of which are a much graver obstacle to +happiness than others. Purely physical fatigue, provided it is not +excessive, tends if anything to be a cause of happiness; it leads to +sound sleep and a good appetite, and gives zest to the pleasures that +are possible on holidays. But when it is excessive it becomes a very +grave evil. Peasant women in all but the most advanced communities are +old at thirty, worn out with excessive toil. Children in the early days +of industrialism were stunted in their growth and frequently killed +by overwork in early years. The same thing still happens in China and +Japan, where industrialism is new; to some extent also in the Southern +States of America. Physical labour carried beyond a certain point is +atrocious torture, and it has very frequently been carried so far as to +make life all but unbearable. In the most advanced parts of the modern +world, however, physical fatigue has been much minimized through the +improvement of industrial conditions. The kind of fatigue that is most +serious in the present day in advanced communities is nervous fatigue. +This kind, oddly enough, is most pronounced among the well-to-do, and +tends to be much less among wage-earners than it is among business men +and brain-workers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span></p> + +<p>To escape from nervous fatigue in modern life is a very difficult +thing. In the first place, all through working hours, and still more in +the time spent between work and home, the urban worker is exposed to +noise, most of which, it is true, he learns not to hear consciously, +but which none the less wears him out, all the more owing to the +subconscious effort involved in not hearing it. Another thing which +causes fatigue without our being aware of it is the constant presence +of strangers. The natural instinct of man, as of other animals, is to +investigate every stranger of his species, with a view to deciding +whether to behave to him in a friendly or hostile manner. This instinct +has to be inhibited by those who travel in the underground in the rush +hour, and the result of inhibiting it is that they feel a general +diffused rage against all the strangers with whom they are brought +into this involuntary contact. Then there is the hurry to catch the +morning train, with the resulting dyspepsia. Consequently, by the time +the office is reached and the day’s work begins, the black-coated +worker already has frayed nerves and a tendency to view the human race +as a nuisance. His employer, arriving in the same mood, does nothing +to dissipate it in the employee. Fear of the sack compels respectful +behaviour, but this unnatural conduct only adds to the nervous strain. +If once a week employees were allowed to pull the employer’s nose +and otherwise indicate what they thought of him, the nervous tension +for them would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> be relieved, but for the employer, who also has his +troubles, this would not mend matters. What the fear of dismissal is +to the employee, the fear of bankruptcy is to the employer. Some, +it is true, are big enough to be above this fear, but to reach a +great position of this kind they have generally had to pass through +years of strenuous struggle, during which they had to be actively +aware of events in all parts of the world and constantly foiling the +machinations of their competitors. The result of all this is that when +sound success comes a man is already a nervous wreck, so accustomed to +anxiety that he cannot shake off the habit of it when the need for it +is past. There are, it is true, rich men’s sons, but they generally +succeed in manufacturing for themselves anxieties as similar as +possible to those that they would have suffered if they had not been +born rich. By betting and gambling, they incur the displeasure of their +fathers; by cutting short their sleep for the sake of their amusements, +they debilitate their physique; and by the time they settle down, they +have become as incapable of happiness as their fathers were before +them. Voluntarily or involuntarily, of choice or of necessity, most +moderns lead a nerve-racking life, and are continually too tired to be +capable of enjoyment without the help of alcohol.</p> + +<p>Leaving on one side those rich men who are merely fools, let us +consider the commoner case of those whose fatigue is associated with +strenuous work for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> a living. To a great extent fatigue in such cases +is due to worry, and worry could be prevented by a better philosophy +of life and a little more mental discipline. Most men and women are +very deficient in control over their thoughts. I mean by this that they +cannot cease to think about worrying topics at times when no action +can be taken in regard to them. Men take their business worries to bed +with them, and in the hours of the night, when they should be gaining +fresh strength to cope with to-morrow’s troubles, they are going over +and over again in their minds problems about which at the moment +they can do nothing, thinking about them, not in a way to produce a +sound line of conduct on the morrow, but in that half-insane way that +characterizes the troubled meditations of insomnia. Something of the +midnight madness still clings about them in the morning, clouding their +judgment, spoiling their temper, and making every obstacle infuriating. +The wise man thinks about his troubles only when there is some purpose +in doing so; at other times he thinks about other things, or, if it is +night, about nothing at all. I do not mean to suggest that at a great +crisis, for example, when ruin is imminent, or when a man has reason +to suspect that his wife is deceiving him, it is possible, except to a +few exceptionally disciplined minds, to shut out the trouble at moments +when nothing can be done about it. But it is quite possible to shut out +the ordinary troubles of ordinary days, except while they have to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> be +dealt with. It is amazing how much both happiness and efficiency can +be increased by the cultivation of an orderly mind, which thinks about +a matter adequately at the right time rather than inadequately at all +times. When a difficult or worrying decision has to be reached, as soon +as all the data are available give the matter your best thought and +make your decision; having made the decision, do not revise it unless +some new fact comes to your knowledge. Nothing is so exhausting as +indecision, and nothing is so futile.</p> + +<p>A great many worries can be diminished by realizing the unimportance +of the matter which is causing the anxiety. I have done in my time +a considerable amount of public speaking; at first every audience +terrified me, and nervousness made me speak very badly; I dreaded the +ordeal so much that I always hoped I might break my leg before I had to +make a speech, and when it was over I was exhausted from the nervous +strain. Gradually I taught myself to feel that it did not matter +whether I spoke well or ill, the universe would remain much the same +in either case. I found that the less I cared whether I spoke well +or badly, the less badly I spoke, and gradually the nervous strain +diminished almost to vanishing point. A great deal of nervous fatigue +can be dealt with in this way. Our doings are not so important as we +naturally suppose; our successes and failures do not after all matter +very much. Even great sorrows can be survived; troubles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> which seem as +if they must put an end to happiness for life fade with the lapse of +time until it becomes almost impossible to remember their poignancy. +But over and above these self-centred considerations is the fact that +one’s ego is no very large part of the world. The man who can centre +his thoughts and hopes upon something transcending self can find a +certain peace in the ordinary troubles of life which is impossible to +the pure egoist.</p> + +<p>What might be called hygiene of the nerves has been much too little +studied. Industrial psychology, it is true, has made elaborate +investigations into fatigue, and has proved by careful statistics +that if you go on doing something for a sufficiently long time you +will ultimately get rather tired—a result which might have been +guessed without so much parade of science. The study of fatigue by +psychologists is mainly concerned with muscular fatigue, although there +are also a certain number of studies of fatigue in school children. +None of these, however, touch upon the important problem. The important +kind of fatigue is always emotional in modern life; purely intellectual +fatigue, like purely muscular fatigue, produces its own remedy in +sleep. Any person who has a great deal of intellectual work devoid of +emotion to do—say, for example, elaborate computations—will sleep off +at the end of each day the fatigue that that day has brought. The harm +that is attributed to overwork is hardly ever due to that cause, but to +some kind of worry or anxiety.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> The trouble with emotional fatigue is +that it interferes with rest. The more tired a man becomes, the more +impossible he finds it to stop. One of the symptoms of approaching +nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important, +and that to take a holiday would bring all kinds of disaster. If I +were a medical man, I should prescribe a holiday to any patient who +considered his work important. The nervous break-down which appears to +be produced by the work is, in fact, in every case that I have ever +known of personally, produced by some emotional trouble from which the +patient attempts to escape by means of his work. He is loath to give +up his work because, if he does so, he will no longer have anything +to distract him from the thoughts of his misfortune, whatever it may +be. Of course, the trouble may be fear of bankruptcy, and in that case +his work is directly connected with his worry, but even then worry is +likely to lead him to work so long that his judgment becomes clouded +and bankruptcy comes sooner than if he worked less. In every case it is +the emotional trouble, not the work, that causes the breakdown.</p> + +<p>The psychology of worry is by no means simple. I have spoken already of +mental discipline, namely the habit of thinking of things at the right +time. This has its importance, first because it makes it possible to +get through the day’s work with less expenditure of thought, secondly +because it affords a cure for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> insomnia, and thirdly because it +promotes efficiency and wisdom in decisions. But methods of this kind +do not touch the subconscious or the unconscious, and when a trouble is +grave no method is of much avail unless it penetrates below the level +of consciousness. There has been a great deal of study by psychologists +of the operation of the unconscious upon the conscious, but much less +of the operation of the conscious upon the unconscious. Yet the latter +is of vast importance in the subject of mental hygiene, and must be +understood if rational convictions are ever to operate in the realm of +the unconscious. This applies in particular in the matter of worry. It +is easy enough to tell oneself that such and such a misfortune would +not be so very terrible if it happened, but so long as this remains +merely a conscious conviction it will not operate in the watches of the +night, or prevent the occurrence of nightmares. My own belief is that a +conscious thought can be planted into the unconscious if a sufficient +amount of vigour and intensity is put into it. Most of the unconscious +consists of what were once highly emotional conscious thoughts, which +have now become buried. It is possible to do this process of burying +deliberately, and in this way the unconscious can be led to do a lot of +useful work. I have found, for example, that if I have to write upon +some rather difficult topic the best plan is to think about it with +very great intensity—the greatest intensity of which I am capable—for +a few hours or days,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> and at the end of that time give orders, so to +speak, that the work is to proceed underground. After some months I +return consciously to the topic and find that the work has been done. +Before I had discovered this technique, I used to spend the intervening +months worrying because I was making no progress; I arrived at the +solution none the sooner for this worry, and the intervening months +were wasted, whereas now I can devote them to other pursuits. A process +in many ways analogous can be adopted with regard to anxieties. When +some misfortune threatens, consider seriously and deliberately what is +the very worst that could possibly happen. Having looked this possible +misfortune in the face, give yourself sound reasons for thinking that +after all it would be no such very terrible disaster. Such reasons +always exist, since at the worst nothing that happens to oneself has +any cosmic importance. When you have looked for some time steadily at +the worst possibility and have said to yourself with real conviction, +“Well, after all, that would not matter so very much”, you will find +that your worry diminishes to a quite extraordinary extent. It may be +necessary to repeat the process a few times, but in the end, if you +have shirked nothing in facing the worst possible issue, you will find +that your worry disappears altogether, and is replaced by a kind of +exhilaration.</p> + +<p>This is part of a more general technique for the avoidance of fear. +Worry is a form of fear, and all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> forms of fear produce fatigue. A man +who has learnt not to feel fear will find the fatigue of daily life +enormously diminished. Now fear, in its most harmful form, arises where +there is some danger which we are unwilling to face. At odd moments +horrible thoughts dart into our minds; what they are depends upon +the person, but almost everybody has some kind of lurking fear. With +one man it is cancer, with another financial ruin, with a third the +discovery of some disgraceful secret, a fourth is tormented by jealous +suspicions, a fifth is haunted at night by the thought that perhaps the +tales of hell-fire told him when he was young may be true. Probably all +these people employ the wrong technique for dealing with their fear; +whenever it comes into their mind, they try to think of something else; +they distract their thoughts with amusement or work, or what not. Now +every kind of fear grows worse by not being looked at. The effort of +turning away one’s thoughts is a tribute to the horribleness of the +spectre from which one is averting one’s gaze; the proper course with +every kind of fear is to think about it rationally and calmly, but with +great concentration, until it has become completely familiar. In the +end familiarity will blunt its terrors; the whole subject will become +boring, and our thoughts will turn away from it, not, as formerly, by +an effort of will, but through mere lack of interest in the topic. When +you find yourself inclined to brood on anything, no matter what, the +best plan<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> always is to think about it even more than you naturally +would, until at last its morbid fascination is worn off.</p> + +<p>One of the matters in which modern morality is most defective is this +question of fear. It is true that physical courage, especially in +war, is expected of men, but other forms of courage are not expected +of them, and no form of courage is expected of women. A woman who is +courageous has to conceal the fact if she wishes men to like her. +The man who is courageous in any matter except physical danger is +also thought ill of. Indifference to public opinion, for example, is +regarded as a challenge, and the public does what it can to punish +the man who dares to flout its authority. All this is quite opposite +to what it should be. Every form of courage, whether in men or women, +should be admired as much as physical courage is admired in a soldier. +The commonness of physical courage among young men is a proof that +courage can be produced in response to a public opinion that demands +it. Given more courage there would be less worry, and therefore less +fatigue; for a very large proportion of the nervous fatigues from +which men and women suffer at present are due to fears, conscious or +unconscious.</p> + +<p>A very frequent source of fatigue is love of excitement. If a man could +spend his leisure in sleep, he would keep fit, but his working hours +are dreary, and he feels the need of pleasure during his hours of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> +freedom. The trouble is that the pleasures which are easiest to obtain +and most superficially attractive are mostly of a sort to wear out the +nerves. Desire for excitement, when it goes beyond a point, is a sign +either of a twisted disposition or of some instinctive dissatisfaction. +In the early days of a happy marriage most men feel no need of +excitement, but in the modern world marriage often has to be postponed +for such a long time that when at last it becomes financially possible +excitement has become a habit which can only be kept at bay for a short +time. If public opinion allowed men to marry at twenty-one without +incurring the financial burdens at present involved in matrimony, many +men would never get into the way of demanding pleasures as fatiguing +as their work. To suggest that this should be made possible is, +however, immoral, as may be seen from the fate of Judge Lindsey, who +has suffered obloquy, in spite of a long and honourable career, for the +sole crime of wishing to save young people from the misfortunes that +they incur as a result of their elders’ bigotry. I shall not, however, +pursue this topic any further at present, since it comes under the +heading of Envy, with which we shall be concerned in a later chapter.</p> + +<p>For the private individual, who cannot alter the laws and institutions +under which he lives, it is difficult to cope with the situation that +oppressive moralists created and perpetuate. It is, however, worth +while to realize that exciting pleasures are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> not a road to happiness, +although so long as more satisfying joys remain unattainable a man +may find it hardly possible to endure life except by the help of +excitement. In such a situation the only thing that a prudent man +can do is to ration himself, and not to allow himself such an amount +of fatiguing pleasure as will undermine his health or interfere with +his work. The radical cure for the troubles of the young lies in a +change of public morals. In the meantime a young man does well to +reflect that he will ultimately be in a position to marry, and that he +will be unwise if he lives in such a way as to make a happy marriage +impossible, which may easily happen through frayed nerves and an +acquired incapacity for the gentler pleasures.</p> + +<p>One of the worst features of nervous fatigue is that it acts as a +sort of screen between a man and the outside world. Impressions reach +him, as it were, muffled and muted; he no longer notices people +except to be irritated by small tricks or mannerisms; he derives no +pleasure from his meals or from the sunshine, but tends to become +tensely concentrated upon a few objects and indifferent to all the +rest. This state of affairs makes it impossible to rest, so that +fatigue continually increases until it reaches a point where medical +treatment is required. All this is at bottom a penalty for having lost +that contact with Earth of which we spoke in the preceding chapter. +But how such contact is to be preserved in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> our great modern urban +agglomerations of population, it is by no means easy to see. However, +here again we find ourselves upon the fringe of large social questions +with which in this volume it is not my intention to deal.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br> +<span class="subhed">ENVY</span></h2></div> + +<p>Next to worry probably one of the most potent causes of unhappiness is +envy. Envy is, I should say, one of the most universal and deep-seated +of human passions. It is very noticeable in children before they are a +year old, and has to be treated with the most tender respect by every +educator. The very slightest appearance of favouring one child at the +expense of another is instantly observed and resented. Distributive +justice, absolute, rigid, and unvarying, must be observed by anyone who +has children to deal with. But children are only slightly more open in +their expressions of envy, and of jealousy (which is a special form of +envy), than are grown-up people. The emotion is just as prevalent among +adults as among children. Take, for example, maid-servants: I remember +when one of our maids, who was a married woman, became pregnant, and +we said that she was not to be expected to lift heavy weights, the +instant result was that none of the others would lift heavy weights, +and any work of that sort that needed doing we had to do ourselves. +Envy is the basis of democracy. Heraclitus asserts that the citizens +of Ephesus ought all to be hanged because they said, “There shall be +none first among us”. The democratic movement in Greek States must have +been almost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> wholly inspired by this passion. And the same is true of +modern democracy. There is, it is true, an idealistic theory according +to which democracy is the best form of government. I think myself that +this theory is true. But there is no department of practical politics +where idealistic theories are strong enough to cause great changes; +when great changes occur, the theories which justify them are always a +camouflage for passion. And the passion that has given driving force +to democratic theories is undoubtedly, the passion of envy. Read the +memoirs of Madame Roland, who is frequently represented as a noble +woman inspired by devotion to the people. You will find that what made +her such a vehement democrat was the experience of being shown into the +servants’ hall when she had occasion to visit an aristocratic château.</p> + +<p>Among average respectable women envy plays an extraordinarily large +part. If you are sitting in the Underground and a well-dressed woman +happens to walk along the car, watch the eyes of the other women. You +will see that every one of them, with the possible exception of those +who are even better dressed, will watch the woman with malevolent +glances, and will be struggling to draw inferences derogatory to her. +The love of scandal is an expression of this general malevolence: +any story against another woman is instantly believed, even on the +flimsiest evidence. A lofty morality serves the same purpose: those +who have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> a chance to sin against it are envied, and it is considered +virtuous to punish them for their sins. This particular form of virtue +is certainly its own reward.</p> + +<p>Exactly the same thing, however, is to be observed among men, except +that women regard all other women as their competitors, whereas +men as a rule only have this feeling towards other men in the same +profession. Have you, reader, ever been so imprudent as to praise an +artist to another artist? Have you ever praised a politician to another +politician of the same party? Have you ever praised an Egyptologist +to another Egyptologist? If you have, it is a hundred to one that you +will have produced an explosion of jealousy. In the correspondence +of Leibniz and Huyghens there are a number of letters lamenting the +supposed fact that Newton had become insane. “Is it not sad”, they +write to each other, “that the incomparable genius of Mr. Newton should +have become overclouded by the loss of reason?” And these two eminent +men, in one letter after another, wept crocodile tears with obvious +relish. As a matter of fact, the event which they were hypocritically +lamenting had not taken place, though a few examples of eccentric +behaviour had given rise to the rumour.</p> + +<p>Of all the characteristics of ordinary human nature envy is the +most unfortunate; not only does the envious person wish to inflict +misfortune and do so whenever he can with impunity, but he is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> also +himself rendered unhappy by envy. Instead of deriving pleasure from +what he has, he derives pain from what others have. If he can, he +deprives others of their advantages, which to him is as desirable as +it would be to secure the same advantages himself. If this passion is +allowed to run riot it becomes fatal to all excellence, and even to the +most useful exercise of exceptional skill. Why should a medical man go +to see his patients in a car when the labourer has to walk to his work? +Why should the scientific investigator be allowed to spend his time in +a warm room when others have to face the inclemency of the elements? +Why should a man who possesses some rare talent of great importance to +the world be saved from the drudgery of his own house-work? To such +questions envy finds no answer. Fortunately, however, there is in human +nature a compensating passion, namely that of admiration. Whoever +wishes to increase human happiness must wish to increase admiration and +to diminish envy.</p> + +<p>What cure is there for envy? For the saint there is the cure of +selflessness, though even in the case of saints envy of other saints +is by no means impossible. I doubt whether St. Simeon Stylites would +have been wholly pleased if he had learnt of some other saint who had +stood even longer on an even narrower pillar. But, leaving saints +out of account, the only cure for envy in the case of ordinary men +and women is happiness, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> difficulty is that envy is itself a +terrible obstacle to happiness. I think envy is immensely promoted +by misfortunes in childhood. The child who finds a brother or sister +preferred before himself acquires the habit of envy, and when he goes +out into the world looks for injustices of which he is the victim, +perceives them at once if they occur, and imagines them if they do +not. Such a man is inevitably unhappy, and becomes a nuisance to his +friends, who cannot be always remembering to avoid imaginary slights. +Having begun by believing that no one likes him, he at last by his +behaviour makes his belief true. Another misfortune in childhood which +has the same result is to have parents without much parental feeling. +Without having an unduly favoured brother or sister, a child may +perceive that the children in other families are more loved by their +mother and father than he is. This will cause him to hate the other +children and his own parents, and when he grows up he will feel himself +an Ishmael. Some kinds of happiness are everyone’s natural birthright, +and to be deprived of them is almost inevitably to become warped and +embittered.</p> + +<p>But the envious man may say: “What is the good of telling me that the +cure for envy is happiness? I cannot find happiness while I continue +to feel envy, and you tell me that I cannot cease to be envious until +I find happiness.” But real life is never so logical as this. Merely +to realize<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> the causes of one’s own envious feelings is to take a long +step towards curing them. The habit of thinking in terms of comparisons +is a fatal one. When anything pleasant occurs it should be enjoyed +to the full, without stopping to think that it is not so pleasant as +something else that may possibly be happening to someone else. “Yes,” +says the envious man, “this is a sunny day, and it is springtime, and +the birds are singing, and the flowers are in bloom, but I understand +that the springtime in Sicily is a thousand times more beautiful, that +the birds sing more exquisitely in the groves of Helicon, and that +the rose of Sharon is more lovely than any in my garden.” And as he +thinks these thoughts the sun is dimmed, and the birds’ song becomes +a meaningless twitter, and the flowers seem not worth a moment’s +regard. All the other joys of life he treats in the same way. “Yes,” +he will say to himself, “the lady of my heart is lovely, I love her +and she loves me, but how much more exquisite must have been the Queen +of Sheba! Ah, if I had but had Solomon’s opportunities!” All such +comparisons are pointless and foolish; whether the Queen of Sheba or +our next-door neighbour be the cause of discontent, either is equally +futile. With the wise man, what he has does not cease to be enjoyable +because someone else has something else. Envy, in fact, is one form of +a vice, partly moral, partly intellectual, which consists in seeing +things never in themselves, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> only in their relations. I am earning, +let us say, a salary sufficient for my needs. I should be content, but +I hear that someone else whom I believe to be in no way my superior +is earning a salary twice as great as mine. Instantly, if I am of an +envious disposition, the satisfactions to be derived from what I have +grow dim, and I begin to be eaten up with a sense of injustice. For all +this the proper cure is mental discipline, the habit of not thinking +profitless thoughts. After all, what is more enviable than happiness? +And if I can cure myself of envy I can acquire happiness and become +enviable. The man who has double my salary is doubtless tortured by the +thought that someone else in turn has twice as much as he has, and so +it goes on. If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon. But Napoleon +envied Cæsar, Cæsar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay, envied +Hercules, who never existed. You cannot, therefore, get away from envy +by means of success alone, for there will always be in history or +legend some person even more successful than you are. You can get away +from envy by enjoying the pleasures that come your way, by doing the +work that you have to do, and by avoiding comparisons with those whom +you imagine, perhaps quite falsely, to be more fortunate than yourself.</p> + +<p>Unnecessary modesty has a great deal to do with envy. Modesty is +considered a virtue, but for my part I am very doubtful whether, in +its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> more extreme forms, it deserves to be so regarded. Modest people +need a great deal of reassuring, and often do not dare to attempt tasks +which they are quite capable of performing. Modest people believe +themselves to be outshone by those with whom they habitually associate. +They are therefore particularly prone to envy, and, through envy, to +unhappiness and illwill. For my part, I think there is much to be +said for bringing up a boy to think himself a fine fellow. I do not +believe that any peacock envies another peacock his tail, because every +peacock is persuaded that his own tail is the finest in the world. The +consequence of this is that peacocks are peaceable birds. Imagine how +unhappy the life of a peacock would be if he had been taught that it +is wicked to have a good opinion of oneself. Whenever he saw another +peacock spreading out his tail, he would say to himself: “I must not +imagine that my tail is better than that, for that would be conceited, +but oh, how I wish it were! That odious bird is so convinced of his own +magnificence! Shall I pull out some of his feathers? And then perhaps +I need no longer fear comparison with him.” Or perhaps he would lay +a trap for him, and prove that he was a wicked peacock who had been +guilty of unpeacockly behaviour, and he would denounce him to the +assembly of the leaders. Gradually he would establish the principle +that peacocks with specially fine tails are almost always wicked, and +that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> wise ruler in the peacock kingdom would seek out the humble +bird with only a few draggled tail feathers. Having got this principle +accepted, he would get all the finest birds put to death, and in the +end a really splendid tail will become only a dim memory of the past. +Such is the victory of envy masquerading as morality. But where every +peacock thinks himself more splendid than any of the others, there is +no need for all this repression. Each peacock expects to win the first +prize in the competition, and each, because he values his own peahen, +believes that he has done so.</p> + +<p>Envy is, of course, closely connected with competition. We do not envy +a good fortune which we conceive as quite hopelessly out of our reach. +In an age when the social hierarchy is fixed, the lowest classes do not +envy the upper classes so long as the division between rich and poor is +thought to be ordained by God. Beggars do not envy millionaires, though +of course they will envy other beggars who are more successful. The +instability of social status in the modern world, and the equalitarian +doctrines of democracy and socialism, have greatly extended the range +of envy. For the moment this is an evil, but it is an evil which must +be endured in order to arrive at a more just social system. As soon +as inequalities are thought about rationally they are seen to be +unjust unless they rest upon some superiority of merit. And as soon +as they are seen to be unjust, there is no remedy for the resulting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> +envy except the removal of the injustice. Our age is therefore one in +which envy plays a peculiarly large part. The poor envy the rich, the +poorer nations envy the richer nations, women envy men, virtuous women +envy those who, though not virtuous, remain unpunished. While it is +true that envy is the chief motive force leading to justice as between +different classes, different nations, and different sexes, it is at +the same time true that the kind of justice to be expected as a result +of envy is likely to be the worst possible kind, namely that which +consists rather in diminishing the pleasures of the fortunate than +in increasing those of the unfortunate. Passions which work havoc in +private life work havoc in public life also. It is not to be supposed +that out of something as evil as envy good results will flow. Those, +therefore, who from idealistic reasons desire profound changes in our +social system, and a great increase of social justice, must hope that +other forces than envy will be instrumental in bringing the changes +about.