What Is Man? and Other Essays

achine. b. P

t the human being is merely a machine, and nothing more. The Young Man objected,

materials of which a

teel, brass, white

e are the

n the

a pure

No—in

ls suddenly depos

e patient work o

the engine out of

rittle one an

require much, of su

bstantiall

and capable engine,

melt it, reduce it to pig-iron; put some of it through the Bessemer process and m

. T

rfected result, bu

d require muc

h, ind

ners, punches, polishers, in a word all

It

uld the ston

machine, possibly—no

the other engine and

. Y

not the s

M.

al machine would be far ab

Of co

rsonal

l merits? Ho

lly entitled to the cred

ngine? Cer

Why

lt of the law of construction. It is not a merit that it doe

al demerit in the stone mac

ersonal about it; it cannot choose. In this process of “working up to the matter” is it your idea to work up to the propo

e a savage and the steel one a civilized man? The original rock contained the stuff of which the steel one was built—but along with a lot of sulphur and stone and other obstructing inborn heredities, b

hich nothing within the rock itself had either

oved by outside influences

removed by outside influe

owder and sets the ore free. The iron in the ore is still captive. An outside influence smelts it free of the clogging ore. The iron is emancipated iron, now, but indifferent to further progress. An outside influence beguiles i

its limit—iron ore canno

ing, and his environment. You can build engines out of each of these metals, and they will all perform, but you must not require the weak ones to do equal work with

ve arrived

o the influences brought to bear upon it by his heredities, his habitat, his associations. He is mo

my opinion that this which you

ought and feeling which have flowed down into your heart and brain out of the hearts and brains of centuries of ancestors. Personally you did not create even the smallest microscopic fragment of the materials out of which your opinion is made; and personally you cannot claim even

u think I could have form

one; your machinery did it for you—automatically a

I had reflect

ppose y

rter of an hour.)

tried to change your op

. Y

ith su

the same; it is impo

g more. You have no command over it, it has no command over itself—it is worked so

hange one of these

urself, but exterior

exterior

exterior

untenable—I may say

makes yo

y, and reading, with the deliberate purpose of changing that opinion; and suppose I succeed. That is n

that it would not have occurred to you. No man ever originates a

he first man had original thoughts,

have a fear of death. You did not invent that—you got it from outside,

Yes,

n he was

M.

When,

was threate

as not able to invent the triflingest little thing with it. He had not a shadow of a notion of the difference between good and evil—he had to get the idea from the outside. Neither he nor Eve was able to originate the idea that it was immodest to go naked; the knowledge came in wit

Adam: but certainly Sh

ly painted. He exactly portrayed people whom God had created; but he created none himself. Let us spare him the

as his excel

f Shakespeare had been born and bred on a barren and unvisited rock in the ocean his mighty intellect would have had no outside material to work with, and could have invented none; and no outside influences, teachings, moldings, persuasions, inspirations, of a valuable sort, and could have invented none; and so Shakespeare would have produced nothing. In Turkey he would have produced something—something up to the highest limit of Turkish influences, ass

nor feel proud of their performance, nor claim personal meri

doctrine, it i

is no more merit in being

to him. A baby born with a billion dollars—where is the personal merit in that? A baby born with nothing—where is the personal deme

task of conquering his cowardice and becomin

g in wrong ones. Inestimably valuable is training, influence, education,

nal merit of the victorious co

a worthier man than he was before, but he didn

Whose

nfluences which wrought

His

afraid of a cow, though perhaps of a bull: not afraid of a woman, but afraid of a man. There was something to build upon. There wa

ing it, the resolution to cultivate it,

of the heroes that had done them, he would have had no more idea of bravery than Adam had of modesty, and it could never by any possibility have occurred to him to resolve to become brave. He could not originate the idea—it had to come to him from the outside. And so, when he hear

reared the plant afte

on. He was progressing, you see—the moral fear of shame had risen superior to the physical fear of harm. By the end of the campaign experience will have taught him that not all who go into battle get hurt—an outside influence which will be helpful to him; and he will also have learned how sweet it is to be praised for courage and be huzza’d at with

nse in his becoming brave if

ntly. It involves an important detail of ma

t detail

on to do things—the only impulse th

y one! Is th

all. There

nough doctrine. What is the sole impulse

pirit—the necessity of contenting his

come, tha

hy won

n comfort and advantage; whereas an unselfish man often does a thing sole

ay think he is doing it solely for the other person’s sake, but it is not so; he is cont

