Chapter XVI: Moral Medicine and Gymnastics

SUMMARY.

=Means and end.=--Moral science should not only point out the _end_; it
should also indicate the _means_ of attaining that end.

There is, as of the body, a culture of the soul: as, in medicine, we
distinguish between _temperaments_, _diseases_ and their _treatments_,
so do we distinguish in morals, _characters_, _passions_, and
_remedies_.

=Of character.=--Character as compared with temperament: four principal
types.

Character at different ages: childhood, youth, manhood, and old age.

=Passions.=--Passions may in one respect be considered as _natural
affections_; but in a moral point of view they should be considered as
_diseases_.

The law of passions considered from this last standpoint. Enumeration
and analysis of these various passions.

=Culture of the soul=, or =moral treatment=.--On the government of
passions.--Bossuet's advice: not directly to combat the passions, but
to turn them off into other channels.

=Of the formation of character.=--Rules of Malebranche: 1, acts produce
habits, and habits produce acts; 2, one can always act against a
ruling habit.

How is one habit to be substituted for another?--Aristotle's rule: To
go from one extreme to the other.--Bacon's rules: 1, to proceed by
degrees; 2, to choose for a new virtue two kinds of opportunities: the
first when one is best disposed, the second when one is least so; 3,
not to trust too much to one's conversion and distrust opportunities.

Benjamin Franklin's Almanac.--Other practices.--Kant's moral
catechism.

We have done with _practical_ morals, the morals, namely, which have for their object the setting forth of man's duties and the principal applications of the moral law. The second part of this course of study shall be devoted to the _theory_ of morals, which has for its object the elucidation of principles. But to pass from the one to the other, it seemed to us proper, by way of conclusion, to introduce here an order of researches which belongs to both practical and theoretical morals, the study, namely, of the means man has at his disposal in his moral self-perfection, either by curing himself of vice, or in advancing in virtue: this is what we call _moral medicine and gymnastics_.

Bacon justly remarks that most moralists are like writing-masters who lay fine copies before their pupils, but tell them nothing of the manner of using the pen and tracing characters. Thus do the philosophers set before us very fine and magnificent models, very faithful and noble pictures of goodness and virtue, of duties, of happiness; but they teach us nothing about the means of attaining to such perfection. They make us acquainted with the _end_, and not with the _road_ that leads to it.[149]

Then, presenting us himself a sketch of that portion of morality which does not confine itself to precepts only, but to instructions also, and which he calls the _Georgics of the soul_ (science of the culture and the soul), he tells us that it should be like medicine which considers first the _constitution_ of the patient, then the _disease_, then the _treatment_. The same in regard to the soul: there are moral temperaments as there are physical temperaments: these are the _characters_; moral diseases as there are physical diseases; these are the _passions_; and finally there is a moral _treatment_ as there is a physical treatment, and it is the treatment of morality to indicate this treatment. Now, one cannot treat a disease without knowing it and without being acquainted with the temperament and constitution of the patient. "A coat cannot be fitted on a body without the tailor's taking first the measure of him for whom he makes it." Hence, it follows that before deciding on a remedy, one must acquaint himself with the characters and passions.

=173. Of character.=--The study of character is hardly susceptible of a methodical classification. Passions, manners, habits are so complicated and so intermixed in individuals that they afford scarcely a chance to faithfully describe them, and this subject, though very fertile, is more of the province of literature than of science. Theophrastus among the ancients, and La Bruyere among the moderns, have excelled in this kind of description; but it would be very difficult to analyze their works, as they have nothing didactic: they are better suited for reading. Theophrastus describes dissemblers, flatterers, intruders, rustics, parasites, babblers, the superstitious, misers, the proud, slanderers, etc. All these are unquestionably principal types of human character, but they cannot be strictly brought down to a few elementary types. La Bruyere is still further removed; he does not only treat character, but manners also; he describes individuals rather than men in general, or it is always in the individual that he sees the man. Hence the charm and piquancy of his pictures; but moral science finds scarcely anything to borrow from him.

Kant tried to give a theory of character, and he started with the same idea as Bacon, namely, the analogy between characters and temperaments; thus did he confine himself to taking up again the old physiological theory of temperaments and apply it to the moral man. He distinguishes two kinds of temperaments: temperaments of _sentiment_, and temperaments of _activity_; and in each of these two kinds, two degrees or two different shades: exaltation or abatement. Hence, four different kinds of temperaments: the sanguine and the melancholy (temperament of sentiment), the choleric and phlegmatic (temperament of activity). Kant describes these four temperaments or characters as follows:[150]

"The _sanguine_ disposition may be recognized by the following indications: The sanguine man is free from care and of good hope; he gives to things at one moment undue importance; at another, he can no longer think of them. He is splendid in his promises, but does not keep them, because he has not sufficiently reflected whether he will be able to keep them or not. He is well enough disposed to help others, but is a poor debtor and always asks for delays. He is good company, cheerful, lively, takes things easily, and is everybody's friend. He is not usually a bad person, but a confirmed sinner, hard to convert, and who, though he will repent, will never allow this repentance to turn into grief: it is soon again forgotten. He is easily tired by work; yet is he constantly occupied, and that, for the reason that his work being but play, it proves a change which suits him, as perseverance is not in his nature.