</p> + +<p>All bad things are interconnected, and any one of them is liable to be +the cause of any other; more particularly fatigue is a very frequent +cause of envy. When a man feels inadequate to the work he has to do, +he feels a general discontent which is exceedingly liable to take the +form of envy towards those whose work is less exacting. One of the ways +of diminishing envy, therefore, is to diminish fatigue. But by far +the most important thing is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> to secure a life which is satisfying to +instinct. Much envy that seems purely professional really has a sexual +source. A man who is happy in his marriage and his children is not +likely to feel much envy of other men because of their greater wealth +or success, so long as he has enough to bring up his children in what +he feels to be the right way. The essentials of human happiness are +simple, so simple that sophisticated people cannot bring themselves to +admit what it is they really lack. The women we spoke of earlier who +look with envy on every well-dressed woman are, one may be sure, not +happy in their instinctive life. Instinctive happiness is rare in the +English-speaking world, especially among women. Civilization in this +respect appears to have gone astray. If there is to be less envy, means +must be found for remedying this state of affairs, and if no such means +are found our civilization is in danger of going down to destruction +in an orgy of hatred. In old days people only envied their neighbours, +because they knew little about anyone else. Now through education +and the Press they know much in an abstract way about large classes +of mankind of whom no single individual is among their acquaintance. +Through the movies they think they know how the rich live, through +the newspapers they know much of the wickedness of foreign nations, +through propaganda they know of the nefarious practices of all whose +skin has a pigmentation different from their own. Yellows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> hate whites, +whites hate blacks, and so on. All this hatred, you may say, is stirred +up by propaganda, but this is a somewhat shallow explanation. Why is +propaganda so much more successful when it stirs up hatred than when it +tries to stir up friendly feeling? The reason is clearly that the human +heart as modern civilization has made it is more prone to hatred than +to friendship. And it is prone to hatred because it is dissatisfied, +because it feels deeply, perhaps even unconsciously, that it has +somehow missed the meaning of life, that perhaps others, but not we +ourselves, have secured the good things which nature offers for man’s +enjoyment. The positive sum of pleasures in a modern man’s life is +undoubtedly greater than was to be found in more primitive communities, +but the consciousness of what might be has increased even more. +Whenever you happen to take your children to the Zoo you may observe in +the eyes of the apes, when they are not performing gymnastic feats or +cracking nuts, a strange strained sadness. One can almost imagine that +they feel they ought to become men, but cannot discover the secret of +how to do it. On the road of evolution they have lost their way; their +cousins marched on and they were left behind. Something of the same +strain and anguish seems to have entered the soul of civilized man. He +knows there is something better than himself almost within his grasp, +yet he does not know where to seek it or how to find it. In despair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> he +rages against his fellow man, who is equally lost and equally unhappy. +We have reached a stage in evolution which is not the final stage. We +must pass through it quickly, for if we do not, most of us will perish +by the way, and the others will be lost in a forest of doubt and fear. +Envy therefore, evil as it is, and terrible as are its effects, is not +wholly of the devil. It is in part the expression of an heroic pain, +the pain of those who walk through the night blindly, perhaps to a +better resting-place, perhaps only to death and destruction. To find +the right road out of this despair civilized man must enlarge his heart +as he has enlarged his mind. He must learn to transcend self, and in so +doing to acquire the freedom of the Universe.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br> +<span class="subhed">THE SENSE OF SIN</span></h2></div> + +<p>Concerning the sense of sin we have already in Chapter I had occasion +to say something, but we must now go into it more fully, since it is +one of the most important of the underlying psychological causes of +unhappiness in adult life.</p> + +<p>There is a traditional religious psychology of sin which no modern +psychologist can accept. It was supposed, especially by Protestants, +that conscience reveals to every man when an act to which he is tempted +is sinful, and that after committing such an act he may experience +either of two painful feelings, one called remorse, in which there is +no merit, and the other called repentance, which is capable of wiping +out his guilt. In Protestant countries even many of those who lost +their faith continued for a time to accept with greater or smaller +modifications the orthodox view of sin. In our own day, partly owing to +psycho-analysis, we have the opposite state of affairs: not only do the +unorthodox reject the old doctrine of sin, but many of those who still +consider themselves orthodox do so likewise. Conscience has ceased to +be something mysterious which, because it was mysterious, could be +regarded as the voice of God. We know that conscience enjoins different +acts in different parts of the world, and that broadly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> speaking it +is everywhere in agreement with tribal custom. What, then, is really +happening when a man’s conscience pricks him?</p> + +<p>The word “conscience” covers, as a matter of fact, several different +feelings; the simplest of these is the fear of being found out. You, +reader, have, I am sure, lived a completely blameless life, but if +you will ask someone who has at some time acted in a manner for which +he would be punished if it became known, you will find that, when +discovery seemed imminent, the person in question repented of his +crime. I do not say that this would apply to the professional thief who +expects a certain amount of prison as a trade risk, but it applies to +what may be called the respectable offender, such as the Bank Manager +who has embezzled in a moment of stress, or the clergyman who has been +tempted by passion into some sensual irregularity. Such men can forget +their crime when there seems little chance of detection, but when they +are found out, or in grave danger of being so, they wish they had +been more virtuous, and this wish may give them a lively sense of the +enormity of their sin. Closely allied with this feeling is the fear +of becoming an outcast from the herd. A man who cheats at cards or +fails to pay his debts of honour has nothing within himself by which +to stand up against the disapproval of the herd when he is found out. +In this he is unlike the religious innovator, the anarchist, and the +revolutionary, who all feel that, whatever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> may be their fate in the +present, the future is with them and will honour them as much as they +are execrated in the present. These men, in spite of the hostility of +the herd, do not feel sinful, but the man who entirely accepts the +morality of the herd while acting against it suffers great unhappiness +when he loses caste, and the fear of this disaster, or the pain of +it when it has happened, may easily cause him to regard his acts +themselves as sinful.</p> + +<p>But the sense of sin in its most important forms is something which +goes deeper. It is something which has its roots in the unconscious, +and does not appear in consciousness as fear of other people’s +disapproval. In consciousness certain kinds of acts are labelled Sin +for no reason visible to introspection. When a man commits these acts +he feels uncomfortable without quite knowing why. He wishes he were the +kind of man who could abstain from what he believes to be sin. He gives +moral admiration only to those whom he believes to be pure in heart. +He recognizes with a greater or less degree of regret that it is not +for him to be a saint; indeed, his conception of saintship is probably +one which it is nearly impossible to carry out in an ordinary everyday +life. Consequently he goes through life with a sense of guilt, feeling +that the best is not for him, and that his highest moments are those of +maudlin penitence.</p> + +<p>The source of all this in practically every case is the moral teaching +which the man received<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> before he was six years old at the hands of his +mother or his nurse. He learned before that age that it is wicked to +swear, and not quite nice to use any but the most ladylike language, +that only bad men drink, and that tobacco is incompatible with the +highest virtue. He learned that one should never tell a lie. And above +all he learned that any interest in the sexual parts is an abomination. +He knew these to be the view of his mother, and believed them to be +those of his Creator. To be affectionately treated by his mother, or, +if she was neglectful, by his nurse, was the greatest pleasure of his +life, and was only obtainable when he had not been known to sin against +the moral code. He therefore came to associate something vaguely +awful with any conduct of which his mother or nurse would disapprove. +Gradually as he grew older he forgot where his moral code had come from +and what had originally been the penalty for disobeying it, but he did +not throw off the moral code or cease to feel that something dreadful +was liable to happen to him if he infringed it.</p> + +<p>Now very large parts of this infantile moral teaching are devoid +of all rational foundation and such as cannot be applied to the +ordinary behaviour of ordinary men. A man who uses what is called +“bad language”, for example, is not from a rational point of view any +worse than a man who does not. Nevertheless, practically everybody in +trying to imagine a saint would consider abstinence from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> swearing as +essential. Considered in the light of reason this is simply silly. The +same applies to alcohol and tobacco. With regard to alcohol the feeling +does not exist in Southern countries, and indeed there is an element +of impiety about it, since it is known that Our Lord and the Apostles +drank wine. With regard to tobacco it is easier to maintain a negative +position, since all the greatest saints lived before its use was known. +But here also no rational argument is possible. The view that no saint +would smoke is based in the last analysis upon the view that no saint +would do anything solely because it gave him pleasure. This ascetic +element in ordinary morality has become almost unconscious, but it +operates in all kinds of ways that make our moral code irrational. +In a rational ethic it will be held laudable to give pleasure to +anyone, even to oneself, provided there is no counter-balancing pain +to oneself or to others. The ideally virtuous man, if we had got rid +of asceticism, would be the man who permits the enjoyment of all good +things whenever there is no evil consequence to outweigh the enjoyment. +Take again the question of lying. I do not deny that there is a great +deal too much lying in the world, and that we should all be the better +for an increase of truthfulness, but I do deny, as I think every +rational person must, that lying is in no circumstances justified. I +once in the course of a country walk saw a tired fox at the last stages +of exhaustion still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> forcing himself to run. A few minutes afterwards +I saw the hunt. They asked me if I had seen the fox, and I said I had. +They asked me which way he had gone, and I lied to them. I do not think +I should have been a better man if I had told the truth.</p> + +<p>But it is above all in the realm of sex that early moral teaching does +harm. If a child has been conventionally educated by somewhat stern +parents or nurses, the association between sin and the sex organs +is so firmly established by the time he is six years old that it is +unlikely ever to be completely undone throughout the rest of his +life. This feeling is, of course, reinforced by the Œdipus complex, +since the woman most loved in childhood is one with whom all sexual +freedoms are impossible. The result is that many adult men feel women +to be degraded by sex, and cannot respect their wives unless their +wives hate sexual intercourse. But the man whose wife is cold will be +driven by instinct to seek instinctive satisfaction elsewhere. His +instinctive satisfaction, however, even if he momentarily finds it, +will be poisoned by the sense of guilt, so that he cannot be happy +in any relation with a woman, whether in marriage or outside it. On +the woman’s side the same sort of thing happens if she has been very +emphatically taught to be what is called “pure”. She instinctively +holds herself back in her sexual relations with her husband, and +is afraid of deriving any pleasure from them. In<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> the present day, +however, there is very much less of this on the part of women than +there was fifty years ago. I should say that at present among educated +people the sex life of men is more contorted and more poisoned by the +sense of sin than that of women.</p> + +<p>There is beginning to be widespread awareness, though not of course +on the part of public authorities, of the evils of traditional sex +education in regard to the very young. The right rule is simple: until +a child is nearing the age of puberty teach him or her no sexual +morality whatever, and carefully avoid instilling the idea that there +is anything disgusting in the natural bodily functions. As the time +approaches when it becomes necessary to give moral instruction, be sure +that it is rational, and that at every point you can give good grounds +for what you say. But it is not on education that I wish to speak in +this book. In this book I am concerned rather with what the adult can +do to minimize the evil effects of unwise education in causing an +irrational sense of sin.</p> + +<p>The problem here is the same as has confronted us in earlier +chapters, namely that of compelling the unconscious to take note of +the rational beliefs that govern our conscious thought. Men must not +allow themselves to be swayed by their moods, believing one thing at +one moment and another at another. The sense of sin is especially +prominent at moments when the conscious will is weakened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> by fatigue, +by illness, by drink, or by any other cause. What a man feels at these +moments (unless caused by drink) is supposed to be a revelation from +his higher self. “The devil was sick, the devil a saint would be.” But +it is absurd to suppose that moments of weakness give more insight +than moments of strength. In moments of weakness it is difficult to +resist infantile suggestions, but there is no reason whatsoever for +regarding such suggestions as preferable to the beliefs of the adult +man when in full possession of his faculties. On the contrary, what a +man deliberately believes with his whole reason when he is vigorous +ought to be to him the norm as to what he had better believe at all +times. It is quite possible to overcome infantile suggestions of the +unconscious, and even to change the contents of the unconscious, by +employing the right kind of technique. Whenever you begin to feel +remorse for an act which your reason tells you is not wicked, examine +the causes of your feeling of remorse, and convince yourself in +detail of their absurdity. Let your conscious beliefs be so vivid and +emphatic that they make an impression upon your unconscious strong +enough to cope with the impressions made by your nurse or your mother +when you were an infant. Do not be content with an alternation between +moments of rationality and moments of irrationality. Look into the +irrationality closely, with a determination not to respect it, and +not to let it dominate you. Whenever it thrusts foolish thoughts or +feelings<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> into your consciousness, pull them up by the roots, examine +them, and reject them. Do not allow yourself to remain a vacillating +creature, swayed half by reason and half by infantile folly. Do not be +afraid of irreverence towards the memory of those who controlled your +childhood. They seemed to you then strong and wise because you were +weak and foolish; now that you are neither, it is your business to +examine their apparent strength and wisdom, to consider whether they +deserve that reverence that from force of habit you still bestow upon +them. Ask yourself seriously whether the world is the better for the +moral teaching traditionally given to the young. Consider how much of +unadulterated superstition goes into the make-up of the conventionally +virtuous man, and reflect that, while all kinds of imaginary moral +dangers were guarded against by incredibly foolish prohibitions, the +real moral dangers to which an adult is exposed were practically +unmentioned. What are the really harmful acts to which the average man +is tempted? Sharp practice in business of the sort not punished by +law, harshness towards employees, cruelty towards wife and children, +malevolence towards competitors, ferocity in political conflicts—these +are the really harmful sins that are common among respectable and +respected citizens. By means of these sins a man spreads misery in his +immediate circle and does his bit towards destroying civilization. Yet +these are not the things that make him,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> when he is ill, regard himself +as an outcast who has forfeited all claim to divine favour. These are +not the things that cause him in nightmares to see visions of his +mother bending reproachful glances upon him. Why is his subconscious +morality thus divorced from reason? Because the ethic believed in by +those who had charge of his infancy was silly; because it was not +derived from any study of the individual’s duty to the community; +because it was made up of old scraps of irrational taboos; and because +it contained within itself elements of morbidness derived from the +spiritual sickness that troubled the dying Roman Empire. Our nominal +morality has been formulated by priests and mentally enslaved women. It +is time that men who have to take a normal part in the normal life of +the world learned to rebel against this sickly nonsense.</p> + +<p>But if the rebellion is to be successful in bringing individual +happiness and in enabling a man to live consistently by one standard, +not to vacillate between two, it is necessary that he should think +and feel deeply about what his reason tells him. Most men, when they +have thrown off superficially the superstitions of their childhood, +think that there is no more to be done. They do not realize that +these superstitions are still lurking underground. When a rational +conviction has been arrived at, it is necessary to dwell upon it, to +follow out its consequences, to search out in oneself whatever beliefs +inconsistent with the new conviction might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> otherwise survive, and when +the sense of sin grows strong, as from time to time it will, to treat +it not as a revelation and a call to higher things, but as a disease +and a weakness, unless of course it is caused by some act which a +rational ethic would condemn. I am not suggesting that a man should be +destitute of morality, I am only suggesting that he should be destitute +of superstitious morality, which is a very different thing.</p> + +<p>But even when a man has offended against his own rational code, I doubt +whether a sense of sin is the best method of arriving at a better way +of life. There is in the sense of sin something abject, something +lacking in self-respect. No good was ever done to anyone by the loss +of self-respect. The rational man will regard his own undesirable +acts as he regards those of others, as acts produced by certain +circumstances, and to be avoided either by a fuller realization that +they are undesirable, or, where this is possible, by avoidance of the +circumstances that caused them.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact the sense of sin, so far from being a cause of a +good life, is quite the reverse. It makes a man unhappy and it makes +him feel inferior. Being unhappy, he is likely to make claims upon +other people which are excessive and which prevent him from enjoying +happiness in personal relations. Feeling inferior, he will have a +grudge against those who seem superior. He will find admiration +difficult and envy easy. He will become<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> a generally disagreeable +person, and will find himself more and more solitary. An expansive and +generous attitude towards other people not only gives happiness to +others, but is an immense source of happiness to its possessor, since +it causes him to be generally liked. But such an attitude is scarcely +possible to the man haunted by a sense of sin. It is an outcome +of poise and self-reliance; it demands what may be called mental +integration, by which I mean that the various layers of a man’s nature, +conscious, subconscious, and unconscious, work together harmoniously +and are not engaged in perpetual battle. To produce such harmony is +possible in most cases by wise education, but where education has been +unwise it is a more difficult process. It is the process which the +psycho-analysts attempt, but I believe that in a very great many cases +the patient can himself perform the work which in more extreme cases +requires the help of the expert. Do not say: “I have no time for such +psychological labours; my life is a busy one filled with affairs, and +I must leave my unconscious to its tricks.” Nothing so much diminishes +not only happiness but efficiency as a personality divided against +itself. The time spent in producing harmony between the different +parts of one’s personality is time usefully employed. I do not suggest +that a man should set apart, say, an hour a day for self-examination. +This is to my mind by no means the best method, since it increases +self-absorption,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> which is part of the disease to be cured, for a +harmonious personality is directed outward. What I suggest is that a +man should make up his mind with emphasis as to what he rationally +believes, and should never allow contrary irrational beliefs to pass +unchallenged or obtain a hold over him, however brief. This is a +question of reasoning with himself in those moments in which he is +tempted to become infantile, but the reasoning, if it is sufficiently +emphatic, may be very brief. The time involved, therefore, should be +negligible.</p> + +<p>There is in many people a dislike of rationality, and where this +exists the kind of thing that I have been saying will seem irrelevant +and unimportant. There is an idea that rationality, if allowed free +play, will kill all the deeper emotions. This belief appears to me +to be due to an entirely erroneous conception of the function of +reason in human life. It is not the business of reason to generate +emotions, though it may be part of its function to discover ways of +preventing such emotions as are an obstacle to well-being. To find ways +of minimizing hatred and envy is no doubt part of the function of a +rational psychology. But it is a mistake to suppose that in minimizing +these passions we shall at the same time diminish the strength of those +passions which reason does not condemn. In passionate love, in parental +affection, in friendship, in benevolence, in devotion to science or +art, there is nothing that reason should wish to diminish. The rational +man,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> when he feels any or all of these emotions, will be glad that he +feels them and will do nothing to lessen their strength, for all these +emotions are parts of the good life, the life, that is, that makes for +happiness both in oneself and in others. There is nothing irrational +in the passions as such, and many irrational people feel only the most +trivial passions. No man need fear that by making himself rational he +will make his life dull. On the contrary, since rationality consists in +the main of internal harmony, the man who achieves it is freer in his +contemplation of the world and in the use of his energies to achieve +external purposes than is the man who is perpetually hampered by inward +conflicts. Nothing is so dull as to be encased in self, nothing so +exhilarating as to have attention and energy directed outwards.</p> + +<p>Our traditional morality has been unduly self-centred, and the +conception of sin is part of this unwise focusing of attention upon +self. To those who have never passed through the subjective moods +induced by this faulty morality, reason may be unnecessary. But to +those who have once acquired the sickness, reason is necessary in +effecting a cure. And perhaps the sickness is a necessary stage in +mental development. I am inclined to think that the man who has passed +beyond it by the help of reason has reached a higher level than the man +who has never experienced either the sickness or the cure. The hatred +of reason which is common in our time is very largely due to the fact +that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> operations of reason are not conceived in a sufficiently +fundamental way. The man divided against himself looks for excitement +and distraction; he loves strong passions, not for sound reasons, +but because for the moment they take him outside himself and prevent +the painful necessity of thought. Any passion is to him a form of +intoxication, and since he cannot conceive of fundamental happiness, +all relief from pain appears to him solely possible in the form of +intoxication. This, however, is the symptom of a deep-seated malady. +Where there is no such malady, the greatest happiness comes with the +most complete possession of one’s faculties. It is in the moments when +the mind is most active and the fewest things are forgotten that the +most intense joys are experienced. This, indeed, is one of the best +touchstones of happiness. The happiness that requires intoxication of +no matter what sort is a spurious and unsatisfying kind. The happiness +that is genuinely satisfying is accompanied by the fullest exercise of +our faculties, and the fullest realization of the world in which we +live.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br> +<span class="subhed">PERSECUTION MANIA</span></h2></div> + +<p>In its more extreme forms persecution mania is a recognized form +of insanity. Some people imagine that others wish to kill them, or +imprison them, or to do them some other grave injury. Often the wish +to protect themselves against imaginary persecutors leads them into +acts of violence which make it necessary to restrain their liberty. +This, like many other forms of insanity, is only an exaggeration of a +tendency not at all uncommon among people who count as normal. I do +not propose to discuss the extreme forms, which are a matter for a +psychiatrist. It is the milder forms that I wish to consider, because +they are a very frequent cause of unhappiness, and because, not having +gone so far as to produce definite insanity, they are still capable of +being dealt with by the patient himself, provided he can be induced to +diagnose his trouble rightly and to see that its origin lies within +himself and not in the supposed hostility or unkindness of others.</p> + +<p>We are all familiar with the type of person, man or woman, who, +according to his own account, is perpetually the victim of +ingratitude, unkindness, and treachery. People of this kind are often +extraordinarily plausible, and secure warm sympathy from those who have +not known them long. There is, as a rule, nothing inherently improbable +about each<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> separate story that they relate. The kind of ill-treatment +of which they complain does undoubtedly sometimes occur. What in the +end rouses the hearer’s suspicions is the multiplicity of villains whom +it has been the sufferer’s ill-fortune to meet with. In accordance +with the doctrine of probability, different people living in a given +society are likely in the course of their lives to meet with about the +same amount of bad treatment. If one person in a given set receives, +according to his own account, universal ill-treatment, the likelihood +is that the cause lies in himself, and that he either imagines injuries +from which in fact he has not suffered, or unconsciously behaves +in such a way as to arouse uncontrollable irritation. Experienced +people therefore become suspicious of those who by their own account +are invariably ill-treated by the world; they tend, by their lack of +sympathy, to confirm these unfortunate people in the view that everyone +is against them. The trouble, in fact, is a difficult one to deal +with, since it is inflamed alike by sympathy and by lack of sympathy. +The person inclined to persecution mania, when he finds a hard-luck +story believed, will embellish it until he reaches the frontier of +credibility; when, on the other hand, he finds it disbelieved, he has +merely another example of the peculiar hard-heartedness of mankind +towards himself. The disease is one that can only be dealt with by +understanding, and this understanding must be conveyed to the patient +if it is to serve its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> purpose. My purpose in this chapter is to +suggest some general reflections by means of which each individual can +detect in himself the elements of persecution mania (from which almost +everybody suffers in a greater or less degree), and, having detected +them, can eliminate them. This is an important part of the conquest of +happiness, since it is quite impossible to be happy if we feel that +everybody ill-treats us.</p> + +<p>One of the most universal forms of irrationality is the attitude taken +by practically everybody towards malicious gossip. Very few people can +resist saying malicious things about their acquaintances, and even +on occasion about their friends; yet when people hear that anything +has been said against themselves, they are filled with indignant +amazement. It has apparently never occurred to them that, just as they +gossip about everyone else, so everyone else gossips about them. This +is a mild form of the attitude which, when exaggerated, leads on to +persecution mania. We expect everybody else to feel towards us that +tender love and that profound respect which we feel towards ourselves. +It does not occur to us that we cannot expect others to think better of +us than we think of them, and the reason this does not occur to us is +that our own merits are great and obvious, whereas those of others, if +they exist at all, are only visible to a very charitable eye. When you +hear that so-and-so has said something horrid about you, you remember<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> +the ninety-nine times when you have refrained from uttering the most +just and well-deserved criticism of him, and forget the hundredth time +when in an unguarded moment you have declared what you believe to be +the truth about him. Is this the reward, you feel, for all your long +forbearance? Yet from his point of view your conduct appears exactly +what his appears to you; he knows nothing of the times when you have +not spoken, he knows only of the hundredth time when you did speak. If +we were all given by magic the power to read each other’s thoughts, I +suppose the first effect would be that almost all friendships would +be dissolved; the second effect, however, might be excellent, for a +world without any friends would be felt to be intolerable, and we +should learn to like each other without needing a veil of illusion to +conceal from ourselves that we did not think each other absolutely +perfect. We know that our friends have their faults, and yet are on the +whole agreeable people whom we like. We find it, however, intolerable +that they should have the same attitude towards us. We expect them to +think that, unlike the rest of mankind, we have no faults. When we +are compelled to admit that we have faults, we take this obvious fact +far too seriously. Nobody should expect to be perfect, or be unduly +troubled by the fact that he is not.</p> + +<p>Persecution mania is always rooted in a too exaggerated conception of +our own merits. I am,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> we will say, a playwright; to every unbiased +person it must be obvious that I am the most brilliant playwright of +the age. Nevertheless, for some reason, my plays are seldom performed, +and when they are, they are not successful. What is the explanation of +this strange state of affairs? Obviously that managers, actors, and +critics have combined against me for one reason or another. The reason, +of course, is highly creditable to myself: I have refused to kow-tow +to the great ones of the theatrical world; I have not flattered the +critics; my plays contain home truths which are unbearable to those +whom they hit. And so my transcendent merit languishes unrecognized.</p> + +<p>Then there is the inventor who has never been able to get anyone to +examine the merits of his invention; manufacturers are set in their +ways and will not consider any innovation, while the few who are +progressive keep inventors of their own, who succeed in warding off the +intrusions of unauthorized genius; the learned societies, strangely +enough, lose one’s manuscripts or return them unread; individuals to +whom one appeals are unaccountably unresponsive. How is such a state of +affairs to be explained? Obviously there is a close corporation of men +who wish to divide among themselves the plums to be obtained by means +of invention; the man who does not belong to this close corporation +will not be listened to.</p> + +<p>Then there is the man who has a genuine grievance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> founded upon actual +fact, but who generalizes in the light of his experience and arrives at +the conclusion that his own misfortune affords the key to the universe; +he discovers, let us say, some scandal about the Secret Service which +it is to the interest of the Government to keep dark. He can obtain +hardly any publicity for his discovery, and the most apparently +high-minded men refuse to lift a finger to remedy the evil which fills +him with indignation. So far the facts are as he says they are. But +his rebuffs have made such an impression upon him that he believes all +powerful men to be occupied wholly and solely in covering up the crimes +to which they owe their power. Cases of this kind are particularly +obstinate, owing to the partial truth of their outlook; the thing that +has touched them personally has made, as is natural, more impression +upon them than the much larger number of matters of which they have +had no direct experience. This gives them a wrong sense of proportion, +and causes them to attach undue importance to facts which are perhaps +exceptional rather than typical.</p> + +<p>Another not uncommon victim of persecution mania is a certain type of +philanthropist who is always doing good to people against their will, +and is amazed and horrified that they display no gratitude. Our motives +in doing good are seldom as pure as we imagine them to be. Love of +power is insidious; it has many disguises, and is often the source of +the pleasure we derive from doing what we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> believe to be good to other +people. Not infrequently, yet another element enters in. “Doing good” +to people generally consists in depriving them of some pleasure: drink, +or gambling, or idleness, or what not. In this case there is an element +which is typical of much social morality, namely envy of those who are +in a position to commit sins from which we have to abstain if we are to +retain the respect of our friends. Those who vote, let us say, for a +law against cigarette smoking (such laws exist, or existed, in several +American States) are obviously non-smokers to whom the pleasure which +others derive from tobacco is a source of pain. If they expect those +who were previously cigarette fiends to come in a deputation and thank +them for emancipation from this odious vice, it is possible that they +may be disappointed. They may then begin to reflect that they have +given their lives for the public good, and that those who have most +reason for thanking them for their beneficent activities appear to be +the least aware of any occasion for gratitude.