What becomes of self—sacri

is self-

where no shadow nor suggestion of be

e—the Securing of

ve been instances

stances? Mill

to conclusions? You have

acts themselves reveal the

or ins

a gray and ragged old woman, a touching picture of misery, puts out her lean hand and begs for rescue from hunger and death. The man finds that he has a quarter in his pocket, but h

makes you

k? Do you imagine that there is

he man’s place and tell me wha

He could endure the three-mile walk in the storm, but he could not endure the tortures his conscience would suffer if

s state of mind

the self-sacrificer knows. His heart

e felt

cannot

im all the way home. Thinking of his pain again. He must buy relief for that. If he didn’t relieve the old woman he would not get any sleep. He must buy some sleep—still thinking of himself, you see. Thus, to sum up, he bought himself free of a sharp pain in his heart, he bought himself free of the tortures of a waiting conscience, he bought a whole night’s sleep—all for twenty-five

some high and fine and noble, o

e is but one l

impulses and the basest p

. Y

u put that l

grave a man never does a single thing which has any FIRST AND FOREMOST

thing for any one else’s com

that it shall first secure his own spiri

to expose the falsity

or ins

reads pain, leaves his pleasant home and his weeping family and marches out to manfull

s peace and

. Y

he public. If he is sensitive to shame he will go to the field—not because his spirit will be entirely comfortable there, but because it will be more comfortable there than it would be if he remained at home. He will always do the t

t mere public opinion could fo

lic opinion can force s

Any

es—any

Can it force a right-princi

. Y

e a kind man to

. Y

ve an i

ondition of the public standards of honor he could not have been comfortable with the stigma upon him of having refused to fight. The teachings of religion, his devotion to his family, his kindness of heart, his high principles, all went for nothing when they stood in the way of his spiritual comfort. A man will do anything, no matter what it is, to secure his spiritual comfort; and he can neither be forced nor pe

d Hamilton fought that du

the public approval was more valuable in his eyes than all other approvals put together—in the earth or above it; to sec

ed to fight duels, and have manf

he thing they valued most and let the rest go. They took what would give them the largest share of personal contentment and approval—a man alwa

spirit-conte

re are n

to save a little child from a burn

d in that peril (a man of a different make could), and so he tries to save the

ate, Charity, Revenge, Humani

ct to diverse moods, but in whatsoever ways they masquerade they are the same person all the time. To change the figure, the compulsion

is foolish

der life and everything else on its object. Not primarily for the object’s sake, but for

ept the lofty and gracio

uffer torture to save it from pain; die that it may live. She takes a living pleasure in making these sacrifices. She does it for tha

infernal philo

a philosophy

ust admit that there

an, which springs from any motive but the one—the ne

rld’s phila

spend for the unfortunate. It makes them happy to see others happy; and so with money and labor they buy what they are after—happiness, self-approval. Why do

u say of duty f

nd only duty by helping his neighbor, he will do it; if he can most satisfyingly perform it by swindling his neighbor, he will do it. But he always looks out for Number One—first; the effects upon others are a secondary matter. Men pretend to self-sacrifices, but this is a thing which, in

h good and bad ones, devote their l

of the account), a man’s conscience is totally valueless. I know a kind-hearted Kentuckian whose self-approval was lacking—whose conscience was troubling him, to phrase it with exactness—because he had neglected to kill a certain man—a man whom he had never seen. The stranger had killed this man’s friend in a fight, this man’s Kentucky training made it a duty to kill the stranger for it. He neglected his duty—kept dodging it, shirking it, putting it off, and his

sciences. You mean that we are not born wi

vages would know right from wron

sciences can

. Y

arents, teachers, t

their share; they

the rest

bad: influences which work without rest during every

ave tabula

ny of t

ou read me

me, yes. It wou

n be trained to shun

. Y

for spirit-conten

do a thing for any other rea

d utterly self-sacrificing act re

u have many years befo

a fellow-being struggling in the water and

the fellow-being. State if there is an

se things to do wi

s a beginning, that the two are alo

f you

fellow-being is

-no—make it

y, drunken r

uppose that if there was no audience to ob

here and there men like that who would do it. And why? Because they couldn’t bear to see a fellow-being struggling in the water and not jump in and help. It would give them pain. They would save the fellow-being on that account. They wouldn’t

r, it’s all

s. And

does things he doesn’t want to d

fy his mother. Throw the bulk of advantage the other way and the good

e the case of

bout the bad boy’s act. Whatever it was, he had a spirit-contenting r

rn judge of morals and conduct, but has to be taught and trained. Now I think a cons

ttle

tell you a l

bedside and entertained the boy with talk, and he used these opportunities to satisfy a strong longing in his nature—that desire which is in us all t

comfort. Now I have nothing left, and I die miserable; for the things

so, reproached the

cruel thing? We have done you no harm, but only kindness; we made our h

s filled with remorse for w

ying to do him good. In my view he was in err

e mothe

s were happy. Now he is dead,—and lost; and I am miserable. Our faith came down to us through centuries of be

miscreant, and

ht so himself

, his conscienc

h brought him pain. It did not occur to him to think of the mother when he was misteaching the boy, for he was ab

science. That awakened conscience could never get itself into th

found himself examining it. From that moment his progress in his new trend was steady and rapid. He became a believing Christian. And now his remorse for having robbed the dying boy of his faith and his salvation was bitterer than ever. It gave him no rest, no peace. He must have rest and peace—it is the law of nature. There seemed but one way to get it; he must devote himself to saving imperiled souls. He became a missionary. He landed in a pagan cou

comfort. Now I have nothing left, and I die miserable; for the things

o, reproached the m

s cruel thing? We had done you no harm, but only kindness; we made our

was filled with remorse for

ying to do him good. In my view he was in err

e mothe

s were happy. Now he is dead—and lost; and I am miserable. Our faith came down to us through centuries of bel