"The _melancholy_ man gives to everything concerning him a vast importance; the least trifles give him anxiety, and his whole attention is fixed upon the difficulties of things. Contrary to the sanguine, always hopeful of success, but a superficial thinker, the melancholy is a profound thinker. He is not hasty in his promises because he intends keeping them, and he considers carefully whether he will be able to do so. He distrusts and takes thought of things which the sanguine passes carelessly by; he is no philanthropist, for the reason that he who denies himself pleasure is rarely inclined to wish it to others.

"The _choleric_ man is easily excited and as easily appeased; he flares up like a straw fire; but submission soon softens him down; he is then irritable without hatred, and loves him who readily gives up to him, all the more ardently. He is prompt in his actions, but his activity does not last long; he is never idle, yet not industrious. His ruling passion is honors; he likes to meddle with public affairs, to hear himself praised; he is for show and ceremonial. He is fond of playing the part of a protector and to appear generous; but not from a feeling of affection, but of pride, for he loves himself much more than he loves others. He is passionately given to money making; in society he is a ceremonious courtier, stiff, and ill at ease, and ready to accept any flatterer to serve him as a shield; in a word, the choleric temperament is the least happy of all because it is the one that meets with most opposition.

"The _phlegmatic_ temper. Phlegm means absence of emotion. The phlegmatic man to whom nature has given a certain quantum of reason, resembles the man who acts on principle, although he owes this disposition to instinct only. His happy temperament stands to him in lieu of wisdom, and often in ordinary life he is called a philosopher. Sometimes even he is thought cunning, because all abuse launched at him bounces back again, as a ball from a sack of wool. He makes a pretty good husband, and, whilst pretending to do every one's will, he governs both wife and servants as he likes, for he knows how to bring their wishes in agreement with his own indomitable but thoughtful will."

There are then, according to Kant, four essentially distinct characters: the _sanguine_, playful, kindly, superficial; the _melancholy_, profound, sad, egotistical; the _choleric_, ardent, passionate, ambitious, covetous; the _phlegmatic_, cold, moderate, inflexible.

Kant denies that these four kinds of temperaments can combine with each other; "there are but four in all," he says, "and each of them is complete in itself." It seems to us, on the contrary, that experience shows that no one of these characters exists separately in an absolute manner; there is always to some degree a mixture, and different men are generally distinguished by the leading feature in their character.

We must, however, make a distinction between _disposition_ and _character_. To be of such or such a disposition is not always being a man _of character_. The first of these two expressions signifies the various aptitudes, inclinations, or habits which distinguish a man from others; the second signifies that strength of will, that empire over himself which enables a man to follow faithfully the line of conduct he has chosen, and to bravely resist temptations. Character is not always virtue (for it may be controlled by false and vicious principles), but it is its condition.

"That tendency of the will which acts according to fixed principles (and does not move from this to that, like a fly) is something truly estimable, and which deserves all the more admiration as it is extremely rare. The question here is not of what nature makes of man, but of what man makes of himself. Talent has a _venal value_ which allows making use of the man therewith endowed; temperament has an affection-value which makes of him an agreeable companion and pleasant talker; but character has a _value_ which places him above all these things."[151]

=174. Age.=--To this classification of characters according to temperaments, may be added that founded on age. In fact, different ages have, as it is well known, very different characteristics. Aristotle[152] was the first to describe the differences in men's morals according to their ages, and he has since been very often imitated.

"I. _The young._--The young are in their dispositions prone to desire, and of a character to effect what they desire. And they desire with earnestness, but speedily cease to desire; for their wishes are keen, without being durable; just like the hunger and thirst of the sick. And they are passionate and irritable, and of a temperament to follow the impulse. And they cannot overcome their anger; for by reason of their ambition, they do not endure a slight, but become indignant, and fancy themselves injured; and they are ambitious indeed of honor, but more so of victory; for youth is desirous of superiority, and victory is a sort of superiority. And they are credulous, from their never having yet been much imposed on. And they are sanguine in their expectations; for, like those who are affected by wine, so the young are warmed by their nature; and at the same time from their having never yet met with many repulses. Their life too, for the most part, is one of hope; for hope is of that which is yet to be, while memory is of that which is passed: but to the young, that which is yet to be is long; but that which has passed is short. And they are brave rather to an excess; for they are irritable and sanguine, qualities, the one whereof cancels fear, and the other inspires courage; for while no one who is affected by anger ever is afraid, the being in hope of some good is a thing to give courage. And they are bashful; for they do not as yet conceive the honorable to be anything distinct; and they are high-minded; for they have not as yet been humbled by the course of life, but are inexperienced in peremptory circumstances; again, high-mindedness is the deeming one's self worthy of much; and this belongs to persons of sanguine expectations. And they prefer succeeding in an honorable sense rather than in points of expediency; for they live more in conformity to moral feeling than to mere calculations; and calculation is of the expedient, moral excellence, however, of that which is honorable. Again, they are fond of friends and companions, by reason of their delighting in social intercourse. And all their errors are on the side of excess; for their friendships are in excess, their hatreds are in excess, and they do everything else with the same degree of earnestness; they think also that they know everything, and firmly asseverate that they do; for this is the cause of their pushing everything to an excess. They are likewise prone to pity; and they are also fond of mirth, on which account they are also of a facetious turn."

