Chapter 8

VIII - THE REFLECTIVE MOOD

The exercise of concentrating the mind (to which at least half anhour a day should be given) is a mere preliminary, like scales onthe piano. Having acquired power over that most unruly member ofone's complex organism, one has naturally to put it to the yoke.Useless to possess an obedient mind unless one profits to thefurthest possible degree by its obedience. A prolonged primarycourse of study is indicated.Now as to what this course of study should be there cannot be anyquestion; there never has been any question. All the sensiblepeople of all ages are agreed upon it. And it is not literature,nor is it any other art, nor is it history, nor is it any science.It is the study of one's self.

Man, know thyself. These words areso hackneyed that verily I blush to write them. Yet they must bewritten, for they need to be written. (I take back my blush, beingashamed of it.) Man, know thyself. I say it out loud. The phraseis one of those phrases with which everyone is familiar, of whicheveryone acknowledges the value, and which only the most sagaciousput into practice. I don't know why. I am entirely convinced thatwhat is more than anything else lacking in the life of the averagewell-intentioned man of to-day is the reflective mood.We do not reflect. I mean that we do not reflect upon genuinelyimportant things; upon the problem of our happiness, upon the maindirection in which we are going, upon what life is giving to us,upon the share which reason has (or has not) in determining ouractions, and upon the relation between our principles and ourconduct.And yet you are in search of happiness, are you not? Have youdiscovered it?The chances are that you have not.

The chances are that you havealready come to believe that happiness is unattainable. But menhave attained it. And they have attained it by realising thathappiness does not spring from the procuring of physical or mentalpleasure, but from the development of reason and the adjustment ofconduct to principles.I suppose that you will not have the audacity to deny this. And ifyou admit it, and still devote no part of your day to the deliberateconsideration of your reason, principles, and conduct, you admitalso that while striving for a certain thing you are regularlyleaving undone the one act which is necessary to the attainment ofthat thing.Now, shall I blush, or will you?Do not fear that I mean to thrust certain principles upon yourattention. I care not (in this place) what your principles are.Your principles may induce you to believe in the righteousness ofburglary. I don't mind.

All I urge is that a life in which conductdoes not fairly well accord with principles is a silly life; andthat conduct can only be made to accord with principles by means ofdaily examination, reflection, and resolution. What leads to thepermanent sorrowfulness of burglars is that their principles arecontrary to burglary. If they genuinely believed in the moralexcellence of burglary, penal servitude would simply mean so manyhappy years for them; all martyrs are happy, because their conductand their principles agree.As for reason (which makes conduct, and is not unconnected with themaking of principles), it plays a far smaller part in our lives thanwe fancy. We are supposed to be reasonable but we are much moreinstinctive than reasonable. And the less we reflect, the lessreasonable we shall be.

The next time you get cross with the waiterbecause your steak is over-cooked, ask reason to step into thecabinet-room of your mind, and consult her. She will probably tellyou that the waiter did not cook the steak, and had no control overthe cooking of the steak; and that even if he alone was to blame,you accomplished nothing good by getting cross; you merely lost yourdignity, looked a fool in the eyes of sensible men, and soured thewaiter, while producing no effect whatever on the steak.The result of this consultation with reason (for which she makes nocharge) will be that when once more your steak is over-cooked youwill treat the waiter as a fellow-creature, remain quite calm in akindly spirit, and politely insist on having a fresh steak.

Thegain will be obvious and solid.In the formation or modification of principles, and the practice ofconduct, much help can be derived from printed books (issued atsixpence each and upwards). I mentioned in my last chapter MarcusAurelius and Epictetus. Certain even more widely known works willoccur at once to the memory. I may also mention Pascal, La Bruyere,and Emerson. For myself, you do not catch me travelling without myMarcus Aurelius.

Yes, books are valuable. But not reading of bookswill take the place of a daily, candid, honest examination of whatone has recently done, and what one is about to do--of a steadylooking at one's self in the face (disconcerting though the sightmay be).When shall this important business be accomplished? The solitude ofthe evening journey home appears to me to be suitable for it. Areflective mood naturally follows the exertion of having earned theday's living. Of course if, instead of attending to an elementaryand profoundly important duty, you prefer to read the paper (whichyou might just as well read while waiting for your dinner) I havenothing to say. But attend to it at some time of the day you must.I now come to the evening hours.