</p> + +<p>One used to find the same kind of attitude on the part of mistresses +towards domestic servants whose morals they safeguarded. But in these +days the servant problem has become so acute that this form of kindness +to maids has become less common.</p> + +<p>In the higher walks of politics the same sort of thing occurs. The +statesman who has gradually concentrated all power within himself in +order that he may be able to carry out the high and noble<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> aims which +have led him to eschew comfort and enter the arena of public life, is +amazed at the ingratitude of the people when they turn against him. It +never occurs to him that his work may have had anything but a public +motive, or that the pleasure of controlling affairs may have in any +degree inspired his activities. The phrases which are customary on the +platform and in the Party Press have gradually come to him to seem to +express truths, and he mistakes the rhetoric of partisanship for a +genuine analysis of motives. Disgusted and disillusioned, he retires +from the world after the world has retired from him, and regrets that +he ever attempted so thankless a task as the pursuit of the public good.</p> + +<p>These illustrations suggest four general maxims, which will prove an +adequate preventive of persecution mania if their truth is sufficiently +realized. The first is: remember that your motives are not always as +altruistic as they seem to yourself. The second is: don’t over-estimate +your own merits. The third is: don’t expect others to take as much +interest in you as you do yourself. And the fourth is: don’t imagine +that most people give enough thought to you to have any special desire +to persecute you. I shall say a few words about each of these maxims in +turn.</p> + +<p>Suspicion of one’s own motives is especially necessary for the +philanthropist and the executive; such people have a vision of how +the world, or some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> part of it, should be, and they feel, sometimes +rightly, sometimes wrongly, that in realizing their vision they will +be conferring a boon upon mankind or some section of it. They do not, +however, adequately realize that the individuals affected by their +operations have each an equal right to his own view as to the sort of +world he wants. A man of the executive type is quite sure that his +vision is right, and that any contrary one is wrong. But his subjective +certainty affords no proof that he is objectively right. Moreover, +his belief is very often only a camouflage for the pleasure that he +derives from contemplating changes of which he is the cause. And in +addition to love of power there is another motive, namely vanity, which +operates strongly in such cases. The high-minded idealist who stands +for Parliament—on this matter I speak from experience—is astonished +by the cynicism of the electorate which assumes that he only desires +the glory of writing the letters “M.P.” after his name. When the +contest is over and he has time to think, it occurs to him that perhaps +after all the cynical electors were in the right. Idealism causes +simple motives to wear strange disguises, and therefore some dash of +realistic cynicism does not come amiss in our public men. Conventional +morality inculcates a degree of altruism of which human nature is +scarcely capable, and those who pride themselves upon their virtue +often imagine that they attain this unattainable ideal. The immense<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> +majority of even the noblest persons’ actions have self-regarding +motives, nor is this to be regretted, since, if it were otherwise, the +human race could not survive. A man who spent his time seeing that +others were fed and forgot to feed himself would perish. He may, of +course, take nourishment solely in order to provide himself with the +necessary strength to plunge again into the battle against evil, but +it is doubtful whether food eaten with this motive could be adequately +digested, since the flow of saliva would be insufficiently stimulated. +It is better therefore that a man should eat because he enjoys his food +than that the time he spends at his meals should be solely inspired by +a desire for the public good.</p> + +<p>And what applies to eating applies to everything else. Whatever is to +be done can only be done adequately by the help of a certain zest, +and zest is difficult without some self-regarding motive. I should +include among self-regarding motives, from this point of view, those +that concern persons biologically connected with oneself, such as the +impulse to the defence of wife and children against enemies. This +degree of altruism is part of normal human nature, but the degree +inculcated in conventional ethics is not, and is very rarely attained +genuinely. People who wish to have a high opinion of their own moral +excellence have therefore to persuade themselves that they have +achieved a degree of unselfishness that it is very unlikely that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> +they have achieved, and hence the endeavour after saintliness comes +to be connected with self-deception of a kind that easily leads on to +persecution mania.</p> + +<p>The second of our four maxims, to the effect that it is unwise to +over-estimate your own merits, is covered, so far as morals are +concerned, by what we have already said. But merits other than moral +should equally not be over-estimated. The playwright whose plays never +succeed should consider calmly the hypothesis that they are bad plays; +he should not reject this out of hand as obviously untenable. If he +finds that it fits the facts, he should, as an inductive philosopher, +adopt it. It is true that there are in history cases of unrecognized +merit, but they are far less numerous than the cases of recognized +demerit. If a man is a genius whom the age will not recognize, he is +quite right to persist in his course in spite of lack of recognition. +If, on the other hand, he is an untalented person puffed up with +vanity, he will do well not to persist. There is no way of knowing to +which of these two categories one belongs if one is afflicted with the +impulse to produce unrecognized masterpieces. If you belong to the +one category, your persistence is heroic; if to the other, ludicrous. +When you have been dead a hundred years, it will be possible to guess +to which category you belonged. In the meantime, there is a test, not +perhaps infallible, but yet of considerable value, which you may apply +yourself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> if you suspect that you are a genius while your friends +suspect that you are not. The test is this: do you produce because you +feel an urgent compulsion to express certain ideas or feelings, or are +you actuated by the desire for applause? In the genuine artist the +desire for applause, while it usually exists strongly, is secondary, +in the sense that the artist wishes to produce a certain kind of work, +and hopes that that work may be applauded, but will not alter his +style even if no applause is forthcoming. The man, on the other hand, +to whom the desire for applause is the primary motive, has no force +within himself urging him to a particular kind of expression, and +could therefore just as well do work of some wholly different kind. +Such a man, if he fails to win applause by his art, had better give it +up. And, speaking more generally, whatever your line in life may be, +if you find that others do not rate your abilities as highly as you +do yourself, do not be too sure that it is they who are mistaken. If +you allow yourself to think this, you may easily fall into the belief +that there is a conspiracy to prevent the recognition of your merit, +and this belief is pretty sure to be the source of an unhappy life. To +recognize that your merit is not so great as you had hoped may be more +painful for a moment, but it is a pain which has an end, beyond which a +happy life again becomes possible.</p> + +<p>Our third maxim was not to expect too much of others. It used to be +customary for invalid ladies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> to expect at least one of their daughters +to sacrifice themselves completely in performing the duties of a nurse, +even to the extent of forgoing marriage. This is to expect of another a +degree of altruism which is contrary to reason, since the loss to the +altruist is greater than the gain to the egoist. In all your dealings +with other people, especially with those who are nearest and dearest, +it is important and not always easy to remember that they see life +from their own angle and as it touches their own ego, not from your +angle and as it touches yours. No person should be expected to distort +the main lines of his life for the sake of another individual. On +occasion there may exist such a strong affection that even the greatest +sacrifices become natural, but if they are not natural they should +not be made, and no person should be held blameworthy for not making +them. Very often the conduct that people complain of in others is not +more than the healthy reaction of natural egoism against the grasping +rapacity of a person whose ego extends beyond its proper limits.</p> + +<p>The fourth maxim that we mentioned consists of realizing that other +people spend less time in thinking about you than you do yourself. +The insane victim of persecution mania imagines that all sorts of +people, who, in fact, have their own avocations and interests, are +occupied morning, noon, and night in an endeavour to work a mischief +to the poor lunatic. In like manner, the comparatively<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> sane victim of +persecution mania sees in all kinds of actions a reference to himself +which does not, in fact, exist. This idea, of course, is flattering +to his vanity. If he were a great enough man, it might be true. The +actions of the British Government for many years were mainly concerned +to thwart Napoleon. But when a person of no special importance +imagines that others are perpetually thinking about him, he is on the +road towards insanity. You make a speech, let us say, at some public +dinner. Photographs of some of the other speakers appear in the picture +papers, but there is no picture of you. How is this to be accounted +for? Obviously not because the other speakers were considered more +important; it must be because the editors of the papers had given +orders that you were to be ignored. And why should they have given such +orders? Obviously because they feared you on account of your great +importance. In this way the omission of your picture is transformed +from a slight into a subtle compliment. But self-deception of this +kind cannot lead to any solid happiness. In the back of your mind +you will know that the facts are otherwise, and in order to conceal +this from yourself as far as possible, you will have to invent more +and more fantastic hypotheses. The strain of trying to believe these +will, in the end, become very great. And since, moreover, they involve +the belief that you are the object of widespread hostility, they +will only safeguard your self-esteem by inflicting the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> very painful +feeling that you are at odds with the world. No satisfaction based upon +self-deception is solid, and, however unpleasant the truth may be, it +is better to face it once for all, to get used to it, and to proceed to +build your life in accordance with it.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br> +<span class="subhed">FEAR OF PUBLIC OPINION</span></h2></div> + +<p>Very few people can be happy unless on the whole their way of life and +their outlook on the world is approved by those with whom they have +social relations, and more especially by those with whom they live. +It is a peculiarity of modern communities that they are divided into +sets which differ profoundly in their morals and in their beliefs. This +state of affairs began with the Reformation, or perhaps one should say +with the Renaissance, and has grown more pronounced ever since. There +were Protestants and Catholics, who differed not only in theology but +on many more practical matters. There were aristocrats who permitted +various kinds of action that were not tolerated among the bourgeoisie. +Then there came to be latitudinarians and free-thinkers who did not +recognize the duties of religious observance. In our own day throughout +the Continent of Europe there is a profound division between socialists +and others, which covers not only politics but almost every department +of life. In English-speaking countries the divisions are very numerous. +In some sets art is admired, while in others it is thought to be of the +devil, at any rate if it is modern. In some sets devotion to the Empire +is the supreme virtue, in others it is considered a vice, and in yet +others a form of stupidity. Conventional<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> people consider adultery one +of the worst of crimes, but large sections of the population regard it +as excusable if not positively laudable. Among Catholics divorce is +totally forbidden, while most non-Catholics accept it as a necessary +alleviation of matrimony.</p> + +<p>Owing to all these differences of outlook a person of given tastes +and convictions may find himself practically an outcast while he +lives in one set, although in another set he would be accepted as +an entirely ordinary human being. A very great deal of unhappiness, +especially among the young, arises in this way. A young man or young +woman somehow catches ideas that are in the air, but finds that these +ideas are anathema in the particular milieu in which he or she lives. +It easily seems to the young as if the only milieu with which they are +acquainted were representative of the whole world. They can scarcely +believe that in another place or another set the views which they dare +not avow for fear of being thought utterly perverse would be accepted +as the ordinary commonplaces of the age. Thus through ignorance of the +world a great deal of unnecessary misery is endured, sometimes only in +youth, but not infrequently throughout life. This isolation is not only +a source of pain, it also causes a great dissipation of energy in the +unnecessary task of maintaining mental independence against hostile +surroundings, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred produces a +certain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> timidity in following out ideas to their logical conclusions. +The Brontë sisters never met any congenial people until after their +books had been published. This did not affect Emily, who was heroic +and in the grand manner, but it certainly did affect Charlotte, whose +outlook, in spite of her talents, remained always to a large extent +that of a governess. Blake, like Emily Brontë, lived in extreme mental +isolation, but like her was great enough to overcome its bad effects, +since he never doubted that he was right and his critics wrong. His +attitude towards public opinion is expressed in the lines:</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>The only man that e’er I knew</div> + <div>Who did not make me almost spew</div> + <div>Was Fuseli: he was both Turk and Jew.</div> + <div>And so, dear Christian friends, how do you do?</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p>But there are not many who have this degree of force in their inner +life. To almost everybody sympathetic surroundings are necessary to +happiness. To the majority, of course, the surroundings in which +they happen to find themselves are sympathetic. They imbibe current +prejudices in youth, and instinctively adapt themselves to the beliefs +and customs which they find in existence around them. But to a large +minority, which includes practically all who have any intellectual or +artistic merit, this attitude of acquiescence is impossible. A person +born, let us say, in some small country town finds himself from early +youth surrounded by hostility<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> to everything that is necessary for +mental excellence. If he wishes to read serious books, other boys +despise him, and teachers tell him that such works are unsettling. If +he cares for art, his contemporaries think him unmanly, and his elders +think him immoral. If he desires any career, however respectable, which +has not been common in the circle to which he belongs, he is told that +he is setting himself up, and that what was good enough for his father +ought to be good enough for him. If he shows any tendency to criticize +his parents’ religious tenets or political affiliations, he is likely +to find himself in serious trouble. For all these reasons, to most +young men and young women of exceptional merit adolescence is a time of +great unhappiness. To their more ordinary companions it may be a time +of gaiety and enjoyment, but for themselves they want something more +serious, which they can find neither among their elders nor among their +contemporaries in the particular social setting in which chance has +caused them to be born.</p> + +<p>When such young people go to a University they probably discover +congenial souls and enjoy a few years of great happiness. If they are +fortunate, they may succeed, on leaving the University, in obtaining +some kind of work that gives them still the possibility of choosing +congenial companions; an intelligent man who lives in a city as large +as London or New York can generally find some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> congenial set in which +it is not necessary to practise any constraint or hypocrisy. But if his +work obliges him to live in some smaller place, and more particularly +if it necessitates retention of the respect of ordinary people, as is +the case, for example, with a doctor or a lawyer, he may find himself +throughout his whole life practically compelled to conceal his real +tastes and convictions from most of the people that he meets in the +course of his day. This is especially true in America because of the +vastness of the country. In the most unlikely places, north, south, +east, and west, one finds lonely individuals who know from books that +there are places where they would not be lonely, but who have no chance +to live in such places, and only the rarest opportunity of congenial +conversation. Real happiness in such circumstances is impossible to +those who are built on a less magnificent scale than Blake and Emily +Brontë. If it is to become possible, some way must be found by which +the tyranny of public opinion can be either lessened or evaded, and by +which members of the intelligent minority can come to know each other +and enjoy each other’s society.</p> + +<p>In a good many cases unnecessary timidity makes the trouble worse +than it need be. Public opinion is always more tyrannical towards +those who obviously fear it than towards those who feel indifferent +to it. A dog will bark more loudly and bite more readily when people +are afraid of him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> than when they treat him with contempt, and the +human herd has something of this same characteristic. If you show that +you are afraid of them, you give promise of good hunting, whereas +if you show indifference, they begin to doubt their own power and +therefore tend to let you alone. I am not, of course, thinking of +extreme forms of defiance. If you hold in Kensington the views that are +conventional in Russia, or in Russia the views that are conventional +in Kensington, you must accept the consequences. I am thinking, not +of such extremes, but of much milder lapses from conventionality, +such as failure to dress correctly or to belong to some Church or to +abstain from reading intelligent books. Such lapses, if they are done +with gaiety and insouciance, not defiantly but spontaneously, will +come to be tolerated even in the most conventional society. Gradually +it may become possible to acquire the position of licensed lunatic, +to whom things are permitted which in another man would be thought +unforgivable. This is largely a matter of a certain kind of good nature +and friendliness. Conventional people are roused to fury by departures +from convention, largely because they regard such departures as a +criticism of themselves. They will pardon much unconventionality in a +man who has enough jollity and friendliness to make it clear, even to +the stupidest, that he is not engaged in criticizing them.</p> + +<p>This method of escaping censure is, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> impossible to many of +those whose tastes or opinions cause them to be out of sympathy with +the herd. Their lack of sympathy makes them uncomfortable and causes +them to have a pugnacious attitude, even if outwardly they conform +or manage to avoid any sharp issue. People who are not in harmony +with the conventions of their own set tend therefore to be prickly +and uncomfortable and lacking in expansive good humour. These same +people, transported into another set where their outlook is not thought +strange, will seem to change their character entirely. From being +serious, shy and retiring they may become gay and self-confident; from +being angular they may become smooth and easy; from being self-centred +they may become sociable and extravert.</p> + +<p>Wherever possible, therefore, young people who find themselves out +of harmony with their surroundings should endeavour in the choice of +a profession to select some career which will give them a chance of +congenial companionship, even if this should entail a considerable loss +of income. Often they hardly know that this is possible, since their +knowledge of the world is very limited, and they may easily imagine +that the prejudices to which they have become accustomed at home are +world wide. This is a matter in which older men should be able to +give much assistance to the young, since a considerable experience of +mankind is essential.</p> + +<p>It is customary in these days of psycho-analysis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> to assume that, +when any young person is out of harmony with his environment, the +cause must lie in some psychological disorder. This is to my mind a +complete mistake. Suppose, for example, that a young person has parents +who believe the doctrine of evolution to be wicked. Nothing except +intelligence is required in such a case to cause him to be out of +sympathy with them. To be out of harmony with one’s surroundings is, of +course, a misfortune, but it is not always a misfortune to be avoided +at all costs. Where the environment is stupid or prejudiced or cruel, +it is a sign of merit to be out of harmony with it. And to some degree +these characteristics exist in almost every environment. Galileo and +Kepler had “dangerous thoughts” (as they are called in Japan), and so +have the most intelligent men of our own day. It is not desirable that +the social sense should be so strongly developed as to cause such men +to fear the social hostility which their opinions may provoke. What is +desirable is to find ways of making this hostility as slight and as +ineffective as possible.</p> + +<p>In the modern world the most important part of this problem arises +in youth. If a man is once launched upon the right career and in the +right surroundings, he can in most cases escape social persecution, but +while he is young and his merits are still untested, he is liable to +be at the mercy of ignorant people who consider themselves capable of +judging in matters about which they know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> nothing, and who are outraged +at the suggestion that so young a person may know better than they do +with all their experience of the world. Many people who have ultimately +escaped from the tyranny of ignorance have had so hard a fight and +so long a time of repression that in the end they are embittered and +their energy is impaired. There is a comfortable doctrine that genius +will always make its way, and on the strength of this doctrine many +people consider that the persecution of youthful talent cannot do much +harm. But there is no ground whatever for accepting this doctrine. It +is like the theory that murder will out. Obviously all the murders we +know of have been discovered, but who knows how many there may be which +have never been heard of? In like manner all the men of genius that +we have ever heard of have triumphed over adverse circumstances, but +that is no reason for supposing that there were not innumerable others +who succumbed in youth. Moreover, it is not a question only of genius, +but also of talent, which is just as necessary to the community. And +it is not only a question of emerging somehow, but also of emerging +unembittered and with unimpaired energy. For all these reasons the way +of youth should not be made too hard.</p> + +<p>While it is desirable that the old should treat with respect the +wishes of the young, it is not desirable that the young should treat +with respect the wishes of the old. The reason is simple, namely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> that +in either case it is the lives of the young that are concerned, not +the lives of the old. When the young attempt to regulate the lives +of the old, as, for example, by objecting to the remarriage of a +widowed parent, they are quite as much in the wrong as are the old who +attempt to regulate the lives of the young. Old and young alike, as +soon as years of discretion have been reached, have a right to their +own choices, and if necessary to their own mistakes. Young people are +ill-advised if they yield to the pressure of the old in any vital +matter. Suppose, for example, that you are a young person who wishes to +go on the stage, and that your parents oppose your wish, either on the +ground that the stage is immoral or on the ground that it is socially +inferior. They may bring every kind of pressure to bear; they may tell +you that they will cast you off if you ignore their commands; they +may say that you will certainly repent within a few years; they may +mention whole strings of horrid examples of young persons who have been +rash enough to do what you contemplate doing and came to a bad end in +consequence. They may of course be right in thinking that the stage is +not the career for you; it may be that you have no talent for acting, +or that you have a bad voice. If this is the case, however, you will +soon discover it from theatrical people, and there will still be plenty +of time to adopt a different career. The arguments of parents should +not be a sufficient reason for relinquishing the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> attempt. If, in spite +of all they say, you carry out your intention, they will soon come +round, much sooner in fact than either you or they suppose. If on the +other hand you find professional opinion discouraging, that is another +matter, for professional opinion must always be treated with respect by +beginners.</p> + +<p>I think that in general, apart from expert opinion, there is too much +respect paid to the opinions of others, both in great matters and in +small ones. One should as a rule respect public opinion in so far as is +necessary to avoid starvation and to keep out of prison, but anything +that goes beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary +tyranny, and is likely to interfere with happiness in all kinds of +ways. Take, for example, the matter of expenditure. Very many people +spend money in ways quite different from those that their natural +tastes would enjoin, merely because they feel that the respect of +their neighbours depends upon their possession of a good car and their +ability to give good dinners. As a matter of fact, any man who can +obviously afford a car but genuinely prefers travel or a good library +will in the end be much more respected than if he behaved exactly like +everyone else. There is, of course, no point in deliberately flouting +public opinion; this is still to be under its domination, though in +a topsy-turvy way. But to be genuinely indifferent to it is both a +strength and a source of happiness. And a society composed of men +and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> women who do not bow too much to the conventions is a far more +interesting society than one in which all behave alike. Where each +person’s character is developed individually, differences of type are +preserved, and it is worth while to meet new people, because they are +not mere replicas of those whom one has met already. This has been one +of the advantages of aristocracy, since where status depended upon +birth behaviour was allowed to be erratic. In the modern world we are +losing this source of social freedom, and therefore a more deliberate +realization of the dangers of uniformity has become desirable. I do not +mean that people should be intentionally eccentric, which is just as +uninteresting as being conventional. I mean only that people should be +natural, and should follow their spontaneous tastes in so far as these +are not definitely anti-social.</p> + +<p>In the modern world, owing to the swiftness of locomotion, people +are less dependent than they used to be upon their geographically +nearest neighbours. Those who have cars can regard as a neighbour any +person living within twenty miles. They have therefore a much greater +power than was formerly the case of choosing their companions. In any +populous neighbourhood a man must be very unfortunate if he cannot find +congenial souls within twenty miles. The idea that one should know +one’s immediate neighbours has died out in large centres of population, +but still lingers in small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> towns and in the country. It has become a +foolish idea, since there is no need to be dependent upon immediate +neighbours for society. More and more it becomes possible to choose +our companions on account of congeniality rather than on account of +mere propinquity. Happiness is promoted by associations of persons with +similar tastes and similar opinions. Social intercourse may be expected +to develop more and more along these lines, and it may be hoped that +by these means the loneliness that now afflicts so many unconventional +people will be gradually diminished almost to vanishing point. This +will undoubtedly increase their happiness, but it will of course +diminish the sadistic pleasure which the conventional at present derive +from having the unconventional at their mercy. I do not think, however, +that this is a pleasure which we need be greatly concerned to preserve.</p> + +<p>Fear of public opinion, like every other form of fear, is oppressive +and stunts growth. It is difficult to achieve any kind of greatness +while a fear of this kind remains strong, and it is impossible to +acquire that freedom of spirit in which true happiness consists, for +it is essential to happiness that our way of living should spring from +our own deep impulses and not from the accidental tastes and desires +of those who happen to be our neighbours, or even our relations. Fear +of immediate neighbours is no doubt less than it was, but there is a +new kind of fear, namely the fear of what newspapers may say.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> This is +quite as terrifying as anything connected with mediæval witch-hunts. +When the newspaper chooses to make a scapegoat of some perhaps quite +harmless person, the results may be very terrible. Fortunately, as yet +this is a fate which most people escape through their obscurity, but +as publicity gets more and more perfect in its methods, there will be +an increasing danger in this novel form of social persecution. This is +too grave a matter to be treated with disdain by the individual who +is its victim, and whatever may be thought of the great principle of +the freedom of the Press, I think the line will have to be drawn more +sharply than it is by the existing libel laws, and anything will have +to be forbidden that makes life intolerable for innocent individuals, +even if they should happen to have done or said things which, published +maliciously, can cause them to become unpopular. The only ultimate cure +for this evil is, however, an increase of toleration on the part of the +public. The best way to increase toleration is to multiply the number +of individuals who enjoy real happiness and do not therefore find their +chief pleasure in the infliction of pain upon their fellow-men.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p> + +<p class="center p2"><b>PART II</b></p> +</div> + +<p class="center lg"><b>CAUSES OF HAPPINESS</b></p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p> + +<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER X<br> +<span class="subhed">IS HAPPINESS STILL POSSIBLE?</span></h2></div> + + +<p>So far we have been considering the unhappy man; we now have the +pleasanter task of considering the happy man. From the conversation +and the books of some of my friends I have been almost led to conclude +that happiness in the modern world has become an impossibility. I +find, however, that this view tends to be dissipated by introspection, +foreign travel, and the conversation of my gardener. The unhappiness +of my literary friends I have considered in an earlier chapter; in the +present chapter I wish to make a survey of the happy people that I have +come across in the course of my life.</p> + +<p>Happiness is of two sorts, though, of course, there are intermediate +degrees. The two sorts I mean might be distinguished as plain and +fancy, or animal and spiritual, or of the heart and of the head. The +designation to be chosen among these alternatives depends, of course, +upon the thesis to be proved. I am at the moment not concerned to +prove any thesis, but merely to describe. Perhaps the simplest way to +describe the difference between the two sorts of happiness is to say +that one sort is open to any human being, and the other only to those +who can read and write. When I was a boy I knew a man bursting with +happiness whose business was digging wells. He was of enormous height +and of incredible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> muscles; he could neither read nor write, and when +in the year 1885 he got a vote for Parliament, he learnt for the first +time that such an institution existed. His happiness did not depend +upon intellectual sources; it was not based upon belief in natural law, +or the perfectibility of the species, or the public ownership of public +utilities, or the ultimate triumph of the Seventh Day Adventists, or +any of the other creeds which intellectuals consider necessary to their +enjoyment of life. It was based upon physical vigour, a sufficiency +of work, and the overcoming of not insuperable obstacles in the shape +of rock. The happiness of my gardener is of the same species; he +wages a perennial war against rabbits, of which he speaks exactly as +Scotland Yard speaks of Bolsheviks; he considers them dark, designing +and ferocious, and is of opinion that they can only be met by means of +a cunning equal to their own. Like the heroes of Valhalla who spent +every day hunting a certain wild boar, which they killed every evening +but which miraculously came to life again in the morning, my gardener +can slay his enemy one day without any fear that the enemy will have +disappeared the next day. Although well over seventy, he works all day +and bicycles sixteen hilly miles to and from his work, but the fount of +joy is inexhaustible, and it is “they rabbits” that supply it.