"II. _The old._--Those who are advanced in life are of dispositions in most points the very opposite of those of the young. Since by reason of their having lived many years, and having been deceived in the greater number of instances, and having come to the conclusion, too, that the majority of human affairs are but worthless, they do not positively asseverate anything, and err in everything more on the side of defect than they ought. And they always '_suppose_' but never '_know_' certainly; and questioning everything, they always subjoin a '_perhaps_,' or a '_possibly_.' Moreover, they are apt to be suspicious from distrust, and they are distrustful from their experience. And they are pusillanimous from their having been humbled by the course of life; for they raise their desires to nothing great or vast, but to things only which conduce to support of life. And they are timid and apprehensive of everything; for their disposition is the reverse of that of the young; for they have been chilled by years; and yet they are attached to life, and particularly at its closing day. [They are apt to despond.] And they live more in memory than in hope; for the remnant of life is brief, and what has passed is considerable. And their desires have, some, abandoned them, the others are faint. They are neither facetious nor fond of mirth.

"III. _Mature age._--Those who are in their prime will, it is evident, be in a mean in point of disposition between the young and the old, subtracting the excesses of each: being neither rash in too great a degree, nor too much given to fear, but keeping themselves right in respect to both. And they are of a tempering coolness joined with spirit, and are spirited not without temperate coolness. And thus, in a word, whatever advantages youth and age have divided between them, the middle age possesses both."

We must admit that Aristotle, who has so admirably depicted young and old men, is weak on the subject of manhood. Boileau, translating Horace, makes of it a far more clear and exact picture:

"Manhood, more ripe, puts on a wiser look, succeeds with those in power, intrigues, and spares itself, thinks of holding its own against the blows of fate, and far on in the now looks forth to the _to be_."

=175. Passions.=--Character, considered from a strictly philosophical standpoint, is nothing more than the various combinations which the passions, whether natural or acquired, which exist in man, form in each individual, so that there is, in some respect, double reason for treating these two subjects separately. But, in the first place, the divers movements of the soul take, by usage, the name of passions, only when they reach a certain degree of acuteness, and, as Bacon puts it, of disease. In the second, passions are the elements which in divers quantities and proportions compose what is termed character; it is from this double point of view that we must speak of them separately.

If we consider the passions from a psychological[153] standpoint, we shall find that they are nothing more than the natural inclinations of the human heart.

We have to consider them here especially from a _pathological_ point of view (if it may be permitted to say so), that is, as diseases of the human heart.

The character of passions regarded as diseases, is the following:

1. They are _exclusive_. A man who has become enslaved by a passion, will know nothing else, will listen to nothing else; he will sacrifice to that passion not only his reason and his duty, but his other inclinations, and even his other passions also. The passion of gambling or of drinking will stifle all the rest, ambition, love, even the instinct of self-preservation.

2. Passion, as a disease, is in a _violent_ condition; it is impetuous, disordered, very like insanity.

3. Although there may be fits of passion, sudden and fleeting, which rise and fall again in the same instant, we generally give the name of passions only to movements which have become _habitual_. Passions then are habits; applied to things base, they become _vices_.

4. There is a diagnosis[154] of passions as there is of diseases. They betray themselves outwardly by external signs which are their symptoms (acts, gestures, physiognomy), and inwardly, by first indications or what was formerly called _prodromes_, which are their forerunners (disturbance, agitation, etc.).

5. Passion, like disease, has its history: it has its regular course, its crisis, and termination. The _Imitation of Jesus Christ_ gives in a few words the history of a passion: "In the beginning a simple _thought_ presents itself to the mind; this is followed by a vivid _fancy_; then comes _delectation_, a bad _impulse_, and finally the _consent_. Thus does the evil one gradually enter the soul."[155]

6. It is rare that a passion arises and develops without obstacles and resistance. Hence that state we have called _fluctuation_ (Vol. I., p. 167), and which has so often been compared to the ebb and flow of the sea.

These general features of the passions being stated, let us make a brief sketch of the principal passions.