as bitter and persecuting and unappeasable, now, as they had bee

a fool! It was morbid. It d

wrong, it is an admission that there are others like it. This single admission pulls down the whole doc

hat is

ed pain upon the others, but for no reason under the sun except that their pain gave him pain. Our consciences take no notice of pain inflicted upon others until it reaches a point where it gives pain to us. In all cases

most say it of the ave

t have been troubled by the pagan mother’s distress—Jesuit missionaries in C

s adjourn. Where

om the fact. Also we have smuggled a word into the dictionary which ought not to be there at all—Self-Sacrifice. It describes a thing which does not exist. But worst of all, we ignore and never mention the Sole Impulse which dictates and compels a man’s every act: the imperious necessity of securing his own approval, in every emergency and at all costs. To it we ow

m not co

ill be whe

I

ces in

ought to the Gospel of Sel

Man. I

de influence moved you to it—not one that originated in you

Yes

on you that neither you, nor I, nor any man ever originates a thought in

Oh,

xt day, say. Now, then, have you been considering the proposition that no act is ever bo

examined many fine and apparently self-sacri

the ostensible self-sacrifice

w away his excellent worldly prospects and go down and save souls on the East Side. He counts it happiness to make this sacrifice for the glory of God and for the cause of Christ. He resigns his place, makes the sacrifice cheerfully, and goes to the East Side and preaches Christ and Him crucified every day and every night to little groups of half-civilized foreign paupers

as far as y

. Y

for the glory of God, primarily, as he imagined, but first to content th

w do yo

ost and got mere food and lodging

Wel

what extend did his se

g her a musical education, so that her longing to be self-supporting might be gratified. He was furnishing th

her’s comforts w

te serio

r’s music-less

. Y

blight fell upon that happy dream, and he had to go to saw

bout what ha

e is no instance of it upon record anywhere; and that when a man’s Interior Monarch requires a thing of its slave for either its momentary or its permanent contentment, that thing m

help Chri

Not firstly. He tho

. But it could be that he argued that i

ld be justified by that great profit

Inves

de? Dear me, that detail is lost sight of, is not even referred to, the fact that it started out as a motive is entirely forgotten! Then what is the trouble? The authoress quite innocently and unconsciously gives the whole business away. The trouble was this: this man merely preached to the poor; that is not the University Settlement’s way; it deals in larger and better things than that, and it did not enthuse over that crude Salvation-Army eloquence. It was courteous to Holme—but cool. It did not pet him, did not take him to its bosom. “Perished were all his dreams of distinction, the praise and grateful approval—” Of whom? The Savior? No; the Savior is not mentioned. Of whom, then? Of “his fellow-workers.” Why did he want that? Because the Master inside of him wanted it, a

perating quest. For it is hatefully interesting!—in fact, fascinating is the word. As soon as I come

r found one that

ng in Europe. You pay the hotel for service; you owe the serv

In wh

therefore its source is compassio

ever vexed you, annoy

Well,

you succu

Of co

hy of

y, and laws must be submitted to—

or the irritating t

ose it amou

you to submit to the tax is not al

ll—perh

s any

as too hasty in lo

the custom would you get prompt and

e European servants? Why, you wou

rk as an impulse to m

m not de

a case of for-duty’s-sake wit

at the heart if we think we have been stingy with the poor fellows; and we heartily wish we were back again, so that we could do the right

so. When you find service charged i

M.

r complain of t

would not

you pay it cheerfully, you pay it without a murmur. When you came to pay the s

it? I shou

hade more than you had been in the

Indee

n nor yet duty that moves you to pay the tax, and it isn’t the amou

never know what to pay, the t

you have

ple and getting their views; and it spoils your sleep nights, and makes you distraught in the daytime, and while you are pr

e and don’t have to pay unless you want to!

right to give them, and no

so much valuable time in order to be just and fair to a poor serv

ere is any ungracious motive bac

when you have not p

looking, but afterward you keep on wishing and wishing you had done it. My, the shame and the pain of it! Sometimes you see, by the signs, that you have it j

ary? Necess

o cont

do you

Repen

guessing out his just dues, but only in ciphering out what would

What

of yourself for it, and that would give you pain—another case of thinking of yourself, protecting yourself, saving yourself from discomfort. You never think of the servant once—except to guess out how to get his approval. If you get that,

er In

rifice for others, the grandest thi

accusing me o

hy, ce

haven’t

did you

elf-sacrifice for another alone. Men make daily sacrifices for others, but it is for their ow

ame with duty

ust content his spirit first. He must feel better for doing the

case of the Be

tly performed. Take it to piec

the deck and said “it is our duty to die, that they may be saved.” There was no murmur, no protest. The boats carried away the women and children. When the death-moment was come, the colonel and his officers took

as that. Could you have remained in those ranks an

I? No, I

re, with that watery doom creepi

r of it. I could not have endured it, I cou

. W

ut it: I know myself, an

ould be your

I know—but

uld do that great duty for duty’s sake, why not you? Don’t you know that you could go out and gather together a thousand clerks and

s, I kn

soldier’s pride, a soldier’s self-respect, a soldier’s ideals. They would have to content a soldier’s spirit th

suppo

erks, mechanics, raw recruits, but they wouldn’t perform it for that. As clerks and mechanics they had other ideals, another spirit to satisfy, and they satisfie

by his duty and goes to the sta

erament, will fail of that duty, though recognizing it as a duty, and grieving to be unequal to it: but he must content the spirit that is in him—he cannot help it. He could n

als who votes for a thief for public office, on his own pa

; he has no private ones, where his party’s prosperity is

ai

that word—training. By i

his human environment which influences his mind and his feelings, furnishes him his ideals, and sets him on his road and keeps him in it. If he leave[s] that road he will find himself shunned by the people whom he most loves and esteems, and whose approval he most values. He is a chameleon; by the law of his na