</p> + +<p>But, you will say, these simple delights are not open to superior +people like ourselves. What joy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> can we experience in waging war on +such puny creatures as rabbits? The argument, to my mind, is a poor +one. A rabbit is very much larger than a yellow-fever bacillus, and yet +a superior person can find happiness in making war upon the latter. +Pleasures exactly similar to those of my gardener so far as their +emotional content is concerned are open to the most highly educated +people. The difference made by education is only in regard to the +activities by which these pleasures are to be obtained. Pleasures of +achievement demand difficulties such that beforehand success seems +doubtful although in the end it is usually achieved. This is perhaps +the chief reason why a not excessive estimate of one’s own powers is a +source of happiness. The man who underestimates himself is perpetually +being surprised by success, whereas the man who overestimates himself +is just as often surprised by failure. The former kind of surprise is +pleasant, the latter unpleasant. It is therefore wise to be not unduly +conceited, though also not too modest to be enterprising.</p> + +<p>Of the more highly educated sections of the community, the happiest in +the present day are the men of science. Many of the most eminent of +them are emotionally simple, and obtain from their work a satisfaction +so profound that they can derive pleasure from eating and even +marrying. Artists and literary men consider it <i>de rigueur</i> to +be unhappy in their marriages, but men of science quite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> frequently +remain capable of old-fashioned domestic bliss. The reason of this is +that the higher parts of their intelligence are wholly absorbed by +their work, and are not allowed to intrude into regions where they +have no functions to perform. In their work they are happy because in +the modern world science is progressive and powerful, and because its +importance is not doubted either by themselves or by laymen. They have +therefore no necessity for complex emotions, since the simpler emotions +meet with no obstacles. Complexity in emotions is like foam in a river. +It is produced by obstacles which break the smoothly flowing current. +But so long as the vital energies are unimpeded, they produce no ripple +on the surface, and their strength is not evident to the unobservant.</p> + +<p>All the conditions of happiness are realized in the life of the man of +science. He has an activity which utilizes his abilities to the full, +and he achieves results which appear important not only to himself +but to the general public, even when it cannot in the smallest degree +understand them. In this he is more fortunate than the artist. When +the public cannot understand a picture or a poem, they conclude that +it is a bad picture or a bad poem. When they cannot understand the +theory of relativity they conclude (rightly) that their education has +been insufficient. Consequently Einstein is honoured while the best +painters are left to starve in garrets, and Einstein is happy while +the painters<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> are unhappy. Very few men can be genuinely happy in a +life involving continual self-assertion against the scepticism of +the mass of mankind, unless they can shut themselves up in a coterie +and forget the cold outer world. The man of science has no need +of a coterie, since he is thought well of by everybody except his +colleagues. The artist, on the contrary, is in the painful situation of +having to choose between being despised and being despicable. If his +powers are of the first order, he must incur one or the other of these +misfortunes—the former if he uses his powers, the latter if he does +not. This has not been the case always and everywhere. There have been +times when even good artists, even when they were young, were thought +well of. Julius II, though he might ill-treat Michael Angelo, never +supposed him incapable of painting pictures. The modern millionaire, +though he may shower wealth upon elderly artists after they have lost +their powers, never imagines that their work is as important as his +own. Perhaps these circumstances have something to do with the fact +that artists are on the average less happy than men of science.</p> + +<p>It must, I think, be admitted that the most intelligent young people in +Western countries tend to have that kind of unhappiness that comes of +finding no adequate employment for their best talents. This, however, +is not the case in Eastern countries. The intelligent young at the +present<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> day are probably happier in Russia than anywhere else in the +world. They have there a new world to create, and an ardent faith +in accordance with which to create it. The old have been executed, +starved, exiled, or in some other way disinfected, so that they cannot, +as in every Western country, compel the young to choose between doing +harm and doing nothing. To the sophisticated Occidental the faith of +the young Russian may seem crude, but, after all, what is there to be +said against it? He <i>is</i> creating a new world; the new world is +to his liking; the new world will almost certainly, when created, make +the average Russian happier than he was before the Revolution. It may +not be a world in which the sophisticated Western intellectual would be +happy, but the sophisticated Western intellectual does not have to live +in it. By any pragmatic test, therefore, the faith of young Russia is +justified, and to condemn it as crude can have no justification except +on a basis of theory.</p> + +<p>In India, China, and Japan, external circumstances of a political +sort interfere with the happiness of the young intelligentsia, but +there is no such internal obstacle as exists in the West. There are +activities which appear important to the young, and, in so far as these +activities succeed, the young are happy. They feel that they have +an important part to play in the national life, and aims to pursue +which, though difficult, are not impossible to realize. Cynicism such +as one finds very frequently among<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> the most highly educated young +men and women of the West results from the combination of comfort +with powerlessness. Powerlessness makes people feel that nothing is +worth doing, and comfort makes the painfulness of this feeling just +endurable. Throughout the East the University student can hope for more +influence upon public opinion than he can have in the modern West, but +he has much less opportunity than in the West of securing a substantial +income. Being neither powerless nor comfortable, he becomes a reformer +or a revolutionary, not a cynic. The happiness of the reformer or +revolutionary depends upon the course of public affairs, but probably +even while he is being executed he enjoys more real happiness than +is possible for the comfortable cynic. I remember a young Chinese +visitor to my school who was going home to found a similar school in a +reactionary part of China. He expected the result to be that his head +would be cut off. Nevertheless he enjoyed a quiet happiness that I +could only envy.</p> + +<p>I do not wish to suggest, however, that these high-flown kinds of +happiness are the only possible ones. They are in fact open only to a +minority, since they require a kind of ability and a width of interest +which cannot be very common. It is not only eminent scientists who can +derive pleasure through work, nor is it only leading statesmen who +can derive pleasure through advocacy of a cause. The pleasure of work +is open to anyone who can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> develop some specialized skill, provided +that he can get satisfaction from the exercise of his skill without +demanding universal applause. I knew a man who had lost the use of both +legs in early youth, but he had remained serenely happy throughout a +long life; he had achieved this by writing a work in five volumes on +rose blight, on which I always understood he was the leading expert. I +have not had the pleasure of knowing any large number of conchologists, +but from those who have I have always understood that the study of +shells brings contentment to those who engage in it. I knew a man once +who was the best compositor in the world, and was sought out by all +those who devoted themselves to inventing artistic types; he derived +joy, not so much from the very genuine respect in which he was held +by persons whose respect was not lightly bestowed, as from the actual +delight in the exercise of his craft, a delight not wholly unlike that +which good dancers derive from dancing. I have known also compositors +who were experts in setting up mathematical type, or Nestorian script, +or cuneiform, or anything else that was out of the way and difficult. I +did not discover whether these men’s private lives were happy, but in +their working hours their constructive instincts were fully gratified.</p> + +<p>It is customary to say that in our machine age there is less room than +formerly for the craftsman’s joy in skilled work. I am not at all sure +that this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> is true: the skilled workman nowadays works, it is true, at +quite different things from those that occupied the attention of the +mediæval guilds, but he is still very important and quite essential in +the machine economy. There are those who make scientific instruments +and delicate machines, there are designers, there are aeroplane +mechanics, chauffeurs, and hosts of others who have a trade in which +skill can be developed to almost any extent. The agricultural labourer +and the peasant in comparatively primitive communities is not, so far +as I have been able to observe, nearly as happy as a chauffeur or an +engine-driver. It is true that the work of the peasant who cultivates +his own land is varied; he ploughs, he sows, he reaps. But he is at +the mercy of the elements, and is very conscious of his dependence, +whereas the man who works a modern mechanism is conscious of power, +and acquires the sense that man is the master, not the slave, of +natural forces. It is true, of course, that work is very uninteresting +to the large body of mere machine-minders who repeat some mechanical +operation over and over again with the minimum of variation, but the +more uninteresting the work becomes, the more possible it is to get it +performed by a machine. The ultimate goal of machine production—from +which, it is true, we are as yet far removed—is a system in which +everything uninteresting is done by machines, and human beings are +reserved for the work involving variety<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> and initiative. In such a +world the work will be less boring and less depressing than it has +been at any time since the introduction of agriculture. In taking to +agriculture mankind decided that they would submit to monotony and +tedium in order to diminish the risk of starvation. When men obtained +their food by hunting, work was a joy, as one can see from the fact +that the rich still pursue these ancestral occupations for amusement. +But with the introduction of agriculture mankind entered upon a long +period of meanness, misery, and madness, from which they are only now +being freed by the beneficent operation of the machine. It is all very +well for sentimentalists to speak of contact with the soil and the ripe +wisdom of Hardy’s philosophic peasants, but the one desire of every +young man in the countryside is to find work in towns where he can +escape from the slavery of wind and weather and the solitude of dark +winter evenings into the reliable and human atmosphere of the factory +and the cinema. Companionship and co-operation are essential elements +in the happiness of the average man, and these are to be obtained in +industry far more fully than in agriculture.</p> + +<p>Belief in a cause is a source of happiness to large numbers of people. +I am not thinking only of revolutionaries, socialists, nationalists in +oppressed countries, and such; I am thinking also of many humbler kinds +of belief. The men I have known who believed that the English were the +lost ten tribes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> were almost invariably happy, while as for those who +believed that the English were only the tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh, +their bliss knew no bounds. I am not suggesting that the reader should +adopt this creed, since I cannot advocate any happiness based upon what +seem to me to be false beliefs. For the same reason I cannot urge the +reader to believe that men should live exclusively upon nuts, although, +so far as my observation goes, this belief invariably ensures perfect +happiness. But it is easy to find some cause which is in no degree +fantastic, and those whose interest in any such cause is genuine are +provided with an occupation for their leisure hours and a complete +antidote to the feeling that life is empty.</p> + +<p>Not so very far removed from the devotion to obscure causes is +absorption in a hobby. One of the most eminent of living mathematicians +divides his time equally between mathematics and stamp-collecting. +I imagine that the latter affords consolation at the moments when +he can make no progress with the former. The difficulty of proving +propositions in the theory of numbers is not the only sorrow that +stamp-collecting can cure, nor are stamps the only things that can +be collected. Consider what a vast field of ecstasy opens before the +imagination when one thinks of old china, snuff-boxes, Roman coins, +arrow-heads, and flint implements. It is true that many of us are +too “superior” for these simple pleasures. We have all experienced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> +them in boyhood, but have thought them, for some reason, unworthy of +a grown man. This is a complete mistake; any pleasure that does no +harm to other people is to be valued. For my part, I collect rivers: I +derive pleasure from having gone down the Volga and up the Yangtse, and +regret very much having never seen the Amazon or the Orinoco. Simple +as these emotions are, I am not ashamed of them. Or consider again the +passionate joy of the baseball fan: he turns to his newspaper with +avidity, and the radio affords him the keenest thrills. I remember +meeting for the first time one of the leading literary men of America, +a man whom I had supposed from his books to be filled with melancholy. +But it so happened that at that moment the most crucial baseball +results were coming through on the radio; he forgot me, literature, and +all the other sorrows of our sublunary life, and yelled with joy as his +favourites achieved victory. Ever since this incident I have been able +to read his books without feeling depressed by the misfortunes of his +characters.</p> + +<p>Fads and hobbies, however, are in many cases, perhaps most, not a +source of fundamental happiness, but a means of escape from reality, +of forgetting for the moment some pain too difficult to be faced. +Fundamental happiness depends more than anything else upon what may be +called a friendly interest in persons and things.</p> + +<p>A friendly interest in persons is a form of affectionateness,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> but +not the form which is grasping and possessive and seeking always an +emphatic response. This latter form is very frequently a source of +unhappiness. The kind that makes for happiness is the kind that likes +to observe people and finds pleasure in their individual traits, that +wishes to afford scope for the interests and pleasures of those with +whom it is brought into contact without desiring to acquire power over +them or to secure their enthusiastic admiration. The person whose +attitude towards others is genuinely of this kind will be a source of +happiness and a recipient of reciprocal kindness. His relations with +others, whether slight or serious, will satisfy both his interests +and his affections; he will not be soured by ingratitude, since he +will seldom suffer it and will not notice when he does. The same +idiosyncrasies which would get on another man’s nerves to the point +of exasperation will be to him a source of gentle amusement. He +will achieve without effort results which another man, after long +struggles, will find to be unattainable. Being happy in himself, he +will be a pleasant companion, and this in turn will increase his +happiness. But all this must be genuine; it must not spring from an +idea of self-sacrifice inspired by a sense of duty. A sense of duty +is useful in work, but offensive in personal relations. People wish +to be liked, not to be endured with patient resignation. To like many +people spontaneously and without effort is perhaps<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> the greatest of all +sources of personal happiness.</p> + +<p>I spoke also in the last paragraph of what I call a friendly interest +in things. This phrase may perhaps seem forced; it may be said that +it is impossible to feel friendly to things. Nevertheless, there is +something analogous to friendliness in the kind of interest that +a geologist takes in rocks, or an archæologist in ruins, and this +interest ought to be an element in our attitude to individuals or +societies. It is possible to have an interest in things which is +hostile rather than friendly. A man might collect facts concerning +the habitats of spiders because he hated spiders and wished to live +where they were few. This kind of interest would not afford the same +satisfaction as the geologist derives from his rocks. An interest +in impersonal things, though perhaps less valuable as an ingredient +in everyday happiness than a friendly attitude towards our fellow +creatures, is nevertheless very important. The world is vast and our +own powers are limited. If all our happiness is bound up entirely +in our personal circumstances it is difficult not to demand of life +more than it has to give. And to demand too much is the surest way +of getting even less than is possible. The man who can forget his +worries by means of a genuine interest in, say, the Council of Trent, +or the life history of stars, will find that, when he returns from his +excursion into the impersonal world, he has acquired a poise and calm +which enable him to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> deal with his worries in the best way, and he will +in the meantime have experienced a genuine even if temporary happiness.</p> + +<p>The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as +possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that +interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile.</p> + +<p>This preliminary survey of the possibilities of happiness will be +expanded in subsequent chapters, together with suggestions as to ways +of escaping from psychological sources of misery.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br> +<span class="subhed">ZEST</span></h2></div> + +<p>In this chapter I propose to deal with what seems to me the most +universal and distinctive mark of happy men, namely zest.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the best way to understand what is meant by zest will be to +consider the different ways in which men behave when they sit down to +a meal. There are those to whom a meal is merely a bore; no matter how +excellent the food may be, they feel that it is uninteresting. They +have had excellent food before, probably at almost every meal they have +eaten. They have never known what it was to go without a meal until +hunger became a raging passion, but have come to regard meals as merely +conventional occurrences, dictated by the fashions of the society in +which they live. Like everything else, meals are tiresome, but it is +no use to make a fuss, because nothing else will be less tiresome. +Then there are the invalids who eat from a sense of duty, because the +doctor has told them that it is necessary to take a little nourishment +in order to keep up their strength. Then there are the epicures, who +start hopefully, but find that nothing has been quite so well cooked as +it ought to have been. Then there are the gormandizers, who fall upon +their food with eager rapacity, eat too much, and grow plethoric and +stertorous. Finally there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> are those who begin with a sound appetite, +are glad of their food, eat until they have had enough, and then stop. +Those who are set down before the feast of life have similar attitudes +towards the good things which it offers. The happy man corresponds to +the last of our eaters. What hunger is in relation to food, zest is in +relation to life. The man who is bored with his meals corresponds to +the victim of Byronic unhappiness. The invalid who eats from a sense +of duty corresponds to the ascetic, the gormandizer to the voluptuary. +The epicure corresponds to the fastidious person who condemns half the +pleasures of life as unæsthetic. Oddly enough, all these types, with +the possible exception of the gormandizer, feel contempt for the man of +healthy appetite and consider themselves his superior. It seems to them +vulgar to enjoy food because you are hungry or to enjoy life because it +offers a variety of interesting spectacles and surprising experiences. +From the height of their disillusionment they look down upon those +whom they despise as simple souls. For my part I have no sympathy with +this outlook. All disenchantment is to me a malady, which, it is true, +certain circumstances may render inevitable, but which none the less, +when it occurs, is to be cured as soon as possible, not to be regarded +as a higher form of wisdom. Suppose one man likes strawberries and +another does not; in what respect is the latter superior? There is no +abstract and impersonal proof either that strawberries are good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> or +that they are not good. To the man who likes them they are good; to +the man who dislikes them they are not. But the man who likes them +has a pleasure which the other does not have; to that extent his life +is more enjoyable and he is better adapted to the world in which both +must live. What is true in this trivial instance is equally true in +more important matters. The man who enjoys watching football is to that +extent superior to the man who does not. The man who enjoys reading is +still more superior to the man who does not, since opportunities for +reading are more frequent than opportunities for watching football. The +more things a man is interested in, the more opportunities of happiness +he has, and the less he is at the mercy of fate, since if he loses one +thing he can fall back upon another. Life is too short to be interested +in everything, but it is good to be interested in as many things as +are necessary to fill our days. We are all prone to the malady of the +introvert, who, with the manifold spectacle of the world spread out +before him, turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within. But +let us not imagine that there is anything grand about the introvert’s +unhappiness.</p> + +<p>There were once upon a time two sausage machines, exquisitely +constructed for the purpose of turning pig into the most delicious +sausages. One of these retained his zest for pig and produced sausages +innumerable; the other said: “What is pig to me? My own works are far +more interesting and wonderful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> than any pig.” He refused pig and set +to work to study his inside. When bereft of its natural food, his +inside ceased to function, and the more he studied it, the more empty +and foolish it seemed to him to be. All the exquisite apparatus by +which the delicious transformation had hitherto been made stood still, +and he was at a loss to guess what it was capable of doing. This second +sausage machine was like the man who has lost his zest, while the first +was like the man who has retained it. The mind is a strange machine +which can combine the materials offered to it in the most astonishing +ways, but without materials from the external world it is powerless, +and unlike the sausage machine it must seize its materials for itself, +since events only become experiences through the interest that we take +in them: if they do not interest us, we are making nothing of them. The +man, therefore, whose attention is turned within finds nothing worthy +of his notice, whereas the man whose attention is turned outward can +find within, in those rare moments when he examines his soul, the most +varied and interesting assortment of ingredients being dissected and +recombined into beautiful or instructive patterns.</p> + +<p>The forms of zest are innumerable. Sherlock Holmes, it may be +remembered, picked up a hat which he happened to find lying in the +street. After looking at it for a moment he remarked that its owner had +come down in the world as the result<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> of drink, and that his wife was +no longer so fond of him as she used to be. Life could never be boring +to a man to whom casual objects offered such a wealth of interest. +Think of the different things that may be noticed in the course of a +country walk. One man may be interested in the birds, another in the +vegetation, another in the geology, yet another in the agriculture, and +so on. Any one of these things is interesting if it interests you, and, +other things being equal, the man who is interested in any one of them +is a man better adapted to the world than the man who is not interested.</p> + +<p>How extraordinarily different, again, are the attitudes of different +people to their fellow-men. One man, in the course of a long train +journey, will fail entirely to observe any of his fellow travellers, +while another will have summed them all up, analysed their characters, +made a shrewd guess at their circumstances, and perhaps even +ascertained the most secret histories of several of them. People differ +just as much in what they feel towards others as in what they ascertain +about them. Some men find almost everybody boring, others quickly and +easily develop a friendly feeling towards those with whom they are +brought in contact, unless there is some definite reason for feeling +otherwise. Take again such a matter as travel: some men will travel +through many countries, going always to the best hotels, eating exactly +the same food as they would eat at home, meeting the same idle rich +whom<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> they would meet at home, conversing on the same topics upon which +they converse at their own dinner-table. When they return, their only +feeling is one of relief at having done with the boredom of expensive +locomotion. Other men wherever they go see what is characteristic, make +the acquaintance of people who typify the locality, observe whatever +is of interest either historically or socially, eat the food of the +country, learn its manners and its language, and come home with a new +stock of pleasant thoughts for winter evenings.</p> + +<p>In all these different situations the man who has the zest for life has +the advantage over the man who has none. Even unpleasant experiences +have their uses to him. I am glad to have smelt a Chinese crowd +and a Sicilian village, though I cannot pretend that my pleasure +was very great at the moment. Adventurous men enjoy shipwrecks, +mutinies, earthquakes, conflagrations, and all kinds of unpleasant +experiences, provided they do not go so far as to impair health. They +say to themselves in an earthquake, for example, “So that is what an +earthquake is like”, and it gives them pleasure to have their knowledge +of the world increased by this new item. It would not be true to say +that such men are not at the mercy of fate, for if they should lose +their health they would be very likely to lose their zest at the same +time, though this is by no means certain. I have known men die at +the end of years of slow torture, and yet retain their zest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> almost +till the last moment. Some forms of ill-health destroy zest, others +do not. I do not know whether the biochemists are able as yet to +distinguish between these kinds. Perhaps when biochemistry has made +further advances we shall all be able to take tablets that will ensure +our feeling an interest in everything, but until that day comes we are +compelled to depend upon common-sense observation of life to judge what +are the causes that enable some men to take an interest in everything, +while compelling others to take an interest in nothing.</p> + +<p>Zest is sometimes general, sometimes specialized. It may be very +specialized indeed. Readers of Borrow may remember a character who +occurs in <i>Lavengro</i>. He had lost his wife, to whom he was +devoted, and felt for a time that life had grown utterly barren. But by +profession he was a tea merchant, and in order to endure life he taught +himself unaided to read the Chinese inscriptions on the tea-chests +that passed through his hands. In the end this gave him a new interest +in life, and he began to study with avidity everything that concerned +China. I have known men who were entirely absorbed in the endeavour to +find out all about the Gnostic heresy, and other men whose principal +interest lay in collating the manuscripts and early editions of Hobbes. +It is quite impossible to guess in advance what will interest a man, +but most men are capable of a keen interest in something or other, +and when once such an interest has been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> aroused their life becomes +free from tedium. Very specialized interests are, however, a less +satisfactory source of happiness than a general zest for life, since +they can hardly fill the whole of a man’s time, and there is always +the danger that he may come to know all there is to know about the +particular matter that has become his hobby.</p> + +<p>It will be remembered that among our different types at the banquet +we included the gormandizer, whom we were not prepared to praise. The +reader may think that the man with zest whom we have been praising does +not differ in any definable way from the gormandizer. The time has come +when we must try to make the distinction between the two types more +definite.</p> + +<p>The ancients, as everyone knows, regarded moderation as one of +the essential virtues. Under the influence of romanticism and the +French Revolution this view was abandoned by many, and overmastering +passions were admired, even if, like those of Byron’s heroes, they +were of a destructive and anti-social kind. The ancients, however, +were clearly in the right. In the good life there must be a balance +between different activities, and no one of them must be carried so +far as to make the others impossible. The gormandizer sacrifices all +other pleasures to that of eating, and by so doing diminishes the +total happiness of his life. Many other passions besides eating may +be carried to a like excess. The Empress Josephine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> was a gormandizer +in regard to clothes. At first Napoleon used to pay her dressmaker’s +bills, though with continually increasing protest. At last he told her +that she really must learn moderation, and that in future he would +only pay her bills when the amount seemed reasonable. When her next +dressmaker’s bill came in, she was for a moment at her wits’ end, +but presently she bethought herself of a scheme. She went to the War +Minister and demanded that he should pay her bill out of the funds +provided for the war. Since he knew that she had the power to get him +dismissed, he did so, and the French lost Genoa in consequence. So +at least some books say, though I am not prepared to vouch for the +exact truth of the story. For our purpose it is equally apt whether +true or an exaggeration, since it serves to show how far the passion +for clothes may carry a woman who has the opportunity to indulge +it. Dipsomaniacs and nymphomaniacs are obvious examples of the same +kind of thing. The principle in these matters is fairly obvious. +All our separate tastes and desires have to fit into the general +framework of life. If they are to be a source of happiness they must +be compatible with health, with the affection of those whom we love, +and with the respect of the society in which we live. Some passions +can be indulged to almost any extent without passing beyond these +limits, others cannot. The man, let us say, who loves chess, if he +happens to be a bachelor with independent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> means, need not restrict +his passion in any degree, whereas if he has a wife and children and +no independent means, he will have to restrict it very severely. The +dipsomaniac and the gormandizer, even if they have no social ties, are +unwise from a self-regarding point of view, since their indulgence +interferes with health, and gives them hours of misery, in return for +minutes of pleasure. Certain things form a framework within which any +separate passion must live if it is not to become a source of misery. +Such things are health, the general possession of one’s faculties, a +sufficient income to provide for necessaries, and the most essential +social duties, such as those towards wife and children. The man +who sacrifices these things for chess is essentially as bad as the +dipsomaniac. The only reason we do not condemn him so severely is that +he is much less common, and that only a man of somewhat rare abilities +is likely to be carried away by absorption in so intellectual a game. +The Greek formula of moderation practically covers these cases. The man +who likes chess sufficiently to look forward throughout his working +day to the game that he will play in the evening is fortunate, but +the man who gives up work in order to play chess all day has lost the +virtue of moderation. It is recorded that Tolstoy, in his younger and +unregenerate days, was awarded the military cross for valour in the +field, but when the time came for him to be presented with it, he was +so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> absorbed in a game of chess that he decided not to go. We can +hardly find fault with Tolstoy on this account, since to him it might +well be a matter of indifference whether he won military decorations or +not, but in a lesser man such an act would have been one of folly.</p> + +<p>As a limitation upon the doctrine that has just been set forth, +it ought to be admitted that some performances are considered so +essentially noble as to justify the sacrifice of everything else on +their behalf. The man who loses his life in the defence of his country +is not blamed if thereby his wife and children are left penniless. The +man who is engaged in experiments with a view to some great scientific +discovery or invention is not blamed afterwards for the poverty that +he has made his family endure, provided that his efforts are crowned +with ultimate success. If, however, he never succeeds in making the +discovery or the invention that he was attempting, public opinion +condemns him as a crank, which seems unfair, since no one in such +an enterprise can be sure of success in advance. During the first +millennium of the Christian era a man who abandoned his family for a +saintly life was praised, though nowadays it would be held that he +ought to make some provision for them.