It may be said that our passions pass through three distinct states; they are at first natural and unavoidable affections of the mind: _inclinations_, _tendencies_; they become next violent and unruly movements: these are the passions properly so-called; they become habits and embodied in the character, and take the name of _qualities_ and _defects_, _virtues_ and _vices_. But it is to be noted that whilst we can always distinguish these three states theoretically, language is, for the most part, inadequate to express them; for men have designated these moral states only according to the necessities of practice, and not according to the rules of theory.

The three states which we have just pointed out, can be very clearly distinguished in the first of the affections of human nature, namely, the _instinct of self-preservation_. This instinct is at first a natural, legitimate, necessary affection of the human heart; but by the force of circumstances, the influence of age, disease, temperament, it develops out of proportion into a state of passion, and becomes what we call _fear_; or else it turns into a habit and becomes the vice we call _cowardice_.

Physical self-preservation is inseparable from two _appetites_ called hunger and thirst. These two appetites, too much indulged in, become passions, which themselves may become vices. But language fails here to express their various shades: there is only one word to express the passion or vice related to eating and drinking: it is on the one hand _gluttony_, and on the other _drunkenness_;[156] both these vices, and in general all undue surrender to sensual pleasures, is called _intemperance_.

The source of all our personal inclinations is the love for ourselves or _self-love_, a legitimate instinct when kept within bounds; but when carried to excess, when exclusive and predominant, it becomes the vice we call _selfishness_.

Self-esteem, developed into a passion, becomes, when it turns upon great things, _false pride_; when upon small, _vanity_.

_The love of liberty_ degenerates into a _spirit of revolt_; the legitimate love of power, into _ambition_; _the instinct of property_ becomes _greed_, _cupidity_, _passion for gain_, and tends to run into the _passion for gambling_ or the desire to gain by means of chance. The desire for gain engenders the _fear of loss_, and this latter passion developing into a vice and mania, becomes _avarice_.

Human inclinations are divided into _benevolent_ and _malevolent_ inclinations. The first may develop into a passion, but not into a vice; the second alone become vices.

There is not a single benevolent inclination which, carried too far and beyond reason, may not become a more or less blameworthy passion. But, in the first place, we have no terms in our language to express the exaggerations of these kinds of passions,[157] and in the second, though they be exaggerations, we shall never call the tenderer affections of the human heart, however foolish they may be, vices, if they are sincere.

Yet, may some of these affections become vices when they unite with personal passion. For example, good nature or the desire to please may lead to _obsequious servility_, the desire to praise, to _flattery_, and esteem, to _hypocrisy_. But these vices partake more of the nature of self-love than of benevolent inclinations.

_Malevolent passions._--Malevolent inclinations give rise to the most terrible passions. But are there, indeed, in man naturally malevolent inclinations? Reid, the philosopher, disputes it and justly thinks, as we do, that malevolent passions are but the abuse of certain personal inclinations intended to serve as auxiliaries in the development of our activity. There are two principal malevolent passions, _emulation_ and _anger_.

Emulation is but a special desire for success and superiority. This desire, induced by the thought that other men around us have attained to such or such degree of public esteem or power, is not in itself a malevolent inclination. We may wish to equal and surpass others without, at the same time, wishing them any harm. We can experience pleasure in excelling them, without exactly rejoicing in their defeat; we can bear being excelled by them without begrudging them their success.

Emulation then is a personal but not a malevolent sentiment; it becomes malevolent and vicious when our feelings toward others become inverted: when, for example, we regret, not the check we have been made to suffer, but the advantage our rivals have gained over us, and when we are unable to bear the idea of the good fortune of others; or again when, conversely, we experience more pleasure at their defeat than joy at our own victory. This sentiment, thus perverted, becomes what is called _envy_: and envy is generally the pain we feel at the good fortune of others; it is then a sentiment implying the wish to see others unhappy; and is therefore an actual vice, as low as it is odious.

_Envy_ which has some analogy with _jealousy_ must be distinguished from the latter. Jealousy is a kind of envy which bears especially upon affections it is not allowed to share; envy, upon material goods, or goods in the abstract (fortune, honors, power). The envious man wants goods he does not possess; the jealous man refuses to share those which he has. Jealousy is then a sort of selfishness, not as base as envy, since higher goods are in question, but which for its consequences is nevertheless one of the most terrible of passions.

Anger is a natural passion, which seems to have been bestowed on us to furnish us an arm against peril; it is an effort the soul makes to resist an evil it stands in danger of. But this inclination is one of those which cause us the quickest to lose our self-possession, and throws us into a sort of momentary insanity. Yet, although it is a passion of which the consequences may be fatal, it is not necessarily accompanied by hatred (as may be seen by the soldier who will fight furiously and who, immediately after the battle or during a truce, will shake hands with his enemy). Anger then is an effort of nature in the act of self-defense; it is a fever, and as such it is a fatal and culpable passion, but it is not a vice.