. M

ers Episcopalians, and the Episcopalians Millerites and the Millerites Hindus, and the Hindus Atheists, and the Atheists Spiritualists, and the Spiritualists Agnostics, and the Agnostics Methodists, and the Methodists Confucians, a

nswer your que

nd which breed of mass-meetings he attends in order to broaden his political knowledge, and which breed of mass-meetings he doesn’t attend, except to refute its doctrines with brickbats. We are always hearing of people who are around seeking after truth. I have never seen a (permanent) specimen. I think he had never lived. But I have seen several entirely sincere people who thought they were (permanent) Seekers after Truth. They sought diligently, persistently, carefully, cautiously, profoundly, with perfect honesty and nicely adjusted judgment—until they believed that without doubt or question they had found the Truth. That was the end of the search. The man spent the rest of his life hunting up shingles wherewith to protect his Truth from the weather. If he was seeking after political Truth he found it in one or another of the hundred

to be evilly placed there is no help for him,

th a new idea. The chance remark of a sweetheart, “I hear that you are a coward,” may water a seed that shall sprout and bloom and flourish, and ended in producing a surprising fruitage—in the fields of war. The history of man is full of such accidents. The accident of a broken leg brought a profane and ribald soldier under religious influences and furnished him a new ideal. From that accident sprang the O

nting at a sche

one—an old one.

What

ory impulses toward high ideals. It is what the tract-distributor doe

Don’t

with the confirmed criminals. This would be well if man were naturally inclined to good, but he isn’t, and so association makes the beginners worse than they were when they went into captivity. It is putting a very severe punishment upon

e that man is equipped with an int

dam ha

s man acqui

, from the outside. I keep repeating this, in the hope that I may impress it upon you that yo

u get your own ag

em. They are gathered from a thousand unkn

that God could make a

uld. I also know that

s recorded the fact that “an hone

d makes a man with honest and dishonest possibilities in him and stops there. The man’s associations deve

onest one is n

st I tell you that? He is not

re is any sense in training people to l

damage to them—and so they get an advantage out of his virtues. That is the main thing to them. It can make this life comparatively com

everything; that training is the man

ng. Let that other thing pass, for t

this morning, no clean clothes had been put out. I lost my temper; I lose it easiest and quickest in the early morning. I rang; and immediately began to warn myself not to show temper, and to be careful and speak gently. I safe-guarded myself most carefully. I even chose the very word I would use: “You’ve forgotten the clean clothes, Jane.” When she appeared in the door I opened my mouth to say that phrase—and out

Secondarily you made preparation to save the girl, but primar

w do yo

ever implored you to watch your

es. My

ou lov

more th

s do anything in you

ht to me to do any

—for profit. What profit would you expect

? None. To plea

please your mother. It also appears that to please your mother gives you a strong pleasure. Is not

, well?

ster looks to it that you get the first p

et that profit and so intent upon it, why

ther profit which sudden

here w

umped to the front, and for the moment its influence was more powerful than your mother’s, and abolished

quarter of a se

sure, the most satisfaction, in any moment or fraction of a moment, is the thing

he old servant’s eyes I could have

th you, although you had obeyed him. He required a prompt repentance; you obeyed again; you had to—there is never any escape from his commands. He is a hard master and fickle; he changes his mind in the fraction of a seco

t I, and didn’t my mother try to train me up t

er managed to kee

ertainly—m

mes this yea

a good m

last year than

. Y

ge improvement, the

s, undo

see there is use in training. Keep on.

reform reac

ll. Up to

? What do you

er thing.” That other thing is temperament —that is, the disposition you were born with. You can’t eradicate your

. Y

reach perfection, for your temper will beat you now and then, but you come near enough. You have made valuable progress and can make more. There is use i

Exp

nity and confer a more delicious pleasure and satisfaction upon you than even the approbation of your mother confers upon you now. You will then labor

ch the point where I will spare the g

—yes. In

I called, she answered from the bathroom. I heard the water running. I inquired. She answered, without temper, that Jane had forgotten her bath, and she was preparing it herself. I offered to ring, but she said, “No, don’t do t

ve gotten a No. 1 pleasure out of ringing Jane up—and so they would infallibly have pushed the button and obeyed the law of their make and training, which are the servants of their Interior Masters. It is quite likely that a par

onition your plan for the general betterment o

oni

here you will find your chiefest pleasure in conduct which, while contentin

that a n

M.