</p> + +<p>I think there is always some deep-seated psychological difference +between the gormandizer and the man of healthy appetite. The man in +whom one desire runs to excess at the expense of all others<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> is usually +a man with some deep-seated trouble, who is seeking to escape from a +spectre. In the case of the dipsomaniac this is obvious: men drink in +order to forget. If they had no spectres in their lives, they would +not find drunkenness more agreeable than sobriety. As the legendary +Chinaman said: “Me no drinkee for drinkee, me drinkee for drunkee.” +This is typical of all excessive and one-sided passions. It is not +pleasure in the object itself that is sought, but oblivion. There is, +however, a very great difference according as oblivion is sought in a +sottish manner or by the exercise of faculties in themselves desirable. +Borrow’s friend who taught himself Chinese in order to be able to +endure the loss of his wife was seeking oblivion, but he sought it in +an activity that had no harmful effects, but on the contrary improved +his intelligence and his knowledge. Against such forms of escape there +is nothing to be said. It is otherwise with the man who seeks oblivion +in drinking or gambling or any other form of unprofitable excitement. +There are, it is true, border-line cases. What should we say of the man +who runs mad risks in aeroplanes or on mountain tops, because life has +become irksome to him? If his risks serve any public object, we may +admire him, but if not, we shall have to place him only slightly above +the gambler and drunkard.</p> + +<p>Genuine zest, not the sort that is really a search for oblivion, is +part of the natural make-up of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> human beings except in so far as it +has been destroyed by unfortunate circumstances. Young children are +interested in everything that they see and hear; the world is full of +surprises to them, and they are perpetually engaged with ardour in the +pursuit of knowledge, not, of course, of scholastic knowledge, but +of the sort that consists in acquiring familiarity with the objects +that attract their attention. Animals, even when adult, retain their +zest provided they are in health. A cat in an unfamiliar room will not +sit down until it has sniffed at every corner on the off-chance that +there may be a smell of mouse somewhere. The man who has never been +fundamentally thwarted will retain his natural interest in the external +world, and so long as he retains it he will find life pleasant unless +his liberty is unduly curtailed. Loss of zest in civilized society is +very largely due to the restrictions upon liberty which are essential +to our way of life. The savage hunts when he is hungry, and in so doing +is obeying a direct impulse. The man who goes to his work every morning +at a certain hour is actuated fundamentally by the same impulse, +namely the need to secure a living, but in his case the impulse does +not operate directly and at the moment when it is felt: it operates +indirectly through abstractions, beliefs and volitions. At the moment +when the man starts off to his work he is not feeling hungry, since he +has just had his breakfast. He merely knows that hunger will recur, +and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> that going to his work is a means of satisfying future hunger. +Impulses are irregular, whereas habits, in a civilized society, have to +be regular. Among savages, even collective enterprises, in so far as +they exist, are spontaneous and impulsive. When the tribe is going to +war the tom-tom rouses military ardour, and herd excitement inspires +each individual to the necessary activity. Modern enterprises cannot +be managed in this way. When a train has to be started at a given +moment it is impossible to inspire the porters, the engine-driver, and +the signalman by means of barbaric music. They must each do their job +merely because it has to be done; their motive, that is to say, is +indirect: they have no impulse towards the activity, but only towards +the ultimate reward of the activity. A great deal of social life has +the same defect. People converse with each other, not from any wish to +do so, but because of some ultimate benefit that they hope to derive +from co-operation. At every moment of life the civilized man is hedged +about by restrictions of impulse: if he happens to feel cheerful he +must not sing or dance in the street, while if he happens to feel sad +he must not sit on the pavement and weep, for fear of obstructing +pedestrian traffic. In youth his liberty is restricted at school, in +adult life it is restricted throughout his working hours. All this +makes zest more difficult to retain, for the continual restraint tends +to produce weariness and boredom. Nevertheless, a civilized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> society +is impossible without a very considerable degree of restraint upon +spontaneous impulse, since spontaneous impulse will only produce the +simplest forms of social co-operation, not those highly complex forms +which modern economic organization demands. In order to rise above +these obstacles to zest a man needs health and superabundant energy, +or else, if he has that good fortune, work that he finds interesting +on its own account. Health, so far as statistics can show, has been +steadily improving in all civilized countries during the last hundred +years, but energy is more difficult to measure, and I am doubtful +whether physical vigour in moments of health is as great as it was +formerly. The problem here is to a great extent a social problem, and +as such I do not propose to discuss it in the present volume. The +problem has, however, a personal and psychological aspect which we have +already discussed in connection with fatigue. Some men retain their +zest in spite of the handicaps of civilized life, and many men could do +so if they were free from the inner psychological conflicts upon which +a great part of their energy is expended. Zest demands energy more that +sufficient for the necessary work, and this in turn demands the smooth +working of the psychological machine. Of the causes promoting the +smooth working I shall have more to say in later chapters.</p> + +<p>In women, less nowadays than formerly, but still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> to a very large +extent, zest has been greatly diminished by a mistaken conception of +respectability. It was thought undesirable that women should take an +obvious interest in men, or that they should display too much vivacity +in public. In learning not to be interested in men they learned very +frequently to be interested in nothing, or at any rate in nothing +except a certain kind of correct behaviour. To teach an attitude of +inactivity and withdrawal towards life is clearly to teach something +very inimical to zest, and to encourage a certain kind of absorption in +self which is characteristic of highly respectable women, especially +when they are uneducated. They do not have the interest in sport that +average men have, they care nothing about politics, towards men their +attitude is one of prim aloofness, towards women their attitude is +one of veiled hostility based upon the conviction that other women +are less respectable than they are themselves. They boast that they +keep themselves to themselves; that is to say, their lack of interest +in their fellow creatures appears to them in the light of a virtue. +For this, of course, they are not to blame; they are only accepting +the moral teaching that has been current for thousands of years where +women are concerned. They are, however, victims, much to be pitied, of +a system of repression whose iniquity they have failed to perceive. To +such women all that is ungenerous appears good and all that is generous +appears evil. In their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> own social circle they do what they can to kill +joy, in politics they love repressive legislation. Fortunately the type +is growing less common, but it is still far more prevalent than is +supposed by those who live in emancipated circles. I recommend anyone +who doubts this statement to go the round of a number of lodging-houses +seeking a lodging, and to take note of the landladies that he will meet +during his search. He will find that they are living by a conception of +female excellence which involves as an essential part the destruction +of all zest for life, and that their minds and hearts are dwarfed +and stunted as a result. Between male and female excellence rightly +conceived there is no difference, or at any rate no difference such +as tradition inculcates. For women as for men zest is the secret of +happiness and well-being.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br> +<span class="subhed">AFFECTION</span></h2></div> + +<p>One of the chief causes of lack of zest is the feeling that one is +unloved, whereas conversely the feeling of being loved promotes +zest more than anything else does. A man may have the feeling of +being unloved for a variety of reasons. He may consider himself such +a dreadful person that no one could possibly love him; he may in +childhood have had to accustom himself to receiving less love than +fell to the share of other children; or he may in fact be a person +whom nobody loves. But in this latter event the cause probably lies +in a lack of self-confidence due to early misfortune. The man who +feels himself unloved may take various attitudes as a result. He +may make desperate efforts to win affection, probably by means of +exceptional acts of kindness. In this, however, he is very likely to be +unsuccessful, since the motive of the kindnesses is easily perceived +by their beneficiaries, and human nature is so constructed that it +gives affection most readily to those who seem least to demand it. The +man, therefore, who endeavours to purchase affection by benevolent +actions becomes disillusioned by experience of human ingratitude. It +never occurs to him that the affection which he is trying to buy is +of far more value than the material benefits which he offers as its +price, and yet the feeling that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> this is so is at the basis of his +actions. Another man, observing that he is unloved, may seek revenge +upon the world, either by stirring up wars and revolutions, or by a +pen dipped in gall, like Dean Swift. This is an heroic reaction to +misfortune, requiring a force of character sufficient to enable a +man to pit himself against the rest of the world. Few men are able +to reach such heights; the great majority, both of men and women, if +they feel themselves unloved, sink into a timid despair relieved only +by occasional gleams of envy and malice. As a rule, the lives of such +people become extremely self-centred, and the absence of affection +gives them a sense of insecurity from which they instinctively seek +to escape by allowing habit to dominate their lives utterly and +completely. For those who make themselves the slaves of unvarying +routine are generally actuated by fear of a cold outer world, and by +the feeling that they will not bump into it if they walk along the same +paths that they have walked along on previous days.</p> + +<p>Those who face life with a feeling of security are much happier than +those who face it with a feeling of insecurity, at any rate so long +as their sense of security does not lead them to disaster. And in a +very great many cases, though not in all, a sense of security will +itself help a man to escape dangers to which another would succumb. +If you are walking over a chasm on a narrow plank, you are much more +likely to fall if you feel fear than if you do not.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> And the same thing +applies to the conduct of life. The fearless man may, of course, meet +with sudden disaster, but it is likely that he will pass unscathed +through many difficult situations in which a timid man would come to +grief. This useful kind of self-confidence has, of course, innumerable +forms. One man is confident on mountains, another on the sea, and yet +another in the air. But general self-confidence towards life comes more +than anything else from being accustomed to receive as much of the +right sort of affection as one has need for. And it is this habit of +mind considered as a source of zest that I wish to speak about in the +present chapter.</p> + +<p>It is affection received, not affection given, that causes this +sense of security, though it arises most of all from affection +which is reciprocal. Strictly speaking, it is not only affection +but also admiration that has this effect. Persons whose trade is to +secure public admiration, such as actors, preachers, speakers, and +politicians, come to depend more and more upon applause. When they +receive their due meed of public approbation their life is full of +zest; when they do not, they become discontented and self-centred. +The diffused good will of a multitude does for them what is done +for others by the more concentrated affection of the few. The child +whose parents are fond of him accepts their affection as a law of +nature. He does not think very much about it, although it is of great +importance to his happiness. He thinks about the world, about the +adventures<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> that come his way and the more marvellous adventures that +will come his way when he is grown up. But behind all these external +interests there is the feeling that he will be protected from disaster +by parental affection. The child from whom for any reason parental +affection is withdrawn is likely to become timid and unadventurous, +filled with fears and self-pity, and no longer able to meet the world +in a mood of gay exploration. Such a child may set to work at a +surprisingly early age to meditate on life and death and human destiny. +He becomes an introvert, melancholy at first, but seeking ultimately +the unreal consolations of some system of philosophy or theology. The +world is a higgledy-piggledy place, containing things pleasant and +things unpleasant in haphazard sequence. And the desire to make an +intelligible system or pattern out of it is at bottom an outcome of +fear, in fact a kind of agoraphobia or dread of open spaces. Within +the four walls of his library the timid student feels safe. If he can +persuade himself that the universe is equally tidy, he can feel almost +equally safe when he has to venture forth into the streets. Such a man, +if he had received more affection, would have feared the real world +less, and would not have had to invent an ideal world to take its place +in his beliefs.</p> + +<p>By no means all affection, however, has this effect in encouraging +adventurousness. The affection given must be itself robust rather than +timid, desiring excellence even more than safety on the part of its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> +object, though of course by no means indifferent to safety. The timid +mother or nurse, who is perpetually warning children against disasters +that may occur, who thinks that every dog will bite and that every cow +is a bull, may produce in them a timidity equal to her own, and may +cause them to feel that they are never safe except in her immediate +neighbourhood. To the unduly possessive mother this feeling on the +part of a child may be agreeable: she may desire his dependence upon +herself more than his capacity to cope with the world. In that case +her child is probably worse off in the long run than he would be if he +were not loved at all. The habits of mind formed in early years are +likely to persist through life. Many people when they fall in love look +for a little haven of refuge from the world, where they can be sure of +being admired when they are not admirable, and praised when they are +not praiseworthy. To many men home is a refuge from the truth: it is +their fears and their timidities that make them enjoy a companionship +in which these feelings are put to rest. They seek from their wives +what they obtained formerly from an unwise mother, and yet they are +surprised if their wives regard them as grown-up children.</p> + +<p>To define the best kind of affection is not altogether easy, since +clearly there will be <i>some</i> protective element in it. We do +not feel indifferent to the hurts of people whom we love. I think, +however, that apprehension of misfortune, as opposed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> sympathy +with a misfortune that has actually occurred, should play as small a +part as possible in affection. Fear for others is only a shade better +than fear for ourselves. Moreover, it is very often a camouflage for +possessiveness. It is hoped that by rousing their fears a more complete +empire over them can be obtained. This, of course, is one of the +reasons why men have liked timid women, since by protecting them they +came to own them. The amount of solicitude of which a person can be the +object without damage to himself depends upon his character: a person +who is hardy and adventurous can endure a great deal without damage, +whereas a timid person should be encouraged to expect little in this +way.</p> + +<p>Affection received has a two-fold function. We have spoken of it +hitherto in connection with security, but in adult life it has an even +more essential biological purpose, namely parenthood. To be unable +to inspire sex love is a grave misfortune to any man or woman, since +it deprives him or her of the greatest joys that life has to offer. +This deprivation is almost sure sooner or later to destroy zest and +produce introversion. Very frequently, however, previous misfortunes +in childhood have produced defects of character which are the cause of +failure to obtain love in later years. This is perhaps more true where +men are concerned than it is as regards women, for on the whole women +tend to love men for their character while men tend to love<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> women for +their appearance. In this respect, it must be said, men show themselves +the inferiors of women, for the qualities that men find pleasing in +women are on the whole less desirable than those that women find +pleasing in men. I am not at all sure, however, that it is easier to +acquire a good character than a good appearance; at any rate, the steps +necessary for the latter are better understood and more readily pursued +by women than are the steps necessary for the former by men.</p> + +<p>We have been speaking hitherto of the affection of which a person is +the object. I wish now to speak of the affection that a person gives. +This also is of two different kinds, one of which is perhaps the +most important expression of a zest for life, while the other is an +expression of fear. The former seems to me wholly admirable, while the +latter is at best a consolation. If you are sailing in a ship on a fine +day along a beautiful coast, you admire the coast and feel pleasure in +it. This pleasure is one derived entirely from looking outward, and has +nothing to do with any desperate need of your own. If, on the other +hand, your ship is wrecked and you swim towards the coast, you acquire +for it a new kind of love: it represents security against the waves, +and its beauty or ugliness becomes an unimportant matter. The better +sort of affection corresponds to the feeling of the man whose ship is +secure, the less excellent sort corresponds to that of the shipwrecked +swimmer. The first of these kinds of affection is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> only possible in so +far as a man feels safe, or at any rate is indifferent to such dangers +as beset him; the latter kind, on the contrary, is caused by the +feeling of insecurity. The feeling caused by insecurity is much more +subjective and self-centred than the other, since the loved person is +valued for services rendered, not for intrinsic qualities. I do not, +however, wish to suggest that this kind of affection has no legitimate +part to play in life. In fact, almost all real affection contains +something of both kinds in combination, and in so far as affection +does really cure the sense of insecurity, it sets a man free to feel +again that interest in the world which in moments of danger and fear +is obscured. But while recognizing the part that such affection has +to play in life, we must still hold that it is less excellent than +the other kind, since it depends upon fear, and fear is an evil, and +also because it is more self-centred. In the best kind of affection +a man hopes for a new happiness rather than for escape from an old +unhappiness.</p> + +<p>The best type of affection is reciprocally life-giving; each receives +affection with joy and gives it without effort, and each finds the +whole world more interesting in consequence of the existence of this +reciprocal happiness. There is, however, another kind, by no means +uncommon, in which one person sucks the vitality of the other, one +receives what the other gives, but gives almost nothing in return. Some +very vital people belong<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> to this bloodsucking type. They extract the +vitality from one victim after another, but while they prosper and grow +interesting, those upon whom they live grow pale and dim and dull. Such +people use others as means to their own ends, and never consider them +as ends in themselves. Fundamentally they are not interested in those +whom for the moment they think they love; they are interested only in +the stimulus to their own activities, perhaps of a quite impersonal +sort. Evidently this springs from some defect in their nature, but +it is one not altogether easy either to diagnose or to cure. It is +a characteristic frequently associated with great ambition, and is +rooted, I should say, in an unduly one-sided view of what makes human +happiness. Affection in the sense of a genuine reciprocal interest of +two persons in each other, not solely as means to each other’s good, +but rather as a combination having a common good, is one of the most +important elements of real happiness, and the man whose ego is so +enclosed within steel walls that this enlargement of it is impossible +misses the best that life has to offer, however successful he may be +in his career. Ambition which excludes affection from its purview is +generally the result of some kind of anger or hatred against the human +race, produced by unhappiness in youth, by injustices in later life, or +by any of the causes which lead to persecution mania. A too powerful +ego is a prison from which a man must escape if he is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> to enjoy the +world to the full. A capacity for genuine affection is one of the +marks of the man who has escaped from this prison of self. To receive +affection is by no means enough; affection which is received should +liberate the affection which is to be given, and only where both exist +in equal measure does affection achieve its best possibilities.</p> + +<p>Obstacles, psychological and social, to the blossoming of reciprocal +affection are a grave evil, from which the world has always suffered +and still suffers. People are slow to give admiration for fear it +should be misplaced; they are slow to bestow affection for fear +that they should be made to suffer either by the person upon whom +they bestow it or by a censorious world. Caution is enjoined both +in the name of morality and in the name of worldly wisdom, with the +result that generosity and adventurousness are discouraged where the +affections are concerned. All this tends to produce timidity and +anger against mankind, since many people miss throughout life what is +really a fundamental need, and to nine out of ten an indispensable +condition of a happy and expansive attitude towards the world. It is +not to be supposed that those who are what is called immoral are in +this respect superior to those who are not. In sex relations there +is very often almost nothing that can be called real affection; not +infrequently there is even a fundamental hostility. Each is trying +not to give himself or herself away, each is preserving fundamental<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> +loneliness, each remains intact and therefore unfructified. In such +experiences there is no fundamental value. I do not say that they +should be carefully avoided, since the steps necessary to this end +would be likely to interfere also with the occasions where a more +valuable and profound affection could grow up. But I do say that the +only sex relations that have real value are those in which there is no +reticence and in which the whole personality of both becomes merged in +a new collective personality. Of all forms of caution, caution in love +is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br> +<span class="subhed">THE FAMILY</span></h2></div> + +<p>Of all the institutions that have come down to us from the past none +is in the present day so disorganized and derailed as the family. +Affection of parents for children and of children for parents is +capable of being one of the greatest sources of happiness, but in +fact at the present day the relations of parents and children are, in +nine cases out of ten, a source of unhappiness to both parties, and +in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a source of unhappiness to at +least one of the two parties. This failure of the family to provide +the fundamental satisfaction which in principle it is capable of +yielding is one of the most deep-seated causes of the discontent which +is prevalent in our age. The adult who wishes to have a happy relation +with his own children or to provide a happy life for them must reflect +deeply upon parenthood, and, having reflected, must act wisely. The +subject of the family is far too vast to be dealt with in this volume +except in relation to our own special problem, namely the conquest of +happiness. And even in relation to that problem we can deal with it +only in so far as amelioration lies within the power of each individual +without alterations in the social structure.</p> + +<p>This is, of course, a very grave limitation, for the causes of family +unhappiness in our day are of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> most diverse sorts, psychological, +economic, social, educational, and political. Where the well-to-do +sections of the community are concerned, two causes have combined to +make women feel parenthood a burden far heavier than it was ever felt +to be in former times. These two causes are, on the one hand, the +opening of careers to single women; on the other hand, the decay of +domestic service. In old days women were driven into marriage by the +intolerable conditions of life for the spinster. The spinster had to +live at home in economic dependence, first upon her father, and then +upon some reluctant brother. She had no occupations to fill her days +and no liberty to enjoy herself outside the sheltered walls of the +family mansion. She had neither the opportunity nor the inclination +for sexual adventure, which she herself profoundly believed to be an +abomination except within marriage. If, in spite of all safeguards, +she lost her virtue through the wiles of some designing fascinator, +her situation was pitiable in the extreme. It is delineated quite +accurately in <i>The Vicar of Wakefield</i>:</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>The only art her guilt to cover,</div> + <div>To hide her shame from ev’ry eye,</div> + <div>To give repentance to her lover</div> + <div>And wring his bosom is—to die.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">The modern spinster does not consider death necessary in these +circumstances. If she has had a good education, she has no difficulty +in making a comfortable living, and is therefore independent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> of +parental approval. Since parents have lost their economic power over +their daughters, they have become much more chary of expressing moral +disapproval of them; there is not much use in scolding a person who +won’t stay to be scolded. The unmarried young woman of the professional +classes is therefore able nowadays, provided she is not below the +average in intelligence and attractiveness, to enjoy a thoroughly +agreeable life so long as she can keep free from the desire for +children. But if this desire overwhelms her, she is compelled to +marry, and almost certainly to lose her job. She sinks to a much lower +level of comfort than that to which she has been accustomed, since +her husband’s income is very likely no larger than that which she was +previously earning, and has to provide for a family instead of only a +single woman. After having enjoyed independence, she finds it galling +to have to look to another for every penny of necessary expenditure. +For all these reasons such women hesitate to embark upon maternity.</p> + +<p>A woman who nevertheless does take the plunge finds herself, as +compared with the women of former generations, confronted with a new +and appalling problem, namely the paucity and bad quality of domestic +service. In consequence of this, she becomes tied to her house, +compelled to perform herself a thousand trivial tasks quite unworthy +of her ability and training, or, if she does not perform them herself, +to ruin her temper by scolding the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> maids who neglect them. In regard +to the physical care of her children, if she has taken pains to +become well-informed in this matter, she finds that it is impossible, +without grave risk of disaster, to entrust the children to nurses, or +even to leave to others the most elementary precautions in regard to +cleanliness and hygiene, unless she can afford a nurse who has had +an expensive training at some institute. Weighed down by a mass of +trivial detail, she is fortunate indeed if she does not soon lose all +her charm and three-quarters of her intelligence. Too often through +the mere performance of necessary duties such women become wearisome +to their husbands and a nuisance to their children. When the evening +comes and her husband returns from his work, the woman who talks +about her day-time troubles is a bore, and the woman who does not is +absent-minded. In relation to her children, the sacrifices that she +has made in order to have them are so present to her mind that she +is almost sure to demand more reward than it is desirable to expect, +while the constant habit of attending to trivial details will have made +her fussy and small-minded. This is the most pernicious of all the +injustices that she has to suffer: that in consequence of doing her +duty by her family she has lost their affection, whereas if she had +neglected them and remained gay and charming they would probably have +loved her.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> + +<p>These troubles are essentially economic, and so is another which is +almost equally grave. I mean the difficulties in regard to housing +which result from the concentration of populations in large cities. In +the Middle Ages cities were as rural as the country is now. Children +still sing the nursery rhyme:</p> + + <div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div>Upon Paul’s steeple stands a tree</div> + <div>As full of apples as may be,</div> + <div>The little boys of London town</div> + <div>They run with sticks to knock them down.</div> + <div>And then they run from hedge to hedge</div> + <div>Until they come to London Bridge.</div> + </div> + </div> + </div> + +<p class="p-left">Paul’s steeple is gone, and I do not know at what date the hedges +disappeared between St. Paul’s and London Bridge. It is many centuries +since the little boys of London town could enjoy such pleasures as +this rhyme suggests, but until not so very long ago the bulk of the +population lived in the country. The towns were not very vast; it was +easy to get out of them, and by no means uncommon to find gardens +attached to many houses in them. Nowadays there is in England an +immense preponderance of the urban over the rural population. In +America this preponderance is as yet slight, but it is very rapidly +increasing. Cities like London and New York are so large that it takes +a very long time to get out of them. Those who live in the city usually +have to be content with a flat, to which, of course, not a square +inch of soil is attached, and in which people of moderate means have +to be content with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> the absolute minimum of space. If there are young +children, life in a flat is difficult. There is no room for them to +play, and there is no room for their parents to get away from their +noise. Consequently professional men tend more and more to live in the +suburbs. This is undoubtedly desirable from the point of view of the +children, but it adds considerably to the fatigue of the man’s life, +and greatly diminishes the part which he can play in the family.</p> + +<p>Such large economic problems, however, it is not my intention to +discuss, since they lie outside the problem with which we are +concerned, namely what the individual can here and now do to find +happiness. We come nearer to this problem when we pass to the +psychological difficulties which exist in the present age in the +relations of parents and children. These are really part of the +problems raised by democracy. In old days there were masters and +slaves: the masters decided what was to be done, and on the whole +liked their slaves, since their slaves ministered to their happiness. +The slaves may possibly have hated their masters, though this did +not happen nearly so universally as democratic theory would have +us suppose. But even if they did hate their masters, their masters +remained unaware of this fact, and the masters at any rate were +happy. With the general acceptance of democratic theory all this was +changed: slaves who had acquiesced before ceased to acquiesce; masters +who had formerly had no doubts as to their rights became<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> hesitant +and uncertain. Friction arose and caused unhappiness on both sides. +I am not saying all this as an argument against democracy, for the +troubles in question are only such as are inevitable in any important +transition. But it is no use to blink the fact that, while this +transition is in progress, it makes the world uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>The change in the relation between parents and children is a particular +example of the general spread of democracy. Parents are no longer sure +of their rights as against their children; children no longer feel +that they owe respect to their parents. The virtue of obedience, which +was formerly exacted without question, has become unfashionable, and +rightly so. Psycho-analysis has terrified educated parents with the +fear of the harm they may unwittingly do their children. If they kiss +them, they may produce an Œdipus complex; if they do not they may +produce a fury of jealousy. If they order the children to do things +they may be producing a sense of sin; if they do not, the children +acquire habits which the parents think undesirable. When they see their +baby sucking his thumb, they draw all kinds of terrifying inferences, +but they are quite at a loss as to what to do to stop him. Parenthood, +which used to be a triumphant exercise of power, has become timid, +anxious, and filled with conscientious doubts. The old simple joys are +lost, and that at the very moment when, owing to the new freedom of +single women, the mother has had to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> sacrifice much more than formerly +in deciding upon maternity. In these circumstances conscientious +mothers ask too little of their children, and unconscientious mothers +ask too much. Conscientious mothers restrain their natural affection +and become shy; unconscientious mothers seek in their children a +compensation for the joys that they have had to forgo. In the one +case the child’s affections are starved, in the other they are +over-stimulated. In neither case is there any of that simple and +natural happiness that the family at its best can provide.