Anger becomes _hatred_ when, thinking of the harm we have done or could do to our enemy, we rejoice over the thought of this harm; it is called _resentment_ or _rancor_ when it is the spiteful recollection of an injury received; finally, it becomes the _passion of vengeance_ (the most criminal of all) when it is the desire and hope to return evil for evil. Pleasure at the misfortune of others, when it reaches a certain refinement, even though free from hatred, becomes _cruelty_.

Hatred changes into _contempt_ when there is joined to it the idea of the baseness and inferiority of the person who is hated. Contempt is a legitimate sentiment when it has for its object base and culpable actions; it is a bad and blameworthy passion when it bears upon a pretended inferiority, either of birth, or fortune, or talent, and then belongs to false pride. False pride, however, is not always accompanied by contempt. We see men full of self-satisfaction, who yet know how to be polite and courteous toward those they regard their inferiors; others, on the contrary, who look down upon their inferiors and treat them like brutes. Contempt, with such, is added to false pride. A gentler form of contempt is _disdain_, a sort of delicate and covered contempt. Contempt when it applies itself to set off, not the vices, but the peculiarities of men, trying to make them appear ridiculous, becomes _raillery_ or _irony_.

Such are the principal affections of the soul viewed as diseases, that is to say, inasmuch as they have need of remedies.

Let us now, to continue Bacon's comparison, pass to their _treatment_.

=176. Culture of the soul.=--After having studied characters and passions, we have to ask ourselves by what means passions may be governed and characters modified or corrected.

=177. Bossuet's rule.=--As to the first point, namely, the government of the passions, Bossuet gives us in his _Connaissance de Dieu et de soi-meme_,[158] excellent practical advice: it is obviously based on his study of consciences.

He justly observes that we cannot directly control our passions: "We cannot," he says, "start or appease our anger as we can move an aim or keep it still." But, on the other hand, the power we exercise over our external members gives us also a very great one over our passions. It is, of course, but an indirect power, but it is no less efficacious: "Thus can I put away from me a disagreeable and irritating object, and when my anger is excited, I can refuse it the arm it needs to satisfy itself."

To do this it is necessary to will it; but there is nothing so difficult as to will when the soul is possessed by a passion. The question is then to know how one may escape a ruling passion. To succeed in it one should not attack it in front, but as much as possible turn the mind upon other objects: it is with passion "as with a river which is more easily turned off from its course than stopped short." A passion is often conquered by means of another passion, "as in a State," says Bacon, "where a prince restrains one faction by means of another." Bossuet says even that it may be well, in order to avoid criminal passions, to abandon one's self to innocent ones.[159] One should also be careful in the choice of the persons he associates with: "for nothing more arouses the passions than the talk and actions of passionate men; whilst a quiet mind, provided its repose be not feelingless and insipid, seems, on the contrary, to communicate to us its own peace. We need something lively that may accord with our own feelings.

In a word, to conclude with Bossuet, "we should try to calm excited minds by diverting them from the main object of their excitement; approach them obliquely rather than directly in front; that is to say, that when a passion is already excited, there is no time then to attack it by reasoning, for one drives it all the stronger in. Where wise reflections are of greatest effect is in the forestalling of passions. One should therefore fill his mind with sensible thoughts, and accustom it early to proper inclinations, so that there be no room for the objects of passions."

=178. Improvement of character.=--Bossuet has just informed us how we are to conduct ourselves in regard to the passions, as diseases of the soul. Let us now see how character, namely, temperament, may be modified.

The character is a collection of habits, a great part of which belong, unquestionably, to our natural inclinations, but which, nevertheless, are also largely formed under the influence of education, circumstances, indulgence of passions, etc. It is thus character, "this second nature," as it has often been called, gradually develops.

Character being, as we have seen above, a habit, and virtue, on the other hand, being also a habit, the problem which presents itself to him who wishes to improve his character and exchange his vices for virtues, is to know how one habit may be substituted for another, and how even a painful habit may be substituted for an agreeable habit, sometimes for a habit which has lost its charm, but not yet its empire over one.

This problem may be found analyzed and most pathetically described in the _Confessions_ of St. Augustine:

"I was," he tells us, "like those who wish to get awake, but who,
overcome by sleep, fall back into slumber. There is certainly no one
who would wish to sleep always, and who would not rather, if he is
healthy of mind, prefer the waking to the sleeping state; and yet
there is nothing more difficult than to shake off the languor which
weighs our limbs down; and often, though the hour for waking has come,
we are against our will made captives by the sweetness of sleep.... I
was held back by the frivolous pleasures and foolish vanities which I
had found in the company of my former friends: they hung on the
vestures of my flesh, whispering, 'Art thou going to abandon us?'...
If, on the one hand, virtue attracted and persuaded me, pleasure on
the other captivated and enslaved me.... I had no other answer for the
former, than: 'Presently, presently, wait a little.' But this
'presently' had no end and this 'wait a little' was indefinitely
prolonged, Wretch that I am! who will deliver me from the body of this
death?"[160]