s been tau

ten thous

By

t religions—all t

re is nothing

candidly stated, this time. T

w do yo

rst, and your neighbor an

that is a differ

t speaking and crooked; the differe

Exp

chiefly; and to do acts of self-sacrifice. Thus at the outset we all stand upon the same ground—recognition of the supreme and absolute Monarch that resides in man, and we all grovel before him and appeal to him; then those others dodge and shuffle, and face around and unfrankly and inconsistently and illogically chan

heme and the other schemes aim at and produce the same r

a man leads a right and valuable life under it he is not deceived as to

a mean reason? In the other cases he lives the lofty life under the imp

and living a duke’s life and parading in ducal fuss and feathers, when he wasn’t

s his hand in his pocket and does his benevolences on as b

do that withou

ut wou

see where you

. W

nevolences for his pride’s sake, a pretty low motive, and go on doing them unwarned, lest if he were ma

in ignorance, as long as he thinks

emes. They think humbug is good enough morals when t

doing a good deed for his own sake first-off, instead of

ommitted a bene

s. This

e the pa

and who saved my life once at the risk of her own, was burned last night, an

u furni

Certa

e glad you h

I hadn’t. I

e glad you h

se I should have been incapable, and my mother wo

y glad you were not ca

h, I j

Now,

harity knowing it was because the act would give me a splendid pleasure, and because old Sally’s moving gratitude and delight would give me another one; and because the reflection that she would be happy now and o

ore strongly moved to help Sally out of her trouble—could you have done the deed any more ea

mpulse which moved me more powerful, more masterful

than he is to do any one of the others, he will infallibly do that one thing, be it good or be it evil; and if it be good, not all the beguilements of

earts would not be diminished by the removal of the delusion that good deed

s what I fu

w seem to take from th

nity in falsity, it

eft for the mo

and takes back with the other: Do right for your own sake, and be happy i

at your A

here you will find your chiefest pleasure in conduct which, while contentin

roceeds from exterior

. Y

r of the idea, but it comes in from the outside? I see him

t and open it to the reception of new influences—as in the case of Ignatius Loyola. In time these influences can train him to a point where it will be consonant with his new character to yield to the final influence and do that thing. I will put the case in a form which will make my theory clear to you, I

t out yours

m a steam-jet during a long success

e that I

. W

cannot break down

no interest in it. The ingot remains as it was. Suppose we add to the steam some quicksilver i

M.

f the influence works no damage. Let us continue the application in a steady stream, and call each minute a year. By the end of ten or twenty minutes—ten or twenty years—the little ingot is sodden with quicksilver, its virtues are g

but only the last one of a long and disintegrating accumulation of them. I see, now, how my single impulse to rob the ma

ara

and in the sailor boarding-houses of the European and Oriental ports, was a common rough in Hong-Kong, and out of a job; and Henry was superintendent of the Sunday-school. At twenty-six George was a wanderer, a tramp, and Henry was pastor of the village church. Then George came home, and was Henry’s guest. One evening a man passed by and turned down the lane, and Henry said, with a pathetic smile, “Without intending me a discomfort, that man is always keeping me reminded of my pinching poverty, for he carr

out the

for the poor shows that she has a standard of benevolence; there she has conceded the millionaire’s privilege of having a standard; since she evidently requires him to adopt her standard,

-Machin

eally think man

Man.

cally and is independent of his contr

—you who perhaps imagine that your mind is your servant and must obey your orders, think what you tell it to think, and stop when you tell it to stop. When it chooses to work, there is no way to keep it st

aybe i

I wake I will think upon such and such a subject,” but he will fail. His mind will be too quick for him; by the time he has become

an make it stick to a

uasion. The dull speaker wearies it and sends it far away in idle dreams; the bright speaker throws out stimulating ideas which it goes ch

Interva

time, did you try commanding your mind to wait for or

tand ready to take orders whe

Did i

iting for me. Also—as you suggested—at night I appointed a theme for it to

Did i

M.

imes did you tr

. T

y successes

Not

it does as it pleases. It will take up a subject in spite of him; it will stick to it in

on. Il

you kn

arned it

n playing the game all

n’t men

it rioted in the combinations; you implored i

right along. It wore me out and I got

you have been captivated by

Indee

sau kiss

saw I

au, he s

she

all day and all night for a week in spite of all I could do

he new pop

with the taking melody sings through one’s head day and night, asleep and

rs, sing its songs, play its chess, weave its complex and ingeniously constructed dreams, while you sleep. It has no use for your help, no use for your guidance, and

I have had

a dream-thought for it to w

M.

procedure after it has origin

u think the waking mind and the

have wild and fantastic day-thou

d a drug that made him invisible; and lik

hat are rational, simple, c

one; a wise person; a fool; a cruel person; a kind and compassionate one; a quarrelsome person; a peacemaker; old persons and young; beautiful girls and homely ones. They talk in character, each preserves his own characteristics. There a

and artistically develops it, and carries the little drama

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rgument that it is the same old mind in both cases, and never needs your help. I think the mind is purely a machine,

Which

termine how much influence y

xts before my eyes—one a dull one and barren of interest, the other one full of interest, inf