</p> + +<p>In view of all these troubles, is it any wonder that the birth-rate +declines? The decline of the birth-rate in the population at large has +reached a point which shows that the population will soon begin to +dwindle, but among the well-to-do classes this point has long ago been +passed, not only in one country, but in practically all the most highly +civilized countries. There are not very many statistics available as +to the birth-rate among the well-to-do, but two facts may be quoted +from Jean Ayling’s book alluded to above. It appears that in Stockholm +in the years 1919 to 1922 the fertility of professional women was only +one-third of that of the population at large, and that among the four +thousand graduates of Wellesley College, U.S.A., in the period 1896 +to 1913 the total number of children is about three thousand, whereas +to prevent an actual dwindling of the stock there should have been +eight thousand children none of whom had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> died young. There can be +no doubt that the civilization produced by the white races has this +singular characteristic, that in proportion as men and women absorb +it, they become sterile. The most civilized are the most sterile; the +least civilized are the most fertile; and between the two there is a +continual gradation. At present the most intelligent sections of the +Western nations are dying out. Within a very few years the Western +nations as a whole will be diminishing in numbers except in so far +as their stocks are replenished by immigration from less civilized +regions. And as soon as the immigrants acquire the civilization of +the country of their adoption they in turn will become comparatively +sterile. It is clear that a civilization which has this characteristic +is unstable; unless it can be induced to reproduce its numbers, it +must sooner or later die out and give place to some other civilization +in which the urge towards parenthood has retained enough strength to +prevent the population from declining.</p> + +<p>Official moralists in every Western country have endeavoured to treat +this problem by means of exhortations and sentimentality. On the one +hand, they say that it is the duty of every married couple to have +as many children as God wills, regardless of any prospect that such +children may have of health and happiness. On the other hand, male +divines prate about the sacred joys of motherhood and pretend that a +large family of diseased and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> poverty-stricken infants is a source +of happiness. The State joins in with the argument that an adequate +crop of cannon fodder is necessary, for how can all these exquisite +and ingenious weapons of destruction function adequately unless there +are sufficient populations left for them to destroy? Strange to say, +the individual parent, even if he accepts these arguments as applied +to others, remains entirely deaf to them as applied to himself. The +psychology of the divines and the patriots is at fault. The divines +may succeed so long as they can successfully threaten hell-fire, but +it is only a minority of the population that now takes this threat +seriously. And no threat short of this is adequate to control behaviour +in a matter so essentially private. As for the State, its argument +is altogether too ferocious. People may agree that others ought to +provide cannon fodder, but they are not attracted by the prospect of +having their own children used in this way. All that the State can do, +therefore, is to endeavour to keep the poor in ignorance, an effort +which, as the statistics show, is singularly unsuccessful except in +the most backward of Western countries. Very few men or women will +have children from a sense of public duty, even if it were far clearer +than it is that any such public duty exists. When men and women have +children, they do so either because they believe that children will +add to their happiness, or because they do not know how to prevent +them. The latter reason<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> still operates very powerfully, but it is +steadily diminishing in potency. And nothing that either the State +or the Churches can do will prevent this diminution from continuing. +It is necessary, therefore, if the white races are to survive, that +parenthood should again become capable of yielding happiness to parents.</p> + +<p>When one considers human nature apart from the circumstances of the +present day, it is clear, I think, that parenthood is psychologically +capable of providing the greatest and most enduring happiness that +life has to offer. This, no doubt, is more true of women than of men, +but it is more true of men than most moderns are inclined to suppose. +It is taken for granted in almost all literature before the present +age. Hecuba cares more for her children than for Priam; MacDuff cares +more for his children than for his wife. In the Old Testament both men +and women are passionately concerned to leave descendants; in China +and Japan this attitude has persisted down to our own day. It will be +said that this desire is due to ancestor worship. I think, however, +that the contrary is the truth, namely that ancestor worship is a +reflection of the interest people take in the persistence of their +family. Reverting to the professional women whom we were considering +a moment ago, it is clear that the urge to have children must be very +powerful, for otherwise none of them would make the sacrifices required +in order to satisfy it. For my own part,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> speaking personally, I have +found the happiness of parenthood greater than any other that I have +experienced. I believe that when circumstances lead men or women to +forgo this happiness, a very deep need remains ungratified, and that +this produces a dissatisfaction and listlessness of which the cause +may remain quite unknown. To be happy in this world, especially when +youth is past, it is necessary to feel oneself not merely an isolated +individual whose day will soon be over, but part of the stream of life +flowing on from the first germ to the remote and unknown future. As a +conscious sentiment, expressed in set terms, this involves no doubt +a hyper-civilized and intellectual outlook upon the world, but as a +vague instinctive emotion it is primitive and natural, and it is its +absence that is hyper-civilized. A man who is capable of some great +and remarkable achievement which sets its stamp upon future ages may +gratify this feeling through his work, but for men and women who have +no exceptional gifts, the only way to do so is through children. Those +who have allowed their procreative impulses to become atrophied have +separated themselves from the stream of life, and in so doing have +run a grave risk of becoming desiccated. For them, unless they are +exceptionally impersonal, death ends all. The world that shall come +after them does not concern them, and because of this their doings +appear to themselves trivial and unimportant. To the man or woman +who has children and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> grandchildren and loves them with a natural +affection, the future is important, at any rate to the limit of their +lives, not only through morality or through an effort of imagination, +but naturally and instinctively. And the man whose interests have +been stretched to this extent beyond his personal life is likely to +be able to stretch them still further. Like Abraham, he will derive +satisfaction from the thought that his seed are to inherit the promised +land even if this is not to happen for many generations. And through +such feelings he is saved from the sense of futility which otherwise +deadens all his emotions.</p> + +<p>The basis of the family is, of course, the fact that parents feel a +special kind of affection towards their own children, different from +that which they feel towards each other or towards other children. It +is true that some parents feel little or no parental affection, and +it is also true that some women are capable of feeling an affection +for children not their own almost as strong as that which they could +feel for their own. Nevertheless, the broad fact remains that parental +affection is a special kind of feeling which the normal human being +experiences towards his or her own children, but not towards any +other human being. This emotion is one which we inherit from our +animal ancestors. In this respect Freud seems to me not sufficiently +biological in his outlook, for anyone who will observe an animal mother +with her young can see<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> that her behaviour towards them follows an +entirely different pattern from her behaviour towards the male with +whom she has sex relations. And this same different and instinctive +pattern, though in a modified and less definite form, exists among +human beings. If it were not for this special emotion there would be +almost nothing to be said for the family as an institution, since +children might equally well be left to the care of professionals. As +things are, however, the special affection which parents have for +children, provided their instincts are not atrophied, is of value both +to the parents themselves and to the children. The value of parental +affection to children lies largely in the fact that it is more reliable +than any other affection. One’s friends like one for one’s merits, +one’s lovers for one’s charms; if the merits or the charms diminish, +friends and lovers may vanish. But it is in times of misfortune that +parents are most to be relied upon, in illness, and even in disgrace +if the parents are of the right sort. We all feel pleasure when we are +admired for our merits, but most of us are sufficiently modest at heart +to feel that such admiration is precarious. Our parents love us because +we are their children, and this is an unalterable fact, so that we feel +more safe with them than with anyone else. In times of success this may +seem unimportant, but in times of failure it affords a consolation and +a security not to be found elsewhere.</p> + +<p>In all human relations it is fairly easy to secure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> happiness for one +party, but much more difficult to secure it for both. The gaoler may +enjoy guarding the prisoner; the employer may enjoy browbeating the +employee; the ruler may enjoy governing his subjects with a firm hand; +and the old-fashioned father no doubt enjoyed instilling virtue into +his son by means of the rod. These, however, are one-sided pleasures; +to the other party in the transaction the situation is less agreeable. +We have come to feel that there is something unsatisfactory about +these one-sided delights: we believe that a good human relation should +be satisfying to both parties. This applies more particularly to the +relations of parents and children, with the result that parents obtain +far less pleasure from children than they did formerly, while children +reciprocally suffer less at the hands of their parents than they did +in bygone generations. I do not think there is any real reason why +parents should derive less happiness from their children than they did +in former times, although undoubtedly this is the case at present. +Nor do I think that there is any reason why parents should fail to +increase the happiness of their children. But this requires, as do all +those equal relationships at which the modern world aims, a certain +delicacy and tenderness, a certain reverence for another personality, +which are by no means encouraged by the pugnacity of ordinary life. +Let us consider the happiness of parenthood, first in its biological +essence, and then as it may become in a parent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> inspired by that kind +of attitude towards other personalities which we have been suggesting +as essential to a world that believes in equality.</p> + +<p>The primitive root of the pleasure of parenthood is two-fold. On the +one hand there is the feeling of part of one’s own body externalized, +prolonging its life beyond the death of the rest of one’s body, and +possibly in its turn externalizing part of itself in the same fashion, +and so securing the immortality of the germ-plasm. On the other hand +there is an intimate blend of power and tenderness. The new creature +is helpless, and there is an impulse to supply its needs, an impulse +which gratifies not only the parent’s love towards the child, but +also the parent’s desire for power. So long as the infant is felt to +be helpless, the affection which is bestowed upon it does not feel +unselfish, since it is in the nature of protection to a vulnerable +portion of oneself. But from a very early age there comes to be a +conflict between love of parental power and desire for the child’s +good, for, while power over the child is to a certain extent decreed +by the nature of things, it is nevertheless desirable that the child +should as soon as possible learn to be independent in as many ways as +possible, which is unpleasant to the power impulse in a parent. Some +parents never become conscious of this conflict, and remain tyrants +until the children are in a position to rebel. Others, however, become +conscious of it, and thus find themselves a prey to conflicting +emotions. In this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> conflict their parental happiness is lost. After +all the care that they have bestowed on the child, they find to their +mortification that he turns out quite different from what they had +hoped. They wanted him to be a soldier, and they find him a pacifist, +or, like Tolstoy, they wanted him to be a pacifist, and he joins the +Black Hundreds. But it is not only in these later developments that +the difficulty is felt. If you feed an infant who is already capable +of feeding himself, you are putting love of power before the child’s +welfare, although it seems to you that you are only being kind in +saving him trouble. If you make him too vividly aware of dangers, you +are probably actuated by a desire to keep him dependent upon you. If +you give him demonstrative affection to which you expect a response, +you are probably endeavouring to grapple him to you by means of his +emotions. In a thousand ways, great and small, the possessive impulse +of parents will lead them astray, unless they are very watchful or very +pure in heart. Modern parents, aware of these dangers, sometimes lose +confidence in handling their children, and become therefore even less +able to be of use to them than if they permitted themselves spontaneous +mistakes, for nothing causes so much worry in a child’s mind as lack +of certainty and self-confidence on the part of an adult. Better than +being careful, therefore, is to be pure in heart. The parent who +genuinely desires the child’s welfare more than his or her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> power over +the child will not need textbooks on psycho-analysis to say what should +and what should not be done, but will be guided aright by impulse. +And in that case the relation of parent and child will be harmonious +from first to last, causing no rebellion in the child and no feeling +of frustration in the parent. But this demands on the part of the +parent from the first a respect for the personality of the child—a +respect which must be not merely a matter of principle, whether moral +or intellectual, but something deeply felt with almost mystical +conviction to such a degree that possessiveness and oppression become +utterly impossible. It is of course not only towards children that an +attitude of this sort is desirable: it is very necessary in marriage, +and in friendship also, though in friendship it is less difficult. In a +good world it would pervade the political relations between groups of +human beings, though this is so distant a hope that we need not linger +over it. But universal as is the need for this kind of gentleness, it +is needed most of all where children are concerned, because of their +helplessness, and because their small size and feeble strength cause +vulgar souls to despise them.</p> + +<p>But to return to the problems with which this book is concerned, the +full joy of parenthood in the modern world is only to be obtained by +those who can deeply feel this attitude of respect towards the child +of which I have been speaking. For to them there will be no irksome +restraint upon their love of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> power, and no need to dread the bitter +disillusionment which despotic parents experience when their children +acquire freedom. And to the parent who has this attitude there is more +joy in parenthood than ever was possible to the despot in the hey-day +of parental power. For the love that has been purged by gentleness +of all tendency towards tyranny can give a joy more exquisite, more +tender, more capable of transmuting the base metal of daily life into +the pure gold of mystic ecstasy, than any emotion that is possible to +the man still fighting and struggling to maintain his ascendancy in +this slippery world.</p> + +<p>While I attach a very high value to the parental emotion, I do not draw +the inference, which is too commonly drawn, that mothers should do as +much as possible themselves for their children. There is a convention +on this subject which was all very well in the days when nothing was +known about the care of children except the unscientific odds and ends +that old women handed on to younger ones. Nowadays there is a great +deal in the care of children which is best done by those who have +made a special study of some department of this subject. In relation +to that part of their education which is <i>called</i> “education” +this is recognized. A mother is not expected to teach her son the +calculus, however much she may love him. So far as the acquisition of +book-learning is concerned, it is recognized that children can acquire +it better from those who have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> it than from a mother who does not have +it. But in regard to many other departments in the care of children +this is not recognized, because the experience required is not yet +recognized. Undoubtedly certain things are better done by the mother, +but as the child gets older, there will be an increasing number of +things better done by someone else. If this were generally recognized, +mothers would be saved a great deal of labour which is irksome to them, +because it is not that in which they have professional competence. A +woman who has acquired any kind of professional skill ought, both for +her own sake and for that of the community, to be free to continue to +exercise this skill in spite of motherhood. She may be unable to do +so during the later months of pregnancy and during lactation, but a +child over nine months old ought not to form an insuperable barrier +to its mother’s professional activities. Whenever society demands +of a mother sacrifices to her child which go beyond reason, the +mother, if she is not unusually saintly, will expect from her child +compensations exceeding those she has a right to expect. The mother +who is conventionally called self-sacrificing is, in a great majority +of cases, exceptionally selfish towards her children, for, important +as parenthood is as an element in life, it is not satisfying if it is +treated as the whole of life, and the unsatisfied parent is likely to +be an emotionally grasping parent. It is important, therefore, quite +as much in the interests of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> children as in those of the mother, +that motherhood should not cut her off from all other interests and +pursuits. If she has a real vocation for the care of children and that +amount of knowledge which will enable her to care adequately for her +own children, her skill ought to be more widely used, and she ought to +be engaged professionally in the care of some group of children which +may be expected to include her own. It is right that parents, provided +they fulfil the minimum requirements insisted upon by the State, should +have a say as to how their children are cared for and by whom, so long +as they do not go outside the ranks of qualified persons. But there +should be no convention demanding that every mother should do herself +what some other woman can do better. Mothers who feel baffled and +incompetent when faced with their children, as many mothers do, should +have no hesitation in having their children cared for by women who have +an aptitude for this work and have undergone the necessary training. +There is no heaven-sent instinct which teaches women the right thing +to do by their children, and solicitude when it goes beyond a point +is a camouflage for possessiveness. Many a child is psychologically +ruined by ignorant and sentimental handling on the part of its mother. +It has always been recognized that fathers cannot be expected to do +very much for their children, and yet children are quite as apt to +love their fathers as to love their mothers. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> relation of the +mother to the child will have in future to resemble more and more that +which at present the father has, if women’s lives are to be freed from +unnecessary slavery and children are to be allowed to profit by the +scientific knowledge which is accumulating as to the care of their +minds and bodies in early years.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br> +<span class="subhed">WORK</span></h2></div> + +<p>Whether work should be placed among the causes of happiness or among +the causes of unhappiness may perhaps be regarded as a doubtful +question. There is certainly much work which is exceedingly irksome, +and an excess of work is always very painful. I think, however, that, +provided work is not excessive in amount, even the dullest work is to +most people less painful than idleness. There are in work all grades, +from mere relief of tedium up to the profoundest delights, according +to the nature of the work and the abilities of the worker. Most of +the work that most people have to do is not in itself interesting, +but even such work has certain great advantages. To begin with, it +fills a good many hours of the day without the need of deciding what +one shall do. Most people, when they are left free to fill their own +time according to their own choice, are at a loss to think of anything +sufficiently pleasant to be worth doing. And whatever they decide +on, they are troubled by the feeling that something else would have +been pleasanter. To be able to fill leisure intelligently is the last +product of civilization, and at present very few people have reached +this level. Moreover, the exercise of choice is in itself tiresome. +Except to people with unusual initiative it is positively agreeable to +be told what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> to do at each hour of the day, provided the orders are +not too unpleasant. Most of the idle rich suffer unspeakable boredom as +the price of their freedom from drudgery. At times they may find relief +by hunting big game in Africa, or by flying round the world, but the +number of such sensations is limited, especially after youth is past. +Accordingly, the more intelligent rich men work nearly as hard as if +they were poor, while rich women for the most part keep themselves busy +with innumerable trifles of whose earth-shaking importance they are +firmly persuaded.</p> + +<p>Work, therefore, is desirable, first and foremost, as a preventive of +boredom, for the boredom that a man feels when he is doing necessary +though uninteresting work is as nothing in comparison with the boredom +that he feels when he has nothing to do with his days. With this +advantage of work another is associated, namely that it makes holidays +much more delicious when they come. Provided a man does not have to +work so hard as to impair his vigour, he is likely to find far more +zest in his free time than an idle man could possibly find.</p> + +<p>The second advantage of most paid work and of some unpaid work is +that it gives chances of success and opportunities for ambition. In +most work success is measured by income, and while our capitalistic +society continues, this is inevitable. It is only where the best work +is concerned that this measure ceases to be the natural one to apply. +The desire that men feel to increase their income<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> is quite as much a +desire for success as for the extra comforts that a higher income can +procure. However dull work may be, it becomes bearable if it is a means +of building up a reputation, whether in the world at large or only in +one’s own circle. Continuity of purpose is one of the most essential +ingredients of happiness in the long run, and for most men this comes +chiefly through their work. In this respect those women whose lives +are occupied with house-work are much less fortunate than men, or than +women who work outside the home. The domesticated wife does not receive +wages, has no means of bettering herself, is taken for granted by her +husband (who sees practically nothing of what she does), and is valued +by him not for her house-work but for quite other qualities. Of course, +this does not apply to those women who are sufficiently well-to-do to +make beautiful houses and beautiful gardens and become the envy of +their neighbours; but such women are comparatively few, and for the +great majority house-work cannot bring as much satisfaction as work of +other kinds brings to men and to professional women.</p> + +<p>The satisfaction of killing time and of affording some outlet, however +modest, for ambition, belongs to most work, and is sufficient to make +even a man whose work is dull happier on the average than a man who has +no work at all. But when work is interesting, it is capable of giving +satisfaction of a far higher order than mere relief from tedium. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> +kinds of work in which there is some interest may be arranged in a +hierarchy. I shall begin with those which are only mildly interesting +and end with those that are worthy to absorb the whole energies of a +great man.</p> + +<p>Two chief elements make work interesting: first, the exercise of skill, +and second, construction.</p> + +<p>Every man who has acquired some unusual skill enjoys exercising it +until it has become a matter of course, or until he can no longer +improve himself. This motive to activity begins in early childhood: a +boy who can stand on his head becomes reluctant to stand on his feet. +A great deal of work gives the same pleasure that is to be derived +from games of skill. The work of a lawyer or a politician must contain +in a more delectable form a great deal of the same pleasure that is +to be derived from playing bridge. Here, of course, there is not only +the exercise of skill but the outwitting of a skilled opponent. Even +where this competitive element is absent, however, the performance of +difficult feats is agreeable. A man who can do stunts in an aeroplane +finds the pleasure so great that for the sake of it he is willing to +risk his life. I imagine that an able surgeon, in spite of the painful +circumstances in which his work is done, derives satisfaction from +the exquisite precision of his operations. The same kind of pleasure, +though in a less intense form, is to be derived from a great deal of +work of a humbler kind. I have even heard of plumbers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> who enjoyed +their work, though I have never had the good fortune to meet one. All +skilled work can be pleasurable, provided the skill required is either +variable or capable of indefinite improvement. If these conditions +are absent, it will cease to be interesting when a man has acquired +his maximum skill. A man who runs three-mile races will cease to find +pleasure in this occupation when he passes the age at which he can +beat his own previous record. Fortunately there is a very considerable +amount of work in which new circumstances call for new skill and a man +can go on improving, at any rate until he has reached middle age. In +some kinds of skilled work, such as politics, for example, it seems +that men are at their best between sixty and seventy, the reason being +that in such occupations a wide experience of other men is essential. +For this reason successful politicians are apt to be happier at the age +of seventy than any other men of equal age. Their only competitors in +this respect are the men who are the heads of big businesses.</p> + +<p>There is, however, another element possessed by the best work, which +is even more important as a source of happiness than is the exercise +of skill. This is the element of constructiveness. In some work, +though by no means in most, something is built up which remains as a +monument when the work is completed. We may distinguish construction +from destruction by the following criterion. In construction the +initial state of affairs is comparatively<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> haphazard, while the final +state of affairs embodies a purpose; in destruction the reverse is the +case: the initial state of affairs embodies a purpose, while the final +state of affairs is haphazard, that is to say, all that is intended by +the destroyer is to produce a state of affairs which does not embody +a certain purpose. This criterion applies in the most literal and +obvious case, namely the construction and destruction of buildings. In +constructing a building a previously made plan is carried out, whereas +in destroying it no one decides exactly how the materials are to lie +when the demolition is complete. Destruction is of course necessary +very often as a preliminary to subsequent construction; in that case it +is part of a whole which is constructive. But not infrequently a man +will engage in activities of which the purpose is destructive without +regard to any construction that may come after. Frequently he will +conceal this from himself by the belief that he is only sweeping away +in order to build afresh, but it is generally possible to unmask this +pretence, when it is a pretence, by asking him what the subsequent +construction is to be. On this subject it will be found that he will +speak vaguely and without enthusiasm, whereas on the preliminary +destruction he has spoken precisely and with zest. This applies to not +a few revolutionaries and militarists and other apostles of violence. +They are actuated, usually without their own knowledge, by hatred; the +destruction of what they hate is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> their real purpose, and they are +comparatively indifferent to the question what is to come after it. +Now I cannot deny that in the work of destruction as in the work of +construction there may be joy. It is a fiercer joy, perhaps at moments +more intense, but it is less profoundly satisfying, since the result is +one in which little satisfaction is to be found. You kill your enemy, +and when he is dead your occupation is gone, and the satisfaction that +you derive from victory quickly fades. The work of construction, on the +other hand, when completed, is delightful to contemplate, and moreover +is never so fully completed that there is nothing further to do about +it. The most satisfactory purposes are those that lead on indefinitely +from one success to another without ever coming to a dead end; and in +this respect it will be found that construction is a greater source of +happiness than destruction. Perhaps it would be more correct to say +that those who find satisfaction in construction find in it greater +satisfaction than the lovers of destruction can find in destruction, +for if once you have become filled with hate you will not easily derive +from construction the pleasure which another man would derive from it.</p> + +<p>At the same time few things are so likely to cure the habit of hatred +as the opportunity to do constructive work of an important kind.</p> + +<p>The satisfaction to be derived from success in a great constructive +enterprise is one of the most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> massive that life has to offer, +although unfortunately in its highest forms it is only open to men +of exceptional ability. Nothing can rob a man of the happiness of +successful achievement in an important piece of work, unless it be +the proof that after all his work was bad. There are many forms of +such satisfaction. The man who by a scheme of irrigation has caused +the wilderness to blossom like the rose enjoys it in one of its most +tangible forms. The creation of an organization may be a work of +supreme importance. So is the work of those few statesmen who have +devoted their lives to producing order out of chaos, of whom Lenin is +the supreme type in our day. The most obvious examples are artists +and men of science. Shakespeare says of his verse: “So long as men +can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this.” And it cannot be +doubted that the thought consoled him for misfortune. In his sonnets he +maintains that the thought of his friend reconciled him to life, but +I cannot help suspecting that the sonnets he wrote to his friend were +even more effective for this purpose than the friend himself. Great +artists and great men of science do work which is in itself delightful; +while they are doing it, it secures them the respect of those whose +respect is worth having, which gives them the most fundamental kind +of power, namely power over men’s thoughts and feelings. They have +also the most solid reasons for thinking well of themselves. This +combination of fortunate circumstances ought,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> one would think, to +be enough to make any man happy. Nevertheless it is not so. Michael +Angelo, for example, was a profoundly unhappy man and maintained (not, +I am sure, with truth) that he would not have troubled to produce works +of art if he had not had to pay the debts of his impecunious relations. +The power to produce great art is very often, though by no means +always, associated with a temperamental unhappiness, so great that but +for the joy which the artist derives from his work he would be driven +to suicide. We cannot therefore maintain that even the greatest work +must make a man happy; we can only maintain that it must make him less +unhappy. Men of science, however, are far less often temperamentally +unhappy than artists are, and in the main the men who do great work in +science are happy men, whose happiness is derived primarily from their +work.</p> + +<p>One of the causes of unhappiness among intellectuals in the present day +is that so many of them, especially those whose skill is literary, find +no opportunity for the independent exercise of their talents, but have +to hire themselves out to rich corporations directed by Philistines, +who insist upon their producing what they themselves regard as +pernicious nonsense. If you were to inquire among journalists either in +England or America whether they believed in the policy of the newspaper +for which they worked, you would find, I believe, that only a small +minority do so; the rest, for the sake of a livelihood, prostitute<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> +their skill to purposes which they believe to be harmful. Such work +cannot bring any real satisfaction, and in the course of reconciling +himself to the doing of it a man has to make himself so cynical that he +can no longer derive whole-hearted satisfaction from anything whatever. +I cannot condemn men who undertake work of this sort, since starvation +is too serious an alternative, but I think that where it is possible to +do work that is satisfactory to a man’s constructive impulses without +entirely starving, he will be well advised from the point of view of +his own happiness if he chooses it in preference to work much more +highly paid but not seeming to him worth doing on its own account. +Without self-respect genuine happiness is scarcely possible. And the +man who is ashamed of his work can hardly achieve self-respect.