At so painful a juncture, the Christian religion offers its children an all-powerful and efficacious remedy: this is what it calls _grace_. But of this means moral philosophy cannot dispose; all it can do is to find in the study of human nature the exclusively natural means God has endowed it with, to elevate man to virtue. Now, these means, limited though they be, should not be considered inefficient, since for many centuries they sufficed the greatest men and sages of antiquity.[161]

=179. Rules of Malebranche and Aristotle.=--We may take for a starting point this maxim of Malebranche, which he borrowed from Aristotle: _Acts produce habits, and habits produce acts_.[162] A habit, in fact, is induced by a certain number of often repeated actions; and once generated, it produces in its turn acts, so to say, spontaneous and without any effort of the will. Thence spring vices and virtues; and the problem is to know how the first may be corrected, and the second retained: for the question is not only to pass from evil to good, but we should also take care not to slide from good into evil.

If the first maxim of Malebranche were absolute, it would follow that the soul could not change its habits, nor the bad man improve, nor the good become corrupt; it would follow that hope would be interdicted to the one, and that the other would have nothing more to fear; consequences which experience shows to be entirely false. Some fanatical sects may have believed that virtue or holiness once attained could never again be lost,[163] and this belief served as a shield to the most shameful disorders. Facts, on the contrary, teach us that there is no virtue so infallible as to be secure against a fall, and no vice ever so deeply rooted that may not be lessened or destroyed. In fact, and this is Malebranche's second maxim: _One can always act against a ruling habit._ If one can act contrary to a positive habit, such acts often repeated may, according to the first maxim, produce, by the effort of the will, a new habit which will take the place of the preceding one. One can thus either corrupt or correct one's self. Only, as the virtuous habits are the more painful to acquire, and the vicious habits the more agreeable, it will always be more easy to pass from good to evil than from evil to good.

How shall we proceed to substitute a good habit for a bad one? Aristotle says that when we have a defect to get rid of, we should throw ourselves into the opposite extreme, so that after having removed ourselves with all our might from the dreaded fault we may in some respects, and through natural elasticity, return to the just medium indicated by reason, just as a bent wand straightens itself again when let go. This maxim may do in certain cases and with certain characters, but it would have to be applied cautiously. One may, under the influence of enthusiasm, throw himself into a violent extreme, and remain there for some time; but at the moment of reaction it is not impossible that, instead of stopping at the desired medium, he may fall back into the first extreme again.

=180. Rules of Bacon and Leibnitz.=--Bacon,[164] who did not find Aristotle's maxim sufficient, tries to complete it by a few additional ones:

1. One should beware of beginning with too difficult tasks, and should proportion them to his strength--in a word, _proceed by degrees_. For example, he who wishes to correct himself of his laziness, should not at once impose too great a work upon himself, but he should every day work a little longer than the day before, until the habit is formed.

In order to render these exercises less painful, it is permitted to employ some auxiliary means, like some one learning to swim will use bladders or willow supports. After a little while the difficulties will be purposely increased, like dancers who, to acquire agility, practice at first with very heavy shoes.

"There is to be observed," adds Bacon, "that there are certain vices (and drunkenness is one of them) where it is dangerous to proceed by degrees only, and where it is better to cut short at once and in an absolute manner.

2. The second maxim, where the question is of acquiring a new virtue, is to choose for it two different opportunities: the first when one feels best disposed toward the kind of actions he may have in view; the second, when as ill disposed as possible, so as to take advantage of the first opportunity to make considerable headway, and of the second, to exercise the energy of the will. This second rule is an excellent one, and truly efficacious.

3. A third rule is, when one has conquered, or thinks he has conquered, his temperament, not to trust it too much. It were well to remember here the old maxim: "_Drive away temperament_," etc., and remember AEsop's cat, which, metamorphosed into a woman, behaved very well at table until it espied a mouse.

Leibnitz also gives us some good advice as to practical prudence, to teach us to triumph over ourselves, and expounds in his own way the same ideas as Bossuet and Bacon:

"When a man is in a good state of mind he should lay down for himself laws and rules for the future, and strictly adhere to them; he should, according to the nature of the thing, either suddenly or gradually turn his back upon all occasions liable to degrade him. A journey undertaken on purpose by a lover will cure him of his love; a sudden retreat will relieve us of bad company. Francis Borgia, general of the Jesuits, who was finally canonized, being accustomed to drink freely whilst yet a man of the world, when he began to withdraw from it gradually reduced his allowance to the smallest amount by dropping every day a piece of wax into the bowl he was in the habit of emptying. _To dangerous likings_ one must oppose more innocent likings, such as agriculture, gardening, etc.; one must shun idleness; make collections of natural history or art objects; engage in scientific experiments and investigations; one must make himself some indispensable occupation, or, in default of such, engage in useful or agreeable conversation or reading. In a word, one should take advantage of all good impulses toward forming strong resolutions, as if they were the voice of God calling us.[165]