Did i

dn’t. It busied itse

try hard to

I did my h

ich it refused to be inte

ents, and D and A together owe E and B three-sixteenths of—of—I don’t remember the rest, now, but anyway it was wholly uni

was the

no matter

t what

photo

You

. It wa

honest good test. Did

market, and at the same time I reminded it of an experience of mine of sixteen years ago. I

was the

he presence of twenty spectators. It makes m

ery good tests. Did you

nk about without any of my help, and thus convince me that it was a machine, an automatic machine, set in motion b

. Y

, more and more unreconciled, more and more mutely profane; saw the silent congregation quivering like jelly, and the tears running down their faces. I saw it all. The sight of the tears whisked my mind to a far distant and a sadder scene—in Terra del Fuego—and with Darwin’s eyes I saw a naked great savage hurl his little boy against the rocks for a trifling fault; saw the poor mother gather up her dying child and hug it to her breast and weep, uttering no word. Did my mind stop to mourn with that nude black sister of mine? No—it was far away from that scene in an instant, and was busying i

for his help. But there is one way whereb

at is t

d begin talking upon that matter—or—take your pen and use that. It will interest your mind and concentrate i

’t I tell it

hen you haven’t time. The words leap

or ins

ge the words. There is no thinking, no reflecting. Where there is a wit-mechanism it is automatic in its action an

a man originates not

inking

brain-machines automatically combin

e steam

erfect engine. Watt noticed that confined steam was strong enough to lift the lid of the teapot. He didn’t create the idea, he merely discovered the fact; the cat had noticed it a hundred times. From the te

ers—for they hadn’t any—and now, after a hundred years the patient contributions of fifty o

hakespea

civilization produced more incidents, more episodes; the actor and the story-teller borrowed them. And so the drama grew, little by little, stage by stage. It is made up of the facts of l

. H

meddles with that trap no more. The astronomer is very proud of his achievement, the rat is proud of his. Yet both are machines; they have done machine work, they have originated nothing, they have no right to be vain; the whole credit belongs to their Maker. They are entitled to no honors, no praises, no monuments whe

ersonal merit for what he does, it follows of n

ed to any personal merit for what he does, it follows of necessity that neither of them

anities? Would you go on believing in them in the face

umble, earnest, and

Very

sincere Truth-Seeker is alwa

hear you say this, for now

erstand. I said I hav

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hunting junk to patch it and caulk it and prop it with, and make it weather-proof and keep it from caving in on him. Hence the Presbyterian remains a Presbyterian, the Mohammedan a Mohammedan, the Spiritualist a Spiritualist, the Democrat a Democrat, the Republican a Republican, the Mo

And

nd entitled to no personal merit for anything he does, it is not humanly possible for me to seek further. The rest of my days will be spent in patchin

er had done all of this mo

ct and

advanced a while ago—concerning the rat and all that—str

re shams, stolen clothes. He claims cr

right to put him on

ld not be fair to the rat. The

re you

o, I a

what do

nse. It is a large question. Let us finish wit

cede that you place Man and the rat on

form—not

Exp

machine, but of unequal capacities—like yours and Edison’s; like

hen the lower animals have no mental quali

at is i

king and mechanical exer

originated

started it, its descen

he first one c

ow; but it didn

o you know

right to suppose

lieve you have.

automatic putting together of impressions receive

rely petrified thought; solidified and made inanimate by habit; thought which wa

llustr

ation of an exterior fact, and a valuable inference drawn from that observation and confirmed by experience. The original wild ox noticed that with the wind in his favor he could smell his enemy in time to escape; then he inferred that it was worth while to keep his nose to the win

the term instinc

tself to habits and impulses which had a far-off origin in thought, and now and then

ve an i

s no advantage in that, and no sense in it. All men do it, yet no man thought it out and adopted it of set

prove that th

l take a man to a clothing-store and watch him

w illustrat

d horse who used to get into the closed lot where the corn-crib was and dishonestly take the corn. I got the punishment myself, as it was supposed that I had heedlessly failed to insert the wooden pin which kept the gate closed. These persistent punishments fatigued me; they also caused me to infer the existence of a culprit, somew

ming of thought about it. Still

e scene is a Scotch fishing village where the gulls were kindly treated. This particular gull visited a cottage; was fed; came next day and was fed again; came into the house, next time, and ate with the family; kept on doing this almost daily, thereafter. But, once the gull was away on a journey for a few days, and when it returned the house was vac

n Edison and couldn’t

aps not.

either here no

t and put it on a bush and brought the dog away. Early the next morning the mother bird came for the gentleman, who was sitting on his veranda, and by its maneuvers persuaded him to follow it to a distant part of the grounds—flying a little way in front of him and waiting for him to catch up, and so on; and keeping to the winding path, too, instead of flying the near way across lots. The distance covered was four hundred yards. The same dog was the culprit; he had the youn

that many of the dum

m was raised high enough to enable the captive to step out, was equipped with the reasoning quality. I conceive that all animals that can learn things through teaching and drilling have to know how to observe,

he were a th

ble to notice, and to put things together, and say to themselves, “I get the idea, now: when I do so and so, as per order

ink upon a low plane, is there any that can think upo

lf-educated specialist in several arts she is the superior of any savage race of men; and

ing the intellectual frontier

n. One cannot abolish

ope. You cannot mean to seriousl

and thats together just as Edison would have done it and drew the same inferences that he would have drawn. Their mental machinery was just lik

e; and is distinctly offensive.