</p> + +<p>The satisfaction of constructive work, though it may, as things are, +be the privilege of a minority, can nevertheless be the privilege of +a quite large minority. Any man who is his own master in his work can +feel it; so can any man whose work appears to him useful and requires +considerable skill. The production of satisfactory children is a +difficult constructive work capable of affording profound satisfaction. +Any woman who has achieved this can feel that as a result of her labour +the world contains something of value which it would not otherwise +contain.</p> + +<p>Human beings differ profoundly in regard to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> tendency to regard +their lives as a whole. To some men it is natural to do so, and +essential to happiness to be able to do so with some satisfaction. To +others life is a series of detached incidents without directed movement +and without unity. I think the former sort are more likely to achieve +happiness than the latter, since they will gradually build up those +circumstances from which they can derive contentment and self-respect, +whereas the others will be blown about by the winds of circumstance +now this way, now that, without ever arriving at any haven. The habit +of viewing life as a whole is an essential part both of wisdom and of +true morality, and is one of the things which ought to be encouraged in +education. Consistent purpose is not enough to make life happy, but it +is an almost indispensable condition of a happy life. And consistent +purpose embodies itself mainly in work.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV<br> +<span class="subhed">IMPERSONAL INTERESTS</span></h2></div> + + +<p>In this chapter I wish to consider not those major interests about +which a man’s life is built, but those minor interests which fill his +leisure and afford relaxation from the tenseness of his more serious +pre-occupations. In the life of the average man his wife and children, +his work and his financial position occupy the main part of his anxious +and serious thought. Even if he has extra-matrimonial love affairs, +they probably do not concern him as profoundly in themselves as in +their possible effects upon his home life. The interests which are +bound up with his work I am not for the present regarding as impersonal +interests. A man of science, for example, must keep abreast of research +in his own line. Towards such research his feelings have the warmth +and vividness belonging to something intimately concerned with his +career, but if he reads about research in some quite other science with +which he is not professionally concerned he reads in quite a different +spirit, not professionally, less critically, more disinterestedly. Even +if he has to use his mind in order to follow what is said, his reading +is nevertheless a relaxation, because it is not connected with his +responsibilities. If the book interests him, his interest is impersonal +in a sense which cannot be applied to the books upon his own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> subject. +It is such interests lying outside the main activities of a man’s life +that I wish to speak about in the present chapter.</p> + +<p>One of the sources of unhappiness, fatigue, and nervous strain is +inability to be interested in anything that is not of practical +importance in one’s own life. The result of this is that the conscious +mind gets no rest from a certain small number of matters, each of +which probably involves some anxiety and some element of worry. +Except in sleep the conscious mind is never allowed to lie fallow +while subconscious thought matures its gradual wisdom. The result is +excitability, lack of sagacity, irritability, and a loss of sense of +proportion. All these are both causes and effects of fatigue. As a man +gets more tired, his external interests fade, and as they fade he loses +the relief which they afford him and becomes still more tired. This +vicious circle is only too apt to end in a breakdown. What is restful +about external interests is the fact that they do not call for any +action. Making decisions and exercising volition are very fatiguing, +especially if they have to be done hurriedly and without the help of +the subconscious. Men who feel that they must “sleep on it” before +coming to an important decision are profoundly right. But it is not +only in sleep that the subconscious mental processes can work. They can +work also while a man’s conscious mind is occupied elsewhere. The man +who can forget his work when it is over and not remember it until<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> it +begins again next day is likely to do his work far better than the man +who worries about it throughout the intervening hours. And it is very +much easier to forget work at the times when it ought to be forgotten +if a man has many interests other than his work than it is if he has +not. It is, however, essential that these interests should not exercise +those very faculties which have been exhausted by his day’s work. They +should not involve will and quick decision, they should not, like +gambling, involve any financial element, and they should as a rule +not be so exciting as to produce emotional fatigue and preoccupy the +subconscious as well as the conscious mind.</p> + +<p>A great many amusements fulfil all these conditions. Watching games, +going to the theatre, playing golf, are all irreproachable from this +point of view. For a man of a bookish turn of mind reading unconnected +with his professional activities is very satisfactory. However +important a worry may be, it should not be thought about throughout the +whole of the waking hours.</p> + +<p>In this respect there is a great difference between men and women. Men +on the whole find it very much easier to forget their work than women +do. In the case of women whose work is in the home this is natural, +since they do not have the change of place that a man has when he +leaves the office to help them to acquire a new mood. But if I am not +mistaken, women whose work is outside the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> home differ from men in +this respect almost as much as those who work at home. They find it, +that is to say, very difficult to be interested in anything that has +for them no practical importance. Their purposes govern their thoughts +and their activities, and they seldom become absorbed in some wholly +irresponsible interest. I do not of course deny that exceptions exist, +but I am speaking of what seems to me to be the usual rule. In a +woman’s college, for example, the women teachers, if no man is present, +talk shop in the evening, while in a man’s college the men do not. This +characteristic appears to women as a higher degree of conscientiousness +than that of men, but I do not think that in the long run it improves +the quality of their work. And it tends to produce a certain narrowness +of outlook leading not infrequently to a kind of fanaticism.</p> + +<p>All impersonal interests, apart from their importance as relaxation, +have various other uses. To begin with, they help a man to retain his +sense of proportion. It is very easy to become so absorbed in our +own pursuits, our own circle, our own type of work, that we forget +how small a part this is of the total of human activity and how many +things in the world are entirely unaffected by what we do. Why should +one remember this? you may ask. There are several answers. In the +first place, it is good to have as true a picture of the world as is +compatible with necessary activities. Each of us is in the world for no +very long time, and within<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> the few years of his life has to acquire +whatever he is to know of this strange planet and its place in the +universe. To ignore our opportunities for knowledge, imperfect as they +are, is like going to the theatre and not listening to the play. The +world is full of things that are tragic or comic, heroic or bizarre or +surprising, and those who fail to be interested in the spectacle that +it offers are forgoing one of the privileges that life has to offer.</p> + +<p>Then again a sense of proportion is very valuable and at times very +consoling. We are all inclined to get unduly excited, unduly strained, +unduly impressed with the importance of the little corner of the world +in which we live, and of the little moment of time comprised between +our birth and death. In this excitement and over-estimation of our +own importance there is nothing desirable. True, it may make us work +harder, but it will not make us work better. A little work directed to +a good end is better than a great deal of work directed to a bad end, +though the apostles of the strenuous life seem to think otherwise. +Those who care much for their work are always in danger of falling +into fanaticism, which consists essentially in remembering one or two +desirable things while forgetting all the rest, and in supposing that +in the pursuit of these one or two any incidental harm of other sorts +is of little account. Against this fanatical temper there is no better +prophylactic than a large conception of the life of man and his place +in the universe. This<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> may seem a very big thing to invoke in such a +connection, but apart from this particular use it is in itself a thing +of great value.</p> + +<p>It is one of the defects of modern higher education that it has become +too much a training in the acquisition of certain kinds of skill, and +too little an enlargement of the mind and heart by an impartial survey +of the world. You become absorbed, let us say, in a political contest, +and work hard for the victory of your own party. So far, so good. But +it may happen in the course of the contest that some opportunity of +victory presents itself which involves the use of methods calculated +to increase hatred, violence and suspicion in the world. For example, +you may find that the best road to victory is to insult some foreign +nation. If your mental purview is limited to the present, or if you +have imbibed the doctrine that what is called efficiency is the only +thing that matters, you will adopt such dubious means. Through them +you will be victorious in your immediate purpose, while the more +distant consequences may be disastrous. If, on the other hand, you +have as part of the habitual furniture of your mind the past ages of +man, his slow and partial emergence out of barbarism, and the brevity +of his total existence in comparison with astronomical epochs—if, +I say, such thoughts have moulded your habitual feelings, you will +realize that the momentary battle upon which you are engaged cannot be +of such importance as to risk a backward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> step towards the darkness +out of which we have been slowly emerging. Nay, more, if you suffer +defeat in your immediate objective, you will be sustained by the same +sense of its momentariness that made you unwilling to adopt degrading +weapons. You will have, beyond your immediate activities, purposes that +are distant and slowly unfolding, in which you are not an isolated +individual but one of the great army of those who have led mankind +towards a civilized existence. If you have attained to this outlook, +a certain deep happiness will never leave you, whatever your personal +fate may be. Life will become a communion with the great of all ages, +and personal death no more than a negligible incident.</p> + +<p>If I had the power to organize higher education as I should +wish it to be, I should seek to substitute for the old orthodox +religions—which appeal to few among the young, and those as a rule +the least intelligent and the most obscurantist—something which is +perhaps hardly to be called religion, since it is merely a focusing +of attention upon well-ascertained facts. I should seek to make young +people vividly aware of the past, vividly realizing that the future +of man will in all likelihood be immeasurably longer than his past, +profoundly conscious of the minuteness of the planet upon which we live +and of the fact that life on this planet is only a temporary incident; +and at the same time with these facts which tend to emphasize the +insignificance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> of the individual I should present quite another set +of facts designed to impress upon the mind of the young the greatness +of which the individual is capable, and the knowledge that throughout +all the depths of stellar space nothing of equal value is known to us. +Spinoza long ago wrote of human bondage and human freedom; his form and +his language make his thought difficult of access to all but students +of philosophy, but the essence of what I wish to convey differs little +from what he has said.</p> + +<p>A man who has once perceived, however temporarily and however briefly, +what makes greatness of soul, can no longer be happy if he allows +himself to be petty, self-seeking, troubled by trivial misfortunes, +dreading what fate may have in store for him. The man capable of +greatness of soul will open wide the windows of his mind, letting the +winds blow freely upon it from every portion of the universe. He will +see himself and life and the world as truly as our human limitations +will permit; realizing the brevity and minuteness of human life, he +will realize also that in individual minds is concentrated whatever of +value the known universe contains. And he will see that the man whose +mind mirrors the world becomes in a sense as great as the world. In +emancipation from the fears that beset the slave of circumstance he +will experience a profound joy, and through all the vicissitudes of his +outward life he will remain in the depths of his being a happy man.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p> + +<p>Leaving these large speculations and returning to our more immediate +subject, namely the value of impersonal interests, there is another +consideration which makes them a great help towards happiness. Even +in the most fortunate lives there are times when things go wrong. +Few men except bachelors have never quarrelled with their wives; few +parents have not endured grave anxiety owing to the illnesses of their +children; few business men have avoided times of financial stress; few +professional men have not known periods when failure stared them in +the face. At such times a capacity to become interested in something +outside the cause of anxiety is an immense boon. At such times, when +in spite of anxiety there is nothing to be done at the moment, one man +will play chess, another will read detective stories, a third will +become absorbed in popular astronomy, a fourth will console himself by +reading about the excavations at Ur of the Chaldees. Any one of these +four is acting wisely, whereas the man who does nothing to distract his +mind and allows his trouble to acquire a complete empire over him is +acting unwisely and making himself less fit to cope with his troubles +when the moment for action arrives. Very similar considerations apply +to irreparable sorrows such as the death of some person deeply loved. +No good is done to anyone by allowing oneself to become sunk in grief +on such an occasion. Grief is unavoidable and must be expected, but +everything that can be done should be done to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> minimize it. It is mere +sentimentality to aim, as some do, at extracting the very uttermost +drop of misery from misfortune. I do not of course deny that a man may +be broken by sorrow, but I do say that every man should do his utmost +to escape this fate, and should seek any distraction, however trivial, +provided it is not in itself harmful or degrading. Among those that I +regard as harmful and degrading I include such things as drunkenness +and drugs, of which the purpose is to destroy thought, at least for the +time being. The proper course is not to destroy thought but to turn +it into new channels, or at any rate into channels remote from the +present misfortune. It is difficult to do this if life has hitherto +been concentrated upon a very few interests and those few have now +become suffused with sorrow. To bear misfortune well when it comes, +it is wise to have cultivated in happier times a certain width of +interests, so that the mind may find prepared for it some undisturbed +place suggesting other associations and other emotions than those which +are making the present difficult to bear.</p> + +<p>A man of adequate vitality and zest will surmount all misfortunes by +the emergence after each blow of an interest in life and the world +which cannot be narrowed down so much as to make one loss fatal. To be +defeated by one loss or even by several is not something to be admired +as a proof of sensibility, but something to be deplored as a failure +in vitality. All our affections are at the mercy of death,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> which may +strike down those whom we love at any moment. It is therefore necessary +that our lives should not have that narrow intensity which puts the +whole meaning and purpose of our life at the mercy of accident.</p> + +<p>For all these reasons the man who pursues happiness wisely will aim at +the possession of a number of subsidiary interests in addition to those +central ones upon which his life is built.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI<br> +<span class="subhed">EFFORT AND RESIGNATION</span></h2></div> + + +<p>The golden mean is an uninteresting doctrine, and I can remember when I +was young rejecting it with scorn and indignation, since in those days +it was heroic extremes that I admired. Truth, however, is not always +interesting, and many things are believed because they are interesting +although, in fact, there is little other evidence in their favour. The +golden mean is a case in point: it may be an uninteresting doctrine, +but in a very great many matters it is a true one.</p> + +<p>One respect in which it is necessary to preserve the golden mean is as +regards the balance between effort and resignation. Both doctrines have +had extreme advocates. The doctrine of resignation has been preached +by saints and mystics; the doctrine of effort has been preached by +efficiency experts and muscular Christians. Each of these opposing +schools has had a part of the truth, but not the whole. I want in this +chapter to try and strike the balance, and I shall begin with the case +in favour of effort.</p> + +<p>Happiness is not, except in very rare cases, something that drops +into the mouth, like a ripe fruit, by the mere operation of fortunate +circumstances. That is why I have called this book <i>The Conquest of +Happiness</i>. For in a world so full of avoidable and unavoidable +misfortunes, of illness and psychological<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> tangles, of struggle and +poverty and ill will, the man or woman who is to be happy must find +ways of coping with the multitudinous causes of unhappiness by which +each individual is assailed. In some rare cases no great effort may +be required. A man of easy good nature, who inherits an ample fortune +and enjoys good health together with simple tastes, may slip through +life comfortably and wonder what all the fuss is about; a good-looking +woman of an indolent disposition, if she happens to marry a well-to-do +husband who demands no exertion from her, and if after marriage she +does not mind growing fat, may equally enjoy a certain lazy comfort, +provided she has good luck as regards her children. But such cases +are exceptional. Most people are not rich; many people are not born +good-natured; many people have uneasy passions which make a quiet and +well-regulated life seem intolerably boring; health is a blessing which +no one can be sure of preserving; marriage is not invariably a source +of bliss. For all these reasons, happiness must be, for most men and +women, an achievement rather than a gift of the gods, and in this +achievement effort, both inward and outward, must play a great part. +The inward effort may include the effort of necessary resignation; for +the present, therefore, let us consider only outward effort.</p> + +<p>In the case of any person, whether man or woman, who has to work for +a living, the need of effort in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> this respect is too obvious to need +emphasizing. The Indian fakir, it is true, can make a living without +effort by merely offering a bowl for the alms of the faithful, but in +Western countries the authorities do not view with a favourable eye +this method of obtaining an income. Moreover, the climate makes it less +pleasant than in hotter and dryer countries: in the winter-time, at any +rate, few people are so lazy as to prefer idleness out of doors to work +in heated rooms. Resignation alone, therefore, is not in the West one +of the roads to fortune.</p> + +<p>To a very large percentage of men in Western countries, more than a +bare living is necessary to happiness, since they desire the feeling of +being successful. In some occupations, such, for example, as scientific +research, this feeling can be obtained by men who do not earn a large +income, but in the majority of occupations income has become the +measure of success. At this point we touch upon a matter in regard to +which an element of resignation is desirable in most cases, since in a +competitive world conspicuous success is possible only for a minority.</p> + +<p>Marriage is a matter in regard to which effort may or may not be +necessary, according to circumstances. Where one sex is in the +minority, as men are in England and women are in Australia, members +of that sex require, as a rule, little effort in order to marry as +they wish. For members of the sex which is in the majority, however, +the opposite is the case.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> The amount of effort and thought expended +in this direction by women where they are in the majority is obvious +to anyone who will study the advertisements in women’s magazines. +Men, where they are in a majority, frequently adopt more expeditious +methods, such as skill with the revolver. This is natural, since +a majority of men occurs most frequently on the border-line of +civilization. I do not know what men would do if a discriminating +pestilence caused them to become a majority in England; they might have +to revert to the manners of gallants in a bygone age.</p> + +<p>The amount of effort involved in the successful rearing of children is +so evident that probably no one would deny it. Countries which believe +in resignation and what is mistakenly called a “spiritual” view of life +are countries with a high infant mortality. Medicine, hygiene, asepsis, +suitable diet, are things not achieved without mundane pre-occupations; +they require energy and intelligence directed to the material +environment. Those who think that matter is an illusion are apt to +think the same of dirt, and by so thinking to cause their children to +die.</p> + +<p>Speaking more generally, one may say that some kind of power forms the +normal and legitimate aim of every person whose natural desires are +not atrophied. The kind of power that a man desires depends upon his +predominant passions; one man desires power over the actions of men, +another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> desires power over their thoughts, a third power over their +emotions. One man desires to change the material environment, another +desires the sense of power that comes from intellectual mastery. +Every kind of public work involves desire for some kind of power, +unless it is undertaken solely with a view to the wealth obtainable +by corruption. The man who is actuated by purely altruistic suffering +caused by the spectacle of human misery will, if his suffering is +genuine, desire power to alleviate misery. The only man totally +indifferent to power is the man totally indifferent to his fellow-men. +Some form of desire for power is therefore to be accepted as part of +the equipment of the kind of men out of whom a good community can be +made. And every form of desire for power involves, so long as it is +not thwarted, a correlative form of effort. To the mentality of the +West this conclusion may seem a commonplace, but there are not a few +in Western countries who coquette with what is called “the wisdom of +the East” just at the moment when the East is abandoning it. To them +perhaps what we have been saying may appear questionable, and if so, it +has been worth saying.</p> + +<p>Resignation, however, has also its part to play in the conquest of +happiness, and it is a part no less essential than that played by +effort. The wise man, though he will not sit down under preventable +misfortunes, will not waste time and emotion upon such as are +unavoidable, and even such as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> are in themselves avoidable he will +submit to if the time and labour required to avoid them would interfere +with the pursuit of some more important object. Many people get into +a fret or a fury over every little thing that goes wrong, and in +this way waste a great deal of energy that might be more usefully +employed. Even in the pursuit of really important objects it is unwise +to become so deeply involved emotionally that the thought of possible +failure becomes a constant menace to peace of mind. Christianity +taught submission to the will of God, and even for those who cannot +accept this phraseology there should be something of the same kind +pervading all their activities. Efficiency in a practical task is not +proportional to the emotion that we put into it; indeed, emotion is +sometimes an obstacle to efficiency. The attitude required is that of +doing one’s best while leaving the issue to fate. Resignation is of +two sorts, one rooted in despair, the other in unconquerable hope. +The first is bad; the second is good. The man who has suffered such +fundamental defeat that he has given up hope of serious achievement may +learn the resignation of despair, and, if he does, he will abandon all +serious activity. He may camouflage his despair by religious phrases, +or by the doctrine that contemplation is the true end of man, but +whatever disguise he may adopt to conceal his inward defeat, he will +remain essentially useless and fundamentally unhappy. The man whose +resignation is based on unconquerable hope<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> acts in quite a different +way. Hope which is to be unconquerable must be large and impersonal. +Whatever my personal activities, I may be defeated by death, or by +certain kinds of diseases; I may be overcome by my enemies; I may +find that I have embarked upon an unwise course which cannot lead to +success. In a thousand ways the failure of purely personal hopes may be +unavoidable, but if personal aims have been part of larger hopes for +humanity, there is not the same utter defeat when failure comes. The +man of science who desires to make great discoveries himself may fail +to do so, or may have to abandon his work owing to a blow on the head, +but if he desires profoundly the progress of science and not merely his +personal contribution to this object, he will not feel the same despair +as would be felt by a man whose research had purely egoistic motives. +The man who is working for some much needed reform may find all his +efforts side-tracked by a war, and may be forced to realize that what +he has worked for will not come about in his lifetime. But he need +not on that account sink into complete despair, provided that he is +interested in the future of mankind apart from his own participation in +it.</p> + +<p>The cases we have been considering are those in which resignation +is most difficult; there are a number of others in which it is much +easier. These are the cases in which only subsidiary purposes suffer a +check, while the major purposes of life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> continue to offer a prospect +of success. A man, for example, who is engaged in important work shows +a failure in the desirable kind of resignation if he is distracted by +matrimonial unhappiness; if his work is really absorbing, he should +regard such incidental troubles in the way in which one regards a wet +day, that is to say, as a nuisance about which it would be foolish to +make a fuss.</p> + +<p>Some people are unable to bear with patience even those minor troubles +which make up, if we permit them to do so, a very large part of life. +They are furious when they miss a train, transported with rage if their +dinner is badly cooked, sunk in despair if the chimney smokes, and +vowing vengeance against the whole industrial order when their clothes +fail to return from the sanitary steam laundry. The energy that such +people waste on trivial troubles would be sufficient, if more wisely +directed, to make and unmake empires. The wise man fails to observe the +dust that the housemaid has not dusted, the potato that the cook has +not cooked, and the soot that the sweep has not swept. I do not mean +that he takes no steps to remedy these matters, provided he has time +to do so; I mean only that he deals with them without emotion. Worry +and fret and irritation are emotions which serve no purpose. Those who +feel them strongly may say that they are incapable of overcoming them, +and I am not sure that they can be overcome by anything short of that +fundamental resignation of which we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> spoke earlier. The same kind of +concentration upon large impersonal hopes which enables a man to bear +personal failure in his work, or the troubles of an unhappy marriage, +will also make it possible for him to be patient when he misses a train +or drops his umbrella in the mud. If he is of a fretful disposition, I +am not sure that anything less than this will cure him.</p> + +<p>The man who has become emancipated from the empire of worry will find +life a much more cheerful affair than it used to be while he was +perpetually being irritated. Personal idiosyncrasies of acquaintances, +which formerly made him wish to scream, will now seem merely amusing. +When Mr. A. for the three hundred and forty-seventh time relates the +anecdote of the Bishop of Tierra del Fuego, he amuses himself by noting +the score, and feels no inclination to attempt a vain diversion by an +anecdote of his own. When his bootlace breaks just as he is in a hurry +to catch an early morning train, he reflects, after the appropriate +expletives, that in the history of the cosmos the event in question +has no very great importance. When he is interrupted in a proposal +of marriage by a visit of a tedious neighbour, he considers that all +mankind have been liable to this disaster, with the exception of Adam, +and that even he had his troubles. There is no limit to what can be +done in the way of finding consolation from minor misfortunes by +means of bizarre analogies and quaint parallels. Every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> civilized man +or woman has, I suppose, some picture of himself or herself, and is +annoyed when anything happens that seems to spoil this picture. The +best cure is to have not only one picture, but a whole gallery, and to +select the one appropriate to the incident in question. If some of the +portraits are a trifle laughable, so much the better; it is not wise to +see oneself all day long as a hero of high tragedy. I do not suggest +that one should see oneself always as a clown in comedy, for those who +do this are even more irritating; a little tact is required in choosing +a rôle appropriate to the situation. Of course, if you can forget +yourself and not play a part at all that is admirable. But if playing a +part has become second nature, consider that you act in repertory, and +so avoid monotony.</p> + +<p>Many active people are of opinion that the slightest grain of +resignation, the faintest gleam of humour, would destroy the energy +with which they do their work and the determination by which, as +they believe, they achieve success. These people, in my opinion, are +mistaken. Work that is worth doing can be done even by those who do +not deceive themselves either as to its importance or as to the ease +with which it can be done. Those who can only do their work when +upheld by self-deception had better first take a course in learning to +endure the truth before continuing their career, since sooner or later +the need of being sustained by myths will cause their work to become +harmful instead of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> beneficial. It is better to do nothing than to +do harm. Half the useful work in the world consists of combating the +harmful work. A little time spent in learning to appreciate facts is +not time wasted, and the work that will be done afterwards is far less +likely to be harmful than the work done by those who need a continual +inflation of their ego as a stimulant to their energy. A certain +kind of resignation is involved in willingness to face the truth +about ourselves; this kind, though it may involve pain in the first +moments, affords ultimately a protection—indeed the only possible +protection—against the disappointments and disillusionments to which +the self-deceiver is liable. Nothing is more fatiguing nor, in the +long run, more exasperating than the daily effort to believe things +which daily become more incredible. To be done with this effort is an +indispensable condition of secure and lasting happiness.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII<br> +<span class="subhed">THE HAPPY MAN</span></h2></div> + + +<p>Happiness, as is evident, depends partly upon external circumstances +and partly upon oneself. We have been concerned in this volume with the +part which depends upon oneself, and we have been led to the view that +so far as this part is concerned the recipe for happiness is a very +simple one. It is thought by many, among whom I think we must include +Mr. Krutch, whom we considered in an earlier chapter, that happiness +is impossible without a creed of a more or less religious kind. It is +thought by many who are themselves unhappy that their sorrows have +complicated and highly intellectualized sources. I do not believe that +such things are genuine causes of either happiness or unhappiness; +I think they are only symptoms. The man who is unhappy will, as a +rule, adopt an unhappy creed, while the man who is happy will adopt a +happy creed; each may attribute his happiness or unhappiness to his +beliefs, while the real causation is the other way round. Certain +things are indispensable to the happiness of most men, but these are +simple things: food and shelter, health, love, successful work and +the respect of one’s own herd. To some people parenthood also is +essential. Where these things are lacking, only the exceptional man can +achieve happiness, but where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> they are enjoyed, or can be obtained by +well-directed effort, the man who is still unhappy is suffering from +some psychological maladjustment which, if it is very grave, may need +the services of a psychiatrist, but can in ordinary cases be cured by +the patient himself, provided he sets about the matter in the right +way. Where outward circumstances are not definitely unfortunate, a man +should be able to achieve happiness, provided that his passions and +interests are directed outward, not inward. It should be our endeavour +therefore, both in education and in attempts to adjust ourselves to the +world, to aim at avoiding self-centred passions and at acquiring those +affections and those interests which will prevent our thoughts from +dwelling perpetually upon ourselves. It is not the nature of most men +to be happy in a prison, and the passions which shut us up in ourselves +constitute one of the worst kinds of prisons. Among such passions +some of the commonest are fear, envy, the sense of sin, self-pity and +self-admiration. In all these our desires are centred upon ourselves: +there is no genuine interest in the outer world, but only a concern +lest it should in some way injure us or fail to feed our ego. Fear is +the principal reason why men are so unwilling to admit facts and so +anxious to wrap themselves round in a warm garment of myth. But the +thorns tear the warm garment and the cold blasts penetrate through the +rents, and the man who has become accustomed to its warmth suffers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> far +more from these blasts than a man who has hardened himself to them from +the first. Moreover, those who deceive themselves generally know at +bottom that they are doing so, and live in a state of apprehension lest +some untoward event should force unwelcome realizations upon them.