=181. Franklin's Almanac.=--To these maxims concerning the formation and perfecting of character, may fittingly be added the moral method which Benjamin Franklin adopted for his own improvement in virtue. He had made a list of the qualities which he wished to acquire and develop within himself, and had reduced them to thirteen principal ones. This classification, which has no scientific value, appeared to him entirely sufficient for the end he had in view. These thirteen virtues are the following: temperance, silence, order, resolution, frugality, industry, sincerity, justice, moderation, cleanliness, tranquillity, chastity, humility.

This catalogue, once drawn up, Franklin, reflecting that it would be difficult to fight at the same time thirteen defects and keep his mind on thirteen virtues, had an idea similar to that of Horatius in his combat with the Curiatii: he resolved to fight his enemies one by one; he applied to morality the well-known principle of politicians: "_Divide if thou wilt rule_."

"I made a little book," he says, "in which I allotted a page for each of the virtues. I ruled each page with red ink, so as to have seven columns, one for each day of the week, marking each column with a letter for the day. I crossed these columns with thirteen red lines, marking the beginning of each line with the first letter of one of the virtues; on which line, and in its proper column, I might mark, by a little black spot, every fault I found upon examination to have been committed respecting that virtue upon that day.

"I determined to give a week's strict attention to each of the virtues successively. Thus, in the first week, my great guard was to avoid even the least offense against _temperance_; leaving the other virtues to their ordinary chance, only marking every evening the faults of the day. Thus, if in the first week I could keep my first line, marked T, clear of spots, I supposed the habit of that virtue so much strengthened, and its opposite weakened, that I might venture extending my attention to include the next, and for the following week keep both lines clear of spots. Proceeding thus to the last, I could get through a course complete in thirteen weeks, and four courses in a year. And, like him, who, having a garden to weed, does not attempt to eradicate all the bad herbs at once, which would exceed his reach and his strength, but works on one of the beds at a time, and, having accomplished the first, proceeds to a second; so I should have, I hoped, the encouraging pleasure of seeing on my pages the progress made in virtue, by clearing successively my lines of their spots; till, in the end, by a number of courses, I should be happy in viewing a clean book, after a thirteen weeks' daily examination."

=182. Maxim of Epictetus.=--The wise Epictetus gives us the same advice as Franklin: "If you would not be of an angry temper," he says, "then do not feed the habit. Be quiet at first, then count the days where you have not been angry. You will say: 'I used to be angry every day; now every other day; then every third or fourth day, and if you miss it so long as thirty days, offer a sacrifice to God."[166] He said, moreover: "If you will practice self-control, take, when it is warm and you are thirsty, a mouthful of fresh water, and spit it out again, and tell no one."

=183. Individual character--Cicero's maxims.=--The philosophers whom we have just cited give us rules to combat and correct our temperament when it is vicious. Cicero, on the contrary, gives us others to maintain our individual character and remain true to it; and these rules are no less useful than the others. He justly observes that every man has his own inclinations which constitute his individual and original character. "Some," he says, "are more agile in the foot-race; others stronger at wrestling; these are more noble, those more graceful; Scaurus and Drusus were singularly grave; Laelius, very merry; Socrates was playful and amusing in conversation. Some are simple-minded and frank, others, like Hannibal and Fabius, more crafty. In short, there is an infinite variety of manners and differences of character without their being for that blamable."[167]

Now, this is a very sensible principle of Cicero, that we ought not to go against the inclinations of our nature when they are not vicious:

"_In constraining our talents
We do nothing gracefully_,"

said the fabulist. "Let each of us then know his own disposition, and be to himself a severe judge concerning his own defects and qualities. Let us do as the players who do not always choose the finest parts, but those best suited to their talent. AEsopus[168] did not often play the part of Ajax." Cicero in this precept, "that every one should remain true to his individual character," goes so far as to justify Cato's suicide, for the reason that it accorded with his character. "Others," he says, "might be guilty in committing suicide; but in the case of Cato, he was right; it was a duty; Cato ought to have died."[169] This is carrying the rights and duties of the individual character somewhat far; but it is certain that, aside from the great general duties of humanity, which are the same for all men, each individual man has a role to play on earth, and this role is in part determined by our natural dispositions; now, we should yield to these dispositions, when they are not vicious, and should develop them.