hem the Unrevealed Creatures; so far as we can

unds do you make

coming!” We understand the cat when she stretches herself out, purring with affection and contentment and lifts up a soft voice and says, “Come, kitties, supper’s ready”; we understand her when she goes mourning about and says, “Where can they be? They are lost. Won’t you help me hunt for them?” and we understand the disreputable Tom when he challenges at midnight from his shed, “You come over here, you product of immoral commerce, and I’ll make your fur fly!” We understand a few of a dog’s phrases and we learn to understan

ou seem to think—sweeps away the last vestige of an

on to her size as is the largest capitol or cathedral in the world compared to man’s size. No savage race has produced architects who could approach the ant in genius or culture. No civilized race has produced architects who could plan a house better for the uses proposed than can hers. Her

ould be mer

efore we decide. The ant has soldiers—battalions, regiments, armies; and

ould be ins

has a system of government; it is well pl

nstinc

es, and is a hard and unjus

Ins

s cows, and

tinct, o

eet square, plants it, weeds it, cultivate

inct, all

he strangers overboard. Sir John repeated the experiment a number of times. For a time the sober ants did as they had done at first—carried their friends home and threw the strangers overboard. But finally they lost patience, seeing that their reformatory efforts went for nothing, and threw both friends and strangers overbo

t has all the look of reflection, thought, putting this an

er, or drew a circle of tar around the cup, I don’t remember. At any rate, he watched to see what they would do. They tried various schemes—failures, every one. The ants were badly puzzled. Finally they held a consultation, discussed the problem, arrived at a decision—and th

I believe it was a newly reason

in her hive of five hundred thousand souls. Also, after a year’s absence one of the five hundred thousand she will straightway recognize the returned absentee and grace the recognition with an affectionate welcome. How are these recognitions made? Not by color, for painted ants were recognized. Not by smell, for ants that had been dipped in chloroform were recognized. N

ertain

pon them, adds to them, recombines, and so proceeds, stage by stage, to far results—from the teakettle to the ocean greyhound’s complex engine; from personal labor to slave labor; from wigwam to palace; from the capricious chase to agriculture and stored food; from nomadic life to stable g

cked the reasonin

tell anybody, and

—I am required to concede that there is absolutely no intell

apable machine in him than those others, but it is the same machine and works in the same way. And neither he nor those others can comm

ntal machinery, and there isn’t any difference of any stupe

heir language, but the dog, the elephant, etc., learn to understand a very great deal of ours. To that extent they are our superiors. On t

here is still a wall, and a lofty one. They haven’t got the Mo

makes you

infamies and insanities and that is enough; I am not going to

going to hoist

think it is not right t

man knows right from wrong proves his intellectual superiority to the other creatures; but the fact that he can do

e W

ur opinion rega

man possess it who gave the old woman his

succoring the old woman and lea

the other. The body made a strong appeal, of course—the body would be quite sure to do that; the spirit made a

t the man determined it, and that

had no Free Will: his temperament, his training, and the daily influences which had molded him and made him what he was, compelled him to rescue the old woman and thus save himself —save himself from spiritual pain, from unendurable w

What

Free

is the d

other implies nothing beyond a mere mental process: the critical

difference c

tops there. It can go no further in the matter. It has no authority to say that the righ

The m

s born disposition and the character which has

t upon the righ

eorge Washington’s machine would act upon the

ntal machinery calmly and judicially points

indifferent to the mind’s feeling concerning the matter—that is, would be, if the mind had any feelings; which

an knows which of two things is right h

nd he will do it; he cannot help himself, he has no authority ove

. Y

been equally right for

Certa

e been right for a bor

t woul

rn coward ever would hav

. Y

erament would be an absolute and insurmountable

es, I

ceives that it woul

. Y

ice in determining that it

. Y

re is his Free Will? Why claim that he has Free Will when the plain facts show that he hasn’t? Why contend th

ally no such thi

d Will, and it was a compulsory force; David had to obey its decrees, he had no choice. The coward’s temperament and training possess Will, and it is compulsory; it commands him to a

alues, Bu

an’t tell where you draw the line between mat

don’t d

w do yo

as material covetousness. Al

sires, ambitions spir

shall content his spirit —that alone. He never requires any

omebody’s money—isn’t that rath

spiritual desire. Any so-called material thing that you want is merely a symbol:

ase part

, your spirit contented. Suppose your friends deride the hat, make fun of it: at once it loses

hink I s

n it failed of that, the whole of its value was gone. There are no material values; there are only spiritual ones. You will hunt in vain for a material value that is actua

u extend th

happy over it, jubilant about it; then in a single week a pestilence swept away all whom he held dear and left him desolate. His money’s value was gone. He realized that his joy in it came not from the money itself, but from the spiritual contentment he got out of his family’s enjoyment of the pleasures and delights it lavished upon them. Money has no material v

icult

r three separate personalities, each with authorities, jurisdictions, and responsibilities of its own, and when he is in t

enient, if true. When you spea

t is t

perty then, and the Me

s a common property; an undivided ow

it the whole Me that admires it, incl

ot. It is my min

. Everybody does; everybody must.