</p> + +<p>One of the great drawbacks to self-centred passions is that they afford +so little variety in life. The man who loves only himself cannot, it +is true, be accused of promiscuity in his affections, but he is bound +in the end to suffer intolerable boredom from the invariable sameness +of the object of his devotion. The man who suffers from a sense of sin +is suffering from a particular kind of self-love. In all this vast +universe the thing that appears to him of most importance is that he +himself should be virtuous. It is a grave defect in certain forms of +traditional religion that they have encouraged this particular kind of +self-absorption.</p> + +<p>The happy man is the man who lives objectively, who has free affections +and wide interests, who secures his happiness through these interests +and affections and through the fact that they, in turn, make him an +object of interest and affection to many others. To be the recipient +of affection is a potent cause of happiness, but the man who demands +affection is not the man upon whom it is bestowed. The man who receives +affection is, speaking broadly, the man who gives it. But it is useless +to attempt to give it as a calculation, in the way in which one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> might +lend money at interest, for a calculated affection is not genuine and +is not felt to be so by the recipient.</p> + +<p>What then can a man do who is unhappy because he is encased in self? +So long as he continues to think about the causes of his unhappiness, +he continues to be self-centred and therefore does not get outside +the vicious circle; if he is to get outside it, it must be by genuine +interests, not by simulated interests adopted merely as a medicine. +Although this difficulty is real, there is nevertheless much that he +can do if he has rightly diagnosed his trouble. If, for example, his +trouble is due to a sense of sin, conscious or unconscious, he can +first persuade his conscious mind that he has no reason to feel sinful, +and then proceed, by the kind of technique that we have considered in +earlier chapters, to plant this rational conviction in his unconscious +mind, concerning himself meanwhile with some more or less neutral +activity. If he succeeds in dispelling the sense of sin, it is +probable that genuinely objective interests will arise spontaneously. +If his trouble is self-pity, he can deal with it in the same manner +after first persuading himself that there is nothing extraordinarily +unfortunate in his circumstances. If fear is his trouble, let him +practise exercises designed to give courage. Courage in war has +been recognized from time immemorial as an important virtue, and a +great part of the training of boys and young men has been devoted to +producing a type<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> of character capable of fearlessness in battle. But +moral courage and intellectual courage have been much less studied; +they also, however, have their technique. Admit to yourself every +day at least one painful truth; you will find this quite as useful +as the Boy Scout’s daily kind action. Teach yourself to feel that +life would still be worth living even if you were not, as of course +you are, immeasurably superior to all your friends in virtue and in +intelligence. Exercises of this sort prolonged through several years +will at last enable you to admit facts without flinching, and will, in +so doing, free you from the empire of fear over a very large field.</p> + +<p>What the objective interests are to be that will arise in you when +you have overcome the disease of self-absorption must be left to the +spontaneous workings of your nature and of external circumstances. Do +not say to yourself in advance, “I should be happy if I could become +absorbed in stamp-collecting”, and thereupon set to work to collect +stamps, for it may well happen that you will fail altogether to find +stamp-collecting interesting. Only what genuinely interests you can be +of any use to you, but you may be pretty sure that genuine objective +interests will grow up as soon as you have learnt not to be immersed in +self.</p> + +<p>The happy life is to an extraordinary extent the same as the good life. +Professional moralists have made too much of self-denial, and in so +doing have put the emphasis in the wrong place.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> Conscious self-denial +leaves a man self-absorbed and vividly aware of what he has sacrificed; +in consequence it fails often of its immediate object and almost always +of its ultimate purpose. What is needed is not self-denial, but that +kind of direction of interest outward which will lead spontaneously and +naturally to the same acts that a person absorbed in the pursuit of +his own virtue could only perform by means of conscious self-denial. +I have written in this book as a hedonist, that is to say, as one who +regards happiness as the good, but the acts to be recommended from the +point of view of the hedonist are on the whole the same as those to be +recommended by the sane moralist. The moralist, however, is too apt, +though this is not, of course, universally true, to stress the act +rather than the state of mind. The effects of an act upon the agent +will be widely different, according to his state of mind at the moment. +If you see a child drowning and save it as the result of a direct +impulse to bring help, you will emerge none the worse morally. If, +on the other hand, you say to yourself, “It is the part of virtue to +succour the helpless, and I wish to be a virtuous man, therefore I must +save this child”, you will be an even worse man afterwards than you +were before. What applies in this extreme case applies in many other +instances that are less obvious.</p> + +<p>There is another difference, somewhat more subtle, between the +attitude towards life that I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> been recommending and that which is +recommended by the traditional moralists. The traditional moralist, for +example, will say that love should be unselfish. In a certain sense +he is right, that is to say, it should not be selfish beyond a point, +but it should undoubtedly be of such a nature that one’s own happiness +is bound up in its success. If a man were to invite a lady to marry +him on the ground that he ardently desired her happiness and at the +same time considered that she would afford him ideal opportunities +of self-abnegation, I think it may be doubted whether she would be +altogether pleased. Undoubtedly we should desire the happiness of those +whom we love, but not as an alternative to our own. In fact the whole +antithesis between self and the rest of the world, which is implied in +the doctrine of self-denial, disappears as soon as we have any genuine +interest in persons or things outside ourselves. Through such interests +a man comes to feel himself part of the stream of life, not a hard +separate entity like a billiard-ball, which can have no relation with +other such entities except that of collision. All unhappiness depends +upon some kind of disintegration or lack of integration; there is +disintegration within the self through lack of co-ordination between +the conscious and the unconscious mind; there is lack of integration +between the self and society, where the two are not knit together by +the force of objective interests and affections. The happy man is the +man who does<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> not suffer from either of these failures of unity, whose +personality is neither divided against itself nor pitted against the +world. Such a man feels himself a citizen of the universe, enjoying +freely the spectacle that it offers and the joys that it affords, +untroubled by the thought of death because he feels himself not really +separate from those who will come after him. It is in such profound +instinctive union with the stream of life that the greatest joy is to +be found.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span></p> + +<h2 class="big">INDEX</h2> +</div> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">acquiescence, the attitude of, + <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li> + + <li class="i1">admiration, + <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, + <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li> + + <li class="i1">adolescence often a time of great unhappiness, + <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li> + + <li class="i1">affection, + <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, + <a href="#Page_177">177–85</a>, + <a href="#Page_243">243</a>,</li> + + <li class="i1">alcohol, + <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, + <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, + <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> + + <li class="i1">altruism, + <a href="#Page_118">118–20</a>, + <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li> + + <li class="i1">America, + <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, + <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, + <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Angelo, Michael, + <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + + <li class="i1">animals and boredom, + <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, + <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + + <li class="i1">anxieties, + <a href="#Page_77">77</a></li> + + <li class="i1">applause, desire for, + <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li> + + <li class="i1">aristocracy, one of the advantages of, + <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li> + + <li class="i1">ascetic element in morality, + <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> + + <li class="i1">autobiography, the author’s + <a href="#Page_18">18–19</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Bacon, Roger, + <a href="#Page_35">35–6</a></li> + + <li class="i1">belief in a cause, + <a href="#Page_152">152–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">birth-rate, decline of the, + <a href="#Page_193">193–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Blake, William, + <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li> + + <li class="i1">boredom, + <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, + <a href="#Page_57">57–68</a>, + <a href="#Page_209">209</a>,</li> + + <li class="i1">Brontë, Emily and Charlotte, + <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Browning, Robert, + <a href="#Page_37">37–8</a></li> + + <li class="i1">business man, the, + <a href="#Page_46">46–50</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Byron, + <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Caution in love, + <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li> + + <li class="i1">child and envy, the, + <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, + <a href="#Page_87">87</a></li> + + <li class="i1">child and inventiveness, the, + <a href="#Page_64">64</a></li> + + <li class="i1">China and Japan, + <a href="#Page_148">148–9</a></li> + + <li class="i1">cities, + <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="i1">competition, + <a href="#Page_91">91</a></li> + + <li class="i1">competitive success and happiness, + <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, + <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, + <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + + <li class="i1">congenial companionship, + <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, + <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, + <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + + <li class="i1">conscience, + <a href="#Page_96">96–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">conscious upon the unconscious, operation of the, + <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, + <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, + <a href="#Page_220">220–1</a></li> + + <li class="i1">constructiveness, + <a href="#Page_212">212–14</a>, + <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> + + <li class="i1">conventional people, + <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> + + <li class="i1">courage, + <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, + <a href="#Page_244">244–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">craftsman’s joy, the, + <a href="#Page_150">150–1</a></li> + + <li class="i1">creeds, + <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> + + <li class="i1">cure for envy, + <a href="#Page_86">86–9</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Democracy, + <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, + <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, + <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> + + <li class="i1">diversity of morals and beliefs, + <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li> + + <li class="i1">drink, + <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, + <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, + <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, + <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li> + + <li class="i1">drugs, + <a href="#Page_61">61–2</a>, + <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Earth, contact with, + <a href="#Page_66">66–8</a>, + <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li> + + <li class="i1"><i>Ecclesiastes</i>, + <a href="#Page_28">28–31</a>, + <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li> + + <li class="i1">effort, + <a href="#Page_230">230–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">ego, unimportance of one’s, + <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, + <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, + <a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> + + <li class="i1">emotional fatigue, + <a href="#Page_74">74–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">enjoyment, + <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, + <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> + + <li class="i1">environment, + <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li> + + <li class="i1">envy, + <a href="#Page_80">80–95</a></li> + + <li class="i1">envy, fatigue as a cause of, + <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li> + + <li class="i1">excitement, + <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, + <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, + <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, + <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, + <a href="#Page_79">79–81</a>, + <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li> + + <li class="i1">external interests, + <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, + <a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Family, the, + <a href="#Page_186">186–207</a></li> + + <li class="i1">fanaticism, + <a href="#Page_222">222–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">fatigue, + <a href="#Page_69">69–81</a>, + <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, + <a href="#Page_220">220</a></li> + + <li class="i1">fear, + <a href="#Page_77">77–9</a>, + <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, + <a href="#Page_244">244</a></li> + + <li class="i1">fear of public opinion, + <a href="#Page_126">126–39</a></li> + + <li class="i1">flat, life in a, + <a href="#Page_190">190–1</a></li> + + <li class="i1">freedom of the Press, + <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Golden mean, the, + <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> + + <li class="i1">gormandizer, the, + <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, + <a href="#Page_165">165–8</a></li> + + <li class="i1">grief, + <a href="#Page_227">227–8</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Happiness an achievement, + <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> + + <li class="i1">happiness and competitive success, + <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li> + + <li class="i1">happiness, sources of, + <a href="#Page_143">143–4</a>, + <a href="#Page_148">148–9</a>, + <a href="#Page_152">152–7</a>, + <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, + <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, + <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, + <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, + <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, + <a href="#Page_217">217–18</a>, + <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, + <a href="#Page_228">228–9</a>, + <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, + <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, + <a href="#Page_240">240–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">happiness, the best touchstone for, + <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li> + + <li class="i1">happiness the only cure for envy, + <a href="#Page_86">86–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">hatred, the habit of, + <a href="#Page_213">213–14</a></li> + + <li class="i1">hatred stirred by propaganda, + <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + + <li class="i1">hedonism, + <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li> + + <li class="i1">herd, fear of the, + <a href="#Page_97">97–8</a>, + <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, + <a href="#Page_131">131–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">hobbies, + <a href="#Page_153">153–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">hope must be impersonal, + <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + + <li class="i1">housewife, the, + <a href="#Page_188">188–9</a>, + <a href="#Page_210">210</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Ibsen, + <a href="#Page_41">41–2</a></li> + + <li class="i1">idealistic theories, + <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, + <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, + <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> + + <li class="i1">ill-treatment, hallucinations of, + <a href="#Page_111">111–13</a></li> + + <li class="i1">impersonal interests, + <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, + <a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> + + <li class="i1">individual, problem of the, + <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li> + + <li class="i1">infantile moral teaching, + <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, + <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, + <a href="#Page_104">104–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">infantile suggestions, + <a href="#Page_103">103</a></li> + + <li class="i1">insanity, + <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, + <a href="#Page_124">124</a></li> + + <li class="i1">instinctive happiness, rareness of, + <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li> + + <li class="i1">intelligentsia, young, + <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> + + <li class="i1">interest in oneself, + <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> + + <li class="i1">interest in persons, + <a href="#Page_154">154–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">interest in things, + <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> + + <li class="i1">introvert, malady of the, + <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, + <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Justice and envy, + <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Krutch, J. W., + <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, + <a href="#Page_32">32–8</a>, + <a href="#Page_41">41–4</a>, + <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Leisure, employment of, + <a href="#Page_52">52–3</a>, + <a href="#Page_55">55–6</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Lenin, + <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> + + <li class="i1"><i>Liaisons Dangereuses</i>, + <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li> + + <li class="i1">love, + <a href="#Page_36">36–41</a>, + <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, + <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> + + <li class="i1">lunacy, + <a href="#Page_23">23–4</a>, + <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Malicious gossip, + <a href="#Page_113">113–14</a></li> + + <li class="i1">marriage, + <a href="#Page_80">80–1</a>, + <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li> + + <li class="i1"><i>Massenmench</i>, Ernst Toller’s, + <a href="#Page_43">43</a></li> + + <li class="i1">masters and slaves, + <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> + + <li class="i1">maternal element in love, the, + <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + + <li class="i1">maxims to prevent persecution mania, + <a href="#Page_118">118–25</a></li> + + <li class="i1">megalomania, + <a href="#Page_23">23–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">mental discipline, + <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, + <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, + <a href="#Page_89">89</a></li> + + <li class="i1">minor interests, + <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, + <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> + + <li class="i1">moderation, + <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, + <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> + + <li class="i1"><i>Modern Temper, The</i>, Krutch’s, + <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, + <a href="#Page_32">32–34</a></li> + + <li class="i1">modesty, + <a href="#Page_89">89–90</a></li> + + <li class="i1">monk, the, + <a href="#Page_19">19–20</a></li> + + <li class="i1">monotony, + <a href="#Page_64">64–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">moralist, the traditional, + <a href="#Page_246">246–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">motherhood, + <a href="#Page_204">204–7</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Napoleon, + <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Narcissism, + <a href="#Page_20">20–3</a>, + <a href="#Page_25">25</a></li> + + <li class="i1">nervous breakdown, + <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + + <li class="i1">nervous fatigue, + <a href="#Page_69">69–70</a>, + <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, + <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, + <a href="#Page_220">220</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Objective interests, + <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, + <a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> + + <li class="i1">oblivion, + <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Œdipus complex, the, + <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, + <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li> + + <li class="i1">opinions of others, the, + <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li> + + <li class="i1">overwork, + <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Parental affection, + <a href="#Page_198">198–9</a></li> + + <li class="i1">parental feeling, + <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li> + + <li class="i1">parenthood, + <a href="#Page_200">200–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">parents and children, + <a href="#Page_192">192–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">passions and reason, the, + <a href="#Page_108">108–10</a>, + <a href="#Page_166">166–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">peacocks, + <a href="#Page_90">90–1</a></li> + + <li class="i1">persecution mania, + <a href="#Page_111">111–25</a></li> + + <li class="i1">pessimism, + <a href="#Page_32">32–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">philosophy of competition, + <a href="#Page_54">54–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">physical fatigue, + <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li> + + <li class="i1">pleasure of work, the, + <a href="#Page_149">149–52</a>, + <a href="#Page_211">211–12</a>, + <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + + <li class="i1">pleasure, pursuit of, + <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, + <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, + <a href="#Page_80">80–1</a></li> + + <li class="i1">pleasures of achievement, + <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> + + <li class="i1">pleasures of great men, the, + <a href="#Page_64">64</a></li> + + <li class="i1">power, love of, + <a href="#Page_23">23–4</a>, + <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, + <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, + <a href="#Page_233">233–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">preventatives of persecution mania, + <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> + + <li class="i1">propaganda and hatred, + <a href="#Page_93">93–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">proportion, sense of, + <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, + <a href="#Page_221">221–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Protestantism and sin, + <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Protestants and Catholics, + <a href="#Page_126">126–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">psycho-analytic repression, + <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li> + + <li class="i1">public opinion, tyranny of, + <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, + <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, + <a href="#Page_138">138–9</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Puritanism, + <a href="#Page_54">54–5</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Rationality, + <a href="#Page_108">108–9</a></li> + + <li class="i1">reading, + <a href="#Page_52">52–3</a>, + <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li> + + <li class="i1">reason, hatred of, + <a href="#Page_109">109–10</a></li> + + <li class="i1">religion, + <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, + <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Religious Orders, + <a href="#Page_35">35</a></li> + + <li class="i1">religious psychology of sin, + <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li> + + <li class="i1">resignation, + <a href="#Page_230">230–40</a></li> + + <li class="i1"><i>Retreat from Parenthood</i>, Jean Aylin’s, + <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Roland, Madame, + <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Russian, the young, + <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Sages of antiquity, the, + <a href="#Page_36">36</a></li> + + <li class="i1">scientists, happiness of, + <a href="#Page_145">145–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">secret of happiness, + <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> + + <li class="i1">security, sense of, + <a href="#Page_176">176–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">self-absorption, + <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, + <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, + <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, + <a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> + + <li class="i1">self-centred passions, + <a href="#Page_242">242–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">self-confidence, + <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> + + <li class="i1">self-deception, + <a href="#Page_124">124–5</a></li> + + <li class="i1">self-denial, + <a href="#Page_245">245–7</a></li> + + <li class="i1">self-regarding motives, + <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sense of sin, + <a href="#Page_20">20–1</a>, + <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, + <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, + <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, + <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, + <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, + <a href="#Page_244">244</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sex and sin, + <a href="#Page_101">101–2</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sex attraction, + <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, + <a href="#Page_184">184</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sex education, + <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sex majority, + <a href="#Page_232">232–3</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sexual source of envy, + <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Shakespeare, + <a href="#Page_41">41–3</a>, + <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, + <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sin, consciousness of, + <a href="#Page_20">20–1</a>, + <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, + <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, + <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, + <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, + <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, + <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, + <a href="#Page_243">243</a></li> + + <li class="i1">skill, + <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, + <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> + + <li class="i1">social freedom, + <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li> + + <li class="i1">social inequalities, + <a href="#Page_91">91</a></li> + + <li class="i1">social justice, + <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li> + + <li class="i1">social persecution, + <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li> + + <li class="i1">social system, the, + <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li> + + <li class="i1">socialism, equalitarian doctrines of, + <a href="#Page_91">91</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Solomon, + <a href="#Page_31">31–3</a>, + <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Spinoza, + <a href="#Page_226">226</a></li> + + <li class="i1">spinster, the, + <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li> + + <li class="i1">sterility and civilization, + <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Stoics, the, + <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + + <li class="i1">struggle for life, the, + <a href="#Page_45">45–6</a></li> + + <li class="i1">superstitions of childhood, + <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Test of genius, + <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li> + + <li class="i1">toleration, + <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li> + + <li class="i1">tragedy, + <a href="#Page_41">41–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">tyranny of public opinion, + <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Unhappiness, Causes of, + <a href="#Page_17">17–18</a>, + <a href="#Page_24">24–5</a>, + <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, + <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, + <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, + <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, + <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, + <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, + <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, + <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, + <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, + <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, + <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, + <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> + + <li class="i1">unhappiness, kinds of, + <a href="#Page_15">15–16</a>, + <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li> + + <li class="i1">unloved, feeling of being, + <a href="#Page_175">175–6</a></li> + + <li class="i1">unrecognized merit, + <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Vanity, + <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, + <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Victorians and love, the, + <a href="#Page_36">36–9</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Women and external interests, + <a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> + + <li class="i1">women and zest, + <a href="#Page_172">172–4</a></li> + + <li class="i1">Wordsworth, + <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + + <li class="i1">work, + <a href="#Page_208">208–18</a>, + <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li> + + <li class="i1">worry, + <a href="#Page_72">72–3</a>, + <a href="#Page_75">75–8</a>, + <a href="#Page_237">237–8</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Youth and the tyranny of ignorance, + <a href="#Page_133">133–5</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li class="i1">Zest, + <a href="#Page_158">158–9</a>, + <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, + <a href="#Page_163">163–5</a>, + <a href="#Page_169">169–75</a>, + <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, + <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li> +</ul> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img + class="p2" + src="images/i_251.jpg" + alt=""> + </div> + +<p class="center p1 xs">GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD<br> +<span class="smcap">London: 40 Museum Street, W.C.1<br> +Cape Town: 73 St. George’s Street<br> +Sydney, N.S.W.: Wynyard Square<br> +Auckland, N.Z.: 41 Albert Street<br> +Toronto, 77 Wellington Street, West</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Ecclesiastes was not, of course, really written by +Solomon, but it is convenient to allude to the author by this name.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Quoted from Coulton’s <i>From St. Francis to Dante</i>, p. +57.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Mistranslated in English as <i>Masses and Men</i>, whereas +the correct translation is <i>The Mass-Man</i>.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> This whole problem as it affects the professional classes +is treated with remarkable insight and constructive ability in <i>The +Retreat from Parenthood</i>, by Jean Aylin.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="transnote">Transcriber’s Notes:<br> +<br> +1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been +corrected silently.<br> +<br> +2. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have +been retained as in the original.</p> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77894 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77894-h/images/cover.jpg b/77894-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cb66da --- /dev/null +++ b/77894-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/77894-h/images/i_251.jpg b/77894-h/images/i_251.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c684380 --- /dev/null +++ b/77894-h/images/i_251.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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