=184. Self-examination.=--Finally, what is especially important, considered from a practical standpoint and in the light of moral discipline, is, that each one should render himself an exact account of his own disposition, his defects, oddities, vices, so that he be able to correct them. Such was the practical sense of that celebrated maxim formerly inscribed over the temple at Delphi: "Know thyself." This is Socrates' own interpretation of it in his conversations with his disciples: "Tell me, Euthydemus, have you ever gone to Delphi?"--"Yes, twice."--"And did you observe what is written somewhere on the temple-wall: Know Thyself?"--"I did."--"Think you that to know one's self it is enough to know one's own name? Is there nothing more needed? And as those who buy horses do not think they know the animal they wish to buy till they have examined it and discovered whether it is obedient or restive, vigorous or weak, swift or slow, etc., must we not likewise know ourselves to judge what we are really worth?"--"Certainly."--"It is then obvious that this knowledge of himself is to man a source of much good, whilst being in error about himself exposes him to a thousand evils. Those who know themselves well, know what is useful to them, discern what they can or cannot do; now, in doing what they are capable of doing, they procure the necessaries of life and are happy. Those who, on the contrary, do not know themselves, fail in all their enterprises, and fall into contempt and dishonor."[170]

=185. Examination of the conscience.=--To know one's self well, it is necessary to examine one's self. Hence a practice often recommended by moralists, and particularly Christian moralists, known also by the ancients, namely, the _examination of the conscience_.

There is a fine picture of it in Seneca's writings: "We should," says the philosopher, "call, every day, our conscience to account. Thus did Sextius; when his daily work was done, he questioned his soul: Of what defect hast thou cured thyself to-day? What passion hast thou combated? In what hast thou become better? What more beautiful than this habit of going thus over the whole day!... I do the same, and being my own judge, I call myself before my own tribunal. When the light has been carried away from my room, I begin an inquest of the whole day; I examine all my actions and words. I conceal nothing, allow myself nothing. And why should I hesitate to look at any of my faults when I can say to myself: Take care not to do so again: for to-day I forgive thee?"[171]

To designate all the practices which experience of life has suggested to the moralists, to induce men to better, correct, perfect themselves in right doing, would be an endless task. No better method in this respect than to read the Christian moralists: Bossuet, Fenelon, Nicole, Bourdaloue. The advice they give concerning the proper use of time, opportunities, temptations, false shame, loose conversations, perseverance, can be applied to morals as well as to religion. Reading, meditation, proper company, good advice, selection of some great model to follow, etc., are the principal means we should employ to perfect ourselves in the right: "If we extirpated and uprooted, every year, a single vice only, we should soon become perfect men."[172]

=186. Kant's Catechism.=--An excellent practice in moral education is what Kant calls a moral catechism, in which the master, under the form of questions and answers, sums up the principles of morality. The pupil learns thereby to account for ideas of which he is but vaguely conscious, and which he often confounds with principles of another order, with the instinct of happiness, for example, or the consideration of self-interest.

The following are some extracts from Kant's _Moral Catechism_.[173]

_Teacher._--What is thy greatest and even thy only wish on earth?

The pupil remains silent.[174]

_Teacher._--Is it not always to succeed in everything according to thy wishes and will? How do we call such a state?

The pupil remains silent.

_Teacher._--We call it _happiness_ (namely, constant prosperity, a life all satisfaction, and to be absolutely content with one's condition). Now, if thou hadst in thy hands all possible earthly happiness, wouldst thou keep it wholly to thyself, or share it with thy fellow-beings?

_Pupil._--I should share it with them; I should make others happy and contented also.

_Teacher._--This already shows that thou hast a good _heart_. Let us see now if thou hast also a good _judgment_. Wouldst thou give to the idler soft cushions; to the drunkard wine in abundance, and all else that will produce drunkenness; to the rogue agreeable manners and a fine presence, that he might the more easily deceive; to the violent man, audacity and a strong fist?

_Pupil._--Certainly not.

_Teacher._--Thou seest then that if thou heldst all happiness in thy hands, thou wouldst not, without reflection, distribute it to each as he desires; but thou wouldst ask thyself how far he is _worthy_ of it. Would it not also occur to thee to ask thyself whether thou art thyself worthy of happiness?

_Pupil._--Undoubtedly.

_Teacher._--Well, then, that which in thee inclines to happiness, is called _inclination_; that which judges that the first condition to enjoy happiness is to be worthy of it, is the _reason_; and the faculty thou hast to overcome thy inclination by thy reason, is _liberty_. For example, if thou couldst without injuring any one procure to thyself or to one of thy friends a great advantage by means of an adroit falsehood, what says thy reason?

_Pupil._--That I must not lie, whatever great advantage may result from it to me or to my friend. Falsehood is _degrading_, and renders man _unworthy_ of being happy. There is in this case absolute necessity imposed on me by a command or prohibition of my reason, and which should silence all my inclinations.

_Teacher._--What do we call this necessity of acting conformably to the law of reason?

_Pupil._--We call it _duty_.

_Teacher._--Thus is the observance of our duty the general condition on which we can alone be worthy of happiness. _To be worthy of happiness and to do one's duty is one and the same thing._