ist of just those two par

I believe the world is round,”

The

ve for the loss of my f

The

tual function when it examines and acce

. Y

lectual function when it griev

ration, brain-work, it

not in your mind, but

ave to g

a part of your p

ndependent of it

it cannot be affected

M.

remain sober with

Wel

physical effec

looks

mind. Why should it happen if the mind is spi

ll—I do

a pain in your foot

I fee

e reports the hurt to the brain. Yet the

I thi

is mental and spiritual combined. We all use the “I” in this indeterminate fashion, there is no help for it. We imagine a Master and King over what you call The Whole Thing, and we speak of him as “I,” but when we try to define him we find we cannot do it. The intellect and the feelings can act quite independently of each other; we recognize that, and we look around for a Ruler who is master over both, and can serve as a definite and indisputable “I,” and enable us to know what we mean and who or what we are talking about when we

the Me is

it is. What

don’t

er does an

ster P

—or, in common speech, t

hich compels the man to content its desires. It may be

ere is

’s moral co

commands for

isfying of its own desires. It can be trained to prefer things which will be for the man’s go

ideals it is still looking out for its o

cares nothing for the man’s good,

moral force seated in the

unreasoning instinct, which cannot and does not distinguish between good morals and bad ones, and cares

probably considers that that

iritual contentment, let the means be what they may. Its desires are determined by the man’s temperament—and it is lord over that. Temperamen

his garret and his books to take a pla

, his temperament, his Spiritual Appetite—and it

s, the

ld perils, to content his autocrat, who prefers these things, and prayer and cont

rtist, the poet

others in the market, at any price. You realize that the Master Passion—the contentment of the spirit—conc

nk I must

of Temperaments seek the contentment of the spirit, and that alone; and this is exactly the case with the other set. Neither set seeks anything but the contentment of the spirit. If the one

clu

e been takin

ramp covering a week.

dy. What shall

all these talks, and passed them carefully in review. With this result: t

nded to order me to set them to paper and publish them. Do I have to tell you why th

e order; stronger outside influences deterred him. Without the outside influences, neither of these impu

orrect

aster’s hands. If some day an outside influence shall determine

is corre

conviction that the publication of your d

teachings, trainings, notions, prejudices, and other second-hand importations—have persuaded the Master within you that the publication of these doctrines would be harmful. Very well, this is qu

f him, it denies him all personal credit, all applause; it not only degrades him to a machine, but allows him no control over the machine; makes a mere coffee-mill of him, and neith

ed. Tell me—what do men a

beauty of countenance, charity, benevolence

ings of the elementals, just as one makes green by blending blue and yellow, and makes several shades and tints of red by modifying the elemental red. There are several elemental colors; they are all in the rainbow; out of them we manufacture and name fi

M.

. W

is born

s it c

He is bor

y of build, beaut

hey are bi

seeds, out of which spring, through cultivation by outside influences, all the manifold blends and combinatio

Born

nufactures

. G

es the credit

To

of which you spok

To

luable thing he possesses—borrowed finery, the whole of it; no rag of it earned by himself, n

e made a mac

cunning and beautiful

. G

of a piano an elaborate piece of music, without error, while th

. G

n? Who devised the man’s mind, whose machinery works automatically, interests itself in what it pleases, regardless of its will or desire, labors all night when it likes, deaf to his appeals for mercy

ng to expose a fact wh

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ide in himself, his sincere admiration of himself, his joy in what he supposed were his own and unassisted achievements, and his exultation over the praise and applause which they evoked—these have exalted him, enthused him, ambitioned him to higher and higher flights; in a word, made his life worth the

really th

certa

ver seen me unc

M.

ese things. Why have th

of course! You never let th

temperament, nothing can make him happy; if he is born

egrading and heart-chi

ictions? They are powerless. They str

believe that,

have not studiously examined the facts. Of all your i

Eas

ne is the unhapp

hout a q

the law—and failed. Burgess remained happy—because he couldn’t help it. Adams was wretched—because he couldn’t help it. From that day to this, those two men have gone on trying things and failing: Burgess has come out happy and cheerful every time; Adams the reverse. And we do absolutely know that these men’s inborn temperaments have remained unchanged through all the vicissitudes of their material affairs. Let us see how it is with their immaterials. Both have been zealous Democrats; both have been zealous Republicans; both have been zealous Mugwumps. Burgess has always found happiness and Adams unhappines

nstanced extrem

e devised; in time it will fit itself to the required conditions; later, it will prefer them and will fiercely fight for them. As instances, you have all history: the Greeks, the Romans, the Persians, the Egyptians, the Russians, the Germans, the French, the English, the Spaniards, the Americans, the South Americans, the Japanese, the Chinese, the Hindus, the Turks—a thousand wild and tame religions, every kind of government that can be thought of, from tiger to house-cat, each nation knowing it has the only true religion and the only sane system of government, each despising all the others, each an ass and not suspecting it, each proud of its fancied supremacy, each perfectly sure it is the pet of God, each without un